Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Paint The Town ❯ More Dirty Little Secrets ( Chapter 13 )

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII is the property of Square-Enix. No profit is sought from this work.

 

Paint the Town

 

More Dirty Little Secrets

 

At the very moment Zack was defending his underwear's virtue, desperation had driven Sephiroth to his least favorite place on the entire Planet - Hojo's lab. Sephiroth knew the place inside out, or almost. He had grown up there, after all. He knew exactly where to find what he was looking for.

 

Hojo had not changed the organization much over the years. Some drawers were still a mystery, having always been securely locked, but Sephiroth knew that the top drawer on the right of the centrifuge held extra boxes of gloves. He stopped to debate whether he would need large ones or if medium would do. With a huff he tucked a box of each under his arm and turned to do some more searching.

 

“What the hell do you think you're doing, boy?”

 

Sephiroth counted it as a point to his credit that he did not twitch. Hojo stood before him, scowling.

 

Sephiroth drew himself up to his superior height and scowled right back. “Don't you ever go home? It's the weekend.”

 

Hojo huffed. “A scientist's work is never done. I have cell cultures that need feeding.”

 

Sephiroth stiffened. The plan was working. “Don't you have lab assistants to do that?”

 

“The lackey called in sick,” Hojo explained and began to clean his glasses on his tie. Sephiroth moved towards the door. Hojo caught himself when Sephiroth rounded the second bench. “Hey, don't change the subject! I asked you a question! Where do you think you're going with my gloves?”

 

Sephiroth withheld a sigh. He was not afraid of this bony old man, not anymore, but Hojo was a tiresome bastard and still sharp for his years. “I need them,” he said simply, a little quieter than he would have liked. He had left terror behind long ago, but somehow he could never quite bring that note of command to his voice when speaking to Hojo.

 

“What the hell for?” The bent old scientist's voice had grown raspier with age. Sephiroth felt as if someone was rubbing a cheese grater across his eardrums. A rusty cheese grater. The General exhaled heavily but resisted the urge to slump. He was not defeated, just delayed.

 

“I have to handle some biohazardous material. I need gloves and perhaps some forceps as well.”

 

Hojo stared at the General for a long while. “What kind of biohazardous material could you possibly be handling?”

 

“I'd rather not think about it, but it must be done.” In a bold move, Sephiroth pulled a drawer open and began rooting around for forceps. Hojo watched him for a moment then came over to shove him aside.

 

The scientist pulled out forceps and a small sample tube. “Put it in this and bring it back here.”

 

Sephiroth frowned at the man. “It's nothing you need to worry yourself about.”

 

“I'll be the judge of that,” Hojo snapped. He waved the sample tube at the soldier. “Put it in here and bring it to me.”

 

“It's of no use to you” Sephiroth protested. “And it wouldn't fit in that tube anyway.”

 

“Oh?” Hojo raised one crooked eyebrow. “What will it fit in?”

 

Sephiroth sighed. “Something much bigger.”

 

“Hmm.” Hojo shuffled over to the fridge and pulled a large plastic bag out from a box on top of it. “Put it in here and bring it back.”

 

Sephiroth scowled again. He could almost feel his frown lines deepening whenever he was around Hojo. “Fine, but you'll see that it's nothing you need to concern yourself with.” He spun on one heel and left the lab, only breathing easier once he was well away from the sharp tang of an aseptic environment. The cleaning compounds and 70% alcohol that always hung in the air made his nostrils burn a little.

 

The job was quickly done. Truth be told, Sephiroth could not have gotten the accursed magazines off his bathroom floor soon enough. With large latex gloves on his hands and the largest pair of forceps Hojo had been able to find, the General picked the offensive items up one by one and dropped them at arms' length into the bag. He kept his eyes open just enough to ensure that his aim was true.

 

It wasn't that he was disturbed by images of naked women. He'd seen his fair share of that. But part of his mind was still reeling over the fact that these were used magazines. Sephiroth knew how soldiers were, how men in general could be. He really didn't want to see if there was anything `decorating' the pages. He tossed the bag into a cardboard box and made a note to soak the floor with bleach before beginning the trek back to the lab.

 

He found Hojo sitting on a stool, idly tapping a cage of mice. Sephiroth set the box down heavily on the bench.

 

“Here it is. It's nothing you'd be interested in,” Sephiroth grumbled, “It wouldn't kill you to actually listen to what I'm saying once in your life.”

 

Hojo brought the mice over with him and set them down next to the box. “Listen to you,” he murmured. He opened the bag and removed the contents. “Oh. Oh! Hmm.”

Sephiroth looked up from the mouse cage. “I told you.” He looked down again. The way Hojo was handling those things so casually, in ungloved hands, was just disgusting. Sephiroth personally thought that a man whose life revolved around sterility should know better.

 

“Hmm,” Hojo said again and began flipping through the covers. “I didn't know you were into this kind of thing.”

 

“I'm not!” Sephiroth protested. “Someone came over and left them at my apartment.”

 

“You've got friends bringing this kind of thing into your apartment?” Hojo stared. “Are you falling in with a bad crowd?”

 

“He's not my friend!” Sephiroth snapped. “And what kind of crowd I fall into is none of your business!”

 

“Hmm,” Hojo turned away. It damn well was his business, but he had no one to blame but himself for Sephiroth thinking otherwise. “Well, you're a single young man. I suppose it's to be expected that you'll have your wild days.”

 

Sephiroth grunted and went back to observing the mice, seemingly unaware of the eye Hojo was keeping on him. Sephiroth still had a certain soft spot for lab specimens, it seemed. Ever organized, Hojo filed that away in his mind as he sorted through the various issues. There was quite a variety in there. Sephiroth's not-friend had varied tastes.

 

“Oh, good! August!” Hojo exclaimed suddenly, making Sephiroth draw up straight. A happy Hojo was not good news for anyone else. Hojo was holding one magazine up. The thin man pulled his keys out of his pocket and went over to the filing cabinet next to the microtome. He knelt down and began working on the lock of the bottom drawer.

 

Sephiroth wondered what in the world the man was up to. Hojo had some strange ways of gathering specimens, but this was a little odd even for him. The scientist looked back over his shoulder and cleared his throat.

 

“Normally I wouldn't open this drawer with other people in the room, but you're not a nosy coworker and I suppose you're old enough for this kind of thing now.” Hojo removed a stack of magazines from the drawer. “Let's see, June, July, September. All right then, August goes here.”

 

Sephiroth's heart thudded. His eyes froze in place, unable to look away. Hojo locked the drawer and stood up. “Well, if you ever find yourself needing a little… entertainment, you can come to me. I'll lend you the key.”

 

Sephiroth took a shaky step backwards. It was everything he could do not to gape.

 

“Oh, don't look so shocked,” Hojo snapped. “I'm a man like any other. I have needs.”

 

Sephiroth didn't stop running till he got to his apartment and he spent the next three hours in his bathtub, hosing and scrubbing.

 

*_*_*_*_*_*_*

 

Time: 2hrs 34mins

Music: El Amor Brujo: Ritual Fire Dance - Manuel de Falla

Notes: Anybody else feeling the need to scrub and scour after that?