Warnings: You may need Kleenex and a stuffy. Plus the standard language warning for Zack and his potty mouth

Chapter 21 : Walking Wounded

Vincent approached the Mess tent. He was early but there was already a stream of soldiers and civilians wending their way past the food. It didn't smell any better than it had yesterday but he needed fuel so the ex-Turk just shut his mind to the stench. To his surprise, Tifa Lockhart was standing outside the tent obviously waiting for someone. To his further surprise, that someone appeared to be him for she pushed away from the pole as he drew closer to the entrance and walked his way.

*Ah look at the delectable morsel approaching. That would be good to eat, wouldn't it, my Immortalis?* Chaos, Vincent had learned a long time ago, was a lech when he was feeling playful.

"Hey, Vincent. Feeling better?" she asked. He nodded because he did feel better. She turned toward the entrance of the tent. "So... do you feel up to facing the horde or do you want me to run interference again?"

"Interference?"

"Yeah," she smiled, "I figured, after so long by yourself in a cave, you might be finding all the people and the noise a bit much, and I get the feeling that you don't like people or crowds much. Yesterday in the truck it looked like you were going to explode and shoot the head off the next person who got too close." Her smile got broader and Vincent realized she was teasing him again.

"A leg shot would've been sufficient."

He said it so seriously that Tifa blinked in shock before chuckling in appreciation. "You know, he's got your sense of humour."

It was Vincent's turn to blink, "Who does?"

"Sephiroth. Your son," she said calmly and turned him to stone. He would've have turned and run away once more but the dark-eyed fighter grabbed his arm, "Food, remember? This time I'll let you talk to everyone, just to take your mind off it."

"I'm not hungry," he protested. It wasn't a lie, he didn't get hunger pains anymore, but it wasn't the exact truth either. He needed to eat today and the sooner the better. He was sure he could feel Gigas shaking himself awake.

"Nonsense, emotional strain is hard on anyone's system and yours has suffered a lot of shocks in the last day or so." She let go of him and put her hands on her hips, "If you don't go willingly I'll drag you in," she quirked her lips in challenge.

Vincent looked down, way down, at the small female. Chaos laughed. *Does the small one honestly think she can budge us? How delightful.* The demon clamped down on his other beasts, just so that they wouldn't interfere.

The gunman had to agree with his guest. He'd been a Turk, and a fighter like her. He was also nearly double her height although she had more bulk. It took her grabbing his arm and dragging him into the tent for him to realize that she'd been serious. *Amazing,* Chaos purred, intrigued. Vincent was equally astounded. 'How,' he thought, 'could she be so strong?' She didn't drag him far, just enough to make her point... and for them to become the center of attention. Vincent buried his face in his high collar, surrounding himself with the familiar, musty scent. Their sparring session was looking more and more interesting.

"So," she asked, "do I do all the talking again or are you going to speak for yourself today?" She handed him a tray, with ridges to keep his food divided.

"I will talk as necessary, no more."

She smiled at him again—she did that a lot, and said, "If you want me to rescue you just tap the index finger on your left hand twice, then twice more."

"Why would I need rescuing?" he asked, offended even if it didn't show in his voice.

"Well, maybe it's not rescuing you, so much, but all the people you'd rather shoot than talk to. I'll talk to them, you can stand there all silent and broody, and nobody will get hurt." Again with the smile; then she paused, obviously picking her words with care, "Also, sometime yesterday, I think we became friends." She looked at him with fierce eyes, "Friends rescue friends all the time." She turned away and concentrated on choosing a balanced breakfast and chatting sporadically with the people behind the counter. Mutely, Vincent followed her, choosing only food that hadn't bled.

He'd underestimated the dark-eyed warrior. She'd talked nearly non-stop yesterday diverting everyone's questions and curiosity away from him and onto herself. He'd thought she just loved to gossip but she'd been shielding him, knowing, somehow, that he wasn't ready to interact with so many people.

He might never be ready. Even this smaller breakfast crowd was starting to make his spine itch. If he tapped his finger what would she do to pull their attention away? He had no doubt that she would do something.

A friend.

Vincent turned the word over in his mind even as he stared away anyone who even thought of approaching to ask questions. His memories of Before weren't great but he knew that he hadn't had many friends in his life, certainly none once he'd joined the Turks. Had Lucrecia been a friend? Chaos' vicious negative was instantaneous and instinctive. He ignored it and tried to be neutral as he examined his memories. Unfortunately, he couldn't be sure that they had been friends.

They had started out professional. She had been older and, he had no hesitation in admitting, more intelligent. He had been... damaged, by his failure in Kalm. Perhaps that had piqued her interest. He was sure Lucrecia had started out wanting to heal him. But healing had turned to passion for he hadn't been the only one hurting. Her marriage had been a disaster. She had been lonely and in need of reassurance. She had roused all of Vincent's protective instincts. She had initiated the physical side of their relationship but, once roused, their love had been passionate and all-consuming, requiring few words. Their situation hadn't helped turn their heat from burning flames to warming coals, either. They'd had so little private time together they hadn't wasted it on talking. Hidden moment, fleeting kisses, desperate promises... but few words of friendship.

What was it like to have a friend? 'Friends rescue friends all the time,' she'd said. What did that mean?

*No more quiet life for you, my host, my own. That's what it means.* Chaos was happy. It was a change and therefore something to be anticipated, but he was pretty sure Chaos' assessment would turn out to be correct. He could run back to the hills or he could accept it.

He waved an internal good-bye to his former solitary, and quiet, life.

'Do you think he'll find him?' 'He'll do it if anyone can.' 'What'll happen then?' 'How should I know?' 'Don't you have a book on the topic?'

'What happens to us?'

They were whispering, heads close together, pretending to look at the decorating magazines and thinking that Sephiroth couldn't hear them. The General could hear them, of course, but he had no answers to give them. He wasn't even sure that he could reassure them because their final question was heartbreaking and he didn't have an answer. However, he had a different question that could possibly be answered. He searched out Raincloud who had talked about Specimen 'C' as if the General had a right to know.

The small aspect had moved from the floor to the new dining table when it appeared. Weirdo had given him paper and crayons and the child was busy making his own comic about a demon who turns on his master in order to save the planet. Sephiroth hadn't quite followed the story—the demon was apparently hidden in a human and could only come out when his host was injured severely enough, but Raincloud had quite happily told him all about it so the General had listened and made all the appropriate noises.

"Raincloud?" Sephiroth finally asked.

"Hmm?"

"Earlier you said Sp—" he paused and corrected himself, "'C' hides from all of you; that you'd never seen him."

"I've seen him," Raincloud interrupted, "but only from a distance."

Sephiroth nodded acceptance of this new information, "You've never seen him up close or talked to him." He waited for Raincloud's agreement. "That said; how did you know that he hurts and he's scared?"

Raincloud finally looked up at him, "Because I know." Sephiroth waited for more. There wasn't any.

"He never left here, you know, never escaped into the Lifestream like the rest of us. That's why he's so hurt." Weirdo added.

The General turned his attention to the young teen, "Did you ever get close to him?"

Weirdo shook his head, sending long hair flipping through the air. "I'd see him sometimes when I came back here but he never let me get close. He was always so scared we'd hate him or something"

"How do you know that?" the General pressed, "If none of you talked to him or saw him up close, how could you know what he was thinking or feeling?"

"He knows the same way I know," Niisan joined in the discussion, leaning over the back of the new couch. "We can all sense each other to a degree: what we're feeling, what we're doing, even what we're thinking sometimes. Raincloud and I are the most sensitive," his tone said that it was only natural for he to be one of the special ones and Sephiroth hid his smile. "Spike and Weirdo have the hardest time." Spike's 'hey!' of protest echoed from where the tall aspect was checking out the new bathroom.

"I hear Outside There the best. And the voices in the Deep Sea." Raincloud continued his colouring.

Sephiroth understood what the small aspect meant by 'Outside There' but what was the 'Deep Sea'? He didn't get a chance to ask because Niisan sneered, "I can hear Mother." The sneer dropped away, he dipped his head down to look seductively at Sephiroth through his bangs, "but I'm not listening to her anymore because Seph's more fun." He sucked a finger into his mouth, slowly and suggestively. "I'm still waiting for you to take your shirt off, General."

"I'll take my shirt off for you." Everyone ignored Spike's offer.

"Not in front of the children, Niisan," the silver-haired warrior frowned repressively.

Weirdo raised his hand. His eyes were wide and trained hopefully on Sephiroth, "I'd like to see that." The General looked at Weirdo, who blushed but stuck to his guns, "Well… I would!"

Niisan ruffled Weirdo's hair in pride, "I've trained you well, kōhai."

Weirdo blushed even more, Sephiroth harrumphed, and Raincloud giggled. Suddenly it didn't seem so dark in the little cottage.

There was more food in the office now since Zack and the Master-Sergeant had been joined by Kunsel. Zack had asked for the camp's intelligence person but he hadn't arrived yet. The food was set off to the side on a folding table Lutton had arranged. Kunsel and the burly NCO were fuelling up while Zack did squats.

He felt like he'd forgotten something, something fucking important, but every time he tried to pin it down all he could think of was there was so much shit he hadn't known in the first place and how could he forget crap he didn't know? He'd gone over the reports a couple times, looked at maps and plans and a whole shitload of stuff trying to remember what it was he'd forgot. The main table was covered with maps and old reports and the notes and doodles Zack had made while trying to catch up on three years of history and two years of war but none of it had helped him remember.

So he was currently doing squats, working off some energy, emptying his mind and allowing all the thoughts to percolate in his brain... or maybe they weren't perking, maybe they were being all mashed together like in a casserole. He didn't really like casseroles, he decided. He'd rather have a good stew with all the flavours combined yet still, somehow, separate, so that if he wanted meat, he could dig out chunks of meat and taste fucking meat. If he wanted potatoes he'd eat the potatoes. Actually, it wouldn't really matter what he was served, he'd eat just about anything.

Eat, shit, sleep. Eat, shit, sleep. The basics of human existence and much better than tubes bringing liquid lunch in and tubes taking lunch away again like they'd done in the mako chambers. He could actually taste things again, and feel full. He could snuggle up under sheets and be wrapped in the warmth of his friends. He couldn't stop the grin that broke over his face. He could enjoy life now because things like friends, fighting and laughs were the bonuses, the perks; what made the cycle worth living. He had those things back... His smile fell away. He had those things. Unlike Cloud who was still caught in some friggin' twilight sleep. So much had changed in the world, would he even like being awake... The SOLDIER paused, still half-crouched. That phrase... it awoke a memory.

'The Others are in the twilight and they might not like being awake.'

Who'd said that? He stood up, hands on his hips, looking past the floor into memory. Shit! He could almost hear him: small voice, confident but young, big eyes, sad... Raincloud! His stare moved to the door. He'd been at Cloud's 'house' and Raincloud had done some weird trance thing...

He bounded over to the table, surprising the others into silence, and grabbed a clean sheet of paper. He needed to write this down before he forgot it again so he waved off Kunsel's questions. He wasn't sure how much it would help considering it was all symbolism and Raincloud-speak, but the little guy had been most insistent that the information was important so he'd write it all down and try to make sense of it. Again.

Fucking metaphors....

The cottage was finished and everyone was looking around it, running hands over the new kitchen counter, playing with the new taps. Spike had started a fire in the fireplace, Niisan, of all people, had grabbed a recipe book from Weirdo and made a stew, pulling already chopped vegetables and meat from the empty fridge. Sephiroth wasn't overly familiar with kitchens and cooking but he knew that was unusual.

Niisan and Weirdo had kept the lower portion of the cottage as the living room-dining room-kitchen area. The upper area, where Cloud's mother had slept, they'd turned into the bedroom with a bed large enough to sleep six... or to provide a rolling, bouncing, giggling battle-ground for the two youngest Clouds. The bathroom and, more importantly, the bathtub was as spacious and luxurious as they could make it; even Genesis would find it acceptable and he was the most hedonistic person the General knew.

All that there was left to do was to wait.

Spike, like the person he'd based himself on, was very bad at waiting. He was doing squats in the living room, talking and asking unanswerable questions, but that was okay because he rarely waited for anyone to answer. Niisan had snuggled up next to the General on the couch while the stew bubbled away on the new stove. He had a motorcycle magazine out of Weirdo's bag and was happily looking at all the models, comparing styles and options and priced. He also asked questions but, unlike his fellow persona, he waited for Sephiroth to answer. Not that Sephiroth was able to provide many answers. Motorcycles, like dusting and the winter health of small birds, was not a subject he was familiar with.

It was cozy and domestic and Sephiroth knew he would treasure this memory, even if it was only partially real. The non-quiet peace was interrupted by a low bell followed by a murmuring whisper, like hearing a large waterfall from distance... through trees. All of the aspects stilled, heads cocked, listening to what the waterfall told them.

"Found him," Raincloud said, "They're coming in."

"How long?" the General asked.

"Not long," Niisan answered, "A few minutes or so."

"Fuck," Spike said running panicked hands through his hair, "We need to make him feel comfortable. Will he fucking recognize this place? I mean, will he feel okay here? We made a shit-load of changes." Sephiroth frowned at the swear words. He'd never heard anything but the mildest of cussing from Cloud.

"Maybe we should meet him outside or something," Weirdo suggested.

"No," Sephiroth cut off that suggestion. "This is his home. However, all of you will remain in the dining room or the kitchen. You will also try to remain quiet. You will not approach unless I give you permission. Is that understood?" There was a chorus of agreement. Raincloud and Weirdo held hands as they moved to the dining table and Sephiroth wasn't sure which one was supporting the other. Niisan pushed Spike into the kitchen and set him to cutting bread for a lunch they probably would never have. Sephiroth watched them take up their new positions. He couldn't fail to notice that the aspects remained close to each other and, except for Spike, cast wide-eyed, nervous looks at the entrance.

"It will be alright," he tried to reassure them but he didn't think they believed him. He hoped that his own nervousness was well hidden. He went to the door and watched the path. It was empty. Where could they be?

They weren't coming down the path, but from the trees to one side of the cottage. It was easy to pick out which one was Specimen 'C's. Where the Corporal was thick and sturdy, 'C' was skeletal... far, far thinner even than Niisan. The Corporal wasn't tall but 'C' appeared tiny next to him.

As they got closer, Sephiroth realized that 'C's height was a result of being somehow bent. His back almost looped back on itself in a tight 'S'… and his left leg appeared to fold sideways. It gave him an awkward, unbalanced gait and the Corporal kept one arm out ready to offer support or to brace if 'C' began to tire or falter. Luckily, the injured aspect didn't seem to consider the arm threatening. Instead, he allowed himself to be slowly and gently eased closer and closer to the cottage.

Where were the wings? Sephiroth asked himself but, considering the damage he could already see, he wondered if he wanted to know what had happened to them. Then he saw what was left of them.

'C's wings weren't the soaring splendour of the real Cloud's though they might have been once. There were almost no feathers left on the left wing. The joints were smashed and it hung limply behind him, dragging on the ground. His right wing ended abruptly just before the first joint. A heavy clamp, which had been used to cut off the blood supply and effectively 'kill' the appendage, was still attached. Trapped and broken feathers twisted out from under the metal. A sharp pain stabbed Sephiroth's chest robbing him of breath momentarily. The pain didn't dissipate when the General saw how short this Cloud's hair was. He suspected what he'd see when 'C' came closer and he wasn't happy about being correct. 'C' had stubble of various lengths that provided little cover to the network of surgical scars and stitching that crawled over his skull.

He watched, holding himself in place with rigid control, and saw that another reason for the slow progress was that 'C' twitched almost constantly; jerky movements that travelled from shoulders to hands, to hips and wings, and made a mockery of his fragile balance. Each time it happened he had to stop, resting his weight on his better leg and the useless left wing so that he didn't fall over. His hands would flutter like moth wings, usually winding up covering his head or twisted in a knot in front of him. Even without the tremors his hands were always in motion, clutching his shirt, hiding his face, hugging his shoulders.

He wore a sweat-stained and ragged hospital gown over soiled surgical pants. The General was glad, for once, that his design didn't allow him to cry because the damage became even more evident and heart-wrenching as the Corporal coaxed 'C' closer. Sephiroth could almost see the bones moving in his elbow and wrists joints as his arms twisted and twitched. The effects of prolonged starvation were even more obvious in his face; cheekbones, and even teeth, were clearly defined and, the few times his face jerked forward, the pulverized cheek bone and eye socket on his left side were also easy to see.

He had no eye on that side. No pretty blue iris looked out at the General. It was just an empty hole...

Sephiroth pressed a hand against his chest, trying to force the pain out of his body. He would not pity this Cloud, he would not turn away and he would not flinch. Specimen 'C' had chosen a soldier's path, to protect the innocent, and the General would honour that choice. But it hurt to see it, it hurt so much. He wanted to shred something, preferably Hojo, for having done this to a decent, innocent young man who had done nothing to deserve any of it. Hojo, and anyone who had helped him, were going to die. Sephiroth would make sure of it.

He stepped out into the light so that 'C' would see him early and see him clear. 'C' stopped, his arms twisted and jerked. He covered his head and turned away. The Corporal was there, murmuring and touching him gently; quietly coaxing him into relaxing, moving 'C' a couple steps closer before another tremor wracked his body and he had to stop. The Corporal looked at him, still talking quietly. 'C' peeked at him with his one eye, and Sephiroth realized that he was the subject of their low-voiced conversation.

The final persona flinched away then lurched sideways approaching the large warrior cautiously. Sephiroth yearned to go to him, sweep him into his arms and tell him it was okay. He didn't. He stood, fists clenched, and waited, pretending a calm he didn't feel. He could sense the others, lining up at the front window, watching 'C's halting approach. He wasn't the only one who wanted this to go well.

Finally, the Corporal managed to coax 'C' to within arm's reach. He wouldn't face Sephiroth directly, but snuck peeks at him when his twisting arms weren't covering his eye. Sephiroth had already known that he was, for want of a better word, 'sensitive' to Cloud's personas when their emotions were strong and 'C' was no exception. Waves of fear and shame and guilt twisted up with the desire to run away and hide so clearly that it nearly made Sephiroth back up.

The last persona moaned and turned away, looking to run, but the Corporal placed a firm hand under his elbow. "General, this is Specimen 'C'."

"I can't call him that," Sephiroth protested.

"He's never mentioned any other name, not that I know of anyway."

Sephiroth refused to call his lover 'specimen' anything. He turned his attention to the young man. "Do you have a name?" he asked 'C' directly. In an effort to make the damaged aspect more comfortable he used his most soothing and coaxing voice. It was not his fault that it was also one of his seductive or that these pieces of Cloud reacted to that voice the same way their progenitor had. The Corporal just shifted his stance to ease the sudden pressure. 'C' reacted quite differently.

"Nono, mush'n't. Nnnng..." His voice, like the rest of him was damaged. It was more like a croak and his words were slurred, as if his tongue couldn't move to form the words. He was still understandable though and, if the words weren't clear, his actions were. Both hands came down to press against his groin. "Nonono," he repeated, "Ba' thing. Bad. Mush'n't" He hit himself when his body wouldn't obey his terrified commands.

Sephiroth stepped forward and took hold of his wrists. They were painfully thin and the modified warrior was afraid he'd break the bones if the aspect struggled, but 'C' froze in place. "'C,' it's okay. It's not your fault. Nobody's blaming you and nobody's going to hurt you for what your body does."

"All hurt. My fault. Ba' thing. Specimen bad." Sephiroth could see the shudder start in 'C's neck; a sudden jerk to the side that moved in a wave along his muscles. It was a natural movement for 'C' so the General released him and let his arms move as they would. The Corporal had taken position behind him. He had his hands resting lightly on 'C' waist, supporting the youth's fragile body, taking some of his slight weight off the useless leg.

"You're not a 'bad thing'," Sephiroth said firmly but quietly; anything stronger would probably scare 'C' into fleeing. "What should I call you?" For some reason, Sephiroth needed for Specimen 'C' to have a name, any name. The young man's thin arms twisted into his dirty top, lifting it as his arms writhed, exposing another intricate pattern of stitching and scars.

"Nnnno name. Ngggh…. Sp-speshimen, speshimen 'C'," he managed to say. His lips didn't close fully and saliva was leaking down his chin.

"Corporal, a handkerchief if you please," Sephiroth held out his hand knowing the competent soldier would be able to provide him with the item. The Corporal handed it over and, without looking at it, the General started wiping the drool off his lover's face. Of course that brought it into view. He frowned lightly at the pink and purple bandersnatches dancing across the bright yellow background but said nothing. Instead he focussed on 'C'. "Specimen is not a name. It's a designation; like 'soldier' or 'survivor'—"

"Or hero," the Corporal muttered.

Sephiroth asked, "Should I call you 'Cloud'?" He was horrified by the result.

"Nonono," 'C' started thrashing, banging his head with loose fists. "Clou' strong. Shpes'men weak. Fail. Failure. Ba' thing."

The shame and despair that radiated from the damaged aspect nearly made Sephiroth gag. It was strength of will that allowed him to ignore the impulse. Once again, the silver-haired warrior took a gentle but immovable hold on 'C's wrists. "You are not a bad thing and you are certainly not weak."

"Nononononono…" 'C' keened. With his hands immobilized, 'C's body was undulating and every time his weight shifted onto his bad leg he nearly toppled over. He would've fallen except for his dragging wing and the Corporal's supporting grip.

Sephiroth was panicking. He had to reach this aspect, had to help him. "Do you trust me?" It was a daring move. Despite what existed between the General and Cloud in the real world, Specimen 'C' had no reason to trust him. He had no reason to trust anyone. "Do you trust me?" Sephiroth asked again.

'C's frantic weaving slowed then stopped. "Trussh'?"

"Yes. Do you trust me?" Sephiroth lowered their hands but this time he didn't let go. Instead, he entwined his fingers with this poor, damaged persona.

The Corporal had his eyes closed and was repeating a prayer like a mantra. Sephiroth even recognized it. It was the same one he'd whispered in the lab: By Titan's strength and Shiva's sight; by Ramuh's ancient guiding light; send this out with all my might; may Odin grant my wish tonight. He added his own wish to the Corporal's.

"Truss'," 'C' repeated. "Hnnng… nnngh." He was back to looking at the General for longer periods again. It was a good sign. "Scary, nnghh."

"Yes it is," Sephiroth agreed, because it was very scary to trust. "It's okay to be scared."

"Spec'men scared. Run, run 'way. Hide. Bad. Ba' thing," his face was lowered and he still twitched but he wasn't thrashing like he had before. Sephiroth loosened his hands so that 'C' could move them more freely. "Uselesh shpec'men… gnnhh. Scared. So scare'." There were tears joining the other bodily fluids on 'C's face. Sephiroth brought the handkerchief up and patiently wiped it all off. Then he put the cloth away and rubbed gentle fingers over 'C's misshapen face, trailing loving hands over scars and stitches, remembering how it felt before. 'C' hummed and made sounds low in his throat. Sephiroth wasn't sure if the noises were a result of enjoyment, surprise or just one of the things that 'C' did. Amazement joined the feelings of self-hate and fear that 'C' radiated as naturally as he breathed.

He knew some people would have felt horror or pity or, worse, disgust, at the injuries that this part of Cloud had sustained, but Sephiroth found he didn't feel any of those things. He was happy. He was happy that this damaged persona was standing relatively still and letting him run his fingers all over his body: face, skull, neck, shoulders and down emaciated arms. He lifted one of 'C's hands up, ran fingertips over the knuckles—many of them crushed or swollen, then bent to kiss it and to quickly lick the still elegant finger.

And 'C' stood there and let him.

"Do you trust me?" He asked again, already knowing the answer. 'C' wouldn't have stood there and let the General touch him like that if he didn't trust.

"Hhnnn… truss' you?" the aspect whispered in a question directed at himself. "Trust Silber Gen'ral." A skeletal hand reached out and gave Sephiroth's arm an awkward pat, "'kay."

"Then can you tell me your name?"

"Hnnnn," 'C' shook his head. "No name."

"You had a name once." He shook his head again. It was odd how easy it was to tell it apart from his normal tremors.

"Don' 'member." He shook his head and rocked his body, "Don't know."

"Then why don't you choose one for yourself?" The silver-haired warrior wanted, needed, 'C' to have a name. He didn't know why, really. It felt necessary and in this place, he thought instinct should probably be listened to.

'C' was already shaking his head. "Don' deserv' name, nnnnn… Left'im. Ran 'way. Fail, fail, fail." He was getting agitated again. His gentle rocking was turning into violent whip-cracks. The Corporal was forced to dodge the flailing stump of his right wing and its heavy metal clamp. His arms were up covering his face, letting him hide once more. His fingers were digging into his scalp leaving angry red marks behind.

Sephiroth tried to sooth him, "You didn't fail. You saved him, you saved everyone."

"Nonononono! Dead, dead, all dead." He was scratching himself hard enough to break the stitches in his scalp. Sephiroth gathered up his hands again. Rubbing them until 'C' was reasonably quiet once more.

"Do you trust me?" He waited as the question worked its way through 'C' tortured thoughts. He waiting until the younger man nodded once, sharply. It set of one of his tremors. It was his normal full body twitch and it was odd how reassuring Sephiroth found it. He bent down until his face was close to 'C's. "Someone may be dead, but Zack isn't." 'C's eye widened.

"Hnggg," he sounded surprised but hopeful. He stared at the General, one hand twisting helplessly against Sephiroth's exposed chest as if he were pleading for understanding. "Pain. All'a time. Too much. Coul'n't save'im."

"You did save him," 'C' shook his head frantically. The Corporal was forced to adjust his stance to keep the agitated persona upright. "You did. You gave him a reason to survive—someone for whom he could be a hero."

'C' had quieted again, his arms twisted around his body like snakes, but Sephiroth could see he was trying to process this new information. "Safe?"

"I promise."

'C' made his guttural almost-humming sound as he considered this. Sephiroth didn't add anything to his short statement, preferring to stay silent while the injured persona sorted out his thoughts. The Corporal had even stopped his near-silent chanting. Sephiroth could hear his heart pounding. He could feel the strength of his pulse in his fingertips.

"I left him. Ima ba' thing."

AN: Once again, I'm honoured to have inspired a reader to pick up pen and paper and try to draw something based on my story. This time it's Aerith's Rain who's tried to bring to life a couple of the aspects. If you want to see what she drew, cut and paste this link (needs cleaning as usual) http:// phoneix-faerie(dot)deviantart(dot)com/ art/ Mad-World-Raincloud-and-Spike-116357855

In case you missed the previous piece of art (which inspired me to add a line or two to Chapter 13, here is the messy link: http:// arkiel-pixie(dot)deviantart(dot)com/ art/ Wings-104904474