Date: 2008-12-17 21:00 Subject: FFVII Fic: Oubliette (1/1) PG Security: Public Mood: thoughtful Tags: fandom: ffvii, fic, sephiroth

Title: Oubliette
Author: SkyFire (rabid_plotbunny)

Rating: PG
Summary: Freshly back from Wutai, Sephiroth thought the worst was behind him.
Word Count: 2343
Notes: This 'bunny showed up when I was thinking about alternate reasons Seph cracked in Nibelheim. That (and the lab's existence there), coupled with the unsuitability of his blood when Genesis got hurt in CC, spawned this train of thought. Anyone who cares to play around with this particular AU-bunny, feel free! I know I've got a couple of other fic that would fit in this universe planned already, so jump in! ;D

Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII or any of its characters and no money is being made.


The elevator dinged as it arrived at the requested floor, doors slowly sliding open. Sephiroth walked out, hesitated briefly as the sterile, chemical smell of the lab assaulted his sensitive nose after so much time away, then started down the hallway towards Hojo's office. If his step was slower than usual, only a fraction of his now-typical gliding stride, it was easily attributed to memory. There were too many of them associated with both the lab and its master and none of them were good or worth remembering. Not that he was capable of forgetting, no matter how much he might want to.

He did not want to be there.

He had returned, victorious, from the island of Wutai only a couple of weeks before. He couldn't say he had enjoyed being there, surrounded by death every day for nine long years, but even in the worst of it, in the height of the steamy summer season, slogging through knee-high mud and reeking corpses, it had been an escape.

Hojo hadn't been there.

That didn't mean that he'd gone without his treatments for those years, though. He'd gone in for the monthly check-ups and boosters just like the rest of the SOLDIERs, but with no Hojo wanting to add in some other experiments on top of it, it was actually bearable. He still didn't like needles, and people touching his bare skin still made his skin crawl with the sick anticipation of pain, but it had actually been tolerable. It helped that the medics had been nothing like Hojo; simply doctors, not scientists. They had tried their best to put him and the others at ease, and as comfortable as conditions would allow.

It hadn't been easy.

Shinra had sent him to the war after the previous General had died in a freak stroke of Wutaian luck; caught a bit of shrapnel in just the wrong spot in one of the first conflicts of the war and bled out before anyone could get to him. Shinra had brought Sephiroth in, straight from Hojo's lab save for a few days' crash-course in self-defense from the Turks, and introduced him to the army as their new General.

Needless to say, the army hadn't been terribly impressed. They'd been obedient enough while Shinra was there but the moment he was gone, they had gone back to the chain of command they had established while waiting for the official word on the General's replacement. He'd tried, but it was all too easy for them to ignore the words of a skinny fifteen-year-old kid that none of them knew. Not only did he find his commands being ignored, he soon found himself the main target of pranks as they tried to intimidate him, to convince him to leave everything to 'the big boys'. He was stubborn though, and mostly shrugged off their attempts. Compared to Hojo's sadistic practices, they were nothing but rank amateurs.

He still wasn't quite sure where the turning point was, if there was one clear point at all, when that started to change. It could have been his stubborn persistance despite getting continually locked in the toilet or getting dumped headfirst into full water barrels or finding things in his food or almost breaking bones when they glued his boots to the floor. It could have been the fact that he was still trying after three months of making no headway at all. Or it could have been the times he'd had to go in and single-handedly rescue a contingent after they'd ignored his warnings and plans and gone in anyway, only to be captured as he'd told them they would be.

Whatever it was, by the time six months had passed, they were his, and no one and nothing was going to change that, not without a lot of objection from an entire pissed-off army. By the time a year had passed, he was called Demon by the Wutaians and Hero by his own army as he managed to pull victory after victory from even the most seemingly-hopeless situations. Now, nine years after he'd first been introduced to them as a fifteen-year-old boy with eyes much older than they should have been, they even brought Shinra's orders to him for approval before carrying them out.

It was his plans that had brought Wutai to defeat, the main armies decimated and only minor pockets of resistance stubbornly hanging on here and there. Now he returned victorious to find that he'd achieved a certain notoriety back on the mainland as well; his picture on recruiting posters everywhere, people cheering at him whenever he went out into the city. He wasn't quite sure what to think when shrieking females threw their undergarments at him; was that a good thing, or a bad thing? It wasn't as if he needed feminine undergarments, after all. And if he did, he was sure that the Shinra quartermaster could provide perfectly serviceable sets, so there was no need to go picking them up off the street.

Still, confusing though his unexpected fame was, it was still better than what was waiting for him as he was shown to his new office in the SOLDIER complex. He supposed it was a nice enough office; on the corner with full-length windows running down two walls, neutral carpeting underfoot and the walls painted a supposedly-soothing pastel color. The desk was a massive affair that looked as if it would stay in place even if the entire building collapsed around it.

It was on that desk, sitting with malevolent innocence on his new blotter.

A request for him to go over to the lab at the first possible opportunity. It was from Hojo.

After the first pangs of nausea had passed, though his hands still trembled a little, he sat down in his new leather chair, took up the handwritten note and guiltlessly fed it to his new paper shredder.

And the one that came the next day.

And the one after that.

And the one after that.

Then, almost a full two weeks after his return, Hojo had apparently had enough of his avoidance and gone straight to the President, because sitting on his desk that morning was an order, straight from Shinra, that he was to report to Hojo immediately.

Lovely.

***

So there he was, striding down the hallway in the one place that still managed to send shocks of remembered fear and pain down his spine. Hojo's damned lab.

And there, coming towards him with an expression of mixed irritation and anticipation, was the man who had made his formative years a living hell.

Hojo.

"Well, if it isn't Sephiroth," the unsavory man said, coming up to him and staring at him from behind his glasses. "You've certainly grown, haven't you? We'll have to take measurements and readings-"

"The medics in Wutai kept my file accurate," Sephiroth said, crossing his arms over his chest. For the first time in a long time, he found himself wishing he'd fastened his coat, or at least put on a shirt. Hojo's glance slid over his exposed skin like slime and he knew he would be spending time under a scorching hot shower trying to scrub it off later.

Hojo scoffed. "Medics. What do they know? They have no idea of my brilliance, and so could hardly have maintained accurate records. No, I'll take my measurements and readings, then give you your treatment-"

"Shinra ordered me to come here for my treatment," Sephiroth managed to grind out. "Nothing else. In case you hadn't noticed, I've been out of your control for nine years now, Professor, and I have no intention of going back."

Glasses glinted even as beady eyes narrowed behind them. "Is that so?" he said. Then he shrugged. "Fine. Come along, then."

Sephiroth frowned at Hojo's retreating back, every instinct he had screaming at him to get away. NOW. But it was a direct order from the president, and not even he was powerful enough to ignore that in Shinra's own Tower. He uncrossed his arms, then reluctantly followed Hojo to one of the exam rooms at the back of the lab, an area deserted except for Hojo, as usual.

Hojo didn't bother looking up from the syringe he was preparing. "Take off your coat and sit on the chair," he said. "You should remember that much, at least."

Indeed he did. He had always hated that chair, with the restraints that snapped shut on his wrists and ankles as he settled into place, ostensibly to keep him from thrashing too much as the Mako burned its way through his veins. Hesitantly, he unbuckled his coat, slid it off. He lay it carefully onto the nearby examining table, then moved to the chair. As he remembered, the second his arms and legs settled into place, the restraints snapped shut over them. He couldn't help tugging against them, or the spike of claustrophobia that rushed through him, knowing that he could not just get up and leave, that he was completely at the mercy of a man who had none.

Surely he wouldn't do anything too bad, right? He would be missed if he was gone too long, and he had cautiously told a few trusted people where he was going in case of just such an occurrence.

Hojo turned then, syringe filled with the familiar glowing fluid in hand. He moved to Sephiroth, wiped down the hollow of one elbow with a sterilizing wipe, then moved the needle into position.

There was a familiar sting, then he watched as the scientist slowly pushed the plunger, sending the glowing stuff coursing through his veins. Once the needle was emptied, it was withdrawn. Seconds later, his arm started to twitch as the Mako began its damned burning inside him, the twitch spreading along his body even as the Mako did.

But something was wrong, he knew it almost immediately.

The burning was still strong, but he felt it as if from a distance. In fact, everything was fading away, his vision going dark around the edges. He tugged at the restraints, trying to get away, but they had been made to hold SOLDIER, and hold him they did.

He looked towards Hojo, saw him standing there, a self-satisfied smirk on his weasely face. "What did you do?" he demanded, the words coming out slurred even as holding his head up became a monumental effort. "Whaddid y'do?"

Hojo chuckled. "You think you could get away from me so easily? Foolish boy. You do not decide when my Project S is done. I decide. I always decide. And I am not through with you."

He could no longer control his limbs, lay helplessly limp in the chair, feeling too heavy to move, to twitch, to even keep his eyes open. "They'll fin' me," he slurred. "Tol' 'em I was comin' 'ere. They'll come lookin'."

"No, they won't," Hojo said. "Because you won't be missing."

As the last vestiges of consciousness faded away to nothing, Sephiroth didn't know if he should be reassured or worried.

***

Consciousness slowly inflicted itself on him.

He turned over onto his side, both hands rising to his pounding head even as he drew his legs up, curling around the nauseous swirling in his gut. He hated knock-out drugs; they always left him feeling miserable. As if being in Hojo's care wasn't bad enough.

Hojo.

The thought was enough to wash the last of the drugged sleep from him, and he carefully cracked open his eyes.

Dark.

Blue-green eyes opened fully as he took in that unusual fact. It was dark. The chemical-sterile smell told him that he was still in the lab, but it had never been dark before.

He slowly pushed himself up to sit on what he now saw was a narrow shelf with a thin pad on top; a crude bed. The room itself was revealed to be one of many identical containment cells in the back of the lab, made for containing SOLDIERs after a bad treatment, or in the event of any psychological breaks.

It was only when he stood, wanting to go to the door and look out the tiny window to see if the rest of the lab was equally darkened, that he realized that he might be in more trouble than he had thought. His feet touched the cold metal of the floor, unprotected by his trademark boots. Boots he'd been wearing when Hojo had administered the needle.

Looking down at himself did nothing to quell his sudden fears; finding himself back in the uniform of his childhood. A t-shirt and shorts, both a stark, sterile white, were his only items of clothing. His boots, his pants, his coat and armor, all was gone.

What was going on?

He moved to the door, the floor almost icy under his bare feet, and looked out the window. The hallway was lit, as was the rest of the lab. It was just his cell that was dark.

All too soon, he could see why.

Striding down the hallway wearing his boots and his pants and his battle-coat and carrying his Masamune, was... well, himself. Wide blue-green eyes could only stare as his double strode down the hallway, past his door, then onward toward the front of the lab and the elevators. He banged as hard as he could on the thick metal door, on the glass, but the cells were designed to be soundproof and that coupled with the dark of the cell his double never noticed.

It was only as the other Sephiroth disappeared from view that he came to realize there was someone standing right outside the door. Looking over abruptly, he was unsurprised to see Hojo standing there, staring at him. He backed away from the door almost immediately, the scientist's anticipatory, predatory stare sending prickles of apprehension and fear through him.

He was alone, back in Hojo's care, and thanks to his double no one would even know to come looking for him.

END