~:~ One flew over the Chocobo's nest ~:~

Quistis Trepe's identity was conspired from her efforts in battle, her demeanour in Balamb Garden, and her general etiquette in social gatherings. No one really knew the extent of Quistis Trepe's composure, or bravery, and no one ever saw her break down.

Her appearance was something she consistently maintained; insecurities were easier to disregard when respect dominated pity. Not a disagreeable word was spoken when her instructor's license was revoked, and her smile stayed fixated whilst recognising she was date-less during Balamb Garden's victory celebration.

No one saw Quistis in her darkened dorm. No one saw her crawl into bed. And no one witnessed her tear-stained pillow soak up years of pent up frustration and emotions. Failure was not a word often attributed to the Instructor, but she knew she was more than worth the title.

As the blonde sobbed quietly to herself, she recounted all her failures from childhood, all revolving around one individual.

No one spoke of Seifer Almasy after his departure from Garden. It had nothing to do with fearing him, or refusing to hold him accountable for his actions, it was Balamb's way of devaluing him and stripping him of any recognition. Never in the history of Garden had a cadet or SeeD ever turned against his own. Seifer Almasy was a wolf in sheep's clothing.

But not to Quistis.

She did acknowledge his wrong. She had held him accountable for the hundreds of dead and injured caused by his greed. She knew he was mentally unstable the moment he had willingly escaped with Sorceress Edea. But, she also held herself accountable. She had known the damage Seifer was capable of even before they left the Orphanage, yet she tried to change him, make him a better person.

"Problem is a devil can never become angel."

Quistis's pale hand zoomed through the dark and frantically pulled at her lamp switch. Yellow light flooded from her bed, near enough reaching the small study area by the window. Seifer, clad in his worn-out grey trench coat, navy blue trousers, and black boots, sat leaned against the window.

"Seifer? W-what are you doing here?" her voice trembled at his mere presence.

"What does it look like?" his reply was hoarse. He took a long drag of his cigarette and slowly released the smoke upwards.

Quistis rose to a sitting position. Conscious of her flushed face and puffy eyes, she vigorously wiped away traces of her evident weakness.

"I thought—"

"You thought you'd share the same pity with me you won't allow others to feel for you," Seifer interjected. "Well, here's news for you, Instructor Blondie, I don't need or want your pity."

"That's not what I meant." Quistis watched as Seifer took another long drag of his cigarette. When he didn't respond, she tried again. "Seifer, I thought that was it; that I'd never see you again."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you; just had one last pit stop and thought why not your bedroom than anywhere else?" Seifer smirked.

"You don't need to talk that way with me." Quistis shook her head. "Seifer, if you could just for once be—"

"What! Hm? Be normal?" Seifer inhaled again, this time quickly as he leaned further towards the Instructor. "Exactly how am I supposed to act normal? Am I meant to attend Garden's parties and smile while raising my pinky-finger when I drink tea? Am I supposed to brandish peace, love and unity stickers all over my truck? Should I squeal every time I see a puppy?"

Quistis stared at her troubled mate, unable to respond to his rhetorical questions.

"That's what they taught us, right? We had to act a certain way, speak a certain way, all to show people we were normal children. We weren't allowed to show them the effects of war; we weren't allowed to recognise we were the children of men and women who were killed and raped by governments and politicians who put their bank accounts and reputations ahead of our futures. Because if we did, it was goodbye happy families, hello bloodstained Garden."

"That's not true." Quistis shook her head again, unwillingly to accept Seifer's reasoning.

"Isn't it? What happened to you, then? Didn't you get adopted by that ginger couple, only to be returned to the Orphanage the minute you stopped drawing flowers and rainbows, and started depicting the war zone you came from?"

"We had personal differences," Quistis remarked.

"Yeah, because personally, they thought your mind was just as messed up as mine."

The two blonds stared at one another, almost as if challenging the other to look away. Neither would back down easily. Seifer was adamant that Garden was always their end destination, no matter how much Quistis tried to convince him otherwise.

"This whole adoption program was a facade," he enlightened her, taking another puff of his cigarette. "They made us think we had another chance of being part of a family, but they knew we were just empty shells that they could dispose of however they liked."

"Cid and Edea wouldn't do that to us," Quistis said.

"Cid and Edea didn't give a shit!" Seifer barked. "This was all their idea." Seifer waved his hands around the room as if to gesture the obvious.

"They gave us a way out. Not everyone turned out like you," she bitterly retorted.

Seifer chuckled and clapped his hands.

"Too right! No one turned out like messed up Seifer. No one was as power hungry as I. That's what you tell yourself, right? Well, what if Garden wasn't what messed me up? What if it was that dinky, rundown orphanage, where we were left to rot until someone bloody gave two and a half tosses to turn our volatile minds into machines?"

Quistis folded her arms over her chest. It was like talking to a brick wall; there was no way to penetrate and make him see sense. No amount of talking would change his mind.

"I don't need anyone to tell me I'm a victim. I know I'm the villain."

"You're not." With those words, Quistis found her arms falling back to her lap. Seifer wasn't a villain, he was just troubled.

"Aren't I?" His questioning was more of an insult to her intelligence. "Of course I'm a villain. You think power and greed were the only things that motivated me to fight against you guys? Well, what if I told you, I just liked seeing you all bleed? What if I told you, I wanted to see Puberty-boy's head stuck on a pole, and Chicken-wuss cut up into pieces and fed to Cerberus like the no-good, worthless garbage he is."

"You're sick," Quistis whispered, beginning to lose hope.

"I'm glad you agree!" Seifer stood up and paced the room. He stopped just at the foot of her bed and cocked his head to one side. "Don't act so surprised, Instructor Trepid."

Her lips quivered as she let out a muffled sob. She choked back her tears and swallowed through the pill like form in her throat to let her words through. "I tried."

"You did. I always was a lost cause." Seifer took another cigarette out and lit it up. "You know when I realised the kind of world we live in? When I watched my father get shot by Estharian soldiers, and then my mother was dragged out by her hair. They kicked me until I was unconscious. When I woke up, the old neighbours next door found me and took me in. I remember walking to their house in the muddy snow, seeing the remains of the villagers all over the streets, and then to one corner, my mother's half-naked body."

"Seifer, I'm so sorry," Quistis breathed unsteadily.

"Why? You didn't murder them."

Seifer stared at Quistis for a minute longer, before returning to his seat by the window.

"This world is nothing but hell. It's designed for people like me, to be beaten and beat others. The weak don't survive here, only the powerful do – those who are willing to put aside their morality and conscience."

"This world can be a better place if people hold on to their conscience. That's what Garden set out to do. That's what we've accomplished."

"By what? Destroying a sorceress from the future? Tell me, oh Moral Instructor, what made her life of any less value to yours? If she's guilty for killing, what about all the Galbadian soldiers you've fought?" Seifer demanded.

"Don't get me started on absolutes. My intention wasn't to murder; I was protecting others," Quistis argued.

She was growing tired of the direction of their talk. This was the last thing she wanted to discuss.

"Seifer," Quistis begged. "Please, can we just talk about one good time together? There must be something you remember other than bloodshed and destruction."

"Hm." Seifer gazed at the ceiling, appearing to think long and hard. "There is one thing."

"Yeah?" Quistis smiled.

Seifer put out the cigarette in his hand. "I always liked chocobos."

A knock on the door broke way through their conversation. Quistis glanced at the door as if to confirm she had heard right. When she turned back to Seifer, the chair was empty. She rose off the bed, spinning in the small vicinity of her room, but to no avail.

A second knock rapped at her door, the intruder becoming impatient. She rushed to quickly open it.

"Hi," Irvine stood on the other side, his smile unsuccessfully hiding the worried look on his face.

"Irvine, what brings you here?" Quistis asked, stepping aside to let him in.

"I just wanted to check if you were all right. The other wanted to come, but I said you might need your space."

Minutes ago Irvine would have been wrong, severely wrong. But, at the moment, she was glad there was only one person to quickly get rid of, before she could ascertain what she just experienced.

"I'm fine," Quistis smiled thinly.

"I know you're not, Quisty." Irvine placed a hand on her shoulder. "We were all disappointed in Seifer, but I don't think any of us were prepared for his execution. He was still one of the Orphanage gang."

"Well, according him, he was always more messed up than any of us were," Quistis couldn't help but let slip.

"Really? He said that?" Irvine frowned at the blond.

Quistis shook her head. "It's what he claimed, though I still have trouble believing it." She couldn't hold back any more; her tears streamed down her face and she let Irvine hold her against his chest. "I could have done more, I should have given him more help to get over his issues. I kept putting him down."

Irvine soothed her with comforting sounds, attempting to rid her of ill thoughts. "You're not responsible for his actions. He chose to do what he did, and, unfortunately, he suffered the consequences."

"He was a troubled child; he witnessed things no five year-old should have seen."

"He's not the only one, Quistis. We all suffered as children, but we allowed our futures to make us better people. Seifer allowed himself to be consumed by darkness," Irvine countered.

The Sharpshooter guided the Instructor to the bed and sat her down. He bent in front of her and made her look into his eyes.

"I came here tonight because I know you beat yourself up over your students' mistakes; I've seen you do it with Squall countless times. You need to realise that they, and their actions, should not be left on the weight of your shoulders. If Seifer had a childhood problem that wasn't resolved, and as a result of that, it led to his alliance with Ultimecia, then that should be the fault of a social worker," Irvine said determinedly.

"I was his instructor," Quistis observed.

"Yeah, exactly, you were his instructor, not his therapist." Irvine huffed.

Quistis smiled at his attempts to make her feel guiltless.

"Hey, Irvine, what do you remember about Chocobos? In specific to our time at the Orphanage," Quistis asked cautiously.

"Not much, why?" Irvine frowned.

"I'm just wondering. The long term use of GFs has me racking my brain trying to remember minute details; everything is always hazy."

"Well," Irvine considered carefully, "The Forest of Fun was only a short distance away from the Orphanage and I remember we'd trek down there to play with chicobos."

"Yeah, I remember that. Didn't we name one . . . Boko?" Quistis asked, a distant memory becoming clearer.

"Not entirely. Edea had books about chocobos and among them was Chocobo World, it was a story about a chicobo named Boko—"

"And his girlfriend Koko. I remember," Quistis's smile widened.

"After hearing that story, we found an injured chicobo and decided to name it Boko," Irvine chuckled. "We took care of it like it was our baby; fed it, bathed it much to its chagrin, and even made a shelter for it out of old shoe boxes and plastic egg baskets."

"Seifer would stay up late at night, watching over it," Quistis remembered.

Irvine pursed his lips, but remained silent.

"What ever happened to it?" Quistis asked.

"It was only with us for two weeks. We woke up one morning and found Boko gone, Seifer claimed he had found the mother and taken it to her. But, when Selphie and I went to the beach to find buried treasure, we ended up finding Boko poorly buried by some boulders."

Quistis narrowed her head at Irvine. This was not something she remembered, and not due to the use of Guardian Forces either.

"We called for Edea, who told us to keep it a secret. Later that night, I walked in on her scolding Seifer for what he had done," Irvine confessed.

"Seifer did it?" she didn't need confirmation, it was believable enough, but difficult to digest.

"He said Boko had bitten him, and out of anger, he choked the poor bird. But, thinking back to it, even a child could snap Boko's neck – it was that delicate. Boko wasn't injured at all, at least there were no visible signs," Irvine continued, though Quistis was finding it hard to hear.

Seifer was correct all along. He was more messed in the head than any child that had entered the Orphanage. He didn't need a motive for his actions; he would burn an entire village purely to see it in flames.

Quistis stroked her bare arms, suddenly feeling a chill in the room. Irvine stood up, his legs cramping.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned all that." Irvine apologised.

"No!" Quistis interjected. "I'm glad you did. Maybe I'm not completely responsible for him after all."

"I shouldn't keep saying this – it's not right to speak ill of the dead, but, there was something seriously wrong with Seifer. He should have been given help from childhood. There was nothing any of us could do, we were just kids." He shrugged.

"You're right." Quistis finally nodded. "I hope wherever he is now, he's at peace. I can't help but feel his troubled soul needs it."

After much assertion that she would be all right, Irvine eventually left Quistis alone for the night. The Instructor stood by her window and looked out to the pitch black, cloudless sky. Stars dotted all around, some big some small, some mere specks, while others shone brighter. She hoped he'd found a place among the stars.

But a devil could never become an angel.

A/N: This probably seemed really anti-Seifer, and I'm sure it came out like I've painted the guy with an evil paintbrush. Honestly, I really do like Seifer, but I just wanted to see where this drabble led me, and the result was this.