Author's Note: A couple things you should know. One, my original character's name is pronounced "Shay". That might not make a difference for some, but when I'm reading, I like to get the pronunciation correct. Probably because I have had my RL name pronounced incorrectly so many times, it's turned into a pet peeve. Two, I've taken some liberties with Sephiroth's height. In the game, he is 6'1" (185cm). In my story, he's 6'4" (193cm). Three, anything in italics is my character speaking. If you read this chapter, you will understand why I have written it as such.

As always, comments and kudos are always welcome. All I ask is that you be kind. If you do not like my story, I'd rather you simply moved on to another one that you will enjoy.

Lastly, this story is for isflamma, who always has faith in my ability to write likeable and relatable original characters, and has never once told me to cut it out. Thank you!

Convincing Arguments

In an office on the fifty seventh floor of the Shinra Building, surrounded by panels of computer monitors and TV screens, file cabinets, and framed certificates and diplomas, sits a desk piled with research papers, unfinished reports, and medical journals. Behind the desk is a man wearing a pair of silver wire-rimmed glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose. His hair is pulled back in a poorly styled ponytail that does not suit his meticulous outfit of a pressed white shirt and tie, tailored trousers, and polished shoes. Finishing off his ensemble is a white lab coat with a laminated security ID clipped to its pocket, complete with photo and name in boldface type. The name reads Hojo, PhD. He is pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head incredulously.

"You wish to do what, Dr. Moreau?"

"Assign the general a live-in domestic, to serve as cleaner, cook, companion." The man drops his hand and stares at the woman in front of him. She is petite in stature, with medium-length silver hair laced with white threads, swept back in loose waves, a heart-shaped face, wide set hazel eyes under sculpted brows, a button nose, and bow-shaped lips. She is in her early sixties and wears a lab coat identical to Hojo's. Her name ID reads Moreau, S, PhD. Hojo leans onto his desk with his forearms, displacing several sheets of paper and knocking over an empty paper coffee cup.

"You wish to have a complete stranger move in with Sephiroth? No. Scratch that. You want to order Sephiroth because, let's face it, Sybelline, that is exactly what you will be doing. Ordering him to allow a complete stranger to move into his private quarters?"

"Yes, Hojo, that is what I am seeking permission to do."

"May I ask why?"

"Of course. It is my professional opinion that Sephiroth's move from the SOLDIER Officers' Quarters to one of Shinra's condominiums will isolate him socially from his co-workers and subordinates."

"Sephiroth doesn't interact socially."

"Yes, but at least when he was on floor 48, he was in the company of fellow officers and SOLDIER operatives. Now he will be on his own."

"He's 25, Sybelline, not 10."

"Yes, I am aware of that, but I am considering the risks and repercussions of self-isolating. Poorer overall cognitive performance, poorer executive functioning like memory or self-motivation, more negative and depressive cognition, faster cognitive decline-"

"Cognitive decline? Sephiroth?"

"Then there are emotional factors to consider. Depression, sadness, fatigue. Without someone to confide in-"

"He has you to confide in." Moreau huffs at yet another interruption.

"Without someone to confide in," she stresses, "he is more likely to feel less alert, strong, calm, or happy."

"Happy?! Sephiroth?!"

"You are missing the point, Hojo."

"And how do you think he will respond to all of this?"

"If it is sanctioned by you, he will agree to it."

"You mean he will concede to it."

"Yes." Hojo reclines in his chair and folds his hands primly on his lap.

"And tell me, where do you plan on finding this live-in domestic?"

"I already have a candidate list prepared. The background checks have been conducted as have the preliminary interviews."

"You seem confident that I will say yes."

"I wanted to be prepared in the event that you approved, yes."

"Do you have this list with you?" Dr. Moreau pulls a business-sized envelope from her coat pocket and hands it to Hojo. He unfolds the list. As he scans over the names, a valley deepens in the center of his brow. He throws the paper onto his desk, his frown spreading to affect all the surfaces of his face.

"These are all men."

"Why, yes. I feel he would be more comfortable sharing his space with another man."

"Hmm." Hojo's eyes narrow in thought. Moreau swears she can hear the clockwork turning in his head, the gears slightly rusted, but the mechanism in fine working order.

"Surely, you wouldn't place a woman in this position?"

"Let me see to this, Sybelline. You have a fine list here, but I think we can do better." Hojo snatches the paper off of his desk and, before Moreau can protest, feeds it into his paper shredder.

"So, then, I have your approval?"

"Yes." Hojo lifts his phone from the receiver and punches in an extension. It rings twice before Moreau can hear the general's unmistakable brusqueness, no doubt from recognizing the incoming caller ID.

"Good day, general. Do you have a spare moment for Dr. Moreau? Her business? I'll let her tell you when she arrives. She'll be up immediat-." There's the drone of a dial tone before Hojo even finishes his last word. He sets the phone back in the receiver with a grip tight enough to pull the skin white over his knuckles. He mutters several words under his breath. Moreau hears the word impertinent and leaves it at that.

"Well, Sybelline. You had best get up there."

"You couldn't have given me a day."

"A day? No, no. This is like a band-aid. Best to get it over with quickly."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Dr. Moreau enters the elevator and scans her security ID before depressing the button for the sixty fifth floor. Leave it to Hojo to appropriate her idea. He dictates and relegates and, if others' hard work leads to success, he is there at the front to claim it. But, should it end in failure? He is the first to point fingers and lay blame. Moreau realizes this idea has the potential for catastrophic failure, but she believes it is worth the risk should it succeed.

The elevator doors open to the floor housing the SOLDIER Director's Office along with the offices of lower ranking officers and SOLDIER operatives. Sephiroth's office is at the end of the hall behind double security doors. She tells his secretary that he is expecting her and Moreau is buzzed in. She closes her eyes, takes two or three deep, centering breaths, curves her lips into a smile, and opens the doors.

Sephiroth is sitting at his desk. He's reading a military manual in one hand and jotting notes down in the other. The room is silent save for the scratch of pencil to paper. Moreau turns the handle while closing the door to avoid the click of the latch. She seats herself in one of the leather armchairs arranged in front of the desk and cringes at the loud groan of the material as it takes her weight. He continues to work. She waits. Her smile widens, lighting up her eyes and crinkling her crow's feet. Sephiroth has known military service since he was a teenager. He has studied military history, strategies, and tactics throughout his adolescence, and yet he will be the first to tell you that there is always more to learn. He records everything in beautifully bound journals he orders from a local bookseller. They are currently packed away in boxes stacked neatly in the general's den.

"Do I amuse you, doctor?" His eyes shift to her momentarily before returning to the book.

"Not at all, general. I find your work ethic inspiring. As well as your talent for note taking without looking at the page."

"I can see it in my periphery."

"Of course," she says, nodding in acknowledgement. It becomes clear to Sephiroth that the good doctor is not going to give him the explanation for her visit until she has his full attention. He closes the manual and journal, stacks one on the other, and pushes them off to his right. He opens his top drawer, drops the pencil in a tray, and slides it shut.

"So, what brings you here, doctor?" he asks, as he stands and stretches. Instead of sitting behind his desk, he comes out to the front and sits in the free chair beside Moreau. Given the nature of the news she is about to tell him, she would have felt less anxious had he remained behind his desk.

"Your heart rate is elevated, Sybelline. What can possibly have you so nervous?" Moreau inwardly curses his heightened hearing and the inconveniences it can bring to those unlucky enough to be within its range. She decides there is some merit in Hojo's wisdom and decides to get it over with, nice and fast. She turns and looks him in the eyes.

"Sephiroth, you are being assigned a live-in domestic servant." He tenses. Skin and muscle, pliable and alive, seem to harden to granite before her eyes. His fingers curl around the arms of the chair, the fabric straining under his grip. His eyes brighten. Even his hair stills despite a fan circulating overhead. But worst of all, he remains silent. Moreau wants to list the mountain of data and numerous studies on the dangers of Perceived Self-Isolating if for no other reason than to fill the air with sound. She is about to explain why this opportunity can only work to his advantage, when he breaks the silence.

"When?"

"As soon as Hojo vets a suitable candidate."

"If he is behind this, then why are you here telling me and not him?"

"Because he is not behind it. I am." He rises so suddenly that Moreau recoils. He paces in front of her, an agitated predator confined to a cage.

"Dammit, Sybelline! I do not need a babysitter to dress and feed me, to bathe and clean up after me! I'm not a child!"

"I know that!"

"I expect something like this from him, but you?"

"I know. I know." He ends his pacing by plopping into the chair. He rests his head back, inhales deeply, and expels his exasperation and tension in a long, exhaustive sigh.

"Then why? Why, Sybelline?"

"Because there are advantages here that you do not see. And I am not just speaking of the cognitive and emotional benefits. I'm talking about companionship, a real connection to someone who demands nothing from you other than friendship." He turns his head towards her, his stare accusatory, the eyes of a man who has been fed half-truths and fabrications his whole life.

"And tell me, doctor," he says, spitting out her academic title like a bitter taste on his tongue, "will this companion be receiving a salary from Shinra?" Moreau casts her eyes down, silently chastising herself for not taking into account every variable before making her argument. Because of her ineffectiveness, he destroyed it with one swift blow.

"Yes, they will."

"Then they're little more than another Shinra whore sent to placate me."

"Sephiroth! That is not the case!" He gets up and returns to the chair behind his desk. He swivels it around to stare out the windows at the concrete stain that is Midgar.

"Please leave."

"Sephiroth, I-" He whirls on her.

"Get out, Sybelline! I will defer to your professional judgment in this matter, but I do not have to graciously accept it! Now...please go!" He turns back to watch her reflection in the window as she rises to leave, her infectious smile withdrawn by his harsh words. Many days during his life he would wait with bated breath to see that smile, to drive away the terror he was being subjected to, to ease the pain. And yet there were days he would crush it as easily as silken petals under his boot heel.

She opens the door and takes one last look in his direction before closing it behind her. She walks down the hallway towards the bank of elevators, talking to herself under the echoing clack of her heels against the tile. It could have gone worse, right? I could have been run through with Masamune. Oh, Sybelline. His sword wasn't even in his office. Still has the use of his hands, though. A fragile smile appears as she hits the down button to return to her office. If she can still rely on her sick sense of humour at a time like this, perhaps all is not yet lost.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

In seven days time, Dr. Moreau is standing in Hojo's office. She received a call that morning telling her to be there at seven prompt. Fortunately, Moreau has a condo on the sixtieth floor of the Shinra building, so she was able to go home and change from her day dress to some casuals. Present in the office is Hojo and a comely young woman Moreau would place in her early twenties. She has brown hair the colour of dark chocolate, pulled back in a tight bun that, despite its severity, does not detract from her features: a diamond-shaped face with high cheekbones, pale complexion, a straight nose, plump upper and lower lips that give her a natural pout, and a pair of mesmerizing ice blue eyes. Moreau imagines that with the right make-up, hairstyle, and jewellery this woman is quite a beauty. As she stands, however, with her stiff posture and masculine clothing, she gives the impression of an orderly, efficient, and lackluster person.

"Dr. Moreau? I would like to introduce you to Shai Montgomery, the general's new domestic hire. Shai? This is Dr. Sybelline Moreau, genetic counsellor and research scientist here at Shinra." Moreau offers her hand to shake and can't help but notice a thin, hypertrophic scar running horizontally along Shai's throat. Moreau's professional assessment is major traumatic injury. She makes a mental note to read through her background check. When the young lady waves hello before returning Moreau's handshake, the doctor looks to Hojo for an explanation.

"Miss Montgomery cannot speak, Sybelline. She communicates through sign language."

"Sign language."

"Yes, sign language." Alarm bells are ringing at a deafening volume in Moreau's head, ushering in a humdinger of a headache. Hojo disregarded her list of perfectly suitable, verbal, male candidates for a young, mute woman. She can't help but immediately question his motives, but not now. Not in front of this young lady. There will be a another time and place for that discussion.

"I am unsure of the general's proficiency in sign language, Hojo. This may become an issue."

"Nonsense! The general is fluent in many languages, ancient and modern. It will not be difficult for him to learn. Besides, Miss Montgomery's CV is impressive. Her references are impeccable. We would be foolish to let her slip through our fingers over something as trivial as a temporary interruption in communication." Hojo walks over to his office door and opens it.

"Now, Dr. Moreau, why don't you take Shai to meet her new client? Hmm? He's already expecting you."