Percentage of New Content: 5

Chapter Three

Sephiroth's mind was tumbling over itself as he waited for someone to pick up the phone. Zack had never been so ill before. It was still possible that it was some kind of virus, especially since one had been going around the base for a while. But it was more likely that it was poison. It would certainly make sense as to why those men had accepted death last night with such a smug air. They had probably been inwardly laughing at the thought of Zack soon passing on as well. It was infuriating and outrageous!

"Shinra Headquarters. How may I direct your call?"

He snapped back to attention. "This is SOLDIER First Class Sephiroth," he barked. "Zack Fair and I are en route to Midgar on the noon train. He has collapsed with a fever and is delirious. I want a medical team to meet us in Midgar."

"Of course, General Sephiroth." The receptionist immediately sounded concerned. "Are there any special instructions for the medics?"

"Commander Fair may have been poisoned." Sephiroth's voice was as ice. "And it may be hard to trace." Considering the people with whom they had been dealing, it seemed only too likely.

The receptionist gasped in alarm. "I'll have them notified immediately," she promised.

"Good. We should arrive in fifteen minutes." With that Sephiroth hung up and folded his phone. He was not in the mood to talk about what had happened. He wanted to get back to where Zack was laying.

Yet in another way, he did not want to do so-if Zack would still be delirious and would still not even recognize him. But he was still the same Zack, really-trusting Sephiroth when he had said that he was a friend, and not fighting against the doctor. Which would be more disturbing-for him to be irrationally violent, whether or not he remembered Sephiroth, or for him to be calm without remembering?

Both were disturbing. But it would certainly be more difficult if he took up his sword and tried to attack. As it was, even if he still got to that point, he was too ill to move.

A fist clenched. Sephiroth made an about-face, brushing past a man talking on his own phone. Next to him on the floor was his briefcase, which was adorned with a strange symbol. The offhand thought crossed Sephiroth's mind that it resembled a globe being clutched in a veined hand.

The man's eyes bored into Sephiroth's back as he walked away.

Had it been foolish of him, to not insist on further testing? In spite of what those idiots had done to themselves, he had thought that Zack was surely alright when the medics had not found anything wrong. That could mean that the poison was untraceable, or it could have simply been that the search had not been extensive enough. Either way, he had hoped that any concerns had been unfounded.

Zack would tell him that he could not have known, that he would not have had any reason to believe that anything was wrong. Logically, that was true. And he certainly could not spend time being upset over other things he could have done. Zack needed him now. And if he had been poisoned, then Sephiroth would have to do everything he could to find the solution.

The doctor was still monitoring Zack's condition when he returned. Lavender eyes stared up at the ceiling, glazed over, and a weak moan slid through the dry lips. The skin was still red, but the color was beginning to fade to a ghostly shade.

"The medical team will be there," Sephiroth said, his tone cold. "How is he?"

"He's getting worse," the physician admitted, "but he tried to speak again a moment ago. He was asking for 'Seph'?" He blinked curiously at the warrior. He did not know who the two SOLDIERs were, but of course he had heard of Sephiroth, Shinra's favored general. The thought, however, of bestowing a nickname upon such a serious and stern man seemed ludicrous.

Sephiroth did not bother to give him any kind of an explanation. Their friendship, and Zack's quirks, was hardly information the doctor needed to know. He came closer, and the older man moved aside to give them space.

"Zack?" he asked, bending down into the lavender line of vision.

The eyes blinked, and for a moment something cleared. A certain relief washed over Sephiroth, to see the recognition that had previously been absent. But he could not get his hopes up. Zack might drift back and forth between periods of awareness and delusions. That was how it had been with Genesis.

"Hey, Seph." Zack tried to grin, but his lips did not cooperate very far. "Looks like I got really messed up, huh? Guess you were right . . . about me not feeling well. . . ."

Sephiroth grunted, kneeling down by the side of the plush seat. "We're going to be in Midgar in a few minutes," he said. "You're going to be just fine." That was the only thing that could be true. Perishing was unacceptable!

"What's . . . wrong with me?" Zack winced. "My arm . . . it's hurting like heck."

Another indication of the problem. And a quick examination of the bandage showed that now a bit of crimson was leaking through.

"It's not clear yet what's wrong," Sephiroth admitted. "You may have been poisoned after all."

"Ow . . . that's not good." Zack fell silent, contemplating this information. The pieces of hair framing either side of his face now were clinging to the clammy cheeks.

"It's probably a pretty rare poison, if those rumors about the scientist are true," he said at last.

"Don't try to talk," Sephiroth snapped in response. But Zack did not need to say more. Both he and Sephiroth knew exactly what he meant. "Whatever is wrong, we'll find the cure."

". . . I feel like I might be going pretty fast, Seph. . . ."

Anger and helplessness washed over the silver-haired warrior. This was not happening. They had been in so many tight situations before, but they had always managed to come out alive and well-or at least, recovering. Death was something he had already seen so much of, and had dealt out to others. It was the life he and Zack had both chosen, each knowing the possible consequences. But that did not make this any easier.

"You've endured it this long," he said, aware that his voice had taken on an even harsher tone.

"Maybe . . . it's only slow-acting until you really start being able to feel it's there," Zack mused, his voice not much above a whisper. "Maybe that means it's getting complete hold. . . ."

"You get hold!" In desperation Sephiroth grabbed at Zack's unaffected shoulder. "You're supposed to be the optimistic one, and yet you're talking about your death as if it's almost a certain thing!"

Zack smiled weakly. "I thought death didn't usually bother you, Seph. . . ."

"It doesn't. Usually."

Another spasm of pain shot through Zack's right arm. He gave a brief start before slumping back into the cushioning. "It's not like . . . I'm giving up," he managed to choke out. The poison was trying to drag him under. If he succumbed, he might never gain the surface again. But he would probably sink into unconsciousness anyway. . . . Actually, he could feel it happening without him even being able to give permission. But he could not pass out just yet. There was still something he needed to say.

"Hey . . . I'm gonna hang on, Seph," he said. His left hand shook as he reached up to gently swat at his friend's shoulder. "You know I won't let that poison beat me if I can help it."

Sephiroth never had a chance to reply.

Zack's eyes rolled back into his head, the weary lids closing as if to signify the end of an era. His arm dropped limply onto Sephiroth's outstretched limb, the hand of which had still been grasping Zack's shoulder.

A shiver ran up the bigger man's spine as the appendage landed there. Zack looked so eerily still now, yet he was breathing. His chest was rising and falling, though with a pained motion. And it was going to stay that way. He was not going to die. He was going to get better.

Taking hold of the motionless arm by the wrist, Sephiroth carefully moved it to lay on Zack's chest, next to his other hand. At the same moment, he felt the train lurch and halt. They had arrived.

It was what they had feared, or worse.

He gripped his upper arms as he leaned against the door of Zack's infirmary room. They had not wanted him in there, but he had insisted. Zack's condition was not contagious, but even if it was, Sephiroth still would have demanded to be allowed to see him. Who had more of a right to be there other than himself? Shinra was attempting to contact Zack's parents, but so far they had not been able to get through. And Zack should not have to be alone, when he needed someone more than ever.

For hours Sephiroth had been going through the waiting room, pacing, standing by the window, sometimes going outside. They had been running tests all that time, most not turning up anything that was not already known or suspected. The afternoon had passed, and the evening had mostly been spent by now as well.

It was so wrong, to see Zack laying so helpless and still in the bed. Zack should still be happy and cheerful, joking with Sephiroth and enjoying his pal's company. He should never be like this. . . . He had come to again, briefly, when the medics had been laying him on a stretcher. But the delirium had fogged his mind once more, and he had not recognized Sephiroth. And now . . . now he was deeply unconscious. The doctors were not certain if he would ever wake up.

The heart monitor was beeping even more quickly and loud than usual. Zack's pulse had never come down, and with every passing hour, it seemed to only increase more. He was dying.

Sephiroth could still hear that deplorable word being spoken by the grim physician. He hated it, abhorred it. He cursed its existence and what it meant for Zack's life.

Poison.

Now they knew that the sword Zack had been cut with the previous day had been brushed with a slow-acting substance that was currently raging through his body. It was a rare poison, and very hard to detect, which was why the medics in the other town had missed it. No one had actually believed that something so deadly would be used on him. When he had checked out fine, they had thought it was true. And now . . . now, if the antidote could not be gained in the next several hours, it would be too late.

But where could they even get it? The ones who knew where the substance had come from were dead, and their names were not even known yet! The pathologist said that she was still working on it and that it could take several more hours, or even days, for the records to come through. And that was time that they did not have! Zack needed helpnow!

The poison the men had killed themselves with was being tested too, but it was not likely that it was related to the substance that had been used on Zack-judging by the extensively varying time periods between deaths. And they had not been carrying any other kinds of poison. They did not want the secret to saving Zack to be learned.

He stared into the pale face, his own visage blank. Zack's eyes were closed, an expression of pain gracing his silent features. It was agonizing to look at him. Green eyes looked away again.

For the umpteenth time, the doctor's next words turned over in his mind.

"You're asking for an exact estimate on how much time he has left. . . . I'm afraid that there's no way to know for certain. But at the rate his life is deteriorating, I would calculate no more than twenty-four hours from the time the poison entered his body."

And that time was fast approaching. It had been very late at night when he and Zack had been fighting those men. But Sephiroth did not have an exact estimate. The twenty-four hour mark was probably less than five hours away, but it could be a bit more or less.

Five hours before the only light in his life would go out.

How could he simply stand here and watch Zack's life slip away?! He had to do something! If he only knew what to do. . . .

Swiftly turning, he opened the door and walked into the hallway. There was an Exit door at the end of it, and he began to walk toward it, every footstep deliberate and determined. He could go back to that town. He could search blindly for anyone who might have known those fanatics. It was probable that he would get into a lot of trouble along the way. But that did not worry him in the least. What worried him was that he might go on a wild goose chase and not even be able to find the antidote.

At least he could look through the building where the situation had taken place. If he left right now, he could still make it and get back in time. Zack would have to hold on until then, and then continue to do so. He had to get better!

It had been so difficult for him to restrain his fury when the physician had admitted that the antidote was not known and that it could take those in the laboratory many hours to determine what it was.

"It had better not take 'many' hours," Sephiroth had growled, his tones dark and filled with warnings. "We don't have 'many' hours. We only have time up to the point where Zack's body will give out completely. Aren't your scientists supposed to be the best? Surely they can find the answer within that time schedule."

The older man had sighed, shaking his head in sympathy. "They're still only men, General. I'll be honest with you . . . to save Commander Fair's life, we need a miracle."

A miracle? Did such things even exist? From his experiences, it certainly did not seem that they did.

Pushing open the heavy door, he stepped out into the cold Midgar night. The air slapped him in the face harshly, as if scolding him for his unbelief. Glaring at the invisible force, he walked forward, heading for the parking lot. He would take the Jeep and drive to the train station. If there was not another train leaving that night, he would exercise his authority to make it happen. It would be impossible to take the Jeep over the steep and rocky trails in the wilderness, especially in the dark. He would only end up with punctured tires. Or worse.

On the subject of miracles, he had been raised in a laboratory, tortured and experimented on with frequency, and rarely allowed to do what he wanted. Oh yes, he had certainly seen "miracles"; the fact that he had not died on the operating table when they had installed his wing was a "miracle". He had been conscious throughout most of it, without even the kindness of an anesthetic.

Hojo considered the entire process a "miracle" of science. That was a "miracle" Sephiroth could do without.

If either he or Zack was going to die now, why would it be Zack? He had heard that it was the best people who died young, and the bitter and cold who lived long lives. It sounded like something a pessimist had probably said, and honestly, so much of the time it seemed that it was true. Maybe the gods wanted the best in order to make their homes more pleasant. They probably had very little interest in the pessimists. And then by taking away the ones whom the pessimists cared for, they insured that those left behind became even more bitter and cold.

Here was the Jeep. He hauled open the door, threw himself inside, and started the engine, all in one motion. He had a probable time of less than five hours to save his dear friend. And he would see that it was enough. He would not lose Zack.