Gun AU 1

[warmskies]

 "Sephiroth... It's okay. Stay calm." 

Those are certainly words to say, for a man with a gun pointed directly at his head. And he can't believe Lazard in this moment either as they stand there in ShinRa's hallways. Not with the way he can see the director's skin has gone pale, how his throat struggles to swallow. That's with only his eyes alone. Sephiroth is sure that if he were just a little bit closer, he could hear the thunder of his heartbeat. 

It... makes him tense. Far more tense than he thought he ever could be, and he's been on battlefields, taking out Summons with just his own skill and Masamune. Masamune, sheathed, kept away, because he is a quick draw with a quick hand, but the gun is pressed right there against Lazard's skull, the back of his head. What distance is there between the bullet and hair, skin, bone? Not nearly enough even in this situation. Lazard is right. He has to stay calm, even if this is the least calm he thinks he has ever felt in his entire life, far beyond anything that a battlefield could inflict upon him.

Stay calm. Stay logical. All his lessons and training have demanded this of him. What details can he notice, right here, right now?

The person there behind Lazard looks like a woman, as far as he can tell. She's wearing makeup, the light hitting her skin in a way that doesn't seem natural compared to people like the average SOLDIER that he sees in ShinRa HQ. Bright red hair, short, styled around her face, fake. It's a subtle difference, but he can tell. The roots don't settle right, and the texture seems subtly and strangely off.

Her eyes are bright, eerie, distinct Mako blue, and yet she doesn't hold the gun like a professional should.

He didn't think anyone could get eyes that blue if they weren't in the SOLDIER program. In fact, that should be something of an impossibility, as far as he knows. No one else has access to that kind of technology; ShinRa made sure to patent it. Would other countries be mimicking it, all on their own? It can't be Wutai, or else he's sure the battles would be going quite different... and there's no trace of accent in her voice, either.

Ultimately, all of that is unimportant in the moment. He knows enough, for the time being, and what he knows is that she is an enemy, she does not seem allied with Wutai, and she is untrained.

That last part may be the most dangerous thing of all. With a trained opponent, there comes a certain degree of predictability, in Sephiroth's opinion. If they raise their weapon this way, they'll likely follow through in that way. If they move in that direction, the counter will be like this. The real danger comes with opponents who are so skilled that they know how to abuse those expectations, do something tricky... or the untrained, who could do anything at all.

And that is a problem, when a gun is involved, pressed right against Lazard's head.

"Sephiroth," Lazard says again, calm, patient, and Sephiroth doesn't have to take his gaze far away from the enemy to look towards Lazard's face. His skin has gone a bit pale, uneasiness in every bit of him... But the director of SOLDIER is doing a remarkable job at keeping calm, given the situation is what it is. "Sephiroth... Just go with her."

"That is unacceptable," Sephiroth says, sliding his attention right back to the woman. "I will get you back, Director." Is he not Second Class for nothing? Second, honestly First? If he cannot even do this much...

But yes... That was the demand of the woman, wasn't it? At least, a demand that came after the expected ones, such as keeping him back, such as telling Lazard to stay still. She says it again, her voice only a faint tremble - although it's gotten better since she's adjusted to the shock of the situation. "I don't plan on hurting you," she says, as though that was ever one of his concerns in the first place. "That isn't my intention at all. But... I do need you to come with me. Him or you, I suppose. Now that things have come to this..."

Just what does she truly want? Sephiroth has to wonder about it, although he suspects that the answer lies within her bag. Stolen research? Marketing information? Blackmail?

Maybe the easiest thing to do would be to pretend to concede to her demands. To tell her to let Lazard go, and he would go along with her. But not only does Sephiroth not think she's so foolish as to go along with it - not if she's broken into ShinRa - but he's never been a good actor.

So what are his options?

"Please... I just need to talk to you."

"I will be all right, Sephiroth. I promise. So... You don't have to worry."

How can he say that so easily? How can he be expected to do that so easily? Sephiroth grits his teeth, fingers winding tighter around Masamune's hilt.

How did they even get to this point?





It starts with Genesis finding a little boy eating dumbapples in his parents' orchards.

They're very important orchards, he knows that much, even as just a small child. His family has drilled that into his head for... maybe as long as he can remember. His family drills a lot of things into his head, nonstop, all the time. His father has expectations for him, after all. It's a big word. Genesis already knows the definition.

And honestly... Honestly... It's tiring. He knows he can't ever tell his parents that, of course. He thinks he tried once when he was really, really little, and... He can't remember exactly what the response was. All he can think is that he doesn't ever want to do it. Doesn't ever want to see his father get that scrunch between his eyes when he clearly finds Genesis to be annoying, or his mother crossing her arms with a weary sigh.

If he just does good, then his mother, at least, will praise him. Will pet his hair and smile a little and be pleased enough. One day, perhaps his father will do the same. He just... has to figure out what's good enough for him. What will reward him with a smile from that ever frustrated face.

At the very least, when he does well enough in his classes, he's allowed to go outside into the orchards, and even pick books from his parents' library to read, which he's taken to more than well enough. Especially the books of poems, which can be all sorts. There's one in particular that he's fallen in love with. An ancient poem, which is short, but sweet, a mystery with an ending no one knows. He likes going out into the orchards, hiding underneath the arching shadows of the Banora trees, and pretending that one day he'll be the person who will solve it all.

And that was what he meant to do, today, before the sound of rustling catches his ears, and he beelines straight for it.

Beelines straight for the boy - exactly his age, he thinks - that is there in a tree, dark hair falling shaggily in front of his eyes. He already has a dumbapple in his mouth, and his olive eyes stare right down back at Genesis.

Genesis returns the favor, book held close against his side. He knows that, technically, what he should do is go call for his parents, or the guards that are supposed to watch over his family's prized orchard, or anything else. This sort of thing is trespassing. Genesis doesn't do that.

Instead, feeling his heart pump excitedly in his chest, he says, "Do you want to play with me?"

There's no immediate answer, probably because of the apple still stuck firmly in that mouth. But the other boy adjusts himself against the bough of the tree until he can twist and fall, all the way down to the ground, where he lands there right on his feet. Genesis wants to do that himself immediately.

While he's pondering just where he can put down his book so that it doesn't get damaged, the other boy pries the apple out of his mouth and blinks at him. "...Oh, so you're why this place smells like me and Ma."

"Sure," Genesis replies, and he doesn't understand exactly what that means, not then, not yet. "I can climb really good too. Wanna see?"

And it's just that easy. Easier than any of the times he's tried to go down into the little offshoot just down the path from his family's house, that little extension of Banora where all the workers live. Then, the kids are all busy in school, or helping their families out, or any other number of things where he's clearly an outsider and everyone knows it.

But Angeal comes to him, and Genesis can always hear him, even far off in his house. Can recognize the sound of his heartbeat, his shuffling up over the fence, his footsteps. It almost feels as though he was always meant to know everything about Angeal.

And he thinks maybe Angeal knows that too. Always knew it, from the second that he looked over at Genesis and said what he said.

"You don't live in town, right?" Genesis asks. He knows because whenever he was able to be in town, he never really heard anything like Angeal's voice, never really saw him. He knew all the other kids, but Angeal was a foreign entity from the very first day. And whenever he goes away for the day, or at least while Genesis is away in class or mealtime or anything else... He doesn't know where he goes. He just knows it isn't back to town.

Angeal looks up from where he's fumbling with some sort of flower thing. "Oh, no." And he pauses, then, considering Genesis for a moment. "...Do you want to come and see it?"

"Yes," is out of Genesis's mouth before he can even consciously form the words as a thought. He's never gone to anyone else's house ever, before. He's never really gone out of Banora before, honestly, and sometimes he wonders if he'd ever be allowed to leave the house. But, well... Surely it would be alright, wouldn't it? Just for a moment? As long as he comes back from his recess is over...

Getting over the fence is easy. Genesis always knew that, and yet there's still a thrill to it, to leaving all on his own with Angeal right there by his side. "I actually told Ma about you," Angeal confesses as they dip through the shrubland that takes over some of the outskirts, where the orchards aren't as prevalent. "And she wanted to meet you, when she heard me talk all about you."

Did he do something wrong? Genesis squeezes down on Angeal's hand as he's lead through the shrubs, down into the slightly thicker jungles which curl at the edges of the town. If she wants to talk to him, then there has to be something he's done...

They don't go too deep into the jungle. Yet, even "not too deep" is still far deeper than Genesis has ever dared to do in his entire life. Soon enough, the thrill of such an adventure overrides most of his worries, and all he can do is grin as Angeal tugs at his hand. It's just as green as he always knew it would be, seen from the window of his room, or high up in the attic where he'd occasionally hide when everything was too much.

But he never could have imagined that there were caves, hidden deep within all the vegetation.

It's easy to miss, too. Even Genesis isn't sure if he would have noticed it on his own, even if sound echoes strangely from within it, although he could probably miss a lot of things with how excited he is to be in the jungle. Angeal has everything memorized down to a science, however, pulling back various vines and low hanging branches. It's just a truly tiny little thing, almost more a hole than anything else, that an adult would have to crouch and waddle into. Even for kids like them, it's a little bit tricky.

"You live in a cave?" Genesis asks,fascinated, as Angeal takes a small flashlight that hangs from a pouch on the wall. It illuminates their way, shows how the tunnel gets wider and taller.

"Yup." The last letter pops on Angeal's lips, and he takes Genesis by the hand again.

Genesis guesses some people might find it scary, how dark the cave is, how cramped everything feels, and yet he prides himself on not being scared of anything. All he can do is marvel at it all, grinning wide as he possibly can. All the moreso, when they start entering enormous caverns that seem as big as some of the houses in town, light filtering in from some strange cracks that he can't make out.

The biggest of them all might be larger than even his home, and Genesis has to pause, breath catching in his throat as he cranes his neck to take it all in. There's some sort of beautiful glow to everything, helped by a large opening in the ceiling from which water falls, glittering like crystal. And behind it... something...?

There's not much time to take a real good look at the strange rock formation there behind the roar of the waterfall. Besides him, Angeal raises his voice above it all. "MA! I brought my friend over!"

Two emotions happen almost simultaneously inside of his chest, clashing straight into each other. The first is nothing less than pure and unbridled delight. Friend. Angeal considers him a friend. It'll be the first proper friends he'll ever have had.

And then, right against it... Anxiety crackles, sharp, unpleasant, static cracking against his brain. Doing his best to hold his chin up high, Genesis looks away from the waterfall, and towards the rest of the cave.

When he's not looking off towards the waterfall, the rest of the cave is actually.... surprisingly well furnished, especially the further one goes from the waterfall and its spray. There are furs spread across the ground that make up lovely rugs that look soft to the touch, and various rocks have been repurposed, combined with wooden slabs, to make various kinds of furniture. Shelves, and tables, and all that sort of stuff. There's even a few things that look like generators, or ice boxes. It's more than he ever would have thought would be there, in some cave down in the jungle.

And there, standing there at one of the makeshift counters, a woman with short brown hair looks up to them. Her eyebrows rise at the sight of them both, Angeal there holding his hand, before her expression settles. She smiles a bit, gestures for them to come closer.

Compared to the two of them, she's farther away from the pouring down waterfall, and thus the noise isn't quite as mind numbing. Granted, without all the noise drumming out his own thoughts, Genesis is left alone with those thoughts, and, well... Still, he appreciates it, for what it's worth. Just not nearly enough to have anything less than an absolute iron grip on Angeal's hand as he's lead closer. Somehow, in the midst of his own buzzing skull, Genesis recalls some basic manners. "Hello, ma'm."

All around them, the sound of water still bounces off the walls. Maybe because she's used to it, Missus Angeal's Mom still sounds crystal clear speaking over it. "Hello. You must be Genesis, isn't that right?" Carefully, she lowers herself down into a crouch, knees held tight together and her hands resting atop them. When he nods, she holds one of those hands out. "My name is Gillian."

Having his hand shaken, being introduced... It makes him feel like a grown up, and Genesis swells up as they shake hands. Like all his nerves have disappeared completely. "Missus Gillian."

She chuckles. "Well... No, I suppose Missus will do." He doesn't understand what she means, exactly, but he doesn't have time to dwell on it, either. Straightening up, Missus Gillian dusts off her pants. "Do you want to come and sit down, Genesis? I can come up with some sort of snack for you two. I wasn't expecting anything today, but I know how to make do."

As it turns out, the best kind of snack one can ever have in Banora are the apples, and Missus Gillian cuts and peels them expertly. She even makes them into little cute shapes, peeling the skin just so in order to make them like little ears.

"Angeal says you're a lot like him, you know," Missus Gillian says casually, while the two of them are chewing on apples and she's working on some heavy knitted thing. Sometimes the nights do get cold in Banora, but the cave seems cooler than anything else, so Genesis gets it. It's nice, too. At least, he thinks it looks nice. His parents never make handmade things. "Who are your parents?"

This isn't a particularly unusual question for him, although, well, Genesis guesses it's not asked too much off him. Everyone in Banora knows who his parents are. "Jean and Catarina Rhapsodos," he says obediently, eyeing some of Angeal's apple slices. They look juicier. Or, at least, bigger.

The slicking of her sewing sticks together fumbles, for a moment, but Genesis doesn't think too much of it. "I see," Missus Gillian says, and laughs a little bit when Genesis makes a go of trying to steal one of Angeal's apple slices just to get his hand smacked away. "Well, you can come over to visit any time you like, Genesis... Just as long as you don't tell anyone else where we live, alright?"

Genesis doesn't understand the meaning behind that, the reasoning, not yet. There's a lot of things he doesn't understand with Angeal and Gillian, but it's okay. It doesn't matter. He's a part of something, now, and that makes all the difference.

And Missus Gillian treats him really nicely, too. She's interested in all sorts of things about his life, from how his classes are going to what book he's read recently. Even when he complains about all the doctors he has to see regularly, she nods along and sympathizes. No one ever sympathizes with him when it comes to the doctors; his parents just tell him that it's for his own health and he needs to accept it.

"You know, I used to be a doctor, once upon a time," Missus Gillian tells him, when Mister Hewley has brought in a large monster that got caught in the jungle traps. Genesis doesn't know too much about him, because he's never there when he is. All he knows is that Missus Gillian is a little bit clumsy with skinning and preparing the meat, but manages to get the job done. They talk like this often, after all: him sitting in a chair with Angeal, the two of them playing, and her preparing traps for Mister Hewley, or food for the night, or any of other things. Always busy, always making noise. Genesis likes it. "I'm actually a little bit curious about what they're looking for... So, Genesis, would you mind if I looked at what they did?"

Immediately, he makes a face. "What... Like taking my blood too?" It never really hurts too much, but, as he's gotten older and older, he's noticed that the needles seem to get bigger and bigger, and the doctors have to push in worse and worse. He hates it.

"Only if you don't mind," Missus Gillian says, which is more choice than any of the other doctors have ever given him, or his parents, for that matter. "Does it normally hurt?"

It doesn't, and he tells her as much. He tells her his experiences with the doctors, and all the tests, and how frustrating it all is. Missus Gillian listens to him patiently. If there's one thing he can count on Missus Gillian for, it's that she always listens so patiently.

And, by the end of it, Missus Gillian just nods her head, and she tells him, "Well, I wouldn't do it at all like that, so you don't have to worry."

Apparently, Angeal gets his blood taken once a year too, and his mom takes a look at it in a fancy microscope that she has and which seems so out of place against the rough cave walls. With that in mind, Genesis reluctantly agrees. She stays true to her word, at the very least, in the way she goes about it, which definitely doesn't feel as cold and to the point as the other doctors.

And then, well, that's that! Missus Gillian ruffles his hair, and tells him and him and Angeal were both very good, and she shows them how to make useful things out of monster bones that Mister Hewley showed her. (Angeal is already getting better at making traps than her; she always seems so delighted about it.) Then, just like always, he remembers the time, slips out the tunnel, and makes it back home.

By the time she brings it up again, well, it's nearly a week, and he's practically forgotten about it in consideration of all his classes, and playing with Angeal, and just the day to day life of being a child. So he's surprised when one day she takes him by the hand, and sits him down by the fire pit.

"Genesis... Have your parents ever told you about something called Project G?"

They didn't. But that's exactly why Missus Gillian does, and everything that Genesis thought he knew was turned upside down... even as it explains everything else about his life. The way his parents always want him to succeed. Why there are so many doctor visits. Genesis suspects it's even why his father sometimes welcomes in people wearing dark suits into his office, which are the days that Genesis is often made to accompany his teachers or a babysitter outside and into town, keeping him far away from whatever discussions take place.

It... is a lot to take in, at that age. He knows poetry, and difficult math, and so many more things that are demanded of him so that he's perfect, and yet this is more than all of that.

Things get kind of blurry there, in his memories, from all the weight. In recalling it all, Genesis is certain that he was quieter when he was returning to the place he thought was a home. He is positive that Gillian had given him an option, and left that choice in his little hands. He knows, both then and in the present, that he had not thought for too long before settling on that choice.

But he can remember the nights with incredible clarity as he'd snuck out thing after thing to Angeal's waiting hands, having little bits of his life be stolen away towards a quiet green space hidden amongst rock and water. He can remember how the moon had shined so brightly over the arches of the Banora White trees. How warm Angeal's hands had been. The peculiar serenity that had filled him, yet which had pounded through his body like so much energy.

And that had been that. Missus Gillian had hid their trail, and kept him safe in that little space, for so very long. Kept him safe on journeys, too. So many journeys, picking up so much, learning so much.

All of it leading here.

To a fucking miserable ass little city with way too much noise pollution and its only redeeming qualities being the sparkling neon lights, and the rows and rows upon beautiful stores carrying beautiful clothes, and actual fully staffed theaters with productions of Loveless...

"What I mean to say," Genesis says, now a proper adult in his adolescence as he helps prepare Ma's things, "is that it's not the worst place we could be hiding out at. Do you remember that miserable train station place? Truly, I thought that my ear drums would vibrate straight from their fixtures, and then where would we be?"

"Probably still here, honestly, Genesis," Angeal comments in that dry tone of his, gun oil sloshing in its bottle as he prepares the gun that Gillian will use. "Except you would just be complaining about not being able to hear any of the plays that you insisted we sneak in to watch."

Ma laughs just a little bit, although not too hard. Not with the way that Genesis is carefully arranging the bright red wig atop her head, helping to make her look completely unlike herself in every way. He's using a little card hanging from a lanyard for reference on everything not to do, and he thinks they've got it, honestly. "Well, it was nice to take a bit of a break," Ma says, and tilts her head to the side right so that Genesis can make sure every bit of brown is tucked away out of sight. "I haven't gone to see a play like that in years..."

From all the things Ma has told them about her life from before - before Banora, before she had Angeal - Genesis has never heard about her having an interest in plays. He almost wants to ask more about it, but... He refrains.

There are more important things for them to be doing tonight.

Instead, he tucks that away into a corner of his mind for later, and instead steps back to look over to Angeal. "Alright, she's ready for you then, my master makeup artist," he teases, going over to take the oil rag from his hand. "Leave that up to me, now."

"Leave that up to you, when I've done the majority of the work," Angeal counters, but he's already handing everything over to Genesis and wiping down his hands. Do a quick wash, all that. It wouldn't do any good to smear oil on Ma's lovely face when Genesis has done so much work in preparing it. But honestly, Angeal has always been the best when it's come to technical things like this. Putting together a gun, for example, or repairing a car, or, well, applying makeup.

It's fine. He watched some stage girls applying their makeup behind the scenes at the theater, and also the Honey Bee Inn, so he knows how to do it all perfectly now. Genesis is pretty sure how that works.

While Angeal works on that part of Ma's disguise, Genesis finishes putting together the gun so that it's in perfect and squeaky clean condition. And then, because he can't just sit and do nothing, he goes to review the disguise that they put together for her as well. A white labcoat, boots he insists are intimidating and will lend well to her overall impression, a holster that will keep the gun hidden so that it's not found out about too quickly...

It's enough, isn't it? "This will be enough, don't you think?" he asks, trying to keep his voice calm and casual. In control.

Unfortunately, it must be terribly obvious to her that he's more worried than he's letting on. Ma doesn't answer right away, on account of whatever Angeal is doing to her face, but she does answer. "It will." Her voice is steady. Calm. Just like it has been all the times in the past. "We've been preparing for this for a good few months now... and I have at least some confidence that the layout of the building hasn't changed too greatly, besides some places growing a bit. All my familiarity with the company can be good for something, you know. Do you want to go over the plan again one more time, Genesis? To keep us all on the same track, at least."

He knows that she's just saying that for his benefit, and a part of him wants to loudly protest about the fact. He's an adult here, he's no longer the small child sneaking into the cavernous tunnels that lead down into Angeal's home.

Before he can do that, however, Angeal speaks up from where he's hunched over her. "I wouldn't mind it, personally. Puts me at ease to know that we're all on the same page."

Ugh. That's so typically like Angeal, honestly. It's like he can read his mind, sometimes, and do what he really wants to do.

Well... Genesis supposes he can accept this sort of good grace.

So they go over everything again: how Ma plans to make it inside, how long it should take approximately for her to take in the best case scenario, how long it might take if she encounters a setback, how long it might take if she encounters a couple of setbacks.

"Both of you need to keep in mind that it is an enormous area," Ma reminds the two of them once Angeal has finally finished her makeup. If not for her familiar voice, even Genesis has to admit that he might not recognize her. It's impressive, what a little bit of makeup can do to a person to make them look so different. "What I'm relying on is that ShinRa's projects have been too much to just move around so carelessly and thus many things are hopefully still in the same place. What we're relying on is that the equipment is still old, or cheap, so that I can take advantage of it to get into the places they wouldn't want me to be. Yet those are only guesses I can make, so there is a high chance that I may need a little more time than I would ideally like. Okay?"

"Yes, Ma."

"Genesis? Genesis, my little firespark, look me in the eyes. You will not need to set the place ablaze if I am not back within five minutes."

Angeal laughs at him while he makes a face, but they all know that it's a real thing that needs to be addressed. Maybe repeatedly. It's just not his fault if it really would be much easier for all of them if he could simply just go in guns blazing...

"But we're not trying to start a war," Gillian reminds them gently, as they make their way through the complicate routes of the city. For anyone else, maybe it'd be difficult and they'd be forced to rely on the various public transport systems in place throughout Midgar - the train that goes through the entire multi-leveled city, or buses and taxis on some of the much nicer levels. Not them. "I only want to find some information that I think they may still possess. If they've still been continuing on with that project or any others like it... I wouldn't be happy, but it could still have something that I could use."

They come to a stop in some alleys, not that far away from the main hub of ShinRa activity, and Genesis goes out to make sure that they're in the clear while Angeal delicately puts Ma down. When Genesis comes back, she puts a hand to his cheek.

"And even if they don't," she continues, "they still might have something I could steal for you."

"And even if they don't," she continues, "they still might have something I could steal for you." She smiles, and he smiles back.

Of course she always knows what to say.

But in the end, this is still a mission for her, and only her alone. While him and Angeal could probably play the role of bodyguards, well, there'd probably be a little more inquiring about that. At the very least, the more people that are involved in this, the more that would be questioned about it all. More people that would have to answer things, more cooperation that would be needed between all of them for a story that could be believed.

What Ma needs is backup. What Ma needs is an ace in the sleeve, something that will come barrelling through for her when it all looks like it's going straight to hell. And that's them. They're her ace in the sleeve.

Ma walks off into the busy streets, straight for ShinRa - and looking like a million gil if he may say so. In turn, the two of them begin to navigate through the city again, all to find a spot they'd settled on ages ago. A place with the perfect view of the ShinRa building and all its little connecting bits. The binoculars they'd hid there are still in the same spot, and so the two of them settle down. Settle down to just... wait.

Genesis hates waiting.

"It only feels like a million years because you're impatient," Angeal tells him when it's his turn on active watch duty, and Genesis is left to make sure that their surroundings are still perfectly clear. "If you just keep yourself focused and busy, then you'll be fine."

That's easy enough for him to say, something which Genesis makes perfectly clear. He also refuses to tell Angeal that he's right, because he really does calm down just by the fact that he gets his own turn and is able to put all his energy into searching throughout the entirety of ShinRa that his eyes and ears can reach.

Time and more time passes. No sirens start to blare. Nothing explodes in a brilliant display of fire and heat - which is all the more a shame in his opinion. As far as he and Angeal can tell, no one in SOLDIER starts to mobilize, and every person they can spot that's decked out in Turk black doesn't appear to be in any kind of hurry. As far as the two of them can tell, it's business as usual in the ShinRa building.

The problem is just that Ma isn't coming back.

Genesis's fingers rata-tap-tap on the binoculars before he hands them back over to Angeal - what feels like millionth time the exchange has happened between them. "If something happened, she would have set something on fire to let us know, wouldn't she have?" he asks, and glances at Angeal sidelong.

"She would have sent off some sort of signal just to let us know her location at the very least," Angeal agrees. His voice is calm, certainly, but Genesis can see the way that his forearms are tensing, the subtle shift of muscle as he holds himself back even almost physically. "Tell me what the time is, then. That will tell us if things are still going to any one of our plans."

Technically, the time is still within the limits that Ma set up for them. It's not the ideal timing, but they'd all known that if they got the ideal timing, then that most likely meant they were all having a collective dream or it was a guaranteed trap from which everything would only get worse.

That doesn't mean Genesis has to like it. Doesn't mean something doesn't feel off in his gut, just sitting there, waiting.

Angeal eventually hands the binoculars back. "The bulk of her time was probably just walking to the front doors," he says as he does so. "It's a long walk when you take that into consideration. And it's not like her shoes were the most practical."

"There weren't even any real heels on them," Genesis mutters. He's looking at some of the higher floors, now, hoping for a flash of red, a figure he knows he'll be able to spot from a million miles away. There's still nothing. He glances back down to the ground level, and gets pretty much the same.

It's still just as reassuring knowledge as it was the first time, which means that it's not reassuring at all. Not a single damn bit. Genesis grinds the heel of his palm against his forehead. "...She's taking too long."

Angeal's exhale is slow and measured. Controlled. So very controlled. "...A little. But it's still within the time that we said it should be. Just a little longer, Genesis. Nothing seems off, still, right?" And of course nothing seems off, but what does that really mean, anyway? Nothing seems off from where they can see, what Genesis can hear.

"...Let's go closer," he suggests after a moment. "I'll have the better chance to hear things, this way. Surely, Angeal, that will be better for us in the long run, don't you think? Certainly we've made it into far worse places than this before, and come out perfectly fine."

As a matter of fact, Angeal is fairly certain that they haven't made it to any place worse than ShinRa's headquarters, and he makes sure to let Genesis be aware of that. It's just that he also doesn't argue with him. In fact, he helps him get closer, the two of them daring to slip past cameras that have been set up near the perimeter so that they have a better view of it all.

It makes him feel better, too. Like he has just a little more control over the situation, and he gladly takes the binoculars back from Angeal. "All on you now," Angeal whispers, his voice hardly louder than a breath. With Genesis's hearing, he only needs that much, especially with how close they are. "I'm sticking to guard duty." And there's a click, the pull away of his weapon from its place, ready to be extended and loaded properly.

Well, that works for Genesis just fine.

There's only so much he can truly look at for long, however, and the minutes only continue to drag on by. Even Angeal is feeling it - moreso than before. His palms squeak oh-so quietly as they wind around his weapon, a nervous tic that only comes out during moments like these. Moments where they have to put their trust in Ma to stay safe.

And they trust her. They really do. Neither of them would be here, would be happy, or anything else, if they didn't put their trust in her.

"Alright, it's definitely been taking far too long," Angeal says, right as Genesis manages to hear the buzz of radio static and sees a Turk walking just a little too fast towards the building. The slide of metal against metal, his weapon extending, is nearly like the starting gunshot of a horse race to Genesis's ears.

Genesis bares his teeth and reaches into his inner jacket pocket. An eager heat is already awaiting his fingertips.

"Lets go."





It starts when Gillian makes the worst mistake of her life, and, even moving on from it, she's never truly sure if she's made a right one again.

Some of it she knows, with full clarity, that she never should have done. She never should have returned Hollander's call when he told her that he had an exciting in over at ShinRa of all places, that they could have access to all the latest and most cutting edge equipment. She never should have put all that effort and work and thought into the things which would morph into Project G and Project S. She never should have volunteered to take part personally in Project G so that there were less loose ends they couldn't keep track of.

Was it right to run away from it all, leaving it out of her hands completely? Was it right to crash so many systems and ruin so many files before she did, when she knew there were probably back ups, when she couldn't destroy it all like it deserved?

Maybe she never should have just hidden away. Maybe she should have been more proactive from the start, and gone to somewhere like Wutai where they would have used all her knowledge against ShinRa. Maybe, maybe, maybe. What could she have truly done, truly saved, if she'd taken any one of those "maybe"s?

Unfortunately, the thing about "maybe"s like those is that they're all firmly in the past, outside of her grasp forever. All she can do is keep making choice after choice, and hope it's the right one.

And there's no doubt in her mind whatsoever that having Angeal is one of those right ones.

She knows from the very beginning that he's different, that some part of all those experiments and studies has come up with exactly what they theorized might happen. His body, even as a newborn, seems to adjust extraordinarily quickly - a fact that she does her best to hide from the wet nurses who come in to check in on her in the immediate aftermath. Nice people, she's sure, although it doesn't pass her by gossip flitters about with her as the subject.

It can't be helped. She didn't really want to stop in a place like Banora, but, well, it was that, or risk having a child in the middle of nowhere all on her own.

Gillian likes to pride herself on a lot of things, or at least she used to, but she isn't someone exactly well versed in that particular area of biology. Best to find the cheapest possible place to stay in, and weather it all out as best she can. And having a newborn, even a normal one that doesn't seem to be really quick at getting up to his feet long before others, is a trial all on its own. She's sensible enough there.

So she hides out there in a cheap little hovel that pretends to be a functional house but at least keeps her out of the rain, and she takes care of her Angeal, and all sorts of other things. A part of her ponder staying. A part of her lets a nice man named Lou Hewley help out, now and then.

She's just going to stay in Banora for a while. She tells herself that, and tries to make herself a ghost. In some ways, it's a little hard to do, because Banora is such a small town and disappearing completely is a bit hard. In other ways, it's rather easy. With trees that decide all on their own when to flower and bear fruit, that means the workers that comprise the town are always working. Everyone is always working, save her, as she hides away in her paltry excuse for a house and raises a child.

Of course, she plans on leaving. She needs somewhere better, she insists to Mr. Hewley when he insists on coming again to fix a draft and is somehow startled when he hears she'll be off as soon as she can. When the weather gets better, maybe.

It's not a surprise, when he asks what kind of things would make it better for her. Well, a warm place with soft carpet, perhaps, for Angeal to crawl on. The next day, he wakes her up in the middle of the night - (a joke; Angeal has her up at bizarre times worse than her college life anyways) - and hands over a fur rug that had come from some sort of monster in the grasslands. Realizing what he's up to, she goes for something a little harder, and say that she's lacking a microscope, and wouldn't that be nice?

Sure. She really could use one, especially as Angeal grows. Without the lab that ShinRa provided to her, Gillian isn't entirely sure how else she'll be able to keep an eye on Angeal's progression and what his cells will be doing. Really, even a basic microscope would help.

But she knows better than to think she'll get her hands on any such thing anytime soon. All it really should function as is a way for poor Mr. Hewley to know that there's no way that she'll ever stay in a town like Banora. What she doesn't tell him is that it would be better if she just stayed always on the move, never lingering for too long. Make it harder for any Turks to track her down. That's the way of it, she's positive... it's just not anything she can tell an innocent bystander like Lou, kind as he's been to her ever since she first arrived.

With this, she's sure he'll get the picture.

Until one early morning before the sun has even risen, he shows up at her doorstep and holds out a small wooden crate with a carefully pillowed microscope tucked away inside. "Got it!" he says cheerfully, if breathless. "I hope you like it! I gotta make it for my shift, now, but I got it!" And he's off in the blink of an eye.

The microscope is far from the latest model, and it's clearly been well used while also well cared for. "Where on earth did you get that?" she asks him the next time she manages to snag his arm, Angeal bundled up against her chest.

Lou Hewley looks one direction. Then he looks the other. After making sure that there's no chance of anyone listening in on the two of them, he beams down at her and whispers, "The doctor wanted to make sure it was throw out properly after his last visit to the Rhapsodos family since he was going to get a new one, but I stole it from the dump truck before it took off!"

Well. She can't argue with that.

One thing leads to another, honestly, and it just keeps seeming to escalate. She really doesn't want to live in Banora, doesn't want people to know that she even so much as exists. And that leads to a little hole in a jungle... and that leads to raising her child right there in the underground... and then, before she knows it, he's a little boy, and he's bringing home another with burning red hair and a name she's known for far too long.

A name she knew from looking in ShinRa documents, and one of many reasons she wanted to keep her head down in Banora.

And blood doesn't lie. She isn't surprised by what she finds when she puts Genesis's blood underneath the scope, how similar it is to Angeal's own in so many uncomfortable structures, how it reacts to outside sources trying to "infect" it.

Gillian thinks long and hard on what to do with this kind of information. On if she should even do anything at all. Can she truly afford a risk such as getting Genesis out of that situation? Would ShinRa even want to do something with a child like that? What would Hollander do, was doing, with a child like this? With how much she struggles just on her own, trying to care enough for herself and Angeal and sometimes Lou - already struggling on his own she's sure - can she even give anything to this child who already has such a good life?

A good choice, or a regret in the making? She doesn't know. She doesn't know. She doesn't know.

All Gillian knows is that inaction is often worse than anything else.

So, as gently as she possibly can, she one day takes Genesis aside and tries to tell him everything. She does her best to keep it simple, and makes it clear that Genesis doesn't have to believe her. She knows it is a lot to take in, and she doesn't want to make him hate his family. But, if they really are having a doctor visit him so much, if they really are the same Rhapsodos family that she remembers hearing about so long ago...

Honestly, she almost expects to have made him cry. She almost expects him to not want to come visit them anymore. Deep in her chest, thundering a million miles a minute, she almost expects to have hounds baying at the entrance to her home, and to finally be caught out by black suits and guns.

Gillian doesn't sleep well that night. She's not sure how she sleeps that night at all.

"It'll be fine," Angeal says suddenly the next morning, when she's doing her best to get some sort of breakfast ready for the two of them. "I talked to him when we were going back, so I think he'll come live with us now."

Oh, to be a child again. To be so confident that the world can work so simply, and that it will all ultimately turn out alright. Gillian isn't sure if she should be as envious as she is. "That would be nice," she says, making sure to keep her voice level. It's important for Angeal, to know that she's calm, that she can be relied on. "What did you tell him, my little sheepdog?"

"Well... I told him that I really liked him, and since he smelled so much like us, and he was happier with us, he should just come with us." Angeal nods, like it's the most natural thing in the world, and sweeps his hair out of his face. "I just said to do whatever he liked."

Yes, definitely a child's simplistic thinking. If only people could just do whatever they liked, and not have it hurt any other person... Gillian sets a boiled egg over for him. "I just don't want him to get in trouble with his parents," she tells him gently, trying to bring him back to the most realistic fact of the matter.

Angeal chews on his egg. "They seem like jerks," he says flatly, and Gillian tries not to choke on her own air supply. "I think he'll be happier with us."

Gillian doubts that, all the way up until Genesis comes down again a day or two later, and asks, "How would I move in with you and Angeal? I don't have to ask my parents' permission, right?"

...So, after a very long conversation where she explained multiple times the consequences that would occur from a choice like this, Gillian ends up kidnapping another child, if what had happened with Angeal could even be called that when she was the one who gave birth in the first place.

It's something she'd feel a bit more guilty about, if it weren't for the fact that Genesis is a child experiment, and it sounds like his parents were just ShinRa employees who got into it for the money.

Years later, and she's still not entirely sure if what she did was the right choice in the end. How much choice could really be given to a child of that age? How much did he truly understand? Should she have waited until he was a little older and able to comprehend a bit more of everything she dumped onto him? Would he have hated her, for hiding it from him? Gillian doesn't know.

All she knows is that, years later, and he's now another of her boys, and she'd do so very much for him.

Including breaking into her former place of work, in desperate hope that she'll find all the information that might have been done, that maybe she's forgotten, since Project G first started.

It's not an easy thing. She knows it's not going to be an easy thing. But, in order to make sure her family stays safe... She has to do it, no matter how much it might make her heart pound straight from her chest, or how heavy and hot the gun feels where it is tucked against her chest.

At least Genesis and Angeal have done an excellent job in disguising her, she must admit. When she passes by a window and sees her reflection in it, Gillian doesn't recognize herself. No longer are there the soft brown waves around her face, instead replaced by sharp sweeps of brilliant red. Of course Genesis would pick a bright red wig. And the shades? Oh, they surely can't be expensive, they don't have the money for that, but Genesis always has a good eye for the things found in little secondhand shops.

Putting together that eye for aesthetic, Angeal's technical skills? The dark lipstick on her mouth or the polish on her nails? She doesn't think she wore things like that even when she had all the money in the world and access to all the fancy shops in Midgar. Probably for the better, in more ways than one.

They probably wouldn't have even let her in the labs, if she looked like this back then... No, she could all too easily imagine the kind of sneering that Hojo alone would have done. The looks security would have given her. What a nightmare.

And, in a more fun little coincidence with how her life has turned out... If she'd looked like that then, she wouldn't be able to look this way now.

Wouldn't be able to make the receptionist's eyes go wide when she looks up and up at her - made taller thanks to the shoes Genesis suggested. "Oh," the receptionist says, and Gillian has to admit that she doesn't think she's ever earned such a look in her life. "Can I help you, ma'm...?"

Respectful, right off the bat. Once upon a time, Gillian supposes she would have been relieved for just that much. To know that she could at least be treated nicely, even if not with the careful awe that some of her colleagues got. Now, however... Now, she knows that can't be enough, not for what she's aiming to do tonight.

Gil, come on! You've got to hold your chin up more. We're at the top of the ladder, here, so why are you acting so meek for? Bold and on top - that's how you should feel! Nonsense departments like the Turks and SOLDIER only exist because of people like us!

Just remembering that time in her life... brings up so many conflicting emotions. Such difficult and churning things. But, in the end, she knows the advice is sound. If nothing else, it's sound because that's exactly the kind of atmosphere that she needs to cultivate around her, to radiate.

How easy it is to fall back into old habits, to draw a distant chill to her as she peers down at the receptionist. "I'm here for Hojo," she says, matter of factly. Like of course she's here for that, what else? And she knows she's chosen the right name, made the right gamble, because the receptionist stiffens, looks confused and unsure of herself in the way that only someone out of their depth does.

"Professor Hojo? I..." She glances to the side, to one of the other receptionists that's not-so-subtly eavesdropping on the whole affair. "Please give me a moment, Miss, that's... a bit above me, so I need to check if you were scheduled."

She wasn't, of course. "If I wasn't, would I even be here?" she asks instead, crossing her arms, trying to give off that faint hint of impatience that she knows makes people on this rung of the ladder nervous. No one wants to deal with this sort of thing when they're so low in the hierarchy; it's easier for them to get blamed when things go wrong. Gillian feels a little bad about that, but... "It should be under Heidi."

Trying to keep her heart locked away firmly in her chest, she waits as the receptionist starts searching through her computer system for any sign of this nonexistent meeting. Waits as she clearly searches over again, dreading the next course of action, which is to pick up the phone and start calling various numbers, speaking in a low voice. Gillian doesn't even have to eavesdrop to imagine what the's doing - trying to find anyone else who knows more about this situation than she does, anyone who can tell her a course of action, anyone who will take this off her hands.

Poor girl. Gillian, unfortunately, can't make this easy for her. Not without closing a door for herself.

As could only be expected, the receptionist pulls the phone away from her ear after some time and finally looks back up at Gillian. "I do apologize, Miss Heidi, but... It appears that I cannot find any record that you were scheduled to meet with Professor Hojo today. And the rest of us cannot reach him, you see."

Oh thank whatever gods might exist. Hojo has still not, in the many years she's not spoken with him, made a single ounce of change in his personality or life. Still just a complete workaholic who sneers at anyone who he thinks is beneath him... which is just about every single person living or dead. She never thought that she'd be glad for him being an absolute bastard, yet she supposes there's a first time for everything.

Gillian doesn't voice such a thought aloud. Probably the receptionists would agree with her, but that's not the point. Instead, she raises her fingers up to her sunglasses, and begins tapping along them impatiently. "Excuse me?" she says, leaning closer to the desk. Gillian's never really been tall enough to loom, but the combination of the heels and how the receptionist is sitting do help her an awful lot. "I had to abandon a great deal of work just to get here, all at request, and now you're telling me that some incompetent lout didn't even put down my arrival?" She clicks her tongue; an old professor used to do it whenever he was disparaging students and Gillian has never forgotten the way it seemed to hit the top of her spine, like a snap of a ruler. "I wonder if it's that ass Hollander's fault."

To the side, the other receptionist's cheeks puff out a brief moment, like catching a silent hiccup. Good - so that hasn't changed either. Yet the receptionist she's dealing with right now can't quite take enjoyment in the moment, although Gillian catches the way her fingers loosen up just a little bit. Anyone's would, at the potential of someone else taking the fall instead of them. "I really couldn't say," the receptionist says, which is a perfectly way to respond in a corporate setting. "But if you left contact information, we could-"

"You're trying to chase me away, after all this?" she shoots back, before the receptionist can finish that sentence. "After all my time being wasted just standing here? I think not." Trying to channel a little bit of Hojo, she makes sure to lean forward, and a single solid tap to her frames draws them down the bridge of her nose.

Has the brilliance of too-blue eyes peering down at the receptionist, whose breath catches.

"Don't bother getting me your most immediate supervisor. For this kind of mess up, I'm expecting at least a couple levels higher."

They act pretty quickly in response to that. With the poor little receptionist acting as her guide, she's taken to one of the elevators, and up and up they go until she's finally settled in a rather nice meeting room with a little cup of water and a promise that someone will come see her as soon as possible. It will just take some time, they tell her, on account of how some of the relevant people are still busy with their own work... but she won't be left for long!

Gillian just waves her hand, hoping it comes off as proper dismissive even if she feels a little silly for it. "Should still take sooner than waiting an entire day for you all to fix this mess," she scoffs.

Fifteen seconds after the door has shut, Gillian presses her hands to her chest and heaves out a breath of relief.

She's inside. She's finally inside. She's wearing a lab coat, and she can clearly fake it enough to make it. So now, all she has to do... is get up, find her way to the proper archives and labs, and get out.

It sounds so easy when she lays it out in her head like that... but Gillian knows that if it were easy, then she wouldn't have a set of lockpicks tucked in her boots, or all the tools on her person to help pry open any machines that might keep doors locked. She wouldn't have a gun tucked away underneath her coat.

There's no time to waste. Bringing back some of that fake confidence into her person, she stands up straight, and goes out into the halls.

In a place like ShinRa, everyone is so very busy with their own overloaded desks that hardly anyone thinks twice about glancing towards here. If she's able to walk around like this, if she acts like she should be walking around like this, then surely it's true, isn't it? If nothing else, then it isn't any of their problems. Something to gossip about over the water cooler at best. Gillian takes advantage of that assumption as she makes her way throughout the massive building, using all the knowledge she still has to try and find what she needs.

Sure enough, with so many years having passed since she worked here as a head scientist some rooms have definitely been changed around. Places that were an office are now storerooms, or places that were archives got converted into bathrooms. Things like that.

Yet the changes aren't nearly as severe as she once feared. A lot of the things which are heavily embedded into the very structure of the building, and all its connecting ones, can't be changed so easily. Not without putting things and people back as they have to wait and deal with construction. An impatient corporation like ShinRa can't stand to waste even a second of time that could be put towards its grind just to, she doesn't know.... make its employee's lives better or a little easier. Not beyond what the public can see, at any rate.

It takes a lot of screwed open and pried off security locks to get her to where she needs to be. To have her look through everything she possibly can. And with every room that fails to give her any results, Gillian feels the weight of the clock pushing down on her more and more.

And yet, eventually... Eventually, she finally manages to make her way to the archival room, far too high in the building, far too exposed with a hallway whose floor-to-ceiling windows expose all of Midgar. When she finally manages to finagle the lock open, Gillian glances back over her shoulder just once to see the way city lights spread out like glittering jewels. Down there, tucked amidst all the little dark spots, she knows her two boys are waiting for her. That they must surely be going wild with worry for how long she's taking.

But she's almost done. She swears, she's almost done, and she'll make it back to them.

So Gillian takes a breath and steps inside, shutting the door shut behind her. Already, she can recognize various folders, knows some of the dates that are listed on the sides of them. There's probably nothing recent here, nothing truly mindblowing, but she's not asking for that. All she's asking for is a little bit more information, something solid to work off with her own efforts.

Just that, and maybe she'll be able to save him.





It starts the day that they give him Masamune to test his compatibility with the blade, and he realizes that he's never been given something to wield like this before.

Sephiroth is smart. They have all worked so very hard to ensure that he is smart, that he does work, that he can keep up with the ever increasing lessons that they make him take. It's been his normal for so long that he never questions it, most of the time. Questioning it has never gotten him anywhere, really, and so it became easier to go along with it. Most of the time.

Sephiroth is smart. Masamune is very sharp. He realizes, suddenly, that he's tired of being stuck with needles.

So when one of the scientists turns back to him, makes a move as to remove Masamune from his grip, Sephiroth points the blade towards him, and suddenly the room is full of scientists suddenly not wanting to get too close to him, and at least 10% a long sword.

And, if he may be honest, that is about as far as his planning goes, which is a peculiar feeling. Sephiroth doesn't normally do such impulsive things, not anymore, not since impulse was occasionally met with scolding, or punishment, or anything else that generally made life growing up in the labs miserable. (And it was fairly miserable ever since Aerith left, to places that Sephiroth can only hope are better.) So as he stands there, making sure to keep his back to the wall so that the scientists cannot sneak up on him, Sephiroth struggles on what exactly his next course of action should be.

The scientists are in a clamor, all of them trying to give what he can recognize as bribes - a dessert with his meal, more interesting books, how they most certainly won't punish him if he just puts the sword down.

Maybe when he was very very small, Sephiroth would have believed them on that. However, while the scientists have taught him a great deal about grammar, and biology, and math, Sephiroth has found that they've taught him one thing entirely by accident: that they are prone to lying to him.

And then a voice rings out suddenly throughout the lab. "What on earth is going on here!?"

It is a young man standing at the stairs leading down into the labs, and he wears a suit instead of a labcoat. This isn't particularly strange, Sephiroth has found. Occasionally, men in suits visit the labs, and for different reasons. Some of them dress in sharp black, and rarely ever really approach him, and only sometimes the scientists. Others seem to talk mostly to Hojo out of everyone, and such discussions only seem to annoy him.

The man with short blond wavy hair standing there are the stages seems to be in the latter category, judging by his dark blue (but not black) pinstriped suit. Behind a pair of rectangle glasses, his expression is contorted into... something new. Something that Sephiroth has never seen before.

An almost unified grimace passes across all of the scientists' faces, almost similar to the expressions they make whenever Hojo snaps at them for some mistake or another. One of them hurries over to the young man in the suit, starts talking to him in quiet harried tones. And Sephiroth? All Sephiroth can do is hold his breath, and keep a tight grip on Masamune.

Whatever the scientist tells to the young man does nothing to soothe the peculiar look on his face, and he only seems to bristle - a display that Sephiroth has only seen explained in books about animals and which he never thought that a human being could replicate. Adjusting his glasses, the young man finally swats the scientist away. That would be one thing, and none of Sephiroth's business. Yet that very quickly changes as the man begins to walk towards him, only pausing when Sephiroth swings Masamune in his direction.

Yet only pause. Only a brief moment of surprise before the man straightens up, adjusts his glasses. "Your name is Sephiroth, isn't it?" he asks, as if he doesn't have a sword pointed straight at his chest. "My name is Lazard Deusericus." 

Sephiroth isn't entirely sure what he's supposed to say in response to that. It feels as though Lazard Deusericus is waiting for something, certainly. Yet when he doesn't receive it, he doesn't miss a beat. Instead, he tilts his head towards him a bit. "Have you ever been trained with a sword before?"

Of course not. The scientists have trained him over a great deal, and done many physical tests. To see how good his eyesight is, to see how quickly he can respond to something, to see how fast he can run. There's been a lot of that, and yet nothing to do with giving him any tools. Not yet, not before today. So Sephiroth slowly shakes his head, not sure what else he can really do in the face of that.

The answer doesn't seem to surprise Lazard Deusericus at all. He merely gives a sharp single nod. "Then, would you like to learn? I can take you to a training ground, where you'll have much more room to swing your new sword around."

Sephiroth already knows that this is absolutely not something that the scientists were told about ahead of time, judging by their wide eyes and the exchange of whispers that goes around. One of them dares to be bold enough in order to eek forward, whispering hastily at Lazard that Professor Hojo would not be happy about all of this being done without his permission-

They don't even get a chance to finish their sentence before Lazard snaps at them, "Oh, I hardly want to hear it, he's being taken into SOLDIER, so what Hojo thinks is irrelevant!"

Sehiroth has never heard anyone say that Professor Hojo's opinions are irrelevant before.

"I'd like to go," he says quietly, so quietly that he's almost not sure that he's capable of being heard, not until Lazard turns to look in his direction. "To the training room, to swing Masamune."

Apparently, no one is going to argue with either Lazard or with a ten year old capable of swinging around a giant sword. The scientists let both of them go, all whispering amongst each other - no doubt who is going to give the news to Hojo and thus will face the brunt of his aggravation. None of that has ever been Sephiroth's problem, so all he does is follow after Lazard, Masamune still held close to his body.

It's when the two of them are in the elevator going to other parts of the building to where they can move onto SOLDIER's headquarters - Masamune just barely fits - that Lazard speaks up again. "I do want to apologize for saying that without consulting you prior, Sephiroth."

Sephiroth... doesn't think that he's ever been on the receiving end of an apology before. "You needed to consult me?" he asks, just to clarify, to make sure he has the right information.

Looking up at Lazard, he can just barely see the way his lips thin before he breathes out. "Yes, I did," he says, voice gentle in a way that Sephiroth doesn't think he's ever heard before. "This has to do with you, after all. I should have asked to make sure that you were interested in joining SOLDIER before I made assumptions."

That... Sephiroth doesn't know how to respond to that kind of consideration. That kind of idea. Does it really require his opinion, even if it involves him? That seems hard to believe, honestly. Everything he's been through has just... happened to him, and demanded that he simply go along with it. What kind of other life can he really think of? None, honestly. So Sephiroth stays quiet, for lack of anything better to say, all up until they finally arrive on their floor.

"What exactly is SOLDIER?" he finally thinks to ask, as Lazard continues to lead him through busy hallways filled with people walking fast in suits similar to Lazard's, and other people in armor and carrying swords or guns. They glance at him with pinched brows - when he can see their faces at all - but no one thinks to stop either him or Lazard.

"The members of SOLDIER are ShinRa's elite troops for their Security Division," Lazard says. Sephiroth can recognize his tone of voice; it's the same tone he uses when he has to recite something he's learned from a book. "Essentially, if you did decide to join it, you would fight, and often."

If you decide to join it... Sephiroth isn't entirely sure what other choices he has, quite frankly. It wasn't as though he was ever given a choice at all down in the labs. To have it, like he was able to keep a hold of Masamune... It makes something in him speed up. Sephiroth needs a few more minutes of walking to realize that it's his own heartbeat.

"Is that what you came down to the labs for? To see if I wanted to join SOLDIER?"

"That's right. If I may be honest, Sephiroth, many people in ShinRa actually want to see how you would do in the field." Lazard's lips thin again. "Professor Hojo would rather keep you in the labs for further testing and experiments, but Director ShinRa himself would like to see results as soon as possible. That is why many people were down before myself... but I am going to be the Director of SOLDIER soon, so I thought it was best for me to see things for myself."

The Director of SOLDIER... Sephiroth reflects on that when they make it to a training area and he's requested (!) to stand to the side while Lazard goes to speak with one of the trainers that seems to be free. With a bit of the shock having worn off, and some time to himself, Sephiroth better inspects Lazard. Even from a distance, it's no problem for his eyes.

If he is honest, he is still a little bit bad at guessing the ages of others. He can recognize that he is a child, just like Aerith was another child, and he can recognize that there exists adults. Above adults, upon which Hojo hinges, are elders. This is what he has been able to figure out, in his time observing what composed of his world: the people who passed through the labs, almost always the same people.

With the bold way that he had approached Sephiroth, he'd assumed that Lazard was in the vague realm of "adult". And yet, as he gazes upon him carefully, he wonders if that is all there is to it. He seems rather young, after all, although not nearly as young as Sephiroth. Is it the glasses that contribute to the illusion of adulthood? Or does he simply have a young countenance? Sephiroth isn't entirely sure, and no small part of him isn't entirely sure how to ask.

(It takes him over a full year of working underneath Lazard to learn that he is only a handful of years older than Sephiroth. The contrast between them is something that Sephiroth never stops marveling at.)

It doesn't take very long for Lazard to return to where he'd left him, with a suitable trainer in tow who can help him familiarize himself with not only the proper way to wield most swords, but also the proper way - as far as one could guess - to wield a massive and foreign sword such as Masamune.

It takes even less time for Sephiroth to learn all of that instruction, and start holding his own against some of the newest recruits when they're pulled over for a test spar.

"Instructor Guinlo was practically begging me to get you recruited," Lazard tells him when all is said and done, and he's been pried away from way too much conversation as the recruits had been badgering him with question after question. Lazard's guidance is a relief. "He said he's never seen anyone with such potential in years, and no one on your level." There's a pause, and he holds a hand up to his ear where a small radio receiver lies. "Ah... This way, then."

Back into the elevator they go, and then down some halls, all as fast as Lazard can apparently manage without having the two of them break into a sprint. Their end destination? Some sort of office, as far as Sephiroth can tell.

That isn't helped by the fact that he's only ever seen one or two offices in his life, and all of them connected to the lab, which meant that they were a mess of too many papers of either requests or studies or any other number of things. This office is nothing like that. In fact... It very nearly seems like a bare room, with only a desk set up so far, a bookshelf partially filled, and a good few file cabinets.

It's the cabinets that Lazard goes to first, gesturing in the vague direction of the desk. While Sephiroth stands in front of it obediently, Lazard fishes out a file of some sort, and tugs papers loose from its grip. "I will have to organize all the proper paperwork later, so that you have a better idea of what it is that you're agreeing to, and so that we can establish your limits," he says, going around to the other side of the desk. "Along with other things, like setting up a bank account for you, the other little necessities. But for now... I encourage you to read this paper for yourself. In short, if you sign your name, in that spot, then you will have agreed to work under my as a member of SOLDIER, and report directly to me."

Because Lazard had said he should, Sephiroth does take the time to read the entirety of the paper. Some of the words are new, but most of them aren't, and he can infer meaning with the unfamiliar. It doesn't really matter in the end, however.

From the very start... From the second he wrapped his fingers around Masamune, maybe he knew that there was never any chance of him staying placidly in the labs for much longer. Maybe he knew that even if Lazard had asked him first thing upon their meeting down there, he would have said yes.

Sephiroth signs.

ShinRa demands a lot out of him, with how he's been stolen away from the safety and leash of the lab. Professor Hojo, in turn, seems to also be demanding things of ShinRa, although Sephiroth only knows this a little bit and secondhand from what he overhears. Yet in contrast to both of those forces, Lazard seems to take things carefully and methodically, not letting a single thing slip by him.

Sephiroth gets his own apartment, not too far away from ShinRa, in the heart of the city, where he can stay when not on missions. Missions are assigned to him, letting him adjust to the structure, what it's like to be in the rest of the world, what it means to actually work and adjust to things happening in the field instead of mindlessly obeying every single order to the letter. He gets time off, by which to say he gets to stay in the ShinRa building and gets to practice his swordsmanship, materia, even lessons on things such as tactics or what they know about Wutai as it becomes a larger and larger threat.

"Professor Hojo still has you and others writing about my progress, doesn't he?" Sephiroth asks one day when he's retreated into Lazard's office - a place he's found to be almost like a safe haven out of everywhere else in perhaps all of Midgar. He doesn't mean to be accusatory about it, simply matter of fact.

It's nothing that he's surprised about, after all. Of course Professor Hojo would only relent a bit on his insistence that Sephiroth be returned to him if an adequate compromise was reached. If he cannot be there to keep an eye on Sephiroth's every move, then, much like he relied on the other scientists when he had other things to attend to, others will do just fine. It's a perfectly logical course of action.

Still, there must be something about his voice and how it sounds to others which draws concern, because Lazard just flashes him a reassuring smile before taking a sip of his coffee. In the months that Sephiroth has been in SOLDIER, he's noticed that Lazard's office and the nearby conference room have slowly begun to show more signs of becoming what one might consider proper offices. The coffee machine and more than a few mugs he has on display behind his desk are amongst those changes. "It's not much trouble to do them at all," he assures Sephiroth. "If that's what you were worrying about."

Was he worrying about that? Now that it's been pointed out to him, Sephiroth suddenly finds himself needing to question his own thoughts and motives. It's nothing he's ever had to consider before...

While that weighs down on his mind, Lazard takes another sip of coffee and goes back to surveying the recent reports on new recruits. "Besides, he's told what he needs to know," he murmurs into his coffee, and something about that particular phrase with that particular tone makes Sephiroth feel as though he's missing something. A subtle message that always seems to go right over his head. Lazard doesn't let him dwell on that for long either. "What do you think of the missions that you've been receiving?"

The missions are nothing. The missions seem almost basic, at their very core. Fighting seems to come to him naturally, ever since that first sparring session where he learned from the man who was not his teacher for very long. If there is anything that throws him off...

Every time, it is the sight of the pale blue sky stretching endlessly over head. Every time, it is the smell of vivid and thriving vegetation filling up his lungs.

Being outside like that... makes him feel as though he's living a dream. And, sometimes, almost as bad... Those moments make him feel as though he's all the more an outsider, a lab child who never saw any of it before and will never understand it.

So it is a relief to know that he has somewhere to return to, somewhere that he can always duck inside and catch his breath. It has nothing to do with the apartment that he was given, that space he doesn't know what to do with besides sleep and eat in. He appreciates the effort Lazard went through, of course, but he doesn't know what to do with it.

Rather... The relief comes from stepping through the door of Lazard's office in SOLDIER headquarters, and hiding away from all the focused gazes as his name becomes more and more well known. Lazard's office is familiar. Lazard's office has Lazard in it, along with paperwork that seems neverending in a way that the many phone calls he makes are neverending. While Sephiroth may not understand Lazard's position, he knows well enough to recognize that he's chasing after something with the kind of desperation of a man who feels he's eternally out of time.

Does Sephiroth's own progress help Lazard's own? He hopes so. The apartment means nothing to him, and Sephiroth isn't sure if he can step forward out into the world on his own, but... What he hopes for, more than anything, is to give something back to the man who gave him an escape rope out from the labs.

So he says the missions are fine. So he works hard, does whatever the PR team asks of him, wears what they give him, does all of it. In many ways, it's almost the same as his time in the labs, just wearing a completely different face. Tests exchanged for missions, lessons exchanged for having to do various photo shoots, all of that and so much more. At least it's something different. At least, when he has to listen to anyone, it's Lazard most often of all.

And just like that, the years have passed for him. So many people know his name now, but his apartment is still as threadbare as it ever was. The war still seems to be going on, although Sephiroth understands that they're winning. Understands that he is the main reason behind that fact.

"Some people in SOLDIER joke that if we even had two more people that were half as talented as you, then the war would be near to done already," Lazard tells him, almost playfully. As playfully as the topic of war apparently can be, which is not very much. Sephiroth has learned that much. "Unfortunately, it is just you, so your workload still has to be the same as ever. I did manage to convince them to give you a little bit more time in Midgar, however, so that you might recuperate from the last mission."

Frankly, Sephiroth isn't sure that he needs any time to "recuperate". If anything, he almost likes the missions, because they keep him busy, keep him outside of Midgar - as far away from the labs as possible. Still, he knows that Lazard has put a lot of work into something like this. "Thank you," he says, just like Lazard had to teach him for when he was forced to interact with other people in social settings - interviews, fancy ShinRa events, that sort of thing. "I think I will spend a lot of time here in the building, looking up on the latest improvements in weapons and materia, however."

None of that is really a surprise - to either of them. Sephiroth knows that he can't very well just wander about the city when he is such an important tool to ShinRa; there's no telling how random strangers on the street will treat him. That leaves only his apartment, but what would he do there? Absolutely nothing. It has a bed, and it has a bathroom, and that is honestly the most he could ask for.

He's never even used the kitchen. The Science Department still arranges all of his meals anyway.

But Lazard expressed a very long time ago that he'd like to hear if Sephiroth has ever changed his mind, if he's still content with the life that he accepted from Lazard all those years ago. He can at least keep him up to date, even if it's the same thing every time.

Lazard's response is the same as it always is every time, too. "Well, if you ever become interested in picking up a hobby outside of research, do let me know. That much would be simple enough to arrange." He scoffs a bit, scribbling out his signature sharp and swift against some line of paper. "As though it would do you any harm to pick up knitting or something similar..."

The faintest of teasing smiles pulls at Sephiroth's lips; this too is a fairly new development when compared to how the rest of his life has gone. "So I give off the aura of one who would knit, then, in your eyes."

"A very proper grandmotherly type, to be sure," Lazard retorts dryly, but his eyes are sparkling a little bit in mirth as he looks at him from over the top of his clear glasses. "At any rate, if you really are going to be staying here a while, then I should tell you that they've been updating some of the old archives again, from what I understand. If you would like, then I could show you what they've switched around. There's also been some recent improvements from the weapons department... even though I know that you are perfectly content with Masamune as is."

Of course. Masamune... is his tried and true partner, the only companion he has when he's made to set off on the next mission. Something given to him by the Science Department itself, and he's sure that he wouldn't be allowed to change it even if he wanted to.

Fortunately for the science department, he doesn't want to change Masamune for the world.

"Will that be alright for you to do?"

Lazard clasps his hands together, chuckles a bit. "I can step away from my desk for at least a short while, I assure you. The SOLDIER that I've built isn't so fragile that it will fall apart completely should I not pick up a phone right away. Besides, that's what everyone else is for. I'll tell them that I can be reached in a short while." Bracing his hands against his desk, Lazard takes a moment to stretch out his poor back.

Really, now... Ever since he was first starting out in SOLDIER and had realized that Lazard was interested in the things he had to say, Sephiroth had repeatedly told him that hunching over his desk and the computer would only make his back feel absolutely terrible.

Yet, as it turns out, someone who is willing to listen to you does not mean that they will actually do anything with the words that you give them... nor the attachment that Sephiroth made to attach to his chair that would help Lazard sit up straight more. He knows that Lazard still has it, somewhere, possibly even in his office, but it is still not on the chair that it was meant to be attached to.

Perhaps, in this short vacation that Lazard has granted him, Sephiroth can use it to inquire about the state of it, and also the state of Lazard's spine.

For now, in the more immediate present, Sephiroth gets up to his feet as well, and waits for Lazard to finish popping his spine back into alignment. "Then... Allow me to escort you, Director."

It's only behind closed doors that Sephiroth and Lazard can call each other by a first name basis. That Sephiroth can reach out to someonee, and treat them like another person instead of.... something else. Something distant, like the scientists were. Once upon a time, the use of Lazard's first name instead of just 'Director' or "Director Deusericus" would earn him a pleased little smile, as though he'd... really managed to do something. 

Yet as he's gone on more and more missions, as Lazard has gotten more attention and power on himself while Sephiroth has allegedly become a household name... Lazard just smiles at him, and seems almost more reserved now. "Of course. It'd my honor to have you escorting me, Sephiroth."

They've gone through ShinRa's buildings probably a hundred times by now, although Sephiroth knows that is an exaggeration crafted by his own negative feelings regarding it all. Still, it is true that him and Lazard are both more than familiar with ShinRa's various buildings, especially those that are a part of the connecting buildings and labs of HQ. Sephiroth isn't entirely any of it's changed, ever since he first got to walk through the halls of his own free choice.

Sephiroth takes that time to stew over just how he might confront Lazard on this matter, the two of them making their ways through numerous identical halls and waiting while elevators drag them up or down buildings. Dealing with people... is still something that he isn't entirely sure about. Even with Lazard, he's not sure what to do, and he's known Lazard for years now.

There must be something about his demeanor that gives away his thoughts because eventually Lazard speaks up. "You don't have to think too deeply on what it is that you want to do, exactly."

A slight frown crosses his face, and Sephiroth looks out the massive windows that they're passing by. In this part of ShinRa, not as many people are about. It's far away from the training grounds for SOLDIERs, or the gun ranges for Turks, or any offices where people are plagued by almost as much paperwork as Lazard is. Just one empty hallway, towering high over all of Midgar as they star out over the sea of lights.

A slight frown crosses his face, and Sephiroth looks out the massive windows that they're passing by. In this part of ShinRa, not as many people are about. It's far away from the training grounds for SOLDIERs, or the gun ranges for Turks, or any offices where people are plagued by almost as much paperwork as Lazard is. Just one empty hallway, towering high over all of Midgar as they star out over the sea of lights.

"I want to do good things for you," he says simply, and it doesn't escape his eyes - sharper than even a sniper's scope - that Lazard's step hesitate for but a moment. "You've done a great deal for me, Lazard. If it wasn't for you, then I would still be done in the labs." Yes, it was clear that ShinRa as a whole wanted to benefit from Hojo's research, and they thought he was due to be a good fit for one of their more... physical departments, but how long would that have taken? Would Hojo have ever let him out from the labs?

Sephiroth doesn't think so. Not without someone going behind Hojo's back and steamrolling through the labs.

A sigh filters out from Lazard's lips, and he pauses but a moment. He doesn't like to have such personal and open conversations while they're out of the safety of his office, Sephiroth knows. But... he can't help feeling something himself, something unpleasant. Frustrated? Is this what frustration feels like?

A question he'll have to ruminate on later, perhaps while he's left just sitting in his empty little apartment where the only thing besides the most basic of furniture are books that Lazard has gifted him. For now, Lazard starts to move again, speaking over his shoulder as he does so. "I... You know that I cannot accept such gratitude, Sephiroth. I have accepted a few small gifts before-" And they truly were small, coffee from cafes Sephiroth overheard people talking about or little bits of food, things he was mimicking as he'd watched other people in ShinRa. "-but I don't want people to start looking too deeply into our relationship. It's better for you if you can... be seen as more independent, instead of anyone wondering just what you did to get where you are so quickly."

"From what I can recall, what I did was fight very well and lead to key victories for ShinRa," Sephiroth comments dryly.

Even with Lazard facing away from him, Sephiroth is positive that the older man is rolling his eyes. "Listen, even in the face of blatant evidence, people will continue to talk," he says, pausing again just to look over the plaque that's besides one door so that he can presumably reorient himself. "Sephiroth, we can continue this particular talk down in my office... Could you hold on for a moment? I actually want to check on something as well... Although here, this should be the room I was telling you about."

It's a room a few yards away from where Lazard had been inspecting before, no plaque to let anyone know if it's anything of importance, which means it probably isn't important to many. Lazard fiddles with the handle a moment, brow furrowing briefly, before he steps inside. "Where on earth is that light switch..."

Sephiroth doesn't follow him, not immediately. Instead, he lingers outside for a second, and takes a quiet little breath for himself. He knows Lazard is trying to look out for him. It's been like that for over a year or two now, with Lazard no longer being quite as warm and accommodating to him. He'd explained it much like that too, ages ago, when he apparently felt that Sephiroth had established himself well enough in the world to understand.

Established. Ha. How on earth does he feel established when he still doesn't even feel like a real person, unless Lazard is there...?

From within the room, Lazard's voice filters out. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to - wait, those files - Ah."

And there's the sound of a gun's safety clicking.

Sephiroth already has his hand on Masamune, just as a habit - it won't do any good in such an enclosed space. That doesn't matter. What matters is that he makes a move straight towards the open doorway. "Lazard-"

And there he is. Making slow steps back to the doorway himself, his hands carefully held up in clear surrender. Behind him, another pair of footsteps click along the tiled floor. Backing away, Sephiroth narrows his eyes. Taller than Lazard is even with the age difference, it's easy enough for him to see the figure with burning red hair behind him - and she's shorter than both of them. "Please don't do anything," the voice says, quiet and calm. "Just take a step back."

A hostage situation. Sephiroth narrows his eyes, but obeys, making sure to give just enough room to the pair. Masamune is long enough, especially in such an enormous hallway like this, that he could so something, but... He needs to assess the situation first.

But it's only a hostage situation out of convenience; that much he's certain of. There's no guarantee that Lazard would have ever come to this little archival room tucked away and out of sight. They've just stumbled upon something by sheer unfortunate coincidence. If he can just go along with all of this... Lazard's safety is paramount. If that's what it takes, then it may be the best option.

Lazard seems more than aware of this as well; Sephiroth can see it in his face. This is by far not the most distressing situation a man of his position has been in, although Sephiroth just wishes he could have prevented it entirely. "Ma'm, please let us know what you want," he says, his voice just as calm as hers. "We were coming to get some files of our own. We won't do anything to you." Surely just words that are there to put her at ease. "And Sephiroth, keep Masamune down. Don't make her anxious."

He has a point, Sephiroth supposes. If Masamune is out, then it would just make her all the more aware of how he could attack here. At least he knows that he's a quick draw. And yet, even as he does that, he can hear the woman's steps falter.

"Sephiroth?" the woman says. "You're Sephiroth - the one that ShinRa is constantly posting about? The First Class SOLDIER?"

Of course she knows his name. His reputation. Perhaps that is something he can use to her advantage. If he leverages the weight of that title, then she may very well decide that surrender is the safer option. "I am," he says, trying to shift just a little, enough to get a better angle on how she's holding what is clearly a gun to the back of Lazard's head.

A soft inhale. A steady exhale. He can just barely see the way she straightens her shoulders. "Then, if that's the case... Please, I need you to come with me."