From Lamb to Lioness

The general does not remain awake for long. He finishes off his glass of water and lies back down, closing his eyes and breathing deep sighs as he settles down into the pillows. Soon, he is sound asleep. Shai rises from the bed, quietly gathers up the washcloths and mixing bowl and walks out into the kitchen. As she dumps the water into the sink, she smiles at a memory of her mother. She is seated at Shai's bedside, her dark sable hair swept back with tortoise-shell hair combs, wearing her favourite cable-knit cardigan with the frayed cuffs. She is praising her seven-year-old daughter for being a brave girl and not fussing while mommy put cold compresses on her feverish skin. Shai wonders what Cecilia Montgomery would have thought of her daughter's lack of success with administering the same remedy on a grown man of twenty-five. Of course, she had an incentive for being on her best behaviour as a child. A trip to the ice cream parlour with her father always awaited her after she recovered from an illness. Maybe she should have promised the general a reward for behaving like a good boy? She shivers at the thought of what his brilliant mind would dream up for his prize. Perhaps it turned out for the best that he was difficult.

She puts the bowl in the dishwasher then opens the utility closet to drape the damp washcloths over the laundry tub to dry. She returns to the general's bedroom. Opening the closet, Shai takes out another top sheet from a stack of neatly stored linen. She spreads the sheet on top of the first and pulls them both up to just below the general's chin. He had asked for warmer blankets earlier, playing on her sympathies using his charm and his powers of persuasion. Under different circumstances, they may have worked, but not this time. In fact, when she explained to him why it was imperative that he be covered only in light bedding, he tried to pull rank and ordered her to help him crawl under the duvet. Eventually, after several minutes of back-and-forth, he capitulated to Shai's resolve. In turn, she conceded to adding a second flat sheet and to keeping the room at a comfortable twenty-two degrees (C°).

Assured that he is settled for at least an hour or two, Shai returns to the kitchen. She pours her cold mug of tea down the drain, fills the kettle, and pushes the temperature setting for black tea. She drops a teabag of Earl Grey in the mug and sits on a stool, patiently waiting for the water to boil. Her eyes roam the dimly lit living and dining area, pouring over familiar shapes and shadows, before being drawn back to the kitchen. They wander over clean countertops, shiny appliances, and the titles of several cookbooks before finally focusing on the blinking blue light of the temperature indicator located on the kettle's handle. Its hypnotic effect falls into a lulling rhythm with the steaming and bubbling of the water. Soon, Shai is resting her head in her hand and forcing her eyes to stay open. She's in the midst of nodding off when she is awakened by the kettle beeping the completion of its temperature cycle. She slides off the stool and makes herself a strong cup of tea flavoured with a dash of sugar and a thin slice of lemon. She leaves the mug on the counter while she takes a trip to her room to grab the book on her bedside chest.

Armed with her tea and her latest novel, Shai walks into the general's bedroom. She quietly sets the book and mug near the edge of his dresser and returns to the living room to steal a few cushions from the second sofa. On her return, she carries the laundry hamper into the bathroom, then arranges the cushions in its place, one to sit on and one to rest against. From this position, she has a clear view of the general. Though the angle is not ideal, it will have to do. She sits down on the floor cushion and shimmies back until her back is cradled comfortably in the center of the second cushion. Ever so carefully, she reaches up and lowers her mug of tea until it is at a level for her to breathe deep the fragrance of bergamot and lemon. She takes a short sip then sets it on the floor beside her. She reaches overhead for the book, slips her fingers between the marked pages, and opens it across her lap.

With the light cast from the bathroom, Shai begins to read, pausing occasionally to enjoy her tea, but she soon finds her seating arrangement is not as comfy as she thought it would be. Pressure on her lower back is causing a cascade of pins and needles to move down her legs to her toes. She shifts her posture and tries to make the best of it. She manages to last another half hour when the pressure and discomfort flares to aches and pain. Shai stands and stretches, kneading the tender muscles at the small of her back. She realizes she has few options. She could try to maneuver one of the leather club chairs from the living room into the bedroom, but she doubts that plan will meet with much success. Those chairs are cumbersome and heavy and would take at least two people to move one of them. She could gather more cushions from the couch, but that still has her sitting on the floor. Shai releases a heavy sigh. There is only one viable option. She looks towards the bed and the unoccupied space to the left of the general. Plenty of room available for her to recline against the headboard without the worry she'll disturb him. She can place her mug on the nightstand and read by the bedside lamp. Problem solved.

Shai sets her tea and book on the night table and turns on the lamp, thankful its design concentrates the ambient light to shine to one side of the bed, leaving the general shrouded in darkness and peaceful sleep. She returns the cushions to the sofa, positions the hamper next to the dresser, and turns off the bathroom light. As she approaches the bed, she feels a fluttering in her chest, butterflies excitedly flitting about her heart. This is ridiculous, she thinks. This entire night you took control of your insecurities, mustered your inner strength, and rose to every challenge thrown at you in order to care for your client. Now, all you have to do is sit next to him - not even right next to him - and you're getting heart palpitations? He's not even conscious! He's completely covered and lying on his back. What is there to be nervous about? Shai's mind can imagine a great deal, ranging from the plausible to the fantastic, but she tempers her imagination and sits down on the bed. She fluffs the pillows and stacks them against the headboard, the same routine she performs every evening in her room. She leans back and stretches her legs out before her. She sips her tea, opens her book, and picks up where she left off a few minutes ago.

She is not long into the chapter when her eyes begin to burn with fatigue and she finds herself blinking repeatedly to keep her vision in focus. Her lids feel heavy and it's getting progressively harder to hold her head upright. She sets her book aside and slides a short way down the bed on her backside until she has given herself enough space to lie down. She twists around to give the pillows a good punch or two into shape before lying back onto the mattress. Staring up at the ceiling, Shai's eyes begin to tear, causing the lighting above to blend and blur into indistinct forms. She breathes deeply as her sight becomes less focused and soon she puts up little resistance as her eyelids gently close. Just for a few minutes, she thinks, a cat nap. That's all I need to make it until morning. After a short time, her breathing quiets to a slow and regular rhythm, her lips parting slightly to let out a soft snore. A couple minutes pass, then several more. By the time a few minutes have added up to many, Shai is curled on her right side with her hands tucked in between the pillows.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Sephiroth doesn't know how long he has been asleep, but he can feel its immediate effects. The aches in his muscles has eased, his skin is no longer clammy to the touch, and the chills that racked his body have ceased entirely. The fever has broken. Not that he's in any condition to train in the dojo or take on a squad of cadets, but he has improved dramatically since the night before. Hmm, the night before. His recollection is thin and fleeting. He remembers Sybelline, their conversation in the SCU, and being rolled down the hallway in a wheelchair the good doctor insisted they utilize. It was an unpleasant ride. The seat upholstery was stretched out of shape, his legs were too long to comfortably rest his feet on the footplates, and the front caster wobbled constantly, making a repetitive clicking noise that made his eye twitch. He wanted to descend the five floors via the stairs, confident he could open the door to the foyer even with the yucca plant blocking the way, but Moreau was adamant that he be transported with a mobility aid. He warned her Shai might hear the elevator's bell when it stopped at his floor. She said it was a risk she was willing to take. She proceeded to point out that to try and move him down a flight of stairs in his current state of health was insanity. Thankfully, Shai had been taking her evening shower when they arrived at his floor, masking not only the noise from the elevator, but the chair's squeaky wheel, and the necessary steps to gain entry into the condo. Sybelline found out this bit of information when she texted the young woman as a means of distraction.

Sephiroth remembers shuffling across the carpet towards his room, steadying himself on whatever furniture was within arm's reach, but also being mindful not to make a single sound. He remembers closing his bedroom door and leaning against it to replenish his strength. After that, memories become sketchy. What was real? What was dream? Surely, he was dreaming when he walked into his bathroom and found Shai waiting for him. She welcomed him home by giving him a childlike embrace, her arms wrapped firmly around his midsection with her head resting directly over his heart. She had a smile on her face so wide, her eyes crinkled with happiness. It must have been the same dream that suddenly tore him from her arms and swept him into the air, surrounded him in darkness, and left him floating in limbo. But he was not alone. He could hear rushed breathing, feel the warmth of their breath on his skin as they leaned in close. He felt their hands touch his body and play with his hair. He heard the pounding of their heart. They moved all about him while he was frozen in place, yet he never felt fear, only comfort. Was it the dream or reality that reunited him with Shai? She was sitting at his bedside, looking at him with tired eyes. He was still suffering from the effects of the treatment. He remembers being thirsty and Shai bringing him water. Had he asked for it? Or was it already in her hand? He drank and was overcome with tiredness. Was there something in the water? No, Shai would never do that. Hojo would. Is he here? Sephiroth fought to stay awake to keep Shai away from that monster, but he could not keep his eyes open. He fell asleep and did not dream.

Now, he lies awake in his bed, his head fuzzy from the treatment, his body still fatigued from his battle with the fever. His muscles are stiff and sore from lying motionless on his back for too long. He's about to turn onto his right side to silence their complaints when he hears a sleepy sigh to his left. Intrigued, he rolls towards the sound to find his housekeeper lying fast asleep in her pyjamas, alighted by the lamp's soft glow. She's curled into her favourite position, her breathing soft and even without the slightest snort or snuffle. Her hair is a messy mass of curls spread out over the pillows and duvet. A few stray strands, fallen free over her brow and nose, sway gently with each breath she takes. His dreams. They had elements of realism in them. The person in the dark. The feeling of comfort rather than fear. That was Shai. The memories are slow to come, but they are emerging from the shadows. Sephiroth remembers speaking to Shai in the bathroom after knocking something from her hand. What was it? Her phone? Yes. She was texting Moreau. He didn't want Sybelline involved and he acted on impulse. He can remember her assisting him to his bed, her body the only means keeping him from hitting the floor. He recalls the relief he felt when they collapsed onto the mattress, exhaustion plaguing his body. He remembers...being clothed when he left the 68th floor.

Now, where there should be the stiff feel of starched cotton against his chest, there is suppleness. Where there should be the rigid feel of new denim down his legs is now silky smoothness. Where there should be the luxurious heat from merino wool, there is a comfortable warmth from cool fabric. Essentially, where there should be clothes, there is the softness of expensive high thread count cotton sheets. A roguish grin plays on his face. It has been a while since a woman has undressed him and shared his bed. But this is the first time he has been unconscious and the woman beside him is dressed in baby blue flannel PJs. Sephiroth extends his hand from under the covers towards Shai, sweeping the loose tendrils from her face and tucking them amongst the rest. The only similarity between nights of passion with a willing partner and tonight is the beauty of the women in his bed. No, he thinks, as he lets the tip of his longest finger softly graze Shai's lower lip. This woman is by the far the most beautiful, in mind, body, and heart.

As Sephiroth draws back his hand, he seizes the moment to study her face in a way furtive glances do not allow; the soft angles of her eyebrows, the pale freckles down the slope of her nose, the shaded contours of her cheekbones, the pronounced dip of her cupid's bow, the sharp vermilion border dividing her red lips from her pale skin. He ignores the mild stinging in his eyes, the heaviness of his eyelids, and a lengthy, jaw-cracking yawn, obvious signs from his body telling him it is time to return to the land of the Evening Star. But he does not want to close his eyes yet. He does not want to look away. He wants to stay in this moment. Two people not bound by roles or formalities, free of their histories and sufferings. Should he fall asleep now, come morning she will be gone, and when he steps out that door, it will be yes, general and you're welcome, general, and this shared time will be nothing but a precious memory. His body releases two yawns one after the other. In spite of his resistance, he cannot escape the fact that he still needs to rest. If he must sleep, then let him drift off with Shai in childlike repose being the last image he sees.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Despite the night's unique circumstances lasting from the late evening into the early hours of morning, Shai's internal clock rouses her minutes before six. Yawning, she falls onto her back and gives herself an arm-reaching, toe-pointing full body stretch, wincing at every dull ache and stiff joint that has set in from strain and overexertion. She gingerly shifts onto her left side, snuggling into the pillows, her mind and body slow to pass dream's misty borders into wakefulness. Her eyes heavy with sleep, she blindly reaches for her phone to check on the time. Only, her hand does not find it, just the glossy feel and embossed letters of her book's dust jacket. Her fingers continue to search, the tips grazing the angular base of the lamp, her knuckles nearly knocking the mug from the table. When a drop of cold tea sloshes over the rim and lands on her hand, Shai gives up and peeps her eyes open. Immediately, she squints them shut when the lamplight's radiance shines fully on her face.

The lamp. Shai's eyes widen. The lamp! She turned it on to read her book while sipping a mug of hot Earl Grey. And why? Oh dear gods! Ignoring the soreness in her muscles, she sits up in bed and snaps her head to the right. The general is sleeping on his back, just as she left him when her cat nap turned into a night's sleep. And the location of her phone? Of course. It is still lying on the tile in the bathroom. She quietly rises from the bed, tiptoes into the bathroom, and finds her phone in between the bidet and the shower. From the sound of its impact, she expected to find the LCD cracked, but, thankfully, it is intact. She taps the screen: 5:53am. She should never have allowed herself to fall asleep, foolishly assuming that she would wake a few minutes later. She can breathe a sigh of relief that she awakened before the general. How would that have looked if he had woke while she lay sleeping?

Shai crosses the floor to the far side of the bed, picks up her book and half-empty mug, and turns the lamp off. She leaves the general's room and proceeds into the kitchen where she pours the cold tea into the sink, puts the mug in the dishwasher, and heads to her bedroom. Her body is screaming to be submerged in an Epsom salt bath, but will have to settle for a plain old shower. Throwing the book and phone onto her bed, she pulls two towels from the armoire, and goes into the bathroom. She unbuttons her pyjama top and lets it slip from her arms onto the floor, then unties the drawstrings fastening the bottoms and lets them slide down her legs, pulling the fabric inside out as she tugs her feet free. She sheds her underwear last. Stepping into the shower enclosure, Shai adjusts the water temperature until steam clouds the air, then stands under the falling streams until her pale skin takes on a healthy glow. As much as she would love to continue to feel the soothing heat flood her skin, she does not want to be away from the general for too long. She finishes bathing, dries herself off, and returns to her room to dress.

Shai returns to the kitchen to make herself a light breakfast. Grabbing a grapefruit from amongst the apples and oranges in the fruit bowl, she sits at the island to slice the juicy sections onto a dish. Suddenly, the morning silence is broken by the sound of the doorbell. Without hesitation, she's off the stool and at the front door before the bells have ceased ringing. She opens the door to see two men standing on either side of a wheelchair, one tall with a wiry build, his hair pulled back in a messy man bun and the other short and stocky with his arms crossed over his chest. Both are dressed in pale green surgical scrubs with Shinra ID badges clipped to their waistbands. The taller of the two is the first to speak, adjusting his stance to take advantage of his full height, no doubt to make his presence and authority known.

"We are here to pick up General Sephiroth." Shai holds up her index finger to indicate she needs a moment, then hurries to the island, opens a drawer, and pulls out the pen and notebook she uses for her lists. She opens to an empty page, writes her reply in hurried, slanted print, and walks back over to the front door. She hands the book to the aide. It reads:

I'm sorry, but the general is sleeping right now.

"We have orders from Professor Hojo to return him to the lab immediately to complete his treatment," says the aide as he hands the book back to her. Shai's brow furrows in confusion. Lab? Treatment? She balances the notebook on her left arm and continues to write her side of the conversation. She can sense the men's impatience, but she doesn't care. She punctuates the last sentence and gives it to the aide. He reads it aloud.

"Again, I am sorry, but the general has had a rough night and needs his rest. Please tell Professor Hojo that he is in no condition to undergo any treatments for his physical today." The aide shoves the notebook at Shai.

"Listen, lady, we have our orders and Professor Hojo does not like to be kept waiting. Now, be a good girl and go wake the general and tell him we are here." Shai can feel her temper rising. She doesn't give a damn what Hojo likes or dislikes, she is not waking the general. She begins to write a retort, when she is rudely interrupted.

"Did you hear what I said? I mean, I heard you are dumb, but are you deaf too?" The second, silent aide snickers at his co-worker's insult. Shai tosses the pen and notebook onto the dining table with enough momentum to send them sliding across the surface to stop just short of tumbling over the far edge. She takes a bold step towards the aide and looks him straight in the eye. Jabbing her finger at his chest, she mouths the word "go" as she points at the elevator doors with her other hand. The aides glare at her, standing as motionless as garden statues. Confident she has clearly conveyed her word is final, she takes a step back and begins to close the door, when the taller aide slams his hand against the wood, forcing the door to jerk inwards, jarring Shai's arm and nearly striking her forehead. Gripping her forearm, she stumbles back as the door swings wide and the aides walk in.

"Out of our way, dummy," the aide growls, "Before you find yourself needing a wheelchair." Fueled by adrenaline and rage, Shai stomps on the taller aide's foot as he tries to storm past her. He grasps his injured foot, biting back a cry of pain and a few choice expletives, then nods at the other aide who takes his cue and begins to walk further into the condo. Shai moves to intercept his path, when the taller aide seizes her arm in a vice-like grip. Pain blooms from under his fingers and Shai cannot help but hitch her breath in her chest. He leans in towards her ear and speaks in a low, menacing tone.

"Get the fuck out of our way."

What happens next occurs so quickly that Shai has little time to react. The aide gripping her arm releases her, yelping loudly in pain as his arm is twisted behind his back and pinned in an armlock, the general standing tall behind him.

"Talk to her like that again and I will remove your tongue. Touch her again and when I am finished with you, surgeons will have to piece your body together with plates, pins, and screws."