Shade
by TwinEnigma
Standard Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII, nor do I make profit from this fanwork. This is done for fun and skills building.
Warnings: Spoilers for Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core.
7.
His first impression of the church is one of both wonder and an eerie familiarity. Something in his gut screams that he has been here before, though why a SOLDIER of his caliber would have been here is a mystery. It is merely another crumbling building drowning in the sea of growing refuse under the Upper Plate, abandoned to its fate. And yet, the closer he gets to it, the more he realizes that he recognizes it somehow. For a moment, he hesitates, his hand hovering in front of the door. He doesn't know what he'll find here, but somehow he knows it's tied to his past.
A slight push is all it takes, the door swinging fully open and, again, something burning flashes through his blood. He can feel his pupils dilating and the pounding rush of blood in his veins. Then, as quickly as it had come, the staggeringly powerful sensation is gone and he is left standing in the open doorway, breathless and chilled to the bone with cold sweat.
He knows now, more than ever, he needs shelter and rest. Memories whisper of broken rafters and ruined back rooms that could be used for hiding. He raises his head and stares, struggling to find the elusive door to the back through eyes still blurred with fever. Instead, his eyes are drawn to a circle of light and green and it takes him a moment to realize he's already started moving towards it.
It's a patch of flowers, radiant in the artificial light from above. It is an impossibility - a miracle of sorts - because he remembers that nothing grows in Midgar, but he knows this scent. His eyes wander from the packed earth and flowers splitting the floorboards to the ceiling above and the hole that yawns down at him.
"Defend yourself!" Angeal roars in his ears and, in his head, he can still feel the surprise and shock when the limit strike impacts him because he wasn't expecting him to go through with it. He remembers the attack exploding in his face with a bang, and then the floor was just gone.
"I fell?" he murmurs, raising a hand to his head and wincing at the flickering memories of panic and weightlessness. "I fell here."
It's hard to think clearly and he knows he's forgetting something, but he can't recall what. His head aches and, for a moment, the perfume of the flowers threatens to overcome his senses.
"Hello?" a woman's voice calls out and he winces, unable to tell if it's memory or real.
Then, he hears the creaking of floorboards, soft the rustle of cloth – light steps, hesitant, real – and the voice as she calls out again, "Hello?"
He turns to look at her and his eyes widen in recognition. She is older, but he knows her – she was the one who found him here, she was… Memories rush forward in a flash of burning white and green that races through every cell in his body, stealing the breath from his lungs for the barest of moments, and then, as if some key in a lock had turned somewhere, he remembers who he is.
"Aerith?" he says, quietly at first, and then louder as he steps forward. "Aerith!"
Before he knows it, he has crossed the gulf between them and is wrapping his arms around her in a hug, ever careful of his strength. In his arms, she is stiff as a board and, when he pulls back, he can see the shock and disbelief on her face. She must have thought he was dead and he can't blame her for it, not after four years. There were times he'd almost believed he'd died, too.
"I - I don't understand," she murmurs, almost to herself.
"Aerith, it's me," he says, cupping one of her hands in his own. The action seems to startle her out of it a little and she looks up at his face. Her hand drifts up of its own accord, brushing past his hair as she traces the lines of his scar with her tiny hands, and her brow furrows a little as she searches his face.
"It's me, it's really me," he assures her, placing one hand over her own and cupping her face with the other. "I tried to get back soon as I got your last letter, but I was so sick from the mako and some things are still a jumble… and The ShinRa - they're looking for me everywhere! But you - you're okay, right? I mean, you said the flowers are selling, so I guess that means the cart worked out okay and all… Ah, look at that! You've still got the ribbon I gave you!"
She blinks, her face falling into a strange mix of sadness and bewilderment, and then she brings up her other hand, running it over his face as she closes her eyes. Slowly, they sink to their knees together, never once losing contact. Aerith sighs and he can feel her hands, cool and soothing, trail down his face to his neck and then slide under his arms as she pulls him into a hug. He lets himself fold into it, wrapping his arms around her, and he never wants to let go. He's had no clue how much he's missed her until now.
"I thought I'd lost you," she whispers, at long last.
"It's okay now, I'm not going anywhere," he says, closing his eyes as he leans forward until his forehead rests against hers. "I'm done with ShinRa. After what they did to my friends… to me…"
She hums, a noncommittal sound, and when he opens his eyes, she has drawn back a little and is regarding him thoughtfully. Then, she cups his face with a hand, her eyes sad: "You're not all the way home yet."
A thin chuckle escapes his lips. "Yeah, my mom and dad are probably going to kill me for making them worry, but its better this way. I don't want to put them in any danger."
Aerith shakes her head, smiling a little. "It really is you in there, isn't it?"
"Yeah," he agrees. He knows he looks like hell. "It's really me, Sephiroth."
Her smile fades and, with a concerned look, she reaches up to smooth the spiky silver hair away from his face, but her eyes are, if possible, even sadder than before. Her hand lingers on his cheek, thumb brushing over his scar, and softly, she asks, "Oh, what have they done to you?"
AN: Well, this complicates things.
