The Salt Flats
She shivers slightly in the breeze created by the doors as the hatch slams open and the oddly familiar smell of Esthar - bright air, hard, crystalline, a sharp, almost stinging smell of metal and glass and faceted edges - rushes in. The engines of the airship whine and then cut, dying away to a murmur of voices. She breathes deeply, thinking, it's been three years, and the airstation's docking procedures haven't changed.
The Ambassador's tall form and his aide's slight one move forward onto the walkway, stepping off onto the landing platform crowded with milling dignitaries in Esthar formalwear - flowing robes and tall, spired hats, faces covered below the eyes with elaborately patterned cloth masks, hands tucked neatly into enormous sleeves. Some of them are politicians, and some are reporters, if the cameras in their hands and the giant microphoned contraptions on their backs are any indication. By contrast, the Ambassador in his plain black suit seems tiny, swallowed up by red and emerald and gold in a cacophony of color. She heads out after him as an official-looking car pulls up into the sea of reporters, smoothly parting the waves.
The car door opens and a man steps out, another one inscrutable and formal in his Esthar robes of state. He looks around and she steps in front of him, her best professional smile in place. He turns towards her, startled. She says, "You are here to receive the Balamb Ambassador and his entourage?"
He bows to her. His skin, visible only slightly as the backs of his hands and through the mask of cloth covering his face, is dark, and so are his eyes, like smoky quartz. "We're the presidential escort," he said. "Is that the Ambassador over there, talking to the Finance Minister?"
She looks over in the direction of his pointing hand and spots the Ambassador deep in conversation with a squat man whose robes seem to overflow into the spaces around him. "Affirmative," she says. "Please direct any logistical information regarding the Ambassador to me. I'm his security detail for the duration of the party talks."
"I'll do that," he says, sounding amused, and his voice is suddenly familiar. She does not show her surprise, though; the first rule of SeeD is the control of one's emotions, and she is running through her memory thinking of where she has heard that voice before when she realizes that one of the reporters is staring pointedly in her direction.
In any other situation, she might place one hand on her weapon, turning carefully in a defensive maneuver in case of any hostilities. But this is Esthar, and it is almost ridiculous to think that after all the safeguards that the city has installed, any intruder could have slipped through. So she simply cranes her neck slowly in the reporter's direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face. All she manages to catch is a glimpse of his camera instead, as he raises it and snaps a picture of her in half-profile.
"One of your reporters seems to have taken a liking to me," she tells the dark-skinned man, and he looks over to where she is glancing.
"I don't see anything."
When she turns her head fully, the mysterious man is gone. "He was there just now," she says, trying not to sound irritated. "Is it official policy also for photographers to take pictures of SeeD personnel? Our information is highly classified, and it would be unfortunate if any action had to be taken against him."
The dark man still sounds amused. "I doubt that's necessary, Quistis. Or is it Instructor Trepe again?"
She blinks at the familiarity of the name, suddenly realizing that she had not yet introduced herself, and then looks into those smoky eyes again.
"Kiros Seagill," she says. "Is that you?"
--
Ward Zabac is the car's driver, and they take the scenic route through the city for the Ambassador's sake, because he is new to the position and has never been here before. He has been to Deling City many times, he says with awe, and Esthar makes even Deling City pale in comparison. Of course, Kiros answers, and Quistis hears the pride in his voice as he points out the landmarks, the brand-new monument to the heroes who defended the city from the monsters during the last Lunar Cry, the new shopping arcade going up to replace the old one, the even newer elevator systems.
"How is the area outside the city?" she wonders, and Kiros seems to ponder the question.
"Better," he answers finally. "Better than before." It is the only answer, it seems, that she is going to get out of him, so she lets it go. There are other questions she wants to ask him and Ward, but those are personal matters and not fit for political company. Kiros seems comfortable and relaxed in his formal Estharian garb, his smile infectious even through the silly face-mask. He seems to have changed little, though she hesitates to make judgment on that matter. She still knows Kiros best as the young Galbadian soldier in the company of the man who will someday become Squall Leonhart's father, has walked in his footsteps and fought with his weapons many times in her dreams.
Selphie and Zell agree with her when the topic comes up, unbidden, a specter of memory. Kiros and Ward are people they know both well and not at all. She knows Zell is still haunted sometimes by that experience in the D-District prison by the shadow that comes over his face sometimes when he mentions Ward's name, though he says it casually, as if talking about some old acquaintance he hasn't seen in years.
She realizes faintly that the Ambassador and Kiros are deeply engrossed in some trade rule debate and leans back against the smooth leather of the seat, watching the city go by. Ward is wearing the same robes and mask and hat of all other Estharians, but she can only see the back of his tall hat now as he steers the car carefully through the roads, avoiding curious passersby and a dog or two.
"The Presidential Palace," Kiros says, and then Ward turns the next corner into the beautiful, soaring towers of the Palace, yet another structure unchanged from the one in her memory. The Ambassador's aide stirs beside her, almost clambering over her in his eagerness to open the door, but Kiros beats him to it. The sunlit, sparkling air pours in and she takes a deep breath of it, as if tasting its odd, foreign quality on her tongue, and follows the men out of the car.
The President of Esthar is standing there by the curb, dressed in his formal garb just like the others, but Quistis recognizes the exuberance in his voice and gestures and stance straightaway, returning his nod in her direction with a formal bow of her own.
"Welcome to Esthar," Laguna Loire says, and she answers, "Thank you, sir. Balamb Garden and Vice Commander Leonhart send their greetings."
"Ah," Laguna says, his eyes twinkling. "It's Vice-Commander now, is it? Demoted already? He didn't write me about that one." He pauses, and she tries to think of a suitable reply. Squall had stepped down from command as soon as they'd gotten back to Balamb, but Xu had seen him as too valuable to waste and reinstated him as her second. Quistis is surprised that Squall writes to Laguna at all, though somehow that thought pleases her, that the two of them are getting along.
"Sir-" she begins, and then he laughs.
"You and I can catch up on old times later. Ambassador, if you'll follow me? We have rooms set up for you in the palace."
The inner corridors are dark and cool, lit with smoothly glowing lamps on both sides, and she lingers to one side while the President and Ambassador converse quietly and their aides fidget. At least, Kiros fidgets as he watches Laguna. Ward stands placidly to the side, arms crossed, patiently waiting. There are staff gliding to and fro between the carved pillars of the main receiving hall, and as she watches them, she notices someone off to the farthest side doorway watching her. It is that reporter, the one snapping pictures of her earlier. Keeping one eye on the Ambassador, she moves purposefully across the room. The reporter does not move to leave, and she narrows her eyes.
"Excuse me," she says. The reporter straightens. She is beginning to tire already of the long, flowing Esthar gowns and tall hats, which hide everything and reveal nothing, not even people's faces. It is wearisome talking to a faceless entity. "I noticed earlier that you were taking pictures of us at the Esthar landing pad. I'd like to inform you that photographs of SeeD personnel are strictly prohibited unless you have a release form."
"And what if I said I did?"
The voice catches her by surprise and she takes an involuntary step back, catches herself, squeezes her hands at her sides and looks hard at the face under the hat again. He is not wearing a mask. His eyes are intensely green and crinkled at the corners with suppressed laughter. He raises one arm and places it behind his head casually, leaning back against the wall as he watches her reaction.
"What are you doing here?" she asks dazedly.
"That's my question," Seifer Almasy says, flinging the words back at her like he has always done in the long years they have known each other. "What are you doing here, Instructor?"
--
"You didn't tell me about Seifer," she accuses Kiros later after the Ambassador is settled and has gone to rest in his quarters. She has followed Kiros and Ward back downstairs to the suite's sitting room, as she is the Ambassador's bodyguard and will not leave his quarters unless he is with her. "What is he doing in Esthar?"
"I didn't know if it was a good time to broach the subject," Kiros says smoothly. He has taken off the silly hat and mask and removed the outer robe. She is relieved to see that under the heavy garments, he is wearing a simple shirt and dark pants and still carrying his knives at his waist. "I was under the impression that Seifer was under an exile of sorts."
"And who told you that? Seifer?"
Kiros looks pointedly at her. "Is he?"
"We thought he was dead," she told him flatly. "When no one could locate him, we assumed the worst. He's listed as killed in action, on our rosters of SeeD cadets."
"Ah."
"It wasn't like we would have locked him away if he'd returned and honestly admitted he'd been wrong," she says, feeling defensive though she isn't quite sure why. She is no longer an instructor because of Seifer and his failure that day in Dollet, and perhaps it is because that still stings a little. Seifer Almasy, the childhood friend, the quasi-brother, the student, the traitor, the sorceress' puppet, the man. "Xu didn't quite say it, but I think we were all preparing a little for him to come back. I guess we thought he would, eventually. He was such a part of Garden...and when we eventually realized he wasn't coming home, it was odd."
Kiros watches her as she talks, but she does not look at him, instead glancing at Ward, who sits with sympathy in his eyes for the words he cannot say. She says to Kiros, "Why did you let him stay in Esthar? Seifer is the one who was responsible for the Lunatic Pandora. Surely...?"
"Surely we would have locked him up and tortured him until he died, you mean?"
She shudders. "I don't hate Seifer, Kiros."
"I was surprised, myself, when Laguna let him stay on. Seifer actually came to us a few weeks after everything settled back down, turned himself in along with those two friends of his. I suppose they reminded Laguna of us three back in the old days, and the pure act of turning himself in gave him some points in our eyes, too." Ward gestures something at this point, and Kiros adds, "Ward says that turning himself in was probably the best thing Seifer ever did."
She thinks of the old idyllic days of childhood by the sea in Edea's stone house, of the time when Seifer chased her around and around the yard with a stick after she requested he come make his bed. The memories are still hazy, but they are becoming clearer as the days go by. She has not used a guardian force since the war. "Ward is probably right. So he turned himself in and Laguna pronounced him a reformed citizen?"
"Not quite. Laguna basically told him that if he stayed, he'd have to pay his penance. So he sent them out on monster patrol."
Quistis makes a face. "Ugh."
"Believe it or not, the three of them made quick work out of most of the ones floating around the city. We had several groups of our elite soldiers out on patrol, of course, but...they were nothing compared to SeeD."
"Seifer's not a SeeD."
Kiros looks thoughtful. "A mere distinction of title, don't you think? He's certainly qualified to be one, at any rate. At least, I think so. I may be wrong."
"I'm sure Seifer told you that, too."
"We don't see each other often. And no, he rarely talks about SeeD. I don't know what he's about nowadays, since he started going outside on assignment."
Quistis folds her arms. "So he's really a reporter. It's not just a front."
Kiros laughs. "After the monsters were put away, we sealed the city again, but under tighter surveillance and safeguards than before." She remembers the several layers of barriers that the Ambassador's airship passed through on their way to the airstation, defenses against flying monsters. "Nothing can get in, nothing can get out without special permission. Seifer didn't like that. Laguna told him that the only way he was going to be able to go in and out of Esthar was to find some kind of job that involved travelling."
"Oh," she says. "I see."
Kiros stands. "I'm afraid I don't know the rest of the story. Laguna never mentioned much to me after that point, and Seifer Almasy is not one of our great concerns. The majority of the Esthar citizenry have never heard of his name in conjunction with the Galbadian military, and we aim to keep it that way." He smiles tightly. "There are advantages to having lived in isolation for seventeen years."
"But not anymore."
He meets her gaze and then looks away to the inner rooms, where the Ambassador is resting. "This worldwide summit was Laguna's idea," Kiros says. "If it were left to me, I would have pushed for a smaller forum. But I'm not the president."
She smiles. "That's probably a good thing."
Ward gestures again, and Kiros makes a face. "My good friend says here that he agrees with you. I'm not quite sure what that means, but I shall take it in stride. And as a matter of fact-" he goes to the couch to begin putting on the heavy formal robes again - "we must leave you. The Galbadian ambassador is arriving shortly, followed by the Duke of Dollet and his entourage."
"I'm glad we got to see each other," she says, trying not to sound disappointed that they are leaving so soon. "Perhaps I'll run into you in the next few days, during the summit?"
Kiros pauses a moment before putting on his hat. "I'm sure you shall," he said. "There's not much else to do during these things when the politicians are all in session debating. Let's all go to lunch sometime. You can invite Seifer."
Ward laughs silently when she throws a pillow at Kiros' retreating back, and that laugh is one thing that needs no translation.
--
She spends the rest of the day at the Ambassador's side as he takes another grand tour of the city, listening patiently to their guide explain the transportation system and the barriers erected about the city, and worried that she might see Seifer skulking about, snapping more pictures of her. But the evening passes without note, and as she lies down to doze on the low couch in the suite's drawing room, she wonders if it was just a chance encounter. There are many reporters in Esthar.
But he was allowed into the Presidential Palace unescorted, she thinks, and then a part of her wonders why this is so important. Seifer Almasy is no longer part of Balamb Garden, never a SeeD, his name now ominously absent from the charter books and rosters that she must go through daily as part of the drudgery of office work that she has taken on. This mission is a relief; four days free of paperwork and briefings and general peacetime thumb-twiddling, and should have been Zell's, except that he had already put in leave five months in advance to have the week off.
Take it, he tells her when she jumps at the chance. You need the break.
The next morning dawns bright and sunlit again, and she opens the window to a gentle breeze. She is thinking of the intricacies of the environmental control that can turn barren desert into teeming city when there is a knock on the door.
She opens it, hands relaxed and ready to go to her weapon at a moment's notice, but it is merely an Estharian aide with a breakfast service. "You are Quistis Trepe? There is a message for you."
"Thank you," she tells him, taking the breakfast tray into the small dining area and arranging the plates on the table for the Ambassador when he emerges from his room. The sound of water running through the pipes upstairs means he is in the bath. The white square of paper lying next to one of the plates is meant for her, and she opens it.
If you don't mind seeing me again, I'll be at the front gate today during the summit, around eleven. I'm sure you can get out of it then.
The note is signed, "S.A."
The summit begins at ten hundred hours. She waits until the Ambassador has filed into the conference room with his aide in tow, the two of them looking very small amid the rest of the foreign dignitaries and even Laguna in his Esthar robes, and then finds herself alone in the hallway. There are Esthar soldiers inside the room, ones who are allowed to hear the classified proceedings going on there, while she is not. The note in her pocket smacks of bizarre coincidence, but there is nothing for her to do, so she makes her way to the Esthar City entrance, shoving past reporters and spectators. Some might be hoping for a view of the foreign politicians, but she thinks that many of them are just trying to catch a view of President Loire.
Seifer is waiting at the gate by the elevator.
He is not wearing his Esthar robes today, but his old familiar garb, the blue shirt and long white coat adorned with the fire cross. She makes her way over to him and stops. She cannot think of anything to say.
"Seems I've struck you speechless," he tells her with a smirk that is painfully familiar. But there is a camera around his neck, a notebook in his hand instead of Hyperion.
"Think again, Almasy," she tells him. "What do you want?"
"Oh, now so it's about what I want?"
She grits her teeth and remembers just how frustrating it is dealing with this boy-man. "Seifer, I didn't come all the way to Esthar to play your word-games."
He grins at her suddenly. The smile is charming, reaching all the way to his eyes in a way she has not seen before, and it startles her. "I wanted to catch up. Can't I do that without you going all disciplinary on me, Instructor? I haven't seen you in three years, you know."
"That's not my name. And yes, I know."
He looks her over critically, ignoring her comment. "Sleep well?"
"Yes, thank you. I did." She looks him over again, wondering if he has always been so tall. "How are you doing?"
He gives her an exaggerated bow. "Well, thank you for asking." The smirk is back on his face, the cocky swagger in his gestures. "How are things in Balamb?"
She feels a little awkward talking to him out here in public like this, though she doesn't know why. She gives him the short version of the past few years, about how Squall is now the vice-commander under Xu, that the Garden itself is back in its original spot next to Balamb Town, how they've mostly stopped using guardian forces. "Smart," Seifer says to that. "I've never liked them. Annoying things, and you SeeDs relied on them way too much."
She keeps her temper in check. "Is that all you wanted to know?"
"Come on now, Instructor-"
"My name," she reminds him, "is Quistis."
"Quis-tis," Seifer says, drawing out the syllables in an exaggerated drawl. "What are you doing for lunch?"
She finds herself inexplicably sitting across from him in a fancy cafe on the Left Side of town, eating a plate of what looks and tastes like fried noodles, listening to him ramble on about himself. It is a common theme, Seifer talking about himself, but for some reason this time it is actually interesting. He has been a reporter for about two years, he says, after that first hard year of monster hunting with Raijin and Fujin as his faithful seconds. There have been a few magazines that sprang up after the war dedicated to reconnecting with the outside world, and his publication is one of those. "I've been all over the world these past couple of years. I just got back from Cetra two weeks ago, and I'm scheduled out to Trabia next. It should be interesting."
"No one lives in Cetra," she says, and he drums his fingers on the table impatiently, as if he has been saying something inspiring and she has not been listening.
"That's the point. We're not actually advocating vacations to these places. It's more an informative publication. Wild landscapes, photography from interesting angles - the works, like an interactive tour from your armchair. Esthar's starved for it. All their history books on anything except Esthar are seventeen years old. Can you believe it?"
What she can't quite believe is Seifer Almasy going on passionately about the joys of travelling journalism, like a young Laguna. "I never thought you were the travelling type," she said. "You were always such a SeeD."
He raises one eyebrow mockingly. "Oh? An indirect compliment? You can save your breath, Instructor - I've grown tired of the military life. A year of tracking monsters was quite enough for me."
There is a lightness to his words that strikes her as false, but she lets it go. "What about Raijin? Fujin?"
Seifer snorts. "Raijin's found some girl here in the city. I hardly see him anymore. Fujin was so good at the monster business that the military recruited her, and now she spends all her time teaching other people to kill monsters." He laughs to himself, as if at a private joke. "I hear she's good at that, too."
"But how do you get out of the city?" Quistis presses. "Aren't there monsters outside the barriers?"
For the first time, Seifer's face grows shuttered. "That's not for you to know. I do what I have to for my job."
She sits, mystified, but it is not the first time that Seifer has mystified her, and she is sure it won't be the last. The food is good, but she is full, and she looks at her watch, wondering if she should be getting back to the palace.
"Leaving me so soon?"
"I didn't think you'd be too heartbroken," she tells him, and he laughs.
"Why, Instructor, you've grown sharp-tongued in the years since we've been apart."
"Seifer, I wish you would stop calling me that. I'm not even an instructor anymore. I'm just a SeeD now."
His lips twist. "Just a SeeD. I see."
The silence is uncomfortable this time, and she pushes her chair back. "I need to be going," she said. "I'll pay for my own lunch, thank you."
He doesn't stop her as she heads to the counter and pulls out her Estharian coins. The man at the register gives her change. She wonders if he will say something as she opens the door, but there is silence from behind her, so she simply takes a deep breath and leaves the cafe.
She is halfway down the street back to the palace when she hears the cafe door swing open and then shut behind her, and the sound of his boots on concrete. She is not sure why she stops, but she does. He comes up behind her, curiously and uncharacteristically quiet, and then he says, "All right, I pissed you off again. What'd I do this time?"
Her jaw clenches, and she fixes her eyes on the spires of the blue-green buildings rising into the brilliant Esthar day, and she says, "Why didn't you come back to Garden?"
When he doesn't answer, she turns slowly to face him as he stands there in an easy slouch, hands in the pockets of his crisp, black pants, green eyes narrowed against the raised scar across the bridge of his nose. "I'm a traitor," Seifer says, "and a murderer. I didn't think Garden was interested in people like that."
"I don't want to know what Garden thought," Quistis returns. She feels very calm, as if any moment now she will wake up from this conversation and find herself back in the formal suites of Laguna's Presidential Palace, with the curtains drawn and the world dark before the sunrise. "I want to know what you thought. You didn't even try to contact us. We all thought you must be dead."
He smirks at that. "And would that break your heart?"
"We all took it hard," she tells him. "Squall took it the hardest of all." There had been no violent outburst that second time, not like when they'd thought Seifer had died after the confrontation in Timber with President Deling. I won't be talked about in the past tense! This time, it had been a quiet acceptance, a requiem for the dead brother that they'd never quite known but somehow loved anyway. Squall had simply brooded. Zell and Selphie and Irvine had set up a small memorial service. Rinoa, who had not grown up with them, was sympathetic but far-away, mourning a summer fling. Quistis had mourned too, though she had not been sure if she was mourning Seifer the troubled student or Seifer the childhood friend.
The man standing before her, who has become something more than those memories, reaches up and brushes the red scar on his face lightly with two fingertips. He wears no gloves, Quistis notices distractedly, and his hands are big and rough. "What are you doing tomorrow when they're in session?"
That is not the answer she's expecting, and she blinks, startled, then irritated at being caught off guard. "What?"
"I've got a vehicle, of sorts," he says. "If you want, I'll give you a tour."
"I already got a tour from Lagu-"
"No," he interrupts her with a grand wave of his hand, as if he is still the sorceress' knight. But there is no Ultimecia, no Griever. They are simply standing here on the streets of Esthar, she in her SeeD uniform and he with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "I meant a tour outside. Beyond the barrier."
--
He meets her the next morning by the city entrance again. The delegates are in session until seventeen-thirty, Kiros tells her at breakfast, and she can have free time until then. She thanks him and does not tell him where she is going. Quistis Trepe, SeeD, twenty-one years old, can take care of herself.
Seiferis dressed again today in his white coat, but under it he is wearing a layer of protective armor, and he has his gloves back on. Hyperion is slung at his waist. She comes up to him, feeling self-conscious in her SeeD uniform, he tosses a matching set of armor at her without a word.
"Good morning," she tells him, catching the armor neatly and buckling it around her waist and shoulders. It fits her exactly. She thinks to herself that it is exactly like Seifer to take care of the small details, but doesn't comment. She waits for him to say something mocking, to irritate her like he always does, but he keeps his mouth shut, and there is a brooding look in his eyes that she thinks looks much better on Squall.
The car that Seifer has rented is different from the civilian cars that she sees parked in the Esthar garage. It's smaller, lighter, with a retractable, transparent roof. "For Esthar military use, mostly," he says curtly, and then, "Get in."
He is silent again on the long drive out past the city borders, over the highway that should be infested with monsters but is strangely empty, though she thinks she sees sometimes out of the corner of her eye the flit of an Elnoyle's wings or the tail end of a Torama's whisker. The quiet eats at her and on a whim, she reaches out and hits the radio button. A man's loud voice fills the air, and she sees him jerk violently before jabbing the thing off.
"Don't touch that!" he barks.
"I agreed to come on this thinking that I was getting a tour," she tells him severely. "Instead, it seems like I'm getting the silent treatment."
He glances at her impassively and returns to his intent study of the Esthar horizon, while she sighs and leans back in her seat. The sun is warm and the air dry here outside the city limits, and all around them is barren desert. She is just resigning herself to a long, boring journey with a doppelganger of Squall Leonhart when he says suddenly from beside her, "If you want to talk so badly, tell me about yourself."
That is the strangest request she has ever heard from him, and she is about to retort that he already knows all about her, that they grew up together, when he says, "No, Instructor, I'm not asking for a personal introduction. You talked all about Garden yesterday, but you left yourself out of it. Don't tell me that all you've been doing since the war is sitting there feeling sorry for yourself."
"Kind of like you, you mean?" she counters, and he just quirks one golden eyebrow.
"Smart comeback, but it'll take more than that to offend me."
She laces her fingers together in her lap. "Xu told me that if I wanted my teaching license back, I could have it. But I told her I'd wait. I've just been helping out where I'm needed. Occasionally I help Selphie teach some classes - she's an instructor now, can you believe it?"
"No," Seifer says, and rolls his eyes. "I can't wait to see the SeeDs she turns out."
"Selphie's an excellent instructor," she tells him frostily, and then hears him laugh, as if it is fun for him to see her annoyed. Perhaps it is. "She was the Instructor of the Year two years in a row."
"Not bad." He actually sounds faintly impressed. The car bumps over some rough gravel, and far away, she hears the cackle of a Malboro. She grasps her whip, glancing around at the empty desert, and Seifer tells her laconically. "Put it away. You won't need that."
"The monsters-"
He raises his eyebrows at her. "Put it away," he says again, and she slides the whip back into its holster, eyes narrowing.
"You've got Diablos junctioned, haven't you?"
"Why," he says approvingly. "How right you are. A bit slow on the uptake, though."
"All that talk about guardian forces being annoying, and us relying on them too much - you were lying through your teeth."
"They are annoying," Seifer says. "And you do use them too much." He compresses his lips in a tight line. "But that's the only way I can get in and out of the city without monsters trying to tear me to shreds. Why do you think I'm one of the only reporters allowed out into the field? They don't know what I'm doing, and I'm not about to tell them. They think I'm just lucky."
She realizes that this explains Seifer's reluctance to tell her how he could travel out of the city on his own. "Why didn't you just tell me the truth yesterday?"
He does not answer, and she wonders if he is ignoring her again, and then he says, "And have you chalking another mark up next to my name for use of guardian forces without being a member of Garden? Forget it."
"That's a technicality-"
"Everything in Garden is a technicality," he says tightly, and then lapses into his moody silence again. She stares at him, unable to decipher his moods. The arrogant, confident, braggart she thought she'd known before the war has never done this before, and she does not understand it, but somehow she has begun to understand why he has not come back to Balamb.
"Not everything in Garden is a technicality, Seifer."
"Name some examples," he says tersely.
"I'm not. At least, not anymore."
A slow pause, and then a small smile creeps across his lips. "My dear Instructor, you continue to amaze me."
She should be annoyed that he still refuses to call her by her name, but for some reason seeing that smile makes it all worthwhile. "Where are we going?"
He lifts his hand and points out into the distance to their right, and as she turns her head, she sees the flatness of the desert breaking up into cliffs and valleys, shimmering a dull white.
"The Esthar Great Salt Lake," he says, and turns the wheel smoothly. "You are familiar with it, I assume?"
She nods, wondering what's out there that he wants her to see. Perhaps he has a secret murderous intent and is taking her out to kill her and hide her body. But she has defeated Seifer several times, and she has her weapon with her. The small voice in the back of her mind tells her that this is not her real fear, that it is just being alone with this man who has grown from the boy she remembers to someone she no longer knows.
"Say something," Seifer says. "I don't like it when people sit there and stare at me like I'm the devil." He cracks another smile, but there is something hard in his eyes that was not there before. "I'm not one anymore, at least."
"Why did you do it?" she asks him softly, and he does not answer. After a moment, she says, "You should come home. No one's going to turn you away."
"But no one's going to welcome me, either."
She wants to refute that statement, that Zell and Squall and Rinoa and Selphie will gladly welcome him back to Garden, that they'd continue living as they always had, children of Edea's orphanage. But Garden is not just about them, and perhaps it is already too late to repair a friendship strained and unraveled over the years. She hears him laugh softly, self-mockingly. "It's all right, Instructor. You don't have to try and make it better than it is. I'm big enough to handle it."
"Are you?"
"I think I've been doing all right without you holding my hand for the last three years," he says, and turns the car off into a sandy, spongy ground. The vehicle bobs along, loose parts rattling. She grips the door handle, and then the bumpy ride is over and Seifer cuts the engine to idle, then turns the key in the ignition and the car stops.
"We're here," he says.
The salt flats, too, are just as she remembers them from that torturous journey over the railroad bridge from Fisherman's Horizon. Everything is covered in a vast, barren whiteness, cracked ground and dead trees crumbled into the dust. It is bone dry. There is no wind, just the sun, and yet she feels cold.
"Come this way," Seifer says, and hefts Hyperion in his hand. Just in case. She touches the whip at her waist, as if reassuring herself, and then follows him.
They walk in silence, his head bowed. She lets him lead the way. His stride is resolute and steady. His coat ripples behind him in the breeze created by their own passing across the wasteland, a silver-white blending with ghostly perfection into the already white landscape. She opens her mouth, wanting to tell him that Squall has once carried the woman he loved on his back across this great expanse, and then decides that this is not the time to remind him of how great Squall Leonhart is and how small Seifer Almasy has become. Because that is how they have remembered that time all those years ago, the triumph of Squall over his adversary and his own demons, and Seifer has been left behind.
"Where are we going?" she says instead.
"Relax, Instructor. I'm not taking you off to be murdered in the middle of the desert, if that's what you're afraid of."
"Seifer, I am not-"
He slows and then stops, and she almost runs into him, stopping just short of bumping into him from behind. "I'm being impulsive, aren't I?" he remarks.
The statement catches her by surprise. "You were always impulsive."
A ghost of a smile creeps along his lips. "Nothing's changed then, at least. Is that good or bad?"
"I don't understand what you mean."
He taps his gunblade against one shoulder, and she watches the muscles in his back ripple under that coat, thinking she should step away, but her feet seem glued to the ground. "Never mind. Come on."
They march on in silence. Quistis watches the progress of Seifer's boots on the gravel in front of her, black leather turning to brown and then grey and then ash-white from the salt content of the rocks. Hyperion swings easily at his side. His hair is mussed and golden in the sunlight, and she suddenly thinks of how he looked that first day she arrived in this city, comfortable and formal in his Esthar clothing, as if he has become more than an exile in hiding and claimed Esthar as his own.
Laguna and Kiros and Ward had once done the same, but she is not comfortable with the fact that Seifer has somehow become like them, because that means he is moving away from Balamb, away from her, and she has thought she was dead all these years and not been able to bring him back.
They crest the top of a small hill, and then another and another, and then the land slopes sharply upward. He continues easily, obviously used to this terrain. She wills herself to keep up. She is breathing hard when they reach the top, staring at the ground to keep herself from tripping over the rocks. This time she does run into him, jamming her nose against his back and the white coat and armor underneath, warm from body heat and the sun.
"Oof," he says, and she backs off abruptly, turning her face away.
"Sorry."
But he catches her arm as she stumbles, holding her steady and waiting for her to regain her footing. Her face feels hot. His hand is warm on her arm, and she finally says. "Thanks, you can let go now."
A flicker of something - amusement? - passes over his face, and he releases her. "If you insist."
"Why did you stop walking?" she asks irritably, trying to keep it out of her voice and failing. She rarely loses her temper, but Seifer has a way of sparking it in her. The sun is high and she is hot, and the white landscape dazzles her eyes.
"Look," he says, and turns and points away behind her.
She turns, raises her eyes, and gasps. The salt flats stretch away from them in all directions, a great, white, dead expanse of forbidden beauty. There is nothing. No trees, no mountains, just jagged cracks in the dry earth. They are standing on the highest part of the land as it falls away around them, beautiful and barren and dazzling.
As her eyes adjust to the glare, she sees something moving in the distance. At first it looks like the white landscape is crawling with clusters of tiny black dots. She blinks. "What are-" she begins, and then the reality hits her with stunning clarity.
Those black dots are swarms of monsters.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Seifer remarks dispassionately, as if talking to one of the walls of the great white cliffs splitting the earth below them. "It's really quite stunning, especially at sunset. Besides all the monsters, of course. Those I could do without."
A knot of anger rises up in her, tears welling at the corners of her eyes that she does not bother to brush away. "You did this," she tells him. "How can you just stand here and...just look at it? The monsters are here because of you!"
He tenses beside her and then swings away in a rustle of cloth and the clang of metal on sand. She simply stands there and rages silently, watching a group of the monsters lumber down a near ravine towards them, and then as if deflected by an invisible shield, they wander away. Her words hang heavy in the air between them, accusations that perhaps she shouldn't have spoken, but it is too late now. She closes her eyes and a tear squeezes from one corner as she remembers the first time they came here, how the salt flats then were merely forbidding cliffs and valleys of nothing, a testament to another great dead age.
"You see now," Seifer says softly, "why I can't go back to Balamb. I suppose that I don't need to explain any more."
She has understood since she saw him two days ago crouched next to the Esthar Presidential escort car, snapping her picture, but this image, the clouds of monsters swarming over the white lands, has seared it into her memory. She knows her words are true - that this is his fault, and that he should be paying the penance - but she can think of no worse punishment than not being able to go home.
"You don't need to cry over me," Seifer says. "I'm alive, aren't I?"
"That's not funny," she snaps, and he crosses back over to her before she can move away. She realizes again how much taller he is. She wonders if he will touch her, but he does not, although he is so close that she can feel the heat of him against her, can hear him breathing.
"I wasn't trying to be funny."
"Then what are you trying to be? Are you going to stay here and kill monsters the rest of your life? Seifer, that's impossible."
"Then I'll do the impossible," he says. She is about to snap at him again not to be so damned arrogant, but then she realizes that he is stating the simple fact of the task he has set for himself. A knight, until the very end.
"You're still trying to be noble, then," she says, wiping stray tears from her face.
"As a knight should be." He spreads his arms wide and she hears the dry humor in his voice. "You're not by any chance in need of one, are you? I'm for hire at the moment."
She can't help it. She laughs. "I'm no sorceress, Seifer."
"So much the better. I think I'll steer clear of sorceresses for a while." But he sounds pleased that she is taking his joke in stride. "I suppose there isn't much else to see here. I'll take you back to the palace."
"What about the monsters?"
"I've got Diablos junct-" he begins, as if trying to explain something to a small child, and she shakes her head, pulling the Save the Queen out of its holster and looking up into his startled face. It is rare that she sees Seifer startled, and the moment is worth savoring.
"You said you were going to do the impossible, when I asked you what you were trying to do about the monsters. You wouldn't by chance want some help for a while?"
--
She doesn't know what to expect when Seifer drops her back off at the palace just as the delegates are letting out, their cheerful conversations an indication that the summit went well. They speak little on the ride back, and she is glad of it this time as she dozes in the car seat, sweaty and exhausted from their last battle with a pair of Malboros. Maybe she should wait for a farewell wave, or an invitation to see him before the delegation leaves tomorrow back to Balamb. But he simply lets her out of the car and speeds off into the city proper. She watches the tail end of the car as it turns a corner, disappearing from sight. She sighs.
"Friend of yours?" Kiros says, and she realizes that he has been there watching her. She wonders if he recognized Seifer, decides not to mention it.
"Of sorts," she says. She is glad that her SeeD uniform is dark enough to hide trace spatters of monster blood.
She falls into an exhausted sleep that night and wakes to the buzzing of the door chime. For a moment, she panics, thinking that they have all overslept and the flight crew are waiting on them. But the clock reads six in the morning, and the sun is just cresting over the horizon. When she opens the door, it is the Esthar attendant with breakfast and another note for her.
I hear your flight leaves around eleven. I'll see you there.
She breakfasts with the Ambassador and his aide and then sees to it that the luggage is packed, and then they ride down to the entrance to the palace together, where Laguna and Kiros and Ward are there waiting with the car, again in their formal robes. Laguna and the Ambassador make their formal farewells, and then Laguna crosses over to her and grasps her hand.
"You take care of yourself," he says. "And Squall too. Make sure he's getting enough sleep."
She almost asks him about Seifer. But it is not the time, with the sun so bright and the first international summit in Esthar just come to a successful conclusion. "Thank you, sir," she says. "I'll do that."
She gets into the car and Ward starts the vehicle up. "You'll be back, won't you?" Kiros says as they whir silently out of the government compound towards the airstation. "Next time, bring that Squall Leonhart with you. He's always welcome here. You all are."
"I'll let you know," she promises. The clock reads five minutes until eleven as Ward stops the car at the airstation's gates and they get out. Two men run out to take the baggage. She looks around, but Seifer is not there, and Kiros and Ward shake her hand, the hands of the Ambassador and his aide, and are gone with a smile and a sparkle of sunlight on the car's chrome finish.
"The airship is standing by, sir," one of the men say, and the Ambassador says, "SeeD Trepe? Shall we go?"
"Yes, sir," she says unwillingly, but she cannot wait any more. She pauses to let the Ambassador go ahead of her, and he does so gravely, up the ramp and into the ship. The gate swings shut behind them, and then she hears a voice shout out, "Quistis!"
She whirls around eagerly, though she doesn't quite know why seeing him this one last time is so important to her. He is sprinting down the way to the closed gate, though she knows they will not let him in because he is not authorized personnel for the flight. His blond hair is windblown, and he is breathing heavily. He has his camera around his neck again.
"Seifer," she says, "You're late."
"As much satisfaction as that would give you, that's not the case. Your flight seems to be five minutes early."
She looks up into his face and wonders what there is to say. Behind her, the airship's engines rumble, but no one is calling at her to hurry up. Apparently long, drawn-out goodbyes are permitted. She licks dry lips, and then he says suddenly, "I won't see you for a while, will I?"
"I don't know," she says. "Maybe not. But I promised Kiros I would come back."
"Kiros, but not me?"
"You didn't ask for a promise."
He seems to think about that, and then, "Would that offend you terribly?"
"Well," she says. "No, not terribly."
"That's good."
She is aware that they are staring rather stupidly at each other through the bars of the locked gate. Seifer says, "Well then. The next time you come back, I'll take you back out to the salt flats."
She understands that that is all he can bring himself to say at the moment, and the sentiment behind those words is enough. "I'd like that," she says. "You take care of yourself until then."
He hesitates, and she thinks he will say something else, but instead he reaches out one hand and grabs hers through the metal bars, a brief touch of warm skin. "Seifer-" she says, but he only smiles with his eyes, beckoning with the slight, smug tilt of his chin, and then is gone.
"Friend of yours?" the Ambassador says as she settles herself in her seat and the airship takes off into the Esthar morning.
"Of sorts," she tells him, and gazes out the window. Below them, the vast, brown Esthar desertland spreads out beyond the jeweled city, reaching to the bright horizon. Out on the very edges of the wasteland, barely visible from her window, she catches a glimpse of brilliant whiteness, the symbol of one man's penance and salvation.
"It really is quite beautiful," she says out loud, and the Ambassador says, "What is?"
"Esthar," she tells him as the ship rises into the clouds and land is lost. "The world. Everything."
8 May 2007