Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fall, 1982

"Do you hear it, Sephiroth? Can you hear the planet?"

Sephiroth's fingers dig further in the dirt. It's clammy and bits get stuck under his nails. A funny smell hangs in the air since he dug it up minutes ago. He looks up at the doctor. His weight goes onto his hands and they sink further into the mud.

"Come on, listen, can't you hear it? The song of your people?" His face twists.

The sky is blue behind his head. A whole universe is beyond those streaky clouds. That's what he learned yesterday from picture books. Hundreds of thousands of planets all painted as if they are spinning around each other. His eyes can't see that far but he can imagine them there. Sephiroth wonders if there is a better place out there than this.

"Concentrate." The doctor takes that view. He grasps Sephiroth's head, lowering it back down to the ground. Sephiroth's fingers are white slugs in their shadows.

"Close your eyes. Listen hard. Listen inward to yourself. Listen for your nature."

Sephiroth does close his eyes. He does listen. His fingers slide into the wetness. Air catches in his throat as the hand remains. He can breathe. He can concentrate. The hand is heavy. He can hear the planet. That's what they want. The doctors have been telling him he can over and over. The blood of the Ancients runs through him. Raspy sounds come out of his throat as he swallows and listens. The breeze tickles. Birds call to each other. Are they the blue ones today or the red ones from yesterday?

Something shocking and cold brushes his fingertips. He giggles and leans back. The hand rolls off as he straightens.

"The planet isn't calling today." The worm is gooey in his hands as he shows him. "But isn't this the biggest worm you've ever seen?"

"Why do I do this?" The doctor stands up so fast that Sephiroth falls back. Grass flies from his knees and into the hole. Sephiroth's gut twists as the man walks away. He did something wrong again. The worm roots around in his hand blindly.

"This is pointless, all of it," he says to the woman watching from the porch. He thinks he can't hear him, Sephiroth realizes.

"Give him time. He's only two." She smiles but it is the disconnected one she uses when something confusing is about to happen.

"He's running out of time."

"No, you're running out of patience."

"Does it matter?"

"He'll figure it out. He has to."

He stares at the worm trapped in his fingers. Their conversation continues out without much concern for him. The worm rolls and loops. Eventually, it ties itself in knots and goo leeches off it. The color shimmers from brown to rainbow. Can it hear the planet? Sephiroth lets it go and it slides back into the ground. Something cold curls in his stomach.

What will happen if he doesn't hear this song soon?

Like the doctors say, he has to hear it.

But all he hears is silence.

Chapter Text

PART I: Forgetting, Forgot

"The choice was once

your choosing,

before losing

became my loss.

I was there in

your forgetting —

until I was forgot."

-Lang Leav

-

Chapter 1 - Acting Your Age

Fall, 1983

It is five days after the first accident.

Sephiroth counts every day like it lasts a year. Being in bed dries him out.

Today is better. His bedroom is clear, not green or fuzzy. Food stays in his stomach like it is supposed to. He wants to go outside now. His legs hurt to run up and down the hill and even chase the dog until he catches him. He tells Mariella that he's better. His doctor doesn't believe him. She says that he only got exploded five days ago and to be patient. Sephiroth insists until both doctors check him over just to quiet him down. Landon holds his face with twiggy fingers and takes his temperature. His teeth crack against the glass. Mariella shakes her head so her braid wags. The reading is good.

They unwrap his arm. It smells sour but they touch the new skin all over. It tickles. He squirms as they take photos.

The leg cast cracks off. White dust floats through the air and he proves he can walk by running between them immediately. The floor spins underneath him. Mariella shouts. Landon catches the back of his shirt but it slips through his fingers.

Sephiroth runs hard. The leg wobbles but his bedroom falls behind and the house grows before him. The wooden ceilings stretch over his head and the dark corners are less scary. He has to slow for the main staircase to take one step at a time. He's been patient. He's been waiting. Now he's almost out. He's unstoppable. The hurt is over. After everything, he can't imagine anything worse than staying in bed.

He gets the front door and yanks on his boots before opening it. The cold air shocks him and he stumbles across the porch. The sun is warm but the snow makes his eyes dizzy. It wakes up anything in him still asleep. He's stretching as he looks further than any of his walls would allow. The black patterns on the tree branches and the blue sky are all new to him again. He rolls into the snow. Ice clumps on his pajamas. He doesn't care.

He rolls until all he can smell is dead leaves and snow. The doctors keep telling him he has a connection with the planet and, at that moment, he pretends it's real. He stops and presses his back hard into it. It snowed yesterday, he had watched it before falling asleep. The dampness soaks through his shirt already. They say he should feel something like a hug or an energy or a song but none of that made any sense to him. His chest rises and falls as he thinks about a warmth filling him, making the cold go away from his fingertips.

Sephiroth turns his head, the white covering his face and he pretends to hear one of the songs that Landon plays on Sunday evenings. The planet is here, he imagines it sings, and ready to save him from the doctors and the awful woman in his dreams. He sighs, releasing his grip on the snow. Imagination can't put the song here. His ears hear nothing but his breathing. The wind and the birds fill his head but that isn't the song of the planet.

Snorting makes his eyes open.

Charlie finds him. The dog sits on his stomach, punching the air out of him. Sephiroth laughs and brings his hands up to scratch him behind the collar. The drifting fur makes him sneeze. Charlie doesn't get to go in the bedrooms so Sephiroth hugs him extra hard. The dog grunts and his nose digs into his neck before the licks start.

The door opens again and he pulls the dog closer.

"So you are feeling better." Mariella crouches down next to him. Sephiroth knows that she is young but she never looks it. It's her eyes. They always look dark. Snowflakes cover her brown hair.

"Yes." he scrunches up his face.

"It's freezing out here."

Sephiroth hugs the dog tighter. "I know."

Her hand goes on his free weird arm. "Those were fourth degree mako burns, mister. Bad ones."

"Yes." He pulls the dog over his eyes. Charlie takes it with a grumble and investigates Sephiroth's armpit.

"I thought you wanted to act older."

"Is it my birthday yet? Am I four?" He asks and realizes too late that he has opened his mouth up to a sea of fur.

"Not yet. Next week." Fingers drag into his hair and she ruffles it. "How did you survive that first night? What's your secret?"

The question is asked to him but Sephiroth gets this funny feeling that it is not meant for him.

"I know," He says anyway. Silver mixes with the yellow as she pushes the dog away.

Her full face looks down at him. "You do?"

"Hmm." He drags the dog back over.

"Go on, tell me."

He coughs into the fur and then his finger slips from Charlie's collar. He lumbers off of him, a paw scraping across his forehead. She leans into his vision. One eyebrow is up.

"Adults can't keep secrets." He folds his hands on his stomach. His eyes watering and his back freezes.

"Kids can't either. Let me in on this one."

He swallows. "It's magic."

She stares at him, long and hard. He struggles to sit up. The breeze pushes his silver hair in front of his eyes. She studies him as if he has said the most complex puzzle in his riddle book.

"You." She laughs finally, breaking up the stare. "What am I going to do with you? How am I even going to describe what just came out of your mouth?"

"Then don't."

"Okay, Sephiroth, I won't." She reaches and grabs him under his shoulders. "But if you're going to act like a baby, I'm going to carry you like one."

"No." He pushes as she grunts and drags him up with her. His feet leave the ground and he kicks wildly. She settles him against her stomach and takes a step. A drift makes her stumble.

"I'm not a baby," he shouts and pushes against her chest.

"Hitting harder than usual today," she grunts and pulls him up before dropping him an inch. "A bigger baby. Come on in so I can change your diapers."

"Not funny," he says it loud enough that it comes back from the mountains and she laughs harder. He is done with all of that. It shouldn't have ever happened. They forced it on him.

She takes another step, wobbles and sets him down on his feet. His hand remains trapped in hers and he looks up at her. She brushes a finger against his cheek. It's warm and he maybe hates having his hand held just a little less.

"Alright, come on. You are going to get sick in this cold and we need to run a few more tests. I'm interested in those new eyes color. Then, I'll help you get bundled up for all the yard time you want, okay?"

"Just say I didn't wear diapers."

"You certainly did, but not anymore."

It would have to be good enough for him.

"Now, to the tests."

He follows her back in the mansion.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 - Project S Report #831128

CLASSIFIED. CLEARANCE: EXECUTIVE. SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY. HARD COPY ONLY. STORAGE #31 - NIBELHEIM MANSION.

Project S Report #831128

Project S Report

Monday, Nov 28, 1983 at 8:24 AM

From: Mariella Haynes <[email protected]>

Cc: Landon Lemb <[email protected]>

To: “[email protected]” <[email protected]>

—

Hello Professor Hojo,

I hope that you are well and that the new plate is progressing even with that record amount of snow in Midgar. Nibelheim is, as the locals call it, "tucked in for the winter" since last week. This means our new thigh high snow drifts are going to stay for the rest of the season. It is pretty but makes getting shipments close to impossible. As long as we don't lose power or the internet again, I can't foresee any problems. The pantry is stocked and local providers are still producing the staples.

We are writing to report the recent accident and progress with Project S.

On November 18th, Sephiroth was accidentally exposed to high level of mako in the mansion's basement. He says that he was chasing the household dog and they went downstairs. According to his account, the pipe broke while he was in the room. The initial explosion must have rendered him unconscious and due to the density of the gas, it kept him under. We are guessing that the break happened around 10:30 AM and we found him at 11:03 AM. It gives him an approximate exposure of 30 minutes to high density mako.

Sephiroth sustained fourth degree mako burns on most of his right arm and his right leg where the mako blew directly on him. He was unresponsive upon discovery. Landon and I gave him immediate treatment starting with an infusion of boosters, steroids and an I.V. flush. The infusions stabilized his vitals. We did try to use traditional healing methods but the high level of mako disrupts the use of magic.

At this point, the snow had started and landlines and internet were out by a downed tree.

By some miracle, Sephiroth was cognizant and awake the next morning. He was showing deadly levels of mako poisoning in his bloodwork but could answer simple questions and had feeling in the damaged limbs. Progress continued at a rapid pace and by the fifth day, the burns were scarred over and we could not keep him in his bed.

The physical changes continued to appear. We hypothesize that the JENOVA cells are reacting to the planet's natural stimulation. In the last ten days, he has grown 1 1/2 inches and gained 15 lbs, most of this has been muscle mass from his BMI. He can lift the sixty pound dog and walk across the room without trouble. All of this and more is formalized in the comparison report attached to this email.

We are requesting an observational visit at your earliest convenience. The mako has awoken the Cetra cells in Project S and has physically strengthened him. Our progress is significant and we wish that you see it in person, weather permitting.

Thank you,

Mariella Haynes

Chapter Text

Winter, 1983

Sephiroth doesn't know what Project G is.

He's spent time thinking and putting together the pieces that he's found. None of them fit. It builds in the back of his mind like a strange shadow on the back wall, all claws and teeth. All he knows for certain is that Project G is bad.

The toast on the dining room table stares at him. He's sitting in front of it wondering why he's been asking for it. The one bite he took was dry and terrible. The office door is open. Mariella left it that way when she rushed in there. Now her head is heavy in her hands. Landon leans against the desk and reads the computer screen hundreds of times.

"How do they know for sure that Project G is a success? How? This late? How could they have pulled ahead of us?" She asks.

The office is a mystery. The room is small and each wall has a table pressed against it. The table pushed up against the window has a computer and equipment covered in it. Books and files hang high stacks on the other two. The blinds are closed most of the time. Sephiroth wants to look at everything. Recently, he's realized that machines are built of smaller parts and that the pieces work together. This is fascinating. Pulling thin pieces of metal like ribs out of the phone by the door lasted hours. They had made him put it back together. That was fun.

Marella shakes her head again. He's memorized even the pattern of the viney rug in the forbidden room. Every time he goes in, they push him out. The butter on the toast has disappeared. He pulls at the stiff belt digging into his stomach and these shiny shoes pinch his toes.

"They have four years of research on us. That doesn't mean that we aren't going to be more successful," Landon says. His arms are crossed. The morning light makes him dark against the open window. Sometimes Sephiroth thinks that he isn't seen by the thin doctor. Sephiroth is invisible until he wants something. That's okay with him.

"We have Hojo and we've been using G's research through the back door." She leans further forward. "What will happen if they race ahead? What solution haven't we tried yet?"

Guilt. He looks out the window. It's snowy. Christmas is coming soon. He's supposed to go sledding. Mariella always gives him a strong push and it sends his heart flying. Afterward comes the warm drink and the fireplace. It's a promise. Or he hopes it is. This email scares Mariella so much that she forgot to close the door. Sephiroth stays still and silent at the table. He's invisible again.

"Look, read what it actually says: 'Secondary experiments have shown promising signs and indications of Cetra behavior.' They are blowing hot air. We are using the same base materials and they are not directly observing." Landon clicks and the document disappears. "They must know about today. They want us to worry, to throw us off. We are achieving the product."

"Not the objective that we are funded for." She runs her hands through her hair and looks up at him.

Sephiroth nibbles a bite out of the toast. It's still dry and he looks for his orange juice that is in the kitchen. If Project G wins, it could hurt them. Project G is a monster. He sits cross legged, putting together different heads and legs that make it up. Does it breathe fire? Does it have wings? He brushes crumbs from his sweater. It smells like the box that it came out of. It makes him look "presentable".

"What have they gotten factually? Nothing. We are doing the real science. The hard science." He curls his hand on her shoulder.

"The exposure should have killed him. It was lethal." He's heard this over and over. The leaking pipe in the basement should have killed him. The explosion was too violent. It burns. It kills. It's the anger of the planet. Then they say mako is the love of the planet. He chews on the bread and swallows it. All he knows is that the men that came to fix it dressed up in yellow suits and wore masks that hissed.

"It didn't and now Project G has weaved outright lies," he says. Landon is softer today. There are bags under his eyes and he's hunched forward. There was no music last night coming form his room.

"What is Project G?" Sephiroth asks. He's saying it before he realizes that he is asking and then it is too late. Mariella stiffens. Landon's eyes find him sitting at the table right outside of the door.

"Nothing that will affect you," he says, "You need to concentrate on growing up."

"Is Project G a monster?"

His face twists as he walks up to the door frame. "Not a monster, no, not intrinsically."

Sephiroth shifts in his chair not understanding. Whenever the doctor looks at him, his feet want to run. The twiggy doctor studies him. The back of the chair meets Sephiroth's spine. Something crosses his mind over and over again and repeats itself in his eyes. It gives him the same feeling like when he smelled the dead bird outside.

A coldness falls over the doctor and he pulls his own suit straight. "Go watch for our company."

The door closes.

He slips out of the chair to watch at the window. He isn't hungry.

Company comes in a large black car that is so new that the general store's magazines don't feature it yet. The tires cut through the snow and pull in front of the house. The front gate opens for the car without Mariella pressing the button inside the front door.

Three people come out of the car, all men wearing black. The snow ghosts them as Mariella welcomes them in. Her tears are gone. Two of the men are huge and bulky. One is skinny under his coat and his glasses hang on the edge of his nose. Sephiroth closes the curtain. They don't ever have guests.

"Like we practiced, Sephiroth," Landon says. His fingers clamp over his shoulder and Sephiroth twitches. It was time for his spot and best behavior. His words came out like a growl so he holds his breath. The chair in the living room waits for him. Landon places him in it like a toy. His toes don't touch the floor.

The doctor moves from the room, much faster than he had seen before.

The fireplace is to his left and he stares into the flames. It's warm and calms his stomach. It is going to be okay. Shoes stomp and the hangers by the front door clatter. He puts his hands in his lap. He can't remember which hand is supposed to go on top of each other. Ten adult steps from the front door is the main lobby. He would get his first view of their company then. They chat about the drive. It was easy but long. The town is small. The snow is deep. They are eager to get back to Midgar. Mariella asks about the new plate. They will email her pictures. It is a marvel.

Sephiroth switches which hand is on top. He convinces himself either way he will get scolded.

"And here is our marvel, professor," Mariella says, appearing and pointing at him without looking, "Sephiroth."

The company comes into view and he sits as straight as he can. The skinny man comes first and Sephiroth forgets to look at the others. The black coat is gone. Underneath it is a neat outfit. The turtleneck of the shirt makes his head look like it swivels on its own. Glasses shine in the firelight and black hair drapes down his back. He's all sharp angles. The heels of his shoes click against the hardwood.

He crosses the room in a second and crouches in front of him. His knees dig into the edges of the chair. This man stares with such deep fascination that it starts ripping him apart. He splits under the intensity and tries to look away. He can't. The scientist is too close.

"Hello Sephiroth, do you remember me?" Cigarette smoke breath chokes him.

Sephiroth shakes his head. He wants to look behind him, to Mariella, but this man takes over everything. He fills the room until everything else is gone. He worries his lip, a habit that Landon has been trying to break.

"It was a long time ago," he says, "I am Professor Hojo. I've been taking care of you from Midgar."

He extends a hand. The fingers are thin and covered with silver scars. Carefully, Sephiroth puts his hand in his. It's rough and still cold from being outside. Professor Hojo shakes it like the way they had practiced with him. He's even closer now, somehow. The world can't put air between them. They look eye to eye but all Sephiroth can see is his scared face in the circular lenses.

"It's nice to meet you," he recites in a whisper.

The left corner of his lip curls up.

"It's nice to meet you too."

Sephiroth's voice feels tight but he has managed the words. Mariella should be proud of him. He tries to look behind Professor Hojo but can't. The room is small. It is just them. He's alone and small.

The smile breaks the stranger's face like it doesn't belong there. "Let me take a closer look at you."

"Okay."

The hands attack him, grasping his chin and forehead, twisting him into profile. It hurts. Sephiroth brings up his arms and a leg to kick back. No. He drops them. It is okay. The smoke smell is in his nose and mouth as Professor Hojo comes so close that he can feel his warm breath. The fingers dig through to his skull.

He squeezes his eyes shut. The darkness is better. He clutches onto the arms.

"Yes, I can see her features and of course you've inherited the brain…" He mutters.

Sephiroth's heart pounds. He should be safe. He should be okay. The back of his chair won't let him lean any further.

The clamping hand on forehead smooths and runs back through his hair. It's like snow down his back. He squirms. The fingers drape across the back of his neck, lazy but firm. He cracks an eye. Professor Hojo's eyes are inches from him. Both doctors have done something like this before but the grip is different. Sephiroth can't move his body. It doesn't belong to him. He's trapped.

"When did his eyes change, Ms. Haynes?" Professor Hojo asks and that releases Sephiroth. The room is huge again. Mariella is standing next to Professor Hojo with her hands laced. She's right there. He focuses on her calm face as the man pries his lips apart to look at his closed mouth.

"The vertical pupils have been a feature since birth but the mako exposure did change the color. They were blue and now they are a distinct blue green," She says steadily.

He had taken him all week to get used to the new colors in the mirrors.

The professor hums. "The silver hair is inherited from your mother. Her gift to you, among many, we hope."

Sephiroth wants to ask but his jaw is locked as his head is swiveled the other way. Two fingers dig into his throat. Two other fingers roll across his teeth. Sephiroth shakes.

"Anything else to report besides the promising?"

Snaps click near his ear and he flinches away. She's calm as she watches all this. It must be okay. She would stop him if this is wrong. He holds onto the chair anyways. The room spins until he takes a breath.

"Nothing significant since Thursday. Only steady progress."

"96 BPM, you are one stressed kid under the surface, aren't we?" Professor Hojo asks softly. The fingers stop jabbing and the professor withdraws back to a squat. The space between them is miles. Sephiroth's chest flutters up and down. Everyone is looking at him. He wants to leave, to go up to his room, to go under the covers where no one would see him. Landon stands near the door. His eyes tell him everything he needs to know.

He sits in his chair and wiggles his legs.

"Coffee, conversation, and a smoke." Professor Hojo stands. The attention goes to him. "Landon?"

"Of course," he says and turns to the kitchen.

Sephiroth crumples in the chair. All attention is gone as the professor sweeps across the room. He's nothing against the power of the stranger. He must be cold. He can't stop shivering.

A finger taps on his shoulder and he jumps.

"Why don't you head upstairs for a few minutes? I'll come get you if we need you," Mariella's voice is warm. He doesn't wait another second. He disappears. He needs the space, the air, everything he can put between him and the professor. He would throw the mountains and snow between them if he could.

He's more monstrous than Project G.

Dinner comes. Sephiroth is called back down and eats, trying to be invisible again. He doesn't say a word. The food is tasteless. The carrots are pale and the laughter is thin. Professor Hojo stares only at him from his own chair at the head of the table. He hardly talks. The meat on his plate is divided into square chunks and are eaten from right to left.

Sephiroth doesn't belong to himself. This man reads him like a book. The fork with a piece of cubed meat pauses close to his lips as they make eye contact.

Sephiroth sees the future happening.

Professor Hojo reaches across the table and shoves his hand down Sephiroth's throat. The long fingers swim down, cold and sharp, as Sephiroth chokes. The nails snag his guts and draw them out of his mouth, spreading them long across the table. They are bloody and snake-like. First, he read them like a magazine, dragging them around with his knife and looking for something he doesn't have. Then Professor Hojo dissects them with his fork and knife. He starts with his heart and stops with his guts. Everything turns into small squares of meat. As Sephiroth dies suffocating and sluggish, he watches the man eat the neat squares right to left. The other adults don't stop him. They only clear away the dirty dishes with their heads down and bring napkins for him to wipe his lips.

Later, they clear his body out with the trash, helpless of any other option.

Professor Hojo doesn't do that.

He smiles instead.

It's scarier.

They leave shortly after dinner. Mariella's lips are tight. Landon's hand is on the door frame. Sephiroth hovers behind them.

Only when the car pulls away does he feel the ice melt in his stomach and he bursts into tears.

Chapter Text

Winter, 1983

Mariella and Landon are arguing.

Sephiroth sits against the edge of the step at the top of the stairs. His fingers curl around the banister rod. The moon shines through the window behind him, dragging his shadow down and cutting it up in strange ways. He hurts and his body aches. Every time when he tries to sleep, he closes his eyes to feel long nails crawl down his throat. If it isn't him, he's dreaming of a scary woman. He shakes at the shouts from below. He is so tired.

They argue in the kitchen. Charlie sits by him, his head heavy in his lap. A wet spot seeps on his leg where his mouth is. Sephiroth works his fingers through the fur on the dog's neck. The warm near the skin disappears at the ends of the yellow fur. They shout and then hush each other. Mugs and plates clatter.

Sephiroth didn't stand a chance at staying awake.

"Twenty minutes of mako exposure once a week for five weeks," Landon says, "It's too much."

Mariella's voice is high. "You've read it. I've read it. This is what he wants."

Feet scuffle on the tile. "This is too aggressive. Even for me."

"We can be careful. We can stop it if needed."

"Cellular degradation starts immediately with repeated exposure. I'm not even getting into memory loss."

Charlie's eyes come up to him as he shivers. Exposure is bad. The green stuff changes him. It makes him twist in and expand out. He's used to growing but this is different. His arms are thicker now, muscles grow where he only saw kid arms before. Sephiroth curls up closer against the banister. His fingers feel out all the imperfections in the wood.

Landon continues. "If we go with this plan, we cut his life in half. He won't make it to fifty. Guaranteed."

"I didn't know you cared, Landon."

There is a pause. Pots move around. "We have been doing this two and a half years. I do what I need to. He's a product and I'll drive him to achieve that but I still remember burping him or the first time that he tied his own shoes."

His arm tingles as he thinks about laying alone in the basement until they found him. The pain had pounded him so badly that he can't remember it. They wanted to do more of that? Sephiroth tastes blood in his mouth. He's split his lip again.

"We had a response. A good response. Let's study that instead of instigating further. Sephiroth's cells are still mutating from the last exposure," Landon says. Mugs click in the sink. Water splashes. The soap bottle squeals.

"He's not our kid up there, Landon. Hell, he's not a real kid at all. I like to pretend it too but a three year old can't read, alphabetize our library as a chore or learn fundamental electronics," Mariella says and the dishes stop. "He's a half Cetra. He's half a species that can save the planet and all the humans on it."

Charlie moves. Sephiroth jumps. He's not supposed to be hearing this conversation. He is sure of that.

The dishes clatter again.

"The people in SOLDIER have to sign a consent form. They get to read it with a real member of the R&D. If they have questions, we answer them honestly. If they don't do it, they sign an NDA and do something else. Sephiroth can read early chapter books."

"He's getting good at them too." She laughs.

"He thinks he's being sneaky about it."

"Of course he does. He's Sephiroth."

He wipes the cut on his lip. Landon pays attention to such things? He hides his reading, to keep out of the way and so he can dream of being the heroes on the covers. The pages make the mansion disappear. It is one of the only things that makes those round glasses collapse into a bad memory.

When he focuses again, the laughter stops. The dishes are being stacked.

"He is owned by Shinra. Hojo has the right to waive the consent form," Mariella says slowly. The water cuts off.

"Anxiety. Loneliness. Fear. Extreme cases, paranoia, statistically these increase greatly without pre-SOLDIER training. He could even be experiencing them now."

"Hojo knows that. He also knows that this happens only if the exposed are not given specific and emotional treatment. He's sent us a new program to implement with the exposure."

"What if he pulls us off the program? Halfway through someone else steps in and ruins it?" Landon asks.

"That's why we have to keep being the best scientists that we can be."

Sephiroth looks at the moonlight. Snowflakes are falling. Small dots fall down the stairs. Charlie snores next to him. They aren't his parents. The two adults were helpless at the dinner. They couldn't save or protect him. Their words feel thin and flimsy.

"He's three with maybe the emotional capability of a six year old. We could wait a year. Give time for the current mako to settle down. See how much we can physically enhance him. The Cetra instinct comes out naturally."

She pauses, "We can't think of him like that. We lose that game. You know that we lose that game. Project S loses. Midgar loses. Humanity swallows the last of the mako and starves."

"Objectivity," He says like how Sephiroth feels when he closes a finished book.

"He's an experiment. A cute, possibly very scared, project."

"We need to stop those nightmares."

"Memory loss might help him."

He chokes a laugh. "That's a terrible joke."

Sephiroth's blood runs cold. He pulls himself to his feet. The shadow pools at the bottom of the stairs.

"We will get our results and move on. There is no crime in what we are doing."

He wonders what Mariella would think about Landon if she knew the truth. Landon had sent him down to the basement all those weeks ago. Sephiroth was supposed to get a jar of peaches for dessert. It was to surprise her for dinner. Sephiroth had glanced at the strange wiring on the ceiling before the mako pipe burst.

He had been told to lie and if he didn't, he would be locked in the closet. The doctor's eyes told him this would be true. So Charlie had been running around and Sephiroth was chasing him. No one wondered about the dog. His pupils are brown and happy.

He starts back towards his bedroom. The fear is in his stomach. Mariella doesn't care for him, not truly. Landon does care for him but it is not enough. They are going to put him back in that dark place where he can't feel anything. Then when he wakes up, he will be trapped in bed. The mako will twist his arms and legs. It might even bend his mind.

They will lead him into the place that he cannot be.

He walks quicker.

So he's going to go instead.

Chapter Text

Winter, 1983

Mariella taps his paper again. "Just five more and then break time and cookies."

They sit at the dining room table. Sephiroth hunches over a worksheet and tries to figure out the math on it. He can count but he's being taught something called "subtraction" and that requires counting backwards. Nobody told him this silly skill would be necessary.

Mariella eyes him for a minute longer before taking a drink of tea and turning the page on the book she's reading.

The snow is coming down outside. Thick drifts make Nibelheim disappear from his memory. All he can see is blankness. He needs it to stop and for everyone to shovel their way down the mountain. That will be the day that he takes Charlie and runs away. He's read a map in the library. Straight south from here is a ship port. Maybe he can be a stowaway like in one of his books. Where he goes after that doesn't matter. It'll work out.

"Dreaming of Christmas? Hmm?" She asks. "How many days until then?"

"Well-"

She waves the pencil and writes yet another equation on his sheet. "Let's do the subtraction. It's the 21st and Christmas is on the 25th. 25 minus 21."

He squints at her. She's made the holiday into something worse: school. There has been a frightening upturn in him sitting and working on papers. Papers that get scanned and thrown away. It is pointless and makes him tired. He does well on them but he would rather be doing other things.

"25 minus 21. The twenties cancel each other…leaving us…what?"

Then came the rise in chores. Sephiroth has never felt the urge to argue but did the first floor need to get swept every other day? Or how he has to be the one to go down to the pantry in the basement to haul potatoes up to the kitchen? Charlie's daily walk is the only chore he truly enjoys.

"Five minus one," he supplies.

"And that is?"

He sighs and glares at her smile. His brain hurts. He's been thinking so much lately. They've been asking him harder and harder school questions and then his own escape planning takes up everything else. He falls asleep immediately now and dreams of nothing. Christmas is not on his mind. Last year, he had tried to guess what his two presents would be. This year, he's barely given it any thought.

Instead of answering her question, he puts his arms up on the table and drops his head in them.

"Drama queen." She taps the crown of his head. "Come on, I know you know it, even if you cheat and just count the difference in days. Five minus one. One, two…"

He stays still, hoping to wait this one out.

She taps the answer on his skull.

He doesn't move.

She taps again.

"Four," he says.

"Good job." She doesn't even sound false as she pushes back from the table. "Stay there. I'm going to get us a snack."

Sephiroth waves his feet under the table as her chair scrapes back in place. She hums a Christmas song under her breath. He swallows. They haven't put him in the green mist again. Every day it doesn't happen makes him sure that the next day will be it. When it doesn't happen then, the knot in his chest grows tighter. They have tried to talk to him about it but each time he's run away. If he doesn't listen, maybe they can't do it.

It's not true.

It was coming and they are going to trick him into it like last time.

Someone knocks on the front door. Charlie barks. Sephiroth doesn't move. The darkness between his arms suits him.

"Landon," Mariella shouts, "Susan is early with the shipments. Can you help her?"

The doctor only grunts from the office. The door clicks open and closes. Sephiroth's hair flutters as the man passes him.

"You should stop sulking and being selfish," he says, "you are getting personal tutoring and cookies."

Sephiroth doesn't move as the footsteps fade away. Dishes click in the kitchen and Mariella still hums. Charlie's claws clatter against the tile in the entryway. Landon opens to the door. The cold gets far enough in to tickle the back of his neck. Maybe if he sits here long enough, they will leave him alone and he can do the fun things that he used to have so much time for.

"Merry Christmas, Landon."

The voice is not Susan's. It is deep and new. Sephiroth's head jerks up to look in the direction. Someone new at their door in the middle of winter?

"Professor Gast. What are you doing here?" Landon's voice is shocked.

Sephiroth sits up fully alert.

The dishes clatter in the kitchen. Mariella rushes past the table.

"Do you mind if I come in first? It's still snowing plenty out here."

"Of course. We weren't expecting company. Coffee? Tea?"

Sephiroth slips from the table, keeping on hand on the top. His feet are quiet against the wood. Something scared stirs in his stomach.

"No, no, I'm fine. Warmth is all I require. Mariella. Hello! Merry Christmas. How are you?"

He inches towards the entrance now. The cold cuts off as the door shuts. Shoes stomp against the mat. Car tires crunch the snow outside and disappear. Rarely do new people come unplanned. It is even rarer for the new person to cause the doctors to seem so flustered. The last person like that was Professor Hojo. He pauses with one wall dividing him and the new company. There is an empty spot in the pantry downstairs from where the last large bag of flour used to be. He could fit in there. He would have to go now.

"I'm fine. It is such a surprise to see you. What brings you here?" Mariella's voice twitters.

Sephiroth peeks around the doorway. A man by himself peels off his coat and shakes the snow from it. He's tall but in a different way than Professor Hojo. This man is fuller and softer. He doesn't bleed danger. Instead he is already at home here, relaxed and confident compared to the quick gestures of everyone around him.

The stranger looks up from the coat and finds Sephiroth immediately. He waves softly at him. "Well, I'm here to see you, Sephiroth."

Another change. Another bad doctor who will change everything for him.

Sephiroth steps back, out of sight and presses himself against the wall. His heart crawls into his throat. This is the start of his nightmares again until the grown ups find a way to drown this one. He stares helplessly at the kitchen door. His feet won't move. Charlie leaves the new man and comes around the corner. The big head shoves into his hands.

"He's been a little shy around strangers recently," Mariella says.

"That's okay. I was shy when I was around his relative age." Professor Gast's voice grows louder. He's coming. "I've been keeping an eye on both Project G and S but you see, I don't always trust Hojo to report the truth so I thought a snowy vacation might be in order."

Sephiroth almost runs but his mind has cleared. Both doctors find this man to be important. He wants to be good and not to embarrass them. Running and hiding won't help. Charlie's breath is warm on his chest. His fingers curl tight in the fur. The doctor turns the corner. His eyes search the table covered in homework first before finding him only a few feet to his left.

He does the same thing that Professor Hojo does. He squats on the floor and extends his hand. "Merry Christmas S, it's nice to finally meet you."

The stress mounts in his mind and makes his mouth run dry. Charlie wanders off. Sephiroth puts his hand out and it is shaken. Now would come the fingers and poking and fear. A shiver goes through Sephiroth but he stands his ground. Questions are in Gast's eyes. After a moment, he releases the grip. Sephiroth thinks about going for the hiding spot. It's his last chance. He gets one more second.

The professor's hands fall back into his lap. He searches Sephiroth's face. Could he hear his teeth chattering?

Professor Gast stands up and turns around. "It has been a long trip. Might I take you up on that offer of tea?"

The pressure releases in his chest.

The next hour is strange. They go to the living room and sit. Professor Gast takes Mariella's spot on the couch so everyone silently adjusts around it. Sephiroth sits on the fireplace although Landon pulls a dining room chair in for him. It is his job to keep an eye on the fire and to feed it.

Professor Gast doesn't take up space like Professor Hojo. Instead, he grants it. Landon talks more than he ever has and Mariella smiles comfortably. Maybe it is because Professor Gast is older. Small wrinkles come around his eyes when he smiles. He's not much older than the doctors but he feels like he knows everything and sees only the good.

They talk about the weather and the local people. A place called Wutai comes up several times and that is the only time that Professor Gast starts to lose his easiness. These people have something that Midgar wants. Professor Gast turns out to be the head of the Research and Development section of Shinra or as he explains in a way that is directed at Sephiroth: "their boss's boss."

Sephiroth stays away from the conversation, only poking the fire and making sure it doesn't go out. He expects to find himself bored but it isn't that way. The conversation is catered from Professor Gast to keep everyone engaged. Their eyes connect a few times. Sephiroth busies himself with the poker immediately.

"Well, Sephiroth do you want to show me around town? Or whichever sights there are to see?" Professor Gast asks when the conversation goes quiet.

He looks at Mariella. She's nodding at him.

"Okay."

Professor Gast presses on his knees and rises. "Well, let's get exploring before the sun sets."

The professor allows Sephiroth to lead him out of the house ten minutes later. Mariella tries to straighten his scarf three times before Sephiroth slips away. The sun is low and the mountain cuts the light. The snow is gray and pink in the twilight. Sephiroth glances behind at the professor. He smiles and gestures. Why would someone in the big city want to see anything here? There is nothing remarkable to see.

Out of habit, he cuts to the side of the mansion where Charlie likes to poop in the mornings. The beaten path is easy enough to walk through. The mansion looks impressive enough hopefully. The ice crunches under their boots. Professor Gast puffs. Sephiroth stops where the footpath ends and where he usually stands to watch Charlie. The professor stops next to him.

"This is the side of the house," Sephiroth says, unsure.

"And so it is." He pauses and stares at it like it is a new thing. The snow encases the side and the ivy sticks through where the leaves are still poking out. The proud decoration shows through, making the building look fancy. Sephiroth warms his hand in his pockets. The cold wraps around them.

"Which window is yours?" The professor looks down at him.

He breaths mist at his shoes. "It's around front."

"Show me."

Sephiroth sends him a questioning look and Professor Gast continues to follow him. This is a strange man. The birds call from the trees as they work back through the path. The rest of the yard is heavy with snow. It is up to his calves. It is big steps there. The front has the path he's been shoveling daily. Tomorrow he is supposed to make it bigger.

"That one in the upper left corner with the blue drapes."

Professor Gast stands behind him as he points.

He hums knowingly. "That's not a bad view of the yard and you can almost see the center of town. Pretty good for a boy your age. It doesn't get too much light in the morning."

"I guess so." He shrugs. The professor is right but no one usually cares about him.

Sephiroth turns towards the town, walking onto the shoveled walkway.

Professor Gast follows. "So tell me, how are you doing?"

Sephiroth crunches up his face and kicks a drift.

"I'll take that as good."

They walk through the gates. It is late enough that everyone is back in their houses. The main circle of houses are warm with their lighted windows and smoky chimneys. Various dinner smells mix in the air. Professor Gast trolls next to him to the main street that circles around the frozen water tower.

"How do you like Mariella and Landon?"

"They're okay." Sephiroth isn't sure what he should or shouldn't be saying.

"That answer equates to the face that you made earlier." He waves at the inn. Someone at the window waves back and then slides back into the shadow. "They are more scientists than parental units I fear."

Sephiroth listens to the water tower creak to his left. "They aren't my parents so I don't think of them in that way."

"What did they tell you? About your parents?" He almost pauses. Sephiroth tucks his nose in his scarf.

"My mother died giving birth to me. Her name was Jenova. She gave her body to science. Nobody could locate her family so Shinra took me in," He recites this and then frowns. "I don't understand why someone would want a mother or a father. I've been fine without them."

Professor Gast puts a hand on his shoulder and it is strange. "I can tell that you have been very brave for a very long time."

A feeling flickers in Sephiroth. The knot loosens. There is care in Gast's eyes, not just numbers and graphs. He doesn't shrug off the hand like with other adults. Instead, he takes a breath and silver hair falls out from under his knitted hat. He feels funny. His knees are knobby and locked into the place.

Somehow Professor Gast sees all this and his smile doesn't cut his face in two like Hojo's. It belongs there. The hand squeezes and then lets go. Sephiroth leans forward towards him but then catches himself. Gast starts walking again and it takes him a moment to catch up to those long strides. His hands are tucked in his coat pockets. Sephiroth does the same.

"I wanted to talk to you about your bravery. I heard that Professor Hojo wants to continue to experiment with mako."

The knot is back and he's cold. The lamps flicker on. He looks up to see that the sun has gone.

"The green gas?"

"The mako, yes S." He nods.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"This is understandable."

They crunch through the snow quietly. He doesn't turn back towards the house and Sephiroth wishes he would. The topic hangs between them. It hurts his head until something strikes him. Professor Gast is everybody's boss. He could keep this from happening.

"Professor Gast? Can you stop them?" He asks and the professor's eyebrows raise. The words come flowing out of him. "I don't want to burn in the basement again. I was so lonely and then I was sick. It hurt. It really hurt. Even if it healed all the way and now I am stronger, it really hurts and I feel different. It was scary. I don't want it to happen. Please, tell them to not do it. Please, sir."

They stop circling.

"Did they talk to you about the treatment?"

"No."

The less that they talked about it, the less likely that it was going to happen. Sephiroth is sweating, he realizes, the warmth is trapped around his body.

"Come inside," Professor Gast says and nods towards the inn, "Let's have a chat about it."

Sephiroth has been in the inn. It's been a long time. It is a rare thing for him to leave the grounds because the town is boring. Most of the people here work at the reactor until their skin runs thin against their faces and until they collapse into dirt. Mariella did have the local kids come but it was always in the mansion. Still, once on their way back from getting a big delivery, Landon had stopped at the inn and so did Sephiroth.

Professor Gast opens the door and it smells just like before, warm wood, smoke and the undercutting smell of beer. The travelers come and go. Only a few of them are here tonight. The bar stretches across the back of the room where Jean, a friend's mother, smiles at him.

Professor Gast turns to the stranger that sits by the window. This is the one that had waved earlier. The man is laid out between two wooden chairs but barely fits. Muscles bunch up his sweater and his boots are bigger than Sephiroth's head. He's built in a way that he's never seen before. Across the table lies a sword larger than his imagination. The stranger looks at him and Sephiroth can't stop staring. His features are completely different. His eyes have sharp corners at the edges and deep black cropped hair catches the light.

As they approach, he starts to disengage himself from the chair he's got his feet propped on.

"No need for that," Professor Gast says.

"What do you need, boss?" He leans back and crosses his arms. They are thicker than Sephiroth's legs. "Enjoying that evening stroll?"

Sephiroth's eyes leave him for the weapon again. The sword is a real weapon. This isn't something that goes after the local wildlife. It is heavy and solid. This is something that is meant to kill people and is very good at that job.

A hand comes down on his shoulder, centering his scattered attention.

"It's been fine. I wanted you to meet Sephiroth. Sephiroth, meet Orlin. He's my bodyguard…of sorts."

Orlin half laughs and takes a drink out of the cup next to him. "If he ever needs one, the professor only stays in his office and goes to remote locations. Everybody laughs for such a cushy assignment."

"Orlin has a habit of complaining about anything." Professor Gast ushers Sephiroth into a chair before finding another chair. "The more important topic is who he is."

The big man stills and raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? Who I am?"

The warmth of the room gets to his toes. He wiggles them experimentally in his boots and shifts on the seat.

"S, Orlin is a SOLDIER. Do you know about that?"

Sephiroth shakes his head. The edge of the sword is raw in places. Chucks of metal are gone because of the countless monsters. Orlin's fingers pass over the hilt and Sephiroth looks away.

"You shouldn't. Not yet, anyways. SOLDIER is a new secret program. We've been enhancing people like Orlin with mako. It makes them stronger than anyone else. They protect Midgar and the planet from all hazards."

"Except boredom," Orlin supplies idly.

Professor Gast's continues without any notice. "He went through the same treatment that you'll be going through. Can you talk about the mako exposure? The secondary one, not the primary."

Orlin's eyes lock on Sephiroth. "What are you talking about? He's not tall enough to hold a shovel."

"I will explain later. Can you talk about the treatment? The one with the mask?"

Orlin leans against the table and it shifts in his direction. Sephiroth is in awe. He has always been skinny. This SOLDIER's arms change shape as he crosses and then uncrosses them. He drags the weapon off the table and sets it against his chair.

"I'm drawing a blank on what you want me to say here, professor."

"What did we do and how did you feel?"

Sephiroth is listening to every breath this man takes. It would be incredible to be like him, so strong and confident that he would be okay sitting alone in this room without a worry in his head. He could snap the table in two. Sephiroth is sure.

He speaks slowly, "The second treatment, I put on this mask and it had mako in the air. It made me fall asleep and then I slept through the rest. End of story, kid."

Orlin takes a deep drink of the beer and stares him down. He's digging under the surface to find out why. Sephiroth knows that it isn't his place to say. Mariella made him promise not to tell anyone who he really is.

"Did you hurt afterward?" Sephiroth asks instead.

"No. I was a little groggy but it was like a hangover or maybe a headache. Why are-"

Professor Gast interrupts them. "What happened to you was uncontrolled and unfortunate, S. This way is better. Orlin doesn't lie. Do you see that?"

"Yes." Sephiroth's voice is quiet. The edge of the sword is parallel with the window. Snow falls again in gray clusters. Already their steps are half forgotten in the slow. Soon they would be gone completely.

"Frankly, if I'm talking man-to-man here, in a couple years, there could be a war." Professor Gast's face is serious. "No one wants it but it is coming."

Sephiroth feels the sadness in his voice. War is bad. He knows it from the way that the adults frown about it. From the history books that Landon reads with him, people die. More people than this entire town die. Who could ever do that? He can't imagine anyone killing another person. Everyone seems unmovable. This is the way that it has been, a quiet Nibelheim with quiet houses and lives.

"We need people like Orlin to keep places like this safe. We need you to help us find another solution before it's too late. Your heritage can show us the way." Professor Gast continues.

Sephiroth wishes that he isn't part of this conversation. He knows what is going to happen next. The professor leans over and puts his fingers on his hands. His face is sad but strong. No matter how he feels, Sephiroth imagines, he is going to do the right thing for everyone else.

"I know you aren't the happiest here but I want to ask you to stick it out and try the treatment. What do you say?"

The hand squeezes and Sephiroth closes his eyes. Fear is in his stomach. The mako burns are phantoms against his skin and he pulls himself closer. He thinks of Mariella, Charlie and even Landon. He thinks of war, this SOLDIER and the sword on the table.

"Okay," he says and looks at him, "I can try."

"Thank you." The sadness lingers in Professor Gast's eyes.

Chapter Text

Winter, 1983

Sephiroth shifts on the couch in the living room. His legs swing free. He leans back and tries to close his eyes. He can't. He's too scared. He tries to keep track of everything happening to him.

The humming machine squats below him. Mariella and Landon double check the computers connected to it by snaky cords. Neither one will look at him. Some of the pipes have green light coming out of them. It looks a bit like their vacuum cleaner as it sucks in air rhythmically and breathes it out through a clear tube.

Professor Gast had helped him dissect it yesterday. Sephiroth had been allowed to pull it apart and see how the lungs brought in the air and intermixed it with mako. Professor Gast's fingers had traced the lines that powered the mechanisms and showed him the filters that made it safe. They had looked at the dials and switches. He had gotten to flip all of them and heard the snapping sounds. It calmed his heart. It still smelled wrong, like someone had poured chemicals into the mud.

It sighs at his feet now and feeds into the mask he's holding to his face.

Professor Gast sits next to him on the couch, relaxed but watching him. His arm is around his shoulders. This steadies him. It's not so hard then. Sephiroth tries to smile through the clear plastic but it cuts hard into his cheeks. Gast squeezes him gently.

The air is sweet and tangy like the ground. The fear starts to melt. This isn't as bad as his nightmares. This is like laying in the sun in summer after a long day of running around. Something shifts inside him, falling out of place. Everything is heavy. The room flickers translucent around the corners. He coughs.

"Easy now." A strong hand covers his.

His muscles relax and he slackens against the professor. It is okay. He probably shouldn't be using him as a pillow but he might not mind. They had told him he could pull off the mask at any moment but he doesn't want to. He's too tired and this feels good. The worries and tiredness that are heavy against him disappears. Parts of him disconnects, spinning off in creamy whiteness.

The adults whisper. He's being adjusted. His legs are brought up on the couch and he's stretched out. Someone props his head on a pillow in Professor Gast's lap. The elastics of the mask dig into his cheeks. A blanket falls over him. They are right, he realizes, he's going cold and warm at once. One of Gast's arms lays over his chest, pinning him from floating off into space. The machine continues to breath. It chirps every minute. He's counted three beeps but no longer knows how many more. The grip he has on the room loosens.

"Are you really going to sit there with him through the whole treatment?" Marielle's voice comes from far away.

That thought worries him. He can still barely feel. When he's gone, he needs Professor Gast stay with him, to protect him from the bad things. He tries to tighten his numb fingers against the large ones wrapped around his hand on his stomach.

"Neither one of you have kids, correct?"

The blanket is warm now. His breaths are even. It feels like there is a vibration in the couch, tickling him. His mind slips away like the floor is wet. It is only a couple days until Christmas. Would there be presents this year? There were a few under the tree last year. Maybe there would be new books to read. Everything left in the library is too hard. It takes him hours to get through a page and nothing happens anyways. Would Professor Gast to stay through the holiday?

"A word of advice. Kids need stability and protection. They need comfort that isn't surface level." The hand squeezes his. "So to answer your question, yes, I will sit here with him until he wakes up. I suggest you do the same in the future."

If the voices answer, Sephiroth has no regard for them. He'll be okay. The mako makes his lips tingle and a buzzing settles in his chest. The mask's pinching fades. He loses against the machine. The planet's energy hums in his ears. His eyes finish closing. His body slackens into the couch. He hears the machine chirp one more time and then he is gone, sinking far away into the green mist.

Pages turn. They crinkle in a slow rhythm. Sephiroth is curled up on his side. His hands and knees are tangle up near him. Hair covers half his face. Everything is loose and soft. Charlie pants nearby. Woods pops in the fireplace. Another page turns and he moves his head up towards the sound. Professor Gast is reading. A book is propped in his hand and he's studying the page. He did stay.

The mask is gone. The treatment is over. He's been napping like they said he was going to. Everything is sleepy still. His head is on a pillow against Professor Gast's leg. The blanket has fallen to his shoulder. Gast takes a drink out of the mug next to him and sighs. Sephiroth watches him as his eyes dip. It feels nice just to watch someone. For once, he isn't the one being studied. Eventually, an ache in his leg forces him to stretch them.

Professor Gast pauses, page in the middle of a turn. "Are you back with us, S?"

Sephiroth nods and rolls on his back, not trusting himself to speak yet.

He sets the book down. "How are you feeling?"

"Tingly." He realizes it as he says it. His fingers and toes vibrate and thrum with energy. They stay in place only because the rest of him is so sleepy.

"Aftereffects of the mako. Nothing out of the ordinary. It'll fade," Professor Gast says solemnly. "Does anything hurt?"

Sephiroth shakes his head and closes his eyes for a moment. The buzzing is in his teeth. He scrunches his face up. It makes Professor Gast's seriousness break and he chuckles down at him. It feels nice. He did something right.

"I thought you might like a little Christmas present. I picked it up back in Midgar. They are popular there." He shifts and knocks Sephiroth's head as he reaches in his pocket. Sephiroth tries to sit up but his arms are wobbly. He compromises by leaning up against Professor Gast so he doesn't have to strain to look up at him.

A little figurine fits in Sephiroth's hand. He has to focus to keep his fingers around it. It is a toy soldier. The detail dazzles him. The face is grimaced and eyes seem real. The joints are loose and move with the gravity. Light scars follow his arms and neck. A sword hangs in the fist. He grins. It's incredible.

He struggles to look at the professor. "Thank you."

"You are welcome, S. Merry Christmas." This time his voice is soft and his fingers drift towards Sephiroth's hair. That makes him look up at him. The fingers halt sharply. Professor Gast's face twists.

Sephiroth blinks. He knows already.

His eyes are a different color again.

Chapter Text

CLASSIFIED. CLEARANCE: EXECUTIVE. SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY. HARD COPY ONLY. STORAGE #31 - NIBELHEIM MANSION.

Project S Report #831230.1024

Friday, Dec 30, 1983 at 10:24 AM

From: Mariella Haynes <[email protected]>

Cc: Landon Lemb <[email protected]>

To: “[email protected]” <[email protected]>

—

Hello Professor Hojo,

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Someone told me you are married. I hope that you are both well and able to spend time together this holiday season. Landon and I are both celebrating in our own way: a little champagne and rewarding results.

Attached is a brief report on the progress and development of Project S. Under the instruction of Professor Gast, we started your exposure program, 15 minutes rounds for five weeks. We have completed the second round this week. Sephiroth has continued to develop in his physical stature with no ill effects. The Cetra cells are successfully absorbing the mako. We are taking biological samples to track any molecular changes.

We are continuing the new education and stimulation program as well. It is working and keeps Sephiroth focused most of the day. He gets frustrated at times with the exercises but he receives remarkable grades for only being, biologically, three years old. Landon and I agree that Sephiroth continues to express himself physically and intellectually at an older age. Most indications show he is meeting the developmental milestones of a seven year old with further growth in intellectual areas.

All details are in the attached report.

The next treatment is on January 4th 1984.

Yours sincerely,

Mariella Haynes

—

Project S Report #840112.1749

Thursday, Jan 12, 1984 at 5:49 PM

From: Mariella Haynes <[email protected]>

Cc: Landon Lemb <[email protected]>

To: “[email protected]” <[email protected]>, “Professor Gast” <[email protected]>

—

Hello Professor Hojo,

How are things in Midgar? Landon and I are still both talking about how we miss the New Year party at HQ. We did have a celebratory drink after Sephiroth went to bed but it is nothing like the party that Shinra throws. I know you rarely ever attend those events. This is for the best since R&D is famous for blowing off steam and passing out on the department floor.

Three years on and we still think of it. Of course, we are both thankful for the opportunity to work on Project S but the snow is deep and we rarely see the town residents now. There are only so many topics that Landon and I can think to talk about.

The fourth treatment went as planned on January 11th. Sephiroth is cooperative and seems to even enjoy the process. The effect of treatment has slowed slightly. Psychologically, he responds to doing “hard work” and has been trying to go for hikes regardless of the snow. He likes self determined projects. He found a wiped broken computer in recycling and now has it spread across the dining room table. We printed out the manual and he asks us vocabulary words all day.

We are noting the beginning of a reoccurring nightmare. For the last few weeks, Sephiroth has woken up disturbed between the hours of 2-4 a.m.. He cites being afraid of a “woman with wings who chokes me in bed”. Usually some water, listening and a thorough check of the room is enough to get him back asleep. When the weather is more hospitable, we will be purchasing a night light.

We are yet to find the stimulus for this fear. Landon is reexamining his pre approved books to see if there was any oversight.

Please see the attached report for the statistics and details. Please note the frequencies of nightmares and the increase in abnormal cell count. None of the abnormal cells are expressing any rapid or dangerous replication.

He also has taken a great interest in Professor Gast and wishes to write him a letter. Do you or Professor Gast have any opposition?

The next treatment is on January 18th.

Yours sincerely,

Mariella Haynes

—

Project S Letter ID #840116.0956

Hello

Monday, Jan 16, 1984 at 09:56 AM

From: Mariella Haynes <[email protected]>

Bcc: Landon Lemb <[email protected]>, “[email protected]” <[email protected]>

To: “Professor Gast” <[email protected]>

—

Dear Professor Gast,

“Professor” is a hard word to spell. It has too many ss. Ms. Haynes is letting me type on her computer but she says she is not reading it. This is from Sephiroth. This is not Ms. Haynes.

Mariella tells me to tell you how I am. I am good. Charlie is good but he had an accident yesterday. It was not on the rug. The green gas is not good but not bad. I feel brave like you told me.

I am practicing my letter writing. It is nice to write a real person and not a dead person from my history book like for homework. Landon says my writing “needs work”. Would you help me get better?

What are you working on? When are you visiting?

Charlie tells me to say hello.

Sephiroth

PS. This is a secret letter. Keep it secret.

PS. I have a computer all over the dining room table. Mariella doesn’t like it. I do.

—

Project S Letter ID #840116.1843

RE: Hello

Monday, Jan 16, 1984 at 06:43 PM

From: “Professor Gast” <[email protected]>

To: Mariella Haynes <[email protected]>

—

Dear S -

I am delighted and so surprised to get your letter today. We were busy at work and I had not had a chance to sit down and read my email until now. Little did I know that I would find a thoughtful letter from my silver haired friend. It made me very happy to hear from you.

I am sorry to hear about Charlie and his accident. Perhaps he needs to be let out more often or have a few more walks a day? Remember, he can’t speak and tell you when he needs to go to the bathroom so you have to watch for him to tell you in other ways. This is true for people as well. Sometimes we are all trapped in places that we could use a little help getting out of. If that doesn’t make sense, please tell me and I can talk about it further.

Look out your window. Do you see all that snow? That is part of my work. Midgar is under construction. We are building a city on top of a city. It is a silly thought but we have very smart people here. The snow is making us put those special people called SOLDIERs to work. They are having to move snow and ice. I am tracking how tired they get. Orlin is grumpy because of this weather. Do you like the snow?

Good job on the mako treatments. Keep at it. Tell Mariella or Landon if anything feels strange. This is not supposed to hurt. I am not sure when a visit is my future. I apologize.

How is Charlie doing? What did you learn about today in class?

- G

P.S. Do you know that “PS” stands for “post scriptum” in Latin? Can you find out what that means?

P.P.S. When you write an additional note, add another “P”.

—

Project S Letter ID #840203.0803

RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Hello

Friday, Feb 03, 1984 at 08:03 AM

From: Mariella Haynes <[email protected]>

Bcc: Landon Lemb <[email protected]>, “[email protected]” <[email protected]>

To: “Professor Gast” <[email protected]>

—

Dear Professor Gast -

Thank you for the picture of you and the plate. It looks strange and so high up in the air. I hope that you don’t fall off because it looks like it is a long way down. Did you see Orlin waving in the back of your photo? Is he afraid of heights too?

School is boring and sometimes it’s like we are doing the same stuff day after day. We are learning about “geography” right now. The world is big. You travel so you know how big but I don’t travel so I don’t know how big it is. The town is big to me and when I walk to the edge of town, the hills look even bigger. The hills are so small that they aren’t on our map. "Home" was written in pen on our globe. Ms. Haynes did it.

Ms. Haynes tells me they are extending mako gas experiments again. Eight times is not enough. She says twelve and for longer. She is wrong but when I tell her she tells me that “it is the way it is”. She says that a lot now.

I am not speaking with the planet yet. How do I speak with the planet? If I speak with the planet, then everything will be right and everyone will be happy. I would like that.

I remember “being patient”. Ms. Haynes prints out your letters so I can read them when I want. I read them a lot because I forget sometimes. I think about being patient but being patient is very hard. The adults ask dumb questions.

I have to stop writing. Ms. Haynes is calling. Thank you for all the letters.

- S

—

Project S Report #840215.0613

-FLAGGED MESSAGE-

Monday, Feb 15, 1984 at 06:13 AM

From: Mariella Haynes <[email protected]>

Cc: Landon Lemb <[email protected]>, “Professor Gast” <[email protected]>

To: “[email protected]” <[email protected]>

—

Dear Professor Hojo,

I am writing to report the immediate damages to Project S and the emergency shutdown of the mako exposure program.

As reported previously, Sephiroth has been showing behavioral changes throughout the last month. Landon and myself agree this correlates to the increased and lengthened mako exposures. He has been more aggressive and frustrated. He has been quicker to anger and while he is still manageable, has been growing less so. This is a distinct behavioral difference. Sephiroth has always been independent but respected the house rules.

We have been testing and recording data for memory loss for the last fifteen days. Sephiroth’s intelligence and comprehension has increased radically but he has not maintained any information after 48 hours. On eight occasions, he has not been able to tell me what he has eaten for dinner the night prior. He consistently forgets events even after expressing excitement about them. He has asked on multiple occasions where he left his shoes or other material.

On February 8th, Sephiroth struggled with which the month it was despite looking at the snow.

On February 10th, we found Sephiroth lost in the basement. He claimed that he did not remember how to get out and was going to wait for us to find him. We estimate that he had been in the room for two hours and was three doors away from the stairs.

These signs point to the beginning of severe memory loss. This is the cause for the uptick in upset and aggressive behavior. He can only recall consistent things: Charlie, ourselves, or Professor Gast’s correspondence.

At this point, all this information has already been reported and we were encouraged to continue with the regular mako treatment on February 15th.

On February 14th, we were in a meeting with the R&D department at 5 p.m.. During this time, Sephiroth unlocked his bedroom door and took the dog for a walk. We were alerted to this when the dog returned by himself and barked outside at approximately 5:45 p.m.. We searched the house and when we could not find Sephiroth, we started to search outside.

We did not find Sephiroth. Jean Collet found him in a snowdrift two miles away from the house. She recognized him and was en route to the Shinra Mansion when we found them. He was unconscious and suffering from advanced hypothermia. Using emergency treatment, he has regained consciousness but cannot remember anything about the last week.

I have come to the conclusion that we need to stop mako treatment until this situation can be analyzed. Further exposure may cause more brain damage. I am sorry to make such an executive decision but we cannot move forward with the 45 minute exposure treatment scheduled today. We are hoping for a swift recovery. Sephiroth is not speaking so it is hard to gauge.

We are happy to call and discuss any of this with you at any point.

Thank you.

Mariella Haynes

Chapter Text

CLASSIFIED. CLEARANCE: EXECUTIVE. SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY. HARD COPY ONLY. STORAGE #31 - NIBELHEIM MANSION.'

Project S Letter ID #840219.1108

RE: Hello To A Chilly Friend

Tuesday, Feb 21, 1984 at 11:08 AM

From: Mariella Haynes <[email protected]>

Bcc: Landon Lemb <[email protected]>, “[email protected]” <[email protected]>

To: “Professor Gast” <[email protected]>

—

Dear Professor Gast -

I am sorry that I didn’t write sooner. I haven’t been feeling well since I slept in a snowdrift. I’ve been in my bed a lot with wires and cords attached to me. It is warm and sleepy here. Mariella keeps telling me that I am sick. I need to recover so I can start remembering things. Things are fuzzy in my mind. I can remember most everything but the details are all gone. It is frustrating to be told that I am not remembering things because I cannot remember not remembering them. That is a very complicated sentence. Does that make sense?

I took a nap here. Typing and thinking is hard.

Thank you for writing me a new letter even though I didn’t write you back yet. Who told you about what happened? I am trying to take care of myself but Mariella and Landon are doing it for me. Except Landon doesn’t do much. He is upset with me. I think that it is because they decided to stop treatment.

I know that I am not supposed to like being taken care of but it feels so good. I get to sleep all the time. Mariella brings me books she thinks I’ll like. Charlie gets to sleep on my bed. School is only an hour a day and easy things. I don’t have to do my chores.

Everything is sore. I am much bigger than I was and my arms and legs are stretched out. I look in the mirror and don’t see myself. I’m tall now. I can reach the top cabinets in the kitchen. I thought that there would be something special in those cabinets so I snuck down to look last Friday. All I found is Landon’s wine and a couple of pieces of chocolate in the bottom of a big bag. I didn’t eat the chocolate. I know she only eats it when she is stressed.

I want to explore like you. There are so many places that I haven’t been to. The mountains have hiking paths. There is also a Shinra reactor there. I want to see it. Mariella and Landon don’t let me go. They keep an eye on me. They don’t trust me even though I am starting to remember my lessons. Mariella seems scared. I don’t know why. Do you know why?

Thank you for the photo of the Shinra building. It looks so different than anything we have here. I didn’t know that anyone could get that much glass. Maybe someday you can show me it?

Please come see me soon. I miss you.

-Sephiroth

P.S. “Healing” is boring.

—

Chapter Text

Spring, 1984

Sephiroth hurries around the mansion’s garden. Today is one of the first days that it feels like spring has come back to Nibelheim. Mud sticks to his shoes and he listens to birds cry at him. The beds of plants are starting to come up. He’s watched Landon tend to the garden from his window the last few weeks as he has recovered.

He checked behind him. The front of the mansion is empty. He’s alone, a rare treat for him.

Sephiroth hums out a mix of songs as he combs the beds. The new radio has been playing every night. The sounds are nice in his ear but he knows it doesn’t sound good on the outside. It is early to be hoping to make a bouquet. The few pale flowers are in his arms. The rest is going to have to be greenery. It can work as he pulls up another plant. These wide thick leaves are different than the thin ones. It might be good enough.

His body feels wonderful as he crouches down. Arms, legs, elbows and knees, they are all going where he wants them to. Recently, he’s tripped and fallen too many times. They would fly out of his control and then send him stumbling. Now he won’t ever forget how thankful he is for control over his arms. Carefully, he snips off a few fragile leaves from another plant.

He is stronger too, as if his muscles are coated in iron that cannot break.

Charlie snuffs the garden behind him. Sephiroth stretches, pulling a few round leaves with long stems. The air is fresh since spring is here. Winter has given up and gone back up the mountains. The animals and town are waking up. Sephiroth has forgotten what other people looked like. Landon’s exhaustion and Mariella’s worried eyes took up his memory for the last few weeks.

The garden explodes in his hand. A rock by his shoe catches his eye. It’s jagged but silver flecks catch his eye. It goes in his pocket. It’s a good addition. The mansion’s ivy is bright green again as he heads back inside. Mariella is in the office “drowning in paperwork”. Landon should be cleaning the areas that are not on Sephiroth’s list. He finished his earlier.

His free fingers drag up the banister until he turns to the extra wing. He’s had energy the last few days. All the resting that he did is now stockpiled inside him and it makes him so happy. He could run until he got to the ocean and then keep going until he reached the end of the world. The third door to the left is a guest bedroom. Fresh sheets are on the bed. Sephiroth scans the room to make sure everything is neat. Very soon, there would be someone living in this room. Would Professor Gast sit at the desk or on his bed? Would he put his suitcase at the end of the bed? Would he notice how clean the room is?

It isn’t much but it is cozy. The walls are brown but the lighter colored desk, drapes and bed make it brighter. He hopes that it is good enough for the Professor since he lives in Midgar. A drinking glass stolen from the kitchen sits near the window. The cut plants go in and he pokes a couple to make it look more natural. The strange rock goes next to it. One of Professor Gast’s letters noted that he has plants in his kitchen that he struggles to keep alive.

Sephiroth’s stomach turns as he checks through the window. The main road into town is still empty. In the last visit, Professor Gast had come by helicopter and then car. Now the highways are clear and he is coming by car. It is easier so he can work on the way. He’s been counting down the hours since he found out three days ago. The email of their upcoming arrival sent both Landon and Mariella in a spin.

It’s for work, Professor Gast wrote, but I hope we can have a moment to catch up as well. With luck, it will be a quick trip with easy answers.

He hopes that the professor is wrong so they can be together a while longer. Sephiroth had spotted in Mariella’s inbox another email Professor Gast sent that he wasn’t able to read. He wonders what it said.

“A bouquet?” Landon says behind him. He’s slumped against the door frame with a dusting rag in his hands.

“Yes.” The smile falls away as Sephiroth moves away from the window. He eyes the plants.

“It’s a nice idea,” Landon says. The words curl around each other in Sephiroth’s mind. It’s a lie. He doesn’t think it is a nice idea. He thinks that Professor Gast won’t like them at all. Or he’s mad at him. His mouth works but nothing comes out. Landon brushes his pants and sighs.

“Are you upset I didn’t ask?” Sephiroth says.

“It’s too bad on the fern but what is done is done.” Landon pushes off the door and stops. “Look, just be careful with the professor.”

“He’s my friend.”

“Right.” Something in his eyes flickers and he walks away.

Sephiroth looks at the empty doorway. He won’t go after him. Over and over, Landon has pushed him into feeling things that he didn’t want to feel. When he gets tired, he gets even worse. Sephiroth turns away. The bouquet sits on the desk. The green leaves are clear in the sunlight. He presses his fingers on a leaf, trying to make it grow.

Nothing. It is like pushing a wall. Nothing gives. The leaf only looks weaker when he pulls his fingers away.

Still, Landon breaks into his thoughts. Is there a sign that he is missing about the professor? He could be writing the letters to pass the time. Sephiroth has been asking him to come and it is only a work trip that makes him travel here. Maybe he isn’t important. He didn’t come after he slept in the drift. A friend would have come for that. Professor Gast had written that the pass was blocked with snow and that he couldn’t leave his work on the new plate.

He scrunches up his face and tries to go on with his day.

Sephiroth ends up in front of a cardboard box that he keeps under his bed. He palms through all the printed letters that they have written. Phrases from his letters come out to greet him: I am eager to see you soon one day. Great job on translating that Latin passage. Keep at all the hard work, I know that it isn’t easy growing up but it will all be worth it in the end. It is good to have someone to write to outside of Midgar.

Sephiroth lets out a breath. Landon has to be wrong. He has to be but why would he say that?

The car comes when the sky is streaked with red. The black vehicle has big wheels chunked with mud and dust covers the surface. Sephiroth hovers on the balcony as Marielle and Landon stand by the road. He can’t make himself go down the stairs. The nerves have gotten to him. Their letters have been frequent but it could not translate into life in person. He could say the wrong thing. The professor could not recognize him. His head is almost at the height of Landon’s shoulders and his hair has fallen to his chin. He should have cut it shorter. He looks like a slob.

Charlie pounds down the steps from his side and barks as Orlin comes out first. The dog’s whole body wiggles as he circles around the SOLDIER. He’s gristled and lazy as he moves. His eyes scan everyone and settle on Sephiroth. The tiredness leaves him as he does a half wave. Sephiroth lifts a hand. He tries to control his breathing. It is a good sign but it could be nothing more than a polite hello.

Orlin knocks on the door and leans against the car. The passenger door clicks open. Professor Gast reappears in Sephiroth’s life. The gray in his hair shines and he squints as he straightens his jacket. The worries shift back. He still has the same warmth from before. Professor Gast shakes the hands of Mariella and Landon. They chatter at him. Sephiroth realizes he’s coming down the stairs. He doesn’t know it until he’s almost stumbling down the last step. He stops again.

Professor Gast is skinnier than he remembers. His neck has wires and cords in it but the softness is still there. He looks at his staff like they mean something to him. He nods as they talk. Sephiroth blinks. They are both really here. Orlin is against the car, arms crossed and grinning at the professor.

Sephiroth puts his hand on the porch railing behind him. His throat is dry.

Professor Gast laughs at something and shakes his head. Charlie circles around, kicking up gravel. They look comfortable with each other. He’s outside it. He is alone. Even before, when they look at him, he doesn’t feel the way that these people feel now. They enjoy each other. He’s outside that with glass between them. Any second, they turn on him, glaring at his intrusion and tear him apart. A foggy memory tells him it’s happened before.

His foot slides back.

He should go back in the house. He could pretend that he isn't excited and that nothing has happened.

Gravel crunches as he takes another step back. His heel hits the porch step when he forgets to lift it.

“S. What are you doing over there?” Professor Gast shouts as the noise catches his attention. He walks away from everyone. It pulls Sephiroth so far and fast out of his own thoughts that he freezes in place.

Professor Gast is smiling and breeze tugs against his hair. “I was looking for you and there you are hiding! You’ve grown. When did that happen? Overnight?”

The familiarity in his tone is overwhelming. Sephiroth’s tongue sticks to the top of his mouth. He desperately wants to look away but can’t manage it.

“Are you feeling better these days? Did you get that torn down phone to work again?”

The world spins.

Professor Gast doesn’t notice.

“Orlin says that once I see you, I’ll stop talking about you. Don’t believe him. I don’t talk about you all the time.”

Sephiroth doesn’t know what to do. He can’t think. He’s going lightheaded.

“Come here.”

He is there in front of him. His arms come around Sephiroth’s shoulders and draw him into his chest. He stumbles forward. His own hands go halfway between embracing and guarding. The stale smell of gasoline and coffee surround him. The blue knit of the fabric tickles his nose.

A hand draws protectively onto the back of his skull and pulls him in even closer.

“I’m glad you are okay.”

It is whispered.

Sephiroth returns the hug.

And it feels so good.

Chapter Text

Spring, 1984

“And there we go. Last one.”

Professor Gast places the gauze against the soft spot on Sephiroth’s arm and removes the needle. It stings but the pain disappears. Blood continues to drip through the line and into the tube for a moment longer. It is strange to see his blood outside himself. That red fluid lived inside him and now he will never see it again. The test tube is foreign as Professor Gast brings it up to check.

Sephiroth’s hand comes down over the bandage. Professor Gast leans back in his chair, holds a marker, pauses, frowns and scrawls on the paper label. He’s smiling but pressure has been building on his shoulders the last week. His expressions are quieter and he says less every day. The warmth is there but something is happening. Sephiroth hopes that it isn’t because of something he has done.

“You are a trooper, S. The amount of biological data needed is tremendous. The answer must be airtight.” The creases are dark around his eyes. The vial rolls loose in his hand as he stares at Sephiroth.

He shrugs on the couch. “It’s okay.”

It really is okay. They’ve been taking blood samples since he was born. This is nothing out of the ordinary. What is out of the ordinary is that Sephiroth’s blood seems to be the answer to some riddle. A riddle that he doesn’t know or understand.

“You’re doing well. You know that, right?”

Sephiroth nods and looks down, trying for his shoes but ends up on the label.

P-S 3y 4m 84.04.24 8/8

“What is it for? The blood?” He dares to ask.

Professor Gast’s gloves wrap around the label. It smears. Black smudges are on the gloves as he places it in a silver box with the rest and locks it. Slowly, he peels off the gloves and sets them aside.

He talks as if he is building the words as he goes. “We need to analyze some biological data. We need to determine how close you are to your mother.”

“Jenova?” His heart beats quick. He doesn’t hear that word very often. Neither Mariella nor Landon will talk about her to him.

“Yes. We still have some samples from her.” The finality in his tone shuts down any further questions.

Sephiroth returns his eyes to his fingers and holds himself stiff. That was the wrong question to ask. He’s sure that the professor will snap at him soon and they won’t be friends anymore.

Every day Professor Gast and Orlin have gone off into the mountains. Orlin returns with a heavy backpack. Professor Gast returns with a white face and no time for Sephiroth. He disappears into his room for hours. The SOLDIER sticks around and humors Sephiroth but doesn’t go out of his way to entertain him. Once Sephiroth is allowed to hold the sword that Orlin leaves by the door. It is almost as tall as him and he shakes lifting it. He gouges a wall as he finds the balance. Plaster ends up on the floor but Orlin only laughs and kicks the majority of it under the rug. Sephiroth moves a chair to the left. No one has noticed.

Mariella still insists on education and normal activities like chores as well. It almost kills him when they are gone for the day. It is only in the evenings after dinner that Sephiroth gets to spend time with Professor Gast. Over the last week, they had worked through all the board games and card games that Sephiroth could play. They had even tried something called “poker” which Landon took one look at and shook his head.

Professor Gast’s eyes are far beyond him or this room as the worry covers them over. Then his usual ease snaps on him and he raises from the chair.

“A promise is a promise, come on, let’s go.” He laughs to himself. “The logic behind this is strange at best but Orlin is convincing.”

“I’m excited.” Sephiroth smiles but it flickers. He’s nervous but he won’t say it. The professor has invited him to eat at the inn with him and Orlin. They usually dine at the mansion but it is their last night before returning to Midgar. The dinner would have been enough at the inn but Orlin insists on real drinks.

Sephiroth has never sat at that sort of table before.

Now when he sits staring at the glass of beer in front of him, he is wholly unsure about doing this. The inn is warm and slow-moving. Spring is the quiet season for Nibelheim.

“Come on kid, it isn’t going to bite you.” Orlin lifts his mug. “I’ve had to fight damn monsters all week for this idiot. Drink for me.”

“I recall on several occasions you complaining that I didn’t give you enough action,” Professor Gast says as he stacks their dinner plates aside. He’s taken several sips of his own drink and the air is souring. He’s seen alcohol work on both Mariella and Landon. It is doing the same to these two. They are relaxing and loosening in front of him.

Sephiroth moves the glass and watches it slosh. “I think that I might be too young for this.”

“Please, you look, what, ten now? I’m not asking how that is even possible but my father introduced me to beer at ten. Faremis, when did you first take your sip of the bad stuff?” Orlin asks.

“My mother used to put white wine in my bottle to put me to sleep.” Professor Gast takes another drink. Both of them have gotten a refill while Sephiroth hasn’t touched his.

“No.”

“To answer more truly, I was at a teen party when it was by my choice.” His eyes shine with laughter. “They recommended the punch. I would not recommend the punch as I cannot recall what happened afterward.”

“Remember the killer hangover?” Orlin raises an eyebrow.

“Perhaps.”

“That’s it. I won’t drink. Ever.” Sephiroth doesn’t want to forget anything ever again.

Orlin shakes his head. “I’m afraid that won’t be the case as long as you work for Shinra.”

Sephiroth frowns. He doesn’t work for Shinra. They help him out but he doesn’t work for them. Mariella and Landon do but he’s a kid.

Professor Gast takes another drink. “This is less than 6% alcohol. You won’t miss anything, I promise. I drank near poison that night.”

Sephiroth considers the nasty stuff in his cup one more time.

“I tried that once.” Orlin drawled as his eyes wandered around Gast.

He gets the reaction he wants. Professor Gast lets out a laugh. “What? Drinking poison?”

Sephiroth sniffs the glass as he takes it back into his hands. The current conversation goes on without him. It smells off like something Mariella would swear at and then throw away.

“The mako makes that stuff not work-.”

“You do not have to educate me on this,” Professor Gast cuts him off.

Sephiroth tips the cup up. The weight tips and the beer inches down the glass. The two adults are absorbed with each other so it is safe to stick out his tongue and dip it in. Maybe it is only a rotten smell. None of the adults ever complain about the flavor.

“Oh yeah. Well. I tried a little. Dipped a fry in ant poison on a Friday evening. I was good and drunk.”

“Orlin…”

“Nobody tells you that mako doesn’t make it stop from making you feel like you are going to die.”

Sephiroth is so surprised by this that he loses concentration. The glass tips. The beer comes rushing down. It floods his mouth. He swallows an entire mouthful before he gets it to tip back. Bitterness and sourness burn down his throat. The glass cracks against the table as he presses himself forward, gagging.

Orlin slaps him on the back. “Welcome to adulthood. Everything that should be good sucks.”

Water runs from his eyes. Acid is in his swimming stomach. He wipes his face and coughs. Do people drink this for fun? Professor Gast laughs as he gets up to get him water. When it arrives in his hands, Sephiroth drinks most of it, trying to get the strange bile taste out. It is like he’s thrown up in his mouth.

“That is a negative reaction on beer,” Professor Gast says and rubs his back.

“He’ll grow up to be one of the snooty red wine drinkers,” Orlin replies.

The hand stops and curls against the fabric.

“He’ll get that chance.”

Sephiroth doesn’t have to look up to know that the worry is back in his face. It is about his mother.

“Do you know anything about her? My mom?” He asks.

Professor Gast smiles and pats his shoulder. “I didn’t know your mother personally. I apologize.”

“My dad?”

Orlin interrupts. “Damn. You are a true orphan, aren’t you kid?”

“I don’t need parents.” Sephiroth sits tall in his chair. It’s true. He’s been fine without them.

“Okay, Mr. Tough Guy. Take another sip. Sometimes it is better on a second try.” Orlin nudges the abandoned mug in his direction.

Sephiroth shakes his head. “I don’t think that is such a good idea.”

“Stop pressing him,” Professor Gast says, “There is no need for him to become a raging alcoholic.” It feels like the last part is aimed directly at Orlin.

“What? Me? I’m not one. Couldn’t ruin your reputation.”

“Not yet. We will all have to be careful. Remember the bad things in this world that make you feel good have their own cost.”

Sephiroth nods and takes another drink of water.

The conversation lapses into a gentle string of memories from their lives. Sephiroth listens and absorbs it all. Professor Gast used to play the piano. Orlin used to work on a chocobo farm. They both dislike this specific part of the drive back where the road is wide enough for a car and half and is littered with potholes. Sephiroth carefully ventures to tell them about how Charlie is learning to give his paw. Both adults give it the attention and importance of any of the other topics.

It fills him to be heard.

Time moves forward without his permission. The room starts to grow hazy. The lights blend together. He catches himself nodding into his chest as the adult voices lull in the background. He fights to try to stay awake but it is too late for that. He loses track as he collapses in the chair. A few more times he wakes to hear them debating the merits of different types of materia.

At some point, he’s being carried back. Distantly, he studies Orlin’s chin but falls back under.

He recognizes the creak of the stairs and then he’s being laid down in his own bed. His shoes slip off and someone pulls the cover to his chin. Big fingers play with the edge, smoothing it. He can’t move. Everything is too heavy and he is safe with the voices above him.

“It’s too much for a kid,” Orlin whispers.

“It can’t be, he’s got so much further to go.” Fingers brush his cheek.

“We both know what those results are going to show, professor.”

“My policy is to wait for the results.”

“Then you’ll all meet.”

“Yes, we will all meet. Mariella already knows she is coming in. Landon will stay behind with S.”

“It’s funny. He doesn’t look like a monster to me.”

“He isn’t and he will not be until someone treats him like one.”

They stay for a moment longer and slip out. The conversation drifts away into the place that dreams go. Sephiroth sleeps better than he has all year.

When he wakes, they are gone.

A present is on his desk. It is wrapped in brown paper and a small white note is on top in Professor Gast’s handwriting.

This is untraceable, unhackable, and completely yours if you keep it safe. Record your days and memories, then you do not have to worry about forgetting again my dear S. - G

A leather journal is in the paper. A silver clasp keeps it shut. He opens it and all the pages fall open, blank and ready. He searches the road out of town from his window. The black car is gone and with it, Professor Gast.

Chapter Text

CLASSIFIED. CLEARANCE: EXECUTIVE - VIP LEVEL. SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY. HARD COPY ONLY. STORAGE #31 - NIBELHEIM MANSION.

MEETING TITLE: “JENOVA & PROJECT S”
PROJECT S MEETING TRANSCRIPT #840529

Meeting Attendees: Professor Gast, Professor Hojo, Mariella Haynes
Date of Interview: 05.29.84
Location of Interview: Room 6C, Floor 29, HQ
List of Acronyms:
Professor Gast=G
Professor Hojo=H
Mariella Haynes=M

Intelligent Verbatim Transcript

[Begin Transcript at 0:00:05]

Mariella (M): “Small meeting today?”

Professor Hojo (H): “Very few people know the true nature of Project S here at Shinra. You should count yourself lucky.”

M: “I think I can safely say that Mr. Lemb and I have found it to be a pleasure to work with Sephiroth. I hope we can continue to make headway with this program as we move forward.”

H: “Well, that depends on the recommendation of the Board, doesn’t it?”

Professor Gast (G): “Yes. Shall we start?”

[Pause]

G: “As we know, the results that have been brought back from my recent trip to Nibelheim have been conclusive. JENOVA is not a part of the Cetra race but is another entirely separate biological organism. Most research indicates that it is completely alien in nature.”

[01:00]

H: “Fascinating, is it not? We have been playing with foreign DNA for the last few years. It’s like playing with fire without being able to see it.”

G: “Fascinating or not, this was not the objective of Project S. Sephiroth has no means to lead us to the promised lands. This is further enforced by both Project G’s and Project S’ lack of progress in, as unscientifically as I can put it, ‘sensing’ the planet.”

M: “Sephiroth did try.”

H: “This is not about effort. This is about results.”

G: “Results that he cannot deliver. The Board has gone over the data and presentation about Project S. It requires funding among other support systems. They have recommended to R&D that the entire program be shut down against my wishes.”

M: “What does that mean?”

H: “Shut down of the entire program.”

G: “You all would be debriefed, reassigned to more relevant projects, the files would go into deep storage, JENOVA itself would be sent into dormancy. The NDA forms would not be released. The reactor would be shut down. The Nibelheim residents would get a written notice giving some substitute explanation. The townsfolk would be hurt by the lack of economy but there are other towns that-.”

[02:00]

H: “What about Sephiroth, himself?”

G: “They want the complete destruction of any mutated biological assets deemed dangerous.”

H: “Sephiroth?”

G: “Yes, Sephiroth has been marked for disposal.”

M: “No.”

H: “Project G?”

G: “…the Project G samples are allowed to live. Congratulations, Professor Hojo. Because of your methods, S, no, Project S is the only experiment that successfully had a high biological graph with JENOVA. The Project G samples are both infertile and did not come into what the Board decided was dangerous graphed value.”

M: “…disposal means?”

[03:00]

G: “The method of death…is up to us but the entirety of Sephiroth must be destroyed. No samples must remain. If the Board’s request goes through.”

M: “We can’t let this happen.”

H: “What are their concerns?”

G: “Without funding, he carries too much vital genetic data to be out of the control of Shinra. In their mind, he is a loaded gun.”

H: “Reproductively or physically?”

G: “They are concerned mostly about the spread of foreign biological data.”

H: “Surely Sephiroth is sterile from the extended mako exposure. Most humans are by the end of the mako therapy.”

M: “He’s still developing physically. We never thought to test it.”

G: “No need. His blood test shows positive indications of hormone development. If I was forced to guess, I would say the JENOVA cells make him resilient to mako. That also explains why trying to heal him is difficult. JENOVA fights the will of the planet. Regardless, they wish to stop the future uncontrollable spread of alien DNA.”

[04:00]

H: “How about sterilization?”

G: “I’m afraid that the Board would consider it reversible in the wrong hands.”

H: “So this is about Wutai?”

G: “Politics should never mix with science but it inevitably does.”

M: “He’s so young to have that done.”

G: “He is too young to die by the recommended methods listed here.”

M: “Lethal injection…? I thought it was impossible?”

H: “We engineered a specific poison to kill rogue SOLDIERS last year. One dart in the back to knock them out and then another supplemental injection in the neck. They drop like flies. It’s beautiful. You should come watch sometime.”

M: “Gods. He would never see it coming.”

G: “The only comfort with this solution is that it is an easy death. Coupled with that initial sedative, he would drift off asleep and simply never wake up.”

H: “There is too much left to do with him. He has such untapped potential. We can aggravate the JENOVA cells. He could be of value.”

G: “I have given us an opportunity to present an alternative solution to the Board. If we don’t present it by the end of the day tomorrow, the project and Sephiroth are terminated, effective immediately. I cannot stress that they will most likely reject anything.”

M: “Who will…?”

G: “If you or Landon refuses, you will be forcibly removed from the premises and a stranger from another department will do it. They may decide to use a more unkind method.”

[04:41-04:55 No sound audible]

G: “Before you get too far down that line of thinking, may I remind you that Shinra can track the boy at any time.”

H: “You are the only one that knows where the tracker is located.”

[05:00]

G: “Correct.”

H: “Tell me.”

G: “Removal of the tracker sends out a distress signal.”

H: “Where is it? In the thigh? Chest cavity?”

G: “I can’t tell you.”

H: “Why not? I thought you cared for the boy.”

G: “Because as much as I despise this, I understand the calamity of science. I don’t want S to be scrubbed from this planet but running away with Project S, a Shinra funded program, will only lead to more death. The Turks and SOLDIER would be involved.”

[Pause]

G: “Think about it. Many would die and in the end, S would still die. That way it would be in fear and terror. He would know he was part monster. Our selfishness would only lead Sephiroth to more pain with the same outcome.”

M: “How can you be this heartless? Don’t you know that Sephiroth worships you? And you are suggesting that he should die?”

G: “Do not take my antipathy for heartlessness. You have undoubtedly read my letters. You know how I feel. Emotion is not going to get us a clearer answer to save S.”

H: “It is easy enough to sign a paper to kill a child that you do not understand. It’s such a waste.”

M: “Fine. We need another solution then.”

G: “He has shown great levels of intelligence. Why don’t we recommend he is transferred directly into my lab for further testing? He could become a strategist.”

H: “No one will ever trust him.”

M: “Not with those eyes.”

H: “They want nothing to do with JENOVA?”

G: “Not at this point.”

[06:00]

G: “I have offered to adopt the project as my own personal program and keep a close eye on him. I proposed it to the Board when they voted.”

H: “They said you were a fool.”

G: “No. Not in so many words but the answer was still no. They will not be convinced.”

M: “We need something that they are more afraid of than JENOVA.”

H: “The boogie man…?”

G: “If this was the time for childish yammering, Hojo, I would expressly tell you.”

H: “Well, the director of the R&D program does have teeth.”

G: “I will allow that comment this once.”

M: “What about SOLIDER?”

H: “What about them?”

G: “No. That is not an option.”

M: “It’s the only way. He is incredibly strong. What if JENOVA cells mixed with mako are the way forward? Towards a more effective SOLDIER program?”

H: “The president does fear Wutai. Use politics against them.”

G: “He is a child.”

H: “We both know that’s not true. No matter what, his childhood ended as soon as they had a vote on floor 64. Now it ends with poison in his veins, a bullet in his brains or as a child soldier. Grim choices at best.”

G: “Where is the integrity in this?”

M: “Where is the integrity in letting him die?”

H: “Where is the integrity in allowing a child to be exposed over and over to mako?”

G: “I could you ask you the same question.”

[07:00]

H: “What other solution do we have? Project S needs to survive. He is too valuable as an asset. We’ll use their fear against them.”

M: “He would be a good soldier, given a few years. He’s rule-abiding and a perfectionist. We could put him in proper school and train him. It keeps him under the umbrella of Shinra and has low overhead. As Professor Gast mentioned, he is as sharp as a whip. He could be the keystone to us beating Wutai.”

H: “Things can be put in place to better control him. The touch has been light but it doesn’t have to be this way.”

G: “I can’t approve this. This will turn him into a monster. His disposition isn’t for war and bloodshed. He will crumble. He will die in other ways.”

H: “Better that than this way.”

[07:20-45 No sound audible.]

M: “I’m sorry Professor Gast but we must move forward. Professor Hojo can present the idea.”

G: “They will still not approve this. I will not approve this.”

M: “Since Professor Hojo is in charge of the program, I am sure that the Board would be interested in his opinion.”

H: “Let him fight.”

M: “Let him survive.”

[Transcript End 08:13:03 Transcribed by Edin Morse. Reviewed and verified by Professor Hojo.]

Chapter Text

Summer, 1984

Charlie snuffs in Sephiroth’s asleep face. He frowns and curls onto his side trying to get away from him. He’s in the middle of a happy dream. Charlie crawls on top of him and the wet tongue rubs against his face until he yawns and stretches. The ground is damp against his back. The sun comes through the leaves into his eyes. The book that he was reading crunches under him. Mariella returned to the mansion yesterday but decided that she is too tired to start lessons today. He’s already had a week off from her going to Midgar but another day laying out in the yard is sweet and special.

The dog flops down on his stomach and rubs his head in his hands. Sephiroth automatically scratches behind his collar. Charlie snuffs in his neck in appreciation. He watches the road beyond the gate. Professor Gast hasn’t returned. There are no emails. He has Landon check every day. He says over and over that Professor Gast’s work has been overwhelming. Still, the silence is strange. Professor Gast usually warns him if he is going to be gone. Landon gets angry every time he asks. Without Mariella around, Sephiroth doesn’t ask anymore.

Still, he has been writing in his journal. It strengthens him inside. No matter what happens, he will be able to remember these times that are so important to him. The pages fill and fill with his thoughts this last month. He needs to record something for today. He yawns as he weighs the importance of what he is learning or what is happening in the book.

The tree chats above him in the breeze. The leaves are back after winter and he can’t wait to eat the apples that will be on the tree later. They could be starting to form now. He pushes the dog off and looks up. The branches don’t show any fruit. His palms press against the trunk and he tries to imagine his energy going into the tree.

Nothing.

He smiles and imagines that it is true.

“Sephiroth.”

“Yes?” He turns, still pushing against the tree. Landon stands in the middle of the doorway.

“I need you. Come into the living room.” His voice is soft and he disappears inside before Sephiroth could ask more.

Charlie barks and runs ahead of him as he hurries inside. At the door, he brushes the grass off his shirt and scrapes some of the mud from his shoes before following. The mansion has a different feel the last few days. He craves to be outside as if being inside is going to suffocate him. He’s happy that winter is over. Once both Mariella and Landon are good again, he plans to ask them if they could go to Midgar. So many of the pictures that Professor Gast has sent him look fake.

He tries to think about all the things that Professor Gast might be able to show him. Maybe he could take a day off work? Would that be asking too much?

The stairs to upstairs stretch out before him as he hurries. Mariella is still asleep upstairs. She’s taken a nap all afternoon. Sephiroth hasn’t seen her. She’s been a ghost in the corner of his eyes.

Landon stands by the couch. The medical bag sits next to him. He’s stiff like his SOLDIER toy upstairs by his bedside. Sephiroth pauses. Charlie is already in the room, wagging his tail at him.

“Come on.” Landon’s face smiles. “Let’s make this quick. It looks like we are behind on your vaccinations.”

“Oh.” That is easy. Those are quick pinches and then he was on his way. It rained yesterday so the room smells like wet ash from the fireplace. Landon digs through his bag and then places pillows on the couch. Sephiroth looks at the spot that Gast sat in and worries. Charlie paces around before settling in his bed by the couch. He checks his clothes. The loose shirt and pants should be simple enough to shift around as needed.

“Is it in the butt again?” He asks as he sits on the edge of the couch. Landon pulls up their fireplace stool and settles on it. His eyebrows draw in.

“This one is a little special. We’re putting it directly in your vein. So it will be like a blood draw.” He puts one of the pillow behind Sephiroth. The other sits forgotten further down from him.

He nods and rolls up his sleeve. “Do you know when Mariella might get up? Do you think that Professor Gast got the answers to his questions? The ones that have to do with my blood?”

The questions come out nervous and without his approval. Landon’s lips tighten so Sephiroth looks away.

His skin is pale in the light. He can see the lines that run up close against the surface. Landon hurries with small glass bottles and a syringe. Sephiroth moves his fingers up and down his exposed arm. It makes his hair stand up and tickles. The air is strange in here. Something is wrong again.

“Yes.” Landon’s response is slow but Sephiroth stares at him in surprise.

“Really? Was it a good answer?”

Landon’s voice is hard. “No.”

Disappointment fills him. He leans back against the pillow. “Is Professor Gast mad at me?”

“I don’t think so.” Landon shakes the bottle, puts it upside down and plunges the needle inside.

“Well, everything is going to be okay then.” He strains to look out the window. He doesn’t flinch as the plastic cord goes around his arm. It bites and gnaws. It pulls tight against his muscles. His fingers go numb.

“Yes. Everything is going to be just fine.”

Sephiroth’s attention goes back to Landon. He sounds muffled like he’s recovering from a bad cold. His nose is pink and his fingers tremble against his arm. Landon’s eyes are hidden as he works the syringe in his right hand. Sephiroth shifts against the pillow.

The needle stops and the point brushes against his skin. Landon looks up. His eyes are hollow and lost. “I know I haven’t been the warmest with you but the mako in the basement? Hojo forced me to do it.”

“…oh.” Sephiroth isn’t sure about these words. He looks past the doctor to see if Mariella is up. He hopes she is there. The hand is firm on his arm. No one is at the door. He’s trapped on the couch. Something rises in the back of his throat. It’s fear, he realizes as the needle goes deep in his arm.

The plunger rises, blood fills the barrel and then depresses. The green liquid flashes red and disappears. His spine is a rod as he tries to sense the strangeness inside of him. He feels absolutely nothing. It is just another shot that pinches. His heart beats in his chest hard for no reason but a smile comes over his face as he wants to laugh at himself. Landon’s hands withdraw and he sits back with a little half-smile.

Nothing. He’s normal. He’s afraid for nothing. Landon wouldn’t hurt him. He said that. It’s just another shot.

“After this is over, I’ll get you a candy from the stash. The black ones. I know you like those the best,” Landon says.

“I’d like-ah.”

The burning cuts through his fingers. His arm lights on fire and then the feeling disappears like a candle going out. His eyes are wide as he looks at Landon. He wants to say more but he can’t. The air in his lungs comes out in a puff. The room disappears into fuzz behind him. Something is wrong. Something is happening that isn’t supposed to.

He reaches out to Landon. He’s made a mistake. Sephiroth has to tell him so he could stop it. His hand goes halfway up before it stops on its own. It shakes in the air. It’s gone numb. His fingers twitch and go slack. Only his heart screaming in his ears tells him that it hasn’t stopped as well.

Landon sits there, sad and quiet as Sephiroth struggles to breathe. He knows. Cold fear washes over him. This isn’t a mistake. He’s done this on purpose. He is there to hurt him. Sweat clams the back of his shirt. Sephiroth leans back like a falling tower. He wobbles and then the doctor comes forward. One hand wraps around his back and the other goes behind his neck. In this strange hug, he is placed laying down on the couch. He can’t move.

“This makes it easier, Sephiroth. I promise. You’ll barely feel anything now. Just relax. It’ll be done soon,” He whispers in his ear.

Sephiroth screams. His mouth opens but nothing comes out. He can’t even swallow. The air passes out silently. Only his lungs struggle to suck fresh air inside him. Whimpering sounds make it out. Landon twitches but turns away. Black dots stain what he can see. His legs are at a strange angle on the couch, almost half folded under himself.

Landon fishes in his bag. Another clear bottle comes out. It has a red stripe taped around it. Landon pops the dirty needle off and sets it aside. Charlie still pants. He hasn’t noticed anything off. He wants him too. He needs Charlie to bark, to cry, to make noise for him. He needs someone to save him.

“I suppose I don’t need to be this clean but my old professors would kill me if I didn’t follow procedure,” He says to fill the silence and the sounds of Sephiroth’s raspy breath.

Sephiroth is alone in the room trapped in his own fear. He can’t move. The air touches his exposed neck and arm. He’s vulnerable. Nothing moves when he tells it to. He’s never had this happen. His left eye is leaking, tears rolling out unnoticed by the doctor.

Landon replaces the needle and then draws the liquid out of the container. The new medicine lowers out of the bottle and into the syringe. This one is clear. He squints at the measurement and then draws another quarter of an inch down. He gives Sephiroth a practical eye as he sets down the almost empty glass bottle. The tape is fuzzy in his eyes. He continues to sway in focus but sees a “2” scrawled across the red.

Landon’s fingers on his neck scare him so deeply he twitches.

“Okay. I can’t give you the second shot with a heart going as fast as a train. It’ll burn through too fast. Calm down.” Landon’s eyes close and Sephiroth feels the vein thrum against his finger. Sephiroth struggles to find the syringe but it is gone.

He has to keep his heartbeat up. The panic. He focuses on it. The room is quiet. The stairs are silent. Usually, they creak when someone comes down. His tongue is thick in his mouth. He desperately wishes to take a deep breath and yell but he can’t. He can’t do any of it. He blinks and more tears stream away. He’s helpless. He’s scared.

“Oh Sephiroth,” Landon says. His right hand appears empty. He wipes the tears away. “They didn’t give us any choice. This is the only path. I promise I’m making this as easy as I can.”

The touch is solid and strong. The fingers brush through his hair and he can’t help the way that the affection affects him. It is soft and sweet. The hand cups along the side of his face. Even now, he’s desperate for that comfort. Sephiroth sees Landon struggling to hold back his own emotion. The drug eats under him like gravel slipping underfoot. He falls with no way to stop himself. The drum in his ears dies away.

“There we go,” Landon sighs and reaches for the syringe. It has been Sephiroth’s stomach. The light weight meant nothing to him but his entire world. Sephiroth swallows and tries to fight as Landon takes his limp arm again. The practiced fingers tie the plastic over his forearm and he digs around in the fleshy inside.

“What are you doing, Landon?” Mariella’s voice is low and dangerous. It is beautiful. Sephiroth strains to see her standing behind them.

Landon stops and twists.

“What are you doing?” Her voice rises as she walks forward.

He stands and puts up a hand. The syringe is left wobbling on his chest. That doesn’t hold Sephiroth’s attention.

It isn’t what causes the tears to come faster.

“Mariella, they told us-” He says.

“-No! They didn’t tell us to do anything.” She’s screaming at him.

Charlie starts barking in the background.

There is a gun tucked in the back of Landon’s pants.

Charlie runs in circles, excited.

“Don’t try to stop me. They told me to stop you. You are too emotionally connected.”

She moves forward. He shoves her back.

“You can’t do this.”

“You couldn’t do this so I am doing it.”

“Oh my god. Is he dead?”

“No. Not yet.”

“Please Landon. I don’t know what information you read but it isn’t right.”

“The order came down while you were sleeping an hour ago.”

“That’s not-”

“Just leave. It will be over soon.” He starts to turn away. The conversation is over. She runs at him.

Landon turns quickly. The gunshot rings clear and true. It hurts his ears. Sephiroth doesn’t see her fall but hears her scream and the body falls hard. It echoes on the wood floors and is muffled by the rug. A splatter colors the white wall behind her.

“Gods. I’m so sorry,” Landon’s voice chokes on itself. He disappears out of sight, towards where she had fallen. The tears come so hard that they pool in Sephiroth’s eyes. He wants to rub them away, to push up, to run to her, to cover her with his own body. He chokes on a sob. His chest wobbles and falls. Everything stings. It burns to be this sad.

“Fuck, Landon.” Mariella’s voice is weak. Mariella is dying. She tries to say something more but it cuts off into a gurgle and stops. He’s quivering. His teeth chatter together. He manages to move his hand but it falls back against the couch. Charlie comes over, sniffing him. The wet nose pushes against his cheek.

Landon turns around and rubs his face, smearing her blood on his cheek and nose. He doesn’t look at Sephiroth. He is cold. Impassive. The path has been chosen and there is no stopping him now. The gun clicks on the floor as he kneels down next to the couch. Sephiroth can’t breathe. Charlie gets pushed aside.

Landon’s fingers press into his neck and he shakes his head.

Was she dead now? Was she still struggling to stay awake across the room? Sephiroth dies inside to move, to run over to her and to hold her. Maybe he could even get in the village fast enough to get an adult to help.

He wishes that Professor Gast would walk in the door and save him.

Landon draws more clear liquid out of the second bottle.

A finger digs in his forearm.

Sephiroth watches blood drip down the wall as the needle goes into his arm. It swallows him into darkness.

Chapter Text

CLASSIFIED. CLEARANCE: EXECUTIVE. SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY. HARD COPY ONLY. STORAGE #31 - NIBELHEIM MANSION.

Project S Letter ID # 840614.2108

News

Tuesday, June 14, 1984 at 08:08 PM
From: “Professor Gast” <[email protected]>
To: Mariella Haynes <[email protected]>

—

My Dear S,

I thought that it might be best if I sent you this email. I wish I could come to tell you in person but time is short. My apologies. This email will have to suffice. I bring grave news. As of this morning, I have resigned from my job as Head of the Research and Development Department at Shinra.

The reasons for this are complicated. Have you ever had an argument and no matter how long you talk about it, you cannot see the point of view of the other person? You try to see what they are saying and you explain yourself the best you can but there is no progress to be made? I have had that at this job. The people who run Shinra have made decisions that I cannot stand by and accept. This means that I have stepped down from my position. I am preparing to move to the icy north to research a lower priority lead privately.

No, S, I will not tell you exactly where. I know you would try to run away to find me. You now have a bigger purpose to fill.

Sadly, we will not be able to keep correspondence. Being in charge of a department affords luxuries that I am no longer allowed to indulge in. At the end of today, my email account’s clearance level will be lowered and I will not receive any emails from you. I know that this may not make much sense to you but there is only so much this old man can explain.

I want you to be kind and to keep your eyes open. You have a brilliant and creative mind. Please use it to help others. Remember that not everyone will see you for who you are and will try to make you see things differently. Make note of what you believe in. In the end, we are judged by ourselves before all else.

Above all, remember every life is precious. Any loss of the human spirit is a loss to every human spirit. We all fit together, seamed within the lifeblood of this planet, if we know it or not.

I will miss you and your letters. Orlin is to remain stationed at Midgar. If you travel there yourself, please seek him out. I worry for our SOLDIER friend and he might need cheering up.

Everything I’ve done, I’ve done in your best interest. I sincerely hope as you travel your path, you will never have to understand me. I hope that as you grow, you never have to see the true devil behind the curtain and that you can remain who you are.

Goodbye and sincerest wishes to you,

-G

Chapter Text

Summer, 1984

Sephiroth wakes up.

He comes back in pieces that take time to fit together.

A car rumbles in the background. Voices chatter. He’s being gently shaken. His body is curled up on his side with a foreign arm draped over his shoulders. Everything is sluggish. He sways back and forth. Dull memories try to find a spark to remember but can’t. His mouth is dry and his head throbs.

It comes to him.

He’s still alive.

That gets his eyes fluttering and the light is too sharp. He’s alive. He’s waking up. Was it all just a bad dream? The sounds of a car engine and a hard seat underneath him tell otherwise. It isn’t a bad dream. It happened. Landon has tricked him. Pain twitches in his chest. The doctor had never been good to him but he never truly hurt him. He’s a doctor. He’s supposed to help people. He’s been in Sephiroth’s life since the beginning. Sephiroth can’t imagine his life without him. Surely that counts for something?

But Landon hadn’t killed him. He’s breathing and he’s pretty sure that he’s not hurt. The air in his lungs burns but that’s okay. He can live with that. It is better than being dead. It smells bad here, like a stuffy room with too many pieces of dirty clothes in it.

The car goes over a bump. Fingers tighten into his chest. He tries to open his eyes again. They make it open but the shapes are hazy grays and greens. It hurts too much for his mind and he closes them again. He kicks out a leg, feeling knots in his muscles.

“Landon, your pretty boy is awake.” The voice’s accent is strange to him. It’s sharp and snipping. It is a different texture than anything else that he’s heard in Nibelheim.

Nibelheim.

He realizes that there is a good chance that he is very far away from that place. The car has to be going somewhere, right? It makes his stomach drop out of his body. Fear remembers itself in him. He blinks a couple of times to clear his vision but it does little to help him. He wants to explore but not like this. All he wants now is his bed and everything else.

“Sephiroth?” This voice is familiar and the hand pushes him onto his back. His head rolls in the voice’s lap. He looks into another blurry face but he knows this one. Landon sits next to him, holding him close. All the blood is gone. He’s even wearing a different shirt. Emotions come up through him again. Landon shot Mariella. Sephiroth saw him kill her with his own eyes. How could he have done that? How could he break them up like that? His chest hitches. What did he do wrong?

A hard pinch on his arm brings him back from spiraling into grief.

“You need to be a man now,” Landon says urgently, “Men keep their emotions to themselves. I saved you from Shinra. Be thankful for that. They wanted to kill you.”

The words aren’t meaningless to him. They hit him only in a way that makes Sephiroth’s world spin even more.

“Yeah. Your friend called us up,” Another voice says.

“Don’t make me regret it,” Landon says.

“Oh, we will. You say that he’s extraordinary? Then he better be extraordinary for Wutai.”

Wutai? Sephiroth tries to push himself up but Landon’s arm keeps him locked onto his back. Wutai are the bad people. The evil ones that are doing everything wrong. He’s been kidnapped by the enemies of Shinra. His wrists sting as he squirms. It doesn’t take more than a second to realize that they are locked together. The lack of mobility frightens him. Never before has he not been able to use his hand.

Landon looks at him again and he sees the guilt. He shot Mariella. Now there is this.

“He’ll be fine,” He says to Sephiroth more than to the other man, “He has to be.”

The tears start and once again comes the pinch on his arm. Sephiroth prides himself in not flinching. Closing his eyes, he waits through the dizziness. Landon’s arm is supposed to comfort but it is brick on his chest. He hurts. The grief stings everywhere. He doesn’t want to look around. He doesn’t want to study these people. He doesn’t want to be part of this. He wants to be home.

So he withdraws within himself. It is safe there. He controls everything inside of him. If he is alone in this, he needs to cling to the things that are safe and the only things that he knows are safe are inside him.

The ride lasts hours. Sephiroth pretends to sleep and imagines this will go away. Gast and Orlin will stop this car. They will rescue him. The voices yammer over his head. Sometimes he understands. It takes him a while to realize that they are switching between his language and another. Fear seeps into his mind but he pushes it away. The heroes in the books he’s read never do well by acting afraid. He can’t do it either.

The backs of his eyelids are painted with the picture of Mariella’s blood dripping down the wall. It hurts him so deeply that he can only note when it isn’t there. Rain taps on the truck. The men fall silent. The road turns smooth and then the engine echoes. A tunnel. They are passing through the mountains.

The truck stops and by then soldiers with them are sober and stiff. There are six of them and each one of them has a long gun in his hand. Landon helps him to his feet when they call them out. Although he’s wobbly and his stomach heaves, he’s sure it is from disuse and nerves. His shoes scuff on the floor. Landon’s hands end up on each shoulder, controlling and steady. He marches him forward with his own hands awkwardly in front of him.

He doesn’t realize how safe the back of the truck has been until he has to leave it. He stumbles, stops at the bright ceiling lights and hesitates at the steps leading down.

“Come on, kid. This isn’t your grand entrance,” the biggest of the guys shouts below him.

Sephiroth hates himself for looking up Landon for guidance. The man is not someone who he can trust. He shouldn’t do it but years of habit force him. Landon nods and smiles at him.

He carefully takes steps from the truck. He’s never seen a garage but he knows one when he sees it. Space stretches out in both directions and cars are lined up neatly. It feels as big as Nibelheim. One truck even has a Shinra logo on it. It must be for spies. The main door is closed. He didn’t even get to see the sun. His throat clenches. The soldiers mingle around, not paying attention to him. Other groups work on the machines but take no notice of him. Doors dot the back of the garage.

One of them has to lead out.

“No. I’ve seen that look too many times scrawny,” The big guy growls at him. Sephiroth takes a step back and bumps into Landon. He hasn’t talked. He hasn’t felt like talking. There is nothing to say to these people. The guy roots around in his pocket. His hands are as big as Sephiroth’s waist.

“I’ve got him,” Landon says.

“You’ve got shit. He runs, he’ll run fast and I’ll let you tell the boss why he’s gunned down and bleeding.”

Gunned down. Now he wants to get out more. Guns are everywhere here. They stick out behind backs and hang loose in fingers. The ringing returns in his ears without him remembering the rest. Mariella hadn’t even had the chance to get up before she was gone from his world.

Big guy finds what he’s looking for. With a jerk, he yanks open a black bag and Sephiroth takes a second too long to realize what is going to happen next. The bag makes it over his head and he yells in panic at the darkness. He nearly knocks over Landon as he stumbles back. His bound hands come up to rip it off and the big man slaps them away. They go numb immediately from the hit and he hunches over, trying to find his balance.

“Try again and I’ll punch you in the gut. Don’t get clever,” Big guy says and grasps the cuffs. The bag smells like sweat. Sephiroth jerks back and sneezes. His hands come up to cover his face. That is his first real mistake.

The punch hits right under the ribs. It digs deep enough that things shift inside him. It’s the first time he’s been hit on purpose. It shatters something in him. People aren’t supposed to do that. They can’t just hurt others. The pain rings in his ears. His knees hit the concrete. He gags into the cloth. He curls forward in on his stomach.

People can hurt him, he realizes with a gasp, and by the breath of satisfaction above him, they like it.

“Learned your lesson, you little shit?”

Sephiroth’s mind spins. Fingers clamp on his handcuffs and pull him up and forward. Landon’s presence feels distant behind him. He stumbles forward in the dark. He fights to keep together in pain’s haziness.

They take stairs. They take elevators. The halls echo. They don’t. There is carpet underfoot. Wood follows and then tile. He tries to keep count of how many dings and flights they take. It is impossible because he missed the first few and then it is pointless. The skin under his chest bruises and stings. Landon is behind him if that is any sort of comfort. It isn’t but his mind is trying to focus on anything familiar.

A door opens and Sephiroth stumbles through it. It is the thirty-fourth door. It means nothing more than the thirty-third one. In this case, he’s wrong. Big guy stops him. Sephiroth raises his head. They stop for elevators and clattering feet by. Neither one of these things has happened.

The door shuts and a hand grasps the cloth. It rips off and the light shocks him. He twists back as far as he can blinking.

Big guy huffs as he leaves him and walks to a table. Sephiroth dares to look around. The room is utilitarian. It’s a small white room lined with metal tables. A chair sits oddly in the middle. It smells bleach and fake lemons. The lights give everything a green hue. It looks old and unused. Dirt hides in the corners. The mansion was always kept so neat that seeing this makes Sephiroth ache more.

He looks behind him. Landon is gone. The door is locked. It’s him and the big guy. He wonders how long he’s been alone. Sephiroth takes an uncertain step to the left. He’s not sure what is wanted with him. He’s just a kid living in Nibelheim that Shinra has been taking care of. He’s nothing special.

His knees shake but something new is coming over him. It is a numbness and seeks out concepts that his fragmented mind can comprehend. What is Wutai going to do to him? That’s the most urgent question. At the mansion, he’s always known what’s wanted of him. Life is a structured affair. Now that is gone. The ice in his mind crackles. Sephiroth blinks away tears.

These are the new people, he reminds himself, if he doesn’t do exactly what he is told, he will be dead on the floor. Part of him even wishes for Landon then.

The big guy grabs a metal tray with wires on it and points to the chair. “Sit there.”

The calmness slips away from him. Sephiroth steps back. His teeth chatter together. It is unreal. He shouldn’t be here. He should be at home. He wants Charlie. He wants everything that he has always assumed that he is going to have. He doesn’t want this. A sob rises up his throat. This isn’t fair.

“Do you want to get punched again? Get in that chair.” The guard walks forward. The gun swings over his shoulder. It sends a new wave of fear through him that he didn’t know he could comprehend.

Sephiroth shuffles forward. The man is twice his weight and doesn’t have any hesitation about using any of it. When Sephiroth comes close enough, he reaches forward and snatches his arm. Sephiroth yelps as he is dragged. He hits the chair seat hard. It bites into his spine. The metal legs squeak against the tile.

“Stay still.”

Sephiroth freezes. Tears roll down his cheeks. Only the top of his chest moves faintly. The big man crouches down in front of him. He sees everything about him at once. There is a spot on his cheek that he missed shaving. His nails are cropped short. A smell of sweat and dirt comes between them. The waves of muscles that move under his shirt.

The man’s face turns to concentration. His hand comes close to his waist. Sephiroth swallows and presses back against the chair. He brings up his hands close to protect his neck and face.

“I said stay still,” he growls and pulls up Sephiroth’s shirt. The pale skin shines strangely in the light. Goosebumps immediately form.

“Hold this.” He brings the fabric up to Sephiroth’s hands. He does what he is told. Metal feels like it is clamping across his chest. He can’t breathe.

The tray comes on his legs, making him jump. Big guy gives him a warning glare. His eyes can’t believe what is on it. He recognizes the colored wires and the electrodes. These are things that Mariella and Landon would put on him on occasion. His fingers still shake the fabric as the man starts to do something he understands. Spots of his skin are cleaned and then the tape sticks the wires to him. They’re cold but not alien to him. Panic appears and Sephiroth tries to send it away.

When the man leans back, he holds the wires snaking over his body in one hand.

“Drop the shirt. Come on. You’ve got an appointment.”

A new wave of tension crashes over him. It shuts all emotions down again. He can’t stand it. It’s too overwhelming. It’s simply too much.

Gingerly, his body moves without him, slipping out of the chair and following the easiest path. He’s exhausted, he realizes. He hiccups as his mind throws Mariella back at him. His chin hits his collarbone as he bites the inside of his cheek. The memory weighs him down. This is just beginning. Whatever his life is going to be now, it is going to be like this. He stares at the multicolored wires pulling out from the bottom of his shirt.

The grief and pain threaten to overwhelm him.

There is no point for this, his practical mind says clearly then, it is time to conserve what you can. Everything hurts too much. He divides himself, splitting it down the middle. The deadness on one side and everything shaking on the other. The emotions, he compacts and shoves down deep. The dullness takes over. It makes him feel solid and safer. They can’t hurt what he can’t feel.

The door opens to another smaller room. Sephiroth catalogs what is in it. A table sits in the center. Two men, both scientists, sit on one side. One man has papers spread before him and the other has a laptop. A camera perches between them. Neither one looks up at him. On the other side is a single chair and a small box that Sephiroth recognizes. A smaller seat sits in the corner.

He doesn’t fight as he is set in the chair. The big guy plugs the wires into the receivers. He wants to push back but the threat of the gun on the big guy’s shoulder is too real. He’s almost died once. He’s not going to do that again today. Tears still roll over his face but he can’t feel why anymore. He stares at his fingers and locks them together. He sees a smudge of blood on his knuckle. He swallows.

The soldier pauses to look up at the scientists after all the wires are attached. A green light flashes on the computer screen.

“Hands.”

Sephiroth offers the cuffs. The man produces a plastic tab and swipes it over a sensor. It chirps and they release. The end of ache and weight makes him close his eyes. These are the little things. He should concentrate on that. He lets his hands fall into his lap.

“Think carefully here,” Big guy mutters in his ear and steps back. Sephiroth doesn’t breathe until the chair in the corner squeals.

“We want to start with your name. Please state it for the record.”

Sephiroth takes a deep breath. Emotions break up through his walls and he swallows them back down. His knuckles tighten to white.

“Your name.”

They’re testing him for something. He tries to pretend that this is no different than before. He imagines that the cold voice from across the room is Mariella’s. That this is a checkup or an interview. He thinks about Charlie sitting at his feet, trying to chew on his shoelaces. His heart can’t believe it. A flash of hurt comes up in him and his chin dips down. Hair falls over half his face. Mariella isn’t here to brush it away like she used to.

“Answer the question,” Big guy growls behind him.

Sephiroth closes his eyes. He shivers. To live from now on, he probably has to do the best he can.

That life before is already distant. Sephiroth focuses on a scratch on the table’s surface dully. The camera lens digs into him, burning his face on a film.

He realizes he was mistaken, he has died today. The boy he was had died on that couch.

“Sephiroth,” he whispers and then tries again clearer, “My name is Sephiroth.”

He tries to disconnect from all of it.

Mentally, he runs away.

He feels every impact as he flees from this room.

All he can do is to keep running and hiding himself.

So he does that.

Chapter Text

Summer 1984

An inconstant constant rhythm falls to Sephiroth’s life.

Every day they take him out of his cell and do things to him. Sometimes he ends up being asked pointless questions. His voice is rusty as he tries his best to answer. Sometimes it is a blurry horror. Pushing back is a faraway dream most of the time so he does what he can. He doesn’t speak until he is asked to. It is something that they can’t get past. His thoughts are his own and he keeps it that way. It is safer.

A gym-like room is very familiar to him. They train him daily. He is asked to lift heavy bars and weights. He runs on a treadmill until he gasps. He surprises himself. His body sweats and struggles but holds together as the scientists try to tear him apart. The differences he can see after a few weeks, the dips and muscles that appear, astonish him.

Everything is done with an iron grip. He is not allowed to express wants and desires here. They want information and data that only he can provide and they extract it. His head is kept exhausted. He works hard enough that he can’t imagine fighting his guards in the hallways most days. 

Sephiroth convinces himself that he has stopped feeling. Survival becomes a game of understanding. Everything is input and results of that input. His actions create a certain reaction. It’s clinical and unemotional. Only late at night do the cracks show in the darkness under his thin blanket. 

He tries not to think about home. The soft grass is growing outside in the front garden. He aches for his books. He misses his journal. Part of him still bookmarks things that he should write down. In the darkness, he imagines the leather of the cover and the softness of the pages.  Eventually, his thoughts lead to Mariella. The hazy grief returns. Before his thoughts go too far, he drags himself back to the coldness of the room and isolates himself in the dark. 

These memories don't help him here. They only damage. That boy is gone now. He has to be.

Not feeling doesn’t stop him from trying to run away. Three times he manages to escape his room or the guards. Each time he doesn’t make it far. He can dodge the soldiers and their aim but he ends up banging frantically against a locked door. He’s not left this floor since they put him here. The elevators, the doors, everything indicating up or down are locked. That’s where they find him, smashed up against a door. They catch him then and he’s dragged back unable to stand. They keep him in his cell alone and with the lights off until he breaks.

After that, they send in Landon. He takes care of him but never looks into his eyes. He stitches cuts closed and makes him eat. He talks to Sephiroth but the words are empty and hollow. A curdled feeling lives in his heart when he sees Mariella’s murderer. 

It was about a week into this that he first saw Landon again. Sephiroth had grown incredibly ill. Muscle cramps, shakiness, rashes and headaches keep him in his bed. Only Landon took care of him. Had he been any stronger, he may have tried to attack him. Instead, he remains limp and unresponsive. Landon’s shoulders hunch. He moves quietly. Something tells him that Sephiroth is not the only prisoner here.

Still, he is smart enough not to bite the only thing that is helping him, not yet anyway.

“Are you going to talk to me today?” Big guy, as Sephiroth has decided to name him, asks as they march down the hallway to the examination room. He has his big hand on his shoulders. The handcuffs are tight today. Sephiroth keeps his chin up and counts the tiles between his room and their room. It is ninety-two. He counts it every time. It keeps him calm.

He’s almost thankful that they shaved his hair short last week. Big guy liked to grab it and pull back his head if he “misbehaved”. Seeing the silver strands hit the ground meant nothing to him. His looks never bothered him and when he sees a rare mirror, a gray gaunt preteen looks back at him. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself, it simply doesn’t matter anymore.

That is just another part of this living nightmare.

They would probably do a physical today, he thinks. He wonders what he will look like in the mirror this time. If the winged woman he’s been hallucinating will be behind him in the reflection again. Sometimes he can even hear her whispering nonsense in his ear.

His brain counts the ninety-second tile. His shoes scuff against the floor as he stops outside the examination door. It is good. Something remains the same. He’s grateful for it.

“Not today dumbass.” Big guy shoves him. He has to aim to hit a wall so he doesn’t fall entirely. The impact stings but he pushes off before the soldier gets the pleasure of dragging him back to his feet. Uncertainty fights in him before he forces it to wink out.

They break routine as they go past the examination door. He doesn’t look behind him. Big guy keeps one hand on the link between his handcuffs and the other wrapped around his upper arm. Sephiroth’s weight is on his heels. His brain continues to count tiles. A hundred and fifteen of them have passed now.

The smooth walls say nothing to him. Big guy’s breath goes faster and Sephiroth’s muscles start to tighten. Big guy is expecting a fight, he realizes, but a fight over what? This could be his chance. They could be leaving this floor of the complex. If that happens, he would run away as fast as he could.

He tries to prepare himself for it but reminds himself that the truth is he is probably going nowhere. 

They walk parts of the complex that he hasn’t been to. It all looks the same. Sephiroth only knows it is different because of a dead light bulb and the scrapes on the walls. On the two hundred and fifth tile, Sephiroth finds his answer.

They stop at a door labeled “Exposure Lab”.

Fear locks his throat. He resists as big guy tries to push him forward. A burning buzz is in the back of his head as if the mako is already in him. He can’t. He can’t do this again. The reasons why are not entirely clear but he can feel their outward dangerous shapes in his mind.

He’s so absorbed in his thoughts that he doesn’t see the slap coming. It rings his entire head. Big guy hits him in the ear and it vibrates deeply. It loosens his feet as he hunches forward. The door opens into a small room. He stumbles in. The equipment squatting in the middle of the room clicks in him instantly. The compressor, the dark tube feeding in and out, the shushing sounds it makes as it mixes air with mako, everything is so familiar. The only difference is the clear tube running from the back of the machine. It glows green as it runs to a huge holding tank that takes up most of the back wall. Inside, liquid mako moves with lazy bubbles.

The treatment table sits next to the respirator with a pillow and blanket that look like afterthoughts.

Landon stands next to one of the scientists that he’s come to know. He’s furious.

“This was off the table,” Landon yells at him.

The door clicks behind him. Sephiroth stops. His chest is tight. He can’t breathe. The room smells like dirt after a deep rain or the dry leaves in fall. He can’t do this. The soldier doesn’t fight him as they watch the conversation.

“It is one of the last steps,” the scientist responds, “it has been approved.”

“This will destroy him. Seven hours is leth-” Landon’s voice is frantic.

“Enough of this nonsense.” The scientist turns away. He looks at Sephiroth like he always does, something that he can break down into numbers and parts. Sephiroth barely notices. He has drifted away from his own body. Seven hours. Seven hours of exposure. He’s about to have seven hours with a machine pumping poison into his unconscious body. It’s too much. It is too dangerous.

“Careful kid. Make smart choices here,” big guy whispers in his ear and Sephiroth feels the edge of something metal press into the small of his back. Sephiroth can’t breathe anymore. That gun is aimed directly into the softness of his stomach.

The weapon is supposed to bring him back to reality. Part of Sephiroth knows this but it doesn’t. It snaps him in half. He’s endured so much. He’s given and given and this is how they pay him back. They are going to take away everything. He remembers the numbing burn in his body as he almost died in the snow a few months ago. He couldn’t find home. He couldn’t remember where he was. He had crawled back from that inch by inch, rebuilding himself again.

Now they are going to force him back there at gunpoint.

He can’t do it. 

It doesn’t matter the consequences.

Sephiroth moves. He yanks his bound wrists free of big guy. His left leg crumples, dropping him towards the ground and out of the initial range of the gun. He is frenzied. This is not one of his planned escapes. He needs to get away, even if it is just leaving this room. He’ll take the consequences for that. Shouts echo out around the room. Everything moves faster than his thoughts.

He stretches on the floor. His hands come under his feet and in front of him. A hand grasps his shirt, yanking him back. He rolls away. Another clings onto his ankle making him twist further away from the door as he turns. Sephiroth is more alive than ever as he kicks at the scientist holding his leg. Something cracks. The fingers let go. Sephiroth rolls onto his chest and pushes up with his hands. His shoes scrape against the tile. He struggles back to his feet.

The gun hasn’t gone off. Big guy won’t shoot him. They both know it now. Sephiroth staggers as he tries to find his place. The green mako light frightens him as he realizes he is even closer to it than he was before. The room is indistinct with fear. He tries to remember how many people are in the room. The big guy runs towards him, the butt of his gun poised to smash into him if he gets close enough. Landon stands frozen. The scientist’s face is bleeding as he rubs it.

Sephiroth spins trying to find the door. He needs to get out. Maybe they will think about what they are doing and stop. He can’t go back again. He would rather die. Leave everything here and go away. Sweat sticks to his back. The sight of the door makes his heart leap. It is across the room. He needs to get there. 

Big guy rams his gun at Sephiroth’s head.

He clasps the top of his skull. Sephiroth scatters back across the tile, tangling in his own limbs. He can’t concentrate on the pain. He pushes off the ground again. The soldier swears at him in colorful combinations how he was an idiot and a child. Hot blood rolls down the side of Sephiroth’s face and tickles into his ear. 

His feet wobble and he barely dodges the oncoming train of the soldier. The room totters. Sephiroth breaks into a run for the door. The scientist shouts something about a sedative. That makes him run faster and he slams hard into the metal door unable to stop himself. The doorknob drives the air out of his lungs. Lunch seizes up his throat but he swallows.

His handcuffed hands clamp around the door handle and twist.

Locked.

The door is locked.

The door is always locked.

Sephiroth gasps and it comes out in a cry. He can’t do this. He tries it again. The knob doesn’t move at all. The blood moves down the front of his face and he blinks. His eyes burn. He puts his foot up and yanks at the door. It creaks but doesn’t bust.

Big guy is on him again and he writhes away. Sephiroth manages to jab him in the side and the guard staggers back taking raspy breaths. Sephiroth flounders and falls into a metal chair. Now the scientist comes with something deadly in his hand. Sephiroth does the only thing he can think to do. He stands, grasps the folding chair and slams it hard against his attacker. The impact jars him but the man doubles over before falling backward. The glass part of the syringe breaks and spills sedative all over the floor.

Sephiroth is shaking and frantic. The door is locked. What is he supposed to do? He wipes his slick face and stares at the red handprints that he now makes on the chair.

The chair is slippery in his hands but it is his only option. He takes a few steps back and starts hammering the doorknob with it. The metal clangs but the knob jumps slightly. He can smash it off and then open it. He glances on an upswing. Landon is still motionless in the corner across the room.

It doesn’t matter, Sephiroth tells himself, that man has failed him.

The chair comes down.

The knob is at an angle now.

The big guy straightens. Now he is properly mad.

The chair comes down again.

The knob crackles in response.

The big guy levels his gun. 

This time he puts it to his shoulder and aims down the scope.

Sephiroth can’t stop his escape. He won’t. Tears come to his eyes. He slams the chair down again.

A chirp interrupts both of them and then without any other warning, the mako container in the back explodes. Safety glass cuts Sephiroth’s arms. Mako gushes out onto the floor. The air fills with the sickeningly sweet smell of the planet. The scientist on the floor doesn’t move.

Sephiroth lowers the chair. He keeps looking at the empty container hoping that it is his imagination. It’s not. His shoes feel wet. It’s over. Even if he can break the door down, the exposure has started. The glowing liquid flows smoothly across the tile. A warmth takes the back of his head like an old friend.

Sephiroth is numbly pushed out of the way. The big guy’s keycard makes the light green but the knob is too broken to open. The soldier cries out and pounds against the door. Sephiroth stumbles away, his feet sloshing through the water. It’s not cold. The water is warm as it soaks into him. A buzzing is in his ears. He wipes his face again. The stinging is fading already. Drops of blood fall off his fingers and disappear into the green. The mako is in him, smoothing away the fear like a wave of exhaustion before a long nap. He wants to be afraid. He wants to fight but the stillness grows stronger than himself.

“I’m so sorry.”

He turns floating towards the voice. The glowing mako throws everything in strange shadows. The room is beautiful light green and the air is misty. Landon wades through the water. He’s wobbling to one side. The big guy’s pounding grows faint and then there is a splash as he collapses. Sephiroth takes another breath. He isn’t far behind them.

“I’m sorry,” Landon says again, “I wouldn’t have agreed to this. I didn’t know.”

Sephiroth’s feeling is gone in his hands. He snuffs. He can’t speak. Only weak anger is in him and even that is fading.

Landon takes another step and his leg collapses on him. He falls onto a table and coughs against it. Already he’s sliding off. The water soaks through his pants. He struggles to stay upright. His brown shoes look pointless in the green water.

It’s over. Sephiroth knows that. It takes special equipment to come into a room with mako. It will take too long. He’ll be gone by then. The air condenses with mako. Little droplets are forming on his nose.

Seconds disappear.

He finds himself crouching, up to knees in the water. The mako washes away all emotions. It soothes. His hands cup the water. It’s transfixing and beautiful. The glow is so strong that the edges of his fingers look transparent. He’s not sure how much Cetra he is anymore but even without the blood of the ancients, he can hear the song of the planet.

Landon whimpers and is quiet.

The song weeps deeply in his head and he understands. This is the blood of the planet taken away from its source. It is lost from itself, only fragments of memories and pieces that cannot fit together. The song fills him the same way that a bloody sunset calls to him. It is the end of something, the day is leaving with one more flash of light. It is temporary, beautiful and vast in the world.

Sephiroth struggles to his feet. Mako is supposed to burn although it doesn’t feel like it matters. His feet trip against the water and the floor as he goes to the nearest table. The planet drags against him, willing him to collapse but he delays the feeling one more time. Putting his hands on the table, he hauls himself up.

Then his energy disappears. All he has left is to lay down, fold his arms, rest his head and fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Summer, 1984

Someone carries him.

Sephiroth feels so weak that his head rocks back and forth as the man runs. The song still warbles in his ears but the sounds of screams and gunshots break into his mind. He’s soaked. The warmth of the arms that hold him is strange. Everything inside him is still. It’s hard to put thoughts together.

“Stay with me kid.”

The face above him is familiar. More people scream. Sephiroth tries to remember but his memory is unmarked. The more he tries to place the strong features and the black hair, the less he knows and the more he is lost. The sword over his shoulder feels familiar. Sephiroth’s hand twitches. He’s held it. He’s sure of that. He doesn’t know how but it happened.

“Gast would shit himself,” the soldier says and adjusts the body in his arms.

Sephiroth coughs. Nothing hurts. He’s limp. The singing in his ears fades, giving him a little more room to think.

They run through a hallway. Other soldiers are around them. Some have guns and others have swords. His head rolls to the side and he doesn’t bother to lift it. Everything is happening to him.

“How were you still alive? You should be dead like the rest of them.”

Sephiroth doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember.

The hallway moves into a flight of stairs. He doesn’t feel safe but he also doesn’t care. Gunfire rattles off in the distance. His chest is weak but takes in the air he offers it.

Something bad has happened.

That thought grounds him. It makes him try to move his head back to stare at the man.

“What…” He tries the word but it rips up his throat. The sound is so quiet that the soldier doesn’t hear him anyway. He struggles to remember. He knows his name but everything else is gone. It is empty in his mind. Ghostly shapes and fractured images remain. Nothing makes sense.

The stairs end. A garage fills his sight.

“Sephiroth!” The shout causes a ripple of something in him. His head rolls towards the sound.

The soldier stops running. Someone is coming. His feet touch the ground. The man sets him upright and he finds that he can stand. Blood rushes to his head. It makes him spin until someone holds onto his shoulders.

When his sight clears, a woman stands before him. She’s still young but her eyes are tired and torn. Her arm is in a sling. Things about her seem familiar. The way that she holds herself. Her hair is braided as always. She’s crying. He stares at her, not closing the space between them. Should he know her?

“Please tell me you remember me,” she whispers and crouches down, holding his wet hands. “Come on, don’t be gone. Don’t be gone from me too.”

 Her eyes search his. She digs into his mind and tries to help him find the piece of memory that would trigger everything. He looks to find it. Everything is all dark. Memories echo faintly back at him in his mind as he queries her hands and softness. She’s been in his life before. She knows him. She’s gone. She’s safe. She’s here. She shouldn’t be here. Those are the only things that he is sure of. The rest is shattered nonsense.

A word comes back to him.

“…Mariella?”

It’s a name.

The tears rush down her face.

It’s her name.

Something splits deep in his foundation. He steps forward into her arms. He’s crying. He’s crying so hard that it might break him in two. He can’t stop. Grief pours out of him from someplace he doesn’t understand. It keeps coming and coming and he feels like he’s throwing it up. The poison stings his throat and face. She swallows him up in her arms. His blood and mako stain her clothes. Her hands stroke over his head, his shoulders, his back.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Chapter Text

PART II: 

there have been so many times
I have seen a man wanting to weep
but
instead
beat his heart until it was unconscious.

-Nayyirah Waheed

*

*

*

Chapter 18 - Flawed Logic

August, 1984

Remember.

Sephiroth's fingers dig into the comforter in his room. Part of his mind is blank. The emptiness is so big that no matter how far or deep he goes into it, there is nothing there. Nothing, he closes his eyes, nothing where there should be something.

Remember.

He grits his teeth and pushes further into the blankness. It hurts. Every part of him wants to pull back into the safeness of the present. Shadows of memories hover in him but they don’t mean anything. They are gauzy, draping him things that he doesn’t understand: confusion, upset, pain, snow.

Remember.

He remembers the concept of snow. That is easy. His mind shuffles through pictures of snow and how coldness bites his nose. When it snows, you need a jacket and a scarf. When it snows, it gets harder to travel outside. When it snows, it is winter. Sephiroth winces. These are facts. These are not memories. These aren’t the things that he lost.

Shinra has been trying for weeks to bring his memories back. The doctors have tried everything. Every time, he gets his hopes up. The letdown, the blankness that remains, hurts him until he can’t hope anymore when they call him in again. The last time, he sat in the office with things attached to his head and wondered about only trivial things. What will he eat for dinner? Will he eat alone in the corner again? How long will it take for him to stop smelling like fake lemons in R&D’s cleaning solution?

He knows it shouldn’t matter. Mariella goes over everything that he should know about himself but it isn’t the same. He wants to know them for himself. He wants to be normal. He wants to be like them.

The look on the doctor’s face today told him everything before the words came out of his mouth.“Your memory is most likely gone. You have some recollection, the shadows as you call them, but…maybe with time. Who knows what the Wutaian monsters did. The mako exposure was off the charts. It should have killed you.”

The doctor had taken his hand and held it, like it was a consolation. “You need to focus on this, the present. I am going to recommend that we do not pursue further treatment. I’m sorry that this happened to you. At least you are young and you still have your whole life ahead of you.”

Sephiroth was sent back to his room where he sits now.

Who he was is gone. Ten years of his life, they tell him, completely erased. He might have known the face of his mother before she died. Every Christmas, every summer, every friend he may have had, they were all gone. Mariella tries to help but there is something strange about what she says. A fakeness, a perfection, happiness that he is sure can’t be true because he can’t imagine being that happy.

Remember.

His face hurts as he grinds the heels of his palms against his eyes.

A table with people around it. He was afraid. People talk as if he isn’t there. Food was served at the dinner table. Why was he afraid? A knife cut hard and sharp through meat. The memory winks out. Even the table is gone. He stands in darkness. The voices that were transparent in his mind are now smoke. Who was he? Why are all the things that he can remember bad? What happened to him before? His body is clear of scars. His hair is silver and his eyes are green slits in the mirror but they said that they came from Wutai’s mako.

The Wutaians are the ones that captured and experimented on him. It is because of them that his memory is gone. Sephiroth’s guts turn. He’s angry. Wutai shouldn’t have done that. It was unfair. They took away everything. It’s because of them that he is so helpless and lost.

He’s shaking. He could walk past his best friend and never know it. It’s all gone. It’s a gaping hole that will never fill. Already the damage has settled in the back of his head. It separates him. He looks at other people and he can see the color in the back of their eyes. Their experience, their history, the love that has filled them up. He’s hollow and empty.

Remember. Please, please, please remember.

Tears work around his hands and run down his face.

“Hey there.”

Mariella stands at the doorway of the room. She crosses her arms with a smile that waivers.

Sephiroth lets his hands drop between his knees. His mouth is dry.

“I got the news.”

He nods. He looks at a scratch on the floor. It’s still hard to look anyone in the face. They tell him it is okay. A twitch in his mind still makes him look away before he is caught. His hair was shaved when he first got here, now it tickles his ears. He wishes it could be longer so he could hide behind it.

“Everything okay?” Mariella pauses, as if she is going to say more then stops. Her shoes make noise as she moves across the room.

Sephiroth’s fingers find each other. He clutches them so tight that they go white and ache. He wants to close his eyes and pretend that none of this is happening. She gets closer and stops. He stares at the deep scratch in the floor where the bed frame used to be when scientists slept here late at night.

Mariella’s face interrupts as she crouches down, coming into view. “You are going to be okay. Promise.”

His cheeks and nose hurt. He tries to believe her. His fingers tighten into fists. He squints and closes his eyes. Every question that he has shrivels and dies. He’s asked her to explain everything to him too many times. He won’t do that to her one more time. The answer will be the same as it always is.

“I thought we should do something fun. Are you up for that?”

He nods more automatically than real consent. Her lips twitch into a half smile before it falls off.

She takes him shopping. School is going to start soon and he needed to get some proper things for it. They have enrolled him in a private school that Shinra runs for their employee’s children. They are ushering him forward. They say that normalcy will be good. As they walk down the aisle with all these bright colors, he doesn’t understand. His brain isn’t big enough for this. All this stuff is foreign to him. R&D doesn’t have animal photos, logos, patterns or fun fabrics. When he sees a folder with a superhero he can’t help wondering if before he knew who this was before. The pain in his chest twists deeper.

Mariella keeps him going and directs him. Sephiroth choses from options. Things go in the cart. None of them make any impression on him. He’s floating in this strange place with no context. This is exciting, Mariella insists but he struggles as he picks out notebooks and folders at a store. The items are insignificant compared to his feelings.

Every person that they pass he expects to remember him. When their eyes gloss over him, he crumples inside.

“Did I have friends?” He asks quietly as he looks at two different types of pens. The packaging has words on them but he’s not bothering to read.

Mariella hums. “Not really. We were friends. Remember we traveled around for my job? We never stopped anywhere long enough to make friends.”

This is the same answer she gave yesterday. He lifts the pens in his left hand and then does the same to the right ones. Bright letters explain durability.

“My mom?” He pretends to look at the other one so he doesn’t have to look at her.

Her voice is softer. “She’s not with us, Sephiroth.”

“My dad?”

“They are all gone. That’s why I was looking after you.”

He nods and tosses the left package in. He’s getting a headache. Everything is compacting in him like a hard rock that he can’t move. He can’t move on from this like they are saying he will. How is he supposed to do this? Everything Mariella says is simple answers. It feels like she has neatened his life for him. She’s cut away the sharp corners. He’s always been a good kid. They are friends. Shinra has always taken care of him. She will continue to be here for him. It is a wall of phrases.

“Look. You do know something about yourself. You have a favorite color. Check out the cart.” She interrupts his thoughts.

He looks. Everything that has been tossed in the bin is the same color: black.

“You picked out everything yourself, right?”

He stops and thinks. It’s true. Everything in the bin is the same color: black. Something beaten up inside him looks up. The folders, the pencil case, the backpack, everything is shades of black. His hands cover on the edge of the cart as he peers at them. It is a solid fact. He likes the color. That understanding sits in his mind like a little candle in the middle of the unknown.

“How about this? A little experiment, hmm?” She moves quickly away from him. He takes a step back and follows her with his eyes. Experiments haven’t been good, no matter who they have been coming from.

She grasps a pink lunch box. “What do you think of this?”

That color makes him think of things that are too sweet and the color of his insides. “I don’t like it.”

“Sephiroth doesn’t like hot pink. We know that now,” she says this like it is big news. He turns his head. What is she up to? While most of the time, she’s interested in him, but this is something else, like she’s trying to make him feel better.

She turns back and grabs a yellow one. “This one?”

He shakes his head.

“What was I thinking?” She raises an eyebrow and that makes him smile a little.

The next one is blue. The color is rich and deep. It reminds him of looking out at a sky right after dusk. He frowns. He’s not seen that. His room doesn’t have windows.

“That one is…good, I guess.”

She puts that lunch box in the cart. “You like blue. You need a lunch box so we will keep this one as a contender.”

“I do like blue,” he says to himself. That is something that he can keep inside. A truth about himself that knows. It’s nice. The thought calms the whirl of chaos inside him.

Procedurally, they go through all the lunch box colors except for brown which she has to lift up a folder for him to “test”. They don’t stop there. The list expands beyond school supplies. He picks out some new shirts and pants in his new favorite colors. Mariella suggests a classical looking clock for his room but he decides on a modern one. The decision thrills him. These are things that he has done to make himself a person again.

In the end, the cart is a full jumble of items. A rug sticks out of his new backpack. New shoes are in a box. He’s chosen a small canvas print of a mountain to put on his wall about the desk. The strangest thing he takes is a stuffed toy dog. Mariella stutters as it goes into the cart. He watches a stream of emotions flicker past him. There it is again. Something that she’s not telling him about himself. She recovers by praising the choice. The button eyes look at him like they are waiting for him to solve this puzzle. He doesn’t know why he gets it. It is even in one of his least favorite colors.

They haul the bags into their rented car and then pile in to go back to HQ.

The bags are easy to carry as Sephiroth leads Mariella back to his room. They’ve given him a space tucked in the far corner of the first floor of R&D. There are several emergency “nap” rooms for staff. They took an isolated one and had given it to him permanently. It isn’t very big but he’s not really that big and otherwise he’s not sure where he would live. Mariella said that her apartment is too small.

They spread the rug over the scuff marks. The mountain picture looks like a window on the wall. Placing the clock on his desk brings him something close to a content feeling. Mariella fusses with the black backpack, making sure all the supplies are stripped of their packaging and put in the right pockets.

Sephiroth pulls the stuffed dog out of the bag. The eyes look blank but they echo something in him. His fingers automatically scratch under where a collar might have been. He tries to reach for the memory of why he does this but nothing comes to the surface. He doesn’t chase after it. They stand at a distance in his mind and he tries to enjoy that this means something to him.

The fingers dig so hard into the fluff that the body contorts.

“Well, it looks less drab,” Mariella says as she stands.

He nods. The toy goes on the bed. She’s right. The room has color and pieces of things that Sephiroth likes. The rug is soft under his feet as he sits on the bed. The desk has the clock and he’s put the little toy soldier, one of the only things Mariella saved from before, next to it. His dresser has clothes in it that he’s picked out. He realizes that he is not a broken patient stuffed in this room anymore.

“It doesn’t have to feel like home but does it feel a bit better?” She comes in front of him. His eyes flicker to hers and then they go to the left, to the dog.

“It’s better.” The words are true but soft.

“You’re being so brave.” Her voice is warm. “I want you to know that.”

“Thanks.” He doesn’t know about that. He’s been stumbling forward. It doesn’t feel like he is being brave. A fragment of something comes back to him as he stares at the toy soldier. He looks up at her, sharply. “Did I know someone named…Orlin?”

Another stutter in her face that she hides by sitting on the bed next to him. “You used to. He works here. You two have met once or twice.”

The name gives him a wave of feelings. He remembers laughter and dizziness.

“Can I see him?”

She blows out a breath and stares at the ceiling, thinking. Sephiroth looks down. It is too much to ask. He should have known that. He should be happy with what he has.

“I’d have to see. He’s a busy guy. He’s a SOLDIER, he works to protect this place,” she says finally.

“Okay.”

It’s her turn to nod, look at the rug and then finally return her gaze to him. “I’ll look into it, promise. Look, in a couple days, we will get you a haircut. Start thinking about what you want.”

“Okay.” He feels funny so the one word answer is the only that he can give. She is trying to fill the void that is in him. He’s thankful for the help. The room does look better but he’s still alone as he sits next to her.

“School will be good for you. There will be new friends there.”

He nods.

Mariella leaves without saying goodbye. Sephiroth watches the door close. His eyes roam around the room. Regardless of everything, it does feel better. He wants what he had before. He wants to be whole. She’s gone over everything before the kidnapping over and over again but it isn’t the same. He grasps the toy dog and sits it on his lap.

Why?

Why did this happen?

Why did Wutai make him this way?

They sit together for a long time until Sephiroth collapses on his side, buries his face in the fake fur and drops into sleep.

Chapter Text

CLASSIFIED. CLEARANCE: EXECUTIVE. SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY. HARD COPY ONLY. STORAGE #31 - NIBELHEIM MANSION.

Project S Letter ID # 840810.1058

Written Redirection

Friday, August 10, 1984 at 10:58 AM
From: “[email protected]” <[email protected]>
To: Mariella Haynes <[email protected]>

—

Dear Mariella Haynes,

This is a written record of our meeting at 10:00 a.m. today to go over your redirection concerning Project S. From 3:12-4:58 p.m. yesterday, August 9th, 1984, you took Project S on an unapproved excursion into Midgar. You went to a general store and used your Shinra credit card to buy unnecessary school supplies and decorations for Project S’s room. This is absolutely inappropriate and unprofessional behavior.

All plans to take Sephiroth outside of HQ must be approved by myself unless it is a recurring appointment. As you know, we must limit outside exposure to interests and hobbies so he will focus on his training and studies. This is where the data is. This is what you are paid for to support and find. Getting distracted by your own emotions and waylaying the boy on “adventures'' will not help.

Yesterday was an abuse of power and a self indulgence. It should not be done again. You should understand that further action can be taken at any point.

—

Project S Letter ID # 840810.1102

RE: Written Redirection

Friday, August 10, 1984 at 11:02 AM
From: Mariella Haynes <[email protected]>
To: “[email protected]” <[email protected]>

—

Dear Professor Hojo,

With all due respect, I disagree. Sephiroth has gone through a great deal and showed signs of being in distress over the “news” of his lost memories. I watched him on the security cameras. He sat on his bed and stared at a wall for twenty minutes. The next few days will be pivotal to the future success of Sephiroth as he starts to rebuild himself.

So yes, I decided we needed to intervene to make sure there was some positivity in his life. The “unnecessary” school supplies were pencils, notebooks, erasers and a ruler among other standard supplies that students are expected to have. None of them were high end products and came to less than a day’s worth of his proposed medication.

I will freely admit that my attachment has grown. It is impossible for it not to. The boy came stumbling into my arms sobbing and covered in blood and mako. I found out less than an hour before that Landon was dead. You were in the building and had access to the cameras. The test was reported to be going normally. I found out later that the test went on longer than it was ever proposed. All mako containers are safeguarded from breakage. Did it break the same way the pipe in the basement of the Shinra mansion went? The same way someone swapped the blanks out for real bullets in Landon’s gun?

Since you are now the head of the department, I understand that you must make hard decisions and must be under pressure at all times. Even in its newest iteration and goal, Project S is a long term project. Landon and I understood this. As the head of this project, I am allowed the flexibility to make decisions on behalf of Sephiroth and to take him out of the facility. You told me such when we were both installed here at HQ.

Please allow me to continue to do my job the way that it needs to be done.

Thank you for your time.

Mariella Haynes

—

Project S Letter ID # 840810.1109

RE: RE: Written Redirection

Friday, August 10, 1984 at 11:09 AM
From: “[email protected]” <[email protected]>
To: Mariella Haynes <[email protected]>

—

You worry.

Did I make a mistake allowing you to head this program?

Since you have clearly forgotten objectivity, I allow me to remind you of how the scientific process works. To be frank, you coddled Project S. You made him soft. You made him into a boy who thinks for himself and should be sitting behind a desk typing meaningless letters into reports for the rest of his life.

He needs to be hardened for the SOLDIER program, drained of this softness. He doesn’t need stuffed animals and erasers. Frankly, I question the need for further education.

Gast was not wrong when he said that Sephiroth will die. The fetus you raised is dead. Mourn him if you would like but between the mako exposures and physical training, the boy will be long gone. Pain is weakness leaving the body and Project S has a long way to go. Wiping Gast from his memory (as purposeful or accidental as you seem to imply) is yet another positive step forward.

So do not question me.

As for the bullet, well, we had to make it look real. Sephiroth had to be so distracted that he won’t see all the signs of a Shinra facility. A blank in the barrel wouldn’t achieve that. Blood is the easy answer. Landon is a poor shot. I knew you wouldn’t die.

It also kept your now emotional misguidance from interfering with “Wutai’s science”. Thank gods you never educated him on how backwater those people are. He may have questioned why the Wutainese scientists suddenly have an interest in mako science! Absolutely astoundingly hilarious! We might actually be in trouble then.

Also do you remember why Sephiroth had to be “captured” by Wutai? That deep seated hate for a country that has never touched the boy will live long in Sephiroth. It will carry him forward in furthering their destruction where words will forever fall short.

If all of this is still not enough, shall I recall that you agreed to everything planned now and in the future? Or shall I pull up the meeting transcript to remind you of your select memory?

You are lucky to think that your position is secure.

Landon probably thought that too well up until the end.

—

Chapter Text

October, 1984

“You’re being sloppy. Fix it,” Dinand says, lowering the boxing paddles that Sephiroth has been focusing on.

Sephiroth blinks and steps back, trying to catch his breath. His fingers are sweaty in the gloves and edges of his vision are fuzzy with exertion. It’s only been a few months of training but he can’t help his frustration. Mistakes after mistakes come out of him. He’s better than this. Dinand’s mako blue eyes see it all. The trainer is a live wire, every soft place on him seared away with fighting.

Sephiroth blinks away the sweat on his forehead and tries to concentrate. His throat tightens as he checks the wall of mirrors in the training room looking at his posture. A skinny kid looks back at him. He used to see himself. Now things are different. Now he only sees everything that is wrong with him. It sticks out blatant and obvious.

Before school started, he didn’t think about his hair. Now, a couple months in, he feels different. Nobody in R&D said anything about the way he looks. Now he can’t see anything else. His hair is alien in the fluorescent lights. It’s pale and yellow. The constant teases turn hard and sharp in on himself. Why does he have to be different? Can’t he rebuild himself quietly? Why can’t he understand this unknown subtext that the kids speak in?

“I didn’t say admire yourself in the mirror.” Dinand taps his leg. “Feet apart, weight forward. Head out of the clouds. Come on now.”

Right. He shifts himself and tenses the muscles in his back. Back straight, chin down, hands forward. He takes a breath. The paddles come up. He drums out the combination that they are working on. His boxing gloves brush against the red center of the cushion.

He’s a freak. That comment is tattooed on his back now. Look at him.

Mariella told him that he doesn’t have to be friendly but to try his best. None of his efforts to talk get out of his mouth. They clam up in his throat, locked behind hesitation. Then they look away and laugh at him. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to be around people his own age.

It’s fine, he tells himself over and over, he doesn’t need friends here. High school is one more step on his way to being a SOLDIER. Mariella has said that the program is the next logical step for him. High school is to help his mind for his future training. That’s also the reason that Dinand has come into his life.

The first thing that his new trainer told him when they met was that “weakness doesn’t belong here. Leave that at the door. I am here to make you a SOLDIER and that’s my only job.”

His trainer’s face is always sour but it goes stormy now. Sephiroth runs the combination again but as he throws the cross, Dinand steps back. Sephiroth’s hand moves automatically, pulling the rest of him along. He stumbles forward. The paddle pushes against his shoulder. Sephiroth twists, tries to correct but hits the mat instead. The plastic tastes terrible and sticks to his skin.

Dinand squats down next to him. “It’s been weeks of silent excuses. Get up and focus. Enough. We’ve got enough work to do.”

Look how he stands there. Who stands that straight?

Sephiroth stays on the mat. He’s not good enough for anybody. It’s been three months of unrelenting adjustment. Everyone has been trying to crush the emptiness in the back of his mind. Everyone has tried to be “helpful”. Even his teacher gives him extensions without him asking. It hurts. His forehead presses against the ground. Every breath burns in him.

“Get up,” Dinand says. A hand hovers near the side of his face, waiting.

He presses his head further against the mat. The thoughts don’t drive back. A few weeks ago, he picked a different table in the lunchroom to sit at. The students there are always smiling and he hoped to look someone in the eyes. One girl looked up at him as he got close. He couldn’t tell if her smile was genuine. Was it more pity? He turned and went to his spot away from everyone. Someone had thrown fries at his head. The teachers don’t seem to notice anything.

A finger pokes his back. “That was an order. Get up.”

He doesn’t talk either. Only answers the teacher's questions. Is he part mute or something?

He can’t. He’s so tired. Every day he gets up and goes to school and sees all of them. He walks back and comes to this. Dinand enters his life Monday through Saturday, 7 p.m. to whenever he feels like letting him go. Sephiroth struggles afterward to get his homework done. The work itself isn’t hard but his mind fogs late at night, stuck in a dark place with little clarity.

When he walks around, he looks at everyone. He expects every stranger to recognize him, to tell him about his life before or, worse, to be a Wutai spy. The fear of being kidnapped again is so familiar to him that he cannot recognize his life without it. The only place that he doesn’t feel that anxiety is at HQ. If he remembered his life before, he wouldn’t have to deal with all this. He would know why they did this to him.

He would remember their faces.

The ones that ruined everything.

“And they decided to assign me a child.” A sigh rattles next to him. “I said, get up.”

A hand grasps his wet shirt. It pulls hard. Sephiroth is knocked out of his thoughts. He scrambles to push himself up. The shirt collar pulls on him anyways. Dinand has height on him and the muscle strength to lift him to his toes. Sephiroth pulls back, struggling to stand.

“What’s a matter? Are you angry? Sad?” A tense annoyance undertone is in his voice. Dinand doesn’t want a true answer.

“No,” Sephiroth lies and looks away. He stares at the seam in the mirror, ignoring the rest of the surface.

The snort sprays against his cheek. Sephiroth gut drops. It would have been best to say nothing. He shouldn’t push back at all. Dinand doesn’t believe him. His trainer steps back and spins the paddle in his hand and eyes him. Sephiroth waits. He won’t instigate it. Instead he forces air into his lungs, trying to cool the burn in his eyes and face.

“Hit it.” The paddle comes up.

Sephiroth slides into his stance and punches it carefully. It connects without a sound.

“Hit it like you mean it.”

He throws the punch again. It’s the same. The foam doesn’t move with the impact.

“Hit it like it is the bullies at school,” He says matter-of-factly. Coldness dumps down Sephiroth’s back. He knows. He knows that people his age are after him at school and that he can do nothing about it. The embarrassment flashes into anger.

Sephiroth knows his face contorts as he hits the paddle. The glove smacks against the foam. It’s a hard enough hit that Dinand takes a step back.

Oh. This is good. Sephiroth stutters on a breath. Something releases a spark of relief in the tension in his body. Something stirs in the back of his mind. It’s different, almost alien to him. All those feelings drain. They aren’t hurting inside him. They are transported out and into the foam of the paddle.

“Again. Jab. Go.” Dinand says without any change.

Light on his feet, Sephiroth raises his gloves, bobs and slams the target. His fingers connect through to the solid surface before it gives way. Another heavy smack echoes off the walls. Dinand slides back another foot. He actually shakes out his hand before raising the paddle back up.

Again, he feels better. It’s a relief. The faces in his mind, the way that they make him feel, it is dissipating. The claws retract from his anxiety.

“Jab.”

Sephiroth attacks. Heaviness slides off his shoulders. He makes an impact in his world. Dinand’s body has to move to take the hit because of him. Something happens because he wants it to. Sephiroth’s stomach goes solid. He wants those awful faces to mean nothing to him. He keeps going. He wants to punish the target put in front of him and to fix everything wrong with him.

“Again.”

When Sephiroth remembers this later, he sees the smile on Dinand’s face.

In the moment, he’s gone in the fury. He bounces back and then engages all his weight into the punch.

His arm extends fully before he sees what has happened in front of him. There is no target. The paddle is two feet to the side as Dinand waves it away. His hand yanks him forward. The skin prickles under his shirt as if it knows what is going to happen to him before he does. Sephiroth’s exposed side thumps as the trainer topples him over with a push. The side of his right ankle rolls. There is no helping it. He sprawls out on the ground again.

Dinand looks down at him with annoyance.

“And there is your problem. You are four miles in your own head. Get out of it.” He blinks and tosses the paddles aside. “Don’t bother with tomorrow’s training. See you Monday when you’ve straightened yourself out.”

Sephiroth groans into the mat after the door closes.

At this rate, he’ll never be a SOLDIER.

Chapter Text

CLASSIFIED. CLEARANCE: EXECUTIVE - VIP LEVEL. SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY. HARD COPY ONLY. STORAGE #31 - NIBELHEIM MANSION.

Project S Report #841023

SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY
Department of Public Safety - Investigation Section of the General Affairs Department “Turks”
Subject IDs: #1256, #1257
Staff Assigned: Classified.
Report: 10/24/1984

On October 23rd 1984 at 12:47 am, Turk “1” observed and recorded the following conversation on security camera #21.J between Subject #1256 (further referred to as “M”) and Subject #1257 (further referred to as “O”).

O waited for M outside the main area of their work from 11:53 p.m. to 12:47 a.m.. M is observed to appear surprised to see O when they leave at 12:48 a.m. The following is a transcript of their conversation:

-

O: “Nobody should burn the candle on both ends.”

M: “What are you doing here?”

O: “Waiting for you.”

M: “Are you drunk?”

O: “No, but I sure as hell want to be.”

M: “There isn’t anything for us to talk about.”

O: “How can you stand by and let this happen?”

M: “Go to bed.”

O: “You know, the more that I help S, the more I think that you are just as heartless as Hojo.”

M: “What is your point?”

O: “Why is this happening?”

M: “So you are still wanting the privileges that came along with being Gast’s guard?”

O: “Yeah? That is what you have a problem with?”

M: “I don’t know you. Project S is still a classified program. Go do SOLDIER initiatives.”

O: “Oh so I am good enough to spend time with him but can’t know anything else.”

M: “Some remnant of his memory has mixed you with the professor. He needs all the support he can to move on from his trauma.”

O: “Trauma? You sound like it is over. When I meet with him, he’s different now. Shinra is swallowing this kid whole. Why are you letting them fill his head with dreams of being a SOLDIER? He’s too young.”

M: “You wouldn’t understand and you reek of a bar. Go home.”

O: “Take him out of the program.”

M: “No.”

O: “You can take him out of Shinra. I know you can. You head his program.”

M: “Not an option.”

O: “How about Dinand? You know how he trains. Does that strike your fancy?”

M: “I know. I’m aware. I’ve reported it.”

O: “You’ve reported it. Cute.”

M: “Don’t get sassy with me. I’m documenting it if he goes out of line. R&D is insisting on Dinand’s training.”

O: “Professor Hojo is insisting.”

M: “He is the Director.”

O: “Get him out. I know you can.”

M: “I can’t.”

O: “Not brave enough to face the music?”

M: “Gods. Listen to yourself. Why don’t you do it then? Break him out as easily as you say. You could kidnap him. He trusts you. You are smart enough to come up with a good lie. He wouldn’t figure it out until it is too late.”

O: “And why was there a Wutai lab so deep in Shinra territory? Why was it in an abandoned facility? The more I think about that situation, the less it makes sense.”

M: “You’re deflecting. Answer the question.”

O: “And so are you.”

M: “Then we both need to go our separate ways and do our jobs.”

O: “Bullshit. And you know what? I’m going to call you on your other bullshit. You are letting all this happen because you can’t stand against Shinra. You care for that kid. I’ve seen you. I know. You aren’t brave enough to get the kid out of this hell hole. Talk about trauma, Shinra will be a mountain of it, maybe more than Wutai ever was.”

M: “I’m tired.”

O: “No. You don’t get away that easily.”

M: “Ever since Professor Gast left, things have gotten more complicated for R&D. Please stick to the matters that concern you.”

O: “It’s not that simple.”

M: “No. It’s not.”

O: “Explain it to me.”

M: “It’s above your clearance level.”

O: “Don’t pull rank.”

M: “Fine. I don’t have time to deal with this. What did Gast tell you about JENOVA?”

O: “That thing in the tube wasn’t an Ancient.”

M: “There are many who are nervous about Sephiroth. SOLDIER is the only viable path. Everything else has been cut off.”

O: “If Sephiroth doesn’t become a SOLDIER?”

M: “You’ve been here long enough.”

O: “Fuck.”

M: “Happy now?”

O: “No.”

M: “Fine. What do you want me to say? That I want to spirit him away? That I want to take him back to Nibelheim to live his life? Tell him everything he’s forgotten? How about Landon? I worked with him for three years. We raised a child together. How am I supposed to feel about him dying and then painted as a betrayer that Shinra doesn’t want Sephiroth to know about?”

O: “So it was a-”

M: “Gah. No. Nevermind.”

O: “Shinra…”

M: “To be frank, why am I inviting you to spend time with Sephiroth? Encouraging it? Because he needs a role model. He needs to see what SOLDIER can become. You are naturally already filling that role. Give him some hope.”

O: “I don’t want to be part of this horror show.”

M: “I’m not asking you to be directly involved in the program. I can’t change the decisions that have been made. None of them. I can only try to make them better at this point.”

O: “Oh fuck.”

M: “Isn’t this what you wanted? A heartfelt confession?”

O: “I don’t know. I’m half drunk.”

M: “I’m not strong enough to do more. I’m not that brave. Are you?”

(pause)

O: “No.”

M: “Just be his friend. Help me mitigate the damage.”

O: “I don’t want to sink further into this Shinra cesspool.”

M: “Just think about it.”

-

This conversation does not fulfill any of the stated parameters regarding M (Subject #1256) or O (Subject #1257). Recorded as evidence in case either Subjects complete clauses A8, B3, F7, K1, L11 or Q2 of written observation contract. No action has been taken at this time.

Further surveillance will continue.

Chapter Text

November, 1984

Sephiroth feels lost as he stands on this corner of Midgar.

The rest of the city turns without him, the evening crowd parting with glares and annoyances. He knows the way back to HQ. He is not physically lost. He’s on the sidewalk that he walks with Mariella every weekday. The difference is Mariella is not with him. His phone had a text on in when class let out for the day. A meeting ran late and it was an early release at school so he’s on his own to come back to Shinra.

If he goes straight and crosses the road, he’ll walk past the bakery, clothing stores and then the blend of business buildings with mirror fronts. HQ will grow in front of him until he has to squint to see the top. The staff card in his pocket will open the staff entrance. The elevator will go up to R&D and he will stay in his room until it is time for dinner and Dinand.

To his right is something different. His head spins on his neck with that possibility.

All these strangers walk around him. He pushes his hands in his pocket and stares at his shoes. The inside of his cheek is already raw. He chewed it during PE. He’s been trying to hide his strength. It didn’t work. He climbed the rope too fast. The comments kept coming the rest of the day. The white tops of the shoes have more scuff marks on them. When things get bad, he counts them instead of looking at people. If he had his memories, he could retreat to the better times that others have but all he sees are bad shadows.

He should go straight. He should go back to HQ.

His feet keep him in place.

The side street has more shops. The old looking lamps are lit and people come and go. Every time he walks past this block, he sneaks a look down it to see one of the wooden looking shops. The red overhang flutters with gold embellishment. Again and again, he reads the silver cursive on the sign.

A Multitude of Universes - An Independent Bookstore

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

There is a small library in the R&D department and in the right bottom corner is the fiction shelf. All the books are bent and soft. Several have handwritten reviews on the inside covers. He’s read every single one of them three times. Voices are in his dreams now. They sound like his classmates and they say everything that they are saying about him. It makes him tighten into a ball but even then they don’t go away. Awfulness pounds him. On rare occasions, he opens his eyes to see the lady in the corner dripping water on his floor and staring at him.

Sometimes it is better to stay up.

So he reads until he wakes up in the morning with the book pressed against his cheek.

It helps with the void of memories too. He can pretend he has the confidence and the love that is on the page. Maybe someday, they could be his real memories somehow? Every book on that shelf has been memorized. He’s thought about asking Mariella to go to this bookstore but reading is something that is purely his.

If he gets a thick book, he swallows, it might last a long time.

Going there means that he has to go off the path. He’s supposed to go in a straight line. Mariella trusts him to make smart decisions. He shouldn’t do something without permission. Dinand has boiled that into him. The light changes and the street corner floods with people. The light pole shields him from everyone. The store disappears behind jackets and bodies. The loss of the sight of the store hurts him.

His heart hits hard in his ears as he walks to the right. He hurries. No one stops him. He glances over his shoulder. The world continues to move on. No one has noticed. The front door is painted red and is chipped on the bottom. He wants to stop, to think hard about this decision but he knows if he does, he won’t go in. He’ll never be here again.

The door opens with a chime.

Sephiroth stops as it swings shut behind him. His mind drains away. No coherent thoughts connect to his sight. It is better than his imagination. Books cover every surface of the long and narrow store. Some of their covers are on display in this labyrinth of bookshelves that go up to the ceiling. It smells like perfume from old things. He drinks in everything. He didn’t know that this many books could exist in one place.

“Are you lost or something?” A voice asks to his left. A girl sits behind the counter. She’s about his age with her feet on the countertop and a phone falling from her fingers to her lap. She frowns hard at him.

Sephiroth stares back, forgetting the day he’s had. How could she look so bored when her whole world is covered in books?

“What-” she stutters as she locks onto his eyes. “Well, fine, are you looking for something specific?”

Wonder strikes him again as he takes another look around. He shakes his head, not sure what the right thing will be to say. He doesn’t want to ruin this. She blows out a breath at him. Her curly hair is strange to him.

“Fiction is upstairs. This is all nonfiction. Stairs are in the back,” she says.

“There is a second floor?” His thought comes out into words without him meaning to. He shouldn’t be talking.

That earns him a flicker of a smile. “We need a third floor for books but, yeah, we’ve got a second. Let me know if you have any questions.”

With that, she leans back in her chair and the phone comes up. He takes a step away. Her eyes never leave the screen. He’s safe. She doesn’t know he’s not supposed to be here. She doesn’t hear his heart beating. That apathy makes him tense. Everybody always wants something.

The books don’t let him dwell on it.

Later that night, Sephiroth lays in bed and stares at the neat pile of books on his desk across from him. He reads the titles repeatedly. They are there. He owns books he picked out for himself. He ends up purchasing three. One is so thick that he can’t hold it comfortably, another is about a hero trying to defeat a god and the last one came from the staff pick with a cursive script that read: It’s good. It is delightful.

The aching hole in the back of his mind fades as he stares at the spines. He couldn’t pick which one to start so they sit and wait on his desk. He savors the feeling. The bookstore girl, Rafi, gave him a paper bookmark. It has the name of the store on one side and a print of a very old fashioned boy reading on the other. It sticks out of the top book.

Sephiroth isn’t going to hide that he went there. No one told he couldn’t but he’s going to take a page out of Orlin’s book. He’s not going to flaunt it. It’s nice. The experience is completely his.

More importantly, he did it for himself and that is magical. That thought holds him like a hug in his mind until he falls asleep.

Sunday afternoons have become one of Sephiroth’s favorite parts of his week. Orlin’s free quarter coincides with Sephiroth’s and the SOLDIER has been asking him to “go out on the town” with him. Today, they are hauling groceries back from the store. It isn’t much. Orlin doesn’t have a big budget but he says that’s fine, he has a small fridge.

“Do you think I can be a good fighter? A SOLDIER someday?” Sephiroth asks as he looks up at Orlin.

“Probably, if you work hard enough at it.” Orlin twists his mouth and swings the grocery bags at his side. The walk back to his apartment isn’t that far but they don’t always go directly there. Today they are taking a lot of wrong turns.

“Oh.” Sephiroth stares at the sidewalk.

“What kid?”

Sephiroth holds his breath and then the words flow out. “I feel like Dinand is always mad at me, like I’m doing something wrong. I know I’m too young to enlist now but I feel like he’s going to kick me out of the program before I get started.”

Sephiroth is soft where they want him to be hard. He wants him to be someone that he isn’t and it is taking every ounce of strength for him to change like this.

“Well, did I ever say that being a SOLDIER is easy?” Orlin laughs, puts a hand on his shoulder and steers him around the corner. The sword is high on his back. Sephiroth has never seen him without it unless he is in the apartment.

Over the last few weeks, Orlin has been helping him from time to him. When Sephiroth had to pick up his uniform, it was Orlin that showed him how to put on the shoulder pads and gouged a new notch in his belt. He’s the one that insisted that Sephiroth try on his new boots. The backs bit at his heels and they had spent half an hour on the floor pulling and tugging at the stiff lips. Dinand demanded why he didn’t have bloody socks by the end of their first day together.

He’s been thankful for the time he has been given.

“He won’t abandon you. He might wail on you but he’s a known perfectionist. He won’t leave you alone until you become what he wants.”

“Right.” Sephiroth tries to believe him. As much as he feels Dinand is mean, he learns things he wouldn’t otherwise. Being a SOLDIER is a reality when Dinand instructs him. That was the goal in the end. He becomes a SOLDIER and then everything is easy from there.

Orlin nods to a wooden bench in their usual park and Sephiroth follows to the usual spot. The weather is clear and cool for fall. Sephiroth wonders what winter is going to be like in the big city. Surely they don’t let the snow stack up in the streets. The cars have to be able to drive.

“But what if he hates me?”

The leaves color the ground and he kicks them as they sit down. Orlin looks at him and Sephiroth can feel the corners of his ears going red. He probably shouldn’t have said that thought out loud.

“Look. You can’t take every single thing so personally.”

Sephiroth looks up. “But you don’t-”

“I do understand. This is the guy that is famous for making generals and SOLDIERs. Nobody likes it but when it’s done, you are valuable to Shinra,” Orlin says and then his voice softens below the usual joking level. “Think about it, okay?”

He goes back to studying the ground and nods.

“Nah, kid, look at me.”

It takes more effort than he wants to admit to look up at him. He doesn’t want to attract attention. Everything that he has done to cause people to look at him has been bad. He doesn’t want anymore than that. He wants to be invisible.

“Life is like a war. At the end, there is a winner and a loser but you know how that is determined?” The softness continues as he urges these words into his mind. He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Battles. Even the winning side loses before the end. Remember that. You may get beaten up and lose this battle, but that doesn’t mean that you lose the war.”

The expressions on his face must be enough because Orlin throws himself back against the bench. “Don’t get too worried. He’s still better than you but you have a lot of growing left to do.”

Relief settles over him. Orlin didn’t make fun of him. He told him the truth. His future stretches out much further than the next time Dinand gets angry at him. If he can get better fast enough, he can win against his trainer. The thought of beating him in a fight crosses his mind and a giggle swells in his throat. It warms his chest.

Orlin stares off in front of them, his eyes studying the people.

“You’re just a little young right now. Give it time.”

“Thanks.”

The lapse into silence. The grocery bags sit at their feet. The wind makes crunching sounds through them.

The freedom to sit unwinds things in him that he didn’t realize were tight. Outside of Orlin and Mariella, Sephiroth finds himself quiet. The words won’t come out. Words are dangerous. With these two, it feels different and every emotion comes pouring out of him like he’s been holding it in all week.

Sephiroth’s toes move the leaves around and Orlin watches the people wandering by. Several times he raises a hand to people in suits. They glare at him before moving on. Sephiroth feels himself still. Orlin’s strength is undeniable in the bulky way that he moves. All that muscle and that strength feels protective over him. Sephiroth is skinny. He can’t wait for the days that he gets to like him. Until then, he basks in the safeness. No one can bully or yell at him here. Not now. Not on his Sunday morning off.

Orlin comes back to himself, sitting up in his chair. “Okay. So. Tell me. I’m curious. Who is hot at school?”

“Hmm?” Sephiroth opens his eyes. He hadn’t noticed that he had closed them.

“Any cute girls?” Orlin grins sideways at him.

Sephiroth closes his eyes again, crosses his arms and sets his chin deep towards his chest. “No.”

A puff of air tickles his nose. A quiet laugh.

“Okay. Fine. Any cute guys?”

“I don’t talk to anybody.”

Orlin leans a touch closer. “It’s okay if you find guys attractive.”

“Everybody hates me at school.”

“You know Mariella got a girlfriend. I’m sure she hasn’t said anything but, oh boy, has that gal tagged her in every photo on her profile.”

Sephiroth’s eyes pop open. “What?”

“Didn’t you ever wonder why La-” Orlin cuts himself off and restarts. “Look, you don’t have to talk about it but we’re both here for you if you decided you need to talk.”

Sephiroth ignores everything he doesn’t care about. “Wonder why what?”

Orlin’s cheeks flash red before he puts up a hand. “Nothing important.”

“What were you going to say?” Whatever almost came out of his mouth is something about his past that’s being kept back. It makes him wake up from relaxing on the bench.

“Please. Let’s just drink instead.” Sephiroth’s eyebrows raise but Orlin ignores him. He digs out two sodas from the bag and pops the tops off with the cross guard of his sword. The lids bounce against the pavement. Sephiroth will collect them later to throw out. He takes the soda offered to him but continues to stare hard at Orlin.

Orlin takes a drink. “Delicious.”

“Yes.” Sephiroth holds the soda on his lap. “Delicious.”

Orlin takes another drink. Half the bottle goes down then with a pop. Sephiroth waits. When there is a leak in the wall of what he can know about his life, he will sit here and wait for it.

“Okay. Look. A trade.” Orlin puts the drink aside. “We don’t do this and I’ll go through my materia again.”

A waiver comes across Sephiroth but he shoves it down. “I will not be bribed. What were you going to say?”

“I’ll raise you. You get to hold one of them.” Orlin props his sword across his lap. Materia neatly runs down the upper half of the blade. Sephiroth’s eyes catch on the orbs. It’s the first time since Orlin’s slip up that he has looked away from him.

“Geez. I want to talk about my specialization and this is the crowd I get?” He tuts and pops a white and a red materia out of the steel like they are candies. They are brought up, intercepting Sephiroth’s stare. “This one summons a long ass generational sword that I hate and this other one actually summons an ifrit. Do you even know what that is?”

“Are you going to summon it to show me?” Sephiroth watches the red mist move inside. It’s beautiful.

Orlin snorts. “The ifrit? Do you have a death wish?”

“Maybe.”

“Here. Do you want to hold it?” He offers the red one. Sephiroth reaches for it. Magic has enchanted him since he first saw Orlin create a small flicker of flame in the middle of his hand. He can’t wait until he is old enough to start trying it.

The thick fingers wrap around the summon before he can touch it. “But your condition is you drop the mistake earlier. If you do, you get to hold a savage fire entity that would rip us both apart and pick his teeth with our bones. Then it would burn down a fourth of the city before Shinra’s SOLDIERs would take it down in an explosion of fire destroying all of them with it.”

“Awesome.” Sephiroth takes the materia. It rolls unnaturally warm in his hand. He tries to imagine the demon inside. Ifrits are in the books he’s read. All the destruction kept behind that simple glassy surface. Sephiroth freezes. He has accidentally agreed.

“I thank the gods for simple victories,” Orlin smiles at him.

“Next time you won’t get away so lucky.”

“Fine.”

Chapter Text

November, 1984

The red target, Sephiroth reminds himself, is what matters.

Dinand holds a whistle between his teeth. It wobbles as he moves the punching paddles. Sephiroth focuses on the red dots in the centers. That is where his gloves need to hit. He tenses as the whistle chirps again. The combination is easy enough. The movements drum out of his arms. The impacts zip up his arms before dissipating into his shoulders. Sephiroth swallows down air as he eases his weight back.

“You figured it out?” Dinand asks, teeth flashing between the whistle. “Has the brilliant bullied boy figured out how to think straight?”

Sephiroth focuses on breathing light and easy o in his chest. This has been going on for weeks. Dinand is after this illusionary solution. This one fix that will remedy all his failures. Sephiroth hasn’t made it to that standard or any standard. He’s useless still.

Dinand circles and Sephiroth follows him. His feet stick to the mat.

“What do they tease you about? The easiest thing? Your hair? You’re an old man?”

He’s trying to make him angry. It works. Those words are slung at him like rocks. The laughter hits harder than the insults. Sephiroth cools the waiver in him. The trill goes out again and Sephiroth bangs out the combination. He hits harder than before and that makes him twitch. Dinand’s lips fidget. One point for Dinand.

This is about control. He has to learn to control and shut down his emotions. Orlin has told him that. SOLDIERs can’t have normal emotions.

Sephiroth has to learn to not be human.

The whistle goes again and this time he hits the paddles lightly. The paddles drop mid-sequence and Sephiroth withdraws. The anger is still there but it simmers. It is like a snake sliding in him, guided only by his hands. A smile comes onto his face as he lowers his gloves. One point for Sephiroth.

Dinand scowls. “Someone has been listening or cheating.”

“Not cheating.” Sephiroth says.

Dinand chews on the whistle and then paddles come up. “Of course not. It’s not like you’ve got the friends to help you.”

The whistle goes off again.

“Not true.” He shuffles and beats the rhythm against the foam. The pattern is nice, almost musical. One of the paddles idly swings for his head and he ducks under it.

“Orlin is paid to look after you. He doesn’t count. Mariella is a stuck up hen. Jab, cross, left hook, cross.” The whistle gives him one second to hear the new combination and process it. Sephiroth retreats into himself. He won’t give in. He starts and halfway through Dinand steps back, shaking his head with a laugh.

“No. Right hook and then cross. You’re proving everyone right. Good. Keep at it.” He raises the paddles. Sephiroth frowns.

The whistle goes. He follows the new pattern and again Dinand drops the targets. This time he’s grinning.

“Come on.”

Sephiroth can’t feel the evenness of his breath anymore. “Jab, cross, right hook, cross?”

“No. Jab, cross, left hook, cross.”

“No you said-”

“And you still don’t argue with your superiors. Gloves up. Chin down.” The snap is harsh and fear ripples in the back of his mind. The whistle sounds before he is ready. He is calm, he tells himself, he will be a SOLDIER. He barely throws the first jab when Dinand is halting them again.

“What did I do this time?” Sephiroth voice rises.

Dinand shrugs which feels as natural as a pig flying. “I wanted you to start over. Again.”

Sephiroth won’t play this game.

The red dots come up. The whistle goes off. This time, he hits lightly and taps the paddles exactly in the center. It’s perfect. Sephiroth knows a relieved smile finds itself on his face.

Dinand takes a step back.

He laughs long and hard at him.

“Are you even trying?”

Sephiroth hit them in the wrong order. He’s so focused on doing everything right that he reverted to the old combination. He’s falling for the trap. The patience in him slips and falls out of place. He’s wrong. He’s done everything wrong again.

Sephiroth knows he is spiraling into a dark pit of anger. He rolls his weight to his toes. Be present. He needs to stay present. The eyes behind the paddles work over his face. He isn’t hiding the knots that are forming in him. Dinand whistles. The first two punches hit light and easy but then the hook hits hard and the cross goes completely wrong.

Something hot and angry flashes in him.

And the cross hits Dinand directly across the cheek.

It’s an accident.

It’s a pure accident.

The trainer’s breath puffs across Sephiroth’s face in shock. The whistle falls out of his mouth. Satisfaction rolls through Sephiroth at Dinand’s surprise. The feeling disappears and is replaced with a cold sickness. What has he done? He’s hit Dinand. Sephiroth stumbles back. His words choke in his throat.

Blood oozes from Dinand’s nose. It runs in a straight line down his face. It hangs on the bottom lip, wobbles and drops onto the whiteness of his shirt. It spreads there, pink and fresh. Dinand snuffs as he straightens. He doesn’t bother to look at it. He wipes at the blood, coloring his own face. Instead, he focuses on the backpedaling Sephiroth. It isn’t anger in his face. It isn’t frustration. It’s steel.

“You think you’re too good for this? Are you wasting my time?” He drawls and the paddles drop to the ground.

“No-It was an accid-” He can’t get his words out. He’s backing up across the floor.

“I’m so tired of your bullshit, your excuses, your everything. You don’t get to hit anybody unless someone tells you to.” His voice is stuffed up. Dinand’s strides increase. Sephiroth brings his gloved hands up as he stumbles across the mat, trying to keep the front of his body facing him. His heels catch the plastic. Drops of blood spatter his mentor’s shirt. Sephiroth put those there.

“You need to start taking this seriously. I am the SOLDIER here. Do you think you are too good for this already?” Cords are rising in his neck. Sephiroth’s fear is so strong that his mouth is full of acid.

“N-”

“Oh, I think so. You were happy to hit me.”

“I didn’t-”

“Clever boy. Try to be this clever.”

Dinand is on him in a blink. Sephiroth manages to dodge the grab for his arm. Every part of him swings wild and fast. He’s too big. He’s too awkward. The fist meant for his stomach swings in empty air. His right foot moves without his permission. It jerks out. Dinand hooked it with his own. Sephiroth hits the mat. His neck bounces hard. Things go blank and then he’s rolling away, trying to push up his hands.

“No way, kid.”

Sephiroth smacks into Dinand’s leg. His mentor drops down onto him. Sephiroth reaches forward to pull himself out but the weight pins him hard on his stomach.

“No-”

A hand grabs his right wrist. The surprise keeps the muscles loose until it is too late. His right arm bends back until it is pinned in the small of his back. The weight above him crushes into his lungs. Sephiroth is sputtering apologies. He means them.

He squirms. His left hand pushes against the ground and he manages to shakily lift both of their weights off the ground. The effort pops every muscle in his chest but he does it anyway. He doesn’t want to hurt his trainer but he can hardly breathe. Dinand’s free hand clamps over this last chance and rips it away. Sephiroth jolts back towards the ground. His left hand joins his right. His boxing gloves feel foreign the way they touch each other.

“My job is to mold you into the perfect SOLDIER.” Dinand doesn’t even sound out of breath. “You have to behave and certainly you don’t get to bite back.”

Sephiroth struggles to breathe under the weight. Strange squealing noises come from his feet as he uselessly tries to get traction. Part of his mind goes numb. He simply doesn’t know what to do. Dinand’s grip is iron on his wrists. His weight pushes down into his stomach. He closes his eyes and tries to focus.

Sephiroth won’t scream. Hair is plastered across his face and his lungs burn. His arms hurt with the strain as they are shifted further up. Instead, he tries not to gasp too loudly.

His head falls forward. The fight is over. He can’t get the leverage. The energy in him dissipates in defeat. A grunt comes from above him after a moment of stillness and the hold loosens. His arms slip away and down to his side. Dinand himself doesn’t move. It’s enough that he can relax on the mat. That’s all that matters. He coughs under the weight and the cool plastic comes up to meet his face. He calms his spinning head.

“You know how I was able to do this? You lost control of yourself and I didn’t. That’s your first step. That is what I am trying to teach you.”

Sephiroth closes his eyes. He isn’t being condescending. It is a fact. He panicked.

“We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Only then does Dinand get up.

Chapter Text

November, 1984

Today is November 12th.

November 12th is a Monday.

The clock on the dash says it is 10:32 in the morning.

Sephiroth should be at school. This period is history and in his mind, the teacher drawls about the pre-industrial revolution following the 18th century drought. Sephiroth should be in his seat, keeping good notes even though he already knows this. Unlike most of his class, he has done the reading. Joshua behind him is a constant worry. The grinning kid has gotten in the very bad habit of trying to cut his hair. He sells the silver strands for a few gil a piece.

Sephiroth isn’t in his chair.

He’s not there.

In fact, he’s not expected to be there today.

Instead, he’s twisted in his seat watching Midgar disappear from the back window. The highway strip keeps disappearing into a small thread connecting his life. Shinra and the buildings shrink. The edges of the plate glimmer. It thrills him to see it shrink. The city seemed huge when they first left it. Now it is tiny. Midgar is the only place he remembers. All the people he knows live there. The smells and the weather and the way to get around the inner circle of the city are in him. The familiarity blankets him.

It also stings. That’s where Dinand lives and all the kids that go to his school.

That's why he can’t completely hide his smile as Midgar gets smaller and smaller.

“Any guesses on where we are going?” Orlin asks from the driver seat.

“He knows. I told him a couple days ago,” Mariella says from the passenger.

“You did what now? Now that is not fair. I worked hard on this surprise.”

“You deserve it. He came waltzing in one day asking about my girlfriend. If that doesn’t scream Orlin-type trouble, I don’t know what does,” Mariella leans back in her seat, staring out the window.

Sephiroth tries to fight the smile and manages to get it to flicker. Today is November 12th. It is his first birthday. Well, technically not his first one, but this is the first one that he will remember. The ten before are insignificant.

Orlin and Mariella have both taken vacation time and excused him from school. He’s been marking the days since when he was told about the trip. His mind went into overdrive when he found out what they are going to do. The hours until this day became the math that lulled him to sleep.

The rental car grumbles under them. The bags in the back click together as the road grows rougher. Orlin’s sword sits across from him in the backseat. Materia winks in the sunlight from the usual slots. Little towns and scraggly trees spot the desert. The music in the car is a bland compromise. Neither adult liked each other’s tastes. The first hour was spent arguing about it while careening through Midgar morning traffic.

They don’t ask him to make conversation. They bicker. Sephiroth is so used to it he doesn’t notice. Carefully he watches the sand turn dirty and stony before it washes away into farms and forest. The green hurts. The density of plants confuses him. The only dense thing he has seen before this is people. The road they drive on stays empty and curves between the idle hills. These aren’t Midgar’s parks. These are landscapes and creations that nobody made.

The dips of the hills and the fields hypnotize him. Mariella rattles on about the best “trashy TV show”. Orlin stutters offended and throws back a different show title. Sephiroth slips down in his seat. The sun soothes him, warming his face and neck.

The car jerks forward into a different gear. Sephiroth wakes up with his heart beating in his chest. Nothing is familiar. He scrambles up scared at the strap pulling tight across his chest. Is it Wutai? Then he remembers and collapses back down in the seat.

Mariella and Orlin have not shut up. They have not found a topic not to argue about. The car is parked. Hinges squeal as doors open. It rocks Sephiroth as he fumbles with the seatbelt.

It’s all trees outside the windows. Their final destination is a cabin. It is so small. Only being four car lengths across can’t be a good thing. How are they all supposed to fit in it? Nerves jitter. He’s forgotten that new things are scary. It smells weird and overwhelming out here. He peeks around as he opens his door, searching for the strangers on the street and the others glowering behind desks.

It’s trees and a house with dark windows.

“Well, you know how to pick a place.” Mariella pops the trunk behind him.

“Easy enough. I know the kid pretty well.”

“Hmm. I think you missed that it wasn’t a compliment.”

Sephiroth eases out. Gravel rolls funny under his shoes. He takes a step to look behind the house. A thick strip of woods surround both sides. Behind them afternoon light shines through. He walks a few feet away from the car to take a better look. He crunches with every step. The leaves are piles around here. Nobody cleans them up. He wants to sneeze, it smells weird and musty.

The driveway in front of him turns into a smaller dirt path and leads to what is behind the house. A car sized hole where the road leads out shows him what he’s been dreaming of. A fenced in meadow rolls out behind the cabin and far in the distance yellow specks dot a hill.

He takes a couple more steps. He can’t believe that he is here. It looks like something out of a picture or a movie.

The yellow dots move across the green. He strains to see them but he can’t make out the specifics besides tails and heads. He swallows in the air. Purposefully he unballs his fists. How many books has he read that had these creatures? Sure, he had spotted a chocobo in one of the recreational parks but he never dared to get closer than that. He regretted it and told Orlin. That’s probably why they are here.

“After you, your royal highness,” Orlin says behind him.

“If it wasn’t for Sephiroth, I wouldn’t be able to stand you.”

“I know it. Me too,” Orlin says and calls, “Hey kid, what do you think of all of this?”

Sephiroth shrinks as both of the adults look at him. He is trapped. He’s supposed to say something here. They are both taking time out of their lives just for him. He doesn’t deserve it. Different phrases come together in his head but none of them seem right. None of them has enough substance for what is happening. He doesn’t want to ruin this for them. The time drags out longer than a pause should and they are still watching him. He spits something out.

“…yeah. It’s nice.”

Gods. Could he sound more dumb? Still, Mariella’s smile grows and Orlin nods like he understands.

“Future SOLDIER, help me with the bags,” he says. Sephiroth jogs back in relief.

The cabin is small but everything is decorated. It takes a moment to get used to. The inside is all wood, motivational sayings, chocobos and claustrophobic. It smells woody too. No matter how stuffed it feels, the living room looks out over the paddock and that’s what matters. Plus the worn out couches are comfortable.

Orlin sends him upstairs to pick a bedroom and he takes the first one he sees. The room is mostly bed but it is foreign. Funny frilly blinds cover the view of the hills. The duffel bag looks out of place on the quilt. He touches the fabric, trying to orient himself here. This is a place that he has never been in and he will sleep here tonight, a novel concept.

The groceries that they brought with them clatter on the countertop downstairs.

“How many beds?” Mariella asks.

“Oh shit. I forgot. Only two. I guess one for the kid and one of us.”

“You are sleeping on the couch.”

“Come on. Do you think I would hit on you? I have honor and all that shit.”

“Couch, SOLDIER and no discussion. Gods, I should have known how much you would screw this up.”

Sephiroth’s mouth jerks into a smile and Orlin’s laughter is not far behind. Sephiroth tries the lamp and the yellow light makes the dark room seem friendlier. It is stuffy in here but it is fading. He turns to the closed curtains as they continue the conversation downstairs.

“Four beds actually, two on each floor. In case the queen doesn’t like to sleep on the same floor as the rest of us. I know that promotion has gone to your head.”

“Hardly. Don’t put the milk on the door. We aren’t savages here.”

The curtains push back. The hills go out even further from this height. The birds wander across them, working the grass and fussing with each other. He must be in a dream. Nothing this nice has ever happened to him. The thought settles into his chest and stays there warm.

“How does it feel to be head of the department that injects the planet in willing victims?”

“…it pays nice.”

“And?”

“That’s about all I like.”

He pads down the hall, looking at a similar bedroom and spends too many minutes staring at the bathroom. It appears to have a sign with the words: “Hope everything comes out okay” in cursive. This place is bizarre. They could learn something from the lack of decoration in R&D.

Orlin sweeps them into the car soon after and they go where he’s been dreaming: Goldwing Stables - Breeding & Training.

The complex is big. The red barns are pulled out of books and training arenas surround them. Chocobos work and trot around with people on them in the outside arenas. It takes effort worthy of Dinand’s praise to not run to look at them right then and there. He stays by their side. The smell of dry feathers and hay outweigh the dung barely.

Mariella guides him away from Orlin as he goes to some of the waiting employees. Orlin seems to be on his own personal mission to slap the back of every person that he can see. They laugh in response. The casualness keeps his attention as they walk away.

Sephiroth can’t take in enough as she guides him down a dirt path parallel to the main barn.

“He used to live around here when he was young,” she says as they walk parallel to the main barn. “Let’s go see the chocobos.”

“Have you been here before?” Sephiroth asks as she walks with a purpose. Even some of the usual strain has melted off her face too.

“A couple weekends ago. Orlin doesn’t always have the best of taste and T-” Mariella’s face crunches for a second and then eases. “Thea wanted some alone time together. No work allowed. She’s strict that I take time off.”

Thea.

“Cool.”

She pauses and sinks her hands in her pockets before saying anything more. Sephiroth fights to fill the space with all the questions that he wants to ask. He doesn’t because if she doesn’t want to tell him then he shouldn’t ask. The students at school grill him over and over on his hair and appearance, not believing his answers. He knows invasive questions. The chocobos chirp and whistle in every direction.

They grind the gravel under their shoes. The sun is warm on his back but not hot. Everyone has been saying that it is warmer than usual. Sephiroth has had to just take their word for it. Mariella’s shoulders fall as the topic passes.

Her hands come out of her pockets. “Is this a good birthday for you? Getting out of the city?”

The paddock in front of them is the one that backs onto their cabin but he can hardly spot the porch through the trees. The hill covers the horizon before the fence does.

“I think so. I feel like…this…all reminds me of something.”

It is true. The space and the air. It all seems reminiscent of the shadows that have been growing more and more irrelevant in the back of his mind. That wouldn’t make any sense. Everyone had told him that his life was scattered around the planet with Mariella until they settled in Midgar.

Still, it is like home out here.

Whatever that is supposed to feel like.

“Sure. Of course.”

They make it up to the fence. The animals are still far away but now he can tell that they aren’t all yellow. A rainbow of pale colors that don’t stand out from the green and brown grass dot the field. He leans against the top slat to stare. The breeze brushes nice against his skin. It steals away the pressure and stress in him.

He crosses his arms on the fence and closes his eyes, trying to memorize every strand of grass. This place settles content in him. An arm wraps around his shoulder and Mariella drags herself close without words.

He enjoys it, listening to the birds chattering and the wind singing in the trees.

It feels good to be like this.

He doesn’t think about it. He leans into the hug, still keeping his eyes closed. Her fingers wrap tighter and Mariella’s head rests on his.

It only lasts a couple seconds. Combat boots flatten the gravel far behind them.

“Stop, you’re embarrassing me.”

“Alright, alright.”

They stand apart but the feeling of Mariella’s arm doesn’t leave him.

They end up taking a trail around in the forest in the late afternoon. Sephiroth is terrified as Orlin leads him around on a chocobo. It’s even worse when he is forced to ride alone. The bird is calm and takes his direction well. Eventually Sephiroth’s heart stops hurting from beating so hard and Orlin deems them “an adventurous pair”.

Orlin and Mariella on their own chocobos sears some part of his brain that will never go away. The trail is easy and is more about the sights than the challenge. By then, Sephiroth is out of his mind with excitement. It’s heady in him. The novelty of nature hasn’t worn off on him. The trees are so thick and old. They pass lakes and the mountains and they are so strange and wonderful. Midgar’s splendor is paper thin compared to what this forest has to offer.

Then he has to come back to the feeling of the bird breathing under him.

It’s almost too much.

Orlin leads the trip and Mariella doesn’t boss him around. When the red barns and the paddocks come back into sight, Sephiroth twists inside. He doesn’t want to leave. Still, they follow the beaten dirt and hand the chocobos back to the staff that is waiting for them. He’ll remember his bird. He’ll be back here to ride him again, he promises as he squeezes chocobo’s neck one more time.

The car trip back is a contented quiet. Sephiroth is loose and sleepy in the back seat.

Eventually they all settle outside in the dusk. Orlin built a stick house in the middle of the fire pit near Sephiroth. Mariella yawns and supervises. Large logs and rocks have been dragged around the pit to sit on. They are smooth and tired looking but it takes his weight. Sephiroth watches the sun sink out of sight. He blinks slowly. He’s dragged backward. He remembers things he doesn’t remember. It’s all fragments but they aren’t bad.

His eyes trace the chocobos wandering back towards the barn in the distance.

Could he have been happy like this once before?

“Ready for your birthday present?” Orlin sits back on his haunches.

That draws him back from his watching. “Sure.”

Orlin doesn’t bother to fully get up. He shuffles over in his squat and digs in his back pocket. Sephiroth leans forward. He tries to pretend to be only interested as Orlin brings out a closed fist from his pocket. It is a small thing. A new toy to join his other SOLDIER? Some coins for books? Candy?

“Happy birthday,” Mariella says from behind Orlin, “from both of us.”

The large hand opens to show a red sphere. The glassy outside hides the whirl of mist inside. It glows in dusk lighting up Orlin’s palm.

“No way.” Sephiroth doesn’t realize he is on his feet until he almost falls forward. His eyes hurt as he stares intensely at the materia.

Orlin snorts. “’Way’ kid.”

“Really?” Sephiroth looks at Mariella who can’t seem to help the grin that is across her face.

“It’s time.”

The fire materia rolls into his hand. It is warm to the touch. He brings it up to study the milky inside. He’s been dreaming about magic for as long as he has seen Orlin use it.

“Saturday mornings, I’ll train you on it,” Orlin says as he gets up, moving to stand next to Sephiroth. “Mariella finally bullied me into joining all of this. You’re a good kid.”

Sephiroth’s mind struggles. It actually breaks trying to comprehend all of this. First, he gets his first ever piece of materia. Now he learns that he gets to spend even more time with Orlin? Sephiroth takes a step back. He feels hot and cold. Sounds come out of his mouth but nothing concrete. The orb rolls around in his palm. He blinks a lot. Carefully, he picks up the materia with his fingers. It’s really there.

He will know how to use this. He’s one step closer to being a real SOLDIER.

“Do you want to light this fire with me?” Orlin asks.

“I can?” Sephiroth knows every inch of shock is on his face as he looks up at him. He can’t hide it anymore. He’s too overwhelmed.

Orlin’s smile gets warmer somehow. “We can do it together. You aren’t liable to combust on your own.”

It takes a moment for Sephiroth to calm down enough to listen to instructions. The materia goes in the hollow of his upturned hand and Orlin clasps over it. His rough palm swallows Sephiroth’s with the orb trapped in between. His fingers actually meet his palm on the other side. Orlin gives it a squeeze. Sephiroth glances at the stick pile and him.

“You ready?” He asks.

“Yeah.” Every part of him is stiff and excited. He is locked in place. Something is going to happen.

He feels the older man settle next to him. It is about focusing your energy, he had said, think about sending energy into the materia.

Sephiroth fixates on sticks. He can’t miss a thing. Part of him shakes. His first spell, a fire spell at that. He thinks about the materia. He tries to gather up the nervousness inside him and throw it at the orb. The materia flashes warm in their hands and Sephiroth blinks as a cheery fire springs up. It worked. That fire is there because of them. Mariella starts clapping first and then Orlin steps away and joins her. They’re cheering at him. His first magic casting is done.

The materia continues to warm his hand as he clutches it.

Sephiroth's face reddens and he struggles to keep the emotion from flooding his eyes. All of this is happening because of him. That thought alone has quivered in him all day and is now singing. He’s thankful for everything that has been done for him but never does his lifestyle recognize who he is.

Dinand doesn’t care if he’s tired or sore. His teachers drone and drown him without acknowledging that he exists. In the labs, his blood and experiments are written down with minimal questions about how he is doing. He’s been beaten down into statistics and products.

Mariella is still clapping at him. Orlin shakes his shoulder and yells at him to wake up.

Sephiroth swallows heavily and blinks. Tears roll down his cheeks.

Here, at this moment where the two people he trusts surround him, here, he feels wholly a person.

Chapter Text

CLASSIFIED. CLEARANCE: EXECUTIVE. SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY. HARD COPY ONLY. STORAGE #31 - NIBELHEIM MANSION.

Project S Letter ID # 841228.1002

Overdue Report
Friday, Dec 28, 1984 at 10:02 AM
From: Mariella Haynes <[email protected]> 
To: Orlin Chau <[email protected]>

—

Orlin -

This is your reminder that you are now two weeks late on the weekly materia progress report for Sephiroth due on Sunday, December 9th. We are also missing the reports for the 16th and the 23rd. Can you please write these up and send them to me as soon as you can?

Thanks.

Happy holidays.

Mariella

—

Project S Letter ID # 841228.1806

RE: Overdue Report
Friday, Dec 28, 1984 at 5:06 PM
From: Orlin Chau <[email protected]>
To:  Mariella Haynes <[email protected]>

—

He’s learning. Things explode. He’s good at it. Neither one of us are dead yet. I’ll report in when there is something interesting to say. I’m not trying to fill folders with busy work.

—

Project S Letter ID # 841228.1810

RE: RE: Overdue Report
Friday, Dec 28, 1984 at 5:10 PM
From: Mariella Haynes <[email protected]> 
To: Orlin Chau <[email protected]>

—

It is a record of progress. Not busy work.

—

Project S Letter ID # 841228.1813

RE: RE: RE: Overdue Report
Friday, Dec 28, 1984 at 5:13 PM
From: Orlin Chau <[email protected]>
To:  Mariella Haynes <[email protected]>

—

Oh please. Come on.

Also. Stop working. It’s the holiday weekend. Get that stick out of your ass and put it in a martini.

—

Project S Letter ID # 841228.1814

RE: RE: RE: RE: Overdue Report
Friday, Dec 28, 1984 at 5:14 PM
From: Orlin Chau <[email protected]>
To:  Mariella Haynes <[email protected]>

—

Also. Don’t you dare put this in one of those record folders. 

—

Chapter Text

August, 1985

“Sorry about this.” Mariella digs through her pocket for her keys. “It’ll just be a minute and then we will go back to HQ.”

“It’s fine.” Sephiroth isn’t paying attention as he stares at the house in front of them. It’s a small two story house tucked between two others that look exactly like it. If he was walking down the street, it would be unremarkable. Instead he’s drinking in all the details: the blue curtains closed to his right, a beige wall on the second floor, the molding around the front door and even a pot of flowers blooming next to him

“I didn’t know you gardened.”

Mariella glances at them. “They aren’t mine. I never got that skill.”

Sephiroth nods and swings the plastic bag in his hand. Ten new tops and three pants rustle inside. Since the first year of his schooling ended, his schedule changed. Summertime comprises of general infantry training during the day, Dinand’s exercises at night and Orlin on Saturdays. Only on weekends and these special evening trips does he relax at all.

With school starting again in a few weeks, Mariella had insisted on new clothes so she took him shopping. He had been looking forward to this for weeks. 

“The files I need are upstairs, just stay right inside the door. And not a peep. No matter what. Okay?” If she wanted an answer, she didn’t wait for one. Instead, she turns around, takes a breath and puts the key in the lock.

Sephiroth is overwhelmed by what he finds. In contrast to R&D, this place is packed. Mariella tosses her keys in a bowl on a table. Colored art hangs on the walls. Ahead of them, a living room with bookshelves and two couches are arranged around a rug. It all looks so warm.

“Mariella?” A new voice asks from somewhere around the corner.

Mariella freezes and looks at him. A finger goes to her lips. Sephiroth leans against the front door, putting his hands behind him. Everything falls into place. His heart beats in his ears.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m not here though, just picking something up,” She says to the floor as she slips off her shoes. A pair of heels sit next to where Mariella tosses hers.

“Okay. Fine. I’ve had a hell of a day and I needed you to kiss it all away half an hour ago.”

Mariella’s face reddens. Sephiroth can’t help the grin. She doesn’t look at him. Instead, she disappears around the corner.

Sephiroth can hear something boiling and a spoon scrapes against metal. “Smith thinks it’s a great idea that we should work on four reports at the same time. It’s too much. I took over sixty phone calls today. Sixty. I counted because I was so stresse- No, no, no, come here -Listen. The office is batshit crazy. Overachieving bastard. Almost as bad as yo-.”

The voice cuts off. A moan comes out of the new voice and Sephiroth’s hand comes over his mouth to stop the laugh. He shouldn’t be here. Over half a year has passed since Mariella started mentioning Thea but she barely talks about anything. She doesn’t seem to want to. Now here he is. 

He takes a careful step forward. His mind soaks in everything. More of the living room comes into view. Landscape paintings decorate the walls. Magazines make a mountain on one of the seats. A quilt hangs over the back of a chair.

“I can’t stay. People are waiting on me.” Mariella’s voice is tinny.

A new sound comes into the mix, a snort and a rapid scrabbling against a tile. Sephiroth strains to hear snuffs against fabric.

Mariella hums. “Decided to wake up, buddy? Long day? Did Thea take you for a walk?”

“He pooped three times. We still aren’t talking to each other,” Thea says.

That gets another approving noise. The dog barks and paws scrabble against the floor.

“Charlie, come back here,” Mariella shouts.

Sephiroth freezes. The dog runs his way. He takes a step backwards and then another. The dog will be here in seconds. As much as Sephiroth wants to be here, Mariella doesn’t want him here. This was a last resort and he heard the pain in her voice when she took the call from R&D that they needed her again. 

So he backpedals. The front door handle leaps into his hand and he slips back out into the cold.

He hears the dog snuff against the wood as the lock clicks.

A whine leaks out from behind the wood.

His fingers stay on the door and he blinks at what he’s done. He shakes as he takes a deep breath. He’s out of the house, out of every opportunity to understand Mariella better. He swallows. His feet scuff against the wood floor. He doesn’t matter that much, he reminds himself. She told him to stay quiet. She told him to hide himself. She told him to not be seen.

The dog still works against the door, blowing air under the crack.

He turns around. The air is cold on his face as he takes a seat on the porch step. The wood is bites into his legs. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. She’ll be a few minutes. Even then, he crosses his arms on his lap and leans against them, putting his head down. He listens as the dog pads away. A car rolls down the street. It’s getting late. He hopes no one would ask him why he is here.

The door opens behind him.

“Well, would you look at that.”

Sephiroth turns to see Thea standing in the doorway. A smile flickers across her face and dies as they make eye contact. Her body curves as she leans down. Her eyes turn to something less warm as she stares into his weird eyes. He stills, tense. He drops his vision down to her socks. They are gray. He shrinks.

Mariella appears behind her. Concern covers both of them. He doesn’t move from the step. He wants to run away but it isn’t possible. A yellow dog pushes between them. He doesn’t stop to greet Sephiroth. His big head immediately presses deep into Sephiroth’s chest and the animal sneezes. Sephiroth weaves his hands through the fur. For a moment, he forgets the awkward situation he is in and something unclenches deep in him.

The dog wags his tail. Sephiroth’s fingers dig underneath his collar. The dog’s head digs deep into his chest. How is this familiar to him? He’s barely met a dog before this. It feels so good to see him. He presses his head against the top of the dog’s, breathing in the animal smell. He’s hugging the dog, he realizes, and it fills him.

“Are you Sephiroth ?” Thea asks, almost like an interrogation. When he glances up, the smile he didn’t know that was on his face fades. The warmth that he’s seen in all the pictures of Thea is gone. She’s shocked. He’s too weird. Somehow he will ruin things between them.

This is like the first year of school only worse. He knows that he is strange and wrong. The dog pushes forward, jostling him but he ignores him now. 

She blinks. Sephiroth nods. She still says nothing. She’s waiting for him to verbally confirm it.

“Yes.” He pushes up then, feeling like he is all arms and legs and when she says nothing in response he adds, “ma’am.”

That breaks through her surprise and she laughs. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to be so young . I’m Thea, Mariella’s girlfriend.”

She leaves the doorway and offers her hand to him, short black hair falling over her face. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a while now. Why don’t you come on in?”

He glances back at Mariella. She hovers in the doorway, watching them. Will she allow him inside? It isn’t his decision to make. She can tell them both that they have to go and then usher him back to Shinra without another word of explanation. Thea’s head tilts. He tries not to bite the inside of his mouth. His face needs to stay quiet.

Then Thea’s hand grasps his arm and pulls him up before he can jerk back. “It’s chilly out here. Come on in.”

He finds himself on Mariella’s couch with a glass of water, a dog on his lap and no idea what to do. He’s come a long way in social interactions but this is a situation that he has never encountered. If Thea notices, she smooths it over as she forces them both to stay and converse. Mariella has her folders but has been stationed next to Thea. The arm wrapped around her shoulder pins her to the couch. Mariella keeps looking at the dog, Charlie, and Sephiroth. Her eyes haze over.

When she comes back, sadness stays on her face.

He is frankly not sure what they talk about. He answers the questions asked of him but that isn’t what he’s paying attention to. He can’t help but see the way that the two women interact with each other. Thea melts Mariella’s focus. It takes a while but her death grip on the papers eases and she leans back on the couch. Some of the grief that haunts her eyes disappears. Hardness leaves her eyes. She almost looks younger. It stings but he tries to let it go and smile.

Thea herself laughs more than the rest of them. She explains how she housesits for Charlie when Mariella works late. As soon as her lease is up, the plan is to move in because Mariella always works late. 

“Did you know that before me, Mariella had never been to the ocean?” Thea asks.

That catches Mariella’s attention. “Oh no. Please don’t tell him-”

“Her first reaction to seeing it was ‘how could so much water exist?’”

Sephiroth holds back the giggle in him but he still shakes. Mariella sputters as Thea laughs openly at her. Unlike at work, she doesn’t scowl it away or try to stop it. She shakes her head and buries her head in her hands. The hand on her shoulder squeezes.

“You didn’t have to share that.”

“Well, I find it cute.”

“I find it embarrassing.”

Thea sends Sephiroth a look and stands. “We’re working on being a balanced human being. You want coffee before you go, Mariella? Late late night right?”

“Make it strong, please.” Mariella’s fingers draw a long line down the departing arm and Sephiroth’s mind stammers.

“I should be paid by Shinra at this point.” He hears her say as she moves back to the kitchen.

Mariella’s odd smile fades as she looks back at Sephiroth. “No word of this to Orlin, you understand?”

Eventually, they end up back on the porch. R&D called asking for an ETA and Mariella gave one that left no more room for conversation.

Sephiroth walks out onto the porch and realizes that Thea is holding back Mariella.

“I’ve got to have a moment with her. It was nice to meet you.” She winks and the door closes.

He suspects if he was normal, he would not be able to hear the whispers that came from the other side. 

 “You’ve been doing that thing.”

“Thing?”

“The thing where you are being modest about something you really like. I see why.”

“Oh hush.”

“But he’s so young and he is training for SOLDIER ?”

“I know.” Sephiroth blinks at the regret he hears in Mariella’s voice.

“We’ll talk more later.”

The door opens again and Mariella gives him a tired smile. He nods and they head back out into the night. The emotion in Mariella’s voice haunts his mind all the way back to HQ. What would she be so sad about?

That weekend, he starts to have regrets of his own.

After the fifteenth box of books, Sephiroth’s knees start to buckle. One flight of stairs isn’t bad but the steps are tall and the u-shaped landing in the middle is too narrow. His weight goes on his heels as he climbs. That almost tips him backwards. He puffs against the cardboard side and lifts it higher. He is going to smell like a musty basement for the rest of the day. The last step onto the second floor is shaky but he wobbles forward. The box hits the ground hard next to the others. 

Sephiroth decided that he couldn’t spend his lunch money on books anymore. Mariella didn’t need to say anything when she handed over his allowance. Amusement painted all over her face. Somehow she knew. Also, without the money, he was starting to go hungry at lunch. The impact of that has snowballed. Who knew that food and water could be so important? It should have taken thirty boxes to make Sephiroth huff, not fifteen. 

After the allowance option disappeared, he sold back all the books that he had bought. It hurt but the stack disappeared. He could hear Orlin’s voice in his head saying, “You’ve got an addiction, kid.” That had kept him for a few weeks but the margin between the purchase price and the resale price was too high. That’s when Ben, Rafi’s dad and bookstore owner, offered that he could do some menial work Sundays. The payment is more books.

Perfect.

They've been at it for six months. The work continues to grow, not decrease, with his efforts.

Sephiroth leans over, trying to get the floor to come into focus. Sweat sticks his shirt to him. The floor doesn’t clarify so he sinks to the ground and rests against the pile he has moved. The wet basement smell makes him sneeze. He’s going to have to shower again.

Eyes make him look up.

Rafi sits at the reading table on the other side of the room. Homework is scattered around her. A pencil wobbles in her mouth. She’s been neutral about him. He’s seen her in passing and the few comments that slip between them are unmemorable. She blinks and presses her fingers against the page of a textbook and then comes back to him.

“What do you think about our education system?”

Sephiroth doesn’t have his breath back so he waves around aimlessly. 

“Right. School sucks,” she says.

He stares up at her and puts his arms on his knees. “Not really.” 

His lungs still burn. Unusual. Dehydration is the problem. The weather is warm. Even Dinand has been bringing him water bottles to drink in class lately.

“No. This education system really sucks.”

Rafi is the same age as him but unlike him, she acts like she is eleven. He shakes his head at her and concentrates on calming his heart. Her nails tap against the wooden surface. The second floor is organized around the big room. Little rooms surround the main space. It’s claustrophobic and cozy at the same time. He’s so used to it now that sometimes he has to remind himself of how special this place is.

He stretches his back. Breathing clears his head. 

“You said you live at Shinra,” Rafi says, “Why?”

The homework remains untouched. It has been for the last ten boxes.

“I’m training to be in the army.” He swallows down the truth. SOLDIER is confidential. He doesn’t understand why it would be controversial. Mariella insists that he not say anything to anyone outside R&D. Once the methods are safe, the program will be announced. This confuses him. Surely, they have always been safe if they are putting people through it now?

“Wow. The army.” Her eyebrows raise and her voice curls upwards. The pencil waivers between her teeth.

“Yes.” He shakes his head at the pride in him. It takes strength to be at Shinra. Dinand’s constant yelling echoes in his ears. Orlin’s insistence that yes, he can do better. He’s not sure how to say this to her. The emotions don’t translate into words. That’s okay. He doesn’t need her to understand. She isn’t fighting in the upcoming war.

“Gotta ask, why white hair?” She points with the eraser.

Sephiroth’s stomach clenches. Here it comes. The unnecessary teasing that he endures everyday at school. Part of him wonders what it’ll be. Will she go the “old man” route or will she go the marginally more creative “ghost” way? His hands work each other and then he drops them. 

“Yeah.” He tries to start this conversation casually. “I got exposed to mako when I was younger. It changed my hair and my eyes.” 

It’s better to get both out of the way.

She chews on the pencil and rakes through his appearance. He unknits the muscles in his neck and back and tries to match her look. Why does everyone feel entitled to know why he is different than everyone else? Why does this have to be public knowledge? Even removing the anxiety about Wutai sitting in his stomach like a rock, he doesn’t like admitting something terrible has happened to him.

She cocks her head. Ideas and jokes roll over her face. He waits. His fingers itch to work over each other so instead he bites the inside of his lip. He wants to continue to work here so he will endure it. Rafi toys over the joke that will follow him around. He’ll stand it and maybe it will stop hurting.

Rafi sighs and pulls the pencil out of her mouth. “Wow. Bummer.”

It hits him like a bucket of cold water. It is a bummer . It’s nothing more than that. He waits. She frowns. He breathes through his nose, trying to keep the room from feeling softer than it is.

Before he can come up with something to say in response, Ben comes from one of the reading rooms, a collapsed box under his arm. Sephiroth pushes up from the floor and stands straight. The room stays solid. Good. Maybe he needs to drink more water.

The bookstore owner smiles at him. “Rafi thinks everything is a bummer or sucks these days. Don’t take it personally.”

He’s a lanky and one of the only people that can reach the top shelves. Sephiroth has neglected to mention that this might be detrimental for customers.

“I’m not wrong about any of it.” She rolls back her head to look at him.

“You might change your mind.”

“You suck too.”

“Only sometimes.”

“I’m allergic to bad jokes.”

They laugh. Pain ripples across his chest at them enjoying each other. It is this kind of conversation that makes him rethink coming here. He’s always the stranger separated by a glass wall. Memories of his birthday and even going to Mariella’s house forces him to smile but it is a bitter one. Most of the time they have to be Shinra employees with him. Orlin shows him how to cast with materia. Mariella asks him about his body and checks his pulse.

They give him this close feeling but it never stays.

It’s as fleeting as his memory of his past. 

“I’m due back soon.” Sephiroth takes a step away.

“See you next week.” Rafi pokes at her homework and Ben hovers over her chair.

“Books are by the door. I tucked a few extra in there. I thought you might like the surprise.” His grins always seem so real.

Sephiroth nods. “Thank you for your understanding.”

“Yeah. Just don’t get a library card any time soon.”

He feels a weary smile come over him as he goes down the steps. His chin dips once he is out of sight. He has looked up the list of information needed to get a library card. 

The list on the website is short but it had put his head in his hands. He’ll never qualify. There are things in his life that are missing. The gaps can’t be filled. Not even Mariella smiling at him or getting punched in the shoulder by Orlin are going to change the facts.

The list has burned into him how much he needs Shinra. Otherwise, what would he do in the real world? He had no city ID, proof of address, a home, parent, birth certificate, or even a last name.

He’s just “Sephiroth”.

Chapter Text

CLASSIFIED. CLEARANCE: EXECUTIVE - VIP. SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY. HARD COPY ONLY. STORAGE #31 - NIBELHEIM MANSION.

Project S Letter ID #850927.2358

Anomaly in Travel

Thursday, Sept 27, 1985 at 11:58 PM

From: Edin Morse <[email protected]>

To: Mariella Haynes <[email protected]>

—

Dear Dr. Haynes,

Remember last year when I stayed up extra late because the predictable Project S started wandering? When I thought the data was so unusual that perhaps his tracker was malfunctioning? The Turk department still likes to give me grief asking if all my requests are “more useless missions to confirm the life threatening nature of trips to a bookstore”…

He’s still at it by the way. Since you approved his request to walk back from school alone, he goes to The Multitudes of Universes (as marked in the attached document) on Thursdays after school for fifteen minutes and then on Sundays for a couple hours. Project S is getting more creative as well with time. The path isn’t as straight. He’s been stopping in different stores and sometimes he takes different routes entirely. Most Fridays after school he will divert entirely to go to a bakery way off course for some reason. An interview with a staff member there reports that “the white hair kid really likes the chocolate pastries”. 

The Turks have reported he continues to pseudo-work for the bookstore to “buy” books. Security footage shows that he comes back with books on Sunday afternoon. Can you imagine being that desperate?

Now I know that we put in the initial report to Professor Hojo of his independent tendencies last November but I feel like an updated report is in order. I know we are well on our way but perhaps our timeline needs to shorten before it’s too late. I’ll get started on it if you wouldn’t mind looking over it at the end? I’ll try to get it done by the end of the week. My pharma work is starting to ramp up. Understandable, right?

Does that all make sense? I think I drank too much coffee and can’t think very straight. Late night. 

Edin Morse

-

EDIN MORSE

Personal Assistant to Dr. Mariella Haynes
Office of Director of SOLDIER Exposure and Development - Ext. 2964
Research and Development Department - Floor 29 Office 64
SHINRA CORPORATION 

-

Project S Letter ID #850928.0711

RE: Anomaly in Travel

Friday, Sept 28, 1984 at 07:11 AM

From: Mariella Haynes <[email protected]> 

To: Edin Morse <[email protected]>

—

Edin -

Yes, it sounds like it is time. Unfortunately P. Hojo will be furious if we don’t share. Get some sleep.

-MH

Chapter Text

October, 1985

“You got this kid,” Orlin says and rests his hand on Sephiroth’s shoulder. He nods and rolls the fire materia between his fingers. It is already starting to wake up in the back of his mind, warm and fuzzy. The air is ashy and he has to swallow down a cough. He focuses anyways on the air in the middle of the room.

They’ve been training with materia for so long now that the months have slipped into almost a year. At first Sephiroth was a little worried before their first session. What if Orlin teaches like Dinand? It’s not true. Instead, he relishes being under Orlin’s tutelage. They work in a special room and carve the elements out of thin air until Sephiroth is dizzy with exhaustion. The Saturday training drives him through the rest of his life relentlessly.

The teasing is still bad at school but it is smaller to him. One more thing to endure along with the bruises that spot his arms and stomach from Dinand. At least Sephiroth has gotten better at avoiding hits when he slips up and loses control. Regardless, he is learning from both of them. Orlin teaches in a completely different way than his SOLDIER trainer. It is disorganized and sometimes Sephiroth has to guess what to do next. 

Today is not the case. The materia purrs in the back of his mind and warms in his palm. The air sparkles in front of him. Embers appear out of blackness and float idly down. Then a small ball of fire appears there only because of his will. Sephiroth’s neck is covered with sweat as he zips the fire across the room in a direct line. It hits the wall in an explosion. The hissing of the panels makes him smile as they dissipate into heat.

Orlin taps his shoulder. “Good but we knew you could do that. Now try to get it through the ring.”

Sephiroth holds his breath and calls the fire again. It hovers before him. He can feel how warm it is. Part of him is still in wonder at all of this. This time, he tries to send the fire through the black ring hanging from the ceiling. It misses, only warming one side before Sephiroth lets it go and it fizzles out over a dummy.

“You got the guy but not the goal. Three out of ten. Think about setting the path in your mind first and then,” he pauses and the materia set in the sword on his back flashes. “Go for it.”

Orlin’s fire is a thin arrow that shoots across the room and through the hoop. It darts like a fish and bites into the dummy’s neck. The padding quivers with the impact. Sephiroth shakes his head. He makes it look so easy. This is how it goes. It’s done without a real thought from Orlin and it takes him a whole week of practice to get it right. Sephiroth tries to be patient.

At least here he makes definitive progress. He’s thankful for that.

He can sustain a spell. Fire is his favorite. Something about the power and hunger of fire lights something inside of him. It destroys blindly. Fire renders anything into ash without thought. He is strong if he can control something like that. He is the one that can burn everything down to the ground now. He can render them into ashes. He can make them into nothing. No one can force him to do anything when he’s wielding fire against his enemies, real or imaginary. 

It makes him feel like he is one step closer to being a SOLDIER.

Sometimes if he is too tired, they sit on the floor across from each other and Orlin explains things with bad jokes and hand gestures. Sometimes they are relevant like how Shinra works or they will talk through fighting scenarios. Other times it is about a sports game or who Orlin saw at the bar.

“Try it again, nice and slow.” Orlin steps back and claps his hands together. “My phone keeps calling my name. Do you think that they want to promote me?”

“Probably not,” Sephiroth dares to say and he gets a snort as a response. 

“Not if Mariella has anything to say about it.”

Sephiroth laughs, breaking his lungs from disuse, and summons a spark of fire again. Orlin disappears behind him. Sephiroth pauses. It’s like an animal as it seethes in a circle, trying to find a way out. The table creaks behind him. The fire writhes in the air. Small portions drip off and extinguish on the floor. The materia feeds off him in a thin tight line. The energy disappears from him but he’s feeling good today. He’ll get this right and Orlin will be proud. Careful not to take his eyes off the fireball, he lines up the path through the hoop.

It seems so easy.

The room is dim. Everything thrown into shadows as Sephiroth sways the bubbling fire to the left. It wants to go to the right but he forces it in line with the ring. His fingers shake. The back of his shirt is sticky and the ends of his hair are plastered to his neck. This time, he thinks, this time he will be able to do it. One straight line. It is all it takes.

The fire goes out.

It doesn’t sputter. It doesn’t flare. It winks out as if it wasn’t ever there to begin with.

He frowns. He did something wrong. Then the foreignness slides off him. It dampened his connection to the materia in his hand. There is only one way that could happen. He opens his mouth to ask why and Orlin cuts him off.

“We’re throwing in the towel.”

Something so distinctively wrong with Orlin’s voice makes Sephiroth tense. Orlin speaks with an easy confidence. This man’s voice is dry and gruff as if he is taking from the deepest part of his throat. Without Orlin’s inflection or the way that his words click against each other, he might not have even thought that it was him.

Sephiroth turns to see Orlin’s face white in the dimness.

“We’re done,” Orlin says but this time it sounds like he is saying it for himself. His free hand that isn’t holding his phone clutches against the table.

“What’s happened?” Sephiroth asks but doesn’t want to know. He wants to turn back time to three minutes ago where everything was right. Had he known what is going to happen next, he could have left. Orlin’s arms tense. The edge of the table bends.

“I gotta go kid,” he says and stands there staring at him emptily.

He has to go. 

Sephiroth swallows. “You’ve been called for active duty?”

“No.”

That was good. Sephiroth doesn’t know what he would do without Orlin. The SOLDIER remains. The phone screen dims and lights up as another buzz comes through. His eyes don’t leave Sephiroth. He looks so lost in a room that they have spent so many hours in. Orlin doesn’t look like himself when he isn’t smiling.

Sephiroth takes a step forward. The air is always smoky but now the taste is on his tongue. Swallowing does nothing. Orlin is lifeless except for his moving chest. His eyes fall to the floor and stay there. Maybe Sephiroth is supposed to leave? Did he mean that he should leave?

The emotions start breaking across Orlin’s face simple and readable. Shock and grief intermingle. The phone lights up again. Orlin closes his eyes and his chin dips down.

“I guess I’ll go,” Sephiroth whispers.

 His bag is by the door. He feels strange as he starts to edge towards it. He’s awkward like every place he puts his feet is slippery with ice. Orlin watches him almost clinging to his movements. It’s the only response he gets. Something is really wrong. He needs to find out what. Maybe he could help or fight even though he is still too young to enlist. Maybe he is needed. Mariella could need him. If Wutai has attacked, she might want him by her side.

“He’s dead.” The delay takes so long that Sephiroth puzzles over them. It hits him. Someone has died. Sephiroth slows his walk. People pass all the time but maybe this one is someone he knows. Maybe it is someone important. 

“Who died?” 

Orlin’s mouth opens and closes emptily and then he shakes his head. His nose turns red and he rubs his face hard. Splotches form. The phone continues to buzz and click until he puts it down. It dances on the countertop. 

Sephiroth comes closer. “Who died? President Shinra?”

A cough. Pressure builds in Orlin. His whole body rises. Muscles flex in his arms. A hand runs over his face again. Sephiroth squirms and looks around. He’s pressing Orlin. He shouldn’t do that. He’s his friend. He shouldn’t ask. He can find out from someone else. It is better to find out from someone else. He needs to be alone.

“Never mind, I-”

Orlin cuts over him. “Professor Gast is dead.”

Now Sephiroth stills. That name. He frowns. It means something to him. It should mean something to him. All he gets is empty space and shadows. He’s never met a Professor Gast.

“Did I know him…?” It comes out before he can stop it. He asks out of habit. Orlin has helped patch up his memory at times.

“Get out.” It isn’t a phrase. It’s a growl. 

Sephiroth shivers. The sweat on his back is cold.

“I’m sorr-”

“Just get out. Please kid. I can’t. I just can’t. I can’t right now.” Orlin presses his fingers into his eyes.

“I’ll just g-”

Orlin interrupts him, soft and slow, “How can you say that?”

“What?”

“How can you ask ‘did I know him ’ like it’s nothing?” There is an edge to the question. Dinand gets it. A question that rises a tone too high. A question that feels like a threat. Sephiroth’s breath seizes up inside him.

“I can’t remember. There is nothing there.” Sephiroth freezes and hopes the answer is good enough. 

The SOLDIER feels like a tidal wave as he pushes off the table and walks towards him. His face is tight. Orlin isn’t going to hit him. Orlin would never hit him. Fear encompasses the air. Sephiroth’s knees bend automatically and he lowers himself an inch, ready to move one way or another.

He stops a couple of feet away. His fingers are in fists but he doesn’t break the final barrier of space between them. 

Sephiroth shrivels further. “Is he from before? I can’t remember it. They took everything. I don’t know. I’m so sorry.”

“How could you? Of everything you lost, how could you lose him too?” Orlin struggles, his voice catching with the next question, “Don’t you know how much you meant to him?” 

“I don’t under-” Sephiroth’s head is swimming. Again and again, he dives hard into his memories trying to find a Professor Gast. It’s all useless dark shapes, no different than before. His stomach twists inside him. Sephiroth looks at his shoes and tries to fight the nausea of emotions coming over him. 

“You're disrespecting him. After all he did for you,” Orlin’s words hit like punches. He’s never raised his voice and now it is rising, terrifying and strong. “How can you be this irresponsible? Why didn’t you go after him?”

Sephiroth takes a step back and chokes on a sob. He can’t look up. He doesn’t understand. He’s responsible for something that he can’t remember. It’s not his fault but it is his fault. The edges of his eyes sting. The room spins.

Pieces of memories fly into his mind, digging gashes in him. He’s happy. He feels like he is dying. A sweater smells like coffee. He’s sitting on the bed in anxiety. Someone draws him into a hug. He’s unconscious on a couch. He’s in a garden writing. There is blood falling down a wall.

He almost throws up.

“I can’t remember. Please. Can you remind me? I can put the pieces together? I can know?”

“ Fuck. Why did this have to happen? Why did any of this shit have to happen?” Orlin points at him. “This man got killed because of you . He got fired over you. He did it all because…”

Orlin’s eyes change. The anger breaks into grief. He must see who he is yelling at. Sephiroth tries to catch his breath and it doesn’t work. He’s still dizzy. Orlin steps away, wrapping a hand across his stomach.

Orlin finished more to himself. “Because he loved you.”

“I don’t-” 

The emotions turn into tears. His voice shakes as he steps away laughing. “Gods. He loved you. Remember ‘S’?”

Sephiroth shakes his head, unsure of any right words to say.

“Your nickname. Before. He used to say to me ‘S sends his regards’. If you didn’t write him back, he would get worried like a mother.” Orlin brushes against the table and sits against it. He’s laughing and crying all at once. “The cool doctor ran to his phone when it dinged. It nearly killed him when you had your accident and he couldn’t come. The most genius man, the most empathetic, the sweetest, the most logical - and he cared about you .”

He’s never seen another man cry. What is he supposed to do? They aren’t supposed to cry. SOLDIERs can’t cry either. Everything is wrong in a way that can’t be fixed. As much as these words are about him, they don’t feel for him. 

Sephiroth breaks inside but it is aimless and confusing. He stumbles back another step trying to put space between them but it’s suffocating in here. His mouth is full of sand. Tears run down his face. He keeps opening his mouth, hoping that the right words come out but it’s only silence.

Orlin rubs his face and looks away. Then he shields his face entirely and a raw sob comes out. The phone buzzes relentlessly. Sephiroth waivers. How is he supposed to help when he doesn’t remember anything? How is he supposed to handle someone crying? Why is he crying?

“Look kid, just leave. I’ll text you later.”

Sephiroth turns. “I’m so so sor-”

“Just leave.”

And so he does.

Chapter Text

CLASSIFIED. CLEARANCE: ALL STAFF. SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY. HARD COPY ONLY. STORAGE #31 - NIBELHEIM MANSION.

Project S Documentation ID #851026.1138

Condolences
Saturday, October 26, 1985 at 11:38 AM
From: “[email protected]” <[email protected]>
To: “allstaff” <[email protected]>

—

Gentlemen -

It is with a heavy heart that I write to report the passing of a fellow staff member. Professor Gast, previous Head and Director of Research and Development, has been killed last night on the Northern Continent. While his exact motives are unclear, he was doing research on Ancients in his private lab for some time. 

When Shinra associates came to his lab to gather reports, they discovered that he had defected from the company and resisted arrest. In the ensuing struggle, he took friendly fire and died on site. The operatives did not have a kill order and I cannot impress upon you how much this accident saddens me. I mourn the loss of a man that has given so much of his life to Shinra and has developed so many of the basic procedures that we still use today.

I know that many of you knew Professor Gast personally. He was a good man. His passing will be mourned. An obituary page has been created for you to share your thoughts. The funeral details are private. I do believe that there must have been some miscommunication between him and our staff to cause such a cataclysmic event. I only regret that this was not prevented.

The flag will be flown half mast today in his honor.

-P. Shinra

Chapter Text

October, 1985

The subway car rattles around Sephiroth as he studies his map.

The people around him don’t take any notice of him. They stare at their phones with dead eyes, waiting for the announcer to tell them to stumble off. His skin itches. They all know that this is the furthest he has been away from HQ. He’s been on the subway a few times but never like this and not at this distance. The car rumbles down the tracks and the tunnel lights flash in and out.

Mariella has never discouraged him from leaving the center without her. Part of it is that she didn’t have to. Sephiroth never had the time or interest to stray from his training and studying. He got out with Orlin and went to the bookstore that is good enough for him. His Shinra issued phone rolls in his hand and he thinks about the text sitting inside. 

Can you meet me? I want to talk. I’m waiting here.

Orlin had sent it about half an hour ago and attached a location. The edge of the plate seemed like a strange place for the SOLDIER to be.

So Sephiroth figured out a direct route through the subway, sketched a map, noted the stops, found his saved pocket cash, took his keycard and left HQ. His stomach still hasn’t settled down from earlier today. Fragments of memory haunt his mind in a way that he doesn’t like. All he wants to do is wrap himself in a blanket and sleep. If Orlin isn’t Orlin, Sephiroth would have ignored the text. 

Not that anybody else uses his phone number.

Above the depths of the tunnel, he knows that the sun is almost gone from the sky. The smooth edges of the phone are calming on his fingers. The place is a shopping center still in construction. All the workers have probably left for the day. If Orlin is there, it means that he can sneak in without any trouble either

The train rattles to stop #44 - Maplewood Center. The plastic of the seat sticks to his pants and then he’s off the train. No one gets off. They watch him until the door closes. The stop is supposed to be for people but as he climbs the dirty steps, he sees how it is a lie.

On the street level, everything is half built buildings and on partially made streets. A sign advertises the center coming in the spring of ‘86. What a great place to spend your life! is painted under an illustration of a cheerful street. The wind runs through his hair and it flickers red in front of his eyes. The sunset reaches this part of Midgar. The natural breeze touches him. It’s so strange. At HQ, giant fans idle from their hidden places to keep the pollutants from settling on the streets.

Sephiroth brushes back the hair and ducks under the construction tape. He’s right. No one is in sight.

The pebbles and wires crunch under his shoes as he walks past the black skeletons of the buildings. The screen on his phone tells him he has about a hundred yards to go. So he has to go past the main construction. The hot desert air settles in the back of his throat. He walks the main driveway and as he hurries, the construction starts to minimize. The plate itself is still being constructed. The street turns into white concrete and then metal sheets. The buildings are swapped for giant machines that hang high above his head and are bolted to the ground.

Then they clear away too and it is him and the empty space beyond.

The view makes him stop. He’s not been to the edge before. The whole world stretches before him. The height gives him a view that he thinks that only the birds have seen before. The land lays out before him like a large swath of a blanket. The yellow of the cracked planet is golden as the sun dies off in the distance. If he squints, he can make out the touches of green that edge the start of the mountains.

The amount of space he can see is breathtaking.

“You know, it’s good to text back.”

Orlin sits on a beam jutting out at the very lip of the construction. His back is thrown into shadow but Sephiroth can see that he’s slumped forward. His feet hang into the uncountable drop to the ground. Sephiroth drinks in the view one more time, trying to commit it to memory, and walks over to him.

“Sorry,” he says and then pauses at the start of the beam. It is thick, possibly three or four feet across, but it hangs out over nothingness. The town below looks like matchboxes scattered in winding lines that connect and disappear. He’s sure there are people there but he can’t see them at all. The breeze nips against his pants. Orlin is about fifteen feet away from him. 

 “Have a seat. It’s safe. I used to work on sites like this, remember?” Orlin snorts at his own question and shakes his head. He takes a drink out of a can next to him. His face is waxy in the light. He looks away but he doesn’t seem to focus on anything. His black hair whirls around his head in the breeze.

Sephiroth half crouches as he crawls to Orlin. The beam is impassive to the new weight. His hands brush the metal top to help him keep his balance. His stomach drops through his body and hangs in the space far below. He’s never been afraid of heights but this is different. This danger feels real in a way that cannot be undone. It is just air below him. Safety is far behind.

Orlin watches him idly as Sephiroth sits a few feet away. His shoes hang in the air and it takes all of Sephiroth’s willpower not to look down. The cold metal feels solid and it doesn’t sway as the wind continues to run past them. The view is even better out here. The rocky tops of the mountain range catch his attention. 

“You shouldn’t apologize so much,” Orlin says.

“Sorry,” the word automatically leaves him and he frowns.

Orlin snorts again and takes another drink out of the beer can. “You are going to lead people. They want you to be a hero. That’s Shinra’s big fat plan. You have to be strong. Resolute. All that crap. Apologizing isn’t part of that game.”

“Oh.” Sephiroth knows part of this. Dinand has told him that he is going to be in the war. He knows that they want him to eventually lead. A hero though? He doesn’t know that part. 

 “At the ripe age of what? What are you really? Five? Fuck,” Orlin swears, empties the can and throws it off the edge. It dances silver in the light and winks out as it falls. The pull of gravity teases at him before he leans back to take a breath. His heart beats into his ears. Sephiroth decides this isn’t the place to correct him that he turns twelve next month.

Orlin sways and pulls another can out of a bag that his body has been blocking from his view. Something is wrong about Orlin. Sephiroth chews on the inside of his cheek, trying to place it. Orlin is raw and hurt. The edges of him bleeding into the sun’s dying light.

“What did you want to talk about?” Sephiroth looks away and asks. A black bird swirls in the air across from them. A couple feathers catch the wind.

Orlin twists the can in his hand. “He was my guy, you know.”

“Huh?”

Orlin sets the can aside and doesn’t seem to notice as the breeze slides it off the back and into the empty air.

He blinks into the light and tears roll down his face. “When you protect someone for so long, you learn everything about them. They learn everything about you. I saw him on his worst days. He saw me on mine.”

Olrin wipes his face and half laughs at his own tears. “Over and over I put my life on the line for him. Rogue experiments. Dumb trips up mountains for ‘science’. And then he turned around and supervised my mako treatments personally. Can you imagine? The head of the R&D department sitting next to you for three and a half hours to make sure that you are okay?”

“It sounds nice.” Sephiroth folds his hands in his lap. The things he says make his head spin. The specific memories aren’t there but the emotion is alive in him. Orlin nods but if the meaninglessness of the phrase is noticed, he doesn’t bother with it.

“I counted the years. I got hurt in ‘80 and Professor Gast entered me in this very experimental program. I thought then ‘what does R&D want with a half Wutai kid?’ . It was scary.” His hand reaches for the can and when it finds nothing, he leans against it instead. “It was the best three years of my life. He made me feel special. He gave me something that nobody else could. Something Shinra will never give anyone. Remember that kid. You’re never special. You are never loved. You are a tool.”

The sun is gone now behind the mountains. The clouds go purple as the light catches them. 

“He told me to stay behind for my own good. I should have pushed harder. I didn’t know he was leaving permanently. I should have gone after him-” Orlin brings out another can and pops the lid. He takes a drink out of it. Sephiroth blinks. His skin starts to feel hard and gritty from the sand but he ignores it.

“When everything happened. When everything happened with you - with him - I lost it,” Orlin says to the can and then he looks at him. Grief plays in his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t do more.”

Sephiroth shrugs, uncomfortable. “It wasn’t that bad. Dinand is worse.”

Orlin bursts into another laughing fit but his face doesn’t smile. 

“I wish you knew your own life.” He drinks deeply. “Gods, I wish I was braver.”

“I think you are pretty brave.”

The light dies in Orlin. He stops talking. The empty can gets flung over the edge. He finds another.

The space grows between them. Sephiroth plays with his fingers, rolling them over the new calluses. He doesn’t miss the softness that used to be there but the change still strikes him. Dinand had grabbed his hand and twisted it upwards and only grunted at the new texture. It must be a good thing.

 Orlin’s voice cracks almost scares Sephiroth off the ledge. “Gast told once that a SOLDIER fell from this high up and lived once. I told him that was absolute bullshit. No way. He told me, no, he had survived because he had something to live for.”

Sephiroth doesn’t know what to say to that.

They lapse back into silence. Sephiroth watches the birds swoop and dance around in the sky. He knows that there are air currents out here and he traces them with the birds. Orlin drinks and sighs. He is not looking out. Instead, Sephiroth feels everything compacting in him further and further. The air starts to go cold but he doesn’t leave. He can’t. Orlin needs him somehow. The feeling is light but claws into him.

“They have to be lying. He wouldn’t defect. He wouldn’t do it,” Olrin mutters. It is twilight now and Sephiroth has been counting the constellations he knows. Eight cans of beer have made their way over the edge.

“Okay.” It is the only answer he can think of.

The stars grow brighter and brighter. From the top of HQ, Sephiroth has seen them before but out here, they seem like they are seated in an ocean of inky blue. The world is so much bigger than he thinks. Hundreds of thousands of millions of miles stand between him and those burning lights. Years too, he realizes, the light he sees burned before he was born and carries through space to get to him right here. Did he see these stars before he forgot them?

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted to give you this but you have to know.” Orlin interrupts his thoughts. “He cared so much for you. It’s all been taken away, stolen, and I just can’t stand it any longer.”

Sephiroth looks in interest as Orlin pulls out a small cardboard box from his bag. “You must promise me that you will not show this to anyone or tell anyone who gave you this. You understand?”

“Yeah.”

“No, you promise on your life. If you tell anyone, they will kill me.”

Confusion settles over him. “I promise.”

Orlin takes a breath. It shakes. His fingers wrap further around the box. It is worn and old looking. The left corner is beaten in. Yellow tape is brittle on the edge where the lid meets the bottom. Sephiroth doesn’t reach for it and Orlin doesn’t offer it. Instead they sit with the box in between them making it hard to breathe.

“When you first went missing, I went MIA.” Orlin’s thumb rubs the side of the box. “I went to where you were living. Obviously you weren’t there but I thought I might be able to track you. I saw this in your room before the Shinra scientists came and cleaned everything up. I took it. It was my promise to myself that someday I would be able to give it back.”

Sephiroth wants to snatch the box now but he holds himself back. Fresh tears roll down Orlin’s cheeks.

“It’s from before. From your before,” he says, “It might hurt you, kid. I wouldn’t know. I’m not a scientist.”

Sephiroth can’t breath as he offers forward his hands. They have a shake to them in the starlight. Orlin takes one sour look at the box and then gives it over. It isn’t heavy. It is light but Sephiroth swallows at the weight. From his before. Something shifts and scrapes inside as he lowers it. 

“I don’t want you to be sad.” The tears choke Orlin’s voice. “But I can't stand that blank look on your face. They took him away from you.”

He jerks forward. His arms wrap around Sephiroth and they hug on the edge of Midgar. The box bites into his chest as it is pinned between the two bodies. Orlin buries his head in his shoulder.

“They took him away from both of us.”

Chapter Text

October, 1985

Orlin tells him to open the box in private.

He doesn’t want to see what is inside.

So Sephiroth waits and holds it in his hands. It burns his skin.

They return to HQ together late that night. 

Orlin laughs as Sephiroth insists that he walk him back to his apartment. The alcohol takes him completely by the time they get in the elevator. He slumps against Sephiroth and his words grow incoherent. They start as half sentences and break into empty words heavier and heavier with guilt. He takes him to his bed, peels off his shoes and pulls up the cover. Orlin is small as Sephiroth fusses with the edge of the blanket, not knowing what else to do. Eventually he empties a trash can, fills a glass of water and leaves both by his bed. Orlin’s mutters collapse, the wrinkles smooth on his forehead and his breath evens out.

Only then does Sephiroth leave and slip away to his own room with the box tucked under his arm.

A journal sits inside the box when Sephiroth opens it.

The leather is scuffed and a silver clasp brings the edges together. Already, broken leaves have fallen out from between the pages and become dust in the corners. He lifts the journal out. Dead plants dribble further out between pages. 

Something twitches in his mind. He’s held this before. He is sure of it. Orlin warned him that this could hurt him. He chews on his lip and sets it next to him on his bed. He takes a few breaths, trying to make sure that he makes a good decision.

There is no good decision. 

If he opens the journal, his destroyed mind might give up entirely. He can touch the danger, the sharpness of a cold knife against everything that he has built up since it was all lost. His fingers draw against the cover. Everything that he had lost. It could be right there. The mysteries of his life could be unspooled before him that explains every flash of a bloody past that he doesn’t understand. Every slip up by Mariella and Orlin explained but what if it hurts? He has no idea what it might do to him.

He hovers there. The early hours of the morning slip by uncounted. The notebook stays where it is. It has waited this long, Sephiroth imagines that it can wait a little bit longer. Eventually, he draws it back into his lap. He plays with the silver clasp. It’s cold and solid. He pushes the leather strap through it. Papers start to edge out from between the cover and the first page.

Sephiroth’s head squeezes. It could explode.

He struggles, hangs onto the edge one more second.

The journal opens in his hands.

Carefully trimmed pieces of printed paper greets him before the handwritten pages start.

The words come to him before they can stop them, feeding into his bloodstream, catching it on fire.

Hello
Monday, Jan 16, 1984 at 09:56 AM
From: Mariella Haynes <[email protected]>
Bcc: Landon Lemb <[email protected]>, “[email protected]” <[email protected]>
To: “Professor Gast” <[email protected]>

—

Dear Professor Gast,

“Professor” is a hard word to spell. It has too many ss. Ms. Haynes is letting me type on her computer but she says she is not reading it. This is from Sephiroth. This is not Ms. Haynes.

Mariella tells me to tell you how I am. I am good. Charlie is good but he had an accident yesterday. It was not on the rug. The green gas is not good but not bad. I feel brave like you told me…

The rain drizzles through the clouds a week later. 

Sephiroth wills the weather to pour against his umbrella as he walks back to HQ. The drops don’t make a sound against the plastic and then they hang off the edge, teasing him. His breath raspy in his throat and he can’t seem to catch it. The sidewalk is gray. He can’t look up. It’s too heavy to see other things. There is nothing of interest anyway. Why should he look? He walks this path every day.

School is the same too. The boys tease him and he takes it. When Mariella walks with him to HQ, her chatter comforts him but now everything is quiet. He closes his eyes. Does he even want to walk with her anymore? The hair on his arms goes prickly and he pulls himself back from walking into oncoming traffic. That ticks up his heart beat for a second. It’s nice to know that it is still working. 

He waits for the light.

It has been a week since he read his journal. Parts of it are memorized but he can’t comprehend everything on the page. Sleeping hasn’t come easy. Eating went away. Thinking fell apart after that. Now, well, now he isn’t sure where he is. 

The light clicks. The crosswalk sounds. His body automatically crosses. His socks are wet. When did that happen?

He goes hot and shivers. If it would just pour, everything would be better. As it stands, the umbrella is useless against the spray that falls against his face. The diary entries had done something to him. After the printed emails came pages and pages of written thoughts and drawings. It had hurt more and more until they cut off at his kidnapping.

Sephiroth had lost something. Knowing that had cut deep into him and now he couldn’t stop the bleeding. He couldn’t forget it. He had a life before he was kidnapped. He was happy. Annoyed at school and life but he had a childhood . The Sephiroth on the page was vibrant and alive compared to who he is now.

He sways to the left before coming back to walking in a straight line. He isn’t sure how he is going to train with Dinand today. He hasn’t felt himself in a few days. His muscles are weak. His attention slips off everything. Orlin hasn’t bothered to show up to training so at least he doesn’t have to worry about him.

He’s not angry at Orlin. He’s thankful that he knows more than he did before. Once he starts feeling things again, these written down memories can only make him stronger. Orlin gave him Professor Gast back. Somebody who had believed and loved him. The emails paint this warmth until the edge of grief cuts in. There is no explanation on why they stopped talking, just a nothingness.

The questions are endless. They build under his skin and bone and drag him down until he’s weak and tired.

Mariella has never mentioned Landon to him. A scientist that lived with them. Never once in all her descriptions of his life had she brought up that name. Then there were experiments with “green gas” and mako before Wutai. Professor Gast and even his younger self seemed almost enthusiastic about it.

He wants to ask her why but he can’t do it. 

It hurts his head.

It’s too big of a problem.

HQ comes into view and Sephiroth drags up his view of the sidewalk to look at it. The outside cutting up through the clouds does nothing to stir a feeling in him. The red logo shimmers with the rain. Why is he even living here? He was so happy living somewhere that wasn’t Midgar. The journal never says exactly where they were living but it wasn’t in a city.

He digs for his keycard and walks to the staff entrance.

Mariella can’t be asked because his questions will bring on more questions. 

It’ll get him in trouble but it will get Orlin in more trouble. No matter what, he can’t endanger him. He’s broken the rules. The journal is not supposed to be his. He knows things now that Mariella has tried to cut out of his life. There must be a reason but why? His stomach works itself over.

Everyone has been lying to him. Why couldn't he know about himself? Why had Wutai taken him? His brain is fuzzy. He tries to be angry but he can’t even lift his head. Even Orlin lied but he is the one thing that seems true. Maybe he can ask Orlin questions but he has not been around. Texts go unanswered from his number. The door stays locked.

The keycard doesn’t beep on the reader. The staff door’s handle doesn’t budge when he grabs it.

He swallows and leans his free hand against the door frame. He tries again and the light stays red. He blinks. Have they locked him out? Do they know that he knows? R&D could kick him out for finding things out. The fear is dull. It can’t be worse than this. He could go to the park and lay under a tree and die there. He closes his eyes. If it ends the ache in his head, it almost sounds nice. Rain soaks his back.

The ID number appears in front of him when he looks again. He coughs a laugh and flips the card. The sensor reads properly. The light flashes green and the lock clicks open immediately.

The lobby is warm. The tile is covered with black rugs and chatter echoes the room. A bank of elevators click and chirp as they rise and fall. He’s sure that Professor Gast has been exactly where he is. His umbrella snaps shut and he steps aside so other staff can come in behind him. The edges of the room swim. He takes another step. His foot lands weird. He staggers. He needs to sleep. Probably he needs to eat as well.

They called him a “white freak” today at school.

He’s getting used to swallowing it. He can be different. He can be emotionless. If Dinand has taught him anything, it is that it is better to be like a rock than to show anything. That’s what they want, right? It’s okay with him. He doesn’t want to be himself anymore. 

He adjusts the backpack and takes another sidestep. His chest burns. A few benches sit across from the steel doors of the elevators. He shouldn’t need to sit down but he does. It is either sit or fall.

The seat digs into his thighs and relief of not carrying his own weight floods over him. That’s not the way that it is supposed to be. His shirt isn’t covered in rainwater. It’s sweat. His head falls into his hands. He makes that walk every day without even thinking about it. 

The people around him blur. Closing his eyes doesn’t make it go away. Instead, the blackness moves in oily lines. His heart and chest hurts. Something washes over his skin making the rest of him go ice cold. He can’t stop shivering. When he opens his eyes enough to look down his shirt, he sees red bruises blooming under it.

Is it because he read that stuff? Is this how his mind rejects what he knows? He takes a breath and tries to steady himself. He trembles harder instead. He’s scared, he realizes, something is wrong. He needs help. He’s made a mistake. He knows too much. His fingers waiver as he pulls out his phone. He selects Mariella’s face. 

It rings.

Sephiroth shakes.

It goes to voicemail.

He hangs up before he can hear it and swallows a breath. Nobody has noticed him. He doesn’t want them to see. He’s small. He’s fragile. Mariella will help him. No matter what he’s learned about her, she knows him and she’ll save him. She’s his doctor. His fingers go numb as he presses redial.

It rings.

He presses it close to his ear. The ringing sound jabs his brain. The huge room is compressing.

She’ll pick up. She always does.

“Hello-”

“I’m downstairs, something-,” He says. His tongue is thick.

“-you’ve reached the voicemail of Mariella Hayn-”

He hangs up.

A deep breath.

He forces the air through him. It comes out in a wheeze.

He dials again.

Seven rings.

Voicemail.

One more time.

His finger slips over the screen. He calls the bookstore instead.

He has to hang up and try again.

It rings.

On the sixth ring, it stops.

“Sephiroth?” Mariella’s voice comes through clearly.

“Mariella. Please. Something is wrong.”

Chapter Text

October, 1985

The fluids drip rhythmically from the bag and into Sephiroth’s line.

He likes to watch it. The liquid hangs on the tip of the bag. It fights gravity before dropping into the tube snaking into his hand. Every one of those drips mark one more step towards feeling like himself again. Or at least he likes to imagine it is true. Regardless, it is something that he can concentrate on. When he tries to think too much, he has to close his eyes and sleep. His mind still doesn’t work that well.

His head rolls out of habit on the pillow. He takes a deep breath feeling the ache in him and stares at the posters on the walls on the other side.

R&D have converted a mako recovery room for him. The posters illustrate a SOLDIER giving a thumbs up and explaining how the next few weeks are going to feel like absolute hell. It had taken him days to read all the small print. He wonders if he went through that when Wutai stuffed him full of mako. It makes him shiver and he shies away from thinking further. Sometimes he focuses on all the dead machinery around him. There was a point that he was on all of them. He can’t remember it. Mariella assures him that they had done everything possible to keep him alive. He was unconscious when they made it to the lobby.

The chair is empty next to him. Sephiroth can mentally place her in the empty room. She’s stayed by his side. He’s never seen her so focused as she pours over his results and labs. A curl of anxiety in his stomach tells him that his illness is a puzzle that they will never unpack. He’s going to die here in the heart of Shinra. This is the end of the line for him.

The only reason that she is gone now is a meeting. The quiet doesn’t bother him. He’s been dozing for days. Haze covers everything.

Part of him does hallucinate on occasion. A shadowy woman hovers in the corner of the room when he feels especially sick. Her wings stretch above her and bend at the top of the ceiling until they are brokenly hanging above him. Her mouth opens in a scream he can’t hear and tears run down her face. He doesn’t bother further with her. She’s just another nightmare.

Today he has a little strength back. He has been awake more than he has been asleep. The lines intertwining into his arm and the wires taped to his chest are doing something. The monitor chatters to itself, recording every breath he takes. It’s funny. He balls up and releases his hand. His life has come down to a series of numbers on a chart. A white line discusses his heartbeat. Other numbers click up and down. His BPM is lower than usual. His mind is dull so not even that bothers him.

Everything beside the present has been boxed away. He can’t think far in the future or the past. He can’t think about the journal. It hurts too much even though the damage has been done. The sickness, this weakness, “the attack” as Mariella called it, it is all his fault. He knows he shouldn’t have looked. His stomach drops. His brain squeezes. Another shiver comes through him. He releases all those thoughts into the darkness of his mind. Hopefully they will disappear there.

There is no point now.

Whatever he had before is gone.

It had hurt him.

He should forget it before it hurts him more.

Now he knows the reason that Mariella hadn’t told him anything.

What matters is that he is in a hospital bed waiting to get better. His hand releases and quietness settles over him. The room is soundproof. All the recovering SOLDIERs that have slept here had the comfort of this silence. Part of him, he notes, thinks that is a gift.

An assistant comes in and changes out his IV bag. He asks if Sephiroth needs anything and he shakes his head in response. The scientist shrugs and disappears.

Things drift unhinged as his mind idles through the drugs. Time loses itself again.

Then the door opens and a sick grin walks through.

The man hangs inside at the other end of the room. The door closes carefully. The lock clicks shut. A smile cuts across his face. Teeth white and sharp in the artificial light.

“Oh my broken little project,” that mouth croons.

Sephiroth jerks and struggles to sit up. He makes it halfway up before his body quivers and he has to lay back down. The scientist is thin as he walks to him. The white coat hangs to his knees and his shoes are soundless on the floor.

“Do I know you?” Sephiroth asks. The words are hard but he makes them come out anyways. He’s barely talked the last few days and the pipe that was down his throat bruised him when it came back up.

The grin oozes further open. “You don’t know me? But I know you so well.”

His fingers move as he gestures. Silver scars catch the light.

Sephiroth struggles with the sheets. Maybe he could edge away from him and get to the door. The cloth tangles around his feet. He can’t summon the strength to figure it out.

“I wouldn’t bother. Not in your condition.” The dark eyes behind the glasses tick to the displays and the IV bag. Sephiroth swallows air as his shoulders stiffen and his stomach kicks in. The man settles on the corner of his bed without a word. Chemicals and cleaner rolls off of him. 

The thin fingers come forward and envelope his own retreating ones in a fake shake. “Professor Hojo, my friend, so nice to see you while you are awake.”

The hand is freezing and clamps on so hard so he can’t pull away. Sephiroth only shakes it so he will let go. Instead, Professor Hojo brings his hand and settles it on his thigh. Sephiroth tries to slip away but the grip is too strong. The fingers worm between his own, locking them even together in a sweaty grip. Professor Hojo’s eyes shine behind the glasses. Sephiroth wants to leave. He wants to be out of this small room. Instead, he scoots himself backwards so he can sit up against his pillow.

“We have a lot of history, you and me,” Professor Hojo says softly and squeezes his hand. “I forgive you for not remembering me. It has been a trying time.”

“What…” Sephiroth isn’t even sure what he is asking and the sentence dies on his tongue. Any question feels dangerous. This man is calm but anything could tip the balance. An erratic air surrounds him like a gas waiting to explode.

“I am Mariella’s boss, you knew this, yes?”

“Yes.” Sephiroth recognizes the name but he’s always been a ghost in the department. R&D employees act like he is everywhere and nowhere at once. Professor Hojo's name causes stress to crackle across Mariella's face like fractures.

Hojo looks down at their hands and his mouth opens to speak but nothing comes out. His thumb rolls over Sephiroth’s knuckles. The connection sends shivers up his arm. The conversation collapses as the scientist disappears within himself. Sephiroth tries to pull away but either Professor Hojo ignores him or his body is not strong enough. 

Things have been said about Professor Hojo behind closed doors. Things that he never wants to think about. Now the man sits on the edge of his bed and holds his hand like it is precious to him. The grin has turned into a smile. It is almost adoration on his face like his hand is something special.

Maybe something to chop off and put in a jar.

Sephiroth can barely breathe.

The room is quiet.

Professor Hojo swallows. “You are flourishing under training. Dinand is doing his job with your ectomorph tendencies.”

He looks directly at his body and Sephiroth feels the urge to cover himself. The purple rashes on his chest are gone but he is shirtless. Nothing can hide the slow definition that had started to carve its way across his body. He’s still got a long way to go to get to the levels that Orlin holds with ease but it is something.

He can see those eyes cataloging everything that they see and putting it away later for use.

“Are you here to see something about my sickness?” Sephiroth asks to get that gaze away from him. It works. The man snaps back to his face.

“You remind me so much of her sometimes. Even through the paperwork, I can see her tendencies in you.”

Sephiroth’s heart beats hard. “You knew my mother?”

“Intimately.” The grip stays tight but the other hand comes up to hover over Sephiroth’s face. The nails are cut close to the bed but the skin is laced with scars and burns. “I see her in you. I see how she’s sewn herself into you.”

Sephiroth closes his eyes and then turns his head away from the fingers. He feels a tug against his scalp and the scientist runs his hand through the few inches of hair on his head. Sephiroth strengthens himself against the shake inside him. His arms stay stiff by his side. Professor Hojo is the head of the department. He could pull the plug on Sephiroth. He could lock the door and starve him to death in this room and not even Mariella could stop him.

“Stunning,” His voice is breathy near his ear. “Such a marvel. The convergence is a thing of beauty.”

The grip loosens on his hand. Sephiroth takes the chance and slips his fingers away. They make it out and he tucks them under each other in his lap. It doesn’t go unnoticed. He opens his eyes to see Professor Hojo staring at him. The look is with so much pressure that Sephiroth shrinks in on himself. This man wants it all. It plays out in his eyes. He wants everyone cataloged and preserved in his mind, alphabetized and frozen in briny liquid until he dissects them screaming. 

Specifically, the grin tells him, he wants Sephiroth to give in to him.

He won’t do it. He is scared. He feels backed into a corner and he can’t look away. He looks away and he will give in. Professor Hojo can examine Sephiroth’s body as much as he wants. The inside of him can stay closed, desperately trying to keep some part of himself a secret.

Professor Hojo sneers and with a twitch, his hands are forward again. Sephiroth’s hand half rises. The scientist takes a firm grasp on his chin, forcing his face to the side and making him break eye contact. 

“We’ve come so far since you. It’s a pity that we hadn’t figured out that soaking the body in mako instead of aerosolization is best. We might have saved that poor scrambled brain.” The words are absent of empathy. The stretch in his neck is uncomfortable. He sees him roll up and down his profile. He’s seeing her in him. Part of him dies to know more but that knowledge will cost him the rest of the strength that he has.

“You will make Shinra proud. You are the weapon to win the war,” Hojo says finally and withdraws. It comes out as a command, not a statement. Sephiroth takes a long breath, allowing this one to fill and stretch the tension in his lungs. 

Sephiroth hopes he will leave.

“Oh, Professor Hojo, I didn’t know that you were here.”

 Mariella stands at the door, her head rising from a slight nod at the door. Sephiroth can’t help the little smile that comes over his face. Professor Hojo turns and he feels relief as the attention slides off him. With a third person in the room, there is less of a chance of everything going anymore horribly wrong. He is going to survive this encounter.

“I was waiting for you,” Professor Hojo says, “I felt like our news was important enough that I should be there when you delivered it. Just in case our little Sephiroth had any further, say more scientific, questions.”

The wrinkles increase around her eyes. “Of course.” 

Sephiroth looks between them. “You know what is wrong?”

“We do.” Mariella comes over but stands close to Sephiroth. Her body doesn’t block Professor Hojo but it is close enough to bring a barrier between the two of them.

That only makes the sick smile on his face grow. “Your body is twisting on itself. Attacking uncontrollably everything that is keeping you alive.”

Sephiroth can’t understand what he is saying. What does that mean? The words make him lose grip on everything. He is sick. He’s really sick. He looks up at Mariella.

She puts her hand on his shoulder. “It’s an autoimmune reaction, your body doesn’t know what to do with itself. Remember all the mako from when you were younger? It did more damage than we thought. It’s…confusing things inside you.”

“I’m hurting…myself?” He asks her.

“Mako is a strong disruptive force, quite literally a force of nature.” Her face squeezes together in concentration and she forms her sentences carefully. “As you’ve grown older, the mako damage that you sustained earlier in your life is starting to show. It is causing an autoimmune reaction. You know how you press buttons on a computer, you are telling it to do something?”

Sephiroth nods but doesn’t understand.

“Your body works the same way except when a button is pressed, it does the wrong thing. Some parts are overperforming. Others are underperforming. Like your blood pressure was extraordinarily high when we found you. That was why. Your body thought you needed it when you didn’t. Everything causes further problems. That’s why you’ve been so sick.”

Hojo butts in. “It’s incurable.”

Mariella glares at him. “But you are going to live. Pharma has found a drug that can keep it in check. You are going to be okay.”

Sephiroth feels awful. So much of his life has been going through the plans that were set out for him. All of the adult stuff has been kept at bay. He simply follows along. Now these words and these events are so big that he can’t comprehend them. He’s sick. He’s really sick and it isn’t going to go away.

“We’ve had you on medication for the last 24 hours and you’ve been responding well. Haven’t you been feeling better?”

He nods. 

She smiles. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get you on a daily medication and everything will go back to normal, I promise.”

Part of him desperately wants to believe that. If it had just been her in the room, he would have. Instead, the mattress dips under his feet and Professor Hojo has not stopped staring at him. The grin has not faltered at this news. If anything, it has spread, revealing pink gums. Hojo drinks in his reaction, seeming more alive than ever.

It’s not okay, the smile says, I get to take care of you now.

And the fear in Sephiroth’s heart believes it.

Chapter Text

November, 1985

Sephiroth wipes his face, lowers his chin and begins another drive at the punching bag.

He weaves around it. His body is smooth and steady as he pounds into its side. The chains rattle. The leather’s thudding makes him smile as it takes the beating. The punches shiver up his arm before his shoulder absorbs it. He’s not tired yet but he takes another breath and bounces back. The training room is empty. Dinand’s glower is not drilling into his back. The exercise clears his head.

He doesn’t take this for granted now.  

It took him weeks to be able to do this. After the diagnosis, he had stayed in R&D until Mariella gave him a card with his name on it and two weeks of white pills. As neat as half a calendar that it represented, he methodically works through each line. The first few pills stuck in his throat and he wondered what exactly he was putting in himself. When his strength returned, he stopped wondering. 

It works and at the end of the day, that is what matters.

He drills into the bag. The beat and rhythm is his own. It sways and he steadies it for another combination. His heart pumps against his neck. It’s not going too fast. He is fine. Even with Dinand, he had to wear a wrist heart monitor the first few weeks. If the number ticked too high, it would beep and he had to lay down until it beeped again. Dinand swore at him when this happened. Sephiroth had thrown an arm over his face and ignored him, struggling with iron lungs.

An autoimmune reaction. His thyroid levels are too low. His blood sugar is too high. His white blood count is unstable. Before, all of these things meant nothing to him. While they tweaked the dosage, he lived with these numbers every day. The paranoia of waking up not knowing if he is going to collapse or make it through the day is still strong in the back of his throat.

.21 micrograms of the Shinra blended concoction once a day is the ticket.

He puffs as his arms grow heavier. The challenge of climbing back on top of his life came next. Homework and makeup tests were easy enough. In his boredom, he often read ahead when the night had hours left in it and he was alone with nothing else to do.

Dinand tests him. Being sick means nothing to him. If it isn’t for the medical restrictions put in by the doctors, Sephiroth might have given out again. Still, the frustrated yells echo in his ears. The looks that border on something that Sephiroth doesn’t like. Why else would he be training on a Sunday afternoon? A telltale blur comes to the corner of his eyes and stumbles back.

Leaning against the wall, he focuses on the oxygen he needs. His back is slick and it doesn’t take long for him to slide down and sit with his head in his gloves.

Still not completely back to normal. They are working on it.

Most of the time, he tries to count the things that he is thankful for. Orlin has come back to training. Right after Professor Gast’s death, he elected to go on a mission, or so he says. Everything else fell back to normal between the two of them.

 Orlin says he remembers nothing of their conversation and laughs at the question. He also says nothing about the journal and the reaction. Sephiroth thinks about telling him but he’s afraid to talk, to stir the darkness inside him, to somehow make it worse. Instead, Orlin’s cocky and encouraging nature overwhelms everything else. Only when he thinks that Sephiroth is not looking, does he see the shadow of pain in Orlin’s eyes. 

Sephiroth feels that pain about Professor Gast too.

Even if he was braver.

Even if he wasn’t sick.

They still wouldn’t share it.

He imagines that it would be too much combined. They wouldn’t be able to hold up the walls that they have put up. Who knows what would happen then.

His lungs burn. He swallows and eyes the silver wristband against his arm. It is for emergencies. He’s read the plate over and over. Special Medical Conditions. Call Emergency Number and then it lists Mariella’s personal phone. The Shinra logo above the print twists a knife in him. Anybody can know how weak he is. He shouldn’t even take it off even at night. Shinra is always with him now.

Hojo has seen him several times for appointments.

Sephiroth presses his forehead further into the gloves.

He doesn’t like to think about those visits. Nothing has happened but when he walks out, he feels like something has. Those eyes follow him for hours afterward.

The thoughts still eventually. The spinning stops. With his teeth, he rips off the velcro and rubs his free hand against his forehead.

He’s okay, he promises, he just needs time.

Chapter Text

PART III: Death, Dying

Death is not the greatest loss in life. 

The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.

- Norman Cousins

.

“HOJO INTERVIEW # 1 of 3 (Excerpt)”-  #901207

CLASSIFIED. CLEARANCE: EXECUTIVE. SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY. HARD COPY ONLY. STORAGE #31 - NIBELHEIM MANSION.

MEETING TITLE: “HOJO INTERVIEW # 1 of 3 (Excerpt)”
MEETING TRANSCRIPT: #901213
Meeting Attendees: Professor Hojo, Project S
Date of Interview: 12.07.90
Location of Interview: Room 102A, Floor 66, HQ
List of Acronyms: 
Professor Hojo=H
Project S (Sephiroth)=S
Intelligent Verbatim Transcript

START OF EXCERPT:

[Begin Transcript 00:00:07]

Professor Hojo (H): “Yes, yes, good. Comfortable?”

Project S (S): “I don’t think that I’ve been in your office before.”

H: “Quite nondescript, yes? I only taxidermy the things that I am proud of.”

S: “Yeah...”

H: “Important people have sat in that guest chair.”

[pause]

H [cont.]: “This is not a psychological interview but it is an interview. A great many changes will happen and I want a record of how you react to them. Think of it as a way that we can help the next generation of SOLDIERs to adjust.”

S: “Okay.”

H: “We expect you to answer honestly.”

S: “Okay.”

H: “How do you feel about the upcoming war?”

S: “If it comes to that, I will be proud to serve my country.”

H: “And at the ripe age, of what now?”

S: “Seventeen, sir.”

H: “Where did time go? You start after you graduate in the spring. May? Correct?”

S: “Yes.”

[1:00]

H: “How do you feel about the training provided by Shinra?”

S: “I’ve learned a lot.”

H: “Care to be more specific?”

S: “Dinand…makes me into a SOLDIER.”

H: “And the other one?”

S: “Orlin? He helps me with materia but I talk to him about stuff. He’s cool.”

H: “You do realize he is doing his job.”

S: “I-”

H: “He’s required to report on you. He does do so, albeit poorly.”

S: “I know but-”

H: “Good. I didn’t want you to be under any illusions of your relationship to him.”

S: “Okay.”

H: “Don’t look so nervous. I’m not going to hurt you in here.”

S: “Thank-”

H: “So. Have you killed anyone yet?”

S: “N-n-no.”

H: “Even by accident. It still counts.”

[2:00]

S: “No. Never.”

H: “Interesting. Have you hurt another person before?”

S: “Well, yes, I have done that.”

H: “Elaborate.”

S: “There have been training accidents but, you know, what happened last year.”

H: “How did it feel to break Conner Holder’s forearm?”

S: “It was an accident. I needed him to stop bullying me. Training kicked in. When he attacked me, I fought back and…and…I didn’t know my own strength.”

H: “Accidents do occur and so do two weeks of suspension.”

S: “My grades didn’t lower.”

H: “I don’t expect degradation from you. Concerning the war, how does the prospect sit with you? You said ‘if it comes’ to war. It is practically at our doorstep now. You don’t ask a pregnant woman if she will go into labor. You ask her when. This is no different. It is inevitable.”

S: “I read in the news that Wutai and Shinra might come to an agreement over the disputed land before the holidays?”

H: “Lies. False hope so people buy presents for their loved ones. Shinra expects to be at war by summer. I don’t care who you tell. No one will believe you.”

S: “Oh.”

[3:00]

H: “Do you question Shinra’s right to the land?”

S: “We need the resources that they aren’t using. [pause] Or at least…that’s what the newspapers say.”

[typing]

H: “How do you feel about graduating high school in the spring?”

S: “It is exciting. In the end, you know, I can’t wait to walk across the stage. I’ve never done something like that. Both Orlin and Mariella say that they are going to come. When I graduate, it will be with Latin Honors. We just put in the order for the honor cords and I think that I will be the first to walk across the stage.”

H: “Smiling does your facial structure no good. I wouldn’t suggest it.”

S: “Ah-I’m sorry. Sir.”

H: “Formalized social events are such a bland affair.” 

[pause]

H [cont.]: “Do you disagree with taking and executing orders?”

S: “No. I’ve been on several smaller missions around Midgar with Orlin. Everything has made sense to me.”

H: “Say something doesn’t make sense…would you still do it if it was expressly requested?”

S: “…I would trust in my superiors.”

H: “If you are as loyal as you say you are, you will have killed by this time next year.”

[pause]

H [cont.]: “Ending another’s life…there is great power in that. Imagine it. You will kill people that are fully realized. For example, you will kill someone as real as your mentor Orlin.”

[pause]

H [cont.]: “In my line of work, we put things down. Things that are suffering. Things that are useless. I still remember my first one. I thought she would cry or scream, instead she just choked ever so softly on her own throat.”

[4:00]

S: “I kill things in the sim but they aren’t real people.”

H: “Oh they will become real.”

S: “Will that make me a murderer?”

H: “So apprehensive.”

S: “What?”

H: “I will qualify your reaction as apprehensive. Next question: You are being trained to lead troops. How do you expect older men to follow you at such a young age?”

[Project S stutters. No comprehensible words]

H [cont.]: “We are on a tight schedule. There are many questions and you have your monthly meeting for your medication in an hour. Do you want to keep Mariella waiting?”

S: “…I don’t know the answer to your question.”

H: “It is a simple enough question. How do you expect older men to follow you?”

[End of excerpt at 00:04:58. See audio drive or following transcript for the remaining 52:34 minutes of Interview 1 of 3. Transcribed by Edin Morse. Reviewed and verified by Mariella Haynes.]

Chapter Text

December, 1990

The soldier screams.

Sephiroth drives the sword further into his chest.

Part of Sephiroth frowns as the yell cuts off into a gurgle. The soldier should have died instantly. He’s missed the heart. If he had executed the stab, the scream would have been a choke. 

Blood soaks into his glove. The body slips off the thick blade. Sephiroth takes a step back and breathes. His heart beats rapidly in his neck. He can’t pay attention to it now. It’s too distracting. He only hopes that it was still slow enough to keep a dizzy spell away.

The heel of his combat boots catches on something. The bodies of the Wutai soldiers are everywhere in the hallway. He lost count. They keep coming without stopping. Some of them had shouted. Others started without a sound. Now they all lay around him like the leaves abandoned from a tree. For the moment, Sephiroth is alone in the hallway with the bodies. 

The grip is solid in his left hand. Sephiroth straightens and scans the Shinra hallway. It is silent. Dead bodies don’t move. He shakes the weapon idly, waiting. Blood splatters the white walls. Several of the doors are ajar but nothing comes through them. The dead eyes at his feet catch his attention.

Years and years ago, he used to feel something about them.

Now it feels like they don’t even exist anymore.

Sephiroth spreads his feet and tenses. Is it over? Has he actually made it? Or is there another trick?

“Sloppy,” Dinand says behind him, answering his question, “Incredibly sloppy.”

Sephiroth lowers the weapon, the tip to the ground. The hallway shimmers and breaks apart. The people at his feet disintegrate into the digital lines and shapes and then fade entirely. Dinand glares at him through the glasses as the steel room comes through the headset. Reality settles down around him again. 

Dinand scowls and waives his hand at where the last body lay. “If you think that you can dick around in the sim room and waste everyone’s time, tell me now. You keep this up and I’ll send you to run all night long.” 

Knots form in Sephiroth’s stomach. He looks away before pulling himself back. This is a game of pretending to be calm. He’s not sure what he did wrong. Sometimes he never knows. 

“What do you want me to do differently?” Sephiroth taps the sword once against the tiles and sheaths it on his back. The magnet clicks against his back. The first time he had been allowed to do this, it sent shivers down his back. It still does. The tiny flicker of pride that he gets to carry a real weapon. Still, he measures the space between the two of them. It’s enough but any more might be noticeable by Dinand.

Dinand glares at him like he is the mud under his shoes, not his student for the last six years. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to. Sephiroth is supposed to be better and it is up to him to figure out how to do it. His ears burn. He should have seen that coming. 

At one point, he was thankful when they changed his SOLDIER training schedule from Monday through Saturday to every other day. Now he’s not sure. Dinand pushes him harder when they have time together. The edge of his voice is sharper and whenever possible, the hits hit harder.

It’s supposed to teach him something.

“We’re going to run it again. You are only allowed to hold the sword in your right hand. No materia.” He pulls out the remote.

Sephiroth interrupts him. “Wait, I’m not-”

“Stop.” Dinand shakes the remote and comes closer. “Left-handed SOLDIERS are 70% more likely to die. You want that?”

Sephiroth holds his excuses in his chest until they die. This ambidextrous technique is new. The simulation that he did was challenging but not impossible. With the other hand, he’s not sure that he could keep up.

SOLDIER. Even still hearing that word makes his feelings twist in him. On his sixteenth birthday, Mariella had given him the papers to make his formal application into the program. They were wrapped up like a present. The week before, he did the physical tests. While the unmoving faces of the testers said nothing about how he did, the exams had been easy.

His copy of the acceptance letter hangs on his wall with the surprising start date of May 25th, 1991. Shinra decided that he needed to finish high school first. The disappointment drags against him but he concentrates on the positive. He gets to graduate high school and he’s already in the program. His signature is scrawled on the bottom. Several signatures are under his including Professor Hojo’s jagged lines, Mariella’s print and the head of the SOLDIER’s program, Lazard Deusericus.

Hojo’s questions come back to him. He looks away. They don’t need to distract him during the day. They do enough of that at night.

His vision blends into pixels.

Dinand started the simulation while he was thinking. Panic rises in him but he pushes it down. It won’t help anything. Those emotions will either force him to make mistakes or hyperventilate. He ignores the sweat and unknits all the tense muscles in his back. He reaches for his sword and an invisible hand swats it away with a sting.

“Right hand, idiot.”

He grits his teeth but he does what he says. Of course, he knew that. The sword is heavier in his non-dominant hand. He reverses his stance. He’s been practicing this in his room but it hasn’t been translating very well. When his instincts tell him to use his left hand, he needs his right. It squeezes his head. He catches his left hand drifting over to take over the shaky grip but he pulls away.

The hallway is based on HQ, probably one of the executive floors by the marble under his feet. It is clean again. His brain stutters and wonders where the blood splatters went but they haven’t happened yet. The muscles in his left arm hurt. He waits as the first Wutai soldier spawns from one of the open doors.

The spear is long. The bells on the ends click against each other. Again he reaches for the grip. It is so uncomfortable. He’s never been allowed to hold the standard sword with both hands. Dinand never explained why. The confidence that he has built disappears. One Wutai soldier should be okay.

It is later, when multiple come at once, that his mind fixates on.

This projection yells something and sprints towards him. A door clicks open behind him. Sephiroth lowers his weight and waits. The soldier goes for a jab and Sephiroth side steps it. He swings the sword to cleave off the top of the weapon and it misses by a half inch. The metal rings out as it bites into the marble.

The soldier goes for his head. Sephiroth ducks and yanks the sword out. He thinks of grabbing the spear but he’s afraid to use his left hand at all. An edge of fear sinks into him. Instead, he thrusts the blade forward, going for the unprotected stomach. Except he starts it on the wrong foot. The thrust goes sideways, nowhere near his enemy. The fear blooms. Dinand is watching. He jerks at the spear coming towards his thigh.

The point scrapes against his hip, throwing him off his balance. Only then does he feel the enemy that has been sneaking up behind him. He’s been so absorbed that he hasn’t been paying attention behind him. 

The Wutaian's sword slams down into the top of his skull.

The simulation’s “real damage” is turned down. Dinand, and now SOLDIER, can’t put him in a truly life threatening situation. The cut that should have broken his skull smacks instead. In the typical simulation effects, the hit is wet and cold. His knees go. The marble tile comes up. It stings. Blood bursts in his mouth from where his teeth cut through the inside lining. The sword bounces out of his hand.

He brings an arm up at the blurry sight of a spear diving for his neck. His arm hits something foreign. The seal breaks on the headset. It rips against his skin. The training simulation glasses half peel off his face. Filmy blackness covers his vision. He can’t see either reality. Another hit comes hard on his back. He groans and rolls. 

Several more hits make his bones creak. He scrambles to get to his knees but the invisible enemies punch his face, sending him sprawling again.

Part of him expects Dinand to turn it off. It doesn’t stop. 

It sinks into him.

This is a lesson.

Sephiroth protested at trying this with his right hand. SOLDIERs are never supposed to disagree with their superiors. This isn’t the first time he’s learned this one. Sometimes he can’t help what comes out of his mouth.

He spits blood he can’t see and reaches up for the glasses. He clasps his hands over them. Should he try taking them off? It will turn off the training recording at least. His brain reminds him that there is a sign on the wall that if the simulationee does this or covers their eyes, the programmer is required to stop it. He holds onto the glasses for a moment longer. 

Pain burns across his hands and face. He yells. A Wutain soldier’s sword must have attacked him straight on.

He sprawls backward. The glasses rip off entirely. Both hands throb. A hot burn digs into his cheek. He hits the back wall before he’s finished falling. His spine jolts against it. The headpiece clatters on the floor in front of him. He hears the whine of the machines as Dinand shuts them off.

The room comes back to him in hazy pieces as his eyes adjust back. The steel walls are distant from the decorated hallway he is in. He brushes his face. It is wet. His lip is cut. It tastes like acid.

He groans at the bruises he’ll have to deal with for the next couple of days. This will not be fun. The teachers will look at him with doe eyes and the students won’t even want to walk next to him. His stomach drops. It’s Wednesday. There is a good chance by Sunday the bruises will be gone. The mako in his blood should heal them but it depends on how tired he is and how deep they go. He hopes no one sees them.

He’ll try to heal them himself but it’s nearly impossible.

Dinand stands with his arms crossed. Sephiroth’s sword is next to his foot. Sephiroth struggles halfway to a sitting position. Blood fills his mouth. He swallows it down. It burns up his nose powerfully. He coughs, curling onto his side for a second. His breath is short. Part of him pings in concern but he can’t say anything. He can take an emergency pill if he has to.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Dinand’s toe catches the edge of the hilt and kicks it towards him. It clatters and lands within grasp. “Or are you ready to be a big boy?”

Sephiroth closes his eyes for a second. Warmth curls down his chin. The emotions calm in him. He can’t say no. He hurts but SOLDIERs don’t get to be hurt. Nor should he. 

It is all his own mistakes.

So he reaches for the sword.

And tries again.

Chapter Text

January 1991

Sephiroth leaves HQ early on Sunday morning. 

The building is quiet. Either the overachievers are still asleep at their desks or at home with their family. Since family isn’t something that Sephiroth has, he’s free to leave the building before nine in the morning. There is no one to notice. Glancing back, he tries to spot the Shinra apartments near the top but even he can’t see the glass squares in the sky. 

White frost covers his vision as he blows his breath out. He blinks and tries to release all the darkness. Anxiety is there as well, moving around in the back of his head. It is well at home there. Between Dinand and Hojo, his mind is filled with things that make his stomach turn.

The walk and the morning will calm things down for another week.

Winter is in full swing. The empty gray street is as abandoned as the rest of Midgar this early on a weekend. The snow is in piles. The streets have already been cleared overnight, the city work never stops. His coat pulls tight against his arms. It’s the standard issue one from SOLDIER, black, long, matt against the sun. The wool is warm and silver buttons catch the light as he moves. He has no sense of fashion but he looks fine in all black. That’s all he needs to know. After all this time, black is still his favorite color.

If it isn’t for the backpack, he imagines he looks like an overachieving businessman going home after an all-nighter.

The coffee shop smells good as he opens the door. No one looks up. This place is stacked on top of itself, one squished floor on top of another. To his left, stairs lead up to the second floor where upstairs wood paneling covers every surface. Already it holds a desperate amount of students. In front of him, the bar opens with the usual crowd. Most of the people on the first floor come and go easily. It is the second floor where people stay.

“Seph!”

“It’s still Sephiroth.” He looks up. “Always has been, always will be.”

Rafi rolls her eyes as she hangs over the second floor’s railing. Her black hair rolls over itself as she hangs over the railing.

“You are such a stick in the mud,” she says and waives a hand, “and here I was nice and bought you a coffee.”

“And here I thought I was being nice to help you with your literature class.”

She mutters something at him and disappears back over the edge. He waives at the barista and starts up the stairs. At some point, he will have to eat breakfast. He can’t sustain himself on caffeine. 

There was something about this place. The chatter is loud. The third step up creaks. The decorations of the tables are worn off. All this familiarity drowns the voices in the back of his head. 

Rafi sits at their usual spot. He still works for the bookstore but only when a large shipment of books comes in. For his fifteenth birthday, he had gotten a tablet that had access to an entire library of books and that had stopped him working every weekend. Rafi wormed into his life anyways, annoying, insistent, steady and not caring for how the rest of the world had treated him. 

No one would study with him at school. He mentioned it once to her.

And this had happened.

“I actually did the reading this time but first, coffee.” She lifts a mug to him as he approaches.

He settles in the opposite chair, turning it around and leaning forward against the back. The backpack goes in the chair next to him. The stress loosens in his back. He sips the mug and the coffee works into him. It tastes good. Maybe he could live off this stuff. He tries to ignore the click of his medical band against the ceramic.

Rafi pokes at the cover of the book in front of her. Post-it notes dot the pages. There is hope that she will get the essay done today.

“You can do calculus two seconds faster than me but literature defies you,” he says. The steam warms his face and after another drink, he has to put it down.

“I want to be in cashflow performance, not an English teacher.”

“Alright.”

“Don’t ‘alright’ me. Help me find three instances of symbolism in this book.”

He takes another drink. The floor is wet with the snow melting off his shoes and the smell of coffee is everywhere but the drilling eyes aren’t here. No Dinand, no teachers, no classmates to find another thing wrong with him. Sure, the man in the corner is staring openly at his hair but he isn’t being watched. His wrong posture in the chair isn’t going to be corrected. 

They blend in here, just two friends studying together.

One of those friends is now grumbling under her breath as she pages through it. “I’ve got some ideas but the essay part…”

“Okay. Let’s talk it out.” He puts the cup down.

The hours leave easily. He relaxes as they map out the structure of her essay. She builds the thesis without his help and then the backing argument. Her jokes and complaints fight the tension from reforming in the back of his throat. She doesn’t really need him. Sometimes she does and Sephiroth has to push her hard to find the easiest things but not today. 

Today, this is the excuse.

The laptops come out. He works on understanding Hughes’ approach in using artillery weapons and she types away on the essay. He hopes it is the essay. It looks like it from the reflection of the readers she puts on.

Would this comfortable sensation be in his life more if he wasn’t so different from everyone else? 

Dinand’s training makes him appreciate this more. Rafi isn’t asking anything of him. Even sitting, he leans heavily on the back of the chair because of the red bruises on his stomach. Fully supporting himself for a long period of time would make the ache worse. His healing works quickly but only if he is rested and well.

Those two things haven’t happened for a long time.

It’s okay. The pain is part of him now. 

Only through pain will he be able to improve.

Studying changes into talking and then the computers go away. The table clears and she pulls out the deck of cards. They have been using them so long that the edges are soft and the ace of hearts lost a corner. The game starts without a break in conversation. He deals and she chatters. This is simple. No complications, tests or injuries. 

Rafi glances up from her hand. A question forms on her face and then she scrunches her eyes together, dismissing it. 

“What?” He asks, “Did you find a way to win?”

“Still working on that. How is life? Like, really.” She plays a seven and he frowns. It’s not terrible for his strategy.

“Training goes as well as it can. Did you give up on being a social media star?”

Her hobbies constantly swap. He is one of the few things that she has kept.

“It got boring. I love selfies and filters but haters are going to hate,” She says softly, staring at her cards. “When are you finally going to get on the internet?”

“Never. No time.” He takes a now cold drink. “You should just ignore them. These haters.”

“Says Sephiroth .”

Half a laugh makes it out of him. The pile of cards grows bigger. Rafi takes the lead. When he glances back, she is still studying him. That question is back on the surface of her face and she’s working over again. This isn’t one of her fleeting remarks, this is something that is much deeper than that.

“What?” he asks.

She pauses. “Can I be honest?”

“Sure.” He straightens, feeling the ache in his stomach. He scratches his neck but he’s feeling for the collar of his shirt, seeing if it may have slipped. One of the bruises is close to his collarbone. The fabric is still in place.

Her cheeks go red. “I wasn’t going to say anything. But you 100% still have aftershave on your face.”

“Oh?” He resists rubbing his face and leans towards the table. She plays a card.

“For sure.”  A smile grows.

He tosses a card onto the pile. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“Because…” She can’t meet his eyes and she shuffles her cards. “I wanted to use it as a distraction later.”

A laugh is coming up in him. “Really? Is it working?”

“You tell me. Did I win?” She lays down her hand, a perfect set up to the ace of hearts. He frowns and brushes his face. There was something on his chin. That’s embarrassing. She gives him a winning smile.

“Hmm.”

“Stop pretending to be a bumblebee and show me those cards.”

He puts them down. Her face turns. He had the better hand. She grumbles and sweeps all cards into a pile. They snap as she mixes them and stuffs them in her pocket. He lays his arms on the top of the chair and sets his chin on them, watching her. The rest of her items get stuffed in her backpack in a hurry. 

“Always one step ahead,” he says.

 “Just shut up.” There is no threat in her words.

“There is always next time.”

“Yeah, there is always that.” A laugh comes out of her. They are fine. She’s not too upset then. He smiles, or tries to, as he stands. The bruises make that hard. They get glares from being loud. She shakes her head as she follows him. Part of him wants her to stay. This is normal. This is the only part of his life that feels normal but it’s not meant to last. 

There are too many things that are wrong. 

“Look. Don’t get yourself into trouble this week.” He says.

She shrugs. “I always do.”

And then she’s gone and he sits back down, presses his forehead against his arms, and waits for everything to sink back over him.

Chapter Text

February, 1991

“So are you going to tell me the truth about that black eye?” Mariella asks.

The air is cold as they walk back to HQ together. Sephiroth studies the mush on his shoes. The city has gone quiet at night in this residential strip that Mariella lives in. Half the lights are turned off. The snow muffles the sounds of machines in the distance.

Mariella pushes when he doesn’t respond. “I don’t even think Thea believed your ‘I fell in gym class’ answer but she’s too polite to ask at a dinner table.”

“I’ll work on that, I guess.” His stomach sinks lower and he wants to disappear. Sephiroth almost laughs in awkwardness instead. He wishes that she would stop pushing and leave him alone. Even the food in his stomach swirls around threateningly. 

About twice a month, Thea invites him over for dinner. Sometimes he comes, sometimes he doesn’t. It all depends on if he has the time with homework and training. Mariella’s girlfriend is relentless so over time, it has become a strange part of his life. It’s weird but there are good things. Mariella joins them most of the time. The house is comfortable. Thea is good company. He gets to visit Charlie. The food is always better than the cafeteria brown stuff.

Although knowing Charlie is part of his past scares him. Everything related to what was in that journal scares him. It all hurts him.

He’s locked those written memories away, physically and mentally, and scrambled back up the hill he had fallen down. In the beginning, his mind had tried to put together the pieces, to solve the questions, but the emotions overwhelmed him. A bout of illness was never far behind.

It has been six years now knowing something he shouldn’t. The last of the curiosity had flickered and died. Did it matter? He couldn’t remember it anyways. Any time he tries to think about it or even ask Mariella questions, he finds himself back in the ICU in R&D.

“I thought everyone leaves you alone at school now,” Mariella says next to him.

Sephiroth blinks, comes back to the present. “They do.”

“What did it?”

The sense of ease that he gets from going to their apartment finishes sliding off him. HQ starts to appear in front of him. This is the sterile professional building that he keeps bleeding in.

“Just the sim.”

“The simulation room? Again?”

“Don’t worry about it. I just made a few mistakes and got slammed by a couple soldiers that I didn’t see coming.” Her concern makes him want to run. He digs his chin into his chest and tries to ignore the pain in his chest. 

“I know Dinand is tough but he shouldn’t…” she breaks into a hum.

“No. It’s my fault. Please don’t talk to him. I’m old enough now to handle it.” He kicks a drift.

Sephiroth is in a pressure cooker because he keeps making mistakes. Professor Hojo wasn’t wrong those months ago. After the holidays slipped by, the newspapers returned to the war. Now peace talks have ended. Wutai is standing strong and aggressive and Shinra is calling for volunteers for the army. If they don’t get enough, there will be a draft.

The thought of Wutai makes his skin crawl. Those are memories he is thankful he doesn’t have. Maybe going to and fighting them will give him some relief. Maybe he will stop looking over his shoulder or waking up covered in sweat in the middle of the night for no reason.

But before that, he needs to get strong and stop failing in the sim.

The bruise on his face from Dinand’s fist tells him exactly how far he has to go. 

Mariella looks at him and sighs. “How’s school?”

“I got a hundred and four on my history midterm.” The words are molasses in his mouth. 

“Out of…?”

“A hundred. I missed three of the extra credit questions. I could have made it a hundred and ten.” A prick of annoyance comes out with that. It had soured his whole day when he realized that had he restudied the revolution one more time, he would have gotten those as well. The teacher had given almost no indication that the exact days of the battle would be important. He’d know for next time at least.

“You know we’re happy with anything that is passing.”

We’re . She’s still at work in her mind. This is a Shinra representative next to him. Now he could see it in her shoulders. They are square and level. Only when she feels like herself do those fall. 

“Right, yeah, okay,” he snips the words out.

She focuses on that bruise. The purple ring must be shiny as they come under the lights in front of HQ. He can even see the swelling. He looks away, studying the closed storefronts. He hopes that they will split up in the elevator. Mariella said there was some last minute work for her.

“Do you want me to help you heal that?” She asks carefully as she swipes them into the building.

Now he squirms. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s nothing to worry about.”

The care that has been there disappears. Her lips turn to a tight line.

“ ’Nothing to worry about.’  Don’t lie to me, Sephiroth even if you think you are being helpful.” Mariella’s voice is tight as she walks towards the elevator. “We’re going to my office and getting that bruise handled. I can’t stand to see it on your face.”

He’s stopped by the door. What did he say? He runs through what he had said. Had he made her mad by trying to make her not worry? And now he’s lying?

“Sephiroth,” she calls. It’s sharp and leaves no room for excuses.

The trip to R&D is quiet. Mariella holds herself tall and her jaw moves without words. Sephiroth goes back to studying the tops of his combat boots watching the snow drip off them. The floors chirp as they pass. He swallows as his floor number disappears. He wishes that this would be over.

Mariella pulls out her keycard as they exit. She doesn’t even look at him as she leads him through the dark office spaces. Most of the computers and lab spaces are quiet. A janitor gets spooked as she blows past him. Sephiroth’s apology almost makes it out but he swallows it. Apologizes have gotten removed from him.

She swipes the card to her office door.

“Wait here in the hall, I have classified paperwork on my desk.”

Sephiroth slumps down, sitting against the wall. He plays with his hands, feeling the calluses. The sooner this is over, the sooner that he can go to his room. This is a disaster. How could he be so stupid to come? If Dinand has the sim beat him up again in a visible place, he is going to have to decline going to dinner. 

The idea hurts but this is even worse than eating in the cafeteria and if it is going to result in an angry Mariella, it is better to be alone. 

He rubs his face, touching the bruise, feeling the swollen skin. Poking it makes pain flicker in his head. He needs to sleep more so his body heals faster. He also should practice more to be better SOLDIER. That is the only way. Dinand is trying to help him and Sephiroth is being an idiot.

It’s all his fault really.

“Are you a ghost?” Someone asks from the corner of the hallway.

Sephiroth presses his hand against his face and closes his eyes. He is done. He is making things up now. He doesn’t want anymore people, imaginary or not, in his life. He doesn’t want any more echoes of past teasing. He wants to go to bed. That question is his mind throwing stupidity at him.

“”cause I’ve bet this place is haunted,” The voice is light and young as it gets closer, “I actually know so.”

Sephiroth winces. This is not his imagination. He gives up and looks down the hall. In the dimness, a kid wanders toward him. She’s wearing her pajamas covered in flowers. Odd. Why is this happening?

“I’m not a ghost. It’s just the color of my hair,” He answers anyway. It’s the same answer he gives every time. He barely has to think about the words anymore. Dying his hair is a luxury that he can’t afford.

“Really?” Her bare feet slap the tile as she runs up to him. He doesn’t move. She looks young, maybe in middle school. 

“Where’s your parents?” He presses the back of his head against the wall. He doesn’t want to deal with this.

She stops in front of him. “My mom is busy. My dad is dead. Where are your parents?”

“I’m seventeen. I don’t need parents.” He snorts and closes his eyes. He could be dreaming all of this. Maybe he is. 

“Oh, sorry.”

He opens one eye and looks at the green ones blinking back at him. She meant that apology.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, “It’s late. The building is closed to the public.”

He doesn’t want to escort her down but he will if he has to.

“I live here, silly.”

 He blinks. “How?”

“Take the elevator up to the 69th floor, take three rights, a left, swipe this stolen keycard.” She holds up a card. “And you’ll find my room. I share it with my mom.”

She sits on the tile in front of him. “The building is closed, shouldn’t you be home?”

“I live here but my room is on the 27th floor.”

“Ooh.” She drags out the noise. “Are you not supposed to be here either then?”

“No. Not technically.”

She grasps one of his hands and tries to jerk him to his feet. “Come on, let’s explore before they find us. I think there is a vending machine with Star Bars in it.”

He weighs triple hers. She gets nowhere pulling on him. She stumbles back after a second of effort. 

“No, I’m supposed to be here,” Sephiroth says as the girl giggles at herself, “but you aren’t. Shouldn’t you be in bed? It’s late.”

“Oh, you are boring.”

“I’m not.”

“Prove it. Why are you here?” She smiles sweetly with her challenge.

He pauses and combs through what he can and can’t say. So much of his life is completely hidden from everyone else. The SOLDIER project has barely gone public. The edge of the night is sinking into him and things feel more complicated than they are. 

Orlin’s training comes to mind. The few missions they have gone on together into the slums. The relieved faces he saw as the monsters finally collapsed into harmless nothing.

“In the end…I think I’m supposed to save people,” Sephiroth says. The bruise on his face flares as he winces. 

The girl’s smile becomes real. “Me too but I’m an Ancient so that’s easy. What are you?”

“I-I’m just a guy.”

They hear the shouts together. The smile grows bigger as she steps back. “Guys are pretty powerful too. I know so. Good luck with that, okay?”

“You too.”

She winks and tears down the hallway. Brown hair flashes in the dimmed lights.

The Turks arrive a minute later and Sephiroth shrugs at every question. He doesn’t know anything. If they look back on the security cameras, he will deal with that.

Mariella calls him in a few minutes later.

“Sit there.” She points to her desk. It’s a small office with a window outside. It’s neat but full with folders and paperwork. Since the SOLDIER program has started drafting the public, she has become even busier in mako exposure. A whiteboard looks like she has just wiped it down. 

Sephiroth leans against the edge of the desk.

Materials in the drawers crash into each other as she opens a drawer. Idly, he looks over the files that are stacked in piles. Most of it means nothing to him: charts and graphs that have numbers but no context. In her handwriting, she’s circled things. Notes cover a margin. Nothing is exciting. The graph on the paper starts to make a little bit of sense the more he stares. It is a fluctuation of mako with what he’s guessing is temperature. 

While Mariella is always available to him, it can be hard for him to remember everything she does in R&D. Still, it is her personal cell phone number on the bracelet around his wrist, not the lab’s.

His fingers snag the corner of a picture frame under the lamp and he realizes that it is Mariella grinning with Thea on a beach. That unbounded smile on Mariella’s face imprints hard and unfamiliar in his mind.

“Last year’s vacation?” He lifts it.

She brushes back her hair as she looks over her shoulder. “Yes, Sephiroth.”

The sounds are short so he sets the picture back down. A green orb rolls in her hand as she comes back to him. Mariella has no aptitude for materia. There are people that cannot summon the natural energy. He finds the idea strange but true. There is a balance in everything.

That doesn’t mean that she can’t assist in a casting which is something he needs to heal himself. The edges of her eyes tighten as she hovers her fingers over the black eye. She touches it gently, making it water.

“These impacts look like knuckles here, not sim damage,” she says softly.

He tries to turn away but holds himself straight. Instead he stares at the dog hair on her pants.

“Let’s get you patched up.” She places the orb in his open hand. It warms to his touch. The magic sings in the back of his head like a familiar song. He closes his eyes, relishing it. Magic is comfortable, almost tasting sweet on his tongue. Mariella has missed out.

Healing wounds on your own body is the most challenging. The pain is a good distraction and not being able to see it is even harder. Cura is not always the tidal wave of healing that the public thought it is. In a pinch, it can do such a thing but the effects are broad and unsatisfying. The wound might be healed enough to keep fighting but the amount of internal damage is impossible to ignore in the long run. It takes time and specialized casters to heal someone completely.

 This does not include Sephiroth’s added challenge of the heavy amount of mako already in him. Casting spells on himself is like trying to force two positive magnets together. The mako rejects more energy entering inside of it, corrupting spells, making them skate off of him ineffectively. He can feel it sometimes, the alien force in him, fighting against the spells.

“We start with the point of impact.” She holds out her hand and he lays his left hand in it. His right one tightens on the glass. She’s not talking about lying. He’ll take that as good. She brings his fingers up to his own face and he concentrates on the warmth in his other hand. He thinks about his face, the blood vessels that have exploded and clearing the damage away.

The customary green glow forms on his fingertips. Mariella’s face is highlighted with them as she presses his fingers to the sorest part of his eye. He winces and the magic falters but he focuses. He doesn’t have to worry about directing it, just keeping the flow going outward. The magic skitters across his skin and then soaks in.

The swelling burns and dissipates. Her focus inches across his face and the touch feels less painful. A few threads of the bruise hang on and then with one last burst of energy, they drift away as well. He sighs and lets the materia go loose in his fingers.

His hand slips away from hers but she presses her palm against his cheek. He opens his eyes to her earnest ones.

“I need you to stay honest with me. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what is going on.”

“Nothing is going on.” His stomach twitches and he pulls back. Her hands fall to her sides.

“I am being serious. If Dinand is-”

He shrugs and cuts her off, strengthening his voice. “Becoming a SOLDIER isn’t easy. I know I got the mako early but there is still a lot more work to do. We get hurt. You know that. I’m tough.”

“There is a difference between getting hurt in combat and getting hurt in training. One of those things is absolutely unacceptable.” She pushes onward. He blows out breath between his teeth. It whistles in the room. She cares about him. That is what this is all about. She needed to leave this alone.

“Dinand makes the best. I want to be the best.”

“There are many ways to be a good SOLDIER. Dinand is not the only way.” She shifts and eyes the door behind them. It is still closed. This is not going to be like one of his checkups where Hojo wanders in and takes over.

A good SOLDIER. That sticks in him.

“I want to be the best.”

A haunted smile comes across her face. “You don’t have to be for me.”

“No.” Now he’s smiling and it’s a greedy thing. “I want to be for me.”

He is his own competition. He’s never been around others enough to care. The students at school don’t study like he does. The other SOLDIERs he is around aren’t exposed to the same amount of mako. There are only a few people’s opinions that he cares about. These people know who he is and what he’s gone through.

Mariella takes the materia that has rolled out of his hand and gets up. Her face has changed at his words. It isn’t disappointment but she’s hollow. He waits for a response. She moves away, turning back to the drawer. It opens but she doesn’t move to put it back. There is no response coming.

“He knows what he is doing. It’s my own fault anyways. I’m not keeping up with the standard,” he says to her back. “Someday. Someday , I’ll get back at him. I’ll win it in the end. Promise. No more black eyes.”

The materia clicks into the corner of a drawer. She stares down at it. Her shoulders rise and fall as she puts her weight on the edge. Maybe she hasn’t heard him. He runs his teeth over the cut still in his mouth, worrying it. He didn’t ask her to help with the other bruises and cuts because she doesn’t need to know about them. She’s worried enough already.

She turns and stares him down. “You’ll tell me if he hurts you on purpose.”

It wasn’t a question. Sephiroth sucks in a breath. “Of course.”

“Okay. Win it in the end then.”

Mariella’s worried eyes follow him all the way to bed.

Chapter Text

February, 1991

Sephiroth’s fifth candle explodes as Orlin arrives for their training session.

The materia flashes in Sephiroth’s sword across his lap like laughter. He can’t get this right. At least for this training session, he thought to spread a tarp over the ground before lining up the small candles in a row. Now there are five smudgy piles of melted wax and no real success.

Materia training has changed. It’s no longer about how large of an explosion Sephiroth could make but how precise he could be. Explosions are perfect for the battlefield, Orlin assures him, but precision is key too. What if you want to burn someone’s hand to make them release you?

So candle work had begun.

The first time he tried lighting a candle, the air combusted so fast that it took out the whole line and a few feet more. Only charred metal circles where the wick connects to the bottom remained. Now he can avoid melting the candles surrounding his newest victim.

“I should warn you,” Orlin says as the door clicks shut behind him, “I am not 100% today.”

Sephiroth looks up from his seat on the floor. “That makes two of us.”

The medication helps but there are days that he wakes up feeling terrible. He places his hands on the flat of his blade so they stop shaking. He’ll submit the symptoms form to Mariella tonight but long-term mako poisoning, as they decided to call it, is an unmanageable beast. 

“You didn’t drink a sea of beer,” Orlin grumbles somewhere behind Sephiroth. 

“No. I didn’t,” He says as he concentrates on the next candle. The magic is in him and it is hard and alive in his chest. The rush of power is so strong that it batters against his control. It would be easy to destroy the whole line of candles.

Orlin makes noncommittal sounds. His training bag scrapes against the back table. Sephiroth takes a breath, focuses and lets the smallest amount of magic he can slip from his fingers. It is still too much. The fireball implodes where the wick is. This time it eats only 3/4th of the candle. The charred wick lights for a half second before guttering out in the hot wax. Sephiroth allows a grin before he stops it from growing into a full smile. 

The candle was lit, if only for a moment. It is an improvement.

“It smells like you’ve set all those textbooks on fire.” Orlin stands above him.

“Not yet,” Sephiroth mutters. He toys with the warmth coming through his fingers and focuses again. Three candles remain. 

He should have melted through those as well but Rafi had sent him a text simply saying: Bored, send selfie. It had taken him an inordinate amount of time to do so. This is her newest thing. The usual selfie comes back with a frown and a pencil in her mouth. The subtitle said: You need to get a haircut so bad.

He doesn’t care. It’s grown out but whenever he feels it against his chin, he gets it sheared short. It does whatever it wants. As long as it isn’t standing up straight, usually no one cares. If it is unremarkable besides the color, that’s good enough.

“Proud of you graduating so soon.”

His focus slips. The fire cascades off to the right and sputters out against the candle’s neighbor.

“You mean that?” He looks up and disengages himself with the materia. It leaves in a rush, leaving an emptiness.

Orlin’s smile is tired but warm. “Yeah, kid. You only graduate high school once.”

The thrill plays in him. He’s never achieved anything like graduating before. Sure, the day when Dinand put a sword in his hand is special but this is something that everyone will have to see how hard he has worked. All the bullying, the late nights and limping to school will all be worth it when he gets handed that diploma.

And he gets to go first. 

With Latin Honors will be written under his name. SOLDIER will be impressed when he hands that in.

Orlin grins past the darkness in his eyes. “But you still need to grow up. Pass that final level into adulthood.”

“Not going to happen.” Sephiroth shakes his head, stares at the sword and pulls the materia from its slot. The warmth of the glass tingles.

“It’s just a word. A four letter word. I won’t tell anybody.” Orlin sits on the ground next to him. He groans as his knees bend.

“I don’t want to.” A grin is coming across Sephiroth’s face and there is nothing he can do to stop it.

“It’s a rite of passage.”

“I’m not going to say it.” Sephiroth’s eyes stare into the materia.

“One fuck. That’s all I want. I’ve heard you mutter shit under your breath a few times but you are going to be a legal adult soon so it’s time for big boy words.”

“No.” Sephiroth pinches the glass hard and tries to dampen down the smile more. Orlin laughs at him. This has been going on for months. Sephiroth had cursed when he accidentally electrified himself with a miscast lightning spell. Ever since that “shit”, Orlin has been on a warpath.

One that he’s not going to win. 

Orlin’s phone chirps and he pulls it out, squinting at it. Sephiroth waits as he reads through whatever is on it. He’ll be pleased with his progress with controlled fire spells. Sephiroth’s work with Orlin makes it so much easier to enjoy magic. He may not be the best at it but it comes so much easier than swordplay.

“Well, kid,” Orlin grunts and rubs his hand across his forehead. “the powers that be are changing the lesson plan.”

Sephiroth’s excitement fades.

“They want you to learn how to create a fire dragon.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Is it an offensive spell? I thought I learned all of those.”

“You have…is it too early to get another drink?” He laughs and rereads the screen.

Sephiroth leans over and tries to peer at the email before Orlin locks it. The phone goes in his pocket and he crosses his arms. Annoyance crosses his face and then it falls into something close to resignation.

“They want you to learn performance magic.”

“ Performance magic?”

“Like for the circus.”

“Why would SOLDIER want that?”

He pulls out the phone and scrolls through until he starts reading aloud: “Due to requests from SOLDIER, please make sure that Sephiroth has mastered the following performance tricks. We are expecting results promptly.”

Sephiroth frowns.

It makes no sense. 

He won’t be creating fireworks on the battlefield or wanting to entertain his men. That won’t be his job. Why would they want him to waste time, especially with less than a quarter of a year left until his formal enlistment, learning this? He should be learning more valuable skills.

It isn’t up to him.

It isn’t up to Orlin either.

He decides to answer his own question.

“The fire dragon is a dragon fully represented in fire in the sky, isn’t it?”

Orlin doesn’t say anything at first. Color rises his cheeks and he says, “Yeah. It is.”

“But I can do this.” Sephiroth twists, reaches for the magic in his hand and engulfs the rest of the candles. The fire explodes out in every direction. The heat rolls over them. It’s ashy and smells like burnt plastic. The light plays in yellow and orange before disappearing into blackness. The metal disks glow red where the candle used to be and cracks in the fireproof paneling stand out like veins.

Orlin puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles. “That’s all well and good, but can you make it a dragon ?”

Sephiroth sends him what he hopes is a withering glare.

“Come on, the quicker we start, the quicker it is over.”

It takes him about forty minutes to get the general grasp of shaping fire. His endurance allows him to maintain a large flame for a few minutes and he slowly forces it to narrow and widen. By the end, if he squints, he can see a creature within the flames.

Orlin seems impressed enough to leave it alone after an hour. 

Sephiroth ends up in the SOLDIER’s apartment that night. It’s rare but when Orlin asks if Sephiroth has relaxed recently and he says no, the invitation of food and the bad reality TV is too much to resist.

Sephiroth sits on the floor, propped up against the couch. He’s half asleep with the amount of Wutain takeout stuffed into his stomach. The apartment smells of ginger, clove and sesame oil. It’ll hang on his clothes until he takes them off. They haven’t changed their order for years: an unpronounceable noodle dish for him and a braised pork one for Orlin.

 Another one of the traditions that they have adopted.

Sephiroth watches Jessica make the wrong decision on which man to send home. He wonders what that must be like. Relationships are phantoms to him. Never has he had the time to pursue it. Who would want to date him? What is the value of him? He’s an oddity, a thing in the junk drawer of Shinra. A strange steel focused weapon that doesn’t have time for distractions or is even allowed them.

How would he, Sephiroth , date?

Or even have time to himself?

The colors on the screenplay on his hands. What would he do with a free week? All his time is structured one way or another. Even when he goes on “vacation”, Orlin or Mariella go with him. Most of the time, they go riding or hiking in the forest. The older he gets, the more they let him influence what they do but it is allowed, not completely his own.

A snore interrupts him.

The last few years have not been the easiest but Orlin stood by him the whole time. Sephiroth tries to do the same. Several times his mind wanders back to Orlin at the edge of the plate. Now with more life under him, the memory seems steeped in something worse. What would have happened if he had not come?

Not that Orlin doesn’t live on a knife’s edge now. 

Sephiroth glances up at his mentor. He’s sprawled across the cushions of the couch. One hand is in a fist on his stomach and the other is somewhere near his throat. Even in sleep, the buried stress does not completely fall away. It doesn’t take much to notice that he is declining. 

Orlin doesn’t mention why. 

They know. Shinra and SOLDIER have been pushing him. The missions have been getting more and more dangerous. When Sephiroth was younger, he thought it was because Orlin got promoted to Second. Now he knows better. There are eyes watching Orlin. He’s not sure why but the Turks hover in the distance, black sunglasses reflecting back his own face.

With war brewing, President Shinra still shrugs to the camera and says it is uncertain. It’s a lie. They all know it. Things will not resolve.

Orlin’s missions have become classified and more dangerous. He’s gone for longer periods of time. Sometimes when he isn’t careful, he even mentions flying or traveling west. When they talk about the war, Orlin says nearly nothing. The most that Sephiroth can squeeze out of him is that he has no close family on the island that Shinra is about to descend on.

The scars, the near misses that mako can’t fully erase, are building on his skin now, starting to overlap.

Sometimes when he is sleeping off the hangover on his couch, he says things that worry Sephiroth.

But he is a SOLIDER. What can he do? Leave?

The anxiety of that happening makes his fingers dig into his palm until there is pain.

A SOLDIER without Shinra.

What does that even mean?

What would any of them be without Shinra?

Sephiroth hopes that neither one of them ever has to find out.

Chapter Text

February, 1991

In the executive elevator, Sephiroth focuses on his posture as Midgar descends below him. He leans back onto his heels and drops his shoulders. His chin rises, the skin underneath tickling. Even with it being so early in the morning, all his usual sleepiness is gone. It disappeared when he found Mariella waiting for him by the main exit.

Now, Mariella stands next to him. The elevator chimes as the floors go by. Bland music fills the empty space. 

“I’ve called the school already. You won’t be marked absent.” She smiles at him but it feels weird. 

If he isn’t apprehensive about this, her eyes would push him over the edge. Inside them, there is a controlled worry. She’s looking for something in him. His life is changing. Somehow. It is something that Mariella hasn’t predicted or doesn’t have any choice in. Even when it is something that she chooses, she never looks at him like this.

Only when Professor Hojo is involved, does she stiffen like she’s dead.

The floors rise along with his anxiety.

“We are going to have a meeting about SOLDIER?” He asks to fill the silence more than to get an answer. She already said this when she swiped her card and punched in the number. It’s not the right time. He doesn’t get SOLDIER meetings. It’s a few more months before he’s officially in the program.

“Yes. Exciting, isn’t it?” She doesn’t even try to sound convincing.

“Sure.”

If this was a scheduled meeting, he wouldn’t be worried. 

Instead he feels like he is careening off into the unknown with rules that he doesn’t understand. His mind guesses but he calms himself into a stillness that he relies on more and more. Anything he guesses will be wrong. He doesn’t know enough. It’s impossible. It is out of his control. It is better to save his energy for when he does know.

The impossibility turns out to be a meeting on the newly refurbished conference floor. Mariella’s heels clicks echo against the black marble. She never wears heels. She’s not telling him anything, just leading the way. His shoulders rise and muscles knit tight but he forces it all back. He’s a future SOLDIER, meetings shouldn’t scare him.

Mariella knocks on the door and then opens it without waiting for a response.

Three men sit around a conference table that fits twenty. Sephiroth pauses at the door but doesn’t allow himself to stay there. He doesn’t guess which of these Shinra staff is most important. He knows. The blonde man sits with a confidence that he can control everything in this room. More importantly, when he stands up, the other two scramble to follow.

“Sephiroth,” he says in a voice that’s so warm that he can feel it on his skin, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The white suit extends a hand and Sephiroth takes it. He practiced handshakes with Mariella last year. He hopes he doesn’t squeeze too hard. He says nothing, only meets his eyes and nods. The less he says, the less trouble he can be in. That’s a safety he knows from Dinand.

“Lazard Deusericus.” Lazard shakes his hand.

Sephiroth can’t stop the sharp look he gives the Director of SOLDIER. This is the hand that signed his contract hanging on his wall. This is the man that he will be working for. It is a true SOLDIER meeting. Why would they need to meet with him right now?

Rocks form in his stomach. Sephiroth pretends they aren’t there.

Lazard lets out a chuckle and adjusts his glasses. “I see I don’t need to introduce myself. Take a seat, will you?”

Sephiroth feels unreal as he sits across from the Director in his school clothes. He has one set of nice clothes in his closet. He’s put them on several times to envision what it is going to look like to meet Lazard Deusericus in them. Instead, he’s got his winter coat over one arm, a tired gray shirt and his standard issue exercise shoes. He was up late working on the final touches on an essay and hadn’t had the energy to try on what he was wearing.

He regrets that.

“This is Clarence Normandy, he works in PR and hopefully with you.” Lazard waives to his left at the man who might be in his forties. His black hair is pressed tight against his head. Clarence nods and smiles in the plastic way that public relations members do.

“And Edin Morse.” Lazard finishes with the man, almost boy, that’s settled next to the seat that Mariella took. “Surely, you know Mariella’s PA.”

Sephiroth drags his eyes away from Lazard to stare at the personal assistant that he never knew Mariella had. Edin plays around with a tablet in front of him and twitches. It takes a minute for the nondescript man who probably has a year on him to raise his vision and meet his.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Edin says. Complexity moves in that gaze and it stirs a fight in Sephiroth’s gut.

“Likewise,” Sephiroth responds and doesn’t hide the ice in his voice.

If Lazard notices the tension, he diffuses it by clapping and drawing attention back to him.

“I often work off the philosophy of keeping things as simple as they can be, especially when you work with an entire army of genetically modified SOLDIERS,” he says and picks up a pen in front of him. “I want to start by apologizing for making you miss a day of school unexpectedly.”

“That’s fine, sir.” 

The paper that he was worried about not submitting on time seems like a distant dream.

“Good. The war is coming and we need to fill our ranks with properly trained infantry and SOLDIERs. Remind me Doctor Haynes, how long does it take for a trained SOLDIER to come into existence?” He taps the pen on the table top.

Mariella calculates. “About two months, from start to finish, assuming the first rounds of exposure and basic training go well. That will get you a basic SOLDIER. The process extends afterward of course with more exposures.”

Exposure. That word always causes sweat to form in Sephiroth’s palms. It doesn’t matter the context.

“Right. I don’t know if we have three months. Our enlistment numbers are dismal. We thought we had enough but Wutai is rallying more than we thought. The public knows why we need to go to war but they don’t want to do it themselves.” 

Sephiroth nods. The general assumption he sees is that people think that they will win the war without any effort. If Lazard thinks that the war is going to come in three months, he will make it to his graduation. The timing couldn’t be more perfect. He will walk across the stage and then fly off into battle. That is okay. He can do that. That must be what they want to tell him. He can handle that.

“We want to pull you in partially and early,” Lazard says.

Those words tear through the peace settling over him.

Sephiroth focuses sharply on the Director. 

Lazard continues as if he hasn’t said something that makes Sephiroth’s heart freeze. “Mariella, as your guardian, has agreed and so has the R&D department but I want your consent as well.” The smile comes back. “It won’t be full-time. You’ll still go to school but the rest of your free time will be working with SOLDIER. I suspect that it will be about…twenty hours a week?”

Sephiroth wants to blow out a breath to steady his swimming thoughts but instead he leans back in the chair until it squeaks. He looks at Mariella. 

She nods at him in assurance. “You get to fulfill your purpose early.”

The room goes quiet as Sephiroth fights the mixed emotions in him. He’s not ready. His life has been tests, surviving training and trying to squeeze some time to be away from Shinra. He’s never thought of that as something that can be taken away at the snap of this man’s fingers before May 25th. It is precious now.

“We were already planning for you to get some media and press after you formally enlisted,” Clarence speaks for the first time in a smooth voice, “Now it will be a fully backed press program since you’ve been confirmed for First and enlistment numbers are so low.”

“ What?” Sephiroth can’t believe what he has heard. He is to be a First Class?

“Come now. We get your performance reviews and see the simulation footage. There is no need to start you off in the lower ranks,” Lazard says, “It was unanimous. Sephiroth, you are a First Class SOLDIER through and through.” 

Sephiroth’s head waivers. Keeping a straight face is hard. He’s getting everything that he dreamed of. First Class? Isn’t that what he was hoping to get when he was older? He is barely seventeen. 

The bruises and punching, it is paying off right here in this room.

Clarence takes over talking. “We need someone to lead the people to enlist. After a little cleaning up and training, we are sure that you can fill that role. You’re young, intelligent, strong and, most importantly, attractive underneath all of that.” 

He presses forward with more details but the words barely reach Sephiroth. He wants to concentrate but everything is bubbling up in him. Their words hurt him. He’s not any of those things. He’s not smart. He’s not attractive. He’s certainly not strong.

“Here is an updated version of your typical calendar.” Mariella is handing him something. He takes the tablet without noticing it. The blocks of color blur as he tries to concentrate on reading the words. He can’t see it. It means nothing to him. It’s the same as the abstract painting on the wall behind Lazard.

“Education is important but we will all understand if your grades slip a little in the last quarter. We can even explain the situation to the school,” Lazard continues, “You’ve already proven your aptitude in all your subjects.”

It’s another punch inside of him.

Sephiroth’s composure cracks further.

Emotion threatens to overwhelm him.

They’ve noticed?

SOLDIER has been paying attention?

Sephiroth thought that he was working in a vacuum. The empty space that he competes only against himself because no one else cares as much as he does. His crazed obsession with being perfect seemed to be ignored. Mariella is the one that looks over his report cards. He always figured that they got carried up but he never thought anyone cared.

He’s always been a folder in a drawer.

“If you agree, the process will start immediately. Today, we will do most of the physical work and then the rest of the week will be grooming you for the press. We’ve got the press release scheduled to go out next Tuesday. It’s a fast turn around but we need you to start drumming up the public now.” Clarence sends a paperclipped packet of paper across the table at him. “Here is the working PR and promo.”

Youngest First Class SOLDIER - Sephiroth. Shinra Banks on Future Leader in Wutai War.

The words are bold and confident above a picture of a mocked up boy that is not Sephiroth. Everything is different about the SOLDIER printed. A challenge is in his eye along with a confident curl of his lips. Sephiroth’s fingers hover over the photo.

He’s smart, they said. He’s strong, they said. He’s worth the title of First Class, they said. They’ve noticed everything that he’s done. It all hasn’t been for nothing. The photo goes out of focus and emotion threatens everything inside him. They understand something about him that’s been pounded out of him every moment that he’s stepped into Shinra. 

His throat clamps and parts of his face hurt.

“May I use the restroom?” Sephiroth asks. His voice cracks. For once, he doesn’t care.

“Two hallways to the left and down at the end,” Lazard says.

Sephiroth barely makes it into a stall before he rips apart, sobbing into his hands. 

As he sits, he’s not even sure exactly why.

Chapter Text

CLASSIFIED. CLEARANCE: EXECUTIVE. SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY. HARD COPY ONLY. STORAGE #31 - NIBELHEIM MANSION.

Project S Letter ID # 910226.1602

Update on Sephiroth’s Early Acceptance into SOLDIER
Tuesday, Feb 26, 1991 at 4:02 PM
From: Mariella Haynes < [email protected]> 
To: “[email protected]” <[email protected]>

—

Dear Professor Hojo,

Sephiroth has consented to an early entry into the SOLDIER program today. In the previous night’s meeting, Lazard agreed with all your terms that allowed for the offer to be extended. R&D is still involved in Sephiroth’s overall health and further studies as directly supervised by me. Edin will maintain the medicine and medical details. SOLDIER will compensate for Sephiroth’s monthly screenings and allow for any further sessions as long as it does not affect Sephiroth’s long term performance. 

All other training has to be put on hold for at least a month as Sephiroth needs PR training. It is important that we instruct Dinand that Sephiroth should not receive any serious physical trauma once his training resumes since he will be interacting with the press. You know that I am relieved to hear and agree with that request.

Sephiroth went through all the physical prep with a certain amount of hilarity today. Clarence is supplying him with a real wardrobe and he looked completely lost at the amount of leather and belts. He’ll be represented as a young professional but I fear what Clarence will do with him when he stops looking like a teenager. The short new haircut now has an addition of bangs because he couldn’t sit still. It could be worse. Sephiroth also got introduced to a hair straightener and almost set the table on fire. 

I fear what will happen when press makeup gets put into Sephiroth’s life.

It is working. The kid looks completely different. I know that he never achieved the amount of bulk and muscle that you were looking for but Clarance is working with leanness in horrifying ways. He’ll be a heartthrob.

Attached is the finalized paperwork and consent with his signature. I’m also attaching the “work in progress” shots that they took at the end of the day. He is exhausted as he looks.

Here we are, finally at the day where Sephiroth succeeds in the purpose that saved his life. The promise to Shinra is fulfilled. From here, we don’t have to prove that we were right in saving him. I will no longer have to stand in front of the Board and justify the costs and numbers and then have them ask once again for the program to be shut down. Sephiroth will simply live.

He’ll never have to know how close he was to being put down like a monster. 

I’m so proud of our First Class SOLDIER.

Sincerely,

Mariella Haynes

—

Project S Letter ID # 910226.1611

RE: Update on Sephiroth’s Early Acceptance into SOLDIER
Tuesday, Feb 26, 1991 at 4:11 PM
From: “[email protected]” <[email protected]>
To: Mariella Haynes < [email protected]> 

—

I don’t care if Lazard changes him into a Barbie doll as long as I get my results. It is ridiculous to share my experiments with other departments. Shinra undervalues the work. They always have undervalued the work. Now Project S is an army dog laced with my JENOVA cells.

Prance Sephiroth around as much as you want.

Make him sit.

Make him play dead.

He’s still mine.

Chapter Text

April, 1991

It took Shinra weeks to be comfortable putting Sephiroth in front of a crowd. 

Sephiroth realizes now that he had no idea how much effort it would take. 

Clarence spent two hours just teaching him how to smile. It is a painful thing with no teeth, no cheeks and all eyes.

Then came Sephiroth’s voice.

Every part of him was molded and set into a new shape. It was intensive and unending. Even when he was not in training, Sephiroth found himself altered. He wakes up early now because he has to fix his hair. Two months ago, Sephiroth would have laughed. Now, he worries that if he lays in bed too long with his insomnia he won’t have enough time to get it done. 

Daily check-in photos were required until he perfected the style.

Part of him rebels even as he steps out onto the stage. It crawls up his stomach as the lights blind him.

But he bats it down. He will be the First Class SOLDIER that they want him to be. No argument. He has fought too hard for this already.

He’s been doing this sort of PR work for what feels like forever. The black First Class SOLDIER uniform hugs him. They picked black because it contrasts with his hair. This is the feature Clarence says the public reacts to. The part of him that every bully latched onto is now celebrated.

He fights the urge to scrunch up his face as he walks to the mark. That was in his write up for his first performance.

From the stage, the people look like a gelatinous mass of bodies that scream in his direction. He takes a breath and draws his sword. It is the standard issue one, stocky and useful but dulled. The crowd cries out. It is strange. Shinra threw enough money behind him that he became an “overnight sensation” on the news.

The news, he learns, is directly controlled by Shinra. 

Everything is fake. It’s sick.

Someone announces who he is over the speaker. Then the SOLDIERs rush in from either side and attack. The one on the right throws lightning. The light crackles off Sephiroth’s shield as it absorbs the impact. The other man goes close. The sword dives for his side. Sephiroth parries it before physically throwing the man back. His shout is hoarse as he falls back onto a mat.

Sephiroth sends a shock wave high over the crowd’s head.

The mass eats it up the danger. They rush closer, pressing against the metal barricades that keep distance between them.

He steps back as a round of fire flashes in front of him. It’s all a performance, practiced over and over until all three of them can do it blindfolded. He holds his face cold. That’s the way that they want him. Cold and impressive presentation of a leader.

It doesn’t matter. The show sells what it needs to. Sephiroth spins magic around his “opponents” as they continue to attack him. It is about the power of SOLDIER. He twists and rotates through the steps and the public love it. He remembers to keep himself tight to remove the extra movements that make him human.

It’s over before he knows it. The other SOLDIERs fall on his pulled punches and dull sword hits and don’t get up. Their panting makes it to his ears. His lungs roll smoothly in him. He’s still okay. The stress hasn’t gotten to him today. Clarence steps out from the wing and starts talking about how the screaming mass could become like Sephiroth.

Sephiroth concentrates on the angle of his sword and keeping a straight back. The eyes rove all over him, picking apart every part of his body so they can take pieces home. 

He knows that he is supposed to soak in all of this and enjoy it. He expected himself to thrive under it. Instead, it is okay. The first time he did this, he did feel that thrill but it dims each time. 

Sephiroth’s mind wanders. The script of what Clarence says is imprinted in his skin. He craves the moments when he is alone as he stands in front of hundreds of people.

This isn’t what he thought he wanted.

Clarence stops talking. The microphone passes to him.

“If it wasn’t for Shinra, I wouldn’t be alive. Life with SOLDIER makes me whole. I hope to see you in my ranks.” He recites and spins the sword in his left hand.

The screams are higher pitched.

Clarence takes the microphone and continues. Soon, Sephiroth will be in charge of the whole piece but they aren’t ready to give that over. Sephiroth doesn’t blame them. He realizes that his free hand is in a fist and he forces the fingers loose. 

No outward aggression should be perceived at any time in front of the public eye. He is confident, cool and collected. 

He looks to the side as if to inspect something off to the right. It’s a lie. His promotion photo shows a person that he barely knows in profile. They want him to replicate it in person. The breeze forces the bangs across his face and he brushes them away.

Artificial. The whole thing is artificial but it will help Midgar win the war. At least that seems to be real. Lazard sent him an email to his new official Shinra account congratulating him on the impact of his service. It tasted sour.

The background music dies and Sephiroth nods to the crowd and walks off the stage without a second look at them.

The mask falls off. He hands the sword to a stagehand and rubs his face in the darkness of the wings. He needs water and a nap but there is so much to do and he has no time to do it. He has an English assignment that is due tomorrow and he hasn’t even started it. It is late afternoon. PR likes to keep him after a promo to go over the corrections for next time. His limbs drag. 

When was the last time that he slept well?

What was that like?

“Oh, it is so hard to be famous, isn’t it?” Someone asks from below.

Sephiroth pauses on the steps, the fingers dragging off his face. It can’t be. Orlin stands at the foot of the stairs, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s smiling, completely so out of context of HQ. Everything familiar has been gone from Sephiroth for so long that seeing him hurts.

“Orlin,” Sephiroth almost shouts and the rest of the stairs disappear beneath him in a blur. 

His heels scuff as he stops himself just short of hugging Orlin in his momentum. Wait. He shouldn’t do that. He can’t be that excited. He’s not supposed to miss anyone. He’s strong and independent now. He’s supposed to be a man.

“Woah, kid. It’s been a bit. Come here.” Orlin’s grin grows and he puts his hand on Sephiroth’s shoulder. He isn’t ready for the sturdy grip and the drag forward. He stumbles into his chest as Orlin squeezes him close. The embrace is so welcomed that Sephiroth finds himself pressing in closer to him without a thought.

“Dumb Shinra, cutting out our lessons.” Orlin’s hand goes into Sephiroth’s hair, messing it up. “And what the hell happened to your head? Did they force your hair in a blender and then introduce you to gel?”

Warning bells go off in Sephiroth’s head that he is acting all wrong but he smiles and knocks the hand free.

“I don’t know. It’s the ‘look’ I guess.”

He laughs. “Come on, you got time for me? I’ll walk you back to HQ. We can pick up drinks. Boring ones since you are still underage.”

“Let me go change.”

It isn’t long that Sephiroth watches the crowds clustered around the car that he isn’t getting in. They don’t see the teen with a backpack and converse slip out the back. He hurries away towards the back of the building. Orlin moves from a nearby lamp post. He looks as inconspicuous as a clown in his SOLDIER fatigues.

“So, you wear hats now.” Orlin nods at the cap that hides most of Sephiroth’s hair.

Sephiroth shrugs. “I have to.”

“So being a celebrity is hard, huh?”

“It kinda is.”

Orlin snorts and turns away. “Let’s get a drink.”

Sephiroth’s throat closes and he nods. Nerves flood him. What is he even supposed to say? He’s been talked to so much. Nobody had waited for him to say anything. He stared at his shoes and took his orders. Plus, Sephiroth knew that Dinand was angry because of the cut lessons. Maybe Orlin was the same way?

Orlin takes the lead, walking them away from HQ. It isn’t even close to a logical path. They put their backs against the Shinra building looming off in the distance. Worry vibrates in him.

“We’ll go to the ritzy place with the expensive brands. I’ll treat,” Orlin breaks the silence.

Sephiroth realizes he has been studying the top of his shoes and saying nothing. He’s not the Hero of Midgar here. He’s just himself and that is unnerving.

Sephiroth nods again. Rocks are in his mouth. Why is he feeling so shy but happy after the surprise disappeared? He sucks in a breath. He tries to get things straightened out and they can’t be. He stumbles along.

Orlin’s hand lands on his shoulder again and stays there. “Kid. Lighten up. Get out of that head. Black cherry? Still your favorite, right?”

Oh. Sephiroth looks up. Orlin knows that about him. The tension in his back falls a little under the weight of the hand on him. Is it actually safe to be here? Can he say things without being scolded or ignored? Theoretically this is true. He knows it. He is not performing but he has been so tense, so observed, that anything else feels wrong. 

“Yeah,” Sephiroth says back and it hurts to push it out.

Orlin squeezes his shoulder.

“Excited for our first lesson back next week?”

“Absolutely.” That came out quicker.

Shinra cut his schedule to ribbons. Everything that is “nonessential” disappeared. Clarence parades him around so much that if he isn’t in front of a crowd, he’s at school or desperately keeping up with his homework. The more he thinks about it, the more his body and stomach aches from the stress.

After the attacks came more and more often, R&D issued him emergency pills. He carries them with him at all times. He’s fallen asleep in class more times than he can count too. The sad thing is, unlike other students, the teachers don’t bother to wake him up.

A couple girls walk by them and Sephiroth eyes them as they make their way to the store. One glances his way but she skates over him in anonymity. Orlin sighs and slips his hand away. 

“I missed you. I didn’t know what to do without you for a second there,” he chuckled, “Don’t worry. Shinra found out about me being idle real quick and sent me out, solo, on a mission meant probably for four or five. It took me a while to complete.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “It’s confidential but let’s say, I didn’t get enough of anything and was left out to dry but screw them, I did it anyway and delivered.”

“Oh.”

A flicker of worry cuts him. Sephiroth watches his shoes again. It is too good of a moment to ruin it by asking more questions. He tries to think of something to say and fails. They walk in silence. Orlin hums a tune under his breath.

They wander down to the road. Sephiroth closes his eyes for a moment. It feels so familiar to be here with him, almost like his old life is back.

Enlistment is the talk of Shinra. Who has signed up to become part of the army and who hasn’t. Sephiroth watches the news and what he hears inside the building. The pressure is on everyone in Shinra. When Dinand signs his war contract, it ripples out. It is no secret that Dinand was instrumental in putting down unrest around Midgar. He was reassigned after taking some brutal hits and then retired loudly to train the next generation. 

His iconic long sword and grit are going to fight Wutai. 

It makes Sephiroth nervous in a way that he doesn’t understand. He’s excited to see his trainer fight in a real battle but Dinand was the part of his life that he was looking forward to leaving behind the most. Now his training can continue overseas. He has seen him in passing a few times since his early entry into SOLDIER. He’s been angry and terse, demanding that Sephiroth change his schedule.

He can’t.

So Sephiroth continues to practice on his own but it won’t be enough. He’ll never be enough.

Orlin hasn’t mentioned enlistment for Wutai. That silence spreads further than the signatures on contracts. When the day comes, he’s unsure of what Orlin will do. He has no ties with Wutai. He grew up outside Midgar. Orlin only shrugs when he is asked and jokes that war doesn’t suit him.

Sephiroth’s eyes search out the white materia that Orlin carries on him, especially when he says he cares nothing for Wutai. It is always slotted and ready for use. He knows that it has been carried down through Orlin’s immigrant Wutai family lines. Sephiroth has only seen the actual summon a few times but it takes his breath away in the beauty of it.

Sephiroth isn’t sure that Shinra won’t force Orlin to go. He is the one of the few SOLDIERs that aren’t on board.

But if he doesn’t go, he gets to stay and not get hurt.

Orlin will protect Midgar instead.

There is something in that as well.

“Well, have you said it yet?” Orlin asks after they buy the drinks and slowly start the drag back to HQ.

The soda is cold in Sephiroth’s hand. They walk side by side. No one has spotted him yet. He wonders if that might stay that way. Doing this feels like a dream. It’s going to end but he’s not ready for it yet.

“Said what?” 

“Fuck.”

“No.” Sephiroth finds himself laughing. It hurts.

“Fuck. It is easy. Rolls off the tongue real nice.”

“No.”

“Fuck.”

“No.”

Orlin leans close to his ear. “Fuck.”

“Stop.” Sephiroth shoves him away without thinking. Orlin stumbles. Fear spikes his heart and he pauses. He has hit one of his teachers. Even though Orlin is laughing, he’s not sure. 

“Okay, okay.” Orlin’s face is smiling as he rubs his arm. “I’ll lay off. For now. Have you picked out a suit for graduation yet?”

“Mariella and I went to the rental store and picked it out. The gown comes in next month,” He says carefully.

“The cap is incredible.” 

“I know.” Sephiroth gives in. It is okay. Everything eases quietly. This is not Dinand. He can smile. “I’m excited for it. School has gotten so much harder since I am tired all the time.”

“Have you told Mariella about that?”

“It’s not a medical thing. I’m not sleeping.” He regrets this by the way that Orlin’s eyebrows raise.

“Kid…”

“Yeah, I know.”

The innocent feeling crumples. Sephiroth drops his head back down. He shouldn’t have said that. He ruined this. He shouldn’t have said anything. Orlin’s sigh makes him look back up.

“Come here.”

A big arm swings over his shoulders and pulls him close as they continue walking. Sephiroth allows himself to press into his side. It’s a weakness to do this but he can be selfish for once. The support does more than just physically holding him up. It makes everything ache less.

Orlin only pulls away when Shinra’s security cameras would have spotted them.

It’s a few days later that Sephiroth realizes that it’s too late in the night. He knows it because he can’t stop yawning and rubbing his eyes. 

The words swim on the page. The quiz tomorrow is on the post-revolutionary reaction of the establishment of the plates of Midgar. Ironically enough, the thing that Dinand was probably part of. The clock ticks towards four. Right after school today, PR had taken him to a news station to do a recording about some of the bonuses of joining the army. It now includes getting a free higher education after the contract is up. He overheard someone saying that they are offering it because they are expecting large amounts of casualties. It makes Sephiroth’s skin crawl.

His eyes keep staring at the smaller brown book he took out from the research library.

His phone’s screen lights up.

Bored. Send selfie. 

He grasps the phone and pulls it over his textbook. He knows that he shouldn’t allow himself to get distracted but Rafi has been a constant. He doesn’t bother to smile as he takes the photo. His green slitted eyes look back at him and he wishes that they were normal. It is just another thing that Wutai has taken away from him.

The picture sends. He sighs and closes the textbook. Rafi types for a moment and disappears. His back aches and he drags over the smaller book to keep himself awake.

The bookmark leads him back to the page with an Ancient summoning wisps of green energy.

Terrible selfie. Try again.

He snorts. She sends her own. It looks similar to his: a desk in the background, a novel broken back in front of her and deep bags under her eyes. He addresses what might be wrong with what he sent and is not sure. So he sets the phone against the desk and takes a black photo.

If her standards are high, he needs to lower them. It is only a few seconds after he presses send that his phone starts ringing. He groans and then leans into his chair to take the call.

“Not funny,” she says.

“Funny,” he says and his voice cracks.

A pause. He feels his eyes dip and he focuses on the title on the page “Bringing Materia to Life''. When the words blur, he reaches for the SOLDIER toy on his desk. The right arm jammed years ago but the left on twists in its socket.

“What are you working on?” She asks.

“Studying.” Not entirely untrue if he looks at the book in front of him. Ever since he had met the child Ancient in the hallway, he has been doing a slow study of them. “You?”

“Reading progress quiz.”

“Are you just doing the reading now?”

“Shut up. It’ll be fresh in my mind.”

He chuckles. The toy goes back on the desk next to his lamp.

“I saw the press thing today.”

He goes silent.

She continues, “you doing okay?”

Sephiroth leans forward on his forearms and massages the space between his eyes with his fingers. He hates these questions. He wishes no one would ask because he doesn’t know how to answer. Rafi actually means her question. Mariella writes down his answers for data purposes. Orlin skates over any problem until it smacks him in the face and Professor Hojo…he realizes he is holding his breath and lets it out.

The funnest thing is he isn’t even sure what press event she is talking about. There had been so many.

“I say it because you were weird. Like you did everything you were supposed to but-” she pauses, “I dunno.”

“Please don’t watch any of that stuff,” he says finally.

“But I know a Real Life War Hero now. I haven’t actually seen you since February so I want to see you somehow.”

He rubs his tongue to the top of his mouth. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Seph-”

“I haven’t fought in a war yet. I haven’t killed anyone yet. It’s all fake. Propaganda.”

He works the fingers harder into his skin as she pauses on the other end.

“Well that sucks.”

He turns towards the phone. “What sucks?”

“I thought I knew a real war hero. I guess I’ll just hang up now.” He can hear the laugh and tease in her voice. “That’s the only reason I talk to you, of course, to get second hand fame. This sucks. I’ve been planning this for years.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” He rubs his head. Stupid. He shouldn’t just agree with her. It sounded so soft and sad. It sounds like it oozed out of a crack in the wall that he’s built up. Sephiroth isn’t supposed to be that way.

“Be here Saturday afternoon around 5.”

He winces. “I’ve got a press dinner.”

“You little shit.”

“Sunday? Same time?” He wakes up his tablet and glances at the time on the calendar. It is blocked off for studying. He can do it afterward.

“Fine. I’m buying fried chicken. You get the soda. We will have a good time.” 

“Okay. I should get back to this.”

“Night, Seph.”

He pauses. “Still Sephiroth. Good night, Rafi. Stay out of trouble.”

“Ha. Someday you’ll accept that nickname. Promise. As for trouble? I always do. Night.” The line goes dead.

He adds the event to his calendar. Dinand’s first session sits red and bold Saturday afternoon. Seeing Rafi Sunday afternoon will give him a little hope that maybe he’ll survive his first session back with his SOLDIER trainer.

It had gone fine with Orlin.

Maybe Dinand would be the same.

He could hope.

Chapter Text

CLASSIFIED. CLEARANCE: EXECUTIVE. SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY. HARD COPY ONLY. STORAGE #31 - NIBELHEIM MANSION.

MEETING TITLE: “Project Updates - Project S”
MEETING TRANSCRIPT #910414

Meeting Attendees: Professor Hojo, Mariella Haynes
Date of Meeting: 04.14.91
Location of Interview: Room 6C, Floor 29, HQ
List of Acronyms: 
Professor Hojo=H
Mariella Haynes=M
Intelligent Verbatim Transcript

[Transcript Excerpt Starting 00:15:36]

Mariella Haynes (M): “We have to talk about this. We can’t avoid this topic much longer.”

Professor Hojo (H): “Ahhh yes. Procreation and insemination in regards to our precious Project S.”

M: “Yes.”

H: “It’s an intriguing topic, isn’t it? Do you think it is possible at this stage? Or do you think we would need to make another S specimen for a viable embryo?”

[pause]

M: “…regardless if it is possible or not, it can’t happen. The original agreement for Sephiroth with the VIPs states that we must ensure there is no spread of the JENOVA DNA within the population.”

[16:00]

H: “There is every possibility that he is walking around impregnating civilians in an uncontrolled environment with unknown DNA. How interesting is that? What would you think would happen?”

M: “He hasn’t been but we need a possible solution before things get out of our hands. He’s growing up fast.”

H: “Sterilization is out of the question.”

M: “I don’t believe that extre-”

H: “I want him for later.”

M: “Later?”

H: “Come now. I have always put some value in you as a realist. Come now, I get my pick of all the others eventually, why not him?”

M: “I wasn’t aware of future plans for Sephiroth beyond the war.”

H: “There will be a chance. He continues to age and mako is not an easy substance. How long do you think he will last? We will forcibly retire him after the toy gets broken or his performance falls. SOLDIER will have no use for him. Then we have a limited window before mother JENOVA kills him off entirely.”

[pause]

H: “You look tired. Why do you look so tired, Mariella?”

[17:00]

M: “We need a possible solution for the present.”

H: “Should I remind you of compound C?”

M: “I still disapprove of this. Strongly.”

H: “Hmm. We could track him. Brief the women beforehand.”

M: “I see some problems with that. What if they talk? Ask too many questions? Tell him?”

H: “There is only…one girl right now?”

M: “Rafiya. They met at the bookstore that he worked at. Turks report she’s interested in him.” 

H: “Of course she is. He’s a stud laced with foreign DNA. Ripe for the taking.”

M: “There have been no intimate interactions so far.”

H: “And how would they know?”

M: “Sephiroth’s phone is tapped. So is hers. She has no interest in being affiliated with Shinra. Neither is her father. Forcing it might raise attention so the Turks went another route.”

H: “Why are you wasting my time with this? The solution is simple. This girl has an accident. We set him up with another. A simple swap with someone we can control. Someone that we can kill easily.”

[18:00]

M: “I wouldn’t advise that yet. She is his only friend. He’s not even gone on a real date with her.”

H: “Then why are we having this conversation?”

M: “Because he thinks he is seventeen. Hormones rage in teenagers. Sephiroth has a good head on his shoulders but they are both young. Health records for both are good. They spend time together. The possibility is high. We don’t need to have PHDs here.”

H: “I haven’t checked the rules but can’t we just arrest her for having sex with a, oh, biological eleven year old?”

M: “Hojo.”

H: “Just set him up with a woman. A one night stand. Make it uncomfortable. Maybe he will turn to men. Problem solved. There is no possibility of propagation. We all know that the president is having trouble with his VP having the wrong interests for the company. Why not take inspiration?”

M: “I hope we don’t have to resort to that.”

H: “What? There is something wrong with it?”

M: “I don’t care if he dates men but if we knock out every pillar of support under him, how will he cope?”

H: “You said he can’t date women.”

M: “He can’t have sexual intercourse with Rafiya . Let’s handle the other situations as they come.”

H: “You are too invested. You want him to be able to have a relationship while being prudish?”

[19:00]

M: “If he breaks the agreement and the Turks find out, Sephiroth gets a bullet to the brain without warning. There is nothing you, PR, HR, or even SOLDIER can do about it. The Turks have standing orders.”

H: “Fine. You have access to her health records? Then we have enough access to her. I’ll put a tracker ticket on this girl. If she goes in for a pregnancy test or tells anyone of anything, we have her killed first. Easy. Erase the problem and burn the body. She can’t conceive if she doesn’t exist. Will that make you sleep better?”

M: “Bu-”

H: “No more. I’m tired of fearful politicians and pseudo-scientists. Even if it is just a teenage makeout session, we’ll have the Turks kill her instead of him. Outplay their game. Happy? What else is on this agenda?”

[End of Excerpt at 00:19:56. See audio drive or following transcript for the remaining 39:11 minutes. Transcribed by Mariella Haynes. Reviewed and verified by Professor Hojo.]

Chapter Text

April, 1991

“I can’t even make you into a subpar SOLDIER if I can’t train you,” Dinand yells as the simulation door slides closed behind him.

Sephiroth winces. He presses his head further towards his legs as he stretches on the floor. He leans into it, feeling the burn in his thighs. 

He hopes that it is a one time outburst. He knew that Dinand was going to be mad in their first session. How stupid was he to hope otherwise? It seems so foolish. He focuses on the fabric of his pants as Dinand’s shoes snip across the steel plates.

“A month. They think that they can just take you away from your SOLDIER training for a month. I bet you are as soft as a kitten now. Forgotten everything.”

“I’ve been practicing. I haven’t misse-” He looks up. His gut clenches. There is fire in Dinand’s eyes.

 “You will fail at this rate. You’ll be a fucking failure without me.” The conviction in his voice is so sure of itself that it hits Sephiroth like a blow. He swallows.

“Sir-”

“What do you know?” Dinand’s voice is low and dangerous as he stops next to him. Sephiroth fights to not scoot on the floor. Dinand crouches down to his level. “War will change that baby face. You need every weapon I can give you to survive. Everything is on the line because of you and your lazy ass. Shinra’s reputation. SOLDIER’s reputation. My reputation.”

“But I made First,” Sephiroth says and regrets it. He shouldn’t bring up the thing that he is proud of. That’s stupid.

The laugh is short and sharp. “First Class? Listen closely. Rank means nothing. Absolutely nothing on the battlefield and shit to your skill. You made First Class because they needed a pretty face on the front cover of Midgar Daily and you happened to be the nearest lab rat available. That’s the shit. That is the truth.”

Dinand doesn’t have to hit him to make him hurt. Sephiroth withers. He breaks eye contact and studies his hands. The calluses are all still there. He’s been practicing. He’s been trying.

“I…” Sephiroth starts slowly, trying to find a way through the anger that sits in front of him. It is a wave and he’s drowning in it. He thought that he was ready for Dinand. A quiver shakes him. He forgot what he is like.

“I watched one of your shows on video.”

Sephiroth glances up. Oh no.

“Pathetic.”

“It’s a show,” Sephiroth manages to say. It’s a concession.

“You are a waste of my time if that is how you use the last six years of my hard work.”

“It’s not-”

“That must be how you see my training. A waste of your precious First Class time. You didn’t even raise a finger when they cut our sessions.”

Sephiroth opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He had been so overwhelmed the first couple weeks that he hadn’t even noticed. He didn’t know what day it was. It had taken him two days to realize that he had missed training. He had almost thrown up and sent a frantic text to Mariella who told him that all sessions had been canceled.

“That’s what I thought.” Dinand spits.

Sephiroth has to say something to stop this anger from growing. “It’s not been a waste of time. I am stronger. Shinra controlled my schedule. I didn-”

“You are stronger?”

“I hope so.” Sephiroth tries to ignore how he stutters over his words.

“Then prove it to me. Get in the sim. Show me.”

Sephiroth studies him. Coldness washes over him. He didn’t expect actual training. 

Dinand was either going to take things calmly or explode. Teeth start to show between Dinand’s lips as he gets up. Something is wrong. Sephiroth is sure of it. Sephiroth makes it to his feet and takes the practice sword handed to him. He shivers but the metal grip is good in his hands. 

He’ll do this, the press dinner, Orlin tomorrow morning and then he’s free to disappear from Shinra to Rafi’s for a few hours. Maybe he’ll be able to escape all of this there.

They are going to watch a movie.

He tries to focus on that.

Something normal.

Already he can hear the computers warming up as Dinand thumbs the remote and then hands over the headset.

It lands heavy in his hands.

“Don’t get out until it is done and you’ll prove me wrong.” The smile cuts across his face like a bloody slash. “Or get out early and prove me right.”

Sephiroth doesn’t have another option.

The simulation loads up the Shinra hallway. Sephiroth fights back the worry in his throat. He can’t let his heart rate get too high. Whatever it is, he will defeat it. It can’t kill him. Damage has to be turned off. He has the press tonight. He can’t be limping through that with a black eye. Dinand knows the new rules.

The quiet lays into him. He can’t hear the computers. He can’t even hear Dinand. Shifting his feet, the soles click against the marble. He takes another breath and looks around.

All the conference doors are closed.

He glances behind him. The hallway is endless. It always has been. It curves to the right. The lights dot the space in between the doors until they become an indistinguishable line. A door opens in front of him and he shifts his weight to his toes. 

A Wutai soldier comes out and something relaxes in him. It’s not a monster. It’s the typical simulation. Sephiroth doesn’t give it a chance to charge. He summons on the strength of the materia in his sword. The soldier withers under the lightning before falling over.

Another door opens.

Another Wutai soldier steps out.

And Sephiroth is ready.

He can do this.

He doesn’t know how long it takes for him to make his first mistake. 

His clothes stick to his body by this point. The enemy bodies have stacked up and are now despawning. He went through a dizzy spell at one point. He’s dying for water. He thinks for a moment that Dinand may have left the room but Sephiroth is sure he hasn’t. This is a fight until he drops he has slowly come to realize. He wants Sephiroth to taste the ground.

It’s been hours.

He’s sure of that.

If he can hold off long enough for Dinand to get bored of this punishment, Sephiroth wins, no matter if he falls or not.

The sword carves through another Wutai’s throat and he barely makes the turn in time to kick the one coming up behind him. The soldiers themselves mean nothing. There are only ten models. It is an endless cycle of the same gruesome faces. One looks like Orlin. He tries not to think too much. The polygons don’t have the same spark.

That thought of Orlin dulls his senses. One sword makes it through his defenses. It connects downwards with his calf. With the damage off, Sephiroth expects the usual funny buzz against his skin and then nothing. 

The sword hits hard enough to stagger him. He screams. The pain ripples up and breaks apart the numbness that has set in. He half falls to his right. Sephiroth sends fire to clear out the hallway in a desperate attempt to give him time to gasp for air. He quit using magic because his endurance can’t handle it any longer.

The fire works. The soldiers evaporate. He’s left alone with his panting.

He pays for the spell immediately. Another round of dizziness rolls over his mind. A wall hits his back. His knees lock. Putting a hand back against the solidity, he looks down. The sim illustrates a bloody spot soaking down his leg. In real life, he can feel the wetness. It isn’t broken but the program cut through his skin. 

He realizes the truth. It is dangerous. Sephiroth’s heart ticks in his ears. This is it. This is what Dinand wants. He wants to prove that at the end of the day Sephiroth can’t do it. He looks up and stares at the Wutai soldiers already stepping over their dead copies.

Where did the air in the room go?

He leans back and closes his eyes, trying to calm himself.

If he tries to take off the headset, he loses. There is no guarantee that Dinand will stop the simulation. Dinand might even fight him to pushing the emergency stop. He would be pummeled by invisible enemies and real ones.

He cannot fight his superior no matter what.

Cold blood oozes down to the lip of his sock.

If he asks to leave, he will admit that he is weak.

He’s not supposed to be that anymore.

He’s a First.

The pride of the SOLDIER program.

He can’t win this.

He’s scared but he reorients himself. Three soldiers are coming on the left. Two more walk through the ash on the right. The world totters into unreality as he stands. His leg shakes but holds. The sword still feels good in his grip.

He won’t fall on this man’s terms.

He’ll do it on his own terms.

His own pants sound weak. The bottom half of his lungs are frozen.

Sephiroth will fight as long as he can.

His throat is tied.

He knows the ending of this now.

The pain will wait for him. It will sit there and wait until he cannot deny it any longer. Then it will wrap around him like a blanket.

And Dinand will be right.

Mariella is knocking on his bedroom door. He's not sure how long it's taken for her to decide to come here. Sephiroth imagines that it must be close to the five. He is always early for press events. Guests start arriving at five-thirty. They would probably just give him the benefit of the doubt. He is on time. He is prompt. Not today. No. That choice has been taken away.

Part of his mind has separated from the rest of him. It thinks clearly and logically, floating miles above everything else.

It’s a pity about the sheets, he thinks as her knocking continues. She faintly accuses him of sleeping in. Would the cleaners be able to get them clean? Would he be requesting a new set from inventory soon? It would be a bother to do that. They always take a few days to process requests. He wouldn’t have sheets for a couple days.

Maybe he can borrow a set from Orlin.

But then he has to explain why.

His phone rings next to his bed.

It’s Mariella.

Again.

It’s the third time she has called him.

His phone buzzes against the bedside table. It moves with the vibrations. This time, he can barely watch as it scoots itself to the edge. One moment it hangs half in the air. Then it clatters to the floor. He winces. The sound is too loud for him.

The knocking quiets on the other side of the door. She hears it too. The line cuts dead, two rings before voicemail.

He tries to move but only his eyes roll towards the door. Keycards click together. He’s so exhausted. Pressure sits against his head. He needs to sleep. He can’t. He’s too tired to sleep. He hurts too much. No. Sephiroth shifts slightly. There is no pain. He’s blocked it all out. Everything is fuzzy and indistinct. 

How did he get back here? He can’t remember. All he can remember is the healing materia slipping between his wet fingers when he sat down at the desk. It had been so hard for him to grip it enough to be used.

The worst damage is gone. The bloody tissues on his desk are the only evidence of that. The mako in his blood fought him the whole way, corrupting and misdirecting everything he tried to heal. It had taken so much effort. Everything he had done ate into him. It sucked into his bones and his mind and places that he can’t get back. 

It was healing the cracked rib that made him nauseous enough to either lay down or throw up. Accidentally, he did both. After he fell onto the sheets, he didn’t get back up. He couldn’t. It is not a function that he possesses. His body refused.

He didn’t get all of the wounds. Now parts of the fabric are stuck to him.

It really is a pity on the sheets.

The clear thinking part of him says that he is going to make it. 

It also thinks that it was a dumb decision to lock his door.

The rest of him agrees.

The keycard beeps. The mechanism hisses. The lock retracts.

The lights are on in the room but he winces at the added light from the hallway. He can’t turn away though.

“No…” Mariella says, “He said-He knew-He promised.”

Sephiroth tries a smile but the stinging hurts too much. “Just give me a moment. I’ll get up. I’ll go to the dinner. I’m okay.”

He doesn’t know why he promises this. Maybe he wants life to just march on normally and pretend that none of this really happened. It’s embarrassing. He should be better than this. Already he’s done his best to minimize how weak Dinand proved he is. He should have tried to heal more but he can’t even move his arm.

“Did he do this?” She’s next to him. He flinches as her cold hand touches his face and then digs into his neck to count his pulse. The blood on his face crackles.

He closes his eyes. He remembers when the hell had finally ended. Sephiroth simply couldn’t get up again. The sim had whined and finally, blessedly, shut down. Dinand had crouched down next to him and whispered in his ear that he should have been able to beat this simulation. He was weak and that his training was the only way he was going to survive this war. If Sephiroth tells the truth of what happens here, Dinand will abandon him entirely and Sephiroth will humiliate everyone as he fails.

Sephiroth’s throat closes up on itself.

He can’t breathe. Mariella’s hand presses against the side of his face, forcing his eyes open. Mariella is full of worry, more than he’s ever seen her.

“Did Dinand do this, Sephiroth?”

The way he hurts, he can’t say no but he can’t say yes so he says nothing and feels the horror dig in deeper.

It doesn’t take long after that for the medical team to arrive.

Sephiroth doesn’t remember too much. Everything seems to stop. Life has been driving him forward at such a pace that he isn’t sure how to stop. They heal what they can but his body still has to recover from the shock. Everything is so heavy. He can barely function. Thoughts take hours to form. He wakes up slowly in R&D itself, covered in the smell of alcohol wipes and cleaning solutions.

His body is so stiff he can barely move.

Time rolls on that way until Mariella is sitting on the edge of his bed, asking him something over and over.

When he focuses, she looks gray in the light like she hasn’t slept.

“You,” Sephiroth’s voice is gravely in his throat, “you should go to bed.”

He reaches out a hand to push her away. It barely makes it an inch before it drops back to the covers on its own.

She shakes her head. “Sephiroth, answer my question and we both can.”

“What’s…”

The sigh tells him that the question has been asked too many times. He swallows.

“Dinand claims that he took you out of the simulation when he realized that the damage was on. He says you didn’t tell him that it was on and that’s how you got hurt. Just tell me that it isn’t true so we can move forward.” 

There are so many words that he has to stitch together the meaning.

And realize the lie.

Sephiroth’s tongue is dry. “I wasn’t strong enough.”

Those words hurt more than anything that was done to him in the simulation room.

Mariella takes his hand, careful not to pull the IV line. “Sephiroth, you were in that simulation for five hours and forty-five minutes without a break. Initial data says that the simulation was hacked. The soldiers were set at twice the maximum level and damage impacts were high above the safe threshold.”

He blinks.

It’s impossible. It didn’t feel like that.

His eyes dip closed on their own.

Mariella squeezes his hand. “Sephiroth. What you did should have been impossible.”

“You’re…lying…you’re trying to make me feel better.” He shakes his head, trying to wake up.

“I couldn’t make this up if I tried. Tell me the truth. You’ll never see Dinand again. This is the final straw. I’ve been trying to get rid of him for years and now all I need you to do is say yes.”

Sephiroth swallows. He tries to work this out.

He needs Dinand. 

If that is what real war is like, he needs everything that his trainer can give him. He looks away and studies the lines on the screen that dictate everything about him. He’s on fluids but he doesn’t think they found anything broken. It means that he found everything first and got it healed enough. That sends a spark of pride through him. They’ll never know how bad it really was.

He fills his lungs. “I need…”

The phrase peters out as Mariella cuts him off.

“No, Sephiroth. You don’t need him. He needs you. He’s just another SOLDIER without you.”

He closes his eyes and tries to believe her.

“Almost six hours in the sim. I don’t know a single SOLDIER who can survive that and I study them for a living.”

Sephiroth’s fear clutches against his voice. If he says yes, everything changes. He’s not even sure what Dinand would do. Would he try to kill him in his bed? Would he force him into the simulation room again and make him fight until he died? But, if Dinand isn’t his trainer anymore, he wouldn’t have to do that. He could say no. He could walk away. He could fight back. He couldn’t imagine doing it but Dinand would no longer be his commanding officer. Logic dictates something that tastes close to freedom.

If he says yes, Dinand’s voice says in his head, he will be a sissy and a failure. He’ll be crying to mom. He’ll be weak. He won’t be a true SOLDIER. He’ll fail everyone.

He’s supposed to be First Class.

He is tearing up, he realizes. The game is over. Mariella already knows. They both know. Everyone knows. The resolve crumples into dust.

“Yes.”

“’Yes’ what, Sephiroth?”

“You are right. He knew. He forced me to keep going.”

He can’t retract those words. His chin hits his collarbone. He stares at his hands. Dinand will find out. Any chance of Dinand training him is gone. He won’t be proud of him. He’ll be a failure. Sephiroth winces and shoves the tears down. 

He doesn’t fight when Mariella gently gathers him in her arms for a hug.

She presses him into her and he barely has the strength to wrap his arms around her.

“Thank you.”

It’s done. Dinand is done.

He’s been fighting so long that when it happens, everything breaks inside of him.

He’s not sure why but he clutches to the connection. It feels so good. He knows how selfish it is to bury his head in her shoulder, but Mariella holds him closer. Her heartbeat is right there. It slows cautiously as the minutes pass. He feels so weak.

He doesn’t cry. He refuses but he can’t help the way that his fingers start to dig into her back and his body tightens as the anxiety rises. 

She says things he doesn’t believe. She says that it wasn’t his fault. That it is over. That it will somehow be okay.

He doesn’t look at her. He just collapses into her more.

Eventually the words fade. She sits with him, her face pressed into his hair. And they wait it out together.

He stays there so long that it takes Mariella moving to realize that he’s fallen asleep against her. The anxiety has dissipated. He doesn’t have the energy to sustain it. He apologizes and tries to move. Everything is too clumsy for that. She settles him back under the sheets. Somehow she’s practiced at this. How many times has she tucked him in bed?

It must be hundreds but he can’t remember a single one.

Mariella assures him that guards are outside his door and that she is going to go deliver Dinand his letter.

Then she’s gone.

The door closes softly and slowly.

She didn’t say she is going to write the letter, he realizes later.

A few days afterward he finds out that the simulation data was backed up to a personal data folder that Dinand couldn’t delete. Mariella had all the proof she needed.

She was waiting on him.

Chapter Text

March, 1991

Sephiroth ends up missing a week of his life.

It all stops. All his appointments, his obligations, everything that has driven him dissipates without another thought. He should feel useless in the R&D hospital bed but he doesn’t. Instead, he is tired in a way that cannot be cured. His shoulders, his sides, his legs, his head, everything aches.

The doctors and Mariella don’t need to force him to stay in bed the first few days. He rotates from side to side and falls into blackness over and over. It is easier than staying awake. Only when they insist does he get up on wobbly legs. A headache pushes incessantly. He should worry about Dinand. He should be on his guard. The SOLDIER might rebel. He could even come to punish him but being afraid is out of the spectrum of his emotions. 

Numbness has seeped in everywhere.

He can’t feel anything.

Physically, the doctors report cuts, bruises and a few points of internal hemorrhaging still. It is useless to him. He doesn’t care what they think is wrong with him. He can’t go anymore. There is no will to push forward. The words on the screens say things like severe fatigue and one doctor wrote openly more withdrawn than usual, if that is possible.

Sephiroth closes his eyes. He’s stripped of everything. He is just a seventeen year old kid again. He isn’t the Sephiroth that he sees on the posters that is older and more confident. He’s not the kid at school that was bullied for years until he struck back. He’s not even the child that is in the journal tucked between two pairs of pants in his drawer. This Sephiroth is a ball of raw ends and tangles left out to dry with no other purpose than to rest.

Nights are when things get the hardest.

Sometimes he wakes up in the night in apparent panic, sweaty and pointless. He needs to fight but there is nothing to fight. The drugs he is on messes with the drugs that handle his autoimmune reaction. He hallucinates a naked woman when he opens his eyes at night. These days she is solid and real. She inches towards him in the night. Her feet make wet sounds as she places them. She’s whispering nonsense, silver floating behind her head. She never makes it to him before morning. Her fingers are always drifting a few feet away. 

He tries to disregard her but the hallucination crawls under his skin. After all these years, he should be used to her.

The R&D department is patient but two days later the IV line comes out and they usher him back to his bedroom. Dinand has reported to his new station directly helping prepare for the war efforts. He is not fired. If he is reprimanded for what he’s done, it is done behind closed doors. Sephiroth should be angry but the relief of knowing that man is far away is too great for that. The stress that has become the bedrock of his life melts and leaves holes that he’s not sure how to fill. He’s been running on high for so long.

Healing the substantial wounds were the final nail in the coffin, he is sure of it. If he hadn’t healed himself, he wouldn’t be this drained. The cost had been high but they will never know how far Dinand's fingers got into him.

The luxury of naps does not wear off even in his own bedroom. He spends half his day in a drowsy state before he starts to feel like he wants to do something. He’s weak. Walking takes effort and he can’t concentrate for very long. He pulls the Ancients book from his desk and reads through it when he can’t sleep. The Promised Lands sound like such a fantasy.

But they could hear the planet.

What must that be like?

What must it sound like?

Did it sound beautiful?

Or like one long sustained scream?

When he couldn’t read, he would lay in bed and try to imagine it.

The unproductivity of following his own interests crawls under his skin. The book closes. 

So homework is a distraction. A good one.

He drags his laptop onto his lap and opens it. Notifications break up his quiet room. He’s missed thirty-three PR events. Sephiroth feels himself smile. Clarence must have had a meltdown somewhere below him at HQ. He doesn’t even bother to look at his Shinra employee email account. 

That will happen another day.

Instead, he starts on his school email and figuring out how much ground he has lost. It is much easier to make a list of academic assignments than to dwell on how he’s been struggling to look Mariella in the eyes. He knows that she thinks he should have done something earlier. He should be alone in this misery but instead everyone can observe it. Even with Mariella telling him that it wasn’t his fault, he should have been better, more aware, more anything. He shouldn't have been this weak.

Bedrest lasts four more prescribed days. Graduation is roughly a month and a half away. He’s been struggling to keep up with his assignments but now he has all this quiet time. His mind starts to wonder if it might be possible to complete some classes if he tried. He sighs as he starts to type out the emails to his teachers. Would it be possible? Would he even want to try?

A goal. Something that he personally wants in this small section of his own life. It moves something in him. He wants to try. It gives him something to think about. The teachers already work with him with his schedule. He’s taken several tests before his fellow classmates because he’s had interviews on the date of the test. They might give him the lesson plans of the year.

Mariella visits him and the door opening makes his stomach jerk. Quick movements have been doing that to him lately. He needs to find a way past that. He has barely left his room, finding comfort in how nothing moved.

Mariella has found her own new level of exhaustion. Because of Sephiroth and the PR campaign, the SOLDIER program has been blossoming. The Wutai war is coming so quickly that Shinra is sending men into the program with no regard to their staffing numbers. New problems keep coming but she makes time to be the primary doctor with Sephiroth. He answers her health related questions and she checks his vitals. She’s keeping a distance between them. No more hugs or soft touches. She remembered herself.

Sephiroth tries to pretend to be normal but doesn’t know what that is like anymore. Shame heats him from the inside out. If the acting works or not, she doesn’t say and promises to come back later.

The lesson plans come in and Sephiroth groans after he makes the lists of all the homework that will be due. His breath comes out of him and the laptop goes on his bedside table. He shuts off the lights. It is possible. He hates that because now he must try.

The weather has changed by the time that Sephiroth walks to the park after his second week back at school. Warmth has taken over the breeze and now he can see the green shoots of plants growing. His shoes catch on a brick and he catches himself as he falls forward. He was up until somewhere close to five in the morning. At that point, the time itself seemed insignificant. It was too late for him to be up but if he got his sociology paper written, he could edit it after school and then only three more papers would stand between him and graduating.

The sky is going purple. He stayed late to take his history final. He thinks it went well but there is a period in the middle of that test that his memory becomes blurry on. If he was sleeping full nights, eating and not trying to do what he can, he would have remembered it. He hopes that he got it right. Between school and SOLDIER, his brain has stopped distinguishing what has happened and what is yet to happen.

Forces are moving quickly on both sides of the planet’s board game. Wutai is summoning huge numbers. Shinra is throwing their weight behind science and technology. The date has not been set. Everyone is waiting for someone to take the first step. Active duty is coming rapidly his way. That worms fear into him but he doesn’t have the energy to sustain it. He would worry about that once that happened.

He stares at the sidewalk and tries to order his thoughts. If the homework is done, he will still be able to graduate and walk across the stage even if his days are full of SOLDIER. Shinra would write up the paperwork explaining his absence. Not that it is really needed, the media would be on him in a heartbeat. As long as he can keep it together, he should still graduate with Latin honors. 

His mind is sludge in a dream. Trying to participate in class is difficult. Deja vu takes over strongly as the teacher goes over concepts that he crammed days ago. He’s afraid to say something that they haven’t gone over yet.

“So I was pretty pissed when you didn’t show up for dinner,” Rafi’s voice breaks through to him. He pauses and looks ahead.

Rafi stands next to the bench that he promised to meet her at. A smile tugs at her face but she’s got her arms crossed. The blue jacket that she is wearing is so patterned that his eyes get lost in it immediately. The exhaustion is there but he feels himself step out from under it as he goes to her.

She doesn’t move towards him. She’s not a hugger but there is concern on her face.

This is the first opportunity in months that they have seen each other.

“I told my dad that you must have died to not make it,” she says softly, “I’m really sorry that I said that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He’s not sure he completely comprehends what she said but hurries on to get to something familiar. “How are you?”

“Wutai is moving troops but you of all people know that. People are getting really concerned. They announced the music awards. The Divas won everything. Dad broke his middle toe by dropping a box of books on it. There isn’t anything to do so he’s just grumpy all the time. I ate cold fried chicken and was surprised at how good it tasted.”

He nods. The late evening crowd moves behind him. He can hear heels and dresses on the sidewalk. The theater nearby must be opening for the evening performance. It might be Loveless. Silence stretches out between the two of them. Rafi shifts her weight from side to side. 

He watches and realizes that it must be his turn to say something.

“Sorry for missing dinner.”

“You were busy dying. It’s a good excuse.” She shrugs.

That sends a weary half smile across his face.

“At least Mariella texted me what was happening.” She walks over. “I’ll walk you back to HQ. I know that you don’t have that much time.”

He swallows. “Thanks.”

Mariella had already told him that she was the one that had talked to Rafi. At some point, Rafi had memorized the emergency number on his wristband and had called it when he hadn’t shown up. Of course she had. She is nosy enough to do such a thing. Rafi had texted him that she had done it and explained that she had written down the number “just in case you collapsed in the bookstore or something.”

It feels strange to have someone care like that.

“You are such a nerd. Wanting to finish school early. Who does that?” She says as they rejoin the crowd. Sephiroth puts his hands in his pockets.

“I might be called for active duty soon.”

That makes her pause. “No shit. Really? Like tomorrow soon?”

A business man glares at her as she stops short. He sidesteps her and Sephiroth half turns back. “I hope not. Like you said, the war is getting serious. I want to graduate first.”

“What will happen? Will you leave Midgar?” She starts to walk again but now she’s searching his face like it is going to give her the answers that she needs.

“I have a little autonomy over my schedule now but once they call me in, I won’t have that,” he says trying to make his voice sound relaxed, “so I don’t know. I’ll stay here through graduation so I can earn my degree but after that…I don’t know. I assume I’ll be off to the Wutai border or West Corel where most of the preparations are taking place.”

She tucks up close by his side as they work through more theater guests. He hears her breath out slowly at his words. He glances over and realizes this is the first time that he has seen Rafi in months. She looks the same if not a little tired. There is something different about her face. He tries to spot what is catching his attention. Her eyes are bigger than usual as she looks at everything besides him. It’s not physically possible.

“Are you wearing makeup?” He asks.

She misses a step. “Yeah. I was bored so I put some on. Plus I get to see the great Sephiroth, so you know.”

Bitterness comes into his throat. Shinra has been building this wall around him. He’s special. He’s the great Sephiroth. He’s a war hero that’s never fought a battle. He’s young and beautiful. He’s everything when he is none of those things. Now it even affects Rafi.

“I’m just me. Nothing has changed.”

Her eyes flash up to him. “You wear stupid hats now.”

“Yes. I don’t get recognized as easily.” He wishes for the sword on his back. He’s gotten accustomed to wearing it all the time outside of school. The weight grounds him. The steel is his power if he needs it. Dinand is halfway across the world but he still never wants feel like that again.

“If I take it off, I’ll be recognized in a few minutes.” He sighs. “We don’t need that.”

“I want to make that bet.”

Sephiroth raises an eyebrow. “You want…?”

“I want to see Shinra’s Sephiroth in action. You are wearing fancy clothes too.” It’s odd, almost a jab, as a smile comes across her face.

“No, Rafi. I’m too tired for that.” As the words come out of him, he deflates again. The exhaustion comes back and hangs on his shoulders like weights. He was hoping this would be normal but nothing about this is. Nothing is anymore.

“Hey.” Rafi grabs his arm and drags him out of the main thoroughfare. 

He jumps and almost jerks back before stopping himself. The connection is a livewire in his head. He is being touched. Someone else is moving him. He’s not in control. He’s stronger than her, he reminds himself, he’s fine. She’s not going to hurt him. He can pull away at any time. Rafi is too busy navigating the crowd to see him try to relax into this.

She stops them in front of a glass display of jeweled dresses.

“Are you okay? Like for real?” Rafi shifts to look at him directly. The hand smooths to a soft touch on his arm.

“I’m just tired.” He is cold in this heat. He doesn’t want to deal with this. The rawness still floats unhindered within him. Only through the strength of what is left and what Shinra requires of him has he able to go on. He thought that the emotions would go away. They’ve only gotten worse as he ignored them. He swallows as the grip tightens again.

“What happened? Mariella says it was a training accident but you aren’t acting like this was an accident.”

He writhes inside. “It was just that, I got hurt doing a training accident. I am cleared from R&D.”

“You’ve been training for years. Nothing like this has happened before.” She’s pushing, almost shoving, against what remains of his self control. He can feel his cheeks warming.

“I’ve seen the bruises, Seph. Training ‘accidents’ have been happening for years. What happened? Come on, I’m actually really worried,” She whispers, “Tell me so I can help you.”

Sephiroth feels himself slip. 

Bodies are piled around them. He sees the Wutai soldiers from the sim and their dying faces. Pain clicks on, lighting up most of his body in a horrific throb. Colors disappear. Everything is red again. His heart beats quickly. Sweat pricks under his armpits. The world spins and blurs into this unreality. The blood pools across the fancy brick underfoot. It seams into the cracks pretending to be mortar. The dress models are draped with more bodies, the white dresses now rusty. 

It’s real. He’s still in the sim fighting for his life. He’s killed all of them.

He hurts again.

“I-I-I…” He stutters. His eyes wide.

There are more coming. They will hurt him again. They won’t stop-

“Yeah?”

The question breaks the illusion. 

The bodies aren’t there. The blood is gone. It is in the past. It’s all stopped. He is strong. Sephiroth is a SOLDIER. He is First Class. His memory is nothing compared to his body.

“Thank you for the concern,” He says clinically, “but it was a bad training accident. Nothing more.”

The hand leaves his arm. Disappointment rolls across her before it catches into something more fiery.

“Yeah, of course, whatever.” Bitterness colors every word.

“That is the truth.”

She steps back. “I thought we were better friends than that.”

Now Sephiroth is the one to step closer. “I don’t understand.”

“If you ever feel like you want to stop lying to me, just let me know? ‘kay?” She snaps.

“I didn-”

“You did. You just did. Come on. Don’t be fake, Sephiroth.” She reaches forward, towards his head. He moves without thinking. The grip on her wrist is bruising. Rafi’s eyes go wide. Her fingers remain half curled between them. It wasn’t a slap. That would come at an angle. This is something much softer.

Her other hand comes up and this time it makes it to the original location. It brushes his cheek and lingers there. She’s warm and he can feel where her fingers touch the beginnings of his stubble. The other one joins the first one on the other side with his hand still attached. His medical bracelet falls down his arm, cutting into his forearm.

She holds his face and stares into him. He freezes. It’s a real connection. It’s not like the plastic covered fingers that have been on him for months.

“What happened to you?” She asks one more time firmly.

It all wants to pour out. 

He wants to tell her everything right then and there. She’s been there for years. They’ve laughed at things. She’s shed tears across the table from him when assignments have gone wrong. She would listen but how can he even describe what it has been like? How can he tell her without her judging him? The embarrassment rides up inside him. Everything gridlocks. He fights it but the pain increases even more.

He stands there trapped and struggling.

Rafi’s eyes tell him she has made her decision as his silence stretches out.

The warmth in her eyes locks away.

The fingers push up and snag the corner of his soft hat. He flinches. The hat is pulled off and falls to the ground. White hair, his damn worshiped white hair, flops over his eyes. Coldness covers her over as she runs her hand through it, roughly styling it.

“There he is,” she says finally, “the hero of Midgar in all his glory.”

He lets her wrist go easily as she steps back. “Let me know if the Sephiroth I know wants to come back. I can help him. I can’t help this.”

Then she’s gone.

And it isn’t even a minute later that the rest of Midgar finds their hero.

Chapter Text

May, 1991

I did it. I completed high school early.

Sephiroth reads back the text that he sent Rafi ten minutes ago. It’s been read but like everything else he’s sent, it goes unanswered. He leans back in his chair and stretches before looking at the clock. It’s past four in the morning again. He shouldn’t be so used to seeing that time. The headache pounds in the back of his head. It’s not left him for days. The throb is part of him now. It’s the cost for what he’s done.

His phone buzzes and he eyes it. Orlin tells him to come over tomorrow after PR stuff for drinks. He is apparently an adult now.

Sephiroth sighs and stretches. He won’t bother to correct him. There is one more step left in graduating. He has to walk across that stage and officially earn his diploma. The paper will be in his hand. 

Then this life will end and the next one will start.

He should feel like celebrating but his back is too sore. Clarence booked him for events nonstop after Shinra deemed him recovered. It delayed him finishing the remaining homework. That is why it has taken more time. 

Sephiroth has been calm in front of the camera, urging civilians to join the war efforts and assuring them that the victory is well in hand. He doesn’t know if it is close to true. Each interview is carefully crafted and sometimes rehearsed. Recently, Sephiroth learned to laugh on cue. It isn’t his laugh. This one is cold and low in his throat. It is supposed to sound deadly.

A higher percentage of women than ever before have been enlisting.

Clarence gives him a knowing smile when it is announced at the end of the month wrap up.

Sephiroth doesn’t like to think about it. They don’t advertise that women aren’t allowed to enter SOLDIER. It’s a strict rule by Professor Hojo. If they are coming to be with him, they are going to be disappointed with behind the line or administrative jobs. The rule is not up to him and he has express orders not to say anything about it on camera. 

The chair creaks under him and he looks at the last sent email. The last paper was a compare and contrast paper for his literature class. Hopefully, Rafi has been doing well without him. He’s tried to see her but she’s made herself elusive.

One of his many texts has explained the nature of confidential information, information confidential to him. He has decided that he can’t imagine telling someone what happened. The paragraph long text is not good enough for her. It is one of the few times that she did respond back with laser quickness.

Confidential or not, can you just tell me that something different happened?

It is a slippery slope. If he says yes to that, slowly but surely, the rest will come. His I wish I could tell you turns into her disappearing again.

Still, he tries to be happy as he crosses the room to his bed. The spark in him is so small that it doesn’t ignite. It gutters in exhaustion. 

All that hard work amounts into this quietness. No one is here to celebrate with him. When he tells Mariella, she will give him a relieved smile. Orlin will hug him and do his best but even then, Sephiroth will see the stress of the brink of war on him. Rafi isn’t even answering her phone.

He sets his alarm for seven and crawls under the sheets. All he has to be is a body at school. Maybe he will try to make it a goal to stay awake the whole time.

In the darkness, the pressure works against his head. War is coming. He will be out there. He will be killing. Shinra will be watching to see if they have picked the right golden boy. Can he do it? Will Dinand be right? Can he even take another’s life like that? The unknown stretches beyond him in the blackness of his vision until it swallows him whole.

Director Lazard calls him for a meeting a week later.

Even though Sephiroth knows what it means, it takes hearing the words to impact him.

“Sephiroth,” Lazard says calmly from across his desk, “The situation is changing. Wutai has started building equipment that could take down ships. They are becoming more aggressive the more that we push them. War is going to come quickly.”

Sephiroth nods. Nothing crosses his face. He’s been preparing for this.

“And even worse, because we have been stalling, Wutai spies have bleed us dry. They work on Shinra staff. The desertion rate has never been higher and now they are taking things with them. Even with the Turks working around the clock, the recovery rate is 80%. We need to move forward and soon. SOLDIER needs you to start preparing now. I’m calling you for duty.”

Sephiroth fights himself, holding his chin high to keep the fear from rising into his eyes. The signs have been coming. Why is he still surprised? 

“Luckily, you have completed your high school requirements early. Congratulations.” Lazard smiles. “I don’t think I know another person who could have done everything besides you. Especially given your last month.”

“Thank you, sir.” He tries to take in the praise but it falls away. 

Dinand is smiling behind Lazard. He’s not there but Sephiroth can see him anyway. Sephiroth hasn’t earned these words. Dinand forced him into them. The man took away the normal teenager and shaped him into someone that Shinra wants to send to the front line.

He’s their weapon.

As promised.

Sephiroth hates it.

“Since your high school education is complete. We’ll take you out of school. The rest of this week you will be briefed on the current situation. Expect to be on a plane to meet your men by Thursday.”

“Thursday? Of this week?” Sephiroth asks too quickly.

Lazard wakes up his computer. “Yes, the date is the 23rd.”

Sephiroth swallows. “I’m signed up to graduate on Saturday, the 25th, sir.”

His heart rate ticks up. He pushes it down. He doesn’t need an episode on top of everything else. The drugs have been working well but stress makes them less efficient.

Lazard hums and reviews a report on his desk. “It’s been reported that you’ve already received your final grades and submitted them to us.”

“Yes, but I need to graduate, to cross the stage, to get the diploma.” Something new comes into his voice. It’s tinny and high. He hates to hear it.

The director’s head tilts. “Well, yes, there is always a ceremony but we can send you a copy of the diploma from here if you’d like. It’s not necessary to the war effort to have you participate in graduation itself. PR didn’t want to focus on your education. It makes the public more comfortable with you, not knowing that you are seventeen.”

Sephiroth’s fingers weave through each other in his lap. The mask falters. He’s not going to make it. They’re going to send him early. He tries to take a breath through his tight chest. No suit. No gown. No person calling his name. No cheering. No dinner at a special restaurant after. It’s falling through his fingers. 

The last piece of his life is taken away. He can’t argue. This is his commanding superior. He’s a SOLDIER. He’s not a teen anymore. He’s not his own anymore.

“I understand,” he says and breathes evenly, the only thing he can concentrate on. Anything else might send the house of cards falling down.

Lazard’s blue eyes flicker between him and the computer screen showing his file. Sephiroth tries to sit tall in his seat. His knuckles have gone white. Dinand smiles in a sick curl in his imagination and the Sephiroth blinks him away. His stomach moves threateningly.

“Does the ceremony itself mean something significant to you?” Lazard asks it neutrally but the question tightens the vice grip on Sephiroth’s throat. He should say no. It is his obligation to say no. As a SOLDIER, he works for Shinra. He is being paid to do exactly what they say without any complaint. His conviction wobbles.

He looks at the blacked out screens behind the director. The view outside says nothing. Cars move on the highway in precise lines. He needs to say no. Graduation shouldn’t mean anything to him. He’s suffered through it, stayed up late for it, worked too hard for it. He should be ready to get rid of it.

But the thought of not getting to walk across that stage breaks him in two.

It hurts and he hasn’t slept.

“It does mean something significant to me.” Sephiroth pauses, surprised by his own words, and recomposes himself. “It’s the first thing…I’ve accomplished on my own.”

He’s ready for the reprimand.

He is being childish. He is being dumb. He should understand the priorities of the situation that they are in. How dare he put his own needs in front of the company’s? 

No words come. Lazard’s expression doesn’t change as he leans back, thinking. Sephiroth desperately wants to apologize. He doesn’t. Apologies are a form of weakness. Lazard’s fingers tent near his face and those eyes look like he is organizing everything that he could say.

Sephiroth thinks about making eye contact but it is too confrontational. He examines the lines on the back of his monitor. Lazard still stares at him. It’ll be only a few more minutes until he would say that he is going to send him off anyways. He’ll get the diploma. That should be satisfactory. It would have to be.

“I’m going to make a call. Can you step out?”

Sephiroth stands and nods automatically. His body leaves the room without him. He feels like he hovers in that question until he’s sitting in the small personal receptionist’s office. Slowly, he returns to himself as he stares at the blank screen of his phone. The secretary has his phone to his cheek. He can’t remember if the chair made noise or if the door had clicked behind him.

What does that mean? Lazard is making a call?

A more sinister thought comes to him. Did he just say no to the Director of SOLDIER? The word itself hadn’t left him but the sentiment was the same. It sent a shiver down him. He had to be more careful. If he wasn’t a good SOLDIER, they might send him on a suicide mission like they tried with Orlin. They might kick him out of the program. Doubtful but he couldn’t put anything past Shinra.

The secretary’s eyes flicker to him and barely Sephiroth can hear the phone chatter with two voices. The secretary presses a button and hangs up.

Lazard is talking with someone about him and his foolishness.

Maybe they will demote him before he starts.

The secretary is in his thirties and is too old to give any idea of what is happening. Instead he writes a note on a pad of paper and goes back to sporadically typing on his computer. A cup of coffee steams next to him. Sephiroth shifts in the chair. He will remain calm. His phone goes in his hand and he checks his texts. Rafi hasn’t sent him anything. He mulls over sending her the news but he can’t quite believe it yet himself.

He will be leaving soon.

Even knowing that it is coming doesn’t make it easier.

He has been out of Midgar but that doesn’t help. This will be a war. He will be a First. The responsibilities will be enormous.

A light flashes on the desk in front of him. 

“He’s ready for you.” The secretary moves and buzzes the door.

Sephiroth hurries back. The handle is heavier as he pulls it and goes in. Lazard’s chair is empty. He pauses. Glasses clink and he finds Lazard to his left pouring himself a drink from a cabinet. His shoulders are loose and he smiles at Sephiroth from the side.

“Take a seat. I’ll be there in a moment. Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine.”

It is strange to see the man doing something so normal. He has always seen him giving orders or directing the department. There is a rumor that he never sleeps or eats. He is always working and making sure to direct with an ease that comes with being on the job. He wants to have that feeling. He needs to work as hard as Lazard. Perhaps he can have that effortlessness too. Sephiroth realizes that he is standing staring at Lazard filling his glass.

Before he can turn away, Lazard catches him and his eyebrows raise.

“I suppose you are eager for the answer,” He says smoothly and takes a drink before leaning back against the cabinet. “We still need you in the West. This week, you will be briefed. Since SOLDIER and R&D work in conjunction with you, I had to call them. I needed Dr. Haynes approval.” 

This is going to come down to Mariella. Sephiroth’s mouth goes dry. She should say yes but she’s been so proud of him for joining the active efforts.

“She said yes. A few days will not break us at this point and several generals are already working the troops. There are small skirmishes along the outer borders but the true war has yet to begin. You can leave Sunday morning but I expect you to work hard in the meantime.”

Mariella said yes . It makes sense but the weight lifts off his shoulder. She already promised to go to his graduation. She’s also said they’ve got reservations at a fancy restaurant with a private room so Sephiroth doesn’t have to worry about the press. Orlin has already hinted on a present.

Sephiroth can’t help the smile on his face. His knees go jello. It’s a warm relief for him. He’s going to be able to complete his dream. The hard work he put in will mean something more than just a diploma sent through the mail. He gets to be cheered at not for being a First Class or representing SOLDIER. He will get a moment that he earned for himself.

He shouldn’t be smiling.

He’s a professional but Lazard’s face breaks into a small smile before he takes a drink.

Lazard waves. “Please don’t believe that requests like this will be fulfilled again but I have seen how hard you have been working-”

The phone rings. Lazard frowns.

“One moment. Sorry. He wouldn’t send anything through unless it was important.”

Sephiroth wouldn’t have minded anything at this point.

Lazard takes the call half leaning on his desk. The glass gets set down immediately. His eyes flicker to Sephiroth as the voice on the other end comes through. It is smooth and cold. Sephiroth can’t hear words but he knows it anyway. Invisible needles prick his skin as he moves quietly to the guest chair. He doesn’t sit in it. He can’t do that. His fingers work the leather on the back. The voice continues to berate Lazard.

Tension fills Lazard and finally Professor Hojo’s voice stops.

“Of course.”

The line goes dead.

Lazard studies the back of the phone.

“He’s sending me to the front.” Sephiroth can’t wait. If this is where they are going, he needs to know now.

Lazard winces and sighs. “Professor Hojo needs to see how a SOLDIER of your caliber does on the battlefield so he can adjust the exposure of the in-progress SOLDIERs.”

Sephiroth’s anger doesn’t reach his face. It pools in his stomach, livid and wild. If that is the truth, they would have sent him weeks ago. 

“You leave in the morning and are going directly into one of the conflict points. Your first battle will be tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

May, 1991

Sephiroth is cold as he stands outside the back entrance of Rafi’s bookstore. 

He couldn’t guess the time. He’s shivering. The sky is dark. The city is frozen under the stars. The world has gone to sleep. Except he is still awake. He can’t sleep. 

He laid on his bed in his room trying to but his eyes wouldn’t close. Everything inside him wound tighter no matter which way he laid on the mattress. The room pressed against his lungs. He couldn’t think. He’ll be on a plane in six hours. He’ll leave behind everything he knows. Interns will come in and pack up everything in this room. It will be stripped of him. R&D staff will start to use it again. Seven years of his life erased in a day.

It all screams in him.

Then loss of graduation breaks like a wave against his mind and numbs everything besides the fear. 

So he escaped.

And found himself here.

On the fifth call, Rafi picks up.

“Why are you spamming my phone? It’s three in the morning. I’m still mad at you. Go to bed,” her voice is husky and annoyed.

Sephiroth pauses, air stuck in his lungs.

“Seriously go to bed. I’m going to hang-”

“I’m leaving for war tomorrow morning.” He cuts into her words. “I don’t know what to do. Can I come up?”

Static colors the line. Sephiroth stares at the peephole. He’s bleeding. There is no cut but he’s bleeding out on this stoop anyways.

“I’m at your back door. They don’t know where I am. I’m going to turn off my phone and everything. I just…I just…need a little room. I need…I need to get away.” When he says that, it makes sense.

“Shit,” she says and then with more finality, “Shit.”  

“Can I-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Give me a minute.”

The line goes dead. Sephiroth stares at the home screen. He doesn’t know if Shinra tracks his phone but watching the dial in the center rotate and disappear loosens him. A car rolls by on a street nearby. He pulls his jacket close. No sword on his back tonight but a fire materia rolls warm in his pocket. Without his phone, he has no idea how long he’ll have to wait for Rafi to open the door. She couldn’t call him if she changes her mind.

So he sits down on the step and watches the sky above him. The planets are too far away to see but he tries to track down the stars that he knows. When he was young, he must have looked at the sky. Did he wonder about the rest of the universe as well? Wutai took that away from him. His nails dig into his palm. Now he is going to fight them. He shouldn’t be this scared. He shouldn’t be having this reaction at all. He’s been training for this. He should be Midgar’s Sephiroth.

But then why does he feel like a kid sitting on the steps of a back porch?

Footsteps appear on the other side of the door. The locks scrape back one after another. Sephiroth turns on the step and watches the door. Rafi opens it. She’s disheveled, her pajamas loose and half her hair sticking up. His worries freeze. She overwhelms them as she leans against the door frame.

“Come on,” she says and goes back in without another look.

They end up on the beaten couch in the bookstore drinking bad wine out of coffee mugs. They didn’t know what else to do. Ben is asleep upstairs in the small apartment. Wine isn’t anyone’s suggestion but seems to be the only solution. Rafi mentions that it is her father’s emergency wine. They are both almost of age and when the clock says four in the morning, no one really cares. 

It’s bitter and sour in the back of his throat but it does what it is supposed to. It only takes three mugs before the edges of his vision start to blur and the words that he could never say start to slip close to the surface.

“R&D is sending you to war early?” The room is dark but Sephiroth can still see her sitting crosslegged next to him. Street lights stripe the blanket on her lap.

“Yes.”

 “After everything that happened?”

Sephiroth winces as he takes another sip. “Yes.”

The quiet pushes between them. He stares at the red liquid and wonders if blood looks like that. He takes a breath and tries to speak but these words are harder than the situational facts. If he says what he wants to, he can’t take them back. He can’t change Rafi back to not knowing. Shinra doesn’t approve of emotions and feelings. Dinand never humored a single insecurity. Once Sephiroth had said that he wasn’t sure he could lift a weight set. Dinand had forced him to do it three times and bruises speckled his arms for days after.

She’ll hate him for this. Everyone wants his strength and power. No one wants who he is underneath it. That is what is leaking out of him now.

War will take him. There is a very good chance that he won’t have to worry about what she thinks of him. He could be dead by Sunday.

“My trainer, Dinand.” He starts, testing the beginning of the phrase, and when there is no response, he continues. “He’s told me multiple times that I’m not good enough. I shouldn’t believe him. I know I shouldn’t but-”

The couch creaks as Rafi shifts her weight. The wine is heady in him. His heart moves thickly. He watches the wine lap the stained sides of the mug.

“He’s the one. The bruises are from him. That’s why I was gone that week. He-I got hurt too badly. That last time.”

A tremor shakes him.

It breaks it all open.

He closes eyes. The words spill out into his lap. “I’m afraid to go. I’m not what everyone thinks. That’s why I couldn’t tell you before, because I know he is right and I’m going to the front and prove him right.”

Saying it out loud makes it true. He holds his breath. He should have been able to withstand the simulation that Dinand put him through. He should have been able to beat anything that has been put in front of him. He is supposed to be the hero. Instead, he will fail in front of his men. He will fail in front of his country and then everyone will know.

His breath hisses out between his teeth.

He feels himself droop forward.

He’s just a kid in a costume.

He can’t look.

She’s the first one to know the truth.

Maybe this time she is actually disappointed in him.

The hug scares him so much that he drops the mug. The wine hits the carpet, pouring out onto the floor. She dips under his shoulder and wraps her arms around him. He flinches and freezes. What is he supposed to do? This isn’t what should be happening. She should be pushing him away. Instead, her face presses into his chest. Fingers curl harder around his body. She smells like the alcohol they have been drinking. 

Stutters leave his mouth. His hands hover above her.

“Maybe it is just that shitty wine talking but you’re being a big dummy,” She says into him.

He doesn’t fight. He can’t. Her arms around him creates a short circuit that circles wildly around this warmth. She is holding him. He can barely comprehend it. Mariella’s occasional affections don’t last too long. Orlin punches him in the shoulder but it makes him nervous because Dinand’s punches are always aimed at his face. 

How is he supposed to handle a hug?

He should push her away. His hands fall to rest on her shoulders, ready for her to come to her senses.

She sighs and repeats herself. “Such a big dummy that smells like a hospital.”

The words soak in. He is being dumb. She’s telling him he is wrong. His arm comes around her and he dares to press his cheek against her hair. The contact makes him spiral further away from everything. She isn’t rejecting him. She’s holding him even closer. His eyes dip shut. For the first time, he can feel how tired he is and how much further he has to go but at least he isn’t alone.

“He really shouldn’t have done that to you.” Her breath warms his chest. “That was stupid and he’s wrong about you.”

He holds her tighter, trying not to crush her. Those words sink in further than ever before. It shouldn’t have happened to him. He shouldn’t have endured that. Someone knows what it has done to him. She is saying it was wrong. A wall inside him crackles. Emotion wells up against him. First it is Dinand, now graduation and now he gets this.

He buries his head against hers so she can’t see his face.

“Tell me where Dinand is so I can beat him up.”

He shakes with a laugh. She’s quick to join him. The laughter continues as Sephiroth starts to collapse under the weight of both of them. He can’t hold himself up any longer. She drops forward onto him as they fall back. Sephiroth rubs his face, wiping away the tears that come with the chuckle. Rafi groans on his chest. He reaches for his drink but remembers as his fingers brush the porcelain that it has poured out.

“I’m sorry. I’m so tipsy. Wait, is this drunk? Am I drunk? Are you drunk? Are we drunk?” Rafi’s words slur and gutter into sounds. Sephiroth feels himself laughing again. He’s had three more mugs than her. Damn mako. 

The words stop but the conversation continues. Neither make any other move than stay where they are. Rafi’s head remains tucked under his chin. Her arm wraps around his stomach tucking in towards his spine. Her fingers make idle moves against the black fabric. The solidity of the body settles him into the furniture. His breath starts matching her lazy ones. Peace rests over them in the room. He studies the ceiling and the stains from years ago. 

Her phone lights up on the coffee table but there is no notification. His eyes draw across the screen. It’s nearing five in the morning.

The war starts today. Shinra is going to make the first move and he will be there for it.

He’ll probably kill someone. He’ll end someone’s life on the edge of his sword before the sun sets.

“Do you think I’ll be okay?” He asks as the morning sun stretches red across the ceiling. He knows his doubts are coming out with his words.

Rafi turns on him. It wakes him up a little. Still, he knows fear is there in his eyes when they hazily look at each other. He knows that the reality is there naked and terrified right under the surface. He doesn’t act this way. He always shoves it deeper and deeper until he is sure it won’t come back up to the surface again or it can only explode so deeply in him that he caves in on himself.

“You’ll be okay,” She says softly and leans up, kissing him gently on the forehead. “You’re Sephiroth.”

The kiss hurts in the care it gives.

Maybe it is the wine, maybe it isn’t, but they fall asleep next to each other on the couch and finally Sephiroth rests.

It’s the last time he rests for a long time.

Chapter Text

May, 1991

Sephiroth can’t breathe.

He’s sure of it. His body stopped functioning outside of the heartbeats pounding in his ears and the questions running through his mind. Sweat is everywhere. His face is covered in moisture and his hands are swimming in his gloves. Only a few orange lights blink above him, throwing the ship’s hull into strange shadows.

The chattering of the weapons echo from above on the deck. The attack started but he is still sitting in the dark. The boat is coming to shore. Once that happens, his job will begin. He closes his eyes and forces himself to relax. The steel barely leaves his spine. His heart hurts. Every sound reverberates in his ears.

At first, Sephiroth questioned SOLDIER’s order to put on the outfit of a Third Class, keep the helmet down and not speak. Now with the chalky dust falling and hazy prayers floating around him, it makes sense. This is his initiation into war. Most of the men around him had never been in a battle. His mind chokes, unable to track orders or these men.

This anonymity is his shield.

Shinra is giving him one chance to do this.

An explosion goes off and the boat rocks. Someone whimpers. Feet pound the deck.

Sephiroth closes his eyes.

Lazard called this a skirmish.

What he is about to confront isn’t even a real battle.

So why is he so scared?

The sword placed across his knees centers him. He puts his hands on the flat and hilt of it. He’s seen Orlin do this, pressing down and testing the strength of the steel. The cold cuts through the warmth of the leather. It won't bend. It is his weapon. He can rely on this. He’s held a sword for seven years.

He has trained for this. The conviction in those thoughts are sheer.

Their orders are simple. They are to land and charge the line protecting the half built machinery that would take out Shinra warships if completed. They are the reinforcements. A radio is pushed in his ear if there is a change in plans. He tries not to think about the electrodes, microphone and wiring hanging around his body under his shirt. While R&D’s initial plan sounded like it was made up on the spot, they are taking advantage of it now. The plastic sucking to his chest, tracking every emotion in measurable numbers, does not help him.

Twenty SOLDIERS sit around him. The mutters of several continue on. The tops of the helmets shine in the light. He presses the sword harder. There is only one god on the battlefield and he is holding it.

Orlin had texted him one message before this battle: Stay safe. Follow the orders. Think of it as sending them back to the planet. Text me after.

Hydraulics hiss. A voice in his ear tells him to get ready and good luck. Most rise from their seats. The guns are incessant. A high scream cuts through it. He’s not sure what side the dying man is on. He thinks about all the ways that the sim soldiers attacked and how to defeat them. A new smell starts to leak from the opening door. It’s muddy and acrid.

The light comes in as the gangway opens.

Why is he doing this? The thought staggers him. Why is he risking everything like this? Why should this be worth it? Why didn’t he run away when he had the chance?

The ramp hits the shore. The men behind him scream. Everything whirls. His heart rockets. He’s taken an extra dose of medicine. It should be enough to keep an attack at bay. He takes a step forward. Rocks crunch under his shoes. The other SOLDIERs brush past him. They might be saying words but he can’t understand them. One shoulders him so hard that he is pushed forward into a half jog until he can pass. The smell of sulfur and blood burns.

The sunlight hurts his eyes as he blinks and looks out at his first battlefield. The sword is tight in his hands. The fear grabs at his throat. His knees lock and wobble. They are all right. He is going to fail. He’s seventeen. He’s a kid. He’s not meant for this. He just wants to go home. Tears run down his cheeks.

He is off the ramp. The other SOLDIERs run ahead. He doesn’t care for the mass of two forces pushing against each other further up the hill. There are bodies everywhere here. The faces are real this time. Some are frozen in a cry. Others are still moving. Organs, some that he can identify and others he can’t, are sprayed across the ground. Nausea twists his stomach. Sephiroth leans forward, pressing his hands against his knees. Blood rushes to the front of his face.

It’s all so real.

He can’t do this.

They made a mistake.

“So this is what will become of the great Sephiroth, a pitiful rat throwing up on the sidelines?”

The voice oozes into his brain. Sephiroth jerks to the side, pulling himself up and raising the sword. No one is there. Is his imagination going that wild that he is hallucinating?

“Pathetic. Just pathetic.”

He lowers the sword. The voice is coming from his ear piece and he recognizes it.

“Professor Hojo?”

“Gods. A carrot reacts faster to light than you do.”

Sephiroth can’t believe this voice is coming through the comm. The head of the R&D department doesn’t drop into the army communication lines without trying to. He takes a few steps back and stares at the destruction happening around him. He’s lost.

“What are you doing?” Hojo asks.

The question is so simple but Sephiroth can’t answer it. He’s standing still in the middle of the battlefield.

“I am gathering myself.” He straightens and tries to speak into the small mic wired to him. Maybe it would be a good enough answer.

“Your actions are deceiving you.”

“I’m just trying to adjus-”

“You are weak,” Hojo snaps.

Sephiroth saying that to himself is one thing. Professor Hojo throwing it in his ear is another. It hacks into his fear. This is the man that he needs to impress. Professor Hojo has been the one that has overseen his life since the beginning. Mariella has made that clear enough. 

“I’m not weak, not after everything.” Sephiroth swallows and shakes his head. All the experiences of his life have led up to this. He’s ready. He’s just scared. The front line wobbles in front of them. Shinra pushes forward a few feet and he sees a regular infantry man fall down the hill.

He’s dying.

“How will your friend Orlin react to this performance? Since you care so deeply for him?”

Sephiroth looks at the ground. Empty noises come from his lips. His face grows warm. He clamps onto anger, trying to keep it from spreading. He needs to stay in control. Dinand trained him to be able to do this. A sick acid comes into the back of his throat. He shouldn’t use what that man gave him but he’s trapped in a corner. There is no way out. Sephiroth spins the sword in his hand, focusing on anything else. Gun fire continues overhead. 

Dinand dictated so many years of his life. It isn’t easy to discard it.

And he needs something, anything, that can help him through this.

“Ah, or shall I remind you of your dear Mariella? She confessed fears to me that you might choke. You might become a disappointment.”

His heart beats harder as he fights the venom from his voice. “I am not a disappointment. I’m getting ready.”

The worry had been heavy in Mariella’s eyes. He knows members of her department have disappeared. More deserters. More SOLDIER secrets out in the world. She needs him to do well for the department, for Shinra. The pressure in him grows. He’s going to explode with it.

“You are still within the range of the security cameras of your ship. I’ve been watching you this whole time. I saw you almost throw up.” Professor Hojo pauses and then says the rest in a playful tone, “Oh whatever shall you do now?”

“Stop. Just please stop.”

His fingers shake. The adrenaline that scattered him is congealing in his head. The pound against his skull makes it even harder to think.

“Please you are just the baby who got bullied by his teacher until he wept to mother.”

“No.” Sephiroth turns back towards the ship, imagining where the camera is. He sees several small glass eyes. He can’t seem to pick one. He keeps throwing his focus between them as if he will see Professor Hojo peering through one of them.

Every method of keeping his frustration at his life is starting to crack. Professor Hojo should understand. He should see how hard everything has been. Being the poster boy of SOLDIER sucked everything out of him.

Then there is graduation.

Thinking about that is like trying to enter an endless sea. If he goes there, he will not come back the same. 

Hojo says softly, “Well then, prove me wrong, S .”

Sephiroth’s stomach drops.

Either Professor Hojo knows about the journal or he’s mocking him aimlessly with the nickname. Professor Gast’s pride hurts him deeper than anything Hojo has said. Sephiroth is failing one of the only people who has shown him compassion. Professor Gast believed in him. He supported the Shinra therapies. He must have supported Sephiroth becoming a SOLDIER as well.

Now he’s failing him too.

That imagined disappointment, along with the hopes of Mariella and Orlin, hits him.

Sephiroth trembles.

He tries to hold it all in one last time.

The radio gives him static and a chuckle that vibrates too deep. 

His temper snaps.

It wakes up everything in him at once in a rush of fire.

Fine.

He will give everyone exactly what they want.

The anger makes him warm as he turns away and walks towards the battle.

Everyone wants him to kill. They want him to be this hero that they can put on a pedestal. No one at Shinra cares what happens underneath. He shouldn’t care either. He is in SOLDIER. This is the path he was given. He will fight. He has been trained to do this. From Dinand or not, every part of him should be sharpened to this. 

His fingers quiver.

He's so angry.

He has no right to these emotions. 

It shuts off.

He shuts it all off.

A Wutai soldier breaks off from the edge of the line. He ducks around the edge and his eyes meet Sephiroth’s. Wildness plays on his limbs as he takes off down the hill at him. 

The spear in the Wutai’s hand aims for his stomach. A part of his mind hiccups. Sephiroth slips mentally. He isn’t sure where he is. Some of the simulations were done on battlefields. The man running towards him could be just another model. This could all be another bad dream, encoded in ones and zeros. The fire in his stomach could be from something Dinand said. Sephiroth could be in Midgar. He could be safe.

The screams around him blend into one sustained sound in his ears like a piano key pressed too long.

The Wutai soldier steamrolls forward, too fast for his own good.

Sephiroth steps away from the charge and the sword flicks out in a force of habit. The steel comes down sleek and quick, digging into the soft place where the neck is unprotected. The sword is sharp. It slips into his throat with no resistance. The Wutai soldier drives forward, tearing into the blade deeper into himself with momentum.

Sephiroth doesn’t expect the tug on the hilt as the soldier catches entirely on the edge. It pulls on his wrist. The man’s feet fly out in front of him. His neck and shoulders are held back by the weapon. A choking noise sputters out of him. Another sound in the mess of them. Sephiroth yanks his arm back. The sword comes free. Blood coats his left hand. The man slips on the mud. With another destroyed sound that is like a cry, the dying soldier drops to the ground. 

Sephiroth’s attention catches on the gleam on his left hand. The red is sticky. It oozes in rivulets on the Shinra produced leather.

Blood falls off his fingers like rain.

Sephiroth exhales.

Oh.

He expected this to be difficult.

He expected to be upset.

But it was easy

Sickeningly easy.

Part of him withers. 

Something else clicks in him, mechanical and intoxicating.

It becomes oddly clear.

He has been shaped for this.

Every part of him has bled for this.

He’s doing something that he is good at.

He’s ready to be in control.

Like a wave, that knowledge hits him. Every fear breaks down. He’s not worried as he steps over the soldier. The bodies are still everywhere. He doesn’t care to tell them apart. They aren’t him. He will never be laying on the ground in the mud, bleeding out helplessly. He won’t lay on the floor, crying into the tile ever again, screaming as the sim continues to pound on him.

That won’t happen ever again.

His body is alive as he walks towards the throb of men further up the hill. It’s chaos. Dirt sprays across him. The sword is loose in his fingers. Something whistles close to his ear. He doesn’t stop walking but looks up to see the Wutai soldier ducking behind a fresh boulder. The helmet sticks up over the ridge. Sephiroth knows what to do. He has done it a million times in practice. It purrs seductively in him.

The materia flares on his sword. The resulting explosion dislodges the rock. It hits the ground and resumes its roll down the hill. Black char is left behind it. Some part of Sephiroth wants to smile. It is that easy. The man is gone, scorched from the planet. He was another person that wanted to hurt him and now he would never get the chance. It was his decision to attack Sephiroth so it was his responsibility to strike back.

It is all part of this calamity.

An eye for an eye.

He's striking back.

The line writhes with people. Other SOLDIERs are entangled in the rush. Several of the people are already sprawled out in the dirt. The dark blue of a uniform is going black in the sun. It smells like shit and gunpowder. Sephiroth breaks into a jog for the last twenty feet. He raises the sword close and dives at the edge of the line.

This new part of him screams as his blade digs into flesh.

Before, he thought that the enemy was going to be as strong as the ones in the simulation. Those enemies had been custom built for him by AI, learning his patterns and methodically attacking weaknesses over the course of thousands of hours and bodies. He knew this but surely the rest of the world has access to this as well. This is not the case.

Only two Wutai soldiers manage to hit him as he works his way through their squad. One taps his side. He doesn't feel it. Sephiroth’s sword is carving music in front of him and he’s reveling in every second of it. Every hit is a validation. It’s a jolt of joy to pay for all the pain given to him. Sephiroth is right. He’s desperately right. He can make up for everything that has happened to him. He can deal it back.

The second hit is near the end. He has his sword deep in the chest cavity of a man. The blade is caught between two ribs and they aren’t letting go. He glances up. A woman, the naked woman from his dream, stands apart, cut away from the gore. She stares at him, eyes knowing everything about him. She's smiling. Her broken wings have gone black. The feathers float towards him. He freezes. What is she doing there? 

The dying soldier's friend screams and throws himself at Sephiroth.

Sephiroth tries to dodge the attack but his foot lands on the thick muscles of a thigh of a fallen soldier. It rolls him forward and the body on his sword weighs him down. Sephiroth dips. He tries to get under the attack as he slides the body off his blade. The dying man’s eyes flicker. He reaches forward and grabs Sephiroth’s wrist. The fingers feel like Dinand’s. Sephiroth’s attention slids in fear. 

The friend’s sword rings hard against his helmet. Sephiroth scatters backward. His vision goes white. Numb aftershocks find him stumbling. He forces his hands to grip the sword as the world comes back oversensitized.  

The attacker is still coming and Sephiroth raises his sword. The soldier’s body is gone from the edge. Everything looks different but he doesn’t get a chance to figure it out. The friend manages a slash and Sephiroth parries it. The impact tickles up his shoulder. The soldier is still screaming a name as he pulls back to what might have been a thrust. Sephiroth doesn’t allow it. He takes the strength and anger that’s been curled up inside him. It winds so tight and he screams in response as he lets it go.

He strikes against the man’s neck.

The body falls in pieces.

He takes a breath.

He checks.

The woman is gone.

Feathers are still scattered around his feet.

“…Sephiroth?”

One of the SOLDIERs stops fighting and stares at him.

White hair tickles his face.

The helmet is gone.

He should feel insecure.

He should feel young.

He should feel wrong. 

Instead a smile grows across his lips and he turns away to find the enemy.

The battle continues on. Men gather behind him. He feels like he lives a life that he will never live again. The power and faith in the men that follow him swells. Shinra machines tear through fences and men with bullets and saws. He cleans up the remaining. Sometimes the men scream. Other times they reel helplessly. The words they say mean nothing to him.

It is all part of the music he makes with his sword. The song sings intoxicatingly in him, numbing everything except the action what he is doing. As more and more men fall to the grass, he thinks of sending them back to the planet. To that green mist in the illustration as the serene Ancient summons it from the planet in his book. They could hear the planet’s call. As the guns go off and the bodies feed the dirt, he stands and wonders if this is what they heard.

It’s impossible to know.

Maybe these sounds are his song.

A Shinra photographer catches his eye near the end of the battle. A camera is aimed at him. He glances at it once before turning away to do his job. 

He sees the picture later. 

He’s standing with the dead sprawled around him. His body is tall and straight. The helmet is gone. His short silver hair falls half across his face. He’s lifting the sword as he’s starting to turn away. Dark red is sprayed across his clothes and on his cheeks. A small cut rolls a stripe down into his eyebrow where it stops. 

What is captured in the photo is the look in his eye. He must have focused on the lens for a millisecond but that is all the machine needs to cut the moment into a lifetime. There is no softness here. His shoulders are challenging lines. His feet are planted between the arms of two men. The look in his slitted eyes is different. The green in his eyes is sharp and deadly. Confidence burns in them. 

Sephiroth looks like a man you wouldn’t want to meet on the street.

He looks like a man who lives off death. 

He looks like a man who was born to do this.

He looks like a monster.

Chapter Text

August, 1991

“This looks fine,” Sephiroth says as he watches his men work through the practice drills. 

The sun bakes his shoulders and sweat rolls down the back of his neck. His black shirt is hot but even his simplified army wardrobe is full of impracticalities from Clarence. Still, he stands with his hands in his pockets as the drill sergeant next to him yells the next sequence. The 3rds move in a mechanical slow dance as one executes the exercises and the other blocks before switching.

Sephiroth can see them glancing at him out of the corner of their eyes. Most of their moves are jerky. Without this audience, he’s observed them striking with much more confidence. Sometimes they even laugh at each other. Now it is quiet except for the scraping of shoes and tense breathing.

His eyes lose focus as he watches. His shoulders are stiff from the battle yesterday and a cut on his leg is in the process of healing over. Has it only been a few months of this? Has he been gone less than half a year? The questions are dull in him. The answer doesn’t even hurt anymore.

Swords beat together. This is cursory. Sephiroth doesn’t need to be here but he wants to motivate his troops. Showing up for them makes them show up for themselves. An extra movement snaps him out of his head. The third man on the left almost stumbles. He catches himself quick enough that in a crowd, it wouldn’t be noticed. 

“Repeat that last sequence,” Sephiroth says to the sergeant and he leans his weight forward until he is forced to walk.

If the SOLDIERs weren't nervous before, they are now. Before the drill sergeant can shout the order, half the men turn to watch Sephiroth as he walks behind them. He keeps himself neutral and doesn’t train his eyes on the SOLDIER he’s worried about. The training field is beaten flat. His shoes are silent as he waves his hand for them to continue.

The sergeant starts yelling. The men drop back into line. The order goes out and Sephiroth pauses by the man.

The third man on the left takes two steps and Sephiroth knows immediately what is wrong. The back of his brain screams out of habit as he draws the sword off his back. He ignores the bloodlust and steps between the pair intercepting the blades. The clang doesn’t bring the others to a stop but the two SOLDIERs freeze.

They disengage and jump back more than needed.

The trouble SOLDIER’s lips go white at the sight of him. The helmet hides the rest. Sephiroth still feels strange about this. Most likely, this man is his senior but he’s afraid of him. They somehow don’t see the gangly teen body that is hidden under all these clothes. Perhaps he does have something to thank Clarence for.

Sephiroth allows the magnet to lock his sword back in place. The weapons clatter together around them a few more times before they drop silent.

“You are dancing, not fighting.” Sephiroth shifts himself into their attack stance. “If you keep your weight on your heels and try to lift your feet that high, you will fall back or into your enemy's sword. Neither is a good option.”

The SOLDIER nods a few times and shakes out his sword arm. Sephiroth waits. He stares at the ground and stiffens as he realizes his mistake. 

“Sorry. Yes, sir.” He hurries through the words.

“Try it again.” He notices everyone is watching them and focuses on the sergeant. “Let’s all go again. Count them in, please.”

The man has yet to make eye contact with anything other than the dirt as he moves back to his partner.

Sephiroth has been trying to find out who he is as a leader. Every part of him fights being like Dinand but he has to expect the best from his men or else they will die on the battlefield. He draws on everyone else that has ever taught him. Orlin, in this situation, would probably stand in and partner this SOLDIER to make sure the blows feels right. Sephiroth can’t be that involved. Mariella would stand back completely remote. Sephiroth can’t do that either. Even Professor Gast’s compassion from his letters feels wrong on him.

All of them are children in the face of this war.

The shout goes and the SOLDIER pauses for a millisecond before starting in. Sephiroth crosses his arms as the first two steps are a repeat of last time. The combat boots scuff on ground. The SOLDIER pulls it together on the last two. He straightens and his weight falls forward. The steps are neat and solid. The hits from the practice sword sounds stronger.

Sephiroth dies to roll his neck and release the ache. He thought that he knew exhaustion when he was doing high school and PR work. Now adrenaline eats into him after battles and the amount of meetings are absurd. The people in the meetings are even worse. The heat presses against his skin and he feels his connection with his men disappear. He needs to care about them but it’s hard when all he sees is eyes wide with fear.

“Good, keep working on that.” Sephiroth turns back towards the base before they are done. He starts to rub his face but instead brushes his fingers through his hair. The dampness sticks to the damn gel that they make him use. Appearances and statistics, Shinra pressures into him.

They keep asking for more and more.

Somehow he keeps providing it.

Sephiroth stares emptily out the window of his small room as the video call rings. He waits for Orlin to accept the invitation. The view is not extraordinary. The one window looks out over a stretch cut down forest and the wall they built to protect the base. 

Also, a couple miles to the north is Station A. Shinra had the common sense to put miles and miles between Dinand and Sephiroth. His stomach tightens.

Tomorrow, he will be back over that fence. His stocky sword sits by the desk. It’s clean, the surface shines but like him, no matter how many times he cleans it, it feels dirty. He sighs and leans back against the chair. He should be thankful for the room. Most are shared with three other people. He gets privacy. He didn’t realize what it is like to be watched every moment until he arrived here. At least in Midgar, R&D barely bat an eye at him.

He had hoped for company, not this isolation. Even Thea’s dinners with Mariella, no matter how awkward, have a place in his mind.

When the next SOLDIER got promoted to First Class, Sephiroth had hope. Bedivere was friendly towards him after battles and meetings. The other First had a strong aptitude for materia and a clever sense of humor for someone who had come out of Midgar.

It hurt Sephiroth to try to speak personally towards the SOLDIER but he had done it. He performs automatically for anyone who sees him as “First Class Sephiroth”. Every word felt wrong. He had trained himself never to talk in the last three months. The First took it in stride. They were similar in age. Bedivere offered to play card games with him late at night. Those evenings they spent playing together were quiet but warm. Something eased in him. It felt like stability. They were going to be fighting together for years.

Bedivere died two battles later.

A spear to the chest. 

His open brown eyes covered in dirt, trying to look at the sky.

The First that followed him got a more hesitant greeting from Sephiroth.

He got killed by friendly fire.

Sephiroth can’t even remember the face of the one who came after that.

It is only him. It is only going to be him.

It became known as “The Curse of the First."

He was the only one immune to it.

Time has moved on so fast. It spills between his gloves.

Rafi moved to college to get her bachelors in accounting in a city near Midgar. His phone stays lit with an overwhelming amount of memories that she is willing to share, mostly selfies, from the library, her dorm room, even the pool. 

Sometimes she sends him packages with books. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he doesn’t have the energy to read them. When she asks about them, Sephiroth skims a summary and sends thoughts back to her. She’s not caught on yet. Why would she? She doesn’t read outside her math textbooks.

Another part of him clings to her. She’s something familiar and grounds the horror that he sees everyday. It’s a vicarious dream that he sees when he closes his eyes. Someday the war will be over and he will be able to go to school. He doesn’t know what he wants to study. It doesn’t matter. He wants to wander the quad in fall with a heavy backpack and a coffee worrying about inconsequential things.

A foolish dream.

He shifts in his chair and straightens. Even sitting is a luxury. He tries to remember who he is now and what he does.

The call connects and he tries to focus on the blurry face.

“There’s the kid.” The audio has static but even with it, the warmth in Orlin’s voice is unmistakable.

Sephiroth finds a smile on his face. “It’s good to see you.”

He means it. The shock of seeing Orlin tightens his heart and reminds him of life before.

“Yeah. Sounds like you are smashing it out there. Good job.”

Sephiroth leans forward. “How are you? How is Midgar?”

“Well. You know. War is tightening everything down but the bars and the stores are still open so I can’t complain.” Orlin’s eyes wander around the room he can see. “Are those flowers?”

Sephiroth checks over his shoulder to see the small bouquet that has been there a few days. “It appears so.”

“I didn’t think admirers could get mail to you.”

“They can’t.”

A flat package sits wrapped in front of the vase. He hasn’t watered the flowers and they still looked vibrant. The building staff must be taking care of them. He wants them to disappear but he doesn’t have the heart to throw them out himself.

“How’s it going?” Orlin says and Sephiroth realizes that his eyes are still trapped on the gift. He hasn’t even touched the note on top. The handwriting looks to be Lazard’s or his assistant’s. He’s never been sure who signs or writes any of the notes. Surely the Director doesn’t have time to do it himself.

“Fine,” He says after tearing himself away.

“How’s combat?”

“Fine.”

“Come on, Sephiroth.” Orlin’s voice is sharp. “Don’t do this, I know you better than that.” 

Sephiroth’s finger goes in a circle on the desk out of view. He’s the one to set up the video call. He should try to do what he wanted to do on the call.

“After all this fighting, I know I should feel bad but…” He stops himself.

“They would have killed you first,” Orlin says firmly. 

Sephiroth’s smile falters. 

Orlin doesn’t understand. A seed in Sephiroth has grown into something that is curling around every part of him. Shinra is recognizing him for his work. No one has been able to stand up against him. PR has had a field day with his performance but for once, what they are saying is true and the bodies keep stacking up. He excels at the art of slaughter. 

It’s like something has woken up in him that he cannot control. A part of him that craves for the blood and the way bodies stiffen in pain on his blade.

Knowing this mixes pride and horror within him.

“I can’t count the amount of people I’ve killed in combat,” Sephiroth says the words delicately. He reminds himself to try to be guilty. The feeling tries to lodge in his heart but it can’t find purchase in the wall he has built. It disappears.

“Don’t worry about it,” Orlin says and takes a drink out of a can, “You are part of the club now.”

Orlin’s texts were on his phone when he came back from his first battle. The words were simple. Everything that he had done was not his fault. 

They were supposed to make him feel better. In the pit of his stomach, those words didn’t speak true to him. He could blame everything on Shinra. Sephiroth could wrap himself in a blanket of ignorance. He is another cog in Shinra’s endless machine. It didn’t change how it felt when artillery structures bloomed into fire or when he took another’s life into his own hands and snapped it short. 

“Maybe it is a shit connection but you look pale. Has Mariella come and seen you recently?”

“No. She’s been busy sending us SOLDIERs. I’m fine.”

“You’ve got medical conditions. Is someone looking after you?”

He knows it is true. Last week he noticed he was a lighter shade of pale and a shake has been coming and going from his fingers. He figures it is a consequence for everything.

“R&D has checked in.”

Half truth.

They barely touched him. He’s pushed them away by never being where they asked him. A First can always find something more important. He thinks of laying on a gurney while scientists he doesn’t know apply cold metal to his body and mark down numbers. No. He doesn’t need anyone looking too closely. It might break him.

They still keep sending him his next two weeks’ of medication after missing his appointments. The pack sits next to his computer. He also has a small tin that he clips into the inside of his pants now at all times. If the camp is attacked, Sephiroth has five days to find his way back to Shinra before his body resumes destroying itself.

Orlin’s sigh brings him back. He isn’t talking. His eyebrows knit together and he’s tapping the desk in a rhythmic pattern. Sephiroth sits still and his eyes skate around the apartment he knows so well behind Orlin. How many times did he fall asleep on that couch? The memory feels like a dream.

“How are your missions?” Sephiroth asks.

“Almost died a few times. Without many other veteran SOLDIERs here, I get all the really dirty work.”

“Oh. Can I help?”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it, kid. Staff keep on deserting too, it’s a strange time over here.”

“Still? With the war actually happening?”

Orlin half laughs. “The Turks have been busy. Some are stupid enough to take paperwork to reporters. I’m almost jealous, you know?”

“ For getting away? Do you want to leave Shinra?”

Orlin blows air. “What is a SOLDIER without Shinra? Do you know?”

“You would just be Orlin.”

A bitter laugh comes through. “When are you coming back to Midgar?”

“I don’t know. They keep changing the schedule.” Sephiroth gets an ache in his chest. He can’t describe it.

“Come see me next time you are here.” The finality in what he says gives no room for discussion. It’s unusual and cuts sharp in Sephiroth.

He nods in response.

He can’t say how he is feeling. Maybe it is the worry in Orlin’s face that blocks it off. He shouldn’t burden him with emotions that he won’t understand. Outside of fighting, he isn’t doing fine so he hides behind noncommittal words. Fighting is eating into everything, leaving bleeding gapes where he used to live. 

Usually, he has been able to ignore it.

Their conversation falls into pieces after that. Sephiroth tries to ask questions. Orlin answers them and asks things that have a meaning that Sephiroth can’t decode. He can’t say what he feels Orlin wants to hear because it would be lying.

Orlin drives into him, the thing that he’s afraid that R&D will do. He’s squinting at the details that no one in camp sees. They see a SOLDIER and that shields them. For that purpose, he is strong and confident. Orlin watched him grow up. He knows every sign that Sephiroth tries to suppress.

The questions all carve in at the same problem.

He can’t stand it.

“I’m so sorry, Orlin. I’ve got to go. I’ll text you later?” He glances at his phone and pushes out of his chair.

“Text me.” It sounds like a defeat through the speakers.

“I’m doing fine. Don’t worry.” The half smile feels fake.

“Yeah and I’m a pile of sh-”

Sephiroth half rises and ends the call.

All the fake urgency to leave disappears. He slumps boneless in the chair. His hands press against his eyes.

He misses everything. How did he miss how good his life was before this?

The screen asks him how his connection was and he looks up at the five empty stars. How can he rate the confusion he feels? Orlin should have been a warm experience. Something that would wake up the dead thing inside of him. Instead, it feels even colder. The screen snaps to black. He sees his own face and everything that Orlin noticed. He struggles to take a breath and gets up.

The flowers wait behind him.

He goes over to the note and flips the paper open with a finger. It says exactly what he expects it to say. Sephiroth nudges it off. The silver wrapping paper is smooth as he runs his hand across it. The size is too distinctive. They even bothered to frame it. His mouth is dry as thinks about opening it. What does it matter anymore? His fingers stop in the middle and press down into the empty space that hangs between the frame and the glass. It starts to rip.

He stops.

He can’t.

It feels wrong.

It is trivial in the sea of blood and slaughter.

Who would care about a high school diploma?

He’s a different person now. Everything has changed. It cracks him inside.

A foolish faint dream.

This belongs to a different person now.

Chapter Text

September, 1991

Sephiroth stares at the meeting room door that stands between him and the new transfers. This is the last performance of the day. After this, he could go to his quarters. No eyes, no expectations, just the various reports that needed to flow out of him. He could stare at a wall as he did it. No one read what he wrote anyways. 

Tomorrow will be more bloodshed.

But that is tomorrow and not today and he has learned to limp forward one day at a time. It’s the only way to keep the pain at bay.

Twenty men wait inside the meeting room. Shinra shifts men around, trying to keep Midgar safe and being aggressive enough on the front line. The problem is that SOLDIERs and infantry kept dying.

Healing materia is in constant use but the causality number keeps rising. Nothing can stop it. These men would die as well. That thought hangs around his neck dragging him to a point of breaking. 

The handle opens under his hand. The muttering inside cuts short. Shoes click together. Sephiroth raises his chin and walks in.

“Welcome to this part of the front line,” Sephiroth says. The words used to vary but now the script is cemented in his head. He barely has to monitor himself.

The men stand in a double line. They stare at the blackboard in front of them like they have been trained. Sephiroth skates over their faces. They blend together. Determination, pride, excitement, none of it registers. Over the course of the next few weeks, he will start to pay attention to the ones that are not in the ground.

“I know training and experience has taught you the skills that you need.” The words march out of him as he walks the line. Half of them have Second Class uniforms while the other half sported Third. Maybe he will see some of these people again.

“Wutai is smarter than you think. I want you to be careful and not to get cocky. I’ve seen men die for less.” He keeps walking, intercepting hungry eyelines that pull on his hair and his clothes. They are meeting the Sephiroth, a First Class SOLDIER, the Devil of Wutai. 

Sephiroth keeps a measured pace, trying to get to the other side of the room so he can turn around, walk back and leave. One SOLDIER is so excited that his finger twitches by his side. Sephiroth allows a small smile to that. The fidgeting increases but Sephiroth continues on.

He draws his eyes over the remaining set of SOLDIERs. “You will get a day to-”

The words halt out of his mouth. His toe scuffs against the tile. Sephiroth stops. He wakes up. None of the men move. Protocol keeps everything locked in place. He stares openly at the SOLDIER in the back corner. The man looks right back at him with a grin. Words bubble up in the SOLDIER’s throat and he swallows them down.

The shock of what Sephiroth sees hurts. It feels like cold water has poured down his back, searing his skin. A physical shake comes through him and he blinks. Lack of sleep has gotten to him. He hopes and dreads that he is right.

He isn’t.

Orlin continues to stand at attention and fight the growing smile on his face.

The familiarity stings him. He hasn’t seen anything from his life in person since he left. Everything halts. What does Orlin see? Who does he see here standing in front of him? A foolish child playing dress up still? Sephiroth doesn’t even know what he is wearing. It feels foolish to glance but he does before he can catch himself. It’s a standard First uniform. Good.

Orlin’s eyes tell him he knows everything that he is thinking. 

Sephiroth’s stomach drops. After their last conversation, is Orlin mad at him from escaping his questions? Is he just being polite? Is that why he is here?

The silence drags out. There are other men in the room, he remembers. 

“Dismissed,” Sephiroth says, “Go to mess. Eat dinner.”

The SOLDIERs stay in place waiting for the rest of the speech that isn’t coming for them. A few try to catch his eye but Sephiroth has no interest in them. They file out. Sephiroth stays in place. Orlin shrugs the formality but doesn’t move with them. A few grumps come out of new men but the closing door muffles them.

He can’t be real.

This must all be his imagination. Orlin is never coming to Wutai. He didn’t want to. Sephiroth opens his mouth. The words don’t come. One long whisper comes out of him instead.

Orlin walks towards him. His combat boots make noise on the ground. He’s grinning stupidly. Things snap into focus: the way the uniform is new for combat duty, the line of materia running down the center of his blade, and even the one spot on the back of his cheek that he always forgets to shave.

A hand claps down on his shoulder, heavy and familiar.

Orlin is very real. 

“Are you going to pass out or are you going to say hello, kid?”

The stars are the only consistent in Sephiroth’s life. Even as he stares at them later that evening, they seem different. He can trace the constellations and name them as he sits on the training field later that night. The air is cold as it settles in a layer against his skin. His brain skims over all of this. It is inconsequential.

All he can focus on is the SOLDIER pulling himself up on the climbing obstacle next to him.

The field is empty at midnight and perfect for the two of them to talk privately. The classroom wasn’t a good place nor did either one of them have the time. The walls have ears inside but here Sephiroth can’t see anyone for a mile.

They were safe and alone.

“So I brought you a couple things,” Orlin says as he sits next to him on the large wooden vault. The wood creaks. Sephiroth can’t believe it. Even after knowing this information for a few hours, it takes seeing him to make sure it wasn’t his imagination. 

A bag appears between them. Orlin smiles like he is an old friend. Is he? Sephiroth isn’t sure. He’s worried so much. Still, the easy energy soaks into him. He almost wants to touch Orlin to confirm it. This could all be a dream, a cruel accumulation of stress and loneliness. Maybe his meds have stopped working.

The slats move under Sephiroth’s thighs as Orlin works the zipper on the bag’s top.

Orlin is in front of him. There is no denying that.

“…why are you here?” Sephiroth asks.

“It was an easy decision. I beat them to the punch really. Suckers,” Orlin laughs, “Shinra is going to enlist all SOLDIERs if they want to or not and someone needs to keep an eye on you. So between me and Mariella, we were able to get me deployed here, with you.”

“To keep an eye on me?” 

“Kid, we were concerned. Still are.” The laugh falls away in his voice. It turns soft and honest. “That’s why I’m here.”

Part of Sephiroth wants to ask who the “we” is. How many people does it include? How many sets of eyes are on him? It sinks heavily in his chest. He looks away at the mud and counts the grass trying to grow. He is fine. He’s been doing alright. There is nothing to worry about. He shouldn’t cause this kind of attention. He needs to do his job and keep his face blank. What happens in his mind doesn’t matter anymore.

Orlin pokes his shoulder. “There. That . That is exactly why I am here. You and your big brain are getting yourself in too much trouble but first, this.”

Two white plastic containers come out of the bag. That must have been most of what was in it because the bag collapses without them. The smell perks Sephiroth’s attention. It hits him. The ginger, the clove, the sesame seed oil, these are the smells that throw him back into Orlin’s apartment after a hard day.

He ignores the chuckle from Orlin as Sephiroth reaches over and peels off the lids. The Wutain noodles are hot and steam in the air.

“How did you-” Sephiroth starts.

“I make friends fast.”

“It can’t be from he-”

Orlin cuts him off again. “No, this is from our place. Back in Midgar. The takeout survived the flight. Somehow.”

“How? SOLDIERs don’t get to carry food or many personal items here.” The words tumble out of him as Sephiroth takes the container, staring at something that he was never going to eat again. The plastic is warm and soft to the touch.

“Your medicine is due to come in, right?”

“In a few days.” He glances up.

“So I get to deliver a ‘care package’. I may have added a few things to the box. You look like a kid in a candy store. Now eat it before it gets cold. The cook took a lot of convincing to heat it back up.” The container gets traded for chopsticks and Orlin sets up the other container: braised pork and rice. This is their order. This is the food that they used to get when he was a kid.

Homesickness gets him. It locks him up and throws everything out of alignment. He feels his age again. He’s young and alone but suddenly not alone and that makes it worse. He is paperthin against this war. Sephiroth leans back and closes his eyes. Control waivers but wins out.

“I’m not hungry.”

Orlin talks around a bite. “Yeah and I’m the president of Shinra. You are skinny. Eat.”

What will tasting it do to him? The smell almost made him cry.

“I’m okay.”

"Well, fine, you are going to sit here with chopsticks in your hand and watch me eat this because I know what the standard shit is like and this won't come around again."

It’s true. Food has turned into a means to an end. He can’t remember what was in the last few meals put in front of him. He knows he ate it and then he was no longer hungry. The food sustained him through the day. If he did not eat enough, his performance suffered. He has already eaten dinner. He doesn’t need this. He can wait this one out.

Orlin does eat, saying nothing. Sephiroth finds himself swallowing and unable to ignore it. The stars only hold his attention for a moment. The reports left to write seem pointless. His stomach starts to ache. He is going to regret this opportunity. The food is terrible here. That realization strikes him as if it is a new piece of information. These containers smell like everything that he was forced to leave behind.

And he wants it.

Orlin doesn’t even pause as Sephiroth leans over and pulls a few noodles out of the container. The brown sauce drips onto the obstacle underneath him. A few chopped carrots get lost. Sephiroth hurries the food along. It doesn’t give him a chance to get ready. The soy sauce, the oils, the richness, it throws him back before the blood and screaming. 

It almost makes him sob.

It is so familiar.

Where everything is so wrong, this hurts and fills him.

It goes down warm in him but lodges against his heart. Sephiroth goes for another bite. The effect doesn’t change. Carefully, he pulls the large container closer to him. He is hungry.

He forgot food can do more than be sustenance.

Thinking slips away. He needs this.

Only when he sees part of the bottom of the large container that he remembers himself. He’s been stuffing the food down like a new recruit. Orlin has stopped eating. The chopsticks are balanced out on his thigh. His eyes staring in the direction of Wutai. A few insects sing off in the distance. 

Sephiroth's stomach aches but he only slows down and eventually stops. His chopsticks click against the plastic rim as he sets them down.

“Better?” Orlin asks without looking.

Sephiroth realizes he is better. He’s more settled, more solid, more of himself next to Orlin. Even at night, the bad memories hold less weight. Orlin leans over and snags a piece of pork. He glances up at him.

“Well, you look better.”

“I was fine.”

That earns him a half laugh. “Come on, let’s walk it off. Plus I need to get killing off my mind. It’s been a while since I’ve been fighting Wutai.” 

Orlin shoves off, landing on the packed ground. He packs the food back in the bag and starts walking. Sephiroth doesn’t get a chance to argue. It’s odd to be told what to do. He’s been leading so much. It’s a relief almost to not make a decision. Dropping to the ground jolts his stomach. How did he eat so much?

They walk the instructor path around the obstacles. They don’t talk. Sephiroth keeps checking, still in partial disbelief. The gravel crunches under their feet. They should go back to base to rest and prepare for the attack tomorrow. There have been so many that Sephiroth struggles to remember the specifics. Was this the attack on the supply chain? No. That was a few days ago now.

Sephiroth shakes his head.

“I saw a few cute nurses coming in,” Orlin says on their second lap. He eyes him sideways. “A couple cute guys too. Don’t you hate how quickly mako heals?”

Sephiroth pushes his hands in his pockets. “There isn’t time for such things.”

It’s true. He’s been so overwhelmed. He hasn’t looked. He hasn’t thought to. The only connection he has kept up is with Rafi. How could he make a romantic connection with anybody when his hands are getting soaked with so much blood?

“Oh. There is always time for such things.”

“Not to me.”

“Well, alright.”

They fall back into silence. Orlin hasn’t dated to his knowledge. He has barely spoken about Professor Gast or any other person. It’s always been about Sephiroth and the touch is always light. 

The walking clears the pain in his stomach. The companionship makes everything less. The strain in his back unrolls. The clouds clear from his mind. He sees his actions and  the bodies that have been piling up on both sides. He can list all the reasons that he was the one that put them there.

The base starts to come into view as they naturally circle back to it.

“Orlin,” Sephiroth says and hates the shake that he hears.

He stops a few feet in front of him and has to turn back to see him. “Yeah?”

Sephiroth holds the words in his chest. The ones that tell him how many people he has killed and how he should feel bad for it but can’t seem to find the way. How part of him whispers inside how good it is to end another’s life. How complicated everything is now. How this war has been the best and worst thing that has happened. How he is losing himself. How he is finding himself.

“Thanks for coming,” Sephiroth says.

Orlin waits. A second of concern breaks across his smile before it disappears. Then he comes closer, digging in his pocket. “I got something else for you. It was supposed to be a graduation present and then I was thinking of sending it to you for your eighteenth birthday but when I found out that I would be coming early, I decided that now was the right time.”

A white materia comes out of his pocket. “I can’t handle it. I don’t want it. I want you to have it.”

Sephiroth blinks. This materia has passed down through Orlin’s family, carried over from where it was originally found and refined in Wutai. He’s seen it in use a few times. It’s powerful. Orlin’s swearing trying to control the magic inside was even stronger.

“None of my family members want it. I’m the last fighter and even I don’t feel like fighting.” Orlin pushes it into his hand. “So you are going to take care of it. Maybe you’ll be better at it than me. If not, just carry it for good luck. Got it?”

The materia is cold and smooth. It flickers awake in the back of his mind before Sephiroth shuts it out. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out but a choke. It’s been too much. He is cracking. He doesn’t have the strength for this kind of gift. His fingers wrap around it and then he drops his hand to his side.

He tries to count the grass, the little pebbles, the scuffs on his shoes, anything to keep the emotions at bay.

The shaking starts.

And there is nothing Sephiroth can do about it.

Orlin pulls him into a hug. A hand wraps around his head, pulling him even closer. Sephiroth can’t lift his arms so he just leans in, allowing his head to be buried in the standard Second shirt. His face stings as he fights back the tears.

“We’re going to make it through.”

Chapter Text

December, 1991

Sephiroth tries to keep his life orderly in his mind as he walks through the battlefield.

The battle is just over. The last of the enemy has either fled into the forest or is underfoot. Sephiroth chased them to the forest line before turning back. He could go in and find them but his energy is better used elsewhere. Shinra are making headway towards the heart of Wutai but the enemy is growing wiser. They attack Shinra’s supply chains. Consistent food and water disappears but it isn’t what worries Sephiroth the most.

Shinra weapons and artillery disappear and then show up tearing into the bellies of soldiers that are supposed to fire them.

It is an increasing problem.

Tactically, Sephiroth rushes forward in battle to attack the most dangerous units before they can kill his men. It isn’t enough.

Both sides bled heavily today.

He’s seen Orlin already. They tend to seek each other out if they fight together. They wave from across the field, knowing that through some miracle, they’ve made it through another battle.

But the blood sinks deep into their clothing.

Now Sephiroth walks the lines. He looks for destroyed faces of men he trained. It’s only taken him weeks to get used to the bodies. The searching stings but he doesn’t allow that emotion to continue. Once, he didn’t catch the wave of misemotion before it grew too much and the anxiety shut him down. 

It still hurts too much to get close to anyone or at least, it had been before he stopped. To them, he stands aloof and indifferent. What he is doing now is his compromise. His payment back for the rough detachment.  His ears strain as he steps over bodies. His sword hangs loose in his fingers at his side just in case.

The field is gouged out. The frozen dirt is soft and fragmented now under the smell of gore. Shinra troops gather together. Men yell as they find their comrades. Sephiroth can’t distinguish if they are cries of joy or grief. Multiple bases are involved in the attack today. He sees a few soldiers afar that look like they could be generals he’s met. Even they kept their distance. It doesn’t interest him. The silence in his ears is his priority.

A raspy breath catches his attention. It is so weak that he could barely pick it up.

Sephiroth shifts towards the left and looks. A couple bodies are stacked up near each other. One is missing a lower half and it is impossible to see who he fought for. Does it matter? He wonders idly at the destroyed body. The remaining two are from each side. Sephiroth moves. Another gasp for air cuts through the silence.

He focuses on the SOLDIER. The blue shirt is black and a spear stands upwards in his chest near his heart. His right arm is a muddled mess of muscle and blood. The helmet hides his face. Crouching down in the mud, Sephiroth holds the bare skin of his wrist near the slack mouth. The Third looks dead. Nothing moves. No breath touches him. The man’s lips are white. Was it the Wutai man next to him that made the noise?

He leans down next to the SOLDIER’s chest and holds his air in his lungs to minimize the noise. He closes his eyes. The crunching of the SOLDIERs nearby is too loud and then he hears the thick irregular beat of a dying heart. The corner of his lips twitch. Yes, he has found one.

“I’m here,” he says to the man and sinks to his knees in the bloody slush. It soaks through his pants. He lifts the man as carefully as he can. The head rolls dangerously as he sets it in his lap. The helmet comes off but Sephiroth ignores his face. The man’s limp arms fall to the ground on either side of him. The heart throbs raggedly. Sephiroth hurries.

Everything about this man looks bad. If Sephiroth had to guess, he took the hit to the chest with the spear and then a bomb exploded, destroying his arm. He’s been bleeding too long. It might be too late but that’s why Sephiroth did this. Because he knows, for him, it is not too late. 

Sephiroth takes the spear and yanks it out.

The responding spasm is weak and the only visible sign of life he has been given.

Sephiroth doesn’t need to dig for the materia. It is slotted and ready. The green glow covers the black leather of his gloves. He settles down, closing out everything else. He imagines himself centered in his mind. The dead weight presses his legs further into the freezing ground. The shoulders blades are sharp into thighs. It doesn’t matter. All the other emotions float away. They are unimportant. He is ready. Bending over the man in his lap, he places his hand over the hole that has already filled. Red specks on his own hair try to distract him but he pushes them away. A wet smear from his fingers is added to the others across his face.

Healing other SOLDIERs is child’s work compared to the wild battle of healing himself. The magic lulls in his head almost like a sweet headache and he feels it seep easily from his left hand into the man. Sephiroth controls the energy. Too much healing will force further shock and that can kill off what life is left. Too little and he finishes bleeding out. The SOLDIER’s heart beats again, almost in question.

Sephiroth bows over further.

It takes energy. Healing is a greedy beast. As Sephiroth siphons what is left after the battle into this man, he starts to feel his own condition. It’s not terrible. Just a couple scrapes from the battle but it is the chronic exhaustion that trips him. He pushes it through, leaning into the mako that would kill him if given the chance. R&D states his stamina is high above average. He’s been toeing the line for the last half year.

If the medics on the battlefield noticed this man, they would have given him a peaceful death. The cost of bringing someone this far back is too high for a normal person.

Sephiroth places his right hand on top of his left and leans further forward. The materia sucks greedily. His head feels light. Aches wake up in his back. Thoughts skew. Rafi, Mariella, Hojo, Orlin, even a face he doesn’t recognize, they all try to snag his concentration. 

He doesn’t stop. 

The heartbeat picks up. A puff of warm air brushes against his stomach. The wounds start to seal. The collapsed ribs snap back into arches, bumping up his fingers. Sephiroth’s eyes drip closed. A moan comes from under him. A twitch shakes his thighs. The pressure his hands can use weakens. The magic continues to drag out of him. Something cold drips out of his nose. He refuses to stop as the battlefield swims into colors around them.

He keeps giving.

The magic cuts off sharply, satisfied.

Sephiroth puts a hand on the ground next to them bending further over the SOLDIER and listens to the wild beating of his own heart. His hand fumbles for his pills pack clipped to his belt. He shivers. An emergency pill goes in his mouth dry and sticky. Cold sweat rolls off his face. He doesn’t have time for his stomach to work. Instead he crunches the pill, the bitterness a fresh feeling to add to the list and puts it under his tongue.

He closes his eyes as he waits for the medication to take hold. He is stiffening. This healing wasn’t too much but it was too close. An internal tremor runs through his arms. He needs to be careful. He can’t push it too much. There are people that care for him. He brushes at his nose. They slide easily, a fresh nosebleed.

First signs of his safety is the deep breath his body allows him to take. The pill takes hold, soothing his heart back into a normal rhythm. The smear of a battlefield around them defines again.

The man is still unconscious. Sephiroth shakily peels up the shirt and checks his chest. The skin is miraculously smooth. Only the crackling cover of dirt and gore tells him that the injury had been there at all. He snakes his free hand up to the man’s neck. The vein thrums solid and steady. He drags up to the dog tags by the chain. The SOLDIER ID number starts with a B. This man is one of his. Sometimes they aren’t. It doesn’t matter. They are all men in the same war. He wipes away the crusted muck from the name stamped under the number.

RHAPSODOS, GENESIS.

It takes him a moment to remember why that name strikes meaning in him. He’s the man from training who was dancing. He had asked for the name afterward. He was going to check the records in a few weeks to see if the man had improved but it had slipped his mind. 

He looks down with more interest. The soldier is more academic looking than the SOLDIER stereotype. He is not the expected type to stand between all the strong jaws and heavy eyebrows. Pink is returning to his cheeks but it is nearly impossible to see under the blood. Some of that blood, he realizes, is fresh. The nosebleed is dripping. Sephiroth tries to rub that away as his own body continues to calm. 

The green pill worked. His mind runs the way it always does right after a hard casting. What if someday it doesn’t work and he collapses in front of his men? What would they think of him then? If they knew how sick he is, underneath everything, would that be his fall?

He swallows air, ignoring those thoughts.

“Sephiroth?”

He looks up at the few medics that made it over to him.

“I found one.”

It’s the only thing he has to say. The medics keep his secret.

A SOLDIER guard watches with wide eyes as Sephiroth lifts the man off his lap and passes him over. He’ll trust the medics to tell him to keep this to himself. Getting up sets a wave of nausea through him but he conceals it. He waves off their offers to make sure that he is fine. As they mutter among themselves and direct a gurney to come, Sephiroth looks across the field. Sometimes if he doesn’t feel terrible, he goes for another.

Today, the shake in his fingers says otherwise.

Another figure across the field stops him from turning back to his tent. His stomach drops as the SOLDIER on the other side stills. They recognize each other. The medics don’t notice. Wires of adrenaline creep across him. He’s not tired now. The beat of his heart ticks up frantically. The physicality of the man is enough to tell him who it is. 

If it isn’t enough, the iconic long sword is silhouetted against the trees.

Dinand is there. He’s watching him. Anger bits deep into him. Sephiroth shouldn’t move. He shouldn’t go across the battlefield and make there be one more corpse on the grass. It isn’t his job to kill him. It isn’t his job to cut him down after everything that Dinand has done to him. He cannot right this wrong.

Dinand takes a step and stops again. Even from this distance, he can see the self assured smile like he is remembering fondly seeing Sephiroth sobbing into the tile in pain.

Sephiroth is sick. How can he stand there? How can he continue to be on this planet? Sephiroth’s boots are stuck in the mud. He tells himself that and tries to believe it. He can’t go forward but he can’t turn his back on the man who ruined any chance of a normal life. This is the man that broke him in a way that would never heal.

Dinand’s sword waivers and then he tucks it away under his arm.

He’s the one to turn away.

It knifes Sephiroth in the gut.

“Are you sure you are alright?” One of the medics says behind him.

“Yes. Perfectly.”

He makes it back towards the rear of the battlefield. 

The muscles take minutes to dispense with the adrenaline. A headache pounds against him and he keeps looking back to the spot where Dinand was. There are separate areas for each station. He kicks himself. He knew that Dinand would be around. He shouldn’t let it affect him. All those feelings should be boxed and put away. They should have withered and died. It is over now. He is an adult. The fear and shame of his childhood should mean nothing to him.

The shakes finally subside and he starts to limp as he enters his tent. His phone buzzes in his back pocket. 

Bored. Send selfie.

Sephiroth can’t help the laugh that comes out of him. After everything today, this happens. Rafi has still been insistent upon staying in communication. It’s the one part of his life that has stayed the same. His fingers leave smudges as he switches to camera mode for his own amusement. 

The sight is gruesome. For not being hurt, it sure looks like he has been run over by a tank. Drying blood runs out of his nostrils. Part of his hair is plastered back with mud from when he had to dive to avoid one of their missiles. Gore is splattered across his cheeks. He’s not sure who did that. The only thing clean are his eyes.

Why not?

He taps the button and sends the photo.

Hard to believe but this is a slow day. Washing up now.

He tosses the phone by his clean clothes and tries to allow Rafi to distract him. 

While everyone takes care of the finality of the battle, Sephiroth jots down the notes of what he will need to remember for this countless report. He peels off the combat gear. Mud crackles off and onto the floor. Red is soaked through his thighs, the SOLDIER’s blood most likely. The pants stick to his legs and hold their shape as they land on the ground. The shoes shed grass as he pries the buckles and the knots loose. He sets his metal bowl on the table and pours water in it. 

Habit comforts him. After every battle, he does this. The water soothes away the remaining fight. Noises don’t make him twitch as much and he only eyes the opening flap of his tent on occasion. The dried bits get soaked as he scrubs away at the general film of dirt. The water goes brown and he replaces it before leaning over and dunking his head in to loosen the muck in his hair. 

Massaging away the blood lessens the weight of the deaths that he could not prevent. He would get the statistics later and then he would have to justify them to the Board. It is his job, as an eighteen year old, to comfort adults on the deaths of thousands.

The screams outside have died away. The trucks are rumbling in. Dinand is miles away again. They would use this for the next camp towards the capital. Sephiroth won’t be staying here. He’ll go back to the main base to report on the battle and then he’ll check his schedule. Things rarely stay the same day to day. PR has been following him but they are making it apparent that he is needed in Midgar.

Orlin isn’t always around to help him keep his months straight. Their paths cross but don’t run parallel. Both of them are pieces on a chessboard controlled by someone else. Orlin’s charisma led him into mentoring a small subgroup of SOLDIERs, mostly Seconds. Shinra’s memory is long, they remembered who gave Sephiroth the casting skills he has. The group does operate under Sephiroth’s command but often the orders come from above. 

Orlin is good at it but he hates it.

Yet, they still talk. Sephiroth has someone to reach out to.

It stabilizes him slightly.

Is it enough? With no reference point of “normal” in his life, he has no idea.

The cold water rolls across his back as he straightens. He combs through his hair and puts on the fresh clothing. He wonders if Rafi would show some part of the life that he disappeared from.

He’s surprised. 

There is no return picture. She did message him back immediately.

…selfie?

Frowning, he checks that none of his reports are in the background, takes another photo and sends a message.

Did you think I wouldn’t get clean?

The phone registers her responding for several minutes.

He rubs the towel through his hair as he waits. Cleaning up immediately after battle used to be a requirement. Sephiroth has orders never to be seen “untidy” outside of combat. Now he does it naturally. He has another half an hour before the helicopter would be here for him. He needs to get everything packed again. SOLDIER did offer to give him an assistant to help but he declined. He can pack his own clothes and take care of himself.

Plus it would be one more pair of eyes watching him.

R&D are demanding to see him. Dodging the appointments has gotten harder but not impossible.

If the pills keep working, does he even need the department?

Outside the things he inflicts on himself, he is doing fine.

He checks the phone again. 

She’s still typing.

She must be giving him a full paragraph on how he should be cleaning more effectively.

The phone clicks against the desk. Papers go back in folders and he bags his field clothes.

A chime takes him back to the screen.

DUH.

Chapter Text

CLASSIFIED. CLEARANCE: EXECUTIVE. SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY. HARD COPY ONLY. STORAGE #31 - NIBELHEIM MANSION.

MEETING TITLE: “HOJO INTERVIEW # 2 of 3 (Excerpt)”
MEETING TRANSCRIPT #911229

Meeting Attendees: Professor Hojo, Project S
Date of Interview: 12.29.91
Location of Interview: Room 102J, Floor 28, HQ
List of Acronyms: 
Professor Hojo=H
Project S (Sephiroth)=S

Intelligent Verbatim Transcript

[Begin Transcript 00:00:02]

START OF EXCERPT

Professor Hojo (H): “Start of second interview with Sephiroth. It is the twenty-ninth of December ‘91 at 3:44 p.m.. This interview is four and a half weeks late and is taking place in the ICU of R&D in Shinra. Patient is deemed fully cognizant for the interview.”

[pause]

H: “Twenty-six appointments, Sephiroth.”

[no sound audible 00:23-00:35]

H [cont.]: “You have missed twenty-six appointments scheduled by R&D in the last seven months since you left for the front line. Two of them were scheduled with me.”

[pause]

H [cont.]: “Don’t look at me like that. You missed twenty-six appointments and then, finally, grew too ill for combat. Who do you think caused that?”

Project S (S): “I am no longer a child. I should be able to ask for help when I need help and refuse when I don’t.”

[01:00]

H: “And how exactly has that worked out for you?”

[pause]

H [cont.]: “Let’s find out, shall we?”

[papers shuffle]

H [cont.]: “This report says that cleaning staff found you throwing up in your quarters. You insisted it was a stomach bug. Poor choice of excuse might I add, in all the years of the SOLDIER program a ‘stomach bug’ has never been reported.”

S: “Good to know.”

H: “Cut the attitude.”

H [cont.]: “It took an additional five hours for your supervisor to wizen up as you didn’t report to duty. His report says you were still conscious at that point but ‘delusional with unfounded anxiety, sweating and experiencing acute pain with no visible cause’. The emergency medicine did not work either by mouth or intravenously.”

[no sound audible 01:42-01:52]

H [cont.]: “By the time R&D was dispatched and arrived, the only way to take care of you was to bring you back to Midgar and directly into the ICU. Do you know how bad this looks?”

S: “I have been feeling healthy for months. The appointments did not seem necessary.” 

[02:00]

H: “Here you are. In one of our beds once again. Hooked up to our machines and suffering the consequences.”

S: “I am not sure what you want me to say. Do you want me to express remorse that my medication became ineffective? The emergency pill did not work.”

H: “You were too far gone. No simple combination of chemicals in a solid form ingested by your body was going to bring you back from your self induced flagellation.”

S: “I have been healthy.”

H: “Why don’t you allow the people that have higher education to determine that? The people that are paid to take care of you.”

S: “Being a First has made me prioritize my time.”

H: “Ah yes, the slaughter of thousands is a busy task but how many of our people will be killed now in your negligence?”

S: “When will I go back to the field?”

H: “This is an interview. I am the one asking the questions.”

[pause]

[Professor Hojo sighs.]

H [cont.]: “Let us proceed to the banality then. Statistically, you are one of the most lethal members of SOLDIER. In the last seven months you have killed more than we can properly count. How do you feel about this?”

S: “I do my duty.”

H: “Do your duty. That is an easy sword to fall on. How do you feel about having ended so many lives?”

S: “I try not to think about it.”

H: “I have heard about your own personal crusade, where you go around after battles and heal the SOLDIERs you can find. It is adorable but what do you think that it truly accomplishes?”

[03:00]

S: “My job is to support my men.”

H: “The attacks led by you have had the highest casualties.”

S: “And have been dictated to be the most aggressive by the Board. I lead my men but I take the orders of where and how from above.”

H: “So it is Shinra’s fault?”

S: “None of us would be attacking Wutai if it was not for Shinra.”

[typing]

H: “There is only one other SOLDIER that is estimated to have killed more than you. Any guesses?”

S: “There is no need.”

H: “It is only fitting that it is a mentor and mentee. Do you attribute your success to Dinand?”

S: “No.”

H: “He trained you for years in the art of combat. If it wasn’t for you, he would have made First already. I think he is due for a promotion, what do you think?”

S: “I have given it no thought.”

H: “You don’t think about him?”

S: “I know that Shinra has supported my training but I feel as if Dinand and I have never been a good match.”

H: “How would you categorize that relationship?”

[04:00]

[no sound audible 04:01-04:30]

H [cont.]: “Answer the question, Sephiroth.”

S: “I would rather not answer this question.”

H: “Independence is not a good trait for a SOLDIER. I need clear answers for my data.”

S: “…I don’t understand why you feel the need for me to answer this . You have the reports. You know.”

H: “Take this seriously. Remember. You are on permanent loan from our department to SOLDIER? That you belong in this room?”

[pause]

H [cont.]: “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

S: “I do not feel well enough.”

H: “That’s no escape for you. If you do not answer now, I will force Mariella to come and ask you this question or any of my other questions until we get an answer. Only then, will I approve the release for your new dosage in a pill pack and send you back.”

H [cont.]: “Don’t look at me like that. Wutai did this to you. We just have to deal with the broken pieces.”

S: “I don’t believe that I am broken.”

H: “And I am a parent, not a scientist. Answer the question, Sephiroth.”

[Professor Hojo sighs]

H [cont.]: “I’ll repeat my question. How would you categorize your relationship with Dinand?”

S: “Unhealthy.”

H: “Dinand has often reported you as being too sensitive. I am inclined to believe him.”

[pause]

H [cont.]: “This would also explain your futile attempts to heal SOLDIERs on the battlefield afterward. Why don’t you let the medics do their job?”

[5:00]

S: “Because only I can save them.”

H: “So you are special too? You are your men’s savor? I hear that a god complex is unfortunate.”

S: “You misunderstand.”

H: “Oh? So tell me.”

S: “I care about my men. That is all there is.”

H: “Not trying to hopelessly prove your worth?”

S: “No.”

H: “I believe we will have to agree to disagree.”

S: “I perform my duties adequately.”

H: “Hmm…next question, who have you been intimate with?”

S: “Excuse me?”

H: “Sexual intercourse. Or do you need me to explain this to you too? Shall I draw you an illustration?”

S: “I understand that but what does that-”

H: “For this research, I need a comprehensive psychological profile. You have lived in a high stress environment. Isolated. You are young. Impressionable. Clearly. Who have you had sexual relations with?”

S: “…none.”

H: “None what?”

S: “I don’t do that. I haven’t done it.”

[6:00]

H: “Clarity is a valued trait.”

S: “I haven’t slept with anyone.”

H: “No? Not at all? Gender doesn’t matter.”

S: “No.”

H: “Not even with Rafiya?”

S: “Rafi? Gods no. How do you know about her?”

H: “She appears to be a candidate.”

S: “She isn’t.”

H: “But why is that? Has she not worked hard enough at you? Are you still falling on some sense of honor that’s not yet broken? PR has done a wonderful job of making you into a playboy. You act like you drip sex off of you in every picture that graces my screen. Normal women fall to their knees for you.”

S: “I’m eighteen and command men.”

H: “So? You act older.”

S: “There has never been the time.”

H: “The average time for a man is ten minutes.”

S: “I have answered your question.”

H: “When did you grow a mouth?”

S: “When I was forced to grow up.”

H: “But you still haven’t learned to use it, hmm? At least you are still a child in one respect.”

S: “What’s your next question?”

[End of Excerpt at 00:06:47. See audio drive or following transcript for the remaining 23:11 minutes of Interview 2 of 3. Transcribed by Edin Morse. Reviewed and verified by Mariella Haynes.]

Chapter Text

January, 1992

“I’ll see you tonight. Room 722.”

The woman in front of Sephiroth smiles and slips a hotel card in his breast pocket. Her fingers rest on his suit and her eyes crawl over him looking for the connection. He doesn’t move. Her fingers drag down the red fabric of his jacket. How that slip of a dress stays on her is a complete mystery to him. She steps back. One more soft smile comes across her painted lips. It would be enchanting to most. Then she disappears into the crowd at the winter gala.

Sephiroth sighs. The orchestra drones in the large room. Crystals hang from the ceiling like snow. The marble floor is covered with the richest of the rich of Midgar as they celebrate the end of the year. From the corner that he’s tucked into, the sight is a beautiful painting. The women are in lavish dresses. The men are dressed in suits pressed into straight lines. Only around the edge are flashes of legs and modernity.

He has been placed here, another feature to keep their sponsors happy as they pay for the war.

He aches. His mind turned off hours ago. It’s barely midnight and he wants to drag himself back up to his room and give up this charade. Shinra jerks his leash. PR’s written orders come to mind. He must stay at or near the party until the early hours of the morning. He must talk to guests. He must offer dances to specific women with rich husbands. He must humor these idiots where he can. He must perform. Even what he wears, a deep red suit that makes his hair a brilliant white, was laid out for him.

They paint him in blood and power.

At least he had switched out the white undershirt for a black one. He’s not innocent any longer. There is no reason to pretend.

The red wine rolls down his throat. He dips his hand into his breast pocket and finds the plastic card. It’s thin between his fingers. It goes into his pants pocket where it clicks along with the others. Laughter breaks the noise level. The loudness makes him shift his weight. His mind calculates what he could use to fight. It’s too late in the evening for this.

His eyes roll across the dancers aimlessly. He has completed all the required tasks. Now he has to wait and then it will be over. He doesn’t want to think about how these people are funding the deaths of the men that he sees everyday. Do they even know where Wutai is?

His attention snags.

Across the room, the Vice President stares at him combing over Sephiroth’s face and hair. He is tucked at a table surrounded by guests. Clearly, the people talking are not enough as his head turns ever so at their contact across the room. Those eyes aren’t needy like the woman. They are possessive. Everything he sees is his birthright. Sephiroth turns away. Who will be the poor man who falls for the VP tonight? His broken heart will be strung out and added to the ones staining the shirt around Rufus’ neck.

He dodges the groups as he slips out of the main hall. Rufus’ gaze needles him the whole way. The hallway is empty as he walks out. It’s a relief to his ears as the din dies. Alone. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, trying to pull the snags free at the end. Another thing that PR has decided to control. Long hair, they say, will be perfect.

He misses the short cut.

The silence feels like a blanket. Idly, he walks towards the front lobby, taking his time with this task. He mentally plucks at the knitted muscles in his neck and back. His fingers are loose because he’s trained them to be. If not, they would have been in fists. The air feels cold. Public likes to touch him. Tonight has been no different. Strangers put their fingers on his arms, chest, back, body, anywhere, to prove that he is real. It makes his skin crawl. He has to allow it. Even when every part of him wants to lash out and break every bone in front of him, his only defense is a patient look.

He is familiar with the lobby as he comes to it. It stretches upwards like a courtyard, revealing the twenty levels of rooms. Couches and even a small restaurant fill the space. Dancing elevators run up and down one side. Shinra spared no expense. He digs the plastic cards out of his pockets and goes to a help desk.

Surprise flickers behind the employee’s eyes for a moment before she smooths it over with a smile. “How can I help you tonight, sir?”

Couldn’t he just be unremarkable for once?

“These were given to me. I don’t need them.” He puts the cards on the counter. “Can you do the following for each room?” He adds a small printed paper to the pile. The instructions are simple: send a single rose with chocolate to each room with a PR crafted note and a credit card number to charge for the service. The note varies from event to event, just in case there is a repeat attempt.

 She reads the note and the smile breaks. “Of course, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“Taking a break too?” A voice asks to his left.

Sephiroth half turns, already knowing who it is. A Turk relaxes in one of the couches nearby. He’s one of the newer additions. Still, he is one of the few that bother to speak to him so Sephiroth has equally bothered to remember his name. 

“Returning these.”

Tseng takes a drink out of a short glass in his hand. “Humor me. How many tonight? The Turks keep a bet when they can.”

He glances at the woman. She counts them. “Eight.”

“Did you ever keep any?”

“No.”

“Some of those women seem more than keen.”

They are keen for a man who doesn’t exist.

Instead he says, “Casual is not my preference.”

“Good for you.”

“Are you in the VP’s compliment tonight?”

“I’m on the job, yes.”

Sephiroth doesn’t prod the evasiveness of the answer. Shinra keeps them tied tight. Having occasionally worked with the Turks, he knows how important it is to keep secrecy. Sephiroth walks over and leans against the back of an armchair. He hears whispers behind him. A camera clicks. He ignores it. 

“Long night?” Tseng focuses behind him before returning to him.

“You could say that.”

Tseng raises his eyebrows and takes another drink out of his glass.

“Drinking on the job,” Sephiroth comments.

“I could say the same for you.” 

The glass of wine still hangs in his hand. It’s a prop, what people expect of him, he refuses to drink outside of these functions. There is no need.

“I don’t have a gun tucked in the back of my pants.”

Tseng laughs deep in his chest. “Oh you don’t need one, Sephiroth. You could kill everyone in this room, including myself, without a weapon or materia.”

Sephiroth untangles himself from the chair. “Fair weather on your assignment.”

“Always.” The Turk’s look is steel.

Sephiroth doesn’t respond to it. He should get back to the ballroom before he is missed.

His phone stops him halfway back. It continues to buzz until he pays attention to it. Rafi is annoyed by her final exam score. Sephiroth leans against a wall, texts her back that he’s working an event and thumbs the phone to mute. He’ll get back to her. Being seen actively texting would be taken as a sign that he doesn’t want to be here. This is yet another behavior that PR has scolded him on.

The list of his problematic behaviors is stifling.

Somehow there is always one more to add to the list.

“Does he understand that pain is a normal part of the process?”

Sephiroth’s attention snaps up. Another familiar voice echoes down the hall. He waits, leaning against the wallpaper. The heels tap against the carpet.

“Fine. Increase the dosage of fentanyl but no more. That drama boy’s body is already working overtime with the soak. It might knock him out. Could be a blessing. Text me the results. I’m at the gala so I can’t take another phone call.”

Mariella clicks around the corner, rolling her eyes at her phone. He’s seen her in the  black dress several times now but it always surprises him. Her practical apparel is strict and regulatory. It is necessary for her job since sometimes she still supervises exposures herself. This dress fits her in a different way. It shows that she is a person and a woman outside the weight that Shinra put on her.

The annoyance drops away from her face as she spots him leaning up against the wall. 

She smiles. “Taking a phone break too?”

“Maybe. I didn’t see you here earlier.” He toys with standing up formally but decides against it. This is Mariella. She will not expect what the others do.

“I got called in late. A donor had SOLDIER questions. Thea had to spirit my outfit here.” She stops near him. “I assure you, the donor could have had his questions answered by searching the internet.”

“They are always that way.”

His attention draws to the dress strap that has slipped. A scar, white and brilliant in the fluorescent lights, digs under her collarbone. It’s a gunshot wound. He didn’t know that when he was younger. The surgical scar cuts through it. It had been complicated. He had asked once. She had said it had happened in a different life and that was the end of the matter.

“How’s Orlin?” She hadn’t noticed his stare and he drags his eyes away from whatever mistake got her shot.

“He’s doing fine. We both are.” It’s barely the truth.

Mariella’s face flickers. “I’m sorry about Dinand.”

Sephiroth fights the emotions in him. After he grew sick and had to be returned to Midgar, Shinra had to transfer Dinand to Sephiroth’s base for security purposes. In the process and with a recommendation from a certain VIP, the transfer raised him to First. Sephiroth found out shortly after his horror of an interview with Hojo. The HR email kept him up for three days in the ICU. The announcement photo showed Dinand with his arms crossed and eyes staring down the lens. The black shirt was wrong. It is so entirely wrong. How could someone who had done something so terrible earn the rank of First?

He refused to tell the nurses why he couldn't sleep.

The doctors didn’t warn him when they finally slipped something into his IV and he had drifted off.

Dinand will still be at his base when Sephiroth returns to Wutai. He tries to put it out of his mind and promises to keep distance between them. He has already written up the request that Dinand be transferred back to his previous location. That will handle it.

Mariella checks her phone. “I’ve got an infamous drama queen in exposure. Have you heard about him yet?”

“Infamous?” He shifts thankful for another topic.

She shakes her head and slips her phone away. “Lazard is flagging them both for possible new Firsts, depending how they take this second round of mako and their performance after. Friends since childhood. It’s cute. One adores you.”

That tightens his throat. “That’s misguided.”

“Sephiroth, you are doing a great job.”

That makes his emotions break through the mask on his face for a moment. She’s just lying to help him and to help herself with all of this. Tension moves in him tighter and tighter. He’s ridged against the wall. Neither the woman tonight nor Tseng's comment had helped him. It shouldn’t have bothered him. They are compliments technically. 

Mariella pauses a moment and then speaks, “Everything okay?”

She’s seen him at his worst. She’s seen him bleeding in his bed after Dinand’s final attack or even earlier, the earliest memory he has, of Wutai’s torture ending him in her arms. There is no illusion when she asks this question. She already knows the answer. She’s not asking about his emotional state. She’s asking him if he wants to talk about it.

He drops his hands by his side. “I’m not getting as much sleep these days. Shinra keeps me busy.”

It’s a half truth. Mariella nods. She’s not even surprised. “You aren’t taking the sleeping pills?”

“No.”

“Even when you are here at Midgar?”

“No.” 

He couldn’t stand them.

Again, the understanding is easy on her face. She waits for him to say more. He holds her gaze and tries to tell her again what’s really wrong. He’s not sure how she doesn’t see what everyone else wants to see. They see the sex appeal, the posters, the destruction, the power, the allure that Shinra has painted around him. It’s not untrue but it is like a glass ball. The illusion gives depth that isn’t there.

He swallows, dryly. “You look nice.”

It makes her laugh. “You do too.”

He weaves his hands. He doesn’t want to handle these emotions.

“Dance with me.”

He looks up at her. “Sorry?”

“I changed your diaper for two years. If you don’t want to talk about it, the least I can do is have you ask me for a dance in that expensive ballroom. Make the time go faster.”

He pushes off the wall and straightens. It is easy to fall back into formality. The emotion automatically shuts down. 

He performs, leaning into a slight bow and extending a hand. “Mariella Haynes, may I have the next dance?”

“Who is asking?”

He pauses. The room drops in temperature. He drops into a true half bow, hair rolling over his shoulder and his hand extending. It is a mockery of a prince’s bow. Clarence worked with him three hours to get it right. It’s the one he has used on every old rich woman on his list.

“Sephiroth, ma’am, SOLDIER First Class in Shinra’s Commanding SOLDIER Forces in the prevailing Wutai War.” He writhes in himself as the title plays along. The words drill into the floor. He can’t look at her so he studies the flower pattern on the carpet. Mariella wants the dream that all the rich women wanted tonight. He’ll deliver it. Whore himself out to her as well. Why not.

“No.”

That makes him hitch and look up, hand halfway between them.

Her face is calm and unamused as she comes over and grasps his fingers. He straightens, uncertain, standing higher than her now. Part of him remembers when he used to look up at her. Her eyes show an unexplained emotion.

“Is it still possible to just dance with Sephiroth? The boy I knew once?”

“Of course,” he says, ignoring the jerk in his stomach. 

How could she not see that he doesn’t exist anymore? That the boy died on the battlefield or even earlier, screaming on the floor of the sim?

The relief on her face makes the lie twist in him.

“That is an invitation I would accept.”

Chapter Text

CLASSIFIED. CLEARANCE: EXECUTIVE. SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY. HARD COPY ONLY. STORAGE #31 - NIBELHEIM MANSION.

Project S Report #920401

SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY
Department of Public Safety - Investigation Section of the General Affairs Department “Turks”
Subject ID: #54924
Staff Assigned: Classified.
Report: 04/01/1992

Summary: The conditions of the Subject ID #54924 Program set by the Director of the Research & Development Department have been flagged.

Proposal: Two appointed Turk personnel need to be authorized to survey the situation and take action as required.

Action: Approved - 04/01/1992

Report:

On March 30th, Surveillance flagged and reported the following phone text conversation between Subject ID #54924 (further referred to as “R”) and Subject ID #1227 (further referred to as “S”).

Document A Excerpt (sent between 20:13-22:22):

R: Hey [S]. What are you up to?
S: Dinner and a show.
R: WHAT ARE YOU WATCHING?
S: Footage from a battle from the south. We’re trying to find adequate combat patterns.
R: …
R: You think you are funny, don’t you?
S: Yes.
R: Hush. Hey. I need to see you, like, in person. I know you have too many vacation days. Can we meet?
S: Yes. Of course.
R: I know I need to come to you, right? So how close do I need to get?
S: Mideast continent at least. I can’t go any further away from Wutai.
R: Right. Let me figure it out. I’ll get back to you. Watch something fun.
R: Here. This is a video of cats drunk on catnip. [link removed]
S: I’ll watch it later after I finish the battle footage.

[86 minutes pass]
R: Okay. How about this little janky town called Tersdi? It’s like closeish to Rocket Town? I can afford it basically. I can get away on April 7th. We can hang out for a day or two?
S: I’ll put in the time off request.
R: You are the best. <3

[remainder of Excerpt of Document A attached.] 

A follow-up telephone call is attached for March 31st (Document B - Audio Transcript) in which the travel information is confirmed between the two parties. 

We have confirmed that two reservations for both R and S have been made for April 7th and 8th at Oak Manor Hotel. S has requested the vacation time and has arranged for travel. It has been approved by S’ commanding officer.

Two Turks that are not familiar to S are needed to tail them to ensure that they do not need to fulfill the standing orders regarding the relationship between R and S. The hotel room cannot be bugged due to S’s level of training in surveillance. Neither R or S turn off their phones so primary surveillance shall be through their telecommunication devices.

If conditions are met, Shinra will be in direct violation of Clause 32A in classified document (J&S 84) issued and approved by the Board of Directors of Shinra and VIPs. It is proposed that Subject ID #1227 “S” has more value to the Company than Subject ID #54924 “R”. To further preserve “S” and to not proceed to the executive function in classified document (J&S 84), the Turks need standing orders and clearance to proceed with Proposal 2.

Overseeing Agent for S will attempt to confirm with S that interactions of a sexual matter have taken place before Proposal 2 is implemented.

The full Proposal 2 mission (Document C) is attached detailing possible manners of removal. 

Subject ID #1227 program continues regardless of outcome.

Chapter Text

April, 1992

Sephiroth feels nerves in his throat as he enters the lobby of the hotel. Tersdi is a respectable town north of Rocket Town and for some reason Rafi has decided to visit him here. It’s a clever spot, he has to give her that. It’s far enough from the war to not be dangerous but close enough that he can travel to it.

She didn’t say why.

So he came without another question. After all the texts and support over the years, she deserved that.

The lobby is small but has a fireplace with two chairs. Rafi stands from one of those chairs as he enters. She’s grown. She’s taller and some of the cheerfulness has fallen away from her face. That doesn’t stop her from smiling as he pauses, unsure of why he is here.

“Seph.” She grins and closes the distance between them. Her hand comes on his arm and she squeezes. “It’s so good to actually see you.”

“It’s still Sephiroth.” He catches her hand and holds it away from him. “And it’s nice to see you too.”

But there is ice in his stomach. Why are they here? Pain is in the back of her eyes, hidden behind a careful veil. A couple other people pass through the lobby. A man in a suit talks to the hotel receptionist. Sephiroth unconsciously tries to keep track of them. A habit that would be deadly to break now in his line of work.

She holds her breath and lets it out, dropping out from his hand. “Come on, I want to catch up.”

There is nothing to catch up on. They text all the time. He manages a half smile and hefts the overnight bag he’s packed. He can check into his own room later. She leads him to the elevator. Her shoulders are straight across.

“Are they still making you grow out your hair?” Her voice is practiced as she punches the button.

“Yes.”

“Dinand still at the base with you?” She studies her shoes for a minute.

“Yes.”

“Shit.”

“Yes.” The pain flares in his chest but he suppresses it.

“How was the flight?”

“Fine.”

She flashes a smile up at him. “How many questions can you answer with one syllable?”

“Lots.”

She puffs out a laugh. It drops the tension. The doors open. He doesn’t say anything. Part of his mind is already trying to categorize everything, saving every bit of this experience. She fidgets in the elevator and watches the numbers go up. She’s wearing her hair differently. The length is gone. It’s short and explodes out in curls. It is one thing in pictures. The volume is incredible in person.

He stays carefully behind her as she leads him through the hall. The space seems important and she doesn’t slow to close the gap. There is still a sword on his back. Her eyes had rested on it once but have avoided it since. They are close enough to the front line that he may need it.

The keycard opens the door into a modest room. The view shows a strip of the North Sea from between cream blinds. The bed is made and a bag is on it. A stuffed chair has been dragged up to the desk. Rafi stops in the middle of the room as Sephiroth lets the door close. It clicks and the lock rumbles into place.

He stands and waits.

Rafi waves her hands around, helpless. “I know you are probably used to nicer accommodations but it’s a college budget over here. The flight wasn’t cheap. At least the bathroom is nice. No hair or bugs, you know?”

Sephiroth doesn’t move. He practices breathing slowly, trying to keep the panic at bay.

“I-” Her eyes flick around. She bites her lip. She sways a moment, two thoughts fighting for a place in her mind.

Then she steadies and looks at him, tears in the corner of her eyes. “I need to talk. I need to talk to you.”

“I know.” Sephiroth nods. The panic flares. He can’t lose her. He’s ready for the feeling. He clamps on it hard, dragging it down into darkness.

She nods back and takes the desk chair.

Sephiroth forces his movements to be slow and controlled. The sword clunks off his back and he sets it against the bathroom door. The overnight bag sits parallel to the wall. He thinks about slipping off his combat boots but decides against it. She’s still wearing her shoes. He straightens as he walks to the chair, knowing everything will be somehow different by the time he leaves it. The chair squeals under his weight.

He tries to arrange himself casually, leaning forward with his hands clasped. He hopes she doesn’t see the white knuckles.

She laughs. “Some of my friends don’t believe me when I say that I talk with the Sephiroth. You know?”

“I suppose that could be the case.” The words feel diplomatic.

“It’s been so long. You-we’ve both changed so much.”

A rock is growing in his throat. “We’ve known each other for many years.”

“Gods, you look… great .” Her eyes eat him. The white shirt he wears is missing the top button. She stares at his collarbones before coming back up to his face. The pain is at the surface. She knows to remember this moment too.

“You do too.”

She blushes. “It’s a dumb thing but can you turn off your phone? I wanted to talk to you. No call. No text. No interruptions. No Shinra. Just us. ‘Kay?”

“Sure.” He pulls it out and waits until it goes as blank as his mind. He sets it on the table.

“Silly, right? You are a big deal and like what if someone hacks our phones? I don’t want our conversation out there.” She checks her phone. The screen is dead. She tosses it on the bed.

“Of course. I’m here for you.” He’s losing so much ground in his head with no way to get it back. The only person his age that he talks to is slipping away.

“You’ve been fighting over a year now. I’ve…missed you. A lot.” She looks away. Her painted nails work against each other. “I love texting with you. Don’t get me wrong. Selfies are great. Always will be. And you are funny. In your own way. The distance has been hard and well, I think, or I think I realized, that we think about each other differently.”

The fingers stop working and a fake smile comes over her. “I’m going to start dating, Sephiroth.”

He fights to not bow his head. This will change things. Their eye contact doesn’t shake but they both struggle in it. He should have seen this coming before. Guilt comes into her. That expression makes him lean back until the chair stops him.

“You’ve started, haven’t you?”

“Almost. A guy named Trevor.” A real flicker of a smile that breaks him. “He’s wanted to go out with me for the last couple months. I know we never really made it but I still wanted to tell you before not in a text. I’m not asking permission or anything but you know, I wanted you to know.”

He can’t see her. This is it. Their friendship is cut adrift. Rafi won’t be able to keep her attention straight. She’ll probably disappear from his life. Another part of his life that has kept him from being lost, snapped away. It’s terrifying.

“Can,” He tries to make the sentence come out smooth and it doesn’t. It breaks in weakness and he starts again. “Can we still be friends?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“…just okay? You’re okay?”

He nods, numb.

She laughs, loud and long. “Things will probably change a little. That’s another reason I wanted to talk. He’s not the possessive type but I might be more occupied so I wanted us to spend some time together.”

“Alright. Thanks for letting me know.” He weaves his fingers together.

Her arms roll over the side of the chair in relief. “ Damn Seph.”

“Sephiroth.”

His brain clicks, building a defense. He isn’t going to stay here. The trip is an overnight. The plane that is supposed to take him back in the morning is sitting waiting. He blinks. This might be the last time he sees her in person.

A deck of cards are in her hands as he snaps his focus back to the present. “Well, friend , how about a couple rounds of Speed?”

He’s not sure if he can take it but he nods. Rafi shoves something familiar at him. The cards thrum against each other as they mix. A smile hangs relaxed on her face. Her eyes cloud over. He swallows and then swallows again. Cards come sliding across the table at him. Without his control, they come into his hand. The eyes printed on the faces of the cards look dead.

She wins three games in a row.

She continues to plow forward as if she hasn’t noticed but her eyes catch him on occasion.

He doesn’t try. He has no attention for this. He does it because she wants to and he keeps trying to formulate the right words in his head. Each time he gets close, they collapse like a house of cards.

He’s going to lose her. No. He’s lost her. The only teen friend he really had. She’s already admitted she’ll be more distracted. He’s seen her for years abandon things for more interesting ones. She’ll disappear. The only friend that will ever have known him before Shinra sunk their teeth so far into him that he doesn’t know the trained traits from the organic ones.

His hand of cards clicks on the table as he sets them down mid game.

“Rafi.”

She stills. She struggles to look at him.

“I’ve loved your company. It’s…made a difference.” It feels like a concession to his real feelings. He’s clung onto her. She is, no, was his normalcy. She reminded him of a life to dream of. She reminded him to be his age.

“Aww, things aren’t going to change that much. Don’t be a drama queen.” She reaches forward and puts her hands on his. “Want a late dinner? There is a place nearby.”

“No.” It comes out cold.

The fingers slip away. He feels the warmth disappear. The last time she would do that.

He shakes himself. “No, I ate on the plane. Sorry. Long day. Let’s catch breakfast tomorrow.”

He’s standing and straightening. The phone goes back in his pocket.

Her smile falters.

“Yeah.”

He rolls a shoulder, trying to be more normal, trying to ignore everything inside. He’ll text her later that something came up and he had to leave unexpectedly. The path is straight and laid out in his head now. She’ll understand that. She hovers behind his steps as he walks back towards the door. Her hand holds onto her other elbow.

“Shinra. They keep me busy. I’ll be fine, Rafi,” he says as he takes the sword and locks it back in place. “I’m tougher now.”

He opens the door quickly and walks out. He couldn’t stand a goodbye. The combat boots clomp against the floor. He focuses on his chin. It keeps drooping. The elevator is straight ahead. A guy is already waiting for it to come. It’ll be soon then. Out of the building and into the fresh air. It’ll do him some good.

“Sephiroth!”

No. He shouldn’t turn back. He does anyways. Rafi inches towards him, his overnight bag held with both her hands.

“Always a dumby,” She huffs.

“Maybe.” He closes the space between them. She drops the bag at his feet and hugs him. Her hands go wide and he stumbles back as he catches her embrace. He half holds her off the ground as she wraps her arms around his neck and buries her face next to his. She still, somehow, smells the same.

“I waited as long as I could. Thank you.” It’s a whisper.

He squeezes her as hard as he dares. His fingers splay against her back. He tries to give her everything that he feels for her. He could never be in a relationship with her. She’s a friend, a sister, a peer, a confidant. She kisses him softly on the cheek. 

Carefully, he lowers Rafi. Her toes touch his before he leans further forward and lets go. She’s right. It’s time. He’s being selfish.

He takes the bag and forces a smile that doesn’t feel entirely fake. “Don’t get yourself into trouble.”

“I always do.”

He shakes his head but the elevator bings behind him. He gives her one more glance. She puts her hands on her hips. Her eyes are amused as she waves and points behind him. He makes it and by the time he turns around, the hallway is gone. The space is anonymous. The man in the elevator gives him one long look before focusing on his phone.

He cancels his reservation and the hotel disappears behind him. The air is cool and the stars are out. He looks up at them and blinks, trying to dry his eyes. He keeps walking, dropping the pieces of Rafi and himself that he can’t bare to lose behind him. He needs to let her go. He’s not wanted anymore. Every person has a finite amount of time. She’s choosing to spend it with someone else. The town turns into a long road to the airstrip. He’s not afraid. The woods mean nothing. They are empty here.

It’s a small plane buzzing overhead that reminds him that he has not called the pilot to meet him at the airstrip.

He pulls out his phone and waits for it to wake up. It’s still off. Sighing, he powers it up. It buzzes angrily.

Mariella tried to call him six times within ten minutes.

Strange.

He dials back as he walks in the starlight.

“Sephiroth,” Mariella says, “why didn’t you call me?”

“Sorry, my phone was off. Everything alright?”

“Everything is fine.” It must be a bad signal because it sounds like Mariella sounds hoarse. “Did you have a good day? Aren’t you on vacation to see Rafi today?”

Sephiroth pauses, holds his breath, tries to lie but it all hurts too much. “I got some bad news.”

“Oh no.”

He can’t push it. Everything with Rafi is still fresh and raw. Mariella can’t help him now in the middle of nowhere anyways.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He walks a little faster. “No. I checked out of the hotel. I’m heading back to the front. It’s done.”

His own words hang on him. The line goes dead for a minute. His legs want to break into a run, to put more distance between the two of them, to separate himself from the hurt.

“Laugh at me all you want but…you know how to use protection, right?”

“What?”

“With Rafi…”

That makes him laugh in a way that stings. “Why are you asking that?”

“Come on, you went to a hotel just to see the girl you have been hanging out with for years. I just want you to be safe.”

“I-” His throat cuts him off. He shakes it off and pulls himself together. “Rafi and I aren’t like that.”

“So you didn’t…?”

“No. She wanted to tell me something. That’s all.” The grief catches fire and fills his voice. “Why do you care? Why does everyone care about this?”

Mariella pauses. “Sephiroth, I’m trying to help. You don’t need a child in your life right now.”

She’s right. He sighs and looks away, trying to find a path through this but seeing nothing.

“So no children to worry about?”

“No,” he says softly, “I wouldn’t.”

“I’ve got to go, Sephiroth. I’m still at work and they’re telling me there is an emergency. Take care of yourself.”

He nods, tries to pull himself together, there are bigger problems out there in the world. He knows that. This is inconsequential.

It doesn’t work. He stops in the middle of the road.

He presses his hand against his face, trying to school everything inside of him that is bursting out.

The phone waits for his reply.

“Have a good night, Mariella,” he manages.

The line is already dead.

Chapter Text

1992-1993

Rafi stops responding to texts slowly.

She drifts away. At first the selfies and the texts come normally. Then Trevor appears in the corner with his blonde hair and normal eyes. She starts talking about their trips, about their coffee shop dates, about a life that seems so remote that can’t exist when all Sephiroth does is end people’s lives. The complaints disappear. The way she can carry the conversation when he cannot dries up.

He usually never sends unprompted texts but they start to pile up like a hope. He even adds a selfie. His own face looks grim in the photo. He can’t smile for it.

A short response comes back two days late.

Later an apology comes for being absent but no promise to try to be better.

Sephiroth texts that he understands.

A smiling selfie that shows a hickey arrives as a response.

He doesn’t respond back and he hopes something else will come that he can respond to.

And then she disappears entirely.

His phone dies in significance. He automatically checks for messages that don’t come. The notifications stay at zero. He starts to forget to look. It’s bitter and sour in him.

It’s not that Rafi has Trevor. It’s an odd thought but not entirely unwelcome. She’s always been a good friend to him. It’s more that she’s disappeared and left him to deal with the silences in his mind. That the quiet moments have started to stretch out longer and become more painful. 

She’s moved on from their friendship, intentionally or not. 

Or maybe it is him. He’s too polished. His face is plastered all over Midgar and the surrounding area. He’s a killer, a murderer, a SOLDIER. He’s a general in the Shinra army. He deals in blood and lives as easily as he breathes. He ends people as real as her everyday. She could have been afraid of him and lied out of fear. The reasons for her to put a facade on and lie to him stack up so high that he stops looking and tries to move on.

Then war comes for him.

It takes a rusty knife and starts to carve piece after bloody piece out of him. Things that used to matter don’t anymore. His life strains under pressure. His memory starts to falter. Something starts to form under his heart. He doesn’t have the strength to care. He wants to move on. He wants to forget.

The next battle hurts more than he imagines.

First, Dinand is in the corner of his eye. 

They don’t talk. Sephiroth tries to not be in the same room as him but Shinra is pushing them closer.

Orlin’s eyes darken whenever he sees Dinand. The SOLDIERs talk under their breath. They can’t know but Sephiroth feels the embarrassment and shame anyways. The transfer papers for Dinand to go back to his own base are halted. Sephiroth finds that a higher up is holding them in limbo. 

Several SOLDIERs whisper what it will be like to have both of them on the battlefield at once. Dinand hears them too. Sephiroth is sure of that. They stand on opposite sides of the training fields. His ex-mentor’s smile sends Sephiroth’s weight shifting on his feet.

The possessive aggression is not hidden. It’s projected and wholly unnerving.

Sephiroth and Dinand get assigned to the same battle for the first time.

The attack is short lived. Sephiroth takes the left wing. Dinand heads to the right. This is what they are told to do. The enemies fall as easily as before. Several of the enemies make him falter a second. Their eyes throw him back to Orlin. He can’t help to see the similarities. Orlin mentions it simply, “Kill them. Get it over with. Make it as painless as you can.” So the thick sword drives into their hearts and the lights flicker out.

He forgot how killing fills him and how it erases everything.

The field quiets from screams to moans. He stands in the middle listening to the blood singing in his ears. His lungs pump smoothly under his chest. Everything around him is in beautiful clarity. The medication works. The strength rolls through him like waves. The relief is even sweeter. At least, through all the confusion, he can still do this. The blade wipes on his pant leg. Most of the bodies are far away. He reaches for the healing materia in his pocket. 

Dinand’s eyes catch his. The man jerks back his sword arm. The weakly moving body drops off the blade. If the dying man caught any of Dinand’s attention, he didn’t show it. He’s staring at Sephiroth. The look is like iron on his arms. His fingers drop the materia back in his pocket.

Sephiroth’s breath catches against his ribs.

A fear he hasn’t felt in a long time wakes up in him.

And he hates it.

That’s when he starts to notice it. A deep ache that creeps up his spine in a way that can’t be stopped. 

Midgar calls him back more often. 

“The battlefield makes boys into men,” Sephiroth recites to the microphone, “The pride of what you will do never leaves you.”

The confident smile hurts as he tells this to the high schoolers crowded into the gym. Sephiroth curls a hand around the podium until he hears it crack. The body count is too high. They are running out of men. A draft is becoming close to a reality.

A kid near the front smiles at him. He’s got a poster rolled in his hand for the signing afterward. The thinness in his limbs are alien to Sephiroth. Bedhead crops up the back of his head.

“The strength of SOLDIER is yours for the taking.” He clips off the supposed grandeur of the statement by looking down at his notes. He will get corrected on it. A neat typed email of the things that PR won’t want to see again. When he looks up, the kid’s smile has doubled in size and his eyes are cloudy with Shinra’s poison.

The podium crackles under his hand. 

The ache starts to spread, tracing over his lungs and his stomach, to turn everything numb.

Food starts to look like the organs he has spilled. He cuts back as much as he can.

It simply won’t stay down.

Orlin keeps pulling him aside and asking him if he is okay.

Lying shouldn’t hurt Sephiroth.

But it does.

“Halt,” Sephiroth doesn’t have to raise his voice. He doesn’t have to.

The SOLDIERS freeze on the practice field. Ice cracks under his boots as he walks to the troublesome Third. The snow is coming down hard. Wutai hasn’t stopped attempting to build defenses so Shinra isn’t able to slow for the winter. Most of the men are shivering on the field despite practicing magic. 

Sephiroth used to hope that they would get a break.

Another foolish dream. It’s best to not think about an endless war. Sometimes, he tries to not think at all.

The SOLDIER shuffles his feet and stands at attention when he realizes that Sephiroth is coming to him. The fire he had cast had fizzled strangely at the target, almost tangential. His black coat is dotted white as Sephiroth puts out his hand for the man’s weapon. The grip is heavy and cold.

Closing his eyes, he feels the materia and sends it out. It sputters through him and it takes twice the amount of energy to make it the smooth stroke that dives neatly into the target’s heart. Defective materia is a possibility but highly unlikely. The usual suspect is possible.

“Hmm.” He glances down and sees what he is looking for. The orange orb clicks fully into place when he pushes on it with his thumb. The SOLDIER’s breath sucks in. Probably it is a case of numb fingers and an exhausted mind. Wordlessly, Sephiroth hands the weapon back and gives him a knowing look.

“Yes sir, thank you sir, never again sir.”

Sephiroth hears a snort far behind him.

Dinand is watching him from across the field.

He’s quietly laughing at him. Sephiroth bites the inside of his mouth as he turns away. He won’t teach these men how Dinand taught him.

There is a better way.

Those eyes mock him all the way across the field and another crack forms in what is left of him. The transfer papers are still in limbo. Dinand haunts the corner of his eyes. He tries his best to ignore the curl of frustration. He’s not supposed to be like this. Dinand is not supposed to be in his life. He’s supposed to be free.

He rewrites the transfer paperwork and sends it to HQ again. It is as close to begging as Sephiroth can get.

“Sir?”

Sephiroth blinks at the white document in front of him. How did he get here? In his office? How long has he been here? The clock shows that it is well into the night. He rubs a hand through his hair and looks at the door. His stomach growls.

“Yes?” His voice hurts. Perhaps someone is delivering dinner to his room.

The door opens and to his surprise, a Second walks in. How did he get in here? Sephiroth turns in his chair but doesn’t get up. If this is a Wutai trick, he doesn’t need a weapon to take down a single man. The SOLDIER stops as soon as he can and strangely enough, drops to one knee. The helmet comes off and is tucked under one arm. Red hair falls forward over his face.

“Yes?” Sephiroth blinks. Repeating the question is the only option that he can think of at this strange sight.

“I-” The SOLDIER cuts himself off, wavering and unsure, and then he bends over even further. “I wanted to say thank you, sir.”

The man raises his head and things fall into place.

Sephiroth leans back against the chair. “You aren’t supposed to know.”

“I know,” Genesis says softly, “but my friend saw and I owe you my life. This is the first chance, sir, that I’ve managed to find you.”

His face is too honest for his own good, too earnest. It feels like worship. Sephiroth shifts uncomfortably and covers it by standing up. Genesis remains kneeling on the floor although his eyes follow him up.

“Get up.”

The SOLDIER is awkward. He gets up but all the moves seem to be done in the wrong order. Sephiroth wants to run his hand through his hair. He doesn’t owe his life to him. That lie weighs on him harder than the strangeness of what is happening here.

“Why are you here?” Sephiroth asks.

“I want to swear my life and sword to you.” Genesis’ smile is brave and young. “I want to work under you specifically if you’d have me.”

From the outside, Sephiroth remains impassive. On the inside, he shrivels at the words. The numbness compacts. This man doesn’t understand him. He doesn’t know who he is.

“I cannot accept. You don’t know me. You don’t know what you are committing to.”

“But-”

“I’m doing my job for Shinra. As are you. Now all I ask is that you try not to end up in that situation again.”

Something close to a glint of a challenge shows in those blue mako eyes. “Fine. Then I swear that I will become a worthy comrade at your side. You’ll see me as a First, right next to you soon. Just watch.”

Another bow and then he is gone through the door.

Sephiroth holds his breath. What does Genesis see in him? Dinand gave him the skills to slaughter. Shinra shaped him into something that men will follow blindly. He barely recognizes himself in the mirror. 

Sephiroth sits on his bed. His hands rub against eyes. He tries to let it go.

“What the fuck is this?”

Orlin shakes his phone in the edges of Sephiroth’s vision. He can’t look at him. He trains his eyes on the carrots on his plate.

“Transfer orders.” His voice is dead. His fork nudges the cut circles into a line.

“I know what they are. Why am I being sent away?”

Sephiroth swallows, sets down his fork, looks Orlin straight in the eyes and lies. “I don’t know. Orders from above.”

It’s frustration that he sees play most powerfully across his face. “If this happens, I can’t help you. I can’t come back on my own.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Kid-”

“I’m not a kid anymore.” It comes out sharp. Anger leaks from every part of his life into those five words.

Orlin sucks in a breath, steps back and disappears. 

Sephiroth closes his eyes. He didn’t expect to feel the loss. Everything is too much. Sending Orlin away to somewhere safe meant that he didn’t have to see this slow fall. He could live through this terrible war. He could forget about Sephiroth. He would be removed from drowning.

It is Sephiroth’s gift to him.

He does it because he cares about him.

The plane drones loud in his ears. The cabin lights are off but Sephiroth can see the wine slosh against the plastic cup. There has always been alcohol aboard the “red eye” trips across the planet. He usually ignores it. The smell is sweet and sour. 

Sephiroth tries to remember what day it is. He can’t. He can’t even check. His phone is left in his overnight bag. Sometimes now he completely forgets that he has it.

He couldn’t even count the amount of times he had sat in this seat going back and forth to Midgar. 

Everything has wound tight. His back is straight against the easy recline of his chair. Hojo’s coos still echo in his head as those long scarred fingers were allowed to slither down to his stomach to brush the new red incision. His warm breath had left moisture on his neck. Hojo probably thought the sedative was still strong in his blood. For what reason would anyone think that the great general would pretend to “play dead”?

He can’t tell if it is pain or shame that stabs deep in his gut. R&D didn’t explain the procedure entirely. The puckered red line will disappear. He can still trace the lines across his body that the scientist had carved into him even after the scars vanished. He hopes the memory of it will fade with time.

How many more scars will be on him before he dies?

The wine makes another circle around the glass.

He drinks it down.

It tastes so good to forget.

The remaining threads of his life are so fragile. 

And they are starting to snap.

Orlin’s texts stack up unread.

Mariella can’t look him in the eyes anymore.

Why?

The airplane cabin is empty.

He’s alone. He’s always isolated. Lost from the world that he used to be part of. How did that happen? How did he not notice before?

He reaches for the bottle and refills the glass.

The wine in his hands seems to be the only answer.

There is a new First, a man with will, a strong smile and the ability to raise the chins of the men under him with pride and honor. It’s good.

Sephiroth can’t give anything like that.

Not anymore.

His memory, his feelings, the only people he trusts, they are falling through his fingers. His hands have started to shake. The numbness throbs.

He keeps drinking, hoping it solves his problem. Memories blur. Sometimes he doesn’t understand what is happening. It doesn’t erase the pain. It’s still there as a void, black and untouchable. The alcohol only makes him more fragile.

After a long battle, Sephiroth sees himself killing, slaughtering, desperately fighting men who don’t deserve this.

Their bodies drop.

A scream catches his attention.

He is side by side with Dinand. A soldier writhes on his long blade.

It’s too much.

Sephiroth sees exactly what he is doing.

He is fighting next to the man who abused him. They are working together. He is defending Dinand.

It is all translucent. Every remaining part of him freezes. The light cuts through him. It’s all pointless.

Dinand smiles at him as he shoves off the corpse.

Sephiroth’s life falls and shatters into pieces on a floor.

It’s all incomprehensible.

All that is left is the ache.

“Report, general.”

Sephiroth feels a shock in his stomach. He’s standing in front of the Board. A report in his hands is unread and tactless. The old faces look at him in a range of amusement to annoyance. He swallows the bad perfume and looks down at the graph. The letters and numbers don’t form into anything that helps him. One of the board members stifles a yawn. Lazard digs into him from his seat. Is he trying to guess how much weight Sephiroth has lost?

Sephiroth opens his mouth to say anything. The stiff collar of his shirt tickles his chin.

“Feeling well?” A voice drawls over his words, young and careless.

Sephiroth looks to the left. The VP sits at the end of the table, his head propped up on his chin. His eyes are gleaming, laughing at him in a knowing way that lights a fire in his gut. He doesn’t understand. How could he know what his life is like when he lives on a cushion and is spoonfed by the Turks? It jerks him back to his place in his report. He won’t let Rufus Shinra mock him that easily.

“I feel fine,” Sephiroth says solidly, takes a drink of water and looks down at the report, “Excuse me, now back to preventive tactics against further theft of our weaponry.”

The VP’s chest rumbles in a suppressed laugh. Sephiroth ignores it. He starts to recite the ways to make this war last even longer.

Shinra’s eyes never leave his neck with dark intent.

“Good.”

The one word throws Sephiroth for a spin that he can’t comprehend.

Dinand had walked by him after a battle, his shirt soaked through and unintelligible strips of flesh hanging off his sword. Half the bodies on the battlefield died on that blade today. The other half died by Sephiroth’s. The SOLDIERs surrounding them seem like only distractions at this point. Sephiroth hates himself for learning to work with this man.

He’s helpless to it. The papers are still waiting to be approved.

“Very good,” Dinand had muttered under his breath as he passed by.

What does that mean? His mind breaks the word, carving out everything he’s done in the battle that Dinand could be talking about. Even then, why would the man he’s thrown the weight of Shinra against be praising him? Why did Sephiroth feel himself respond positively? He shouldn’t. Sephiroth makes his feet move in the opposite direction. He needs space. He needs this to go away.

It’s simply not going away.

He’s a raw nerve now. There is no future or past. There is only this hellish present.

Whispers are coming down the chain of command. Things he doesn’t want to hear.

It takes black spots appearing in his vision to start breathing again. 

Sephiroth. What’s happening?

Sephiroth wakes up in his bed to a text from Orlin. He groans and rolls in his sheets. The murkiness in his mind tells him what he did last night. If that isn’t enough, the wine bottles throw beautiful colors on his floor in the morning light. The mako took care of most of the aftereffects but his fingers are slow to open his phone.

Another set of messages jump onto his screen as he navigates to his texts.

Sorry, I was sleeping.

His hair sticks to his face unpleasantly. He needs to scrub last night off of him. He hopes he didn’t leave the room. Fragments come to him and he tries not to touch them. Every one of them is gummed in confusion and loss. How did he get here?

Do you need to talk?

A headache keeps him laying down. He raises the phone and scans back through his conversation. A wall of a one sided conversation makes him swallow. What had he done last night? He scrolls to the top, afraid of what he will find there.

I don’t know how I can continue this.

His own words hit him like a slap. The phone is slick in his fingers.

Everything is wrong.

I don’t know anymore where it all ends and where it begins.

I murder people for a profession.

But everything is wrong.

I’m so alone.

I’m drunk.

I drank too much and it all hurts. It all hurts too much. I thought wine is supposed to make it all go away?

Isn’t that how it works for you?

I miss Midgar.

I miss when I didn’t know what I was doing.

The war won’t end.

Dinand has been assigned to my base. They say we “work well together”. I can’t stand him. I won’t stand him. Don’t they understand?

Why are they doing this to me?

I think it is Hojo.

The VP looks at me.

I can’t leave all of this.

I’m sick. I need medication. Shinra produces it for me. I’ll die without it. I can’t leave.

What do I do?

I’m drunk.

The texts cut off as Orlin’s call comes through. Sephiroth won’t answer. He sent him away so he didn’t have to experience this.

He lets it ring in his hand. The screen locks and notifies him of a missed call. Eventually he puts his phone to charge and peels out of bed. His stomach is in knots.

Orlin applies to transfer back.

It is denied. Repeatedly.

Sephiroth starts to wish for an endless battle.

The coward’s way out but he can’t be bothered. Everything has stacked up so high above him. Every problem is insurmountable and unsolvable. 

On the field, everything melts away into a beautiful simplicity. He doesn’t have to be haunted by the faces of the high schoolers that leave their parents to become another of the statistical dead in his reports. The numbers mean nothing to the Board. They are almost a footnote in the miles gained or the general view of the public.

He wants to kill for the ease of it.

It is his life or the Wutai against him. Over and over again. The complications are temporary barriers. It is the clearest goal. Kill the man in front of him. The ones in the rest of his life haunt him until he blasts them away with bloodlust or drink. He hates that is what has become of him but he is locked in his own labyrinth.

He’s standing over a pile of bodies, not seeing them. He sees everything in his life like pieces all over the floor. How is he supposed to put everything back together? It is impossible. It’s too much. He takes a step. Even though the field is quiet, he hopes that he can find someone else to fight.

“You know,” Dinand whispers in his ear directly behind him, “I’m proud of you.”

Sephiroth spins so quickly that pain fires up his neck. His sword leads naturally, the only object that can solve the hurt. Their blades clash together, the normal one stopped short of the thinness of the other. Dinand’s face sickens into a smile.

“What is the matter?” Dinand pushes gently back. “You became everything that I trained you to be.” 

The edges screech against each other. Sephiroth’s mind processes the words without thought. It feels awful. 

Sephiroth lashes out with a shout. The sword digs forward with blunt force. Dinand deflects it downward. The tip digs into the ground. Sephiroth strikes with his right hand. A simple punch to the gut, anything to inflict an ounce of this pain back at him. He needs to hurt him. Dinand steps back. The fist moves through the air.

The smile is knowing as he continues to back up, to put space in between them.

“You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to define me. Not after everything,” Sephiroth says.

Dinand says nothing. He shrugs and walks away from him. Sephiroth seethes. His emotions barely hold themselves back. He needs a solution. This cannot continue. Everything in him is broken, clashing against each other. Pain rolls up through him, solidifying everything left inside him.

Dinand turns his back.

Sephiroth’s fingers tighten around his sword.

There is a solution.

And it might fix something.

Chapter Text

CLASSIFIED. CLEARANCE:  EXECUTIVE - VIP LEVEL. SHINRA ELECTRIC POWER COMPANY. HARD COPY ONLY. STORAGE #31 - NIBELHEIM MANSION.

MEETING TITLE: “HOJO INTERVIEW # 3 of 3 (Excerpt)”

MEETING TRANSCRIPT #940102

Meeting Attendees: Professor Hojo, Project S
Date of Interview: 01.02.94
Location of Interview: Room 102A, Floor 66, HQ
List of Acronyms: 
Professor Hojo=H
Project S (Sephiroth)=S
Intelligent Verbatim Transcript

[Begin Transcript 0:02:01]

START OF EXCERPT:

Professor Hojo (H): “Quiet today, are we? Hm?”

Project S (S): “I’m waiting.”

H: “Waiting for what?”

S: “Waiting for you to start.”

[Professor Hojo laughs]

H: “Eager, are we? Fine. Let us begin. How are you doing, Sephiroth?”

S: “I am going through my third winter fighting Wutai. I am fine.”

H: “’Fine’ is an interesting word to use. How are you doing?”

S: “Fine.”

H: “How should I note your evasive behavior?”

S: “I simply answered your question. Again.”

H: “Let’s return to this later. Let’s ask some easier questions. How do you feel about the war?”

[pause]

S: “I do my best to support my men. I hope that by next winter this will be finished.”

H: “Do you oppose the war?”

S: “I oppose the length of time that we have been fighting but what must be done must be done.”

H: “A duty of a Shinra SOLDIER.”

S: “Yes.”

[3:00]

H: “Quite a few SOLDIERs have been made First Class. All have died beside you. Dinand and Angeal are too fresh to First to even count. You are the longest lasting, the only steadfast First Class, a weed that won’t die. Do you mourn the loss of others?”

S: “I recall you decided I was too sensitive last time we interviewed so no, I don’t mourn the loss of them.”

H: “How do you feel about the new decision that Firsts should be stationed at Midgar? That most Firsts are to be deployed specifically on missions now?”

S: “It makes no difference to me. I was not affected.”

H: “You do have an apartment here, correct?”

S: “Rent does come out of my salary but I am rarely here.”

H: “Do you feel as if your treatment, being constantly assigned to the front lines with regular men instead of being in Midgar, is a mistreatment on SOLDIER’s part of your position?”

S: “No. I prefer it.”

[4:00]

H: “Would it not be better to be stationed here?”

S: “No.”

H: “Just you and Dinand remain on the front lines.”

S: “Yes.”

[pause]

H: “One recently promoted First. Another Second getting some attention. If that Second gets promoted, there will be two Firsts of similar age and background to you.”

S: “I know.”

H: “Does that excite you?”

S: “No.”

H: “Why not?”

S: “I have learned to take what I can where I can and not count on it.”

H: “Too many broken dreams?”

S: “I fight a war. Death and violence keep me occupied.”

H: “The loss of too many friends? Feeling that, still, after all this time?”

S: “…I try not to get close to my men.”

[typing]

H: “There have been several reports that your performance has been declining gradually.”

S: “Are you concerned?”

H: “No and you are asking far too many questions.”

H [cont.]: “Is the medication working properly?”

S: “Yes.”

[5:00]

H: “Such weakness for such a powerful man.”

S: “I’ve had it for such a long time. It is part of who I am.”

H: “You recently asked for an extension on your pills. You wanted to have an extra two weeks on hand for yourself?”

S: “That request was denied by you.”

H: “Why did you want it?”

S: “Wutai is clever. If I get separated from Shinra, I would like to be able to fight my way back without having to worry about a ticking clock.”

H: “Wouldn’t the five extra days you carry around be enough freedom?”

S: “If the supply lines were completely cut, we would be in a precarious place in approximately two and a half weeks at most. Pushing it out to a month seemed safer.”

H: “Has that ever happened? Do you remember the time that we sent a Turk through enemy lines to get you your precious pills?”

S: “Yes.”

H: “I think you want to control it.”

S: “I am trying to safeguard myself and my men.”

H: “That’s cute.”

S: “R&D has never failed on a delivery but if they did, I could be attacked by Wutai and by my own body at the same time. I don’t believe even a First could stand against those odds.”

H: “Your request has been rejected. If you ask again, I will cut your prescription to a week and a half. You don’t need it.”

[no sound audible 5:53-6:09]

H [cont.]: “You have some interesting statistics, Sephiroth. If your medical review is done by any R&D staff, your likelihood to show up is about 50%. If I assign Mariella, that rises to 100%. Do you favor her?”

S: “She’s simply familiar.”

H: “Do you think of Mariella as the woman who raised you?”

S: “No. She is a staff member of R&D.”

H: “You appear close.”

S: “My medical condition requires close supervision.”

[pause]

H: “And now you start to back out of the hole you have dug. Do you even think about your biological mother?”

S: “Jenova is dead. I have discovered the importance of burying the dead.”

H: “How about Orlin?”

S: “What about him?

H: “Do you think of him as a father figure?”

S: “No. He is not my father in any respect.”

H: “Are you sure that you don’t want to revise your answer?”

[7:00]

S: “He’s a mentor, nothing more.”

H: “Do you consider him a friend?”

S: “I would be lying if I answered no. Even now.”

H: “So you care for him?”

S: “Yes.”

H: “He’s a drunk. The scum of Shinra’s SOLDIER program. He wasn’t even allowed to fight in the beginning and now he is moved to a secondary force.”

S: “He was sent to the secondary force.”

H: “At your request. Surprising that someone of your caliber would take such a man as a friend.”

S: “Orlin is a loyal SOLDIER of Shinra.”

H: “He lowers you. He demeans you. He is the filth of the planet.”

S: “What does Orlin have to do with this interview?”

H: “Every one of you are Shinra’s dogs until you die, choking on your own leash for the company. Despicable.”

[pause]

H [cont.]: “Well?”

S: “I am not sure what you want me to say to that.”

H: “You are just like the rest of them.”

S: “I do my job. Shinra supports me. It is a symbiotic relationship.”

[8:00]

H: “You were the first. The first chip that cracked everything.”

H [cont.]: “They took you from me. You belong to R&D. You belong in R&D.”

H [cont.]: “Look at you. Here you sit there, looking me straight in the eye, dressed in that outfit, strengthened by me and mako, every ounce of your potential wasted .”

S: “I’m not sure-”

H: “No. We’re done. You’ll come crawling back to me. Someday. I’ll make sure of it. Then you will be thankful. Then you will understand. End of interview. End of series of interviews. Get out of my sight.”

[End of Excerpt. End of Interview recording at 00:08:42. See audio drive for audio recording of Interview 3 of 3. Transcribed by Edin Morse. Reviewed and verified by Professor Hojo.]

Chapter Text

January, 1994

Sephiroth stares at the clothes laid out on his hotel bed.

His fingers press against the black dark pinstripe fabric of the slacks. It is smooth and silky underneath the roughness of his skin. Deadness hangs over him. He can’t feel anything as he examines the rest of the outfit. It’s one of his fancier suits tailored to him from some event last year. PR took it upon themselves to set it out for him while he was in his last meeting.

He should be apprehensive about having a requested dinner alone with the VP but he registers nothing. He hangs in suspension in his mind. He’s waiting for the right moment to kill Dinand. Between his life and the alcohol, the wait has dragged anything else out of him. It’s all a haze of exhaustion and a bath of blood.

Dinand is still on his base. He cleans his sword and watches him work. He is there constantly.

That had made Sephiroth feel something.

Those eyes stabbed a pain so deep in his chest that he hadn’t been able to swallow it down.

Sephiroth’s head throbs.

Rufus Shinra had requested that Sephiroth wear a suit. It was in the email undoubtedly written by a secretary : Please make sure to wear something appropriate to the restaurant - a three piece suit will suffice. The tie is black. The dress shirt is a deep muted purple. No guesses on why they picked that color. 

If all goes to plan, a huge military push is scheduled in a week. If the two surrounding hills get captured, they will be able to make a run on a Wutain military base itself, a main artery of the opposition. The chaos will be perfect for an attack on his ex-mentor.

Sephiroth puts on the suit, piece by piece. It changes him. Each button takes him another step away from himself. He’s about to perform. He is still himself but he is standing on the edge of a different Sephiroth. The one that is quiet but brave for his men, the one that nods at the interviewer and says another lie like it is the truth. The one that is not planning the death of another member of the army.

The Shinra logo cufflinks are heavy on his sleeves. In the mirror, he loosely ties back his long hair. The tie is pulled straight. No light reflects in his eyes. His strange irises are dull and blown out. Veins show around the corners. A grayness has taken over his cheeks. When was the last time that he had slept well?

A part of his mind reminds him that when he stops sleeping, an autoimmune attack is usually not far behind. The bitterness from the emergency pill he’s taken an hour ago still grinds on his teeth.

Only for a few days more and then it won’t matter.

He pushes back a few white strands around his face but they fall back, persistent as PR has designed them to be.

He leaves thoughtlessly.

Only a week until he or Dinand dies on the battlefield.

A faceless Turk leads him through the restaurant. Decadence smothers him from the velvet hanging from the ceiling to live music crooning out of the corner. He straightens automatically as guests start to notice him. Their whispers try to get to him but there is nothing for them to hold onto. He simply can’t care.

The private room in the back looks out over the edge of the plate. It could fit a hundred people but only one table with two chairs sits next to the wall of floor to ceiling windows. The heels of Sephiroth dress shoes click against the carpet. Slow jazz comes from the overhead speakers. 

Rufus Shinra sits carelessly in one of the chairs, his head propped up on a chin, watching him. The smile on his face is sweet as his eyes rove up and down.

Sephiroth stops with the Turk ten feet away and bows neatly at the waist to the VP. “Sir.”

Rufus’ eyes stay on the ponytail. It slides back over his shoulder and out of view as he straightens.

“Thanks for making time for me,” he says and waives to the other chair, “Sit. Make yourself comfortable.”

Making time. Rufus is the whole reason that Sephiroth is in Midgar and he knows it. PR, SOLDIER and R&D greedily filled the rest of his trip but he should be on the front line. Every movement is being watched as he walks straight to the chair, pulls it out and sits down. A glass of red wine is already poured for him. He considers that it might be spiked.

But then, Rufus is not stupid.

“How was your trip?” The VP asks as he leans back and takes his own glass of wine into his hand.

“Unremarkable.” Sephiroth opens his jacket and supplies no more. The Turk closes the door behind him.

The cocky smile remains on his face. Sephiroth looks out the window. It’s past evening. The night is milky black but he tracks a few cars that are making their way out of the city and into the rest of the world. Snow covers everything. 

Once this place was his entire world. 

Now everywhere seems like an illusion, a place strung to a place by a plane. 

“I wanted to eat with you. To get to know you.” Rufus sniffs the glass.

Sephiroth refocuses on him. The VP’s lip curls up slightly at the corner, showing perfect white teeth. They are alone in the room. Sephiroth wonders when a waiter might show up or if one might show up at all. Sephiroth knows he is in no real danger. Rufus is just another man in a suit, probably equally unarmed. There is no contest. 

He settles back in the chair. What is this man’s game? 

Rufus takes a drink and nods. “Armand De Brinar. Also called the Ace of Spades. For discerning tastes only.”

Sephiroth weaves his fingers and places them in his lap. He keeps his face neutral. Rufus will eventually lead them to the why. He could guess. It already hangs heavy in the air. The expectation, the jazz, the restaurant, the expensive wine, Rufus doesn’t play his cards close. Impatience flashes in Sephiroth. He needs to get back. This is a waste of his time.

“Go on, we are under no falsies here. I know you drink.” Rufus chuckles. “I’ve seen the bills. You like to rack it up like father on a bad day.”

Sephiroth debates staying still but eventually takes the glass. He doesn’t bother with the elaborate sniffing and swirling. He’s already smelled it from Rufus’ breath and seen the way it sticks to the glass. The taste blooms against his throat like butter. Expensive taste for an expensive man.

“You and I are closer than you think.” Those eyes bore into him, thinking they are clever.

“Hmm?” Sephiroth takes another drink. The taste tingles through his nose. He won’t get drunk on this. It’ll take another bottle. 

“Shaped by Shinra. Molded for a single purpose. Father’s lucky son in my case.”

Sephiroth is tempted to drink the bottle and order another. They’ve never talked personally but Rufus clicks to him. This righteous know-it-all is going to be drowning him in a sob story all night. He thinks about trying to leave but he cannot walk out on the VP without real reason.

“Hojo is a similar bitch. I can see it in you, the bruises.”

Sephiroth pauses with the glass halfway to mouth. Tiredness evaporates in his mind at the words. Danger will do that.

“Ah. You do such a good job of hiding them. Better than me. Normal people can’t see the damage. They wouldn’t understand.” Rufus’ eyes carve through the reaction, seeing too much before Sephiroth can clamp down on it.

He says nothing in the space that is left out for him. He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t back down. He simply sets the wine back on the table. He folds his hands on his lap. He waits.

“Shinra traps us both,” Rufus takes a drink. “You have the money to escape but have you ever looked in your bank account? Do you know what your salary is? Does it even matter?” Rufus shakes his head. Another loose chuckle comes out of his chest and he stops it with a deep drink out of the glass. 

Sephiroth tenses. This is not how this night is supposed to go. It’s supposed to be not personal. It’s not supposed to feel true.

“Most people kill themselves to live. We are slowly dying under good old father. This war will kill us all while lining the pockets of the richest. What a privilege to know and to see. Disgusting.”

Sephiroth thinks, trying to find a response and finding none that work. The words hit him where he is already bruised. The way the Board shrugs off the body counts. The high schoolers that are jacked up with too much mako and not enough emotional maturity to handle what will happen next. Rufus brushes back his hair. The clothing he wears is wrinkless and pitch black. 

“What? Somebody got you by the tongue?”

“No.”

“Quiet because you want to? Or quiet because you’ve been trained to be?” The question is sharp as a knife.

“Both.” It comes out too honest. Sephiroth surprises himself.

Rufus leans forward, pulling on the lure that he’s sunk in. The candles on the table show gold specks in his eyes. “Don’t be here. Let’s play a game. Tell me. What bullshit life would you like? In a world where you actually got to choose?”

“I haven’t given it any thought.” Sephiroth backpedals. “I work for Shinra. You clearly understand what that costs.”

“Fine. I’ll go first.” Rufus taps a finger against the table. “Don’t guess fashion designer. I will destroy you with the might of Shinra if you say that. Just like you, I’m dressed by Clarence. I hate it.” It’s a light tone. Rufus smiles into his glass. “Who decided that Clarence has a good sense of fashion?”

 “There are too many belts,” Sephiroth says.

“And buckles. I had to buy myself a pair of sweatpants.”

Sephiroth nods. He won’t admit that he has done the same.

“Do you know how long it takes to get out of one of those PR outfits?”

Sephiroth takes the glass of wine again. “Yes.”

“My worst outfit has three belts around the waist.”

“I raise you seven.”

“Seven?”

“It’s a prototype. Pure leather. He’s thinking about putting belts across my chest…for some reason.” 

Rufus laughs. It’s not the miserable laugh from before. This one is clear and amused. Sephiroth finds himself almost chuckling before he catches himself. It can’t be the wine that is unrolling his tongue. It can’t be drugs. There is a strange sense of camaraderie here. Here they are, both dressed in suits picked out by someone else, performing a trained routine of having a dinner because they are not allowed anything less formal.

Sephiroth sees the deep purple curves under Rufus’ eyes now. The way that he looks thinner than he should. He should hate this dinner but he sees something unexpected. Both of them are spread thin by Shinra.

“What is worse: the girls who won’t stop touching you or their mothers?” Rufus asks immediately after the laughter ends.

“The girls.”

He waives a finger. “You are wrong. The mothers. They are vicious creatures.”

 Rufus isn’t doing what he’s done in public. He’s still all powerful at the table but he’s younger. He reminds him of his own age. He’s not trying to prove himself to Sephiroth. His guard is not down but he’s craving someone with a familiar experience. Sephiroth recognizes this is an isolated bubble. The minute that they leave this room, they are back to their respective roles. The VP would dominate and the general would go back to war.

But for the moment, they are two young men drinking at a table.

Dinner comes in. Steaks slide across their plates smothered in their own sauce. Another bottle of wine is put on the table. The quality is not as good as the first one. Rufus does not notice. The conversation eases. They start to go through the members of PR that they would fire if they were able to. They agree immediately that Clarence would be the first one to pack up his desk.

It starts snowing outside. The flakes catch his attention and Sephiroth sets the knife against his plate. They float slowly past the window, the white spots glimmering in the dark from the lights inside. The snow haunts him. Sometimes like this, when he is relaxed and tired, when he isn’t focusing, things come back to him from the darkness of his destroyed memory.

He remembers walking, watching the snow fall with a tall man next to him. He can even hear the deep voice. The words are lost but the tone wrapped him in security. Fear was tainted in him then and he was grasping onto the man who protected him. The man’s eyes were warm when he looked down at him.

“I can tell that you have been very brave for a very long time.”

Those words float back to him.

“It’s exquisite, isn’t it?” Rufus says.

Sephiroth catches the soft smile on his face then. “Only fond memories.”

Rufus throws his napkin on his plate and stands. Sephiroth watches him as he rises and walks in front of the table to look out the window. His figure is trim against the light of the chandler. His arms are crossed behind his back as he straightens. Blonde hair moves across his eyes before he blinks it away.

“Midgar seems so small when you look out from it.” His face changes microscopically, a twist of something indescribable. His fingers press against the glass. “Yet, in all its complexity, with time, it will all be mine.”

Sephiroth takes one more deep drink of the wine and stands. It is strange to stay seated at a table alone. The snow swirls as a breeze takes it. He puts himself to the right of Rufus. They watch the snowfall. Sephiroth tries to capture the safeness of those eyes in his memory but they slip away, winking out like the snow from view. 

Quietly, Rufus’ fingers slide down the window to his side. He sighs deeply as he looks at the edge of his fingers like dust is there.

Sephiroth continues to stare out in the blackness. What is Dinand doing right now? How is he sabotaging the base? The thoughts strangle his heart. The bubble is cracking. This will be over shortly. Reality will settle down on them. 

“Sephiroth,” Rufus’s voice is velvety with the letters of his name.

He means to glance down at him, no more than a small look but the intensity of the glance keeps him. A smile rises on Rufus’ face.

“I invited you here for a reason and now we are deep into that evening. Step forward. I won’t wait anymore.”

The plainness of the statement does not hide the curl of uninhibited desire in them. 

Sephiroth stills. He walked in the room knowing this might be the case but now confronted with it, he’s not sure what to do. So he remains quiet, only blinking. The wine and the exhaustion cover sense. Rufus slips behind him leaving inches between them. His breath comes against the back of his neck. It prickles the skin and something stirs deep in him.

A hand lays lightly on his shoulder. It doesn’t guide. He’s waiting. Sephiroth’s heart comes into his ears. Emotions bloom in him. If he wants to stop this, he needs to stop it now. The fingers roll upwards. Sephiroth has been so isolated that the touch sets fire through him. Someone wants to be near him, to be close to death, the dark and the gore that leaks off of him.

Men have asked before but none had been this forward about it. Something cries out internally in him. It’s a voice he doesn’t let himself hear anymore. The tightness doubles in him. He cannot be selfish. He cannot be loved. These things don’t belong to him.

Rufus’ hand moves upwards, draped against his neck, teasing a loose strand. “God. You are beautiful.”

A shiver comes down his skin. He should stop this. There are too many reasons for him to halt this path. The fingers twist the hair tight and he leans an inch back. A breath tickles his ear. 

“Is silence good or bad?” He asks.

“Good,” Sephiroth finds himself saying. He’s loosening, even his tongue betrays him. 

“Then tell me when to stop.”

Sephiroth has no words. He fights himself. He needs this. He’s so hungry to be cared for. It doesn’t matter who gives it anymore. He needs it. He needs someone to be there. A shiver goes through him, Gods. He’s been so alone and it has only grown since he sent Orlin away.

“Or am I wrong?”

The hand tightens as Rufus lifts himself up. A kiss comes to where his finger had been. The softness presses deep against the curve of his neck. He can’t breathe. His eyelids close for a second. The lips curl upwards against the skin. The reflection of the window shows eyes matching his, hazy with emotion. Sephiroth’s hand drifts back, trying to find the man behind him but he stops himself before contact

He swallows. He takes a deep breath. He tries to center himself but it does not work. It’s overwhelming. Every switch in his mind is flipping on. Thoughts collide and shatter. He stands because that was what he was doing before this. The pressure of his lips terrorizes his sanity. Sephiroth tries to formulate a response but the words break apart in his throat. 

Instead his fingers catch on the fabric of pants of the man behind him  like an embrace and a request for more.

He takes it as one.

“Gods, I was right.” A kiss lands against his neck. “I knew it. That gala. The winter one.” Another kiss, wetter. “That red suit. Gods. I wore white.” Sephiroth stutters a breath. “You had all those girls hanging off of you.” The next words are whispered in his ear like a confession. “You looked so bored .”

Sephiroth exhales slowly. It was his men talking about women that told him the truth about himself. He simply didn’t feel the way that they did about the other sex. Pieces about Rafi clicked into place then. He never made a move. Throughout all his hormonal youth, never had he tried to kiss her.

It was the quieter conversations, men talking about men, about power, about strength, about masculinity, about being gay, that struck him deeply. Like many realizations in his personal life, it came quietly and unremarked. 

He never had time to pursue it further.

Dinand made sure of that by terrorizing everything out of him again.

That worry seems very far away now.

The hand leaves his shoulder and curls around his waist, laying on the third piece of his suit, the vest. Another question. Sephiroth does nothing. They go to work, slipping off the buttons. He doesn’t stop him. He closes his eyes as they loosen the buttons on his dress shirt underneath. He is being touched, not by needles, medical personnel or weapons.

Sephiroth slips his free hand backwards looking for something to ground him.A small chuckle vibrates against his neck. Then the fingers are on his stomach. Sephiroth jerks back. Those soft fingers that have never worked a day in their life press against his stomach. He is dragged back. His dress shoes scuff the ones behind him. The connection sets him on fire.

A small wheeze forces out of him. 

“Let’s lose ourselves tonight. Our secret. What do you say?” Stuttered breath comes into the air. It’s his, he realizes. Part of him panics at it but it is lost in the whirl of pleasure. The fingers knead the muscles they find and tug upwards to dance across his ribs. He can’t take it. He wants all of it.

“How does it feel to be so perfect? So indescribably approved of?” The mouth on his neck continues to work between the questions. His jacket is half pulled down. The first button on his dress shirt is gone. The neck pulled over. Teeth touch his skin. A kiss comes right under his ear, dragging baby hair with it. Another kiss finds his jaw.

Everything melts away sweetly. His mind fixated on Dinand for so long relaxes. He curls towards the attention, bending back for more.

“I’m not like they say,” he pauses and his breath tickles his ear, “I won’t force you but I won’t keep making out to a telephone pole. You need to decide.”

It would be so easy to fall into darkness. He could crumple here. They could chase after that together. How good it would feel to give up on that last piece of himself that he holds. The lips on his neck curve upwards as he takes a half step, almost bending a knee. 

Rufus closes the space between them again. The hand flattens and presses against the softness of his stomach.It drives him up the walls of his control, spilling over. It’s intoxicating. The feeling, the relief, the demand to be here pummels sense.

“Shinra never gives either one of a choice so I’ll give it to you. Do you want this?” he says.

After everything that has happened and what will happen in a week's time, Sephiroth deserves to be selfish. He deserves to be happy. He’s hurt so much. The attention spins him. Everything is slipping off into a beautiful nothingness.

Rufus’ hand drags through his hair, almost yanking it.

It hurts.

His mind splits. It hurt before. It had only brought danger. He’s standing in a concrete hallway. His hands are bound behind him. A monster breathes over him. Something that had happened before. Something that had happened in Wutai, before the war. Someone had done something. His head had dragged back and only pain, the kind that eats into the soul, followed.

It breaks the cycle in his mind. He opens his eyes, wide. He sees himself in the reflection. He sees Rufus Shinra all over him, blonde hair falling over his shoulder and hand deep within a slit of his moving shirt. He sees his own hand hooked onto the other man’s slacks like a lost child.

Coldly, he realizes what he is about to do.

It’s a lie.

The Vice President of Shinra is asking him to give himself over. He wants him to roll over like the dog that Hojo said he is and then to get a treat afterward. Rufus Shinra is doing what he always does. He’s getting what he wants. 

Teeth sink into his neck. Not enough to draw blood this time but to leave marks. Pain fizzles pointlessly, it would have been washed away in distraction if Sephiroth hadn’t stopped to see it. He can see the points on the red skin where already the man lost his control. Blood colors the collar of the purple shirt.

Rufus Shinra is plastered against him. One leg has come in front of his own, enveloping him even deeper.

The line of men before tonight is endless. He’s not special. He’s the next quick fix.

Anger hits him in the stomach and he changes his mind.

“Tell me, Sephiroth.” Spit drools against his neck. Rufus licks his teeth but the blood remains.

Sephiroth drops his hands loosely to his sides. 

“No.” It’s a solid word. A definitive one and it comes from him.

A disappointed sigh tickles against the wet skin. Rufus’ hands retreat. He won’t be used. Not like this. His body disagrees. The ache returns exploding everywhere. It hurts to feel cold air come between them. He wants to fall to his knees, to cry in a loss he doesn’t understand. Blood rushes to his head but he doesn’t allow himself to react.

“Are you sure? There won’t be an opportunity again.” A forehead presses against his shoulder blade. 

There is no threat.

“Yes.” He forces himself to straighten, already feeling pulled muscles from bending.

The head disappears. The air is thick as they both pant, trying to control their breathing. 

Sephiroth doesn’t look at the reflection in the window. His shaking fingers work the buttons of the dress shirt unsuccessfully. The buttons won’t slide in. He makes a noise and stuffs the shirt down. The larger, decorative vest buttons are more amiable and hide the mess. He feels so hot. Anger, passion and pent up energy mixing together terribly in his mind. Everything quivers. He sees Rufus’ hands starting to come up to straighten his jacket and he jerks upward to do it first.

Rufus moves away then.

The chair scrapes back and squeaks.

Sephiroth looks at his reflection. All he can see is the blood and bruises blooming on his body by yet another member of Shinra.

“Dessert?”

“I’m done,” He says. The fury keeps him tight as he spins on his heel and moves directly into a bow. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Vice President. At your request, this night will be kept between us.”

His hair draws over the bite marks. It stings. He stares at the floor. He waits. A cold dribble of blood rolls across his collarbone and onto the carpet.

“Likewise, general.”

There it is, the voice of the Vice President of Shinra, cold and hard.

Sephiroth turns and leaves.

He feels the eyes follow him the rest of the way out.

Maybe it is a mistake.

But he would be damned if he didn’t keep one speck of integrity.

Chapter Text

January, 1994

Sephiroth breathes lightly as he stands with smoke and ash curling around him. 

He spins the sword in his hand, forwards and then backwards. Neither movement soothes him as he stands alone. His SOLDIER unit is gone. They broke off from him, driving deeply into the wall of Wutai men with their stolen Shinra weapons.

The Wutain base sits in front of him. They are doing all of this for two squat buildings and a tower. Intelligence says the smaller structures are for soldier support. The tower is where he is going. 

Their main line of defense had already been breached but Wutai moved quickly to secondary, more dangerous positions. Blood is staining the ground black already.

A gun chatters in his direction. He sidesteps and the snow beside him explodes into mush. The man is not hard to find. A fire explosion takes off his head. He should have known better.

Sephiroth couldn’t care less about the building. At that moment, the attack plans are as transparent as tracing paper in his mind. His grip on his sword tightens. His unit is to infiltrate the left barracks and clear it out. He saw them working to the target door perfectly. He had briefed them that he is on his own mission.

Dinand.

That is his target.

He’s ready. Those eyes mock him in his mind. 

He presses a thumb against each of the materia slotted in his wristband. The warmth and solidity sharpens his mind. A missile hisses onto the battlefield. It explodes into a unit. Those weapons went missing last year. Wutai is not willing to give up this location. A messy battle is in front of them.

Attacking this base is a risk but the reward is worth it. If they can take this location, several key lines of supplies and weapons for Wutai which run through this location will stop. Shinra has thrown everything they have here. Almost every active duty SOLDIER is present. When Sephiroth scanned the list, he knew he would find Orlin’s name.

He wasn’t disappointed.

It had been an easy matter to avoid him.

No distractions. He needed to stay focused. Orlin is a veteran Second. He’s been through it all now. Even more distracting, Mariella is flying in for his health inspection three weeks early. It’s inconsequential now. It’s another life. A life he will live after Dinand is dead. So he sets all worries aside.

Sephiroth needs only one to make this battle a success. The hardest one of all.

He walks carefully around the knots of chaos, helping where he can but looking for that prideful long sword.

Shinra is chattering in his ear, helping him find Dinand. Sephiroth managed to convince the Commander General of one of the few mistakes that he would commit. It didn’t take much. The man agreed. The strength is fading from his eyes. It won’t be long now before he puts in his letter of retirement.

A Wutai soldier attacks him with his spear with no grace from behind. He’s not shouting but his shoes speak loudly enough for him. Sephiroth’s sword moves without his mind, catching the steel and deflecting it down. The weapon digs into the ground next to his shoes harmlessly. The Wutai staggers against the resistance.

It’s child’s play. Sephiroth’s boot comes up, catching on the soft stomach. A gasp follows the soldier to the ground. Sephiroth glances around. No long blade flashes in front of him. He sets the tip of his blade in the man’s heart and pushes down. The body pushes back for a moment and then it is over. Absently, he wipes the blade against his pants as he straightens. Dinand is assigned to the secondary attack. He should be here now.

“You didn’t even look at his face. How you’ve grown.” A voice says next to him.

Sephiroth smiles. He can’t help it as he turns around. This will all be over soon. No more worrying. No more trying to find the course of action. He is finally writing these events in real life. He will know the final answer.

Dinand stands a good distance back. The long sword is tucked out to the side relaxed. He seems almost cut out of reality, not caring for the carnage going on around him. He is as  spotless and careless as his memories of him back in Midgar.

“Are you ready?” Sephiroth asks.

“I was surprised when I got the orders.” Knowing is in his eyes.

“So was I.”

A chuckle. He shakes his head. “Well, shall we get on with it?”

“Of course.”

It is strange for Dinand to be within range but he comes then, not to his side but close enough. He holds his sword away as they face Shina’s target. The tower sits waiting. Sephiroth’s anxiety ticks up to end Dinand here and now but he won’t. He must stick to the plan.

The top of the tower has smoke coming out of it. They are trying to burn the information now. The reason the General Commander was so easy to convince was simple. Sephiroth was right. It is a race against time to get in and to stop the staff from destroying the documents.

It would be logical to send two of the strongest warriors together. Sephiroth proposed it.

Even then, they should have seen the truth.

Dinand eyes him. Every step is careful against the ground.

After Rufus Shinra’s dinner, the anger in him had grown into hot coals, blackening the inside of him. The bite marks disappeared but the damage remained. He won’t be taken advantage of. He won’t subside to easy twisted pleasure offered only by the hand of Shinra. Dinand did that. He twisted him over and over until he is exactly what everyone sees. He was too young to see it as it happened. Now he’s the pride of Shinra, a feather in Dinand’s cap, Hojo’s injected creation, Midgar’s Hero.

Children are enlisting and dying because of him.

Killing Dinand will prove to himself that he isn’t that dumb animal that can be pointed in any direction.

He has some autonomy. He has some freedom. He is not one of this conglomerate whole. He can lash out.

Guns natter as two groups of soldiers collide nearby. Languages mix on this battlefield. Chalk drags down his throat. The explosives work the ground nearby. He feels at home out here. The sounds soothe him almost like a song in his ears even with Dinand nearby. 

Here, the rules are clear.

The opposing sides spill over and split towards them. Wutaian yell behind Sephiroth. He’s forced to turn, to put his back to Dinand. Three men come at him. Sephiroth side steps the first attack and stabs low. The sword cuts through the man’s leg. The blade wants to catch deep in the thigh but he pulls it up hard, ripping through tough muscle. The scream is sharp next to him. The next soldier goes for his exposed side. Momentum curves his sword’s swing upwards.

The enemy never gets close. The red blade digs too far into his neck. It sticks between bones. The last one cries in something close to grief, continuing forward anyways. Sephiroth’s right fist joins with the tears in the man’s eyes. The crunch is solid. The man falls back, unconscious.

Dinand laughs behind him. It’s a soulless sound. Sephiroth shakes off the body pouring out onto his sword arm. The blood sinks through his sleeve and sticks to his skin. The man’s neck barely stays in one piece as it falls to the ground with the others. The remaining soldiers are overwhelmed by the infantry. He turns back. Dinand hasn’t moved.

“Why are you laughing?” He asks.

“I will always laugh at you,” Dinand says and moves forward, flicking the sword out. “Information is burning. Come on now.”

“No.” Sephiroth stands still and Dinand is forced to stop and turn back. “Tell me something. Why did you say you were proud of me?”

Dinand’s face curls in a mix of annoyance and satisfaction. “Because I know it would drive you up a wall. You know what I think of you. And look. It worked. Here we are. Now are you going to do this or not?”

“Let’s get in that control room.” Sephiroth shakes his arm, loosening the wet fabric. He watches the splatters hit the snow. They stain the ground. Anger crawls up his back but he chains it. Feelings are insignificant. Dinand knows him. He can play him as easily as dialing a phone. He won’t let him drum up the reactions that would cloud Sephiroth’s mind. Not this last time.

They cleave their way forward, skirting the main action. Most of the forces are divided into lines colliding with each other. Cars form barricades that the Wutai duck behind until they are overwhelmed. The key is to keep moving. Dinand does fight. He simply skewers the men before they can get close. Sephiroth darts out to stop the Wutai that spot them but withdraws quickly. He keeps within the uncomfortable range of Dinand where striking him would force him to make his intentions immediately obvious.

Every speck of Dinand’s attention is focused at Sephiroth too, drilling through the war. He’s cataloging every move. Sephiroth is doing the same.

A Second sees them as he rushes to assist a unit and skids to a stop. His mouth opens and closes with no sounds. His finger comes to point at them. His head cracks back violently and his body follows him. A sharpshooter did his job. No one can stop here. Sephiroth tries to guess where the attacker is but there are too many spots. The body doesn’t move. It was a clean shot at least. The snow explodes near them a few times but they move on erratically. 

Two SOLDIERs not drawing attention to themselves can go far in the confusion of war. They make it behind the main defense. It is tempting to see the soft underbelly of the fighting enemy behind them as they continue forward. Several men spot them but die before they can raise the alarm. Although, Sephiroth wonders, would one more alarm raised among the din would be even noticed?

The tower is high above them. Ash sprinkles the ground. Sephiroth counts up to the smoking windows.

“Eighth floor. That’s where they are burning,” He says.

“I could have told you that ten minutes ago. And they made you a First?” Dinand growls and slams in the entrance door. It cracks at the lock and then the rest of the panel breaks loose. Sephiroth’s mouth twitches but he continues to watch the panicking units running to the front line.

“It’s clear,” Dinand says behind him and holds the door for Sephiroth to follow. 

A new roar turns him back. It isn’t a high pitched scream but a deep sound that vibrates in his bones. He doesn’t have to search to find the source. A bahamut stumbles unsteadily to its feet a hundred feet behind him. The monster’s neck arches high into the sky and another growl comes out of it. One of the outside walls crumbles like toy blocks as it blunders through it.

“A summon?” Sephiroth asks as he freezes. His men aren’t equipped to handle a bahamut. Shinra was sure that they didn’t have one.

Dinand stands next to him and whistles. “Well, I haven’t seen one of those in a while.”

Sephiroth feels anxiety for those SOLDIERs for the first time. There were no summons in their plans. This is not their creature. It’s going to be more than a bloodbath. This is going to be a massacre. Wutai is desperate enough to unleash a weapon big enough to hurt both sides. Ragged wings open and the monster claps them. The men nearby go flying.

“How did they learn to summon? It’s such a specialized skill.”

“Probably a deserter who was smart enough to grab some candy on the way out,” Dinand’s voice is stony, the usual color gone. “That’s tough.”

He can’t imagine it. Summoning isn’t a strong suit of his but he has done it. Calling a large monster out to kill people that used to be friends seems to be impossible. The bahamut convulses and throws up fire. The steam wells into the air and a tank explodes, parts spinning comically in the air.

“Well, time to get some information, right Sephiroth?”

His mouth goes dry. If the two of them go back, they might be able to take down the monster. Dinand undeniably has the experience of fighting summons. Sephiroth’s energy is still strong. The false mission of getting information doesn’t take priority over possibly failing the entire attack. His stomach screws tight. He’ll lose his chance to take down Dinand. In the secrecy of the tower with a battle raging outside, no one would know how Dinand died. It’s so simple.

“I know what you want.” Dinand leans against the frame of the door. “Oh whatever shall you do? Try for your petty revenge and allow me to grind you into the ground again?”

It shocks Sephiroth to hear their actual intentions voiced. The confidence riles against him. Dinand still thinks that he will beat him.

The bahamut snorts as lightning dances across its hide. The tail whips around. The lightning fizzles and ends. The child in him whimpers. Sephiroth hurts. He feels every punch at once that Dinand threw at him. He remembers all the times he buried himself into his sheets at night. The looks of his classmates as he tries to hide his limp as he walks to his desk. Then the final hopeless stream of that simulation and feeling himself break under the pressure. It shouldn’t have happened. It was so wrong and Dinand knew it.

He can hear Shinra chattering wildly on the radio. They are summoning all units to concentrate on the new threat. His unit is rattled off along with the others. Sephiroth’s name and Dinand’s endorse the list as well. He can imagine his men turning back in the barracks. They would be nervous. They haven’t dealt with this. They will expect Sephiroth to be there, to lead them. It pulls against what is left of him. 

Rufus Shinra’s lust drags him back to Midgar. His lips painted red with Sephiroth’s blood. Fingers pucking at his feelings to his own ends. Sephiroth singing back in pure desperation.

Shinra deserves this.

He fell for his emotions then. He took the easy route and the pain came later.

His SOLDIERs don’t deserve it. Genesis is in that unit. Just one of the many that he’s brought back from the brink. They need him. He is their commanding officer. To them, he is Shinra. They don’t know the truth. And at the end of the day, their deaths will be on him.

The monster’s red scales glimmer in the hazy light. It moves forward with a weight that he can feel through his shoes. Another missile pounds further out, hitting a group of vehicles. 

“Afterwards,” Sephiroth says so firmly that it’s a promise. “You and me. After.”

“The empathetic leader shows his real character,” Dinand chuckles and tucks a hand in his pocket.

The decision is right. Sephiroth knows it. There will be future opportunities for Dinand. He can make them happen. It stings bitterly. As he steps forward, back out towards the battle, his eyes feel raw with tears. Soon, he thinks to himself, soon, after the summon is gone, they can go back to their personal war. This day can still end definitively.

“And just what makes you think that I am going to go along with your new found morals?” Coldness has come over Dinand’s words. Worse than the words, Sephiroth feels the point of a sword resting gently against his turned back.

Diand continues, “I won’t allow you to look at me like you are better than me anymore. Fuck it. Gods, I see it every time I look at you. I can’t stand it.”

Of course. Frustration builds in him. He can’t go back to his men. Everything stiffens in him. He cannot allow this to continue. Slowly, he reaches backwards and wraps his fingers gently around the flat of the blade. It is real. Dinand is turning blatantly against him. Sephiroth steadies himself against the headiness of this anger.

“I’m so tired of this,” Sephiroth says.

He guides the blade away from him as he turns around, sliding back a step. Dinand stands in the doorway. The blade retreats as Dinand settles his weight between his feet. The monster roars again. This has to be settled quickly. His own smaller sword comes up in his hand. The grip is solid. The steel comes between them. Dinand’s eyes flash to it but the cocky grin remains on his face.

Dinand laughs again. “You are tired of this? Try dealing with you for the last seven years.”

“Shut up.”

“Just look at you.”

Sephiroth does look. He sees what he wants to see. He sees a First Class SOLDIER. He sees a man who has strength. He sees all the experiences that have made it impossible to stand by quietly any longer. He isn’t at HQ. He isn’t in the training room. He isn’t the child that this man remembers.

If Dinand won’t take him seriously, he will make him.

He jumps forward and strikes against his mentor.

Dinand’s attitude doesn’t change as he shifts and catches his sword with his own. The strike isn’t meant to do any real damage. Instead, it is supposed to catch his attention. Their swords stop solidly. Dinand’s free hand supports the weapon as they push together. It makes Sephiroth grin. 

“Try to hit me, pretty boy. I know every move in your book.” Dinand moves out of the doorway and backwards. He swats the blade at him. “Let’s just have you prove how much of a disappointment you are. I’ll beat you into the ground myself this time.”

Sephiroth doesn’t bother with a response. He’s trying to sink himself into this fight. An unfamiliar fear comes back to him. He could die. It doesn’t matter. He removes everything not important. He’s been watching Dinand fight. Him moving back is a classic move. He gives ground so he can use the length of the sword. So Sephiroth removes that advantage.

He runs forward, well within range, squeezing the comfort zone. Dinand’s feet back again. He carves up the ground as Sephiroth stops short. Sephiroth catches the edge of his blade on Dinand’s and sends it flying back upwards. It clicks as it goes up. Light sparkles off the steel as Dinand spins around with the blade. 

A man’s scream comes to their left. Heat rolls over the ground. It might be too late for either side now. The bahamut doesn’t know the difference between Wutai or Shinra. Wutai knew this when they summoned it.

“If you were trying to disarm me, you should have aimed higher up the blade.” A confident smirk comes across his face. Dinand settles back on his feet and further back.

Sephiroth knows that.

Sephiroth presses forward again. The first sign of irritation comes across Dinand’s face. The smile disappears for a second before he flicks the blade away.

“Wrong footwork.”

This time, he is sure that he is playing with him, trying to raise his temper, trying to make him stumble. That will be the moment when the long blade goes from passive to unrelentingly aggressive.

So he advances again. Their blades tease each other. Neither are going for blood. Both are waiting for the mistake. They dance in a circle just outside the increasing bubble of chaos. The monster has warmed up now. The damage that is being dealt is starting to choke the air. Burnt wood and flesh cake his tongue. Shinra is buzzing in his ear in a constant string of panic and commands. The tide has turned.

And this bastard won’t let him help his men.

Dinand rushes forward. The blade sweeps towards his right arm. Sephiroth makes a decision then. His sword switches hands. His right hand holds strong against the force that it comes in contact with. The swords meet at a right angle, Dinand’s sharp edge against the flat of his blade. Dinand smiles. A mistake, it says. Dinand digs in and punches forward with the sword.

It goes past him. It is supposed to. It closes the distance between them and Dinand’s hand comes out, fingers ready to curl around his wrist, to force the blade out of his hand. Just before their crossguards would click together, Sephiroth disengages by sliding off to the left. The momentum carries Dinand’s arm forward, his body following.

“And you shouldn’t try to use the tricks you taught me,” Sephiroth says and slams his fist into the exposed side available to him. It hits and it hits hard enough to jar up his arm. The man goes flying into the slush. The impact hurts but the pain is eclipsed by a senseless childish joy. He hit Dinand back. He’s done the thing that he’s always dreamed of. He did it. It fills his eyes.

And it blinds him to the pure force that comes back at him.

Dinand’s slams into him bodily. The snow goes slick under his shoes. They fall back together. Air rushes out of him and he gasps upward knocking heads with his attacker. Dinand’s hand clamps over his throat and pushes him back. Sephiroth tries to bring up his sword but another strong hand is locked over his wrist pinning it down with the hilt of the long blade. The blade itself stretches far past his head.

 “No,” Dinand growls brokenly. Blood oozes out of his mouth. “Now you will behave.”

Sephiroth manages to bare his teeth. A knee digs down into his stomach. The remains of his breath bubble up painfully against grip on his throat. His vision doubles. He pushes up but it jabs the knee further in his body, tripling the pain and drives up bile. His right hand is free so he grasps at the elbow, trying to break the tension bared down on his neck.

“I said, no.” On the last word, Dinand releases enough for Sephiroth to arch up to gasp and then he is slammed back down. The pavement bites into the back of his head. He hears the hollow thunk. Numbness plunges over him. He’s limp. The knee is gone when his vision clears. Dinand is fully on top of him now, pinning him with all his weight. 

“I taught you that. It won’t work.” The words trickle into him, smooth with satisfaction. Blood pounds against Sephiroth’s mind. He tries to shift his leg, to hook one of Dinand’s. 

“I know that one too.” His skull slams back into the pavement. It devastates him. He gets an ounce of air but the cost has everything blurring. The SOLDIER does it one more time, using all his enhanced strength to pound his skull against the ground. Sephiroth manages a cut off scream.

“I want you to look at me like you did. Helpless. Defeated. You need me, Sephiroth.”

He won’t. He can’t. The fact is undeniable. This man has taught him everything that he knows. He’ll play every move against him as he has done. Sephiroth uses his free hand to grasp at Dinand but he’s leaning back far enough that he can’t get at his face. He’s gasping too, lungs moving extraordinarily.

“You wasted everything.” The words come in spurts over him. “You gave it to those damn corporates.”

Sephiroth spins. His feet can’t get purchase. His body tries to cough but only shakes. Black dots settle over his eyes.

“A waste of my time. My life.”

 Sephiroth does the only thing he can think of. He locks his fading fingers against the man’s shirt and yanks hard. It works. He wrenches Dinand off of him, loosening the grip on his throat and half dragging him upwards in the process. Pain is brilliant on his pinned right hand. Dinand’s long sword drags over his palm as it frees him. He swallows the air but has no time to relish it.

He slugs himself forward as Dinand comes up to his knees. His vision is blurry as he tries to punch him, just to slow him down somehow. His hand connects with his face. Teeth click together. Sephiroth falls on him. Everything reels from the head hits. They crash back together in the snow. His clothes are soaked with slush. Dinand’s face is speckled with gray and red.

This isn’t the idealized fight in his head. This isn’t pretty swordplay and insults. This is wild and brutal.

Sephiroth brings up his sword. He’ll slam it down through this man’s ribcage. He’ll cut him in half. He’ll destroy him. His grip is fading on his weapon. Hot blood rolls down his arm in rivulets. Dinand’s hand braces against the ground. His ears ring. Sephiroth’s shoulder screams as he raises the sword and brings it down with every piece of himself.

Dinand manages to bring his long beautiful sword between them.

And it shatters on the impact.

Pieces of metal break off. The main parts of the blade scatter around them like an exploded deck of cards.

Sephiroth’s slimy grip fails him. His own sword jerks out of his fingers in a flash of pain. He hears it hit the ground behind him. He swallows a breath. Dinand’s eyes stare at the sprinkling of metal all over him. Sephiroth lays over him, hoping his weight is enough as his body makes it known that it cannot go more without air. 

“But I didn’t,” Sephiroth says and his voice cracks with the tears in his eyes, “I didn’t choose it. I didn’t choose any of this.”

“Bullshit.” A hand locks onto his belt and yanks him off. 

Sephiroth slides off him like a toy. The impact of the pavement jolts him. He presses his hands into the ground and gets to all fours. His hair falls in brown mats. Liquid curls around from the back of his skull. The air cools him as his body recovers. Dinand moves slowly. He keeps coughing. Red drool swings from his lips. His eyes are trying to focus and his hand is plastered against his chest. How many ribs had he broken?

This was supposed to be a beautiful battle he envisioned. Instead it is two forces hitting each other with everything. There is no honor in this. There is no beauty here.

It’s just them.

No weapons except for the shards of steel around them.

Sephiroth grasps one piece, ruining his right hand further as he clutches it. Dinand still has the sword handle. Sharp pieces remain crowning out of the grip. Sephiroth sees the anger in Dinand then. It’s the same as his. It’s pain built up so long that it has nowhere else to go but out.

They don’t make it to their feet. Dinand gets to his knees and then stabs forward with the ruined remains of the sword. Sephiroth falls back and plasters his left hand against the man’s chest. The blade’s arc sweeps, catching on the fabric of his shirt but nothing more. He falls back to the plan that he never wanted to implement. He has one shot at this. He focuses on Dinand’s hand, on the white knuckles and the blue fabric of the grip and pulls on the materia on his wrist.

The risk is high that the explosion will envelop both of them. His mind is gauzy as the spell comes through him. It is uncontrolled and wild, taking no direction from its owner. Even as the fire appears out of thin air, it is larger than he wants. The conception point is right. The fire eats greedily into Dinand’s palm. It continues up through his arm. The handle drops. The fire brushes against Sephiroth, burning on his forearm keeping Dinand away from him.

The spell ceases and takes its cost in sucking away most of his energy. They both scream in pain.

The screams cut off as Sephiroth rips the piece of Dinand’s sword deep through his throat. Sephiroth’s arm collapses under the weight. They collide messily. Rolling over each other, Sephiroth forces away the pain and the burning.

Dinand’s already stilling as Sephiroth focuses on him. His palm is slick and dark as he holds it against his neck. It’s lethal. A choking rasp comes out of him. His eyes are solid, unafraid, even as his face starts to pale.

Somehow, he still looks amused. “You are so fucked.” 

Sephiroth shakes his head.

Bloody teeth flash. 

Sephiroth swallows. “Please, just return to the fucking planet.”

Sephiroth takes the steel and drives it deep into Dinand’s chest, pinning his heart still. Realization comes across Dinand’s eyes. He doesn’t fight him. He chokes and the dullness takes over his eyes. 

Sephiroth waits for it. He crouches over the body and waits for relief to come to him. This payment will be enough to clear him of everything that has happened. He has righted the wrong. He has gotten his revenge. Now he can move on.

It doesn’t come. 

He realizes that it won’t be coming as adrenaline seeps out of him.

Dinand is dead before him.

That’s what he gets: another dead body and no more.

He leans back and presses his hands against his face. It all staggers around him. Shinra is still in place. Everything that happened to him is still there. Everything that fueled this moment has filtered away, leaving a gaping hole and leaving him somehow heavier. It is for nothing. Dinand might be gone but his legacy is stamped into him.

It’s the loss that makes his body let out a ragged sob.

He’s never going back. He can’t go back to who he was. Shinra is deep in him. The damage is done. Irreversible. Hojo was right. He’s broken, unrepairable. There is nothing left. It’s this endlessness. He’ll be driven through the war until he can’t lift his arms and it kills him.

Somehow he hears the monster behind him.

The screaming of his men start to come back to him.

He gets to his feet. The head wounds are bad. Liquid streams from his nose. Wiping it, he realizes it is a dangerous clear.

His stomach gives out violently. The bile is sweet and thin. He staggers afterward. Fire blooms in front of him, reminding him once again that there are men depending on him.

It’s difficult to move his shoes. He makes it to his sword and grasps it. His right hand is numb from bleeding. He raises it but it only lifts to his waist. He stares down at the cut. The back half of his right fingers are slack above the gash.

Is this the cost of killing Dinand? He wonders oddly as he tries to make a fist and his ring and little finger only flinch. Would this force him to be entirely left handed in battle? 

He should bandage it. He should try to heal it but trying to heal it himself would finish him. The blood wells and drools over in the palm of his hand. Snow drifts into it, disappearing. It catches his attention, forces him to look up. The men in front of him move in blurs. His eyes spin in their sockets. He takes a step back, knees locking.

The whistling sound barely registers. The ground near the bahamut explodes. It hits a barricade of cars. They go up, one after another, a beautiful wall of fire, kicking up pieces of the battlefield and sending them flying.

A chunk of metal, maybe asphalt, maybe it doesn’t matter, flies at him, hits him. It digs deep into his side.

Sensations flatline. He just can’t care anymore. He registers the feeling of his feet leaving the ground. It is almost a relief. He won’t have to worry anymore now. He slams back against the tower. The concrete is not kind. The back of his head splits. The ground jumps up to meet him.

Then nothing.

Chapter Text

PART IV: A Dark Survival

Hands are unbearably beautiful.

They hold on to things.

They let things go.

- Mary Ruefle

.

Chapter 59 - Let This End

January, 1994

It comes back to him.

He remembers the medics finding him on the battlefield. He remembers exactly how his body is sprawled across the ground, his right hand pinned under him, his body twisted acutely over itself, his legs going one way, his free arm the opposite like an abandoned doll. He remembers how it all screams .

He doesn’t know how long he lays there. Over and over, he tries to get his body to move, to release some of the pressure building up inside him but he is too weak. Nothing will move. Even his body has given up on him. It leaves him trapped to memorize the way that the asphalt digs into his side and how the pain hazes over his mind.

The hands come. The slurred voices, nonsense that his mind cannot parse together. His name is called. He manages to move his head. Stuck hair pulls against his scalp with the movement. That sends out a cry and the hands triple. They are trying to help him. Shinra found him again.

He fights them off but his thrashes are weak.

Please, he wants to tell them, just let this all end.

He doesn’t want to be touched. Nothing will change. He wants it all to stop. His life is locked in an endless cycle. He can see the path clearly as the medics peel away his clothes and prod at the chunk that has taken residence in his side.

Every part of him except his mind fights to stay alive. Why should he live? For Shinra? Shinra drives every moment of this misery. He doesn’t want to have to figure out how to move forward. He doesn’t want to carry this. It is too heavy.

So he summons all his strength and pushes them away.

Yet, once again, he doesn’t have a choice.

They pin his hands, ignore his writhing and command him to relax.

It’s when they lift him up that he slips away. The pain covers him. It makes him helpless.

He wakes up warm and smothered in white. The SOLDIER room smells clean and fresh. His eyes roll uncoordinated around on the blank walls, the closed door and the IV bag hung next to him. He’s alone. It is so incredibly odd. He is used to the people parsing him down to lines and judgments.

Here it is just him. 

Nothing is willing to move.

It’s fine. He’s safe, back behind the lines. His body curled on his side, hands tucked near his chest. He should be worried. He should be embarrassed by how inherently fetal the position is. No. It doesn’t matter. None of it does. He is warm and relaxed. The pain is gone. The drugs have taken care of the darkness in his mind.

He’s been in medical before for the times where he couldn’t heal his own wounds. Otherwise, he refuses to show that kind of weakness. Even with the painkillers, he can feel the throb and pressure of the damage done. The damage done by Dinand. He swallows and lets it go.

It’s better that he is here today.

Thoughts connect lazily. He hasn’t been transferred to R&D yet. He’s too comfortable. The mattress is soft for a cot and a thick blanket has been brought over him. The room smells clean instead of the chemical taint. He’s always cold in the labs. The sheets there are tissues, more of an afterthought than a human comfort. Privacy is the most striking. Rarely is there a moment where someone isn’t trying to take something from him. 

There, he feels like a rat in a cage.

Here, it is quiet.

He’s thankful for it.

The drugs ease sleep back over him.

It’s easy to give in.

Plastic ripping wakes him up.

Someone has pushed back his sheet and is working on the bandage that has swallowed his entire side. It’s hard to breathe. The pressure has built up against his lungs. The pain stays away but it hovers like a ghost. It takes up space but has no inherent substance. 

The nurse works. She is young as she dabs and cleans his side. Rust colored towels drop into a container at her feet. The lid snaps closed rhythmically as she works. He doesn’t make any noise. He doesn’t let her know he woke up. 

Mariella used to hum whenever she worked with him. Who it is supposed to soothe, he’s never been sure. 

She rips open another packet of towels without a word.

Ointment is rubbed in. Phantom coldness comes to the back of his mind. The nurse’s face scrunches and then finally she withdraws her hands. The discolored gloves drop in the container. Sephiroth watches as the wound is covered again. Those fingers slip under him to tape it back in place. Finally, the nurse looks up at his face. Their eyes meet. She yells and stumbles back a step.

Sephiroth remains unmoving. She mutters something that is mostly curses. It’s too much. A headache forms in his mind. He’s spent what energy he has left. Sephiroth steps back into blackness.

 He doesn’t try to examine his body when he wakes up next. He doesn’t need to. So much of him is swathed in bandages. The burns, the cuts, the gouge in his side where there is dip where there should be a straight line, it is countless to him. The medicine is thick as syrup in his mind. The care he is given is intense and constant. They keep trying to heal him with materia. It skitters across his skin, never sinking in. It takes a strong caster to fight through his natural resistance.

The woman, naked and wet, the one who haunts his life, returns when he wakes up alone.

This time she is quiet. She sits on his bed, so close that he can count the wet strands of hair that touch her cheeks. Her eyes look knowingly at him like he means something to her. Emotion curls in his heart. What a joke. The only person who truly cares for him lives in his imagination.

She doesn’t move, no need to struggle across the room like when he was a child. She sits on the edge of his bed.

The water stains the covers. Neither one of them move. They are locked in a dance. The movements are already set. She smiles. It’s a delusion. A comfort he desperately needs but will never get. Her hips move and she shifts closer, bending the mattress springs. The black wings spread out. Feathers touch the ceiling. He allows himself to slide towards her and pretend that this is real. 

Her fingers lay claim on either side of his shoulders. She leans in. Drops of water fall around him, pattering on the pillow.

Sephiroth stills, imagining the compassion on her face that he will never get. It could be there. This close up, he sees bits of himself in her, the way her lips turn, the straightness of her nose, the broken depth behind her eyes. He floats in space with her, everything unreal except for the two of them.

She dips her face.

Her breath, cold and clean, tickles his ear.

She says something sweet, the words indistinct, the meaning he cannot understand.

He moves to touch her arm, to push her back, to read her lips.

When they are meant to touch, she is gone.

The room is empty.

He’s alone again.

She doesn’t come back.

He falls back into the simple state of being an R&D experiment, waiting for the next injection or treatment that will somehow make him better. He should hate this but he cannot. He simply doesn’t have the will.

Parts of him brush against the last moments that are clear in his mind. He shies away. It would hurt too much. Idly, he wonders about the battle. He hopes his unit survived. Grief worms into his throat. He knows the truth. Shinra must have finished off the monster but the cost must have been steep.

The memories press so deep that he strains to look around and escape them. It’s a small room. Moonlight pours in from one of the windows. A patient monitor sits next to his bed next to the IV line. His eyes blur over the numbers. A table is lined with medical supplies. A chair sits filled. The sides of the room are dark. It’s night. Even the sounds stay indistinct.

He’s been going too fast. He feels sick laying here. There is so much to do. He moves an arm, starts to stir, to push himself up.

The woman, the nurse, she rises out of the chair. He jerks, mostly internally, from not seeing her.

The nurse tells him it is okay to rest. Her hands come against his shoulders. She pushes him down as he starts to come back to himself. He can’t fight it. She must see the concern in his eyes, the way he needs to be fulfilling his job, otherwise, what is he supposed to do? He doesn’t know how to live.

“It’s okay,” she insists.

He knows it isn’t.

She turns away rustling with the supplies.

Sephiroth’s mind spins. He feels different, more grounded than before. He sees the wires suck everywhere to him. His hand reaches down, tentative to touch the bandage wrapped around his stomach. The fabric is thick and wide. It swallows the entirety of his middle. He brings up his right hand. Only his fingers sticking out of the white cloth are distinguishable. Fear curls in him. He knew the cost. He paid it. Now what will happen to him?

His hand settles on his chest.

The overwhelming misery is gone. A hollownesss echoes in him. Killing Dinand did nothing. The trouble that he caused will be gone but he will not be able to go back to a life where he was happy. There is no relief. There is just the endless expanse of the war and the lies ahead of him. The lines of stress in him start to return.

“Just sleep through this. It’s better that way. You’ll heal faster.”

He’s forgotten to check on the lab attendant.

She’s at his IV bag, cradling the clear wire with gloved hands. There is a needle in the port. Liquid is being pushed into the line. He opens his mouth to tell her no but the burn runs his arm as the drug hits his system. An uncontrolled whine comes out of his throat. Her eyes soften. A hand comes against his cheek. It’s too personal. He can’t help collapsing.

“You’ll be okay. Just rest. They are sending you to Midgar soon.”

He can’t fight it. It’s too late. The drug already settles in deep drooling sleep over him.

When he wakes up next, it is for good. It’s night again. Things click in his mind, finding the right places, gaining traction. He’s awake. The numbness of his body is there but it is manageable. He rises to sit on the bed. The shake makes it impossible to know if he can continue to sit upwards.

He can feel it.

Part of his body is missing. His right side creases in on itself unnaturally. It bends in a way that it isn’t supposed to. The skin is tight and angry. He wants to reach down to press in, to discover, but he needs both of his hands to continue to sit up.

The machine he’s attached to chirps. He sucks in air, trying to fight off the pressure in his head. He places his hands on either side of him, pushing forward, forcing his weight onto his hips and off his arms. His side crunches the bandages and he leans into it before he can fall back. The room spins with effort.

The blanket is knit across his knees. He counts the stitches instead of focusing on the quivering of his arms. He is paying his price. He knows that. He will accept it. He will crawl away from this pain eventually.

The machine chirps again.

And something shifts on the floor.

The nurse sits up from the pallet, confused and sleepy until she snaps awake as she realizes what is happening.

“Sephiroth, please, don’t try to stand up.” She struggles to her own feet. “You’ve still healing from that concussion. We’ve got to be careful.”

He shakes his head. A braid rolls around on his back. She must have done it to him. The bed is swallowing him. The longer he stays, the more likely he will give up, crumble, succumb to everything. It’s a poison seeping into his system.

“Your men are all doing fine. We have to take care of you first.”

The words prickle him. It picks up his heartbeat. It makes the focus he has sharpen. He stares at her openly. 

It could have been the generality of her statements. It could have been her mentioning the medical terms earlier. It throws something strangely into light. Something is missing.

“Where is Mariella?”

She rubs her cheek and tries to fake a yawn. “She’s not made it here yet.”

Sephiroth tries to calm the panic in his stomach.

That’s a lie.

If he has been asleep for days, which he believes to be true, there is no way that Mariella wouldn’t have been flown out here. Even worse than that, he knows that she was scheduled to be flown in during the fight to a nearby base.

They had a health appointment the day after the battle at noon.

Sephiroth fights himself. He stops putting the pieces together. He has to be wrong. Perhaps she is simply asleep for the night. Perhaps the front line has remained unstable. Shinra didn’t want to risk Mariella.

He can’t help the shake that runs through him.