Chapter 64 - Complete Weakness and Other Concerns
September, 1995
"I wouldn't be here unless I didn't have another choice," Mariella says as she stands at Sephiroth's doorway.
He hasn't let her in so they stand apart. He still has one hand on the door. She hovers in the hallway, almost untethered in the space. She's never been to his door. A practiced distance is between them. He likes to keep it five feet but she squeezes it constantly. Mariella frowns and shifts from one foot to the other. Her eyes go past him and into the apartment before she sighs.
"Will you do this? If not for me, for them? I know that it is a favor."
Sephiroth has to look down.
Charlie's eyes look back up at him. The dog is old now. Most of his face is colored silver. He sits on the floor and blinks up at him. He's seen this dog a few times in passing since he returned to Midgar. The feeling is always the same. Memory hangs between them. The dog remembers him. Or at least some disillusioned part of Sephiroth's mind projects that this animal looks at him and recognizes the child that he grew up with.
The newest and unfamiliar addition to the Haynes family is not so calm. A small white dog has twisted its leash so much around Mariella's leg that it has pinned itself against her. It pants and looks up at her expectantly like she is going to fix this. Mariella only moves her leg which loosens the tension slightly. It takes that slack and tangles itself up further.
His mind understands her request but the reality of it makes no sense.
"Can I at least come in?" She asks, an edge of sharpness ignored by him in her voice.
He doesn't move, half frozen. He can't let her into the apartment. Not after everything that she has done to him by putting him away and sending him away from the only life that he had. It had been Sephiroth alone that had to build everything back up. Now there has only been the ache and the sorrow. Where had she been? She said that she would be there for him and all he had gotten was invitations for dinners, walks after work and meetings he could decline easily.
He also knows she has records of him looking into Orlin and had volunteered nothing more.
She has not helped him.
So she gets what she gives.
Mariella's face sighs as she looks away, disappointed. "I know it is three weeks but Thea is already out of town and now with this emergency trip, there will be no one to take care of them. The usual sitter is out sick. I can't take them to a kennel. Charlie is too old for that environment. They will behave."
"Why me?"
"Because you are responsible and you'll do right by them." The solid confidence in her voice makes his gut twist. She steps out of the knot of leashes. Charlie yawns. The white dog flickers around before settling between her feet. Sephiroth grips the door tighter.
She offers them to him. "I've written everything up. You can text me with questions."
He doesn't want to do this. Dogs are responsibilities. They are needy creatures, essentially permanent infants. They are for people who need to fill something in their lives. His life is set and filled. How will he incorporate this in? They will rock the routine. He will have to walk and take them to the dog run. His habits will have to be adjusted. This is not what he wants.
Mariella has never looked desperate but worry settles on her face. He should say no. He shouldn't go forward with this. He should let her figure something out. She is strong enough to figure out something else. There are dog kennels despite Mariella's concerns. She shouldn't put him in this position. The tiredness gets shoved down as he takes a step back and prepares to tell her. It's a Friday night. Isn't it social protocol that only enjoyable events are done for the next two and a half days?
Charlie blinks at him slowly and patiently.
The soul that sits in that body waits for him to say yes. His tail thumps against the carpet before stilling again.
"Three weeks?" He says.
A smile flashes across her face. "October 29th. Three weeks and a day."
He takes the leashes from her.
"This means nothing."
It's a lie.
They both know it.
Sephiroth and the dogs encounter their first problem later that evening.
After giving the animals a tour on the leash of the space, he closed the door to his bedroom and let them loose in the rest of the apartment. He had settled down for the rest of his evening. Masamune would have to wait. He flipped open the file that he had brought back on his dining room table. The small white dog, named Yuki which Mariella has specified was picked out by Thea, spent the time exploring every corner including disappearing behind the couch. Charlie is content to lay down at his feet and shut his eyes.
Now the white dog is looking at him.
She sits and stares at him.
There is an expectation.
He puts down his pen. It clicks and rolls on the surface of the table until he turns it the other way. The slant of the table is an annoying imperfection of this apartment. The dog's black eyes watch every move. He leans over without breaking eye contact and drags the instructions back over.
Finally he stops as he looks at the page of handwritten notes. The dogs had been fed. They go out at ten next. The next walk would be in the morning. There is nothing more to do here. Why is the dog looking at him? Two final notes at the bottom catch his attention.
Charlie sleeps all the time now. He can be hard to wake but it is normal.
Yuki likes laps.
"No," Sephiroth says to the dog. "I may be taking care of you but that does not mean that you get to sit on my lap."
The animal gets up at the word "lap" and starts wagging her tail. Sephiroth puts down the paper. He shouldn't have agreed to this. He should have known exactly what this entails. Yuki takes a step forward.
"Go to bed." He points at the worn out bed that sits in the square of space that he has designated as theirs. This is listed as one of the commands that both dogs know. Yuki looks at him with no real registration. Charlie snorts awake and starts a very slow rise to his paws.
"No, not you, you are fine there." He puts a hand on his head as if to accent the point and the dog collapses back down. He pauses, realizing what he is doing. He is talking to animals as if they are people. This is ridiculous. The chair squeals as he pushes it back. Thirty minutes until the dogs have to go out. Frustration flickers in the back of his mind. These animals are disturbing everything and they haven't been here for a twenty-four hour period.
The keys jangle in his hands and he closes the front door in their face. They will be fine.
The night air is cold against his skin on the rooftop. He isn't even trying for the illusion of practicing anymore. His heart isn't in it. Masamune lays across his lap as he sits on a large pipe that juts out of the roof. It vibrates with pressurized air. He takes a deep breath. Between the cars and the air conditioners, the city colors the noise here. It settles his head.
The stars trace half formed constellations. He can't focus enough to draw the rest of the lines. Everything is unsettled. The dogs are going to be an interruption. He underestimated the adjustment. His life will be pulled too far out of place. No. There are beings with thoughts and demands in his apartment. His left fingers wrap around the grip of the sword.
The life he has built is not sustainable with two small dogs in his life.
He should call Mariella and tell her that she needs to find another solution.
Or he should ask Alvar to find more suitable accommodations for animals and pay the money.
But then, wouldn't that just be giving in? Admitting that there is a weakness in him that he cannot compensate for?
Yuki weighs about ten pounds. Charlie is about a hundred. They both do not have half the intelligence of a regular animal. Nor do they have any real life experience. Nothing like the life lessons that have been nailed into him. They are animals, tamed and trained for the pure existence of supplying the need of attention that most human beings desire.
Yet, these small animals are bullying him. They have already driven him to the roof. His hand goes against the flat of the blade and presses down, feeling the tension between the two points and where he ends and his weapon begins. Masamune hums in the back of his head like a warmth. She feeds onto his emotions, dissipating them.
He could bring the materia to R&D to have it categorized and analyzed but it seems sacrilegious.
The true mystery of it is a comfort.
It's easing towards ten.
The dogs in his apartment need to go out.
As the days pass, his attention is never fully removed from the animals. There is no respite even as he leaves them behind for work. With most things in his life, he can remove himself from them. Problems are important when they need to be but he shuts them down when they are not immediately pressing.
Those two responsibilities hover in the back of his head and appear to have made a permanent residence there.
It is only for three weeks.
"Are you satisfied?" Sephiroth asks as he pulls off the baseball cap in the elevator. Losing the squeeze against his skull is a relief. His fingers work through the knots in his hair as he watches her response.
Yuki doesn't answer. Her tongue is impossibly long outside her mouth and she squints up at him. The elevator hums up the floors. The mission of a morning walk has been a success. Skipping work Saturday morning has been odd but the dogs needed to go on their walks. This took strategy. Even a short distance, which he has mentally doubled in his head for the dog's small strides, equates to a risk of him being recognized in public. That is never a good thing.
But they had managed it.
The doors open and he walks out automatically.
And almost directly into the waiting SOLDIER.
Angeal's face can't hide his surprise as his eyes travel from Sephiroth to the considerable distance down to the dog at his heel. There is also the matter of Sephiroth's outfit.
"Well, good morning," Angeal says and tags on unusually, "sir."
"Sir" does not feel appropriate for the strategic casualness of Sephiroth's clothes. Rarely does he leave the apartment in anything other than business casual. PR doesn't directly dictate it because they don't have to. The formality of those clothes enforces protocol and actions. Jeans and a regular shirt doesn't feel right against his skin. Being caught like this, it feels too personal.
"Good morning, Hewley." He sidesteps out of the elevator. The SOLDIER should have let him pass but his eyes have not left the puff of white at his side.
Angeal opens his mouth and closes it. Muscles move in his neck.
"Have a good day," Sephiroth supplies and turns. The apartment is a few minutes away and he needs to get there as quickly as he can. He considers picking up the dog to move things along quicker but he has yet to carry the small animal. His image has already been damaged by this occurrence. Best to not make things worse.
They made it a few feet.
"Congratulations," Angeal says after him.
"For what?" Sephiroth says, hating that he already knows. Yuki is remarkably calm at his side. It seems just like the trainees and SOLDIERs, if he is calm, they will be too.
"The adoption." Shoes clomp towards them. The elevator door closes. Tension curls in his chest.
Sephiroth has to stop. No matter how he feels about this, if he doesn't humor the people that he commands, they will not humor him. Angeal is already on his knees, putting out his fingers for Yuki to sniff. She inches forward and glances up at Sephiroth. That twitches something in him but he ignores it and her.
"I'm afraid to disappoint but this animal is not mine. I am supervising."
"What a good boy." Angeal's eyebrows raise and once his fingers are accepted, they roll over the small head.
It takes more control that Sephiroth wants to admit not to correct him. Yuki sops up the attention.
"Genesis used to have a dog when we grew up together," Angeal forgets himself, talking casually as if they talk regularly, "We went on many adventures. It's nice to see you with one, even so temporarily."
The smile is warmer than Sephiroth likes to see when Angeal glances up.
"We should go." At this, Sephiroth leans down and picks up the small animal so there can be no arguments. Angeal's fingers drag through the fur before the dog disappears upward. "I hope you have a good weekend."
He stays down on his knees in thought. Then his words hit and that smile flickers and solidifies into the professionalism that Sephiroth sees normally. "Of course, you as well, sir."
Sephiroth turns and walks away. The relief of the situation over makes his steps lighter.
Yuki runs circles around his island as he gets her a treat when they get to the apartment.
"Good girl," he says and tosses the kibble to the ground. Charlie looks up from his bed. The extra set of eyes still him. Did he just praise a dog for doing basic functions like walking?
It is on Monday of the next week that he stands outside the door to his apartment.
His chin is closer to his chest than he would like. He hovers with his hand on the knob, hearing the dogs sniffing under the door on the other side. Damn these animals, he doesn't want to deal with them tonight. He runs his fingers through his hair, pulling it back over his shoulder. Part of him dies for a drink. It would be easy, simple, a way to turn off everything in his head. It all feels so sour and sore in him. It aches. It all hurts.
He's trying to stay away from drinking now.
He cannot slide again.
Standing in the hallway will do nothing.
It won't change anything.
He flips the knob. The lock clicks.
The two animals swirl around his legs like water. He tries to ignore both their wagging tails and noses as he tosses tonight's work on the table.
"Yes, yes, yes, urination time," he mutters, "then dinner."
The leashes clip onto collars. Charlie gets three licks on his cheek in the process and his stomach clenches. His hand strays from the metal clap and works through the yellow fur before he can catch himself. He doesn't need the animal's comfort. Yuki is spinning in place as he rises. It's a trick she knows but since he isn't asking for it, she won't get a reward.
They rush to the elevator without him. Yuki darts forward and barks at him. Charlie plods but his ears flap and his tail wags heavily from side to side.
How can they be so excited for something this banal?
Later, he can't work.
The letters don't make sense in front of him. His pen hovers over the figures. While R&D works to nail down the quickest efficiency to make a SOLDIER, it is up to his department to make them into competent fighters. They had tested a new program on a group of recruits. Only 30% of them had passed the test from candidate to 3rd Class which means the pilot program didn't improve anything, it made things worse. The standard program deals around 45%.
The pen bleeds a hole into the paper. This work is good for him. It is detail oriented. These are puzzles of things that he can figure out. Failure is still something that he doesn't like. The nib of the pen hovers over the numbers. His birthday is coming up soon. This is not significant. He will get a birthday card from the president. The signature will be hazy and nothing like his real one.
This will signify that he has been trapped here another year.
He sets the pen down. It rolls across the surface. Sephiroth blows out his breath, slow and easy. A removed part of him realizes he is having a "bad night." That is what he labels them when the world darken into this pinpoint of hatred. The pen rolls towards the edge. It teeters. Sephiroth watches. It bounces to the floor.
Weight climbs onto his back. Claws dig into him.
It is just late enough to go to bed.
Sephiroth turns, nowhere close to sleep, tangled in the covers.
He watches as the door opens. He forgot to lock up the dogs in his frustration. Charlie moves across the room and settles right by his head. They stare at each other. The grays that comprise the room in the dark makes Charlie's face look ghostly. He blinks idly. The cataracts have blinded him.
Part of Sephiroth aches. It hurts under his collarbone and spreads downward like the roots of a tree. It curls around his stomach, constricts his gut, runs wires down his thighs. Sephiroth closes his eyes. They spill over. He should have blinked sooner. He isn't crying. He has nothing to cry for.
The dog still sits in front of him when he comes back.
Sephiroth snakes out his hand. His fingers hover and connect. The smooth fur gives him something to focus on. It feels so familiar. The warmth is easy to seek out. The dusty things in the back of his mind stir but don't rise. He gave up on the shattered hidden remains of his childhood a long time ago.
"What do you remember, old friend?" He asks as his fingers work down the side of his face. "What stories could you tell?"
Charlie half closes his eyes. A tongue lolls out.
"Can," he stops and presses forward, "can you even recognize me?" Those words catch rough against his throat but he has to finish it off. "Or have I made too many mistakes? Does none of me remain?"
The tightness in him hardens like a blade. It stings. It rips far too hard into his heart. Sephiroth allows his fingers to slip away. They fall between them, limp at the extent of his wrist. The scars from Wutai disappeared from the surface of his skin long ago.
Would this have been what Sephiroth felt had Dinand succeeded? If his old mentor had killed him? He can't feel himself breathing, everything is so stiff. His hand curls into a fist. Would have it even been this painful?
Or is this state of life even worse than that death?
The question hangs like a dead man.
The sheets hold him to the bed. Sephiroth turns away, staring up at the ceiling. His hands lay on his chest. The thoughts in his head roam too fast for him to stop. They circle so far down. Things he can't even remember hurt him.
Charlie pants.
The room is so empty.
Sephiroth makes a decision. It is out of complete weakness. He knows this and he doesn't care. The air feels cold as he slips out from under the sheets. Carefully, he puts his hands under the dog's chest and hips. Bones and muscle, it all feels insignificant once you have broken enough of them but Sephiroth tries to be careful. Charlie has arthritis.
They settle together on the bed. Sephiroth is under the sheets and Charlie stays above them but the weight shifts the mattress. He settles down comfortably. Sephiroth's fingers braid themselves in his fur. It tethers him to this reality. The dog's head lands on his leg. The heaviness pins him. It makes him real and solid. He closes his eyes tight and then opens them again.
Charlie is still there.
He did not run away.
He is not abandoned to this impossible platitude of life.
He still cares for him.
Even after everything.
It eases Sephiroth down.
His eyes droop.
They fall asleep together holding onto each other in the darkness.