Chapter 11 – Secrets

When he was a child, Dr. Gast had told him to never stop asking questions, explained that it was the best method of learning. And Sephiroth loved learning, the way he could feel the gears of his mind shift and turn over and over until a thought, an epiphany, an understanding, finally clicked into place. So, he had inquired about everything – the books he was given, the tools in the laboratory, the lives of the scientists, technicians, and assistants that came in and out of his small world. Out of everyone, Gast and Ilfana were his favorites, because they had been the most generous with both their responses and their time. But one day, they had vanished, and while there were still a million questions, the man that remained was not willing to provide any more answers.

Dr. Hojo discouraged questions. He subscribed to the belief that independence was the best way to learn. But he also saw anything less than perfection as failure, which meant that any sign of confusion, of unknowing, led inevitably to the scientist wanting to root out the weakness. It only took a few days after Gast's disappearance, a few hours of being strapped on the cold exam room table that felt like ice against the mako-heat coursing through his body, for Sephiroth to learn silence. If he did not understand the subject of a text or a combat technique, he now knew better than to express that ignorance. He would have to figure it out, even if it meant sneaking reading time under the covers or waiting until the dark of night to drill katas with the training sword. To do otherwise, to perform less than optimal standard – it was no longer an option.

But try as Sephiroth could to ignore them, the questions were still there, like a constant electric buzz ensconced in his mind. As Sephiroth grew, they stopped being about childish things, like whether the dragons in the fairytales Ilfana read him were real or why the spectacles Gast wore improved the man's eyesight but worsened his own. Paradoxically, the questions he now wanted to ask had become greater in meaning but smaller in focus, condensing like a collapsed star into one particular topic.

His mother.

It was the single issue Gast refused to speak about (though even as a child, Sephiroth could see the remnants of something sad in the man's eyes, like the lingering scent of a candle that had been snuffed), that Hojo instead was surprisingly more verbose on, though not by much. All that Sephiroth knew about her could fit in the space of a few sentences: that her name was Jenova, that she had died when he was born, that she looked like him with sharp eyes and long hair, and that she had left him in the care of Shinra because that was what she believed was best. But it was as if Sephiroth was the only thing left of her in this world, like he was the ghost of her memory left to wander the Planet, a faint whisper in the wind. He had come to realize later that his mother was the first in the distinct pattern that grew with Gast and Ilfana, Genesis and Angeal – gone, evaporated, disappeared, leaving nothing but a hollow emptiness (in his heart).

And then, there was Cloud. He brought something out of that emptiness, things Sephiroth had never felt before and things that, after all he had been through, he never thought he would be capable of feeling again. It was frightening in the unfamiliarity, in the fact that the climb so high had the potential to lead to an excruciating fall. But in the weeks since that night at Cloud's apartment, it had become much harder to stay afraid. Any fear seemed to wash away the moment Sephiroth would see those tufts of blond hair, feel that smile pressed against his lips. Being around Cloud made the air seem heady and hazy, like a cloying summer day. It had been too sweet a distraction, too easy a temptation to lose oneself into, completely.

At least, at first.

When he was younger, Sephiroth studied the theory of equilibrium – that concept that life had a way of returning to what was its natural state. And his lifetime of experiences provided a mountain of evidence: that the emptiness was Sephiroth's equilibrium. He had Gast and Ilfana, and they left. He had Angeal and Genesis, and they left, too. The only difference now, with Cloud, was that Sephiroth was certain that this strike would be the end of him. Sephiroth was certain, because even though being with Cloud, their dinners at his apartment, their furtive kisses in his office, brought him an easy joy that felt incomparable to anything he ever had before, there was always something still missing at the edges, like a damaged cog that had been so filed down, it would no longer fit in the machine. It took some time for Sephiroth to realize what that was. But when it came, it barreled into him, hard.

They had just finished dinner. Cloud was smiling from behind the sink, Sephiroth leaning on the counter nearby (Cloud always insisted on washing the dishes if Sephiroth cooked, and after noticing how strong the blond's forearms, exposed by the rolled sleeves, had become, Sephiroth no longer found it in him to protest). They had been chatting about something casual, a birthday party that Cloud had been invited to by one of his fellow Seconds, when suddenly, the blond's face had darkened and he grew ever silent, until the only sound between them was the running of water against the metal of the sink.

Sephiroth had marked the change immediately. "What's wrong?"

Cloud had turned off the water, began drying his hands and arms on the towel that was placed on the counter. "When is your birthday?" he asked, peering up at the taller man.

Sephiroth knew the real question was, do you know when your birthday even is? He also knew that Cloud did not want the implications of such words to reopen old wounds. But the desire was there, the intent to know Sephiroth, learn his truth, see past the surface spectacle, be with the human and not some sculpture molded by Shinra. It was why Cloud so willingly shared himself with Sephiroth, told him the things on his mind and in his heart freely and openly, allowed the other man to build a lasting space in his life. In response to such remarkable vulnerability, Sephiroth knew Cloud deserved something true.

And yet, it was hard when everything that the world designated as normal and real felt both strange and foreign, and when the old wounds refused to scab over and heal and instead festered into open sores that begged to be hidden. Once upon a time, he would have been afraid of showing the damage, for fear it would turn others away. But there was just something about Cloud. The way those beautiful eyes looked at him, with care and longing and something else that neither of them were willing yet to name. From that brilliant blue, Sephiroth knew that he did not want to hide any longer.

The problem was, he himself did not know what was hidden, what the secrets were and where they slept, because he had been trained to stop asking those all-too-important questions long ago.

Which was what brought him to today, to the conflict brewing in his mind between his impeccable discipline and his desire for the truth. The silence of the Science Department exam room and Hojo's terrible habit for tardiness (the man never began any of his appointments on time, despite the fact that Sephiroth had plenty of other things to do. But what scientist cared about the plans of a lab rat, unless it was relevant to the experiment at hand?) did not help matters, as the lack of distraction only made it easier for Sephiroth to trap himself in his own head. His mind kept flickering to the sight of Hojo years ago, how the man's expression soured with impatience the last time Sephiroth had allowed his curiosity to get the better of him. How that impatience turned into cruel glee when he was then subjected to a healing aptitude test for his defiance. The memory, the now invisible scars, were reminders of the limitations of Sephiroth's existence, of the truth of his life that he thought he always had known.

But then, Sephiroth thought about Cloud. Cloud, who had surprised him at his apartment early in the morning with coffee and a bagel and a promise that he would be waiting for him when he returned. Cloud, who sent him images of funny animals, who never liked ending a day without at least texting him good night. Cloud, who had seamlessly folded in the routine of Sephiroth's life, as if he had always belonged there. Cloud, who had changed everything about his subconscious world, even before he began to transform his waking one.

The choice was clear.

Finally, nearly half-an-hour past the scheduled time, Hojo walked into the room, muttering under his breath something that even Sephiroth, with his sharp hearing, found indecipherable. The scientist barely spared him a glance, only pulled up a file on his tablet and began slapping on disposable gloves from the box on the adjacent table.

"You've lost weight again," Hojo said, scrolling through the list of vitals the lab assistant had taken earlier.

Sephiroth had spent enough time in rooms like this to know when the man was simply making a comment or was actually seeking a reply. This was the former, and he knew because Hojo kept his eyes straight on the tablet and did not even turn his head to acknowledge him.

Instead, the scientist simply kept talking. "I suppose it is because of the additional work you've been doing. Why they elect to keep something like you behind a desk instead of out on the field is beyond me. But that moron Heidegger doesn't want to hire a new director in hopes of folding SOLDIER into Public Security. Too much power in the hands of a monkey."

A pause. Hojo chuckled under his breath. The sound never failed to set Sephiroth on edge, but he kept his face as neutral as possible, watched in silence as the man pulled out a glass cylinder of mako from his lab coat, shaking it between his thumb and index finger unthinkingly.

"The politics they play. No matter. We have much more important work to do."

Even after all these years, of hearing the man's mumbling, witnessing his experiments, being one of them, Sephiroth still had no inkling what Hojo meant. The lack of knowledge, the inescapable ignorance – it had bothered him before, especially after the discoveries made about Angeal and Genesis, but now…now, it had become something else entirely.

The scientist slotted the cylinder into a mechanical syringe, tapped the glass with his fingers to ensure proper positioning. Then, Dr. Hojo stepped up to Sephiroth, without a notion of hesitation in his movement, clearly expecting the General to be as pliant as usual. But not this time. The brief flicker of surprise on the twisted man's face when Sephiroth quickly captured the arm that came toward him was awfully, teasingly, satisfying.

"What work?" Sephiroth asked.

Hojo tried tugging away, but they both were fully aware who was the prime physical specimen. When Sephiroth failed to give, the man then snarled, "What do you think you are doing?"

"That's my question."

"I thought you grew out of this tired habit, boy."

"I have a right to know."

At that, the scientist started to laugh. He dropped the syringe, let it clatter onto the metal exam table, and Sephiroth was so startled by the seeming surrender that he released Hojo from his grip.

"You have no rights, none at all," Hojo said, straightening himself and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Your mother signed you away, to Shinra, to me."

That was a new piece of information. Hojo never said words without meaning, without context. Signed was significant. It meant records, a trail. It meant something.

Sephiroth pushed further. "Why? Did she work for Shinra?"

There was a flare in Hojo's eyes at the question, and though Sephiroth could not read it, he did not have to. It was not confirmation, not even close. But it was enough.

The snarl on Hojo's face returned, and his eyes narrowed sharply, hauntingly, from behind his glasses. "What has gotten into you? The incident in Junon was months ago. Or perhaps…the new variable is your protégé?"

It was as if alarm bells were ringing in Sephiroth's mind. The mention of Cloud, the thought of the blond at Hojo's mercy, however brief, was enough to turn his blood into ice. He could feel the defiance start to slip out of him like water from a spilled glass – a shameful contrast from the unbreakable backbone of steel that Cloud seemed to possess.

(Then again, Cloud did not grow up with a parent who made it his life's work to break him in the first place).

Hojo was not a stupid man. He knew a victory when he saw it, and he knew he had one in this moment. "Remember what I told you about sentiment, about it being weakness," he said, nearly tutting has he moved forward once more. The condescension would have angered Sephiroth, had he not been focused on acting as obedient as possible, to steer away the conversation, to distract, to evade.

It seemed to work, because instead of pushing down the path, Hojo merely picked up the syringe and plunged the needle into Sephiroth's arm. Sephiroth closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, hoping that would be enough to divert him from the burning sensation that pulsed from the injection throughout his entire body. It would be over in another minute. Just another minute. Then he could go home, see those blue eyes that had given him real hope for the first time he could remember, and fall into those happy, peaceful arms.

The seconds felt like hours, but finally, Hojo pulled the needle out. "We're done here," he said. He began making notations on the tablet, grumbling all the while, before exiting the room as abruptly as he came.

That was for the best. The scientist missed the hard and darkened glare Sephiroth shot at his back as he left. Because while Sephiroth knew he lost this round, he now had a reason to try and win the rest of the war. It had been an exercise in futility, to think that Hojo would provide him the whole truth today, simply because he had tried to ask. But that was not the target Sephiroth was aiming for. Like any good General, he knew that smart strategy and sound victory came from information, and Hojo in his careless cruelty had slipped up and left him a thread to tug at and unfurl. Now, it was a matter of deploying the right man for the mission. And he knew just the person for the task.

Once outside of the Science Department floor, Sephiroth flipped open his PHS and dialed the number.

"Sergeant Kunsel, we need to meet."

Early winter in Midgar was nothing like in Nibelheim. Even in the first weeks of November, Mt. Nibel would be coated with snow, and cold air would slice cleanly through the town with each yawn of the wind. By contrast, the climate in Midgar was mildly nippy, almost pleasant, as if the steel that surrounded them had managed to block out most of the effects of nature itself. There was probably some truth to that, and whether that fact was amazing or dangerous was something that Cloud was still trying to decipher.

Still, there was a part of him that was grateful that his fingers did not feel like they were going to fall off each time he pulled his hands out of his pockets. As it was, the early afternoon air was just sharp enough to be refreshing, perfect for a day spent outside enjoying the wares and fares of Sector Eight, now in full swing in preparation for Yule. All throughout the paved streets, stalls full of artful crafts, interesting books, and sizzling street foods lined the sidewalks, and in between the lanes they carved, several Shinra employees sat at makeshift tables to enjoy the early happy hour specials. The atmosphere was warm with happy chatter and the smell of mouthwatering baked goods, and young children just freed from school were darting in between the vendors excitedly. Though none of kids could match the excitement of the grown man Cloud was with at the moment.

"Gaia, look at that, that looks cool!"

Cloud shook his head, watched at Zack bounded toward another stall selling mechanical figurines of trains and cars and motorcycles. Next to him, a girl with brunette hair tied up in a braided ponytail laughed, the motion shifting the basket of flowers she had tucked in her right arm.

"Pretty sure he said that about the last place we saw," Aerith said, looking at Cloud with a twinkle in her green eyes.

"No, he said the last one was awesome, not cool," Cloud pointed out, though not without amusement. "And the one before that was amazing."

Aerith grinned. With a conspiratorial whisper, she leaned closer to him and added, "He'll run out of words at some point. He doesn't know that many."

The meet-up had been at Zack's request – he had promised Aerith that he would accompany her above plate to help her sell flowers, but he also still owed Cloud a meal in celebration for his promotion. But since becoming a Second, Cloud's calendar had ramped up to include running a few of the daily training sessions with the newest class of Thirds. Moreover, in a partial bid to save his sanity (and, well, at Cloud's insistence), Sephiroth had begun offloading some more of his responsibilities to Zack and the other Firsts. While the Lieutenant had been happy to take on the work, it did mean that finding time to spend together had become much more difficult. Cloud supposed that was just the mark of growing up.

But somehow, the stars managed to align for all of them on this day. It was just so perfect that Zack decided to kill two birds with one stone, and Cloud readily agreed, as it had been a while since he had seen Aerith. So, the two SOLDIERs met with the florist at the train station just before the lunch rush, and trio headed for one of the new up-scale burger joints that had recently popped up in Sector Eight. The food was delicious, and the banter light and wonderful, full of jokes at Zack's expense ("I regret it. I should have never let you two become friends without my supervision. You both suck!") and congratulatory praise for Cloud's accomplishments. At the end of the meal, Cloud was simply alight inside with warmth and joy, from both the fullness of his satisfied stomach and the geniality of the pleasant companionship.

There was only one thing that could make the day better, but unfortunately, Sephiroth was trapped in some conference room with other Shinra executives to discuss budget plans for the upcoming year. And even if he could have joined them, they had their reasons why he should not.

The thought of the man nearly made Cloud sigh aloud now. There was still a piece of him – tied to the younger teen who hung up that poster of the General in his bedroom – that was still in utter disbelief at the fact that he was in a relationship with Sephiroth, of all people. Though he supposed by normal standards, and especially compared to Zack and Aerith, theirs was certainly an odd and awkward one. They had yet to tell anyone or make their affection in public in anyway, partly because Sephiroth was a very famous man and Cloud did not want any crazed Silver Elite members invading his apartment, and partly because Cloud was still wary of what his fellow SOLDIERs would think. Though the rumors that had circulated in the early part of his career had been silenced after his accident and put to bed permanently by what happened at Junon, Cloud did not want to give anyone any excuse to start wagging their tongues again.

But the real rationale for the secrecy was that this whole experience was just so new for the both of them. They wanted to keep it to themselves for a little while longer, explore this new territory and each other, in the comfort that privacy afforded them. Their relationship now felt like a natural continuation of what they had been doing before – the conversations largely similar to the latter stages of their friendship. Except now, Sephiroth had willingly opened another door, the one to his emotional inner life. He talked about his anxieties over his identity, his concerns about his lack of knowledge over his history, his frustration with Shinra's bureaucracy. They discussed his dreams, theorized about what they meant, wondered whether they could be all that bad if they had brought the two of them together. In the end, though they failed to arrive at any concrete conclusions, Sephiroth had chalked them up as shadows of his unaddressed grief over the events of the prior year, over what had happened to Angeal and Genesis. For Cloud's part, it had been strange to crack open the visage of the man who had seemed so unbreakable and so perfect, to see the larger scope of the damage wrought by the greed of Shinra, the horrors of war, the callousness of others. But all that simply made Sephiroth more beautiful to him, and Cloud made sure that he let the man know it, whether through words or through actions.

In fact, the physical element seemed to intensify their intimacy, like roots digging in another layer. Though Cloud had only kissed two people before in his life (as much as he hated to count that incident with Roche) and thus had little to compare, he felt like there would never be a need to. Sephiroth kissed him in such a manner that made Cloud certain he would never want to be kissed by anyone else, ever again. Each brush of lips, each casual touch, left him breathless and hazy, and always wanting more.

And yet, they had not gone much farther than that, stuck to wandering hands that teased endlessly but otherwise remained relatively chaste. The desire from both parties was there – and every once in a while, Cloud nearly found himself throwing away rationality in a mess of lust, with only Sephiroth's unparalleled discipline to stop them. But the same reason that motivated them to keep the relationship secret also rendered them hesitant to push this too far, for fear that it would break the precious, wonderous thing still blossoming between them.

(Though if Cloud were being honest, the caution was starting to drive him a little wild. He was, after all, eighteen-years old and it did not help that he had indulged in one or two secret fantasies about Sephiroth before they even got together, not that he would not dare admit that to the man out loud…yet).

Regardless, despite all of those complexities and worries, the truth was really simple: Cloud would rather be with Sephiroth than without him, especially on a day like this, with the sunlight glinting on the cobblestoned sidewalks and sparkling against the glitter of the fake snowflakes strung from the rooftops. It was enough to prompt him into sending a sidelong glance toward the Shinra Tower, the steel monstrosity cutting through the pleasantness in more ways than one.

And yet, though he should have known better, Cloud had not expected his companion to catch the subtle motion. "Flower for your thoughts?" Aerith asked, her voice sweetly cutting through his reverie. Playfully, and for emphasis, she held up one of her stems in between her thumb and index finger.

Cloud blinked in surprise. But with the insistent way Aerith flicked her wrist, he knew he had no choice but to accept the proffered flower. That did not mean he was willing to give anymore. "It's nothing," he said, staring hard at the petals and ducking his head into the neck of his jacket.

"Doesn't seem like nothing."

"It is."

"Seems like you were thinking about someone important."

Gaia, she was almost too clever by half – a strange, otherworldly habit of somehow just knowing. It was so on the point that Cloud could only blush and look away.

Aerith quirked her brow and was about to provide another retort when Zack snuck up behind her quickly and lifted her up by the waist, earning a shocked squeal and a few smacks to the arm for his trouble. "Zackary Fair!" she yelped, squirming in protest.

"Aerith Gainsborough," Zack replied teasingly, setting her back down on the sidewalk. In response, Aerith took her basket and whacked him again with a huff.

Cloud smiled at the sight, but his heart twisted ever so slightly. The two had such an easy affection for each other and had no qualms about putting it on display. As much as he cared for Aerith and Zack, admired their relationship, he could not help but envy it, just a little.

"What were you two talking about?" Zack asked. "Were you guys scheming against me?"

"Yes," Cloud deadpanned.

Aerith smirked. "Trust me, we don't need an elaborate plan to best you."

Zack put both his hands on his chest in mock heartbreak, but the effect was marred somewhat by the lopsided grin on his face. "You two are killing me here,"' he said. Then, like a literal puppy, he sniffed the air, catching a waft of something that clearly delighted him. He whipped his head around for a moment in search of his prey and finally settled on a bakery stall down the street with sweets displayed neatly on ceramic plates. Next to the goods was a container of hot chocolate, which evidently was the scent that had caught Zack's attention.

"Gaia, that cocoa smells fantastic!"

"And here I hoped you would run out of words," muttered Cloud, which caused Aerith to stifle a laugh behind her hands.

But they followed Zack anyway to the stall, objected (uselessly) when the man nearly ordered three of everything in his excitement, and sat down at one of the empty tables nearby, disposable and steaming cups in hand. The chocolate tasted almost a bit too sweet, at least in comparison to the brew that his mother made and that had been Cloud's go-to source of comfort and warmth during the Nibelheim winters, but it was satisfying, nonetheless. After a few minutes of chatter, of enjoying the taste, he could feel himself settling in his chair, shoulders falling and elbows leaning on the table. In his relaxation, Cloud let his mind briefly wander, to wonder if he should take a cup of cocoa to Sephiroth when they returned to the tower. Cloud imagined the small but grateful expression, the soft smile, the happy kisses he would probably receive in return. Yes, that would most certainly be worth it.

"Cloud, you're doing it again," Aerith interjected, chewing on one of the pastries that Zack had stacked in front of them.

At that, the blond sighed, quietly scoffed at her, before taking another sip of his cup. Meanwhile, Zack glanced back and forth between them in confusion.

"I missed something," he said.

"It's nothing," insisted Cloud.

The quick reply was a tactical error, because Zack immediately recognized that it meant that there was indeed something. The Lieutenant shifted in his chair to look at Aerith for more information, but the girl merely shook her head humorously.

"Oh, not going to tell me anything? But I bought you guys hot chocolate and sweets!"

"You'd have to ask Cloud," teased Aerith. "I, on the other hand, will not be bought."

Zack levelled Cloud with his best questioning look. The blue eyes, sharp with mako, swept over him, and Cloud did his absolute best to school his face into a dispassionate expression, turning away slightly to obscure the heat that was rising from his neck and onto his face. He hoped that it was just from the warmth of the hot chocolate, though he knew himself better than to believe that the whole truth.

Unfortunately, Zack shared Aerith's uncanny penchant for reading people – and he had the benefit of knowing Cloud for longer. Which meant he could ask better questions and could be a bigger shit about it, too. And that was exactly what he did.

"How's Sephiroth?" Zack asked, grinning irreverently.

Cloud kept his face squarely on the steam rising from his cup, but for all his strength and stubbornness, he knew there was no force that could match this puppy when he had his target in his sights. "He's working," the blond said, briefly trying his best to delay the inevitable.

It was no use. Zack pressed forward. "I noticed that you aren't mad at him anymore. I figured he must have taken my advice and talked to you."

"He did."

"And how did that go?"

"Fine."

Zack chuckled, leaned back in his chair. "I'm your friend, Cloud. I'm his friend, too. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"

Cloud looked up at Zack now, brow furrowed. "No. It's just that…we weren't ready to tell anyone yet."

His friend tilted his head, contemplating that statement, before nodding. "I get that. You should know, though, that half of SOLDIER already thinks you're dating, and the other half is taking bets on when you'd start."

That made Cloud groan, mortification now shading his face an even deeper red.

Next to Zack, Aerith laughed. She reached forward, patted Cloud's hand with hers gently, comfortingly. "Zack is only teasing. So was I. I just meant to say that you look happy. That's what really matters."

There was nothing malicious, or even remotely mocking, in her eyes. Cloud knew that she meant every word, her genuine care filtering through her touch. It was odd, the way her serenity and her aura just seemed to soothe automatically. He could see why Zack loved her so much.

"Thank you, Aerith," he whispered, squeezing her hand back in reply.

"Hey, what about a 'Thank you, Zack'? I feel like I deserve the credit for this relationship!"

Cloud rolled his eyes. "Really? What do you want then? A prize?"

The Lieutenant smiled. "How about a double-date? That'd be fun, right?" he said, turning to Aerith.

It was then that Cloud noticed it. A flicker in those green eyes, but whether it was fear, uncertainty, anxiety, excitement, he could not quite place it. But what he was able to recognize made him all the more curious – because he had seen that look before, the glimmer that hinted at something terrible, something secret, something inescapable. It was the same look Sephiroth would give him before delving into the story of his dreams or recounting the tale of a dreadful trauma he suffered in the past. It was not a look he expected to see on someone like Aerith, and yet, somehow, in the middle of what had been a perfectly lovely afternoon, it was there.

He knew Zack caught it too, but it was clear that the man had no idea exactly what it meant, because he simply pulled away, guilt coloring his expression.

"Babe, did I say something wrong?" Zack asked.

Aerith shook her head. Whatever passed in that moment seemed to disappear just as quickly as it came. The girl tucked it away with a practiced care behind a veneer of cheer and optimism. That was one advantage she had over Sephiroth: her ability to understand and read people meant she knew how to fashion appearances if she had to. But Cloud now knew better. He also knew, however, that it was not his place to say anything at all.

"No, you're fine, Zack. Just felt a little dizzy. Must be all the sugar," Aerith said, brushing his arm gently. She then returned her attention to Cloud, skillfully maneuvering past the moment. "It would be fun, though, if you two are comfortable."

Cloud only nodded in response. He spared a glance at Zack, who did not appear convinced, but who was polite enough not to show it or question it in public. It was beyond rude of him to speculate on a relationship that wasn't his, but Cloud had the feeling that this was a strange sticking point for the two of them, whatever this was. All that Cloud understood was that even in their brief time together, Aerith just felt different from most people. The way she carried herself, the way she spoke – it all hinted at something deeper, something buried, something meaningful. Yet another odd parallel to the man he had somehow ended up with, though Aerith's energy certainly came off as more natural and less threatening. But unlike Sephiroth, who had mysteriously been prompted to be open with Cloud as a consequence of those dreams, Aerith did not seem ready to reveal this part of herself to Zack. Despite the fact that the man would obviously be more than receptive, more than supportive, more than caring.

As he sipped on the last of his drink, Cloud wondered if he and Sephiroth were not the only couple who had to deal with the burden of unknown secrets.

He just hoped that none of them would break under their weight.

The file was a study in contrasts. Before March, before the SOLDIER exam, Cloud Strife had been unremarkable – no, scratch that – he was insignificant. A two-time failure of the entry exam that should have been washed out along with the rest of the dreck in the infantry. And yet, here he was, post-exam, post-mako exposure, and his file read like the early resume of a future elite operative. Usually, Dr. Hojo paid little attention to the comings and goings of SOLDIER; beyond his investment in the General, there was no need to get involved in the weeds. He left the task of the physicals and injections to his lab assistants, as he had much more important things to do, more important discoveries to make, more important questions to answer.

Such as the question of why this particular young man had caught Sephiroth's interest so readily.

Hojo scrolled through the tablet, reading through the file once, twice for good measure, though he had already made up his mind. If his hypothesis was correct, then this situation could prove fruitful, not just for Shinra (he could care less about that), but for the larger experiment that had been his sole focus for years, since Gast had abandoned the Jenova Project and left it and Sephiroth in his hands.

And well, if his hypothesis was not correct, then he supposed that would also tell him something. That was the thing about the scientific method – sometimes, it required a bit of sacrifice, a bit of wrong, to find the right.

He buzzed the intercom. A moment later, a lab assistant appeared, mousy in her white coat. "Yes, Doctor?" she said.

"Second Class Strife is scheduled for his next set of enhancements next week, yes?"

The assistant typed a few things into her tablet, then looked up and nodded her head. "That's correct, Doctor. Three more injections over the course of five days."

Hojo lifted up the syringe in his hand, held it to the light, watched the mako green dance behind the glass.

"Make a notation in the file. I'd like the assistant administering the injections to add something."