In fluid strokes the pen scratched across the paper, each looped letter perfectly formed as it carried with it the weight of emotion. Once pristine ink found itself mottled with the touch of tears as the ancient adhered to her duty, her loyalty to her daughter forever emblazoned in just three short sentences, that would undoubtedly change everything. Rubbing quickly at her eyes with the back of her hand, Ifalna stared dismally at the words as she forced the paper inside an envelope, it’s recipient’s name an idle scribble written only in afterthought. 

She didn’t want to do this, but she had to. For Aerith’s sake they needed to escape this place, to build a new life far from the scientific prison they were forever trapped in. In the beginning, it hadn’t been so bad. In the beginning, the tests and enquiries had been humane, the experiments both logical and feasible, yet now the science department was playing with fire. They were creeping closer to exploitation, barbaric suggestions now interlaced with the most brutal and degrading of tasks. Her daughter didn’t deserve this. She wasn’t a caged animal destined to be dissected, she was a girl, a beautiful bundle of youthful exuberance, and like any mother, Iffy had to protect that, no matter what the cost. 

Pushing back her chair, the brunette now stood, her hair braided down her back as she propped the envelope up against the lamp, in clear view ready for the man that wasn’t worthy of a verbal goodbye. Exhaling deeply to steady her nerves, the Cetra smoothed a palm reassuringly across her own face as she pulled on her coat, the chill of the outside world unknown to the woman as she approached her sleeping child’s bed. If it had been feasible, she would have preferred to do this in daylight instead of interrupting the one moment of blissful tranquility her daughter had, but such luxuries weren’t meant for them. It was only under the blanket of night that they could make their escape, and only under the watchful gaze of the lady lune, that Ifalna would consider Aerith appropriately protected. 

Whispering quiet words of comfort to the petite girl, slender arms wound themselves around her dormant form as she scooped her from the covers, a blanket safely shrouding her minimal weight as the maternal woman clutched protectively at her child. “It’s for the best.” She told her softly, lips pressing to the tangled mop of curls visible against her shoulder as she stepped out of the room and off into the night. For freedom she abandoned her feelings, and for her family, she risked her life. It was a worthwhile sacrifice, she’d concluded. One life in exchange for another. So long as her daughter was safe from the poking and prodding of experimental hell, Ifalna could abandon everything. Even the memories of her husband’s legacy…and the man she may involuntarily have come to love. 

Shielded from watchful eyes by the shadowy embodiment of night, swift footsteps carried her from the compound and past the various security points she’d become so accustomed to researching in these past few months. Holding onto Aerith that little bit tighter, the ageless warrior paused at the mansion’s perimeter, her gaze shifting to the silhouette now stood at the window of her former room, her swiftly penned letter tumbled from a clenched fist to the floor that had once been stained with blood. 

Simon, I’m sorry. 

I love you. 

But I love her more…

Any second now, the alarm would sound. Hell, any second now, this was going to turn into a fully fledged prison escape! Shedding a final tear, the brunette shook her head, turning away from the past and all it entailed, as she opted to run towards a new tomorrow. For life, for love, and for the sleeping child now in her arms. 

Ifalna Faremis would run for her life. 

“The cake was on fire, I put it out.”

One sentence. That’s all it was. Nine simple words. It was a casual statement, a straight forward observation of what had just taken place, and yet it was the single defining memory of Aerith’s fourth birthday. Ifalna hadn’t been able to stop smiling since a silver haired angel had tumbled into her cherub’s path, two lives intertwined for one day a year, when the Professor could so easily be bought by stolen touches and intimate exchanges. The price was always high, she knew, but some things were worth the cost. Especially when it meant two children could enjoy their youth without the burden of obligation and scientific damnation.

“That was very thoughtful of you Sephiroth, but those flames are supposed to be there on birthdays. It’s only the candles we light.” Softly the woman thanked her guest for his kindness, while adhering to the same motherly tone she would’ve used for her own daughter. It wasn’t chiding, nor was it a dismissal of what he deemed to be appropriate, it was simply an explanation that the young boy deserved. “You see, that’s the special thing about birthdays. The candles are magic. You have to close your eyes and be very quiet, but when you blow them out, they grant your wish.”

“Oh.” Was it fair to be spinning an age old yarn about fairytales to the boy? She didn’t see what harm it could do. Aerith seemed to thrive on the possibility of magic lurking in the icing’s sugary depths, and the thought of offering Sephiroth some degree of hope seemed a kindness in itself. He needed to still be a child, she thought, or he deserved to be one if nothing else. Perhaps a little juvenile mischief was what he needed outside of his constant barrage of tests and trials. “Wiiiiishy-wiiiiishy-wishes!” Torn from her musings by her overly excited daughter, Ifalna chuckled at the pint-sized princess of petals as she bounced up and down in her chair in unrestrained anticipation.

She didn’t know which was more adorable, Aerith threatening to explode at the prospect of having her wish granted, or the bemused look Sephiroth seemed to be giving her as he edged slowly away from the girl in anticipation of said explosion. “Calm down sweetie.” The maternal Cetra prompted tentatively as her hands came to rest upon the chestnut haired girl’s shoulders, her head soon bowing slightly to kiss the top of a fluffy curly haired mop. “Now, you need to think very carefully about what you want to wish for, but you can’t tell anyone, alright? It needs to be a secret for the magic to work.”

Laying down the ground rules, the Ancient reached forwards to light the four happy candles situated atop a rainbow cake, her features perfectly content as she watched the flames flicker to life. Scooting a little closer to the younger girl, Sephiroth eyed the cake curiously as he pondered upon his own wish. Would it really work? Or was this just someone else trying to make a fool out of him? His father had always told him to trust no-one, and yet this woman was treating him as if he were her own flesh and blood. Were her words really speaking the truth? He didn’t know, but he wanted to find out.

Taking heed of the prompting from her mother, Aerith closed her eyes, her cheeks puffing out determinedly as she took a deep breath ready to blow. Three, two, one… Sephiroth beat her to it. Unwilling to miss out on the opportunity for a wish granting, the sneaky would-be SOLDIER stole the first go, his breath blowing out the candles in a single motion before the tiny tot had even stood a chance. I wish you were my mother. Biting back a smile as the little girl squealed in protest, Iffy held her steady as she pecked once again at her hair. “That was just a practice, now it’s your turn.” She whispered reassuringly, trying to allay any impending tears that may have been on the cards.

Truthfully, she was happy to let the platinum haired prince have his time to shine. He didn’t get to celebrate a birthday of his own, at least not to the same effect as this, and it was only fair that he be allowed to enjoy the mystique of birthday magic at least once. Watching intently as Aerith braced herself again, two dainty cheeks puffed out briefly before the little flower girl finally got to make her wish. I wish Sephy was my brother. Applauding as soon as all four flames were extinguished, Ifalna cut into the cake quickly, ample slices of Smartie covered perfection offered to both of her juvenile guests as she plucked each of the candles from it’s sugary home and made a very silent, but very sincere wish of her very own.

I wish I could keep you both…

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“I know you’re peeking!” A childish accusation rolled from the Cetra’s tongue as she watched the scientist, her lips curving into a unique hybrid somewhere between a smile and a frown. How long had they been sat here now? She’d long since lost count, but the evening had been pleasant enough. The Starlight celebration was only a few hours away, a fact which brought with it more trouble and excited mischief from Ifalna, than was entirely good for Hojo’s health. It was a welcome change to her dismal solitude though, he supposed.

“That’s because I’d rather see when you intend to accost me with tinsel.” The ebony haired man drawled flatly in response, one eye closed as he held out his hand obediently. Gift exchanges were somewhat of a tradition, were they not? He hadn’t normally bothered, very few people were worth the time, effort and money it cost to share something menial for the sake of a day, but for the enigmatic and oh-so-manipulative Cetra, he had been willing to make the exception. Not that he believed in any of this Starlight eve nonsense. You either waited until the correct day, or you enjoyed a large handful of nothing.

“If I was going to tie you up, don’t you think I’d have done it by now?” Raising an eyebrow, neatly the brunette pressed a small package into his hands, the cellotape already peeling at one end as it refused to co-operate with the iridescent paper casually adorning it. “That’s from Aerith.” She  smiled knowingly, stretching out across the rug and propping herself up with an elbow to watch the magic unfold. Her little angel had spent a good four hours making his gift with assistance from Mr.Tseng, and it was only right that it be treated with the utmost enthusiasm.

Peeling back the paper, the scientist sighed, his finger nudging his glasses back up his nose as the alleged ‘gift’ finally became clear. “It’s a comb.” Hojo blinked, as he jabbed a pen at the creation, his lip curling ever so slightly in horrified disgust. Why would Miss Aerith think this was a good idea? Unless of course it was one of Ifalna’s games. She always berated his appearance and deemed him scruffy; or at least his hair was. The rest of him never got much complaint.

“Mhm, we decided you needn’t be a scruffy scientist forever.” Iffy mused out loud as her fingers walked dramatically up his arm, loitering in the crook of his elbow before venturing higher. Over weary muscles they traveled, resting on his shoulder, before delicate motions saw her transversing the plane of flesh and working her way entirely inconspicuously to the elastic that restrained his hair.

“It’s pink.” He spat almost incredulously, holding up the comb while the Cetra amused herself with his hair. Tiny flecks of glitter tumbled from the grooming tool slowly, falling like an ethereal rain as he turned it over to almost choke at the word ‘smile’ emblazoned so affectionately in silver glitter and sequins. “It’s… sparkly.” Hojo merely gaped at it, replacing the item in the paper remnants as if it were contagious and needed to be incinerated immediately.

“She made it with love, so don’t look so pained, it won’t kill you.” Shifting to kneel behind him, one by one her fingers trailed through those coal hued strands, unpicking the knots and curling them around her finger. “I think it rather suits you.” She teased slyly, pecking at the nape of his neck with a surprising amount of stealth. Was it cruel that she enjoyed tormenting him so?

“Taste was never one of your strong points Ifalna.” Scathingly, he nudged the parcel aside as he made a mental note to palm it off on Sephiroth. The boy had more than a simple narcissistic complex, so surely any tool that gave him the ability to preen himself would go down swimmingly. Not that Hojo didn’t appreciate the sentiment of course, he may not have been impressed but he could accept that perhaps the disturbed little girl had thought she was doing something inherently nice for him.

“Open the next one along then, the square green one. That’s from me.” Ignoring his insulting observation, the Ancient ceased her ministrations, her arms wrapping snugly around his shoulders as she peered over his shoulder to watch round #2 of the Starlight eve gift giving session. At least this way, she wouldn’t have to do it tomorrow with people to bear witness and judge her. She could just sit with Simon, curl up with him and pretend for one minute they were normal, happy people, in a completely amicable relationship.

“Hnn.” The professor groaned, already imagining yet more accursed glitter tumbling into his lap. Why, if it hadn’t been for those arms and the feel of another heart drumming so steadily against his back, he wouldn’t have bothered. Yet, like any man, he was powerless when it came to the feminine wiles of an attractive woman. Even if she was entirely irritating and occasionally bonkers  Cautiously unwrapping the crisp green paper, emerald eyes watched intently as he pulled out a small leather bound book, and flipped through it with a quizzical brow.

The insides were filled not with an orderly typeface, but with smooth cursive letters, delicate doodles illustrating points with uncanny precision. “What is this?” He asked with subdued intrigue, his thumb moving across a vaguely familiar symbol as he turned the page to a much more familiar sight indeed. Nestled amidst the pages was a photograph of the woman so intent on coddling him, the edges worn and the colour non-existent, but it was unmistakably a glimpse of the Ancient in her youth, a great many years ago now.

“It’s a diary. My diary, actually. The first one I ever wrote when I was trying to understand who and what I was. I thought it might help with your research, to save you picking through old territory.” Not to mention it might delay some of the experiments if answers could be found outside the remit of blood. Sinking her chin down onto the bony prominence of his shoulder, dusky lips affectionately kissed the patch of skin beneath his ear as she smiled somewhat proudly. Silence was a good thing wasn’t it? “Do you like it?”

She was trying to help him now? Oh how the tables had turned. Exhaling contentedly (and somewhat relievedly due to the lack of glitter) Hojo turned his head enough to carefully thank the Cetra with a dutiful kiss to her temple. ” I was holding out for you wearing a ribbon, nothing but a ribbon actually, but I suppose this will have to do.” Snarky as ever, the scientist moved to knock the remnants of his brandy glass down his throat, an arm impulsively manoeuvring around Ifalna to tug her into his lap and let her read out her own archaic musings. “Come now, let’s see what incriminating facts you’ve bestowed upon me this year…”

“It’s fine Iffy, we’ll be back for dinner.”

She’d believe that when she saw it. In all of her years in this proverbial petting zoo, she’d never once seen anyone arrive on time. It had become somewhat of a running joke in recent years, that it was her cooking that scared people off and not their misfortune in being priorly engaged. She knew better than to accept a Turk’s word at face value, they were honourable certainly, and more trustworthy than most, but their punctuality? Not so much. Frowning, the Cetra stepped forwards, ghosting past the suited man to glance none too surreptitiously at the curvature of his backside.

Veld tensed, the corners of his mouth fighting back a twitch of amusement as he tried to find sense in the apparently non-sensical action. The Ancients had always been strange, he’d come to learn, but perhaps the strangest of them all had been Ifalna Faremis. “I’m only taking Valentine to Nibelheim, Iff, you don’t need to commit my arse to memory just yet.” Across the room Vincent masked a sudden bark of laughter with a cough, his eyebrow cocking ever so slightly as he stared pointedly at his partner.

“Oh hush up you. I’m checking to see if your pants are on fire.” The brunette remarked with surprising seriousness, her hand neatly nudging at the Turk’s hip until he turned around and gave her a full 360 confirmation that he hadn’t spontaneously combusted just yet. Maybe fire proof trousers were a new uniform requirement, because she was almost positive that the man before her was lying through his pearly white teeth. He was only doing this, or only doing that. If anything it was the use of that four letter word that seemed to disconcert her more!

“It’ll be straight forward Miss Ifalna, don’t worry. I’ll bring his flaming derriere home in one piece.” Vincent was talking now, his words causing the Cetra’s gaze to drift slowly towards him and soften ever so slightly. Was that supposed to be comforting? She may not have been entirely keen to admit it, but she was surprisingly fond of her misfit family and wasn’t entirely thrilled with the idea of them getting shot, maimed or… dismembered before dinner. Rubbing the bridge of her nose frustratedly, the woman made no sound as Verudo ghosted past her, one of his aged eyes closing in an almost flirtatious wink.

“Maybe not entirely one piece, kid. I could still do with some proper TLC.” Vincent laughed again, this time making no attempt to contain his amusement as his hand rather brazenly smacked at the elder Turk’s rump to speed him on his way and out of the Ancient’s company.

“Mhm. I’m sure I’ll find a way to rough your arse up old man.”

All was still in the house that Shinra built. Silence seeped from every wall, suffocating any traces of life with it’s unrelenting chokehold. It was often like this at night, the eerie calm punctuated only by the occasional sound of Turk footsteps or drunken scientists staggering back in after a night of celebration. Tonight it was Ifalna’s steps that broke the silence, the dull thud of silk slippers on polished laminate barely audible as she manoeuvred the corridors to find her way back to the laboratory.

Electrical lights still burned down here, tiny flickering lights illuminating her way as she entered the necessary keycode with her free hand and trod deeper into the depths of hell. The hour was already late, the clocks chiming long past midnight when she found him in his usual spot. A half empty glass of scotch was left near the table’s edge, his head bowed in careful thought as a meticulous hand scribbled out his intricate musings. Research came before everything, even sleep it seemed.

For a long while, she stood and waited, unwilling to break his concentration. She’d done it once, and swore that the repercussions were never to be repeated. She still had the scars, the emotional wounds never quite healing despite her physical remedy. That had been before their bargain hadn’t it though? Before they’d entered into a pact that made them almost equals. She could test the water before diving in, testing his limitations before he resolved to put her back in her place.

Clearing her throat, the pale skinned Cetra leant her head against the doorframe, her shoulder pressing into the wood as she smiled concernedly. “You missed dinner.” She observed from afar, her teeth chewing upon her lip in an entirely unforgiving action as she dared to step closer. “…so I made you some soup.” Her hand raised the bowl slightly and though no eyes every set upon the gift, the indifferent nod and gesture of his hand beckoned her closer.

Complying without protest, Ifalna ventured forth to set down the steaming bowl of her homemade sustenance, a spoon soon residing neatly beside it as she loitered behind his back, watching him work with curious yet troubled eyes. The longer he spent down here, the more reasons he found to continue the project, the more people he ended up hurting. It scared her like nothing else, a foreign concept finally embraced by the Ancient. Her people hadn’t known fear since Jenova, they’d had no reason to distrust Gaia’s wisdom, and yet here she was, uncertain and apprehensive because of one man.

Without warning her hands were on his shoulders, smoothing across tense muscles with well learned grace. “Even scientists need to sleep.” She told him in a motherly whisper, a subtle inclination of her head allowing her to kiss his hair as she leant forwards, her arms sliding lower, palms smoothing across his chest in a demanding embrace. “Come to bed soon, please? I’ll even wait up and tell you a bedtime story. One about the promised land and a valiant dark haired hero.” How confusing and complex a relationship this was, fear and affection going hand in hand as she battled with her own demons.

She could dwell in make believe couldn’t she? It helped to lessen her discomfort, to make the situation tolerable when inside it made her cry. She’d half expected the scoff of indignation, but the banter that followed, that was something new. “The only story I’m interested in results in a happy ending.” Perhaps a naive person would’ve taken that for what it was, a perfectly innocent statement, but the quirk of his eyebrow and the challenge in his eyes said otherwise. It made Ifalna pale, her head shaking with surprising speed as she clipped him round the back of the head in protest.

Bravery ignited, she held on a little tighter, lips cemented against the crook of his neck with something that sounded more akin to a snicker. “Our hero’s all for equality. Rather than impose on others he’s more fond of self service and writes his own endings.” Something shifted then, the balance of power strangely on equal terms as she smiled for the first time, properly and without courtesy the curve worked it’s way higher until it danced in the depths of her eyes. Beneath the pain and the uncertainty, between the role of victim and slave, there were moments like this. Moments of normality, of humour and of true affection. They didn’t last, they never could, but they were addictive and they made the turmoil worth it.

“I’m not sure I have much need for a story then, dear Iffy.” Snide yet surprisingly blase, Hojo stilled his pen to pick up the spoon, sampling in the warm delicacy he’d been doing his best to ignore. How long had it been since last he’d eaten? He couldn’t recall, nor did he want to. It was almost a second nature that he was relying on this woman now, self-preservation quietly set aside in order for the Cetra to coddle him. He was more than capable of dealing with his own nutritional needs, and yet still she persisted, forcing nourishment down his throat with gentle nags and intrusive touches.

Good Gaia, he hated her. He could wound her, harm her, beat and break her, and like a kicked puppy she’d always return, ready to forgive and make him happy. It made him resent his behaviour on occasion, her presence both healing and toxic at the same time. She clouded his judgement, dizzied his thoughts and distorted his plans, but for what? Love had burnt him once, he wasn’t willing to let it happen again despite knowing he was already falling so very, very hard.

“Just eat your soup then. You’ll turn into a crochety old man by morning otherwise.” Another gentle barb and she was grazing his ear, laughter resounding as she hand dipped lower still, toying with his navel as she patted that rounded paunch of a stomach with a knowing shake of her head. “Not that you’ll starve anytime soon…” With only a poke of her tongue and a swirl of skirts, she was moving safely out of hitting distance, her legs folding neatly over the other as she perched upon the desk beside him, serene emerald glistening with mischief as she propped her head up and smiled so innocently.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to help me burn it off…” Was that a bad pick-up line?

“With petrol and matches most likely.” Ifalna smirked.

“Oh Iffy…you do say the sweetest things.”

It had all seemed so easy in the beginning. Whispering words of promises, offering scandalous touches, sharing the taste of compliance…It had seemed a far bargain. For the sake of her daughter’s life, she could assail herself. She could sell her emotions and sacrifice her skin in the pursuit of something greater than herself. Preserving a child’s innocence was a worthwhile sacrifice wasn’t it? So why did she now feel so dirty and disgusted with herself? The reality was weighing heavily on her shoulders, bleeding her tears dry and sucking optimism from every pore.

It was wrong.

So very, very wrong.

Nails scraping along her forearm, Ifalna sat upon the stone patio, leaves cascading in a shower of red, amber and gold. Her skirt draped loosely across her legs, her sweater hanging precariously from one shoulder as she gazed down at the earth. Did Gaia approve, or has she too forsaken the Cetra? She didn’t want to sell herself, to utilise feminine wiles in the pursuit of closure. Even Hojo didn’t deserve to be seen as a pawn. This wasn’t fair to him was it? When obligation overshadowed love, didn’t that mean the end of the road? Weren’t her touches hollow, and her words meaningless in every evocative whisper?

Leaning forwards to rest her chin atop her knees, tumbling spirals draped across her bare shoulder as she sighed, forlornly praying to the magic of the land to see her through this and to allow her to achieve the end she required. Protection for her child, freedom from this place, a chance to live again. This was a necessary evil, but surely there had to be a better way. A liberating answer that wouldn’t hurt anyone, that would let them all simply exist in a state of transcending bliss.

Maybe she did love Mr.Hojo, but not more than she loved her child. If push came to shove, she’d always choose Aerith; such is the nature of a mother’s love, but to constantly be put in a position of…complex subservience was almost too much. Where once romance had blossomed, now there was only a convoluted sense of duty, her actions methodical as opposed to impulsive, her spirit waning to the point where it was no longer her own. Iffy swallowed at the notion, drowning herself in her thoughts as footsteps escaped her attention.

It was only when a scruffy haired Turk thunked down onto the concrete beside her that emotive emeralds finally flicked up. She smiled then; a real one, small and subdued, but a smile nonetheless.Without provocation, Veld Dragoon could always raise one. “You couldn’t pick somewhere warmer to think?” He teased quickly, his hands rubbing together to conserve some heat as a familiar head flopped onto his shoulder.

“I like the cold. It reminds me of home.” Not to mention it numbed things to a point where she could swallow her pride and learn to deal with them. “What’s the matter Veld, feeling your age? Have you got a chill in those rattling old bones of yours?” Two could play at this game. The banter alone was worth it, for a little glimmer of normality in a sea so intent on drowning her. His arm shifting to wrap around her waist had admittedly been rather nice too, a chance to just sit together in an embrace of friendship rather than as star crossed lovers.

“Less of the old, you. I’m not the one that’s ‘Ancient’ am I?” He jabbed at her ribs gently, relief washing over those weathered features at the protesting smile that ensued. He knew she was sad, he always knew. It was only ever in times of turmoil that she sought refuge in the cold. The day he’d caught her in the snow hadn’t been the first, nor would it be the last, but he was determined to be there, through whatever rough patch this was, in whatever capacity he was required.

For a long while silence followed, his thumb moving from time to time along the curve of his companion’s waist in an act of unspoken comfort. “What’s the matter, hmm?” He finally prompted in a tone unbefitting for a fearless Turk. It was soft, paternal perhaps, like a parent trying to coax details of a nightmare from a child. He knew already, or thought he did. The walls of Shinra always whispered, secrecy a foreign concept if you ran within the right circles.

“I sold my soul.” In the barest of whispers the Cetra made her confession, the red scratches along her arms sealing the bargain in blood as she leant further into Dragoon’s hold. “I signed on the dotted line and gave it away.” Ifalna shivered, her cheek pushing to his shoulder while tiny droplets of liquid misery trickled down his jacket. He was going to leave now wasn’t he? To reject and cast her aside because she’d aligned herself with the devil himself.

Veld frowned, reining in his lover friend with a strong arm, fingers stroking through those soft curls, as he hoiked the woman into his lap and held on tightly. “Iff…I don’t think it was ever really yours to give away.”

“She’s just a child.”

Weighted words uttered their heartfelt plea in little more than a whisper, the gradient of her tone softening with every decisive syllable. Long gone was composure in that singular moment, emotion clouding words of logic and reason in the pursuit of something greater. She needed to protect Aerith, to shield her from whatever whims her paramour had before it was too late. She’d seen the files, she’d heard the whispers, and nowhere in her could she conceivably think of a way to justify putting her child through the trauma. She was a child, not an experiment, she deserved the same rights as any other living thing. Surely Hojo remembered that; he’d taken the hippocratic oath once hadn’t he?

Eyes locked onto his, fountains of emerald brimmed with moisture, the gathering fluid building until it seeped from her eyes, tainting smooth flesh with a stream of sadness. “Please…” She tried harder to plead her case, to appeal to whatever good he had left to let her daughter go. Where was the man that made her smile? The insufferable but affectionate scientist that found ways to fit amourous adventures in around his research and cantankerous brooding? She still believed he was in there somewhere, she had to, or else what hope was left that her child would live beyond the age of five? She needed him to comply, to understand, to accept her request, but what leverage was she supposed to offer? What could possibly weigh up against Aerith’s life.

Her hand ghosted along his face, stealing a touch as his face remained passive. Not once did he show any sign of humanity. All she saw was cold sterility, analytical thinking outweighing love. “Her blood isn’t pure…” Ifalna tried to plead to the scientist rather than the man,  yet the words seemed dirty in her mouth. Her sweet baby girl was the purest thing imaginable, Cetra wisdom and human kindness interwoven to make the personification of innocence. She was perfect in her mother’s eyes, a ray of sunshine amidst the clouds, a flower amidst the weeds. She deserved to be a child. She deserved to live her life without the fear of pain or rejection, without isolation and cruelty seeping into her days like some kind of infectious plague.

“Use me. Test me. Poke me, dissect me if you have to, but please not Aerith. Please don’t touch my baby.” The tears still flowed, and despite no words, a foreign thumb was smoothing across her lip, toying with the flushed flesh as it grazed higher, smoothing back those accursed tears with something that may have been contemplation. “Let me stay with you…” She added her life to the bargain, her hand pressing over his to keep him rooted there, stilling his touch as her eyes screamed for closure. “…let me love you.” Her heart was taking over now, self-preservation mingling with something new entirely, an emotion now surfacing she’d long been trying to hide.

Affection. Adoration. Supplication.

How much of it was manipulation and how much was truth? Did she love him? Or did she love the fact that her feeling could twist within him until the situation worked in her favour? Her kiss was hardly a contract, but it still gave a message. In every precise touch of her lips, she offered him everything, yet in every parting breath she took it away. How far would he go in the pursuit of this dance? How far would she go, to see her daughter free from the threat of vivisection and eternal isolation? Iffy had been telling herself for months that the feelings she harboured were purely selfish. They stemmed from logic not from romance, but try as she might to forget them, they blossomed and bloomed, taking root and growing stronger by the day.

She loved a murderer. She loved the man that made her a widow, but sweet Gaia she hated the things he did. The things he promised to do. Lingering threats spilled from his mouth as fluidly and frequently as his seductive purrs, damning and saving her in a constant cycle of contradiction. It put Hojo in an awkward position. Did he listen to his head or his heart? Both had been known to steer him wrong in the past, so was his obsession with the Ancient’s really worth the risk? Concise steps brought him forwards, his hand dropping from that silken cheek to grip the workbench, boxing the Cetra in with rigid arms. Steeled blues bore into her own for a moment, burning the sight into his retinas as he inclined his head in the barest of nods.

“For now.” He complied with a minimum of protest, but only temporarily. An infant was perhaps too young for the tests he had in mind, but that didn’t mean in a few years he would rule out the possibility entirely. Lips pilled taut into a vague hint of a sneer, his hand moved again, drifting down the curve of an elegant spine as he brought his mouth to hover beside her ear with strange sense of satisfaction. “You’re mine.”

{Yes Crim, I’m casually commandeering part of your headcanon! <3 Also, evil Maharaja much? “She is mine!” }

“Bananas and peanut butter?” The jovial professor felt his lips twitch, his moustache crumpling most affectionately as a hearty chuckle left his mouth. Of all of the things Ifalna had been craving in these past few months, this was certainly one of the more tame offerings. Seated in a lazy recline upon their humble couch, the soft pads of his fingers moved fluidly through her hair as she lay against him, her eyes gazing up from his lap with a twinkle that mirrored his own.

“You heard me.” She teased quietly, her hand moving in a soothing gesture across the swell of her belly as tiny feet danced to life inside of her. “Our little bump needs all of that energy to finish off the Nutcracker suite.” She mused knowingly, weariness forgotten as she smoothly tugged Gast’s hand to feel the same kicks that filled her with pride. She kept his hand there for a moment, rooted to the jersey stretched across her navel as placid emerald sought confirmation for his view on their active offspring-to-be.

“And there was me hoping for another scientist in the family.” Mockingly he shook his head, a faux look of sorrow drifting across his features before the smile returned as welcoming and warm as ever. “So long as it’s healthy, that’s the main thing” He added with a little more seriousness as his fingers reached upwards to loosen his tie and unpluck the first few buttons. It was strange to think that this little miracle could be growing in every second he’d been working. It was now strangely refreshing to sit down and relax with his blossoming family, drinking in their warmth and treasuring these little moments of blissful solitude.

Oh, how he knew they wouldn’t last. Soon the cabin would be full of midnight cries and the scent of baby powder, his once pristine home laden with toys and baby-proofed foam edges. Perhaps to a rational man it would have been perceived as somewhat of a set-back, but the Gast, these were the moments that made it special. He could watch his child grow, nurtured and adored like the flowers Ifalna could conjure from nothing but barren earth. The Cetra had always held a special place in his heart, but this woman with him now was in a league of her own entirely. His gift from the gods made flesh.

“Are you sure you don’t want something a little more traditional to nibble upon?” The moustached man whispered into her ear, toying with the spirals of chocolate brushing his cheek. “Toast perhaps. Or some soup?” He tried to offer in vain to make life easier for himself. He had no qualms with Iffy’s eating patterns, just so long as she remembered that cravings alone could not sustain both a tiny life and her own. Turning her head, slowly an eyebrow irked ever skywards, her mouth moving closer to tug upon her husband’s lip with her teeth. “I’ll stick with the bananas and peanut butter. It seems more befitting to your health than cannibalism.”

Lips curving, a soft kiss redeemed the patch of assaulted flesh before she settled down once more, cuddled against her one true love as her future child kicked wildly in her womb. She didn’t really need anything else. She had all the love and affection she craved right here.

“Anata, rise and shine. It’s morning. You need to get your lazy backside up for a board meeting.” Tentative yet authoritative, the tender call cut through the air, radiant emerald transfixed upon the spectacle before her as she bit back a smile. It was almost endearing in a way.  Sprawled face down across his bed was the pinnacle of scruffiness, bare skin exposed to the elements, as a trail of wild ebony spanned down his shoulders. It was a far cry from the scientist’s usual decorum, but the vulnerability involved was almost bordering on poetic.

Who’d have thought a few glasses of chardonnay could do this to a man? Granted it wasn’t all he’d been drinking, but the hungover scientist didn’t half rouse a certain element of amusement in the Cetra. It proved he was human, even underneath all of those layers of tightly wound indifference. Watching from afar only did so much though, and before long the brunette was at his side, her leg tucking neatly beneath her as she perched on the mattress edge. “Really now, you can’t stay in bed forever.” She reminded again, porcelain hued fingers reaching forth to trace the contours of his back, her touch soothing and demanding at the same time.
 
“If you get in here, I can.” Gruff tones jibed in response as Hojo’s groan muffled into the pillow, invading fingers doing very little to entice him from his heavenly abode. Board meetings were full of idiots and he had neither the patience nor capacity to indulge such flights of moronic fancy. No. Sleeping seemed like a far better prospect. Somewhere warm, dark and invariably quiet, perhaps even with a soft and pliant body resting beside him to fetch coffee as and when he saw fit! Now -that- was the life he wanted. Or at the very least, the day.

“Tempting though that offer is, I think I’d miss my garden too much.” And Aerith, naturally. Somehow she doubted the professor would consider this much of a sanctuary once the adventurous toddler started jumping on his bed. Not that he wasn’t skilled in his own acrobatics, of course, she just didn’t want to mix two volatile subjects anytime soon. Lips curving at her own train of thought, the Cetra blushed, a healthy rose tinting her cheeks as she shuffled forwards, her hand moving in methodical circles along his shoulders. “You’ll regret it if you don’t go.”

If he was busy with the board, she’d be free to spend time elsewhere. She wouldn’t be pumped full of the same chemicals that were making her weaker by the day, her blood wouldn’t be sampled and for a few short hours she could be a person. An ordinary human being again, capable of simply living life in a ridiculously refreshing display of monotony. Ever the voice of reason, gradually her movement slowed, her hand ceasing it’s offer of comfort as she made to move, her weight no longer making the bed sink ever so slightly. Light footfalls led her to the foot of the bed as she knelt down beside his head, stroking at his hair with a frustrated expression.

“Hnnn.” He replied in response, the incoherent groan cementing his viewpoint quite thoroughly despite his hand currently groping blindly for the set of fingers that seemed to divert attention from his throbbing headache. He didn’t want to get out bed, and he’d be damned if he was letting his own personal nursemaid escape too! It hadn’t escaped Ifalna’s attention either. Drumming her fingers against his wrist, neatly she pressed two aspirin tablets into his palm before waving a glass of water almost enticingly.

“You’ll be needing this.” She told him with a quiet smile, the ghost of her kiss grazing his forehead when finally the man opted to move with sloppy movements. Breathing a sigh of relief as he finally complied, the Ancient rose once again, ready to fuss with his clothes and organise the jumbled mess he liked to live in. She never quite made it that far though. Barely three steps later an arm was around her waist, ensnaring her and limiting her elaborate escape as one firm tug pulled her back to his side.

“I’ll be needing more than that.”  Was that supposed to be innuendo? She almost laughed as his body rose behind her, a precarious balance on his weary knees allowing him the luxury to brush aside those chestnut curls and grace her neck with the silkiest of breaths. “Iffy…” He practically purred, well practiced fingers tracing the subtle curve of her ribcage. “…dearest, sweetest, Iffy…” His mouth found her pulse point, chapped lips tormenting the scrap of flesh as he revealed his ulterior motive with a sense of devious payback.

“…be a dear and make me a coffee. Black. No sugar.”