Author's Note: I am so sorry for the long break between chapter 9 and 10. I have been suffering from sleep deprivation due to Restless Leg Syndrome (RLS). If you have never had it before, I can tell you with confidence that it is hell. Hopefully, medication will help get rid it.

Had a fair share of anxiety over this chapter. I hope everyone enjoys it. :)

Dr. Moreau, Counsellor & Friend

Shai's instructions are clear; do not ring the doorbell, the right door will be unlocked, enter as quietly as possible, and come straight to her room. Now all Dr. Moreau has to do is choose an approach that will make the least commotion to avoid alerting a man with supernatural hearing to her arrival. She chooses the single chime of the elevator over the repeating tap of her heels echoing up several flights of stairs. Besides, if memory serves her, the door to the stairwell on the 63rd floor is blocked by an artificial yucca plant. Shai's text is worrisome. Apparently, Sephiroth is behaving strangely when compared to his behaviour from the past six days, such as refusing to eat, mastering the silent treatment, confining himself to his room, culminating in stern words yelled at a caring heart. The worst part of it all? Moreau's promise to him keeps her from telling Shai why.

The door to Shai's bedroom is open. The young woman is seated on her bed, legs crossed, head bowed, a crumpled tissue disappearing behind layers of curls to dab at puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Moreau crawls up on the bed and sits next to her, resting the box of tissues she displaced on her lap. Without looking up, Shai hands her the tiny sketchbook. It is opened to pages filled with uneven sentences and damp blotches from fallen tears. Shai throws her used tissue onto the floor among wadded evidence of sobs, sniffles, and the occasional blown nose. As if on cue, Moreau holds out the box for her to pluck a fresh one. The doctor then turns her attention to the book and silently reads Shai's descriptions of the past week and her theories of why Sephiroth has suddenly distanced himself from her, none of them correct and all of them self-deprecating. Moreau hands the book back to Shai, who is ready for another clean tissue.

"First of all, please do not disregard how you are feeling as 'silly'. You have a tender heart. It allows you to see the goodness in people. That is a wonderful trait to have. Secondly, that list you made of possible wrongs you have committed? It is what is referred to in professional circles as bullshit, if you'll pardon my language, but that's the most appropriate word for it. You have done nothing wrong. Understand?" Shai nods, but not convincingly enough for Moreau.

"Shai? Do you understand? Believe me when I say, this has nothing to do with you. When something weighs heavily on Sephiroth's mind, he does not always handle it in a healthy or constructive way. He can become quite intimidating. I mean, more so than he already is." Moreau manages to coax a smile from Shai wide enough to brighten her eyes with mirth and shed unspilled tears. She wraps her arm around the young woman's shoulders and gives her a squeeze, pleased she has accepted her comfort.

"Now, I need to go speak with my patient." Moreau hands the box of tissues to Shai only to have her throw it aside and grab her by the wrist with both hands as she tries to climb off the bed. She is looking at her imploringly.

"Shai, I know we have not known each other for very long, but I'm asking you to trust me. Please?" Shai releases her wrist. She picks up the sketchbook, writes a few sentences, and hands it to Moreau. Then she signs for the doctor's benefit.

I do trust you, doctor. I am not thinking straight. I am just so confused.

"Do not worry, my dear. Everything's going to be alright."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Dr. Moreau doesn't bother to knock, already knowing what she is going to find, but still tests the doorknob to see if it is locked. It turns without resistance and opens on to a darkened room. Not having the general's exceptional eyesight, Moreau turns the lights to their lowest setting. He is in the center of the bed, one arm lying outstretched, the other draped over his eyes. In different circumstances, Moreau would have immediately pointed out in jest how he appeared to be acting out a scene from a Shakespearean play. All that is missing is a skull in his hand and a ruff around his neck. She walks to the side of the bed where he promptly moves his arm to allow her to sit. Moreau reclines against the headboard and stretches out her legs, crossing them at the ankles.

"She's worried about you."

"I know."

"She thought you two were making progress."

"I know."

"Is she wrong?"

"No."

"Then explain this to me."

"I can't."

"Why not?" He uncovers his eyes and looks up at Moreau.

"Promise me you will stop and check in on her."

"You're deflecting."

"Promise me."

"I promise, but you must tell me why this particular treatment has you so on edge?"

"They were supposed to end. This was to be my last. That was the purpose of Thursday's dinner with President Shinra. A celebration, of sorts. But then I got word that Hojo finagled his way into an invitation. Throughout the entire evening he had the president's ear, delighting him with scientific breakthroughs and new discoveries, and by the night's end, that bastard had persuaded Shinra to allow another full course of new treatments."

"I'm so sorry, Sephiroth. But that only explains your feelings towards the outcome of the dinner meeting, not towards this treatment. It was scheduled weeks before. Has there been a change in the procedure?"

"No."

"Is it of a longer duration than usual?"

"No." He covers his face with his hands, using his fingertips to massage his forehead.

"Then what? Help me understand."

"I don't know."

"Excuse me?" He yanks his hands away and looks at Moreau, enunciating each word distinctly.

"I. Don't. Know."

"I never thought I would say this word twice in less than an hour, but bullshit." His eyes flash ominously, jagged streaks of lightning striking emerald green.

"Don't try me, Sybelline."

"Then give me an answer that is fit for a man of your age and not a thirteen year old."

"Her."

"Shai."

"Who else would I be speaking of?"

"Don't get snippy with me. You said you would handle it. Have you not said anything to her yet?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to lie to her." Sephiroth sits up and leans against the headboard, drawing his legs up to cross one over the other.

"I do not want to give her a reason to distrust me," he says quietly, his eyes cast down, "I don't want her to fear me." Moreau reaches over and takes one of his hands in hers.

"Don't underestimate her, Sephiroth. I have read her background check. Shai went through a devastating trauma that robbed her of her parents and nearly her life. She persevered, recovered from serious physical injuries, learned a new way to communicate, and adapted to life on her own at eighteen in a new environment. She's strong." Moreau may be right, but Sephiroth remembers the sadness that dulled her bright eyes and tinged her rosy spirit with grey shadow. The vulnerability that seeped into her smile at the mention of her mother and father. Shai may possess great strength, but does he really wish to test it by leading her down the darker paths that he is forced to travel? Shining light on the shadows that hide his history? His life?

"I will tell her that I have my annual medical exam in the clinic upstairs," he says haltingly, testing each word carefully, "I will tell her it is a multi-day procedure." Moreau squeezes his hand assuringly.

"That sounds perfect."

"It is still a lie."

"But closer to the truth than anything else you could fabricate."

"You may be right." She gives his hand another squeeze. This time he reciprocates.

"You know I am."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Moreau pauses outside Shai's bedroom. Sephiroth has once again put her in a delicate position. She does not want to lie to the young woman anymore than he does. Moreau tries to convince herself that her deceit is nothing more than a little white lie used in its noblest fashion to prevent passing on a harmful truth. Instead, her rationalization weighs heavy on her. She enters Shai's room and tells the awaiting woman that she is in no way or form responsible for Sephiroth's conduct.

"Once his thoughts have quieted and his reasoning has returned, I am sure he will come and give you an explanation."

Thank you. Shai expresses the enormity of her gratitude by giving Sybelline an extended hug. The relief she feels is beyond compare. Moreau is preparing to leave until Shai reaches for the sleeve of her coat and gives it a gentle tug for her to stay. She then snatches the sketchbook off of her bed and begins to write down all the questions that have pestered her since Moreau left to speak with the general. How long has his mind been in such turmoil? Does it have to do with his dinner engagement on Thursday? Why did he not turn to Dr. Moreau in confidence? Shai punctuates the last sentence and hands the book to Moreau. The doctor reads the short list and realizes that these are not simple dichotomous questions. Yes or no simply will not do. She seats herself at the end of Shai's bed and takes a deep breath.

"OK. In answer to your first question, not very long. Maybe a week or so. Question two, he received bad news at the dinner meeting, so yes, it has been a contributing factor. And lastly, he can be extremely stubborn. Extremely. He thought he could handle this on his own." Moreau hands the sketchbook back to Shai who immediately writes a follow-up question, and gives the book back to her.

"How would he handle it on his own? Oh! Um, if I had to guess, either an intense workout in his dojo or going to his office to do work or to the training room on the 49th floor to battle against holographic behemoths. Some means to distract himself." Shai requests the sketchbook by holding out her hand, then proceeds to write faster than before, words running into the next, letters mashed into one another. It reminds Moreau of her frantic writing the night she was invited for dinner. Shai finishes two pages later and thrusts the book at her. As the doctor reads, she immediately regrets the assumptions she made concerning the general's stress management. Shai has seized upon one word and has run with it.

"Shai, you have this all wrong! You were not merely another means of distraction!" Shai grabs the book to write her reply and shows it to Moreau.

"How can you be so sure? How? Because I have known him all his life. My career, my adult life revolves around him, from the day he took his first steps to his battlefield promotion to general to helping him move into this condo. Let me put this in perspective for you. Sephiroth would not have risked his identity being exposed if you were solely a distraction." Shai contemplates Moreau's words, the tip of her pencil poised over a blank page. This new aspect has her thoughts tumbling down a rocky hillside of self-doubt and irrationality. This morning she truly believed she had something to do with the general accompanying her out onto the streets of Midgar. She chalked it up to a combination of curiosity and boredom, even though he presented signs that something was vexing him since Thursday.

It was not until she heard the word "distract" that it made more sense. Shai should have known it had nothing to do with her, that there was an ulterior motive. Why would he want to spend time with his housekeeper, especially knowing her for so short a time? How arrogant, how naive. This is the revelation she shared with Moreau, but clearly the doctor disagreed. It took her to point out a risk to the general to show Shai how her hasty deduction led her to the wrong conclusion. She finally lowers the pencil to the page, scratching out her apology for her presumptuousness, her selfishness. Shai passes the book to Moreau. After reading it, she closes the book. Moreau clasps Shai's hand and smiles at how small it feels compared with the hand she held moments before.

"My sweet girl. You are much too hard on yourself. Let the general tell you himself why he spent time with you. I am sure you will feel better hearing it from him." Shai leans towards Moreau and rests her head on her shoulder.

I am sorry.

"No more apologies."

Ok.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Shai takes a long, hot shower before bedtime, allowing the water and steam to cleanse away dried tears, ease tense muscles, and free her from the day's anxiety. She turns off the water, steps out onto the bath mat, and wraps a bath sheet around her body. She applies moisturizer to her face and neck, then grabs a second towel to soak up the excess water from her hair, drying dripping strands into their natural curls. She switches the bathroom light off and walks into her bedroom to find the general seated on her bed,casually flipping through her large sketchbook. He has also bathed and is dressed for bed. She feels obligated to say something about him freely entering her room, but to sign now would risk her towel coming undone. He turns to the last page and closes the book.

"Forgive me for entering without permission," he says, staring down at the book's cover, "but I need to speak to you and I did not want to wait." Moreau knew he would come, Shai thinks to herself. And why? Because she knows him. She seats herself on the bed, keeping a respectable distance between them. When he feels the bed give under her weight, he looks up at her and his eyes flash before he can contain himself. He assumed she would exit the bathroom in a dressing gown or her pyjamas, not a tightly wrapped towel revealing her curvaceous figure and long legs. A gentleman would leave to allow her to dress, but looking at the blush on her cheeks, the damp curls cascading down her back, and the rosy sheen on her skin left by the hot water, and his civility is nowhere to be found. He wants this vision of her to take with him tomorrow, to get him through the treatment, through the pain.

"I owe you an apology. No matter what events may be influencing my behaviour, it is no excuse for me to lash out at you as I did. I am sorry." Shai tucks the corner of the towel a little tighter to better secure it before she signs.

I accept your apology, general. My actions this afternoon were only out of concern. I did not mean to upset you further.

"Why does it sound like my apology has turned into yours?"

I'm sorry.

"Shai?"

Yes?

"No more."

All right.

"I've also come to tell you that I will not be home this week. I have my annual physical upstairs in the Shinra clinic. It is an extensive exam that takes days to complete."

Thank you for letting me know. I hope everything goes well.

"I'm sure it will." He stands and returns the sketchbook to where he found it, then walks to the door. He turns to face Shai, memorizing every detail to take with him to floor 68.

"Good night, Shai."

Good night, general.