Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure by now you know I don't own. I'm not even sure why I put one of these up for every chapter.
Rating: R (this chapter)
Pairing: Seph/Gen
Warnings: Language, child abuse
A/N1: I would like to say now, because it has come up before when I have written about abuse. I was NOT abused as a child. In fact, my childhood was pretty chill.
AN2: Thank you for all the favorites, alerts, and especially for the awesome reviews.
Thank you to Nephilim Raising who betaed the first half of this chapter. I didn't have a beta for the second part of this chapter, mostly because I'm to impatient to wait for one, and I wanted to get this chapter up. So, I hope it's not too bad, or unreadable.
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Truth, terribly magnificent in concept, enticing and alluring. Abstract in notion, truth is profound in elegance, flawless in design. Truth is the absolute, thrusting meaning on that which is pointless, filling the void of nothingness with...something. Truth, as if it were tangible, can be possessed, enslaved and guarded.
Yet, what relevance does truth hold, in something so sterile and mechanical? Resolution can be found, but absolution is absent. Truth abducts freedom, binding to knowledge and tethering to totality. Truth is the enemy of faith, brutally murdering the imagination, leaving fantasy broken and bloody in its wake.
Truth is beyond purity; it rapes and confiscates innocence. Truth is cruel in enlightenment, its state to simple for the complexities of wisdom.
Truth is cold and unfeeling, shrouded in gray like death. Truth holds the horrific radiance of entirety, perverting and corrupting possibility.
Truth does not seek but is sought. There are those who long for its atrocity, who wish for their carefully woven illusions and pretenses to be violently dispelled, for they believe truth will grant them understanding.
However, once truth is learned, it can never be unlearned, then most pray fervently to be enfolded back into the warm embrace of the lie.
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The room was chambered in silence, only the occasional deep breath, cutting through the absence of sound, ascertained there was life trapped between the four walls. Opting for a uncomfortable, squeaky stool, so some noise would penetrate the quiet, the professor rolled closer to the slumbering teen. He didn't seem to mind the hard surface causing his ass to go numb or that the cold of the metal was seeping through his slacks. It was a small price to pay to watch the child – his son – sleep so soundly.
Many nights over the passing years, he had been in this exact same spot, doing nothing more than watching the raise and fall of the boy's chest. But this night seemed different; something about the way the dim lights played with the shadows along the walls foretold of something secretive; a foreshadowing of events having yet to unfold.
A clipboard, with papers documenting the boy's vitals and blood-work results – noting nothing out of the ordinary – lay discarded on one of the built in desks, freeing the scientist's focus, so as to remain solely on the sleeping youth. The teen had exited REM only moments prior and was probably now settling into delta, which caused the man wondered what the boy had dreamed about, or if he even dreamed. There was a good chance he merely mimicked a human cycle of natural sleep. The professor knew the child was anatomically comparable to a human being, having all the same internal and external organs, and even the same same pain and pleasure receptacles, but he was not human. The boy Hojo watched sleeping was more than human, so much more.
Lighting a cigarette and pulling his stringy, black hair from his pony-tail – Hojo winced at the strands weighted with oil– he allowed himself to slip into a state of reflective meditation. In the wee hours of the morning – still a while before dawn painted the sky in hues of pink, purple, orange and blue – he wasn't a mad scientist hellbent on creating the next Frankenstein's monster or the crazy old professor locked away in some basement laboratory, preforming all sorts of putrid, vile, unspeakable acts on unwilling test subjects. Right then he was merely a man with a failed marriage in his past, a son he could never publicly claim, and too much blood on his hands. What he had done in the name of science had cost him the right to proclaim himself a good, moral, decent human being, but in these late hours he didn't feel up to playing the part of the bad guy.
The cigarette hissed between his lips, and he inhaled, letting the rancid smoke fill and burn his lungs. A white cloud encased him when he exhaled and moving out of it, Hojo moved even closer to Sephiroth. In times such as this, his hands could move deftly, and gently, and so he lifted the sleeve of the teen's hospital gown, and examined the boy's arm. 'No swelling around the entry point' he noted, and took another drag from the smoke. That was a good sign. It meant either the Mako, the Jenova cells, or both, was working as he had predicted. He smoothed the sleeve down and turned his eyes to gaze at the child's face.
When it came to perfection, Sephiroth was the epitome. The teen was everything Hojo had wanted to be – strong, handsome, athletic, intelligent, beautiful, and virtually flawless. Thus the scientist not only added Jenova cells when Sephiroth was still a fetus, but had tampered with the unborn child's DNA so only the best qualities would prevail. Still gazing at his son's soft features, the professor could detect no imperfections. No lines or creases marred Sephiroth's smooth, slumbering continence. His skin was a bit too pale to seem healthy, but Hojo had detected no deficiencies in pigmentation, so it was never an issue to be addressed. Streaming silver hair, looking like fine strands of spider silk, framed the boy's face, giving it a heart-shaped appearance. It was as if the child was an animated character brought to life.
It would be a lie to say there wasn't a part of Hojo that wasn't jealous of his son. Sephiroth, in his youth and beauty, was Hojo idealized. In years gone by, when he had yet to be trapped by rigid structure, and choices and freedom were still concepts that weren't abstract but possessed, the scientist would have bartered away his soul, to whatever dark powers that existed, to be Sephiroth. However, with the fleeting dreams of youth passed, and having come to terms with reality, Hojo had accepted the fact that the only way to be like Sephiroth, was to live through him. It wasn't fair. Yet, when really analyzing the youth, seeing him in this peaceful state, reflecting on what the boy meant, Hojo's jealousy diminished. He could claim what no other person on all of Gaia could say; he was the father of the greatest warrior on the planet. Sephiroth was spawned from his loins, he was the greatest part of Hojo made manifest. Hojo's pride swelled, even if that truth could never be revealed.
Sephiroth was professor's greatest achievement, his highest scientific accomplishment and, on a more personal level, that which Hojo cherished most. Whatever glory's were Sephiroth's, they were Hojo's as well. Whatever titles the teen was awarded, they were subtlety transferred to Hojo. Whatever victories Sephiroth achieved, they stood as testament to Hojo's greatness. And for these reasons, jealousy was minute compared to pride.
Daring something he hadn't attempted since being ordered away by a then four-year-old Sephiroth, the older man reached out and touched the cascade of molten silver. He was careful, irrationally fearing the platinum locks to be nothing more than the trick of a cunning spider and might easily tear if handled too roughly. His touch wasn't that of a scientist examining a specimen, nor was it as unfeeling as that of a doctor checking over a patient. It was a real touch, almost loving in adoration – the touch a father gives to his child.
As it always is, there are certain moments in time that would be regarded as treasured. For Hojo, this was one. He was as God, bestowing favoritism to his only begotten son.
The hair was as soft as he expected, the lingering smell of vanilla wafted across his nose as the strands slid easily through his fingers. A smile played at the corners of his lips, and he realized that he had never once mentioned anything, positive or negative, about the boy's hair, and he was glad he didn't.
"What is it you want from me, Sephiroth?" The professor asked the sleeping child as the hair flowed over his fingertips. Tonight, his voice wasn't the high-pitched, nasally squeak that defined him, but was deeper, more throaty, melancholy wrapped around the shape of each word. Hojo sounded like a man broken, full of regret.
"The truth," a reply came from the child, who had awoken a short time ago, only to pretend to be sleeping so he could try to grasp Hojo's angle. He had to force himself to remain utterly still when the man had ran his fingers through his hair, confusing him as to what the scientist was up to.
Quickly removing his hand, a startled Hojo rolled at least ten feet back from the bed. After a calming breath, and another drag off his smoke, the man snorted.
"I thought you were still under the effects of the sedative," Hojo intoned while thinking to himself that Sephiroth was indeed a marvelous creature.
"You thought wrong," Sephiroth's voice was as soft as ever, always holding a hint of cruelty just below the tone. He slowly opened his eyes to find himself in a warmly, if dimly, lit hospital room. The walls were a cream color, adorned with paintings of nature and wildlife, radiating an inviting feeling. The bed he lay in was clean, the sheets crisp and smelling fresh. He was dressed in a blue hospital gown, yet his body was devoid of any wires, tubs or IV's, save the oxygen monitor on his index finger.
"You trusted me enough not to strap me down?" The teen, now wary of his situation, pushed the button to raise the upper half of the bed until he was sitting up.
Having grown tired of his cigarette, Hojo dropped it on the floor and crushed it out on the bottom of his polished shoe. "There was no point. You came to me with questions, which I assume you still want answers to, but you caught me off guard. I needed time to collect my thoughts, and were you awake, you would not have allowed me that time. I merely had you sedated so I had time to think and you could be moved to a more...comfortable environment."
A single, straight eyebrow of Sephiroth's lifted. He wasn't exactly sure what to make of Hojo's words. He had never seen the man like this, so laid back and not rushing away from to get back to whatever project he was working on at the time.
"This is my old room." It was a simple statement of fact, yet apprehension was going inside the silver-haired teen. Everything was feeling very surreal. Perhaps that was the medication wearing off.
Hojo briefly looked around. He suddenly felt very old and tired. "Yes. It is a proven fact that familiarity breeds a sense of calmness."
Only nodding, Sephiroth kept his eyes trained on the scientist. It wasn't supposed to be like this, not even the beginning. Where was the cackling and condescension that he intended to beat out of the man if it came down to Hojo refusing him answers. This was by far more eerie.
"I wasn't aware that you smoked," he felt as if he had to say something before jumping into his barrage of questions.
"I don't," Hojo replied, lighting another cigarette.
Sephiroth's lips twisted into a scowl. "But you are..." For but an instant, the teenage part of Sephiroth felt very young, almost childish and so full of questions. He was perplexed by the complexities and contradictions of humans. But then the older Sephiroth regained control and had to swallow down a smirk. 'To think, I almost destroyed them all. Why? They are...amusing in their confusion and hypocrisy. Granted, I do not understand it, but there is satisfaction to be gained from their pathetic plight.'
Holding up a hand to halt the rest of that line of questioning, Hojo silenced the teen. Locking Sephiroth's gaze with his own, he simply refused to talk about his smoking. It was a rarity for him, a vice indulged in only under times of great stress, and he felt he owed Sephiroth no explanation for the infrequent habit.
Keeping the gaze held as long as possible, not yet allowing himself to be the first to look away, Hojo studied the boy's waking appearance. He was shocked to find a resemblance. How it alluded him this long was only proof that after awhile, the professor had stopped paying attention to the teen altogether. Sephiroth's brows, thin and straight; his strong cheek and jaw bones, the high forehead, and the slight outer curve of the eyes, all belonged to Hojo. While they were features easily overlooked, and hard to pinpoint as belonging to either parent, they were there. Sephiroth was what Hojo would have been if he were alluring. Oh, Lucrecia's traits were stronger, the nose, lips and ears, but his were still present. And then there was the skin coloring, eye pattern and hair shade, but Hojo didn't want to think about Jenova right now.
"What truth do you seek, Sephiroth?" The scientist did finally look away. "The one I've fabricated for the last fifteen years to keep you safe, or the harsh, ugly one that I've kept to myself?"
Sephiroth's remained quiet for a long time. He already had most of the truth; the truth about his creation. However, he wasn't seeking that information. He wanted to know about Hojo. Yes, he knew he was mostly alien, due to the Jenova cells he now controlled, however, Hojo was the one who raised him, and he wanted to know the reason behind his existence being so isolated. The only way to understand that, he rationalized, was to know his father's childhood. It really was just a matter of psychology.
Choosing his words carefully, to make sure Hojo understood what he was wanting, Sephiroth spoke in a monotone, flat voice, "What was your childhood like Hojo? And what are the similarities between yours and mine? There has to be a reason you raised me as you did, and I do not buy the excuse that it was because of the experiment. There is more to it than that. I wish to know what it is."
Hojo narrowed his eyes, and took another puff. Offhandedly, he waved, "Don't worry," he pointed the cancer stick in the silver-haired teens direction, "your lungs filter out all impurities. I could have smoked around you from the time you were born, and you would never have any adverse side effects."
Sephiroth, though not enjoying the smell, only shrugged and waited.
"I thought you were going to ask me about Jenova, or Lucrecia and the Project." Hojo was honestly surprised at Sephiroth's inquiry.
"No," Sephiroth shook his head, "as I told you before you had me drugged, I already know about that." Then he thought about it, "there are small details I am missing, but I will have you clarify later. For now, I wish to know about you. Why did you make me the way I am?"
Hojo chuckled. It almost sounded normal. Almost. The professor had tried to make Sephiroth into the image he'd always created for himself, but somewhere along the way, he had fallen short. Hojo used to want to be popular, especially with the ladies, however, as much as he had wanted that for his son, since he had never had it, Sephiroth's social ineptitude made that an impossibility.
"I made you the way you are?" Hojo glared at the boy. "No, I was only partially responsible. Jenova did the rest. Tell me, Sephiroth, what is the earliest memory you have?"
"That is irrelevant. I do not see how my memories pertain to your early childhood. Besides, you have asked me this question before, and I have told you."
"It's relevant. Believe me." Hojo removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. "Was it the time when you were three and fell down when you were playing outside?"
"No. I was never allowed outside. You made sure I didn't go outside. You kept me hidden from the entire world until my first mission. That was when I was eight."
However, both parts of Sephiroth were struggling to remember back that far. He remembered his mission, and he remembered bits and pieces before that, but his earliest memory? Yes, it was when he fell down, here inside the Shin-Ra building, and cried for someone to hold him because he had cut his knee. But there was something more. Something his mind was having a hard time grasping.
The youth glared at the scientist. He had cried, and no one had come to pick him up. He wanted someone, but no one was there. He hadn't been outside. He wasn't allowed outside. He was here, inside the building. But what else?
"Alright. I want you to keep in mind what you just said. Now, I am going to share with you my own childhood, but only because I know you aren't going to tell anyone else. Its not in your nature to share information. Not even when its pertinent.
"My earliest memory was of my mother and father fighting. I don't remember much, but there was a lot of screaming. And then time, as it is wont to do, went by. I don't know how much time, I was told a year, and then my mother was no longer with us. I dream of her sometimes, and in my dreams, I can see her face. Do you dream, Sephiroth?"
He had never been asked that question before, and in his quiet manner, Sephiroth nodded a "yes."
"Hm. Interesting." The scientist in him filed the information away to jot down later. "When I wake up, no matter how hard I try, I lose sight of her and forget what she looked like. But sometimes I remember the color of the dream. It's red. And those dreams scare me."
Sephiroth drew in a breath. He had always believed that Hojo was afraid of nothing. Even when sacrificing himself so that his son may obtain godhood, Hojo had shown no fear. It scared the boy to find out the man who was his father actually had fears. It wasn't right. Hojo needed to be insane and afraid of no man or creature.
"As I was growing up, motherless, I found out just how much of a disappointment I was to my father. It didn't matter that I had the highest marks of all the students in my school. It didn't matter that I was skilled at playing the piano, or that I had a love for biology and wanted to become a medical doctor so I could save people's lives. It didn't matter that my first love's name was Jessica Reynolds, and she said 'no' when I asked her to be my girlfriend in the fourth grade. It only mattered that I wasn't a star athlete...You look surprised?"
Sephiroth was staring at Hojo's fingers. Those fingers had often poked and pinched him. Those fingers prodded and examined him. Those fingers depressed liquids of unnamed origin into his bloodstream. It wasn't possible that those fingers could create something as lovely as a song being played from the piano. Those fingers didn't have the right to be delicate. They were hurtful, evil things.
"I didn't know that you played the piano."
With a smirk, the professor shrugged, "It was a long time ago, before I started working for Shin-Ra. It didn't matter back then, and it doesn't matter now."
Hojo crushed out his cigarette, and continued his story. "As I was saying, my father wanted a strong, rough and tough boy. He wanted a football player, or a wrestler, or even a track star, but he didn't want, and I quote, 'a fagot' like me running around.
"I was also a convenient punching bag. After Mother...disappeared, Father began drinking. Or maybe he had been a drunk all along, not even I know. However, a routine began in our household. I would go to school, he would go to work. I would come home and finish my studies, he would come home then go to the bar. On good nights, he would come home and either tell my 'fagot ass' to make his dinner, or, if I was lucky, he would just ignore me. On the bad night...
"Have you ever wondered why I don't walk straight?"
Sephiroth shook his head. He suddenly didn't want to know. He didn't want Hojo to have a story. He didn't want the professor to be a person. He wanted him to go back to being the evil scientist that preformed painful tests, a monster that he could fear. He wanted Hojo to be the object of his dread, and the reason behind all the bad things that ever happened to him. Yet, he had asked for this, and the professor was obliging. The teen pulled his sheet up to his chest.
"No?" Hojo lifted an eyebrow. "Of course not. Other than when I give you your next Mako treatment, or when you need something to help you sleep, I'm of no concern to you. But that really doesn't matter, either."
Sephiroth was about to point out that Hojo was making it sound as if he'd asked to be created and then experimented on, but the older man hushed him by holding a finger to his lips.
"We were living in a two story house in what is now the Sector 7 slums. The plate had yet to be built, but it was still a bad place to live. Father was drinking as usual and I was upstairs, in my room, finishing my homework.
"Now, let me say here that my father was about six-foot two and close to two hundred and fifty pounds. I was roughly five foot three and eighty five pounds. I just want you to understand the size difference between Father and myself at the time.
"I hadn't made dinner yet, but it was only four in the afternoon, too early for dinner. I didn't realize what was happening until I was being dragged out of my room by my hair. I think I may have screamed before being thrown down the stairs, though I'm not positive. I remember hitting three of the stairs on my way down, and there was a popping sound in my back. Then I laid at the bottom of the stairs, crying, wishing my mother were still around, while Father casually stepped over me. He then left the house, pretending I wasn't there, hurting and crying in pain. Somehow I crawled back up the stairs and into my bed. Maybe two or three days passed before I could get up. However, when I did eventually stand, I couldn't straighten my back properly, and haven't been able to since."
Sephiroth couldn't look at Hojo now, something on his sheet, which was spotless, became very interesting. He had believed he was divorced from humanity, and other than Genesis, who wasn't technically human, he had no other bonds, especially with this man. Realization taught otherwise. While there was no great love for the man who had impregnated Lucrecia, Hojo did bring him into this world, did raise him, and had taught him that his was a special existence. It angered Sephiroth that Hojo's own father had been so vicious. It was probably the reason the professor could share no parental feelings.
"How old were you?"
"I was twelve."
"Then what happened?"
"The beatings became less frequent, though Father began to drink more. I finished school early, with usually high marks and left home after being accepted to the Wutai University. I obtained my doctorate and was discovered by Professor Gast. Thus I began my career with Shin-Ra."
"Hojo," Sephiroth said after a few minutes of wishing he could forget everything he just learned, "you don't seem surprised that I know that you are my father, or that Lucrecia is the woman who gave birth to me. Why?"
This was a question Hojo had been anticipating.
"A few months after Lucrecia became pregnant with you, she began having...what I then thought were psychotic episodes. However, after having watched you mature and remembering that she described you as you are now, in full detail, I realized she was having visions. So, putting two and two together, I figured you would probably start having them as well. So, are you having them? Is that how you know about Lucrecia and myself and..."
"Mother?" The boy finished for him. "Not quite."
"Are you going to tell me then?"
"Yes."
"Alright. I'm listening."
"Hojo..." Sephiroth lost concentration on what he was about to say and threw his hands over his face. Flashes of memory were becoming clear. There were now two sets of memories – one set starting to supersede the other. Memories that had not been before came into being. He shook his head, trying to regain focus, but the images were still there. "Is there a playground two blocks from the building. In what is now Sector 1?"
The scientist remained quiet.
Sephiroth finally raised his eyes to look at the man responsible for his conception. His first memories, the earliest one's he had, were wrong, but they somehow fit and became right. He was remembering the same event in a way it hadn't happened before, but he still remembered how it happened the first time. He was so very confused now.
The silver-haired teen had to ask of this new memory, "You can't cut open your knee on tile, can you Hojo? You were there." No, Hojo wasn't there in the memory before he had dashed back through time. Now he was. "I fell...I landed on a rock and it ripped my pants and I cut my knee." Sephiroth inhaled deeply, trying to keep the two memories straight. "You came over to see if I was alright because I was crying. I told you to stay away from me, didn't I? I pushed you away, and refused to go outside again after that...until you sent me on that mission."
"Five years you kept yourself locked away in this building, and shuffled the blame onto me."
"Why didn't you tell me?" It wasn't right. Sephiroth had not been isolated by choice. His loneliness had been the result of Hojo not wanting him to see or be apart of the world. He remembered that. Didn't he? His heart began racing in his chest.
"Because you weren't old enough to accept the responsibility for your own actions."
It was a lie. All of it was a lie. Even Hojo's story was nothing but a fabrication, at least that's what he was telling himself. The cold fire that always burned just beneath his surface, the one he kept a tight reign on, was starting to flare up. His body grew hot and his blood started to boil. "But I was old enough for you to send me out to kill people?"
"You've never valued human life. Your mission wasn't the first time you killed, Sephiroth. You were just too young to remember."
"Who did I kill?" Now he was becoming colder, even more detached. He had killed for Shin-Ra, and on missions. He had killed in war and had even tried to destroy the planet, in which the destruction of Midgar alone had left hundreds of thousands dead. But before his first mission? Did he truly place no value on human life? 'Of course not,' he reasoned, 'I'm not human.'
"Maybe later I will tell you of that incident." Hojo still remembered what happened like it was yesterday. It was an event that had almost caused President Shin-Ra to order Sephiroth's termination. "However, it's your turn to talk."
Finally able to put his rage in check, and assuring himself he would figure out the problems with his memory later, Sephiroth nodded and told Hojo his own tale, starting with the first time he had grown up with Shin-Ra. He described the Wutai War, and later finding out the truth about who he was and his link to Jenova. He explained to Hojo about his three separate defeats at the hands of Cloud Strife, and how all three times he'd ended up in the life stream. By the time he concluded his story, about his quasi ascension to godhood, and returning to this past, the sky was already light.
"Hojo," he said once his tail was told, "I still have questions. Mostly about you and Lucrecia."
The scientist nodded, "They can wait. The sun is already up, and I haven't slept yet."
Hojo rose to leave the room, thoughts heavy, "Sephiroth, I believe what you told me to be a very intense, very vivid vision, but I don't believe that you actually lived it."
Sephiroth's silver brows knitted together and he was about to make the case as to why he was telling the truth, when Hojo cut him off. "Sephiroth, time is liner. Not even the gods can move through it. If they could, don't you think a Divine Presence would have gotten rid of The Calamity when she first arrived?"
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It was well after curfew, and SOLDIER 3rd Class T.J. Collins was trying to force himself to sleep. Laying on his bed in his, eyes staring up at a darkened ceiling, the process of slumber eluded him. Instead, the time spent with his father and the events that lead up to him joining SOLDIER, played through his mind like a movie that refused to be shut off.
Before deciding to go into the military, T.J. spent every Friday night above the plate, on the football field. Luckily, the three high school's in Midgar were all located on the plate, therefore all kids, despite social standing, had the chance for an equal education. (Thank Shin-Ra for that.)
During T.J.'s sophomore year, he was starting quarterback of his junior varsity team, and every game, regardless of its importance, saw his dad was in the stands, cheering his team on towards victory. Sometimes their team won, sometimes they lost, but either way, T.J. was honestly just there for the love of the sport and to try to get into collage on a scholarship. Too bad his father didn't share this outlook.
The games won his team were especially prized by his father. "Someday, T.J.," his dad would say, ruffling his sandy-blond hair like he was still a child, "you're going to play pro and get us out of these damned slums. You're skill is going to make us rich." It was no secret that pro-athletes made the big gil. "I'm counting on you, kid." Despite the pressure, T.J. was particularly proud of himself on those nights. His dad would dote on him the entire week, showering his with praise and regardless of the fact that they were 'slum poor' he would be given nice gifts. He knew his dad was depending on him, and T.J. vowed he wouldn't let him down.
Then there were the other night, the nights when the team lost the game. The blond boy dreaded those times. They were a hell unto themselves. The train ride back to their house under the plate would be made in silence, yet T.J. could feel the anger radiating off his father. It could be seen in the way Mr. Collin's face would contort to a mask of indifference. It was the way his posture became upright and ridged. The rage was conveyed in his quickened pace and stiff movements. The fury would be contained until the front door of their house slammed shut. Then came the string of obscenities...and the fists.
"I can't fucking believe you. Are you some kind of fucking pansy?" The man would then go into a list all his son's failures and mishaps during the game, while he rained down blow after blow on the boy's face, arms, chest, and stomach. "Your team was depending on you to lead them to victory and you," Mr. Collins would sneer, "the failure that you are, really fucked up."
T.J. would cover his head with his arms, and do his best to hold back his tears, too afraid to let his father see him cry. "I'm not the only one on the team dad," the boy would whisper timidly to his construction worker of a father, "I tried. I swear I did."
"You didn't try hard enough," his father always retorted back, kicking him once he had fallen into a fetal position.
'You didn't try hard enough,' the words would echo through the teen's brain, while the pain of the abuse wracked his body.
"Now get your wussy ass to your room. I don't even want to see you for the rest of the weekend." Mr. Collins would order, once his anger had been spent.
In an effort to prove he wasn't a pansy or a wussy, T.J. would push himself off the floor, wipe the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, and. doing his best to ignore the pain in his battered body, march off to his room. It was only after being safely locked inside, would he throw himself down on his bed and cry softly into his pillow.
By the following day, T.J. had always forgiven his father – it's funny how quickly children are to forgive their parents, no matter what the mistake – and life would return to normal.
However, it wasn't the mental or physical abuse that had sent him packing up to join SOLDIER, nor was it the posters and advertisements of a certain silver-haired youth that persuaded him to enlist. No, it was the pretty blond cheerleader, Amber and his best friend, Kurt that had been the deciding factor.
Amber, an above-plate debutant, was the girl who had everything. Money, looks, class, charm, and an amazing personality. She was a fun person to be around, and intelligent to boot, even though she did look like an air head. In T.J.'s father's mind, the two were already married, and he had their future planned out for them, including the three grand children they would give him. The problem was, T.J. felt absolutely no attraction for her. Yes, they had been dating since they were in junior high, but for T.J. the relationship was nothing more than a status symbol and a way to shut his father up. He hadn't even kissed the girl.
Kurt, on the other hand, could have been T.J.'s other half. They shared their secrets, like the time T.J had went above the plate and threw a rock through every storefront window on Loveless Avenue. They shared their dreams, they were going to live together in a big house once they made the Pro's – big enough to fit both their families in, including their wives and kids – and be super wealthy. They even had similar goals. Like T.J., the dark-haired teen, Kurt, lived under the plate and was working his ass off at football in hopes that he might receive a scholarship as well. The two were inseparable. Even on dates with Amber, T.J. wasn't happy unless Kurt tagged along, much to the cheerleader's dismay.
But then things changed. The change was so immediate that T.J. hadn't even realized it was happening.
One day, after football practice, the boys were in the locker-room shower, cleaning up to go home. As if the thoughts and feelings had come out of nowhere, T.J. found he couldn't stop staring at Kurt's naked body. The teen was dark completed, to match his hair and eyes, and his muscles were pronounced but not overly ripped. T.J. would consider him to be cut in all the right places. The way the water bounced off him caused his skin to glisten and the blond wondered what it would be like to taste his friend's wet skin.
Feeling shameful and disgusted at having such perverse thought, T.J. tried to tear his eyes away from the lean, well-toned body of his friend, but his eyes refused to listen to his brain. He tried to imagine what it would be like to run his fingers dark hair, and what Kurt's face would look like caught in the throes of ecstasy.
"T.J. dude," his fantasy was interrupted by Kurt himself, "were you...checking me out?"
The blond remembered his eyes bulging and his cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. "...what? No, no...I was...just thinking. You were...in my line of sight. Sorry."
Kurt had thrown his head back and laughed. "It's alright man, it happens. But seriously dude, if I ever found out you were gay and were checking me out, I think I would kill myself." Still laughing, Kurt left the showers, wrapped a towel around his waste, and went off to get dressed.
T.J. spent the following week convincing himself he wasn't gay, and had went so far to prove it by kissing Amber for the first time. It had been a sweet, gentle kiss at first, and had even sent the blood flowing to his manhood. But he had stopped enjoying it when the cheerleader deepened the kiss and took his hand and put it to her breast. He had pulled away with the lame excuse, "I'm not ready to move this fast yet."
By the end of the week, he had convinced himself that he wasn't gay, but Kurt's words had stung him to the core. His best friend would rather be dead than find out he was gay. How could that not hurt? He had believed that he could share anything with the youth, but learning there were limits to their friendship, no matter what they were, had broken a bond of trust.
That Friday night, his team had lost another game, ending their chances of going to the playoffs. T.J.'s father had been too upset to even fight with him after the game, and T.J. wasn't about to give him the chance to start the following day.
Saturday morning saw T.J. in the Shin-Ra military recruiting office. At sixteen, he was legal to enlist without any problems. He didn't bother calling his father until after all the necessary papers were signed, and there was no chance that his dad could try to come and get him. In fact, after that, Mr. Collins had done everything in his power to be supportive of his son.
From that point on, he was property of Shin-Ra and though he and his dad had a big fight over the phone about it, he had finally won the argument by telling his father he was doing this to get enough money to buy Amber an engagement ring. After that, Mr. Collins had done everything in his power to be supportive of his son, including writing letters, calling, and sending what gil he could.
T.J. wasn't about to tell his old man he was trying to get into the SOLDIER program, because his dad would probably have an aneurism. It was widely known that SOLDIER was for life, with no outside attachments, such as a wife or kids, allowed.
The silence in his room was becoming deafening, it was enough to drive him mad. He had tried to push the thoughts of his past from his mind, but they were about to start over from the beginning. With an audible sigh, the SOLDIER 3rd pushed himself into a sitting position. It seemed he would be lacking a lot of sleep come the morning. What could he do now that he was wide awake, and didn't want to think about his past? He went though the list of options. He could go lift weights in the weight room, train in one of the simulators, maybe do a few laps in the indoor training room. And then he remembered that all those options were off limits to him because it was past curfew. There was one more option...
Rolling out of bed, and covering his boxer briefs with a pair of black sweatpants, T.J. tried to steady his suddenly pounding heart. The mere thought of what he was about to do caused his face to flush, his breath to quicken and his palms to sweat. He couldn't believe he was about to go through with an idea just because it came on in the spur of the moment, and he felt he had something to prove to himself.
He summoned all his courage and quietly sneaked out of his room.
Getting past the MP's stationed on this floor had been easy enough , as was bypassing the security lock on SOLDIER Rhapsodos' door. If Collin's hadn't made it into SOLDIER, he was damn sure he would have made it into the Turks.
Once inside, things became a lot more tricky. He first had to make across the room and to Genesis' bed without waking him and then...well, he would worry about that when he made it across the room.
Things were made even more complicated by the fact that Genesis still had his nightstand lamp on. He would have had a slight advantage if he were in the dark, then he would only have to contend with the SOLDIER Mako-enhanced eyesight, which had a chance of being blurry when coming right out of sleep. Waiting until he could hear the rhythmic breathing of the younger boy, a positive indication that he hadn't disturbed Genesis upon entering the room, T.J. decided to chance it.
He had taken his first few steps in crossing the other SOLDIER's sleeping quarters when Rhapsodos' voice stopped him dead in his tracks.
"Please, don't," the auburn haired teen called out. He sounded very small and weak.
'Oh, shit,' he thought as the fear of having been caught tangled his gut into a tight knot.
"I'm not hear to hurt you, little girl. I just need to know something." T.J. couldn't refrain from calling Genesis 'little girl.' The auburn SOLDIER was pretty enough to be a girl, delicate to the point of dainty, and the blond found he didn't feel so dirty or perverted for thinking the boy attractive.
"Please," Genesis whimpered this time, begging.
Seeing that the redhead already knew he was here, Collins crossed the rest of the room and stood over the boy's bed. "I said I'm not here to hurt you." He was becoming quite agitated with the kid. His first instinct was smack that look of fear off the boy's face. He had been taught that fear was a weakness and he couldn't abide by weakness.
Didn't Genesis realize he never meant to do all the cruel things he'd done to him? He was only trying to cover up the fact that he liked him. The realization that he did like Genesis, a lot, hit him like a ton of bricks. 'Okay, now what?' he asked himself, controlling the urge he still felt to hit the teen.
His own glowing blue eyes stared down into a pair similar to his own. He could see the teen was trembling, and knowing he was the cause of it, he gently reached down and ran his fingers down the side of the redhead's soft cheek before taking the SOLDIER's hand. "Hey, listen, I'm real sorry for how I treated you in the past. I know I've been a jerk, but, maybe you can forgive me. I'm not really a bad person." Genesis' hand tightened around his and he took it as a good sign. "Maybe," he leaned down, drawing closer to the pretty boy, "we can get to know each other a little better?"
"No...don't," Genesis now had tears shinning in his eyes, but his grip on T.J.'s hand tightened even more.
"Would you stop acting like your so fucking afraid of me." T.J. hissed at Genesis, "I already told you I'm not here to hurt you. If I were, I would have already dragged you from this bed and beat your ass by now."
Genesis didn't flinch or pull away from him, or even release his hand. He merely laid there, staring up at SOLDIER Collins, trembling and crying.
The blond ignored the redhead's panic filled face and moved until his face was only inches away from Genesis'. T.J. could feel the teen's warm breath wash over him, the smell of cinnamon and apples laced it heavily, like a fresh baked pie. He moved even closer, and though the redhead was staring at him in abject horror, he felt no compunction to stop. He didn't feel repulsed by the fact he was about to kiss another boy, only excitement mixing with the beginnings of lust.
In the next instant, his lips fell across Genesis', touching and clinging to the trembling flesh. It wasn't like the kiss he'd shared with Amber. This kiss sent shivers down his spine and caused his stomach to fill with butterflies. Saline coated the quivering youth's lips, and though it was a bit salty, it didn't didn't taste unpleasant or detract from the heat was now consuming him. Soon enough, Genesis' mouth was moving in time with his, drawing T.J. in deeper to the sensation. Gently letting one arm slide under the redhead's shoulder's to pull him up, his other hand found rest on Genesis' firm stomach.
This kiss had the older teen coming to terms with the fact that, yes, he was indeed gay, and no longer feeling burdened by it – like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulder's – his tongue slid inside the 'pretty little girl's' mouth, to further explore him. The taste and feel of Genesis was intoxicating.
Collin's realized something was wrong when Rhapsodos didn't respond to this later action. He was sure by the way Genesis was returning his kiss that he was enjoying it. Pulling back, T.J. looked down into the teen's face. Genesis' eyes were still wide, and the Mako was causing them to glow brightly, unnaturally, more unnatural than usual.
"You...didn't like it?" T.J. whispered, unsure if he'd done something wrong. He hadn't hurt the boy, he knew that for a fact, so what was the problem?
Suddenly Genesis bolted upright, knocking T.J. away from him, causing the blond to stumble backwards.
"SEPHIROTH! STOP!" The scream was piercing, echoing throughout the room.
Genesis blinked a few times, instantly waking from the dream, but reality was slow to return. In his nightmare he was with Sephiroth in some distant village, nothing more than a hamlet really, and he was trying to talk his silver-haired boyfriend out of doing something terrible, but Sephiroth was refusing to listen to him. Genesis was begging and pleading, but it seemed that nothing would deter Sephiroth from his mission. At one point during the dream, Sephiroth had stopped long enough to grace Genesis with a sweet, loving kiss. Genesis had returned the affection, hoping it would be enough to stop Sephiroth from doing what he was about to do – whatever that had been. He wasn't sure, the dream wasn't clear on that part. But the kiss hadn't been enough. Genesis' love hadn't been enough to quill Sephiroth's rage, and that had broken the auburn warrior's heart. And then the village was burning, and Genesis was screaming.
The sound of his own voice had woken Genesis from the nightmare. He was now sitting up in his bed, breathing strained, shaking from head to toe. Slowly, the fog of sleep lifted from his mind, and he started to relax, whipping the tears from his eyes.
He felt the another presence in the room before he saw it. Instantly, the SOLDIER reflexes kicked in and he was out of bed and on his feet in a fighting stance. Making out the familiar figure of T.J. did nothing to ease his nerves, and he prepared himself to go on the defensive.
"What are you doing in my room?" Genesis asked when the other SOLDIER continued to stand there, looking shocked.
T.J. didn't know what to say. His mind was reeling. Torn between wanting to pound the boys face in and wanting to apologize, he stated what should have been obvious from the start. "You..talk in your sleep...and sleep with your eyes open?"
"Only when I'm having a nightmare. What's it to ya? And you haven't told me what you are doing here."
"I-I'm...never mind. I'm sorry SOLDIER Rhapsodos...for everything." T.J. decided that apologizing was the best option, especially if he wanted to give it another shot, preferably when Genesis was awake.
Turning around, he almost ran from Genesis' room. He felt like the lowest piece of dirt on Gaia. However, he no longer had to question his sexuality. He was gay. Wouldn't his dad be proud of him now? The thought was laden with sarcasm and he returned to his own room.
Genesis watched the blond leave without trying to stop him. He really didn't care why T.J. had been here, most likely it was either to hurt or harass him, so he was glad to see the SOLDIER 3rd go.
His dream, on the other hand, was still bothering him. It left a hollow, empty feeling inside, and he was actually frightened. Crawling back into bed, Genesis made a mental note to call either Sephiroth or Angeal sometime tomorrow, he needed to hear the comforting voice of someone he loved.
&%$ CBV $%&
tbc