AN: A little while back I updated the cover image with a piece of fanart I painted. Since it's made for its low res purpose it's nothing particularly flashy at full size, but for those interested I've posted it on deviant art (under the same username).

Gast

As if things were not already complex enough.

Aeris.

Since she appeared so very suddenly my mind has become a disorienting mess of elation and trepidation, held barely in check by a surreal dam of shock—shock to find her alive, and here. It changes everything, with no time to adjust. And now? Now I am also experiencing an addition of quietly enraged whiplash. I already have one unruly charge to deal with, how on earth I shall deal with two I do not know.

She's distant as she passes me by, accepting the invention of my arm's extension, moving awkwardly through the entanglement of our disagreements. She pauses peering out of the window, fingertips ghosting the sill as she moves her gaze back through the bedroom. Her wandering eyes touch on the empty frame of the second bed and she glances over at me in question.

"I've moved the second mattress to the spare room across the hall," I explain. "It's still somewhat of a mess I'm afraid, I hadn't quite finished preparing it for you." I pause, wanting to say more about that, but I restrain myself. "Have a look at both rooms, you can take whichever you like." I pin her with a significant look. "But wait here. I will be back shortly."

She traces a finger across the top of the small desk dislocating the dust she's gathered with her thumb, her expression still masked. She looks up at me with those wide green eyes, conjuring painful recollections of her mother.

"If you keep doting on her like that, she won't grow up to be strong... Aeris is different to the other children. I wonder what dangers await her...?

I shake my head reflexively at the memory of Elmyra's words. Our daughter—she is different. But her nature is a burden as much as a strength. Doesn't she realise how fragile she is? I can't stand the thought of losing her, again.

"I promise," I add.

I've already begun my manic problem solving. Frankly, it's quite automatic to my nature. I've always reacted to stress and pressure in such a way. There's something I need to get from my work desk, and I need to speak to Sephiroth—get a sense of where things stand. As I approach the library through the sparsely constructed underground passage I pause at the sight of Vincent hesitating near it's end.

To say I'd been surprised to find him locked in the basement cellar is something of an understatement. The details of his predicament were alarming enough, yet strangely the aspect that remains the most unnerving to me is when he'd met this fate since it happened while I was still working with Shinra—while Hojo and I were still associates. The idea that Hojo was capable of such an act—and of concealing it—even back then...

"...Is Sephiroth inside?" I make my wary address as I approach, my voice sounding preoccupied even to my own ears. He nods, not quite looking at me. "You've spoken with him?" I prompt.

"I have," he answers, in typically taciturn fashion.

I stare at him for a long moment, silently making it clear that I would appreciate some elaboration. Vincent was always somewhat like this. But what Hojo did to him, and sleeping, for so long, has transformed what was once a professional, moderately whimsical, young man into—if not yet fully beyond the living, then certainly committed to playing the part. He still spends most of his time locked away, even by choice.

"He seems quite... sane," Vincent relinquishes, like blood from a stone. There's something uneasy in his voice, as if he doesn't mean it in an entirely good way. "However your wish is to ground him in his humanity... I'm not sure there's enough of it left," he adds, finally looking at me fully, "call it an intuition born from... some experience."

"I haven't given up on him," I challenge coolly, attempting to contest my old colleague out of his zombie-like stupor. He doesn't respond immediately, only continuing to stare at me in thought.

"Do you really believe... Lucrecia may still be out there somewhere?" he asks after a long moment, cryptically stoic. I'd offloaded many a hypothesis on him in the past month, but it's unsurprising that this is the one that has stuck—bearing Sephiroth meant that Lucrecia herself would have been infected by Crisis symbiotically. It may not be so easy for her to die.

"I don't know." I shake my head. "It's impossible to know for sure how she was effected, physically, by the experiment. At the time all attention was directed towards her child. I wasn't even present when she," I search for the correct term, momentarily at a loss, "went missing." All leads as to her fate are exhausted, except— "Sephiroth is the only one who would know."

I regret saying it the moment it's out of my mouth. I'm not certain I want to encourage any more of his 'communing' even as a means to such an end... I shake away new seeds of guilt. I've got too much to be getting on with to dwell on such things.

"Excuse me."

I duck past Vincent, leaving him to his inaction, continuing on and into the library.

"Being here brings back memories."

Sephiroth doesn't seem to be addressing me specifically, his gaze casting about with a kind of nostalgic indulgence.

"What did Vincent have to say," I begin, testing the waters. He looks over at me from the library desk and I too am struck heavily with the eerie familiarity of our situation. I don't regret it—my gamble in returning to Nibelheim, to the mansion. At very least I found Vincent, found those Soldiers. If not for that perhaps Aeris would not have been able to find her way back to me. Sephiroth would have found her, my mind supplies, unbidden and unwelcome.

"Your friend seems to be more of a listener," he muses, chuckling softly. His amusement has that same signature of aloof absurdity to which I've long since become accustomed. "An undervalued quality."

They seem to be getting along..? I reflect, with dubious curiosity.

My errant charge (the one currently present) drops his gaze to the many papers littered across the desk top—diaries, schematics, hypotheses—all of my own recent construction. I suppose that even if there were to have been nothing else, it has helped simply having some of the information contained within this library so easily at hand.

"I see you've moved things along," he says, his gaze flicking upwards. I hold it, nodding cautiously.

"...And?" There's no need to ask the question in full, he's already humming in thought. The seriousness of his pause is a kind of compliment in itself. His eyes return to the desktop.

"Your various designs for human lifestyles conducive to planetary symbiosis are well crafted, as they ever were... though I have my reservations reguarding the efficacy of their upkeep in practice... But I see you've accounted for the human need for comfort and security, notably in your intention to appeal directly to slum dwellers, those with the least to lose... It's a feasible way to build momentum should all other moving parts adequately succeed." He nods in conservative affirmation, turning a page in thought. "And where is the power of a power company without it's captive market..." He looks up. "Shinra is bound to sabotage you any way that it can." His tone is blunt.

I nod, accepting the veracity of his point. I hesitate briefly before conveying my still nascent thoughts on that particular loose end. "There is an eco-terrorist organisation within the walls of Midgar... I even have a degree of suspicion that they may originate from the ideas and actions of some old colleagues of mine—planetologists. Their understanding of the planet was somewhat dated, and their child organisation has become chaotic and decentralised over the years, but 'Avalanche' still exists... is still a motivated force of some reconning. I thought perhaps... I was hoping to... to establish a line of communication... coordinate preventative action..."

He watches me for a moment, slowly raising his eyebrows. "I've heard of them." I thought he might have. "You surprise me. I thought you were reluctant to involve yourself with such measures." I shift uncomfortably, understanding implicitly his unspoken contention. He could take care of it, if only were I to ask... were I to accept his connection with Jenova. But much as I long for his assistance, I certainly don't want that kind of help.

I frown tightly. "I'm hoping anything violent can be avoided completely." I meet his eyes, managing not to seem too squeamish. "But I am not above self defense."

He gives a tiny nod, turning another page. "Assuming that such an avenue were to prove fruitful, you should still be prepared for the eventuality that many people, slum dwelling or otherwise, will not be moved to change regardless."

Yes, he is right, of course. "But they must be given the option," I affirm, meeting his eyes again with quiet certainty. "That is what humanity is, after all..."A mixed contingency, the good and the bad. A choice. "I want to free them..." I look away feeling my brow knit with serious intent. "Free them from fearful dependence," I continue. "Midgar is a prison." Literally. "The Cetra were migratory, free," I shake my head. "The planet deserves... humanity deserves... harmony." I look back at him. "We were all Cetra once."

"Cetra?" He raises an eyebrow, seemingly neither sceptical nor credulous. "Perhaps you should ask your daughter for her thoughts," he suggests after a moment, watching me.

I tense reflexively. My daughter...

"I would prefer," I shake my head and sigh, "if you would be more careful in future." It's a simple enough request, and I feel it's best to be direct about it.

His right eyebrow flickers upwards again. "Careful?" he prompts, but it sounds like more of a calm denial than a question.

"With," I hesitate for half a second, "how you speak to Aeris." I'd not been able to make out the end of their conversation, but I could read their body language when I'd interrupted, and then there was his talk of Jenova... He's looking at me questioningly and I stare back for a moment, perplexed. He must know what I mean.

"She introduced herself, I was merely getting a sense of who she is," he states, continuing to watch me with unabashed curiosity. "You will likely have some trouble with her," he adds, with a placid smile. Feeling a sudden spike of irritation, I open my mouth to respond but quickly close it, unable to compose my thoughts just yet. "You didn't tell her," he continues after a short pause—his insinuation clear to me. He can only be referring to Aeris' surprised reaction to the indelicate way he'd spoken of his experimentations with Jenova... "Perhaps you are upset that I mentioned it?" he condescends graciously, as if implying irrationality on my part.

"I don't want her involved in your mistakes."

I regret my phrasing immediately. I've spoken reflexively, heatedly. I had hoped to confront him more specifically abut this very issue, though certainly not quite in this way. His cavalier manner has only added to the aggravated chaos of everything, taking me off guard.

His eyes burn in that oddly casual way of his—it's sometimes hard to tell if the intensity of his look is a mere artefact of their aberration... But he's become too still—controlled—which I know means that I've angered him. After a moment he covers his face with a hand as he chuckles. This time the tone of it is tinged with icy contempt. "My mistakes?" he echoes, detached. Looking upwards, he shakes his head. "I don't understand you," he exhales quietly, as if in idle wonder.

It gives me pause. He sounds almost... sad. But his eyes scorch the reflection from my mind the moment he looks down at me. "You made me this way," he states flatly. "Mistake or not—it's done—a part of me. "He stands, placing both hands on the desk. He leans over it towards me, an acutely aggressive look in his eyes. "For decades, Shinra used that mistake to great effect," he begins, slow and measured. "Now, I want to use it, on my terms, for the good of the planet." He cocks his head slightly before continuing, "You're a fool if you think I find fault in mentioning it in the presence your daughter."

My heart pounds at the implication of his words. Yet I refuse to be put off. "Then simply respect my wishes that you not," I respond, angrily concise.

"And if she asks?" he continues with that maddening calm, evasive, condescension. I'm stunned. He knows how I feel about Jenova. He knows. Why is he toying with me?

"Stop it," I grit, exasperated. He doesn't respond immediately, only watches me, seemingly impassive, save for another small flicker at the corner of his mouth. Was it his intent to provoke me?

A sudden thought surfaces out of nowhere—Is this jealousy? His admittedly rare instances of affectation do seem to come out sideways, at least to my sensibilities... The hypothesis seems absurd, yet it slides neatly into place, explaining his anomalous behaviour fairly coherently. How does he feel about the abrupt appearance of my daughter—given the full context of things...

"I'm only trying to do the best by you both," I say after a pause, shaking off my thoughts, suddenly very tired. "I know you understand how concerning all of this is to me."

"Is Jenova your only concern?" he interrupts pointedly.

I feel my cheeks flush. I can acknowledge that I'm uncomfortable with them interacting at all, regardless of the subject matter. But how can I blame myself for it—when Sephiroth continues to pull away from me—to drift closer to Crisis with an inevitability that frankly frightens me?

"Professor," he begins, resuming his seat and shaking his head lightly, as if the whole matter were absurd to him. "I am not going to go out of my way to avoid your daughter. Decide for yourself whether you wish for her to stay here with us—or take her elsewhere. Just don't bring the issue to me." Despite his authoritative calm I feel distinctly, parentally, annoyed with him. Lifting my glasses I attempt to rub the stress from my eyes.

"You're as stubborn as each other," I sigh with irritation. "have you no consideration for my concerns."

"There is nothing to be concerned about," he states with quiet force.

"Oh, but there is," I return, exasperated, "You're losing yourself Sephiroth."

He laughs, haughty and humourless.

"Perhaps I'm finding myself." His tone is firm, his stare full of wilful significance, and I'm losing my patience. How is it that confronting him always goes so badly.

"Tell me about that then," I begin, combatively, "Start with what you were doing at Shinra Head Quarters."

"Other than verifying that your daughter was still alive?" he raises an eyebrow at me, eyes dancing icily. "I went to remove Crisis from Shinra's influence." He tilts his head at me again, looking as if I were the one who's judgment were most perturbing.

"No. Don't sport with my intelligence Sephiroth.I just think there's more to it than you're saying. You left Jenova material still in their possession, after all."

He laughs again, swift and scornful.

"Don't tell me that your concerns extend to professor Hojo."

"You know that's not what I meant."

"What I did enables me to watch him, watch Shinra—given events up to this point I would have thought the utility of such would be obvious."

"You're right," I begin, full of paternal disapproval, "I can see the utility of it. My problem is that I can see much more than just that." I hesitate, perplexed, deciding to speak my mind. "...Sometimes, in some ways, you remind me of your father."

He retains his composure, but the temperature of the library suddenly seems to drop a few degrees regardless.

"Don't sport with my intelligence, professor Gast," he echoes, voice low, "I would have thought such a comment beneath you."

"Don't presume to read my mind!" I propel onward, my frustration allowing little room for temperance. How arrogantly he assumes my intent. How rigidly he declares he is right in all his atrocious recklessness.

"Speak plainly then," he returns, with carefully restrained aggravation.

"You're obsessed," I bite back, "obsessed with Crisis. I hadn't seen you for over six months when I asked you to leave Knowlespole. Why do you think it was that I left!?"

He turns away at that, his expression becoming distant with reserve, lost in his own private thoughts. I watch him for a few moments more, powerless, wondering if he'll see fit to share them with me.

"How are you so sure you can control it? Or that it's not influencing you?" I continue. "Have you considered that you may inadvertently have given Hojo everything he could want—just to satiate some form of unconscious vengefulness?" I sigh, frustrated. "Sephiroth, you are perfectly intelligent, brilliant even, but you refuse to understand your own humanity and that renders you a puppet to your own complexes."

He whips back towards me, rigid with recoil—eyes radiating with sudden ire. I've penetrated all of that atrocious control, at least momentarily. I feel myself disassociate, suddenly watching the scene from a distance, silence opening up between us like a chasm.

He doesn't respond, an embodiment of frozen anger—perhaps his focus is consumed with the effort of keeping it at bay. My nerve is rapidly waning—a further stab of dread splitting through me along with the image of my daughter's eyes, filled with life, calling me away, tearing me in half.

In the hollow wake of my imagined bereavement I've hardly noticed how anchored to Sephiroth I have become... An integral last vestige of my messy legacy—a surrogate? an albatross? a protégé? an equal? a friend? a son?

I finally break eye contact, looking instead back to my research, scattered haphazardly across the desk. I reach down, picking up one of my diaries from its surface, it's the one containing the fundamental outline of my Midgar migration project, the one I came for. I run a shaky finger down the leather spine—nerves shattered as I think frantically—it feels as if it doesn't matter what I do—I'm still losing him. I continue to watch the subtle tremble of my hand in lieu of looking up.

Why did you come here? I want to ask. It's the one thing that brings me more hope than any discovery I have, or could have, made here in his absence... But I can't. Exhaustion, resignation and trepidation win out. I've either pushed too hard, or just enough—It's up to him. Not me. He is the one in control. But in that fact a tiny bloom of hope persists.

...he's followed me this far...

"Please... finish looking over what I've put together," I hear myself say, turning away.

Taking a few steps towards the exit, I pause, feeling the tug of that invisible anchor.

"I could really use your help."

I don't look back as I say it—I mean it so wholeheartedly that I don't think I can bear to meet his eyes again.

She's in the conservatory, busily wiping down the shelves, shifting around assorted greenery in varying stages of decay. Her small lively figure, the oddly familiar wave of her thick earthy hair—it all remains a bewildering sight. It's hard to imagine getting used to it.

Well, at least she hasn't wandered off completely.

For a brief moment I consider simply packing up and forcing her to come with me to the canyon... But how would she react..? I've no way of knowing, but my gut tells me that even if she were to let me, such an action would break any any nascent trust and ruin any potential relationship between us... Still, perhaps it would be worth it—if only to keep her safe... Yet would such a forceful strategy still be worth it if doing so were a forfeit of both..? Would she not simply find a way to 'disappear' from my grasp? She's wilful, that much is clear, and I suppose that a parent that was never present can only reasonably expect to find a somewhat feral child upon their return—if they are lucky enough to find them at all that is.

I sigh, long and shallow, so as not to draw attention to myself. My thoughts have once again come full circle to quagmire. I find my mind wandering to the surrogate mother she'd mentioned back in Midgar. I wonder how often 'Elmyra' was disobeyed... I clench the diary in my hand, as if confirming to myself the course of action currently most prudent. I clear my throat. "...Aeris."

She looks up from her ministrations setting down the potted plant she'd been repositioning, gently, as if in consideration for it's wilted predicament.

I extend the diary in offering. A look of uncertainty passes over her but she steps forward reaching back.