The unreasonable sacrifice

That this little lamb asked me.

He had no right, no right at all to accuse her of anything. One in the same, the hell they were. For one, she was organized, collected, and rarely lost her temper. Him? Furious half of the time, cruel, sadistic, and for Hyne's sake, he tried to fucking blow up the world. If that wasn't enough to separate themselves, Quistis was ready to be a chamber for bullets. She'd hardly spent one day with him, and already gave it all up. A couple of months' work of tracking and stalking, all to surrender in one day. It just wasn't worth it.

---Quistis------------------------------------------------& - / - x - / - &----------------------------------------------------Seifer---

They were the same. He hated to admit it and it took awhile for him to realize it. But all Hyne, it was true. They were the constants in each others lives, always there, whether wanted or not. Always there, to the point where they suffocated each other with their presences. In the hallways, in the classrooms, even during missions and detention. And even today, here she was again. When the entire world was against him, she was there. Through the rubble and ruin their words created, she was there, deflecting his nasty remarks like rain drops. And he'd done the same. With her icy tone, he tried to find amusement in her words, trying to be all but a sheath for her icicles. It was their personalities and lives that separated them from others, but brought each other together.

But even though they were the same, things were different now. Did she really want to protect him? He would've thought that she would've stopped giving him chances to redeem himself. He acknowledged what he had done, and thought she was through with him. The rest of the world was, at least. She came to him, a spoil of war; bitterer, nastier, more unrelenting, and just a little more dead on the inside. But hey, who was he to judge? Like he didn't have a reason to trust her, he couldn't convince himself that there was a reason for him to be saved.

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"Oh, pity. Am I in th' middle of a lovers' quarrel?" A husky tone asked, appearing around the bend. The fierce glow of the sunrise shone behind him, making it hard to discern his facial features. From his tone, however, it was no one that Quistis or Seifer knew.

"What the fuck do you want?" Seifer asked gruffly, turning to him, an irritated look on his face.

"You, m'boy. You and that one mil bounty ov'r yer head." Seifer scoffed. The man stepped out of the sunlight. No older than 40, Quistis assumed. Wrinkles lined his leathery faces, dull hazel eyes staring intensely at Seifer.

"I've got other things to do, than to play with you."

"Oh, I have no intention to play with you, boy."

"Fuck off, old man—" faster than the speed of light, a knife was at Seifer's throat, his back slammed against the brick wall behind him. A twisted smile lined his face as he peered closely into Seifer's wakened eyes. "Not bad, old man." Seifer breathed, the spark of a warrior in his emerald eyes. He could feel the cool hard metal pressing into his flesh—but it wasn't the knife held against his neck that he felt. Rather, it was the other that had stabbed him in the waist. Apparently, this old man wanted a battle, or he would've killed him already. He was in every position to do so.

Trying not to wince at the utter pain, Seifer felt the steel sliding out of his body, giving him a chance to redeem himself. Summoning dormant strength, he shoved the old man off of him, and dashed to his Hyperion on the floor, all in one quick motion. His fingertips ached for a good fight—a good battle. One hand was held over the deep wound, the other swinging Hyperion fiercely in the air.

It happened all too quickly for her to see what had happened, but she saw Seifer clutching at his waist. Unraveling her whip, she stood behind him, lightning surging through her hands.

Jumping to his feet, he unsheathed twin daggers from his sleeve, one of them stained with Seifer's blood.

"Oh, if I had a million gil." Clinks of metal sliced through the air, grunts and shouts from their throats as they engaged in battle, magic flying this way and that. Quistis watched the brilliant speed of their skills clash. Feeling a presence behind her, she pivoted around, coming face to face with another man, no older than 30, at most. Making a clumsy notion to capture her, she allowed him to grab her, but sent volts through his body, making him shudder.

"What the fuck," he muttered—clearly he wasn't as skilled as his partner, nor did he expect her to be able to do that. Pulling out a rusty knife, all Quistis could think of was contracting a disease from being sliced with that thing. Throwing a whip around his neck, he choked, the knife falling to the floor.

"Hah, it's funny. I would've thought, with all the trouble you made, and all the people you killed, you would've been a better challenge," he said, wiping the blood from his lips. His clothes were torn and bloodied, but he still held the fervor of a child at play.

"That's fucked up, old man." Seifer frowned, straightening his posture to something a little more relaxed. He lifted the Hyperion slowly, aiming it between the man's eyes. Oblivious to what the Hyperion could do, he waited for Seifer to move, curious at his relaxed stance. One single shot drove straight through the man's head. What's another stain on his already bloodied hands?

Grabbing at the whip and failing to release himself, he turned blue and limp. Just unconscious. She avoided killing people as much as possible, even if it was her sole job as a SeeD. She'd seen enough, done enough. Her hands were stained just like Seifer's, and no amount of convincing would persuade her to believe they weren't. Of course he had killed for different reasons, but there was no justification, no possible reason for her to murder as well. It was undiscussed in all of the Gardens. Considered taboo and bad luck, none of it was even uttered. But Quistis knew she had done wrong, though it was far too late for her to change anything.

"Are you okay?" Quistis raveled her whip to her waist, and rushed over to Seifer, who was leaning against the wall.

"I'm fine." Slowly, he rose, still avoiding her eyes.

"I'll see if I can get some bandages." His knees caved in and he fell to the floor, helpless. He still couldn't believe that man's speed. He couldn't believe he got stabbed. But in a way, he liked the feeling. He was wrought with guilt, each moment reminding him of what he'd done. It felt as if the world was getting even with him, giving him the release he yearned for. This stab was just the start.

Seifer didn't want to kill the man so quickly, but he could feel his power waning. With the exception of the SeeDs, no one else knows of the gunblade's trigger feature, which came in handy at all times.

Leave it up to Quistis to set up a medic station in a parking lot. Carefully cleaning out his wound with water, she examined the damage. Sucking in the air, he made no notion that it pained him too much. Casting curaga on the slice first, it mended itself a little. But the wound was still deep.

"It's going to need stitches." Quistis frowned.

"Come near me with a needle and I'll fucking kill you." It wasn't that he was unsure of Quistis' fist aid abilities, but he just didn't want to be sewn up. He was paying his debt to society, and he already decided he'd live with it. "Just slap a band-aid on, and we'll all go home, Trepe."

"You're hurt, Seifer."

"No shit."

"It's going to require more than fucking curaga and a band-aid to fix you."

"I'll do it myself, then." He dug around for some bandages with his hand, pulling up a roll. She sighed and took the roll, defeated.

"…Sit up." Pushing him up painfully as a way to say 'fuck you,' Quistis wrapped the bandages around his waist, noting how the shape of his body was so elegantly cut. But shutting the thought from her mind, she rose, the unconscious man stirring in his sleep. "Come on." She stretched a hand towards him. He swatted it away.

"I'm not coming with you."

"You don't have a choice—you never did." Quistis glared at the man before her, still bitter and angry. Sure she helped him, but that hardly meant a thing. She was tired of playing these games with him.

"You're just a pawn in whatever plan they have, Quistis—"

"Don't speak to me about being a pawn. You followed Edea like her personal play doll, there for her to mold into whatever she wanted," she said, in her trademark steel, level voice.

"Bitter." There was no one else he was able to banter with—there was no one else able to retort so easily to his words, and for it to leave a burning sting.

"Seifer. You have nowhere else to go. Come with me." Though it sounded more like a plea, it was more of a threat. And he understood that. Giving in, he reached for her hand, allowing himself to be pulled up by Quistis Trepe. Oh, what a day.