A/N: Oh, look! A Genesis back-in-time Fanfic! This is one of the many things I work on when I'm stuck on my other stories. I hate forcing myself to write through a Block. Instead, I work on something else until I get inspired. This story also has an accompanying fic, but due to how they connect, I won't post even the first chapter of "Bite Your Tongue" until I'm further in this one, despite the fact that the first chapter of BYT was completed weeks before I completed this chapter.

WARNING: Yes, this fic does have -gasps- Original Characters! within it. But seriously, I use OCs to give my writing more substance, I'm not going to shove a pairing in your face. This story is about GENESIS, not an OC. There will be small-time OCs throughout this fic, but there are only two 'important' OCs that I plan to use. One of which is only going to be in a few chapters much, much, much later in the story and only has a pairing 'off-screen'. The other, Ruth, will have re-occurring appearances but will NOT be paired with Genesis or any other main canon character. If I DO choose to pair her with a canon character, it will be a minor character and for the most part off-screen. Ruth is designed as a comrade and 'older sister' type character, not a romantic interest, but even 'older sisters' need some love. Might I reiterate that this fic is about Genesis? Though, Sephiroth, Angeal, Cloud and Zack are all considered secondary main characters.


No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
And no one knows
What it's like to be hated
To be fated to telling only lies

But my dreams they aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free

No one knows what its like
To feel these feelings
Like I do, and I blame you!
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through . . .

"Behind Blue Eyes"


0-1-2-3-4-5

Not a Dream

Behind Blue Eyes

"A Different Ache"

0-1-2-3-4-5

"Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul."

~Loveless, Act II


Only a few minutes after Zack left him alone above the ruins of Banora, Genesis dimly heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He knew at once that it wasn't Zack, the steps were too light, too quiet. Each step was sure and even, landing precisely where it was meant to. Only his own sharp hearing allowed him to register the slight sound of the dirt shifting with the weight pressed into it.

The footsteps were accompanied by the whisper of shifting leather as well as a quiet chime-like sound of metal glancing against metal. The person stopped right beside him and he heard leather creak in protest as they crouched, accompanied by the sound of something dragging through the dirt.

Everything was still, and he could feel eyes on him, searching him for something. He shifted his head slightly, uncomfortable with the feeling of being watched so intently. The newcomer moved again, and this time he felt strong arms lift him and cradle his body like a child. There was something about the ease of the motion that caused Genesis to tiredly force his eyes open.

Long silver bangs hung next to a pale-skinned chin. A high collar of black leather. He could feel the hardness of a pauldrons beneath his shoulder. He watched lazily as a black-gloved hand caught his Dumbapple before it could tumble free to the ground.

Wop-Wop-Wop-Wop

Rather than move towards the sound of the approaching helicopter, his carrier seemed startled and arms tightened around him.

Then he heard a familiar whistle and felt a series of droplets strike his face. At the same moment, he dazedly watched through heavy eyes as fragile flesh tore and silver was stained a darker shade of crimson than even his coat.

Blood.

Lips part in a pained grimace and he feels a jolt as . . . Sephiroth? . . . stumbles and falls on one knee with a gasp. Despite the situation, he found his eyes sliding shut again as consciousness escaped his grasp like grains of sand, but for one lingering thought.

How could Sephiroth be there . . . when he had died five years ago?


As Genesis returned to consciousness, he did a mental assessment of his body as sensation returned to him. The cold ache that had pained him for years with growing intensity was gone, leaving the healed flesh strong and sensitive enough that the seams of the shirt and trousers he was wearing made his skin itch with harsh irritation.

He was no longer wearing boots, gloves, or coat, he couldn't feel the pressure of his harness pressing through his shirt, or even the hard metal weight of the earring hanging from his right ear. A familiar, almost plush, give to the soft surface beneath him told him he was in a bed. Then his nose identified the subtle rose scent permeating the fabric.

The brunette opened his eyes to look at the familiar white ceiling, having slight trouble comprehending his situation with the lethargy that clung to his body. Why did he feel so tired? As if being cured had drained him of every last remaining drop of his energy . . .

He groaned as he finally acknowledged the sound of someone knocking on a door and swung his legs over the side of the bed as he sat up, steadying his head with a hand as his vision blurred for a moment. The carpet beneath his feet was a slate grey, soft but not plush and he stared at it for a moment, facts clicking together in his mind, even as he heard a rattle as a door was opened and someone entered.

Genesis finally lifted his head as he heard someone push open the half-shut door to the bedroom, rapping their knuckles on the dark wood in warning. The sight of the man caused the Banoran man's heart to skip a beat, all the pieces clicking into place.

The rose scent; the combination of white, blue, grey, and brown that colored the room; the way the sun filtered through the broad red curtain covering a window that took up a whole third of one wall . . . it was impossible.

"You're going to be late, Genesis." Angeal stated dryly, lips curving in a small smile. "What in Gaea's name were you up to last night?"

"I . . ." he shook his head, trying to shake the disbelief freezing his body in place. How could this be? He was certain this apartment was destroyed in his assault years ago . . . and Angeal was supposed to be dead! "Nothing, just tired."

"You certainly look tired." His childhood friend's voice turned concerned and he found he couldn't drop his gaze, searching for some clue that this wasn't real, that it was all some dream . . . Except that Genesis had always been able to tell when he was dreaming.

"You aren't sick are you?" Genesis blinked, starting as he realized the other First was now crouching in front of him, reaching up with one hand when he didn't respond. "Well, you don't have a fever . . ."

"I'm fine." The brunette SOLDIER pushed Angeal's arm away, surprising himself with how much effort that small movement took to do, then finally tore his eyes away. Propping his head in his hands, he sighed tiredly, rubbing at his eyes.

Genesis heard the raven-haired man shift and cracked open his eyes to watch as he took a half-step back. When Angeal finally spoke again, Genesis felt his hand on his bare arm and looked up. "Get some rest."

"What about . . .?" he didn't know what he was supposed to be late for, was it a mission? A meeting? An appointment with Hollander? . . . he still wasn't sure he believed what was going on.

"I'll take care of it, you just . . . take it easy." He watched as Angeal's eyes flicked towards his left shoulder, "I'll stop by later."

"I . . ." he sighed again, dropping his arms. More sleeping did sound tempting . . . he was starting to get a headache from the sheer impossibility of this whole situation. Angeal was supposed to be dead. Sephiroth was supposed to be dead. He no longer worked for Shin-Ra, let alone lived in the SOLDIER apartments. Yet, the man in front of him looked like Angeal, sounded like Angeal, acted like Angeal, Hell, the man even smelt like Angeal.

Genesis was getting the strongest sensation of Déjà vu at the concern the raven-haired Banoran was offering . . . hadn't this been the same conversation they'd had the day after that spar when he'd begun to degrade? Almost word for word?

The ache was different, one of lethargy rather than sickness, but all the same . . . he wouldn't act the same as last time, he wouldn't shrug off his weakness this time.

He wouldn't be ungrateful for what he had a second time.

" . . . Thank you, Angeal."

The smile was worth it, he told himself in satisfaction, even if it was accompanied by a surprised look. After all he'd put Angeal through . . . He smiled back halfheartedly, wanting nothing more than to fall back into bed and close his eyes once more. To escape.

"I'll be back in a few hours." Angeal nodded resolutely, concern flickering over his face again as he moved for the door.

"I'll be fine," he chuckled, mustering a grin as he watched his friend linger with his hand on the door, "Don't worry."

"I'll hold you to that." The taller man said seriously, but pulled the door shut all the same. Genesis sat there for several moments, listening to his friend walk across the apartment, and then the outer door open and shut.

He glanced back at the inviting red sheets of the bed, but instead of lying down, pulled his shirt over his head and stood, tossing the well-worn fabric at the basket beside his dresser. Pulling open a drawer, he pulled out a pair of loose sleep pants and quickly replaced what he was wearing with them, relishing the feel of the soft, seamless fabric on his irritated skin. As he lifted his arm to throw the discarded trousers in the basket as well, he paused and looked at his coat. It was in a pile on the floor near the basket, tossed aside haphazardly.

Dropping the clothing in the basket, he crouched down and picked the coat up, sitting heavily on the bed. His pale eyes searched the surface of the leather for what had caught his attention and found it almost immediately.

Blood.

Streaks of it marred the leather around the collar and he found himself wincing as he made out a fragment of bone here and a shred of skin there. Genesis' mind flashed back to those few half-awake moments . . . he remembered the shots and the sheer amount of blood, he was surprised none had gotten on his shirt. Angeal would have noticed. Judging by how the blood had flown, he was certain Sephiroth—it must have been Sephiroth—was hit in the neck at least once, maybe twice.

Had he survived that?

Genesis abruptly frowned as he noted something: the blood . . . was still fresh. But that made no sense! He knew that he had been asleep for at least a few hours since that incident, the blood should be bone dry by now. Reaching out tentatively, he rubbed at one dollop and grimaced as it smeared easily across his fingertip.

"Impossibilities upon impossibilities. . . ." What in Gaea's name was going on?

He groaned and pressed his fist against his forehead as he felt a headache building, but stood and forced himself to continue. If this was Sephiroth's blood, whether it was the Sephiroth of this impossible now or a Sephiroth risen from the dead/near-dead, it could be devastatingly useful. He might be cured, but Angeal never was and if he could use this to save his 'brother' before degradation could get a hold on him, then he must do so.

Rising to his feet, he set the coat down on the bed, careful not to let any of the blood touch the sheets, before crouching down and pulling the medkit from underneath his bed. Snapping it open, he grinned as he found what he needed.

A series of unsealed glass ampules in various sizes, reaching out, he took one of the smallest ones, only a few centimeters in length, as well as an empty syringe. He was almost surprised at how easy it was to collect the blood, though the amount coating the leather was as worrisome as it's refusal to coagulate. It took him no time at all to fill the vial, and after a second thought, he used tweezers to add the bone fragment he had seen before.

Sealing the ampule was easy enough, he only had to use a localized and greatly weakened fire spell. Admittedly, he nearly burned his hand in doing so, but that was neither here nor there. Genesis stood to leave his coat on the desk to clean it later, only to realize Angeal would probably notice it when he came back, and being the tidy person he is, he would collect it to hang it up and doubtlessly ask far too many questions about the blood that should not have been there.

The brunette sighed and rolled it up, shoving it underneath the bed along with the medkit. Ampule in hand, he glanced around, searching and grinned as he located his earring. A quick twist separated the earring into two parts, revealing an opening within which he slid the ampule, before twisting it closed once again.

Genesis let the earring dangle between his fingers for a moment, staring at it, then dropped it to the nightstand. A single solution in a web of confusion . . . he sighed heavily and sat on the bed once more.

He didn't understand it. This seemed to be the day after he had been injured, when he had begun to experience degradation. That chilling ache was absent, as if the past seven years were only a terrible dream. Raising his right arm, his eyes trailed over a scar from a wound inflicted by Zack in that last battle, it was still pink and fresh, newly healed, it might even not develop into a true scar like most materia-healed wounds did. That scar, combined with the other evidence, told him that he had someone physically been brought back. The question was . . . was this the work of the Goddess . . . or the Calamity?

And where was Sephiroth in all this?

Sephiroth should not have been there, he was long dead. Had he somehow survived? If so, why had he only shown himself then? Why did he wait so long and only reveal himself to Genesis after he had been healed by the Goddess, after he had been defeated by Angeal's puppy. The last time he had seen Sephiroth, he alienated him, pushing the remnants of their strange friendship to the breaking point . . . and it had stung.

Genesis lay down on the bed, but didn't bother to pull the sheets back over his body as he stared at the far wall contemplatively.

It was too confusing, too convoluted, impossibility upon impossibility!

Minerva, his head hurt.

Closing his eyes, he forced his questions into silence, rest would grant him the energy to find answers . . . and so he slept.

0-1-2-3-4-5

0-1-2-3-4-5

A/N: You have to admit, having jewelry with secret compartments is rather like Genesis.