littleredpencil

[littleredpencil]

Chapter Six: I'm A SOLDIER

Warnings, summary, and notes here

Cloud felt a twinge in his stomach as the boat pulled into the dock, an unfamiliar hint of sickness that seemed to come from the rocking. He’d never been motion sick before, but he imagined this was what it felt like, and he was eager to disembark.

The other passengers on the Amaranthia were merchants and tourists returning home, and most gave Cloud a wide berth. But if they thought his sword and scowl were imposing, he was nothing in their eyes compared to Vincent. Vincent moved with an eerie grace that appeared almost as if he was floating, remarkably soundless for all the metal he wore and practically oozing malice.

That last bit always threw Cloud for a loop, because Vincent wasn’t malicious. Sometimes blunt and often cryptic, sure, and therapists would have a field day with him, but he was pretty harmless. Maybe that was because Cloud was a SOLDIER, though, and Vincent would be hard-pressed to hurt him.

A huge sign at the port read Welcome to Rocket Ridge, pointing them off the pier and into the city proper. The trade hub was bustling, reminiscent of Midgar, though Cloud figured it was probably about the size of only one Sector. The only city that really rivaled the City of Mako was Junon, though, and Rocket Ridge certainly put Nibelheim to shame.

Nibelheim. He still wasn’t sure why that should be their destination, not when he already felt an intimate pull north, but he clung to Vincent’s suggestion like a lifeline.

He didn’t want to go north. He had to, if he ever wanted to confront Sephiroth and end this, but he didn’t want to. This pull was too sharp, too insistent, its hold on him was too tight for his liking. Sometimes, as he walked, he would get the feeling of somebody just behind him, whispering in his ear.

Reunion.

North held the Reunion, whatever that might be. Sephiroth called it a homecoming, the promise rolling off his tongue like a silken touch, soothing and inviting. Cloud was exhausted down to his bones, and that promise wrapped around him like a warm, safe blanket. He wanted to follow that pull, he needed to. Most of him was downright eager to. But a little piece of him somewhere deep inside latched onto Vincent’s suggestion of Nibelheim like it was an anchor in a storm.

Something in him was fighting. It was going to lose in the end, Cloud knew, but it was fighting.

Vincent stopped when he reached the street, waiting for Cloud to catch up.

“I believe an…update is in order.” Like always, his gaze remained straight ahead, and his voice was soft. “Shinra is already regrouping, and we’re now only two. As much as our respective styles suit us, we need to start blending better.”

Cloud raised an eyebrow and looked Vincent up and down. He couldn’t imagine the man blending in anywhere.

“Are you telling me to go buy new clothes?” he asked. “Not gonna happen.”

Vincent turned to face him, in that weird way of his that didn’t actually use any movement, and cocked his head to the side.

“Are you a SOLDIER?” Vincent asked.

“Ex-SOL—” Cloud began, but Vincent waved him off.

“Are you currently a SOLDIER?” He repeated. “Are you in Shinra’s employ, do you come when Rufus whistles?”

Cloud bristled at the implication, and Vincent tapped one of his pauldrons with a delicate claw.

“Then why do you cling so tightly to its trappings?” he asked. “What is so terrifying about Cloud Strife, the civilian, that you fight so hard to keep a discarded military program as the core of your personality?”

Cloud opened his mouth to tell him why. It was because this was what he was, he was SOLDIER. An ex-SOLDIER, sure but still a SOLDIER. It was what he would always be.

But even as that line of logic prepared to spill out, something in his reasoning center stopped it from hitting his mouth. Because it wasn’t a line, it was a circle. A circle he didn’t question, because every time he questioned it…

He made a fist, digging his gloved nails into his palms. It did absolutely nothing, thanks to the protective leather, but the motion grounded him a little just the same. Vincent turned his gaze back to the street.

“I’m aware of the irony of me asking, by the way,” Vincent said. “But I know what it is I fear seeing in the mirror, and I am also going to face it today. Find some new clothes. Pick out some jewelry. Separate yourself as much as you can from the image Shinra is circulating to the public, our mission now requires a bit more stealth. Meet me at Chocolily Park in three hours.”

He walked away. Or maybe he floated away. Honestly, even watching him go, Cloud still couldn’t tell how the hell the guy moved, and watching too long made his eyes hurt. What he did know, though, was that he and Vincent needed to shop in very different places, because their taste in clothes was wildly different.

Wasn’t it? Cloud frowned, trying to remember what his taste in clothes was as he crossed the street to where the shopping district started.

As a kid he wore what was available, which was usually the most basic fare that could be imported to a small, remote mountain town. Jeans or shorts, with long- or short-sleeved tees depending on the weather. Heavy coats made of furs sold by hunters, undergarments made of wool sheared in town. He still remembered how excited he was to strike out for Midgar, how he daydreamed about having a closet full of clothes and dressing like celebrities.

Nothing outlandish, of course, but he’d looked forward to having a selection and maybe, for once, looking cool.

So, what happened to the clothes he bought when he got there? SOLDIERs had individual quarters, small but comfortable with decent closet space. It was one of the perks of the position, which meant Cloud had one too. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember any of the clothes he had for off-duty hours. He must have had them, though.

It felt weird to be looking in shop windows for things that weren’t weapons. Sure, he grabbed some swim trunks and a beach shirt when they were in Costa del Sol, but those were only worn for a little bit while the girls were enjoying the beach.

Cloud wilted a little. After two days on a boat with the heat of the moment long since settled, he missed Tifa. She and Aerith would’ve been dragging him into shops by now, holding clothes up to check how they looked and discussing what he’d be buying right in front of him while he stood mute and watched. Probably not the most healthy or open dynamic, but he sure wished for it now.

She was safer, though, far away from him. They all were. And the way he left was better than being nice, hating him for it meant they wouldn’t be sad he was gone.

Cloud stared at the selection of shirts in a window and suddenly felt lost. He couldn’t remember the last time he looked at anything—person, place, or thing—with an eye for anything other than its utility, and it was like nothing had value to him unless it could be useful. Maybe if he didn’t treat Tifa and the others that way, despite how well most of them treated him, she wouldn’t have felt the need to lie to him.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. Whether he liked it or not—and oh, he did not like it at all—he didn’t have them to lean on and use. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through the wildly long list of names and numbers he’d collected since arriving in Midgar. Andrea, Cissnei, Billy, Dr. Sheiran, Chadley, Dio, Johnny…

Goddess, he really did know all these people, didn’t he? Well enough to have their phone numbers. When did that even happen? How did it happen? Loner kids from the middle of nowhere did not have this many friends, let alone ones he knew he could call in a pinch even with Shinra breathing down his neck. People from all over the world, not just Midgar, from all different walks of life. His younger self would have been ecstatic to scroll through all these names.

So, why wasn’t his current self? A lot happened to him over the last few years, yes, but where did he go?

Cloud found the name he was looking for and visibly shuddered as he dialed, half praying there would be no answer when the other line started to ring. He was equal parts relieved and horrified when a cheerful voice chirped a hello.

“Kyrie? Yeah, it’s me.” Why did he have such a visceral negative reaction to the most basic human interactions? “No, I don’t have merc work for you. I’ll never have merc work for you. But I do need advice on something.”

* * * * *

Cloud paused to check the tourist map in the city square, searching for Chocolily Park. He made note of it when he found it, hefted his pack and started walking with his head ducked down and shoulders hunched.

Even with the new backpack, a sporty black one for hiking that blended well in all surroundings, he felt the weight of the stares. SOLDIER trousers were loose and almost formless to allow for easier movement, but they also hid a lot of things regular jeans didn’t. Like too-wide hips and ridiculously long legs, and one particular attribute too many men simply could not fucking stop themselves from commenting on.

‘Well hello there, pretty lady!’

‘What the hell, Zack? I’m not a lady!’

‘Oh shit, sorry Spike! Ha! But I gotta give it to you, you’re a solid nine from the back.’

Cloud grimaced as the pain hit, and the brief bits of memory were gone. He’d been trying to think about his past a lot more often since parting ways with the others, but every time he did it was like something else reached out to slap the thoughts away. Hurting him, punishing him, as if conditioning him to not think those thoughts at all.

“Hey honey!” A wolf whistle sounded from where three guys stood on a corner as he passed.

“Not interested.”

Cloud didn’t even cast them a glance when he said it, but he could feel the ripple of unease at his decidedly unfeminine voice. He would never sound as deep as Barrett, no amount of HRT in the world could get him to that point, but his voice still at least conveyed what his hips didn’t broadcast.

There was a reason he was so at-home in the corset he wore that day in Wall Market. It felt like a sleeveless binder, reminded him of the days he used to wrap himself to within an inch of his life and ignore everyone in town calling him “she” as he went to go chop wood or hunt. Now if they just made something that would narrow the damn hips, he would be set.

Maybe he could get some localized anesthesia, dig in there, and whittle away some of the bone. Was that a thing? Or would it just heal right back to normal thanks to all the mako in his veins?

He reached Chocolily Park and looked around as he walked. A group of girls passed by, one of them glancing at the wolf necklace hanging down over his dark blue t-shirt between the ends of the green scarf bought for the cooler weather of the Nibel Mountains The other two meting his eyes before turning away and whispering, and he caught a comment about the “size of his sword” before they all broke into giggles and disappeared down the path. Apparently it was very hard for people to act their age.  

Unless he was the odd one out. He was only twenty-one, but did he even know how to act that age? Zack was somewhere near this age when they met, and he did act like kind of an idio—

Searing pain ran through his head, enough to make him pause and grip his face with his free hand. It was like brain freeze multiplied by ten, claws digging into his brain, and left him panting for breath when it ended.

More giggles, pissing him off, but when he looked up this time it was two women who weren’t facing him. They were looking over at a bench, at the man patiently waiting there with a magazine in his hand.

Tall, with long, black hair that fell down past his shoulders in choppy waves. Black double-breasted shirt with a high collar and at least five thin belts that Cloud could see. Leather pants, knee-high boots, and a leather holster double-strapped at his waist and thigh. Cloud stopped in front of Vincent, noting that the magazine was upside down.

“This is blending?” He asked.

Vincent looked up, and for a second, the world flipped upside down. It was like his brain saw a familiar image that was printed all wrong and tried to correct it, flipping black hair into gray and red eyes into green. Like a punch of déjà vu to the solar plexus the image evaporated as quickly as it appeared, leaving Cloud with the residual elevated heartrate of a fight or flight response. If Vincent noticed his reaction, he didn’t comment on it.

“Would you know who I was if you couldn’t see my eyes?” Vincent asked. He gestured widely around them, the sun glinting off the claw-like gold on his left arm. “Would anyone?”

“Fair point.”

“Good.” Vincent stood, dropping the magazine in a nearby trash can. “Let’s find the inn. The sunlight and fresh air are nauseating.”

They didn’t talk as they walked. Vincent rarely talked when he didn’t have to, and Cloud liked that about him. He also now liked that everybody’s eyes went directly to Vincent, barely anybody noticed the short blond with the huge sword walking next to him.

The Rocket Range inn was a nice little place at a reasonable price, which was great since Cloud knew it would be the last time they slept in beds for a while. The trip to Nibelheim was a long one, and even once they got their hands on some chocobos there would be at least a week of sleeping in forests and mountains. Since it was just the two of them, they could even save money by going light on supplies and hunting food as they went. They opted for a single room, also to save money. Neither was what anyone would call talkative, and it was easy to forget Vincent even existed once he settled into his weird, quiet trances.

Once they were checked in, Cloud sat outside, lost in his own thoughts for a little while. He knew he should eat, but he wasn’t hungry. He should get some sleep, but he wasn’t tired. Even watching some TV in the inn lobby would be some kind of stimulation, but his brain didn’t want to be pacified. He listened absently to the sounds of people around him, staring off into the distance, thinking nothing and feeling nothing but the sharp, northward pull in his chest.

He didn’t move until a loud bang right next to him made him jump. The innkeeper smiled apologetically, picking up the dropped sign he was taking in for the night, and Cloud realized it was dark. Did he fall asleep?

No, he vaguely remembered watching people walk by, the feeling of his eyes flicking back and forth to watch for potential danger. He was conscious, to an extent, but completely on autopilot.

He rose, wincing at the stiffness in his body from sitting still so long, and followed the innkeeper inside. The stairs were toward the back, and there was nobody around downstairs as he headed down the hall toward them. By chance, Cloud glanced to his left just before he reached them, at the large mirror hanging on the wall.

The sight was enough to freeze him in his tracks.

What he saw wasn’t a SOLDIER, not even close. The halo was there in the eyes, sure, but Cloud’s eyes had always been a bright, sky blue that hid it well. For a split second, along with the dark blue shirt and green scarf, he had a vision of white pauldrons and a leather utility vest.

‘At least someone’s keeping up.’

‘Well, I’m a country boy too.’

‘Oh? From where?’

‘Nibelheim. How about you?’

“Me?” Cloud whispered to his reflection, the syllables spilling out in a desperate rush as if trying to get free before they were locked down again. “Gongaga.”

He closed his eyes and braced himself, prepared for the pain when it hit. He was beginning to get pushed beyond self-pity, edging toward the border of Supremely Pissed Off. His mind was his, nobody else’s, and he should be allowed to remember as he pleased.

When he opened his eyes again, the mirror showed only him as he was now. Cloud Strife, ex-SOLDIER First Class, dressed like some kid on a college campus.

Vincent was nowhere to be seen when he let himself into the room, and Cloud refused to look for him. He was probably under his bed or in the closet, he often holed up in the weirdest places, but Cloud wasn’t going to question anybody else’s coping mechanisms. He made a beeline for the bathroom instead, locking the door behind him before turning on the cold water and leaning over the sink to splash his face.

He wasn’t even sure what time it was, but it was time to get some sleep whether he wanted to or not. Tomorrow they would get some chocobos and head out, and he needed to be rested.

The towel rack was a bit far away, but his questing fingers found it. He patted his face dry, giving himself a brief moment to enjoy the softness against his skin, before pulling it away and looking up.

“Shit!”

He hissed the word when he saw the reflection of the man standing behind him, automatically reaching for his sword. But it wasn’t there, it was out in the hotel room, and before Cloud could turn there were hands gripping his and forcing him to lean against the sink. Gloved fingers wrapped fully around his wrists like manacles, allowing him nowhere to look but the mirror.

“Why the change, SOLDIER?” Sephiroth’s voice was velvet in his ears, those catlike eyes holding Cloud’s in his reflection.

He’s not here. He can’t be here.

Cloud took a deep breath, the words running through his head like a mantra. There weren’t any men in black that he’d seen wandering around Rocket Ridge, and that was one thing he realized was needed. Whether Sephiroth was really here or not, he needed them as some kind of conduit.

But the firm chest pressed against his back was warm, and the smell of roses, leather, and skin filled the small bathroom. He felt the lips press lightly against his temple, moving to his ear, and heard the soft, rumbling words murmured into it.

“You’re not some useless, bumbling country boy.” Why were those words so soothing? Why did the knot that had been forming in his chest all day begin to loosen when this damn phantom spoke? “I need a soldier at my side for what I intend to do, someone strong and proud of it. That’s what you are, and that’s what you’ll continue to be. So knock off this pointless detour and bring me the black materia.”

The last words were snarled so fiercely Cloud felt them run through every nerve ending in his body. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the sensations, to ignore how very real everything about this felt.

“I’m waiting, Cloud.” The softest of whispers, deceptively gentle in the wake of venomous anger.

Then Cloud’s hands were free. He was able to spin around and find the bathroom empty, to stumble out into the room and look around in panic. In the corner, Vincent looked up from the book in his hands, one he legitimately seemed to be reading this time.

“Are you all right? I spoke to you when you came in, but you didn’t appear to hear me.”

Why was his voice always so damn soft? It had that same satisfying timbre to it, the one that made him feel content and compelled him to listen. Again, for the briefest second, black hair and red eyes flashed to gray and green.

Cloud rubbed his face with both hands, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“The degradation,” he fell back on the only reasonable explanation he had for any of this. “It’s getting worse.”

“Is it?”

There was something in those two words. Cloud had enough social intelligence to know it was just a vocal flex, that Vincent was only acknowledging he’d spoken and waiting for him to continue. But there was…not indifference, the ex-Turk wasn’t an uncaring man. Just something that felt like he didn’t put much stock in the degradation theory.

“What else could it be?”

Vincent’s pause was thoughtful. He was weighing his words, debating if he should share something on the tip of his tongue to say. But in the end, he merely turned his attention back to his book, letting out a little huff.

“What else, indeed?”

Vincent Valentine didn’t deal in false hopes or half-baked theories, as far as Cloud could tell. He didn’t necessarily hide things, but he kept his cards close to his chest until he had a full hand to show. That enigmatic answer told Cloud one thing for certain:

As far as what was happening to Cloud, Vincent was holding several cards, and believed the rest were in Nibelheim.

[littleredpencil]

Chapter Five: The First Split

Warnings, summary, and notes here

Escaping Shinra’s claws while on the streets of Midgar was far easier said than done. There were a lot of patrols on the plate, and to say the company was militarized would be an understatement. Shinra Electric Power Company owned much of the world, and the family didn’t get that powerful by asking nicely for what they wanted.

The first guinea pigs for every weapon upgrade were the people of the City of Mako, who welcomed each new encroachment on their freedoms with arms wide open. Genetically modified canine units trained to draw blood and heavily armed soldiers were ubiquitous in the streets of Midgar, just another part of the scenery the citizens were conditioned to not notice. The plate was a carefully curated little world for the higher-ups to look down on from their corner offices, and that view was kept perfect by force.

It quickly became apparent that when Angeal said they “stuck out,” what he really meant was that Sephiroth was impossible to hide. And as he moved through the shadowed streets, hitting dead ends and heavy patrols, something else became apparent: he had been kept woefully ignorant of his own home turf.

“Attention all units,” a crackling voice came over a soldier’s radio. “We have a Code Diamond. Report any sightings immediately but do not engage. Hewley and Rhapsodos are being contacted, Turks have been dispatched.”

“Copy that,” the soldier replied, turning to his partner. “Dammit, I thought this was supposed to be the easy shift.”

Sephiroth groaned softly from the shadows where he crouched. Stone codes were instituted years ago when Genesis briefly disappeared while suffering degradation, and meant a SOLDIER First Class had gone rogue. Ruby for Genesis, Sapphire for Angeal, Onyx for Zack, and Citrine for Cloud. Diamond was for Sephiroth himself, which meant somebody from the research department showed up very early for work today.

It was more than likely Hojo. Sephiroth wasn’t even sure if the man slept.

The plate was officially no longer viable for travel. The slums would take longer, since they were a mish-mash maze of dilapidated structures instead of neat, grid-like streets, but they were also easier to hide in.

Getting there was a little tricky, since the city was designed to keep the poor and wealthy separate, but after about ten minutes of dodging through shadows Sephiroth made it to the edge of the plate. He could have dropped right down and easily survived the fall, but there were still some patrols in the slums. The last thing he needed was for someone to spot him while he was airborne and call in his location, so a steady climb downward it was.

It was a curious thing, to be sneaking through the city he’d so long been a guardian of. His routes were always laid out for him, he’d never bothered to notice all the identity checkpoints or dead ends. And he’d never been to the slums at all, problems here were relegated to the infantry or Thirds.

Life was bustling down here in the dark, despite the odd hour. The shops here in this shanty town were closed for the night, but bars were open and tipsy patrons played dice or cards outside. Sephiroth was acutely aware of every movement in his surroundings, he always was, but he still blinked in surprise when one of the tiny forms darting around veered off course and ran into his leg.

The child was maybe two or three, certainly too young to be wandering this time of night. Sephiroth couldn’t tell by appearance if it was a girl or a boy, but he offered a smile anyway when the little thing looked up at him. His face muscles were a little rusty in that regard, most of the research staff barely talked to him let alone smiled, but since the child didn’t run screaming he supposed he did okay.

Tiny hands grabbed the edge of his coat in a fist. Sephiroth watched curiously as they tugged wildly at it.

“Who do you belong to, little one?” He glanced around, but nobody seemed to be missing a child. Crouching down, he watched with interest as the little fists now grabbed his dangling hair. “You certainly have quite a grip, don’t you?”

“Oh!” Sephiroth looked up as a young woman ran around the corner of a nearby building and skidded to a stop upon seeing them. “Here! Mariah, she’s here!”

Sephiroth gently extricated his hair as the woman hurried over to scoop the little girl up. The child immediately reached for her long brown hair, but didn’t manage a firm grip before another woman came careening around the building.

“Oh my gods!” the darker-haired woman panted, taking the girl and clinging to her tightly. “You scared the shit out of me, Tilly! Thank you, Aerith, I’m sorry for all the trouble.”

Aerith. Sephiroth knew that name, if not the woman it was attached to.

“It’s all right,” Aerith smiled. “Looks like it’s time to upgrade the toddler proofing on the front door! Sorry if Tilly caused you any trouble, sir.”

She said the last words to Sephiroth. He offered another smile, hopefully one better suited for people with higher body language skills than a toddler.

“No trouble.” He held out a hand and let the little girl grab his thumb, shaking it very gently. “It was nice to meet you, Tilly.”

The little girl laughed. Her mother thanked them again, profusely, tightening the robe she’d thrown on over her pajamas as she headed back home with her daughter.

Even babes were less cowardly than him when it came to procuring their own freedom, it seemed.

“A flower,” Aerith turned to him, pulling a pretty, cream-colored lily from the pile in the basket on her arm. “For the road.”

He noticed now she had some soil under her fingernails, and a few faint smudges on her dress. Gathering her wares for sale bright and early, preparing for the day.

Now that she faced him fully, he could see the familiar face that often smiled up at him from the photos Zack liked to share. He had been head over heels in love with this woman, and Sephiroth could see how she’d first caught the flirty First Class’s interest. She was lovely, with striking eyes an almost impossible shade of light green.

He wasn’t sure what to do. Awkwardly, he took the flower, opening his mouth even as he tried to figure out what to say.

“You weren’t at the funeral,” Aerith spoke first. When his mouth snapped shut and he frowned, she looked down at her flowers and started walking. “It’s not hard to figure out who you are, sir. Even if Zack and Cloud didn’t talk about you all the time, the world’s most famous SOLDIER isn’t hard to spot.”

Sephiroth looked down at the flower in his hand, tucking it lightly into his belt. He needed to leave Midgar and meet the others in Kalm, but a few detours and even a few stretches spent in hiding were to be expected. He followed her without hesitation, something in his chest blooming with a powerful urge to hang onto this little connection to Zack for just a little while.

“I wasn’t able to get leave,” he replied, falling into step beside her. “I wanted to attend both, but others were sent instead.”

“Yes, I saw Mr. Hewley there,” Aerith recalled. “Mr. Rhapsodos went to Nibelheim?”

“He did.”

That seemed to soothe her a little bit, the knowledge that at least somebody had accompanied both Zack and Cloud home. It didn’t soothe Sephiroth at all, though. Angeal and Genesis being there did nothing to alleviate his sting and being denied his final goodbyes.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Gainsborough,” he murmured, glancing up at the faint tendrils of light beginning to work their way in under the plate edge. How long was he up there dodging patrols? “And I’m sorry we were never formally introduced. My schedule is very tightly maintained, but Zack spoke of you often.”

“Mm.” She might have been smiling, but with their height difference he couldn’t tell. “Same. You were his hero, Cloud’s too. They talked about you a lot.”

Sephiroth felt a small knot of something forming in his stomach. He was not a hero, he was a selectively deployed weapon with very little autonomy. Heroes made hard choices in the face of impossible odds, he just killed what he was pointed at in a very effective manner. Even Aerith contributed more to society than he did, at least her flower business brought people some shred of happiness in this often dreary world.

“If there’s anything you need…” Sephiroth trailed off.

Then what, he wondered? Was he going to provide it somehow? He could barely give a genuine smile let alone offer emotional support, and it wasn’t like he could give her anything if she needed help with money. He’d never gotten paid for anything, and didn’t have a gil to his name.

“Thank you, but I’ll be okay,” she definitely smiled this time, she tilted her head toward him and he could see it. “Eventually. Time heals all wounds, they say.”

They didn’t go very far before they were turning a corner, and an aging old church appeared. He stepped ahead of her to hold the door, following her inside.

“What about you?” She asked as she skipped ahead to the front, where a section of broken floorboards revealed a well-tended flowerbed. “SOLDIERs don’t usually wander the slums at the crack of dawn if everything is going right. Is there something I can help you with?”

He realized, once she asked, that he did actually need help. He could find his way alone, of course, but directions were always welcome.

“I’m trying to get to the exit,” he said.

“Down here?” She quirked an eyebrow. “Not on the road going out from the plate?”

“I’ll be going to the road eventually,” he lied, “but I’d like to take the more scenic route for now.”

“On foot?”

“I need a little adventure in my life, lately.”

Aerith gazed at him in the way he imagined a mother might do, as if she already knew he was lying. But she didn’t call him out on it, instead breaking into another tired smile.

“That does sound nice,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about a change of scenery myself. If I could join you at least until you get back to the road.”

Well, that wasn’t happening. He was already dallying too long, it was only a matter of time before all of Shinra descended upon him. He pursed his lips, trying to come up with a nice way of saying that, but didn’t get the chance before the church door opened.

Sephiroth stiffened when a black-suited redhead strolled in, accompanied by an unfamiliar blonde. Reno strolled a few feet down the center aisle and abruptly stopped, as if surprised to find anyone here. Sephiroth didn’t doubt he’d been hoping the slums would be the quietest, least fruitful place in the city to search. As highly-skilled as he was, he often did his best not to put those skills to use.

The blonde next to him recovered faster, grabbing her radio from her belt.

“Command, we have the target,” she said quickly. “Sector 5, in an old church near—”

Reno closed his eyes in irritation and grabbed the radio from her, leaning away so it was out of her reach.

“Target’s chilling,” he said over her protests. “Just giving his condolences to Fair’s girlfriend. I think we can kill the alert, we’ll escort him back when he’s done.”

“Hey!” The blonde exclaimed, looking past Sephiroth to Aerith. “That’s the Ancient Hojo wants us to bring in!”

“No it’s not,” Reno didn’t even look up to see where she was pointing.

“It is, just look at the BOLO picture!”

“Elena, do I look like I work for Hojo?” Reno asked, pulling the picture she produced from her hands and crumbling it into a ball. “Did you sign up to work for Hojo? No? Then I’ve never seen that woman before in my life.”

Aerith set her basket down on a pew and gave him a smile. “Thank you, Reno.”

“I can’t believe this,” Elena fumed. “Hey! Backup, now!”

The doors opened again to admit two of four infantrymen who were waiting outside, and one SOLDIER Second Class. Elena pointed to Aerith.

“Hojo wants her brought in, get a car here and escort her to it. Renaud, help Sephiroth find his way back to Shinra Headquarters, please.”

The two soldiers stepped forward to take Aerith, and Sephiroth let them. He stayed back, out of the way, helpless to do anything to stop it. The only time he held rank was if he was specifically given the Commander title on a mission, he had no authority otherwise. All he was able to do was stand back and watch, and that was what he did.

Except…he didn’t.

It felt like he did. He saw them each take one of her arms and pull her, struggling, out the door. He felt the nauseatingly heavy smother of regret as the door closed behind them, and Second Class Renaud’s light hand on his shoulder. He felt the wave of absolute disgust that hit him as he obeyed the push to start walking, knowing Genesis and Angeal would come back for him and get hurt in the process.

But then it was like the world rewound, like everything flipped into negative for an instant. When it returned, Aerith still stood at the front of the church and the soldiers were just stepping forward. Sephiroth still tasted the regret in the back of his throat, like a dire warning of what the next few seconds would bring. It was as if the world was telling him to act.

Heroes make hard choices in the face of impossible odds.

It was the barest whisper, so soft he couldn’t even identify it as a voice, turning his own earlier thoughts back around on him. Sephiroth wasn’t a hero, he never had been, but he was standing where one needed to be. It was so much harder than it should have been to summon Masamune and lower it across the aisle, blocking anyone from approaching the girl.

He pretended it was a crimson rapier, that the hand holding it wasn’t his own but one of a much braver man. Sephiroth didn’t have the wit to turn this situation around, but he could at least give a halfhearted copy of someone who did.

“You forgot to dye your eyebrows again,” he told Reno. “Were you in too much of a hurry to let your subordinate give all the orders?”

He turned his head slightly, just enough to catch the eye of the nearest infantry soldier.

“Stop walking,” he advised. “Or your bosses will be dead and every bone in your bodies will be broken before you hit the floor.”

Reno bristled, but finally seemed to shake off his befuddlement. He snapped the radio off and hung it on his own belt, snapping out his baton and resting it on his shoulder.

“Elena, wait outside,” he ordered. “Everybody else, go with her.”

“What!?” Elena was starting to sound like an angry broken record, pointing at Sephiroth. She tried to grab her radio back from Reno, but he sidestepped her. “That’s a Code Black, Reno! Did you not listen to a word Tseng said in the briefing?”

“He was being figurative,” Reno waved her off, gesturing vaguely toward where Masamune was dangerously level with the throats of the two soldiers. “Does that look like he really means it? Stand down, guys.”

Elena was furious. She lunged at Reno, yanking the radio back, and stormed past Renaud out of the church. Hesitantly, the two infantry soldiers followed her. Renaud looked to Reno, who nodded, then left and closed the door behind them.

“You can’t dye eyebrows this color!” he seethed. “I’m not fucking up these baby blues with fumes or accidental chemical spills. Apology accepted, by the way, for having me out of bed and down here at the ass crack of dawn, but now you have newbie calling in a Code Black!”

Sephiroth flicked away Masamune, and Aerith took a few steps closer.

“What’s a Code Black?”

“It means he pulled a weapon on a Shinra operative,” Reno replied. “And that this search is now officially a kill-on-sight operation. Man, I don’t know what the hell you did to have everyone acting like long-tailed cats in a room full of rocking chairs, but you better get the hell out of Midgar now. They’ve had weapons and materia in development specifically to kill you for years, and now they’ll be rolling it out.”

Sephiroth wanted to be surprised, but he wasn’t. Genesis was right, it seemed, as he often was. No amount of obedience would secure his future, Shinra was already prepared to destroy him at a whim and had been for a very long time. The revelation shouldn’t have been as nauseating as it was.

“Don’t worry, I’m already on my way out,” Sephiroth murmured, pushing away from the column he leaned against. “Thank you for the heads up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Reno grumbled. “Take Zack’s little flower girl with you, Hojo’s been itching to get his hands on her ever since he found out he wasn’t around to protect her anymore. I gotta go train this damn new kid how to not be such a friggin’ suck up.”

Sephiroth looked to Aerith, who suddenly grabbed his hand.

“This way,” she said. “There’s a back door. We need to disappear before anyone comes back in.”

He didn’t fight her. Any hesitation at this point would endanger her further, and he wouldn’t do that to Zack.

“And hey!” Reno called after them as they threw open the back door, slipping out into the waking murmur of the Sector 5 slums. “I know you didn’t think of that insult yourself! Tell your flying monkey my hair costs more than his ugly leather coat!”

The door closed behind them, cutting off whatever profanity probably followed that statement.

This was not optimal. Sephiroth’s humor had always been a bit awkward, but clearly he did not have the charm to talk like his friends and get the same response they would. If Angeal pulled his sword on soldiers, the Turks would have laughed him off, and from Genesis it was practically expected.

But coming from him? The alien monster who only looked human? There was no room for debate and no grace given.

Aerith pulled him along through alleys and unpaved roads, weaving through a settlement completely unfamiliar to him, until he abruptly dragged her to a stop. The motorcycles lined up outside the bar were various makes and models, but the only thing Sephiroth cared about was the fact they clearly worked. He went down the line, digging through bags and flipping open compartments until he found one with keys, grabbing the helmet off one and offering it to Aerith.

She paused to pull the ribbon from her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders in a way that wouldn’t hinder the helmet. He climbed on first, waiting until she was finished, but as he started the bike up he felt a pull on his head.

“Sorry,” Aerith smiled, giving one last tug to tighten the ribbon around the low ponytail she pulled his hair into. “I thought you needed it more than me.”

He nodded in appreciation. As soon as he was certain she was holding on tight, he took off.

Aerith directed him by lightly slapping his thighs, easier to do without fully letting him go than pointing and more efficient than shouts he might not hear. Left, left, right, straight, until they hit an on ramp that veered up steeply and joined in the traffic of the plate. As soon as he was on more navigable ground, he coaxed the bike up to top speed.

Horns blared occasionally as he split lanes, taking drivers by surprise, but he was past them in an instant as he wove through traffic. The number of cars lessened rapidly as they approached the city exit, until only they and a few other vehicles were left speeding along toward the exit toll. Sephiroth started to change his lane, but stopped as another vehicle surged past.

For an instant he saw it clear as day. Another motorcycle nearly cutting him off, followed by a light blue truck going too fast and carrying a handful of people. One of them looked out the window as it passed, catching his eye and holding it for an instant.

He could have sworn it was Aerith.

Then a box truck sped past, ripping through where he was sure the truck was, and the strange illusion was gone.

Sephiroth glanced down at the arms wrapped around him, as if to reassure himself she was really there and couldn’t possibly be anywhere else. He shouldn’t have even needed to look, her grip on him was commendable. He returned his eyes to the road, now changing lanes to go through an open toll, only to find it blocked.

Hojo stood there, arms crossed, here to collect his weapon.

Sephiroth banked and braked, summoning Masamune and slamming it into the ground to drag the speeding bike to a halt. Aerith screamed as they tilted, but he leveraged the sparking sword to keep them upright as they slowed. Their stop was sudden and harsh, leaving a trail of gouged, cracked asphalt in their wake.

Sephiroth righted the bike, eyes darting left and right in search, but there was nobody here. Nobody else was leaving Midgar at this early hour, and Hojo was nowhere to be seen.

“Sorry,” he called to Aerith over the sound of the bike revving again. “I thought I saw something in the road.” His heart was going a mile a minute as he looked around one more time, every fiber of his being certain that a trap would be sprung any second. But nothing happened as they rolled through the unblocked toll, and nobody stopped them as they reached the open road.

[littleredpencil]

Chapter Four: Crossroad

Warnings, summary, and notes here

“This isn’t a good idea.”

If Genesis had to bet money on what Angeal was going to say every time he opened his mouth, he’d win more often than not if he bet on that phrase. He couldn’t be faced with those words more often if they were tattooed on the inside of his eyelids.

“My life isn’t a good idea,” he murmured, watching the elevator numbers change. “You don’t see me whining at any of my parents about it.”

“You’ve made it very clear to every adult in your life how you feel about Project G,” Angeal reminded him.

“You don’t see me whining at any of my parents about it right now,” Genesis corrected. He held out a hand, finger hovering over the button labeled STOP. “You can go back if you want, I’m not strongarming you into anything. Just say the word and you can walk away.”

Angeal crossed his arms but said nothing. Genesis let his hand fall away from the console.

Of course, Genesis didn’t expect Angeal to walk away. If anything, Ange seemed to be vibrating into a higher plane in anticipation of what was coming, as if Genesis was about to open a door that would finally let years of his own fantasies flood out. As much as he loved everything about his best friend, Angeal’s tendency to bite his tongue and be a good little soldier was borderline exhausting.

Where would he be in life if he didn’t have Genesis to nudge him into doing things he secretly wanted to do anyway? Dead in a ditch somewhere, probably.

The elevator stopped on the Research floor. The door slid open to reveal a quiet lobby, still empty of any staff. It was only three o’clock in the morning though, he expected as much.

The whole place was drab and sterile, and Genesis hated coming here. Hollander’s offices and lab down the hall were a little bit better, which was only to be expected of a man who wore sandals to work, but everything still somehow always smelled like mako and sadness. Finding Sephiroth’s…quarters…hadn’t been difficult the first time, even without initially knowing where they were. There was only one hallway Genesis was never allowed to go down, and the metal plate on the door clearly said “S-0: Sephiroth.”

As they approached it now, Genesis swore. The lock he’d so neatly ripped off was back in place, albeit bent out of shape, and the door was returned properly to its hinges.

Of course the man would repair his own prison, that was a completely sane and normal thing to do and why wouldn’t he. Genesis stormed over and gave the door a good, hard jiggle, pleased to find it still unlocked and easy to pull open. It took his eyes a second to adjust, but Sephiroth was easy to spot in the cramped little space. He was on the floor doing push-ups.

Why wouldn’t he be? Genesis wondered. Sephiroth, the golden child, the highest standard of SOLDIER, was a perfectly performing piece of machinery in every conceivable way. Of course he’s so superior he maintains himself to standard even in captivity.

Genesis crossed his arms and absently tapped his foot as Sephiroth let out a huff and got to his feet. He wore nothing but thin patient scrubs, but still managed to be annoyingly elegant as he patiently waited for the new arrivals to speak.

No visible irritation, no demands to know what they were doing here again. Genesis always thought Sephiroth was indifferent to people crowding him, but apparently he just had no concept of his own personal space.

“Where are your things?” Genesis asked, eying the tiny room again. The air drifting out smelled faintly of roses, but was barely-cycled and stuffy. There was no storage, no decoration, literally nothing in the goddessdamned closet.

“I don’t have ‘things,’” Sephiroth replied.

“Clothes?” Genesis prodded. “Books? Toothbrush?”

“I’m issued fresh clothes after showers, I get a uniform when I’m allowed out. I read in the library.”

Genesis took a deep breath through his nose, centered by the hand Angeal put on his shoulder. He was being very well-behaved about this, he felt, since what he wanted to do right now was slap this insufferable man across the face.

There was no emotion when Sephiroth gave his answers, like he was stating well-known facts instead of giving jaw-dropping revelations. Like this was all standard, and he was just a voluntary participant rather than a victim. It was warring with Genesis’ underlying wrath, his helpless need to curse and rage and punish someone else over his inability to bring Zack and Cloud back.

Sephiroth was the perfect target for blame, because he was so infuriatingly untouchable. His calm, patient stare while Genesis laid responsibility for every crime known to man at his feet only stoked the fire hotter. It let him be angry and irrational, and held back the creeping feelings of grief.

But this truth brought the gears of his anger to a sudden, grinding halt. It was still there, slowly building steam until it could explode with enough force and menace to drastically raise Shinra’s property insurance rates, but he couldn’t in good conscience continue making his unshakeable friend the target.

Angeal stepped quickly out of Genesis’ way as he stalked down the hall, ripping open other doors. There were smaller labs and an exam room, some storage, and finally what appeared to be Sephiroth’s armory. Seph wasn’t exactly an average-sized man who could be shopped for off the rack, it was no surprise there would be a neatly-hung row of clean scrubs and SOLDIER uniforms ready and waiting for use.

No shirts, Genesis noted. He’d never asked about that, assuming it was a personal choice, but now he wondered if there weren’t any because Seph refused to wear them or because they simply didn’t issue him any.

Two pairs of uniform pants went into a duffel bag, along with the heavy belt and boots. Two sets of the scrubs for now, because Sephiroth couldn’t sleep in leather forever no matter how often he insisted it didn’t bother him. Some boxers and socks, at least they gave him that, but there was nothing else available. Genesis grabbed the coat and pauldrons off the wall and stalked back down to the open “bedroom” door.

“Get dressed,” he commanded, throwing the duffel bag at Sephiroth’s feet. “We’re leaving.”

Sephiroth looked down at the bag, but made no move to pick it up.

“I can leave once someone comes down to sign off on deployment.”

Genesis took another breath. Violence, while not the answer, was beginning to feel like a very strong hint.

“You’re not going on deployment,” he clarified. “We’re leaving Shinra. Tonight. Now.”

“No.”

Sephiroth’s simple answer held nothing readable in it. One syllable, a calm delivery, and no change to his otherwise serene expression. But the telltale signs were there, for someone who could read them, like the slight dilation of his eyes and the faint uptick of his heart rate.

“They can’t stop you,” Genesis said. “Nobody’s here. By the time they know you’re gone, we can be on a boat already leaving Junon.”

“No.”

Still cool, still calm, but Sephiroth took a step back this time. Like he was scared to leave this room, or scared to even think about it. The most powerful SOLDIER on Gaia was afraid of what would happen to him if he stepped over his threshold without permission. This was exactly what Genesis had always craved to see, the great hero Sephiroth revealing a weakness, but not like this.

Genesis looked to Angeal for help, but Angeal was floundering himself. He was here to carry their bags and offer moral support, Sephiroth only ever rarely listened to him in passing.

“All right. Let me give you some incentive, then,” Genesis suggested.

He pulled out his rapier and walked out into the lab, running it through the first piece of machinery he reached. He had no idea what any of it did, if anything was currently running, and he didn’t care. He made an absolute wreck of everything within ten feet, leaving a sparking, smoking pile of very expensive metal and wires.

“You have two choices,” Genesis called, returning to the two stunned SOLDIERs. Now he grabbed the door to Sephiroth’s room, ripping it off its hinges in a manner unmistakably done from the inside. “One, you walk out that door and we leave. Or two, the bastards come into work in a few hours and find you sitting in the rubble of what they’ll assume you did. And I’m certainly not taking any of the well-deserved blame.”

Surely that would get him moving, Genesis was sure. Get out of town or face punishment for something he didn’t do, it was a simple choice. But bewildered as Sephiroth looked, he still didn’t touch the duffel bag. He took another step back, retreating further into the darkness of the cramped little cell.

It sparked Genesis’ anger again.

“When I’m asked, though, I’ll make sure they know this wasn’t your fault.” He raised his rapier and pointed it at Angeal. “I’ll make it very clear that First Class Hewley did it.”

Angeal scoffed and raised his eyebrows, knowing as well as Genesis did that he’d never do that to his friend. He wouldn’t let Seph take the blame, either, to be honest. Genesis was a man who liked to take credit for everything he did, fame and infamy were equal halves of the same coin.

To the untrained eye, there was no change, but mako-enhanced ones could see it. So faint it was easily missed, half-hidden in the shadows of the cell.

Sephiroth was trembling.

Not at the thought of being absurdly punished for something he didn’t do, or even framed in the first place. Not at the thought of something worse than being locked in a closet with no light for days. No, the retribution for what occurred here would be so severe, so agonizing, he was terrified of it happening to Angeal.

 Angeal started to step forward, to offer some kind of comfort, but Genesis raised his rapier higher to block him from moving. He kept Sephiroth’s gaze, waiting to see who would blink first, which one of them was more scared of what would happen if the other won.

Sephiroth blinked first.

He stepped forward and wordlessly stripped down, revealing the harness Genesis couldn’t find under his scrub shirt. He dressed quickly, with the efficiency one would expect from a man of his military experience, then stood at the threshold of his room. Genesis waited, still not backing down, until Sephiroth stepped out into the hallway, refusing to meet his gaze.

Finally, Genesis lowered his rapier. He jerked his head toward the elevator, steering Sephiroth toward it while Angeal quickly followed. Nobody said another word until they were in it and on the way down.

“That was quite dramatic,” Angeal murmured.

“And necessary,” Genesis waved him off. “I’ve been dying for a reason to ditch this shithole, I’m not leaving my excuse behind.”

The first floor lobby was empty this time of night, with nobody to even notice as they strolled to the front door. Genesis reached it first, throwing it open and holding it for Angeal to carry out their bags.

They were so close. So close. But Sephiroth stopped a few feet shy of the door.

“Seph,” Genesis could feel what little patience he’d managed to rein in starting to dissipate again. “You can’t stay here. You’re not stupid, you’ve noticed the same things we did. Project G and Project S are winding down. Two Seconds died on your watch and we’re not at war with anyone, our usefulness is starting to outstrip our risk. Your good behavior won’t save you…I’m not letting you spend the next few years locked up being a good little boy only to be euthanized anyway. Walk, or I’ll make you.”

Sephiroth hesitated another moment, then startled them by shedding his coat. He gingerly gripped the straps of his harness, took a breath, and tore it off. Something heavy attached to the back of it hit the floor with a loud “thunk” as it fell, a round disk that had been settled flush against Sephiroth’s back.

“Remotely activated tracker,” he murmured in response to Genesis unspoken question as he pulled his coat back on. “If I step off the property while it’s on, I get a heavy duty tranquilizer and it transmits my location for pick up.”

Genesis stared at the crumpled harness lying in the lobby. Sephiroth wore that damn thing everywhere they went as part of his uniform, he never imagined it was a very real leash.

But time was of the essence, and he shook it off. Grabbing two of the bags from Angeal, he shoved Sephiroth’s into his hands.

“We split up here,” Angeal explained. “Even in the dark, the three of us together are going to stand out. We regroup at the inn at Kalm, head to Junon, then figure out what to do once we’ve got some ocean between us and here.”

“Seph.” Genesis snapped his fingers in front of Sephiroth’s face. “Do not come back here, do you understand me? You pretend this is Wutai and that Shinra is its army, and that you have orders to evacuate. If you get caught, so do we when we try to come get you. So don’t.” Sephiroth took a deep breath, but nodded in understanding. It was the first sign of him finally waking up since he and Angeal got back here early. And sure, it was out of concern for them, not himself, but honestly, Genesis would take it.

[littleredpencil]

Yeah, I'm not editing all that like I thought I was. Sorry. 😭

I won't be using these graphics going forward, because I'm not posting these to Tumblr.

I was going to edit these fics and put them up chapter by chapter, but there's over 1 million words in this series and honestly, I ain't got time for that.

All five are being posted on AO3, as-is, and can be read there.

VLD: Bond is available here on AO3.

[littleredpencil]

I won't be using these graphics going forward, because I'm not posting these to Tumblr.

I was going to edit these fics and put them up chapter by chapter, but there's over 1 million words in this series and honestly, I ain't got time for that.

All five are being posted on AO3, as-is, and can be read there.

VLD: Bond is available here on AO3.

[littleredpencil]

Chapter Three: Dead Man Walking

Warnings, summary, and notes here

Most people didn’t recognize Kunsel Renaud without his helmet, and he was happy to continue that tradition. There were very few people in Midgar—or beyond—who could look at the blond-haired, green-eyed, baby-faced 23-year-old and identify him as a SOLDIER Second Class. Some people who were in the know might recognize his eye halo if they got close enough, but for the most part he skated through his downtime unknown.

Traveling through the Sector 5 slums this way was easier, especially since the fall of the Sector 7 plate. Kunsel was never happier to be on leave than upon coming back to that, and to the insider knowledge that Shinra dropped the damn thing. All in all, it was a pretty shitty year to be a SOLDIER.

It was an even shittier year to be as nosy of a SOLDIER as Kunsel was. The thin veneer of benevolence Shinra painted itself over with scratched away far too easily with only the most basic of questions, and Kunsel’s deeper prying was beginning to unravel everything he thought he understood.

The Sector 5 church was a little reprieve, though, an island of peace in a sea of absolute insanity. For five years he’d been coming here in secret, personally letting his friend’s girlfriend know there still wasn’t any news. Aerith Gainsborough was stalwart though, even after Zack’s absence stretched out longer than the two years they were dating.

The one thing Kunsel was never able to bring himself to tell her was that Zack was dead. Tseng was around here often enough keeping an eye on her too, but as far as Kunsel could tell, he never told her either.

So maybe it was an act of penance that Kunsel came here twice a week after Aerith disappeared, hauling the huge, ancient watering can he filled from the nearby river. The flowers were a little wilty these days without her gentle touch, but for the most part he managed to keep them alive and generally still looking like flowers. Once or twice he even took bundles of them out of the city, out to the cliffs overlooking Midgar’s borders, to place them on an unmarked grave where he thought they’d be appreciated.

Someone was sleeping on a pew when he came in today, slumped over in the front just barely within sight. Kunsel ignored him as he made his way to the torn-up spot in the floor, carefully sprinkling water over the surprisingly damp dirt. The flowers wouldn’t survive here all by themselves, but the river did feed ground water in this area that helped keep some of the soil fertile.

He paid no mind to the unexpected guest in the pews, it wasn’t the first time somebody took refuge in here to sleep off a night of drinking or hide out from problems. And honestly, Kunsel wouldn’t have bothered to look twice if he didn’t spot the uniform of a SOLDIER First Class out of the corner of his eye.

His second look was followed by a third, then a fourth. He put the watering can down and walked outside, rubbing his eyes until all he saw were stars, then came back inside for a fifth look. No number of Looks seemed to be enough to counter the first one. Kunsel kicked one booted foot. The SOLDIER snored in response.

There wasn’t much water left in the can, but it was enough to produce a pretty insistent downpour onto the sleeping face, turning the snores into choked sputters that sounded kind of like duck quacks. A spiky-haired head finally popped up, dark circles under tired eyes that took a moment to focus. Kunsel noted the copious amounts of dried blood on both the SOLDIER uniform and the familiar Buster sword; healing took a lot of energy, no wonder he was tired.

“Kunsel?” Zack blinked, bleariness giving way to recognition. “Kunsel!”

“You,” Kunsel pointed to Zack, indicating all of him from head to foot, “are a dead man.”

Zack’s tired excitement shifted to confusion.

“What did I do?”

“Oh, no, not in a personal sense,” Kunsel assured him. “Generally speaking. I buried your corpse a month ago.”

 Zack squinted at him. Kunsel squinted back. There was no explanation forthcoming though, which led Kunsel to think Zack didn’t believe him.

“I had to drag you a mile, so I know it was you,” Kunsel added. He dipped his hand into what little water was left in the can and flicked it at Zack’s face. “Does that burn? Can you move into the sunlight there? Let me see your teeth.”

Zack winced, water swiping dried blood into a horrifying smear as he wiped his face with one hand. He got up from the pew though, and gingerly moved over to the rays of golden sunlight leaking through the ceiling. He looked back at Kunsel, who gave him an encouraging thumbs up, and carefully stepped into the light with his eyes squeezed shut.

“Okay, great,” Zack announced after a moment, after he didn’t burst into flames. “I don’t think I’m undead.”

“Well, you’re still regular dead,” Kunsel insisted. “You got mowed down out on the cliffs last month. Reno and Rude reported it, Tseng slipped me the coordinates so I could get to you before Hojo did. Cloud Strife was spotted with your sword.”

“Cloud?” Zack whipped around to look at him. “You saw him?”

“Me? No,” Kunsel corrected. “The Turks did, though. Last I heard, him and a few other wack-a-doos were hunting down Sephiroth. Who’s also dead but not dead, now that I think of it. We’re 0 for 2 on putting down First Classes.”

Zack’s face scrunched up in that frown he got when he was trying really hard to think. He looked at the sword on the ground for a long moment, then back to Kunsel.

“Can you take me out to the cliffs?” He asked. “I need to look at something.”

* * * * *

Three hours later, Zack was standing with his hands on his hips, looking down into a hole.

“Huh,” he said. “Yeah, that sure looks like me.”

Midgar had all but drained the mako from most of the surrounding area, even this far out, and soil that would have once been rich in bacteria was now arid and dead. The corpse now being lightly prodded by Kunsel with a shovel was definitely at least a month gone, but not as decayed as it should be.

“It’s you,” Kunsel insisted. “Look, it’s even got your scars.”

He turned the head a bit with the shovel, scraping some dirt away with the edge to show the pale “X.”

“Well, what am I doing in there if I’m standing up here?” Zack reasoned. “You said the Turks reported I was gunned down by the army?”

“Shot more full of lead than Sector 3’s pipes,” Kunsel replied. “Down there.”

He lifted the shovel from the grave and moved to the edge of the cliff, gesturing down to a lower one about half a mile out. Zack came over to look, sucking in a breath as he picked out a familiar rock outcropping.

“That’s definitely where we were caught,” Zack mused. “I hid Cloud behind those rocks while I fought the army.”

“Fought and lost.”

Zack and Kunsel spun around, Zack brandishing his sword and Kunsel the shovel. Tseng didn’t look impressed with either one of them, or very happy to be out here when he was visibly injured.

“Your body was identified by both Reno and Rude,” Tseng added. “And further identified by Kunsel. So how are you here, Zack?”

Zack didn’t want to say Tseng looked old, but he certainly looked tired. The last five years did wonders for his looks but must’ve been hell on everything else, he did not envy any of the Turks.

“Would you believe I won the fight against the army, made it into Midgar with Cloud, ran into Sephiroth, got blasted into some weird, in-between space where I had to fight him, then woke up in a foreign dimension where I apparently died?”

“No,” Tseng and Kunsel replied in unison.

“Well, then, I don’t know what to tell you,” Zack threw up his hands in surrender. “Because that’s what happened.”

Tseng pursed his lips and came closer. He was leaning on a cane and had one arm hidden in his suit jacket, there was no way he got up here himself. Which meant the other Turks were nearby. Zack didn’t want to fight them, but if they were going to turn him in…

“I don’t pretend to know all the workings of the universe,” Tseng said, looking down in to the grave. “But what’s clear is that Zack Fair was killed one month ago and is no longer the Turks’ problem. I’ve seen many strange things since then, but if the universes have seen fit to collide and dump another one into our laps, that has nothing to do with me.”

He stepped back, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a stack of letters that must have been settled into the crook of his bad arm. Zack caught them sloppily when they were tossed, surprised to see Aerith’s handwriting addressing the topmost envelope.

“Aerith left Midgar with Cloud Strife and several members of the eco-terrorist group AVALANCHE,” Tseng said. “Their last known whereabouts were a Cetra temple north of the Meridian Ocean, but the plane that’s been ferrying them around was recently spotted in Wutai. I’m not at liberty to share further classified information with a dead man, but I’m sure Kunsel probably knows all my intel before I even get it.”

He unclipped the sunglasses from the front of his shirt and slid them into place, turning away from the grave and leaning heavily on his cane as he walked away.

“Shinra is not a friendly place,” he called back. “Not for you, not for Cloud, not for Aerith. Whatever plans you make, they should probably involve leaving Midgar and not coming back.”

Zack watched him go, and a few minutes after he disappeared around the curve his ears picked up the faint sound of one of the stealthier military vehicles. He turned back to Kunsel, heaving a tired sigh.

“I really hate to do this, but you’re the only help I’ve got,” he said. “Can I interest you in a bit of minor treason?”

“That depends on the treason, I think.”

“I need to find Cloud and Aerith,” Zack said. “But Cloud was really sick when he was with me. I’m talking practically comatose for a full year, Kunz. Before I do anything, I need to find out what they actually did to him in case it affects him again. And I need to find out if it will have any long-term effects on me.”

Kunsel nodded, shoveling a pile of dirt down into the semi-open grave.

“You need fresh clothes, transportation, and access to the bank account nobody closed because you being dead is mostly a secret,” he deduced. “And I’m guessing you want me to pull out anything of yours that’s still in storage that might be of use. Where are you going?”

“Nibelheim,” Zack replied. “That’s where Seph lost his shit, and that’s where Cloud and I were kept for four years. They dumped Jenova cells into both of us, the same DNA they built Sephiroth out of, I need to see if there’s any records about what that did to us. Then I need to find Cloud and make sure he’s really okay. After that…”

He scratched the back of his head, trying to figure out what would reasonably come after that. “I dunno, man. I guess we’ll take a vote at that point and decide what to do then.”

[littleredpencil]

Chapter Two: Parting Ways

Warnings, summary, and notes here.

Warm sunlight flooded through the open window, joining the gentle breeze that brought inside the bubbling sounds of the nearby brook. Music played somewhere off in the distance, interspersed with the daily sounds of Wutain life.

Wutai was a shadow of its former self after the war, nothing like the grand nation Cloud heard about in the stories from his childhood. As a kid, he used to wield make believe swords made from sticks and challenge nonexistent foreign soldiers, imagining himself as a great hero of the civilized world.

He had to admit he was stupid as a kid. The only crime Wutai committed was to resist Shinra’s expansion into their land, and to refuse the building of reactors. Propaganda was one hell of a drug, though, especially for an awkward, backwater kid who wasn’t well-liked in his small town.

“Nobody is happy about it, Tifa.”

Barrett’s voice drifted over the sounds of someone hammering in the distance. Cloud watched the dust motes dancing in the sun, around where he sat on the inn room floor. He’d been awake for a while now, but didn’t bother to get up or clear away the mat and cushions from his sleep. Holding up the empty, glass-like bubble of Aerith’s strange materia, he watched the sun glint off the crystalline surface.

“We’ve just come so far.” Tifa was crying, he could hear it in her voice. “Been through so much. I know it’s the right thing to do now, but it feels wrong.”

The others were talking about him. Again. About his instability, about him being a danger. There was a long discussion about him last night after they thought he was asleep, about what really happened with Sephiroth outside the Cetra temple. Half of them wanted to believe Sephiroth beat the hell out of him and took the black materia, half of them were sure he wouldn't still be alive if that was the case. If only that half knew just how right they were, that Cloud happily handed the black materia over to his tormentor like an abused dog desperate for the tiniest shred of praise.

Cloud shuddered, forcing his thoughts back to the empty materia in his hand. He didn't want to remember the almost debilitating craving to obey, or the mind-numbing bliss at Sephiroth's approving smile.

What else would he have done, if Aerith's fall didn't snap him out of it? What else would he do next time, just to feel the high of that smile? Something was broken in him, something he couldn't control, and even he knew he couldn't be trusted.

“It wasn't your fault,” Aerith assured him, tilting her head to watch the sun dance through the sphere. “You're strong, Cloud. You know what his claws feel like now, you'll fight them off next time they dig into you.”

“Will I, though?” Cloud wondered. He tossed the materia into the air, back and forth between his hands. “I don't know if I'm the kind of strong I need to be. You didn't feel it, Aerith, you weren't in my head with us. All that man needs to do is whistle and I'll probably come running.”

“You don't know that.”

“I don't know that I won't,” he countered. “I could hurt one of them. Again, even. Tifa didn't just fall into the lifestream, I tried to run her through and she lost her footing when she dodged.”

“...oh.”

She sounded disappointed. With him? With the situation? He didn't know.

“He told me she wasn't real, and I believed him over her,” Cloud murmured. “And I can’t promise I won’t do it again.”

He tossed the materia high, almost brushing the ceiling, and caught it neatly when it fell again.

“I don’t even know Tifa.”

It fell out of his mouth before he could stop it, and even he was surprised at how sad it sounded. But it was the truth, wasn’t it?

“We weren’t childhood friends,” he admitted. “Tifa was popular, everyone liked her. I was the out-of-wedlock son of a single mother in a small town. We didn’t talk until her mother died and she started clinging to any strange belief she could to cope. Then it was okay to talk to the Weird Kid. Preferrable, probably, because I wasn’t going to mock her. I left Nibelheim a little after that.”

He threw the materia into the air.

“Hell, I didn’t even talk to her when I came back with Sephiroth.”

The materia fell into his hand with the force of a bullet, the smack of skin against solidified mako ringing out in the room like a gunshot. Cloud’s ears rang with the weight of those words; he froze, eyes losing focus as his brain jumped back years, to the day he stood in front of the Nibelheim gate as a soldier for Shinra.

“I didn’t even talk to her?” he repeated.

“Don’t,” Aerith warned. “Not yet. Not now.”

“He’s not even really who he says he is,” Tifa’s voice came again, and Cloud’s eyes snapped over to the door.

Aerith leaned over in front of him as if to block the view, but he surged to his feet and sidestepped her.

“He wasn’t in Nibelheim five years ago,” Tifa said. “Sephiroth came, but he brought a few infantry and a SOLDIER named Zack Fair.”

Zack Fair. Zack Fair. Cloud knew he was in Nibelheim, to this day he couldn’t imagine how he’d forgotten, and clearly Tifa knew it too.

“What does she mean I wasn’t there?” Cloud whispered, turning away from the door to look at Aerith. “I was there with Zack, I know I was. Why does her story keep changing?”

“Cloud, come sit back down,” Aerith requested, patting the mat next to her. “You’re not ready for this right now, not after what you just went through. You need to relax, calm down, and keep everyone together. You can beat Sephiroth, but you need their help…you need to show them you can be trusted.”

“Me?” Cloud repeated. “Show that I can be trusted?”

She’s been lying to you, Sephiroth’s voice was soft and gentle, almost a whisper in his ear.

“She’s been lying to me!”

I tried to warn you, I tried to protect you, Sephiroth was velvet, draping over jagged glass to save him from the sting. You’re just an idea to her, a ghost of her home. She doesn’t care what you go through as long as you stay her anchor.

 Cloud wanted to ignore him, to shake him off, but the floor was dropping out from under him and he couldn’t remain steady. There was so much going on in his head right now, memories of Zack and their time in Midgar desperately trying to simmer to the surface. He wanted to remember, he tried to, but everything abruptly spiraled into a single point of sound as the bedroom door clicked open.

The world was quiet again, nothing else but the soft, distant music and the sound of the brook.

Tifa stepped into the room, conspicuously leaving the door open and staying close to the doorway. Barrett was leaning against the wall outside, and he could see the others in the room across the hall.

“Cloud.” Tifa started to take a step toward him, but it faltered when he met her gaze and said nothing. “We need to talk.”

He glanced at Barrett, then through both open doors to where the others were trying not to be seen listening.

“Talk, then.”

She looked down at her feet, and he could swear she edged back a little. Like she was preparing for him to take a swing at her or something.

“We’re leaving.” He thought she was going to choke on the words. “Without you. We need to go our separate ways.”

“No, no,” Aerith insisted, getting to her feet. “You can’t split up! This isn’t the time! Everyone needs to stay together. Tell her, Cloud!”

Cloud kept his eyes on Tifa, really looking at her. He was no longer sure what the real truth was, but he knew this woman was hiding it from him. Why, he couldn’t fathom.

You said it yourself, Sephiroth purred. You don’t even know her, she barely knows you. Helping you is not her priority, leaning on you is.

It was true. Cloud said it himself only a minute ago, they’d never been childhood friends. It was nice to tell himself that for a while because he had to admit, he had a crush on her for a long time as a kid, but although she was one of the nicer girls in town they never really hung out. He didn’t blame her for that, it was more his doing than hers, but at this point all they really had in common was being born in the same place and having a few conversations before he left for Midgar.

Still, even if he didn’t owe anyone kindness, he could show her some. He could agree their individual situations had outgrown each other’s company and wish her well on her way.

But he went for the jugular instead.

“Good.” She flinched when he answered. “I wouldn’t have been stuck with you all this long if you’d just paid me what you owed and let me leave in the beginning.”

She didn’t deserve that and he knew it, but there was nobody else. He dug the teeth of his frustrations into the person who stood in front of him, while the rest of them cowered outside the door like frightened children.

“I wouldn’t suggest any of you go after Sephiroth from here on out, though,” he warned, grabbing his bag and Buster sword and pushing past her into the hall. “You’re going to die if you do.”

Tifa didn’t look at him as he passed, but Barrett was suddenly in front of him with his gun pressed against Cloud’s head.

“You little asshole—!”

The sentiment wasn’t a new one coming from Barrett, though it hadn’t surfaced in a while. Unfortunately, as soon as he raised his weapon he found Cloud’s sword at his throat.

“Stay mad, if it makes leaving easier,” Cloud murmured. “But stay back.”

Barrett held his gun for a second more, then let out a muttered curse and backed away. Cloud didn’t spare a glance into the other room as he walked away, or look at Aerith as she ran to catch up with him.

“Cloud, you can’t do this!”

“I’m not doing anything,” Cloud defended. “You heard them, they’re going their own way.”

“But you need their help!” she insisted. “Nobody can fight Sephiroth on their own, not even you!”

“Then I guess the world’s doomed, Aerith, I don’t know what to tell you,” Cloud threw up his hands in frustration, stepping out of the inn and into the buzzing Wutai street.

There were a lot of tourists here, so he really didn’t stand out. Even so, the more distance he could put between this place—and the others—the better.

“Where are you going?” Aerith followed him as he stalked down the street. “You need to go back there and smooth things over! Please, Cloud!”

“Go back and stay with the others,” Cloud waved her off. “Wherever I go, it isn’t going to be safe. You need to stay with them.”

Someone caught his waving arm, and Cloud very nearly spun around to punch them in the face. He was surprised to find Vincent, of all people, looming over him in that quiet, intense way of his. Red eyes flicked to the crowd around them and Cloud, now shaken from his anger, looked around too.

Aerith was already gone.

“If you don’t yet know where you’re going,” Vincent let him go, taking a respectful step back. “Then I have a suggestion.”

“Do you?”

Vincent nodded and stepped past him, clearly expecting Cloud to follow.

“Yes,” he replied. “Nibelheim. And I’ll be going with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Why?” Cloud hurried after him in spite of himself, mildly annoyed at the ground-eating strides Vincent could make with his height. “And also, why?”

“Nibelheim is where your memory fails you, correct?” Vincent asked. “And Nibelheim is where your strange link with Sephiroth begins. It only seems natural that would be the place to start.”

���And you’re coming with me…why?”

Vincent glanced down at him and seemed to finally realize how fast he was going. He slowed down, with visible effort. “Because I am going after Sephiroth, one way or another,” he said. “And you’re the only known link to him, even if I don’t yet understand how.”

[littleredpencil]

Chapter One: Midnight Meeting

Warnings, summary, and notes here.

Sephiroth stared at the far wall of the room, eyes unbothered by the distinct lack of light. Cat-like pupils expanded, letting the few lonely photons nearby bounce off his tapetum lucidum, giving him a perfect view of the drab stretch of gray metal and the similarly blank walls it was attached to. It was just about 2345, according to the seconds he counted since the door closed, and he was very good at counting seconds.

He had two more days’ worth of seconds to count before the door would open again. It wouldn’t open out of any concern for the asset stowed safely inside, though. Sephiroth couldn’t stomach eating right now, and the department wouldn’t waste money or energy on providing food he wouldn’t touch. The rest of SOLDIER was busy with annual entry testing, and Shinra wouldn’t send him out on any missions unless there was someone else available to reel him back in.

No, the door wouldn’t open until SOLDIERS First Class Angeal Hewley and Genesis Rhapsodos returned from their unenviable errands. When their leave was over they’d be back to regular training, and Sephiroth would be allowed out to spar them in the VR room.

He might also be allowed to wander the upper floors of the building again, once they were here. Shinra was wary about letting him roam when they didn’t have Angeal or Genesis to call, which even Sephiroth had to admit was odd, since he’d never been a terribly energetic personality to deal with.

It was now 2347. There was no clock in the room, but he was confident in his count.

He wondered how Angeal and Genesis were handling their unpleasant duties. The two recently-deceased SOLDIERs Second Class were their mentees after all, even if Sephiroth had been allowed to play the fifth wheel long enough to call them friends.

Zack Fair and Cloud Strife were two of the most promising SOLDIERs Sephiroth saw come through Shinra in his lifetime, if one didn’t include their genetically modified mentors. Personality-wise, Zack’s endless confidence and bottomless cheer balanced Angeal’s stalwart sincerity nicely, and Cloud’s sweet demeanor often helped blunt some of the edges of Genesis’ spice. Physically, they were powerhouses. Fast to learn and faster to put into practice, they were all but assured First Class once they put in the required time.

If they’d lived to put in the required time.

It should be you.

The voice in his head was gentle, almost a caress, filled with something that might be sympathy. Truth be told, Sephiroth still wasn’t great at sifting through what emotions felt like because he was rarely allowed to feel them, and without any visual cues he could only hazard a guess.

You should be the one visiting their families, offering comfort. Why do they get the honor of escorting fallen comrades to their final resting places?

It was now 2350. The voice was easily ignored in favor of his counting, as it had been ever since Angeal returned from investigating the Nibelheim reactor. That was five years ago, when Cloud was still a Third Class and Zack had only just made Second. Sephiroth had heard the voice in his dreams ever since he was young, warm and comforting in his darker hours, only for Angeal to return to Midgar with photos of a pod-bound creature and notebooks filled with information on the Jenova Project.

In hindsight, that was probably when he stopped fighting. Certainly Angeal’s intentions in smuggling him the truth were noble, but all it really did was confirm what Sephiroth fought so hard all his life to prove wrong: he wasn’t human. He was a lab specimen created through genetic manipulation, an alien creature wearing the mask of a man.

Sephiroth was wrong, Hojo was right. He didn’t get treated like a human being because he wasn’t one. That he had only good intentions and was practically docile in comparison to his peers meant nothing, his sin was embedded in his very DNA.

The voice fought hard over the years to lure him to Nibelheim, though Sephiroth didn’t know to what end. Maybe when the knowledge was fresh he might have been driven to action, in those first days when his world was shattered and he was falling apart. But five years was more than enough to put himself back together, to rebuild based on this new information and scour away ridiculous human hopes of love and family. Those were the notions of a naïve child, and he was a grown…something. Not a man, he wasn’t the right species for that, but whatever Jenova’s male counterpart might be.

Sephiroth wasn’t certain if Jenova knew what that counterpart was, either. Her siren song continued on with the same promises she’d made him since he was small: love, acceptance, a safe place to hide. She still whispered to him as if he was a child, trying to lure him with the wants of someone small and frightened and alone.

But he was fairly big these days, to the point of almost towering over everyone else, and he’d learned to stop feeling human things like fear. Alone was the only applicable weakness she still preyed on, but even that lost its sting.

Sephiroth would rather die alone in this empty room than go to Nibelheim to meet her. Jenova was a thing that traded in lies, otherwise she’d tell him exactly what she wanted instead of trying to manipulate him from afar. He loathed when people danced around their meanings, it almost always meant they were being dishonest somehow.

It was 0000. The start of a new day.

If it were up to him, the door would remain closed for another week at minimum. Sephiroth, after all, was the reason Angeal and Genesis were accompanying bodies back to hometowns. He should have taken more time to read the reports, shouldn’t have taken them at face value as a mere local disturbance. He should have thought to look back through records for similar incidents, should have recognized the pattern, should have known before the three of them left the building that they were walking into a trap. He should have followed his instincts when they told him something was off, should have sent Zack and Cloud away from the small town until he had more details.

 It was Sephiroth’s fault a Wutai insurgency group infiltrated the Midgar region without being noticed, and his fault the violent end planned specifically for him had caught the other two men.

Two human lives ended, at only twenty-one and twenty-three years old. It was not worth the cost of something like him still being alive, fate was not very good at weighing the value of life.

It was 0004. At 0100 he would need to get up and get some exercise. There was nothing to do in this room besides sit on the cot-like bed and stare at the wall, and he’d been doing so for three days. Regular exercise gave his muscles a stretch, and broke up the monotony. There was enough room for a decent range of motion even in the relatively small space, since there was nothing in here but the bed and a metal toilet in the corner.

It was 0023 when the door rattled, drawing Sephiroth’s gaze. He usually felt nothing when it opened or closed, but the muffled voice on the other side made his hair stand on end.

“Why the hell is it locked from the outside?”

Genesis wasn’t supposed to be here. Not merely in Midgar, but not on this floor. He and Angeal weren’t allowed in this area at all, and there would be hell to pay if Hojo found out.

The lock required a passcode Sephiroth didn’t know, and the sound of it being ripped off the metal raised his alarm further. Sephiroth was on his feet in an instant when it opened, fully in the doorway to block entry, much to the surprise of his unexpected guest. Or, rather, guests. Angeal stood behind Genesis, arms crossed and a frown on his face, clearly having failed at keeping him out of where he didn’t belong.

“You can’t be here,” Sephiroth responded to Genesis’ look of surprise. “Leave the Research floor.”

Genesis gave him an odd look, then looked back at Angeal. Angeal merely shrugged.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” Genesis shook off the lack of greeting, sliding back into his usual confidence. “How am I supposed to wake you up in the middle of the night if you don’t answer when I call?”

“I don’t have it.”

“What do you mean you don’t have it?” For some reason, that irritated Genesis more. “Where the hell is it?”

“Probably locked in a cabinet.”

Genesis narrowed his eyes, and Sephiroth waited patiently for what he knew was coming. This time of night, there was only one reason he’d feel the need to seek the other First out after returning early from a funeral. He’d made damn sure to regularly remind Sephiroth of his failure to protect Cloud, and it had been three days since he’d last torn into him. Grief, of course, but whether he meant all the horrible things he said didn’t really matter in the long run. Sephiroth was well-schooled in shrugging harsh words off.

But Genesis didn’t rant. He caught Sephiroth off guard by suddenly shoving past him, stalking into the room he was not allowed to be in. He stopped short in the middle of the small space, looking first at Sephiroth and then out at Angeal.

“Why are you in a cell?” he spat.

“It’s my quarters.”

“It’s your—” Genesis cut off, giving him another pissed off look he couldn’t read. He looked out into the hall at Angeal again. “Is he shitting me?”

Angeal said nothing to Genesis, but gave a sigh and murmured to Sephiroth, “I tried to keep him from coming here.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my room,” Sephiroth stated. It had four walls, a ceiling, and a floor. It kept the elements out and a decent ambient temperature in, and provided a place to sleep. As a child he’d hated it and dreamed of something more, but as an adult he understood its utility. “It’s worked out just fine for me since I was a kid.”

Genesis, for some reason, was only growing angrier. Sephiroth suspected he’d feel better if he ignored his surroundings and proceeded to call him every slur under the sun, as he’d undoubtedly come here to do. Instead he looked around with clear disgust, poking at the steel cover on the wall opposite the door.

“There’s not even a fucking light,” Genesis grunted. “How does this window open?”

There was no stopping him when he had an itch for something. Sephiroth crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, staying out of his way so he’d hopefully get bored faster and leave sooner.

“It doesn’t anymore,” he replied. “That privilege was revoked after the Hollander incident.”

The punishment was fair. Sephiroth had overstepped countless red lines and rules to give Dr. Hollander access to his own DNA through blood donations. Hojo had been livid, to say the least, upon finding out that his darling Project S was now laid fully bare for his main competitor, but Sephiroth couldn’t bring himself to care. Hollander had used it to research a way to stabilize Genesis and Angeal, and that was all that mattered. That he did it simply to show up Hojo by continuing Project G was unimportant.

Genesis stared at him, and he returned the gaze. When the expected tirade didn’t come, Sephiroth pushed away from the door frame to physically push Genesis out.

“You’re not allowed on the Research floor,” he stated again. “Announce you’re back early and I’ll come to the VR tomorrow so you can yell at me there. They don’t lock the door when you’re here.”

He shut the door in their faces, not that it closed properly anymore. There was no hiding that from Hojo, but maybe he could bargain with him somehow to keep Genesis from getting in trouble for breaking the lock.

Outside, he could hear Genesis fighting Angeal’s attempts to haul him away.

“Did you know about this?” Genesis had no qualms about yelling in the middle of the night. “Did you fucking know?”

“He lives on the Research floor, Gen!” Angeal finally reached his own frustrated limits. “He’s not allowed outside the building unless he’s deployed, and even then not without at least a Second to watch him! Did you think they built a luxury suite in the labs just for him? I didn’t have to know, I can reason enough to infer!”

“It doesn’t make any sense!” Genesis insisted. “We have Jenova cells too, and they give us decent quarters!”

“We also have people outside to advocate for us,” Angeal sighed. “If they locked us in a closet, somebody would actually notice.”

The elevator door opened, and after a brief struggle, closed behind the other two Firsts. The Research floor fell quiet again, and Sephiroth finally relaxed. It was 0034. But he was already up and moving, so he might as well exercise now.

[littleredpencil]

PINNED POST

I know I have other fics awaiting attention, but I'm currently insanely fixated on Final Fantasy VII and the Alien franchise, and locked in on an original trilogy I'm writing. So why fight it. Fuck it, we ball.

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AO3 Link: On Bound and Broken Wings

Type: Canon Divergence - mostly canon-compliant with Ever Crisis, Crisis Core and Remake/Rebirth. Occurs after the end of Rebirth.

Warnings: Probably going to be some graphic violence. Definitely going to be profanity. Abuse, depression, blood, war crimes, pretty much all the standard fare you find in the source material.

Pairings: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife, Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough, more might crop up.

Characters: Aerith Gainsborough, Zack Fair, Cloud Strife, Sephiroth, Genesis Rhapsodos, Angeal Hewley, Vincent Valentine, Kunsel; others in minor cameos

Notes: Sane Sephiroth, trans male Cloud Strife, combining timelines, traumatized people will sometimes be assholes I'm sorry it's true

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Aerith Gainsborough has died many times in many timelines. With every kill, Jenova wears a different face and manipulates different puppets. A game of multi-dimensional chess is underway, forcing this physical manifestation of Holy to sacrifice herself in order to split timelines and move her pieces between them.

Cloud Strife is a broken man with a tenuous grip on reality. Cut off by friends and driven by obsession, he no longer knows who he is, let alone what he's fighting for.

Sephiroth is an experiment and will never be anything more. He isn't human, and the whispers of a creature tucked away in Nibelheim only underscore this reality. The Silver Sword does whatever he's told, nothing more and nothing less, and pushing him into using free will is easier said than done.

Genesis Rhapsodos and Angeal Hewley are willing to throw everything away for him, to cut ties with Shinra in support of the man who saved their lives.

Zack Fair is a SOLDIER First Class and a hero in the making. Steadfast and determined, he's the unstoppable force to anyone's immovable object, and maybe the key to tying everyone else together.

-----

Chapter One: Midnight Meeting Chapter Two: Parting Ways Chapter Three: Dead Man Walking Chapter Four: Crossroads Chapter Five: The First Split Chapter Six: I'm A SOLDIER

[littleredpencil]

Postmortem: Nebula - Ch. 1

Series: The Twilight Saga Pairing: Bella/OC, eventual Bella/Edward

Fic post here for summary and warnings. Also on AO3.

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Chapter 1: A Novel Idea

Alice

---

I pressed my hands to his face again, hefted the shield right out of my mind, and then started in where I’d left off—with the crystal-clear memory of the first night of my new life…lingering on the details.

I laughed breathlessly when his urgent kiss interrupted my efforts again.

“Damn it,” he growled, kissing hungrily down the edge of my jaw.

“We have plenty of time to work on it,” I reminded him.

“Forever and forever and forever,” he murmured.

“That sounds exactly right to me.”

And then we continued blissfully into this small but perfect piece of our forever.

* * * * *

Edward let out a derisive snort and tilted his head to glance at me, fingers still dancing across the keys of the rarely-used piano tucked away in the back of the Forks High School music room. Gradually, the lilting notes wound to an end, replaced by the dusty silence that filled it before he’d sought refuge here after class. It stretched on while he contemplated the best way to convey what he thought of the vision I just shared with him.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said.

“I’m not going to write it,” I defended. “She will.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” he insisted. “If sunlight made our skin sparkle, why wouldn’t overhead lights?”

“She favors English, not science. Artistic license?”

He was, of course, completely ignoring the fact that I just revealed his future mate to him. It seemed the idea of fathering a vampire/human hybrid and having several near-death brushes with the Volturi took a back seat to the idea that mate would romanticize these events in a series of novels that would curse him with permanent body glitter.

Edward gently settled the creaky wooden cover over the piano keys and rose from the dusty bench to grab his backpack from where it lay on the floor. I gave him a moment. This was a very big revelation, and nothing like the safer, uncomplicated ways the rest of us found our mates.

“You’re seeing this because she just decided to come here?” He asked.

“Yes. Her mother’s husband just got the offer to go to Florida. Everything’s moving quickly so her mother can go with him.”

“And when does she arrive?”

“Two weeks from now. January 17.”

Edward ran his tongue along his teeth, across the razor-sharp canines we were all so careful to keep hidden with tight-lipped smiles and social distance. Far from the forever-teen youths of his soon-to-be mate’s future fantasy novels, Carlisle was physically 44 while Esme appeared 35, and the rest of us were eternally in our mid-twenties. Isabella Swan was not going to fall in love with a fellow student here, but a handsome young U.S. History teacher who appeared to be twenty-four.

“Okay,” Edward decided. “Let’s start packing tonight. We leave next week.”

He walked out of the room, and for a moment, I was too startled to follow. When I did catch up, he was halfway down the hallway leading to the exit.

“Wait!” I caught his arm but he easily lifted me off my feet, leaving me dangling as he headed for the parking lot. “Leave? Your mate is coming!”

“Really?” He scoffed and shouldered the door open with his free arm. “You just showed me a full-length horror movie, and that’s your take away? Not the death and destruction this could all bring? Alice, you know the Volturi. Your necklace only lets you see a certain distance into the future, you know they’ll come back again and again no matter how well that vision ended.”

He shook me off and I clutched the sapphire amulet hanging from my neck. He was right, we didn’t have the strange abilities Bella would give us all in her stories, and the shimmering stone had limits to what it could show.

“But—”

“No,” Edward said firmly. “Look, if it was really meant to be, I’ll run into her eventually. Hopefully when it’s not a creepy teacher-student thing. But for now, we need to get out of here before she arrives.”

 He climbed in the car and slammed the door. The passenger door clicked a moment later, unlocking in invitation, and I gave in and joined him. As the car pulled out of the parking lot, easier to navigate now that most students were gone, I closed my eyes and gripped the stone again.

And just like that, the future changed. In ten days, we would be in Denali. In a little over two years, Rosalie, Esme and I would be running a café in Healy while Carlisle worked at the Health Center. Jasper and Emmett would be volunteer firefighters, and Edward would be teaching Government at Tri-County School.

Beyond that, everything was a blur.

[littleredpencil]

Dissonance: Chapter 03

Type: Chapter fic in a series (1 of 5) Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Pairings: Keith/Lance, Shiro/Adam Main Characters: Keith Kogane, Lance McClain, Takashi "Shiro" Shirogane, Adam Wolfe, James Griffin

Note: Canon-compliant through season 7. Season 8 fix-it. See main post for summary.

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Current Day:

It was seven-thirty on Saturday morning when Shiro stepped from the steaming shower and made his way down the hallway of the cozy, two-bedroom apartment in nothing but a small towel. He was off today but went out early for a run, early enough he expected to be alone for at least two more hours. He wasn’t expecting his roommate to step out of the second bedroom just as he passed.

“Oh my God!” Keith covered his eyes. “Come on, man! Put on some pants!”

“Excuse me, I didn’t think your hibernation ended until noon,” Shiro defended. “Besides, it’s nothing you don’t see in the mirror, don’t have an aneurysm.”

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t get some big brother-esque delight from Keith’s discomfort. The reticent young man never said a word about his sexuality, but Shiro pegged him as struggling and confused only a few days after his arrival at the Garrison. Sometimes a guy saw a kid mirroring his own development a little too perfectly and just knew.

Keith wasn’t confused anymore, Shiro could tell, but the struggle was still there. And it was too easy to poke at it sometimes.

“You do look in the mirror, right?” Shiro teased. “Do an occasional check? Make sure everything’s healthy, maybe break out the ruler?”

“I pay rent for this,” Keith marveled. Shiro chuckled and padded into his own room.

“Why are you up so early?” He called. “I didn’t think you guys trained on weekends.”

“Lance went to the ER last night and got admitted. I’m heading over to the hospital.”

“Wait, what?” Shiro yanked his pants on and grabbed a shirt, following Keith out to the kitchen. “Again? Is he all right?”

“I think so?” Keith sounded uncertain. “They still don’t know what’s wrong. He got hurt pretty bad in the crash before that last fight, it might be an inner ear thing. But…”

“But?” Shiro prodded.

“I think…maybe he’s having a bad reaction to Red,” Keith blurted. “He only ends up in the hospital after he’s been piloting her for more than an hour or two, and sometimes she won’t let him in at all.”

“Like she’s rejecting him?” Shiro asked. “I don’t know, I can’t see any of the Lions intentionally hurting their Paladins.”

“No, Red just lets everyone else hurt them before she steps in,” Keith said bitterly. “And I think he was hurt worse than we know.”

There was the current sore spot: Lance and the Red Lion. It was an open secret Keith was still pissed about what went down at the rendezvous point six months ago, and Shiro half-expected him to crack and pick a fight with Red. Throwing down with a hundred tons of semi-sentient robot wasn’t even the dumbest thing Keith had tried this year.

“Keith, you know the bond between a Paladin and their Lion is complicated,” Shiro said gently. “There were a lot of factors in what happened to Lance. His sister was there, and he was more focused on her than calling Red. And what happened with Allura before he left obviously didn’t help—”

Keith’s head whipped up, and he realized too late what he said. “What happened with Allura?”

“Quiznak,” Shiro muttered.

“Shiro!’

Ideally, Shiro could just tell Keith it didn’t matter. He adored Allura as much as he loved all the Paladins, they were his family and he didn’t want to sow discord in the ranks. It had already been half a year since they’d been able to form Voltron thanks to the anger aimed at Red, Blue didn’t need to be mixed in too.

In reality, his loyalty was to Keith, first and foremost. “Okay, brother to brother and off the record?”

“Off the record,” Keith agreed.

“Veronica said Allura talked to Lance right before the mission,” Shiro spilled. “She said it was very cute and innocent, with ‘be safe and come back to me’ vibes. But once they were in the car, Lance seemed distracted and confused. She thought that might be part of why he had trouble calling Red.”

Keith tried to look unaffected, but he wasn’t as good at being cold and distant as he tried to be. Shiro had a theory that Lance McClain was both the reason Keith was no longer confused and the reason he still struggled.

In Shiro’s eyes, Lance gave no indication of being interested in anyone. He was more withdrawn thanks to constant hospital trips, and probably wasn’t ready to focus on a relationship until he was better. Still, Shiro didn’t like telling his baby brother their very gorgeous, very royal, very female teammate had flirted with him.

“Dunno why he’d be confused, he’s been after her since day one,” Keith’s voice was clipped. “But I guess I’d be distracted if the person I was into suddenly flirted with me, too.”

Shiro was watching Keith’s first genuine heartbreak in real time, and he didn’t like it. It was up there with watching a kitten get kicked, except Keith had sharper claws to withdraw behind.

“Hey, let me drive you to the hospital,” Shiro offered.

“No, it’s okay, I can take the bike,” Keith protested, a little too quickly. Was that a faint blush spreading up his neck? Suspicious.

“But I want to visit Lance too,” Shiro insisted. Something was up, and he was too nosy to not find out what. “Let me get my boots.”

Shiro ducked into his room to grab his combat boots, a light jacket, and his keys. He returned to find Keith waiting in the living room, holding a box that had likely been hidden in his room. Probably with the intent to make it disappear into his motorcycle bag without being seen.

“Whatcha got there?” Shiro asked as they stepped outside. It was definitely a blush creeping along Keith’s skin this time.

“It’s just a tabletop fountain,” Keith refused to look at him on the way to the car. “It makes rain noises.”

“For Lance?”

“He likes the rain.” Keith’s tone changed so fast Shiro almost got whiplash. He went from a poor imitation of indifference to combative and defensive in the span of a heartbeat. “I thought the stupid thing might help him relax and recover before the next Galra attack flattens us all.”

There were Kitten’s claws.

“I’m not making fun of you, Keith, I swear. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

It had been years since Krolia left Earth and Mr. Kogane died. Keith had a life now, and a family. He had Shiro, and Krolia lived nearby with Kolivan and two other Blades, while the Holts lived on base and treated him like one of their own when he was around. But Keith’s early wounds ran deep, and despite having people in his life to act as a bandage, those wounds still weren’t healed. Shiro still had to check himself sometimes, and make sure Keith didn’t believe he was being mocked.

“I’m sure he’ll like it,” Shiro insisted. “Calm down, your teeth are showing.”

Keith snapped his fanged mouth shut and sank down into the passenger seat, hugging the box. Shiro’s heart ached for him sometimes; two years in the Quantum Abyss aged him physically and gave him time to bond with his mother, but he missed crucial social development he’d already been falling behind on. He had it hard enough being disconnected from his peers without throwing romantic confusion on top if it all.

Shiro wish he could shield him from this part of growing up. The ride was uncomfortably silent. As they headed into the hospital, Shiro tried to lighten the mood.

“You’re getting another stripe,” he observed, gently poking the side of Keith’s face, opposite the vivid purple strip of coloring. “Just like your mom.”

“Great. Can’t wait until I start to sprout fur on my ears.”

“Second puberty is going to be hell on earth for you with that attitude,” Shiro warned.

The desk receptionist barely looked at them before giving them a visitor pass. Lance spent a lot of time in this hospital lately, the whole team were familiar visitors. In fact, as he and Keith stepped off the elevator on the third floor, he spotted Veronica, Romelle, and Allura leaving a room down the hall. Beside him, Keith stiffened, and Shiro didn’t need to ask why.

Allura was wearing Lance’s jacket.

While the Holts were Keiths new adopted family, the McClains were Allura and Romelle’s. Coran was a wonderful father figure for both, but Mrs. McClain and her daughters latched onto the two orphaned Altean girls immediately. With Veronica part of the Atlas crew, it was rare to see the three young women separate.

Lance was around them often, which made this whole situation even stickier.

“Hey,” Shiro greeted the girls before something awkward came out of Keith’s mouth. Next to him, Keith fell back slightly. Being a step behind had become his equivalent to hiding behind someone. “How is he?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Veronica said as they reached the nurse’s station. “The doctors haven’t told us anything since this started.”

“No?”

“Lance won’t let them,” Romelle frowned. “They said he’s 18 and of sound mind, so his medical records are private unless he shares them.”

“Which makes me nervous,” Allura admitted. “He keeps saying it’s because there’s nothing to share, but I feel like he’s hiding something.”

“He’s constantly surrounded by people asking questions, maybe he just wants some kind of privacy for once,” Keith muttered. So much for not saying anything undiplomatic.

“This isn’t a pre-teen diary, Keith, this is his health,” Veronica returned. “Don’t make it sound like we’re constantly badgering him or something.”

“It’s eight in the morning and you’re here,” Keith pointed out. Shiro heard that edge starting to form in his voice, the one that meant he was about to dial ‘undiplomatic’ up to eleven. Good thing they were in a hospital, just in case Allura body-slammed him into the tile. “Basically admitting you were nagging him.”

“Says the guy who’s also here at eight in the morning,” Veronica shot back.

Shiro wished Allura wasn’t wearing Lance’s jacket. The girls didn’t know where Keith’s attitude was coming from today, and Keith probably wasn’t even aware of how much his buttons were being pushed. That jacket and the confirmation that Allura returned Lance’s feelings were putting him on the defensive.

Shiro rested his prosthetic hand on Keith’s shoulder, squeezing with a little more pressure than necessary. Keith took the warning. He relaxed a little, and when he spoke again his voice was carefully calm and gracious.

“I’m just bringing him a fountain,” he held up the box.

Keith’s one-eighties often confused people, and the girls were no exception. They were used to it by now, but that didn’t mean he was any easier for them to read. They were also very proud, very capable, very confident young women, and Shiro was certain they’d run Keith over with a military vehicle if he kept pushing his luck.

Thankfully, they all relaxed after Keith backed down. The undercurrent of electricity running through the whole exchange finally broke when Romelle spoke up.

“Shiro, can I ask you something? It’s about your nickname.”

“Sure.” Shiro was instantly wary when Veronica went stiff. “It’s a shortened version of Shirogane, my surname.”

“No, your other nickname,” Romelle pressed. “Lance told us he calls Keith ‘Samurai’ and sometimes they call you ‘Space Dad,’ but then Veronica said half the Garrison calls you ‘Space Daddy.’ I was wondering if the different suffix was some kind of cultural honorific?”

Shiro stared at the three girls in front of him, two very curious Alteans and one very flustered Cuban. But nowhere near as flustered as he was, he felt like he might die on the spot.

“Uh, Keith?” Shiro gave Keith a sideways look, begging for help. Keith, thrown off his budding rampage by this new twist in the conversation shook his head.

“Nope, not today.” Keith sidestepped Shiro and gave him a mock knock of encouragement on the shoulder as he passed. “You got this, Space Daddy.”

“It’s Shiro,” Shiro said quickly when Romelle opened her mouth again. “Just…Shiro.”

“Or Silver Fox!” Keith shouted over his shoulder as he started running.

“No!” Shiro exclaimed. Two nurses nearby burst out laughing, and he shot Veronica a halfhearted glare.  “Lieutenant McClain, please explain to Allura and Romelle why what you and Keith said could constitute as sexual harassment under Garrison Code, thank you and excuse me.”

The words were a jumbled rush, the weight of pulling rank ruined as he sprinted after Keith like a frightened gazelle. Unfortunately, Shiro was still moving as he ducked into Lance’s room, but Keith had stopped dead just past the doorway. Shiro slammed into him, and barely caught the edge of the door frame before they both went down.

“What are you—oh.”

Lance was shirtless on the floor in a full split. It was impressive flexibility, but Shiro had seen him practice it before. Keith, however, hadn’t.

Lance lifted his head at the noise, breaking into a grin when he identified the interlopers.

“Samurai and Shiro the Hero,” he greeted, keeping the split. “What’s up?”

“What are you doing?” Keith edged into the room, awkwardly giving Lance a wide berth.

“It’s called exercise, buddy. Not all of us can naturally flip from butter knife to blender like you, we need a little bit of upkeep.”

Lance raised his hands and wiggled his fingers. Shiro let his prosthetic arm hover over where he sat so he could grab it, and pulled him up to his feet.

“I guess it’s impressive…in its own way,” Keith allowed. Now there was some more youthful awkwardness creeping in, but Shiro wasn’t sure if it was because he really didn’t know what to say, or because his big brother was present.

“You should see me do it while hanging two stories high on a silk rope,” Lance took a light jab at his own sore spot. It was another open secret he was still hurt by Keith’s decision to leave the team for a stint with the Blade of Marmora. “Too bad you missed it.”

“I didn’t miss it, it was broadcast across three galaxies,” Keith acted very busy with finding the perfect spot on the completely empty bed to put the box down so he didn’t have to look at either of them. “Did you really think I wouldn’t have a recorded copy of you flirting with your Lion like a Cirque du Soleil commercial? I show it to anybody who makes the mistake of taking you seriously.”

Shiro perked up immediately. There were some very explicit reasons Keith might want a video of Lance doing aerial ballet, and he honestly didn’t think God had given him the strength to avoid asking about them later. Lance, however, honed in on that land mine first.

“Aw, you kept a video of me performing?” He asked, fluttering his eyelashes as he came over to the bed. “I’m touched! Don’t you dare take it into the shower with you.”

Shiro’s gaze shot over to Keith, whose cheeks began to blossom an impressive shade of pink again. It was the kind of offhand comment Lance was known for, simple smart-mouth banter with no meaning behind it. Shiro didn’t even think Lance realized Keith might be gay.

 “Oh, hey, what’s this?” Keith was saved when Lance saw the box. He dropped the sarcasm and switched gears, seeming to completely forget the previous conversation as he picked up the package. “Is this one of those SoundScape things?”

“I thought it would help you relax,” Keith murmured. His arms crossed and he leaned against the wall, back in quiet defensive mode. “I have the receipt if you want me to return it, it’s no big deal.”

Lance was already tearing the tape off the box to take the fountain out. It was bowl-shaped at the bottom, with an underwater scene cast in colored resin. When he turned it on, soft lights shone where a small waterfall would be once it was filled.

“Sweet! It looks a little bit like Queen Luxia’s garden!” Lance said happily. He started playing with the buttons, going through the different meditation sounds. “The actual garden, not the carnivorous alien one.”

“It has some different settings,” Keith offered quietly. “You might like the gulls. I know you’ve been wanting to go back to Varadero Beach, but you’ve been stuck here with us.”

His expression was so soft as he watched Lance sit cross-legged on the bed with his new toy. He wore a faint smile that Shiro knew would disappear the instant the other boy turned around, the one reserved for a very short list of people Keith was willing to care about.

“It’s awesome, I’ll put it next to my bed at home,” Lance promised. “I’m heading out of here in about an hour.”

“Already?” Keith’s smile faded, replaced by surprise. “You just got admitted a few hours ago.”

“Yeah, but it’s the same thing as always,” Lance started tucking the fountain back into its box. “If there’s no news, why stay cooped up here? I’d rather relax at home and be ready for training on Monday.”

“Hm.”

Shiro could tell Keith wanted to voice his disapproval, but he didn’t think it was his place. He could also tell that Lance wasn’t being completely forthcoming. He sounded tired, almost resigned, in a way that Shiro recognized but didn’t want to say out loud.

“If you’re leaving soon, we can drive you back,” Shiro offered.

“You don’t have to do that. I can call a cab or have Veronica pick me up.”

“She just left, there’s no sense in making her come back,” Keith sounded like he was giving an order without trying to seem like he was giving an order. “Besides, we’ll be here for a while.”

“If you’re sure,” Lance relented. He slid off the bed and grabbed his clothes from the chair. “Do me a favor and close the door for a sec?”

Having another man change in front of him was nothing new to Shiro. He was a military man and a regular at the gym, and even during their days in the Castle of Lions there had been times when they’d all had to suit up in the same room. Lance himself hadn’t had any shame about it since day one, if he remembered correctly, so it really was no big deal.

Shiro dropped down to sit in the chair, turning his gaze up to a corner of the ceiling out of respect for Lance’s minimum privacy. It only stayed there for a moment before he looked over at Keith. The younger man had closed the door and was now leaning against it, his own eyes pointed up.

 Shiro timed it, and got up to three seconds before Keith’s eyes slid downward.

He didn’t know what state of undress Lance was in since he had more tact, but the view must have been a good one. Keith’s eyebrows went up slightly, then his eyes went down lower. Lower.

Lower.

They widened, then shot back up to the ceiling and squeezed shut. This was obviously a very tortuous moment in Keith’s existence, the kind of thing that left scars. Shiro wished he’d thought to record it.

“Okay, done,” Lance announced a moment later. “Ah, damn. Allura has my jacket.”

He sighed, tugging lightly at the sleeves of his t-shirt, then started folding the pajamas one of his sisters had likely brought him last night.

“Never trust a woman with a hoodie,” he advised them. “What they say is ‘the air conditioning is too high in here, can I borrow this.’ What they mean is ‘you’ll never see this again, it’s mine now.’”

“I don’t think that will be a problem for us,” Shiro answered lightly. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Keith, who was so thrown off over Lance changing he nearly got hit in the face. “Hey, do me a favor…since we’re waiting for his discharge anyway, go put gas in the car.”

“Ugh, why me?”

“Because I pay for our internet.”

Keith threw his arms up like he was annoyed, but he didn’t make any counterarguments. In fact, he left the room a little too willingly, probably glad to have an excuse to regain his composure.

When he was gone, Shiro got up and closed the door again. He leaned back against it, frowning at Lance. The boy’s smile was gone now, and he looked so very tired. He was smarter than a lot of people gave him credit for, and probably knew there was no point in keeping up his pretense around someone who would see through it.

“People are worried about you, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Lance said dejectedly. He sank down to sit on the edge of the bed, pulling up one leg and wrapping his arms around it. “I can’t help that, though.”

“You know why I went on the Kerberos mission,” Shiro said gently. “You know I was sick, that I didn’t expect to be alive this long.”

“Yeah, I know that too.”

“You don’t have to tell anyone anything you don’t want to, Lance,” Shiro assured him. “I respect your right to keep whatever is going on to yourself, and I completely understand why you would choose to.”

He pushed away from the door and came over to sit on the edge of the bed. He was still fairly young himself, and he’d never pictured himself being a parent, but after all they’d been through together these kids felt like they were his own.

“I just want to make sure you know that if you need to talk, I’m here. Not as a commanding officer or a former team leader, just as a friend.”

Lance let his head fall forward to rest against his knee. He didn’t say anything for a long time, but Shiro didn’t interrupt the silence. People had to work through things in their own time, so he did nothing until the boy buried his face in his arms and his shoulders started to shake.

“Lance?” He put a hand tentatively on the younger pilot’s shoulder.

“It’s degenerative,” Lance said dully, his voice muffled by his arm. “It’s in my brain. They can’t fix it because they’ve never seen it before.”

He sniffled loudly and raised his head. His eyes were wet now and his voice was shaky, but he sounded more frustrated than anything else.

“Something happened in the last fight, something got broken in those last few minutes and it won’t heal. The longer I fly Red, the worse it gets,” he admitted. “Every few hours training is another night in the hospital. And I think she knows it. She’s pulling away from me.”

“Lance!” Shiro was trying not to be judgmental, but his concern got the better of him. He tried to rein himself in so Lance wouldn’t regret telling him the truth. “Why in the world would you keep trying to pilot? You should be staying on the ground…those Lions are designed to be charged by their Paladins, that’s all well and good if you’re healthy, but if you’re not…”

“Yeah, that’s also a thing I know,” Lance said glumly. “I just…I don’t want to let down the team.”

“Lance…if this is what happens when you just fly, what do you think will happen if you’re involved when they form Voltron? You might not be able to come back from that.”

“So?” Lance’s frustration melted into anger. He slid off the bed and started pacing, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Why did you keep flying when you were dying? Why did you go to Kerberos?

“Because it was important, right? It was what you had. Well, this is what I have. I’m a pilot, Shiro, a combat pilot! This is what I am! If I lose this, if this gets taken away from me, then I’m not anything! I have things I need to protect, if I lose Red, I’m completely useless!”

He stopped, covering his face with both hands.

“Without Red, I’m not special. I’m not a half-Galra Blade, or an Altean Alchemist, or a computer genius, or a top rate engineer. I’m just…a lousy, useless cargo pilot who talked his way into something bigger.”

Shiro got up and closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Lance and hugging him tightly. Lance hugged him back, clinging like he was a lifeline.

“Know the kicker?” Lance asked, giving a dry, humorless laugh. “I’m only where I am because perfect Keith, Golden Boy Extraordinaire, got kicked out of the Garrison. Pidge and Hunk got stuck with a third-rate pilot because the qualified one got moved up in line, and I was what was left. If Keith had stayed in the program, I’d just be one more Galra slave corpse rotting in a mass grave right now.”

“Stop,” Shiro said firmly.

He pulled back, putting his hands on Lance’s shoulders and pushing him backward toward the chair. Once Lance was sitting Shiro crouched down in front of him, his hands resting on the chair arms.

“I want you to listen to me. And I mean listen, don’t brush me off. I care about you, I want you to hear and understand what I’m saying, all right?”

Lance looked like he might cry harder, but he was more resilient than a lot of them gave him credit for. He took a deep breath and nodded.

“Good. Number one, you are not nothing,” Shiro insisted. “You’ve never been nothing, you will never be nothing. This planet is a tiny speck in an offhand galaxy in an unfathomably huge universe. The Garrison is one single military training facility on that speck. The people who rated you during training used simulators that would be considered barely functional on other planets.

“One small group of people, using outdated software, on one military base, on one tiny speck, decided you were a third-rate pilot. Know who disagrees with them? The rest of the goddamn universe, and every person in it who’s alive today because of you.”

He shifted forward to kneel, taking both of Lance’s hands in his own. The temperature really was a bit low in this room and the boy’s fingers were cold. His hands were also trembling, but that undoubtedly had more to do with his dilemma.

“Listen, Lance. A little more than a year ago, one of the most advanced, complex superweapons ever built in our reality was sitting in a cave. It was more than ten-thousand years old, linked to the very core of existence, and conscious enough to judge whoever approached it based on every fiber of their being.

“‘Golden Boy’ Keith stood right in front of it, next to a computer genius. Next to a top rate engineer, and one of the Garrison’s top officer pilots. It was offered everything that you describe as being special, it had its pick of everything you think greatness is.

“And Blue chose you. She didn’t choose Keith. She didn’t choose Pidge, or Hunk, or me. She didn’t ignore us all and wait for somebody better to come along. She saw you for what you are, and she chose you.”

Lance’s eyes started to water again. A tear escaped to run down his face but he remained solemn. He squeezed Shiro’s hands for comfort, and Shiro moved closer instead of pulling away. He softened a little, giving the younger man a faint smile.

“I understand everything that you’re going through right now,” he said softly. “You’re afraid of what might happen to you, you’re confused because you don’t know what to do. Giving up piloting one of the Lions is hard, I know that from experience…when the bond is gone it leaves you feeling empty for a while.

“But you’re more than Red. Over the last year, I’ve watched you go from a reckless cadet with an authority problem to…well, a top-level soldier with a slightly smaller authority problem. And not just in your Lion. You’re one of the most promising sharpshooters I’ve ever seen, and your close combat skills are improving every day.”

Shiro let go with his left hand, bringing it up to rest lightly on Lance’s cheek. Just like with Keith, he wished he had the power to take away all the pain he was seeing right now.

“We all love you, Lance. We would rather have you alive and with us than hurting yourself when you have nothing to prove. I know this is your choice to make, but I’m not going to pretend I don’t want you to choose to give up piloting the Red Lion. There’s not a military in the world that wouldn’t be chomping at the bit to have you as an officer, but let me be the first to get my offer in. I would be honored to have you serve on the Atlas, we have three new MFEs and we could use you.”

Lance took a shaky breath, letting it out slowly. He looked down at Shiro and a small laugh escaped through the tears.

“Do you like, practice being all inspirational and shit? Because it’s scary sometimes how good you are at it.”

“Yes, I plan to run for President someday,” Shiro smiled. “Some people sing in the shower, I compose motivational speeches.”

Lance chuckled, and Shiro let him go. He got back to his feet, still smiling as he looked down at the confused young pilot.

“I mean it, Lance. You’re so much more than just the Red Lion’s Paladin. I’ll take you as an MFE pilot in a heartbeat, if you’re willing to make that choice.”

“Are you going to tell Keith?” Lance asked, his smile fading.

“No. This is yours. But you will have to tell him soon. All of them. I really will respect your choice if you decide to keep trying to fly Red, but we both know I’m going to have to act if you push this far enough for…things to get bad.”

“If I get suicidal,” Lance translated for him. “Or if something happens that I can’t walk away from under my own power.”

Shiro nodded. Lance got to his feet, running both hands through his hair and sighing heavily. He poured some water from the pitcher and started cleaning up his face, washing away the telltale signs of tears.

“I don’t want to die,” he said softly. “I don’t like how much what I’m doing hurts. It’s just so hard to stop, I feel like I’m giving something up.”

“You feel like you’re leaving the team,” Shiro supplied. “But you wouldn’t be. You’d have me, Matt, Veronica, Sam, Coran. When the war gets hot again sure, we’ll probably separate from the Voltron pilots on occasion. But Hunk and Pidge are your best friends, they’re never going to just ditch you because you changed jobs. And Keith and Allura are leaders, they’ll understand and respect what you decide to do.”

Lance nodded again. He was mostly composed by now, smoothing back his hair and preparing to put his mask back on. A nurse came in to let him know everything was in order for his release, and Shiro waited with him while he got copies of all of his paperwork.

By the time they met Keith down in the lobby, Lance’s happy-go-lucky persona was firmly back in place. Shiro decided to have them drop him off at home and then let Keith borrow his car, sending them to go spend some time with Hunk, Pidge, and Matt.

They were all kids, regardless of the war that was raging across the universe, and they deserved a few precious hours to forget what they were going through and be kids.

[littleredpencil]

Dissonance: Chapter 02

Type: Chapter fic in a series (1 of 5) Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Pairings: Keith/Lance, Shiro/Adam Main Characters: Keith Kogane, Lance McClain, Takashi "Shiro" Shirogane, Adam Wolfe, James Griffin

Note: Canon-compliant through season 7. Season 8 fix-it. See main post for summary.

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10,000 years ago:

Mortals were dull, for being so rare.

In a mostly-empty universe filled with balls of fire that eventually flared and went out, habitable rocks were few and far between. The odds of them finding this one, as Green explained in nauseating detail with no prompting, were so small that according to the numbers it hadn’t even happened.

Green was a sweetheart, and, like Blue, optimistic to the point of fearlessness. Ironic, since she constantly explained why, according to calculations, nothing they did should ever work. Red strayed from the comet often, to avoid those conversations.

This mission would eventually end. She would go back to her pride and never see the other four again. Best not to get attached, and thankfully the Guardians could move a small distance away from the trans-reality comet they’d managed to catch into this reality.

The planet where they landed was called Daibazaal, but the comet was taken to another, called Altea. Red was glad; she didn’t like Daibazaal. There was something about that sent a tingle of unease through her, something none of the others seemed to notice. That strange, poisonous feeling wasn’t present on Altea.

Red spent her time here with the mortal called Alfor. Unlike most mortals, he was interesting, because he recognized the nature of the trans-reality comet. She hadn’t believed mortals capable of that, but here he was, researching it, slowly uncovering its secrets. His intrigue left his mind conveniently open, and his hands easy for her to guide. She even found herself starting to like him, despite Alfor being a very simple creature. As Red rested in the astral plane near Black, her mind reaching across the solar system to Daibazaal through her newfound like with Alfor, she couldn’t help but chuckle.

“The ore practically engineers itself,” Alfor gushed with a childlike excitement. “It’s…frightening in a way.”

Red felt a rumble of amusement from Black, who watched through the eyes of the Galra he had chosen. Zarkon, they called him, the ruler of the planet where they landed. Black kept watch on Zarkon a lot, since their arrival caused an open rift into the quintessence field.

“How are the ships coming along?” Black asked, his attention flicking to Red. “You’ve been working on them for a while.”

“Mortals work slowly, but they’re nearly finished,” she replied. “Alteans are advanced, but they don’t understand enough for this to be as easy as I’d like. Alfor doesn’t understand half the things the ships do, or how they’re built to do them.”

“How long until we can use them?” Black nudged her lightly. “We have to close that rift. It’s fine if they use the quintessence for power, they’ll be extinct before they make a dent, but I don’t like how wrapped up in it that Altean woman is getting.”

“I agree. Powering ships is one thing,” Red supposed. “But some of these Alteans can interact with the quintessence field. The less direct access they have to it, the better.”

Blue appeared then, manifesting from wherever she’d been causing trouble to step on Red’s back as she climbed over. She dropped between Red and Black, draping a paw around each.

“Good morning, Number One and Number Two,” Blue chirped. “I’m ranking you all by attractiveness today, by the way.”

“What happened to age?” Black asked.

“And height?” Red chimed in.

“And tail length?” Yellow came to sit beside them, along with Green. The two followed Blue everywhere, she had become the de-facto leader of the trio. “And when are you going to get a rating system where I’m not always Number Three?”

“Look, I’m trying here,” Blue sighed. “I’ve had sixteen different rating systems, it’s not my fault you fall average in every single index.”

“Fair enough.”

“So, these ships,” Green ignored the banter. “Why ships at all? We only needed avatars, why not just pick and choose from the people here?”

“Because the more intelligent species are, the smaller and weaker they are,” Red replied. “I never realized how much bigger we are than so many things here. The ships are big enough to be a decent skin, and hold a biological avatar at the same time. I think we’ll all be much more comfortable if we’re able to use our teeth and claws if necessary.”

“I think it’s nice for everyone involved,” Yellow said. “We use the avatars but aren’t in their heads constantly, they use us to get around but don’t have full access to everything we know. Privacy is very important.”

“So is size,” Black answered. “The ships—”

“Blaytz calls them ‘Lions,’” Blue interrupted. “There’s a mortal who hangs around the palace—that’s who Blaytz is—and I’m learning a lot from watching him. Here, look.”

Blue rolled off the other two guardians and came around to face them, flopping down in front of Red and crossing her paws. She gave her most charming smile, leaning in close.

 “Hey there, Beautiful,” she said huskily. “Is that a carrot in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

“…I don’t have pockets,” Red answered. “And I’m never happy to see you.”

“What’s a carrot?” Yellow asked.

“Okay, it’s a metaphorical pocket,” Blue dropped her flirtatious grin. “And carrots are some kind of plant they got from a primitive little planet somewhere. The one where lions come from.”

Red decided to push the conversation back on track, something that seemed to have become her sole responsibility these days.

“Size is important,” she finally responded to Black. “And the ships—”

“Lions,” Blue said.

“Lions,” Red sighed. “The Lions are very large compared to the mortals, but to close that rift, they need to be bigger. But a good thing about mechanical objects is that they can have multiple purposes. The Lions combine into a larger humanoid form. It’s strange, I know, but for the purposes of closing that rift we’ll need two legs for stability and two arms for manipulating things.”

“Oh! I call a leg,” Yellow declared.

“Sure,” Red replied, not really listening. “Now, Black is attached to Zarkon and Blue has obviously taken a shine to Blaytz…convenient, since they’re in the same circle. Green, Yellow, you’ll have to choose avatars soon.”

“You’re going with Alfor I presume?” Black asked, looking bemused.

“Yes. Is there a problem with that?”

“No. He just doesn’t seem your type is all,” Black answered carefully. “He’s very cheerful and fun- loving, and you’re…well…”

“Alfor is a man who knows how to not abuse power,” Red answered bluntly. “He could lead an empire if he wanted to but he has no interest in doing so. I very much prefer people who have some semblance of restraint and self-control, unlike some.”

“Overrated,” Blue blurted out. “So what are we calling this giant humanoid robot?”

“A robot.”

“No, I mean, what’s its name?” Blue pressed. “Everything here has a name. Blaytz, Zarkon, Alfor. Planets, stars, rivers, forests, they even name buildings. Let’s call it…Voltron.”

“We’re not naming it,” Red grimaced. “It’s a robot. Even if it wasn’t, ‘Voltron’ sounds dumb.”

“Shouldn’t a name mean something?” Green asked. “That just sounds like garbled noises.”

“It does mean something,” Blue defended. “Vehicularly Operated Lions with Technologically Reflexive Organic Nexibility.”

The other four guardians fell silent, staring at her in disbelief. She smiled angelically, wide-eyed and innocent.

“Votes for another name? None? Awesome, Voltron it is,” Blue decided, getting to her feet. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have places to do and things to be. Later, Hot Stuff.”

She winked at Black and bounded away, leaving them all dumbfounded.

“I hate that she’s a lot smarter than she seems,” Green grumbled, slowly getting up and following.

Yellow trailed off after her, and once again everything was quiet. In the background, the sounds of Alfor and Zarkon speaking bubbled up, but it was a white noise trickling over bonds stretching out through the quintessence. Red looked over at Black and found him looking at her thoughtfully.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I know. It’s just…” he trailed off, looking pensive.

“I’m not a mind-reader, you know,” she snapped. “You have to finish your sentences.”

Black looked very serious, letting out a slow breath before gazing off into the distance as if pondering life’s greatest mysteries.

“If today’s scale is attractiveness, which of us is Number One and which is Number Two?”

Red liked to think she had excellent self-control, but even masters made mistakes on occasion. Black’s shout when she bit him was very satisfying indeed.

* * * * *

Six months ago:

The sheer power being thrown around for the last twenty minutes would have been enough to make a physical being vomit. Nothing was off the table, no plane left untapped. The Lions had access to unfathomable wells of firepower, but they were limited by what the immature bonds with their Paladins could channel, and the burnout from pulling too much over too short a time was immense.

After Sendak’s fleet and those stupid canons, they’d only had so much to throw at this strange new robeast. Now, in the quiet following its defeat, the sudden blaring of alarms was a punch in the gut.

This isn’t good. Status reports on your Paladins, Black commanded.

Functional, Green answered worriedly. Barely. Pidge is very young, I don’t know how much more of this she can take.

Allura’s okay, but she’s an Alchemist. I don’t think the quintessence flying around hurt her as much as the others, Blue offered.

Hunk’s physically fine, just some pretty bad bruises, Yellow chimed in. Totally exhausted, though. More emotionally scarred than anything.

Inoperative, Red stated.

Well, you need to get Lance ‘operative,’ Black answered sharply. According to Hunk’s readings, this thing is going to blow, I don’t need to tell you what Keith is going to order.

He’s literally bleeding from his ears. The backlash through his bayard from that last attack has him at his limits.

Keith had the same backlash and he’s all right. Lance is just as strong, you’re overreacting.

Keith is Galra! Red snarled back with an intensity that shocked all of them except Black. And you’ve been running quintessence through him since you got your claws into him, or did you think none of us noticed? Lance doesn’t have that immunity. Neither does Hunk or Pidge. You run any more energy through them and it might kill them all. I don’t care what Keith orders, shut him down.

If I do that, we kill this whole planet. Black was, as always, infuriatingly calm.

Allura can create a wormhole! Red snapped. She doesn’t need a damned teludav, we can focus her power the same way—

I don’t think we have time for her to learn that, Blue said quietly. This thing is going to blow everything to hell in only a few minutes.

Red felt Lance’s determination. The metal around her creaked with each movement as he maneuvered the Red Lion under one of the robeast’s limp limbs. Boosters fired all around, the group began to rise.

They’re going to die, Red warned again.

They’re ready to, Black said simply.

“It’s been an honor flying with you all,” Keith’s voice whispered over the radios. “Now give it everything you’ve got.”

Red felt the rising energy levels through the Red Lion’s frame, the vibrations of too much quintessence beginning to run through a physical body not built to withstand it. It wasn’t necessarily a fluke in the Lion’s design, it was built with fail-safes to stop potential overload. The Paladin inside, however, was unconsciously overriding those fail-safes by sheer force of will.

Lance was not a confident person; he questioned his own abilities and decisions constantly. He never really felt like he fit in with the group and often felt ignored and underappreciated. Red did not understand him, why he continued to throw himself into things, why he continually offered ideas for which he received faint praise at best and scorn more often than not.

Their bond suffered because of this. Keith had been easy, he mirrored Red’s own personality so closely it was almost frightening, but Lance was complicated. Sometimes he and Red were so in sync it nearly matched her bond with Keith, but other times there was a discord that made things difficult.

Here, now, bleeding internally from the earlier ground crash and barely able to function, he was more determined than she had ever sensed him being. More decisive and sure than she had ever felt him be. Red let him fly because she knew he had it in him to be better, but this was the first time she felt like he fully belonged in the Red Lion. Why did it take near death to bring out this potential?

This thing’s about to go, Yellow warned as they reached open space. Hunk is fried. Our connection’s breaking up, I’m about to lose power.

Pidge is gone, Green reported. She was already slowing down as her living power adapter passed out. Still alive, but overloaded. Bond’s shorted, I’ve got nothing.

Allura’s still going! Blue’s exclamation was tinted with pride. Not for much longer, but I think we can go a little bit further!

Keith is still awake, Black affirmed. But he’ll reach his limit any minute now. I don’t know if this thing’s far enough, they have to push harder.

I’m cutting Lance off.

Red--

NO! Red’s response was explosive, washing through the group’s bond like a riptide. Even Hunk and Pidge started to stir, awakening just enough for the Yellow and Green Lions to begin filtering power back to life support systems. He’s only pushing because of Keith! I won’t have another Paladin die on my watch because of you and yours!

Blue cut Allura off suddenly as the others fell behind. Shocked at the vitriol aimed at him, Black abruptly cut off Keith as well. No great sacrifice for either of them, Red knew. She could feel that both pilots were barely alive at this point.

The robeast floated ahead of them, beginning to glow softly. Red took over quickly, shifting what power was left as best she could.

Kill the life support and communications. I suggest you turn off every system that isn’t defensive, focus everything you have on front shielding, Red advised the others angrily. This is going to hurt.

[littleredpencil]

Dissonance: Chapter 01

Type: Chapter fic in a series (1 of 5) Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Pairings: Keith/Lance, Shiro/Adam Main Characters: Keith Kogane, Lance McClain, Takashi "Shiro" Shirogane, Adam Wolfe, James Griffin

Note: Canon-compliant through season 7. Season 8 fix-it. See main post for summary.

----------

Six months ago:

Black…I need you, buddy. Please be able to hear me. The urgency feels almost physical, bordering on desperation. He has a team depending on him, he’s their leader whether he’s ready to be or not.

Green? Let’s do this, girl. I need you to help me protect my family. There’s an undercurrent of uncertainty, but it’s purely a confidence issue. Her determination is apparent.

Let’s go, Yellow…this is it, boy. Some hesitation, but a newfound pride that wasn’t there before. Purpose has wiped out the usual reluctance.

Come on, Blue. I know we can do this. Traces of nervousness colored by fear, but she’s ready to bring a good fight.

I wish Veronica would’ve just stayed back at the stupid Garrison. Broken, distracted. Too much to lose, too close by, with nothing to protect it but himself.

* * * * *

10,000 years ago:

It started with the dying of the fires, a fraying of the quintessence field edge into a curious emptiness. A nothing where once there was something, cold where lakes of flame once licked shining obsidian shores.

She was neither young nor old when it happened, grown enough to care for herself but mateless and not yet a mother. Her mind was free enough to worry about the encroaching darkness, despite the indifference of her pride. The quintessence field went on forever, they said, and the nothing crept in slowly. Her worry was pointless, her time spent pacing the edge of their territory keeping watch was wasted.

She didn’t say “I told you so” when the excitable blue visitor came, stopping on her way to scout a new home for her own pride. She didn’t say she warned them, when the blue brought tales of swathes of golden sea falling empty and losing their shimmer. The other reds found this disconcerting, but not enough to do anything about it.

Red walked with Blue to the end of the golden savanna when she left, where they paused to take in the gash of eerie blackness against the backdrop of their shining world.

“It’s not just the seas or the fires,” Blue confided. “The emerald forests are wilting, and the pearl deserts are sinking in on themselves. The black pride is the only one I haven’t heard from, but this is everywhere. It’s only a matter of time before it reaches their skies, too.”

“The White One hasn’t been seen in…a really long time,” Blue mused. Time was an abstract concept here in the forever, but he’d definitely been missing for longer than anyone would like. “This might have something to do with him being gone.”

The White One. A Guardian who had completely mastered the elemental magics of all five prides and Ascended, who had access to power beyond what any of them could comprehend. If anyone could figure out what was happening to the quintessence field, he could.

“I’ve heard the White One thought we should teach mortals the secrets of the universe,” Red replied. “Only special ones, of course. I’m not sure how you pick one temporary speck out from another, or how you can teach it much before it’s dead, though. Maybe that’s what’s keeping him, they get old and die and he has to keep starting over.”

It was a ridiculous idea, using eons of learning and focus to become the most powerful Guardian among them only to wander off to play with mortals. Red was disgusted.

Blue went on her way and Red returned to her routine. She paced the pools of liquid garnets, keeping a watchful eye on the black nothing, and continued to worry in silence.

She expected the call when it finally came. Another stretch of molten flames had given way to empty shadows when the young black arrived with news; the stars above the floating caves were blinking out, turning the velveteen field of diamonds into a sinister open wound in existence. Most of the quintessence field was untouched and it wasn’t a big problem yet, but they couldn’t continue to call themselves the Guardians of this plane without taking action. A gathering had been called at the Oasis.

Red had never seen a gathering of the Guardians. One must have happened at least once for everyone to know where to go, but it was before she’d come to be. The pride gathered up the cubs and began the trek to the Oasis, following the lead if their oldest pair.

Red brought up the rear with another young female, a male, and a kumale, having no idea where to go and having no cubs to wrangle. The conversation assured her she wasn’t the only one harboring doubts and fears, though those doubts and fears were somewhat assuaged as they traveled across plains and meadows, through mountain valleys and across running rivers. Much of the quintessence field was still pristine, untouched by the mysterious disease nibbling at the edges of their world.

The Oasis was a gently rippling expanse of silver water flanked by crystalline trees, tucked between dunes of the pearl desert. She didn’t know who built the temple across the water, only that this was a sacred place for gathering. Here, where a young red once pushed himself beyond all known limits to become the White One, only to disappear when he was needed the most.

Like the blues of the silver seas, the yellows of the pearl deserts were larger than Red, while the greens of the emerald forest more closely resembled her fiery family. The blacks of the floating crystal caves were biggest of all, the grand, feathered wings gracing their backs adding to their majestic bulk.

Red made her way to the water for a drink, past all the jewel-tone pelts glittering in the sun. Looking at her reflection, she wondered how long it would be before this beautiful oasis disappeared as well. Soon? Never?

“You have a very nice reflection to stare at, but you may want to move and let the little ones in.”

Red looked up to find a black male lounging on an outcrop of quartz. He was twice her size but didn’t seem much older, only a few eons at most. He was looking at a little green and yellow she didn’t realize she’d been blocking from the shallows. She stepped up onto an outgrowth of the quartz to get out of the way.

“I’m not used to so many in so small a space,” she admitted. “We usually have room to spread out more.”

“Oh, there’s plenty of room, you just have to spread up instead of out,” he replied. He stretched and moved over, tapping the now-empty space beside him on the quarts. Handsome and confident as he was, she wasn’t tempted; she was not here to make friends.

“The reason for this meeting,” she said instead. “I don’t suppose you know what it is?”

“A bit wound up, huh?” The black asked. Red was annoyed at the faint trace of amusement in his voice. “Let me put some worries to rest, then. There’s no pending apocalypse, it’s just a precaution.”

That quiet confidence did put some worries to rest.

“Thank you,” Red managed.

“No problem.” The black looked over at the mingling reds, then back down to her. “So, no cubs?” “No.”

“Mate?”

“No?”

“Me either.”

She didn’t know how she was supposed to answer that, so she didn’t. Instead, she turned and walked away, hoping to find somewhere a bit less crowded than the water’s edge.

“Rock’s always open,” he called after her. “You know, in case you change your mind.”

Red ignored him and picked her way through a group of playing cubs in search of something productive to do. As she went, she could have sworn she heard him chuckle.

* * * * *

Six months ago:

Even before the cacophony of roars, the psychic energy swirled thoughts through the abyss surrounding Saturn’s moons like a deafening storm. Mental screams echoed through space like a hurricane, rippling through the undercurrent of quintessence filling all existence.

The Black Lion heeded the call first, as always, having long since demanded his Paladin prove his worth as a leader. Such a forceful call from so great a distance was must have been tactfully planned, and Black was ready to play his part.

Green was next, then Yellow. The green and yellow Paladins weren’t just respected by their Lions, but loved; Green and Yellow would always come in moments of dire need.

Blue followed quickly, the most agreeable and accepting of the lot. Her bond with the Pink Paladin was still young and weak, a staticy overlay over the silent connection to her old Paladin. She felt the woman’s call ripple through her pride rather than hearing it herself, and knew she was needed.

Urgent, desperate, afraid, resolute. These feelings, more than words, communicated the direness of the situation as the Lions roared to life and took off from the moon’s surface.

Behind them, silent and still, the Red Lion remained.

* * * * *

10,000 years ago:

The social portion of the gathering, just as Black expected, was long and boring. By the time his mother—the leader of the black pride—called the meeting to order, he was chomping at the bit for something to do.

“First, we have no reason to worry,” she announced to murmurs of relief. “But something not being a problem to us doesn’t mean it’s not still a problem. Our scout has returned with news we feel you should all still be aware of.”

She looked at Black expectantly, and all eyes turned to him as he rose to stand on the edge of the quartz outcropping overlooking the oasis. From the looks of admiration, he knew his pride must be very impressive to the groups of smaller Guardians. He didn’t boast often since it was unbecoming of someone hoping to become a leader, but he did think he looked rather good up here.

Annoyingly, there was one face that didn’t seem very interested. The someone indifferent red female made it obvious by her pacing she didn’t care what he looked like as long as he got on with it. It was a bit off-putting, to be honest.

“I’ve been to the edges of the quintessence field,” he announced. “To the borders where realities meet. It seems some a mortal population is tapping directly into the field as an energy source, which, on the whole, isn’t worrying. Energy can’t be destroyed and the quintessence will eventually trickle back into the field, we’ve seen it before.”

Relief from all sides. Unfortunately, there was more.

“But the field is also being tapped by another reality,” he added. “More than simply for power, something’s siphoning it in a way that feels unnatural. I don’t want to lay blame, but the spike in use is curiously timed…”

He knew he didn’t need to finish. This strange rise in quintessence depletion went hand-in-hand with the White One’s disappearance into the mortal realities.

“It could be nothing, of course,” he allowed. “The faster it’s used the faster it builds up, and the trickle back into the field becomes a river. Eventually the species using it will die out and everything will return to normal. But I still feel it might warrant deeper investigation by a few volunteers.”

“Define ‘deeper investigation,’ please,” a yellow male requested. “How much deeper can we go than the edge of realities?”

“The White One left the quintessence field to enter a physical reality. I’m proposing we do the same.”

It wouldn’t be easy. Realities were governed by strict physical laws, and Guardians weren’t physical beings. They would need some kind of avatar to work through.

“Do you know the odds of getting one Guardian—one!—through a reality barrier in one piece?” A green female piped up. “Astronomical cubed, probably. You’d be pure energy through approximately ninety percent of the shift, and uncontained energy doesn’t exactly stay together under the physics of physical realities.”

“I think she’s saying your idea sounds dumb,” a blue female added.

“But in an intelligent way,” the yellow interjected diplomatically. “So…intelligently dumb?”

“No, fun dumb,” the blue answered. “Where do I sign up?”

“I just said you were going to get ripped apart into nothing the second you cross the barrier, what part of that is fun?” Green asked skeptically.

“You did say that,” Blue acknowledged. “But you seem like the kind of nerd who can figure out how to get around it, so let’s go wreck someone else’s place for a while.”

“This isn’t a fun trip!” Black stammered, thrown off by Blue’s enthusiasm. “It’s a serious expedition! Would could find ourselves needing to fight to keep our home safe!”

“What are you scratching in the sand?” Yellow ignored Black to ask Green. “It looks like you’re doing very complicated math in the sand.”

“Well, yes, because it needs to be very precise,” Green replied. “We’d have to bond with some kind of trans-reality matter, inorganic since nothing organic can survive that trip. So, mineral. That kind of matter is pretty rare, the probability of finding something soon would be…um…divide by zero, carry the infinity…”

“Guys!” Black didn’t mean to yell, but he didn’t know how else to get their attention. “I don’t think you understand how serious this. We’re talking about a trip that could potentially destroy us before we’re even on the other side.”

That made everyone quiet down.

“But…if it’s so terrible, why are you even suggesting it?” Yellow asked.

Black didn’t have a chance to answer. His well-practiced speech had been derailed, and another voice chimed in before he could get back on track.

“Because he wants to look for the White One.”

The pretty, sullen red he spoke to earlier made her way toward them. She had a forceful air about her—not violent nor cruel but certainly imposing—that made the crowd part for her.

“Am I right?” She asked. “You think the White Guardian gave our secrets to mortals who are misusing them, and you need to investigate whether it will truly threaten the whole quintessence field someday.”

“Oh!” Blue piped up when Red reached them. “You’re that nice red who walked me across the savanna!”

“And you’re in over your head,” Red replied. “Even if you do hitch a ride on a trans-reality comet—which is what she’s talking about—what then? Float around a reality on a hunk of rock for eternity?”

“Not eternity, just until we get close to organic life forms,” Green said. “Find smart enough ones and form strong enough bonds, and we can use their senses and hands as our own. So, we find some mortals, link up, do our job, then hop back on the comet and wait for it to go back through the field to bring us home. Which it will do, eventually.”

“Sounds like a solid plan to me,” Blue decided.

“Sure,” Black said carefully. “And don’t get me wrong, but I was hoping for some volunteers who were a little more…serious and experienced.”

“Sucks to be you,” Blue readily replied. “Because I don’t see anyone else volunteering.”

Sure enough, the other Guardians were watching them with varying degrees of skepticism and disbelieve. Black looked across the Oasis, to the temple steps where his mother sat watching the whole event grimly. She understood, and believed this trip was necessary as well.

But she couldn’t command anyone better to accompany him, that wasn’t how their world worked.

Black looked back down at the excitable blue. She wasn’t young, not really, and neither were Green or Yellow. Younger than he would have liked, maybe, but maybe it took youth and a lack of sense to go through with what he intended.

“I guess you made the team, then,” he relented, turning to Green. “Are you volunteering too?”

“I don’t think you’d get very far without me,” Green reasoned. “None of you seem to understand math. And I can tell this is very important, so…yes. I suppose I am.”

Black nodded and climbed down from his perch, biting back his frustrated sigh.  Leaders didn’t show weakness in front of a full gathering of people.

“All right. Let’s go, then, we have a lot to talk about.”

He headed for the Temple, and Green followed. Blue took a few steps, but paused to look back at Yellow.

“You were coming too, right?” She prompted.

“Me? No, why would I be going?”

“Uh, because we’re friends, and you don’t leave friends hanging out to dry?”

“I’ve never met you before in my life!” Yellow blurted.

“We shared a moment!” Blue insisted. “We’re friends forever now! Trust me, I’m an authority on all kinds of relationships.”

“I…but…that’s…” Yellow sputtered. He dropped his head, ears flattening, and plodded along after the others. “Ugh.”

Black stopped when he reached the base of the stairs to let the others pass first. Green picked her way past and Blue bounded after her, with Yellow shuffling behind. There was no way they understood what they’d signed up for, but he hoped by the time he finished explaining, they’d agree they weren’t ready.

He brought up the rear, and looked down in surprise when Red fell into step beside him. He didn’t know what happened to make her so closed off, but she looked ready to fight the whole universe.

“Don’t look so shocked,” she spoke before he could, not even glancing up at him. “I can tell you’re not a very good leader, and somebody has to keep those three alive.”

* * * * *

Six months ago:

“We’ve been spotted!”

“Augh!”

“Watch out, okay? Be careful!”

“I know!”

Explosions and laserfire, half drowned by the roar of a vehicle engine. “Lance, where are you? Can you hear me?”

A squeal of tires and more laserfire. “Whoa! Veronica! Look out!”

A low explosion, cries of surprise. Screams of pain, followed by radio silence from the McClain feed. The other radios crackled with the worried voices of teammates.

“Oh no.” The faintest whisper from the Atlas Captain.

“Lance, are you there?” The pink Paladin’s voice was unsteady.

“Lance, where are you, buddy?” The yellow Paladin’s disbelief was audible, as if it were impossible for what he imagined to have happened.

“Lance, can you hear us?” The green Paladin, enunciating loud and clear, understanding that perhaps the issue was some dizziness associated with an impact.

“Lance?”

The red Paladin’s voice held none of those. It was a helpless anger, frustration at being unable to help. It was the anguish of a leader who didn’t really want to be, who felt the weight of a possible death weighing down on his shoulders.

“Lance! Come in!”

Agony. Hopelessness. A gut-wrenching ache that rippled outward, magnified by his link to the Black Lion and lingering bond with the Red. That was what reached her out beyond Jupiter, that fire that boiled the blood and nursed a fledgling fury. She didn’t understand going to war over honor, or fighting a battle for righteousness.

But she understood rage.

Come on, Lance. Answer. Please answer me.

There was no call from the blue Paladin. His bond with her was weak, disrupted by his low self-esteem and uncertainty about the future. But she knew something was wrong when she felt her previous pilot’s anguish, heard his voiceless scream.

She took off, flying in the direction of the call because she felt the boy’s pain. It dug into unhealed wounds, set ablaze a flame that had dwindled to embers over centuries but never fully extinguished. It fueled her flight, following the path her pride already took.

Don’t do this to us, I need you to answer. I need you to be okay.

Red was the fastest. The most temperamental. The most changeable. She moved like a wildfire, her claws tearing apart the little tin hulls of Galra ships unfortunate enough to be in her way, leaving a trail of blackened and burned metal in her wake. There was no mercy for anything standing between her and her goal.

Please. Please…please.

She did not slow down as she broke the little blue planet’s atmosphere. She felt him here, the blue Paladin, but only because he was close. Only here, closing the distance, could she feel his emotional numbness and quiet resignation. It was so faint, barely a glimmer.

This boy did not belong on the front lines of a war.

He wasn’t even calling her, completely wrapped up in the fog of battle. What Red responded to was her old Paladin, to Keith’s screams on Lance’s behalf. And even then, only until this bond finally broke and he was permanently the problem of Black.

Her paws slammed into the ground with the force of one hundred tons, cratering the earth beneath and crushing the flimsy Galra striker caught in her predatory dive. She roared, letting all of the nearby trespassers know that she was here.

Ready. And angry.

[littleredpencil]

Fic List (Pinned Post)

Voltron: Legendary Defender

Oneshots:

Work Song

Fate Claims Us All

Chapter Fics:

Bond I: Dissonance

Bond II: Cambiata

Bond III: Intermezzo

Bond IV: Sonata

Bond V: Fugue

The Twilight Saga

Chapter Fics:

Postmortem I: Nebula

Postmortem II: Supernova

Postmortem III: Black Hole

[littleredpencil]

Nebula - Preface

Type: Chapter fic Fandom: The Twilight Saga Pairing: Bella/OC, eventually Bella/Edward

Fic post here for summary and warnings. Also on AO3.

----------

I’d recently given a lot of thought to how I would die—I certainly had reason enough in the last few months—but I never imagined it like this.

I stared without breathing across the field, into the dark eyes of the predator, and they looked curiously back at me.

I knew that if I’d never come to Forks, I wouldn’t be facing death now. Helpless and terrified as I was, I definitely regretted the decision. How could life offer a dream so far beyond expectations, only to snatch it away? To leave me here, alone and broken and in such terrible danger?

I once thought it was a good way to die, in place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. Now, standing here on my own, facing down the ignoble demise fate had led me to in that loved one’s place, I wanted more than anything to live.

The hunter smiled in an eerie way and lunged forward to kill me.

The lions had sacrificed the lamb, and I died screaming.

[littleredpencil]

Fate Claims Us All

Type: Oneshot Fandom: VLD Pairing: Curtis/Kuron

Credit to the cool Anon who gave me this prompt in my tumblr asks (regarding a soulmate AU idea):

"I've been thinking of recently divorced Curtis finding the kanji for "black" tattooed on his wrist one day. He thinks it's somehow related to Shiro - because what are the odds of another Japanese man in his life? - but can't quite figure out how..."

----------

Black.

The character was clear and unmistakable when he looked closely, blending in with Curtis’ skin tone from afar but a shade or two lighter up close. It painted the inside of his forearm, where he could see it every time he changed his clothes or rolled up his sleeve, the same unexplained riddle billions of people had dealt with before him.

Curtis remembered back when he was in high school, reading young adult novels about soulmate marks that were simple and straightforward. The other person’s full name, perhaps, or the first thing one heard them say upon meeting. Matching shapes. Countdown timers. All manner of fanciful ways that got around the intrinsically mysterious nature of the marks to move the plot along and help the hero find his or her One.

It sucked that real life wasn’t so simple. No, instead of names or phrases people were born with marks that had to be interpreted. Sometimes words, sometimes symbols, and in one case he’d read about in a magazine, a woman had been born with coordinates but no date or time.

Of course, then there was the added confusion that not everyone was born with a match-mark. Some people didn’t develop one until a bit later in life. Some didn’t have any at all, they were free of this horrible weight of destiny and able to mix freely with anyone they wanted without the crushing worry that they were thwarting some all-important fate.

Curtis had been one of those people. He’d been born mark-free, and he had never envied his peers. Year after year from puberty on, watching his friends drive themselves up a wall trying to interpret the clues on their skin. They were all married now of course, having each found that their match was out there looking just as fervently for them. Able to look back and laugh at how worried they’d been that they’d never find their partner, aware now that while fate might be a trickster in this she wasn’t outright cruel.

Until fairly recently, Curtis had sat back and watched all this happen, content in the knowledge that it wasn’t his problem. Even after the Galra invasion, when fate had taken a hard turn and so many people on Earth had died, many peoples’ marks had changed and many who had previously been clean found themselves suddenly tapped in...as if they’d been backup partners who were now needed. But Curtis had not been one of them.

It wasn’t the first time there had been a mass shift in match-marks. Everyone was bound to each other through their attachment to their planet’s quintessence, in times of war or plague that had caused mass casualties large numbers of soulmates were obviously lost, and somebody else alive became the next best match. Soulmate pairs who were both still alive remained untouched, while those who had lost theirs changed and those who had none woke up to find themselves “assigned.” But that shake up had not affected Curtis.

He had been free to fall in love with the Captain of the Atlas, admittedly a terrible idea right from the start due to Takashi being his direct superior officer. But war was hell and being out on deployment away from Earth was worse; confined in a small space with a limited amount of people, most of whom were already marked for somebody else. After the invasion, unmarked people had gone from a common occurrence to almost unheard of, and there were only six of them on the Atlas.

Four of them had not even been from Earth. He and Takashi had been the only unmarked humans aboard the ship, just one more thing among many they had in common.

Over the course of the war, it became very easy to believe match-marks were just a bunch of bullshit. After all, he and Takashi didn’t have them, and they got along perfectly. Their chemistry was good, enough to result in a war-long span of sneaking off to meet in secret since their relationship was against the rules. Good enough that when the war was over and they retired, getting married was already a foregone conclusion. Good enough that their marriage had been a match made in heaven for three years.

But then, reality came crashing in. Takashi came home one day with his usually happy demeanor gone, clearly troubled. He finally admitted to Curtis that he wasn’t really unmarked…marks could be on any part of the body, and his was on the back of his neck. It was hidden by the white hair he’d let grow out, which was why he’d never gone back to the buzz cut he’d been so fond of in pictures from his younger days.

Not only was he not unmarked, but the person his mark referred to had been a fellow soldier. He had been badly wounded in the invasion and had been found in a coma after the Galra overthrow. He had been unconscious in a hospital for six years, but now Takashi had gotten word that he’d woken up.

And just like that, the stupid marks that Curtis had been so sure had no bearing on his life had completely ruined it. Although to be fair, it was Takashi keeping secrets that ruined it, not the existence of the mark itself. Perhaps if Curtis had known the truth he would have been willing to continue the relationship anyway. But at least then he would have been prepared for the possibility that it would end, instead of coming home from doing the goddamned Christmas shopping to be blindsided by it.

Black.

It was a Japanese kanji, which made it that much worse. There were plenty of Japanese Americans in New Mexico, just like anywhere else, but the only ones he really knew were Takashi and his family. And the only one the mark made any sense for was Takashi himself, whose nickname was literally Japanese for “white.” Black was a color, the opposite of white, which brought him to “Shiro” and thus to Takashi, which was exactly the screwed up way these damned riddles liked to work.

But for it to be referring to Takashi, it would have to mean the man he’d recently gotten back wasn’t going to be around for long. That he would pass away and leave Takashi free to come back to Curtis again.

And that was just a fucking terrible read all around. Curtis had not willingly gotten the stupid divorce a year ago. He had wanted anything but to give up his husband to somebody else, but that didn’t mean he wanted anybody to die over it. Nor did he think he could stomach just being somebody’s backup.

“Stop playing with your bandage,” Curtis’ sister Roxanne whispered from the chair next to him, elbowing him lightly. “Staring at it isn’t going to give you an answer.”

The bandage she was referring to was the one that was currently wrapped around part of his forearm, thanks to a nasty cut he’d gotten last week during a local private investigation job. It covered the injury, but it also covered the match-mark, and he couldn’t help absently playing with it.

“I can’t just ignore it,” Curtis whispered back, giving in and rolling his sleeve back down. “Don’t you think it’s a little bit weird that it only just appeared two weeks ago? They don’t just come and go unless something’s changed somewhere.”

“Maybe the person its referring to was just born a few weeks ago,” Roxanne suggested, flipping a page in her magazine. “That makes sense, right? You can’t have a soul mate who’s not born.”

“I’m thirty-five years old!” Curtis exclaimed. “I am not going to get involved with somebody more than three decades younger than me, ever!”

“Well you don’t really have a choice, do you?” Roxanne asked. “Fate is fate.”

“Fate is bullshit.”

“You say that now. Just wait until we take you out for your 55th birthday and you meet a hot twenty-year-old.”

“How can you sit there and make fun of this?” Curtis asked, pulling the magazine out of her hands. “This is serious. This is something that’s allegedly supposed to affect the rest of my life.”

“I’m not making fun of you, I’m just enjoying your discomfort,” Roxanne corrected. “All my life I had to put up with my snooty big brother, always looking down on match-marks like they were some kind of prison sentence and going on about how he’s not held down. Now I get to watch you have a nervous breakdown because you’ve suddenly got a predetermined lil’ boo out there.”

“You’re loving this.”

“I’m loving this,” Roxanne agreed.

“You know I don’t actually care about the mark, right?”

“Of course you care about the mark.”

“No, I just hate not knowing things,” Curtis corrected. “I only want to know what it means because I’m a nosy little shit.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t go running off to start checking people the second you got a real clue from it about who it might be for?” Roxanne asked skeptically.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Curtis answered. “I’m not insane like everyone else I know. You do realize that if a match-mark means you have a fated soul mate, they’ll find you eventually, right? You don’t have to go looking like a nutjob. That’s what fate is. So if this is actually real, eventually the person it’s pointing to will show up on my doorstep. Or wherever. I just hate having something on my body that I don’t understand the meaning of. That part is driving me nuts.”

“You have no sense of romance,” Roxanne sighed. She looked up at the clock on the wall. “What time are they supposed to get here? And where are these doctors from again?”

Curtis took out his phone to find the last email from Takashi. He still didn’t know who this other man was, or what his ex-husband’s mark even looked like—he hadn't wanted to know any of the details, though from what he remembered of life before the invasion he had his suspicions. But the band-aid had been ripped off quickly, so a year was enough for the worst feelings to settle. It didn’t even go to court, Takashi simply had to prove he had a match-mark and that its target was alive and the divorce was immediately approved, leaving them putting their house on the market and Curtis moving into a new apartment barely a month later.

A year in his own place, with only his things. All shared items accumulated during the relationship had been gotten rid of. Curtis still felt a little bitter about how things turned out, but that bitterness was at this so-called “fate” in general, not at Takashi specifically. He still hurt sometimes but he didn’t have any ill feelings, and they still kept occasional contact since Curtis had made good friends in Takashi’s family and vice versa.

So when Roxanne’s little girl fell ill, and no specialists seemed able to figure out what was going on, Curtis reached out to all the contacts he had. That included the former Captain of the Atlas, who now held a Council seat on the Galaxy Alliance and a much farther reach than Curtis had. A week and a half ago, Takashi got back to him saying that he'd gotten approval for a small team of doctors from an Earth colony on Altea to visit Earth, to see if there was anything in Altea’s vastly more advanced medicine that could help.

“Pollux,” he answered. “It’s an island country off the coast of Altea’s capital city. It was uninhabited, so they let Earth use it for an embassy and colony. Some of the team coming are Earth natives, some are Altean. They should be arriving any time now.”

“Shiro really feels bad, huh?” Roxanne asked, shaking her head slightly. “He’s really pulling a lot of strings here to help.”

“It’s the least he could do,” Curtis answered. “And he still owes me, as far as I’m concerned.”

Roxanne went back to her magazine. Curtis rose and crossed the small, private office, opening the blinds to look out across the air field. A lot had changed on Earth since contact with outside life had been made…instead of watching only airplanes take off, he was also watching small space transports launch and land.

The door eventually opened to admit a familiar face. Lance, Earth’s ambassador to Altea and the man who Curtis suspected was ultimately responsible for helping them at Takashi’s request, smiled brightly as he came into the office.

“Hey! Sorry I made you guys wait, I was actually in a meeting with Coran and the transport had to wait for me to come back,” he grinned offering Curtis his hand. “How have you been? Shiro says you’re a merc!”

“It’s espionage for hire,” Roxanne said before Curtis could respond, clearly smirking behind her magazine. “Mercenary work is for hotheaded brutes.”

Curtis didn’t know why she thought that was so funny, since it was true. Stealth and espionage was what he did, if somebody wanted to hire somebody to go into Imperial Faction territory with guns ablaze then he was not the one they wanted.

“Technically, I’m retired,” was the answer Curtis did actually give, welcoming Lance’s hand and shaking it more than happily. “You look good. How’s Keith doing?”

Keith and Lance had been a real trip during the war. Two people who everyone could clearly tell were bound by their match-marks, but neither seemed to grasp that the other was the answer to their mystery until they were in their twenties. From what Curtis heard, they still acted exactly the same toward each other as they had before, but now they had a marriage license.

“He’s good! The Blade has been following the Coalition and Daibazaal along their route. They have a system down now, every planet that gets liberated from the imperials is back up and running within months.”

“That’s impressive,” Curtis complimented. And it really was; the Blade of Marmora had become one of the most effective disaster relief groups Curtis had ever seen under Keith’s leadership.

“Yeah, he does a good job for an idiot,” Lance agreed. “Can I just talk to you alone for a minute? Customs is checking in the medical team, but there’s something I need to brief you on before I take you down.”

Curtis glanced over at Roxanne, not certain what might need to be said that she couldn’t hear. But Roxanne didn’t put up a fight, she was more interested in having this run smoothly for her daughter’s sake than in being curious.

“I’m just going to go grab a soda from the vending machine,” she offered, grabbing her purse and leaving the office.

“Just for the record,” Lance said once she was gone, “I’m still sorry about the divorce. If there’s anything Keith or I can do, let me know.”

“It’s fine,” Curtis shook his head, leaning against the empty desk. “That’s life, right? Things happen. It’s been a year and I’m doing okay. I just have to get through another year or two and all of it will be behind me.”

“Good,” Lance answered with a slight nod. “Because one of the doctors here might really test your patience in that regard. But I need you to trust me when I tell you that he’s absolutely one of the best.”

“I don’t like the sound of that first part.”

“I know, but you’d like it less if I didn’t warn you,” Lance said. “You know about Shiro dying in the fight with Zarkon, and that Allura managed to pull his soul from the Black Lion and put it in a clone. But do you know the details?”

“I never knew there were any details to ask for,” Curtis answered, frowning. “I mean, Keith told me about the fight on that moon. I know he brought the body back, I know he discovered Takashi’s soul in the Black Lion on his return. What other details are there?”

“Well, for starters, the clone was a copy of Shiro in everything,” Lance replied. “His memories, his personality. It was the clone who piloted the Black Lion and fought in some of the most major battles of the war before we were caught in the time dilation. He was under Haggar’s control when he attacked us and Keith, but besides that he was just another version of Shiro. Allura wasn’t about to kill somebody who was our friend.”

“One body, two souls,” Curtis did that math. He had never really thought about it before. “One’s got to go if the other’s going to live.”

“The clone went willingly,” Lance nodded. “The war, fighting Keith, finding out he wasn’t who he thought he was...it was a lot of stress. A lot of trauma. But Allura wasn’t going to just dump him into the ether. So she switched them out instead.”

“Switched them out,” Curtis repeated. “What does that mean? She took Takashi out of the Black Lion and put the clone in?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what it means,” Lance answered. “And he stayed there. After we ended the occupation on Earth and the rebuild started, Keith pulled us on a covert op to go back and check out that lab. What we ended up finding was that part of the mainframe and three pods were still intact. They were on the portion of scaffold that was physically attached to the moon, when everything broke off that part was still attached.”

“You found three more clones,” Curtis asked in disbelief. “There are three copies of Takashi out there?”

“No,” Lance sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We tried to save them…I mean, it wasn’t their fault they existed. But they were just empty bodies, they weren’t alive. They never had been. Any attempts to take them off complete life support didn’t work, and eventually we had to do the merciful thing and just let two of them die.”

“And the third?” Curtis asked, beginning to think he already knew where this was going.

“The third…Allura used as a vessel for the soul that was still stored in the Black Lion,” Lance answered. “Iverson quietly got him resettled at one of our Japanese bases, got him ID paperwork and some counseling. He technically already had Shiro’s degree in biological sciences, so he started at a med school while we were all out at war.”

“Hold on,’ Curtis couldn’t believe what he was being told. “So while we were out there on the Atlas chasing down Honerva, there was a Takashi clone back on Earth the whole time?”

“Look, I fought with this guy for eight months,” Lance said somberly. “He was always there for us, the same way Shiro was. The least we owed him was a shot at his own life. He’s not dangerous, the clones didn’t have any of the mechanical implants Honerva was using for control. And he’s really, really smart…he was already better than most of the doctors on Earth by the time we got back from the war, and he’s spent the years since as a student on Altea getting even better. I have dinner at his house when I’m there for meetings, he’s a good man. He’ll take care of your niece.”

Curtis nodded slightly, his head reeling. He could understand why he wasn’t told before about the existence of this clone, the quieter everything was kept the better for everyone involved, but it still threw him for a loop.

“As far as anybody else is concerned, we’re telling them he’s a cousin of Shiro’s,” Lance said, stepping over and opening the office door. “I just needed to make sure you knew that you can’t go asking the family about him. Shiro is introducing him to them little by little.”

Curtis stepped out into the hall to find Roxanne waiting. Lance led them down to the elevator, then through a series of security checkpoints downstairs. When they arrived, there were two humans and two Alteans in the waiting area just past security. Lance frowned as they approached, looking around.

“Um,” Lance called their attention as he stopped and looked around. “There are only four of you. Did number five escape?”

“Security took him to an office,” a human woman said, gesturing back toward the scanning area. “He…uh…required a strip search.”

“Wait, what?” Lance looked surprised. “Why?”

All four of them pursed their lips, visibly trying not to snicker. An Altean man cleared his throat.

“He had to prove to them that something setting off the detectors wasn’t a threat,” he said. He made a hand motion to the area slightly lower than his belt. “You know. Piercing.”

“Oh my God,” Lance groaned, rubbing his face. “Oh my God, I didn’t know he had one of those to warn security about. Oh, Jesus, why didn’t I know? I should have known. I should have just assumed the worst.”

“—but honestly you barely feel a thing,” an eerily familiar voice came from down the hall as an office door opened. “The tissue’s soft enough that there’s minimal resistance, and it’s supposed to really add to the sensation during intercourse.”

Two of the customs security guards came around the corner with a man who Curtis thought he might not have even recognized if Lance hadn’t warned him. The face and height were the same, and though he wasn’t huge there was at least some decent amount of muscle there.

But that was where the similarities ended.

This man didn’t have a facial scar, or a prosthetic arm. His hair was black, except for a patch in the front that had been bleached and dyed a deep purple, and long enough that he had it pulled up in a ponytail. His ears were studded with several piercings apiece, and he was wearing what was clearly a dog collar.

And that was only the differences as far as down to his neck. He was wearing a band t-shirt and two pendants in different length chains, over black leather pants and combat boots. One of his visible arms was covered in a tattoo sleeve that went all the way down to his wrist, and he had a leather jacket slung over his shoulder.

“There you are!” He brightened when he saw Lance as he was released and made his way over. “You missed it, I almost made two grown men cry.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Lance sighed, opening the gate for him to step out and join the others. “I was just grabbing the family for you guys so you could get some details. This is Roxanne Bernard, Vivienne’s mother. And this is Curtis Duchesne, Vivienne’s uncle.”

“Hello,” the man—Dr. Shirogane, Curtis had to remind himself, as gobsmacked as he currently was—politely shook Roxanne’s hand. “Nice to meet you. And hello.”

That greeting was aimed at Curtis himself, and he was already too unsteady to properly respond. He felt like the world was upside down as he took the offered hand.

“Hey,” Lance said sharply, pointing at Dr. Shirogane as if he were a disobedient puppy. “No. We have a meeting, behave.”

Dr. Shirogane gave a mock-disappointed “tsk” and went to grab the two bags that were waiting for him. Lance gestured for everyone to head down the hallway toward the meeting rooms and Curtis obeyed, still feeling like he’d just stepped into the Twilight Zone.

* * * * *

There was a lengthy meeting about Vivienne’s case. Lots of questions were asked about the care she’d already received, but Curtis remembered none of them. Roxanne and her husband, who’d come to join them, knew the answers to those questions best so Curtis didn’t really pay attention.

He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. All of his attention was on Dr. Shirogane as he continued to try and convince himself that he was awake and this wasn’t some kind of fever dream.

Once niceties had been exchanged and the medical file brought up, Dr. Shirogane’s entire demeanor had changed. He sat up straight and spoke authoritatively, asked direct questions and voiced his opinions strongly. It was like watching Takashi himself speak, but the fashion was all wrong and the voice was slightly different. Several years in different environments had given the two men some faint biological differences, but the gestures and the posture and even the way Dr. Shirogane rolled his eyes was the same.

What came out of his mouth might as well have been another language. Curtis couldn’t focus on anything he was actually saying through the dissonance. And to make matters worse, Curtis was sitting at one corner of the table with Dr. Shirogane right next to him on the other side. The air around him was tinged with the faint but luxurious scent of Black Orient, a favorite cologne Curtis had previously attempted to get Takashi to wear with no success.

There was a single tattoo on his other arm, the one without a sleeve. It was on the inside of his forearm, the silhouette of an oak leaf with a rainbow-gradient galaxy scene in it. It was the only decoration on that arm, not part of any larger piece, and Curtis couldn’t quite figure out the symbolism.

There was also the slight problem that Curtis knew next to nothing about medicine and had no direct say in Vivienne’s care, he was just here as moral support for his sister and brother-in-law. So he didn’t know exactly how long he’d been sitting here staring like an idiot when Dr. Shirogane finally picked up the papers in front of him and straightened them by tapping them on the desk, effectively calling the meeting to adjourn.

“There’s not really much we can do right now,” he was saying as Curtis snapped himself out of his daze. “So we’ll send the recommendation over to the children’s hospital and have them start the treatment change. We’ll each do five-hour shifts to keep an eye on her and document any changes or improvements…I think within a few days we can probably gather enough information to be on our way to a solid diagnosis. I’ll take the first shift, if nobody minds.”

Nobody minded. The others offered to take his things to the hotel while they went to settle in, and an Altean woman promised to come and relieve him in five hours.

Everyone rose to leave. Curtis remained seated while the other doctors picked up their bags to get out of the room, hoping to trail behind far enough that he wasn’t asked anything that might reveal he hadn’t been paying attention. Dr. Shirogane followed his colleagues out, and Curtis’ traitorous eyes went right to the one place he had been trying not to let them go as the other man left.

God, were those leather pants painted on?

“Nice,” Curtis heard Roxanne whisper when her husband wasn’t listening. “I didn’t know Shiro had a cousin who was a doctor. They look so much alike, don’t they?”

“I didn’t notice,” Curtis lied, dropping his eyes down to the table. “He’s got a lot of family still over in Japan though, maybe the looks run in the family.”

“Maybe,” Roxanne conceded, rising with him. “John’s going right to the hospital to be with Vivienne, let Mom and Dad come home. I have to go to the house and clean up, and get a fresh overnight bag for us. Can you drive me if John takes the car?”

“Of course,” Curtis nodded, finally getting up as well now that the coast was clear. “While you get that together I’ll throw together some dinner for you to take with you.”

“Thanks,” Roxanne gave him a peck on the cheek as they left the meeting room. “I really don’t know how we’d get through all this without your help.”

* * * * *

Roxanne getting cleaned up and repacking their bags for what could potentially become another week at the hospital took about four and a half hours. Which was fine with Curtis, he had nowhere he had to be today and Roxanne had to run a few loads of laundry. He spent the time cooking a few meals, putting them into individual lunch containers and packing them up so they had dinner for the next five nights.

Roxanne and John spent almost every night at the hospital, and when one came home to get a good night’s sleep in their bed the other one stayed. Curtis didn’t mind helping out with these sorts of tasks; he felt helpless to do anything useful for his niece, so he could at least help make sure her parents’ needs were met so they could be there for her. Once everything was done, he put the bags in the car and drove Roxanne to the hospital, helping her carry everything up to the room.

John was in the chair by the bed, quietly reading a book. In addition to the food Curtis had cooked, he and Roxanne stopped by a drive thru for something hot for right now. While they went to the cafeteria to get some coffee and eat, Curtis took a turn at the little girl’s bedside. Everything was quiet while he was there, there was no change in Vivienne in the meantime, and Dr. Shirogane did not make an appearance.

At least, not until the Altean woman did. The two of them walked in together, discussing a chart, and Curtis assumed they met up in one of the hospital offices. They were both wearing white lab coats, which made Dr. Shirogane look almost like a normal doctor.

“…they got a little elevated after the IV started, but everything evened out after about an hour,” Dr. Shirogane was speaking softly to the other doctor as they came in. “We’re not going to know for another two days or so, but if she’s responding this positively already I think we’re looking in the right direction.”

“I’ll keep an eye on it,” the Altean woman promised. “Did you give her the dose I suggested?”

“Yes. She’s due for another in about two hours. I’m going to head out.”

Curtis stayed sunk down in the chair, praying not to be noticed. His prayers were almost answered, but Roxanne and John returned just as Dr. Shirogane was leaving. They of course called attention to Curtis as they thanked him and let him know he was free to go.

Dr. Shirogane had already removed his lab coat, so Roxanne and John turned their questions to the Altean woman. Curtis didn’t want to be in the way so he stepped out of the room, and found himself walking toward the elevator next to a disturbingly cheerful clone of his ex-husband. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he said nothing, letting the silence stretch out as they both stepped into the otherwise empty elevator.

And then there was that cologne again. Nowhere near as strong as this morning, but the last traces still clinging for the day.

“So…I don’t mean to bother you when you’re just stepping off duty here,” Curtis finally said when he couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “But I have no idea what’s going on with Vivienne right now.”

“Well, if you paid attention while we were talking this morning instead of staring at my arms, you’d understand what was happening,” Dr. Shirogane answered simply.

Curtis winced a bit. He hadn’t realized he’d been being so obvious. He felt like a complete idiot, and it must have showed. The somewhat stern countenance evaporated, and Dr. Shirogane chuckled slightly. He had a low, throaty laugh that was a little more mischievous than Takashi’s.

“I’m just picking on you,” Dr. Shirogane said as the elevator opened to let them out on the ground floor. “I already know who you are, Takashi warned me. I’m sorry, when all you did was stare instead of punching me in the face on instinct, I couldn’t resist.”

Dr. Shirogane folded his hands behind his back and flipped around so he was walking backwards. Curtis wasn’t sure if he could somehow tell where he was going, or if everyone was just getting out of his way due to how much he stood out.

“Vivienne has a bug we think isn’t of Earth origin,” he said as he walked, matching Curtis’ pace so they moved along face-to-face. “There are a couple humans can catch, but they don’t usually get this bad. It looks like she caught something here that might have weakened her immune system, and then this other disease came along and took advantage of that.”

“How would it have?” Curtis asked, reaching out to grab Dr. Shirogane’s shirt and stop him from backing square into the automatic doors, which were a bit slow to open. “She’s never been off world. Neither have her parents, and I’ve been home for the last two months.”

“There are a lot of ways,” Dr. Shirogane shrugged. “Things like this, they can jump from person to person and in most people be just a sniffle, then hit somebody who’s already very sick and knock them down. From Vivienne’s chart, it looks like she had pneumonia.”

“Yes, the doctors were trying to treat her for that, but then she only got worse.”

“So she was probably already weakened from that, and then any one of you could have been passed this other virus simply by walking past the wrong person on the street. The only problem is that Earth just isn’t equipped to deal with these cases yet because Vivienne’s is probably one of the first. There will be a lot more medical firsts now that humans are interacting with other planets.”

“But is she going to be okay?” Curtis asked as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. “Did one of us give her something that might…?”

“We’re treating her for three different viruses,” Dr. Shirogane replied. “Two Altean, one Galran. We won’t know for a few days which one it is, when certain reactions start, but the fact that the fluid in her lungs is already thinning tells us it’s definitely one of them. Once we know which, we’ll be able to figure out how to treat it without making the pneumonia worse. So, yes, she’s going to be okay…eventually. But we were brought in pretty late, I can’t promise you it won’t get worse before it gets better.”

Curtis nodded dully. Vivienne was so little, he hated the thought that this might get worse. And he hated the thought that he was one of the people who might have made her even sicker while visiting her during her initial hospital stay.

Dr. Shirogane pulled out a phone and stepped away from him, raising an arm to hail a taxi. Curtis knew they were paying a pretty penny for the services of five off-world specialists already, but it still seemed a little ungrateful to make him take a cab.

“Hey, I can drop you off at your hotel,” he offered, pulling his car keys out of his pocket and giving them a shake. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“That would be nice,” Dr. Shirogane answered, holding up his phone. “I don’t actually know where I'm going, I was just going to show the driver the address.”

“I’m parked over in the lot across the street,” Curtis nodded in the direction of the parking lot entrance. “Do you need to stop anywhere else?”

“No, we’ll probably be doing a group shopping trip for essentials at some point,” Dr. Shirogane answered, falling into step beside him and showing him the address for the hotel. It wasn’t far. “But thank you.”

“It’s fine. I have to ask though, since you brought it up…what kind of horror stories did Takashi tell you about me, oh doctor who he never mentioned before?” Curtis wondered.

That made Dr. Shirogane laugh again. It was just such a playful, teasing kind of sound…Takashi could never.

“He keeps things pretty close,” Dr. Shirogane admitted. “He especially keeps the rest of his life separate from me, and for good reason. I’ve only been my own person for a few years, he wants me to be able to settle into my own life without being pressured by his. Holding back the dam, so to speak, so I don’t drown. Only letting people meet me drip by drip so I don’t get overwhelmed. All I ever knew was that he had a husband, the first time I ever learned your name was when he called me last year and his only greeting was “I fucked up I fucked up I fucked up.”

“Yeah, he definitely fucked up,” Curtis confirmed.

“It’s Ryou, by the way. Since Lance completely forgot to actually introduce any of us.”

Ryou. Curtis only knew a little about Japanese naming conventions, so he didn’t really know much about the meaning. But from a strictly audial standpoint it was nice. He kind of looked like a Ryou, the same way some people just looked like Chads or Harrys or Jennifers.

“He definitely didn’t tell me you were so tall,” Ryou added as they reached the car. “He gave me the impression that you were sort of…proper and compact and polite, not six-foot-five and built like a fireman’s calendar model.”

“Well, much like whoever his current partner is, he didn’t prepare me for you at all,” Curtis admitted, opening Ryou’s door for him. “I’m still getting whiplash every time I look at you. I never thought Takashi even had a wild side.”

“Everyone has a wild side,” Ryou smirked slightly as Curtis came around and got in. “Even you, I hear.”

“He didn’t,” Curtis groaned, feeling heat start to creep up his face. What happened in the bedroom was supposed to stay in the bedroom, especially between married couples.

“Not on purpose,” Ryou was clearly having a lot of fun with Curtis’ discomfort. “He just let it slip that I shouldn’t piss you off, because if you have to break out the restraints I’m not going to get free.”

Redder. Probably glowing at this point. That was what Curtis was sure his face must look like right now as he pulled out of the parking lot and studiously tried to pretend all of his attention was on traffic.

Which was very difficult as the confined space of the car began to fill with those last teasing traces of cologne.

“He mostly just reminded me that it hasn’t been that long since the divorce and that if you were an asshole to me it was his fault, not yours,” Ryou thankfully turned back to the original question.

“Which you haven’t been. Mostly you’ve just been an adorably weird mix of avoidance and staring. I assume you’ve been sizing me up to see if you can take me directly, or if you have to knock me out from behind.”

“Oh, I can take you directly,” Curtis finally let a little smile slip through. “Don’t think otherwise. No, you’re just a very shocking change from what I’m used to. Takashi was so straight-laced, even when he was casual it was more military jock than anything. He’d never be caught in leather pants that tight.”

“No?” Ryou shifted in the seat so he could lift one leg up to plant a booted foot on the dashboard. He was disturbingly flexible. “I think these are pretty moderate, personally.”

The maneuver just made it easier to see how snugly the pants fit. No, Takashi would never be caught dead in those.

“I think the difference is that he…died,” Ryou decided, putting his leg back down. “And I didn’t. What he went through was traumatic, but he didn’t have the same prolonged exposure to a galactic war that I did. He fought for a month after he escaped the Galra, and then the worst happened.

"And I’m not even going to pretend floating incorporeally inside something like one of those Lions is nice, but he still wasn’t directly exposed to the war. I was, for eight more months. By the time he was ready to go back out and face anything the universe threw at him, I was just ready to rest. So he’s a soldier, and I’m a civilian. Two very different environments, it makes for two very different people.”

That made sense. By design and necessity, a military life tended to squash most individuality out of its soldiers. Ryou was very likely a full manifestation of what Takashi would have been, if every time he developed an interest that didn’t mesh with the Garrison it wasn’t forcefully wiped away. The military hadn’t been cruel to Takashi, he had thrived there, but his most blatant personality trait because of it was “soldier.”

The hotel wasn’t far at all. They came up on it then, and Curtis pulled up to the drop off, putting the car into park.

“Thanks,” he said sincerely. “To you and the rest of the team, for coming here just for one little girl. I know you probably all have responsibilities at home, but this means a lot to us.”

“Well,” Ryou opened his door and put one foot out on the curb, but didn’t get out immediately. Instead he slid down a little, folding his hands behind his head lazily. “Why don’t you come up and tell me a little more about it over coffee?”

Alarms went off. Curtis knew that pose and he knew that look, and he was very well-acquainted with what it meant to be invited up for coffee.

“Isn’t it a little late in the afternoon for coffee?” He stalled, not quite sure what his answer should be.

One one hand, this was a clone of his ex-husband and there were so many different levels of wrongness to even thinking about indulging. On the other…Ryou looked really good in those pants.

“A beer, then,” Ryou corrected course. “Hotels here still have bars, right? Or, no…you’re more of a wine man, I think. I think a glass of wine and a casual chat would be a nice evening, don’t you?”

Curtis raised an eyebrow. This was not the first time he’d met someone and had sparks fly immediately, but it was definitely the first time he felt like he had to temper those sparks.

“Just a glass of wine?” Curtis pressed. “And a little bit of company out on the balcony?”

“Of course,” Kuro made a show of crossing his heart. “What could I possibly want from you right now except a good drink and a little bit of pleasant conversation?”

* * * * *

“Fuck,” Curtis whispered breathlessly, slowly pushing himself up and rolling over onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling, panting heavily.

Next to him, Ryou struggled to push himself up on his elbows, trying to catch his own breath while simultaneously attempting to blow the hair out of his face. He kicked Curtis lightly in the calf, giving him a crooked, lazy grin.

“Do you mind?”

Curtis tilted his head to get a good look at him, and couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped. His long hair, which had been gripped tightly in Curtis’ fist a few moments ago, had at some point lost the band holding it up and was now in a messy curtain in his face. He was also still stuck, his wrists rather firmly bound to the headboard with Curtis’ tie.

“Or I could leave you there for half an hour or so and then give it another go,” Curtis suggested.

“If you’re giving anything another go, it’s your turn to be tied up,” Ryou stated. “Where did you learn to tie knots? The CIA?”

“Something like that.”

Curtis had mercy on him and released him from his bindings, letting him sit up on the edge of the bed and smooth back his hair. He stood up and stretched, still panting slightly, giving him another view of the vivid tattoos running down his spine from a slightly different angle. Curtis at first thought he was heading to the bathroom to clean up, but instead he picked up the as of yet unopened bottle of wine they’d grabbed down in the hotel bar and two glasses from the table.

Rather than being as fastidious as Curtis initially assumed, Ryou seemed almost indifferent to being a mess as he opened the bottle and filled the two glasses. He handed one to Curtis as he sat up, then stretched out lazily beside him. There was a casual and comfortable silence as they both recovered in the dim light of the hotel room, the chill of the air conditioner slowly chasing the excess heat from their bodies.

“I guess this is something I have to tell my therapist, so she can tell me I probably used you to compensate for the divorce,” Curtis eventually supposed.

“I’ve just come to Earth after several years surrounded by aliens I’m not interested in, and straight humans who aren’t interested in me,” Ryou said airily. “I don’t care why you did it. But I’m thinking it probably has more to do with you not having dated anyone in a while, if your…fervor…is any indication.”

“You told me to pull your hair,” Curtis reminded him.

“Oh, and God but you listen really well,” Ryou smirked around the rim of his glass.

“Maybe I don’t have to mention it to my therapist,” Curtis decided after a moment. “But I don’t know what I’m going to tell Takashi.”

“Don’t tell him anything,” Ryou suggested easily. He was clearly not a man who had many tough internal struggles. “I’m not going to. I doubt he tells you what he does with his body, just return the favor.”

That was really the simplest answer, wasn’t it? Just don’t tell him. And Curtis wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought that was an option himself, because Ryou was right. They didn’t regularly speak much, and even when they did it was about their families. They didn’t talk about each others’ personal lives, Curtis wasn’t ready to hear about it.

“I have a question,” Curtis said, after waiting a moment to let that topic settle.

“Yes, I did like it when you did that thing,” Ryou answered, making Curtis laugh a little. He held out his now-empty glass and Ryou refilled it.

“No, I’m talking about your tattoo.”

“Which one?”

“The one on your arm,” Curtis nodded toward the leaf. “Everything else you have is part of a bigger piece, but that one’s there alone. Why an oak leaf?”

“Is it an oak leaf?” Ryou asked, lifting his arm to look at it. “I’m not exactly current on my dendrology.”

Curtis had begun to slouch down into the pillows. He leaned over to set his glass down on the table on his side of the bed, then pushed himself up, reaching over to take Ryou’s wrist in one hand. He traced along the shape of the tattoo with his other hand, one fingertip following the edges of the leaf.

“Oak leaves have this curve,” he explained. “Some have points, but this leaf is from a European oak. That’s the one that grew on the grounds of my family home in France. Curtis Duchesne, from chêne, the French for oak tree. Honestly? It’s literally the only leaf I can identify, and only because it’s so important in French culture. So don’t ask me about any other trees.”

Ryou had been watching him trace the shape with a small smile of amusement playing on his lips. But as Curtis finished speaking the smile disappeared, and he gently pulled his wrist out of the other man’s hand.

“It’s not a tattoo,” he said flatly. ���Two weeks ago I came home from work and went to get in the shower, and it was just there. You know how these things are…just plain and boring outlines. A little bit darker or lighter than the skin around it. It was messing up my aesthetic, so I had it filled in by my tattoo guy.”

Not a tattoo.

Just appeared a few weeks ago.

A few shades off from the skin.

So, it wasn’t anything that had any particular meaning for him, at least not yet. He had simply wanted it to match with the rest of his skin, and had turned it from a bland splash of discolor into a work of art. It was a match-mark, something that for some reason Curtis had never even considered Ryou might have.

And it was one that hit disturbingly close to home.

“Hey,” somebody called from out in the hallway, knocking lightly. “Kuro?”

Curtis sat up straighter, not sure if he’d heard right.

“I’m here,” Ryou called back, louder. “Hold on.”

He grabbed a robe that was hanging up by the door and threw it on quickly, opening the door a crack. Curtis heard some conversation happening, but he didn’t really hear the words. He almost felt like he had a ringing in his ears. After a moment the door closed quietly and the lock clicked into place, and Ryou came back into the room.

“The others were making a pizza run, it’s been a while since they got real Earth food,” he said. “I just asked them to bring us something back.”

“Kuro?” Curtis asked dumbly, trying to verify. “Is that what she called you?”

“Yes, it’s what people call me,” Ryou nodded, letting the robe slip off his shoulders and pool at his feet. In the dim light, it made for a very alluring picture as he moved back over to sit on the edge of the bed so he could refill his own glass. “I took the surname Kurogane when I picked a name, to differentiate myself a little more from Takashi. It was like some kind of symbolic chain-cutting, I guess.”

He looked over his shoulder with that little smirk in place again.

“But you sounded very nice calling me some of those things you were using a little while ago,” he teased with a wink. “Or just stick to Ryou. I don’t mind.”

Kuro. The opposite of Shiro.

Kuro. Black.

With a match-mark in the shape of an oak leaf, coincidentally the meaning of Curtis’ own surname and a hallmark of his childhood home.

Curtis retrieved his glass, not sure how to handle the situation. It was possible he was completely wrong and reading too much into it, and after all, he was a man who did not have a sense of urgency about his mark except his curiosity over the mystery. He had made no effort to actually go looking.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Curtis wondered.

“Do about what?”

“Your match-mark,” Curtis clarified. “Obviously there’s nobody on your colony with the other one, you said yourself it’s filled with aliens and straight people.”

“I’m not going to do anything about it,” Ryou answered lightly, looking at his arm again. “What happens, happens. Everyone gets so bent out of shape over these things for no reason. If it’s really your soul mate, then they’ll eventually come to you no matter what, won’t they? You don’t have to go looking, that’s the point of fate.”

Curtis groaned internally. Of course the attractive, smart, ridiculously sexually compatible doctor would match his philosophy perfectly.

“That’s a very healthy take on this,” Curtis praised.

“I think so.”

“I have one more question.”

“Yes, I want you to do that thing you did to me again,” Ryou sniped, making Curtis laugh slightly again.

“No. As a doctor, can you take a look at a gash I got last week?” Curtis requested, holding up his bandaged wrist. Ryou had respected that Curtis hadn’t mentioned it, and hadn’t asked about it himself. “I cut it on broken window glass. I just want to make sure it looks like it’s healing well.”

Ryou took a big sip from his glass and set it aside, turning to face him and motioning for him to move closer. Curtis slid over and offered his arm, watching Ryou’s face as he carefully unwrapped the bandage.

As the wrapping fell away, his eyes immediately went to the injury. That was only to be expected, he was a doctor and the deep cut certainly drew attention. But Curtis already knew it was healing just fine and he wasn’t looking for advice. He was looking for the moment when Ryou’s gaze slid a bit to the side, to the very clear kanji for ‘kuro’.

Curtis was a reserved person. He didn’t like to have big reactions to things, not when people were watching. Either Ryou was similar, or he simply didn’t know how to react. Curtis knew that he knew what he was looking at, it was readable on his face and clear in the extended silence during which Ryou was obviously trying to process what he was looking at. Finally, he gently let go of Curtis’ arm.

“It looks fine,” he stated, picking his glass back up and rising. “You don’t have to wear that bandage anymore, either. Let it breathe a bit.”

He walked around the bed and kept going, leaving Curtis to watch him leave.

“Where are you going?” Curtis called as he disappeared around the corner.

“To get a shower,” Ryou called back. “Pizza is coming.”

“So we don’t have to have a talk?” Curtis asked.

Ryou reappeared, leaning back around the corner to look at him.

“If you want to talk, then come get in the shower with me.”

He was gone again. Curtis only hesitated for a heartbeat or two before he shoved his glass back onto the bedside table and hurried into the bathroom.

Who was he to question fate?

[littleredpencil]

Work Song

Type: Oneshot Fandom: VLD Pairing: Shiro/Adam

Based on an ask suggesting that Work Song by Hozier is an Adashi song; just two tired soldiers who deserve to finally have some peace together.

----------

The house was old. Its wooden floors creaked and it had no right angles, the supports hidden away by plaster walls sagging and shifting as every new year brought further settling of the foundation. The furniture was sparse, chosen for efficiency rather than comfort, but as bare minimum the shelter the house provided, it might as well have been a fairy tale castle.

Because it was on Earth. Solid ground beneath his feet and familiar constellations overhead.

Shiro stepped out of the aging shower, inspecting his reflection in the cracked, foggy mirror. White hair, tired eyes, scarred face…he both looked and felt far older than his twenty-six years.

He dripped off a bit on the threadbare shower mat, knowing that the warmth of the US west’s summer was going to hit him in earnest as soon as he was dry. This place didn’t have any air conditioning, adjusting to it from the climate-controlled vessels of space travel was going to take some time.

When he did dress it was in borrowed clothes, a pair of fatigue pants and black t-shirt that was a little bit snug on him. He had always been more muscular than the shirt’s owner, but now that he didn’t have any of his own clothes it showed. He had a uniform, given to him by the Garrison when he’d returned, but it remained folded in the newly issued duffel bag until he needed to go back to base.

He left the small bathroom, wincing as he felt the age of the stairs under his weight on the way down. They would definitely hold him but they still felt rickety in spots, and after all he’d been through the last thing he needed was to break his neck falling down the stairs.

The house was mostly empty, but clean. The faded walls were wiped down regularly and there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen, and the few pieces of furniture were taken care of. Shiro passed through what had once been a sitting room, now filled with communications equipment. He stopped to look at a pair of monitors, one showing radar readings for the area and another displaying the slow, steady readouts of the many probes buried out in the ground around the property.

The lights in here were dim, meant to help keep the small house hidden from night fliers. Shiro made his way carefully through, out the back door into the warm night, leaning against the worn railing of the old back porch. The sky was clear above, the stars sparkling like a sea of diamonds, and the horizon was lit by the orange glow of the Garrison’s particle barrier in the distance.

Between here and there was open desert plain, he could see the destroyed ruins of the city to the east of the base. He knew there were other small houses out there, secret human communications stations like this one, but by design they would be impossible to pick out in the night.

This was a world that had become accustomed to Galra occupation, where life had begun to continue around the trespassers in its own way. They had become such a fixture on this planet that the men and women who manned these stations did so with very little fear, long-since adjusted to the patterns of their oppressors.

He heard the sound of a vehicle approaching, and not one of the Garrison’s. This was an older style car, and as he leaned out over the railing he thought he could make out what might be a Jeep. The back door opened then, and Curtis joined him on the porch. He was dressed similarly to Shiro, in fatigues and a dark tank top instead of his usual officer’s uniform.

Curtis had been the one to invite Shiro to join him on recon tonight. Tomorrow the Paladins would be attempting to summon their Lions and would be attacking the six known Galra bases, this would be the last quiet night on Earth one way or another. They were gathering atmospheric data and monitoring both enemy and any local human chatter, and Shiro had been under the impression it was only two soldiers per comm station at a time.

“Do you have a guest?” Shiro asked, pushing away from the railing and turning to Curtis. He knew there were still people out here, the Galra tended to flock to the cities they’d overthrown and avoid the less domesticated areas. Every now and then they swept the outer areas to try and capture a few more, but for the most part these unorganized outliers were more trouble than they were worth.

“Am I interrupting some regularly scheduled conjugal visit?”

“Not quite,” Curtis grinned, climbing carefully over the porch railing and dropping down onto the dusty ground below. “Visitor, yes. For me, no.”

Shiro didn’t know what that meant. He moved down to the far end of the porch, following Curtis, watching curiously as he flagged down the oncoming Jeep.

“Sometimes, soldiers who go missing in the line of duty get found when we liberate work camps,” Curtis said, moving out of the way as the Jeep turned onto the narrow, dusty road to reach the house. “Every now and then, one of them decides that since their tour of duty is up they’d rather just disappear instead of coming back to the base.”

The Jeep came to a stop about ten yards away. Shiro could see the shadowy outline of the driver climbing out, but he didn’t know who would go out of their way to retire in obscurity only to return on the evening when the fighting was really about to get started.

It only clicked a split second before the new arrival came around the Jeep and became visible in the starlight. Even in the night, even after several years and with only the barest sliver of a moon in the sky, Shiro recognized his face. It was the same face he’d woken up next to on so many content mornings, and the same face he had mourned recently on a memorial wall of the dead.

There was a jagged scar running down the right side of his face, but other than that and a few new laugh lines he was the same. The only real difference was that he wore jeans and a light jacket instead of anything even remotely resembling military attire.

Shiro was jumping the porch railing before he even knew what he was doing, closing the distance and throwing his arms around the slightly smaller body. The surprised laugh that rang out when he lifted Adam clear off his feet was like music, the arms that embraced him tightly back felt like coming home.

“They said you were dead.” It was like Shiro’s tongue had stopped working, like his throat didn’t want to let any words make their way past his lips. “They said your plane crashed, I saw your picture on the memorial.”

“Yeah, well, they said you died in a crash too,” Adam answered. Shiro felt a kiss on his temple, such a tiny, simple gesture that brought with it a huge wave of happiness. “You’re breaking my ribs.”

“Sorry! Sorry,” Shiro lowered Adam to his feet, putting his hands on the other man’s shoulders and shoving him back so he could get a good look at him. Thinner than he had once been and much more scarred than at first glance, but otherwise in one piece. Healthy, whole, and as beautiful as ever. “Where were you? Why aren’t you at the base where it’s safe?”

Adam pursed his lips and turned his gaze past him at Curtis, who shrugged slightly.

“I didn’t tell him anything. I’m going inside, though, and you guys should soon too. They’ll have an hourly fly-by soon.”

He disappeared inside, leaving them alone. Shiro turned his attention back to Adam, who looked almost guilty.

“My plane went down in the first attack, but I ejected. I got picked up in a sweep of the area and stuck in a work camp, until the military raided it. I ran into Curtis before any other soldiers that knew me, he told me Sam Holt warned Sanda what would happen but that she sent us out anyway.”

He hesitated, rubbing one arm, and Shiro imagined there was probably more scarring under the fabric there.

“My tour was up by then and I didn’t owe them anything. And I didn’t think I could serve under her. So I just left…there’s a small colony out in the cliff caves, the Galra don’t go out there. I grow plants and teach kids, and engineers are always useful when you’re rebuilding civilization. It’s kind of nice, if you can ignore the bloodthirsty aliens everywhere.”

“They had you in a work camp,” Shiro repeated, feeling a flood of concern. His eyes traced over the scars again, wondering how many had been from a rough ejection landing and how many had come at the hands of Galra overseers. “How long?”

“A couple months,” Adam said it almost absently, as if it weren’t important. His attention was on Shiro’s arm, he started lifting it and twisting it to look at it with a mix between an engineer’s curiosity and a loved one’s worry. “Your arm…your hair…what happened to you?”

“It’s…a long story,” Shiro looked from his arm up to the sky, remembering the threat of hourly Galra flyovers. “We should go inside and talk there.”

He hesitated, then held out his good hand. He and Adam had parted on unhappy terms but not angry ones, two people who loved each other but were being pulled in opposite directions by circumstance. There was a very good chance this entire planet could be wiped out tomorrow if things went wrong, Shiro did not want to waste what might be his last chance to say all the things the memorial wall had made him realize he should have said.

Adam hesitated for a moment as well, and Shiro could read on his face that it was for similar reasons. His hand was warm when he did reach out to take Shiro’s, their fingers lacing together as they headed into the house. There was a lot for both to say, and it was going to be a long night.

* * * * * * * * * *

Three years later

The sun was setting when Shiro finally left the Garrison, extracting himself from the celebrations more than six long hours after the Atlas had made berth. The end of the war had come with the defeat of Honerva, and although Allura had her hands full with a colony of confused and betrayed Alteans, the obstacles the Coalition faced were much smaller.

The Blade of Marmora had rebuilt itself over the last few years and wrestled power from the imperialists, and the more violent of the Galra had been reduced to pirates at the edges of civilized space. There was work yet to be done but the majority of Galra civilians were in favor of peace, and were not violent and bloodthirsty like the regime that had ruled them for so long.

Planets of the Voltron Coalition were beginning to form what they were calling the Galaxy Alliance, and peoples who had so far been only military allies were becoming political and social ones as well. The seat of the Galaxy Alliance was slated to be founded on Arus, where the Arusians not only welcomed the return of Princess Allura but actively offered to share their planet as a new home for the lost people of Altea.

The Atlas’ deployment as the Coalition’s main warship was finally over. The long, exhausting campaign against the last vestiges of Zarkon’s empire had come to an end, and the ship had finally come home.

Shiro drove past houses that hadn’t been here three years ago, past a new mall that was under construction and along the winding road that was now spotted with driveways. He saw fenced-in yards with children’s toys on the lawns, a group of teenagers standing outside one house laughing, a couple pushing a baby coach and walking their dog.

There were still ruins, not everything had been rebuilt, but three years ago this had been nothing. Now he saw life.

And, as he pulled to a stop and parked in front of a familiar old house, in the distance he saw the ships.

The Atlas was easy to see from her size alone, but her two smaller sisters were visible as well. Built for speed and power, they had proven necessary when some of the Galra imperialists had attempted to retake Earth in the Atlas’ absence. The planet had not been untouched by the continuing war, but it had been far better defended than it had been in the days of Sendak’s invasion.

The Eris and the Nemesis, chaos and retribution, glinted elegantly in the dying rays of sunset. The fact that there was no Jeep parked outside of the house already meant that the head engineer of the Eris was still on duty.

Shiro leaned back against the car to take in the few for a few more minutes, the vision of a world that could finally be at peace. The fingers of his prosthetic hand toyed with the gold ring settled on the fourth finger of his good one, scratched and dented from his tendency to constantly play with it.

It was his reminder, in those stressful or lonely moments, of what he was fighting for. Of what was waiting for him back at home.

There had been no honeymoon, not even a wedding night. Just their last minute decision to make it official only a few hours before the Atlas had been scheduled to launch. Three years of contact only through long distance messages and video chats, but to Shiro it made no difference. He got to wake up each morning with the knowledge that Adam was alive, and that he was waiting for him to come home.

The front porch was far more solid when Shiro finally went inside, finding the spare key tucked up on top of the door frame. The porch stairs and railing had been replaced and several of the floorboards were new, and all of the wood was newly sanded in preparation to be stained. The communications equipment was gone when he stepped inside, the windows now framed with curtains instead of boarded up to keep outsiders from seeing any light.

The air smelled faintly of sawdust and paint as he moved through the small house, out of the living room and into the kitchen. This room was finished, probably the first one Adam had tackled, cheerful yellow walls and white cabinets and counters that made it bright and welcoming even now as night fell.

The stairs didn’t creak as he went up them, taking a look at the two small bedrooms up here. One was filled with tools and building equipment, a pile of two-by-fours and a stack of drywall against the wall. There were cans of paint and varnish, drop cloths, and a table saw ready for action.

The second bedroom was finished. Unlike the kitchen this one was far more calming, carpeted to quiet the noise and with light dampening curtains to let occupants sleep in. The furniture had clearly been bought used, there was no way the elegant old style could have been found new anywhere, but painstakingly refinished and restored to its original glory.

Shiro looked in the drawers of the bureau out of curiosity and couldn’t help but smile. The left ones, which had always been his when they’d lived together, were stocked with clothes. They all still had tags, only recently bought with the homecoming of the Atlas in mind. He went through them and pulled out some jeans and a t-shirt.

The bathroom had been made slightly bigger and updated. The shower he took was far more luxurious than the last time he had been here, a plush, soft shower mat waiting for him to step out and a new medicine cabinet that showed him his reflection.

Somehow, at almost thirty, he looked much less tired and far more happy than he had three years ago in the cracked, foggy old mirror.

Shiro noticed the new banister on his way down the stairs, and the fact that the treads had all been replaced and no longer sagged in their middle. The whole house was a work in progress but to be honest, he was glad it wasn’t finished. He looked forward to putting some work into it, to adding his own touches and helping make it what they wanted it to be.

He could hear music when he reached the first floor and padded along through the house, following it to the back door. He stepped out onto a finished back porch, slightly larger than it had originally been and now with actual stairs to go down instead of having to jump the railing. They led out to a yard that was now fenced in, where he could see that decent soil had been put out in preparation to start landscaping.

It was lit by the stars above, and by the warm glow of the string lights that ran along the porch ceiling. To his right, where there had originally been nothing, there was a hanging swing bench with two little end tables, occupied by a tired engineer who had kicked off his boots but was otherwise still in uniform.

Adam was sagged down on the bench, arms resting across his stomach, with one foot resting on an end table and lazily swinging himself with the other. He had an open beer in one hand and his glasses pushed up into his hair. He gave a smile, tired and maybe not as bright as it might have been earlier in the day, but it lit up Shiro’s entire world.

“You’re two days early,” Adam complained. “I was still on assignment out of state.”

“I was in a bit of a hurry to get here,” Shiro smiled. “I had some things on my schedule.”

“Oh?” One eyebrow quirked up a bit, the corner of Adam’s mouth curving up teasingly. “Hot date, maybe?”

“Man, I sure hope so.”

Adam finally gave in, setting down his beer and getting up. Shiro expected him to come in for a hug but instead Adam reached up to cup his face, thumbs running lightly across his cheeks, then pulled him in for slow, deep kiss.

It left him breathless and giddy, his stomach fluttering and his chest feeling as if it might burst. There was so little in his life that made him really happy and he sometimes forgot what it felt like, until moments like this brought the feeling crashing over him again.

When they parted it was only for Adam to pull back slightly, leaning his body into him instead. Shiro wrapped his arms around him and held him close, feeling almost dizzy as Adam rested his head on his shoulder. They fit together so perfectly.

“Welcome home. How long do we have?”

How long. Adam meant how long until his next deployment, how long until he was taken away again on some other long-term duties. No complaints about him being gone for three years, no  demands that he stay. This was the reality that he’d been too proud to consider so many years ago, that Adam leaving him had never been about wanting to be chosen over Kerberos. It had always been about Shiro’s health, it had always been about trying to keep him alive, it had never been about not understanding his ambitions or wanting to hold him back.

Here they were, about a decade later and potentially in the same position, and all Adam wanted to know was how long they had before Shiro left again. But this was something Shiro had already thought about in recent days, long and hard.

“I was thinking that maybe it’s time to transfer to a smaller ship,” Shiro said slowly, lightly rubbing Adam’s back. “Spend a little while helping secure trade routes and help set up the Alteans on Arus. Something that would only take me off planet for a few days at a time.”

Adam pulled away to regard him with a frown, and Shiro thought he looked painfully lovely. His glasses were still shoved up into his hair and he was barefoot, his uniform jacket tossed off on the swing leaving him in a t-shirt that showed off a body full of vivid scars.

“You love leading the Atlas. Exploration and pushing boundaries, that’s your thing. You won’t be happy playing security guard for supply ships.”

“I don’t know, I think it could grow on me,” Shiro answered, looking up at the sky. The stars were out, constellations he could name off by heart and find his way by, safe and familiar. “I’ve done everything I ever really wanted to do. And now I’ve been a Voltron Paladin, Captained the first space-worthy Earth warship, and led the victory in a ten-thousand-year-old, universe-wide war.

“All before I was thirty. Now I’ve broken every record there is to break, I think I can take a rest.”

Adam didn’t say anything. Shiro wondered if he’d said something wrong, and when he looked back down from the sky he was startled to see the other man’s expression. Adam looked like he was trying not to cry.

Shiro didn’t have to ask why as he pulled him back into another hug, holding him tightly while he tried to fight back tears. Adam had been through a lot in his life, he’d spent a good portion of young adulthood helping care for a sick boyfriend then lost him to a universal war; he’d fought in an invasion he’d failed to hold back and nearly died, had been held in a Galra work camp, and had watched their home planet burn firsthand.

Takashi, how important am I to you?

That was the question that had played in Shiro’s head over the last few days, over and over again. It had been asked almost ten years ago and it was only now that Shiro found he really had an answer.

More important than anything else should have been the reply. Life hadn’t been that simple back then, but it certainly was now.

The radio had gone to a commercial while they’d been standing there, but now it went back to music. Shiro didn’t know the song, but he started moving slowly to it, pulling Adam along. The night was warm, a soft breeze stirring the leaves of the potted plants hanging over the porch railing. The curtains were closed in the kitchen, leaving the glow of the string lights the only light for him to see by.

He had never thought they’d be here when he was younger. Shiro had expected to die young, and after Kerberos he’d never thought he’d get back to Earth. When he’d arrived and found Adam’s picture on the memorial wall, he had known it was really over.

But here they were, both back from the dead. Two people who had defied the universe’s efforts to put them in their graves, and made their way back to each other out of sheer spite.

They were tired. They were still hurting. They both deserved a chance to finally settle down and rest, together.