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jukeboxhound_backup) wrote2010-08-02 12:58 pm
fic: living chemical child (ffvii/fma)
Living Chemical Child
VII. Fire.
Main post.
Main Pairing: Established Sephiroth/Zack/Cloud
Canon: FFVII (original game only) + Fullmetal Alchemist
Rating/Warnings: Light R - alchemical torture (naturally), some sexuality, meandering thoughts on alchemy and philosophy, general unhappiness.
Summary: It wasn't like Hojo had left clear instructions on how to reverse a sacrifice to the Gate. Unbetaed.
Word Count: 1,357
Note: Two scenes, one set just after the war and the other after Ed became a National Alchemist.
VII. Fire.
(n.): Fire is the highest of the four Essential Elements, the
Rarefied Air closest to the Lunar Gate of the Heavens.
It is the Element of the Soul, ambition, and power.
The polished marble and swept cobblestone of Central shone in the noon sunlight as brightly as if it had just been built. The grand steps in front of Central Command were lined with soldiers that led up to the dais, where the white dragon of Amestris flew on a silk banner. Uniforms were crisp, boots polished, hair slicked or pinned back, and all Sephiroth could feel was disgust.
He'd already had the ceremony formalizing his new rank, so he stood with the other generals ranging on the right side of the Fuhrer. This was to honor the heroes of the war, the brave men and women that had distinguished themselves in defending the life and liberty of Amestris. Never mind that thousands of other Amestrian men and women had been killed in rage and terror and mindless violence. Never mind that an entire people had been slaughtered. But people must suffer for others to shine. People may have died, but others demonstrated the valor and strength that they wouldn't have otherwise.
So said the Fuhrer after Sephiroth had pointed out those little details. The needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the few, General. These ideas of individualism undermine the functionality of a society.
But surely compassion –
Is there something in particular you have in mind, General? the Fuhrer had asked, and though the man had been smiling there was something that made Sephiroth's skin crawl. So he replied, No, I'm merely disconcerted by being back in a city after the frontlines, and the Fuhrer clapped him on the back and said, Understandable, Sephiroth, entirely understandable.
The sunlight was hot against the dark blue wool of his uniform. Sephiroth watched as each name was called, followed by a short rendition of the national anthem as the man or woman shook hands with the Fuhrer and the generals, and each person seemed to be either dazed or flushed with excitement. I fought for my country and my country is honoring that, they were no doubt thinking – except Sephiroth wanted to say no, not this time, this is just Bradley's politics and Bradley's schemes and Bradley's lies.
It took him a moment to realize that the Fuhrer's good eye was narrowed ever so slightly. He followed Bradley's line of sight to the soldier next in line to be called.
"The Flame Alchemist, Roy Mustang!"
Mustang walked up the long steps with casual grace, as calm as the Fuhrer himself.
"For outstanding courage," began the Fuhrer, but Sephiroth was more interested in Mustang's expression. He was attentive, but there was none of the thrill that was in the other soldiers, no anxiety, no awe at being face to face with the Fuhrer and his generals. Just resolve, or perhaps determination. And obviously Bradley sees it.
Newly promoted to Colonel – two ranks higher than when he'd been sent out to Ishbal – and with ribbons of campaign and service, Mustang held himself still as General Raven pinned the silver dragon emblem onto his lapel. He shook hands with the generals. Each general said something along the lines of congratulations, you're an asset to our nation, you have a bright future ahead of you, but when Sephiroth took his hand, he said softly, "Thank you for saving the people that you could. It was an honor to serve with you."
Dark almond eyes widened briefly before Mustang could help himself, and then he smiled wryly, a little bitterly. "Thank you, General."
His grip was firm, his spine straight, his expression as calm as a pool of water. Sephiroth had no ambition of his own, could care less about promotion, but that didn't mean he was above the battlefield of politics.
I wonder what change this Mustang is determined to make.
…
One of the last people Roy expected to see in the officers' bar was General Sephiroth. The man sat alone at the end of the counter, given a wide berth by the other patrons and surprisingly free of Lieutenant Fair's company.
Making a snap decision Roy casually strode over and took the seat beside Sephiroth. He couldn't deny that the general was intimidating, aloof and watchful, tall and renowned for both his alchemical and physical prowess. Even now he wore his gloves, black with a stitched white array that had some sort of basis in both air and earth, but since Roy rarely took off his own he couldn't really criticize.
"Good evening, General," he said, motioning for a drink. The barkeeper slid over a glass of whiskey.
There was a pause. "Good evening, Colonel."
A companionable silence passed as each took a sip of their respective drink.
"How are your men?" Sephiroth asked.
"They're well. I can honestly say that I'm lucky to have been assigned the people I have."
"I've heard that you have recently taken a twelve-year-old boy under your command."
"Indeed," Roy replied smoothly, mind racing through all the possible things the general might be thinking. "Fullmetal is considered a genius in alchemy."
From the corner of his eye he saw a rueful smile flicker over Sephiroth's face. "He'll have quite a time in the military, but I imagine that you will do your best to ease his way."
Hoping to manipulate Fullmetal somehow? The boy was hardly discrete in his talent, after all, and if anyone could manage to control him then he would be controlling an effective weapon. Suspicion of sexual abuse? Inevitable, when such a young child was taken into service. Public face? No doubt Sephiroth knew the newspapers would eat up the story of a poor lost boy being guided by the benevolent military. This wouldn't be the first time that Roy had had to face other officers eyeing who they thought was an impressionable young genius.
"Relax, Colonel," said Sephiroth, his normally flat voice tinged with amusement. "It was idle curiosity, nothing more."
"I never thought otherwise." Friendly tone. Sip of whiskey. Discrete attention to the general's body language and words. Sephiroth's a bit of an odd duck, Hughes had told him. He's got some eyes and ears in Intelligence – and you wouldn't believe how long it took me to figure out it was Tseng, it's embarrassing – but there's no indication of him abusing his power, no cover-up, no scandal. The only vaguely unusual thing was his demand to the Fuhrer himself that Lieutenant Fair be transferred to his command after the war.
Sephiroth leaned on his elbow and looked at Roy from the corner of his eyes, so green they almost seemed to glow in the dim light of the bar.
"As a wise man once told me, General, men like us carry the weight of the world's sins so that others may remain innocent," Roy said softly. And that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? In Rizembool Roy had seen a child with the eyes of a soldier and there was something…wrongwith that, as though all his sacrifices during the Ishbal war had been for nothing. Of course there was ambition and a kind of weapons acquisition in having the Fullmetal Alchemist under his command, and by his extension his just-as-genius brother, but Roy could admit to himself with brutal honesty that there was also an element of redemption.
Without taking his gaze off Roy, Sephiroth idly swirled the whiskey in his own glass and murmured, "Few people are able to shoulder such responsibility and not break beneath it. It is important, therefore, to support those few for the sake of the innocent."
Then Sephiroth drained his glass, dropped some cenz on the counter, and stood up with a half-smile. "I always come away from your company with something to think about, Colonel. Have a good night."
He swept out of the bar and left Roy staring down into his drink, wondering what the hell he was supposed to think about potentially having the support of a man like Sephiroth.
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