Chapter 12
Only You
Sephiroth's eyesight returns Monday evening with all the genetic enhancements he possessed at the start of the treatment. He manages to sleep well through the night, tucked tightly in the thermal blankets. The following morning the sun has barely tipped the horizon when he is rudely awakened by Hojo and his team, and escorted into the lab. Once removed from the SCU, the heated floor is deactivated, the unit stripped clean, sealed, and disinfected with a gaseous agent. They prepare him for Tuesday's treatment: securing him to the examination table and putting him under heavy sedation. Hojo and the white coats then begin a lengthy process of injections, needles, and electrical stimuli that leave Sephiroth partially paralyzed well into the night, when his mobility eventually returns.
Thankfully, the procedure's effects leave his extraordinary muscular power undamaged. Even in a weakened condition, he still moves to the SCU with a predatory grace. His second night in the lab does not go as smoothly as the first. Despite Sybelline's order to provide the same amenities for him to sleep comfortably, his body is restless on the unforgiving padding, his senses assaulted by the pungent medicinal odor left by the disinfectant. Inevitably, the nightmares come, fed by traumatic memories of fear and pain suffered alone in this containment unit.
Wednesday's treatment is Sephiroth's breaking point. Bound to the table, injected with a serum that burns through his veins, his body temperature spikes high enough to cause seizures. He is left on the table throughout the morning into late afternoon with nothing but machines monitoring his vitals, computers inputting data, and cameras recording details and developments as the treatment runs its course. When his body ceases to convulse and he is safe to be moved, he is transported to the SCU to ride out the symptoms of the high temperature. The white coats have failed to leave a pillow or blankets for him. He lies curled in on himself, weak, racked with chills and muscle aches. It is then that he makes a decision. He only needs to wait for Moreau to arrive for her nightly visit to implement his plan. It will not be well received, but he feels it is what's best for him, physically and mentally.
To say his plan is not well received is an understatement. Sybelline insists he recover at her place if he is determined not to remain in the laboratory, but he is adamant. He will spend the night in his bed.
"And how do you plan on entering your home without alerting Shai?" asks Moreau as she assists him with his clothes.
"Are you forgetting who you are speaking to?"
"You are hardly at the height of your abilities at the moment, my boy."
"I can manage," he quips as he wavers while raising his arms to pull his v-neck sweater over his head. The timing could not have been more perfect. Moreau is quick to steady him, pursing her lips together to repress a smile. She pulls his hair from underneath the pullover, running her fingers through its length to rid him of any tangles. To put on his shoes, Sybelline ushers him towards a desk chair nearby. As he takes the single step from the unit, his eyes squinch shut and he begins to sway. He raises his right hand to press his fingers and thumb into his temples. With his left hand, he latches onto Moreau's shoulder as if his life depends on it. The poor woman can barely remain standing with the extra weight exerted on her.
"Sephiroth! What is it?!" He is slow to answer. His hand continues to massage into the temporal muscles. His eyes open slowly.
"It will pass. Or so I have been told."
"This is ridiculous! You are in no condition to care for yourself."
"I just need rest. For that, all I need to do is reach my bedroom."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Shai planned to treat her week alone as a mini vacation: sleep-in late, read and draw to her heart's content, maybe give her cooking skills a rest and order takeaway. The possibilities are endless. Instead, her circadian rhythm wakes her at the crack of dawn. The refrigerator is packed with a week's worth of ingredients so there is little reason to deviate from the planned menu and order out. As for reading and drawing, her thoughts wander from the open pages to recent experiences in her life or to memories surfacing from the old and her muse cannot concentrate on one piece alone. Her life has changed perceptibly in the last month, her routine unrecognizable from the one she left behind in her apartment. Even after almost four weeks of new employment and a new home, Shai is still searching for her groove, a harmonious blend of the old with the new.
It's late Wednesday night. A quiet end to a very productive day of cleaning. Shai has bathed, dressed in her jammies, and is relaxing on her bed. She has just finished a lengthy chat with Moreau via text, catching up on each other's day and discussing possible plans to get together later in the week. As she did on Monday and Tuesday, Shai asks how the general is doing and as the doctor did on Monday and Tuesday, Moreau lies and says he is doing fine. She is still smiling at the good news as she walks through the darkened condo into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. Walking back to her bedroom, she hears a loud thud come from the general's bedroom. She pauses, listening. Seconds pass, maybe a minute, and nothing, just the hum of the refrigerator's ice maker. She moves closer to the bedroom door. Still quiet. She didn't imagine it. She sets her water down on a nearby end table and tries the door handle. It is unlocked. She turns it slowly and opens the door.
The room is pitch black. She turns the lights on to a medium setting and inspects the room. Everything is in its place. Everything is in order. She walks further in. All she sees is an immaculately made bed, polished furniture, and her reflection in the mirror. She is certain she did not imagine the sound. There is only one more place to check. She enters the bathroom, her hand feeling for the light switch, when she stubs her toe against something hard on the floor. Her finger flips the lights on. Shai's eyes widen in shock and her fingers rise to touch her lips. Lying on the floor, facedown and unconscious, is the general.
The first few minutes are a blur for Shai. She remembers kneeling at his side, trying to keep a cool head, and determine the seriousness of his condition. He is shivering uncontrollably and is shining with perspiration, causing anything in contact with his skin to adhere to his body. When Shai feels his forehead, it is hot to the touch. He burns with fever. She sits back on her heels, worrying her lower lip, and tries to decide what she should do. Idiot, she thinks to herself. He needs a doctor. She dashes to her bedroom and grabs her phone. Walking briskly back to the general's bathroom en suite, her attempt at composing a text on the way is botched by the bounce in her step. She kneels beside him once more frantically typing on her keypad, thankful for the autocorrect function. She is about to send the text to Moreau when she sees a flash of movement in her periphery and her phone goes speeding across the floor to smack against the wall.
"No Moreau." Shai looks down to see the general's eyes, dulled by fever, staring back at her.
"Only you." She is about to protest when he reaches out to silence her, clasping her hands in one of his. His mouth opens to continue to speak when, without warning, his eyes squeeze shut, his brow draws together, and his breathing comes in sharp bursts. His grip on her hands strengthens, crushing her fingers painfully against one another. She struggles to free herself, but after several seconds, his hand slides from hers to flop onto the tile. His eyes open slowly, the lids heavy with exhaustion.
"Please, Shai. Only you." She offers a smile and nods. What the hell are you doing, girl?
Before anything else, she must get him off the bathroom floor and into the bedroom. The general is semi-conscious, which works in her favour, but he is struggling to keep his eyes open. Shai is unsure whether he will be able to move under his own power with his strength so clearly depleted. That raises the question of whether she will be able to move him on her own without injury to the general or herself? She places her hand on his shoulder and gives him a gentle shake. The sudden movement opens his eyes wide enough to focus on Shai's hands.
General, I need to get you into the bedroom. Are you able to stand and walk with my help?
"There is only one way of knowing." With his hands braced under him, he begins to push upwards off the floor, his progress halting, and soon his arms tremble and threaten to give way, but Shai is swift to act. Still kneeling beside him, she rises off her haunches, wraps her arms underneath his, and lifts with all she has. Together, they manage to pull him to his hands and knees, his head drooping towards the floor. That little bit of exertion has weakened him and taxed his muscles. His body is unsteady and is at risk of collapsing again. Shai shuffles on her knees to position herself in front of him, planting her feet as firmly as she can against the smooth tile, and with a bit of prompting, coaxes him to grip her atop her shoulders. His breathing laboured, he raises his head and rests it against his right hand, his fringe draped over Shai's pyjama top or tickling exposed skin.
"I just need a moment." Shai nods in understanding. She watches the long strands of his hair loosen and separate as his back rises with each deep inhalation. Eventually, they slip along the soft fibers of his sweater to coil on the floor. Her attention is alerted elsewhere when she feels his grip tighten and senses he is suffering from the same affliction he had moments before. Drawing in a sharp breath, she stays perfectly still, the pain growing in intensity as his fingertips dig into her flesh and muscle. Seconds tick by and he finally relaxes. Shai can breathe easy and enough time has now passed that the general can as well.
"I'm ready." Shai grips him by his upper arms and, together, they push him upright to rest back on his heels, but the moment he is kneeling vertically, his eyes close and he pitches forward. Dead weight strikes her with enough force to send her skidding backwards across the tile, until her feet catch and bring them to a jarring stop. Her body strains to hold him up. Probably all his bloody muscle. Shai knows she'll be feeling the aches and pain later. Right now, her heart is racing, not just from the physical effort, but from the general's face nestled nicely in the crook of her neck. It almost diverts her from the question of whether she can handle him on her own. The answer is a resounding no. She is stuck.
Shai can try to lay him back down, but she is afraid they will topple over in the process and land in a heap on the hard tile or her strength will fail and she'll drop him alone. She can wait and see if he awakens on his own, but who knows how long that will be? She can give him a shake, but that comes with the obvious risks. She has no choice. She has to set him back onto the floor. The physics seem simple. Both are already kneeling. Let gravity do its work and drop them into a seated position, then she can lie him back on the tile. Shai takes a deep breath. She has never been a science-minded individual. Her strengths are in the arts. What does she know about physics? She prepares to move him, shifting her weight, tightening her hold, when fortune favours the brave.
"Shai." He breathes her name against her skin. With great care, he raises his head, his eyes meeting hers, the cloudiness and confusion of sleep fading to clarity. Shai would love to be able to explain how their present circumstances came to be, but her arms are wrapped around him in an awkward embrace. All she knows is they need to either develop a new strategy or continue with the one they have in motion. Since she has no way of speaking to him, Shai makes the executive decision to continue on. She motions downwards with her eyes, praying he will deduce what message she is trying to convey. She is not disappointed. He completes their embrace and, working again as a team, they rise in a careful and considered manner until they are both standing. Well, the shorter person is standing. The taller one is leaning.
Though his eyes are closed, Shai knows he is still conscious. Otherwise, his knees would have buckled and they would've dropped like felled trees. He needs to rest. His body towers over Shai as he leans against her, his right arm hooked around her neck for stability. She supports him in turn with her left arm curled tight around his waist and the other holding his hand. The right one. The tips of which are dangling precariously close to her breast. Knowing it is not intentional does not stop Shai's cheeks from flaming hot. She looks up at him and waits for his cue. In time, his eyes open and he nods gingerly to proceed.
They journey from the bathroom to the bedroom, their progress governed by the stagger in his gait and Shai's struggle to keep him balanced and advancing towards their ultimate goal: his bed. The time passing seems interminable. They are forced to pause every several steps for a rest and readjustment of arms and hands. At one point, his legs begin to tremble and Shai is positive they are about to take a spill onto the carpet, but all he needs is a breather. Eventually, they finish crossing the short span between themselves and the bed and, together, fall back onto the mattress. Shai tries to disentangle their limbs with as little disturbance to the general as possible. She is not met with much success, his body jerking back and forth, a low moan shaken from his lips. She sits up. Exhaustion bears down on her, but she fights hard against it. Her fatigue cannot possibly compare to his.
She turns her head to look down at him lying half on, half off the bed. She can't very well leave him like this. Since contacting Dr. Moreau is off-limits, Shai must rely on memories of steps her mother would have taken if a member of their family fell sick. The most obvious is plenty of rest. She's working on that part. Next, drink plenty of fluids to keep the body cool and prevent dehydration. That one may prove difficult. Thirdly, administer acetaminophen or ibuprofen to help with muscle aches and reduce temperature. That one can go in same category as drinking fluids. Take a warm bath or apply damp washcloths to the forehead and wrists to lower the fever. Uh, no on the bath. A big no. Huge no. Her body blushes all over when her imagination simply tries to conjure images of water droplets on bare skin. Shai slams the door against those thoughts quickly. The warm compresses might be a good idea, but first there is the last step; wear light clothing. He has on a light wool sweater layered over a white t-shirt and black jeans, the furthest from light clothing you can get. That means only one thing, and Shai has to muster her courage and put aside her timidity to do it.
Her full-body blush returns with a vengeance. His face is tilted away from her, covered by fringe sticky with sweat. Shai cannot tell if he is conscious or not. She takes special care and leans over him, pulling the strands to the side with a light touch. His eyes are closed, but his head turns towards her nonetheless. Shai is thankful when he voices what she cannot.
"I need to undress. I'll need your help."