Miasma

Chapter 7

Exhaustion.

Exhaustion was the only prevalent emotion-the only prevalent feeling-in his mind and in his body. Soaring over a nameless jumble of green that must have been a forest, Sephiroth felt like his muscles were howling. Almost equally virulent was his self-hatred...for being weak, for feeling like he was unable to continue forward. Weakness was something that he abhorred, something he had never had an issue with before. He knew-realistically-what they were doing was necessary, but it didn't change the fact that he was tired. And the humanistic part of him wanted to speak up, wanted to beg for a rest, wanted to lie down somewhere and just sleep, but the SOLDIER in him refused to allow that. He couldn't slow them down, he couldn't stop just because his physicality had reached every possible limit it possesed. Weakness could get them both killed, would get Genesis killed. But the muscles tied to his wing seemed to get heavier and heavier, as if they were turning into a coagulated...stretchy mess of candyfloss that he couldn't coordinate. Twice, he'd nearly just dropped out of the sky...but he forced himself to move past it...past the warnings his body was continuously screaming in his ear...past the sting of the wind and the hail of cold.

They flew North.

By unspoken agreement, it seemed that they had both deducted that Shinra would check Wutai first. Despite the fact that Godo was dead, the entire country was in a state of upheaval. It was-ideally-the best place to hide, but they wouldn't be able to stay in one place for very long. The populace knew their faces, knew what handing them over or holding them hostage might earn them. They couldn't afford to take that risk; if they got caught, it was too far to fall. The jungles weren't welcoming either, and while they both could withstand the rain and the wet before all of this, Sephiroth was painfully aware of the fact that his condition didn't allow for such a rugged state of existence. He wished-not for the first time-that they'd run while they still had the chance to do so, while things were still easy between them. But circumstances had forced their hand, had forced them into this position, and now they had to work with what they possessed; which was little to nothing. They didn't have any gil, they didn't even have extra clothes and he was loathe to think where they could possibly get any. Genesis had a small, slim briefcase clutched to his chest with one arm...it made his flying laborious...but whatever was in it had to have been negligible...it wasn't big enough to carry personal belongings.

Bitterly, he reflected that he'd never been in a situation like this before. Everything he'd ever needed in terms of livelihood had been provided by Shinra. Away missions forced them to improvise, but that improvisation was tactical. And tactics could only get you so far. His redheaded companion was more the survivalist than he was, but he was fairly positive he didn't know anything about gestation or infants. Provided they survived long enough for birth, neither of them would have a clue what they were doing. They were brilliant in terms of SOLDIER, but when it came down to the domestic, to nurturing...the silver-haired man was certain it was going to be an utter fiasco. Realistically, they didn't have time to worry about this now; they had more urgent matters to attend to, but the instinctual part of him screamed that they were unprepared, that they had no place to sleep or rest or hide. The milliatarian in him scoffed at his sudden and inconvenient ability to fret, but it was hard to control...took all of his effort to push it to the wayside and focus on what was needed.

He was also trying to accept that Genesis was real...that this was real. When he'd woken up to find the redhead kneeling next to him in his cell, a part of him had been convinced he was hallucinating. The older man's touch had negated this concept, but it was still hard to wrap his head around. And he was ashamed of his fragility, even a little bit ashamed of his appearance; because Sephiroth had always been the picture of strength, he valued that picture as a shield. He had taken care of his partner while he was wasting away, knew instinctively that there was very little they hadn't shared with each other...but that didn't make it any simpler. So when Genesis had cradled that new...terrifying part of him he hadn't been able to tolerate it for very long. He was strange enough-or so he thought-as it was...with his undefinable biology, with his appearance and his alien cells. And a small facet of him wondered despairingly when he would ever get to a point where his life could be normal. Maybe he was spending too much of his existence wishing for normalcy, but he couldn't help it.