Quistis sat at the empty reception desk outside Cid Kramer's office pretending to read an email. The words on the screen danced in front of her eyes. As far as she knew, they were in Ancient Centran.

To the former instructor, there was no form of torture more acute than the unknown. It killed her to be kept out of the conversation on the other side of the door. If only Selphie was around, she thought. The younger woman was much more adept at gleaning private information.

On the other hand, if Selphie had been there, Quistis' problems would be much greater than the dialogue between Headmaster Kramer and Seifer Almasy.

Gripping the edge of the desk with both hands, she propelled the chair to the left and then released her hold. The chair spun, allowing her a slow panoramic view of the front office. After a full 360 degree turn, it stopped in its former position. Quistis was just snagging the ledge to begin another swivel when the inner door opened.

The man most on her mind appeared in the threshold. The lines of his face were smooth and unreadable. Arms at his sides, he paused and quirked a thick brow, several shades darker than the gold in his hair. A duffel bag dangled from slack fingertips.

Quistis stood, leaving the chair to rotate alone. She smoothed her rumpled skirt and hair. Scooping the slim tablet off the desk, she cleared her throat and donned a professional smile.

There was no reason to feel so worried, she told her herself, annoyed by her display of nerves. She had been sitting for far too long was all. It was the inactivity that had her rattled, she was certain, and not the opinions of her irritating former student.

Seifer closed the door behind him and strode toward the elevator. He didn't bother to spare Quistis another glance, acting as if he assumed she would follow him.

Which, of course, she did.

"Well?" Quistis couldn't hide her impatience.

"Well, what?" His tone was neutral as he pressed the button to call the elevator car.

"How did it go?" Quistis knew it would be wiser to reign in her eagerness but was dying to know the verdict. Obviously, Cid had offered him the job - but was the man smart enough to take it?

Even after all her effort to get him there, she wasn't sure what she wanted his answer to be.

"It went how I said it was going to go," he responded, moving into the elevator when the door thrummed open. "He begged me to come back to Garden and I told him to fuck himself."

Quistis stared. "You did not."

The small tablet vibrated in her hand. She looked down at the screen for a moment before tucking it into the pocket of her uniform skirt.

"Are you coming or not?" Seifer stood in the doorway of the car, blocking the automatic mechanism to keep it from sliding shut. The elevator emitted a series of angry shouts in retaliation.

Disapproving frown in place, Quistis moved to stand next to him. As the car ceased its exclamations and lowered them to the main floor, she calculated her next move. Looking over at Seifer with a trace of a smile, she slid the device back out of her pocket and tapped it against her palm.

"You are such a liar," she said, waving the tablet back and forth. Her eyes gloated. "I just had a message from Cid. By his account, you said you'd think about it."

Seifer had a few choice words to share in regards to the headmaster. He let them out one by one, glaring at the sluggishness of the digital numbers counting down above their heads.

Piece of shit elevator, he thought. Piece of shit Garden that doesn't bother to update piece of shit technology. Was he never going to be free?

If the cursing bothered Quistis, she didn't let it show. Her face was as blank as a sheet of paper. To his further annoyance, she reached out to hit the red button on the panel, stopping the car's descent. He had a feeling he was in for another one of her uplifting dissertations.

Fucking great.

However, Seifer was given a reprieve. Instead of unleashing a barrage of reprimands, the woman pushed the button for another floor. The elevator screeched as it reversed directions and started to climb.

Smiling, Quistis put her tablet away again and straightened her jacket. "I want to show you something," she said.

He raised a brow, tossing the bag over a broad shoulder. "Ain't nothing here I haven't seen."

After his overlong conversation with Cid, Seifer felt burned out. Nothing had gone the way he'd planned. Cid had anticipated all of his prepared arguments and volleyed them right back. Out manoeuvered, Seifer had stood there while the headmaster decimated his righteous anger. What ammunition he had scrounged, pinged off Cid's iron fortress.

Cid may look like a stodgy old professor but there was a reason he was a founder of a lucrative mercenary operation. He knew how and when to strike to achieve maximum damage. He had not hesitated to take advantage of Seifer's few vulnerabilities. The headmaster made sure to dig deep with each thrust of his blade, not flinching as kidneys and intestines slithered to the ugly carpet. Each retaliatory slash rebounded. The futility of counter attack became obvious.

Seifer realized he was still in prison. The new cell may be larger than the one he'd occupied in Galbadia but it was just as suffocating. In some ways, it was worse. In the D-District he'd had no expectation of freedom to give him hope. And at least those guards had kept their hits physical.

Though the blood in his veins thundered at him to lash out, though the old anger roared and demanded liberty, blamed his confinement on the woman who'd manipulated him onto the island, Seifer no longer felt like fighting.

Thus, he was too tired to resist when Quistis grabbed his arm. Too tired to argue when she pulled him out the elevator door. Too tired to do anything but follow when she led him down a sterile Garden hallway.

He'd been given an offer he couldn't refuse. His soul was still reeling from the blow.

Directing him through an open door at the end of the corridor, Quistis let go of Seifer's arm and took a step back to give him space. Her sales-agent smile softened as she tilted her head to study his impassive features.

"What do you think?"

Until she spoke, Seifer hadn't realized he was supposed to be scrutinizing his surroundings. Offering opinions on Garden interior design was not on his resume. With a frown denting the angular lines of his face he took a look around.

A large L-shaped desk owned the left wall and corner. Behind this uninteresting piece of office furniture sat a several short nondescript cabinets beneath tall windows. The far and right walls were all window, actually. The only other thing he noticed was how neat everything was, down to the placement of the computer mouse on a rubber pad, the Balamb insignia visible above.

Investigation complete, he shrugged. What was she expecting him to say?

"It's an office."

"Very observant." She gave another encouraging smile. "Notice anything else?"

"Really, Trepe?" Seifer shoved his free hand through his hair. "Aren't we a little old for guessing games?"

Quistis sighed and rolled her eyes. She was trying to be nice. Would it kill him to do the same? Couldn't he make an effort, for once?

"Look," she said, walking over to the glass wall on the right. She lifted a hand and turned toward the sky. Sheaths of sunlight speared through the clouds overhead, filtering over the Gualg Mountains and the rocky islands of the Albatross Archipelago beyond. The day's storm was not over if the eastern darkness was anything to go by but the contrasting shades over the hills leading up to the highest peak depicted an Arcadian fantasy.

"Every morning out this window you can see the sunrise. Some days, colour fills up the entire room. And at night, on the best nights, the sky is even brighter than during the day, practically glowing with stars. If you stand close enough to the glass, you can almost imagine you are part of it, like you are floating in space." The curve of her lips was more subtle when she shifted to face him again, the look in her eyes softer.

"But the sunsets are better from this window," Quistis continued, moving to the other side of the room. The laces of light in the western sky shimmered over the dark blades of the plains. "Sometimes you swear you can see dolphins playing by Raha Cape. No other place in Garden has quite this view. You feel like you can see forever, the next best thing to an actual mountain top."

Seifer leaned against the bookcase by the door, arms folded over his chest. The duffel bag chucked at his feet. He couldn't believe she was yammering about sunsets like he was supposed to give a damn. He had just learned he was a prisoner, with no agency, no free will, no say in where he woke up the next day and she wanted him to admire the fucking view? It was worse than lame. It reminded him of the short time he'd spent with Rinoa.

He was not in a mood to reminisce.

Her eyes met his in the dim reflection of the broad pane and his eyebrows lifted. To prevent him from blurting anything scathing, she swung back around.

"Once you start your new position it will all be yours." It was a grand pronouncement, like she was presenting him with an opportunity to win a new car. The television game-show host smile on her face made Seifer yearn to remove it for good.

"If," he corrected. Pulling away from the polished chestnut cabinet, he lowered his arms and thudded into the brown leather chair in front of the desk. "If I take the position, it would be all mine." Customary smirk affixed, he relaxed against the soft material with his arms behind his head. "Tenses, Instructor, tenses."

Without thinking, Quistis took the matching chair opposite him, behind the desk. "You keep saying that, yet you're still here."

Perhaps it was the ease with which she settled into the dragon leather, or the way the adjustable seat and arm rests matched her height and posture, or maybe she had not been able to keep the wistfulness out of her tone as well as she'd thought. Regardless, the man was not to be fooled.

"I want Leonhart's office." It was a demand, coloured with all the arrogance he could manage.

The force of his words was so abrupt, so blunt Quistis almost forgot to roll her eyes in response. When he flipped his heavy, dirty boots onto the gleaming desktop she remembered. With a shake of her head, she sighed. The old back and forth routine of deliberate irritation was beyond stale. She figured it was time to try something new.

"Unfortunately, that will not be an option," Quistis replied, working hard to push down the note of sarcasm that begged to eclipse her moderate tone.

"Then no deal," he said, shrugging a single shoulder before widening his mouth in a yawn. He pushed the chair back on its rear legs. Given they sat on casters, it wasn't an easy task.

He'd had practice. "Wake me up when it's time to leave, eh?"

"Seifer." She wondered how many times she had said his name in that precise way, with exasperation and a hidden plea. Her hand moved to her temple in an attempt to thwart the promised tension. "You can't have Squall's office because he doesn't have one. He works out of his dorm room."

Having closed his eyes, Seifer now re-opened them. "What kind of fucking sense does that make?" He drawled the question on a yawn then watched as she stood and made her way around the desk. Her blue eyes had dulled in the last few minutes and her skin looked paler than ever in the afternoon light. For a moment, he wondered if she felt as stuck as he did. "No wonder this place has gone to shit."

Quistis felt a familiar leap in the bottom of her stomach. She was getting very tired of defending her home to people who refused to acknowledge all the good the institution had done in the past. She should not have to keep outlining the opportunities Garden could create in the future if given the resources, and the support, to actualize its new mission.

How quickly people forgot the role Garden played in preventing further destruction during the war: how oblivion had beckoned like a Siren, slithering its poisoned fingers around the planet, how close they had all come to being squeezed. If not for the cooperation between Garden and Esthar, if not for the years they spent training for every possible scenario, if not for the Guardian Forces everyone delighted in disparaging, would those who are so quick to decry mercenaries even be alive to pass on their misinformed judgments? Quistis conceded Balamb Garden had its share of ethical difficulties but challenged anyone to name a political or military organization that didn't. Garden had so much potential. If people would stop looking for things to confirm their biases and instead realize the significant and positive effects Garden would continue to have, if only they gave it a chance...

She didn't say any of this to Seifer, of course. Her building anger jumbled her thoughts. She knew she would never be able to articulate them in a way that would blast the scorn and boredom from his eyes.

"This place has not gone to shit." Jaw twisting and fingernails digging into her palms, she glared down at him. It was rare she had the advantage of height and it gave her a peculiar new confidence. "What has gone to shit is the attitude of people like you who ignore everything this place has ever given you, who have somehow forgotten that you owe Garden your entire existence."

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. It was sad and so very Trepe, he thought, the way her eyebrow twitched when she uttered the word "shit". She was such a dull puritan, getting off on spewing her Garden rhetoric as if anyone was actually listening. Though a part of him was glad to see the woman hadn't changed he didn't think he could take much more of her flag-waving.

"Blah, blah, fucking, blah. If this is the kind of thing Garden gives people, scars and torture and fucking nightmares, I think we'd all be better off if those missiles had hit." Seifer let the front chair legs crash to the floor. He dropped his feet and rose, towering above her once again.

"Right and say they had." Quistis' expression turned contemptuous. She shifted on to one hip and crossed her arms. "Let's pretend Balamb Garden had been destroyed in the war and no longer exists. Let's even pretend we had still somehow managed to defeat Ultimecia. What do you think would have happened to you?"

"Oh, I'd be dead." He gave another one-shoulder shrug. The casual gesture contradicted the hardness in his face. "So?"

"So?" She spluttered. Her arms lowered and spread as wide as her eyes. "I can't believe you mean that."

"Just because I'm not going to kill myself doesn't mean I don't know there's a fuck lot of things worse than death."

That made her pause. Dark blonde brows knit over a straight, perky nose and unearthed the freckles hidden there. The minor skin imperfection shouldn't have intrigued him. Nor should the loose wisps of hair that stuck out from over her small, sloping ears.

"Just because there are things worse than death doesn't mean there aren't things worth saving." Quistis' voice was quiet with a subtle undertone he couldn't name. "Stop playing the victim, Seifer. It isn't attractive."

Now that got to him, she thought. She saw it in the way his chin jerked up and his forehead creased. The victorious thrill of the successful shot threatened to curve her lips.

Her guilty triumph was short-lived.

"Victim? Yeah, you'd all like that wouldn't you?" Shoving around her, he paced the office, his baritone rising in volume. "It must really be pissing you off that I don't need your pity or your precious fucking SeeD status. That's why you can't wait to haul me back here so I'm under your thumb again, so you can stick up your noses at me just to feel better about your own pathetic lives. Heroes don't look so impressive without a villain to lord over."

Several retorts hit the back of her throat. Quistis narrowed her eyes and let her hands form into fists. She knew how to cut him down, to continue the fight until one or the other, or both, were pushed into a physical attack. It would be simple to retaliate. Maintaining her self-possession while an agitated Seifer scorched the floor in front of her would be harder.

"I have two things to say to that," she began, ice freezing over each consonant. "One, other than Cid, no one actually wants you here. Two, you've never been under anyone's thumb." Her hands clasped her hips now and she looked at him over the frames of her glasses. "Garden has its flaws, just like everything else. Instead of bitching about it, instead of pouting and whining over it and hiding in Dollet, why don't you help us fix them? This is your home too. You've helped make it what it is and you can help make it better."

Seifer felt like punching something. As there was nothing in the vicinity that would be as satisfying as Quistis' haughty jaw, his hands landed on the wood of the cabinet in front of him. He faced away from her and counted down, hoping that when he finished the urge to shake her would subside.

"Maybe I don't think it can be better." He swung around, gesticulating with one arm. It was such a familiar movement; she could almost see Hyperion thrust out from his hand. "Maybe I don't think it's worth saving. Maybe I am damn tired of this place defining who I am against my will."

"Against your will?" Quistis shook her head. "That's not-"

He cut her off, not interested in more vapid justifications. "But it doesn't matter what I want, does it? I've been fucking enslaved since the day I ended up at the orphanage, my life all planned out for me no matter what the hell I wanted."

"That's not true," she got in. Taking a step forward, she pointed a finger at him. "You've had plenty of choices. Don't blame Garden for your mistakes. Cid and Edea-"

"Bullshit!" It was a growl. He leaned back against the window now and crossed his arms. His voice quieted as it grew deeper. And angrier. "Cid and Edea never gave a rat's ass for anyone but themselves. Cid and Edea wanted us all to be mindless fucking zombie puppets to use at their command to serve their own selfish agendas. Why do you think they rammed the GFs in our heads as soon as possible? We're not supposed to fight for ourselves. We're just supposed to be fucking robots."

"You're wrong."

Lost in his diatribe, he didn't notice her breath catching or the sudden rigidity in her frame. There was a storm in the blue depths of her eyes that held a warning. Instead of heeding it, he stood taller and carried on.

"Tell me this, Trepe. When was the last time you fought without being junctioned? Without GFs telling you what to do, would you even know how? From what I've seen, without someone giving orders, without magic, SeeDs are pretty damn useless."

"Since when do you know anything about being a SeeD?" She knew she had lost control of the conversation. She was letting him manipulate her emotions, but she also questioned whether she'd ever been in charge in the first place. "Three failed exams do not an expert make."

"Neither does one exam passed too young because Cid wanted a pretty face to put on recruitment posters," he dismissed with a sneer.

Fuelled by ancient pain and fear veiled too long, thunder clouds clapped over her skull. If Seifer had been watching he would have caught the lightening flash across her face. Though in all likelihood, it wouldn't have stopped him from pushing on.

"I think your mediocre track record as an instructor and a leader stands for itself, don't you?" Ceasing his pacing, he faced her now. His mouth was set in a straight line; the muscles of his jaw were taut.

"So we're back to the mediocre instructor insults are we?" Quistis was surprised by the jeering sound in her voice but she was too agitated to slow down. Every nerve ending in her body had frozen. "What a convenient excuse that has been for you. It makes me wonder if you've known all along you don't have what it takes. It is so much easier to blame everyone else, isn't it? Despite all your bravado, you knew you couldn't handle it."

Seifer let out a full body laugh, letting his head fall back in sincere mirth. "Trust me. I know what I can handle. The real problem is I'm too dangerous for SeeD. Too self-sufficient." Snickering, he shook his head. "What's so damn sad is you actually believing all their crap. Wake up, Instructor! Garden doesn't care about you. If you hadn't followed me to Timber, if Leonhart hadn't been such a dumbfuck automaton, no one would even know your name, other than a handful of Trepies jerking off to your old Garden Square profile. If it hadn't been for the war, you'd be sitting in a library somewhere wondering why you'd never be good enough."

Her hand clasped the handle of the whip on her belt before she even registered the movement. Electricity shivered down her arm and lifted it, unfurling the Malboro Tentacles in one fierce snap. Time seemed to slow and what took less than one second felt like hundreds as Quistis realized what she was about to do. Regaining dominance over her wrist, she yanked back the weapon.

It was too late. Though her recovery prevented the razor edges from dissecting his chest, the lash shredded the light shirt he wore beneath his open coat. Horrified, she dropped the weapon. It bounced once against the carpet.

Silent. Harmless.

It took Seifer another moment to catalogue what had happened. Still smouldering with vestigial rage at the injustices dealt him by Garden he had ignored the darts of ice in her eyes. It had been the whip snapping over his skin with a stinging crackle that shattered the last of the denunciations on his tongue.

He was used to making Quistis angry, once made a hobby of it, in fact. It was not the first time an argument between them had devolved into violence. The way she held herself separate, acted like she was beyond emotion, above the passion constantly pounding in his eardrums, drove him insane. He enjoyed ripping through her thin shields and proving she was no better than he was - that she felt things too. That she was just as damaged.

It wasn't the near assault by her weapon that surprised him. It pissed him off, sure, but it wasn't shocking. He'd suffered much greater damage from the woman in the past. What confused and hushed his retaliatory instincts was not the attack itself, rather her reaction.

The frozen crystals had vanished from her eyes the instant the whip left her fingers. Her shoulders now slumped as she stared at the fallen weapon on the floor. Her hands shook before she curled them by her sides.

Disquieted, unable to bear the sudden calm, Seifer swore. When this failed to capture her attention - she acted as though she hadn't heard him at all - he laughed. The harsh sound caused her head to come up. A small frown worried her brows.

"Hell, Trepe," he said, smirk crawling over his face. "If you wanted me to take my shirt off, all you had to do was ask."

Quistis' frown deepened and then disappeared as a flicker of surprise lightened her drawn features. She stared at him as if trying to diagnose a sudden growth. But at least the deadness was out of her eyes.

The muscles in his jaw relaxed. He was startled to realize how tense they had been.

Quistis didn't know how to respond to Seifer's trite remark. After having almost lacerated his chest because she couldn't control her emotions, the last thing she expected from him was a flimsy joke. If he had been anyone else she might have assumed he was trying to make her feel better.

Swallowing, she touched an unsteady hand to her forehead, pushing at the few escaping strands of hair. She continued to stare at him, worrying the inside of her cheek, then gave up and folded her arms over her chest.

I'm sorry," she said. The words came out stiff, her gaze slid to the window behind him. "I don't know what came over me."

Though he had been mollified by her surprising display of fear, Seifer found himself getting annoyed all over again when ice wiped away the grief. Everything was a show at Garden, he thought. Everyone wore masks.

Despite this irritation, he wasn't immune to the disease and stepped into his old role like he'd never left. "Meh, women are always trying to rip my clothes off," he said, with another stereotypical shrug. He gestured to the remains of his shirt. "I should've expected this would happen. Then I'd have another t-shirt."

Quistis regarded him with clear eyes behind her slim lenses. The arrogant grin he wore was so typical she had to catch herself before smiling back. Dealing with Seifer Almasy took all of her mental capacity. He was as unpredictable as a fight with a Chimera. And often less friendly. It felt a bit like driving a sports car. No matter how subtle, one wrong move would send her careening off the road.

"What is in your bag, then?" she asked, indicating the duffel heaped by the door.

He cocked his head, eyes following her gesturing hand. "Hyperion." He grinned again and moved past her to retrieve the neglected item. Hauling it over a shoulder by the nylon handles, he faced her. "I thought I'd check out the training centre if I had time. Been awhile since I've hacked up some grats."

Now she did smile. Seifer may not be SeeD but he favoured a lot of the same hobbies.

With a shake of her head, Quistis bent to scoop up dropped weapon. She was relieved to see her hands remained steady as they returned the whip to its customary place on her hip. There would be time for regret and analysis later. The important thing to remember was that no one was hurt.

This time.

"Let's go," she said, after straightening. "I think I might have something you can change into."

The walk to the dormitory wing was uneventful. They strode through the halls side by side, not speaking. Quistis' swift movements had no trouble keeping up with Seifer's long stalk. The halls were busier than earlier in the day with several students lounging on benches. Their faces were animated as they described triumphs and defeats. Others jostled in the corridors, doing their best to look confident in front of the opposite sex. It was a scene they both knew well, having once been amongst their numbers. It seemed such a short time ago.

If anyone reacted to Seifer's presence, he didn't notice. He was accustomed to clearing hallways with a look and expected nothing less. What he did pick up on was the change in the way the students and few SeeDs they passed reacted to his companion. Rather than drooling over themselves in admiration or scurrying over with a million pointless questions, as they used to do, they simply moved out of her path. Some shot her strange looks, some looked like they wanted to wave, and then changed their minds, and others, including that dumbass cowboy she hung around with during the war, immediately looked away.

Was it because he was with her? Somehow, he didn't think so. A glance at Quistis told him she was aware of the difference as well. Judging by her squared shoulders and set jaw, she wasn't expecting a joyous tour through grand ol' Garden.

"Well, that was fun," he said as the door slid open to her room. "It's so good to be missed."

Quistis shot him one of her infamous raised-brow looks but remained silent. The moment the door closed behind them, she headed into the bedroom, leaving Seifer alone in her tiny sitting area.

It felt weird to be in Trepe's personal space. Not because it was particularly exciting, more because they'd never breached that boundary in the past. It was strange to see his former Instructor living like a normal person, with chairs and tables and even a small television. He'd never thought about what she did in her private time. Did she actually sit in that over-stuffed arm chair and watch movies? He couldn't imagine it. Everything was too stupidly neat. From what he could tell, even the galley kitchen to the right looked varnished and labelled and contained in its proper place. His fingers itched to start de-stuffing cushions and yanking books off shelves.

Before he could do any damage, Quistis returned carrying a printed black t-shirt.

"Here." She held the shirt out to him. "It might be a bit small but it's better than what you are wearing." She frowned and bit her lip. "I really am sorry about that."

"Like I said, it's not the first time," Seifer replied. Dropping his bag on the carpet, he shrugged out of his coat and began pulling the tattered cotton over his head. "You've done worse. Hell, I've done worse to you."

"I shouldn't have lost control."

"Yeah, well, I have that effect on people." Original shirt discarded, also on the carpet, he reached out a hand for the one she still carried. "The point is you got it back. If you hadn't, I'd probably need more than my clothes replaced."

Though the lilt in his voice was teasing, the look in his eyes was forbidding. Once more Quistis had a bizarre inkling he was trying to reassure her. She couldn't make sense of it. Seifer didn't acknowledge other people's feelings. Seifer didn't think other people had feelings. Or if he did, he didn't care enough to protect them. Was she so hard up for companionship she was imagining things?

Speaking of hard up, she thought, as she watched him unfold the shirt she had pulled from a neglected drawer. When was the last time a man had removed an item of clothing in her dorm room? In her presence at all? Even a sock? Though it was just Seifer, she had to admit, she wasn't minding this unexpected outcome.

At the sound of a low, masculine chuckle, her vision re-focused. Glancing up, she caught his smirk and it smacked all positive sentiments out of her head. When she ruminated on it later, she was grateful for the interruption. Her previous train of thought had been alarming, if not disturbing.

Seifer, still shirtless and laughing, swore. "No fucking way. It can't be you. It's just too messed up."

When her only reply was a bewildered stare, he lifted the men's t-shirt by each shoulder to display the printed design on the front. The graphics featured a selection of cover art from the most recent album of the All Galbadian Rejects. In Seifer's opinion, the band's usual fan base was made up of pansy-assed teenagers with over-styled hair. Kids who spent the majority of their time trying to show everyone how hard-core they were by whining a lot about how their perfect lives weren't perfect enough because their parents wouldn't buy them a car.

In essence, Squall Leonhart. Not Quistis Trepe.

Therefore, if Quistis Trepe owned such an item, an obviously brand new item, it could only mean one thing. This was even more fucked up than the idea of her as a closet emo fan.

"Where did you get this?"

"What do you mean, where did I get it? It's a shirt." Feeling defensive and not trusting the light in his eyes, she adopted an impatient pose. "Would you just put it on? I have better things to do today than watch you flex."

It was an obvious opening, too obvious for a skilled intellectual like Quistis. He knew she was trying to deflect.

"I can't believe it was you," he said, sounding far too amused for her liking. "I mean, Zone? Really? What did the Trepies say to that one?"

Her mouth fell open and she found herself spluttering for the second time that afternoon. How did he know? She hadn't talked to many people about that very brief, very ill-advised relationship. How did Seifer, before any of her actual acquaintances, find out?

It came to her with a wrenching twist of her gut.

Hyne. Seifer was friends with Zone.

The dimple in his cheek grew while he watched the realization drift over her face. Her eyes closed for a beat and he snickered. Deciding to take pity on her, he pulled the offending item over his head. After all, if the last man she had slept with was more famous for his gastrointestinal problems than his abilities as a rebel, his personal virility was far too much for her to handle.

The shirt fit better than he expected, considering it was purchased for a much smaller man. Wishful thinking on Trepe's part, he thought and snickered again. He ran a hand over his ruffled hair then headed over to one of her armchairs to relax and enjoy the fallout.

"It is really none of your business whom I dated, Seifer." Her words were garnished with frosty edges. She bent to pick up the clothes he had abandoned on her clean floor. "It was a long time ago."

"Yeah, sure." His cold-blooded smile caused her stomach to drop.

Dreading the answer to her next question, she knew she had to find out. If he had talked to Zone at all in the last year, the contract for her humiliation had already been notarized anyway. "How much do you know?"

When all he did was fold his hands behind his head and slouch lower in the chair, Quistis knew she was screwed. She felt a renewed burst of anger at her former boyfriend for divulging so much of what she considered confidential information. As so much of her professional life was on display to the media she worked hard to keep what few personal details she had to herself. It ticked her off that Zone hadn't had the decency to remain discreet.

Letting the clothes fall back on the floor, she crossed over to drop into the matching chair beside him. For the first time since their childhood, she gave up on pretence. There was no use hiding. He likely wouldn't let her if she tried.

"So you know about the concert, how he broke it off?"

"Yep."

"What about the weekend we spent in Winhill? Did he tell you about that?" She worried she was going to vomit.

"Yep," he answered. Taking in her agonized posture, the way she bent over in the chair, head resting on the palms of her hands, he laughed again, but it was more good natured this time. "Don't worry. He never used your name. Just called you the SeeD chick."

"How flattering," she muttered.

He couldn't help but chuckle again. Getting to see a dejected Quistis was a reward for the shitty day he'd had. When she dropped the bitchiness and stopped acting like a stuck-up virgin queen, she could be almost tolerable as a human being. He found himself relaxing, something he hadn't done around many people for a very long time.

"What the heck were you doing with Zone anyway?" he asked, still somewhat incredulous. "I figured you went for the pasty-faced politician types. You know the kind who actually do crossword puzzles in bed, get manicures and brag about their wine cellars."

Mortified to be discussing her non-existent romantic life with someone she knew would use it against her, Quistis glared at him in the hope he would mistake the flush in her cheeks for irritation. To be fair, his description did sound similar to a few men she'd dated. "How is that even a type?"

Of course, he saw right through her. "Right, you've never been out with a guy who had his secretary send you flowers."

Quistis picked up a decorative pillow and winged it at his head. "Oh, shut up." To her chagrin, he caught the projectile before it hit his face. She comforted herself by burrowing further into the chair. His laughter could only be described as a guffaw.

"You are way too fucking predictable, Trepe." He shoved the pillow behind his head and leaned back against it. "But Zone, I didn't see that coming. You do know he-"

"Yes." She cut him off before he could say another word and removed her hands from her face to glower at him.

"And that he-"

"Yes."

"Then why?"

"Because when... When I..." Quistis' voice faltered. She stood up to snatch the pillow from under his head, shoving it into his face this time. "None of this is any of your business!"

He began to laugh so hard she wondered if he'd fall out of the chair.

Jerk, she thought. Arrogant moron. Ass. She turned her back to him and walked over to her desk, facing the only window in the military-sized apartment. "Remind me again why I spent so much time trying to get you here?"

The laughter stopped. When the silence continued she turned around to face him.

Seifer's gaze fell to his hands where they hung from his knees in his hunched over position. He had never paid much attention to their appearance before, just what they could do. There were the expected lumps from previously broken knuckles that healed without the aid of magic or medical attention. Other than that the backs were unmarred, surprising given the things for which they had been used. His palms sported a few fresh calluses from recent handling of a weapon without gloves. To look at them, separated from the man, one would never guess their history. Or how many histories they had cut short.

"Neither of us really had a say in the matter, did we?" He leaned back and took up a neutral pose, hands landing on the chair's arms, long legs stretched far enough for his boots to knock against the top of the low table.

"Did you really tell Cid you'd think about it?" Her voice was quiet.

So many questions. She was always full of so many prying questions. At present, he couldn't dig up the energy to feel anything about that.

"He didn't exactly give me a choice," he said. Looking over he saw her watching him with a wary expression. The sentinels were back at their posts.

"You know," she began, moving back to the seat next to him and perching on the edge. "It might be for the best. For Garden and for you. I understand not wanting to be here, after everything. It isn't going to be pleasant. But, perhaps it will help bring some closure. Even if you don't wish to remain here permanently, you should be allowed to think of Balamb as your home."

"Home. Right. Because mercenary training is what I think of when I think of home." Seifer snorted then stood up to pace behind the chairs. "Most people's parents teach them to slit a man's throat by the time they're twelve." He shot her a look full of scorn. "That's some fucked up ideology you got there, Trepe."

Quistis rose to meet him, concerned by the rapid alteration in his demeanour. It felt far too much like their earlier conversation. She was determined to keep it from finishing the same way.

"Seifer, please. Stop." She moved in front of him, by the window, and stood in his way to halt his marching. Like a caged feline, it seemed the more he paced, the more volatile he became. "You are not the only one who had a difficult childhood or who was handed a raw deal. It could be a lot worse. Don't you think it might be possible that coming back will help? Running away has not-"

"Running away?" The lion became a dragon. "You know damn well-"

"I'm sorry," Quistis winced. She stopped him from tearing off again with the touch of a hand. "Poor choice of words. I didn't mean it like that." She felt him exhale and went on before he could interrupt. "What I meant was there is a chance that returning to Garden will be a good thing. It is an opportunity to prove to everyone how capable you are by helping us turn this place around."

"I don't give a fuck what anyone thinks." Seifer rolled his shoulders and walked toward the door. His voice was devoid of malice. "I've got nothing to prove to Garden assholes and I don't see why I should care if it's blown up by anti-SeeD psychos."

She sighed again. It was becoming a habit. Rubbing her forehead, she watched him pick up his coat and shake it out. "What about yourself?"

"What do you mean?" He sent her a hard look while shoving his arms through the sleeves of the long jacket.

"Sure and you talk like you're the best thing that's ever happened to the world but your arrogance also serves as a front, doesn't it?" She raised a brow and tilted her head. "Maybe returning to Garden will help you prove your abilities to yourself."

Both of his eyebrows shot up. "Is that your professional analysis?" He gave her a slow smile. "I don't need my own team of ass-kissing groupies to feel better about myself."

It was a setup, she knew, another dig. It was an old one, though, with a reduced jab. Quistis decided to let it slide. "Indeed, but it doesn't hurt," she quipped instead, with a smile to match his.

He surprised her with an appreciative laugh that smoothed the remaining frown lines on his face. She felt the tension seep out of her own muscles in response.

Imagine that, she thought, we've gone a whole half hour without trying to kill one another. Though she wasn't ready to toss aside her distrust of the man, it was nice to learn a new aspect of his personality. Seifer wasn't so horrible when he wasn't trying to burn the world or bully her into a reaction.

"So, should I start the paperwork?" All business, she walked over to pick up his ruined shirt where it still lay on the ground. The material felt gritty in her hands.

"Fuck me. I don't know." Heaving a sigh of resignation, he folded his arms over his chest. "Dollet ain't a wild party but it isn't the shit town I expected either."

Okay, that wasn't true, he acknowledged. Dollet sucked in every way but the good way. The only thing decent about it was his job and work was pretty much all he did. His joke of a basement apartment was surrounded by a single father with screaming babies on one side and a meth addict with screaming boyfriends on the other. It stunk profusely and was so miserable he'd given up and started sleeping at the garrison over the last few weeks. Though he tried to visit Fujin and Raijin as much as he could, guilt slammed him every time. He found himself putting off visits and making excuses, which almost made him feel worse.

"Still, I've got a sort of routine there. And it's better than taking it at both ends from Leonhart and his merry band of dickheads." Seifer studied her with another raised-brow look. "Would you uproot your life for a job?"

"For a job?" Quistis stalled for time while formulating her answer by heading into the narrow kitchen space to dispose of the old t-shirt. After seeing the unenthusiastic way he spoke of Dollet, she had an idea. It would require spending the rest of her day with the insufferable jerk but it's not as if she had any plans for the weekend. She dropped the mangled poly-cotton blend in the garbage and indulged in a moment of self-pity. How depressing was that?

"No, probably not for a job." After closing the lid of the metal bin, she faced him with a controlled expression and shook her head. "But for Balamb? Yes, I would." Sending him a bright smile, she moved until she was standing in front of him. "This is why I am not going to try to sell you on the job. I am going to sell you on Balamb."

"Uh, aren't you forgetting something, Instructor?" He reached out with a fist and tapped his knuckles on the side of her head. "I used to live here. I know everything it has to offer."

Quistis pushed his arm away and adjusted her glasses. "I'm not talking about Garden. I am talking about Balamb the Island." When he continued to look unimpressed she laughed. "Come on, let me buy you lunch."

xxxxx

When Quistis had suggested they check out one of her favourite restaurants in town Seifer had not expected to find himself seated at a picnic table on the harbour watching gulls fight over ketchup packages and bits of hamburger meat. They were in a part of Balamb he had always avoided. On the edge of the resort section, just dingy enough to be ignored by tourists but not squalid enough to attract military students, it was an outdoor joint intended for townies and dock workers. The kind of people who didn't mind eating with the cold sea air on their necks and salt on their fingers.

Seifer didn't care about either but he also wasn't the biggest fan of seafood. After a nasty session with food poisoning during his time as a SeeD cadet, he hadn't dared try again. The memory of the fish tacos and mussels he and Raijin had gorged on during an ill-conceived adventure with a fisherman's wife still caused his bowels to cramp. While the trip across the water hadn't been a complete waste, he'd been a meat and potatoes kind of guy ever since.

"Two orders of Balamb fish!" A reedy voice declared to the left. It was the same man who had taken their money at the counter. Part server, part cook, part owner, he looked to be in his seventies, with an apron-covered belly that stuck straight out from his otherwise wiry frame. He beamed at them from beneath the wisps of his beard and held two cones of newsprint aloft.

"It smells wonderful, Admiral," Quistis said, drawing Seifer's amusement. "I can't wait."

With more flourish than Seifer thought was due greasy fish and fries stuffed in paper, the 'Admiral' lowered the cones into their respective holes in the table. Task completed, he tipped the brim of his worn ball cap and wished them a good meal in a jumbled maritime slang Seifer couldn't be bothered to decipher.

Once the elderly man had returned to the trailer, Seifer regarded the woman sitting on the opposite bench. "This is the best place in town." Doubt highlighted the statement.

"One of the best," corrected Quistis. She pulled several napkins from the dispenser on the weather-beaten table and then reached for a squeeze bottle filled with chunky tartar sauce. "There is a restaurant on the pier that serves a really nice baked filet and there is the hotel, of course, but it's over-priced. If you want Balamb fish the way it was meant to be eaten, the Admiral's is where to go."

Seifer wasn't a food snob, had never thought much about the source of his meals, yet he found himself questioning the edibility of the so-called fish stuck in the hole of the table. Quistis squeezed a dollop of white gloop on to the fried concoction in front of her. He waited for her to take a bite before he poked at his own lunch with a pre-packaged plastic fork.

"Aren't you hungry?" she enquired. Eyes twinkling, as if she had anticipated resistance, Quistis cut off a large piece and tilted her head. "Is something wrong?"

"Making sure you aren't trying to poison me," he countered, tearing through the batter with caution. Oily steam vapored into his face. It smelled a lot better than he'd expected.

She took another bite and tried not to laugh. "Poison you with one of the world's three delicacies? I wouldn't waste gil like that."

"I wouldn't put it past you," he replied. Though he didn't trust the strange bluish-white flaky substance was meat, he was tired of being laughed at. He shoved a forkful in his mouth.

It was good. Really good, he realized as he chewed. The flavour wasn't as strong as whatever had been in those long ago tacos. It was sweeter, almost like citrus, and denser. All of a sudden he discovered how hungry he was and he speared another piece.

"Not bad, is it?" Quistis watched him with a smile. The skin beside her eyes creased and shadows from the masts of the boats along the dock played over her face.

Before they left Garden she had changed into more casual clothing. The dark green pants were much more comfortable than the stockings and uniform skirt and the loose-fitting top and brown leather jacket were among her favourite possessions. It felt like an indulgence to wear them. She had also traded in her glasses for contacts, befitting the activities she had planned.

"I'm so glad you are enjoying it," she continued, digging back into her own meal. "It is even better straight off the boat, but you have to be careful. There is another species, called the Badamb fish, that looks and tastes very similar. A lot of novice anglers have difficulty telling them apart."

"Oh yeah?" Too busy shoving the rest of the fish into his mouth, Seifer was only half-listening. His normal diet consisted of whatever they were serving in the army cafeteria and he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten something that tasted as good. "Who cares what it's called?"

Feeling full, Quistis put down her cutlery and rested her arms on the table. "From what I've read, Badamb fish is extremely toxic. Eating it can cause numbness, vomiting, dehydration, and, if not treated, death."

All at once, he felt nauseous. He glared over at her with his mouth still food of food, fork paused mid-air.

"Oh, don't worry," She reassured with a shake of her head. "This place has a perfect record, not one case of mistaken identity." Sitting back, she bit her lip. "Of course, the Admiral doesn't fish himself anymore and his new captain is pretty young."

Her voice trailed off then turned into laughter when Seifer started scraping fish off his tongue and gagging into the paper cone.

It was probably cruel of her, she thought, but he'd been so averse to trying something new and so sure she was attempting to kill him, she hadn't been able to resist the easy bait. The way his skin had paled, the horror in his eyes, she'd had to keep pushing. Now, as he realized she had been playing him, she couldn't stop laughing. Served him right for mocking her earlier, she told herself, wiping tears from her eyes.

"You are such a bitch sometimes, Trepe." On another curse, Seifer rose in one fluid motion. He managed to extricate his legs from the table without looking as awkward as he felt.

As he charged in the direction of the pier, Quistis hurried to catch up, gathering up the remains of their lunch to dispose of in one of the receptacles on the way. The man was impossible, incorrigible, she growled in her mind. It was fine when he was the one doing the teasing, she fumed, but he couldn't handle retaliation.

Regardless of her irritation, she did feel guilty by the time she reached where he stood by a railing on the quay. His expression was unreadable as he looked toward the open sea.

"Seifer, I'm sorry." Stopping next to him, she almost touched a hand to his forearm before thinking better of it. Her conscience prickled at the synapses of her brain. "I was teasing. I didn't mean to upset you."

"So you lied." His voice was empty of emotion.

"Yes. I mean, no. There is such a species as the Badamb fish but it looks and tastes nothing like the Balamb variety. And, as far as I'm aware, no one has ever died except in the most extreme circumstances." Irritation dissipating at his distraught form, she attempted a smile. "I'm really sorry I ruined your lunch. Let me make it up to you."

A sigh heaved from his lips. "How?"

"I don't know." At a loss, Quistis cast about for an idea that would appeal to a former SeeD-cadet-cum-wanted-criminal-cum-palace-guard. Her frustration rose again at the childishness of the situation. "What would you like?"

"Weeeellll," he drawled, turning his head to bestow her with a leer. "Remember what you did for Zone that morning at the bed and breakfast?"

It took a second for the suggestion to register but when it did, he was fascinated by the transformation. Her eyes widened, narrowed, and then heated. The light skin visible above the scooped neck of her blouse flushed a pale pink. Her mouth opened and then tightened into a line. The muscles in her jaw twitched. Her hands came up, as if to give him a shove, and then lowered. It was all he could do to keep it together.

"You. Are. Such an." The snarl in her voice was too much for him to handle. She caught the twitch of his lips. Her anger morphed into humiliation. "Asshole," Quistis finished. This time her right fist came up and found its mark on his solar plexus.

At least he had the decency to double over, though if it was in pain or laughter she couldn't be sure. Glaring down at his lowered back she contemplated leaping on him and sliding her fingers around his throat.

The woman could hit. He'd already been aware of her quick instincts and should have been more prepared for the blow. It didn't matter. The pain was worth seeing the flare of her nostrils and the splotches of colour on her fancy cheekbones. It took a lot to move the unflappable Quistis to violence. And he'd done it twice in one day.

"Those had better be tears of remorse," said Quistis, arms jammed over her chest. "And to think I was going to pay for your hotel room. You can sleep in a bed of lobster traps for all I care." Spinning on one booted heel, she strode toward the centre of town.

Seifer couldn't say why, but he found himself chasing after her with an apology on his lips. He knew it didn't have anything to do with where he spent the night.

"C'mon, Trepe, don't be like that." Still in some pain and a little winded, he snatched at her swinging elbow. The leather of her coat was smooth and cool under his bare fingers. It felt expensive, much nicer than anything he'd ever worn. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? Turnabout's fair play, right?"

She stopped walking and looked at him with one of the imperious expressions he'd always despised - like he was an irritating bite bug, to be swatted away.

Seeing through her now more than ever, he just smiled in response. "I thought you were going to give me a tour of Balamb."

Quistis let out a puff of hair and her expression changed from contemptuous to self-mocking as her lips curved. "Fine. But you are still an exasperating jackass."

"Tsk, tsk, Instructor, swearing is not very becoming of a SeeD." The tension in her arm decreased and he noticed he was still holding her elbow. He dropped his hand and took a step away. For lack of anything better to do with them, he slid his hands into his coat pockets. The material inside felt coarse, cheap, and too warm.

"So, where to next?" It seemed easier to placate than fight. Besides, it wasn't as if he had other plans for the day, no war buddies to meet over a pint at the pub, no old times to reminisce or recreate. His only quasi friends were on the other side of the water, with far better things to do.

Quistis met his eyes with a light smile. She reached up to fiddle with her glasses before remembering, too late, that she'd taken them off. Her hand smoothed back the tresses of hair already behind her ears.

""I just have one question," she said, squaring her shoulders. "Do you know how to swim?"

A short time later Seifer found himself sitting at the bow of a speedboat dressed in a dry suit inhaling saltwater spray. While he had no objections to the situation - he looked fucking hot - he was reeling a bit from the spontaneity of it all. Quistis had never struck him as the kind of person who participated in extramural activities. Her hobbies were all wrapped up in SeeD as far as he was aware, not that he had ever paid that much attention. Now he was finding out she had some sort of secret life among the plebeians of Balamb Harbour. This was not the Instructor Trepe he knew and disdained.

After she had dragged him to the dive shop and tossed supplies at him, he'd asked her when she'd learned to scuba dive. In proper Quistis form, she'd hedged, made a vague reference to a long ago SeeD mission, and then nudged him into a change room. Mystified, he'd pursued the matter as they walked to the boat together, asking if they needed a license. She had shrugged him off, saying Captain Mudi wasn't bothered. Then she had smirked at him, wanted to know when he had become such a stickler for rules. He'd shot back that he wanted to know when she hadn't.

It all devolved from there.

Captain Mudi had turned out to be an arresting petite woman with skin the colour of teak and eyes that could only be described as cobalt. The contradiction would have been compelling had she not worn a tough expression that banned any attempt at flirtation. She sat at the stern, steering the boat with expert precision around the Cape. The harbour was crammed with weekenders and amateur sailors but it wasn't long before the masses were far away and the captain moved them into the darker waters along the rocky shoreline. Once they had reached a calmer area on the other side of the cliffs where no other vessels were visible on the horizon, she cut the engine.

Without speaking, Quistis stood and assisted the captain with preparations. When she caught Seifer watching, she indicated the gear and diving cylinders, assuming he'd be able to figure out what to do with them. Seifer lifted a brow at her silent command but didn't argue. Even he seemed to be affected by the quiet of the moment. The lapping waves and the rumbling chains of the anchor was their only accompaniment. There was something peaceful about the work.

Once everything was locked down, snapped in, and zipped up, Quistis gave a brisk lesson on underwater communication. "This means I am going up, this means going down, this means I am okay, this means I am out of air." She made a chopping motion in front of her throat with one hand.

Seifer rolled his eyes at her bossy demeanour and looked into the water undulating beneath them. The colour was greyer than the blue it had reflected from the shore. Now that he was closer, he could detect movement beneath the surface.

"This," Quistis went on. "Means you are about to be swallowed by an Adamantoise." He shot a look full of derision at her crude gesture involving flattened palms and wiggling thumbs. Pleased to at least have his attention she grinned and lowered her mask over her eyes. "Do think you can handle it?"

Seifer snorted and tugged the hood of the black suit over his hair. Though he didn't have a lot of experience with sea monsters, he was sure he'd be fine. Of course, it didn't hurt to double-check.

"Do GFs work underwater?" Before pulling on his own mask he gave the ocean a last appraising glance.

"Some of them," Quistis replied with a shrug. She checked over her equipment one last time. "But it hardly matters. Neither of us is allowed to junction." With another quick shrug, she leaned over and tapped the apparatus on his chest. "Remember to breathe."

Not giving him a chance to come up with a sarcastic retort, she let herself fall backward off the gunnel and into the water.

He hated that she had surprised him – again - and hurried to catch up, whipping a gloved hand over the mask and regulator as he dropped into the cold waves. In his rush, he'd forgotten to hold his head and he inwardly swore as it came close to smacking against the boat. For a second, everything was a blur. His limbs felt slack and filled with sand. Relaxing his muscles, he righted himself and broke through the surface, water rushing over the front of his mask. Through the stream he noticed Quistis treading water a few feet away. Shaking his head to clear the rest of the droplets, he gave her the signal for "okay." As he adjusted to the gliding sensation of the flippers, he watched her return the motion then point her thumb downward. Determined not to be shown up a second time, he began his descent.

And entered a world he'd never known existed.

His confusion over Quistis' abrupt declaration dissipated. The tension in his temples vanished. All thoughts of Garden, Dollet, and the whole fucked up situation ceased their festering. Even the image of Raijin's fearful expression, that popped up every time he closed his eyes, gave up haunting him.

It wasn't the coral. Having fought enough tentacled beings, he was hardly a man dazzled by prehistoric-like invertebrates. It also wasn't the iridescent colours of the fish swimming around his legs and brushing his back, though the hue of the Balamb fish Quistis pointed out to him was an impossible turquoise. The irresistible tug of discovery that lured him further down, and then further down again, also wasn't enough of an explanation for the sense of peace.

As they swam alongside a nautilus, avoiding a gang of rays that looked bent on mayhem, he couldn't get over the idea that this realm had been going on and would continue to go on no matter what horrors occurred above. None of the snails and sea horses he passed had been scarred by the war. It was the first place he'd seen to appear unaffected by Ultimecia's wrath. It was almost as if, down here, nothing he did on land would matter at all.

There was something on this planet he hadn't destroyed. There were non-human creatures in existence that weren't fallen lunar monsters. There was a part of the world that had never heard his name.

The shame sloughed off like dead skin as he let himself wallow. How ironic that the first time in years he felt he could take a real breath, it was out of a gas cylinder under the sea.

He couldn't go far enough.

If Quistis noticed his underwater emotional revelation she didn't let on. Much too soon she signalled it was time to resurface. As he followed with great reluctance he had to push down a swelling of resentment. What he'd experienced should have been private. Too many of his memories were entangled with those of his former instructor. It would have been nice to hold one separate. It was irrational and coincided with the knowledge that he owed her.

He was beginning to doubt his life would ever be his own.

Dried off and back in civilian clothing, Seifer walked next to Quistis along the pier. The harbour front was quieter than it had been earlier, though he could detect music and the muffled tones of a voice on a loudspeaker further down the shore. After leaving the dive shop, she had offered to buy him an ice cream cone. While he hadn't needed the oration on why Balamb cows produced better cream than Galbadian ones - something to do with being milked by opera singing virgins - he did appreciate the offer. There was something so normal, so young, about spending a Saturday afternoon with a chip and mint waffle cone and a pretty girl.

Even if that girl was just boring stick-up-her-ass Quistis Trepe.

They strolled in silence for the most part, enjoying their dessert and the crisp air. Seifer had to admit, the ice cream was better than any he could remember tasting. Not that this was saying much. He tossed the remainder of the cone at a circle of gulls flapping around a bin. He was watching them fight it out when Quistis finally spoke.

"I've been meaning to tell you how impressed I am." Her long ponytail swung over her shoulder as she tilted her head to lick ice cream dripping over the side of the cone. "You did amazingly well for your first dive."

"Did I say it was my first?"

At her questioning look, Seifer elaborated with a story about borrowing a boat with Fujin and Raijin one night after curfew. He was glad to have a life unknown to his nosy former instructor. It was satisfying to disrupt her notion of him as nothing but an arrogant failed mercenary. She may have been a military hero with more confirmed kills than the Galbadian army but she was still sheltered in her own way.

He related the details of finding an abandoned craft on the other side of the coast by the fire cavern and taking advantage of the equipment stowed inside, enjoying the disbelief that flickered in her eyes as well as the exasperation that followed. He told her how Raijin had lost a fight with Fujin and was stuck waiting on the boat, described how they had run into what looked like an underwater dragon but it had been too dark to tell. He liked the way her brows lifted, as if in concern for his safety. As if he wasn't standing right in front of her, years later. As if he hadn't defeated much worse.

While he retold the story, his mind flashed to previous images of the woman beside him: blood streaking down both cheeks, circling Save the Queen above her head, preparing to lash it around his neck; hair pinned tight to her skull, eyes hard as they glared across the classroom, doling out one more detention. Until today, he hadn't thought other versions of her could exist. It was hard to reconcile the Quistis who had once tried to kill him with the one listening to him with interest, ice cream long forgotten, tossed half-eaten in the bin.

When he'd finished his tale, Quistis shook her head, feeling a bit taken aback. Scraping back the strands of her blowing into her eyes she exhaled in resignation. "That's why you don't go diving at night. By rights you should be dead by now."

"So they tell me," he said, with a grin. "We knew what we were doing. We read the instruction manual."

"I don't know how you do it." Quistis pushed away from the railing where they had lingered and headed back down the pier. The wind was getting colder. She wished she'd brought a scarf. However, there was still one more item on her list before they returned to Garden.

Seifer followed behind at an easy gait. "Speaking of instruction, isn't that what you should be doing right now?" She stopped and turned partway to acknowledge she'd heard him but didn't answer, so he continued. "Aren't there test papers calling your name, or whiney students needing you to answer their questions? Shouldn't you be on some sort of mission somewhere? Why are you here with me, anyway?"

She studied his expression for a moment and then carried on in her original direction. "It's a long story, Seifer. I'm sure you aren't interested."

"Probably not," he agreed, now walking beside her. "But what else do we have to do?" He lifted his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders, not releasing her from his gaze. Seifer didn't know why he cared but the episode in the hallway earlier stuck in his brain. And what was that she'd said about not being able to junction? None of it made any sense to him. He didn't like it.

"That depends," she answered with a smile, glad for the opportunity to change the subject. "How do you feel about pumpkins?"

XXXXXX

Seifer Almasy was not a fan of dogs. He especially wasn't a fan of a collie by the name of Angelo owned by a certain ex-girlfriend of his. Despite this, he found himself climbing a trail on the side of a mountain with Angelo on point, all at the behest of a woman he'd almost killed half a dozen times.

Something didn't add up.

After the ice cream, Quistis had dragged him down to the beach where he'd discovered the source of the loudspeaker. Today was the date of Balamb's annual pumpkin festival, complete with a pumpkin parade, pie eating contest, and, the most celebrated event of all, a pumpkin regatta. Seifer hadn't seen anything more stupid in his life than a bunch of grown men climbing into oversized squash to paddle around in the water in a race for a cheap trophy. Unless, of course, it was the hundreds of tourists crowded on the sand, cheering for their favourite pumpkin jockey.

The whole thing was too corny for words. Not this it stopped him from laughing when half the would-be boats tipped their racers into the water.

When he'd shared these thoughts with Quistis she had made fun of him in return and then challenged him to give it a try. In all his war-bred wisdom, Seifer still didn't know how to turn down a dare.

So he and Quistis had joined the ridiculous event. Once the official race was over they borrowed pumpkins from disappointed participants and attempted to steer them around a buoy stationed in the water. It hadn't looked so difficult from far away but when given the awkward task of moving a giant soggy squash over the choppy ocean with nothing more than a canoe paddle, Seifer had realized the contest was even dumber than he'd thought on shore. Much to his annoyance, Quistis had won their race, but only because she'd cheated by using a pumpkin from the motorized division.

Bitch.

She'd tried to make it up to him by winning him a stuffed pumpkin in the carnival games. Instead, she'd terrified the midway attendant with her shooting accuracy and he'd chased them out of his booth. Seifer thought it was too bad she hadn't pegged the guy in the forehead.

Hungry by this time, they'd filled up on steaming bowls of spicy stew and ended the day as satisfied as one could be after so much cheesy tourist shit. Which, as it turned out, was more satisfied than Seifer would have expected.

Driving back to Garden, Quistis had asked if he was up for one more stop. The sun had begun to set, splashing orange and pink waves over the plains. He'd felt at ease next to her in the car, tired in a good way, like he'd used to feel after a day spent in the company of Fujin and Raijin, before everything had changed. So he'd acquiesced, didn't even bother to ask what she had in mind. That is, until she told him to wait at the front gate while she went to get a few things.

The sky had darkened from pink to purple by the time she had returned, hefting Hyperion in one arm and towing Angelo on a leash with the other. She'd refused to answer any of his questions, just given him his weapon and then trekked toward the trees and mountains that lay behind the military academy. Not knowing what else to do, he'd followed.

It was beginning to become a bad habit.

Tramping up a rocky incline with the sound of Angelo's pants to guide him was not his idea of a winning Saturday night. He had no idea of their ultimate destination or why the hell she thought he'd be interested. Perhaps he was right and Trepe really was trying to kill him.

Halfway up, he stopped, swearing at the blisters forming on his heels. His boots were meant for kicking ass, not random hikes up slippery mountain faces. He demanded she tell him what was going on.

"You'll see," Quistis replied, stepping over a jutting rock to pass him and murmuring praise to the dog. "It will be worth it."

"Will you at least tell me why we need the mutt?" Refusing to let her know how winded he was feeling, he picked up his own pace so he was ahead of her again on the trail. "That dog fucking hates me."

"Angelo doesn't hate anyone, do you girl?" Quistis did her best to keep her laughter in check. She hadn't known before how much fun it could be to take Seifer out of his element. "We need her to lead us away from monsters. I don't particularly feel like taking on a T-Rexaur right now, do you?"

The rest of the hike went by in silence, counter-pointed only by Seifer's muttered cursing and Angelo's sniffing. The trail brought them to a jagged rock over six feet high. With nowhere else to go other than more rock on either side, Seifer paused and turned around.

"Is this it?"

"Of course not." Quistis smiled and tossed Angelo a handful of treats from her inside pocket. "Now we climb."

This time, Quistis led the way with the dog hanging behind to wait for them below. It was no trouble for her to find the familiar footholds in the rock's surface and she hauled herself to the top without difficulty, moving out of the way to give Seifer space to do the same. Though it took him a bit longer, he ascended without the litany of swearing she expected. His boots may not have been meant for this kind of work but the man was more than capable.

"Now what?" he asked, standing beside her. His breathing was steady, even, the sole cadence in the quiet night.

Quistis walked along the rock until she found a comfortable place to sit facing the ocean below. Lowering herself on a ledge she let her legs dangle over the side and leaned back on her hands. "Now we look."

For the next few moments neither said anything. Quistis couldn't be sure how long they remained without speaking. It could have been five minutes; it could have been thirty. It didn't matter. From the top of the mountain, no human concept as arbitrary as time meant anything. She didn't dare check in with Seifer to gauge his reaction, only hoped he felt half as awed as she always did.

Eventually, she sensed him moving to sit beside her. His movements were slow, almost cautious, as if afraid to disturb. "What's causing that?"

Quistis met his eyes in the dim light then returned her gaze to the world below. "Bioluminescence. A light produced by a chemical reaction originating in an organism. It is a unique phenomenon but it can be expected anytime and in any region or depth. It's most common occurrence is in the luminescent single-cell algae, which can number several hundred per litre. They are mechanically excited to produce light by a ship's passage or even by the movement of fish." She paused, aware of how didactic she might have sounded. "Amazing, right?"

Amazing didn't cover it. Nor did her scientific explanation. The sky was indistinguishable from the sea. They were both lit from within.

"Do you take all your prospective recruits up here?" The words came out gruff and he cleared his throat.

"Actually, I've never taken anyone up here," Quistis replied, sounding almost stunned by her own honesty.

When he finally glanced over, the whites of her eyes glowed in the darkness. She pulled the slim tablet out of her jacket pocket and turned it on. The illumination from the device highlighted the half-smile she wore. Her skin turned an artificial blue that made her appear more unreachable than she had in the sunlight. More like the Quistis he knew.

"Do you know the best part?" Her soft voice floated on the chilled air like a skater over a frozen pond. "No reception." Her chuckle was a pirouette over the same delicate ice. "It's my real mountain top. The best place on the whole island."

Seifer couldn't disagree. Sitting on the edge of the rock with nothing but rushing surf beneath him, he felt a wash of awareness, similar to that he'd experienced under the water hours before. No matter what he'd done, the view would stay the same, year after year, century after century. For all her temporal abilities, even Ultimecia couldn't alter the rotation of the moon or the lifespan of the stars. He wondered if maybe he could finally let some things go.

"So," Quistis's voice was more strident now, less ethereal. He felt immediate resentment toward the change. "Have I been able to convince you of the wonders of Balamb Island?"

Seifer groaned and shoved away from her, pulling his feet back onto sold rock. "Give it up, Trepe. Hyne."

"I'm sorry. It's just..." Her voice faded and she sounded insecure, which heightened his irritation. From his position glaring over bent knees, he kept his eyes on the shimmering algae below. "It's my job."

Seifer didn't need that reminder either. He emitted a loud sigh, as if he was doing her a favour. "Always about work with you, isn't it? Fine." He dropped his knees and faced her again, adjusting for the weight of Hyperion under his coat. "You know the salary Cid offered?"

"Yes," said Quistis, a little too hopeful, watching from the corner of her eyes.

"I want ten percent more."

She hesitated, working to halt the optimism that wanted to burst through. "Umm... How about four?"

"Nine point five."

She rolled her eyes. Biting her lip as if in thought, she shifted on the rock, one leg sliding underneath her. This was not her preferred location for contract negotiations. Seifer always had a way of catching her off guard. "Five."

"Eight."

"Seven." Her lips curved against her will.

"Seven point five."

She couldn't help but laugh then and thought she saw a responding smile threaten Seifer's impassive expression. It was hard to tell, with only starlight to guide her.

"Deal." Quistis held out her right hand.

Seifer didn't take it. "I won't have to work with Leonhart, right?"

"Not often. He handles external contracts, SeeDs. Not internal issues." Beginning to feel ridiculous, another one of Seifer's skills, she dropped her hand and moved to rise off the rock.

"What about Xu?" He was baiting her, putting off the inevitable. Her responding puff of frustration didn't hurt his motivation.

"Xu is in charge of students. Internal policies. You might have to work with her, yes."

"What about you? What's your role?" Seifer asked, remaining seated but keeping his eyes on her.

Quistis didn't trust the man's mild disposition. Though she couldn't read his expression, she suspected a hidden motive behind his questioning. They had been getting along well; however, she wouldn't put it past him to set her up for one more joke at her expense.

"Essentially, I've been doing everything no one else wants to do." She tried to sound flippant, making herself look preoccupied with brushing off her pants.

"And why is that, Instructor?" The old name came out like it always had from his mouth, with intended irony, as if in quotation marks.

Out of habit, her jaw twisted and shoulders straightened. She raised a brow and formulated an indifferent retort but when she looked in his direction he startled her by rising to his full height and standing over her. Her eyes narrowed at his attempt to intimidate. Quistis Trepe had never been afraid of Seifer Almasy. Not when he was an over-confident cadet, not when he was a Sorceress' Knight, and not now, when she was no longer sure what he was.

Seifer didn't give her the opportunity to prove her dauntlessness. "Why aren't you in the classroom, teaching another generation of chicken wusses 101 ways to kill a man?" he demanded, stepping closer. "Why aren't you junctioned to the teeth with soul-stealing GFs? Why do you flinch every time I say Leonhart's name and why did the cowboy look at you like you were covered in puss-spewing whiteheads?"

Disgusted by his choice of imagery, Quistis decided to bite her tongue rather than respond. Ducking past him, she began to climb down the rock, finding the right footholds without trouble in the dark. Once at the bottom, she crouched to greet Angelo with a soft murmur and rewarded the dog's patience with another handful of dried liver. Her smile at the warm sensation of a canine tongue licking the remaining bits from her hands disappeared when Seifer jumped down next to her.

"I asked you a question."

"Several, in fact," she agreed, and then stood after giving Angelo a prolonged ear rub. "The answers are none of your business."

"Fine." He gave an aggravated sigh before heading back to the trail in two long strides.

"Good." Quistis followed, surprised he'd capitulated without further struggle. She even forgot to hate him for the assured way he stalked into the night.

"No, I mean, fine," he repeated. When Angelo squeezed her furry body between him and a prickled bush he stopped to let her pass, shooting a glance at Quistis behind him. He blocked the path so she had to look at him. "I'll accept the damn job."

"Really? That's wonderful! Seifer, I'm so pleased!"

It was hard to be sure but something in her voice told him she was wearing a jubilant smile. Immediately, his mind recalled the one she beamed at him the day of his acquittal, all big blue eyes over flushing cheeks and flashing dimples. It was as if she had just been made Headmaster of Garden, or as if Dickhead Leonhart had finally spoken more than three words in a row.

"On one condition."

Of course, she thought, wary.

"If I accept the job as head of security, you have to tell me what the fuck is going on with you." His face was blanketed in darkness.

Her mouth opened and closed. She felt her cheeks warm and hoped he couldn't tell. "My current position has nothing to do with you. I don't understand why you won't let it go."

"If I am in charge of the safety of Garden everything inside its walls is my business. Including whatever screwed up shit you've been involved with." Seifer tried to sound as contemptuous as possible. It wasn't as if Trepe's life interested him. He couldn't care less if she worked as a dishwasher in the cafeteria.

Though she dreaded the idea of exposing another layer to a former enemy, Quistis knew when she was defeated. It wouldn't be long before he came across the report or heard the rumours. He may as well get the mortifying details from her.

"Fine." She lifted her chin. "I'll write it into your contract."

"Fine."

Quistis smiled at his back as they continued down the mountain together. While she wasn't looking forward to rehashing the gruelling details of her recent exploits with someone she didn't trust she was pleased that she had accomplished her goal. She had convinced Seifer to re-join Garden. Cid would be thrilled. That was worth something, wasn't it?

"I promise you won't regret this." She sounded happier than she felt.

That's funny, he thought, working hard to prevent his feet from sliding down the mountain. He kind of already did.

There was nothing for it but to keep on. The money was a carrot, he told himself. It would be a way to be useful, to make up for things. Not that certain things could ever be rectified. But it was why he knew he couldn't turn the position down. The whole thing with Quistis, pretending to hold out, needing to be persuaded, had been avoidance, an attempt to save face. He didn't have much pride left. In a short time, he'd be back at the one place he swore he'd never re-visit. Not as a cadet or a SeeD like he'd once dreamed, not with medals on his chest or a parade in his honour, and not in a body bag.

He guessed he should be grateful.

XXXXX

AN: This chapter is long. Too long. It took me almost a year to complete. I can't even tell you how many months Quistis and Seifer were trapped in that office. These characters are always such a challenge. I can plan and plan and plan and then when I sit down to write, they refuse to follow along. But it's done. I feel the better for it. This is my sole purpose.