Chapter 22 – Doubt

This was too easy.

Admittedly, that was an odd thing to say while attempting to bomb a mako reactor. But Zack could not escape the thought. It had lodged in his brain sometime just after they pulled into the Sector One station and dispatched with the Shinra guards posted there (three, just as Kunsel said there would be). It continued throbbing between his temples as Biggs and Jessie typed in the provided access codes to disable the security cameras and to open to the various electronic locks. And it remained as Zack handled the mechs and the guards, as they moved through the metal corridors, and as he and Barret finally reached the bottom floor of the reactor. The entire process was like writing a test while knowing all the answers – uneventful, unsurprising, unexciting. And yet, even though everything was going exactly as expected, Zack's steps were just shy of unsteady and his grip around the small bomb in his hands was slippery with sweat. His body just could not shake it: the distinctive sense that this, all this, was just too good to be true.

Okay, perhaps not that good.

"Well?" Barret said, his voice sharp and questioning. The man was standing behind Zack, his gaze focused on the central pump jutting out from the far end of the platform. Based on the schematics Kunsel had stolen, that pump was one of the most important parts of the reactor, and significant damage to it would put the entire machinery out of business for weeks. That made its destruction the perfect target for an Avalanche cell looking to send Shinra a message. Information on the pump's size, the materials it was made out of, and where it was located had been valuable enough to convince Barret that, in spite of his ties to the company, Zack would be a necessary addition to the team.

Though, it was evidently not enough to make the man fully trust him.

"C'mon, SOLDIER boy," Barret pressed. He stepped closer to Zack, his brow raised into an expression that was decidedly accusatory. "Don't tell me you're having second thoughts."

Yes, though Zack knew better than to say so aloud. He realized that it did not make sense; it was not as if he was particularly fond of mako reactors, and yet doubt ate at him from the inside anyway. It was sourced not from the place Barret likely expected, a misplaced loyalty to his former employer (any such notions had turned to ash along with Nibelheim), but from a burning anxiety budding in his stomach. Because this really was too easy. Too uncomplicated. Too simple. Granted, it was designed to be this way, given Kunsel's accurate intel, Biggs's smart planning, and Jessie's technological savvy, and two years ago, Zack probably would not have blinked twice at a mission like this that had gone according to plan.

Except here he was, blinking and worrying, because now, everything was different. Now, Zack felt that he could no longer afford to not worry. Now, the thoughts and the fears marched ceaselessly through his mind. Something is wrong. Something has to be wrong. Someone is going to get hurt, just like before, and you aren't going to be able to do anything to save them, and just like Cloud they are going to –

"Yo! Are you just going to stand there or what?"

A brusque, direct voice cut through the stream. Barret was looking at him, but Zack ignored the stare. The young man paused and took a deep breath to settle his core, silence his mind, the way Angeal once taught him how to. Focus. Focus. You can do this. You have to. You can. Then, he forced his legs one step forward, and then another, and then another, until he arrived at the pump. Jessie's instructions sounded through his ears, and Zack followed them to the letter: bomb on the control panel, wires connected just so. Again, exactly as planned, minus the odd trembling of his hands.

But if his companion noticed that minor deviation, he did not comment on it. Instead, Barret simply said, "Set the timer to ten minutes. That seems like enough time."

"We could do twenty," Zack suggested. "Gives us a bit of a buffer."

The response was a small laugh. "Really? Didn't peg you as the type to be that cautious."

Once upon a time, Barret would have been right. Zack would have been the guy urging a ten-minute sprint, and someone else, Cloud, Kunsel, Sephiroth, would have been the one to advise restraint. But there was just something about being back in a mako reactor, something about the bitter smell of the green liquid bubbling around them, about the cold feel of the machinery underneath his gloves, about the similarities to the last place where deadly monsters had roamed and where friends had died, that set Zack on edge. The reminders rang like alarms inside his head. In the last reactor he had been in, he had tossed caution aside and taken a chance, and then lost Cloud as a result. That was not a mistake Zack wanted to repeat, ever again.

He set the timer to fifteen minutes (a compromise, how pragmatic, a voice that sounded eerily like Sephiroth whispered in his ear), pressed the button, activated the charge.

"Okay," Zack said, "Let's go."

Barret smirked. "Would you look at that? Seems like you have some bite to you, after all!"

Was that a compliment? Zack was not sure. He brushed the comment aside and began jogging back across the platform to the ladder at the far end. As much as he could try to convince himself that it was just the timer motivating him to move quickly, he knew the reality was far more complicated, and the itch to leave the reactor (before someone else gets killed) was clawing underneath his skin.

"It's not a victory until we get out of here," he called back over his shoulder. "So, get a move on."

The gunman's brow quirked again, this time surprised, puzzled. "Alright, alright, I'm coming."

The pace Zack set was punishingly fast. Up the ladder, right down another pathway, up another ladder, to meet Jessie at the main chamber entrance. Though her eyes were alert and her gun was still at the ready, the brunette greeted them with a cheeky grin on her face. "That was quick. You boys now best friends?" she asked.

"The best," Zack replied. "Can we leave?"

"Shesh," said Barret. For once, his voice had dropped some of its gruffness, replaced instead with a subtle note of concern. "You rob this place in a past life or something?"

"The bomb might have something to do with that," Jessie supplied.

As much as he could, Zack resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He stepped up to the computer beside the door, typed in the passcode that Kunsel had provided to override the lock. Whether out of grace or pity, the other two dropped the subject and wordlessly followed him out of the reactor. Even with the increased distance from the space, the pounding in Zack's chest did not stop, though the suffocating grasp around his throat did at least become more bearable as the mako stench faded away. After a few moments, the trio rounded the last corner and reunited with Biggs and Wedge right by the designated exit route. Just as expected. There had been no guards waiting for them, no interruptions, and no injuries either. Everything really had gone according to plan.

Well, except for one detail.

"You guys are here really early," said Biggs.

"SOLDIER boy's fault," Barret noted.

Zack did not comment.

With that, Jessie took point, setting a charge to blast another hole through the brick wall and secure their escape. It was a quick climb through the back service tunnels, and in a matter of minutes, the five of them emerged from the darkness out into the familiar bustle of Sector Eight. The hard part was now over. All that was left was just to slip through the crowd, hop onto the train to Sector Seven, and then, they would be home free.

But just as Zack was about to let himself breathe, a loud burst blew through his ears. In the next second, everything – the ground, the buildings, the walls, the air – trembled fiercely, and it took every ounce of trained balance to keep himself upright. Zack had thought for a moment that it was just him, just his mind playing tricks, just an explosion of all those feelings from inside the reactor coming to swallow him whole. But when he heard Jessie yelp, saw Wedge stumble to the ground, he realized that this was the result of an altogether different kind of explosion.

"Oh, Gaia…" Jessie breathed. "Was that us?"

There was only one way to find out. Quickly, they stepped out into the street. Every other person seemed to have the same idea, all necks craned upward toward the sky. And there it was: billows of smoke pooling out of the top of the neighboring Reactor One, fire spewing into the air like an active volcanic eruption. The sight was awfully brilliant, reds and yellows and oranges bright and clear against the backdrop of Midgar's dark, cloudy sky. But somehow, even as he watched the lights, even as he heard the sirens, even as he recognized the damage as proof of their success, Zack could not quite bring himself to believe it. It had to be too good to be true, right?

"Look!"

"Is it malfunctioning?"

"What happened? What's going on?"

People were chattering, hovering, pointing. Above them, helicopters were whirring, speeding through the air toward the site. Zack knew the protocol: in a few minutes, an announcement would be made through the news and radio, asking people to remain in their homes until Shinra deemed it safe. Then, Public Security would roam through, investigating, asking questions, searching for the perpetrators. In extreme cases, and this likely counted as extreme, roads would be blocked off and train services would temporarily cease in an attempt to bottleneck any escape. They now had a narrow window through which to get back to Sector Seven before all that happened.

"We should go," said Zack.

Barret glanced at him again. This time, however, he was in agreement. "C'mon. Let's go home."

Just as intended, the chaos of the station worked to their advantage. With everyone trying to squeeze onto the last trains, it was easy for the five of them to disappear into the crowd, slip through the doors, and settle into one of the back compartments. And right on time, too – from the corner of his eye and through the dirty window, Zack could see the familiar helmets of Shinra troopers, rushing about just outside the platform. He inhaled, waited, prayed. Would they come in? Would they stop the train? Would they catch them? Would they see? But once again, nothing happened. The doors slid shut. The conductor made an announcement. The wheels began to move.

That was it. They did it. And everyone was still alive.

Yet, it was only once they made it past the first stop, past the first ID checkpoint, that Zack finally allowed himself to breathe again.

"You okay over there?" Biggs asked, his voice purposefully light. He was sitting on one of the plastic seats of the train right across from Zack. Wedge was beside him, eyes also fixed upon the former SOLDIER like a curious child with wide eyes.

Zack rubbed his wrists against his slacks. His hands were clammy and cold, even though he could feel sweat budding between his skin and the back of his shirt. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Biggs did not appear convinced, but he nodded anyway.

Meanwhile, Wedge took a different approach. "That was amazing! The way you dispatched those guards at the station and in the reactor. Man, this mission went so well, thanks to you."

"There were only a few troopers."

"No, it was totally more! Can all First Classes take on an army like that?"

It was supposed to be a compliment. But the words raised something bitter in the back of his mouth. Zack swallowed the taste down as best as he could, before responding, "No," in a clipped tone.

At that, Biggs interrupted, explained. "What Wedge means to say is that we're grateful, that's all."

"Yeah, that's what I meant!"

The corner of Zack's lip twitched up into a soft smile. There was just something about Biggs and about Wedge that reminded him of the dynamic between Angeal and himself. It was both heartwarming and heartbreaking, all at once. The problem was that he liked the two of them. He had enjoyed the afternoons he spent working with the duo and the rest of the Neighborhood Watch. He liked their kindness and their sense of justice and their willingness to fight for what they believed in. They were good people. All of Avalanche was, including the flirtatious and whip-smart Jessie, the passionate and headstrong Barret. And that should have been a good thing, except now, those thoughts only added to the anxiety Zack felt about this whole escapade. It was the same reason he had asked Tifa to stay behind (she had protested to be sure, only capitulated when he begged and begged, and she caught the fearful tones in his voice). It was the reason why he insisted on sprinting out of the reactor, the reason why he had feared security catching them at the train station. Over the course of these few weeks, Zack had come to care deeply about these people, and he did not want them to get hurt. He did not want to see their lives ruined or their homes burned. He did not want to see them die.

(Like Cloud had.)

Jessie's voice slipped through the silence next. In the intervening minute, she had shifted over from the far end of the compartment to sit next to Zack. "Looks like we passed through the last ID check. We'll be back home soon."

"Thanks, Jessie," said Biggs.

The young woman smiled. "No. Thanks to you and your solid planning. Everything went so well."

"Well, we had good intel."

"And a First Class SOLDIER on our side," Wedge added.

Zack ducked his head.

Another few quiet moments passed. Then, the screeching of the train brakes resounded through the air. Outside the half-shaded windows, the now familiar sights of the Sector Seven station bloomed through the glass. The doors slid open, and the four of them moved out onto the platform, Zack walking out first, with the other three just two steps behind, chattering happily amongst each other. From a compartment further down the train, Barret, too, was grinning as he disembarked with a purposeful stride.

And despite the fact that they were still surrounded by people, the gunman proceeded to pump his fists in the air triumphantly. "Hot damn, we are good!"

Wedge let out another cheer. "Bombs detonated: one. Members lost: zero."

"And one step closer to a brighter future," Biggs said.

"Hells yeah," exclaimed Jessie. "We gotta celebrate."

"Yes!" continued Wedge, his voice growing even louder. "Food and drinks at the bar tomorrow!"

At that, Barret turned and reminded his team that others could be eavesdropping, though it was clear from his tone that the chastisement was not genuine. In fact, Jessie, Wedge, and Biggs merely laughed in reply. Listening to their talk, witnessing their jabs and their affection for each other – it was a good scene, a sweet reprieve, a much-needed victory after a long war filled with far too many losses. And yet, though the edges of his anxiety had dulled somewhat, Zack could not offer anything more to the moment than a slow, somber nod.

He was fully expecting that to be it, for them to part ways at the station, for him to begin the trek back to Sector Five, when suddenly, Jessie wrapped her arms around his and squeezed tight.

"You should join us," she said. "Tomorrow night."

Zack blinked. "It's alright. I was just gonna meet my girlfriend and—"

"You can bring her."

"No, it's okay, I just—"

"Please, join us!" Wedge interrupted, jumping in front of Zack. "It'll be fun! Right, Boss, he can come, right? Right?"

All eyes turned toward Barret, and Zack was not entirely sure what answer he wanted the man to provide. A part of him hoped the gunman would lean into the remains of distrust he still clearly held. And how could Zack blame him? He had seen Corel – or at least, what was left of it. Trust could not come easy after that.

Instead, however, Barret's expression softened around the edges.

"Fine. Seems like he could use a drink. Or several. On the house."

Both of Wedge's hands shot up in the air. "Yes! This is gonna be great. You play darts, Zack? You can totally be on my team."

"No fair!" protested Biggs. "You can't have a SOLDIER on your team."

Jessie grinned. "You're just bitter because Wedge beat you so bad last time!"

This was too much. When had this become too much for him? Zack's mouth felt dry, his next words trapped in his throat. Somehow, his silence did not seem to matter. The other three were still talking away, teasing each other, laughing at each other, the same way that Zack once easily used to do. He had been like this, with Angeal, with Cloud, with Kunsel. Even with Sephiroth. But perhaps that was why he was now finding it difficult to join in.

Because if he did, and he lost them too –

"I'll think about it," said Zack, hoping that his voice was not as tight as his chest felt in the moment.

Again, Barret looked at him, curious, questioning. The suspicion was still there, but something else was shadowing it – a bit of worry, a hint of understanding, as if he recognized the signs of what it was like to be overwhelmed by the fear of losing those he cared about. But for now, the man did not press any further. He extended his hand, shook Zack's firmly. "Alright. Gotta tuck the little one into bed. We'll talk later, SOLDIER boy."

"Hope to see you tomorrow," Biggs added.

Jessie smiled, her eyes bright underneath the streetlights. "Welcome to the Avalanche family, Zack."

That word did him in, slipped through the wall that he had been futilely attempting to maintain. Family. As he watched Barret and the others leave the station, it warmed a feeling small and light in Zack's chest. A spark of hope. A flicker of a campfire in a cold night. It was not enough to protect against the wind, or the terrifying thought that something horrible would happen in the next hour, the next day, the next week. That feeling was like a scar that would not fade. Though, perhaps that was okay. Because, today, Zack had managed to do something good. Today, he had followed the plan. Today, he had not failed.

Today, no one had died.

Of course, there was still tomorrow. But for tonight, at least, Zack supposed he would go home and try and let that truth be good enough.

There was a time after the end of the Wutai War during which Heidegger had asked Sephiroth to return to the ravaged continent, to put down a handful of insurgents who had refused to accept the ceasefire. Sephiroth had ignored the order. On paper, he had made multiple rational excuses, many of which had to do with Genesis and Angeal's desertion, and some of which cited the disproportionality of sending something like him to handle a few reasonably upset villagers. The unspoken truth, however, was that Sephiroth was coward. He had been too afraid to return to the scene of some of his worst actions, too fearful of reliving those dark memories, too scared to look into the mirror and see the monster staring back at him through the broken glass.

Returning to Nibelheim felt a lot like that.

"How does it feel? To be home after all this time?"

Back then, Cloud had not responded to the question. But now stepping through the charred remains of the village, Sephiroth could answer for him: it felt like nightmare that refused to end. The ashy smell, the dust that tickled the skin under his nails as he brushed his fingers over the wood, the eerie silence, all of it harsh reminders of what had once stood here, of what Sephiroth once had, and of what he had lost. Truth. Freedom. Home. And most importantly, and overriding everything else, Cloud. The last night he had spent in this town, Sephiroth had tasted all those wonderful things, and had dreamt that maybe, just maybe, he would get to keep them. But then he woke up, and destiny, in a single and cruel instance, swiftly and mercilessly tore it all away.

Sephiroth supposed that he should have been angry. He honestly still was. But he had to push it down, had to seal away the rotting pieces of his soul. The words of Jenova – this is what you were born to do – ghosted over him like a curse. It was tiring, the constant doubt, the struggle against whatever dark impulses she had programmed within his cells. It festered and burned inside of him, and Sephiroth recognized that it was only a matter of time before it destroyed either him or the entire world. Before then, he had to find the truth. He had to free himself from Jenova. He just had to. There was no other choice.

So, in spite of his fears, his broken heart, Sephiroth came back. To where it had begun.

Somehow, Shinra Manor appeared even more ominious than it had two years ago. The outsides of the bottom floor were scuffed black, likely from the smoke and the flames that had once consumed the surrounding town. The glass of the windows had darkened with grime and in some far back corner, the roof had collapsed, taking a portion of the upper level with it. It gave the building a misshapen appearance, made it resemble a haunted face that stared back at Sephiroth with sinister, pitch black eyes.

Truly, he hated this place. He hated how vulnerable it made him feel.

But Sephiroth crossed the threshold anyway. He walked past the door, followed the familiar path: up the stairs, to the east room, down the secret passageway. Each step he took seemed to unsettle the air, which in turn whispered back to him the old memories of the days and nights spent here – how he had shattered under Genesis's taunts and Jenova's temptations, how he had cracked at the thought of nearly slaughtering Cloud with his own sword. Though there had been many instances before in which had Sephiroth believed that his mind would break, he had never come so close as he had when he came to this place. He remembered it so vividly: his body, curled up against the back wall of the library, surrounded by the books with their twisted words; the tears that were breaking through his chest; the despair that consumed every breath. At the time, it seemed inevitable, and Sephiroth had been certain that he would fall. After all, it was his destiny to.

But then, Cloud had pulled him back from the brink, and as a result, Sephiroth found himself falling in a completely different way. I love you, he had said, and just like that, Cloud had saved him, kept trying to save him, right up until his very last breath. Now, as he descended the staircase winding down to the hidden library, Sephiroth could not help but feel the loss so much more keenly. Cloud was no longer here. There would be no one to stop Sephiroth from careening to his doom should the ghosts arise and drag him back to the edge again. All he had left was his own battered willpower and the tiny promise he had made to the man he loved (and still loved). He was not sure it would be enough.

Sephiroth took another step, paused as he heard the creaking of the wood beneath his boot. Somehow, the narrow space felt more fragile than it had before, yet another sign of the relentless passage of time. That fact, coupled with the darkness closing in against his skin, the stiff and suffocating air, made Sephiroth all the more nervous. Why had he come back here again? He had burned the books, though their words were forever imprinted in his mind thanks to his eidetic memory, and from what he could recall, there had not been much else left in the library nor the nearby laboratory besides defunct machinery and broken mako tubes. What the hell was he doing? What else was he hoping to find here, except for the awful memories?

To the empty air, Sephiroth sighed. Perhaps that had been what he was chasing – some idiotic effort at self-flagellation for his failures, for his sins. He was wasting time. Zack and Tifa probably had the right idea, going to Midgar and taking concrete action. Meanwhile, he had continued to wander around, lost and directionless. That had been the same defense mechanism he had utilized right after Genesis and Angeal's desertion, when he had buried himself in Science Department files and sent Zack out to fight his battles in his stead. Once again, he was simply being a coward.

Enough of this, Sephiroth thought. He turned around.

And suddenly, his boot fractured the wood of the stair beneath him.

It happened quickly after that. In one suspended second, Sephiroth had watched as the black hole cracked wide open, and in the next, everything else completely gave way. Gravity pulled him down. The cold, grimy air slipped through his fingers. Whether he yelled out or not hardly mattered, as this time, there was no one there to listen, no one there to stop the fall.

No one there to save Sephiroth as he crashed straight through the floor and into the shadows below.

Aerith was not much of a drinker, but as a slum girl at heart, she did prefer a smokey beer to a complicated cocktail. Still, there was something about the way that Tifa mixed drinks that compelled her to try some of the bartender's more interesting creations. She had not been disappointed: each beverage tasted better than the last, and left Aerith with a pleasant buzz in the back of her head. And she was not the only who shared the sentiment. In the corner by the dartboard, Biggs and Wedge were absolutely sloshed, while across the way, Jessie and Barret were debating about some obscure Planetology theories using very slurred words. In all, the scene that played out in Seventh Heaven this night was an intimate, happy celebration, a much needed moment of family and friendship and goodness in a world that had too little of all those wonderful things.

And yet, the person who perhaps needed this the most remained conspicuously absent.

"He's outside," Tifa said, sliding Aerith two bright red drinks. The liquid sloshed in their glasses, a few tiny droplets spilling out over the brown countertop.

"I saw," Aerith replied. "I just – I figured I'd give him some more time."

Tifa hummed thoughtfully, as she wiped her hands on a towel. "I was supposed to go to the reactor, you know," she stated. "But Zack insisted that I stay behind. He was so…nervous about how it would go. But he got the job done anyway."

Somehow, that statement failed to be as comforting as it should have. Aerith looked down at her hands. "He does that," she whispered.

A pause. Tifa was looking at her, her brow knitted in concern. But a kind and encouraging smile began to stretch over her lips. "Hey, when you talk to him, will you tell him that there's a burger waiting in the kitchen?" she asked. "It's extra burnt, just how he likes it."

Aerith nodded. As Tifa turned back to making another round of drinks for the other Avalanche members, the flower girl picked up the two proffered glassed and carried them outside the bar. The night air was cool and pleasant, and Sector Seven was still abuzz with people, their talk friendly and light like a happy chorus. The sight and sounds reminded Aerith of why she loved the Midgar slums, or more specifically, the people who lived there. She loved how they continued to find the good in the dirt, how they came together and shared in joy for no other reason besides the fact that they were all still alive. It was a reminder that at its best, humanity was a lot like the flowers she tended to in her garden: bright and colorful and lively and resilient.

And there was one particular human that Aerith adored the most. When she rounded the corner of the deck, there he was, leaning against the railing, a cheap beer bottle hanging from one of his hands. Zack was staring at nothing in particular, mako blue eyes unfocused and empty. But Aerith could tell from his expression – the same haunted look that seemed permanently plastered on his face ever since his return to Midgar – that his mind was anything but.

"I brought you a better drink," she said by way of greeting, moving to stand beside him. Aerith placed one of the glasses on the railing, waiting for a moment to make sure it would not tip over. "Tifa's mixing some really good ones."

Zack's eyes flickered to her. There was something small and desperate in the look, and he did not waste the moment. "There's something wrong with me," he said, quiet, soft. "I think it's been there for a while."

Aerith paused. Somewhere behind her, through the wall of the bar, she could hear Wedge let out a triumphant yell, probably about another high score on the dartboard. "There's nothing wrong with you," she murmured back.

"Yes, there is. I can't – I keep trying to act like myself again and I can't."

"Everything is different now."

"I know that. I know."

"It's okay if you feel different now, too."

Zack sighed. The sound was strangled, frustrated. "I'm supposed to be happy. We did it. We hit a reactor, sent a message to Shinra. Kunsel reported that the higher-ups are furious over the fact that they could not catch us. Everything went as planned and no one died. We did a good thing. And yet – I'm just – I'm not—"

He stopped, sucked in a breath. Aerith waited for the trembling to subside, for Zack to continue. When he did, her heart nearly cracked in two.

"It was my dream to be a hero. But I don't feel like one, Aerith. I don't think I ever really was."

The confession weighed heavily between them. In truth, however, Aerith had expected this. She had seen the fissures long ago, when Zack had been sobbing in her arms after Angeal's death. That had been the first strike; then, Cloud had blown the dam wide open. And she could not blame Zack for his grief and his guilt, because she had thought something similar when she had found out about the blond's death, and again when she had encountered the first dark-robed man dying near the Sector Five café. I failed. This was my fault. I failed. The burden was almost too painful, too much to bear.

But then, Zack had walked back into her church, still alive, still breathing, and the relief that had flooded her system consumed everything else. It was selfish, Aerith knew. It was maybe even cruel. She had changed things, played fate, caused lives to end when they shouldn't have, denied Zack's dream of becoming the hero he so wanted to be, all because she could not stomach the image of his body left out in the wastes, all because she had wanted him to come back to her.

Now, it left her wondering if she was going to lose him anyway.

Aerith curled her fingers around the railing, stiffened her grasp until the wood softly creaked. "Can I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

"If you had the choice between being a hero, or being alive, what would you pick?"

Zack seemed shocked by the question, enough to stand upright, regard her fully. "That's – that's a weird question," he said, tilting his head in disbelief. "Why are you asking?"

"I just want to know."

"Why?"

"Can't you just answer?"

Zack frowned. "No. Not until you tell me why."

Aerith closed her eyes. The mantra was returning, running circles in her head. "It's my fault," she said, repeated. "It's my fault."

He was beside her in an instant, a hand pressed against the back of her own. "What? No. I'm sorry, I know I haven't been myself lately. But that's not your fault."

"Yes, it is."

"Aerith–"

She let her eyelids flutter open and faced him, directly. "It is my fault, Zack. You should be angry at me. You are angry at me. Two years ago, I made a choice to tell you the truth and that changed everything. And you came back to me alive, and I was so happy, but you aren't happy, and that's my fault."

And then, more quietly, because it was the truth that neither of them had wanted to say aloud: "I took your dream, Zack. It's all my fault."

The silence that followed was thick and consuming, enough to fade the noises from the bar and from the surrounding Sector. Zack stepped back, turned away from her and dropped the bottle on the railing. Though his face remained in profile, Aerith could see the slight twist of the corner of his lips. Regret. Guilt. Sorrow. She hated seeing him like this. It made her sick to her stomach.

She looked away. "I'm sorry."

"Aerith..."

"No, I'm supposed to be helping you, not attacking you. You lost a friend."

"He was your friend, too."

"I'm sorry, Zack. I'm sorry. I—"

Suddenly, he grasped her wrist, pulled her close and kissed her, a soft but insistent pressure against her lips.

What?

Aerith was not expecting this. Hatred, derision, scorn, yes. This? It was too much. She found herself shaking his arms. "I was just trying to protect the people I care about," she murmured.

He was staring at her, straight into her eyes. "I know. That's a good thing."

"No, it's not. It's selfish. For a Cetra, that's selfish."

Zack lifted a hand, brushed it through her bangs, tucked some wayward strands behind her ear. "But you aren't just a Cetra," he said. "You're human, too."

The reminder felt sharp in her ears, almost as if her body were trying to reject it. But Aerith closed her eyes and let the words sink in anyway, folded it into her heart like a precious love letter to be read again later. Because he was right. She was human. Which meant that she could love like a human. And she knew that she could, because she loved Zack more than anything else in the world.

When she was ready to, Aerith spoke again. "I'm sorry. I really am."

"It's okay. I know."

"Do you really?" she asked, peering up at him. "Because you still haven't answered my question."

Zack looked away, doubt creeping at the edges of his eyes. But he still held onto her, still kept her close, enough for Aerith to hear the heartbeat thumping firmly in his chest. "I don't regret coming back to you," he said. "If that's what you are wondering, if that's what you think, just know that I don't."

"Okay."

"It's just that everything is so complicated. And I know that people have been looking to me to do the right thing. But I'm just not sure what that is anymore. I don't want to screw up and lose anyone else," he continued, finally meeting her eyes again. There was a soft smile spreading on his face. "I guess you can relate to that, too, huh?"

Aerith felt her lips curl up in response. "Yeah."

"Look at us. Who the hell thought to put the fate of the world in our hands?"

"The Planet, apparently."

Zack let out a huff. "Well, tell the Planet that it sucks."

Aerith laughed, pressed her face into Zack's chest. She could feel the rumbles of his own joy, small and fragile, but there, against her cheeks. Slowly, gently, she tightened her arms, to check if he was real and solid and alive, to burrow deeper, to keep him close.

"I'd choose being alive with you," she whispered, as if speaking a heresy.

Zack's hand moved, glided over the skin of her back, tucked itself under her chin. He tipped her gaze to meet his, and just like the first time, Aerith was stunned by the wonder of those amazing eyes.

"Then, I choose you, too," he said. And he kissed her, again and again.

The first thing Sephiroth felt when he opened his eyes was pain.

It throbbed heavy and harsh, radiating from a spot in his left temple all throughout the entirety of his skull. A bitter taste brushed against the corner of his lip, and it took more than a few seconds for awareness to return and for his sight to regain clarity. When it finally did, all he could see was a dark room, with stone floors, stone walls, and, of course, a broken ceiling, from which Sephiroth had evidently fallen straight through.

Cautiously, he lifted his head, ignoring the jolt of pain the motion provoked. His hands found purchase against the floor, and with a slight push of his arms, he managed to raise himself up and into a semi-seated position. Sephiroth then blinked once, twice, centered his breathing. He needed to focus. Where was he? Was he still in the Manor? If he was, this was not a room he had seen before. Perhaps there were more secrets to uncover, after all.

Sephiroth inhaled, narrowed his eyes, tried to squint his way through the shadows. Judging by the accumulation of dust and the fact that the torches hanging in the corners were rotted with disuse, this space had not seen a visitor in decades. But the most interesting details his quick investigation noted were the four coffins placed all around the room. The three against the walls had their lids pried open, the skeletons within them uncovered, but the one in the center – the one that he had accidentally fallen on top of – remained intact. Well, almost. The bottom right corner of the lid had become dislodged, probably by Sephiroth's own head, exposing whatever was inside to the air for what was likely the first time in years.

Oh no.

Paranoia shot through Sephiroth immediately. His mind ran through the possibilities, but there was one he feared the most: that the coffin housed a monster similar to the ones that had been trapped in the reactor, that had once nearly destroyed the town above. Though why it was sealed away here, in a graveyard hidden underneath a secret laboratory, he could not comprehend. Perhaps it was considered less dangerous, and therefore allowed to be kept close. Or perhaps it was the opposite, and the creature was purposefully trapped in a room that no one would be able to discover, notwithstanding a broken staircase and some terrible luck. He was not sure which of the two options sounded more appealing. And if he were being honest, it did not matter. Sephiroth had come to Nibelheim in search of answers, and regardless of what new demons awaited him in this place, the only option he had was to face them, head on.

So, he gripped edge of the lid and pushed.

Particles of dust shifted in the air, stinging Sephiroth's eyes. When they settled, he could see a body nestled in the fabric of the coffin. It was dressed in black, shrouded in a red cape, and it sported a menacing golden claw for a left arm. But despite that one strange detail, the rest of the being, particularly the face, looked very much like a normal man. Not a monster. Human. Perhaps still human, though Sephiroth knew from experience that appearances counted for little in the context of the Shinra Science Department. Whatever he was, the man was still sleeping, though he was so immobile that Sephiroth was not entirely sure he was breathing. Carefully, he lifted a hand and leaned forward, to hover his fingertips just above the nose, to feel for the soft ghosting of air, to see if there was any sign of life in this dark and empty place.

It took a few seconds, his heartbeat wildly pounding all the while. But against the skin of his right hand, he felt it.

Breath.

He was alive.

At that realization, relief, fear, and a little bit of something else surged within Sephiroth. But unfortunately, there was no time to sort fully through the emotions. Because suddenly, that gold claw shot up and wrapped itself tightly around his wrist, and Sephiroth was yanked close and forced to stare directly into a pair of open and awake eyes.

(Well, he did say he had to face his demons head on.)

"Who are you?" the man asked, with a soft voice that betrayed absolutely nothing at all.

Sephiroth could not answer. Because in that moment, all he could think about was how much the red glow of those irises resembled the glossy and terrifying shine of freshly spilt blood.