Spring in Midgar was no different to the rest of the year. The grey smog which veiled the city like a bride showed no signs of dissipating, there were no bright sunrises or refreshing showers, and to all intents and purposes, all that changed was the calendar month.

It was a wearying existence, destroying the soul little by little, as day after day the routine became so ingrained that you could almost believe your body would continue in it for several days after you died, with no-one any the wiser. The parks were grey, the streets were grey, and the city seemed separated from the outside world, as if by a bubble, some kind of insulation which prevented disruption to lives which belonged to ShinRa.

There were several people trapped within the company walls who suffered more than drones who had been raised, or farmed, as some would put it, within the city.

The Turk, deadly assasin, who moved like a blade, but killed with a gun - or anything else that came to hand. In the Turks, there was rarely time to be pretentious about things.

Although each day he continued in his duties, silent, unquestioning and unquestionable in turn, his nights were haunted by dreams, not of those he had killed, but of the life he had known before and long forgotten, a life in a free land, breathing the fresh air and feeling the pulse of the earth as new life was finally granted by Leviathan's grace and the world began its turn through another cycle. Sometimes he would wake, and choke on fumes and the unshed tears of the boy he had never been.

The cadet, the military grunt with unruly hair and huge blue eyes, for the moment untroubled by the horrors of war, only innocent, and willing, leaving so many blind to the steely determination which had brought him this far.

He missed the mountains, where spring meant wild flowers and new goats and lambs to be shepherded and grazed over slopes once barren, now green and springy, the scents filling the air, sweeter than a thousand perfumes of the Midgar socialites. It meant that the lake would thaw, that it was time to swim again, and there would be stolen days away from school to work, really work, in the outdoors, where it mattered.

The SOLDIER First Class, the General who was one of ShinRa's three prize poster boys, now living the life he had been born to, created for, far away from the idyllic childhood home he had been permitted seemingly so briefly, only to have it snatched away as the company reclaimed their property.

They never had time to visit home now, neither he nor his childhood best friend, the one who had always stood by and protected him, when neither of them had been able to defend themselves. His adoptive mother - not the one the company had assigned him to, but the one who had loved him as her own son regardless - would be aging now, and he wondered whether he and Angeal would see her again before she passed on, how much grey now streaked that hair once the colour of a raven's wing.

He remembered fields full of apple blossom, the air heavy with the scent as he had sprinted barefoot through the orchards, Angeal hot on his tail, and being caught in a cloudburst, laughing and rolling down the hill together, covered in mud as they finally returned to the Hewley home to wash and change, met with freshly baked cookies and an affectionate chastisement.

Unknowingly, the three of them sighed, each heart heavy with memories stifled by the miasma which infected every soul, its grip tightened by each passing day within the walls of duty and privilege which locked the citizens in tighter than any cell.

It had been a spontaneous decision which lifted the red General from his desk, sending him instead down the corridor to the gym where Angeal was teaching a class of cadets. The correct term at this point was probably supervising their training, rather than teaching. He had demonstrated the routine, run them all through it till it was drilled into their mind, and then set them to drilling it into their muscles. Things like this had to be second nature, especially given the nature of their work. There was no room for sloppiness on the battlefield, and in the terror of blood and explosions, instincts were what would save their lives.

Quietly, he waited to be noticed, and sure enough, Angeal crossed over to him, ever formal and honourable, conscious of their place in the public eye. Genesis was long accustomed to it, though he felt a pang at the lack of a gentle brush of lips on his cheek where noone could see. He always had been more demonstrative than the larger man, but they had been together for so long that they understood each other implicitly. Angeal was glad to see him, he knew that. Angeal was always glad to see him.

"Genesis?" he asked, indicating that they should step into the corridor, not wanting the rhythm of his class disturbed by the participants pausing to salute the crimson man. Naturally, Genesis followed the cue, and followed him out again. Here, although he could receive nothing more intimate than a smile, the warmth and affection in it never failed to lift his heart, to remind him that, as far as Angeal was concerned, there was noone more beautiful, or more precious than he. Sometimes, after all, he would forget.

"I was wondering..." he began, almost hesitantly. This had been a snap decision, an impulse, and Angeal usually so preferred to plan things in advance, would be concerned about the consequences, their honour of doing something so sudden. "About the two of us taking some of our time off, a week, maybe, and going back to Banora... it's Spring, after all, not that you'd ever know it in this smog-filled sewer, and... it's been so long since we went home. It used to be so beautiful. I miss it. I'd like to go back... but I don't want to go alone. It wouldn't be home without you, Angeal."

His lover watched him for a long moment, listening to him, hearing him out, and when the speech had finished, smiled in response, before he spoke.

"I think that's a wonderful idea. Perhaps if you went to speak to Lazard, we could see about leaving at the end of the week?"

He had noticed Genesis' flagging spirits over recent weeks, and had been concerned, but without understanding what the cause was, he had been unable to think of solutions. The truth was that he would rather welcome the opportunity to get away from Midgar himself. It had been a long time since they had last taken a holiday - every recent attempt seemed to have been aborted for some crisis or another, on company orders, of course, and it was beginning to wear on all of them. Genesis, though, so open with his emotions, had been hit harder than most by it, and if it was something as simple as a trip home which would lift his spirits again, then, well, Angeal was more than happy to accompany him.

It was not only the upper echelons of SOLDIER who were making moves towards returning to the real world, the life outside the grey and endless uniformity of filth that was the Midgar cityscape, wonder of the world, and at the moment Genesis turned to approach Lazard regarding time off, Cadet Strife was waiting outside General Sephiroth's office, hoping to be granted a few days' leave. He hadn't taken any of his thirty eight days allowance yet, had had no need to, but now he was homesick.

Eventually the secretary indicated that the General was ready to see him, and Cloud took a deep breath. He was always nervous going into the presence of the Silver Elite - as it was only natural to be in the presence of one's commanding officer, even if you hadn't done anything wrong. He cleared his throat and stood at attention, saluting.

"Corporal Strife, Sir."

"At ease, Corporal. You may sit."

Sephiroth indicated the chair opposite him. There was always an uneasy formality to his manner, especially in interactions with the lower ranks, as if, although he had been taught to be a General, a leader of men, a warrior, somewhere along the way people had neglected to teach him about social interaction. Many people found it unsettling, but Cloud didn't mind - noone was perfect, after all, even if so many did try to hold Sephiroth up as the epitome of perfection - and he found it comforting to see that the General was flawed like everyone else, in some small way.

"What did you want to see me about?"

"I was hoping that I could take a week's leave Sir." he caught himself about to fidget, and managed to remain still, focussing his attention elsewhere instead.

"Alright Corporal, what is your reason for wanting to take leave?"

"I want to go home and see my family, Sir. It's Spring, and I miss the mountains. I haven't taken any of my leave allowance yet Sir."

"In that case I see no problem with granting the request..." Sephiroth reached down to select the appropriate form from the stacks of paperwork he had at his fingertips, and filled it in with the required information. "You may take a week's leave, from Friday. Naturally transportation is your own responsibility, and you will be expected back for your first class on Monday morning - promptly, Strife."

"Yes Sir, thank you Sir."

A moment's pause, and Sephiroth nodded. There was nothing more to be said.

"Dismissed."

Cloud stood, saluting once more, and left, going to seek out his best friend.

Zack wasn't hard to find. Zack was never hard to find. He was in the gym, as usual, doing his endless squats, panting with seemingly inexhaustable energy. When he saw Cloud, he paused to wave breathlessly.

"Hey Spiky! You looking for me?"

Cloud grinned.

"Well, yes, as it happens, but I wouldn't say looking for, I didn't have to look very hard after all!"

Zack poked his tongue out at the blond cadet, and crossed over to him, pulling the slightly reluctant Cloud into a rather sweaty hug.

"What did you want?"

"I've got a week's leave... I'm going back to Nibelheim, I was wondering if maybe you'd like to come with me...i'd like to show you around, and it's so beautiful at this time of year."

Zack nodded enthusiastically at the prospect, bouncing a little on his toes.

"That'd be great! I'll go talk to Angeal and let you know tonight, okay? You'd better get to dinner Spiky, I'll see you later!"

The older man ran off, and Cloud followed after him, shaking his head slightly at Zack's enthusiasm.

In the other of ShinRa's two great deterrents, the leader of the black shadows was allocating the mission assignments for the next month. He paused at a brief detailing a diplomatic protection mission accompanying Lazard Deusericus to Wutai. Lazard was the President's bastard son - he had been adopted by the old man when he was young, after Augustus had become resigned to never having a legitimate heir. It was only a year after that, of course, that Rufus had been born.

Having made the adoption, though, it would have been highly suspicious for Lazard to disappear, and so he was being groomed for vice-presidency, and Rufus, of course, would replace his father as leader of ShinRa. It was deemed the best solution to attempt to reduce rivalry between them, since the certainty of getting the top job would hopefully dissuade Rufus from removing his elder half-brother, and the security of knowing he had a future should have been enough to keep Lazard under control

It had been the Turks who had played the largest part in raising the two boys, but Lazard was now Director of SOLDIER, and was rarely seen by those who had once been his family. It was a sad truth, too, that neither of the Shinra sons had been outside Midgar, had seen the world as it truly was, had known fresh air, a clear sky, or rain on their skin. This diplomatic mission would be the first visit to anywhere, let alone Wutai, and Tseng wanted to share it with the young man who was so like a brother to him now.

Although he hardly went on missions himself anymore, he was the obvious choice for the trip - he could communicate, he knew the area, and he was more than capable of negotiation as well as simply protection. Of course, if he went on this mission, it was also likely to minimise the paperwork in comparison to, say, Reno. After a moment's further hesitation, he assigned the mission, his own name scrawled in the box.

They arrived late in Banora, dropped off by a military transport which had been going that way anyway, one pack each all they had to carry, left in the middle of a street they had run down so many times in years gone by.

It felt as though nothing had changed - in the semi-gloom even the buildings looked the same, and it took each of them a moment to shake off the timewarp which seemed to surround them, wiping away the last fifteen years as though they had never come to pass.

As if by some silent signal, they moved in turn, like puppets come to life when the puppeteer awakes, and turned, hand in trusting hand, to walk up to the house on the hill, where there was always light in the window, and a safe bed for boys who wanted a home.

It was Genesis who knocked on the door, holding his breath. They hadn't even written to say they were coming, and although he was certain that the news would have reached them if the worst had happened, there was an unshakeable fear that something must have changed here, somewhere, that this last precious thing might have been lost to them forever...

But the door opened, and a face familiar as the sun stared back at them for a long moment, equally frozen in disbelief, lined with age as she stared seemingly into the past.

"G-Genesis?" eventually the dark gaze shifted back over his shoulder and she stepped back, hands going to her mouth "A-...Angeal?"

"Mum..." the crimson General stepped forward, no longer a war hero, but a child, reduced to the child he had been as he fell into the embrace of a woman who had been more his mother than anyone. Arms came up around him, and he relaxed into the security which on some nights had been the only thing to keep the nightmares away.

They were home now, and although both were conscious that it was not, and could never be forever, but with the blossom weighing down the branches in the orchards, and the smell of fresh rain when the sun came out, they could forget. They could explore the old places, and do the old things, climb trees and fences, explore in the caves and roll down the same hills they had rolled down a lifetime ago, and always they would come back to fresh cookies and milk, to a delicious dinner, and dumbapple pie from last year's harvest. For the moment, they could forget who they had become, and be who they had been, as if all the intervening time had never been, surrounded by new life in defiance of all the killing. They ate as a family each night, sharing news, and telling stories of the days' events. Gillian didn't ask about ShinRa, and neither of the boys told. This was a separate world.

It was on the last day, then, looking up from the bottom of the hill as the sun set behind the cabin which had been much more of a real home than the mansion which lay in isolated splendour at the other end of the village, Genesis saw the only adult he had ever trusted, watching them walk out of her life, as they had so long ago, but now her hair was frosted, and the face he had once thought the most beautiful in the world was lined with age. The grip was as sure as ever, but her hands shook when she thought noone could see, and he could feel his heart breaking. There were always new beginnings, but the realisation that the one thing he had believed to be eternal was passing away, and he was not there to see it, that they could not offer the woman who had raised them some help, and some dignity in her old age... but they no longer belonged to her, they belonged to ShinRa. They lived it, and breathed it, and did what the company told them. They could never go back to being the children she had once known.

It was cold in Nibelheim, but then, it was only natural. To Cloud, though, it just meant he was home again, with meadows filled with wildflowers which looked carpeted with precious jewels, and grass which seemed edged with gold when it was caught in the sunset, as if the whole of the mountainside was on fire with the glory of it.

Cloud took Zack everywhere, from the pool which was smoother than a mirror until they both plunged into the glacial waters, slicing like a knife until they surfaced to splash and laugh, to the very top of the mountain, to look out over Gaia spread below them, as if they were looking at a living map.

He introduced him to Tifa, the mayor's daughter, and Cloud's oldest friend, and showed him around all the mountain trails he could walk with his eyes shut. It was an alien world to Zack, who had grown up in the heat of Gongaga, but the enthusiasm and the real love for it which Cloud had no shame in showing allowed him to see the whole place through his blond friend's eyes, and come to see it on its own merits - the same as Gongaga, or Wutai, or even Midgar. Each beautiful in their own way. What he loved most about it, though, was the way Cloud seemed to come alive. He smiled, and laughed, and Zack could hear in that laugh the similarity to the mountain brook which flowed alongside the main trail to the mountain-top, and his eyes shone the blue of the Nibelheim sky. He had never seen Spring in this way before - it had been rain, or a word which came between Winter and Summer, and had no meaning. He was glad that Cloud had taught him the joy in what he'd been missing.

Spring in the old country was as beautiful as Tseng had remembered it being. Although the land he had once called home still bore the scars of ShinRa's wrath, nothing could mask the beauty which still remained, and, in all honesty, there was more beauty, too, in the strength of what remained, in the scorch marks on the buildings, and the grey earth where what did not remain had stood, now veiled in cherry blossom like a bride on her wedding day.

He was so glad he had taken this mission - being a Turk left precious little room in one's life for anything but the suit. It was not something one became because they wanted it, but simply because they had no other choice, and life had equipped them with the guile, the hunger for survival, the cunning, and the fierce loyalty which was necessary to live beneath the shirt. It hurt to be reminded of what he had once been, but he welcomed the pain. All pain was strength, after all, if one knew how to manipulate it, and the time had come to face the shadows of his past. Now was the time to do it, though, the time of the year's true beginning, the death of the old and the birth of the new, the chance to set down past sins and memories, and release the past.

For him, then, it was a chance to release the spirit of the child who he had once been, who had died the first moment he had been offered the suit, or the gun. For Lazard, it was a chance to be the child he had never been, to see what he had never seen. It was a chance to learn what flowers were, what life meant, and by extension the great cycle which began and ended with the lifestream, that the world did not begin and end with the office walls. All seasons had their joys, their powers, but it was Spring which held the greatest of all opportunities: The chance to start again.

Storm Mason: I love that Zeng has nightmares about the good things, not the bad. /Love/ it.

I keep giving it this tiny, sad, heartfelt smile...

...And then, my Genesis was staring. And trying not to cry. Oh... Okay.

I love the research. It really helps. I should do some myself... . These are Drake's shifty eyes.

AND THIS IS DRAKE FLAILING AT THE INTERACTION BETWEEN SEPHIROTH AND CLOUD IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL UGH 3

Actually all of Cloud's interactions. I love the way you've done him. There was always a subtle sense of formality about him, wasn't there? I've never noticed...

What a neat take on Lazard! =D - Drake's face

...And those tears are back. With a tiny little "Gillian..." He's scared to listen to me read any more.

"A face familiar as the sun" ...yes.

Storm Mason: ...Inspiration, hello. Old friend, it's been awhile. Thank you, Angel. Might get to that...might...

"but they no longer belonged to her, they belonged to ShinRa" These are tears, do you see my tears? CREYS FEEEEEEEEEELLLLLSSSSS ugh

Gorgeous comapring Cloud to Nibelheim. Absolutely genius.

The first two paragraphs with Zeng are /amazing/. The way you've captured that, the metaphors and comparisons, the way you speak of everything...gorgeous. Would have liked to see more of Lazard, to be honest. That interested me greatly.

Overall, it's very beautiful. Definitely a piece of yours, stepping into it and then out, as always. A moment in another world, and so tactile, so brilliantly colourful. Your words and method haven't changed, and that's nice to see. I al

Storm Mason: always did like that best. =3

Thank you for sharing. It was nice to read something of yours again...something "real", you know? I appreciate it.