Mind Games

“Hurry it up, would you?” Seifer called from the other room for the third time already, his imperious tone grating more and more on Zell’s nerves.

“Fuck off,” Zell hissed under his breath, fumbling with the last of the bazillion buttons up the front of his jacket; blasted SeeD uniforms were so ridiculously overcomplicated, probably a throwback to some ancient race’s military, but every time he had to put the damn thing on he found himself cursing whatever brilliant mind came up with the idea that buttons would do easier than a zip. Luckily he didn’t have much cause to wear it often, but even so it was annoying. The thought that it was probably fashioned by Edea didn’t mollify him any - what was she thinking, designing something so impractical for military use? Although there was one good point, Zell recalled as he thought of Seifer in the other room; once on, the uniforms were fiendishly difficult to get off. He had an unpleasant feeling that the other man was plotting something dastardly, and any little bit of defense Zell could get was appreciated.

Seifer peeked round the door of the bathroom, where Zell was currently fighting with the silver fastening of the shoulder-piece. “Pardon, did you say something?” the gunblader asked with mocking politeness.

“I said fuck off, you’re pissing me off,” Zell growled, and Seifer’s grin widened. This was clearly his aim, and Zell knew he was playing right into the other man’s hands, getting nettled so easily, but Seifer’s barbs had been chipping away at his patience the entire afternoon, and it appeared he wasn’t going to quit until he got the reaction he wanted out of Zell. He had been aggravatingly cheery today - at least, since they’d arrived in Deling City - and though Zell didn’t know quite why, he had an unnerving suspicion that it had to do with whatever plan Seifer was hatching against him.

“What else is new?” Seifer mumbled, retreating for the moment, but Zell could still hear him pacing in the other room as he finished doing up the fastener on his uniform, straightened, and looked over his reflection in the mirror. Not too shabby, he thought with a small smile, patting the wrinkles out of the front of his jacket. He still never felt entirely at ease in full uniform. He smoothed his hair to the side - he should have gotten it trimmed before the trip; it was getting too long to be doing much with - and nodded in approval of himself. He would never have the charisma of people like Seifer and Squall, who always looked as though they were born to stand around in uniform, but even so, he pulled it off nicely enough. Bit taller wouldn’t do any harm, still, he thought absentmindedly.

“We haven’t got all night for you to stand around and stare at yourself, Dincht,” Seifer’s derisive drawl came floating in from the other room. Zell went out to find him lounging on the pulled-out sofa bed, which he had grudgingly accepted as his fate when they’d returned to the room after the meeting with Caraway. Even just lazing about, Seifer looked uncommonly attractive in full SeeD regalia, and when he stood up, Zell had a chance to admire his figure for a moment; tall, well-built, broad-chested, Seifer looked every inch the stuff of fantasies for teenage girls worldwide. If Garden needed a poster boy, Seifer could have been it. Shame he’s such a dick, Zell thought, otherwise, who wouldn’t want him?

“I know I look good, but you can try to keep from drooling,” Seifer remarked as he came around the end of the bed, pulling his cuffs a bit straighter and smirking teasingly.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Zell replied bitingly, turning away - caught staring, what’s wrong with you? he mentally chided himself. Seifer was smiling knowingly, but Zell ignored him, trying to remain impassive. He slid past the other man and went into the small kitchenette to draw a glass of water from the tap, all the while feeling Seifer’s eyes on his back. And what the hell was he staring for, anyway? Like he’d never seen Zell in uniform before. Zell turned round, glaring coolly down the other man, who was leaning quite casually inside the doorway. “What? Am I that hot you can’t keep from staring?”

Seifer gave a bark of laughter, waving the comment by as though choosing to not even acknowledge the absurdity of it. “I was just wondering how, after five years of wearing the uniform, you still manage to look like a little kid playing dress-up when you put it on.”

“Fuck you, Almasy,” Zell spat, guzzling his water and trying to remain as cool as he told himself he was going to be whenever Seifer tried to rattle him, although it was certainly much easier said than done. “If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Are you ready to go?”

“I’ve only been waiting for you for the past fifteen minutes,” Seifer replied coldly, smiling.

As well you fucking should! Zell thought vindictively, but he bit his tongue to hold the comment back - it was no use getting all riled up when they had to work, even if Seifer had been going to extraordinary lengths to nettle him the whole day. That Seifer was trying harder than before only meant that Zell’s attempts at nonchalance were working to some extent, after all. He was still waiting for the part where Seifer began to lose interest in teasing him, as Miri had all but promised him would happen, but then it was only a day into this new regimen; it would naturally take a bit more time for Seifer’s thick mind to process the fact that Zell’s new reactions - or non-reactions, as it were - were permanent and not simply a fluke.

Except Seifer wasn’t thick - he was in fact quite annoyingly sharp and astute, Zell knew, and despite Miri’s arguments against the point, he had to think that Seifer’s habits of twenty-odd years weren’t going to be broken so easily by something as flimsy as psychology. Zell didn’t put much stock in it, and he knew Seifer too well, while Miri, educated in the ways of the human psyche as she might have been, just didn’t get Seifer like he did. There was simply nothing textbook about Seifer. His strange, fluctuating attitudes toward Zell over the past few weeks were proof enough that he actively tried not to conform to the usual conventions of society; he preferred to skate just outside the rules, playing nice enough to keep Xu and her reformed disciplinary committee off his case and then turning to nip at the heels of propriety from behind the line while everyone’s backs were turned. There were probably a good handful of things Seifer knew about Zell that he could have used to blackmail his way into anything Zell could offer that he wanted, but instead the ex-knight seemed to be toying with him - taunting him, almost. Not just the normal, everyday insults and digs that Zell had long been accustomed to - that was a part of it, but Seifer’s entire disposition toward Zell was taunting, the jibes and mockery, the come-ons, as if he was trying to provoke him into some trap, but Zell didn’t know what. What had Zell worried was knowing that Seifer was very likely to succeed at whatever he was getting at, too; try as he might to remain collected and cool against the gunblader, Seifer was uniquely talented at incensing him and usually could have Zell furious before he’d even realized he was getting angry. Saying he was going to keep his temper in the face of Seifer’s derision was one thing; actually doing it was quite another.

He thought about it as they exited from the hotel and headed out for the nearest bus stop; the mantle of clouds blanketing the sky had cleared and Zell stared up into the muted blue as he mused over the problem. What was Seifer after? Zell was determined to figure it out, even if that meant playing Seifer’s weird, twisted game, although he would certainly rather not if he could help it. Seifer was manipulative, but quietly so; Zell was afraid he would be lured into the other man’s grasp before he knew it and then be unable to escape. And maybe not solely because of his manipulativeness, either - Zell was finding that he was increasingly attracted to Seifer, more than he had first thought himself to be, and if the other man was determined to seduce him, Zell wasn’t sure he could resist. The attraction had been so slight at first, little more than a twinge at the periphery of the wide spectrum of emotions he felt toward Seifer (ranging from irritation to rage to flat-out loathing,) so it was easy to ignore it, but ever since that kiss in the train car, it had been rapidly expanding inside him, effortlessly pushing the other emotions aside and compacting them with its bulk, so that now when Seifer provoked or baited him, instead of getting angry all he could think about was how fucking delicious Seifer’s lips looked when he was smirking like that and how much he wanted to kiss him for other reasons than simply to shut him up. It had been mere hours since that kiss, and Zell was beginning to think that he might go mad trying to suss out what the other man was up to, but he was resolved not to give in to Seifer; he might as well just lay down and admit defeat.

The best recourse, he began to think, would be to play at Seifer’s game from the other end - make the gunblader want him enough to make the first move, before Zell got so frustrated he made a move himself. The only flaw in that plan, however, was that Seifer didn’t seem to be actually attracted to him at all; he was, for whatever reason, bent on getting something out of Zell, but as far as Zell could see it didn’t appear to be because Seifer felt any sort of desire or attraction toward him. More likely than not it had to do with pride - Seifer felt somehow that Zell had slighted his ego and was now intent on returning the favor by destroying the martial artist’s dignity. But whatever the motive, the fact remained that Seifer was plotting against him, and would probably accomplish whatever it was he was setting out to accomplish if Zell didn’t take some preventative action.

But still... seducing Seifer! What’s my life coming to? Zell thought sadly to himself as they walked along the curb toward the bus that would take them down to the Galbadia Grand Hotel. Seifer was walking beside him - a few feet away, as per Zell’s careful precautions to keep a safe distance from him - unusually quiet and thoughtful, every once in a while casting a glance over Zell with a strange, closed sort of look.

“If you’ve got something to say, just fucking say it,” Zell snapped after a few minutes of this, growing irritated with Seifer’s somehow patronizing stare.

“Well, attitude much, Dincht?” Seifer hummed.

“Piss off.”

“You wanna watch your language?” he said smilingly; Zell waited for the insult that was bound to follow that expression, and it wasn’t long in coming. “Even if you can’t help but look like a rookie, you could try to act the professional you’re supposed to be.”

“Fuck you, Almasy,” Zell said - probably for the tenth time already today; he was losing count - and he snipped back, “Caraway knows me and he knows I’m more than capable. And if anyone needs to watch their fuckin’ attitude, it’s you,” he added shortly, giving a wry grin. “Or did you forget that I’ve got more’n three years seniority over you?”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you look like my sidekick,” Seifer retorted happily.

“Bite me!” Zell snapped, scuffing his boots on the sidewalk as he tried to resist the urge to kick Seifer where it’d really hurt - woman’s strop or no, he’d do it, damn if Seifer didn’t think he would - and he walked a little faster, trying to get some distance between the other man and himself before he really did do something reckless. Obvious as it was that Seifer was aiming to rile him up, Zell still found that he couldn’t help but be riled - it was one thing saying he’d act cool, but it was a completely different story actually doing it most of the time, at least right now, when he was already so high-strung for so many other reasons, not the least of which had a lot to do with wanting quite badly to shag the jerk who was riling him up in the first place.

As if having the hots for Seifer was the worst of his problems right now! How was he supposed to get through this mission working hand-in-hand with a guy he despised in just about every sense, a guy who went out of his way to provoke and taunt him whenever he could, who knew about Zell’s attraction to him and seemed entirely inclined to use the mortifying fact of it against him in any way that he could, who was not just a complete arsehole but a shrewd, clever, and intuitive one to boot, who nine times out of ten could outwit Zell in a heartbeat - really, the only plane in which Zell was confident he could take Seifer fairly, if not even easily, was the physical one, and he couldn’t exactly go around pummeling on the other man every time he started annoying him. Squall would have a hissy fit if it started getting out that his SeeDs could’t even handle simple bodyguard detail without skirmishing amongst themselves - not to mention, it wouldn’t really be in line with his whole “keeping cool” plan.

But that line of thought became quite suddenly very unimportant when Zell looked up to realize that Seifer had come up right alongside him, (damn him and his long stride! he cursed internally), and Zell didn’t even have a thought to spare for wondering just what Seifer was doing so very close to him, his teeth bared in a wicked grin as he purred, “with pleasure.” Zell’s first reaction was naturally to punch now and ask questions later, and he even had his arm up and ready to deck Seifer a good one when all thought processes were brought to an abrupt halt as the gunblader leaned in, yanking the collar of Zell’s uniform to one side, and sank his teeth hard into the flesh at the juncture of the blonde’s shoulder and neck, and for the few seconds it took Zell’s brain to catch up to the fact that Seifer had literally just bit him, he was at leisure to entertain thoughts like oooohhh and I think I could get used to that.

And then Seifer was stepping back, smirking, which reminded Zell that he was definitely not supposed to be enjoying the feeling of Seifer’s lips on his neck that much, and also that he probably should be inflicting some kind of bodily harm on the other man just now if there was to be any hope of salvaging his reputation from this encounter or, failing that, at least some of his dignity. Fuck keeping cool, that arsehole just bit my neck! he told himself angrily, spinning round to grab Seifer by the front of his well-pressed uniform, slamming him against a nearby wall and snarling, “what the fuck’s wrong with you, Almasy?!”

Seifer, still grinning impishly even as he took a moment to catch his breath - Zell had pushed him rather hard, not that he was regretting it - looked so positively smug that Zell was hard put not to clout him after all. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he cooed, his tone infuriatingly superior. “I thought you gave a command... senior officer.”

“Listen, shithead,” Zell growled, twisting the front of Seifer’s jacket in his fist. “I’ve got no fuckin’ problem sending you back to Garden with a few broken bones and finishing this joke of a mission on my own if you keep trying this shit.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Seifer said innocently.

“Then I’ll make it as fuckin’ simple as I can,” Zell hissed, snarling. “Stop coming on to me!”

Seifer reached out and snatched the front of Zell’s uniform with one hand, yanking the other man toward him and chuckling quietly, his face an inch from Zell’s. “But it’s very fun,” he said softly, flicking his tongue out across his lower lip for a few languid seconds. His expression was all but innocent, but Zell didn’t miss the intention behind such an action, and he jerked stiffly away, face red-hot, and busied himself trying to straighten his wrinkled collar to avoid looking back at Seifer, who no doubt was as unaffected as he ever was. He really didn’t have any shame, didn’t he?

“You’re a bastard,” Zell spat bitterly, but without much bite. Seifer only grinned wider.

“I can’t help what I am.”

Zell looked around, incredulous. Completely unaffected, just as the martial artist expected. “You bit me!” he said accusingly; Seifer, in response, merely shrugged.

“You said, ‘bite me’.”

“Don’t be an idiot, I know you know I didn’t mean that literally!”

“Well, that’s the problem with you, Dincht,” Seifer replied casually, sidling easily along next to Zell, his face the very picture of triumph. “You say a lot of things you don’t mean, don’t you?”

He flashed a smirk back at Zell and then walked on ahead, leaving the other man a few steps behind, angry and bewildered yet again.


“Like what?” Zell wondered crossly to himself two hours later, still puzzling over it as he and Seifer stood off to the side of the massive ballroom that had been rented out for Mrs. Caraway’s event, watching the last series of guests finally file in. Seifer had been paying him very little attention since they’d arrived among the very first guests, which had given Zell plenty of time to wrestle with the question on his own, because, barring the issue of how Seifer would even know if he was, what did the other man suspect Zell had been lying about?

For the most part, Zell really didn’t think he lied to anyone, much less to Seifer, who so easily saw right through him that any attempt to hide the truth from him was usually fruitless. In the first place, Zell didn’t particularly like lying - honesty was the best policy, Ma had taught him when he was just a kid, and he stuck by that. There was the small matter of his attraction toward Seifer (okay, maybe it was more of a giant, horrible, all-consuming matter), but his continuing to deny that he didn’t see so much as a lie, since he was half desperately hoping to convince himself of it still - and besides, something about the way Seifer had framed his accusation made Zell suspect that it was about something deeper, something that perhaps Zell himself didn’t even realize he was doing, which was frightening. Or there was the possibility that it didn’t mean anything at all, that Seifer was just trying to throw Zell off his game again, and if Zell was smart, he probably would have been a lot better off just to not let it bother him one way or the other. But it bugged him, and knowing that that was most likely Seifer’s aim didn’t stop him from thinking about it yet.

“What I don’t get is why we had to be here two bloody hours ago, when she hasn’t even shown up yet,” Seifer muttered suddenly, as though they had been in the middle of a conversation even though it had probably been thirty minutes or more since they’d spoken to one another at all. He looked disgruntled, and Zell realized he was talking about Caraway’s wife, who hadn’t as yet made her appearance at the party, although the General himself had shown up an hour ago and was mingling expertly with the guests.

Zell shrugged, and after thinking about it for a moment, offered, “well, officially we’re here as representatives of Balamb, who’d have to be here on time regardless of whether or not the hostess was.” Seeing that Seifer clearly disliked this explanation, Zell added with a small grin, “she’s probably the type who wants to make a big, flashy entrance once everyone’s already here. That’s the impression I gathered.”

“But what’s the fucking point of standing around when the person you’re supposed to be guarding isn’t here to guard,” Seifer grumbled nevertheless, and then he went silent again, evidently meaning to go back to ignoring Zell until any further event forced them to interact - a few people had approached them for introductions since the party began, and they’d had to strive to be polite and amiable to each other for the sake of appearances, but they hadn’t had to mingle nearly as much as Zell had anticipated they would, probably, he suspected, because of Seifer, who it seemed was making an effort to appear surlier and more unfriendly than anyone else in the room, and he was doing a fine job at that. Quite a lot of people seemed to recognize the gunblader, which was likely a contributing factor as well; and to go by the dirty looks and occasional snide remarks the other man made scornfully under his breath, it would appear that he recognized some of them, too, and Zell had to wonder if it was from the ex-knight’s fleeting time in a position of power in Galbadia. Zell thought he could place a few faces but he hadn’t seen anyone he knew, except for a flash of brown hair and SeeD regalia at the other end of the room that might have been Selphie, but was moving too fast for him to be sure. But it was to be expected; Fuujin and Raijin usually served as the ambassadorial pair for Garden, unless Squall couldn’t manage to finagle his way out of actually going himself, and so most of the other SeeDs at Balamb Garden were exempt from emissary work. Then again, this wasn’t exactly a state event or some political conference, so it wouldn’t be entirely suspect for there to be some new faces among the crowd.

The work wasn’t that hard, for its part; people had come over to be introduced from time to time, but rarely did anyone want to hang around long enough to carry on a conversation, which was just as well, since Zell couldn’t imagine how he would hold his ground against the Minister of Commerce or Esthar’s Secretary of Cabinet. Most of the people they’d met so far were big shots; council members, sponsors for the various corporations, and a couple of them close friends of the General and his wife. Zell presumed it was for appearances on their end too - it’s not how many people you know, it’s who you know, and all that - and considering that Balamb Garden right now was the most powerful military organization in the world, it showed some sense. After a while of standing there watching the room, he could tell who the newcomers to the arena were simply by who they mingled with first - while the rich and powerful were all intent on showing they were on good terms with every military operation represented there, the greenhorns simply didn’t know enough to realize that this was important.

Zell tugged self-consciously at his collar, pulling it up as high as he could. Damn Seifer and his sadistic tendencies. He could already feel the skin bruising where the other man had bit him, and Zell prayed that it wasn’t visible; all he needed was for someone he knew to show up and notice it, and with his luck, just that would happen. The uniform’s collar was pretty high, but he still fidgeted with it on and off, feeling agitated.

“Quit that!” Seifer barked at him.

“Fuck you!” Zell snapped back, gritting his teeth angrily. He punched Seifer with a quick jab to the shoulder, sweeping the long ends of his hair away from his neck and craning his head away, pointing to the spot. “Is there a mark?”

Seifer peered at his neck for a few moments, looking speculative, and a grin began to grow on his face, but as he opened his mouth to reply, someone suddenly spoke behind them, “well, I don’t believe that’s Garden-appropriate language, boys.”

Zell jumped and spun around, pawing his hair back over his neck, to see who it was, while Seifer did the same only marginally more calmly. The martial artist breathed a small sigh of relief, breaking into a grin as he said, “fuckin’ christ, Irv, you scared me!”

“You’re not on your guard, SeeD,” Irvine said cheerfully, clasping Zell’s hand in a friendly greeting, and diplomatically ignoring Seifer’s roll of the eyes as he reluctantly obliged in the same. He smiled toothily, looking from Seifer to Zell and back again, and then said in a tone laced with amusement, “now, this is something you sure don’t see every day. Which one of you is Squall punishing?”

“I’d like to know that myself,” Seifer chipped in sourly, offering a cynical grin, before Zell could come up with a response himself, and Irvine chuckled.

“I see you’re as sweet as ever, Almasy.”

“What’re you doin’ here, then?” Zell said quickly before Seifer could come back with something really sharp and start a fight, which judging by his expression he looked primed to do.

“Same thing you are, ain’t it?” Irvine said with a shrug, shuffling from foot to foot restlessly. “Representin’ my Garden. Puttin’ the good word out and all.”

“I’m surprised you’re out yourself, though,” Zell replied questioningly. “I mean, don’t you have someone to do this kinda shit for you? Squall always sends lackeys to these boring things.”

“Yeah, normally I would, but I thought this seemed a bit more something I’d like to keep my eye on personally,” the redhead said cryptically, giving Zell a pointed look that he wasn’t quite sure how to interpret. Shaking his head, Irvine added, “anyway, I heard there were gonna be representatives from every Garden here tonight, so I thought I’d come and hang out anyway. Y’know, like a big fun reunion.”

Zell snickered, and said, “so, you’re hoping to run into Selphie, am I right?”

Seifer grimaced, watching the conversation between the two of them with an expression that suggested that he was mortified to even have to hear it, but Zell grinned wider as Irvine blushed faintly, looking the other way as he muttered, “well... yanno. So who else do we know here, anyone you seen?”

“No one I know,” Zell said with a sigh. “I thought I saw Selph runnin’ around, but I can’t be sure. Mostly it’s been Senator this, Minister that, blah blah...”

“I see you’ve already blissfully forgotten about professionalism, Dincht,” Seifer interrupted with a disdainful sneer in the martial artist’s direction. Zell scoffed.

“It’s Irvine! We know Irvine, remember, we’re allies?”

Seifer hesitated, glancing quickly over at the Galbadian, who stared back challengingly, as though daring him to say what he was really thinking, but Seifer forewent answering and merely turned the other way, cutting himself out of the conversation. Zell rolled his eyes, grumbling to Irvine, “driving me fucking nuts, I swear.”

“How did you two end up working together like this? Even Squall’s not that sadistic,” the redhead asked, giving a pensive frown.

“I’d sure as hell like to know that myself,” was Zell’s answer, and he turned to cast a brief, stony glare at Seifer’s back before facing Irvine again with an exasperated smile. “I swear, if I ever find out whose brilliant idea it was to make us work a fuckin’ month together - augh, what the f-?!” Zell stopped short as an elbow jabbed unpleasantly into his ribcage, and he spun around to shoot a murderous stare at the gunblader, who was looking rather more than angry himself. He grabbed Zell by the front of his jacket and yanked him close, frowning deeply.

“Have you got a single goddamn brain cell in your head, Dincht?” he hissed quietly.

“What is your fucking problem today?” Zell snapped back, but also very softly - he wasn’t unaware of the fact that Irvine, as well as a few others nearby, were watching the exchange with wary eyes, and Seifer released his jacket and stepped back coolly.

Irvine gave a wry, crooked grin, looking between the two of them with interest. “Oooh, SeeDs fightin’, eh? Bet Squall wouldn’t be too happy to hear about this.”

“You’re my fucking problem, Dincht,” Seifer said in a deadly soft tone, and although he looked very composed Zell could see that he was trying hard to stay calm. “Fifteen years you’ve been my fucking problem. This is work, we’re on assignment here for fuck’s sake, so why don’t you try to keep your big mouth shut for a while, or is it too difficult for you, senior officer?”

Zell opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn’t think of a legitimate response to that - Seifer had nailed him, fair and square. He had been about to gripe to Irvine without even thinking about it, not even considering the fact that it was none of Irvine’s business anymore; his ties were to Galbadia Garden. It was easy to forget that their gang had all gone separate ways, that there were things they couldn’t share, in Zell’s case, a hell of a lot of things - his waning relationship with Quistis lately was proof of that; even within his own Garden, there were aspects of his life that had to be kept under wraps for more reasons than just because they were mortifying to admit. If his relationship (twisted though it was,) with Seifer ever came out, it was Zell’s job on the line, just the same as when he was on the job - silly though this mission was, it still was a mission, still work, still confidential until such time as Squall deemed whatever information they might come across during their stay in Galbadia safe to be distributed publicly.

“No need to be an arsehole about it,” he said evenly, straightening up and trying to compose himself, more for the sake of the people watching the two of them than because he thought Seifer would be fooled by his trying to look cool. Seifer turned away again, and Zell looked back to Irvine, rolling his eyes and hoping the redhead wouldn’t recognize his weak attempt to pass the encounter off as a joke. “He’s been fucking riding me about how shit this trip is since we got here, like I don’t understand how he feels,” he offered by way of explanation. Irvine nodded knowingly.

“Don’t Squall got ambassadors for this kind of thing, though? I mean, the pair of you?” He laughed wryly, staring over at Seifer’s turned back. “Someone was huffin’ something to think that would be a good idea.”

“You’re telling me,” Zell groaned.

“So, erm...” Irvine began hesitantly, peering sideways at Zell. “What is that on your neck, mate?”

Luckily, Zell was spared answering that question by the sudden dimming of the lights; the room quieted, and two spotlights flashed on at opposite corners of the ballroom, weaving and gleaming through the crowd and finally ending at the top of the stairs, clearly to highlight whoever was about to enter. “Shit, I’ll seeya later, D, I gotta get back to my post,” Irvine whispered hastily, clapping Zell on the back and then backing into the crowd. Zell watched him go, disappearing behind panels of glimmering satin, swishing silk, and jewel-toned velvet, and a moment or two later he popped back up at the end of a row of Galbadian officials, standing primly upright and half-smirking with his attention turned toward the front entrance just like everyone else, and Zell almost had to laugh at how clear it was that no one had even noticed he’d gone. Unfortunately for him, a certain surly gunblader hadn’t failed to notice his absence, and grudgingly Zell went to stand in place beside Seifer.

“Look, I know you’re not an idiot, Dincht, no matter how good a job you do of appearing to be one,” he said, his tone muted - was he being, good lord, apologetic? Zell frowned, unsure of how to take this uncharacteristic development.

“Yes, thank you, captain bipolar,” he answered sharply, and Seifer gave him a dirty look.

“I lost my temper, alright?”

Zell didn’t reply, mainly because he couldn’t think of a decent one - there were a number of things wrong with that statement, the least of which had to do with the fact that “Seifer” and “lose his temper” had never, to Zell’s knowledge, been put in the same sentence before (at least not without a direct intermediary along the lines of “is very good at causing ______ to”), and for that matter, did Seifer even have a temper? Zell had seen him angry before, sure, all the time, but to show it, and in front of people? To actually, for however brief a time, be out of control of himself? Seifer, who, if in a slightly different meaning of the term, was routinely classified as being at Squall’s level of Ice Queen-ness? And to apologize for it?

“What are you fucking staring at?” Seifer growled under his breath.

“Sorry,” Zell said with a careless shrug. “I was just wonderin’ if you’d been abducted and replaced by aliens while I wasn’t looking.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Seifer scoffed, apparently either not interested or too impatient to finish what he wanted to say to waste any time worrying about the absolute weirdness of Zell’s statement. “Listen, I know you and Kinneas were all best-buddies-for-life or whatever during the war, but that was five years ago. He’s the headmaster of Galbadia Garden. You can’t be so fucking loose with information around here.”

Zell had to resist the overwhelming urge to simply stare in incredulity at the ridiculousness of the situation. Was Seifer really trying to lecture him?

“I know you know how to do your job, so why don’t you try to act like it for once,” Seifer went on calmly.

“Alright, Quistis,” Zell replied sharply, earning himself another dirty look for that slight.

“Don’t be a dick.”

“You’re the one being a dick!” he hissed, and as a few heads turned toward them, he added more quietly, “where do you get off lecturing me, huh? Even if you’re pissed off.”

“I’m pissed off because I shouldn’t have to lecture you, chicken-wuss,” Seifer argued back, but suddenly, he was smirking; and Zell, now completely bewildered, tried to trace the conversation back to find where the sudden reversal of mood came from, to no avail. Temperamental was never a word Zell would have used to describe Seifer on any grounds, but this was even a step further; he was acting like a girl... like Rinoa. Zell had to stuff a fist in his mouth and pretend to be having a coughing fit to hide the sudden outburst of giggles that had come over him at that thought.

It wasn’t even the lecture that irked Zell, as completely out-of-character as it was for Seifer to lecture anybody about anything, because Zell knew he had been careless - it was so easy to forget that people who had once been allies, close friends, had all split up in the five years since the war; everyone was on different teams nowadays, and Squall (or Quistis or Xu) would certainly have had a fit if they knew that he almost let confidential information slip to the head of a rival Garden, despite the fact that they’d all grown up together. Especially regarding Irvine, Zell always had trouble remembering to hold his tongue - because Irvine himself hadn’t changed a bit in five years, right down to the stupid ponytail and the stupid cowboy hat (which he was wearing even right now, naturally, managing to look too casual by half despite the designer suit he had donned for the dressy occasion,) was all in all the same goofy, grinning flirt that he’d always been, despite rumours that Zell had heard that he’d cut down on the philandering since taking up residency as the Headmaster of Galbadia Garden. It was too easy to forget that it had been five years since they fought together, alongside each other, to just want to gossip like they had used to, to want to bitch to Irvine about what a bastard Seifer was being lately, just like old times.

But one little slip like that didn’t give Seifer the right to preach, especially when his own conduct, on or off the job, was so often completely skewed that Zell had to marvel at the fact that he’d even managed to become a SeeD in the first place. And it certainly wasn’t cause for the other man to get so angry, to the point of actually publicly losing his temper. The more Zell contemplated it, the more it seemed that Seifer’s moods directly inversely correlated with his own - when he was pissed off was the only time Seifer was ever in a good mood, and when Zell became cheery again was when the gunblader turned sour. Was he doing it on purpose, or was that just the way they matched up? They’d been fighting for so long - indeed, fifteen years - that it always just seemed that that was the way things were meant to be; he’d never bothered to stop and wonder if maybe they weren’t actually incompatible, like two magnets repelling each other, not meant to ever line up. For no reason Zell could define, the idea depressed him.

“Stop calling me that,” he grumbled, his automated response to the nickname, although just the fact that Seifer was using it again signified that his mood was lifting, which in turn put Zell a bit more at ease. Whatever else, things were always easier when Seifer was in a good mood.

“I will when you stop being a jackass,” Seifer said.

“You’re the one being a jackass, you jackass!”

“Oh, dear me,” came a sultry voice from in front, and Seifer and Zell both looked up. “Is that the bitter sound of dissension I hear from the ranks?”

“Gentlemen,” the general approached, smiling congenially, and stood by them with military stiffness, his hand on the back of a pale, petite woman in a glimmering yellow gown. “I do believe my wife has been anxious to meet you both.”

“And I must say, boys, I’m very disappointed in you,” Dallia added with a sweet, thin-lipped smile, casting wide brown eyes first over Zell and then Seifer, on whom her gaze lingered thoughtfully for a few seconds. “You missed my big, flashy entrance...”

~