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.



“It won’t help,” I heard Hojo say. His voice hitched. “Cetra, no amount of introspection will take these…visions.”

“Describe them to me,” Aerith countered, her voice the epitome of patient benevolence.

I put my back against the door, listening. Having made certain Strife made it home, I now stood just outside her apartment. With the cameras gone I felt satisfied I could exit and enter normally.

“He…” Hojo choked. “I can’t,” he whispered.

“Just try,” Aerith said soothingly.

“Damn it.” Hojo made a whimpering noise. “His eyes…”

For a moment all remained silent. Then, I heard Hojo make a sound of pain.

“Those bottomless eyes, staring up at me from the table, electrodes dangling…” Again he choked. “Trusting, pained, confused, looking to me for assurance and I turned him away!” I heard something break. “I refused him!”

The rustle of fabric came to my ears. I listened in amazement to Hojo, hearing him beginning to cry. The sound came to me muffled, as if he held his face in a pillow.

“Hojo,” Aerith murmured.

“I can’t bear it,” he burst out. “I’m a monster!”

“Shhh,” Aerith said. “Hojo, not anymore. Not anymore.”

“But I am!”

I heard something else break.

“I made him, Cetra! I made him the way he is!”

“Sephiroth is his own man, Hojo,” she said softly. “If you want him to…”

“He won’t! He can’t! Strife was right. I ruined him!”

“You don’t know him,” she said. “He’s beautiful, Hojo, not ruined. Maybe he’ll never care about you, but he isn’t ruined!”

A vise clamped across my chest. She thought me beautiful. Me. With all I had done and continued to do, my flower girl saw me as beautiful.

“I…”

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, and it doesn’t help!”

“Don’t be selfish,” Aerith said, her tone sharp. “Just be glad that what you’ve done hasn’t ruined him.”

“Cetra, I made him into a remorseless machine, a beast, and you tell me he isn’t ruined?”

A scuffling noise echoed throughout the apartment.

“No, he isn’t ruined,” Aerith repeated firmly. “He’s…”

“An animal,” Hojo finished for her.

“So what’s so great about being human?” Aerith snapped. “I’m sorry, Hojo, but being human isn’t the pinnacle of existence!”

Silence, in which I heard ragged breathing.

“I’m sorry,” Hojo said weakly. “I forgot…”

“I’m half human,” Aerith said, finishing for him. “Sit back down. You’re too weak to pace about like this.”

A solid, heavy thump.

“If I had only…”

“You can’t undo the past. If you want a relationship with your son you’re going to have to suffer like he did.” Aerith made a sound of frustration. “Don’t think I don’t know. I see. Sephiroth has suffered under your hands; he’s damaged. If you want to make it right you’re going to have to suck up your guilt and all your pain and focus on him, not yourself.”

“But I keep seeing his eyes….” Hojo made a gagging noise. “He was so loving, so trusting! Until he was ten I had such control, such mastery over him! Then, he just…shut down. Nothing touched him after that…”

“He defended himself,” Aerith said.

Silence.

“No, he overcame me,” Hojo said. “He stopped responding to what I did to him.”

“He evolved,” Aerith replied. “Now you have to do the same thing.”

“But how?” Hojo’s voice broke.

“You do what you can and hope he can forgive you,” Aerith said grimly. “It’s your penance.”

“But if he never…”

“Then you have to accept it and still do what you can,” Aerith said. “You might not get a happy ending, Hojo, but that doesn’t mean you are absolved from this mess you’ve created.”

“I…”

“Don’t.” Aerith’s voice seemed both hard and understanding. “Don’t retreat. You need to look at your handiwork and go from there. Don’t even think about how you can rise above it.”

“But I can’t…”

“You can and you will. Your reparation means taking your blows, just like he did. Do you think your son wallows in yesterday? No, he accepts his blame and he moves on. You need to take a lesson from him.”

Hojo laughed a long and bitter laugh. “Cetra,” he said after a long moment. It wasn’t a question, challenge, or sigh. “I did things to him no person should initiate,” he confessed. “I hurt him, used him, ignored and abandoned him. He has no reason to ever consider me a father. What pretty words can make up for that, hm?”

“None,” Aerith admitted. “But pretty words have no place here.”

“You see!” Hojo made a choking noise.

“Hojo, be calm,” I heard Aerith say. “Stop thinking like this. You can’t fix everything overnight.”

“But it hurts!”

“And it always will.”

I heard fabric moving.

“Hojo, something you have to learn is that there is no quick fix to anything: you have to suffer the long haul. If you aren’t willing to do that then you don’t have the right to hope for Sephiroth’s forgiveness.”

“I can’t hope for it anyway,” Hojo protested. “How could he forgive me? I… I destroyed his ability to forgive!”

“Are you so sure?” Aerith’s voice soothed and questioned at once. “Don’t assume you know what your son is made of; you will be surprised.”

“Cetra, he hates me! I can taste it in the air between us!”

“He brought you to me for healing, Hojo, and he forbade you returning to your apartment. Do you think those are the actions of a man full of hate?” Aerith made a fussing sound. I heard a blanket being pulled up. “It won’t be easy, Hojo, but if you really try I think your son will surprise you.”

“He always surprised me,” Hojo said weakly. “Always so perfect, so strong and intelligent…”

“Then give him that benefit of the doubt and be willing to prove yourself. Take your blows with dignity and honor.”

“But I could die before he knows…”

“That’s true. You’ll have to risk that.”

A shattered sigh.

“I’m so tired.”

“I know.” Aerith made a small sound of comfort. “Rest, Hojo. Just rest. Tackle this problem tomorrow.”

I heard her leave him, the bedroom door shutting. Hojo tossed upon his couch bed. I heard him make a sound of frustration and pain.

I waited twenty minutes before entering, my heart and mind in turmoil. Hojo felt sorry for what he’d done to me. It changed everything and solved nothing. A small, neglected section of my soul wanted him, needed him, but that hardened bit of me rejected his remorse. Remorse didn’t change his sins, didn’t absolve his wrongs. I would be the worst sort of fool to accept his sorrow.

Hojo lay in a small ball upon the couch, a tuft of his black hair sticking out over the comforter. I sat on the coffee table, my eyes glued to his still form. Slowly, I reached out and pulled the blanket away from his face.

Black eyes snapped open to meet mine.

“Boy,” he said softly. His gaze wandered my face. “Everything go alright?”

For a brief and blinding moment I hated him so much it overpowered me. He would never know what pain he’d put me through, not even now while he felt guilty. Then, almost as quickly as the hate came, a wash of peace overtook me. I stared at a sad, pathetic old man that made mistakes. I balanced his sins against my own and found the scales unresponsive.

“Cloud made it home,” I heard myself say. My throat felt so tight I could hardly swallow.

Hojo’s eyes swept over me. I saw him searching for any sign of injury, any clue of debility.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

He cared.

He fucking cared.

I balled up from the inside out. My fists clenched as blood pounded in my ears. He wasn’t allowed to care. What right did he have to care? After all he’d done, what right did he have to give one pittance over my welfare?

“You,” I said. “You’re what’s wrong, Hojo.”

He blinked slowly. “Sephiroth,” he said, his voice as tired and old as the planet. “Go about your business, boy, and ignore me,” he advised. “I have no dealing in your head, boy; do you understand me? Forget what you know and forget me, for your own sake.”

My breathing harsh, my heart pounding, I looked into his dark eyes. For the first time I saw him in myself, and myself in him. His fear hit me like a physical strike. We were the same in many ways; sad, disturbed and lonely. He occupied the role of villain no more or less than I did. All that condemned him lay inside of me, and all that condemned me lay inside of him.

“I can’t forget you,” I murmured. “I can’t forget what I know, either.”

For many minutes we looked at each other.

“I…” Hojo said, falling short of making his feeling known.

‘What?” I asked. If he deflected me, blew me off, I would kill him here and now.

Hojo closed his eyes, bowing his head. Slowly, he sat up. “I’m…sorry,” he whispered. “It won’t help a god-damn thing, but I’m sorry, boy.” His blanket fell off as he sat up. Shivering, he clasped his arms around his thin chest. His naked face shone with his honest remorse, his stark pain and bleak expectance. “You shouldn’t ever forgive me,” he said softly. “I just wanted you to know you’ve been done wrongly. I did you wrongly.”

I heard the clock ticking.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

“Were you ever proud of me?” I asked. “Did you ever see me as your son instead of a machine? Did you ever once feel sorry that I didn’t know you as my father?” His future hinged upon his answers.

Hojo sighed.

“Sephiroth, I rued every second,” he said. “I held back how I felt, certain of your censure. I thought you were better off without me. Can you honestly say I chose wrongly?”

I sat back, resting my hands on the floor.

How could I quantify this?

I looked at him, seeing the fallible meat that held him. He wasn’t a god, a figurehead or an ideal. He was Hojo. As flawed as I, as crippled as I, he reached out to me with no expectations.

A distant and angry part of me collapsed.

“No, Hojo, I can’t,” I said, surprising us both.

For the longest moment, Hojo stared at the carpet. He clasped his hands together, wringing his fingers. “I should have never told you,” he murmured. “You would have been better off had I remained silent. I should have denied it.”

“You don’t know that.” I shifted uneasily, feeling the rough fibers of the carpet under me and the chill in my bones. Nothing in my history prepared me for this. I had no handhold, nothing to guide me here. This realm of pure emotion ruled me, jerked me back and forth at whim. I wasn’t accustomed to feeling like this. This unsteady ground made me queasy…

“I know nothing,” Hojo countered. His dark eyes sought mine. “Of all I know, boy, I know you the least. You surpass me. You are perfect and I am…garbage.”

I bit my lip, turned my head. He had no idea what he spoke of; he was completely insane to think I embodied perfection.

“Hojo,” I murmured. “Your idea of perfection is screwed.”

A beat of silence.

Hojo snickered.

“Admittedly,” he said. “But I know when I am seeing an ideal.”

“Fuck the ideal,” said harshly, turning to one side. “Forget your scientific trash and your charts and diagrams. Forget your quantifications and your measurements!”

Hojo whimpered.

“No” I said, suddenly seized by frustration and anger. I couldn’t let this slide. I had the endurance of a racing chocobo, but that didn’t mean I had the patience of one. “Fuck you, Hojo, no!”

He flinched, turning away from me.

I saw in a flash of insight that he meant for me to hate him. He meant for me to pass him off and forget. He wanted me to shunt him off to a forbidden and remote section of my mind; preferred me to leave him.

I grabbed him by his borrowed shirt, curling my fists in his lapels. “I’ll be damned,” I panted. “You don’t get the easy way out!”

He flopped in my grip bonelessly, unresisting.

“Do you want me, you bastard?” I demanded. “Forget what you think you should do or want. Tell me what you really feel, you heartless son of a bitch!’

Hojo squeezed his eyes shut. Rolling in my grip, he bowed his head.

“Do you want a son?” I asked, jerking him back and forth. “Do you want me?” My voice faltered at the question. I hated myself for showing my weakness, for putting my need on display for this man. Still, I had nowhere else to turn. I had no convenient nook to hide in; I would be damned if I let him hide while I stood exposed and bleeding. “You have to go one way or the other!”

Hojo gave a small sound that made me stop tossing him from side to side. “Sephiroth,” he sighed. “I am proud of you. Yes, I want you!”

I let go of him.

We stared at each other, panting.

Suddenly, abruptly, I felt like a child again. I stared at him, thinking he would never reach out, never show himself or show any love to me. I wasn’t worth it. I had never been worth it. What made me think anything I could do or say would fix the broken, deranged Hojo?

“Sephiroth,” he whispered. “We named you together.” He closed his eyes. A shudder wracked his thin frame. He choked, turning his head to the side. “If only she had lived…”

I quite suddenly hated my mother for turning my father into a wreck of tangled emotion.

For a long, painful moment I stared into the low flames of the gas fireplace. I had a choice. At this pivotal moment I had a choice.

I could either nurture my hate and pain or let go of it. Neither seemed acceptable. I didn’t know which way to turn.

“If only she had loved me,” Hojo went on, whispering.

“Forget her,” I said harshly, fiercely. “She wasn’t any better than you are, Hojo, but there’s one difference; you’re alive and she isn’t.”

“But she was perfect,” Hojo protested weakly.

“She wasn’t,” I insisted. “She was just like anyone else.”

Hojo, breathing harshly, sank back into his nest of pillows and blankets. “No,” he protested. “She was ideal, like you, Sephiroth. I ruined her, like I ruin everything I touch. I should have let her have Valentine. He made her happy. She smiled when she spoke of him, smiled when she thought of him. But I couldn’t bear it…”

I watched, dumbfounded and appalled as Hojo began to weep. He collapsed upon the couch, pulling the quilt up until only his eyes showed.

“Sephiroth,” Aerith said smoothly.

I turned my head, spied her in the doorway. Her outline showed through the shirt she’d borrowed from me to sleep in. I looked at her curves, her slender, delicate frame and shuddered.

She was nothing like me. She was as much an alien in her femininity as she was for her compassion and caring. No matter what she suffered, she would never be the killer I was, would never be the remorseless machine I strived to become. Her strength lay in her weakness, her compassion. I’d never understood until this moment how her gentle, relentless compassion could overpower the negativity I so longed to find a place with. I had enjoyed her forgiveness, but I hadn’t comprehended the power of her.

I lacked.

I fell short but she didn’t judge me for it. She liked me exactly the way I was right now. It humbled me. I grabbed onto her sweet, soft kindness and held on.

“Take him in here,” she said. “Lay him between us.”

Like an automation, I obeyed. My father felt light in my arms, almost as light as the flower girl.

Aerith pulled the blankets up, putting Hojo securely between us. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “Just rest, Sephiroth.”

“I can’t,” I protested, my eyes glued to my crying father. He curled up to Aerith like a child, laying his head on her breast and clutching a handful of her hair. I’d never seen him so vulnerable. He lay exposed to us both, completely without dignity. His silent tears began to soak her shirt but she didn’t seem to mind. She stroked his hair, murmured nonsense words and soothing sounds.

Outside of my horror for this scene, I saw Aerith’s kindness like a shining beacon. This compassion she showed my father, even to me, held no ulterior motive. My benevolent, sympathetic flower girl opened her heart to a man who’d tortured her, killed her family and changed the very way her body worked. Now I understood how extending her affection toward me would seem almost a trifle.

All I had ever done was run her through with the Masamune…

Her forest green eyes drifted to mine. With her other hand she reached out and touched my cheek. “We’ll be alright,” she murmured. “All change hurts, but it doesn’t last forever.”

Hojo quieted at the sound of her words. The bed shook as he released a final tremor. It felt like walking to a chopping block, but I inched closer to him. His misery and guilt touched me inside.

I knew I would never return to feeling nothing in his presence.