Author's Note: So…I've had this ready to post for a while, and, to be honest, thought I had already…sorry about the delay! It must have slipped my mind at some point. This one is a little longer, and Chapter Eight is kind of short; I kind of wanted to split it somewhere else, but it just felt weird. Oh well…enjoy!
Chapter Seven:
Crisis and Dilemma
"I can feel the night beginning. Separate me from the living.
After all I've seen, understanding me…"
Eyes. Bright like moons peeking through a curtain of clouds. Like swirling, swimming pools of Mako. Incandescent. A breeze brushed him, neither frigid nor warm as it pulled at him playfully. Tattered blue fabric rustled over a slender frame, but it didn't faze him. Satin silver strands danced in the wind, and the smug expression was unwavering, unreadable. His eyes studied him, fixated on the luminescent irises that bore in to him, reaching to the deepest corners of his mind.
He swallowed, red threads catching in his vision, but he stood still. Perhaps the beast wouldn't notice him if he was still. Silent. But a heart beat throbbed, echoing against his ribcage. He willed it to race more quietly, but instead it seemed to grow louder, resonating against the damp stone walls of the cavern. Finally, the entity moved, ever so precisely, planned. Like the motion was calculated to strike the most fear in one single movement. Leather brushed the hilt of his weapon, and the redhead could almost hear the contact as fingers gripped it. Metal whispered, like a mother hushing a weeping child, as it slid free of the sheath. Gleaming malachite never left his vision, never flickered, never wavered. Pearl metal caught on the green light, fingers dancing over the slender blade as he pretended to examine it. But the redhead knew better; he wasn't examining the sword. Those eyes were still fixed on his, as if unable to move.
Steel caught the light, flashing as he shifted it to the ready; the redhead winced, the light unexpected against such a dim landscape. Eyes opened, and he gasped. The room had changed; dank, uncarved stone had shifted into warm molded clay and painted murals, dancing beneath the firelight of nearby torches. But only the room had changed; those bright, glimmering eyes still lingered, still burned into his mind, and perhaps farther. Finally, a scuffed loafer took a step backward, almost unwillingly prying itself from the cool dirt floor. He inhaled, the breath sharp and stifling as it caught the smoky fragrance of the torches. But he couldn't force himself to choke, no longer able to control his own motions.
Static; like an untuned radio, like poor cellular reception. No…a voice…syllables, words shifting in the white noise as if desperately wanting to reach through. He couldn't focus long enough, instead his mind pulling itself to the tall figure before him. Metal glimmered in the torchlight, and suddenly the smirk became more evident, more confident. And then he felt it, the one swift motion, almost quick enough to go unnoticed. Cold steel pushing through his stomach, tearing flesh and muscle. Breaths caught in his throat like a frozen water pipe, and he choked on the sensation. He could smell it, too, the bitter metallic scent, slightly salty, slightly burned by the overlay of smoke. Muscles wouldn't obey him, and knees buckled; he was falling…falling, eyes fogging and drooping lazily as knees finally found the ground.
His vision blurred as he forced eyes open, likely for a final time. Instead of the flickering firelight, daylight surrounded him, peaceful, serene. Pale light, bright, like the pools of Mako that managed to escape his vision. Droplets dripped into a puddle, water or blood, like a leaky faucet as it echoed against his hollow mind. Flesh shifted, and he could feel the icy metal pulling away from him. Unable to support his weight, he fell forward, slumping and crumbling to the ground. Stone tiles were warm against his cheek, and they smelled of flowers – lilies – and freshly fallen snow. They glittered distantly as his eyes sank closed, like the distant life he couldn't even remember now. He was empty, lifeless, cold. A whimsical sound tugged at his mind, at what was left of it. Musical, like wind chimes tinkling in a summer breeze. But they made sounds, words… "Find…it…" No, he couldn't make them out; they were too vague, too indistinct.
One last time, he glimpsed the world. Pale, tranquil light no longer beamed down and the warm mosaics had been replaced with musty linoleum, slick and cold as he tried to move. Dilated eyes tried futilely to focus, the dark blur before him failing to clear. He could make out the eyes, bright and glowing, like the Lifestream he could almost smell. They tried to close again, but he made them stay open, focusing a moment longer; black swirled into white, and silver into sable. Metal flashed, no longer the flawless steel he recalled, but dark and dull instead.
But the eyes…they didn't change; bright like moons peeking through a curtain of clouds. Incandescent, even against the shroud that ate away at his vision, at his consciousness. Like the final star in the morning twilight, only fading when nothing else remained.
*~*~*0*~*~*
Pale light filtered in through the blinds, gleaming over picture frames and blanketing the hardwood, but her apartment seemed hollow and empty against the warmth. Elena snatched the pill bottle from the coffee table for her first dose of pain medication; they had given her some when she had been discharged, but that was hours ago and the pain had slowly crept up on her. The cast on her right hand was heavy and awkward, and completely useless for everyday tasks. Plaster mashed against the cap and she tried to turn the bottle sideways…
She grunted, frustrated, and finally threw it against the nearest wall. Pills rattled like an infants' toy, and it rolled across the floor. Elena sighed, letting her head fall back to the couch; now she had to get up and go get the bottle. Sapphire eyes sank closed heavily, and she distantly wondered if she could just sleep it away. A timid knock shattered the silence, and she jumped, hissing painfully at the motion. She hesitated; it was probably Tseng, realizing that he had forgotten to ask her something else to make her feel ignorant and awful about having nearly gotten the president killed. It echoed again, slightly louder, but still just as hesitant.
Sighing, she stood, crossing to the door. After all, despite his harshness, she could tell the director was just as concerned about Reno as she was. Fingers wrapped around the knob, but she peered through the peep hole, despite herself. She let a smile touch her lips as she pulled the door open.
"Derik," she said, slight warmth in her voice she hadn't intended. "What…what're you doing here?"
"I-I heard you were released…from the hospital," he murmured. Sun-kissed skin darkened slightly as he stammered. She smiled to herself, stepping aside to allow the scientist inside. He cleared his throat quietly. "How…how are you feeling?"
"A little bit of pain, but nothing I can't handle," she answered. An olive eye glimpsed the prescription bottle unsurely, and she followed his glance; before Hart could, she snatched them up, wincing painfully as she plopped on to the sofa. Absently, she went back to her attempts to open it as he sat on the loveseat across from her. She could feel his gaze lingering over her, but she ignored it; she didn't want sympathy right now.
"How is he?" he asked finally, and cobalt eyes struck him. "The, er…president, I mean," he clarified; somehow she knew he changed his mind on asking about the redhead, but she shook her head.
"It's still touch-and-go," the Turk answered. "But he's starting to stabilize. Tseng said they'll take him out of his coma once he does."
"That's good…" Hart's voice trailed, and she knew his mind had drifted back to Reno. Anger suddenly struck her mind, and she forced her focus onto the pill bottle. Eyes blurred as she became frustrated, and she sniffled quietly as she tried to get it open. Cobalt eyes glanced up to the scientist, who watched her quietly. Finally, she sighed, giving up.
"Here…let me," he offered quietly, and in one fluid motion pulled the cap free. She quietly thanked him, wiping her eyes on her shirt sleeve. She popped the pill in her mouth, swallowing it dryly. Silence sank over them like the stillness before a first winter's snow. Elena shuddered to herself with the sudden chill that swept over her, hugging her arms to her chest. Finally, she sighed.
"Reno…isn't doing well," she finally said, answering his unspoken question. His gaze settled over her, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his eye. "Tseng said…that it's Sephiroth…"
"Do they think…do they think they can help him?" Hart asked quietly, and she shook her head wordlessly. Words caught in her throat, and tears flooded her vision. She sobbed quietly to herself, and finally he moved beside her. She fell into his chest, letting her mind drift to how much she hated herself for crying like a scolded child in front of him, and even more so for wanting nothing more than to curl up into his starch-white lab coat. He hesitated uncertainly at first, but strong arms wrapped around her.
"I j-just…I w-wish there was s-something I could do…" she sobbed quietly. His gaze left her, finding the auburn sunset that sank over the room through the open blinds; the sky was painted in hues of scarlet and gold, the burning sun hanging like Meteor had as it loomed lazily over the city. Breath filled his chest, nose tickling as it snuck a tinge of the sweet scent of golden locks. He exhaled quietly, breath shuddering as it lingered in the air.
"…Tell Tseng…I would like to look over Reno's files," he said quietly. Bright cerulean eyes rose from his shoulder, wide and glassy as they studied him. "I…I won't promise anything, Elena," he added darkly. "…but…I'll see what I can do…" For a moment, she studied him, waiting on the scientist to inform her that it was a cruel joke – that there would be nothing anyone could do. But hazel flickered away as it drifted back to the sunset, and she smiled to herself, nodding quietly as she curled back to his shoulder.
*~*~*0*~*~*
"…Is Elena alright?" he asked finally, dodging the question he wanted to ask.
"She should recover," Tseng replied. "She'll need some physical therapy for her hand, but…her other injury wasn't severe. She'd lost a lot of blood and strained herself to make it to the office, but she seems to be doing well. She was released a few days ago."
"And you?"
"Fine, sir," he answered. "Plenty of stitches and pain, but…nothing I can't handle. As for you," he added, changing the subject from himself, "Your injuries were critical, and they had to put you into a medically induced coma. It's been two weeks, but you're stable now, and your body is beginning to heal. You should make a full recovery."
"Has he woken up yet?" Rufus asked quietly, sitting up in his hospital bed. Tseng sighed, rubbing his eyes. It figured that would be one of the president's first questions after coming out of his coma.
"Yes, sir," Tseng answered hoarsely. "Well…his body is awake. It seems…things have gotten worse."
"What do you mean, 'worse?'" he queried uncertainly.
"Two weeks ago…he was Reno," Tseng replied. "Sephiroth had begun to surface, but…he was still mostly Reno."
"…And now?"
"…He hasn't…really been Reno since he woke up four days ago," the director confessed. "Not once that we have seen. His body has completely healed from the injuries sustained – which should have killed him. But his mind, it…it belongs to Sephiroth now." Deep blue eyes fell to the floor, glassy and hesitant.
"Are there any treatment options?"
"…Professor Hart graciously took his case," he replied softly. "He is still working on getting all of the information together – Reno's file, as well all of his medical evaluations and results. He should know more once he gets finished reviewing the documents and can examine him." Silence sank over them, only interrupted by the steady mechanical tones as they measured the president's vitals.
"Did you finish going over the file?" the president asked.
"Yes, sir," he nodded. "Apparently, Hojo's original goal was to recreate Sephiroth. However, he eventually shifted ideas, realizing that Jenova's DNA – while physically enhancing Sephiroth's capabilities – did not give him the power of the Cetra."
"…the Ancients?"
"Apparently," Tseng replied. "To my understanding, he did want to recreate Sephiroth, but not necessarily the Sephiroth we knew. Rather, a new being, one that could harness the power of the Cetra and find the Promised Land. Sephiroth just happened to be the closest thing to a true Ancient that ShinRa created."
"…So he fused Reno's DNA with Sephiroth's as well as Jenova's…" he summarized vaguely, trying to make sure he was comprehending the works of the madman.
"As he continued with the process, he also added another sample – a 'more recent Cetra blood sample,' as he phrased it. It was…it was likely that of Aerith Gainsborough – probably taken while she was at ShinRa before Meteorfall, and kept safe in his secret lab. Speculation, but…likely."
"…What the hell was he trying to accomplish…?"
"Perhaps…he knew the tumor would kill him…and he sought a way to find the Promised Land," Tseng replied quietly; as deranged as the late professor was, he couldn't help but feel sympathy for him. After all, in the end, he'd sought a way to find a life in a place that promised supreme happiness. Even he could understand wanting that. The pair fell silent, and the director sighed. "With your permission, sir," he began firmly, balancing on a cane as he stood. "I'd like to contact Cloud."
"…Cloud?" Rufus repeated. "What would calling him will do?"
"I…I don't know," the director replied honestly. "But I do know that the only person who knows Sephiroth better than Cloud is Hojo. And Hojo is dead, so he's not going to be telling us anything any time soon." The president blinked absently, and Tseng sighed. "I know it's a long shot, sir. But the fact is that we don't know how Hojo's experiments might have ended. We're up against an enemy even feared by allies when he was a General in SOLDIER. And Cloud…he knows more about Sephiroth – and Hojo's experiments – than anyone else. He might be able to help us."
"…Fine, call him," Rufus said, defeated. "If you think it might be a chance…I'll take it."
"Thank you, sir," Tseng replied, bowing graciously.
*~*~*0*~*~*
A cool breeze blew over the city of Edge and a streetlamp flickered outside the window of the 7th Heaven bar. Tifa chatted happily as she served drinks, the bar having closed down early for the evening. It was a special occasion, after all. She'd made them promise – all of them – that, once a year, they would meet here. Of course, the original plan had been on the anniversary of Meteorfall, but with all of the festivities honoring the world-altering event, they had settled for early autumn.
So far, so good.
Red XIII, or Nanaki, as he preferred, stretched out lazily on the hardwood, listening to the conversation. Barrett bragged about his latest expedition to an uncharted island up north; after Meteorfall, Marlene had begged him to take her around the world, and he enthusiastically obliged. Yuffie laughed loudly as Barrett finished his story, sipping her warm saké as Cid cut in. Tifa smiled, swapping the pilot's empty glass for a fresh beer.
Without Mako, the wind turbines had taken on the responsibility of providing electricity and energy to the people; and it seemed that the Gainsborough Energy Corporation was on its way to becoming as large as the Wind Turbine Project. Naturally, Cid had set up headquarters in Rocket Town, bringing new hope and life to the knock-about town. His current airship model, the Shera, had actually been the first successful steam-run engine. The pilot ended his own tale with humor, and he wiped a thumb over his nose. Cloud chimed in with his usual snide remark, and Yuffie giggled as Cid stuttered to recover. Barrett bellowed with laughter, and Tifa couldn't help but join them. The blonde always seemed more himself when everyone was around; but then…well, maybe it was just an act. Metal claws tapped against the bar, and Vincent lifted his glass of whiskey. He watched the group distantly, pale face almost expressionless as he sipped from the glass.
She looked to the door. They were still one short; even though he was with ShinRa, if it hadn't been for Reeve they might not have made it back into the ShinRa building…which would have meant they wouldn't have been able to deal with Hojo and everyone in Midgar might've died. Not to mention what might've happened had Hojo gotten all of that Mako energy to Sephiroth…
He'd made it almost every year, but she knew his job kept him busy. After all, he was the department head of Public Safety now. The second year he'd been late, and only stayed for a short while, but…one of their own had been missing; she could understand that. And then last year, he'd phoned in. After Rude had passed in that helicopter crash – plus the director was out of commission. Well, sometimes life happens.
Cloud's phone rang and the group fell silent. He pulled it from his pocket, and frowned as he read the caller ID. He shook his head, and stood.
"I'll be back in a minute," he said, crossing to the door.
"Who is it?" Tifa asked, not caring if it was nosy. He didn't answer as he closed the door behind him.
"It's been a while," he said, and a man chuckled on the other end.
"I know," Reeve replied. "But it's been…well, crazy here at ShinRa."
"I bet," he laughed half-heartedly. He hesitated a moment. "Are you gonna make it tonight? Tifa keeps looking at the door, like she expects you to walk through any second."
"I…I had forgotten that was tonight…" he replied. "Send her my apologies. Since Professor Hojo passed…we've…well, we've really had our hands full. That's actually why I'm calling you."
"Oh?" he replied with mock curiosity. "Tell Rufus I'm not interested in joining ShinRa…or Neo-ShinRa. I think it's great that he's making amends, but…I'm through with ShinRa."
"It isn't that, Cloud," Reeve chuckled. "Actually, Tseng wanted to know if you could do us a favor."
"…Then why doesn't Tseng call me?" he replied. There was a silence on the other end, and he heard Reeve clear his throat.
"…He wants to talk to you," he muttered, and Cloud chuckled to himself.
"Cloud?" a familiar voice said as the director picked up.
"What is it this time, Tseng?"
"I won't waste your time," he answered. "We need your assistance on a case that has come to light in Professor Hojo's passing. I believe you are aware that one of our Turks, Reno, went missing seven years ago?" Cloud didn't say anything, so he continued. "Well, to make a long story short, he was found in a secret extension of Hojo's lab…as an experiment. In addition to having the expected Mako enhancements and Jenova cells Hojo was most known for, his body was altered. In going through the files we found one that Reno's file references quite often – labeled 'T-VV.' Does that…would that mean anything to you?"
"What did the file say?" Bright blue eyes cut across to the window, and he swallowed as his eyes found the once-Turk. Raven bangs draped over crimson eyes, and a metal claw clutched a double-old-fashioned half full of whiskey.
"Unlike most of Hojo's approved experiments, this one spoke of actually attempting to regenerate life within the subject's body. He made alterations to the body – failed attempted regenerative qualities. In fact, the only thing the file notes he was actually successful with was that he made a corpse immortal – brain activity was later restored by one of his assistants." Suddenly, eyes met his own as they pierced through the glass, and he set his cup down. Words escaped his lips, and Tifa looked taken aback as he crossed. Even on the other side of the door, heavy metallic footsteps echoed sharply on hardwood.
"Cut to the chase, Tseng," Cloud said. "What does that have to be with me?"
"Forgive me, I got ahead of myself," the director sighed. "Cloud…you know we wouldn't be calling you…unless…unless it had to do with…"
"…Sephiroth," he finished the word whispered like poison over his lips. When the director said nothing he closed his eyes, knowing that was confirmation. "I'm at the 7th Heaven now. Send a chopper – I'm not burning my gas. I'll meet you on the East Side outskirts."
"I'll be there in twenty," Tseng replied. "And Cloud…I can't thank you enough."
"…I haven't done anything yet," he said, hanging up. The blonde turned, blue eyes lingering on the presence behind him. "…New leads on Sephiroth," Cloud said, pocketing his phone. "Apparently, something Hojo was working on before he died." Vincent was quiet and Cloud sighed.
"And apparently something to do with his past projects," Vincent added.
"Maybe," Cloud shrugged. "Mentioned a file…labeled 'T-VV.' Evidently, whatever Hojo was trying to do related to what this file talks about," Cloud said. "The last time Tseng called me for a favor, Tifa and I scoured Edge and half the globe looking for Reno. Apparently, Hojo was using him as an experiment. It has something to do with that file, and…Sephiroth…" Vincent was thoughtful for a moment. "I'll know the details when I get to ShinRa."
Scarlet eyes gazed out into the dimming summer twilight. The straight edges and sharp corners of the skyline stood in stark contrast to the purple clouds hung lazily against deep blue. Buildings and sidewalks were still damp from an afternoon rain, and the streetlamps illuminated the concrete like fire-glow. The engine of a car hummed as it ambled passed, splashing through a puddle near the sidewalk before rounding the corner to the right. His eyes caught the puddle, watched as it gurgled in protest before settling once more to stillness. He could see his reflection: the mess of raven hair held back by a scarf as crimson as the eyes staring back at him.
"…Have they located this file as well?" Vincent questioned distantly without looking up. He was aware that the blonde was watching him, and pointedly avoided looking in his direction. Cloud hesitated, his mind attempting to translate the unreadable emotion scrawled across his friend's pale features. Finally, he sighed.
"…I'll be sure to get it from them before I head back," he said quietly. Vincent snorted, and Cloud thought he saw a sad smile flutter across his lips, but the expression was fleeting.
"Don't bother," the raven-haired man returned. The harshness of the comment caused Cloud to bite back his words. Finally, crimson eyes met his own, striking against the rest of his features washed out by the streetlight. "Cloud, if Hojo was trying to replicate something similar to what he created then, the file might be of use to them." Brilliant claret eyes left the blonde's gaze again, studying the darkening street. "It'll be more useful to them than it would be for me," he added quietly.
Moments passed in silence, save for the lull of the streetlights and the murmur of the city as its residents settled down for the evening, and the laughter of their friends still inside. The season had spoiled them with comfortable evenings, but now the chill around them indicated that autumn was approaching. The brightest of the stars had begun to awaken, pinpricks of light fluttering to life against the darkening sky. His gaze fell across the ex-Turk, who leaned against the porch railing with closed eyes and a pensive expression.
"Vincent," he offered finally; Vincent didn't acknowledge him. "As much as I hate to say it, ShinRa has changed a lot. And…if they can cure Reno…" Cloud hesitated. Garnet eyes snapped open, suddenly cold.
"Then it will be more than they could do for me," the ex-Turk finished bluntly, turning to the door to the 7th Heaven. A gloved hand paused as it touched the door. "If I can be of any help, let me know," he added.
"Will do," Cloud replied. The knob turned, but Cloud stopped him before he pushed the door open. "Hey, Vincent. Don't…don't tell Tifa…about Sephiroth. I don't want her to worry until I know the details." He nodded quietly, stepping back inside. The door closed with a heavy click behind him, and Cloud started walking before the brunette bartender could make it to the door.
*~*~*0*~*~*
"I've made you an access card," he said, pulling the identification card from his pocket and sliding it across the table. Cobalt eyes studied it for a moment and the director shook his head. "It's a little unconventional, but don't misunderstand. That access card will grant you access to some of the upper floors – including my office and the rooftop. If you do agree to help us, I…want you to feel comfortable coming and going as you please. There isn't much sense in someone escorting you everywhere." The blonde nodded, not accepting the gesture, nor denying it. Brows furrowed, and he cleared his throat.
"So…what does this have to do with Sephiroth?" Cloud asked, pacing the conference room impatiently. Footsteps echoed hollowly on the hardwood floor, but the director was silent. Weary onyx eyes stared at his coffee cup, and he sipped absently. Finally, he sighed, handing the file to the blonde. He eyed it skeptically, and Tseng shook his head.
"I won't bore you with the details," he said. "It seems as though Professor Hojo was trying to create a virtually indestructible vessel that he would infuse with Sephiroth's DNA."
"He was trying to bring him back?" the blonde queried, examining the file's label before flicking it open; the musty scent of dust mixed with a tinge of Mako, and Cloud cringed slightly at the unexpected odor trapped beneath the pages.
"In some ways, yes," Tseng replied; Cloud flipped the page, skimming messy cursive as he deciphered the file. "In the file, he references another experiment – the one I mentioned on the phone. It's the only other file in which the subject is also a Turk. But I can't locate any records of anything out of the ordinary happening to a Turk. I suspect…well, it wasn't unusual for files to disappear when ShinRa wanted them to. After all, your files and Zack's files all went missing after the Nibelheim incident.
"But that's…beside the point," the director sighed. A finger tapped uncertainly on the smooth surface of the conference table, watching as Cloud turned over the page. "He was actually attempting to create a Cetra."
"…The Ancients?" he queried, eyes briefly meeting the director's before going back to the detailed file.
"So it would seem," the Turk answered. "You see, while the cells from Jenova enhanced his capabilities, Sephiroth failed to receive the true power of the Cetra."
"That's because Jenova wasn't an Ancient," Cloud remarked curtly. Obsidian eyes studied the blonde, and he brushed the stern gaze away. "Aerith said Jenova wasn't, and that Sephiroth wasn't an Ancient, either."
"…I see…" Tseng said quietly. "However, during the DNA fusion, he also added another sample – only referred to as 'recent Cetra blood.'" Blue struck him as their gazes met; words trapped in the blonde's throat, alive with their own heartbeat, but he couldn't spit them out. Finally, the Turk shook his head. "Merely speculation, but I suspect the same," he admitted, reading the uncertain expression that settled over his face. "But whether the Cetra DNA worked or not doesn't matter; we've got a bigger problem."
"What do you mean?" he asked, eyes sharp as they focused on the small cursive handwriting that flowed messily over the first page in the file.
"Sephiroth…can take control of Reno," Tseng answered, and those eyes met the director's gaze. They were intensely fierce, the bright blue trademark of SOLDIER. "And when he does…" He looked away, instead standing to face the window. Beyond it, night blanketed the dark city of Neo-Midgar, a pale glow of moonlight hanging over the ridges and mountains beyond. "Well…I don't need to remind you of Sephiroth's capabilities, do I?"
"And you're sure that it's him?" Cloud asked uncertainly, scanning another page of the file.
"…I wish I wasn't," Tseng replied, and Cloud's eyes studied the director from behind. "Do you want to see for yourself?" The blonde hesitated; his heart pounded against his chest and his stomach knotted almost painfully. Cerulean eyes closed and brows furrowed; a breath filled his chest, heavy as the events from nine years ago pulled against his memories, and he released it. Eyes opened, and he nodded, unable to speak the words that sank to the pit of his stomach. Tseng didn't hesitate; he led the former adversary to the medical wing, no conversation mingling amongst heavy silences. Finally, the director approached a door, but fingers hesitated as they reached for the knob.
The room was dark, save for the moonlight that blanketed the room a hue of velvet blue. Quietly, the blonde entered and Tseng closed the door behind him. Heavy-soled boots echoed loudly against the room as he stepped closer. Covers shifted, and Cloud's stomach turned; fluorescent green eyes swirled into a pupil, pools of Mako gleaming as they glimpsed the blonde. Neither said anything, and finally he looked away.
"Long time, no see," the redhead said finally, and Tseng gasped. "Though, it must be pretty bad if you're turning to him for help."
"Reno?!"
"Are you gonna tell me what the hell is going on or ask me how I feel and then leave me in the dark?" he asked blatantly, ignoring the surprised tone in the director's voice.
"I thought you said he was being controlled by Sephiroth," Cloud murmured to the director. The sentence was soft-spoken, like leaves whispering on tree limbs as the autumn air brushed through them. But Mako-enhanced ears pricked, picking out the words as though they were spoken in normal voice.
"So that's what this is about?" Reno interrupted; his voice was a little cold, but not surprised in the slightest. After all, vicious memories had invaded his dreams – and they all circled back to the ex-general; not to mention the strange voice, snide remarks inside his head… A sharp silence snuck over the room, only broken by the steady tone from the heart monitor. The director didn't speak, eyes widened like a prey's first glimpse of a predator. A moment passed as Tseng considered the redhead, but finally his expression faded back to his stern façade.
"Reno…" Tseng sighed sympathetically, approaching the hospital bed.
"I told you before," he spat, "I don't need to be coddled. Just…" the redhead sighed, striking eyes falling to the floor. He watched the moonlight gleam against the white tile, almost enough to see his own Mako eyes stare back at him. He swallowed dryly, tongue clinging to his mouth. "Just…be honest with me…" Dark eyes bore into him, and he avoided the director's gaze. It felt heavy over him, like a damp blanket that weighed down slumped shoulders and sore wrists.
"He deserves to know," the blonde remarked, words clearly only meant for the director to hear.
The walls, crystal blue and closing in, gleamed in a pale light. The world was upside down, indistinct. He could hear voices below him, but they were muted. Suddenly, it caught his eye, the dark granite holding the vibrant jade substance in place. Congealed Mako, he realized distantly, like Materia before it hardens. And beneath the substance, encased, trapped…
Reno flinched away from the memory as the heavy-soled army boots thudded dully against tile. The door shut, and he knew the blonde had left them alone. Silence settled over them like the quiet before a typhoon, thick and stagnant so that even the sound of the raven-haired director's throbbing heart echoed like the engine of an approaching freight train.
"Please…what…what the hell's wrong with me?" Reno finally asked, allowing his gaze to find the director's. Dark eyes were stern, but weathered, and his gaze traced the fine lines of stress and uncertainty; the director studied him warily, glassy eyes almost childlike in his vision. He could almost make out flecks of sapphire against malachite, but they were indistinct against the unsettling glow. Finally, he looked away, sighing heavily as he sat.
"We…found your file," he began, eyes finding interest in the flooring. He traced the scratches and scuffs in the polished tile, distantly wondering what might have caused each blemish. "Professor Hojo…was trying to rebirth the Cetra, and managed to…create a nearly indestructible vessel for a host. And in that much, he succeeded."
"What'd'you mean?"
"Your body can regenerate cells – internally and externally," Tseng said. "For example, in the initial blood analyses we performed. Before each drawing, you were tested to ensure too much blood would not be drawn – and tests showed that your blood counts were normal. I didn't think anything of it…until I realized that you had three and a half pints of blood drawn in a three-day period. Hojo's file confirms the regenerative qualities."
"So…what's that have to do with…?"
"Your DNA…it's been…altered," he explained, choosing his words carefully. "He found away to infuse your DNA… And since Sephiroth was the closest thing to an Ancient the Jenova Project had created…he started with his genetics… It was supposed to take five years for full infusion – we stopped the process three years early."
"The dreams…the voices…" the redhead mumbled quietly, eyes pointedly avoiding the director's. Instead, he focused on his hands, creases and lines criss-crossing like a road map across pale flesh. "He can control me…?"
"…I'm sorry, Reno…" the Turk said, the hushed words almost silent against the empty room. Reno sighed, wondering silently to himself if, somewhere inside his mind, Sephiroth was listening. If he was inwardly mocking the redhead. A gentle sound touched his ears, and they pricked intently. Ear drums rang quietly, the sound shrill at first but settling into an almost musical tone. He squinted, mustering all of his will to focus on the sound. "…Find…it…" A wind whispered over his mind like autumn through dying leaves, and he shook his head. The white noise blared against his senses, and he felt himself wincing.
"What is it?" The question tore him from the sound, and wide eyes struck the director, bright and unsure. A hesitant silence overcame the redhead as he looked away, silently debating whether to tell the Turk the truth or not.
'Why bother hiding it? He's seen that you've lost your mind,' a voice jested from the back of his mind.
"…Shut up…" he murmured to himself. Obsidian eyes flashed unsurely, taken aback by the softly uttered words. Reno sighed; the voice, who he presumed was Sephiroth, was right. Tseng already thought he was crazy – why bother hiding it? Especially if it could help him get rid of Sephiroth.
'You can get that notion out of your head,' he said darkly. 'The only reason you are in control right now is because I allow it.'
"Reno?" Tseng said quietly, the syllables hesitant and unsure. Fluorescent jade eyes studied the careful expression that settled over the director's face as dark eyes scrutinized him. Judged him.
"Nothing," he said finally, the syllables croaked hoarsely as he choked them free; for a moment, he wondered why he was lying to the director – keeping it hidden. "I'm just…just tired…" The uncertain gaze lingered over him tryingly, and Reno wondered if Tseng could tell he was keeping the truth buried inside him. He cleared his throat quietly, willing himself to change the subject. "How…how is Elena?"
"…Elena?" the director repeated, and Reno nodded absently.
"I…don't really remember what happened," he admitted dryly, "…it was like…watching a video play. But…I remember a gunshot and…I remember losing my balance…I think…I think I slipped in blood…"
"…She'll need some therapy for her hand injury, but…she'll be fine," Tseng offered quietly, and the redhead nodded.
"Would you…tell her I'm sorry…?" he asked, and the director nodded silently. "…I miss her…" he added meekly, and his mind drifted. He could still faintly make out the static, like a busted television. Reno let his focus find it, rough syllables and broken words cutting through like a tuning radio.
'You still don't understand, do you?' he sneered.
"Is it…Sephiroth?" Tseng asked finally, and glittering jade struck him as the redhead met his gaze.
"No, but…he's there," the redhead replied; the voice chuckled inwardly, and Reno scowled mentally.
'You're finished.' The husky voice resonated against his mind, and the shrill ring screamed as it poured over his senses. The velvet-blue room swam before him, and unfocused eyes briefly found the pressed blue suit and raven locks of the director. But the room blurred, muted tones fleeting like the last echo of thunder as a summer storm fades into the distance. His mind, too, faded, into a sky darker than the indigo night that sank over the city outside.
"Reno!" the director called, darting eyes briefly focusing on him. They lingered there for a moment, fearful and uncertain; but they lost their control, and his body went limp. Monitors screeched out in protest, and suddenly the door banged opened.
"What happened?" Cloud asked, approaching the director. The Turk couldn't speak, shaking his head to indicate he wasn't sure. The redhead rested limply against the restraints, pale skin glowing eerily in the moonlight. Facial muscles twitched and a smirk tugged at the chapped lips. Lids blinked open, phosphorescent pools of Mako bright behind the narrowed pupil. Those catlike eyes gleamed as they flickered to the blonde, and an unnatural chuckle escaped the redhead's lips.
"It's been too long…hasn't it, Cloud?" he said, and the blonde's brows furrowed. The expression was unmistakable, even if it was mirrored onto a different face. It was frozen in his memories, like a tattered photograph that had long since been hung on the wall. Just like her smile, struck in stone against his memory. Something so distinct that it manifested in his dreams.
"Sephiroth," the blonde uttered quietly, the name spat from his mouth like venom. Their gazes hung in the air, eyes fixated on one another and Tseng shifted uncomfortably. The director cleared his throat, and Cloud flinched towards the door. He followed the director out, cobalt eyes lingering on those striking Mako eyes even as the door closed behind him.
Cloud hesitated, only turning from the door when he heard the director's footsteps echo hurriedly through the hallway. The blonde followed him, catching him as he waited impatiently for the elevator. Sapphire eyes studied Tseng; his complexion had paled, and he considered examining further to ensure that the color hadn't pooled to his feet. Pearls of sweat beaded on his brow, and fingers pressed the glowing button again. Feet shifted as he leaned on the cane, starchy fabric barely rustling as he brushed a hand over his cheek.
"It took you off guard," Cloud remarked quietly.
"I'm fine," the director replied as the elevator opened. The blonde followed him inside. Onyx eyes fixated on the digitally displayed numbers as they ascended, he swallowed dryly. The moments passed between them, still and silent as they crept passed. Finally, Cloud exhaled the deep breath trapped in his lungs; a gloved hand reached for the red button on the navigation pad, and the elevator jerked to a stop. The Turk didn't acknowledge the other, but a heavy sigh escaped his lips, as though he'd been holding his breath.
"That was…the first time I've really seen Sephiroth take over," he admitted weakly. "It's just…he expects me to know what to do…he trusts me to make this right…but…"
"…No one expects you to have all of the answers," Cloud assured him, slight sarcasm laced into the serious statement. Sapphire eyes focused on his feet, not turning to see the director's reaction. Fingers found their way into his pocket, and they slid over the smooth plastic surface of his cell phone. Tifa hadn't called yet, he realized; whatever Vincent told her must have been convincing. He heard Tseng shift behind him, the half-hearted chuckle that escaped his lips.
"I've only felt this way once before, aside from Meteorfall," the director said, their eyes still not meeting, and he shook his head. Fingers wrung at tired eyes and he discretely wiped an unnoticed tear from the corner of his eye.
"Felt what?"
"…Helpless," Tseng admitted darkly, the word spoken like taboo. The director's stomach turned uncertainly, and he closed his eyes at the sensation. It felt like a Nibel Wolf tore at his insides, and he balanced himself against the wall. "Like…there is absolutely nothing that I can do to change what's happening."
Quiet settled over them, and Cloud took a sideways glance at the director. Dark eyes were hidden behind weary lids, and his head propped weakly against the elevator wall. He could see a dressing over paled skin, likely an injury from the demon possessing his friend. The navy suit was creased and wrinkled in places, indicating he'd likely been moving a lot over the day. Finally, gloved fingers reached for the red button once more, and the elevator jolted back to life.
"What about the time before?" Cloud asked, and dark eyes studied him in silence. "What happened?" The blonde pointedly avoided the gaze that bore into him, hiding the curiosity that had gotten the better of him.
"…An innocent man was killed, and the other left for dead," he said finally, and Tseng leaned back against the icy wall. The blonde said nothing, and couldn't bring himself to look over to the director. Uncertainty knotted at the pit of his stomach as the memory tried to pry its way forward. He stifled it, shoving it back to the shelves in his mind as his gaze found the digital display above the doors. They climbed back upwards, now somewhere in the fifties. "Do you know if…?"
"…if he can be saved?" Cloud finished the meek question; hopefulness lingered over the director's gaze, and he shook his head. "I'm no scientist, but… Most of the effects from Hojo's 'dabbling' are permanent. I wouldn't hold my breath." The last statement was cold, and it struck his mind like a punch to the stomach. Tseng wanted to protest – to insist that Cloud not jump ahead. But the words sank heavily in his heart, only breath able to escape pale lips. "There's…really only one thing to do." Blue eyes struck him, stern but sympathetic. The director could read his glassy eyes and taut lips, and he shook his head. Tseng caught himself laughing, and stifled his reaction.
"You make it sound so easy…" he remarked, shaking his head. The blonde studied the director uncertainly, and the brief notion that Tseng had lost what sanity a Turk could muster fluttered over his mind. "My apologies – it really isn't funny," he added, calming himself. "He attacked the president and me almost two weeks ago; in the end, after the president and I had both wounded him multiple times, I finally shot him in the head. I figured it would be a quick and painless death."
"…But…"
"As you can see, he's perfectly fine," the director confirmed; his expression changed, thoughtful for a moment, and he shook his head hesitantly. "Though, I'll admit…before I shot him, Reno seemed to retain more control over Sephiroth. Today was the first time since he woke that he was…Reno." Finally, the elevator dinged that they had arrived at their destination, and doors reeled themselves open almost silently. Cloud watched the raven-haired Turk hesitate, stepping out of the elevator. "Oh," he said, pulling a key from his pocket. He shoved it towards the blonde, and blue eyes studied it unsurely. "If you would like to stay here, the apartments are on the sixty-second floor. …Unless, of course, Tifa would rather you keep her up to date."
"…Thanks," he mumbled reluctantly; a gloved hand snatched the key away, and a knowing smirk tugged at the director's lips as he turned away.
"I'll be in my office, on the top floor if you need me," Tseng threw over his shoulder. Blue eyes studied the key questionably, the number of the apartment engraved over the brass surface. Finally he sighed, swiping his access card and mashing the button for the sixty-second floor. A shrill ring cut through the silence of the elevator and he closed his eyes, willing the sound away; it repeated itself, and he hoped to himself that perhaps the Turk had forgotten something. No such luck – eyes glanced over the caller ID, and for a moment, he considered ignoring it.
"Hello?" he mumbled, answering the phone.
"Cloud," the woman's voice said tiredly. "Vincent said he didn't know when you would be back. And it's getting late…" her voice trailed, clearly attempting to draw some information from the blonde.
"Sorry, Tifa," he replied, "I won't be back tonight. What did Vincent tell you?" His voice feigned nonchalance with his question, hoping not to rouse any suspicion.
"He said Reeve called you, and needed your help with an investigation, but he wouldn't say what," Tifa answered. Well, Vincent had stalled well, but he'd been too vague. Though, in all technicality, the clever ex-Turk hadn't lied; after all, he was there for an investigation of some sort. She was quiet a moment, but when the enigmatic blonde made no remark, she sighed. "Cloud…what's this about?"
"…The sinkhole," he said finally, recalling the incident from a few weeks ago. "Reeve hit a wall in his investigation and wanted to see what I knew." That wasn't such a farfetched story; after all, he'd been nearby when the crater had fallen through, and even helped drag a few people from the hole. "I'll let you know when I'll be back, but it'll probably be a few days." The line fell dead, the mistrusting brunette likely considering the truthfulness of his answer.
"Okay," she said finally, the syllables almost sighed as she found no reason to not believe him. Despite their relationship, she knew well that the blonde still kept to himself, and if it was anything different, he wasn't about to tell her. "Just be careful, okay?"
"Yeah…I will," Cloud replied, and he closed the device before she could press the matter further. His mind drifted to the digital display, the elevator nearing the sixtieth floor. A long breath escaped chapped lips, and he let his eyes close briefly. Those eyes penetrated the darkness, gleaming against the back of his eyelids like a photo. He shook his head, stepping out as the elevator pinged.
"Piecing every thought together. Find the words to make me better.
If I only knew how to pull myself apart."
Quotes from All that I'm Living For, by Evanescence.