FicWad

He had failed again. He didn’t need them to tell him, he knew already. Seifer secured the gunblade in his wall locker, shrugged off his trenchcoat, and collapsed on his bed. He rubbed his left arm, rolling his shoulder and shaking out the stiffness that came with carrying the enormous weapon for hours on end. He smacked his lips and attempted to swallow but his throat was so dry. Failure. He sneered. Those bastards wouldn’t know true talent if it fell in their laps and did a little dance. He was a true warrior, a knight…the Instructors hated him because he was not even in his prime and he had already outstripped them, they could never even hope to be what he was!

He bolted upright, every muscle in his body tense as an unspeakable fury raged within. He ripped his vest off and threw it to the ground in disgust, undid his belt buckle and started to remove his pants when his door chimed. Leaving his belt undone, he stalked over to the monitor to see who had the nerve…Instructor Trepe. With a growl he whipped the door open and was about to tell her to get the fuck out of his doorway, school let out hours ago but was shocked into silence.

Her hair was down. That was the first thing he noticed. It fell about her shoulders and down her back, flaxen and gleaming in the flourescent light of his doorway, slightly mussed and with odd creases from having been in a chignon all day. He had never seen her with her hair down at all, and certainly not in such a disheveled state. She was in a short, silky lilac robe that was cinched at her waist. The hem barely reached mid-thigh. And she was barefoot? What emergency had brought her to him in such a rush?

Before he could speak he found himself squarely on his ass on the floor. She had shoved him with all the strength in her body, and caught completely by surprise, he fell. Quistis slammed the door shut behind her, her face full of outrage.

“You just can’t follow the rules, can you? Always have to be the big man, always have to be special?” He leapt to his feet, furious.

“What the hell?! Assaulting students part of your MO now, Instructor? You’ve got two seconds to get your ass out of my room before I make your career go up in smoke!”

She flew at him again but he was prepared this time. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her in, wrapping an arm tight around her waist to pin one of her hands between their bodies. She tugged futilely against his grip on her arm, and attempted unsuccessfully to wrench her other arm free from between them. Quistis turned her face up towards his and hissed, “Get your hands off me.” Her breath reeked of alcohol.

He flung her away from him. She stumbled backwards and into an armchair in the corner. She stayed there, hands braced on the edge of her seat, barely sitting. Now he noticed the slightly glazed look in her eyes, the flushed cheeks.

“My my, Instructor, you’re just setting all kinds of good examples tonight.” The undisguised contempt and superiority in his voice should have triggered more of the same outrage, but suddenly Quistis just looked tired. Her shoulders dropped and she sank into the chair, bent forward with her arms wrapped around her knees.

“I’m not your instructor. I’m not…they fired me, I’m not fit to lead. Oh God…” Tears began to spill forth now, and she whimpered, “Why couldn’t you just follow the rules one time, just one time?”

Seifer was frozen in place. Comprehension dawned on him. He had failed to matriculate more than once, but it wasn’t his failure alone. It was hers. She was an instructor, and she couldn’t control her pupil. He felt an unfamiliar shame rising within, but he shook his head and pushed the feeling away. Instead, he glared at her.

“So you came here to blame me for your failures. How pathetic. The only thing you’re doing is proving them right. Look at you. Drunk, violent, emotionally unstable. It’s a wonder you made it as long as you did.”

His words had the desired effect. Quistis practically leapt out of her chair but in her inebriated state she tripped and fell to the floor, landing on her elbow. She whimpered pitifully and to Seifer’s dismay, began to cry in earnest. This he could not handle. He rushed to her side and pulled her up so she was sitting, then pushed the loose sleeve of her robe back so he could examine her elbow.

It was already beginning to bruise. Seifer’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t meant to injure her.

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll grab some ice.”

He returned a few minutes later with ice wrapped up in a hand towel only to find her lying spread-eagled in his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Seifer tried to hand her the makeshift ice bag, but she declined with a shake of her head.

“I am a failure,” she whispered. He flinched at the word.

“I tried so hard. Everyone had so much faith in me. I was supposed to have so much promise. I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t train you, and now I have nothing left. This hurts so much,” she choked back another sob.

He had been staring at her intensely as she spoke, the ice melting all over his now painfully numb hand. The shock of being attacked by Quistis had worn off, and now he couldn’t keep his eyes from roving over her prone form. Her robe had hitched up above her hips when she threw herself back upon the bed. Her creamy thighs were inches from his fingers and he made his hand into a fist to keep from reaching out to touch. He could see the shadow of her panties beneath the hem of her robe, the outline of her breasts and nipples…Seifer forced himself to look at her face and found she was staring back at him.

She had a strange look in her eyes, and it was then that he remembered he had never put a shirt on.