Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Plot Synopsis: SephirothxKuja, my two favorite Final Fantasy villains brought together. Beyond that. . .I'll let you know =)
Author's Note: This chapter: More Sephiroth, more Kuja (oh, yeah!), and a little verbal bonding. Beta'd once again by the incomparable Littlehouseinthewoods (of course). I thank you in advance for any reviews I might (or might not) receive. They are always appreciated. Now, on with the show!
Final Fantasy: Final Requiem
Chapter 5
Kuja wrapped his arms around himself tightly, thoroughly miserable as he trudged through an endless expanse of deep white snow. He kept his head bowed in an ineffectual attempt to fight the arctic wind that tore at his hair and clothes, but the ice-crystals forming in his moisture-saturated hair made a mockery of his efforts. Luckily, he could no longer feel the sharpened stings of the wind-driven show—his body had gone numb some time ago. He had tucked his kilt into his boots at one point, hoping to at least partially preserve his body heat, but as it was soaked and half-frozen, it hadn't done much to help. All he could do was continue forward and force his increasingly uncoordinated body to move, so that his determined, oblivious companion wouldn't accidentally leave him behind.
He squinted at his angel's back, a silver-and-black blur all but concealed by the blizzard raging around them, and scowled darkly. He wasn't having any problems, of course. Sephiroth didn't even seem to notice the foul weather as he moved steadily—confidently—through the field of snow and ice. He never once glanced back at Kuja to check on his condition, and Kuja wasn't sure if he should be insulted or not by the man's apparent lack of concern. Sephiroth obviously thought that he could handle himself—and in any normal situation, he could!—but he had never before spent an extended period of time in a cold region. His natural defenses were considerable—certainly greater than any mere human's—but it was quickly becoming obvious that he had not been created with such an inhospitable climate in mind.
He'd thought that nothing could be worse than Gaea's Cliff, and the winding, ice-covered, labyrinthine caverns they had traveled through upon leaving the Northern Crater. They had met a large number of monsters in each, and once again, Sephiroth had denied him the opportunity to fight. The other man had simply cut through whatever dropped into their path, leaving Kuja feeling useless, and ultimately superfluous.
Kuja was the first to admit that he wasn't used to following another's lead. He had played the part of the fawning toady for Queen Brahne, but it was not his natural temperament, and a part of him resented Sephiroth for forcing him into the role of the helpless canary. He'd known from their first brief, bizarre verbal exchange that his angel was a naturally dominant man, but he hadn't realized just how badly the other man's heavy-handed behavior would chafe his own rebellious soul.
Of course, it hadn't helped that Sephiroth hadn't spoken to him since leaving the caves. He'd tried several times to initiate conversation, only to be ignored by his taciturn companion. Not even when he'd pointed to a lone, two-story cabin at the base of the cliff and suggested that they stop for supplies had his angel responded. Sephiroth had merely grunted and passed it by, striding calmly into the heart of the raging snowstorm, and now Kuja was on the verge of hypothermia as a result.
But he absolutely refused to draw Sephiroth's attention to the fact. It would take more than a little snow to kill him, and while he was most assuredly not enjoying this little adventure, he was smart enough to keep his complaints to himself. His angel was a warrior, a man who valued strength, both in himself and in others, above all else. If Kuja revealed his weakness—could an aversion to extreme temperatures really be considered weak?—he might lose the other man's respect. That was a chance that he simply wasn't willing to take. He would keep up with Sephiroth if it killed him, and he'd be damned if he'd snivel like a spoiled child while he did it!
As though in defiance of his own thoughts, Kuja stumbled and fell. He found himself lying face down in the icy drift, covered from head to toe in more of the hated snow. He mumbled angrily under his breath as he sought to right himself, hoping that Sephiroth hadn't noticed his embarrassing little faux pas, when he was unceremoniously hauled to his feet. He swayed weakly, reaching out to grasp onto his lifeline, and felt the sensation of strong hands gripping his shoulders. He cringed then, knowing that his angel had seen everything, and that he had been well and truly caught.
He raised his head slowly, blinking as more snow fell from his lashes to obscure his vision, and was presented with an angelically beautiful, positively irate angel. "I don't know what's wrong with me," he muttered, ashamed of his own weakness, and angry that he was forced to admit to having one. "It must be the cold. I'm really not used to it. . ."
Sephiroth gazed down at him with blazing emerald eyes, his patrician features taut with worry as he took in the alarming blue tinge that rimmed the younger man's lips. "Why didn't you say something?" he demanded, concern making his voice unintentionally harsh. "I would have stopped if you had."
Kuja's slender, gently-rounded chin shot up in a defiant gesture. "I'm strong. I can keep up," he insisted obstinately, forcing himself to release his death-grip on the other man's coat. "See? It's only a little snow, angel. Nothing I can't handle."
Sephiroth uttered a fierce curse as the smaller man immediately sagged in his hold, his body unable to support itself in its fatigued condition. He hastily pulled Kuja to him, holding him awkwardly with one hand, while unfastening the buckle that held his trench coat closed with the other. "Give me your hands," he ordered, grabbing one icy appendage and thrusting it into his coat. "Both hands, Kuja."
Kuja scowled but did as he was told, barely feeling the other man's body beneath his frozen hands, only registering a faint, vague sensation of heat. "You're warm, aren't you?" he murmured, shifting even closer as his eyes slid closed. "You don't even feel the cold."
"I feel it," Sephiroth muttered grimly, wasting no more time on talk. He hurriedly unfastened the heavy metal pauldrons that adorned his duster, dropping them to the snow-covered ground and stripping the leather coat from his shoulders and arms. He felt Kuja's slim, wet body begin to slump against his own and hastily jerked the smaller man upright. "No, Kuja, don't go to sleep. You have to stay awake right now."
Kuja uttered a deep, groaning sigh and struggled to open his too-heavy eyes. "I'm strong, but I am getting tired, angel."
"I know you are, but you can't sleep yet." Sephiroth watched with alarm as an utterly charming pout form on the other man's lips, but he knew that Kuja was close to succumbing to hypothermia when his eyes remained tightly closed. "Open your eyes, Kuja—open them right now."
The stern command brought a fierce scowl to Kuja's delicate, unusual features, but his eyes snapped opened, which was exactly what Sephiroth had intended. He reached around the smaller man and set his trademark black trench coat over those slender shoulders. It took a few minutes to tuck Kuja's hands into the sleeves and settle the duster properly over the pauldrons of his own tunic, but finally it was done. Sephiroth fastened all seven buckles that ran along its front, so that Kuja was covered from just below his knees to top of his hips. He couldn't do much for the other man's bare mid-section, but at least he was properly covered now.
He tightened his hold on Kuja's shoulders and closed his own eyes, concentrating as he willingly—sanely—used the gifts that Mother's cells had bestowed upon for the very first time. He could feel the darkness rising up inside him, the clamor of his body as its cells responded to the call for Reunion, as he drew on the alien power within him. Mother felt him, of course, but she was too weak from her recent defeat to do battle with him. A faint hissing sound came to his ears, accompanied by the faint scent of mako and other, and he knew that his will had finally overridden Jenova's own.
He felt the comforting smoothness of leather as his long coat formed around him, the comforting weight of his pauldrons as they enveloped his shoulders, and smiled to himself. This was one of the few abilities he had gained after his "death" that he didn't mind using. It was very convenient to be able to conjure clothing out of thin air, even if it was only his old 1st Class uniform. He had always preferred himself in leather, and Genesis had always declared that the contrast of his beyond-pale skin, silver hair, and deep black clothing was stunning. The appreciative gasp he heard now told him that the effect was not lost on Kuja, either.
"That was incredible, angel. How did you do that?"
He opened his eyes to find the other man smiling up at him, admiration shining from the depths of his brilliant, unfocused blue eyes, and felt his own smile fade. Kuja was swaying unsteadily in his grasp, Sephiroth's hands the only thing keeping him upright, and he sighed heavily. Even though he was no longer shirtless, he could feel the difference in temperature in a way that he hadn't before. His core body temperature was dropping at an alarmingly rapid rate, due to his skin absorbing the chilled moisture from countless flakes of snow, and the effect was only compounded by the brisk wind which blew from the east. He could only imagine how worse it was for Kuja, whose scanty clothing revealed far more skin than it concealed, and cursed himself for not having noticed his companion's deteriorating condition sooner.
He hadn't wanted to stop when Kuja suggested it, determined to keep himself—feared and hated as he was—out of the public eye. He had assumed—arrogantly—that because Kuja was a clone of him, he could take the low temperatures and grueling pace he had set. So confident had he been in that belief that he hadn't once bothered to turn around and assess Kuja's condition. Not even when Kuja had abandoned gliding in favor of walking almost two hours ago had he inquired after his health. He had heard the other man stomping along behind him and simply assumed that he could keep up.
Sephiroth sighed but didn't speak as he carefully lifted the younger man into his arms. Kuja looped his arms around his neck and offered a dreamy smile, and he winced guiltily. "This is nice, angel," the younger man said in a faint, slurred voice. "The circumstances are less than ideal, but still. . ."
His voice trailed off as he turned his face into Sephiroth's neck, nuzzling him with an ice-cold nose, and Sephiroth gave him a careful squeeze in response. "I'll find a place to make camp," he said, his voice little more than a murmur as he started forward. "You'll be able to sleep, then. Just stay awake a little while longer."
"Oh, if I must." Those pale blue eyes, normally so vibrant and clear, were dull with fatigue as he tipped his head back just enough to gaze at Sephiroth's profile. "You're not angry with me for lagging behind, are you?"
Sephiroth choked back another curse and managed a tight smile for the exhausted young man. "No, I'm not angry with you, Kuja."
"You'd better not be," Kuja grumbled crossly as he lowered his head once more. "I really did try to keep up with you. I've just never been in a place this damned cold before."
Again, Sephiroth found himself wondering how Kuja, so scantily—if attractively—clad, had made his way to the Northern Crater without freezing to death. "You did well," Sephiroth he told him, forcing himself to set his questions aside. There would be time enough to voice them later, once Kuja had recovered from his carelessness. "The fault lies with me for not checking on you sooner. It won't happen again, I promise you."
"Oh, angel, I know that you would never intentionally hurt me." Kuja smoothed his cheek against the bare skin of his angel's face, frowning faintly as his tender skin began to sting. He knew it was a good sign, because it meant that his circulation was returning, but it hurt like hell! "Gaia, but you're warm. Why didn't you freeze without your coat?"
"My body is highly resistant to most kinds of damage," Sephiroth replied absently, his eyes narrowing as he spotted what appeared to be a small cluster of trees up ahead. He tightened his hold on Kuja and strode determinedly towards it. "I believe I've found a potential campsite, Kuja. Once I've cleared the area of snow, I'll gather some wood and start a fire. We'll rest there until you've regained your strength."
Kuja tightened his hold on Sephiroth's neck and lifted his head just enough to see the spot he had chosen. The copse of trees was small, and more of the hated snow had piled up against beneath their stick-like limbs. "How are you going to clear it?" he asked curiously. "I highly doubt that impressive sword of yours doubles as a shovel."
"Not hardly," Sephiroth returned with a touch dryness. "A simple Fire spell will be sufficient, I should think."
"And leave the ground covered in ash and soot? I think not." Kuja snorted in a pale imitation of his usual liveliness and lifted one delicate hand, waving it rather dramatically in the general direction of the trees. "Allow me to take care of it, angel."
Much to Sephiroth's astonishment, several small orbs of purplish-black light appeared, descending upon the small coppice and circling the trees in an oddly beautiful display. They took on a telling red- gold glow as they grew in size, pulsing in time with whatever force had conjured them, before exploding in a radiant flash of pure white flame. The ground beneath the trees was not only free of snow and ice, but dry and clean, as well.
"There, that should do it." Kuja smiled, inordinately pleased with himself, as he curled his hand around Sephiroth's neck once more. "There will be no sleeping in filth for us."
Sephiroth gazed down at his beautiful, undeniably unusual companion, who was smiling just a bit smugly as he lay curled up against him, and shook his head in stunned disbelief. Kuja had just cast one of the most powerful, devastating magic spells on The Planet, and he had done it without Sephiroth sensing the presence of materia, or uttering the incantations necessary to cast it. Magic materia gave off a very specific sort of energy to those sensitive to it, and Sephiroth had always been able to detect it. But even now, as his gaze moved with hidden hunger over the smaller man's form, he could sense nothing that would indicate that Kuja was—or ever had been—in possession of materia.
The conclusion he reached was one he could hardly credit, but was unable to deny as he had witnessed the truth of it with his own eyes. "You're a natural mage," he breathed, not even attempting to conceal his surprise—or his wonder. "I wouldn't have believed it possible."
"Why so surprised, angel?" Kuja uttered a haughty—albeit tired—laugh. "Just because I wield magic and not a giant sword doesn't mean that I can't defend myself."
Well, it certainly explained the lack of weaponry, Sephiroth thought with a shake of his head. Aloud, he merely said, "I truly didn't think such a thing was possible, not without pure Cetran blood. Hojo truly has outdone himself with you."
"That, again?" Kuja said with a long-suffering sigh. "Who is this Hojo you keep babbling about, and what is a Cetran?"
Sephiroth frowned down at him, wondering if he was deliberately being obtuse, or if he truly did not know. "Professor Hojo is the scientist who created us," he explained slowly. "He was an inexperienced man assigned to take over the work of a great scientist, Professor Gast Faremis."
He smiled faintly, though the gesture was tinged with sorrow. He had liked Professor Gast, trusted him, until the day the old man had deserted Shinra with Hojo's prize specimen—the Ancient Ilfalna. "Gast was the man originally responsible for unearthing Jenova," he said in belated explanation, "whom he mistakenly believed to be an Ancient—one of the Cetra."
At Kuja's blank look, the frown deepened, giving Sephiroth's face a severe look. "He's one of the scientists who first discovered Mother, Kuja."
Kuja shivered at the thought of her, that powerful, disturbing female demon that his angel called "Mother". "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not related to that-that blue-skinned creature I saw in the crater," he said with a moue of disgust. "Your Hojo didn't create me. A crazy old Terran named Garland did."
Sephiroth's lips thinned at the description of Jenova, even as he was forced to admit that it was apt. "I've never heard that name before," he mused thoughtfully. "Perhaps, he was one of the scientists hired by Shinra after my. . .after I left."
"Highly doubtful," Kuja told him drolly. "Garland was a geneticist, but he was created by the Terrans to save their planet. I don't know how many souls they sacrificed to give him the knowledge he needed, but the old bastard was truly brilliant. I mean," he shrugged and made a languid gesture towards his own slender, leather-wrapped form, "he made me, didn't he?"
No modesty there, Sephiroth thought, reluctantly amused as he was reminded of another time, and another beautiful, overconfident man. He shook his head, as though the physical action would dispel thoughts of Genesis Rhapsodos, and focused on the slight young man in his arms. "You said 'their planet'?" he queried as his frown deepened. "Exactly what do you mean by that?"
Kuja shrugged and tucked his icy fingers under the duster's surprisingly warm sleeves. "I suppose I should call it my planet as well, but as I spent most of my formative years gathering souls on Gaia, Terra truly didn't seem like home to me."
Two fine silver brows shot up in an expression of incredulity as Sephiroth stopped dead in his tracks. "Are you trying to tell me that you're from another world, Kuja?"
That stubborn little chin came up even as lovely young mage smiled beguilingly. "That is precisely what I'm telling you, angel."
Sephiroth didn't even attempt to hide his disbelief, and was chagrined when Kuja reached up and patted his cheek condescendingly. "It's all right, Sephiroth. Once I explain it all to you, you'll understand."
He snorted quietly and walked the last few feet to the copse that would serve as their shelter. "You can explain it to me later," he said, bending to set the smaller man carefully on the ground. "Right now, I want you to remain here while I gather tinder for the fire. Understood?"
"Hhhhmmmppphhh." Kuja tossed his wet hair and scooted back until his back touched one of the trees. "Go on, do your thing," he said, shooing the larger man away with a graceful hand. "I'm not going anywhere until I'm good and warm!"
Sephiroth grunted and turned away, and Kuja barely refrained from rolling his eyes. His angel might be beautiful and powerful, but he had the manners of an oglop! Luckily, that had more to do with upbringing than with natural temperament, and could be changed with a little work. It was a challenge Kuja looked forward to.
He shivered and pulled the leather greatcoat more tightly around himself, leaning back against the tree as he strove to keep warm. His bright blue eyes never left Sephiroth as the other moved to the smallest of the trees, traveling over the lean, muscled length of his body with sensual appreciation.
The man truly was magnificent, Kuja thought with admiration. Tall, slender, and visually striking, his exotic, catlike green gleamed with intelligence. His angelic face was perfectly symmetrical, bearing not even the slightest flaw, from his straight patrician nose to his sensually-formed bow lips. Even that stunning waterfall of glossy silver satin that he called hair was perfect, arching high over his face in a striking manner, while spilling over his slender body in sublime accompaniment. Kuja already knew how it felt in hands, and he could well imagine the way it would feel on his skin. It would be like the finest silk, soft and strong and ever so sensual, and it would flow over them until they covered them both like a living blanket.
Kuja shivered as his body responded in a most enthusiastic way, and was chagrined to realize that his circulation had more than returned. His natural healing abilities were already compensating for the lack of warmth, and all it had taken was a few minutes in his angel's arms to accomplish it. He shouldn't be so surprised, he knew. Sephiroth had fabricated clothing out of thin air, which was a truly astonishing ability, even if the thin black mist that had materialized with it had been less than appealing. Kuja had to admit that he was surprised—and pleased—to realize just how powerful his angel really was. The man was nothing short of godlike, and Kuja knew that he truly was the man for him.
Of course, he still had to convince Sephiroth of that, but he wasn't too worried about that. He could see the attraction in his angel's eyes whenever he looked at him, the raw lust that always seemed to be mixed with that dry wit he possessed, and Kuja was experienced enough to know that he wasn't imagining it. Sephiroth wanted him—badly. It was simply up to Kuja to make him realize that it was all right to act on that desire.
As he'd told Sephiroth, the circumstances were less than ideal now, but they wouldn't always be so. As soon as they came across a proper inn or hostel, he was going to insist that they stop. He had plenty of gil in his purse, so there was no reason for them to freeze their asses off in the middle of a blizzard, thank you very much! He would pay for the room himself, and he would spend as much time as possible showing his angel exactly how much he appreciated him.
He still had to convince Sephiroth that he wasn't one of his. . .whatever the hell Sephiroth believed him to be, another obstacle that Kuja was confident he would overcome. The other man hadn't believed him when he told him he was from another world, but after discovering that his angel didn't remember their first meeting, he couldn't be too insulted. Whatever his angel's demon-bitch mother had done to him, it had obviously affected his memory, and it was up to Kuja to refresh it for him.
A faint whining sound, followed by a solid whack caught his attention, and Kuja realized that he had nearly dozed off while fantasizing about his new companion. He frowned and forced himself out of his slump, sitting upright and focusing his attention on the other man. His body was healing the damage done by the weather, but it hadn't fully recovered, and he couldn't afford to sleep until it had. He was not going to die out here in the middle of nowhere!
He watched as Sephiroth raised that impressively oversized katana of his, angled it to the left, and simply cut through the nearest tree. Another lay on the ground at his feet, and as Kuja snapped his shock-widened mouth closed, he had to admit that he was stunned. He'd known that his angel was powerful, but the man had just cut through a rather large tree in one uninterrupted slice, something that no man on Gaia—or Terra, for that matter—could have done. Gaia, but he was more than impressive, and Kuja couldn't wait for the day that he finally got him into bed, and all that strength was unleashed in other, more pleasant ways. It was going to make all of this unpleasantness seem trivial—and well worth it—in the end. Of that, he was certain.
It wasn't long before Sephiroth had cut the tree into a rather large cluster of wooden logs. The wood was still slightly damp—the Flare spell was powerful, but not perfect—but Kuja didn't doubt that his companion would have it roaring to life in short order. Sephiroth was revealing himself to be particularly efficient, and very well-versed in the "art" of camping outdoors. It was a skill that Kuja had never bothered to learn, simply because he hadn't needed to. He had been raised in a small but sophisticated village, and had spent more than half of his life traveling from one grand city to the next. What need had he for the great outdoors?
Well, that had come back to bite him in the ass, Kuja thought self-deprecatingly. Still, it was nice of Sephiroth to take care of him like this, especially since he knew that he was being a burden. He would make up to his angel later, of course, but he was only grateful that Sephiroth didn't seem to mind his little physical lapse. In fact, if Kuja wasn't mistaken, he seemed to have blamed himself for not stopping sooner.
Imagine that, Kuja thought with a smile. His strong, perfect angel, taking the blame for Kuja's own blunder. Sephiroth must like him to do something like that for him.
He watched as Sephiroth stacked the wood in an odd criss-cross pattern, until it resembled nothing less than a tiny log cabin. He wondered what the other man would use to actually light the blaze, and was surprised to hear that deep, velvety voice murmur a rhythmic cadence that any sorcerer worthy of the name would recognize. He himself had never actually needed to speak to cast magic, but he was the only being he had ever encountered with that extraordinary ability. Sephiroth, for all of his strength, power, and utter uniqueness, was actually very ordinary in that respect.
A green glow began to emanate around Sephiroth's right arm, and Kuja tensed with anticipation as the air around him became heavy, dense. He had always loved casting, the way the magic flowed through his veins as though apart of him, the exhilaration that washed over him when a spell reached its fruition. As the unmistakable taste of that magic drifted towards him on the roaring, icy wind, he shivered delicately and closed his eyes, and let the spell's power simply flow over him.
"Beautiful," he murmured breathlessly.
A low crackling sound came to him then, and Kuja opened his eyes to see a small orb of brilliant red-gold flames dancing in the other man's hand. An elemental Fire spell, and a low-level one, if he wasn't mistaken. Sephiroth lifted his hand and threw the fireball at the stacked wood, and the timber was instantly engulfed in flames.
Kuja waited until the fire was burning at a steady, predictable pace—after all, there was no reason to chance singing himself—and tried to rise. He cursed as Sephiroth's great coat—the original one—seemed to wrap itself around his legs, hampering his movements as it brought him crashing back down to the ground. He scowled darkly and reached down to untangle it, only to have his hands batted away by bigger, stronger ones. Those large hands with their long, graceful fingers slid under him, and he was lifted off the ground as though he weighed nothing.
Kuja pouted, embarrassed by his lack of coordination—he was normally the epitome of grace—as he was tucked against a strong, warm, leather-clad chest. "I'm not helpless, you know," he grumbled in protest, crossing his arms to make his displeasure known. "Your coat is too big for me, that's all."
"I never said that you were," Sephiroth returned, his voice taking on a dry cast as he added, "We are sharing body heat. Is this not what you wanted?"
Kuja harrumphed and looked pointedly away, and Sephiroth's deep voice boomed out in genuine laughter. "Don't stick that delicate little nose too high into the air, Kuja," he told him teasingly. "I would hate for it to freeze, again."
The younger man shot him a truly venomous look, his diamond-blue eyes flashing with ire, and Sephiroth couldn't suppress another laugh. "Don't worry, little monkey," he murmured humorously as he lowered them both to the ground. "You'll be warm soon enough."
Sephiroth settled the disgruntled young mage onto his lap before the fire, holding him in a tight, protective embrace. He waited until Kuja sighed and relaxed against him to speak again. "Don't go to sleep, yet," he told him firmly. "I still have a few questions I'd like answered."
"Hhhmmm." Kuja yawned hugely and forced his eyes open, shifting just enough to gaze sleepily into the fire. "Where would you like me to start, angel?"
"Start with your. . .world," Sephiroth answered quietly, determined to keep him awake until his body had recovered enough for him to sleep without dying. "You called it Terra?"
That gilded head with its two-toned feather tickled his cheek as Kuja nodded an affirmative. "I was born—created—in Garland's laboratory, in a small—but very sophisticated!—village named Bran Bel. I spent most of my life in my desert palace on Gaia, but that's a story for another day," he said dismissively. "What I know of Terra is what little I remember from the old man's rants, but I can give you the gist of it, I believe."
Kuja frowned delicately as he searched his memory, wishing that he'd paid more attention to the old man's lessons than he had. "The Terrans were a highly advanced civilization," he recited by rote, "well-versed in the art of magic, unparalleled in their use of its power. Until the planet began to decay, that is. The vegetation began to die out, and with their environment fading, so did the planet's animal life. The Terrans were desperate to preserve their culture, so they constructed the Oeilvert as a visual record of their history."
"But, of course, that wasn't enough," Kuja continued with a tired wave of his hand. "They had another plan, one that would save not on only the planet, but the Terrans themselves. Towards that goal, they chose the best and brightest of their scientific minds and sacrificed their souls to create the planet's savior: Garland."
His lips curled with disdain at the thought of crazy old Garland as anybody's savior, a gesture which didn't go unnoticed by the man who held him. "And this Garland was the scientist who created you?" Sephiroth prompted calmly.
"Yes," Kuja muttered absently, lost in memories that were best forgotten. The arms around him tightened, and he was grateful as the pressure brought back to the present. "Forgive me, angel. My memories of Garland are. . .less than pleasant, I'm afraid."
"I can imagine," Sephiroth murmured with sympathy. His own memories of a childhood spent in Hojo's care were nightmarish, at best. "Finish your tale, little monkey. I find it quite. . . intriguing."
Sephiroth was very careful to keep his voice neutral but welcoming, but Kuja detected his skepticism all the same. He had to remind himself that his angel didn't remember their first meeting, memories which would go a long way towards helping him right now. So, he would explain, as he had promised, and he would find a way to make Sephiroth believe him.
He shifted and slowly—reluctantly—slid out of his angel's lap. He turned his back to the fire, shivering slightly as he faced the man he had forsaken purgatory for. "The Terrans had a plan," he explained, his delicate, sensual features taking on an urgency that Sephiroth didn't understand. "They had perfected the magical art of Fusion, which would grant them—and the planet—eternal life, and they tried to use it to assimilate Gaia."
"Assimilate another planet?" Sephiroth asked, frowning fiercely at the very thought of it. "How is that possible? All living things must return to The Planet upon their deaths. Occasionally, there are exceptions," he grimaced here, for he was one of those exceptions, "but Fate has a way of setting things to right. Death is unavoidable, Kuja."
"Not for them," the sorcerer argued, "at least, not at first. Their civilization had done it before, in centuries past. But Fusion was only used as a last result, when Terra's Crystal grew weak and could no longer support the souls it had been created to recycle. They would seek out a newer, younger planet and assimilate it, and their souls would circulate through the new world's crystal to complete the process."
"Only this time, something went wrong." Kuja frowned to himself even as he shook his silver head. "I don't know what. It wasn't something Garland liked to talk about. All I know is that Fusion failed, and that's how Oeilvert ended up on Gaia instead of Terra, and that was a good five-thousand years before my time."
Sephiroth sent him a blatantly skeptical look at that. "Are you trying to tell me that this Garland was five-thousand years old?"
The young mage looked extraordinarily pleased as he nodded positively. "I told you he was a crazy old man, didn't I?" he questioned rhetorically. "It took him another two-thousand years to come up with a solution though, another way to gather the souls needed to restore Terra. War was the answer, you see. War would provide the souls that would feed Gaia's Crystal, but first he needed to find a way to create that war."
"He called them Genomes," Kuja said, a faint expression of disgust flitting across his face. "They were hollow constructs, created to house the souls of Garland's creators, humanoid in all ways but one."
He grimaced again, and Sephiroth wondered what that one difference was, to cause such revulsion in a seemingly tolerant man. "There were thousands of them, angel, mindless puppets all. There were uniform beings, born without souls, empty vessels created to hold the souls of others. Then, he made me."
Kuja smiled arrogantly and leaned forward, setting delicate, violet-tipped hands on Sephiroth's knees. "I was the first Genome with his own mind, his own will," he stated with pride. "I was his Angel of Death, his reaper of souls, a being of unparalleled beauty and power."
Sephiroth was disturbed by the parallels between Kuja's tale and his own, but even more so by the sudden darkness which flashed through those diamond-bright eyes. "I served him loyally, from the day I was awakened, and he had the nerve to create another to replace me."
"To replace me," Kuja repeated in a hiss, the memory of it enough to incense him even now. "I was too powerful, he said, too unpredictable to be a proper Angel of Death. Once Zidane came of age, I was expected to sacrifice the soul that I'd been given so that he would flourish. I was to be shunted aside, like so much trash, after all I had done for him?"
Sephiroth winced inwardly and reached down to pull the outraged young man back into his arms. Kuja went to him willingly, curling up against him with a shudder, and Sephiroth held him as close as he dared. He didn't know how much of Kuja's tale he actually believed, but he couldn't deny the angry hurt that had darkened the pale blue skies of the younger man's eyes. And while he hadn't known Kuja long, their brief association was enough that he could imagine how badly Garland's betrayal had hurt him. It had been the same for him, when Hojo had casually—vindictively—informed him that he was his father, and that his birth had stolen his mother's life. He had been devastated, and it was obvious that Kuja had been, as well.
He ran a hand over the moon-bright fall of the younger man's hair, and was relieved when delicate hands crept up the front of his jacket to wind around his neck in return. "There is nothing worse than an unappreciative parent," he told him in a deep, quiet voice. "The lack lies not with you, Kuja, but with him for his inability to appreciate you."
"You think I don't know that?" Kuja's voice, normally so fluid and melodic, rose up shrilly. He tried to pull away, only to find himself trapped by strong, inescapable arms. "Don't you dare feel sorry for me! I am no hothouse flower that wilts at the first signs of harsh weather. I am a destroyer of worlds, an Angel of Death. I need no man's pity, especially not yours."
The rapid shift in mood was not entirely unexpected, and once again, it echoed another time, and the behavior of another mercurial man. "Touchy little thing, aren't you?" Sephiroth muttered under his breath.
Unfortunately, Kuja heard him, which became obvious as he made an inarticulate sound of outrage and began to struggle in earnest. Sephiroth merely sighed and shifted his hold, wrapping arms more firmly about the squirming young man. "Kuja, enough!" he growled with exasperation. "I meant no disrespect. I know what it is like to be scorned by a parent. I was merely trying to convey my empathy for what you have been through. Nothing more."
The lithe young man stilled against him, and Sephiroth knew that he was considering his words, likely replaying them in his mind as he searched for any hints of dishonesty. Much like the man he reminded Sephiroth so strongly of, Kuja wasn't one to take anything at face value. Genesis' distrust had stemmed from deep insecurities, formed during an unhappy childhood, and Sephiroth was quickly coming to suspect that Kuja was the same. So, he would do as he had in the past, and offer a piece of himself that would convince the other man of his sincerity. Perhaps, it would ease a portion of his pain, as well.
"When I was eight years old, I worked up the courage to ask Hojo about my parents," he said in a voice so low that it was nearly inaudible. "His response was. . .disappointing."
Images flashed through Sephiroth's mind, crystal-clear in their clarity, the gift—or curse—of having an eidetic memory. Hojo standing over him, the harsh overhead lights reflecting off of the lenses of his glasses, obscuring the dark eyes that Sephiroth had known were narrowed with scorn. He didn't like it when Sephiroth asked questions, especially those of a personal nature, and his response had been equally scornful.
"Your mother's name was Jenova. She's dead. She died giving birth to you."
"And my father?"
"Why me, of course. Why so disappointed, Sephiroth? You didn't really think that you had parents out there in the word searching for you, did you?"
Kuja gazed up at him in an agony of suspense, breathless as he waited for Sephiroth to continue, his natural curiosity more than piqued by what he'd already suspected was a similar childhood—if one could call his own formative years that. Those beautiful, angelic features were drawn, that shimmering emerald gaze turned inward as he focused on something only he could see, and Kuja's heart went out to him. He lifted a hand to Sephiroth's face and very gently trailed his fingertips over the other man's cheek. Those catlike eyes sharpened as he came back to himself, focusing on Kuja with an intensity that had his heart pounding in his chest.
"Don't think about it," Kuja told him in a soft, albeit unsteady, voice. "As you said, the lack lies not with us, but with our fathers' inability to appreciate us. We are more than the marionettes they tried to make of us. We are powerful men, angel, men who control our own destinies. Their opinions are of no consequence."
Sephiroth's eyes flickered indecipherably even as one corner of his mouth inched up in a small, nearly non-existent smile. "And here I was hoping to comfort you," he murmured in a quietly humorous voice.
"Which you did quite well," Kuja assured him, smiling brightly as he combed his fingers through the silvery fall of his angel's hair. " And while I do tend to carry on at times, calling me a 'touchy little thing' was completely unnecessary. Might I assume that an apology is coming forthwith?"
The smile deepened until was little more than an amused smirk. "My apologies," mako-green eyes glinted down at him, "little monkey."
Kuja harrumphed, but the sound was ruined as his own amusement spilled over. "Oh, I do like you, angel," he said laughingly. "There is something very refreshing about your lack of decorum, oglops aside."
Sephiroth uttered a chuckle of his own, squeezing the other man lightly, even as he wondered what the hell an oglop was. "Decorum is the least of my concerns, at the moment." He eased Kuja off of his lap, ignoring the younger man's indignant, "What the hell was that for?" and rose to his feet. "I'll find us something to eat. Why don't you lie down and try to rest while I'm gone. Your body temperature has risen enough that you shouldn't be at risk at any longer."
Kuja merely stretched his legs out and leaned back on his arms, throwing his head back to gazed up at him with heavy sensuality. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather skip dinner and go straight to the final act?" he inquired provocatively.
Sephiroth lifted one silver brow in an unbearably regal manner, even as his glowing green gaze slid down the length of Kuja's lithely-muscled body. The black trench coat—his coat, he thought possessively—had fallen open, revealing the bottom half of that supple, gently-rounded body. It also revealed that Kuja's clothes were still very wet, and likely very cold, and reminded him that they were still stuck in the middle of a raging blizzard. Not the ideal setting for an intimate encounter.
"Survival first," he told the other man wryly. "Once we have assured that, we can speak of. . .other things."
Wide, sensuous lips formed a moue of disappointment as Kuja casually reached down and closed the coat. "I'll hold you to that, you know," he warned waspishly.
Sephiroth merely shook his head, more than amused by the other man's antics. "Of that, I have no doubt, Kuja. Now," he extended his left hand and called Masamune, "rest. I will return shortly."
Kuja watched with fascination as that lovely, enormous katana materialized in his angel's hand. Its seven-foot-blade gleamed brightly, even under the storm-darkened sky, reflecting not the wind-driven snow but shining with its own inner light. It was beautiful, unique, much like the man who wielded it, and as Sephiroth turned away, Kuja could only sigh with appreciation.
He waited until his angel had disappeared from sight—a stunning view, even if that long coat did conceal too much of it—and turned onto his side. He stretched out before the fire, pillowing his head on his arm, and closed his eyes. He himself drifted off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that he would be safe, so long as his angel was nearby to watch over him.