"The last part of the SOLDIER testing," the scientist said, "is a test of physical compatibility with Mako. As you all know, SOLDIER's are Mako-enhanced -- giving them boosted reflexes, physical strength and endurance, and the ability to use Materia. Before you can become a SOLDIER, you have to prove that your body can adapt to the Mako. And that," he smiled thinly, "is why you're all here at this lab."

Cloud shivered and tried not to show it. If he'd known there were injections (and worse? his mind wondered) involved in the SOLDIER process, he might not have gotten involved. Around him, the other candidates stirred restlessly; no one quite dared to vocalize their unease, but there was plenty of nervous tension. Even his roommate, Kaney, was shifting his feet and eyeing the exit.

Still, there was no getting out of it, not without forfeiting his place in the program and going back to Nibelheim in defeat. There was no way in hell he was doing that.

Squaring his shoulders, Cloud stepped forward when the scientist called them to order. Putting himself at the head of the line, he ignored Kaney's obvious attempt to step on his boot heels.

Might as well get it over with as quickly as possible.

They filed into the lab one at a time, each candidate being paired with a scientist and led to their own curtained exam room.

"You may experience some side-effects," the man beside Cloud said, as he inspected the inside of Cloud's elbow.

Cloud nodded slightly, keeping his eyes fixed on the sheer curtain. He counted breaths -- in, out... in, out -- while the scientist fussed over his arm and what was presumably a needle.

"Please keep a log of any symptoms you may experience, and report to the lab here -- not the infirmary -- if any of them become severe."

He wondered, vaguely, what counted as a "severe" reaction, but couldn't bring himself to ask. The scientist's gloved hands were cold, tacky in a strange, dry way. The needle pricked his skin and he swallowed hard as he felt metal sliding in far too deep.

Cold liquid spread within his vein, chilling before it began to burn. It took all of Cloud's willpower not to yank his arm away. In his own ears, he could hear the chanting of getitoff get it off getit off! and he swallowed again, forcing himself to breathe slowly and deeply. It felt wrong in a way nothing he'd ever experienced had. Like there was a living thing crawling through his vein, under his skin, infecting him.

If he thought too hard about that, he would want to amputate his arm before it got any further. Shuddering, he closed his eyes and breathed slowly and deeply.

"That's it," the scientist said, sounding rather smug.

Cloud risked a quick sideways glance at him, but the movement made him dizzy and he had to suck in a quick breath out of sequence.

"You'll be fine," the scientist reassured him absently, turning to dispose of the needle. "Just stay in your room and take it easy."

"Yes, sir," Cloud replied quietly. Pulling back the curtain with a hand that shook only slightly, he made his way out of the lab.

By the time he made it back to his quarters, he could feel the fever flush of his skin. It took him three tries to get the door open; he kept reaching for the handle in a position that it was not. Depth perception, he tried to tell himself, but it didn't matter. Everything blurred and fuzzed and slid sideways as green spots danced behind his eyes.

Stumbling into his room, he collapsed on his bed and barely had the presence of mind to grab the wastebasket before passing out. He came to long enough to throw up -- missing the basket by half an inch -- and passed out again.

The rest of the day and night passed in a misery of nightmarish dreams interrupted by the rebellion of his stomach. From what he heard across the room (when he was lucid enough to do so), Kaney wasn't having any better a time of it. Which might have made him vindictively happy if he'd had enough presence of mind to consider it.

Sometime during the night, his body fell into a sudden calm and quiet. His stomach stilled, the fever faded and he was left with a sudden sharp clarity.

Sephiroth....

Getting to his feet somewhat woodenly, Cloud made his way to the door. The cool fire in his veins pulled him forward, told him to seek... to find....

Sephiroth....

The lights in the hallway were blindingly bright. Keeping his face turned down, his hand against the wall, he stumbled toward the elevator.

Sephiroth....

~*~*~

... harder than we thought ...

Taking a chance...

Possibilities far outweigh the risk...

... sheer luck he's here at all.

Voices ranged in and out of his consciousness. Fragmentary sentences reached his ears, but their meaning was lost in the tangle of pain and darkness that engulfed his mind.

He moaned, thrashing feebly. Somewhere in his mind, he shivered, knowing what the voices were talking about. He struggled to reach consciousness, to regain control of his body, holding grimly to the thought: "No more."

PAIN!!!

Sharp, hot, white pain, stabbing into his arms, his legs, his scalp. He knew this pain, and recognizing it, he sobbed aloud.

"N-no m-morre...." he whimpered, staring blindly at the darkness.

Cells have mutated --

Mutated? Impossible...

... results ... lie?

Waves of pain now, sparkling and ebbing across his mind. The world spun wildly around him, sending him tumbling down into a dark and silent place within.

can't can't can't can't no more no more no more can't can't can't

Wrapping his arms around his knees, he hugged them to his chest, rocking himself.

"Shh... you don't have to. It's okay."

He looked up to see a child standing before him. A child dressed in white that set off the bright gold of his hair. His eyes were an impossibly deep blue, like the summer sky at twilight.

can't can't can't can't he chanted softly under his breath, still rocking.

The child crouched beside him. "It's okay," he repeated. "You remember how it was before, don't you?"

There was no room for remembering... only pain... but maybe the pain was in memory as much as it was now.

Yes, that was it... pain like years ago, when he had been a child, a child like this one that stood before him.

The child nodded. "Like that. But not like that. This won't last that long. I can handle it. You rest."

Smiling brightly at him, the child jumped into the air and rose up and up towards where the pain was. He stared after the child for a moment, but darkness soon swallowed him up. Rocking, he waited for the call to return.

~*~*~

Sephiroth resisted the urge to pace the small laboratory, leaning instead against the wall furthest from the scientists. Hojo was there, of course, and two others, all three taking turns drawing blood, injecting fluids, and performing other "scientific" operations on the blond boy strapped to the table. Shivering, Sephiroth folded his arms across his chest, glad that this time, at least, it wasn't him on the table.

He had brought Cloud here, to Hojo's lab, after finding him in an upper hallway of the barracks. The boy had been sitting on the floor, staring into space. The mark of a needle on his arm had told Sephiroth why, even if Cloud couldn't.

Hojo glanced up sharply. "You're still here."

Pushing himself up off the wall, the General nodded coldly. "I am... concerned about his reaction. He is a promising warrior." Strife wasn't, regardless of what Zack thought, but he had no other excuse for lingering here.

Hojo snorted, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"The cells have mutated -- " one of the other scientists said suddenly, incredulity plain in his voice.

Hojo spun to face him. "Mutated? Impossible!"

"The results don't lie, professor. Look!"

With Hojo's attention focused elsewhere, Sephiroth edged cautiously closer to the scientists and computers, trying to catch a glimpse of what they were going on about. But there were too many heads in the way, and the images were flickering, changing rapidly. Even the little view he had was giving him a headache. He turned to study Cloud instead, and found himself fascinated by the boy's smooth, pale complexion.

Who are you? he asked the blond boy silently. Why are you so familiar? Slowly he circled the table, half-listening to the rise and fall of voices in the background. Cloud's eye moved beneath his closed lids, tracking Sephiroth's slow motion.

"... but that one of the prototypes should return... so early...."

Sephiroth snapped his head up and whirled to face the cluster of scientists.

"Be quiet!" Hojo hissed.

"What have you done, Hojo?" the General asked, icy cold and calm.

"It is none of your business," Hojo snapped, pushing his glasses up.

"'Prototypes'? Experiments on troops are most certainly business of mine."

"This... boy was -- is not one of your troops --"

"Was?" the General snapped, catching Hojo's slip. He folded his arms across his chest, glaring down at the thin scientist.

Hojo waved one boney hand dismissively. "The past is none of your business, Sephiroth. This boy is genetically defective. He is not and never will be SOLDIER material. I don't for the life of me understand how he got in in the first place."

"You're changing the subject, Hojo. What have you done to him?"

The smile that slid onto Hojo's face was cold, and bright, and utterly mad. "Nothing," he said again. "And you are trespassing in my domain. Get out, General. Your personal attention is not needed here."

The General snarled, something dark and feral coiling inside of him, angry at the scientist's treatment. "And him?"

Hojo's glittering gaze turned to Cloud. "He is very... interesting." He cocked his head to one side, bird-like, as if listening to something only he could hear.

Sephiroth shivered. "If you hurt him...."

"What?" Hojo murmured, not looking up at him. "The wrath of the General shall be visited upon me? Go away, Sephiroth. You have no power here."

"I want him," Sephiroth snapped. He blinked in surprise, not sure where the words had come from, nor how they had gotten past his lips.

Now Hojo looked up, slowly, consideringly. "Do you now," he murmured. "That does not surprise me at all," he added in an undertone. He studied Sephiroth intently for a long moment. "Very well," he said sharply. "You shall have him. But get out and get out now, before you wear my patience any thinner."

Reluctantly, Sephiroth nodded. He cast one last, lingering glance at Cloud before turning and striding from the room.

~*~*~

"Where's Cloud?"

"With Hojo," the General answered, not looking up from his paperwork.

"What?" Zack exclaimed, leaning on both hands on Sephiroth's desk. "Why?"

"The SOLDIER testing --"

"Is routine. Handled by lackeys. Minions. Underlings. Not the Doctor himself."

Raising his gaze, Sephiroth glanced up at Zack through the thin fall of his bangs. "Zachary. Do not involve yourself in this any further."

Curling one hand into a fist, Zack thumped it against the desk. "Damnit, Seph! Don't order me around!"

Rising to his feet in one smooth, effortless motion, Sephiroth folded his arms across his chest and studied Zack silently for a moment. "SOLDIER First Class Zachary Faelen," he said slowly, formally. "As of this morning, Cloud Strife is no longer a SOLDIER candidate. Do not concern yourself with him any further."

Straightening up, Zack came slowly to attention. "Is that... an order? Sir?"

Meeting his subordinate's gaze squarely, Sephiroth said simply, "Yes."

Zack glanced away, fixing his gaze on his boots. "Sir."

Sinking back down into his chair, the General ran a weary hand over his forehead. "Zack...."

"No, it's fine. Sir."

But Zack refused to meet his gaze. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Sephiroth turned his attention back to his paperwork. Childish. Childish and foolish and he expected better of his lover, but to say so now would be to risk much worse. An old, tired anger stirred in the pits of his heart and he tried to ignore the voice it would take. Jealousy had no place here. Zack was his, endlessly, faithfully, his, and no failure could ever change that.

"Seph..."

He hadn't heard Zack move, but he was there, beside him, crouching on his heels beside his chair. Sephiroth waited silently.

"Is he... is he all right?"

Frowning slightly, Sephiroth reached out to brush back a stray lock of Zack's hair. "I don't know. How would you define that?"

Zack turned his face up and closed his eyes as Sephiroth's palm slid down over his cheek. "I'm just worried about him," he said softly. "He's a good kid."

"You're mine," Sephiroth whispered, reflexively.

Zack's dark eyes turned to meet his. "I never said otherwise."

But he hadn't agreed, either, the General noted. His fingers clenched, digging in sharply along Zack's jaw.

"Yours," Zack murmured, not looking away.

~*~*~ --------------------------------------------------------------------- --------
© 01.07.06 Tavam Shaytar
http://www.leafwind.com/Lifestream/
All characters are the properties of their respective owners.

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