ANNOUNCEMENT: This story is on hiatus until further notice. For more information follow the link in my profile.

Author's Note: Again, massive thank to Kiraya-sempai for playing beta for this and catching all my stupid mistakes--did I mention it was almost one in the morning when I finished the draft?--to make this readable! Also, thanks to those many readers out there who have been patiently waiting these past months for an update. Sorry things are so sporadic right now--life comes at you fast, and sometimes its not all it's cracked up to be. Thank you all for your patience.

O - O - O
O - O - O

Chapter Thirty One: A Hurt She Could Not Heal

Hojo awoke with a start, cold fingers running up the inside of his spine, urging him to rouse. The motion caused a spasm in his chest, and he coughed painfully for several seconds before he was able to properly comply with his uninvited guest’s wishes and rise to his feet. He cleared his throat once more to clear away the last of the spasms, and then stood up straight.

He looked around for enemies—it was rare Jenova woke him for anything else after finally allowing him to sleep—but found nothing but dusty brown all around him. In the distance he could see dust and smoke rising from Bone Village as the archaeologists rose to do their daily work while they still had enough light to see by, but otherwise there was nothing.

“Haishin,” Jenova purred, “there has been a change of plans.”

“Yes?” he prompted, still tired. It had only been three days since Jenova took him, but already he was used to following her orders. Since that single time he had broken her control and for a moment been Haishin rather than the monster he became later in life, he had been granted little control over his own actions. His throat still burned from the salt water he had swallowed while he and his alien companion made their way across the sea on foot, the pain a silent reminder that nothing he did from here would be of his own volition.

If he didn’t do something about his injuries soon, though, Jenova might not have a shell to keep toying with. He half hoped she wouldn’t consider his condition dangerous to her own well-being and allow him to die of exposure.

“Take me to the city outside your own.”

He blinked as she provided him with a mental image—buildings of stone and wood, streets of faded blue stone—and his brow furrowed in confusion. “Kalm? We’re going to Kalm?”

He felt the Calamity smile. “I found something useful while you slumbered, Haishin, and it awaits us there.”

With a sigh he turned around, away from the research village and toward the sea. He could drown this time, take a breath before the substances inside him went about absorbing oxygen through his skin. It would be easy. Jenova might bring him back, but it would be a reminder to her that this was his body, that it was not merely another toy.

But Hojo was afraid that she wouldn’t bring him back. Just as afraid of Jenova as he was of true death, he knew he would never be capable of such a thing. He was so different from his experiments that way: Sephiroth had died a number of times and had no fear of losing himself forever, Vincent had committed suicide three times during the Chaos Project and almost all the Clones had been revived from the dead. They had no fear of death, having tasted of its flavor before.

Hojo was afraid to let the glass touch his lips, now and forever.

Life as a toy or death forever? He made his choice. Whether or not it was the right one was something he could never know.

He moved off toward the sea.

O - O - O

Cloud pulled his silver-white hair back into a tail and stepped into the bath, steaming water rising around his knees. He wore a pair of dark blue boxers that he had reluctantly borrowed from Reno—why in the world the Turk kept an extra pair of underwear on his person was something the youth didn’t really want to ask, so it remained unknown. He leaned over and grabbed an article of clothing from the water, lifting it up to check for stains.

Reno’s white shirt, almost grey in some places, was in dire need of some bleach. There was blood all over it, stains from grass and dirt when he had tackled the ninja girl, and a fine dusting of scarlet crystal on one cuff—apparently his Ifrit Materia was preparing to divide. Cloud wondered if Reno would let him keep the infant; they could certainly use it, and he wouldn’t have to actually use it to Master the thing.

He dunked the shirt back into the water, pulled it back out again; dunked and removed, dunked and removed. After the surface dirt had finally washed away the youth took hold of the bar of soap, sat down on the side of the tub and scrubbed at the stains. It was as he did this that he felt the familiar stretching sensation through his senses that signified Sephiroth’s waking.

“What are you doing?” the elite yawned, raising one eyebrow.

“Laundry,” Cloud replied. “All our clothes are filthy—we can’t wander around unnoticed if we look like transients.”

The man started. “Our clothes aren’t in that mess, are they?”

Cloud laughed. “Of course not.” He glanced over his shoulder at the leathers hanging over the towel bar on the far side of the bathroom. “The tailor back in Cosmo said they were pre-shrunk, but I don’t want to make my clothes any tighter than they already are.”

“So then—”

“Hair down to our waist, Seph. I’m cutting it later.” He picked at a speck of dirt with a fingernail. “Also, we need new shoes. Those boots aren’t going to work after another night or so—they were uncomfortable when I tried them on this morning.”

Jenova’s firstborn nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For putting you through this. It must be frustrating.”

Cloud chuckled again. “Oh, it’s hell, Seph.” His grin broadened. “But it’s all right as long as I’m with you. I don’t really mind as long as we stay together.”

“But if we stay together for too long, Cloud…”

The statement didn’t need to be completed; it weighed heavily on both souls. “The line between us had started to blur,” Cloud murmured. “Your strength, my memories; your passion, my compassion; my youth, your life…” He bit his bottom lip. “Sephiroth, sometimes I don’t know which is which anymore. Do you?”

He felt Sephiroth lower his eyes. “No, Cloud. I don’t.”

O - O – O

It wasn’t until an hour later that a groggy Reno stepped into the bathroom and looked at the sopping clothes thrown over every possible surface with severe confusion. Cloud turned to look over his shoulder at the Turk, holding Zack’s shirt in his hands—the last article of clothing to be cleaned before Sephiroth’s leathers—and smiled apologetically. “I’m almost done; just give me a minute.”

The redhead blinked, still not comprehending why all their clothes were sitting out. “What are you doing?” he asked thickly.

“Laundry,” the silvery-haired youth replied, just as he had when Sephiroth woke.

“Good thing,” came another voice as Zack leaned in the doorway. “Reno’s suit was starting to smell like ass.”

The Turk glared. “Yours wasn’t much better, you know.”

“Yeah, but Hojo’s experiments don’t usually perspire the same way humans do. Did you know I don’t have any hair on my legs anymore? Is Jenova like some sort of hair-removal system?”

Sephiroth chuckled and Cloud shook his head. Zack had a way of making anything, no matter how terrible, sound like something stupid and trivial. Sephiroth appreciated it in so many ways, and suddenly felt a swell of gladness that they had been fortunate enough to find him again all those weeks ago in Midgar.

Has it really only been weeks? Cloud inquired silently. It’s only been a couple months since Mideel. I wonder how they’re faring.

“Well enough, I hope,” Sephiroth replied. “They’re Liam’s sisters, Cloud. You don’t have to worry. They’ll bounce back.”

The boy’s eyes widened and his heart seized in his chest. “Seph—they’re Liam’s sisters!” That was all it took for the elite to understand, and he stiffened at the realization. Liam was now Leader of the Circle, binding him to Jenova’s children—however, he was also extremely independent and considered himself above the rules of Jenova. If he wanted to see his sisters one could bet he would find a way. And if he met with them in his current state…

Cloud rose to his feet and gestured around the bathroom. “Get dressed and let’s mosey—we have somewhere to be.”

Zack gaped. “Now?”

Sephiroth took control, slit-pupilled eyes narrowing. “Yes, Zack, now. Get your clothes on.”

The dark haired man grumbled as he gathered up his entire wardrobe over one arm. “You know, the last time you said that I’d had considerably more fun the night before.”

Sephiroth slapped his companion on the arm as he maneuvered out of the room, grabbing his leathers as he went and spitting out an oath that, if spoken to anyone else, would have been a serious insult. Zack only laughed.

In the main room he found Vincent and Katal laying on one bed, the latter curled up with his head on the gunner’s chest, sleeping soundly. Vincent, of course, was not asleep, but his position would fool any normal person who felt it their business to search their room. To Sephiroth, however, it was an entirely different story.

“Wake him up,” the elite ordered, flapping his jacket out to clear off at least some of the dust. “We’re leaving.”

Vincent scarlet eyes opened and he tilted his head to face the ex-general. “So early?” he inquired, human hand, resting on Katal’s head, beginning to move back and forth through the younger man’s hair. “It will draw suspicion if we leave so early after arriving so late.”

Sephiroth knew that, but likewise he knew that they were fast losing time to catch up with the Clan if they were headed toward Mideel. “Cloud and I have decided it necessary to visit Mideel. If Liam went there to see his sisters there will be trouble.”

Vincent’s hand stopped moving and he closed his eyes again, leaning his head back. “He did not, so you have no need to worry.”

With a flare of anger Sephiroth ground his teeth. “And how would you know where they’re headed, Vincent? You don’t even have a Jenova fragment inside you to guide you.”

“I don’t need one,” was his simple reply. “Whether they headed to Mideel or not doesn’t matter—they are not there yet.”

“Why?” the youth asked through clenched teeth.

“Because Jessie is wounded. Liam cared enough about her to take her with him in spite of her not being a Clone—he will not risk traveling over the sea until she is healed.” He shifted his weight, careful not to wake the sleeping former Clan Leader. “Even with a Mastered restorative Materia—which Liam does not have and has very little chance of acquiring—it would take at least two weeks for her leg to completely heal. I can promise you that jump of hers to catch hold of him as he passed twisted the fracture further; it would be unwise to try a restorative Materia at all until the bone has been properly set, and Liam will not want to do that in the field.” He opened one eye and glanced sideways at the elite. “He will take care of her in a town, and it will be some time before he reaches one. We have time to rest.”

Cloud came forward just enough to speak. “But it’s not safe here—Tifa and the others are bound to be wandering around somewhere, and I don’t want to run into them if we can avoid it.”

“Then we will avoid it,” he replied, closing his eyes again and giving a yawn that reminded Cloud very much of a large cat baring its fangs. He really did have some sharp teeth—Cloud had felt them on his skin more than once and always knew they were there, but to see them bared was more than a little jarring. Come to think of it, since when did Vincent yawn?

Katal shifted against him, opening amber eyes and slanting them on the youth. “Is something wrong?” he inquired.

“We should leave,” Sephiroth replied sternly.

The former Clan Leader sighed and closed his eyes once more, draping an arm across Vincent’s chest. “I see no reason why.”

“This is ridiculous!” Cloud shouted. He pushed past Sephiroth to take control. “Liam could be killing everyone in Mideel by now, and you two just want to sit here and sleep!”

Vincent slanted his slit-pupilled eyes on the boy. “Katal is in no state to be moving, Cloud.” His lips tightened into a grim line and the glow in his eyes brightened for the space of a heartbeat. “And I will not leave him.”

Cloud gave an exasperated sigh. “Vincent…”

“He’s right, Spike,” Zack said quietly, placing a hand on the youth’s shoulder. “None of us are really in any state to be moving. Reno’s still recovering from those nasty burns of his, not to mention the bruises from that ninja chick.”

Reno shook his head. “I can head out any time—I am a Turk. I was trained for this sort of thing. Besides, the Mako left in my system’s almost finished working on the burns and bruises anyway.”

“And you two used to be Turks,” Cloud said, returning his attention to the gunner and his companion. “I’m sure you can move.”

Katal opened his amber eyes once again but did not shift from his place against his best friend’s chest. “That was a lifetime ago. Before you were born. Maybe before your mother was born. You try losing thirty years of your life and then trying to backtrack to where you left off.”

Cloud’s eyes narrowed. “I lost five, Katal. That’s plenty enough for me to understand what you two have had to deal with.” He ground his teeth. “Sephiroth and I lead this group, and we both say we’re leaving. Now.”

Katal glared. “Then I prefer not to be in your group.” He closed his eyes once more.

The youth turned his gaze to Vincent and the gunner shook his head. “I’m sorry, Cloud, but I’m not going to leave him. Not again.”

With a growl Cloud spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Reno moved to follow but Zack blocked him with an outstretched arm. “Let ‘em be. They’ll be back eventually.”

“But what if they leave without us?” the redhead inquired hotly. “I have orders, Knightblade!”

“They won’t leave,” Vincent said flatly, closing his eyes. “They know better than to be so foolish.”

Zack grinned. “Besides—they just walked out without their clothes.”

O - O - O

“Cloud, would you care to explain to me what possessed you to walk around Kalm in your boxers?”

Cloud eased the pressure grinding his teeth slightly to speak. “I’m pissed. You probably don’t want to talk to me right now.”

Sephiroth arched one eyebrow. “You know I like it when you’re angry.”

“Seph!” The shout garnered the attention of several passers-by, but the teen remained completely oblivious to their confusion. “This is not the time or the place for you to be talking dirty. Aren’t you angry?”

“Of course I am,” he replied. “I’m every bit as enraged over this matter as you are, Cloud.” The youth wanted to point out that he certainly didn’t sound enraged, but held his peace. “However, I understand what Vincent is thinking, and I have to admit he’s right.”

“He’s right for refusing to listen to me, for deciding that some fucking Leader Clone is more important than stopping Liam from killing his sisters? He’s right for—”

Sephiroth blinked. “You’re jealous.”

Cloud stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

“You’re jealous of Katal. Just like I was of Vincent.” He gave a chuckle and shook his head. “The only difference is that I seriously doubt Vincent will sleep with you to ease your concern.”

“I’m not jealous. What’s there to be jealous over?”

“He chose Katal over you.”

“He didn’t choose anything, Seph. We haven’t actually left yet.”

The elite sighed in exasperation. “Let’s go back and talk to him about it. I’m sure he—” Sephiroth paused for a moment, then surged forward to take control, giving a hiss of “Hide!” as he moved.

He barely ducked around a corner when the thick figure that was Barret came walking past, holding Marlene on his shoulders and a large paper bag in his hand. He was whistling loudly, his daughter singing along with the tune in words neither Sephiroth nor Cloud could decipher, and luckily hadn’t noticed their presence.

The whistling faded away and Sephiroth let out a sigh of relief. We have to go back to the inn. It’s not safe out here.

Cloud pulled back, separating himself from his lover, and sat on the ground cross-legged. “I’m not going back there until I’m done wanting to wring Vin’s neck.” He looked up at the silvery-haired young man standing over him and smirked. “What are you going to do, leave without me?”

“You are being childish,” Sephiroth hissed.

“I’m only sixteen, you know. How do you expect me to act?”

“Not like this,” he replied in a growl. He knelt down beside the smaller man and leaned forward. “Cloud, please don’t be like this. We don’t have time for you to act your age right now.”

The youth’s eyes widened indignantly. “But we do have time for Vincent and his friend—who, must I remind you, could turn on us any time—to take a fucking nap? Right, sure. That’s fair.”

Sephiroth placed a hand on Cloud’s knee, fingers sinking slowly into transparent flesh, and spoke quietly. “Life isn’t fair, Cloud. It never has been.” He blinked slowly. “And Vincent doesn’t sleep; he’s only still in bed for Katal’s sake.”

Cloud tried to ignore the vibration and warmth where Sephiroth’s hand met his leg, biting his bottom lip and breathing carefully. “We have to leave, Seph. We have to. We owe it to Hally and Nikk.”

“We can leave tomorrow.”

“They’re already ahead of us.”

“Then we’ll move twice as fast. It won’t be hard, once we’re all recovered.”

Cloud glared. “I hate when you make sense.”

Sephiroth smirked. “And I love it when you’re angry.”

O - O - O

Marlene clapped her hands in time with the rhythm of her dad’s whistling, her grin so wide it looked as though her face would snap in two any minute as they came up the walkway toward the front door. The stone had been swept clean now, the grass and weeds growing up between the cobbles were slowly but surely being removed by Tifa, who crouched on the ground with her shoes off, tugging at a spiky green stalk sprouting up in the slim gap between two stones.

She had seemed a bit off since they left Midgar, but Barret had thought little of it—they had just uprooted themselves entirely from the only life they had known for years, the only life they knew how to live. They were all bound to be a bit jumpy for a while.

Tifa, though, just didn’t seem right. When Barret approached she jerked violently and spun around, almost tumbling backward in her haste to view the approaching man. For an instant the gunner could swear she didn’t know who he was; then recognition kindled in her red-brown eyes and she gave a relieved sigh. “Oh, Barret.” She smiled nervously. “You startled me.”

He looked at her for a moment. “Are you feelin’ all right?”

“Why do you ask?”

He shrugged, carefully lifting his daughter off his shoulders and lowering her to the ground. “You’re just…I dunno. You’re actin’ weird.”

Tifa shrugged, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m feeling a bit funny lately. Maybe it’s the change in the air.”

Barret placed his hand on Marlene’s shoulder and spoke quietly, eyes narrowed just enough to keep the fighter from noticing. “Maybe.” He urged the younger girl forward and together they made their way around their friend and into the house. The former vigilante turned, brow furrowed, to give Tifa one last look before he reached for the doorknob.

The absence of the essential apparatus caused his stomach to lurch, and he turned to find Aerith standing in the doorway waiting for him. “Barret,” she said softly, green eyes dark, “can I talk with you for a minute?”

With a shaky nod he stepped inside; Elmyra swept his daughter off into her room to put all her new clothes away, and the rebel and Cetra were left alone in the den. “W-where’s the Turk?” he asked as Aerith moved to sit on the new couch, recently provided by Shinra’s oh-so-rarely used safe house funds.

“She went out a while ago.”

“Where?” Helpful or not, the girl was still a Turk; Barret might have liked her, but he still didn’t trust the group she worked for.

Aerith shrugged. “Please sit down, Barret. I need to talk to you.”

A mite confused, the burly man complied. He leaned his arms on his knees and waited for the girl to speak.

She bridged her fingers and wrung her hands as she lowered them to her lap. “I wanted to talk to you about…Marlene.” She bit her bottom lip, green eyes slightly narrowed as though uncertain what to say.

“What about her?” the man inquired, eyebrow jutting downward. Was there something wrong with his daughter? “Is she sick or somethin’? Please don’t say she’s sick, I don’t think I could take it…”

Aerith lifted both hands and shook her head, giving a half-smile. “No, not at all! She’s a perfectly healthy little girl. I’m sure you’re proud to have her.”

“Damn straight I’m proud.” Barret found himself confused as to where the young Ancient was going with this—if Marlene was healthy, not to mention something to be proud of, then what could possibly be the problem?

Aerith looked back down into her lap. “Marlene is a very special girl, Mister Wallace, and I wanted to know what you thought of that.” She took a deep breath. “Have you ever thought about how she’s going to grow up? What life she would have led if you’d stayed in Midgar? What kind of person do you want her to grow up to be?”

He gave a lopsided grin to cover his nervousness. “If you don’t mind my sayin’, I’m sorta hopin’ she’ll grow up t’be like you, Miss Aerith.”

Her eyes widened and she looked back up from her lap, face pale. “Wh-What?”

Barret sighed and ran his hand over his head, rubbing at his neck when his palm had trailed down far enough. “Well, y’see…the thing is, Marlene’s dad—her real dad, that is, not me—well, the guy that I—” He sighed in exasperation and shook his head. “I’d rather not explain it too much, but I’ll tell you this—Marlene’s real father was different. Different like you. Heard things, saw things, said things that didn’t make a bit o’ sense ‘til he explained ‘em…” He took a deep breath. “Marlene’s got alotta him in her.”

Aerith stared. “Marlene’s biological father…was a Cetra?”

Barret gave a solemn nod. “Yeah. That’s why she’s so special. I…I’ve never told her, but I’m sure she knows. She talks about weird stuff sometimes, about people that aren’t there but they sure as hell are t’her. Used t’have nightmares every night ‘cause they wouldn’t leave her alone.” His lips tightened into a grim line. “Jessie set up a machine that kept the things outta the bar, a-a resonator or somethin’ she jacked from a Shinra supply train.”

“…What have you been thinking?” Aerith whispered. Barret turned to find a look of complete disbelief on the young woman’s face—her eyes were so wide that the fullness of the green pools of her irises was visible, surrounded by white that seemed oddly blue-tinted; her face was pale save for a slight flush that crept up her neck. Barret knew that look—he had seen it on his daughter, on Tifa, on Jessie too many times not to recognize it. Aerith was angry. “H-How could you do that to her?”

He blinked. “What?”

Aerith’s eyes narrowed and Barret knew she had reached a new level in her rage. “Your daughter is part of a dying race—a group of people so slim in number they can be counted on one hand because of Shinra’s scientists—and you have been so wrapped up in avenging whatever it is you’re avenging that you didn’t stop to think about what could have happened to your daughter!”

“I’ve been fightin’ to protect my daughter!” Barret retorted. “Avalanche was for her—t’make a place she could grow up safe!”

“You put her in a situation where she wasn’t likely to grow up at all!” Aerith spat. She was on her feet now, gesturing wildly with her hands. “How dare you insinuate that you were only helping her when you put her so close to Shinra’s hands she was more likely to have her organs dissected and documented than live long enough to pronounce their names!”

Barret rose to his feet as well. “I’d never put Marlene in danger!” he hollered.

“But you have been! You knew that she’s a Cetra, but you still brought her to Midgar—you knew what Shinra was capable of and you still toyed with their power, taunted them until they were bound to come looking for you! If we hadn’t left when we did there’s no doubt Hojo would have gotten her just like he got my mother!”

Barret opened his mouth to reply when a deep voice cut him off.

“Not to interrupt, Miss Gainsborough, Mister Wallace, but it would probably be best if you quieted your argument.” Nanaki strode in, stretching his forelegs and shaking his head before settling into a seated position in the doorway. “This house is not exceedingly large, and it is more than likely the child in question will have heard you.” He looked between them slowly and arched one furry eyebrow ridge. “Unless, of course, you want her to know that she is the source of some contention in this house? I have a feeling she would not appreciate that knowledge.”

The Cetra and the gunner exchanged a glance, then the girl swept away, grabbing her staff as she passed Nanaki out the door. The wolfcat sighed and lowered his head. “I will never understand your peoples’ need to fight so much. It solves so little.” Barret felt a rush of anger at the beast’s attitude, but seeing the sorrowful expression on his face quashed it instantly. The creature gave a toothy half-grin. “Of course, mine were not much better.”

Barret gave a quiet nod even though he didn’t really understand what the fiery-furred creature meant. A moment of silence reigned, then the gunner sighed. “So, where’ve you been all night?”

O - O - O

Sephiroth ran a hand through his hair, brushing it back from his too-green eyes before placing his hands in his lap again, lacing his fingers together in a motion that Zack recognized as another nervous habit. “…And so, in conclusion, I apologize both for my overreaction and for Cloud’s. We have had a rather trying week, in case you hadn’t noticed, and a month or so of sleep would probably do us both a world of good.”

His eyes flashed to blue and a slightly-higher voice issued from his lips, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not still worried. We almost destroyed that village once; I don’t want Liam picking up where we left off.”

“That’s understandable,” Katal yawned, rubbing one eye. He had finally woken properly mere moments ago and had yet to completely clear the sleep-induced haze from his mind and vision. “But none of us are really in any condition to be going anywhere for a couple days at the least.” He scratched the back of his head, mussing his white hair. “I, personally, feel like a narcoleptic.”

Zack raised a fist. “Hear-hear to the former psycho.” He yawned as well, tears springing to the corners of his eyes. “There’s no point heading out until we’re all fully recovered—while us freaks are bound to be all right in another couple hours, Reno should be allowed to rest up for at least a week.”

The redhead blinked. “I’m fine,” he asserted. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Sephiroth slanted his gaze toward the Turk’s hands, still red and mildly swollen from his contact with fire not two days ago. “You need a Potion—or an Elixir, even. Give me the change from the room and I’ll go pick some up.”

“You should not be seen outside,” Vincent counseled. “In fact, it would be dangerous for any of us to leave this room—we are too recognizable.”

Katal’s still-distant gaze brightened slightly as his brow furrowed, blurry vision sharpening in an instant. “Except for me,” he murmured. All eyes turned on him and he lifted his head, smiling. “I could go. None of them know what I look like, right?” Glances were exchanged and comprehension dawned—this group contained the only people outside the Circle acquainted with the former Clan Leader. His white hair might cause some trouble, but his eyes weren’t green anymore…

“You should ditch the cloak,” Zack said evenly, arms folded as he considered this newest option. “That would give you away instantly—you don’t have to wear it anymore anyway; you aren’t in the Clan.”

Katal’s pale features deepened in a nervous grin. “Well, actually, I do.” He twisted the fabric as he wrung his hands. “You see, I’m not wearing anything under it.”

Reno coughed to suppress a laugh at Zack’s expression; the ex-colonel’s eyes had widened and his mouth dropped open ever so slightly. He blinked once and then gave a sigh, holding a hand to his face. “Oh my god,” he said, voice muffled by his palm. “You could have told us that earlier, you know.”

“It’s okay,” the amber-eyed man said with a broader grin. “Vin pinned it shut for me, so it’s not going to flip open or anything.”

Zack recalled the gunner fiddling with the front of his friend’s cloak the other day, and he wondered why he hadn’t figured it out then. “Well then, I guess someone’s gonna have to lend you some clothes.”

Vincent turned to the other Turk-turned-Clone. “You can wear my shirt—I need to shower anyway.”

Katal laughed. “No offense, Vin, but we aren’t exactly the same size.”

“The sleeves would drag on the floor if he wore your shirt,” Zack elaborated.

“He can wear my jacket,” Sephiroth stated simply, looking around at his small company. “Vincent’s shoes look about right—your feet aren’t proportional to your limbs, after all—and Reno’s pants.”

The Turk blinked, then raised one eyebrow. “Ever heard of asking nice, Sephiroth?”

“No,” the elite replied easily, looking away.

Reno sighed, defeated, but the exhalation was interrupted by Vincent’s smooth voice. “He can wear my slacks. They may be a bit long, but the waist should fit.”

Katal nodded. “We used to share pants all the time back in the Turks,” he said with a grin. When the other three warriors gave the Clone a mutually inquisitive glance, the white-haired man gave a laugh. “Reno should know what I’m talking about, or doesn’t Shinra send you off with sub-par armor anym—” He broke off, eyes widening as a spasm shook him.

Vincent was upright instantly, hand on his best friend’s back. “Kat?” he whispered.

The younger man took a shaky breath and opened his mouth, face contorted in a mask of strain and discomfort. He bared his teeth and gave a raspy attempt at words, then lifted his hands to clutch the sides of his head and screamed at the top of his lungs.

O - O - O

Marlene was putting her new clothes away when the scream sounded in her mind, loud and deep and terrible. She dropped the folded shirt, holding both hands over her ears and biting back a sob of pain as agony lanced through her skull.

She stumbled backward, tripping on an uneven floorboard and careening backward to land flat on her back. “Stop it, stop it, stop it!” she whimpered, tears stinging her deep brown eyes, teeth grinding so hard she could hear them over the cry. “Stop it!”

In an instant strong arms were around her, smelling of gunpowder and nutmeg, and even though she still hurt she knew she was safe. She leaned against the heavily-muscled dark chest she was held to, and gave a small cry. “Daddy…!”

“It’s okay, baby, I’m here,” Barret replied, usually gruff voice smooth as he could allow, tone soft and comforting. “I’m not gonna let anything hurt you. Tell Gaea we’re workin’. Tell her to go away—I’m helpin’ her as much as I can, she can’t have you.”

Marlene wasn’t certain she knew what her adoptive father—the only father she’d ever really known—meant, but his words brought a surge of warmth to her chest, and suddenly the pain wasn’t so bad anymore and the scream wasn’t so loud. She gave a weak smile, and though the world went dark all around her she knew she would be all right.

O - O - O

Aerith and Tifa, both in the front yard pulling weeds, went completely still at the same instant. The Cetra’s eyes widened, green darkening as her connection with the planet was traced by a scream of pain, her very bones vibrating with the depth of it.

Gaea was screaming, screaming as Aerith had never heard before. She howled in agony as some great abomination made itself known on her surface, sending jolts of dark electricity to her core. This was a cry similar to the one that had woken Aerith from her sleep the night Sephiroth fell, carrying his cursed mother with him into the Lifestream, tainting the shimmering green road to the Promised Land forever. But this scream, unlike that, neither stopped nor called for help—Aerith felt no telltale tug on her spirit as the planet shrieked, and knew that it was something she could not change.

This was a hurt she could not heal, and the realization made the sound grow louder and send a jolt of pain up her spine and into her head. She winced, blood rushing from her face as her breathing turned heavy, air pulled from her lungs by the intensity of the ache in the earth beneath her feet.

She pulled off her gloves and settled down onto the patchy grass, gasping for breath as she warily reached out to bury her fingers knuckle-deep in the soil. It burned, and she hissed in pain as green light ran up her hands and arms, over her face and into her barely-open mouth, between her clenched teeth. The light reached her heart and squeezed for a split second, just enough to make the tears in her eyes spill over, and then the cry ceased.

The young Cetra took a shaky breath as the light seeped into her skin and disappeared, and then her eyes drifted shut and she keeled over.

Tifa heard the muffled thump and turned at last, wondering where that wonderful music had been coming from, and why it had stopped so abruptly. Seeing Aerith she gasped in alarm and rushed to her friend’s side, lifting her up onto her lap. “Aerith? Aerith!” She shook the flower girl slightly and green eyes opened halfway.

“Th-They found them.” She reached up and took hold of Tifa’s turtlenecked shirt, fabric wrinkling in her grip. “They finally found them.”

“Who?” the fighter inquired bewildered. Aerith had gone still and silent again, and Tifa shook her again. “Aerith, what are you talking about?”

“S-Silver hair…and eyes l-like Lifestream tainted…” she whispered, gaze distant. “Voice like…like death and wonder…and they’ve joined their brethren. They’ve joined the Circle.” She let out a sigh and passed out in Tifa’s arms.

The younger girl’s brow furrowed and she looked up at the grey sky as though willing it to give her answers. “What’s happened?” she whispered. “I thought we were safe here.”

Something whispered deep in the back of her mind in a voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear it. “No one is safe, little one. Not you, not Gaea, not your friends. But…when I arrive, I will grant you the power to protect those you love.”

She closed her eyes at the calm that ran through her at the words, so dark and beautiful, and smiled. “Yes. You will help me protect them.”

The Jenova-mark spread a fingerlength down Tifa’s neck.

O - O - O

Liam smirked, tapping one foot on the dirt. “Well, she certainly shut up fast,” he said blankly. “But she was loud, and I’m sure it hurt while it lasted.” He heaved a sigh and turned in place, eyes brightening as they lit on the three figures standing before him. “Who knew a couple Clones could make her scream so loud?”

The shortest of the group, hair short and silver, eyes slit-pupiled and emerald green, gave a wry grin. “We have that affect on people,” he explained. He tilted his head sideways and spoke to the other two in his entourage, though his eyes never left the Clan Leader. “Isn’t that right, Loz? Yazoo?”

“Hojo certainly screamed at us a lot,” Loz said with a chuckle, placing his hands on his hips.

Yazoo arched a girlishly fine eyebrow. “For some reason, Brother, I doubt his screams were those of pain.”

The silver-haired teen in question waved a hand toward his younger sibling. “Doesn’t matter. They will be eventually, if this keeps up.”

The youth in the middle smiled and gave a slight bow, turning the attention of his company back to the long-haired young man before them with his arms folded firmly over his chest. “They call me Kadaj—these are my brothers, Loz and Yazoo.”

“Liam,” the Clan Leader said with an incline of his head. “The rest are numbered, except for her.” He gestured to the brown-haired young woman unconscious on IV’s lap. “She’s Jessie.”

Kadaj gave an appreciative chuckle. “She certainly doesn’t look like one of Mother’s children.” He looked back to the older Clone. “Am I allowed to ask why?”

Liam gave a blank stare and shifted his weight to his other foot. “No.”

“Very well, then,” Kadaj smirked, eyes turning cold. “Well, in any case…” He gave a low bow, holding out both arms in a show of supplication even as he kept his head tilted upward to keep his gaze locked with the Clan Leader’s. “We are honored to have finally joined our brothers and sisters in the Circle.”

O - O - O

Tseng’s eyes shot up from the paperwork that littered his desk to look around his bedroom. There was his bed—blankets distorted by the figure of Rufus, who had refused to leave after he took all the Turks out to dinner and followed Tseng home to look over some files Tseng had borrowed—and the window beyond it, slightly open to allow a light breeze through the otherwise still room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

A heartbeat sounded, out of rhythm with his own, and he raked a hand through his black hair. Just something with the Clan again—some new Clones or something. He went back to his paperwork, placing pen to parchment, but didn’t even write more than three letters before he gave an exasperated sigh and slammed his head into the desk.

Since when was being telepathically linked to an ever-growing army of once-human psychopaths something to brush off? His hand ached beneath the bandages, and for the hundredth time since he assisted Sephiroth in his escape, he cursed both Hojo and his manipulative ever-living consort. As far as he was concerned the Professor and Jenova were as good as married, though the thought of any Clone referring to Hojo as their father the way they saw Jenova as their mother was an unpleasant one.

With a sigh he lifted his head again. Realizing he had snapped his pen in half he gave a frustrated growl that made the glow in his eyes brighten and allowed a rush of heat to burn painfully behind his corneas.

He knew things he shouldn’t have—with each passing day he recalled more of the workings of Jenova’s Clan, the Circle, the Three… It wouldn’t have been a problem if they were his memories, but he could feel them being siphoned in through the tentative link he shared with the other Clones. The Clan Leader, whoever he was, was trying to teach him to be a proper child of Jenova.

It was a lesson Tseng didn’t want to learn, so when that bizarre noise sounded in his mind again he reached out and turned on the radio sitting on the edge of his desk. The sound in his head was quiet enough that external noise drowned it out, and eventually it stopped altogether. The Wutaian gave a sigh of relief, pulled another pen from the desk drawer, and went back to his work.

O - O - O
O - O - O

Again, for anyone that missed the announcement at the beginning of the chapter, this story is on hiatus until further notice. For more information follow the link in my profile.