//There is something so intensely wrong about the way he is spinning. I
tried to place it for a long time, but now I realize that the slow rotating
of his body is just like that of a hanged man. He never turns completely
around; some equatorial glitch in gravitation sends him back the other way
before he can spin completely around. I can never really see his face.
Just a bare glimpse of his profile, and there is blood leaking from his
lips. Some combination of morbid curiosity and complete horror glue my
eyes to him as he swirls endlessly in that tank of toxic green. He has
been unconscious for too long, and if I had the presence of mind, I would
be afraid. The idea of death eludes me even now, when it seems the
closest. When I might die or when Zack might die. I suppose it would make
little difference. If I died, there would still be the swirling green
behind and before my eyes. There would still be the Mako burn on my flesh.
And if Zack died, then I'm sure it wouldn't take me long to follow.
Always . . . I always will follow him, always do what he does. And maybe
if the promised land does exist, then maybe when we die, it will be better
than here. Better than watching Hojo watch us with no emotion in his gaze.
Better than getting no response from the cries of agony. Better than the
pain.
My world is timeless. Perhaps winter and summer blink the world alive. Outside. Maybe I'm an old man now. I have enough stories to be one of those fireside grandfather's whose wrinkled, trembling hands illustrate eons of life. Of wisdom. I want to be wise. I want to shout my stories to the stars and send them swirling through the fires. About that vain little girl and the way the mountain swallowed her. And her father who hit me. I would weave my tales of amber lights and sleepless nights watching the wax of candles drip to the floor. I used to let wax drip on my skin, to feel the burn, to feel connected and alive, to see how it looked like my skin was diseased when there were lots of tiny drops of wax. Like lepers or plague victims. Of pollen stained faces and imps that danced in the dew of the jungle. Of fire. Of the Angel of Death, whose beauty betrays Him. Of SOLDIER and missions and war; flying death and grass and blood. Spinning bodies, whirling poison. Green-fire reeling through my mind and jolting through my nerves, crushing my very bones to dust.
One day they will build great stone monuments to my stories. I might even be hailed as a god. Just like . . . He was.//
Gunpowder on my lips wakes me. For a moment I wonder if Vincent has kissed me, but I see him firing rounds above my head. Bullet shells fall around my face like rain, and the air is thick with smoke and the savor of Vincent's rifle. I sigh, it's not even light out yet. "Keep it down will, ya."
Vincent glances at me with a peculiar glint in his eye. He fires one more shot. Lowers his gun and looks back up. I hear Hades' name on his lips, and wonder if the demon will still answer to him. None have answered to me. I close my eyes and drown out the sounds of battle, not caring what he is fighting or why. I struggle to remember where we are. It reminds me of Gongaga. Zack used to gibe himself about being from such a small, mundane town, but I know he loved it. He talked about it endlessly. About the weapons smith who would sit atop the furs of wild cats, the first man to let Zack hold a sword. About how before the reactor was built, the whole town was lit up at night with hundreds of tiny candles. About the wild tropical flowers that had so many colors and were so large, they could be worn as hats.
"Damn birds," Vincent mutters and sits back down silently, eyeing me reproachfully.
"I always thought those leaf things were more annoying, but if you wanna shoot birds, then at least wait till dawn. I'm still tired."
"I apologize," he says softly and with some restraint.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and massage my temples. Head always hurts. "I keep having . . . weird dreams. For a while they were coherent, like memories, but now its all fire, and dancing, and hedonism. It's confusing."
He is silent for a long moment, and I feel as if I've been talking too much, that what I've shared with him is trivial and could never matter. Somehow I fear that Vincent will abandon me here, leaving me to face a fate much worse than death. I torture myself enough as it is . . . and though I deserve it, I cannot do it alone. I am beyond being broken, but solitude will surely shatter me. I speak my thoughts, even though they have nothing to do with anything. "Please . . . don't leave."
He places the cold metal of his hand on my shoulder, the gesture more personal and loyal than if he had used his human hand. "I'll stay as long as I can."
"W-what?" I had told him not to leave only because my mind had somehow wandered to that place where I might be left in solitude. I never really expected him to acknowledge my words . . . never thought he would really leave me here. My hand somehow wanders up to clutch his human one with a fervent desperation. "You /can't/ leave, I don't know what I might do if you leave me alone. Please, don't leave me. . ."
"I'll stay as long as I can."
Hot tears run down my cheeks. "Don't leave." For some reason, suicide is beyond me. Too good, or not good enough, or physically impossible. I couldn't do it, I know that if I tried I'd simply awake again and find my self in eternal misery. Eternally alone. No way to /ever/ get Him back. And I will not be abandoned again. My world tilts on some foreign axis and leaves me trembling and struggling for air, for coherency. "You'll leave me like Zack left me and like He left me. You /can't/. The world will end . . . the world will end. If you leave me here, /everything/ will die." He is speaking to me, trying to pacify me, make me stop sobbing. I don't understand the words, can't distinguish them from my own babbling. Something snaps beneath my grip. "/You'll/ die. The world . . . I wanna die. Just fucking kill me, /please/!"
"It's okay Cloud, I'll stay here with you. Cloud please, stop it. I'm trying to help you. Cloud . . . you're /hurting/ me."
I blink my tears away and see my own hand gripping Vincent's. Too hard, too strong. I let go quickly and have time to see the bloodless imprints that my fingers have made on his skin and the bruising of the veins. //"What would you do if I became a monster?"// I see Vincent withdraw just slightly and try to rub the feeling back into his arm. "I . . . sorry. Monster . . . I knew I would be a monster . . . No one can bring me back anymore . . . Only . . . Him." I pull my knees up to my chin and stare through the tear blur of my eyes, at the breaking dawn.
"I want to bring you back Cloud." The words are so soft, I think for a moment it might have been the wind or some rustling of grass, but it's not. Vincent is staring at me with lamenting eyes and deep remorse; I swear I see a tear drip from those crimson depths. He moves swiftly and I do not have time to track his movements before I am in his arms. "I won't hurt you."
My arms snake around Vincent's too-thin body against my will. He pulls me closer and rests his chin on my shoulder and the contact feels so alien and strange. But I can't pull myself from him. "You never should have helped me." He only pulls me closer and I might be delusional, and I might be insane, but the fabric on my shirt collar is wet with what can only be tears. "Why a-are you crying?" I feel him breathing beneath my arms, a struggled rise and fall of his chest, and I wonder how badly I hurt him. He does not respond for a long time, only steadies himself against me. Perhaps I am comforting him more than he is comforting me. I rub my fingers along his back and even through the layers of clothing, feel the vague ridges of his spine. "I'm so sorry, Vincent. I hurt you." I inadvertently pull him closer and squeeze my eyes shut at how weightless he is. Like a bird. He still doesn't speak, doesn't do anything. "Please!" Something snaps in my brain and there is a flash of the whitest light.
//"What's it like?" I can't see his face through the blur, but I know he's smiling in that far-off way.
"Transcendent."//
I feel like I'm floating, like all the nerves in my body have detached and are reaching upwards in the heavens. Where all the angels are waiting for me.
// " . . . real prick sometimes." He turns to glare at me and I know that it's none of my business but I don't understand why he needs to act this way.
"I do what I have to . . . stay grounded."//
The world is pulling at me and I feel Mako energy in my veins trying to get back to the source, to the core and it pulls me down too quick. And I'm falling.
// "Tell me! Please, I wanna know . . ."
". . . very secret. No one knows . . . so dark."//
I see nothing feel nothing. Nothing. Maybe slight panic at the utter lack of sensation but the world holds nothing for me. No light or darkness, no state of being.
" . . . cloud . . ."
Maybe I'm dead. Maybe He's finally calling me home. And I embrace it. I want to go to Him. I want to be anywhere but here. I want to /feel/.
" . . . Cloud . . ."
This is His voice, sweet, brazen, soft. Tears creep from my eyes. Its been too long since I heard His voice, with His words. I see Him with His wings and arms outstretched, ready to hold me tight forever, so that I'm never ever left alone and so I /never/ have to hurt again.
"Cloud . . ."
I'm so sick of the pain and the waiting and the exhaustion. I'm tired of games. Of always guessing and never ever knowing. "Was it me Sephiroth? Was it me that you loved?"
"Cloud! CLOUD! PLEASE!"
And my angel evaporates from behind my field of vision and my eyes snap open and I see the lightening sky, my hands outstretched but looking mangled and twisted. I inhale sharply and the return of breath to my lungs sends sharp pains through every nerve in my body and I tremble at the feeling. The tears I wept for Sephiroth, for hearing Him and having Him want me, turn sour and cold on my cheeks. Some alien pathetic noise escapes my lips and I curl onto my side. And Vincent is here. Arms enfolding me like the wings of Chaos. And his eyes mourn with ages of grief, timeless woe. "What happened?"
He holds me closer still and He is not so cold and unfamiliar as before. "It's okay. I think just a small fit of epilepsy. It will be fine, Cloud."
I shed exhausted tears and cannot move away from Vincent's warmth. "Why do you have to abandon me?"
He presses his forehead to mine in a gesture so unlike him it frightens me. I'm forced into his eyes and I see no hatred or betrayal, but why then? "I want to help you. There are certain items in Nibelheim that may help us. Hojo's journals never made sense to us before, but now that we know what happened, we may be able to put the pieces of these riddles together."
"I don't wanna go to Nibelheim." I feel so frail in his arms. Maybe it is just the reserve, the care in which he touches me. So wrong. So horribly wrong.
"I know, Cloud. That's why I brought you here. I'll stay with you here for a few days, but then I should go. I won't be gone long. I swear to you that I'll return." He is so close to me I can see the way the fabric covering his mouth shifts and moves as he breathes or speaks. It's stupid really, to always keep your mouth covered like that. I pull the fabric down and watch his lips appear.
"There."
He does not flinch, or even blink when I touch his lips. I want to see if they're cold like the rest of him, or if perhaps they aren't even real, just some image my mind conjured up. I pull my hands away and when I try to move away from him, I find myself somehow closer to him, nestled in the safety of his arms. In my minds eye I see Sephiroth, somewhere high among the clouds, staring down at me, then turning away with the muted resonant whisper of a thousand wings. I try to pull away. And I see Zack staring at me with raging eyes and wondering how it is that I cannot love him. And I still cannot pull away. Maybe it's because even Vincent has some of Jenova's magnetism, some of her pull. And I cannot wrench myself from his gravity for anything. So I sleep.
//His eyes are eerily blank.
"Why are you so adamant in knowing?" He turns towards the window and stares vacantly at the city lights outside. I wonder if He notices how beautiful it is. "To acquire knowledge is something that many people aspire for; a strong mind is covetous. I admire your quest for knowledge, Cloud, but did you ever consider that some things might be best left unlearned? Did it ever occur to you that no one knows of my origins for a reason?"
His tone is even, no emotion, and it scathes me even more than if He were screaming at me or strangling me with fury. I sigh and drag my hands through my hair. "I . . . I only want to know if you want to tell me."
He turns back to face me, some wry, not-quite bitter look in his eyes. "Frankly, I don't."
"Damn it, Sephiroth. I /do/ want to know. It's driving me insane that I don't know! And . . . nothing, I don't care if you tell me the most horrible thing in the world. Nothing can change the way I feel about you. /Nothing/."
He scoffs and walks toward me with horrible deliberation and just the slightest edge of danger. "And why is that? Because I'm beautiful? Because I can send you up the ranks?"
"Oh quiet. You know that's not true." He catches my jaw between His gloved fingers and bends low to stare me in the eyes.
"Then why?"
I can never answer this question and I know it kills Him. He needs reassurance, just to make sure that I'm not using Him like everyone else does. I don't know why I love Him. I just do. "Cuz." His hand drops and He picks up His façade and turns away before I can even begin to gauge any sort of reaction. "Sephiroth, I'm not using you. I don't want anything from you except . . . you. Please, just /talk/ to me."
"What have you heard so far." It is not a question, stated too blandly to really even be considered a statement. He stares listlessly at the snifter on the table, no doubt wishing His thoughts to be drenched in alcohol."
"Is it true you grew up in the lab? Is it true Hojo raised you?"
His eyes do not stray, no muscles in His body twitches with emotion or flinches at memory. "Yes."
"Did . . . did he do experiments on you?" I abandon all caution, because He knows what I want to ask anyways. All I have to do is say it.
The reply is softer this time and His eyes grow unfocused, distant. " . . . Yes."
"Tell me what he did . . .please"
He shakes His head and turns to go stand by the window again, peering out into the city like there's nothing wrong.
"Please, Seph. I wanna talk to you." I know it's probably the wrong thing to do, but I move to stand behind Him and place my hands on His sides, still too afraid to embrace Him completely. "Tell me."
He releases the air from His lungs in what might almost be a sigh. "Mostly Mako."
"Did it hurt?"
". . . Yes." Barely a whisper and I see His reflection in the glass, His eyes glow pale in His effort to withdraw, to disassociate Himself with His past. "Mako burns, Cloud. Cauterizes the mind and stings the senses. He . . ."
"I won't ever judge you Sephiroth."
"He did other things as well." His voice is observant yet achingly soft, with only the slightest emphasis on words. "He . . . wanted to see the science in me. Wanted to see how I could kill, how I could heal." I take the next step and slide my arms around His waist and lean my cheek against His shoulder. "It began simply. He would fracture my bones and compare the rates at which they healed if more Mako was added to my system."
//I bite my lip to keep from screaming as my femur is snapped. I taste blood and scream anyways.//
"Things escalated with his curiosity, his morbidity. Head wounds, flesh wounds, internal bleeding. All inflicted by him for the specific intent to see how I would conquer the pain and the damage. Physically, I became accustomed to pain. I knew nothing else. I was made to do mental exercises as well, not quite as painful, but some of the psychological studies were unpleasant. He made me kill people. ShinRa army recruits. He would always watch me do it, and he enjoyed to see them die. Enjoyed the fact that I didn't know any better." He bows his head, eyes more mournful than I have ever seen them. I wipe the tears from my eyes quickly and lead Him to the couch so we can sit down. So He can have His drink. He doesn't reach for it. He reaches for /me/. It is not a physical gesture but I feel His will pulling me towards Him. I crawl into His embrace and hold back the tears threatening to choke me. "I don't like killing people, Cloud."
I slide my arms around His shoulders and kiss His face with vague abandon.
"And the experiments always got worse. Hojo . . . is imaginative and devised many ways to . . ."
" . . . torture you."
He shuts His eyes. Does not concur with my assessment but makes no move to deny it. I notice with a good deal of sadness, that Sephiroth isn't as articulate as He might be. Pausing too long in the middle of phrases and fumbling with words. Even such trite trivial miscommunication errors signal distress in The General.
"The worst one I remember. He . . . did an autopsy, I don't know why. On me. He cut me open and tore me apart. And every time I was rendered unconscious he would use electric shock to revive me. To make sure that I felt everything he was doing to me."
// "Revive him. Let's see how long specimen C can handle it. Specimen Z did fairly well."//
I was expecting the worst, but that. My mind refuses to even go there. "Oh, Seph. I'm so sorry. I won't hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you ever again."
//"If you put your mind somewhere else, it wont hurt so much. Just think of someplace you want to be."//
Neither of us speak for a long time. The silence swallows me and my movements are painfully loud. I try not to swallow or move. "You must hate him."
I don't think he realizes I've spoken until a few seconds later. His eyes distant and glassy, he shakes his head very slowly. "No. I don't."
"What?" My voice is too sharp, too abrasive for the silence of his quarters.
His entreating aura disappears, and instead I feel as if He is pushing me away. "You couldn't understand. I know what sort of reputation Hojo has down in the ranks. Hojo is a man with no mercy and little remorse."
"But! Who cares what his reputation is! What you told me just confirmed that everything people say about him is true! If anything, what they say is an understatement. Seph. What he did to you was awful. No one should have to live through that, not anyone."
"So you think that if I hate, then perhaps that will make things better."
I falter and He stands up, pours himself a drink and stares out at the city. "It won't fix anything, you're right. But, how could you possibly not hate him?"
He shrugs indifferently. "How many people in this world do you hate." He swirls the amber liquid in his glass and frowns thoughtfully at it, but does not drink.
"I . . . Sephiroth, you have to understand that no one has ever been so . . . deliberately cruel to me."
"You are naïve Cloud."
". . . Maybe so, but. If anyone did anything like that to me I would hate them."
"I won't let anyone do anything like that to you."
"Quit changing the subject Sephiroth! I feel like there's something you're keeping from me. I /know/ it. You're hesitating too much, and thinking too hard."
He smiles vaguely at the outside. "How can you tell."
Never a question. "Because, you're dodging me. And you're not drinking."
He frowns, not at his liquor but at me. "Perhaps we've been spending too much time together, if you can read me that well."
I cower inadvertently, knowing that if I push much harder he truly will cut himself off from me. Ignore me, pretend I'm not here. "Sorry, Seph. If you don't wanna talk about it's okay. I just wanna show you that I love you and that nothing can ever change that."
He drinks. "Don't say such things if you are unsure of them."
I bow my head and tears creep slowly down my cheeks. He's says thing like this all the time, that I don't love Him or wont love Him, or that I'll hurt Him. I watch as He stands unmoving by the window. And I turn to leave.//
Strange how for some reason I thought He was gone. I wonder why, I don't really remember, some silly dream. I have such dreams sometimes, that I'm alone and that He's left me. But He's here with His arms around me. I pull Him closer, wonder where we are and why I can't remember. "Good morning," I mumble, and nuzzle into the warm hollow of His neck.
". . . Cloud?"
Something wrong, in His tone . . . and in His voice. I open my eyes and cry out, leap back. "Fuck!" In a rush, I remember. I knew it . . . I knew that one day I would forget, and one day I would . . . do something to Vincent. But I forget only for a few bittersweet moments; then I remember. Remembrance is not so painful as it should be, I feel like killing Him never left, even though for a few moments it did. It's like the pain never went away. I guess it didn't. "Sorry, Vincent. I . . . I guess I just thought you were . . . Him." He looks rattled, in his own unshakable way, and sits up a little shaky to stare at the light filtering through the leaves above us. "I'm sorry," I say and sound for some reason desperate.
He closes His eyes tight and buries his head in his arms. "My fault Cloud. Entirely my fault."
He sounds so mournful. For a brief moment I wonder what I've done to him, how helping me may have simply begun to fray his own mind as well. "I . . . Vincent, I don't understand."
He shakes his head and situates his cloak and covers his face; he had looked so vulnerable when it was exposed. He stands and hoists his gun over his shoulder, eyes searching the forest around us. Seeing things only trained eyes can see.
"Vincent . . . you said you'd be open with me. You know I don't like secrets, they kill people."
He bows his head and his hands drop gracefully to his sides. "It is my fault Cloud. You thought I was Sephiroth, because of the ways I was . . . touching you, holding you. I shouldn't take advantage of you like that. It will only destroy your psyche further." I ignore his comment about my destroyed psyche, somehow hurt and offended even though I know it's true. "You . . . but you . . . you don't think of me as Lu . . . you . . . do you . . ."
He turns and his ember eyes are both mournful and angry. "Yes Cloud. I want to hold you, and touch you. Is that what you wanted to ask?"
I bow my head and cannot hold back the tears. I do not question him further, afraid of what he's thinking or what I might be thinking and what he'll say and what I'll do if he says what I think he might if I continue to talk to him. But maybe . . . I should just ask him. Why he's helping me when no one else would or could. Why he continues to stay with me even though we both know it's hopeless. Why I can make him cry when no one else can. Maybe I should just ask him why . . . and if. By the time I look up, he is far away, searching for something to kill. It does not occur to me to assist him.
I sit in the grass and watch bugs hop by and resent the sun, as I knew I would. I try to scramble in the darkest shade of the tree I am under, needing to be out of the sun, not just because its hurts my skin, but because I hate it and even if I didn't, I wouldn't deserve it. I wish I could transform, like Vincent can. That in the day I might be a pale, fragile creature that cowers in the sun, and at night the moon makes me mad and I change into some horrible winged creature, who feels only pain and fear. Or maybe . . . would it be more tragic if I were to be beautiful? Some silver moon-sheathed angel that weeps at night for the loss of all beauty. I could be an imperfect copy of my Angel, just as Hojo wanted me to be. I frown when I realize his genius and wonder how something so evil, someone that I hated so much could create something so perfect, someone that I loved. Sephiroth's beauty was no fluke and no flaw. I see much of the same in Vincent, the eyes, the high cheekbones, the full, austere lips. And the ghost of Lucrecia, even the pale half glow of her specter, was beautiful. But the physical prowess and mental strength were Hojo. The flawless, sculpted body created through Hojo's training. The hidden, gentle disposition, also because of Hojo and his calculated cruelty. How is it that Hojo produced something so flawless? But then . . . I suppose even He wasn't perfect. My mind stings at the acknowledgement. The one constant in my life, the one thing I could count on, was His perfection; having that anchor pulled from me may have been what destroyed me. But I like the tragic ones. I like the broken and bleeding type. I enjoy the drama and the unfolding of secrets. I think maybe a lot of people do. They want the ones who have been abused and hurt. I recall some horrible lessons in school about literary characters and their tragic flaws. What was Sephiroth's? It may have been simple ignorance, the knowledge of what He was may have been the undoing of His sanity. But . . . it seems so strange to me, that Sephiroth, so steadfast, powerful, and obstinate, would let Jenova destroy Him. It didn't seem like He would really care that much . . . then what was it, that made Him . . . what made Him become what he became?
Vincent sits down at my side, disturbing my thoughts.
"I've only just thought of something that might help." His eyes are unfocused and the barest sheen of perspiration shines from what little of his skin I see. I somehow doubt that it is because of physical activity; the workings in his mind have excited him. He is low on ammunition, and I wonder how long he's been trying to purge the forest . . . so that I might be safe.
"What is it?"
"You told me that you didn't want to kill Sephiroth, that you were having second thoughts."
I pause. " . . . Yeah."
"You told me this after you made your recovery in Mideel."
"Yes."
"Tifa . . . spoke to me a little of what happened." He pauses, probably wondering if I am betrayed or angry. It is too far in the past for me to care. "You were able to recover your own mind, your own feelings and aspirations at Mideel."
"Yes . . ."
"Tell me, did you truly want to kill Sephiroth before all that happened? Did you really believe that he was an evil person?"
I close my eyes, and think back to those strange, vague days when my thoughts were not my own. I remember so little, even though it was not long ago. "I . . . I'm . . . don't know. Can't remember."
I open my eyes and see him nod slowly. "Tell me then, would /you/ ever even consider killing him?"
" . . . No, never. Not ever would I . . . I . . . how could I . . . how /did/ I?"
He places his clawed hand on my shoulder, and I inhale slowly to calm myself. It's over, and I can't change it.
"Something in you made you want to kill Sephiroth. Something in /Zack/. His thoughts were yours, his memories were yours, and Zack must have hated or distrusted Sephiroth to the point that he wanted him dead."
I blink slowly, somehow hurt that there is truth there. /I/ would sooner sacrifice the world to Him than kill Him, see His blood on my sword. But, if I didn't remember and Zack's intentions were the only things driving me, then . . . maybe Zack did hate Him. My eyes burn and I bow my head. Zack was Sephiroth's friend at some point, perhaps they were more. But something made Zack . . .
Vincent's eyes are sardonic and I know he derives some morbid satisfaction from solving a part of this. "Do you think Sephiroth would have loved something that hated Him so fiercely?"
I shake my head not to answer Vincent's question, but to deny Zack's hatred. " . . . Zack wasn't one to hate. He was very kind . . ." A memory that I've had for some time, one that I know to be true, surfaces from the chaos of my mind.
//I am frightened, I know something is terribly wrong. Some twisted energy crackles through the air, and I feel as if I'm lost in some vortex. The reactor surges with this alien feeling and /terrible/ atmosphere. I am so very very frightened. My knees shake and my hands can barely grip my sword. I don't know what exactly is wrong, but I feel it, something there. When I see Zack, it doesn't register. My mind is too shot to be surprised by the blood pouring from his body and the twisted angle of his limbs and spine. He is alive . . . barely conscious but he is breathing and alive . . . and /seething/.
"Cloud . . . kill Sephiroth."
I choke back the vomit rising in my throat and swallow heavily. He is not trying to be merciful, he does not want this because he feels it is the best course of action. He is /angry/. I see the lush velvet depths of his eyes contract and dilate with rage, deception. His movements suggest that he is nowhere near coherency, hands twitching and body convulsing, but his eyes are so deadly sure and serious, that my grip tightens around his sword . . . and I ascend.//
"He wanted you to kill Sephiroth in the reactor. The memories you've been describing to me, in which both of you are so completely dependent and in love with each other. If Zack loved Sephiroth the way you did, there is no way he could have hated him, inconceivable he'd wish him dead."
Like all those years ago, I feel my stomach turn and bile rise to my throat. I shake my head, try to deny it. Logic . . . common sense, things that evaded me even when I was myself. So now more than ever, I have trouble finding reason to prove Vincent wrong, to show that Zack didn't hate him; that Sephiroth was not betrayed by the one person He trusted. Something in the back of my mind screams at me . . . something I know to be true. "But . . . no, he wouldn't. Couldn't. In, back, in . . . the lab, when we were trapped. Zack spoke of Sephiroth, that's how I got these memories. They're nice memories, he wouldn't . . .Zack wouldn't say nice things about someone he wanted to kill." I do not see anything around me, my mind has plunged far back, desperately clutching at the tattered visages of my memories.
"Cloud." I look up at him and my mind feels sick, toxic. 'You know as well as I do that not all of the memories you have are positive. And besides, did it ever occur to that Zack may have only shared some of his memories for your benefit? That he wanted your mind not on your present, but somewhere he knew that you would want to be."
I cover my mouth to try and quell my nausea, my eyes close and tears slide silently down my face. That sounds like Zack, he would have told me things I wanted to hear. He would have spoken only things that would make me happy. But . . . I refuse to believe that Zack, who was always kind, and always forgiving, would wish Sephiroth dead. "No . . . even if they weren't lovers, and just acquaintances or friends, Zack wasn't like that. He wouldn't have been so vindictive."
"Then where did you get those feelings? That desire to kill?"
"I don't know dammit! I was confused and frustrated! I /won't/ believe it."
Vincent's eyes grow bright with concern and he reaches an entreating palm out to silence me, to make me settle down.
I do relax, afraid that if I don't I might lose it again . . . and that would hurt Vincent. My lips twitch in what would almost be a sardonic smile when I realize that I'm more concerned with him than I am for myself. "So . . . you think it was me."
He sighs. "It appears to me . . . that Zack did not love Sephiroth with as much passion as you have described to me in your memories. So if those memories were not his . . ."
He doesn't need to finish. I think about slitting my wrists but my sword is strapped to my chocobo who is grazing nearby. It was . . . me? How did I do it . . . how could I betray him so much, and I didn't do it just once. I am beyond tears, I just want to die. I want my mind to shut down forever.
"Cloud, we do not know for certain. There . . . still might be other evidence to suggest an alternate solution. My assumptions have been based only on what you have divulged so far. There are still many missing pieces. I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions. Try to think, I'm sure you'll come up with something that may counteract my ideas."
"I was just now thinking of when . . . or no, it must have been when I was sleeping. I remember when Sephiroth first told me about how Hojo experimented on Him. There was something . . . I was upset with Him, because . . . He didn't hate Hojo. . ."
// "He was never unkind to me. At least when he wasn't distracted by his professional career. Even then he didn't do those things to be unkind to me. He made me feel wanted and like perhaps I was worth more than everyone else. The other lab assistants weren't to touch me. They weren't to feed me or speak to me. Hojo did those things for them. He gave me books to read, and let me play in the lab if he was working. He knew I was intrigued by the sciences and allowed me to infuse my mind with knowledge. And though he did hit me often, and was frequently abusive verbally . . . He loved me. He would pet me, and call me pretty, and tell me how much better I was than anyone else was. And though I am loathe to admit it now, I needed to hear those things, much more then than I do now. I wanted to be better, needed to feel accepted. Hojo provided me with that. He was my mentor and in my youth taught me more about the algebraics of the world than most will ever learn throughout the entirety of their lives. It may be true that in the regard of devising theorems and experiments Hojo was weak. He merely borrowed what he could from professor Gast, but that is not to say that he is without a certain genius. I am indebted to him. He saw something in me that no one else would. And I do believe that he loved me at one point, though he never said so. I do not deny that I have been through hell more times than I can count. Not a single one of my bones has gone unbroken, and not a centimeter of my body was left unbruised. It made me stronger, and for that I cannot hate Him . . ."//
"He didn't hate Hojo . . . and if Sephiroth didn't hate Hojo, then there's no way he could have hated Zack."
Vincent frowns and looks thoughtful. "He didn't?"
The question is soft and spoken with a good degree of sadness. It is sad, that Sephiroth, so intelligent and so strong, was disillusioned by Hojo. Vincent feels it too, almost pity. "Does that make you sad, Vincent?" I see Him still in myself for a brief moment, and it gives me the strength to ask.
And he does look surprised that I would say something so brash, and that I might be able to sound so bitter and accusatory. "It does, Cloud. You and I both know Hojo's nature. And I'm sure you can guess that there were methods Hojo took to prevent Sephiroth from hating him. It does make me sad, that Sephiroth found solace in the one place he should have found only hatred and terror."
Whatever fire was in my blood has left me, and now I only feel guilty and stare at the grass. I can't help but notice that its healthier hear than around Corel, green and alive and springy. I press my palm against it and feel the resistance. "I still don't really understand Sephiroth. I don't think I ever did or ever will. But . . . does that mean anything?"
Vincent bows his head in thought and I watch him, not to judge his movements or try to read the thoughtful chaos behind his eyes, but just to see him. To marvel at the beauty that again was created by Hojo. To want to rip that damn cloth from off his face . . . just to see again. He does not look back at me when he speaks. "It might . . . Sephiroth may have been the masochistic type regarding his emotions, he may have needed to feel abused or threatened. It doesn't seem like him though, does it. Not when he was so indomitable and unswerving in his ways."
"It doesn't seem like Him, but his relationship with Hojo doesn't seem like Him either."
"So I suppose all we've learned is that Zack, for whatever reason, was horrifically angry with him and wanted to see him dead."
"Yeah . . ." I realize I'm staring way too late and feel my ears burn though I don't feel embarrassed. I stare at the grass again, shiny with due and bright with a color that seems unnatural to me in the hue of its greenness. "So that means you're still leaving."
He is close enough to abduct my hand from its resting place in the grass. The impression of my palm makes the grass lay flat, and I wish I hadn't rested it there for so long. "Nibelheim is close. I will hurry, and should make it there within the span of a day. I will work all night and try to find some clue as to what happened and what Sephiroth felt. Then I will return. I will be gone only two days, three at the very most. And I think your strong enough to at least defend yourself and provide for yourself."
I nod quietly and feel ill. I stand and the pain in my muscles is something expected and customary. "Stay with me today at least. Let's continue here, try to get rid of some of those damn leaf things."
Vincent stands and I hear the click of his gun as he pulls back the hammer. I retrieve my sword and lick my lips, wishing I could taste gunpowder there.
A:N/ Sorry for the massive delay, but I am having the /worst/ time rewriting that lemon! It will get done eventually, but as of yet I still have a ways to go. Until then this was chapter possibly 8 and sorry for not updating sooner. I seem to have trouble writing in the winter.
My world is timeless. Perhaps winter and summer blink the world alive. Outside. Maybe I'm an old man now. I have enough stories to be one of those fireside grandfather's whose wrinkled, trembling hands illustrate eons of life. Of wisdom. I want to be wise. I want to shout my stories to the stars and send them swirling through the fires. About that vain little girl and the way the mountain swallowed her. And her father who hit me. I would weave my tales of amber lights and sleepless nights watching the wax of candles drip to the floor. I used to let wax drip on my skin, to feel the burn, to feel connected and alive, to see how it looked like my skin was diseased when there were lots of tiny drops of wax. Like lepers or plague victims. Of pollen stained faces and imps that danced in the dew of the jungle. Of fire. Of the Angel of Death, whose beauty betrays Him. Of SOLDIER and missions and war; flying death and grass and blood. Spinning bodies, whirling poison. Green-fire reeling through my mind and jolting through my nerves, crushing my very bones to dust.
One day they will build great stone monuments to my stories. I might even be hailed as a god. Just like . . . He was.//
Gunpowder on my lips wakes me. For a moment I wonder if Vincent has kissed me, but I see him firing rounds above my head. Bullet shells fall around my face like rain, and the air is thick with smoke and the savor of Vincent's rifle. I sigh, it's not even light out yet. "Keep it down will, ya."
Vincent glances at me with a peculiar glint in his eye. He fires one more shot. Lowers his gun and looks back up. I hear Hades' name on his lips, and wonder if the demon will still answer to him. None have answered to me. I close my eyes and drown out the sounds of battle, not caring what he is fighting or why. I struggle to remember where we are. It reminds me of Gongaga. Zack used to gibe himself about being from such a small, mundane town, but I know he loved it. He talked about it endlessly. About the weapons smith who would sit atop the furs of wild cats, the first man to let Zack hold a sword. About how before the reactor was built, the whole town was lit up at night with hundreds of tiny candles. About the wild tropical flowers that had so many colors and were so large, they could be worn as hats.
"Damn birds," Vincent mutters and sits back down silently, eyeing me reproachfully.
"I always thought those leaf things were more annoying, but if you wanna shoot birds, then at least wait till dawn. I'm still tired."
"I apologize," he says softly and with some restraint.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and massage my temples. Head always hurts. "I keep having . . . weird dreams. For a while they were coherent, like memories, but now its all fire, and dancing, and hedonism. It's confusing."
He is silent for a long moment, and I feel as if I've been talking too much, that what I've shared with him is trivial and could never matter. Somehow I fear that Vincent will abandon me here, leaving me to face a fate much worse than death. I torture myself enough as it is . . . and though I deserve it, I cannot do it alone. I am beyond being broken, but solitude will surely shatter me. I speak my thoughts, even though they have nothing to do with anything. "Please . . . don't leave."
He places the cold metal of his hand on my shoulder, the gesture more personal and loyal than if he had used his human hand. "I'll stay as long as I can."
"W-what?" I had told him not to leave only because my mind had somehow wandered to that place where I might be left in solitude. I never really expected him to acknowledge my words . . . never thought he would really leave me here. My hand somehow wanders up to clutch his human one with a fervent desperation. "You /can't/ leave, I don't know what I might do if you leave me alone. Please, don't leave me. . ."
"I'll stay as long as I can."
Hot tears run down my cheeks. "Don't leave." For some reason, suicide is beyond me. Too good, or not good enough, or physically impossible. I couldn't do it, I know that if I tried I'd simply awake again and find my self in eternal misery. Eternally alone. No way to /ever/ get Him back. And I will not be abandoned again. My world tilts on some foreign axis and leaves me trembling and struggling for air, for coherency. "You'll leave me like Zack left me and like He left me. You /can't/. The world will end . . . the world will end. If you leave me here, /everything/ will die." He is speaking to me, trying to pacify me, make me stop sobbing. I don't understand the words, can't distinguish them from my own babbling. Something snaps beneath my grip. "/You'll/ die. The world . . . I wanna die. Just fucking kill me, /please/!"
"It's okay Cloud, I'll stay here with you. Cloud please, stop it. I'm trying to help you. Cloud . . . you're /hurting/ me."
I blink my tears away and see my own hand gripping Vincent's. Too hard, too strong. I let go quickly and have time to see the bloodless imprints that my fingers have made on his skin and the bruising of the veins. //"What would you do if I became a monster?"// I see Vincent withdraw just slightly and try to rub the feeling back into his arm. "I . . . sorry. Monster . . . I knew I would be a monster . . . No one can bring me back anymore . . . Only . . . Him." I pull my knees up to my chin and stare through the tear blur of my eyes, at the breaking dawn.
"I want to bring you back Cloud." The words are so soft, I think for a moment it might have been the wind or some rustling of grass, but it's not. Vincent is staring at me with lamenting eyes and deep remorse; I swear I see a tear drip from those crimson depths. He moves swiftly and I do not have time to track his movements before I am in his arms. "I won't hurt you."
My arms snake around Vincent's too-thin body against my will. He pulls me closer and rests his chin on my shoulder and the contact feels so alien and strange. But I can't pull myself from him. "You never should have helped me." He only pulls me closer and I might be delusional, and I might be insane, but the fabric on my shirt collar is wet with what can only be tears. "Why a-are you crying?" I feel him breathing beneath my arms, a struggled rise and fall of his chest, and I wonder how badly I hurt him. He does not respond for a long time, only steadies himself against me. Perhaps I am comforting him more than he is comforting me. I rub my fingers along his back and even through the layers of clothing, feel the vague ridges of his spine. "I'm so sorry, Vincent. I hurt you." I inadvertently pull him closer and squeeze my eyes shut at how weightless he is. Like a bird. He still doesn't speak, doesn't do anything. "Please!" Something snaps in my brain and there is a flash of the whitest light.
//"What's it like?" I can't see his face through the blur, but I know he's smiling in that far-off way.
"Transcendent."//
I feel like I'm floating, like all the nerves in my body have detached and are reaching upwards in the heavens. Where all the angels are waiting for me.
// " . . . real prick sometimes." He turns to glare at me and I know that it's none of my business but I don't understand why he needs to act this way.
"I do what I have to . . . stay grounded."//
The world is pulling at me and I feel Mako energy in my veins trying to get back to the source, to the core and it pulls me down too quick. And I'm falling.
// "Tell me! Please, I wanna know . . ."
". . . very secret. No one knows . . . so dark."//
I see nothing feel nothing. Nothing. Maybe slight panic at the utter lack of sensation but the world holds nothing for me. No light or darkness, no state of being.
" . . . cloud . . ."
Maybe I'm dead. Maybe He's finally calling me home. And I embrace it. I want to go to Him. I want to be anywhere but here. I want to /feel/.
" . . . Cloud . . ."
This is His voice, sweet, brazen, soft. Tears creep from my eyes. Its been too long since I heard His voice, with His words. I see Him with His wings and arms outstretched, ready to hold me tight forever, so that I'm never ever left alone and so I /never/ have to hurt again.
"Cloud . . ."
I'm so sick of the pain and the waiting and the exhaustion. I'm tired of games. Of always guessing and never ever knowing. "Was it me Sephiroth? Was it me that you loved?"
"Cloud! CLOUD! PLEASE!"
And my angel evaporates from behind my field of vision and my eyes snap open and I see the lightening sky, my hands outstretched but looking mangled and twisted. I inhale sharply and the return of breath to my lungs sends sharp pains through every nerve in my body and I tremble at the feeling. The tears I wept for Sephiroth, for hearing Him and having Him want me, turn sour and cold on my cheeks. Some alien pathetic noise escapes my lips and I curl onto my side. And Vincent is here. Arms enfolding me like the wings of Chaos. And his eyes mourn with ages of grief, timeless woe. "What happened?"
He holds me closer still and He is not so cold and unfamiliar as before. "It's okay. I think just a small fit of epilepsy. It will be fine, Cloud."
I shed exhausted tears and cannot move away from Vincent's warmth. "Why do you have to abandon me?"
He presses his forehead to mine in a gesture so unlike him it frightens me. I'm forced into his eyes and I see no hatred or betrayal, but why then? "I want to help you. There are certain items in Nibelheim that may help us. Hojo's journals never made sense to us before, but now that we know what happened, we may be able to put the pieces of these riddles together."
"I don't wanna go to Nibelheim." I feel so frail in his arms. Maybe it is just the reserve, the care in which he touches me. So wrong. So horribly wrong.
"I know, Cloud. That's why I brought you here. I'll stay with you here for a few days, but then I should go. I won't be gone long. I swear to you that I'll return." He is so close to me I can see the way the fabric covering his mouth shifts and moves as he breathes or speaks. It's stupid really, to always keep your mouth covered like that. I pull the fabric down and watch his lips appear.
"There."
He does not flinch, or even blink when I touch his lips. I want to see if they're cold like the rest of him, or if perhaps they aren't even real, just some image my mind conjured up. I pull my hands away and when I try to move away from him, I find myself somehow closer to him, nestled in the safety of his arms. In my minds eye I see Sephiroth, somewhere high among the clouds, staring down at me, then turning away with the muted resonant whisper of a thousand wings. I try to pull away. And I see Zack staring at me with raging eyes and wondering how it is that I cannot love him. And I still cannot pull away. Maybe it's because even Vincent has some of Jenova's magnetism, some of her pull. And I cannot wrench myself from his gravity for anything. So I sleep.
//His eyes are eerily blank.
"Why are you so adamant in knowing?" He turns towards the window and stares vacantly at the city lights outside. I wonder if He notices how beautiful it is. "To acquire knowledge is something that many people aspire for; a strong mind is covetous. I admire your quest for knowledge, Cloud, but did you ever consider that some things might be best left unlearned? Did it ever occur to you that no one knows of my origins for a reason?"
His tone is even, no emotion, and it scathes me even more than if He were screaming at me or strangling me with fury. I sigh and drag my hands through my hair. "I . . . I only want to know if you want to tell me."
He turns back to face me, some wry, not-quite bitter look in his eyes. "Frankly, I don't."
"Damn it, Sephiroth. I /do/ want to know. It's driving me insane that I don't know! And . . . nothing, I don't care if you tell me the most horrible thing in the world. Nothing can change the way I feel about you. /Nothing/."
He scoffs and walks toward me with horrible deliberation and just the slightest edge of danger. "And why is that? Because I'm beautiful? Because I can send you up the ranks?"
"Oh quiet. You know that's not true." He catches my jaw between His gloved fingers and bends low to stare me in the eyes.
"Then why?"
I can never answer this question and I know it kills Him. He needs reassurance, just to make sure that I'm not using Him like everyone else does. I don't know why I love Him. I just do. "Cuz." His hand drops and He picks up His façade and turns away before I can even begin to gauge any sort of reaction. "Sephiroth, I'm not using you. I don't want anything from you except . . . you. Please, just /talk/ to me."
"What have you heard so far." It is not a question, stated too blandly to really even be considered a statement. He stares listlessly at the snifter on the table, no doubt wishing His thoughts to be drenched in alcohol."
"Is it true you grew up in the lab? Is it true Hojo raised you?"
His eyes do not stray, no muscles in His body twitches with emotion or flinches at memory. "Yes."
"Did . . . did he do experiments on you?" I abandon all caution, because He knows what I want to ask anyways. All I have to do is say it.
The reply is softer this time and His eyes grow unfocused, distant. " . . . Yes."
"Tell me what he did . . .please"
He shakes His head and turns to go stand by the window again, peering out into the city like there's nothing wrong.
"Please, Seph. I wanna talk to you." I know it's probably the wrong thing to do, but I move to stand behind Him and place my hands on His sides, still too afraid to embrace Him completely. "Tell me."
He releases the air from His lungs in what might almost be a sigh. "Mostly Mako."
"Did it hurt?"
". . . Yes." Barely a whisper and I see His reflection in the glass, His eyes glow pale in His effort to withdraw, to disassociate Himself with His past. "Mako burns, Cloud. Cauterizes the mind and stings the senses. He . . ."
"I won't ever judge you Sephiroth."
"He did other things as well." His voice is observant yet achingly soft, with only the slightest emphasis on words. "He . . . wanted to see the science in me. Wanted to see how I could kill, how I could heal." I take the next step and slide my arms around His waist and lean my cheek against His shoulder. "It began simply. He would fracture my bones and compare the rates at which they healed if more Mako was added to my system."
//I bite my lip to keep from screaming as my femur is snapped. I taste blood and scream anyways.//
"Things escalated with his curiosity, his morbidity. Head wounds, flesh wounds, internal bleeding. All inflicted by him for the specific intent to see how I would conquer the pain and the damage. Physically, I became accustomed to pain. I knew nothing else. I was made to do mental exercises as well, not quite as painful, but some of the psychological studies were unpleasant. He made me kill people. ShinRa army recruits. He would always watch me do it, and he enjoyed to see them die. Enjoyed the fact that I didn't know any better." He bows his head, eyes more mournful than I have ever seen them. I wipe the tears from my eyes quickly and lead Him to the couch so we can sit down. So He can have His drink. He doesn't reach for it. He reaches for /me/. It is not a physical gesture but I feel His will pulling me towards Him. I crawl into His embrace and hold back the tears threatening to choke me. "I don't like killing people, Cloud."
I slide my arms around His shoulders and kiss His face with vague abandon.
"And the experiments always got worse. Hojo . . . is imaginative and devised many ways to . . ."
" . . . torture you."
He shuts His eyes. Does not concur with my assessment but makes no move to deny it. I notice with a good deal of sadness, that Sephiroth isn't as articulate as He might be. Pausing too long in the middle of phrases and fumbling with words. Even such trite trivial miscommunication errors signal distress in The General.
"The worst one I remember. He . . . did an autopsy, I don't know why. On me. He cut me open and tore me apart. And every time I was rendered unconscious he would use electric shock to revive me. To make sure that I felt everything he was doing to me."
// "Revive him. Let's see how long specimen C can handle it. Specimen Z did fairly well."//
I was expecting the worst, but that. My mind refuses to even go there. "Oh, Seph. I'm so sorry. I won't hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you ever again."
//"If you put your mind somewhere else, it wont hurt so much. Just think of someplace you want to be."//
Neither of us speak for a long time. The silence swallows me and my movements are painfully loud. I try not to swallow or move. "You must hate him."
I don't think he realizes I've spoken until a few seconds later. His eyes distant and glassy, he shakes his head very slowly. "No. I don't."
"What?" My voice is too sharp, too abrasive for the silence of his quarters.
His entreating aura disappears, and instead I feel as if He is pushing me away. "You couldn't understand. I know what sort of reputation Hojo has down in the ranks. Hojo is a man with no mercy and little remorse."
"But! Who cares what his reputation is! What you told me just confirmed that everything people say about him is true! If anything, what they say is an understatement. Seph. What he did to you was awful. No one should have to live through that, not anyone."
"So you think that if I hate, then perhaps that will make things better."
I falter and He stands up, pours himself a drink and stares out at the city. "It won't fix anything, you're right. But, how could you possibly not hate him?"
He shrugs indifferently. "How many people in this world do you hate." He swirls the amber liquid in his glass and frowns thoughtfully at it, but does not drink.
"I . . . Sephiroth, you have to understand that no one has ever been so . . . deliberately cruel to me."
"You are naïve Cloud."
". . . Maybe so, but. If anyone did anything like that to me I would hate them."
"I won't let anyone do anything like that to you."
"Quit changing the subject Sephiroth! I feel like there's something you're keeping from me. I /know/ it. You're hesitating too much, and thinking too hard."
He smiles vaguely at the outside. "How can you tell."
Never a question. "Because, you're dodging me. And you're not drinking."
He frowns, not at his liquor but at me. "Perhaps we've been spending too much time together, if you can read me that well."
I cower inadvertently, knowing that if I push much harder he truly will cut himself off from me. Ignore me, pretend I'm not here. "Sorry, Seph. If you don't wanna talk about it's okay. I just wanna show you that I love you and that nothing can ever change that."
He drinks. "Don't say such things if you are unsure of them."
I bow my head and tears creep slowly down my cheeks. He's says thing like this all the time, that I don't love Him or wont love Him, or that I'll hurt Him. I watch as He stands unmoving by the window. And I turn to leave.//
Strange how for some reason I thought He was gone. I wonder why, I don't really remember, some silly dream. I have such dreams sometimes, that I'm alone and that He's left me. But He's here with His arms around me. I pull Him closer, wonder where we are and why I can't remember. "Good morning," I mumble, and nuzzle into the warm hollow of His neck.
". . . Cloud?"
Something wrong, in His tone . . . and in His voice. I open my eyes and cry out, leap back. "Fuck!" In a rush, I remember. I knew it . . . I knew that one day I would forget, and one day I would . . . do something to Vincent. But I forget only for a few bittersweet moments; then I remember. Remembrance is not so painful as it should be, I feel like killing Him never left, even though for a few moments it did. It's like the pain never went away. I guess it didn't. "Sorry, Vincent. I . . . I guess I just thought you were . . . Him." He looks rattled, in his own unshakable way, and sits up a little shaky to stare at the light filtering through the leaves above us. "I'm sorry," I say and sound for some reason desperate.
He closes His eyes tight and buries his head in his arms. "My fault Cloud. Entirely my fault."
He sounds so mournful. For a brief moment I wonder what I've done to him, how helping me may have simply begun to fray his own mind as well. "I . . . Vincent, I don't understand."
He shakes his head and situates his cloak and covers his face; he had looked so vulnerable when it was exposed. He stands and hoists his gun over his shoulder, eyes searching the forest around us. Seeing things only trained eyes can see.
"Vincent . . . you said you'd be open with me. You know I don't like secrets, they kill people."
He bows his head and his hands drop gracefully to his sides. "It is my fault Cloud. You thought I was Sephiroth, because of the ways I was . . . touching you, holding you. I shouldn't take advantage of you like that. It will only destroy your psyche further." I ignore his comment about my destroyed psyche, somehow hurt and offended even though I know it's true. "You . . . but you . . . you don't think of me as Lu . . . you . . . do you . . ."
He turns and his ember eyes are both mournful and angry. "Yes Cloud. I want to hold you, and touch you. Is that what you wanted to ask?"
I bow my head and cannot hold back the tears. I do not question him further, afraid of what he's thinking or what I might be thinking and what he'll say and what I'll do if he says what I think he might if I continue to talk to him. But maybe . . . I should just ask him. Why he's helping me when no one else would or could. Why he continues to stay with me even though we both know it's hopeless. Why I can make him cry when no one else can. Maybe I should just ask him why . . . and if. By the time I look up, he is far away, searching for something to kill. It does not occur to me to assist him.
I sit in the grass and watch bugs hop by and resent the sun, as I knew I would. I try to scramble in the darkest shade of the tree I am under, needing to be out of the sun, not just because its hurts my skin, but because I hate it and even if I didn't, I wouldn't deserve it. I wish I could transform, like Vincent can. That in the day I might be a pale, fragile creature that cowers in the sun, and at night the moon makes me mad and I change into some horrible winged creature, who feels only pain and fear. Or maybe . . . would it be more tragic if I were to be beautiful? Some silver moon-sheathed angel that weeps at night for the loss of all beauty. I could be an imperfect copy of my Angel, just as Hojo wanted me to be. I frown when I realize his genius and wonder how something so evil, someone that I hated so much could create something so perfect, someone that I loved. Sephiroth's beauty was no fluke and no flaw. I see much of the same in Vincent, the eyes, the high cheekbones, the full, austere lips. And the ghost of Lucrecia, even the pale half glow of her specter, was beautiful. But the physical prowess and mental strength were Hojo. The flawless, sculpted body created through Hojo's training. The hidden, gentle disposition, also because of Hojo and his calculated cruelty. How is it that Hojo produced something so flawless? But then . . . I suppose even He wasn't perfect. My mind stings at the acknowledgement. The one constant in my life, the one thing I could count on, was His perfection; having that anchor pulled from me may have been what destroyed me. But I like the tragic ones. I like the broken and bleeding type. I enjoy the drama and the unfolding of secrets. I think maybe a lot of people do. They want the ones who have been abused and hurt. I recall some horrible lessons in school about literary characters and their tragic flaws. What was Sephiroth's? It may have been simple ignorance, the knowledge of what He was may have been the undoing of His sanity. But . . . it seems so strange to me, that Sephiroth, so steadfast, powerful, and obstinate, would let Jenova destroy Him. It didn't seem like He would really care that much . . . then what was it, that made Him . . . what made Him become what he became?
Vincent sits down at my side, disturbing my thoughts.
"I've only just thought of something that might help." His eyes are unfocused and the barest sheen of perspiration shines from what little of his skin I see. I somehow doubt that it is because of physical activity; the workings in his mind have excited him. He is low on ammunition, and I wonder how long he's been trying to purge the forest . . . so that I might be safe.
"What is it?"
"You told me that you didn't want to kill Sephiroth, that you were having second thoughts."
I pause. " . . . Yeah."
"You told me this after you made your recovery in Mideel."
"Yes."
"Tifa . . . spoke to me a little of what happened." He pauses, probably wondering if I am betrayed or angry. It is too far in the past for me to care. "You were able to recover your own mind, your own feelings and aspirations at Mideel."
"Yes . . ."
"Tell me, did you truly want to kill Sephiroth before all that happened? Did you really believe that he was an evil person?"
I close my eyes, and think back to those strange, vague days when my thoughts were not my own. I remember so little, even though it was not long ago. "I . . . I'm . . . don't know. Can't remember."
I open my eyes and see him nod slowly. "Tell me then, would /you/ ever even consider killing him?"
" . . . No, never. Not ever would I . . . I . . . how could I . . . how /did/ I?"
He places his clawed hand on my shoulder, and I inhale slowly to calm myself. It's over, and I can't change it.
"Something in you made you want to kill Sephiroth. Something in /Zack/. His thoughts were yours, his memories were yours, and Zack must have hated or distrusted Sephiroth to the point that he wanted him dead."
I blink slowly, somehow hurt that there is truth there. /I/ would sooner sacrifice the world to Him than kill Him, see His blood on my sword. But, if I didn't remember and Zack's intentions were the only things driving me, then . . . maybe Zack did hate Him. My eyes burn and I bow my head. Zack was Sephiroth's friend at some point, perhaps they were more. But something made Zack . . .
Vincent's eyes are sardonic and I know he derives some morbid satisfaction from solving a part of this. "Do you think Sephiroth would have loved something that hated Him so fiercely?"
I shake my head not to answer Vincent's question, but to deny Zack's hatred. " . . . Zack wasn't one to hate. He was very kind . . ." A memory that I've had for some time, one that I know to be true, surfaces from the chaos of my mind.
//I am frightened, I know something is terribly wrong. Some twisted energy crackles through the air, and I feel as if I'm lost in some vortex. The reactor surges with this alien feeling and /terrible/ atmosphere. I am so very very frightened. My knees shake and my hands can barely grip my sword. I don't know what exactly is wrong, but I feel it, something there. When I see Zack, it doesn't register. My mind is too shot to be surprised by the blood pouring from his body and the twisted angle of his limbs and spine. He is alive . . . barely conscious but he is breathing and alive . . . and /seething/.
"Cloud . . . kill Sephiroth."
I choke back the vomit rising in my throat and swallow heavily. He is not trying to be merciful, he does not want this because he feels it is the best course of action. He is /angry/. I see the lush velvet depths of his eyes contract and dilate with rage, deception. His movements suggest that he is nowhere near coherency, hands twitching and body convulsing, but his eyes are so deadly sure and serious, that my grip tightens around his sword . . . and I ascend.//
"He wanted you to kill Sephiroth in the reactor. The memories you've been describing to me, in which both of you are so completely dependent and in love with each other. If Zack loved Sephiroth the way you did, there is no way he could have hated him, inconceivable he'd wish him dead."
Like all those years ago, I feel my stomach turn and bile rise to my throat. I shake my head, try to deny it. Logic . . . common sense, things that evaded me even when I was myself. So now more than ever, I have trouble finding reason to prove Vincent wrong, to show that Zack didn't hate him; that Sephiroth was not betrayed by the one person He trusted. Something in the back of my mind screams at me . . . something I know to be true. "But . . . no, he wouldn't. Couldn't. In, back, in . . . the lab, when we were trapped. Zack spoke of Sephiroth, that's how I got these memories. They're nice memories, he wouldn't . . .Zack wouldn't say nice things about someone he wanted to kill." I do not see anything around me, my mind has plunged far back, desperately clutching at the tattered visages of my memories.
"Cloud." I look up at him and my mind feels sick, toxic. 'You know as well as I do that not all of the memories you have are positive. And besides, did it ever occur to that Zack may have only shared some of his memories for your benefit? That he wanted your mind not on your present, but somewhere he knew that you would want to be."
I cover my mouth to try and quell my nausea, my eyes close and tears slide silently down my face. That sounds like Zack, he would have told me things I wanted to hear. He would have spoken only things that would make me happy. But . . . I refuse to believe that Zack, who was always kind, and always forgiving, would wish Sephiroth dead. "No . . . even if they weren't lovers, and just acquaintances or friends, Zack wasn't like that. He wouldn't have been so vindictive."
"Then where did you get those feelings? That desire to kill?"
"I don't know dammit! I was confused and frustrated! I /won't/ believe it."
Vincent's eyes grow bright with concern and he reaches an entreating palm out to silence me, to make me settle down.
I do relax, afraid that if I don't I might lose it again . . . and that would hurt Vincent. My lips twitch in what would almost be a sardonic smile when I realize that I'm more concerned with him than I am for myself. "So . . . you think it was me."
He sighs. "It appears to me . . . that Zack did not love Sephiroth with as much passion as you have described to me in your memories. So if those memories were not his . . ."
He doesn't need to finish. I think about slitting my wrists but my sword is strapped to my chocobo who is grazing nearby. It was . . . me? How did I do it . . . how could I betray him so much, and I didn't do it just once. I am beyond tears, I just want to die. I want my mind to shut down forever.
"Cloud, we do not know for certain. There . . . still might be other evidence to suggest an alternate solution. My assumptions have been based only on what you have divulged so far. There are still many missing pieces. I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions. Try to think, I'm sure you'll come up with something that may counteract my ideas."
"I was just now thinking of when . . . or no, it must have been when I was sleeping. I remember when Sephiroth first told me about how Hojo experimented on Him. There was something . . . I was upset with Him, because . . . He didn't hate Hojo. . ."
// "He was never unkind to me. At least when he wasn't distracted by his professional career. Even then he didn't do those things to be unkind to me. He made me feel wanted and like perhaps I was worth more than everyone else. The other lab assistants weren't to touch me. They weren't to feed me or speak to me. Hojo did those things for them. He gave me books to read, and let me play in the lab if he was working. He knew I was intrigued by the sciences and allowed me to infuse my mind with knowledge. And though he did hit me often, and was frequently abusive verbally . . . He loved me. He would pet me, and call me pretty, and tell me how much better I was than anyone else was. And though I am loathe to admit it now, I needed to hear those things, much more then than I do now. I wanted to be better, needed to feel accepted. Hojo provided me with that. He was my mentor and in my youth taught me more about the algebraics of the world than most will ever learn throughout the entirety of their lives. It may be true that in the regard of devising theorems and experiments Hojo was weak. He merely borrowed what he could from professor Gast, but that is not to say that he is without a certain genius. I am indebted to him. He saw something in me that no one else would. And I do believe that he loved me at one point, though he never said so. I do not deny that I have been through hell more times than I can count. Not a single one of my bones has gone unbroken, and not a centimeter of my body was left unbruised. It made me stronger, and for that I cannot hate Him . . ."//
"He didn't hate Hojo . . . and if Sephiroth didn't hate Hojo, then there's no way he could have hated Zack."
Vincent frowns and looks thoughtful. "He didn't?"
The question is soft and spoken with a good degree of sadness. It is sad, that Sephiroth, so intelligent and so strong, was disillusioned by Hojo. Vincent feels it too, almost pity. "Does that make you sad, Vincent?" I see Him still in myself for a brief moment, and it gives me the strength to ask.
And he does look surprised that I would say something so brash, and that I might be able to sound so bitter and accusatory. "It does, Cloud. You and I both know Hojo's nature. And I'm sure you can guess that there were methods Hojo took to prevent Sephiroth from hating him. It does make me sad, that Sephiroth found solace in the one place he should have found only hatred and terror."
Whatever fire was in my blood has left me, and now I only feel guilty and stare at the grass. I can't help but notice that its healthier hear than around Corel, green and alive and springy. I press my palm against it and feel the resistance. "I still don't really understand Sephiroth. I don't think I ever did or ever will. But . . . does that mean anything?"
Vincent bows his head in thought and I watch him, not to judge his movements or try to read the thoughtful chaos behind his eyes, but just to see him. To marvel at the beauty that again was created by Hojo. To want to rip that damn cloth from off his face . . . just to see again. He does not look back at me when he speaks. "It might . . . Sephiroth may have been the masochistic type regarding his emotions, he may have needed to feel abused or threatened. It doesn't seem like him though, does it. Not when he was so indomitable and unswerving in his ways."
"It doesn't seem like Him, but his relationship with Hojo doesn't seem like Him either."
"So I suppose all we've learned is that Zack, for whatever reason, was horrifically angry with him and wanted to see him dead."
"Yeah . . ." I realize I'm staring way too late and feel my ears burn though I don't feel embarrassed. I stare at the grass again, shiny with due and bright with a color that seems unnatural to me in the hue of its greenness. "So that means you're still leaving."
He is close enough to abduct my hand from its resting place in the grass. The impression of my palm makes the grass lay flat, and I wish I hadn't rested it there for so long. "Nibelheim is close. I will hurry, and should make it there within the span of a day. I will work all night and try to find some clue as to what happened and what Sephiroth felt. Then I will return. I will be gone only two days, three at the very most. And I think your strong enough to at least defend yourself and provide for yourself."
I nod quietly and feel ill. I stand and the pain in my muscles is something expected and customary. "Stay with me today at least. Let's continue here, try to get rid of some of those damn leaf things."
Vincent stands and I hear the click of his gun as he pulls back the hammer. I retrieve my sword and lick my lips, wishing I could taste gunpowder there.
A:N/ Sorry for the massive delay, but I am having the /worst/ time rewriting that lemon! It will get done eventually, but as of yet I still have a ways to go. Until then this was chapter possibly 8 and sorry for not updating sooner. I seem to have trouble writing in the winter.