A/N: Okay, originally, this was going to come out back in October, thanks to Alzipher motivating me in her special way to work on this. However, when I reached 1400 words, I lost the damn file. gah. And then all my FFVII muses disappeared from my mind, completely. –pouts- Of course, then, in December, new muses were spawned in the form of Tales of Symphonia characters . . . currently, Chaos is fending off my ToS muses with Death Penalty, while Seph is helping me wake up my various FF muses. Oddly enough... my Genesis muse seems to be wearing a lab coat and glasses…-eyes him warily-
Oh! And did I forget to mention that I lost access to my entire hard-drive this past October? My dad left my PC open in the basement for two days while I was out-of-town and when I tried to turn it on, two of the transistors on the motherboard started leaking. Needless to say, I won't be able to recover the files on it until we buy another computer.
Brotherhood will be Chapter 4 (though the title may still change!), however, Suetsukata won't necessarily be Chapter 5, I have yet to decide if I want to slip another chapter or two between them.
I'm not sure how long it'll be until I work on the next chapter, as I'd like to work on a chapter of ReWrite first.
Also, stepbystep, you are awesome and I thank you for your language assistance. I have not studied Swedish, it is a recent addition to the list of languages that fascinate me (including Japanese, Gaelic, German and Latin)
Reno: hehehe
Me: … Stop sneaking into my mind, Turk!
Reno: But it's such a challenge! ;p
Me: You have five seconds before I send Seph after you.
Reno: Baby General? Pftt. Like he can catch me.
Me: Lilith can though.
Reno: -stares- You'd really sic the Director of Wyvern on me? A woman who's practically a goddess herself? You are one evil woman.
Me: You're just realizing this now? And here I thought you were moderately observant.
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Not a Dream
Behind Blue Eyes
"A Step Off the Beaten Path"
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"Ripples form on the water's surface."
~Loveless, Act I
"We keep moving forward, opening new doors, and doing new things, because we're curious and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths."
~Walt Disney
It really wasn't very fair. The blonde thought as he back-stepped to avoid one of the taller girl's parries. Not only was she taller with a longer reach, her body had been toned from years of learning hand-to-hand combat. Though they had both signed up for the program on the same day, the older teen seemed to have an advantage over him in all avenues.
Not to mention, she was using two swords against his one.
He pressed his weight into his left foot and lunged forward, swinging the saber around to strike at her right flank . . . only to have it glance off an identical saber as she moved out of the way. Thrown off-balance, he fell to the mat and released his sword to avoid injuring himself. A good-hearted chuckle met his ears, leading him to look up and meet blue eyes as dark as his were light. Switching her blades to one hand, she held out the other and pulled him to his feet.
"God narbete." She grinned at him and he felt a spike of jealousy at how composed she was in comparison to him. She was breathing hard, yes, but nowhere near as hard as he was. The strawberry blonde looked as if she could keep going for another hour, where-as a good push would have him on the floor again. "You're getting better."
"You really think so?"
"Definitely." She nodded firmly and then dropped her hand to his shoulder. "Why don't you take your break, I think you've had enough for this morning."
It was a phrase that completed in his mind before she even finished speaking, she had said that every time he'd practiced with her. It wasn't always the same words, but it was always the same idea: Go rest up so you don't fall behind in PT.
In his mind he knew that she was right, he wasn't strong enough yet to go on as long as she did. He didn't have her strength, or her endurance. In his heart though, he was jealous, and he knew it. He was pretty sure she knew it as well, but he was grateful to her.
She didn't have to help him, there was no real reason for her to stand up for him. They weren't related by blood or marriage, they'd grown up in completely different terrain. She was a city girl, he was a country boy. They had nothing in common.
They were bunk-mates.
The only female of the twenty Recruits in Squad C, and she slept on the top of his bunk bed. He might be jealous of her, but he had to admit he felt kind of lucky to be not only her student, but her friend.
He nodded, bending down and retrieving his own sword and walking to the racks. Stretches were next, and the blonde closed his eyes as he went through them one after another, taking his time and ignoring the sound of his tutor's blades cutting air, her bare feet padding across the mats.
"Do you two do this often?" the smooth voice cut through his thoughts and he jerked in surprise, nearly tumbling to the floor, looking at the voice, his mouth dropped open slightly at the sight of a black SOLDIER uniform. A First Class!
He started to stand at attention, but a wave had him stopping before he could truly begin. The brunette stared at him before he remembered the question. "Yes, sir."
"Your name?"
"...Are we in trouble sir?"
"No." he relaxed a little at the smile he found directed towards him and proffered a half-smile back.
"Cloud Strife, sir."
"And her?" the SOLDIER nodded his head towards the still-practicing girl and Cloud turned to look at her, seeing that she had now discarded her blades in favor of hand-to-hand work.
"Ruth Llungson."
"You're both Recruits?"
"Yes, sir." Cloud paused for a moment, glancing away self-consciously before adding, "We're applicants for SOLDIER."
The man glanced at the clock on the far wall and straightened, giving the blonde a farewell nod. Cloud stared after the man in slight confusion. What . . . was that all about?
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Cloud Strife . . .
Genesis thought back, trying to recall why that name was familiar, the girl's was less so but still gave a minor sense of déjà vu. He was certain neither had gotten into SOLDIER, something that seemed odd. The boy might not be that strong, but he was still young, the potential for SOLDIER was there . . . and the girl, Llungson, she already moved with a fighter's grace. Certainly she would have risen quickly in the ranks once Mako was . . .
That was it.
Mako.
Strife . . . he was the boy that defeated Sephiroth. The one that had spent years in Hojo's hands alongside Zack. A chuckle escaped him and he found himself glad that the halls were still empty. Potential for SOLDIER indeed. He'd have to keep on eye on the blond teen this time around. With proper training . . . he could make First in only a few years.
And then there was Miss Llungson . . . Genesis stepped into the elevator and leaned against the reinforced glass as it rose.
She was only . . . . about 15 and already moved with the grace of a fighter. Obviously she had trained for some time before coming to Midgar. She should have had no problem getting into SOLDIER, yet, he knew her name had not been on the list of recruits he had recommended for SOLDIER in his final report to Lazard the first time around. The question was . . . why?
The door chimed and he looked up, only to lurch to the side as another body lunged into the elevator so fast he hit the glass with a wince-worthy smack. The redhead immediately pushed off the wall and slapped the Close Doors button, and even as Genesis stared incredulously at the man, he spotted a pair of women running towards them with furious faces before the doors clicked shut.
The redhead slumped to the floor with a sigh of relief, then glanced up at him, grinning with a mock salute, "Hey man."
"The Director will be very unhappy with you." He commented wryly, slipping the disguised journal into the crook of his arm as he folded them over his chest.
"Like that's anything new." Reno shrugged and stood, brushing his rumpled suit off and then giving the brunette SOLDIER a considering look. "What happened to your duster?"
"Cleaners." Genesis gave his wrinkled 'uniform' a wary glance, "Just as that suit should be."
"Eh?" Aquamarine eyes blinked and he pulled the shirt up to sniff at it, then shrugged noncommittally. "Still smells fine, good enough for me."
The Commander rolled his eyes at that statement and wrinkled his nose in distaste, finding the idea of wearing any article of clothing more than a day in succession far more appalling than it had once been. He had always been one for cleanliness, but having been limited to the one outfit during his degradation . . . had left him with a keen appreciation for clean clothes.
Before any further conversation could be initiated, the doors opened to floor 51 and Genesis stepped out, not bothering to give the redheaded Turk a further glance. Though he heard him mutter something about giving someone named Cierra time to cool off before the doors shut once again. Undoubtedly the name of one of the two women who had been chasing him with death in their eyes.
It didn't take him long to find the right door, sliding his keycard through the lock almost mindlessly and pushing the door open. Unlike most of the rooms on the 51st floor – which had automated sliding doors – the office was installed with a classic swinging door. It was still metal, but it wouldn't hold up against the strength of a SOLDIER 1st.
Stepping into the office was like a step back in time, as much so as it had been to see Angeal and have a part of him acknowledge the impossibility of this new reality. The second-to-last time he had been in this office, it had the feel of use, that incorporeal sensation of someone spending hours of time performing tasks. Where-as his apartment was a comforting refuge, a place where he could hide away from the rank-and-file, this office had been where he spent much of his daily hours. This place held more of an imprint of himself than his apartment ever could.
The last time he had been in this office, it was all but empty, a simple desk and a wheel-less chair. A room that had been emptied of memories and not yet been given the opportunity to absorb new ones . . .
Eying the dark leather chair and the glass-topped mahogany desk, a matching couch set against a wall beside a resilient potted plant . . . he nearly forgot why he had come.
Setting aside his melancholy, he set the Journal down on the desk and took a seat, gloved fingers pressing the power button on the computer resting to one side. Genesis waited impatiently as it hummed to life, reaching down and pulling open the drawer to reveal a pile of recent reports. A few were written in his own hand, but others were either from 2nd and 3rd Class SOLDIERs under his command, or copies of the Bi-Weekly progress reports.
He skimmed those reports, allowing them to pull his old memories back to the surface. Searching his mind for faces to match the names he was reading . . . the computer beeped at him, alerting him to new messages. There was a newsletter, and a notice about an upcoming play down on the plate, but other than that it was only copies of reports from those under his command.
Except for one. The Banoran frowned at a message dated the previous morning. The subject line was blank, and the name of the sender had been corrupted or encrypted, leaving only a series of innocuous rectangles. Clicking on the message, he found only two short lines.
Remember to brush up on your history.
good luck
The lack of capitalization on the last line led him to believe it had been tagged on at the last moment. As if the sender had thought twice about their well-wishes. Was this from his fellow time-traveler, then? It was an innocent enough missive . . . Genesis let his eyes fall on the disguised journal that he had had commissioned years ago as a reward to himself for becoming a Third Class.
The white leather made the slim volume seem so innocent, a pure creation that held only beauty rather than guile. An uninformed glance would never guess that it held such powerful words in it's pages, words that if wielded properly could do more damage than any blade. So much knowledge, knowledge that could change the world for better or worse . . . and he was the lone wielder.
It was the burden of a god on the shoulders of a man. Could any man bear such a burden alone?
He reached up absently and tapped his dangling earring, his sharp hearing picking up the muted ever-so-slight shift of the vial hidden within.
A determined light in his pale eyes, the Crimson Commander reached out and took the book in his hands, once more cracking it open, this time flipping back to the beginning of that year. His eyes flicked over the words he had written five years ago, each phrase triggering memories, bringing what were now recent experiences back to the surface of his mind. He wasn't certain he could succeed in this endeavor . . .
. . . but he would sure as hell try.
After all . . . didn't he want to be the hero?
Extra Scene – Brothers-In-Arms
Angeal closed and locked Genesis' apartment door behind him, musing over what he had found in his brief visit. It had been empty, the food he had cooked for his friend gone, dishes washed and drying in the rack beside the sink. There had been no sign of the older man in the rooms, his favored tall black leather boots still resting by the door. It seemed he had chosen to wear his Class-issued ones for a change.
That change in itself was one for mild concern. Rarely did the brunette choose to wear the plain black boots, finding them 'lacking in elegance.' He shook his head, perhaps it had simply been a whim, and nothing to worry over.
"How is Genesis?" Angeal lifted his head at the questioning tone and found with only minor surprise that Sephiroth was also standing by the elevator.
"It seems he left early." He paused, interrupted by the opening of the elevator doors and stepped inside beside the General. "I'm not surprised, he apparently slept through all of yesterday."
"An entire day? That is unlike him." Sephiroth frowned, brow furrowing in a show of concern. He carefully measured his words before speaking again. "Was he sick?"
"I'm not sure." Angeal crossed his arms and considered the state he had found his old friend in the day before. Could an illness have caused the delayed healing of that injury? He had never heard of such a thing. Though he had certainly seemed ill.
He was tempted to speak of the mystery surrounding the injury from their spar, but held back. It was healed, there was no need to bother Sephiroth with something that was already gone.
There was nothing to be concerned over . . . yet.
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Iclandic/Swedish Translations (Please feel encouraged to fix any mistakes I made!)
God narbete – Good job / Good work
A/N: Seriously, Reno barged into this chapter without any warning. One moment my brain was stuck in 'Gen is musing' mode, the next I had a redhead bouncing in one side of my brain and then out the other.
Also, I am willing to consider any requests on future Extra Scenes / Omakes, within reason. I'm going to try to make a habit of tagging them onto the end.