Fire and Ice

by altol

Seifer and Quistis. One man's redemption. One woman's awakening. Two souls journey into an uncertain future...with even more uncertain feelings. Finished.

21. Routines and Regrets

Disclaimer: If I owned Squaresoft, I'd buy a new muse.

Dreaming of that face again.

It's bright and blue and shimmering.

Grinning wide

And comforting me with its three warm and wild eyes.

On my back and tumbling

Down that hole and back again

Rising up

And wiping the webs and the dew from my withered eye.

In... Out... In... Out... In... Out...

A child's rhyme stuck in my head.

It said that life is but a dream.

I've spent so many years in question

to find I've known this all along.

-Tool, Third Eye

Chapter 19

It was a routine performed in silence, a slow, mindless ritual intended to occupy her thoughts in the silent hours of the morning before the first warning bell sounded to rouse the new cadets. She poured herself out of bed and slipped on her slippers, setting out a single saucer and cup and setting the kettle to boil on her small (Garden-banned) hotplate before turning to the shower. After toweling, she brushed her teeth and ran a fine-toothed comb through her hair- one hundred and fifty strokes before pinning it up and ironing out her flips as she listened for the whistle of the copper kettle. She dressed in silence- undergarments, socks, skirt, blouse, jacket, zipping up her boots and securing Save the Queen on her belt buckle before walking over to the stove to pour her tea. Peppermint or Green sometimes, or an expensive brew of Ginger Peach from a little shop in Esthar- a gift from Xu. The tea was calm, soothing. More importantly, it was part of the routine.

She drank her tea in silence, rushing the burning liquid down her throat as she watched the minutes flutter by on the cardslots of her alarm clock. If she was an Instructor, she would have looked over lesson plans or graded a few remaining papers. As it was, these days, she usually stared at the wall and thought too much. Being alone was an art form, one Quistis Trepe had worked on perfecting since she was ten years old. Each stroke, each brush of solitude was a perfect arc of habit, a curve of seclusion on a canvas of pure, white isolation.

Despite her practice, she was still a terrible painter.

This morning, she sat on the couch, tracing the woven pattern of the rayon throw. The whistle of the kettle was strangely absent from the small stove burner, and she was still dressed in her pajamas, legs folded under her as she leaned her upper torso against the side, her shoulder hooked around the slender white arm of the small sofa like a comfortable pretzel.

She'd gotten a phone call not long after Seifer left- Squall's monotone voice telling her that the preliminary investigation team had discovered that her single witness, Mr.Drefford, had been beaten to death in his house with his own tire iron. The news had fallen hard and cold in her stomach- who would have a reason to kill a harmless old man? Someone, apparently, and Quistis had a sinking suspicion that it was not unrelated to the IGCS scenario.  Why was it always innocents that paid for politics?

When she inquired about the man's dog, there had been a pause on the phone, then the news that the dog had been locked in the garage and was going to be euthanized. Sadness had prickled at the news, both for Mr.Drefford and for Garden.  Without a witness, Garden was in even worse shape, and without a master, the dog was as good as dead. Sleepily, she told Squall to order action halted on the dog until morning, and that the dog was not to be euthanized under any circumstances. Squall had said nothing in response, but she took his lack or response for an agreement before replacing the receiver. She didn't know why she'd ordered the dog held, but the thought of the old man dying…and the dog, it didn't sit right in her stomach. If she'd stopped to think about it, she probably felt guilty.

Amazing, after years of desensitizing, death never failed to prick her shields. Or her conscience.

Quistis refolded her legs beneath her, sighing against her arms.

The cadets would be getting up now- some sneaking from the dorms of their companions and others rising early to meet friends and significant others for breakfast. Quistis woke up morning after morning and drank in the terrible emptiness of her double bed, stretching her arm out into the cold island of sheets before she forced herself into the routine. In that moment, however brief, she could feel just a little bit of her soul sink into the sheets, lost to the silence and the frigidity of the atoll of empty bed beside her.

Monotony, structure, routine- the very foundation upon which Quistis Trepe had built her life- was quickly crumbling with every year that passed. The quiet minutes with a cup of tea, once treasured, were now loathed- the late nights spent reading or filing reports entirely too quiet. The mornings were the worst- the cold bed and the quiet room a silent void. Each morning was a morning like any other, and yet, it somehow became even more intolerable than the rest, filled with the knowledge that she could not live like this forever…that she didn't want to.

Quistis' eyes drooped as she stared at the bowl of peaches in front of her.

Xu was right. She was terrible at being alone.

…

…

…

Seifer Almasy was no better off. He spent the night and most of the morning conjuring up most of his old demons, playing around with the shadows and seeing how long he could hold a memory in his mind before it burned. Dangerous game, recollection, especially when half the doors in your mind lead to demons.

He stared at the wall, green iris' flickering like a projector left on too long. It was a bitter show that played behind those bottle-glass colored irises, and an endless one.

Stupid, useless thing, remembering. And yet, he couldn't seem to stop.

The shadows cast an eerie light on the linoleum, moonlight swimming in the blood. The clock ticked softly, keeping the wrong time and checking off the seconds in blissful ignorance. He laid his swollen cheek back down onto the cold tile. The time didn't matter-it stopped in moments like this. It was the world that went on unaware..

Seifer shivered in his bed. He had only to close his eyes to lift up the old screens, the old slides of his life, the dim flickers like weak acid poured over a perpetually open wound. And he did- closed his eyes and tangled in his sheets as he replayed the horrific home videos in his brain.

He remembered Time Compression clearly, the spin and the press of eons against his skull, threatening to smash his brains. His vision faded, lurched, body tugged violently between forever and oblivion as he clawed through his mind and his body for some sense of sanity.

His vision had fuzzed, lurched, dulled, and once again his eyes had fixed on that very sight- the place in which, years ago, a part of Seifer Almasy had been lost forever. There, beneath the shadows, sandwiched beneath the thin, rusty legs of the table and the cool press of linoleum, he'd stared into the darkness as he watched once again the back of the black leather recliner. Watched the tapering arch of his father's only arm spit a steady stream of blood, his father's face obscured by the shadows. The heliotrope-colored glass of the beer bottles caught the moonlight, spitting a prism of red and green and brown all over the dirty tiles. His eyesight grew painful, all the objects and sounds concentrated into a screaming hum of sensation so loud he thought his skull would burst-

Grass whipping his bare torso as he cut through the grass, the sound of laughter ahead of him and a swath of gold that fluttered like butterfly wings, teasing his fingertips-

Steel flashing as Hyperion cut down, silver fang bared and Leonhart's head open and bleeding onto the ground, as finally, finally, those cold blue eyes lit with fury and he swung back, brilliant pain lighting up his skull-

On his knees, the marble sheen of the palace floors gleaming like water as he looked up into her reflection, into her sick, dark eyes, waiting for her command like a mongrel, her voice the tether that would snap his neck-

A flash of raven hair, the scent of jasmine on her neck and she was laughing, grabbing his hand,

- then terrified, begging him not to take her, but it was too late, he was too far gone and it couldn't be stopped, nothing could be stopped--

The cornfields, stretching on forever, a maze of pain and shame and uselessness as he watched the crows rise up, their oily black wings beating at the blue sky and he knew he would die here-

And then a hand, her hand, reaching in front of him, beckoning him forward with her soft, dark eyes. She knelt in front of him, and the bloody picture of his father disappeared, surrounded by the sunlit walls of the orphanage. She smiled, the tilt of her lips filled with a strange, emotion, the love that he had forgotten. And he reached out-

And woke up, lying on his back in a cornfield in the backyard of a condemned shack, the distant caws of the crows stuffed like stale bread into his ears, muting all other sounds in oiled, uneasy silence.

Time Compression, it seemed, was not without a sense of irony. It had spit him back into the very fucking field that he'd spent his life trying to get away from. He woke up in the throes of an old nightmare…only to find it real again.

The old house still stood, the siding rotting off in uneven sloughs of cedar wood plank. The house gave the impression of a gap-toothed face, glass teeth hung in shattered shards in the frame. Grass had grown up to his kneecaps, and the garden was now completely destroyed, weeds tangling in the roses and choking their branches. The tulips had long wilted beneath the thorned vines that coiled around the gates, twisting up towards the sky like forsaken arms.

His gut shivered against his ribs just looking at the fucking place. All at once, he felt the sting at the back of his head and his father's gravelly voice ringing in his ears, the sound of bottles smashing and the stench of sweat and gin-

"Get over here, boy. Little worthless maggot. Well guess what, mama's boy? Mama's dead. Went off and left us, didn't she?"

Seifer narrowed his eyes. His old man was dead, and so was this house. Turn and walk away…walk out.

But he walked forward.

A few half-rotten boards had been hastily nailed up to deter intruders- but a few swipes of Hyperion quickly dislodged the barrier. He hesitated at the doorway, almost reluctant to encounter the ghosts that no doubt lingered in the shadows. But the house lay silent, save for the occasional groan of a board in the wind or the scuttle of leaves along the steps.  He took a deep breath, bracing himself.

Bracing himself for what, he didn't know.

The roof was partially caved in from over a decade of neglect and the fact that it had never been sturdy to begin with. The rain gutters spilled their water down into the kitchen room, where a thin, frail layer of lichen and moss had started to sweep along the walls. The clock was still ticking beneath a tangle of vines, the time still completely wrong. It had always been wrong.

The pantry door was hinged open, scat and faded wrappers speckled all along the floor. One rat, half the size of a small dog, stood on its legs to regard him, whiskers sniffing as if greeting the man whose shadows still lingered in the walls. The small refrigerator had been left ajar, the bulb long broken. He nudged it open with the tip of Hyperion's blade, only to reveal a moldy stick of something and a few scattered beer bottles.

Get me a beer, boy…

He kicked it shut so hard the door snapped off, sending a mass of rats scrambling between his ankles.

His room had been left much the way he remembered it, a small cot with a few faded quilts draped over the top. He stopped when he saw the pictures, still scattered on the floor near the mattress. The wood planks were splattered with a dark, almost black stain, the mark of his blood from where his father had split open his lip and smashed his teeth against his gums. His eyes narrowed, closed so tight his eyes nearly crushed in their sockets. With a shaky hand, he knelt down, picking up a single dusty photograph- a picture of a young woman, her platinum blonde hair dusting the shoulders of a white turtleneck sweater, a little boy with sandy hair curled up in her embrace with a happy, cherubic smile on his face.

A grown man stared down at the pictures, bangs a light fringe against his frowning, scarred forehead as he gazed at the happy mother and child with a lost look on his face.

When had he ever smiled like that? When the hell had he had a reason to?

He crumbled the photograph into his pocket, stalking back into the main room. He didn't go in his parent's old room. He hadn't been in there since she died. Too many ghosts whispered along the windowpane, and even at 18, he was scared shitless of the shadows that lurked beneath the bed in which she died.

His breathing was laborious now, the rush of air harsh in his ears as he glared at the empty leather recliner. The dark, ancient bloodstains were still there, a murky pool on the oiled wood floor.

Both their blood, soaked into the wood, a testament to a father's endless anger and his son's endless regrets.

It was there, in the bloodstains- the same dark destiny that guided his father's crippled body was the same that coursed through his veins. Ultimecia was gone, dead, as shredded as his dreams, and he had fallen like a wingless bird, the descent long and bitter.

…And now, here, he was lost…both his maker and his mistress long faded.

He had wanted to prove himself so badly. To rise where his father had fallen, to succeed where his father had failed.

And he had only fallen harder. Failed more. Been even angrier and a bigger wreck than his old man ever could have managed.

He was so angry. This fucking place. His father gone, dead, unable to take the wrath that Seifer so desperately wanted to lay on him, to hear the words he wanted to scream in his old man's ears-

What, boy, you afraid of your own shadow?

"Fuck you!" he shouted, raising Hyperion and bringing it down with all his might, the blade sinking into the recliner with a terrible rip. He shouted again, burying the silver sword to the hilt in the cracked leather recliner. "Fuck this place!"

His father, the coward, the fuck, the abusive, worthless piece of shit, and he was so angry, and there was nobody but this fucking house to take his rage out on-

The television exploded as he brought the sword back and whirled, spewing shards across his cheeks, but he didn't feel it. He brought the sword down again, leather strips and down tumbling out like innards. He was screaming like a madman, rage trembling at his lips and lunacy lurking just behind.

Boy…

"You worthless fuck! I hate you! I hate you!" He sunk to his knees, exhausted, blood running down his cheeks and the anger bursting out of him like scalding water. Drained, he looked down at his hands, half expecting a stump there.

Hyperion glared up at him, its silver eye spitting back his reflection as his blood dripped down onto the edge in thin streaks. Images danced in there, in the liquid of his weakness, shadows playing across his face in the crimson reflection. He forced himself to look down, He saw the image of his father, smiling up at him.

The face of Fate.

This is what you've become, Almasy. This is all you'll ever be.

He shut his eyes, gripping hard, tangling his fingers around the image, pressing his palms hard against his father's reflection, against the failure he could feel seeping into his pores-

Boy. Knight. Son. Failure.

He felt nothing. No pain, no anger, no bitter hate to fuel his blood. Nothing. It was gone. The only emotion he'd ever had to feel about most of his life, and it was gone.

He opened his eyes, only to see that he had curled his hands around Hyperion's dulled edges, sinking his skin into the blade. Blood was beginning to pool along the blade's edge, and yet, he didn't feel anything. He pressed harder.

No…he couldn't feel a fucking thing.

Frowning, he tightened his grip, knuckles creasing white as hot blood oozed out between his fingers, dripping onto the floor.

Nothing.

He was terrified.

Tighter, tighter, and the blood boiled against his skin, hot, and he was dizzy-

Nothing. He felt nothing.

It was the last time he had ever touched Hyperion…until his return to Garden.

Seifer stared at the clock on the desk beside him, the numbers a hazy blur.

He had to stop this fucking thinking.

He closed his eyes again. He tried to imagine the orphanage, the way it used to be. As fucked up as he was, that was probably his happiest time.

The pillars…..the gardens growing with beautiful flowers that were nice to look at but even more fun to pull up, Chicken Wuss whining his fool ass off…chasing Quistis around and bugging the shit out of Squall- Matron…Matron was there….smiling, hands folded as she watched her children play.

And the ocean, combing the beaches and listening to the sound of the waves slap the rocks at night while the wind stirred silky patterns in the grass-

Bring me the children.

What?

Bring me the children.

The sea turned dark, spray slapping the rocks with a fury that threatened to swallow everything before it. He could hear Matron calling him, calling him away from the sea, but-

You hear the music, don't you?

He frowned, watching as a moonlit wave rose up like a silver fang.

Dance, puppet. That's it. You see? You remember.

Laughter skidded across the water, chortling in the thunder of the waves as they reached out to shore, trying to suck him in. His knees almost crumbled against the torrent.

Bring me the children, Almasy.

Knock, knock.

Bring me the children.

Knock, knock.

His eyes flew open, sitting up in a flurry as the quick raps brought him to attention. He scrambled to his feet, opening the door and wincing as the crack of light invaded his eyes. A silver haired woman stood before him, frowning, her amber-colored eye peering at him with no small measure of concern.

Fujin had always been able to smell the memories on him- sense the sweat and tremble that was horror relived. Fujin had plenty of her own demons, and nobody knew that better than Seifer.

"SEIFER. SLEEPING?" asked the young woman, hands on her hips, an amused smile playing on her lips.

He wiped a hand across his eyes. Not a fucking wink, he thought to himself.

Fujin nodded. "LEAVE." The young woman turned to go.

Hell, it wasn't like he was going to sleep anyway. "Nah, forget it, Fuj. I wasn't asleep anyway."

Unfortunately.  Truthfully, a nightmare would have been more reassuring.

Almasy, you loony.He rubbed at his scar, tired and frustrated as he squelched a yawn. He had to get up for that stupid written test, anyway, and could probably look forward to Xu administering it….again. What was it? His fifth time taking the damned thing?

In fact, a glance at the clock told him he was going to have to take the thing in five minutes. Shit.

"What's up, Fuj?" he asked, cracking his eyes open little by little to accommodate the stinging fluorescent hall lights.

The woman turned back, awarding him a rare smile. "BREAKFAST. EXAM." Exclaimed the woman, and it was clear she was no longer asking. His longtime friend reached out for his wrist, attempting to drag him out into the hallway after her.

"All right, all right! Hyne, Fuj, lemme get my fucking pants on."

…

…

…

The testing center was crammed full, mostly of the bleating little lambs Seifer had once (and still) scornfully referred to as 'rookie bed-wetters', all bleating and sharpening their pencils as if their little lives depended on it. Absently, he wondered if they'd still run around so fast with their heads off.

The room'd be quieter, anyway.

Fujin had agreed to wait in the hall for him at his assurance that the test would take no more than five minutes. That was his record, anyway. Shit, how many times had he taken this test? Six?

He plopped down in to a chair, propping his feet up onto the desk and smiling winningly at Xu as she all but threw the test pamphlet at his face.

"I'd tell you to try your best," she whispered, "But surely it doesn't take that much effort on even your part to fail."

"Touching and trite," he quipped. "The life of a he-she must be taking its toll on you."

"At least I have a life." She hissed. "Unlike the ring of failure you're so keen and winding around your throat."

He grinned, tapping his pencil against the desk in a deliberately irritating fashion. "Ooooh, yet another line about failure. I haven't heard that one before."

"I'm sure that from the gutter, Almasy, you hear a lot of things."

"Did you get that line from a gum ball machine?" He clucked his tongue. "You got ripped off."

"I don't have time to deal with you," scowled Xu. "Just paint your exam by numbers and get the hell out of here."

Chuckling, Seifer opened the pamphlet to page one, eyes drifting lazily over the first paragraph.

Question one: Explain, as briefly and as expressively as possible, the reasons for a military establishment such as Garden. Please cite any political or socio-economical references and use both past and current justifications in the space below.

Fuck. Stupid short answer. Seifer quickly scribbled down a half-assed and completely phony sentence (if not retrospectively probably moving to the saps that graded these things) about the necessity of contract impartiality in a military establishment and the growing need for outside influence to stimulate small-town economy, as Garden contracted mostly small-scale operations like resistance movements.

Except for Sorceresses, but then again, Ultimecia had hardly proved to be a source of revenue for Gardens such as Galbadia.

Trying to stay awake, he numbly turned the pages, squinting as his vision blurred. He extended his arm, twisting the rest. He must have laid on it wrong. The damn thing hurt like a bitch.

Question 2.

…….Bring me the children…….

He glanced up. The hell?

A room full of bent heads and chicken scratching met his observations. Xu gave him a dirty look from her desk before turning back to her papers.

You're losing it, Almasy.

Question two: what is standard procedure for an unauthorized entry into a civilian establishment in an emergency situation?

A.) None. Always obtain required paperwork before proceeding.

B.) Enter, leading right, using rules of Tri-D (disturb little, be defensive, and deliberate all procedure beforehand)

C.) Enter through the back, two at a time, leading continuously in one direction until all rooms are cleared.

……Bring me the children…….

"Shut up." He hissed, aloud.

"Shhh!" muttered a male cadet next to him, looking annoyed.

"Get bent." Snarled Seifer. The young man went back to his test.

Seifer reluctantly went back to his, only to have the question pass completely through his brain.

Fuck it. When in doubt, C.

"How do you think you did, ya know?" asked Rajin, trying to cram an entire pancake into his mouth. His friend's eating habits bordered on plainly sub-human. He remembered a particular time they'd all wound up doing dishes in Harry's House of Grease, thanks to Rajin's uncanny ability to take an all-you-could-eat-buffet to the extreme. He and Selphie could probably clear out a whole fucking restaurant.

"What?" he snapped, pushing the eggs around on his plate with more boredom than interest.

"I said, ya know, how do you think you did?"

The blonde-haired man shrugged. "Damned if I know."

"PASS." Asserted Fujin, toasting to him with a lift of her orange juice.

"Yeah, we'll see," he sighed, but his friend's confidence did make him feel a little better. "What the hell are you guys doing up this morning, anyway?"

"Another sweep through the towns. They want SeeD to take care of the big stuff, 'cause the junior classmen are having trouble with 'em, ya know."

"MARLBOROS." Agreed Fujin, rolling her eyes. "PLANS?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. I guess I'll see what Quistis is doing." He watched Rajin and Fujin sit comfortably next to one another, enjoying a contented proximity that Seifer could never remember having with anybody. He found himself…almost jealous of his friends.

Rajin smirked. "Gonna spend some quality time with the Instructor, ya know?" His head bobbed as Fujin's open palm swept across the back of his head.

"IDIOT." She muttered.

"Wot I fay?" asked the giant, mouth full of another pancake. Tiny balls of buttermilk fluff sprayed the table in front of him.

"BARBARIAN. MISSION?" inquired Fujin, turning away from Seifer long enough to give Rajin a proper dirty look. "IGCS?"

"Yeah. The whole thing was pretty much set up to look like we did it. So now Cid's going down to some Tri-Garden meeting with Xu and Squall- "

Fujin blinked. "SERIOUS."

"Yeah. I guess they don't call a conference for just anything, ya know. The last time they called a conference was for the Sorceress trials-"

"IDIOT." Hissed Fujin, giving her boyfriend a swift kick to the shin beneath the table.

"OW! Cripes, Fuj! What'd I say now, ya know?"

"IXNAY." Snarled the young woman, punching him in the shoulder.

Seifer shook his head. "It's all right," he shrugged. "It happened." Something must have shone in his eyes, however, because Fujin's gaze focused sharply on him suddenly.

"OVER." Said Fujin, laying a hand on his shoulder and giving him a meaningful look. He knew Fujin was trying to console him- her physicality intended to comfort, but instead, it was stifling, pressing him back into the same corner he'd sat in this morning, reliving. This whole place was stifling- a musty attic filled with all the memories he'd never wanted to revisit.

He shrugged her hand off of him, shaking his head as he got to his feet. "Yeah, Fuj. I know. I'll see you guys later." He strode from the cafeteria, hands jammed in his pockets and no particular destination in mind, his friends' discussion echoing after him."

"BLABBERMOUTH."

"Hey! Ow! I've only got two shins, ya know!"

…

…

…

…

"You ever wonder where they get the ingredients to make this…stuff?" asked one very suspicious Zell Dinct as he held up a forkful of soggy eggs…or what the lunch lady had assured him was eggs.

"I can guess." Replied Irvine, examining the bacon.

Quistis held up her head with a balled fist stuffed tiredly into her cheek, gazing resignedly at Zell and Irvine as they examined their trays and held up a discussion about cafeteria composition. A cinnamon roll sat between her elbows, untouched, as she spun a half-full coffee cup in front of her by the handle. Irvine and Zell were up early to help out on another eradication sweep through the mountains. With Trabia Garden off on other business, B. Garden had been contracted to handle the kills by neighboring towns. All but the very largest monsters had been weeded out by prospective SeeD cadets on drill runs, leaving the older SeeDs to deal with the larger, veteran creatures, many of which had developed quite a taste for people, according to reports.

Quistis had no real excuse for being up, aside from not being able to sleep. Normally she would have shot Zell for calling so early, but as it was, she was up and happy for a distraction. Quistis, being on inactive status and having no large mission reports to filter through for Squall (also seeing as she and the commander weren't on speaking terms), was left with nothing to do. Quistis didn't particularly envy her friends, but the prospect of being cooped up in Garden for the next few weeks was a less than pleasant thought.

Zell continued to stare at his eggs, his tattoo furrowing with his frown. "I can't wait to get back to Balamb. We're out of hot dogs."

Irvine looked up. "Zell, as far as you're concerned, they're always out of hot dogs."

"Rub salt in the wound, why doncha?"

Irvine sighed tiredly. "I'll be glad when we get outta Trabia, too. I'll just bet they used the Trabia monster kills for the mystery meat last week."

Zell's eyebrow quirked as he set down his fork. "Dude, that's just disgusting!"

"Zell, do you see any meat supply companies around here?" chuckled Irvine, folding his toast over a piece of sausage and calmly taking a bite. "Where do you think they get all of it, huh?"

Quistis shook her head. Irvine had once told Quistis of a Galbadian mission he'd been on, one that involved a desert stakeout that took weeks longer than expected, and the group had exhausted their rations in a short time. The hungry cadets had been forced to eat snakes, and other less than kosher desert life. Irvine said after that, nothing much made him squeamish. Irvine did, however, love capitalizing on Zell's food eccentricities. Quistis held back a smile.

Zell poked at his own sausage patty, regarding it suspiciously. Quistis wryly wondered what would happen if Zell ever found out what was really in hot dogs.  She took a sip of her coffee and sighed, adjusting her position and trying to stay awake.

Irvine's dark blue eyes skittered her way. "What's a matter, Quis? You seem down an' out this mornin'."

The young woman in front of him just yawned, slouching a little more in her seat. "Just tired. I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Up, were ya?" Irvine cast her a wink over his plate.

Quistis moaned. She'd spent most of the night staring up at the ceiling, legs hanging off her small couch as she tried to figure out the paradoxes of Seifer Almasy- namely, why he'd run out of her room like a man possessed. Eventually, she'd slipped into a sleep that ended almost before it began. She'd woken up none the wiser, unfortunately.

"From what Selph told me, I'm guessin' your mission didn't go all that well." Continued Irvine, sensing that a change in topic would be welcomed. Whatever credit she denied Irvine in other matters, Irvine was most definitely the most perceptive out of their little circle.

"Understatement of the year, Irvine." She agreed, taking a sip of her now tepid coffee. Today's brew was apparently 'leather boot'. She did prefer it to 'Swamp Sludge', however.

"Any leads?" asked Zell, who had apparently given up on his plate in favor of a glass of orange juice, shooting Irvine a dirty look.

Quistis shrugged. "None. And now that I'm on inactive duty…" she sighed. "There's just something not right about this whole situation. I mean, who would want to make such a statement to the Gardens?"

"I dunno about that," said Zell. "But I'm sure that Garden's managed to piss off quite a few people over the years."

"Mostly local terrorists, though, and I don't know of many terrorist groups operating alone that'd have the funds to pull something like that off," said Quistis pensively. "And I just…I don't know, I just have-"

"A weird feelin'." Irvine finished for her. "Yep. I know the one. I'm sure Martine'll be nice about things at the meetin', though. When I was under him, he really was a decent guy."

Quistis nodded, but really, she had her doubts about Martine. The man was kind enough, but he had come down on Matron quite hard after the war, and all but sent a group of headhunters after Seifer until his release form charges were secured. Still, the unofficial bounty on Seifer's head remained. It had been strange to see Cid, normally such a relaxed and placid individual, so angry at the preliminary hearings regarding Matron and Seifer's actions during the Sorceress war. He'd faced Martine off more than once, hackles rising at the very mention of quarantining his wife to run some psychological tests and blood work before she could be acquitted. He'd been so protective of his Edea- any mention of forcing the already distraught woman to testify was since dropped.

Since then, Martine's and Cid's relationship had been strained. The fact that Balamb was holding both a Sorceress and an ex-convict could not speak well for relations with Balamb and Galbadia, either, but…nonetheless; blowing up a tower didn't seem Martine's style.

"And that Korbeil guy at Trabia…didn't he graduate SeeD a few years before you, Quis?"

She nodded. "Top of his class."

Zell shrugged his shoulders. "Doesn't make a damn bit a sense to me, but hell, what do I know, I just show up." Quistis knew Zell took his reputation as a mindless bruiser somewhat to heart- and needlessly so. The Zell she knew was a relaxed comedian, one whose compassion far surpassed many others she knew. Even as children, she vaguely remembered his attempts to cheer everyone up. (With varied success.) During the darkest of times, Zell had kept their group sane.

Zell reached over, the leather of his gloves warm against her scalp as he tousled her hair. "Don't be such a worry wart, Quis. It'll turn out, huh?"

"Yes, I suppose you're right," she replied as she stared down the rim of her coffee cup once more, lifting her head to offer him a tired smile.

The first bell rang, a loud, shrill cry that made several students groan. Irvine crumpled up his napkin as he stood and tossed it on his tray. "Time for Operation SeeD clean up."

Zell grinned back at her, gesturing expressively. "Also known as 'Blow-up the Big Fuckers!'"

Quistis laughed. Zell's interpretive military jargon usually earned him a reaction from Quistis, if no one else.

Irvine turned and regarded her seriously for a moment as Zell rocked on his heels, working the leather of his gloves as he glared around the cafeteria for suspicious happenings. He still hadn't ruled out cafeteria espionage, and as far as he was concerned, everyone was a suspect.

"Now Quistis, you an' I both know that you haven't been yourself lately. You know you can talk to me, eh?"

"Yes." Replied Quistis. "I know that, Irvine, and I appreciate the offer."

Irvine's eyes switched from somber to mischievous in a matter of seconds. "'Sides, you don't start taking care of yourself, I'll sic Selphie on you."

"You wouldn't."  Why don't you just infect me with the happiness plague?, she thought sullenly.

His face broke out in his typical easy going grin. "You know I would, darlin'."

"You're an evil man." She said sternly, but she was smiling.

"And don't you forget it," he chuckled, tipping his hat to her as he strode out the cafeteria, Zell trailing behind him.

Quistis gave a chuckle as she waved her friends off, turning back in her seat to look into a pair of dark eyes across from her. She jumped back a little, sloshing her coffee all over the glossy tabletop.

"Hyne! You're as jumpy as a Cactuar on speed. Gimme that cup." Insisted Xu, snatching the mug out of Quistis' hand.

"You," began Quistis darkly, pointing an accusing finger at her friend. "Thanks ever so much for putting Doctor Kadowaki on my scent. Now I'm quarantined in this Chocobo coup for the next three weeks, not to mention so shot up with those drug cocktails of hers I wouldn't pass a toxicology test on a prayer. And that's even if I try to override her medical authority."

Xu glared back at her. "Just watching out for you. Hyne knows you won't do it."  Quistis rolled her eyes, but said nothing. Xu was right, after all.

Besides, they both knew that being placed on inactive status wouldn't stop her from doing what she wanted, anyway.

Xu looked up suddenly, eyes focusing on someone across the cafeteria. "Hey, Nida! Over here!" she shouted, giving the tall, dark-haired man a little wave. Nida smiled, shyly putting up his hand as he grabbed his tray and started over towards them.

It was never lost on Quistis that on a normal day, where one could find Xu, one could usually find Nida, and vice versa. It was common Garden gossip that the two were an item. Although, the two were so bloody professional that Quistis had never been exactly able to discern the nature of their relationship, and until recently, she'd been too tactful to ask.

Well, if Xu wanted to discuss her love life (or lack of one), then why not see what the shoe looked like on the other foot?

"You've been spending an awful lot of time with Nida lately," she pointed out, hoping to trap Xu into a corner and widdle the information out of her. She put on her best interrogation face, tearing off a corner of her cinnamon roll and preparing for a rigorous investigation. She'd cracked resident drug lords and terrorist leaders before…Xu would be a piece of cake.

Xu smiled at her, resting her chin on her hand as she gazed over at Quistis. "Well, he is a bit of a tool, but he's phenomenal in the sack."

Quistis promptly choked on her sticky bun. After several gulps of Xu's water and a few hard claps to the back, Quistis finally sat back in her chair, still coughing. She hadn't expected it to be that easy. "I swear, between you and Seifer, I'm never going to be surprised at anything anyone says ever again."

Xu smiled, spreading a dollop of cream cheese on her bagel and looking thoughtful. "You know, funny you should mention Seifer-"

Nida set his tray down between them, looking concernedly at Quistis. "Quistis, are you all right? I saw you coughing over here-"

Xu just laughed. "Swallowed her roll wrong. A SeeD at fifteen, and she's still learning out to eat at twenty-one. Ironic, isn't it?"

Quistis gave her friend a death glare. "About Seifer. How did he do on his SeeD written exam? Did he pass?"

"The boy wouldn't pass with 'flying colors' if he were the lead drummer in the gay pride parade." replied Xu contemptuously. "But, yes, he did pass."

Quistis smiled a truly happy smile that she didn't use often. In fact, thought Xu, she didn't use it often enough, and if it took that stupid lapdog succeeding…

"Thank you, Xu. I'll leave you two to your breakfast." She said, waving as she walked out.

"What was that all about?" asked Nida curiously, looking back at Xu.

Xu shrugged. "Loss of oxygen to the brain, I suppose."

Nida's face lit up with a small smile, enigmatic in his own quiet way as he buttered his toast. "Garden's not taking off for another two hours. I thought, uh, maybe we could go over the maps and, uh-"

The dark-haired woman in front of him returned the smile over the rim of her coffee cup. "Your room or mine?"

Quistis finished up some odds and ends around Garden, then walked aimlessly through the Quad.  After that, she set to browsing the library, running her fingertips along the aisles of book spines, lost in thought and frustrated at the lack of direction that the day was taking. As an Instructor, she had been constantly busy, but it had been a pleasant sort of hectic- scheduling her classroom hours, going over lesson plans, helping her students with their studies and occasionally their personal problems. She missed eating lunch in her classroom and seeing the faces of her students every morning. Her desire, her ambition, had not faded with time. 

Just her chances, it seemed.

She checked her watch. Garden would probably be departing soon, back to Balamb. She wondered what Seifer was up to. She'd told him not to bother meeting in the classroom that day. Having learned most of the up-to-date protocol and improved his blade skills (according to Squall), there would be no need for her daily instruction any longer. She had followed Cid's orders as best she could, helping him to adapt and making sure, albeit through somewhat unconventional means, that he was up to date on all new protocol. Not that Seifer had ever really needed it. She was sure he would have managed fine on his own, and Cid knew it. She had been, in essence, a highly specialized babysitter, one Cid knew would satisfy the council members.

Quistis sighed. It was an empty feeling, not being needed, even if it was Seifer Almasy and likely that he had never needed her at all. As her student, he'd made her uneasy. Now he made her just as uneasy, although not quite in the same manner as he had before. It was...different now, in a way that was difficult to explain.

She found him where she thought she would, up in the second level classroom anyway despite the non-necessity of his presence, legs propped up on the desk as he stared out the window. The sunlight's heavy glare off of the snow only intensified the shock of blonde hair that bobbed down in his eyes, the knit of his brows fastened into a contemplative frown.

"Congratulations on your SeeD exam, Seifer," she said, walking into the classroom.

He didn't look up. "Just another fucking hoop." He'd never had a problem with the written exam, anyway. It was an inability to follow orders that got him dismissed every time. Seifer Almasy was far from stupid, but was most certainly knee-deep in stubborn.

A tension had grown up between them, made potent by last night's strange events. Quistis sighed. It seemed theirs was to be a relationship of half finished sentences and equally incomplete emotion, snippets and oddments of sentiment and even fainter grasps of what the other person was thinking. They were constantly at the cliff's each, throwing pebbles at each other's shoes with every sentence.

Quistis leaned back against the wall next to the window, resolve hard in her features. "Well, if you choose to regard them that way-"

He glanced over at her. "It isn't a matter of choice, Trepe. Not for people like me."

People like him? Ah yes, the failure factor, the one he wouldn't let himself forget. "Seifer…." She sighed. "That's only because you choose to see it that way,"

He stood. "And you say that because you choose to see it that way." He snapped. "I don't know what turned you into such a fucking optimist, but-"

"Where you're concerned-" she interrupted.

The crackle of the com system interrupted their discussion.

"This is Nida. Notice to all faculty and staff: B. Garden will be taking off to Balamb Base in approximately seventeen minutes. Arrange your schedules accordingly. That is all."

Quistis smiled, remembering that the last time that Garden had left, they'd left Zell behind. Zell had been shopping in Dollet, and ended up chasing after the flying garden in a stolen scooter, attempting to cast Float on it. Needless to say, the idea hadn't worked, and the group had watched a frantic Zell take flight for a good five minutes before crashing into a light pole. The charade, luckily, had only ended up in a sprained wrist. Between that and the t-board incident, however, Zell was having a hard time living it down- especially where Quistis, Selphie and Irvine were concerned.

Seifer frowned, glancing out the window. "They've got Nida driving this over-sized top?"

Quistis shrugged. "Better him than Selphie."

"Good point." He agreed. He stood, rolling his shoulders and looking at her out of the corner of his eye as she turned to leave. "Uh, so, what are you doing the rest of the day?"

She stopped, surprised. "Well, I suppose I thought I would do some research in the library- see if there have been any other suspicious activities reported in the areas as of late that would tie in- see if perhaps any military anniversaries coincide with the date of the IGCS destruction."

"Oh." He said, rubbing at the back of his neck. An awkward pause. "Well, see ya."

The engines rumbled beneath their feet, the primary engines beginning to warm . Quistis felt the vibrations in her toes. Seifer was looking back out the window, looking almost pointedly disinterested.

She tilted her head at his strange behavior. "You know, two pairs of eyes are better than one-"

He glanced up, grinning. "Well, all right, Trepe- you don't have to beg."

 "I wasn't-"

"Hurry up, Trepe!" he yelled, already ahead of her. She shook her head, exasperated, but she was smiling as she caught up with him.

…

…

…

Quistis turned a corner sharply, forcing Seifer to keep up with her, even with his longer strides. "Call me crazy, but I'm pretty damned sure this isn't the way to the library."

"Very astute, Mr.Almasy. We're going to Shipping."

"What the hell for?"

"I'm shipping you off to the D.S. Research Center."

"Har har."

She turned around. "I need to have something brought here, that's why."

They went through a small set of glass doors adjacent to the cafeteria, into a small, boxy-looking room with millions of scraps of papers fluttering in the wind of a small desk fan. Arya looked up from a stack of papers, giving Quistis a small, friendly smile. Mahria and Zir, two of her former students (who had also been avid Trepies) also looked up from filing.

"Hello, Quistis. What can I do for you?"

Quistis smiled. "Is there anywhere you don't work, Arya?"

The young woman just smiled. "Well, actually, I'm just filling in for Luri today. She's a bit under the weather."

Mahria and Zir were at the desk in a flash. "What would you like, Miss Quistis?"

Seifer smirked. Miss Quistis?

Quistis seemed unphased by the Trepie worship. "I'd like to have you contact the officials conducting the investigation concerning the IGCS. I wish to make a request for evidence."

"All right." Said Arya, pulling out a small stack of papers and pulling the cap off of her pen. "What specific item are you requesting?"

"A dog." Said Quistis simply. "And-"

Mahria and Zir looked confused. "A dog, Miss Quistis?"

Quistis looked up from the paperwork. "You don't have to call me Miss Quistis, Zir. I've told you that before." She turned back to the short, brown-haired girl behind the desk. "Yes. The dog once belonged to a witness of mine, Mister Drefford, who I understand is recently deceased. I'd like to…put on hold…his dog." She wasn't sure when she had made up her mind, but she figured it was the least she could do for the old, spritely fellow who had tried to be such a help in her investigation. She smiled. "They'll know what I'm talking about, and I highly doubt they want to keep it for evidence any longer than they have to. Please request that a good home be found for him. As for what I need, I want all and any of Mr. Drefford's records copied and sent here."

"Okay." Agreed Arya. "Relevant information pertaining to request?"

"Quistis Trepe. ID number 0165414, part of IGCS mission team. Mission number 10545682. I have clearance."

The young woman scribbled down the information, and nodded, handing Quistis the clipboard for signing.

"Oooh, you're requesting the dog as evidence for psychiatric evaluation?" asked Mahria, eyes shining with awe.

Quistis frowned at her, scrawling her signature.  "No." she said simply. "I just want the dog to find a good home. I want the records for analysis. Thank you, Arya."

Seifer resisted a snicker.

They walked down the hall in surprisingly companionable silence.

"Miss Quistis, huh?"

"Shut up."

He sneered. "What the hell were you thinking with the dog, anyway?" he asked.

Quistis shrugged, giving him a sheepish smile. "I'm not sure, actually. I'm sure they'll find a good home for it in Tromedia. I just feel so badly about that man…I suppose that's my way of thanking him. It was very evident that he cared a lot about the dog…and well, I don't know…I suppose it's silly."

Seifer shrugged. "It's a nice idea, I guess. 'Sides, Rinoa has that stupid bitch Angelo here, if all else fails."

"Oh, the dog won't be coming here." Quistis smiled, bemused at both his feelings for Rinoa's dog and his admission of her 'kindness'. "I take it that you and Angelo didn't leave on the best of terms?"

"Fucking mutt tried to run off with my shins every time I saw the waste of fur." He scowled. "We going to the library now, or what?"

"Yes." Said Quistis, laughing and thinking how nice it was to have someone along with her to spend the day with.

Even if it was Seifer Almasy.

…

…

…

"Hyne. Do they put tar in here?" Seifer eyed his mug of coffee speculatively, watching the light skip across the liquid like swamp sludge.

That remark won a smile from Quistis, who looked up from her position next to the terminal. "That's one theory," she replied, switching on one of the monitors and setting her own mug onto the desk beside her.

After an uneventful search in the library to find unusual dates that would explain the culmination of terrorist activity, they'd decided, or rather, Quistis had decided, to get coffee and sandwiches and head to an unoccupied classroom. Seifer had wound up stealing the coffee machine from the Instructor's lounge and between Quistis scolding him and laughing at him, the two had managed to make a pot of coffee. Or rather, Quistis had. Seifer wasn't much for technology, even one as innocent as a coffee maker.

It was unusual watching Seifer voluntarily leaf through library books, brow furrowed and eyes flickering across the text. Seifer Almasy was far from stupid- she'd known that from the moment he'd sat in her class, eyes bored and glittering with the desire for a challenge. It was just strange to see him acting studiously… without her whip wrapped around his throat as inspiration.

Setting down his book, Seifer scraped up a chair and flipped it backwards, sitting close as he watched the monitor flicker on.

"I still can't believe you stole the coffee maker."

"You said you wanted coffee."

"I didn't want stolen coffee."

"Oh, don't get your panties in a twist, Trepe. Garden's not going to go into Red Alert over one fucking coffee pot."

"You've obviously never met Instructor Green."

Welcome to B. Garden database. Please enter your username and password.

/Access: 0165414, SeeD Quistis Trepe./

Password:

Welcome, SeeD Quistis Trepe! You have fifty-four new messages.

"Stupid spam," muttered Quistis.

Seifer chuckled. "Don't you mean 'Trepie love poems'?"

"Shut up." She muttered, scrolling up to locate Balamb's search engine base, a limited collection of news databases and other pages compiled by Nida, Bloc, and Arya, Garden's resident hackers.

ENTER SEARCH CRITERIA.

Quistis chewed her lip, thoughtfully. "I'm not entirely sure what to look for," she admitted. "It's not as if an organization is just going to advertise an anti-Garden agenda, especially not with recent developments."

Seifer took a bite of his sandwich. "Hell if I know. Just try 'Garden' or something for now. We can weed out the searches."

"All right."

SEARCH FOR: GARDEN.

Both watched with impatient eyes as the hourglass icon dumped its sand at a leisurely pace.

"I think it froze up." Muttered Seifer, peering at the screen.

"Well don't touch it, it only makes it take longer."

"I swear, technology's just another fucking synonym for 'headache.'

"You may be on to something for a change."

"What do you mean, 'for a change'?"

YOUR SEARCH YIELDED 1,638,901 RESULTS.

"Oh, shit."

Quistis just sighed.

…

…

…

"What flavor is this one, old shoe? I think it's getting worse." grumbled Seifer, making a face as he downed his tenth cup of coffee.

The two had been sitting in the empty classroom for over four hours, pouring over the internet, taking turns scanning the content. Although Seifer had managed to find several exhibitionist sites featuring cadets of Balamb posing for a hazy web cam (much to Quistis' chagrin, since some of the girls were old students of hers). And although Quistis had turned up a 'Garden Sux' site, none of the many sites displayed anything akin to the stealth or resembling any sort of organized hatred towards Garden, Balamb specifically. Both Galbadia and Trabia's link-up system was still frozen, and Quistis nearly smashed the keyboard trying to hack it.

Three pots of coffee and twice as many bathroom trips later, they were no better off than when they started, and they were both getting headaches from staring at the screen.

It was odd, this new comradery. Odd, thought Quistis, but not entirely unpleasant. Having had Seifer Almasy as an enemy and as an (albeit tentative) comrade, she'd come to prefer the latter.

Quistis leaned back in her chair, trying to ease the kinks from her shoulders. "An entire day…and nothing." She groaned, throwing her hands up in frustration.

"Well I wouldn't say nothing," yawned Seifer. "We did get to see those nice photographs of-"

"My head superimposed on some bimbo's body, yes." Replied Quistis irritably, taking another drink of coffee as she leaned forward to scroll down the fifty-fifth screen they'd seen that day. "I just can't help thinking there's something that we're overlooking." She sighed, tilting her head back to regard the ceiling and giving Seifer an excellent view of her white, exposed throat.

He stared at it, vision hazy as he imagined the fragile heartbeat contained within that fine porcelain-colored silk. He stared hard, vision blurring almost painful as he imagined the pulse in her neck, soft and sweet, a melody he could crush with just a flick of his wrist, and something hot flared in him-

Bring me the children.

He blinked.

The children. Seifer leaned forward, too caught up in his thoughts to notice her proximity. What was it with the fucking children?

Quistis frowned, taking in the almost glassy look in his eyes. "Earth to Seifer? Let's call it a night." He didn't respond, just stared blankly at the screen. "Seifer?" Tentatively, she waved a hand in front of his eyes. Getting no response, she turned back to the terminal, preparing to log out.

"Search for missing children." Ordered Seifer suddenly.

"But why-? There's no evidence whatsoever to suggest-"

"Put it in for the search criteria."

"Seifer," began Quistis. "You can't think that the little boy in Trabia had anything to do with…"

"Just do it." He snapped, rubbing his temples.

Slightly stung by his curtness, Quistis quickly called up a search of the most recent abductions. One minute he was joking, the next he was biting her head off-

TRABIA-MISSING BOY-A missing boy, thought to have been abducted by his birth mother-

DOLLET-MISSING GIRL, DROWNED? A little girl, thought to have drowned in the lake-

DOLLET-BROTHERS GONE? Two brothers, missing a week since a camping trip-

"Seifer, there are thousands of mission people-"

"That one." Said Seifer, pointing. Quistis followed his finger.

"CRISIS SHELTER-3 CHILDREN TAKEN."

Local police in Winhill today were baffled by the disappearance of three children from a crisis shelter, who apparently disappeared one week ago today.

"There's no interest in crisis on the homeless level," said Tiramier Brason, head of the Winhill's Center for the Homeless." Without family members to lobby for them, children and adults are often lost with no records or way of recovery-"

"Scroll down," ordered Seifer. Quistis gave him a dirty look, but complied.

"Zarel, 5, Mishca, 7, and Dilu, 3, all disappeared some time during the night of December 12th. There are currently no leads and at this time local authorities have not declared an official search."

"That's terrible." Said Quistis quietly. "But I don't see how-"

Seifer leaned forward, ignoring her and putting his hand over Quistis' to guide the mouse. She stiffened at the contact, staring dumbly at the screen, but Seifer didn't seem to notice.

"MOTHER REPORTS TWO MISSING FROM WOMEN'S SHELTER" December 19th.

Quistis bit her lip, attempting to ignore the warmth of his hand on top of hers, the beat of his heart channeled through his fingers onto her skin.

Balamb. Grievance filed by Sherey Guarsen, a single mother seeking refuge in a local shelter. Claimed that on the night of December 19th, her two daughters, Sinny and Gwenth went missing. "I went to the beds…you know, in the shelter and…my…babies were gone.."

Quistis read quickly, her fingers moving beneath Seifer's to scroll the small rubber nub farther down as more of the page was revealed. She tried hard to concentrate on the screen, but the warmth of Seifer's hand was distracting.

Was the rest of his body this warm?

Read the article, Quistis, stop thinking about his damned hand.

"As Mrs. Guarsen has had a record of previous drinking and problems with the both the law and her husband, who had on several occasions illegally regained custody of the children, no formal complaint has been filed. Mr. Guarsen was unavailable for comment."

Five more similar sites and 246 missing children scattered across the globe later, Quistis frowned.

"A terrorist attack on the IGCS and 246 missing children- I'm missing something, Seifer." She said plainly. "Like a connection."

Seifer crossed his arms and leaned back, and Quistis cursed herself for missing the warmth. "Most of the missing children lately exhibited a pattern. All were orphaned or lost in the system to some degree. The local forces never made the connection, because half of these things haven't even been officially reported." He narrowed his eyes. "And they've all been committed in the last two months."

Quistis gazed over at him. "But what makes you think there's a connection? Military movements and missing children are two very different things. Besides, half of these children aren't considered missing, just a matter of custody battles, runaways, or lakes or other hazards that children unfortunately but often fall prey to."

Seifer gazed over at her, eyes serious. "I can't really say for sure. It's just…a feeling." His eyes were so level- so serious, that it didn't occur to her not to believe him. Still, something still wasn't sitting right with her. A sense of something…an uneasy coil in the bit of her stomach that stung like premonition. If Seifer was right, then what could possibly lie in store for the future?

Seifer was still looking at the screen, thoughts following along a similar line.

Quistis shrugged, gazing at one of the printouts. "I suppose it isn't as if we have better things to do. When we get to Balamb, I guess we could go over to meet Mrs. Guarsen, see if she knows anything. If nothing else, it will count towards your community service hours."

"I guess," he replied, mirroring her shrug. He yawned, muscles pulled taut as he stretched. "What time is it?"

She checked her watch. "It's one in the morning," she said, looking surprised.

"I'm surprised Puberty Boy hasn't come to collect us for being out past curfew." Chuckled Seifer.

"I'm sure he's busy elsewhere," she said coolly, logging out and reaching back to snap off the monitor.

"You really should get over him, you know." He said quietly, in a tone unlike very unlike his usually snide voice when speaking of Squall.

Quistis just shook her head. "Over him?" she asked, bemused. Seifer had no idea…

"Tch. You've been practically wetting your pants over him since we were kids."

"Excuse me?" she asked, her voice rising just slightly as she turned incredulously to face him. "I most certainly-"

"Shit, even when we grew up and went to this hellhole you still favored him. He was always your favorite."

Quistis frowned. Was that bitterness in his tone? "Squall and I? There never was any Squall and I. There was never any Squall and there hasn't been any I, not for a long time. Do you understand?" she asked, anger creeping into her tone.

"Not really."

Quistis sighed, settling her chin in her hands. "Me neither." She heard Seifer chuckle lightly behind her. "We can meet tomorrow morning over breakfast to discuss exactly how we want to tackle this. Internet searches definitely aren't working."

"All right."

"I suppose we should sneak off to bed." She murmured standing and stretching, the material of her jacket riding high enough to give him a firm view of her stomach. He looked away, more out of agitation than respectfulness.

He grinned. "Well, if you're offering-"

Her face splashed crimson, adding to her embarrassment for a reason she couldn't explain. "You know what I meant, Almasy. Now get going."

The man in front of her laughed, pushing off of his knees as he got to his feet. "Still trying to boss me around, I see," he said, grinning.

She glanced sideways at him, awarding him an almost impish grin. "Well, I am older than you, you know."

"By a whole two months," he snorted. "And don't think you let me forget it when we were kids."

She rolled her eyes. "Surely I could not have been that bad."

"Bad?" he scoffed. "You were a tyrant!"

The door shut behind them, the loud bang echoing throughout the hallway.

"Hyne! Could you shut it any louder! I don't think they heard you in the south wing!"

He smirked. "See what I mean?"

"Ohh!" she gave him a mock glare, but her eyes were shining with a familiar friendly challenge he remembered from younger days. "Whatever I did to you as a child, I'm sure you deserved it!"

They disappeared down the hall, laughing softly, their shadows flickering against the walls like candlelight, unaware of the fate that followed them, a panting, dark dog just inches from their heels.

It had already begun.

…

…

…

She watched him rise from the sheets, his form quiet in the subtle darkness of dawn. The mattress creaked, and a wave of coolness invaded the soft linen sheets as his body poured from beneath the blue comforters.

It was no matter. The bed was always cold, anyway.

She stared at the outline of his back, silhouetted in the thin slices of sun that poured through the flowered curtains. She watched through cracked lids as he rose and dressed silently, tucking his shirt into his pants and adjusting the buckle of the plain brown belt, the silver catching the light in sharp, uneven points.

The fabric rustled softly. He was quiet so as to not wake her. She watched him between the cracks of her eyelids, hazy slits of light that allowed only the silhouette of his form through.

She watched him distantly, as she always had since that day, her love for him strange and chilled like a cold, unfamiliar hand. That same hand had guided her back, back into the cottage with its sunlit counters and simple woven rugs, back to her place at his side. Even the house was peculiar to her now. The rooms didn't seem to know her anymore, and truthfully, they were as strange to her as she seemed to be to them, the plaster like cold arms around her, hugging her too tightly.

She'd swept these floors once, contented, with children ducking and darting underfoot, their laughter spreading to every dark corner of the small stone cottage. She'd washed the windows and set flower boxes out onto the sill. Now, the absence of those voices haunted her, the ghost of their laughter a constant chill on her skin. The floors gathered dust and the windowsill lay barren to the sunlight, catching the light in chipped paint flakes.

She'd lain here with him once on this bed, welcomed his hands and his mouth and his skin gentle against her.

He did not touch her anymore.

She remembered him clearly in his younger days, the gentle shine of his eyes and the quiet, shy nature of his kindness, the quiet way he'd tiptoed around her, as if she'd been a delicate flower too fragile for him to touch.

He tiptoed around her now as well, but the avoidance was something different. At one time, she had been a mild and loving wife, his pretty little keepsake to keep polished and pure. Now she was tainted, and she knew he could see the shadows behind her eyes. But if he knew, he did not accuse. It was not his nature.

So unlike her other soldiers, he was. Had always been. Not like the ones that showed up at her step with roses and assured smiles, soldiers dressed in clean button-down vests with hungry, ambitious eyes polished like brass buttons- no, this one came with blue violets and brought her books, treating her as gently as fine china, as if she would break before him. Even when she had told him that there would be no children, that there could be no children, he still came, gentle as a hummingbird tapping at her window with that tender smile on his face.

And that was why she married him.

She had a soldier once, a brash and impetuous soul that had twisted free of her hands only to fly straight into the sun. She was young then, foolish, and when he promised her forever she believed it, gave herself to the moment and the heat and the flame in his eyes. But forever to a soldier was a minute to another man, and his promises of returning all fell short of her doorstop somehow as she'd known they would. In a strange way, she knew he would not return, known that even as she held him that she would soon have to let him go.

But that was the price of fire. It spread like a locust swarm across the heart, leaving no traces behind.

Her lover's uniform returned, brass buttons shining and the blood stains too deep to wash out. And the child, the tiny breath of the promise he'd left her, that died too, so twisted and mangled inside her that it had ruined her and her cherished future as a mother. It was her punishment, she knew, for loving so foolishly. She'd told no one about her soldier, or the child, simply sunk into the shadows and nearly dreamed herself to death. After a year, he was truly dead to her, left behind like crushed rose petals, the scattered memories of her impetuous and foolish youth. The child too, became a dream, a dream that would never return but in shadows of the ones that would call her 'Matron'.

But this man, this man that stood before her on the doorstep with the quiet smile on his face and the unsteady shake of his hand in her presence, this man was constancy embodied. This man would stay. He was no soldier, not the straight and heroic figure she had spent her girlish dreams on. No, not a soldier.

But he was a good man.

And she loved him, yes, loved him with a gentle warmth if not with raging fire, the kind of heat that stayed and was constant if not thrilling. But it was no matter. She had had thrilling once, and it nearly drowned her. And if some part of her had longed for that adventure, that passion, she had pinned it back, quiet and obedient as she gave to him all she was capable. All that he deserved for harboring such a tainted sparrow. She never told him of the soldier, for, to her, that life was already past, never again to return but in subtle ghosts that occasionally haunted her memory and the barren space of her belly. She would never leave him for a dream.

At least, that was what she thought then.

She had held fire once, and once should have been enough.

She kept the house and the kitchen as he liked it, and he was always kind, always loving and understanding and never harsh. He had never laid a finger on her but in gentleness and with her permission. She never refused him, and the way he touched her was never unpleasant, but if he knew that it was not always his name kept trapped behind her lips in the more passionate moments of their hours spent together, he never said a word. And she was sweet and willing, as soft and saccharine as the violets once tangled in his hands.

And in return, he had given her the children.

They had been so beautiful to her, as beautiful as she imagined her own children would have been. And her dear, sweet husband basked in her happiness, and loved the children as much as she. Her happiness was his, and the children's happiness belonged to them both.

She loved him most when she watched him with them after work hours, swinging the children up onto his shoulders and wading with the children in the waters, pants rolled up to his knees as he chased crayfish with the boys and taught them how to catch butterflies without damaging their wings. He read to the girls every night, the three of them curled up in the crook of his shoulder and heads rested against small swell of his belly. And she loved him and the children and she was happy, and the past seemed far away, almost like another life she had left behind.

And then she came.

Standing in the garden, skin pale and shivering, spine bent like a wilted flower. And yet, she could sense strength in this woman, enough strength to bend the world in half. A thousand whispers surrounded her, whispers of power and pain and glory and lust, her shaking hands begging release from her torment. Her first instinct had been for the children, for the wide- eyed innocents that such a woman could infect so easily. However, even now, she could not deny her attraction to it, to the magnetism of the woman's dark eyes as they pleaded with her to end her torment.

She had taken it, the power like lightening crackling through her veins at first, then nothing so quickly that later she would think that perhaps nothing had happened at all. But that was far from the truth.

The power was a quiet virus. And she had taken it in, not knowing the whispers would all invade her mind like locusts and the darkness in the woman's eyes would soon invade her own. It was a sickness, a bile that rose from her belly every morning, harder and darker until she could scarcely contain it.

She hid it from her husband, hid it between the sheets and the doors until he only dimly suspected the shadows in his bed.

But never guessed until it was too late.

She had always hidden things well from him. And they both knew it.

The darkness was content to lurk for a time. She watched with happy eyes as the children found homes, and cared for the ones left. They were her joy, her pride, and when she created Garden, she was overjoyed to see many of them there. She could watch them there, care for them from a distance, even if they didn't remember her as clearly as she did them.

But she was sick, and getting sicker. The images haunted her more frequently, images of knights and glory and villagers screaming for their lives on their knees and her own sick glory hot in her veins.

Fire.

The power was growing stronger, stronger, and she found herself wanting it again. She wanted to reach out her arms and smash the world beneath her fingertips, hear the screams and the chants echo her name throughout eternity. She wanted fire, wanted to cradle the flames in her arms and she wanted her knight, his mouth like hot embers against her skin, wanted to feel power in her veins as he and all others knelt before her, wanting her, revering her-

And the SeeDs, her children, were in her way.

And it had all happened so fast.she watched behind her body as it did such terrible things to those around her, watched as time and time again, the Hunger rose in her, the ghost of that woman laughing in her ears. And she could admit, in her darkest dreams, that perhaps sometimes it had been her own hands that had guided that destruction, and perhaps, behind the mask, she herself had smiled.

That time flitted by like a beat of fire in her pulse- screams and a pretty little knight on his knees in front of her, jade eyes shining with loyalty and lust. Her soldier, hers again if not wearing different skin. And how he worshipped her, worshipped the shadows and the skin that harbored them, stood in front of her with that sword bared, gleaming, turning his back on his past to follow her to the ends of the earth. He was beautiful, the young, lithe form of perfection, a puppet that danced at her command. So fiery, so strong and so wildly ambitious. It had been too long since she'd tasted fire.

They were both in love with the woman inside her, in love with her cunning and her power and the wicked glee with which she destroyed and created. She was their fire, their horror and their triumph, the whip that flogged them through failure and tended the greed and lust within their soul's soil like a fruitful garden.

And what horrors it bore.

And when 'she' was extinguished, she was left only with her son, battered and broken before her, the spark in his eyes long smothered, both of them haunted and knee-deep in the ashes of a witch's dream.

He did not touch her now, her husband, too afraid of the tainted shadows that still lurked on her skin.

Too afraid that he would be pushed away...or perhaps, afraid that she would let him in.

She could no longer read him, and she knew that he had never quite known how to read her. Perhaps…perhaps, she thought, some days, they had never really known each other at all, but read from some unspoken cues created in their own minds out of duty and obligation.

She knew he often thought of the golden-haired knight that championed her, wondered at the depth and breadth to which their union had gone. And for a fact, she was no longer sure herself. The shadows played strange games behind her eyelids. The ashes of the witch sometimes gleaned to life, dancing with a gentle fire in her dreams. But whatever remained of those dreams when she awoke was enough to drive her back.

He no longer touched her, and his protectiveness was distant. Oh, he was never unkind. It was not in him to be. But it was well within him to hurt, and she knew just how badly she wounded him every day that she kept her pain secret from him.
 
She avoided his questions, denied him answers, and refused to talk about the time that had drawn up chasms between husband and wife. They were quiet now, strangers to one another and she knew it hurt him with every breath he took. Her guilt was ten fold, the sadness of his gaze stabbing at her heart every time she looked at him, a reminder of the dreams she had crushed in favor of greater ones.

'She' was gone now, and her presence had ebbed into a quiet ember that sat in the pit of her soul. Sometimes it tried to rise, a flame fighting against the cold and quiet night, but finding no fuel in her body's tired form, it eventually quieted, gone, a shadow of the former flare.

Still, knowing everything she knew, living with the sadness of a sick, ruined dream, she could not say for certain that was she to return to that garden on that day, that she could have refused the witch's offer.

And that, perhaps, was her greatest guilt of all.

She heard, dimly, the distant roar of a plane's large engine, low and solid like the purr of a giant cat. Ragnarok. She closed her eyes quickly as he turned, hands gentle on her form, soft and feather light as his soft hands came to rest on her shoulders. Slowly, reverently, but with just the faintest tinge of hesitation, he pressed his lips to the soft indentation of her temple.

It was the first time he had touched her in two long years. She was afraid to open her eyes, to raise her lashes and find it only a dream.

"Goodbye, darling." He whispered, fingers brushing back a lock of hair to tuck it behind her ear.

So soft..

Always too soft..

"I love you." He muttered. The door closed softly behind him, and only then did she allow the tears to slip from her cheeks. It was the first time he had spoken those words in two long years.

Two eternities.

She stood, walking quietly to the window and peeling back the curtain to watch his retreating form duck onto the plane's steps. She watched the plane rise up into the dawn, and she raised her hand against the glass, his name a whisper on her lips.

She turned, determined that when he returned, his wife and home would be as he'd left them so long ago. She wanted no more part of glory. She would sit on the wicker chairs that overlooked the ocean and by happy and contented to live out her days with the man beside her. She would scrub the shadows from her eyes until only she remained, as beautiful and as pure as she had once been to him.

She would greet him in the doorway as the once sweet creature that had greeted him long ago. He deserved that much.

She watched the plane disappear, and felt an odd feeling rise up in her, a dark prickle that felt suspiciously like the past as she watched her husband disappear over the horizon.

Her gentle soldier. He would come home to her. She closed her eyes.

The men at the door, handing her the blue uniform with the brass buttons...

The blood dried on the collar…

... the stains would not leave…and she stood at the sink, hands white against the blood-soaked cloth-

She pressed her hand harder into the glass as the last of the plane was swallowed in the crimson shades of dawn, the chill of the windowpane echoing throughout her entire body. A promise, as cold as the dew frost against her palm, one that lurked like a shaded silhouette behind her. She had felt it for awhile now...in the shadows that the witch had left. She could feel it on the wind, taste it on the frost of the flowers, feel it in the echo of her soul.

A cold spell was coming.

…

…

…

"Altitude 3000 feet and climbing."

Xu gazed out the window of the plane after saying her hellos to Cid, who looked even more tired than usual. The Headmaster had made a special trip home after hearing the news of the IGCS mission failure to spend some time with his wife.

It did not escape Xu's notice that Cid usually returned form his trips home looking even more tired than when he left.

Xu sighed. She had no doubts that things were about to be complicated even further for all of them.

Although she regretted the ramifications that the mission had for Cid, Squall, and the rest of B. Garden, she would not have changed her decisions. They were the right ones for the time and situation. Xu was a practical person- she harbored no more emotion that was necessary for any given situation. Xu had prepared her testimony the night previous, and felt confident in its solidarity. She would save her nervousness for later, when it would actually serve a purpose.

She adjusted her seatbelt, closing her eyes as she leaned back and hoped for a quick flight. She was not particularly looking forward to reaching her destination; however, that did not mean she was particularly fond of the air. Flying in itself seemed such an uncontrolled activity- a 3 ton plane at the mercy of the gusts and gales of the stratosphere, far from the solid earth below. Xu preferred control.

She could hear Rinoa's soft, sweet little voice behind her- the sorceress had insisted on accompanying Squall to the conference despite his protests. Usually, Xu liked to see as little of the 'princess' as possible, but for once, she actually didn't mind sharing a plane with Timber's 'angel'. She'd keep Squall distracted, and Squall distracted meant he wouldn't have time to lecture Xu on following mission protocol. Cid sat in front of her, behind Nida, who was flying Ragnarok for the first time in favor of leaving Selphie at B.Garden's controls. After Ragnarok had been 'borrowed' during the Sorceress War, B. Garden had built a hangar built especially for the large plane, making Ragnarok flight-capable while B.Garden was still in the air.

She watched the back of Nida's head, smiling. He'd put in enough harrowing hours observing Selphie at Ragnarok's controls, and she could tell beneath his stoic exterior he was excited as a little boy with a paper airplane on a windy day, although he'd never admit it. She chuckled. Nida was a good man- she didn't have any regrets regarding their time spent together, although she suspected it was more pleasure than business for him, unlike herself.

Now, if only Quistis could find someone to distract herself. Xu curled her hand under her chin and closed her eyes as her thoughts wandered to her friend, as they often did as of late. Quistis had become like a younger sister to her, one Xu had become intent on protecting throughout the years. She remembered Quistis upon her admission: ten, a painfully shy and serious child that spent every available in the library, tucked into a corner with a pair of thick-rimmed glasses on her nose, her haircut as glaringly uneven as her temperament. She'd carried herself strangely, head down and back hunched, almost as if she was trying to become invisible to everyone around her.

She was quickly the best in her classes, both in academics and in spell casting, and all of her Instructors almost instantly labeled her as SeeD material. Quistis, however, remained as painfully quiet as ever. Xu could relate to being new and lonely, and she had eventually approached the younger girl. The girl had responded instantly to kindness, her face brightening at a simple 'hello.' The two had been instant friends, and Xu had watched her best friend emerge from her shell as they got through classes together, shared crushes and aspirations.

Quistis' confidence improved with every success, and she soon became Garden's youngest SeeD, and a capable one at that. Still, Xu didn't think Quistis' confidence ever quite caught up with her achievements.

Although Xu knew that Quistis could play confidence well, could mold herself to success and wear it like a second skin, she knew that deeper, lurked the same shy girl that was still trying to be invisible and liked at the same time. She had often wondered what had happened to Quistis before her life at Garden, but it had never seemed an appropriate time to ask, and upon her entrance she had been so infused with GF summons that Xu doubted Quistis remembered her life before Garden at all. But perhaps that was best.

No normal ten-year-old child carried themselves that way. But then, they all carried their shadows.

Quistis was one of the remaining romantics, complete with notions of white knights and fairy tale castles. Xu herself was a pragmatist, and considered a second body in bed good for scratching an itch or a political debate.  She had no notions of knights and castles- she wanted to build her own, herself, and she didn't want to share.

She'd noticed a change in Quistis lately, and although the change was surprising, it wasn't entirely new. And, although reluctantly, Xu could admit that it likely had something to do a certain Seifer Almasy.

Seifer had gotten to Quistis during her time as his Instructor, and not just in terms of irritation. Quistis had always believed that Squall and Seifer would be Garden's greatest SeeDs, and although she only turned out to be half-right, Xu doubted that Quistis had ever given up on the ex- knight. She'd noticed the way Quistis flared to life when challenged by or challenging the brash young man, and it was a welcome change even if Xu did want to take out a new bounty on Seifer's head every other week.

Xu loved her friend, but Quistis was far too uptight for her own good. Around friends, Quistis was warm and compassionate, always looking out for them and helping them at every opportunity. It was what would have made her a good Instructor. However, Quistis pushed others away at every chance as well, almost as if the world was too dangerous to let in all at once.  Xu longed to see her friend whole, open to the world around her. Quistis deserved that kind of happiness.

As much as it had hurt Xu to see her friend pine aimlessly after Squall, she knew that realistically, the two would never have worked. Squall needed constant assurance of who and what he was, and Quistis' own insecurities were just as prominent. The two would have needed constantly from one another, and their relationship quickly would have become a misunderstood void. They were too different-Quistis needed the presence of open emotion as reassurance, and Squall needed that privacy to feel safe.

Almost unwillingly, Xu's thoughts ran back to Seifer. She'd seen the way he watched Quistis as her student- cautiously. Quistis was a beautiful woman, although Xu was fairly certain that her friend remained more or less unaware of what to do with her looks. Many others did, however. Seifer, unlike the others, did not worship Quistis, and never had. He was aware of her humanity, and made her painfully aware of it as well. At the time, Xu had hated Seifer for it, but now.. Quistis had risen to his challenges with every word, defended her beliefs and convictions under his sardonic observation. Her anger at Seifer justified her confidence in herself, and the confidence had stuck, slowly but surely giving way to a woman that now stood straighter.

She'd watched the two since the ex-knight's return with a mix of curiosity and concern for her friend, and the circumstances did little to please her. She could see what they were becoming, even if Quistis couldn't.
 
Xu didn't think she would ever forget the image of her friend draping her body over Seifer's, skin pale and hands shaking at his shoulder as Curaga's faded light echoed through both their skins like ghosts of lightening.

Blood oozed from beneath Quistis' fingers, and despite her training as a medic, her eyes had been filled with panic. Seifer had fairly spun with the hit, and Xu was sure as he'd smashed into the ground hard enough to cause a concussion. The ex-knight didn't look to be getting up soon, if at all.

"You have to leave him, Quistis."

"No!" Vehement denial where they should have been reserved acceptance. Leave the fallen. Save the mission. This iron ran hot in Xu's blood, true to training, but it seemed to have frozen in Quistis'.

"Quistis, you can't-"

"One minute!"

"You don't honestly think you can make it down those stairs-"

Her eyes flashed, cold light by misplaced resolve. "You want to leave? Then leave."

"Quistis!"

"Give me one minute!"

Xu's chest had stung, knowing that at the end of one minute that she most likely would have to leave her friend and a dead man behind, knowing that it was for Quistis and Quistis alone that she even considered waiting those precious sixty seconds, risking all their lives.

One life should never determine a mission.

"Fine. One minute."

She'd refused to leave him, even though every ounce of her training as a soldier should have taught her to leave the fallen behind to preserve the rest of the team and the mission. Xu loved Quistis as a sister, but she could and would have left her if the situation demanded. Garden's conditioning was flawless. Quistis, like Xu, was a human being tirelessly molded and conditions to think and operate as a soldier, both inspired and diminished; a being that transcended the limits of flesh in spirit, heightened the senses, and diminished in the sense of emotion. Still, ten years of molding, and in a single moment, crouched on top of her fallen comrade, his blood seeping through her hands, she had lost all of it.

And for what?

Seifer Almasy was a beautiful but careless creature, as mule-headed and as brash as they came. Not stupid, but stubborn and blind with pride. She'd seen him make his rounds at Garden, saw him more than once on the girl's wing sneaking out long past curfew. But that was the privilege of beautiful, careless men- to break hearts and hymens like ants smashed in the wake of careless, hollow whispers and seconds of sweat. It was the beginning of her dislike for Almasy, a vague put very palpable mistrust that only grew with time.

She could no longer say for sure that Seifer's values focused solely on himself- in fact, the ex-knight seemed to be consumed with a self-loathing that she had never seen equaled before. However, that did not change what he was in the past and capable of being in the future. He would hurt her, and Quistis would do nothing but be hurt, retreating even farther into her self-isolating island than before.

Xu would not interfere with Quistis' life- the young SeeD had never interfered in hers and she was inclined to extend her friend the same confidence and courtesy. And so, Xu was left with nothing more to do than watch; something that, for a person that so desired control, drove her crazy.
 
Xu balanced her chin on her hand and prepared herself for a light sleep in the six-hour flight that would follow, even at top speed. The scenery was hazy below, the breaks of clouds revealing a sun-dappled ocean. Despite her resolve not to worry, dread still sat in the pit of her stomach, making its presence known in every rumble of the craft that followed.

If one of the Gardens was behind such an act, it would not only start a large-scale war, it would most likely catch the lives that existed within several neutral towns with it. All Gardens, even Trabia, were equipped with high-tech ballistic missiles, not to mention supplementary firepower that could level a small town. A terrorist organization with such capability would produce no better results. At any rate, if an organization could plan and execute the infiltration and destruction of a high-security, highly- classified building, and have manpower enough to nearly take down a group of some of the highest-ranking SeeD's that Garden had to offer..

Xu closed her eyes.

Hyne help them all.