A/N:

I would like to thank blackcat686 for beta'ing this chapter for me.

Sorry for the long delay. But I can say that my long hiatus is officially at a close! Winter break is in full swing and until January I can write and update at leisure.

Rating (Chapter): T+ (language and violence)

Word Count: 3,622

Disclaimer: To quote another writer, "These are not my characters, I'm just abusing them."

Not Again!

By Catsitta

(Chapter Beta: blackcat686)

Chapter Five: Son of a gun

"Why were you fighting, Tifa."

"They…they wanna make me one of them…a Turk."

The girl in Sephiroth's arms shuddered, her tears warm against his skin as they made rivers down the column of his throat and puddled at the hollow of his collarbone. It was bizarre to see Tifa show this weakness. How could such a soft heart learn to harbor the dark weight of hatred and death without breaking into a million pieces? If she was willing to weep with minimal provocation, a few bumps and bruises, then how did she ever become a hero?

Aware that he should be feeling disgust at the martial artist's display and prying her off of his person, Sephiroth scolded himself inwardly. He was becoming weak. It was pathetic! But…a small part of his heart dared to flutter and ache. When was the last time someone had treated him like a human being? When had he last been the last thing standing in somebody else's world? When had been the last time he had been needed and relied upon to be a pillar of courage and strength?

Memories of old friends flickered into his mind's eye. Memories of war and hardship, of arguments and grief. Memories of rivalry as well as laughter, the seeds friendship sewn in a centimeter of sand, yet weathering the pounding of the seas as storms threatened to wash everything away in a whirl of bitterness.

"Go to my room, Tifa, and lock the door." Sephiroth commanded, his tone one of unrelenting authority. "Stay there until I fetch you, no matter what you hear."

Tifa sniffed and pulled away from him, her sable eyes catching his own briefly. Sephiroth could see the vulnerable child seeking the strength that would make her an indomitable woman one day. While she physically withdrew, he somehow knew that emotionally her grip had become tighter. She was clinging to him. She needed him. 'Promise me,' those eyes cried, 'Promise me that you'll save me. Be my hero.'

He recalled how she clung to Cloud as if he were her lifeline. The little hero had shunned her affections, yet like a lovesick fool she continued to trail after him, her heart broken but hopeful. 'I am not Strife. He was a weak-minded fool. A puppet playing hero! I am…I am…' As Tifa turned and ran past him, the door shutting behind her, Sephiroth found himself feeling strangely hollow. 'Who am I?'

His inward reflection must have shown on his face, for when he looked up, he found both Valentine and Tseng staring at him. There was confusion intermixed with the guilt and anger in his so-called father's gaze. And Tseng was watching shrewdly, those black eyes of his attempting to burn holes through Sephiroth's forehead.

"You will leave at once and desist in your attempts to recruit Miss Lockheart as a Turk." He made sure that his words left nothing to question and that his posture was tall with confidence. His young body may be awkward and skinny, but he was used to people underestimating his strength. From his early days as a SOLDIER into his first years of being General, all anyone had seen was a scrawny child with alien features. Even bulked up and muscular he had been slim, and his long hair had been fodder for rumors galore. Being pretty had made him a target of ridicule.

But he had quickly proved everyone that had ever doubted him was wrong. He had been the strongest man alive. The quickest, the smartest and the most powerful. No one had stood his equal. He made sure everyone knew how insignificant they were compared to him and reveled in the feel of authority. This weakness was unacceptable. No more would he allow himself to be controlled. He would take life by the throat once again and prove to the world that even un-enhanced, he is dangerous and should never be seen as anything less.

'Before I was a God, I was a General.' he found himself thinking, the egotistical madness of Jenova slowly slipping away from the forefront of his mind. His years of greatness were returning to him. Urging him to become the best there ever was yet again. 'Before I was General, I was a hero. Before I was a hero, I was nothing. Today, I am nothing. By tomorrow, I will be someone.'

The future could be changed, but there was no denying the past.

It was his past that shaped him. And it was a past that his alternate self had not experienced. No longer were they dealing with an inexperienced child or a madman trapped in a child's body. No…they were facing the General that had changed a world by the force of his will alone. They simply did not know quite yet.

"Sephiroth…" Valentine began, but the silver-haired, ex-General cut him off with a glare.

"I repeat: You will desist—"

"Cadet Valentine, you have no authority in this matter." Tseng's impenetrable gaze was shadowed further by the darkening bruise encircling his left cheekbone. Valentine bore a similar mark, but his bright eyes seemed to glow, piercing straight through the darkness like twin torches. "You will stand down."

"Never," Sephiroth growled lowly, his pitch dropping briefly into the deep baritone that he would possess as an adult. He was determined not to back down without a fight. It was not for Tifa and her freedom that he was fighting—no, not if he were honest—it was for his pride. Tifa's plea was but the spark that started the fire of argument, and by the gods he was not going to lose!

Both Turks seemed to balk at the authority in his voice and the fire in his eyes. He heard a soft groan from behind him, signaling Reno's regaining of consciousness. In a room with four Turks, he would lose a physical fight should one arise. It irked him, but it was the truth. However, if he could keep it a battle of wits and wills, then just maybe he could succeed. After all, he may no longer be a General but he still possessed the same strategic mind that made him a tactician to fear.

Valentine's right hand twitched, it was Sephiroth's only warning and the silver-haired teen knew it was time to hit the floor. In the same second that the Turk drew his weapon, in a flash of movement, Sephiroth dropped to the ground, narrowly avoiding the shot that followed. There was something strange in Valentine's eyes. It wasn't bestial rage, no; rather it was calculated cunning layered over the typical parental concern.

Upon hearing a challenge, the Turk had answered. Likely the man wouldn't kill him, but if he was to prove a point, Valentine would stop just short of that. Strange how a man whom had never lain a hand upon his son before this day had slipped into the cold persona of his career. Heartless and ruthless, all in a split second.

Sephiroth stood quickly, ignoring the encumbrance that was the cast on his left arm. How he hated the thing…but now was not the time to consider the petty injury. Now was the time to prove a point. And it thrilled him!

Grinning, the silver-haired ex-General charged his supposed sire, finding grace in his clumsy form through the sheer influence of his mind. Just as he reached Valentine, his right arm outstretched as if to wrest his weapon away, a hand closed around his wrist. Sephiroth tried to pulling away, but Valentine was too fast and twisted the smaller male's arm around until his wrist rested at the curve of his back. Then he brushed the barrel of his pistol against Sephiroth's temple, cool steel kissing hot flesh.

"Don't push your luck," he murmured. "Challenging a Turk was a bad idea in the first place. Try not to force my hand, otherwise I will have no choice but to—"

His words were cut off as Sephiroth smashed the back of his head against Valentine's nose. Suddenly, the sound of a shot filled the air yet again, bringing with it deathly silence. The world held its breath for a brief moment…

Blood oozed from the gash along the silver warrior's jaw, the heat of the bullet like a brand in his memory. Both men stood very still, and breathed in short, shallow breaths. "There are games you aren't ready to play," Valentine muttered, lowering his gun and shoving Sephiroth away. "Don't you understand, foolish boy, that this is exactly why you need protection? You're in too deep."

Touching his wound, the silver-haired teen found his thoughts reeling. After convincing himself that he was better than everyone else, that he could play the same game he could when he was practically a God…he had failed. Not only had he failed, but he had humiliated himself and lost what little trust his so-called father had in him. What had he done? What was he thinking?

'Before I was a God, I was General. Before I was General, I was a hero…before I became a hero, I was nothing.' Sephiroth allowed his hand to drop away and an eerie, bitter bout of laughter bubbled in his chest. "You know nothing," he whispered, though his voice failed him. Whether he speaking to himself or to Valentine, no one, not even Sephiroth, knew. For the first time since his entrapment in this young, pathetic form, the warrior felt helpless. Truly and undeniably, helpless. Not weak or pathetic, but helpless. Never since leaving Hojo's "tender, loving care" did he feel this way.

Like a newborn kitten, blind and deaf.

Sephiroth backed away from the Turks until his shoulder hit the door to his bedroom door. Hesitantly, he knocked, ignoring the eyes upon him. When Tifa answered, timidly, he asked for entrance. Worried, she granted it, only to catch a glimpse of the prideful SOLDIER at his lowest. Blood streaked his pale face and stained his hair. His complexion had taken on an ashen hue, and brilliant eyes of green were almost gray.

Tifa reached out to touch him, but before she could, he collapsed.

Something was wrong…very wrong.

But sleep was so tempting…so warm and numbing. The girl's cries for help were drowned out by the haze of oblivion, and echoed like droplets of water in the heart of a labyrinth of caves.

000X000

Who am I? The question fills my mind like a gunshot. Loud, overbearing and it kept hitting again and again. Who am I? Who am I? Who. Am. I? Without Mother—no, Jenova—whispering in my ear, urging me to ascend into my rightful place amongst the stars…it is as if I am without purpose. The little hero, Cloud Strife, is no longer so small. He is no longer weak or pathetic…he is no longer a puppet.

He is the chosen now. And I the fledgling boy at the cusp of manhood. In essence, we are the same, he and I. But our fates, both physical and spiritual, have been altered. I can see it clearly now. But I do not wish to accept it.

I cannot accept it!

Yet…

"Sephiroth!" is all I have left my name? "Sephiroth, wake up. Please!" Is a name worth anything? Does it define me anymore? Am I worth anything without my name? Am I worth more without it? I wish…I wish I understood. I hate this confusion. I hate living this nightmare! Defying death may have been a blessing of my strong will, and my many travels through the Lifestream have granted me endless knowledge on the secrets of life itself, but this…this life I have no reason to live. I have no reason to endure.

I am nothing. I survived my destruction and outlasted that of my enemy, my foolish puppet and clone, to live a life that will never be mine. I do not belong here.

Then again, I've never belonged anywhere before.

"Gaia damnit, Snowflake, wake up or I'll kick your lily-white ass!"

Tifa…

000X000

Sephiroth thrashed as his sleep proved fitful and feverish.

Awaking to tangled sheets soaked in sweat was testament to his unconscious struggles. However, awake was a relative term. His world had taken on a strange, sepia tint and his head spun as if the Planet were wobbling upon her axis. Sephiroth found his limbs refusing to cooperate and his efforts to sit up exhausting.

He ceased his struggling upon hearing the opening of a door, and seeing something shift at the corner of his frame of vision.

"What are you doing in here? I told you to get out." it was Tifa, she must have been kneeling beside him for was now standing between him and whomever was attempting to come inside. Judging by her harsh tone, she was furious.

"He's my son," the intruder had the gall to say.

"What kind of father are you?" Tifa shouted,"Lucrecia said you were a good man. She said you weren't abusive to her or Sephiroth. She said you were never violent!"

There was a moment of silence, before Valentinue spoke up," I admit I am a poor father, but I never laid a hand on my wife. I never hurt her or my son. I love them both…dearly. I would do anything to protect them."

"You do not consider slapping then shooting your son as abuse? You call beating the shit out of him love? I bet you knocked around Lucrecia too, didn't you? I bet that's why she left!"

"ENOUGH! You know nothing of which you speak."

"I know what I've seen why own two eyes!"

"Lucrecia did not leave. I never hurt her...I never meant to harm Sephiroth…but…"

"Leave, you've done enough damage for today. Can't you see that?"

"I cannot leave. Sephiroth…he needs my help." Sephiroth heard shuffling and the clink of glass.

"What is that?"

"Medication. He occasionally has episodes like this and they're typically caused by stress. He won't wake up without it."

"Why?"

"A blood disorder. Both his red and white blood cells are malformed…not in such a way to be life threatening…or at least, that is what my wife told me when he was young."

"How does that stuff in your hand help?"

"It's infused with mako. In small amounts it can prove beneficial as a medicine."

"Isn't mako what they use to make electricity?"

"Electricity, weaponry, medicine…SOLDIERs."

"Is that why he wants to be a SOLDIER? Could the procedure cure him?"

"Cure him…or kill him." Valentine murmured," His body reacts well to mako. Almost too well. A sudden influx of mako into his system could cause irreparable harm, for his blood cells would reconfigure and mutate so quickly that…"

"Oh…"

"Do you understand now why I must protect him? I know that my earlier display was inexcusable, but I was desperate to save my son from himself. He…he is not the same boy I knew. Without his memories, he has become a stranger. And I am not Lucrecia…his mother was always better at reading him when he was having a fit of temper. I simply do not know how to react."

"I…I still haven't forgiven you for hurting him or for trying to force me to become a Turk."

"Your forgiveness is not expected, Miss Lockheart." was Valentine's wistful reply as he curtailed around the girl and came to Sephiroth's aid. Ruby eyes locked with those of green. The Turk frowned slightly and placed a cool hand against the side of the silver-haired teen's face. "How is it possible you are awake?" he whispered, but Sephiroth, despite his awareness, was unable to respond. Almost lovingly, the Turk cleaned the crook of the younger man's elbow with a sanitary wipe, before guiding a needle into a vein.

Watching as the steel disappearing into his skin, the contents of the syringe oozing into his body like liquid fire, Sephiroth recoiled inwardly, balking at the memories that were brought to the surface. He hated needles! He hated mako treatments. Having a system that perpetually produced and recycled the mako in his cells was what allowed him to avoid the routine booster shots that many SOLDIERs needed after their initial mako showers. However…he no longer possessed that body. This one was broken and needed mako shots much like a person with a food allergy needs epinephrine.

As the last of the medication entered his bloodstream, Sephiroth felt something within him surge and rush. It was a tidal wave within his body and it threatened to consume him. It…it was exhilarating. It was painful, but far from unbearably so, and as the wave coursed through him, the ex-General found his heart begin to race and oxygen flooded his lungs as he gulped down gallons of air.

He knew the symptoms well, for he had watched many a SOLDIER be initiated into the ranks, even though he never experienced them before himself.

Vertigo, vomiting, paranoia and a whole splurge of other symptoms arose with the transformation from human into monster. Alongside the bad came a sudden spike of uncontrollable strength, heightened senses and increased cardiac and respiratory response. However, as soon as he felt swallowed up by the swirling vortex of adrenaline and mako, it spat him out…abandoning him.

Sephiroth blinked and did his best to breathe in slow, even breaths.

"Sephiroth," Valentine murmured and as their eyes met, the ex-General saw a genuine glint of love and worry in ruby-colored eyes. The man was watching him as he would his son. The son he had lost and would never have again. The son they both knew that Sephiroth could never be. "Are you well?" 'Do you forgive me?' he asked silently.

Lifting up a trembling arm in an attempt to clutch Valentine's suit jacket, his fingers refusing to cooperate, the silver-haired teen gave his response, "Your secret keeping could have been the death of me."

A hitch of breath was the only evidence of his being affected by Sephiroth's remark, "That is not what I asked. Are you well?"

"I want the truth, Vincent . No more secrets."

Silence drew between them for a heartbeat and then, "…Secrets are a part of my being a Turk, Sephiroth." He reached up and curled his hand around Sephiroth's wrist and applied pressure in what was presumably a comforting fashion. "Secrets are what keep you safe and alive."

With a frown, the ex-General pulled his hand away and turned towards the wall. He could feel Valentine's eyes against his back. His rebuff hurt the older male, he knew it, but he could not find the energy to care. All Sephiroth wanted now was to sleep and forget this nightmare.

All he wanted was to wake up.

000X000

"Where's Tifa?"

"Miss Lockheart is with her father."

Green met crimson and the two men watched each other warily. The last Sephiroth had seen of the simpering girl were mere glimpses of movement as she attempted to drive Valentine from the room. Neither had offered a proper goodbye and for some reason it was bugging him. Not that he would admit it to his supposed sire…or himself.

Three days had passed since the incident in which they met. Three days since they said hello. Three days since he learned tidbits about his alternate self's life…Three days since the minimal trust between he and Valentine was broken in a burst of gunfire.

"You released her?"

"We granted her time to think. After all, she would make a fine Turk."

Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, "How so?"

"Miss Lockheart is remarkably intelligent and skilled."

"Those qualities are not what make a Turk…" he looked pointedly away, his features hardening into a frown, "Experiences in the brutalities of life are what makes a Turk. She is but a child from a backwater village…"

"She has…potential."

"Leave her alone, Vincent."

"Why should I?" it was the closest the gunman had ever come to posing a challenge. The tension in the air thickened immediately, making it hard to breathe.

"What do you want from me?" Sephiroth found himself asking, reluctantly aware of his defeat. How he hated this body. How he hated this life. He hated everything! Why couldn't he have died alongside the little hero? Why did he have to endure, purposeless? His ever pressing desire to kill Strife was at an all-time low, it was as if the flame of his grand transcendent destiny that once gave him guidance had sputtered out.

"What I wish is for you to trust me, Sephiroth. I want you to stop this foolishness and give up SOLDIER. I want you to at least make an attempt to remember who you were."

"When did you become so talkative?"

"When did you become so foolish?"

"Leave me be."

"She's just a girl."

"Pardon?" Sephiroth glanced over his shoulder.

Valentine was toying with a pistol, taking it apart and putting back together again in a nervous fashion. "Miss Lockheart, she is just a girl. What does she mean to you? What makes her worth risking your freedom and life?"

The ex-General grunted and walked away, closing his bedroom door in order to put a barrier between him and Valentine. However, that did not mean he was unaffected by the Turk's question. Tifa…she was just a girl. A girl whose well-being he cared less about than the condition of his hair. She was a pathetic, cowardly fool who was hopelessly in love with an ideal. She wanted a hero to come to her rescue. She wanted him to be that hero.

Yet Sephiroth could not bring himself to hate her as she had once hated him.

So what did she mean to him?

The answer came quietly and without a flash or a bang.

"She is my past."

-tbc-

A/N: (And the plot thickens. Will Sephiroth become a SOLDIER? Will Tifa become a Turk (this seems to be a very unpopular idea for some reason and I find I honestly find the fact rather amusing)? Where IS Lucrecia?

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