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.




I finished my last stitch. Running my fingers over the design, I smiled. On both pillowcases I’d embroidered a single black wing. I thought Sephiroth would like them. Oh, I could have done any flower I wanted, but these were for him.

As if on cue, he dropped through my ceiling.

I gasped at seeing the man in his arms.

“He’s dying,” Sephiroth said, his voice quiet and his expression unsure.

He didn’t recognize how he felt but he knew I could help.

“Put him on the couch,” I said, my tone just as quiet. Hojo’s blood steadily dripped onto my carpet, a soft, patter of life draining away.

Sephiroth put him carefully down, his eyes following the dripping blood. I knelt, putting one hand out over Hojo’s ruined face and the other over the mortal injury in his neck. Asking the Planet for help, I waited but an instant. The Planet’s energy rushed through me, arced out and spread.

The Planet wanted him to live.

The Planet revered all life, and, so could I.

I poured my desire for him to live, coaxed his flame back to a burn from mere embers. Sephiroth needed this man. Evil though Hojo seemed, I didn’t want him to die either. I didn’t want Sephiroth to carry the burden of his father’s death, and I didn’t want him to never be able to resolve the matters between them.

Hojo began to respond quickly, doubtless aided by mako and Jenova. His skin repaired, his internal tissues knitting. Color returned to his washed out skin. Drawing an easy breath, his eyelids fluttered. Black eyes looked into mine.

Shock.

Wonder.

Verification of suspicion…

Guilt.

“How do you feel?” I asked, taking my hands away from him. Even the bald patches on his head were repaired. But Sephiroth’s initial remained. Instinct told me Hojo would ever bear the mark of his son’s wrath.

“Fine,” Hojo said, his voice barely a murmur. “I knew he’d taken you; I knew it.”

“He convinced you otherwise, though, didn’t he?” I said, smiling as I verbally jabbed him.

“Sephiroth could sell chocobo lure to chocobos,” Hojo replied, his black eyes seeking his son like a metal to a magnet.

I drew in a soft breath as I understood. Hojo loved his son. He had it within his withered heart to love Sephiroth.

It changed everything.

“Be that as it may,” I said, leaving the ending in the air, unwilling to tip my hand just yet.

Sephiroth’s phone rang. He took it out, peered at the number, then flipped it open with a hand that only slightly shook. Great emotional havoc bubbled just under his control. “Yes, Eldon?” he murmured. His eyes were flat, deliberately so. He desperately attempted distance. I felt such pity for him it almost overwhelmed me.

“Sir, I just wanted you to know I got footage on who destroyed the cameras in your building,” Eldon said. “Remember how I looped the feed so we could watch them ourselves?”

“I remember,” Sephiroth answered, apparently unconcerned Hojo and I could both hear the conversation. “Who was it?”

“It was Hojo.”

A pause. That beat of silence overrode everything, dominated the room like the aftermath of a slaughter.

“Thank you, Eldon. I’ll call you later,” Sephiroth replied, monotone. He hung up and stared at his father. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll bite. Why?” His voice did not waiver. His enviable mastery of himself had to cost him, but he maintained it.

I understood now why his reputation was one of cold practicality. Even at this moment he assessed dangers, his reasoning jumping to the next, immediate threat with no hesitation. He was powerful, mighty, even within his ugliest weakness.

Sephiroth was an unconquerable soul.

“If Shin-Ra can watch you, so can Lucas Havars,” Hojo answered weakly, his eyes sliding to the floor. His arms and legs spasmed with fatigue.

Although I didn’t know who this Havars person might be, I knew the information significant. For a long moment I watched Sephiroth battle with bone weariness. He wasn’t accustomed to having his emotions zoom high and low so much and he’d just about reached his limit.

I did not want to see him fall.

I reached out my hand to Hojo’s face. “Sleep,” I said, gently shutting his eyes. Sephiroth needed some time to process. Having Hojo temporarily absent would help.

Sephiroth blinked rapidly. He took his coat off and draped it over Hojo. “It’s cold in here,” he said absently, flicking a lock of Hojo’s hair away from the man’s eyes with a long, strong finger.

“I know, the heating’s malfunctioning,” I said. “Sephiroth, please sit down a minute, you look like you’re going to faint.” Inwardly I rejoiced at Sephiroth’s interest in his father. For his sake it was healthy. Perhaps Hojo could serve his son in a positive way.

He obeyed my little push, sinking gracefully and bonelessly down to the carpet. “I’m going to sleep now,” he said, his tone vacant. “Don’t let him wander off, would you?”

“I promise I won’t let him out of my sight,” I said, assuring him. “You rest, Sephiroth.”

I sat strategically between father and son, observing them both closely…

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

Hojo awoke before Sephiroth. He sat up, touched the matting of crusted blood at his face and neck. His eyes went down to the large, dried puddle on the couch and floor, and the distinctive coat draped over his body. Slowly, he met my gaze. We stared at each other.

That silent inspection between us felt as weighted as an anvil. I heard my parents speaking urgently, cautioning me toward compassion. I felt the cold of Hojo’s laboratory, the sting of needles in my defenseless skin. I saw my silver-haired lover as a boy, lying on a table, his brilliant, beryline eyes full of fear. I tasted bitterness, regret and a thousand recriminations, all from the black haired, black eyed man sitting so unsteadily on my sofa.

I didn’t feel frightened of him now, not with my bracers full of materia and Sephiroth lying right behind me. Even without either weapon I knew Hojo would not hurt me. He’d changed. His soul had changed. Sick and fragile, he sat before me like a piece of jagged, washed out slate. I could write upon him if I wished, etch my forgiveness upon his heart and watch my amnesty alchemize his very being.

And I would.

Hojo had set himself on a path to right his wrongs; I would help him.

“Would you like a drink or something to eat?” I asked. “You’re probably hungry, considering the way your body aided me with the Planet’s healing.”

Hojo looked past me to his son. “What’s wrong with Sephiroth?” He asked, not answering me.

It nearly broke my heart. The man cared about his son. He didn’t understand it; didn’t know why he cared or even how to help himself, but the emotion was there. It lay quietly under his damaged mind, seeking the sunlight whenever the dark clouds of madness receded.

“Exhaustion,” I answered readily. “He’s not accustomed to long periods of emotional chaos.” I got up. In two steps I stood before the scientist. He flinched when I put my hand out to his injured areas. “I’m not going to hurt you, Hojo,” I said softly, pushing his hair back to look at his new ear. “Even if I desired hurting you I wouldn’t; your son obviously wants you alive.”

“Then you healed me for his sake?” Hojo looked as if he agreed with that idea, like it made more sense for me to follow Sephiroth’s orders than to simply have any pity in my heart.

“Yes and no,” I said, stepping back. “I’d do anything I could for your son, but I don’t want you dead and I never have.” I took him by his wrist and pulled him to his feet before he could shy away. “The bathroom is in there,” I said, pointing. “Take a shower and clean that blood off so I can see you better.”

Hojo would probably respond to a firm, feminine hand. I would boss him around and see. Most men heeded a woman who spoke as if she knew what’s what; they were too emotionally bereft to question.

Hojo obeyed, swaying slightly as he walked.

“Flower girl?”

I turned from putting Sephiroth’s coat on the couch. Sephiroth flexed his powerful body to sit up, his eyes moving to the empty furniture. It made my heart soar to see him this way, to see him automatically seeking evidence of his father’s existence rather than pulling away.

“Hojo is in the bathroom,” I explained quietly. “Are you better now?” I knelt in front of him, careful not to assume my usual manner of officious healer. Sephiroth didn’t need the authoritativeness Hojo might require; he needed gentleness and support. He needed to keep the reins while receiving a quiet bracing of his heart. I felt more than able to give him the reins. I trusted him and his decisions, even while distraught.

“I’m…stable,” he answered. “I… can’t believe I weakened like that.”

“Emotions take more strength than most people realize,” I replied, smiling at him. He was a brave, brave man. Emotions were the least he had in experience, yet, he continued to evolve, continued to use and submit himself to them. He was a survivor, adaptable and strong, like the willow. He bent and flexed instead of breaking from rigidity.

“I believe you.” Sephiroth stood. His face moved into an expression of unsure regret. “I shouldn’t have brought him here. Now he knows about you. And I forced you to heal him, which must have galled.”

I heard his uncertainty, his belief he’d offended me. He didn’t yet understand I would never refuse anyone my healing talents, no matter how despicable the recipient.

But he would, eventually. I had no worries.

“I’m glad you brought him,” I asserted. “I wouldn’t have wanted him dead.” I pushed a bit of Sephiroth’s silky hair back, more to touch than to groom. “Perhaps your chaotic father won’t reveal me or make plans. Let’s give him the chance to change his mind.”

“I’m not sure I can afford to give him that chance.” Sephiroth cupped my jaw with his large, heated hand, gently keeping me in place to view my eyes. “I won’t risk you.”

He seemed so big, so dominant and invincible when only moments ago he slumbered on the floor like a worn-out three year old. Such was his duality. And, I had no doubt in my mind that he would go and eliminate Hojo if I expressed one doubt over my safety. He cared for me.

What an awesome responsibility I had, and to both of the lost souls dwelling in my humble apartment. I couldn’t afford to be weak or to vacillate on my stance.

I fixed him with the most serious mien. “Sephiroth, you’re the stronger one,” I reminded him. “I know he confuses you, turns your emotions upside down, and shakes your foundations, but you’re still the stronger one. You can afford benevolence.”

“Should I be benevolent?” He asked, as serious as I. His seascape eyes searched me, scoured my mind for an answer. He was so certain I knew better than he how he should act, how he should feel.

“That’s for you to decide,” I murmured gently. “I merely pointed out you could afford to be; he can’t hurt either of us any more.”

We turned as one upon hearing the bedroom door open. Hojo came out clad only in his pants and a towel. I stifled a gasp of shock at the scars crawling all over the man’s thin frame. Most of them were the pure white of age. Some were fatal strike lines, longer than two hand-spans.

But how could this be? Hojo had Jenova cells and mako as well, and those created near instant healing for simple cuts. I had seen Cloud heal in moments what took ordinary men weeks to recover from; Hojo should heal the same way as my friend and my lover.

Hojo closed his eyes, leaning against the threshold. “My shirt and coat are ruined,” he announced, monotone. His flat, metallic voice didn’t echo, didn’t carry farther than a few feet. He was exhausted, drained and outside himself with the newness of his situation.

I lowered my shields, curious as to his health and the state of his mind. Mayhem effervesced within the man. His thoughts scattered like Eldon’s, only worse. I looked at Sephiroth, wondering if he felt the same things I did. He met my eyes.

It’s no fun tormenting someone as pathetic as him, he said in my mind, sounding disgusted.

I couldn’t help smiling. Sephiroth didn’t even know how completely his compassion had claimed him. But it was no matter; he would learn. I would buy him all the time I could, let him learn within his comfort zone as much as I could.

I went into the kitchen to prepare a meal for all of us, leaving Sephiroth in charge of Hojo. I heard him giving the man a shirt to put on.

“I just want to make one thing perfectly clear,” Sephiroth’s voice rumbled, carrying through the kitchen door. “She belongs to me.” The calm threat in his low, smooth tones filled me with thrilling quietude.

Silence.

“She isn’t going back to the labs and you aren’t to reveal her,” Sephiroth continued. “I didn’t ask her to save you only to have you throw her into a cell.”

“I won’t reveal her,” Hojo said finally, quietly. “I won’t attempt to take her back to the lab.”

Truth rang in that calm statement. I knew he meant what he said, but I didn’t assume Sephiroth would recognize his father’s veracity.

“You should honor that promise,” Sephiroth replied, sounding threatening yet placid.

“I vow to keep my word.” Hojo made a strange, frustrated noise.

“What’s the matter?” Sephiroth asked, his words guarded but concerned.

“Nothing.”

A heartbeat of silence fell again.

“You can’t work the buttons,” Sephiroth said. “Are you not healed?”

“It’s nerves, Sephiroth, not debility,” Hojo sighed.

“Move your hands.”

I knew this silence meant Sephiroth helped his father to button the shirt.

“The flower girl cooks for us,” he said suddenly. “While we eat you can explain to me why I need to be so careful of Lucas Havars.”

The door opened and the two men came through. Their contrast couldn’t have seemed more obvious. Tall, silver Sephiroth beside his shorter, dark haired father. Hojo’s borrowed shirt hung on him in much the same way it did on me, as Hojo stood barely three inches taller than I.

Sephiroth sat Hojo down before joining me at the stove. “Watch him,” he said. “I’m going to retrieve a few things from above.”

“Okay.”

As Sephiroth vanished I put a steaming bowl of leftover fish stew before Hojo. He took his glasses off. His eyes drifted up towards mine. For a very long minute he just stared. His mind and emotions roiled. I placed my palm on his forehead, willing him to slow and calm.

He could not function with such upheaval in his head.

It took almost four whole minutes to sift through his turbulence. Finally, I withdrew, leaving him more orderly but not healed. Like with Eldon, I would have to correct his thought processes many times in order to see real improvement. But something inside of Hojo desired my healing. His core did not recoil from me.

“You feel like cool water,” Hojo observed, his black eyes boring into me. His incredulity showed, as did his disbelief that I would touch him. Like his son, he expected nothing more than rejection and disgust.

“I’m a healer,” I said, not knowing anything else to say. I set the table with two more bowls of stew and a loaf of bread.

“Then why haven’t you been healing Sephiroth?” he asked, picking up his spoon. “You obviously could do it.”

Ah, Hojo was mad, but he still knew what logic meant. He still grasped an anomaly.

“Sephiroth’s mind doesn’t need healing, it’s his emotions that need work,” I answered, sitting next to him. “Your emotions are intact but your mind is scattered like flower petals in a stiff breeze. Why aren’t you on medication?”

“Someone would find out and my credibility would suffer.” Hojo swirled his spoon around and around the stew, his dark eyes thoughtful.

I pushed the bowl closer to him. “You should eat. I promise it isn’t poison.”

Hojo chuckled. For once I didn’t detest the sound of his humor.

Sephiroth returned, arms laden with the accoutrement of making pom-ne-kah. He put his burden down beside his place setting and started on his soup without a word.

“Lucas Havars,” Hojo said, employing no preamble. “His danger to you lies in his rivalry with me. For thirteen years we competed with each other in various scientific circles, attempting to come up with ways of improving genetic coding and decoding DNA sequences. I…” Hojo stopped, putting his hands over his eyes and swaying.

I put my hand out and touched his wrist, sending him calming energy once more. His instability was strong, so strong I knew I had much work ahead of me if I meant for the man to show any progress.

Hojo shivered. “I bested him time and time again,” he admitted, pulling away from my touch. “Gast invited him to view Jenova at the beginning of the Jenova Project, even allowed Havars to take samples of her back to his private labs in the secluded wilds of Wutai.”

“Who funds his research?” Sephiroth asked, his tone and expression utterly emotionless.

“He funds it himself. Lucas Havars is wealthy beyond most. He doesn’t have to rely on donations or private backers.” Hojo finally began to eat his soup. His hand trembled mightily. He spilled the first spoonful back into the bowl and sighed.

I took his bowl and got up, pouring the soup into a cup. I could have fed him but I doubted he would allow it. Needful of help as he might be, he would respond to outright coddling no more than his proud son. Once he had the cup in his hands, I broke some bread and spread it out on his plate for dipping.

I pitied the man, truly I did. How had I missed the wounds in Hojo’s soul when I seemed so attuned to the wounds his son bore? He was more broken than Sephiroth, more scattered, damaged by untold time with his own misery. He’d been poisoned so long he poisoned himself.

“But Havars has made his research center around children,” Hojo went on. “He’s never had any of his subjects make it to adulthood. You will pique his curiosity. He will wonder what I did that he didn’t. Already he is attempting to take my files about you. I can only forestall him another day or so; baby Shinra is adamant that I cooperate with him.”

“To what purpose?” Sephiroth finished eating and began making the pom-ne-kah right there at the table. He obviously intended to dose his father no matter what. I understood and applauded his determination to calm the scientist.

“Rufus Shinra brought Havars in because I wouldn’t repeat my experiments on other children. I don’t know why they want children as subjects, specifically.” Hojo watched Sephiroth grind the Holy Ones seeds in the mortar a moment. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making a sedative for you,” Sephiroth answered steadily. “And you’ll take it.” He poured the ground seeds into a cup with lemon juice in it and began adding the layers of honey and spices that made the complete remedy. “Did you recognize the man who shot you?”

“No.”

“He’s alive; we may question him at your earliest convenience,” Sephiroth said.

Hojo gave him a startled look. “Where is he?”

“Bound and gagged in my apartment.”

“You brought him home?” Hojo’s dark eyes widened.

“Where else would I have the time and privacy to question him?” Sephiroth slid the steaming cup of pom-ne-kah to his father.

“But now he knows where you live,” Hojo said.

“He’ll take his knowledge to the grave.” Sephiroth shrugged. “As soon as we know whether or not he’s an agent of Havars, I’ll kill him.”

I shuddered but remained seated. I had to be strong against the ruthless determination that my lover employed. This was as much a part of him as compassion was a part of me. To deny our differences would set us up for failure in uetero.

Hojo blinked owlishly at his son. “Just like that, boy?”

Sephiroth gave him an amused, quirky glance before pouring tea for himself. “Do you think I didn’t earn my reputation, father?”

“I’ve never seen you in action.” Hojo returned to eating, seeming to forget I had my hand on him.

Ah. That explained a lot, to me at least. Hojo truly didn’t know what his son could do. Oh, he’d been told, but he’d never seen…