When Dreamers End
If the world goes on without the light
And the stars exist without the night
And if the fields could sing without the wind
Do beginnings end, or ends begin?
When the lights go out
When the wars are done
Is adventure lost
Or a beginning won?
So, if deception can only begin with deceivers
And if beliefs have to end with believers
If makes me wonder, if only a moment
The dream
Does it end with the dreamer?
-altol
Nothing on earth consumes a man more quickly than the passion of resentment.
Friedrich Nietzche
Chapter 3-Ride Into Purgatory
Seifer stared blankly at the glossy furnish of Cid's desk, as he had for well over an hour now. His stomach was pressed flat against his spinal cord, a nervous sickness stuck in his neck and lodged in his throat. It shivered there, the uneasy quake threatening to dispel the piece of stale toast and even more bitter coffee whose acid still clung to the back of his mouth from that morning. He jiggled his left leg, once again glancing at the exit.
His eyes occasionally darted around the room, waiting for some renegade sniper or even Squall to bust into the room swinging to hack his head off. Mostly though, he stared at the paperweight on Cid's desk.
He wanted the damned thing.
It was a simple crystal paperweight, carved in the shape of a rose. The liquid petals caught the light, refracting it onto the rich, polished wood of the desk and spreading a rainbow across his papers.
If only his own life were so fucking simple.
He didn't want the paperweight, really. The thing in itself was fucking tacky. More, he wanted what it meant.
In the last hour, that stupid, simple paperweight had come to symbolize all that was simple and dull in the world. A paperweight- an aesthetic object used but for the purpose of securing papers from a streamlet of air conditioning, or from an open window. Two things that had been decidedly absent in his life for the past two years. It was a gift for a person that had every shirt and tie clip a man could ever need and currently had nothing to worry about but stray papers.
Just for a day, he wanted that life.
Everything currently sitting in the chair with him constituted his worldly possessions. One tattered gray coat, one bloodstained vest, (his old silver necklace had been plucked off him the first night he passed out in the alleyway), one pair of tattered leather pants, and an even more worn out pair of boots, the tongues of which were also missing. The soul on the right boot had long since given up its claim on the bottom, and his trench coat looked more like a wraith that was stuck to his back than a garment that was intended to keep him warm. The only thing of any real value lay in his lap, soaking up the light like a silver cat.
Hyperion.
He was surprised that they hadn't confiscated it at the door, although they had somewhat roughly confiscated him. He had the bruises as evidence of that, and a nice gash on his side that resulted from a disagreement with the gatesmen. But for whatever reason, they hadn't taken his gunblade. Apparently, he didn't look like much of a threat anymore. It didn't surprise him. There was so little fat and muscle left on his body, sitting itself was uncomfortable.
He almost chuckled. The great Seifer Almasy…the great revolutionary, the rebel, sitting in Cid's office, waiting for his punishment.
How does groveling taste, Almasy?
He found, now, that groveling tasted a lot ike stale toast and old coffee…like a lead anchor in his gut.
The door opened suddenly, causing his head to jerk as he jumped to his feet, eyes narrowed, what muscle he had left clinging defensively to the bone in preparation for a back attack. Hyperion clattered to the floor, but the noise was lost on his ears.
"At ease, Almasy."
Something about that voice caused every hair on his neck to bristle, hackles raised, his body far from responding to the issued command.
"Leonhart." He didn't turn. He knew it was true before the words left his mouth.
Both Squall and Cid walked behind Cid's desk, with Cid taking a seat and Squall taking his place by Cid's side, looking as uptight as ever. He'd heart that Leonhart was the new commander, and had taken the position somewhat reluctantly.
Seifer smirked to himself. Who's the lapdog now, Squall?
"Cid informs me you want your old place back at Garden." Said Squall, his voice carrying the same, unreadable tone that it had two years ago.
Seifer regarded him with an even gaze. "That's right."
"Tell me why you deserve it." Replied his former adversary, folding his arms.
Anger boiled up in an instant, already heated by the shame that had been plaguing him since the last of the alcohol left his system. At least with the alcohol, he hadn't felt like biting everybody else's head off.
Although Squall probably would have been an exception.
His lip curled back, eyes lit up with an old challenge. "Sure, as soon as you tell me why the fuck I have to justify myself to you?"
Cid gestured calmly. "Seifer, Squall is now the Commander of this Garden, and surely the well-being of Garden is in the best interests-"
Squall's eyes narrowed. "This is ridiculous. He's the same person he was two years ago. He hasn't learned anything-"
"Listen, if you think I'm going to kiss your asses to get back into Garden-" he started, and for a moment, the men in front of him got a glimpse of the old Seifer Almasy. Defensive, angry, and a danger born solely of that union.
The door opened. "I'm sorry that I'm late-"
Sweet perfume accompanied by a voice of steel. "Trepe." He snarled.
Could this day get any worse?
Quistis' eyes widened as she realized exactly who the tattered apparition standing in front of Cid's desk really was. She had overlooked him at first, but now stared, horrified, at the skeleton that stood before her. Tattered gray coat with faded red crosses, chin-length, unkempt blonde hair, and guarded jade eyes suffused with barely constrained derision-
"Seifer Almasy?" she asked, incredulous, wonder quickly giving rise to anger.
He spared her a glance. Her hair was still as blonde and still as long, swept up in the familiar do. Her stick-up-the ass posture hadn't changed much, either.
Her head snapped back to Cid and Squall. "What the hell is this? Why wasn't I informed?"
Well, she certainly hadn't changed much, either, thought Seifer, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
"What, Trepe? No warm embrace? No welcome back?" he sneered.
Cobalt blue eyes fixed on him, and, unlike before, there was no trepidation of his presence to be found there. Just a mix of shock and incredulous fury. "You-" she began, her voice hushed with anger.
"Enough." Ordered Cid, his new tone one he seldom used, and one that commanded instant compliance.
The two snapped their heads back to attention.
Any more tension, and the room was going to explode. Seifer amused himself a moment by imagining bits of Puberty Boy's pretty face splattering on the far side of the wall before focusing on what Cid was saying.
"-has been in the cards for some time, since the Council's ruling. Seifer has accepted our offer of amnesty here at Balamb in accordance with that ruling. " Replied Cid calmly, answering Quistis' previous question.
The young SeeD's back was as straight as an arrow shaft. "Forgive me, sir, but I don't see what he hopes to accomplish this time." Her voice, though even, carried a poorly constructed illusion of calm, and for some reason, it annoyed the hell out of him. Then again, her voice usually had.
"Maybe I'd like to graduate," spat Seifer. "With a capable instructor, this time." Unless he was mistaken about good ol' Quisty, he was hitting her right where it hurt.
Pain flashed quick and hot in her chest before she could quell it. And by the look in his eyes, she was sure he'd caught it. Damnit. It was the same games again, cat and mouse. During her time as an Instructor, it had annoyed her to no end that she had always seemed the mouse in such spats, and apparently two years had made little difference in their dynamics.
Damn him.
She narrowed her eyes at him, lips curling back in a mixture of anger, hurt, and disgust. "What's the matter? Did you run out of holes to crawl in?"
He sneered. "Actually-"
"Enough!" barked Cid.
Quistis quickly turned back to Cid, clenching her fists. "Forgive me, Cid, but is my presence here necessary?"
"Yes, Quistis, it is." Replied Cid. "The idea is-"
"Forgive me, Headmaster," said Squall evenly, "But I still haven't heard why we should let him in."
Seifer tensed, resisting the urge to leap forward and wring the 'Commander's' neck. He caught Quistis glance at him, eyes fixed as if she could read his thoughts.
He sighed, his clenched fists releasing the slightest of fractions. "I want to do something…with my life." It was like spitting nails saying those words, especially in front of two of his former peers.
Why the hell did I come back here?
Because you had nowhere else to go, idiot.
Cid nodded. "Garden has decided to give you a second chance, Seifer. Edea was given the same forgiveness- there is no reason you should be denied it. You'll be given your own dormitory, one new uniform, and one chance. One. You'll be under 24-hour surveillance, at least until the board members feel that you have become a productive member of Garden and that the restrictions can be lifted. You'll have someone assigned to you-"
Cid continued to talk, but Seifer had tuned out. A second chance, being handed over the table under Squall's cool, watchful eye. And in an instant, Seifer knew exactly why. It made sense.
After Edea's absolution, it would seem a hypocritical move by Garden not to give her 'aide' a little absolution as well. It would reflect a great inconsistency on Garden, especially since Edea was its Headmaster's wife. He'd be observed…an obedient little lap dog with all his shots. He almost smirked, even as his guts trembled like they were on fire.
He almost would've preferred a real slap in the face, instead of a subtle one.
"Ah. Forgiveness in the interest of politics." He snarled. "Not because you actually believe I'm innocent."
"You should be grateful," spat Squall. "After all the things you've done."
"Fuck off, Puberty boy." Ah, there it was. That same rivalry, that same bitterness that burned like acid in his belly.
Squall's eyes narrowed. "I can kick you out of here anytime. The first person you threaten, the first clue I've got that you're the same traitor that walked out of here two years ago, you're out of here." Squall replied with equal assertion.
"Hiding behind a desk now?" quipped Seifer, taking a step forward. "It suits you, 'Commander'." Snide emphasis on the last word.
Squall's hand was on his gunblade handle in a flash. "Insult me again."
Seifer opened his mouth, but another voice was quicker.
"Enough." It was Quistis, frustration and exasperation now fueling her outburst. "Cid, please tell me why I'm here so that I can leave." If any of the men in the room were surprised at her curtness, none showed it.
"Seifer," said Cid. "You are excused for the time being. Please wait outside for a moment while I speak to Quistis."
"Whatever." He muttered, reluctantly breaking the icy stare of his old enemy. He picked up Hyperion and cast Squall a meaningful gaze before stalking out of the room with all his former fervor, wishing he had a door to slam behind him.
Quistis turned to regard Cid and Squall with a look that suggested immediate violence if she were not soon informed of just what was going on.
Cid cleared his throat, which was never a good sign. It was usually a prelude to something Quistis didn't want to hear.
Like, 'Quistis, I'm sorry to inform you, but the board has terminated your Instructor's license', or 'Quistis, we need a secretary temp until we can replace Amy'.
"Quistis, it is the consensus of Squall and I that you should be the one to evaluate Seifer's……….ability and condition." She heard the words dimly, as if they echoed in some distant nightmare.
"What?"
"You've been nominated to be in charge of Seifer's surveillance."
She wanted to pinch herself, but knew with horror that no nightmare could be this malicious.
An iciness enveloped her, laced with dread at the notion. She crossed her arms. "Respectfully, I refuse."
Squall spoke up. "Quistis, you've been his Instructor before. You know him better than most of us, how to predict him and-"
"Evidently I don't," snapped Quistis. "As you both can plainly see, I'm no longer an Instructor at this Garden thanks in part to that deficiency. Give him to Xu."
At least Xu would beat the crap out of him.
Cid raised an eyebrow. "No other Instructor wants the job, and frankly I don't feel any other Instructor is qualified."
"Well that's too bad for him, isn't it?" seethed Quistis, past the point of caring that she was overstepping her rank. "You can't assign me every unwanted assignment that comes up in this office. I'm a SeeD, Rank A, not a temp." She folded her arms, trying to control her trembling. "I refuse to take him on again. He's caustic, he doesn't follow orders, and his attitude towards me and every other authority figure he's ever encountered in his life is intolerable. Just because he stumbles back in here looking like some run-down vagabond, doesn't mean he's suddenly repented. It just means-"
"Quistis, please." A figure moved in from the corner as a side door opened, and emitted a willowy shadow whose perfume carried like lilacs.
Quistis frowned. Apparently Squall and Cid had known she would refuse the assignment. So they'd sent their most potent weapon.
Matron.
Quistis steeled herself against the soft, pleading tone, knowing all at once it was futile. Dark, soft eyes fixed on her. She was as beautiful as ever, the unchanging enigma of their childhood with her long flowing hair and a dark house dress.
"Quistis, I know you are not unfeeling of Seifer's plight. It has been difficult for him…………as it has been difficult for me. You would not deny me, would you?"
Quistis stared at the shine the office light lent to her boots. "You know I wouldn't, Matron." She said softly. "But it's different."
A hand brushed her shoulder, soft as the caress of a rose petal but a thousand times as insistent. "Quistis. You know it isn't." Her voice was soft, always soft, but carried an undertone of quiet righteousness that would seem arrogant and out of place on anyone else. But she was Matron. Wisdom fit her, a quiet cloak draped over beauty and gentleness that had all drawn them in like a soothing tide as children.
Now she looked kindly down at Quistis, her smile more frail than normal. "Sometimes the pasts of others make it difficult for us to believe in their futures. It is how we treat them that paves their way towards redemption, or towards their failure. Quistis, please. I am asking you. Do for him what you would do for me."
The young SeeD reluctantly met the eyes of the woman that had been the only real mother she had ever known. They both know she could not refuse her. She looked past Matron for a moment to cast a heavy glare at Cid and Squall, letting them know what she thought of both their tactics and their assignment.
She didn't need this. There was enough turmoil in her life without looking after the likes of Seifer Almasy. He'd attack her every chance he got, resist her at every turn, and most likely drive her completely, stark raving mad.
She grimaced.
"I'll do it."