I need a bigger table. Really. There's just too many pieces for a coffee table, and of course there's always the risk of losing something vital and tiny down a crack.

Especially when a breeze came up out of nowhere, ruffling my hair - and incidentally rolled a few small but vital parts towards the table's edge. I swore as I dove for them, essentially that the weather is a bitch...

Wait a minute. There isn't weather in Griever's realm, unless you or someone else wants there to be. Parts in hand, I looked around - and there he was.

Little guy, really. Shorter than the other boys and Daear as well, Gwynt likes to be noticed. And I have to admit he's good at it. Coffee-brown, shoulder-length curls and a vivid purple shirt - and I know the breeze is his because his eyes are swirling crazily, bright purple and yellow.

Let me tell you right now - I can handle meeting the eyes of the rest of the children when they call their power, but Gwynt's just give me the creeps. Eyes are just not supposed to move like that.

"Did you have to blow my parts off the table?" I asked him irritably. "You could've just said 'hello' the way everyone else does."

He grinned - his skin tone's a little darker than the others, more gold like Zell's, so when he grins you get an impression of very white teeth. "I did," he laughed. "You were busy with whatever this is. What is it, anyway?" He eyed the mound of parts. "Looks complicated."

"Machine gun," I told him. "Or at least, it was. And will be again in a few hours, assuming none of the parts you rolled off my table ended up under the couch."

"Sorry," he said curtly, and let the swirls fade. He's the only one of the children to have brown eyes. Sometimes he succeeds in making himself look doe-eyed and innocent, but not often. "Whatcha need with a machine gun, anyway? No monsters around here."

"It's a hobby of mine," I explained to him. "I like being able to take them apart, put them together, do my own repairs and upgrades - that kind of thing. I don't have to have a target to aim them at, though I might ask Squall for a shooting range just to test the results."

"If you're not gonna shoot somebody, what's it matter how good your aim is?" asked Gwynt bluntly - but he was running an interested eye over the parts.

"To see if I've done the job right, of course," I told him. "It's the end of a puzzle - if you do a jigsaw right, you know it because the picture makes sense. If you assemble a gun right, it'll shoot straight. That's all."

He frowned at me a moment - I must've sounded like I was talking down to him or something, which he hates. I was proven right when he started examining the parts, and held one up. "This one supposed to be all grooved like that?"

I took it from him, and blinked. No, it wasn't - the part was damaged and would have to be replaced. But I knew where on the gun it was supposed to go, and what it was supposed to do. How had Gwynt known the part was faulty?

He noticed my surprise, and ran a finger near the groove. "I can see better than you," he said matter of factly - probably repaying me for my earlier comments. "There's a different color inside the groove. Bright. Like it got carved out."

Except that the groove in question is inside a cylinder, so how he can tell the metal's brighter is beyond me. "Thank you," I managed, without sounding too surprised. "I think I've got another one around I can replace this with." And I got up to check the boxes I keep in a closet, which are full of pieces of various guns I've owned. Gwynt took my seat before the coffee table, frowning at the pieces.

When I had finally fished a spare part out of the boxes, Gwynt had a significant portion of the gun assembled. Incredibly significant, since I don't think he's ever handled one. I picked it out of his hands and checked it over - every piece he'd put on, he'd put on correctly.

"Where did you learn to put guns together?" I asked him.

He blinked. "I didn't," he said, a little surprised. "It's just what you said though - a puzzle. If you look at the way the pieces are worn, you can see where they're used to being...d'you ever do this with a new gun, Grandpa?"

I'm sure my jaw was on the floor - and I'm equally sure Gwynt was enjoying getting such a response out of me. He managed to hold his blank expression, but in those brown eyes of his someone was on the floor laughing. At me. I think this kid wants to become another Kiros.

"Sometimes," I told him, but I could tell I wasn't fooling anybody. "Usually I just take it apart, clean every piece, repair or replace what I have to, and put it back together. So I'll have to undo your work, I'm afraid."

"Go ahead," he said equably, and scooted over on the couch to make room for me. "S'your gun anyway." He thought for a minute - still staring at the table. People don't interest him much. "So...you clean every part...that makes it harder to put it together again, right?"

"Usually," I replied as I started disassembling his work. "No lines of oil or dirt to guide you, you see."

"Hmmm," he mused. "Guns...are hard to put together?" he asked. "Only you seemed kinda surprised that I got any of it together at all."

He doesn't like people much, but that doesn't mean he's dense. Not as bright as Taran maybe - especially on how to phrase questions politely - but not stupid either. "It took me a long time to get the hang of it," I admitted. "But I was working with new parts and blueprints, not old parts and dirt lines."

He just grinned at me, a bit toothily, and I could tell I wasn't fooling him. Just to change the subject, I tried, "So, what brings you here today, anyway?"

He put his arms up along the back of the couch, sitting on the arm with his legs dangling. "Boredom," he admitted. "Taran's locked himself in the studio with Noddy - and he's composed somethin' that doesn't need horns so I'm off guilt-free - the twins are doing gods-only-know-what in the gardens, and I wouldn't talk to Daear if she held a direct link to Hyne. And no, I'm not suicidal so I'm not gonna bug Dad when he looks like he did today, and while you're in that area I'm not in the mood for combat practice either so I didn't go hunting Zell."

I blinked. Nice to know I'm so well thought of - I really have to talk to Rinoa about getting this boy an education in tact. He's worse than Squall, for Hyne's sake. "Squall's in a bad mood?" I asked, keeping it off-hand.

Gwynt rolled his eyes. "Like he's ever not? Give it a rest, Grandpa. I'm not deluding myself he's Mr. Congeniality, I'm just stating facts. He's got a bug up his ass about something and I'm not gonna go find out what it is. I like breathing and don't feel like giving it up." He flicked a wrist irritably - a habit he picked up from wearing long sleeves that cover his watch, I think. After a few moments of relative silence - the only sound the metal clicking as I undid screws and bolts - he said, "Fine. He's peeved about Daear again, since you're so curious. At least, that's who he was shouting about. Person'ly, I hope he beats the living daylights out of her."

I bit back a sigh. She was usually the reason Squall was in a bad mood, I knew. He doesn't generally raise a hand to her - I wonder sometimes what would happen if he did, whether it would help or not - but Gwynt's casual attitude bothered me. "Is there anything you worry about?" I asked him.

He blinked. "There something around I oughta worry about, Grandpa?" he asked. "I'm not as big as most of the others, but I win the free for alls just as often as they do. And when I go back out in the world...if there's a guy out there who can out arm-wrestle me who I'm not related to, I swear I'll get on my knees and kiss his hand. Dad just bugs me when he's shouting, that's all. Gives me an earache. You missed a spot there."

I looked down - and he was right. I corrected my oversight, wiping away oil and dirt carefully to check for damage.

In some ways, Gwynt's nonchalance is a relief. He doesn't angst, he doesn't worry about his lot in life at all. I just sometimes think maybe he ought to worry, even if it's just a little bit. I think the day Gwynt panics is the day the world comes to an end.

I set the last piece down - the entire gun, down to nuts and bolts, cleaned and verifiably perfect, in pieces on my table. "This is when you put it back together," I told him. "Now that all the pieces are cleaned and in good working condition."

I'd moved them around, so he couldn't just reassemble them from memory - the little that he'd done before. He understood my statement as challenge and moved to the other side of the table, eyeing the parts intently. Even going so far as to shift his eyes - maybe looking for clues like minute scratches to guide him. Thankfully his bangs hid his eyes from me, so I didn't have to worry about seeing the swirls. How does he focus when his eyes do that? His teeth worried lightly at his lower lip as he concentrated on the problem - and then slowly he started to put things together.

I lost track of time, watching him. It's been Hyne only knows how long since I was in his shoes, putting a gun together for the first time. Of course, I'd had to learn it as part of my military training, so it was a bit different for me - but that love of puzzles I still have. One at a time, he stared at a piece in his hand and then slowly reached out to get another from the table - every choice made after a lot of thought, but every choice right. He had no idea what the finished gun looked like, had no names for the pieces he was assembling beyond 'round bit' 'fiddly bit' and 'screwed up bit' - but he was putting it together exactly right. His face lost all of its generally surly or curt demeanor as he worked, completely lost in the puzzle of the machine.

Someone pounded on my door and we both startled badly - the work Gwynt was holding going flying. Thank goodness I don't generally go in for breakable knick knacks. I patted Gwynt's shoulder placatingly, hoping he'd understand it as 'let your eyes go back to normal now, please' and answered the door.

It was Rinoa. "I'm sorry to bother you, Laguna, but is Gwynt around here? Only he's about a half hour late for dinner and it isn't really the best day to go changing plans."

"Right over here," I told her, waving her in. "He's been giving me a hand assembling one of my machine guns."

She blinked. "Weapons training?" she asked. "Did Squall -"

I shook my head. "No, Rinoa, it's got nothing to do with weapons training. Just a hobby of mine - puzzle solving, you know. He's really very good at it."

"Really?" she asked. "I'm sure we'll be able to find something for him that will interest him, then. But really - for now, it's time to eat. Gwynt? Come on, dinnertime."

Gwynt sighed and stood up. "I was having a good time, Mom," he groused - and it's hard for me not to laugh when they call her 'mom'.

"Well, you can come back after you eat then, if Laguna doesn't mind." She looked up at me. "Would you mind? You don't have to, you know, if you don't want to."

Okay, now it's all right to smile. "Nah, it's all right," I reassured her. "I haven't had anyone to share my hobbies with in a long time. Send him around anytime you want him out from underfoot, it's fine by me."

The smile Rinoa had was one of unadulterated relief. "Thank you, Laguna," she said warmly. "You have no idea how much better I'd feel knowing there's somebody keeping an eye on this little tornado. And if you can keep him out of trouble at the same time, you're a godsend." She reached out and took Gwynt's hand, and led him off.

I made sure the door was completely closed before I started laughing - and once I did, I couldn't stop. No wonder Gwynt's always causing trouble - I'm sure references to his height only infuriate the boy...and I begin to think that whatever was annoying Squall probably had to do with Gwynt and Daear, not just Daear alone. Those two get into some pretty spectacular fights.

Once I got my breath back, I hunted down the completed portion of the machine gun from where Gwynt tossed it in his startlement and verified it hadn't taken any damage from its flight.

I set it on the table, and started working on reassembling it alone...but gave up after a few minutes. If I'd read Gwynt's face correctly, he'd be shoveling food down his throat as fast as he could to get back here, and we could work on it together and it would be more fun.

I went and made myself a light supper, instead. Just to kill time until my new partner showed up.