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Entry tags:
FFVIII: Visitation (1)
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Main characters: Quistis, Selphie, Squall
Referenced characters: Zell, Irvine
Pairings: Quistis/Selphie, Irvine/Selphie
Contains: Angst, deathfic
Rating: PG13
Summary: Selphie is supposed to be dead, but her ghost disturbs Quistis' sleep. Pairings and warnings are by chapter. Pairings and warnings are by chapter.
She hasn't been able to sleep for weeks.
Not properly, anyway. When she does sleep it's a numb, deadened sort of sleep that doesn't help enough by the time her alarm goes off for her early class in the morning.
She throws on her uniform, does her hair and stumbles to teach. Somehow, she still does a good job of that, though she sometimes thinks they can feel her deadness in the way she speaks, in the way she moves.
The little strip on her uniform that says she was a friend to a recently fallen SeeD says it all, though. For a while, during and just after the sorceress war, those little strips were common, but now few people wear them.
Squall and Zell and Irvine wear them, too.
She keys in her passcode for the door tiredly, punching her finger against each key as little shards of frustration work their way out. The door opens smoothly and she steps inside without even looking, letting it close behind her, starting to unbutton her uniform.
"Hey, Quisty."
The voice is familiar but the tone is different, and it sounds half there, like an awful lot is missing. It sounds... dead.
Which makes sense, since it's Selphie's voice.
"Selphie," she says, weakly, and she takes a step toward the bed, reaching out, fingers brushing over the lightswitch, quickly turning on the light. For a moment, she hopes, and then her heart sinks. "You're..."
Selphie's eyes are on the strip on her uniform. "It's good that they know when to cut their losses," she says, very quietly, and Quistis isn't entirely sure that's what she said. She looks up again, tilts her head on one side. "They've declared me missing in action already."
"It's been weeks, Sel," Quistis says, softly. It's a dream or, or heck, a ghost, and while Quistis has never believed in ghosts she supposes that a lot of things are possible that she wouldn't dream of.
"I know."
"I..." Quistis takes a deep breath, going to sit down next to the ghost. She doesn't quite look at her, doesn't quite want to, doesn't want to see through her. She just sits there and feels her presence. It's not warm like Selphie used to be, or comforting. It's cold and it sends shivers up and down Quistis' back, making her want to rub the chill from her arms. "I've missed you."
The ghost's sad smile is evident in her voice. "I know."
"Irvine has been -- "
"I know," the ghost says, a little too quickly, and Quistis looks at her, startled. She seems to take a deep breath (but of course, Quistis thinks, she can't, really) and lets it out in a long sigh. "I know, Quisty. He's missing me awfully. I suppose he might turn out a bit steadier and more faithful now."
Quistis wants to protest that Irvine was always faithful to Selphie, but she bites it back. Instead she stares at her wall, dredging up her folklore and ghost stories, all misty in the partly forgotten past. "Why are you here? I mean, why are you a ghost? Do you have unfinished business or something like that? Do you need your death avenged? If you showed yourself to Squall -- "
"No," Selphie says, quickly, and she looks down at her knees. "No, please don't even think about it. Don't go to the place where I died."
"How did you die?"
"I... I can't tell you."
"Don't you remember?"
Selphie's eyes are squeezed tight shut, a look of pain or concentration on her face. Quistis waits, confused, wanting to reach out and touch Selphie, prove she's real. But even if she's really there as a ghost, she's not real. She's transparent and colourless, cold and bloodless.
"I can't tell you."
Quistis wants to push a little more, but suddenly Selphie is standing up, brushing herself off, even though there's nothing to brush off, and her dress is as ghostly and smooth and pale as she is. Quistis wants to stop her going, even reaches to grab her wrist, but Selphie dodges.
"I have to go," she says, quietly. She pauses and suddenly Quistis feels cool lips against hers, before Selphie is gone.
----
She comes again, the next night, as Quistis was half hoping. When she comes, Quistis is staring at the ceiling like it's a puzzle she can figure out. She knows Selphie is there by the coldness of the room, but she doesn't say a word, just smiles to herself.
Selphie's fingers run gently through her hair. "Sorry I left in such a hurry last night."
"It's okay."
Selphie's fingers touch her lips, the same cool as that kiss. She traces the shape of Quistis' lips and Quistis kisses the cold fingertips lightly, shivering a little. She keeps staring at the ceiling, trying to imagine that Selphie is really there with her. Finally, she sighs.
"How come you can touch me?"
"Eh...?"
Quistis sits up, finally looks at the ghost, wrapping the sheets round her naked body carefully. She pushes her hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ears, biting her lip. "I thought ghosts couldn't touch anything real. That they went right through things."
"Maybe I can, if I want to," Selphie says, with a little frown. The look on her face is so Selphie it erases any doubts Quistis might have had, though that hurts a little, more than comforts. She would like to believe that this isn't really Selphie, isn't really a ghost. She'd like to believe that Selphie is still alive, struggling through her mission, taking much longer than expected, but alive.
"You didn't think of it?"
"Nope."
Quistis laughs. It's a natural little laugh and it comes right out of a place that went numb a while ago. It's only a little laugh but it makes her feel better and it makes her feel like crying. "You still haven't told me why you're still here."
"I don't know... Quistis, I'm cold."
Selphie's expession is pleading and even though Quistis doesn't think it'll help, she lets Selphie crawl into the bed with her. She wraps her arms around the cold body and bites her lip, shivering and shivering and shivering.
"Oh... you're so warm."
Suddenly Selphie's hands are everywhere they shouldn't be, chilling and glorious and for a moment Quistis gives in to it but then she pushes the icy body away, rolling back, wrapping the sheets around herself again. "Don't."
"Why not?"
"Just don't."
Selphie gives her a hurt look. And then fades, to her relief.
She cries, though, even though she half wanted her to go, because it's everything she wanted but all wrong and not at all what she wants or needs or dreamed about, once upon a time.
----
"Take your time over it. Don't rush. Just think it through carefully." Quistis tucks her hair behind her ears neatly, sitting up a little straighter. She feels better than she has done in weeks, better for the cry and for seeing Selphie's ghost, knowing for sure that she's dead and no longer in any doubt. It's strange that that helps, but it does. The class are responding better, too. She smiles at one of them and they smile back, and then she gets up to hand out the papers, and she doesn't shake with fatigue at all.
The door opens with a swish and Squall is there, not smiling, not friendly, and she looks up all startled and confused. Another SeeD instructor passes him, not looking at her, and Squall tries for the tiniest of smiles.
"Can I talk to you for a while, Instructor Trepe? I've got another instructor to cover for you."
"Yes, commander," she says, softly, saluting as she's expected to and following him out of the room. She only relaxes a bit when they're walking down the corridor together, though he doesn't even give a little. These days he's all about being proper, being a good commander, a good knight.
"Let's go to my office."
"Okay."
He settles in his chair, and she smiles because it does seem like he belongs there, now. At first he sat awkwardly, like he didn't like the power or the title or the bits and pieces that come with it, but now he's taken up the mantle and he's as sure of it as he is of his friends and even if he doesn't like it, he doesn't show the dislike anymore.
"How are you feeling?"
She looks down at her knees and shrugs, knowing his eyes are on the little strip marking her grief. "Better than I was. It's hard."
"Yeah. Is there anything...?"
"I've been dreaming of her. Or, well, no, not dreaming..." The words have tumbled out, heads over heels, before Quistis thinks and then she looks up, meeting his curious eyes with hers and clenching her fists in her lap. "Strange as it seems, she's been visiting me... as a ghost."
"Quistis -- "
"I know you feel like you can't believe it, but she has. She won't tell me how she died or any of that, though..."
"I can get you help, if you need it."
The offer enrages her and she shakes her head, her fists clenching tighter. She unclenches her jaw after a moment, relaxing her hands, reaching up to smooth her hair. "Maybe it is just a dream."
"Maybe," he says, quietly. "Still... are you sure there's nothing I can do...?"
Tears sting her eyes in the silence that follows, but she doesn't say a word. It's not just that Selphie's gone, and it's not that Squall won't believe her about the ghost. The lighter and brighter it is, the less she believes in that cold presence in her bed. It's that Squall is so concerned, so gentle. Squall. It's kind of unbearable because it feels like he's forcing himself to say it.
"There's nothing."
She leaves the office, leaves him sat there with his offers of help and his shoulder to cry on. It's not Squall-like and that bothers her, because she did kind of like Squall when he wouldn't open up to just anybody. Now he's a commander, the one who moves the chesspieces, and everyone follows him, and takes their problems to him, and she doesn't like the feeling that she's just one more. She's not his problem, she's her own, and if he's going to act like she's losing it and offer her help, she doesn't want it. She doesn't need it.
----
"How did you die?"
Selphie's fingers drag through Quistis' hair, tugging more violently on a knot until Quistis makes a soft sound and reaches up to knock her hand away. She doesn't answer, keeping up the repetitive movement, just combing her fingers through the same part of Quistis' hair over and over and over again.
"Selphie, please."
"I told you I can't tell you!"
Quistis is a little stunned by the vehemance in Selphie's tone and she edges closer, putting her hand on Selphie's leg. "Please. Did someone betray you? Was it a monster? Dehydration? Some kind of illness."
"I can't tell you."
Selphie's words have gained the qualities of a mantra over time and Quistis gives up, looking away, nibbling on her lip lightly. She knows how to find out, really, if Selphie can't say. She'd like to, to put the ghost to rest, so to speak. She doesn't say it aloud, but she's decided. Tomorrow, she'll go to Squall with her plan. And if not, she could do it alone.
For now she gives in to the ghost's touch. She lets Selphie brush her hair, fingers as well as comb, and enjoys the feeling of her messing with it. She lets Selphie touch her, just a little, cool hands massaging her bare skin. She should feel too cold, but instead it's just a return of the numbness -- physical, not mental, this time. Selphie seems to want more, but she doesn't push the barriers. She still complains of the cold, quietly, now and again, but Quistis doesn't offer to do anything about it. She just shivers under the ghost's hands, closing her eyes and letting herself imagine.
Selphie fades in time, as she always does, but Quistis is half asleep when the touch leaves her and she barely notices. She doesn't cry this time. She just dreams -- dreams of being touched, of being loved, of Selphie's careful, eager touch.
Main characters: Quistis, Selphie, Squall
Referenced characters: Zell, Irvine
Pairings: Quistis/Selphie, Irvine/Selphie
Contains: Angst, deathfic
Rating: PG13
Summary: Selphie is supposed to be dead, but her ghost disturbs Quistis' sleep. Pairings and warnings are by chapter. Pairings and warnings are by chapter.
She hasn't been able to sleep for weeks.
Not properly, anyway. When she does sleep it's a numb, deadened sort of sleep that doesn't help enough by the time her alarm goes off for her early class in the morning.
She throws on her uniform, does her hair and stumbles to teach. Somehow, she still does a good job of that, though she sometimes thinks they can feel her deadness in the way she speaks, in the way she moves.
The little strip on her uniform that says she was a friend to a recently fallen SeeD says it all, though. For a while, during and just after the sorceress war, those little strips were common, but now few people wear them.
Squall and Zell and Irvine wear them, too.
She keys in her passcode for the door tiredly, punching her finger against each key as little shards of frustration work their way out. The door opens smoothly and she steps inside without even looking, letting it close behind her, starting to unbutton her uniform.
"Hey, Quisty."
The voice is familiar but the tone is different, and it sounds half there, like an awful lot is missing. It sounds... dead.
Which makes sense, since it's Selphie's voice.
"Selphie," she says, weakly, and she takes a step toward the bed, reaching out, fingers brushing over the lightswitch, quickly turning on the light. For a moment, she hopes, and then her heart sinks. "You're..."
Selphie's eyes are on the strip on her uniform. "It's good that they know when to cut their losses," she says, very quietly, and Quistis isn't entirely sure that's what she said. She looks up again, tilts her head on one side. "They've declared me missing in action already."
"It's been weeks, Sel," Quistis says, softly. It's a dream or, or heck, a ghost, and while Quistis has never believed in ghosts she supposes that a lot of things are possible that she wouldn't dream of.
"I know."
"I..." Quistis takes a deep breath, going to sit down next to the ghost. She doesn't quite look at her, doesn't quite want to, doesn't want to see through her. She just sits there and feels her presence. It's not warm like Selphie used to be, or comforting. It's cold and it sends shivers up and down Quistis' back, making her want to rub the chill from her arms. "I've missed you."
The ghost's sad smile is evident in her voice. "I know."
"Irvine has been -- "
"I know," the ghost says, a little too quickly, and Quistis looks at her, startled. She seems to take a deep breath (but of course, Quistis thinks, she can't, really) and lets it out in a long sigh. "I know, Quisty. He's missing me awfully. I suppose he might turn out a bit steadier and more faithful now."
Quistis wants to protest that Irvine was always faithful to Selphie, but she bites it back. Instead she stares at her wall, dredging up her folklore and ghost stories, all misty in the partly forgotten past. "Why are you here? I mean, why are you a ghost? Do you have unfinished business or something like that? Do you need your death avenged? If you showed yourself to Squall -- "
"No," Selphie says, quickly, and she looks down at her knees. "No, please don't even think about it. Don't go to the place where I died."
"How did you die?"
"I... I can't tell you."
"Don't you remember?"
Selphie's eyes are squeezed tight shut, a look of pain or concentration on her face. Quistis waits, confused, wanting to reach out and touch Selphie, prove she's real. But even if she's really there as a ghost, she's not real. She's transparent and colourless, cold and bloodless.
"I can't tell you."
Quistis wants to push a little more, but suddenly Selphie is standing up, brushing herself off, even though there's nothing to brush off, and her dress is as ghostly and smooth and pale as she is. Quistis wants to stop her going, even reaches to grab her wrist, but Selphie dodges.
"I have to go," she says, quietly. She pauses and suddenly Quistis feels cool lips against hers, before Selphie is gone.
She comes again, the next night, as Quistis was half hoping. When she comes, Quistis is staring at the ceiling like it's a puzzle she can figure out. She knows Selphie is there by the coldness of the room, but she doesn't say a word, just smiles to herself.
Selphie's fingers run gently through her hair. "Sorry I left in such a hurry last night."
"It's okay."
Selphie's fingers touch her lips, the same cool as that kiss. She traces the shape of Quistis' lips and Quistis kisses the cold fingertips lightly, shivering a little. She keeps staring at the ceiling, trying to imagine that Selphie is really there with her. Finally, she sighs.
"How come you can touch me?"
"Eh...?"
Quistis sits up, finally looks at the ghost, wrapping the sheets round her naked body carefully. She pushes her hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ears, biting her lip. "I thought ghosts couldn't touch anything real. That they went right through things."
"Maybe I can, if I want to," Selphie says, with a little frown. The look on her face is so Selphie it erases any doubts Quistis might have had, though that hurts a little, more than comforts. She would like to believe that this isn't really Selphie, isn't really a ghost. She'd like to believe that Selphie is still alive, struggling through her mission, taking much longer than expected, but alive.
"You didn't think of it?"
"Nope."
Quistis laughs. It's a natural little laugh and it comes right out of a place that went numb a while ago. It's only a little laugh but it makes her feel better and it makes her feel like crying. "You still haven't told me why you're still here."
"I don't know... Quistis, I'm cold."
Selphie's expession is pleading and even though Quistis doesn't think it'll help, she lets Selphie crawl into the bed with her. She wraps her arms around the cold body and bites her lip, shivering and shivering and shivering.
"Oh... you're so warm."
Suddenly Selphie's hands are everywhere they shouldn't be, chilling and glorious and for a moment Quistis gives in to it but then she pushes the icy body away, rolling back, wrapping the sheets around herself again. "Don't."
"Why not?"
"Just don't."
Selphie gives her a hurt look. And then fades, to her relief.
She cries, though, even though she half wanted her to go, because it's everything she wanted but all wrong and not at all what she wants or needs or dreamed about, once upon a time.
"Take your time over it. Don't rush. Just think it through carefully." Quistis tucks her hair behind her ears neatly, sitting up a little straighter. She feels better than she has done in weeks, better for the cry and for seeing Selphie's ghost, knowing for sure that she's dead and no longer in any doubt. It's strange that that helps, but it does. The class are responding better, too. She smiles at one of them and they smile back, and then she gets up to hand out the papers, and she doesn't shake with fatigue at all.
The door opens with a swish and Squall is there, not smiling, not friendly, and she looks up all startled and confused. Another SeeD instructor passes him, not looking at her, and Squall tries for the tiniest of smiles.
"Can I talk to you for a while, Instructor Trepe? I've got another instructor to cover for you."
"Yes, commander," she says, softly, saluting as she's expected to and following him out of the room. She only relaxes a bit when they're walking down the corridor together, though he doesn't even give a little. These days he's all about being proper, being a good commander, a good knight.
"Let's go to my office."
"Okay."
He settles in his chair, and she smiles because it does seem like he belongs there, now. At first he sat awkwardly, like he didn't like the power or the title or the bits and pieces that come with it, but now he's taken up the mantle and he's as sure of it as he is of his friends and even if he doesn't like it, he doesn't show the dislike anymore.
"How are you feeling?"
She looks down at her knees and shrugs, knowing his eyes are on the little strip marking her grief. "Better than I was. It's hard."
"Yeah. Is there anything...?"
"I've been dreaming of her. Or, well, no, not dreaming..." The words have tumbled out, heads over heels, before Quistis thinks and then she looks up, meeting his curious eyes with hers and clenching her fists in her lap. "Strange as it seems, she's been visiting me... as a ghost."
"Quistis -- "
"I know you feel like you can't believe it, but she has. She won't tell me how she died or any of that, though..."
"I can get you help, if you need it."
The offer enrages her and she shakes her head, her fists clenching tighter. She unclenches her jaw after a moment, relaxing her hands, reaching up to smooth her hair. "Maybe it is just a dream."
"Maybe," he says, quietly. "Still... are you sure there's nothing I can do...?"
Tears sting her eyes in the silence that follows, but she doesn't say a word. It's not just that Selphie's gone, and it's not that Squall won't believe her about the ghost. The lighter and brighter it is, the less she believes in that cold presence in her bed. It's that Squall is so concerned, so gentle. Squall. It's kind of unbearable because it feels like he's forcing himself to say it.
"There's nothing."
She leaves the office, leaves him sat there with his offers of help and his shoulder to cry on. It's not Squall-like and that bothers her, because she did kind of like Squall when he wouldn't open up to just anybody. Now he's a commander, the one who moves the chesspieces, and everyone follows him, and takes their problems to him, and she doesn't like the feeling that she's just one more. She's not his problem, she's her own, and if he's going to act like she's losing it and offer her help, she doesn't want it. She doesn't need it.
"How did you die?"
Selphie's fingers drag through Quistis' hair, tugging more violently on a knot until Quistis makes a soft sound and reaches up to knock her hand away. She doesn't answer, keeping up the repetitive movement, just combing her fingers through the same part of Quistis' hair over and over and over again.
"Selphie, please."
"I told you I can't tell you!"
Quistis is a little stunned by the vehemance in Selphie's tone and she edges closer, putting her hand on Selphie's leg. "Please. Did someone betray you? Was it a monster? Dehydration? Some kind of illness."
"I can't tell you."
Selphie's words have gained the qualities of a mantra over time and Quistis gives up, looking away, nibbling on her lip lightly. She knows how to find out, really, if Selphie can't say. She'd like to, to put the ghost to rest, so to speak. She doesn't say it aloud, but she's decided. Tomorrow, she'll go to Squall with her plan. And if not, she could do it alone.
For now she gives in to the ghost's touch. She lets Selphie brush her hair, fingers as well as comb, and enjoys the feeling of her messing with it. She lets Selphie touch her, just a little, cool hands massaging her bare skin. She should feel too cold, but instead it's just a return of the numbness -- physical, not mental, this time. Selphie seems to want more, but she doesn't push the barriers. She still complains of the cold, quietly, now and again, but Quistis doesn't offer to do anything about it. She just shivers under the ghost's hands, closing her eyes and letting herself imagine.
Selphie fades in time, as she always does, but Quistis is half asleep when the touch leaves her and she barely notices. She doesn't cry this time. She just dreams -- dreams of being touched, of being loved, of Selphie's careful, eager touch.