Chapter Four
Irvine's eyes fluttered open. There was a peaceful smile across his face; it was the first good night of sleep he'd had in a while. His room seemed a little chilly, but the rest had been fantastic.
Then the smile faded slowly.
Why was he sleeping on the second floor balcony?
He was still in the back corner, leaning up against the wall; the black guitar had slipped off his lap at some point in the night and now lay beside him on the ground, lost in dreams of its own.
He let out a low chuckle. Well, at least he'd had a good rest -
A shuffling outside the door caught his attention.
Then the door slammed open, almost smashing his elbow; he started, wincing. But a small figure threw itself across the landing, sobbing, tightening small hands around the railing. Irvine found he'd never been so shocked in his life.
"Selphie?"
She whirled around, obviously frightened, and her face both lit up and fell as her gaze landed on him. "Oh, no," she whispered, and turned hastily away, attempting to dry her face with her palms, hiding the tears.
"Sefie ... Seff..." Morning drowsiness had vanished. He hurried to his feet and gathered her in his arms, asking no questions. For a moment she looked as if she were about to struggle, deny the tears and the comfort; but then she choked, and sighed, and Selphie relaxed into Irvine's arms, her tear-streaked face buried in his coat.
They stood like that for a while, just breathing. Irvine's arms were tight around her, his chin resting lightly on the crown of her head. One figure against the cold of the morning.
Selphie's eyes were clenched tightly; she was losing herself, simply fading into the warmth. Dazedly she asked: "What are you doing out here, Irvine?"
His chuckle was deep against her ear, pressed tightly against him. "I seem to have spent the night," he said, his amused voice low and rumbling. Selphie giggled, and opened her eyes.
"Your voice sounds funny," she said - to Irvine's vest. Deep purple fabric covering soft, creamy skin. She was face to face with his precious necklace, red stones framing his neck, her own hands clutching his suede duster. She blushed and took a step back in spite of herself.
Irvine released her gently; almost stumbling with the sudden loss of contact, she made her way back to the railing, drumming her fingers against its coll metal absently. Irvine remained, watching her - neither demanding nor intruding. A silent wall of support.
She was shivering, and Irvine suddenly realized she was wearing only soft gray pants and a gold tank-tee - obviously her pajamas. Without a thought he took his coat and swept it around her shoulders. She clutched it gratefully, but said softly, her gaze still distant: "It's not from the cold."
Irvine came to stand beside her, leaning against the railing and looking out over the wilds of Balamb. His bare shoulders prickled at the cold morning breeze, but he ignored it. "Bad dream, then?"
Selphie sniffled. "I wish," she said bitterly. Irvine realized he had never seen her like this before - she'd been down, yeah, but never quite so desolate. Even when the missiles had hit Trabia Garden - she was upset then, yes, but angry, channeling all of her frustration into the revenge mission on the missile base. Now she was devoid of that spark, that spunk that was Selphie Tilmett. And Irvine was worried beyond belief.
"It wasn't a nightmare - it was a dream, I guess," she said, the tears coming back into her voice, making it high-pitched. "A wonderful dream. More than a dream - it was memories. Stuff we'd all done together in our childhood."
She gripped the railing, her knuckles turning white. "But I can't remember anything! I woke up suddenly and it was ...all gone ...I lost it all..." The tears rained down her face again, and Irvine reached out to put an arm around her.
"Irvine, I..." She looked up at him, those vibrant green eyes dimmed with sorrow. "I'm trying so hard ...I can't remember anything, Irvine. I've been disjunctioned ever since we came back to Balamb," she confessed. "I took out all of my GFs. And I still don't have any memories I can call my own."
Looking out at the misty morning again, she whispered bitterly: "I'm trying so hard, and I don't have ...anything..."
She choked on a sob, and Irvine was there, his strong arms wrapping around her. She buried her face in his chest, flinging her arms around his waist, holding him tightly.
"Seff," he whispered, "it's okay. You haven't lost your memories. They're still in there - they're just lost. They're trying to find their way back to you." He tightened his arms around her slim shoulders - draped in his coat - and said, "And besides, Seff, you've got us. The rest of us. We're back together again. We can help you remember - and what you can't recognize doesn't matter. We'll make new memories."
She shuddered with a large sob. "I -" Her voice cracked. "I just want to know where I came from. I always knew I was an orphan. But now..."
His voice was soft, smooth, caring. "Let me give you a memory, Selphie," he offered quietly. She nodded her face against his coat. His mind began racing, suddenly panicking, trying to choose one picture from the myriad spinning across his vision.
'There was a little cove on the beach," he began finally, "where we used to go and play. You and Quisty found it one day; she wanted to keep it a secret, make it a 'secret clubhouse' just for the girls. But you wanted to share it with everybody. You and I..." He paused, lost in thought, lips curving in a smile. "We would use it as our 'base' when we played..."
"Cowboys," Selphie whispered, her voice full of wonder and tears. "There was a little space in the rocks that let in the sun..."
"We called it the 'magic window'," Irvine finished. "And you tried to plant flowers in the cave. Matron had to explain to you why they wouldn't grow - there wasn't enough sun, she said. You were mad at her and dragged her down to the cave to show her the window. Then we all got in trouble for playing in the cave."
Selphie giggled, a sad little giggle that was more like a sigh. "Did I?" she asked, amused at her younger self. "I can remember the window," she whispered. "And you and me, playing cowboys on the beach, throwing sticks at Zell."
"Cowboys don't throw sticks," Irvine said, amused. Selphie looked up at him sharply and he smiled at her. "But we didn't know that," he amended, his lips twisting in a smirk. "We did throw sticks at Zell."
He sighed and tightened his grip on her, resting his cheek on her hair. "Seff, you'll remember enough. And I'll help you regain what you don't have. It's okay."
Selphie couldn't move. She was locked in Irvine's arms, her head resting against his chest, the soft scent of something rich, sweet, slightly smoky, filling her senses. The enormity of what he was offering was astounding. He can help me remember who I am... He was going to help her regain her childhood.
She should have asked sooner. So much frustration, gone. But she had been afraid that people would laugh - or that people would be annoyed - or that no one would help her. She didn't want anyone to see how upset she was, how the loss was eating away at her. She was all sunshine and smiles. Nobody was allowed to see in.
But she didn't seem to care that Irvine knew the truth. Irvine Kinneas, her childhood friend. He understood. More than anyone.
Irvine without thinking bent down and kissed the crown of her head. "I have to get going, Seff," he said softly. "I wasn't planning on spending the night here, and I have some things to take care of for Squall."
She looked up at him suddenly, something dawning; realization spreading across her face like the light through the clouds. In a daze, she handed him back her coat, her eyes fixed on his face. Awkwardly he gave her a smile, squeezed her shoulder and left.
Lost in her reverie, she approached the railing, her hands gripping it tightly. White-knuckled. How could she not have known?
She had just fallen in love with Irvine Kinneas.
The air was cold on her bare skin, and she hugged herself absently. The smell of his coat was still in the air - smoky, some cologne scented with wild woods and spices.
The feel of his warm lips pressed against her hair.
Irvine.
He made it all the way back to his room.
The light was flashing, as he had expected. Another message from Squall, probably about picking up the last-minute information for the class that started the next day. His SeeD assignment. He'd have to run and pick it up before Squall got caught up in the day's duties.
Damn.
Irvine sat down on the couch, his heart racing. Not from running home, certainly. Obviously. He took a deep breath. His coat still smelled of her.
Sunshine and citrus. Inescapable.
Who said he wanted to escape?
But for a man too used to keeping his distance, his professed love for all women a shield to keep any particular one from getting too close, the experience was astounding. Astounding and dangerous. He'd revealed too much - he was letting go. And opening that door only meant trouble, disaster, and pain.
He cradled his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. This wasn't some casual seduction. It wasn't a game. This was Selphie. There was too much of a connection here - and there was much too much to lose. He couldn't drive her away if he wanted to.
He was either in or out.
Knock.
Quickly swallowing the heated debate - he knew it would settle in his stomach and make his day miserable - he opened the door. Quistis was standing there, manila folder in her hand, looking brisk and fresh in her SeeD uniform.
She smiled at him. "Your papers," she said, and then handed him the folder. "You look relieved to see me." Her eyes narrowed. "Irvine, are you alright?"
He gave her his most effective smile. "It's a little early, Q. I'm not awake yet." Don't look any closer.
But Quistis was much too observant. "Irvine, what's up?"
He smiled sheepishly. "I fell asleep outside. On the second-floor balcony. Was playing my guitar and just must have dozed off." Guitar? Shit. He'd have to go back and get it.
Quistis rolled her eyes, satisfied with the explanation. "That's funny," she said slyly, "I'd think you'd be used to spending the night somewhere other than your own bed."
"I'm hurt, Quistis." Puppy-dog eyes and the little pout. She was falling for it. "Is that what you think of me?"
She straightened and said crisply, "Squall wants you to check in after you've gone over those." She motioned to the paper and then left, her heels typing out a staccato beat down the hallway.
Irvine shut the door and winced. He hadn't meant to upset her - ice queen - but he didn't quite want those strategic blue eyes delving into his soul. Especially when the feel of Selphie in his arms had wedged the door wide open.
The chivalrous cowboy had been a facade - this was no secret to him. Beneath that surface, that tough-gone-sexy carefree emotionless bastard, was a small space where no one was allowed but Irvine himself. He had known few real friends over the course of his life. He was much too afraid of opening up to someone. Being betrayed. Being left behind.
As long as he did the leaving, it was okay. It didn't matter how many broken lives he left behind. How many empty shells lay on the ground. As long as he walked away.
Not the other way around.
Which made this whole situation precariously dangerous. Enticing and tempting and alluring and horribly utterly irrevocably dangerous.
She was the one person who negated everything. The one character in the long story of his life that he could never walk away from. And if he opened the door and she walked away...
He shook his head. Hung up his coat and hat. Dropping the papers on the couch, he headed to his little kitchen-alcove: three scoops, six cups of water, switch on. Irvine liked his coffee strong, and today he needed it extra-strong. Something to beat himself over the head with. He deliberately kept his gaze off of his flask, tucked between two books on his shelf.
The mindless task had helped to clear his mind, so he gathered up some dishes and headed to the bathroom sink. Warm water, soap, sponge. It cleared the citrus out of his head, at least.
He grabbed his Galbadian Rifle Club mug, filled it with coffee, and headed for the couch. He picked up the folder and nestled himself into the corner, flinging his lanky legs over the end. He took a sip of the coffee and then opened the folder, dark eyes scanning the pages.
The scent of the coffee and the words on the page banished the rest of his thoughts.
He re-read the first paragraph of the briefing, confused. This was much more serious than Squall had made it sound. It wasn't just some random weapons bust - it was a link to a terrorist group in Galbadia. Garden Intelligence had been following them for months now. And the 'weapons gala' Squall had alluded to was more like a 'weapon bonanza'. Missiles and chemical weapons. Shit.
He turned the page, nervous and intrigued now. The situation was wrought with security issues. Two flanks of SeeD were to head in and infiltrate the headquarters during an important sales meeting. His squad of snipers would shoot out all the weapons, guard perimeter, and take out the building's electricity; it had been deemed too dangerous to go in head-on. On the mark another squad of SeeD would move in with nerve gas. If anyone still had a gun, there would be lives at stake. They had to shoot with precision. Shoot to disarm first; and then shoot to kill, to protect the second squad.
He winced at the bold order. But it wasn't the first time he'd opened a manila folder and seen the words shoot to kill. Certainly. It was no surprise to him, the 'best shooter in Garden'. He'd been shooting to kill since he'd picked up a gun. Sent off on missions by the time he was twelve. Teenage mercenary. Expert aim. Cowboy assassin. The wince was more for the SeeD cadets who had never had to take a life. Irvine himself was used to it.
He shook his head and turned the page. There was the 'List of Expected Results' that every SeeD mission contained. Not all SeeDs got to see theirs or bothered to read it. But he was in charge of this part, unfortunately, and as he read the list his face grew white.
Three weeks? All of this in three weeks?
The purpose of the mission was to take captives. But they had to shoot to kill if necessary?
Confusing.
His concern deepened. This was one hell of a field exam, he realized. It didn't make sense to be sending cadets out on something this serious, this important. It was much too dangerous. They'd need a couple of well-trained certified SeeDs to back up the forces, because things could easily go to hell, and probably would.
...Much too easily.
He flipped back hastily, eyes scanning the first page. This mission wasn't planned very well, either. It didn't make any sense! Whoever put this scenario hadn't been thinking like a SeeD. And he knew that Squall couldn't have read this; he never would have let this get past him.
Irvine gathered the papers together, topped off his mug, and went in search of Squall. Who had designed this mission? Who was paying for it? Whoever the asshole was, he was risking the lives of a bunch of SeeD cadets in a mission far beyond their capabilities. And Headmaster Cid had been a lunatic to agree to the mission - if he'd even read it.
Maybe it was just poor planning by some drop-out moron and everything could be fixed. He'd go and ask Squall what he knew.
He tried to tell himself that he'd stopped thinking about the second-floor balcony. But the scent of citrus on his coat told him otherwise.