Welcome Home [10]

[crabofdoom]

Title: Welcome Home
Fandom: FFVII (starts one year before AC:C)
Characters: Sephiroth, Vincent, Reeve, Reno, Rufus, Tseng, Lazard
Pairing(s): Sephiroth/Lazard, Vincent/Reeve
Rating: G, oddly enough this time. Maybe a couple of F-bombs.
Warning: Yaoi. Eventually. Emotional trauma
Word count: approx. 6,600
Summary: A chance find in the Shin-Ra manor throws Vincent into parenthood and Sephiroth into a world that went on without him.
A/N: Although I like staying within the realm of possibility, consider this an AU. Just one that closely mirrors the original. Also, I don't have a beta and I drop letters and whole words sometimes. I try to catch and fix them, but sorry about that in advance. Ratings may change between chapters.
Previously: [01]-[02]-[03]-[04]-[05]-[06]-[07]-[08]-[09]

---------

Strange looks had been cast sidelong in Reeve's direction since he'd returned from Midgar Edge the evening before. The flights over the wastelands between Edge and Junon were long and boring; the only entertainment available was usually getting a head start on whatever business one was being sent to conduct; not exactly a journey that left people feeling rejuvenated.

It was odd, then, the Reeve still had the energy to nearly bound around his office before the workday had even started, without a coffee thermos the size of an oxygen tank glued into his hand.

Odd, but not unimaginable. In fact, a colleague passing by the office's open door could imagine several things that could boost a man's spirits so much. Perhaps one thing would have been more accurate. Unlike the rest of Shin-Ra's lingering elite, he had no qualms about asking to confirm everyone's assumptions.

"You got laid, or something?" Reno inquired, having to swallow back a yawn as he finished.

The sound of the redhead's voice coming out of the woodwork had stopped surprising the engineer years ago, but the question was enough to force the folders out of Reeve's grip to land on end with a light but sharp crack on the desk's surface.

Reeve shook his head to clear it, recollecting the papers along with his thoughts. He thought to say it was none of Reno's business, or maybe quell any gossip with an outright 'no'. What came out wasn't quite what he'd intended. "If only."

The Turk didn't press for Reeve to expand on that answer, but the grin spreading over Reno's face as he came up with his own fillers for the gaps was almost worse. To the engineer's relief, the conversation took a turn for the casual and stayed there. "Then what's got you so happy before nine in the morning?"

"It was still a good trip," Reeve replied. Still? Why had he felt compelled to add that? "A lot of the big pieces are falling in place, and the little details aren't going to be so bad, for once. Best of all: our volunteer's locked in for the project."

The wicked smile on Reno's lips lost its taunting edge, leaving a much warmer expression behind. "How thick did you have to lay it on to get him to say yes?"

"I didn't," Reeve shrugged. It took him aback, now that he'd had the time and distance to reflect. "He just sat and listened - well, when he wasn't eating like he hadn't done so in a week..."

"SOLDIERs, yo," Reno chuckled.

"But when I finished, he had a few questions, Vincent had a few questions, then... 'yes'. No hesitation, no conditions, just 'yes'. I wasn't about give him second thoughts and ask why."

"Sure as hell isn't loyalty to the company," Reno figured in a sober voice. "He's got his reasons, I guess. So..." The redhead reached into the inside pocket of his dark blazer, taking out a cigarette and a small card that was trapped between a couple of fingers. "Got a meeting with the boss, right? You'll be needing this?"

More people were beginning to shuffle by in the hallways, and it made Reeve appreciate Reno's experience with keeping things to himself when it mattered. The engineer made for the doorway to pass by the redhead, giving a friendly pat on the younger man's chest and palming the card in the process. "You know I don't smoke, Reno."

"You might change your mind sometime," Reno said, straightening from leaning on the door to follow. He kept a step behind Reeve and watched as the engineer flipped a folder open for a final review of its contents. And slip a new ID card perfectly into place before those contents got handed over to Rufus.

"Absolutely perfect," Reeve appraised quietly. "I owe you dinner, at the least."

---------

Reaching the president's office was unfortunately all it took to temper some of Reeve's enthusiasm. His own plans might've involved a safe way to keep a close friend's son out of trouble, but there was a scope wider than his own interests at hand. It was all for a bigger cause, and one that was getting harder to ignore with every time Reeve looked at Rufus.

Having spent his entire life around the Mako coursing through the Shin-Ra tower, Rufus had been healing just a little faster than expected from the injuries Diamond Weapon's attack had left him with, if nothing near a SOLDIER's rate of recovery. He should've been close to taking short walks without the leg braces; pacing his own office, most likely. Something else, however, had reared its ugly head.

The marks were still small, blackened shadows on the blond's right wrist and upper left chest that barely showed when Rufus' cuffs and collar were loose, but they were spreading. If the geostigma was visible anywhere else, only Rufus and Tseng would know, and neither was going to be telling.

Instead of relearning to walk again under his own full command, Rufus' braced pacing was more of a measure to work out the pain.

Tseng was already in the office with him, keeping vigil that was distant enough to keep Rufus' pride in tact but close enough to belie the dark-haired Turk's concerns. The caution wasn't really hovering, but Tseng was certainly the only person Rufus would ever allow to come so close to it.

"Reeve," the blond acknowledged after a moment, cutting his routine movements short to take the chair behind the desk. Tseng remained standing by Rufus' side, Reno took up a protective post by the closing door, and Reeve claimed only the edge of the seat he was motioned to. "I trust your trip went well?"

"Yes, sir," Reeve answered readily. "I was able to take an aerial survey of the upper plates' integrity, as well make a brief touch-down for a firsthand inspection. I believe Sector Three is going to be ideal for the project. The plate, itself, is still intact, and it has the benefit of being on the tower's far side from Edge; as you were hoping, the project can be conducted to its fullest with minimal detection, if it's ever noticed at all."

"Good start," Rufus granted. "Flying in the equipment shouldn't raise any suspicions, then. Can the WRO get a mobile station up there without being noticed?"

"I don't think a full station will be necessary," Reeve said. "Many of Sector Three's buildings are still structurally sound. Gutted, perhaps, from fire or what have you, but retrofitting an existing building would take an experienced crew two days, at most. Our current protective measures allow for three and a half, before exposure would be considered dangerous."

"It's shaping up to be a decent morning, Tseng," Rufus appraised, grinning into a white coffee cup.

"My team and I can have the equipment finished, tested, and packed within thirty-six hours," Reeve continued.

"What about a volunteer?" Tseng interjected. "I don't put it past you to take on the task, yourself, until we can find a permanent one, but your absence from your work isn't something the company can afford for weeks on end."

"Not an issue," Reeve said, passing the folders in his hands to the Turk. His statement of facts was put on pause while the the fabrications that arose from brainstorming over breakfast in Edge the day before were put into play. "It would be just as big of a waste to send a Turk, so I've broached the subject - hypothetically - with a select few within the WRO. I've found an ideal candidate."

Tseng looked over the ID card just inside of the folder's cover, dark eyes squinted in concentration. A young but mature face looked back from the tiny 'official' portrait Reeve had taken with his phone. All of his hair was slicked and tied back, covered in two cans worth of a brown spray-on coloring. White fabric wrapped around his head beneath his hair, formed into makeshift patch over his left eye. The shade of green to his right was familiar for a second, but the round pupil wasn't. The former General had protested greatly against the beaming smile Reeve had insisted he wear for the picture, but it had the effect the engineer anticipated.

The man on the card looked nothing like Sephiroth. Tseng shook his head to rid himself of the sense of recognition that wasn't strong enough to fuel a doubt, let alone trigger any defensive memories.

"Ross Sparrow?" the Turk questioned casually, passing the information on to Rufus.

"Doesn't sound familiar," Rufus added, to no one in particular. "How long has he been with the WRO?"

"Less than a year," Reeve answered. "He was hired for basic mechanical maintenance shortly after Meteorfall. Lost his eye and his family in the upheaval, as I understand. He's proven to be a hard worker and he's physically sturdy - strong, healthy, loyal." To whom, Reeve didn't feel compelled to mention. "He knows the value of discretion; is used to working and living on his own. I figure he can operate the studies for six weeks, be relieved for one, then resume his duties."

Across the desk, Rufus nodded absently. The odd want to identify the volunteer he was looking at nudged at the blond, as well, but the short-looking brown hair, rounded eye seeming darker than it was from shadow and crinkled from a bared-teeth grin, the cover over the other, the shoulders purposely slouched forward instead of pulled back with militant pride and the common white shirt were enough to keep any fragile connections from forming. By the same grace, if it hadn't been the morning's first meeting and the president and his bodyguard had had the time to come more into their own thoughts, the jig would certainly have been up. That, alone, made Reeve's early rise worthwhile.

"And where is he now?" Rufus asked, setting the paperwork down between them.

"Sparrow was given a day's supplies to investigate the structures in Sector Three and find a suitable base before the equipment arrives. When he finds one, he's to return to Edge, contact my office and await my team's arrival."

"Very good, very..." Rufus trailed off mid-sentence, wavering slightly in his chair as his fingertips touched his left temple. Reeve, Tseng and Reno all tensed, ready to advance if young man collapsed. Rufus waved them off and gave a light groan.

"Tseng," he prompted. Without need of further instructions, the Turk quickly reached into his inner jacket pocket and retrieved a slim metal tube. It opened with a quick twist and Tseng handed the president a small red and white tablet.

"That will be all for now, Reeve," Rufus said, sounding as weary as he suddenly looked.

Reeve gave a polite nod as the blond popped the pill and tossed his head back. "I'll keep you and the Turks informed on my team's progress, sir."

The engineer gathered his folders, not wanting to leave the opportunity for anyone to take a longer look at Reno's fake ID or his own forged personnel records, and left the office.

As Reno closed the door behind him, Rufus bit down on the compressed bit of sugar half-dipped in a strawberry syrup.

"Convincing?" he asked of the dark-suited pair.

"Bugs the fuck out of me when you do that, boss," Reno grumbled. "I never know if this time isn't gonna just be an act."

"You should be treating his safety like that, anyway," Tseng pointed out.

"I know what he means," Rufus said, ignoring the dull, wet ache deep in his muscles as he stood to resume his pacing with determination. "And to that extent, I'm sorry it affects the two of you as it does. Still, only my Turks know that my condition isn't as bad as I play it up to be, and I'd like to keep it that way for as long as I can. It would be far too easy to be overpowered at the present, so the more Shin-Ra goes underestimated, the better.

"More immediately, what are your opinions on our Director Tuesti?"

"I think he's just eager to get this study underway," Reno replied first. "You know what a bleeding heart he can be."

"Precisely the reason I agree that I saw no cause for concern," Tseng said. "The humanitarian in Reeve will keep the project flowing as planned."

"I haven't seen his little pain in the ass furbag around," Reno added, "so that right there rules out the biggest chances of trouble."

Rufus found a grin at Cait Sith's description. "It's only data, but there are still so many opportunities for the media to send rumors flying if it's not kept under wraps. That leaves the only real unknown as this volunteer, Sparrow. I'd like to know for myself whether he's as discrete and loyal as Reeve believes."

"Leave that to me," Reno offered. "I don't mind doing a little digging on my downtime, and next time I buzz Midgar, I'll stop by, and he and I can have a little chat. If there's anything shady, boss, I'll get it out of him."

Rufus and Tseng seemed appeased by the proposal, and turned their talk to other matters. Once certain that the conversation was out of dangerous territory, Reno allowed himself to let go of the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

---------------

Once Reeve had departed Edge, the rest of Vincent's and Sephiroth's day had been dedicated to assembling enough supplies to get Sephiroth through roughly a week of camping out in the ghost town of the upper plates. The WRO would be arriving with more, and in only a day or two, but it was best to anticipate a delay and be prepared. Sephiroth's behavior made it clear that had no interest in waiting for them, either way. Keeping his sudden bursts of energy and determination under control, in fact - waiting until just before the dawn broke to ascend unnoticed and have the daylight to look around for a base - had been quite a challenge.

"You already know where you're going?" Vincent inquired, once they'd crossed the dividing markers and entered Sector Three.

"No," Sephiroth answered, "but sooner I find something, more time I have to get a start." He gave his right shoulder a shrug to readjust the weight of the tightly-packed duffle he carried.

"There won't be much to get started on, you know," Vincent pointed out. "Not until Reeve's equipment arrives."

"What there is, matters," Sephiroth said. "You think anyone's dusted or swept up here since... since whateva it was happened?"

A lot crossed Vincent's mind in only a couple of seconds. He didn't blame Sephiroth for being confused over just what had happened to Midgar. How did one even begin to explain Meteorfall to someone who hadn't been there to see it? Vincent had been there, and there were still things he'd seen that he couldn't imagine having to put into words for someone else.

Less profound was a light amusement at Sephiroth's sanitary concerns. Maybe the young man ate like a horse and left his clothes on chairs, but he never made a mess. It seemed odd that of all traits to be clung to, his tidiness had survived in tact. Vincent supposed that it could be another remnant of this Lazard that had rubbed off, or simply reminded Sephiroth of him. Then again, maybe it was another trace of Lucrecia. A small grin on spread over Vincent's lips at picturing such a domestic side to a decorated war hero.

The gunman's head tilted in contemplation from where he walked only a few paces behind Sephiroth's right side. Domestic was a word that oddly suited the young man raised to be a soldier. Of course, all of Vincent's experience was with viewing Sephiroth's boredom and watching him seem so lost in world around him; that didn't exactly paint an adventurous picture, but could prove to only be temporary.

Still, it was enough to wonder if his son would've chosen a life in the military on his own, if it hadn't been forced on him. Between his mother and grandfather, scientific curiosity ran strong in the family, but it wasn't a certainty that those genes would override Vincent's own more mercenary heart. Sephiroth could've surprised them all with wanting to be a pilot or a dancer. There was no way to know, but it was going to be interesting to see what he did with the blank slate Gaia had given him.

---------

The first thing Vincent noticed when he stepped into the building was that it wasn't much darker at all than the morning outside and took little adjusting to see. The windows on the ground level were sparse, but large and wide expanses above, and the lack of a second and third floor between the ground and the ceiling, made up for them in spades. It was much brighter and far more open than he'd expected Sephiroth to be drawn to.

His second observation was that the place must have been a library. A sizable one; even Shin-Ra would balk at the overkill of having so many books in every sector. The vibrations of explosions and attacks throughout Midgar had emptied most of the stacks onto the ground floor and the two mezzanines against the far walls and left them looking like barren trees in the dead of autumn, with their dusty hardcovered leaves piled up a foot deep around the roots.

The very thought of picking them all up was overwhelming. Putting them back into some manner of order was inconceivable and nearly made Vincent groan aloud.

Sephiroth wouldn't have heard him, if it had slipped out.

The younger man with his hair still stained brown from Reeve's photo shoot set his heavy pack down slowly, taking in the ground floor's disastrous state with wide eyes.

Briefly, Vincent's heart stopped, hit with the fear that it might be too reminiscent of Shin-Ra Manor's basement and trigger a cruel memory. Sephiroth only turned a circle, surveying all of the first floor before the warped wrought iron stairs drew his gaze up to the first of the two mezzanines. Vincent barely saw his black wing spread out to take flight before Sephiroth was already alighting cautiously on the next level.

The groan of floorboards and steel joists was soft once the former SOLDIER's full weight on surface. Dust and debris trapped in hidden cracks fell free to the floor below like a dry snowfall. Another swoop of his wing placed him on the building's third and highest level.

An entire segment of this mezzanine was clearly missing to the right of Vincent's view, piled into rubble on the landing beneath. What remained of the eight-foot-wide floor to the left opened into a turret room almost large enough for Sephiroth's wing to fully stretch out. It had no door, no real walls at all to separate it from the rest of the library. The rounded floor didn't make a sound, save for younger man's footsteps. The hinged windows filling its exterior wall looked out past the upper plate's edge and for miles over the southern wastelands. Some of the blown glass panels were broken, leaving empty metal framework and permitting the warming morning's wind inside.

Sephiroth had learned to hate cold and chills, but this sensation was different. It wasn't the wet cold that he couldn't shake from his bones. This was the wind. Not a breeze, not a draft, but real wind. Just like in Junon. Just like through the windows of a hidden executive sitting room on the tower's forty-ninth floor.

"This is the one."

On the ground level, Vincent cast a fast glance around at the mess and debris. "This? This is a wreck."

The gunman had never noticed before if feathers made a sound as they cut through the air, but his son's wing certainly did. Sephiroth leaped from the second mezzanine without a trace of fear or hesitation, a dulled whooshing and an audible flutter following him down as the single wing broke the momentum of the freefall. Where such a landing had left a small crater in Edge's asphalt, this was far more controlled and did little but kick up a dust storm.

Sephiroth's eyes continuously darted about, obviously calculating but giving no hint to the younger man's intentions.

"Maybe," Sephiroth conceded to his father's appraisal. Vincent's fear of a lapse into panic or rage disappeared at the sight of a smile spreading uninhibitedly over his son's face. "But this wreck is mine."

---------

There were a few times over the course of the day when Vincent barely recognized the young man he'd been living with for weeks.

Sephiroth wasted no time on his usual self-doubts; spared no thought to his memories or whatever else there was in his head that would start him trembling for no reason. His actions were methodical, efficient - everything Vincent would've expected from a life-long soldier.

The daylight was spent clearing away the larger shards of debris and getting the mess of books under control and out of the way. Most of those by the west wall had been ruined by a year of rain coming through a quite noticeable hole in the roof, but Sephiroth wouldn't allow Vincent to throw them in with the rubble.

His son treated every tome he found as if it were something alive and fragile, needing to be handled carefully. Pages torn or falling out were tucked back inside of their covers. Orphaned pages were stacked aside to be returned later. Sephiroth only looked at a cover once in passing as he picked it up, but the stacks on the floor against the eastern mezzanine wall were almost perfectly sorted by size. If they'd had more time before the WRO was scheduled to arrive, Vincent was sure Sephiroth would be pulling them out to rearrange by thickness, as well. Within a week, they probably would be... if not returned to the shelves in order, entirely.

There didn't seem to be any underlying stress to Sephiroth's work, which left Vincent reluctant to question the books' importance and risk sending the younger man into a funk. Sephiroth worked quickly and soon his father found that the best way to assist in the effort was to keep out of the way. It wasn't a conclusion Vincent was used to accepting, yet the gunman merely smirked in amusement and sought out anything potentially dangerous that he could readily fix.

It was only mid-afternoon by the time the library's whole contents had been reduced to a dense forest of orderly columns.

Investigating the few doors behind the massive, dark wooden U-shaped librarian's counter on the north wall provided a few useful discoveries. A double pocket door to the left of the counter opened to reveal an employee lounge with a sink and enough power outlets to be made into a modest but usable kitchen. Along that room's righthand wall, the first door slid open on a closet of old cleaning supplies in utter disarray, a second on a swinging hinge led to a bathroom for multiple people, while the third and final, another pocket door, had closed off a sizable storage room. Vincent half dreaded it would entail another two or three hours of straightening books, but almost all of those in storage were boxed or crated. Sephiroth had them cleared and lined against a single wall within twenty minutes.

The storage room had industrial shelving for accommodating the weight of their crates and boxes, a wide and sturdy desk for receiving and record-keeping, enough high windows to keep from feeling like a cave - or a basement - and an exterior wall. Vincent kept himself to a snorted chuckle as he watched Sephiroth's all but awed study of the room.

"It's... it's about perfec', Vissent?" the younger man finally asked.

"Reeve would know for certain," Vincent answered, grinning as Sephiroth's fingertip tested the layer of dust on the desk and the silvery man's nose crinkled in distaste, "but it looks ideal to me. Whatever instruments he's bringing can go right through the outside wall and up to the roof, the shelves won't have any problem holding the data and communications banks, you've already got a place in here set up for any manual entries..."

Vincent kept speaking, but his voice quickly stopped registering in Sephiroth's thoughts. He'd agreed to this project for reasons that had nothing to do with doing Shin-Ra any favors; important reasons, as far as Sephiroth was concerned, but now that it was getting close its start, the doubts were creeping in.

Reeve had said the machines would largely handle their own recording and transmitting, and only needed a human hand for resets and first-hand experience. What if that involved having to write reports of his own? If the network went down during a transmission, would he be able to copy the figures down by hand without messing up an entire day's research?

Gods, research... Why in Minerva's name had he so readily agreed to be a part of the very profession that had left him in his sorry state? Why had he volunteered for a project full of numbers to be misread? A project so easy to screw up? Sephiroth rubbed at the small scar on his forehead and wished he could blame his shortcomings on the relatively recent injuries, but even if his brain were still working at full capacity, it wouldn't have made much of a difference.

Sephiroth's thoughts sped on, colliding into a mess to rival the main library before he'd arrived. People could die if his reports were wrong... one of them might even be... and no one would be there to help him... Vincent had never said, never insinuated that he was going remain in the upper city, too. Alone again... It wasn't safe for anyone else... Alone again... Goddess, not again...

Sephiroth slid his hands up to his hairline, fingers tangling into his long bang and intending to yank. A soft whoosh like blood surging through his ears arose, along with steady hands touching to his shoulders from behind. It was enough to stop his movements cold and make him slowly lower his arms.

The room wasn't any brighter, but the entire world outside of the store room's windows had gone a stark white. Chancing a look over his left shoulder, Sephiroth first noticed Vincent was still there. The gunman looked frozen in place, halfway to taking a step closer when he'd caught on to his son's sudden distress.

Sephiroth's blind eye prevented him from seeing far enough to spot the worn and scratched metal of a dark shoulder pauldron, but he could see the thick fingertips wrapped in dark leather resting on his collar. He shuddered under the heatless touch, and immediately damned himself for it.

"What's wrong?"

He meant to give a laugh at the loaded question, but it sounded for all the world like a dry sob. "Evathing. Or just me. This was a mistake."

"You haven't even started yet. It's a little soon for assumptions like that, isn't it?"

"Angeal, I agreed to something I can't do. D-did you ever know? Did you know that whole 'code' I used to write with was a lie? It wasn't for encryp'ing company tra'smissions. Lazard came up with it for me. None of the words were over five letters, so I couldn't fuck 'em up. 'Cause that's what happens. I fuck it up and it's all backwards and I'm just gonna do it again but now it's gonna hurt who knows how many people if I get it wrong and get Reeve in trouble for trusting me to do it right..."

The hands on his shoulders squeezed slowly. A chill raced up Sephiroth's spine in response. He knew that touch, and it wasn't strictly friendly. It wasn't Angeal who did it, either. Sephiroth shivered, certain it was only his own head messing with him.

"Sephiroth," his visitor began carefully, "you obviously got your job done, no matter what tools you needed to do it. No one could bullshit their way through the things you did for SOLDIER. No one else could fight your battles. No one else could plan your strategies in the middle of an assault. Maybe that code helped with the paperwork, but it didn't do everything for you. It didn't hold your hand or wipe your nose. No one did. You were a General because you were capable and you'd earned it."

"Was capable," Sephiroth repeated, sighing heavily.

The fingers on his shoulders tightened, and for a moment, Sephiroth was certain his friend wanted to shake him and yell. It didn't happen, and instead, a forehead leaned forward to rest against his long hair. Guilt over disappointing a friend who was only trying to help piled on top of everything else racing through Sephiroth's head.

"What do you need to hear, Seph? What do I have to say to get you to believe that the only person who ever thought you were stupid was the same bastard who'd been lying to you about everything else your whole life?"

Sephiroth's left hand shook as he lifted it to touch the small, shallow divot on his forehead. "If he was wrong, he made it true."

The former SOLDIER's composure broke in that instant, reducing him to the crying mess that made him cringe in his own skin with contempt. Any platonic distance to the hands resting on him were abandoned as the arms they belonged to wrapped around him tightly. They felt as though dressed in fabric. Angeal had died in his uniform - they should've felt like bare skin. Sephiroth couldn't calm himself enough to notice.

"I can't take away what he did, Seph. Gods, I want nothing more, but I can't. But, Sephiroth, he hasn't destroyed you. Can't you fight it? Can't you find some way to train your head like you do your body? I've never known you to consider surrender an option before."

"You never knew me when I'd been s... st-stabbed through the skull and left for brain-dead in a big jar before, either."

"It's in the past, Seph. It can't happen again."

"You can't promise that. I never believed it could happen to begin with, but it did."

"And why not have yourself back at your peak to destroy him first, if he even still exists? You'd rather waste your time, living in fear of a specter?"

"What would happen next time?" Sephiroth whispered, unable to fend of a tremble. "Would he make sure I can never escape or fight back by taking my arms and legs? C-c-cut my throat so I couldn't even scream? I know he won't just kill me, or he'd have left me in the reactor. I think those are legi'mate reasons to be afraid."

The hands slowly stroked up and down Sephiroth's arms as the head leaned to the back of his hair softly shook.

"You faced the same dangers, worse ones, even, every day in Wutai."

"I could fight back in Wutai. I wasn't bound, wasn't poisoned. I could fight back. But, all I could do was lie there and take it. I couldn't even push his hand away, couldn't spit in his face... nothing."

"Well, you can fight back now. You're not bound, not poisoned. Maybe you're not at your best, but you can fight. Don't lie there and take it again, when you have every opportunity to move. In the goddess' name, you commanded the most elite fighters on the planet - where's your bravery?"

"I can't... find it."

The head behind him gave a soft nozzle; an apology, Sephiroth's memory concluded. He'd felt it before. "You will. I know you will. Just keep look-"

"No, I have looked, but... it's not there. Other parts, they're missing, too."

"Parts? What are you talking about?"

"They're gone," Sephiroth breathed out. "It's like... Like, you know the grunt? The one in Nibelheim? I saw him; here, the other day. Shouldn't I have felt something? Even if what I did was wrong, shouldn't I hate him? Shouldn't I be angry? Just want to punch him in the face? The bastard s-s-stabbed me. I should have wanted to slam his head into a wall, instead of some no-'ccount thief... but I didn't. None of it. I-I only wanted to hear him say my name. I only wanted to know someone remembered me."

"It's not possible that you've just had time to move on from that hate?"

"Don't think so. I remember why I should hate him. I know why I wanted to kill him and why he deserved it. I know. But, it's like looking at a picture taken of someone else. I can't feel it. And... I shouldn't be afraid, but I am. I shouldn't cry, but I do. It's like I've lost all control over myself. The discipline's gone, the confidence is gone, the anger's gone... all I feel is the fear and the pain."

"Give it time. Maybe you've lost your confidence, but you can build it back. Reeve's project may be just what you need."

Sephiroth closed his eyes as he gripped the ethereal hands and pulled the arms the belonged to tighter around himself. "What I need is you."

"Wha... Me?"

"I won't pretend to unnerstand what's going on," Sephiroth whispered "but this- this isn't Angeal, is it? Lazard, where are you?"

There would be all eternity to deal with any consequences later. The vocal mask of the strong Banoran was dropped to let the smoother and hopefully comforting voice of SOLDIER's former director come through. "Lost, angel. If you're sure you want me back, you have to call me home. I can't find the way without you."

"Home... Where is 'home'?"

"Wherever you are, Sephiroth. Always has been."

"Then, why'd you leave?" It took a great effort for Sephiroth to get the question past his lips, no matter how faint the words might have been.

Tepid lips trailed slowly along Sephiroth's jaw, heading towards his ear. It was painful to wait for the heat of a sigh but not feel so much as the air stir.

"I asked myself the same thing every damned day." Lazard's voice sounded rough, as though he'd be swallowing back tears of his own, if he were physically capable of doing so. "I thought I could kill my hate and still come back to my love. I was wrong."

"Your hate- Shin-Ra?"

A single, soft chuckle sounded beside him.

"You knew about me?"

"Not back then, but someone told me; someone I believe. Lazard, d-don't be mad that I'm kind of helping Rufus through helping the WRO, but-"

A gentle, sucking kiss on his earlobe effectively cut off the rest of Sephiroth's words.

"Never, beautiful. I know you're doing this for me."

As quickly as the light had come up outside of the windows, it blew out into the deepening blue-gray of the evening Midgar sky. Sephiroth turned quickly for a look at his lover while the chance might be there, but found a pair of concerned red eyes staring back at him, instead.

Vincent looked over the younger man's face for a moment, speechless. The redness to Sephiroth's right eye and the obvious damp paths down cheeks that he been dry two seconds ago were more than a little puzzling.

"What the hell happened?" the gunman asked.

"Dust."

Vincent leveled his eyes on his son and Sephiroth could tell that he didn't believe it for a second, but the brunette decided not pry for a real answer. Not now, at least, which would give Sephiroth time to sort what had happened for himself first.

"I think you could use some air," Vincent said. "Come. You haven't eaten since morning, and we still have to find something to cover the biggest gaps in the roof."

---------

The first test of real fire around the former General, a small collection of splintered wooden door and window frames piled over a circle of broken concrete pieces in the middle of the street, was met with mixed results. Sephiroth kept his back to it, kept his eyes closed as often as possible to keep from seeing even the flickering light against the library's outside wall.

Vincent couldn't blame him, and chose to focus on how Sephiroth appeared to otherwise keep himself fully under control.

Only half of the roof's corner got patched before it became too dark to search out more materials. Spring might've been creeping in, but the nights could still carry an uncomfortable chill and pressed Vincent into starting another fire in the lobby fireplace by the librarian's counter.

Sephiroth still avoided looking at the small flames as much as he could, busying himself with getting the counters' inner contents up off the floor and deciding on what to do for the night's bedding.

That had been nearly two hours ago.

A collection of wingback chairs had been close to the fireplace, once intended to be peaceful spots for patrons to sit and read. Vincent had taken up in the chair with the widest view of the main floor and the front doors, out of habit. Cerberus lay against his drawn-up leg, receiving slow strokes like a faithful dog under the guise of being cleaned.

A few feet across the floor from the gunman, his son's energy had given out for the night. Sephiroth had pulled two of the ample chairs face-to-face and nestled into the doubled expanse of cushions. The chairs' arms almost met, and with the expanse of black feathers covering everything but the top of Sephiroth's head gave the distinct impression of an upholstered nest. Sephiroth lie with his head toward the fireplace, where the wide back of the chair prevented him from seeing the source of the room's pleasant warmth.

It was much harder to ignore the pops and cracks released as the wood burned. Amid his thoughts and idle movements, Vincent kept an eye out for any twitches in Sephiroth's wing. Better to wake a grouchy angel than leave him to a nightmare of his memories.

A soft grin slipped free as his son stretched within his warm confines to get more comfortable, and settled back to sleep with an oddly content groan. It sounded as though he might be mumbling to someone, but he didn't seem distressed or upset by it.

Satisfied that a traumatic attack would be kept at bay for a while more, Vincent's gaze drifted over the dimly lit ground floor. Reeve was certainly going to be surprised with how much Sephiroth had improved the place after only a couple of days. His expression, alone, would be entertaining.

It would be interesting to watch the engineer working on more than his own shop projects, to have him around for more than a brief chat, to wait and watch for whether the coat and shirt would come off when he grew hot. To see if Reeve would be the first to end up testing the makeshift shower facilities. To see if he'd freak out when Vincent asked to watch.

In front of Vincent, a deep chuckle and a long purr rose from beneath the blanket of feathers. For a brief moment, Vincent wondered whether Sephiroth was capable of reading his mind, before realizing that the noises were no doubt over dreams of similar thoughts of impurity. It gave Vincent pause from his mind's sudden trip to the gutter and made the gunman shake his head at them both.

"Sorry that you had to inherit something less than useful from me, sparrow," Vincent sighed through a grin, "but at least you come by it honestly."

---------

Comments

[lady-elodie.livejournal.com]

If I'm not mistake, FC!!

This is brilliant and I am so pleased to see another installment. I giggled like a mad thing at Ross Sparrow. The mental thought of Sephiroth with a big cheesy grin just tickled me pink. I love how Vincent is so protective of Sephiroth, and I love how you've put Rufus here. He's definately a wolf pretending to be a lamb.
Last off, haha for the dirty mind gene. My father inflicted such a trait on me. And Vincent! Does Reeve know you're thinking this?

[lenine2.livejournal.com]

An update!

I like devious Rufus, and I was touched by the conversation with Lazard. Also a little amused by the thought of him trying to imitate Angeal.

Looking forward to the next part.