Ch 2

[warmskies]

"I'm not leaving you behind, Lazard," Sephiroth says, even as everything almost feels like a strange sort of dream. That's what dreams are like, aren't they? Where nothing makes sense, and the entire world feels as though it's been flipped onto its head?

This is a simple hostage situation. It should be just a simple hostage situation. And yet there stands Lazard, telling him that he should just go with this woman, and... And Sephiroth almost feels it's not as though he's telling him to do so in his capacity as a Director, as though it's some sort of clever plan that he should follow. But there's not.

And he won't.

"I won't," he says, and it's the first time that he's ever gone against any kind of order. He never went against Hojo, because that was never an option; he's never gone against Lazard because he cares for him. But for this... This. There's no question.

He won't do it. He won't leave Lazard to be on his own, and he won't ever leave his side.

Distantly, through the halls, he thinks he can hear the echo of hard boots crashing against tiled floor. Something must have been realized - maybe a camera actually worked, or someone spotted an unfamiliar face, or any other numerous things. Sephiroth doesn't really care to figure it out right now. Instead, he's focused directly ahead at the two people before him.

Lazard takes in a breath slow but sharp between his teeth; this is the kind of discussion that would normally happen behind closed doors. Instead, it's happening here in an open hall, while a woman is holding up a gun to the back of his head. Before he can respond, however, the woman does so first. "I'm not trying to kidnap you, Sephiroth... I know that I could not hold you back if you decided that you wanted to leave." And there's a certain dryness to her tone, something that could almost be seen as levity. Well, at least she's aware of that much. "But... I need to speak with you. There's just... There's something I need to be sure you know of, and tell you if you don't."

Something she needs to tell him? Sephiroth can't imagine what would be important to him, or, rather, what would be so important to this woman that she would dive deep into such a heavily secured place like ShinRa - well. He supposes not as secure as he thought if a woman with no apparent military training can break in.

"You can tell me right here," he says, a streak of stubbornness manifesting that's a surprise even to him. Certainly, it has Lazard's eyebrows rising. "If it is truly so important."

If asked about it later on, he's sure that he has plenty of options to blame it on. How he can say that of course no SOLDIER would go along with an unknown party with clear antagonistic intent towards ShinRa - even if there's no drug that could probably affect him and no battle which he could not win, or at least that is what ShinRa claims, as do the labs. He could find something in ShinRa handbooks.

But the truth of the matter is that he doesn't want to leave Lazard behind in any way, shape, or form. And he doesn't like that she has a gun held up against his head.

"I can't, exactly because it is so important," the woman stresses, and it frustrates him, perhaps a bit, to know that there is a logic to those words. "But there isn't nearly enough time to go into it here, with troops on the way, and - and I shouldn't have been here for this long as it is."

How much of that was this situation coming about at all, and how much of it was something else, something that he's not privy to just yet? Another question to shelf, with how little it matters in the very immediate present. And it mattered very little to start with, but all the moreso with how he can hear those stomping boots come to a short stop behind him. "General Sephiroth!"

That ridiculous title... He's not even a proper general. He's not even official. He'd be able to ignore it any other time, and yet hearing that grates along the back of his neck. The situation really doesn't call for it. It also doesn't call for his emotions. "Hold," he orders over his shoulder. "There's a hostage." And it's one of the most important people in the world to him. They don't need to know that. "How many others are coming?"

"Sir! Just one of the Turks, sir!"

Oh, that is the last thing they need, and Sephiroth swallows down - like he has a thousand times before - what he really wants to say. That he wants to know who exactly had the bright idea to get Turks involved in any of this. He knows that the Turks don't care about keeping a hostage like Lazard safe. He's not entirely sure if they would keep the woman safe, either, although surely they would want to know all about how she got in like this and what she's looking for.

There's not even a lot of time for him to think on how he's going to juggle that particular headache when he can already catch the sound of fresh footsteps, lacking the heavy crash of hard boots and instead something slicker, sharper. Dress shoes, like all the Turks seem to wear.

For a moment, the world seems to slow, drag on. His brain rushes to compile all the information he has together. What's the right choice? What's the best way to move forward in this kind of situation?

All around him, the world trembles, the weight of his decision overwhelming against his shoulders. Yet Sephiroth realizes immediately that it's not just his mind playing tricks on him. No - it's a real and tangible thing, the windows rattling in their place while he feels the floor beneath his feet shakess. Behind him, the Third Class SOLDIERs start whispering to each other, their weapons clicking and clattering as they try to understand what this is. An earthquake? A storm? Nothing that should be affecting Midgar, surely-

Past all of them, past the thick windows of the hallway that stretch from floor to ceiling, Sephiroth hears the sound of wings.

Immediately, he adjusts his position, turns to face the windows, and just barely in time. A massive shadows blocks Midgar's many sparkling lights, roaring up past the windows, the entire tower that makes up ShinRa's building. So close, Sephiroth can see the hard curve of scales along a serpentine body. See the wingspan that stretches across the entirety of the hallway. A massive tail, bigger than and longer than it all-

A single figure suddenly bursts through the windows, shattering an entire section of them, and Sephiroth twists to face it. The SOLDIERs that had gathered behind him do not seem so prepared, their feet fumbling as they try to face the unknown figure.

But they're quicker than even an entire small squadron of SOLDIER - and that's nothing to sneeze at, not for even Third Class. Mid-swing already has the unknown figure in navy and black unfolding a long polearm, taking out two different SOLDIERs in one attack. Another tries to take aim, but hesitates - she might hit some of her compatriots in this unfavorable situation, and, just like that, she's slammed down to the floor. Another goes after the assailant with their back to him, but the polearm - Wutai build, doubles as a gun, Sephiroth knows it well - jerks back. Gets him right in his visor, between his eyes.

Sephiroth doesn't bother to join the melee. Instead, he merely shifts, Masamune carefully held at the ready while he dares to keep his back to where the woman keeps Lazard hostage. It's a gamble... but he doesn't think that she'll point the gun at him. Not if that would mean giving him an opening.

And not if she's telling the truth about wanting to talk to him.

Gun shots. The Turk, caring far less than the SOLDIERs do about any accidental friendly fire. But he'll give it to their intruder - they're a lot more experienced, even if the movements aren't the kind of training one would get at ShinRa. They duck, surge forward... and that's it. The Turk doesn't have time to adjust their aim before the butt of the polearm is slamming up right into their chin.

Done. In the span of only a couple of minutes, an entire squadron of Second Class SOLDIERs and one Turk are taken down, bodies scattered about the hallway. Amidst all of them, the assailant straightens up, and Sephiroth gets his first proper good look at him.

Completely dressed in those dark blues and blacks, with a mask drawn up over his mouth and nose, he looks almost professional, really. Add in his dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, his choice in weapon, one could easily assume him to be someone from Wutai. A trained professional ninja of some sort, perhaps, doing what all his contemporaries couldn't do by breaking into enemy headquarters. And yet... There's a problem with that assumption, which Sephiroth realizes when the other man turns his head to face him. The features, betraying a man perhaps Lazard's age and certainly older than Sephiroth, don't seem similar to the many other Wutai soldiers and ninja Sephiroth has fought before.

And more importantly than all of that... From over his mask, brilliant and deep Mako blue eyes glow amidst all the dark.

Wutai doesn't have the kind of technology that ShinRa does when it comes to infusing its military with mako. Sephiroth knows that for a fact. Or, at least, he thought he knew that for a fact. Or perhaps this is a SOLDIER that defected... but if that's the case, Sephiroth is sure he would have heard about if such a highly skilled SOLDIER - surely First Class level - had gone renegade.

This isn't something that he can just ignore. Finding his center, Sephiroth slides one foot back, and readies Masamune. Down the hall, across from him, the assailant gets into his own stance to match.

A hallway like this is no place for a proper fight; Sephiroth knows this well. So he aims to do what he's often done, which is to finish the matter with one single decisive blow. He launches himself forward with that in mind, speed that he prides himself on getting him right there in a heartbeat.

And in that same heartbeat, the assailant jerks to the side, polearm swinging upwards.

Not an attack - but a defensive maneuver, Masamune sliding against the weapon until the staff is pressed right there against the hilt, both of them close enough that Sephiroth can see every little strand of hair upon the stranger's head. Right as they clash, the woman behind them yells out, "Sheepdog! No! He's Sephiroth!"

Sephiroth shifts his grip, debates moving away, swinging his sword up to throw the other off balance... but "Sheepdog" just presses the slightest bit forward, as if able to sense his intent. "So you're the one we were going to meet eventually?" he asks, that deep blue in his gaze carefully assessing. "Then there's no reason for us to play around like this for right now." And he jerks his weapon against Masamune, takes a step back.

It would be so easy to retaliate... To injure him just enough to put him down to the ground, and then deal with the woman as well. Yet, for whatever reason, Sephiroth hesitates. Something about this man feels faintly familiar, even though he knows he's never meet him before. So just what is it...?

"Sephiroth." The woman, again, and Sephiroth looks behind him only to find that she's stepped away from Lazard the gun in plain sight, pointed at no one. "This isn't... how I ever would have wanted to meet you, I'm sorry. However, if we could simply just speak with you... That's all we could ask for. We only have a few moments to decide..." Her gaze goes past him. "Are you alright? And how long until he comes back around?"

"Sheepdog" looks over towards the broken window, and strides towards it. A few more kicks have the rest of this particular pane breaking, falling down the long drop to where they'll hit pipes, and concrete, and eventually the ground. "You don't have to worry, Ma. I'm fine. As for the ride out, he should only take a few minutes."

They can talk about that all they want. Sephiroth understands, on some logical level, that he should be paying more attention to their plans, their group structure, what they're all capable of... But instead, he's at Lazard's side immediately, doing a check over of him. "You're truly all right?" he asks him, even as his inspection reveals no visible injuries. Nothing that would need any medical attention.

Lazard nods, and tries to smile for him. Something about it almost seems a little bit off, but Sephiroth has never been good at picking up those kinds of things. "I'm perfectly all right, Sephiroth. But what are you going to do?"

So even he wants to know... Sephiroth narrows his eyes ever so slightly, head tilted down as he stares down at Lazard. That there are people who would go so far as to break into a place like this, and use opportunity for a chance to speak with him... It should still be suspicious. He should be content to reject them, now that he knows Lazard is perfectly safe. It feels like the kind of decision that he should be able to make, with no problem whatsoever.

So why is he hesitating? Why does he glance back to the pair of intruders, and watch out the woman carefully presses her palm along the man's jaw, checking on him so tenderly? Why does something in him want to know more about that man, "Sheepdog", and feels something tugging him that way...?

"I can't just leave you behind," he tells Lazard, and that's more true than anything, isn't it?

Lazard's brow pinches together, mimicking the way his lips thin. Sephiroth wants to know just what about that is worth such a reaction, why Lazard wants him to go so much... but there's no real time for him to start up any kind of interrogation.

Their conversation is easily heard, after all, and "Sheepdog" looks up. "So is that all that has you bothered?" he asks as he and his partner approach them once again, as though he and Sephiroth hadn't just crossed weapons for a split second there. "Fine. We can take him with us."

He makes it sound so easy, completely matter of fact. Now it's Sephiroth's brows that pinch together. "He's the Director of Soldier," he points out, because that should be a deterrent all on its own, even as the woman goes to peer out of the edge from all the shattered open window panes. "People will look for him."

"I think that people will already be looking for us if we got you coming along with us," Sheepdog says dryly, watching Lazard go over to look at the edge as well with some trepidation. Sephiroth can only hope that the height will drive some sense into his head. "Actually, people will be coming after us just for the fact that we got caught breaking into here..."

The woman's heels click along the floor and glass as she backs up from the edge, and she smacks her cheeks a few times. "I'm sorry," she says. "Finding the right room, and then pulling off the card reader to hack into it... That took me longer than I thought."

"It's okay, Ma. You warned us that might happen."

The building is starting to tremble again, glass rattling against tile and the remaining windows down the hall seeming as though they might not last for much longer either. They're running out of time, and Sephiroth knows it. Knows that everyone here wants an answer from him, wants to know the choice he'll make.

His fingers wind tighter around Masamune, trying to find the same stability and safety that it gave to him so long ago when it first fit into his hands. What answer should he give? Even if it is just hearing someone out.... That's still such a change from the life that he's always known. It's still a leap into the unknown... and something deep inside of his chest says that if he takes this leap in particular, then he'll never have this life again.

Maybe Lazard would say that isn't a bad thing. That this life of his is far from all there is to living. That doesn't change the fact that, at the very least, it's a known life.

"Well!" the woman says, with one last final and hard smack to her face. "I suppose if that's how it is, then we can still certainly work with it! You know what they say - sometimes you just have to take a plunge!" Those are her final words before she charges forward, and plans her heel straight into Lazard's back.

Lazard goes falling with a choked out wheeze of a scream, and the woman leaps right after him, as if they aren't miles and miles from the ground.

Sephiroth is already running forward, as fast as he can, before he realizes that there's a hand around his wrist and a body next to his. "Don't keep your mouth open!" Sheepdog yells over to him, and that's the last he hears before both of them leap together perfectly in sync, and the rush of wind overtakes everything.

Everything but the heavy beat of wings.

This is far from the first jump that Sephiroth has ever had to do from an untold height; sometimes that was the best way to drop into enemy territory although he was often given a parachute. And yet, without that parachute.... The world somehow seems to go slow, for but a glimpse of a moment. Enough time for him to see Lazard and the woman hit the massive form of a dragon circling around the tower. The woman first, her body grabbed by another figure, and then her hand reaching out to snatch Lazard, desperately.

And beneath them, shimmering, Midgar in a way that he's somehow never seen it before, even as he knows it was the same sight as from the previously unbroken windows.

Him and Sheepdog hit the dragon together, both scrambling for a grip - Sheepdog before him. More familiarity, Sephiroth supposes. It's only then that Sheepdog lets go of his hand, scrambles forward to help anchor down the woman, anchor down Lazard who is pressed so flat down against the enormous beast they're riding that he could be another scale. Sephiroth calls out for him, but can he ever be heard over the screaming winds? It's hard to tell.

Yet if there's anyone who isn't having a hard time at all... It's the third party of this little group of thieves and kidnappers. The one, presumably, behind the massive summon that they ride upon, the summon upon whose long neck that he strides across before twisting around to face him. A redhead, no similarities to the other pair, and with periwinkle bright eyes that shine exactly as their own. As Sephiroth's own.

And, as he throws his arms out, lips parted in a sharp and manic smile, Sephiroth thinks he might be beautiful.

"And so we gain a pair of guests, on our grand escape from that place of misery and tyranny! You should count yourselves as esteemed, then, for there are not many - no, not any who have been welcomed into our company before! Judging by your looks alone, I can tell who you are.... But even without looks, the bond that resides deep within us connects beyond such shallow waters-"

"GENESIS, SHUT UP AND GUIDE BAHAMUT SO THAT WE DON'T FLY INTO A BUILDING."

Genesis flashes a brief glare towards Sheepdog, who's done Sepiroth a favor in making his way over to where Lazard has been clinging to dear life this entire time. By no means is Sheepdog a small man; Sephiroth noted that back in the ShinRa tower. He's able to press one arm over Lazard's back, keep him anchored. And the woman? She seems well versed in this entire ride, holding on tight to some scales of her own. "That's all you have to say?" Genesis barks, but he still listens well enough. He turns around, right where he stands, and pats his hand along an enormous horn.

Pushing his hair away from his face, Sephiroth looks around until he finds himself looking back, towards the ShinRa that he's always known. Every single light seems to be blaring, a red alert if one was ever deserved. Even from this distance, at this angle, he can tell that there's activity on the air pads. Soon enough, there will be aircraft racing after them.

Will they shoot? Over Midgar, where hundreds and thousands of people live? At a summon this massive? Where there's no guarantee that they wouldn't hit the director of SOLDIER, and one of its war heroes and easy sources of money?

Sephiroth isn't sure.

And he doesn't think that, even for a summon as impressive as this one, it'll be able to outfly ShinRa aircraft. Surely, the trio all know this as well, don't they?

Right as he thinks that, Genesis moves down and away from the dragon's head to where Sheepdog is laying. It's a smooth and simple exchange - Genesis takes Lazard by the shoulders, and Sheepdog moves over to lay his hands upon the woman's. Sephiroth is up on his feet as well immediately. "Where are you taking him?"

Genesis looks back at him, even as he pulls Lazard close to him. Just over his shoulder, Sephiroth can see the blond's wide eyes - clearly out of his depth. "Well, we can hardly stay here," he says, a laugh tugging at his lips. To the side, Sephiroth can see Sheepdog picking up the woman, holding her just as close. Unlike Lazard, she is a good deal more prepared, and her arms are already wrapped around Sheepdog's neck. "And you will want to come with us. After all...."

Unbothered by the wind, the pair step over to the dragon's side, where the expanse of the city yawns out beneath them. Sephiroth follows, follows them, their broad backs, Genesis's voice carried to him on the wind.

"My friend, do you fly away now? To a world that abhors you and I?"

And there, against the night sky, they sprout wings.

Sephiroth stares; what else can he possibly do? He's seen many strange things while out fighting against Wutai soldiers, or putting down out of control monsters. And yet this... He's never seen anything like this. Nothing like the brilliant pitch black of Genesis's wing, a jagged lightning bolt of a thing with its sharp angles and ruffled feathers. Nothing like the pair which emerge from the same side of Sheepdog's back, glorious white shining like a beacon of something warm and sweet, a lighthouse in the night.

"Did you never know?" Sheepdog asks him, and Sephiroth draws his stunned gaze over to him, those deep blue eyes.

Genesis's voice draws his gaze next, to that handsome and cunning face. "How badly did they clip your wings, I wonder? But follow us, and see them spread again."

Together, they leap.

Something deeper than instinct must tether him to the pair, because Sephiroth doesn't think. He almost can't. All he can do.... is run after them, and his feet hit air.





"White, huh? It looks like I win this time around, Gen."

"Ugh! I don't want to hear another word out of you, Angeal."

"Yes, yes, I'm a terrible tease... Now shut up, and help me out over here. I think he's in shock."

Despite their words, however, it's not either of them who manages to reach him first. Instead, there, always there, is Lazard, one gloved hand sliding over Sephiroth's as their group sits there in one of the countless Midgar alleys. A split second later, and there's the woman. "Sephiroth," Lazard whispers, just a trace of awe laced throughout his voice. But he doesn't say much more than that.

What more can he say to the fact that Sephiroth has three wings spread throughout his back, laying limply there against dirty concrete?

Sephiroth... is feeling a great deal. He can name maybe one of those feelings. And yet as he sits there, a hand tentatively smooths along his his cheek. Touches him, in a way that he can't remember anyone ever touching him before, not even Lazard who had drawn him into his first hugs when he'd gotten back from his first mission. Slowly, Sephiroth raises his eyes, and looks at the woman crouched there right in front of him.

The red hair is gone, now. In its place, messy waves transition into tangled curls, around her face, sticking to the back of her neck. All the makeup that had been carefully applied to her face has gone through its trials and tribulations - mostly all the wind that had been pushing at them from atop the summon. More of it, smeared there against one labcoat sleeve. No longer is there that calm and distant woman who had stood there in the hallway, her gun to the back of Lazard's head.

Instead, with the wrinkles along her face and the bags underneath her eyes.... She's just a woman. A woman, there with her palm against his cheek, and her voice soft and gentle. "Sephiroth... I know. I know. But close your eyes. Think of nothing else but your body. You've done meditation before, haven't you? Meditate. Breathe. Take in the feeling of them, there along your back."

Yes. Yes, he does know meditation. Sephiroth closes his eyes, breathes in until he can feel every centimeter of his lungs expand.

Tips of his fingers. The ends of his toes. And there, entirely new and yet not feeling as new as they should... He twitches, moves them, and it's like he's always known how to use them. Has perhaps always been waiting to use them, just as he'd used them as he'd fallen down through the sky, falling after the two who had gone before him like falling stars.

"There we go. That's it. Angeal, my dear, could you help him? Just a hand along his back, that's all. There. Now, you can feel where they push out from your back, can't you? Take in how the muscles connect, what flexes when you move. See how everything slots into place, just like a jigsaw puzzle..."

He used to do jigsaw puzzles. Sephiroth can actually remember that, from when he was only a child. It was one of the few tests he would take that actually interested him. That was anything but memorizing things from a book, and repeating them back in some shape or form. But to see the different parts of a picture, to know that he had to take into consideration the different curves and slots, to make the connection of color, pattern...

It's been a long time since he's put together a puzzle like that. His wings are nothing at all like it, but, at the same time... Something about it helps slot each wing into place, guided by a warm palm there along his back. A soft hum of reassurance, from Sheepdog, from Angeal.

Just like that... He's back to being Sephiroth. Even if he isn't sure that he'll ever be able to go back again... At least, superficially, he can look it.

When he opens his eyes, Lazard and the woman are still kneeling there before him. At some point, Lazard's hand wrapped around his. The woman still has her palm along his face, and her thumb follows the curve of his jaw. "There we go," she repeats, and then she smiles a little. "I knew you could do it. Now, we should get up, before anyone comes snooping around. Funny, how public alleyways in a major city aren't particularly private."

Despite everything that has happened to him within the last half hour or so - probably less - Sephiroth's legs still stand steady beneath him when he rises up onto his feet. A little bit filthy, where they all ended up at after landing, but nothing that can't be fixed with some dusting off, some cleaning. With ShinRa's predisposition towards putting him all in black it's not even that noticeable. Angeal is in a similar boat, black and navy showing not a sign of any dirt. That includes the mask on his face, tugged off to be shoved away into one pocket. It reveals a strong jaw, soft lips, and the starts of a beard there along his chin and up along his jaw.

The same clean look cannot be said, unfortunately, for the woman, or even Lazard, both of who look rather disheveled in their own different ways - Lazard's tie completely popped out from its place where it should be tucked into his shirt, her labcoat now splattered with bits of what Sephiroth is fairly sure isn't mud but doesn't know what else it could be.

And then there comes Genesis, jogging down the alley, clad in Very Blatant red, clean as anything. Sephiroth will have to ponder that mystery later.

For now, Genesis's words are more important. "We should be all clear, Ma. There's nothing blocking the entrance into the sewer pipes, so we should have a clear shot straight to the residential area."

It's common knowledge that the sewage system of such a massive place as Midgar is full of massive pipes that reach just about everywhere in the city... often ending down in the slums, where all of the city's unwanted ends up. And yet, while Sephiroth knows this in theory, he can't say that he's ever gone down into them... for any reason. That's the sort of thing you get engineers and plumbers for... or Third Class who've gotten on their mentor's nerves.

Yet the trio don't even seem to hesitate as they navigate the alleyways of the city, all the way to a little gated area whose lock is broken with ease, much like the door inside meets the same fate.

Well. Mostly they don't hesitate. Angeal looks more and more like he's just received his death sentence, bringing the mask right back out again to tug over his nose, and Genesis has an expression upon his face that Sephiroth has seen a great many times on Lazard's. Generally with Lazard, however, it was a sign that he had to go speak with some of the other departments, or, more often than not, Scarlet. The expression of someone who knew he had agreed to something beforehand, and yet was debating on if losing a limb would be preferable.

And then, the woman...

"Who are you?" he asks, as Angeal goes back to make sure that the lock on the gate appears undisturbed. She looks up at him, blinking a few times from where she had been preoccupied with wiping at her own face again. "I... do not even know what to call you."

Angeal had made sure to yell Genesis's name there upon the summon, before it had flown off without them - a handy decoy that would frustrate their pursuers. In turn, Genesis had let slip Angeal's real name when they had landed, teasing and talking with him so casually that their intimacy couldn't be doubted.

But the woman? All he knows her by is what the other two have called her, Ma, and... Sephiroth can't imagine calling anyone that. Not himself, at least, and certainly not for a stranger. Yet that doesn't help decide for him exactly what he should call her... and Sephiroth supposes that he can't just refer to her in his own head as woman or intruder or thief. Not when he has the other two to compare to.

It's a simple question. Regardless, it draws a faint smile upon her face. "Of course. I never did introduce myself, now, did I? My name... is Gillian. So you can simply call me that."

No last name... A bit of caution? Or is this some form of casual speech? Sephiroth isn't entirely sure, and maybe it doesn't really matter. Soon enough, they're slipping inside, and then going further down a simple metal ladder.

Midgar's sewer system is dark, and lit up by only a scarce few bulbs hanging from the massive ceilings over the metal paths that they walk. It is unsurprisingly isolating, all hard concrete and suffocating smells from the simple location, and yet Sephiroth almost thinks he couldn't mind it in some peculiar way. Maybe it's because it reminds him of his own apartment, which - besides the sewage - is in much a similar state. Just enough lighting to get by, all miserable dull colors...

Or maybe it's because, deep down in the pipes and concrete, he can't see any trace or hint of ShinRa. Not its logos. Not its buildings. There's nothing.

But sewers are still sewers in the end, and even Sephiroth has to admit his relief when they finally take a small detour through the pipes and pull themselves out from one area in particular. There, free from noxious odors, Angeal tugs the mask down from his face with a relieved heave of a breath, and Genesis regains his spirits. Certainly he's in a far better mood as he lightly smacks Sephiroth's back. "I hope you are quite adept at climbing," he drawls. "For with such a distinctive visage as your own, there is simply no way that we could walk about the main streets."

He's not wrong. Through some bit of good fortune on ShinRa's side, Sephiroth has incredibly distinctive features. His height that is well over six foot, his strong build honed by so much training, silver hair that was always encouraged to grow longer and longer... With all of that, his mako-bright eyes almost seem as though they could be an afterthought.

"I'll keep up," he assures them sternly. It's a serious promise, too. So just why does Genesis glance away with a little smirk on his face, chuckling.

It's Angeal who pats him on his other shoulder, just as amused although in a slightly different way than Genesis. "I don't think we have to worry about the winning general of the war keeping up with us," he says, even though the war with Wutai is hardly done with. "Then, do you want to take your friend up this time?"

His friend - "Lazard!" Turning around has him find the other man in... well, Lazard never was meant to be taken out into the field. Sephiroth thinks he can count on one hand the number of times that it's been required, as a matter of fact. All this jumping from buildings, traversing through miles of sewers... It's left the blond's face flushed, chest heaving as he tries to adjust his tie again.

"I'm perfectly fine," he tries to assure him, but his body is a bit more honest in this regard. When Sephiroth hauls him up into his arms, he can feel how boneless Lazard really is.

The good news is that they aren't scaling up a sheer building wall. Rather, the place that Gillian leads them to has a fire escape going up along the side of it, and that is their primary way of making it up the building... although it still takes some creative liberties in getting to what is apparently the right window. Much like before, Angeal seems to handle getting Gillian over to it, and it's Genesis who makes sure the window is open, ushering them all through to it.

Sephiroth's apartment is quite close to the ShinRa buildings, at the end of the day. This means that the area he lives in is what many would consider... high end, although that's never really mattered to him. Just having anywhere outside the labs felt like something of an indulgence he thought he would never get.

But that apartment and the one he steps into with Lazard cradled close to his body... It's incredible to him just how different they are. He's used to smooth walls, pale like a canvas meant to be filled up in a way that he could never truly supply it. Pale walls, pale ceilings, dark doors. All sorts of things that he could never fill properly, like a normal human.

This place must be on the cheaper end of things, because it doesn't boast such white walls and ceilings, where the apparent pride (as far as Sephiroth had ever been able to discern) lay in the ability to keep it white. Instead, faded floral wallpaper is spread across the walls, and the wooden planks of the ceiling show their age with how worn they are. Instead of top of the line appliances, things such as the fridge and stovetop seem to be a good few generations behind the times, decorated in faded blues - both of them. Holes are embedded in the walls, nails still occasionally stuck out here and there from where decorations presumably hung.

Definitely... a cheaper place than where he was assigned. And yet, even in its worn out existence, decorated about as much as his own home was, there seems to be so much more to it. Like a place that was always meant to be lived in, by actual people. Not by... him.

Every single member of the trio goes to put down their things as though they've always been here, and Sephiroth can spot other pieces of their luggage, most of it still packed up and ready to go at a moment's notice. If this is the sort of thing that they all get up to in their spare time, then he can see why. Putting down his own belt and the tools he used to break into places like the sewer gate by a heavy duty backpack, Angeal looks back to where Sephiroth is lingers by the window. "Like chamomile tea?" he asks, as though this is a completely normal visit to their apartment.

At least, Sephiroth thinks that's what people do when they have guests over at their home. He doesn't really know; he's never been invited to another person's home before. That doesn't make this feel any less absurd. "I don't mind," he says, for lack of any better idea on what he should do.

While Angeal goes to get hot water with a kettle that looks like it's survived armageddon and could survive a couple more, Sephiroth escorts Lazard over to an incredibly plain and rickety looking table that's there in the center of the apartment, just so that he can catch his breath. And, honestly.... Sephiroth feels that he needs to catch his breath as well. Not a physical one, perhaps, but something more mental. From his place at the table, he can watch as everyone else gets to work.

Not a single one of them stays still, after all. Angeal seems content to keep his place at the kitchen, picking out mugs with faded and flaking graphics that have an occasional chip in the ceramic. Gillian takes all of their gear, the things that they'd worn or used, and starts to patiently go through them in one corner. The Wutai polearm that Angeal had used, the wig which now lays in a mess, all of that. Even Genesis stays on the move, although perhaps he's the least surprising out of all of them to see do so. His wanderings appear idle, but Sephiroth can tell there's a method to his inspections. The various windows, the front door, ducking into the two other rooms that connect...

Genesis doesn't explain what he's doing. He doesn't have to. Sephiroth can recognize it, because he's been trained to do similar in his own apartment: looking for bugs or hidden cameras. Anything that might betray that someone has made it inside.

A stranger in this place, Sephiroth turns to the only thing he truly does know, and he looks to Lazard. "Are you alright?" he asks, gently rubbing his hand along his director's back. A mimic of the action that Lazard used to do for him so many times, when he first had to indulge in frustrating things like having his picture taken, or preparing for interviews he didn't want to participate in. Something to ground him, and make him feel better. At least, he hopes that how it helps Lazard.

Lazard himself is still straightening out his suit, his tie, all the numerous little things that probably don't matter. Frankly, Sephiroth thinks he just needs something to do with his hands. "I'm not normally involved in such risky activities," he says, voice still barely managing calm. "However, I managed just fine, Sephiroth, I can assure you."

Can he? With those pale cheeks splotched a heavy red from all the walking he had to do, and the rush of wind against his bare face?  With how his chest is still heaving out breath, breath he couldn't properly get from atop the summon and which he strained to get in their journey? Even if Lazard can put himself together on an appearance front, Sephiroth can still tell how frazzled he is.

"We really weren't expecting for this sort of thing to happen." Gillian takes a seat opposite the two of them, folding her hands together there on the table's surface. Behind her, Angeal brings over a few mugs, and sets three down - one for each of them. "I did consider there was a possibility that I would be caught in the process, but, well..."

"You really must tell us what happened, Ma," Genesis says, finally coming back from his loop around the apartment. Instead of taking a seat, he simply stands behind her, one palm resting flat against the tabletop. "We had guests invited over, and with no time to prepare!"

"You didn't have to prepare much," Sephiroth tells him, but he only earns an amused little smirk for his trouble.

Gillian doesn't even have to look back at Genesis to smack him lightly. "He's teasing," she tells Sephiroth before speaking to the other two. "And let's just say... I ran into some slight trouble, but I saw an opportunity that I didn't think I would ever get again, so I thought it would be best that I take it, if I could."

"So you ended up taking a hostage," Angeal says, returning back with a mug for Genesis and another one for himself.

A laugh bursts out of Genesis's mouth. "Hostages! Well, you are certainly moving up in your capabilities, aren't you, Ma?" That just gets Genesis another light smack, which does nothing to stop his laughter.

This is... all well and good, Sephiroth supposes, although he's not sure if that's how he should refer to a situation like this. But... "You said you had something you needed to make sure that I knew about," he says, quiet voice cutting through all the banter and teasing. His words draw their attention back to him once again. Perhaps that's for the best. "Should I assume... that has to do with the wings that I was able to sprout, leaping from that summon?"

All that levity on Gillian's face eases away, and her hands fold around her mug of tea. "Yes... That's right. It's something that I had always suspected, considering what I had heard of your accomplishments on the battlefield... But it is far from something that an ordinary woman like myself could simply go up and ask about."

"I do not believe that ordinary women break into one of the most powerful organizations in the world," Lazard points out, raising up one eyebrow.

Gillian beams at him. "Oh, no, dear, I really am just an ordinary housewife."

...Is this a sort of reverse psychology? Sephiroth isn't entirely sure, because the lie is just so impossible that surely no one would believe it. Or else why would she say something like that?

Fortunately, it's not a question that he has to linger on for too much longer. Leaving that particular comment to the side, Gillian shakes her head. "At any rate... I need to know what you know, first of all. But... what do you know of a man named Professor Hojo, Sephiroth?"

Of course. Something in Sephiroth's torso seems to go ice cold, and falls down to the very pit of him. Of course it would have to do with him. With those labs. With an entire childhood spent amongst pale walls and cold equipment, having only ever seen one other child there along with him. A child who had the good fortune to be able to run away, and never stop running. Sephiroth hides his hands underneath the table, not sure what would be revealed in the way they curl into fists. The mug of tea steams up into the air before him.

He could say what he has told so many other people before. Could tell them that Hojo is a respected scientist within ShinRa who has gotten a great many results. He could say that he knows very little about the man, and a part of it would even be true. He doesn't know the man. Not at all. Just the cold distant figure who told him to raise an arm up for a blood draw, or to attach equipment, or any number of other things, and so Sephiroth did it, because what else could he do?

"He's my father," he says, and Gillian hisses in a breath between her teeth.

"What," Lazard says, and of course he wouldn't know, who else would? Who would ever heard that there was a blood relation between the two of them?

And yet if there is anyone who could have guessed that, Sephiroth suspects that Gillian could have, judging by the way her eyes close for a brief moment in... something. An emotion that is too complex for him to name. "I'm sorry," she tells him, and it is the first time that anyone has ever apologized to him for what happened in the labs. "I am... so sorry." Besides her, Angeal and Genesis are quiet - the former staring down into his own drink, the latter smiling ruefully at nothing in particular.

"You had nothing to do with it," Sephiroth says, because he can understand that much. Not once did he ever see a woman with Gillian's features down there in the lab.

But then again... He really knows nothing about this woman. She's quick to remind him of that, shaking her head and saying, "No, while I wasn't involved with you exactly.... I can't say that I have no involvement whatsoever. Sephiroth.... Have you ever heard of Project S?"

He's heard a lot of projects referenced, while down in Hojo's labs. Various things, with various names. Yet that one... He shakes his head.

"Then... I think I need to tell you, although, in your case, I only have a few pieces of insight. I can't tell you all of the details. All I can tell you is that... over a decade ago, ShinRa's Science Department was split in two. A group of five scientists wanted to create... hybrids. A mixture of human, and an ancient race with a deeper connection to the planet than any of us." She raises a hand, presses it to her chest. "I was one of those scientists - Gillian Dimitres.

"Yet, amidst all of us, there were disagreements on how exactly a hybrid such as that could be born. It... became something of a competition." Her mouth twists distastefully just at the recollection of it. "A mixture of pride, and a desire for funding, to go down in history... There were many different reasons amongst all of us.

"In the end... Essentially, two different projects were formed. I worked on Project G, with a man named Hollander. We had... two different theories, on how things could proceed." She pauses for a moment, taking in Lazard's frown and Sephiroth's own faint inclination of his head. "Judging by your reactions... I had assumed that Hollander still worked in ShinRa - or, rather, I suppose I was banking a bit on it, in order to get inside. But I assume his reputation is no longer quite as it used to be...?"

Lazard taps his fingers around his mug, taking a sip just to wet his throat before he goes into any long explanations. Sephiroth lets him; better that Lazard speak than him. Between the two of them, certainly he knows better how much to say and what. And that's not even talking about how he knows more about other employees than Sephiroth does...

"Professor Hollander is certainly... still employed in ShinRa, last that I checked," Lazard finally says, words slow and carefully picked out. "I have heard his name mentioned a few times, and yet, whenever I sought to investigate a little deeper on just what he was involved in..." His mouth is pulled tight, a narrow line upon his face. "It seemed that a great many details were hidden from me, in clearance that I apparently did not have, even as the Director of SOLDIER."

"Wait," Genesis says, gaze coming back to the group. Sephiroth thinks that he might have something important to say, but what Genesis continues with is, "Did you really hold a gun to the head of the Director of SOLDIER, Ma?"

To the side, Angeal rolls his eyes, and Lazard frowns. "Yes, she did."

Completely out of line with what Sephiroth is pretty sure the mood of the conversation, Genesis pats Gillian on the shoulder. "Oh, well done."

Obligingly, Gillian pats Genesis's hand. "Thank you, my little firebrand, but now really isn't the time."

"Firebrand," Sephiroth repeats, taking in the interesting codenames that Gillian has chosen for the two men. Just the act of repeating that single word draws a flush to Genesis's face, for some reason, a color that matches the bright red of his hair - truly, he can see why the codename was given to him.

Lazard coughs into his hand, trying to get everything back on track. "As I was saying... Professor Hollander is still an employee of ShinRa. I have no idea what he still does at the company, but it does seem as though he is still involved in the Science Department... and it seems that whatever competition arose from your experiments continues on to this day. Whenever I've heard the most fiery rumors, it has been of their feud going on in the Science Department still. Mostly fueled by Hollander, if I recall correctly..."

With Lazard explaining it all... Sephiroth thinks he can recall bits and pieces of the name himself. Certainly the other scientists would mention a name like that, and Hojo would always get a particular expression upon his face whenever he managed to overhear it. Sometimes he even had to answer phone calls, but it was a toss up on if it had to do with that particular name or something from a ShinRa higher-up.

Certainly Sephiroth had never been told anything about it, not directly. Why would anyone have told him anything?

"At any rate, I was still able to tell well enough that he was no longer in as high a position as he clearly was used to," Lazard finishes. "And if he was in charge of such a secret project like that..." A frown crosses his face. "But excuse my interrupting. Continue, please. There is clearly far more to this story than just that."

Gillian nods. "Yes.... So, for our team, composed of myself and Hollander, we worked on Project G, and its attempt at creating such hybrids. However, on the opposite side... I do not know the details myself, you understand. I only knew the names of those who worked on it, Professor Hojo and Professor Crescent... and the name of the project itself."

"Project S," Sephiroth says, and the cold weight in his stomach only burns all the worst against himself. Even if she saw fit to end the conversation there, to give no further explanation... He can already surmise just from what she's told them what Project S is.

Who Project S is.

Another nod, another breath. She said she hadn't been expecting to run into him in ShinRa headquarters like they did; does she need to gather her words much like Lazard often does? "Hojo refused to speak with us after the Projects began, unless it involved arguments with Hollander that the latter started," she says, "so I never did find out what the name was meant to stand for. But... I could imagine, after a decade or so had passed. When Sephiroth of the SOLDIER program, First Class, started to gain headlines at a phenomenal rate.... I still remembered what we had contributed to."

Her hand is still resting along Genesis's, where it lays on her shoulder. Somehow, even though neither of them look at one another directly... It feels important, suddenly, that Sephiroth can see her hand there. His hand there. "And Project G?" he asks. "For... Project Genesis?"

"Yeah, you would think that, with how much of a show off he is and how much he'd love to claim that sort of grandoise name, huh?" Angeal says dryly. On Gillian's opposite side, Genesis makes an annoyed noise and switches his mug from one hand to the other purely to punch Angeal in the shoulder. It sounds like it hits rather hard; Angeal doesn't move a muscle.

Gillian chuckles, although it's hard to say if it's in reference to the conversation or the nonsense happening behind her. Either way, with her mug set there on the table, she spreads her hands out a little bit as though in a coy joke. "Well, by all technicalities... You are looking at her."

What? Sephiroth blinks for a moment, taken aback by the simple confession. It's clear that there's mako infused in her, of course - that particular luminescent blue doesn't come from anything else. Yet that she was actually - "You were Project G?" Lazard echoes, voicing his thoughts. "But - how exactly does that...?"

"Because of the process that Hollander and I decided to go with for the project," Gillian explains. "While theoretically one could just inject the appropriate genes into an already grown person... Prior experiments had already proved that to be an utter failure. We thought that doing so from a younger age, giving the cells and genes time to merge with one another, might prove to be better. So... We did indeed inject the cells into an adult, myself, but only so that my human side would act as... something of a conduit. We would take parts of myself, and... merge it into a child that was thought to be sufficiently young enough. A newborn, essentially." Ever so slightly, her hand squeezes down on Genesis's.

Lazard reaches up, knuckles bumping into the underside of his glasses as he rubs along the bridge of his nose. "That... Why on earth would you subject yourself to that kind of experiment..?"

"On a professional level... We thought it would be a little more controlled, if it was someone already in ShinRa. And since I was one of the head scientists on the project... It seemed like a natural fit." The somber mood weighing down on her lifts, and she grins, laughter lighting up her eyes more than the mako. "Of course, then I got pregnant with the second part of Project G and ran away with him, so it turns out I wasn't quite secure as anyone thought, including myself!"

"You ran away?" Sephiroth asks, looking up sharply. It seems so obvious, after all. Why else would she be here, in this kind of situation, if she hadn't? Why wouldn't Project G be a more household name, or at least give Hollander the credit that he apparently craved? Why.... A lot of things. A neverending string of why, looping back and feeding on itself.

In only a second or two, hindsight claims that it is a stupid question with an already known answer. Sephiroth almost feels foolish for it, really. And yet...

And yet there sits Gillian, her hands coming down to fold over one another on the tabletop, and she smiles. The makeup that she had used for her disguise had clearly been done with the intent to make her seem younger, to ease away the wrinkles and vanish the bags underneath her eyes. He'd seen through it instantly, of course, picked up on all the little details. His eyesight is still as keen as it was but an hour ago.

And yet there Gillian sits, smiling, and he wonders if she would have looked so young when she was a scientist in ShinRa. If maybe, in a different sort of past, she could have smiled across a table at him down in the labs.

"I ran away," she confirms. "The details behind that decision... Lets just say that they're complicated, and probably would bore you, when we really do need to stay on track." Sephiroth doesn't think they would bore him at all, actually, but he can understand what she means to do here. "I managed to be rather successful in what I did, honestly, which I will take a little bit of pride in... And, eventually, I ended up giving birth. That happened to be Angeal." She tilts her head back, smiling up at the dark haired man - her son, of course. And Angeal smiles back down at her, putting his mug down so that he too can rest one large hand along her shoulder.

Something in Sephiroth pings, then. Aches. Gillian made herself an experiment, gave birth to something that should have just been a science project, and yet she smiles up at Angeal so... truly. And Angeal smiles back. And in that moment, Sephiroth can truly see all the ways that the two of them are alike: the same deep blue that mako has given them, the sharp features that fold along their faces, the dark of their hair. How Angeal's own hair has just a hint of the waves that Gillian's likely does, when it's not mussed up.

She raised him, he realizes, and something about that simple realization winds its way around his throat like a noose. Away from any labs, away from ShinRa, Gillian raised a child born from a project like he was her own.

Because he was.

Because from the moment that Angeal was born... Sephiroth almost feels that Gillian had made that choice. That she'd made that choice a long time ago, whenever she decided to make a run from it all and escape the prison that Midgar could make.

An expert on hiding his emotions from other people, on not used to showing them when he was so often punished for any misbehavior, Sephiroth is glad to say that none of the others seem to pick up on anything when they look back to him. Gillian just continues her tale. "It took a little bit of doing, but, eventually, I settled down somewhere, and that's when I decided to hide away. I didn't want to rob Angeal of a proper childhood, but, well, I was in a bit of a predicament... as you can imagine."

That sounds like a very mild way to put how she was likely being hunted down by ShinRa and had to make sure she had as little a presence as possible, anywhere, but Sephiroth decides not to correct her on it. "And... Genesis?" he asks, glancing up to the redhead.

Just the sound of his name has him puff up, completely please that attention has been dragged back to him. "Oh, myself?" he drawls, and Gillian seems to fall silent quite contentedly as she takes in a nice long sip of her tea. "Why, it is a tale of romance, and destiny, and forging one's own path - but I would not want to steal all the spotlight from my dear mother." Genesis tilts his head away ever so slightly, eyes drawn into sly slits. "Let us simply say that, on a fortuitous day, I found my one true calling as a child, and, as a part of it, the soulmate who would complete me to the end of my days-"

"He found me stealing apples in one of the trees at his place, and we became friends," Angeal interrupts, apparently having no consideration like his mother.

Genesis whirls on him like a storm, and, even with the table blocking some of his view, Sephiroth can see the way that Genesis tries to lash out a kick straight towards him. A kick that Angeal sidesteps, in the same motion that he puts down his mug. "You absolute insufferable prick!" Genesis hisses, like if he keeps his voice low enough than Lazard and Sephiroth won't hear. "I cannot believe you simply open your mouth and ruin the presentation of it all-"

While Genesis and Angeal get into what looks like an impromptu sparring session right there in the cramped apartment space that leads into the even more cramped kitchen, Gillian takes one last sip of her tea before smiling over. "I had the good fortune of still possessing a fairly sharp memory, even years after I had run away from the ShinRa labs," she explains. Behind her, Angeal tries to ram the heel of his boot into Genesis's knee. "As it so happened, in the town that I had stopped in to give birth to Angeal... That was one of the prime candidates for the other half of Project G. The Rhapsodos family. I don't expect anyone in a city like Midgar to know their names... But they're a successful family that is behind the production of all the dumbapple products you see anywhere. And... They're ShinRa employees as well. So of course they were chosen to raise that child after he had been injected with the cells for Project G."

"And then... Angeal and Genesis met," Sephiroth says, putting together the pieces that have been provided to him, albeit in something of a rather messy manner. "When... they were children?"

"Yup," Angeal says, and something about the pronounced drawl of his voice seems to infuriate Genesis all the more. What happens next is a little hard to see. All Sephiroth can say is that one moment both men are upright, and the next is that they are very much not, and he cannot see them past the island counter. There's just the sound of grunting, and knees hitting things, and then... some sort of wet sound...?

As though absolutely none of that is happening whatsoever, Gillian continues talking. "That's right. I had made sure that Angeal knew how important it was to stay safe, but... Well, one day he came back to me, and told me about a new friend he had made. A new friend with a surname that I'd recognized from some time ago."

From the corner of his eye, Sephiroth can see concern begin to traverse across Lazard's face. "Did you... kidnap a child?" he asks slowly.

The wet sounds from behind the counter stop, and there's Genesis, using the counter to haul himself up onto his feet. "I kidnapped myself, thank you," he announces. Sephiroth isn't... entirely sure how that works.

"I eventually made the choice to tell Genesis about his parents, and what he was connected to," Gillian says, adding some detail to that... very bewildering statement from Genesis. "Although... I had to make a lot of adjustments, so that a child could understand it." She falters for a moment, there, and Sephiroth can see that flash of grief across her face, like the tide pulling out so suddenly. "He was still just a child..."

As though they'd never left - and they hadn't, had they? Not really, even as they'd been doing whatevere it was they'd been doing behind the counter - Angeal and Genesis are back there are her side again. Genesis, especially, leans in close. So sharp, so bright - that is the impression that Sephiroth has had of him so far.

But for just this moment, the fire dims into a a gentle bit of candlelight, a soft guide in the dark. "I would have rather have heard that miserable truth a long time ago even if I would have never understood it," he reassures her. Then, just like that, the roar of his confidence burns bright again, and he straightens up. "Besides! Wherever Angeal goes, I suppose he really does need me to be there for him. Terribly needy, really."

"Now who's ruining first impressions?" Angeal comments wryly. Sephiroth can't help but note that Angeal doesn't exactly argue against the statement, however. "At any rate, that's how it ended up working out. Genesis joined the two of us a long time ago, and we've all just been together ever since."

There is a lot to digest here, and Lazard especially seems to be having some troubles with it as he just stares at the three of them. Presumably this is odd in some way; Sephiroth has always relied on Lazard's cues to pick up on things like that. It's just, on Sephiroth's own, he can't entirely tell what exactly about it is odd. Still, he can at least offer up one other thing that's been weighing on his mind. "If all that is the case... Then why did you return to Midgar, Gillian? Wouldn't it have been safer for all of you if you stayed exactly where you were, instead of ever coming back...?" In other words, just what on earth was worth her breaking into ShinRa headquarters for?

Something shifts, then, although he can't pin that down, either. It's like the air changes in some minuscule and imperceptible way. Gillian looks tired again. A little bit older. "One of the negatives about running from ShinRa is that I no longer have access to some of the most cutting edge equipment available to science today," she says. "And... it's that equipment that I want to use. Old research, that I want to use, so that I can better understand Angeal and Genesis's growth. They are the first people in the world, after all, who are like themselves." When she smiles, it's still a bit weary. "And, of course, you, Sephiroth. "

And him, of course. Of course.

Sephiroth finally looks down at the mug in front of himself. No longer does steam filter up from its depths. Is it cold? He doesn't know. Probably, he should touch it at some point. "What... do you want me to do with this information?" he asks at last. Why risk putting a gun to someone's head in an attempt to speak with him?

Gillian's answer is simple. Concise. Immediate. "I wanted you to simply have it." There's the sound of chair legs scraping against the floor, footsteps on wood, and Sephiroth raises his head to find Gillian there in front of him. There's that expression again - complex, painful, twisted. Carefully, she adjusts herself until she can crouch there right in front of him, and her hand reaches out. It's slow. Tentative. Looking to him for any sign of refusal. Sephiroth gives her none, lets that hand of hers come to rest upon his knee and so far close to where his hands clutch one another. "And... maybe if nothing else but my own selfishness, I wanted to apologize.

"I'm sorry, Sephiroth. I'm sorry for what happened to you... and I'm sorry that I left you there. I'm so sorry."





"Sephiroth? Are you all right...?"

Is he all right? Sephiroth honestly isn't sure. All he can do is sit there to the side while Gillian and her boys move about the apartment, putting things away and getting something prepared in the kitchen. All he can do is sit there, and stare down at the hand he had put over Gillian's.

I'm sorry. She'd apologized to him. Felt regret on what had happened to him. Is any of it her fault? He doesn't think so. Does he? Would the projects have continued on without her? Yes, likely, and she wasn't even a part of Project S, didn't even have any deep relations with Hojo. But still, she had said she was sorry, had said he didn't deserve anything that had happened to him, and...

A hand, there, on his knee. Sephiroth blinks a few times, and looks up into Lazard's concerned pale blue eyes. "Sephiroth," the director repeats, making sure that he has his attention. "Do you need another drink...?"

"No... No, this is fine." Angeal had made him another cup of tea, upon seeing that his first one had gone cold, and it's there, still warm, in Sephiroth's grip now. If only to reassure Lazard, Sephiroth brings it up to his lips and lets the heat flow through him. It almost makes him feel as though he is back in the rest of the world again. "I'm sorry... I've been worrying you."

A faint huff slips out of Lazard, and he seems to be amused at something, just a bit. "Well, I would have been worrying no matter what, really. This entire evening has been full of nothing but reasons to be concerned." All the faint amusement leaves him, however, and his fingers tighten by a fraction against Sephiroth's knee. "But... You haven't said very much, not since Gillian finished explaining everything. Do... you need a little more time to process all of this?"

Sephiroth wonders if he'll ever have enough time to process everything he's been told. If it will ever get easier, to know that he's... he's not even human, not really. That all he ever was amounted to one man's little science experiment that was going to get him... what? Sephiroth doesn't know. Hojo spoke to him occasionally on things such as how materia formed, on studies, all things that were meant to be "tests" of his intelligence, and yet which always seemed as if Hojo was simply making his own preferred conversational partner. Making. Ha.

It's like being on the edge of a precipice, thinking back to situations like that, putting together all the little things that suddenly make so much sense. Just one little push, he thinks, and that would be that. What would that be? He doesn't know.

Across the room, in that tiny little kitchen space, something snaps, cracks. A quiet little organic sound that, despite its existence, is soft. "Yeah, that should be enough," Angeal says, and Sephiroth's gaze is dragged upwards, almost as if by compulsion, to land on the pair that stand there, cooking, serene as anything. Angeal just took out an entire elite ShinRa force, and Genesis had summoned a dragon so powerful and for so long that no doubt ShinRa is going to be on high alert. As far as ShinRa is concerned, no doubt the three other people in this apartment are the most fearsome terrorist organization around right now, worse than Wutai.

"If you're going to forcefully recruit me as your sous chef, then I think I deserve some tasting privileges," Genesis complains at Angeal, who finally relents with a roll of his eyes and a spoon full of soup.

And they just... live like that. Even as Sephiroth watches the two of them, they continue to live life... almost more normally than Sephiroth thinks he ever has. They move around each other in the kitchen as though it's the most natural thing in the world, as though they'd lived in this apartment all their lives, and it's just one more day. One more normal day, their arms brushing, smiles exchanged.

They seem human.

And if they seem human, if they can be human, if they are living a better life so happily like this, then, maybe, for him...

"It is a lot to take in," Sephiroth admits, his eyes still transfixed on the various little actions that Angeal and Genesis do around each other, that they do while cooking. "I... always knew that he was my father. That there was a blood connection. I never knew what to do with it, however. And I didn't think... that it was anything like this." He'd always assumed that his being in the lab was just from Hojo not wanting to actually parent any actual child. That it was the act of parenting alone that he thought to be an experiment, not just his entire existence. "Lazard... is that why you insisted on me going with Gillian?"

"What?" Sephiroth still can't quite bring himself to look away from Angeal and Genesis. Is it because he's drawn to them, or because he's unsure of what expression Lazard might be making? He can't say. "Sephiroth... What made you think that?"

From within one of the bags, Genesis tugs out a hefty stack of paper plates that look thinner than even printer paper. Angeal is more than happy to accept them regardless. "I couldn't understand it," Sephiroth says quietly. "Why, even against someone who seemed to be an enemy, when you had a gun pressed against your own head, you would insist on me leaving with them. If you knew about Project S... then I could understand." It would all make sense.

Lazard's fingers tighten around his knee, and then relax, smooth out. "No... I was honest, when I told Gillian that Hollander was above my clearance level. And if he was, then most certainly anything to do with Hojo, let alone the specifics... also tended to be above me, although I did my best to find... loopholes about such things."

Loopholes... Yes. Sephiroth can think of many a time that Lazard was able to poke and prod his way into information that was just a little bit beyond him. He just assumed that Lazard was able to get it because of course he would. Lazard could do anything. Lazard could become the youngest Director of any of the ShinRa departments. Lazard could organize an entire department all by himself over the weekend.

Lazard could offer him a hand, and pull him out from the abyss of the labs.

"So if it wasn't that... Then what were your reasons?"

It's clearly not a question that Lazard is eager to answer. He pulls his glasses slowly from his face, and somehow manages to find a handkerechief that's still on his person despite everything they've been through. "If I am to be... wholly honest," he says, in a way that indicates he'd really rather be anything but, "I was hoping that, if you took that woman's offer, Gillian's offer, then... You could break free of ShinRa's shackles as well. And..." He shakes his head, and slides his glasses back on. "And there are some things I have not told you as well, Sephiroth. Things about... my own family situation."

"You don't have to tell me." Lazard looks up at him, eyebrows up to his hairline. But Sephiroth said what he said. "This night has been... taxing. For both of us. But... If you ever want to tell me, then I want to listen."

Some of the tension, like a man preparing to jump from a high tower with no guarantee of the safety net at the bottom, drips away from Lazard, and he, too, looks back to where Genesis and Angeal are cooking. "Perhaps later, then," Lazard concedes. "Although if we are to stick to the conversation at hand... Do you have any idea of what you want to do now?"

What he wants to do now... Right. Sephiroth's eyes finally drift away from the kitchen area, finding home where Gillian is seated against a wall. She's already sorting through various papers that she apparently took from ShinRa's archives, hair still a mess and makeup not entirely cleaned from her face. Still, while not exactly the same, she is similar to them as well, isn't she? Still, she is quietly living out her life there, chuckling now and then at some comment made by the two men in the kitchen.

She'd just wanted him to know. To give the choice of what he would do with this information to him, and no one else.

The labs never gave him a choice. Lazard, constantly, has tried to give him choices, and Sephiroth has never known what to do with them. Has never had a proper example of what he could do with them, even as he looked out towards civilians and other SOLDIERs, because none of them were like him. They had families to go to, or towns that they knew. And he... He just had the labs.

In the kitchen, Angeal nudges Genesis in the back of his ribs, and Genesis complains about the rough nature of his elbows.

"I... might," Sephiroth admits, unable to take his eyes off the scene that used to seem so unattainable. That Angeal and Genesis make seem so natural. "But... I need to think for a while longer."

Lazard nods, satisfied with even this much of an answer. "Well, fortunately, it seems that we've been given the opportunity to catch our breath for the rest of the night... Assuming that the summon truly did lead ShinRa's aircrafts on a chase far away from here."

"That summon has a name, you know," Genesis drawls proudly from the kitchen, handing off some vegetables over to Angeal.

Hm. Sephiroth finally pushes himself up onto his feet, all to walk over to the opposite side of the little counter from the kitchen. The food is almost ready... and it smells like nothing he's ever had before, nothing like the simple nutritional meals that he's had delivered to him so that he was properly ready. Even without seeing everything in the pot, it's filling in a way that he can't explain. "What summon is it, then?" he asks. Summons are still somewhat of a myth, he knows, to many people. Hard to get a hold of, only bestowed upon those who have gone through sufficient trials... and what those trials are tends to vary from summon to summon.

Lazard had described them as capricious, once, but Sephiroth wonders if that is entirely true.

Over at the stovetop, Angeal sighs a little bit and shakes his head. "Here we go."

What he's apparently referring to is the way that Genesis's gaze lights up, and he draws himself up as tall as he possibly can - which is actually a few centimeters below Sephiroth, as far as he can tell. "'His name is Bahamut, he boasts, eyes sharply watching Sephiroth's own expression carefully.

Sephiroth has no idea just what he's looking for, exactly. Still, he knows that name. Has read about it, in research about some of the most notable summons that exist. "The king of dragons," he says slowly, and Genesis smiles, flipping some of his hair away from his face. "I had heard that Bahamut only agreed to help those who could put up a good enough fight against himself."

"Well, it was certainly a fight for the ages," Genesis says, glancing away slyly. "But nothing that I could not master in the end. I suppose that was only to be expected, when I had vowed that no other would be my companion."

Glancing over Genesis's shoulder, Sephiroth can tell that Angeal is rolling his eyes a little bit. "Right, right," Angeal says, stirring his ladle through the massive pot thoughtfully. "Anyway, dinner is ready."

Oh. Then he's too late. Sephiroth knew that was a possibility, but it's still almost... a disappointment to hear. Somewhere from behind him, however, amidst the shuffling of paper, comes Gillian's voice. "Sephiroth, would you mind going to pick up the bowls? They should be at the end of the counter."

Just a glance over reveals that they are there, and Sephiroth wastes no time in bringing them over to where Angeal is still at the pot. It is a small thing, trivial. He knows that.

Having that knowledge doesn't take away from the feeling in his chest, gentle and relieved and something else, when Angeal accepts the plates and nods his head to him. "Thanks. Tell me when enough's enough."

Sephiroth isn't entirely sure of that, either, considering that he's never had that choice in his life either. All his portions were perfectly measured out to give him the most ideal mixture of vitamins and minerals and whatever else that a human body could need... or whatever it is that Sephiroth has. The indecision is a little bit paralyzing, if he's honest.

He ends up with a bowl that threatens to overflow, just a little bit, warm in the palms of his hands when he takes it from Angeal. "Good to eat a lot," Angeal says, with some sort of praise. "Keeps you going."

"Does it?" Sephiroth asks, wondering if perhaps he's made some sort of mistake, here, as he stares down into the thicky waves of broth and vegetables and rice and some sort of meat. Had they all gone shopping before launching an infiltration-slash-attack on ShinRa headquarters? Somehow, that seems almost odd in a way he can't place. But maybe he's the odd one?

Peering around his shoulder from directly behind him, Genesis narrows his eyes thoughtfully down at Sephiroth's bowl, before he shoves his own towards Angeal. "About as much, Angeal, thank you." And Angeal rolls his eyes again.

"Sorry that we don't have anything fancy to drink," Gillian says as they all shuffle back to the table, putting down some glasses with simple juice in them. Something pale and sweet, when Sephiroth goes to take a sip of it. Far sweeter than even the pastries Lazard occasionally brought with him into his office, to go with his coffee.

Overwhelmed by the taste, and the smell of the soup rising up into his lungs, Sephiroth can only sit there in a brief daze while Lazard shakes his head. "No, no, I... Well, I would say we are intruding, but you did hold me hostage. So I'll simply say that none of us really expected this." Him and Gillian laugh together over that, as though she hadn't held a gun to his head previously throughout this night.

Not for the first time, Sephiroth decides that other people are still very quite strange. Then he takes a spoonful of soup, and has his first taste of dinner.

"...Angeal?" Genesis says, twisting his own spoon about his fingers. "You did give him the same bowl as the rest of us, didn't you?"

"Gen, have you considered not asking stupid questions?"

"I am simply saying that he has sat there for a solid minute and not moved, so I do have to wonder."

"Sephiroth, are you... all right?" Lazard asks, and he finally snaps out of it, blinking a few times as his gaze goes to recenter back on Angeal.

Right. Right. "I am fine," he says, and the next words leap out from his throat before he can put them together right. "This is... delicious, Angeal." He's had little treats from Lazard before, fruit that cost an excessive amount in a city like Midgar, a small pastry, things that could be easily slipped to him in the hidden confines of Lazard's office... But nothing quite as rich and full of flavor as this.

Angeal ducks his head a bit, hair still pulled back in a small ponytail and thus incapable of shielding his own faint blush which dusts across his cheeks. "Thanks. But it's just gumbo."

"The best gumbo in the world," Gillian and Genesis seem to say completely in tune - Gillian with a calm serenity that comes with stating nothing less than absolute fact, Genesis as though this is some grand accomplishment of his own that he can boast about. Angeal smacks Genesis in the shoulder with the back of his hand; he doesn't do the same for Gillian.

While Sephiroth carefully eats his next bite, savoring the flavors resplendent in it (only now does he really understand the true meaning of that word), Lazard looks across to Gillian. It's a small table; he doesn't have to look very far. "I know that... you may not feel very comfortable, telling me this, considering who I am and the situation that you are in," he says, "but may I ask just what you all plan on doing now that you've all... presumably gotten what you came here for?"

"I suppose we'll just go home," Gillian says, matter of factly, before taking another bite of gumbo.

Lazard's eyebrows rise up to his hairline again. "Just that?"

"Just that."

"With... all due respect, Miss Gillian, ShinRa won't let an attack like that simply occur without taking some action. As far as they're concerned, you and your sons are a surprise terrorist organization that they are going to handle sooner than later. You'll have an untold amount of people hoping to hunt you down."

Gillian looks up, her spoon pressed against her lips. "Oh my, Angeal, we've become a terrorist organization."

"We're moving up in the world, ma," he deadpans, and Genesis cackles besides him.

Already, Sephiroth can tell that Lazard is going to get a headache. It's clear in the way that he squeezes his eyes shut for but a split second, and how he forcibly relaxes his fingers out there against his own thigh. "One could almost be lead to believe that none of you are as concerned about this as you should be," he comments.

Gillian pushes her bowl forward, already rather done with it. Sephiroth had noted she'd eaten a little less than the rest of them. Certainly less than him. "I know it must seem like that," she admits. "However... While we very well may be pursued for no small while, I've had experience in avoiding ShinRa's hounds before. That was when I was all on my own, and newly pregnant. I hope you understand that, while I'm certainly not glad to be repeating that kind of situation... I think I've earned at least a little bit of confidence in my ability to evade them, so long as I am not overly arrogant about it."

"And she has us," Genesis is quick to point out, flourishing his spoon like a conductor's baton. "Should there be any situation in which she cannot evade through guile and stealth, then she has the greatest warrior in the world on one side and the greatest warrior mage on the other side."

Sephiroth wonders just how much that's true, on Genesis's side, although there's no denying the amount of skill it must have taken to have Bahamut show any interest in allowing himself to be called upon by a person... And yet, it's that first description that draws his interest, and he finally pulls himself away from the bliss of gumbo to where Angeal is finishing up his own hefty helping. "The greatest warrior in the world, is it?" he asks, and smiles maybe a little bit.

They'd only crossed blades but for a moment, there up in ShinRa's tower. It hadn't even been a full blown spar or duel. All that had happened was that Sephiroth had made an attack, and Angeal had gone on the defensive. Had sidestepped a thrust that had skewered many an opponent before, brought them to a stand still even if it had only lasted but a second.

Angeal scoffs at the compliment, but he glances across the table at Sephiroth as well. "Apparently some people keep shoving that title onto me," he says.

A sharp couple of claps from Gillian draw the conversation to a close. "No duels in a crowded apartment or heavily populated city for fun," she announces, as though it's a rule that she's had to recite more than a few times. "Let's gather the dishes, and prepare for bed." An apologetic look is flashed in Sephiroth and Lazard's direction. "We don't have any spare toothbrushes, I'm sorry... and that's not exactly something you share."

It really isn't. Yet Genesis gets ready to drop down by a little convenience store down the street, and Lazard insists upon giving him some money to cover the costs, as though this is just an average stay over with friends and acquaintances, or at least what Sephiroth imagines those must be like. While that's settled between Lazard and Gillian - he thinks Genesis is trying to get more out of Lazard than is actually required - Sephiroth helps bring the various dishes over to the sink in the kitchen alongside Angeal.

There's not really a lot of room - not in the kitchen in general and certainly not there right at the sink. Yet they manage to do well enough, with Sephiroth insisting on doing the dishes himself, and Angeal taking to drying each one that comes out of the water.

They've just met. Sephiroth hasn't known him, or Genesis, for an entire twenty four hours. And yet it is surprisingly easy to fall into a sweet and simple rhythm there with Angeal, one that comes so naturally that it feels as though he should always have been like this. Have been standing next to the other man, just doing dishes.

Is this what it's like, to live a normal life? To have a normal night, where he can do dishes and have it almost feel like it means something instead of just another thing to do?

They get through most of the dishes they'd eaten out of first before Sephiroth speaks up. "What... do you do?"

Genesis is still out getting toothbrushes, for him and Lazard. Over to the side, Gillian is going through the various files that she stole, more than seemed like they could fit in that bag of hers, and Lazard is knelt down besides her with concentration etched across his face. That leaves only Angeal there with him, handing him the knives he'd used for meal preparation. "You'll have to be a little more clear on that one," Angeal tells him.

The knifes get swept through the water, carefully drawn through so that he doesn't cut himself, or Angeal. "When you aren't pulling off extremely risky heists," Sephiroth says, and is rewarded with a faint snort of amusement from Angeal, although he doesn't see what's so funny. "What do you do... on your average day?"

Angeal hums, a low deep sound that rolls up from the pit of his chest and down into Sephiroth's own. "Nothing particularly exciting, if I'm perfectly honest. Genesis likes to make it sound as though we're grand renegades, going on wild adventures and bucking against an unjust system that would have abandoned us the minute that we blinked wrong... And I suppose that latter part isn't entirely untrue. Just by virtue of us existing, completely separate from the reins that ShinRa would have wound around our throats, we're doing some sort of rebellion, a cry of our existence being allowed to just exist...

"But that's sort of a secondary thing, in all honesty. Ma never stole me away to make some grand statement. She didn't help Genesis kidnap himself for some big plot against ShinRa. I think, in some other world, she would have been far more happy to just live a normal life in a normal town with us, and be like any other person. So we kind of just... do a lot of that. Living as normal lives as we can." A snort. "You know, inbetween all the raids on ShinRa."

Raids, plural. So this isn't just the first time that they've targeted something of Shinra's. Sephiroth decides that's ultimately not important to him, however. "What does that look like?" he asks instead. "A... normal life."

Angeal thinks on it with another hum, accepting the knife that's given to him. Dries it off. "This, I guess. Most of the time, we're just concerned with getting the supplies for everything we need in our day to day. Gathering food, seeing what we can make from slain monsters that can be sold off, keeping our place clean and tidy. This may surprise you, but this is just a spare apartment that we managed to find and, well, trick our way into for the time being." He shakes his head. "Our actual home takes a lot more upkeep..."

And Angeal keeps telling him all about it, at Sephiroth's requeset. How he and his mother have a little garden set up, away from prying eyes, that they have to keep safe from nosy animals and far more destructive monsters. The way that it feels to spend sweltering mornings just digging through dirt, pulling forth vegetables, or pushing past leaves to gather the fruit that they use for all sorts of things.

By the time that the lights are drawn out, Gillian going to rest in the one good bedroom with a mattress and Lazard courteously being given the couch, Sephiroth almost thinks he can imagine what it might be like to can food. He thinks he might like to give it a try, one day.

As he settles down by the couch, however, he catches the pale blue glow of two eyes, staring through the darkness and past what neon filters through past cheap blinds. "Genesis," he says, and those eyes shift, crinkle into a look of amusement he can recognize even in gloom. Well, it's not as though darkness has ever been a real barrier for him before... and his eyes adjust quick, taking in how Angeal is there with the other man, how he's sat against the door leading into the bedroom. Angeal, it seems, is asleep. Just not... "Not tired?"

"That's a bit besides the point, isn't it?" Genesis purrs, completely at ease in where he's at. "But someone has to keep watch... don't you agree?"

Genesis inclines his head forward, right towards where Sephiroth sits - his own back against the couch, his legs on the floor. Standing guard over Lazard, much in a similar way that Angeal and Genesis stand guard by Gillian.

Yes... Sephiroth closes his eyes, just slightly, although he doesn't fall into a true and proper sleep. He supposes Genesis is right.

Someone has to keep watch.