AN: Obviously the characters don't belong to me. Check out my bio for the premise of this story. The lyrics belong the band they are credited to and are used thematically only (this is not a song-fic). Thanks for reading!

Chapter One

I've been cursed
I've been crossed
I've been beaten by the ones
That get me off

I've been cut
I've been opened up
I've been shattered by the ones
I thought I loved

-Chalk Outline, Three Days Grace

A flash of golden hair and warm lips, a perfect moment, a kiss stolen on impulse, a distraction that turns into something more… but the need to run, to get there in time is overwhelming. He has to save her, the one thing in his life he's managed not to crush. He has to protect her and he knows that to do that he must hurt the one before him. He looks into surprised eyes, the color of the sky on an endless summer day and for just a moment he hates himself. But the need drives him on and he can't stop to think, can't wait. The sound of her fall sears him even as he rushes on to meet his destiny.

Piercing amber eyes, cruel and twisted, a mockery of what they once were, what they should be, but he's drawn in, pulled by the hint of memory and the splash of power he can taste in the air. He wants it, wants it so badly… but he is weak, he is afraid. He's done what the Ice Queen has always warned him of, he's rushed in and bitten off more than he can chew. But his Mistress is there now, this vision of darkness, and although he hates what she says to him, how she makes him feel, she is offering him salvation and he doesn't know how to refuse. There is nothing left for him in the world but the madness in her gaze.

The crowd cheers, screaming their adoration into the star-lit sky and he basks in the reflection of her glory. The flames of her power rise behind them; beacons signaling the start of her reign. The parade is endless, the celebration in full swing. His Mistress has warned him that her enemies will try and stop her this night and so he stands tall and proud like the knight he's become; ready to give his life for her.

Silver flashes, pain blooms, he falls. His enemy stands triumphant as his Mistress sneers at him, telling him he is a fool. Her words cut deeper than the blade and his mind seeks the comfort of the dark. Death welcomes him and in her presence he knows, he sees everything he was, everything he is, and everything he is to become.

Light swallows him but he doesn't want to leave this place, not yet. He can't hear his Mistress' voice, within his head or without, and it is both a blessing and a curse. She has forsaken him. His eyes open as leather tipped fingers hover timidly over his cheek. Blue eyes sear into his mind, into his heart, but he can't remember why they hurt him so, until in a flash she is there. "Seifer, DO NOT hurt your partner while training." "Seifer grow up!" "Seifer, follow directions!" "Good luck, Seifer." As he presses her warmth into his cheek, he thinks about second chances and wonders if she was always meant to be his. As usual, her only worry is the other, the light to his dark, the dark to his light. Hurt sweeps in, followed by a drowning clarity, and he thinks he'd rather die than go back into the shadows of his rival's perfection. But maybe if he brings a gift, his Mistress will raise him up, back into the light where he can prove that he is everything that the other is and more. She doesn't even see the blow coming. His Mistress' voice returns but it is a cold comfort against the heat of the Ice Queen's fingers still burning into his skin.

The clash of swords. A flash of red against blue. The cries of the fallen. The fight of the behemoths rages on but he has returned to his Mistress' side. He will stand by her always, it is his destiny. The others charge in, the enemies, the loathsome SeeD, and he steps forward to meet them head on. He doesn't recognize any of them through the haze of battle and his Mistress' touch but she coaches his words, twisting his memories to find the weaknesses she seeks. He tries to resist the intrusion, he is happy to forget, but he knows he can't stand against her for long. The fight is brief, he falls heavily, a twisted lump of blood and pain. His Mistress screams at him in his head, outside it; he is useless to her; but still he drags himself down, down, down, to where she makes her final stand. He defends her to his last breath. She is all he has, all he knows, all he will ever be. When Death claims him he drowns, and when his Mistress brings him back wearing the body of his first brush with innocent love, he is lost.

One blue eye, silvered under white hair, stares defiantly at him and it takes all he is to remember who this girl, this tiny woman who stands between him and his Mistress' command, is. The big man behind her is saying something but he barely hears the words under the torrent of his Mistress'. "Let them go," she orders. "Useless worms." And suddenly he knows… he knows who they are, what they want. They are leaving him, surrendering him to fate's design. He was always meant to be alone. The Posse will never be again. The fight with his shadow, with the other, is quick and painful. He is struck down by a guardian unbound by the rules of the bond.

It leaves him weak, but his Mistress spurns him on, there is still time to salvage the plans. He's interrupted in his quest by another and even as his Mistress tugs at him he can't ignore those eyes, eyes as blue as the sky and as deep as the sea. They haunt him, torturing him in the night. They are defiant now and the words she hurls at him are cruel and cutting, tearing him apart. "Kill her," his Mistress whispers. "If she scars you so, destroy her." The words have a command to them and before he can think he is acting. Her skin feels like silk under his hand and a sick pleasure fills him at the sight of her stark terror, but her defiance remains.

A blade presses against his throat and the girl his Mistress needs stands before him. A trickle of blood slides over his skin as she demands the others' release but he does not notice, does not know anything more than his Mistress' voice. "Do it," his Mistress commands. "Forget her, bring me the girl." And just as she's commanded he's already forgotten the one in his hand, tossing her away. The girl glares at him and rushes to the fallen one's side, stupidly turning her back. He captures her with ease, ignoring her screams as he tugs them both onward toward their end.

"Welcome, my son," the dark woman says and he is home. The waves beat timelessly against the golden shores and his heart keeps rhythm as he drowns in bottomless amber pools and remembers… For a moment, clarity graces him and the flashes of memory sharpen. The haze of his Mistress' power lifts from his eyes and it is no longer some other whose actions play out as if up on a screen, it is him. Him, only him.

He falls into the sand, screaming, thrashing; his pain as endless as the sea. But then she is there, his Mistress—but not his Mistress—and her lilting voice rises above him, fills him until the jagged pieces of him lie bare.

He shatters under the weight of his actions. His soul refuses to hold together any longer and cracks apart like brittle china. Death rushes for him on ragged wings and he smiles in welcome, knowing that if he reaches out and takes that boney hand, all of his pain, all of his sorrow will simply fade away.

But there are two of them now, his Mistress-but-not-his-Mistress, and the woman he had once called Matron, and they are speaking in tandem of hope and dreams and holding onto destiny. Power surrounds him and he fights against it instinctively but it isn't the harsh, cold fires of his Mistress' spells, or the warm burn of the guardian's energy… This magic is cool, soothing like a mother's touch and he leans into it as the ragged edges of his soul are worn down and then puzzled together piece by bitter piece and he is left whole in a way he's never dreamed of. The memories of the sorceress' knight shift and slide into the shadows of his mind and the women with the amber eyes merge until only one kneels in the sand calling his name like a prayer. "Seifer. Live Seifer, live."

His body jolted and all at once he was awake. Shooting up from the lumpy straw mattress, clenching at his chest, he swore heavily, wiping away the beads of cold sweat that dripped down the back of his neck. That dream again… It haunted him in the night, in the dark, when the shadows loomed and the memories tugged at his heart. It was always the same; the same flow of moments where clarity beat its broken wings, trying to take him up past the surface of her madness. He supposed that there were worse dreams to be had with all he'd done and all he'd seen, but this one always hit him the hardest, because it was steeped in memory. Of all the moments he dreamed, the last was always the worst because it was the only one that still contained an echo of pain.

Displaced in the flows of decompressing time, he'd been unable to find his way out of the nightmare his sorceress had dreamed up. He'd been lost, but Edea had called him, and Matron had found him, just as the last of his Mistress' magic had faded, just as he'd fully realized what he'd done, what he'd become and the weight of it tore him apart. He'd felt death, recognized it, welcomed it, but the Edea of the past and the Edea of the present had refused to let him die. Through the magic of their souls and their hearts, they picked up his unwilling body, his ravaged soul, and put him back together piece by painful piece.

When he had been whole again the memories of his time as the sorceress' knight had faded back into obscurity. The knowledge was still there, lurking like a malignant tumor—everything he had done he could recall in a heartbeat—but the feelings that should have been so firmly rooted in those memories were as elusive as the wind.

Edea had healed him, making him more whole than he'd ever been before, but in doing so she'd finished what the Sorceress started, dooming him to living a lie. What he'd done during his time as the Sorceress' pet should have made him feel guilt, but there was none and so he felt guilty. The lives lost—comrades, students, soldiers—should have made him feel sorrow, but there were no tears, and so he was remorseful. The things the sorceress made him do, the things he'd lost, the things he could never get back again should have made him angry, but there was no heat, and so he was enraged. But as always, because his emotions were, at best, second hand, they faded back into the ambivalence he had been cursed to live with. And that ambivalence, he knew, had been part of the reason Fujin and Raijin had finally abandoned him. Why he'd let them go, so that he woke now alone in the little ramshackle shack on the beach a few miles outside of Timber's city limits. He pulled a shaking hand through his short blond hair, and sighed.

For all that he had once wished to be alone, now that his isolation was complete, he couldn't stand it. Still, he couldn't bring himself to blame his Posse. After all, they had stuck around for longer than he expected after searching him out.

Whole and healed, when time had finally righted itself he had found himself not on the shores of Centra, but in Balamb. Fujin and Raijin were only a few feet away clinging to each other and looking toward him like they were waiting for him. For a moment, for one shining day, everything had seemed like it was going to be all right. Fujin and Raijin had been up to their old antics, just trying to make him smile, and he had taken up fishing, just because he could. It had been harder than it looked and he'd grown frustrated after Raijin had outdone him, but he had laughed as Fujin pushed Raijin into the sea in revenge. Balamb Garden had floated peacefully over their heads, a sign that everything was as it should be. Then, that night, he had had the first of his nightmares and he knew that nothing would ever be right again.

He'd done too much, done too little… He was an outcast, a pariah, someone who was feared and reviled throughout the world. He'd once longed to make his mark, but even in his darkest dreams, the one he'd made wasn't the one he wanted. While he moped about not feeling anything, Rajin and Fujin had real scars left from what they had done, real pain.

They had followed him to Timber, and tried, for a time, to convince him that he hadn't been all that bad, that he wasn't universally hated, but the things they said fell like empty platitudes on deaf ears and eventually they had given up. It had taken them three whole months to realize that the Posse would never be what it was, and a little longer to decide to go back to Garden and the lives they'd left behind.

He'd let them go, even convinced them that he would be fine without them, because he knew he owed them that much. No matter how he appreciated and depended on their company, he couldn't make them stay just for him.

It had been over a month since they'd waved goodbye and he'd just finally gotten used to the silence. Which is why he realized suddenly it was too silent. And then there was a noise. Not loud, just a whisper of footsteps on sand, the brush of cloth against the reeds. Someone was outside.

He wondered who could be out stumbling around the shore at this time of night and his fear was quick to conjure assassins, townspeople thirsting for the blood of the fallen knight, or SeeDs sent to deliver judgment for Trabia, for Balamb, for all the fucked-up things he'd been involved with, whether he'd known about them or not.

As unlikely as those scenarios were—he'd been too damn careful to hide who he was and where he was staying—the images wouldn't leave. Part of him would welcome any of them, for in his heart he felt it was no less than what he deserved. And that was what scared him the most. He had never been one to surrender. His death would mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. It wouldn't bring back those who were lost, and it wouldn't absolve him of his crimes.

Clutching Hyperion, he moved silently to stand beside the slatted wooden door as whatever it was moved closer. Raijin would have called him paranoid, he knew, jumping at shadows—or more likely fiends looking for a midnight snack—but if he'd learned one thing it was that there is no such thing as too much paranoia. Thinking of Raijin made him wonder briefly if his Posse had come back, but the thought, he knew, was just as ridiculous as his previous ones. Whatever loyalty they still had for him, it wouldn't be enough to bring them back, not when they could be at home.

The footsteps paused and he held his breath. It was now or never. Clenching Hyperion tightly he raised the blade and threw open the door. Like being punched in the gut, all of the air left his lungs at once, but the pain was distant, contained only in his mind.

"Quisty?" he breathed, not quite believing his eyes.

It was her, but nowhere near the her he remembered so vividly in his dreams. Her hair was down, tumbling over her shoulders like a golden wave, and thick black square-rimmed glasses obstructed most of her clear blue eyes. A knee-length leather duster covered most of her body with only a sliver of skin showing between it and her black, chunky high heeled boots.

He blinked twice, sure he was still dreaming, but knowing it was too surreal not to be reality. She was perhaps the last person he ever expected to see again, but even though it was her, seeing someone familiar was more welcome than he would ever admit, especially since he could guess her purpose. She was one of his worst fears come to life.

He'd known of the possibility ever since he'd awakened, ever since he'd found out what he'd become. Lapdog. Murderer. Puppet. Labels screamed at him in the wake of blood, and above it all a voice commanding him to 'kill the SeeDs…kill them all…' It had only been a matter of time. He had known they would come, his former comrades, and his death would follow.

Still, in all the scenarios his nightmares could conjure he had never imagined that Quistis Trepe would be the one to deliver his final salvation. She had always been the one to fight for him. The only one to ever notice anything in him worth fighting for. No matter how far their relationship deteriorated, how much he baited her, she had continued to fight for him, for his right to take the SeeD exam for the fifth time, for his right to lead a team, for his right to stay in Garden. It'd been somewhat unnecessary, as he'd had an advantage keeping him in Garden that she knew nothing about, but it had touched him.

He'd hated her for it then, because she'd made him feel—made him think, made him want something he knew he could never have. He'd sought out her weaknesses and used them to torment her; going out of his way to goad her, because it was the only way he could think of to drive her away. None of it had worked, though, because when push came to shove, as much as he'd thought he'd hated her, and as much as he hated himself, he hadn't been able to walk away and leave the mystery of her untouched. The more he'd discovered, the more he'd been unable to resist trying to get under her skin, to find out just what was lying there under all that ice.

It hadn't been until it was too late that he'd realized why he'd wanted to know.

The silence between them thickened and then she knocked his still hovering blade away with a flick of her wrist and slid around him to enter the room. She studied him with cool eyes as he shrugged and shut the door behind him, leaning on it and studying her as well. She looked different, even beyond her new style choices. She seemed harder, angrier, and more powerful. There was a darkness hovering in her eyes that he'd never seen before.

He'd once wanted to be the one to make her feel pain, to bring her to her knees, to make her hate him, but now that he could see her, the way she'd changed; the possibility that he had played a part in the cause was a bitter pill to swallow.

He looked away from her, and for the first time since he'd come back to himself he found he didn't want to know what feelings his memories contained, didn't want to know if he'd enjoyed striking her down. Didn't want to think about the way her eyes had looked when he'd kissed her, the way they'd hollowed—like they were now—when he'd pushed her. Didn't want to think of any of it.

"Are you here to kill me?"

Her eyes narrowed and she sighed, but then she gave him that look, her patented 'I can't believe you, Seifer,' look, and he wondered if maybe he'd been seeing things, maybe she wasn't so different after all.

"Should I be?"

He shrugged, it was still much more likely that she'd come to kill him than her seeking him out for any other reason.

"I don't know. I figured maybe the Galbadians would pay for my head, or possibly the Estharians. I did wreck their city. And that was if Squall didn't want the pleasure himself, for Trabia, or for any of the other things I put you all through. I never expected that you'd be the one to take the contract, but I suppose I should just be grateful that…" he let his words trail off, unwilling to finish the sentence.

"Grateful that what?" she asked.

That you came for me, he thought, but mumbled, "Nothin', it doesn't matter."

The thought itself was stupid and weak, he didn't need anyone to come for him, and he didn't need anyone to care about him, not his Posse, and certainly not his bleeding-heart ex-instructor.

Then she said, "I guess it doesn't, as I'm not here to kill you." And no matter how frosty her voice was, he couldn't help but grin. She held up her hand. "I wouldn't celebrate just yet. The thought has crossed my mind. It would be so much simpler than what I am actually here for."

Always a catch, he thought, hiding his surprise with a sneer. "And what, pray tell, is that?"

"A Summit has been called. In two weeks you are to testify in front of the world about the crimes committed during the Ultimecia Wars."

"Shit." He'd never expected something like that, but now that he thought about it, he should have. He should count himself lucky it was a summit and not a 'trial' in a Galbadian court.

She smiled tightly. "You didn't think you'd get to go free after all the things you did, did you?"

He closed his eyes, and the weight of the world seemed to settle back on his shoulders.

"No," he admitted truthfully.

He hadn't expected to be free. Being put on trial, his shame put on display, was one of his worst fears, a reoccurring nightmare.

He's on the spired float, his sword over his shoulder, the fires of her magic burning in the braziers behind him, the crowd screaming their worship, and then suddenly he's alone on the platform, on his knees, chained while the crowd jeers, calling for his blood.

"So you're here to escort the sacrifice to the bloody altar. Let the world watch as I burn. Never thought you'd stoop so low, Instructor."

She laughed but it was full of bitterness. "Oh, grow up and stop being so pathetic."

His eyes snapped up furiously to hers but she plowed ahead relentlessly, pacing as she did. "Actions have consequences, although you never could figure that out, and your actions deserve more than you're going to get." She stopped, turning on her heel to face him and sighed heavily. "The Summit is a sham; no one has clean hands in this debacle, so no one can afford to point fingers. Don't worry—" she sneered, crossing her arms underneath her chest, "—your pride might even come out intact."

The old urge—the need to hurt her twice as much as she had him—had him retorting before he could think. "Like you know so much about actions and consequences, let alone pride. Although we both know you know tons about being pathetic."

He knew he struck true when she flinched but she didn't give him the satisfaction of the fight he was looking for, choosing instead to just study him with those icy eyes. Which, as usual, just pissed him off more.

"And once again, you prove me right. Trying so hard to be the perfect ice bitch, so afraid of letting your feelings show, that almost everyone is sure you don't have any."

Unexpected, unchecked, she practically flew at him and he was left dumb. Somewhere in his mind the pain registered as his lip split under her fist and his head snapped back. Her other fist found his solar plexus and he couldn't make a sound. Doubled over, trying desperately to pull in air, he wasn't sure how he managed to block the knee she was aiming for his groin, only that it hurt, everything hurt.

Damn, she knew how to hit. Wondering who the hell had taught her, he grinning lopsidedly and tried to hide his wince as his lip split further. "Wow" he said, wheezing heavily, "who'd have ever thought that under all that ice is a she-devil waiting to be unleashed."

She shrieked, and charged. Before he could think, she had used her momentum to sweep his feet from under him. All of the air was knocked from his lungs as his back slammed into the ground. She was on him before he could blink, her nails biting sharply into his shoulders while her knees dug painfully into his thighs.

He grinned up at her, counting himself lucky that she hadn't chosen to dig her knees somewhere else. She looked angrier for a moment but then her head whipped towards the door and the sounds of shifting footsteps in the sand and her hand flew to her ear.

"False alarm," she bit out, glaring at him as if daring him to say a word. He might have if he'd had the air, but with her sitting on his bruised solar plexus all he could do was pant shallowly trying to catch his breath. "Just a… slight altercation."

She listened to something and a slight smile crossed her lips. "I'll let you know," she said before tapping her ear again and turning her attention back to him.

"I've wanted to wipe that awful smirk off of your face for years, but I'll apologize anyway because I shouldn't have lost my temper like that. Still, I would suggest that you remember that I am no longer your instructor and therefore no longer bound to take your shit."

He nodded slightly, giving her the point mostly because he wasn't sure what to think. Reigning in his own temper was taking the lion's share of his attention, and the way her jacket had fallen open revealing just how little material she was actually wearing was taking the rest.

Her barely covered breasts were heaving, peeking through her wide collar, and her legs were bare all the way to her thighs, where the world's smallest skirt just barely kept him from seeing if she was wearing anything under it. Taking it all in, his mind seemed to short out for a moment.

There was an awkward silence before his shock overcame both anger and sense. "Damn," he breathed finally, tearing his eyes away to meet hers. "What are you wearing?"

She scowled, looking down at herself, and then scrambled to her feet, straightening the coat at the same time and hiding away all that temptation.

"None of your business," she stated coldly.

She was mighty defensive, he mused, rising slowly, and it made him wonder just what else was under all that leather. A wild thought struck him and he laughed.

"What the hell did they send you to do? Seduce me back?"

A blush bloomed on her cheeks, and the glare she sent him was two levels past deadly, intriguing him further.

Cid wouldn't do that, would he? And it was even less like Squall—he was probably the only one in Quistis' class who hadn't noticed she was a woman. Even he'd had a crazy fantasy or twelve about "detention" with her and he'd thought he hated her—of course they had mostly been ones that ended with her being the one humiliated, but still, fantasies nonetheless.

"No," she snapped finally. "This certainly wasn't for you."

"Aw, I'm crushed," he whined petulantly even as his mind sped along, wondering if he played his cards right, he could at least enjoy her effort. "Do I at least get a look at it before you lead me off to my doom? It only seems fair."

She shook her head, and straightened her glasses, her eyes snapping at him from behind the rims. "Not even if you really were going to your death."

He laughed sardonically. "Now I know I'm not going to die. You wouldn't be able to resist a man's last request."

She pursed her lips. "You'd be surprised."

His eyes widened slightly before he schooled his face back into a sneering grin. "I don't believe that. The only thing that surprises me is that little number you're wearing. But they say seeing is believing, so what if I make it part of the agreement? What if I swear that I'll go with you, no funny business, no arguments, if you give me a look at what's under that jacket?"

She frowned, crossing her arms again. "Nice try. Here's my counter. You'll go with me, no funny business, no arguments, because if you don't the two SeeDs waiting outside will be happy to tie your ass up and drag you back kicking and screaming."

"I'd like to see them try," he sneered.

She cocked her head. "I just took you down in thirty seconds flat, without my weapon or magic. Don't tempt me to do it again, I'm really not in the mood for a pissing contest, but if you insist…"

She let the words hang and Seifer clenched his hands and bit his tongue wanting to start and end that "pissing contest" as she'd phrased it by wringing her neck. Then, unbidden, a picture of him actually doing so rose to the surface. Her terrified face stared back at him, her blue eyes red-rimmed and wide as her peaches and cream skin went white and then blue, yet he felt nothing. No pain, no pleasure, no anger, no horror as he watched the life fade slowly from her fear-glazed eyes. Nothing. He wrenched himself from the memory and at once felt both horrified and sick, and so glad to feel anything beside that blankness of his past that he could have wept. Praying that she hadn't noticed his lapse he looked to Quistis and found that she wasn't really looking at him but at something beyond him.

And her hands were trembling.

Sighing, he ran an agitated hand through his hair as guilt flashed in and out of his system in waves. Futilely he tried to both hold onto the feeling and push it away, because he both didn't want to feel like he owed her anything and knew that he owed her everything even if he couldn't quite hold onto the reason. It was an odd sort of misery.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, mostly just to break the unbearable silence.

Her eyes met his and she swallowed, then smiled slightly. "I don't know that I've ever heard those words cross your lips, it must be snowing in hell… was that a pig flying over there?"

He crossed his arms. "Ha ha."

"Mostly I'm not sure what you're apologizing about. Care to enlighten me?"

He didn't and with her staring at him, he wasn't going to. "Just forget about it. Look, I'd already decided I would go with before you started your little melodramatic "pissing contest" I'd rather not look over my shoulder for the rest of my life, so truce?"

The lines of her scowl softened just a fraction as she said, "Truce. Tentatively anyway. There will be some rules."

He grit his teeth. "Such as?"

"No funny business, as you said earlier, and no arguments. I'm here to escort you back to Garden quickly and quietly by the day of the trial and I will do my job," her eyes flashed in warning, "but having your cooperation would be helpful," she acknowledged, "and make things easier on everyone. If you agree to the parameters we're to treat this as a team escort exercise. I will lead and you will follow my lead; if not, well… you know the drill."

He did. Depending on the lackeys she'd brought he might be able to get away, but if the trial was the sham she'd claimed it to be earlier what was the point in riling up SeeD further? And if it wasn't a sham then turning himself in might account for something, even if it was only in the old man's eyes. But either way he went, dealing with Quistis was going to be a problem.

"I'll go, and without argument, but what about your friends outside, couldn't they take me?"

She sighed, then shook her head. "They aren't even supposed to be here in the first place," she crossed her arms, "Squall was … well…"

Hearing Squall's name dredged up a lot of memories Seifer was more than happy to forget and he scowled heavily, wondering what Squall had to do with it.

Quistis turned back to him, pushing her glasses up on her nose. "I should tell you—" she shook her head, obviously having some inner debate, before she started again, "You should know why I'm the one here to retrieve you."

He stared at her a little dumbly. He'd figured the Summit was reason enough. It wasn't a stretch to think that the world leaders had left it up to SeeD to bring him in. They were the best and beyond her prior status and connection to him as his Instructor, he figured she'd been sent because she was one of their brightest.

"It's not that the Summit isn't important," she began, "because it is—we all believe it will give the world the closure it needs. But that isn't the real reason I'm here."

She looked at him, examining his eyes.

"Squall sent me—" she said finally, "—because he felt I would be better received than most. Some bullshit about me being your favorite."

He was taken aback both by the fact that Quistis knew such language and that Squall had paid attention enough to know something Quistis herself didn't believe. Then dumbfounded, he wondered why the hell Squall had been the one to send her.

It was not what he'd expected.

"I thought—I still think—he's an idiot," she murmured, and he couldn't help but grin even through his confusion, at her calling her once-favorite student an idiot, "but he wants you back. Not just for the trial, but for good."

At first he thought he was hearing things. Then he was sure of it. But the words were there echoing around in his skull like a shout off a canyon wall. "He wants me back?" he whispered.

Quistis nodded, but there was a censure in her eyes that he didn't quite understand. "He asked all of us if we would support him in your return. Beyond appeasing his newfound sense of sentimentality—Rinoa's doing, of course—it would both right a wrong that he feels was done to you, by proving that Garden bears you no ill will for your part in the war and would provide SeeD with a valuable asset."

He opened his mouth and then shut it again, too many words flowing through his mind to articulate any of them.

Her eyes narrowed on his. "I couldn't deny his request, not without telling him things that happened during the war that I don't particularly want to share."

He knew what she was talking about, just as he knew why she probably wouldn't want to share them.

Even reliving the moments as flashes in his nightmares didn't disguise what she had suffered under his hands. He'd betrayed her personally no less than three times. The first on the train to Timber before his life had gone to shit, where he had distracted her with a kiss, a kiss she had returned, against all expectation, before he'd shoved her hard enough he'd heard something crack as she hit the wall.

She would feel responsible, he'd known it then, even as he knew it now, because she hadn't stopped his mad flight to his destiny. Moreover she would consider his reign of terror her fault, because when he had lay dying in the gutter of Deling City, disposed after failing to kill the SeeD for his Mistress, she had found him and she had saved him. She had brought him back to life. And he had betrayed her, again and again, culminating in the bowels of Lunatic Pandora where he had almost killed her.

"However, because of those things I want to make myself clear. We have all agreed to do our best to help your return be as smooth as possible, but that does not mean that I want to be here. Or that I believe the story that you were under some sort of mind-control."

He opened his mouth again, to defend himself, to argue, to say anything but she held up her hand, stopping him before he began.

"I'm here, giving you this chance because Edea asked me to and Squall insisted, but, just so we're clear: if I, for one second, believe that you are the same fuck-up that betrayed us, I will be happy to bury your ass somewhere they will never find you and give Squall a plausible sob story instead."

He'd known she could be scary, had seen her take down beasts and men twice her size without blinking, but he'd never personally felt frightened by her. It chaffed against everything he was not to lash out because of that fear, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would follow through with her threat if he did.

He cleared his throat and said the only thing he could. "We're clear."

"Good," her frown lessened a little, and her eyes went distant like she was listening to something and then she reached up and touched her ear. "I'm fine, I'll be out in a minute to debrief you," she said and then touched her ear again, this time removing the small com-link ear piece entirely and shoving it into her coat pocket.

"As I was saying before that little side-trip. My friends aren't supposed to be here. Squall was sure you'd cooperate and they were—and are—on their own mission. However, they were free tonight and when I found out you were actually still here, they decided to accompany me. Since you've decided to do this the nice way, they will go back to their own mission and leave me to mine."

Seifer sighed. "I guess I'm all yours then. When'd you say we were due at this trial?"

"Two weeks."

His eyes widened. "They didn't have much stock in your success, did they?"

Her eyes snapped but she shrugged. "Like I said, we thought you wouldn't still be here. Fujin and Raijin were under the impression you were going to move on after they left. If we'd known you were still here I certainly wouldn't be here now, and definitely not in this ridiculous get-up."

She sneered down at her clothes, and he wondered again what she was doing in her new "get-up" but knew better than to ask.

"You said you were supposed to bring me on the day of the trial; if we aren't expected back for two weeks, what's the plan?"

"Plan?" she echoed warily.

"Mission parameters?"

"I'm to escort you back to Balamb Garden, which is currently docked in Esthar, by 1400 hours on Friday the 23rd of June."

"Well, if that's all, then there's no reason we can't take a detour or two along the way… I—"

"No," she snapped coldly, "no detours, no side trips. All I signed up for was to get you back to Garden. You already agreed to follow along without a fight. They'll just have to find someplace to put until the trial date."

He was already regretting that agreement, he thought, as he scowled down at her. If she continued along the high-and-mighty route he doubted he'd be able to keep it. Then he grinned again as a thought hit him. Apparently she hadn't thought very far ahead.

"Unless you have a car, which I didn't hear, we can't leave now, it's the middle of the night for Timber. There aren't any trains running and the boats won't be back till morning."

Her scowl made his smile widen Got you there.

She crossed her arms, and closed her eyes, as a heavy sigh spilled from her lips. "I know," she said finally, "I told you I didn't really expect to find you and it's a short walk from Timber to here."

"Look, it might be a bit rustic, but this place is sound, there's even an attached latrine. We can stay here for the night and head out in the morning."

It was more than he'd wanted to offer, but in that moment she looked so weary and just lost enough to have his more protective side rearing its ugly head, and his half-formed plans of making the ensuing trip as hard on her as possible seemed to fly off of their own accord.

He'd gone soft, he decided, as she examined their surroundings. Edea had ruined what edge he used to have.

"If we stay here, you're sleeping on the floor. If you make me run after you I'll make you regret it to your dying day, clear?"

"Crystal," he agreed irritably, now really regretting saying anything.

He should have made her pay for a hotel, with beds.

She grimaced at the lumpy straw mattress that had seen its heyday twenty years prior. He'd covered it with a sheet he'd stolen off some clothes line on the outskirts of Timber, but its moth-eaten holes showed clearly through the thin white cotton. He'd been grateful enough to find a free bed that he hadn't minded, had just been glad it had held together, but he imagined she found it lacking.

"I'll go tell the others they can go then. We'll leave first thing in the morning so I suggest you start making your bed."

He bit back a sarcastic retort and nodded sharply, sighing when she disappeared through the front door.

Fifteen minutes and a trip to the outhouse later, he showed her where she could put her bag and then watched her fall into the bed with the air of someone who hadn't slept in ages. He lay on his sleeping bag and stared at the ceiling, trying to tune out her quiet breathing as she fought to stay awake, shifting every few minutes to look at him—probably making sure he was still there, or possibly watching for an attack.

As he waited for sleep to come he replayed her words over and over in his mind, not quite believing that he'd heard everything she'd said. Especially the part about Squall. It just seemed too good to be true. But if Squall wanted him back, was willing to send someone just to retrieve him, maybe he would be, had been forgiven, by some. Edea had whispered to him, promised him forgiveness as she'd pulled him back together that day on the beach, but he'd believed her then as he believed this now.

He looked over at Quistis, studying the gentle rise and fall of her chest, still not quite believing that she was there, that this was reality. His lip stung from where she'd hit it and he was sure to have a bruise on his abdomen in the morning, but even with those reminders the whole night seemed so surreal that he was half-sure she would disappear if he closed his eyes.

He almost wished it.

But he wanted that promise of forgiveness more—with all of his patched up heart. To make up for what he'd done, even knowing he could never actually succeed, and he would try anything. Even kowtowing to the new Quistis.