Chapter 5 – Fury

The town was on fire, though Sephiroth was used to that by now – the choking smoke, the heat against his leather jacket, the cackling symphony of color and flame. He began the dream like he usually did, steeling himself for the mounting bodies, the pleas, and the tears, and prepared to watch himself play the executioner in spite of his own heart.

Something else happened instead.

He found that he was not moving until he wanted to, that his arms and his legs finally responded to the commands of his own mind. It was the first time in months that he finally had control. When the awareness hit him, Sephiroth had to fight the urge to succumb to the relief. As it were, there were still people crying out inside burning buildings and trapped under rubble that needed help. And instead of summoning his sword and slicing them through as they cried, he could reach for them. He had a choice, and he could choose right this time. That alone was freeing and exhilarating – things he hardly felt in his waking life, wandering the halls of Shinra Tower, raising his sword at enemies dictated to him. Belatedly, he realized that was likely a factor in what made these dreams so distressing, that his real lack of free will had managed to bleed into his subconscious life.

But those were thoughts for another time. Because, after leading a third family out of their house to the square for safety, Sephiroth realized that there was something missing from this dream.

Where was Cloud?

His heartbeat cranked up a thousand notches. Sephiroth scanned the wreckage, the decaying buildings, the curling smoke, looking for those tell-tale blond spikes and those bright, intense eyes. Normally, the Cloud in his dreams would have appeared by now, gaze simmering with betrayal and anger, and the Sephiroth he could not control would disappear into the fire to make his way up to – well, he never saw where; all he could tell was that this Sephiroth was chasing something, longing for something. A reunion. But no matter what this alter ego would do, such terrible and destructive yearning would be left unsatisfied and incomplete. He would stand in what seemed like a metal cage, wires and pipes arching over and running below them, and that defiant and beautiful blond would stab him in the back with a sword far too large for his frame. And then, Sephiroth would feel the relief of the end wash over him until he finally awakened.

There was no relief now, though, because there was no Cloud. Sephiroth moved, following the path toward the edge of the village, his eyes hunting for any sign of the blond. But the town was eerily empty, save for the fire that continued scorching around him and the heat that pulsed in the air.

"Cloud!" he called, his voice strained and shaky – like he had been crying, had he been crying? That was not something he had done in a long time. "Where are you?"

There was no reply, except for the wind and the fire. Sephiroth kept searching, treading up the path that started snaking toward the mountain. It was then, when the edges of the fire started fading, that he noticed it – a subtle trail of blood droplets, sparse but perceptible, marking a path up the trail.

Something sank in his chest.

"Cloud!" Sephiroth called again, almost like a desperate prayer. He tried to take a step forward, but suddenly, his legs felt weak in a way they never had before, and his knees buckled, bringing him crashing to the ground. The dirt tasted putrid, with a mixture of ash and metal and mako, and every nerve in his body was numb and throbbing. It took a moment for him to recognize that he was in pain, like his heart had been ripped from his chest, like the air in his lungs had turned to spears to render him asunder from the inside out. Sephiroth slowed his breathing, tried to concentrate on feeling his thighs and knees and hands, will himself to stand upright. His fingers dug into the ground for purchase – and that's when he sensed something slicking the black leather of his gloves, something metallic and familiar.

His hands were stained with blood.

The dread in his chest became that much heavier. Sephiroth couldn't shake it – the fear, the guilt, the pain, the bracing certainty – that it was his fault. The village was on fire. There was blood on his hands, blood up the trail. His heart felt like it was torn in two. And Cloud – Cloud wasn't here. Something had happened, something had changed. And there was no one to blame but him, because now, he had control.

Sephiroth felt it escape his lips before he even realized what it was. A sob. Hopeless, wrecked, and torn. He knew what had happened, didn't even need to see it to be sure, and to be honest, he wasn't sure that he would want to. But his mind, ever the traitor, showed him anyway – the image of a broken body, of chillingly empty blue eyes. He had lost Cloud. And it was his fault.

When Sephiroth awoke, he did so with tears in his eyes.

For a moment, he couldn't move; his muscles felt weighed down by a thick and heavy sorrow. Sephiroth felt like he had been run over by a Behemoth, twice, and he had not felt like that since learning Zack had killed – no, do not go there, not now. He tried to concentrate on the feel of his sheets beneath him, the light trickling through his dark curtains, the constant and nagging buzzing of his PHS –

Wait, his PHS?

That thought managed to give him enough of a shock to jolt him upright. Sephiroth turned to his bedside table, yanked the offending device off its charger, and flipped it open. There were a few missed calls and unread texts from the prior evening, one of which was from Cloud, which Sephiroth naturally opened first. The young man had sent him an image of a snarling cat with green eyes in Sector 4, captioned Is this you? That sent a wave of relief through Sephiroth that almost made him sigh aloud. This was now, the present, in which Cloud was still alive and on a night mission clearing monsters in Sector 4, and not dead somewhere in a burning village in Sephiroth's head.

Then his phone buzzed again, an incoming call from Zack. Sephiroth picked up.

"Zack, my apologies, I was asleep—"

"Seph," Zack said, his voice serious in the same way it was back when Genesis was on his rampage and Angeal was trying and failing to hold onto his honor. The tone reignited the tightness in Sephiroth's chest that had been ever-present during his dream. "You have to come to the infirmary, quick."

Sephiroth closed his eyes and did not bother bracing himself for what Zack was going to say next. He knew, because he felt it before, and there was nothing he could do to lessen how much it was going to hurt.

"Something's happened to Cloud."

The first time Cloud came to, it was in the middle of the night, and he recognized that Zack was sitting at his bedside with a worried expression on his face. But his whole body throbbed with so much pain that he couldn't say or do anything to wipe that concern away. All he managed was a choked noise, before Zack called the nurse in to give him more medication and he passed out from a mixture of drowsiness, numbness, and exhaustion.

The second time was at some point closer to the early morning, because Cloud was lucid enough to notice the way the sunlight filtered in through the window. His vision was still a little blurry, but his hearing was intact and sharp, as it had been since the mako treatments. He could pinpoint the voices right outside the room, despite the hushed and furtive tones. The first voice was Zack's, layered thickly with a worry and an anger that almost felt too foreign for a guy who seemed to walk through life with a smile on his face.

"He needs to go. He needs to get kicked out of the program."

The second voice – more plaintive, more cautioned, which Cloud reasoned was Kunsel's – responded, "They're still doing an investigation, Zack."

"Investigation, my ass. You just said that Nico pushed him."

"I said I thought I saw Nico push him."

"What the fuck—"

"Zack," the third voice interrupted. Smooth baritone, like calm twilight, like warmth. It was a voice that Cloud had come to cherish hearing after their nightly training sessions, offering quiet comments of assurance and comfort after long and stressful days. It was Sephiroth.

The name had left Cloud's lips as softly and as unconsciously as breathing. But all three men standing outside of Cloud's hospital room could hear it easily.

"He's awake," Zack said. Relief. Then a pause, followed by, "Seph, do you mind watching him, for now?"

"You've been with him nearly all night, Zack. I know you want to see him."

"He asked for you."

"Zack."

"I can't." Firm, rigid, and full of that foreign anger. "Not like this."

Quiet. Then, "I had asked maintenance to pull the security feed from the Sector 4 plate. The file should be in my office by now. If it corroborates the Sergeant's story, you have your grounds for dismissal."

"If it does, I'd have grounds to do a lot more than that."

Another pause. "Sergeant, please go with the Lieutenant. Then, proceed to the Director to make your statement."

"Yes, sir," Kunsel said.

There was the quiet tapping of booted footsteps on tile flooring that slowly faded, then the door to Cloud's hospital room creaked open. There Sephiroth was, haloed by the light of the hallway behind him, but he looked far from angelic this morning. In fact, he looked drained, the usual stoic expression marred by sleeplessness and concern. He was dressed in a Shinra branded long-sleeved tee and jeans, and his hair was tied back messily, as if he had just woken up and headed straight to the hospital.

"Cloud," Sephiroth said, in that same tone of voice he had when he had come to Cloud's apartment after his first mako injection. He even asked the same question: "How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I think," Cloud replied, because that was all he could manage right now. His body was no longer in pain, but it was very numb, almost like how his fingers would feel after too many hours of playing in the snow during the frigid Nibelheim winters. He turned his head to look at Sephiroth and hoped that he managed something that could pass as a reassuring smile.

"That is good," Sephiroth stated. The man stood at the wall to Cloud's right, maintaining a distance that for some reason, on this particular day, bothered Cloud more than usual. The stoicism in the voice, in the choice of words, all too reminiscent of the first clumsy conversations they shared and nothing like the quiet, easy manner that characterized their more recent interactions, added insult to injury.

"The doctors say that you are healing well. With your level of enhancement, you'll be back on your feet in a matter of days."

Cloud knew he was supposed to be relieved upon hearing that, but right now, he found he was more concerned about the yawning chasm of space between him and Sephiroth. He tried to lift his arms, but the limbs felt like stone, as if his body could not even fathom the mere thought of moving. He figured that he would use his words instead. "Can you come here, please?"

After a beat of hesitation, Sephiroth unfolded his arms and moved closer to sit at the chair situated at Cloud's bedside. He leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees, and Cloud could tell that Sephiroth was conducting his own examination of his condition by the way his eyes had turned dark and assessing. The blond would have shuddered under the calculating gaze if his body didn't feel like a ton of bricks. Though it had been months of this – of watching the man watch him, Cloud knew that he would never get used to the strange novelty of having the great General Sephiroth, whose poster still hung in his childhood bedroom, pay attention to him.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Sephiroth said, like he often did whenever Cloud would be frustrated and fuming at the end of a spar. It made Cloud's heart ache a little, made him realize how often the man seemed to prioritize him. Sephiroth always listened to him, always tried, however unnaturally, to find good things to say to him. He came to visit him when he was sick from the mako injections, he came to sit at his bedside in lieu of doing all the important things he probably had to do as General, because Cloud had whispered his name in some tiny wish. And even before then, he had noticed him on some random day in the training room, struggling with Zack on his sword technique and had offered his considerable expertise. All that – and the man had never asked Cloud for anything in return.

Cloud looked at Sephiroth now, knowing full well that the last thing he wanted to do was talk. Right now, he wanted to listen, to Sephiroth, wanted to hear that voice, buttery and soft, lilting through his head.

"Tell me how you're feeling instead."

"Cloud," Sephiroth said, clearly surprised. "I do not think that is relevant—"

"It's relevant to me," Cloud interrupted. He then stopped, stared at the ceiling. The truth was that he was not ready to talk about what he knew had happened, partly because his mind was still fuzzy around the edges of the details, and mostly because if he had to explain, it would inevitably lead to the acknowledgment of those awful rumors, and that was too embarrassing to make real right now. "Please. I'll talk about it later."

Sephiroth repeated his name, more softly, and it sounded a lot like a plea. "Cloud."

"You always listen to me. Whenever I'm mad about something that happened or frustrated that I can't get a new skill right, you listen and you are there. But you never let me do the same for you, whenever you walk into the training room looking as tired as you do now. So please, just let me do this for you, just this once?"

The words just came plummeting out of Cloud's mouth, almost before his mind could even register what he was saying. But he knew what he was trying to convey in his heart, and hoped that Sephiroth would hear it, see it on his face. Well, hope was the wrong word – Cloud knew he would. He knew that Sephiroth would listen. The man just always seemed to.

"I…I had a nightmare," Sephiroth said, folding his hands together and propping his chin on his steepled fingers. "I have them often now. They leave me feeling ill-rested."

"What do you mean by now?"

"They started after I lost some old friends."

Everyone at Shinra heard about Genesis and Angeal – that they had deserted, that they had died – but what threw Cloud for a loop was the fact that Sephiroth had referred to the two as old friends. The newspaper stories never addressed the fact that there were real people who hurt and bled and cried at the center of the storm. They seemed to do that a lot with Sephiroth, as if they assumed that the man simply was not capable of those things. Cloud, once upon a time, had bought those notions full-heartedly, and it made him more than a little sick to admit that to himself. He was determined to make up for that failure as much as he could, starting now.

"I'm sorry," Cloud murmured, willing his arm upward to brush his fingers against the man's hands. Sephiroth, once again, appeared caught off guard, but Cloud let their fingers lightly entwine. Despite how exhausted he felt after such a simple motion, it was worth it to see the way Sephiroth's expression softened a little more. "I'm sorry for your loss and for the nightmares."

"Thank you," Sephiroth replied. "It's alright."

"It's not…but that's okay too."

They were silent for a few seconds – not an awkward silence, the kind that screeched through Cloud's anxiety like a mocking crow, but a comfortable peace. Sephiroth had not let go of Cloud's hand, was still running his own fingers against the blond's in gentle, tiny movements, as if in disbelief that Cloud was still here, still existing, still alive. He wondered for a moment if Sephiroth had worried that he had almost lost another friend last night, if the thought of another loss compounded the immeasurable pain that he was already feeling. Cloud hated to think that he caused that, hated to think that he would repay this man that had given him so much with even more sorrow.

He willed himself to curl his fingers tighter, hold the man's hand properly. Sephiroth quietly let him.

"I'm sorry," Cloud whispered. "You probably already know what happened and why. I should have told you."

"There is nothing you need to apologize for. This was my—"

"If it wasn't my fault, then it wasn't yours either."

There was a flash of something through the green of Sephiroth's eyes, which bore straight into Cloud's blue ones. But they were not searching, not digging for something that Cloud could not name – instead, they were full of recognition. The hands around his squeezed just a little tighter, ever so slightly, but the feelings, hidden and unhidden, were still there.

"Will you stay?" Cloud asked, squeezing his hand back. "We can talk as much or as little as you'd like to. Tell me anything. I want to listen."

And there it was, that soft quiet smile, the one that Cloud was aiming for, that he knew he would do almost anything to keep seeing again and again, spreading across Sephiroth's lips.

"Okay."

There was a voice in Zack's head that sounded eerily like a certain someone telling him that this whole thing was a bad idea. The unfortunate reality was that the last time he listened to the owner of that voice, he ended up killing the man in some abandoned corner of Modeoheim, so Zack was certainly not inclined to do as he was told. Not after what he just saw, not after what happened to Cloud.

"Zack!" Kunsel called, from several steps behind him. The Second had been chasing him from the minute they left Sephiroth's office, through the hallways of the SOLDIER floor. "Zack, let's go to the Director. Zack!"

"Shut up, Kunsel!"

The Lieutenant could practically taste the venom in his mouth, dripping with each harsh syllable that he spat. Kunsel, for his part, seemed taken aback as well, because the man paused for a moment. And that was enough, enough for Zack to step quickly down the hall and turn into the Third Class lounge, in search for his prey.

It didn't take him long. There, sitting in the back corner, sipping on a soda from a vending machine and chatting with a few others was the particular Third Class SOLDIER Zack was looking for. The blatant casual sight of the man just talking with friends (was this what monsters looked like now?) was enough to send Zack careening over the edge, not that he wasn't already in clear free-fall since he saw the security footage.

Zack hadn't known what to feel – or, more accurately, he felt too much at once, when he saw Nico tip his friend over the railing, saw Cloud's body crash into the metal grating on the floor below. There was definite anger, aimed at the perpetrator – a deep and haunting betrayal. Where was the SOLDIER honor, when Cloud needed it, when Zack needed it? Did it even matter anymore?

But Zack was also angry at himself, at his own failure. He played oblivious when it suited him, but he was not blind to the way some of the Thirds under his command treated Cloud, talked about him. He had experienced something similar when he first began under Angeal's tutelage, but the truth was that that was an entirely different situation. Angeal commanded a type of respect that was born from affection, and Zack had been at the top of his class from the start. Sephiroth and Cloud were…well, different. But the blond, stubborn, proud and willful, did not mention anything that could have insinuated something as bad as this. Zack should have known better, kept a closer eye on things. He should have protected Cloud.

"You couldn't have known it would have led to this," Kunsel had said to him. He had meant it to be reassuring, but Zack was past that. He had been past that for months, the moment he drove his sword into his mentor's heart.

Kunsel was wrong. Zack should have known, because if there was anything he learned from the ordeal of this past year of life, it was that SOLDIER was a den of monsters.

So, like a monster, he moved on instinct. It only took a second, and Zack's hands were around that throat before anyone could even react. There was a rustling of furniture, a struggle, a thrashing into walls and into the floor, and a cacophony of voices. Someone yelled to get help, and there were a few hands around him – the group of Thirds that were closest – trying to pull him off Nico. But Zack battered them away, changed tactics to bring his fist down on that face again and again. Each hit made his vision glaze red, until he could not see anymore, could not stop even if he wanted to.

He barely registered his name being called until more sets of hands were around his arms and torso – these much stronger than the ones before. Someone had run into the adjacent Second Class lounge, in order to garner sufficient backup. Like a wild animal, Zack kicked against the three or four guys that were dragging him away from Nico, almost managed to wrangle free from their grip. Kunsel had rushed past him and knelt down next to the now injured Third, casting a round or two of Restore. It didn't really matter that much – Nico still looked like a mess, bloody bruises across his left cheek and temple, finger marks deep around his throat. Zack's mind flashed to the security footage of Cloud, looking like a shattered doll, frail and broken against the metal, and decided that it still was not enough.

"What the hell, sir?" Luxiere stammered from behind him, gripping his arm a little bit stronger.

"Zack, enough!" Kunsel added, helping Nico sit up. He motioned for a set of completely shocked Thirds cowering in the corner of the room to come over. "Can you get him to the infirmary?"

One nodded, another supplied a shaky, "Sir," and the two braced Nico under his arms to pull the man upward. They hobbled out of the room quickly, though all eyes were not on the Thirds, but on the Lieutenant, who still looked enraged. It was enough that Luxiere and the others continued to restrain him as a precaution.

"You could have killed him," Kunsel murmured, the disbelief clear in his voice.

Zack glared, anger still simmering in his eyes. "He could have killed Cloud."

"But he didn't. He'll be punished for it, kicked out of the program, even jailed, and he and everybody else who even thinks about pulling a stunt like that again knows it."

"That's not enough, and you know it!"

"It is enough," Kunsel insisted, his voice growing softer. It was a jarring enough change in tone to Zack to throw off his anger, the tension in his arms melting just a little. "It's the right thing to do. And you know that Zack, you know that."

Zack lowered his arms, and the men around him slowly released him. He gazed downward at his fists, at the light bruising on his knuckles that would fade in an hour. His hands were still shaking, trembling like they were after he pulled his sword out of Angeal's body and watched the life slip out of him.

"Is this what SOLDIER has come to?" he whispered. "We kill monsters, even each other?"

Though he could not see Kunsel's eyes, he knew exactly how his friend was looking at him now. "Zack, I am so sorry," was all the man could say.

Silence lingered in the air, but only for a moment. Those that remained in the room all heard the click of dress shoes coming down the hall. Director Lazard rounded the corner, his expression completely solemn. He stopped at the edge of the room. "Everyone, please clear the area. We'll have maintenance repair the damage shortly," he said, tone clipped and crisp. Then, softer, "Lieutenant. Please come with me."

For a few seconds, Zack thought about protesting, fighting back, explaining himself, but those notions passed quickly. Whatever fire that had scorched within him, that had chased him down here, that had fueled the beating of his fists, had now begun to burn out. There was nothing left he could do but comply.

With downcast eyes, Zack followed Lazard, and tried to ignore Kunsel and Luxiere's worried gazes weighing on his back as he left.

By the time Sephiroth left the infirmary, it was early afternoon, and Cloud had been asleep for at least an hour. But he had stayed and watched him, cradled the blond's hand in his, until he could convince himself that Cloud was alive and still breathing and still there, and that the emptiness that he had dreamed of was just that – a dream.

He had told Cloud many things: stories of how he met Genesis and Angeal, how Genesis was the reason he actually owned furniture in the first place (for Gaia's sake, this is supposed to be a home, you are supposed to have stuff in it), how Angeal taught him how to cook and do laundry. He told him how the three, as teenagers, had pranked Heidegger by covering every inch of the man's office with melted butter stolen from Palmer's stash. He shared that when he was promoted to General, they had gone to see the latest production of Loveless, and that Genesis had complained loudly the entire time about the imperfect interpretation, the atrocious acting, the barbaric scenery, and that Sephiroth had let him because he knew what Genesis was truly upset about. But, with a smile, he explained how the next day, Genesis was waiting for him in his new office, lounging on a couch that he had bought as a gift (figured I'd continue the tradition and get you started because if not, you'd be working on the goddamn floor), and that although the man didn't apologize aloud, Sephiroth knew what the gesture had meant, all along.

All through it, Cloud smiled and laughed, his blue eyes glittering and brilliant, even under the unflattering fluorescent lighting. He did not pull away from Sephiroth, not once, their fingers entwined for the entire duration of their conversation. It felt natural in a way that Sephiroth was not expecting, but after that dream and the fear that it set in his heart, he was not about to fight it, and certainly not about to let go. Cloud was here, and he could feel him. That was the only thing that mattered.

Eventually, though, the blond began to tire, though he fought admirably against the sleepiness. But his body needed rest to heal, and Sephiroth insisted that he get it. So, Cloud drifted off peacefully, his quiet breathing and the beeping of the monitors the only sounds in the room. And even then, for a time, Sephiroth could not bring himself to go.

It was then that it dawned on him that Zack's suspicions were probably right all along.

He would have turned that thought in his head more, but then his PHS buzzed with an urgent message from Lazard about the very same Lieutenant, and it made Sephiroth's chest twist with remorse when he read it. If Sephiroth had to be honest with himself, he knew he owed Zack more than words could ever express. The man had shouldered his weaknesses, took the brunt of the pain of Angeal's fall, and though he put up a brave and happy front, there was a guilt edging on those expressions that had been building for a while now. There was a reason the young man had reached out to him, pushed him that day outside of Cloud's apartment – he wanted, needed, someone to share the weight with. And Sephiroth had rebuffed him, unready, unwilling, weak and afraid.

Not anymore.

He typed a response to Lazard, (actually several responses, one of which asked the Director to put Zack in his office) and then left Cloud's room, made his way to the elevator and down to the SOLDIER floors. Zack was already waiting outside his door, scuffing his boots against the hardwood. The black-haired man looked up briefly before locking his eyes back down at his shoes.

"Zack," Sephiroth said. "Come in, please."

"Don't do that," Zack immediately replied. "Don't be nice."

"I am not accused of being nice often."

Zack laughed, but it was not genuine. It was pained. "Cloud's been teaching you jokes then."

Sephiroth stepped by the man, opened his office door. Zack seemed to get the hint and walked in, sitting down at one of the two chairs across his desk (he had picked those out with Genesis's approval, as they had to go with the couch the redhead had already bought). Sephiroth didn't bother walking to the other side, instead stood beside the desk, and directly in front of Zack.

"So, what's it going to be?" Zack asked. "Lazard said that you had a few things in mind in terms of my punishment."

Sephiroth sighed. This only seemed to egg Zack on further.

"C'mon. Tell me. Just fucking tell me already."

"Zack," Sephiroth said, raising a hand. "It's alright."

"I can't get off scot-free. I don't deserve to. I—"

"It wasn't your fault."

Zack froze midsentence, brows creasing in confusion. So Sephiroth pressed further.

"What happened to Angeal. It was not your fault. You did your best, performed admirably, where I had failed. But in the end, they made their choices, and we made ours."

The younger man glanced away, at the wall, and it was clear to Sephiroth that Zack was trying to hold back the urge to cry.

Sephiroth kept going. "There were many things I should have done differently. I should have fought for my friends, instead of sending you after them. I should have tried harder, instead of hiding away in fear and regret. I never should have pushed those burdens onto you. But I cannot make up for the past. All I can do now is try differently for the future. And though I am a poor substitute for a man like Angeal, I would like you to be able to rely on me, if you need to."

He took a breath, and then said what he should have said all those months ago: "I am sorry, Zack. Truly."

There was a pause. The Lieutenant kept his eyes locked on some undefined spot on the wall, his brows furrowed in contemplation. But then, finally, Zack turned to face Sephiroth, his eyes glistening and soft and relieved. "You don't have to apologize. The whole situation was fucked, everything was fucked. I won't lie that I was pissed at you, about Banora, about Modeoheim. But then I thought about how hard it must have been for you, too, and I couldn't…in the end I was madder at myself, for letting you down, too."

A tiny smile crossed Sephiroth's lips. "If it wasn't my fault, then it wasn't yours either."

"What?"

"Just something Cloud had said."

"That Cloud," Zack said, shaking his head. But Sephiroth could tell that his expression was softening, his body language relaxing. The man leaned back, his neck craning to look at the ceiling, and inhaled long and deep before returning his gaze to Sephiroth. "But uh, seriously…what's it going to be?"

"Probation. Four weeks. You'll be sent home tomorrow, to see your family. Clear your head."

"That doesn't seem like much of a punishment."

"We're also taking the money required to repair the Third Class lounge out of the paychecks you would have received during that time."

The edges of a smile were teasing the corners of Zack's lips. "Aw, c'mon. I'm still paying for the time I wrecked Scarlet's machines."

"Yes, I would recommend not destroying any more company property."

Now, finally, Zack laughed. Sephiroth could not help the smile that slipped from him at the sound. They looked at each other for a moment, two men who had lost people important to them. Suddenly, the weight of the grief no longer felt as heavy as it did before, now that there were others to help carry it. And while the loss of Genesis and Angeal would forever be an open wound to Sephiroth, the two men were also responsible for teaching him what kindness and humanity and friendship looked like. To carry that forward, to build on the lessons he learned from them, for Zack and for Cloud, that would be how Sephiroth would choose to remember them, honor them.

He could only hope that that would be enough.