Chapter 28 – Team

The next morning, the sun rose once more.

It was a simple truth, but one that Sephiroth often doubted, both in spite of and because of his own experience. There had been so many nights, fighting amongst the thick Wutai trees, shivering in the white of the laboratories, bound by the horrors of the nightmares, in which the darkness seemed to stretch on forever, an empty void that refused to end. But then, time would keep ticking, the world would keep spinning, and no matter how thick the shadow, how dark the night, the sun would always find a way to rise again.

It could have been easy to consider such a notion as oppressive, a reminder of how the wheel of fate continued to turn, with a cold disregard for the bystanders beneath its path. And there were many mornings after Nibelheim, when Sephiroth opened his eyes to a lack of warmth beside him, to a sorrow heavy and bone-deep, that he had certainly believed that to be the case.

But today, something was different.

Today, when the light broke over the horizon, peered over the metal walls that surrounded Midgar, it sang a softer song. To this fresh melody, the people of Sector Seven responded, poking out of their sleep like the first daffodils of spring. They roused themselves from the makeshift camps at Evergreen Park and began the good work of rebuilding their lives. In the warm tide of their efforts, the other Avalanche members became soft pieces of sand easily carried away: Tifa, crafting lunches and helping the wounded; Biggs and Wedge, clearing out debris from homes; Barret and his daughter Marlene, assisting other children in finding their parents. Even Sephiroth (along with Vincent, ever-silent by his side) had gotten swept up, had spent the waking hours eliminating the monsters that had wandered into the undercity from the nearby scrapyard. Every action forward, every laugh that sounded in the air, every gesture of gratitude exchanged – all solid proof of the adage. Somehow, even after that terrifyingly dark night, the sun still rose. Somehow, underneath the steel of the plate, hope continued to grow, for all those that remained when the morning had come.

All except for one.

Zack had disappeared by the time Sephiroth had awakened, without word or warning. He was not there when breakfast was served, nor when the assignments for the day had been given. It was only hours later, when the early afternoon began to stretch its shade, that the dark-haired man at last remerged from the rubble of the collapsed expressway and sat down on one of the empty benches. There, Zack stayed, silent and unmoving, though someone (probably Tifa) had placed a mug of untouched soup beside him. And it was there that Sephiroth had spotted him, when he and Vincent had returned to the park for lunch, at the conclusion of their monster hunt through Sector Seven.

"He hasn't moved, hasn't eaten," Tifa explained, her brows furrowed with concern. She and Sephiroth were standing on the other side the playground, watching as Zack continued to hunch over, continued to stare at some speck on the ground with empty blue eyes. The sight was enough to start cracking at Sephiroth's heart, particularly because the hollowness of Zack's expression seemed so out of place in the warm glow of the day – and against the memory of the person that Zack used to be.

Sephiroth asked, "Has he said anything?"

Tifa shook her head.

That was an even worse sign. The surge of remorse that flew through him then was nearly overwhelming, but Sephiroth knew better than to ignore the feeling. And while he did not have the full details of what had transpired in Midgar during those months that they were apart, he did not need them. The truth was there, in the darkened the skin beneath Zack's eyes, in the pallor that haunted his complexion, in the gauntness of his cheeks. Whatever it was had been too much. Whatever it was had not been fair. Zack had always deserved so much better than what this world saw fit to leave him. For all that he had carried, for all that he had suffered, Zack deserved – needed – more than guilt, more than an apology.

So, even though Sephiroth could not offer much, hardly knew what to say or what to do, he understood that he had to try, for the man that, through it all, had been his truest friend.

"Let me," he said. "I will talk to him."

A small smile tipped Tifa's lips. "Okay. Good."

Slowly, as if afraid that any sudden motion would scare the puppy away, Sephiroth crossed the park and sat down at the opposite end of the bench. The caution turned out to be unnecessary – Zack hardly moved, the only acknowledgement of Sephiroth's presence being a slight dip of his head. Still, the tiny gesture was enough, a thread to hold onto, a subtle invitation, a start.

Sephiroth took it, readily. "I did not see you this morning," he said, attempting to mimic something close to light-hearted in his tone. "The two members of Avalanche you saved, Biggs and Wedge, if I recall correctly, they missed you."

Silence. The dark-haired man kept quiet, kept his gaze fixed on his hands. When the passing seconds became agonizingly long, Sephiroth wondered if he should wrack his limited social handbook for something else to say. But eventually, Zack moved, his mouth forming over the words tiredly, as if the act of speaking was almost too much to handle.

"Just got up early. Did not want to wake you."

Which meant that Zack did not sleep at all. Another bad sign. Sephiroth pushed a little further.

"Did you have something you needed to do?"

A flinch. He hit a button. The wrong one, because then Zack's lips tightened shut.

Quickly, the silver-haired man backtracked, searched for a different approach, something more gentle, less insistent, less direct. His eyes traversed downward to the mug steaming forlornly between them, the liquid now congealing as it cooled.

"Your soup is getting cold," Sephiroth noted. "I can get you another."

"No, thank you."

"It will not be much trouble."

"No."

"Zack—"

It was like a firework going off. Suddenly, Zack shifted upright, his eyes alight, with rage and frustration. They were pointed onto Sephiroth, prickling his skin like a sniper's mark.

"Seriously?" exclaimed Zack. His voice bled with the bitterness. "I can't believe this. You were the one that left! And now, after months of being Gaia-knows-where, doing whatever you want, you come back and you act like you fucking care?"

That was the truth, Zack's version of it, at least. Even so, the words hurt, badly, burrowing deep into Sephiroth's chest. But he refused to let the pain show on his face, partly because he knew he deserved some of it, and mostly because he had been around Genesis long enough to recognize when someone's anger was simply looking for an easy target to hit. If that was what Zack needed him to be, Sephiroth would gladly act the part. It was a small ask, for someone he already owed an impossible debt.

So, Sephiroth swallowed the attack, paused and waited, as the flare sparked and crackled – and then, subsided. It took one excruciating moment, followed by another. At last, Zack's breathing slowed. Those shoulders sagged, and that brow untensed, and the fire in the eyes dimmed, drowned out instead by sorrow, by guilt.

"I'm sorry," said Zack, covering his face with his hands. "That just came out. It was totally unfair of me to say."

"No, it was not."

The other man's voice was hitching, tripping over itself. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's happening to me, I have no idea. I don't know what to do anymore. Gaia, Seph. I just – I can't –"

If Sephiroth's heart was cracking before, this – seeing Zack like this – blew the whole thing wide open. Zack was cradling his head in his hands, and his breathing sounded too soft and too empty, as if someone had cleaved down the center of his body and pulled everything out, until there was nothing left to give. In a way, that was exactly what had happened. They had taken Zack and torn him apart. This was the consequence of asking someone to carry a burden that was never meant to be his. This was the result of Angeal's betrayal, Genesis's cruelty, and Sephiroth's cowardice. Except, the other two were gone, and Sephiroth was the last one standing, and even though he had tried before to be a better friend, in the end, when it had all become too much, he had succumbed to his old instinct. He had run away.

Zack was right: it was unfair.

Sephiroth inhaled, deep and slow. "I am the one who owes you an apology, not the other way around."

"No, wait–"

He lifted a hand, to force Zack to pause, and made to continue. "I was the one who left. At the time, it was what I felt I needed to do. But that does not change the impact that it had on you. It does not change the fact that I hurt you."

The reply was a shuddering of the shoulders, a slow, tense heaving, up and down. Zack was trying to hold back the tears, even though they both knew it was of no use. The fresh wetness was already there, welling in the dark-haired man's eyes. But that was not the only detail that caught Sephiroth's attention. Over Zack's shoulder, leaning against the back of the bench, he could see the Buster Sword, its hilt sparkling like the beams of a calling lighthouse drawing the ships to shore.

"It's just so heavy," Zack whispered. Like a plea. Like a confession. "I don't know if I can take it anymore."

Sephiroth could not even imagine. The weight of that sword, its legacy, everything that it meant – yes, Zack had carried it all beautifully, perhaps better than Angeal had. It seemed, however, that the cost of doing so had finally caught up with him.

What could he say to that? Except for the apology he knew he had yet to give.

"I am sorry," said Sephiroth, with every bit of feeling he could muster. "I am so sorry."

The other man let out a sigh. "Ah, fuck," Zack huffed, rubbing the dampness from his cheeks. "I just – I don't understand why this has been so hard."

"You have been through a lot. Tifa had mentioned that things have not been easy for you."

"Tifa said that?"

"It is very difficult to get anything by her."

A laugh. Weak, uncertain, but there. Zack dropped his hands, returned to looking at Sephiroth, straight in the eyes. The tears were falling freely and so too were the words.

"Everyone keeps get hurt," he murmured. "Everyone keeps dying. I thought that I could do something about it. But what if…"

Another lengthy pause. Sephiroth was forced to ask, prompt, "What if…?"

The next breath Zack took was shaky and slow.

"What if it's me?"

The question was like a dagger to the heart. "No, Zack —"

But it was too late. Zack kept speaking, syllables rushing out like a riptide current, relentless and harsh.

"Aerith asked me about destiny once and I told her that I hated thinking of things as predetermined, that I wanted the stuff I did to matter. Now I'm not so sure."

"Zack–"

"What if it was my fault? What if I made it worse by trying? What if I was never meant to be here? What if I shouldn't be here?"

"No. You—"

And then, the last blow, the truth that Zack had been most afraid to say and that Sephiroth was most afraid to hear.

"What if it was supposed to be me?"

The wave had at last crashed, scattered against the rock. Zack closed his eyes, leaned back on the bench, the base of his palms pushing against his eyelids in a desperate attempt to stop next onslaught of tears. Again, it was futile. The streaks tore their paths down his face, and his chest was moving so fast, it was vibrating. Like his lungs were trying to claw through his skin for air. Like the sadness was going to rip his body apart.

This was the worst sign of them all. Outright proof that in the face of the mounting losses, Zack had begun to believe a terrible thought – that the world would have been better off without him. After all these months, it was clear now that the man had walked too far down this road alone, to the point that he had forgotten the way back. It was also a hard thing to witness, because Sephiroth knew from experience what that pain was like. It had been an old companion of his, one that he had first made as a child in the laboratories, kept as a teenager on the warfront, carried with him as a grown man. There had even been a time, on the floor of a basement library in an abandoned manor, when he had nearly allowed himself to fall to it.

But because of a wonderous pair of blue eyes, Sephiroth knew better.

He had to make sure that Zack knew it, too.

"Zack," he began, voice methodical and steady. Like it once was years ago, when they were two men sitting in his office, thinking about the old friends they had lost. "I have to disagree with you."

"Seph, you–"

Once again, Sephiroth lifted a hand, to stop Zack, but also to gesture at the park around them. Across the way, there was Barret, huddling with other community leaders. Near the swing set, there was Vincent, staring down at Marlene, who appeared quite close to convincing the stoic man to help her climb onto the seat. By the path winding to Sector Six, there was Tifa, handing out sandwiches to volunteers who had returned from repairing Sector Seven. All around them, there were peals of laughter, words of joy, shared between men and women and children. The message was evident: there was still life here, in this corner of a dying city. Unlike Banora, unlike Nibelheim, unlike many of the other towns, this place had survived, its people had lived. A small victory, in terms of the numbers, but it was a victory, nonetheless.

"Yes, you are correct," continued Sephiroth, watching as the scene started to seep into Zack's vision, his mind. "There has been too much pain, so much loss. But look in front of you, Zack. Look above you. That plate is still standing. Soon, these people can go home again. And I know for a fact that I would not be sitting here on this bench – that I would not have had a chance to live – without you."

At that, the other man released a sob, a broken breath. Good. It meant he was listening. Sephiroth pushed forward, just a little more.

"In the grand scheme, I do not know if this is better for the world. I do not know if this is enough. But what I do know, with absolute certainty, is that I am better off. Because of you."

Another breath, and a second and a third. As the words sank home, each exhalation Zack gave became just a bit more steady than the last. When something like calm began to settle, when it seemed like he would no longer burst from the pressure, the man slowly unwound from his panic. Zack then locked his eyes forward on some nondescript spot, distant and thoughtful.

"Kunsel is dead," he murmured.

"I know."

"There was another one from Avalanche. Her name was Jessie."

"I am sorry."

"Cloud's been up there for two years."

That one hit, hard and true. "I know."

"Aerith–"

"We'll get her back," said Sephiroth. "Both of them. I promise you, you will not have to carry this burden alone."

And that was it. He had finally found the one thing that Zack needed to hear. Sephiroth knew it, too, because like a soothing cure, small bits of relief started to smooth over the slope of Zack's shoulders, and the tears had begun to slow. Of course, no sequence of words would ever undo the past, nor make up for the losses, for the agony of what these months in Midgar must have been like. But at the very least, for anything that came for them tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, Sephiroth was determined to be there. He would not run away again. Not just out of an obligation to Angeal, but because Zack Fair was his friend.

Zack had closed his eyes, allowed the sun waft over his face. Something like light, like life, was returning again to his features.

"I went to see Elmyra," he said. "This morning. That's why I left early."

"Did it go well?"

A chuckle, low, derisive. "No. She threw a pan at me. But she did say to get her daughter back, so that's what I will do."

Sephiroth glanced upward at the plate, his eyes following the grooves of the metal. "You are braver than me, then. I have not spoken to Claudia yet. I am too afraid to."

"But she actually likes you."

"I did not want to give her false hope, just in case –"

Sephiroth could not even bring himself to finish that sentence, both aloud and in his own mind.

Another beat. Zack turned to face him, look at him. Their eyes met, exchanged a silent understanding: the renewed hope of Cloud's survival, as well as concern over the state they would find him in. Would Cloud be alright? Would his body? Would his mind? There were so many unknown variables, so many fears, so many things that could go wrong. In the end, however, they both knew that a little bit of hope was better than nothing. Because in a world that took away everything else, hope was all that mattered.

Then, something else happened. A grin started to spread over Zack's face. "Look at us," he said. "A couple of guys terrible with the in-laws. But I do have something going for me that you don't."

Sephiroth raised a brow. "And that is?"

"The fact that Elmyra never caught me with my tongue down her daughter's throat."

It took a moment longer than usual (perhaps because his brain had attempted to erase that particular instant from his mind out of self-preservation) for Sephiroth's memory to react. But when the images of that first visit to Cloud's childhood home (this is an interesting method of gathering firewood, I'll say, right, Mama Strife?), flew through his mind, he actually had to cover his face to hide the rare blush rising over his cheeks.

"You really had to bring that up," Sephiroth said.

Zack threw his head back and laughed. The sound was melodious, full, and wonderful.

"Of course I did. It's one of my favorite memories of all time. Next time I'm sad, I'm just gonna think about that. It'll make everything better."

It was, admittedly, quite funny. But it was more than that – it was a good sign. A sign that some of the old Zack was still in there. That he was ready to fight and try again. Because of that and more, Sephiroth found himself lightly laughing, too, relishing the warm feeling budding in his body. Everything that they had to go through to get to this point, to be able to sit on a bench in a park and share a joke – it was almost ridiculous. Just as it was almost ridiculous how much they still had left to do. For now, though, this was enough. More than enough.

"Looks like you boys are doing alright."

Tifa was approaching them, her own smile stretching her lips.

"Better," replied Zack, with a thankful nod. "Yeah, much better."

"I'm glad," she said. And then, added, "I told everyone to meet at Seventh Heaven to discuss the plan for the Tower. Are you guys ready?"

There was only one answer to that question.

"Yes," Zack stated.

But out of some urge within him, and maybe because all that time with Vincent had forced his brain to try and compensate for the lack of social interaction, Sephiroth responded with something different.

He said, "Let's mosey."

The look of utter disbelief Zack gave was completely worth it.

A few hours before the sun went down, a strange group of people had assembled in the remains of the Seventh Heaven Bar: two locals from the Neighborhood Watch, a man with a gun for an arm, a martial artist-slash-bartender, two former First Class SOLDIERs, and a wraith in a red cape. To any outsider watching, there would appear to be no logical explanation for how these individuals had come together, and yet, here they were, gathered around a large table in the center of the room, all for a common purpose. Whether that was a fortuitous omen or not, Sephiroth could not say. But somehow, the moment felt like both an aberration and an inevitability, like a canvas marred by a beautifully misplaced brushstroke.

The man named Biggs spoke first. Earlier, he had gone to the basement of the bar and fished out some of Avalanche's old maps of the Tower, and they were now hovering over the yellowed pages, searching for points of entry. "This is gonna be a tough one," he said, with a bit of a grimace. "Especially since they're going to be expecting you."

He was not wrong. But Sephiroth also knew that slipping underneath Shinra's watchful eyes and actually making it inside the Tower was just one item on the long list of problems they were going to have to contend with. Afterwards, they would still need to obtain access to the Science Department, and then, they would have to wander Hojo's maze to locate wherever the scientist was keeping Cloud and Aerith. That was without even mentioning the nigh impossible task of escaping the building before the men and machines sent after them put bullets in their skulls. To say that the odds of success were slim would be a vast understatement.

And yet, no one in the room appeared deterred.

"Well, it's not like we were going to go through the front door," commented Zack. "Though you have to admit that that would be funny."

It was a bad joke, but Biggs found it in himself to grin. "I mean, you could try that for the shock value. But I was thinking something else, actually." He pointed to a spot on the map, on the opposite end of the Tower entrance. "The garage. That's probably your best bet."

"Wouldn't we need a vehicle to get in?" Barret asked.

Wedge stepped in. "Leave that to us. We got some contacts at HQ who can help. Once you make it to the upper plate, they can have a truck and some disguises waiting to help get you through the lobby."

A solid plan. Based on what Sephiroth remembered about the Tower and the garage, there was a decent chance of it working, of them managing to make it inside. But that led them to the next issue, perhaps the most glaring of them all.

He decided now was as good a time as any to make it known. "I am less concerned about entry," Sephiroth stated, furrowing his brow. "The real issue will be accessing the Science Department. Aside from the President's office, it is the most heavily guarded area of the Tower. Unless you are an authorized scientist, you will not be able to get in."

Silence followed. Sephiroth could see the gears turning, as each person swallowed the pause in the momentum, churned through their ideas in their own minds. He, too, thought about all of those moments he had spent inside the laboratories, the nights that he had curled up against himself in his bed, wishing for an escape. If there was anyone who knew a way in and a way out, it would be him. But in all those hours, in all his experiences, in all his prowess, he could not come up with a plan would not cost far too much in blood. The problem was that while Sephiroth may have been crafted to be the strongest man in the world, in the laboratories, Hojo was a god. There was nothing that entered without his knowledge, and nothing that left without his consent – unless, of course, it was dead.

(And for obvious reasons, that was not an option).

Suddenly, a voice poked through the quiet, and partly because Sephiroth was still unused to hearing it, he found himself momentarily startled.

"Does the building still continue to use keycard access systems?" said Vincent.

Sephiroth turned to face him. Unfortunately, there was nothing discernable from the former Turk's expression. "Yes, at least as of two years ago," he responded. And even though he knew exactly what would happen next, he followed up and asked, "Why?"

As predicted, Vincent did not take the invitation. He just nodded, spoke four words, "Leave it to me," stepped back into the shadow of the corner of the room, and proceeded to say absolutely nothing else.

Of course, Zack, being Zack, could not quite let things sit. "That's, uh, cool and all. Care to explain a bit more?"

Sephiroth sighed. "He does not do that."

A cheeky grin crossed the dark-haired man's lips. "Oh, man. You really did manage to find someone less talkative than you. I bet that made you miss me more, huh?"

"Absolutely not."

"Boys," interjected Tifa. She folded her arms in that chastising manner that both Sephiroth and Zack had become familiar with during their travels. Immediately, the two men shut their mouths. Satisfied, she returned her attention to Biggs, saying, "Okay, what's next?"

"Exit route," the man replied.

Barret huffed. "Something tells me we aren't going out the quiet way."

That was if they managed to get out at all. It was another pressing issue, one exacerbated by the fact that Sephiroth knew how Shinra would react. Even if they did manage to get into the Tower, open the door to the Science Department, and find Cloud and Aerith, there was no way they could leave without triggering some alarm, some security camera, or even worse, Hojo's attention. Once they were spotted, the army would mobilize, and the steel doors marking the corridors winding out of the Tower would slither shut. At that point, it would become an exercise of speed and attrition: how quickly they could move and how much they could take before the onslaught of Shinra security would overwhelm them.

Biggs folded his arms. "If it were me, I'd probably leave the same way I came. Stealing a vehicle to get out of the upper plate and ditching it somewhere in the slums." Then, he lowered his voice, somberly and deliberately. "But I wouldn't stay in Midgar. The heat would be sky-high. And after what happened in Sector Seven…" He did not need to finish the thought.

At that, Sephiroth's eyes flickered to the one person for which leaving the steel city might be too much of an ask. Barret was quiet. His sole hand was clenched tight, his eyes were closed, and his face had lowered in contemplation. Just a few hours ago, the man had been laughing while helping his daughter climb the steps to the playground slide. If he were to go through with this, then that would be the last afternoon he would spend with the girl for a long while.

Tifa said it first. "Barret, you don't have to do this. Marlene – she'll need you."

A long second passed. Suddenly, the gunman grumbled something fierce. He lifted his head, brown eyes blazing bright, and pumped his fist in the air. "Of course, I have to do something," he declared, in a voice that brokered no doubt or disagreement. "Aerith saved my little girl. You SOLDIER boys saved the Sector. A good man always squares up his debts."

With that last word, Zack flinched, and in the look that he sent Barret's way, Sephiroth could see the ghost of a girl who had died right before them, who had given them both her last breath. "No, Barret. You don't owe me anything," he whispered. "You don't, you—"

But Barret only grinned at him. "Like hell I'll lose this chance to stick it to those Shinra bastards. This is my fight, too. I'm not staying behind."

Something like relief, like forgiveness, flooded Zack's body then, visibly softening the rigidity of his back. One day, perhaps after they left Midgar, or whenever the young man was ready, Sephiroth would ask him more about what had happened. For now, however, he would content himself with the knowledge that in his absence, Zack had still managed to find this new group of comrades, and that they were here when he needed them the most.

Wedge was laughing again, pumping his fist in mimicry of his leader. "Alright, then, Boss! Leave it to us. I'll make the call and we'll have everything set up for you guys, don't you worry!"

"We'll also pack some things for you, for when you have to leave. Put them in the secret spot by the gates" Biggs added. "Can't be too prepared, right?"

"Thanks, guys," said Tifa, smiling gratefully. "For everything."

For the first time in forever, it seemed like it was all falling into place. Sephiroth was not one to trust the good things – they came so rarely, after all – but the feeling that was blossoming in the shadow of this bar, in the middle of a city that had survived a terrible fate, was almost impossible to ignore. In truth, it had already been there, a small seedling in his heart, from the moment he had received Zack's phone call ("Cloud is alive"). And it only grew throughout the sunlight of the day, watching the residents of the undercity emerge from the ashes. Something was changing. Something was shifting. And while the Tower would be by far the greatest challenge yet, for the reunion that was awaiting him – well, Sephiroth was willing to endure just about anything. No matter what obstacles Shinra erected in his path, he would overcome them. For Cloud. Because he had promised that he would fight.

And now, he was no longer fighting alone.

Zack clapped his hands. "I guess that's settled. Now all we need is a team name."

"What you talking about?" said Barret. "We're Avalanche. That's the name!"

The response was a grimace. "Seriously? I mean – are you good with that, Seph? Wanna be an eco-terrorist?"

A fair question, given his previous encounters with Avalanche in the old life, but at the moment Sephiroth could care less about the past. Now, all that mattered was moving forward.

"As long as there is no paperwork," he replied, his lips twitching upward in a small smile.

Zack grinned. Tifa laughed. (Vincent remained silent in his corner). And Barret chuckled. The gunman stepped forward, extended his free hand, to let Sephiroth shake it, firmly.

"I never imagined that I would say this to the former Silver General," he said, and Sephiroth had to agree – who ever thought that something like this would be possible? Yet, here he was and here they were. As if it was always meant to be.

"Welcome to Avalanche."

As soon as he heard the words, Sephiroth knew.

Yes. This was right, after all.

She did not remember much of this place, had been far too young to recall the details of the steel walls, the dim lights, the labyrinth of exam rooms, monitors, and glass cages. But one thing that never left Aerith, even years after she had escaped, was how this place felt. Cold. Sinister. Unending. Like slipping off a snowy mountainside into the biting, harsh air, falling and falling and falling, until the fear of being pressed into death became too overwhelming to stand.

Two men were flanking her as she walked through the dark passageways, the threatening clink of their armor and their guns like drumbeats behind her ears. Aerith did the best she could to keep her eyeline fixed in front of her, to keep her back straight, her face calm, her fear hidden. Still, she could not help the frission of panic that jolted in her chest the moment they rounded the last corner and saw him – the man that would forever be a fixture in her nightmares. The one that killed her parents.

Dr. Hojo.

"Ah, there you are. Truly good to have you back here, Aerith."

He was standing in front of a sealed metal door, his glasses perched on his nose and a glowing tablet in his hands. Whether the smile the good doctor sported was meant to be genuine, Aerith could not tell. Like all his other actions, she thought it came across as smug and cruel.

"You have grown up, I see. The spitting image of your mother. That was likely for the best. She was a prime specimen. Your father, on the other hand…"

Something sparked inside Aerith then, but she could not show it. Because she knew the comment was meant to rile, meant to anger, meant to elicit a response. And while she had come here willingly, out of behest of some random notion of destiny, Aerith was absolutely determined not to make it easy. She would not give Hojo the satisfaction. So, she stared straight ahead, at some speck on the door behind Hojo's head, her lips glued resolutely into a fine, tight line.

The lack of reaction seemed to amuse Hojo greatly. The man typed something into his tablet, before looking up, and continuing his spiel. "Luckily, I did have the foresight to prepare for this. Documented and collected plenty of samples. Everything about your mother, calculated and collated into a spectacular web of data. Would you like to see?"

Aerith said nothing.

"Oh, come now, child. Wouldn't you like to see your mother again?"

Yes, her traitorous heart whispered. Yes. Yes I would. Even before the dangerous whispers of the flowers had started, Aerith longed to see her again. The desire had only grown stronger over the passing years. There were so many questions that she still had, bubbling in her blood. Am I doing this right? Am I making the right choices? Can I save both Zack and the world? Do I have to lose him, too? After what had happened in Nibelheim, in Sector Seven, all Aerith wanted was solace, comfort, guidance, reassurance, in the special way that only good mothers knew how to give. In the end, however, the truth had already been woven. Her mother was dead. They were all dead. She was the last of them. She was alone.

But maybe because she wished she were not, it happened anyway. For just a moment, she faltered, and gave in. A curl of the lip. A flash of her expression. A small breath from her mouth. Tiny cracks to show her weakness. As subtle as they were, Hojo's ever observant eyes caught them all, and the man's smile widened in response.

"Oh. Did I say something?" he asked, stepping forward, stepping closer, sending a cold shudder down Aerith's spine at the proximity.

What was she thinking? Why had she bothered trying? Though she remembered little of her time in the laboratories, she knew enough. This was not a place for strength, for resilience, for hope. On the exam room tables, in the boiling mako, underneath the scalpel, all life broke down, until only the stench of blood and chemicals remained. That was just the way things were in Hojo's world. That was the fate that was promised to all that came from these haunted halls. The outcome was inevitable. It was also poetic, because it proved that in a way, she was always meant to come back here.

You truly could never escape your fate, could you?

Finally, Hojo smiled and stepped away, tucked his tablet back into his white-coat pocket. "Ah, no matter, Aerith. Now that you have returned here, there is much you and I have to accomplish. Speaking of, there is someone I would like you to meet. Another interesting specimen – fascinating, actually. But you are required to take things to the next level."

That was enough to make Aerith's heart skip another beat. Could it be? Though she had hoped for it, she was not expecting for it to happen this quickly. And yet, here the moment was. The doors in front of her opened with a quiet hum, and the light from the room burst out into the hallway. At first, Aerith had to blink a few times to adjust her vision to the brightness bouncing off the mako tank at the center of the room. But a few seconds was all that it took, for the recognition to hit – and for the guilt to come barreling into her chest.

Look at where your choices have led.

Look at what you have done.

Look at what you have done to him.

When the voices began their terrible song, Aerith could not hold it in any longer. The sound escaped her lips before she could even catch it.

She breathed, "Oh, Cloud…"