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You'll never find out now that all these absent elements build your comfortable defense. Stronger still, like an emptiness ...

Absent Elements - Finger Eleven

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She had slept soundly. And for the first time since her nightmarish journey had begun, she was not afraid upon awakening. For a moment she did not moved and concentrated only on feeling; the heat of the solid form at her back and the arms wrapped around her were something to be savoured. Yes, the one who held her was Sephiroth, but something had been breached between them, and something else built. No matter that she didn't want this affection for him, or that it terrified her, shamed her - she simply had no choice.

Such things were the whim of fate.

Her eyes opened, languidly. Sometime during the night she had turned, and now she lay facing Sephiroth, her head nestled securely in the hollow of his neck. She was afraid to move, to see those eyes and all they held upon her. Shyly she shifted, pulling away slightly, raising herself enough to see his face.

She smiled, surprised. Sephiroth, who had once been the most fierce General of all time, was asleep at her side.

His arms, while still enfolding her, were relaxed, limp, and that in itself was enough to tell her that his sleep was not feigned. Taking this opportunity to study him unguarded, she let her eyes wander over his form. In repose his face lost its arrogance, the imperious angles softening. His lashes, pale and long, lay against his cheek. Wayward strands of his hair had fallen across his brow, trailing down to lie pooled on the mattress. Slowly, carefully, she lifted her hand to brush it aside.

With a swiftness that startled her, his own hand clamped around her wrist, and his eyes snapped open. They were unfocused, dazed, but after a moment recognition flooded through them, and his hand fell away from her own.

"I was sleeping?" He asked huskily, surprise evident in his tone.

"Yes." Now that he was awake, she felt shy again, awkward. She drew away, attempting to extricate herself from his grasp.

"I do not sleep." He said then, and with no exertion whatsoever he pulled her firmly back against him.

"But you were," she replied. She didn't fight him because she didn't really want to leave. She felt safe here, and cared for, and so she pushed all her doubts and fears aside and again rested her head against his shoulder.

"Impossible." He muttered. Aerith, smiling again a little, sat up again to see his expression. His head resting on the pillow, he watched her through eyes dancing with something she'd never seen them hold before: mirth. All her nervousness had vanished, gone inexplicably, and so she reached out again to brush the stray lock of hair away from his temple. He made no move to stop her. Her fingers lingered then, tracing his brow, the line of his cheek. Amusement faded from his gaze, replaced by something else, something intense and akin to hunger, and it stilled her breath in her throat.

Silence fell for long moments. She could not tear her eyes from his. Her heart was thudding, increasing in pace, and she felt the wild urge then to run frantically away. He remained still, as if he knew that to move would send her into retreat. She swallowed thickly, feeling as if she were suffocating, and did something unprecedented.

She raised herself higher, and dropped her hand to curl about his neck. Trembling now, afraid, she pressed her lips against his. It was a timid, tentative movement, and for a moment he did not respond. Had he rejected her? She made to pull away, but with one hand gently on the back of her head he drew her back down to secure again a kiss.

It was like nothing she'd ever known before, and different than the other kisses he had given her. There was no cruelty in this, no spite, and she couldn't help but be lost as his lips moved firmly, tenderly over her own. With a subtle change of pressure he opened her mouth with his own, and the kiss took on a whole new angle. This was exhilirating, this was amazing, and it continued until she felt as though she would faint from lack of breath.

He allowed her then to draw away, and the only sound in the room was of their mingled breathing. She couldn't help the blush that crept into her face, and when she raised her eyes to his own they were fairly glowing with things she was afraid to read. Embarassed, she looked away.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of," He said then, knowing what thoughts raced through her mind.

"Isn't there?" She asked softly, gaze returning to him. He knew what she spoke of; the reality that existed beyond this room, beyond his arms, that would swallow them both soon enough.

He shook his head, and it was his turn to trace the curve of her cheek, draw his fingers lightly over the softness of her lips. "I cannot change what is."

"I know." She replied, but wanted to ask him if he would, had he the power. She said nothing further, however, and let herself enjoy his caress. It was madness, and yet she couldn't hate herself for enjoying this, for letting him touch her. It felt right. She sat up then, and his hands fell away to fall across his sides.

"Thank you," he said, "for this."

She didn't respond, didn't know how to. Instead she rose from the bed, conscious of his gaze upon her, and moved to the window. The shutters hadn't been drawn, and she could see now the sun cresting the horizon, bathing the Saucer and the world around it in brilliant tinges of orange and red. Everything had changed so swiftly, so tremendously, and she was left shaken in the wake. Less than twelve hours ago she'd been standing here, reflecting on her friends, on Cloud, and wondering what on earth she was to do. She'd thrown everything to the wind so suddenly, and embraced what she surely knew to be wrong ...

"Don't do that," Sephiroth said from the bed. Startled out of her reverie, she turned to him. He was sitting, naked from the waist up, his long snowy hair falling over his shoulders, tousled. His eyes were grim now, serious, and he said, "Don't regret."

"How can I not?" She wondered aloud, turning back to the dawn. "You make it sound so easy, but I can't just forget ... everything that's happened ..."

As if it were the answer to everything, he said, "Things have changed."

"Yes," she whispered sadly, "They have."

Sounds from behind her, and then he was there, warm at her back. So strong was the urge to lean into him, let him hold her, but instead she stepped aside and turned.

"It's late," she told him. "We should be going."

"Aerith ..."

She shook her head. "We will leave, Sephiroth, and outside this room we will be the same people we were. We are enemies. No amount of wishing or denial will change that."

He sighed. "I am not your enemy."

"Yet you will still take me to Jenova, for her to use as she sees fit. I am Cetra, and Jenova is my enemy. You are her son, and you do her bidding. I can't deny what is reality."

Sudden exasperation flared in his eyes, and his expression soured. In a clipped voice he said, "Very well. We leave in ten minutes. Don't tarry." He strode to where his long coat lay strewn at the foot of the bed, and picked it up. He did not look at her as he put it on, and once all the clasps were fastened he left the room. Aerith, moving slowly, donned her own coat and boots, and tried to ignore how much his disappointment hurt her.