Paper Tiger Burning

I respectfully credit all Original Creators, namely Squaresoft, which became SquareEnix,for these characters. In this way, I pay homage to my Fandom's Original Creator, and illustrate my Community's belief that Fan Fiction is "fair use". I do not claim to own these characters. I do not make money or gil from using these protected characters, nor do I wish to make money or gil from them. In other words, I am borrowing these characters to entertain the adult fanfiction community, but I am doing so with the highest degree of respect to the engineers, game designers, music makers, and voice actors.




“You have to be getting bored.” Sephiroth gestured to my apartment. “There’s only so much you can do here.”

I shrugged. “I watch television, read, think about what I’m going to cook,” I said, “and I even dance around. Having my own place to live is very new and wonderful. I’ve only ever shared my space before.” I picked up my embroidery, finding my last stitch with ease. My newly improved vision had a lot of benefits. “And you visit me very often,” I pointed out. “Life is never boring with you.”

Sephiroth gave me a mysterious look. “You find contentment no matter where you are, don’t you?” he asked quietly.

“Contentment is easy to find when the world is interesting.” I made a few stitches as I looked at him, having had so much practice with needle and thread that I could do such a thing. “I think of this planet and the life upon it as a study. Granted, some things are more interesting than others, but for the most part I can find something of note in nearly everything.”

“There’s nothing I don’t cherish,” Sephiroth murmured, his eyes sliding away.

“What?” I looked at him fully.

“It’s what Cloud said to me once.” Sephiroth sat down to gaze vacantly at my sparse bookshelf. “I didn’t understand what he meant, and he pitied me for my lack of comprehension.”

A chill coasted down my spine. “Have you had nothing to cherish, ever, Sephiroth? Truly?”

“Not until recently.” Sephiroth sighed. I didn’t hear it but I saw the motion of his body.

He broke my heart sometimes. I couldn’t grasp why Cloud didn’t see the tragic wrongs done to this man. Anyone would have turned out the same under the conditions of his life.

“And I don’t know why my emotions are so strong these days, so…disobedient,” he went on, a frustrated edge in his voice.

Because you’re only now learning what they are and what they mean, I thought, but I said nothing. He bravely faced the dissolution of his aloof, unemotional wall. In time I knew he would face many challenges, but I also knew of his strength. He would survive and he would prosper.

“I delight in upsetting Hojo, yet I feel empty soon afterward.” Sephiroth put his hand across his forehead, closing his eyes. “Anger feels as pure an emotion as ever, but hatred is tainted by something. I don’t know what it is.”

I set my sewing down. “Would you let me help you?” I hadn’t really favored Sephiroth with my healing yet. I hadn’t offered because I knew he preferred to stand alone with his pain. Some people were like that.

Sephiroth smiled but his eyes remained shut. “Not yet, flower girl. Maybe someday, but not yet. I’m well aware I’ll never learn anything by avoidance, by having my hand held while dancing around the madness in my head.”

“You aren’t mad.” I got up and approached him. “You know what you’re doing. You self-analyze very well.”

“Sane people don’t slaughter villages, burn towns and plot to destroy the planet they live on. They don’t impale helpless women.”

I stifled a gasp. Of all the complicity I’d heard him admit to, I’d yet to hear such real emotion, such feeling.

“A sane man doesn’t carve his initial on his father’s forehead or murder a man begging for spare change. And he certainly doesn’t buy flowers from a little street urchin without knowing the reason why.” Sephiroth coiled his body, unfurled it to stand. “My whole existence has never meant anything but pain or frustration, and until recently I had no trouble accepting that.”

“What changed?” I asked, leading him gently. “Can you think of anything that changed?”

“Except me?” Sephiroth gave a short, brittle chuckle. “Hojo’s acting odd even for him, but other than that, no.” He shook his head. “The only plus I can find in this heightened awareness of myself is my boredom’s mostly gone.”

“I can imagine a man of your capability gets tremendously bored,” I replied. “I’ve said as much.”

“Yes, well, emotions aren’t boring; I can see that now that I’m steeping in my own juices,” he answered, sneering. Sephiroth sat down again suddenly, his hair flying out in all directions to simply drift artfully around him in a silver drape. “How do you stand it?” He glanced at me. “You practically wallow in feelings and it doesn’t seem to disturb you.”

I suppressed a smile. “I’ve had lots of practice. Women aren’t expected to hide how they feel. In fact, they display their feelings. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Sephiroth; you’re doing well for someone so disadvantaged. A lot of people would give up, but you aren’t even considering that, are you?”

“No.” Sephiroth frowned. “Why would I give up because something is hard? I beg for difficulties to overcome, grovel with the Powers That Be to allow me a challenge.”

Now I did smile. Walking to him, I sat on the coffee table facing him. “You’re very male, Sephiroth, just full of masculine, conquering force. You don’t have to be perfect with feelings; leave that to women. All you have to do is figure out how you feel and contrast it with how you want to feel. Everything falls into place very slowly. It doesn’t happen in an instant.” I held out my hand to touch his shoulder, pleased when he seemed to relax a little bit. “Do you know there’s no such thing as a wrong emotion? You can’t fail at having emotions.”

At this he relaxed even more.

“But I can give you a trick if you want more time to figure out how you feel about anything,” I offered. “All you have to do is wait five seconds after something happens. You don’t act for five whole seconds.”

“Why just five seconds?” Sephiroth asked.

“Five seconds is enough time to think about your response without losing your natural inclination.” I smiled at him. “If I slapped your face, could you count off five seconds before you reacted?”

He blinked at me. “I don’t know, but don’t test it. I happen to enjoy some pain. It would probably translate as foreplay, coming from you.”

Stunned, I searched his face for any hint of a joke. Seeing nothing akin to humor in those blue-green eyes, only dead serious contemplation, I released a breathy laugh. “Yet, you seem to like my gentler touch,” I argued.

Sephiroth tilted his head at me. “Flower girl, I happily accepted a dismembered alien as my mother, and she couldn’t touch me at all. No one has ever slapped me on the back in camaraderie, nor shaken my hand if they weren’t obligated. The sheer novelty of your willing touch overshadows how you give it.”

“Oh, Sephiroth,” I whispered, water filling my eyes. “I’ve never considered how people might be afraid to touch you. Everybody needs human contact.”

Sephiroth smiled bitterly. “The thirty two minutes you spent rubbing my back a few days ago was the longest I’ve ever felt another hand.”

*************************************************************************************

Something made me depart for Hojo’s apartment early. Obeying my instincts, I went first thing upon rising instead of in the afternoon, like I’d originally planned. I walked to Central Street and followed Gorvey Avenue all the way to Good Macy Block, ignoring the people I passed. Some took pictures of me with their cell phones. Now that technology kept up with stupidity, many photo-opportunities presented themselves to budding artists.

I found myself counting to five as a man asked me if he could take my picture. At the count of three I realized I recognized him. At the count of five I remembered him as a man who’d served with me against Wutai. “Warburton,” I said. “Surely you don’t need a picture of me?”

“You…remember me?” Arthur Warburton staggered slightly. “But I was just a grunt in F9 Squad!”

“Honorable discharge with a medal for courage,” I said, remembering more. “Injured irreparably in the leg, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Warburton gave me a strange, misty look. “Do you remember all of us, sir?”

“Likely not, my memory isn’t reliable,” I admitted. “I remember you because you had F9 squad green with envy over your wife. I couldn’t get work out of anyone while your lady visited.”

Warburton beamed. “We have children now.” He seemed delighted I remember him and his pretty wife. “A boy and a girl.”

I remembered Eldon’s delight at showing me a picture of his child. Experimentally, I gestured for him to continue. “Show them to me,” I said. “I’m sure you have a picture.”

Warburton fumbled all over the place trying to get his wallet out. With excited hands, he flipped to a photo and pulled it out, nearly dropping it. “Jannae and Johan,” he proclaimed proudly.

They were lovely children, but I’d expected that; Mrs. Warburton had given the entire company whiplash while walking. I looked at them, wondering if I could ever be the type of man who carried family photos in his wallet. Could I feel such pride in my offspring? Could I eagerly display them? A lump rose in my throat. “They’re perfect,” I said, meaning it. “Congratulations, Warburton. Your name and genetics go on.”

“Thanks.” Warburton took his picture back. “I’m a solar panel manufacturer now, but I’m sure the kids don’t mind I’m not some military hero.”

I heard a touch of wistfulness in his voice.

“The common soldier is very much an unsung hero, Warburton. I think your children must already think of you as a hero simply for being their father, regardless.”

“Thank you for that, General,” Warburton murmured. “Hey, I know I’m keeping you, and I’m sorry.” He handed me a tiny white card. “If you ever want a cleaner method of energy for your home, call me. I’ll be glad to make it a freebie for you.”

Oddly touched, I put his business card in my pocket. “I’ll do that,” I said. I probably wouldn’t. I lived in an apartment, after all. “Good to see you, Warburton,” I finished.

“You too, General Sephiroth,” he said, saluting me in the old way. I returned the salute and continued on.

I counted to five again.

I felt…pleased.

That pleasure lasted until I stood in front of Hojo’s apartment building. No one milled about here. Good Macy Block stood as a shining example of the criminal element in Midgar. All manner of ruffians darted back and forth in the alleys of the complex, some of them boldly carrying their drug paraphernalia in plain sight. Since I was known world wide I knew I wouldn’t have a problem, which saddened me. Sometimes I wished I didn’t look quite so distinctive. No one wanted to fight me, ever.

A bobbing whiteness in my peripheral vision made me turn. Hojo walked down the street toward his building, his arms laden with grocery bags. Not spotting me, he crossed the avenue and walked slowly toward the lobby doors. A figure followed him, going from shadow to shadow in the effort to not be seen.

Too late, I said to myself. I see you.

I let Hojo get in the elevator before approaching the building. His furtive shadow mounted the stairs. I took the other set of stairs, easily running up them to arrive before either of the two men. When Hojo exited the elevator he saw me and stopped dead. “You’re out early,” he commented, setting his bags down to retrieve his keys.

I picked his groceries up, willing him to open his damned door quickly so his tail wouldn’t see me and spook. He shot me a surprised look before turning the lock. I let him enter and shut the door behind us quickly.

When I left I would have a ready-made play mate in the hall. I enjoyed hunting people.

“Set them anywhere, thank you,” Hojo said, pointing at the groceries. I dropped them to the couch. An orange rolled out and I snatched it up.

I peeled the fruit as I looked around. I’d never been in Hojo’s apartment. It looked as if he rarely came here. Everything existed in a precarious balance between neglect and direct decay. Still, no dirty cups or clothes were visible.

A small, dusty photograph caught my eyes. I walked to it, sectioning off the orange as I went.

It was a very old picture of a woman. I looked into her blue-green eyes, seeing myself.

This was my mother. I knew it with every fiber. I looked like her.

Behind me, Hojo sighed. “Lucretia Crescent,” he murmured. “Yes, she’s your mother.”

I stared at her. There, my cheekbones. There, my brow. Her nose, mine. Her eyes, mine. But her hair gleamed light brown, not silver and white. Her lips were fuller than mine but not by much.

My mother.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” I asked.

“She died just moments after giving birth to you.” Hojo sat down on his couch heavily. “I couldn’t have saved her. At the time I didn’t even want to.”

“Why?” I touched the photo, forgetting my sticky hands.

“She fucked that Turk, Vincent Valentine, any chance she could. She screwed him everywhere, even in my office.” Hojo balled his fists. His black eyes glinted.

At first I thought he was angry. Then, a tear dropped down his shallow cheek.

“She was fucking him up into her third trimester, returning to our home with his come dribbling out from between her legs.” Hojo closed his eyes. “It’s no excuse, but I thought you were his; I treated you as if you were. It wasn’t until you were in SOLDIER that I ran a DNA test.”

“You were that convinced,” I murmured. I counted to five.

I felt…

Comprehension.

I understood.

No wonder Valentine had eyed me. He might believe I belonged to him too.

“I don’t know what she found so fascinating about that Turk,” Hojo said bitterly. “Yes, he was a handsome man, far more attractive than me, but she…” He didn’t finish.

I turned away from the picture. “She pretended to be yours,” I said, completing his thought. “Why did she do that?”

“She wanted my complete cooperation with the project.” Hojo looked at the floor, not at me. “I think she believed I would stop giving you treatments in utero if she left me.”

“You both decided to make me an experiment,” I surmised. “She worked with you.”

“We were partners with Gast, yes. When Lucretia missed a period we did a pregnancy test there in the lab. From the second month we began your treatments. All we had to go on was the SOLDIER program; we had no data on mako and Jenova influences on unborn children. You were the first to receive it in the womb, and the last.”

“And Gast went along with this?”

“He didn’t know until the last trimester. He and Valentine did everything they could to stop Lucretia and I, but we thwarted them. We were convinced of the experiment’s validity.” Hojo bent his head farther, resting it in his hand. “Lucretia gave birth to you after a long, difficult labor. Her body wasn’t as strong as yours…”

“I killed her,” I said.

“No, I did,” Hojo answered. “I should have given her the mako and Jenova cells as well, but I only gave them to you. I never considered the ultimate result of that.” He took his glasses off and put them on the table.

I wanted to laugh. Instead I counted to five, though it was hard, harder than I thought it would be.

Large personalities make large mistakes, the flower girl’s voice said in my mind.

I looked back at the picture. It seemed even my real mother lacked warmth. “Why do you keep her photograph?”

“Because I loved her,” Hojo’s voice trembled.

Amazed, I watched my father cry.

“I could have brought her back,” he whispered. “But I used all of her secret, experimental serum on Valentine. She left no notes and I couldn’t replicate the process. But what do you know? The serum she’d invented worked, and I got the dubious honor of having my cuckolder, my rival, become immortal instead of her. I get to look over my shoulder for him twenty four hours a day, wondering if today will be the day he decides to take his revenge upon me.”

It would be what he deserved, but…

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five…


I wondered what it would be like to raise the child of my love rival. Would I see the woman I loved or would I see him?

I suddenly felt very, very old.

I tipped the portrait over, face down. “I think the pair of you were obscene, doing what you did to me.”

Hojo wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “I’m sure,” he said in a throaty voice. “Lucretia and I were the only ones who believed we did the right thing.”

For a long time neither of us spoke. Abruptly, Hojo put his glasses back on. “So, what will you do to me now, Sephiroth? Can I expect to look for you twenty four hours a day too, or will you just snap right here and put me out of your misery?”

The door burst open. Hojo’s follower stood in the doorway, a shotgun aimed toward him. Not even looking at me, he pulled the trigger.

My father went down in a mist of blood.

I leaped across the coffee table and took the man out with one punch. A few seconds later I stood over Hojo, watching him writhe in pain. The buckshot had torn into his shoulder, neck and left cheek, shredding so much skin I knew his ear had to be missing. Red pooled with rapid speed on the floor underneath him.

He would bleed out in a few minutes.

I was standing over him in death, just like I’d always wanted.

Why, then, did I feel so hollow?