A/N: There are additional chapters for this available on ao3. I'll probably only update there for the time being. Same username if you'd like to read more.
XO
The girl threaded a needle with shaking hands, preparing to stitch Squall's wound. Squall didn't trust that she was capable of sewing his face back together without causing considerable damage, but his head hurt too much to make much of a fuss about it. He took a swallow of mead and waited with growing impatience while she held the tip of the needle above the candle flame to sterilize it.
His mother sat on the other side of the room, watching but not speaking. Squall tried to ignore her, but it was tough to ignore Raine Leonhart, dead or alive.
When he was a boy, Raine would hover nearby when he was sick or injured, an ephemeral thing that could do little but watch and fret over him. Back then, he'd wished she could have done something to help, but now he only resented her. She could witness his pain but could never be the one to ease it.
He hated the look in her eyes now. He had always hated it. If it was so painful for her to watch his suffering, why didn't she leave? Why did she insist on staying? He didn't understand.
No more than he'd ever understood why she'd married a man so ill suited for the kind of life she lived. She could say all she wanted about the heart's desires and the futility of fighting against true love.
Laguna Loire had been the least logical choice for her. He'd been a dangerous choice for such a fierce, intelligent woman.
There were whispers Laguna had been the reason all but Squall and Ellone had been lost in the storm. Rumor was, Raine had been distracted by some foolishness that day and missed all the signs of danger on the horizon. It had cost her everything.
Squall vowed that logic would always dictate his own choices. That would never happen to him. He would make sure it didn't. There was no room in his world for romance and no room in his heart for anyone else. The sea was his only mistress.
The girl moved to the edge of the bed, an alcohol soaked rag in one hand. She perched herself beside him, her brow furrowed with a certain stubbornness that Squall decided would either serve him well, or be his undoing.
Most likely the latter, but he had little option or say in the matter. He could barely see.
Gently, she blotted the blood from his forehead and pressed the alcohol soaked rag to his wound. It burned like fire and smelled poisonous, but Squall endured it without so much as a gasp. He focused on his breathing and the sound of the sea instead of the horrible throbbing in his head.
"This is going to hurt," she said.
"It already does," he said. "Just fix it."
Light fingers pinched the edges of the wound together and Squall tensed. He grasped her wrist and held it still.
"Keep the stitches even," he said.
"I know how to stitch."
"Aye, I should hope so, since I know you're no cook."
She pulled her wrist from his grasp and held out the threaded needle.
"Would you prefer to do this yourself? Since you seem to think I'm incompetent."
"You haven't proven you're capable of anything but throwing disaster in my path."
"If I hadn't intervened, Almasy would have killed you," she said. "You could at least be a little bit grateful instead of acting like a great big meanie."
"There's that word again. Meanie."
"Would you prefer bilge rat, Captain?"
"That depends on whether or not ye'd like to find out how cold the water is."
There was no conviction in his voice, and he knew his threat carried no weight. He could barely stand on his own, thanks to her exceptional skill with wielding blunt objects, coupled with Almasy's determination to decapitate him. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't have done much to follow through on his threat.
A fresh trickle of blood spilled down the side of his nose and he gave up the fight. He didn't have the energy nor any interest in continued discussion. Under any other circumstances, Squall would not have entertained this sort of banter at all and he didn't know why he'd even allowed it to go on as long as it had.
Something about this girl got him all riled up, and he couldn't seem to hold his tongue. It wasn't his style to engage in verbal disagreements. He preferred to solve altercations quickly and without discussion.
"Just fix it," he said.
She huffed and leaned over him again, biting her lip in concentration. The needle pressed against his skin and he closed his eyes in anticipation of the pain. When that pain didn't come, his eyes popped open and he stared at her angelic face in frustration.
"Get on with it."
"Well..." she said, "Your wound is hard to reach from here."
"What's your point?"
"I'm used to sewing in my lap," she muttered. "Could you… put your head on my knees? I can stitch faster that way."
Squall wanted to tell her to forget it and go back to the kitchen, but he had a feeling if he dismissed her, she would do what she wanted to do anyway. Keeping her here meant she had a better chance of staying out of trouble, and though he had no interest in additional physical contact with her, if it sped things along, he would endure without complaint.
"Do what you need to do," he said. "Just make it fast."
She seated herself on the edge of the bed and Squall reluctantly shifted so that his head rested against her knee. He'd barely flinched when she'd pressed the needle to his skin, but the sensation of her fingertips as they smoothed the hair back from his forehead stirred a strange panic in him he didn't understand. That panic scared him in a way that nothing else he'd faced ever had. Not even fighting off krakens or would-be raiders terrified him this way.
Squall didn't understand it. She was just a girl. A silly, wide-eyed disaster with a pretty face. She was nothing. A weakling. A strong wind could blow her right off the deck. And yet she'd already proven she was capable of causing him harm.
Being in such close proximity made him want to get up and run away. If he hadn't been so dizzy, he would have. That feeling became even more intense when her hands cradled the sides of his head and she peered down at him to survey the wound.
"That's better," she said, nodding. "I'll try to make this quick."
He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at her warm brown eyes or her furrowed brow or the way she bit her lip in concentration. At the same time, he wanted to look. He wanted to understand what it was about her that scared him witless.
As the needle passed through his skin, he grunted softly and tried to focus on his breathing instead of gritting his teeth. It did not feel good but he suffered through it without complaint.
"Try to keep your face relaxed," she murmured. "When you frown, your forehead wrinkles up."
"Ye should've knocked him out first," his mother's voice said. "It's easier that way."
"I thought about that, but I don't think his head can take another blow," the girl said.
"I wouldn't worry about that," Raine said. "He inherited his father's thick skull, to be sure."
The girl giggled, saw Squall's dark glare and sobered.
"And his mother's temper," Raine noted.
The only living people Raine ever spoke to were Squall and his sister, Ellone, who rarely boarded a ship these days. So why was Raine speaking to this girl as if they knew one another? Why was she speaking to her at all?
"Stop talking about me like I'm not here," he growled.
"Sorry," the girl said. "It's just, this will go faster if you stop frowning."
Squall cursed under his breath and forced himself to relax his face. That wasn't easy for a man who wore a permanent frown like armor.
He suffered through the press of the sewing needle through his skin. It wasn't that bad, certainly not the worst he'd endured, and after a couple of stitches, the wound had gone mostly numb.
No. She was the reason his muscles remained tense and his jaw clenched. It didn't make sense. She was just a girl.
A girl who had no business on his ship. A girl that had caused him bodily harm, sassed him, had been knocked out by the boom and had spilled his dinner all over the deck, all in less than twenty-four hours. Girls like this were the reason tradition held that women were bad luck on ships. Girls like this were the reason good ship captains wound up on the bottom of the sea.
Squall would be a liar if he said he didn't find her attractive. Her attractiveness did not make up for her being such a disaster, even if he would reluctantly admit he owed her for the distraction that allowed him to pay Almasy back.
Perhaps he wouldn't keelhaul her, but he needed her off his ship before she caused another disaster for herself or someone else.
As soon as they reached port in Centra, he would make sure she stayed on land where she belonged. That was the easiest and best solution for everyone involved.
On deck, Quistis was engaged in battle against Almasy's First Mate. Fujin was no joke, but they were an even match and Quistis knew all her tricks. Having grown up together, Quistis was no stranger to Fujin's dirtier tactics and had a few scars to prove it. The downside was that Fujin was also aware of Quistis' weaknesses.
With her whip in one hand and a cutlass in the other, Quistis fought hard, aware that Fujin was trying to incapacitate but not kill. She imagined, First Mate Quistis Trepe would make a fine prize and offering to Almasy should Fujin manage to get the upper hand. Even if Almasy and his crew lost this battle, a valuable hostage would still be a victory and a blow to the crew of the Lionheart.
Quistis had no intention of letting that happen.
Fujin lunged forward suddenly and Quistis felt the bite of Fujin's blade against her side. Quistis gritted her teeth and lashed out with her whip. It caught hold of Fujin's leg and Quistis gave the weapon a hard yank. Fujin hit the deck with a hard thump and a cry of pain and Quistis did not waste any time.
She dropped onto Fujin and wrestled her onto her stomach, then used the sash around Fujin's waist to bind her wrists and ankles. Fujin put up a good fight, but she outweighed and outmatched on the ground.
When she continued to struggle, Quistis raised her elbow and smashed it hard into Fujin's temple.
"RA...ge," Fujin muttered and her eyes rolled back into her head.
A sense of pride and victory filled Quistis's chest and she stood slowly and surveyed the battle around her.
Most of Almasy's crew had vacated the ship on Fujin's order, but a few were still engaged in battle. From what she could tell, the fight would not last much longer. Nearby, Zell finished off a tattooed man in overalls, and she watched Xu chase a few others back onto the Hyperion.
It was nearly over, and Quistis was satisfied enough to call it a victory.
Quistis spotted Nida and called him over to give her a hand. Together, they dragged Fujin down to the hold and shackled her to the wall. The slight woman slumped toward the floor and Quistis gave a satisfied smile as she turned away from her valuable hostage.
"The Cap'n will be pleased," Nida said.
"Aye," Quistis agreed. "I'll go finish this. Prepare to sail."
Topside, the fight was winding down, but a few of Almasy's crew continued to fight, even as Selphie readied the cannons again.
Quistis didn't need to look to know Selphie hadn't missed the first shot. Selphie never missed and there was likely a good sized hole in the side of the Hyperion. One that would need to be fixed before Almasy could continue much further on his journey. It might take a day or two to repair and he would likely seek out the nearest port in southern Galbadia.
If their luck held, the Hyperion would never catch up.
Something smashed into the back of Quistis' head and she saw stars. She gasped and spun around with her blade raised, ready for attack, but the whole world tilted and she sank to her knees.
"Cunno," a chirpy feminine voice said. Quistis' eyes fell on a petite, half-dressed blonde with too many braids. "Cap's orders."
"What?" Quistis mumbled. "Who are you?"
Then she was struck again and everything went dark.
There was a hole in the Hyperion the size of a man's head. Though Seifer was on the verge of unconsciousness, he could see the damage as he was dragged back onto his ship. He knew they were doomed if they stayed. He gave the order to withdraw in a scratchy, pain-laced voice that he didn't much care for and forced himself to stand.
Raijin reached out to steady him just as a second blast of cannon fire went off and he felt the impact of the blow through the soles of his boots.
"WITHDRAW!" he bellowed. "HYPERION CREW, WITHDRAW."
A flurry of activity around him made him lean against the foremast heavily and he sucked in a few deep breaths before righting himself again. He was only now aware of the taste of blood in his mouth and the warm flow of it down the side of his face. What the hell had Leonhart done to him?
And Rinoa... Seifer laughed softly at the thought of Rinoa Caraway anywhere near a ship. It was Leonhart's bad luck that Rinoa had found her way aboard. Rinoa was equal parts endearing and infuriating, and Seifer's history with her was dubious at best.
Seifer had a feeling he wouldn't be Squall's biggest problem anymore. Rinoa was sure to be the downfall of the Lionheart and crew. Seifer grinned to himself at the thought of getting word the massive ship had gone down in flames or that its Captain had been scratched to death by the raven haired trouble maker.
Then again, he wondered if the reason Rinoa was on the Lionheart in the first place was because of him. After all, he had swindled Fury Caraway out of a lot of money and had made a false promise to wed Rinoa and make her a Duchess of the Dollet Dukedom. Caraway had bought the whole story, hook, line and sinker, forked over a substantial investment of gold on Seifer's promise to return it threefold, then Seifer had disappeared.
For a smart, formidable man, Caraway had been easily duped. Perhaps he'd had his doubts about the deal from the beginning, but it had been the man's own greed that had prevented him from looking too deep into Seifer's claims of being the second son of a Duke. Galbadians tended to not be terribly interested in the affairs of a small city that claimed to be a country. All Caraway had seen was the possible wealth and prestige that being the father of a Duchess would bring him.
Now there was a blight on Rinoa's good name. Scandalous rumors proliferated in Deling City, rumors that questioned her virtue and tainted her presumed innocence. For a Lady of the upper class, that was as good as a death blow.
Not that any such rumors had reached Rinoa's ears. Caraway had seen to that, but just the same, between her father's money troubles and the rumors, her only hope of marriage now was to a lowly widowed lord with nothing but a title and a few acres of land.
Last Seifer had heard, Caraway had gambled away what little he had left in attempt to earn back the fortune he'd lost. Seifer felt a little bad about making Rinoa an unwitting victim of his scheme, but he had no sympathy for her father.
Then again, maybe Rinoa was on the Lionheart to get her revenge. Maybe she'd heard rumors of her own and had aligned herself with Leonhart to get back at him. She might have been a spoiled, impulsive brat, but she wasn't stupid.
Shame. Seifer had kind of liked her. Now she was an enemy. In this world, there was no room for mercy, and if he ever confronted her again, he would show none.
As Seifer ruminated on this, he slid to the deck and was lifted back to his feet by Raijin. Seifer's legs wouldn't support him, so Raijin lifted him up and tossed Seifer over his shoulder, ignoring Seifer's protests that he could walk and immune the blows Seifer dealt to the man's back.
He was dumped unceremoniously onto the bed in his quarters. His wounded forehead throbbed and the world swam. He felt like he was going to be sick.
"Tell Fujin to get us out of here," Seifer barked. "Anyone left behind is now property of Leonhart. I don't care, just get us away from them. Now."
"Aye, ya know?" Raijin said. "I ain't seen Fu in a minute, though."
"GO. FIND. HER!" Seifer roared. "And then get someone in here to fix my face. And tell them to bring a bottle of that Trabian corn liquor."
"Aye, Cap," Raijin said. "Right away."
Seifer floated in and out of consciousness. He half-dreamed, half-fantasized about watching a kraken stick Leonhart down its gullet, head-first, then chew on him like a pork chop.
It was funny, but Seifer would rather Squall meet his end at the tip of his blade. That would be the most fitting end for his childhood rival. Death by any other means would be anti-climactic and Seifer would feel cheated if it wasn't his sword that ended Squall's life.
When he woke, the brown-haired girl whose name Seifer couldn't remember was busy tending to Seifer's wound. He winced as he felt the sting of the needle against his skin and glanced around the room in confusion.
"Hold still," the girl scolded. "I'm almost done."
Seifer suffered through it without a word and let the girl finish her work uninterrupted. His head felt awful, but the cut on his arm throbbed even worse. Whatever Rinoa had shot him with had been sharp and it had cut deep.
"All right," the girl said. "Sit up and take off your coat so I can look at your arm."
Seifer followed directions without complaint and wondered where Fujin was. Yona or whatever her name was began to stitch and Seifer reached for the bottle of liquor on the table. It burned going down and tasted terrible, but it was a good distraction from the sting of his injury and his wounded pride.
The door of his cabin burst open and Rikku and her scary friend stumbled inside, dragging someone behind them. Seifer sat up and his eyes widened as he watched them deposit Quistis Trepe, bound and gagged, on the floor of the room.
"Hey, Cap'n," Rikku said cheerfully. "Brought you a present."
Seifer pushed the brunette's hands away and rose to his feet in disbelief. He broke into a broad grin at the sight of dangerous, tough as nails Quistis Trepe rendered incapacitated by a pair of silly treasure hunters.
If he hadn't been so dizzy, he would have done a victory dance. As it was, he had half a mind to grab Rikku and plant a big, fat kiss on her just because this was the best possible end to a really screwed up day.
"Did we do good, Cap'n? Rikku asked.
"Good?" he laughed. He pointed to Quistis and grinned. "That is Leonhart's second. The only thing that would be better than this is Leonhart himself."
"Yay!" Rikku cried and jumped in the air. Long braids and beads flailed about before she stopped and reached into her pocket. "Oh, by the way, I swiped some stuff from him. I don't know if you can use it or not, but here you go."
She tossed something at him and Seifer reached out to catch it. His fingers latched around something round and metal and he held it up to the light to see what it was. He started to laugh as he realized what Rikku had stolen.
"You stole these?" he asked.
"Sure," Rikku said with a grin and a shrug. "It was an easy. They were just dangling there."
This had not been a failed mission after all. Sure, there was a couple holes in the side of his ship, and he'd wound up with some ugly wounds but his crew had managed to stick it to Leonhart in the most painful of ways. Seifer was positively giddy over what they'd accomplished.
"What do you want us to do with her?" the platinum haired girl asked flatly and nudged Quistis with the toe of her heeled boot.
"Stick her down in the hold," Seifer said. "Lock her up good and tight and make sure there's nothing within reach, not even a crate or a sack of flour. She's crafty and she will use anything she can to her advantage."
"Aye," she said. "Rikku, let's go."
"When you're done, get the holes in the side patched before we start taking on water," Seifer said. "Then report back to me."
"On top of it, boss," Rikku chirped.
The two women dragged the still unconscious Trepe out of the cabin and Seifer grinned to himself as he watched them go.
Quistis Trepe. As gorgeous as she was deadly, and she was his now.
The item Rikku had stolen from Leonhart was the icing on the cake, though. Without realizing it, she had pilfered Leonhart's most valuable and most prized possession.
He ran his thumb over the lion heads carved in iron and smiled to himself as he counted them.
All six were there.
The proverbial keys to the castle.
