Redemption is a mountain

A million miles high

And you'll loose your feet and loose your grip

With every tear you cry

It's hard to see the summit

When your eyes are halfway drowned

But the hardest thing's not climbing up

It's falling further down

For Redemption may be a mountain

A million miles high

But pity is an avalanche

That'll kill you 'ere you die

-altol

Chapter 8- Old Friends

Seifer stretched, rolling the kinks out of his shoulders as he stepped out of the showers. He'd lifted weights in room 2B for another half hour after Quistis had stormed out, enjoying the luxury of having an empty weight room to himself but certainly not enjoying the fact that he hadn't lifted for well over two years. His arms were on fire, and he'd nearly decapitated himself trying to lift his old bench weight.

How embarrassing.

Seifer toweled off his hair before securing the rest of the flimsy white thing around his waist, still tonguing the portion of his lip newly split open by his former Instructor's fist. He had to smile, though.

Apparently his 'lessons' had paid off.

He could still remember teaching her how to hit on the grassy lawn back at the orphanage. Cute little thing, Quisty, but annoying as hell. Then again, they all were.

That particular day she had flown at him, a fury of swiping palms and tear- streaked cheeks for something or other he'd done to her, (the indiscretion no longer mattered now, and he'd committed too many to distinguish anyway). For example, he didn't exactly remember whose bed he'd put the toads in (probably Quistis), who exactly he'd buried in the sand and left to the crabs (probably Zell), or who he'd tied to a tree (probably Squall) but he did vaguely remember it all being funny as hell, and well-worth the punishments.

For this particular offense, she'd hit him with all the fury her tiny palms could muster, which admittedly, wasn't much. He'd decided then and there that Quistis needed to learn how to fight. Aside from Squall, Quistis was the closest thing he had to an equal at the orphanage, and it simply wouldn't do to have an inferior combatant. He was only five; after all, he hadn't yet learned the clause that females were not to be hit by their male counterparts. Besides, the only admission to Quistis' female nature his brain possessed was in the strange, vague fear of cooties all children are mysteriously imbued with.

When he offered to teach her, it was more to distract her from crying than it was to actually teach her to hit him, (which he would learn later was a very short-sighted idea.)

At any rate, it worked. Her anger had faded instantly when he offered to teach her and her eyes lit up like a bright blue light switch. Quistis was undoubtedly the brain out of all of them, aside from maybe Selphie who liked to take apart the phone and other electronics. Selphie, however, had a very short attention span, and things that she dismantled were usually left that way, much to Matron's chagrin.

Quistis, however, was a strangely patient, studious child. She soaked up books like a tiny little sponge, (made him and Irvine carry her stupid books home from the library and cried if he dropped them in the mud) and took a great pleasure in telling them about everything that she knew that they didn't. It got on his nerves most of the time, but he could readily admit she was smart and that sometimes her drivel had been amusing. Any offer to teach her something always served to distract her, whether from her pain, her anger, or simply, her boredom.

Naturally, he ended up teaching her a lot, seeing as he was the cause of a lot of her childhood ailments.

For whatever reason, it never sat well with him when Quisty was mad at him for his teasing, probably because her reaction was the worst. Zell would tattle like the little baby that he was, Irvine would usually just punch back or act like he didn't care, and Squall would either lash out him or ignore him, the latter of which was commonplace and boring. Selphie would cry, and Ellone was on a lofty level of near adult status in the little group, almost at Matron's, so she wasn't able to be pestered.

Quistis herself wasn't much for tears, although the girl had a temper and a bossy streak a fucking mile wide even then. When he made her angry, she either chased him, bawled, or stuck her nose up in the air and ignored him, the last of which grated on his nerves to no end.

He couldn't stand being ignored.

So that particular afternoon, he taught her to punch. He considered himself to be a master of punching. After all, he'd learned a lot of it from his old man.

He remembered grabbing her tiny little hand (which really, he supposed, had been as small as his), and molding her fingers and thumb into a tiny fist. Her wrist was weak, though, and she ended up punch-slapping him more often than actually punching him, neither of which hurt. She didn't actually want to hit him by this time, either, which didn't help the potency or direction of her punches. He decided to show her how by actually pretending to hit her, and had ended up hitting her in the eye on accident. Even then, he wondered how the hell it was possible to hit someone on accident, but there it was, his knuckles pounding into the crest bone of her upper right eye with enough force to knock her backwards.

Her lip had wavered for a moment, nose scrunching, big blue eyes tearing up on the verge of a full-scale bawl, and Seifer winced in anticipation of the horrible sound.

"Don't be such a baby," he'd said.

Just as suddenly, her eyes narrowed, and she punched him in reciprocity in the left eye.

Hard enough to knock him on his ass, in fact.

They'd both wound up with black eyes, and both ended up grounded when Matron found out what they'd been doing, courtesy of Chicken Wuss.

Seifer chuckled aloud at that memory, the sound of rather rusty for lack of use. She really was a hardcore bitch, even then...

His thoughts were interrupted by the locker room doors swinging open and a very familiar southern drawl echoing through the locker room.

"Lazy yella moon comin' up tonight, shinin' through th' trees- ow!" The sound of smacking was heard, sounding remarkably similar to leather resounding off of the back of someone's head.

"Crickets are singing' and lightenin' bugs are floatin' on the breeze, baby git readyyyy-ow, knock it off!"

"Well if you'd sing a less stupid song-"

"Or just stop stinging altogether-"

His skin crawled. Those voices…

"Hey screw you. I don't make fun o' yore music. Youuuu an me goin' fishin in the dark- Ow! Dangit, those gloves friggin' hurt, Zell!"

The pitter patter of the showers started up, interrupting the scuffle. The crackle of the radio was heard, and suddenly a more macho theme echoed through the showers. He could hear the shuffle of clothes, and a distant rattle followed by a curse as someone banged their head on a locker.

"Hell ya! Now this's music, cowboy!" came the jubilant shout. Seifer peered over the lockers, narrowing his eyes as he watched Zell slide across the wet floor, towel around his waist.

"This is crap," came another caustic voice, one that made his muscles shrink wrap against his skin the way they always did during a battle.

Squall.

"I slam the door- BOOM- when I come into the bedroom-Wham-bam 'cause I'm the king of the castle!" shouted Zell beneath the spray, his voice incredibly off key and obnoxious. Which, Seifer concluded, was probably the point. He leaned back over the sink, scrubbing at his teeth hard enough to bleed the gums.

"You're the King of the Idiots, I'll grant you that." Muttered Squall.

"Na na na.turn me on, turn me loose, try to hit it it's a hassle-"

"Zell, if you shut up, I'm gonna stuff this soap down your throat." Irvine this time.

Hard to believe these were the men that had saved the world.

Zell ignored the two, cheerfully washing his hair. "Come and get some 'a this, don't forget the innuendo, play me like-ow, knock it off! Hey! Ow! Who throws SOAP! Ow! Alright! Come on, guys!"

The showers ceased, but Zell's singing didn't. "You burden me with your fast food, you'd have me eat no fries-"

Even Seifer had to roll his eyes at Zell's blatant butchering of the song as he moved to the sink and leaned forward to spit. He wanted to get the hell out of here, before they noticed he was here. Unfortunately, however, he still had his shirt back in the locker. Screw it…his room wasn't far from here, he could duck in-

Irvine shook his head, and eventually joined in, mimicking Zell's lewd towel dance. "You say to me, I don't talk enough, but when I do I'm a fool. These times I've spent, I've realized, I'm going to shoot -"

"Shoot you," Squall scowled, rolling his eyes as he hung up his towel. "Not a bad idea."

Zell grinned as he walked around Squall, pulling on his t-shirt. "And leave-"

It was that moment that Zell rounded the lockers to the sinks, and noticed Seifer. Seifer glared up into the mirror, his eyes flashing with a mixture of defense and anger- an animal cornered. What muscles remained on his arm tightened upon instinct, a reaction that was no doubt not unnoticed by Zell, whose battle skills required him to read openings and defenses like body poetry.

"Whoa Seifer man, didn't see you there." Said Zell tersely. Seifer didn't miss the unmistakable, though not unfamiliar bunch of his fists upon the recognition of his former enemy. Someone killed the radio.

Be damned if I'm running now, thought Seifer, standing rigid to regard the boy behind him.

"Chicken Wuss." He said coolly. Oops.

Old habits died hard.

Zell's eyes narrowed in response to the nickname and opened his mouth to make a comeback.

Irvine chose that moment to come around, a mellow, yet cautiously friendly smile on his face. "Hey Almasy," he drawled casually, slapping Seifer's shoulder as he knelt down over the closest sink, toothbrush wedged between his teeth.

Seifer stiffened at the contact, resisting the immediate instinct to strike out and clip the cowboy on the back of the head. Squall chose that moment to walk around the corner. His grey-blue eyes narrowed, and Seifer could sense the tension prickle on him. "Almasy."

"Leonhart." He returned, trying to appear unaffected that the former Sorceresses' Knight was now literally wedged between Balamb's three male Heroes, whose weapons he had not long ago been on wrong end of. He saw Irvine's shoulder's bunch, and saw Zell's face visibly constrict with tension at Squall's demeanor.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up on end.

Shit.

He held Squall's gaze, tense, wondering what the next five seconds would bring. The three could easily take him, and frankly, he was tired of pretending. Pretending that he could take these three, that he could belong here, that he could become a SeeD…

He was sick of the whole damned thing.

If it was going to end, he thought, let it damned well end now. He was sick and tired of running.

Squall's gaze flickered for a moment, and then he sighed, tension draining from his shoulders as he approached the sinks, lazily running his fingers through his hair which Seifer knew well was Squall's own trademark expression of agitation. Taking his fearless leader's cue, Zell's shoulders relaxed, and he threw his towel in the corner, casting one last look at Seifer before he grabbed his gloves and slammed the door behind him. Irvine cast him an odd version of a friendly smile as he passed, following Zell out as he pulled on his jacket.

It was just the two of them now, and the thought was nothing if not disconcerting.

"I spoke to Quistis this morning," came Squall's monotone voice from along the sinks.

"And?" He leaned down to rinse his mouth in the tap, keeping his eyes up like a nervous herbivore at the watering hole.

He was surrounded by fucking lions.

Squall's eyes were trained on him as well as he leaned over to spit in the sink. Ah, so you don't trust me either, Squall, sneered Seifer. Wise choice.

I sure as hell don't trust you.

Squall walked back behind the lockers. "Quistis told me you trained with her this afternoon." Whoa. That had to be a fucking record for Squall in terms of words said at once.

Seifer rolled his eyes as he threw the towel into a corner of the room. Great, here it comes, he thought, Quistis goes and tells Squall about mean old Seifer, I get kicked-

"She said it might be more conducive, skill wise, for you to train against a similar weapon for now." Squall said carefully.

"She did, did she?" he replied, not liking where this was headed.

"Yeah. I'm offering, if you want to train."

The record had been broken. Squall had said at least seven words in a single sentence, and to him, no less. Seifer spat in the sink, straightening up to regard his former enemy in the mirror.

Former? That had yet to be proven.

Trust no one, his heard thudded.

"I don't need your help or your fucking pity, Leonhart." He spat, leaning over to pick up his boots.

Squall's stare was level, blank, contained in it no trace of friendship or hatred. "I wasn't offering either." He said evenly. "I asked if you wanted to train."

That was Squall's beauty, Seifer supposed, his blank slate eyes and his softly driven heart, a successful silence and a cold, easy grace that Seifer could only dream of possessing. Had bitterly dreamed, once.  Squall offered absolutes- yes and no, never and forever. He lived in simplicity.

Seifer's own life was one of sweat and struggle, of burden that he stacked upon his own spine until he'd fairly crawled with it.

They would always be different. They would never understand one another, not really.

Did that make them enemies? Did it have to?

Seifer narrowed his eyes. Too many epiphanies in one day could give him a heart attack.

Better make this the only one, then.

"Fine." He grumbled, his pride nearly crushing his throat as he spoke.

Squall jerked his head up sharply. "Fine. After hours, then, in the Training Center, room D."

"Whatever," Seifer echoed, watching the back of his former rival stalk through the door. His back. Not something Squall had turned on him very often. It was a strange sight indeed.

Seifer sighed as he grabbed his things and shoved them into one of the zippered duffle bags lying around.

This was one weird fucking day, and it wasn't even half over.

He ducked out of the doors just as a new crowd was coming in, worming his way into the going traffic and glaring generally at onlookers. He had only walked a few paces when he caught a blur of sound from the oncoming throng.

He frowned, stopping. He could have sworn someone had just said his name.

"SEIFER."

"Hey man, wait up, ya know!"

Seifer raised his eyebrows. He swore right, apparently.

Seifer whirled at the sound of the familiar voices, a wide smile breaking over his features as the sighted the other members of the once-prominent disciplinary committee.

Rajin was grinning ear to ear like an idiot, while Fujin wore a gentler grin that seemed out of character on her normally stern face. They looked the same as ever: Rajin with his dark, giant-like stature, Fujin with her regal stance, her somewhat stern face made more gentle by the slope of pale gray hair that dusted her cheek.

They hadn't changed a bit.

After only a moment of hesitation, Rajin lunged forward, grabbing Seifer in a vice-like hug. In spite of Rajin's familiarity, he wasn't used to much contact of any sort that didn't involve ruptured spleens or broken noses. Sensing him tense, Rajin quickly put him back down. Seifer slapped him on the shoulder, quickly plastering a grin on his face as Fujin gently patted him on his arm.

"Hey man, you look much better, ya know!" exclaimed Rajin. "Last time I saw you-"

Fujin elbowed him, and Rajin had the decency to look sheepish. "Uh well, anyway, you look good, ya know."

Seifer remembered all too well their last visit, and also felt a few pangs of sheepishness himself. "Hey, uh, Rajin man, I'm...sorry about that time. Y'know, uh, your nose…" He could remember flying at Rajin, catching him across the face, the crunch of Rajin's nose beneath his fist as it broke...

Rajin looked shocked at his apology, but quickly recovered via another elbowing by Fujin. "Hey man, no problem. What're friends for, ya know? I'll return the favor someday or somethin'." He gave Seifer a hearty clap on the back that nearly sent the ex-knight sprawling across the hallway. Seifer righted himself, trying not to let on how hard Rajin had hit him. Rajin really didn't know his own strength. Still, he'd known the right thing to say to put Seifer at ease.

Rajin really wasn't as clueless as he let on.

Fujin beamed at both of her male counterparts. "LUNCH." she suggested. Only years invested with Fujin gave the necessary unscrambling tools to determine whether her outbursts were ideas, orders, or suggestions.

They were usually orders.

"Thanks, but I don't think I'm supposed to eat in the-"

"ALL CLEAR." insisted Fujin, tugging at him.

"How-" he began, frowning.

"QUISTIS." answered Fujin, dragging him into the cafeteria.

Quistis? What the hell? Why was she looking out for him so much lately? Guilt? First Squall, now this?

When the hell did he get a keeper?

Furthermore, when the fuck did he start needing one?

"I'm paying, ya know." said Rajin quickly, as they grabbed trays. Seifer raised his eyebrow at Fujin's acquiescence. Fujin would NEVER let any guy pay for her, much less Rajin, unless...

So, they WERE a couple, as he had long expected that they would be.

Their world had moved on without him- it was a bittersweet thought, more sweet than bitter, and it surprised him.

He smiled. Apparently not as little had changed as he first thought.

After a lunch filled with catching up, Rajin and Fujin had to leave for a mission briefing, promising to get together when they got back. Seifer watched them go, a small smile on his face.

It was about time.

The two were interesting to watch. Fujin was clearly the aggressor in the relationship, and Seifer had a feeling that Rajin didn't mind being 'kept in line' at all. They sat in the cafeteria, laughing and talking long after their food was finished. And just like that, things were all right between the Posse that was no longer a posse. The members were too far changed for it to ever be as it once was- they had long outgrown the mold the gang-mentality had imposed. Their leader was too jaded and the members no longer delusioned with his greatness any longer. The change was not tragic- it was necessary, and Seifer found himself relieved to be relinquished of the burden of their worship.

Seifer stood, heading back to his room. Friends, yes.

But the Posse was dead.

Seifer shook his head as he walked back to the classroom to meet Trepe, eyes distant as he skimmed the halls. Two revelations in one day.

A bitter chuckle escaped his lips.

What wonders never fucking ceased.