Chapter Five
The sun was shining down on Balamb Garden, bright and happy. Selphie stood in the entrance to Balamb, papers in her arms, wearing her familiar SeeD uniform and a smile on her face. Her bit as an Instructor, so far, had gone very well; the first week had taken off without a hitch. Her particular group of students had taken one look at her cheerful face and flipped hair and decided she was a joke; but after Tilmett's first training run, they weren't laughing. Behind that smile and playful face was enough drive and determination to convince any student that Selphie wasn't playing around. And once she and her students understood each other, things went wonderfully.
She stepped out into the sun, hearing the laughing voices of students on their break. Maybe I'll sit out here to correct these papers, she pondered. It'll be much nicer than my new, stupid office. Heading forward, waving to a couple students she recognized, Selphie spotted a long, flat rock resting in the sun. Perfect! She headed toward it; but as she neared it, she heard a familiar voice.
"..know your rifle as well as yourself, which is why...."
Irvine's southern drawl lingered on the word rah-fle and Selphie stifled a giggle. Irvine's class had been delayed a couple days for suspicious reasons Selphie hadn't yet been able to figure out; his first day had been yesterday, and it had been brief. Six students had been chosen from Selphie's group to meet with the gunman every afternoon. Heading around the corner, she found Irvine seated with the other students in a circle. Before each of them was a Model-A Garden-Classic rifle, one even Selphie knew how to shoot. She recognized her students and smiled.
Irvine's head turned upward, and a genuine smile crossed his face as his deep eyes met hers. He was wearing his SeeD uniform; the crisp pants and jacket were a stunning contrast to his long ponytail and the way he sprawled across the grass, his precious Exeter lying before him. He looks good, Selphie realized, and tried not to blush.
"Instructor Tilmitt," Irvine said with a nod, his eyes twinkling.
"Special Instructor Kinneas," she responded, trying to keep the smile from her face. "How are my students doing?"
"Our students," Irvine emphasized slightly, "are fantastic."
Selphie heard a titter from the ring of cadets. "They're not giving you any trouble, are they?" she asked hastily.
Irvine gave her that wide smile he was so known for. "Nah. Though if they do, I'll know just where to send them."
She felt her face heating up. He shouldn't tease me like this in front of the class. But she almost liked it - liked the attention. A sparkle in her eyes, she replied: "Well, if a big guy like you can't handle them, I'll be grading over there."
Irvine raised an eyebrow at the challenge, but Selphie merely saluted and headed over to her rock, spreading the essays out before her to bask in the sun.
Irvine turned back to six curious pairs of eyes. He looked them over and said in all seriousness: "If any of you gives Instructor Tilmitt trouble, you'll have to answer to me."
One of the boys gave him a knowing look. "Is she your giiirrrlfriend?" he jested.
Irvine looked at him coolly. "I've known her since we were three years old," he said, and the smile disappeared from the boy's face. Irvine tipped his hat at the class. "Loyalty is the most important thing, see. Loyalty to Garden and to your cause, yes - but loyalty to each other. Remember that. Now, take a look at these rifles."
One of the older boys pouted. "Why are they giving us Garden Classics? I've been shooting these for years."
Irvine grinned. "Well, I want you all to take twenty minutes or so and get to know them."
"You're kidding." The boy picked up the gun and set it on his shoulder. "I know this thing by heart."
"Okay, then." In one smooth move Irvine lifted the rifle from the boy's shoulder and knowingly began to dismember it. He lay each piece in front of the student in the grass, taking care to mix up the order. The boy's face began to pale. Bit by bit Irvine disassembled the gun until the ground was littered with unrecognizable metal parts and pieces.
"Pop quiz," he said. "If you know it by heart, put it together."
The response of silence gave him all the answer he needed.
"Lesson three," Irvine said. "Only trust what you can do with your own hands."
With the attention of the class focused on him in a way he had never had, he idly began picking up the pieces he had discarded, twisting and fitting them together. "You have to know your weapon as well as your own skills," he said as he worked. "You can't blame performance on your gun. Performance is entirely your responsibility - and that includes all of your equipment."
"I'll be holding each one of you responsible for things like this," he said, fingers flying as he talked. "You need to know what each part does and how it fits with the rest of the weapon. A sniper can't depend on anyone else. You're alone - and you have to be capable of acting alone. Independent."
In a matter of moments Irvine had reassembled the gun, tightened its fastenings, and fit it perfectly to his shoulder. "See?" The class was wide-eyed, following his every motion with amazement.
He looked at each of them, noting the admiration reflected in their eyes. They're impressed. He gave them his crooked smile. "So like, your first test is going to be what I just did. You have half an hour to explore your weapon. If I point to a part, I want to know what it does. Technical names aren't important. Figure out how each part acts with the others."
The students blinked, and then fell upon their weapons, devouring the bits and pieces, sharing with each other what they knew.
Irvine leaned back. Teaching this class was much different than anything he had ever had to do. He was glad he had agreed to it, yes. But it was difficult to know that he was sending cadets down the same lonely road he had walked - the destiny that had brought him face to face with his own Matron through the barrel of a gun. Stop it, he told himself sternly. That had been a once-in-a-lifetime chance.
Like most of the other surprises he had endured.
He had presented Squall with the mission and his misgivings about it, but the young Commander was so consumed in his other duties that he hadn't been able to give Irvine too much time. Squall had delayed the start of the sniper class for a few days in order to read the pamphlet; and when he did, his opinion was much like Irvine's. However, Squall didn't have the authority to completely cancel a mission on a whim - no matter how nervous it made him. He was trying to get Cid to pay some attention to the matter; but that always took a while.
And in the meantime, Irvine was left with six of Selphie's students, six guns, and a number of days.
He was trying not to be worried.
His gaze wandered around the bright Balamb fields, across the students relaxing in the sun or studying in the shade. There was so much happiness here - none of the underlying tension there had been at Galbadia Garden. Irvine wondered what the difference was; or if it had all just been in his mind.
His gaze landed on Selphie, sitting cross-legged on her rock, idly nibbling her pen as she pored over a particularly engrossing page. Her hair shimmered in the sun like a halo. She wrinkled her nose slightly as she finished and began scribbling something on the paper in her lap.
Irvine smiled. He could watch her for hours. And yet he could never tell her that. Watching from a distance, afraid to take that one shot. Afraid that he might miss.
Selphie's face lit up suddenly; Quistis approached, wearing her SeeD garb as well, carrying a stack of papers much like Selphie's (only bigger). The blonde approached her friend, smiling freely, and perched herself on the edge of the boulder. They were clearly having a conversation about their students; Selphie ruffled through her stack and brandished a paper in Quistis's face. The tall girl laughed and took it, mentioning something that made Selphie giggle.
Irvine simply sat, watching them. His old family. Quistis, the self-appointed older sister, trying to solve everyone's problems. Selphie, feisty as all get-out, the little sister he had always wanted to protect. Nothing had changed.
A slight frown crossed Quistis's face, and she turned, asking Selphie something. The petite girl smiled and pointed over towards Irvine. Quistis turned her head and smiled.
"How long have you been watching us?" she called across the distance.
Irvine grinned. "Two of Garden's loveliest ladies, together in the sunshine?" he called back. "I'm sure I'm not the only one watching."
Quistis and Selphie both flushed and looked around fervently.
Quistis gathered her papers and came to sit next to Irvine, cool blue eyes surveying the cadets sprawled across the grass. "Special Instructor Kinneas," she said with a sarcastic smirk, "is this how you conduct your class?"
The students, currently panicking about their rifle-anatomy quiz, looked up at her with disbelief on their faces.
"If you'd like to sit in, Instructor Trepe, you're more than welcome," Irvine said with a smile. "But I doubt even you could assemble a Garden Classic faster than me."
"Though your offer is more than attractive," Quistis said, lips twisting upwards, "I think I have to refuse." She brushed a piece of blond hair out of her face. "Look," she said, "Squall wants to see you about something."
"Can it wait until after my class?" Irvine asked. "They go back to Selphie in about half an hour."
Quistis shrugged. "I'm not sure, but I'd guess so. I don't know of anything so pressing nowadays that it can't wait half an hour." She bent down next to one of the students; he looked up at her with panic scrawled across his face. "That's the cartridge casing," she said softly, pointing to the part the student was holding with confusion. "It attaches to that." Her long fingers tapped something partly buried in the grass.
She stood up and gave Irvine a smug smile over her shoulder as she headed back towards Balamb. He shook his head. The student Quistis had helped was staring down at the parts in his hands, his face red.
"Another Trepie, eh?" Irvine asked quietly.
The kid flushed bright red and turned back to his rifle. "Not really," he protested, and Irvine decided to leave it at that.
A sound next to him made him look up; Selphie trounced over and dropped herself to the ground beside him, folding her legs beneath her. "Hi," she said softly. "What are they doing?"
Irvine scooted over next to her. "They have to memorize all the parts of the rifle and put it back together," he said quietly. "First quiz."
Selphie giggled. "You're worse than I expected, Vinny. Quiz on the first day?"
He poked her in the arm. "You can't call me Vinny, Instructor Tilmitt, you'll ruin my authority. And besides," he said with a wink, "I hear you're just as hard of an Instructor."
"Well, Instructor Kinneas," she said, making a fuss over the proper title, "I'm sure we only have the best in mind for our students."
"How are their papers?" Irvine asked under his breath. The students were purposely trying to keep their eyes cast down on their rifles.
"Abysmal!" Selphie said dramatically. "They can do sooooo much better than this!"
Irvine burst out laughing. "I'm sure they thought you were going to be an easy grader, darlin'. I bet they underestimated you."
Selphie giggled in response. "Just 'cause I'm cheerful doesn't mean I'm not tough!" She narrowed her eyes playfully at Irvine. "I'm deceptive."
"Most women are, Seff- Instructor Tilmitt," Irvine responded cheerfully. "Would you like to help me test them?"
One by one, Irvine called the nervous students forward; he dismantled their guns in seconds, and then conversationally asked them about the rifle as their shaking fingers pieced it back together. It was much more casual than the students had expected - almost a chat - and if they mislabeled something, Special Instructor Kinneas merely corrected them and explained the proper use. The sinking feelings in their stomachs slowly faded as they realized that, as intimidating as the man was, he was here to help them, not punish them. Instructor Tilmitt, beside him, asked her own questions - but more out of genuine curiosity than anything. The students offered what they knew and Instructor Kinneas finished up anything they left out.
The 'quizzes' were done in record time. Irvine stood up and saluted his class; they responded with their SeeD salute, respectful smiles across their faces. "Wonderful day, class," he said. "I have confidence in you. Now go and take a break - get some hot dogs or something. You have ten minutes before I send you back to the evil clutches of Instructor Tilmitt."
Selphie giggled in a most un-Instructor-like way. She latched on to Irvine's arm with a wicked grin: "What did you say?"
Irvine made an oh, I'm so scared face and waved his students away.
"I have to get ready for class," Selphie realized then; she dropped Irvine's arm and collected the essays that lay in the grass. Irvine bent down to help her, his long ponytail falling over his shoulders. "Where are you off to?"
"I've been summoned to meet with the High Commander," Irvine said wickedly.
Selphie hit him with her stack of papers. "You know he hates that," she warned.
Irvine gathered his stack to his chest. "Fine, then, you can't have these."
"Do I detect a challenge?" Selphie looked up at him, her eyes twinkling. For a moment his violet depths flashed in response - a wave of emotion - and then he was simply smiling.
"Any time, Selphie. Any time."
You have no idea.
He handed her the stack of papers and noted the odd look on her face. What? He gave her a smile - his winning cowboy smile - and noticed her cheeks turn slightly pink. Do I detect a challenge? Certainly. He winked. Please. Challenge me. I promise you'll like it.
Selphie stuck her tongue out, ruining the moment. "You always tease me, Irvine. You don't have to try to win my heart, you know that?"
He feigned mock surprise. "Does that mean you're already mine?"
Her face completely blanked with surprise. Then, struggling to recover, she stammered: "You know what I mean."
I wish I did.
But instead of giving in - letting the wall crumble - grabbing her in his arms and kissing the hell out of her - he summoned forth all of his restraint and simply handed her back the papers. "You're gonna be late, Seff," he said softly.
She still looked a little upset - why? - so he reached out and tweaked her nose. "C'mon," he said. "Your class is waiting."
He walked her into Balamb Garden in silence. Why is she so upset? Irvine kept stealing glances out of the corner of his eye, but Selphie was merely reading her papers, humming to herself. When she noticed Irvine watching her, she merely gave him that brilliant smile of hers.
He started to think. Quistis was right. Everyone's got their own little shield. Selphie's trying to deflect me from knowing that anything's wrong.
And I wouldn't recognize it if I didn't do it myself.
She stepped off at the second floor, waving a cheerful "Goodbye!" and running down the hall to her classroom.
Irvine pondered as he punched the button to head to Squall's office. Why would his teasing bother Selphie? It wasn't as if he would ever act on anything with her. Didn't she know that? It was just his terrible, awkward way of expressing how he liked her. She should be used to it by now.
But he didn't want to upset her. Maybe she just wanted to talk to the cowboy beneath the smile?
Sincerity. That he could do.
The doors opened and Irvine headed into the makeshift office. To his pleasant surprise, Cid was there, ruffling through the mess on his desk.
"Hullo, Irvine," Cid said, and Irvine hastily pulled himself into a salute.
"Don't worry about it."
Squall's voice was more cheerful than usual; Irvine saw the reason as he turned to face the other desk and found himself looking at a very cheerful Rinoa. She grinned and waved at him from where she was perched, cross-legged, on Squall's stunningly clean desk.
"Howdy, Rinoa," he said with a top of his hat. "Did you come all the way up here to clean Squall's desk?"
She stuck out her tongue and pointed a hand at him, fingers extended dramatically. "Don't make me summon my powers," she threatened theatrically. "I am a sorceress, remember?"
"Are you allowed to make jokes about that, dear?" Squall asked under his breath.
Irvine looked between the two of them and headmaster Cid, who was watching the byplay with a faint smile. "So like, Quistis told me to head up here. What's the news?"
"Ah." Cid gestured to a chair which Irvine gratefully took. Squall remained seated behind Rinoa, perched on the desk. "We've reviewed the mission as requested," Cid began. "And we all noticed the same things you did. Poor planning, horrible strategy. I don't need to remind you," he said, suddenly serious, "that this all stays within these walls. This includes you as well, Miss Heartilly," Cid emphasized. "I'll allow you to stay, even though you're not certified SeeD, because I don't think you're much of a security threat. But we all must keep this to ourselves." Rinoa shook her head violently.
Cid began to pace the room in his familiar old habit. "We want to investigate this strange order - but we're not sure where to start. The request came from a quite genuine weapons-control mission in Galbadia - very authentic. All their information came from reliable sources. The campaign came in through Galbadia Garden; it supposedly was transferred over here because of our specialty sniper." Cid nodded his head at Irvine. "But through all of this, no one actually read the composed event? Who set up this mission? And how did it get past Garden?"
Irvine said without thinking: "It sounds like subterfuge, sir."
Cid nodded. "That's our thought as well. Somehow, someone in Galbadia Garden got a hold of the document and altered it carefully. Someone who wants to take out some SeeD cadets. Someone who wants to make Garden look bad; someone who knows that we're bogged down in bureaucracy and garbage after the Sorceress ordeal. And - worst of all - someone who has inside access to all our transcripts."
"Any ideas, sir?" And what does it have to do with me?
Cid shook his head. "We're not sure, and we don't want to investigate too hastily and scare them away." He paced to the window, looked out, and then turned. "We're trying to figure out the best way to act on this."
He looked at Irvine and smiled apologetically. "You're probably wondering what all this has to do with you and your mission, son."
Irvine shrugged. "I was just trying to look out for Garden, sir," he said cautiously. "I don't really like the idea of poorly prepared cadets heading into a poorly planned mission. Too much danger."
Cid smiled out the window. "I appreciate your concern and your perceptiveness," he said. "I'm glad you caught it. And I have to admit I was surprised to hear it - not only because of the massive mistakes involved, but because I didn't have you pegged as one who cared too much about Garden." He turned and gave Irvine the typical SeeD salute. "I'm sorry, son. I misjudged you."
Irvine shrugged again. Inside he was getting a little nervous - and confused. Cid didn't have to apologize - I never would have known what he thought had he not told me right now. What's going on?
Squall coughed slightly, reminding Cid to get back on track.
"Ah, yes." Cid headed over to his desk and picked up a familiar manila folder. "As of now we're going to try to track down exactly where this order came from. But a mission is a mission, Irvine. We've revised the plan, and we're going to stick to the original training schedule. The snipers most likely aren't the best way to go about it - but we want to keep up the appearance of this training mission, let our little spy - if there is one - think we've fallen for it. Once we have finalized the actual plan for the weapons mission, we will reassign your squad appropriately."
Cid bit his bottom lip. "The main difference is this. Since the students are under your jurisdiction, you and Instructor Tilmitt will be the SeeDs handling this mission. Though you both currently have Instructor status, you're still SeeDs and still under Garden's command. Your mission will be to support your students as best you can." He opened the folder, glanced at the top page, and then snapped it shut. "As time goes on, hopefully we can discover whether this was a genuine mistake or if some evil force is behind it. You and Instructor Tilmitt will be briefed on the mission one week before we send you out. Until then you are to remain working with your students as initially planned."
Irvine nodded. His confused gaze met Squall's for a second - why's it such a big deal? - and then he rose to leave.
"Irvine," Cid said, and the cowboy turned hastily, surprised at the familiar use of his name. "Thank you," the Headmaster said.
Irvine, bemused, simply smiled. Then, on his way out, he had a thought and turned around.
"Headmaster?"
Cid looked up from his desk, surprised. "Yes?"
"Permission to discuss the mission with Instructor Tilmitt?"
Cid bent his head in thought, and then looked up with a decisive nod. "Yes. Let her know about the assignment."
Irvine headed back to his room, lost in thought. Did everyone assume that he was carefree and insincere? Frivolous? First Selphie, now Cid. And why would it bother him like this? He'd never cared before.
But Cid had kindly - if absentmindedly - pointed out something that Irvine liked to stubbornly ignore: people never knew how much he cared. About anything. It was part of his demeanor, yes; part of the wall he had constructed. He couldn't help it at this point.
Irvine had spent his time flirting with life.
He inserted his card into the slot on the door and slipped inside, absently dropping his things onto the couch. He looked down at the dark SeeD uniform and made a face; then made a hasty decision to jump in the shower.
But he couldn't stop thinking about it.
Couldn't and wouldn't.
It was what he got for being such a player - what he deserved. His attitude had been a feint to keep away the danger. So much like Squall, except that Irvine had never cared about anything.
Or admitted to it.
He had cared about plenty in his empty little life.
The hot water beat down on his back, trying to soothe out the pain of realization. Would no one ever take him seriously? What happened when the cowboy decided to settle down and get real?
Being a loner - a sniper - an independent, carefree, irresponsible maverick - that was a lie.
He was a lie.
But lying was safe. The truth got you hurt. Lying meant distance, and distance meant space, and space meant somewhere to run.
He shook his head, wet hair spattering droplets around his small bathroom. Heading into the bedroom, he grabbed an old baggy worn pair of jeans, a loose white button shirt. Got dressed. Ran a comb through the long wet hair that cascaded down his back. Collapsed on the bed.
He had finally made it somewhere he could belong - somewhere he could stay. Take root. Friends and family. Home for a cowboy. He only had to fight the facade long enough to convince everyone else he was for real.
Not a tumbleweed. Not a bullet, traveling at the speed of daybreak. A simple young man wanting nothing more than a place to be and people to have fun with. Someone who cared. Someone who could be cared about.
That was the key - this bridge, the two-lane highway. He had to be realistic, not frivolous. Serious, not flirtatious. Genuine. If he could prove how much he cared - how strongly he wanted to keep this little family together - how much of his emotion, his fiber and being, were tied up in the desire to just be happy with what they all had - if he could convince the others of what they had, then maybe they'd realize. They'd remember.
He was Irvine Kinneas, sincerity cowboy.
And he wanted the others to care about him.