Waiting
She waited.
Much too long she feared. Balamb was a relatively safe town, especially with the Garden in such close proximity, but the blooming foreboding in her gut gave way to her survival instincts, keeping her palm to Save the Queen in the event such instincts were justified. She wasn't sure anymore, the immediate aftermath of the War leaving her toes curling in paranoia. Shadows behind her, shadows in front of her, vaguely audible cackle in the wind from a foe long dead - there was a never a moment she felt safe.
But she waited.
She waited as gentle zephyr brushed past her tense frame, disrupting the stillness of the harbor before her. The delicate peace of the ocean was disturbed, the slosh against the docks not much more than a whisper. There was not another present as far she could see, the embankment long abandoned after twilight. The town was calm and serene, the moon a half crescent but never ceasing to project it's brilliance.
She waited.
The woman gazed to the envelope in her grasp, deliberating on her reasons for the mission she bestowed to herself. Redemption, she called it. In a mountain of failures, there was little she could guess to do to make up for her biggest failure of all. This gesture was miniscule to the gravity of the deed had she committed, but there were times where one must make due as the option presented itself. She was her own worst enemy, and she knew she would never allow herself to live down this atrocity.
With a sigh, she waited still.
As the seconds became minutes, and she realized the minutes turned to hours, she found her patience fading. She took to pacing, placing her steps cautiously, precisely, muffling as much of the click-clack that came from her boots as possible. Her blue eyes narrowed not with anger, but with exhaustion. Still, her training forced her mind to focus, to retain it's alert sharpness. The darkness was not friendly, and she would not be caught off guard. No one knew of her whereabouts, and she was careful to keep her trail cold as a trained SeeD should. No one could know for it would not be disaster for her, but for him as well. It was a another failure she would not allow.
The familiar sound of his gait struck her from her reverie. A breath was caught in her throat as she turned to face the approaching figure. It had been several months since she had last cast her gaze to his countenance, and she was surprised to see the change.
He had ditched the grey overcoat, a piece of his prized possessions he was surely reluctant to forgo, a black leather coat in it's place which ended just at his knees. The shirt at his chest and pants at his waist were of the same color, but appeared to be breathable cotton. They were worn, not new, as if he had slept in unfavorable places in them.
There was no doubt he had.
What struck her odd was his face - it was covered in blond fur from upper lip to chin, side burns coming to meet it. A dark skull cap came low over his forehead, casting a small shadow over the scar that was often a dead giveaway to his person.
His hands were in the pockets of his coat as he came to stand before her, the smirk she remembered ever present on his veil having faded with time. Instead, he betrayed no emotion to her.
He looked defeated.
"Quistis." His voice was quiet with a touch of gravel.
Quistis nodded, subconsciously tightening the grip she had on her whip, her nails glowing white from the pressure. "Seifer."
He stared at her in such a way it made her feel filthy, the green orbs of his eyes not much more than a slit of visible pigment. "Why are you helping me?"
The question made her ponder the answer. Why indeed? Why place herself in such a position for a wanted criminal, one that at several points in her life tried to kill her and those closest to her? Why not take such an opportunity to turn him in herself, or better yet, exact vengeance for the atrocities he committed against society?
This was a question she didn't answer to him. Instead, she reached forward, handing him the parchment and it's contents to him. "Take this."
The criminal made no move to touch it, remaining ever still. "Answer me."
"It doesn't matter."
"Yes it does." He all but snarled at her. Their voices were low, but she could feel a heat radiate from him that she feared may set the town aflame. "Why the fuck are you putting yourself in this position for a fuck up like me? I almost killed you, you know. Did you forget I tried to gut you and your friends multiple times?"
Quistis felt her resolve shaking, but her emotions did not betray her as she held her arm and hand firmly out to him. "You weren't yourself. Matron told us you were manipulated. Even if the public doesn't believe that, I do."
Seifer fell silent, which astonished her and also disappointed her. His silence meant he was giving up, that the fight within was dying. A broken man with a broken past - she didn't know how to fix him.
Gripping his wrist, she pulled it forward to place the envelope into his palm. There was no resistance as she closed his digits around the parchment. "This should last you a couple months."
Slowly, the former Knight pulled his hand back to gaze at the item, his visage softening, but faintly. There was a glimmer in his eye that faded quickly, one she thought may have been sorrow. "Tell me why, and I'll take it."
A bitter taste on her tongue as she searched for words. To tell him she failed him, that she felt responsible for his declension to manipulation and torment, chasing a dream because he could find no companionship, no true sense of belonging with those around him. She was his Instructor, she was supposed to sight and understand these feelings that befell him, and find every avenue there was to explore to aid him, to find that special place where he felt accepted. She should have spent less time on Squall Leonhart, the brooding boy whose shell was thick and unyielding and focused on the one who truly needed her attention. They were close to siblings, once upon a time ago, and that sense of duty to be there for him deteriorated with the suppression of memories. She should have been stronger to fight against the loss...she should have done more.
"You aren't a bad person. You deserve to start over." The words were weak, and she knew he would challenge her.
He did. Taking a step into her personal space, he glared down into her, burning a hole through the flesh and into her soul. It gave her hope he hadn't completely crumbled. "You're bullshitting me. I don't like being bullshitted."
The former Instructor stood firm to his intimidation as she had in the past, but in his own way he was pleading with her. His sanity was at stake. "What do you want me to say?"
"I want the truth for once, Instructor." The title was a curse on his lips.
The silence was deafening, the tension thick and smoldering. When she answered him, her words were but a whisper. "I failed you."
He opened his mouth to speak, but she was only met with silence. The harbored animosity was dissolving, and what replaced it was confusion. He stood with his mouth agape for several moments before he could reply. "You failed me?"
Quistis found herself scowling into his face, yet made no move to increase the space between them. "You wanted the truth."
He laughed. It was mirthless, woven in acid. "Quistis, you didn't fail me. My ideals failed me."
"Seifer - "
"Shut up," he snapped, stabbing a finger into her face. "For once in your miserable life, shut up. I'm going to be a gem here so listen. I'm my own fuck up and I'm not about to have anyone, especially you, trying to take credit for something like my life that I gloriously screwed up all on my own."
They stared at each other for a long time. She searched his eyes, past the acrid loathing he internalized and the defense he threw up when she came too close to the tender bits that made him more than a bitter lapdog.
"You did everything right, Quistis." His tone was devoid of acrimony, simply sounding tired. There was no sarcasm in his tone like she would have expected with such a statement. It bewildered her to no end. "There's only enough room in this town for one of us to see ourselves as failures. Let it be me."
There was no retort, no response that she could muster in her mind to make him understand. She wasn't entirely certain she wanted him to. What she did understand however, was within Seifer Almasy there was a man that was without barbs and wires. There was a man who, with all of his faults, had a kindness that was reserved for but a handful of people.
She was beginning to believe she fell into this category.
The first glow of morning began to spill over the horizon. The reflection was caught in his green irises as he registered what that meant.
"Don't contact me again." He warned, but it was half-hearted at best. With a visible effort, he gave his signature smirk that sparked a warmth for him she didn't know she had. "Next time, I might have to kill you."
Not another word was exchanged before he turned and disappeared from her vista. Where he was headed, she did not know. But she knew she would not listen to him - she would be in his ear in the coming days.
Whether or not he perceived her admittance to be true or false, she would forever grapple with the knowledge that his downfall could have been prevented with a greater intervention from her.
And as the moon and stars began to fade, she waited until the sun was high and warm with the afternoon, until the thunder in her chest subsided to a steady beat.