Chapter 73 - Lost Time
May, 1996
Sephiroth walks out of R&D forty-nine hours after arriving for his appointment.
It took most of a day to wake back up. Even then, it was a groggy and languid process. The IV in his arm dragged him out of the crash but even after he was weak. It was as if his body had finally snapped. Staying awake was difficult. A constant headache was sewn against his skull. Sitting up made him shake so intensely he collapsed back onto the pillows.
Hojo and his assistants were an endless stream in the small sterile room he was kept in. Their gloved hands had freedom over his skin and body, palpating his stomach, prying open his eyes and piercing his skin with needles. His only fight was to remove himself. He retreated within his mind, becoming silent and nonverbal.
The patient room was soundproof but even Sephiroth could pick up the sounds of things screaming on occasion.
He had to call them things.
It was better than imagining they were anything else. It was better than part of him imagining that one of them could be Orlin. Although almost all of him knew that no one would be alive this long after being under Hojo's thumb. Even then, Angeal had even practically confirmed that he had died on the battlefield in Wutai.
He was tired. Orlin haunted him and the things screamed muffled and distant in his ears.
The endless blood draws and physical examinations made the hours feel long. The food that was brought to him was mild but perhaps that was the only thing he could take. It was Hojo who had finally given him an injection in his shoulder that calmed his heart and started to clear his mind. His fingers had lingered with a swab pressed against the spot and told him that he would now need to report to R&D every two days to get his medication in a shot. The pills would no longer be an option.
They would be scheduling more in depth appointments soon. It was phrased as a comfort but it came out as a threat.
Walking out, Sephiroth blinks at the emptiness around him in the elevator. The new dose is strong enough that words unstrung themselves on labels and signs. Breathing hitches in and out of him. His feet catch on the tile before he finally gets a true grip on himself. In the famous elevator, he presses the lobby button. It isn't even noon.
R&D must have contacted his office. The date is unreal and somber. Part of him worries about the meetings that he has missed. Surely someone has told Alvar.
People part for him as he exits to the lobby. No one wants to get close. Why would they? He doesn't feel human anymore. The chemicals are laced on his skin. They had wiped his skin after removing the IV but the coldness had never left.
His keys open the apartment door. His eyes scan around. Being alone and unmonitored has forced him to be paranoid at the void around him. The eyes were still there. They surely were still scraping the information out of him.
The place is as empty as he had left it. Sephiroth fights the urge to look down the hallway as he closes the door. No one has followed him. The other Firsts should be out. It is the middle of the day. Surely they have missions and activities to do on this Thursday afternoon. The apartment building is silent. Sephiroth himself shouldn't even be here.
That registers and sticks like a scalpel in his heart.
His appointment card for the day after tomorrow goes on his countertop island. He tosses it, watching it slide. The card clatters as it falls onto the floor on the other side. For all its worth, he didn't even want to look at it. The details would be penned onto his master calendar. They had access to it now. Hojo could schedule appointments for whenever he wished and Sephiroth would come.
He crosses his arms against the granite and leans on them. The cold stone pulls warmth out of him. He drops his head onto them. His forehead presses against forearms. A ragged breath comes out of him unwanted. He doesn't want to think about tomorrow. He doesn't even want to know about the day after. He doesn't want to think about the path that he has been put on.
The new drug is heavy in him. It is syrup for his mind. He knows what has happened. The logical facts can be listed on a piece of paper. Sephiroth shifts enough to rub his face in his hands. His fingers dig against the corner of his eyes. They are burning. His hair falls in waves around his face.
It is raw. This new reality is rough like a torn edge of a blade. He's forgotten what it is like to have Hojo near him. He's been spoiled and careless. He should have seen the time that he's had.
His body shivers violently.
He should shower. He should try to wash off the disinfectant on him.
The thought of being naked is worse than the smell.
He compromises for changing out his clothes: pants for pants, shirt for shirt, socks for socks, one piece at a time. He wipes off his face with a washcloth and tosses it in the extra sink he doesn't use. He catches himself washing his hands for the fourth time in a row.
It's too bright. The blinds close the view outside.
Everything narrows.
The aches have started. They settle deep in the tissue of his muscles. He needs his bedroom. Nothing else matters. He checks the front door. It is deadbolted. His bedroom door can lock too so he sets that too. It's another barrier between him and the outside world. He stands in the middle of his bedroom. It's too quiet. Starting his ceiling fan gives him a mechanical whine to listen to.
It is a habit to set his dead phone to charge. The comforter takes his weight as he sits on the edge of his bed. There are two locked doors. It's not enough. His body is bare. He hasn't been able to protect himself. He had fallen. His weakness spread him vulnerable for too many hours.
He shakes when he rises. The bedroom door unlocks as he limps back out. He checks. The apartment is still empty. His belt sits by the door. The materia shine from their slotted places. This belt is thin and simple. He had it commissioned after office work captured his life. He couldn't go without Masamune.
He hadn't brought it because he couldn't have weapons in R&D.
Stress he didn't know he had been carrying is leaving him. It's ripping gaps in him as it goes. This apartment, this isolation, is making him crumple. He doesn't have the strength to stop it.
The belt is heavy but he brings it back to his bedroom. The leather is familiar. The door locks again. The drain to Masamune is so small that he barely feels it take. She purrs into his head. A companion, warm and real is in his head. She doesn't judge him. The blade appears instead. The metal clicks against his floor. The weapon is right there if he needs it. He pulls himself back onto the mattress.
He closes his eyes and the plastic fingers are back on his skin. Needles draw blood away from him. Sensors tug against his chest. He can feel them all there. He curls onto his side. The softness of the mattress is real. The fan purrs. Masamune is settled in his mind like a force, a protection, from everything else.
R&D's grip is an illusion on him here. His mind is caught behind him. That's not what is happening now.
It is real in his head anyways. He curls deeper into himself. When did he start shivering constantly? The room was not cold. If anything, it is warm.
He needs to sleep. At least, he needs to try to. That will solve something. Masamune sits on the floor. It will be there when he wakes up.
His phone chirps. The screen lights up on the side table. He snakes a hand out and props the phone up against the lamp. His fingers press the code to unlock it. It takes three tries. He keeps hitting the wrong buttons.
There are 97 unread text notifications.
The top one reads: Text us that you are alive at some point. Come on. I don't want to have to find you stuffed in a test tube somewhere.
It's from Genesis.
The text was sent forty minutes ago.
Sephiroth's fingers hover the screen. He wants to be alone. This is how he deals with things. He has recovered in the past in silence and isolation, swallowing everything down until it dies deep underneath his heart.
The phone lights up again.
What Genesis means is that we are worried. Let us know if you need help. Angeal corrects.
He doesn't need help. There is no helping this. His teeth bite into his dried lip until he tastes acid.
Yet.
The metal is cold as he drags the phone and the charger into bed with him. He opens up the message. Angeal is online. Genesis was last seen twenty minutes ago. Their faces, the simple profile pictures, are a comfort. He's not seen them in days. This feeling is so unfamiliar.
It hurts him, stretching forward towards them. The words in his head are jumbled and dull. He shouldn't do this. He shouldn't worry them. He shouldn't expose himself to their attention. What would they do? What could they do?
Still his finger shakes and he types: I'm here.
He hovers in that moment.
Then he sends it.
The phone buzzes immediately.
"I didn't know," Mariella says again, her tone starting to rise into an argument. Sephiroth knows that he is matching it.
She is in his office the next day. It's a rarity. She's never visited him like this. Neither one of them can sit. She stands next to his guest chair, her posture strict as stiff as the collar of her shirt. He had risen as she had walked in and now hangs standing. He can't try to relax.
"You are my doctor. How could you not know about an upcoming appointment?" He asks. This is the same question again. They have been spinning in endless circles.
Her focus skates across the files that piled up on his desk while he was in R&D's sick bed. "Hojo hid it from me and then he scheduled me to do an exposure that he knew would be finicky for the hour before. I was tied up saving a man's life. I'm sorry, Sephiroth. I told Edin to call you. I can't even stop future appointments. You've signed the paperwork."
"Did you see my signature on that document?"
Muscles stand in her neck before she forces them back down. "Yes."
"Then you know the truth of that statement."
"I do," She doesn't say it softly. It comes out firm and sure.
He walks around the desk, looking down at her. "There is nothing you can do about it."
"It's a legally binding document. Copies are stored and printed. You've," she pauses, sorting out the words, "You've appeared to consented. That's enough."
Sephiroth leans back against the front of his desk and crosses his arms. She doesn't move. He wants to pin everything on her. He wants to make this simple and easy. Drawing a line and putting Hojo and Mariella on the other side. Would it hurt to add her to this? She is a scientist. It is what Mariella does at the end of the day. She is on the payroll of Shinra. She is paid to expose men to mako.
But what had blind pain done to him? What had destroying Dinand accomplished in the end?
He forces himself to reset the anger in his chest. It takes effort to uncross his arms and curl his hands against the edge of the desk.
"Why are you here, Mariella?"
She sighs. Her hand digs in her pocket and she pulls something free. It's a blister pack of medication. It's familiar. The white pills all lined up neatly in their plastic prisons.
"I can still help you. I've convinced Hojo to put your medication back in a pill. No injections. Just a stronger dose until we figure out a more permanent solution. No trips to R&D every other day. Start it tonight."
His mind empties as he reaches over and takes it from her. He didn't know that it was possible. Hojo surely didn't want this.
He looks at her sharply. "What did this cost you?"
Mariella sits in the empty guest chair instead of answering. Her fingers weave together. Part of her seems to collapse before she brings herself back. Her hair falls over her face.
She straightens, recollects herself and meets his eyes. "I have to help with your project. I'll assist with the therapies and cooperate in helping Hojo with the results. I know you the best, biologically speaking. Sephiroth, your blood screenings, every sample, everything that you've needed analyzed, I've done it myself. Hojo has been trying to force me onto this since you signed the paperwork. I've resisted. That's why I wasn't there while you recovered."
"You don't agree with this."
She laughs in a broken sound. "You, of all people, know I can't answer that question."
The answer is clear. She is the first one to confirm it. This situation is not entirely right. It doesn't change it but it settles the doubt in the back of his mind. Somehow that helps. It pushes the wrongness out of his system into something concrete. He won't be able to get away from it but at least outside the sterile environment of R&D, it is not normal.
"Why…?" His words catch on each other. The pill back is solid in his hand. He doesn't need to know. It is not his place. Asking that question means more. It means that he still cares but it is already too late. The question is there in the tone of his voice.
She holds her breath and then looks at him. "This is going to happen if I want it to or not. I still want you to be better. Regardless of Hojo's intention…I can help. I can make this easier. I doubt you'll trust me for that. You've made your stance on me clear and I've given up trying to change that."
Hearing the words out loud takes his breath away.
She stands and walks away from her own words. They are heavy in him. He knows that she is right. He's been pushing her away. The more distance he gets away from Wutai, the easier he can see it. Now that Angeal and Genesis are in his life, the more he understands the people around him. Everything was such a blur of numbness when he first came back. He had envisioned the bars of his cage were locked by her. The keys hang at her side. It was her fault. He would wither away here.
This is what he told himself over and over.
This was the truth he was willing to die with.
But instead, he's decided to try again.
He puts his pride aside.
"Thank you."
He knows by the way that she straightens and glances back from the door that she's understood him.
"You are welcome, Sephiroth."