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.



“Do I have to eat the same diet as he does?” I heard Hojo bitterly ask, though it seemed more of a capitulation at this stage than an argument.

“A man your age shouldn’t eat so much red meat,” I heard Aerith reply. “You may move and feel like a man in his fifties, but you have extra time to clog your arteries and aggravate your high blood pressure.”

“How do you know I have high blood pressure?”

“It’s obvious.” I heard a dish being set on the table and the clink of silverware. “And you ought to like this anyway, even if it isn’t red meat.”

“What is it?”

“Ginger chicken with wild rice and sugar snap peas.”

“Is Sephiroth not eating?”

“I was just about to call him.”

The door opened. I pretended absorption in my book.

“Sephiroth? Would you like dinner?” Aerith called to me softly.

I looked up. “Of course,” I said, standing. She made most of my meals now and I loved it. Cooking interested me, but not as much as having meals made for me.

I found Hojo already eating. Sitting beside him, I eagerly watched Aerith put my plate in front of me. She’d added tofu spears to my fare. She flipped on the radio before joining us. A piano sonata of a most soothing nature filled the room. “We always upset each other,” she explained. “That just isn’t good for digestion.”

Hojo gave a little sigh. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He waved his forefinger in time with the music, his eyes going a bit dreamy. He forgot to eat. I looked over at Aerith. She nodded at me as if to say, “Leave him alone, he’s fine.”

It shocked me that cold, business-like Hojo could enjoy music. I supposed my own appreciation of it might seem strange to others, though. Still, when he began to hum, obviously familiar with the tune, I felt a bit disquieted. I didn’t know as much about him as I thought.

My father…

I turned to look at him openly. He didn’t notice; all his attention focused on the music. His glasses perched on the very edge of his nose, his oily black hair obscuring most of his face. A few threads of grey decorated his mop, especially where I’d damaged his scalp.

“And cold stars alone know when they must burn,” Hojo whispered, his eyes clearing a little as the sonata ended. Blinking, he began eating again. His enthusiasm to dine seemed much improved.

My little flower girl knew exactly what she was doing to Hojo.

Suddenly and awfully, I pitied him. He had no idea she guided him through everything, no clue she’d figured out how to handle him. He had no defense. And I wouldn’t tell him, either. It served him right to find himself at her mercy. And, of all the people in the world he could submit to, she was the least harmful.

“Sephiroth, would get me another few stems of Angel’s Grace?” Aerith asked quietly. “When you could, of course.”

I would get them for her directly after dinner and I told her so. She smiled beatifically and I felt warm inside and out. I met Hojo’s eyes, expecting to see a sneer. Instead he treated me to a rare moment of open perusal. Hojo usually didn’t look at me openly. He would stare on occasion, or throw looks my way, but he never met my eyes over anything other than a direct challenge. I didn’t know what this new look meant.

“I don’t know how I refused to see it,” he said. He stood and walked out of the kitchen. A second later I heard the bedroom door shut.

“You’re letting him sleep in your bed?” I asked. I hadn’t stayed the night last night and so didn’t know.

“He can sleep wherever he wants,” Aerith said, shrugging. “Last night he slept on the couch.” She picked up our plates. “He took himself away to have a good, healthy cry, I think. I’m going to leave him be.”

“What would he cry over?” I ran the water for our dishes. “He confuses me, flower girl.”

“It’s only natural that he would confuse you, he’s very confusing to himself.” Aerith dumped some soap in the water for me and began stowing leftovers. “And I believe he’s seeing your mother in you these days. His remark before he left pointed to self-castigation.”

“Then he hates me even more,” I mused.

“Quite the opposite.” Aerith stood beside me, leaning her back against the counter so she could look me in the eyes. “He’s been battling against love as hard as he can, but he’s not immune.”

“He doesn’t love me,” I said, my tone fierce. I rubbed hard at a fleck of dried rice.

“I’m sure neither one of you would see it as love, but there are many different kinds.” Aerith pulled my hair from around my eyes gently, taking care to caress my cheek on the way back down. “He loved your mother so much it destroyed him. Even when he discovered the truth of your parentage he couldn’t act, because he’d eaten himself up with bitterness. He knew you could never have feelings for him, that he’d ruined his chance.”

“He did ruin it,” I whispered scathingly. “I don’t want his infernal love.”

“I can imagine you don’t,” Aerith said softly, her hands still stroking my hair. “No one could blame you for that, Sephiroth.”

Horribly, I felt my gut twist with pain. “What does his love offer?” I demanded, tossing a dish in the drainer so hard it shattered. “If it’s anything like his hate, I’ll have to pass, thanks.” I had vertigo my emotions churned so insistently.

“No,” I said firmly, wrenching my hands out of the dishes and jerking away. “It’s too much. He always asked too much and he still is!” My heart felt like it beat double time while squeezed in a vice. “I could never please him; nothing ever satisfied Professor Hojo!”

“Sephiroth-.”

“You didn’t hear him, Aerith,” I said, advancing upon her. “You don’t know what he did to me. He hurt me.”

“I know.” Aerith’s eyes filled with tears that wouldn’t quite drop. “He hurt you so much for so long.”

My throat seemed to close up tight. I clenched my fists and closed my eyes. I had to get out of here, to fly, to walk, to think.

I left without another word, afraid I would say something hurtful to her if I stayed.

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

I found Hojo actually sitting in the living room when I finally felt able to leave the kitchen. He looked up at me. Our red, swollen eyes locked.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Cetra,” he said. “It won’t work but I appreciate your…effort.”

“You don’t know what Sephiroth is capable of,” I said, sitting beside him. He didn’t cringe away from me this time. “He’s as capable of vast forgiveness as he is deep anger. But progress won’t happen overnight.” I couldn’t lie to him; I couldn’t give him false hope. Still, I couldn’t let him think the worst. Being open minded was a lesson to this man. It might be a hard lesson, but he needed it nonetheless.

“I may not have time left to succeed,” he replied quietly. “Twenty years may not be enough time. An eternity may not be enough.”

“That’s part of what makes life so precious, Hojo. We don’t know how much time we have.” I touched his forehead.

“Please, no,” he said. “If I take another trip down memory lane I’ll stick my head in the oven.”

I couldn’t help giggling. “I’m doing something different,” I assured. “You can wallow in your disjointed synapses all you want tonight.” Gently, I sent him all the acceptance and warmth I could muster. It wasn’t too difficult. Yes, he’d been the death of my parents, but my mother and father had forgiven him and so could I. “I’m not angry with you, Hojo, and I don’t hate you. I want you to have hope.”

He whimpered as my focused kindness seeped into his deprived soul. “Cetra,” he protested, reluctantly fighting what I offered him.

“No, Hojo, take my compassion,” I urged. “Take my alliance. You need someone in your corner.”

“You’re going to destroy me,” he whispered. “I barely remember what this feels like…”

“You’ll survive,” I crooned. “Everyone needs someone, Hojo, and I’ll do until someone else discovers you aren’t a monster. Your son isn’t a monster either; someday you’ll have him too, I promise. All you have to do is open your heart.”


He broke.


I pushed the light into him, deluged his sullen, fearful darkness with empathy and bright, pure caring. Once I opened those floodgates within myself I discovered I truly did care what happened to him. The more I gave the more at ease I felt with my past and his part in it. He was a victim as well as a villain, just like Sephiroth. I could harbor no hatred toward him.

“Cetra,” Hojo whispered again. “It’s too much at once. Go easy on an old man with a shrunken heart.”

I smiled. Giving him one last burst of kindness, I released him. He sagged before flopping over on his side, breathing hard. I covered him with a blanket and removed his glasses, setting them within easy reach on the coffee table. He managed to get on his back by the time I’d dimmed all the lights. I saw his black eyes glittering at me in the darkness. “I’ve never known anyone like you, Cetra,” he announced tiredly. “It’s too bad you weren’t alive when I met Lucretia. Perhaps things wouldn’t have gone quite so tits-up.”

I bent down and kissed him, right on Sephiroth’s handiwork. “And perhaps it would have,” I ventured. “Sleep, Hojo.”

His eyes fluttered. I got the impression he wanted to say more but my sleep spell claimed him utterly in the next second. Happy and exhausted, I went into the bedroom and collapsed upon the bed. I’d sleep a few minutes too before getting up to wait on Sephiroth…