They'll be scared soon.
"It's -- kind of hard to believe."
Squall nods slightly, his eyes on the stream of people passing through to pay last respects, and his nod dismisses the girl with a bunch of flowers in her hand. He's holding Irvine's gun himself, planning on going to put it in the coffin for him to go with. Not that he thinks Irvine has any use for it anymore -- he's dead. But the sentimental gesture might help people say goodbye, so Squall will do it, for them. And he'd sort of like someone to do the same for him, one day, and put Lionheart into his coffin.
Hopefully that day is still far off, he thinks, a wry smile twisting the corners of his mouth. He shakes his hair out of his eyes and watches the people move to sit down, watches the slow measured pace of a funeral with his hand gripping Exeter tight.
They told him that as Irvine's Commander, he should say some words. But Irvine didn't die on some mission. He died in Balamb Town, starting his walk back to Garden after a night with some girl who is crying in the front row of seats now.
He was murdered.
Squall doesn't have anything to say about that. There's no bravery in that. And he can't help the little stirring of contempt that Irvine could be silenced, choked off, removed so easily. There was no signs of even a fight. He could say that, but people would be horrified, so he chooses to stay silent.
It seems an age before he can go and do what he came to the funeral to do, and place Exeter in Irvine's cold dead hand.
The hand that, when Irvine was found, a note was found, too. Squall can't help but think that as he leans down to close cold fingers around cold metal. "Sleep well," he mutters to Irvine, because he does look like he's sleeping, and it seems that he has to say something. And then he turns away.
Dincht is next.
That's what the note had said, and it's in Squall's pocket now, barely a scrap of paper but still so significant that Squall thinks of it as he walks, fancies he can hear it crumpling, maybe tearing, in his pocket. He goes to his office and waits, waits for Quistis to show up and while he waits he smooths the note out on his desk and stares at the handwriting as if that'll tell him who did it.
It might, of course.
Zell is out on a mission, now. Squall knows that without looking at his little list of who is where that he demanded a week after the war ended. All organised, cold and smooth and efficient. The way, in fact, that it should be. Mercenary forces don't have time for disorganisation.
Quistis knocks at the door, sounding a little hesitant, and Squall realises after a second how he analyses every knock now, learns to know before people step through the door what he has to deal with. A loud rap from some obnoxious cadet in trouble again, a quiet little tap from some slender young girl with a problem and the saddest eyes Squall has seen in a while. A quick, decisive knock from Xu, and, right now, a quick tap that's just loud enough and just quick enough to show that Quistis has hesitated outside the door for a moment.
Never thought when he became a SeeD he'd have to read people so well in anything but battle. But half of this is a battle.
"Come in, Quistis."
She does. She sits down, smoothing her skirt carefully and tucking her hair behind her ears, back straight and stiff as an iron pole. Professional, Squall appreciates, her grief taken up and tucked away beneath her uniform and carefully pinned hair and bland, flat smile.
He shoves the little scrap of paper across the polished wood of his desk towards her. "This note was in Irvine's hand when he was found."
"Have you sent someone to warn Zell?"
"Yes."
"Do we know anything else?"
Squall shrugs slightly, leaning back in his chair and letting his thoughts settle back on the tracks they've been running on since he saw the note. "Someone is obviously targeting our group, whether it be the group of people who went to the Orphanage or because we fought Ultimecia. It would be interesting to see if Rinoa has been threatened."
"Either way, wouldn't Seifer be the biggest suspect?"
Squall thinks of Seifer now, the way he is in class, quiet and subdued and sat in the corner getting on with work for the first time in his life. "It doesn't seem to go with the attitude he's been showing since we accepted him back into Garden."
"But we can't rule him out."
"Exactly."
"What do you suggest, then?"
He shrugs again. People always seem to think he has the answers -- they ask him for solutions, suggestions, a bit of a hand with thinking things through and he ends up thinking out the whole line of it. It's easy to know what to suggest now, though. "Be careful. Be on your guard. All of us need to be."
"Of course. Is there anything else?"
"Make sure the others all know what's going on. Don't go anywhere alone. And... keep an eye on the rumour mill. Don't let it get out of hand, but at the same time, let it run a little."
Squall has learned the value of gossip. The tiniest snippet lends hints to the temperature of Garden, the current attitudes and the little day to day realignments of alliances and lines drawn between and within groups. It helps, to keep an eye on that.
Quistis nods slightly. "Have a good night, Squall."
"You too."
She closes the door behind her on her way out with a little click, and Squall settles back into his thoughts, following them to their logical conclusion again and again and always fetching up against the same objection.