First of all, I'd like to apologise for the inhuman amount of time you've had to wait for this chapter. It feels nice that there are people who actually want to read this, but I feel a little guilty about making you hang on for so long to get it. Anyway, I move on to the chapter, and although I'd like to say it's worth the wait, I think that's up to you to decide, isn't it?

Three: Human Nature

It is a universally acknowledged truth that, with regards to the strange psychological theories developed to help us better understand human nature, there are some instinctual penchants that almost no qualified professional can explain. How can we, as mortals, explain elements of our construction which seem to be desinged to thwart any attempt to decode them? Mostly, this is used to dismiss any notions about mental illnesses, afflictions we are not meant to understand but simply to bear, but it also outlines habitual inclinations we develop without knowing or intending to do so.

Squall, for want of a better description, never felt as if he wanted other people to understand him, even if it was a selfish ideal brought on by years of social rejection. But primarily, he shied away from the extrovertion his absent parents might have told him to conform to. He wasn't obsessed with self-importance, but instead felt as if, without a father figure or caring household to call his own, he had to fend for himself in an unwelcoming childhood.

Whether being a human facilitated the need for an obsession was something he'd never determined, but at times he almost wished his proclivities could be materialistic. The gentle pulse of the moving train rumbling beneath him as he gazed out the window at the rolling Galbadian plains conjured a mental image of Selphie, bouncing around as if without a care or adversity in the world.

He felt a presence next to him, and knew who it was without needing to turn his head. He didn't even need to cast a glance to the person in the adjoining space to know that they had their chin placed into a hand, propping them up as they stared blankly at the dusty canyons in a stance almost identical to his – which was entirely the intention, of course.

"Am I interrupting anything?" Quistis asked.

"Only my train of thought," Squall replied, immediately turning his back on the walls of rock and sand moving past outside.

"Nice pun," Quistis smiled slightly, aware of the difference between comedy and humour.

Squall regarded her with an uncharacteristically comical raise of an eyebrow. "Thanks... I'll pretend it was intentional." Not wanting to further the conversation, he strode over to the ticket machine and withdrew a receipt.

"I know you've probably heard this countless times before, and the chances of you wanting to hear it again are similar to those of Vinzer Deling being re-elected, but what's on your mind?" Ask the same question over and over, and the answer won't be any different.

"Noth—"

"It isn't nothing," Quistis admonished, waving her hand to cut him off. "You have a face that's usually reserved for melting ice."

"I can't put it into words," Squall excused himself, leaning against the frame of the door.

"Try it." There was an insistent tone in her voice which seemed too resolute to belong to an instructor. Immediately, Squall's mind leapt back to their reminiscing in Trabia Garden. What was her point? To fill the void left by Ellone's departure, to take on the role of an older sister and the responsibilities it entailed. It was almost ironic, really, as the apathy Squall harboured toward most people, including Quistis, seemed almost appropriate for a younger, disinterested brother.

"Everyone has their own problems," Squall said. "Why does everyone want to help me? I can manage on my own."

"Squall, that sounds alarmingly like the old you," Quistis frowned. "I was never the best Science student, but one thing stuck with me even through years of intense boredom – solids can melt and become liquid, but they can also re-solidify. Somehow, Squall, you're just like that."

Quistis knew the response before Squall had even registered what she'd said, as it was an automated instinct reserved for many situations. "Whatever."

"Whatever," Quistis echoed. "You know what I used to do when I had something on my mind? I'd write it down somewhere. Sure, it made my diary like shaving with a blunt razor, but as I was the only one who read it, what did it matter? It was my way of getting things out of my system."

"It's not that simple," Squall dismissed her. "Can anyone write down what food tastes like? Or the shot of adrenaline that courses through your veins when running from trouble? Some things can't be put into writing."

Quistis would have picked up on the pretentious emotive language in Squall's reply if it hadn't incensed her so much. "Oh come on, Squall! You're seventeen, not seventy. Why don't you try and enjoy life for a change?"

"If life doesn't give you anything to enjoy, what's the point in changing?" With that, Quistis conceded defeat, knowing that her battle of wits with Squall was one she had not prepared strategies for, and resigned herself to gazing out the window in a stance which uncannily echoed Squall's.

Finally, after half a minute of shifting and uncomfortable silence, Squall spoke. "That was a nice analogy, by the way."

Quistis flashed a wry smile. "Thanks. I'll pretend it was intentional."

------------------------

Some places had a tendency to instil everyone who visited it with the same thoughts. It was considered almost customary that a beach town would submerge vistors in waves of charming nostalgia, and reduce those who had not seen such a place since their childhood into grinning, wide-eyed reminsicence of the times that were long past. One thing was for sure; Balamb had every characteristic associated with such a conventional location, and wasn't afraid to revel in it.

It seemed strange to Zell, though, as this was essentially his hometown and yet, despite his frequent visits, almost seemed inappropriate for permanent habitation. It wasn't that Balamb didn't have residents or permanent citizens; the town was renowned for its temperate people as much as its warm climate and frequent visitors from abroad, and the presence of Balamb Garden gave the town a warm, school-day feel to the area which was guaranteed to inspire some unsubstantiated nonsense from veterans about school days being the best of a person's life.

For all the residents it had, Balamb seemed to be constructed purely with foreign visitors in mind. The few houses in the town were merged in low-slung terraces, emphasising the reliance of the townspeople on each other in such a close-knit community. The town square consisted mostly of some strategically-placed gift shops clustered together, separated by the occasional restaurant, and a road which split into paths like a fork. The town's only real means of transport was the transcontinental railroad which ran to Timber through an undersea tunnel, and thus provided the tourism so fundamental to the town's continuing success.

Zell's mother was already waiting for him outside his house, seemingly eager for company after days devoid of any real purpose. "Hi ma!" he called out from a distance, a shadow against the white glare and the strikingly blue road.

"Zell!" she called out in response, making it seem to an oblivious onlooker that she was surprised to see him when, in fact, she had sent the invitation. "How's my rowdy boy doing?"

"I'm doin' good!" Zell replied, hopping around from one red skate-shoe to the other. "I'm like sunshine in a bottle." Which was strange, considering his recent influx of personal troubles. Ma Dincht gestured for him to enter the house, and as he did so, he was greeted with the cool breeze of air-conditioning.

"You know, everyone in the town thought you'd come back in pieces after that scuffle you had with Galbadia." Ma Dincht was visibly relieved to see him alive, he could tell. "Did you get hurt?"

"I kicked ass, Ma!" Immediately spotting the look of reproachment on her face, he dropped down into a worn lounge chair. "I was like, beating everyone to a pulp!" Ma Dincht reappeared from the kitchen carrying a can of soda, which Zell eagerly snatched from her and gulped without reservation.

"I'm proud of you, Zell." She gazed at his irrepressible grin. "You know, all the other townspeople thought you'd give up easily."

Zell tipped his head backward and poured the beverage down his throat. "Heh... They don't know me that well, obviously."

"Like the field exam, when everyone thought you'd fail spectacularly."

"Yeah! And I got into SeeD, no problem. What's with everyone? They all think I'm unhinged."

Ma Dincht chuckled slightly. "It's because you're wild. I think they all assume you're going to be reckless when you're on a mission."

"Well, that's not so far from the truth!" They both laughed together, Ma Dincht seeming almost animate with humour.

"I heard about the Sorceress... Edea, wasn't it?" Ma Dincht adopted a puzzled expression. "Somehow, that name seems familiar."

Zell looked put out. "Ma, we figured it out. Squall, Quistis, me and the rest. She was our Matron."

"Matron..." Ma Dincht's look was now one of bewilderment, and she departed in to the clouds of steam rising in the kitchen.

"You don't need to pretend any more. I know about the orphanage."

That was the killing line. Ma Dincht, who had seemingly assumed that Zell would never unravel the puzzle of his upbringing until told about it, was now faced with exactly that. "Zell, I'm sorry..."

"When were you gonna tell me, Ma?" Zell asked, seeming more pained than offended. It isn't easy to face up to the truth when said truth involves accepting that your beloved parents officially have nothing to do with you.

"We..." It seemed that this scenario had never crossed Ma Dincht's mind.

"Look, Ma, I'm not mad at you," Zell said, standing up. "It's just that you can't keep secrets forever, you know? I mean, I'm nearly eighteen. You had to tell me sometime."

"Zell, dear," she began in a reassuring tone, "sometimes it isn't easy to face up to your responsibilities, even when you're an adult. It's not as easy as just saying what's on your mind sometimes."

"C'mon, Ma, don't go all philosophical on me," Zell cut in. "I mean, I have a right to know, don't I?"

"Of course you do!" She laid a hand on his shoulder. "But sometimes what you don't know can't hurt you. And we thought that's the way it should stay for now."

"Yeah, I suppose..." Zell's voice trailed off in a futile attempt to find reason.

"We just want what's best for you, Zell," she concluded, moving away from Zell, now immersed in his own musings. "Don't forget; we're old, and we've been there before. I know I wouldn't have wanted my parents to come out with 'Sorry, we aren't your real parents – didn't you guess?' So Pa and I decided this was the best way to leave it, what with you in SeeD now. Obviously, I'm sorry you had to find out like this..." Now it was her turn to trail off into silence, letting her words hang in the air.

"You know, Ma," Zell said, hurling himself up from his seat, "I guess you were right. I see why you did it, but sometimes it's not so easy to accept things."

"Zell, dear," she replied, turning a plate in her tea-towel-wrapped hand, "that's part of everyone's lives. Things might not work out exactly the way you want them to, but it's always for the best. And you'll realise that eventually."

"Hey, I'm a religious motherfucker," Zell grinned, then averted his gaze as it met Ma Dincht's less-than-approving one. "That means: I know they teach you all this stuff in Garden, but I probably wasn't listening at the time."

"You know," she laughed, inserting the plate into a free slot on the washing-board, "I'm beginning to see why the others think you'll have trouble as a SeeD."

------------------------

As Squall concluded his speech, he self-consciously re-adjusted his tie, as if to enhance Garden's growing reputation as a dominant world power. "Therefore, I propose a peace agreement between our nations, beginning with the withdrawal of all troops from the Trabian sector, and with our contribution being the severing of all ties with resistance factions in Timber." He felt a twinge of discomfort at that, knowing that Rinoa could be watching the proceedings.

Murmurs of assent sounded from the throng of Galbadian politicians situated just in front of the podium where Squall was now standing ramrod-straight, awaiting some sort of response. A period of long, uneasy chatter followed, as the counsel engaged in discussion relating to the affair. After a period of time that was almost too long for Quistis to endure without lapsing into sleep, Hibrom Caraway, newly elected president of Galbadia, took the opportunity to stand. The fact that none of the foreign attendants chose to do the same spoke volumes about their ideologies – indifferent, and usually pretty useless.

"After much consideration, we have decided..." He paused for a moment or two, building the tension like an over-exploited television format, "...this treaty is beneficial to our country. Hence, we have decreed that we will agree the constitution, and put an end to this pointless conflict."

Visible relief, held in baited breath by the other attendants, was expelled in waves of applause. After nearly a year of pointless bickering, hollow disputes and needless conflict fuelled by Galbadia's power-hungry dictator, it was finally coming to an end. It appeared to be what all the involved nations wanted—obviously, no civilians wanted endless fighting, but there were some, like those pacifist inhabitants of Fisherman's Horizon, who wanted nothing more than quiet. This would, given the time required to implement everything, hopefully lead to a more secure existence for both them and the more hot-tempered individuals.

When Squall emerged from the clamouring foreign representatives, Quistis greeted him with a smile. "That was excellent. Really. Cid would be proud if he were here."

Squall almost seemed pleased at the compliment. "Thanks. I thought it went well." It wasn't as if she was exaggerating either – he'd done a very professional job of the assignment, the kind that reminded unacquainted Garden graduates why he'd ascended to such a high level in the ranking order.

"So, you think that's going to end this Sorceress War?" Squall shook his head concurrently.

"No. Galbadia are too hot-headed, and I think they'll still give us some trouble. Don't forget, even if we can make it easier to cope with, there's always conflict."

"Oh, Squall. You're too fatalistic."

"Admit it, Quistis," he said as he held the door aside for her to pass through, "you agree with me."

Her wary gaze told him all he needed to know. "Okay, I admit it. That Caraway... I'm not so sure about him, especially after all that happened with Rinoa."

"Tell me about it," Squall muttered, as they ducked into the bullet-proof Garden car waiting outside. They situated themselves in the long, grey seats, strapped in with four-point safety belts.

"Well, I guess there's no time to buy any souvenirs, huh?" Quistis placed a hand over her mouth to stifle the beguiled laughter. "I can just imagine you looking for something for Rinoa. You'd probably buy her pepper spray, or a pocket knife."

"No..." He appeared indignant, as if Quistis' suggestion that he made boyfriends look too serious and passionless was silly. "I don't just think about worst-case scenarios, you know. We have a life."

"Okay, no more detail needed," Quistis cut him off. "I don't really want to know about your post-curfew escapades."

"I didn't mean that." Squall's expression was of dismay.

"Just kidding!" Though she couldn't reach him, she would have given him a knowing nudge if she could. "You're no fun, Squall."

This time, Squall refused to dignify her with a reply. Quistis folded her arms over her chest, glowering at him. "Fine, if that's the way you want it. You know, I've told you this many times before, and so have other people, but for once, try and cheer up, okay? You look like a thunderstorm."

Squall grunted slightly. "Whatever." Feeling the sudden need to get away from her surly student, Quistis did not open her mouth again.

------------------------

Why was it that when something finally realises its full potential, it somehow loses the charm that made it so affecting and special in the first place? Selphie had been excited about the Garden Festival almost immediately since her transfer from Trabia, and yet now she was verging on disappointment with the finished product. As good as it looked, the multitude of bells and whistles seemed to detract from the purity and the lowly magic of the ramshackle stage which originally dominated the Quad.

Considering the mass of anecdotes she could relate about the subject, she had a right to be proud of her achievements as the head of the Garden Festival Committee. Taking over the unenviable mantle from the departing Wimbly Donner, she had managed to turn around the fortunes of the annual inauguration ceremony into something which turned other Gardens green with envy. Balamb had a reputation for enticing unsigned bands to play at the Festival, therefore increasing their popularity – but the Festival also captured the maverick spirit and energy they conveyed.

But now, having elevated the Festival to the level of a near-commercial insitution, she was unsatisfied with the excessive exposure Balamb Garden was recieving from their friends in other continents. They could now reel in musicians with burgeoning popularity throughout Galbadia and Dollet – but where was the fun in that? It seemed ridiculous that she was thinking this way, but her mind had an interesting way of decoding situations. Subconsciously, there was something unsatisfying about taking things for granted.

Slowly, she reached over the stage and retrieved the acoustic guitar situated on the edge of the wooden construction. She didn't wonder why it was there; although the Quad hadn't been frequented by students or musicians lately, there were some who would know it was her place of solitude. Keeping her unrushed movement, she settled the instrument into her lap, cradling it like a newborn child, fingers clasped around the curved body. It was a thing of beauty, a device that relied not on precision machining, but was cut unprofessionally and constructed through age-old, trusted methods. And yet, like the Festival before, it was perfection embodied.

She wasn't entirely surprised when she saw a flickering at the corner of her eye, a small disturbance which soon became a cream-coloured speck, growing larger as it became more prominent. Of course, Irvine always knew that Selphie departed to the Quad when in need of some personal seclusion, and thus when she vanished from the Cafeteria soon after chewing quiescently through her breakfast, he'd know just where to find her.

As he propped himself up on the stage, resting his knee on the wood, Selphie turned her head to one side and flashed her grin at him. It still puzzled Irvine as to how she could make a grin childlike without appearing childish, never too close to austere seriousness or immaturity.

"S'up, Sefie," he greeted her, tossing his hat up into the air. It bounced off his outstretched fingers as he attempted to catch it on the way down.

She winked at him. "Nice catch. I bet you were 'Three Strikes Irvine' in baseball."

"Nah," he replied, seemingly unoffended. "They always gave me four strikes, 'cause I was so bad at it. And you know what happened?"

"You hit it on the fourth strike?"

"Nope, four straight strikes." She giggled slightly. "So, you know how to play that thing?"

"No, I just thought it looked nice. You can teach me if you like..."

"Will I ever!" Irvine grinned, and launched himself at the stage. Eagerly scooping the instrument out of her hands, and placing his own hands gently upon the strings. "Now," he said, positioning his finger on the neck of the guitar, "a guitar is like a woman's body. You have the elegant neck, the curves, the rounded shape..." As he turned the instrument around to reveal the hollow, Selphie made a sound somewhere between a cough and a snigger. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Anyway." He plucked one of the strings, resulting in a dissonant twang. "That is a C. When a woman laughs, it is the sweetest sound, playful and refined. When a woman reprimands you, shouts at you for doing something wrong or is generally on a PMS bender—" he yanked one of the strings, producing a dark, vaguely ominous sound, "—that's an E. And then, there's the flirty part..." He strummed gently, producing a gentle, optimistic timbre. "That's an A. Which makes ACE, if you put it all together."

"What about mood swings?" Selphie inquired coquettishly.

"Well..." Abruptly, he burst into song; strumming at misplaced intervals, creating a dirge of discordant sound, slowing and speeding without warning, to the sole accompaniment of his stamping foot, each impact seemingly on a different bar. Just as swiftly as he had started, it vanished with a single resounding intonation. "That's an F."

"How does that fit in? FACE?"

"No. It stands for 'Fucking hell, I married a psycho!'" He leapt up from his squat, and thrust the guitar back into her hands. "Here. Your turn." He took her hands and placed them on the neck of the instrument, organising her fingers appropriately.

"You have big hands," she said with a vaguely teasing smile. "Does that mean you have big feet too?"

"I suppose so."

"Well, you know what they say about big feet..."

"Yeah, big shoes." He located her free fingers, and with the plectrum firnly in place, began to strum one of the strings, shifting her finger up and down the neck. Selphie, though, seemed unimpressed, and stiffened her hand so he couldn't move it any further. "What's the problem?"

"Hang on a second," she said, peeling his hands away, "I think I've got it." And without warning, her fingers swiftly started to move back and forth, producing an elegiac, shimmering, wordless ballad, punctuated with the occasional tap of a toe.

"What was that all about?" he insisted, frowning at her.

"That's what guys are like. They're simple."

"No, I mean, about you not being able to play."

Selphie waved a hand in front of his eyes, trying to remove the imaginary fog that was clouding his judgment. "Earth to Irvy! Don't you remember the concert, at FH?" An embarrassed look creased his brow, and as he lowered his eyes with a groan, Selphie poked him gently.

"Still, you're the best music teacher I ever had." His eyes met hers, and though neither smiled, it wasn't entirely necessary. As they gazed at each other, each waiting for the other to take advantage, the intercom sounded.

"Major bummer!" Selphie exclaimed. "Well, I guess I'd better go, huh?" And she paced away, it seemed like she was almost too eager to depart. Irvine shrugged, retrieving the guitar. Women. No point in trying to understand 'em, is there?

------------------------

The train ride, while uneventful, was in a similar vein to the previous ride in the other direction, albeit with less vocal contribution from the two passengers. Squall, who seemed almost pleased (a word not used very often in relation to him) with his contribution to the mission, had chosen to retire to the private cabin. Quistis, on the other hand, chose to leave her erstwhile student to his own devices. A less persistent person might have given up long ago, and even one with more than a small measure of common sense and patience would have trouble continuing with the tireless quest to figure out what made him tick. But even being an unusually tenacious individual didn't stop Quistis from losing heart sometimes, and this was one of those.

So the remainder of the journey was spent with the two peace representatives in quiet seclusion, and not more than three words was exchanged between them throughout. It seemed like both were either too tired or simply unwilling to make conversation, and given the tiring nature of their mission, it was excusable. The train ground into Balamb Station a short while later, and for convenience, the Garden was situated in its berth in the harbour.

The walk was notably quiet, even without the punctuation of quiet speech the two usually shared. When they reached the front gate, the headmaster was waiting for them. "You look unusually dour," he remarked. "Mission successful?"

"Check the news," Quistis replied. "You'll find that we engineered a peace agreement between the nations of Galbadia, Balamb and Trabia, with the input of their respective Gardens."

"Excellent!" Cid professed, with a boyish grin that never flattered his true emotions – and having achieved the goal Garden had been set up to accomplish, who'd blame him? "Well, I guess you're free for now then. I have a feeling this isn't finished yet, but for now, we can relax."

"I don't think the Galbadians are finished yet," Squall put in, startling the other two. "I'm not sure I trust Caraway that much – I was in the squad who tried to assassinate the Sorceress."

"He is Galbadia's president, Squall. Try and remember that. He may have his own motives, but he's under oath, and he can't try any tricks like that again."

"I bet they said the same about Deling," Quistis interjected. "And look how he turned out." Cid, seemingly defeated, remained stoic and silent, and also chose it as an opportune time to stalk off. Quistis regarded Squall with a puzzled look.

"What was that about?" Squall's response was a typically detached shrug, not appearing to care about the subject that much.

"Who cares," he put in.

Quistis took a pace backward in mock horror. "You sounded like Seifer for a moment there. That's scary, Squall."

"Well, anyway..." Squall began, "I guess I'd better head off. I've still got some things to sort out."

"Someone, or something?"

"I think you know," Squall replied mysteriously, and trudged away in the direction of the main hall. Although Quistis set about heading for her classroom in an intent march, it wasn't five seconds before she stumbled across Seifer, striding with a wanton purpose.

"What a pleasant surprise," Quistis announced. It was possibly a half-joking tone, but Seifer didn't pick up on either the humour or the quiet antipathy.

"Listen," Seifer butted in, as if they'd been conversing for hours without solution. "I thought to myself; what am I gonna be doing tonight? And the answer is, nothin'. So, I figured I'd take you out tonight. For a a drink, you know? No promises."

"That's very noble of you," Quistis remarked, retaining her sardonic tone.

"Go on. It's not like you've got anything planned."

"And how are you going to pay for it? You haven't got Gil to toss in the fountain."

Seifer grinned. "Bribes? Blood money? I'll think of something." Before Quistis countered with another sarcastic jibe, he continued. "Come on. Way I see it, you need to pay me back for last night."

"It wasn't that great, Seifer." She caught the exaggerated look of offence on his face. "Oh, alright then. You twisted my arm."

He winced. "Ouch. Sorry."

------------------------

"Have you thought about relationships lately, Zell?"

It was suppertime at the Dinchts' place now, and though Pa Dincht was conspicuously absent from the meal, there was a sense of communion and warm cheer between young man and adoptive mother. Unfortunately, she had just chosen to pose the kind of question which prompted embarrassed eye-shifting and a slight flush in the cheeks.

"Not really," he replied. "I mean, I don't really have time for that kind of thing right now. I'm studying too much." He shovelled mashed potatoes into his mouth without reservation, almost intending to prevent himself from saying any more. That wasn't going to deter Ma Dincht, though.

"You know," she replied, selecting a bowl of salad situated next to her, "I think a girlfriend would do you good. You should have an older one, one that'll take care of you."

"Nah," Zell replied. "I'm not thinking about it right now."

"But you're at that age, aren't you? Most boys your age think about girls all the time."

"Well," Zell mused, exchanging the bowl with Ma Dincht and spooning green leaves onto his plate, "this isn't the kind of thing you discuss with your mother. You know? It's kind of strange."

"There's nothing you can tell me that I don't already know, Zell," she smiled, which seemed to be an attempt to sound understanding but conjured some eyebrow-raising on Zell's part. "I mean, I met Pa Dincht when I was your age..." This prompted some amusing thoughts – an immediate one, of Pa Dincht delving into The Girl Next Door while on the toilet, almost made him stop chewing and smirk.

It didn't fool Ma Dincht. "And no laughing. This is serious."

"How did you know?"

"I'm your mother," she said dismissively. "I know exactly what you're thinking regardless of whether I'm a woman. But I'd like a conversation on a standard level, okay?" As Zell tore a large chunk out of his burger, he lowered his eyes in embarrassment.

"What about that girl? The one with the pigtail."

Zell coughed waveringly. "Mina?"

"Is that her name? Well, what happened?"

"Nothin' happened, Ma," Zell denied, returning to scooping food into his mouth to avoid pondering the subject. "There was never anything between us."

"That's not the impression I got," she denied. "If there was nothing between you, why did she conveniently choose to stop by here last week to 'check up on you'?"

Now Zell was flushing. "Wh-what?"

"Oh yes, I didn't tell you, did I? I wonder why she came round. She didn't seem like she wanted something specific – maybe she just wanted to say hello?"

"Maybe." His mouth still crammed with food, he drained his glass in one long gulp. "I don't know what to shay. I mean, I washn't told about thish..."

"I don't really know what to shay either," Ma Dincht replied. "Seems you're trying to hide something from me."

"No offence, but if I had a girlfriend, I don't think we'd spend all day round here."

"I think they'd be put off by your room. All that unwashed underwear, lying all over the floor..."

"I wouldn't even let 'em in my damn room!" Zell exclaimed. "That's my sacred place!"

"Still," Ma Dincht chuckled, beginning to gather cutlery and glasses as the meal, "I'd like to meet her in person someday, this girl of yours. Our last encounter was a 'hello – goodbye' affair."

"I told ya, she's not my girlfriend!" Zell protested. "We're friends, that's all."

"That's what your dad told his. You sounded just like him for a second there." Zell stretched an arm across the table to snatch the last piece of bread. "Zell, that's rude," she reprimanded him. "Haven't you got a tongue?"

"Yeah, but my arm's longer." Before she could even smirk, it was stuffed in his mouth.

------------------------

Galbadians, for all their promises of change and re-adaption, had an unfortunate reputation for being selfish, confrontational people. As was the case with all stereotypes, some didn't fit this description; detrimentally for their cause, however, those who often represented the country or gave it a public image seemed to embody every misconception about the nation.

The wine bar in the Galbadia hotel was, according to the connoisseurs who frequented it, one of the finest and most accommodating any country had to offer. However, the extortionate pricing and upper-class company who made every public visitor feel inadequate did nothing to help their cause.

Quistis and Seifer, now dressed in evening wear so far removed from their usual fashions and dress code they might as well have been from a different country, seemed oblivious to all those around them. Though their faces betrayed none of the emotions they were feeling at the time, the general unspoken consensus was that they were two lovers simply enjoying each other's fellowship.

"Yoo-hoo? Anything to drink?" Seifer asked, waving a placard in front of her face. She flashed him an imperceptible smile.

"Wine. But I choose which one."

"When you say, 'I choose which one,' that doesn't mean 'choose the one that will drain poor Seifer's wallet of every Gil he's worked so hard to obtain.'"

"Poor Seifer. What an oxymoron."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were teasing me."

"'If I didn't know any better...' How could you possibly know any worse?"

Seifer placed a hand on his heart, seemingly penetrated by Quistis' sharp words. "Instructor, that hurts. I never had you tagged as a vicous woman."

Quistis gave him a raised eyebrow, forging a look that said more than her words conveyed. "Are you a betting man, Seifer?"

"I can't afford to be bankrupt." Quistis gave him another sharp look, but this time said nothing. It didn't matter, as Quistis had an uncanny ability to put more emotion into a look than most could put into three sentences. This particular look meant "I don't actually believe a word of what you're going to say tonight, but so long as you know you haven't fooled me for a second, we can communicate on the same wavelength."

Seifer again demonstrated with his hand how he loved to exert authority over all those near him. "So, did you enjoy your day?"

"Replace 'enjoy' with 'endure', and you're on the right road."

"Poor Quistis. It's a hard life being an Instructor."

"You know how Squall is... All his crap about doing the mission and not getting any personal involvements gets in the way." Quistis selected a crisp white wine, and the waiter promptly departed.

"Do you mind if I smoke?"

"I don't care if you burn."

He chose to try a different technique, as he drew one of the long white sticks out of his shirt pocket and lit it on the candle. "You know, this is the second time you and I have been surrounded by waiters and party guests inside a week," Seifer remarked.

"You've been counting?"

"No. Have you?"

"Just assumed, that's all." The candle in the centre of the table flickered slightly. "So – and not meaning to sound redundant or boring here – but what's your view on women?"

"Ah." Seifer settled into a lounging position, almost indicating that they were now firmly in his territory. "The fairer sex, eh? Well, I have a feeling every woman in the world finds me absolutely irresistible—"

Quistis practically choked with laughter. "Guess I'm in a minority then."

Seifer took the opportunity to resurrect his pained look. "I'm so offended. Really."

"Not as much as I am."

"But seriously, I know how to please a woman." Seifer was now basking in his own smugness, and Quistis wouldn't have been too surprised if he had chosen to place his feet on the table. "I know exactly what you're thinking, Instructor."

"You wouldn't know romance if I made you write a composition about it."

Seifer smirked arrogantly. "Romance? Who said anything about romance? And I wouldn't submit the composition anyway."

"Let me guess – you're a one-night kind of guy."

"Well, as many nights as you can get before 'When are we going to tell everyone?'"

Quistis signalled for the waiter to stop pouring. "I bet you'll be a lot of fun when you meet your prospective in-laws. 'How did you two first meet?' 'Well, I was kind of drunk at the time...'" This time, it was a exchange of laughter between the couple.

"Thanks," Seifer nodded at the waiter, and his dismissal now seemed to indicate how he'd been brought down a rung on the ladder of respect.

"Oh, I enjoy being facetious," Quistis laughed self-reverently.

"Nice word. I don't have a clue what it means, but it's nice anyway."

"I wouldn't expect any less from you," she assured him. "I mean, you're a guy, and you also happen to be the same guy I was talking to five minutes ago."

"Yeah, but that guy also knows how much every woman in the world loves him."

"Also the same guy who thinks love and sex are two totally different things..."

"They can exist without each other, trust me." He frowned furtively. "What? Did I say sumthin' funny?"

"Not meaning to exert my... feminstic wiles on you, but I always thought men were misguided. They think they know something without substantiation."

"Can you translate that? I mean, make it simpler for a dumb asshole like me to understand?"

"How do you know they can exist without each other when you've only experienced one of them?"

"Well, sex isn't love, but it means something." He twisted his mouth into something between a grimace and a wince. "I'm not into devotion."

"Yeah, but surely going all the way with someone requires you to like them a little bit, doesn't it?"

"I haven't 'gone all the way' with someone I can't stand, if that's what you're hinting at."

"What about you, Seifer?" Quistis was enjoying poking fun at her sparring partner. "What if it's the other way round? What if they can't stand you?"

"Oh, that's never happened."

"You're sure about that?" The odds had swung in the Instructor's favour - Quistis 2, Seifer 0. "I mean, I agreed to accompany you on this sojourn..."

"Yeah, but you like me."

"Oh yeah, silly me. This is Seifer I'm talking to."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Quistis put the edge of the glass to her lips. "A dumb asshole could never understand."

"Simplify?"

"I'll have to put something between us if we're going to continue. There."

Any traces of Seifer's humour seemed to have been lost in the aroma of seafish drifting around the hotel bar. "Now you've lost me completely. Where the hell is this conversation going?"

"Bang. There's your manhood coming into things..."

"Really, Miss Trepe, what are you talking about?"

"Ah, yes. If I think of something completely different, it'll all run more smoothly. Yes, that's it."

Seifer frowned, seeming to catch the interested glances of the other patrons of the bar. "Well, I think we'd better call it a day. We haven't even got started on the food yet, and if you want to know, I'm kind of scared about what effect the lobster's gonna have."

"Seifer, I'm wondering what else you can do. That was lacking a spark, I'm afraid." She unhooked her handbag from the back of the chair, and looped the strap over her arm. As she walked out, purposefully ignoring Seifer's confused gaze, an observer might have noticed the hint of a smile which crept across her face. While he remained oblivious to her whole elegant charade, the situation had worked out rather nicely for her – if a free drink was evidence enough of that.

As the waiter began to hover nearby in search of payment, Seifer's response seemed to be aimed at the departing Instructor. "I'll pay, then."

------------------------

As night fell on the Balamb continent, Zell was sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor, blinds flapping in a light ocean breeze drifting in through an open window. The sky was now rife with thick waves of dark blue cloud, with an area of lighter blue on the northern horizon where the outer reaches of the world were still enjoying daylight.

Zell was thumbing through an old diary Pa Dincht had created many years previously, feeling almost apprehensive now that he was studying the mindset of another person, especially one who was very close to him. Pa Dincht's personal contemplations revealed a facet of his personality he'd never displayed before – much more impressionable and perceptive than he'd expected for a travelling workman. He'd always thought of his father as a brash, insensitive artisan – and the diary seemed to give justification for the contrary.

What was it my uncle told me about women? "A woman is like a fine wine; delicious, elegant, perfect, and gets better with age." I guess he forgot to mention that wine makes you drunk, too. I vowed I'd never get involved seriously with a girl, and now here I am. He always told me that women aren't to be taken in earnest, and that they were only a distraction. But I'm thinking differently.

A lot has happened, but I'm at a crossroads. I'm not sure whether I should continue this as it is now, but if I break it off, I could regret it. Is she the one? I don't know.

I'm afraid of devotion, I suppose. But why? If I love her, what's the problem? Maybe I don't want to give my freedom up just like that. I'm still young, and it's kind of difficult to give it all away just like that – and once you've done it, there's no going back.

The entry finished there. He flicked through a few more sections, moving a thick section of paper aside as he moved forward.

We found out today that we can't have any children. Sometimes, that drives a wedge between a couple, but it hasn't affected us too badly. Obviously, I'm upset – how could I not be? I'll never see miniature versions of myself scampering around, tripping over, playing on the beach with other children... It's the kind of thing that makes a man feel unhappy, thinking about things too much.

But we still want a family, and just because they aren't really our own, doesn't mean it's not worth a shot. She mentioned adoption, and I'm inclined to agree. If we get a son, he might be the opposite of me – but I still want to raise one anyway. That's the greatest thing about having kids – you don't know what you'll get, but you'll never know unless you try. Maybe we'll drop in at that place she mentioned – somewhere in Centra, I think.

Casually, Zell stuffed the leather-bound books into the box he'd retrieved them from and slid it under his bed, ensuring it was locked. It was a strange thing to intrude on someone's private space, but in many ways, it helped him realise he wasn't the only one with these thoughts. Maybe – perish the thought – his ma was right. On one hand, he was still young, and commitment was a full-time vocation. But still, maybe she was 'the one'? Stranger things had happened. Still immersed in his own thoughts, as he had seemingly been for the past few days, he clicked the light off, and laid down on his bed. He drifted off inside a minute.

------------------------

Well, what about that? Done, finally. I don't really think that was worth the wait, but my opinion doesn't matter, does it? It's you readers who count.

And yeah, I noticed the bit about Caraway's first name too. I mean, what would you expect from the company who created Einhander? They seem to have a capacity for strange names.

Anywho, send all your opinions to the usual address. Anything you liked, disliked, things you think I should include, put it all in there. And you can mention my references too. I'm still waiting for someone to pick up on the ones in Retaliation...