Border of Taboo

by xLilly White

Aeris becomes a sex worker at the Honey Bee Inn. It's the slums after all. But all too soon she gets sucked into a dangerous world of envy and lust, where it's impossible to remember who's using who. Genesis/Aeris/Sephiroth triangle.

25. Chapter 25

Author's notes: God, it feels good to publish this. I had so much damn trouble with inspiration lately, I hope it doesn't show too much. And since there's only two-three chapters left, I made this one even longer because I'm insane and write 16k chapters now. xD I would like to apologize in advance for the contents of this chapter, because it's frankly - well, you'll see. Shout if you think anything doesn't work!
Hugs to Xan, Ardwynna, Mako, Mao, Temptation through Perception, and Guests for the lovely feedback! We're nearly at the end folks. [/holds onto you guys and tries not to cry]

Music:
For the Soldiers' parts: Thea Gilmore - Sol Invictus, Daughter - Landfill/Youth
For Gem's part: M.I.A's Bad Girls (yeah, couldn't resist), and a fat lot of Die Antwoord (Cookie thumper/Rich Bitch/I Fink u freeky/Fatty boom boom, etc, etc)
And for editing, Satellite High's The Bus is Late, because my soul has been sucked into the wondrousness of Night Vale recently.

---

Border of Taboo

25

• • •

"So are you still angry at me?"

Zack had braved the question, knowing full well what the answer would be. Unsatisfactory, in either case, since any affirmation would just have them sliding back into the muddy ground that their relationship had been rolling around in recently; and any negation could only be a lie, a scintillating token of Sephiroth's general carelessness for forging broken bonds back together. Or even forging bonds in general, for that matter. It could also be that the man was too polite to simply tell him to fuck off, since they had to work together. But, with Sephiroth it was never a question of politeness; only of what he was ready to expend his energy upon, and Zack had found that light friendships were not high on his list of worthy objects.

They were patrolling the pitch black streets, two parallel lines of blue-clad Seconds at their backs as they prepared to split up. With the absence of neon lights, the darkness all around them seemed impregnated with all sorts of phantasmagoric creatures; and they contributed to the menagerie with that primal fear that city boys were no longer used to, their imagination pouring from them as steadily as the fog from their mouths. It was easy to see who were the greener recruits, who hadn't been on so many trips, judging by how many times their feet caught in the paving stones when they were too busy putting their noses up in the air as though trying to flair the boogie man – of course, they had reason to be scared, since none had seen Midgar so defaced and hostile as it was now. The two Firsts were the only completely nonchalant ones, shoulders squared and fingers relaxed, their gait remaining supple but alert as they led their men through the Sector where the vans had dropped them off.

Sephiroth had elected not to answer his partner, deciding that the First was only striking up conversation for the sake of conversation rather than any intelligent exchange since the question wasn't interesting. In reality, the question bothered him, but he liked to rephrase bothering into uninteresting, because it made things easier. But technically, if he thought about for one second – yes, he was still angry. Deep down he was still angry enough to take Zack's head, find a good solid brick wall, and – well. Those were fantasies he had managed to suppress while out in Corel, and besides, he was far too busy at the moment to indulge in creative mental exercises. In any case, being exceptionally good at bundling up an emotion and putting it away for later inspection, he no longer felt any immediate desire to expend rage as he had during the capture; now there was only a more controllable, generalized tinge of annoyance that made his fingers twitch whenever Zack spoke. But there was no use in responding to the implicit provocation in Zack's question, when they were both trying to hold their men (and the whole damn city) together – and, the pup had managed to get him into contact with a promising hacker before they'd gone on patrol, so Sephiroth did owe him some form of civilized answer.

"I suppose I'm angrier at myself," Sephiroth finally replied as they walked, "After all, I'm the one who let Genesis spin out of control."

"Ah, don't blame yourself for that," Zack replied, quite astonishingly lenient for once. "Like I keep saying, the guy's always been a nutcase. Though he probably doesn't deserve this."

"He certainly doesn't deserve this," Sephiroth corrected him.

"Well, not execution, but, you've got admit…" Sephiroth's face looked dangerous then, so Zack advised not to finish that sentence. "Hey, changing tack slightly," he began again, knowing their opinion on Genesis was too divergent to lead the conversation anywhere remotely constructive. "Are the rumours true, about…" He tried hard not to grit his teeth as he said this: "About you two sort of – well, sharing a girl?"

Sephiroth frowned at him, and the pup could've slapped himself for how puerile that sounded, but at the same time he had no idea how to pose the question about what kind of relationship the three of them had without outright accusing him; did you both rape her, or was it just you? It was already a big enough step that he could broach the subject without wanting to punch the man's light's out simultaneously. But the issue of cleaning this muck of jealousy up was vital if he was to stop vacillating between forced respect and murderous impulses – to put it plainly, Zack was tired of hating Sephiroth for something that he couldn't even imagine the man doing, seeing as he had always seemed like a decent fellow on the whole. And it would make work and a good portion of his social life hell, if he never even tried to understand and get over whatever twisted intimacy Sephiroth had with Aeris.

"You say that as if the girl in question had strictly no opinion or choice in the matter," the General replied, as always climbing into the safety of speculation rather than replying to a yes-or-no question with an actual fucking yes or no. But Zack refrained from calling him out on it, because there was the strangest glint in the man's eyes, as if he was remembering something fondly. "Some would accuse you of objectifying her."

Right, now that was too much. "Coming from you…" Zack couldn't help saying, clamping his teeth together to refrain from going further.

Sephiroth was looking at him coldly. "I'm sorry?"

"Well, I don't know. You don't strike me as the type to be interested in women at all, so for you to suddenly take their defense with a big juicy feminist word like objectification – " Zack gestured vaguely, as though mockingly orchestrating that particular word. "It just surprised me." And don't you dare take the moral high ground, when you used her, didn't you? You used her – he could imagine himself yelling it, and it felt so damn satisfying while there wasn't Sephiroth's immediate retribution to take into account.

"And I was equally surprised by how you could talk about a woman in that fashion, when you've clearly invested far more time and interest in them than me," the General replied, cautiously diplomatic in his response. Zack could tell that they both knew exactly what was hanging in the air, a grotesque, bloated accusation; but neither wanted to go ahead and pierce it lest they both be flooded by the inappropriate consequence.

"Anyway, you've unsurprisingly avoided the question," Zack said.

They walked on in silence for a moment, checking the dark windows, shining torch lights down the maws of unlighted alleyways. Zack couldn't tell whether Sephiroth was chewing on his thoughts, or if he was just electing not to reply again. After a few minutes, he finally spoke;

"It isn't a question of sharing anything, since the girl is an individual, and not some thing that can be sampled and experienced similarly by two people. She entertains a relationship with both of us, and we with her."

The way he talked about her, with that sickening tenderness, that respect that he hardly accorded anyone else, it was leading Zack to believe that he wasn't necessarily talking about a paid relationship. He clenched his fists, digging them into his pockets so no one would see.

"But – how does that work? Are you in some kind of three-way relationship with her?" He said it like it was a joke, but inwardly the idea gave him the most ludicrous sense of relief. It was as if it didn't seem possible for a single man to bring Aeris what she needed in a relationship, so he was exempted of all fault in his failure to captivate her quite as effectively as these guys had. Of course, the relief was a completely false one, but the stings to his heart were too numerous and too deep now for him not to reach for some type of comfort.

Sephiroth's gait exceptionally faltered then, apparently caught off-guard by the idea. He thought of the gazes Genesis and Aeris shared, how lost in each other he had found them, and how they'd sat in the cabaret like two conspirators on a single rickety chair, giggling and whispering to one another – and how, after all that had happened, it no longer sparked anything but nostalgia in him. Even though his own heart was rotten with jealousy at the mere thought of Aeris touching someone else, it no longer struck him as particularly intolerable, that she might entertain such a bond with his closest friend. At least, he had never considered murdering Genesis as he had most of her imagined clients. It almost felt inevitable, that she might entertain a similar affection with the only other person he might deem worthy of her... not to mention, there was also the question of what his and Genesis' relationship had morphed into lately, but he preferred not to go down that road yet.

The memory was so vivid that he almost felt penetrated by Genesis' hateful gaze again, those blue eyes like clear-cut ice, trickling down his skin and filling him with urges that he didn't recognize at all. He tried to choke the budding melancholia regarding his friend's fate just as it began to emerge again – he'd managed to calm down about it, now wasn't the time to push himself over the edge stupidly.

"I don't know," he finally admitted, "I suppose you could say…"

"Two guys and one girl, huh," Zack said with a resigned, masochistic grin. "Talk about unconventional. Normally it's the guys who get to be greedy."

"No," Sephiroth said quietly, "It isn't like that. She isn't hoarding us like some matriarch, a queen and her harem. It's – more complex than that."

"Who initiated it?" Zack asked, the question slightly more vicious than the others. "Was it you?"

But it seemed he had reached the end of Sephiroth's tolerance for gossip – the General made a point of checking the surroundings again, as if he was chasing away the impression of being watched, then muttered without looking at him;

"As much as I would like to pursue the discussion, Fair, we have a job to do."

Well that's convenient, isn't it, he wanted to say, but bit back the words before they could tear through this rare peace. The man had been more open with him than he ever had been in all the time they'd known each other – Zack had to give him at least that.

The group came to a stop at a crossroads.

"We split up here," Sephiroth said, gesturing ahead of them. "You go on to the next Sector, and we'll check the streets around here. No casualties, please; arrest the violent, and persuade the rest of why this is futile."

"You're placing a lot of hope on their willingness to cooperate," Zack stated, and Sephiroth turned to glance at him, his eyes almost black with those dilated pupils, giving him a demonic air.

"I'm placing a lot of hope on your talent for small talk," he deadpanned.

Zack smirked despite himself. "Well, you know me!"

"I'm afraid so," Sephiroth replied. "Report back to base in an hour."

"Roger."

•

They had split up into still smaller groups and were wandering the labyrinthine streets of Sector 4 when they heard it; everyone in the Sector must've heard it. A shrill, bloodcurdling screech, filling the silence like a black splatter of fear across a blank canvas.

The two Seconds with whom Sephiroth had paired up immediately cocked their weapons, their breathing accelerating into rhythmic spurts of fog, and Sephiroth reached slowly for his Masamune as they looked around themselves. They had taken care of a few wandering protesters, reasoning with them and managing to get the location of a bigger group up ahead, so they'd been making their way through a deserted street – their surroundings were little more than geometric shapes skirting the edges of their torchlight.

"That came from the left, didn't it?" one of the Seconds whispered, eyes wide, his hushed voice cleaving through the silence.

"Look!" The other Second pointed a finger, and his partners followed his gaze to a shape up ahead, a jerking silhouette outlined by the thin chalk of starlight. The outline kept scattering as the figure limped towards them, so they couldn't guess anything more than the fact that it was human, at least.

There was the crystalline ringing of the Masamune being slowly unsheathed. Three Soldiers, stepping closer to one another as they prepared to apprehend whatever it was that was lurching towards them. When the figure came into range of their torchlight however, one of them broke away from the defensive formation – it was one of their own, trailing broken limbs and a whole lot of blood.

"It's him!" the wounded Soldier shouted, eyes full of torchlight and white around the edges as he looked up at them in panic. "It's Genesis – except he's – he's gone insane – "

Sephiroth's lips parted under the impact of those words. He came forwards, helping the others to stabilize their comrade, trying to keep his hands from shaking as he stamped out the hope that had momentarily soared through him.

"Genesis is being detained," he said calmly enough, concentrating on peeling away the man's clothes from his wounds so that the Cure spell wouldn't mesh skin and fabric together. "It's dark, and there are posters of his face all over the city. Your mind must've made an amalgam."

"I'm sure it was him, sir," the wounded Soldier gasped, but Sephiroth interrupted him by pressing his hands to a hemorrhaging wound. The man bit back a cry, and green mist twisted around General's lithe fingers, lighting all of their enhanced eyes as the spell enveloped them. He was frowning, seemingly lost in thought as he wiped away the blood on his own leathers.

"That's not possible, Soldier," he said curtly, "What about the others?"

"They – he decimated them – " the man said through heaving breaths. Then he pointed behind him shakily. "Back there, and he killed the civilians, too – it's a massacre."

There were more screams, scattered this time, and all four Soldiers lifted their heads automatically – they sounded closer than before.

"We should notify headquarters," one of the Seconds said, but Sephiroth shook his head.

"If there had been any breach in security, we would've heard about it," the General said, "They would've warned us if he had escaped."

"Maybe they just haven't realized it yet?"

It all sounded so terribly off that Sephiroth didn't even want to consider the possibility. "Find a place to hide, and finish curing him," he said, "I'll go and check, but I sincerely doubt it's anything to report to HQ about. There are a lot of delinquents out with the riots, who will doubtless be taking advantage of the situation to let loose their own violent impulses."

The wounded Soldier was shaking his head, but said nothing more, gritting his teeth as they tended to him. Once he had given his General the appropriate directions, Sephiroth stood, tightening his grip on the Masamune.

"Be careful," he added, "Call me if you hear anything suspicious. Don't take any risks."

They nodded at him, and he eased into a run, trying not to let himself hope as he slid into the shadows. It couldn't – it was impossible, absolutely impossible. Genesis was being held captive. Genesis was being held in those same halls that he'd haunted, as a child – Sephiroth frowned, shaking the thoughts from his head. It was inappropriate to dwell on him, because it wasn't him, and thinking too much about him would just land him in another swamp of confusion and irritation and he didn't need that right now.

He'd passed through several empty streets before he began to find them; broken bodies, torn into pieces and scattered across the road among slick pools of blood. They were civilians, judging by the clothes that he managed to guess at through squinting.

It was strange, how the puddles of earlier rainfall reflected the stars, while blood seemed too thick and too dark to reflect anything at all. But Sephiroth found himself bizarrely relieved by the sight of so much horror: it was like a confirmation written in a gruesome ink, that this couldn't be of Genesis' doing. If he could presume to be intimately acquainted with Genesis' tendencies and beliefs, then he felt fairly certain that this wasn't his brand of insanity. He remembered a conversation they'd had around glasses of white wine, back when Genesis had moved into his ridiculous flat and painted the walls the colour of blood; Your decorating scheme is going to drive you to blind murder, Sephiroth had said, Red is an aggressive colour, you know.

Better be careful then, Genesis had replied, Or I'll use your bones as shower curtains if you keep on criticizing my choice of décor.

He'd laughed at that. I'm sure you wouldn't be so morbid.

No, definitely not. There had been cherry smoke seeping from their mouths – something they'd both brought back from Wutai. And sweet-smelling kohl, sticking to the rims of Genesis' eyes. It was an old habit he'd kept from when he was a teenager, back when he still wrote late into the night and crashed Sephiroth's flat at 3am because he was 'more inspired' there. If you want my opinion, the body is the most beautiful when it remains intact, in its natural form. If it were up to me I'd abolish all forms of death penalty that denature the body – and even incineration. Our minds can be distorted and broken and reborn, but our bodies remain the only sincere expressions of ourselves: to deform them is to disrespect the only form we have that is remotely dependable.

Sincerity, huh? Sephiroth had smiled. So what does my body say about me?

He was going too far in reminiscing, but for a moment he didn't care. What had Genesis replied? He'd probably smirked at him, like the no-good scoundrel that he was. (That he is.) It says that you're clearly not interested in 'pleasures of the flesh', because you're an idiot, and, hmm. That you're too involved in a love affair with yourself to bother with anyone else, but I can't really blame you there.

Oh, he'd been an irritating twat right from the very beginning of their relationship, that much was certain. But, Gaia. There wasn't a single person on the Planet at that moment that Sephiroth would've wanted to see so badly.

He kept his eyes on the gore, willing himself to focus.

There were noises up ahead, and Sephiroth stepped into the shadows again, eyes glowing freakishly as he tried to glimpse any sign of movement. Something was slapping wetly, repeatedly, against a hard surface. He directed his footsteps towards the sounds, starlight lingering on the fall of his hair so that he wasn't entirely immersed in shadow. There was a body standing upright, though it was horribly deformed, and it seemed to be slamming its own face against the blood-spattered façade of a shop.

Despite all that he'd seen already in his experience, Sephiroth felt a shiver coursing through his limbs as he imagined that that thing… could possibly have been mistaken for Genesis. He readied his sword, stalking his enemy as he approached it – there was a surge of hatred in his veins. It wasn't him, and how dare they presume that he would stoop to this animalism – and just as he was lunging, silent as a cat, eyes gleaming with fury, the creature looked up at him.

It was –

That face –

Sephiroth cut off his own stride, legs sketching a few awkward steps as he stumbled to a halt, lips hanging open around the syllables that he couldn't say.

But the creature saw the threat, snarled at him with those familiar lips retracting – and pounced.

The Masamune clattered to the ground, splashing in puddles both clear and crimson. Sephiroth only barely had the presence of mind to bring up his arms to defend himself; the creature grabbed his wrists, prizing them apart with unnatural strength, and both men keeled to the ground as Sephiroth lost his balance – but once they were on the floor he overpowered the enemy easily enough, ripping out of its grip with a growl of effort and throwing a fist against that already bruised face. A second later he'd rolled over it, pinning it down by the wrists and trying to get a good look at that godamn face – but its arms were covered in blood and slippery, and it escaped him, slashing him across the face before slithering out from under him.

Sephiroth stood as it scampered, bringing a hand up disbelievingly to feel the gashes opening one side of his face in three long lines – he turned then, grabbing the hilt of his Masamune and looking around himself. No, it wasn't him – it was – it was a trick of the light. An amalgam. Yes, his brain was playing tricks on him –

There was a ghastly cackling ahead of him, and he felt it in his bones again, the visceral recognition; even the voice was the same. There was that hatred, making his blood boil again as this sickening imposter made him doubt himself.

"Who are you?" he yelled, his voice reverberating in the empty street, the echo falling like a veil of life on the dead bodies all around. "What do you want?"

That same cackling again, scraping his ears insufferably and making him want to destroy something.

When he saw the movement up ahead he didn't even think, he raced forwards – it couldn't be Genesis, it wasn't – this time he had the Masamune pointing ahead of him, so any involuntary attack would be fatal. But he'd made his decision, he wasn't crazy, he was –

The creature shirked around the attack, grabbing at his flank with those disgusting hands, and Sephiroth defended himself automatically: his elbows flew up as he retracted the blade, slicing at the air with a sweet ring. If it was really Genesis, he would have anticipated that parry – he would've – but the hilt slammed into Sephiroth's palms, and he felt the impact of metal against bones.

The creature fell, its deformed torso slashed open. And Sephiroth stood over it, hearing every drop of blood plinking to the ground as he tried not to drop the Masamune this time. He didn't want to look – but look he did, wide eyes scouring the creature's face. He looked at the salient cheekbones, the slight physiognomic smile, the slanted eyes, and all he could think of was the time when he'd taken that face in his hands and leaned so close that he could feel every one of Genesis' breaths on his own mouth, the cold inhales followed by hot gushes as they panted against one other, fighting, shouting, crying.

Don't, Genesis had growled at him, though it was more like the growl of a wounded dog, the defense they put up when they're wary of finally being given what they want. Don't do that.

He was crying now, too, though he didn't realize it. He'd fallen to his knees, setting his sword to the side and sliding both hands up his friend's throat, cupping the jaw and turning his face either way in some last attempt to convince himself that it wasn't him. It couldn't… it wasn't possible. It wasn't possible…

"It can't be you," he muttered between clenched teeth, "It can't."

He checked everything, sliding a trembling torchlight over that translucent skin. The little protuberant mole on the side of Genesis' neck, that the man used to fiddle with when he was uncomfortable, which was often. He never realized he was doing it, though Sephiroth would always notice it amusedly when they were at some ShinRa do and Genesis was saving his arse from abysmal social failure, as always. The roots of his hair – he'd had it much longer when they'd met in Wutai, unruly red strands reaching his shoulder-blades, and Sephiroth used to believe he dyed it. But it had always been natural, however surprising the colour. This is natural auburn, you little shit, he'd snap, Call me ginger again and I'll end you. Even the scar was there, the one just above the corner of his upper lip, the one Sephiroth remembered biting – Angeal had inflicted that during an incident that they were both fond of reciting, some duel with carved wooden sticks where they'd been a bit too overzealous. Angeal had scars all over too, though Sephiroth always forgot which ones corresponded to Genesis' lack of swordsmanship etiquette. The only thing that was missing was his earring, but he supposed they must've taken all jewellery from him when they'd locked him up.

After a while he gave up checking for clues. He was no longer sure what he was looking for, exactly – he'd always known that corpses lie about who had inhabited them, imposture or not, so he still wouldn't believe this was Genesis even with a DNA print right in his face. That was where their opinions fundamentally diverged; Sephiroth had been acquainted with corpses since he was far too young, and the way the dead become glossy snapshots, familiar features solidifying in a perfect death mask – it wasn't an expression of any personality. It was a lie. A body, claiming to withhold something that you could come into contact with, trapped in rigor mortis. Perhaps if you shake them hard enough, if you hug them hard enough, you'll be able to touch it – that's what you tell yourself when your hands are clasping dead flesh, when your lips are pressing against a cold mouth, but your tears are the only things that move on their barren plains of skin. You can never reach anything, in the end. And to him, the dead deserved to be defaced, so that they might stop promising to kiss you back.

His forehead was against Genesis' collarbone, hair covering the other man's bloodied face, when he realized his phone was ringing. At first he ignored it, because he couldn't bring himself to separate his hands from that skin while it was still warm. The phone had probably been ringing for a while – and there was something else, like the echo of some desolate cry, but maybe that was just inside his head. After a few minutes he straightened with difficulty, ran numb fingers along Genesis' face to brush away the strands that were stuck to his lips. His brow contracted as he tried and failed to look away, breathing slowly as he tried to contain whatever it was that was surging up inside him, blocking his throat, making him light-headed. It took him a few more minutes, and three more missed calls, for him to persuade himself to break away and answer.

"Sephiroth?" It was one of his Seconds. "Gaia, you had me worried there for a second. Are you alright?"

"Yes," he replied. "What is it?"

"Lazard called us, asking where you were since you weren't answering. Anyway, there's been news – you're not going to believe this, but, apparently Hollander was in league with Genesis before he was incarcerated. And they had a secret project, he was cloning him – to what ends though, nobody seems to know, though Lazard says Hollander wanted revenge on ShinRa too, and just freed them to wreak even more havoc. Anyway, there have been sightings all over the city, so that's – "

There was a buzz of electricity, and the tone went dead, the back of the phone falling in pieces from Sephiroth's hand as he crushed it.

• • •

"Pull him out," the President said into his phone, free hand on the long table of his conference room, flanked by Department heads. It was a fucking disaster and they hadn't even been able to contain a single portion of it – he couldn't even see, he was so angry. "Pull him out, Tseng. I believe we're already stretching his suspension of belief to the point of breaking with Genesis being in league with Hollander – but seeing the clones and being informed of them are two different things. Pull. Him. OUT."

"Understood sir," Tseng replied, "What about Zack and Angeal?"

"If someone around here decides to do their fucking job correctly, then I think we won't have to worry about them," the President said, "They aren't prone to overreactions, compared to the other two potentially insane ones. Well I say potentially – Genesis has already gone fucking insane, hasn't he? Jumping out a window on the 68th floor, I mean what the fuck? How does that even happen – in my HQ?" He wasn't even making any more sense – the spit was flying from his mouth, and the people in the room were slowly trickling out as he went on. "Just take out the godamn clones. Every single last one of them, for fuck's sake. Inform everyone of the importance of cleaning the godamn streets before sunrise, unless you want the riots to have yet another reason to accuse us of manslaughter – and this time even if we tell them the truth they won't believe us, will they? Sorry about the bodies, but it wasn't us, it was the CLONES?"

He was raving, but he didn't care, he just needed to get the filth of other people's incompetence out from under his skin.

"Understood, sir," Tseng said in clipped tones, and Shinra could've kissed the man for his professionalism. But there was one last question; "What about the real Genesis, if we manage to locate him?"

"Take him out," the President said, "Aeris must be hauled in if you find her, but for the love of Gaia, take all those fucking gingers down. Hojo promised me that cloning would be the key, the future of Soldier once he had managed to master the procedure, but he never told me that he had actually begun with the cloning process – we had agreed, he had signed an agreement not to begin before we could get the bill to pass on human cloning. The man couldn't even wait a few years – no, he just had to go ahead and – "

Shinra exhaled sharply, realizing that Tseng was very much aware of this, too, and that he didn't have to explain himself. But gods did it feel good to shout at someone, especially since Hojo was still busy trying to direct the repairs down at the labs and therefore was unavailable to be raved at.

"It's too late," Shinra resumed, "Genesis is no longer an asset of this Company, and Hojo will have to reimburse us of the investment we placed in his project."

"Yes, sir."

• • •

The two women were standing side by side in a shoddy elevator, Elapidae holding her hands behind her, Gem trying not to be too obvious about staring at her as she panted a little. Lapis had driven her across the Sectors on a stolen motorcycle, having bypassed the starter relay with some sophisticated homemade gadget that she was clearly familiar with; Christen had gone on to find Angeal by himself, so Gem had spent the entire ride thinking she was in love as she held onto the other woman's bulky, muscular waist. Not that she was a lady's girl or anything, though she had had ample experience in that field thanks to her line of work. It was just – the woman knew how to hijack motorbikes. That was enough to steal her heart away. (And, it reminded her of Genesis, though with him it had always been purely for joyriding and not out of necessity.) Of course, there was still the slight allegiance problem of it being partly – alright, predominantly her fault that so many girls had gone missing, so Gem tried to stow away her admiration while she attended to the important questions.

"So, uhh," she said with as much authority as she could muster. "You do realize that you're putting me in a difficult position here."

Lapis didn't look at her, only tensed a little to show she was listening. "Yes, I do."

"There's no particular reason why I should choose to trust you," Gem said, then grinned despite herself. "I mean, beyond the fact that you just said fuck you to one of the most expensive vehicle security systems that ShinRa had put on the market this past year. And, you know, killed a few of their lapdogs on the side."

"Those were certainly not the first," Lapis said, "And they will not be the last, seeing the state of the city."

"Well, see, that's the thing," Gem said, "I was told that you were so into ShinRa that you might as well have blue blood – "

"You're wondering if I'm pretending again," Lapis interrupted with a nod. "I understand."

"Honestly, I'm more curious about why you preferred to take such a risk that night, rather than turning Delaine down altogether. I mean, wouldn't it have been easier just to tell him that you weren't interested? What was the point in putting yourself through the whole ordeal? Besides the obvious benefit of bedding someone whose body doesn't feel a lumpy mattress, of course."

"Sephiroth's body did not enter the equation at all," Lapis assured her.

"Oh, no, of course not."

"I'm serious," Lapis insisted, "I am more the type to privilege intellect over physique when it comes to attraction, and to me he is not attractive at all."

"I envy you that," Gem said, "In this profession it's a very convenient trait to have. But anyway – why did you take the risk?"

Lapis turned to look at her curiously then, as though noting the genuine wonder in Gem's voice. It was the first time she was being asked candidly about it, rather than immediately judged, so she couldn't help feeling the tiniest bit touched. "Delaine would've asked someone else, and I wanted to protect ShinRa," she explained. "So I made sure I was on the front lines of the pitiful little conspiracy they were preparing."

"Yeah, but, you could've just told ShinRa about it rather than taking the risk of doing the mission yourself."

Lapis gazed at her thoughtfully. If Gem was detached about the whole subject, it seemed quite clear that it was because she wasn't on any particular side, between ShinRa and Avalanche; she was on her own side. Hers, and the women's. Lapis' eyes took on a certain warmth then. "You don't strike me as the sort of woman who is afraid of taking risks, Hegemony. Surely you understand my motivations?"

Gem sighed, crossing her arms and trying not to be vainly pleased at the compliment. She could tell that Lapis had noticed how starry-eyed she was, so she absolutely had to get it together if she wanted to be credible. "Sure, I get it. The thrill of the hunt, the power play, I understand. Only, I would never enter a power play with the most powerful corporation in the world, because you know, I care too much about keeping my body free of lethal injections and all that shit."

"But, that's exactly what you're doing. You have entered into a power play," Lapis replied. "Right now, you control what they prize the most – the minds of the people."

"Don't think you can get away with it by throwing me flowers," Gem grinned. "And I don't control anything – on the contrary, I'm helping the people break out of a pre-established control system."

"That is one way of seeing it. But in the end the people only follow the one with the loudest voice," Lapis replied, "And at the moment, the loudest is you."

"Hah!" She couldn't help herself: "That's certainly not the first time someone's said that about me."

Lapis raised her eyebrows, not losing a beat. "I know an acupuncturist on the plate who can take care of that for you. If you want."

Gem found herself laughing genuinely, surprised that her partner had a sense of humour under that professional uptightness. "Yeah, nah. For one I could probably never afford it, and second, I kind of like loud. And the clients seem to like it, too."

"Brothel policy must be different down below, then. On the plate, utter a single syllable that escapes the walls of your room, and the gentlemen will go scurrying out like rats."

Ah, the luxury of a silent brothel. "One of the reasons I would love to work up here; I might like loud but that doesn't mean I care to hear other people's loud." Gem glanced at her partner, trying to get back on track. "Speaking of. You do know what's been happening in the Upperworld brothels, don't you?"

It was Lapis' turn to look glum. "It's my fault, I know," she said, "I won't insult you by saying I was unaware of what was happening. If I came back at all, it was so that I could present my charge to the Turks and perhaps stop the massacre before it got out of hand. Have you got the numbers?"

Gem nodded solemnly, slinking her backpack onto one shoulder. "I've got the entire file right here. Photos of the girls' faces, registers, everything you've been seeing on the walls of the Upperworld."

Lapis was frowning, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. "It was extremely low on ShinRa's part to resort to that," she said, "I had my reasons for being on their side, but this… this is going too far. Those girls are the reason why I risked coming back to Midgar – I couldn't just settle somewhere in exile while knowing that they were taking the bullet for me, and for Delaine."

"So it's Delaine, then?" Gem guessed, deciding to believe her partner's repentant attitude and warming up to her for it. There was very little chance she'd still be on ShinRa's side after all that had happened, so it didn't seem so rash to give her the benefit of the doubt. "You do realize there's a high risk that I might kick him in the teeth with these as soon as I set eyes on him. If it's him you're taking me to see."

Lapis glanced down at those 5-inch rods of steel that served as Gem's stiletto heels. "I prefer not to spoil the surprise," she intimated. "But I think you will be pleased."

"Well, apart from him, there are quite a few people to choose from if it's 'someone I want'," Gem mused. "Though there's a distinction to make, between the people I want because I appreciate them, and the people I want to tie to a post and stuff with a couple of giant corkscrew dildos."

"I know the feeling," Lapis said, cheeks cracking with a large smile. "Though I daresay both desires may be combined."

"Hmm." There was no doubt about it, Gem was beginning to like this woman on a wholly spiritual level as well. "If it's the Hound Guard that you've got all tied up on a chair, though, I think I'll kiss you. If you don't mind."

Lapis raised her eyebrow at this piece of freely offered information. "Oh? You have trouble with the Hounds?"

"Then it isn't him either?" Gem sighed. "And yes, not only do I 'have trouble' with the Hounds, I actually am one."

If that wasn't a declaration that Gem wanted them to be firm allies then Elapidae didn't know what was. So, she'd passed the test. She relaxed her shoulders a little, finally turning to include the other woman a little more intimately in her personal bubble – it had been some time since another worthy sex worker had shown her any consideration or even offered her to enter into a bond of trust. When you're on the President's arm, it's difficult to inspire anything but fearful respect or jealousy – and the President was far from being her only professional achievement.

"I had many encounters with them during my first years in Midgar," Lapis admitted, "Though that was years and years ago. I wonder, do they still… mark their children?"

Hegemony's eyes sparked with malice. "I know, elevators are a fetish of mine too, but you're going to have to make a better effort than that if you want me to take my clothes off."

"I'll take that as a yes," Elapidae said with another of those oddly large smiles, as if she'd been faking them for so long that she couldn't quite remember how to smile properly. "At what age do they mark you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Nowadays it's around ten years old. Back in my generation it was when you started working for them, so for me it was at thirteen."

"Thirteen," Lapis echoed, and Gem could hear her compassion in the way she said it. Yeah, it had been pretty horrifying, but she'd managed to take the job far better than most Hound girls. It wasn't a time she was particularly fond of remembering though, so she tried to veer the discussion away from her.

"Speaking of body modification," she said, nodding at the older woman's tattoo, "That is fantastic. Where did you get it done?"

Lapis gazed at her for moment. "Telling you about my tattoo would be the equivalent of telling you my real name," she said after a pause, though there were remains of that smile lingering on her blood-red lips, as if she was tempted to tell her anyway.

"Telling you about my gang affiliation was, too," Hegemony said, and they both stared at each other for a bit, wondering. The elevator rattled to a stop before any decision was taken, though, so they both headed out, stilettos thumping dully in the carpet as Lapis led her companion to one of the shabby apartment doors.

"Perhaps later," Elapidae allowed her, hand on the doorknob as she unlocked it. "After you."

The door swung open to reveal none other than Markus Delaine, the worldly worm, tied to a chair with all sorts of interesting knots that only an adept of bondage might know, blue ropes digging into the fat of his stomach and thighs. There was a ring of metal in his mouth, tied around his skull by smart black leather straps, and he was looking halfway between terror and anger as he sat there, completely incapacitated and drooling.

"Oh Gaia." Even though she'd been expecting it, Hegemony was still speechless for a moment, staring at him with a giant smile on her face as she tried to look past the utter ridicule of his situation and appreciate what it meant to hold him captive. She had to admit, it was very hard. She turned to glance reverently at Elapidae as the woman made her way in.

"That gag is the absolute sweetest," Gem couldn't help commenting. "You haveto tell me where you get your equipment."

"The gag was custom-made," Elapidae said, wandering over to Delaine and pulling at the straps on his head almost playfully. "The ropes, I had imported straight from Junon. They try to sell you all sorts of strange diametres and pre-cut lengths here, and custom orders are ridiculously pricey."

"Tell me about it," Gem said, raising her eyebrows. "Down below you can hardly get anything better than that tacky 20mm nylon that starts unravelling after two or three uses. It's tragic."

"Mmmergh!" said Delaine, reminding the two hookers that perhaps it was time to get down to brass tacks, here. Elapidae allowed herself to stroke his balding head.

"Now, now, have a little patience," she cooed, before looking up at Gem again with the knowing look of conspirators. "We've got the rest of the night to talk, after all. And perhaps you'll finally understand that whores can have just as many colourful opinions as you."

Both women prowled around him like playful predators, pawing at their prey: Lapis adjusted the ropes around his chest while Gem dragged up another chair and sat in front of him, resting a stiletto on his lap as she reclined with a groan of comfort.

"Is that a Tiernan catch?" she asked, watching Lapis deftly pulling at the different coils as she took out a pack of cigarettes. "Gaia, I have so many knots to catch up on."

"It is not so complicated," the older woman said, "I can teach you later if you like."

"Oh, that'd be darling of you, thanks," she mumbled through the fag she'd hooked between her lips, pressing her heel dangerously close to Delaine's groin while she searched for her lighter. He was panting with fear, but she ignored him, snapping a flame into life. "Where did you find this little bundle of joy, then?"

"He was staying in the Northern Continent," Lapis said. She chose that moment to yank on a particular coil that pressed against his nipple through the sweat-drenched shirt – he gave a whine of pain, his panting becoming voiced. "It was child's play to follow someone who does not accept to sleep anywhere that doesn't offer a feather mattress."

"What a clumsy little fusspot," Gem sneered around her fag, her heel brushing his groin. He stared at her imploringly, but her smile only widened. "That's men for you. Preferring to cross entire oceans to escape their responsibilities rather than sit their arse down and apologize." Steel pressed into the mush of his flaccid penis, and he shouted with pain through his gag, wide eyes rolling up to the ceiling.

"I was wondering what to do with him," Lapis said quite conversationally, setting both hands on top of his head as she stood behind him. "You see, it may be the Turks who want him, but with the state the city is in I am wondering whether it wouldn't be more constructive to show him to the people. Show them the truth."

"Better still, we could use him," Gem offered, exhaling a whorl of smoke. "Show everyone who the true culprit is, and tell ShinRa that if justice really was their aim in incarcerating Genesis, then they should at least hear what we have to say since we have overwhelming evidence pointing at this jolly fellow here."

"Starting with my own confession," Lapis added, "And the girls' disappearances. But they will not like us broadcasting that information, since the Turks are supposed to operate in the dark."

"The whole city knows about the missing girls now, so it's too late for them to say that they had nothing to do with it," Gem snarled, leaning forwards and looking straight into Delaine's watery, mismatching eyes. "How do you feel about that, Markus? Did you even know that girls were getting abducted, because ShinRa made the mistake to believe that you cared about us?"

Delaine could only groan a reply. "Shall I take off the gag?" Lapis offered.

"Oh, please do," Gem growled, watching with a certain glee as her partner removed the ring from Delaine's mouth, bubbly strings of drool linking it to his foul lips.

"Don't trust her," was the first thing Delaine said. "She's the one who turned on us for ShinRa. It's her fault that they attacked my brothels. Do you really think I would profit from putting my girls in such a compromising position?"

"Errr! It's not my fault!" Hegemony parroted him in a silly voice. "Oh, keep going, this is fantastic."

"Think, woman," Delaine spat at her, "I have only ever had your best interests at heart."

"I'm sure you did, when you and your men fucked right off to some frozen shithole half the world away and left us to clean up after you." Gem stood up then, leaning over his chair with both hands on his forearms, putting her face right up in his. "Say, do you remember who I am, darling? You have to squint, don't you? See past the huge fucking scar that's cutting my face in half. That was a Turk, too, popping up at my workplace like he was only looking for a cup of tea and a good hard fuck, except he wasn't. And you had pulled all your men out, so if I hadn't been lucky I'd be three feet underground, and you would still be up there on a feather mattress with some Northern cunt in your lap, living the good life. I bet it was easy to forget all about us, wasn't it? But, perhaps it didn't cross your mind that we wouldn't forget about you."

"I've never seen you in my life," Delaine snapped.

She grabbed his crotch in a vice grip, and he yelled to the high heavens. "Wrong answer," she snarled, "Tell me, what are we to you, Markus? Are we just cattle? Are we only goods to be sold and traded and used till we're threadbare, fit to throw into a landfill like dirty old rugs? Do you even know any of our names? Do you know anything about us, or are we just personified glory holes to you?"

"Look, we are all professionals here. You must know – "

She didn't let him finish, taking her bag and turning it upside-down on him, so that the photos of all the missing girls poured over him. Then she grabbed fistfuls of them, showing them to him and telling him their names.

"This is Melody. 16, with a history of family abuse. Amber, 23, has two kids when she was still a teenager. Took up the trade when she was still a minor, to put food in their mouths. Destiny, 18, refugee from the Wutai war. Kat, 28, loves the fucking job and doesn't care what anyone thinks, because that's possible, too. Jade, 16, rape victim but hell, who isn't? Carmen, 25."

"I danced with her once," Lapis put in, "She was in an abusive relationship, and had light schizophrenia. But she was one of the most compassionate women I've ever met. And a very good cook."

"You don't know all their names," Delaine protested.

"You think?" Gem spat, "Try me."

"Do not pretend that I am any worse than any of the men who have used your body to financial ends," Delaine breathed, "You are siding with Elapidae out of some ridiculous matriarchal desire to bring down the men who have used you – but if you would only use your head rather than indulge in your hatred of men, you would see that she deserves to be tied up."

"Oh yeah," Gem snarled, "She deserves to be tied up, alright. Tied up and whipped."

"Oh, please," Elapidae said with a smile as their gazes met, "Do not play with me. I am a very sensitive woman."

"You must come to your senses," Delaine insisted when he saw how complicit they were being with one another. "She probably still has Sephiroth's blood – how well do you think that will sit with ShinRa?"

"Yes," Lapis said, looking nonchalantly at Gem as though she'd been meaning to mention it. "I was wondering what to do about that."

Both women gazed at one another, and then Gem grinned down at their captive. "Well," she growled, "I suppose we'll just have to plant it on you then, won't we?"

• • •

Dawn. There was the scent of smoke all around, the air blackened by hundreds of campfires. Grey particles billowed, like fabric rippling in water, caressing Sephiroth's figure as he made his way back to base. His calves tore through thick panels, cleaved through the curtains of smoke, and he was so filthy that those who saw him approaching had to squint to ascertain whether it was really him.

Everyone had been on alert as to his whereabouts, since he had gone AWOL in earlier hours, when it had still been pitch dark. So when Zack was told that the General was returning to them, the First threw back his chair, erupting from the café as though there was a fire; he shouted at Tseng, who'd set down in a helicopter nearby and had been waiting to take the Genesis clones they'd managed to catch back to HQ; as well as Sephiroth, once the men he'd put on the job had found him. He alerted them that there would be no need to pursue the search as he made his way over to the café entrance, rejoining with Zack.
There was a line of body bags on the tarmac near the helicopter, and Zack frowned at the Turk as he finished his call.

"Maybe you should clear those up," Zack ventured, "It was already difficult enough for me to see them – the man was really close to Genesis, so, leaving them out here is just a disaster waiting to happen."

"The President thought like you did," Tseng muttered, eyes narrowing as he took in the General's silhouette further ahead. "But I think he will want to make sure."

Zack followed his gaze – the Seconds who had rushed out to see whether Sephiroth was wounded were standing at a respectable distance from him, electing to stand to attention as he walked past. None approached or even tried to speak to him, and as he came closer, Zack finally saw why.

There was a body, spilling from his arms.

He was holding a deformed Genesis clone against him, the head resting in the crook of his neck as he looked blankly ahead. One leather-clad arm was draped almost tenderly around the clone's shoulders, other arm hooked beneath its knees so that its inert calves swayed softly as the General walked. He'd taken off his gloves, and every inch of bare skin was covered in crimson grime – his pale eyes were strangely colourless amidst the violent splatters that marred his face, sticking to his hair so that he seemed to have bloody dreadlocks.

"Shit," Zack muttered, halfway between compassion and fear as he took in the General's grim expression.

"Yes," Tseng concurred, before walking towards the bloodied First, arms out as though offering to take the burden from him. But Sephiroth's gaze was on the row of body bags ahead, and he only heaved the clone further up against him for more comfort as he brushed past the Turk.

"Is that the rest of them?" he asked in a gravelly, sleep-deprived voice.

"It is," Tseng said, following his long strides with difficulty. "At least, the ones we could apprehend. But, listen, you don't have to put yourself through this – "

"Open them."

Tseng bowed his head.

Sephiroth watched as the Turk's deft fingers unzipped the first four body bags, zipper following the outline of the corpses' faces as the plastic halves fell away. His eyes fell on more copper hair, and faces that looked like they were melting off; as though each of the bodies had had an identity before being grafted with Genesis', and certain details recalled someone else, some suppressed trait or bone structure that didn't quite match up with Sephiroth's memory of him.

Zack had a hand over his mouth as he watched the General standing there, filthy hair drifting in clumps as the wind buffeted the long white lengths. He'd been through the ordeal of identifying bodies, they all had, and looking down at one dead friend was hard enough – no one should have to be put through this. It was borderline extreme in terms of possibilities for trauma, though he couldn't imagine Sephiroth letting anything shock him so deeply. No, who was he kidding; Sephiroth was still human, however much of a rigid asshole he showed himself to be sometimes. And there was something so terrible about his silence, his utter indifference as he looked down at the bodies. Zack could only wonder whether that was why he'd disappeared: perhaps he'd needed those hours to reconstruct his façade, hammering it together so that it wouldn't crack a second time.

After a moment Sephiroth stooped to one knee, sliding his own clone into the gaping lips of one of the empty body bags. He angled the body with none of the tenderness he'd showcased when he'd held it against him, pulling out the legs roughly and not even protecting the head as it slammed down against the tarmac. Tseng helped him silently, and when the deed was done Sephiroth remained on one knee, staring at the almost-identical corpses that lay before him.

"I didn't know we had mastered the technology of human cloning," he muttered at long last.

"Yes, well, it has been a long-standing project of the Company," Tseng replied carefully, "Though, of course, we were waiting for the bill to be proposed and the moral dispute to be resolved before starting. We urged our Science Department not to get too excited about it, but as you can see, Hollander disregarded our orders to keep the research at a purely molecular level."

Sephiroth glanced at the Turk through his bloodied hair.

"Hojo once told me Hollander couldn't even be counted on to cure a common cold," he said, still in that calm, conversational tone. "He's certainly been hiding his potential all these years, hasn't he?"

It was hard not to notice the irony dripping from his words. Tseng looked away uncomfortably. It had always astounded him, that the Company might have raised this man to be the most intelligent, and yet the most manipulated individual in the entire city. In his personal opinion it was only a matter of time before the paradox imploded on itself in one way or another, but he'd be damned if he'd be the one who instigated it.

He replied like he would to any smartass who would've made the same comment; "There is a reason why Hollander and Hojo were such bitter rivals. If Hollander were as incompetent as some imply, he would have no place in the Science Department at all."

"So you say," Sephiroth said coldly, then straightened, raking back his hair impatiently with one hand. "How many are there?"

"We estimated their numbers at around forty. The real Genesis is still incarcerated, of course, that much is absolutely certain. We have been raking the city all morning, so there shouldn't be more than two or three still left out there."

"And I take it they are to be taken down?"

"Yes, but you needn't worry. Our department is taking care of it," Tseng said firmly.

"Not fast enough then, I suppose. The rioters will be crawling out of their holes soon."

Zack stepped forwards hesitantly. Hegemony had contacted him, telling him that they had some bargain to make with ShinRa, so he hadn't been able to accept before getting Sephiroth's opinion on the matter. And even with this new pile of ridiculousness being dumped on them, he was counting on his General's mind of steel to get back to the matter at hand. He cleared his throat.

"About that, Sephiroth – "

"Sephiroth has been called in," Tseng interrupted him, eyes narrowing as he willed the man to recall their earlier conversation. "It is a repugnant situation and the President doesn't want him to needlessly suffer any type of trauma – "

"Please," Sephiroth said in a low, almost menacing tone. "I am not that soft. We still have a city to babysit, and I will not leave it alone in Zack's hands if I can help it."

"Well, thanks a bunch," Zack couldn't help saying, but Tseng interrupted again;

"This is an order from the top, Sephiroth. It is not a question of being soft; I am not trying to offend your pride in any way with this order. I know what you're capable of, the admirable stoicism and level-headedness in a crisis that many should take as an example. Only – "

"Quit licking my boots, Turk," Sephiroth said, eyes burning into Tseng's. "We have a job to do here, and I'm not leaving until it's done. You can call the President and tell him I'm very disappointed in how little faith he's placed in me – in the meantime, we've got your mess to clean up, so you had better let us work."

They stared at one another, both expertly stone-faced, then there was the snap of a mobile being opened and Tseng was online with the President, walking around the body bags as he spoke into the receiver.

Now, Zack had had his differences – in fact, a whole lot of ugly differences with this man. But he couldn't help grinning up to his ears as he watched the Turk slinking away, and Sephiroth wiping his bloody hands on his leathers as nonchalantly as ever.

"Whoa-a man, did you just give Tseng a spanking – "

The bastard didn't even look slightly pleased. "What was it you wanted to tell me, Zack?"

• • •

Legs, making ridges under the covers. Hands gripping forearms; they hadn't quite let each other go since their unlikely flight across Midgar's nightscape. Genesis' chest was rising and falling steadily, and the rhythm would've been hypnotic, if Aeris had been in any fit state to sleep. Ever since the shower they'd taken, she'd been trembling with some weird floaty feeling, as if she'd never really landed. It was like vertigo had crawled into her veins and whenever she felt herself falling off to sleep her own body braced itself, preventing her, holding her on the edge of consciousness.

Well, she supposed she couldn't really be blamed – she didn't think anyone knew exactly how to recover from a one-winged crash-course across the night sky. She sighed after twisting into the thousandth sleep position. There was one solution, even though she certainly wasn't feeling particularly up for it. Maybe if she coaxed that giddy sensation to release, maybe… she could sleep, it had worked before. And, Genesis was there, so it would be easier to push away the horror of the labs and concentrate on immediate reality. If there was one thing she wanted to get back in touch with as soon as possible, it was her battered body – she definitely never wanted to experience such a divide as she'd had after the rape.

She closed her eyes, pulled the covers over her head self-consciously, and slid a timid hand between her thighs. Maybe it had to do with running on rooftops and holding blood-sheathed hands and falling from the 68th floor in Midgar's highest building, but she found that the sensation bloomed instantly, as though it had only been waiting for fingers to brush against skin. Well. She almost felt ashamed of her own receptiveness. They did say adrenaline did something weird to your libido, didn't they? Humph.

… it was an odd thing to realize, that the rape had put her in a far worse state than this. That her body was so willing to recover now. Then again perhaps it had gotten used to a certain amount of mistreatment, after her childhood, and after what Sephiroth had done – perhaps she was finally getting hardened enough to have a shorter recovery time.

It was sad, really. She quickly chased the thought away.

She was breathing softly, coaxing the rush of excitement with two fingers and drawing it out, longer, longer still – not yet – ah, almost, but not yet, not yet – and her feet knocked against Genesis' under the covers as she tensed, trying to breathe, trying to control it. The covers were sticking to her face and she was half-choking, the rims of her lips becoming apparent against the thin fabric as she opened her mouth and breathed in. The heat was almost unbearable – then Genesis contributed to it by moving, legs twitching and coming to knock against hers. She froze meekly, thinking he might have heard, and pulled the covers down from her eyes to peek at him.

He was facing the ceiling, eyes rolling under closed eyelids, not breathing very steadily, and she suddenly realized that he didn't look like he was having too much of a good time in there. She moved to touch his throat, meaning to wake him, and found that his skin was dewy with sweat.

"Genesis," she said a little louder, heaving herself up onto one elbow as his breaths lurched, letting himself be pulled under by the nightmare. "Genesis!"

She was holding onto his head with both hands when he finally came to, blinking and taking a while to focus his eyes on the face he had before him.

"Are you alright?" she asked urgently, and for a moment he looked so lost, as if he had no idea how they had gotten here when he'd been expecting to wake up in his cell again. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, running his hands down his face to wipe away the sweat.

Aeris swept the covers with one hand; they were drenched.

"Where are we?" he whispered.

"We're in the old man's house," Aeris whispered back. "You know. We fell on his rooftop, and he offered us tea and a shower. And protection."

He looked around the cozy room, took in the draperies and the wooden furniture, a welcome sight after the endless glass and sterile white tiles. He tried to recall it; the surprise on the man's face, the concern when he'd apparently recognized who Genesis was. He'd told them that it wasn't his call to make, regarding what everyone should or shouldn't know about him escaping, and that he would put them in contact with the 'leaders' come morning. But they really should rest, being all blood-soaked and dead-eyed with fatigue.

He smiled to himself as the crazy surge of anxiety settled slightly, hands absently sliding up his forearms as if to make sure he was real. It seemed too good to be true, though he'd been too tired to ask the old man any further questions, so he still didn't quite understand their situation now.

"I'm still dreaming, aren't I?" he asked despite himself.

"If you have so little faith in my efficiency as your knight in shining armour, I'm going to have to ask you to sleep on the couch," Aeris told him, and he turned to gaze down at her with a wealth of affection in his tired gaze. It was almost strange to see her with a clean face, after having dragged her through the labs with blood clotting around those innocent eyes – but Goddess, she had never looked so beautiful as she did then, lying on her side with her hair all dishevelled, frowning a little as she gazed at him anxiously.

She had really… she had come for him. Granted, it had been exceedingly stupid. But she'd done it, putting aside her own safety, throwing it all out the window if only to save him. Or, whatever part of him that she thought was worth saving, anyway. He couldn't help thinking – who really did that, nowadays? Who was really that naïve, that gloriously selfless?

He slid right around, fitting himself against her with one thigh wedged between hers and his mouth next to her throat, snuggling with a groan of satisfaction as she wound her arms around his waist.

"You're real, then?" It was a legitimate question. Her level of willing martyrdom shouldn't still exist in this age of cupidity and individualism. And, she smelled too damn good to not be an apparition, too.

"Yes, I am," she replied, crumbling his thin sense of solipsism.

"Did I actually thank you for what you did?"

"Hmm, let me think," Aeris chuckled, "I don't even think you thanked me once, no."

"I'm an idiot."

"That's what I've been endeavouring to tell you."

They weren't really thinking; they were just pushing words out of their throats for the sake of noise. For the sake of being free to say whatever the hell they wanted; and do whatever the hell they felt like doing.

"Are you alright, Gen?" Aeris asked again, and Genesis stared at her in the semi-obscurity, eyes glittering.

"I think so," he whispered, and she burrowed against him with a contented sigh. "Goddess, I can't believe we – " He finally laughed, chest bobbing. "I can't believe it."

"I told you I wouldn't let them touch you."

"Aeris," he breathed gratefully. They snuggled silently for a few minutes, and Aeris was beginning to feel the pulse between her legs becoming an inappropriate throb. She blushed furiously as he held onto her; she should never have – after all they'd been through, honestly. But she'd only wanted to sleep, and it was scientifically proven that endorphins help to relax the body, and...

"You smell funny," Genesis said after a few minutes, and she tensed, giving a slightly more self-conscious laugh.

"And you still have such lovely bed manners."

"No, seriously," he murmured, breath against her skin making her shiver. "You smell like sex."

He never missed a beat, did he? "Genesis."

It was a startlingly unconvincing defense, and she didn't stop him when his hand inched down to inappropriate places, either.

"What were you doing before you woke me?" he asked her in a sensual whisper.

"Minding my own business," she murmured back, gasping as he effortlessly slid two fingers inside her. Perhaps he felt the same as she did – neither was thinking straight as they lay against one another, reveling in each other's heat and breathing in the familiar, musky scent of desire.

"Selfish," he accused her, and she smiled against his lips.

"I couldn't sleep," she replied, squirming as he added a third finger, stretching her deliciously. "And you were too busy having bad dreams."

"That's what happens when I don't use Sleep materia," Genesis admitted softly, "It's unthinkable that I actually fell asleep at all without it. Actually I don't even remember how we got here from the dinner table."

"We – " It's difficult to talk, when you're pressed up against a burning masculine body who's smiling in your hair and toying with you mercilessly. Aeris frowned, trying again, holding onto his wrist as if she wanted to stop him but not putting much heart into it. "The old man told us to make ourselves comfortable. Told us we could rest, that he could give us sanctuary for at least a few hours before the – " She gasped as he pressed against her tenderly, fingertips finding the right spots in mere seconds. " – patrols start up again in this area."

"Patrols?"

"There was a riot yesterday, he told us," she resumed, "And it doesn't look like it'll be over any time s – oh." Her nails bit into his wrist as he wedged his thumb against the hood of her clitoris, delicately rubbing it in the motions he knew so well.

"We'll have to get out of bed and see what's going on then, won't we?" he whispered, eyes glinting devilishly in the dark as he watched her trying to contain herself.

"No," she breathed, "You aren't getting out of bed before I allow it."

He laughed then, quietly, and she mushed her face against the cushions as he vengefully pressed deeper. "You know, you could've just asked the old man for sleeping pills. But then again," he added, leaning so close that she could taste every word; "It's true that you don't take very long at all."

"I can control myself," Aeris said huffily. "Especially if you start being all obnoxious about it."

He grinned. "Is that a challenge?"

"No – just – oh, Gaia," she breathed despite herself as shivers coursed through her body, gripping onto him tighter. She buried her face against his throat, and he enveloped her with his free arm, frowning as he concentrated on keeping the same rhythm.

"I think I told you something, before jumping out the broken elevator," he murmured, hardly louder than a breath, and she pressed an open-mouthed kiss against his throat instead of replying. "Do you remember what it was?

"It was the worst moment you could ever have picked to say it," Aeris mumbled. "Like saying, bye now, have a good death."

His smile widened. "And would it be more appropriate to say it now?" he replied, "Maybe not – they do call orgasm the little death, don't they."

"You're the one who's going to be knocked dead soon if you keep on saying silly things," Aeris gasped, and she could feel it building, veins shimmering with ecstasy as he held her on the brink. She locked her hips in the exact position that she needed, and he stopped just as he felt her tensing up, changing the agonizing pressure to the lightest of caresses. She gritted her teeth, opening her eyes to find him grinning at her – oh, she was going to kill him alright.

"You – are the worst – " she breathed, but his mouth melted over hers before she could go on. And his fingertips smothered her throbbing bud without any warning, so that she finally came undone beneath his fingers, thighs tensing and hips jerking, holding onto him as she gave a tiny, tortured cry.

"I love you," he said in a throaty whisper, breath caressing her mouth, and he said it again when she cradled his head and kissed him back, brow falling over closed eyes as she tried to contain the webbing pleasure in her body. "I love you so fucking much."

No one had ever said it to her like that, and there were tears pressing their way out of her eyes and her heart bloating up like a swollen water-balloon and she could only think, really? I'm crying, again? "Stop it," she whispered, and then, because it was inevitable – "I love you too, you stupid cow."

When she had stopped breathing so hard, and both of them had had their full of cuddling, Genesis extricated himself from her arms and got up. They had to get back to business sometime, after all, though right at that moment she didn't feel like she had enough energy to lift a single of her limbs, let alone batter him down with all the questions she had about what she'd learnt at the labs. Aeris watched him out of the corner of her eye as she tried to summon the willpower to get up, still recovering and wondering what on the Planet they'd been doing when they were supposed to be traumatized, here. Then again if a trip through hell didn't suffice to calm Genesis' waking urges then she supposed nothing ever would; she grinned at the thought, relieved that he was at least well enough to resort to old habits.

"Was that supposed to be your thank you for getting me out of custody?" she said with a groggy smile, which he returned, though the mention of custody had sharpened his gaze.

"What, aren't you satisfied?"

"Absolutely not," she replied with a huff, "You'll have to try again later."

Genesis' smile widened, though he seemed preoccupied now that he was slightly more conscious. "I won't forget."

She practically screeched when he pulled back the curtains, letting in the light of day, his own naked body set alight by the blinding whiteness. Once she could open her eyes without feeling like they were being pressed into the back of her skull, he had tugged on a pair of trousers that the old man had left out for him, and was stretching his back ceaselessly, as though trying to ease out cramps. He chucked a dress in her face when he caught her staring, and she yelped as the perfumed folds blinded her again.

"Come on, you little slug," he said, "If there's a riot I certainly don't want to miss out."

She pulled the dress off her head, stumbling to her feet with a grumble. "The purpose was to sleep, after – oh, damn it. And aren't you even a tiny bit tired after last night, even if you got more sleep than me?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted, and he put both hands against the wall before continuing, sighing softly as he stretched. "To be honest, I feel – like I could take on a stable-full of Sleipnirs with my bare hands. I almost feel like my body's too small for me."

"Maybe you could take the wing out again," Aeris said with a wondering smile. "Stretch it right across the room."

"You know, I still don't understand how that actually happens," Genesis told her, apparently having far less qualms about it now that it had served in their escape. "How does an entire limb just retract back into your body as if it was never there?"

"I suppose it depends how it appeared in the first place," Aeris offered.

He only smiled faintly, not wanting to pursue that thought at the moment. "Anyway, I can't risk smashing the furniture just to have a stretch. The old man's been kind enough to hide us, so it wouldn't be polite."

She frowned as she watched him rolling his neck back, trying to join up the dots, remembering what he'd said to Hojo about them being carriers of some alien substance. Bacterial, viral, alien, what does it matter? But it did matter, it did, because she'd heard the name before. She'd heard it being spoken all around her for the better part of her life.

Jenova.

She looked down as she buttoned her dress. There was a connection, that much was certain. But she didn't understand how that was possible – Jenova was a thing of legend. She wasn't even sure in which millennia the cataclysm was supposed to have occurred, but it was so far back that the alien itself could only be dead – couldn't it? Urgh, she was too tired for the maths.

Genesis had gone over to the window as they each buttoned up, and when she next looked at him he was standing, staring out of the glass as though transfixed. She got to her feet, containing a small smile as she anticipated his reaction to the posters and the general cry for his liberation that had been racking the city. Him, who had always believed that he was the lesser Soldier, the one who didn't count next to the hero of the Wutai war – Hegemony had done it, the people had risen for his sake, and now his name was on everyone's lips as they cried for the freedom of their beloved martyr.

His lips parted as though he wanted to say some sarcastic remark, but apparently he couldn't find it in him as he went on staring, fingers frozen on his buttons. Aeris came up next to him, gazing down at the highway ahead where crowds of raging protesters had started up again, pushing against the human barriers of Soldiers, brandishing banners and panels that sported photos of Genesis in his military leathers – the buildings ahead of them were plastered with giant posters of his face, and his name was splattered absolutely everywhere in spiky, multicoloured graffiti.

"As you can see, we've been a little busy," Aeris told him playfully, but he seemed to be too choked to even move. His brow knitted, and he slid an arm around her shoulders slowly, pressing her against him without a word.

After a while, he asked her quietly; "So, who's the we?"

• • •

Hegemony's pacing. She's been practising her speech in her head all morning but, that doesn't mean she isn't pissing herself – half of Midgar will be hanging on her every word once midday strikes, plus Aeris who finally gave a sign of life earlier and asked where she was through texts, but she can't even say a single sentence without cussing so what kind of crappy public speaker does that make her? Elapidae helped her as much as she could, but of course the woman can't show her face now, when she's one of ShinRa's most wanted targets, and would probably spark some kind of negative reaction on Sephiroth's part too. After all the last time he'd seen her, she'd been straddling him and sinking needles into his skin – possibly something that didn't particularly sit well with him in the kinks department. Then again, what does Gem know? She didn't exactly ask Aeris whether the man was rather vanilla or rather psychotically-driven fetishist with a penchant for non-consensual, because she'd thought it was pretty fucking simple to guess. But, she doesn't really know anything about the man at all, beyond her own judgements.

Delaine is tied up in the café where they're waiting, head bowed after they knocked him out with tranquillizers. Gem's staring out the window and waiting for Sephiroth or some other ShinRa representative to show up. Christen is with her, though Angeal is still stuck on the other side of the highway.

They've been arguing over phrasings, and Gem can't stand the doubt, the uncertainty as to how Sephiroth will react. She sits, grabbing the thousandth coffee of the morning and sipping it as she tries to get the words lined up in her head.

There is movement outside among the waiting protesters, but she doesn't see it, too absorbed in concentration.

As long as we have Delaine, it'll be okay, she tells herself, As long as I manage to hold onto him, whatever bullshit they try to pull… Genesis will be okay.

She whips her head up when she hears Christen shouting at some shady characters outside, their voices muffled as he makes gestures to kindly imply that they should fuck off. The men are tattooed, skulls shaven and most of them wearing grubby leather – Gem frowns, first disbelievingly, and then fearfully as she recognizes that tatty attire.

Oh, hell no.

She stands, shouting at the others in the café so that they gather protectively around Delaine as the slummers outside start pushing Christen around. The crowd in the street just go on staring, stupefied, no one quite knowing how to react as they all tell themselves that someone will take care of it. Crowds. Sheep. But Christen's in trouble, and if those guys are who Gem thinks they are –

She sees a raggedy pile of dreadlocks, pulled in a loose bun, and ice falls in the pit of her stomach in a great block. Oh, it's not ShinRa, it's definitely not ShinRa.

"Shit."

They're grabbing at Christen, and Gem's collaborators are asking her what they should be doing, who are these people? But then they've hit him, one of them flashing a knife in the odd rays of sunlight that struggle through the smoke, and Hegemony snaps. This is nobody's problem except hers, and she should've known they would catch wind of what she'd been up to.

She storms out, flanked by several rioters who don't want to see her hurt, and the rogue Hound stares up at the men of her gang as they stand tall and menacing, pushing the blade against Christen's throat as they sneer down at her.

"Thought you could get away with it, didn't you, slut?"

"You wanted to play in the men's arena, well, here we are. Let all that glitz get to your head, didn't you? Pathetic."

"Turning on the ones who raised you for money, like the whore that you are."

Gem's sweating, hands balling into fists as she stares at them all. She doesn't know them intimately, only Bastien, her sweet Bastien, standing there and letting them tear her down. Contributing. He can't look at her, and he better fucking not, because she'll claw his face off for this betrayal. Then again she did betray him first.

"General Sephiroth is coming, any minute now," she seethes at them, "So you better piss right off back to that hovel you call home."

"It was your home, too," one of them snarls at her, "It's the only family you'll ever have, girl. None of these people will have you, once they know where you come from. Who you are, and what you've done."

"You don't know me either," Gem snaps at him, eyes flickering to Christen as the knife bites into his skin, letting loose a red line of blood. "I have friends up here that make you lot look like a bunch of fucking schoolgirls, so let him go. You have no idea who you're dealing with."

The Hounds glance at one another, as if they find her ridiculous.

"Give us Delaine."

"Gem," Christen whispers, eyes wide as he holds onto his captor's forearm.

"Let him go," Gem insists, stepping forwards, arm out – "I swear to Gaia, if you don't – "

Before she can finish, the knife's sliced through his throat, and there's a scream among the crowd as blood spurts from the gash.

"NO!" Gem yells, lunging forwards, and the Hounds chuck him to the ground as they try to get a hold of her. Fists are thrown, shouted orders fly as both groups collide and claw at one another like beasts. The street crowd breaks up as several people rush forwards to involve themselves in the fight, and there's blood all over the tarmac as it devolves into one great brawl – Gem smashes one guy's face in with her knee with the help of another woman, bringing him to the floor and pushing her heels into his eyes, and as he screams she whips around to gesture at her fellows in the café.

"Get Delaine out!" she yells, then one Hound grabs her by the collar and she's fighting for her life again, throwing her forehead at his nose and a knee up between his legs as she growls with rage.

One figure is cutting through the crowd, hooded and concealed. Gem doesn't notice him before there is the glassy ring of a blade being unsheathed, and the crowd surges to get out of the man's way as he grabs the Hounds by the scruffs of their collars and pulls them away one by one.

"Who the hell's this joker?"

They break it up to circle around him, some of them taking out their own shoddy melee weapons, others cocking their guns as the brawl calms down. The hooded man is holding onto a bizarre red blade, hand enveloped in the golden coils of an elaborately forged guard.

"Nice foil you've got there," one of the Hounds jeers, and they crowd him, stepping closer. Gem's heart is pounding as she stares at that mysterious man, something about his stance striking her as horribly familiar – she's holding onto her collaborators, all of them tensed and ready for a renewal of hostilities. The figure lifts his head in her direction, as though staring right at her and taking in her mutilated face, but she can't see him properly, only the vague curve of his lips. And Goddess, do they look familiar, too –

"You should leave the lady alone, if you know what's good for you," the hooded man says.

Oh, fuck me. That's not possible. That voice –

"Or what?"

"You have no idea of what's at stake here, do you?" the figure goes on, "Do you even know what she's trying to defend? What all these people are out here condemning?"

"She betrayed us," one Hound says, "This has nothing to do with the revolution."

"Who the fuck are you, anyway? You don't know who you're dealing with, buddy."

"Let's take this clown out!"

"No – leave him alone – "

Warning shots are fired, and the brawl starts afresh as rioters grab at Hounds and the figure throws up a Barrier spell – Hegemony runs into the café to help her collaborators haul Delaine out of there, and they make a run for it, dragging their charge across the pavement as the Hounds try to follow them. There's flashing metal dancing through the air as the figure spars against several Hounds at once, and Gem looks up in wonder, only to see the figure hacking two of them down in one great bloody arch. The crowd is either cheering or dissipating, and Gem is about to reach the street corner and the motorcycles that Elapidae left them when there is the strangest of sounds, like bones cracking as loudly as a gunshot.

When she looks over her shoulder, the figure is standing in a defensive stance, with a gigantic black wing protruding from his left shoulder, casting a shadow over the terrified Hounds.

"Now you're going to wish you never pissed me off," she hears him snarling, but the engines rev up, and before she can even ask what the fuck is going on, her collaborators are urging her on and they drive away, leaving the figure to fend for himself.

•

The screams and gunshots can be heard from two streets away, so Sephiroth sighs, sliding his Masamune off his back in preparation. He and his small group of Seconds climb out of the van that had transported them across the Sector, orientating themselves by the sounds of the brawl rather than the street numbers as they jog towards the supposed meeting point. Zack had arranged it, and however rational it had seemed at the time, it just has to be a disaster every time Zack organizes something, doesn't it?

"I thought they were supposed to behave themselves?" one Second says, and Sephiroth narrows his eyes while the others scoff as they come closer to the street corner. He can't shake the thought that perhaps one of the remaining clones has beset the rioters again, this time in broad daylight – and how the hell ShinRa would ever manage to explain themselves if it really has come to that.

When they turn into the street in question, there are so many scattered people that most don't even realize that the General himself is coming towards them. The envoy of Soldiers notify those who aren't involved in the brawl, asking them to evacuate immediately, and Sephiroth catches a glimpse of black in the corner of his eye as they approach the shouting crowd – he turns, walking towards the aggressors, leather boots stepping across blood-soaked tarmac.

"In the name of the law," he booms, and he doesn't even finish that people recognize his voice and break away, turning to look at him fearfully. "Please put down your weapons."

The crowd breaks up slowly, revealing battered corpses and men struggling to pull themselves to safety – the street is a veritable battleground. And in the middle of all the bloodshed…

Sephiroth's jaw clenches at the sense of deja-vu, but since the scene isn't new to him, his heart is robust enough not to splinter pathetically as it had last night. His grip tightens on his Masamune as he stands, tall and intimidating. He won't let himself be fooled this time.

There is a man, hooded, deformed. The deformity is slightly more elegant here, as the wing seems to be fully formed, whereas last night's creature had only shuddering stumps growing out of its back. Sephiroth allows himself to observe the hooded creature's reactions as his Seconds usher away the rest of the crowd, shouting at everyone to evacuate the street and struggling with those who are shouting to stay. The creature seems to be too stunned to move for a moment, and Sephiroth can see a smile curling on those familiar lips as if it's recognizing him. Happy to see him. The fantasy he hasn't allowed himself to have echoes in his mind, bursting from the fenced-in and barb-wired recesses of his imagination – the reunion he's been aching to have, the apology he's been aching to give.

Sephiroth, Genesis would've said, cried out in some relieved voice, and Sephiroth would've held him, would've told him how sorry he was for betraying him – how he only thought he was making things a little less muddy by stopping him from killing Zack. How much of a fucking idiot Genesis had been for putting himself in a position where Sephiroth couldn't protect him. Couldn't show him that he loves him, because he loves him, for fuck's sake, he loves him.
His blood is boiling again, and he can't help the surge of indignity as this creature allows itself to impersonate the best man he's ever known – he draws up his Masamune slowly. It can't smile at him. It shouldn't offend the memory he has of Genesis that way.

"Aren't you even going to say hello, then?" it shouts at him, and that voice is wrangling his nerves, making him see red.

"I will not insult Genesis by addressing you lesser life forms," Sephiroth calls back, "We have orders to take you down. Surrender now and you may remain alive, for however long they see fit."

The creature seems quite baffled by his answer, and then it laughs – and it is so alike Genesis in its mannerisms compared to last night's wild thing that Sephiroth is feeling even more murderous than before.

"I think you've got it mixed up," it says, then begins walking towards him with that wing folded behind its shoulder like it's the most natural thing in the world – Sephiroth only lifts his Masamune, legs parting as he settles in an aggressive guard. Seeing that, the creature stops hesitantly, sword hanging by his legs. Then it reaches up with its free hand and draws down its hood, revealing a shining crown of red hair and clear blue eyes, wide with concern.

"It's me, Sephiroth."

"Do you really think your face is all you need to vouch for your identity?" Sephiroth says coldly. "I saw that face in approximately 30 body bags this morning. Now, do you accept to surrender?"

"No, I don't accept to surrender, you ass, because it's me," the creature insists, "For fuck's sake, open your eyes! What do I need to do, recite Loveless backwards to prove that it's me? The wandering soul knows no rest, and you're a fucking cretin?"

"Oh, my eyes are open, I assure you," Sephiroth all but snarls, "They are wide open this time."

He steps closer, and the creature finally brings up its own sword as though disbelieving that it might have come to this.

"I'm not going to fight you," it says, its voice strangely choked, but Sephiroth won't have it – he's had enough of the manipulations, the lies and revelations, how they twist up what little feeling he allows himself to have into horrendous, bloodied knots and it's a weakness, anyway; feeling is a fucking weakness. Hojo always told him that. Social bonds are secondary, and ruinous.

"Too bad for you," he snaps, and then the Masamune is ringing like a clear bell as he swipes it across the air.

The creature slashes the Masamune away in a mess of sparks, and it's leaping away, wing spreading to stabilize it – Sephiroth only twists around and attacks it again, drawing murderous lines as the blades collide and scrape together. They are sparring at an incredible speed, heedless of the surroundings: the clone's blade smashes his Masamune into windows, shattering the glass carelessly, and he slams the clone against environing walls, brick and plaster crumbling under the impact. But it's devilishly agile, and seems to predict every one of his moves as though it had sparred with him already. What does he know? Maybe they infuse these things not only with abstract memory, but also sensory memory – however the hell that might work. Maybe this clone even remembers the imprint of their bodies, when they had been intimate, the only time they had ever been that way – Sephiroth grits his teeth as the memory is soiled beyond redemption.

At one point the creature twists into an uppercut, wing flaring out dramatically, but it doesn't seem to realize what a weakness it is to have such a great mass to protect during a duel, as well as its own body. It is all too easy for Sephiroth to slice his blade upwards, sinking into the membrane hiding under that lustrous wall of feathers – the creature yells in pain as he slices the wing up to the bone, sinking to one knee as the limb twitches horribly.

For a moment Sephiroth wonders if it had never felt pain in that thing before, seeing the surprise on its face. Then the Masamune's edge has left the tattered wing and come to caress the clone's throat as Sephiroth steps closer, closer still, until he's up in its face, pulling it back up to its feet.

It whimpers with fear and pain as the broken wing drags behind it, sword clattering as it holds onto Sephiroth's arms for balance. The General's face is looming so close that he can smell wine on the creature's breath; he's got one hand on the Masamune hilt, the other cradling the clone's disgusting face, holding its jaw painfully tight.

"Please," the clone breathes, squinting through the pain, "You don't know what you're doing, you don't know how far this reaches – "

"Maybe I don't know all of it," Sephiroth hisses, eyes sparking with a visceral hatred. "But one thing I do know, is that you can't fool me."

The metal is cold against the clone's carotid, and he can tell it's desperately trying to find something to say to prove that it really is the original. But Sephiroth won't have that. He won't tolerate anyone fucking with his head again. He's already wasted enough time trying to stuff his rampant heart back between his ribs, and now if they think they can put him through that again, they're dreaming.

"You have one too, you know," it whispers, "A wing like this. All you have to do is imagine it. Believe it. And it will exist."

Oh, he's intelligent enough to smell a lie.

And this time, he's right.

"GENESIS!"

The metal cuts into the artery, and there's blood, pouring across Sephiroth's fingers as he hears that scream cutting through the silence. But he recognizes that female voice too late, and the clone is staring up at him wide-eyed, pitching all its weight against him as they hear the light tap of feet running towards them.

Sephiroth turns his head disbelievingly, and sees her: hands covering her mouth, hair whipping out behind her slight frame. And funnily enough, it isn't anything about Genesis' person that makes him recognize the truth – rather what Genesis has inspired in someone else. Namely, the tears that are spilling from her bright green eyes as she watches the blood running down his body.

But it's impossible – he can't have been wrong.

He can't have been wrong.

• • •