Funny enough, this chapter's been complete since... March. My bad, you guys!

Serpent Under the Flower

Chapter Two

Sephiroth removed the IV from his arm, glancing toward the clock on the wall. It was a few minutes past three in the afternoon, and he knew it wouldn't be long until he was expected to meet the new recruits. It was one of his responsibilities as the poster-child of Shinra's elite SOLDIERs. Their faces all looked the same, the speech was written my the same man, with almost the same blunt and boring sentences. He would say a few words, impress the masses, and go back to his room and sleep off his mako injections for the day.

He had been warned in advance that there were a few 'new' members that he would be expected to get along with. Rather than joining the cadets for a stint in the army, they were Hollander's pet projects were immediately ready for active duty with SOLDIERs.

He held in a contemptuous laugh. Hojo had been telling him for weeks that nothing Hollander made could even possibly pass as ready for anything other than the trash. He was given their files, and it was a little impressive (though Sephiroth did not dare even suggest such a thing to Professor Hojo) that they weren't dead. At least that could be said about the project: They were the only two to survive. There must have been something good about them... or, as Hojo suggested more than once, a fluke of science.

Hojo. Hojo hated Hollander's work, and Sephiroth never wanted to dig deep enough into the topic to figure it out. It wasn't his business.

He didn't want it to become his business, either.

Sephiroth blinked through the haze of green and stared up into the brightness of the halogen lamps. It burned more than he would admit (sensitivity to light was one of the worst after-effects of having mako pumped into his body) but he continued to stare into the light with little qualm. Nothing could really hurt him, according to Hojo. What else could he do with his time? It didn't hurt as much as the others complained. Just a burning through his retinas that radiated through his skull, sending little jolts into his brain.

If anything, it was normal.

Sephiroth breathed through his nose and out through his mouth.

Today was just another boring day.

With a grunt, the boy sat up and blinked his eyes, ridding the green spots from his vision. Disorientation from the mako reminded him not to move around too much because it would cause potential mishaps—like when he was fourteen and fell down a flight of stairs and nearly broke his neck. Hojo kept him in an isolation tank for a week to figure out if there was a problem with his special specimen. Nothing happened (other than more discomfort, but that was something that affected his daily life, so there was not much to be said on the particulars) and he was released with a clean bill of health, but rather than moving quickly, the pace was slower and more steady than his usual brisk walks.

He made it to the elevators, passing by the med-students who grew used to his constant presence. They ddi not stop him, nor attempt to lend a hand. During one of his particularly awful experience with Mako, he lead to the broken bones of no less than four medical students, and since they tended to stay well away from him.

Sephiroth did not mind; he minded very little.

Angeal would never say it, but he was nervous.

Genesis would find it funny, laugh like he was telling the funniest joke in the universe at Angeal's expense—and really, it was at his expense. He always was the strong one, the guy who stood at the ready and allowed the other kids around him to panic instead. The butterflies in his stomach were cruel, capricious beasts that he'd never had to deal with before now—and no matter if Genesis was his best friend, he'd get a kick from it.

Genesis stood next to him, perfectly still and with perfect posture, something that didn't happen with his friend very often. It was most likely Sephiroth being within spitting distance that kept Genesis from futzing around. Genesis's obsession with the other teenager made Angeal a little... frustrated. Of course, we would never say that to Genesis's face (Or Sephiroth, for that matter; he enjoyed his head firmly on his shoulders, after all) and tried washing the feelings under the proverbial bridge. It wasn't as though Genesis, or even Sephiroth (the bastard, Angeal added with a twinge of contempt) were at fault here; it lay specifically on Angeal's shoulders.

A price to pay for feeling things for your best friend, he was sure.

Again, he squashed down his feelings and stared at the podium where Sephiroth was giving a speech.

Genesis hung to every word. Angeal fought not to fall asleep.

It wasn't that Sephiroth's speech was bad or anything; in fact, it was an excellent speech that was well-written. But, could Sephiroth act any more boring while giving it? While Angeal knew that he couldn't really blame him, it was actually quite hard to listen to the sixteen-year-old's clipped, bored tone.

Then again, after giving the same pep-talk to every grunt class that walked through Shinra's doors, he would be doing the same. It was more of a chore, Angeal could see from the boy's posture. He didn't like talking in front of others and his voice nearly broke twice: A reminder that he was barely legally allowed to be in Shinra, let alone be a weapon sent off to war. From what Hollander told them, Sephiroth has been trained by Shinra since birth, both mother and father unknown to most. Hollander knew but did not tell, saying it wasn't his place, even when Genesis threatened to leave the program until he knew every little detail about the other boy's life.

It only took a reminder that he would never get to meet Sephiroth if he quit the program to put Genesis back on track.

That particular trick worked every time, no matter what the old doctor did that angered him. Always, it came back to Sephiroth: Beating Sephiroth, Teaming with Sephiroth, Working with Sephiroth... Loving Sephiroth. While there were many things Angeal could be jealous of in regards to Shinra's weapon, he still couldn't hold it against the guy. He was just like them.

A teenager.

After being inducted to the ranks of Shinra's SOLDIER, Third Class, Genesis wanted to celebrate. There were a million things he wanted to do before his first mission, the top of that list pertaining to speaking with the legendary Sephiroth to express interest in becoming the boy's rival. While most would consider that callous and perhaps more than pig-headed, it was Genesis's way of making friends. When he was a child, it had been the only way to get Angeal to pay any attention to him. Even with his 'special skills' thanks to the mako, Mayor Rhapsodos did not see the use in his child attaching himself to a commoner, and made spending time with Angeal so much more difficult. Calling on a rivalry was sometimes the only way for Genesis to excuse the time spent with the other boy.

That is, before Genesis stopped caring so much about what his parents wanted from him and started acting on his own accord.

They never truly appreciated his ability of thinking for himself.

"Genesis, could you please stop bouncing?" Angeal asked, a smile ever present on his gruff friend's face.

Genesis looked away from his friend and back down the hallway, the gray steel walls echoing his friend's question. "I'm not entirely sure I want to right now," he responded and listened along as his voice drifted like a ghost in the smoggy air. The Shinra building would be a fantastic place for Genesis to read poetry out loud; his voice simply shook against the metal and mako tomb. It was ethereal, beautiful, and with the words of an epic such as Loveless, it would be even more fantastic.

"We should probably go down to the canteen and grab something to eat before it closes," Angeal suggested, but Genesis shook his head, auburn hair flying in every direction.

"No. We're not going down to the canteen tonight. We'll go somewhere nice. After all, we're SOLDIERS now. Let's just go change into our new outfits and go explore the town." There was a chance Sephiroth would be in the canteen, but there was also a chance that he wasn't. And, if he wasn't, maybe Genesis would get a glimpse of him somewhere outside of the compound. Chances; there were always chances.

And Genesis knew that all he needed was a chance and things would be smooth-sailing.

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