THE THIRD WAR

Come Back

2013-08-06T13:17:33Z

Title: Come Back (Part 3)
Rating: R
Summary: Quistis tries to convince Seifer why she needs him.
Notes: Could follow up with a sequel. Sorry this took so damn long. This was a bear to write. May go over the 5,000 word limit, but I didn't quite know how to end the chapter. Also available on fanfiction.net.
Music: "My Skin" by Natalie Merchant

Quistis had never felt so relieved to see the little abandoned town, nested along a few low hills, now bare, up ahead. By now the SeeDs occupying Winhill would have seen them coming; no doubt Seifer and Quistis were in the sights of their snipers. Once they drew closer, though, she knew that the SeeDs would stand down and they would let her through.

She still didn’t really know what to say to them about Seifer. He wasn’t a SeeD. Technically, he was a traitor. Either way, it didn’t really matter at this point.

The journey with Seifer was, for the most part, incredibly complicated. He barely uttered a syllable to her, and would only give her one-word answers if she asked him a question. After three weeks, she was at a complete loss. It didn’t appear as if he was going to leave, especially after going through so much trouble to trek through the Galbadian countryside, but he wasn’t making the situation any easier with his silence. She didn’t know if he was angry at her, or simply lost in thought all the time, or wanted to be left alone, or was even going through some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder, or what. She’d realized that she didn’t know this Seifer Almasy at all. The Seifer Almasy she knew was an obnoxious bully; a pretentious jock who always had a smart-ass comment about everything. Now, she was with a completely different person, changed by the war.

Had she changed?

She realized that she must have, because she possessed an unending abundance of patience with him. She was quiet with him; she wouldn’t dare boss him. The old Quistis always knew what to do and say. The old Quistis would always give out instructions or orders. The old Quistis would bottle her emotions. And ever since the Second War, she put up a wall that seemed to have frozen solid over time, especially after she assumed the role of Commander.

Okay. So maybe she hadn’t changed all that much.

But she had changed enough to know that nothing would ever be the same without Seifer. She had to make things right.
She was frustrated that he wasn’t speaking to her, but she was still grateful that he was finally with her. Over eight years ago, she would only last so long with him in her classroom before snapping back with her own know-it-all, haughty response and giving him another detention. She shook her head when she thought about her days as an instructor. So naïve. She thought she’d known everything. She thought she could actually teach them something about war. As if Seifer’s attitude in class was the worst of her problems back then.

I’ve been such a fool.

She’d give anything to have those days back. She’d give anything just to hear a few words from him, even if they were meant to cut her down.

Seifer’s silence gave her plenty of time to think about everything that had happened, and it wasn’t hard to conjure up the painful past of him pointing his weapon at them, threatening to kill them all to appease the sorceress, to hunt down the SeeDs like dogs and wipe them all out…

She blamed herself. If she’d only tried with him…but she gave her attention to the wrong person…

Quistis wanted to scream. All this silence lead to thinking…and all the thinking led to…more thinking, and…

She couldn’t stop thinking about the night there was a Chimera on the other side of the rocks, yards from where they were sleeping.
They could have dispatched a Chimera easily. They normally didn’t travel in packs, and if there was more than one, it’d be in pairs…
Maybe he didn’t want to risk making noise? There were things that travelled by night, and it wasn’t wise to attract attention.

She closed her eyes and sighed. His breath on her neck…his body on top of hers…his face inches away…

She swallowed and stared ahead at Winhill. Childish. Those feelings were immature and stupid.

That incident created an unbearable tension that had just built over days, however. Whenever they washed, or changed clothes, or fought, or did anything, Quistis was acutely aware of every little move he made, or didn’t make. She would catch herself glancing over at him when he took his shirt off after a hot, dusty day, or how he’d spit on the ground after killing a monster and haul his gunblade over his shoulder, muscles flexing, eyes narrowed, focused, unforgiving.

She stole a glance at him while they were walking. A scowl was etched on his face as he stared ahead at the town. She looked forward again to see three SeeDs walking towards them, guns held ready but not quite pointing directly at them.

“Just stay with me,” she told Seifer softly. “They won’t question you. They won’t provoke you. As long as they see you with me, they’ll let you through.”

Seifer didn’t even bother to look at her. “Whatever you say, instructor.”

She let out a defeated sigh and remained silent.

She had her chance; there were so many opportunities to talk to him, to try to get close to him, to do something, even if it was apologizing to him over and over and getting him to laugh at her and call her weak and stupid and pathetic, but she couldn’t muster the courage to risk setting off his temper. Now they’d arrived at Winhill, which was occupied by at least a hundred SeeDs under her command. The minute they set foot in the town she’d have to assume her role as Commander immediately, her duty and obligations would take priority, and she’d have no more chances to speak to him in private.

They were near the front gates that led to the main road. Two SeeDs had already flanked the road, weapons ready, but Quistis recognized the third SeeD, her second-in-command she’d left in charge of the town, who strode up toward her and saluted. She returned a quick salute back and kept walking towards the inn, at the center of the town square, where their temporary headquarters were located. The SeeDs fell in line with them without a word and Quistis stole a quick glance behind her to make sure that Seifer was still there. He was.

“Commander,” her second-in-command nodded. “You’re safe. For a while you had us thinking the worst.”

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t risk contacting any of you. You knew what I had to do.”

The SeeD stole a glance at Seifer, who returned a menacing glare. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Any news since I’ve been gone?”

“No, ma’am. It’s been quiet on our front, for the most part. No word from Base.”

“No news is good news, I suppose. I don’t want to be far from Timber for much longer, though. We need to head back east as soon as possible. There’s not much we can do from Winhill at this point, anyway.”

“Understood.”

“How are you doing on supplies?”

“Running low on a few provisions, but nothing critical. Several cadets need to be relieved soon. They’ve been pulling 48-hour shifts. We’re running a bit thin here. This place is starting to make my troops crawl.”

Quistis looked around and sighed. “I know.”

Winhill used to be a beautiful, charming little town. Upon their arrival, the SeeDs had found it abandoned and most of the buildings ransacked, but everything still stood. It was like a ghost town. There were no signs of the townsfolk…anywhere.

…until a scout found nothing but a pile of bones and torn, old and brown-bloodied clothes in a field full of dying wildflowers, on the outskirts of town. The sorceress had rounded them all up for what looked like a meal for her monsters.

Quistis managed to keep her stony glare steady for three hours, keeping watch as her SeeDs dug a mass grave to bury the bones. She didn’t retch until she was alone, in her room, at the abandoned inn.

She glanced at the second-in-command. “Are they fit to travel?”

“They should be.”

“How soon can you rally them for departure?”

“Within the next hour, if you want. More than enough of us have had plenty of rest.”

“Good. Eighteen hours, then. Prepare them accordingly. We leave tomorrow morning before sunup. Have them ready in the courtyard.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They all entered the town and walked towards the inn, which the SeeDs had taken over for housing. SeeDs were posted along the street, watching the entrance to the buildings and patrolling the town. Several SeeDs remained unseen, posing as scouts and snipers. She relayed orders and dismissed their escorts, who parted from the group and went their separate ways to alert the other SeeDs of the plan. Quistis rubbed the back of her neck and continued towards the inn. Her headquarters was located in the town hall across the cobblestone courtyard, but she would speak to her subordinates first thing in the morning. All she wanted to do was to get inside her room, flop over on the bed, and attempt to sleep, which she knew wasn’t going to happen. Seifer stalked behind her, taking in the scene around him but never saying a word.

As soon as Quistis reached the entrance to the inn, two SeeDs on guard saluted and stepped forward to begin searching Seifer for weapons. She held up her hand. “There’s no need to do that. He’s staying with me.”

The SeeDs looked apprehensive. “All the more reason to check him, Commander - ”

“I trust him with my life,” she replied flatly, “so you should do the same. He keeps his weapons, and he is granted access to all advanced-level junctions immediately.”

Seifer blinked at Quistis in surprise, then recovered quickly and scowled at the cadet. “I’m gonna need Triple, Flare, Ultima, Firaga, and all the white magics. Now.”

“We…we only have Firaga, Flare, and a few white magics on hand, sir.”

Seifer narrowed his eyes, then glanced at Quistis.

“We’re running low,” she explained quietly. “It took a lot of resources to come this far, and it’s too dangerous to find a draw point. They’re being watched. We have to go back to base first thing in the morning to regroup and restock.”

This information seemed to make Seifer even angrier. He cast the cadet a dark glare. “Just give me what you have.”

The SeeDs immediately complied, and once Seifer was loaded with as much magic they could give him, Quistis walked through the main lobby, trudged up the stairs and led him down the hall. At the end of the hall was a window, which was also being guarded by a SeeD. After passing a few rooms, she opened the door to her right and led Seifer inside.

The room used to be a charming little suite, with a four-poster bed and double doors that opened up to a balcony, but all the curtains had been removed and the sheets and pillows were gone. Seifer glanced over to the adjoining bathroom. There was no shower curtain.

“You’ll be staying in here,” she motioned. “There aren’t any blankets, but it’s been so mild out that you probably won’t need any. We still have running water but it’s not heated. There’s no soap, so I’m afraid you’ll have to wait to have a real shower until we get to Timber.”

Seifer looked around and set his jaw, saying nothing.

“I don’t know about towels, either,” she strode over to a closet and checked, but it was empty. “When we got here, the place was pretty much stripped bare, probably from other wanderers looking for food and shelter, so there’s not much here we can use besides our SeeD gear.”

He nodded and crossed his arms. “S’fine.”

Quistis walked to the door, paused, and turned to look at him. “I’ll be right next door,” she told him softly. “I’ll probably be up all night. I’ve got battle plans and maps all over the place. If…if you want to come and take a look, or if you have questions…or if you need to be debriefed…you know…you can come in anytime you want.”

He watched her.

“Or even…” She shrugged. “If you…your input is valuable, so I wouldn’t mind if you had any suggestions about…” She licked her lips and looked away. “…About what’s ahead.”

He didn’t respond.

They stared at each other for an uncomfortable pause and Quistis fidgeted. She crossed her arms and looked at the floor. After a moment, she looked back up at him.

“I’m glad you’re here, Seifer. I really am.”

He cocked his head, as if he didn’t hear her right. Slowly, very slowly, he walked up to her…closer, closer, until he was standing over her, staring down at her, challenging her silently, wanting her to prove it, once and for all. She watched him warily, almost hopefully, and he saw her breathing pick up as her chest moved up and down, even though he knew she was trying to hide it. She glanced down at his lips, then back up to his eyes, but did nothing.

He narrowed his eyes. She was afraid.

He moved to grab the doorknob and opened the door, pulling it with an abrupt squeak, and glared at her.

Quistis swallowed and looked down. “…Right. I’ll…um…see you tomorrow, then.”

. . . . .

The minute Quistis walked out, Seifer closed the door behind her. He didn’t slam it. But he wasn’t quiet about it, either.

Angrily, he strode to the bathroom, stripped bare, turned the shower knob, and exhaled with a deep breath and a low growl from under the icy cold blast of water. He bent his head into the stream of water, not caring if it had a brownish tint to it, and ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the temperature. He rubbed the grime from the back of his neck, leaned against the tile wall, stared at the drain, and spat.

Fucking Quistis. Why didn’t she do anything? She never took the initiative. Never. Not even here, not even now, after all the bullshit she said. He was tired of throwing the brick-sized hints at her head. He was tired of always trying to get her attention. Eight years ago that’s all he did in her classroom. Eight years ago he’d laid it on thick, and she was still fucking oblivious. Obviously nothing’s changed.

Well. At least she hasn’t. He was done with the innuendos; that was for fucking sure. He never spoke to her because, really, what could he fucking say? He didn’t want to talk about the war. He didn’t want to talk about how he spent his life afterwards. He’d been through hell and back and wasn’t about to revisit the good ol’ days from Garden. Those days were long dead. The last thing he wanted to do was pick up right where he left off in Quistis’s classroom. Like hell he would. Like she would even fucking notice. Not like she noticed Squall.

It took all his self-control and well-trained efforts, however, not to do anything when she was damn near naked in front of him every day. After everything that had happened, he thought he could never possibly feel again – feel anything – but then there she was, knocking on his door and asking him to come back. Telling him that she’d been looking for him all this time. Telling him that he mattered to her. Telling him that she really did care for him.

…Fighting along his side. Washing her arms and torso in the streams they found, putting her clothes out to dry. Wiping the sweat from her bare neck. Glancing up at him every now and then from across the small campfire. Breathing soft and steady at night, even though he knew she couldn’t sleep...

Mother fuck.

On top of that, every single fucking day his memories had haunted him; not only those of the Second War and the stupid fucking decisions he’d made, but also because he never really could stop thinking about her. Hadn’t she ever realized that it was all for her? He’d wanted to prove himself, and if a stupid fucking SeeD field exam wouldn’t do it, he knew he’d had to go above and beyond anything SeeDs have ever done in their miserable little lives.

Or so he thought.

As soon as the word boy came out of Edea’s lips, he knew he’d made a huge mistake, but he was too hardheaded and too prideful to turn back. It was a sick and twisted combination of his own indecision, his deepest desire to prove his importance, and Ultimecia’s control over him that he ended up following every single order she gave him.

Ironic.

It took an entire year of madness and blood and death and torture, and in the end, Quistis was further from him than she ever was before. He’d been on the brink of madness himself, and the only ones capable of pulling him out of his own misery and despair were Fujin and Raijin. He’d finally given up on Garden, though, and her, and drifted around the country in a meager, feeble attempt to keep the remaining pieces of his life stitched together and stayed out of the public eye.

But then she was there, in front of him, like some sort of sick joke, suddenly spilling her guts to him, suddenly tearing his right out all over again.

Those were fucking words, though. Not action. He wanted her to prove it. She’d just refused to act upon a golden opportunity, and now he was convinced that she’d just flat-out lied to him to get him to come back. He followed her to Winhill like a Hynedamned lovesick puppy.

…And why in the fuck did she endanger herself, anyway, to find him? Her team was spread thin and they were almost out of damn magic. Shit, half the SeeD specialists were only as good as their magic. What the fuck was Quistis thinking?

The more he thought about her, the more enraged he became.

He faced the stream of water, letting the cold engulf him, then he dipped his head and spat again, ignoring the goosebumps and instead lingered, wanting to go numb. He ran a hand through his hair and wondered if he should just leave, tonight, and fuck all the SeeDs who got in his way, he was fucking done with all of them anyway –

There was a small sound, like a shifting of fabric, close by that made Seifer stand at rigid attention, fists clenched, ready to attack or defend, whatever was standing just outside the bathroom door, which he’d left gaping open.

Quistis was standing there, watching him. And she’d slipped out of every article of clothing she had, leaving it on the floor behind her. She was completely naked.

He blinked and stared for a moment, not knowing what to do with this completely unexpected scenario, wondering if this was actually a figment of his already shattered imagination.

She slowly approached the tub and stepped in, watching him carefully. Seifer turned to watch her, keeping his back to the water. She sucked in a small breath and ignored the piercing cold water as she looked up at him.

He stared at her, bewildered, but not without caution.

She placed both her hands on his chest and moved toward him, slowly lifting herself on tiptoe to give him a chaste kiss.

Seifer watched her intently, but did not return the kiss.

She continued to kiss him slowly, first on the upper lip, then on the lower one, then on both, all the while gliding her hands down his chest, past his stomach...and he didn’t kiss her back, still watching her in wary disbelief, eyes slightly narrowed, trying to ignore the ache and surging stiffness from her touch…her skin…

He tried to hide it, but he felt his heartbeat and breaths quicken when she touched him, caressed him, and kissed him again, ignoring his skeptical look, ignoring the fact that he still hadn’t kissed her back. Her tongue came out timidly and brushed his bottom lip, and she took one of his hands and slid it in front of her, slowly pushing his palm down low, using her fingers to guide his into her, and she was wet and warm, and she looked up at him boldly and sighed into his lips, kissing him softly again.

He swallowed and slid his other hand slowly up her back, stepping forward a bit to push her up against the shower wall, teased her with his finger before reaching up and caressing a nipple, then softly touched her arm…grabbed it in need to hold her close…his other hand sliding up the back of her neck…he stepped closer, feeling himself rub up against her, and she sighed…he looked down at her and his lips hovered over hers…

…and he grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked her head back forcefully.

Quistis let out a sharp gasp.

He gripped her arm firmly and glared at her, their faces inches from each other. “What are you trying to do?”

Quistis had expected this. She remained calm and replied softly, “Nothing.” She slowly resumed moving her hands over him, touching him, stroking him…

He was so cold that he was almost numb; but she was inches from him, teasing him, making his blood run hot, clouding up his senses…

It figured. Only when he was around Quistis could he feel hot and cold at the exact same time.

He sneered at her, trying to ignore her touch. He gave her hair another quick yank and replied, “Liar.”

“You said it yourself,” she replied, wincing. “I’ve ignored you long enough. I never told you how I felt. Well, I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of the rules and regulations. I’m tired of putting on a mask. Now that you’re back, I’m not going to let it happen ever again - ”

He refused to believe her. Seifer’s grip on her tightened and he pressed her into the cold tile wall, trying to ignore her nakedness against his. “What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?”

“I just told you. Why else would I be doing this, Seifer?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why here? Why now?”

“I wanted to give you your space…I didn’t want to make you angry - ”

Seifer curled his lip. “You waited to lure me all the way out here - ”

“No!”

“ – and now that I’m here, you’re going to lure me even further to Esthar - ”

“You made the decision to come, Seifer,” she challenged. “You could have very well ignored me, and I was telling you the truth - ”

It was because she’d been telling him the truth the entire time his frustration and anger had festered even more. He just couldn’t comprehend that after everything he’d done, after all the lives he’d taken and the damage he’d caused, that she would still have feelings for him. The feelings he’d had for her were still there, but after she’d confessed to him, it was almost as if he needed to push her away again for her own protection.

Don’t come after me. Don’t find me. Don’t care about me. I’m ruined. I’m damaged. I’ll only hurt you…

She cared about him. It was so foreign and so rare for someone to give him the time of day, let alone have Quistis standing in front of him naked, that he didn’t know what to do. His reaction was anger – mostly because he was enraged at his own bewilderment, but also because she damn near risked her life for nothing, and she was already driving him mad with her lips, and her hands, and her body -

“Only took you eight years,” he snarled, his face inches from hers.

“I spent most of those years looking for you,” she replied breathlessly, looking directly into his eyes. “And it took me eight years because you’re the one who ran.”

His nostrils flared and he tightened his fingers around the fistful of hair, making her wince again, but Quistis didn’t drop her gaze.

“Don’t turn this around and blame it on me,” she continued. “I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work - ”

“What am I trying to do, Trepe?”

“Push me away. Keep me at a distance. Place blame. Act like you don’t care. But no matter what you do, it won’t change anything. It won’t change how I feel about you.”

He stared at her.

She looked up at him, her voice low. “Not this time. I’m not leaving.”

His jaw muscles worked. His resolve was shrinking. He slowly shook his head and tried to find a reason she could be lying. His voice was thick, however, and he managed to murmur, “…Why?”

Because I love you. She knew that saying it was too cliché and too abrupt and too affectionate for someone like Seifer. It was too hasty of an explanation for only seeing him the first time in eight years. He wouldn’t believe her if she said something to him like that, even if it was the truth. Instead, she told him a different way, using language he’d be able to understand.

“Because for the second time in our lives, we’re at war,” Quistis continued, her eyes never leaving his, “and this time, I’m not going to let you go. If I’m going to die fighting another sorceress, I won’t do it without you. I can’t do it without you. I should have told you then, like I’m telling you now. I won’t die without you by my side.”

There was another long pause as he stared at her. Her previous words popped into his head.

I trust him with my life.

“…It’s too late for me, Quistis,” he murmured.

To his surprise, she smiled. It was a bitter smile. Tears pricked at her eyes. “It’s too late for all of us, Seifer,” she whispered.

His jaw muscles worked and he seemed to be struggling with a response. Quistis lifted a hand, ran her fingers along the back of his neck, and gripped his short hair. She nuzzled her nose against his.

“Just kiss me.”

Finally, with a resigned grunt, he did as he was told and crushed his lips to hers, kissing her hard and long, parting her lips with his tongue and pressing deep. She responded with just as much need, her breathing heavy, pushing back against him, using a hand to grip him lower and tease. Emitting another low rumble, he grabbed her thigh, lifted her, and pushed her against the tile wall, entering her almost forcefully, prompting Quistis to emit a sharp gasp, but she dug her nails into his back and thrust her hips out, giving him leverage, and he went deeper. She breathed into his ear and lifted an arm to grab the shower curtain rod. With each of Seifer’s hard, desperate thrusts, Quistis felt her body scoot higher and higher up the wall, so she lifted her other leg and put her foot in the empty soap dish. He clutched her tightly and kissed her roughly, biting her shoulders and neck, sucking her breasts, then went to her mouth, groaning, pushing harder, even deeper, and making her wince but pushing back against him just as hard. She whimpered, he let out a shaky breath, she sighed, and he grunted, both of them holding each other tightly, never wanting to let go, wanting to feel each other, frustration and pleasure and pain written on both of their faces.

They were tired and dirty, exhausted and fatigued from the trip, and breathing hard from the difficult effort it took from their position in the shower, but neither of them cared. They buried themselves in each other, wrapped around and pressed into one another, embracing the here and the now and how nothing else mattered. After several long minutes, he felt her tighten around him and she let out a choked moan, and he gripped her hips with both hands and went as deep as he could possibly go, squeezing his eyes shut and emitting a low growl into her chest with his own release.

They remained there for a long moment, trying to catch up, neither of them wanting to move. Quistis buried her face in his neck, and Seifer squeezed her even tighter.

Slowly, hesitantly, Seifer lowered Quistis down and turned to face the icy blast of water, grabbed the knob, and twisted. The stream of water slowed to a halt and the pipes groaned and rattled for a split second, then Seifer turned back to Quistis and kissed her softly, cold water dripping from his face and hair. It was only then they both realized just how tired – and cold – they were. Wordlessly, they left the bathroom, dried off with the SeeD clothing they had, laid the clothes out to dry, and as Quistis made her way to the bed, Seifer stood near the window, which was still wide open, and glared out towards the dark sky.

She slowly got back up and padded over to him.

He let out an aggravated sigh, his jaw muscles working. “The moon’s out.”

“…I know.”

“She’s moving.”

Quistis nodded and looked down. “…I know.”

There was a long pause.

Seifer narrowed his eyes up at the sky. “…Fuckin’ hate the moon.”

Quistis glanced up at him. He meant the Lunar Cry. It was the first time in a very long time he made any mention, any hint, of the Second War. She suddenly felt very sad for him, watching his expression as he glared at the moon, which was mostly shrouded in clouds again. She slowly walked up to him and leaned into his back, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and sighed at the back of his neck, making little goosebumps prickle along his nape.

After a moment, Seifer closed the shutters, took Quistis by the hand, and led her over to the bed, lying down and wrapping his arm around her as she tucked herself next to him, putting her head on his chest.

Neither of them slept through the night, but the intermittent dozing was better than what they had in months. It was possible they’d never be able to have each other again, and it was almost as if they didn’t want to sleep now that they were in each other’s arms, but at least for that one night, they both had peace.

Come Back

2012-04-21T22:13:38Z

Title: Come Back (Part 2)
Rating: R
Summary: Quistis tries to convince Seifer why she needs him.
Notes: Set several months into the war. Planning on doing this in three parts, but it could be more. Also available on Fanfiction.net.
Music: "Silhouette of a Life" by 10 Years

Two weeks and three days. Quistis had been keeping track. It had been over two weeks since they departed for Winhill. They had almost a month to go, and she didn't know how they were going to last.

She wasn't worried about survival. She'd brought enough provisions. She'd brought enough food. If necessary, they'd hunt something edible and roast it over a small fire. They were skilled enough to know how to survive out in the field, evade enemies, and fight off monsters.

Survival was easy. Surviving each other, however, had proven to be an uphill battle.

Quistis thought that the hardest part would be to face him…to convince him to come back…to get him to listen. That night, she was sure that she'd failed completely in that regard, but after several hours sitting near the campfire alone, she suddenly found herself staring straight at him. He came. He didn't offer a reason, and he wouldn't engage in the small talk at all, but he came.

"Don't fuckin' ask me why I followed you," he pointed at her menacingly. "As a matter of fact, don't even say anything if you want me to come with you." He lifted his hand and pinched his index finger against his thumb. "I'm already this close to changing my mind, so don't even think about asking me any questions about my deep, dark past. I'm here and that's that, so don't get all bitchy and naggy with me just because you're the Commander. I won't take orders from you, got that? I'm not one of you. Don't expect me to act like one of your students, and I'm not your personal bodyguard, either, understand?"

All she could do was nod and purse her lips. She dared not speak. She was still in shock that he was even there, talking to her. After he was finished barking out his frustration, he stared at her angrily with his arms crossed, expecting her to retort something smart.

There was an immensely long pause.

That night, she'd let him do and say whatever the hell he wanted, as long as it meant he was coming back with her. She wasn't going to argue.

She glanced at her rucksack and motioned hesitantly. "…Would you like something to eat?"

He seemed surprised at this response. "…Yeah. I'm fuckin' starving."

Two weeks and three days. They walked across the desolate field in single file to hide their numbers and somewhat mask the footprints. An enemy wouldn't bother following a single track. It had to have been at least midday, but there was still no sun. The wind blew dust and dead grass across the land – it must've been a wheat field or prairie at one point in time – but it wasn't hot like a desert and only got a little chilly at night. They were in a temperate zone, for the most part, and it was towards the beginning of the fall season. Quistis was behind Seifer, staring at his back as he walked, lost in thought, wondering how on earth she'd be able to put up with this for one more month.

For the first few days of their journey she was ecstatic, despite his sour attitude, which she had expected anyway. What did it matter? She finally found him, she was finally able to speak to him, she had told him the truth, and he came.

…But what did that mean, exactly? Did he come because he wanted a piece of glory? Did he want to be a part of the war? Or did he come because of what she said to him…how she felt? Well, she didn't say it outright, but it was implied, and surely he must've understood.

…Right?

"You want to know why I did all those things? You really want to know? Because I liked you, that's why. Yeah, there, I fuckin' said it, but who the fuck cares? That was years ago. What difference can that possibly make now?"

It was the way he said it. He made it sound so inconsequential. He made it sound as if he really could care less now. Besides, he was right; it had been over eight years. They'd been through so much since then; anything that could have happened between them – but didn't – was before the Second War and seemed like ancient history now. Besides, by the way he was acting, it was almost as if she was the inconvenience. A pebble in his shoe. It was entirely possible that he didn't come for her at all.

She thought that the hardest part would be to get him to come back. Now she realized that was actually the easy part. The hardest part was this. They had gone north on foot for days on end in complete silence. Seifer refused to engage in conversation with her, and she was too nervous to say something wrong and set him off. It was becoming clear, however, that he wasn't happy about his own decision, and she was afraid that one morning he would glare at her like he usually did, take a piece of freeze-dried food in contempt for the umpteenth time, finally shout "Fuck this," and turn right around and leave. With Seifer Almasy, it was definitely possible. It was almost like taking care of a wild animal that could turn on her at any time. She practically tip-toed around him as if he was a Propagator.

To make things worse, old habits die hard. Seifer Almasy used to be the enemy. He was a war criminal. She didn't want to turn her back on him. At the same time, she didn't want to let him think that she didn't trust him, because the moment he sensed that would be the moment he'd find an excuse to leave.

She had to constantly remind herself that he had nowhere to go to, and even if he did try to leave, she would just convince him otherwise. Again.

Nevertheless, there was nothing she could say to lighten his mood. There was nothing she was willing to risk saying, either, to try to engage him. She figured that he would eventually cool down and start asking questions about the upcoming battles, where SeeD was stationed right now, what was going on with the other nations, and how long they were going to stay in Winhill before moving out.

But he didn't. He didn't ask her one question.

The silence was awkward, and maddening, and uncomfortable, and disconcerting…and she was left only with her endless thoughts. Having Seifer by her side wasn't helping. She hadn't seen him in…

Eight years.

It had been eight years since she last saw him, and now that he was here, she didn't quite know what to do next. She was the Commander of Garden, one of the highest ranking SeeDs on this planet, a seasoned mercenary and Blue Mage, tossed back into warfare and charged to protect humanity against the sorceress…

…and she couldn't stop the nervous fluttering in her chest. Eight years had hardened her mentality, her self-discipline, her poise, and she promised herself never to feel – at least feel in that kind of way – again. You'll be fine, she told herself. There's nothing he can do to you now.

It was a lie, of course. Her resolve shrunk back to practically nothing once he had opened the door and stared at her in angry shock.

Eight years, and now they were shoved into intimate circumstances almost too soon, too fast. They were suddenly eating together, walking together, fighting together, sleeping within very close proximity, and even performing mundane daily routines together, like changing clothes, washing, brushing teeth, and…

Quistis swallowed. "I have to stop."

Seifer halted, sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and turned to glare at her. A shadow of a beard was growing on his hard cheeks. "Again? I thought you just went."

"That was two hours ago. Keep watch."

"Whatever. You've got a bladder the size of a pea, Trepe."

It was probably the longest conversation they'd had in hours.

She trotted off towards a dead tree fifteen to twenty yards away and slipped behind it, letting out an aggravated sigh as she pulled her pants down.

Thank Hyne there was a tree this time. Last time there was nothing as far as the eye could see. She had to make Seifer turn around, but it didn't matter. He could still hear her, and she'd never been so embarrassed in her entire life. He never looked, he never grinned…he didn't even quip a dirty joke. She was thankful for his discretion, but the whole situation was just incredibly uncomfortable and made her feel flat-out vulnerable. When he was her student, no doubt he would laugh and point and the onslaught of endless degrading remarks would ensue. Now…there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Sometimes his silence bothered her…it only served as a painful reminder of how much they were forced to shed their childhood so early on.

Seifer, of course, didn't care. When he had to go, he'd stop, pull his waistline down, and go right there with his back to her. Quistis was almost jealous. For some reason, it was never embarrassing when guys did it.

It wasn't just the bathroom breaks that were uncomfortable. They only had room for a limited amount of clothing, and to keep everything dry, they would have to remove their sweaty clothes at the end of a warm day and lay them flat or hang them on a tree or boulder, if such shelter was available. The practicality was necessary, and they were soldiers, but this was…different. When Quistis turned her back on Seifer to slip out of her armor, SeeD jacket, undershirt and bra to replace them with something to sleep in, she knew he was probably looking. When Seifer did the same, she would unconsciously glance over and then look away just as fast, but not before catching a glimpse at his bare back or chest.

He slept in a pair of military-grade, moisture-wicking boxer briefs that she'd given him, without a shirt on, usually on his back.

Some nights he would lay with his back to her.

She slept in a thin tank top with the same moisture-wicking briefs made for women, on the opposite side of the tiny campfire. On nice, temperate nights without a breeze, it was too hot to stay in a sleeping bag. It was silly, but she felt completely exposed if she wasn't covered up. She was essentially wearing underwear.

She would always lay with her back to him, and most nights she couldn't sleep.

If they came across any freshwater spring or small lake – most of which had dried up – they would use the water to refill their canteens and wash the grime from their bodies. She was too disciplined – or maybe embarrassed – to look over at him, so she could never tell by making eye contact, but she thought that once or twice she felt his eyes on her. Again, Quistis felt ridiculous for feeling so self-conscious – she was a soldier, dammit – but stripping down to her bra and briefs to splash water up her arms and legs right in front of Seifer Almasy brought old, old childish feelings back up from the depths until they were painfully fresh again.

She'd always known that she had returned his feelings long ago, but the feelings were too subtle to recognize. Junctioning a GF muddied the waters – at the time, she couldn't quite understand where the feelings were coming from – and it seemed wrong, on so many levels, to have a crush on one of her students.

Those feelings were further complicated when he acted like a complete asshole in class. She shifted her attention to Squall instead, to focus on something else, but that had obviously made the situation worse, not to mention awkward.

Those feelings were even further complicated when he had been branded a traitor and turned into a war criminal.

Those feelings had bubbled up so many times, but she pushed them back down and simply buried them, ignored them, told them that they were unnatural, that they didn't have a place in her heart anymore.

If they came across a monster, SeeD instinct would kick in and they would automatically know what to do; alternating attacks, healing each other if needed, identifying the enemy's weak spots and communicating to each other about where to attack, what to do next, mode of elimination, et cetera. Sometimes an encounter with a monster would be the only time they really talked to each other. Quistis found Seifer smiling sometimes, taunting his enemy, lifting his gunblade up with one arm as if it was as light as the wooden sword he used to swing, his attacks fluid and sure, his expression set in a determined glare, not even breaking a sweat or breathing hard. Sometimes she caught him watching her as she lifted Save the Queen and swirled it around her body to deliver the final blows, bringing it down with a hard snap; one quick motion, almost less than a second, her arm muscles flexing furiously and then nothing but the whip tearing through flesh or scales or bone. Sometimes he wouldn't watch the monster at all.

Every night they would eat in silence, then the sweaty daytime clothing would be shed and they would lay with their backs to each other, and start the same routine all over again the next day.

The tension was suffocating.

Two weeks and three days.

They stopped and made camp as soon as it started getting darker. There weren't any trees, abandoned farmhouses, or isolated boulders that they could take shelter next to, but there were plenty of large rocks scattered around. Sleeping completely out in the open was a terrible idea, but continuing on foot in the dark to find something suitable was even worse, so they had no choice. Like most nights, they gathered the rocks together and arranged them in a crescent-shape only a few feet high to protect the tiny camp. Seifer had taken his sleeping spot at the exposed end, where the rock circle broke, so Quistis slept inside the circle, with the fire between them.

That night, she lay on her back, wishing the clouds would part so she could see the stars. The night was bleak and dark, as always, and the only illumination they had was from a small campfire they set up earlier in the evening. They dared not cook and ate only freeze-dried military food in order to avoid any prowling monsters sniffing around; the fire was only there to somewhat provide light and warmth to the camp. Quistis let out a deep sigh and stared up into the darkness, thinking about nothing in particular, for what seemed like hours.

Automatically, before she could stop herself, she turned her head to glance at him.

He was on his side, but his back wasn't turned to her. Instead, he was still awake, and he was looking right at her.

She blinked.

They stared at each other for a soft moment. Nothing was really written on either of their faces; just shared weariness, probably pain, thoughts of the past, thoughts of the present, thoughts of what was to come…

Quistis felt like she should say something to him. Anything. She paused. Her lips parted and she took a small breath, but before she could speak, he rolled over to sleep with his back to her.

. . .

She couldn't remember the dream, but there was growling in it. Seifer drifted in and out of it, shouting angry threats at them, lifting his gunblade and taunting them, injured and tired and his grey trench coat in tatters, but she couldn't reach out to help him. The growling came back, followed by a soft hiss, and then a smoky smell.

She was awake in an instant when a hand clamped over her mouth and something heavy pressed down on her.

She almost erupted with a Blue Magic spell, but held back once she realized it was Seifer's weight pressing down on her. She was staring up at his face, inches away from hers, but his brows were pinched down in concern and his eyes locked with hers, his index finger pressed against his lips, and she already knew what he was telling her.

Shhhhhh.

Something was near the camp. Whatever it was, it made another malevolent growling sound, and there was shuffling only a few yards away.

Seifer had put a palm to her mouth to prevent her from making any noise once he woke her up, and he had slid up and pressed his weight upon her because he knew that she would attack him in automatic retaliation otherwise, which would make noise as well.

She nodded at him to indicate that she understood, and he slowly removed his hand from her mouth and lifted himself from her, but only in a half-crouch, half-push up position.

The only thing between them and the monster – or scout – was the pile of rocks.

He hovered over her and slowly pushed himself up a little further so he could glance over the rocks.

Quistis watched him narrow his eyes. He was trying to get a number, or estimate its strength…or both. From where she was, she couldn't move until he did, so she just lay silent and waited for him to assess the situation. She must've fallen asleep on her back. She glanced over at the small fire she'd lit earlier that night, but Seifer must have already put out any orange embers with a handful of sand. A few pieces of wood were still glowing, which was the only reason she could see anything in the pitch-black night, but it was dark enough to keep the thing from noticing them. She felt around for Save the Queen with her right hand – it should be close to her side – and her fingers curled around the handle.

Seifer lowered himself back down, hovering closer, looking thoughtful and angry at the same time. She gave him a questioning look. She was unwilling to whisper, but her expression must've been enough.

Well?

He looked at her, brows furrowed, and shook his head curtly. To Quistis, it could have meant 'no, not a threat,' or 'way too strong to take on,' or even 'just a fuckin' chocobo,' but she assumed that whatever it was, it should be left alone. Better not to draw attention to themselves. It probably wasn't an enemy scout, but it sounded like an ornery monster not worth exposing themselves to in the middle of the night.

Which meant that they had to keep quiet and wait.

Seifer stayed where he was, occasionally checking over the ridge of rocks to monitor its location, but he hadn't shifted his position. Movement meant noise, or a chance of exposure, or both. To keep his weight off of Quistis, he eventually propped himself up on his knees and elbows, but to stay below the ridge, he had to hover close to her.

She had to turn her head so she wasn't staring directly into his face; they would practically be nose-to-nose otherwise.

She was staring at the tiny pile of wood that used to be the fire, but she could feel his breath on her neck. He would look away once in awhile, either tilting an ear towards any sounds or perhaps to just stare at scenery other than her neck or the side of her face, so she would glance up only to meet his neck.

The sternocleidomastoid muscle, she remembered teaching in class. One of the largest muscles in the neck. Disabling this (a.k.a. slashing/cutting/puncturing, etc.) would effectively render the opponent useless, as it essentially connects the clavicle to the skull and plays an integral part in head rotation, as well as somewhat protect the jugular vein.

Seifer's sternocleidomastoid was large and thick as he turned to listen to any additional sounds and avoid his gaze. Quistis wasn't thinking about what she taught in class, however. Instead, she found herself wondering why, exactly, such a muscle was so provocative.

Then she immediately drove those thoughts from her mind when there was another guttural growl on the other side of the rocks. Seifer slowly lifted himself so he could get another glance, then sank back down and let out an aggravated, but controlled, sigh at her neck, and she already knew what he was thinking.

Looks like we're gonna be here awhile.

Minutes ticked by like years, and they wouldn't make eye contact with each other. They were well beyond personal boundaries and had crossed into very intimate territory. The situation, however, was anything but intimate. If things had been uncomfortable before, then this was borderline excruciating now.

Quistis found that her heartbeat had quickened. She took deep, controlled breaths.

Nerves, she told herself. Just adrenaline. Tensing up for a fight, if there is one.

Seifer never once looked at her. Most of the time, when he wasn't checking over the rocks, his head was lowered, almost so they were cheek-to-cheek. She would turn her head away as if it was some sort of feeble attempt to give him space, but she couldn't ignore his breath on her neck. Deep, controlled breaths. She hoped that, in the dim firelight, he wouldn't notice her goosebumps.

She lost track of how much time had passed. Eventually, after checking one last time, Seifer must've seemed satisfied that the monster wasn't going to head in their direction, because he abruptly moved away from her and went back to his sleeping spot as if nothing ever happened.

Quistis fell into a fitful sleep for probably only a few hours until the dark clouds lightened into a rosy grey, indicating that the sun was rising and it was time to pack up. They ate breakfast in total silence, packed up their gear, and began their trek.

After half a day's worth of silence, Quistis asked, "So, what was so close to our camp last night?"

He continued to walk, nonchalantly replying over his shoulder, "Chimera. Didn't feel like fucking with it."

It was the longest conversation they'd had that day.

Two weeks and four days.

Double posting....sorry.

2012-04-15T00:30:06Z

Title: No Such Thing
Rating: Teen-ish
Summary: Quistis thinks about time...with what little she has left.
Notes: 1st person Quistis. If you want to listen to what I was listening to while writing the majority of this, I recommend "Song From a Secret Garden", which you can find here: http://youtu.be/QzgG_gIA-YQ

Time is a funny thing. Not funny in the side-splitting sense, of course, but funny because we set goals and dreams and lives and watches by it, and it doesn't really exist in the first place.

Well, not really, if you want to get technical about it.

We're born, we live, and we die, of course, but it's not because of time. Well, not in the way we think. Realistically, time is a human measurement of entropy, a way to quantify disorder in little packages that the human brain can understand and plan by. I don't think the universe recognizes the concept of five o' clock anymore than it registers Winter Solstice or Hallows Eve or any other human invention. If that's how us mere mortals want to measure out our lives, well, it's all the same to the universe, isn't it?

The part of me that's human, though, has felt time like any other. It's been like some imaginary physical pull in my flesh, keeping pace with my heart as fate carried me along in its currents. I felt it at the orphanage, standing at the water's edge. The ocean seemed so big and incomprehensible then, the tide swirling around my ankles, tugging at me, pulling me into a future I couldn't see or understand. Maybe that's what they mean by 'Fate', I don't know, I just always felt as if there were some invisible force in my life, pulling me towards something big and great and inevitable. Maybe there's no such thing as Fate, I'm not sure- I can only tell you how I felt.

Whether time is real or not is immaterial too, I suppose; still, it affects me, particularly now- it measures out my remaining time in breaths and beats, which seem to be coming faster and faster with every passing one.

That's an illusion too, of course- the ideas of time dragging or rushing forward are human ones, tempered with emotion and fear. We can't change time- or even the idea of time- we can't slow it down because something we dread is coming, or speed it up to get something awful over with. The pace of the universe, whatever it is, marches over us and through us at its own leisure.

Changing time is a thing for Sorceresses, and it never quite works out for them, either.

It's a silly thing to think about, I know. I suppose I'm only thinking about time right now because I'm most likely about to run out of it.

I'm sure I ought to be afraid; after all, in only hours, I might be gone from the world as I know it. It's an odd thought, imagining myself lying quietly in a coffin, probably in some silly monument that will only grow in moss and obscurity as time passes. But fear has never been a regular companion of mine- doubt, certainly, self-recrimination definitely, and loneliness has been a frequent guest as well. But not fear- at least, not for myself.

Well, that's not entirely true.

I've always feared my Blue Magic a little. It seems silly, being afraid of something that's a part of you....and yet, perhaps the thing that scares me the most is that I've never found its limit. It's like swimming in a well with no bottom- you don't know how deep you can dive, or if you'll be able to get back up once you sink down.

At Garden, I was always asked when I first knew that I was a Blue Mage, and I think my answer was always disappointing to those that heard it. The truth is that I knew the first moment I learned my first spell. I wasn't born knowing that I had the ability, which is probably what they wanted to hear. If I had been, it probably wouldn't have been as disconcerting when it first revealed itself.

The magic first manifested itself at Garden, and before that, I'd been like any other student, struggling through junctioning and blistering my fingers on Fire variants. After I became a Blue Mage, the Instructors took more notice, and I was given greater freedoms to practice my magic. Over the years, the magic has grown with me like a vine spreading tendrils across a tree trunk, twisting and reaching into unpredictable shapes, apart and alien to the very tree it embraces. I still don't quite understand it, but fortunately, the magic doesn't require my understanding to function. It has a life of its own.

I remember being frightened by it the first time, shivering as my hand came in contact with the Knowledge. I'd been in the fields, at the time, hunting Funguar, digging through the kills in hopes of finding enough M-stone pieces to sell for a new whip upgrade. As I squatted in front of the kill, I'd touched the green, oozing mucus in the whip-wound at its side and in that instant, I Knew as easily as blinking or breathing, and I understood Laser Eye as if I'd been practicing it all my life.

'Knowledge'- there's no other word for it I can think of. The Knowledge itself is immediate and absolute- it comes from and returns to a place in herself I can't name or find in the span of seconds, and changes me in a way I can't quite quantify. It's like walking, I suppose, or talking- you know for certain as a baby you did not always have the ability to do these things, but you can't really remember life before you did. Blue Magic is the same way. Once you have it, the Knowledge seems as if it's always existed, but of course you know it hasn't.

And for all its usefulness, there is something very disconcerting about a thing that acts from within you and without your permission- a phantom limb that reaches out and takes Knowledge from death and hands it to you without your asking. Even as I used that magic, I was always a little afraid of it.

I often wonder if Rinoa felt the same way about her magic...but then, there's no knowing what Rinoa thinks anymore. Rinoa is gone...or, at least, the Rinoa we used to know.

But then, she was always a bit of a stranger to me.

I don't know quite how to think of the Rinoa, even now- 'friend' seems too generous, while 'enemy' is far too harsh. We fought alongside each other and once, for the merest of moments, we struggled over the same boy, though I'm sure Rinoa never knew. Teenaged melodrama aside, we faced a war together and shed blood together- I suppose in some ways that makes us closer than sisters.

For me, it has never been a matter of liking Rinoa, but rather, understanding her.

Rinoa smiled at the drop of a hat. She believed that wishing on stars could make all your dreams come true. And maybe she was right. Hers certainly seemed to. To me, she appeared to float through life, charming everyone as she went with all the ease of breathing.

Meanwhile, I had spent most of my life in a military uniform, covered in blood and sweat and dirt and wanting to be good enough- whether it was for Cid or Squall or someone, anyone else. I had certainly never wished on any stars and if I charmed anyone, well, I was certainly unaware of it. I'd spent my time at Garden struggling to reach to top, only to realize it was just as lonely as the bottom, and without a clue what to do once I got there. I had no parents to praise me, no siblings to compete with. Garden is the only home I can really remember, though perhaps that's because I don't try very hard. After all, what good is remembering what's lost?

Rinoa had a family, an overprotective father and the memory of a mother that was beautiful and sweet and sad. And for all that I couldn't wrap my head around her, Squall fell in love with her. So did Seifer, for a time. Me, I suppose I wasn't any different- I loved the idea of her, of being her. Of being happy and free and loved without even trying.

Love... it's like time- big and broad and completely unfathomable. It's a little word that stands in for tremendous feelings we can't explain any other way. I wonder, now, if I ever really understood it at all.

My world has always been full of words I've never been able to understand.

Matron had loved us, I suppose, but there is a difference between knowing something and hearing it spoken aloud for your ears alone. And she never said it. She was always cautious with her words, doling them out as carefully as treats into our open palms. I understood her distance- well, I should say I understand it now. Matron was a troubled woman with a terrible secret, doing her best to raise six equally troubled children. In the end, I had always felt that Matron's was the sort of love you give to something you know you will lose- the way a farmer comes to love an animal he is raising to slaughter.

They way you love children you are raising to destroy you.

In any case, no one has ever said that word to me. At least, not that I can remember.

I suppose always envied Rinoa the ability to speak that word so easily and to so many, but even without it, Rinoa and I had lived completely different lives. And for all that Rinoa struggled in my world, I would have been just as helpless in hers. I was a mercenary and she was a princess- a fish and a bird for all the ways in which we were different. How could I have ever understood her world? How could she understand mine? There was always that distance between us.

And yet, I suppose we were alike in some ways, too; we were both witches in our own rights. We were united in the greater sense of the old magics, united in a power that chose us rather than the other way around. It is a distant similarity from across a battlefield, but it is a deep one, too, and I know I will feel it when I face her this last time, if only for a moment.

A moment...

....and we're back to time again.

It's inescapable, I suppose, for those of us born to mortal worlds and mortal minds. We measure our time out by the spoonful, in seconds and hours and years, from the moment of our birth until the end of our days. The line that connects our beginning and end is a straight one, merciless in its direction. Being a soldier, I know that. I've seen it and I understand it, in all the ways that I can. But understanding something and accepting it are two different things, and right now, so close to the end, the part of me that wishes is louder in my thoughts than the part of me that knows.

The part of me that is not a mercenary wishes things were different. Wishes I were different, that time could spiral backward and form a new world in which I am not a killer.

Perhaps, in that time, that world, I could have become a girl like Rinoa, a girl that loved and was loved in return and believed that things as large and distant as stars could grant wishes. We could have walked to school and traded secrets- we could have attended our weddings and had children and grown old alongside one another. Perhaps in that kind of world, Rinoa could have been my friend.

In this world, in this time- I will do all I can to end her life before she ends mine.
The part of me that is SeeD, the part in this present world, knows that is impossible. This part wants it over quickly.

I wonder if the part of Rinoa that is still herself is thinking the same thing as she waits in the flower field behind me, waiting for us to come and finish it. The part of me that is SeeD wants to believe that no such part exists- that the collection of smiles and words and deeds that used to be Rinoa Heartilly is already gone from this world. Because if that's true, then we are only destroying a husk of a girl, and not the whole of her.

It occurs to me that maybe that is where the fear ought to come from now- the idea that, for some of us (and likely me), everything is coming to an end, and there is so much I still don't understand. I have never windsurfed or eaten fried chicken and I have never told anyone I loved them or heard it in return. But I don't feel afraid. I feel resigned. I am an orphan and a soldier. I have never wished on a star in my life that I can recall, and it seems silly to start now.

“Hey,” comes a familiar voice behind me, and the world comes back into sharp focus from the free-floating clouds of my thoughts.

I am no longer in the troubled sanctuary of my mind, but standing ankle-deep in the ocean, the wind in my face and the salt spray peppering my battle gear with beads of moisture. Clouds are rolling in over the water, and in the distance, I can hear the first rolling claps of thunder that signals the storm.
Seifer is waiting for me at the shore near my discarded shoes, one hand resting on his sword. The other hand he extends towards me, waiting for me to join him...to join the others.

I wonder how long he's been standing there.

Maybe a minute.

Maybe forever.

After all, there's no such thing as time, is there?

But if there was, well, there would be different times, wouldn't there, double and triple helpings of it all stacked like cake layers on top the other And our double and triple selves would lead different lives, parallel to this one- worse lives and better lives and lives where all your wildest dreams come true.

Maybe in one of those other times, there is another me wearing a beautiful dress, and he is holding out his hand to me to dance with me, because he loves me and he always has. We'll dance this afternoon away, and after, we'll depart for our castle in the clouds, where we'll live happily ever after. Caught up in that almost-possible place, I want to say those words, too, however foolish they might be.

But I know saying those words and not hearing them returned would be worse than never saying them at all....

...so I don't.

Instead, I step towards him and take the hand he offers me, and in that moment, it seems that I can feel everything.

I can feel the warmth of his hand through two layers of battle-softened leather. I feel the weight of his gaze, on me, that pleasant, unnerving pressure of his full attention. I feel the salt-air stinging my cheeks, the cold sand between my toes, and for a moment, I can almost see our castle in the sky.

….and then I feel the familiar weight of my whip against my thigh and see the sword at his waist, and we are once again soldiers on a beach. The girl in the dress falls away into a world of maybes. It's no good missing her- she never existed in my world, my place, to begin with. But then, I have never been logical where Seifer is concerned. Everything is a maybe. Everything is possible. It's like something about him defies logic- if for no other reason that he's too bull-headed to go with the flow of things.

And though, in this thing approaching us, rolling towards us like the rumbling clouds over the water....in the face of this horrible thing, it does not seem unreasonable that in another time and place two people are standing on a beach dancing instead of dying.

I believe it because I want to.

I think maybe Seifer's thinking the same thing- but before I can ask him such a silly question, he kisses me-

-and every foolish thought inside of me stands still.

His hand drops mine and instead snakes around my waist, pulling me closer, so that we're hip to hip, my hands on his chest and my thighs brushing against his. Heat blossoms out from our connection, like a flower unfolding, and I feel every inch of my skin come alive as it unfurls and clasps around him.

He changes his angle, tongue and teeth and lips devouring mine. The hand at my waist isn't light, and his kiss isn't either- there's as much stirring in him as there is in me, I think, because I can feel it in the force of his body against mine.

I don't know why he's kissing me, and I don't want to know- my hopes have always been better than realities, and I want to keep this last thing whole and sweet in my mind. I want to die with it still on my lips. We deserve that much, don't we? To have this last sweet thing before the end?

I lean back into him, standing on tiptoe and closing my eyes. My hands grip his shoulders, holding him and this moment in place because-

-well....it doesn't really matter why, does it?

All too soon he's pulling away, but he doesn't go far. His thumbs brush across my cheeks, my head cradled in his hands as he looks down at me for one long moment. I can still feel the ghost of his lips on mine and hear his breath shuddering against my cheek, but I can't guess what he's thinking.

I look up at him and try to smile, and he tries to return it. I'm sure my smile is every bit as forced as his, but what can we do? Even as children, we stood at this very same shore, watching the ocean and wondering where it would take us someday, it was not a question of where we would choose to go or dreamed of going, but, instead, where the currents would take us. Even then, it seemed I was living a life that was not mine, and now, it seems inescapable, inevitable, that we would come back- that it would end here, on the island that created us.

Perhaps he's tired of trying to keep up his smile, because he leans in so that our foreheads touch, closing his eyes. I rise on tip-toe and wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him close, squeezing him as if I can shield him with my body...as if he can protect me with his. But what will come will come- we are ants in a maelstrom, and the idea that we can save each other is as impossible as it is foolish.

But we are fools already, both of us. He was a fool to kiss me, and foolish of me to let him, now, when we're so very close to the end. The hope that I feel here in his arms is worse than fear, and yet, I wouldn't banish it if I could. It's been too long since I felt hope....since I felt....

...well, I still don't understand it, do I?

I can feel tears in my eyes, burning along the edges, but I will not let them fall. I can't. Because if I start crying now, I might never stop. For me, for him, for a girl I never understood but who I suppose I loved just the same.

I want to laugh, too, in this moment....and there's nothing funny about it at all. I suppose it's because here, now, for all my discipline and my determination, for all that I know it's futile to hope, I find myself no different than anyone that has ever come before me, and, most likely, anyone that will come after. For the moment, I'm normal- I'm just like anyone else; I want this moment to go on and on. I want the future to stay where it is, with us frozen in it.

I want more time with this world. With this life.

More time with him.

But then, there's no such thing.

Interlude, PG

2012-04-10T22:46:50Z

Title: Interlude
Rating: Teen for some minor cursing. Huh, what do you know, I wrote something under an R rating.
Summary: It all starts with a girl waiting in a bar. Even an avalanche can begin with a single snowflake.
Notes: A third-person look at the Seifer/Quistis conundrum. I started this as soon as the community was created, and for some reason, it's been like trying to cram a round peg in a square hole. Others to follow.

The Bitter End is the type of bar where people go to drink alone. Night or day it's dark and cool inside, perfect if you need to hide a bruise or a face for a few hours. There's cold drinks to settle you down after a fight, warm drinks to heat up your blood if you've been out in the cold too long. Glass of ice to ease the sting of a swollen lip, bowl of half-stale nuts if you haven't eaten all day. Beggars can't be choosers, after all, and if you were a chooser, well, you wouldn't be here in the first place.

If you need a place to forget, though, this is your utopia. Your very own Island of Ennui. The Bitter End deals exclusively in amnesia....at least, for as long as your take your medicine.

Piers likes to think that the interior of the bar has a very 'human' atmosphere- that's a nice way of saying that people are always leaving things behind. The lacquered surface of the old bar has seen its share of blood and tears, and you can usually find a few teeth scattered across the wood floor after a Saturday night brawl. The bar's few windows are covered in a film of grease and smoke, filtering the sunlight into a grey haze that hides most of the rips in the cushions and the chips in the wood.

The walls are decorated with an assortment of taxidermy projects and hunting conquests from battles long ago- a Wendigo's paw has been stuffed mid-clench while a Chocobo's dusty head mount is missing a glass eye. People don't come for the decorations, anyway. Or for the drinks.

People come to a place like this to forget about why they need to come to a place like this. It's a vicious cycle that lines barkeeps' pockets everywhere for as long as they've had pockets to line.

Piers inherited the bar when his old man died five years ago, leaving him everything he owned. This amounted to a bar and a half-rusted sword from his father's time in the Galbadian army, which now hangs over the back wall in a tribute to...something. The place isn't much to look at- it's a mixture of paneled walls and a clapboard roof which, when the summer comes, is covered in seagull shit from top to bottom so thoroughly the damned thing looks like someone painted the damned thing white.

Most days when you open the door, you can smell the breeze off the docks and the stink of fish guts from the cleaning stations. Some days, though, you can hear the rush of the waves and the smell of fresh air, and on those days, Piers doesn't feel like his father's corpse is punishing him for dropping out of the military and wrecking his prospects, whatever those were to begin with. In Balamb, you can be a fisherman, a soldier, or you can be the guy that sells them enough alcohol to forget about how much they hate doing these things. As it happened, Piers fell out of the second option and into the last.

At any rate, the patrons seem to care about the ambiance one way or another. Today, there's the usual crowd- Salina with her short skirt and matching black eyes, sporting a new bruise on her leg and already up to her gills in gin and tonics. She's picking at a hangnail, wriggling her skinny bottom two and fro on the bar stool and looking a little uncomfortable, because that prick has probably thrown her down the stairs ass-first instead of face-first this time. She's talking with Andres, an unlucky fisherman who's got as many troubles with fish as Salina does with men, both of them playing Triple Triad for peanut shells and trying to avoid going home for as long as possible.

There's Blue with his scotch,(three fingers, neat), staring off into whatever old hell he's trying to escape, and then there's Mason, an old man with a scarred face whose fingers tremble around his whiskey until he's well into his second of the morning. Raddik is in the corner, surrounded by his usual cloud of smoke and drinking whiskey like it's water.

The girl in the corner, however- she's new.

She's been nursing the same cherry coke for over an hour, her chin resting heavily on her fist. Her other hand is occupied in holding her cherry garnish by the stem, dunking it in the now watered-down drink. Condensation is sweating down the glass and creating a puddle on the table, which she occasionally traces patterns in. She looks just a little familiar, but Piers can't think of where he would have seen her before. Not in this bar, certainly- he never forgets a face....or a wallet.

This newcomer is beautiful in a way that doesn't seem to fit into this place, and she's waiting for something or someone that seems a long time in coming.

In the meantime, Piers finds himself just a little bit captivated. Sure, he's seen beautiful women before, but the beauty he's used to in places like this is the wilted kind, faded and half-forgotten like a rose slumping in a jelly jar.

This girl is all edges- sharp and polished down to her ocean blue eyes and the tight bob of the fishtail flip in her hair. She's wearing a brown leather jacket and a white shirt over jeans, her purse on the counter beside her. Her leather boots are polished to a shine. The clothes and the bag look new- there's no creases in the leather, no marks on the purse canvas. The girl's skin is another matter. An old scar is slashed across her right palm, white and long-healed- defensive wound. Another old one on her neck, edging down from her jawline, and a fresh one from her wrist he glimpsed when she reached in her purse to pay him for the soda.

She's sitting with her back in the corner booth with a clear view of the exit, her eyes flickering to the door every so often. And though she's pretty enough to be one of those Estharian supermodels, you don't get those kinds of marks by walking down a runway.

Definitely a soldier.

Piers gets them a lot in the bar, all haunted eyes and sharp attention. They're his best customers, scarred and world-weary in a way that never ever heals completely. They usually sit in a corner, and they always, (i>always</i> keep an eye on the exits. That vigilance isn't something they can turn off, whether they're on the battlefield or in a bar probably trying to forget just how nice those battlefields can be.

He wants to ask her what she's doing here, but her demeanor doesn't invite questions. She was cordial enough when ordering the drink, her smile practiced and polite...but she's not friendly. After five years of bartending, Piers recognizes the look of a patron that wants to spill their guts and a patron that wants to be left alone, but he can't quite take his eyes off her all the same, because, top to bottom, she just doesn't quite add up. Long-limbed with lustrous blonde hair and a mouth that could make a Hynian priest sweat...and then there's that gaze of hers. Deep and cool and glacier-blue, and with all the warmth you'd expect from two orbs of sculpted ice.

The object of Piers' attention sighs and plops the cherry back into her soda, submerging it before pulling it up again...rescuing it only to drown it.

Piers picks up a glass to dry and wonders what it is she's waiting on. Someone, he decides, not something, because it's more interesting that way...but who?

People-watching is Piers' favorite past time, one that makes serving watered-down drinks in a hovel by the sea a somewhat tolerable profession. He notices details because he looks for them, but this girl in front of him isn't giving any hints away.

Who could be coming for her? Old friend? New lover?

As if she can feel his stare, the girl's gaze flickers up to his. For the briefest second, she looks troubled, but her expression quickly schools itself into that polite mask she wore earlier when ordering her drink.

"Can I get you something else?" Piers calls to her, scrambling for a cover for why he's been staring at her for the last ten minutes.

She hesitates a moment, picks up the cherry, then plops it back into the glass with a sigh. "Yes. Three fingers of Odine's Whiskey, neat."

Piers fetches the glass and dumps out the soda before pouring her a generous glass of the whiskey. He walks the drink back to the booth, sliding it across the table smoothly enough not to slosh it.

"Thank you," she says, sliding him some gil. "Keep the change."

Piers goes back to polishing glasses at the bar, but his eyes every so often snake back to the pretty little puzzle in the corner.

Her hands are cupped tightly around the sides of her new drink as if she can draw warmth from the glass. She doesn't drink, but stares into the amber liquid like it's a wishing well. In that moment, he'd give anything to know what she's thinking.

Piers pours a new scotch for Blue and goes back to watching her, risking whatever it is she does to assholes that stare at her too long. Silent or not, she's still the most interesting thing in the bar.

Just then, the door opens and the girl's gaze snaps to the entrance. It's a young man. He's tall enough that he has to duck under the rotting doorway, and this face Piers remembers- he's seen it before in that same corner, hunched over a bowl of peanuts and staring at the walls with the kind of hard, relentless attention that weathers rocks.

Hard to forget a man with a scar like that, a faded red rut that carves down the middle of his face. Piers doesn't know his name, but then, this isn't the kind of bar where you ask for names. You ask about drinks- what kind, how many, another one?- but everything else, well, that's what they're here to forget.

The girl's eyes have lit up at the sight of this man, but not, Piers notes, with friendliness. There's a wary recognition on her face as she watches this newcomer walk her way.

The young man pulls off his woolen cap and walks to the end of the bar, sliding into the booth opposite the girl. "Bottle of Carden's Black," he calls to Piers, then in a lower voice says something to the young woman that Piers can't make out.

Judghing by the new unfriendly slant to her eyes, the comment can't be going over very well. The young man doesn't seem bothered by the reception, however- if anything, he seems to be encouraged by it, leaning forward so that there's only a few antagonistic inches between them. Piers cracks open the beer against the side of the bar, fighting a smile as he walks around the bar to deliver it.

Old lovers, maybe?

Maybe, judging by the way the man invades her space with such ease.

Old friends?

Piers practiced abilities as a lip-reader enable him to catch one particular word as it leaves the young woman's lovely lips in a hiss.

Definitely not friends. Not anymore, anyway.

As Piers walks around to deliver the drink, he can make out the last few bits of their conversation above the juke box and Salina's curses as she loses yet another round of Triple Triad.

"-wasted your time, coming here," he's saying to her angrily.

"If that's true, why'd you bother to show up?" she replies with equal ire, and both of them snap their heads up as Piers sets the beer on the table.

The new arrival indicates the woman across from him with a dash of his head. "It's on her." He has blood under his fingernails, and the jacket he's wearing is glittering with fish scales. Like so many fellow patrons, he's here fresh off the docks, though, judging by the dampness of his cuffs and collar, he'd washed up at one of the cleaning stations before coming.

A stony silence ensues as the young woman digs in her purse, handing Piers a few gil notes.

"Thank you. You can keep the change," she says again.

"And you can get lost," adds the young man, glaring at him.

The girl's eyes narrow. "Try and mind your manners, if you have any," she snaps at her boothmate, and Piers fights another smile as he walks back to the bar. He can't hear the rest of their conversation, but from the nearly permanent frown knotted between the girl's eyebrows, it isn't going well. Time ticks on, and their whispers grow more and more strained. At one point, the young man slams his beer down on the table hard enough to wobble the legs. The girl sits back in the both, and there's that worried expression again, for the merest of moments. But then she's leaning forward, expression tightening as the young man laughs.

Suddenly, the girl stands up, snatches her purse, and stalks to the door. Piers is surprised to see the young man get up just as quickly and lunge after her, grabbing her arm before she can reach the exit. She whirls around, looking furious, and Piers starts forward to break up what seems to be an escalating situation when he overhears their conversation, because they aren't troubling to keep their voices quiet any longer-

"I should have known-" she's saying, and for a moment, those pretty blue eyes seem on the verge of tears.

"-ask me." he says, "Ask me yourself, or are you too much of a fucking coward?"

"I TOLD you we needed help, that's why they sent me. I don't know why you have to make this so difficult-"

"No." he shakes his head. "I want YOU to ask ME. It's actually that fucking simple."

"What does it matter if-" she snaps, and he jerks her closer, forcing her to glare up at him. He's not gentle, but then, judging by her scars, she doesn't look like a woman that's used to gentleness.

Their faces are almost touching, and that icy stare of hers has melted now into something bright and furious. If possible, it makes her look even more beautiful, and, from the young man's expression, he isn't immune to it, either.

"It matters to me." He says quietly.

The other conversations have fallen to a standstill, and all eyes are on the couple that is not a couple near the door.

The girl's breath is coming a little quickly in her anger, and she seems to be struggling with something in the silence that follows. Something must win out in her, however, because she says, her eyes not quite meeting his-

"Please." She spits out the word as if it has a bad taste, her gaze on the floor. In that moment, her body seems to sag a little, and her body looks as tired as her eyes.

The boy with the scarred face waits, his hand still gripping her arm. She's still fighting with her words, her hands have balling into fists at her sides. When she speaks again, her tone is quiet and steady, but no less fragile for it.

"...come back." It's less a question and more a command, but the young man's face softens at it, just enough to ease the wrinkle in his scar.

For a moment Piers thinks the boy will draw out his victory and let her sweat, but instead he replies almost immediately.

"Okay." And just like that, the boy's grip on her arm loosens, though the small sliver of distance between them remains the same. She is looking up into his eyes now, and in the following moments it's impossible to say whether they want to kiss or kill each other.

Maybe both.

After all, Piers knows from experience that there's a fine line between love and war.

Suddenly, the boy grins. "There, that wasn't so hard, was it, princess?"

-and whatever spell was brewing between them is broken as the girl yanks her arm from his grip and wrenches open the door.

“Grow up, hero,” she replies, and it doesn't take a genius to know she doesn't mean the last part as a compliment.

Chuckling, the young man follows after her, and the bar patrons turn back to their drinks once more.

Piers picks up a new glass to polish, shaking his head.

He doesn't know what he's just witnessed, but he has the feeling it's the beginning of something rather than the end of it.

Come Back

2012-03-18T03:27:20Z

Title: Come Back
Rating: R
Summary: Quistis tries to convince Seifer why she needs him.
Notes: Set several months into the war, will probably be three parts (and available on fanfiction.net as soon as the server works)
Music: "Farewell" by Dario Marianelli, Atonement Soundtrack

The sky was grey again, as it had been when the war started. Dark clouds rumbled, but there was no storm. The air smelled burnt, or dry, or stale, or something, but it wasn’t rain. It was something more sinister. Quistis couldn’t remember the last time she saw the sun, or blue sky, or green leaves on the trees, or green grass growing in the fields. It was hard to tell what time of day it was since the clouds rarely parted. She was sure that she’d spent two months, at the least, out here.

It had been absolute hell doing this. She was so used to what she was trained to do; she was trained to fight, she was trained to kill. They were all caught up in war, and war was hell, but she was a SeeD and war was her job. The war was nothing compared to this. This was field survival. This was fucking camping out in the wilderness. This was asking questions, directed towards anyone who was around – or still alive – and if she was lucky, they’d know a tiny shred of information to maybe lead her in the right direction. This was following leads like a stupid detective. This was not part of her job description.

She hated slinking around behind the scenes, sniffing out clues like some sort of shady private investigator, when there was a war going on. There were battles to be fought. There were enemies to kill. It felt like a gigantic waste of time, doing this. She could scour the entire world and still not find what she was looking for, all the while trying not to get killed by the sorceress’ spies – or even townsfolk who didn’t want to have anything to do with SeeD – but she did it nonetheless. She’d trekked over miles and miles of landscape – it had once been beautiful and untouched, but the war had changed all that, and now there was nothing but desolation and dust – and hadn’t been any better off than she was over a month ago.

But then, miraculously, she’d come across Fujin and Raijin with a platoon near Winhill. They’d driven most of the monsters away, but not before the attack. Winhill was completely abandoned by the time they got there, Raijin had said, and was also completely overrun. The sorceress didn’t seem to have any business in Winhill, but they stayed anyway, just in case, waiting for orders. It was there when Quistis had learned of the first real reliable shred of evidence she’d heard in a long time, and for once she had confidence and hope in her mission. She thanked them, told them to hold the town, and left the very next day, heading for a small, run-down shack of a house towards the east, near the shore, in a place where nobody could find it unless they really looked.

She’d finally found Seifer Almasy.

Searching for a war criminal was hard work, especially when he’d gone through extensive measures to keep from being found. Seifer wasn’t a SeeD, but he’d come damn close to being one several times, and he had put up a good fight with other SeeDs on numerous occasions, so he might as well have been one. He knew how to stay hidden. He knew how to become invisible. To make things even worse, it was even harder to find him since nobody really ever looked. Since the Third War started, people stopped paying attention to him.

The Third War was too raw, too real, and too personal not to have Seifer on their side. During the Second War, Quistis knew that Ultimecia was the one pulling the strings, and that Seifer had regretted everything he’d done afterwards. He slowly slipped into oblivion, preferring to be left alone, but hadn’t disappeared completely from the public eye, mainly because he’d become so infamous. Fujin and Raijin kept in touch with him on occasion, but for the most part, people continued on with their lives and the pain of the Second War started to ebb away.

Eight years later, chaos enveloped the world once again, and the Gardens were forced into the Third Sorceress War. They realized that history was repeating itself, and they didn’t want to risk the possibility of encountering another infamous knight wreaking havoc with his sorceress all over again. Squall was still with Garden, he was still a SeeD, but he was under constant surveillance. However, they knew that in order to gain the upper hand, in a twist of cruel irony, they would have to consult with Seifer Almasy to possibly get insider information…for clues, for weaknesses, for patterns, anything that could help, anything he’d experienced before that could repeat itself…

…But he was nowhere to be found.

Now, she was standing in front of a brown shack; a small, old one-story house of sorts, that looked abandoned and probably should have been condemned. It stood in the middle of nowhere – probably what used to be a field, or maybe a farm – with the shoreline several miles away. The view was bleak and grey, probably because there wasn’t any grass or sunlight, and a gust of wind threatened to topple the thing like a stack of cards. It didn’t even look like there was anybody – or anything – inside it, but she had to try. It was the only lead she had in a month.

It was probably absurd to do so, but she knocked on the door.

There was a moment of silence, but she could hear footsteps on the other end, and the door suddenly swung open.

The breath caught in her throat as she stared up at him.

Despite the war, Seifer Almasy hadn’t changed, for the most part. His blonde hair was unkempt but still trimmed short. He was even clean-shaven, only with the shadow of stubble starting to appear. His scar still looked fresh, even after all these years. He was still menacing, and had kept his muscle tone by hunting and destroying any prowling monsters nearby. His grey trench coat and blue vest, discarded long ago, were replaced by a pair of ratty jeans and a grey t-shirt.

He blinked at her, his face blank, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that Quistis Trepe was standing at his doorway. The initial confusion was replaced by shock; his mouth dropped open slightly and his eyes narrowed. Eventually, his lip curled into a sneer and he gave her an angry, disrespectful once-over.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the almighty Instructor Trepe.”

Her jaw worked. She promised herself that his is exactly what he would say, but the nickname still bothered her, even after all these years. Before she could reply, he opened the door wider and glared down at her with contempt.

“What the fuck are you doing here? Don’t you have a war to fight?”

“Yes, I do,” she replied carefully. “Which is why I would like to talk with you.” She motioned towards the inside of the small house. “May I come in?”

He ignored her question. “How did you find me?”

“Fujin.”

He snorted and looked away. “So much for the fuckin’ posse.”

“They’re fighting the war too, Seifer. They need you - ”

He shoved a finger into her face angrily. “No. Wrong. Don’t tell me that they need me. Nobody needs me. Garden didn’t take me back. Fuck them.”

“Can you hardly blame Cid, Seifer? After what happened?”

Seifer looked away, let out another derisive snort and gripped the doorknob, preparing to slam the door in her face. “Is this why you’re here, Trepe? To take a walk down memory lane? Remind me of my mistakes? How fucking typical. Hyne, I don’t think there’s ever been a time when you weren’t being such a naggy bitch - ”

She was sick of his attitude already. “Seifer, are you going to let me in or not? I’ve spent weeks trying to find you. I’m tired, I’m hungry, and I’m not in the mood for - ”

He was already slamming the door.

I guess I’ll take that as a no, she thought angrily, even though she anticipated as much. She quickly stepped into the frame and slammed her hands into the door to prevent it from closing. She shoved it back open and stepped through, slammed it behind her, and stared up at him with a hand at her hip, fingering the handle of Save the Queen.

The house had no extra rooms. On the floor was a plastic crate that had been overturned to be used as a small table, a blanket and flat pillow in the corner, a cup next to the pillow, a few scattered beer bottles, and a sleek silver case with the Firecross mark leaning up against the wall. It didn’t seem as if he truly lived here. From the looks of things, Quistis didn’t think he was going to stay for very long, either.

The look of surprise on his face was gone in an instant as soon as he glanced down at her whip. The familiar black scowl was back. “What are you gonna do, Trepe? Huh? Fight me?” He spread his arms. “Go ahead.”

“No, Seifer. I don’t want to fight you.”

“You’re here to recruit me, then,” he sneered at her. “Forget it. I don’t want to have anything to do with the Princess.”

“Don’t call her that, Seifer. It’s not Squall’s fault she got that nickname - ”

“Tell Squall he can get fucked,” Seifer snapped. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying, got it?”

“You won’t even hear what I have to say?”

“Unless you’re just paying me a polite social call, by all means,” he motioned for her to sit on the floor with a smirk that could only be described as malicious and hateful. “It’s only been eight fuckin’ years. A high-n-mighty SeeD drops by my doorstep to talk about the shit weather? Let me break out the hors d’oeuvres.”

Quistis sighed. “What do you know about what happened?”

“I know that the Princess wanted to become involved in SeeD business,” Seifer crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “I know that she wanted to be a fuckin’ humanitarian. I know that she practiced and became more powerful, and I know that daddy didn’t like it. In fact, I know that daddy tried to stop it all.” Seifer snorted and looked away. “I pretty much knew everything that you knew. That everyone else knew all along.”

Quistis nodded and looked down. “Her powers grew, and…and…it was like you told Cid. It was like before.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to say ‘I told you so,’ but I fuckin’ told you so,” he growled. “But nobody listened to me then, so - ”

“That’s not true, Seifer. I listened to you.”

“Gee, thanks. Sure made a difference, didn’t it?”

“Seifer - ”

“I’m sure you vouched for a war criminal in front of the entire panel, too, risking your entire career over a fuck up - ”

“I did, Seifer. I pleaded on your behalf to Cid. He listened, but there wasn’t much he could do because of Edea, and Squall - ”

“Hey, wow, good for you, but it obviously doesn’t fucking matter, does it?” Seifer snarled, rounding on her and motioning across the room. “Eight years! Look at me, Quistis! Look at where I’m at!”

Quistis held her tongue. Every time she mentioned Edea or Squall’s name, Seifer would turn completely hostile. She should have known better.

“Now what do you want?” Seifer repeated, turning his back on her. “There’s nothing that Balamb could possibly offer me - ”

“Balamb’s gone, Seifer,” Quistis interrupted sharply.

He stopped talking.

She swallowed, trying to control the raw emotion from bubbling back up. It was still hard to talk about. “All of it. Just…gone. The people…they were…” Her voice wavered and she trailed off. There was a pause and she cleared her throat softly. “We tried to save as many citizens as we could…but…”

If he was affected by her words, he didn’t show it. He kept his back turned, but she knew he was listening. His head was cocked slightly.

She licked her lips. “Afterward, we…” She took a deep breath. “We regrouped at FH. Allocated our resources. Our first priority was to try to eliminate…the growing threat, so…”

Seifer grit his teeth. They both knew that saying the words ‘growing threat’ was completely pointless, but it probably helped Quistis talk about it. He knew she didn’t want to say the name.

“The gardens mounted a counterattack at the Timber coastline, but it wasn’t enough. We couldn’t press any further, but so far we’ve been able to hold our ground. She was trying to get to Esthar. FH is the road, and we held it at all costs. It’s still blockaded.”

His jaw worked. There was a long pause. He turned away and stared out the window.

“Seifer…come back,” she pleaded.

“One more footsoldier isn’t going to make any difference.”

“It will make a difference,” Quistis countered. “Someone with your skill - ”

“You mean unique experience?” Seifer turned his head and glared at her angrily.

“I’ve told you for years that you were a gifted student,” she snapped back. “Before the war, before the field exam. You’re still an asset, Seifer. Put aside your past and come fight with us.”

He turned back to the window and made a fist. “…No can do. Sorry.”

“You can’t just turn your back on Balamb,” she pleaded. “We all grew up there. It was our home - ”

“Balamb turned its back on me years ago,” he replied flatly.

“Not all of us agreed with that decision, and you know it. Even Edea wanted - ”

Seifer closed his eyes and shook his head, as if he was trying to get her name out of his head. “I don’t care what Edea wanted. Balamb had it coming, if you ask me. The whole operation was cursed from the get-go, before we were even born.”

Quistis swallowed. “…You don’t mean that.”

“Sure I do.”

“Then I suppose the orphanage…Ellone…the rest of the kids…me…” She swallowed again. “I suppose we never meant anything to you, either.”

Seifer shrugged. After a pause, he turned and glared at her. “It was easy, you know. Bombing Trabia.”

He was trying to drive her away. It wouldn’t work. She narrowed her eyes. “That’s a lie.”

“Is it? I don’t know, Trepe. I’ve done some pretty nasty things.”

“You were always an asshole, Seifer, but you weren’t a murderer. Not willingly.”

He snorted and turned towards the window again. “Your opinion means so much to me. Really.”

His sarcasm chafed. She grit her teeth. “If you really think that I believe Balamb means nothing to you, think again.”

He rolled his eyes and snorted. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“What about me?”

Her question caught him off guard for a split second. “What about you?”

“Do I mean nothing to you?”

He chewed the inside of his cheek and shrugged again. “You tried to kill me once or twice, as I recall - ”

“You were the enemy then! You attacked us!”

“It’s as you said, Trepe. I wasn’t willingly doing those things, right?”

“Answer my question!”

He grit his teeth and stared out the window, arms crossed. “No. You don’t.”

She nodded, looked down, and took a slow step forward. “Fine. If none of it really mattered, then why did you always want to play Knights and Dragons with me as a child?”

Seifer set his jaw and didn’t answer.

“Why would you taunt Squall so much, especially after I would fuss over him? I always tried to pretend that I was Ellone…but it made you so mad…”

No answer.

“You used to call me ‘bossy little Quisty,’” Quistis took another step forward. “But you would always try to destroy everyone’s sand castles just to get me to yell at you. Why?”

She saw his chest rise and fall in a controlled deep breath.

“Why did you punch Irvine in the nose after he kissed me on the cheek?”

No response.

“After our second year at Garden, you got into a fight with someone who asked me to the Spring Social. Why?”

His jaw muscles worked.

“When I got promoted to be an instructor, your detentions went through the roof, most of which I had to monitor.”

Silence.

“And at Timber…” Quistis trailed off. “At Timber…you said that you would show me, once and for all…why you were better than the rest of them…” She stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Why?”

No answer.

“Come back, Seifer.”

He immediately turned and grabbed her wrist, yanking her towards him. He glared down at her, his face twisted in rage, inches from hers. His anger was palpable, but the tone in his voice was soft and controlled.

“Get out.”

She stood her ground. “No.”

His face darkened. “Get out, Trepe.”

She yanked her wrist out of his grasp. “I said no.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you really here, Quistis? Hm?”

The question startled her just as much as his use of her first name. As much as she knew that he’d ask it, she still didn’t know what to say to him. She’d rehearsed this answer a dozen times, but now she was hesitant. She was frightened of the consequences.

Seifer gave her a look of utter contempt. “You don’t even fucking know, do you?”

Her heart quickened and her mind whirred from panic and anger. Years of practice still didn’t condition her enough for a successful verbal spar with Seifer Almasy. Even now, she couldn’t muster the correct response. By the time she thought she had something to say, he’d pummel her confidence back into the floor.

Seifer turned his face away, let out a mocking sigh of disbelief, then faced her again, teeth bared. “You want to know why I did all those things? You really want to know? Because I liked you, that’s why. Yeah, there, I fuckin’ said it, but who the fuck cares? That was years ago. What difference can that possibly make now? What difference did it make, ever? You didn’t do shit at the orphanage, you didn’t do shit at Balamb, and you didn’t do shit after the war. Your message was loud and clear. You didn’t want to have anything to do with me; you were always chasing after Squall or too busy with being important. I was too much of a taint on your perfect little reputation, admit it. I wasn’t good enough. I was never good enough.”

Quistis opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her angrily.

“What? What are you going to do about it now, Trepe? What?”

His tone was taunting and impatient, as if he was trying to train a dog. It made her eyes sting. She glared up at him angrily, frustrated at herself for not cutting in sooner.

“That’s what I thought,” he snarled in her face. “You’re only here because you need me, not because you want me. It’s only been eight fuckin’ years, that’s all. Thanks for the appreciation.” He pointed towards the door. “Now get the fuck out of my sight. After all this time, did you really think I was going to follow you out that door? You can tell Squall to go fuck himself. I’m not coming with you. I’m not coming to fight your war. I’m going to die however the hell I want to die, and it sure as hell won’t be by obeying orders.”

He turned, ran a hand through his hair, and put his hands on his hips, glaring out the window again.

There was a pause as Quistis took a deep breath to collect her thoughts and maintain her composure. All she wanted to do was scream at him, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good.

“You’re right,” she replied softly. “You’re right, Seifer. I didn’t do anything. I was too worried about my responsibilities…my station as a role model. I waited too long, and I took advantage of what I had…and when things fell apart, I realized that. I realized it too late. For that, I’m truly sorry. I suppose there really is nothing I can say to get you to reconsider, but…at least…I wanted to make sure. I wanted to hear it from your own lips.”

She turned, walked towards the door, and put her hand on the knob.

“Before I go,” she whispered, “I just want you to know…that…I left on my own. I didn’t ask for permission. There were no orders from Squall to find you. I’m not following anyone’s orders. In fact…I’m the commanding officer now.”

Seifer slowly turned his head to look at her. He didn’t attempt to hide the look of surprise on his face this time.

“I’ve been trying to find you ever since the Second War ended, but it was almost impossible since you moved around so much,” she continued sadly. “Then the Third War started, and…I’m sorry if I seem selfish for putting my duty first, but I hope you understand that I had a lot of students to take care of.”

His jaw worked, but he didn’t reply.

“After years of searching and collecting evidence, Fujin finally told me where they thought you might have recently been,” she sighed. “I didn’t want to waste any more time. I had to find you. I knew sending someone else would only be a mistake, and I wanted to speak to you myself.”

His brow furrowed and he stared at the floor.

“But now I know,” she murmured.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause.

“You asked me why I came,” she said quietly. “Well, why do you think, Seifer? Why do you think I chased after you that day, when you left for Timber? I’ve tried to tell you…for so long…but have you ever really listened to me?”

Her answer was unexpected. He glanced up at her again and examined her, still appearing angry.

“But if it makes no difference, then I’m sorry I bothered you,” she murmured. “I only thought that…well…you belong with us.”

You belong with me.

She turned, opened the door, and paused. “Oh…and one more thing…if you want to die your way, then you won’t be happy unless you die with that in your hands,” she motioned towards the sleek, silver case that held Hyperion. She gave him one last glance, then turned away.

As soon as Quistis closed the door, she hurried away from the house, swallowing back the tears. Seeing him again was pure torture. He had stripped her bare, exploited her weaknesses, and was unrelentingly on the offensive, as she had expected. Years ago, she had been used to it. Now, it was different. He meant every word he said. There was no going back to what once was. There was never any going back. He most likely hated her. He had cast her aside a long time ago.

He will never come back. He’s gone. That thought was probably the worst. It was as if he died. It was Timber all over again. She couldn’t hold it in any longer. Quistis started to cry. He left because of her. He didn’t want to be anywhere near her. And why would he? She certainly didn’t give him a good enough reason.

She angrily wiped the tears away, chided herself, and continued her trek back northwest, heading straight towards Winhill, refusing to look back, and she glanced up at the sky. It was still grey, but it was darker. She would make camp at the same spot she did earlier in the morning, against an outcropping of rocks near a desolate field, and hoped against hope that it wouldn’t rain.

It was risky making a fire, but a small one wouldn’t usually attract fiends, and the wind was cold. She brought enough provisions for two people, just in case – the thought made her face screw tight, and she forced it back into the pit of her stomach – and kept most of the supplies in a small cranny between the large rocks. As she huddled against a rock with her back to the wind, she stared into the fire absent-mindedly and wiped a tear away. It wasn’t long before it was fully dark outside. Hyne knew how many hours had passed. She wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. She buried her face into the blanket she’d wrapped around her and sighed.

That’s that.

Hyne, how she hated failure.

It was time to go home, at least what was left of it. The only reassuring thought was that the return back wouldn’t nearly be as long, and hopefully the enemy scouts weren’t as abundant. SeeDs would be waiting for her at the shore. The first thing she would do when she got back would be to check on Squall, then meet with her troops to get updates and discuss the next plan of action –

There was movement. A shuffle, off towards the east. Dirt moving. It was hard to hear due to the wind, but she was used to the sounds. Quistis immediately grabbed Save the Queen and crouched, ready to spring. It was already too late to put out the fire. Whatever it was, it knew she was there.

Crunching noises, like gravel. Gravel under footsteps, and the person was walking closer. Quistis slowly stood and narrowed her eyes.

The tall build of Seifer Almasy came into view once he got closer to the firelight. He had Hyperion slung over his shoulder and he glared at her with an annoyed look on his face.

“All right, Trepe. You got me. When do we head out?”

The Crownless Again Shall Be King

2012-03-05T15:05:03Z

Title: the crownless again shall be king.
Rating: PG13
Summary: The mission isn't supposed to go like this, and he can feel blood seeping into his shirt.
Notes: Set about three months in.

the crownless again shall be king

He's been having this dream a lot lately.

He'll close his eyes, and there, in snapshots like he's upended on of his mother's photo albums, he'll see a boy, young, blond, racing a truck across the just-mopped wooden floors of the orphanage. It isn't his truck, but it doesn't stop him from zooming it across furniture and walls, slipping and sliding as he shoves it faster, faster, right over a stack of books Quistis has carefully arranged. Cid sits in a chair, a newspaper in hand, a big, boring thing that holds no appeal for little boy Seifer unless he gets to read the comics.

He runs the truck across Cid's knees, and the rumble of laughter this elicits makes him warm somewhere in his stomach, like a hug from Matron, who calls for him to be careful.

Behave, she says, wagging her finger at him. Be a good boy.

Be a good boy, Seifer.

Be a good boy.

Her words echo around, until they twist and warp and run together, mixed with Cid's rumble, and Seifer runs, runs, runs.

He doesn't see the table until it's too late, and by that point, the vase is falling, a slow freewheeling descent.

Matron's going to be so mad.

Good boy, Seifer. Be good, be good. Her chant is dancing through his head as he grabs for the vase, trying to catch it before it can be ruined. But his hands are too small, his fingers too short, and the vase is so, so big.

He wakes up before the vase hits the ground, every single time.

--

Seifer blinks awake, and the first thing to come into focus before his sleep-gummed eyes is the alarm clock, reading two-thirty in the morning, and the faint whisper of vanilla and weapons oil still lingers in the the pillow he's ended up crumpling under his head.

--good boy.

With a sigh of disgust, he rolls over onto his back, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes until the gunk is gone. It shouldn't bother him as much as it does, this dream (this memory), incessantly replaying every time he closes his eyes. It was just a childhood accident. It doesn't mean anything.

But he can still hear Cid's rumbling laugh and Edea's admonishments, and something inside him tightens up.

--good boy, Seifer, now off with his head. Good boy, Seifer, now kill the girl. Good boy, good boy, good boy, slaughter them all--

He flings aside the covers, and a cold finger of wind from the open window rakes across his bare chest. Summer is impossible in Balamb; it's broiling during the day and frigid at night, and he has made the mistake of renting a rundown house by the sea, picking it arbitrarily from the list that Garden presented him with. They will not let him live on campus, and they will not let him out of their sight; Seifer almost thinks he would've preferred prison. It's better than being tracked like an animal.

Absently, he scratches at his wrist, where a tiny disc of metal has been embedded into the muscle. Most of the time he can forget it's there. Other times... other times, it seems like the world has gotten entirely too small for him, when all he wants to do is get roaring drunk and start a bar fight, just to prove that he's still a man to be feared.

Not this man, where the woman who occasionally comes over frequently doesn't stay the entire night. Not this man who wakes at two in the morning with the woman who was supposed to be his mother screaming at him to be a good boy, yes, be good, Seifer--

Seifer gets up and spends the next three hours flipping through crappy early-early morning movies with the largest mug he owns filled with coffee until he hears his alarm go off in the next room.

--

Quistis Trepe is waiting for him like usual, leaning against the wall as she sips coffee from an overly large go-cup in her hands. She glances up as he approaches, and in Garden's hideous lighting, he's surprised by how tired she looks.

"Instructor," he greets her, with a nod. But the word is mild, not an insult anymore, not for a few months now. "You should've stayed."

"I had work to do," Quistis mumbles around the rim of her cup. He doesn't know if it should surprise him that he understands most of this.

There's a part of him that wants to say, fuck it, to the careful walls she's built up and throw his arm around her shoulder, because it shouldn't matter, not now, not after all of this, but for once, Seifer doesn't break this rule, and keeps his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Bring any for me?" he asks instead, nodding toward her cup, and Quistis raises an eyebrow.

"You do remember that I can kill you with my pinky, right?"

He snorts in amusement. Quistis shoves off of the wall and starts down the pristine halls of Balamb Garden that are so scrubbed and polished it's hard to believe there's a war on.

(He remembers bombing Trabia, then seeing pictures online six months later, and being surprised at how quickly they've rebuilt.)

Seifer follows her to the garage, where there is already a small knot of SeeDs waiting, probably for them. A few of them look like they haven't even had a chance to shower and wash the stink of yesterday's blood off of them. He knows that feeling. His old coat is in ruins in a dumpster somewhere, caked in gore and filth.

It still doesn't stop him from sitting in the farthest back row of the van, propping his boots up on the rest of the bench to prevent any of the stinking, weary cadets from sitting next to him.

"You could sit on my lap, Trepe," he says mildly when Quistis enters the van and he's taking up the last seat with his feet.

"Cute," she says, and taps the toe of a boot with her gloved hand. He removes his feet, and she sits primly, Save the Queen nestled in her lap like a puppy.

The mission is simple: take out a Galbadian communications outpost in the woods just outside of Balamb. It's ludicrously easy, something cadets could do as a field exam. But Garden's numbers are not what they used to be, and Leonhart is not taking any chances to protect his little princess. Still, there's no need for eight of them, Seifer thinks.

The van drops them off just as the sun is getting comfortable in the sky and Quistis is finishing her lecture on what is expected of them during the siege, and the day promises to be another miserable scorcher.

"Get in, take out as many as you can, and get out," she emphasizes, her hand on Save the Queen as they check their weapons. Hyperion is slung casually across his back, cleaned and oiled to perfection, loaded with the Bio-tipped rounds that Leonhart introduced him to an eternity ago. They're lethal little suckers, especially when the bullets are hollowpoint rounds.

Quistis stops him as the group starts to move off. "Are you junctioned?" she asks, and he glances down at her hand on his arm, then back up at her, raising an eyebrow at the absurdity of her question-- this is barely a mission, not worth the devoured memories it would cost him to keep a GF crawling around in his head. He's got enough magic-infused rounds to take care of himself, and if not, that's what they make the potions he keeps shoved his pockets for.

"Concerned, Instructor? I'm touched." He glances over his shoulder; the rest of their party is oblivious, trekking off into the woods like a bunch of Moomba Scouts, and he swoops in, kissing her before she has a chance to protest, and he thinks there's a faint coffee taste still on her lips. When he pulls back, she looks like she can't decide whether to hit him or kiss him again, and he smirks. "Let's go, or we're going to miss all the fun."

--

"Fun" turns into a nightmare almost instantly.

Corville is the first one of them down, stepping on a buried trap that sends him rigid with shock as a Thundaga runs all over his skin, and while Seifer would like to applaud the novelty of the trap, Corville's on the ground, spasming so badly that he slams his head against a rock and that's curtains for him.

There is a stunned second of silence, and then Quistis is crying, go-go-go.

The Galbadians don't wait for them to get into position-- it's never easy like it is in the movies-- and open fire.

Seifer dives, hitting the ground rolling and coming up with Hyperion unsheathed, getting off a shot that elicits a shriek from its mark. Somewhere ahead of him, Quistis' whip cracks, the sound exploding into the air. He catches a glimmer of her, vague and indistinct through the blur of battle, her blonde ponytail streaming in the early-morning light.

He charges, hacking away with Hyperion, pausing only twice to wipe the enemies' blood off onto his pants. It makes his grip on Hyperion unstable, and he won't have that, a loose grip that could take Greaves' head off of her shoulders or knock off Shang's arm instead of a Galbadian soldier's. No matter what Seifer's principles are regarding SeeD and its complex military bullshit, he won't have that, hurting an ally by accident.

Hyperion embeds itself to the halfway point of the blade into a Galbadian's chest, and makes a sucking sound when he rips it out, taking out lung and hunks of flesh. The soldier gapes at him like a Balamb cod, mouth moving soundlessly, sucking down air and coming up with bloody sputum instead.

"Seifer!" and it is Quistis' voice, screaming across the battlefield like she's junctioned amplification. He whirls, parrying a soldier's assault with the flat of his gunblade just in time to see her running toward the largest of the tents.

She is met head on by four soldiers pouring out of the tent, and Save the Queen flashes out, a lethal gleaming snake of leather and barbs and metal. She is fast, so damn fast he's not sure what she's done, but one of them is already down, hands clawing at their face as red runs over their fingers, and the others are trying to crowd her, cutting off her ability to use her weapon.

He throws up his arm over his eyes before she casts, and the afterimage of the spell still leaves spots dancing at the corners of his eyes.

Three down.

He vaults over a pile of corpses-- he glimpses a half-familiar body wearing the black and silver of Balamb. He cannot put a name to a face and a quick scan of the field shows that there are only two others in their colors-- they're losing, he can't believe it. Ahead, there are three more coming up on Trepe from behind.

A battle roar rips out of his throat as he attacks, and it is only much, much later, when he is heaving, sucking down air like a drowning man, bodies scattered around them, that he realizes Quistis isn't on her feet anymore.

She is slouched against the communications tent, holding her arm tightly against her collarbone, and when he gets nearer to her, he can see blood pooling out across her flesh, leaving a crimson wake. Her black t-shirt is sticky, matted with the stuff.

"Potion," she says, holding out her other hand for it, and he yanks off the cap with his teeth, spitting the rubber cork off to the side.

"Move your arm," he orders, and when she protests, reaching for it, he snaps, "You'll just miss and waste it."

She drops her arm and the way her face drains of color makes him think she regrets the motion pretty much immediately.

The gash is long and jagged, and he dumps the entire potion straight into the wound. He has to commend Trepe on her willpower-- he's done the same thing, and it had him swearing like a sailor, but she barely lets out a peep.

"Get the equipment," she rasps when he is done, and already, he can see the gleaming starshine of the potion taking effect, knitting together as much of the flesh as it can in a temporary parody of sutures that Kadowaki will have a fit over trying to fix.

Some part of him wants to argue-- she'll bleed out if they waste any more time, but it's the look on her face, the one that dictates she'll kick his ass regardless of what state she's in, that puts Seifer on his feet and charging into the communications tent, where a tech wearing massive headphones sits in a ridiculous little swivel chair. She's pressing buttons frantically, transmitting data and live feeds of the assault on their camp as quickly as she can, and when she whirls to face him, Seifer wastes no time.

Her head thuds against the floor, and he kicks the corpse in a chair out of the way, digging into his pocket for one of the Fira-infused rounds, chambering it quickly. Seifer aims, and fires, and the control station goes up in a combination of flames and arcs of electricity.

It won't be long before it explodes, he knows, because the three big generators in the corner aren't there just for show.

He remembers only bits and pieces of what follows:

Scooping up Quistis in a fireman's carry over his shoulder, and feeling a sticky warmth flow through the shoulder of his shirt, yelling that they have to go, right now, and smelling the sickly-sweet stench of electronics catching fire.

The sound one of the remaining soldiers makes as Seifer runs him through, falling and hitting one of his own Thundaga-mines.

Quistis' hands flat against his back and the bitter blue-stink of Shell and Protect coming to form around them.

Greaves, somewhere to his left, screaming into her headset that they need a pick up, they need one now.

Thinking, wildly, there'll be more any second, this can't be the only wave.

The force of the blast roaring through the woods, rendering him deaf and dumb and speechless, and the heat is insane, flames practically licking at their heels.

And all of a sudden, they are through the woods, crashing through the underbrush with all the subtlety of a herd of Mesmerizes, and the van is there, doors open. He ducks low as he vaults in, and Quistis ends up in his lap, curled up against him with her fingers tangled tightly in his shirt, whimpering with the agony of the journey, and he can see the wound leaking again.

Someone has left a faded gray sweatshirt sitting on one of the seats, and he snatches it up, pressing it against her chest.

Shang is last in the van, and slams the door shut behind him as they careen off, back toward Garden.

He drops in the seat next to Seifer, and there is nothing to say.

This was supposed to be easy.

--

Seifer spends a very long time in intimate conference with the shower, standing under the pounding spray until the water goes frigid, and even then he spends a few more minutes, staring blankly at the hodgepodge of blue tiles on the wall until they all blend together in one long streak.

He knots a towel around his waist, hissing as his fingers brush a boot-shaped bruise on his hip, although he doesn't remember getting kicked quite so hard. When he looks in the mirror as he lathers shaving cream on his face, his reflection shows him another bruise blossoming rather spectacularly on his temple.

If he dreams tonight, he doesn't know what the fuck he's going to do.

Quistis sits on the edge of his bed with a brush in her hand, running it methodically through her wet hair until it is a smooth sheet of burnt gold. She is wearing one of his old B. Garden basketball jerseys; it comes nearly down to her knees, and he can see too much of the pristine white bandages wrapped around her shoulder and upper torso for his comfort.

"I would've been fine in the dorms," she tells him as he exchanges the towel for a pair of ratty sweats.

"Yeah, well, Kadowaki says you shouldn't be alone tonight."

"Yes, well, I do live in a military academy with its own private infirmary, if anything were to happen."

"Tch, but I have a bed that doesn't feel like sleeping on rocks." He yanks aside the blanket and slides underneath it. "Wake me up if you think you're going to die," he mumbles into the pillow.

She smiles, a faint glint of one, and reaches to turn off the light.

"Good night, Seifer," she says, and her voice is the last thing he hears before he surrenders to oblivion.

AUTHOR DIRECTORY

2012-03-02T06:32:37Z

This is the official masterlist of all past and current participants in The Third War, with a link to their works.

Don't see your name and it's been more than 24 hours since you applied to join? PM irish_ais or leave a comment on this post.

irish_ais: their archive (moderator/maintainer)
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horsecrazy12987: their archive
sissyhiyah: their archive
summonerluna: their archive
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dr_staceums: their archive
first_seventhe: their archive
altol: their archive
jerseymilk: their archive
mahoneyb: their archive

WELCOME AND GUIDELINES

2012-03-02T06:28:52Z

Garden cannot hide a sorceress in their midst forever. When Rinoa Heartilly is outed as the world's most wanted witch, it is up to SeeD to do what they've trained their entire lives to accomplish: kill the sorceress.

Seifer Almasy has had enough to do with witches for a lifetime, but when Quistis Trepe appears on his doorstep to offer him one last chance at SeeD, he finds himself wondering if, just maybe, he'll get to be the hero of a story instead of the villain after all.

But the rules of this fairy tale are different: the princess is the dragon, and she wears an old flame's face.

Welcome to thethirdwar, an ongoing fanfiction collaboration focusing on Seifer/Quistis and the premise of a third Sorceress War.

All are welcome and invited to participate! This post will serve as a sign-in sheet for those who wish to join; posting access is moderated and your admission will need to be approved before you can start adding stories to the compilation.

Please read the guidelines for this challenge carefully, and when you're ready to go, just leave a comment, and you'll be added to the list of authors participating. (Addition to the community can take up to 24 hours; please be patient if you don't have posting access right away.)

1. Please, please, please edit and spell-check your work. There is no excuse not to do this.

2. Stories should not exceed 5000 words per segment, although it's totally fine if you go a few hundred words in one direction or another. Generally, each piece you add to the collection should be able to stand as its own work. There is absolutely no word count minimum! Drabbles are completely fine.

2a. You may expand on the universe every so often with non-SxQ material. (Say, Zone and Irvine get stuck together on a mission that someone else mentioned in their story.) Just tag those types of installments with "expanded universe" to keep them organized.

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FORMATTING:

Your post should contain the following:

1. Title (and notation if anything other than fanfic.)
2. Summary
3. Rating
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