Nida helped build the hangar, though he knew it marked the beginning of the end of his relevancy at Balamb Garden. He worked with crews from Balamb and Fisherman's Horizon to Estharian specifications, tightening bolts and pouring concrete under the midsummer sun and scrambling to secure supplies when storms blew through. He did this as his duty to Garden. He did it to feel useful. He did it because, hesitant though he was to admit it, he enjoyed working wherever Selphie was.
He admired her energy and optimism and willingness to throw herself into any job, and he hoped that maybe a little bit of all that might rub off on him throughout the hangar's construction. Selphie was often the first person on-site in the morning, and one of the last to leave; she swung hammers and tightened bolts and hauled rebar with the rest of the construction crew, and never once asked for special accommodations; and when she wasn't spending her breaks rallying her fellow SeeDs and Garden cadets to keep up with the construction crew, she spent them poring over books and manuals borrowed from Esthar detailing the airships they were sending to Balamb Garden.
"Selphie's really into this," one cadet said over lunch. "Next, you'll see her with a book of baby names for the ships."
Selphie ignored the laughter. "That's actually not a bad idea," she said. "They will need names, after all."
"They already got 'em," a SeeD piped up, brushing crumbs off her work pants. "BG-1 and BG-2."
"Those aren't names, they're designations."
"The difference?"
"Names have personality, meaning! Names help build a connection between you and whatever it is you're naming."
The SeeD shrugged and rolled her eyes at the cadet. Selphie went back to her book. Nida watched the exchange in silence, agreeing with Selphie's sentiment but unsure whether it applied to machinery. After all, he'd become quite attached to Balamb Garden as a vessel, learning how to pilot and maintain it and striving to avoid damaging it, but he'd never referred to it as anything other than Garden. It was what it was; sometimes, things were that simple.
Today, having woken an hour before his alarm and unable to get back to sleep, Nida headed to the construction site earlier than usual. The sky was beginning to lighten in the east, and the grounds of Balamb Garden were bathed in dull violet light. Nida smiled to himself, certain he would be the first on-site today, and looked forward to the cool, quiet moments before dawn, in which even the bundles of rebar and pallets of concrete mix looked soft, the heavy machinery like a herd of sleeping animals.
But what he found instead was Selphie, sitting atop one of those pallets, swinging her legs and sipping from an insulated mug. She noticed him, then waved and called out, her voice slicing through the predawn air.
"You're up early," she said, once he reached the pallet, and took another swig from her mug.
"And you're not?" Immediately, Nida chided himself for his response; it sounded childish, bratty.
Selphie didn't seem to notice. "Nope. I only got here about twenty minutes ago. I took time to make some coffee today."
"The workers won't be here for over an hour. What do you do out here for so long?"
"Oh, you know, relax, think, imagine what this place'll look like once we're finished, imagine getting my hands on the controls of Garden's very own airships. It's been a while since I last flew one. I hope I haven't gotten rusty."
"Nah, once you learn something, it's always there."
"Not when you use GFs." Selphie frowned, her shoulders drooping.
Nida chewed his lip and rubbed the back of his neck. Stupid, stupid! How could he forget the cost of using GFs? Even if he didn't use them that often himself, it was on every waiver he signed when he checked one out. "Ah, I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean—"
Selphie chuckled. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Of course I'll remember how to fly an airship. It's muscle memory by now. I'll bet it's the same for you with the Garden, right?"
"Right."
"Hey, that reminds me! We've never really sat down and talked before, pilot-to-pilot! You must have quite a few stories, being the first modern Garden pilot."
"We never seem to have the time." Actually, he'd never thought Selphie would be interested in his piloting stories.
"We have it now." Selphie scooted over and patted the bag of cement mix beside her. "Hop on up, Nida, and tell me all about it!"
He did. He told her about learning the controls from the technicians in FH and consulting old books alongside them to fill in the gaps in their practical knowledge. He told her about the intricacies of piloting such a large vessel, of easing it into the water and raising it over beaches and hills. When the rest of the construction crew showed up and work began, Selphie still clamored for more, so on their breaks, he told her about piloting through the battle of the Gardens, and continued over the rest of the workweek with stories of how he learned to maintain the Garden while she and the others went to Esthar, and all the minutiae of the missions Garden had been dispatched to since they returned from defeating Ultimecia.
Selphie listened intently, and frequently asked questions, drawing more details out of Nida than he was usually used to divulging. He was used to others drifting away from him, to trailing off in the middle of a sentence with nobody noticing. It felt so good to speak so freely about something he enjoyed, and it felt good to be regarded as an expert on the subject. In return, he listened as Selphie gushed about the Ragnarok and speculated on the airships they'd be receiving.
"I wonder if they'll be outfitted for aerial combat," she mused, "or if they'll just be for transport. But even transport ships need some defense."
When they'd finally exhausted their aeronautical anecdotes, their conversations turned to other subjects: Garden Festivals and SeeD missions, instructor positions and civilian opportunities, Garden's future, and their own.
"I'm not sure," Nida said when Selphie asked him what he'd like to do with his life. "Garden's pretty much all I've known. I wouldn't even know where to start on my own—finding a job and an apartment, getting around a city." He shuddered at the thought.
"Yeah, I don't like to think too far ahead, myself." Selphie folded her sandwich wrapper, making sharp creases. "I just thought that maybe, since you're a little bit different than the rest of us, you might have some big plans or something."
"Different?"
"You know, quiet, solitary, a specialist in your field." She made another fold and shrugged. "Not just a killing machine, like the rest of us are."
"Hey, I'm just as deadly on the battlefield as you!"
"Is that really something to be proud of?"
Nida sighed and looked down, first at his own hands, then at Selphie's, still busy folding and creasing. Those hands flew airships, saved comrades, played instruments. They decorated for parties, passed out flyers, waved to friends. They built hangars and held coffee cups and they killed. He didn't know how many monsters, how many people, they had killed, and he didn't want to ask. He didn't even want it to be true; hands that could create, hands that could lift people into the clouds, her hands and his, should not also be stained with blood. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, but it was all they'd known. Their lives were massive contradictions; sometimes, things weren't simple at all.
"I'm saying you probably have a great future in engineering, in Galbadia or Esthar," Selphie went on, "if you ever decide to leave Garden."
"So would you. I'm sure Esthar would take you in in a heartbeat to work on their airships."
"Yeah, they probably would! But I can't imagine leaving Garden; not right now, anyway. All my friends are here, and I still haven't made the Garden Festival as big as it can be!" She finished folding and held out her hand to reveal a small paper crane. She tugged on its tail and bowed its head, then began to speak for it. "I believe in you, Nida," she said in a high-pitched voice, "and Selphie, too! You're the two best pilots in the whole wide world!"
Nida laughed. "Aww, shucks! Thanks a lot!"
"You're welcome, Number Two!"
"Number Two?"
"Yes, 'cause Selphie's always Number One!" Selphie slipped back into her normal voice at the end of the sentence, then lightly set the crane on top of Nida's head and rose. "Well, time to get back to work. Keep the crane, Nida. Think up a good name for it!"
Nida took the crane off his head and looked at it. It was unevenly folded in places, and the waxy surface of the paper gave it a dull sheen. He pulled its tail several times and nodded back to it. Then, he carefully pressed it flat and slipped it into his lunch pail before pulling on his gloves and returning to work.
* * *
Balamb Garden held a ribbon-cutting ceremony for the hangar once it was complete, even though the promised airships had not yet left Esthar. Cid presided over the affair and awarded all SeeDs and cadets a certificate commemorating their roles in building the hangar. The ceremony moved into the ballroom for a banquet lunch, and when the construction crew from Balamb returned to town, Balamb Garden took to the skies for one final mission: to return the crew from FH.
Selphie had been abuzz with energy all day, flitting from table to table in the ballroom, dispensing silly, girlish tokens of appreciation to the construction workers. They accepted the glittery trinkets graciously, if awkwardly, and Selphie moved on to chatting with her friends. She dragged Nida into a conversation or two, but unlike those they'd had at the construction site, these conversations segued from one topic to another within an instant, and often left Nida with nothing to say. He excused himself to prepare for the trip to FH.
By the time they reached FH and the construction crew disembarked, Garden was considerably quieter. The cafeteria staff was cleaning up from the banquet, the janitorial staff was tending to the ballroom, and the SeeDs and cadets had retired to their dorms or common areas. Xu made the departure announcement, and at half-past ten in the evening, Nida piloted Balamb Garden onto the open ocean one last time.
After Xu left, the bridge fell silent. Nida stared out at the ocean, at the sliver-tipped waves swaying beneath the moon, then glanced down at the little paper crane resting on the control deck by his feet. He'd placed it there the evening after Selphie had given it to him, a reminder of her optimism and encouragement. Xu and Quistis both noticed and inquired about it, and Nida simply referred to it as a good-luck charm.
"Luck," Xu scoffed. "It's a good thing you won't be piloting much longer, Nida. You've gone soft."
Quistis was more diplomatic. "We all need a comfort item sometimes. It can help you focus."
"Oh, really? And what's yours?"
"I didn't say we had to declare our comfort items." Quistis turned to Nida with a smile. "It's a very cute crane, Nida. Did you make it yourself?"
Nida avoided Xu's interrogating stare. "No," he said, "Selphie did. She gave it to me."
"Oh?" Quistis hiked an eyebrow, her lips quirking, trying hard not to grin. Nida felt the blood rush into his cheeks and turned away.
"Yeah, it's just a silly little thing she made at lunch one day. I guess she makes 'em all the time."
"That's news to me."
"Maybe they're her comfort item."
Xu laughed. "He's got you there, Quistis. Come on, let's give Lover Boy some air."
Lover Boy. Nida shook his head and chuckled, trying to dispel the rush of embarrassment that came with the memory. He scanned the horizon to make sure Garden's path was clear, then stooped to pick up the crane. He had never gotten around to naming it—none of the names he came up with seemed to suit it—but he had grown very fond of it. It had seen him through his last round of maintenance on the control deck, and it had been waiting when he came up to prepare for his final trip, a silent reminder of encouragement for one of the "two best pilots in the whole wide world."
In the dim coolness of the cockpit, a sudden sense of whimsy seized Nida, and he placed the crane on his head, just as Selphie had, then leaned against the steering column, guiding Garden toward the Balamb coast.
He started when the lift behind him lowered, having not heard anyone enter the bridge. He caught the crane as it fell from his head and waited to see who had called the lift at this hour. The first thing to appear was a slice of chocolate cake on a paper plate, held aloft by a lean and muscular arm, followed by Selphie's grinning face.
"Booyaka! I come bearing cake!" She stepped off the lift, clad in chocobo-print pajamas, and handed Nida the cake, her own slice on a plate in her other hand. "I decided to hit up the vending machines for a midnight snack, and I ran into the cafeteria ladies eating what was left of today's cake. Turns out those construction guys didn't have as big of a sweet tooth as they thought, 'cause there was a lot left. They handed over a couple slices real quick for me to share with a friend, and I chose you, Nida!" She shoved a forkful of cake into her mouth.
Nida blinked and picked at the cake. "Why?"
"Why not? Don't you like it?"
"I do, but why didn't you give it to someone else? Rinoa or Zell or Quistis—your real friends?"
"You're my real friend, too, Nida." She swallowed. "Besides, I didn't wanna go knocking on doors to see who was awake at this hour, and I knew you were. Go on, dig in!"
"Thanks, Selphie, but I have to pilot Garden right now."
"What's to pilot? We're on the open ocean. Lean back against the column, and I'll tell you if we're about to run into anything, okay? Let me be your navigator!"
"I suppose." Nida turned around and leaned against the steering column, planting his feet and plunging his fork into the cake. It tasted great: moist and rich with a decadent frosting, just the kind of pick-me-up for a late-night trip. Meanwhile, Selphie sat down cross-legged on the floor of the control deck and watched the waves dance in front of Garden.
Nida was licking the last of the frosting off his fork when Selphie piped up, "Hey, lookee here! Haven't seen you in a while!"
He turned around to see Selphie holding the crane. She looked up at Nida and pulled the crane's tail. "So, what did you name it?"
"I didn't. I couldn't think of a good one."
"What? But there are so many! Let's see…there's Alfred, Harold, Edmund," she rattled the names off in a singsong voice. "Anastasia, Nina, Penelope. Ooh, what about names starting with a 'C?' Clarence, Caroline, cardamom—wait…"
Nida laughed. "See what I mean?"
"No, wait, wait! It'll come to me."
"It's okay. It doesn't have to have a name. It's perfect just the way it is."
"But names are important. They have—"
"Personality and meaning, I know." Nida took the crane and stroked one of its waxy wings. "But this was a gift, and that means a lot on its own."
Selphie was quiet. Nida looked down to find her tracing the chocobos on her pajama pants. "It…really means that much to you?" she asked at last.
"Yes. It's something you made. You put effort into it, and then you gave it to me." Nida turned away, a blush warming his face. "I really respect your work…not just on the crane, but on the hangar, on the Garden Festival, on anything you set your mind to do. And this crane…well, it's like having a little piece of what I admire about you, keeping me company up here."
"That's kind of cheesy, Nida." Selphie spoke slowly, her voice lower than usual.
"But it's true."
An awkward silence descended on the cockpit. Nida focused on the horizon, Selphie continued tracing chocobos, Garden continued its final voyage, and time slowed to a crawl. After what felt like forever, Selphie pivoted on her rear to face Nida and tucked her legs beneath her. "So, have you decided what you're gonna do after we get back to Balamb?"
"Go to bed," Nida answered dryly.
"That's not what I me—oh, a wise guy, huh?" Selphie giggled. "But seriously, what're you going to do?"
"Stay in SeeD, probably work with Xu in the office."
"Go on any missions?"
"If they'll let me."
"They have to. You're a SeeD. You're meant to be out there in the thick of it, not sitting behind a desk."
"I don't mind. It's a nice echo of my original plan."
Selphie frowned. "Original plan? For what?"
"Well…" Nida ducked his head and chuckled. "I've never actually told anyone this, but the reason I became a SeeD was that I wanted…I wanted to replace Cid."
"Replace?"
"I joined SeeD so that I could become Garden headmaster someday. That was my original plan. But then I saw what Cid went through, all the things he threw on Xu and Squall, and I started to doubt—why aren't you laughing?"
"Should I be? Is this a joke? 'Cause knowing you, Nida, I never can tell."
Nida smiled. "No, it's not. I really thought I had it in me to lead a Garden full of SeeDs. I realize now it was hubris."
"No way! I really think you could do it. You're a dang good pilot, and you kept your cool even in the middle of that Garden battle. You work in the office with Xu and Quisty, so you know all the boring bits about how Garden operates. And bonus! You're not married to the enemy! I think you'd make a great headmaster someday!"
"You're just saying that."
"I'm not! But whether you wanna put in the work is up to you." Selphie leaned forward and propped her chin on one hand. "Of course, there are plenty of other things you can do as a SeeD. A lot of new things you can learn."
"Such as?"
"How to fly an airship." Selphie went back to tracing the pattern on her pajamas. "After Esthar delivers our airships, and once I get used to them, I'm gonna apply for my instructor's license. I’m gonna teach SeeDs and cadets how to fly and maintain our airships. And I wouldn't mind teaching you, too."
Nida furrowed his brow and shifted his grip on the steering column. "To fly an airship? I don't know, I'm not sure I'm cut out for it."
"But you pilot this clunky thing! Airships are way easier. Come on, give it a shot! I'll give you a complimentary crash course in airship flying."
"Not the best choice of words."
"You know what I mean! Nida, you've got talent, as a pilot and a mechanic. I don't want to see you waste it all just because we've changed to a new kind of transportation." She rose to her knees and jutted out her lower lip. "Please? If you don't like it, you can go back to helping Xu sort files all day. Pretty please?"
Nida choked back a laugh. "If I say yes, will you stop that?" At Selphie's nod, he gave in. "All right, but just a few lessons—"
"Great!"
"—on one condition."
"What?"
He motioned her to his side of the steering column and stepped aside. "You give this a shot. It's only fair, right?"
"Riiight," Selphie said, positioning herself to give the column a good push, "but what if I mess up? What if I hit something?"
"We're on the open ocean, remember? Let me be your navigator!"
"Are you sure I won't break anything?"
"Nothing in the Garden."
"What's that supposed to mean? I'm tough!" Selphie pushed the column forward with all her might, and the Garden accelerated. "See? I could do this all night…and all…day." Her momentum waning, she slid back with the steering column, and the Garden slowed again.
"Yeah, if you want to wear yourself out." Nida stood behind her and reached over her shoulders to push the steering column. "It's not about brute strength. It takes finesse to keep a constant speed and make smooth turns." He moved the column slightly to the right, and Garden and Selphie drifted in that direction. When her head hit his arm, she tensed and stood upright.
"And back to center," Nida continued, this time grasping Selphie's wrists and guiding her arms to pull the column back to its initial position. He felt her muscles stiffen beneath his fingers and sweat broke out along his hairline and upper lip. He swallowed hard and tried to ignore it. He was giving a piloting lesson, that's all. The touch and proximity were part of that, nothing more.
Right?
Just like Selphie relaxing and leaning back against him.
…Right?
"Finesse," she murmured, and gave the column a pat. "Not too different from airships in that regard. You don't have to do much; the machine does the work, if you treat it well."
"Exactly." Nida released her wrists and backed away. "Think you can handle this on your own?"
"Of course! Too easy!" Just like that, her sunny disposition returned, and the smile she flashed over her shoulder dispelled any awkwardness between them.
They spent the next hour talking and joking and taking turns piloting the Garden. When, at last, sleepiness began to catch up with Selphie, she gathered the plates and forks and excused herself.
"You know," she said as she approached the lift, "I don't have a lot of regrets, but I really wish I'd done this sooner."
"No worries, Garden piloting skills will be obsolete by sunrise, anyway."
"Not just that, but…talking to you. You're a cool guy, Nida. You get me."
Nida chuckled. "You can talk to me anytime. I'm not going anywhere."
She came back to his side and shook her finger up at him. "You'd better not. You've still got airship lessons to take."
"I'm looking forward to them."
"Really?"
"Yeah. The instructor's really cool, herself."
"You know it!" Selphie shuffled the plates in her hand and inched closer. "So, here's to last voyages and new experiences." Quick as a Cactuar, she rose to tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. "Good night, Headmaster Nida." She scampered to the lift and giggled all the way down.
Nida stood still, his cheek burning with a blush and the memory of Selphie's lips. He slowly brought a hand up to that spot, to convince himself it was real, to seal in the kiss. "Good night, Instructor Tilmitt," he whispered.
Then, with Selphie's laughter echoing in his mind, he placed both hands on the steering column and pushed forward, startled when the paper crane tumbled from his head. Selphie must have put it there when she moved in for the kiss. He placed it back in its usual spot and pushed the column farther, laughing, gliding toward the horizon and whatever the future held in store.