Content warning: This chapter contains substance abuse and references to war atrocities.


Sephiroth closed the phone with a snap after he'd seen her reply. At his feet, a soldier finished zipping up the body bag, sealing away the charred remains of a woman with singed, black hair. By what was left of her face, she had been middle-aged—forties, fifties maybe. Three smaller body bags were already sealed beside her—a handful out of the dozens that dotted the icy, rocky slope. An acrid wind was blowing, lifting lengths of silver hair from the back of Sephiroth's neck, raking ice crystals against his exposed skin. His coat flapped unsteadily with the gales of wind; the fingers of his left hand tightly grasped the hilt of the sword.

The snowy Wutaian village was only a blackened crater now. ShinRa firebombing had reduced it to smoldering ruins. He and his men had only arrived in time to witness the devastation…and address the aftermath. Sephiroth's paperwork said 'weapons factory.' The cluster of blackened buildings and the body count said otherwise—hospital, school, playground. It was true they'd been armed, even children of seven, eight, nine years with rifles and explosives. But the problem with a war where the enemy resolutely refused to surrender, believing death preferable to dishonor, was that the lines between mission and massacre blurred so easily. His dreams tonight would be haunted by the faces of women and children cursing him and his soldiers as they burned to death. All the while, for these missions, he was earning himself a ShinRa paycheck.

Sephiroth closed his eyes, not really feeling the cold. There was the taste of bile in the back of his throat, mingling with the bitter scent on the air, but it wasn't anything he'd succumb to here. Not him, Hojo's creation, ShinRa's perfect killing machine. He shouldn't have sent that message. Pursing any kind of relationship with her was selfish on his part and would only hurt her in the end. I'm not who you think I am, Aerith. I'm not anyone you'd recognize anymore.

Footfalls crunching through the snow drew him back to the scorched battlefield.

Genesis brushed a gloved hand across his nose and looked away, his crimson blade strapped to his back. "Let me guess. We're lying about this one, too."

Sephiroth turned away. "You know we are." They were due back at camp. He began heading towards the pickup zone.

"When the war of the beasts brings about the world's end…"

He paused his steps, staring down at the white snow marred with blood and blackened debris. Next to one of his boots was a scrap of paper trapped by a smoldering chunk of brick. The paper fluttered slowly in the wind as it burned, fire eating away lines of crayon in several once-bright colors. We've arrived, haven't we?

The howling wind brought no answer to his silent contemplation; Sephiroth walked on.

-x-

The command trailer was humid with the heaters going, tinged with the smell of exertion and damp gear. Sephiroth braced his hands on the edge of the table as he leaned towards the small view screen on the wall. "Report."

First Class SOLDIERs Angeal Hewley and Zack Fair looked back at him from a similar terminal in a tent a few hundred kilometers southwest of his position. It was darker where they were, the walls of the tent shuddering in the wind.

"We've reached the first target and established a perimeter," Angeal said, static from the storm occasionally disrupting his voice and image. "Supply chains are cut off. Terms were issued, but no response as of yet. Their comm lines are running quiet at the moment." His chiseled face was characteristically sober. In the background, Zack looked on with his arms folded across his chest.

Sephiroth nodded. It was good progress—their forces had departed less than a day ago. "Once the time limit expires, you're cleared to proceed to the next phase. Tactical airstrikes will continue in the outlying areas. But with the weather as it is, you won't have air support that far inland. You're on your own for now."

"Meanwhile, we're on clean-up duty," Genesis said.

Sephiroth glanced aside at him. Half a dozen Second Class SOLDIERs manned the other stations in the command trailer; Genesis sat on a stool at Sephiroth's side. The crimson-haired SOLDIER had his legs crossed and a data pad in one hand that he paid no attention to. Genesis' expression was cool and indifferent, belying the hot-blooded irritation that Sephiroth knew simmered below the surface.

Except for that glance, he didn't address Genesis' borderline mutinous remarks. Sephiroth turned back to the screen. "Next report in twelve hours, unless circumstances dictate otherwise."

Onscreen, Angeal nodded. "Understood." His eyes flicked in Genesis' direction.

"Base camp out." Sephiroth paused, drawing a breath as he straightened away from the terminal. "Get some rest."

Angeal's gaze returned to him, studying for a moment. "You too."

The feed cut into static; Sephiroth switched it off. For a moment he eyed the swirling storm on the monitor up above, then he turned away and left the command trailer.

Base camp was situated on the eastern slopes of the mountains, far to the north on the Wutaian continent. The setting sun was dipping below the peaks to the west, casting long shafts of red light across the clustered trailers and tents, all-terrain vehicles and helicopters. To the south, the sky was dark with a wall of grey storm clouds; the wind was picking up here as well.

Sephiroth's boots crunched in the snow as he headed up the rocky slopes towards his tent, nodding to the patrol troops he passed, who stopped and saluted. It was only the end of day two of this deployment and the first full day at base camp. Given the weather—which was not supposed to let up anytime soon according to their meteorologists—and how far they were from the main Wutaian forces, it was going to be a very long and dreary deployment, slogging through the elements on the enemy's turf. Typhoon season was a hell of a time for a full-scale invasion, but ShinRa investors had no sympathy for such minor inefficiencies. Having boots on the ground was progress and the ShinRa-owned press would spin whatever tales they liked out of the day's activities. No doubt he was, at this very moment, getting accolades for the destruction of the 'weapons factory.' While his SOLDIERs cleaned up the scene, the Turks would be staging the area, so that appropriate film footage could be obtained for public consumption. …None of which would erase the imagery that flashed behind his eyelids whenever he closed his eyes.

Sephiroth nodded to the infantrymen who flanked his tent and ducked beneath the flaps. There, finally, he allowed himself to sigh. A platform inside insulated the floor from the icy ground. After flicking on the heating unit and a lamp, Sephiroth sat on the edge of it, setting his sword aside. He meant to pull off his boots, but ended up staring at them, one gloved hand curled against his forehead.

He wasn't alone for long. The tent flaps rustled, bringing a second pair of boots and the hem of a crimson leather coat into his field of vision.

Sephiroth closed his eyes, wincing at the images of charred flesh that seemed burned into his retinae. "I won't be able to sleep tonight."

"Yes, you will," Genesis said.

Sephiroth glanced up, his gaze coming to rest on the pair of silver cartridges that gleamed from the palm of Genesis' outstretched, gloved hand. "How did you get those?" His voice sounded flat to his own ears.

"I asked." Genesis set the cartridges on the edge of the platform next to Sephiroth, then unstrapped his sword and slipped his coat from his shoulders.

The tent had one small desk near the entrance with a computer terminal, stands for their armor and swords, and two rumpled bedrolls laid out on the platform, surrounded by small supply containers. As General, he could've had his own tent. The fact that he chose not to started all sorts of rumors. Sephiroth stared at the metal cartridges. Everyone thought he and Genesis were lovers. Frankly, that would've been the easier secret, if it were true. Inhaling lightly, he finally pulled off his boots and started in on his armor.

The interior of the tent warmed quickly, melting the ice crystals that clung to Sephiroth's hair. He sat cross-legged on his bedroll, stripped down to his leather trousers only as he watched Genesis load the first of the cartridges into an injector. The lamp light glinted off metal as Genesis tore open a sterile package and carefully slotted the needle into place. Like Sephiroth, he was clad only in his black leather trousers. The inside of Genesis' left elbow bore the faintest trace of dotted scars whereas Sephiroth had no lasting marks.

"You can go first if you want." Genesis set the primed injector on the tray that rested between their knees, next to a leather strap and individual packets of alcohol wipes.

Sephiroth stared numbly at the thing, at the medical symbols and dosage information stamped onto the surface of the cartridge. As much as he craved the few hours' solace the drug would give him, he couldn't help thinking of her, struggling valiantly through her grief, how she clung to him and smiled as if he had brought her back from the brink of despair. What would she think of him, if she knew? What would they all think of him, if they knew he did this?

"Usually you jump at the chance to be first," Genesis said. "Something's on your mind. Or…" his voice lowered, "someone."

Sephiroth glanced up.

A frosty, knowing smile curved Genesis' lips and slightly narrowed his glowing eyes. "Ah. Yes. Wouldn't want your little sister to know you sometimes do this. Especially after she drank herself numb the other night."

His fingers curled against his leather-clad thighs. "You guessed?"

Genesis shrugged. "I pieced enough together in the bathroom with her. It was obvious to everyone she was out of her element."

Sephiroth dropped his gaze, sighing. Aerith, I'm not really any kind of hero. I'm not an older brother you can look up to.

"Mind if I go first then?" Genesis asked.

He shook his head. "No."

Sephiroth watched, silent, as Genesis slipped the strap around his upper arm, pulling it taut with his teeth. A kind of cold shame settled in Sephiroth's stomach. He knew what it all felt like—the icy swipe of the alcohol, the sting of the needle, the burning sensation followed by the cool rush of euphoria. There was a click; Genesis' breath hissed through his teeth as the cartridge emptied, the muscles in his chest and shoulders tensing briefly. His face smoothed within moments, a shuddering breath of relief leaving his mouth as he lowered the injector, crimson beading inside his elbow.

Sephiroth reacted automatically and mechanically, snapping on a pair of latex gloves and passing the man a pad of gauze in exchange for the injector and strap. Genesis pressed the gauze to his arm, breathing deeply and slowly as he lay back on his bedroll while Sephiroth ejected the needle into a biohazard sharps container and discarded the cartridge and the rest of the used materials.

The stringent scent of antiseptics and alcohol stung his nostrils as he gelled and air-dried his hands. They were always careful; they knew what they were doing. It was with those kinds of things that he rationalized these moments. But it wasn't like their superiors would care if they knew. No one ever batted an eyelash about the handful of cartridges that went unaccounted for during deployments like these. All the same, Sephiroth took care to keep the secret between himself and Genesis. If Angeal ever found out… The disappointment he could imagine in his friend's eyes would quickly turn to horror if Angeal ever knew why—what drove them to seek these fleeting moments of escape. An errant line from Genesis' beloved Loveless flashed through his mind: There are no dreams, no honor remains.

Genesis was breathing thickly, a slight sheen of sweat glistening on his heaving chest. His arms were slack at his sides, the gauze slipping away from a wound that had already healed. The dosages they used would kill standard SOLDIERs. For them, it was merely a few hours' reprieve from the nightmares. "Things like today…" Genesis lay with his eyes closed, his lips parted as he breathed. "It really makes you wonder, doesn't it? Who we're working for… Who the real enemy is…" His brow furrowed, his right hand twitching, groping for contact as the drug pulled him under.

Sephiroth grabbed that hand, giving those clammy fingers a reassuring squeeze.

Genesis looked at him with vacant, glassy eyes. "Are we really the good guys, Seph?"

The words hung in the air, unanswered, as Genesis' hand went limp in Sephiroth's grasp, the man's breaths going soft, shallow, and rhythmic as he slept.

I don't know. Sephiroth slid his fingertips down Genesis' wrist, feeling the slow but steady beating of the man's pulse beneath his skin, counting in his head as he watched the rise-fall of his friend's chest. No signs of an abnormal reaction. Sephiroth let go and sat back, rubbing one hand over his brow as the images of things he couldn't unsee flashed behind his eyelids.

-x-

Genesis came out of it less than four hours later. Sephiroth had the lamp on low, staring at the ceiling of their tent fatigued but utterly unable to sleep. He sat up when Genesis began to move, lifting the empty basin they kept nearby.

"No, I'm fine," Genesis said, groaning a little as he pushed himself up, cradling his face with one hand. "Is it really only? …damnit."

Sephiroth lowered the basin, seeing that his friend didn't need it. But an easy wakeup was only symptomatic of the fact that the same dosage wasn't doing the same work anymore, at least for Genesis.

The man pushed crimson locks back from his face and looked over. The glow of his gaze was dimmer than usual, his eyes faintly bloodshot. "Are you taking your turn?"

He'd decided hours ago. Sephiroth loaded the second cartridge into the injector. "If you're up for it," he said, picking up a fresh needle packet.

"Yeah." Genesis shifted so that they were facing each other, leaning forward with his elbows braced against his knees.

Sephiroth went through the motions with habitual precision, moving his hair out of the way, slipping the strap around his right bicep and tasting the oiled leather as he clenched it between his teeth. The pain was brief, the relief almost instantaneous. The images melted away as the drowsy numbness flooded his veins. He didn't care about what atrocities ShinRa ordered him to commit, what Angeal would think if he knew, what she would think… He didn't care about anything. Sephiroth lay back, surrendering to the tendrils of unconsciousness that coiled around him and pulled him under, hearing Genesis' voice only from a distance.

"Sleep well, my friend."

He felt warm fingers slide against his wrist and then he was out.

-x-

Reality came back violently. Sephiroth lurched up, just getting his chin over the basin Genesis thrust into his arms before he emptied his stomach. The acid burned his throat, his skin clammy with cold sweat even as his body felt feverish. Cool hands smoothed the hair back from his face, soft and soothing words falling on his ears. Sephiroth dry heaved for several more minutes before slumping, exhausted, onto his side on his bedroll.

Genesis took the basin from him. "You're rejecting it even faster than usual."

Damnit. Sephiroth breathed hard, his throat raw and sour. He'd forgotten how awful it could be sometimes. He was always so desperate for sleep that he conveniently forgot what waking felt like. At least it was… But no, a glance at the computer terminal told him it wasn't yet dawn. Fuck. He'd only been out for two hours.

"You'll need a higher dose next time." Genesis slipped on his boots and disappeared outside with the basin.

Sephiroth heard the muffled voices outside—one of the infantrymen. "Sir, should I call for a medic?"

"No need. He's fine," Genesis said.

Gaia. No, there wouldn't be a next time. "I'm done." The tent flaps rustled. Sephiroth rubbed his face with shaking fingers. "I'm fucking done."

"Suit yourself," Genesis said, pulling off his boots and returning to sit at Sephiroth's side. "Water?"

Sephiroth rolled onto his back and pushed himself up, accepting the bottle Genesis had opened. He rinsed his mouth, spitting into the emptied basin, then drank deeply. "Thanks." The taste was alleviated easily enough, but the headache, the nausea, the chills and flashes of fever—those would linger for the better part of the day. Sephiroth lay back, pressing the heel of his hand against his brow, as if that would stop the throbbing behind his eyes.

Mercifully, Genesis killed the lamp. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"No." Sephiroth fought to control the anger in his voice. He hated himself for being stupid. He knew better. It wasn't anyone's fault but his own. Still, it was good that Genesis kept his distance. They'd been through this before—a handful of times, so they each knew what the other needed when things went bad. Sephiroth drew one deliberate deep breath and then another. He lowered his hand, not opening his eyes. "Thanks, Gen."

"Yeah." He heard the man lie back down.

Sephiroth lay there in the dark for several minutes, the sweat drying against his skin. As the tension slowly bled from his limbs, the images of the battlefield came back, almost gleefully pressing against his eyelids. It was too hot. Sephiroth turned onto his side towards the wall of the tent, thrusting the blankets away from his body; his cell phone clattered from the bedroll onto the platform.

Genesis didn't react to the noise, though he probably wasn't asleep.

Sephiroth opened his eyes, the dull green mako glow illuminating the thin, black case. As the faces continued to swirl in his head, the phantom screams sounding in his ears, he grabbed the phone and flicked it open, tapping the keys almost without thinking about it.

Write to me, Aerith. About anything. Just talk to me.

He hit send before he had time to regret it, before he could realize how pathetic it sounded. At the moment, he didn't really care. The memories of the other night surfaced in his mind— Falling asleep holding her in his arms…waking with her body curled snuggly against his, his face pressed into the familiar softness of her hair— He clung to those slices of recollection, as if her presence could banish the demons that plagued him. Sephiroth closed the phone and his eyes. It was a foolish, unrealistic wish. His message would likely worry her and have her bombarding him with questions about what was going on, but—

The phone buzzed in his hand. Sephiroth flicked it open immediately.

It's night here, see?

She'd sent a picture—of a garden of flowers bathed in dim yellow lighting, with only slivers of night sky visible through the cracks in the plate that was the ceiling over wherever she was.

I can only really tell when I go outside and look at the sky. They never change the lights down here—you'd think that they would, you know? Make it brighter during the day and dimmer at night. But the light is always at this constant, darkish level. That morning in your apartment—even though it was a rainy day—that was the first real daybreak I've ever seen.

He heard her voice in his head, reading her words to him. An inexplicable sense of calm went through him, quieting the screaming not completely, but enough. Sephiroth exhaled heavily, a rare bit of emotion lodging itself in his throat. Aerith. He'd never again claim to love another human being. He'd loved Professor Gast, and Gast had died. It was because he'd loved Ifalna that he'd helped her and her daughter escape while he stayed behind. But Ifalna was dead, too.

He shouldn't risk getting attached to Aerith. He knew better. But, if he were honest with himself, it was probably too late. The moment she'd shown up in his life again—and he'd let her in—from then… He already didn't want to lose this feeling of having someone out there who was thinking about him.

Sephiroth curled his fingers around the phone and closed his eyes, chasing sleep in the blessed reprieve of silence.


The days bled into weeks, bled into months. Base camp slowly moved beneath the storm—by now Sephiroth was sure the weather was magically sustained—while Zack and Angeal's forward troops crept inland. The airstrikes and the associated 'cleanup' continued. While Genesis 'slept,' Sephiroth drank and read Aerith's emails. He knew he was only trading one substance for another, but hangovers were preferable to the alternative. And her voice, in his head, kept him sane.

I thought about selling the house. It's so empty with just me now. So I thought maybe I'd sell it and use the money to fix up the abandoned church in Sector Five. It's a nice building—the church—but it's falling apart. Things—and people, actually—just fall from the ceiling all the time (ask Zack about that). But I thought, if it was fixed up, maybe it could be a school, or a place for the street kids to live, or both.

But when I went to talk to the realtor and showed him the house, he said there wasn't a market for it. No one could afford to buy it, except some of the upper world investors who would just take the land and make it into another landfill or sewage treatment plant or something. So, all that to say I kept the house.

Sorry—I'm rambling. I know. Zack says I do this. Feel free to tell me to stop, OK?

A couple weeks later, the realtor called. One of the nurses at the local clinic was looking around for a place to rent cheaply for rehabilitation and hospice care for soldiers returning from the war. (As an aside, I would've thought ShinRa would do more for its wounded men, but it seems like the ones who were from the slums or really have trouble reintegrating or aren't going to get better…seems like they're on their own. I don't get it. I don't mean to judge your company, but… actually, yes I do. Sorry. Kind of.) Anyways, the clinic doesn't have enough space, but trying to find inexpensive facilities in good condition…

At first I was going to say no. I didn't think I could handle it—being around doctors and nurses—too many bad memories. But these doctors and nurses aren't like the ones we grew up with. They're focused on helping people heal—they don't have agendas and research; their patients aren't specimens or lab experiments. It helps that they don't wear lab coats, either.

Long story short, my house is now home to veterans who are either slowly mending or trying to be comfortable for their last few days. Instead of charging rent, I'm training in nursing, working at home and in the clinic. The credentials won't be worth anything above the plate, but it might lead to a job down here and maybe someday I can still save up enough to fix the church.

The work and studying is really hard. And sad. Most of the soldiers have so many nightmares. They wake up disoriented, thinking they're still on the battlefield. They've seen things that can't be unseen, done things that can't be undone. There's a lot of regret, pain, and isolation. A lot of what I do is listen. It's hard, but, I'm glad I can do it. It makes me feel closer to you, somehow, helping these soldiers—some of them even fought in your regiment.

I hope you're OK. The news only covers the victories, the progress… they don't talk about what it costs. Or who pays that price.

Anyways, I'd better go. I need to get some sleep. One thing I've learned about soldiers is that they don't sleep much.

Zack says he doesn't see you often; that your missions have you in different locations most of the time. He says you're quiet, though. More so than usual. I know you can't talk about it—mission secrecy and all that, but let me know you're OK, alright? When you can. I just…worry, you know?

Love,

Aerith

Sephiroth sighed, snapping the phone shut and taking another swallow of the amber liquid in his glass. (Perks of being the General—he had ice and a real glass despite being on the rocky slopes in the middle of nowhere.)

"There is no hate, only joy. For you are beloved by the goddess."

Sephiroth lowered his glass. "I didn't realize you were awake."

Genesis sat up, curling forward against his knees, pushing one hand through the errant crimson strands of his hair. The earring in his right ear glinted in the lamp light. "I've been up for a while." He exhaled. "So that's enough for you?" Genesis' lips pursed, his gaze cooling. "A glass of whiskey and the affections of the goddess."

"It's hardly one glass, Gen."

The man flipped a hand dismissively. "You know what I'm getting at, Seph."

Sephiroth's fingers tightened around the glass. This conversation was inevitable, but he didn't want to be having it. "Look, it wasn't working for me anymore. I'm not judging."

Genesis chuckled—a raw, abrasive sound. "No, of course not. You wouldn't dream of thinking yourself superior. Just different, right? But you'll happily sit here and watch me give in to weakness, night after night."

Sephiroth inhaled, tensing. "Gen—"

Those bloodshot, mako-blue eyes narrowed at him. "I'm tired of it, General. Your condescending attitude, as if you're better than the rest of us. We all do whatever we can to get through while you just blithely—"

"Genesis." Sephiroth lowered his voice. "That's not at all what I—"

"Spare me—as if it means anything to you. How lovely that you and your fake sister are hitting it off. I'm glad. As is Zack, I'm sure." Genesis lay down, rolling onto his side with his back to Sephiroth. "Goodnight."

Sephiroth set the glass down firmly, exhaling through his nose, his jaw tight as he eyed the coiled muscles in his friend's back. "I'm not like you. I didn't have any kind of family growing up—"

A bitter half-laugh left Genesis' mouth. "You imagine I had some glorious childhood, because I lived with adopted parents ShinRa paid to raise me?" He rolled onto his back, rubbing his left hand across his eyes, the G1 tattooed on his wrist catching the dim light. "Get over yourself, Seph. We're all sick of it."

Anger flared inside him. "That's what you think I'm doing; why I'm here?" He thrust the blankets aside, rolling onto his knees, loose hair spilling over his shoulders as he faced his friend. "That I'm sitting here mocking your pain? Gaia, Gen." Sephiroth grabbed that wrist with his right hand, his own S1 tattoo clearly visible. "We had a pact. That's what's real to me. You have my back and I have yours. I'm not letting you change that."

Genesis' eyes flashed open, pinning him in the cold mako-blue glow of his gaze. His hand curled into a fist and he pushed himself up on his other elbow. Sephiroth held the man's gaze unwaveringly and didn't let go.

Eventually, Genesis exhaled slowly and looked away. "Goddess, Seph." He lay back down.

Sephiroth felt some of the tension leave Genesis' limbs. He hesitantly relaxed his hold.

Genesis pushed him away. "Do you fly away now? To a world that abhors you and I?" The man sighed, closing his eyes. "Fine. You win."


Rumored reports of his and Genesis' little 'tiff' swirled through base camp from the next day, never intentionally in the General's earshot of course. They just weren't aware how good his enhanced hearing really was. So he heard all about their 'lover's quarrel' and how he and Genesis supposedly made up. Sephiroth ignored it all. Addressing it would've only added fuel to the fire. He had more pressing matters to attend to, between Lazard's incessant requests for status and the business of actually running this war.

As Angeal and Zack made progress on the front lines, holes in the endless storm appeared and Sephiroth was able to advance to their position. Fort Tamblin, the last Wutaian stronghold, was still weeks of progress away, but they were slowly gaining on it. The Wutaian resistance was breaking down—due, in part, to the many airstrikes ShinRa still conducted. Most of the targets now were military outposts though, rather than civilian facilities (or so the paperwork claimed).

The snowy mountain slopes gave way to humid valleys and thick jungles. The smell of sweat and mildew was pervasive in camp. Even after multiple showers each day, Sephiroth still felt sticky. The command trailer was one of the only air-conditioned areas; even so, he still cursed the heavy curtain of hair that hung against his back and stuck to everything. His leather uniform was worse, though.

Sephiroth scrolled through the reports on his data pad, frowning. "Intelligence found another target—back in the mountains. A civilian research facility."

"Weren't you guys just there?" Zack asked. The pup was sitting on a stool, holding onto it as he stretched his legs out, grimacing. His spikey black hair hung limp against his face from the dampness of the air.

"This is apparently a separate matter." Sephiroth pressed his lips. "There's evidence of ties to Hollander."

Angeal's face darkened. The large man folded his arms over his chest, his gaze flicking towards Genesis.

Genesis was sitting on another stool, his legs crossed, fanning himself with a data pad and looking off into the distance as if he wasn't listening.

"Why would the Wutaians have any connection to a crazy scientist who abandoned ShinRa months ago?" Zack asked.

Sephiroth lowered the data pad. "I didn't say this had anything to do with the war."

"Which you'd know if you'd read your dossier this morning like I told you to," Angeal said, throwing a glare over his shoulder at the young SOLDIER.

Zack snorted, folding his arms. "I skimmed it."

"Seeing that sensitive corporate information is potentially involved, Lazard wants one of the four of us to investigate." Sephiroth leaned back against the countertop, taking a moment to sweep his hair away from his back, though it wasn't much of an improvement.

Angeal faced him again. "And if Hollander is there?"

"Take him into custody and wait for the Turks."

"I'll go," Genesis said, slipping off his stool and leaving the data pad there. He headed for the trailer's exit. "The air will be cooler."

"I'll meet you there later if I can," Sephiroth said.

Genesis threw him a cool glance. "If you insist, General. But I can handle it." With an errant flip of his hand, he left.

-x-

Paperwork ended up taking the majority of the day—the very un-glorious reality of being General of the ShinRa army. But Sephiroth managed to make time to keep his promise to Genesis, if only for a few hours' reprieve from the suffocating heat of the lowlands. He sat in the copilot's seat of the chopper, looking out over the rocky, mountainous terrain below. The slight let-up in the weather must've allowed intelligence access to satellite imagery to find this place, because there was nothing out here.

"Approaching the coordinates, sir," the pilot said over interphone, the upper half of his head covered by a helmet and shades.

Sephiroth touched his headset and nodded. As they banked over the target area, he got a look at the place below—a building camouflaged to look like the surrounding terrain, partially reduced to rubble. Bodies littered the scorched ground, thin rivers of crimson running down the slopes with melting snow. Sephiroth recognized both choppers on the ground as belonging to the Turks. The transport that Genesis would've taken was absent.

"Set us down there." He pointed.

"Rog." The pilot maneuvered them over a clear area and set the chopper on the ground.

Sephiroth wrenched off his headset. "Don't shut down." He flung the door open and stepped out, ducking to avoid having his hair meet the whirling blades.

Groups of infantrymen, attended by Turks, were hauling bodies around, collecting them into piles and lighting them on fire. They weren't human, those corpses.

Tseng, wearing a perfectly pressed navy blue suit, turned as he approached. "You're late, General. SOLDIER Rhapsodos already left." The man's face was a cool, emotionless mask.

"I wanted to be here sooner," he said. "Was there sign of Hollander?"

"Of his work, yes; of him, no." Tseng walked him to a pile of bloodied corpses.

Sephiroth went cold, staring down at the abominations at his feet—naked monstrosities with vaguely human limbs that ended in claws or talons, some with scales instead of skin. A few even had feathered, wing-like appendages. But their faces were all perfectly human with Wutaian features, both men and women, and some very, very young. "These were…people." His voice came out slightly hoarse.

"Genetic experimentation," Tseng said. "There's evidence that some were grown. Others were, apparently, modified." He said it all so dispassionately, as if he were discussing the weather. "SOLDIER Rhapsodos handled the situation with unfortunate efficiency. There are no survivors, either lab technicians or these. We would've liked to question someone about what was going on here."

"Then take care of it yourselves next time," Sephiroth said, turning away. "If you don't like the way we handle things."

Tseng sighed. "It's going to be difficult, spinning this one."

"That's not my problem." He walked away, curling his right hand into a fist, as if he could feel the tattoo burning against his skin.

-x-

It was nightfall by the time Sephiroth got back to base camp. He saw Angeal and Zack in the mess tent, just finishing their evening rations. Sephiroth stopped by their table. "Genesis?"

"He got back a couple hours ago. Said he was going to work on his report," Angeal said, draining the last of a bit of coffee.

"Ah." Sephiroth relaxed a little bit.

Zack brushed shards of damp hair from his forehead. "There are, uh, a lot of weird rumors going around."

"Zack." Angeal shot the pup a warning look.

"About the mission?"

Zack pursed his lips, shaking his head.

Sephiroth rolled his eyes and walked off. "Angeal…"

He heard a satisfying thud. "Squats, SOLDIER. Start with fifty."

Zack grunted as he picked himself off the floor. "One… Two…"

Sephiroth passed swiftly through the jungle camp, heading for his tent. The temperature had fallen slightly, but night had not alleviated the humidity one bit. Most of the camp had settled down other than those on patrol.

A bit of light seeped through the seams of the tent. Sephiroth nodded to those standing guard and ducked inside. Genesis was already 'sleeping,' lying on his bedroll, stripped down to his leather trousers.

"Gaia, you were supposed to wait for me," Sephiroth muttered. He yanked off his boots and wrenched his leather coat from his shoulders, flinging it aside in irritation. "That was the one rule. You wait."

The injector and spent cartridge were lying at Genesis' side. Sephiroth sat on his bedroll and snapped on gloves, reaching for Genesis' wrist as he searched for the sharps container.

Genesis' skin was unusually cool to the touch. Sephiroth froze, his fingertips roving, searching for a pulse— He peeled off one glove, digging his fingertips hard into Genesis' wrist… There was the weakest throb, barely pushing back at him, slow…slowing…

Icy panic squeezed his chest. "Genesis—" He shook the man; no response. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening— Sephiroth leaned over Genesis' body, hovering with his cheek over the man's nose and mouth…and felt nothing. No breath, barely a pulse…

Sephiroth sat back, his arms and hands shaking, images of all those corpses and body bags flashing behind his eyes. No. Gaia, no—

Rescue breathing—that was step one. Sephiroth centered himself with a deep breath as training and adrenaline kicked in. With a pulse, chest compressions weren't necessary. Open the airway… He tilted his friend's head back, pinching his nose, two fingers against the chin. Inhaling, Sephiroth sealed his mouth over Genesis' cold, bluish lips, exhaling and feeling Genesis' lungs fill with air. He gave two breaths and counted to thirty, while dumping the contents of his friend's bag out beside them. There should have been, somewhere, another cartridge—the emergency cartridge… Goddamnit, where was it?

Sephiroth gave Genesis two more lungfuls of air and grabbed his phone, his vision dancing with spots from the effort of repeated forced breaths. He hit speed dial and speaker phone, dropping the phone on the platform beside his knee as he felt Genesis' throat for a pulse. Gaia, the man was flat-lining. Sephiroth rose up on his knees, locking his hands together and beginning chest compressions. "Goddamnit, pick up the phone!"

"Uh, sir?" One of the infantrymen poked his head inside. His young face went white. "I'll—I'll call for a medic!"

Sephiroth didn't stop what he was doing. "If a medic would've helped, I would've yelled for one. Get me Angeal!"

"Seph—" Angeal's voice crackled through the phone.

"It's Gen. He's not—"

"On my way."

Sephiroth continued CPR, even though his lungs burned and his arms ached. He felt Genesis' ribs crack under the strain, but that was OK—anything to keep blood pumping through his friend's veins, anything to keep him from dying. It was the longest two minutes of his life.

Angeal burst into the tent with Zack on his heels. "Zack, keep them clear out there."

"Yeah." The boy nodded, shaking as he ducked back outside.

"Angeal!" Sephiroth barely looked up. "I need you to the find the—"

"—How much did he take?" Angeal shoved things out of the way, dropping to one knee at Sephiroth's side and opening a pouch at his waist.

Sephiroth shook his head. "I don't know." He glanced at the spent cartridge. "The other night, it was fifty cc's. But this one's different."

"Straight up? Gaia. You guys are trying to off yourselves." Angeal yanked a small injector from the pouch, pulling off the cap with his teeth and ramming the needle into Genesis' thigh. The injector discharged a bright red cartridge.

Their friend's body jerked.

Angeal shoved Sephiroth aside. "Come on, Gen. Wake up. Nap time's over, sweetheart." He tapped Genesis' cheeks firmly with his gloved hands.

Sephiroth sat back, slowly catching his breath, his arms shaking from the exertion. The seconds ticked by with excruciating, maddening slowness…

The crimson-haired SOLDIER suddenly coughed and drew a shuddering breath. Color returned to Genesis' face.

"That's it, Sleeping Beauty," Angeal said. "Open your eyes for me."

Genesis shook, his face contorting with pain, his forehead slick with sweat. He curled onto his side and blinked, his voice weak and hoarse. "Goddess, I hate you, Angeal."

"Yeah, the feeling's mutual." Angeal smiled faintly.

Genesis lay there, drawing slow, noisy breaths, bruises forming on his chest.

Sephiroth felt dizzy with relief. "You've been carrying that around." He pressed his lips, his shoulders falling as the shame rose inside him. "You knew."

Angeal glanced at him. "Yeah." His face smoothed into resentment. "But I didn't say anything, so I'm just as complicit." He sighed. "I didn't think you guys were up to that much."

"Gaia, Seph. What did you do to me?" Genesis' fingers coiled, trembling, against the angry red and purple splotches blossoming on his skin.

Sephiroth shoved hair back from his face. "Hang on." He fumbled through his bag amidst the mess, grabbing a Restore materia. The Cure spell filled the tent with coils of emerald light. For a moment, a blue glow enveloped Genesis' chest. When it faded along with the bruises, the man's breathing eased.

"Why didn't you just do that in the first place?" Zack asked, peering in between the flaps of the tent.

Behind the kid was just about every SOLDIER in the camp. Damnit. Of all the times to have an audience…

Genesis fixed him with a glare from bloodshot, heavily shadowed eyes. "You called the cavalry?"

Angeal stood, blocking them from view. "There's nothing to see here. All of you back to your duties. Right now!" The SOLDIERs scattered. "Not you, Zack."

Sephiroth glared back. "If you hadn't decided to be such a prima donna and fucking OD on me—"

"Where the hell were you, when I needed—"

"Both of you, shut up!" Angeal's booming voice filled the tent. He was standing over them, his large hands perched on his hips. "We're all going to have a fun enough time explaining this come morning, but for now I want answers. And don't bother explaining how—I can guess that. Tell me why."

Sephiroth sat back, quiet. He felt like a teenager again, those countless times early on in their training when he and Genesis would get into it and Angeal would break them up. Angeal had always been the older, responsible one. Still, words failed him. He couldn't think of anything worse than Angeal knowing what he'd done—what they'd been trying to escape from.

"I won't do it anymore, Angeal," Genesis said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I won't kill another child. Human, monster… it doesn't matter. This isn't war anymore."

Angeal's breath hissed out through his teeth. "What are you talking about? I've read all the reports." His face hardened as he looked at Sephiroth. "You signed them."

Anger welled up inside him—at himself, at his superiors, but mostly at his own failure to do something about it. Something that would've prevented this night from ever happening. "Yes, I signed them. Masterpieces of fiction, all of them." Sephiroth's hands balled into fists against his leather-clad thighs. "To weaken the enemy, so the frontlines could progress. So we can someday end this godforsaken war."

Angeal rubbed a gloved hand over his face. "I don't know why you're bothering to defend them. If you were OK with it, you wouldn't be sitting here shooting up with stuff like that. Playing roulette with your goddamn lives."

"I don't get it." Zack entered cautiously, his mako-blue eyes sweeping over the scattered injectors, cartridges, and other medical supplies. He grimaced. "There are other ways to—"

"Not for us, Puppy," Genesis said, shifting to lie on his back, still moving gingerly. "The three of us are different than your average SOLDIER. Our bodies resist, adapt, reject. A simple sleep spell will numb you. We are not so fortunate."

"Yeah, OK." Zack scratched his head, his face pale. "But what do you mean, children?"

Sephiroth's jaw twitched. He didn't answer.

"Gaia." Angeal dropped to sit on the platform. "I had reservations about this operation from the beginning, but…"

"Lazard and Heidegger know the Wutaians won't surrender," Sephiroth said quietly. "Unless they're persuaded or sufficiently motivated."

"It's not a bad line of logic," Genesis said, his lips thinning into a line. "But ShinRa doesn't take into account how stubborn these people are. How do you fight people like that? When to them it's a matter of honor?"

"Honor shouldn't be wasteful," Angeal said.

Genesis lifted a brow. "Whose side are you on, my friend?"

The large man grew silent. Sephiroth couldn't find anything to say, either.

Reality encroached on his thoughts as the adrenaline cooled in his veins. It was evening. Come morning, he'd have to address this situation with his troops. They were still in enemy territory, hundreds of swampy kilometers away from the Wutaian military headquarters, still mostly pinned down by this incessant, magical storm—

His phone buzzed, four pairs of eyes falling onto the slim, vibrating black case.

"Lazard probably," Angeal said and sighed. "Comms must've called back—"

"I swear I didn't say anything," Zack said, spreading his hands in front of him, palms out. "I just told people to stay back, like you said—"

Sephiroth picked up the phone, flicking it open, the fingers of his free hand curling with a trace of undefinable emotion when he saw the sender. "Not him."

Seph, is everything OK? Look, I know I shouldn't ask, but… I've been having the feeling that awful things are happening. Loss of life, I mean. The news doesn't say anything and 'they' haven't been around watching me, so I can't ask. But some of the soldiers I've treated in the past few months…they try not to say anything, but I hear things they talk about in their sleep; sometimes they scream… Seph, it's frightening. I know it's 'war,' but this can't be right—this can't be OK. Some of the spirits I feel returning to the Planet, they're really young. They're…children, aren't they?

The screen cracked between his thumb and forefinger, splintering her words behind the glass. He could imagine her trembling voice so easily, as if she were speaking straight into his ear, grasping at his arm with tears gleaming in her glowing emerald eyes. Sephiroth quietly, numbly, closed the phone.

"Definitely not Lazard," Genesis said, smirking as he pulled himself up to sit, resting his bare arms loosely around his bent knees.

Sephiroth saw Zack stiffen in his peripheral vision; he felt the boy's keen gaze but didn't look up. I don't even know where to start, Aerith. There's so much blood on my hands already.

"First things first," Angeal said, scrubbing his forehead with one hand. "Once headquarters finds out what happened tonight, the first thing they'd do is recall Genesis to Midgar for evaluation."

"So Hojo can fix me." Genesis grimaced. "Goddess, that's not happening. Going home to Banora would have the same effect."

"We'll go somewhere else," Angeal said. "You need treatment, but not the kind you'll get in ShinRa's labs."

Genesis sniffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm fine, Angeal. And what do you mean, 'we'?"

"I'm going with you, obviously."

Sephiroth inhaled slowly.

"You're…talking about deserting," Zack said very quietly.

Angeal arched a brow, glancing back at the boy. "Are you going to turn us in, Zack?"

Zack's shoulders slumped. "No. But you're… This is all happening so fast. It doesn't even feel real."

Sephiroth watched Angeal rise to his feet, resting a hand on one of the boy's shoulders—a familiar gesture. Sephiroth had been in Zack's position before.

"There are multiple ways to affect change, Zack. External ways and internal ways. You haven't been here long enough to see what we've seen. Pick your own loyalties. Above all, protect your honor."

The boy inhaled, his face stricken. "Angeal…"

Angeal glanced over his shoulder. "Gen, get packed up. The sooner we get out of here the better."

"Yeah." Genesis reached for his bag and scattered belongings.

Sephiroth drew a breath and exhaled slowly. "I'll sign the release. Medical—we won't even need a cover for that."

Angeal nodded. He unsnapped the pouch from his belt and pressed it to Zack's chest. "Hang on to this. It's your job to watch him now. If it's an emergency, don't hesitate to use it."

Zack, wide-eyed, accepted the pouch.

"He won't need that. It's been almost three months," Sephiroth said.

Angeal gave him a cool look. "That's what they all say, right? You need help too, but Gen's first."

Sephiroth looked away, irritated.

"Where will you go?" Zack asked, securing the pouch to his hip.

"Mideel is supposed to be lovely this time of year," Genesis said.

"Right…" Angeal said in a dry voice. "Because those ritzy rehab clinics by the beach won't be the first place Hojo and company look when you go missing."

Genesis sighed.

Sephiroth pressed his lips. "Aerith's running a clinic out of her house. The Turks are all here. It might be a place to lie low for a while."

Again, he felt Zack's gaze.

"She's studying to be a nurse," he said, finally meeting the boy's eyes and not relishing the conversation they'd be having as soon as Genesis and Angeal left.

Angeal shrugged. "It might work for now. Eventually, though, we'll need to leave Midgar."

"Plenty of places to hide in the slums, at least for a little while," Genesis said. With his bag situated, he rose, brushing back sweat-dampened hair and reaching for his discarded coat and boots.

Zack cleared his throat softly. "I can tell you how to find it."

Sephiroth got to his feet, dressing quickly. "I'll do the paperwork." He stepped out into the humid night, into the quiet camp, into the furtive glances of his guards and the other SOLDIERs on patrol. That was it, though—glances.

He made his way to the command trailer and completed the paperwork. Med evac for SOLDIER Rhapsodos, escort SOLDIER Hewley. Angeal and Genesis could handle their own disappearance easily enough. He didn't spare any thought for what would happen come morning.

By the time he exited the trailer, the chopper was already warming up. Genesis and Angeal approached with bags slung over their shoulders, Zack in tow.

Sephiroth went to meet them.

Genesis stopped close to him, smoothing back a bit of hair, not smiling. His eyes were still bloodshot; still bruised with fatigue. "Sorry. I didn't mean to put you through that."

Sephiroth nodded. "How about promising me that'll be the only time?"

"Yeah." The crimson-haired man leaned in and lowered his voice. "I'll give her your love."

He inhaled. "Don't you dare."

Genesis smirked—his eyes glittering with amusement—and moved away. Angeal nodded to him and then the two were climbing into the chopper, lifting off—

—Leaving him with Zack, an army, a war… Sephiroth refused to let his discontent show in front of his men. Ignoring them all, he headed back to his tent. Zack trailed him inside, apparently taking his assignment from Angeal literally. Already there was a new bedroll spread out in Genesis' place. All of the medical supplies had been cleaned up and tucked away.

Sephiroth dropped onto the edge of the platform, pushing back sticky bangs. "Look, Zack—"

"Is it OK if we don't have this conversation right now?" Zack didn't meet Sephiroth's eyes as he sat down and yanked off his boots. "Morning's in a few hours, my mentor just left, my girlfriend is—" He cut off abruptly, his face smoothing. "I'd rather not do or say something I'm going to regret in front of my commanding officer."

"…Fine with me."

The young SOLDIER pulled off his armor and stretched out on his bedroll. Within minutes, Zack was snoring.

Sephiroth rubbed a gloved hand over his brow and sighed. Why did interpersonal relationships have to be so damned complicated?

Eventually, he removed his armor and coat. The leather peeled away from his skin, every inch of him feeling grimy from the humidity. Sephiroth grimaced—he needed a shower. Snagging a dry towel, he ducked outside in his trousers and boots.

As he walked through the humid night, the phone in his pocket shifted against his hip. Sephiroth paused, drawing it free. He flipped the case open (he'd need to requisition a replacement in the morning). The ruined screen flickered to life, jumping around a bit before settling on an older message of hers that he'd saved. Her words and the memory of her voice came to him between the cracks of glass…

Life happens…without asking permission, before I'm ready. Some things I saw coming, but I always thought there'd be more time. There was always more time. Things always turned out OK…until they didn't.

Sephiroth inhaled slowly, typing a reply to the same thread.

I was lucky tonight, Aerith.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket. In his private shower trailer, he rinsed off and towel dried his hair. When he stepped out of the shower stall to get dressed, his phone glowed softly from where it rested on top of his folded trousers, the message icon illuminated.

Sephiroth slung the towel around his neck as he read.

I know. The Planet told me—that someone you care about almost returned to it. That's not luck, Seph. You were there for him when he needed you, weren't you? That's a gift we don't always get. You can tell me about it, if you want. When—if—you're ready. I'll be here.

Sephiroth closed his eyes, the tension slowly bleeding from his limbs, her imagined voice in his head broken only by the sound of water dripping from his hair to the floor. Maybe someday, he thought. Giving his hair another scrub with the towel, he dressed and headed out into the night.