Chapter Two
The Scream of a Challenge
Quistis stood in the window of her old office, eyes closed, soaking in the sun as it came through her window. It was lunchtime. She normally took the hour to get ahead on her grading and planning, eating a quick meal at her desk as she worked. But today for some reason she was feeling particularly lazy. She had been standing here in the sun for the past ten minutes, absorbing the rays as if she were some cold-blooded lizard depending on its heat for survival.
It had been a long week. Not only had the rhythm of her own lessons picked up - she was expected to have a class of higher-level SeeDs ready for their Rank 16 certification test by next Thursday - but there were strange things brewing. Talk of subterfuge and other traitorous deeds was circulating among the students and faculty, fueled by strange rumors of missions gone awry. Galbadia Garden was facing scrutiny and examination. And on top of it, Selphie and Irvine had left on an impromptu mission, leaving her and Zell with extra classes and extra work.
"They're eloping," Zell had said with excitement. "I'm sure of it."
"You're an idiot," Quistis returned acidly, less than thrilled with the extra responsibilities. "They're not eloping. It's an official undercover mission."
"I don't believe you," Zell stated. "Betcha they come back married."
"What are you willing to bet?" Rinoa asked, intrigued.
"It doesn't matter," Quistis said, sighing. "Mission or elopement or trip to Hyne's Green Heaven, it doesn't matter. We still get their papers and their classes. And that sucks."
"Isn't Hyne's Green Heaven that bar down in Deling?" Rinoa mused.
Yes, it had been a trying time.
The past week had been a gritty sort of stressful hell for her. And for some reason, standing in this spot of sun was quite bloody relaxing. Maybe, like that cold-blooded lizard, she could turn some of this heat into extra energy and actually make it through until her certifications were done. Or at least until the end of the day; she'd be content with that.
There was a knock on the door.
"Aw, hell," she muttered under her breath, her eyes fluttering. "Come in."
Zell Dincht walked in, carrying a stack of papers which looked suspiciously like the ones currently sitting on her desk. "Hey, Q," he warbled, "I have a present for you."
"I think I hate your present," Quistis said ruefully. "More finals?"
Zell stuck out his tongue. "What else? They were in Selphie's lesson plan for today."
"I have to grade?" Quistis asked wearily, knowing the answer already. She turned back to the window, begging the sun on her face for just a little bit of energy.
"It's your week," Zell said. "I teach, you grade. And we get to do this until those little buggers get back from their honeymoon."
"It's a mission, Zell."
"Bah." He bounced on the ground, swinging a couple punches through the air. "You sunning yourself or something?"
"I'm tired, Zell." Quistis turned around and gave him a smile. "It's like a nap."
"A nap." Bounce. "On your feet. With your eyes open." Bounce, and a punch. "You don't know how to nap, do you, Q?"
"Oh, I know how. Trust me." She headed towards the desk, paging through Selphie's exams. "But tell me - when do I have time for a nap?"
"After those," Zell said with a wicked grin. She reached out to swat him, but he jumped away nimbly. "Try some coffee."
"Oh," Quistis laughed, "I'm pretty much immune to that. The magical powers of coffee vanished years ago, Z."
"You still drink it," he pointed out, lunging for a mug on her desk.
"I like the way it tastes," she stated, snatching the mug out of the way before Zell's well-placed swing could connect. His grab ended up catching air; Zell pouted, his blond spikes sinking down to tickle his forehead.
Quistis couldn't help but laugh. There had been a time when she'd been convinced that Zell Dincht was - well, simple. But then she'd seen on their travels, throughout the entire ordeal with Matron, that both his brains and his heart were where they belonged. Zell was simply open and honest with what he was thinking and feeling - no matter how insightful, or how dumb. And he could be both in the course of five minutes.
"Get out of here," she said with a grin, waving at the door. "I'll take care of these. Give 'em to you at dinner?"
Zell stopped bouncing long enough to throw her a look. "You won't be done by dinner, Q. That's Selphie's final."
"Ex-actly." Quistis allowed herself a satisfied smirk. "First of all, they're entry-level cadets. Second of all: it's Selphie."
"Heh." Zell chuckled. "You just wait until you read that. Selphie's not an idiot, Q."
"Oh, I know, I know," she replied cheerfully, throwing her hands up in submission. "Selphie's about as bright as they come, I know that. But it's Selphie. I can't imagine her being mean to a fly."
"She's a jerk," Zell chanted, "she's a big jerk. The kids can't decide whether they love her or hate her."
"Hmm." Quistis paged through the exam, murmuring to herself: it actually looked like a decent challenge, and she was surprised that her soft-hearted Trabian friend had created something this vicious for entry-level cadets. Selphie was smart, yes, but her desire to have the entire world's love and affection was overwhelming at times. She looked up at Zell, shrugging. "Okay, it's harder than I thought it would be. But I'll still have it done by dinner."
"You don't have to," Zell said. "Why bother? Relax, Q."
Quistis relaxed into her chair, opening a drawer in search of her favorite grading pen. "Because direct, immediate feedback promotes learning," she said, scanning the drawer; like the rest of her office, it was a mess to everyone's eyes but her own. "The sooner they get the exams back, the more likely they'll be able to remember why they made the mistakes they did. And knowing why produces changes." She brandished the newly-found pen at Zell. "Reasons produce results. Cause and effect, Zell. Best way to influence learning."
"Best way to influence a hernia," Zell returned, grinning, "for you and the kids. They'll crap flowers if they get those back tomorrow."
Quistis gave an evil chuckle. "Another benefit."
Zell rolled his eyes. "You're cleaning it up if they do. Catch you at dinner."
Quistis cleared a space on her desk to work, then headed into the faculty lounge to refill her precious coffee mug. She sat down with the exams, reading over the first handful to get herself acquainted with the level of the students and Selphie's style of exam. Then she began grading, one part of her mind entirely focused on the questions and her comments, another analyzing the questions and the exam as a whole. A third part idly wondered how easy it would be to move her desk into the sunlight.
This division of thought had always been one of her best skills. It was simply the way she naturally thought; part of her mind spent its time detached from everything, analyzing the given information in the way it saw fit. Neither danger nor emotion could stir this part of the mind into a response, earning Quistis a reputation as 'cold' and 'indifferent'.
She didn't feel that she was really either; it was simply a skill.
In the depths of ferocious battle, it allowed her to examine her enemies, taking mental notes until she could reproduce their attacks. In the depths of ferocious politics, it allowed her to drive to the heart of a problem, often ignoring sensitivity. It wasn't a personality trait, or even a personality flaw; it was a tool, one she used well.
She worked through the afternoon, her respect for both Selphie's final and Selphie's students growing as she continued through the exams. No one had taken the petite Trabian Instructor seriously, she knew; Selphie was at best hard to take seriously. But this exam was serious, and hopefully after they received their results, the students would be serious as well. Dinnertime came; Quistis continued to work, knowing she'd miss the first round down in the cafeteria. Oh well. Three rounds of dinner were served at Balamb; and there were always late-night hot dogs.
Finally she finished up the last one, just in time for the second call. She stacked them neatly on her desk, her grading log on top; checking the clock, she decided to run the final grades up to Cid's office before he left. It was protocol for Instructors anyway, but Quistis knew he'd appreciate the good news; most students had done relatively well on the final. She locked her door and headed to the elevator.
As the doors opened on the third floor, Quistis paused instinctively. Something was wrong - her ears perked. She could hear two heated voices from behind Cid's door. But even as her fists clenched in reflex, her spine relaxed; she recognized one voice as Cid's. And the other voice...
...was Squall Leonhart? Yelling?
Oh dear, Quistis thought. Should I leave? I don't want to overhear something I shouldn't, that's not only against protocol, it's rude. But as much as she tried, the shock of the yelling voices had her rooted to the ground.
"...I won't do it. I don't want it. I never wanted it." Even Squall's voice was cold in fury, avoiding the usual fires of passion and anger. "You can find somebody else, because I won't do it."
"But you're the only one -"
"No, I'm not. Start looking into qualifications; I have." There was a loud bang that Quistis - uncomfortably - pictured as an unfavorable reaction between Squall's fist and Cid's desk. "I have a couple ideas if you want to talk. Otherwise, this is over."
Quistis, shocked at Squall's tone of voice and ultimate irreverence for the Headmaster of Balamb, could only stare as Squall threw the door open, left, and slammed it behind him. She opened her mouth to make an excuse, but Squall (not even bothering to question her presence) growled, "Stuff it, Trepe," and got in the elevator.
Quistis knocked on the now-shut door. "Sir?" she asked, her voice steady as usual, even as her mind churned. "It's Instructor Trepe."
Cid opened the door, trying his hardest to not look frazzled; Quistis, respecting his privacy, tried her hardest not to notice. "Instructor Tilmitt's grades for her first final," she offered, holding out the paper as an offering of peace.
A small smile cracked Cid's concentration (he had to concentrate very hard on not blowing up with frustration, she knew; she'd heard about his many run-ins with NORG). "Ah, yes," he said, relaxing visibly. "Let's see."
He took the piece of paper and paced over to his window, scanning it. "Norfest and Becker in this class?" he asked absently. "And Norfest passed - barely. Interesting. Becker sure didn't."
"Sir?"
He turned to her, re-noticing her presence and smiling. "Sorry. Two of Garden's biggest troublemakers are in this class here. I'm trying to keep an eye on them - without our old Disciplinary Committee, it's not easy to keep the bullies in check."
Quistis's mind raced. Alan Norfest's exam had been close to miserable; she would've failed him if it hadn't been for Gor Becker's attempt. "They don't seem bright enough to be real trouble, sir," she offered.
Cid chuckled. "Perhaps," he said. "But they won't be happy about this. Will you alert Instructor Dincht to be on the lookout for trouble tomorrow?"
"Of course, sir," she said with a nod, returning his smile.
Cid and Quistis had always shared a strange sort of relationship. Cid had been the closest Quistis ever came to a father figure; ever since she came to Balamb Garden, seeking order and refuge from the chaos that had been her foster family. Cid had taken her under his wing, seeing not only her intelligence and bright disposition but her sheer determination. Later, when Quistis remembered the past, she knew that Cid had been acting out of fatherly instinct - caring for all the children who had once played at his orphanage. Somehow she had never begrudged him, never been angry with him for withholding the truth about the past.
Although she had been angry with him. The awkwardness of a loving father dealing with his prodigal daughter surfaced when they remembered that they were Headmaster and Instructor, Commander and Soldier - Chief of Garden and lowly SeeD. Cid gave orders, and Quistis had to obey them. That had strained the relationship, but never broken it; although the day Quistis lost her licence had come very close.
Now Cid smiled at her, the light returning to his eyes as if he had just realized something. Quistis smiled back, the tension dissipating again. She could see Cid relaxing, looking at her as if he had finally recognized her. "That copy is yours, sir," she said finally, her empty stomach getting the better of her.
"Yes," he said, looking down at the paper. "I'll file it right away."
As she turned to leave the office, Headmaster Cid said suddenly: "Quistis."
She turned at the sound of her real name. The Headmaster was always careful to use titles - Commander, Instructor, Cadet - during operational hours; names were too personal, too emotional, too much attachment and not enough distance. "Yes?" she asked, almost hesitant.
"Can you meet with me tomorrow to discuss a couple important issues?"
Oh. The detached part of her brain produced her schedule before the rest of her had processed the question. "I'm scheduled until third block - thirteen-thirty," she heard herself say. "I should be free after then."
"Alright then," Cid said, giving a brick nod. "We'll have an appointment at fourteen-hundred hours, then."
"Yes, sir," she said automatically, her curiosity screaming.
"Good. Thank you, Instructor," he said, turning back to his desk; again automatically she saluted and left the office.
Not Quistis: Instructor. It's probably just another damn mission, she thought as she headed to the cafeteria. Some lousy pain-in-the-ass mission that Squall refuses to go on. Lucky me, getting Leonhart's hand-me-downs. Soon I'll be wearing his old jacket, too, with a pin that says Commander-In-Training. Maybe he'll lend me a belt if I'm really nice; Hyne knows he has enough. Chuckling to herself, Quistis grabbed a salad and a sandwich and took them upstairs.
She spent the rest of the evening in her room, working on lesson plans and tomorrow's assignments (although she did have to slip into the library after hours to look something up in Coulter's Handbook of Magic-Based Statistics. Luckily Zell's pigtailed girlfriend had given her the late-night access code; three after-midnight visits from a panicked Quistis had convinced Ambrosia to give up the seven digit code and guarantee herself a good night's sleep. It was usually Coulter's Handbook, too; neither she nor Selphie owned a copy, a fact that somehow tended to slip Quistis's mind until 2 AM. Some nights when it got obscenely late she wondered if the library would ever suspect her - Instructor Trepe - of stealing their copy of the massive reference, because stealing it was a tempting thought). Selphie was gone on a mission, so the room was peaceful and quiet and almost lonely; she finished up her lab work for tomorrow and went to sleep in a good mood.
The next day dawned happily, a bright sun flashing over the Balamb plains in an instant. Quistis was awake, as always, two minutes before her alarm: a combination of her training and her independence. There was no way she could be late - and if that meant she couldn't depend on a small electronic contraption, so be it. She always awoke before the alarm, although often she stayed in bed, relishing the extra couple minutes of restful not-sleep that her habit afforded her. Her internal clock was set to perfection. And yet, throughout her entire career, she had always set the clock anyway. She certainly believed in backup. Nothing was dependable.
Quistis left nothing to fate.
Her day always started the same way: stretching. She had been mocked, teased, laughed at, and (once Selphie became her roommate) had pillows thrown at her; and yet, every morning, she began with the same ritualistic set of stretches. "The types of days I have," she had once joked bitterly, "you need to start off stretching, or you'll be sore at the end." Most of the jokes died down when the stretches became the sort of acrobatic feats only yoga masters (and Zell, occasionally) were capable of. The wake-up exercise then became a blistering set of sit-ups and crunches which propelled Quistis into the shower while whatever audience she had sat with their eyes wide.
Not like she always had an audience in the mornings, she mused with a laugh. Never in that way. It had always been missions, or Xu, or Selphie. Never anyone that might have been worth skipping the routine for.
She donned the crisp SeeD uniform, pulling her wet hair out from beneath the jacket; she felt it land between her shoulderblades with a wet thump. A quick breakfast bar and a cup of coffee (she, of course, had a timer on her coffeepot as well); gathering papers and references as she deftly pinned the shining wet hair atop her head. A sigh as she looked around the room; her morning routine had always left her feeling perked and strong. But it wasn't any use this semester: the most dismal of all morning classes had squashed the feeling flat.
Junction Lab. She remembered disliking it in her own years of training.
This morning, the students (all SeeD ranked between ten and fifteen) were working in pairs, testing out the effects of a speed junction. Quistis had supplied various sets of magic spells to each pair; a single spell was junctioned to one's speed and the effects were tested in a simple hand-to-hand joust with one's partner. Quistis had found that the students liked the hands-on training exercises much more than the boring theory reports - obviously - and had geared her class as such. Though that meant her lab reports were just that much harder. This particular one promised to be a bitch both to write and to grade.
She paced the room, examining the sets of lab partners and their particular techniques. Most of her students were good, intelligent cadets who worked hard in their classes; upwards of level ten this sort of dedication was necessary. Quistis had offered bonus points to students who could correctly rank the spells in order of effectiveness before the end of the period; she wondered idly how many would get it right. It was hard to do, especially with such a subjective test as hand-to-hand combat. But it was a real-life application, one that Quistis liked and approved of.
The disconnected part of her mind was curious about her mission - for she had no doubt that she'd get talked into taking it, perhaps with a SeeD rank as a reward, or maybe just for some extra cash and the week off. She wondered why Squall had been so adamant about avoiding it; her mind began to come up with awful scenarios, which only amused her. Maybe Cid was going to send her off to Doctor Odine for experiments - that would be horrible. Maybe she had to kidnap someone - Laguna, perhaps, or even Rinoa's father, General Caraway. Kidnapping might be fun. Or maybe she'd have to dig up Seifer Almasy and drag his rotten ass back to Garden. She laughed in spite of herself.
The pair of students she had been observing looked at her, startled; both of them wondered what had been so funny about their Blizzaga Junction that had made their straight-faced Instructor laugh.
She continued to chuckle, sending the students back to their practice with a wave of her hand. Bitter and cynical again, she thought. Seifer Almasy indeed.
She met Zell for lunch as usual; luckily, they were both on time for the first lunch bell, because Norfest and Becker decided to throw a fight. The two bullies had cornered a couple of entry-level cadets who had happened to score higher on Selphie's exam than they had, intending to even things out with their fists. Zell saw it first and dove into the fight - it was actually an impressive string of handsprings which ended in a dive - and by the time he had separated the bullies and their prey Quistis had her whip about both of their ankles, sending them to the floor.
Norfest and Becker were scolded very soundly in front of the cafeteria and sent to speak with Headmaster Cid about serving detention - "And don't think I won't notice if you don't go up there," Zell said, his voice very dark and authoritative. "I'll be looking for you in detention."
Becker said nothing; Norfest growled something unintelligible and spat on the floor.
With a flick of her wrist, Quistis snapped her whip in his face, a mere space away from where his tongue had been. "Listen up, Norfest," she said, her voice as chilly as her eyes as the boy turned to look at her, startled into momentary obedience. "March on up there, or I'll double what Cid gives you."
No one doubted this strong, tall woman with ice in her eyes and fire on her lips. Norfest and Becker scrambled to their feet and - with a momentary glance at Quistis's whip - headed toward the stairs.
Zell set about putting the cafeteria to rights. Quistis calmed the younger cadets (ignoring their looks of admiration) and, realizing she was now out of time for lunch, grabbed a tray and headed up to her classroom.
The second of her classes - Limit Break Development - more than made up for the dreary morning Lab. The students loved it - it was the one place in the Garden where they were all unique. Quistis had found that no matter how carefully you picked a weapon - even nunchucks - someone else out there would use it. But Limit Breaks? These were personal.
Most of the time the class was a seminar; students sat casually around the classroom, leading discussions on rage channeling, panic and desperation moves, the power of adrenaline. Other days Quistis led them to the Training Center, where they fanned out in groups of three and practiced their moves one-by-one, each student letting his physical well-being drop slowly until bit-by-bit that fantastic power built inside them.
She had found that students were terribly creative on their own - sometimes too creative for their own good, when an imagined move backfired - and most of the time all they needed was some gentle, intelligent prodding. Quistis wasn't very good with the gentle part yet, but she could usually nudge a student in the right direction. Today the lesson passed quickly and with little mishap, which pleased Quistis; this was a rare event indeed. She cut the students' homework in half as a reward, which pleased them in return.
Two o'clock came and she found herself outside of Cid's office, surprisingly resigned. She realized that she wasn't looking forward to another mission, and then realized with a small shock that it had never really occurred to her that she might say no. This thought was so surprising to her that she didn't have time to reconcile with the realization before the door opened; a little "Oh!" escaped her mouth, and Cid chuckled.
"Hello, Instructor."
Quistis quickly regained her composure and smiled. "Hello, Headmaster. Sorry, I'm a little distracted - you were right, Norfest and Becker threw one in the cafeteria today."
"Those two," Cid said, shaking his head. "I almost miss the Disciplinary Committee - they always did their job, you know."
Quistis tactfully refrained from saying, But they were bullies; she managed to nod. Seifer, Fujin, and Raijin had managed to get the job done in a way.
"So," Cid said, sitting down at his desk (Quistis noticed that he had attempted to clear it off. She also noticed that Squall's desk was vacant) and gesturing to the chair across from it. "Have a seat, Quistis."
She sat down, a smile playing on her lips. Her real name - again. Cid was slipping in his old age. "What can I do for you, Headmaster?"
Cid opened his mouth, closed it, and then gave a little laugh at his own nervousness and awkwardness. "Well, Quistis," he said. "I have an interesting situation in front of me and an interesting decision to make." He paused there, and Quistis found herself thinking anxiously: is he asking me for advice? Oh dear.
Cid, smiling, clasped his hands together on the table as if he had just come to a decision. "I'll just ask you plain out, then: Have you ever given any thought to becoming a Headmaster?"
Quistis's hands dropped to her lap; she blinked, more in surprise than anything. "Excuse me?" she asked faintly, though both of them knew that she had heard and understood. Her mind was racing: A Headmaster? Me? The thought had never even occurred to her - which was almost as surprising as the proposal itself.
"No, sir," she managed to say, gathering her wits. "Not really."
"I see." An odd look flittered across Cid's face, and Quistis suddenly recognized fatherly disappointment. "I'm rather surprised, my dear; what with your natural talents, you are an ideal candidate for the job. You've always been a natural leader, you know."
The small detached part of Quistis's mind had recovered from the shock; she heard herself say, "Thank you, sir - but I thought Squall was lined up for the job - you know, as Commander, sir."
"Ah." Cid folded his hands neatly on the desk. "Well, as Commander, Leonhart was obviously the first person asked about the position. But Squall has - declined the offer. He has no desire to move upward in the command chain; in fact, he has requested to step down as Commander as well." He blinked, and then smiled. "Squall feels that the job should go to someone with skill, instead of someone who was forced into a leadership position he didn't want. He was the one who suggested I ask you."
The phrase Leonhart's hand-me-downs trickled across her consciousness; a small wave of rage swelled behind Quistis's eyes. But she was intrigued - the intellectual part of her had seized control, and she was curious. So this is what Squall meant, part of her mind thought rather hazily.
"May I ask - why is there a need for another Headmaster, sir? Do you mean here - at Balamb?"
Cid paused, and then sighed. "I'm stepping down, Quistis," he said softly. "After everything that happened over the past few months, I think it's for the best. I'm tired of this job, and I - I want to just take care of my Edea and let everything blow over." He momentarily covered his eyes with his hand, and Quistis caught a brief glimpse of a heavy exhaustion. In that instant she realized what Cid must have gone through - his wife, under the control of an evil Sorceress, and his command possibly the one that sentenced her to death; his Garden, flying across the landscape; his children, off to face the ultimate danger. Quistis felt nothing but a daughter's pity for this gentle and caring man; she wanted no more than to reach across the desk and take his hands and say, I am with you. But the desk was in the way: that divider that separated Headmaster from SeeD. She remained still.
Cid recovered himself gracefully, smiling almost apologetically, and Quistis briefly wondered if he had ever let himself go like this in front of Squall (and if Squall would have told his Headmaster to go talk to a wall as he had once told his Instructor). "Truth is, I can't step down as soon as I'd like," he continued almost casually. "But I've begun looking for a suitable candidate - and I'd like to offer you the position, if you're interested."
Oh my, Quistis thought. Interested? Of course I'm interested; who wouldn't be? But I bet there's a catch. "What would it entail, sir?"
Cid smiled. "Well, there is a preliminary qualification, but it's no harder than the Instructorship exam. Your past records will be checked, which shouldn't serve to be a problem. The most important part, however, will be your field exam."
"Field exam?" Quistis's ears perked.
"Yes. You'll be given a mission, much like entry-level SeeD cadets." He chuckled. "Except that yours will be harder, of course - much harder. And you'll be expected to complete it individually. The field exam is like a test of your capabilities as a SeeD as well as your loyalty to Garden. Every Headmaster had to complete one - they're usually deadly hard, some mind-boggling challenge that no one thinks is possible. It won't be easy, Quistis, but I'm sure you can do it."
"The field exams usually take the larger part of a year," he continued, and Quistis blanched. A year? Out on mission for a year? By myself? What sort of a test is this? And, much more quietly: What if I fail?
"...and Garden will support you financially during the mission's duration. It's standard procedure." Cid noticed that she had fallen a bit behind. "I'm sorry to throw this all on you, Instructor," he said kindly. "It's just that - there's a mission in the offering, right now. The Garden Council has proposed it as a Headmaster's Qualification; they know of my intentions, and when it came to ground it was an obvious course of action."
"What sort of mission?" Quistis asked tentatively.
Cid carefully opened the single scarlet folder resting on his desk. "You know that Selphie Tilmitt and Irvine Kinneas are currently out on mission, correct?" She nodded briskly. "Kinneas discovered a potential leak within Garden - a subterfuge, if you will, working from the inside to undermine our authority and image. Not to mention potentially costing the lives of hundreds of cadets."
Quistis nodded; Irvine had told her about the mission before he and Selphie left. She worked on remembering the details while listening to Cid.
"Tilmitt and Kinneas are currently in-field agents acting to catch the SeeDs responsible for the leak. But much of the Garden Council believes that the treachery goes much deeper. They want to send an investigator out to find who is behind all of this - someone who can look through both Garden and civilian evidence and find the source of these problems. Of course, we'll be waiting for the results of the Tilmitt-Kinneas mission, but if they turn out like we think they will ... it's one hell of a mission, Instructor, and one hell of an opportunity."
Cid's expressive gruffness was unusual, and Quistis looked up suddenly. The old man cared so much for his Garden; she found herself echoing his feelings of anger at people who would strike out against an institution designed to protect. She opened her mouth, but suddenly found herself at a lack of words to say.
Cid saw the hesitant motion and turned back into the gentle father she knew. "Think this over, Quistis," he said. "I'm very proud to be in the position to offer this to you, and I think you'd make us all proud by accepting. However, I don't want to force you." He reached across the desk and took her hand, startling her; he had echoed the very gesture she had wanted to make not so long ago. "There'll be a meeting of the Garden Council tomorrow afternoon, in the grandroom of the Balamb Hotel. If you wish to accept, you will need to be there; it will begin at fifteen hundred. If not -" He paused. "If not, we will discuss other candidates during the meeting."
Quistis gave a brisk nod, trying to keep her mind from spinning. "Yes, sir. Thank you."
Cid smiled at her. "No need to be so formal now," he said gently. "Not all the time."
Surprised, Quistis felt her lips turn up slightly. "Habit, sir. I mean it - thank you."
She was glad that the rest of her day was empty (or as empty as a day with a stack of lab reports large enough to hide a Grat could be), for her brain wasn't quite working the way it should be. It was so much like a movie she had watched once: Your mission, if you choose to accept it ... she laughed to herself, almost giddily, and went to get more coffee, thinking wildly that perhaps that would help. Maybe she should bring this up with Squall, she thought, and then laughed again, definitely giddy this time. Commander Talk-To-A-Wall Leonhart wouldn't be able to give her any good advice. She should probably go anyway; make his ego feel better, since apparently it had been his idea to suggest her. But she'd learned not to let Squall have so much control over her heart.
Headmaster?
A chance - a chance and a choice. Something to make a difference. To be in control. She was Quistis Trepe: one of Garden's original prodigies. Youngest SeeD, and Youngest Instructor: they hung over her head like plaques. And now she'd been offered this chance. This choice. She'd worked for it - indirectly; but some small part of her knew she had always been undervalued, even here at Garden. Somehow she was something special, someone a little taller than the rest. And here it was - the chance. Reasons producing results, cause and effect, just like she had told Zell this morning.
And yet ...
Part of her heart was shaking wildly. It was the part that held all of her fears, her insecurities, her emotions. It was the box in which she had locked her childhood the day she came to the orphanage. The part which shook and doubted and wept when Quistis herself could not. The part that lost itself in rage and hatred when Quistis had to be calm. The part that drowned in dreams and love while Quistis kept herself apart. It had only been opened, briefly, twice in her life: once when she lost her Instructor's License. And once on a basketball court in Trabia when she had looked deep within herself.
She had learned over the years to ignore it - trained herself, like any good soldier, to dismiss the threat. And, like the good soldier she had turned out to be, she had excelled at it. Being able to step forward when no one else could had held her in good stead. The box had become a fortress for things like fear and doubt and love and weakness.
But it was shaking, slightly, within her now. Knowing that this was duly the choice of a lifetime. A life-changing decision. Something that would permanently alter her life. Taking the mission would lead her down a dangerous path into new territory. Refusing it would leave her comfortable, where she was - but with that vague hint of regret.
There were so many what-ifs.
She was content with her life now, yes. Not ecstatically happy, but Quistis had come to believe that that sort of extreme and powerful happiness only came to certain people. Selphie and Rinoa had it in spades. But people like herself - and Squall, now that she thought about it - simply continued in their life, not consumed by their cheerful passions, but not complaining, either.
She thought back over her day, then broadened it, scanning her past weeks at Garden. Teaching classes, attending classes of her own, her days calm and unremarkable and full of simple little joys like an accident-free day in Limit Break Dev and simple little troubles like Norfest and Becker. A life on track. She'd worked for her Instructorship and now she was where she was, high marks and all, and proud to be there. Not the fiery pride she'd felt when Ultimecia had met her end, but a soft and simple pride, nonetheless...
Anyway. Happy and content, yes. Did she really want to leave? To risk everything? Abandon teaching, abandon her friends at Garden? Walk out one day - for she was sure that she wouldn't be able to tell anyone - and then come back Headmaster? It would change everything. Forever. No more living and teaching with Selphie and Zell. Her life would be her work. This was a large step, and it was a step away ...
Wait. Quistis hastily backpedaled her thoughts - another advantage of that small, detached portion of her mind - and scanned them over. She seized on the feeling of regret. If she turned this down, would she regret it? Would the rest of her life be colored by a decision to say no? Would she look back in five, ten years and wonder: what if?
Yes. Yes.
She would regret not taking this chance.
Hands shaking, Quistis set the empty cup down, wondering when exactly she had finished the coffee.
Again: Sorry this took so long. Life just doesn't calm down when you want it to; and confusions induce writers-block.
It's funny. I have always felt that Quistis is much like me - and now, the story I have planned for her has become my story as well. I was offered an amazing and yet terrifying opportunity of my own, and (although I don't have to complete a mission) I find that most of the feelings I'm writing for Quistis are my own. Who knows - maybe the story will change as my own life changes. I wasn't planning on being this true-to-life, but now that the parallel is there, I can't help but indulge it.
Anyway. Hopefully another chapter within the week. I do appreciate reviews.