eleven
In the event a SeeD operative is declared missing during a mission, there is a span of thirty (30) days allowed for attempted recovery. After thirty (30) days have elapsed, the operative shall be presumed deceased...
(SeeD Manual of Operations, Section 47, subsection 8, paragraph C.)
xx
twenty-seven days later.
Winter creeps into Balamb, running down spines like the frigid touch of a lover. Winter uniforms are issued, and the cadets are everywhere in their berets and scarves with the Garden logo so precisely emblazoned. SeeDs bundle up in goose-down parkas for missions to Trabia, where the snow has been ankle-deep for weeks already.
The sea grows rough and savage, and Balamb gets little snow, but much in the way of freezing rain. Running across the open areas of the campus is compared to dodging live fire; by the third storm, the jokes are falling flat, over-used by first years and veterans alike.
Xu rules with an iron fist, dispatching and recalling teams, issuing sentences for breach of protocol, recruiting and interviewing, promoting and demoting. Some people receive raises for the incident in Centra, some people do not. One team is immediately dispatched to quell an uprising brewing in Timber with ruthless efficiency; they do not ask questions, and they do not feel remorse.
There is a memorial held for Cid, when word is finally leaked. The rumors abound- most are outright lies and speculation, but a small knot of people know the truth. The body is already gone, somewhere in Centra- SeeD representatives bury an empty casket in the Garden graveyard.
Squall is only tangentally aware of all of this- he is present for the memorial, standing in the back in his crisp uniform. He sits in the caf with a cup of coffee in his hands and no memory of how it got there. He looks for Seifer, once, briefly, but cannot find him.
Most of his time is consumed in his darkened apartment, from which Kadowaki comes and goes, adjusting machines and medications and spells. The entire bedroom is cast in greenish light from all of the equipment brought in.
They will keep her alive until she wakes up, and then they will kill her, he knows. She is responsible for the loss of an A-rank SeeD, the ruination of a GF, the murder of men whose blood she has not shed. She is the worst kind of threat to Garden.
It is the reason they haven't removed him from the premises. An apartment is only a more comfortable prison; he is escorted everywhere now. If he fights it, he goes to the brig. There are interrogations led by Xu and Garden Council members that consume hours of time he would rather spend by Rinoa's bedside, waiting for her to open her eyes, to smile, to say anything.
Sometimes, Squall can't tell if he's seventeen or twenty-seven, if he's in black leather or rumpled sweats. Sometimes, he thinks it doesn't matter. She'll wake up, and they'll take her away from him again.
He sits in the darkness and reaches for Rinoa's pale, cool hand.
Please.
xx
There is a thudding that wakes her, a slow boom that echoes from everywhere, coming back deafening to her ears.
When she opens her eyes, there is a never-ending expanse of stars, and she doesn't understand.
Wake up.
The thud is her heart beating, she realizes, and as soon as she does, it quiets, becoming background noise to the nothingness around her.
Wake up, little girl.
"Hello?"
The word comes out flat, with nothing to bounce off of. She stands, awkwardly. It is difficult to get up when there's nothing to walk on, but she finds herself upright anyway. It's Time Compression, with stars instead of clouds, and that terrifies her so much she stops for five minutes just to get the panic that bubbles to the surface under control.
Time ticks-ticks-ticks past. Her watch is stopped, hanging useless from her wrist. Time means nothing here.
"Seifer!" she calls, but just like her first word, his name is left hanging motionless in the air.
Come this way.
"Rinoa?"
The stars just lead to more stars, to more stars, to more stars. She does not allow herself to consider the fact that this might be death.
There's a faint distant spot of blue, and when she runs toward it, the spot solidifies itself into a figure, into Shiva. It does not take a doctor or a scientist or an A-rank SeeD to know when a god has died.
She touches her guardian force's arm, her fingers small and pink and insignificant against Shiva's skin. She doesn't know what to say. She doesn't think there are words for such a moment.
Shiva is left in the emptiness, and Quistis walks.
This way. Closer.
There are more things along her path- a ruined effigy of the Sorceress Memorial, a chunk of red metal that floats past her slowly, the letters G-A-L-B visible in four-foot letters. What is Galbadian refuse doing out here?
She walks.
Slowly, beneath her feet, stars give way to red brick dirt. She walks. Squall has told her about this place, so many years ago, this relentless desert. Somewhere in the distance, she thinks there might be a flower field.
She has no idea how many miles she has gone, nor how many hours she has traveled. This must be hell, Quistis thinks. This must be what is left for mercenaries when all is said and done.
Seifer figures prominently in her thoughts while she walks; for a while, she tries not to think of anything, for fear of how it will feel. The thought of leaving him alone upsets her more than being dead does, but the hurt is a welcome relief to the void, and she allows herself it.
She wanders through a cluster of massive stones, the only change in the bleak landscape. Seifer's voice is in her ear, telling her some story about getting lost in the forest with Fujin and Raijin for some training mission, how he swore that this was the right way, because the map had ended up in a creek and-
Quistis cannot breathe, not with the memory, and has to pause, leaning in the shadow of a rock, inhaling ragged gasps before she can get over the sob that has lodged itself in her throat. Eventually, it passes. Panic attacks in hell- this is her eternity now.
She steps from the rock garden.
Good, this way, yes. That's a good girl.
Dirt begins to give way to gray stone, to fog and suffocation.
Come this way.
The voice is starting to make her angry, taunting, beckoning like she is a child easily swayed. She is so used to following orders, even when she might be dead.
Quistis stops, red dust puffing up around her boots, right at the line where the desert would stop completely. "Who are you?" she demands. "What the hell do you want with me?"
She expects no answer.
You are an empty vessel. The words come from all around her, tearing at her hair and skin. You are nothing without your demons.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Let me in, let me show you what it's like to be able to draw from nothing, to weave magic you cannot even begin to comprehend.
The words are insistent, pushing at her skin, prodding for weaknesses, for flaws and cracks.
"No," she whispers, because it all falls into place then. Rinoa's Draw assault, Squall's kill order. Seifer- Seifer- watching her, because he knows what's going on. He's been through all of this before. Following Rinoa around the world like a dog looking for its master. The song of blood and magic-
Dimly, she hears the click-clack-click of claws against stone, and there's a cold spot in her chest.
The succession must always continue, the voice croons in her ear, as seductive as a lover, but the words are twisted and horrible, the consonants harsh.
The ice in her chest expands and explodes and Quistis is as defenseless as a child from it. This time, she is painfully aware that the screaming is coming from her throat.
The succession must always kontinue.
xx
Seifer sits at the edge of the ocean, waves lapping just up to the toes of his boots, and stares at the moon, cold and heavy in the sky. Somewhere across the sea is an island and a lighthouse and a witch.
Garden is to his back, with its own witches and ghosts.
In two days, they are going to declare Quistis Trepe dead. In two days, he will be given another month of being able to avoid Xu and the council. They call it bereavement leave, and he will probably eat a bullet.
There is the soft crunch of sand behind him.
"Piss off," Seifer snaps, without bothering to see who it is. Any patience he once had with people is gone, sucked up into a sorceress' void.
"No." Fujin's voice is even, calm. She comes to sit next to him, allowing a foot of space.
He shoves his hands deeper into the pocket of his coat, hunching against the wind. "I don't feel like talking, Fuj."
She shrugs. "Okay," she says, and pulls something out of her pocket, a metal flask that glints in the moonlight. Fujin unscrews the lid and takes a sip before passing it to him.
Seifer doesn't even ask what it is, just tips it back and drinks. Galbadian whiskey feels like a punch to the gut, and then a soothing warm compress- something in him untangles just a little with the heat of it.
Fujin reaches across the space between them, and puts her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she says once, simply.
He doesn't know how to explain to Fujin how much he misses Quistis, how it leaves him mangled and raw and sleepless with loss, so he doesn't try. A nod is all he manages.
She leaves him to his grief, and Seifer spends a long time in conference with the contents of the flask before he thinks he can face the dorm room. The walk up the beach seems to take a hundred times longer.
He makes it home, to an empty, silent apartment, and doesn't remember falling asleep.