Balamb Blues | Pull Me Out from Inside

Did I mention that I was angry with Squall’s erstwhile ‘therapist’?

"What do you mean, he hasn’t been assigned a room yet?"

Fuck that. I’m going to kill her.

"It’s been ten hours," I panted, leaning over the desk to glare into the receptionist’s eyes through thick Plexiglas. "I want to see him, now!"

"I’m afraid you can’t go back there, sir," she grated. Nerves of steel, those bitches. I glared. She glowered. "I’ll let you know as soon as he’s been seen by a doctor."

Surely this was grounds for justifiable homicide.

"What are they doing back there?" I moaned, scuffing back over to Zell, shoulders slumped. He was sitting against the wall, head nestled against his knees.

"I still think we should bust him outta there," Zell said, not bothering to raise his head.

"And have them put out an APB on him?" I snorted. "Great idea, genius. Let’s just hold a press conference and announce to the world that the Lion of Balamb is stark raving."

"Fuck the rest of the world," Zell snarled, surging to his feet so quickly that I jerked back. His fists were clenched, and the vein at his temple
was throbbing. "This is Squall we’re talking about! We can’t let them treat him like this!"

I looked around. The waiting room was empty, aside from us, the receptionist, and a bouquet of wilting yellow flowers. Gardenias, I believe
they were. The fluorescent overheads flickered. It was close to four in the morning.

"I know," I said, tiredly. I turned to meet his angry eyes again. "Maybe ..."

"What?" Zell asked, his voice dangerous. I’d forgotten how much Zell cared for the Commander.

"What if he does need help?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

Zell stepped back, arms dropping out of combat stance with his shock.

"You think he’s ...?"

"Suicidal? Probably," I whispered, glaring at him as my own anger awoke. "Wouldn’t you be? Shouldn’t we all be? He fucking saved the world and what did they do? Shoved on more responsibility, more expectations, threw him a father he tries desperately to please even while wishing the man had never been found. And on top of all this, Rinoa ... "

I had backed Zell into the wall. He stared up at me like I might be the crazy one.

"Irvine, maybe he needs help," Zell began carefully. "But that’s not what he’s getting here." He threw a wild gesture toward the fuck-off attitude of the receptionist. "Maybe he should book himself into Oceanview for a few days, maybe see someone about that pesky PTSD, but he’s not insane."

It was my turn to back off.

"I know that," I said uncertainly. The overheads flickered again, buzzing into shadow, then light. I was unutterably weary. "I know that."

"Hyne damn it, I just spoke to him not an hour before you called," Zell continued in a desperate whisper. "He was fine. Well," he paused suddenly, eyes shifting aside. "No worse than usual. He just thinks about it sometimes, you know? It’s his way of blowing off steam."

"I’ve seen his scars," I answered quietly.

Zell froze.

"How?" he said breathlessly.

"Shower," I said nonchalantly.

"But he never showers with anyone else in the bathroom," Zell protested, head coming up suspiciously.

I raised an eyebrow.

"He trusts a few people, Zell," I said quietly, non-confrontationally. I didn’t want to sound accusatory.

"But not me?" he asked anyway. I sighed, and stepped away to fall into a covered, wood-frame chair. It was actually rather comfortable.

"You know I didn’t mean it that way," I sighed again, draping my arms across the seatback. He slouched over to sit across from me. I met his eyes. "It’s just, with my reputation, and Seifer ... "

Zell winced at his lover’s name.

"Yeah, I guess he would feel safer with you," he conceded darkly, glaring down at his gloves. I checked the clock again; it was beginning to become an habitual tic.

I sighed.

"He was exhausted," I said quietly. "He could barely stand. It was help him bathe or let him go to sleep filthy, and the Doc was having none of that."

"When was this?" Zell asked, sounding incensed.

"Esthar, I think," I mused, staring at the peacefully beige walls. Just sitting here could drive a man insane, and a forced stay was supposed to help? "After Ultima Weapon."

"Yeah," Zell agreed vaguely. "I don’t remember that visit very well."

"We were trashed," I confirmed, settling more firmly into the chair. I checked the clock again. It was nearing the fifteen minute mark.

"And Squall just let you ...?"

"No," I scoffed. "But he was under doctor’s orders, and he was too tired to really argue effectively, so ..."

"Death glare’s not so scary when he’s yawning," Zell nodded, sounding as though he spoke from experience.

I chuckled tiredly.

"True enough," I said roughly, hauling myself upright. Zell followed me with weary eyes as I stalked back to the main desk.

The woman glared at me. I leaned my forehead against the bullet-proof glass, smirking.

"I’d like to see Squall Leonheart, please," I said pleasantly, as though this were my first visit of the day. She was not amused.

"I cannot release any information on that patient, sir," she said flatly.

I was beginning to become exasperated.

"You haven’t even checked on him in hours," I snapped. "At least go see if they’ve taken him to a room!"

I was aware that my hat had been crushed against the Plexiglas shielding. She stared up at me for a long moment, before standing.

"You wait right there," she said firmly, breaking our matched glares only to retreat through the bolted, hermetically-sealed door. You’d think she had a fortune in Phoenix Downs back there, the way they treated security.

She was gone for ages. I swear the world was covered in ice, carved by glaciers, and thawed into tropical warmth before she returned, face pale and wan, almost grey. I quit my pacing with an abruptness that jerked Zell’s sleeping head upright, and lunged for the desk.

"Well," I asked urgently, fingers cramping on the thin rim of counter not caught behind shielding. What must Squall be going through?

She didn’t speak for a moment. I bitterly regretted that security had made me leave my guns in the car.

"He, ah ..."

"Spit it out! Where is he?"

"He was transferred."

I think I just blinked at her for a moment.

Transferred?

"To what department?" My voice sounded very far away, buried somewhere beneath the building rage.

"To, ah, to BMHI," she stuttered.

Balamb Mental Health Institute. Erected after the first Sorceress War. Locus of nearly every hospital-related horror story told in the Garden dorms.

A subsidiary of the Med.

"When," I growled dangerously. She appeared to be frightened, at last.

"At, um, around two."

"You have to be kidding." That from Zell. He’d definitely woken up. And they hadn’t known to keep his gloves at the door.

"No, the, ah, the paperwork just came through," she said, nodding idiotically as though confirming their tardy actions could make the situation any better.

I think I literally saw red for a minute. I’m not really sure, I just remember clawing at safety glass like a trapped panther, the receptionist cowering against the far wall.

This is only in flashes, understand.

The next clear bit came with Zell’s arms around my chest; we were both on the floor, like he’d grabbed me and flung us both onto hard tile. The receptionist had a phone in her shaking hands; the cord was trembling in almost perfect circles. The clock was nearing the fifteen minute mark.

"Stop this, Irvine," Zell was muttering into my hair. "This isn’t helping, stop it."

I let out my breath in a soundless gasp, and slumped into his arms. He nearly fell back under the increase in weight. We lay there for a moment. Security pounded through the beige double doors, their powder-blue uniforms almost psychedelic in the decorative monotony.

"Sir?" The receptionist said, voice back to its usual haughty tones now that her reinforcements had arrived. "I’m going to have to ask you to leave."

I’d gone empty somehow.

The security team loomed in fine threatening fashion.

I stared blankly at the receptionist.

"Irvine?" Zell asked, tugging at the sleeve of my duster. My hat had fallen into the corner. The edge of one brim had curled oddly. "Irvine, we should go find Squall."

"Visiting hours are between seven-thirty and eight-thirty," the receptions said superciliously. "And that’s if they let you see him."

"What?" My voice sounded dead.

"What kind of bullshit is this?" Zell elaborated. "We’ve been waiting to see him all night. He needs us!"

"Yes, well," the receptionist sniffed. "The doctors will have to decide that."

"Fuck you!" Zell growled, dropping me abruptly to the floor as he gained his feet. "They can’t keep him there."

She didn’t answer, secure behind her glass.

One of the security men stepped forward tentatively. Apparently they knew who we were.

"Sir, could you come with us, please?" he asked nicely. I climbed to my feet, retrieved my hat, and followed them without another word.

A/N Chapter title taken from "Color Blind" by the Counting Crows.