Present

"For the last time, I'm not interested."

Cloud thumbed the hilt of his sword thoughtfully. Or it would be thoughtfully, if the brain-damaged stereoid-infused lump could manage any.

"You would make a great addition to the team, Seria. You're half Ancient - surely you want to help us make the Planet a better place?"

I snarled. "I've also got a bit of Jenova, too. Don't think I'm your go-lucky little saviour. I do what I do for my own reasons, no one else's. How did you even find me?" Cloud looked away and I could see the reason why. He'd been using Yuffie to tail me the few times they could track me down. "Yuffie, huh?"

"What?" he asked, surprised.

"You forgot I can read minds, didn't you?" I huffed. "Although it wasn't hard to figure out she was following me. I slotted a Chocobo summon materia in my sword the other night to find it gone this morning. Was she dissapointed it wasn't her dragon?" I smirked, a twisted glee running through me.

"I just wanted to make sure you were safe," Cloud said, humbled.

"I'm not your dead girlfriend, get over it." I snapped. "Look, I'm not a nice person, I've done some pretty horrible things. I don't run with bands of terrorists though, eco-friendly or otherwise. Got it?"

"But," Cloud asked. "What are you going to do with your life, now that you have one to live?"

I shrugged. "Clean up a few messes, I suppose. Explore, find a hobby, that sort of thing. Waste time until I do die."

"But, Seria-"

"Shut it. I am not a nice person. I have a lot to take care of, okay? It's better, and safer, if you all just forgot you ever met me."

I slammed the door in his face, and slid over the deadbolt with more force than was probably necessary. My adoptive father, Marcus Rothe, turned away from the Chocobo races he was watching and looked up from his beat up old sofa to asses the conclusion of the drama that had occurred right outside his house. The recent ordeal had almost made me forget that I was visiting him for the first time in a couple weeks.

"Bad day?" he asked gently.

I strode over and slumped into the sofa next to him. "Bad week. Ancients, don't even get me started."

"You know, I'm always here to listen," he offered.

"You don't want any of my problems, Dad."

"Not particularly, to be honest. But I can still listen."

I grinned and punched him lightly in the shoulder.

Visiting my dad was always sort of an adventure. He had put on some weight since about six years ago, and he was also having trouble with his knees. He usually had empty take-out boxes and wrappers everywhere, so when I got in I usually had a garbage bag in hand to scoop everything away from the floor. His couch was this beat up loveseat that was worn flat and smelled of cigar smoke, with a dull grey-blue colour. His TV was also showing it's age, the screen was fairly small and the sides had been fixed up with some wood panelling from the time I threw it at him. He worked as sort of a mechanic, so he also had tools littered everywhere that I would frequently step or trip on. Walking in to his house was like trying to wade through a mud-ridden minefield.

I sniffed the air. "Is the lasagna done already?" I mused out loud, rising from my seat to check it.

"It smells wonderful, but you know, you really don't have to."

"Nonsense. I can't have you eating beans and chicken wings and crap." I started tossing the salad I'd brought with the meal.

"I don't like salad."

"What's wrong with salad? You need your greens, Dad."

"It's bird food. Give it to my Chocobo here in the races all you like, but not to me, thanks."

Too bad, I thought. I dropped some on his plate. I took the lasagna out of the oven carefully and scooped some of that over to his plate aswell. I returned with the meal and utensils and handed it to him.

"Now, Dad," I said in a mocking tone. "I don't want to see anything left on this plate when you're done, understand?"

"Yes dear," he chuckled.

I sat down to watch the races with him. His bird wasn't doing too well. At least he wasn't betting on them any more, I had to deal with his gambling in my early teens. That was a pretty rough time. I'd just lost my mom and my dad fell apart infront of me. Oftentimes I had to steal money out of his wallet just to buy us some groceries, because he'd go to work at the shop and come back, having lost it all on the midday race. Finally I had enough and set him straight: I took my sword and yelled at him, "Do you want to bet on a fight? I'll go down to Wall Market right now and fight the meanest fricken' guy I can find!"

He caught me in my reminiscent daze when he turned to ask, "So, that guy at my doorstep. Was he a boyfriend or something?"

"Ancients no!" I blurted out, disgusted. "Naw, he's the leader of Avalanche."

"The leader of..?"

"He wasn't around when mom died, and it doesn't seem like they're in the business of derailing trains full of people anymore. Oh, and he's kind of an idiot."

"It really scares me what you get yourself involved in, hun."

"I know, Dad." I sighed.

"Anything I should know about?"

"Oh, the Turks might be looking to kill you."

He threw his hands in the air and moaned overdramatically. "Should I get in the bunker again?"

"Not now that you've said it," I gestured towards where the old phone sat on a messy end table. "Your phone is bugged. By the way, landline? Really?" I grinned.

"The plan is peanuts these days, what with you kids and your fancy cellphones. Speaking of plans, are they coming soon?"

"Don't think so, they're chasing a lead I left in Wutai."

"So, what is the plan?"

"It's not something I can say out loud. Finish your meal, we'll sort that out later."