A/N: This fic is AU, contains a gender swap of a major character, and is set in an Industrial/Neo Victorian style society.

The Wrong Side

-irishais-

"Long ago we learned of the trouble

When a man steps out of his life's plastic bubble

So we walled off the city, caged thoughts that were free

And now our lives are safe from any change that

Could have come between you and me"

-Abney Park, "Change Cage"

Port Caraway, Galbadia.

The note had come by bike courier more than an hour ago, and it still sat on Squall Leonhart's desk, anchored down by its heavy red wax seal from the breeze that slipped in through a cracked porthole. Surrounding the note were parts of an Exeter Mark 23 laser gun, recently acquired from one of the street markets. It had been guaranteed to be in working order, but ever careful, Squall had dismantled it to make sure the job had been done properly. The last thing he needed was someone's hands being blown off by the weapon exploding in their grasp. His crew was too scant as it was.

Ignoring the gun for now, he lifted the piece of paper from the desk with two fingers. "What do you want?" he murmured, reading the brief sentence for the thousandth time.

Deling Park, seven in the evening, Monday.

The signature beneath it was bold, the ink that comprised it looking like dried blood in his dim and flickering gas lamp, and Squall gave into a whim to touch the words and make sure it wasn't. His whimsy was interrupted as a brisk knock caused Squall to lift his eyes from the note.

"Captain?" Zell Dincht entered, still wiping grease from his hands onto a rag that anyone would have been hard pressed to tell had once been white. "You got a minute?"

Squall nodded, folding the note neatly back into its original thirds. His thumb lingered on the seal for a half-second before he caught himself and shoved the note into a drawer, spinning the lock. Zell looked disappointed; Squall ignored him. "What is it?"

"We gonna be in town for another day or so? Because the compression core's sparking out, and I want to get new cables for it before the entire thing blows up in our face in midair."

The captain's mind returned briefly to the note in his desk, and nodded. "You'll have until tomorrow. Our docking license expires at noon."

"Great. I'm gonna go into town, then. You need anything?"

Squall shrugged and reached into another one of the drawers to remove a folded stack of gil, the take from their latest job. He peeled off a few of the slightly larger notes, leaning forward in his chair to pass the money to Zell. "Quistis already refilled our stores, so it's whatever the engine needs."

Zell grinned and offered a mock salute as he pocketed the gil. "Aye, Captain."

"Don't do that." Squall pushed his chair back from the desk and stood, waiting until Zell had taken the cue to leave before exiting the office himself and shutting the door behind him. He engaged the autolock, and descended the stairs into the mess hall, where he found his first mate exactly where he hoped she would be.

Quistis Trepe was seated at the small, worn table, a communicator held to her ear and her brow furrowed as she listened intently, the brass rimmed glasses perched on her nose close to sliding off with the expression. A pen was poised in her hand, the tip hovering over a scrap of paper. Quistis glanced up and shook her head as Squall entered, silencing him before he could say anything. He took the chair across from her instead, patiently waiting for the garbled transmission to play itself out. Finally, Quistis dropped the pen with a brief sigh and set the communicator down next to it. The paper remained blank.

"Problem?" Squall asked.

Quistis shook her head. "No problem. Nothing at all, actually, unless you're interested in the latest films. I could probably quote the show times backwards and forward for you, if you'd like."

Squall dipped his head toward the communicator. "Keep scanning."

Quistis rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and then glanced back at Squall. "I've been scanning. Every day, Squall. There's nothing. No one's talking about Rinoa, not even on the underground bands, despite all the information we put out."

"Keep scanning," Squall repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "She's out there somewhere. Put out another bulletin if you have to."

There was a long silence, and Quistis broke it finally by leaning forward in her chair, her copper and wire bracelet chiming as it clinked against the table. "It's been nearly two years, Squall..."

The chair that he had been seated in fell back against the floor with a loud clatter as Squall stood abruptly. He planted his palms on the tabletop and glared down at her. Quistis didn't so much as flinch. "She's not dead. Keep scanning."

"We can't keep coming back to port here. We've got jobs that could be done on the other side of the globe. There's not enough business in this harbor to keep coming back," Quistis pressed, hitting him where she knew it would hurt. Without work, there was no coin. Without coin, the Ragnarok didn't fly, and if the Ragnarok didn't fly, they were all out of luck. "You have to move on. If she's out there still, we'll find her. But you can't keep hanging on like this."

Squall looked away from her, the abrupt motion a clear signal that the conversation was over. Above Quistis's left shoulder, the clock's hands moved--fifteen minutes to go until he was requested to be in Deling Park. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly in an effort to clear his head; when he reopened them, his first mate was watching him, undisguised concern in her face. "I'll be back in an hour," he said flatly, hauling the chair off of the floor and back into its proper place, and Quistis blinked.

"Where are you going?"

He paused halfway to the door. "The park."

xx

A bitter breeze had kicked up in the twenty minutes it had taken for him to make it across town, and Squall paused at the park entrance to shut the top buttons on his overcoat. It was more dawdling than anything; he wanted to put off this encounter for as long as possible, but the clock tower somewhere in the center of the park tolled off a quarter past seven. He entered the park proper, following one of the old familiar trails. She hadn't left him instructions on where to meet him, but Squall had a sinking feeling in his gut that he would know exactly where to find her. As he broke through the cluster of trees that surrounded the lake, he saw her. Even with her back to him, there was no one else it could be; Squall fought against every nerve in his body telling him to turn and leave now. He ordered his feet to move.

She faced the lake, her shoulders relaxed even against the wind, a slender expanse of grey leather covering her back and the collar of her coat propped up, a necessary concession to the weather. The black lining of the collar was harsh against her pale skin, the fabric intersected every so often by blonde wisps of hair that escaped a severely elegant updo, stray tendrils hitting her shoulders in careless waves. Her head turned slightly as he approached, glancing back over her shoulder at him, aesthetically painted lips curving in something that Squall had never been quite comfortable calling a smile. From underneath thick black lashes, the startling green of her eyes caught him as they always had. He stopped short two feet shy of the bench, his feet declaring a stubborn refusal to go any further.

For a moment, it was as if she had never left.

"You're late," Seifer Almasy said. The name was her father's and the stubborn refusal to give it up all hers, although her one concession to feminine vanity was that the end of her first name be pronounced in a soft "ah," though, to avoid the integral harsh masculinity. Squall had asked her once why she didn't go by her middle name; she had laughed and said that "Anne" was far too ordinary for her tastes.

"What do you want?"

"No 'hello', no 'how have you been'?" She stood, her black skirt a whisper of fine cloth as the fabric slid back into its rightful place, releasing the folds that had been acquired from sitting. Squall's eyes flicked to her forehead, and he frowned when he didn't find a scar that should have been there. "It's been almost two years, hasn't it?"

It was a fight to keep his voice neutral, one he only barely won. "Something like that."

"Too long, then," she murmured, brushing a strand of flyaway hair from her face with one black gloved hand. The fading sunlight glinted off the silver plate on its velvet choker around her throat as Seifer moved to him.

"Not long enough," Squall retorted, the words flying from his mouth before he could stop them. Seifer paused, eyes inscrutable for a half-second, and then she laughed, throwing her head back in the motion of one thoroughly amused. He stared at her until she calmed, and she brushed at the corners of her eyes with a finger, her smile almost feral.

"You haven't changed a bit. I'm glad."

Squall shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat, glaring at her. "What do you want?" he repeated, his tone the sort that was often leveled against Zell when something went wrong with the ship. Too late he remembered that it had never worked on Seifer, who seemed to regard Squall and his crew like some sort of whimsical playthings set out for her amusement. Indeed, as she looked at him, that same sensation crawled across his skin. Those green eyes coursed over his face and across his body, coming back to rest on the thin rough-healed scar between his eyes.

"You never got that properly fixed, did you?" Seifer asked, no real concern evident in her voice. "A pity."

"Where's yours?" he spat, annoyed by her games, her stalling tactics. He had come here of his own accord; he could damn well walk away whenever he felt like it. He would, if she wouldn't tell him why she had called him here. "What do you want?"

Seifer touched her forehead carefully, brushing a bit. Powder came away on the fingertips of her gloves, and she held her hand out for inspection. He glanced at the makeup residue, white against the dark leather, and looked away just as quickly. The tip of a scar that mirrored his own had become visible, the dull raised line a shade darker than her skin.

"A woman rarely reveals her secrets," she said demurely, briskly rubbing her fingers together to eliminate the evidence from her hand.

"You told me plenty."

She shrugged, her shoulders rising and falling elegantly beneath the heavy fabric of her coat. "They were things you needed to know."

"...What do you want?" The battle for control had been lost, he discovered irritably. "I don't have time for this."

"Walk with me," Seifer said instead, and slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow, the touch far too familiar for Squall's tastes, yet he moved with her, his feet going against his will as Seifer led them down onto the narrow boardwalk around the lake. "I have information that might interest you."

"I don't want your information," Squall replied instantly. He didn't even want to think about what had happened the last time that Seifer had said those words to him. He didn't need another scar, another concussion, and he damn well didn't need her. "I need to get back to my ship."

They passed another couple strolling along, and Seifer inclined her head in greeting, the other woman responding in kind. The gentleman tipped his hat at Seifer, and Squall hated her even more in that moment. He wished she would just get to the point, but Seifer waited until the others had moved far out of earshot. "Have you heard of Doctor Odine?" she asked finally.

The name sounded very vaguely familiar, but Squall shook his head. Seifer pursed her lips and looked briefly displeased.

"You should have, if you're any sort of sky captain. He's invented a new steam-run converter that's being used in the President's own fleet. He's a genius." Seifer paused for a moment, her eyes fixed on the sky as the sunset turned it from golden blues to fiery reds. The smile that curved her lips this time seemed slightly more genuine; she had always enjoyed how the sky looked torched during this moment of a sunset. "He's also completely out of his mind."

"Sounds like your perfect mate," Squall muttered.

"There are rumors that he's also been experimenting in human modification."

Pulling his arm from her grasp, Squall stared at her in disbelief, his response automatically flying out of his mouth. "That's impossible."

She slipped a hand into a cleverly hidden pocket in the front of her coat and removed a slim silver pocket watch, checking the hour against the tolling of the clock tower across the way. The watch, he immediately recognized and swore a long streak in his mind at her for still carrying it after all this time. She would keep it to remind him of...everything. He wanted to rip it from her grasp and hurl it out into the middle of the lake. Seifer, however, paid no mind to his furious expression, simply continued as if she had done nothing wrong.

"The seamless integration of human and machine. We've already reached the age of artificial intelligence; this is just the next logical step." Seifer tucked the watch carelessly back into its pocket, and touched Squall's elbow to keep him moving.

He stepped away from her, anger growing, threatening to spill over. She had always had this effect on him, even when two years should have dimmed her hold somewhat. The fleeting notion to hit her crossed his mind, but his hand stayed at his side. "Why are you telling me this? Why now?"

"I've got contacts, Squall. In places you wouldn't even dream of getting into. You want to find Rinoa, don't you?"

A thousand memories triggered as the name left Seifer's lips, reminding him that Squall had not been the only one to remember her. Rinoa in the street, Rinoa climbing the gangplank onto the ship, Rinoa laughing, Rinoa's breath on his skin, Rinoa, Rinoa, Rinoa. "You know something."

"I think Odine may have her."

"That's a lie."

Seifer shrugged. "Believe what you want. Rinoa's a rare woman, and now that she seems to have completely disappeared from the news, Odine would have some use for her. I'm just passing along some information," she added, her expression deceptively placid, watching him out of the corner of her eyes. "You're free to do with it what you will."

He glared at her. "You want something. You've never given anything for free, and there's no reason why you would change now."

Seifer smirked, pleased with his outburst. "I want to hire your crew."

xx

"No. Absolutely not. Captain, are you out of your mind?"

Squall watched Quistis storm the narrow expanse of his office, her cheeks flushed red in disbelief. "She says she knows where Rinoa is." It almost surprised him as to how calmly he said those words; it seemed to imply that he actually trusted anything that Seifer would have to say. Quistis saw this and latched onto it.

"She almost killed you. Are we forgetting the part where she tried to kill you?" Squall shrugged, and Quistis let out a short screech of exasperation. "She's probably going to hijack the ship and crash us into the mountains somewhere. How do you know she's even remotely telling the truth?"

He crossed his arms and regarded her impassively. "It's too elaborate. She wouldn't dangle all that in my face if it weren't true. It's not her style."

Quistis halted mid-pace, and whirled on him, actually leveling her finger in his face. "Her style," she informed him through gritted teeth, "seemed to be seducing you to the point where you couldn't think straight, if you don't mind me reminding you."

Squall's eyes narrowed. "That I do mind you reminding me of."

"Well, it's the truth." Quistis flapped her hands uselessly. "Why would you even think about letting her back on this ship? Am I the only one who remembers how she tried to kill you?" When he only offered a brief shrug, she covered her face in her palm and groaned. "There's nothing I can say to stop you, is there?"

"If it means we can get Rinoa back, no, there isn't."

Quistis swore, words that would make a proper lady blush. Fortunately for everyone involved, Quistis had never been a proper lady--Squall would have been hard pressed to find as good a shot as her if she had been. "You're insane. For the record."

"Noted. Are we ready to fly?"

She rolled her eyes at the abrupt and unsubtle conversation switch. "Zell's finishing up all the repairs to the compression coil, and once he runs a diagnostic, we should be ready to go." Quistis stepped forward, idly picking up pieces of the Exeter gun from his desk and setting them back down with no real rhyme or reason, and didn't speak for a moment. Finally, she regarded him seriously, her blue eyes latching onto his. "Squall, be careful, please. Your...history aside, this woman is a snake, and she's already bitten you once."

"Maybe it'll dull the venom," Squall responded flatly and reached over, plucking the gun's power converter out of her hand. He slid it into place on the half-assembled gun, the part latching in with a click."Tell Zell to get things rolling. We need to get to Balamb Port by sundown tomorrow."

Quistis gave him a halfhearted salute and headed for the engine room, the door shutting firmly behind her. Squall sighed and hefted the laser gun in his hand, and sighted down the barrel with practiced ease, and for a split second, Seifer's face hovered in the crosshairs. He shut his eyes against the image and when he finally reopened them, everything in his office was exactly as it had always been. Squall raked a hand back through his hair in exasperation and set the gun down on his desk as he dropped back into his chair. He stared blankly at the weapon, a phantom scene playing out before his eyes, translucent figures pressed up against the edge of the table.

...Seifer's lips against his and Squall's fingers tangled in her hair...

Squall blinked hard against the memory just as the intercom mounted near the doorway buzzed. Rising from his chair, he crossed the room in a few long strides and thumbed the switch. "What?"

"Captain?" Quistis' crackled through the speaker, and Squall looked up at the clock to find that almost an hour had passed spent in blank reverie. "Our guests have arrived."

"I'll be right there." He flicked the speaker off and pressed his forehead against the cool metal wall, inhaling the scent of his ship deep into his lungs. His ship, he reminded himself. He had the right to throw her off at the nearest port. With that vaguely comforting thought, Squall stalked out to greet his new passengers.

The trip to the cargo bay was much too short for his tastes, he discovered, when he found himself facing the door that led to it much sooner than he would have liked. A brief sigh escaped his lips, and Squall made an effort to steel himself to anything that she might be willing to throw at him. He slid the door open.

The cargo bay seemed quite a lot smaller with its new occupants standing in the middle of it, Seifer's luggage making a small stack behind the group. Squall paused before pressing the button that opened the door to the bay, and then finally let himself in just in time to hear Seifer's analysis of the Ragnarok. "Quaint," she proclaimed finally, shifting her gaze to him as he entered the room, descending the stairs at a deliberate pace. "Very quaint."

It hadn't changed at all since she had been here last, and that fact made her analysis doubly annoying. Squall exhaled sharply in disgust. "I didn't agree to let you on here just to have you insult my ship," he snapped. Without waiting for Seifer to protest, he continued on: "You and your people stay out of the engine room, the bridge, my office--" A sharp glance was directed at Seifer with this point, who inclined her head slightly. "And anywhere else that isn't the mess hall, above decks, or your quarters."

"You don't trust us." Seifer's expression had turned to one of mild amusement, and she glanced back at her companions. The smaller woman looked at Squall impassively out of one red eye. The other, a larger, dark-skinned man, let out a short laugh.

"No," Squall said flatly. "Quistis, show them to the guest quarters."

His first mate nodded, and jerked her head in an indication that the new trio should follow her. Seifer brushed past him, her shoulder grazing against his arm deliberately. "We'll need to discuss the full terms of this contract soon," she murmured, and then strode off toward the stairwell, her voice becoming more audible for the benefit of all in the room. "Fujin, Raijin. See that you keep out of the good captain's way."

Fujin snorted delicately.

Zell whistled, coming up one of the ladders leading down into the belly of the ship. "She is something else. If you know what I mean." He grinned, but it faltered when Squall didn't agree. Or respond. Or actually do much of anything except look like he was going to hit something very hard, and that something might well be his engineer if Zell didn't shut up. "Never mind." Zell watched Seifer and her companions disappear out of the cargo bay behind Quistis. Raijin brought up the rear, carrying most of Seifer's luggage. The door leading into the ship proper clanged shut with more force than was strictly necessary as Quistis gave it a good slam, rolling her eyes at her captain through the porthole. Her expression promised that she would most certainly get to say "I told you so" sometime later; Squall could make out Seifer behind her, and the woman's eyes seemed to bore right into him even from that distance.

"Weren't you and her together at one point?" Zell asked, and Squall wondered if the other man really did have a death wish.

"No."

Zell shrugged. "That's not what I heard. Selphie says--"

Squall forced his hand away from the holster at his hip. I will not shoot him, I will not shoot him.

"Selphie is not the captain. I am. What I say goes. Is the core working?"

Zell nodded. "We're ready to fly whenever you are, Cap'n."

"Let's go, then." A sharp headache had begun to build just behind his eyes, and he massaged his temples wearily as he started walking toward the bridge, leaving Zell to close the bay doors and get everything fired up. They were to be in Balamb Port in less than twenty-four hours and Squall wanted to be well on his way to figuring out Seifer's game before they hit the harbor gates.