Miasma

Chapter 21

Trigger Warnings: Very bloody, gory, & tragic scene

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Sephiroth was leaving...but not the way Genesis was expecting him to.

At first, he didn't notice the problem. And really, he thought he had the fairly valid excuse of being so deliriously in love with their daughter that he failed to identify the warning signs. Because she was perfect in every way and he wanted her to never grow up and see the world for the terrible horrible place it was. He wanted to put her in the frilly, pink and blue dress onesies-all four of them, provided by Zack of course-day in and day out and never let her out of his sight. She could toddle around after him until the day he dropped dead of euphoric parenthood and he would be the happiest motherfucker on earth. She could sully a thousand diapers and he literally would not give two shits because it was so worth it just to see her smile, just to hear her babbling from another room. The former Commander was ecstatic to carry her everywhere and every time he put her down he felt like he was missing a vital accessory. She was-of course-more than accessory. But anyone who knew Genesis knew that when he missed something more than he missed a mint-label, quilted, top dollar designer handbag that was saying something.

Genesis would throw out every single fashion-related item he owned, burn his previous apartment to the ground and relinquish his title in Soldier for his daughter. He might even cut his hair and never shave. He didn't have to-thankfully-but it was at least worth emphasizing the lengths he was willing to go for her. Saoirse, he decided quite firmly a few days after her birth, would never date. He would gut any sorry asshole that looked her way-male or female, because equality-and if she decided she wanted to date he would sit whoever thought themselves high and mighty enough to receive her affections down and interrogate them like a wanted criminal. When he told this to Sephiroth, the younger man sighed and said that it was 'far too soon to be thinking of such things', but that did nothing to alter his mindset. Genesis was a Dad now, and being a Dad dictated that he could do things like be angry about dating. He was aware that the stance was extremely hypocritical but he didn't care.

Being a Dad also made him a little bitter.

Because now that he had a daughter to look at, he couldn't help but somewhat despise his adoptive father even more. He didn't know how anyone in their right might could abuse and belittle something so innocent...the mere idea of calling Saoirse half the names Shikro had called him made him want to vomit. The idea of striking her made him want to die. Because he knew how that degradation of character felt...knew how he himself had shriveled into nothing every time his lawfully-designated sire called him a 'rake', 'weak', or 'stupid.' He'd grown into it...worn the labels proudly because that was all he could do to survive. Genesis had had to adopt the names he was so ruthlessly bludgeoned with because the alternative was emptiness. He rebelled because they told him he was unruly, he pursued artistry and flair because society labeled it as 'feminine' and they'd get what they'd given, he fucked everyone he could because damn right he was disgusting. The 'weak' part he'd had to prove wrong, because he wasn't willing to be weak...but everything else...he owned.

Saoirse should never have to endure that.

He didn't know, realistically, who he would have been if he'd grown up with Gast and Ilfana. Maybe he'd have been gentler, like Aerith...though she hadn't had much time with them either. It all, of course, boiled down to nature versus nurture; and he wasn't a philosopher or a psychologist. There was no real way to determine who he might have been, and no point in wondering about it. But he'd be damned if he didn't try his hardest to nurture Saoirse in the kindest way possible. Not necessarily because he wanted her to be meek or mild, but because he wanted her to know she was loved. He knew he couldn't control everything she did...and he didn't want to, but he didn't want her to live with his regrets either. When he looked at his daughter...into her eyes...and thought of all the other eyes he'd left flooded...smudged with makeup, accusing, angry and hurt in a mess of bedsheets, he felt a little cold. Because each one of those women and men had been someone's daughter....someone's son...