03. [ μ ] – εуλ 1989 / March

"Oh, come on, Sephiroth! You know you're dying to get out of this stuffy office!"

Lieutenant General Sephiroth gave First Lieutenant Zackary Fair a purposeful look, then glanced pointedly around the spacious, brightly lit room. He might have had a rather deep loathing for the office, but it was by no means stuffy.

Zack rolled his violet eyes. "Fine. Then how about a break from the piles of paperwork you've been sorting through for the past, oh, three days?"

That…was a considerably more convincing argument. Sephiroth eyed the aforementioned piles, both of them the length of his forearm, and suddenly a trip to Wall Market didn't seem quite so unappealing.

"I've already cleared your schedule with the secretary so I know you don't have anything major planned for the day," Zack continued to wheedle, no doubt sensing Sephiroth's wavering resistance and pouncing on it, "and you've got to eat sometime, right? Besides, I'm telling you, Seph, this Wutain kiosk that just opened up is to die for."

Oh, the sly pup, using Sephiroth's love of Wutain cuisine against him.

Angeal was teaching him well.

"So?" Zack pressed, rocking to the balls of his feet. "Want to come?"

Silently, thoughtfully, Sephiroth glanced first towards his towering paperwork, then out the eastern window and towards the bustling cityscape below. Midgar, in spring, was all pastel colors and merry festivity. What few plants there were were in bloom, and as if in recognition, or perhaps celebration, the civilians deemed it necessary to encourage festivities and trends that were on par. Wearing colorful clothing and garish accessories, filling the streets with buoyant music and saccharine scents, and orchestrating a wide array of festivals were some of the few ways they went about achieving this.

However gilded, Midgar was not a beautiful place. ShinRa had seen to that. Despite attempts of the city's upper level inhabitants to embellish and adorn, there was little to be done for the artificiality of it, as synthetic as the plastic flowers sold on street corners because none real would grow. Even the bright city lights were a lure, contrived to distract from the organic lights the city's pollution obscured.

It was genius on ShinRa's part, really—a mastery of phantasmagorics and misdirection that few were skilled enough to employ—but not impossible to see through. A single glance at natural beauty, like the nebula of stars above the Nibelheim mountains at night and the wild, verdant jungles of Gongaga, was all that was required to shatter the illusion. It was Pandora's Box opening, and suddenly the city of Midgar, with its stale air and obnoxious construction and convoluted designs, wasn't enough.

It wasn't enough to see steel beams where trees should have stood, and cobblestone where grass should have spread, and miasma where celestial bodies should have shone.

Not for the first time, Sephiroth found himself wishing he could just leave. Abscond from the military and become a mercenary. He thought he could be content killing monsters in places where the air was clean and the skies clear. Roaming the lands on no one's authority but his own. Murdering only those who deserved it and creatures not intelligent enough to know whether or not they did.

Fanciful wishes. Sephiroth was, if nothing else, pragmatic, and he quickly grew annoyed with himself that he could still entertain such foolish notions. Ideas that, by all reason, he should have disposed of long ago.

ShinRa would rather burn the world than let him go.

Professor Hojo would sacrifice worse.

"—roth? Sephiroth? Oi, are you even listening?"

"Yes," he lied, drawing his attention away from the towering buildings that, at present, felt like prison bars. Zack was staring at him expectantly, one brow raised in a manner that suggested he was spending far too much time with Angeal. The other man folded bulging arms over his chest and cocked his head, expression shifting to something sharp and calculating, reminding Sephiroth that for all he acted like a puppy, Zack was still a First Lieutenant, and inherent in that was a perceptiveness and intelligence most couldn't hope to match.

"Are you alright?" Zack asked after a moment, watching as the Lieutenant General tucked several wayward strands of hair behind his ear. He sounded concerned, and Sephiroth pushed down the spark of irritation that came from losing his composure and gave a brief nod.

"Yes," he repeated. "Famished, is all."

Zack didn't appear to believe him, but let it slide. Something else he'd learned from Angeal, apparently, because the boy was very much like the dog they compared him to—when he got something between his teeth he refused to let it go.

"So that's a yes, I take it? Right, right?"

Sephiroth sighed.

"Fine," he consented, ignoring the accomplished whoop! of the First Lieutenant. He stood and rounded the desk, ignoring the paperwork that he'd swear was taunting him, and grabbed Masamune from where it rested against the wall before fastening it to his back.

"Awesome! Now c'mon! I'm so hungry I could eat a bandersnatch." He paused and added, "Raw."

Stifling a snort, he stepped past Zack, who fell in line behind him, and the two made their way out of his office, Zack blowing a kiss at Sephiroth's harried secretary as they went.

As he pressed the elevator button and took a step back-his attention divided between the display panel and Zack's chattering-he felt tension he hadn't realized he'd been carrying ease.

Zack's timing wasn't terrible, he decided, stepping onto the shaft as the doors opened. The lack of missions, in addition to being cooped up in an office for several days, had made him restless. Edgy. And without Angeal or Genesis around to redirect his energy, it had simply festered and channeled inwards, emerging as wanderlust and a need for variation.

The slums, while not nearly his favorite dwelling, might be what he needed at the moment. It wasn't the plush fields and rolling hills of Kalm he wanted to see, or even the ethereal snow caps of Mt. Corel, but within Midgar it was without a doubt the most genuine place, as neither ShinRa nor the slummers had much inclination to sprinkle it with faux-gold to hide its stains.

To think I would find solace within the slums, Sephiroth thought with no small amount of derision. The irony, the hypocrisy, was not lost on him.

x-x-x

It seemed as if every ounce of life the slums possessed was concentrated on the bustling area of Wall Market with its neon lights and dazzling colors and cacophonic sounds. Savory scents filled the air, tantalizing and sharp, intense enough to overpower the underlying smell of poverty.

It was like standing in the epicenter of a chocobo stampede. There were people everywhere, flittering between stands and dashing in and out of stores or simply browsing. The winds carried sounds of haggling, arguing, laughing, parents calling for the whereabouts of their children, the poor begging for spare gil, and beneath it all was music, terrible but jovial, its creators performing on a makeshift platform that seemed several kilograms away from falling apart.

Had it been above the plate they would have been chased away already. Sephiroth was hardly a connoisseur of music, but even he could tell they were horribly off tune. And yet, the slummers didn't seem to care. They danced around the stage, hands clapping and feet stomping. Taking what joy they can get, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Angeal echoed in his head, but he pushed it away, determined not to fall into another spiral of moroseness.

"There!" Zack's shouted in his ear, successfully distracting him. Sephiroth followed his pointed finger to a bulky wooden kiosk surrounded by steam. "I swear, the dumplings there are to die for. C'mon, before they run out! That's what happened last time and I just about started crying. Ooh, look, Chocobo's there!"

Chocobo? Sephiroth thought as he allowed himself to be dragged through the writhing crowd. He was glad for the all the noise when the most delectable scent hit his noise and his stomach gurgled. In all fairness, it had been eight hours since he'd last eaten.

"Chocobo!" Zack exclaimed as he unceremoniously tossed himself into one of the three empty stools. Sephiroth, sliding into the one next to him, thought it was a miracle the chair hadn't broken. "Hey! Long time no see!"

"I thought I told you not to call me that," a very familiar voice grumbled, and Sephiroth turned his attention away from the bickering duo the next stand over just in time to a see his pickpocket step into the booth and a stout, older man at his heels.

The boy's eyes widened at the sight of Sephiroth, then narrowed suspiciously. He opened his mouth, but whatever he'd been about to say was cut off when the man—likely the owner—stepped in front of him and said, "Welcome to Odjee's Dumplings! How may I be of service to you, gentlemen?"

"Do you still have those spicy pork dumplings?" Zack implored, leaning forward on his forearms.

The owner's moustache flopped as he bobbed his head. "Of course! We're currently out of duck and low on beef, but everything else is fully stocked!"

"Thank Gaia," Zack breathed. "Okay, so I'd like fifteen spicy pork, five curry beef, and ten vegetable! To stay!"

The owner looked positively elated as Zack rattled off his excessive order. When he was done, he turned to Sephiroth with twinkling eyes, no doubt hoping his appetite was at least on par with the other man's.

"And you, sir?"

A menu of some sort would have been nice, but since that clearly wasn't an option… "Ten spicy pork, five curry beef, fifteen vegetable, and five cheese, if you have it."

"Yes, of course! Oh, I'll only be a moment, sirs! Strife, get these gentlemen some water while I prepare their meals!" And then he was off, disappearing to a back corner to do just that.

Strife. He'd called the boy Strife. How…strange, yet remarkably suitable. Sephiroth had to wonder if it was his given name or surname, or even his real name at all.

The boy—Strife, he reminded himself—moved to the opposite end of the kiosk. Sephiroth tracked his movements as he opened a metallic canteen (one of those insulating ones, so likely costly) and poured clear water into wooden cups. His wild, corn-colored hair flopped as he carried the cups to the bar and set it before them—Zack's with considerable more care, he noted with amusement, eyeing the small puddle of water in front of him.

Strife gave him a dispassionate stare and returned to his employer's side. A few minutes later he was helping him carry two trays of steaming food to the front.

"Please enjoy!" The owner said, beaming at them unnervingly. Sephiroth wished he would stop. "If you need any help at all, Strife will assist you. Strife!," he barked, "I'm low on oil so I'll be heading over to Gita's. I'll be back in a jiffy, but until then, you're in charge. Don't forget to collect!"

"Yes, sir," Strife said.

The owner chuckled and ruffled his hair before he left, and Sephiroth was inordinately pleased by his departure. The man was far too cheerful. He made Zack look despondent in comparison.

"So, Chocobo—," Zack started after inhaling half his portion, only to be cut off by a flat stare and a sharp,

"I told you not to call me that."

The older man waved a careless hand. "Fine, fine. Spike, then. Anyway, as I was saying—"

"I don't care," he said mulishly.

"—it's good seeing you again," Zack continued, ignoring the comment with the ease of a man accustomed to being ignored himself. "I got worried when you weren't around the last two times I was here. Is everything alright?"

There was a long stretch of silence. For a moment, Sephiroth thought the question would go unanswered, but clearly Strife was as affected by Zack's sincerity as everyone else because he eventually sighed. "Yeah. I came down with a cold, but I'm fine now."

In an instant Zack's inquiring expression shifted to one of concern. It wasn't hard to gather why; getting sick below the plate was a lot different from getting sick above it. Even minor illnesses could take turns for the worse because of the less than ideal conditions. Take into account the lack of a proper medical institution, qualified healers and medics, and scant curative resources, and even something as innocuous as the common cold could prove to be fatal.

"Are you sure?" Zack asked, distracted from stuffing his face for the time being. Clearly he was worried, and Sephiroth made a mental note to inquire about their relationship later. "I'm not a medic or anything, but I'm sure I could—"

"I don't need handouts," Strife snapped.

Zack's face visibly fell, and after a moment of tension, the boy loosened his stance and sighed. "I'm fine," he said again. His tone left no room for argument, but it was gentler. Less like a taut band ready to snap. "Really. It left my system days ago."

Another stretch of silence, and Zack eventually nodded. "Alright. Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"It's fine," Strife interrupted him, waving his hand dismissively.

"If you say so. Anyway," he said, deliberately changing the subject, "let me introduce you to a good friend of mine. He's also my superior, but right now he's just a friend. Spike, this is Sephiroth. Sephiroth, this is Spike—er, Strife. I have no idea what his first name is because he refuses to tell me, for some reason, but I can't in good conscience call him Strife, so I chose something else. Initially it was Chocobo, since it's obviously the most fitting, but Spike will do, I suppose."

When the babbling came to an end Zack looked pointedly between the two of them, who were staring at each other with similarly blank expressions. Sephiroth was grudgingly impressed. If only the boy were as adept at pickpocketing as he was clearing his expression, he'd likely be rich by now.

"Strife," Sephiroth murmured with a nod, choosing not to tell Zack the two of them had met. The boy would probably prefer that his—friend?—not know the particulars of his extracurricular activities, or that he'd tried it out on Sephiroth. Twice.

If Zack didn't already know, then there was no need to clue him in. Perhaps some would say he was obligated to warn the man, considering, but Zack was a SOLDIER Second Class. If he allowed himself to get pickpocketed he deserved to deal with the consequences.

Strife simply stared at him, gaze inscrutable, before he turned away and started prepping the corner station. From the corner of his eye he could see Zack look between them in confusion, but he ignored the First Lieutenant, opting instead to focus on his meal.

If his eyes kept straying to the boy without his permission, well, no one noticed.

Five minutes later and both trays were cleared, the only thing remaining a half-empty saucer of soy sauce. Sephiroth downed the rest of his water and stood. His stomach was pleasantly full, and all in all, it had been good meal. Zack, while prone to incessant chatter and probing questions, was decent company all told. And the food, while not quite at the level of the delicacies he was used to, had been tasteful.

"Ready to pay?" Strife asked, stepping towards them.

"Yup! How much?" He was already pulling out his money pouch.

"60 gil."

Zack handed it over without complaint. "And Seph?"

After securing the money to a satchel tied around his hip, Strife looked him straight in the eye and said, "120 gil."

Sephiroth's eyebrows drew up.

"Uh, Spike?" Zack said, rubbing the nape of his neck unsurely. "Don't think you might have, uh, miscalculated that a bit?"

"No," the boy said flatly. He folded his arms. "His order comes up to 120 gil."

"How is that even possible! He ordered, like, five more dumplings than me! That's double what I paid!"

Strife shrugged, eyes never wavering from where they rested on Sephiroth, brimming with something sharp. Something challenging, he realized after a moment, and Sephiroth felt the corners of his mouth twitch in an aborted smirk when the audacious boy cocked his brow as if to say, Well?

He was being pickpocketed. Not in the purest sense of the word, but that's exactly what was happening. And Sephiroth, rather than bristle with righteous indignation or anger, only felt amused by the boy's gall.

To think, he had once worried about the mental fortitude of a boy bold enough to cheat a SOLDIER First Class while in the presence of said SOLDIER'S subordinate. Sephiroth was not often wrong in cases of character assessment, but he couldn't have been more mistaken in his valuation of the boy.

Strife was a fighter.

"It's fine, Zack," he murmured, ignoring Zack's outburst of It is not fine, Lieutenant General and What the hell is wrong with the two of you! in favor of extracting the pouch clipped to his hip and digging out exact change. Without taking his eyes off the boy he placed the money directly in his open palm. A brush of warm skin, and the boy's hand was plunging into the satchel.

Sephiroth harbored no doubt that the moment his back was turned the boy would be pocketing the difference.

"Your patronage is appreciated, sir," Strife said, taking a step back. When he looked up again, Sephiroth would swear he saw the faintest hint of a smirk hovering at the edges of his lips, but it was gone a second later, replaced by the stoicism he seemed to favor.

"I'm sure," Sephiroth said dryly. He studied the boy for a second longer—taking in the too-clever eyes, the wind-tousled hair, the pallor of his skin which, for the first time in his presences, was devoid of fresh bruises and scrapes, and the very slight increment of height he'd gained, no doubt to the boy's irritation—before he turned on his heel without another word and stalked off.

He pretended not to hear Zack's protests and demands for an explanation as he weaved through the thickened crowd with long strides. It was unexplainable, but he felt the most curious urge to look back. It was a buzzing, throbbing pressure in beneath his skin, not unlike an itch, but he ignored it as readily as he was ignoring the First Lieutenant's whining, crossing it off as mere interest.

After all, it wasn't every day that a civilian—and a slum urchin, no less—succeeded in stealing from a SOLDIER First Class, least of all him. Regardless if Sephiroth had allowed it, the fact remained that he'd still tried.

If nothing else, that certainly warranted his curiosity.

to be continued.

Author's Note: So I have a lot of feels about ShinRa and Midgar (especially the slums) that are leaking into this fic. I sincerely hope they aren't detracting from the story. Let me know if they're too long-winded, alright? Also, I should probably add that there will be 10 chapters altogether. The next one marks a turning point in the story. Thanks for reading!

P.S. - You've probably noticed some discrepancies between my Sephiroth and his canonical counterpart. Yeah. This is how he wanted to be written so I just went with it. Also, I have no idea how currency in the FF7 universe works. Sorry.

P.P.S. - Still in need of a beta-reader if anyone wants to volunteer!