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.

26. What Dreams May Come

AN: Serabin started out as an extremely minor character that was supposed to create comic relief, and wound up a big supporting character with a big role in F&I sequel. Serabin was probably the first character I created who grew all by himself…it was a strange experience. By the way, when you envision Serabin, try to think of a kinder, gentler version of Sephiroth. Thanks for reading!

Hearts are worn in these dark ages
You're not alone in this story's pages
Night has fallen amongst the living and the dying
And I try to hold it in, yeah I try to hold it in

The world's on fire and
It's more than I can handle
I dive into the water
I try to pull my ship
I try to bring more
More than I can handle
Bring it to the table
Bring what I am able

I watch the heavens and I find a calling
Something I can do to change this moment
Stay close to me while the sky is falling
Don't wanna be left alone, don't wanna be alone

-Sarah McLaughlin, World on Fire

Disclaimer: I own Cerberus, Serabin, Brek and Gzarth….and this lovely three legged desk. If I owned Squaresoft, I think my furniture would be more complete.

Chapter 24

The silver top glinted dully in the morning rays that cut across Balamb's faded fields, the glass and steel taking on an almost golden luster in the first grey light of an early winter dawn. The building sat motionless on its grand base, intimidating in its silent stature. The water ran along the corridors, a light trickle that echoed throughout the Quad, and the wind echoed hollowly through the empty stairwells.

Balamb Garden slept…save for the five SeeDs convened in an empty cafeteria, all gathered around one of the circular tables. The cleaning committee had turned two of the lights on, but the rest of the place remained in silence and shadows, the faint scent of burnt hash browns and cleaning fluid lingering in the air.

Four SeeDs sported looks of absolute exhaustion- Irvine had his head propped up on his hand, Zell almost had his forehead in his toast, and Arya and Quistis both seemed mesmerized by the ceiling fan. Selphie, however, bounded from chair to chair, eagerly handing out stacks of papers in manila folders.

"Like, what the hell happened to you?" asked Irvine, glancing at Quistis out of the corner of his eye, taking in her ragged appearance. The girl looked like she had been dragged headfirst through a patch of grass and briars. The entire right side of her cheek and shoulder was completely grass-stained, and the rest of her was black and blue.

A routine investigation? Hardly.

Quistis sighed, rubbing her temples. The four cups of sake were still swimming around in her head, something the train jumping certainly hadn't helped. She'd been shaken awake only to be dragged to the end of the boxcar, the dark grass and the distant moonlight swimming in front of her eyes. She'd landed unceremoniously on Balamb Garden's grassy lawn that proceeded to its base, nearly knocking her dinner out of her. She'd said quite a few choice words to Seifer, as she recalled, but he had been too busy laughing to say anything in return.

The entire independent mission had been an impromptu comedy of errors, and Quistis was finding herself to be not much of a comedian at its conclusion. She was in too much pain. She pressed her arms against the coolness of the table, trying desperately to ease the throbbing. "Explain later," she muttered. "Stop shouting."

Irvine nodded in response and slipped his head back into his folded arms, grumbling about sleeping.

"Who calls a top secret meeting before sunrise?" muttered Zell, his eyes bloodshot and hair unkempt, dressed in a thin white t-shirt and a pair of black Balamb monogrammed shorts. He'd just found a comfortable spot wedged between Cerberus and the wall before his phone had jolted him awake. The dog hadn't even cracked an eyelid. Lucky mutt.

"I'll give y'all a hint- it's the only one who's actually awake," mumbled Irvine from beneath his arms.

Quistis hadn't even bothered to change. Upon stumbling tiredly into her room back at Garden, she'd found a message requesting her presence back in the cafeteria at nearly the crack of dawn. She'd sighed, turned on her heel, and walked in a tired daze back down the halls. The others had given her worried looks, considering her appearance, but their questions had been interrupted by Selphie's happy chirping.

Quistis looked into her own folder, finding a list of clientele and various order lists beside it. Another stack of paper consisted of current weapon prototypes, with several highlighted models in a rainbow of colors. Selphie had clearly been busy. When Quistis had first met Selphie, it had been her conviction that the girl never slept. She still hadn't ruled it out.

Selphie scraped up a chair, flipped it, and eagerly slid it up to the table. "What you all have in front of you is the information Irvine, Arya and I were able to extract from BioTech and AmmuCorp. I've put copies on Squall's and Cid's desks. Also-"

Suddenly, Selphie's eyes focused on her. "What the heck happened to you, Quistis?"

Quistis sighed. "Nothing." The room was still spinning.

Selphie shrugged. "Anyways, I've highlighted several of AmmuCorp's biggest contributors, but BioTech isn't looking promising."

"How'd you get these?" asked Quistis, propping her head up on her fist.

"You don't want to know," replied all three in unison.

"Why doesn't BioTech look like the bad guy?" asked Zell, setting down his stack of papers. "If anyone's got the cash to be shoveling into researching more destructive weapons, it's BioTech, right?"

Selphie shrugged. "You're right. But if they're manufacturing it, they certainly aren't selling it to any large-scale operatives, otherwise it'd be listed there in product development for the factions to see and retrieve. These files weren't exactly on their web page, you know." Selphie sighed. "It's really impossible to tell for sure, but if BioTech is doing it, they're hiding it pretty well. Besides," added the brunette. "The model of this bullet used is too basic and well-known, and they're the only company that produces it on a large scale that we know about. If they modified the bullet, it'd be too easy to trace back to the company and gain a warrant for search and seizure. They'd have a lot of legal matters on their hands if someone traced a bullet that wasn't in the registrar of the Weapons Monthly database."

"Damnit." Muttered Quistis.

Her friends glanced in her direction.

"…I was hoping that BioTech was behind it," admitted Quistis, setting down her folder and trying to rub the drink out of her temples, which seemed to have developed a fondness for swimming in her eardrums as of late.

"How come, Quis?" asked Zell, frowning as he looked up.

Yawning, Quistis tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and gave up on trying to keep the room steady. "Because if BioTech isn't doing it, we're looking at a smaller scale operation with a lot of capital. They'd be buying the bullets wholesale from AmmuCorp, and modifying them themselves, which would indicate a barrage of chemicals and scientific knowledge at their disposal. They're going to be harder to trace, and if they're well funded, it's going to be difficult to know what to expect from them even if we do manage to find them."

"Yeah, good point," muttered Irvine, yawning and running a hand through his unkempt hair. Quistis glanced over at him, thinking how different he looked without his hat.

Arya shook her head, resting her hand on her forehead as she gazed at her computer screen. "I still don't rule AmmuCorp out. They've got a lot to gain from private investors, and I'm sure they're always looking for grants to further BioTech's operations."

"Naw, I don't see it. BioTech's a big corporation." interjected Irvine. "Their interest would be sellin' lots of weapons to each side, not exclusively distributing what could be a top sellin' item to just one group. Their interests are better served in more sales, not less, right?" Irvine set down his papers. "It's a conflict of interest. Sellin' top grade weapons to another faction that's tryin' to frame Balamb'll only guarantee that in the end they'll lose Balamb's business when it goes outta military commission."

"Unless the compensation outweighed competition," replied Quistis. "But then, again, we're assuming that BioTech's the distributor."

Arya looked up. "You really don't think that BioTech's behind it?"

Quistis just shrugged. "It seems terribly advanced, even for a company as well funded as they are. Their last public development was a blast compressor, which first-level magic has been doing since the first human conversion of magic. Mag-coupling is hard enough for a SeeD to do with a weapon, and that's on a temporary basis and with years of training."

"Yeah, but that's their public development." Pointed out Zell. "Who knows what's behind the press? 'Sides, who the hell else even has the manpower for that sorta thing? "

Arya paused. "How long can the longest coupling last for?"

Quistis shrugged. "Anywhere from five seconds to five minutes. But that's pushing the limits of even the most advanced caster." Quistis paused, knowing that Arya's experience with magic consisted of SeeD Basic Training and little else. Arya's strength and mission types were usually limited to those requiring heavy mechanical or technical manipulations, not those of combat. Quistis decided to explain further. "With mag-coupling, the inanimate object actually becomes animated for the moment, as much as cells with no memory can hold. It attains different physical properties through the user. Simply put, the magical memory inherent in the caster's cells, for the moment, becomes that of the weapon. It's more of an extension of energy than it is actually casting. With casting, you're simply using a small portion of your own energy to help conduct the energy of the spell through your body and into a different medium. With mag-coupling, you're actually using more energy to extend that energy onto the weapon. It's tiring."

Zell was muttering about too many big words too early in the morning.

Selphie nodded. "It's hard enough for our top casters, even one like Quisty or Rinoa. It's sorta like throwing up energy. To couple it on a bullet for an indefinite amount of time, and render it active enough during that time to perform its desired function- in Seifer's case, to poison him really badly- it doesn't just take skill, it's like a whole new science."

 "Maybe they've got inside information." Shrugged Zell. "An old military guru handing out procedure or something."

"Some guru," muttered Irvine, "Like, he'd be light years ahead of us."

Selphie was tapping her pencil against her lips, staring at the list of distributors in front of her. Quistis also glanced down at her list as well.

Distribution List for Current Fiscal Year

Galbadia Garden                                    6,464,721 GIL

Balamb Garden                                      3,487,901 GIL

City of Esthar                                          4,222,567 GIL

Xyionn                                                     2,689,361 GIL

Trabia Garden                                        2,585,982 GIL

RX4018547                                             1,555,872 GIL

Countless others followed, but the sums grew increasingly insignificant. Quistis frowned and adjusted her glasses.

Arya opened up her laptop, calling up the information with a few rhythmic snaps of her fingers against the keys. "As expected, Galbadia and Balamb Garden are among the largest customers on the list, but Xyionn is supposedly a non-military faction whose expenditures are above even Trabia Garden." She looked up. "This is rather disconcerting."

"Xyionn? What kind of organization is that?" asked Quistis, looking up from her own sheet. "I've never heard of them before."

"What kind of name is that?" muttered Irvine. Selphie and Quistis looked over at him and smiled.

Arya's fingers never let up on the keyboard. "I couldn't find anything out about it, other than its address on the mailing list. It's in the outskirts of Dollet. It's strange that we haven't heard of it before. It must be new…or top secret."

"What kinds of weapons is this organization importing?" asked Irvine.

"It doesn't say." Replied Arya, shrugging. "It's just a distribution list, not a weapon inventory summary."

"So, we send out a small team to investigate what kinds of uses that Xyionn is putting to the inventory," said Selphie, setting down her folder. "In the meantime, though, how are we going to investigate BioTech any further?"

The group fell silent, lost in thought.

Quistis tapped her chin. "Arya, you tapped BioTech's main computer, right?"

The girl nodded, resting her chin in her hands as the computer light flickered off her glasses.

Quistis seemed deep in thought for a moment. She pressed her wrist harder against the coolness of the table. The burning in her casting wrist was killing her. "Is it possible to flag their fiscal inventory, so that any new orders and purchases will be recorded and sent here?"

Arya nodded. "I think so. I can put a bug in the main system that will rewrite itself automatically to any new data and send it as a copy. It'll get a lot of junk in there, but that's the best I can do. I can't flag a specific item, and if they're coding those bullets, it isn't going to help much." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Not yet, anyway. I'll see what I can do." Arya paused. "All military bases and operations are pretty much using the same ops systems now, since Darwin Drosskow's new system came out. I could potentially bug the ops systems themselves, and flag each operation's inventory. That's not going to work on an unofficial and illegal organization, though, unless they're foolish enough to record their inventory. And, it'll take a lot of time."

Quistis frowned again. "Who's Darwin Drosskow?"

Arya looked surprised at her question. "Only-"

"Only the most revolutionary dork to grace the computer industry since what's-his-face." Drawled Zell sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "She could write a book on him."

Arya shot him a sharp look. "Darwin Drosskow is a genius!" she snapped, folding her arms across her chest. "AIROS revolutionized the simplicity of user-interface on-"

"Blah blah blah," replied Zell, waving his hand. "He's just another pretty-boy with a high-tech garage that wouldn't know the difference between a gun and a joystick. The less thinking with weapons systems, the more room for error, you ask me."

"What's his problem?" asked Irvine, nudging Selphie.

"Byte envy." Selphie muttered.

Arya opened her mouth to retort, but Quistis quickly intervened. "If all military bases are using the same ops systems, wouldn't that make them easier to infiltrate?"

Arya shook her head. "No. Each system designs their own security detail, as you would with any other operations system. The IGCS system's defense was particularly advanced."

"But you can crack this one?" asked Irvine.

A cleaning man tripped over the wires stemming from Arya's computer, which trailed across the entire cafeteria. He swore up a storm. The group ignored him.

Arya smiled. "Of course. All I have to do is wire each program to do a daily spec through the ops system. The gate key is similar to every system. Consider it done."

"If it's that easy to flag, wouldn't it be that easy to break into and manipulate?" asked Quistis.

Arya shook her head. "No. Even I don't have a slaver capable of remotely operating a system like that."

Selphie was frowning. "Did the IGCS tower use the same sort of ops system as the one you're talking about, Arya?"

The dark-haired computer whiz nodded. "It was really big news a few years ago." She blushed at the raised eyebrows from the other five people at the table. "Well, I suppose it was only big news to computer geeks, but…the ops system was revolutionary- it depleted human maintenance costs and had several security layers as a precautionary backup. The system was supposedly flawless."

"But when the IGCS system failed-"

"The system should have repaired itself." Finished Arya. "If that failed, the system should then have reported its malfunction to the maintenance crew, and in the event of prolonged inactivity, restarted its emergency ops programs to send a notice to all its feed distribution clients that the system was down. The problem, as I told Cid, is most likely entirely human error." Arya reached back and switched off her monitor. "No worries, though. We're rerouting communications to the old tower in Timber on a temporary basis until the IGCS can be rebuilt." She glanced around. "You all seem a little behind on this new technology, so I'll make out a basic information sheet on the new operating systems."

Quistis made a mental note to find out what exactly AIROS stood for as she dog-eared the distribution page.

Selphie nodded and shuffled her papers. "That's all we can do, for now. Cid isn't here to authorize any missions, though, so any investigations that SeeD does will have to be authorized by Serabin, and can't involve massive artillery."

"I'll go to Dollet." Said Irvine, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest.

Zell glanced over at Irvine, then shrugged himself. "Fine by me. I'll go, too."

Quistis glanced over at him. "You'll only be able to bring your weapons, and a few basic spells. That's all Serabin is qualified to authorize till Cid and Squall get back. It'll be an extremely low profile operative-"

Zell grinned and gave her a thumbs up. "No worries, babe. Irvine'n I'll handle it, no prob."

"Ha! This from a guy who thinks explosions should be mandatory on every mission?" replied Irvine, swatting his friend on the back.

"What can I say? Never got enough fireworks as a kid."

Arya smiled as she shut her laptop. "Aside from flagging BioTech's main computers and dispatching a small squad to investigate Xyionn, what else can we do?"

"Nothing." Replied Quistis.

"What?" asked Irvine. "Are you serious?'

The young blonde glanced over at her friend. "What do you suggest we do, Irvine?"

Irvine shrugged. "Seems like we're just playin' real good sittin' ducks, Quisty." Replied the cowboy. "There's gotta be more we can do."

"Any more will violate SeeD's legal parameters." Replied Quistis. "We're not under contract for any of this, and independent investigations are already heavily scrutinized by the board enough as it is."

"Screw contracts." Replied Irvine. "Xu, Squall, and Cid are all down there getting' eaten alive by some damned politicians, and we're sittin' here just waitin' on a verdict. Somebody cut all our communications for a reason, and I'll bet that reason's got to do with targeting one of the Gardens. Garden could be shut down by the time that we find anything!"

"That's no reason to be impulsive." said Quistis evenly. "If we're caught committing the slightest infraction, men like Sirri will have us drowning in stipulations in no time. If anything, this is a time for caution before action. We can't afford to have our hands tied if something does present itself. We all need to be careful. We're looking bad enough as it is."

Irvine sighed. "I guess you're right, Quisty. I just hate all these Hyne-damned politics, that's all."

Arya nodded. "We all do. But I'm sure that Squall and the others are doing their best."

Quistis was frowning. "When was the last time they sent a report about the conference?" The conference was supposed to be a three-day intensive affair, and communication was not expected, but she had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, one that sat a little too much like lead for her liking.

"The morning before the conference, when they arrived," replied Selphie. "Squall didn't sound very optimistic, and even Xu was worried. The majority of the collective was against Balamb, and although Laguna and the mayor of Balamb were obviously strong supporters, things didn't look good. They could suspend operations, at worst, until the source of error in the IGCS is determined."

"Everyone's been up in arms about any military expansion since the sorceress war. Since Sorceress Edea and Seifer tore up Galbadia Garden and used it like a toy gun, Gardens have been seen as increasingly unstable military operations." In fact, Quistis had heard quite a few politicians label the gardens as 'floating revolvers' that could be easily claimed by renegade operations for personal use. "Cid's refusal to cement alliances in favor of temporary contracts certainly hasn't helped him politically," she continued.

Neither had Cid's decision to harbor old war criminals like an ex-sorceress and her former knight, but that remained unspoken in the group. Although certainly not one of the family, the moment Seifer had passed through Garden's gates under Edea's suggestion, and into Quistis' reluctant tutelage, he had earned the group's reluctant protection. Though far from 'one of them', he carried in him the faint loyalties of childhood that had survived the torrents of their young lives. Seifer's connection, though far from concrete, was not as brittle as it once was.

"The best military organization is self-supporting." Replied Irvine defensively. "Temporary clients make better bedfellows than politicians, I say." If Irvine hated anything more than office buildings and arachnids, it was the slimy moneygrubbers that would stab a guy in the back for a handful of gil. At least real soldiers fought each other face to face.

"I agree with you completely, Irvine," replied Quistis, deciding not to bring up the fact that no military organization was truly self-supporting. "But our operations and our expansions are in the hands of politicians. Cid's lack of affiliation isn't going to pave the way for him, that's all I'm saying. We're going to help him, but we're going to have to be discreet in doing it."

Irvine nodded, looking resigned.

"How'd your mission go by the way, Quis?" asked Zell, gazing worriedly over at his battered friend. If Almasy had anything to do with Quistis' battered condition…

"I've had better," replied Quistis dryly.

"Find anything out?" asked Arya.

"Not really. The mother had nothing of importance to note other than that the windows had been broken and it wasn't anyone that the children would have recognized. From what I've researched from the local police files, there seems to be a definite rash of abductions, but it doesn't seem to correlate with anything." She yawned. "It's just another investigative avenue that, right now, we can't spare the time for." Really, Quistis was now wondering why she'd agreed to go on the outing with Seifer. There had been something about his eyes that day, haunted, vulnerable, that she had wanted to believe his suspicions, if only to ease that haunted look in his eyes. "At any rate, Seifer's satisfied his volunteer hours."

"By the way, how the hell did you get so banged up?" asked Irvine, taking his friend's appearance in fully.

Quistis shrugged, running a hand through her hair. "Long story. Guarsen's place of work proved to be a…volatile atmosphere."

"What the hell was it, a bar?" scoffed Zell.

 "You might say that." Replied Quistis. "The atmosphere wasn't very conducive to repelling a mob, in any case."

"Well, you look like hell, darlin'." Said Irvine, gazing concernedly over at his friend once again.

"Yeah, Quisty. You look terrible," echoed Zell worriedly. "You should go see Dr. Kadowaki."

"Duly noted." Replied Quistis irritably, running a hand over her face. "Is this meeting over?"

The rest of the group shrugged. Muttering, the young woman turned on her heel and headed towards Dr. Kadowaki's office.

Selphie scurried around the table, gathering up the manila envelopes. "I'm gonna go an' see about helping Arya do those system flags. See you two later!" Planting a quick kiss on Irvine's cheek, she scampered down the hall.

Irvine glanced over at Zell as Arya waved and headed back to her room. "Come on, buddy. We got a mission to go to." Mentally, Irvine had already started checking things off in his head. Go clear the mission parameters with Serabin, stock up on potions-

"Yeah, just lemme drop Cerberus off in Quisty's room." Zell frowned after Quistis, remembering something Rinoa had said earlier. "Think she an' Seifer are really-"

Irvine shrugged. "Naw. Quisty's got more sense than that." The cowboy stretched, yawning as he picked his lanky form off of the chair and headed towards the storage facility. "'Sides," he replied, grinning, "She's too cranky to've gotten laid."

Zell frowned . "Hey, before we leave, I gotta go score some major brownie points with Arya. I'll catch up with ya in storage, buddy."

Zell yelled something about a ribbon after that, but Irvine lost it in the echo. "What'd you do now?" he shouted after his friend. Irvine shook his head. This little group of friends was getting stranger by the day.

…

…

…

"Quistis Trepe, what did I tell you about casting?" The doctor clucked like an angry hen as she tapped at the veins in Quistis' right arm, waiting until a blue strand snapped up before impaling it with an iv needle. Quistis flinched, and looked away. Her arm cooled instantly, however, and the relief from the burning in her arm was worth the needle.  Dr. Kadowaki followed the same procedure with her left arm, and soon the burning had begun to fade altogether.

The doctor was glaring at her, still waiting for an answer.

"I know." Replied Quistis, sighing. "Stop shouting," she added under her breath.

"Well?" The portly older woman stood in front of Quistis' bed, hands on hips and reminding Quistis very much of the mother she'd never had.

"I…forgot." She grumbled, feeling very much like the petulant child of the mother she'd never had.

The doctor resumed her clucking. "You look terrible, my dear," she sighed. "Here, take these," she said, handing Quistis a small cup of brightly colored capsules.

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" grumbled Quistis irritably, flexing her hand as she downed the plastic cup's contents with the other.

"Because it's true." Dr. Kadowaki quickly swabbed some antiseptic over Quistis' cuts before pressing her hand to the young SeeD's forehead, Curaga flowing into the damaged tissue on her face. Because of the elapsed time, the bruise itself would remain until her body flushed the excess fluid out, but the swelling and associated tenderness had already gone.

"Any other injuries I should know about?" asked the doctor, setting down a small tray of metal instruments.

"My side hurts a little." Replied Quistis, reluctantly.

Clucking again, the doctor took in the bruises on her side and administered another Curaga spell, making Quistis' entire body spasm. Her arms were still aching with an intensity that made her temples throb. In all honesty, Quistis would rather have gone without the Curagas. The magic tended to mess with the body's adrenaline, kicking it up several notches and wearing her out twice as fast. She was nearly asleep on the table as it was.

"However did you get into this mess?" asked Kadowaki, giving her an I-told-you-so look.

"Carefully." Muttered Quistis, yawning.

The doctor ignored her charge's sarcasm. "I'd say just the opposite. I'm going to go get the forms for the accident report." The doctor turned to leave, but Quistis' next words stopped her.

"It wasn't a mission."

The doctor stopped in the doorway, raising an eyebrow. "Really? And what possessed you to take the risk of an unauthorized departure from Garden, after I specifically told you to take it easy?" The young woman didn't answer, and the doctor scowled, glaring at Quistis with her hands on her hips. "Who went on this Cactuar-chase with you, may I ask?"

Quistis shrugged again. "Seifer and I-"

"I figured as much. And is Mr. Almasy in the same condition you are?"

"I don't know." Replied Quistis, flexing her wrists, which were beginning to tingle.

The doctor sighed. "When you see him, please send him down immediately."

"What makes you think I'll see him?" asked Quistis, frowning.

"A hunch."

Quistis just rolled her eyes.

"Now," said the doctor, turning serious as she grasped Quistis' wrists and gazed at the damage once again. The bruises in her arms had worsened, until almost the entire patch of skin was purple and swollen. The lines of veins were no longer visible beneath the cloudy surface.

Dr. Kadowaki's gaze burned into hers. "Miss Trepe. You know very well that there is a threshold of damage in which, simply put, the body can no longer conduct a magical current. You are nearly at that threshold. If you keep this up, Quistis, you may lose your casting ability forever." If not your life. The words went unspoken but not unacknowledged by either woman.

The doctor's eyes were grave, and Quistis felt a sinking feeling in her stomach at the news. Casting was her strength…if she lost it, she'd be virtually useless as a SeeD. "This is serious business, Quistis. Take the leave I've scheduled for you, or may well cost more than your casting."

Quistis shrugged. "Garden-"

Dr. Kadowaki shook her head. "Quistis, this is serious. Your mag-poisoning is at a more advanced stage than you realize. I suggest you take what I'm telling you seriously, and take a less active role in Garden's defense for the time being."

The young woman just shrugged in response.

Stubborn girl.

"In the meantime, Ms. Trepe, you've tacked another two weeks onto your waiting time. Now, I want you to sit there for the next hour, and don't move, or you'll jar the IV," said the doctor, tapping her IV bag before she left the room, still clucking to herself. "After this, I don't expect to see you back here for some time," said Dr. Kadowaki, raising her eyebrows sternly as she ducked out the door. "Unless it's to help me in the lab."

The bag contained a mixture of saline solution infused with a low amount of cast Cura. The procedure, although creating a nasty stick in her arm, was quite fascinating to Quistis. Lower magic created rather stable ionic bonds with chemicals, the energy of the less severe spells not prone to chemical mutations like Curaga. Dr. Kadowaki had been instrumental in implementing this new procedure, and many hospitals now used the techniques. The doctor had explained it once to Quistis, and she had studied the findings in recent medical journals wherein Draw points were utilized for medical purposes. Magic, although much had yet to be explained about it, was most definitely a form of energy, and as such, was highly malleable chemically. Chemical bonds were also forms of potential energy, and the endothermic reaction between low level spells and other chemical agents was stable enough to feed to the body, where, once there, the bonds were broken and both agents could be administered safely into the bloodstream. The chemical infusions seemed to have a faster effect on the body than magical ministrations alone. Quistis, being one of Garden's top magic users, had often helped Dr. Kadowaki infuse the saline bags on her inactive duty hours, during which time the doctor had explained the new technology. The research had fascinated Quistis, and as she considered the IV, her thoughts went back to the bullet she had extracted from Seifer. If the bullet were coupled with a chemical agent, would the poison hold longer in the metal?

Unlikely. The magically infused saline bags had to be kept at a certain temperature, otherwise the compound became unstable and the bags tended to explode. And the bullet used on Seifer most definitely contained the casting form of poison- nothing else would spread that fast. If one found a chemical that could remain stable when infused with the magic coupling….

It was a possibility. But who would have the bio-chemical knowledge to accomplish such a feat?

Quistis watched the IV drip, lost in thought.

…

…

…

Dr. Kadowaki leaned against the door of the supply room, staring up at the endless rows of bottles, gauze, suture kits and rubber tourniquets. She ran her fingertips along a row of anti-inflammatory medications, hoping to spot one with a low enough dosage for Quistis' everyday use. The girl was badly in need of one, and although the cream wouldn't undo the damage done, it would certainly ease the pain. She scanned the shelves again and again, knowing that she knew the storage room by heart and could maneuver about to retrieve an entire drug cocktail for just about any ailment in the dark. Her mind, however, was distracted from her work.

In the almost ten years that Quistis had been a student, she had never been so worried about her patient as the day she was admitted. Till now.

She had never seen such an advanced case of mag poisoning in her thirty years as a medical doctor. She had seen documentations of several fatal cases during her training as a military doctor- pictures of people dead from internal bleeding and intense trauma to the nervous system, disturbing but distant pictures that lined the glossy pages of her texts. The body simply could not handle the stress of the magic, and the veins ruptured, causing death within hours, if not immediately.

Quistis….

…she had never seen such an unhappy child stumble through Garden's gates nearly ten years ago.

Quistis was not a normal girl- the doctor had known that since the day of her admittance. No normal child walked through the gates of Garden with broken ribs and a haircut that looked to be the courtesy of a lawn mulcher. No normal child carried the sadness in her eyes that Quistis had, or possessed the determination of her years. The doctor had coaxed the girl out of her shell with books and an apprenticeship in her office fetching gauze and treating minor cuts and burns of older students, and watched as slowly, the girl seemed to return to life. Quistis' distraction lay in her intelligence. Kadowaki recognized the girl in herself, and quickly formed an attachment to her.

Quistis had always been careful- had always followed every procedure to a fault and minimized risks whenever possible. Her mission track record was nearly flawless. Now, however, Dr. Kadowaki was noticing a lapse in the young SeeD's concentration. A lapse in judgment, responsibility, but in Quistis' case, she was becoming careless with herself. And the doctor could guess the distraction in two words.

Seifer Almasy.

The doctor had treated Seifer since his admittance to B. Garden almost ten years ago. He was often marched to her office to be treated for fights- the boy was sullen and stubborn and seemed to have no use and no liking for anyone else around him. He barely listened and swung his innately charming smile and his temper around like a blunt instrument, charming at random and offending more precisely. The doctor had watched Seifer Almasy carefully, the way he lashed out at those around him with an almost buried anger, the way he shrunk back from mainstream student life, and the way he rejected every trace of authority that he possibly could in his short stay at Garden.

She recognized that anger now, too, dulled but not forgotten. An adult Seifer had learned to be charming, his wit and charisma was polished and poignant, but he was no less wounded. His once prized beauty and talent were now barely acknowledged facets of his personality- crippled by his own self-hatred. His anger was tucked behind his eyes, held steady in his fist and self-directed. But even pointed at himself, it was no less dangerous. She had hoped the young man would eventually collect his bearings, and her hope was renewed when Quistis agreed to take him on as a pupil once again. Seifer badly needed direction, and Quistis was the very embodiment of it.

Seifer was as careful with emotion was a Wendigo in a china shop. The boy had obviously never had a mother to beat some tact into him…although someone had most definitely beat something into that boy at a very young age. She had not missed the boy's scars during his initial physical evaluation, although the young man had little to say about them.

The doctor had not missed, however, the dynamic between the two young people over the years. The way that Quistis had stormed into her office, eyes flashing, hand buried in the collar of Seifer's jacket as the young man's nose gushed blood onto the floor, both of them swapping verbal abuses. The way the two slung words at each other in the hallways- Seifer purposely running into her, and Quistis following after him, flustered. And, she had not missed the way he watched her now, careful and a little caring, or the way she stared after him, longing and a little afraid.

Sadness and anger…could one heal the other? Dr. Kadowaki located the bottle of anti-flammatory cream and read the dosage before pocketing it and turning out the light.

She sincerely hoped so, for both their sakes.

…

…

…

Serabin folded his hands, learning over the desk to regard the two expectant SeeDs in front of him.

"No."

Irvine and Zell frowned in unison. "What-" began Irvine.

"Mr.Kinneas, you have been a certified SeeD barely one year's time, and you, Zell, are certainly not known for your neatness in following mission parameters. Why by the grace of Hyne would I send you two on a renegade mission with absolutely no precautionary stipulations of conduct?" The temporary leader sat down the mission proposal, flicking a strand of long, white hair behind him and regarding them with an even green gaze.

Zell made a face. Just because he tended to overdo the 'pyrotechnics' of certain missions…

Irvine scowled at him. "What's that got to do with it? We're just goin' to check out a group of people and see the use that they're putting to weapon orders we got from AmmuCorp-"

"-Whose bugs were placed without my permission, I might add," replied Serabin, looking up from the stack of papers in front of him. "You have crossed nearly every line SeeD has ever constructed within the past two weeks in some of the most illegal procedures I've ever seen accomplished, and when Cid gets back from the conference, he's going to have to bury the mission reports.." Including that damned dog, he added to himself. "Besides, you can't use those weapon orders in any kind of public facet. They were obtained illegally."

Zell considered. If Serabin refused to let them go…He had used Serabin's not-so-well known interest in Quistis to get himself out of the dog-fiasco. Serabin wasn't going to kill the mutt if it belonged to Quistis. This, however, was a different matter entirely. This was procedure and he'd never known Serabin to abandon it.

Irvine rolled his eyes. "Judging by the rate we're getting' eaten alive at that conference, I don't think Cid'll mind a little pro-bono investigation. It certainly can't hurt anything."

"That remains to be seen," replied Serabin. He looked at the two men in front of him and sighed after reading their expressions. "I can tell that you're simply going to go anyway. I've dispatched two SeeD teams to Trabia and Galbadia already to find out more about the recent IGCS failure on each end. Take what you need," he said, shuffling his papers. "Oh, and you're taking Gzarth with you."

The two young men groaned in unison. "Aw, man, not Gzarth!" protested Irvine. "The hell would you send Gzarth with us for?"

"Why doncha just send us with the friggin' plague!" muttered Zell, running a hand through his hair.

Serabin regarded the soldiers sternly. "Gzarth is hardly the plague. Gzarth has been a SeeD for nearly three years. I do believe, however, that he could benefit from some…procedural enhancements."

"What, you mean like learning procedure in the first place?" grumbled Zell.

Serabin rewarded him with a scathing glance. "You're so fond of going off on these renegade missions, at least break in a rookie and I'll pretend never to have had this conversation. Just because you happen to be the legendary 'heroes' from the secondary sorceress war does not grant you the right to design and direct missions whenever you deem necessary, especially not when it puts Garden's welfare at stake. Missions are given to you, not the other way around." Serabin narrowed his eyes, reminding the two young men in front of him like a scolding parent. "You'll remember your ranks, gentlemen, or I'll have you scrubbing the sub-levels with toilet brushes. And I'd better not get any reports from Dollet complaining of any ill-timed explosions, Dinct."

"Yes, sir," replied the two, saluting.

Zell rolled his eyes as the two friends walked out the door. "Great. Just great. This mission is already shit and it hasn't even started. Friggin' pompous, long-haired wind-"

The door opened. "Dincht!"

Zell froze in his tracks. Shit.

"I trust you've taken care of that….creature that caused such dissent in the hallways yesterday?"

Zell turned. "Uh, yeah. Nobody'll mistake him for a monster now." Unless T-Rexaurs start wearing party get-up, he thought to himself. "Anyway, he's Quistis' problem now, not mine."

Although Quistis didn't know that yet…

"Regarding Ms. Trepe," said Serabin, 'Tell her I wish to speak with her at her earliest convenience."

"Yeah, sure, will do," said Zell, closing the door behind him. Man, that guy needed to loosen up even more than Squall.

…

…

…

"Damned needles." Quistis walked down the corridor, still rubbing her arms as she muttered to herself. The IV drop had cooled the burning for awhile, but now it was back, full force and nearly maddening in its insistency.

She brushed her free hair out of her face, heading straight towards her dormitory and looking forward to a hot shower and a quick nap. There was certainly no time for a long one. She would then go straight to mailing services to see if her package had arrived yet from the D.S. Research Center. The place had only been operating for a year, but since Garden and numerous other military establishments had given generously to fund its renovation, she assumed the place was as operational as it had been in recent years. The nature of its research was now more of a military nature, given its donators, which was exactly why she'd deemed it the perfect place to send the bullet for a complete cocktail of field-related tests.

She was planning out the rest of her day into a mental agenda when a sharp pain in her shoulder sent her crashing into the side of the wall. She winced immediately, gripping at her arms as pain traveled upwards clear to her spine.

"You really should watch where you're going."

She whirled, glaring back at the source of the voice to find the figure of Brek Garek lounged against the side of the wall just inches from her. His dark hair was slicked back, a few shiny strands ducking into his even darker eyes. His gloating smirk was enough to get her blood boiling, but his audacity really made her want to shed a couple of his teeth with her fist. The marks on his throat from Seifer's lashing were barely evident above his collar, but she noticed them all the same.

Brek's eyes roamed over her. "I hear they're having a fine time at the conference, your friends and Mr. Kramer."

"And what would you know about it?" snapped Quistis, straightening up and pulling together the tangle of emotions pumping in her blood long enough to give him a proper glare. Careful, Garek. I outrank you in miles.

Brek's smile increased. "My father just happens to be the head of the Galbadian city council and a prominent senator, if you've forgotten."

"Oh, had you mentioned your father was a senator?" Quistis sneered. "Forgive me. I thought his formal title was "Chief Operator of Illegal Arms Deals and Professional Embezzlement.'"

Brek's gaze darkened. "Be careful, Trepe."

"Or what? You'll hit me over the head with your pocket book?" she spat. "I haven't forgotten your military infractions, and only a fool would be afraid of your money."

"Why are you protecting Almasy all of a sudden, Trepe?" asked Brek, advancing closer. "If I recall, you were in as much of a hurry as the rest of them to collect his head two years ago. I wonder what's changed since then? Cid sends his most obedient bitch to clean up the political backlash over his wife's sanctuary, and suddenly you two are the best of friends?" Brek chuckled, the sound like that of a pack of hyena's echoing off the walls as he examined his gloved hand. "Well? Is fucking Almasy's brains out winning you any new Instructor's licenses? I doubt it."

He smirked at her darkening expression and looked positively amused at her glare as he glanced over her ragged clothing, eyes flickering on certain aspects of her anatomy. "Your clothing suits you. I always thought you were overdressed for a military whore."

 "And I always thought that you were remarkably well groomed for an inbred rat, Garek," she spat at him, rubbing her wrist.

 "It has always bothered me the great fate bestowed upon you bastard orphans. You in particular, Miss Trepe. After all, as a woman what use have you for being pretty or accomplished?' A twisted smile affixed the young man's face. "Perhaps for my own appreciation as you lick my boots. You see, I'm going places, Miss Trepe. If you like, I'm sure I could find a position under me that would suit you."

"In your dreams," spat the woman in front of him.

His smile grew even more condescending. "Quistis, let me impart some knowledge to you about the ironic workings of the world."

She glared at him without reservation, loathing laid open in her gaze as he walked in circles around her.

"There once was an age when great blood meant great power. The superior lines of ancient aristocrats bred great leaders and even greater armies. Sadly, today no such stipulations for good blood in power exist. Now, weak men like Cid Kramer are rulers of military institutions. Orphans like Squall Leonhart command powerful armies. Trained whores like you," snarled Brek, his breath close to her ear, "Become SeeDs." He saw her body tense up with rage, a sensation that only heightened his pleasure. She would not giving him the satisfaction of moving away, but she was repulsed by his proximity. He loved to see women like Quistis Trepe squirm.

If not beneath him, then because of him.

"Men like Seifer Almasy come from a long line of barely coherent gutter trash. Their blood is as thick as turpentine. Greatness has not been programmed into his body, and it certainly doesn't pump through his blood. A sorceress dragging him by his dick through the muck of a messy political war does not make him any worthier of greatness than a dog. The day, Miss Trepe, when orphaned trash may become SeeD, is the day that SeeD becomes no more than a military trough to whore out blind servicemen and women for contracted alliances. These times may have changed, Ms. Trepe, but Seifer Almasy will not become a SeeD. I'll see to it, one way or the other. Trailer trash does not beget heroes."

"You're the only filth I see in these halls," snapped Quistis. "And money can't hide your smell forever."

Brek's jaw tightened. "I watched as Galbadia fell to the filthy hands of Almasy and his mistress. I remember Trabia's downfall. Have you forgotten it so easily?" Brek's gaze darkened. "Almasy is a monster. He always has been, and always will be." The young man tilted his head to the side, studying her. "Have you forgotten how he hated you before? What reason has any of that to have changed?"

Quistis didn't respond, only folded her arms and regarded him with the same half-loathing, half-leery expression.

Brek stood back from her, studying her like a wary rodent. "It doesn't have to be like this, Quistis."

"Like what?" she snapped.

"You and I don't have to be at such odds." He said, smoothly, his grooming clearly coming back to him as he advanced on her another step. "If you were more agreeable-"

She took a step back. "What exactly are you asking me?"

"To back off." Said Brek, his gaze even. "To let Mr. Almasy's fate come to claim him."

Quistis' gaze remained steady, although, internally, she was at a loss to what Brek was hinting at. "Harm Mr. Almasy, and no amount of check writing you do will make your cries heard from the D-District prisons."

"Idle threats make poor bedfellows, Miss Trepe."

"I don't make idle threats." Quistis narrowed her eyes, matching his gaze. "As such, I might suggest that you sleep with one eye open."

Within an unexpected instant, Brek had knocked into her, the flat of his arm pressed against her throat and his weight crushing hers against the polished wall. She glared at him, stare volatile beneath his pin. "You've made a very bad decision." drawled Brek, a darkness seeping into his gaze that rivaled Seifer's.

She jerked her head away from his, refusing to give him the satisfaction of yelling out of disgust.

"Just remember, Trepe, when you bed with mongrels, you wake up with fleas."

"Exactly," returned Quistis, shaking a loose strand of hair behind her shoulder and casting him a glance cool enough to freeze liquid magma, "Why I never slept with you."

His body was still pinning hers into the wall, and she could feel with disgust his growing erection pressed up against her leg. She should have reported him years ago. The sensation sickened her, and she nearly gagged as he pressed closer to her. "You're going to regret this."

Both became aware of the approaching footsteps down the corridor, and reluctantly, Brek released her, straightening his SeeD jacket and dusting it off as it he had come into contact with something unruly.

"We'll see," replied Quistis, stalking down the hall.

Brek Garek's eyes followed her, a mixture of lust and anger ripe in his eyes at the way the girl dared to bear her back to him. "Stupid girl," he murmured, shaking his head.

She'd see the error of her ways, soon enough.

….

….

The rats were awake again.

Their nails scratched on the linoleum floor, eyes flashing in the sliver of moonlight that peeked through the crack in the door. They stood up on their hind feet, sniffing the air around them for available food. They'd already spilled  an old can of oatmeal, hissing as they fought over the remaining flakes.

The rats were always awake.

One was gnawing on his shoelace. He kicked at it, but the thing soon forgot its fear and returned, sniffing at him again like it sniffed at the TV dinners. Suspicious and hopeful.

He pressed his palm to the door, listening to the drone of the television and the sound of beer bottles being smashed against the wall. The pantry was small, and cramped. It stunk of rat urine and rotting potatoes and fear. He hated the scent of fear, ripe like sweat and rotting flesh. Fear was an acid that chewed at the skin, bubbling in the chest. Soon he would be no more than a skeleton.

…The Skeleton Boy…

He could hear him calling even now, the faint whisper in his chest, the burning that burned only slightly hotter than the fear.

The hate.

"Where you at, boy?!" Another beer bottle smashed against the door, followed by an enraged shout. The splinter of glass scattered the rats, which wove around his ankles like a wave of murky water. He shrank away from the door, covering his ears with his hands. He whispered her name in the dark, the name forbidden and almost lost to him, holding to the memory of her smile as if it was all that existed.

And then she was there, there in the darkness. He could feel her behind him, her breath hot against his neck. "Hello, Seifer."

"Shhh." He whispered, pointing to the door. "He'll find me in here."

"The rats are always awake, aren't they?" she whispered, stroking his cheek. Strange, her touch. So beautiful and revolting all at once. Mother and monster…

He stared at the sliver of light that lingered beneath the door. "Yes." He whispered.

"He's always awake too, isn't he?"

He. The Skeleton Boy.

"Yes."

A shadow passed beneath the door. "He's waiting, isn't he?"

He shuddered under her touch. "Yes."

"What is he waiting for?"

"For…someday." For someday, when he would fly like the crows flew, up into the sky forever.

He could feel her smile in the dark. "I will bring you someday, little one."

He blinked, and the rats disappeared. The closet became the cornfields, their rows lit with sunlight and the sky blue and cloudless above him. He stared up, nearly blinded by the sunlight against his eyes as he watched the crows flew up towards the sunlight.

"You see? See how they fly?"

He nodded.

"You can fly, too, you know." Her hands were on his shoulders. "I can give you wings."

He shook his head…and yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from the crows. They flew away, why shouldn't he? His heart ached for it, strained against his chest…

"I'll make you fly."  Her promise sounded sweet, but he knew it could burn as badly as the fear and the hatred. Worse.

She wouldn't make him fly. Her lies would burn his wings away and there would be nothing at all. And he would fall. Fall hard, and no one would catch him. She would be gone, a shadow, a waif that he had once dreamed in vivid crimson color. She would not catch him.

He knew this now. He had not always known it.

She smiled. "You aren't ready yet. But you will be."

He just shook his head.

He could feel her impatience, thick against his skin like a new kind of acid. "No? Perhaps you've forgotten how crushing this earth can be, boy."

A row of clouds rolled in, knitting together to sew the sky dark once again. The crows screamed, their black feathers falling as they dropped from the sky. And they were falling, falling, and they weren't crows, but rats, rats with their crimson eyes and their curved claws and teeth raining down on him, screaming--

SeeD dormitory. Clean sheets. Eight in the morning.

21 years old two days ago. He had forgotten his birthday. Not like it mattered.

"Damnit," he muttered, rubbing his face with his hands.

Another fucking dream.

He glanced over at the clock, and stifled another groan. Eight a.m. He'd barely been asleep two hours.

"Damnit…" He muttered again, squeezing his arm. It hurt like hell, as if the pain were branching off in his veins and shooting through the rest of his body. He grimaced, shutting his eyes.

Someday…

He snapped his eyes open, glaring around the room as he dropped his arm. The pain was gone, as if it had never existed at all.

"The fuck?" he muttered aloud.

The silent room held no response. Hyne, he was turning into a fucking loony.

Leaning over, he grabbed the edge of the cardboard box, sliding it across the room-close enough to rummage through. Instead of closing around the old bootlaces he expected, however, his hand closed around a smooth, round object, one that felt strangely like stone. He pulled it up, squinting at it in the semi-darkness of his room. It was a black stone, flat and smooth, with the image of a white bird scrawled on it with white crayon.

Quisty.

He frowned. The hell would a rock remind him of Quistis for?

His memory stirred. Because she had made it for him, the winter before she left.

He ran his thumb over the waxy sheen of crayon, remembering the way she'd wrapped it in newspaper and taped a yellow flower to the front. She was the only one who made gifts, aside from Ellone, and even Ellone hadn't bothered after awhile. Quisty, though, persisted, pushing the wrapped gift at him till he opened it. He'd said it was stupid, and she'd cried, which made him feel bad…later. Still, it was stupid. Who painted a bird on some damned rock and called it a present? And yet, after all these years, he still had the damned thing. He couldn't explain why. It was like a lot of things about Quistis that lived in his head.

He remembered the day she'd left, all too clearly for his liking.

Walking through the tall grasses that graced the dunes preceding the ocean, dragging a stick in the sand behind him and occasionally swinging it like a sword. Ahead of him ran Quistis, her long hair swinging in her awkward gait, the result of too much skinny little leg and not enough balance. She smelled like sun lotion and daisy chains. She was laughing, although at what he couldn't guess. Girls were always giggling. He figured it was a side effect of the cooties they carried. But he followed behind her, eventually catching up to her on the soft slope of sand that overlooked the water.

She turned to him, out of breath. "I'm leaving tomorrow," she said, smiling, the happiness nearly overflowing in her eyes. "My new family is coming to get me."

Her words sunk in slowly, like stones on mud puddles.

Leaving.

New family. Leaving you. Like Mommy left you.

Everyone leaves you.

"You're leavin?" He didn't believe it. Quisty was always there. Bossing him, annoying the hell out of him, correcting his grammar and trying to get him to play that stupid house game…

She nodded.

His expression darkened. Fine. He didn't need her, anyway. He didn't need any of them. "Good."

Hurt flashed across her blue eyes. "You don't mean that."

He scowled. What did she expect? Him to start bawling like a little girl? Beg her not to go? Ha.

"You don't know what I mean."

She was frowning at him, trying to grab hold of his arm. "You kin come visit, an' Squall kin come visit, an-" With a jerk, he shoved her off, and she tumbled back into the sand, hard enough to knock the breath out of her.

"Squall ain't gonna come visit. He doesn't like you." He turned away. "Your family ain't gonna like you either. Nobody'll miss you and you'll be lonely, real lonely, and no one'll care."

Tears were on her cheeks. "That's not true! You're a liar!"

He turned around, and threw his stick into the woods as hard as he could. The wood shattered against a rock.

"Don't!" she yelled. Hyne, he hated her. She was always whining, always crying…always telling him not to do things…

He glared at her, and she took a step back. He fished in his pocket, and took the stone she had given him, and threw it with all his might, watching as it tumbled into the brush. "Don't, Seifer!" she really was crying now, and he hated her for it.

"I hate you! I don't care if you leave!" He turned and ran, leaving her, still sobbing, behind.

In the morning, he heard the door open, and looked to see Quisty in the doorway, wearing her jacket and carrying a small suitcase. She looked like she had been crying.

"I have to go, Seifer. I wanted to say goodbye to everyone. They said I could."

He rolled over. "Just go on an' leave. I don't care." He said muttered darkly.

She reached over, and quietly, set something on the desk. "I don't believe you," she said, quietly, voice wavering on tears and that unique Quistis-like courage that never ceased, or ceased to amaze him. "I don't believe you, Seifer."

She'd left the rock behind.

And with that, she was gone, out of his life like so many other stray leaves in the wind, tangled up in time and space until his admittance to Garden nearly seven years later. It was a different Quistis that had confronted him then, eyes cold and calculating…eyes that did not recognize him at all.

And he still wanted them to hurt. Squall and the others. To hurt like he hurt…

But something told him that Quistis already had…

He set the rock on the table beside his bed, then went back to staring absently at his ceiling. He wondered if Quistis was even talking to him now, since when dismounting the train she'd gotten quite a sideful of grass. He'd laughed his head off as she spit out the mouthful of turf she'd acquired, stumbling and spitting swearwords at him that he hadn't thought he'd known. He also found himself admiring the grass stains on her stomach and bared arm as she rolled to her feet, glaring at him to end all glares even as she begrudgingly accepted his hand to help her up. They'd snuck in under the gatekeeper's nose and walked towards the dorm wing, with her swearing at him under her breath all the while.

It would have been a lot funnier if Quistis hadn't looked like death warmed over.

He started to wonder how she was feeling, then thought better of it. She was a tough girl. She could handle herself.

He groaned as he rolled over on his side.

He'd go see her after he'd had a couple shots of whatever the hell Dr. Kadowaki was brewing for aching joints. He ran a hand through his hair only to find that the blood had dried into a throbbing knot of swollen flesh, and the rest of him felt like he'd gone through a meat grinder.

Déjà Vu really wasn't far off from one, apparently.

Knowing he wasn't going to get to sleep again, he rolled off the mattress and into a freezing shower. He didn't bother with shaving and pulled on a pair of pants, shrugging into one of the white button down shirts that were handed out for formal student functions to wear underneath the dress jackets. It was the only piece of clothing he had that wasn't currently bloodstained or generally soiled. He only bothered with a few of the buttons before shrugging into his jacket and ran a hand through his hair, which needed cutting again.

He leered at his reflection in the mirror. Twenty one? More like a hundred and fucking fifty.

He walked down the corridor, which was now crowded with students on their way to class. He weaved through the chattering masses, who generally ignored him as much as he ignored them, walking out to the Quad before parking himself on one of the stone benches. He stared out at nothing for awhile and rolled his shoulder, trying once again to get his head under control, taking gulps of fresh air to clear his mind. Students milled around him, a few glancing his way, but he was generally ignored. After all, he wasn't hacking off any heads or spouting off ridiculous soliloquies about conquering the world. Apparently, even old villains were forgotten, or at least, became less interesting. It suited him just fine. Better to be forgotten. Better to forget.

"MORNING."

He nearly jumped off the bench.

He turned to see Fujin sprawled out on the steps, legs stretched out in front of her and her arms resting, curved, against the stone staircase. Fujin smiled and inclined her head in greeting, taking a large bite out of the apple in her hand.

"Christ, Fuj! Don't scare me like that!"

"JUMPY." His friend smiled as she took another bite of her apple. "LONG NIGHT?"

"Yeah, you might say that," he replied. "How've you been these last couple of days? I haven't seen much of you and Rajin. I've been-"

"BUSY." Replied Fujin, the small smile never wavering from her face. Wisps of her pale hair cut in front of her good eye, obscuring the glint of amber and tigerstone. She was dressed in her SeeD uniform, the jacket unzipped to reveal a plain white tank top, legs extended out like a lean cat sunning itself. She reminded him of that sometimes, a lioness, for all her pride and temperament. She had always been like a big sister to him, always mothering Rajin and him. Mostly Rajin. She had always seemed to hold some reservations with him, some sort of high regard that he couldn't place and certainly couldn't understand. She had never tried to boss him the way she tried to boss Rajin. He wondered what she thought of him now.

Hell, he often wondered what to think of himself.

"So how's Rajin?"

"RAJIN." She answered, shrugging, as if it were answer enough. And it was.

Seifer chuckled. "I see. You guys haven't changed at all, have you?"

"NO," Said Fujin, tossing the apple across the courtyard. A surprised shout sounded from behind a cluster of hedges, and Fujin smiled.

"Can't say I'm surprised you two ended up together." Replied Seifer. It was true. He'd never seen two people so completely different- Fujin was silent as stone, and Rajin didn't shut up. Rajin was impetuous, Fujin was grounded. Fujin kept Rajin centered, and Rajin made her laugh. They just fit. He turned fully around on the bench. "I'm happy for you, Fuj." It was an unfamiliar phrase for him, but he found that he meant it.

Fujin smiled, but it seemed distant. She nodded. "SOMEDAY," she said, inclining her head at him.

He shrugged.

I don't think people like me are meant to have somedays..

The young woman got up, dusting off her pants. She shook her head, a sad look in her eye even as her lips twisted in a determined half-smile. "SOMEDAY." She repeated, insistently, a playful edge to her tone as she wagged her finger at him. As lighthearted as Fujin could get, anyway.

Seifer just shook his head again, smiling. Even after all this time, how she could believe in him was beyond his comprehension. It was more than he deserved.

A lot of things about this place were more than he deserved.

Fujin just smiled, the curve of her lips distant and a little sad. "SEE YOU." She replied, gazing after her friend with an unreadable expression in her eyes.

"Yeah, someday," he replied, teasing her a little.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY." She called over her shoulder, tossing something at him and smiling her tigress smile again as she disappeared into the crowds.

He caught it reflexively, then uncoiled his palm. There, wadded up in his hand, was a silver necklace exactly like the one he had lost. It was a soldier's chain, an id tag, but a flowing script was etched into the worn metal.

"Transit umbra, lux permanent."

Shadow passes, light remains.

If only. Thanks, Fuj.

With a little difficulty, he hooked the silver chain around his neck. It settled there easily, a familiar weight, and the ghost of a grin touched his lips. He looked for Fujin in the crowd to thank her, but she was already gone. He turned back around, arms spread along the edge of the bench as he stared into nothing.

What is he waiting for, Seifer?

Someday…

…

…

…

Zell and Irvine each balanced a duffle bag over their shoulders, glaring around impatiently as they lounged near the boating docks, waiting for Gzarth to arrive. They'd bummed a ride there from one of the commuter students returning home, and were still waiting for the third member of their party. The boys had stopped at Ma Dinct's house for a couple of egg salad sandwiches and two extra helpings of potato salad, which left both boys with a sense of fullness and mothering.

"We should just leave without him," muttered Zell, looking sullen.

"And, like, risk gettin' Serabin on our asses?" returned Irvine. "I think not, buddy."

"Man, I'd rather have Serabin riding my ass than have that walking time bomb along with us." Said Zell dropping his bag and folding his arms, his feet tapping against the pavement in an impatient rhythm. Irvine often wondered if Selphie and Zell weren't mismatched siblings that shared the same phenomenal energy supply.

"He can't be that bad." replied Irvine.

"Ha! You remember the mission where Arya got dumped in that room full of rats?"

Irvine smirked. "Yeah, I remember." How could he forget? Zell had been in the doghouse for a week, and the normally mild-mannered Arya had thrown quite a few library books at her beloved boyfriend's thick skull when they'd returned.

"Yeah. Who do you think got the maps backwards in the first place?"

At this, Irvine chuckled. "Got a grudge, huh?"

Zell looked disgusted. "Tch. By what freak of luck this guy managed to pass his SeeD exam, I'll never know."

Irvine squinted into the distance. "Hey, speakin' of the devil…"

A tall, lanky figure was jogging down the cobblestone walk, waving his fool head off. The boy was the same age as they were, a little shorter than Irvine with a mop of red hair, green eyes, and what could only be described as a boyishly appealing face. Zell personally thought he looked perpetually confused.

"Hey guys!" he shouted, waving again before he lost his footing, tumbling for a few feet before righting himself back into a run, his bags dragging on the ground behind him.

"Freakin' Hyne,' muttered Zell, drawing a hand over his face. "I told you."

Gzarth finally reached them, flushed and out of breath, his gasps crystallizing in the air. "Man," he panted, "Can't believe I'm finally goin' on a mission with you guys! The big heroes!"

"Yeah, we're as surprised as you are," muttered Zell.

Irvine elbowed him. "Serabin discuss the mission parameters with you?" he asked.

"Yeah. Got a change of clothes an' my rifle. Serabin said to pack light."

"Oh great. He brought a weapon." Muttered Zell. Irvine elbowed him again, but Gzarth seemed oblivious. He was looking excitedly up at the boat. The vessel was made for speed rather than capacity, and would carry the SeeD's across the ocean to Dollet in about four hours time. Irvine sincerely hoped that Zell didn't get sick on this trip. His old boots would never be the same after the last trip to Deling.

The whistle sounded, startling Gzarth, who stumbled back and dropped his bag. Zell rolled his eyes.

"Well, gentlemen, let's be on our way," said Irvine, glancing up at the darkening sky.

Irvine adjusted the lapels of his coat, turning just before he boarded the boat. It was getting cold outside, and the draft seemed to bring a renewed sense of the premonition that he'd felt on the last train. Something was out of place, missing from the normally calm bubble that surrounded his thoughts.

Irvine spared one last look at the sky as the boat's engines started to fire up, shuddering a little beneath his dragonskin duster.

A storm was coming.

…

…

…

Quistis swore as she slid her key through the entrance slot, wanting nothing more than a hot shower and a decent infraction report to slap Brek Garek with. The spoilt brat had always been a sliver in her side, but now the young man seemed hell bent on becoming a thorn. She had little tolerance for insolent little boys, and that seemed to apply double for insolent little boys with false bravado and dirty money.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the door opened and she was knocked flat on her back, her skull colliding with the floor as a giant pink tongue swept across her cheek. Large brown eyes gazed into hers before her cheek received another lashing.

She released the grip on Save the Queen. It was only the dog.

"Dow-ppppfffhhh!" Quistis' scolding was interrupted by the third sweep of that same large tongue, a muscle that was easily the size of her own hand. Zell must have snuck the dog back into her room this morning, although how he got in was beyond her. She made a mental note to thank Zell for the surprise and find out exactly how he got into her room in the first place.

"Off!" she shouted, laughing in spite of herself as she got to her feet and walked inside, but not before the large mongrel got in a few more friendly licks.

She noticed, then, as the door began to shut again without her that there was a small note posted on her door. She plucked it, hurriedly scanning the writing as she stuck her foot into the slide and slipped in.

Quistis-

You totally owe me for this one. By the way, the dog's new name is Cerberus. Has a better ring than Alm-ASS-y, doesn't it? He's gotta wear a ribbon or a collar or something so students can tell him apart from the stuff in the Training Center.

                       Love ya babe,

                                                Zell

p.s. Oh yeah, and Serabin wants to see you.

Quistis shook her head, grinning to herself as she walked in and tossed the note on her bed, where she found yet another note and a large brown box. She picked up the note, shaking her head. Was her room a free-access quarters, now? The note turned out to be from Rinoa.

Quisty-

Zell told me about your new dog! How exciting! Now maybe Angelo will have somebody to play with. Anyway, I sent along a couple of Angelo's things that I thought might come in handy until we dock near a store. We've both been so busy lately-we should have lunch, soon!  I could use some help with my GF theory, and I want to hear about how your new project is going! See you later!

Love,

Rinoa

Lifting an eyebrow, Quistis rummaged through the box. Rinoa had included a food and water dish, some old chew toys, and an old collar. Quistis tried the collar on the dog, but it was at least two sizes too small. Quistis made a mental note to place an order at the mailing services. The dog, it seemed, for better or for worse, would be here for awhile. She would have to thank Rinoa later.

The dog, apparently now called Cerberus, wagged its tail, grinning like a maniac as he hopped up onto her bed and settled his massive head on his paws, looking up at her expectantly. "Cerberus." She said out loud. The dog raised a massive ear in response, then proceeded to ignore her. She shrugged. Cerberus had a certain ring to it, and if she squinted, the dog did look a bit like his namesake, minus two heads and without the pink ribbon. She made a mental note to find a good home for the dog as soon as possible, but in the meantime, it wouldn't hurt to have some company in her room.

Or in her life, for that matter.

Quistis wiped at her face, detecting an odor on the dog's breath that smelt faintly like ketchup. She made another mental note to ask Zell exactly what he had fed the dog…and just what the hell the dog was doing with a pink ribbon of all things around its neck.  It looked like the dog had swallowed a Moomba Scout troop, for Hyne's sake. She suppressed a chuckle at the thought.

She walked into the shower, shedding clothing as she went and feeling like with each layer a coating of skin was coming off. She shut the door, feeling like the dog was watching her, and then immediately felt silly. It was a dog, for the love of Hyne. Just because she hadn't undressed in front of an audience in, well, forever….

Quistis closed her eyes as she leaned against the door of the shower, pressing her face against the wet plastic of the door. She had scrubbed until her arms burned too much to continue, then simply slumped against the wall and let the water pour down her face.

Thoughts flowed through her mind like the water on her scalp, and she let her mind drift to the night before. Interviewing Sheri Guarsen, visiting Chu, tumbling off a train with Seifer behind her, holding hands-

Quistis opened one eye under water, and was immediately rewarded with a clump of soap in her eye. Swearing, she stuck her head back out of the water and tried to wipe the last thought from her mind. What was she thinking? Seifer Almasy? The most cocky, annoying, snobbish, irritating, self-deprecating, charming-

Charming?

Quistis ran her fingers through her hair. The sooner Seifer took the SeeD exam and was released from her realm of responsibility, the better. This constant proximity wasn't healthy, and it certainly wasn't making her think clearly. She wasn't used to constant male company, and the time she'd spent with Seifer clearly was warping her mind. The idea of Seifer as anything more than a student was strange…disconcerting.

No, there was no possible way she harbored feelings for Seifer…the momentary flashes of…whatever were only moments of insanity bent on destroying her ordinary, orderly, perfectly organized,

….lonely,

….little

…life.

Quistis twisted her head to the side, scrubbing hard at her skin and letting the water pour down her face.

Feeling refreshed and only slightly less exhausted she turned off the water and sat down on her bed next to a sleeping Cerberus, resting her head in her hands and fighting the urge to just lie down and sleep herself. Her body felt weighted, tired, and the pull on the mattress was strong on the woman in her. But the soldier's instincts in her were stronger. The soldier got up, and fussed with the clips and chains and buckles of the SeeD uniform, and walked down the long corridor to Serabin's office.

Serabin's emerald gaze flickered up to her, and he immediately set down his work and got to his feet. He nodded to her. "Come in, Quistis."

She complied, taking a seat in front of Serabin's desk. His office was on the same floor as the other classrooms, and although Serabin was Head Instructor, he was more management than anything else. Serabin was four years ahead of her in age, and but as a SeeD, she outranked him. He was first in his class, a top SeeD, and a top Instructor as well. They had taken a few of the Advanced Spellcasting courses together, and although she wouldn't go so far as to call them friends, she respected him. He had personally apologized to her when she'd lost her license, and had been one of the few people who had defended her at the council meeting that had cost her the job. Or so she'd heard later.

"I understand you've come into possession of a rather large breed of dog, Ms. Trepe," said the head instructor, the ghost of a smile tracing the corner of his lips. "He has caused quite the…commotion around here, in your absence."

A flush crept up her face. "I...apologize for Cerberus. I hope he hasn't done any irreparable damage. There was apparently a mix-up with the chain-of-evidence voucher I tried to put on him-"

"Oh, is that the creature's name?" The young man looked amused. "It's…fitting."

She folded her hands. "Frankly, Serabin, I didn't expect to be the recipient of the dog. His owner was involved in the IGCS investigation, and when his owner was killed, I felt responsible…I'll make some phone calls, and have-"

Serabin put up a hand. "Quistis, I'm sure you will figure out an appropriate way to handle this sudden…addition…to Garden's population." He smiled again, and Quistis noticed how white his teeth were. Serabin's smiles were rare, and their brief occurrences illustrated a very handsome man. Not a green-eyed devil, but-

She almost slapped herself.

"In any case, Ms. Trepe, I called you here to speak to you about a note Cid left me for you. Cid stated that you were to analyze your progress with Mr. Almasy, and thereafter, decide his ability to perform the SeeD exam this final time. Seifer's admission has been on hold for as long as humanly possible, and though Galbadia Garden is certainly in no hurry to acquire him, the rules have been pushed as far as they can be. Cid stated that you were the most qualified to make the decision, and said to tell you that he felt confident in your evaluation." Serabin sat back in the chair, hands folded, a lock of pale hair falling across his eyes. "Personally, I don't believe that Mr. Almasy will ever pass the SeeD exam, but he was lucky indeed to be the recipient of your tutelage."

"Ah…thank you." Quistis had never been good at receiving compliments. She always expected them to be directed at someone behind her, and constantly had to resist the desire to glance over her shoulder.

"Please notify me of your decision, Quistis." Said Serabin. "I'll have one of the instructors take him out to meet the prerequisites if you feel he's qualified."

At this, Quistis glanced up. "He's already made the prerequisites in all previous trials. Wouldn't it seem a bit…superfluous at this point to make him go through them again?"  

Serabin raised an eyebrow. "All SeeD candidates must be given equal challenges. There must be no exceptions made, even for Mr. Almasy. Especially for Mr. Almasy, Quistis. If anything, his trials should be upgraded."

Quistis rolled her eyes. "If administration continues with this double standard, what reason is there for Seifer to advance at all? If his reputation consistently precedes him-"

"As it shall. And as it should, Quistis." Said Serabin, firmly, frowning a little. "There was not a head hunt after the war in his honor because Mr. Almasy had some unpaid parking tickets. For political reasons, the council has agreed to forgive. But the council will not forget." He met her eyes. "As well it shouldn't."

"Then redemption is just a word." Said Quistis, her eyes narrowing. "It's a lie that we never should have told him. It's a lie we never should have told Edea."

"Edea does not seek a position in a military culture." Serabin's eyes met hers, a deep jade that went deep. "You and I are reasonable people, Quistis. We live in the real world, don't we? We both know Seifer's slate shall not be wiped clean at the end of all his trials. He will never have a fresh start. He will be a ward of this Garden for the duration of his career and he will be a liability on every mission. Deep down, I believe that Seifer knows it, too. Whatever else I think of him, Seifer is also a reasonable person. He knows as well as you or I that there is no fresh start. People do not forget. People do not ever forget. Garden is no different." Serabin's eyes flickered as he stood, resting his hands on the desk. "The best thing that could have been done for him was to refuse him in the first place." Serabin's voice, unlike others, was not filled with hate or scorn of the ex-knight. If it had, she would have raged against him, championed Seifer's cause as if he were a fallen soldier, just as she had as his student. But Serabin's voice was kind, almost gentle. It instilled no rage in her, only desperation.

Fear that he was right, and the knowledge that he was.

Quistis shook her head. "He will be a good SeeD. I believed it then. I believe it now. I believe he will be a better SeeD than most, owing to his experiences-"

Serabin just shook his head. "Your belief did not save him then. It will not save him now."

She held her jaw, proudly, as proudly as if she were six and defending Seifer Almasy from Edea for something he probably had done or would do. "You're right. He'll save himself. May I be excused, Serabin?"

"Of course, Miss Trepe."

Giving him a short and respectful bow, she shut the door behind her.

Serabin just shook his head. Such confidence. Absently, he wondered what it would be like to be championed by such a woman. He wondered if Seifer was aware of the honor.

Probably not.

He smiled after her.

Foolish, beautiful girl.

…

…

…

She waited in front of the window, the lines of desks and monitors nearly blinding in the early afternoon light. It was where she lost him years ago, and where, now, she would let him go again, release him to his fate after mending his wings as best she could.

It was unfair of Cid to give her this mission. They all knew he would never fly again.

Somehow, somewhere, in the middle of this mission to teach him and to improve her own status enough to regain her license, everything had changed. It had become not about her, but about him. It had become about his progress, about his success, not hers. She had begun to look forward to their time together, the time in which he did not fight her and she forgot to fight him. She had looked forward to his flight. She had forgotten it was impossible.

He was dangerous, and last night he had been even more so, lying open like a fresh steel blade off the grinder, so ready to cut her down. And she had lay beneath that blade, opening up her dreams and hopes and, for what? In the morning, she was still Quistis Trepe and he was still Seifer Almasy. Just as it would be every morning that followed, forever.

Although, she was fast losing perspective on what that meant…or didn't mean.

It was time to let him go. His success or his failure, it had to be out of her hands now. The weight was too heavy, and if she were honest with herself, she would admit that it had become too precious.

She closed her eyes tightly, just hard enough to dispel her current line of thought. When she opened her eyes, she saw an empty line of desks, awash with sunlight. The brightness stung her eyes.

It's time to wake up, Quistis, she told herself. It is time to stop dreaming and to go back to the life you had before.

She called him on the com system, and stared out into nothing, shutting down the burning in her chest like a light switch, gazing at the shadows on the floor.

…

…

…

Seifer found her sitting on top of one of the large desks, feet swinging out beneath her as she looked out the window. He'd gotten her summons on his answering machine, although the thing had needed several kicks to spit out the message. Curious that she'd taken the time to seek him out before he could seek her out, he'd walked up to the second story classroom.

The desk was grand, polished- it seemed to eclipse her in its quiet grandeur. She'd changed into her old uniform- the SeeD uniform with all its buttons and gold trim. Save the Queen was spiraled onto her belt, the silver tip lying against the desk. She was leaning back, gazing outside the window, hands folded her lap as she swung her legs a little. It was the classroom that she had taught him in. She'd stood so tall at the front of the classroom, the graceful poise of her spine flawless and her face composed in confidence, a mask for all her uncertainty.

She was always a little tentative. He had recognized it in her as a child, and he felt it now, too- the hesitation in her eyes behind all her cleverness and assurance. He walked over to her, lifting her hair back from her cheek to gaze at the somewhat subdued bruises that lingered there. She flinched.

"You look better." He said, quietly.

She looked him over, her eyes traveling the length of him and assessing his injuries. The flicker of her eyes stirred some heat in him, and he made no move to hide it.

"You should go and see the doctor." She said, briskly. The warmth that had lingered in her gaze the night previous had vanished, leaving the look of blue steel he was used to seeing. She reminded him of the Trepe he had known two years ago, the stone statue with a permanent icicle up her ass.

"You didn't call me up here just to tell me to see the doctor, did you?"

She met his gaze. "No."

He stopped just short of her, leaning back on the center desk in the front row. He folded his arms. "Then what?"

She folded her hands, looking uncomfortable at his proximity. "Your SeeD assessment will be a week from today." She said, gazing back out the window. "I called you up to see if there were any questions or lessons you needed on procedure."

He shrugged. Like procedure was going to help him. Following procedure had never been the problem. It had always been the fucking morons behind it that he hated following.

Quistis shoved herself off of the desk, walking with her hands folded behind her back. "I see. Well then, as of now, your evaluation is officially finished. Feel free to check out any one of the several Field Exam documentations to refresh the procedures, but in the meantime, if you're ready to complete your preliminary exam, I'll be most happy to notify Instructor Green or Instructor Glyphias, and-"

Evaluation. It sounded like such a dirty word.

He remained silent.

She looked exasperated. "Seifer, your physical and psychological evaluation is completed. You qualify. All that remains for you is to take the exam. You hardly need-"

But his mind had snagged on something. His eyes narrowed, as if he were suddenly coming to a conclusion. "My psychological evaluation?"

"An evaluation was required by the board, as it was for Edea, for your admittance back here-" Quistis said, carefully.

Seifer was staring at her. "All this time you've been mind-fucking me, to see if I was nuts, or what?"

She flinched. But isn't this what she wanted? His distance? "You knew what this was. I was supposed to evaluate you. But Seifer, it hasn't been-"

Psychological. His pride was still stinging.

You knew she was evaluating you…instructing you. Yeah, but I didn't know she was psychologically screwing me.

"I can't think of anyone less qualified to mind-fuck me. You're a real mind fuck yourself, you know that?"

She looked…wounded. Good.

"I wonder now, what'd they have to dangle in front of you for you to baby-sit me? A promotion? Squall's dick, what?"

But she was angry too, now. She stood up from her lazy crouch against the desk, hands fisted. "You should be happy that this is over and done with! Now you're finally rid of me, and soon you'll be able to wear a SeeD uniform and screw your way around Garden, just like all your romantic dreams-"

He was livid. "Don't patronize me! All this time…all this fucking time-" He cut the sentence short, the intended meaning hanging between them in the air.

He noticed her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed at the corners, her gaze down. Which meant she was either really angry or really upset. He couldn't tell. He didn't care.

"I just wanted to help you-" she shouted back at him.

"You wanted to help yourself!" he shouted, slamming his fist into the side of one of the desks. "You wanted to help yourself, and Cid wanted to help himself, and I was just a fucking technicality!" He chuckled, cruelly. "You know, it's hilarious, you evaluating my head. You barely know what's going on in yours!"

"Seifer, I wanted to help-"

"I don't need your help! I don't want anything from you!" he growled, advancing on her as she backed away. Her back was at the desk by the time he reached her, but she stood her ground, steady, although the look in her eyes was tumultuous. "I'd forgotten how this place works. How you work."

She was shaking her head, looking at him with a look that was very unlike anything that had to do with Quistis Trepe at all. It was open, vulnerable, hoping, the same eyes that she had stared at him with years ago with that same glance and that same hope and he hated her, hated her more than he hated his father. At least his father hadn't looked at him with that damned hope in his eyes, asking him to be something he couldn't.

"Stop looking at me like that! Stop it!" he said, slamming his hand down onto the hard table top hard enough to make a flurry of papers and cups jump to the floor. She jumped, both of them gasping for breath.

"When did you become such a bitter person?" she asked aloud.

"When did you become such a slut for ambition?" he snarled.

Furious, she raised her hand to slap him, but he caught her easily, wrenching her hand around behind her back and pulling her up against him. She struggled, briefly, glaring up into his eyes. "You're making it into this, because that's what you find easier to believe. You believe that someone would never want to help you because they wanted to. Seifer, this is your chance-"

"My chance to what?" he shouted, ripping his hand free of hers. Away from that damned warmth, that fucking possibility. "My chance? No, Trepe. This was your chance!" He snapped.

He backed away from her, the rage in him boiling up to scorn. "You and I both know it's never going to happen. Did either of us really think that SeeD was going to welcome me in with open arms?"

She was shouting now, too. "Then why'd you come back?"

"Because I didn't have anywhere else to go. Do you understand what that's like, Trepe? To run out of places?"

She saw the pain in his eyes, and she felt it, some distant answer that bubbled up in her brain.

Yes. I do, Seifer. I know exactly what that's like.

The understanding in her eyes nearly undid him.

He released her, backing up and pacing across the room. "This place hasn't changed at all. And neither have you. And neither have I."

She touched his shoulder, and he spun, body colliding with hers and knocking them both back into the desk. The warmth of her skin reached up to press against his shirt.

Among other things.

They stared at one another, her gaze laid bare in a way that pulled at both his groin and his chest and shit she was beautiful-

-and terrifying, and repulsive-

 

Their gazes met for a moment, and he wanted to break her, to spread her out across the desk and to pour every anger and resentment he had ever had into her. She blinked up at him, unmoving. He wanted to kiss her.

He wanted to ruin her.

"Don't touch me." He snarled, wanting her and hating her more than he had ever hated her in his life. He stalked out the door, wishing to high hell he meant what he said. Wishing every cell in his body weren't burning in him to turn around.

…

…

…

Irvine nudged his buddy as the shores near Dollet approached crimson in the early hour of twilight. "Hey, sunshine," he said good-naturedly, patting Gzarth on the back. "We're almost there."

Gzarth was leaning over the side of the ship, his black jacket tucked around him as he squeezed his eyes shut, willing the damned boat to stop spinning in circles.

"We can eat at that little seafood place before we go into town." Said Zell, enjoying Gzarth's predicament. "You know, the one with the hot rolls and the all you can eat crab-" Irvine elbowed him.

"I've had enough of the ocean, thanks," muttered Gzarth, turning a new shade of green.

"I should say so, buddy," agreed Irvine. "I think you tossed your stomach overboard about an hour ago." The tall young man adjusted his hat. "No worries, fellas, we're almost there."

Zell just grinned. "Can't wait to get a good night's sleep for a change. That damned dog took up three quarters of the bed, and the thing snores."

"Now you know how Arya feels," said Irvine, grinning.

"Hey, I don't snore!" insisted Zell petulantly, folding his arms.

"Say what you will," muttered Irvine. "I brought ear plugs this time."

Gzarth leaned up for a moment, having just wretched another dry heave at the water. Even Zell was starting to feel sorry for the guy. "So, tomorrow, we check out Xyionn, right?"

Irvine nodded. "We're going to find out what we can from the townsfolk first, then scope the area. It's just an information run. Serabin made it pretty clear he doesn't want any action taken yet."

Gzarth nodded, then promptly leaned over the boat again, praying to Hyne to make the boat stop.

Irvine just shook his head, walking towards the front of the ship with Zell in tow. "I'm just anxious to get this mission over with. Don't feel right leavin' Garden right now."

Zell shrugged. "I just want to get the hell off this boat. It's making me nuts."

Irvine grinned. "I think you n' Gzarth can agree on somethin', then." Irvine looked over his shoulder. "I think I saw a boot come outta that kid halfway outta of the harbor."

…

…

…

Selphie glanced over at Arya, the computer screen light flickering off tired eyes. "Find anything yet, Ary?" The two had snuck out past curfew, and with the help of Arya's key, had taken up residence in the library. They had drunk two liters of orange soda and eaten a box of wheat crackers 'borrowed' from the cafeteria between them, but so far, found no renegade terrorists with online postings, or any evidence as to who would be capable of long-term mag coupling.

The young woman shook her head, never taking her eyes from the screen as she adjusted her glasses. "Nope. RX4018547 is pretty elusive, I'm afraid. Either that or I'm just looking in the wrong places."

Selphie stopped her reading for a minute. "What kind of organization do you think they are?"

Arya shrugged. "An organization with revenue to blow, apparently. They've spent one million on tech supplies from AmmuCorp so far this year, and I've never even heard of them."

"Maybe they're the terrorist faction we've been looking for." Said Selphie.

"I doubt it," replied Arya, taking a sip of soda. "Terrorist factions get supplies from other independent factions most of the time. Hot weapons, hot electronics, stolen merchandise, stuff like that. They usually try to stay as far off the mainstream as possible."

Selphie wiped some cracker dust off of the keyboard as she attempted to search through another book for information about mag coupling developments. "Maybe it's a stupid terrorist faction."

Arya looked grim. "If only that were true. However, if they cracked Darwin Drosskow's system and the IGCS security interface, and managed to get enough explosives to level the entire building…then they've got better hackers and better military than Balamb Garden."

"Naw!" insisted Selphie. "No hacker's better than you, Ary!"

"Oh, I don't know about that," replied the other SeeD modestly, but she was smiling.

Selphie turned a page in her book. Great Hyne, the scientist in this book sure was happy to talk about all the varieties of poison, but when it came to incorporating them with artillery, the guy was no help at all. What boring stuff. "Maybe they've got a public and a private operative running," she thought out loud. "Y'know, kinda like most politicians."

Arya started laughing suddenly.

"What's so funny?" asked Selphie, looking up from her lap.

"I don't think we have anything to fear from RX4018547. Not unless they're going to clean us to death. C'mere, Selphie."

The brunette got up leaned over her shoulder, and a smile lit up her face. "We've been looking all night for maid service?"

KLEENKORP

MAIDS MADE IN HEAVEN!

The girls broke into laughter.

Arya shook her head. "No wonder I wouldn't find them! I was doing all these intensive search programs, when all I had to do was run a general search! They were item one on the search results, for heaven's sake!" Arya grinned, clicking on a picture of a SensBot decorated in an apron and wielding duster, its eyes red pins of light that looked out of place on a 'household appliance'. "They order the SensBots wholesale, then modify them for their own personal use. None of the weapons systems are equipped on the bots, so they must get them at a bargain price. RX4018547 must be just their ordering label." Arya shook her head. "Hyne, don't I feel silly."

Selphie laughed. "Well, hopefully the boys are having better luck with Xyionn."

"I hope not." Said Arya quietly. "I hope it turns out to be nothing."

Selphie shook her head. "Not me. Zell and Irvy can take care of themselves. We'll find whoever is behind this soon, I'm sure of it. And when we do- booyaka! Balamb's name'll be cleared, the bad guys'll be locked up, and all of this will settle down again."

Arya was quiet as she shut off the monitor, then turned to her friend. "Don't you worry?"

Selphie's expression turned serious for a moment. "Lately? All the time."

…

…

…

Quistis sat in the small, secluded portion of the classroom that ran off of Dr. Kadowaki's infirmary wing, trying to eat a ham sandwich and trying not to think about anything relating to Seifer Almasy. She was having better success with the sandwich.

It was a small cube of a room, with a single line of cabinets with budsen burners and a few chemical wash sinks. It was the area in which she helped Dr. Kadowaki infuse the 'mag-bags', as Dr. Kadowaki called them, and the area in which she'd studied in her earlier years to get some peace and quiet. Now, hours after curfew, she sat with a sack of provisions stolen from the cafeteria (a little move she'd picked up from Zell), and the envelope from the D.S. Research center. Cerberus sat at her feet, snoring, having eaten five ham sandwiches of his own. She tapped on the front cover of the manila envelope, debating whether or not to open it. She had a silly sense of trepidation that she could not explain.

Stop being ridiculous, she told herself.

With the edge of her thumbnail, she quickly sliced open the belly of the envelope and spilled its contents onto the desk. A stack of papers secured with a paperclip and a small plastic bag with the bullet inside fluttered onto the desk, casing Cerberus to lift an ear.

Ms. Trepe,

We here at the D.S.ResearchCenter wish to inform you that the findings here forth enclosed are, at best, inconclusive. DNA types C and D were not identifiable, and the poisons contained on the bullet were not entirely of a physical nature, meaning that there has been some mag-infusion . We would also like to inquire as to whether the subject from whom this physical specimen was acquired is still living. If so, we would inquire as to the nature of his sustained injuries, and, if possible, acquire more of the victim's biomass near the affected area. I have left my number on the attached sheet- please do not hesitate to call at any hour. We will look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Jamis Wellshire, MD

Lead Scientist of Product Development, D.S.ResearchCenter

ENCLOSURES

Bullet Type AO14 slug findings:

85 Steel, pure substance

5 Aluminum, pure substance

10 Biomass, defined below

10 Biomass findings

DNA type A: Human, male, normal

DNA type B: Human, female, normal

DNA type C: unidentifiable, abnormal, unstable

DNA type D: unidentifiable, abnormal, unstable

Poison, type:

 

Atropa Belladonna, extract

Amanita Verna, extract.

Calcium oxalate

Hyoscyamine,

Benadomine,

Scopolamine

Poison type A: inconclusive

Poison type B: inconclusive

Please note that the toxicity of unidentified types Poison A & B were thrice that of those identified. We urge you to again to call us here at the DS Research Center the moment you acquire this information.

She picked up the phone in Dr. Kadowaki's laboratory, dialing the number and waiting for a response on the other end while impatiently tapping her foot against the chair leg. It was late, but she was sure someone was up at that time of the night. There was always someone awake there- it was the nature of the scientist. Unending curiosity and caffeine.

Cerberus raised himself onto the counter, sniffed the bullet and growled.

"Get down, Cerberus," she muttered.

"You have reached the D.S. Research Center. We are unable to field your call at this time-"

"Get down." She insisted to the large animal, moving to push the giant dog off of the counter.

Quistis was about to replace the receiver when a voice scrambled on. "Hello?"

Quistis adjusted the phone. "Hello. To whom am I speaking?"

"Uh, this is Darvis? If this is about the pizzas, we didn't order any pizzas, and we aren't paying for them."

"Darvis, is Dr. Wellshire there?"

"Uh…yes, yes he is."

"May I speak with him?"

"Uh, who's calling, please?"

"This is Quistis Trepe." At the pause, she continued. "The SeeD who sent in the bullet for bioanalysis."

"Oh, he's been waiting to speak with you. I'll get him right away." There was a cluttering on the other end, followed by a curse. Quistis smiled against the receiver. Darvis had apparently dropped the phone.

An older voice was on immediately. "Do you have the specimen?"

"Excuse me?" Quistis frowned. "Who is this?"

"Oh, excuse me. This is Dr. Willshire. The individual from which that bullet was harvested. Do you have any salvageable biomass from the corpse?"

"The individual is living, Mr. Willshire."

A pause. "Are you sure?"

Quistis made a face. "Pretty sure, yes." He just shouted at me two hours ago.

"Interesting. May I ask if said individual has been displaying any symptoms?" Quistis was amazed at the man's nervousness. Suspicion pooled in her belly. Could the findings have been that bad?

"No, a bit of tenderness around the wound and slight swelling, but that was to be expected." Really, Quistis had not checked Almasy for injuries since their return from the IGCS incident, and neither had Kadowaki. He really was an ornery patient.

"Amazing."

"Why amazing?"

"Because this person should be dead."

Quistis blinked.

The man appeared to be jittery with nerves. "The poison could not be duplicated, but that which was applied to living specimens in the lab seemed to cause a paralysis that was not a paralysis."

"I don't follow you," said Quistis into the receiver, making circles with her pen on the pad of Garden paper in front of her.

"Mmmm…that is to say, when we injected the poison into the animals, they became essentially immobile, paralyzed. They still, however, responded to the most basic of stimulus, when, ah, we applied that stimulus directly into their most basic sensory organs."

"That sounds like paralysis to me, Dr. Willshire. Quite a normal response to the types of poisons listed, am I right?"

"No."

Her patience was wearing thin. "Why not?"

"Ah…you see, Ms. Trepe, these specimens were already dead. The toxin shut down their hearts almost instantly. They were responsive to stimulus, however, for hours after death."

Quistis stopped scribbling. "A poison counter that stimulates dead tissue even as it creates it? How is that humanly possible?"

"Well…it isn't."

Quistis was losing her patience. "Then, Dr.Willshire, in what realm of possibility is this possible?"

"The individual this bullet took. Male?"

"Yes."

"In reasonable shape?"

"Yes."

"Weight?"

"Around two hundred, I believe."

A pause into the phone. "There is no realm of possibility, Miss Trepe. This baffles me."

"There has to be something," insisted Quistis. "Were there any natural inhibitors present in the bullet, that would slow the poison's action time?"

"None. We isolated a few small samples and tested it further, and ah, well, it seems to trigger the release of a large amount of serotonin in the brain, among other things. The victim is rendered immobile and sensationally overloaded, the rest of the…business takes place. We don't even have terms for it. This is bio-weaponry on a level we've never seen equaled. We'd like to know where that bullet came from, Ms. Trepe." 

"So would I, Mr. Willshire." replied Quistis, baffled.

There was a pause on the phone, and Quistis glanced down at the reports. "The DNA sample reports….what exactly do you mean by 'unstable?'"

"Ah. The DNA was of particular interest. You see, the poison's enzymatic composition changed when we ran samples on it. The proteins also. We ran seven small scale tests. The DNA was different each time. It was as if the poison was shifting, living…adapting in its isolation…it would appear that its genetic structure is replicating, and changing in each subsequent replication."

Quistis frowned. "But that's impossible. Mutations only occur that rapidly in things with hyper-Malthusian life cycles, like bacteria, or-"

"Yes, we know. We're currently running tests on that machinery. But we doubt the error is mechanical."

Quistis just stared down at her papers again. None of this made sense.

"With your permission, we're going to continue to run tests on the isolated poison sample," said Mr. Willshire.

"SeeD's budget has reached its fiscal limits, I fear, doctor. I can't order any more tests run without proper authority, and that authority isn't currently present."

"Your team did us a world of good years ago. Allowed us to set up shop again, in a matter of speaking. Consider this as much an excursion of our own curiosity as it is a thank you."

"We appreciate it, Dr. Willshire. If possible, I'd like a cross analysis with the toxins that Dr. Kadowaki sent in some time ago. They should be listed under-" Quistis flipped a sheet. "JD-137, 0168415C. I know that your initial results turned back with a diagnosis of disassociative, hemorrhagic mag-poisoning, but I want you to run it again and compare any toxins that may be present in the tissue."

"JD-137…0168415C. Yes, we sill have a sample here."

"Good. Please contact us as soon as you know anything further. Information that would be especially helpful to us is who exactly would have the capacity to make a weapon like this."

"We'll call you as soon as we know anything further. Stay in touch." With that, Dr. Willshire's end was disconnected.

Quistis set down the phone, lost in thought.

…

…

…

Seifer lay on the cot, one arm behind his head and another that held up a tiny object between his fingers. He gazed up at the ring, squinting at it as the light flickered from one edge of the band to the other. It was simple enough, with small, curved etchings made in glinting gold presses all around the band. It was the one object that had survived the pickpockets that had rifled through his drunken form in the alleyways, probably because it was sewn into the inner pocket of his jacket. The ring had fascinated him as a child, and he had lain with his mother in the big bed, gently twisting the band on her finger as she stroked his hair. In the last days, she'd eased the circlet off and pressed the circlet into his palm. Her voice was dull, and raspy, but she smiled at him as she spoke. She always smiled at him, even when her pain was the worst and it made her throw up.

"Hey, little man." She said, her special name for him. Not boy. Little man- it made him feel important. "This is a special gift for you, but you can't play with it like your other toys, all right? You have to keep this in a special place, so you don't lose it. You have to keep it for me."

"Why don't you keep it, momma?"

She smiled, the once beautiful lines of her face stretched taut, a strained beauty that he loved anyway. "Because it's for you. So you can remember me. Someday-" She lifted her hand to her mouth, and her chest wracked, violent coughs erupting behind her lips and her curled palm. Seifer ducked his head onto her shoulder, his little fingers holding her tight as he squeezed her eyes shut. He hated her coughs. He always squeezed her extra tight as if he could keep them inside her, could keep the sickness inside her forever and she would be all right. She'd gotten the cough only recently, the bedridden nature of her sickness leaving her open for all kinds of other disease.

Like a flower, lain out for other things to trample on.

She said she had cancer inside of her bones. Seifer had checked every one of her fingers and toes, her legs and arms, and proclaimed the doctor wrong. She had laughed. Seifer would learn, later, when he was older, the terrible pain of her sickness, but he never saw it in her eyes. She'd always kept it from him, always smiled and laughed and read him stories and she'd been dying…dying slowly in a trailer bed with only her son for company..

He couldn't save her, no one could have…but since the day she'd closed her eyes beside him, he'd never stopped wishing. Or blaming himself.

The coughing subsided. "Because," she began again, her voice a little weaker this time, "Someday you'll meet a pretty girl, and she'll make you want to spend a long, long time with her."

Seifer sincerely doubted it, since it was a well-documented fact that other little girls had cooties and were generally pains in the ass, but he didn't say anything. The idea of it seemed to make his mother happy.

His mother was still smiling. "So, when that happens, you give her this-" she closed her hands around his smaller ones, and gave them a little squeeze, which, in all likelihood, was the extent of her strength. "You give her this, and you think about me and remember how proud I am of you."

He looked up at her. "But I wanna spend a long time with you, Momma."

She smiled, water brimming in her eyes, and she gave his hands another squeeze. "I know you do, sweetie. Me too. But sometimes we can't stay as long as we'd like to. We have to go when it's our time. You understand?"

He didn't, but he nodded anyway.

She smiled. "When you give the pretty girl that ring, it'll be like I'm there, watching, all right? I'll be watching you, up in the stars." His mother was always talking about the stars, how she'd watch him from there, and he'd look up and visit. He had no idea what the hell she was talking about, but it seemed nice enough.

He looked at her for a long time. "Someday, when I'm big, Momma, I'm gonna get all the stars and stick 'em on the ground, so you can dance on 'em, okay? Just for you. Then you won't have to go away. You can stay here with me and Dad." He didn't have any doubts that once he was big enough, he'd be tall enough to do just that.

"Okay." She said laughing a little, but a tear slipped down her cheek, falling onto the pillow.

"Whatsa matter, momma?" It was the first time that she had ever cried in front of him before, and the sight unnerved him.

"Momma's just tired." She shifted. "You wanna sleep in the big bed with me tonight? Daddy has to work late."

"Yeah." He said, snuggling closer. "Sing me the song 'bout the field, okay?"

She was holding him just a little tightly, but he didn't mind. "Okay, little man…" Softly, she stroked his hair, the words bubbling up, a sweet shadow of her former voice but one that was pretty all the same.

"You'll remember me, as the west wind moves, along the fields of barely-" the words rose and fell just like the breeze, and he soon closed his eyes, listening to the murmur of her heart and the gentle vibration of her voice in her throat.

In the last days, his father rarely left her side, except to go to work. He could still remember the image of his father, his wife gathered up in the house, walking from room to room, a methodical beat to his step, back and forth, forth and back, his mother's arms wound around his neck. Later, Seifer would recognize it as a waltz. His mother's death waltz. It was, perhaps, his only good lasting memory of his father.

"I never made promises lightly, and there have been some that I've broken….but I swear, in the days still left-" her voice hitched a little here, sweetness catching on a mortal thorn, but she continued, her hands still lovingly stroking his hair, the beat of butterfly wings against his cheek. "That we'll walk in fields of gold."

He had smiled, imagining that he and his mother were dancing on a blanket of stars…above those fields of gold….

Seifer curled his fist around the ring, setting it on the desk beside the cot and rolling over. His mother died delirious with pain, and his father had followed soon after, although his father had been dead tohim the moment they put his mother in the ground. He'd lost two parents in one day.

He lost everything, and woke up that day to find out that there weren't any fucking fields of gold.

He remembered standing in the rain in his best suit because they couldn't afford an umbrella...or his father had been too out of his mind to remember one.  He, his father, and some old man reading out of a big book were standing in the middle of a cemetery, staring down at a pine box in the ground. The dirt was quickly turning to mud, dripping down on the box in large splotches. Two men stood off to the side with shovels, looking bored. He didn't know why they were there, but he wished they'd leave.

His mother was in that box, sleeping, her hands folded on her chest and her best dress on, the one with the red flowers. She was wearing her black shoes with straps and gold buckles. He didn't know why she was wearing those. She said they'd hurt her feet.

He had never known his mother's family. He knew only that she had married against money, and now money wanted nothing more to do with her.

The willows whispered in the wind, drenched, and the gray stone slabs around them also appeared to weep.

"Into the earth, I walk in shadow, but let those shadows stray from my heart-"

His father smelled like vodka. He hadn't showered or slept. He stood behind Seifer, staring blankly down at the grave like he didn't recognize it, rain dripping down his coat and into his eyes. He didn't blink.

"Let me release my sorrows and my pain, and let me walk in the light and ebb gently back into the slumber of time, where all pain is erased, where all tears are ended-let me cross this bridge to light through death's brief darkness-"

He wished the old man would shut up so he could wake up his mother and they could go home. Maybe they could eat at that diner on the corner that his mother liked. They always shared their fries together, and his dad cut his steak for him. The place smelled like pepper and there were peanut shells on the floor, and the fireplace was warm. His mom always let him have ice cream after.

It was freezing here. His small jacket was soaked, and his hair was hanging down into his eyes. It was like the water was pulling him down into the mud, with her.

"And now, I give my soul back unto the earth, and I am cleansed, I am born anew, let Hyne's grace embrace me and let my spirit be at peace. Let my soul soar into the endless heavens, and be free forever."

The two men started forward. He didn't understand what they were doing until they lifted their shovels and dumped a mound of sod onto his mother's pine box.

Reality slapped him in the face.

"No!" he shouted, running forward. "You can't do that! She's in there! My mom's in there!"

His father's hands were cutting into his shoulders, but he fought against them. "No! She'll be cold in there! Let me go! Let me go!" Wet, he wormed himself free, and flew at one of the men, knocking him down into the ground before he scrambled towards his mother's grave, mud filling his cuffs and his shoes and rain stinging his eyes.

"Momma! Wake up! We gotta go! Momma!"

His father dragged him back again, tackled him into the mud and nearly broke his arm trying to haul him up. He was screaming for his mother, but she wasn't coming.

The man got back up, and, doggedly,  the two began shoveling again. Slowly, the last of his mother's pine box disappeared from view as Seifer watched, helpless, trapped in his father's hard embrace.

"You see that!" screamed his father. "You see that! She's dead! She isn't coming back!"

"Liar! Liar! She isn't dead!" he screamed. He wormed free again, and threw himself into the mud, clawing at the dirt. It only slipped through his fingers, however, and soon it all slipped through, sliding down, down, pulling his stomach with it. He screamed for her, again and again-

She was gone. She had said she would never leave him and she was gone.

His father had gone long ago. He sat in the rain for another hour until the priest came and got him and drove him home.

He cried himself sick that night, until his father stumbled into his room and beat the shit out of him, screaming at him to stop that awful noise, knocking out two of his baby teeth and smacking his head against the end table in his room until he threw up all over the floor.

It was the first time his father had hit him, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

When he threw up, his father had started screaming all over again, then stumbled out in the rain, disappearing for the rest of the night. Seifer had waited until the house was quiet, then slunk into his parent's room, crawling onto his mother's side of the bed and smelling her faint perfume on the sheets and gripping her ring in his fist until the metal seemed to burn his skin.

He stared at the wall the entire night, studying the shadows and wishing that he was in the ground with his mother. It was then that the Skeleton Boy emerged.

It was the first time he had conjured up the image…but it certainly would not be the last.

Sixteen years later, he studied that same circlet, watching the play of light on the band.

Narrowing his eyes, he threw the ring across the room, rolling over in his bed and onto a sitting position, burying his head in his hands. Garden would leave Balamb soon, and wherever it landed, he was getting the fuck off. He was going to find another bottle of booze and another gil-an-hour hotel and finish the legacy his father had started. The one that burned in his veins, the one that now, throbbed in his head in a constant beat of nothing.

His blood was poison, and he was tired of fighting it.

"Time to end this," he muttered into the darkness, unaware of how true his words were about to become.