A/N: Technically this chapter could have been out a week ago. But my hard drive crashed, which led to other things. Word of advice: Never buy a computer just because you think the cow-spotted box is adorable.

Disclaimer: I don't own Squaresoft, and I'm pretty sure I never will ;)

The Scorpion's Bite

Chapter IV: Needle and Thread

By ArashiKishu

The night had grown slightly colder, a milky white sheen enveloping the dark canopy above, a faint glow radiating off of the aged structures of Dollet. The sea was quiet, untouched; the only signs of disturbance were the occasional flutters of wind breathing across the wide expanse of ocean, barely touching but just enough to create a gentle, light rise and fall upon the steady flow of water.

Quistis emerged from the building, Seifer coming just shortly after her.

She wrapped the feather-light jacket tighter around her body upon feeling a slight shudder of wind. Her attire, she realized, was much more…different now that she wasn't a SeeD anymore. The outfit she wore no longer included a little red tie that would take minutes to adjust in order to achieve the perfect straightness..no longer meant wearing a skirt that offered a little more than a decent view for the curious eyes of the Trepies, but rather a navy blue blouse and a comfortable pair of black dress pants. It was a change, one that was not all-together bad…just…different. Really, Quistis could think of no better term to describe not just her wardrobe, but also everything else that was going on, as well.

Different wasn't a word the woman was quite accustomed to in her not-so-spontaneous way of living.

Turning to regard Seifer, she pursed her lips together, attempting to find the right words to say. One had to be careful when speaking to Seifer Almasy, for obvious reasons of which she knew all to well. Quistis didn't see any real reason to be impolite with him, anyway. At least not yet. Part of her, the part that had always tried to discover even the smallest shred of hope in the most difficult of circumstances, wanted to believe that perhaps Almasy had changed, even if the change were to be so small that it wouldn't really have much of a difference. Anything. Anything at all that might distinguish the man standing before her from the boy she had known a year ago.

Because if Quistis was going to work with Seifer Almasy, she would most likely have to rely on that little shred of hope just to refrain from strangling him.

The organization, she noted, appeared to operate along the same lines at Garden, but at a considerably smaller scale. Which, in her opinion, was a lot more sensible, seeing as it had the power to work in a more free and discrete manner.

Something that had always bothered Quistis about SeeD was the fact that it functioned by such commercial means. Everything seemed to be about making money and assisting only those individuals and groups with the more generous flow of revenue. Not to mention the strong amounts of political involvement; Garden's size was often a setback rather than a blessing. Since the institution was so large, it was of coarse quite susceptible to the often-overwhelming interests of various leaders and office-holders.

Quistis was forced to wonder how a kind-hearted man like Cid had become so engaged in such a demanding business, anyway. The real principles, or rather, intentions of Garden seemed almost obscure at times. Still, Quistis had loved her profession, and had adored Cid far too much to dissent the ethical faults of the school.

Victor obviously shared a similar perspective, and as far as Quistis could tell, that had been the reason for establishing the organization. He certainly had a lot of connections, Cid evidently being one of them.

Clearing her throat, "I'm…glad you're doing well," was all she could finally muster.

Glad you're doing well? The statement unbelievingly echoed throughout her mind.

Raising an eyebrow, Seifer folded his arms across his chest. "Is that what you tell to all of your students who misbehaved during class?" he quipped.

Quistis inwardly grimaced. Definitely not the right thing to say.

A pause. There were groups of people up ahead, laughing, and probably enjoying themselves at a local pub or café. Neither of the two individuals noticed, however.

"What are doing in Dollet, Quistis?" he continued, with a certain tinge of roughness to his voice. No, he didn't want her there, and knowing Seifer, he was determined to make that fact clear, whether she knew it or not. 

"I could ask you the same question," came her reply.

Seifer laughed. "What? Did you really think I would come back to Garden?" Shaking his head, "I'm not like you, Trepe."

"What are trying to imply?" she countered.

Already the woman was becoming uneasy. His words seemed to suggest that Quistis didn't have any legitimate right being in Dollet, let alone in the same one-mile radius. Surely if she would have had any idea that Seifer Almasy, of all people, was going to be there, she would have most likely steered clear.

Seifer tilted his head back in slight amusement. Rolling his eyes, "Well, you're awfully far away from Balamb, Quistis, and I've never figured you to be the type of person who vacationed." He shook his head "No, I'm guessing you ran away from your precious little Garden," he stated, as if any other reason would be blatantly implausible.

Her jaw tightened just a little. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Is that so?" Seifer asked slowly, yet in such a way that it was obvious he was mocking her.  I know you better than you think. "Tell me, what happened? Lose you job or some-"

"You don't know anything about me!" Anger was getting the better of Quistis; her stance had become quite rigid, and a distinct feeling of frustration was itching its way through her veins. It was the same feeling she seemed to receive whenever Seifer was around.

Nothing had changed.

Part of her anger seemed to surround the fact that Seifer was more or less correct in his judgment of the woman. Quistis had, although not quite so literally, run away from the complications in her life. Perhaps confronting them head on would have been a better solution, but it wasn't the one she had chosen. Instead she had decided to resign from SeeD and essentially move on, in hopes that her problems would somehow burry themselves in the past. And she hated that Seifer was just accusing her without even knowing any of the details of what she felt…of what she went through every day…

But whether Quistis liked it or not, she was an easy target to his trivial banter.

In a desperate attempt to not only avoid making a scene, but also to mitigate some of her infuriation, Quistis lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. "And who are you to bring up running away from Garden," she hissed loud enough for him to hear. "If I recall correctly, you left in one hell of a rush."

"See that's the difference between us, though. I never needed that place. But you, on the other hand, did." Pausing for a brief moment, he purposefully allowed the full impact of his words to embed themselves into her mind. Then, continuing rather bluntly, he added, "And I'd imagine you still do."

Quistis opened her mouth, as if to say something…to disagree with him..ridicule him..tell him he was wrong..Anything. Anything at all. But she found the words would not come so easily, and instead nothing but a pathetic cry escaped her throat, a sound so quiet and raspy that it was inaudible even to Seifer.

"Thought so," he replied, dryly.

As much as Seifer was enjoying himself, 'chatting' with Quistis Trepe in the center of town all night was not at the top of his list of things to do. He had had the last word, anyway. Stepping away from Quistis, he began to walk away, not before, however, turning around to regard the woman with a swift grin. Raising his arms out to his side, he shrugged. "Guess I'll see you around…partner."

Quistis' fierce gaze followed his retreating form until it disappeared in to the darkness of night.

. . . . . . .

Seifer continued to advance down an empty side street; the thin slices of darkness, adjacent to his own, rounded the corners of buildings like shadowy figures. The only sounds he could hear were his boots, old and worn yet decidedly comfortable, resounding off of the cobblestone pathway with each step.

It seemed as if he walked these streets every night. Every curve in the road, every bump; it was a familiar path that never changed, and somehow, Seifer always made it through the darkness.

A few minutes later, he could faintly hear a rustling noise somewhere near him, a sound that seemingly became more distinct with each passing second. Whatever it was, it was moving at quite a haphazard pace, stopping here and there and then quickly picking up again to a swift run. Seifer narrowed his gaze. Probably just a cat.

Then again…

The increasing sounds of movement prickled his senses. Excitement. Anger. Provocation. It was getting closer---louder now---closer---more and---NOW!

On instinct, Seifer unsheathed his gunblade, raising it to the appropriate level, the dim light from a nearby street lamp giving the sharp, silver blade a dangerous sort of shine. Without a second's deliberation, he turned, heel pivoting on the ground below; Seifer Almasy was more than ready to destroy whatever creature was following him.

No sooner than he had turned around, however, did his face contort into a proper scowl. It was a fucking rat.

Albeit one very large rat. Filthy little thing with beady red eyes, scrawny fur, and wire-like whiskers that mechanically twitched up and down. They were the true taint to any city. Horrified, the little beast quickly scurried away, leaving an imaginary trail of fear behind him.

A little more than exasperated, Seifer slowly lowered his weapon.

"Son of a bitch," he breathed, the words tumbling off of his lips only to disappear into the cool, quiet ambiance that night had to offer.

. . . . . .

This was a mistake, Quistis silently groaned, pulling the door behind her until it closed shut. She rested her head against the hard panel of wood, gently tapping it a few times.

With a sigh, she made her way towards the night table, gingerly releasing the honey-coloured cords of hair from the tight hold of the clip. Quistis idly set the clasp next to the lamp, before flopping onto the bed, not even bothering to remove her boots.

She positioned herself so that her head rested comfortably on the soft pillow.

Hyne, that felt good.

Partly out of contentedness and just as equally out of agitation, her fingers tightly fisted themselves around the folds of the blue and grey-checkered comforter.

Damn him.

In many ways, Quistis was still holding onto the life she had had at Garden, a life that would never be again. And though her grip was steadily dwindling, she still felt as if something was conceivably missing. The feeling was unrelenting, it seemed, and Quistis was unsure of how to make it go away…or rather, fill the apparent void.

Ridiculous. If Quistis wanted to move on, then she would have to really move on. Establishing better living arrangements would be a suitable beginning, as she couldn't very well live in a hotel room for the rest of her life. She almost smiled at the thought. The woman supposed that tomorrow she would be able to find information regarding apartment rental in a local Dolletian shop.

It was a comforting thought, she decided, if not a pleasant one.

. . . . . .

"Roy!" a voice bellowed from the cargo deck below. "Get your ass down 'ere!"

"Sure thing, Gustavus!" Roy replied, balling up his sandwich wrapper and throwing it to the side. Pushing off his knees, he trotted over to the steps and greeted his companion with a fairly vacant expression.

The bigger man below fumed, deep, frustrating breaths coming from his throat, causing a scratchy sort of noise to rasp throughout his nostrils. "I told you," he warned, pointing a thick index finger at the considerably thinner man standing above him. "Don't call me that, you fucking moron."

"Oh--" Roy paused, seemingly in thought. Frowning, he scratched the back of his neck before proceeding to rub at his windswept, greasy hair. Either he was slow or…no, he was just slow. At length, he corrected himself. "Sure thing, Gus."

Gus rolled his eyes, mouthing the words 'stupid git'. "Just help me with this shit, would you?" he surrendered, gesturing towards the crates that lay around him. His companion nodded, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to expose the well-toned muscles received from years of work at sea.

Making his way down the steps, he bent down, grabbing the sides of the crate with his hands and then heaving the thing up to his chest. With a masculine shout, the man reeled back, almost running into the stack of other shipping parcels. The load was far heavier than he had thought.

Gus followed, although with a little less difficulty.

"Damn…" Roy exhaled, the weight of the wooden box digging into his upper body and abdomen. Jerking his head at the thing in his arms, he asked, "What the hell is in these things?"

"Dunno."

"Ain't ever had stuff this damn heavy," Roy continued, righting himself and moving towards the steps that led to the upper level of the boat. Trudging up the stairs, he all but dumped the box near the corner of the deck where most cargo was loaded for easier removal. Obviously relieved to (literally) get that load off of his chest, he rolled his shoulders, relaxing some of the previously earned strain.

Setting down the crate next to the other, Gus shrugged. "All I know is they're goin' to Dollet."