the silence in between
-irishais-
one.
This is the third time he's seen her here in the past two weeks, and frankly, it's starting to piss him off a little bit. Aren't there bars in Balamb? Can't she drink her sorrows somewhere else and leave him alone? Seifer finishes the last of a third beer, and taps the counter. "Two," he tells the bartender.
If she's not going to leave voluntarily, he's going to make her leave.
Seifer carries the bottles swinging between three fingers and plunks one of them down in front of her.
"What the fuck do you want?" he says, and damned if Quistis Trepe, savior of the goddamned world, doesn't jump about a foot out of her chair. If he had known that was going to be her reaction, he would've come over earlier.
"I beg your pardon," she says stiffly, smoothing her fancy blue top into some semblance of order. She eyes the beer, as if she's not entirely sure how it got there. "I wasn't aware it was a crime to be in a bar now."
"Yeah, well, you're in my bar, in my town, and you've been staring at me for twenty minutes. Is Balamb too small for you all of a sudden?"
She bites her lip and he wonders if she's going to cry. He fucking hates it when girls cry in front of him, but this is Ice-Queen Trepe. She doesn't cry for anyone, not unless it's Leonhart, and now that his old nemesis has a ring on his finger and a sorceress trophy wife on his arm, that river's got to be all dried up.
"It's none of your business," she tells him, and picks up the beer, taking a long pull that would make any of the drunks in here proud.
He swivels around the chair on the other side of the table and sits in it, crossing his arms over the tall back. "Actually, I read the papers, Trepe. It's pretty much everyone's business at this point." He drinks, and studies her reaction.
Shit, she is going to cry.
"Look. You're not the first SeeD to screw up, no matter how fucking famous you are."
"I'm not a SeeD anymore," she says abruptly, and her gaze is blue steel. "That's how badly I screwed up, Seifer. They threw me out. And now I'm here, because I don't have anywhere else to go. I'm sure you know what that's like." She picks at the peeling edge of the label on the beer, and the paper comes off in a long diagonal strip in her hand. She flicks it onto the table.
There is a long period of silence in which he's not entirely sure what to say, and for Seifer Almasy, that's a fucking first. He drinks instead, until he thinks of something. "World's a small damn place."
It's not the most original thing, but Trepe lets out a huff and nods.
"I'm beginning to see that."
He sets his empty bottle on the table. "You want another one?"
She shrugs, and he stands up. He doesn't know why he does it. Trepe being upset is like kicking a puppy. It feels wrong, somehow.
He brings back two beers and two shots, and she raises an eyebrow at the latter.
"It's a Trabian Car Bomb. Drink it. You'll thank me."
She lifts the shot glass delicately. "Or end up in the emergency room."
He snorts, and taps the glass on the table, then tosses back the contents. It burns like fucking hellfire going down his throat, and he chases it with a mouthful of beer. Goddamn, he'd forgotten how badly those burned.
Quistis watches his reaction warily. He gestures at her.
"Your turn. Cheers, Trepe."
She drinks the shot and her face flushes; she swallows hard and coughs. Seifer shoves the second beer in her hand and she grabs at it, taking several deep swallows.
"You bastard!" she exclaims, when she can speak again.
He laughs, loud and long and hard, so much that the few patrons in the bar turn their heads and stare. He laughs until it hurts in his chest and wipes at his eyes, he laughs until he thinks Trepe might dig out her phone and call an ambulance. "I think that's the first time I've ever heard you swear, Instructor," he says, and the mockery comes out gentler, friendlier. Almost an endearment, or as close as he'll get to one.
"Shut up, Almasy," she says, and gets up, grabbing her purse.
"You don't have to leave," he tells her.
"I wasn't going to."
She leaves him alone for long enough he wonders if she lied to him, and when she returns, she's carefully holding two glasses that glow almost white. It's like the drink's made of lightning.
"A Quetzalcoatl," she informs him. "They almost didn't have the last ingredient, which is why they took so long to make."
He studies the glass. "What's that?"
"It's a secret." She sits primly across from him, raising her glass. "Cheers," Quistis says, in a mockery of him, and drinks. She gives every impression of enjoying it. What the hell. It can't be that bad, if Trepe likes it.
He takes the shot.
xx
Maybe it's the years that have passed between them, but Seifer seems softer than she remembers. His sarcasm is all bark, his insults have no bite. He's almost a reasonable human being, if he weren't a war criminal. That's a stigma that's very hard to see past, even when he's choking on a shot that's got a diluted cure spell as one of its core ingredients. Quistis studies him, the way his suit jacket hangs just a little too loosely on his shoulders, the way his tie is loosened around his neck. The way his laugh echoes around the bar, like he hasn't laughed in a long, long time.
It is hard to superimpose this man over a permanent memory of an eighteen-year-old boy who tried to kill her because his "mother" said so.
He shrugs out of his jacket at one point, and shoves the sleeves of his white dress shirt up around his elbows. The muscles in his forearms are still taut. She wonders if he still keeps up with Garden's exercise regimen, even now. It's a hard habit to break, she's beginning to learn.
Maybe that's why she keeps coming back here. Kindred spirits, and all that. She's got a mark just as black on her record now, and three dead cadets on her conscience. They drink and talk about nothing, and drink some more, and she relaxes, inch by inch, until Seifer glances at his watch and sighs.
"C'mon, Trepe, I'll walk you home." He slings his jacket over his shoulder.
"I can get home on my own."
The bar spins a half rotation when she stands, and Seifer grabs her arm to steady her. She's almost glad Xu dragged her out to Wendigo's so many times. Rightfully, she probably shouldn't be standing.
"You're drunk as hell, and Dollet's a shithole. I'm an asshole, but I'm not that big of one."
"I can get a cab."
He snorts. "Not likely. Cabs stop at midnight in this town."
She checks her own watch- it's almost 0200. No wonder he's ready to get out of here. She should've left hours ago- not that she has anywhere to go in the morning. Quistis gathers up her purse and slips it over her shoulder. She blames it on all the alcohol when she nods and trails him out of the bar. The night air is cool and clear, and there's a pleasant breeze coming off of the ocean. She's glad Dollet is a beach town- she doesn't know if she could go without the sight of the sea, even if it reminds her of Balamb. She'll take the resort traffic and the general disinterest of the locals if it means she doesn't have to be trapped in a tiny fishing town where every single person knows her name.
She shivers in a gust of night air, and Seifer drops his jacket around her shoulders without a word. He must be drunk. It's the only way she could ever imagine him being any sort of gentleman.
When Quistis looks at him, he is looking straight ahead, his hands in his pockets, his profile as strong as she remembers it.
"Thanks. For the drinks."
He nods.
"It was good to see you, Seifer, really. I mean it."
There's a glimmer of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. "You really are a bleeding heart, Trepe." The words have no sting.
They turn at the next street, and stop in front of a white-washed townhouse with a blue door. It's as quaint as can be for Dollet, almost predictable in its paint scheme. Inside are half-unpacked boxes and décor out of a catalogue, but he doesn't have to know that. Quistis reaches into her bag for her key.
She hands him back his jacket without meeting his eyes, and his fingers brush hers as he takes it.
"Well," he says. "See you around, Trepe."
She nods. "You too. Thanks again."
He shrugs and lifts two fingers in a mock salute. "My pleasure. Night, Instructor."
Don't call me that.
She smiles a little and turns to unlock her front door. When she looks back again, he is already at the corner, and in a second, he is gone.
Quistis closes her door and twists the lock.
An hour later, after three glasses of water and a shower that leaves her feeling slightly less like she's rolled around in a wet ashtray, Quistis draws back the sheets on her bed and sits, picking up her cell phone from the nightstand. The display reads 0315, but she knows Xu will be awake. Xu doesn't sleep very much anymore, not since Squall abandoned Garden into her care and took off to be with Rinoa in some tiny town no one can place on a map.
Sure enough, Xu answers on the second ring. "Speak."
"I'm in, I think."
"Good. Keep me updated." Xu hangs up without waiting for a response, and Quistis draws the phone from her ear. The display blinks call disconnected at her, and then the message disappears. She sets the phone aside, then slips under the covers, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
Sleep is a long time claiming her, and when her alarm goes off at 0800, Quistis isn't sure that she has slept at all.