(no subject)

[whiplashings.livejournal.com]

Character(s): Quistis (Dreamer), Marco (Viewer)
Location: Dream!Secret Area
Rating: PG
Open/Closed/Finished: Closed
Summary: Marco gets to live through Quistis' wonderful memory of being told to talk to a wall.



When your consciousness seems to clear out from the darkness, you find yourself with your arms folded on the railing of the Secret Area, your eyes gazing out over the balcony. You can't even take in the breathtaking scenery of the majestic Garden as your heart is too heavy with the events that have unfolded earlier. There's whispers of words that seem to creep across your mind, endlessly looping:

"Instructor No. 14, SeeD Quistis Trepe-- we regret to inform you that after a thorough evaluation of your conduct as an instructor, the Garden Committee has agreed to revoke your instructors' license on the basis of your lack in leadership qualities."

Your companion finally makes his way through the entrance to stand beside you, and thinking that maybe now is a good time to finally break down the dam that has held back your feelings for so long, you begin to speak.

"I haven't been here for a while." The voice that comes out past your lips is soft, feminine-- yes, you are a female.

Silence meets your words, but you find that you're hardly surprised-- you're use to this kind of response from him, anyways. "Stoic and cold as ever", you think.

Minutes of awkward silence pass by, and you try a different approach this time, a question that you don't really care to find the answer for. "What time is it?"

A longer silence, then finally : "It's after midnight." There's hardly any trace of emotion in his response-- he clearly doesn't understand why he's here, and why you've dragged him out in the middle of the night. But it's also obvious that he doesn't care, but you try to tell yourself that it's just part of his nature-- maybe somewhere, deep down, he will care about what you're about to say.

"Oh well..." A sigh. Then, suddenly you lift your head, squaring your shoulders. "I, Quistis Trepe, am no longer an instructor as of now!" You try to keep your tone light, but your body tenses as you try to deny the initial wave of saddness that threatens to consume you. "I'm a member of SeeD now, just like you. Who knows, maybe we'll end up working together."

And now you hold your breath, waiting for a reaction-- any reaction. Because you need someone who can care, someone who can help you through this ordeal. But why you chose him of all people, you don't fully understand yourself-- he's quite possibly the worst candidate for a shoulder to lean on.

"... Oh really?"

It hurts more than you're willing to admit, the ache in your chest at his obvious indifference. "Is that all you're going to say?"

You can almost feel the shrug rolling off his shoulders before you see it. "If that's how it was decided, you have to abide by it."

It's at this point that you take a moment to admire his professionalism, the coolness to his personality-- it really does seem like he isn't capable of any sort of emotion, a trait that you wish you could possess when you're supposed to be viewed as a leader, as a role model. You find yourself beginning to ramble now, the words falling past your lips without a second thought.

"They told me that I failed as an instructor." To your embarrassment, you feel your eyes begin to sting but you hold back the tears, your voice never once faltering. "Basically, that I lacked leadership qualities. I was a SeeD by the age of fifteen, got my instructor license at seventeen.... It's only been a year since I got it." 'Perhaps I'll always be one of those people who looks great on paper, but fail as a person.'

"I wonder where I went wrong... I did my best." You exhale a heavy sigh, and finally turning away from the balcony, your brows furrow when you see that faraway look in his eyes, a slightly glassy expression that indicates that he probably isn't listening to a single word you're saying. "Are you listening?"

"Are you done yet...? I don't wanna talk about it. What am I supposed to say about other people's problems?"

You can't help but throw your arms in exasperation. 'Is human interaction that difficult of a concept for you to understand?', you desperately want to ask. "I'm not asking you to say anything. I just want you to listen." And there's a hint of desperation in your tone, because this is the last chance to prove that you might have had an impact on someone, somewhere along in your teachings-- a sign that you haven't utterly failed. But seeing how he's reacting, how he doesn't seem to care, you know you haven't managed to teach him anything.

"Then go talk to a wall."

It hurts more than any physical blow you ever have or will receive.

"Aren't there times when you want to share feelings with someone?" This is your last attempt to reach out to him, to make him understand just how much you're hurting inside.

But of course he doesn't get it. And in the back of your mind, you wonder if he ever will. "Everyone has to take care of themselves. I don't want to carry anyone's burden."

You watch as he walks away, past the exit and back into the Training Center-- and there's an odd irony that he seemingly feels much more comfortable lost in a jungle of monsters than having to deal with your emotional state. As the door slides shut behind him, you let out a breath, your shoulders slumping in defeat.

"... No leadership qualities..."

'I couldn't get him to listen.'

"... Failed instructor..."

'I couldn't teach him how to feel.'

Everything slowly fades away, but not without a final thought that you verbalize:

"... Perhaps they're right."