Pater Familias

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, voice actors.


I opened my door, slid inside and shut it. Fumbling for the still unfamiliar light switch, I got the sudden and completely awful feeling I wasn’t alone. I hit the lights and jerked in surprise, staring at my son’s gigantic form from only centimeters away. “Holy fuck,” I swore, leaping back.

I sometimes still feared him. At times while I looked at him I could feel the scar on my forehead throb. I knew I’d been exceedingly, excessively fortunate as far as Sephiroth was concerned. He’d been vicious, yes, but he’d held back. I could be dead right now.

It shamed me that he’d wanted and needed a parent so badly he’d been willing to take even me.

I had so wronged my son.

“Your reflexes are improving,” Sephiroth observed. He tilted his head a little, luminous eyes glowing with mako phosphorescence. “You look younger today, father. You must be truly on the mend.”

That he cared made my heart swell. I leaned my back against the door, took my glasses off and wiped them with my tie. “I do feel better, boy, thank you,” I answered. “Now, why are you lurking in here to give me a heart attack?”

“Just wanted to see you a few minutes,” he grunted, lowering himself with indifferent ease to my couch. “Did you eat?”

“I ate lunch.” I dropped my keys and joined him. “I did not eat supper, however.”

“Aerith made you a meal and it’s sitting in your refrigerator,” Sephiroth told me quietly, eyes still moving over me. “You need to eat more often.”

“I’m aware,” I sighed. “But, I forget or get too impatient to finish something.”

“She’s aware,” Sephiroth said, mocking me a little. “So, did you enjoy brutalizing Lucas Havars?”

I looked into those knowing, probing eyes, alert to his ability to pluck the thoughts out of my head. He was intelligent, my son, and attentive to my every nuance. I could not hide anything from him. Fortunately, I didn’t need or wish to hide anything from him anyway.

“I haven’t truly, not yet,” I answered. “But I’m sure I’ll take satisfaction from him.”

Sephiroth nodded. “What about the botanist?” he further probed.

“Sakura is working out well,” I admitted.

“She seems to like you.” Sephiroth leaned back, his silver hair falling around him. Not long ago I’d hidden in that hair, feeling a benevolence from him I’d never imagined possible.

He held out a stasis orb to me in his palm. Tiny black dots tumbled over one another by the thousands in the center of the thing, vibrating with magical energy. “Aerith thinks she should share these with you and that you should give them to Miss Leijanna as a gift.”

“Holy Ones seeds,” I murmured, recognizing them a moment later. “A very valuable present to give a botanist.”

“That’s what she thought.” Sephiroth again pinned me with his piercing gaze. “What’s the matter? You look irritated.”

“I encountered Sakura’s ex-boyfriend today and he left a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Ah.” Sephiroth measured me. “Thinking you need a new lab rat?”

“It occurred to me.” I saw no reason to deny it, not to my own son who knew what a high I got from having a fresh specimen.

Sephiroth looked at the wall a moment. Then, he gracefully got to his feet. Walking to the door, he put his hand on the knob. “Eat,” he commanded me.

“I will, I promise,” I said.

He turned to go but stopped. Once more he faced me. “The men complain their insect repellent isn’t strong enough,” he said, surprising me with a topic change. “And it doesn’t stick to them very well once they start to sweat.”

I smiled. “I’ll look into it,” I promised.


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

“I thought you just needed to take blood.” Strife, face set into a mixture of fear and stubbornness, began shedding his many layers of clothing. I’d made him take his sword off at the outer door but he still had a good deal of straps, zips and buttons to manage.

It obviously bothered him to be here, in my lab.

“I do, but I think we should do a stress test as well.” I made a notation on Strife’s coloring and the tremble in his arms. “Don’t worry; this is nothing more than running on a treadmill while the monitors work.” I paused. “No, not your pants. How much running can you do with your dangly bits in the way?”

Strife cracked a grin. “A lot,” he assured me.

“Spare me stories of running away from jealous lovers,” I said, carefully putting one electrode pad after another on his chest and torso. Since becoming more aware of my sins I managed to be gentler to my subjects. I noticed Strife responded to my less brusque manner. In fact, lately he spoke as if he might respect me a little.

I walked behind him and lifted his hair. Long, long ago I’d put a tracker bot on him, but the device to follow it now lay buried under rubble. Still, the bot collected information. “Hold still,” I said. “You’re going to feel a slight sting, like a mosquito bite.”

He stood quietly while I made a very small cut and dug the bot from under his skin. I dropped the bloody chip into a Petri dish, watching as his accelerated healing closed over the hole I’d made.

“What’s that?” he asked

“A tracker bot I put into you while you still went through SOLDIER,” I explained. “It’s been quietly collecting information about your periods of high trauma.”

Strife made a growling sound. “How many people have these things in their necks?”

“Many, many people, about half of which are dead now,” I guessed. I washed off the bot and loaded it into a decoder. “Come over here and learn about yourself.”

Strife perched on my chair arm and peered into the monitor. “Wow,” he said after a moment. “That’s a lot of information about me.” He pointed to the red line chart. “What’s that?”

“The red line represents times when your adrenalin, mako and J-Cell levels spiked for a fight or flight response.” I took down his useful information and transferred it to his file.

Soon I had him on a treadmill. I set the machines to alert me in the event of high stress and walked into my office for a moment alone. Sighing, I sat down and lit a smoke.

Strife made me feel guilty.

I looked through the viewing glass at him, watching him easily run along at a rate that would tire a normal man. For a botched clone he’d done very well. He made me reconsider the protocols I’d instituted long ago. My son truly made no reference point; no one could measure up to him. I’d failed many people without considering that. Sloppy work. I knew better than that. Still, my starry-eyed admiration for Sephiroth’s abilities had made me so optimistic. If he could be so perfect, so could others, I’d assumed.

I took out my hand held tracker and checked on Mr. Andrews. He currently wandered around the civilian district in our sector, probably in the attempt to see Sakura. Security wouldn’t let him on the grounds but he hoped to catch her anyway. Perfect.

I took out my cell and dialed Sephiroth. What did I have a brilliant, capable son for, anyway?

“General Sephiroth,” he answered, sounding bored.

“Hojo here,” I said. “Would you do me a favor and empty out B section of SOLDIERs?”

“I suppose.” I heard Sephiroth start typing with two fingers very slowly. “When?”

I checked my watch. “In twenty minutes. Do me another favor and get down here to labs. I need you to distract Strife while I run an errand.”

“You’re lucky I have a ready-made distraction,” Sephiroth answered. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Expect B section emptied ten minutes later.”

He hung up on me. I finished my smoke and wandered back out to my subject. He still didn’t look taxed. In fact he looked rather bored. So, his stamina remained unaffected by his fluctuating testosterone levels and insulin issue. “Good, good,” I said, showing him I meant to turn off the treadmill. “Step down, number eighteen.”

“My name is Cloud Strife,” he replied, looking quite upset.

“My apologies,” I said, shaking my head. “Sometimes the past and the present overlap.”

“That was my number, eighteen?” He grabbed a towel and wiped his forehead. “You told me I didn’t have a number and then you refused to give me one.”

I picked up an ultraviolet wand and ran it over the back of his right hand. “I was short-sighted and cruel to you,” I said. “All I can do is help you now.” The number I sought showed up in faded purple.

“I never knew that was there,” he murmured, looking unsettled.

I waved it over my own hand, showing him my medical coding and identity number. “Anyone who went through Shin-Ra for any reason also went through me,” I explained. “Everyone.”

Strife sat down. His blue eyes regarded me steadily. “Why would you do that to yourself?”

“Part of being thorough is including yourself.” I handed him a glass of water and a vitamin tablet. “Sit still a moment and I’ll correct your insulin problem.”

“You can cure diabetes?” Strife frowned. “Do I have diabetes?”

“Not yet, and if I have anything to say about it you never will.”

As we spoke, Sephiroth entered the room, a small, dark haired man following close behind. My monitoring devices went haywire. I watched as everything in Strife’s body went on alert, his testosterone levels spiking and his respiration accelerating.

I prepared an injection for him as my son and his companion approached, feeling smug. Strife needed to get laid more than anything else. Which man did he desire, my son or his friend? “Ah, General Sephiroth,” I greeted. “Would you be so kind as to stay here and make sure Strife doesn’t drop into a faint? I need to check on another project. It shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.”

Sephiroth’s gaze wandered the machines. “And what should I do if he does drop into a faint?” he asked, signaling the dark haired man to stay a bit further back.

“Slap him awake.” I gave Strife his insulin regulator, dropped the needle in the biohazard and stripped off my coat, ignoring his outburst of indignation.

“Hey!” he said. “He doesn’t need to slap me!”

“We’ll see,” Sephiroth said, adjusting his left glove ominously. “Go, father,” he intoned. “Strife is in good hands.”