Archive of Our Own

Cloud’s voice was furious. It rang through the fishbowl, and Sephiroth bit back a wince. He lifted his hands to cover his ears, trying to hold Cloud’s gaze. It was hard. He was so large Sephiroth had to pick one eye to glare at.

“I’m not playing.” Sephiroth replied.

Cloud blinked. Narrowed his eyes.

“What?”

“I’m not—” Sephiroth scowled as Cloud’s brows furrowed. The blond leaned in a little closer, clearly trying to hear despite his obvious frustration.

“I’m not playing!” Sephiroth barked, as loud as he could. He hadn’t yelled in decades. His voice echoed back to him inside the glass dome, but at least Cloud seemed to hear him.

But hearing didn’t seem to mean believing. Cloud scowled, and dropped four large medical books on top of the inverted fish bowl.

He first realized that he was no longer as strong as he should have been when Cloud nodded off and Sephiroth used the chance to punch the glass bowl.

It didn’t shatter. It only hurt.

He could not push it off the counter. He could not pry it up from the ground. He could not kick it hard enough to rock the books off.

When Cloud jerked awake, it was to find Sephiroth scowling at his swollen hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth over his split knuckles.

His second lesson was harder. It came hours and hours later. After the dark-haired woman Cloud had traveled with came to check on him, bringing dinner. Sephiroth’s stomach had clenched in complaint, but he had said nothing. His mouth and throat were dry, but he clenched his jaw against voicing that discomfort. He paced inside his prison. Cloud had put on headphones some time ago, and appeared to be enjoying his time as warden, completely deafened to anything Sephiroth might say.

And Sephiroth no longer had access to his mind.

Which is how it was that Sephiroth, former calamity, son of Jenova and Lucrecia both, rightful heir to the planet, nearly suffocated to death inside a fish bowl.

He didn’t even notice at first. He was pacing, tense, ‘worked up’ as Hojo would have said all those many years ago. He wasn’t used to being ignored, as much as Cloud seemed to be enjoying himself.

By the time it occurred to him why his lungs felt tight, why his vision was foggy, why he couldn’t seem to think…

He thought for a moment…

He had never been afraid of dying before but—

He thought for a moment that Cloud wouldn’t notice. For some reason that made him feel worse. Worse than the sickness of suffocation. Worse than the impotence of trying and failing to lift a corner of the weighted bowl. Worse than punching it until he heard something that was not the glass crack. Worse than standing there and finding himself too ashamed at his failure to scream.

Would he feel bad? The planet’s hero? Would he feel bad finding Sephiroth’s body there?

Sephiroth tried to calm down. Tried to think. He swallowed, then breathed out on the glass. Watched his breath fog it. Took as deep a breath as he could. Painted it across his prison, and wrote quickly, backwards, with a shaking hand.

But as for attention… He lifted his hand. Pounded against the glass with the meat of his fist. Over, and over, and over. Refreshed the fog of his breath when he could. Kept trying, because otherwise— otherwise—

Watched Cloud’s irritated eyes flick to him. Watched the sharp light in his blue eyes change. There, he thought, finally letting go, letting his body slide down the glass. There. Done. He noticed That’s all he wanted, right? That was the goal? Just to be noticed. The world tinged red and faded black, as someone’s yelling made the world shake.

When Sephiroth woke up, he was under something warm, and lying on something soft, and an enormous child’s face was looming over him.

“Hi.” She whispered, her voice high and sweet. He recognized her, distantly. One of his remnants had met her. He just stared. He couldn’t seem to focus.

“I’m supposed to scream for Cloud.” She informed him. “But if you want some water first, there’s some beside you.”

Sephiroth hadn’t realized how desperate he was for water until his body was already lurching upwards, searching for— There. A bottle cap full. More than enough. He drank with a desperation he hadn’t felt in so long. How long since he’d really been alive, for him to come back like this?

“He won’t say it,” the girl whispered. “But he’s super upset and sorry. He didn’t realize you were in trouble.”

Sephiroth forced himself to set aside the water. To take a breath. His chest still felt tight, but he could breathe again. His hands were shaking. A steady tremor as he sat up, watching the girl.

“I’m aware.” He said at last, with as much dignity as he could muster. “He is too much the hero to let something die under his watch. Even something he finds loathsome.”

The girl blinked enormous brown eyes at him, a look like shock on her face.

“Loathsome.” She repeated, a little smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. “Right. I have to call for him now, okay? You might want to cover your ears.”

“Thank you.” Sephiroth said, lifting his hands. “Your name was…?”

“Marlene.” She informed him. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember. We never really met. You tried to end the world when I was six.”

“Ah.” Said Sephiroth. And then, for lack of anything else to say, he added “it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Marlene split into a huge grin, her familiar brown braid hanging over one shoulder and her eyes practically sparkling. Then she cupped her hands to her mouth and Sephiroth clamped his own over his ears before she bellowed “Cloud! Our guest is awake!”

He didn’t know why he liked it that she said ‘our guest’ and not ‘Sephiroth.’

Cloud was not happy. Cloud had very rarely been happy in Sephiroth’s presence. But despite his discomfort, despite his displeasure, despite the clear anger still glowing in his eyes, he cast a cure when Sephiroth admitted that his hand was broken.

Cloud was furious, and Cloud was afraid, but when the dark-haired woman, apparently named Tifa, asked “Well? Should we feed our prisoner?” Cloud had winced like he’d forgotten eating was a thing, and agreed.

Sephiroth was hesitant to eat. He didn’t like being observed. And they were all staring. A lot.

“You sure he’s not fakin’?” The giant gun-armed man inquired, lifting a finger to poke at Sephiroth. “Could snap at any second an’ take us all out if it’s a status effect.”

Sephiroth tried to shove his finger away with displeasure, and found to his annoyance and distress that the man was much stronger than him. He had to settle for retreating across the table, scowling up into his sunglasses.

He looked away after. It disturbed him to see himself reflected in the sunglasses, so far above him.

“I don’t think he’s faking.” Cloud put in. “For what it’s worth. He’s a lot of things, but prideful is high on the list. He wouldn’t have asked for help.”

“I didn’t.” Sephiroth informed him poisonously, careful to keep his voice raised so the accursed gathering of giants could hear him.

“What do you call writing ‘air’ on Denzel’s fish bowl then?” Cloud asked, looking almost smug.

“Informational.” Sephiroth growled in response.

No one seemed afraid. Marlene’s lips were twitching into a smile again. The boy who’d been sitting away from them shifted closer, glaring down at him and scowling.

“Shouldn’t we just… I don’t know… Smoosh him?” He asked.

“Denzel!” Tifa said, sounding alarmed.

“What?” Denzel replied. “That’s what he’d have done to us, right?”

“Exactly.” The huge gunman said, sitting back. “An’ what does that tell you?”

Denzel didn’t reply, but he tucked his chin quietly.

“Go on.” Cloud instructed, though his eyes were on Sephiroth.

“That it’s the sort of thing a monster would do.” Denzel muttered.

Sephiroth clenched and unclenched his jaw. He was starving, but he had no appetite when he was given a portion of bread. They were all staring at him. He was tired.

“Why are you back?” Cloud asked. “What do you want?”

“Nothing.” Sephiroth replied, sitting down on the table and forcing himself to eat. He had been a Soldier. He knew to eat when you could. To rest when you could. To live through it.

For what?

Who knew.

They devised a new cage for him. They called it a ‘doll house.’ But it had aeration, and a bed, and at least some semblance of privacy.

It also came with a wardrobe. Sephiroth recognized they were clothes for dolls. He put them on anyway. He preferred it to being wrapped in the handkerchief like he had been before. And the look on Cloud’s face when he arrived bearing food was priceless.

Sephiroth just sat calmly at the doll’s table, legs crossed in the floor-length ball gown. Cloud opened and closed his mouth. Sephiroth reached up and adjusted the tiara balanced in his silver hair.

It wasn’t Sephiroth’s good behavior that started to wear them down. It wasn’t his stubborn refusal to grow, or bite, or become more dangerous.

It was Marlene.

“He must be bored.” She objected, a book under her arm. “And there’s no room in there! It’s not nice. We should at least let him read or something.”

So Cloud let him out and left books for him. Sephiroth pretended he wasn’t desperately grateful as he dragged the pages with full-body force, reading the very medical texts that had almost killed him.

“You were researching Geostigma.” He noted once.

He rarely talked these days. He was rarely heard, for one thing. For another, it made him uneasy. It felt like accepting how small he was. It felt like surrender.

Cloud didn’t glare. Not really. He was glaring less recently.

“Yes.” He agreed after a long time.

“You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.” Sephiroth noted, and went back to reading.

He pretended he didn’t see Cloud startle and blush.

“Tifa, can’t he eat what we eat?” Marlene asked. “I read that it's immoral to deny prisoners all enjoyment in life, and that definitely includes your cooking!”

Tifa had tensed, and scowled for a moment, her eyes hard. Sephiroth remembered her vaguely from Nibelheim. He thought if she had her way, he probably would have been deprived of far more than flavor. But she just said,

“You’re right, Marlene.”

And from then on whoever brought him a meal, it was never again just bread.

“He’s not like the remnants, Denzel.” Marlene said, hovering in the doorway with her arms crossed. Her voice was low, but he could still hear her. “I don’t think he’s even like the Sephiroth who fought Cloud.”

Though Denzel still glowered, and he clearly wasn’t happy, he stopped lingering in the doorway and glaring murder into Sephiroth’s enclosure.

“Papa, I don’t think we’re being fair.” Marlene told the man with the gun arm, and Sephiroth dropped his tiny cup of water with a startle. Looked between her and the enormous man. Looked back to her with utter confusion. Papa?

But the gunman just heaved an enormous sigh, and picked her up on one shoulder like she weighed nothing.

“Let’s go talk to the crew.” He said, and carried her out of the room.

“Come on.” Said Cloud.

“How.” Sephiroth replied, arms crossed, standing stiff and still wearing the loose-fitting doll’s clothes— at least black and male now.

Cloud grit his teeth. Took a deep breath. Let it out without unclenching his jaw. He held out a hand. Sephiroth balked.

“I won’t drop you.” Cloud objected.

“I’d rather walk.” Sephiroth said acidically, and walked to the edge of the counter he was kept on, eyeing it for a way down. Maybe he could just jump. Maybe he’d get lucky and break his neck.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Cloud said.

Sephiroth lifted his eyes to him, smirked, and stepped off the ledge.

Cloud caught him, of course. Sephiroth had known he would. He still laughed himself breathless at the panicked, horrified look on Cloud’s face.

Even as he realized how easily Cloud might have crushed him, and how carefully he was being held instead.

Cloud carried him downstairs cupped between his palms, stalking in fury. Sephiroth laughed from inside the cage of his hands, like he hadn’t laughed since he’d awakened.

“Bad timing on the amnesty talk, he finally cracked.” Cloud muttered, dropping him the scant inches to the table.

Not even the bare table. There was a cushion there. Just a little one. Probably another thing made for toys. If Sephiroth had ever played with them, he might have been more offended.

“Not in the slightest.” He objected, still chuckling. “What do you want? I was working on redecorating.”

“He’s been reorganizing.” Marlene informed the crowd, the only one of Avalanche who ever peered into his prison out of more than suspicion. “It’s super neat now, and he used that ugly brown dress and some of his water to dust and clean the whole thing.”

“Okay, so he’s a neat-freak murderer.” Tifa said dryly. “Marlene, I can’t—”

“He hasn’t had a trial.” Marlene said, righteous surety in her voice. “It’s not fair without a trial.”

Sephiroth blinked. Looked over at her. Studied her face with furrowed brows.

“Is that what this is?” He asked her, tilting his head. “A trial?”

“Not an impartial one.” Marlene said apologetically. “But papa taught me that we don’t just lock people up. That’s not what good people do. And even if they are locked up, they get help, and they get listened to, and they get cared about.”

“But he’s—” Denzel started.

“No buts.” Marlene’s apparent father interrupted. “Marlene’s right and you all know it. We still let those Turks run around after droppin’ the plate, don’t we? We ain’t even listened to a word the little man’s said except when he was literally dyin’.”

“Hard to hear.” Cloud said dryly, but he didn’t object. He wasn’t looking at Sephiroth. He was looking at Marlene. There was a quiet pride in his eyes that made something in Sephiroth hurt. Even Tifa, who looked annoyed, was looking at Marlene with that warmth. The man with the gun arm had never looked at her with anything else.

“We all know what he did, though.” Denzel objected. “We saw him.”

“I know it’s hard.” Cloud said, his voice startlingly calm. Startlingly soothing. He reached out and touched the boy’s hair. Ruffled it. Smoothed it back into place. Touched his bangs, and brushed them to the side. “Trust me. I won't let him hurt anyone.”

“You’re all parents.” Sephiroth said, barely aware he was speaking aloud.

He only realized when they all looked at him that they’d turned off the music. Turned off the ceiling fans. Turned off everything that made noise so they could hear him better.

“Yes.” Cloud responded with a quiet pride, letting his hand rest on Denzel’s shoulder.

“One of us has a little more experience than th’ others tho.” Said Marlene's father.

Sephiroth stood up. Turned to look at him. Narrowed his gaze. His memories were so hazy.

“I don’t remember your name.” He told him, as straightforward as he could.

“The hell—!?” The man puffed in offence, then threw his hand in the air. “It’s Barret! Barret Wallace. Don’t you forget it again!” He clapped his hand to his chest in pride.

“You’re his daughter.” Sephiroth clarified, eyes sliding to Marlene.

“Yup!” Marlene grinned and slapped herself in the chest as well.

Sephiroth considered, then nodded.

“What would you like me to say.” He asked Marlene. She had advocated for him. She had spoken up for him. She had let him have water before Cloud could see his weakness.

“Just the truth.” Marlene replied. “Just answer our questions and say the truth.”

Sephiroth nodded.

He had never lied.

“Are you here to kill us?”

“No.”

“That might not be specific enough. Did you come back to finish your plan?”

“No.”

“You’re not here to conquer the planet?”

“No.”

“How can we be sure?”

“Do you have a very small planet you’re particularly concerned about me ruling?”

“Oh, great, now he’s being sarcastic.”

“Just the answers to the questions please, Sephiroth. Be as specific as you can, okay?”

“I am not here to conquer the planet, harm you or your family, fulfill my plan, or in any other way cause harm.”

“Then… What else would you be here to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t— what?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don't have to shout, the volume wasn't the problem.”

“Why did you come back then?”

“I was sent.”

“By who?”

“The ancient.”

“The— What?”

“The woman from the temple.”

“Her name was Aerith.”

“I did not intend disrespect. She sent me back. She found it amusing.”

There was silence for a moment. Then a chorus of sighs.

“Sounds like our Aerith.”

“She would.”

“This is exactly her weird sort of shit.”

“Did she say why?”

Sephiroth hesitated for the first time. They would never believe it.

“She said ‘try to be good.’”

“That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“And good to you means…?”

“Objection, leading the witness.”

“Cloud, I’m not a defense attorney, I just want to know.”

“Objection overruled anyhow. You’re doin’ great, sweetie.”

“I don’t—”

Sephiroth turned, looking up at them. They were so big. They were so strange. They were so much stronger than him now.

“I don’t know.” He admitted, and felt it crumble the very foundations of him.

“What do you mean you—”

“Cloud.”

“What, Marlene?”

“He’s shaking.”

Silence for a moment.

“Sephiroth?”

“I would like to go back.” His voice was shaking too. It came out too small. Would they even hear him?

He didn’t lift his eyes to see their faces. He didn’t want to know.

How pathetic he thought venomously to himself. How pathetic.

But Marlene had asked for the truth from him, and it was true. Nothing he had ever done had been ‘good.’

They must have reached some consensus silently, because Cloud extended a hand to him, and carried him back to his little cage.

In the morning, Tifa was there, sitting outside. Waiting.

“Do you like tea?” She asked, when Sephiroth finally forced himself to get dressed and face her. His clothes were starting to get stiff and uncomfortable. Starting to smell. He had no running water. No other options. He had nothing anymore. And it didn’t seem like as much fun to put on a ball gown that morning.

“Yes.” He replied, sitting at his kitchen table. It was plastic, like everything else. Not quite the right scale for him, but better than nothing. The chair was too short. It made him feel ridiculous. He didn’t stand anyway. What pride did he have left?

“Here then.” She said, unlatching the clear plastic front of his jail and swinging it open. “Have some with me. Let’s talk.”

“I’ve had enough of talking.” Sephiroth informed her.

“I haven’t.” She replied. “You don’t know what good is, so we’re starting from the beginning. Barret, Reeve, and Nanaki all recommended some books on ethics to start with. Cloud's picking them up on his next delivery. But first I want to have a long chat about a town called Nibelheim and what you did there.”

He forced himself to stand. At least this was something he could face. The anger of a woman whose life he had destroyed. That was easier than the absolute uncertainty of last night.

“Thank you.” She said as he knelt neatly before her, hands on his thighs, waiting. “Milk and sugar?”

“No.” He replied, shaking his head. “You do not have to share.”

She only scoffed. “You heard Marlene. Besides, it’s not like you drink much.”

She had brought a tiny novelty mug— Thankfully real ceramic. She must have purchased it simply for this. He accepted it. It was still too large in his hands, but it was warm.

And the first caffeine he’d tasted since re-awakening.

He wished that he wasn’t grateful.

“Now.” She said, taking a deep breath. “Tell me what you remember.”

And whatever he was expecting from her, it wasn’t that. Whatever he was expecting from his morning, with the startling luxury of a warm cup of tea, it wasn’t stumbling through the half-remembered haze of Nibelheim, where he had been both dead and newborn. Where he had been himself and someone else. Where he had realized that no man named Sephiroth ever really existed— There was only an absence in the shape of a man, filled in by the desires of others.

Whatever he expected from her, it wasn’t to listen with a thoughtful expression, only interrupting him to name the dead.

“We’ve come to a decision.” Cloud informed him that evening, Sitting cross-legged outside Sephiroth’s prison. Which was open again. They were not very good prison guards. Not that Sephiroth could do much to dissuade them.

Sephiroth crossed his arms, standing and waiting for the answer. Something faster than the suffocation in the fish bowl, he hoped.

“You’ll have to stay here.” Cloud informed him. “And you have mandatory ethics readings. But we’ve got Reeve working on some new tech to help you get around 7th Heaven more easily. At least the upstairs. We’ll make downstairs accessible too, but if any customers see you you’ll have to answer any questions about it yourself. Got it?”

“I— What?” Sephiroth blinked. Blinked again. Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe he wasn’t hearing this right. Maybe he’d finally cleaned one too many pink dollhouse corners and lost his tiny mind.

“You’re not free to go. You’re too dangerous, even without being physically powerful.” If Cloud thought that would be an unhappy thought for him, he was sorely mistaken. It was the best Sephiroth had felt about himself since awakening.

“But we also think you genuinely didn’t stand a chance.” Cloud added, gesturing with one crossed arm. “So we’re going to try to give you one.”

“A chance.”

“Yes.”

“To…?”

“Do what Aerith said.” Cloud answered with a half-shrug. “Be good.”

“But you hate me.”

“Yeah.”

“Then why?”

“You’ll find the answer in one of those.” Cloud told him, nodding to the stack of books he’d set down by the dollhouse. “Marlene’s accepted responsibility for helping out with your reading list until we can get some better tech in here. Be good to her. You owe her a lot.”

Sephiroth was too confused even to nod. Too stunned to do much of anything at all as Cloud offered him a small, almost-smug smile and stood to leave the room.

“Oh, and Sephiroth.” He said, as if he’d almost forgotten. “For the record, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were in trouble. I should have. I’m glad you’re okay.”

It didn’t matter that Cloud wouldn’t have heard him from there. Sephiroth couldn’t have thought of an answer in a million years. Not standing on the table, with the dollhouse open and unlocked behind him, and a book called ‘What We Owe to Each Other’ sitting open and ready to read.

By the time Marlene arrived, still yawning and with breakfast for both of them, he was three chapters deep.

Barret quizzed him on ethics every night.

As the days passed, the quizzes turned into discussions instead.

Tifa grilled him about people’s names and lives in the mornings.

As the weeks passed, she started telling him stories about those people instead.

Denzel hovered anxiously, and jumped every time Sephiroth appeared in a room.

As the months passed, he started asking Sephiroth how the grappling gun worked, and if it would be better to have a hip-mounted attachment or harness rather than holding it by hand.

Marlene never changed. Constant as the world was suddenly becoming. She took his measurements for him and got him the right sized clothes. She sourced needle and thread so he could tailor them to himself. She checked on his well being.

Once he got sick, and he fell asleep to the feeling of her pointer finger gently stroking his sweaty silver scalp.

Cloud didn’t know what to do. It was obvious. He pretended well enough— He always had— but he didn’t know what to do. He hovered or he vanished. He was constant in his inconstancy. One day Sephiroth couldn’t escape his burning blue eyes, the next he would find himself completely unobserved.

He guessed one night, when Cloud had been haunting him all day. “You have questions?”

“Maybe.” Cloud replied. “I don’t know if they have answers.”

“I’ll do my best.” Sephiroth told him, sitting on one of the cushions he’d stitched for himself.

Cloud hesitated. Looked behind himself, then carefully sat down in front of him with the most sheepish expression Sephiroth had ever seen him wear.

Cloud took a slow breath to steady himself before speaking.

“Can you tell me about Zack? My brain got all… I don’t remember much.”

Sephiroth’s memory was fried too. But he remembered enough.

Neither of them slept that night. They talked until the sun rose. In the morning Cloud carried him downstairs for breakfast, and Sephiroth found he didn’t mind.

“More coriander would add depth of flavor.”

“Oh, great, now you’re backseat cooking.” Cloud muttered.

“I’m sorry, who is teaching who how to cook here?”

“Shut up. How much coriander?”

“About a teaspoon.”

Sephiroth shifted his balance as Cloud reached for it, settled in sitting on his shoulder. Cloud’s propensity for suspenders made him an easier mount than he would otherwise be. He moved without much caution about Sephiroth’s presence, but enough are not to crush him. He just trusted Sephiroth not to fall. Unlike Barret, who covered him with a hand any time Sephiroth was remotely on his person, or Marlene who moved like she was trying not to unseat a sparrow. Tifa and Denzel did not welcome him as a rider. Yet. He had a feeling that they were both starting to reconsider that stance.

Tifa was currently sitting across the kitchen letting Cloud work. Every time he moved abruptly Sephiroth watched her stretch her hands out on instinct, as if to catch him should he fall.

“Switch shoulders, you’re heavy.” Cloud complained, stirring his curry.

“I beg your pardon.” Sephiroth said drawled, leaning forward to scowl at him.

“What? You are. It’s not like you’re hollow. If you insist on hanging out on me—”

“Again, you’re the one who wanted cooking lessons.”

“—then switch shoulders, before I end up with one buff one from hauling you around.”

“Hauling me.” Sephiroth muttered, standing and anchoring himself with a hand in Cloud’s hair, judging the distance.

“I can—” Tifa started.

Sephiroth shook his head. Narrowed his eyes. Pulled his magnet grapple from his belt and activated it. Fired across to the buckle of Cloud’s suspenders and swung across neatly. Reeve’s most recent gadget had made it much less destructive for him to use his new method of distance travel.

He climbed up, swinging his legs over on the pivot of his arm and crossing his arms to watch, hooking one leg under Cloud’s suspenders.

“You’ve forgotten something.” He informed Cloud haughtily.

“No I didn’t.”

“Suit yourself.”

“What did I forget?”

“Figure it out.”

“I hate you.”

“Mmhmm.” Sephiroth said. He considered pretending to lose his balance— a thing which always sent Cloud scrambling with a mako-glow in his eyes to catch him— but he didn’t want to alarm Tifa, so he restrained himself.

“Tifa,” Cloud appealed. “Did I forget something.”

“Sorry, Cloud.” Tifa said, though she was grinning.

“Damn it.” Cloud muttered, and stepped back with his hands on his hips, scowling as he thought. Sephiroth patted the shoulder under him in condescending sympathy. For fun.

How things had changed in a year. No more plastic doll house. Now he had his own little workshop upstairs, with wood and fabric and tools made for his size by guilty Shinra officials who had pocketed his inheritance. None of his friends had lived to take it, and he'd listed no one else. But he was not dead now, and no one had argued when Cloud went to claim it.

Cloud had suggested it, apparently having built his own motorcycle and found it fulfilling. Sephiroth had only recently completed his first room. Three walls, with windows, with curtains. His bed, and his mattress, and his wardrobe. Barret had held the walls up for him while he worked, better than any crane or machinery could have. Marlene had helped install the draw curtain that currently served as his fourth wall. He was still deciding whether or not to add a second room.

Cait Sith’s mog had a small printer already, so Sephiroth had access to any photographs or art he wanted to decorate with. He hadn’t seen the point until Tifa pointed out with some concern how barren his otherwise elegant room was.

Now he had a ‘family photo' hanging by his bed. The first he had ever had. Tifa, Barret, and Cloud— three unlikely parents— standing behind the kids. Their hands on the kid's shoulders and around each other’s backs. Marlene and Denzel stood side by side before them, grinning. Him, standing on Marlene’s hands with an awkward smile of his own.

They were never afraid of him now. Not even Denzel, though he was often anxious and awkward. Sephiroth was fairly sure that Denzel was more worried about hurting him than being hurt now. Unfortunately not an un-founded fear. While finding his limits, Sephiroth had broken his leg, his arm, and nearly his spine.

Denzel had been the one to find him that last time, trying to breathe on the floor, unable to rise. Sephrioth had thought for a moment that Denzel would take his chance. Would leave him there, or crush him. Would use it as an excuse to do what he had once spoken aloud he wanted to do. ‘Smoosh him.’

Instead Denzel had screamed for Cloud, kneeling at Sephiroth’s side. Had hovered, hands extended, but clearly wise enough not to touch and risk worsening the damage. Had said ‘hang in there, Cloud’s coming’ and ‘Tifa told you not to try jumping, you have to listen to her!’ and ‘it’s going to be okay.’

They were all like that. Worried and careful when they should have been angry and afraid. The longer he stayed with them, the more he read, the more he understood. What he’d missed in his first life. What he’d been deprived of. He spoke to Barret at night about more than ethics now. He spoke of a lonely childhood and lost friends, and confusion. Barret answered with his own lost friends, his lost wife, his lost home.

Sephiroth wasn’t used to feeling for other people. Wasn’t used to wanting to help. He’d reached out anyway, and Barret had offered his hand. It had been awkward. Patting the teary man’s thumb anxiously, hoping that he was doing what he was supposed to and not really understanding his own impulses.

“Potatoes.” Cloud guessed, his brows knit in concentration.

“No, what was left of the potatoes after your ‘peeling’ went in the curry.”

“You are the worst.”

“Think, Cloud.”

“I don’t know! Why don’t you just tell me?”

“Probably because he’s got faith in you.” Tifa answered, sounding pleased with herself and bright. “Right, Sephiroth?”

This close, Sephiroth could see Cloud’s cheeks flare red and his mouth clamp shut. He laughed to himself, reaching over to pat Cloud behind his ear in affection and apology. It was true. He had a great deal of faith in him.

It had gotten easier over time. Comforting touches. He had been practicing. When Marlene was upset she often came to him now. He tried to be good for her, though he didn’t always understand her problems. He could sit on her hands and listen. She was the only one who hugged him. His arms barely reached around her neck for it, but he thought she liked it. He did. She always kept one hand under his feet, and pressed over his back. Warm, and safe, and nice.

Selfish, he scolded himself, but no one seemed to mind. And though Marlene had three parents, she seemed eager to have an adult she could tell her problems to who had no room to lecture her on anything.

“Fuck.” Cloud sighed. “Cornflour. Thickening.”

“Very good.” Sephiroth praised. “You’ll want to mix it with some water to help it incorporate at this point.”

“Right.” Cloud said with a sigh.

“You’re improving.” Sephiroth informed him. “Soon I’ll have nothing more to teach you. Until you’re ready to address your sloppy sword-fighting technique.”

“It was good enough to beat you. Multiple times.”

“Bah.” Sephiroth said, gesturing with one hand. “Only because I underestimated your sheer tenacity. What will you do when an enemy comes along who isn’t distracted by your big blue eyes and your sheer gall?”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Tifa laughed. “Come on, Sephiroth. He’s got it from here.”

Sephiroth was going to object— Cloud was just getting all pink from embarrassment at the half-joking praise— but Tifa offered him a hand, and that opportunity wasn’t to be missed. He carefully stood and stepped across to her. Her arm didn’t move an inch, her fighter’s muscles well-suited to balancing his weight.

She carefully moved him over to her shoulder— the first time she had offered— and Sephiroth settled in on her black leather top, holding on with one hand to her lapel.

“You got him?” Cloud asked, glancing over his shoulder at them, hesitant, meeting Tifa’s eyes.

“I got him.” Tifa replied. “Right, Sephiroth?”

Sephiroth thought of her inspecting his blankets when he’d gotten a cold and taking it on herself to line them while he recovered so he would be warmer. He thought of fresh meals and tea delivered when he got distracted reading and missed lunch or dinner. He thought of being invited, being included, night after night, until suddenly he was a part of family dinners, family pictures, family meetings.

He had to clear his throat before he could speak steadily.

“Right.” He answered, and felt her warm hum shake him all the way through as she carried him back to the bar.