Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 belongs to Square. What…you didn't think Square just up and sold me the rights to it, do you? *hysterical laughter* Yeah right! The three bucks in my pocket, a bunch of college texts I don't read, and my bizarre little CD collection wouldn't buy one of Square's garbage cans.
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Hmm…you're not going to let that stop you, are you?
Of course not. You're mine.
Hurry up!
Sephiroth's emerald eyes fluttered open, slowly, until they found and focused on a pair of hollow black orbs leering above him…at which point it dawned on him where he was, and then they shot wide. Before he even realized what he was doing, he bolted upright with an angry start, a movement swiftly and adversely rewarded with a brutal stab of cold fire in his middle.
Stifling a low groan, he gingerly settled back down, his eyes briefly drifting shut as he brought a hand to his now-throbbing head…only to quickly open them when he felt how stiff the supple leather of his glove had become -- stiff with his own dried blood.
(…Bailey. That's right…)
"Good morning…or should I say good evening?" Hojo chuckled. "And how is the new general feeling, hmm?" He turned to retrieve something from the counter behind him.
Sephiroth levered into a sitting position again, this time a good deal more carefully. He glared at the ruined glove a moment longer before uttering a soft snort of contempt. "Fine," he spat in reply, undoing the sturdy silver bands that held both the bloodied article and its intact mate in place. "Just fine."
"You're a poor liar, Sephiroth," Hojo retorted, his back still to the young man.
"And you're a poor father, Hojo," Sephiroth snapped.
"Well! That was…random. What brought this on?" he laughed aloud.
Sephiroth shifted and repositioned himself so that his long legs dangled over the edge of the table. He scowled when he noticed the crimson that had seeped into the glossy black of his coat; he'd bought the garment himself not two days ago with a sizable portion of the accumulation of meager monthly wages over a year's time, and all it'd taken was a gunshot's instant to ruin it.
(Damn it. It's almost a shame Bailey's rotting in hell right now. He owes me a new coat.)
"It's no mystery, Hojo," he finally replied. "And seeing as how you decided to point out a supposed shortcoming of mine, far be it from me not to return the favor with a known shortcoming of yours."
At that the scientist turned. He was holding a small syringe, this one not filled with Mako but with a thin, watery liquid instead. He shook his head, a slight grin playing on his thin lips, not appearing the least bit upset that he'd just been cut down. "A bit bitter, are we?"
Sephiroth tugged his gloves off and tossed them beside him on the steel table. "Call it what you like," he said, his voice low and cool. Absently flexing his slender fingers, he nodded at the syringe. "What's that?"
Hojo didn't press the previous matter; it was -- and always had been -- quite clear that Sephiroth's hatred toward him didn't elicit all that much concern. Any filial affection Sephiroth might have had for him as a small child had long ago vanished, with good reason, and on his behalf there'd never been much, if any, affection to lose.
"It's an agent to expedite the internal healing process," he answered, almost mechanically. He stepped back to the table. "So unless you want to take off that atrocious coat and armor of yours so I can give this to you the conventional way…give me your hand."
Sephiroth only stared hard at Hojo, his verdant gaze boring deep into the scientist's inky orbs. He had no intentions of obliging him with either option. Nor did he buy Hojo's explanation. He never left anything that simple -- and beneficial -- where his treatment was concerned, and there was no reason to believe he'd all of a sudden started to now.
Unflinching, and with a note of sarcasm, he said, "And I'm the poor liar?"
"Nonsense." Hojo grabbed for a hand, seeing as how he clearly wasn't going to get willing compliance.
Ignoring the renewed tug of pain that flared with the motion, Sephiroth vehemently swatted the scientist away with the hand that wasn't being sought and jerked the one that was out of reach. "Yes, it is," he growled, forcing his temper to stay in check so he wouldn't unconsciously display any more rage-wrought pain. "Now tell me what that really is!"
Initially taken aback by Sephiroth's reaction, Hojo glanced down at his stinging hand for a second before raising his eyes to meet his son's, a cold indignation simmering in the obsidian depths. "It never concerned you before, Sephiroth," he hissed. "Don't argue."
"I'm not arguing; I'm demanding."
"Since when do you command me, Sephiroth? I don't care if you're the general of the damned military; I'm not one of those worthless rifle-toting grunts answering to every officer's beck and call…so you will not tell me what to do!"
"Likewise."
"Don't be smart with me." A malicious smirk overtook his incensed glower at the spark of a sudden afterthought. "Son."
Sephiroth's lucent Mako eyes burned so hotly they seemed to absorb the lab's soft, false fluorescence. "If you ever call me that to my face again…"
"…You'll lop off my head? Skewer me with that nasty katana? Really, Sephiroth," he snorted, his grin undiminished. "Get over it. You already tried something like that and it didn't work. Need I keep reminding you?"
A vile knot of rage and disgust clenched in his belly, wrenching yet another knife of fire through the site of his wound. The ferocity in his illumined orbs faded a bit, yet he kept his jaw tight and refused to reveal any discomfort.
He and Hojo wordlessly glared at each other for a long, breathless moment.
There was a freakish, unnerving mix of anger, happiness, and…triumph…swirling behind the scientist's pallid façade. Insanity…?
(He'd be perfect company for Bailey.)
Their gazes yet locked…Sephiroth silently extended a hand.
Hojo's smile turned down a shade, but didn't altogether vanish, as he took an unnecessarily firm grip on the young man's wrist. "Good to see you decided to comply," he remarked, driving the needle with intentional clumsiness into the back of his hand.
Tensing at the initial pinch but relaxing in a snap before it made his stomach pain any worse, Sephiroth softly replied, "Just shut up and get it over with. I need to get a new coat and gloves before I leave for Wutai." His brow furrowed as he felt the liquid, warm and prickling as blood returning to a numb limb -- so different from the chilling fire of Mako -- seep through his veins.
"Already taken care of."
"…"
"The President took it upon himself to see to it that you had your preferred attire when you left…at sunrise. I believe you'll find the necessary replacements at your apartment."
"I don't need to go back there. I'll practice."
"You'll rest."
"You care?"
"You do. I know you're not going there to glorify Shinra." Hojo roughly withdrew the needle. "You've got ten hours until dawn, and I know you well enough to know that you'd be bored out of your mind long before then should you choose to practice the entire time."
(If I knew I'd sleep…I'd love to.)
"And I know you don't want to go to Wutai in a regular uniform."
Sephiroth's eyes narrowed to shards of acid ice. He couldn't stand it when Hojo was right, even if it was over something so trivial.
"…You never did give me a straight answer, though," Hojo said, nudging his slipping glasses back into place, his expression now sober. "How are you feeling?"
He had to know how well the fresh Mako had spurred the Jenova cells' regenerative capabilities. Right now, of all times, he half-heartedly wished Sephiroth would make an effort to repress his inherited tenacity. The fact that it was a trait so over-inflated by the Mako and the Jenova cells…was a good thing, he mentally reminded himself after a second's deliberation. It served the purpose for which Sephiroth existed anyway; at least he wasn't willing to admit to weakness.
"That was as straight of an answer as you'll get, because I know you couldn't possibly give a damn," Sephiroth countered calmly. "I'm alive…so I'm fine."
"You're a terrible liar, yet you seem to excel at playing a hero."
(Enough of this.)
Giving his eyes an incredulous roll, Sephiroth slid forward the scant few inches his feet were off the floor and stood as soon as the soles of his boots hit the solid surface. "Where's the Masamune?" he demanded, snatching up his discarded gloves.
"Right there," Hojo answered curtly, motioning to the katana. "Leaving already?"
"Ten minutes later than I should have," he grumbled, retrieving the slender sheathed blade from where it was propped against a steel storage cabinet in the corner.
"I thought you wanted to know what that substance was." Though Sephiroth had already started for the elevator, he could hear the skewed smirk the little man was flashing at his back.
"Whatever it was, I'm sure I didn't need it." He recognized the taint of Mako in his body like a false blood, and knew good and well it had been responsible for -- and taken care of most of -- the repair his body had required. The pain still remained of course, and would do so for a good while. He had been shot after all.
"What do you plan to do until you leave?"
"Whatever I please," Sephiroth called over his shoulder, his destination nearly reached. "Practice, rest…I'd sit and stare at a wall for ten hours so long as you weren't around."
He stopped in front of the elevator and punched in the residence floor number. After he retrieved his new coat and gloves…he would decide what to do.
After Sephiroth had boarded the elevator and was long out of sight, Hojo laughed softly to himself as he glanced down at the syringe, shifting it slightly in his hand to reveal its label. Though it was written in his hasty, barely legible scrawl, one word clearly stood out -- 'JENOVA.'
"On the contrary, Sephiroth. The more you get of this…the better you perform as the specimen SOLDIER, and the better I look as the superior scientist. Hmm…you need every drop of this I give you…"
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Ten hours -- twelve with the short, inherently awkward jaunt to Junon in which several of the squad of fifty troopers sent with him seriously began to question their sanity at seeing the General look so…healthy a mere day after being shot -- Sephiroth was on his way to Wutai aboard the massive, ugly hulk of a plane he heard the pilot call 'Gelnika.'
The troopers all migrated to the munitions-populated cargo bay to while the time away with idle conversation, sleep, or daydreaming, activities which the lone SOLDIER officer aside from Sephiroth didn't mind in the least. That officer disappeared into the cockpit shortly after take-off.
Which left Sephiroth alone, as he preferred, for the time being. Rather than associate with the troopers or join his fellow officer, he found a vantage point in the far corner of the catwalk that overlooked the cargo bay, a place where, thanks to a burnt-out fluorescent ceiling light, he could be in shadow and go unnoticed from all but the most curiosity-driven eyes.
For, truth be told, despite appearing the relative picture of health -- he couldn't have felt worse.
After leaving the lab, he'd returned to his apartment, where he did indeed find a fresh, identical coat and pair of gloves just as Hojo had said, along with a computer-fabricated letter from the President which ended up untouched in the garbage. If there'd been anything the windbag hadn't told him -- or about him --already…well, he knew it wouldn't be in that mass-copy tripe anyway.
Then, after cleaning up and changing, while he had indeed felt that a good rest was in order…he'd promptly gone to the training court, which he had all to himself the entire time. Maybe he'd just been trying to prove a point, or passively rebel against Hojo…or perhaps it was just an aftereffect of the chemical he'd been given combined with the Mako…adrenaline, or pride, even…but he just hadn't found it in him to sleep.
Now, though…now he wished he would have taken the chance, because he knew he wouldn't get to for awhile. He had caved somewhat with the practice, and kept the routines relatively easier, but it was quite obvious that even the lessened movements had taken their toll. His entire abdomen burned still, and the mostly healed tissue that had been ripped or damaged by the wound pulled muscle and ground nerves rather evilly if he moved too quickly.
And topping it off was a voracious migraine that protested every subtle noise -- from the sonorous whirring of the propellers to the bass droning of the distant engine -- and threatened to drive him over the edge.
Sephiroth uttered a gusty sigh and carefully seated himself on the steel grating, his back to the gently vibrating wall and the Masamune in front of him. Praying -- again to whatever deity chose to hear him -- that the SOLDIER officer had gotten wrapped up in a flight-encompassing conversation with the pilot, and that none of the troopers got snoopy, he slowly drew his legs up before him, loosely crossed his arms over his knees, and buried his head in the crook they made.
(I wasn't expecting any fanfare or fawning when I left, but I was expecting something a little better than this.)
He snarled into the black leather of his sleeves. (Damn you to all the hells, Hojo…I hate it when you're right.)
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A/N: …Dang. You know, I had something fairly important to say here…and now it's just gone. O.o; *thinks REALLY hard* Oh, here it is. This chapter was written in the midst of school finals, so I apologize if the quality's lacking. I think my muses got scared away. ^_^;
Anyway…
SolarCloud: Did your muse enjoy the little treat? :)
Lucrecia LeVrai: Thank you so very much! *hugs* ^____^ Whatever time you spent writing that review was more than worth every second. I'm humbled that you think enough of this fic to always leave such wonderful comments. And yes, I would certainly have the patience to write a story about Sephiroth's entire life. Time would be the only issue. Glad to know you'd be interested in that!
Bachy A: Thanks again for the email! I wasn't expecting that, so it came as quite a pleasant surprise!
Ardwynna Morrigu: Thank you for the email, too! Yes, I did indeed mention some AeriSeph mush. Unfortunately, that may be a little while in coming yet since I've never written romance before, and my mushy moods are sadly infrequent. :( But I will have an A/S posted if it kills me.
Dee-whY-Cee-aRe: I appreciate the assurance that the action scene I wrote did not suck. Many thanks!
Miras-Dragonfly: Likewise, even though it was for a different scene. I hope this helps you get over your slump!
A BIG thank-you also to Noacat, DracOnyx, One Winged Angel, and Kya Lorne. I really appreciate all the support!!
…Now, I hope I didn't forget anybody…