Chapter Text
When a child’s crying goes unanswered, their needs unmet, eventually the baby ceases to cry.
Sephiroth is known for his adaptability to situations where his needs are unmet, his perseverance in the face of adversity, overcoming the odds even when they seem impossible.
And why wouldn’t he be? Such a state is that which his life has been in since the first moment he came into this world. Shinra knew how to stamp out everything superficial such as wants, as a weapon, a thing, does not have wants. A good weapon is kept functional for its duty and only requires minimal maintenance. Nothing more. Otherwise it is taken away to be decommissioned. So Sephiroth, the smart baby that stopped crying after only two weeks under Hojo’s custody, learned to keep his wants and desires secret. He knew to only permit his desires to revolve around what little Shinra doesn’t take away from him so that he can keep something. A sacred consistency within unknown hostile environments.
One of the secret wants he always struggled to keep hidden, especially from Hojo and that always earned him a sneer, was his desire to know about his mother. Searching for any scrap of information about the elusive vague impressions his mind had conjured up, then desperately clung onto the memory of her image ever since he lost that locket… A connection, a normalcy in his abnormal existence, that strange unknown that every human is gifted with by the sole act of being born- a family.
Well, bestowed to all except Sephiroth it seems. Though to be fair, his attention remains fixated more so on the absence of his mother, Jenova, than any other. It remains his most dangerous want.
Perhaps due to the fact that this uncontrollable desire is rearing its disruptive head again, is why Sephiroth’s patience has grown abnormally thin. Or maybe that was just Genesis’ special skill.
Or both… Yes, most likely both.
The man considers such musings as Genesis lounges atop the couch he invited himself to sit upon within Sephiroth’s tent. The same tent where he was trying to fill out time pressing reports for their efforts here at the frontlines against Wutai. Orders to be given to other soldiers in leadership positions, orders to be given for rations and supplies, orders for weapons, orders for transportation, orders, orders, orders… that all seem to fall onto Sephiroth’s desk.
Of course when Sephiroth finally sits down to tackle the responsibilities, attempt to keep his men alive, this is precisely the time that Genesis, perhaps possessed by a cat, decides to waltz into his tent and flop gracefully down onto one of the sole couches within the army camp. He doesn’t understand why Genesis must lounge on his couch, and when he dared to question it, Genesis vows the lumpy yet thin cushions are somehow more comfortable than their cots and his couch is the best one “evidently,” as if that is self explanatory. Sephiroth highly doubts there is any true difference.
So there he lies. Sephiroth’s pen scribbles away at papers, while Genesis watches a noisy video Sephiroth is adamantly attempting to ignore as his eyes scan over the small printed letters in front of him. The growing ache within his head was just as displeased with the ear stabbing existence on his couch. The headache is throbbing as though someone was attempting to replicate one of the professor’s few experiments with brain damage recovery. Thankfully those had been one of the rare experiments Hojo truly held utmost caution towards in case his perfect specimen was damaged beyond repair…
At least Genesis had the courtesy to remove his boots before sprawling across his couch, feet included. Sephiroth is unfortunately rather certain such a courtesy is being given more to the couch itself than to Sephiroth.
A cackle bursts from Genesis at whatever his PHS screen is showing him. The fiery First Class, along with other soldiers, were currently all distracted by the rare spot of service for their PHS’ to receive while in Wutai, so many are making calls or texting their loved ones. Hence Sephiroth's musings towards his poor mood today at the reminder of what he lacks. Rather than do such a thing, Genesis took the opportunity to instead watch videos online about whatever scandals are occurring back in Midgar. As another cackle erupts from Genesis’ chest, Sephiroth’s grip tightens around his pen enough to nearly crack it. His self control is far too impeccable after a life under Hojo's care for him to damage an item involuntarily for something so mundane as a headache.
Yes, it certainly is both evaporating his patience…
A sigh nearly escapes Sephiroth’s lips, instead he sets his pen down, lest it burst and create an irreversible mess of ink across his papers (just in case), to momentarily pause his battle against the stacks of paperwork. Resisting the urge to massage at his own temple to try to relieve the building tension behind his skull is a fight he somehow wins. But just barely.
“Genesis.” He begins cautiously, as speaking while severely irritated is prone to failure in the elusive art of communication.
“Hmm?” Not even an upward glance is awarded to the silver haired First-Class. That is fine. He will be the responsible one. He will not be petty nor immature. Angeal will be proud of him.
“Do you not have something more pressing to be doing? We are at war at the moment, there must be several things that could benefit from your attention.” Okay, not to the best start, Sephiroth can taste his own leaking attitude within such word choice, certainly so with the extra dryness to his tone. Deep breath… he could do this…
With a flourishing twirl of his hand, otherwise known as a dismissive wave in Genesis’ body language he’s learned, his fellow SOLDIER huffs with minute exhaustion as though Sephiroth were the one being disruptive.
“I’m sure there are plenty of chores about the encampment that do not require the attention of a person such as I. How could we have any confidence in winning this war if the grunts can’t manage themselves to at least this degree?”
Another throb through his mind, a sharp scalpel slicing across his frontal lobe, forces Sephiroth to focus slightly more on his own breathing. Which he eventually uses as an attempt to regain some patience. He is not to lose his patience. Sephiroth has unwavering patience when necessary, otherwise a lot more people would probably be dead.
“If you are disinclined to act upon your duties as a First, at least do so somewhere it will not disrupt my duties.”
Fuck. That is not what patience sounds like, even he knows that. Angeal would not be impressed. And lo and behold, just as such a thought crosses his aching mind, Sephiroth hears a familiar gait heading straight for his tent. As expected it doesn’t take Angeal long to appear through the tent flap dangling in place of a door.
“-as though you are oh so above the rest of us!”
Double fuck. He probably should have looked more like he was paying attention to whatever rant he had inadvertently sent Genesis spiraling into. Except the pressure within his skull was continuing to gluttonously devour his senses, not diminishing at all in the weight of one of Scarlet’s blasted creations stomping atop his brain or its inclination to stab with Masamune’s precision after it had been freshly sharpened.
“What’s going on here?” Angeal asks with a brow raised towards the ruffled feathered Genesis who screeches- gods above he may as well just split his own head in two, maybe then he’d get rid of this pressure. Right Genesis, pay attention- “Someone has a far bigger stick than usual stuck up his ass today, that’s what’s going on!”
“Genesis.” Ah, there’s the infamous Look of Disappointment Angeal has perfected in his time as a mentor to the other SOLDIERS.
With a soft wince at the next, truly impressive, shrill screech that erupts from Genesis, only partly towards his failure yet again to communicate with his fellow Firsts, Sephiroth finally caves and begins massaging at his own temple. Which does not go unnoticed by Angeal. His friend immediately walks closer; he must've done something to shut Genesis up for now if the lack of cursing and loveless quotes are anything to go by.
“Are you alright Seph? Another migraine?” The sound comes from Sephiroth’s left, wait, when did he close his eyes? Now that Angeal has pointed it out, yes this does feel similar to previous unfortunate migraine episodes. Enough for him to clench his jaw to prevent any unbecoming sounds the professor would be furious to hear if he were present. Except… there’s also a sharp fuzzy feeling that seems to be squeezing tighter and tighter around his mind.
“…Seph…ro…h?”
A heavy hand rests atop his pauldron and Sephiroth slowly works through the tension squeezing his eyes shut to forcibly relax enough so that he may pry free his vision again. Even through the pain and half his vision obscured by his own hand that’s clutching at his traitorous head, Sephiroth can make out the deep frown weighing down Angeal’s lips, how the man’s eyes flick back and forth from his own as though he could use them to see into his skull and locate the issue.
Perhaps if that were possible Angeal would have been able to see the owner of the voice that echoes through Sephiroth’s mind at that moment.
C̸̝̰̭̻̟͖̯̑͛̐͊̿a̸̡̡̳̬͔͔̙̹͋͐̈̕l̸̲̺͆͗̈̿̊͊̊͒̕ȃ̵͖̘͇m̷͉̂̇͛̅̂͌̕i̷̧̜̥̻̖͔͋̈͐̂̔͝t̴̢͚̼͇̫͔̰͌͐̈́̽̆y̵̦̞͌̚…̶̠͖̣̱̳̄́̄͊̑̓̍͘͠ ̴̹̯̙͖͉͚̆̉c̶̨̙̹͇͓͎͋̈́̂ò̶͍̥͇̙̞̫̼͔́̚͝r̴̢͆͌̑̽̏̏̂̈́r̷̥͓̺͙̝̊̂̓͠ͅu̶̟͙̦͍̅̋͘p̸̧̗̙̎͑̓t̶͙̭̜̳̲̮̠͔͉͋͒̃̃̓͘ę̸͖̇̆̐̅͒̀̚̕d̶̜͉͚͖̪̗̪̳̼̈́͐̉͂͘…̵̧͔͖͉͔̦̹̃̅
The feeling of static, endless needle points stabbing all across his brain, slams into him as though it were powered by a Thundaga spell itself. His hands clutch desperately at his own hair, teeth grinding together so hard he can hear the creaking bones over the beehive buzzing blanketing his ears.
Sephiroth cannot panic. He must remain rational. He must think.
What’s happening? A voice, yet Angeal and Genesis are not reacting to it- therefore a voice in his head. And pain. They are highly likely connected. Why is there a voice in his head other than his own? An unknown psychic attack of some sort perhaps. Pain. But there are no monsters nearby. Is it truly just one voice? Pain. The way it echoes makes it sound as though there is a cacophony of voices all overlapping into one. Pain, pain, pain-
“Yo… nt… ood…” Sephiroth squints at Angeal’s moving lips, for some reason the man’s voice sounds as if he were attempting to speak through the lab’s testing room glass window in the observation deck without using the microphone installed. Yet Angeal is still standing directly next to him, he shouldn’t sound so distant. Regardless, one cannot thwart spies from Wutai or collect valuable information during his own bouts of espionage if he were unable to read lips. So Sephiroth still catches Angeal’s full “You don’t look good.”
While being unable to hear Angeal’s voice, he continues to hear another.
L̴̺̜̱̫̺͙̉́͌̋̚ͅȩ̷̰͚̈́͋̉͝͝g̴̛̜̬͙͙͒̄̐ä̶̢̛̝̲͖̭́͌͐̐ḉ̴̩͇̠̉̑̎̑y̸̳̜͎̜͉̆͒͜ ̶͚̩̟̮͎̱̇̈́͊̂̿̚ȍ̶̮f̵͈̾̓ͅ…̵͕̰̬͈̭̭͉̏̄ ̴̪͖́̓̇̓ḥ̷̢̲̍̀̒̽͘ę̶͙̭̯̣͋̏͐̋̅̎͝r̵͕̀̃̃o̶̧̢͈͉̼̲̓ĕ̸͉͍̼̥̓̾̇͘̕ͅś̶̛͉̺̬̠͂̊̔̏͜͝…̷̖͈̭̻̲͓͗͑̊͑͘
The buzzing in his ears tries to drown out the voices, despite them being spoken directly into his own mind, Sephiroth finds it hard to piece together the sounds with all this… interference? Does it act similarly to radio waves? Radios certainly become staticy and muffled should there be too much distance from a proper source. Where could the source for this be coming from?
C̵͉͚̠̣͚̱͗̏͌̇̔̚h̶̡̹̳̩̳̲̭̬͍̺͓̣̍͗͗̾̓ͅạ̸̢̢̛̜̟̏͌̑̎̇͌͒̚ͅo̶̡̢̨̹͖̫͎̲̬̫̕s̷͍̿̀̚…̸̘̎͝ ̵͇̻̩͂̿̀̌̀̋͝b̶̨̡͇̤͓̲̺͖̱̣̙̗̝͉̜̆̎̊̉̆̌ͅó̴̡͕͕̱̭͖̿̓͂̇̎̀̊̚ŭ̸̙̻̼͓̼̙̦̍̓͊̈́̈́̀͆͑͋́̒͝n̶̢͉̪͕͓̪̜̹̯̻͉̿̄͋̈́̓̉̅͂̽̈́̎̈̚̚d̷̨̡̨̮͓͚̭̰͙̰͕͐̋͋͌…̴̼͚͍̮̉͌̽̃͆̇̓̾̐͊̉̚͝
Sephiroth stumbles out of his chair, forcing himself to scan his tent for a potential source through the pain- a monster, someone with an unknown materia, a new poison or toxin spreading in the air, anything - and is met with nothing apart from two worried faces and their moving mute lips. Perhaps this attack has a longer range than-
A hiss escapes from between his teeth, that pressure trailing further out now, specifically around his eyes, the pain a whisper across them until it grows and grows, as though a silent threat to burst the blood vessels there. Should he pluck out his own eyes? They will regrow. No that is a foolish pain hindered plan, he is still on a battlefield, blinding himself here is unacceptable. The professor would have him on the surgical table for daring to even think something so stupid even if he doesn't do it to check that Sephiroth’s brain is truly intact.
R̴͙͓̺̼̟͊̓̈̃́̎̓̎̊̓́̌̆̂͘͠ͅẻ̸̡̨͙̘̣̗͔̹̙̦̽̂̀̊͛͂͘m̸̛̮̙̲̄̃̃̂́̑̊̈̃̒̕ơ̸̟̟̱̜͍̱̭̥̟̩͎̥̦̬̱͙̾̃̿̀̿̀͑v̴̢̹͔̪͉̰͔̤̙̟̖̈́́̌͋͐̇̿̇̂̅͋̍̎̕͠ë̶̝̩̪͇͈̺̦͇̰̲̱̽̀̂̽̾̎̅͑̈̋́̈́͠ ̸̧̱̜̠̭̩͇̭͈̳́͊͒̿̿̏̃̋̿̏̏͂̓͠t̸̢̧̠͖̲͈͈̪͎͉̩̩͆͆͐͆̓͂͐̌̄̂̑́̚͝͝h̴̡͍͂̽̉́̈́͊̐̕͝͠ę̸̡̢̧͖̳̥̟̟̯̣̟͔̅͋͗́ͅ ̸̬͈͎͌̃̎̈́̕r̴̙̭̟͔̟̙͌̌ọ̴͎͔͖̩̪̻͖́͆̈́͛͗̃̀̂͝t̴̨̰̙̲͉̭͓͈̿͆̂̉́͗͑͊̇͛̿̃̈͘͘͝.̸̡̺̩̥͈͕͉̗͎̯̠̥͈͐̈́̐
And just like that it all ceases. The pressure, the static, the voices. Sephiroth nearly falls face first into his own desk from the sheer relief, hands snatch both his arms to become the harness that prevents such an outcome as his legs fail him. The feeling of a cool leather glove against his chest draws Sephiroth’s harried attention, he notes the light sheen of sweat across his skin, the faster rise and fall of his chest, and the fact that the leather is red.
“Sephiroth…?”
Ah, Genesis. His voice is a much more welcome sound compared to minutes ago- how much time has passed throughout the entirety of the attack? A warmth along his face trails down his chin and he watches as a dark splat of red meets the unmoving leather clad hand supporting his torso. Sephiroth can even see the swirls of mako green within the dark red. It’s a familiar sight.
“Your nose is bleeding.” Angeal states the obvious.
“Yes it is.” Sephiroth confirms anyway.
A flurry of green light washes across his vision as Genesis casts a Curaga, immediately the magic stops the flow of his bleeding nose and he takes tissues offered by Angeal to clean up his face.
“We’re taking you to the medical tent. That was not an ordinary migraine even for you.”
Silence draws a pause across the room. Should he…
“All that awaits you is a sombre morrow, no matter where the winds may blow. I know that look, Sephiroth, we are taking you there, you will let them make sure you are not about to collapse and die, and it is not negotiable.” Genesis commands and with a flourish of his hand, casting a fire to the pile of bloodied tissues with a sniff.
He feels his lips twitch into a near twist before he smooths it back out, facts are prudent in these situations, “I am not going to collapse and die.” Even if it is startling how quickly the pain arrived and receded just now, he feels… fine.
Before he can do anything else, Angeal’s hand returns to his arm and there is a look on the man’s face he has seen on occasion and this is when he knows he will only waste what little energy he has left if he fights their concern.
Angeal has entered what he recalls Genesis dubbing “Mother Hen” mode.
…
As much as Sephiroth hates visiting any type of medical personnel, he truly did not fight his fellow Firsts as they dragged him across the camp to the medical tent. Only for it to turn out that the trip is completely unnecessary. He felt much the same as he did before the… attack(?) occurred. Yet Sephiroth quelled any potential protests within himself as such a random attack, should there be signs of further issues to his functionality, could certainly lead to compromising his efficiency and success here at the front. He didn't dare share that he heard voices and left out some details here and there. Sephiroth knows all too well that his condition will be reported to Hojo, and if it is possible he is not going to allow the professor another excuse to call him back to Midgar's labs when his men need him here more.
After the medics have deemed him fit to return to his tent, nothing of note to be said about Sephiroth’s condition despite the… episode, Sephiroth finds himself falling into an unignorable exhaustion that demands rest so fast he may as well have jumped off the Shinra building’s roof. Shaking off any further concern from Angeal is the true challenge, no matter how many times he's faced his mother hen tendencies in the past. If it continues longer than today, he will soon have a perfect indent of Angeal’s face on his glove from pushing the hovering face away from him.
So he decides to take a quick nap at the very least. After resting he can hopefully awake in an hour or two to continue fighting against his mountains of paperwork. Sephiroth will not tolerate falling behind when there had already been the distraction of Genesis’ presence to hinder his progress even before this migraine issue.
Drawing back the fabric that creates his doorway and strolling inside his tent, despite the alarming episode that occurred here earlier, has his shoulders relaxing however minutely and a siren call of that promised nap has his feet carrying him to his bed without stopping.
The gods must be tricksters, laughing down at him, for more to happen today to foil his simple plans of conquering paperwork.
Instead of seeing the pristinely made bed (which Genesis had called an absolutely hellishly uncomfortable, to anybody other than Sephiroth, military cot monstrosity with bare bone blankets) he’d left behind this morning, he spots a lumpy disruption. Sephiroth doesn’t dare blink in case the image before him… well, actually, he thinks perhaps his sanity would be restored if he blinked and it disappeared-
Sephiroth blinks once.
He removes his hand from Masamune’s hilt now that it appears it is not secretly a bomb from their enemies. Except the truth of the matter could be considered worse than a bomb.
He blinks once more.
Nope. Still there.
The swaddled infant currently sleeping on his bed is still there.
After a few more minutes of blankly staring at the infant’s sleeping face, a few more testing blinks in case it’d disappeared on its own, Sephiroth decides to take action.
With a spin on his heel, Sephiroth whisks out of his tent. The night air is grounding in its chill as his glowing gaze swiftly scans the softly illuminated camp.
Some of the soldiers milling about the camp near his tent pause at the sudden appearance of silver hair and black leather. Sephiroth’s eyes are darting around the many faces staring back at him, but none appear to be worried as a family member would be if their infant were missing... Neither are there any attempts to smother smiles or laughter which indicates a prank (not that many have the courage to play pranks on him apart from Genesis and Angeal)... but that leaves Sephiroth with still no answers to the odd occurrence sleeping in his tent.
“...sir?”
Sephiroth’s eyes snap to the Third-Class SOLDIER, who to their credit manages to keep their flinch minute enough to not be blatantly rude, “Soldier.” He acknowledges.
With a brief glance to the other SOLDIERs nearby the Third-Class gathers up courage, “Uh, are you alright?” Belatedly the SOLDIER tacks on, “Sir.”
“I need a perimeter sweep and once it’s completed the results are to be reported directly to me.” At such orders the seriousness on the surrounding soldiers’ faces settle into place as professionalism takes hold but before the SOLDIER could dismiss himself, Sephiroth adds on, “And do so swiftly.” Who knows how much of a head start the child’s deliverer has had to escape, although the most reasonable conclusion is that the child appeared while he was away at the medical tent… is the child connected to the migraine and voices at all? Before Sephiroth can dwell on such thoughts long, the SOLDIER salutes and spins around to walk their way and direct the others nearby able to assist with the sweep.
With that matter settled for now, the First-Class escapes back into his tent away from any prying eyes. Which leads to a rare miscalculation as it sends him directly back to the predicament he has yet to understand how to proceed with going forward.
There is no example for the First-Class to reference when it comes to such a situation as this. Though he supposes at the very least he knew not to look to Hojo of all people for assistance when it came to interacting with- well, anyone (or any thing for that matter). Which leaves only Angeal as any possible reference to draw upon. Genesis can barely be trusted with full-grown adult soldiers some days, at least in regards to keeping them from earning a fireball thrown their way, let alone an infant so he is out too.
With this conclusion, Sephiroth slowly approaches the small bundle on his bed. As he finally stands directly beside the infant he poses the most important question to himself for such an unfathomable situation.
What would Angeal do?
Panic.
Yes, Angeal would panic over the baby being in such a dangerous location as an army encampment within a war zone in the middle of enemy territory. The survival of children is of great importance. Which means Sephiroth must first confirm it is alive and healthy if it is to survive such conditions until it is relocated.
Leaning forward draws a silver curtain around the baby (how is it this small? Was he ever so small? That seems nigh impossible though he understands rationally infancy is how all humans begin life) while Sephiroth observes the slow but steady rise and fall where the infant’s chest should be located under the mass of fabric it is imprisoned within.
A successful confirmation that the infant is alive. But… How does he confirm whether it is healthy? With only one frame of reference, he observes the infant as he would any soldier on the battlefield for signs of injury.
Hoping it will lead him to the answer, slit pupils sweep over the small body and assess the exposed skin poking out from its odd attire and imprisonment method. The pale skin has a faint rosy flush on chubby cheeks while the baby’s mouth is occupied with a small… pacifier that’s what they were called. Its tiny nose, now that he pays it more attention, sounds to be whistling softly in a mockery of a true snore with the infant’s pleasant sleep. Then there are the near sand white strands of hair- or rather fuzz atop its head where a nightcap with miniature chocobos prancing across the light blue fabric does not obscure the hair from view. Poking out from the top of the blanket wrap is a shirt collar that matches the child's hat. Finally the darker blue blanket, lacking any chocobos or other designs, wrapped snugly around the baby’s body does not appear to be hindering its breathing so Sephiroth assumes it is alright to leave it be for now.
Except Sephiroth still has next to no experience with infants to reference from for what can be considered ‘healthy’ of all things… Deciding on the next best thing, he removes a golden materia from his person, the orb is a stark star against the black of his leather gloves as he rolls it into an empty slot in his bangle. Sephiroth then raises his hand and casts an assess. Assess readily tells him that there are no obvious ailments or detrimental effects upon the child so he takes that as confirmation enough that the baby is in fact healthy.
Before the young man can take pride in completing the basic steps in affirming the healthy continued existence of the baby bed thief, the child squirms. Freezing in place, Sephiroth doesn’t dare breathe as the tiny form wiggles about, a scrunched expression wrinkling its face accompanied by a hefty huff from such little lungs.
What would Angeal do? Leave the child be for it to settle or offer it comfort of some sort?
Sephiroth’s fingers twitch in uncertainty as they hang uselessly at his side until finally he decides to use his own experiences for such an instance. Awaiting the wild animals or monsters to settle to sneak past them when their discretion is top priority but the deaths of the wildlife is needless seems to be an appropriate experience to use. Thus, he waits.
…
…
…
The silence continues as the baby settles once more a lack of any further changes to its surroundings leaving it to resume its peaceful rest. Sephiroth only remembers to breathe when he hears footsteps arriving towards the entrance to his tent. Ah yes, the patrol.
With a quiet flutter of his duster, the First-Class makes his way out of his private section and back into the office end, arriving at the flap of his tent just in time. As he is not willing to tolerate any potential disturbances to a certain bed thief, Sephiroth pulls the flap back and exits the tent with an expectant look sent down to the panting Third-Class soldier before him.
“S-Sir, perimeter sweep is done. Nothing of note spotted, sir. Should we do the sweep again?”
Sephiroth’s lips purse softly along with a minute pinch to his brows as his gaze flicks back at his tent for less than a second. How unfortunate. It seems this situation is much more complicated than he had anticipated. Especially when he wishes to eat his dinner and then sleep off his exhaustion from the migraine before they attempt any missions the following day to gain more ground. Oh and the fact that if this is a missing child, its caretaker would most likely want it returned as soon as possible.
Catching a whiff of the sweat practically pouring down the young Third-Class (did the boy think he would get into trouble if he took too long?) Sephiroth figures that if there were no evident signs of an intruder, one he’s beginning to suspect must be a fellow soldier or other Shinra personnel with access to the camp, it is not worth further pursuit at this time. Just as he opens his mouth to inform the young man of his decision, the sound of a certain baby sneezing may as well be a thunderclap in the quiet only filled by the Third’s heavy panting. Despite Sephiroth knowing that his hearing and that of a Third’s are in different leagues, even an ordinary civilian might have been able to catch it.
Sephiroth attempts to provide a convincing expression of calm, outwardly not reacting even minutely to the sound, and can only hope the Third didn’t hear that, “No, it is not a concern should you find nothing. Simply a precaution. Dismissed.” Sephiroth answers, hoping to shut down any opportunity for the encounter to continue lest the Third start asking questions.
The Third-Class salutes with a strong “Sir!” Before going back to whatever duties the First had pulled him away from. Sephiroth returns into his tent and with the privacy of his own quarters, he allows the weakness of a sigh worthy of the day's chaos to finally escape past his lips. All that’s been made clear is that there is no simple solution to this predicament and no clear cause. Even if the child were somehow connected to his migraine, why would they have such a powerful weapon capable of incapacitating him be revealed solely to leave behind an infant on his bed? It doesn’t make sense.
To find himself with little guidance left to navigate this odd turn of events, Sephiroth strides back over to his desk, sits himself down and begins to think.
Kunsel may not have the same aspirations of becoming a First-Class like his fellow Third-Class SOLDIERs, like c’mon he’s just become a Third, why does he need to already start thinking about First? But his lack of typical SOLDIER aspiration is not due to a lack of confidence with his own skills. Nope, he knows himself pretty well and those Shinra tests only go so far and have huge gaps that make it too easy to start overlooking a person's true strengths and potential.
As soon as Sephiroth had ordered him to do a perimeter sweep, he knew something must have happened to raise The General’s caution. He nearly grabbed a weapon right then and there to look for the threat that had caught the First Class' attention. And despite being caught off guard by the General’s appearance (yes he was walking past the tent but everyone kind of knows Sephiroth likes privacy when he can get it and doesn’t come out unless necessary which only further proves his point that something was wrong) Kunsel treated the sweep as seriously as such a situation called for. They were at war after all. He hasn’t been on the front long, it was long enough to learn some hard truths though, like how even a seemingly ordinary perimeter sweep can turn into a sniper bullet to your buddy’s head. Followed by the fact that even before you can register the bright splatter of marble bone and pink brains that had had a name is gone, armed fighters are charging at you seeking more blood to-
No stop thinking about it.
So when he returned with nothing of note to report, he tried not to let the sense of uselessness take over, nor the incessant itch that it would be his fault if his comrades died because he couldn’t pick up a threat in time. The incessant itch to find out is more irritating than a week’s worth of mud and blood attempting to become a second skin, somehow they are always bypassing Kunsel’s clothes and helmet and getting everywhere like sand. It didn’t help that sometimes there was also sand from Wutai’s many beaches.
He’d kill for a shower. And when he’s in a literal battlefield, that’s not as unlikely of a scenario as it once was back in Midgar.
Anyway…
Interestingly enough though, Sephiroth himself didn’t seem too surprised that nothing came from the perimeter sweep. Not that Kunsel would dare think he could read Sephiroth of all people perfectly.
Except… maybe- just maybe - Kunsel thought that at some point during their conversation Sephiroth looked… well, the only word that comes to mind is startled . Nah. That couldn’t be. Sephiroth has probably never been caught off guard before. Kunsel must have been seeing things.
Just like how he thought he heard a tiny sneeze from inside Sephiroth’s tent, he must have been imagining it.
It was probably just Hewley or Rhapsodos if anything; they always linger around Sephiroth at some point when they are in close proximity. This is one of the rare moments where all three of the famous trio are at the front, Sephiroth and Genesis are on their rotation, whereas Hewley had been asked to escort important supplies, thus he is only momentarily away from the Shinra Building. At least that's what Kunsel could find out from the gossip so far. So Kunsel finds that Hewley or Rhapsodos being the cause very probable, he is prepared to dismiss the interaction from his mind, when his traitorous self dares to not let it drop.
But what if it had been someone else? A Wutaian spy or scout?
Kunsel grins a little at the ridiculousness of the idea that anyone could sneak up on Sephiroth or manage to sneak into his tent. Yup, wouldn't happen.
There. It’s settled.
With a clearer mind and lighter step now that he wasn’t gasping for air after overestimating his stamina a little so as to not keep Sephiroth of all people waiting, Kunsel heads towards his original destination: food.
Yeah the rations and MREs are a test in their own rights to who can really cut it at Shinra but sometimes, like today, they pilfered fresher food from abandoned farmlands that Wutai hadn’t been able to entirely burn down before they reached them. So it was a rare treat of real food, though it wasn’t going to last for long with SOLDIER appetites and an army’s desperation for lost normalcy during a war.
Even if you weren’t the information collector type like Kunsel, it’s pretty easy to find your way to the food by the sheer volume of the tent compared to the rest of the camp. So he hears his destination before it even comes into view amongst the identical green mass of tents surrounding it. Kunsel ducks into the mess hall tent and is happily surprised to see some food still left! Yes! Just as he prepares to get in line he spots familiar red and black silhouettes from out the corner of his eye.
There they were with their unmistakable attire and even more unmistakable swords, sitting at one of the smaller tables as the pair whisper to each other throughout their meal. A very fierce conversation by the looks of it but even he's not dumb enough to try to listen in on those two. Besides, they were practically on top of each other with how close they were sitting together and their faces near pressed cheek to cheek. They'd notice him asap even if he tried blending into the background. Though he no longer wonders why people gossip about how close the pair truly are. It doesn’t change the soft frown that takes over Kunsel’s lips as that incessant little voice of his comes back.
Hewley and Rhapsodos... They were both here.
So… who was in Sephiroth’s tent?
Routine is an essential tool to a human’s mental capacities to function within the turbulent state of being that is living. Animals and monsters alike have their own routines, eat, mate, reproduce, sleep, die. Humans do all of those things as well, although some are done more often than others, differing from person to person which they indulge in most.
After sneaking swiftly in and out of the mess hall for something not quite so tasteless as his Hojo approved provisions, once he noticed a lack of both Angeal and Genesis’ presence within and an assurance the mysterious infant would continue sleeping without supervision that is, Sephiroth pilfered some tolerable sustenance. Then he promptly swept back towards his tent to not leave a certain anomaly alone too long.
One may ask, why hasn't Sephiroth told anyone of the presence within his tent? Sought out assistance to resolving this breach in security? It is a simple answer really. This may be a test. It is not uncommon for the professor to drop abrupt tests, experiments, and missions to complete on top of whatever other tasks Shinra demand of him to complete. In this case, the professor may be testing how well he can keep a person alive while in an active war zone or perhaps Shinra wants to get pictures of him keeping the babe safe and slap on another false story of heroism. Perhaps the professor even made something to induce a psychic attack to distract Sephiroth and they could place the child in his quarters. So when it comes down to it, finding assistance can wait. Either this is a Shinra induced issue which will be explained to him in due time. Or it is not the scheming of Shinra and he remains without a current lead to what is going on. The latter option will need time to investigate and the best course of action is to not draw more attention than he already has lest the mastermind behind this odd turn of events decide they must flee if they haven't already.
Therefore he can eat dinner and sleep first, then deal with the larger issue at hand in the morning. It has been a long day and he will be more efficient in whatever tasks he must handle in the morning than any futile efforts attempted this evening. Or at least that's the excuse he has prepared should any question him.
With a soft sigh that may or may not be from mild contentment or resignation or both, Sephiroth leans back in his desk chair as he rests the fork down atop his cleared tray.
Now that his stomach is no longer empty, his mind is slowly becoming clearer with the energy being sapped away from his stomach's contents… meaning Sephiroth has to face the presence within his bed once more. The smaller issue at hand that continues to perplex him... Does he sleep on his couch while the infant continues to hijack his bed?
It takes far too little time to walk from his makeshift desk of a folding table to his cot to assess the situation in whole. By the time the trip is over, his mind still has yet to come up with any thoughts. All except one when he finally looks at his commandeered cot.
Red. They’re so red.
Uncertain how to proceed, Sephiroth sits on the edge of the cot, next to the babe staring up at him, and does the only thing he can think of, “Hello, I am Sephiroth. Are you capable of speech?”
The baby blinks at him with sleepy curiosity, but does not wail or become fearful. That is what occurred rather frequently when Sephiroth had been told to take pictures with infants once upon a time. Shinra’s PR team quickly ceased those attempts with how each infant screamed in fear when he’d hold them or even simply get too close. To have this lack of reaction… an odd warmth seems to swell within his chest and there is a sort of anticipation- excitement perhaps? At the very least he already deems children far more enjoyable when they are not testing their auditory torture on his enhanced ears.
“Ah.” The baby replies, Sephiroth decides that regardless of the act of responding, it is confirmation to the child's lack of proper speech due to a failure to use proper vocabulary. He watches as the baby begins wiggling about within its swaddle, its brows quickly scrunching up as its grunting and squirming seem near futile to escape.
As the baby’s frustration grows and grows alongside the redness flushing across the babe’s face, the oval pupils constrict as it releases a mighty cry and yanks its arms free, “Aaah!”
Sephiroth’s breath catches at the sight of slit pupils, his heart stuttering and his blood pumping with Shiva’s touch until he can no longer move, not even to blink.
Despite not fully escaping the blanket, the infant heaves itself into impressive roll then crawls its way towards Sephiroth. The crawling would prove less ineffective had its chubby legs not still been confined. Only when the infant grabs hold of Sephiroth’s hair without fear, using the silvery rope to pull itself up onto its feet does it- smack its face directly into Sepiroth’s stomach guard as its balance fails the child.
The baby falls back onto the cot with wide stunned eyes, its gaze snapping up to Sephiroth’s own still stunned face, seeking something from him that Sephiroth could never guess and therefore cannot provide.
A familiar scrunch to the baby’s face warns Sephiroth before the tears even begin to collect in those vibrant and so very expressive eyes. A foreign sensation settles within Sephiroth’s gut and despite his mind remaining blank, his hands reach out with intentions that are a mystery even to Sephiroth himself.
The teary babe hiccups but before it can begin its sobbing or wails, it notices Sephiroth’s gloved hands and oddly enough, presses its face into the leather covered palm and nuzzles into the stranger’s touch as though it were familiar instead. Going so far as to wrap its arms around his wrist to keep it there, only to become distracted by his bangle. Sephiroth tentatively caresses the small face, his hand easily encompasses the small skull, he could pick up the baby by its head if he truly wished- such a terrifying thought immediately has Sephiroth applying only the barest of pressures as he strokes his thumb along the warm chubby cheek to rid it of tears.
Hoping a quieter tone may soothe the babe, Sephiroth asks softly, ”Are you hurt?”
”Eeehhh…” The infant complains but thankfully keeps itself from creating too much fuss, shiny bangles appear effective in deterring tears. And despite its choppy movements, arms lacking any smooth motion, the baby swipes at its own face as though it wishes to rid itself of the tears as well. All it manages is to remove the chocobo cap atop its head, leaving the mass of wild white strands uncovered. When it deems its own efforts futile, the crimson eyes droop and blink sleepily, to which the child directs a grunt and scowl at some unseeable force within the empty air.
“Oh.” Finally the pieces click within Sephiroth’s mind, how odd how apparent it seems now. If a child is tired, caretakers rock them to sleep. A leather clad hand cups the child’s head, as he witnessed civilian parents do while he passed them by, or even employees within Shinra itself showcasing their new offspring to their colleagues. Typically the children (toddlers was the term wasn’t it?) from the failed attempts at photographs were older and capable of holding their large heads up on their own without issue. This baby seems slightly younger still… So yes, he will support the head, their necks remain weak for quite a while he remembers. Even if the infant can hold its own head up, it would be similar to any newly worked muscles, strain can occur if not given breaks, therefore he will take that burden from the child when possible.
Sephiroth calls to mind the instructions on proper holding positioning from his rescue mission training for civilian lives, or rather the rescue of important employees and their family's. Although that was a considerably small percentage of his training… He is uncertain if that is due to Shinra’s negligence towards civilian lives, their priority for him to destroy the enemy before any true rescue of any sort is necessary, or if they were truly important then the Turks would sooner be called to handle the situation than Sephiroth.
Regardless, Sephiroth recalls the moments buried through the years and uses them now as a reference in such an unforeseen situation. When he lifts the child into his arms, he can’t help but be shocked at the barely noticeable weight that settles there. He may as well be holding a thick stack of reports from his desk. Unlike any paperwork however, the baby squirms in his light grip with displeasure, “Aaaeehh!”
Is it... offended? It is acting rather like Genesis, the man himself makes any felt offence known immediately, no matter the hour. His guess is confirmed. The round legs of the child spring out to force the point home, as though Sephiroth would be staved off by some squirming or the kick of an ordinary child of all- A well placed kick to his stomach guard momentarily stuns Sephiroth as the blow hurts. Not only is there pain, he can already tell, referencing another of the innumerable tests by the professor and countless missions, that it will bruise for however brief his enhanced healing will allow for it to last.
How the-
All thoughts swirl into an unknown abyss as Sephiroth tries to make sense of how an infant could possibly have the strength to accomplish such a feat. Even if Sephiroth had been caught unawares it remains what should have been a near impossible accomplishment for this scale of pain reception. Only Angeal and Genesis have had the strength to even come close to matching his own. The two fellow Firsts would be the ones most likely to wear him down overtime with their blows if they ever managed to land them properly, but by now with the significant gaps between them all… the pain of their blows have lessened. Especially compared to their younger years when Angeal and Genesis received injections before Hojo upped Sephiroth's own dosage. Those few days remain the most noteworthy in regards to Angeal's and Genesis' efforts during their sparring matches against him. So for a baby to be able to land a kick that registers on Sephiroth's desensitized pain receptors, leaves him with only one question.
If the infant is this strong already, how strong will it be when fully grown?
With a butterfly-like flutter of long dark lashes, Sephiroth’s gaze fixes itself on the infant still squirming with little grunts in his unrelenting grip.
No harm done. Forgiveness for an infant’s flailing at such an age is appropriate as far as he’s aware, as infants have no proper form of communication and far less controllable motor functions.
Perhaps…
Perhaps this is another similarity they share, along with their unique eyes. Does that make this child another of Hojo’s projects to clone him? None have come close to replicating Sephiroth, he knows that as a fact due to the professor’s own gloating during Sephiroth’s testing. But the professor was also a part of that group as well… Depending on the day he would occasionally grumble about none of his other specimens coming close to Sephiroth’s success despite those previous bouts of gloating. It is an odd mix of pride and exasperation. Though he did not know much more than the fact that Hojo wished to create more SOLDIERs and continued to take DNA samples from Sephiroth to make these attempts. A selfish part of Sephiroth hadn’t thought too much about it.
Until now that is.
The man carefully sets the child down upon his lap so he doesn't accidentally drop the child. Its feet and hands continue to jab at Sephiroth’s own limbs as the man begins sorting through crumbs of information Hojo spilled here and there about his other specimens. There are... only three possibilities that Sephiroth can entertain for these odd circumstances. The professor has succeeded in making a noteworthy clone or specimen following similar parameters to Sephiroth's own development, this child is from that elusive side project the professor refers to as Deepground, or someone else has created a specimen of Sephiroth's caliber. Regardless of the child's origins, none of these speculations explain why or how the child got here. Unhelpfully, this whole situation is leaving his mind light and swirling, but he doubts it's solely due to this brief lack of oxygen due to his stunned state. Sephiroth knows he can go without oxygen for up to an hour due to the underwater training and respiratory system testing he’s undergone, which makes the lightheadedness a somatization response.
”Eh beh mmeh.” The baby babbles nonsensically as it plants its feet atop Sephiroth’s thighs and using the leather straps crossing atop his chest, the infant hoists itself upright once more with its face flushing effort but keeps a wary attention to how close its head comes to Sephiroth’s body.
Unfortunately, the baby fails to not smack into him again. Sephiroth can’t help the brief minute quirk to his lips as the forehead smacks into his chest. At least it’s not the hard leather of his stomach guard again. The babe seems to agree as it doesn’t draw away in pain but instead lifts its head, further tickling Sephiroth’s skin with the soft hairs atop the babe’s head, to stare up at Sephiroth with curiosity matching the man’s own unwavering slit pupils.
“…You have eyes like mine.” The man murmurs the observation to life, as though it were a secret he was forbidden from acknowledging, to the child. Hojo would have scoffed at his obvious observation and called him boy in that way that always felt like the sting of a scalpel to some unseen part of his body.
“Mmeh?” The babe wiggles about again until its hand clenches around its blanket to promptly shove the fabric into its slobbery mouth.
Charming, Sephiroth thinks dryly.
A contrast of colour amongst the blanket’s dark blue catches the man’s attention, with red thread a similar shade to the babe’s own eyes, swirling letters spell out-
“…Claude.”
Immediately the baby’s head snaps up, a startling awareness present in the crimson stare that is unmoving from Sephiroth’s visage. Adding further to the startling awareness, the babe- Claude questions, “Eh?” As though it were in lieu of an older human’s, ‘Yes?’ should their name have been called.
His mind once again whirls as he tries to find any information within his memory about the intellectual development and sense of self showcased within infants. He highly suspects this is an unordinary circumstance. However, he is known for not being the most aware of ‘ordinary’ things, let alone in relation to child development. It also doesn’t help that he doesn’t know the actual age of the child on his lap.
Claude’s face does that quickly becoming familiar scrunch to its light brows and small nose, then drops the blanket, some blue darker than the rest with the added baby slobber, to nuzzle against Sephiroth’s chest with a “Mmph.” That may… be a growing sense of boredom, or perhaps a… request for affection…? The only thing that seems clear is the child expecting him to respond in some way.
It is an odd sensation to feel the brush of skin against skin. Even more so when the skin of children is significantly softer than that of adults from the rare moments Sephiroth recalls being touched by another without a leather barrier between them. Sephiroth cannot determine whether it is… a good sensation or a bad one. There is a stiffness in his shoulders and he has to actively keep his hands loose instead of flexing around the child he is holding upright. It would not do to accidentally crush the child’s minuscule ribs. Slowly, with the same delicate touch required for defusing bombs, Sephiroth snakes his arms around the child, one under its rear in case its legs tire, the other behind its back so it will not tip over.
The child’s touch remains. In fact this Claude presses even closer once it is enclosed within Sephiroth’s arms, its face continuing to rub its cheeks against the bare skin of Sephiroth’s chest that his duster exposes. One small hand wraps around one of his leather straps again for balance while the other feels along everything within reach, leather, skin, metal buckles, his stomach guard…
In spite of being at the mercy of the child's groping, the mind boggling softness cannot remind him of bony hands pulling, prodding, or splitting him apart. Claude’s fingernails are trimmed to be blunt and so they do not remind him of the scrape of steel as they drag along his skin when the baby adjusts its clumsy grip on his leather straps. And the smell of baby powder along with a… Sephiroth gives another tentative sniff, jasmine and rose, perhaps some type of berry as well? He is not an expert on plants, but those are his best guesses for the remaining scent of the child’s shampoo. Either way, Claude’s scent is worlds away from disinfectants, mako, and bleach constantly sailing through the cold sterile air of the labs.
Yes… worlds away from Shinra, Hojo, and battle. A baby that shares inhuman eyes like his own. Strength no baby should be able to possess. Pale hair, albeit not entirely like his own with the feathery sort of attribute to it rather than lying flat. Although that may change as the baby grows.
Perhaps Claude will look more like Sephiroth as time goes by... The thought sends a silent ripple of anticipation throughout him, similar to the first time he had experienced a true snowfall. It had not been a discovery, no, far too many simulation battle tests due to Hojo’s meticulousness for him to not be aware of snow and its dangers.
And yet…
Sephiroth recalls the utter quiet of the snowflakes as they fell straight from the grey clouds to the winter monochrome earth, for there was no wind nor breeze to sway them on their downward journey. So Sephiroth had stood still, as the world seemed to do, allowing the snow to be all that moved within the united stillness. Each snowflake an icy kiss against his red tinged skin from the air’s chill, his eyes never leaving the large clumps of snow as they descended towards him like white feathers.
What could he have possibly anticipated in such a tranquil moment? He wasn’t sure, and he still isn’t. But as Sephiroth had allowed himself a moment to feel the world around him, his heart began to quicken, his lips twitching though he kept the movement at bay, and the clarity of that brief moment of tranquility has never faded from his mind. Even the memory of the white snow painted red under his feet from his completed mission did not distract him from pondering over the odd reaction he had had with a calm fascination.
Then the moment broke as he saw Angeal watching him, with the same look in his eyes as when he’s trying to comfort dying soldiers. He’s still not sure what that look means. Except even then, Sephiroth felt a distance carved between them that even now he struggles to understand or at least ignore. The next time he experienced a snowfall, he did not spare a thought towards the fleeting flicker of that same anticipation, instead he kept his feet moving without slowing his pace. And well, eventually, that light flutter in his chest died. Snow was snow. Nothing more.
So even in this moment, Sephiroth does not understand the anticipation he feels towards this child. At least not until the words escaped the cage of his teeth and the world seemed to stop for them this time, stilling a world of battle, blood, fire and death, a world that knew him as a perfect weapon, a demon.
”You’re like me.” A forgotten child whispers through Sephiroth’s lips, to this stranger named Claude.
The babe tilts its head up at Sephiroth, munching on its own closed fist until it decides to offer comforting pats to the man’s chest, leaving glistening handprints against his skin.
Charming…
Within an unknown mako spring…
He wakes.
Static and fog block his memories. Yet it is… Familiar, this feeling.
Out. He needs to get out.
His mind is unable to process his own body, its sensations, as one moment he is floating within the glittering pool, the next he is climbing up its bank. He doesn’t remember moving.
Remember… he has to remember… to breathe.
In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. Good. No issues.
For a moment, he can’t look away as the spring green drops fall from the ends of his hair, from the bottom of his locket, and from the tip of his chin to fall between his squelching leather boots and burst like shattering diamonds.
There is… something else he needs to remember. It’s important. More important than remembering to breathe. His gaze drifts back to the locket swinging gently around his neck, a wolf's paw print engraved along the smooth silver.
What’s important…?
Why is it important to him?
Who… is he?
Champion. The Planet answers. How he knows it's her, he’s uncertain.
As though someone were increasing the brightness on their PHS screen, a glow grows stronger and stronger from within the spring.
Calamity Queller. She calls him, her voice not just in his mind, but in the air he breathes, the grass hugging his boots, the ground beneath his feet… in the mako clinging to his skin and weighing down his clothes.
Slowly his head turns to look over his shoulder guard at the mako spring, and he is met with the sight of swirling dust like tendrils. The tendrils flow through the air in invisible streams to coil around him. The glow intensifies for a moment until the cyclone falls apart like sand and disappears into nothingness.
All at once, Cloud Strife remembers.
He remembers who he is. He remembers what he has to do.
One last time…
He repeats the promise to himself as he unhooks the Fusion Sword from his back and with a flick of his wrist flings off the layer of mako along its blades.
With a deep breath and sword in hand, Cloud Strife sets off to play a hero one last time.
Then everything will finally be over… no more ghosts to chase.
Sephiroth’s story will come to an end, for good.