She reminded him of a girl he used to know, a long time ago, he knew a little girl just like her. But she didn't have blonde hair or blue eyes, nor did she flinch at his touch. She didn't have the plain white dress that she wore, but she was afraid—she was so afraid, weak she spat now, but then her eyes circled the room always looking from them. Just like the girl—she wouldn't whisper her name, she would only cringed when he would touch her. He was a silent man, with years of patience he could wait for her to come around.

"I didn't do it," she whispered, when he found her so broken he didn't know what to do. "It wasn't my fault—I didn't mean to!" she cried, streams of tears coming down her face.

He could never forget that, the way she looked, broken and afraid, living in a constant nightmare; one that she couldn't wake up from. The way SHE had looked when she had first arrived, before she learned to fight—to be confident. He scooped her up into his arms much to her cringing; he walked taking her to his home. She had fallen asleep in his arms, so exhausted from running from her own nightmares, he smirked in triumph. Remembering how she would used to whisper, how safe she felt in his arms, he wondered if the blonde girl felt the same. A prick of hope shivered into his heart, he shook it out—he wouldn't be betrayed by his emotions once more.

He walked into the Hollow Bastion Restoration Committee's base, unsurprised to find it empty; he was all it had left now. Another prick, this time guilt—it burned in his being, he couldn't save any one from what happened, nobody but this girl. She slept not soundless, but screaming and he didn't comfort her—because he knew he couldn't, he had nightmares that nobody could help him through. She screamed a name though, a name he had knew but forgot; or had tried to.

Cid. Cid was the first of them to go, he was in the third district—two heartless, three tops he cussed her out until she gave in. He had miscalculated, there had not been three—but nine, nine to devour his heart. She wouldn't speak to him after that, blaming him—it was his miscalculation after all; she was only sixteen it was her first instinct after all. Pinning the blame on someone else, instead of grieving or moving on, she could hold a grudge forever if she had to. She had all the time in the world, or that's what she thought, because she was the unstoppable fighter. Not the little girl he had rescued from the heartless.

Her screaming had died down; he was surprised to find his hand in hers, had he been so lost in thought? He shrugged her off, he couldn't—wouldn't go through the pain again; not for anyone, he had wondered what had caused the girl to scream his name in particular. It could just be a coincidence, of course that was logical or denial. Denial—a familiar word, he remembered thinking that she'd come back any minute now, laughing telling him to stop being so serious. He knew she wouldn't walk through that door ever again, she was gone just like the rest of them.

"Aerith! Tifa! No, no, no—please!" she whispered, tucked deeply into her nightmares. He wanted to wake her, but his curiosity and guilt kept her asleep, facing her nightmares alone.

Aerith and Tifa, they went after him—Cloud, the man whom was fighting with himself, fighting with his inner demons. They went to save him, despite her pleas her desperate pleas to save them; she couldn't stop them-she knew that, she knew that he wouldn't allow her to be a miscalculation and she hated him more for it, for letting them go alone. He had told her they would be fine, the three of them; they would be okay, she proved him wrong when she brought their bodies in. She stop speaking to him after that, and the guilt started to build up, he shook his head—those were her words, her exact words, how could the girl know! He had to wake her, he had to make her explain—instead he froze; her name echoing through the facility before he could move.

Yuffie. The little girl, with her black hair long and her chocolate eyes filled with fear—he had rescued her from the demons that destroyed her home. He took her with him; she brought hope to him like nobody could—until he had broken her, he had remembered her vividly.

"Squall, I can fight! I can do it!" she yelled, cutting her hair choppily in the process and he didn't argue, because who wanted to mess with the crazy woman and her knife? He took her to the weapon shop the next day, bought her the first thing she wanted and told her to learn how to use it and then if she could beat him in a fight, he would let her. She was eleven at the time; he had hoped she would get bored, move on to something else- like little girls did. Yuffie was determined, she spent three years training and then finally days before her fourteenth birthday; she beat him. He was very wary to let her fight, but he accompanied her reluctantly—she wasn't half bad at destroying heartless, he began to let her go out on her own. She became the Great Ninja Yuffie, she got cocky and she forgot; that they could swallow her whole if she miscalculated one move. She was so angry with him, she wouldn't speak to him—she wouldn't look at him and by the time she was gone; he didn't have time to miscalculate, she was dead. He remembered her body lying there, in the snow—blood all over the place, the heartless weren't merciful towards her. Her body covered in cuts, with blood gushing out of them, he took her body and buried it with the others.

He alone now, except for the blonde girl he shook awake, he was angered by what she had made him remember. "Who the hell are you!" he roared.

She blinked, looking at him for a moment, then she stood up—a frown upon her face. "I'm death," she shook her head saddened. "I was hoping you would run away, but I suppose you're too brave for that." She grabbed his hand, in one swift motion, examining it; she frowned again when he pulled his hand back. "Oh Leon, I was hoping you could live…you could have brought Sora—saved me from such a cruel fate."

He flinched at the name, staring at her as she talked; unable to move—or speak. He had miscalculated once more; she didn't need saved, she needed burned at a stake. She smiled, amused by his expression.

"It's not your fault they died," she assured him. "Marluxia needed them dead, so I had to break them of course as his witch." She said sourly. She was such a nice girl, he couldn't see her killing him, she seemed like she was buying time for him.

"Why?"

She stared absently out the window. "I don't know, but IF it makes you feel any better you'll be in a better place. I won't let them take your heart," she walked over to him; he was aware how close she was. He stared at her, as if THAT of all things would make him feel better, but in a sense it did. She had killed his friends, the people he had loved—not the heartless, yet he felt comfort in her words. Her cold lips on his were the last thing he remembered, everything else blurred and then it became pitch black.

Just another miscalculation to add to the list, only the holder of his heart could take his guilt—it was a shame she couldn't feel.

--le fin

it came out of the blue-naminé/ squall it just said, i really like the whole i fucked up complex he has and how namie is all REALLY evil. i really love evil!namie. anyways, i wrote this for akemi-chan because all of her spamming! hehe. i really do love a good spammer, so this is your slighty scary giftfic--i pray that you liked it.

apply all disclaimers, and leave a review.