III
"Adolescence is a constant war for independence."
--Instructor Aki

"So how goes the war?"

Squall winced at the teasing--albiet apt--description of his perpetual clash with Aya. "Same as always," he muttered at the figure on the screen.

Nida grinned and took a step back, collapsing into one of the chairs in the Estharan Militant's office. For some reason--a joke, perhaps--he had taken to wearing sunglasses wherever he went. Maybe it was just part of his ongoing campaign against being overlooked. "That bad, huh?"

Squall didn't deign to answer.

"Seems to me that you guys get worse off every time I see you. If you want my advice--"

"No thanks," Squall broke in. We were supposed to be discussing Rinaul.

"--teach her a lesson," Nida finished anyway. "Take her out for a training session. Show her she's not as great as she thinks she is."

"I don't think that would work," Squall said. Namely because seven straight hours of heavy training with Weaponsmaster Garrison hasn't done anything except make her meaner. "What did Laguna say?"

Nida laughed. "What did you expect? Laguna loved the idea. He wants to meet with you in person to discuss the final stuff."

Squall nodded. "...how is he?"

"That's right," Nida said. "You haven't seen him in over a year. It probably says something that I see more of your father nowadays than you do."

"You work in Esthar," Squall countered.

"True, true. Anyway, Laguna's fine. A few more white hairs, but he's okay other than that. Kiros has been running him in circles around the training pad, so I hear. You keeping in shape?"

Squall glared at Nida for a moment. I'm the Commander of Balamb Garden, he thought. Garrison would have my hide if I dared to go without at least an hour of training every day.

"Right, right, the sadist-General you hired as Weaponsmaster. Did you ever get back at Irvine for reccomending that guy?"

"No."

"You should. Oh, by the way, I talked to Zell again. Sent him a plastic moogle. For old time's sake."

"Haven't you done that every year?" Squall asked.

"Well... yeah. It's just too good a joke to pass up. Though, he just recently started sending me foam throwing knives. You know, the kind kids play with?"

Squall nodded. Nida's eyes flicked to something offscreen, and he grinned.

"Speaking of throwing knives, it looks like you have a visitor. Sound the battle alert. Hey, Aya," he called. "How've you been?"

Squall turned around, looking at his daughter. As usual she was lounging against the wall, dressed in her signature colors of black and silver. She had chosen the two precisely because she knew Squall--not to mention the rest of the people connected in any way with the Dyne campaign--would disapprove.

"Hey," she said. "My aim's improved. Yours?"

"Hell no. I'm the Estharan Militant, remember? They don't let me out of their sight if they can help it. And in the world of politics, it wouldn't be too great to show that the overseer of the armed forces is an assassin by rights."

"Yeah, well, sucks t'be you," Aya smiled quietly. "I'll see you around."

"I'll see you. Squall, I'll have Kiros send over the official invitation later. Give my regards to the gang." With a silent wave, Nida switched the screen to the Esthar symbol. Squall reached over slowly and flipped it off. For several moments, he stared at the desk. Anything to avoid talking to his daughter.

"You skipped class again," he said bluntly, finally.

"You caught on," Aya deadpanned. Squall's jaw tightened--why was it always so hard?

"Why?"

"Because I know all the stuff that they're teaching, and I have since the beginning of the semester. Same as last year. And the year before."

"You can't just read the books," Squall said, turning to her. "You need to--"

"--listen to the lectures, participate in class, and do the assignments as well," Aya finished. "Sorry, Da, but I have heard that pathetic excuse for an argument more times than I can count."

For a moment, Squall was just tempted to walk away and leave it at that. But no, that would be almost equal to conceeding that she was right. "Then why don't you ever listen?"

Aya tossed her head. "Because I have never seen anything that could get me to believe that their way is perfect."

"And you think yours is?"

"It's worked so far." Pushing past Squall, she looked outside at the red-brown shape of the Ragnarok. "Don't tell me you never bent the rules in training."

Squall actually had to think about that for a while. "Not really," he said.

Aya sighed, but said nothing. Her gaze was riveted on the surface of the Estharan warcraft--severely outdated, but still a good deal more advanced than several of the Galbadian airships. After a moment, she spoke again.

"...why haven't you retired that thing?"

Squall blinked, wondering what she was talking about. Glancing out the window, he saw the craft. That? he wondered, and a rueful smile flashed over his face. Too many fond memories.

"It's older than you are," Aya continued. "In vehicle years, that makes it ancient. It's a wonder you don't have to clean Propagator carcasses out of the engines."

Hey-- "You're changing the subject," Squall said. Aya shrugged.

"Would going back to the earlier one help anything anyway?"

Probably not. "Don't skip class," Squall said, hoping to get the final word in for once.

"Whatever," Aya retorted, heading for the door.

Why me...?