Author's Note: Sorry for the wait! Lots of rewrites with this one. Lots of anxiety too. Always with the worrying. I have a feeling it is going to persist the deeper into the story we go. Take a deep breath, girl.

Enjoy!

A "Mother's" Love

At just shy of five in the morning, Sephiroth steps out of his bedroom and quietly closes the door. The treatment is scheduled for five thirty in the main laboratory on the 68th floor. He is to arrive with an empty stomach, but is allowed clear liquids. He goes into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge. As he takes drink after drink, his mind drifts to his sordid history with the 68th floor and the main laboratory. The 68th floor, where he was confined and isolated in his formative years, and the main laboratory, where he has been subjected to heinous acts from infancy to adulthood. He snickers to himself. Main laboratory. The designation is absurd. That lab was designed for one particular individual and one individual only; Shinra's greatest genetic achievement, General Sephiroth. Only his body has been secured to the stainless steel exam table, only his body has been locked in the SCU. It should be given the more appropriate designation of Sephiroth's laboratory.

He finishes off the water and tosses the bottle in the recycle bin. He walks to the front doors and hesitates, his hand poised over the doorknob. He looks towards the hallway. He's tempted to go to her room, gaze on her as she sleeps. Not that he needs to. All he has to do is close his eyes. His memory will reveal her dark lashes sprayed against her cheeks, the hint of pink in her complexion, her lips parted slightly, her hair lying in thick coils on the bedding, the slow rise and fall of her chest, and her legs drawn up under her. In her peacefulness, he finds serenity. Taking a great amount of restraint, he resists the temptation and exits the condo. He holds his security ID to the second elevator's card reader and after a short hesitation, the doors open . He enters and presses the button marked 68. The doors slide close and the elevator begins to rise. In Shai's room, she stirs at the sound of the machinery engaging.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Shai awakens late, around eight and plods into the kitchen. She fell asleep later than usual, her mind reliving Sunday's events over and over. Something isn't sitting right with her. She knows physicals can be unpleasant for both sexes, but she has never fallen to pieces over one. And what procedures can be so long in duration that it would take a week's time to complete them? Perhaps, there are tests that the general must undergo that are unnecessary for the normal civilian. That is the only explanation that makes sense.

She makes an omelet for her morning meal and sets it at her place at the bar. She pulls a cookbook from the collection on the counter, sits down, and plans a light meal menu for herself while she eats. Simple recipes of soups, sandwiches, and salads. She completes it by the time she finishes her breakfast. She then gets herself ready for her weekly jaunt to the grocery store. It's officially autumn now and the wind brings chilly northern air south from the Icicle Seas. Autumn is Shai's favourite season. Unfortunately, there are few trees in Midgar. Instead, she enjoys the season by thinking back on the fall foliage of her old village and home until her eyes brim with tears. Then it is time to return to the present and her life amid the concrete, asphalt, and grey landscape of Midgar.

Shai finds her visits to the grocery store are becoming a test of wits and ingenuity. The proprietor's wife is now insisting that Shai stay and enjoy a midday meal with herself and her husband at the small bistro situated at the front of the building, complete with round wrought iron tables set for two, grape vines hanging heavy with fruit from a trellis overhead, and a modest bar in the corner selling a variety of reds and whites. When she politely declines, the wife changes tactics and invites her to dinner. One of these days, her persistence will pay off and Shai will give in and accept her invitation. There's just one complication. The wife demands that Shai bring her handsome "friend" with her. Shai tries to tell her that her "friend" will likely be too busy to attend; he has a very important job, but the sweet lady will have none of it. Still, Shai has to admit; she would be curious to see the general's reaction to the woman's request.

On her way home, she hears her text notification play its funky digital tune. She pulls the phone from her bag and is not surprised when she reads the name: Moreau. Already the mother hen is checking up on her chick. Shai selects the text;

Would you like to come to my place for dinner?

Hmm. Shai is tempted. She imagines Sybelline's home painted in warm colours, furnished with an eclectic variety of pieces decorated with pillows stacked two, three deep, and homey touches filling open surfaces and wall space. As for the meal, Shai has no idea. Moreau has never mentioned if she enjoys cooking or if she cooks or whether or not she even enters her kitchen. But as much as Shai would love to accept her invite, her heart isn't into going out this evening, even if it's only three floors. She planned on being a homebody tonight. She wonders if the doctor would be amenable to having dinner here, where Shai can make something simple and they can relax on the couch afterwards? Only one way to find out. Shai types out a reply;

How about I cook?

Up here by 6:00pm

I'm making spinach, hummus,

and bell pepper wraps

She arrives home, sheds her outerwear, and goes into the kitchen. However, when she reaches the island bar, she needs to stop, take a deep breath, and steady herself. Since reaching the lobby, Shai has been troubled by her dwindling energy, especially so soon in the day, no doubt from her troubled night's sleep coupled with the change in weather and her brisk morning walk. She makes an early lunch, assembling a plate filled with foods to fuel her body: an apple, orange, and banana along side two bowls, one with oatmeal, the other sliced strawberries coated with vanilla yogurt. She realizes her lunch bears an eerie resemblance to breakfasts from mornings past, save for the double portions of fruit and porridge. Well, no matter. She needs to boost her energy, and this is the perfect meal to do it. She's enjoying the strawberries in yogurt when her phone alerts her to a new text. She presses the highlighted area on the display. It reads; see you at 6:00! Excellent, she thinks. An uncomplicated dinner and pleasant conversation. Maybe another bottle of wine? She can only hope.

After a long bath, hot enough to steam the glass like winter frost, Shai puts on some soft, comfortable casuals, pulls a lightweight throw out of the armoire, and heads out to the living room. She turns on the fire and stretches out on the couch. Moreau will be here in a couple of hours. She has time for an afternoon nap. Shai sets her phone alarm for five and settles into the couch pillows. Staring at the flickering motion of the fire, her eyelids begin to feel weighted, and soon she is snoring lightly, wrapped in a cocoon of knitted wool.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Moreau's morning seems interminable. Her thoughts stray from the unfinished reports, evaluations, and research scattered across her desk. They fail to decipher the words spoken in her morning meetings or during conversations on the phone. They are focused solely on one room, the only room in the Shinra building constructed of reinforced state-of-the-art materials and equipped with advanced security technology, all to contain, imprison, and, if need be, disable one individual. That individual, the people's hero, is the closest she will ever have to a child of her own, a son, and he has been up in that room for six hours. Six hours. Her hatred for her colleague begins to seethe like molten rock boiling and swirling, threatening to violently erupt from within its earthen confines. Every treatment, every new procedure, every poison concocted, her repugnance for Hojo grows.

When the clock hands finally align on twelve, Moreau throws her lab coat on her chair, locks the office door, and is down the hall in a flash. She reaches the elevators and presses the up button repeatedly like a jackhammer cracking concrete. Colleagues give her peculiar looks as they wait for their transportation to take them to their respective floors, but Moreau doesn't care. She's about to give in to her impatience and take the stairs when her elevator arrives. She enters, scans her security card, jackhammers button 68, then the button to close the doors, allowing not one other passenger to enter the car. She takes several deep breaths as she ascends. She cannot let him see her all riled up. He saw her in a moment of weakness before. Never again.

The doors open onto floor 68, not a white coat or SOLDIER to be seen. That can mean only one thing; he poses no threat. Deep breath, Sybelline, deep breath. This is not your first venture into hostile territory. You're a veteran in these matters. She walks down to the double doors centered halfway down the hall. The silence is unnerving. Normally, there are whirls, beeps, and low humming coming from diagnostic equipment, but now? It is deathly quiet. Moreau cautiously walks into the lab. All lights are off except for two desk lamps on either side of the room. The surgical light system over the examination table is off, the table bare and smelling of disinfectant. Whatever "treatment" he underwent is over. She looks at the SCU. Lying at its center, curled in a fetal position, is Sephiroth.

With his back to her, Moreau cannot see whether he is conscious or not, but, as she approaches, the dim yellow beams cast from the desk lamp reveal he has been left to lie on the cold padded floor in nothing but his boxer briefs. When she is close enough to lay her hands on the curved polycarbonate wall, she can see he is shaking, either from the temperature of the containment unit or a high fever. Damn you, Hojo! Damn you and your sadistic tendencies! Moreau goes to the computer on the desk and types in a command that provides heat to the padded floor. She goes to a nearby cabinet and pulls out a pillow and two thermal cotton blankets. She swipes her ID over the unit's security pad, and pulls the door open.

His eyes are closed, his head tucked towards his chest, his arms and legs drawn up tight against his body. Moreau unfurls one of the blankets and drapes it over him. The second he feels the soft weave touch his skin, his head jerks up and his eyes snap open. Moreau nearly tumbles backwards trying to maintain her balance. He speaks, his voice hoarse.

"Who's there?"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Shai jerks awake minutes before the alarm is set to go off, her brow glistening with sweat, her hairline damp, and her body trembling. She was in the grips of a nightmare unlike anything she has ever had before, tricking her senses with its vividity and preying on her worst fears. In the dreamscape, she is strapped to a steel table surrounded by medical personnel sewing up hundreds of cuts on her body. Her voice has returned and she is pleading for them to give her something for the pain, until her attention is drawn to a surgical glove holding a scalpel. Before she can beg for them to stop, they cut a long, thin incision across her throat. When she glances at the hand again, the medical glove has been replaced with black leather and they are wielding a kodachi. As she bleeds out, her head falls to the right and she sees the general bound to a table similar to hers. He is staring back at her, and is about to speak when Shai awakens. She now sits on the couch, clutching her chest, trying to regulate her breathing. She is still seated there, her head now in her hands when the doorbell rings. She jumps from the couch, composes herself the best she can as she walks/runs to her room to grab the sketchbook, then runs back into the living room to open the door before the bell rings a second time.

Hello, doctor. Moreau points at Shai, a look of joyful surprise on her face.

"Ah ha! I know what you said there! Hello, Shai." Sybelline moves to embrace her, but stops when she sees the condition the young woman is in.

"What is wrong?" Shai jots down one word, followed by its sign, not knowing it is unnecessary.

Nothing.

"Ha! I understood that too. It's not nothing. What's happened?" She writes short answers and shows them to Moreau.

I had a nightmare. That is all. It is over now.

"Hmm. A nightmare, eh? Alright. I'll let this go. For the time being." Moreau sets her purse down on a bar stool and turns to Shai.

"I don't know about you, dear, but I'm hungry. Let me help you with dinner."

After another fine meal, the ladies kick back on the couch, enjoying the warmth of the fire and a pot of chamomile tea. After telling her about her day, the doctor asks Shai if she would like to talk about the nightmare. Shai answers that she needs more time. There are elements of the dream that have rekindled emotions she has worked hard to keep scattered amongst the ashes of her past. When they are extinguished once more, Shai will tell her. She is interested in the counsellor's professional analysis, especially the appearance of the general. Shai grabs her sketchbook, writes a question for Moreau, and then signs for her.

Have you seen the general today?

"Yes, I have. Around lunch."

How is he? Moreau struggles to keep her eyes from tearing up. She releases a sigh and, as instructed, lies.

"He is doing well."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Who's there," he repeats, "Sybelline? Is it you?" Tears spill down Moreau's cheeks. You're getting soft in your senior years, old girl. Where is your strength? You need to be strong. Even as an adult, he needs you to be his rock. She kneels down beside him.

"Yes. It's me." He turns his head towards the sound of her voice. What she sees brings a fresh wave of tears. The pupil and iris in each eye are clouded milky white and there is bruising not only surrounding the eyes, but on the skin around the orbital bones. Sybelline can't help it; she lets out a soft sob.

"Oh, my boy. What has he done to you?" Sephiroth sharpens his hearing to pinpoint Moreau's exact position next to him. His right hand emerges from beneath the blanket and finds her cheek, his fingertips tracing the tracks of her tears.

"Please don't cry. You have seen me in worse condition before."

"I know, but in all your years in this laboratory, this is the first time you have suffered this particular side effect." Moreau clasps his hand in hers and brings it to her lips for an affectionate peck.

"The blindness is temporary. Hojo assures me my sight will return by nightfall." The mere mention of that man's name sends Moreau into a tirade.

"That son of a bitch, bastard, sociopathic, sadistic-"

"Sybelline, the cameras are active."

"- egotistical, ass-kissing, maniacal tyrant!" Sephiroth chuckles to himself.

"Do you feel better?"

"Surprisingly, no. I'll feel better once you are looked after properly. I've turned on the heated floor. You should be feeling it by now." Moreau feels his forehead with her hand.

"No fever. Thank the gods for small miracles. I've brought you a pillow and a second thermal blanket. Between those and the warmth radiating from the floor, you should be good until the morning. I will check up on you after my dinner with Shai." He tries to prop himself up on his elbow, but his body is still too weak from the treatment and he thuds to the floor. He makes do with staring vacantly at the unit's ceiling.

"You're having dinner with Shai?"

"Yes. We made arrangements late this morning."

"What time must you be there?"

"Six."

"If, by chance, she should ask about me, tell her I'm doing well."

"She's not a monster, Sephiroth. She will ask." A smile teases the corners of his lips.

"Now, you need to rest, and it just so happens my schedule is free." Moreau gently lifts his head to put the pillow in place.

"You're not going back to work, are you?" More of a statement than a question. She unfolds the second blanket and lays it over him, then kneels back down to tuck the blankets' edges securely around him. She gives her answer as she continues her ministrations.

"Yes and no. I will go back to my office at the end of the day to grab my things and lock the door. As for the few calls I still have to make this afternoon, I can do that from the desk over there."

"Sybelline, I can't move."

"You don't need to move. You need to sleep. Are you warm enough?"

"More than enough."

"Then nighty night."

"Sybelline?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

"You are most welcome, my dear boy." Moreau brushes stray fringe aside to join the longer strands to give him a tender kiss on his forehead, a reminder that no matter what trials he must endure, in the end he has a mother's love.