Notes: Many thanks to Lisa, who has been my main sounding board for ideas in this chapter! And as per her advice, I've altered the scene with Loz crying in the previous chapter.

Chapter Five

"Excuse me? Sir?"

Reno started awake at the sound of the female voice. As he did so, he found that he had somehow ended up with his head resting on the uncomfortable, sharply cornered, and flat arm of the otherwise soft chair. Slowly he straightened up, muttering as he rubbed the back of his neck. How long had he been asleep there? He had not meant to doze.

"Sir?"

Oh, yes, the voice that had woke him up, but not in time to save him from a kinked neck. He tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn as he looked up, blinking back the last traces of slumber that still had a hold over his eyes. Elena was looking down at him, obviously uncomfortable. Her hands were behind her back, and she nervously shifted from one foot to the other as she watched him.

Why was she wearing that white uniform anyway? Reno frowned, looking away as the memories of the previous night came rushing back. They had arrived on a strange planet, he was being haunted by Aerith's ghost, and Rude and Cloud and Vincent and Elena and probably others did not remember their true lives. Wonderful.

"Darn. I was hoping it was just a dream," he muttered, half to himself and half to Elena, as he began to ease his body out of the chair. Apparently it was not merely his neck that was kinked, but his back, his shoulders, his left arm. . . .

She looked at him in confusion. "What?"

Reno grinned at her as he stretched. "You know, this crazy place, everybody having new jobs, and you not rememberin' me," he added, pointing a forefinger at her in emphasis.

Now she glowered, taking several steps back. "Look, I'm not going to take this weird flirting from you," she retorted. She had been on duty for the past several hours, and during all of that time she had been tense, not knowing what this strange redhead would say next. She had been relieved when he had fallen asleep, but she had wondered how long it would last. Now that he was awake again, she decided that it had not been long enough.

Reno made a face. "Me? Flirt with you?" he said. The very thought gave him the chills. He did not feel that way about Elena at all. He saw her more as a younger sister to tease and torment.

Elena stared at him, unable to hide the shock and disbelief in her eyes. What was this guy's problem? First he acted like he was flirting with her, and now he was insulting her. Quickly she looked away, taking a deep breath and letting her blonde hair fall across her face. She had to keep control of herself. All she had to do was deliver Doctor Valentine's message and then she would not have to see this man ever again.

Reno sighed, last night's weariness catching up to him. "Okay, so, why did you wake me up anyway? It looks like it wasn't because you wanted to talk to me." He gave a weak smirk.

Elena looked back, her eyes narrowed. "Doctor Valentine said that your friend can leave now," she announced. "That is, if she uses crutches for another day or two, and keeps off her bad foot as much as possible." And she was anxious to see Yuffie leave, for more reasons than one. She had not been an extremely cooperative patient, and when Elena had left to find Reno, Yuffie had been insisting that she did not need anything to help her walk.

Reno shook his head, easily imagining the scenario. "Yuffie on crutches? Hoo boy. That's gonna go well."

At that moment, almost as if on cue, came a familiar, frustrated voice. "I don't need these, Vince!"

Reno and Elena both looked over, to where Yuffie was making her way into the waiting room. A crutch was under each arm, and she was navigating on her uninjured foot. Vincent followed her, calmly, holding a clipboard in his hands as he observed her.

"No, you won't, after a couple of days," he said in a flat tone, making a note on the clipboard.

Reno had to give a genuine smirk as he walked over to her. "And, boys and girls, this is what happens when we don't exercise caution during our activities," he mock-announced, placing his hands in his pockets.

Yuffie gave him a near-murderous glare, and swung one of the crutches at him while leaning heavily on the other. "It was your fault this happened in the first place!" she retorted loudly.

Reno, half-expecting the action, quickly dove to the side and avoided the unpleasantness of the healing tool being turned into a potentially dangerous weapon. "Hey, don't blame me because you lost your balance when I came in!" he shot back. He gave an amused chuckle as she aimed the crutch at him once again, and again swerved out of the way. His training as a Turk had brought out his agile abilities, and though normally Yuffie would be rough competition in that aspect, right now Reno obviously had the upper hand.

Elena watched the disturbance in shock, her mouth falling open. Swiftly she walked over to Vincent, gripping her arms tightly. "Doctor, aren't you going to do something?" she exclaimed, taking in the other's deadpan expression. Vincent seemed to accept everything with a calmness and an indfference that she could not understand. Often, such as now, she would feel like panicking, but Vincent would not seem to believe that there was anything to be distressed about at all. If Vincent ever did become angry at something or someone, Elena imagined that it would be a very scary thing.

Now the raven-haired man grunted, stepping over near Yuffie and catching the end of the crutch in mid-swing. Both Yuffie and Reno turned to look at him.

"If you're going to become locked in mortal combat, it would be better if you'd take it outside," Vincent told them both, though he was mainly speaking to Yuffie. He looked to her, his crimson eyes piercing into her brown orbs. "And when you're balancing on one crutch in order to wave the other one around, you're liable to fall again."

Yuffie brought the object back to earth, looking at him in irritation as she started to manuever to the door. Zack had mentioned that she needed to find the others, but he had not said anything about how she would convince them that she was not insane. She had tried again to talk to Vincent this morning, but he had still not been receptive and had only looked at her with his infamous poker face. By no means was she giving up, but for the moment she wanted to get away and plan a new approach. Maybe, if she came back and pestered him enough, he would grow weary and at least be willing to listen to her.

Reno's presence certainly did not help her attitude. She felt downright worried about Vincent's amnesia, and that obnoxious redhead had to keep hanging around, deliberately pushing her buttons. What made her all the more frustrated was the fact that she knew they needed to stay together, since they both did remember. It would only make things all the more exasperating if they were to wind up separated. But it was doubtful that they would be able to not strangle each other for a period of time long enough to accomplish what they needed to.

Even now, she could hear the Turk snickering as he headed for the door. "Well, we'd better be on our way," he called back lazily. "We have people to find, and to confuse. A Turk's always on the job."

Yuffie glared, chasing after him as quickly as she could---which, of course, was not very quick compared to her usual speed, but scarily and dangerously fast for anyone on crutches. "I'm not a Turk!" she protested, pushing the objects ahead of her as she limped forward.

Elena simply gawked at them, the disbelief still obvious in her blue eyes. And to think, Reno actually seemed to think that she, Elena, was one of these Turks, as he had told her the previous night. As if she ever would have worked with such a disagreeable person! Never!

She turned away, eager to get back to her nice, normal rounds.

"Interesting, aren't they."

Surprised, she turned and blinked at Vincent. His expression had not changed, but then again, when did it? The fact that he continued to stare after the duo showed his true feelings. And it puzzled Elena. "Interesting" was certainly not the word she would use!

"Doctor?"

He grunted, turning away himself. "Nevermind."

"Yazoo? Hey!"

The silver-haired musician started violently as a hand came down on his shoulder. Then, the initial shock passing, he slowly and deliberately turned to face an exasperated Cid.

"We're here already!" the man cried. "Where's your mind been? As soon as we got onboard, you looked out the window, spaced out, and you haven't been back to earth since!" He placed his hands on his hips, frowning down at the young man. Honestly, this boy was always so difficult! It was not any wonder that the people at the orphanage had reached their wits' end with him. Sometimes Cid wondered why he had ever thought that he could figure out such an enigma. Yazoo was going to make him old before his time---he just knew it.

The green-eyed rock star blinked at his manager calmly. "I'm back now," he answered vaguely, and started to ease his slender body out of the seat.

Cid stepped back, watching him. "It's all over the papers now," he grumbled, "about you and Sharon breaking it off. They shouldn't have found out already! Didn't you do it quietly?" He gave the other a searching look, though he knew it was pointless. When Yazoo was not singing, he did everything quietly.

Yazoo nodded. "I would've thought it would have reached the news last night," he said. What did it matter, anyway, if the press knew it? Certainly he had done it in private, but in his line of work, it was almost impossible to keep anything a secret for long. He had gotten used to it, though he supposed that he had found it easy to adjust to whatever life brought to him. Complaining about something that could not be changed would not make it better.

He knew that Cid, however, had still not gotten used to it. His "None of your business!" attitude, with a few choice curses thrown in, made him an interesting and colorful target for the reporters. And whenever he would not give them the information they wanted, but then still ended up in the news anyway, he would mutter something in annoyance about where the press could go. He knew that his conduct often called more attention to them, including quite a bit that was unwanted, but on that subject he himself did not care. Yazoo found that amusing, somehow, especially considering how Cid worried over Yazoo bringing bad publicity.

Now the blond man was glowering at something off in the distance. "Those reporters," he growled. "They just never know when to stop. I dunno what's the matter with 'em. It's like they don't have any shred of decency."

Yazoo shrugged. "They're just doing their job," he said, his tone even. Despite his words, he was certain as well that many or most of the reporters cared little about courtesy. As long as they could get a story that would capture everyone's attention and gain them some fame, they did not care whose toes they stepped on, what dirty laundry they had to figuratively air, or which hearts were broken.

"Yeah, yeah. Just like I'm doing my job when I wonder how the heck you can gaze off at nothing so long, or when I want you to practice more or not do long concerts." Cid crossed his arms, looking at the boy expectantly. Yazoo might be twenty-one, and legally an adult, but in spite of his distant, almost ethereal behavior, there was also a part of him that seemed childlike in nature---a longing that Cid had never been able to place. Yazoo wanted something that he did not have. What it was, was anyone's guess. And he knew Yazoo would never tell him.

Now the silver-haired young man gave Cid a calm, though almost bored look. "Touché," he remarked.

Cid frowned at him, obviously not pleased with that response. He had hoped that his charge would actually stop to think about his words, and why he was saying them. Maybe Yazoo would, for all he would know. Yazoo thought about everything else, at least. Surely he devoted a bit of his time to pondering over his manager, and how difficult and frustrating he was for Cid to deal with. Sometimes Cid sarcastically wondered if Yazoo even plotted to confuse him. But no, it was just the boy's personality. He was that way with everyone.

"Sometimes I gotta wonder if you feel anything at all," Cid declared. "Pain and anger? Joy and relief? Sorrow? Remorse? Or are you really as cold as you like to say you are, even when you are doing things to try to help other people?"

"I guess we'll never know." Yazoo looked to the exit door as it was being opened and as the staircase was brought. "Why don't we just leave?"

"Yeah, yeah," Cid muttered, shaking his head as he turned to walk down the aisle of the private jet.

Yazoo sighed softly, brushing a lock of hair over his shoulder before following the older man. He knew that Cid was also frustrated because he felt that he could never get close to or understand the other. Yazoo could understand how it would upset his manager, but he did not see how it could be any different. The truth was that he simply did not care to or want to let people into his heart. The numb apathy he possessed was always the dominant feeling. Cid knew it, too, and he wondered why it had to be that way, what had caused Yazoo to shut himself off from the world. Sometimes Yazoo wondered as well.

He stepped out into the bright sunlight as he reached the landing ramp. Slowly he descended the stairs, whipping out his sunglasses at the same time and applying them to his face. Hopefully there would be time to sleep when they got to the hotel. They had crossed several time zones, and he was exhausted. Not to mention he had not gotten enough sleep the previous night. The concert had ended late, and they had needed to leave early to reach this location.

He reached the bottom stair and stepped onto the concrete. He could hear Cid ahead of him, but he did not watch the other. When he heard unfamiliar and insistent voices calling his name, however, he slowly looked to his side. Had some devoted fans ended up finding out the time of their arrival and had decided to come see for themselves? It had been supposed to have been kept secret, known only to himself, Cid, and the pilot. Not that he would think it would not be possible for the information to be learned.

He raised an eyebrow at the two who were coming towards him. Both had silver hair and green eyes, as he did, and both were also wearing black leather. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Cid had immediately tensed, but he himself did not feel concerned, merely annoyed by the interruption.

The one who looked the youngest reached him first, his own eyes narrowing. "Yazoo! We need to talk to you," he declared, reaching to grab the musician's arm.

"What are you doing here, Yazoo?" the bigger man exclaimed, coming to him from his other side.

Yazoo took several steps back, batting the first one's hand away as he did. He had expected many things, but these greetings had not been among his assumptions. "I came here for a concert, if you hadn't heard," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone. Cid was yelling for them to "Scoot", but none of them were paying him any attention. Yazoo could certainly handle this himself, and the other two were intent on talking to him, not listening to the raving maniac with him.

"And I don't have anything to say to either of you," he added.

Now the strong man looked crushed. "What's wrong, Yazoo?" he pleaded, moving forward again. "You . . . you don't think we abandoned you, do you?!"

Yazoo frowned, his sunglasses sliding down his nose. "Since I've never seen either of you before, that would be impossible," he answered with more than a little sarcasm.

The younger one seized his forearm tightly. "You can't mean that!" His eyes were flickering now, with many varied and bewildered emotions. He was confused, he was upset. Anger flashed by next, followed by helplessness and pain.

Immediately Yazoo lashed out, catching the other's wrist and giving it a harsh twist. "Of course I mean it," he said. "Where would I have ever met you two?" Many people had come to the conclusion that he was not a strong fighter, due to his physique. Not that he often encountered those who wanted to battle him, but on the rare occasions when he did, he certainly proved them wrong. And he usually left them wishing that they had not even tried to go up against him.

The big man seemed alarmed by the scene. "No, Yazoo!" he cried. "Don't hurt Kadaj!"

The boy, Kadaj, hissed in pain, releasing his grip. "If you don't know, maybe we won't tell you," he retorted, ignoring the other's comment. "Is it really that easy to forget about us?"

By now, Yazoo had had enough. He walked past them both, heading over to where Cid was staring indignantly. Then he glanced back over his shoulder. "If I met you both at a concert, I'm sorry I don't remember," he said then. But honestly, he would not be sorry because they seemed nice (they seemed more strange than anything else). He only regretted not being able to place them because if he could recall it, maybe they would leave him alone.

"Yazoo!" The muscular man reached out, trying to grab the other by the shoulder. "We . . . we're your brothers!" Yazoo's last comment seemed to have slammed an arrow into his heart, and now it looked like he was very close to breaking down in tears.

"Don't bother, Loz," Kadaj muttered. "He doesn't care."

Cid stared at them both in disbelief. "They're either liars or they're nuts," he declared, and then raised his voice to address them. "Hey, look! Yazoo's an orphan, with no brothers or sisters. Everyone knows that." His expression darkened. "I dunno what you're tryin' to pull, but it ain't funny! Just scram now, you hear?" He started to turn away, clapping a hand on Yazoo's shoulder to steer him away. "Let's get out of here, Yazoo. The car's waiting."

The musician nodded vaguely as he turned to look ahead. They were insane. They had to be. They were probably crazed fans who believed themselves to be his brothers because of their same hair and eye color. Or maybe they had even dyed their hair and gotten colored contacts. He had seen it all.

He raised an eyebrow, hearing what sounded like the big man sniffling. He glanced back again, seeing the other's expression twisted in heartache and confusion as he tried not to let the tears fall that were threatening to do so.

Yazoo could not help himself. "Aren't you a little old to be crying, Loz?" he remarked, recalling what Kadaj had addressed his brother as.

Loz's head shot up, and he glowered furiously before looking away. "I'm not crying!" he yelled back.

Kadaj looked disgusted. "Shut up, Yazoo," he muttered, turning to walk away. After a moment's hesitation, Loz started to follow, his gait heavy.

Yazoo turned away from them, ignoring the dark feeling that he was treating them in a way he would regret. That was absurd. He doubted he would ever see either of them again. And right now, he had pressing matters to attend to, or so Cid would tell him, anyway. In any case, Yazoo simply wanted to get away.

Loz stared after their departing brother, trying hard to control the building sobs in his throat. "Yazoo . . . !" he choked out in vain, his thoughts tumbling over each other in his turmoil.

He and Kadaj had gone with Alexander to his home the previous night, and though Dartz had not been especially pleased, he had agreed to let them spend the night. This morning, Kadaj had used Dartz's computer to hack into the files that told of when and where Yazoo's private plane would land. And so they had come, wondering and worrying about the condition in which Yazoo would be. Somehow, they had not expected this, even in spite of what Reno had said about Rude, and in spite of Loz's earlier concerns. Loz had not actually thought that Yazoo would have forgotten them, especially when Kadaj remembered!

The big man looked to the youngest brother. He was disturbed by the silence, and by Kadaj's angry words during the encounter. Now Kadaj was clenching his fists, his eyes hidden by the hair falling across his face. Loz could sense the pain and hurt that was fueling his rage, and it made him nervous. When Kadaj was upset, and especially in a case like this, he was unpredictable.

"Kadaj?" he said slowly. "What are we going to do?"

The boy remained quiet for a time. "We have to find Mother." He looked up, his green eyes aflame with determination. "I hear her in my mind. She's calling to us both! She says she'll tell us why this has happened to Yazoo." He turned, walking off in a deliberate manner. "She says she'll tell us how to fix it!"

Loz perked up, quickly following. "Where is she?" he asked.

Kadaj shook his head slowly. "I'm not sure," he admitted, "but she's pulling me towards the outskirts of this city. Her voice is getting louder and more clear with each step. We'll be to her soon!"

Loz wondered why he had a bad feeling about this.

Tifa shifted in her seat, clutching her file folders as her gaze traveled around the spacious lobby. It was decorated with beautiful and thought-provoking paintings, as well as the expensive and comfortable furniture. She frowned slightly. When they had the funds to own such lavish things, surely they did not need to keep threatening to shut down her martial arts dojo for the missed rent the past three months. She had promised to get the money, but even though she had finally been able to do so, she was still receiving notices that her establishment would be closed and she and the children evicted.

So now she had come to speak to someone in person. Hopefully, when they looked over the records, and saw that she had indeed managed to get together the required payments, they would have the courtesy to call off their figurative attack dogs. The company president was reportedly a kind man, though she did not know that she trusted the rumors. He might just want to make himself and his business sound good. But it was worth a try. She would do whatever she could to keep her small business, and more importantly, to keep a roof over the children's heads.

"Ms. Lockhart?"

She came to attention, looking up at the receptionist.

"Mr. Strife will see you now."

She could feel her eyes widening in surprise, but she tried to swallow more of the same emotion in her throat. "I . . . I thought I would be seeing the president," she stammered finally as she stood.

The other woman shrugged. "I don't know the details. Only that apparently it's his assistant you'll be talking to. It's the top floor, second door to the left." She gestured as she spoke, but seemed bored with the directions. Tifa wondered if that was an indication of how well she enjoyed her job and the corporation in general.

She nodded in acknowledgement of the instructions as she headed to the elevator. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you very much."

As she pressed the button for the top level and stepped back, her thoughts began to wander. She had seen the assistant to the company president on television several times. She had thought he seemed arrogant and self-centered, the rich type who would look down on someone such as her. She could easily imagine him ordering that man to come around to the dojo demanding money. Of course, on the other hand, she supposed she could just be misjudging him. But she would be prepared in case she was not. She would not let him push her around.

With a sigh, she got out of the elevator when it stopped and walked to the correct door. "Sephiroth Jenova and Cloud Strife" was painted on its glass surface, and through it she could see the outer office, where the secretary had her desk. Tifa hauled open the door and stepped inside.

She was about to address the secretary when the door to the inner office was pushed open as well, and Cloud looked to her. She recognized him instantly from the news. There were not that many people with such naturally spiky hair. And his eyes were such a unique green, not unlike what she had heard Sephiroth's were like.

"Ms. Lockhart?" Well, he sounded nice enough. And he did not appear to be regarding her with contempt.

She nodded, walking over to him. "That's right. I . . . I've come to see you about a problem I've been having in connection with your company, Mr. Strife."

He extended his hand to her. "Well, let's see what we can do about solving it."

Hesitantly she reached out, shaking his hand briefly but politely. It was strange . . . seeing him, looking into those deep green eyes, she almost felt as if she had met him before. But that was impossible. She had never spoken to him until now; she had only seen him in the news. Still, she could not get rid of the feeling. Slowly she pulled her hand back. He did not look as though he had sensed anything out of the ordinary. It must be her imagination.

"Please," he said, now gesturing to the inner office.

She walked past him and into the good-sized room. One of the desks, presumably Sephiroth's, was in front of the large, plate glass window. The other desk, Cloud's, was to its left, creating an "L" formation. Several tall filing cabinets were on the wall opposite, and three various drawers were hanging open with files stacked on top of them. The water cooler was against the wall that she was standing by, and an old, light green couch was next to it. Judging from the sagging cushions and askew pillows, it appeared to have been slept on recently. She was slightly amused when she saw that, as well as the small vending machine bags of potato chips that were on both desks.

Cloud shut the door behind them and crossed the room. "Here, you can use Sephiroth's chair," he said, and wheeled it out from behind the desk and over to face the other. "He won't need it for now."

She stepped over to it, and him. "Actually, that's something I was wondering about, Mr. Strife," she said. "I was told earlier that I would be talking to him. . . ."

Cloud straightened up, walking to his own desk. "Yeah, I know," he answered, and plopped down in his chair. "But he hasn't been feeling too well, so I told him he should go home for a while and just rest. I said I'd handle his appointments today." He smirked, picking up a pen and idly toying with it as he talked. "He's always busy when he's here, and he just keeps on working even when he shouldn't." He leaned back, looking over at her. "I hope that I'll be a satisfactory replacement."

She nodded slowly, opening the top folder. "I hope so too, Mr. Strife."

He came to attention as she began to explain the problem, straightening up in his seat and setting the pen aside. He nodded thoughtfully, accepting the records as she handed them to him and looking them over before placing them in a neat stack on his desk. Though his face did not betray much of what he was thinking, she found that she had hopes that he was sympathetic to her plight.

At last he looked up. "Everything's in order," he told her. "Let me just make a phone call and fix things up for you." He reached for the phone, quickly tapping out a number with his forefinger.

She watched him as he spoke to someone from the department in question. It was strange, how first impressions could sometimes be entirely wrong. She had to say that she was glad hers had been incorrect. This Cloud was actually quite a nice guy. She had seen a glimpse of his arrogant side, as well, but at least he was not like some people who would keep it out all the time. And he did not seem to look down on her at all.

Now he placed the phone back in its cradle and looked back to her. "It's all settled," he smiled, lacing his fingers on the desk. "You won't have any more trouble with this company."

Relief washed over her. "Thank you, Mr. Strife," she said sincerely, reaching for the papers she had been keeping in the folders.

He handed them to her. "No problem," he said easily.

She arranged them carefully and closed the heavy paper cover before getting to her feet. "You don't know how much this eases the burden that's been hanging over us," she confessed, placing the material under one arm. "If I ever lost the dojo, I don't know what I'd do for Denzel and Marlene. . . ."

Cloud stood as well. "I have a lot of respect for what you're doing," he said. "A great way to put your talents to use and provide for your kids." He walked out from behind his desk.

She smiled slightly. "They're not actually 'mine'," she explained, as she half-turned to head to the door, "but I've taken them in."

"Good enough." He walked her to the door, pushing it open for her.

She turned back when he proffered his hand again, and this time shook it with firmness. "I hope your boss feels better soon," she said. She had been thinking about Cloud's earlier explanation of the other's absence, and had felt that she needed to acknowledge it somehow, to be polite. Especially since she had not done so earlier. Maybe he thought that seemed arrogant of her.

"Me too," he agreed now. "Actually, I should probably call home and see how he's doing."

She blinked at the way he had phrased it. "I'm sorry," she apologized for her surprise, "you live with him?"

Cloud smirked a bit again, sheepishly, and leaned against the door. "Yeah," he admitted. "Well, for the past few months anyway. See, there was this fire at my apartment complex, and he told me I could just stay with him for the time being." The admiration in his eyes was obvious.

She nodded slowly. "I've heard he's a nice person," she commented.

"Oh he is," Cloud confirmed. "But he's not kind to the point of being naive or too trusting. That's why the company's so successful, I think, because he's able to get the right balance." Then he paused, lowering his voice. "But just keep this between you and me, alright?" He smirked again, mischievously. "We decided it'd be better if the reporters didn't ever find out, for several reasons. You know the kind of crazy stories they'd come up with, if they find out I'm living with him."

She could, indeed. "It's safe with me," she replied, and started to turn again to leave.

"By the way . . . can I ask you to dinner tonight?"

Now she froze. That was something she had not expected at all. Throughout the time that they had conversed, she had continued to feel as though they had met before, but she had tried to push it aside. It was ridiculous, it was insane, it was downright cliché. And it was impossible to ignore it. But for him to actually ask her to dinner . . . had he felt it too, despite not saying anything or giving any indication of it? She looked back, her brown eyes filled with questions.

He smiled. "Consider it Jenova Corp's way of making it up to you."

She smirked slightly herself, in amusement. "You've already done enough," she said, "but . . . I'd be happy to accept." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wondered if she had made the right choice. Surely it could not hurt, but she was simply not in the habit of going out with strange men. The dojo and the children were her life, and she did not need anything or anyone else. Still, when there was that feeling she could not get rid of, she found herself wanting to see if she could figure out the reason for it.

"Great. Seven, then?"

She nodded.

"I'll pick you up at the dojo, if that's alright."

"That's fine." She walked to the door leading out of the outer office. The secretary had been watching them both with goggle-eyed interest, but neither of them had paid her much attention or even cared.

She turned back, placing a hand on the doorknob. "There is one condition," she declared.

Now Cloud blinked. "What's that?" he asked.

"Denzel and Marlene have to come along too," she replied. "They haven't gotten to do much away from the dojo in a while, and I know they'd enjoy a trip to a nice restaurant."

The blond chuckled softly. "Alright. Fine with me," he answered.

Tifa relaxed. "Thank you, Mr. Strife," she said quietly as she pulled open the door and walked into the hall.

Sephiroth leaned forward on the couch, running his hands through his hair. He had been so worn out by the time Cloud had suggested that he come home for a while, that he barely remembered the ride home and walking through the door. Actually, almost everything was a blank up to the time he had awakened on the couch several moments earlier. After the night he had experienced, he was grateful for that, he supposed.

He leaned back into the plush softness, staring up at the ceiling. Now that he was more rational, he honestly wondered what had been going through his mind the previous night. The dreams had been realistic, but absurd, and completely fictional. They had crept upon him when he had been in a state of stress and sleeplessness, as Cloud had said. He had not gotten much sleep throughout the week, and now it was catching up to him. That was all.

"Hate to burst that bubble, Seph, but I'm afraid that's not all."

He froze. What . . . who was that? He had heard that voice last night, but when he had looked, no one had been there. Now he sat up straight, desperately casting his gaze around the room. It was empty.

"Who's there?" he demanded, feeling ridiculous. But at least no one was there to hear him.

"Oh whoops . . . you can't see me?" He heard what sounded like the snapping of fingers. "How about now?"

The voice was coming from behind the couch. Immediately he turned, and found himself staring at the materializing image of a brunet young man who was leaning with crossed arms on the top of the furniture. He was dressed in a sleeveless, dark purple sweater shirt and matching pants, and also sported black shoulder armor and gloves. One strand of his spiky hair hung in his face, and as his greenish eyes focused on Sephiroth, he grinned.

The silver-haired man rocked back in disbelief. What . . . what was this?! What was going on?! Who was this man?! And where was he getting the audacity to address him as "Seph"? No one had ever dared to give him a nickname.

"It's been a while since I've had the chance to really talk to you." The strange man sobered. "I thought I'd never get to again."

Finally the flabbergasted businessman found his voice. "Who are you?" He had just suddenly appeared, almost like some sort of spectre or spirit. Sephiroth had never actually taken much thought as to what happened after death, but if the spirit lived on, then he supposed something like this theoretically could happen. But that still did not answer the question of why this person seemed to believe he knew the other.

"Zack Fair. It's good to meet you, Seph." He straightened up, giving him a playful salute before walking around to the front of the couch and plopping on it. "Or should I say . . . good to meet you again." He draped an arm along the top of the furniture, turning to look at the shocked tycoon.

Sephiroth held his ground. He had felt the cushions bounce when Zack had nonchalantly fallen on them, and now his image looked solid. Was this some sort of elaborate magic trick, and he was not actually a ghost at all? "I've never met you before," he grunted. "And how did you get into my house?"

Zack smiled again, but now it seemed sad and wistful. "I've been here a while, since you came back," he replied. "I guess you could say I'm . . . watching over you. I know you don't remember me any more, Seph, but let's just say that when I was alive, you and me were best buddies."

Sephiroth's eyes narrowed. "Then you are . . ." He shook his head. "When did I meet you?"

"In the military. We were both SOLDIERs, First Class."

That did not make sense. "I've never been in the military," he retorted. But a chill went through his blood as soon as he said it. In the dreams, the insane doppelganger of himself could have possibly been a soldier, from the armor he had been wearing. But . . . no . . . the dreams were not true! He was not that monster. . . . He never had been! He could not have been! This spectre was lying.

"Get out of my house," he snapped, looking up with flashing eyes. "I don't want to see you again. Get out, or I'll call security!"

Zack shook his head with a sigh. "Seph . . . security can't get rid of me. And come on, I know it's hard . . . but in your heart, you know I'm telling the truth." His gaze was firm and steady, and Sephiroth could not stand it.

"No!" He leaped off the couch, backing away from it while never tearing his own gaze from the brunet. "You . . . you're lying. I've never known you!" I've never been in the military. I've never lost my mind and slaughtered people. Never . . . never. . . . He turned, running across the marble floor to the stairs. He had to get away. He was still tired. He was imagining. Maybe he was still asleep. Yes, that was it. This was another of the nightmares. . . .

He reached the top of the stairs, fully intending to either run into his room or into the bathroom, and attempt to wake himself up by splashing water on his face or having a cold shower. But the spirit was already there, in the hallway, the same sad smile on his face.

"I'm sorry, Seph," he said then, and Sephiroth could see and hear his sincerity. "I'm really sorry about putting you through this . . . but you have to remember. There's someone out there who wants to hurt you, to make you hurt others. And she feels that if you don't get back your true memories, then she'll be able to control you. And I can't let that happen to you, or to the people you might hurt under her power. If you remember, then you'll know who she is, and how to fight what she wants to do to you."

Sephiroth began to back up as Zack slowly advanced. No . . . no . . . these words were not true. Zack was insane himself, if he was actually here. "You," he choked out. "You've been giving me those dreams. . . ."

To his surprise, Zack shook his head. "Nope." He came to stand in front of the other. "That's you, Seph. It's your own horrified, guilty conscience. Now that you've got your mind back, you're starting to fully realize the extent of the damage you caused, and you can't take it. Your subconscious mind and your heart are just screaming."

In the other's eyes, Sephiroth could see reflections of the contents of his dreams, and more. He was fighting this Zack in some sort of highly advanced technological chamber, seriously wounding him. Below, an injured girl's body lay, also the result of his actions. Then he was fighting Cloud again. . . .

He was murdering a man at a desk. . . . That woman again, as well. . . . He was trying to destroy an entire planet, to restore it to some other being. . . . A strange, alien woman who smirked at him from the depths of his mind . . . the woman who had driven him mad.

No . . . NO . . . NO! None of it was true . . . none of it! This person was trying to hypnotize him, to brainwash him into believing these falsehoods! He would not stand for it! Never!

He reached out, desperately grabbing for Zack's shoulders to push him away. But he could not touch the younger man.

In his crazed, panicked state, he lunged at the intruder. He had to catch him, he had to make him go away. He could not take this! This man's lies were going to drive him out of his mind, right along with those blasted dreams!

He did not take the stairs into account. Instead of making contact with Zack, he slammed hard against the top step and then pitched forward with a gasp, tumbling down the rest of the flight to crash, flat on his back, at the bottom. Dazedly he stared up at the ceiling, vaguely aware of the pain sweeping over him and of his quick, winded breathing.

No . . . it was not true. . . . He was an honest businessman. . . . Cloud was his assistant, his friend. . . .

The brunet leaned over him, concern written in his features. "Oh Seph. . . . Hey, you okay?" Sephiroth did not reply, but the ghost seemed to determine that he was not badly hurt from the spill, at least not physically.

The spirit shook his head, laying a hand on the other's shoulder. "I know you've got the strength to walk down this path, Seph. I'll be here to help you, too. I'm not gonna let you be hurt again by Jenova. I couldn't do anything the first time, but now . . . now I can." A haunted look flickered through his eyes, followed by a firm determination.

Sephiroth could feel a certain energy emanating from the younger man's touch. And as he focused, something clicked in his mind. "Zack. . . ."

His friend relaxed, smiling again. "Yeah . . . it's me. I've missed you . . . old pal."

She was pleased to hear the door open, to see the two coming inside. Yes . . . she had known they would come. It was all perfect now. This plan of hers would not fail. It was cruel, it was wicked, but she cared little of such matters. Her instinct was to destroy, and destroy she would. This planet would be hers.

"Mother!" Kadaj cried in awe. "Mother, I'm here! I've found you!"

"Yes," she purred. "Come closer, my son."

He came as close to her as he could get, still staring at her with green eyes of reverence. "Mother, what's wrong with Yazoo?" he asked desperately. "We have to fix it. . . ."

"The planet doesn't want you to carry out your missions, so it has tried to corrupt all of you," she lied. "It managed to get Yazoo, and some others as well, including Sephiroth."

At the mention of the dreaded name, Kadaj froze, his fists clenching. "Sephiroth. . . ."

"I called to him also, but someone is blocking me. Only you, Kadaj, only you have heard me. You are worthy to be my son. Not Sephiroth. Will you and Loz do as I ask?"

Kadaj's eyes widened in sheer amazement. It was what he had longed to hear, so badly. She wanted him. She was pleased with him, and she would surely love him. And she would help them save Yazoo.

He dropped to one knee. "Of course, Mother," he said. "Anything. . . . We'll do anything."

She smirked to herself in triumph. "I quite thought you would."