FF7 Ficlet: Cared Enough to Hate
Nov. 27th, 2018 07:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladykfA little blurb I did on my original Lazard Deusericus rp blog (before it was forcibly and unwillingly rebooted). [Tumblr post]
Lazard stared, wide eyed, at the neatly stabbed corpse, and tried to understand the strange feelings it provoked. At his side, Sephiroth calmly flicked the blood off Masamune and sent a coldly smug look at Veld as the Turks milled about, ‘handling’ the results of the president’s untimely demise. The rest of the board, standing well away from them, barely registered. “You killed him.”
“I did, yes.”
He was so calm, a perfect grounding compared to the storm of emotion threatening to drown his lover, who just looked at him with the same wide eyes. “You killed him.”
“And this is why I didn’t let you do it.” Catslit green eyes glanced his way, a flicker of a smile on his lips. “It was overdue, of course, and you would have for us, in a fit of protective rage no doubt. But it would tear you apart, well before the Turks would. You cared too much.”
“I hated him,” he whispered, knowing it was true. But then, why did it hurt?
“I know,” Sephiroth said softly, stepping forward to get a chair and lightly pushing him into it; he couldn’t protest, somewhere between numbed and an unexplainable pain. “And you hated him enough to kill him, but he was your father.”
“Sire,” he corrected automatically. “He was no father to me.”
“Enough to hate him.” He shrugged, glancing back at the body. “Enough for me to know that this task could not be yours.”
“I hated him,” he repeated numbly, assuring himself it was true, but finding no solace in his conviction. “Hate him.”
“A dangerous poison, hate,” Sephiroth mused quietly. “Sometimes, it does help to act on it. But not always. And this would not have quenched yours.”
“I should be grateful.” The glasses came off with no care for the faint glow even the contacts allowed for as he rubbed his forehead.
“Didn’t you tell me it was alright to hurt?” The words were gentle, for his ears only, though their closeness was more obvious than either of them had ever allowed before in public. “Let yourself feel. It’s normal, is it not?”
“I… yes.” He sighed heavily, feeling unreasonably tired. “You killed him for me.”
“I did, though I know you would never have asked it.” He shrugged, silver bangs swaying as he tilted his head. “What would they dare do to me, after all, even if it was not the better choice for your well being in subtler ways?”
Lazard laughed, the sound a bit strangled. “I suppose I owe you a kill, then?”
Green eyes glanced his way, puzzled. “Pardon?”
“Your father,” he explained, the sudden amusement in green eyes making him arch a brow. “What?”
“If the time comes, I assure you I’d manage myself,” he said, still looking so very amused.
Lazard didn’t understand it. “Isn’t that a bit contradictory?”
Sephiroth sighed, smiling faintly and shaking his head. “It would be no burden to me, Lazard; I never cared enough to hate him.”
Understanding began to dawn, though he tried to reject it instinctively, to deny it even to himself. “Never…”
“Hate is emotion - a very powerful emotion,” he said. “He inspires no such thing. I assure you, should it be necessary, the only difficulty I will have is the sheer amount of paperwork it will generate.”
The blond shook his head slightly. Paperwork. He was worried about paperwork? “You’re lucky.”
“Mm.” He shrugged again, a faint smile still curving his lips. “Something like that.”
Lazard stared, wide eyed, at the neatly stabbed corpse, and tried to understand the strange feelings it provoked. At his side, Sephiroth calmly flicked the blood off Masamune and sent a coldly smug look at Veld as the Turks milled about, ‘handling’ the results of the president’s untimely demise. The rest of the board, standing well away from them, barely registered. “You killed him.”
“I did, yes.”
He was so calm, a perfect grounding compared to the storm of emotion threatening to drown his lover, who just looked at him with the same wide eyes. “You killed him.”
“And this is why I didn’t let you do it.” Catslit green eyes glanced his way, a flicker of a smile on his lips. “It was overdue, of course, and you would have for us, in a fit of protective rage no doubt. But it would tear you apart, well before the Turks would. You cared too much.”
“I hated him,” he whispered, knowing it was true. But then, why did it hurt?
“I know,” Sephiroth said softly, stepping forward to get a chair and lightly pushing him into it; he couldn’t protest, somewhere between numbed and an unexplainable pain. “And you hated him enough to kill him, but he was your father.”
“Sire,” he corrected automatically. “He was no father to me.”
“Enough to hate him.” He shrugged, glancing back at the body. “Enough for me to know that this task could not be yours.”
“I hated him,” he repeated numbly, assuring himself it was true, but finding no solace in his conviction. “Hate him.”
“A dangerous poison, hate,” Sephiroth mused quietly. “Sometimes, it does help to act on it. But not always. And this would not have quenched yours.”
“I should be grateful.” The glasses came off with no care for the faint glow even the contacts allowed for as he rubbed his forehead.
“Didn’t you tell me it was alright to hurt?” The words were gentle, for his ears only, though their closeness was more obvious than either of them had ever allowed before in public. “Let yourself feel. It’s normal, is it not?”
“I… yes.” He sighed heavily, feeling unreasonably tired. “You killed him for me.”
“I did, though I know you would never have asked it.” He shrugged, silver bangs swaying as he tilted his head. “What would they dare do to me, after all, even if it was not the better choice for your well being in subtler ways?”
Lazard laughed, the sound a bit strangled. “I suppose I owe you a kill, then?”
Green eyes glanced his way, puzzled. “Pardon?”
“Your father,” he explained, the sudden amusement in green eyes making him arch a brow. “What?”
“If the time comes, I assure you I’d manage myself,” he said, still looking so very amused.
Lazard didn’t understand it. “Isn’t that a bit contradictory?”
Sephiroth sighed, smiling faintly and shaking his head. “It would be no burden to me, Lazard; I never cared enough to hate him.”
Understanding began to dawn, though he tried to reject it instinctively, to deny it even to himself. “Never…”
“Hate is emotion - a very powerful emotion,” he said. “He inspires no such thing. I assure you, should it be necessary, the only difficulty I will have is the sheer amount of paperwork it will generate.”
The blond shook his head slightly. Paperwork. He was worried about paperwork? “You’re lucky.”
“Mm.” He shrugged again, a faint smile still curving his lips. “Something like that.”
