A/R: Please note that because there have been hints of shounen ai scattered throughout, there will most likely be some sort of yaoi or yuri at the end of the story. If this does not seem to be your particular brand of vodka, please feel free to click the back button conveniently located at the top of your screen. Thank you and enjoy.
Requiem
Chapter 2: Timeless
When Sephiroth cracked open his eyes, he noticed that night had fallen. With a soft grunt, he gingerly sat up, noticing that his coat and top had been removed and that tight bandages wrapped around his abdomen. He grimaced slightly at the sight of the soiled bandages, the white gradually darkening into decaying red-brown near the middle of the mess. He turned his head to the side to observe his surroundings, noting with satisfaction that he sat on his own bed rather than the uncomfortable ones of the white-washed infirmary. A small rustle of clothing caught his attention and he turned his head to look into the darkest corner of his room, noticing that Zack had fallen asleep in one of the chairs there.
Noticing that Zack had a troubled expression on his face as he slept, Sephiroth clambered off the bed, traversing the short distance separating him from the slumbering teenager. His hand reached out and shook at the other's shoulder. He allowed himself the luxury of an amused smile as he watched Zack groggily take account of who was shaking him awake and then jump in surprise.
"You're awake!" exclaimed Zack as he tried to right himself before he fell out of his chair. He grinned sheepishly when he failed and fell in a heap on the floor.
"Next time, try sleeping somewhere more comfortable," chided Sephiroth as he retrieved the first aid kit from the bathroom. He figured he would remove the bandages before they stick to his body any further. He knew his wounds were already healed, probably due to a combination of the chemicals in his bloodstream and from a stashed Cure materia in his bedside drawers—which only Zack knew the location of, besides himself.
"I didn't exactly mean to fall asleep in this chair," pouted Zack as he stood up, holding up and waving the unlabelled folder within his hands. "I did some more research while you were out—yes, I used your computer, and no, don't give me that look! I didn't break anything!—I found some interesting things about our little general friend."
Sephiroth nodded to show that he was paying attention even as he directed his eyes towards the pair of scissors snipping away at the bandages.
"The kid doesn't have any sort of real files, digital or physical, saying he did anything important enough to be promoted to the status of general. The only thing I managed to pull up were some old lab reports Hojo had carelessly saved onto the network without at least twenty different codes…Well, that and some nondescript deal between President ShinRa and Hojo about research funding for some Project J. The details of the deal were worked out, but apparently there's absolutely no records whatsoever outside of this dinky piece of signed paper." Zack paused for breath as his eyes skimmed through the rest of the files for the main points of his impromptu research.
"What do the experiment reports say?" questioned Sephiroth as he pulled the linen from his skin, uncaring of the pain that followed after prying some of the stickier parts of the bandages from his torso. No trace of the slash marks—not even healed scars—remained on his skin, as always.
"Nothing much." At this, Zack bit his bottom lip. He sighed at the intent stare from Sephiroth. "He's from Nibelheim, which, apparently, is this really tiny mountain town up north on the other continent. His full name is Cloud Strife, but there's no mention of his parents anywhere—Nibelheim is too small of a town to keep digital files, and Midgar never received enough SOLDIER cadets from that region to care. It's pretty much an isolated community, but there's an old MAKO reactor there. Seph…He was about five years old when Hojo got his hands on him. If even his earlier reports showed so many charts, I don't know how many experiments and tests they put him through on a daily basis."
"If those experiments were anything like what we had been put through, then there is serious cause for concern," murmured Sephiroth as he took the crisp papers from Zack's hand. He frowned as he analyzed the data displayed on the pages. "His MAKO tolerance level is lower than both of ours. He performed significantly worse than both of us in terms of mental and physical capabilities, according to these test scores. Why would Hojo have been so interested in him?"
"That's what confused me when I first read these reports too. But Seph…He managed to defeat both of us in a one-on-one battle today, which is impressive considering most of the files I dug up showed that he never received any sort of training. Unless he'd trained insanely hard over the past four or five years, there's no way he could possibly have improved that much from doing average on those tests to suddenly overpowering the both of us." Zack blinked for a moment. "It's almost as if he'd been programmed to do these things, from the way he fought. Pure, natural instinct, with absolutely no thought at all. Maybe Hojo's found something else?"
Sephiroth paused and observed the serious features of his dark-haired companion for a moment. "I suppose Hojo would be rather eager about being able to program any being, regardless of their physical or mental attributes, into fighters with the abilities of First Class SOLDIERs—or above. Still, for Hojo to be able to get his hands on the 'Omni-Slash' technique when barely any of the SOLDIERs outside of you and I have mastered it…The way Strife performed the limit break today suggests that he has had practice before."
Zack grinned. "Such a puzzle, isn't it? Not to mention suspicious. Wonder how many people know about this—"
A knock suddenly resounded at the door of the apartment.
"I thought you never get visitors here outside of me?" pouted Zack as he stood up—stretching a little and cracking some stiff joints as he did so—and walked over to unlock the front door.
"Most find me completely too intimidating to offend me by stepping into my private quarters," agreed Sephiroth. If it had been Hojo, the man would not have bothered with the courtesy of knocking.
Zack flung open the door, startling the unexpected guest.
"Hey there, Spike! Whacha doing here?" Zack grinned before slinging a muscled arm around the shorter teenager's shoulders, half expecting to have his arm wrenched behind his back for the trespassing of the other's personal space—and being pleasantly graced without any sort of violent reaction outside of the tensing of the shoulders following a small flinch. He bodily dragged the stumbling boy into the dimly lit apartment building and essentially forced the boy to sit on the couch.
"I just wanted to find out if General Sephiroth was alright?" muttered Strife as he scratched a little embarrassedly at his cheek.
"As you can see, I am perfectly fine," replied Sephiroth as he strolled into the kitchen, separated from the rest of the room by a wood and marble bar. "Would you like some tea?"
"I don't want to impose…" Once he had ascertained that the other general did indeed look the part of perfect health, Strife's gaze dropped to his hands resting comfortably on his lap, the tension fading away from his shoulders. Guilt had eaten away at his conscience ever since the end of the battle earlier that day, and all he could think of that entire afternoon, after he had fled the arena—horrified and utterly perplexed by his actions—had been the image of the bleeding general. "I didn't exactly mean to stay very long."
"Well, since you made the effort all the way here, might as well stay a little and chat, right? We're gonna be working together in the future, so might as well get to know each other a little. Hey! How old are you anyways?" chattered Zack even though he knew the answer to the question—still, he wanted to hear the boy's answer.
"I…I think…sixteen?" Sephiroth inwardly frowned at the hesitation and the uncertainty lacing the answer to the simple question. Only Zack saw the distant glaze entering the boy's blue eyes, and he did not like the look at all.
"You sure?"
Strife merely shrugged, the focus back in those eyes. "I doubt it really matters."
Zack laughed and winked slyly at the other. "I just wanted to know if I can take you out for a couple of drinks, is all."
/I'll let you in on a little secret. No one in Midgar really cares how old you are if you've got a ShinRa uniform! I know because I got my first drink at fifteen!/
Strife shook his head a little to clear out the memory, blushing self-consciously when he realized the two other occupants of the room noticed his gesture. Thankfully, he was saved the trouble of explaining himself when Sephiroth set down three cups of Wutaian tea on the mahogany coffee table placed in front of the sofa. He reached out with a pale hand to take one of the cups. He took a small sip, the scent and the taste of the tea soothing his nerves slightly.
"So where're you from?"
Strife blinked at the grinning face of the black-haired SOLDIER. "Nibelheim."
"How is it there?"
A pause. His memories of his hometown were unclear in his mind, reduced to foggy images of a laboratory distorted through the glowing emerald liquid he remembered being held in for the majority of his childhood days—was it childhood? He had felt a lot older.
"Cold." He shivered, and Zack was not quite sure whether the gesture was conscious or not.
"Any relatives there?"
"My mother died before I came here."
"I'm sorry!" apologized Zack genuinely.
"I have no fond memories of her."
"Doncha miss her anyways? She is your mother…"
Strife shrugged. He could feel the hot blood flowing over his hands now, as he held that cooling, dying body in his arms.
"No one else?"
"No."
"That sucks! My mom and dad live in Gongaga, see? They're really nice, but they always make me write ten-paged letters reporting every single little detail of my life to them." Zack paused to laugh, his eyes twinkling as he remembered the last time he had opened the letter from his parents only to find that they had reprimanded him for writing only a three-paged letter the last time around, depriving them, quote on quote, "of all the wonderful happenings in their precious baby's life!". As annoying as the request had been, he had been glad to be able to use the excuse to occasionally get out of paperwork for a few hours.
"Do they even read all of it?" questioned Strife a little skeptically, though Zack beamed brightly at the curiosity underlying the disbelieving look on the boy's face.
"Of course! Gongaga's been pretty quiet since the MAKO reactor blew up all those years ago, so they pretty much have nothing to do except read letters from me. Do you know where Gongaga is?" Strife shook his head, though he realized that was not particularly true either. "I'd be amazed if you knew. It's a pretty small town, sorta situated in the middle of this hill-thing…Actually, I'm not really quite sure what to call it because it's not steep enough to be a mountain but not small enough to be a hill." Zack scratched his head as he pondered the geography of his hometown.
"I believe the correct term is a 'crater'," supplied Sephiroth, who had, until that point, been completely silent, content to watch the conversation between the two younger ones.
"All the same," waved Zack dismissively. "Spike, how would you like to visit them sometimes?—"
/Do you know Zack?...Our son...Almost ten years…/
"—Assuming we ever manage to get a break, that is—"
Cloud failed to notice that his hands had started shaking. All of this feels so familiar…Almost like déjà vu. He looked up from his lap into the alive purple eyes and felt coldness wash over him. The delicate porcelain cup cracked from his fierce grip. He had seen those eyes in front of his own before he was pushed to the ground, with the sound of an engine roaring and the ricochet of bullets deflecting off the metal sides of the truck ringing in his ears, as loudly as his own heartbeat. Those lips had moved to tell him to run, but his legs had been useless. The gravel burned into his back and something hot and viscous splattered onto his neck, but he could not see what was happening. There was a name, he had tried to call out a name, the word was on the tip of his tongue—!
The shattering of the teacup resounded deafeningly, immediately hushing Zack's ramble and causing two pairs of eyes to be focused on Strife. Strife's eyes flickered down to his hands, where the pain disrupted his thoughts. Pieces of ceramic cut deep into the palms of his hands, and he could feel crimson liquid flowing out of the gashes. Sephiroth was already out of his seat, heading towards the bedroom where he had left the first aid kit, while Zack was busily prying his hands apart to pick away the jagged shards before more damage was done to those delicate hands. (1)
Zack's mouth was moving and the eyes showed a deep concern, but his ears were deaf and his mind felt numb.
"I forgot." With the sound of his own voice, Strife felt the world rush back into his body. "I didn't mean to."
"What did you forget, Cloud?" Zack was grateful Strife was talking. It meant that some semblance of awareness existed.
"You…"
/I-I'm so-sorry…Cloud…Looks like…w-we won't be…making it…to Midgar…together, bu-buddy…/
Distraught and dazed, Strife shot up from the sofa, wrenching his hands away from Zack's, and darted out of the apartment before Zack could react. By the time Sephiroth heard the wrenching open of the door and stepped back into the living room, the Cure materia in hand, Strife had already disappeared around the corner of the dark corridor. Sephiroth turned his questioning eyes from the open doorway towards his companion, scrutinizing the frozen expression on Zack's face.
"He said he forgot me," repeated Zack as his bloodied hands fell onto his lap, staining the navy blue material of his uniform. "He'd just met me yesterday."
In his haste to find some private place to reflect on the oppressing memories looming at the back of his mind, Strife nearly rammed into Hojo and his assistant. At Strife's haunted eyes and the openly bleeding hands, Hojo frowned, nearly scowling when he realized his experiments might not have manipulated and programmed the boy's mind as successfully as he originally perceived.
"Strife."
"D-doctor." Strife swallowed thickly as he saw the calculating and disapproving gleam in those callous, merciless eyes.
"I was just looking for you." At the obvious lie, Hojo's assistant nearly uttered a noise of surprise which would have certainly revealed the secret, but quickly reigned in the urge so as to not enrage her superior. Hojo reached up to adjust his glasses.
"You were, sir?" Wide blue eyes gazed up at the professor and Hojo smiled a bit as he noticed the deep-seated fear behind the mask of innocence.
"Yes. I wanted you back in the lab for some additional testing. It shouldn't take long," informed Hojo.
"Can this not wait, sir?" Strife felt the palms of his hands twinge in pain, his cuts aggravated by the sweat that had started to gather there from his nervousness, and mentally cursed himself for the sign of weakness.
"Surely you wouldn't want me to not sedate you for this," sneered Hojo, and Strife immediately straightened himself and nodded his head in agreement. Hojo grinned maliciously as Strife followed him into the confines of the laboratory like a defeated prisoner.
The laboratory remained largely illuminated by the glowing screens of the data collection computers and the tanks of purified MAKO scattered through the sterile room. The soft green glow permeating throughout the room glinted eerily off the round glasses perched on top of Hojo's sharp nose. Within the hands of the scientist—proclaimed the most brilliant and talented of all—a syringe of swirling emerald liquid stood prepared to pierce the skin of the subject lying comatose on the cold metal table. Bony fingers swabbed at a pale forearm before jabbing the needle into the flesh with practiced precision.
"…Never understand why she wants me to do so much work on you…" muttered Hojo to himself as he pushed the plunger down to empty the contents of the syringe into the slightly convulsing body. "…Where the lapse came from…"
Hojo growled softly as he picked up another syringe, this time filled with a white, milky substance. Despite the faint bleeding of the cut from the last needle, Hojo plunged the new needle into the swabbed skin, only a few millimeters from where the last needle entered the general area. With the insertion of the new chemicals, the area started to show signs of bruising. The computer whirred and beeped as it collected the appropriate statistics.
"…As long as he gets what he deserves…" Hojo wiped away the blood, sweat, and pus that had started to collect in the general area where the injections took place and bandaged the forearm of his subject hastily with some white gauze. He circled the table briskly, adjusting the tray of syringes accordingly, and swabbed at the other forearm. "…Suppose I better correct this little oversight…" The tray started the clear as one by one, the syringes were used and then discarded for sanitary processing later. "…After this…Subject A Code S and Subject B Code Z…Project J…"
Deep within the confines of his mind, Cloud tried in vain to block out the sounds of the raspy coos and whispers of the grotesque voice that had gradually started to swell in volume, promising him of false warmth and love. He never even noticed the green haze at the edge of his mind, slowly locking away those precious few memories of his past.
As to his promise, Hojo did not keep Strife in the laboratory as long as he normally would have. Disoriented and woozy, Strife stumbled down the corridor leading away from the main laboratories of the SOLDIER barracks, his arms throbbing agonizingly beneath the stained bandages. Fumbling with his pockets, he had just found his keycard when a sudden wave of vertigo plagued him, forcing him to lean against the wall as his own means of grounding himself in a world that appeared to tilt and distort with every blink of his eyelids. Panting and gasping, his heartbeat sounding thunderous in his ears, Strife barely managed to push the correct keys to command the elevator door to open.
Most of the time Hojo had asked assistants to escort him to his room after the experiments, but this impromptu session had been suspiciously shorter than the rest. He slumped bonelessly against the walls of the circular elevator compartment, finding a tiny bit of relief as the coolness of the metal soothed his heated skin—to any normal person, his hands would have felt obscenely cold, along with the rest of his body. The elevator slowed to a stop at the appropriate floor—the button signifying the number had been inspected closely for ten seconds by Strife's exhausted and hazy eyes before a trembling finger reached up to push it. The sole occupant of the elevator sighed gratefully when the contraption did not jerk when it stopped, and then staggered from the compartment before the doors closed.
One foot…In front of the other… His mantra kept him from collapsing on the vacant hallway. The floor housed only a handful of people, most of whom were likely to be found resting soundly in their beds, toiling behind a desk, or leading a squadron out on foreign fields. Strife did not want anyone, particularly from the elite of the SOLDIER department, to discover him in such a pathetic state, and supposed he should be thankful that he was returning to his own apartment at nearly midnight. Besides, he doubted he could respond properly when that voice—the voice at the deepest corners of his mind that called itself 'Mother'—whispered to him nonstop. (2)
A sound caught his attention and he weakly jerked his head upwards.
"Spike?"
Just my luck…thought Strife. He had forgotten that Zack would probably have stayed at Sephiroth's apartment since his departure, discussing his bizarre—no doubt somewhat insane—behavior. Caution had advised him to keep from acting too suspiciously until he had better defined this world, but he had already failed miserably.
"Spike? You okay?"
Zack's hand was on his shoulder. He desperately wanted to confide in this man that had shown him only genuine concern, this man whom his heart begged for him to trust. Maybe…Maybe Zack can make her go away…
\…child…you need…not him…\
Strife heard 'Mother' beckon to him, brutally telling him that all he needed was her, that others were unnecessary if they wanted to force them apart. He struggled to quiet the voice, but 'Mother' merely got upset, tingeing the edges of his vision with green even as bloodlust soared through his bloodstream like quicksilver.
Strife tried to control 'Mother', but his struggles—due to the presence of Zack—fuelled her displeasure until his head throbbed unbearably at trying to hold her at bay. He growled up warningly at Zack, vaguely recalling the fact that he probably looked as threatening as a drowned baby chocobo with his bloodshot eyes and his ruffled appearance. As predicted, Zack remained completely unmoved by his attempt to glare.
"You look horrible! What—"
"Leave me alone," snarled Strife as he jerked his shoulder away from Zack, wincing as the abrupt movement caused surges of agony to flare up throughout his body. Gritting his teeth, he pushed Zack away and doggedly wobbled his way down the corridor. His heart pounded heavily in his chest as 'Mother' hissed loudly in irritation for being ignored, and he knew that he must notsuccumb to 'Mother'.
"Spike! What's wrong with you? Stop being so goddamn stubborn and stupid!" Zack had tried to impede his way again. On an impulse, Strife swung out an arm, but his fist was easily caught by the First Class SOLDIER. "It's not gonna kill you to let others help you!"
"Shut up!" Strife struggled to wrench his arm from Zack's unyielding grasp.
\Child!\
Strife gasped and clutched at his head with his free hand. 'Mother' was demanding blood, demanding it because he was disobedient. Using Zack's fleeting shift from anger to concern, he swung out a leg and caught Zack across the abdomen, watching with brief satisfaction that his kick had been powerful enough to fling the First Class SOLDIER away from him and into a wall—creating cracks in the concrete. Before Zack could reach him again, Strife broke out into a run, barely managing to slam his apartment door shut in Zack's face. The exertion caused his nausea to overwhelm him, and he raced to the bathroom before sinking to his knees in front of the toilet, violently heaving. Green bile erupted from his mouth, the MAKO-laden vomit burning his esophagus. His nails dug into the porcelain sides and scratched the smooth surface. The pain and vertigo forced him to heave dryly for the next few agonizing minutes.
With a soft groan, he pushed himself away from the toilet bowl, not wanting to smell or see the disgusting mess whirling in the foul water. His back connected with the wall of the bathroom, and he labored to regain his breath again. Saliva and bile dribbled down the corner of his mouth, and he reached up with a wobbly hand to wipe away the trail before the liquid splashed either onto his clothing or the pristinely white tiles of the floor.
His consciousness started to drift, and he shivered, hating the MAKO for making his skin burn excruciatingly before the chemicals filled his veins with coldness. He vaguely heard the pounding at his door and the shouting of someone familiar.
I can't let her…thought Strife before his eyes drooped shut and he fell into a dreamless sleep.
"Zachary."
Zack was furious, and Sephiroth's stern gaze only fuelled his anger.
"Stop making such ruckus. You'll wake the other SOLDIERs."
"We need a mission."
"What?" Zack looked at Sephiroth with almost a hint of desperation.
"It doesn't matter where or what. Hojo keeps getting his hands on him. He needs to get away from him for a while."
"And what, do you propose, shall be a mission critical enough to require the services of two generals? The entirety of ShinRa practically already knows the battling capabilities of both Strife and I by now."
"Just say we need to learn how to work together."
"Zachary—"
"Seph."
Sephiroth sighed, feeling the beginnings of a headache. He knew when Zack made up his mind, nothing short of dying could stop the man from getting and doing what he wants.
"Very well…I shall see what I can do."
"Thank you."
Zack rubbed at his arm as he stumbled into Sephiroth's apartment at nearly eleven at night, his bumbling footsteps causing Sephiroth to look up from the piles of papers he had stacked in front of him—mission papers, as per his promise to the black-haired man. His nose wrinkled as he smelled the distinctly pungent odor that defined MAKO, and walked briskly over to where Zack stood, a half-vacant stare present in the normally energetic eyes. While he had known Zack loved to skip out on paperwork as much as possible, he should have known better than to assume that the arrival of a new test subject would mean a canceling of appointments, impromptu or scheduled, with Hojo.
"Shower?" questioned Sephiroth softly as he gently took hold of the arm that was not wrapped up in gauze. Zack nodded once, and Sephiroth slowly led the disoriented teenager towards his bathroom.
"How long were you kept?"
"The whole fuckin' day." Zack gingerly stripped himself of his clothing. Even as a First Class SOLDIER, with years of exposure to MAKO and other chemicals, Zack was always drained by the end of a session with Hojo—unavoidable, but unfortunate.
"And you're still on your feet?" Sephiroth turned on the tap, making sure the temperature of the water was tolerable for a person still adapting to new infusions of MAKO.
"I slept through i'all. I didn't want'a sleep more." Zack stepped into the bathtub and sunk gratefully into the water, with Sephiroth watching close by in case Zack should slip. It had been an unspoken code between them—ever since they had became friends—that should one remain mostly conscious after a meeting with Hojo, they would watch over the other until the other had fully recovered.
"Anesthetics?" Sephiroth quickly retrieved his papers from the living room before slipping back into the bathroom once again, making sure not to let Zack out of his sight for more time than he could allow.
"Sed'tives." Sephiroth shifted his attention from the papers in his hands to Zack's violet eyes, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.
"He hadn't resorted to sedatives to restrain us for a while." Zack shrugged his shoulders—in what he hoped had been a nonchalant gesture, except for that stinging pain through his entire back—and pried the bandaging away from his arm. Zack grimaced as he inspected the bruised and scratched arm.
"Jus' 'njections. Nothin' else." Sephiroth discerned that Zack's speech was becoming gradually more slurred, and watched as Zack's eyelids, despite the teenager's best efforts, flutter shut against faintly flushed cheeks.
"Zachary."
"Huh?" Zack's eyes blinked open, but they were bleary.
"If you prefer not to drown in my bathtub, I would suggest you either keep awake or go to bed."
"'Snice," mumbled Zack as he dunked his head briefly, hoping the water will rouse him. The heat temporarily jumpstarted his mind. "Whacha got'ere?"
"The preemptive reports and scouting statistics for possible missions."
"Oh. Whacha doin' it 'ere for?"
"I thought I might as well sift through these to find the mission you requested." Zack grinned up at Sephiroth, and, despite the fatigue in those violet eyes, a small speck of happiness flickered through their depths.
"You're such'a goo' B F."
"B F?"
"You know. Bes' frien'. Boyfrien'. Wha'ever."
Sephiroth shook his head at Zack's antics, but remained silent. Zack yawned.
"Lemme out, you borin' block'a ice." Sephiroth dropped the papers neatly onto the counter of the bathroom sink before bending down to help Zack out of the bathtub.
"D'ja find anythin'?" Zack grunted as he wrapped a towel around his waist, too exhausted to dry any part of his body that required more effort than necessary. He stumbled towards Sephiroth's bed and flopped down gratefully into the fluffy sheets and the soft mattress, burying his face eagerly into those heavenly pillows.
"I might have found a suitable one." Sephiroth repositioned Zack's limbs around so the latter rested more fully on the bed; he knew Zack was a restless sleeper—even after a laboratory session—and did not particularly care to wake up in the middle of the night to bodily move Zack back onto the bed. "Flip over. I don't want you to suffocate in your sleep."
Zack grumbled sleepily before flopping onto his back. Within moments, Sephiroth could hear soft snores emitting from between the parted lips of his temporary roommate. Sephiroth knew that Hojo currently has the upper hand, but sometimes he just could not help the sudden, undeniable urge to tear that madman apart limb by limb.
When Sephiroth awoke the next morning, his joints and muscles were stiff beyond belief, compliments of spending an entire night sitting nearly upright on the sofa. Zack was in the kitchen, sipping a cup of freshly brewed coffee, and smiled brightly at Sephiroth when he heard the other man shift on the leather couch.
"Mornin'!" greeted Zack as he poured out another cup of coffee and handed it over to the silver-haired general, who accepted the proffered beverage.
"What time is it?" Sephiroth took a sip of the coffee and found it agreeable.
"Six."
"Hn."
"So…" Sephiroth snorted at Zack, who acted the part of being the ever inquisitive—and greedy, in his opinion—puppy.
"Here. A-week-and-a-half to two week long mission. Western continent, northwestern quadrant. We shall be escorting nine ShinRa technicians to Rocket Town for the final preparatory work to be done on Rocket 'ShinRa Number 26'. The Space Program is scheduled to be completed within a week or so, and the launch a day or two afterwards," informed Sephiroth as he handed the files over to Zack, who grinned from ear to ear.
"Sounds pretty important," agreed Zack as he read the details. "And…um…dangerous?"
"…Of course…Who wouldn't want to escort a group of absolutely brainless scientists while they marvel at the unpolluted country air…" Sephiroth mumbled into his coffee, and Zack laughed as he caught the sarcasm behind the older man's complaint.
"I suppose I shall go tell Spike?"
Before Sephiroth could respond, Zack was already out the door.
The door to Strife's apart was open before Zack could even land a hand on it, and he blinked before smiling pleasantly at Strife.
"Morning', Spike!"
"You take too many liberties, Lieutenant." Strife left the door open, but did not invite the other man in. While Zack did not exactly know what to expect after the attack two days previous, he had not really thought Strife would act so distant and composed around him. Zack shrugged and walked through the partially open doorway.
The light over hanging the dinning room table was the only source of illumination in the entire apartment, and Zack mused that Strife lived like a vampire.
"If you want anything to eat, help yourself in the kitchen." Strife had taken a seat at the table and resumed his work on the piles of paper in front of him. "I hope you don't mind, but I have decided to oversee the cadets—seeing as how your paperwork seems to pile up in front of your desk without end."
"You didn't have to do that, Spike," grinned Zack as he plopped down in the seat by Strife, looking at the completed reports and realizing, to his chagrin, that the secretaries down on first floor would probably praise Strife's neat writing compared to his own chicken scrawl. He mentally shrugged. He never did understand why ShinRa hired secretaries and instructors and then shoved the random offenses and cadet scores on the higher ranking officers. After all, SOLDIER is only interested in the best. "And no thanks. I've already had my daily ration of coffee and toast. Well, if you can call that black sludge they feed to everyone coffee…"
'Mother' had been pleasantly quiet. The words on the pages quieted her voice.
"Why are you here then, Lieutenant?" Strife did not look up from his paperwork. Zack morbidly thought that the boy looked bloodless in the artificial lighting, with the blond hair glowing almost white and the pale face donning equally pale lips.
"Well, the ShinRa Company is about to launch a Space Program in Rocket Town, and thought that it might be good and all if we—you, me, and Seph—accompanied some techs there." Strife merely hummed as he absorbed the information before signing a report. Then his hand stilled.
"Rocket Town?"
"Yeah! You ever been there before?"
"No. I believe it's located on the other continent?"
"Northwestern quadrant." Zack watched contently as that bent head nodded, allowing the strands of hair to glow golden instead of the lifeless white. He had often thought that Sephiroth's hair looked strangely monotonous but fitting on the man, even though the general looked incredibly daunting in the darkness because of it. He remembered catching a glimpse of those silver strands during a survey through burning rubble—the aftermath of a MAKO reactor malfunction—and shuddering to see the flames reflected on those strands, making those catlike eyes appear more blood red than green.
"-tenant!" barked Strife, and Zack could only grin sheepishly when he realized the other had asked him a question while he had been pondering about hair, of all things!
"Sorry, sorry. What was that again?"
"When are we leaving?"
"Today, at 0900. Better get packing! I hear it's cold there this time of year." Strife made no move to respond. "…Brick wall."
If Strife heard the comment, he did not act as such, much to Zack's disappointment. Nothing seemed to have gotten through the boy except for the mission facts and details.
"Well, I'm off! See you later, Spike!" Nothing but the sound of his own footsteps and the scratching of the pen on paper filled his ears as Zack exited the apartment.
With motion sickness came 'Mother's' voice, and despite the edge he felt at hearing that raspy hum at the back of his brain, Strife could not help but feel comforted by it because it made the nausea lessen while the transport vehicle bumped along the road from Costa del Sol to Rocket Town. During the first leg of the trip, when 'Mother' had not spoken to him, he could almost feel the bile rising up through his throat, threatening to spew out of his mouth should the car swerve or jolt too much. He had rested his forehead on his knees because he did not want the others to see his sickness, but he knew Zack and Sephiroth noticed because Zack had offered him motion sickness pills—which he declined the second time when the first pill failed to soothe his stomach. At least Zack had shown the proper etiquette when he offered the useless item, but those pairs of eyes—staring into the back of his skull because he did not resemble the image of perfection—grated at his nerves and pride.
When three Valrons attacked the convoy, he eagerly hopped off the back of the truck and withdrew one of his swords. With 'Mother's' encouragement, he sunk his blade into that tough purple hide without restraint, basking in the sensation of freshly-drawn blood gushing over his exposed skin. When he turned his bloodlust eyes towards the other two demons, he wanted to frown at the sight of Sephiroth gliding Masamune effortlessly through one of the other monsters while Zack slashed the last across the chest with his Buster Sword. 'Mother', however, cooed at him and promised him future battles. He felt ashamed of himself for not even realizing he had obeyed 'Mother' without a second thought, and he shut out 'Mother's' voice the rest of the journey even as he felt the queasiness returning. (3)
Rocket Town, he duly noted as he clambered off the truck on shaky legs, was a fairly prosperous, quaint little town out on the grassy plains some hundred miles away from the Nibel mountain chain. The main attraction of the town, naturally, was the abnormal structure towering over much of the houses at the back of the town, with the words 'ShinRa No. 26' painted proudly in white on its side. The citizens were absolutely thrilled at the arrival of the ShinRa convoy, murmuring amidst themselves about the achievement of some 'Captain's' lifelong dreams and the immortalization of the town as the founders of a brighter future. Strife did not pay particular attention to his surroundings as he followed Sephiroth and Zack to the designated house mentioned in the mission report, and therefore was startled when a loud, exuberant voice enthusiastically greeted them and invite them all in.
"Shera! Get them some tea!" barked the sandy-haired, slightly bearded man, who, to Strife's confusion, was wearing casual civilian clothes—a comfortable sky blue shirt, a neatly tied white scarf, a pair of goggles donned on top of his head, and a pair of brown pants. He would have thought that the man would have cared about his state of attire in the presence of ShinRa's top technicians and, not to mention, the great general Sephiroth, but supposed appearances little mattered when the program was nearly completed. The man talked animatedly with the technicians and Strife blocked out the conversation—seeing as how he did not understand the jargon.
'Mother' had been oddly subdued after the attack, and Strife was glad for the respite.
"Shera! Where's the fuckin' tea?" snapped the man irritably, though the bite was absent from his tone. The lovely woman, dressed in a clean white lab coat and hiding her face behind a pair of glasses that seemed unbefitting of her, jumped in embarrassment and whipped out a tray to put the filled teacups on it. She quickly distributed the tea among those seated at the table before wandering over to Sephiroth, who stood near the entrance of the household. Smiling, she skirted her way lastly to Strife.
Strife caught a glimpse of silver on the ring finger of her right hand as she offered the last remaining teacup on the tray. She flushed—in what Strife assumed was a mixture of both embarrassment and appreciation—as she gazed at her ring. Despite the fact that Strife did not appear to be the friendly type (unlike Zack, who eagerly joined in the conversation at the table despite the fact that he himself probably did not understand much of the jargon either), Shera leaned against the wall immediately to Strife's right.
"We have been engaged for a few years, you know," informed Shera as she rotated the ring with her thumb and index finger, as if trying to memorize the way the ring felt. "I doubt we'll really ever get married though…I think I'm only a mediocre scientist compared to Captain, and he always criticizes me for being too slow…" She gave a small laugh, as if remembering something fond. She looked at Strife then, and gnawed at her bottom lip. "It's been his lifelong dream to go up into space…I don't ever want the program to fail. But…Is it too selfish to wish that he does not to go up into space?"
"Why would you not want him to?" questioned Strife, his voice barely audible past the din in the dining room. He did not look at Shera.
"Well…I'm just worried that something bad will happen on the way up. Last night, when I was doing a check-up on the rocket, I noticed that there might be a problem with the oxygen tank. I brought it up with Captain, but he didn't think it would be too big of an issue. The launch is in a few days, but I don't know if I'll manage to fix the problem by then...I…I couldn't bare it if something happened to Captain…Ah…I'm terribly sorry! I didn't mean to ramble on about my problems in front of you!" She departed quickly, her face fully flushed. Strife looked into his teacup, slightly frowning.
When Zack saw the contemplative look on Strife's face, he grinned, excused himself, and wandered over to where Strife stood.
"What's up, Spike?" Strife looked up from his tea, and then dropped his gaze again.
"Nothing."
"Miss Shera looked like she enjoyed talking to you. That doesn't sound like nothing to me," grinned Zack as he winked slyly at Strife. Strife shrugged and took a sip of his tea, which had cooled during the time Shera spoke to him. "Come on, Spike. Talk to me, will ya?"
"What's there to talk about?" Zack pouted.
"Anything! Everything! There's gotta be something going on inside of your pretty chocobo head—" At this, Strife glared, but Zack continued unperturbed. "Let's see, how about…'Hey, Zack. How are you enjoying yourself here?' or 'Zack! I love you! Let's elope and have mad monkey sex!'" Zack laughed when Strife blinked at him, disturbed.
Zack filled the rest of the evening with idle conversation. Even if Strife barely responded to his comments outside of a few glances, Zack smiled inwardly as he watched those tense shoulders gradually relax and a less guarded, though still distant and cold, look entire the boy's blue eyes.
Three days later, Cid announced to the town of the promised launch of the rocket the next day. Strife watched, out of the corner of his eyes, as Shera paled considerably at the declaration, her hands shaking as she clutched her clipboard of notes and reports closely to her. Dark circles were already bagging underneath her eyes, making her appear disturbingly owlish and disheveled, and Strife thought he saw a glimpse of tears at the corners of her bloodshot eyes. The look did not suit her, but no one seemed to notice.
That night, as Strife laid in bed in the Highwind household, he heard the gentle rustling of clothing and the quiet self-mutterings as Shera dressed herself for another sleepless night in the rocket. Her footsteps were unsteady. He doubted anyone else currently residing in the house heard her besides himself—after all, Zack and Sephiroth rested with the rest of the technicians in the local inn while he himself guarded three of them. When they first arrived, Zack had, for some reason, really wanted to room with him, but after Strife's adamant refusal, the sleeping arrangement had been worked out. Shera's footsteps echoed past the door to the guest bedroom he occupied.
"I'll make sure…Even if I…I'll make sure…"
In the morning, Strife found Shera still missing, but everyone was too busy with and excited by the launch to notice her disappearance, the chaos further fueled by the presence of the ShinRa news crew that had arrived the previous day. The gathering of the townspeople out on the streets, eager for the event of their lifetimes, certainly made it easy to forget about the absence of a single person.
Sephiroth had been disgruntled when he and Zack escorted the technicians out of the local inn and through the amassing crowd of cheering onlookers. Zack knew Sephiroth did not care too much about the celebrations: the general found it simply annoying to subject himself to the stares of awe and adoration that most of the villagers had when they saw him, no matter how many times they had seen him already. He, however, did not know the cause of the other's annoyance laid deeper within his psyche.
After a brief half hour conference, Cid adjusted his clothing and stubbed out his cigarette, which did nothing to calm his nerves.
"Looks like we're all ready. Let's mosey!" announced Zack.
"Fuck! Who fuckin' moseys anywhere?" grumbled Cid indignantly, and, at everyone's (minus Sephiroth and Strife) laughter, he felt the anxiety drain away from his stomach.
The door was open. Cid was about to take a step outside. Strife knew something disastrous was about to happen.
"Hold off the launch."
Everyone turned around to gaze at him, and he felt surprised that he had spoken at all. He could feel blood threatening to paint his cheeks a dusky red.
"What's that, Spike?" If the situation had not been so awkward, Zack would have grinned proudly that Strife had spoken without being prompted by others.
"Hold off the launch, at least for another day or so," repeated Strife. He looked up to see Sephiroth at the other end of the room and he shuddered at the indecipherable expression on the other general's face, almost…almost as if the other knew, but Strife doubted it.
"What the fuck for?" growled Cid, who wanted to turn around and disappear into the crowd but stayed because the boy had been introduced as a general. He knew that he needed ShinRa's support if he wanted funding for future projects.
"Shera is there. If you launch now, she'll die."
"So? We'll just fuckin' get her out and then launch. Why the fuck do I need to wait 'nother fuckin' day?"
"Spike?" Strife wanted to respond to them, but how does he explain to them the anxiety gnawing at the pit of his stomach when he did not even know what was about to happen? All he knew was that his instincts screamed at him to do something.
"Shall you trust in Shera, or shall you care more about your pride than her concerns?" questioned Sephiroth, and Cid paled when he heard the commanding voice of the general. "Surely General Strife has valid reasons for wanting the temporary postponing of the launch."
The technicians all turned to look expectantly at Cid, each and every single one of them believing that their expertise will amount to more than what a single, no-name scientist could possibly ever do. Cid searched his pockets for a cigarette and a lighter, but paused when his right ring finger accidentally struck against a button on his jacket.
"I've waited for so fuckin' long for this…" The technicians smiled smugly to themselves. "So what's one more fuckin' day, right?" Cid shrugged and apologized to the townspeople as he exited the premise to find Shera.
Zack observed the features of Sephiroth and knew. The 'Illness' was coming back, and Strife…Strife was somehow involved.
The launch happened on a crystal clear, absolutely gorgeous day, as if Gaia Herself approved of it. While onlookers watched the flames of the rocket slowly disappear into the sky, Shera could only smile, remembering that scratchy but loud proclamation Cid made before the countdown.
/Shera! Once this baby lands, you better be fuckin' prepared to get married! I don't want your slow ass making me fuckin' wait!/
A few hundred miles away from Rocket Town, a brown-haired girl dropped, in surprise, the remote control of practically the only television set in town.
"Cloud…"
Notes:
(1) I can't quite imagine using Cure materia for cuts to your hands. I liken it to using Cure1 when you got a paper cut, but since Cloud's cuts were graver…Regardless, Cure materia away for everything, right? I don't think many would voluntarily keep potions handy in their apartment either.
(2) The 7th floor houses only the First Class SOLDIERs and the generals. There are perhaps a total of eight or nine First Class SOLDIERs at best, thus the residency of the 7th floor can be calculated to be approximately ten or eleven people. Most of their rooms are located conveniently close by the elevator. Since the floors below all typically have approximately a hundred rooms or so, the majority of the rooms—essentially from the 5th floor and upwards—contain luxury items: in other words, large apartments with adjoining training rooms. The cadet housing covers the second to fourth floor; basic-level instructors and Third Class SOLDIERs on the fifth floor; and higher-level instructors and Second Class SOLDIERs on the sixth floor. The first floor is designated for the offices of temporary ShinRa employees in the SOLDIER department, the instructors, and the Second and Third Class SOLDIERs. The eighth floor hosts the offices of the elite officers of the SOLDIER department, and the basement houses the main laboratories. There is no housing in the SOLDIER barracks for the grunts and scientists who are not wholly associated with SOLDIER.
(3) Their travel route involves roads that do not exist in the game. It includes a lot of mountains though, and probably lasted for three to four days.
A/N: I've had a lot of problems with this chapter, thus reviews and feedback are welcome.