A/N: A couple more chapters after this. Hope you enjoy.

My Love Is Like to Ice

My love is like to ice, and I to fire:
How come it then that this her cold is so great
Is not dissolved through my hot desire,
But harder grows the more I her entreat?
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat
Is not allayed by her heart-frozen cold,
But that I burn much more in boiling sweat,
And feel my flames augmented manifold?
What more miraculous thing may be told,
That fire, which is congealed with senseless cold,
Should kindle fire by wonderful device?
Such is the power of love in gentle mind,
That it can alter all the course of kind.

-Edmund Spenser

Chapter 38- Return of the Grey Wolf

Esthar Presidential Palace, Esthar

The chandeliers spilled a scattered, strained gold light down onto the glossed marble floors, and the sound of an orchestra echoed throughout the blue palace. The windows, as high and grand as the ceiling, poured in a blue sky and the sun's dying reflection on the emerald city. Dressed in a beautiful gown and standing in the middle of an elegant palace, a less cynical girl would have felt immersed in a fairy tale. Quistis, however, was as cynical as she was romantic, and so the effect of the palace ended in a draw.

Whether owing to her humble beginnings, her lack of romantic luck, or the childhood she'd spent in upper-class hell, Quistis Trepe held a faint distaste for formal occasions. She did, however, harbor a secret love for dresses and dancing, although she would never willingly admit it. She supposed it was the one good unconscious memory gleaned from the hellish fairy tale life she'd been forced to help uphold for many years, her arms and psyche shaking like Atlas under the dysfunctional household.

When she had dressed up as a little girl, when they had gone to the fancy parties, it had all seemed real…possible, as if she really were a princess waiting for her prince…as if they all were one big happy family and not falling apart at the seams.

A fairy tale.

Tonight, with all its glittering chandeliers and marble walls, seemed every bit the stage for such a thing. Still, she couldn't help but think of a celebration three years ago, and of a father figure dressed in a red vest, toasting the camera with a glass of champagne. That time seemed far away now, as well as the girl that had lived it.

Quistis sighed, gazing out at the sea of politicians and over-dressed mercenaries. Time to play the part of political princess… even if she felt more like a toad stuffed into eveningwear.

The dress she wore was on loan from an Estharian boutique courtesy of Laguna Loire, and, Quistis was willing to bet, worth more than anything she had ever owned, save possibly Save the Queen. Save the Queen, however, was the result of many years of saving, sweat, and the ripping apart of various beasts to find salvageable tendons or sinew to wind into the weapon.

Save the Queen was one of the few belongings she still possessed after B. Garden's collapse- it had been recovered on the Estharian battlefield. She could still remember sitting up nights in her early years at garden, winding oil into the hard thong of T-Rexaur tendon and Wendigo leather to keep it supple. It was all she'd been able to afford and even now, the whip held a kind of nostalgia for her. She was glad to have it back.

They had salvaged what they could from Garden's scorched and hollow belly, searching through the dormitories for anything that they recognized as theirs. Quistis had managed to salvage a few pictures with the frames cracked, a few pieces of clothing, and found half of her sofa two miles west of the initial crash site. Most records and possessions had been destroyed, although she did hold out hope that the recovery crew would find a few of the things on the inventory lists they'd been encouraged to make. In the meantime, however, local museums were clamoring for artifacts in the wreck from the LIBERI FATALI…it looked like even the media had gotten their hands on the phrase as well. It was rather disconcerting to Quistis that her belongings could end up in a memorial, with or without her consent. Balamb already sported an embarrassingly large memorial from the Second Sorceress War which featured herself, Squall, Selphie, Zell, Irvine and Rinoa, all made of bronze and looking stoic as they gazed out into the town square. Quistis, her eyes still stinging from all the camera flashes, found she had had quite enough of fame, thank you, and was fairly sure her friends felt the same.

The tabloids were also running stories constantly- QUISTIS TREPE: ALIEN SAVIOR SENT TO EARTH and CID KRAMER: MAFIA RINGLEADER LIVES, and, her personal favorite SEIFER ALMASY: ZOMBIE SPOTTED ON BALAMB COAST. She'd never been much for the attention, herself, and looked forward to the day when the media moved onto another subject. Fortunately, Laguna's guest list included only a few respectable media figures, so they could count on more political than social coverage.

Quistis gingerly felt at her headpiece, a shining collection of beautifully bent silver that curved above her ears and dripped small, hanging crystals down next to her hairpins. It hung like finely crafted icicles in her hair, complimenting the color of the dress. She'd opened her hotel suite to find the headpiece and a dress tag on a hanger in her closet that was redeemable at the local shoppe, courtesy of the President of Esthar. Laguna Loire had apparently thrown a ball only to realize that the guests of honor had nothing suitable to wear to it. As a result, the local boutiques had been called in and ordered to fit the temporarily homeless (and clothing-less) soldiers. She wasn't sure why Laguna had given her the beautiful hairpiece, but she gratefully accepted it all the same.

She'd gone to Rinoa and Selphie's room, only to find that they'd been the recipients of the tickets as well. The three had smiled, shrugged, and decided to accept in the spirit of things. In just another day, they'd all be garbed in coveralls and slathered in oil and sawdust, jumping off the rebuilding efforts back in Balamb. There would be a decided lack of crab cakes, champagne flutes, and fancy ballrooms after tonight. In fact, there would be a decided lack of everything, including wages, after tonight.

"When in Esthar…" Selphie had said, shrugging.

And so, wearing the same clothing they'd been wearing for the past two days, they'd ventured down to the dress boutique (the only one left standing), and, clueless in the world of fashion, she'd allowed her friends to select a gown for her. Rinoa had prowled the shop before holding up the blue silk dress to her, squinting before nodding.

"It sets off your eyes!" she'd exclaimed.

"What are you wearing?" she'd asked, glancing over her shoulder as Rinoa laced her up the back. Her friend grinned, gesturing to the beautiful dress she was wearing. "It's an overpriced red velvet cut, backless with a side slit. We'll be like royalty! I'll be the red Queen, and you can be the blue, Quisty!" Her friend twirled, and the red dress twirled with her- she was a blur of blood and raven hair.

I'll be the red queen…and you can be the blue….

A shudder passed through her suddenly, and Rinoa frowned. "What's wrong?"

Quistis turned around, frowning. "Nothing." And then she saw the dress, and almost didn't recognize herself in the mirror. It was beautiful, the most beautiful piece of clothing she had ever owned, and though she couldn't imagine ever having an excuse to wear something this elaborate again, it would be nice for one night to put it on, to pretend…

"Have you been sleeping well?"

"Fine," replied Quistis.

It was a terrible lie, and Rinoa knew it, but her friend hadn't had time to press her. Selphie, in her typical disregard for others' privacy, had burst in with ten different dresses, begging them to help her choose. Eventually, Selphie had decided on a beautiful green gown, and, their purchases slipped into plastic protective sheaths, they went to lunch at an expensive restaurant and split an entire chocolate mousse cake between the three of them before picking out suitable shoes.

Quistis picked up the hem of her evening gown took a long swig of champagne as she headed across the floor, looking for Rinoa's red-clad form in the crowd. The crystal icicles from her headdress brushed her shoulders as she moved- her own dress was a strapless cut, the color of a summer sky. The woman from the shop had called it a 'Crinkle silke Trabian ombre dress, with a shirred bodice with boning and back hooks'. The fancy terminology made her nervous.

The skirt of the dress was a silk whisper against the floor, the bodice backless and held up by some miracle of chest or gravity, she wasn't sure which. The only thing Quistis knew for certain was that the dress was definitely staying on, and that she might eventually have to employ help to get it off. Rinoa and Selphie had combined their powers of tugging in a joint effort to close the back hooks, and she'd had to literally stuff her somewhat generous bosom into the 'shirred bodice'. My cup runneth over, she thought, and suppressed a laugh.

Too much champagne, Quistis. Time to cut back.

She turned and continued the search for her friends, who were entirely to blame for her current state. Rinoa and Selphie had cornered her in the Estharian Inn and curled her hair, pinning it back in a shimmering cascade of curls and applying some make-up to her cheeks, lips and eyes. She sat through it good-naturedly, enjoying her friend's presence more so than their attempts at beautification. Selphie had also brought a bottle of Fisherman's Best Whiskey, and they'd taken generous swigs as they worked. By the time they were finished, they had all staggered out of the hotel room, giggling and tripping over their skirts. Even Xu had allowed herself to be pampered, but Quistis thought that owed more to the gallon of brandy that she and Serabin had been toasting over all afternoon than her desire to 'look pretty.'

Come to think of it, Xu's reasons, thought Quistis, probably had to do more with strategy than vanity. The new Balamb Headmaster was excited about all the politics and influence that would be filling out dance cards at the gala, and intended to schmooze as many as possible. She'd also recruited Quistis for the job, saying, "Brains, beauty, and a full bodice, Quistis…key to any politician's heart and, more importantly, his pocketbook."

And they needed as many additional pocketbooks as they could find for the reconstruction efforts. The new shield system alone was going to cost millions of gil, and the more signed contracts, the more pay advances, the better.

"Besides," her friend had added, smiling, "Nothing with lower hanging parts could refuse you in that dress."

Leave it to Xu to strategize in formal wear.

Quistis herself never thought much about her own looks, chalking them up more to accident than effort. Beauty, in Quistis' case, had never attracted anything useful. She still avoided mirrors, a lingering fear born of returning flashbacks, of her own horrified face staring back as her stepmother held a shard to her neck. When her friends said she looked beautiful, she simply smiled, thanked them, and took their word for it.

Besides Xu, both Rinoa and Selphie had been excited about the impromptu gala, and even Quistis agreed that the party had been an excellent idea to promote media coverage and to raise spirits. This was as much a celebration of the un-shielding of Esthar as it was a celebration of the resolution of the Third Sorceress War, after all.

It was also a strategy meeting with dancing and drinks…a pleasant change from the coffee-binge-all-nighter's she'd routinely pulled the night before a mission. Still, she somehow couldn't get her own spirits raised to match her friends' enthusiasm…her own happiness seemed hollow, as if crucial (nameless) pieces (or persons) were missing from it.

Cerberus trotted at her side, a red bow looped around his thick neck to prevent the other guests from thinking that a Wendigo-hybrid had invaded the palace (and to prevent the subsequent hysteria that was sure to follow). Dogs were not a common site in the Estharian palace, but for the purposes of celebration, both Angelo and Cerberus had been allowed to attend. Quistis was relieved to find out that after a brief bout of sniffing, neither dog seemed particularly interested in the other or that, at least, they seemed for the moment more interested in the food. Cerberus was roughly twice the size of Rinoa's dog, and Quistis was fairly certain, should a fight erupt, that Rinoa would be out a custom limit break or two.

Angelo was the very picture of impeccable training: she stuck like glue to Rinoa's side, obedient, well-groomed, and well-mannered. Cerberus, however, had already managed to get into one of the layered cakes after chasing an unfortunate violinist across the ballroom, and though Quistis had spent an hour diligently picking frosted flowers out of his short, dark hair, and apologizing to the kitchen staff, the dog still had a…sugar-coated look to him and a guilty look in his eye. After being reprimanded by Quistis (as the head chef hid behind her, trembling), Cerberus had apparently decided to stay close to Quistis' side (and out of trouble), following his mistress around the ballroom and growling at any waltzers that came too close. He looked up at her now, sitting handsomely, his pink tongue lolling out of his mouth as he wagged his tail at her as if to say, "Look at how good I'm being!"

Quistis reached down and scratched him between the ears before noticing her friends, who were waving her over.

Zell, Irvine, Selphie, and Rinoa were all seated around a circular table, half-buried in empty champagne glasses, dinner plates and surrounded by rubber Estharian fir trees. Quistis took a seat between Irvine and Rinoa.

"We're taking a break from the festivities," explained Rinoa, propping her feet up on a potted plant.

"Yeah, some festivities, my hand was gonna fall off from all the shakin'," said Irvine, holding up his glass to be refilled by a passing waiter. "Why's it when Xu's in charge of a party, we wind up doing more work than we have all year?"

"Where's Squall?" asked Quistis, after looking around the ballroom to try to locate their missing member.

Rinoa smiled, her cheeks rosy with champagne as she did her (still terrible) version of a wink. The young woman looked stunning in the sparkling red gown that fell to the floor in sweeps of crimson silk, complimented by a velvet black choker wound around her slender throat. She looked like some sort of ethereal dark angel, her hair pinned and framing her face in shining coils, her eyes dark and glittering in the speckled chandelier lights.

The two women smiled at one another, and Quistis felt warmth rise in her chest with affection for her friend.

"Here." Replied one of the rubber plants. Cerberus barked, and Quistis let out a squeak of surprise, nearly tumbling out of her chair.

"Shhhh!" came the hiss between the plastic leaves. "Do you want to give me away?"

Startled, Quistis peered behind Rinoa to see the Commander peeking out behind a particularly large rubber leaf. "What's he doing back there?" she asked.

Rinoa laughed. "Hiding from Xu," said the young sorceress, pointing to where Balamb's new headmaster was standing, dressed in a stunning black cocktail dress and smiling winningly at a clearly intoxicated Estharian senator, handing him yet another glass of champagne as she tucked her black purse under her arm. Quistis smiled and shook her head at her friend, remembering their conversation from earlier.

Walking down the hall with Xu, her friend eyeing her black sequined purse distastefully.

"What the hell are women supposed to put in these stupid little bags?" she growled. "They're as useless as this dress. Can't run…kick…have a hell of a time chasing any terrorists down-"

"There aren't going to be terrorists at this party, Xu. Laguna's armed the palace to the teeth with security precautions, and it's a VIP only guest list."

"So you say. I still hate the purse."

"Well, why bring the purse along then?"

"It came with the outfit," replied her friend stubbornly. It matches the dress.

Quistis rolled her eyes. "Well, what did you put in it then?"

"Well, all I could fit in it was my Razorback 9-"

"You put a hand pistol in your purse?! To bring to a ball?"

Xu looked positively indignant. "Well I couldn't very well fit my Negotiator hand models inside, could I?"

Quistis wondered if the Estharian senator would look so relaxed if he knew about the gun in the young woman's purse.

"Anyway, Xu wants him to help coerce the politicians into some more contracts, and out of some more money." Said Rinoa.

"I know," said Quistis ruefully, "She tried to recruit me, too."

"The last thing I want to do is to try to talk more politics with some greasy politician," muttered the commander. "I've had enough of politics to last a lifetime. No, make that two lifetimes...three…four…"

"It can't be that bad." Chuckled Rinoa. "Xu seems to be doing pretty well at it, in fact." Sure enough, Senator Baldwin was laughing, toasting a now smugly smiling Xu. Quistis could almost see Xu's inner cogs turning, adding another contract and another pocketbook for the rebuilding efforts.

"Just don't tell her where I am." Came the mutter.

"And where should we say you are?" asked Quistis, bemused.

The plant paused. "I don't know…tell her I died. Whatever."

Rinoa and Quistis exchanged a look, rolling their eyes before tuning into the other conversations around them.

"-going to bring popcorn," said Irvine, raising his champagne glass in a toast. "I want a front row seat when that son 'f a bitch goes down."

"What's he talking about?" asked Quistis.

Selphie glanced over, looking up from the video camera in her lap. "The Supreme Council just made an announcement from the D-District prisons."

"An' what a great announcement!" added Irvine, after downing his champagne. "Glyphias senior, sentenced to life in prison. Drake Sirri, convicted of fraud, extortion, espionage, laundering, treason, conspiracy to commit murder and Nida Xiong, convicted of espionage, murder 2, fraud, both sentenced to death by firin' squad! I'll get myself front row seats, popcorn, hell, soda, why not-"

Aside from Seifer, Nida's betrayal was unprecedented in Garden's history, and the group was divided in their feelings. Squall, Selphie and Irvine wanted justice, whereas Quistis, Zell and Rinoa, though angry, maintained a kind of distant pity for the young man, which mixed poorly with their feelings of anger and resentment.

Cerberus plunked his massive head in Quistis's lap just then, interrupting her thoughts. It was almost as if the dog could sense every anxiety that bubbled in her mind, and responded to it- it was like having a sympathetic heating blanket.

"This darn thing…" muttered Selphie, trying to shake her video camera on. Secretly, Quistis hoped the contraption was broken. Most of Selphie's recent taping at the Esthar Inn could be construed as 'blackmail footage', which included a scene of Quistis in her pajamas, chasing after her friend with a pillow and yelling about disturbing people's sleep.

Irving interrupted her thoughts of camera sabotage. "C'mon Zell, man, cheer up! Like, it's a celebration, not a damned funeral!" exclaimed the gunslinger, clapping his friend on the back.

Zell, however, sat quietly, staring miserably into his champagne glass as if it held the answers to all the world's problems.

"Poor Zell," muttered Selphie, shaking her head as she glared at her camera. "He's been like this since the trial."

Quistis couldn't blame him. If 'Arya's' unveiling had shocked her, she could only imagine how her friend felt.

Quistis looked down into the ruby-colored eyes of her dog, and patted his neck. If anyone needed Cerberus' plus-sized version of comfort, it was Zell. "Go by Zell," she said quietly, pointing at her friend. "Zell." The dog cocked his head, then trotted slowly over to Zell, nudging the martial arts master until he absently reached over to pet him. As the dog was table-height anyway, he didn't have to reach very far.

Xu chose that moment to walk over, and Quistis could swear she saw the plant cringe out of the corner of her eye.

"Have any of you seen Squall?" she asked, her dark eyes narrowing. "He's supposed to help me cull the political herds, but I haven't been able to locate him."

Everyone at the table became suddenly busy.

"Haven't seen 'em," Irvine whistled, studying the ceiling.

"No Squall here," sighed Zell, still petting Cerberus.

"Gee, I haven't seen him, Xu…" Selphie's eyes widened innocently.

"Squall? Squall who?" asked Rinoa, suppressing a giggle behind her hand.

"Squall? I heard he was recently deceased." Said Quistis solemnly.

"Yes. Death by schmoozing," added Selphie, looking crestfallen.

Irving nodded. "A moment of silence, then, for our deceased commander and friend."

"He died doing what he hated," added Rinoa.

"May his soul rest in peace, and not become part of the undead armies that walk the earth, in search of brains," sobbed Irvine, holding his fist in front of his mouth.

"A moment of silence," repeated Quistis, looking somber.

The five bowed their heads, staring solemnly at the tablecloth before bursting into laughter.

Xu rolled her eyes. "Wonderful. I need political tacticians and I've got a table full of comedians. Live it up, all of you. You'll all be shoveling plaster in two days."

A collective groan rose up.

Xu ignored them. "I've got Senator Noire over there, waiting. Esthar wants a section to the North cleared of vermin once we're up and running." She squinted at the rubber plant. "Squall, get your ass out here and help me draw up a joint contract with Trabia Garden, or you really will need a eulogy."

Muttering, Squall emerged from behind the plant as gracefully and indignantly as possible. "Some help you are," he muttered at all of them, slouching behind Xu as she disappeared into the fray of politicians, or as Irvine liked to call it, the 'Perpetual Sea of Windbags'.

Rinoa laughed. "I suppose I'd better go and play 'dutiful arm decoration.' Can't miss an opportunity to improve 'sorceress relations'." Rolling her eyes, the raven-haired girl got up, and in a swish of crimson satin, also disappeared.

Selphie sighed. "I suppose we should really go and play nice with the other kids, too. Besides, I think I saw some crab cakes at the refreshment table with my name on 'em. C'mon, Irvy. I'm not going out there alone." Mumbling, the cowboy trailed after his girlfriend, casting a rueful look back at his half-eaten plate of chicken as he was dragged away. Lunging, he managed to grab a drumstick before Selphie dragged him into the crowd.

Moving closer to the chair beside her friend, Quistis laid a hand on Zell's arm. "Zell…"

Truthfully, what could she say?

"Ceres may not have been who you thought she was, but I don't doubt that she cared for you."

"Whatever." Zell continued to stare at his glass. "She's a spy. She was trained to lie to all of us…I was…. just the weakest link, that's all."

"Zell, she fooled all of us." Quistis shook her head. "Besides, without Ceres, we wouldn't be here right now. Whatever she was sent there to do, she changed her mind. You probably had something to do with that."

Zell looked up, his intense blue eyes hard with pain. "Yeah…sure, thanks Quistis."

"Zell…just because the person you loved isn't the person you thought they were entirely…." Quistis trailed off, unsure of how to organize her thoughts.

Squall, sitting in her hospital room, staring out the window. "Almasy…before… was too focused, too driven…like there was some fire in him that was burning him hollow…burning him alive. He didn't care who he had to step on to get where he was going…I doubt he even knew where he was going in the first place. None of us ever did, did we?"

"But when I saw him for the last time, up in Galbadia Garden…he looked…the same. Like it was that same fire inside him, the same drive. He was standing in front of Adel with his sword drawn, looking crazy. When he swung at me, I thought…I was sure….he was going to kill me. But he didn't...he fooled all of us…even Adel.. It was like something inside him had shifted…like all that fire finally had a direction. Whatever you taught him, Quistis…he was different."

"But I…I didn't teach him anything, Squall."

Squall shook his head, smiling. "Not out of a SeeD manual, but yeah, I think you taught him more than anyone else ever had."

It was the only gift Squall could give her…the gift of his death, told cleanly and with no prejudice. It was the culmination of his life, laid out like a memoir on the white parchment of a military document…laid out like a corpse, cold and clean…a pure truth, the only truth she could understand about him and what he'd done.

The rest of it…didn't make any sense.

Siphoned the poison off of her…carried her back…stayed by her side till they left for …

…told her it was just another night…

Did you ever really know a person…or simply recognize some of their joys and their shadows as your own?

When she spoke again, it was softer, fragile. "What we loved in them, what we saw…wasn't that the truth? Would we have loved a lie if it wasn't wonderful? Would we have loved them if…if there wasn't something good in them to love?"

Unconsciously, she had shifted to a miserable plural, but Zell had picked up on it and placed his hand over hers.

He forced a smile. "Thanks, Quistis. Really. I think I'm gonna take a walk, try and clear my head."

"Take Ceberus with you, would you?" asked Quistis. "He'll keep you company. Keep him away from the orchestra, though."

That violinist looked shaky enough already…

Zell shrugged. "He'll keep my dance card open, that's for sure." With that, Zell stood up, and, still wearing his leg cast, hobbled into the crowd. He'd had to cover up the cast by wearing pants with wide legs, as Irvine had contributed some profane art to it while he had fallen asleep in the hospital one night. As it was, the cast was no longer suited for parties, his mother's house, or civil society in general.

Quistis watched her friend limp away, his shoulders slumped. At her urging, Cerberus trotted along, growling at a cellist as he went. The cellist, terrified, lost his concentration and sent his bow flying across the room, which landed in a platter of beef pate and splattered sauce over several guests.

Maybe an orchestra offended the dog in a past life, thought Quistis, wincing.

Sighing, she twirled her finger along the rim of a champagne glass, listening to the faint, crystal ring the flute procured. Maybe she'd go out there with the rest of her friends, and help Xu with her contract quota. Or maybe she'd sneak out on the balcony, and watch the sunset…

A voice startled her out of her quiet reverie.

"Quistis?"

Serabin. She turned around, craning her neck to gaze up at his tall, elegant form. He was dressed in his military jacket tonight, the brightly colored bars and medals clanging together as he bent over. Across the room, Quistis could see several pairs of female eyes follow his movement.

He smiled down at her, gently taking her gloved hand and brushing his lips across it. "You look beautiful this evening."

Color rose in her cheeks.

Would she ever become accustomed to being told that?

Probably not.

"Um," she flushed. "So…do you." The man created constant butterflies in her stomach. If he had engaged her in a professional capacity, she would have met him evenly, with absolute calm and composure. But being…romanced…was entirely new territory for Quistis, and she was sorry to find that she stumbled through it more often than not.

The young man in front of her raised an eyebrow. "Thank you," he replied, his smile amused.

It took her a minute to realize she'd called him beautiful…She flushed. "I didn't…"

"It's all right. I'm glad you wore the headpiece. It suits you."

"It…that was you?" she asked, unconsciously bringing her hand up to feel the delicate silver chains. "I…Serabin, thank you. It's lovely."

The Galbadian Headmaster simply smiled. "No thanks necessary. Every queen should have a crown."

Blushing, she looked down, which only made Serabin's smile widen. She was charming when she was flustered. "You do look lovely tonight, Quistis."

She smiled back this time. "Didn't you know? Looks are an accident, Headmaster Glyphias."

He laughed. "Well then, you are 'accidentally' stunning. Dance with me."

She raised an eyebrow at him, more playful than clumsy now in her recovery. "You'll have to get in line. Haven't you seen my dance card?"

"No room for an old comrade?" he asked, feigning distress.

"Well, I could squeeze you in between the obstinate Trabian senator and the grab-ass Dolletian war veteran," she replied, smiling. "But it'll cost you."

Serabin laughed. "Well, Miss Trepe, I'm a very determined man," he said jokingly. "Consider your dance card confiscated."

"How can I argue with that?" asked Quistis, getting to her feet.

"You can't," replied Serabin smoothly. His smile faded, and again he held out his hand. "One last dance, and then I'm afraid I've a plane waiting on me."

"And about half a dozen women, waiting on you in that corner," said Quistis, laughing as she took his hand.

"Were there other women here?" asked Serabin, lifting an eyebrow. "I hadn't noticed."

That was the thing about Serabin. He always knew the right thing to say, and said it at precisely the right time. Unlike Seifer, who usually came up with the wrong thing to say, and picked the worst possible moment to say it.

Stop it, you promised you wouldn't think of him tonight.

Smiling, Serabin led her out onto the floor, spinning her in a swish of blue silk. The orchestra began a new song, a lilting tremor of reed and string that made her heart thrum a little faster, that made the illusion of a fairy tale seem a little more real.

Serabin entwined their hands, and fit his hand into her side. "You look like a queen of Atlantica…what was it they called you, years ago? The Blue Sorceress, in honor of your field of study? You look every bit the part this evening."

She laughed. "Not anymore. I wouldn't pass a JC level casting exam, now."

The band began to play, a bold blare of string and reed. She remembered the specific waltz from her social etiquette class, years ago. Her feet fell into step easily, without thought.

"So what do you plan to do at Balamb Garden, now?" he asked, turning her.

"Squall offered me your job, actually," she said, smiling. "Head Instructor."

"There's no one more qualified," responded Serabin. "You'd do an excellent job."

"Dr. Kadowaki also made me a proposal as well…she's looking for an apprentice. She'd take me under, and during the next few years, she'd teach me herself. She has teaching credentials under military medicine, so I'd be able to obtain my certification at Garden, or so she says. I think this last war affected her…she wants to retire as soon as she's trained a replacement."

"And this appeals to you? Being a healer?"

"In a way. We've dealt in destruction since we were kids, most of us. It might be nice to be on the other side, for a change. Besides," she shifted. "I couldn't be an effective teacher, not anymore. I don't want anyone to have to stand where I've stood…to see what I've seen. There's no way to prepare a person for that."

"Unfortunately, there will always be others that will come to take our place. They'll still need to learn, Quistis."

"Yes. But not from me." She said, shaking her head. "Not anymore. And Kadowaki's offer…it would be…something different." She paused, looking up into his eyes. "How are your…tests…going?"

"Slowly. They've decided to increase the frequency of the injections to once a week."

"But how are you? Your eyes…" Indeed, she had noticed that something about his gaze seemed amiss…different. A cold, dulled look had poured into them as of late, and his eyes were less inviting, and more…distant.

He smiled, and spun her.

"Ah. You're noticing the color change, I think. A temporary side affect of gradual mag-poisoning, or so they tell me. Something to do with a subtle enzymatic change in the body, no more harmful than any other small scale shift that occurs during regular human growth and development. It would have naturally occurred in you during your mag-poisoning as well, but I'm sure you didn't notice it, as your eye color was already blue." Serabin smiled ruefully. "But I'm…fine. It's thoughtful of you to ask."

"I heard about your father." She said quietly. "I'm sorry….it must be difficult."

Serabin just shook his head. "No apologies necessary. I was adopted by the Glyphias family when I was very young, from an orphanage in Trabia. I don't remember my original parents, and there are no records. My father wanted an 'instant family' to bring to all the government galas, my mother didn't want to ruin her figure by actually having children. I had the coloring to match theirs and learned early how to behave at political functions, so it worked out for all parties involved…for a time."

Quistis could relate.

"Our family was never warm, or affectionate. Still, they provided for me, trips and toys and the finest boarding schools. And when I wished to enroll in Garden, they supported me. My father, no doubt, saw it as an extra opening to spread his influence. I always hated politics, while Harven embraced them." His eyes, preoccupied, stared down into hers. "At the sentencing, Harven will receive nothing more than what he deserves, and nothing less. We differed on many things, but I suppose in some way, he was like a father to me."

He spun her, and a small forced its way into the corners of his mouth. "But this is a celebration. We should think of what we still possess, rather than what lies behind us."

"…you're right," she said, quietly.

"My offer still stands, Quistis."

She looked away. "It's a generous offer…I-"

You're a good man, Serabin.

"You'll consider it, then."

She couldn't quite meet his eyes. "Serabin-"

"The offer will always be there, Quistis, should you desire it, and so will I."

"I won't ask you to wait. I can't…"

He spun her again, his hand gentle at her waist. "And you haven't. I do it freely."

"Why?"

"You know why." He said, his gaze serious.

He stopped, suddenly, gazing down into her eyes with such intensity that it held her still. She wanted nothing more in that moment to be able to love him as he deserved, to take his hand and accept his offer…to move forward out of the shadows that surrounded her and into a future that didn't involve old ghosts and empty rooms.

If I had known you sooner….if I had known you first…

…then maybe things could be different.

"Just think about it, Quistis," he said quietly. "I shall always be waiting to be of use to you, in whatever capacity you should desire."

He kissed her cheek and left her in the middle of the dance floor, the strings' last vibrations fading to silence and the words she longed to say still trapped behind her lips, lodged forever somewhere in her heart.

*

…

…

…

Seifer did not consider himself an expert on fairy tales, but he did have a vague idea of how they were supposed to play out. The dashing hero waltzed into the palace, ran up the stairs, and kissed the fair maiden before dragging her off to his castle made out of sugar and rainbows or whatever the hell it was.

He quickly found out that there were several things wrong (and stupid) with applying a fairy tale to real life.

One, he was not a dashing hero.

Two, the Estharian Palace was a metal maze teeming with inept guards.

Three, according to said inept guards, he apparently wasn't going to be 'waltzing' anywhere.

Lastly, he had no idea where the 'fair maiden' was.

The Estharian Palace looked different and was better guarded than he remembered. Four men, armed to the teeth, were stationed both outside and inside shining emerald gates, holding rifles and looking as if they'd been chiseled out of stone.

Sighing, Seifer threw his gun belt over his shoulder and approached. Couldn't one damned thing be easy in his life?

He thought for one blissful moment that the guards might actually let him pass, no questions asked. True to his luck, however, one of the guards threw out his hand as another took aim.

Looking down, Seifer could see a laser sight swaying gently against his chest.

Must be the sword. Indeed, Helio's gleaming blade, arcing out from behind his trench coat, did look a little foreboding.

Warm welcomes, wherever I go.

"Halt. There are no persons or weapons allowed within the Estharian Palace without sufficient ID or permit."

"Weapon?" Seifer raised an eyebrow. "This is just my decorative walking stick, gentlemen."

The man with the gun trained on his heart gave a derisive snort.

"Hand over your ID or permit, sir."

Seifer shrugged. "Sorry, gentlemen. I seem to have left them in my other coat."

The first guard did not look amused. "I'll have your weapon, sir, with or without a bullet in your head. Hand it over, and come with me."

Seifer briefly entertained the thought of taking the palace by storm, tossing out a few fira spells and making a break for it. However, that probably wasn't going to get him far, and it probably wouldn't put him in Quistis' good graces if he literally crashed the party.

Instead, he unshouldered his blade and handed it to one of the sentries, muttering.

"Now, identify yourself." The other two guards from the inner doors were now approaching. Great. He'd attracted an audience.

Seifer narrowed his eyes, smiling. "I'm a guest of the Loire gala."

"Do you have an invitation?"

"Would you believe it?" He gave them a winning smile. "I left it at home."

Obviously, the guard wasn't buying it. "State your name."

Right. If I state my name, they'll never let me in.

Maybe I could crawl through the waste ducts…

Seifer shifted his weight impatiently. "I'm here to see Quistis Trepe."

"Miss Trepe is under the protection of Estharian security. What is your business with her?"

"My own." snapped Seifer.

The man rolled his eyes. "As I am a guard of the Estharian palace, sir, you'll understand why I can't let everyone with personal business through."

The other guard glanced over at him. "President Loire's gala is invite-only. Again, what is your name?"

Seifer rolled his eyes. "Dick Trickle."

The soldiers looked as if they had a sense of humor that was about as low-caliber as their weapons. "We don't have all day to fool around."

"Could've fooled me. You are, after all, guarding an immovable object."

Three red dots on his chest now, all wavering over his heart.

"Your real name."

He sighed. "Seifer Almasy."

The soldiers studied him a moment, then exchanged a long look.

"What'd y' think, Braiser? He kinda looks like 'im, yeah?"

The other soldier didn't take his eyes or gun off of the target standing in front of him. "Almasy's deader than a doornail. They didn't find anything bigger than a toilet seat at the Galbadian crash site."

"Well, yeah, but who'd actually claim to be Seifer Almasy if he wasn't 'im?"

"Yeah, I guess," said another soldier. "A guy'd have to be crazy."

Seifer, exasperated, rolled his eyes.

"Why's he here then?" asked the fourth guard under his breath.

"T'kill people? T'eat some cake? How the hell would I know?!" hissed the first.

"Well, if this's really Seifer Almasy, I'm collecting on the Galbadian bounty on his head."

Bounty? Figured.

"YOU are? Fat chance. I saw 'im first." Said another soldier.

Seifer wondered if he could just walk past the squabbling guards and into the palace.

"Get back." Snarled one, disengaging the safety from his weapon.

Nope.

"Go and get Kiros," muttered the second, before raising his weapon. The other soldier nodded, then quickly went through the doors.

"Put your hands up," ordered the first soldier, his weapon now trained somewhere on Seifer's skull. "Do it now."

Seifer rolled his eyes. "What, are you going to arrest a dead man?"

"I'll be burying one if you don't put your hands up."

"This day just keeps getting better and better," muttered Seifer, slowly raising his hands in the air. There was no way he'd get Helios back now that the guard had left with it…unless the sword had a boomerang feature he didn't know about.

Damnitall.

Real life fairy tales sucked.

*