A/N: I spent hours and hours on this chapter. I am completely uncertain of it, though it's what I've been planning all along. I rewrote the last part about three different times because I absolutely hated it. Anyway, I hope you all still end up liking this story after this part. Hopefully you won't hate me...too much.
Thanks to: Kyuubi-ismy-homie, OvenBased, hitsuni, NicotineGum, whatevergirl, kirlover44, VampiricRooster, Gismo1, Anonymous, , ghost of gene rayburn, minoki, Tiny Koala, and KT!
Anyway, you have no idea what it means to me to have people take the time to tell me that they are liking this craziness! Honestly, it is so great to have encouragement :D I just hope I don't disappoint all of you.... But as always, feel free to tell me if I do.
There was a lot of risk involved, more than Sephiroth would have liked to acknowledge.
He watched the tumultuous green waves with a noticeable detachment, listening intently to the ragged breathing of the boy strewn across his lap in the cramped confinement of the helicopter.
Vincent was in bad shape, very bad shape. The small little chest was fighting for each and every breath, and Sephiroth was draining his magic by constantly aiding in at least a partial pain relief. He'd already given the boy a conservative amount of morphine, but was hesitant to do anything else. The boy was so small...it would be incredibly easy to give him too much of anything. He couldn't weigh over 110 pounds, if that even.
When Sephiroth had freed the boy and lifted him from the mess he had been trapped in, the feather-lightness had shocked him. He could feel through the uniform that Vincent was all muscle, yet his body was so thin and frail.
As for his arm.... It was the worst part of the injuries sustained, by far. Alister had wrapped his belt around it as tightly as he could get it, then cinched it closed before Sephiroth had lifted the desk.
The boy had a cast on his leg, which Alister explained had come from a fall down a flight of stairs. Something about the whole incident did not sound right to the General; Vincent was sure-footed, far from clumsy. For now, however, he would have to accept the explanation, and could only wonder as to how the boy had gotten into the antiques shop in the first place. There were many unanswered questions.
It would have been easy to ship Vincent off with one of the helicopters heading for a nearby base hospital in other sections of Wutai, but Sephiroth had gone against that plan. He knew what would happen if Vincent was sent to a regular military hospital. Not only would he be treated last because of his rank, but chances were the doctors would make the same decision that both Sephiroth and Alister had at one point: that the boy was beyond saving. Even if Sephiroth had made certain the boy received immediate treatment, there was little normal doctors could do.
If Vincent lost the arm, his chances in SOLDIER were all together forfeit. Though SOLDIER had nothing against the permanent injuries inflicted in battle, with lower-ranked individuals there was little purpose they could serve besides being employed as paper pushers. Unfortunately most of those jobs were already taken by the out-of-commission Firsts, which often meant anyone else simply had to leave SOLDIER. It was a sad reality, but there was not much choice in such a matter; it was left up to the Board of Directors, not Sephiroth, or things would have been very different. Sephiroth may not have appreciated weakness, but he understood that some things could not be helped. They had to be accepted for what they were.
He was taking tremendous risk. Not only for Vincent, but for himself. It was a foolish thing he was doing, especially considering he was about to have the Turks Reno and Rude drop him off in an area not far from a very high-security undisclosed research facility. Normally he was dropped off near Costa del Sol, but this time not only did he not have his motorcycle in tow, but Vincent could not wait much longer.
He was willing to do something drastic; he didn't know precisely why, but the boy affected him. Perhaps Angeal's protective ways had become somewhat ingrained in him....
Angeal and Zack...all of SOLDIER...even Alister didn't know where Sephiroth was. He had not even had the time to tell Zack that Vincent was still alive, which might have been an intelligent choice. Vincent wasn't guaranteed to survive, not at all....
The helicopter descended slowly, Reno's blatantly red ponytail billowing in the down force. Sephiroth could scarcely see through the shroud of silver hair that quickly covered over him and Vincent.
Vincent, more or less unconscious, moved closer to the warmth that he felt, his eyelids fluttering from the deafening whir of the helicopter's blades, but not coaxing him to completely open his tired eyes.
"Are you sure this is where you want off?" Reno shouted over his shoulder.
They were somewhere near Rocket Town, though it was miles away, to the south of the strange jungle-like expanse they had landed in. The trees were bunched together, hunter green and healthy looking, covering the ground in shadow easily with their leaves which provided a natural canopy and cooled the air considerably.
It had taken some flying around to find somewhere open enough for Reno to land the bird. Reno was frowning, not exactly unaware that he was missing something. Rude was quiet, though he had already reached a conclusion that he knew Reno would be asking him about seconds after the General got out of the copter.
"Yes," Sephiroth called back through the noise of the machine and the constant, loud rustling of the large, overgrown trees' leaves.
Reno unbuckled and quickly got out of his seat, having managed to get the bird on a nice even spot. He left it running, the blades chopping mercilessly overhead.
Sephiroth was already rising, though gently. He couldn't grab the boy under the knees, so instead he simply cradled his long legs in one arm, while bringing the small face up toward his neck. The injured left arm he draped across the boy's stomach.
"Hope the kid is alright," Reno said lowly, though he knew Sephiroth could hear him even through the noise. Rude had joined Reno, and was standing beside him. Surprisingly, he addressed the General from behind his black sunglasses.
"You know what you are doing?" he asked.
Sephiroth gave a nod, one of his black-gloved hands gripping the teen a little more possessively.
"Watch him closely," Rude finished, before turning to go back to his seat.
"Well, duh," Reno said, frowning a little at Rude's retreating back. "Why wouldn't he, yo?"
Reno didn't seem to catch the fact that Rude had not been talking about Vincent, but Sephiroth understood. Though he wasn't overly-fond of the Turks in general, Reno and Rude had their...qualities. They had both served him well in times where discretion was mandatory. Reno may have called him "that psycho General guy", but he had never once crossed him.
"Thank you," Sephiroth said, looking to Reno.
They had agreed to do as he asked, though they had received no orders. It was not safe for them to even have a relative idea of where the facility was, but it was much better that it be Reno and Rude than someone less trustworthy. The Turks already knew what he did off base, though they never questioned him on it, respectfully keeping their distance from his personal matters.
It was not without doubt that Sephiroth made his way out of the helicopter.
He had made his choice. There was no time to turn back.
"You could have given me warning," Hojo stated angrily, ripping through Vincent's tattered uniform with a pair of surgical scissors none too gently.
"There was little time," Sephiroth stated monotonously. "I do not like to call this facility from my phone anyway; the calls are monitored."
Hojo said nothing, his face the epitome of displeasure. Though Hojo himself was a master at playing emotions, he rarely seemed to find opportunity to not let his feelings be known. His manipulative nature was more or less revealed to the world, so what was there to conceal? He reveled in being completely in his element; the out-of-the-way lab allowed for that, while his talents were still very much known by the right people.... It was...the perfect arrangement.
Hojo had not shown his surprise at seeing the son of Grimoire Valentine dumped on one of the chrome medical tables; it was far too good to spoil. The boy's eyes, which had flicked open once or twice were a dead giveaway, as was the straight ebony hair that stopped just below the bottom of his chin. Hojo had seen a small picture of the boy when he had shared a lab with Grimoire several years previous. The man had kept it in on of the drawers of his desk.
"You are not to alter him in any way. You are not to experiment on him. Is that understood?" Sephiroth said, his eyes steely, commanding. "All I ask is that you keep him alive."
Hojo laughed darkly, a high-pitched, irritating thing that grated on the General's sensitive hearing. "Of course."
Sephiroth had already decided that he would not leave. He did not have the slightest bit of trust in Hojo; the man was a self-serving megalomaniac. To have a fresh 'specimen' to work on brought out by far, the worst aspects of the man's heavily lacking personality. Besides cruelty, there was little else there, though sadistic and impetuous came to mind.
"Why such interest?" Hojo asked, his smile wicked as he began to attach several different types of monitor wires all over the small, white chest.
Sephiroth didn't bother to glare at the man, as it would only raise the scientist's level of curiosity toward the matter. He had to choose his words carefully; Hojo may have been completely mad, but he wasn't stupid, and the slightest hint of any sort of weakness on the part of Sephiroth would later be used as blackmail.
"Commander Hewley is training him," Sephiroth stated shortly, deciding to distance himself as much as possible from the boy in Hojo's eyes.
"And he knows he is here?" Hojo said, his eyes twinkling with a cruel amusement.
Sephiroth said nothing, watching as Hojo's hands prodded Vincent's arm, pushing into the wound. Hojo only smiled lightly at Sephiroth's lack of response.
The boy had been put under directly upon arrival, though his maroon eyes had looked up at Hojo for the briefest of seconds, the pupils dilating in horror. It appeared that Vincent recognized Hojo, though he had not had time to think on it as the scientist jabbed a needle into his arm.
Sephiroth did not like having to involve Vincent with the likes of Hojo; it was unwise. However, Hojo was virtually the only human being capable of keeping something alive that was on the verge of already being dead. He took risks, not caring in the slightest for the aftereffects of his actions (which worried Sephiroth), but because of it he could keep things that were supposed to be dead, breathing.
It was something Sephiroth knew from personal experience.
"I will have to use mako," Hojo stated after a moment, snapping the bloody latex gloves off of his hands.
Sephiroth let out a sigh. He had figured the mako would be inevitable. It was not the worst that could be put into Vincent's body, and given that he was in SOLDIER it would have been something that he eventually would have had to deal with regardless.
"If you must," Sephiroth answered, his arms crossed over his chest, face unreadable.
Hojo went to one of the large steel refrigerators, opening it and staring at the rows and rows of chemicals he had stocked. He selected three small vials, holding them loosely in one fist as he walked in that shuffling way of his over toward one of the immense supply cabinets.
Sephiroth was silent, watching the man critically as he finally retrieved a cylinder of mako. He dumped everything unceremoniously onto a wheeled cart, then brought it over to where Vincent was.
Hojo's look had become sinister.
"The arm...is salvageable. But if you should like to keep it, I will have to make some...minor...adjustments." The grin got overpowering, as Hojo pushed his hands into another pair of gloves.
"How minor?" Sephiroth demanded, nearly faltering as he kept his distaste for the man out of his voice.
"Titanium rods to replace the bone. It's fractured too extensively. Practically a powder in some spots. Why keep it? I will have to do several treatments on the hand and lower arm anyway.... It lost blood flow, and is medically dead at the moment."
"No," Sephiroth asserted. "He's young. He would have to have the rods replaced later. You'll salvage the bone."
"Not with the ones I was going to use," Hojo said with one of his tittering laughs.
"No."
Hojo was visibly disappointed, but shrugged. "Very well."
As Hojo began to set up his equipment, Sephiroth couldn't help but stare at the almost lifeless body of the young Third. He was distinctively pale all over, however his face had a chalky look to it, and his lips were still dim in shade, nearly the same color as his skin.
He already looked like a corpse, though his panicked, shallow breaths told otherwise.
After a moment, Sephiroth spoke, his voice low and toneless, though his fist was clenched: "Will you be able to save him?"
Hojo had retrieved a blood pack from inside another smaller refrigerator, and was already hanging it for use. Hojo paused in his ministrations, his smile secretive, knowing in a way that made Sephiroth mentally reevaluate what he had said, checking for flaws. He probably shouldn't have asked.
"I'll need to update Commander Hewley accordingly," Sephiroth added.
"Hard to tell," Hojo said cryptically, though his smile had grown over the past few seconds.
Sephiroth accepted that Hojo wanted to play games---that was the way of the man. But that did not mean he had to participate. He said nothing.
The hours went by excruciatingly slow, with Hojo's hunched form bent over the small, helpless boy who was unconsciously in the man's clutches. But Sephiroth did not leave, standing off to the side much to Hojo's irritation.
When the scientist had asked Sephiroth why, the silver-haired man had only replied, "I do not trust you." Hojo had laughed annoyingly, returning to his work without further attention to the stoical man that observed him suspiciously.
One of Hojo's assistants, a vile young man named Wendel Craven, appeared from time to time, watching the General somewhat obsessively from underneath his starkly white, stringy hair and thick, black framed glasses. Sephiroth unfortunately was all too familiar with the too-thin, short man who never wore anything but bleached white clothing.
Craven was well suited to his name, being cowardly in the sense that he would not risk his life, yet was perfectly capable of causing irreparable damage to test subjects without the slightest plague of conscience. He was meticulous, which was why he was useful to Hojo. He was also dangerously curious about Sephiroth, as well as any other 'specimens' that made their way into the lab.
He was very talkative, one of the things that seemed to highly irritate Hojo, however because Craven was so willing a participant he was used more often than any of the other assistants.
"He's gonna croak," Craven said with a grin, having approached Sephiroth.
He was staring at the tangled locks of Sephiroth's hair, then at the clinging bits of dried blood on the black leather. The blood made him smile pleasantly.
Sephiroth said nothing, not the least bit interested in encouraging Craven into speaking more, though he could feel the all too comforting anger slithering through his gut, lurking. He had almost no tolerance for Craven as it was.
"So why'd you bring him? You fucking him or something?"
Sephiroth's head turned slowly, his face stony, though his eyes were positively glowing and flickering, the black pupil instantly turned to a tiny slit.
"Just a question. It was kind of a joke, you know?" Craven smiled what he must have thought to be a placating smile, but it faltered when the General continued to look at him as though he were a piece of prey.
"I have no time for your stupidity," Sephiroth stated abruptly, his green eyes boring into the white-blue of Craven's. "Get out."
Craven seemed to slouch under the intensity of the cat-like eyes, and gave a short nod. He quickly slunk off, glancing back over his shoulder a few times with a slight grin. He disappeared into some other part of the lab, not returning until much later.
Vincent's color had returned somewhat, though it still looked quite unhealthy. He had been receiving steady transfusions, while meanwhile Hojo was pouring mako directly onto the open wounds, to which Sephiroth had at first protested. Hojo had only said, "If you want him to die..."
What was taking the longest was making certain Vincent stayed stable. His breathing grew rapid at times, most particularly after the first mako injection. After awhile, he had finally regulated again.
The other drugs Hojo appeared to be using, were some sort of stimulants. Reanimators of sorts, though Sephiroth knew very little of them, except that they had been tested on corpses in faulty attempts to revitalize the bodies. Sephiroth could only watch, and hope that Hojo wasn't simply using Vincent as yet another specimen for testing his hypotheses on.
Hojo took the time to go through the entire arm, injecting briefly, then using small electrical pulses to check the reactions of both the muscles and the nerve endings, some of which he had readings for on a small screen.
Hojo had left on a few occasions, going into other portions of the lab to get more equipment. He'd returned with a huge magnifying lens to see the smallest of structures, and had already reinitiated blood flow back to the limb long ago.
It was tedious, but Hojo seemed to thrive on things that took careful consideration and skill. His hands were steady and deft, though he was not a graceful man. The lights were reflecting off of his glasses as he worked, the sweat beginning to bead at his temples, wetting the wisps of black hair that were too short to be pulled into his low ponytail.
It was more than a miracle that Vincent hadn't bled to death. Alister had mentioned something about 'healing drugs' that the boy had been given for his leg, which was something Sephiroth planned to look into later. Sephiroth was guessing they were the same type that Hojo himself used on him at times. They thickened the blood to cause faster clotting and were infused with hormones that sacrificed the speed of the immune system to provide extra energy for healing. It could make patients tired and groggy from the internal slowdown. In small amounts, however, it had proved to cut down healing time.
Hojo worked on the breaks to the ulna and radius last, using the magnifying lense to examine every minuscule hairline crack. Because he had the bone openly exposed, he was able to use a hardening agent on the worst of the damage, then added supporting pins accordingly where the bones were actually severed completely.
It was late by the time Hojo began slowly stitching closed the arm. There would be jagged scars, as Hojo had been forced to open the wound extensively in order to get at the entirety of the internal structures of the arm.
Once neatly closed, Hojo again tested the arm. Small pulses made the muscles twitch, curling certain fingers or making the fist clench. Hojo smiled triumphantly. His glee, however, was not its usually intensity, which Sephiroth noticed. It was likely because the man was saving a life instead of destroying one.
"What are the possibilities for side effects?" Sephiroth asked, looking down at the long line of black sutures as he neared the table Vincent was resting on.
"Oh, many," Craven said, having just reentered the room.
He had been watching from the doorway, avoiding coming to close while Hojo was working and Sephiroth was observing so intently.
He made his way to Sephiroth in long strides, which seemed out of place with his short stature. He stopped when he neared the General, letting his hands rest on the chrome lazily. Hojo didn't seem to pay any mind to his assistant, and was already grabbing more tools from the cabinet.
"Numbness, extreme sensitivity to changes in temperature, loss of muscle control or shakiness, so on and so forth, or the tissue could just wither and fall off. It's hard to tell." At the last part he smiled sadistically, his light blue eyes staring down at the boy on the table.
Sephiroth didn't bother to look at Craven, but kept watch over Vincent. He was angry inside, that strange overwhelming kind that seemed to be happening so frequently since the last treatment. The day had been...difficult. Now that he was off of the battlefield he could feel the edge of fatigue and a sort of recklessness that accompanied tiredness. But he kept himself in check.
Sephiroth's silence did not appear to perturb Craven in the least, because he continued talking.
"Two broken legs... Should be interesting. You'll have to keep him on the flat of his back for a month. So what happened, he get roughed up or something?" Craven was still looking at Vincent somewhat predatorily, drumming his fingers on the operating table. Sephiroth made no reply, but Craven didn't seem to mind.
"I hear that the Wutai decided to take to the slaughter. It's always nice to see SOLDIER getting its ass kicked for once. I get sick of hearing about how damned wonderful you all are..." he said as an afterthought.
Craven smiled charmingly, looking over to Sephiroth, loving that the man was keeping silent.
Sephiroth could feel his barely-there control crack instantaneously.
There was no warning as Sephiroth grabbed Craven sharply by the throat, his gloved fist squeezing tightly as it wrapped about the thin, fragile neck. Craven looked noticeably shocked, his eyes widening. His hands reflexively ripped and yanked at the General's, though it was in vain. He couldn't even put up a fight against one of the man's iron-like hands.
Sephiroth's sea green eyes fixed on Craven's, both in warning and in intimidation. He didn't need intimidation, however, as Craven was already scared of him and had simply been pushing to get a reaction. Sephiroth knew the man was nothing but talk and manipulation, but he was not in the mood to endure it as he usually wound up doing.
"Let him go; I don't have time to fix another one," Hojo said impatiently, as he began reexamining Vincent's free leg. "Get control of yourself."
Hojo finally glanced over at Sephiroth after a moment as a thought came to him, his eyes assessing. A small smile played at his thin lips. "Or is that too difficult for you?"
The hand slackened, then released. Sephiroth's cold expression did not change. Craven rubbed at his throat and coughed, eyes narrowed slightly, though he tried not to show his irritation to Sephiroth in case it would prompt a second throttling.
"You take your job far too seriously," Craven commented, sputtering.
Craven would never admit to it, but he was fascinated by Sephiroth; he wanted to know how the man worked. Seeing him actually respond was very...intriguing.
"I see our recent treatments have done nothing to stifle your anger," Hojo observed, pulling roughly on Vincent's leg in effort to straighten it.
Hojo began using what at first appeared to be a camera, but it became obvious that it was something else entirely when one of the large screens on the wall suddenly flicked to life. Huge X-rays filled the screen. He had taken a few of Vincent's injured arm, then one of either leg.
The next few hours went by rather placidly, Hojo repairing both legs with casts (the old cast had to be removed and replaced, while the other leg required a few stitches) and retaking X-rays to ensure proper alignment. All the while Vincent's vitals were constantly monitored for changes, machines beeping incessantly from even minor fluctuations.
Sephiroth was surprised by how resilient the boy was; the mako seemed to have helped considerably after the first initial rejection, which had been slight anyway. It was rare, but occasionally SOLDIERs died upon their first injection, having a severe allergic reaction for inexplicable reasons.
"He will need to stay for a few days," Hojo said with a strange smile, after his work had been completed.
"I'd prefer he didn't," Sephiroth stated.
"He could crash at any time. He's going to need regular injections for the next several hours," Hojo said, sounding disinterested as he gave Vincent a distasteful glance from behind his glasses. "And we should give you another treatment," Hojo added offhandedly as he began to throw the tools he had used into a large metal tub full of alcohol for sanitization.
"No," Sephiroth said flatly. "I don't need another treatment just now."
"Oh really?" Hojo said, letting out one of his characteristic laughs. "Your actions proceed you."
Sephiroth showed no reaction, not even responding, just staring at the man blankly and refusing to give in.
"I have an alternate drug that will likely negate some of the mood swings. And since you will be here for a more extended period, I will be able to monitor your condition."
"No."
Craven, who had been standing in the corner, was watching the exchange with amusement. In his hand was a notepad where he furiously scribbled notes. Most of it pertained to the General's responses both verbally and physically. Craven enjoyed observation almost as much as experimentation.
Hojo's look turned irritated. "Would you like to continue behaving like an animal? It's clear that your control is waning."
"It makes no difference. You can do the treatment just as easily later," Sephiroth answered tonelessly.
"We'll do the treatment now," Hojo insisted.
Hojo had already grabbed a new pair of gloves, refusing to take no for an answer. Craven grinned from his spot, sucking on the cap of his pen.
Sephiroth would have openly objected more vocally, but he remained impassive, watching as the man began preparing a large syringe, measuring and mixing in several different chemicals after checking a chart that listed previous dosages.
Sephiroth hated the treatments. Each time they seemed to get worse and worse, their effectiveness tapering off, and requiring Hojo to continually up the dosage to dangerous extremes.
What worried him most, was that the treatment would make him less aware as it always did. It was not a good time to be introspective, particularly when Vincent was in such a condition and at the disposal of someone like Hojo.
"I don't want a treatment," Sephiroth stated sternly.
He felt like he was a little boy again, arguing with Hojo. The thought made that familiar fury start to bubble somewhere inside. The tiredness and drain on his magic must have been getting to him.
Craven had moved, creeping up behind Sephiroth, who turned his head for a moment to let him know that he was not unseen. Craven only smiled, sidling up to him and continuing to take notes in his cramped, crooked writing.
Hojo had finished prepping and approached Sephiroth, completely ignoring his words. "Sit," he ordered with his usual pre-injection sadistic smile.
Sephiroth was in no mood to be trifled with. His hand easily sent the needle from Hojo's grip with a swipe, were it flew clumsily through the air, then landed on the floor with a clatter. It rolled a few feet, small drops of the solution dripping out of the needle and onto the white linoleum floor.
"No."
It was in that moment that a realization struck. Hojo looked...furious. His mouth was set into an angry thin line. He did not want to be told no, and for some reason that struck the General as very important.
The answer came instantly. Craven moved, his coat rustling for the briefest second, then there was a sharp, quick pain, that made Sephiroth lash out his left arm instinctively. He hit Craven in the stomach, the blow sending the smaller man flying to the floor where he landed on his back.
Sephiroth had noticed too late.
Craven was grinning, even though he had just been thrown to the floor with enough force to bruise.
Sephiroth wrenched the needle out of his arm, his look one of unadulterated fury. He was quick enough that only half of whatever was in the syringe had managed to get into his body.
"What is it?" he growled dangerously, taking a glance at the needle.
It was shaped just like a pen, but had alternating buttons, one for the ink and one for the solution contained inside. Depending on which button one pressed, it could either be a ball point pen or a needle.
He stalked toward the fallen Craven, but his eyes darted to Hojo who intelligently had stayed where he was, though he too was suddenly smiling in a way that made Sephiroth's anger boil.
Everything was already starting to fade. The lights of the lab seemed to dim, the world seemed to sway as though he were standing on top of the surface of an ocean. Sephiroth shook his head defiantly, refusing to allow his balance to be disrupted.
"What is it!" he screamed, having only one single thought: killing Craven.
He staggered, blinking stubbornly, and letting the anger rush through his veins to keep him standing. He would have drawn Masamune and beheaded the coward, but he fell against a lab table, clutching at it, knuckles white. He wouldn't even be able to lift the sword. He was mentally fighting it, but muscle control was disappearing so quickly he scarcely had time to even think about it. His vision was swirling and winking in and out, making everything black every few seconds.
Everything was making sense...the smiles, the looks...Hojo's brief disappearances that were in accordance with when Craven left. They had planned it then. They had waited until an opportune moment when he was angry and not paying close enough attention. That coward had stood next to him, knowing if he refused Hojo he would inject him instead.
In those brief seconds, had he been able, Sephiroth would have murdered both Hojo and Craven. But he slumped against the table, sliding down to the floor as his limbs gave out from underneath him.
He tried to force an energy sphere from his hand, focusing every piece of willpower on forming it, but it flickered only briefly, the size of a small apple, before dying out.
"No..." he breathed, his eyes filling with rage.
They were planning something, something they didn't want him around for. And he knew it likely had to do with Vincent.
Hojo was laughing. Laughing loudly and insanely.