Chapter 33 - A Promise
November, 1985
Sephiroth wipes his face, lowers his chin and begins another drive at the punching bag.
He weaves around it. His body is smooth and steady as he pounds into its side. The chains rattle. The leather's thudding makes him smile as it takes the beating. The punches shiver up his arm before his shoulder absorbs it. He's not tired yet but he takes another breath and bounces back. The training room is empty. Dinand's glower is not drilling into his back. The exercise clears his head.
He doesn't take this for granted now.
It took him weeks to be able to do this. After the diagnosis, he had stayed in R&D until Mariella gave him a card with his name on it and two weeks of white pills. As neat as half a calendar that it represented, he methodically works through each line. The first few pills stuck in his throat and he wondered what exactly he was putting in himself. When his strength returned, he stopped wondering.
It works and at the end of the day, that is what matters.
He drills into the bag. The beat and rhythm is his own. It sways and he steadies it for another combination. His heart pumps against his neck. It's not going too fast. He is fine. Even with Dinand, he had to wear a wrist heart monitor the first few weeks. If the number ticked too high, it would beep and he had to lay down until it beeped again. Dinand swore at him when this happened. Sephiroth had thrown an arm over his face and ignored him, struggling with iron lungs.
An autoimmune reaction. His thyroid levels are too low. His blood sugar is too high. His white blood count is unstable. Before, all of these things meant nothing to him. While they tweaked the dosage, he lived with these numbers every day. The paranoia of waking up not knowing if he is going to collapse or make it through the day is still strong in the back of his throat.
.21 micrograms of the Shinra blended concoction once a day is the ticket.
He puffs as his arms grow heavier. The challenge of climbing back on top of his life came next. Homework and makeup tests were easy enough. In his boredom, he often read ahead when the night had hours left in it and he was alone with nothing else to do.
Dinand tests him. Being sick means nothing to him. If it isn't for the medical restrictions put in by the doctors, Sephiroth might have given out again. Still, the frustrated yells echo in his ears. The looks that border on something that Sephiroth doesn't like. Why else would he be training on a Sunday afternoon? A telltale blur comes to the corner of his eyes and stumbles back.
Leaning against the wall, he focuses on the oxygen he needs. His back is slick and it doesn't take long for him to slide down and sit with his head in his gloves.
Still not completely back to normal. They are working on it.
Most of the time, he tries to count the things that he is thankful for. Orlin has come back to training. Right after Professor Gast's death, he elected to go on a mission, or so he says. Everything else fell back to normal between the two of them.
Orlin says he remembers nothing of their conversation and laughs at the question. He also says nothing about the journal and the reaction. Sephiroth thinks about telling him but he's afraid to talk, to stir the darkness inside him, to somehow make it worse. Instead, Orlin's cocky and encouraging nature overwhelms everything else. Only when he thinks that Sephiroth is not looking, does he see the shadow of pain in Orlin's eyes.
Sephiroth feels that pain about Professor Gast too.
Even if he was braver.
Even if he wasn't sick.
They still wouldn't share it.
He imagines that it would be too much combined. They wouldn't be able to hold up the walls that they have put up. Who knows what would happen then.
His lungs burn. He swallows and eyes the silver wristband against his arm. It is for emergencies. He's read the plate over and over. Special Medical Conditions. Call Emergency Number and then it lists Mariella's personal phone. The Shinra logo above the print twists a knife in him. Anybody can know how weak he is. He shouldn't even take it off even at night. Shinra is always with him now.
Hojo has seen him several times for appointments.
Sephiroth presses his forehead further into the gloves.
He doesn't like to think about those visits. Nothing has happened but when he walks out, he feels like something has. Those eyes follow him for hours afterward.
The thoughts still eventually. The spinning stops. With his teeth, he rips off the velcro and rubs his free hand against his forehead.
He's okay, he promises, he just needs time.
And here we end Part Two on a quiet note.
Thank you for reading as always -Quin
Thanks to A for betaing this chapter. They are amazing. You can find their FFVII work on Twitter (AngealLovesYou).