Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. This is just for fun.

Saltwater

Chapter III

A burning shaft of sunlight had made its way through the tightly shut curtains of Seifer's room. He gave a feeble groan. The light had managed to rest on his closed eyelids, burning red through the thin skin. He weakly lifted a long, large hand and shielded his face from the offending ray, feeling exhausted and shaky. His head was swimming, his thoughts jumbled together and moving too quickly for him to make sense of them. He'd felt like this for several days now; weak, feverish and sick, and he had a feeling that it was entirely his own fault for messing around in the sea on a cold, horrible day.

The terrible weather had cleared up for the most part, with the exception of the temperature. A harsh, bracing chill still hung in the air, even though the sun was bright and the sea relatively calm. Seifer had remained curled up in his bed throughout, alternately clutching and casting away his blanket, veering from boiling hot to freezing cold.

Matron had been her usual ever-kind self. Since Seifer had come down with a chill, she'd been popping in and out of his room with water and orange juice, and had even tried to coax Seifer into drinking a bowl of chicken soup. However, he'd been as sulky and uncooperative as a child, desperate for attention, but refusing what was good for him. Even in the grips of a fever, Seifer remained completely stubborn, trying foolishly to deal with the illness alone.

Feeling like hell, Seifer forced his eyes open, the sunlight searing into his skull and exacerbating his already bad headache. His vision swung blearily towards his bedside table, where a jug of water and a glass had been left by Matron, presumably while he'd still been passed out from the exhaustion of being awake half the night from feeling sick. He pushed himself up onto his elbow, shakily pouring a glass of water. He held the full glass against his temple, the cold, glassy feeling pleasant against his fuzzy head. Seifer glanced around his room; it was strangely tidy, although he'd kicked most of his blanket off the bed and a pillow had slid onto the floor, crumpled and sweaty. The room smelled of sickness – sour and musty all at the same time. Seifer could smell himself too; sweat and sickness. A bad combination.

Seifer had bolted the glass of water too quickly, and with a sudden thrill of horror could feel it preparing to re-emerge. He staggered with surprising speed out of his room, launching with intent towards the nearby bathroom. To his sheer luck, the bathroom was empty and clean. He flung himself down onto his knees, and vomited into the toilet. He stayed there for some time, retching pointlessly into the bright toilet bowl. His face was blotchy; part deathly pale from the illness, and part blushed red from the effort of being sick. His throat hurt and his teeth felt scratchy. Feeling shaky, Seifer pulled himself to his feet and began to brush his teeth, spitting away the last traces of bile. He peered at himself in the mirror and shuddered. Far from looking like his usual angelic self, his skin was terribly pale, and he had dark circles under his usually bright emerald eyes. His hair was standing up, making him look as if he'd been recently electrocuted. Despite how unwell he felt, Seifer attempted to smooth his hair down, and failed. He scowled, completely un-used to being displeased at his appearance.

Suddenly Seifer felt incredibly wobbly, and made his sad little way back to his room. He gingerly lay down, and feebly pulled his blanket up around his chin, his knees tucked up in the foetal position.

He felt wretched, and lay there for an hour, not sleeping, but not really awake either. In his confused, feverish mind, he daydreamed of the sea, half-imagining that there was salt water stinging his eyes and making his tongue taste salt. In the dim corridors of his mind, she was there too, her usually perfect hair swept all out of place by the violent sea wind, and damp around the ends, her cerulean eyes piercing his own. It was a strange daydream; full of jerky movements, moving too fast, and far too intense for his exhausted mind to deal with, but it was strangely comforting too.

He heard the handle of his door click, and his eyes shot open, inexplicably terrified. What was it? A monster? A vengeful enemy? His unwell mind quailed in a way that was very un-Seifer-like.

"Morning sunshine," came a voice that sounded like music to his ears. He turned his gaze up the meet the face of a beautiful blonde, albeit a slightly rumpled one. It was Quistis, who had seemingly only woken up recently, judging by her loose and uncombed hair. She looked very pale, but so lovely that it almost hurt to look at her.

Seifer blinked at her stupidly, his mind lodged somewhere between wanting to blurt out how amazing she looked, or feeling the need to throw up.

"I heard you being sick a little while ago," said Quistis. "I thought I'd come and see how you were feeling."

"I feel like total shit," Seifer mumbled.

Quistis raised an eyebrow, letting the comment go. "You've been like this for a few days now," she said. "Don't you think you should see a doctor?"

"Oh yeah, a doctor," said Seifer, somehow managing to still be sarcastic despite how awful he felt. "Because Centra's crawling with them, isn't it? I mean, going outdoors is pretty much like wading through a sea of doctors."

Quistis' brows knotted with irritation. "Don't be an ass, Seifer," she snapped. "I just came to see if you were alright. There's no need to be so sarcastic about it."

Seifer felt somewhat embarrassed and looked away from the anger blooming on Quistis' face. He knew full-well that this was the wrong way to go about things. "Fine, fine," he muttered. "I'm sorry. I just feel like shit and being stuck in bed pretty much sucks." He gave her what he hoped was an apologetic smile. Her expression lightened and she seemed mollified.

"Do you want something to eat?" Quistis asked. "From what Matron's told me you've pretty much just been drinking water." Seifer's expression was one of disgust. "Come on," continued Quistis. "Eating something plain might make you feel better."

Seifer's expression remained unimpressed. "I threw up an hour ago. Do you honestly think that I want to eat anything right now? I can practically taste my own guts."

"A piece of plain toast might help settle your stomach."

"I don't want any."

"Well, I'm making you some anyway."

Seifer sighed, exasperated, and went to complain but Quistis was already gone, bossy and headstrong as ever. He could hear her putting bread into the toaster and felt his stomach gurgle unpleasantly. With serious effort, he dragged himself from his bed and towards the kitchen, where Quistis turned and gave him a quizzical look.

"Seifer, put some clothes on."

He was clad only in a pair of ageing boxer shorts, which had possibly once been black but now were a dismal shade of dark grey. "I'll wear whatever I damn well like," he said. "And I don't want any toast."

Seifer noticed that Quistis' look of confusion had been replaced by one of concern. She stepped away from the toaster and laid one slim, pale hand on his forehead.
"Seifer, I really think you should get back to bed. You look dreadful."

And all of a sudden, Seifer genuinely felt dreadful. His head swam, and he could feel himself breathing heavily. His pupils were dilated, eclipsing the bright green of his iris, replacing it with a stony black. He felt sweaty and sick, like he was about a vomit, but he knew there was nothing to throw up. Without any warning, his legs gave way, and he fell heavily on to the hard kitchen floor. He heard Quistis give a yelp of shock, somewhere in the distance. He vaguely heard her say something, then felt a cold refreshing light envelope him. He was only dimly aware of the bright blue waves of colour that surrounded him as Quistis cast Cure on him.

Somehow, within moments he was back in his bed, listening, confused, to the distant mutterings that seemed to be in his room, ricocheting through his skull like bullets. He whimpered like a child, eyelids fluttering, feeling hot and cold all at once. His teeth chattered violently, and suddenly Quistis' face was over his, those cold, gentle hands on his forehead once again. He shrank back, terrified in a way he couldn't explain, loathing the feel of touch and the tingling feeling that came with it.

"Shh, it's alright, Seifer. It's me, it's Quistis."

Then he heard the words, "He's awfully sick. I'll see what I can do, however. It's a shame it's so remote out here... there isn't a doctor for miles, and Squall left on the Garden last night. If he hadn't we could've taken him to the sick bay."

Images swam in front of Seifer's eyes. The blue dome of Balamb Garden, the edge of a gunblade, the piercing eyes of a sorceress boring a crater into his soul, huge black birds bursting from trees, waves... sea and salt.

Then bright blue eyes fixing on his own. Instantly he lost his fears, and stared back into those depths, transfixed and wordless. It was her. Only her.

"Don't leave," he felt his lips struggle out the words. He fumbled for her hands, grasped them, breathing hard, feeling lightheaded and confused, but with a sense of sudden clarity that took him aback even in his feverish state.

Her other hand was back on his face, and it didn't make him feel sick anymore. He leaned into it, and saw her eyes widen in surprise, but she didn't remove it. "It's alright," she whispered. "I'm here. I won't leave."

And then Seifer heard himself muttering nonsense words, before it all started going dark around the edges of his vision, and he felt himself fall down and down into the black, with no dreams, like a dead man.

"Don't leave," was the last thing he whispered. "Don't leave."


Quistis stayed with Seifer for the remainder of the morning, watching closely as Edea worked to the best of her ability to alleviate some of Seifer's illness. It seemed to be viral infection, and Matron assured Quistis that Seifer would be fine in a few days. However, Quistis was shaken. Seifer was so typically an alpha-male, refusing to acknowledge that he was ever ill, or hurt, or upset, glossing over anything he felt with flinty sarcasm and aggression.
Seeing him in such a state had been unnerving. He had been as weak and feeble as a child. She remembered with some discomfort his almost-black eyes staring up at her, breathing heavily, his skin glowing with sweat from the fever. Her stomach lurched at the memory. Even in such a terrible state, he had been beautiful. Her heart softened as she looked at him, lying there so utterly helpless and weak.

His usually golden-tinged skin was pale, and even in unconsciousness his expression was one of annoyance, the brows knitted together in a scowl.

Quistis sat there for some time, just watching him, feeling little jolts of horror every time she felt he wasn't breathing. Of course, he was breathing, just slowly and deeply, and she felt embarrassed at herself for her own concern, for feeling so desperately human in the sight of Seifer's prone form. She imagined the looks on the faces of her friends at the sight of her. They would think she was mad, Zell and Rinoa in particular. Irvine was indifferent to Seifer, and she remembered vaguely the subtle way that the pair of them ignored one another, two alpha males with nothing to prove, like tired lions.

In his sleep, Seifer grumbled and moved. His eyes opened, and they were dark and glassy still. The fever hadn't quite left him. He peered at Quistis, and she could just about make out the circle of piercing green around the overlarge pupil. He blinked and moved his hand as if to reach out, but stopped, an expression of child-like confusion settling over his strong features in a way that was inadvertently charming.

"Seifer, are you alright? Do you want me to get Matron? Do you want some water?"

Seifer's expression was dreamy and distant. His eyes were going in and out of focus, but remained locked on Quistis' face, as if he was trying to remember a long-forgotten thought.

Quistis repeated his name. The edges of his mouth turned up in a smile that would've made her melt, had he been less ill and pale. Seifer breathed inward, a deep shuddering breath, then focused his eyes, so much like onyx now as opposed to their usual emerald.

"You remind me of the sea," he said, delirious, smiling, happy as a mental patient.

Quistis raised an eyebrow, slightly amused by Seifer's happy stupor, but concerned nonetheless. "Pardon?"

"That day," he said. "At the sea. Your hair came down." He moved his hands around slightly, indicating something whirling. "It was all about your face like... lovely." Seifer closed his eyes, as if he was back there, and the smile spread across his face, making the corners of his eyes crinkle with the strange joy of the memory, half-awake. "Like a fuckin' mermaid."

Quistis had to bite her lips to stop herself laughing from the sheer awkwardness of the situation. Her stomach felt heavy with adrenaline. Part of her desperately hoped that Seifer would never remember this conversation, but part of her didn't.

"Come here," mumbled Seifer, his face flushed with the breaking fever. He beckoned with a large, veined hand.

"Why?" said Quistis, feeling her heart hammering somewhere in the region of her throat.

"Just cm'here." Seifer reached out with a shaking, glistening arm. The hair on his arms was the exact colour as the hair on his head – it was very blonde, and very soft-looking, like tiny threads of gold. Quistis allowed herself to be pulled closer, and stared into the grinning, feverish face of the man who'd almost killed her and her friends, his forehead beaded with droplets of sweat. His eyes were terribly bright, so bright that it tore at her very arteries to see it. He smiled still, exposing his very white teeth, clenched together with the sickness. Slowly, almost painfully slow, he moved his hand up to the back of her head, and pulled her face down to meet his.

It was the strangest kiss of her life. His lips were very warm, and his tongue was cold and dry, but Quistis felt her stomach lurch with the unexpected shock of it. It had been so slowly done, and could have been stopped so easily, but yet she'd let it happen. More astoundingly, she found herself responding, feeling her insides curl and contort at the feel of his hands on her hair, and his tongue on hers.

Somewhere in the dim hallways of her mind, Quistis remembered a time when he had been her student, when she'd been frequently exasperated and hurt by his endlessly disruptive behaviour and his childish insults towards all and sundry. Now, they were back at their childhood home, and he was sick, and she was letting him kiss her while he burnt up underneath her. His lips felt like fire, and not in the cheesy romance-novel sense of the word.

Quistis pulled back sharply, Seifer's smile dissipated. He looked very old now, and very serious. He gaze fixed on hers like a curious raven, weighing up her reaction. Quistis arranged her face in a neutral expression, and rose from her seat, smoothing down her skirt, feeling altogether very flustered.

"Well," she said, trying to reclaim the dismissive tone she'd often used on Seifer when he'd been her student. "You're clearly very sick, and I suppose I should leave you rest."

The dreamy look was gone now, replaced by a bird-like interest. His black eyes made his expression far more intense. "Okay," was all he said, his face propped up on one hand. Creakily, he lay himself back down, facing the ceiling, before his eyelids danced slowly shut, and that strange, feverish smile appeared on his parched lips. Quistis stared at him. Lovely he'd said. She'd never thought of herself as lovely; just awkward, too tall and pale. A strange glow flared inside her chest at the idea of some brave knight thinking her lovely. She caught herself, remembering who this particular knight was, but despite herself the little flare didn't die. She frowned at herself.

Quistis turned and walked silently from the room. She paused, looking at Seifer one last time, his features now curiously flushed and radiant.

"The sea," he breathed, from that strange plain between waking and sleep. "It was so cold... I was so happy, tasting salt." He sighed, shuddering from exhaustion. "The mermaid..." Then his features slackened as sleep overtook him, and he lay there, a defeated Apollo, beautiful and frail. Quistis went to say something, but felt the words stop in her throat, as if muffled by sea water. She didn't even know what she would've said.

Feeling flustered, Quistis left Seifer's room, still tasting him on her lips.

He's sick, he didn't mean that. He won't even remember it when he gets better. She forced herself to bristle with indignation. I can't believe that he even found that appropriate to do, sick or not. Her anger felt half-hearted and she knew it.

Lovely. The word echoed in her head, full of colour, throbbing through her veins. She peered at the closed door of Seifer's bedroom and shook her head, as if to dispel the offending word. She glanced quickly around, making sure there was no one nearby, and she smiled. A real smile, that reached her eyes and made the muscles ache.

The moment passed. Quistis pushed down the glow, reminded herself that Seifer was ill, smoothed down her skirt again, and walked to the kitchen. Some housework was bound to take her mind off this. She opened the kitchen window, and inhaled the scent of saltwater, feeling it expand her lungs, pushing them outwards. A ray of sunshine hit her and the surrounding area, making everything sparkle, suddenly strangely magical. Quistis blinked, momentarily dazzled by bright glass and bright metal and the memory of bright black eyes with a ring of emerald around the pupil.

Quistis smiled again.


Sorry about the long wait for this chapter, everyone. I've been slightly distracted by a Supernatural fic that I've almost finished and graduating university and all that jazz. Hopefully the next chapter won't be such a long wait! Reviews make me happy, by the way, heh. Many thanks to the people who reviewed the last two chapters.

-Lux