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Landing Point had always been a hive of activity, the hub of an army whose presence had grown over the years into a vast machinery that existed in its own right. What had once been put to use to justify its budget had become a cornerstone of Shinra's corporate policy, and Sephiroth doubted he was the only one who wondered what the company intended to do now that the war was over, the terms of surrender signed and sealed one week ago to the hour. Demobilization would be as costly in some ways as maintaining the status quo, and the private sector wasn't ready to absorb so many new workers ill-prepared for civilian life after nine years of fighting. But what use was an army without a war?
He didn't allow himself a sigh, not while the men could see him, and he'd made a point this last week of being as visible as he could. Walking the chocobo pickets, strolling through camp with no particular destination in mind, making the time to listen when anyone worked up the courage to hail him. Though it had been clear for months that the war was all but won, the anticipation that had brightened the camp then was no comparison to the giddy relief he saw all around him now. Though a token force would be staying, the rest would finally be going home.
Habit took him from the mess tents to the command tents, though he traced a circuitous route, sidestepping crates and troops playing porter and once a loaded jeep. From somewhere off toward the beach, he heard Stiegler cursing the new pack of Thirds he'd been roped into training: eager, impressionable boys who'd only recently made SOLDIER and who'd moped around inconsolably at first when they realized they wouldn't have a chance to make a name for themselves. Curiosity tempted him to wander by now that Stiegler had brought them back in from the field, see what sort of SOLDIERs they'd sent him this time, but seeing Colonel Whitman duck out of his tent with a box under one arm distracted him.
On the surface, nine years hadn't changed the man as much as Sephiroth might have expected. Whitman had always been lean, "tough as a boiled boot," or so his subordinates liked to say; if his face was more lined than it had been, it was barely noticeable when he grinned. "Sephiroth," the man greeted him amiably, jerking his head at the muted chaos around them. "If you're looking to get out of this madhouse, I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place. They're packing us up today, so if there's anything you want in one piece, I suggest you grab it now."
"I'm already packed," he replied, deciding against admitting that he'd seen to it nearly a week ago. It wasn't that he was overeager; it was just that he'd had nothing better to do.
"Yeah? Can't say I blame you," Whitman said with a touch of slyness that made Sephiroth eye the man curiously. "Well, it may not be a corner office," the Colonel said with a shrug and a grin, "but I hear you've got a hell of a view to look forward to."
"It seems you're better informed than I am." Curious. He hadn't known what to expect when he received his orders to return with the rest of the army, to present himself to Midgar for reassignment, but an office had never figured into it. In his more optimistic moments, he'd assumed he'd be given some sort of work to do with the SOLDIERs.
On the nights he couldn't sleep, he made contingency plans should he be asked to visit the labs.
"I'd say that you need a better spy network if you expect to make it in Midgar, General, but actually my oldest is in HR. And I don't envy you the office," Whitman added, shaking his head with a smirk. "Keeping your SOLDIERs in line isn't exactly going to be a picnic. I mean, at least now you can throw them at a brigade if they get bored; what you're going to do with them when there's no war to fight...well, better you than me."
He nodded without thinking--acknowledgement, not agreement--but Whitman didn't take offense. They knew each other too well for such simple misunderstandings.
SOLDIER. He had hoped not to be forced to give them up--hoped not to give any of them over once the need for a general was gone--but it didn't yet seem real. Possibly because the orders to assure him of his place had not yet arrived.
That they were apparently waiting until his return to Midgar seemed more ominous than he would have liked.
Cocking his head with a quirked smile, Whitman regarded him for a moment with the old measuring look he'd mostly put aside, though his eyes were more friendly than they had been all those years before. "You know, I never thought I'd say this at first," the Colonel offered when Sephiroth arched a brow, "but it's been good working with you, sir. You definitely didn't turn out to be what I was expecting, and I guess I hope I didn't either," he added, putting his hand out with a grin. "If we meet up again in Midgar, the first round's on me."
"I look forward to it," Sephiroth replied automatically, more surprised by the proffered handshake than by Whitman's words. Despite working together for years, few of the unaugmented seemed to realize that Sephiroth, while stronger than his fellow SOLDIERs, had never not been stronger. He didn't make the sort of mistakes with the unwary and the breakable that an excitable Third might, but the nervousness around him remained.
"Well, guess I'd better get back to work. At least it's not fucking raining," Whitman added, caught up by the same cheer as the others.
If he could be certain of what waited for him in Midgar, Sephiroth might even be tempted to join them.
***
It began when they disembarked on the beaches outside Midgar: the crowds, mostly cheering, though there were a few notable dissenters. It was the angry ones who caught his eye, those and the Security forces who quietly appeared out of the crowds, the momentary confusion followed by careful blindness by those around the protestors. It wasn't even the war those men and women were decrying; it was Shinra itself and all it stood for.
But mainly there were happy faces, and he doubted his men knew even a fraction of the girls who pulled them out of lockstep to plant enthusiastic kisses as the final leg of their return was turned into a parade. Away from the docks--atop the Plate, in the heart of Shinra's power--it was different. Nothing but well-wishers, no angry signs calling for the removal of the reactors, the reclamation of the lower Sectors. The streets were lined with Shinra blue, experienced Security and a fresh crop of cadets, and in those too-young faces he saw nothing but awe bordering on worship when they looked at him.
To say that it was not the homecoming he'd expected would have been an understatement.
The President was waiting for them when they reached the steps of Shinra Tower, standing atop a wide podium decked in blue, the red diamond of the company's logo blazoned over an image of the globe at his feet. The man was beaming, waving to the crowd as if they'd gathered there for him, while his son stood staring blandly off into the crowd on his right, clearly ignoring the man.
"Thank you, thank you," the President said into the microphone on the lectern--no doubt bulletproof--before him, his voice booming out into the crowd from speakers set all along the main thoroughfares. "And welcome home to our returning troops!"
If he'd thought the cheers from before were deafening, clearly he'd been conservative in his estimation of how loud they could get. At least all the SOLDIERs in the front ranks with him were seasoned men, adept at dealing with the occasional inconvenience of their enhanced senses; Stiegler's unfortunate trainees would not have fared so well.
"I know you've all watched closely," President Shinra continued at the first lull, "as this company took its first steps toward greatness, uniting the entire world under a single cause. Today we are one people, one nation, with one will. Now let me introduce to you a man who has worked tirelessly to see this day come about--our very own General Sephiroth!"
Abruptly there were cameras everywhere, but the long habit of caution kept his expression smooth and untroubled, his eyes from flickering with the startlement he felt. No one had warned him that he would be put on display, and he wondered what last-minute politics had convinced the President to share the spotlight with anyone, much less him.
"General Sephiroth," the President urged with a wide, plastic smile, "come up and greet your fellow citizens!"
It felt strange to leave the others behind and walk on alone, to leave the odd comfort of men whose capabilities and loyalties he knew to stand at the left hand of a man he neither respected nor trusted. It was to his men he looked first--his SOLDIERs most of all--and he told himself it was unfair of him to be disappointed when he only saw satisfaction, pride, vindication looking back at him. Commiseration from some of his Firsts, but for the wrong reasons.
They wanted him up here to receive this attention, the recognition they thought him due. He would have been much happier to be dismissed, set free.
And still the crowd cheered, cheering for him.
"Well, General--it's good to be home, isn't it?" the President asked, clapping him on the back as more flashbulbs went off.
Though he wanted to step away from the man, he knew it would be a mistake. As would admitting that Midgar was not his home. It was only that he had nowhere else to go.
"Yes," he said shortly, and the President laughed, beaming out into the crowd without looking at him once.
"A man of few words, our General. But you'll have all the time in the world to catch him for interviews; Sephiroth will remain acting head of the army, stationed right here in Shinra Tower, to keep Midgar safe. Let's give the man a round of applause!"
So that was it. Something had happened while he was gone, something to threaten the company or the Shinra family, and he was being kept close as a deterrent to others. Somehow, understanding the politics behind the move let him relax a fraction of his guard. Knowing the reasons behind their support made it quantifiable, reliable. And if the dissent he'd seen simmering amongst the people of Midgar was any indication, Shinra would not be withdrawing that support of him anytime soon.
He was needed yet, and necessary.
Titus fell in beside him once he was finally able to escape, his hulking presence keeping off all but the most determined well-wishers. "Been a long time since I've spent any time in Midgar," the man offered, so casually Sephiroth might have mistaken it for idle conversation. "Not sure I even remember my way around the Tower, to tell you the truth, sir."
"I know where the elevators and the board room are," Sephiroth replied. And the labs. "I'm told I was given an office, but I'm more interested in where I'll sleep."
The wry smile Titus flashed him was puzzling, went unexplained. "I'll ask around. The Turks will know if nothing else. Anywhere else you'd like me to get a map for, sir?"
While he doubted very much that Titus would have the slightest trouble threading the maze that was Shinra Tower, he appreciated the offer nonetheless.
"The stable," he said decisively. "I want to make sure Draugr's settled in properly."
And to make sure they wouldn't take the bird from him, to see how well he'd convinced them that he wouldn't run.
***
The cadet on stable duty resorted in the end to pointing the way to Draugr's stall, unable to get proper directions through his tongue-tied stammering. Nodding gravely, Sephiroth strode away without looking back, having learned already the futility of trying to set the new people he encountered at ease. It had been the same everywhere he went in the Tower, and though a good deal of it was hero-worship, there was enough fear behind even the awe to set his teeth on edge.
At least Draugr was happy to see him, though the bird stabled next to his--an impressive white hen with watchful green eyes--stiffened her crest at him and glared as he passed. Leaning his head over the stall door, Draugr chortled at him as he reached up to give the bird a skritch, working his fingers under warm, thick feathers as Draugr sighed.
"Might've known I'd find you here," he heard from down the aisle, and he half turned with a nod of greeting as Colonel Piper stepped out of a nearby stall with a grin of approval. "Quite a bit different from sleeping under the stars, isn't it?"
"Yes," he said, already wondering how he'd ever get to sleep on that monstrosity of a bed he'd been provided with, wide enough for five and far too soft. "I haven't spent much time in cities."
"To tell you the truth, neither have I," Piper admitted, ambling over with a nod for Draugr--and for the aggressive-looking white. "I'm from the Fort Condor area, myself, and there's not much out there but hills and monsters--and the occasional phoenix, or so the stories say. We mostly just come back to Midgar to make our reports, and then we're off again as close to first light as we can manage."
"That sounds lovely," he said, trying not to dwell too long on the fact that it meant he had one fewer ally in this place.
"Well, son, you know you're always welcome to come along. Make it a training mission, if you like," Piper added with a conspiratorial grin, buried sympathy in honest blue eyes.
"I'll bear that in mind," he promised. When Piper clapped his arm with a companionable grip, he felt no desire to sidle away.
Strange to think that he would actually miss Wutai. But then again, it wasn't truly Wutai that he would miss.
***
Within the first few hours of settling into his new office, he learned that the duties of a general in peacetime were no sinecure. Within the first few days, he wondered if his new power--such as it was--extended to having Colonel Whitman shipped back to Wutai...and dropped into the ocean. In the middle of the rainy season.
It wasn't that his SOLDIERs lacked discipline. It was that they were used to having more to occupy them, and in the absence of armed combat, they tended to amuse themselves.
Apparently it took more than he'd realized to keep a SOLDIER amused.
"What about the VR rooms?" Zinsner asked with an arched brow. "Tuesti's project, wasn't it? Pity he doesn't like getting his hands dirty," the Major added, grumbling. "Boy knows how to build things, I'll give him that."
"The VR rooms are useful, but there's not enough of them. I'm working on acquiring more space for regular practice areas as well." Anything to keep them busy.
"Well, an obstacle course is easily done, but where did you want to put it? Not on the Plate, I'm assuming--"
"The badlands outside Midgar will do." For now. Until he could find somewhere more interesting to put one. "You're likely to run into monsters, though, so I'll be assigning a squad to you."
Now both of Zinsner's brows were climbing toward his hairline, but the man was grinning all the same. "Keeping them out of your hair, sir?"
"If you could do me that favor," he admitted, "it'd be greatly appreciated."
It wasn't what he'd trained for. There was more paperwork than he'd expected, too many things that required his signature that he barely understood the need for, his calendar filling up quickly with endless requests for meetings and interviews. He almost missed the fighting, though he didn't miss the aftermath. He was completely out of his element, and if it weren't for his men--Titus, who knew the ins and outs of a regimented system of training Sephiroth had bypassed completely, and Stiegler, who regaled him gleefully with the fresh ways the man had found to torment his trainees, not caring that Sephiroth merely listened, nodded, and put some of his suggestions into immediate practice--he might have been tempted to go AWOL himself.
One week stretched into two, somehow became a month, and he had lost neither his sanity nor his patience--at least not completely--in the process. He was even beginning to cautiously feel as if he might be doing a creditable job when the door to his office swished open without a warning chime and he saw Hojo smirking at him from the doorway.
"Well, well. Keeping busy, I see," Hojo said as he entered, taking a seat in the chair before Sephiroth's desk without waiting for an invitation. "A waste of your talents, of course, but that's to be expected."
He wasn't sure if that was meant to be an insult or not. With Hojo, one never knew. "Was there something you wanted?" he asked, holding the man's eyes steadily, his expression cold. He'd been waiting for this day since he first stepped foot in Midgar--before that, even--and he was determined not to let the man intimidate him. He'd left the labs for good the day they sent him to Wutai, and if Hojo didn't yet know it, Sephiroth would have to make him understand.
"You," Hojo said without hesitation, "in my office. Today would be convenient."
"For you, perhaps. I'm afraid I have meetings that can't be postponed."
Behind the round lenses of his spectacles, Hojo's eyes narrowed, unsurprised. "I don't think you understand."
"I understand that I have a meeting with the head of PR in half an hour on orders from the President. Heidegger apparently wants to see me after that, and then I'll be meeting with Tuesti to discuss whether SOLDIERs can be spared for regular patrols of the lower Sectors now that it won't put a strain on the war effort. I also understand that there is nothing new that you could possibly learn from me, and that the SOLDIER program is a success. My men are fine as they are; therefore, we have nothing further to talk about."
He expected Hojo to erupt in fury at his willfulness--a cold fury, but one very familiar to him. Instead the man smiled, slow and unpleasant, and drawled, "Your men, is it? You've forgotten who made them, I see. I wonder if it would be worth it to take them back...."
He barely recognized the rage that exploded in him then, icy, possessive, his vision hazing with a slick sheen of green. "You made them from me," he ground out, some part of him dimly wondering at the brief flash of shock that wavered in Hojo's eyes. "That makes them mine. And I keep what's mine."
"Interesting," Hojo mused, smiling again and leaning back comfortably, eyeing Sephiroth with avid fascination. "Perhaps not the most desirable trait you could have inherited, but interesting all the same."
He had no idea what Hojo was talking about, and he knew better than to ask. He didn't want to engage the man; he wanted Hojo to leave.
"I'm very pleased for you, I'm sure," he said shortly, meaning not a word of it. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
"Of course you do," Hojo replied, rising without further argument. Sephiroth watched him suspiciously, but all the man did was smile. "Feel free to stop by for a checkup, my boy...or if you have any questions you'd like answered. I'm sure I'll see you soon."
Clamping his teeth on the words that wanted to escape, he watched Hojo leave, stuffing down his anger and taking slow, deep breaths, forcing his clenched fists open finger by finger. He hated the fact that he'd fought nine years on foreign soil and never lost his head, yet one month in Midgar, and he was on the edge of a violence he thought he'd left behind in the labs. Something about this place, or that man, got right under his skin in a way that only distance seemed to cure, as if Hojo carried a scent or a presence that raised his hackles instinctively. Whatever it was, he intended to spend no more time around the man than he absolutely had to.
For now he had meetings, which was at least some buffer. But he might one day need to come up with a better solution, one that would take him further afield, out of Hojo's reach entirely. Perhaps he'd take Piper up on his offer; Draugr would certainly appreciate getting out of the city.
Sighing as the tension drained out of him at last, his eyes dropped from the door to his desk and caught, abruptly, on the thin folder he'd only just set aside before Hojo's visit. It was nothing too exotic--only a collection of recommendations for certain Thirds to be considered for advancement--but it set him to thinking, furiously. He'd always tested the Seconds himself, and Wutai had given him almost too many opportunities to winnow out the finest from their ranks. Without that trial by fire, all that was left was the sharpness of their instructors, the grueling nature of the program...and Sephiroth himself.
Tapping a forefinger lightly on his desk, he hesitated only a moment before reaching for his phone.
It felt pitifully self-indulgent, but if it kept him from losing all he'd worked for over the last decade, he'd find some way to justify it should anyone challenge him. Not that he thought they would. Not so soon after the President's ringing endorsement of him.
Besides, he knew how Shinra worked, and twice was tradition; he would only need to be creative the once.