Chapter 70 - A Step Forward
February, 1996
It takes months.
Months that Angeal and Genesis are willing to give him.
Sephiroth spends them putting the pieces together to a puzzle he could not see. He has to understand how to do this. The anxiety has to calm. Every move he makes is unnatural and broken. There must be a solution for him to have people in his life that he enjoys being around. Even that phrasing carves into him ripping up the past, tearing in a weakness and threatening to scar.
Once he lets them in, there is no natural buffer. Attention cannot be deflected. He is simply there because, in a way, he wants to be there now. Even that strips him of his last defense of pretending not to care abandons him. He can't even fall on obligation. No part of SOLDIER is asking him to do this.
It's even more painful because of how Angeal and Genesis seem to naturally know each other. Even if they are both opening themselves up to him, he can see it. He can't step between that. All he can do is wait through their laughter at private jokes. They are childhood friends. They fought together. When the world turned black and bloody and intestines had spilled between their fingers, they had someone to turn to.
All Sephiroth had was the Board demanding better results or a camera man telling him to look away because no one wanted to see his slitted eyes.
He has no idea what the two Firsts see in him still.
But they don't look away in discomfort when their eyes catch.
And sometimes that is enough.
They shove him outside his apartment once they realize it is possible.
Every weekend they knock on his door and drag him out of it. It is relentless and he has no excuse. They know he has no plans. Even when the week has been long and he doesn't feel like company, one of them will find him. Angeal comes gently. Genesis threatens to burn down his apartment.
Slowly, the world finds him again in a way not constructed by Shinra. It's not comfortable, the places that they take him. He has no interest in shopping, watching the sun rise or going to parties. The bookstore is cramped. The museums are too open. Walks in the park seem pointless. The birds move too fast from the corner of his eye. The decision of which kitchen knife would be most sufficient for Angeal doesn't seem to bear any weight.
It makes him restless. He is missing the point of this. Even now, he does not want to waste his energy on these useless measures.
Then he sees Angeal smile when he uses the new knife while Sephiroth is at his apartment.
Or Genesis pulls out the memory of the terrible jacket that he saw on a mannequin when they were relaxing in the living room.
The puzzle starts to fall together.
The point was not always about the excursions or the objectives themselves but the way that they built up something to talk about. It is the shared memories. Similar to training but instead of a behavior being learned, he is building up a relationship, a connection of memories, the sewn lines between them. It has been so long that even the idea that someone knowing him strikes an odd cord.
The first time Angeal threw a blanket at him and made him a cup of tea, he felt exposed. How did Angeal know he was cold? How did he know to make him a beverage? What outside cues had he revealed? When he drank the tea, he discovered it was made to how he liked it. Surely this is normal behavior but no one had done it before. That night had taken hours to settle when he returned to his apartment.
Sephiroth doesn't tell Genesis that it is his first play when he goes to the theater to see Loveless. Who would take a SOLDIER, a glorified weapon, to a play?
The play itself makes no sense but the lights, the swell of the music, the way that the actions sweep across the stage, it carries him. The box seats make it easy for Genesis to sprawl out in his chair, whisper along with the words and conduct the orchestra with his index finger from the chair's arm. Total bliss is on his face. Sephiroth is allowed to witness it.
It feels important.
The curtains fall unexpectedly, the story of the lovers cut short. The show is over. They have to stay in the box after the show is over to be escorted out the back.
"Well?" Genesis asks, smiling at him sideways as he props up his chin on a fist.
"I now understand that half of what you say is not original." Sephiroth studies the velvet red curtains, not understanding the ending. He won't ask him. That is a lecture that he would rather save for another day.
"Well," Genesis sputters and sits up straight. "I am quoting art. There is no harm in that."
"No, but I won't encourage it further." Sephiroth traces the golden patterns on the curtains. The green eyes watch over him. Before this, he would have seen the smugness on his face as a sign of a fight. Now, this reads to him as almost fondness. Genesis' own war has left him always in a state of hypertension, hyperaggression, looking for a way to provoke.
Once he had figured that out, things had eased. Sometimes they can even coexist without Angeal.
"By the goddess, you like it." Genesis' smile is real and knowing.
It cuts him straight to the heart. Sephiroth half laughs.
"No. You will never hear those words crossing my lips, Rhapsodos."
A hand lands on his shoulder as Genesis rises. "Your secret is safe with me."
Sephiroth glances up, a smile trying to pry itself into him. "There is no secret to keep."
"And I have no idea what you are talking about." Genesis blows out a breath. "Come on. I just heard. Last call just happened for drinks at my apartment. Your glass of water awaits you. Let's scare the attendant and find him first."
Sephiroth isn't sure how he has gotten here as he rises from his chair.
They fall into a further rhythm. Every few weeks, Shinra would send two of them out on a mission but the weekends in between, they would all spend together. Most of the time it is low stakes events, hidden in Angeal's apartment away from the eyes of PR and the Turks. Both had caught wind of what was happening and were eager to monitor. It isn't hard to spot a Turk once you know the faces of almost every one of them.
It puts rocks in his stomach but there is nothing to do about it.
The newspaper articles paint a picture of three powerful men coming together, bonding through the war for years and finally getting to be friends. A few smaller ones hinted at the inherent threat that the three of them could cause together against Shinra if they wanted. What a ridiculous idea. They were Shinra's men through and through. For all of Genesis' teasing, obligation is powerful.
It's different for Sephiroth. The medication that he takes everyday and the way that he still shakes on occasion are strong enough ties.
For them, he can see the idealism that the SOLDIER program that Sephiroth pilots instilled in them.
He won't break that illusion for them.
It is Genesis that comes up with the idea of escaping through a simulation and Angeal is the one to find the beach projection. Sephiroth remains silent as they pick a Sunday and reserve the room. Neither could have any clue that Sephiroth has not stepped into a simulation room for five years. The last time he had entered and exited a sim, he hadn't been able to walk afterward. He had been sobbing in pain against the tile with Dinand dragging him out by his collar. That trainer had hovered over him, whispering in his ears and causing the damage that would last a lifetime.
No.
He couldn't tell them that.
So he arrives early that day to conquer his demons. His shoes tap against the tile floor. The steel box looks as innocent as the last time that he had been in one. This is not the same room. Those old sim rooms are gone. They were torn out years ago to make room for the new technology.
It doesn't matter. Sweat rolls down his back in the silence. He can hear the projection equipment warming up, waiting for the start signal. He can't breathe. He will be hurt. It doesn't matter how. He will not fall like that again. His muscles are iron as he walks back towards the door. He can't do this. The helplessness is back. He can't do this. No again. No. This has been his one allowance. The one thing he gave himself permission to not do again.
He walks quicker. The ghost of Dinand stands behind him. Those eyes gloat him.
Sephiroth stops himself with his hand on the doorknob.
He dips his head, closes his eyes and takes breath.
What happened was years ago. These fears left by a man that is now dead by his own hand should no longer control him. Dinand is not going to come into this room. He is dead, a piece of his own sword jabbing through his heart. His body must be mostly decomposed wherever Wutai buried the bodies of the fallen SOLDIERs. Sephiroth himself is no longer the boy that he was. He's killed people. By all logic, he should be dead.
In a way that doesn't make sense, he feels like he has died and come back.
This room no longer controls him.
Sephiroth takes an emergency pill to calm him and turns back.
The room is still empty.
Part of him moves internally. It twists around him and tries to choke him. Fear. Unfamiliar and strange but something that he used to know. It's frustrating. These feelings are invalid. There is nothing about this situation that should be driving him like this. Sephiroth is stronger than this. He should not react this way. He looks at the sim remote. There are about twenty buttons but the bottom two are the largest and most important.
Start and stop are printed on them.
He puts his thumb on start.
He wants this.
The floor had been so cold. He could remember the way that it had bitten into his cheek. The Wutai soldier had struck him as he tried to irrationally crawl away. His fingers had slipped on the floor in his blood.
No.
Sephiroth blinks.
That child no longer exists.
That simulation was hacked.
He can leave.
Before he can lose himself again to the past, he presses start.
The ocean stretches before Sephiroth. The blue water shimmers and fights the color of the sky. The waves sing against the shore, pulling against the sand. Dots of birds swirl off in the distance. A breeze twists in his hair. Salt is in his mouth. It's instantaneous. A shock. The room is gone.
He takes a step forward.
The sand makes his shoe sink deeper. It shocks him. No Midgar. No Shinra. Just a beach.
He looks behind him, towards the exit. He has to blink away a ting from his eyes as he stares at the mountains and the palm trees. His chest tightens. Nothing is attacking him. It is peaceful.
The remote is solid in his hand.
He glances down, squinting in the sun and presses a button. The opacity of the projection drops to a confusing half. He can see the steel room. He can see the ocean stretching for miles. The closed door is right there. The sky is dotted with bright specks as a hundred projectors work together. His shoes click on the tile but move the sand around them.
Part of his mind worries about getting a sunburn.
He snaps the whole projection off.
The room is cold and empty.
He turns it on.
It's beautifully warm. The projection tugs on his hair like a tease. A bird dives into the water in the distance. He is alone here. He quietly walks to the water. The waves are too real. Seaweed crunches under his shoes. He puts his hand in the nearest wave. It's illusionary. The cold is there as the water drips off but there is no moisture.
"Are you getting started without us?"
He twists in his squat. Genesis and Angeal are early. They break into the illusion. Sephiroth isn't sure how he feels as he rises from his crouch. The fear isn't gone but seeing them dampens it even further. The remote tucked into his pants pocket does an even better job of that. The medication in him purrs his heart steadier.
They squint into the light and stumble towards him.
And the feeling in Sephiroth's chest is not entirely unpleasant.