A/N: I started writing this today at work, and I'm thinking it should
really be the third part of the story. Thing is, it puts the chapter I've
already posted to shame in terms of style and flow, so I don't really want
them associated until I can rewrite Part One... Thank you, everyone who
commented on Part One. I really appreciate your kind words. I hope you
like this.
This takes place right before Seifer and Quistis reach Timber.
***
Seifer stared at Quistis's silent form as she looked forlornly out of the train window. They were approaching Timber, and she had not spoken a word to him since they boarded at Balamb.
Bruise was forming across her neck from where he had held her down with his hand to her throat- a deep red tinged with specks of widening purple. The sight of it sickened him, and he had to take slow, deliberate breaths to keep the nauseated feeling down. Part of it was knowing that everyone would see her when they arrived, and they would all immediately attribute it to him.
More so than that, her fragile expression- as though she might burst into tears at any moment- clawed at his heart like a wildcat. He fought the urge to reach out and touch her, to try and soothe her. The probability of her responding kindly to such uninvited contact was quite slim, considering the hell he had put her through in the past two hours.
She could have let him go, remained unharmed, and alerted the authorities of his escape. It would have been the most obvious solution. Instead, she chose to face him herself, desperately trying to talk him down from a terrible mistake.
He could see that now, how much of a mistake it was. Everything was about to be lost, because even though he understood the implications of what he was about to do, it was too late to turn back. All his years of training- all the blood and sweat and feverish ambition- were about to swirl down the proverbial shitter.
He'd attacked a SeeD member and instructor, which was grounds for immediate expulsion from Garden. Even without that to smear him, he had enough black marks built up over the years that merely busting out of the Discipline Room was enough to oust him for good.
Fuck up. He was a fuck up, or so his peers agreed. Those little shits could never understand what he went through, day after day after day. They would never even touch the things going on in his mind and soul as he trained... as he fought. It wasn't a required skill for him- it was part of him. Hell, it was the core of him. Without a world to fight against, what could he do? Sure, he could hold a pitiful little job somewhere doing pitiful little menial work, but it would slowly kill him inside.
No one understood that he did not share his skill with others because it was all he had that was really his. Pride? That was only as deep as his skin, and easily punctured. What mattered was the pure metal underneath it- the sheer will within to not let the world beat him. At night when he lay in bed and his bravado was little more than his duster on the floor, the only reassurance he had to lull him into peaceful sleep was that he was tough enough. He was tough enough to wake up and face whatever was thrown at him. He was tough enough to win.
Tough enough to wound a person to their core, he thought bitterly.
Quistis leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. He noted the subtle shivering of her knees, just visible below the hem of her skirt. She was a tough girl herself, but even her armor was chinked in places. Over the years that he had known her, he managed to seek out and bring to light many of those chinks. Her self-consciousness about her looks, for instance.
She had one of the most well-maintained figures at Garden, if not THE most. Her strict regimen of exercise and diet paid off well, making her not only a beacon of fitness for students and peers, but also an object of widespread and hushed desire. But as spectacular as her physique was she never tried to draw attention to it, selecting outfits that were instead rather drab and mannish. This disappointed many a lovelorn and anxious young man, but she never seemed to notice. She had the Trepies, of course, but those fools were little more than confused kids who needed someone closer to their age to look up to.
Quistis had always been a snake charmer, but ever without a snake. The guys were all intimidated by her, fearing that she would turn them into pate should they look at her wrong. They never knew that as this went on and she got older her self-esteem steadily dropped, and she modeled herself after what she assumed everyone wanted. He had seen this pattern of behavior develop from the beginning, and he had always played it to his advantage. Every chance he saw, he remarked about her weight, or her hair, or whatever seemed to strike him as vulnerable territory at the time. At times he was merely teasing, and others... Well, he dogged the hell out of her. She was too proud to cry in front of others, but many, many times he'd sent her off undoubtedly teetering on the verge.
Seifer took a deep breath and watched her chest as it rose and fell in its own rhythm, her arms locked tightly across it. She had the habit of doing that when she was nervous, especially around guys. It was as if she were trying to draw a force field around herself that no one could penetrate with their eyes and minds. It was the 'you-can't-see-me-or-touch-me' stance, so he named it. Most of the time- when he was caught up in his own power-trip- it antagonized him. He fed on weakness, and shutting herself up like that only drove him to pick at her harder. Sometimes, though, the vulnerability behind it was so evident that even he could not bring himself to attack it.
She was terribly vulnerable now. Not only had her ability to defend herself been put to shame, but also the smidgeon of authority that she fought to hold over her students. There was a helter skelter of emotions present in her features, all of which she held back with the determined pursing of her lips and slow, steady blinking.
Seifer wondered how much of that turmoil was heart-centered. How much of it directly concerned her feelings toward him?
He had always held a sort of detached appreciation of Quistis. Nothing he would really classify as overly-emotional. He respected her mental prowess- how she could formulate all aspects of a plan at once, and he even identified with her self-righteous conclusions- which usually ended up very close the mark. There was no doubt he enjoyed watching her walk down the hall, or meekly cross her legs under her desk during class. There was no doubt whatsoever that he enjoyed watching her long strawberry-blond hair sway around her head; she had the most striking head of hair he had ever seen.
More than anything else, though, he admired her dedication. If she failed at anything, it was because she had lost interest in it or had been grievously cheated. Her dedication to Garden and SeeD and her students was mainly what fueled her and got her through most days. Of course, she was feeling pretty shitty about that, with the loss of her license.
He shook his head and lowered his eyes to Hyperion, still lying at their feet. Guilt was eating at him from all sides.
There was no telling exactly how much of the blame for the loss of her license could be dropped in his lap, but he was pretty sure that his actions during the exam played a big part. And now, even after such a burning disgrace had been laid over her, she had to deal with keeping him out of further trouble- a battle she had already lost whether or not she realized it.
From the looks of her, sitting across from him silent and mentally absent, it was clear that whatever spark she had begun with earlier had all but died out. It hurt him.
"Seifer."
Startled, he looked up to find Quistis's spectral blue eyes on him. They were brimming with tears.
Not knowing what to say, he tilted his head.
Quistis took a deep, haggard breath, and a tear fell down her cheek. "I'm going to ask you a question, and I want an honest answer," she monotoned. "Can you give me that much?"
Seifer nodded slowly, still trapped in her eyes and the vales beneath them.
Twisting her jaw and sniffing, she untucked her arms and dragged her hands to her shoulders. The movement was so heartbreaking and childlike- so artless- that it stilled his breathing.
"Why do you hate me?"
His jaw dropped. "Quistis..."
"NOW ARRIVING AT TIMBER STATION... PLEASE REMAIN SEATED UNTIL THE TRAIN HAS COME TO A COMPLETE STOP!"
Furiously dragging her hands across her eyes, Quistis shook her head. "Forget it," she whispered hoarsely. "It doesn't matter."
Seifer searched frantically for words as the train slowed... some expression of guilt, of pleading, of comfort. Something that would ease her pain before he had to walk away from her and do what he came to do.
Nothing would come.
So as the train slowed, slowed more, and eventually came to a stop, he stared at her. His only hope of showing her how he felt was for her to see it in his eyes.
But she would not look at him.
"TIMBER STATION! YOU MAY EXIT THE TRAIN WHEN THE DOORS OPEN!"
Seifer closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reaching for his gunblade. *You've gotta do this*, he pushed himself. *Cowboy up*!
He shot out of his seat, Hyperion in hand, and walked over to the door.
Peering at the glass panel in front of him, he watched Quistis's reflection as she slowly walked toward him, stern-faced, and stopped a few feet behind.
He nodded.
The door slid open.
He jumped out.
This takes place right before Seifer and Quistis reach Timber.
***
Seifer stared at Quistis's silent form as she looked forlornly out of the train window. They were approaching Timber, and she had not spoken a word to him since they boarded at Balamb.
Bruise was forming across her neck from where he had held her down with his hand to her throat- a deep red tinged with specks of widening purple. The sight of it sickened him, and he had to take slow, deliberate breaths to keep the nauseated feeling down. Part of it was knowing that everyone would see her when they arrived, and they would all immediately attribute it to him.
More so than that, her fragile expression- as though she might burst into tears at any moment- clawed at his heart like a wildcat. He fought the urge to reach out and touch her, to try and soothe her. The probability of her responding kindly to such uninvited contact was quite slim, considering the hell he had put her through in the past two hours.
She could have let him go, remained unharmed, and alerted the authorities of his escape. It would have been the most obvious solution. Instead, she chose to face him herself, desperately trying to talk him down from a terrible mistake.
He could see that now, how much of a mistake it was. Everything was about to be lost, because even though he understood the implications of what he was about to do, it was too late to turn back. All his years of training- all the blood and sweat and feverish ambition- were about to swirl down the proverbial shitter.
He'd attacked a SeeD member and instructor, which was grounds for immediate expulsion from Garden. Even without that to smear him, he had enough black marks built up over the years that merely busting out of the Discipline Room was enough to oust him for good.
Fuck up. He was a fuck up, or so his peers agreed. Those little shits could never understand what he went through, day after day after day. They would never even touch the things going on in his mind and soul as he trained... as he fought. It wasn't a required skill for him- it was part of him. Hell, it was the core of him. Without a world to fight against, what could he do? Sure, he could hold a pitiful little job somewhere doing pitiful little menial work, but it would slowly kill him inside.
No one understood that he did not share his skill with others because it was all he had that was really his. Pride? That was only as deep as his skin, and easily punctured. What mattered was the pure metal underneath it- the sheer will within to not let the world beat him. At night when he lay in bed and his bravado was little more than his duster on the floor, the only reassurance he had to lull him into peaceful sleep was that he was tough enough. He was tough enough to wake up and face whatever was thrown at him. He was tough enough to win.
Tough enough to wound a person to their core, he thought bitterly.
Quistis leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. He noted the subtle shivering of her knees, just visible below the hem of her skirt. She was a tough girl herself, but even her armor was chinked in places. Over the years that he had known her, he managed to seek out and bring to light many of those chinks. Her self-consciousness about her looks, for instance.
She had one of the most well-maintained figures at Garden, if not THE most. Her strict regimen of exercise and diet paid off well, making her not only a beacon of fitness for students and peers, but also an object of widespread and hushed desire. But as spectacular as her physique was she never tried to draw attention to it, selecting outfits that were instead rather drab and mannish. This disappointed many a lovelorn and anxious young man, but she never seemed to notice. She had the Trepies, of course, but those fools were little more than confused kids who needed someone closer to their age to look up to.
Quistis had always been a snake charmer, but ever without a snake. The guys were all intimidated by her, fearing that she would turn them into pate should they look at her wrong. They never knew that as this went on and she got older her self-esteem steadily dropped, and she modeled herself after what she assumed everyone wanted. He had seen this pattern of behavior develop from the beginning, and he had always played it to his advantage. Every chance he saw, he remarked about her weight, or her hair, or whatever seemed to strike him as vulnerable territory at the time. At times he was merely teasing, and others... Well, he dogged the hell out of her. She was too proud to cry in front of others, but many, many times he'd sent her off undoubtedly teetering on the verge.
Seifer took a deep breath and watched her chest as it rose and fell in its own rhythm, her arms locked tightly across it. She had the habit of doing that when she was nervous, especially around guys. It was as if she were trying to draw a force field around herself that no one could penetrate with their eyes and minds. It was the 'you-can't-see-me-or-touch-me' stance, so he named it. Most of the time- when he was caught up in his own power-trip- it antagonized him. He fed on weakness, and shutting herself up like that only drove him to pick at her harder. Sometimes, though, the vulnerability behind it was so evident that even he could not bring himself to attack it.
She was terribly vulnerable now. Not only had her ability to defend herself been put to shame, but also the smidgeon of authority that she fought to hold over her students. There was a helter skelter of emotions present in her features, all of which she held back with the determined pursing of her lips and slow, steady blinking.
Seifer wondered how much of that turmoil was heart-centered. How much of it directly concerned her feelings toward him?
He had always held a sort of detached appreciation of Quistis. Nothing he would really classify as overly-emotional. He respected her mental prowess- how she could formulate all aspects of a plan at once, and he even identified with her self-righteous conclusions- which usually ended up very close the mark. There was no doubt he enjoyed watching her walk down the hall, or meekly cross her legs under her desk during class. There was no doubt whatsoever that he enjoyed watching her long strawberry-blond hair sway around her head; she had the most striking head of hair he had ever seen.
More than anything else, though, he admired her dedication. If she failed at anything, it was because she had lost interest in it or had been grievously cheated. Her dedication to Garden and SeeD and her students was mainly what fueled her and got her through most days. Of course, she was feeling pretty shitty about that, with the loss of her license.
He shook his head and lowered his eyes to Hyperion, still lying at their feet. Guilt was eating at him from all sides.
There was no telling exactly how much of the blame for the loss of her license could be dropped in his lap, but he was pretty sure that his actions during the exam played a big part. And now, even after such a burning disgrace had been laid over her, she had to deal with keeping him out of further trouble- a battle she had already lost whether or not she realized it.
From the looks of her, sitting across from him silent and mentally absent, it was clear that whatever spark she had begun with earlier had all but died out. It hurt him.
"Seifer."
Startled, he looked up to find Quistis's spectral blue eyes on him. They were brimming with tears.
Not knowing what to say, he tilted his head.
Quistis took a deep, haggard breath, and a tear fell down her cheek. "I'm going to ask you a question, and I want an honest answer," she monotoned. "Can you give me that much?"
Seifer nodded slowly, still trapped in her eyes and the vales beneath them.
Twisting her jaw and sniffing, she untucked her arms and dragged her hands to her shoulders. The movement was so heartbreaking and childlike- so artless- that it stilled his breathing.
"Why do you hate me?"
His jaw dropped. "Quistis..."
"NOW ARRIVING AT TIMBER STATION... PLEASE REMAIN SEATED UNTIL THE TRAIN HAS COME TO A COMPLETE STOP!"
Furiously dragging her hands across her eyes, Quistis shook her head. "Forget it," she whispered hoarsely. "It doesn't matter."
Seifer searched frantically for words as the train slowed... some expression of guilt, of pleading, of comfort. Something that would ease her pain before he had to walk away from her and do what he came to do.
Nothing would come.
So as the train slowed, slowed more, and eventually came to a stop, he stared at her. His only hope of showing her how he felt was for her to see it in his eyes.
But she would not look at him.
"TIMBER STATION! YOU MAY EXIT THE TRAIN WHEN THE DOORS OPEN!"
Seifer closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reaching for his gunblade. *You've gotta do this*, he pushed himself. *Cowboy up*!
He shot out of his seat, Hyperion in hand, and walked over to the door.
Peering at the glass panel in front of him, he watched Quistis's reflection as she slowly walked toward him, stern-faced, and stopped a few feet behind.
He nodded.
The door slid open.
He jumped out.