Pater Familias

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Such a stimulating encounter set me up for disappointment at home.

I closed my door and stood in my apartment, eyes roaming over my belongings. Sephiroth had happily and without complaint moved every bit of my possessions from my Good Macy apartment to this one, the one his wife most recently vacated. I enjoyed the improvement in my living conditions, but after my day with Sakura, I felt exceedingly lonely.

Wandering over to my aquarium, I gazed in at my goldfish. The two fantails had produced viable offspring at long last. From the sound above me, it wouldn’t be long before my son accomplished the same thing. Nanites or not, intercourse three or four times a day consummated breeding. I doubted the robotic implants could keep up with his aggressive sperm.

It was hell living underneath them at times. My son seemed determined to knock a new hole in the Cetra. And, with their noteworthy physiologies, the process could only grow more intrusive. I could hear their bed slamming against the wall now. Minutiae of plaster and mummy dust drifted down in a dying sunbeam right before me. The two super humans were capable of fucking each other through solid rock with no ill effects.

I fed the fish and hoped they wouldn’t eat their progeny.

Feeling ancient, I stripped and entered my bathroom. My eyes fell on the bottles of hygiene products Aerith gifted upon vacating the apartment. She’d claimed them a housewarming present. I wasn’t stupid. I knew my sanitation had lacked in previous years. Even now I forgot to bathe if a particularly intricate, interesting problem presented itself.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror. Startled, I stopped and stared. All the sagging flesh of elderly illness had gone, leaving me with an admittedly mature but respectable appearance. Turning, I discovered an all-over whittling of my frame. The scars still stood out but I no longer looked like a cancer patient. I looked…healthy and…somewhat vital.

Did Miss Leijanna see me this way?

Bathing took awhile. I scrubbed until I felt raw, trying to ignore the muffled sounds of bedroom acrobatics overhead. Honestly, did my son think it normal to have congress with his wife for two hours? I pitied her. Even a well lubricated vagina would be hard pressed to keep up with so much pounding.

I owed my life to that precious female. I should go up there and tell Sephiroth to calm the fucking down. Aerith wouldn’t leave; she would go nowhere without him. He didn’t need to reassure himself like this.

I dried off and dressed in drawstring pants only, content to let the warmth of the fireplace chase away any discomfort. Because I had the inclination, I cooked a light meal and ate sparingly in the fading light. I avoided red meat at the Cetra’s request, filling up on lighter fare as much as possible. I’d discovered a fondness for hummus and tabouli, and centered my meals around high fiber, low-fat foods. I had to admit I felt better after giving up grease.

Damn that girl for changing me for my own good. I couldn’t even become mad at her. One glance of her deep, forest eyes and I became unable to voice any petulance or outrage. She cared about me, and only a fool could deny such honest concern. She made me a better person while validating my darkness.

My cell rang as I washed dishes. Cursing, I quickly dried my hands and answered on speaker.

“Hey, Hojo,” Strife’s voice greeted cautiously.

“Strife,” I said back, curious as to the reason for his call. He’d never initiated contact before.

“Listen,” he said, in a strained voice, “I was wondering something.”

“Do tell.” I grabbed my incense box and lit a cone of Nag Champa, thrusting it in the soil of a potted orchid Aerith had given me.

“Do I have any female parts?” he blurted.

I stared at the wall. “No,” I answered after a moment. “You are completely masculine in composition. Why do you ask?”

“Well…” Strife made a noise of frustration and embarrassment. “Tifa’s complaining about her pregnancy symptoms and I’ve been listening, and…”

“You have similar problems,” I finished. “No, Strife, you are not in possession of both male and female parts; let me assure you.”

“Thank Shiva,” he sighed.

“You do, however, have levels of testosterone that fluctuate the way a woman’s hormones will,” I went on. “You are in a perpetual state of flux due to the fact that your mako engineering wasn’t completed in stage two. If you want to remedy that, you’ll have to get mako treatments.”

Strife seemed to think for a moment.

“So, I need to come back to your lab,” he concluded finally. He didn’t sound pleased.

“Not necessarily,” I countered. “Come by and get a blood test next week. I’ll compare it to your latter tests and see where your mean level hovers. After that I can make a judgment and send you the injections.” I fell silent, waiting for his response.

“Well, it’s just that after I got some of Sephiroth’s blood, things started getting…weird,” he said.

“That’s because Sephiroth’s chemistry is more advanced than yours and because he received mako in the womb,” I explained, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You went through SOLDIER without any previous exposure to mako. To you it is an additive; to Sephiroth it is mother’s milk.” I had such a headache.

“Okay.” Strife heaved another big sigh. “So, when should I come in?”

I rolled my eyes for no one but myself. “Whenever you feel like it in the next week,” I told him. “I’ll set aside anything I’m doing to take care of you.” I felt responsible for the young idiot, guilty, even. If not for me he wouldn’t be having this gender crisis.

A pause.

“Thanks,” Strife said. “And, thanks for the plain talk; I never know what I’m going to get these days.”

“It isn’t an issue,” I assured him. “And, don’t worry about your symptomology; there are anomalies within every physiology that cause false positives, fluctuations and odd reactions. I have no doubt in my mind that your odd indications are a result of incomplete SOLDIER encoding. Eat soda crackers when you feel sick and avoid alcohol.” I hesitated. “You do know that alcohol is incompatible with your system, don’t you?”

Strife groaned. “No one ever said a thing,” he confessed. “And, I love to drink.”

“Well, shut it down,” I said, using my most severe voice. “Coke it up, smoke it up, drop tabs, whatever, just don’t drink.”

Strife made a strangling noise. “Opium okay?”

“Fine,” I confirmed. “Stay away from the juice and you’ll feel better.”

“Okay.” Strife cleared his throat. “Thanks, Hojo,” he said quietly. “You’ve gone decent. Don’t think I don’t appreciate that.”

Oddly touched, I nodded. He couldn’t see it, but it felt automatic. “Don’t think of it,” I told him. “You can thank your Cetra later. Don’t thank me.” I hung up on him.