Masquerade

They say that life’s greatest moments are those that are completely unexpected. A visit from a loved one; the news of a newly created life; finding twenty dollars in the pocket of a pair of jeans that were just about to go through the rinse cycle. From life’s biggest surprises, to the random little happenings that just seem to make the day brighter, these Unexpected Moments are supposed to be the ones that we treasure the most.

For Laguna Loire, life most certainly had been full of surprises. Though, they had not all been good surprises. The death of his wife had been a true shock, a shot of despair, straight through his heart. Being elected the President of a foreign land had brought about more headaches than perks. And, as for finding out that Squall Leonheart was his child? Well, that was somewhere between elated bliss, and discovering that his country had suddenly been invaded by rabid chocobos. Bottom line, Laguna was not very fond of the unexpected.

Which was why he nearly had a heart attack, when the loud buzzing of his office intercom system broke through his – thank Hyne – dreamless sleep. Once he had collected himself, Laguna pressed the little red communication button to both answer his call, and to stop that Hyne awful noise. “Yes?”

“Sir,” came the fill-in secretary’s voice. “You have a visitor.”

The man blinked. “Okay. Send them in.” Standing to his feet, Laguna attempted to smooth out his clothing before his visitor opened the door. He looked up, as he heard the doorknob rattle. And, rattle. And - .

“Unlock the door, Laguna.”

Whoops. He had forgotten. He was supposedly on lunch.

It took a moment, before the familiar voice caught the President’s attention. “Squall?” he asked, partly in excitement, mostly in disbelief. He turned the lock, and opened the door for his son. Looking at the youth before him, Laguna gave a puzzled look. “What are you doing here?”

Squall’s stance seemed to straighten, considerably. “Should I just leave, now?”

Laguna blinked, before giving a quiet sigh. “No. I’m sorry. A visit from you is just a bit out of the ordinary, is all.” He took a step to the side. “Come in?”

The leather clad young man entered his father’s office, one confident step after another. He gave his new surroundings a quick once over, trying to appear as disinterested in the space as possible.

“Have a seat,” Laguna offered, as he closed his door once more. Crossing back to the other side of his office, he reclaimed his own chair. After a moment of silent deliberation, Squall took the mentioned seat. Silence passed between the two men, neither quite daring to meet the other’s eyes, neither willing to break the proverbial ice. Finally, it was, as always, Laguna who took the initiative.

“So? How have you been?”

Squall shrugged, a little bit, ever the passive one. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

Laguna sighed, deeply. “Look, I told you the last time that I wasn’t in the mood for these arguments, Squall. If that’s the only reason why you came here, then, please, utilize the door, in reverse.”

It was the younger man’s turn to sigh. “I’m not trying to pick a fight, Laguna, nor is it what I came here to do. I could’ve done that over the phone.” As he said this, Squall almost felt the urge to smile. Almost. However, his comfort level around his maker was not quite so high as to allow a crack to show through his intricate façade.

Green eyes closed, for a brief moment, as their owner attempted to recollect his composure. He had not meant to sound quite so hostile, but it seemed as though his offspring knew how to press just the right combination of buttons to just about piss him off. He must have gotten that from his mother, Laguna mused, silently.

“You look pale,” came the unexpected comment, causing green eyes to open, once more, to take in the sight of a still stone faced Squall. “Have you been getting enough sleep?”

Hyne, Laguna wondered, Is this some kind of conspiracy? He took a deep breath. “I always look pale. Just like you. And, yes, I have been sleeping my fair share.”

Squall made a quiet, thoughtful noise, one that Laguna had become accustomed to hearing over the passed few months. It clearly said one of two things; either Squall was on the cusp of losing his patience, or, he was trying to change the subject.

“Well,” Squall began, with a clearing of his throat. Laguna gave silent thanks – it was the latter. “I came here to give you this.” The younger man reached into his jacket, to produce a small manila envelope, which he promptly passed to the President.

Laguna took the offered item in one hand, his curiosity piqued. “What is this?”

Steel blue eyes nearly rolled. “Open it, and, find out.”

A scowl setting firmly in place – no matter how out of place it looked, on such a face – Laguna set about opening the envelope. Removing several pages from inside of their confines, he gave them a quick scan. Maps?

“The top one is an over-view of Winhill.”

Eyebrows furrowed together, volume leaving his voice, “…I can see that…”

“And,” Squall continued, getting to his feet, “if you turn to the second one…” He waited for Laguna to do so, before pointing out a specific spot, and, continuing. “…You see this haze?” The President nodded. “Well, when it was investigated, there was nothing there.”

Laguna looked up, quickly. “What do you mean?”

Squall shrugged, a little. “I mean, we found nothing. Not even grass.”

An intensely thoughtful look passed over the elder man’s face. “…Not even grass…?”

“It was pretty well barren, Laguna. I saw it, myself. There was grass around the area, but, this blur is only over the one area.”

“Did something land there?” the President asked, in irritated confusion. He felt a headache coming on.

Again, the younger shrugged. “The spot is too small. Only a twenty foot diameter, at most.” He took an abrupt step back, as Laguna got up from his seat. “Where are you going?”

Laguna, having had just about enough of this new mystery, rose from his chair. Hearing his son’s question, he merely sighed, stopping in front of a small stand. He picked up a bottle.

“It’s too early, in the day, to be drinking, Laguna.”

The President smirked, lightly, before holding up a glass. “Join me?”

Squall inhaled, sharply. “I am on duty. As are you.”

“Never stopped me, before.”

In all of two seconds, the Balamb Commander had stalked out of the office. The door slammed to a firm close, as Laguna poured his first glass of whiskey. How he loved these little father and son moments.

* * *

Some hours later, the Estharian President sat in a small diner, nursing a cup of hot cocoa. He had stopped drinking nearly forty-five minutes ago, deciding to abandon drowning his liver for getting dinner. Now, as he sat, waiting on his plate, Laguna took the time to consider what had transpired in his office.

What pissed him off the most was not that Squall had stormed out of his office, in a snit. Hell, it was not even the fact that he still did not understand the photographs that his son had dropped off. No, what utterly infuriated the aging man was that, while he was constantly chastised by his son for being immature, said offspring had the nerve to throw a tizzy fit in the middle of his office. There were at least seven other ways, in Laguna’s mind, that Squall could have handled the situation, none of which included pulling the “I’m Angry at My Daddy” routine. He nearly snickered at the thought of his son, sitting in his bedroom, a pout across his lips.

“Here you are, Sir,” a female voice wandered into the man’s thoughts, as a plate was set down on the table with practiced ease. “One toasted tuna on wheat.”

Laguna smiled, sincerely. “Thank you, very much, Diane.”

The waitress placed her hands on her hips, with a smile of her own. “You don’t look so good, tonight, hun. How’re you feelin’?”

“I’ve been better,” the man admitted, with a slight sigh. “But, it’s nothing that one of your dinners can’t fix.” He sent a playful wink to the graying waitress.

Diane could not help but to smile; the President’s cheerful demeanor was infectious. “You just eat up, hun, and let me know if you need anythin’ else.”

Laguna chuckled, softly. “You know I will.” As he watched the waitress – dare he say friend? He just might – walk back toward the kitchen, the raven haired man picked up the top half of his sandwich – cut on the diagonal, as always – and took his first bite. As he chewed on said bite, he attempted to identify what tonight’s mystery concoction included. Pickle, olive, oooh, that might have been a bit of tomato. It was all Laguna could do to refrain from wiggling in his seat. Contrary to the fact that toasted tuna sandwiches were on the daily menu, Diane never made the same type sandwich for this particular man, twice.

And, sadly, as Laguna thought about it, this fact was the height of his life’s excitement, these days.

Finishing his meal after a little while, Laguna left Diane a generous tip, as per the usual, bid each member of the wait staff a sincere good night, and ducked out of the twenty-four hour diner. A slight chill was in the air, on this particular evening, forcing him to pull the collar of his jacket up a bit higher. The President blew a little air out of his mouth, waited… And, pouted, for, try, as he might, he could not see his own breath.

It was a slightly long, rather unsteady walk back to his work - . Home - . To the place that he spent the majority of his every waking hour. He could hardly call the place a home, for it was often lonely, dark, empty, cold – none of the things that he remembered, from his time, in Winhill. And, if he was to call the place “work”, would that not imply that he actually did any? Hm.

Once inside of his own quarters, having snuck around every corner, along the way, in order to avoid potentially “bumping into” Kiros, Laguna collapsed onto his bed. His head still spinning, slightly, from his earlier drinking binge, he half-heartedly regretted not having ordered pasta. As the rotating of his personal surroundings seemed to intensify, green eyes clenched shut, trying to block out a sudden buzzing in his left ear.

I’m just tired, he concluded, with a deep sigh, as he made to climb under the covers. His clothes still on, Laguna gave one unintelligible murmur, before drifting off, completely oblivious to a sudden lightning storm over his once-beloved Winhill.