Note: Alas, no real violence in this chapter. Blood and chunky bits coming soon! And I'm very, very flattered by the reviews. They're really encouraging. Woo Hoo!

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"Hey ya, Sweetie. Ya okay?" The painted waitress with too many years holding trays on her hips took a drag on her smoke, carefully eyeing the new girl. She had a lot of experience at reading faces. The difference between a five and twenty gil note sometimes meant just winking at the guy having a bad day, or smiling at the man hiding out from his nagging wife. The art of getting tips depended on knowing when to flirt, when to listen, when to pour that extra shot or light that cigarette. This new girl was not a waitress. She was a hard worker, always cleaned her section, and talked shit with the best of them. She was everything a good waitress was supposed to be, but she was not a waitress. Birdie could tell there was something different about her. Everything from her flawless posture to her soft accent screamed 'here is a person of consequence.'

"Hmm? Oh yeah, Birdie, I'm fine." The dark oak of Joey's bar had never sparkled until Quistis was hired. The new girl put far too much effort into polishing the pint glasses and pilsners. They were fucking clean, already. Why didn't she go home?

"Well, if ya say so, sweetie. But if it was my guy leaving bruises that big, I'd slit his goddamned throat. Just watch yourself, darlin'." Quistis laughed. She liked Birdie; she had liked her from the moment she started working at Joey's.

Birdie was tending bar the day a pretty blonde came looking for a job. She watched Joey shake his head and tell her he didn't need another server. Business was good, but he had too many employees.

Walking the girl to the door, he felt a sudden sharp pain between his shoulder blades. He turned to see Birdie aiming another shot glass and jerking her head at Quistis. Her recognition of Quistis' plight earned her the eternal gratitude of the former instructor. There was no telling what might have happened to her if the kind old soul hadn't intervened. "No, no, Birdie. He's not my guy. And this…" She gestured to her chin. "…is just a misunderstanding. I think he was trying to make a point."

"Oh fuck that, honey. I'd give him a point alright. Point of a pick-ax right between his eyes. Don't you let some jackass screw you over. If ya don't want to tell him, then send him to me. I'll make sure he gets the message. Okay, hon?" She squeezed Quistis' shoulder. Joey owned the bar, but these were her girls. And nobody fucked with her girls. "Now get the hell out of here. Ya worked hard tonight, but ya look like shit. Go get some sleep. This place is as clean as it's gonna get."

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Seifer hated waiting. And she was making him wait. He checked the time. 0317. Last call was over an hour ago, so she should be home by now. It was colder than Shiva's tits in a brass bra and he didn't know the security code to get in her building. She was fucking up his night.

Okay…so she wasn't expecting him, and she probably wouldn't be happy to see him, but he was bored, damn it. Arguing with her beat listening to his neighbors play their shitty music. And sitting alone in his apartment was not an option. Not tonight. Oh God, not tonight. Her questions were making him think too much about blood and smoke, terrified screams and sounds of battle. He pulled his collar higher, trying to fight away the clinging chill that followed him all day. Since she was the dumb-ass that asked the questions, she'd have to put up with him. It was all her fault, anyway.

"Fucking hell. Where is she? I oughtta kick her ass, making me wait in the cold like this. Ungrateful, whiny bitch. Rude as hell." He muttered like this for what seemed to him an eternity. "I should really just start a fire here on the goddamn sidewalk. Maybe then I can get her to…oh finally! Where the hell have you been?"

"What are you talking about?" Quistis shifted her bag of groceries and jammed the buttons on the security panel. "Hey Mister Perfect Gentleman, do you think you could get the door? My hands are full." She grinned when she saw the shocked expression on his face. Those bruises were getting a lot of attention. " I owe you, by the way. Your damned fingerprints made me a lot of money in pity tips tonight." Seifer, ashamed of the black marks on her chin, jerked the door open and followed her into the building. He wanted to hurt her last night, to make her feel pain, but he hadn't meant to really cause an injury. There was a difference, damn it. He needed for her to hurt, not be hurt.

Quistis continued talking as she walked up the hall, fumbling for her keys. "What the hell are you doing here anyway? Should I add your name to the Trepie attendance list? I'm flattered you're stalking me and all, but I really…"

"God, would you just shut the hell up? I don't want to be here, but I couldn't fucking sleep, and I knew you'd be awake. Besides, you…oh hell. Give me those damn things." He grabbed her groceries before they fell, freeing her hands to open the door. She directed him to the table even though it was unlikely that he would lose his way in such a small apartment.

Considering that she had very little money, he was impressed with what she had done with her room. Tactfully placed rugs camouflaged mysterious carpet stains. Dyed fabrics hung from the walls, their multicolored threads concealing cracked paint and holes from the fists of previous occupants. His own walls were covered with posters torn from the pages of Girl Next Door. There might have been a clock. He couldn't remember. He gave so little attention to his surroundings that he wasn't sure anymore.

There was no television and no radio, but Quistis had obviously found the secondhand bookstore on Main Street. Worn novels covered a rickety set of bookshelves and littered the floor, making the room look like the scene of a literature massacre. Paperbacks were laid open, spines broken, their pages bloodied with crimson ink. "So this is your place, huh? Why do you have so many books?" Looking closer, he recognized the neat handwriting. Fucking hell. Did her brain ever turn off? She was correcting cheesy romance novels. He laughed to himself. Only Quistis Trepe would be desperate and bored enough to edit bodice rippers.

Excluding the wall hangings, her only other attempt at decoration was a small bunch of flowers on the table. He carefully slid the vase over to make room for her bags. "Where the hell did you find daffodils this time of year?" The bright gold of the sunny flowers made him uncomfortable. Quistis deserved yellow. He knew that he sure as hell didn't.

"Did you really come here to ask about my flowers? Why Seifer, I never figured you for a botanist. You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" Her headache had eased, but she knew it would only take a few minutes with Seifer before it returned. She poured water in the kettle for tea. A microwave would have been faster, but she would have to wait until next week's paycheck before she could afford such an extravagance.

She watched Seifer while she waited for the water to boil. Why was he staring at her flowers? Sure, they were out of season, but there was nothing really special about them. He lifted one from the water, twirling it between his fingers, taking care to only touch the stem. His absinthe eyes were focused on the golden petals. Hmm. He really was very handsome, even if his blonde and emerald features did little to disguise his ugly arrogance. She noticed that his shoulders were much bigger than they were when she taught him. The odd jobs he pulled must require a fair bit of strength to add so much muscle to his frame. She felt it a shame he was such a dickhead, otherwise he could have been a lot of fun. As it was, she didn't mind looking at him, but she could barely tolerate his presence.

Something was bothering him. There was a lot of tension in those wide shoulders and the clenched muscles of his jaws. Oh well. His problems were no concern of hers. But he was in her home now, so she summoned as much civility and grace as she thought he deserved. "Tea?" He shook his head, placing the flower back in the vase. "Well then, Seifer. Why are you here? And don't give me any bullshit about being unable to sleep."

"What the hell do you know about not sleeping? It's your goddamn fault anyway!"

"Me? I've been at work all night, you son of a bitch! What did I do to you?"

"It was those fucking questions you asked me last night! Why the hell did you have to mention something as stupid as motherfucking glory? Huh? Every time I closed my eyes, I kept having these fucking dreams. There was nothing but blood and fire and it just…"

"Don't you dare speak to me of questions!"

Seifer took a step back from the table. Her tone frightened him. He wasn't scared of Quistis, but her voice carried more than mere syllables. It shook with the full fury of hell. Questions. He was still waiting on her answers, but he knew better than to expect them now. She was only honest when she was drunk. "Yes, dear Instructor. You asked the same things I did."

"What are you talking about? I did no such thing. I just answered your damn questions. You kept throwing every painful memory I have into my face. Now you act like I'm the one who did something wrong." The kettle was whistling. Quistis slammed chamomile teabags to the counter. "And stop calling me that. I'll not tell you again."

He removed his coat and threw it on the table, knocking her pretty daffodils to the floor. "You didn't answer a fucking thing. And yes, you asked me the exact same questions I asked you. You just worded them differently."

"Did I? That's funny. I don't recall asking you anything other than why you wish to make me miserable." Seifer could smell the apple-scented steam rising from her mug. Her lips didn't quiver when she inhaled the chamomile fog. A part of him wanted to keep tea at his place instead of the beer she loathed, but that wouldn't help her at all.

"Oh Instructor, I've told you. I'm not…SHIT!" Seifer ducked, barely missing the airborne kettle launched at his head. Boiling water splashed on his arm, raising pale bubbles and blisters. "OW! Goddamnit-you-stupid-cunt-bitch-with-your-fucking-hippie-tea-cocksucking-whore-cooked-my-damn-arm…slut-with-a-kettle-…kick-your-ass…ow-fucking-burns!" Seifer spewed every curse he knew, but the words died when he heard the crazy bitch laughing at him. He raised his head to see Quistis holding a towel out to him with one hand, clutching her stomach with the other as waves of mirth cascaded over her. "You are sick, you know. Laughing at a man in agony. You're one twisted bitch." In spite of the pain, he felt the corners of his mouth betraying him, curling upwards in a traitorous grin. Good girl.

"Oh, shut up Seifer. Don't ruin this for me. I've not laughed in months." She wrapped the towel on his blistered wrist. He tensed when she moved closer. "God, quit jumping. I'm not going to hurt you again, although I really should do a lot worse. Consider it payback for last night." One side of her mouth twitched in a vindictive grin. Take that, motherfucker. "It's your own fault, you know. I've told you to stop calling me Instructor more times than I can count." First aid completed, she grabbed her mug and sipped her tea, blue eyes scrutinizing his face.

"Now. Really. Why are you here? What was this about bad dreams?"

"Shit. Forget it. I'll just go home, drink some of your whiskey, maybe enough to pass out. It doesn't matter."

"I hardly think so. I asked you a question and you'll give me an answer, Almasy. It must have been pretty damn bad for you to wait outside my door in the middle of the night." She was curious. Much more curious than she cared to admit. She only hoped that following this white rabbit wouldn't lead her to a mad tea party. The thought of being lost in an unfriendly wonderland terrified her as a child. Growing older and seeing the evils of the world had done nothing to diminish that fear. Her entire existence was beginning to mirror that of the lost little heroine, searching for home. His eyes were already slightly mad, but if Seifer started hopping, she knew she'd scream. She could only handle so much madness at one time.

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And one more note: I'm a former waitress… And I was damn good at it. Birdie's thoughts on tips are based on my own experience. Saying the right thing or making subtle gestures like those described here work wonders for increasing tips. It's frickin' amazing.