Genesis was in Junon waiting for the transport to refuel before heading to his mission in Wutai the first time he felt it. It was a slight feeling, a tug like a fishing line reeling in his chest leading him to the waterfront. He stopped himself before he could find where it led: there was no way to hide a new bond, and no way he would be allowed to continue to his posting, and no telling how long it would be before he could make new plans with Hollander. No telling if he would die on the poor soul before the year was out.
The other wasn’t moving, whoever it was, and did not seem to have felt it yet.
Better, he thought, that they never did.
He had wondered for months if things may have gone better if he had simply followed his heart the way he was meant to, and nearly wept when he felt it again in Modeoheim.
Whoever it was must have done well to be attached to whoever was sent chasing them – whether Sephiroth or Zackary or another first – after enlisting so recently. And it had to be recent or he’d have felt the other before defecting. But this time they were nearer, near enough he could feel them pacing, almost feel the nerves that ought to be ringing despite having aught but the damned little string between hearts. He tried not to feel guilty at the stop-start motions as he flew low and away.
It was a several months more before he felt it again, suddenly roaring to mere life meters away, the grunt he had knocked aside, down the steps of the reactor, on his way in, but he was already aloft, and could not risk another confrontation simply to see who hid frozen below the helm: not with Zackary recovered and Sephiroth riled. It was a selfish want besides, and could only serve to harm that which should be most sacred.
Lost in his search for the Gift and the cure, he had failed to notice at first just how little news had come of ShinRa’s glorious Firsts. Digging was required to find the notice of death: a mechanical failure, contained by the Heroes’ brave sacrifice. Yes, Mr President, I believe you. And I am a nun: true fact.
It wasn’t until he had slipped back nearer to the little town that he had heard the rumours. They whispered in dark corners about a fire, a slaughter. The construction workers passed north shaking off chills: they had all be contracted for dodgy practise before, but something about recreating the village, down to the last trim and moulding, struck something strange within them. The new townsfolk moving in were more unsettling still.
But there was no talk of reactors or meltdowns. Nothing at all: only a memo and three. He had hoped to have more of his soul mate than a grainy regulation one by one ID.
When rumour had Zackary surfacing, on the run with another, infused with S-cells, it had not struck him that it might be his trooper though they’d vanished together.
It made the unresponsive body so much worse, somehow.
This is not the Midgar I left.
He had had to land almost immediately, so startled was he. The wing folded and faded away as he stood amidst the debris. That he had slept through this… and he had not slept long, though the cocoon could have held him for decades if not centuries: Weiss was there, breath weak and thin, but little older than when he made his barter. A light cura would hold him for the moment, but he would need real medical assistance, if only Genesis could think of where that might be with the city crumpled in on itself. It seemed unlikely that any part of the city stood, as quite as it was, and Midgar was so far from anything. If there was no salvage operation or such like nearby, the other would likely die.
Goddess knew that if there were one thing his talents failed him in, it was healing.
A scrap pile behind him shifted and slid, and he glanced back over his shoulder, ready to fight or fly, or to seek aid, but not for the face meeting his.
“How are you even alive?” was not a recommended line to greet one’s other half.
Soul mate AU. Perfect.