Foreword: I'd always wanted to do something a tad different, so I'm testing the waters with my first AU. I've used some of the Federal US agencies, such as the FBI and DEA. Quick reference for those out of the States: FBI stands for the Federal Bureau of Investigations while DEA is the Drug Enforcement Agency. I thought about creating my own, but wanted to focus on the plot, hopefully there's enough familiarity with the FBI and such in movies/television. Also, be aware, it's 'loosely based' on the responsibilities of each agency. I'd like to thank Carie Valentine and Emerald-Latias for beta'ing. Emerald came up with the title – a phrase from the song "Stars."

The story is mainly a romance, however, I wanted to note a few warnings: detailed descriptions of crime scenes, blood, language, and mature/sexual situations. As always, the characters and locations belong to SquareEnix, but I really wanted to try something different for the Where I Belong: Inspired challenge. And again, as with all my writing, you may throw tomatoes at me, although can someone throw a little lettuce? At least, I can make a salad then. ;)

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The Meaning of Resistance

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Chapter One:
And so it Breaks…

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Somehow, the days started to blend together; it was one horrific scene after another, melding into a seemingly gruesome pattern. The crimes rarely changed, only the backdrop surrounding them did and, as cruel as it sounded, the victims became as faceless. Yet, in all honesty, it was the suspects that lost their identity first – each seemingly pulled from a pool of indifference. There would always be those that stood out, but the best thing to do was not to let them.

It's not the best advice, it's the only advice.

His job was like seeing the same movie, watching re-runs of a television show or, in some cases, reading a murder mystery over again. If only life was that simple - to have all the pieces fall into place over the duration of sixty minutes; to have a conviction by the end of film, or to have the ability to flip to the last page of a book so you'd know the ending.

Life is an endless story; a cycle of violence destined to replay daily.

1:40 pm, October 10th

Yellow tape, police cars and, more often than not, the local coroner were all regulars at the scene - realities that he had grown accustom to over the last four years. He had been in the field his entire career and each time he approached a new scene, very few variables changed. In the end, the only things that names, dates, and body counts produced were statistics… and a barrage of paperwork.

Nobody blinked an eye as the nondescript, light-colored sedan pulled into the parking lot; even the car he drove had become mundane. Then again, the Galbadian government had never been known for diversity. He was immediately waved off by some uniformed officer for entering an obviously blocked off area. He knew this was where the fun was going to begin; local authorities despised working concurrently with any federal agency. It honestly didn't matter to him as they were the ones who looked foolish doing the needless posturing. To him, it was never about territorial lines, interoffice politics, or hurt feelings; it was simply about the crime – the facts, the evidence.

He didn't acknowledge their petty grievances; they were theirs – not his.

And quite frankly, this officer looked like a piece of work. Probably fresh out of the academy or on someone's shitlist - negated to being a glorified stop sign. Gut instinct said 'shitlist' as the guy seemed to be his age, if not had a few years on him. Hitting the driver's side door in anger, the officer motioned for the sole occupant to roll down the car window. It didn't faze the agent; he was used to dealing with self-important stop signs.

"Can't read? Road's closed."

He took a deep breath biting back wanting to point out that it was Officer Stop Sign that couldn't read, the front government plates were a dead giveaway.

By now he'd reached into his suit pocket retrieving a small leather-bound case. With a single motion of his wrist, he flipped the holder open, showing off his credentials. Of course the uniformed man wasn't impressed.

"Great," the officer mumbled though the open window. "I think we can handle it ourselves. Who the hell called the Feds in?"

"Special Agent Squall Leonhart," he stated never turning to face the officer. Keeping his eyes focused on the crime scene before him, he studied the wooden barriers impeding his entrance.

"Aren't all agents in the FBI referred to as 'Special Agent?' Doesn't seem that special to me."

With that comment, Squall turned to look at the man directly. Somehow he could already sense the amount of resistance he was going to have on this case. He was far from pleased. Not to mention it was the same damn comment each and every time. Squall would think as the years passed, he'd find a variety putdowns somewhere along the line. He had started to wonder if that oh-so-creative jab was printed in the police rookie handbook – and then assigned to every uniformed officer everywhere. Just for once he wondered if things could be different, the scene, the putdowns, the people, the continual harassment for doing his job but, just like the violence, the cycle would never break.

He was here for only one reason and getting verbally belittled by a stop sign wasn't it.

"I'm here because one of your supervisors believed it would best to pool our resources. If you feel like filing a complaint, I would suggest you start with your own department."

He could tell local man was holding his tongue as he shook his head. Without further comment, the officer signaled for two other uniforms to move the blockade. For a brief moment, Squall thought that maybe this guy had graduated all the way up to yield-sign status - that was until he heard "Special Agent my ass" as the window rolled up. It was in his best interest just to let the hostile man's comment rest. Squall Leonhart wasn't the type to lose his composure over trivial matters, or even major ones. It was his calm, professionalism that had brought him this far up the ranks.

Pulling next to a few unmarked cars, Squall turned off the engine before removing the key. He found himself inwardly sighing as he surveyed the scene from his car; first impressions were often very telling. This blast looked especially destructive, considering the type of explosives supposedly used. He removed a pair of sunglasses from his jacket pocket and switched them out with the ones he'd been wearing for driving. He reached for a file that had been sitting on the passenger's seat, but there was literally nothing in it. On this case, things had come down the pipe a little differently, but he was told he'd be receiving further information at the scene. Still, with his notebook in hand, he certainly wasn't going to let the local police know what he knew - nothing. Right now, at this stage of the game, this was about what they knew.

As he opened the car door, he could see two dark body bags lying on the ground that had blocked from view before. He was actually surprised that there were only two fatalities as it looked far more destructive, although he knew nothing about an injury report.

As he his foot hit the pavement, he was immediately hit with the mixture of the newly snuffed out blaze and what he believed was some sort of meat - hamburger or steak. The latter hadn't been a surprise as it was just after lunchtime. No matter how long people gawked, they still found a way to get their entire lunch hour – the aforementioned 'gawking' usually tended to be at their employer's expense.

That was another thing that had blended over the years, the onlookers. He couldn't even begin to differentiate one crowd from the other. However, it was those similarities that made the differences stand out. It was easier to scan for what was out-of-place - when things tended to be so commonly-perfect and in place.

Most of the bystanders outside wore similar style clothing, long sleeves or windbreakers. For first week in October, it was relatively warm, especially since this autumn had already had its share of near-freezing days. And for all intents and purposes, his first scans said everything here, as far as the crowd went, was normal. Unfortunately, 'normal' was a word he'd call most of disasters the rest of the world considered anything but.

He hadn't been out of the car thirty seconds when he saw a figure rapidly approaching. From here, he could see the person walking towards him was taller blond man wearing beige pants and a white oxford. Squall could tell this person was more than likely in charge, or at least, this man believed he was... Reality and perception were two different entities, which reality this guy fell into remained to be seen.

The man extended his hand in greeting, "Detective Seifer Almasy – Timber Drug Control Unit."

Squall dismissed the gesture with a nod of his head as he looked at the portion blown-out building. Though it was a welcome change of pace that this man wasn't immediately berating his help, there was an arrogance and cockiness that he could sense in the detective. Of course, Detective Almasy could say of the same of him. He'd be wrong, but it could be said.

"I was under the impression that this was a bombing. Why is narcotics involved?"

"Long story," Seifer grinned forgoing the details momentarily. "Short version – the reason why you were called in - one of the dead was an undercover fed with drug enforcement."

Interoffice politics was bad, but this was possibly the worst scenario imaginable… this was between three governing agencies. It was official; Squall was now caught in the seventh level of bureaucratic hell.

"Is there a representative from the DEA here yet?" Squall asked expecting the worst.

"No, you're the first Fed to show. Are you from the Timber Field office?"

"No." Squall stated simply, he didn't feel that his life story had to be told at this moment, or any moment here after. "How do you know the deceased was an agent?"

"I bet you're a barrel of fun at the office parties," Seifer smirked. Squall stood silent only folding his arms and ignoring the blond man's comment.

"Fine, fine... according to our witness he was, and we were unofficially-officially able to verify the information."

Squall felt a migraine coming on. "Was the witness also working for the DEA?"

"No, not that we know of... but she was there at the time of the explosion. Escaped with minor cuts and bruises, she's the lucky one."

"Just the one injury?"

"Yes, all and all we're pretty lucky. I'd say we're looking at a professional-"

Squall wasn't interested in opinions when a valuable source was being wasted. "How did she know the agent's identity?"

"She's... not saying." Seifer looked down scratching the back of his neck. "She's just a little shaken up. I just wanted to give her a few moments before the barrage of questions."

"This is the most crucial time in the investigation, letting her rest a moment doesn't seem like the wisest of moves."

"Maybe not the wisest, but it was my call," Seifer explained becoming more defensive of his decision. The last thing he needed was some stiff in a designer suit telling him how to run his investigation. "I didn't get your name, Fed-boy."

"I didn't give it," Squall calmly stated.

He wasn't in the mood for this either; it was all because he had the misfortune of being in Timber for the world's worst training seminar and wasn't thrilled when he received the call. This is why the bureau had satellite offices, to handle such things. Right now he should have been boarding a train back to Deling City but instead he was going to be spending, most likely, a few more meals over here.

The two men stared at one another before the federal agent finally spoke up. "Squall Leonhart," he replied.

"Wonderful Leonhart, now that we have the formalities out of the way, would you like to speak to the witness? As you already pointed out, this is the most crucial time." Seifer didn't wait for the man's answer as he turned, walking toward a nearby ambulance. The sirens and lights weren't on, but several paramedics were standing near the rear doors.

Squall followed behind wordlessly, which was all right by him. He could learn more by watching the actions of others than he could during most conversations. People had a way of betraying their emotions with body language, even those who had dishonesty down to a science... And that's exactly what it was, a science that he had studied many years to try to comprehend.

As he rounded the open rear doors of the ambulance, he could make out a figure covered by a dark grey blanket. It was standard issue for these situations, not that it was honestly that cold, but wrapping yourself within it was supposed to provide a basic comfort. Her head was down and dark hair fell over her shoulders onto the blanket. She was sitting with her knees to her chest in the back, as a paramedic was taking off a blood pressure cuff. He had to work around the blanket, but he seemed competent enough to do so.

Detective Almasy walked in front of the woman crouching down to her level. Again, Squall noted the 'comforting' behavior - attempting to look at her eye-to-eye and not tower over her as an authority figure. Sometimes the old adage was true, that you can catch more flies with honey. That is unless you were dealing with a bee in disguise. He trusted no one, believing nobody above suspicion.

"Can I get you some water, coffee, anything?" Seifer asked the woman trying to ease her mind.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you," she softly rasped, her voice almost cracking at the words.

Squall could partially see her when she looked up towards the detective; she appeared younger than he originally had thought. He could even see her try to a force a smile as she spoke. It wasn't working as her shaking hands figuratively screamed her emotional state.

"Miss Heartilly, there is someone here with FBI. He would like to ask you a few questions if you're feeling up to it." She nodded slowly in reply, returning her eyes down to the pavement. Squall could see she had been crying, the tears mixing with dirt streaking down her face. He also noted several abrasions covered the visible parts of her body, some worse than others, a few already covered with gauze.

Squall nodded to both the paramedics and Detective Almasy to give them some privacy - at least that was his unspoken intention. The officer seemed to ignore the agent's silent request. For some reason, Seifer seemed to be protective of this girl and Squall found that fact to be somewhat interesting. Maybe the blond man was more territorial than he had first believed. Squall didn't believe it was about the girl, specifically, but about the feeling of superiority. That was fine with him; he found the officer's actions more telling than anything.

"I'm Special Agent Leonhart with the FBI. I need to ask you a few questions."

When she finally looked up at him, he was able to study her face – it seemed that all her wounds there were superficial. For a moment, she seemed to stare blankly at him. Squall found it slightly disturbing, but decided it could be a residual side effect from surviving the blast. It also appeared as if she had already been battling turmoil within herself. Then, all of a sudden, she tensed up. It was cliché description, but it fit – she was like a deer in headlights. Then just as quickly she turned her head away from both men.

"I-I can't… I'm sorry." It seemed very difficult for her to even say those words as she avoided eye contact with either of them.

"Understand, this isn't a choice," Squall stated firmly.

He tried to grant her some leeway, but there was something she was holding back. He didn't have time to play the games. This wasn't a round of 'twenty questions' where he'd keep guessing until he just so happened to stumble on the right answer and Seifer could stand there being the team cheerleader. Every second that ticked by was valuable time. If the girl truly was innocent, she should understand the severity of the situation.

"You don't understand... I really can't," she replied with a little more intonation in her voice.

"You seem to be the one not understanding." This time, he was extremely serious. Again, he didn't have time for this shit. This is why he didn't do initial witness interviews – he'd only 'lucked out' this time. Even still, he had this strange feeling that her lack of willingness went back to the presence of Detective Almasy. This wasn't 'good cop - bad cop,' it was about getting the facts efficiently and accurately.

Suddenly, Squall's line of sight was blocked as the other man moved, obstructing his view. "Can I speak with you a moment."

"I'm in the middle of something right now."

"Thank you for stating that Agent Obvious. I just need a few moments of your precious time." Seifer reached over grabbing the arm of the other man, much to his dismay. Vehemently, Squall brushed off the contact and twisted away.

"Don't touch me," the agent warned with more emotion than he had showed since his arrival.

"Sensitive aren't we?" quipped Seifer as he led them around to the front of the vehicle.

"You do understand that I was assigned for a reason and not a satellite agent?"

"I don't care how wonderful you think you are. All I know is what you're being right now..." Seifer commented backhandedly. "And I know if you want any information from her, you'll have to show some sensitivity, even if you have to swallow your pride and fake it. She just watched two people die – one blown to bloody bits... She isn't like us. This is all overwhelming to her. And you coming in acting like she's the one on trial… that isn't going to ease her mind right now."

"We don't know if she isn't on trial. She did manage to survive a fatal blast with only a few bruises."

Seifer raised his hands in mock surrender. "So much for innocent until proven guilty. Remind me not to have you on my side if I need any help."

Squall took a deep, cleansing breath. He honestly didn't want to get into some verbal argument with this guy, although that seemed inevitable. "If you want the case handled right, then you better hope that I'm on your side, not against you. I'm sorry if my presence is disturbing your flirting with the suspect-"

"Witness! She is a witness!" Seifer defended.

Squall ignored the interruption, "But, right now, I have a job to do and I will do it to the best of my ability. Coddling some girl just because she has a pretty face isn't how this works."

With that, Seifer smirked even bigger and with a hoarse laugh replied, "Thought so."

Squall didn't give a damn what this man 'thought.' To continue this line of questioning would be playing into his game, giving the local officer the upper hand, at least mentally. "Listen Almasy, I want to question the witness without distraction. I will promise to act in a professional and courteous manner, if you promise that we can work civilly together. This isn't about our issues, it's about the facts."

"Fine," Seifer reluctantly agreed.

As much as he had a natural distain for this 'Agent Leonhart', he sensed that he was good at what he did. He also sensed he was a walking asshole carrying a badge and wearing an overpriced suit and sunglasses – but that opinion was neither here nor there. Seifer may not be some federal agent, but he'd worked his way up the ranks up through Timber PD. He also had a hunch and over the years he found his gut an extremely valuable asset – if his colleagues weren't poisoning him with bad fish. Some of Seifer's methods were questionable; in fact, he'd built a paper fort out of his disciplinary actions to irritate his sergeant. Still, having someone who played by the rules might be the balance he needed… either that or his paper fort may be getting ready for expansion.

Squall started to head back, but Seifer wanted to make one important comment.

"Fed-boy, her name is Heartilly, Rinoa Heartilly... not the witness and certainly not the suspect."

"We'll see," Squall added mentally, but found for the better part of cooperation to keep that comment to himself.

He had no idea what he'd end up calling her when this is over - not that it would matter. She was part of endless cycle and, in a few weeks, she'd be just another name in a closed file.