"Mind if I sit with you, Quistis?" Seifer asked, setting his tray down opposite hers.
"Not at all," she replied, glancing around the bustling cafeteria. Seifer's tray consisted of a small sandwich and salad combination. "No hot dogs? For once, they aren't sold out."
Seifer rolled his eyes. "Ugh. It's bad enough hearing about the medicinal value of hot dogs morning, noon, and night. I prefer to keep a little more balanced diet. Why aren't you having any?"
"Because," she grinned. "I know what goes into the things. That alone is enough to keep me far away from them. I don't know how Zell can stomach so many of them."
"He has a cast-iron stomach," Seifer shot back. "He never gets indigestion and he never gains weight. Somehow, he just metabolizes all the garbage he eats. It's a miracle."
Quistis nodded. "Not meaning to overstep my bounds here, but his taste for food is even worse than his taste for fashion."
Seifer groaned. "Don't remind me. A few days ago, he found these pants in a catalogue..."
"The ones where the legs are different lengths, right?" she smiled.
"Yes! He won't shut up about them!"
They ate their lunches for a moment, enjoying the companionable silence. Eventually, Quistis spoke.
"So, how are you enjoying the History?"
Seifer's weary eyes lit up at the mention of his family's chronicle. "Best thing I've ever read. I can't believe I have such a family background. I feel like I understand so much now. I feel like I have a past."
"I thought you might," she smiled. "If you'd been a little nicer to me when we were younger, I might have given you that book years ago."
"But I understand it so much more now than I would have then!" he exclaimed. "Now I know where my impulses come from – my drive to be a knight, my service to Edea. It's like I was living out the course my family charted for me." Quistis, munching on an apple, nodded in thought.
"How are you doing other than that?" she inquired. "Zell's yelled at me more than once. Seems you've been neglecting your health in favor of the book. And I'll wager you're neglecting Zell, too."
"Yeah. He likes to make a fuss about it, but he knows how much this means to me. I've always been jealous that he got to have a family, but no one ever wanted me. If I go far enough in this book, I might find out what happened to my parents. Or at least get a clue of where to start looking."
"Just make sure you don't wither away while chasing your ancestry. Zell would never forgive me if something happened to you."
"I know, I know," he mumbled. "As it is, I'm already taking part of my leave so I can dedicate more time to the book. It was tough writing out the request form without drawing attention to myself."
"So what'd you write?" she asked. "What reason did you give?"
"Oh, don't worry," he said, sliding his tray away from him. "I shifted all the blame to you. I said I wanted time off so I could study the book you stole from Cid's private library, which you obtained using a card you stole from his desk."
"Well, as long as we have our stories straight."
"Anyway," he continued, lowering his voice, "I think some time off will do me some good."
"Why?"
"This is just between us," he said, leaning in close to her. "The only other person who knows what I'm going to tell you is Zell, and I'd like to keep it that way."
"Of course," she nodded.
"When I'm in combat, by myself, I keep having these... blackouts." The weight in his voice told her Seifer did not consider this a petty issue.
"Such as?"
"Well, it's like I get this buzzing in my head. Like static. And all of a sudden, everything starts to fall away from me. I feel myself going on auto-pilot. Then I come back, and all the enemies are dead or fleeing. And it always seems like I've gone overboard." He paused. "And it's starting to scare me. Does that mean anything to you?"
Quistis sat, tapping one fingernail against her perfect teeth. After a moment, she said, "You know, of course, of the legends of the berserk warriors of Trabia, right?"
"Yeah," he answered, "but it's nothing like that. I don't taste blood or scream or anything. At least, I don't think I do. I just... go away. And come back. And somewhere in between, the violence happens."
"Okay, so it's probably not that," she said. "The berserkers always retained memories of their actions, which is why they've left such an extensive body of literature."
"No," he shook his head. "I don't have any memory of what happens. But, usually, afterwards, I get these weird dreams."
"Tell me about them," Quistis, with her background in psychology, adopted a neutral face, so as not to influence Seifer. He closed his eyes, deep in thought.
"They're vague. Shadowy. Less like dreams, more like... memories. Blood. Death. Rage."
"Can you be any more specific?"
He closed his eyes, clenching them shut as he focused. "No. When I wake up, it's gone. I remember having had the nightmare and being terrified, and my heart's racing and I can't get back to sleep." Quistis took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose as she considered Seifer's words. "So whaddya think?" he asked, smiling weakly. "Are you going to report me as unfit for duty?"
"No," she said, smiling, and placing her hand over his. "I just need some time to do a little research. Try to stay calm, and avoid fights, and as soon as I have something for you, I'll be in touch." She stood up, picking up her tray and walking away from the table, already deep in thought.
"Quistis?" he called after her. She turned. "Thanks."