His heart was squeezing in his throat, beating much too fast. Breathless and unnerved, Sephiroth crushed his back against the door of his room. He stood in the dark, willing himself to be calm. How had he been taught, to breathe through intense pain? In through his nose, down into his belly, and out through his mouth, repeat, repeat. A glimmer of silver light filtered through the high windows, shifting with the aurora. As long minutes passed he watched it unfold on the carpet before him like a vaporous flower, slowly fade, then vanish.

He waited. Breathed deep. Still his heart raced. Not knowing what else to do, he let himself crumple to the floor, his long legs folding like the blades of a jackknife. The high points of the carvedwork on the door bit into him, but he barely felt it. Completely outside his control, his mind was a burning field, consumed with what he had just experienced. Desperate to understand what he was feeling, he played his interaction with Aerith over and over, pulling it apart to analyze it in every excruciating detail.

Again her eyes looked into his own, her pupils sliding open as he took the last step that closed the distance between them. He had been close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin and smell the wine and almonds on her breath. He heard himself speak; he was alive and powerful, the strength of his desire rippling up from his core.

Aeriths' lips parted, just a little, a blush spreading across her chest and up her throat. She shut her eyes against him and shivered, her exhalation stuttering. The subtleness of her quivering breath, just audible, thrilled him beyond measure. Her eyes opened again, large and soft, and she denied him with a word. But it was not a complete denial. Confusion and uncertainty were in her shifted glance, the way she leaned toward him but turned her head away. She wasn't sure. There was a chance. Sephiroth stared into the darkness of his room, his eyes blind but his body lit with electricity.

Everything hinged on this, this equivocation. That is, if he assumed it was true and not just something she had said because he had made her uncomfortable. He considered this. There was enough room to allow for a multitude of gorgeous and terrifying possibilities.

Sephiroth gripped his knees. Her eyes and being had utterly stripped him, torn off his skin and thrown it away. The merest current of air; a look, a glance from her, was like a searing brand. He was far beyond the limits of his experience now, with no tether, no training to guide him.

Warm and clear, he heard Aeriths' voice speaking in his mind, relating everything she had shared with him, word by shyly chosen word. Something within her was shifting, he could feel it. She had shared so much of herself with him tonight, trusting that he would hold her secrets without judging them, with no judgement for withholding them for so long. The fact of this should have been enough. It was more than he deserved. But he was not a man to do anything by halves.

Greedily, slavishly, he wanted more, for it to go on and on, to open, broaden, deepen, until he possessed everything of what she was, and she possessed all of him. His thoughts ravened. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. It hurt yet was sweeter than he ever thought possible, this strange mixture of terror and fascination and desire. It was thrilling to discover that he was capable of it. He was human after all, at least human enough that he could feel these things. Not that he might have the chance to explore it. Not that he really had a right to. His thoughts shifted darkly as he considered the propriety of it all. How could put any claims upon her, or anyone, for that matter? What could he offer? Scowling sadly, he stared up into the shadowy recesses of the coffered ceiling. Perhaps it was not meant for him, to be able to love anyone, not in this life. He would consider it penance, and it would be just.

Sephiroth sighed, frustrated. He couldn't help it, his body still ached for her. He drew his knees to his chest and clasped his arms tightly around them, trying to contain it. Shame rose up in waves. Unbidden he saw Hojo looming before him, his smile full of teeth and sly contempt. His thready voice unspooled in his ears, mocking him from beyond death: Ah, how charming, you have at last discovered what you are. Did you forget what I told you, think you were some kind of exception? We are male, and we will always have our tendencies. The sooner you accept this, the easier it will be for you. The ghost scoffed at him. What are you waiting for? They're only women. Just take what you want. Hojos' half-remembered laugh slithered into his bones and stuck there, leaching slow poison.

Sephiroth raked his hands through his hair. He remembered Jani's red weeping eyes, her broken, bitten, skin and trembled, feeling sick. He wasn't his fathers' son. Not in that way. He refused to believe it. It couldn't be inevitable, couldn't be the truth. Uneasily, he set a counterargument to the ghost in his head. We're the same only in that we desire, he thought. That in and of itself can't be wrong. There had to be a way where it couldn't be wrong. Perhaps he could find it. He took a shallow breath. Perhaps he was only fooling himself.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tapped his head against the door, once, twice, as if that would beat in some sense. Even now, after all they had been through together, it was still him alone in his room, Aerith in hers down the hall. There was no resolution he could think of, none that ended happily. It was absolutely unbearable.

In a single decisive movement, Sephiroth got to his feet. Enough, he decreed to himself. Even if he didn't understand what he was going through, couldn't resolve or change it, this weakness did not become him. He would not allow it to continue to keep him here, cowering on the floor like some lost thing.

His face like stone, Sephiroth strode across the dark expanse of his room to the balcony. He flung open the doors, snapping them smartly closed behind him, and paced out into the inky night. The thick frost crunched under his feet, the cold knifing instantly through his dress jacket. The bracing air was like a tonic. He gripped the railing of the balcony, feeling the ice crystals bristle and burn under his hands. The way it hurt centered him. Physical pain was at least something that was understandable, something he could manage.

He looked out across the frozen plain. The midnight sky had become turbulent, a line of menacing clouds marching in from the east. The wind slid through the smooth cords of his hair with icy fingers, lifted it, then let it drop against his back. He took a deep breath and released the railing, flexed his hands. The tremor in them was almost gone.

Subtle pressures in the atmosphere were shifting around and above him, he could feel them sliding past each other. The storm would be a bad one when it came in a day or two. Crossing his arms across his chest, Sephiroth paced, away from the edge of the balcony and back again. He shivered; his exposed skin was searing, but he was glad to be out in the open. His mind slowly formed a plan of action. It was impossible to stay here, restless and seething, with the object of his obsession just a few meters away. He didn't know where he was going, but it didn't matter.

Sephiroth strode down the length of the balcony toward the conservatory. The brisk movement felt good, dispersed some of the tension in his body and gave him something else to focus on. As he rounded the curve of the tower he saw what he had hoped: the glass inside the conservatory was dark. The servants had finished clearing the remains of their meal and extinguished the candles. He would not be met by anyone. Being careful to maintain his silence, Sephiroth let himself inside, the warm air softening in his lungs. There was a service elevator, he knew, hidden discretely in the back corner behind the palms. The servants used it to come and go unseen, as did the gardener. It was an easy way out without having to face Aerith again.

The doors to the elevator read the keycard in his pocket, and slid open at his approach. Sephiroth stepped inside. For a second he stared blankly at the wall, at the thirty seven silver buttons studding the mahogany control panel. Purely arbitrarily, he selected the twenty-third floor and counted off every second it took to descend. The doors slid back on a dimly lit hallway. Wheeled racks of clean dishes and linens lined either side, their chrome reflecting off the scarred rubber tile. Sephiroth chose a direction and tried the first door he came to. It opened into an empty ballroom, dark except for the red glow of the exit lights. Furtively, his footfalls echoing, he stole across the wide expanse of glossy parquet, uneasy with the darkness in the huge open space. It was a relief when he slid out into the hall, the sudden brightness stinging his eyes. A collection of gilt furniture was arranged in an oval sitting area around him, with the usual palms and frippery. Corridors went off in either direction. He chose one of them and continued on, walking as briskly as he dared.

No matter how quick his pace, thoughts of Aerith intruded mercilessly. The curve of her mouth tortured him, how it had pressed lightly against the edge of her champagne flute. Then came the flutter of her laughter as the bubbles tickled her nose. Her smile and the joy in her eyes had truly been for him, all for him, he realized, but it hurt too much to dwell on this for long. With a massive force of will, he wrenched himself away from these thoughts, forcing his awareness outward to engage his surroundings. He turned only to the immediate here and now, focusing in on every detail as it presented itself.

Gradually he settled in to work as he had while under ShinRas' command; mechanically, not thinking, not feeling, until he was once again a machine of pure sense. The environment passed into and through him and he absorbed it all, seizing upon the most meaningless minutiae until he was calm and numb. He analyzed the tactically superior position in every space, memorized the faces and gait patterns of the staff and guests as he passed them, counted light fixtures, the number of times the carpet pattern repeated on the floor relative to the square footage.

Two entire floors down and as many hours but it seemed he never left the same paneled hallway, lit by the same silk shaded sconces, lined with the same brass fitted doors. It wasn't nearly enough to keep his mind occupied. Sephiroth found the emergency stairwell and started climbing, as fast as he could, until the stairs ended somewhere on the thirty fifth floor. Expecting nothing but the exhaust vents for the HVAC system, the plumbing chase, or one of yet another supply locker stacked with towels and toilet paper, he slipped through the door to the space beyond.

Soft wool carpet yielded under his boots. He was wrong. A plush foyer opened around him, sleek and modern. He had come up through the emergency exit, which was screened from the main room by a lacquered bamboo lattice. Music, electronic with a throbbing downtempo beat floated in the air, shocking after the endless silences of the carpeted hallways. A black slate fountain burbled on the far wall between a pair of elevators, adding its own subtle patter to the hypnotic soundtrack. Gold torchieres splashed white light in the corners of the room but the rest was bathed in blue and purple. As he took a moment to evaluate his position the color of the light began to shift. It was almost imperceptible at first, warming slowly to blood red, blooming to sunset orange, turning gold, then gradually cycling back down through the rainbow.

In the face of this unexpected novelty, Sephiroth felt his discipline begin to waver. His wiser mind suggested that he should keep moving and disappear back the way he had come but the music held him still. After so many years of hearing only the natural sounds of wind and water it satisfied him in a way he didn't quite understand. When was the last time he had heard any, in any lifetime he could think of? He couldn't even remember.

The song was coming from an impressively draped doorway that was opposite the elevators. A pair of weathered stone lions stood snarling on either side of it, looking as if they had been dragged fresh from the feet of some battlescarred Wutainese temple. A bouncer in a white suit paced impatiently in the space between them, bulky and overtan. Sephiroth watched the man stop, rock slightly forward and backward on his heels, adjust his mirrored sunglasses, look impatiently at his watch, then begin to pace again.

Sephiroth stepped out from behind the lattice and strode out into the room, compulsively straightening his silver cufflinks though he knew that they were already perfect. The bouncer studied him carefully as he approached. Even though his eyes were hidden it was clear he was suspicious and wondering why he had come up through the stairwell and not through the elevators like the rest of the guests. The man shifted uncomfortably and folded his arms across his chest, his suit jacket pulling too tight over his enormous biceps. He wasn't quite as tall as Sephiroth, but his shoulders were twice as broad.

"This is the executive lounge, sir. It's only open to those who are rooming on floors twenty-eight and above." The mans' voice was deep but twanged with a rough Junon accent. He pulled a small device from his pocket. "May I see your keycard?"

"Certainly." Sephiroth plucked the thin platinum wafer out of the inside pocket of his jacket and held it up for the bouncer to see, pinched neatly between his index and middle fingers.

The device vanished back into the bouncers' pocket. If he was surprised, seeing the keycard from the Shinra suite, he hid it well. He managed an apologetic half-bow. "I'm very sorry sir, there's no need for a scan." he said. In a movement considerably more graceful than would have been guessed from a man of his mass, he swept the curtain aside and gestured courteously for him to pass through. "Please enjoy your evening."

The heavy curtain swished closed behind him, brushing against the heels of his boots. The lounge was larger inside than he expected, with the same gradually shifting lights as the foyer.

Textured silk pillowed the walls. The bar and tables were made of an ice-white stone that glowed, lit from within. The shifting lights and the fine haze of clove and cigarette smoke made everything seem like a dream, like some strange space where the rules of reality were suspended. Sephiroth liked it immediately. He approached the bar and slid onto a black leather seat. A drink was the last thing he wanted, but it would give him an excuse to linger. The music enveloped him like a warm bath, letting his mind expand and idle without chewing itself to pieces.

The bartender approached, red haired, impeccably dressed.

"Good evening sir, what may I get for you?"

He hadn't considered it. It really didn't matter. "Something local."

"Do you prefer spirits, beer, or cider?"

"Spirits. "

"I'll see what I can do."

As he waited for his drink Sephiroth scanned his surroundings , using the mirror on the back of the bar to give him a clear line of sight without making it obvious. The lounge was lightly populated, as would be expected given this time of night, in the middle of a week. A large group of businessmen, flush with expense account money and drinking heavily, were having a lively argument in the banquette to his right. Young nouveau riche loitered in groups and pairs. Two women were seated behind him in the shadows of the lounge, smoking and engaged in what seemed to be an intimate conversation. He tried not to watch them, and instead ran his eyes over the labels of the liquor bottles on the back of the bar.

The bartender approached. With a flourish, he laid down a stiffly starch napkin and placed a highball glass on top of it, half full of ice and a clear liquid. A candied frostbloom petal perched on its rim, slowly weeping its blue essence into the drink.

"Here you are, sir, Iceberry gin. Exclusive to the Great Glacier, and never exported. " The bartender swept the bottle down from the rack and proudly showed him the label. "I can have some sent up to your room if it's to your liking. Just let me know."

Sephiroth nodded his thanks and sipped. The drink was sharp and herbal and scalded his throat all the way down, leaving a tingling sensation on his palate. He finished it slowly, then ordered another one. Exhausted from the ordeals of the day, the cumulative measure of alcohol in his blood mounting, he immersed himself deeper in the flow of the music. It had quickened its beat and a throaty male vocalist began to croon, weaving his voice in and out of the soaring synthesizers.

Sephiroths' eyes were drawn again to the women behind him. He shouldn't look at them, he knew. It was playing with fire, with forces he didn't understand.

They had ordered drinks as well, something in tall martini glasses. One was a bleachwhite blonde in a pale dress, glittery and button-cute. She was too young to be really interesting. The other was slightly older, with straight black hair cut sharply at her jaw. Her eyes were deeply shadowed and silvered, her mouth lacquered red. Sephiroth watched her pick up her glass, drink, her cigarette spooling a slender plume of smoke into the air. There was an uncanny awareness present in her body; she moved sensuously, but her sloe dark eyes were hard, ruthlessly appraising. She said something to her blonde friend, who raised an eyebrow and smirked. The dark haired woman ran her eyes over him. She took no pains to hide it, taking a deep drag on her cigarette.

Sephiroth glanced back at her, seemingly drawn against his will. It was a mistake. Their eyes met, locked together in the mirrors' reflection. The woman smiled cruelly, and, to his horror, began to slowly get to her feet. The sequins on her tight black dress glittered like the skin of a snake as she moved, flashing red in the shifting light. Heat rushed to Sephiroths' face and poured down the front of his body, centering in his groin.

He swallowed painfully, took a burning gulp of his drink. Something inevitable was about to happen, he could feel it. He was about to prove everything that Hojo had ever said, and prove it willingly. If he was truly honest with himself he knew there was a part of him that craved exactly this, to abandon all reason, betray his heart, and bury himself in her like an animal, no matter how much he would despise himself later.

Behind him, the woman finished her cigarette, crushing it out in a crystal ashtray. She placed her handbag on the glowing top of the table and fished inside it, suddenly frowning. She pulled out her PHS. Whatever she read on it pleased her even less. Fixing Sephiroth with a sullen snarl of missed opportunity, she tipped the remnants of her drink down her throat, turned and stalked out, fierce on her five inch heels.

One of the businessmen broke away from his group and sidled up beside the blonde. Sephiroth watched as they began to talk, all tipped back heads and fake laughter. He turned back to his drink. It was still half-full but he only touched the glass, leaving damp fingerprints on its sides. Suddenly the music had lost its appeal.

"Heh. You just dodged a bullet, my friend."

Sephiroth turned toward the voice that was suddenly near at hand, irritated at being disturbed and at the speakers' flagrant overfamiliarity. A man had just put his glass down on the bar and settled into the seat next to him. He appeared to be at least ten years older than he was, but it was hard to tell. Much to Sephiroths' annoyance, he kept talking.

"I've been around here a while. Trust me, that lot isn't worth your time…or your money."

Sephiroth caught his insinuation and suddenly went cold. Disgust settled over him like wet cement as he realized what he had almost been a party to. Behind them, the businessmen and the blonde got up and walked toward the exit, his arm draped loosely around her waist.

The stranger chuckled and shook the ice around in his drink, some kind of brown spirit. "That poor guy has no idea of the fleecing he's in for," he said, fixing Sephiroth with an amused knowing look. The man wore his suit carelessly, with the top button of his shirt undone, without a tie. His shoes were scuffed, more suited to working outdoors than lounging in a nightclub. If he could afford an upper tier room, he certainly didn't look it. The man smiled broadly and stuck out a chapped and weather beaten hand.

"Chase Winterby. Pleased to meet you."

"Darien Crescent." Sephiroth amazed himself at how easily the lie left his mouth; a half lie really. He did not shake the hand offered to him, but tipped his head in acknowledgement so as not to be rude.

"You're new around here, aren't you?" Chase asked

"Yes."

"What brings you to the Inn?" His voice was casual, pretensionless. He was just an average local making conversation and he seemed friendly enough. Sephiroth felt his initial annoyance fade.

"My companion and I just completed a geotechnical survey around the Northern Crater," he replied.

"Geotech, huh? Everyone's trying to jump on that these days. Big money in oil and sapgas, if you can find it where you can get at it. The North Crater ought to be a real treat to tap." He smirked. "Who are you with?" He looked Sephiroth over, as if he were trying to guess.

"One of the larger corporations," Sephiroth said.

"ShinRa, GeoGen, or CorelCo?"

"One of those." He let his vagueness speak for itself. With the fierce competition and widespread corporate espionage he had been reading about in the papers, it would seem reasonable for him not to divulge who he was working for.

"Fair enough." Chase said, nodding slowly. The answer only seemed to half satisfy him but he let it lie.

"What is it that you do?" Sephiroth asked, turning the attention away from himself.

"You are new around here. Chocobo breeding's my game." Chase puffed out his chest, his face expanding into a wide grin. "I'm the sole supplier of the Icicle White, the fastest and toughest birds on the face of the Planet. I mostly sell to the military but the racing circuit is starting to take notice too." He paused, rattled the ice in his drink again, and drank the last of it with obvious pleasure. "I was supposed to meet a potential client here tonight but they never showed. You want to come by and see the stables? I was just heading there anyway and they're not far. This place isn't really my scene. "

Sephiroth pushed his drink away. He had had enough, of everything. "Sure," he said, "Why not."