Chapter 74 - Your Fault Only
October, 1997
At the end of the day, Hojo got exactly what he wanted.
Sephiroth realized that after months of appointments in the lab.
The things that he had been asked to do were simple in the beginning. It was everything that he was doing before, the only difference was the setting. It started to progress from there like a ramp under his feet.
Mariella hovered quietly in the background. Her lips pressed together. The few times that she had spoken, Hojo had snapped at her. Her job was to observe according to him. She swallowed her words back and lifted her chin. On occasion, Sephiroth caught himself checking with her, seeing what her face told him about what was happening. Most of the time she would blink, calm and patient. He would proceed from there.
He had still collapsed on a few occasions at the start outside the labs. If Shinra had found him before he had woken up naturally, Mariella had been either at or near his bedside. Her steady hands had pulled him back.
The appointments were scheduled frequently.
He started taking his medication at the lab, sensors wavering and showing the way that his body sighed back into normalcy. Then it was slightly different amounts of the drug. It went further. The medication rolled over him, overwhelming and potent. The sensors recorded as his heart pounded or his hands shook.
Mariella started to tell him he could say no. As a patient, he could refuse treatment or push back. He had almost laughed her off. Sephiroth was a First and he could handle it. Hojo would not beat him.
Hojo started asking him to walk, run and then practice with a sword after an injection. His body was draped in sensors as he shifted formations. Mariella's face grew tighter. Still, it was nothing more than what he had done in Wutai. The final limit hit when he was forced back into simulations. He fought off simple enemies with his head singing in whatever variation of his medication was pushed inside his veins.
"Just like with your friends, Sephiroth. Nothing more," Hojo had assured him before putting him inside.
Sephiroth could not say no.
The technicolors blurred in his eyes, in his blood, in his stomach, everything going wild when they started this last round of testing.
Mariella might have been right. He realized it dully as he had come stumbling out with Masamune already disintegrating.
"That was the last test," Sephiroth had told Hojo as he sat against the wall of the room afterwards. His chest heaved. His limbs felt numb. Sweat covered his arms. Things haunted the corners of his vision.
Hojo crouched in front of him. A glass of water in his hands. The eyes behind those glasses eating every signal his body was giving.
Hojo grinned and the words spilled out of him, practiced and ready. "Why did you say yes then in the first place? Don't you understand the cost of science? Why Sephiroth you've not disagreed with anything else. How is this any worse than what has come before?"
The smoothness of the tone mocked him as if he was a child again.
All Sephiroth could do was look away. The glass of water was set next to him.
"Until next time, Sephiroth."
And Hojo had walked away. The conversation was over.
Mariella kept urging him. He kept telling her he was strong enough. The truth was buried too far under the surface for her to pull. He didn't want to lose. He didn't want to back down. Her words became short and terse.
Finally, the physical testing with the current drug had ended. The final simulation collapsed into pixels that he could walk away from.
And now Sephiroth sits waiting for the final examination of this week.
His head is clear. The beige walls on the 65th floor are familiar now. The constant new nature of this place stopped being noticeable. His deployment rate had started increasing with the other Firsts as Hojo worked on his case. The new adjustments had smoothed out attacks outside the lab.
Wutai still stays a messy dream in the back of his head. The rest of the world had enough trouble and Genesis or Angeal were always by his side.
The IV bag drips next to him, a simple saline.
After this, he is free for a month. Missions and obligations at Shinra have stacked up enough that SOLDIER forced Hojo's claws to retract. Part of him has already slipped away, too eager to be away from this place. All that is left is a simple body scan.
He'll lay on a gurney for ninety minutes in a metal tube. It is elementary. Mariella had taken him to see the machine before bringing him in a room to change. She'd run her fingers over the smooth surfaces and explained the next hour and a half of his life. The machine clicked softly in response. It was already warmed up.
The machine would track the densities of muscles and bones mapping it out in gray lines. The cells of his body would respond in a way that the machine would catch. Any current physical deformities would be found. His IV would then be injected with a dye. They would watch it spread throughout him like a wave over the beach. His imperfections would be discovered. They would track it. These deficiencies would be noted in hard lines and evidence.
They would be addressed in the next series of therapies.
Mariella's eyes held his long and hard as she put her hand on the bed. She went silent. She started to speak, the words hanging in her throat, but she sighed them away. He tried to ask but he did not know the question. A mask fell back over her. She pointed to a button on a remote and started to explain how he could tell them if something was wrong.
They had moved on.
Sephiroth soaks in the last few seconds of being alone. They will pry into him now but it will be with something that he will hardly feel. He will simply drift through this.
It's her triple knock on his door that ends his thoughts. He pushes himself up to stand. The cotton clothes brushing his legs. She opens the door. Instead of holding it wide, she steps inside and closes it. It has built up in her. Whatever it was from earlier, it has crested the surface. He can see it in the way that she closes the door and stands in front of it.
She looks at him with the challenge she stares at Hojo with.
"Sephiroth, you need to listen to me," Mariella says, "this is not going to be pleasant."
"I didn't expect it to be." He wraps his fingers around the IV stand, ready to move it.
She shakes her head. "You aren't listening."
"And you have a point to make."
Mariella's face turns sour and she grips the handle of the door behind her back. He moves to stand in front of her. She is forced to look up to meet his eyes. There was a point of time where their positions had been reversed.
Now he is the stronger of the two of them.
"This machine…it makes a lot of noise," she says.
"I will get headphones. You explained this." He edges around her. He knows how to get to the room. If she is having second thoughts, this does not mean that he needs to entertain them.
She doesn't move from the doorknob.
"Yes, but we run this test in my lab. I've done MRI scans on patients before and after exposures. In the beginning, before we knew better, they would scream their way through it."
"Why?" Sephiroth stops.
"Because the noise will be uncomfortable to me but to SOLDIERs and your senses, it will most likely be painful. Considering how extremely enhanced you are, even with the headphones and the usual precautions, the sounds and the vibrations might be hell."
"Hojo hasn't said anything."
"You know why that is." She can't hide the anger in her voice.
Sephiroth does. The way that Hojo looks at him when he is in pain sits deep in his bones. The man finds pleasure in the moments where Sephiroth can no longer fight back.
"What's the solution?"
"A light sedation. Just enough to keep you relaxed. You won't experience the pain."
"I will not," he says it without thinking. The less helpless he is, the more in control he is in. He would rather be in pain than getting swallowed up in a darkness that he cannot return from on his own.
"I knew you wouldn't say yes immediately." She sighs. "Here is my offer. You knock on the bed twice and I've got a dose of propofol ready to inject into your IV. It will remove you and it won't affect the results. You'll feel drunk and sleepy. Nothing more. You'll recover here and your body will most likely heal any damage afterward, if there is any."
"I won't do it."
"Two knocks on the bed. I will be there." She repeats it.
"I said I will not." It comes out sharp and angry. He won't be that far under Hojo's boot.
Mariella frowns and her grip tightens on the door handle. "I am telling you this will be incredibly painful, as a medical professional, as your doctor, I am telling you that you will not be able to withstand this and you are refusing to even listen to me?"
"It isn't an option."
She rubs her face. "Gods, when will this punishment end?"
"I will not succumb to weakness. Pain is something SOLDIERs bare."
"Pain is not something that you have to bear. There is an answer and I am telling you that it will be too much. Is this what you've grown into? Thinking that I don't know what I am talking about either?" she snaps. Her temper flies high and wild on her face. "I don't even know why I even try."
She throws up her hands in his face. "You clearly want nothing to do with me. You don't listen to me. You've let him walk all over you." She glares at him full of pain and anger, cutting the words off in his throat. "I don't have to observe this one. There are things I need to do. I fucking hope that I am wrong. For your sake."
That's not what he meant but he can't formulate the response quick enough. Sephiroth watches the door shut and knows that he has missed something important. She mutters as she walks away. He can hear half words, most of them hurt.
Then she's gone.
He walks himself to his appointment.
There is no longer a Sephiroth.
The vibrations have taken over everything. It is all that is left to him. The buzz pounds against his skull alive and vicious. His mind is incongruent, drowning in the broken pieces remaining.
He knows that he is in his bathroom rotating between a combination of dry heaving and running his head under hot water. A saw drives slowly through the back of his skull. It grinds against his neck, pulling him further into the pain.
The blood has finally stopped running out of his ears. He ends up purely in the shower after he realizes his stomach has nothing left in it. The noise hasn't ceased. Even after the deafening blows of the MRI surely had stopped, the unending blare only wavered in pitch.
His ears are stuffed with fuzz that he cannot remove because it does not exist. Clicks and screams echo somewhere in his teeth, vibrating up into the roots of his face.
He can't hear his gasps for air. When he heaves, he can't hear it. The coughs shake him. His throat spasms but there is nothing to be heard. The bathroom fan is running but there is no sound. His phone lights up with texts but his ears don't pick up the alerts. It is just the feedback of pain.
He dips his head back under the spray. The heat of the shower does almost nothing against the throbbing. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on the water carving down his face. The room tightens like hands, squeezing him against the tiles.
He doesn't know how he pretended that he could operate after the MRI stopped. The lipreading was shaky but the phrases were normal and he felt his throat flex as he answered them. Mariella wasn't there. Hojo's eyes traced him with satisfaction as he stumbled away.
Sephiroth had made it back before losing all his composure.
How his teeth hadn't cracked from swallowing his screams, he is not sure.
The pain would end. It would have to end. His body would heal. The mako is stronger than this. As he closes his eyes, the whine teeters upwards to a higher pitch. The needles dig in further to his skull. He grimaces and holds onto the handrail for support. He can't get up off the floor. He tried once and the pain had jolted him back to his knees.
The noise strikes in a sudden crescendo like a blow to his neck and he falls back onto his elbows, gasping. His hair drags heavy against the tiles. The water pours into his mouth and drips from his teeth.
The shower is doing nothing. He's just wasting water that he is paying for. He reaches up, keeping his head low and turns it off. It takes minutes to find the strength to wrap himself up in the towel. Silence is hard to remember. The hum settles into a chainsaw. He sucks in a breath. All there is is to wait it out. A year of his life had been spent inside that MRI machine. It had taken everything for him to hold himself still. The results should be worth it. They had to be.
It couldn't be for nothing.
He closes his eyes and listens to the ringing.
Vibrations on the floor wake him up from some twilight version of exhaustion. His front door has been slammed closed. It takes effort to watch from the bathroom mirror as his bathroom door opens. He is still sitting on the floor, head pushed back, neck long and vulnerable as he swallows the air. He shoves up, trying to get more upright.
Neither Genesis or Angeal have a key. He did have enough of a thought to text them that he had made it back. If he didn't, it felt like there was a chance that they might break in to get him.
He stares in his mirror reflecting the opening door. If he had to, he could fight. It wouldn't be pretty. It would cost him his remaining strength.
His arms weaken. He slips back against the wall towards the floor.
It's Mariella.
Someone called his doctor.
Angeal and Genesis. He looks across the floor at his phone. It lights up again. The calls have been stacking up for hours. He hasn't seen a single one. They shouldn't have done this. He knows that breaks some type of privacy but what is done is done and all he has the energy for is to be thankful.
She's not even surprised to see him here on the floor. It's void of sound as she crouches down in front of him. He doesn't try to hide it. It's bad. He knows. His eyes dip closed for a moment as the throb increases and settles against the front of his skull.
She sets her elbows on her knees and studies him. Her lips aren't moving. She isn't talking. Sephiroth tries to match her anyways. He can barely sit upright. Her face is tight and frustrated. There is something different. Color is gone from her cheeks. He's seen it before. Sometimes SOLDIERs would get that look before they got killed in the next battle.
Her fingers clasp and unclasp in the air. She's changed into a more casual shirt and jeans. She was home before getting called in. When was the last time that he had seen her in anything other than professional wear?
She's trying to talk to him. He realizes it too late. Her throat and mouth opens in endless sounds that he can't decode. It's a question. He shakes his head. Another question. It starts with a "can you". The rest is lost in the haze. She blows out a breath as he doesn't respond. It's almost too much for her to just be here.
She pulls out her phone and types. A notes page with two lines is put in front of his face.
Genesis called me. You woul-
The words spin. A jab of pain forces his eyes closed. He tries to focus and shakes his head. She makes the text bigger.
You wouldn't come to your door.
He nods.
She types something else. Her face twists and she erases it. He waits, listening to the whine high in his ears. There is no alternative. His fingers don't quite clasp the towel he has draped over his shoulders. At least he had some sense to keep his pants on. Not that it mattered. She is his doctor. She stops typing and rereads the message. He forces another deep breath through his lungs.
It takes several tries to read this note.
I will help and then leave. Do you agree?
Relief. Help. He nods again, not trusting himself to speak. He wouldn't be able to hear himself and he refuses slurred syllables and broken phrases.
She tosses the phone on his countertop and reaches for him immediately. The contact makes him flinch. The fingers are the first solid thing he has felt since returning. She grasps him, fingers digging into his muscles. Mariella drags his arm over her shoulders. She's hurrying. The noise in his head reaches a high pitch that almost stops registering. The pain jabs in tight and he winces.
He's standing up. She's dragging him up. The pressure forces his brain down his skull into his neck, squeezing hard. His knees go but he still hangs upwards. His arm catches on her shoulder and neck. Mariella falls forward. The tile jerks towards him before it stops. Her free hand is plastered against the bathroom door frame.
His head drops as low as it can go. Her shoes shuffle wide to take his weight. He is not light.
The apartment sways as they take a step. His stomach pulls tight and upward in response. She freezes. He shivers and coughs through it. There is nothing left in him to do more than that. It's hazy. His world cuts in and out. He can feel her talking and the words are lost.
They limp out of the bathroom.
The mattress feels unnaturally soft. He is falling back onto it. Mariella's face is quiet above him as she braces his fall. Her hand is on the back of his head and neck. The other is pressed on the bed.
If it was anyone else, he might have struggled. Instead he allows his balance to slip entirely. Mariella takes his weight and eases him to his pillow. Laying flat lessens the throb. Her hands scoop under his knees. His legs are hauled up and straightened out.
The relief is immediate. The squeezing recedes enough that he can start to think.
The first clear thought strikes him clear as Mariella watches his face. She has been here the whole time. She is one of the few who hasn't turned her back on him truly. Even when she trapped him here, she had never disappeared. She is one of the few that have not left him.
With everything so tight within him, that fact chokes tears in his eyes.
He looks to tell her but she's already halfway across the room, disappearing out the door.
That's because of him, now isn't it?
His tongue feels too stupid to figure out how to say her name. His hand moves instead but she's already gone into his kitchen. It's his mistake. She's been trying to help him and all he has been doing is pushing her away.
He thinks about moving but getting up will triple the pain. The noise dips into a strange baritone. The sound rattling in his skull.
The door moves. She's back with a bag. Her eyes don't meet his as she sits down next to him and digs through the contents. He swallows and tries to form something and it's too late. She's moving again. This time she's talking. Half of the guesses of words blur in his mind but he gets the phrase "your fault."
He doesn't try to speak again.
A small squeeze bottle is shown to him. It is drops. She's pointing to part of the label but the text is too small. Every part of her is stiff. She's annoyed at him. His eyes skate over the small print but it means nothing but he turns his head to the side. The mattress shifts. Her hand brushes back his hair, presses his ear flat and the drops fall into his ears.
The pain is searing. Four drops fall into his skull. They are a different level of sharpness than the noise in his ears. The liquid is cold and it crackles into him. He knows that he makes a sound but it is a flexing spasm in his throat. Mariella's thumb rubs around the outside of his ear in practiced circles.
She's not looking at him as she turns his head to the other side.
He stops her hand, her fingers still against her cheek.
"I-" he tries the word out. He still cannot hear himself. The treated ear has gone numb.
She shakes her head and her words are clear on her lips.
"You did this to yourself."
She turns his head before he can respond. The medication hurts but he is ready. He doesn't cry out. Then she is shifting him, pulling on his limbs. He rolls onto his side, facing the door. It takes effort. He is sluggish, mostly dead weight. A few extra pillows from the living room couch appear to brace his back. He is too weak to fight them and roll onto his spine.
He presses his cheek into the pillow and his eyes start to dip.
A glass of water and two pill bottles are put on his bedside table. A strong SOLDIER grade pain medication and the bottle of sleeping pills he's never touched. She puts two of them next to the water. She's professional. The recognition of him as a person is locked away. The numbness is streaking through him now, replacing his thoughts with sleep.
The ear drops go on his desk with a note.
His mind has started to uncut. He wonders if his room looks unusual to her. It's stripped, bare of everything. He has nothing to fill it with. Mariella moves like a dream. His mind is only able to trace her movements in slow motion. His phone makes it next to him. The blanket is pulled up.
She stands there, staring at him. As he starts to build the words again, she shakes her head. The bag gets lifted from his bedside. Mariella turns her back on him.
This time the bedroom door closes. He can't hear the door locking but he knows.
He is alone again.