To Trust A Cop

Beta: working on it
Notes: A well deserved break for our boy. He needs it, right? *grin*

Work is eating up my time and I have a though time getting anything over for my writing *sniff*
Hopefully it’ll ease up sometime soon. *heavy sigh*
*the boys will start to hate me*


19

Studying the piece of art from a distance made it look better. Squall tilted his head and scrutinized it. Yes, he had found it. The colours were right, the creature was right. Hyne, it couldn’t be that he for once was satisfied, could it? Squall grinned giddily and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

The brunet walked out in the kitchen and took another glass of lemonade. Strangely, but he didn’t feel any guilt that he had been “sick” and hadn’t gone to his work for almost a week now. Not when his paintings were done in time and he would see Quistis the next day during lunch. Glancing at the watch in the kitchen, Squall smiled lightly. Twelve hours from now he would meet the famous artesian and his whole future could depend on the outcome. It required nervousness, right?

It wasn’t like he was less of a man just because he couldn’t sleep from anxiousness and that his stomach ached harder and harder for every hour, right? Returning to the living room, he sat down at the bed. He should at least try and sleep a little so that he didn’t look like a walking wraith in the morning.

Still, it was hard to look away from his drawings. The longer he eyed them and studied them, the more he thought they couldn’t be drawn by his hand. This was quality beyond what he had had before his down slope. It scared him. What if Quistis requested more works with the same quality? What if he couldn’t perform? What if these drawings had been made by some fluke?

When the lemonade was finished he put the glass beside the bed on the floor. He didn’t have any nightstands so… Squall curled up on the bed, determinate to get some sleep. Still it took way to long for him to find it.

*****

Standing outside the “West Gallery”, the youth felt detached from himself. He had stood there for a good while, not daring to move. Clutching his drawings to his side like a little child clutched his teddy bear.

Anxiousness had gone beyond reasonable limits. He felt sick. Squall had never felt this afoul in his whole life. Was he truly sick?

He swallowed in a dry throat. He needed to move. Just a few steps. His body moved while his mind panicked and told him all the bad things with this. He shouldn’t be so anxious and nervous because it meant he was hopeful. It wasn’t a good thing. Being hopeful meant you could be crushed, badly. He needed to encase his heart in the ice he was so good at forming. But he couldn’t. Not now.

“Mr. Leonhart. Madam Trepe has been expecting you.” The woman by the reception smiled courteously.

He nodded and followed her. Palms were sweaty. He was cold and hot spot wise. His heart was beating way too fast while his breathing stayed rather steady. Squall entered the office and listened with half an ear as the two women spoke. Something about getting lunch and so on. Quistis turned to him and smiled, making the blue eyes lit up like the summer sky.

“Squall, I am pleased to see you again. How are you?” She asked sincerely.

“Fine.” He answered and panicked.

To cold, to cold! He should have been more polite. Should have thanked her for seeing him or something!

“Let’s go upstairs, shall we?” She smiled and those blue eyes pierced him like spears.

He could only nod. He’d already made a fool out of himself. Following her out of the office and to the right and ascending the stairs, he had plenty of time to berate himself. Upstairs was a large room without walls and mostly of the walls to the outside held massive windows. It was mostly empty except for covered tables and chairs and artwork that probably weren’t for selling.

There was a table with stands on them beside a set table. Squall was led to the set table and sunk down in one chair. He felt out of place. In his leather pants and grey t-shirt and leather jacket he felt like some street-rat in this fine place. A glass of water was put before him.

“I am assuming it is the drawings you are holding there? May I look?” Trepe asked gently and Squall was quick to give them to her.

While she took them out and placed them on the stands, Squall took the glass of water offered. His hands were slightly shaking. The professional woman scrutinised the drawings and her eyes was so intense that Squall had to look away. He didn’t wish to try and draw conclusions from her expression.

She took her time. A long time. The woman from below came with food and placed it on the table and offered Squall different choices of wines. The brunet said no as he was sure he couldn’t stomach something stronger than water or lemonade plus he was driving.

The smell from the food only reminded him about how nauseous he was. Looking out at the streets, he tried counting the passing people to think about something else. But it was hard as he felt the heavy presence of the blond woman. Maybe it was a good sign that she took her time? Maybe it wasn’t? Maybe she tried finding something she liked in something she didn’t?

At last she came and sat down by the table. She put her elbows on the table and put her fingers together. The blue eyes studied him intensely over the brim of the glasses. The brunet thought he would implode. It was impossible to feel this afoul and not die or something. She smiled a small smile he couldn’t place.

“You look ready to throw up.” She said softly and Squall had to blink at her.

She eyed the drawings again, something on her face he couldn’t place. Quistis looked at him again as if trying to look under his skin.

“Good work.” She said at last and Squall’s head started ringing.

Good work. A praise. He had done well. The brunet’s body started trembling as some tension left him. Still he felt even more nauseous. He drank some more water, steeling his arm and hand to not show her the trembling.

“Actually, I’m astounded. This is a completely different level from your other works.” She said impressed.

She smiled at him and he tried mustering something similar.

“Has it gone many years since you drew those other pictures?” She asked and sipped at the wine in her glass.

He shook his head before catching himself.

“A couple maybe.” He answered and his voice sounded much steadier than he felt.

She nodded as if having gotten proof at a theory.

“A couple years are a lot in your age. You worked hard with these?” She arched an eyebrow and he nodded again.

“You seem to do well under pressure. These drawings are so different from your others that I had a hard time recognising you in them.” She smiled as if finding it amusing.

Was it a good thing?

“Are you still interested in education?” She asked serious and Squall swallowed hard.

“Yes.” He heard himself answering through the thundering of his heart.

“Good! Now tell me what you think about your own works.” She encouraged and started eating.

Squall felt the tension leave even more. Talking about his own works was hard. Talking at all was hard, but Trepe placed questions that seemed to unlock doors to some secret place inside of him.

Once he got started, he realised that he could talk almost endlessly about only these few drawings. Especially Griever. It was dear to him. The picture of the big beastly cat had been inside him since child legs. The big cat had been there in his back and added strength when needed. It had made him stand up when hit to the ground and push on when life seemed to throw a tsunami against him.

Griever had made him able to harden his heart when so desperately needed. The cat had been what Squall had clutched to instead of a teddy bear in the dead of night. All of this he didn’t tell her. Just that Griever was special. She had understood that, she said. That’s why she had requested a re-drawing of it.

From there on she asked about his living and work. He was reluctant to answer truthfully, but truth had always been his lead star. So truth it was. Quistis was as surprised as Seifer that Squall had gotten the factory work. She didn’t hide her displeasure and it made the brunet shut up, embarrassed to continue.

“Well… I have contacts and an own school for artists but I want you to enter “Delling Art University”.” She said when Squall went silent.

The brunet stared at her. The “Delling Art University” was the most sophisticated and famous university known in the whole country. It was even better than Trepe’s own small school. It was the elite school for elites. It was beyond that. It was so far away from his own social status that it made his head reel. Obviously it was evident in is face.

“Yes, I know it is a long way but nothing else will do.” She admitted thoughtfully as if planning a battle strategy.

“We can’t expect you to get in before half a year from now, maybe even a year but it can’t be helped.” She continued as if he was already enlisted.

Squall swallowed hard. He couldn’t enter that university. It was leagues away from him! And expensive! One term almost cost more than what he earned in half a year!

“I… can’t.” He gasped and she blinked at him, fork in her mouth.

“Eh?”

“I… can’t. It’s… its way over my head.” He breathed.

Panic. It was rushing up inside him like a tidal wave. It was too much, too big. Yes, he wanted to make a little name for himself, but not so much. He wasn’t that good. She was deciding this after a few lucky paintings. Her blue eyes suddenly turned as hard as stone encased ice.

“Squall.” She said harshly and it snapped back his attention from his inner ranting.

“You don’t seem to understand you own talent. You can draw these paintings in a month and you haven’t even had any education. It screams out natural talent. A natural passion. An inner voice that only a very few artist have and even less ever hears.” She said as if scolding him for kicking a football through a window.

He listened but couldn’t understand. So he kept silent and hoped she would say something his locked brain could coop with.

“Either you fight for this, or we blow it off. I will not put money and effort on someone that only wants to go half way.” She ended it and looked sternly at him.

All business and ice cold will. He stared at her, feeling small and insecure. Maybe she was right about his talent? She was a very good artesian herself after all. Maybe she was wrong and it all was just a fluke?

“But… I don’t even have a full elementary grade.” He said lowly, throat dry like sandpaper.

She smiled softly at him. The steel in her eyes softened somewhat.

“I know. This will be though. We will have to work very hard. You’ll have to work harder than you have done in your life so far. It won’t be easy, but we’ll succeed.” She said encouragingly.

He nodded and she contently leaned back in her chair.

“I will give you a book I have written and I want you to do the lessons in it. It should give us a pointer at your capabilities and weaknesses. If you don’t mind, I would like to save these drawings here?” She continued and he nodded.

“You’ll have to take the test for ninth graders. There’s one in spring and I’ve already enlisted you to it.” This made Squall choke on the water he was just drinking.

He stared at her, his heart standing still. She noted his panic but looked just a determined.

“I can’t, I-I’m not that good.” He whispered feeling full of dread.

He didn’t want to tell her this. He didn’t want his idol to know what an idiot he was. A fine lined eyebrow arched.

“Don’t worry. The test isn’t overly though and you only need to get clear, not get highest score. If you need a tutor I’ll pay the fee, just tell me who and where.” She explained and he felt himself nod.

Squall was chewing on his bottom lip, stomach a hard knot. Should he back out? What she asked of him seemed insurmountable. The ninth grade he could pass, maybe. A starter art trade school he could surely manage. But to take the test for elementary and then work his way through the lower forms of art trade up to Delling Art University in a year?

He looked away from her intense gaze. How exactly did he put her down? To imagine letting this opportunity go was like pouring acid in his veins, but the high black wall she put up for him made him terrified.

He jumped when a cool hand gripped his. He stared into her softened eyes. Quistis smiled softly and it lightened her face and made her warm and comforting.

“I’m not throwing you into this and expect you to do it on your own, Squall. I’ll help you every step on the way. If you can’t pass by spring, we take the summer test and the winter test if necessary. Just because I put our goal to have you ready for university in a year, doesn’t mean we can’t change the plans.” She said softly and squeezed his hand.

The brunet continued staring into her eyes. When she put it like that he relaxed. It was going to take hard work. He understood that, right? When she spoke there was such strength in her that it affected him too. Maybe… he could actually do this? He wasn’t unfamiliar with challenges and when she put up the plan and the challenge in it, he responded to it. Hard work he could understand. Blood, sweat and tears wasn’t unfamiliar to him.

Had she just pushed him into an academy and paid his way, he hadn’t been able to do it. It wasn’t his way. But like this. Seeing the challenge it made him ache to attack it. He smiled at her and nodded.

“I’m in.”


Author’s Note:
This was a hard chapter to write. I tried to paint his inner turmoil and still it didn’t feel like I got it out correctly. I was trying to show the difference in social status in the world through Squall’s own feelings and…
A well, you’ll be the judge if it was a success or not.

/Seifer/What the fuck!?
/Seifer/This long wait and no sex!
/Squall/Shut up, go hump a tree.
/Seifer/You want a spanking?
/Squall/*Walks away*
/Seifer/Hey! Don’t ignore me! *starting after, stops*
/Seifer/You better shape up! *pointing at hiding author*