(Cue cheesy voice) Previously, on 'The Fall:'

"We've sent them against the Lifelong President of Galbadia." My words are a whisper. "Three rookie SeeDs."

The Fall

Chapter 4: The Plunge

"So." The voice intrudes into my frozen and frantic thoughts. "Gonna let me go, Instructor?"

Yes. What's the life of one man compared to Garden, all the Gardens? Compared to my students and charges, to Zell, to Ms. Tilmitt?

Compared to Squall?

The moment of madness is gone and I'm moving between him and the door, whip out, ready for anything. Ready, even, to protect the most self-destructive from themselves.

"Why are you even doing this?" I need to stall, maybe distract him while I plan my next move. A quick Sleep spell might do the job. I start watching him for openings while I talk. "Don't tell me you've discovered a sudden wellspring of concern for your fellow human."

"I'd tell you that, but then I'd be lying, wouldn't I." He watches me with eyes gone cold and blue, slowly drawing Hyperion. Coiled to spring the moment my concentration wavers, for instance to cast a spell. Argh. "This was my fight from the get-go, and I don't need Garden getting in the way."

"Like you didn't need a little girl getting in your way." My eyes narrow at the memory. His third field exam, a hostage extraction mission gone horribly wrong when one of the terrorists grabbed the nearest child to press a gun to her head. Seifer chose that moment to strike, coolly telling the disciplinary board later on that he had expected his GF-enhanced reflexes to win out.

"She survived, didn't she?" My blood runs cold at his nonchalant smirk. This is exactly why he failed that field exam, despite the mission's success which he spearheaded--and why I cannot let him pass, professed reasons notwithstanding. Some have called him an egotist, but I disagree. You need to care the slightest bit about yourself to be one of those. And you need to care even the slightest bit about yourself to care about anyone or anything else.

"She survived, all right. Screaming in terror, covered in a man's blood and brains." I remember how she seemed more terrified of Seifer when he picked her up and carried her outside than when she'd had a gun to her head. And when she closes her eyes, I'm willing to bet good money that it's the memory of a deadly black blade coming toward her head that gives her nightmares.

He gives a dismissive snort. "Kids are tough that way. You people don't give 'em enough credit."

"Maybe we've given you too much." There is the briefest flicker in his face, of--what? Surprise? Hurt? But it's gone too quickly. I crack my whip against the window behind him, a distraction, but he doesn't bite. Instead he sends a quick fire-spell my way in that brief second. I duck, and the burst of flame passes hot and searing above my back to strike the door behind.

"That the best you can do, Seifer?" The chain lash hurtles back the next instant, the retrieval motion as comfortable and easy as breathing.

"Not quite," he murmurs, and strikes in close. Two can play the quick-casting game, however. The painful cold of a Blizzara spell builds up at my fingertips, and he's blasted backwards toward the window before he can reach me. He shivers as he leans against the glass trying to get his bearings; an affinity to fire magic has left him with a particular vulnerability to ice-elemental spells, I've found.

"Give it up, Seifer. We'll find some other way to deal with this." The best part is, I don't even have to beat him. All I need to do is keep him away from the door until backup comes, and the knowledge is reflected in his face. Then the polite female voice over the speaker system again.

"Attention, please, passengers."

"I told you, Trepe-" he raises Hyperion again. "It's my fight." Fire runs along his arm and energy slowly builds up on the blade as he spins the nine-pound gunblade in a hand.

"This train will presently resume its normal speed for the remainder of the journey to Timber."

I will never understand how he can Break, time and again, in almost perfect physical condition, but that's beside the point. If he thinks his Limit Break can move me from this door-

"Thank you for your patience."

Then he turns around and smashes Hyperion into the window.

There is absolute silence for one split second, the calm of the vacuum. The next moment the glass, fortified to withstand monster charges and more, screams and explodes outward.

"No!" My cry is lost in the banshee shriek of air that rushes into the cabin. I try to grab him with my whip, but can't get the necessary momentum in this maelstrom. It's all I can do to place Shell on myself when Seifer lifts his hand and an inferno erupts around me. Hair wind-whipped and eyes watering, I'm still struggling against the wind when Seifer waves and shouts something that might have been "Bye, Instructor" or "Fuck you." And then he jumps.

When I work my way to the window and lean out he is straightening up from his roll on the grass next to the tracks, shielded by the blue glitter of a Protect spell. The train picks up full speed, and Seifer's cheerfully waving form is already a tiny dot by the time I'm forced to step away from the shattered window. Yet another fine I'll have to pay at Timber station.

I can't follow him outside now, even with a Protect spell, if I wish to arrive at Timber in one piece. Which is exactly how he planned the timing of it all, of course. I could almost admire his deviousness if it weren't all so infuriating.

Well, at least I know where he's going. Waiting at the train station is no guarantee--I have to assume he knows more than one way into the city. He's shaken me for the time being. But once this very important broadcast starts...

Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world. My thoughts are grim as I try to put my hair and my clothes in some semblance of order.

This isn't my day. I nearly had to resort to violence to curtail the lecture I received at the Timber train station. My worldly wealth less fifteen thousand gil, I had to weather one of those minitrains through the city that are so charming to watch--but once one gets on turn out to be crowded, uncomfortable, and poorly ventilated.

The square before the old broadcasting station isn't quite what I expected. Some of the expected festiveness is there, of course; this is, after all, the first television broadcast in almost twenty years. Some hundreds of Timber citizens have gathered, eyes fixed on the white noise-filled screen that dominates the front of the building.

But the excitement is dampened a great deal by the unsmiling presence of soldiers standing guard. Their tense animosity and the sullen resentment of the civilians are both almost palpable in the air. This is not a happy city, and one gets the sense that sooner or later something will have to give.

None of this concerns me for the immediate present. I scan the crowd quickly for either the Timber team or Seifer, with no luck. Even if they were here, of course, I doubt there is much they could do against the tight security. Maybe both the team and Seifer gave up, which is probably for the best. The Timber team are too inexperienced to see the larger implications, and Seifer-

Screams start somewhere in the crowd, and a shot rings out.

I seem to have found him. And Hyne forbid he do the reasonable thing. This is my fight, I hear him say. My feet are pounding hard on the pavement towards the commotion, against the flow of frightened men and women fleeing the other way.

A soldier grunts as he staggers into me. I sidestep quickly and sure enough, there's Seifer, knocking a sabre from one Galbadian's hand and slamming a steel-toed boot into another's solar plexus. I lash out with my whip--only to kick up bits of pavement when he dodges. Before I can try again he slams Hyperion's pistol hilt brutally across on the last standing guard's jaw, brushes past the crumpling form into the front entrance of the station.

The afternoon sunlight is abruptly cut off as I run through the doors into the station proper, past one sprawled Galbadian, then another, up two flights of old stairs that give hollow clangs--and I am upon him. A soldier comes tumbling down the stairs, and I flatten myself against the railing just in time to avoid him. On the landing Seifer has a hand on the metal door to the studio.

"Seifer." He flicks a cool green gaze over his shoulder at me, shoulder still tensed to push that door open and plunge into the waiting chaos beyond. "It doesn't have to be like this." I have tried everything to deflect him from this course, every last tactic in or out of the book. They failed, every last one. I am left with nothing but pleading, that so much potential, so much life can't possibly end like this.

"You'd rather see it in ruins?" His eyes turn to flint and his voice goes hard. Our childhood home, our school, our world as we knew it--proud spires and whispering fountains, the cool walls all gone. No way to contact the Timber team other than barging through this door, not knowing if they're already on their way, knowing it's so much safer if someone else does the job, someone Garden never sent.

For the first time in my life I have no answer at all. I am lost in the unyielding truth in his eyes, in this confluence of destinies beyond control and reason.

"There they are!" The soldiers are upon us, and without another word Seifer disappears through the studio door. Numbly I follow, tossed by uncertainty and doubt.

Inside, the cameras are already on and soldiers hover just out of camera range near a portly man behind the podium. The lights are too bright, the world at a crazy angle, and nothing, nothing will ever be right in the world again.

Seifer doesn't hesitate, he never hesitates. He surges forward, movement fluid as water--a rib cracks audibly as he lashes out with the flat of his blade, the soldier doubling over in pain. Two rush into camera range to grab him from behind while a third approaches to restrain him, only to be kicked down, flailing arms taking the camera crashing down with him.

I finally find my voice, somehow, even here in the grip of a nightmare I can neither stop nor control. "Stay back!" Don't they know when they're outmatched?

The soldiers holding Seifer are shaken off easily, and in the same breath the President of Galbadia finds the black blade of Hyperion shoved under his chin. Then Seifer holds Deling before him like a shield, the heat of battle blazing in his eyes. A beast of prey stands before me, an audible snarl on its lips, feral, hunted. Cornered.

"For the last time," I raise my voice above the tumult, "stand down! You're only going to provoke him." Never predictable nor quite stable, there is no imagining where he might turn when trapped. I snap out an order for the Timber team to join us, perhaps the only people in the city who might be able to help me subdue an armed and junctioned Seifer. Preferably before Deling's head is rolling on the floor.

Slowly the nightmare comes into focus as I think in familiar terms of tactics and strategies, flipping abruptly from dream into reality. The reality that those of us in this room, and every other person in the world, will have to live with. I am riding the waves and terrified where the slightest slip might take me, or all of us.

"Look, young man, let the President go." A red-suited officer steps up next to me, his voice low and soothing. "This can be resolved by words."

"What words?" There is a dangerous gleam in Seifer's eyes. " 'We'll be playing football with Deling's head unless you shut the fuck up?' "

The officer flinches and looks to me for help.

"We need to restrain him." Hyne's in the details, Trepe. Will the Timber team ever get here?

Just then the much-abused studio door flies open and Squall bursts in, followed by Zell and Ms. Tilmitt.

"What," Squall's voice is low with barely-repressed anger, "do you think you're doing?"

"It's obvious, ain't it?" Seifer nods to Deling. "What are you planning to do with this guy?"

Careful, I sign, trying to be as discreet as possible. The camera... Seifer doesn't take notice, however, too occupied with Deling and Squall.

"I get it!" Zell slams a fist into his palm. "You're Rinoa's-"

Seifer flinches at the name, and Deling does the same when the jerky blade comes dangerously close to beheading him. "Shut your damn mouth! You chicken!"

"He broke out of the disciplinary room," I can't risk anymore hand signs which might be analyzed and recognized as Garden battle language, "injuring many in the process." I have seldom prayed before but right now I am, with all my might. Please, please try to guess at the reason for the escape. If they see it they'll know not to implicate anyone in their words, least of all Garden.

My heart soars at the thoughtful look on Squall's face when Zell bursts out: "You stupid IDIOT!"

"Be quiet," Squall says without using names, telling me he's realized at least a small part of what I tried to say.

But Zell is beyond restraint. "Instructor, I know!" I open my mouth to warn him against titles, but my jaw goes slack and my mind blank at his next words. "You're gonna take this stupid idiot back to Garden, right?"

"Shut up! NO!" Even before Squall's shout Zell's hands are at his mouth in panic.

My hands are shaking, my breath comes in ragged gasps as Deling quietly pronounces his ultimatum. With Garden operatives taking action against the President, Galbadia would not only be enabled but forced to retaliate. The black waves of consequence, of one single slip in that moment in time, rise up to engulf us all.

Unless... My eyes turn to meet Seifer's. Unless someone else took the blame. Someone not sent by Garden...a rogue that Garden had no control over.

A split second of perfect understanding, and he breaks the gaze. "Nice going, Chicken-wuss! You and your stupid big mouth." Zell all but withers under the derision in his tormentor's look. "Take care of this mess, Instructor and Mr. Leader!" Seifer pulls Deling along through a door at one side, and I follow--the responsible SeeD rushing to save the President from the hands of the evil renegade. Once more riding the currents, and this time I cannot afford to fail.

The certainty is bitter and sharp, that if I have to kill in that room not to slip I will do it. The time is past for right or wrong, for justice and pity and all the rest. We have come to the time of survival, when first we live. And then we ask the questions.

Seifer stands with Deling at the far end of what appears to be a prop room, gazing fixedly at the wall before him. Something--wrong--in the air here, a cloying scent, tension like a pulled string. A taste of dark urges, of tainted sweetness.

What is this?

Then I see the apparition, a woman standing before Seifer and yet...not. It's not the otherworldly costume or the bird's-face mask, it's the way the black vortex in the room seems to emerge from her and swirl into her in the memory of a thousand screaming nightmares, the way she arrests the gaze like nothing human can or should. The fear is primal, the attraction--irresistible.

Seifer senses it too. "Stay back!" I rush forward to help. No matter what the strange turns in this endless day, I could not leave him to face that thing alone.

And it takes me in the gut then, a hand that grabs hold in some indefinable place within and squeezes until I am shuddering and gasping with the wrongness of it, if I could move at all. A heavy drop to my knees is all I can manage.

Seifer screams again for the thing to stay back. But he cannot look away, nor can he turn. A low purr trembles through the room on some invisibile taut string.

"Poor, poor boy..."

And damnation.

-tbc