Kingdom Hearts III: 1939

Chapter III
Memories

The long, white, plastered hallway gave way to glittering stone not far from the last railed stairway. A cold blast of air that smelled of ozone hit Hilda as she followed Kadaj's thumping leather boots. She shivered, hugging her arms tightly to her body.
The rock around her was slick with water that she could hear dripping all around her. It rained from stalactites above her head, falling into pools on the floor. Everything around her gave off a slight greenish-blue glow, the rock filled with glinting white crystals that reflected it.
"Are those diamonds?" Hilda asked, nearly whispering.
"Yes," Kadaj answered, smiling. "But they're hardly the most valuable thing down here."
"They're everywhere!" Hilda stretched out her arm, brushing her fingers against the diamond-encrusted cavern wall. Her fingers made contact with the slick surface; pain instantly spiking through her head. Flashes of a white room, masked man, and a boy with spiky brown hair imprinted themselves on her mind.
She found herself on her knees on the floor a moment later, clutching her pounding head. Her vision filled with static.
Kadaj's hand closed around her arm, pulling her back to her feet and holding her steady.
"I wouldn't recommend touching the water, Fraulein," he said, raising her chin. "What did you see?"
"Nothing," Hilda replied uncertainly.
Kadaj grinned, reminding Hilda somewhat of a shark. "You're lucky," he said. "Direct contact with the Lifestream can be ... hazardous."
"Lifestream?" Hilda asked, stepping down onto a steep stairway that curled along the wall, carved out of the stone.
"It is the stream of energy that encircles our world-- in this world, just below the surface, but above the mantle." Kadaj looked back at her. "When a person dies, their soul and memories return to the stream."
"But ... What about Hea--"
"There's no such thing as Heaven," Kadaj cut her off. "There is only the Lifestream. Although, as I understand it, within the stream there is an afterlife."
Hilda watched the back of Kadaj's silver-haired head. "Then why has no one discovered it? Surely--"
"You have to dig very deep in most places to access it. This cavern was discovered by accident during the construction of the Berghof's bunker system." Kadaj glanced back. "The Fuhrer rightly realized the importance of the find, and went searching for anyone who might know what it was. Hence ... our operation."
Hilda scowled. "Well, then. What does it look like?"
Kadaj turned, grinned, and spoke. "Take a look." He gestured around the corner. Hilda hesitated, looking right into his eyes before passing him and turning the corner.
The stairway passed through a short tunnel and emerged onto a small platform. The chamber beyond was a sight to behold.
The entire cavern was bathed in near-blinding blue-green light. The walls flashed and glinted, and glowing white plants hung from notches in the stone. The light sparkled from the lake below, on the cave floor. The water was the same blue-green as the light it cast, brighter than a thousand floodlights. Tendrils of incandescence flickered up from the edges, reaching up the shore like slow-motion lightning. The occasional blast of mist or steam erupted where the shore met the water. Beams of light danced around the cavern.
Hilda had never seen anything like it in her life. If she hadn't been standing so close, she wouldn't have believed it.
"That is the Lifestream," Kadaj said, emerging from the tunnel behind her.
Hilda stood, rooted to the spot, watching the writhing liquid below, clutching the railing. "Why would contact be hazardous?" she asked. "Is it ... radioactive?"
Kadaj laughed, the chilling sound echoing around the vaulted space. "No. It's not radioactive," he replied. "But you would be overwhelmed with so many memories that you wouldn't be able to function. You'd essentially be braindead."
"Oh."
"If you like I can show you the SS men who dug this up..."
"That's okay," Hilda whispered. "I can imagine."
"We've had some success with limited contact experiments. In fact, that's how Yazoo's memories were returned."
"Returned?"
"Reincarnation," Kadaj said. "You, me, Yazoo, Xemnas-- we're all reincarnations. Something that will become clear quickly."
"You're going to expose me to that?!" Hilda asked, recoiling in horror.
"No. Not unless all else fails." Kadaj's features softened-- at least, as much as they could.
"All else?"
"There are other ways to coax your old memories back to the surface. Especially since they're so close anyway."
Hilda wrung her hands. "What if something goes wrong?"
"It won't. We haven't failed yet." Kadaj continued down the curving stairs. "Follow me, if you would, please."
Hilda looked down again at the glowing pool and the rays of light that it threw on the walls and ceiling. She wasn't sure she wanted to get too close, but she was sure she had no choice.
She turned and carefully started down the steps, holding the railing lest she slip. Her shoes splashed in puddles with each footfall. By the time she reached the bottom, stepping out onto the cavern floor, she had goosebumps. The air was electrified this close to the stream, and the overpowering urge to run away hit Hilda like a physical force.
A whooshing sound met Hilda's ears, a black oval forming in front of Kadaj. It swirled and writhed like captured smoke for a moment before dissolving and leaving a tall figure standing on the cavern floor.
"Right on time, Vexen," Kadaj sneered.
"I trust you haven't harmed the girl?" Vexen asked, returning the sour look.
"Of course not." Kadaj's face twisted into something that barely resembled a grin.
Vexen huffed, straightening a long, hooded, black leather cloak. His icy eyes fixed on Hilda.
"Welcome, Namine," he said. When he smiled it actually seemed genuine. He held out his hand. Hilda took it, shaking his hand politely. He didn't give her the creeps the way Kadaj did.
"Kadaj. Leave us," Vexen commanded.
Kadaj scowled. "Very well." He turned, then glanced back. "Could I have a short cut? If it's not too much trouble."
Vexen sighed, and another black oval formed, this one with a twisting, coiling tunnel beyond its surface.
"Thanks," Kadaj hissed, stepping through. Mercifully, he was gone a moment later.
"I apologize for Kadaj," Vexen said, breaking the silence. "He can be a tad ... trying."
Hilda watched the blonde man circle her, studying her as if she were a fascinating specimen in a test tube. His eyes were a similar blue-green to Kadaj's, and seemed to change colour depending on the angle from which you saw them.
"So ... I'm not entirely sure ... What is it you're going to do?"
"Through experiments I have located the part of the human brain responsible for the storing and interpreting of memories," the man replied. "With carefully applied stimulus-- in the form of a low level electrical charge, I should be able to trigger the dormant memories within you."
"An electrical charge?"
"It will not cause any discomfort. I promise," Vexen assured. "You will feel a buzzing sensation, nothing more."
Hilda shifted, her eyes jumping about the cavernous space.
"Now," Vexen continued. "Marluxia should be here shortly, and then we'll begin."
"Marluxia?"
"You met him," Vexen said, stepping a little closer to the water. "In the reception hall. He was standing next to me."
Hilda couldn't help the little smile that spread on her face. "The one with--?"
"Pink hair. Yes."
"You were standing awfully close," Hilda observed, before she could stop herself. Vexen arched an eyebrow, looking dangerous for a moment. "I don't mean to imply anything...!" she backtracked with alarm, stepping back. A smile broke on the blonde man's face and he laughed.
"Oh we're far beyond implications." The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk.
It was Hilda's eyebrows' turn to climb. "So you're...?"
"We're quite close," Vexen glanced out over the phosphorescent liquid running through the cavern. Light danced across his angular features.
"Can't you get in trouble for that?" Hilda asked, twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers.
"I'd like to see the officer who'd try to bring us in," Vexen replied, smirking.
A hollow howl echoed around the space and another portal opened, a tall, well built, pink-haired man stepping forth, hauling a lab cart. The cart was stacked with equipment, but none of it looked particularly threatening. Hilda didn't know what she'd been expecting, but she was flooded with relief when she saw that the cart didn't bear anything sharp.
The man, pink hair aside, was unquestionably male. His black cloak hung from wide, strong shoulders; his eyes set in a classically male face. But there was something about his movements that was decidedly feminine. His hips swayed almost unnoticeably as he walked, and his hands gripped the lab equipment with a daintiness that a princess would have envied.
"Hilda, meet Marluxia," Vexen said, a tiny hint of adoration entering his voice. "Marluxia, Hilda."
Instead of taking her hand to shake it, Marluxia bowed, his arm sweeping to the side gracefully.
"The Graceful Assassin, at your service," he said, straightening his spine. At Hilda's puzzled expression he added, "That was my title, in our old organization."
"What was mine again?" Vexen asked, hooking a thin metal headband to the beeping machine on the cart.
"The Chilly Academic."
"Good grief." Vexen retrieved a fold-up chair from the bottom shelf of the cart and turned back to Hilda. "Please, sit."
Hilda took the seat, wringing her hands nervously again. She watched Vexen activate the device, plucking the headband from the metal surface. Gently he slipped it onto her head, where it rested easily just above her ears.
Instantly she felt a buzz spread over her skin. The hair on her arms and neck stood on end, goosebumps rising on her skin.
"This will aid you in remembering. I do, however, caution you. It can bring up some rather traumatic moments."
Hilda gulped. "Now what?"
"I need you to think back to your last dream. Where did it begin?" Vexen circled carefully. "What did you see?"
Hilda closed her eyes, and let her mind drift. Her fear was subsiding somewhat. At least Kadaj wasn't there, and Vexen and Marluxia seemed nice enough, despite the initial reaction Marluxia's face had elicited. She let out a long, slow breath.
Oh where to begin.

Kadaj shut the heavy oak door to his room with a satisfactory clunk. As soon as it was closed-- shutting the rest of the world away-- he let his back fall against it, and leaned his head back wearily. He was tired of this. Being who everyone-- Xemnas, Sephiroth, and everyone else-- expected him to be.
He remembered. That was the problem. He remembered the day he'd died. He remembered how Cloud had been there to catch him when he'd fallen, even after all he'd done. Even after allowing Sephiroth back into the world. He'd never been shown such compassion by any of his fellows. All compassion in Sephiroth had died long ago, and Xemnas claimed not to feel at all-- though Kadaj knew that to be the bullshit it was.
He knew his brother, Yazoo, didn't share his feelings. He was enjoying his new position more than anyone, and Kadaj didn't dare talk to him about whether their actions were right, or fair, or moral.
He also knew he'd never had thoughts like these in his last life. Maybe being raised as someone else, somewhere else, had allowed him to grow a conscience. However it had happened, Kadaj was grateful it had.
Was this how Cloud had felt before leaving SOLDIER? Like he was selling his soul to the devil?
Kadaj briefly wondered why he hadn't told Sephiroth to shove it, no matter the consequences. He supposed at the time he'd thought he had no choice.
Opening his green-blue eyes-- their catlike, slitted pupils contracting against the sunlight filtering in through the window-- Kadaj crossed the room to where a set of clothes lay arranged on his bed. His old leather suit. The one he'd fought in. The one he'd died in.
Everything about the uniform he was wearing felt wrong. It was of this world, and he was not. He belonged somewhere else. Somewhere where, amongst other things, people didn't slaughter each other over race. He hated what the uniform stood for, and what he, however unwillingly, endorsed by wearing it.
But Xemnas insisted he try to blend in when in public, so he'd worn the uniform.
Frowning, he unfastened the uniform jacket, letting it's black, swastika-adorned bulk fall to the floor. One by one he shed the tainted clothes like they were nothing more than a snake's old skin. Unimportant and worthless.
He felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders the moment his lithe body was once again encased in the tight black leather of his proper clothing. The comforting weight of his duel-bladed katana rested against his back.
Kadaj sighed, glancing out the window to be sure his usual practice ground was unoccupied.
Good, he thought. No one to disturb me.

Vexen portaled into the darkened hall outside his lab. Things had not gone as fast as he'd hoped with Namine. Her memory was locked away rather well, despite the fact that little bits here and there were seeping through. He'd managed to get her to remember Diz, and fleeting images of Axel, Roxas, and Kairi, but little else. It would probably be a while before she remembered enough to realize that they weren't just dreams.
He rolled the cart back into his lab, leaving it flush with the bench, exactly where it had been before. The dark space was lined with benches. The walls were covered from corner to corner with cupboards and cabinets filled with chemicals, beakers, test equipment, protective gear, and other such materials. This space was his, and his alone. The one place, other than his room, where he could go to get away from everyone else.
Vexen turned, heading back into the hall and shutting the lab door. It was still bothering him how easily Namine had noticed his and Marluxia's affection. He hoped it was simply because she was very observant, and not that they were particularly obvious. After all, Xemnas probably wouldn't approve.
Sometimes Vexen wondered how he and Marluxia had ended up together in the first place. Their last time around they'd been mortal enemies. Marluxia had even ordered his death. He remembered his old hatred of the man, but it was now relegated to the realm of distant memory, covered over with something new. Something warm, deep, and damned pleasant. It made a nice change from how he felt being cooped up on a mountain with some of his least favourite people.
He supposed that it was because Marluxia had been the first of his old acquaintances to spend any time with him. He'd been the one link to his old life, and he'd latched on with all he had. Their old quarrel forgotten, they'd become fast friends, and then, despite everything around them, they'd become lovers.
Vexen shook the reverie from his mind, locking the lab. No sooner had the keys returned to his pocket than a large dark shape moved behind him, pinning him swiftly to the wall. Hands found his flanks, and hips brushed his. Out the corner of his eye, Vexen saw strands of pink hair drift on the breeze from the fans.
"Marluxia..."
The other man was a blaze of warmth against his back from shoulders to hips, smaller flares warming where his hands rested, and where his breath rasped against the back of his neck.
Marluxia said nothing, but his actions spoke enough. One hand drifted from Vexen's side to his stomach; the other stroking down to Vexen's inner thigh. Marluxia's fingers lightly brushed past his groin on the way, and Vexen gasped.
"Did I surprise you?" Marluxia asked, his voice a husky whisper, his breath hot against Vexen's ear.
Vexen let his eyes flutter shut, and let his world become only what he could hear and feel. Marluxia's lips ghosting against his ear, his cheek resting against Vexen's skin, just where his neck met his head. The other man was pressed to him, his stronger frame keeping Vexen still.
When Vexen finally spoke, his voice was gravely with arousal. "What are you doing, Marluxia?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Nothing yet," Marluxia replied, planting light kisses on the back of Vexen's neck. His hands moved up slowly to grip Vexen's torso just below his armpits. Lightly biting the base of Vexen's neck, those firm, sure hands moved to the zipper of Vexen's long coat.
"If we get caught..."
"We won't. I sealed the hall." Marluxia's deft fingers drew the zipper down slowly, opening the black garment.
"How?" Vexen asked, feeling the heavy material slide from his shoulders. Leather-clad fingers danced over Vexen's chest and he gasped, frost spreading over the wall and floor where he touched the structure. He opened his eyes, and could see Marluxia's breath, a plume of steam that rapidly dissipated in the air.
"An impenetrable wall of thorny rosebushes should present any enterprising SS officer with enough trouble to keep him out. We don't need long, do we?"
Vexen grinned. He really did appreciate the devious bastard. At least he knew how to keep a private moment private. He reached back, scratching his gloved hand up Marluxia's thigh.
Marluxia took that as the signal it was, and maneuvered his hands to reach the fastenings of Vexen's pants. He was slow and sensuous drawing them down, letting them move inch by inch, revealing Vexen's briefs. Only once the pants and briefs had joined the cloak on the floor did Marluxia pull up the bottom zipper of his cloak and lower that of his pants.
It felt dirty, wrong, and yet so right to be completely naked-- save for his gloves and boots-- while Marluxia was still clothed. He heard Marluxia lower his own garments, just enough to free the throbbing erection that he felt brush his inner thigh a moment later. He groaned, the wanton sound echoing rather impressively down the suddenly icy cold hallway.
He felt Marluxia smile, and then felt his hands begin roaming again, this time caressing down his chest-- pinching his nipples on the way-- his stomach, and right to his groin. Vexen's cry was more akin to a shout than a moan as his lover's fingers closed around him. The body-warmed leather felt exquisite against his cock; especially when Marluxia started to stroke him.
Vexen's hips bucked into Marluxia's hand, his breath rasping. He could feel Marluxia's erection moving against his thigh, and the warmth of the other man's breath on his flesh. Long eyelashes tickled his cheekbone as Marluxia's eyes closed. One gloved hand left Vexen's body and he heard Marluxia spit before reaching between them. A second later, the other man's knee shoved Vexen's legs apart.
Without warning Marluxia thrust. His hard flesh slid inside Vexen with ease, and both men cried out. Vexen vaguely heard the wood of the doors cracking and popping from the sudden temperature change, and the crackle of ice forming around them. Both sounds were quickly drowned out by the pounding of his pulse in his ears, and Marluxia's soft whimper, "Vexen..."
The larger man started to thrust in and out; rubbing Vexen's prostate with each movement. The muscles in Vexen's abdomen tensed as a delicious pressure built. He whimpered and groaned, his breath quickening, and he shut his eyes again. He could feel everything so much more acutely when he ignored what his eyes told him.
He could feel Marluxia moving inside him, his long, heated, rigid cock pushing and pulling. He could feel the delightful friction that came with how little lubrication they were using. He could feel sweat beading on his skin, chilling him, only to freeze and fall away. Marluxia's hips pumping; his hands gripping Vexen's wrists and holding them to the wall; his teeth nibbling at Vexen's earlobe.
Vexen freed one hand, reaching blindly to stroke the back of Marluxia's thigh, fondling his ass. Marluxia's next thrust was harder, and it slammed Vexen's prostate. He roared in pleasure, his grip on Marluxia tightening.
It was too soon, and yet Vexen could feel himself getting close. By the sound of Marluxia's laboured breathing, he was too.
Vexen tilted his hips, pushing back into Marluxia, taking him as deep as he could-- moaning as he felt hard flesh slide deeper and deeper. Marluxia's cries heightened in pitch, and he began to thrust mercilessly, his back arching with the effort.
Vexen felt his whole body tightening, and Marluxia groaned. He could feel himself clenching around his lover, his body hanging on that fine precipice, only a moment away from falling.
Marluxia bit down on Vexen's neck, and the brief flare of pain sent him over. The blonde man howled, his orgasm blasting through him. His body convulsed, spurts of cum landing on the wall as electricity danced in his veins.
Marluxia thrust forcefully several more times before stilling, his fluid filling Vexen's tight passage in a warm rush. His cries and moans filtered through the sound of rushing blood. His grip on Vexen's wrists was nigh-painful, and he suspected he'd have bruises.
They stood there together, slowing their breathing; not sure whether they could stand without each other. Marluxia still twitched, his cock still buried to the hilt in Vexen's body. All that could be heard in the silent hall was their raspy panting.
Marluxia's head was rested on Vexen's shoulder, his eyes shut, mouth open as he gasped, trying to return his breathing to normal. Vexen's forehead rested on the wall, now slippery with ice. He felt Marluxia slip free of his body with a sigh. Their feet crunched in the ice on the floor.
"If Xemnas ever found out about us..." Vexen let the sentence hang. He well knew they'd be in deep shit if their leader learned of their extracurricular activities. Xemnas liked to, for the most part, play by the rules of the Reich, which, in essence, meant that if he discovered his officers' little fling he'd have to have them executed. And while some lesser officer wouldn't stand a chance against the two former nobodies, Xemnas could have taken both of them on at the same time, and still won.
"We could leave," Marluxia replied softly. There was utter silence for a moment, as if the man's suggestion was heresy, about to be heard by some vengeful deity. "Xemnas has no way to track us. We could leave, find some out of the corner of this world and live our lives in peace."
"No," Vexen whispered, still breathless. "Xemnas is our Superior. We can't just turn our backs on him. Do you realize what he'd do if he caught us AWOL?"
"Can't be much worse than his usual crap," Marluxia grumbled. "And we've both plotted against him before. What makes this time so different?"
"Because this time he has the entire SS and the Fuhrer's iron fist behind him!" Vexen sighed, turning to face Marluxia. "Believe me. There's nothing I'd rather do than run away with you, but I don't want to put you in that danger."
"I'm not a shrinking violet, Vexen. I don't need you to protect me." Marluxia frowned, his robe and pants already done up. "I'm sick of this place, these people! I hate being their errand boy!"
"Marluxia--"
"Not a day goes by where that lecherous pig, Saix isn't leering at me...!"
"If he so much as touches you, it will be the last thing he does!" Vexen hissed vehemently. He let out a slow breath. "The time will come for us to get away. But that time is not now."
Marluxia's face fell. "When, Vexen? Once one of us is dead? Once the Nazis control the world and there's nowhere to hide?"
"I don't know."
Vexen bent down, pulling up his clothes. As he drew up his zipper he watched a sad look flicker through Marluxia's eyes; a far-off look of complete desolation. The blue eyes that should have been sparkling with post-coital bliss were instead dull with hopelessness.
"I don't want to lose you because you didn't know when to bail out," he said, his wild, full hair falling over his shoulders haphazardly, looking mussed. His lips were still flushed from exertion, his cheeks a delightful pink.
Vexen felt emotion well in his chest, and he tried desperately to find words for what he felt. Affection, adoration ... love. Taking a step forward, he reached out, gripping Marluxia's upper arms, and leaning in to plant a slow kiss on his lover's swollen lips. He felt Marluxia take a sharp breath, his body arching to mold against Vexen. His delicate hands grabbed fistfuls of Vexen's cloak and held on for dear life.
Vexen looped his arms around Marluxia, one hand resting at the small of his back, the fingers of the other weaving into locks of pink hair. The kiss went on for an eternity; tongues entwining in an erotic dance that made even their sated cocks twitch. Marluxia tasted sweet, like the nectar of a flower, and it was intoxicating.
"I love you," Vexen whispered.
"I love you, too."


The afternoon breeze blew through leaves, their rustling and the calls of birds the only other sounds in Kadaj's world besides the clinks and shings of the twirling, swinging katana. His concentration was total as he practically danced between the wooden training dummies. His fluid movements were flawless as he cut and stabbed and chopped. Wood chips flew this way and that, dropping into the grass.
To an outside observer the trim figure was nearly a blur. Black leather, silvery hair, and glinting metal twisted, turned, reversed, vaulted, and lunged, running up the trunk of a tree and flipping in midair to take the head off the nearest dummy. Every motion was perfectly executed, and not a single hit landed where it shouldn't have.
Kadaj divested the last dummy of it's arms before dropping into a crouch, kneeling on the ground, the katana held perpendicular to his nearly motionless chest. His head was down, his slack, shoulder-length hair casting a glowing silver halo around it.
Out of the peaceful glade came the sound of clapping. A large man trudged through the grass, his uniform bulging at the front. Kadaj idly wondered whether the straining buttons were about to pop.
"Very gut, very gut," the man chuckled. "Not bad for a young man."
Not bad? Kadaj thought. I could single-handedly kill every ordinary SS officer on this mountain so fast that you'd never get off a distress signal. I think that merits more than a 'not bad'. He didn't say what he was thinking, of course. He'd been ordered not to rock the boat-- too much. Luckily Sephiroth-- the only one Kadaj actually had to listen to-- wasn't as keen on following the rules as Xemnas was. While Xemnas was content to work for the Fuhrer, so long as it served his purposes, Sephiroth worked for no one. He worked with people, and only when it served his purposes.
So Sephiroth had ordered Kadaj to be careful what he said, but only so far as was necessary. So he remained quiet as Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering approached through the knee-high grass. He said nothing; he didn't move; he barely even breathed.
"It's too bad you're such a damned pretty boy," Goering said, his tone snide. "You know what the Fuhrer does with your kind, don't you? You've got to hope you don't cease to be useful--"
"I think we both know which of us is the more useful," Kadaj growled.
Goering smirked. "Who do you think Hitler will choose? His Reichsmarschall, or some pretty boy looking desperately for his mother--"
A sudden flash of movement cut him off, and the swoosh of metal slicing air met Goering's ears as Kadaj threw his arm back effortlessly. He didn't move from where he was still crouched, blindly flinging the duel-bladed weapon. In the blink of an eye it crossed the nine feet between Kadaj and the arrogant Reichsmarschall, embedding itself in the trunk of a tree, its sharp edges millimeters from the German's throat.
Damn, Kadaj mused. I missed.
The silence was total. Goering stood frozen, eyes widened, skin white as a sheet. Kadaj rose to his feet, turning around to face Hermann, his movements effortlessly graceful, like some sort of black liquid shadow. His teal eyes gleamed with an unblinking malice as he stalked across the sparring circle, his hair still hanging in front of his face. A slight flicker of blue flame danced up his left arm.
Without a word he retrieved the sword from the tree, his icy gaze locked on Goering's wide eyes. With one fluid motion he slid it back in its sheath.
Goering was silent for a long moment, his voice apparently lost. Kadaj could tell the large man had broken out in a sweat. When he finally did speak there was a slight tremble, although it didn't affect his arrogance.
"You should be careful with that," he snarled.
"I was." Kadaj stalked away through the trees, throwing one last comment over his shoulder at the insufferable man. "You'd know if I wasn't."
Part of Kadaj wanted so badly to charge back and cut Goering's throat; to gut the fascist prick and leave him for his underlings to find. But if he did there'd be hell to pay, and he doubted that Sephiroth would defend him after such an indiscretion.
Nonetheless, his fingers twitched, and his hand clenched into a fist. As he walked, the grass that he touched withered and died, his leather-clad form leaving nothing but death in its wake. Goering would have had to have been deaf, dumb, and blind to not have gotten the message.
Once he was out of Goering's view, Kadaj violently kicked at the ground, dust and pebbles flying. He doubted he would be capable of putting up with much more. He felt like a caged animal-- a violent predator-- chained and made to perform. Jump when they said jump. Kill when they said kill.
"I am not your puppet," he whispered, trying to assure himself more than anyone. "I am no one's puppet."

Charlie was exhausted. Every part of his body ached. His feet, his legs, his back. Everything was a blaze of discomfort. He winced each time his left foot took his weight.
He and Alex had spent the entire day walking. From their miraculous escape from the beach to their long, arduous journey along the road it had been nearly twelve hours. Twelve hours of hard walking with only a couple of breaks. Luckily the weather had been cooperative. It wasn't too hot, and it wasn't cold or raining either. The sun peeked through the clouds on and off, warming the two men as they walked.
Charlie kept close to Alex's tall figure. He was terrified that any moment German soldiers would leap from the bushes, rifles blazing. Being close to the fiery American made him feel safe. He felt like nothing could touch him so long as he was nearby.
"How much farther?" Charlie asked, looking up at Alex's tattooed face. The other man's green eyes flicked over to meet Charlie's. A warm smile lit his features.
"Not far."
The sun was starting to set, a warm red glow bathing the sky.
"So," Alex smirked. "How're ya likin' France?"
Charlie looked up at his companion skeptically. "I somehow think this would be more enjoyable if we weren't running for our lives."
"Walking, you mean," Alex joked.
Charlie smiled. "It doesn't have the same ring."
"Yeah, you're right." The other man replied. He wiped his forehead with the back of one gloved hand. His weariness wasn't as obvious as Charlie's, but it was there. His skin was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, he was breathing heavily, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Even his spiky hair was drooping.
Charlie, despite his pain, kept pace with Alex. He wasn't used to being on his feet that long, mind you, but the thought of the soldiers on the beach kept his legs moving. In an effort to keep his mind off the situation, he tried making conversation.
"You ever wonder why sunsets are red?" It was a silly question, and he felt like he should know the answer, but it was the first thing that came into his head.
"It's because of all the colours that make up light, red travels the furthest." Alex replied. "It's nice isn't it?"
"S'pose."
He was about to say something about an old saying of his mother's when Alex stopped, his eyes fixed on the view before them. "Well, here we are," he said. "Bethune."
Charlie looked out at the city before him. It wasn't especially large; from his vantage point he could see it's borders. Smoke was rising from the chimneys, and lights glowed in windows. It would have seemed perfectly welcoming had Charlie not been afraid there'd be Nazis waiting for them. However, Nazis or not, he was really looking forward to a night in an actual bed instead of on the sand of a beach. Maybe they'd even get a proper breakfast instead of ration porridge.
"Now," Alex sighed. "Time to at least try to be inconspicuous."
Charlie snorted. "You might have some trouble with that."
Alex grinned in a way that made his eyes darken mischievously. The look did something to Charlie that he wasn't quite sure what to make of. Whatever it was, it left him warm and flushed, and left his heart fluttering. Damn, that was weird.
"Yeah, just a little," Alex replied.
For the remainder of the walk Charlie was silent. Bethune got closer and closer, and soon they were in its streets. They got a few funny looks-- scratch that, a lot of funny looks. If stealth was what they'd been going for then they'd already failed miserably.
Charlie tailed Alex down a few streets, weaving through alleys to keep away from suspicious-looking crowds. The tall man was deceptively agile, and more than once Alex had to grab Charlie and pull him around the corner he'd just taken because the young man couldn't keep up.
Charlie didn't fail to notice that he reacted to Alex's touch the same way he had to his wicked grin.
The hotel looked warm, inviting, and homely when Charlie climbed the steps behind Alex. He gave half a thought-- as he approached the lit doorway-- to how terrible they must look. They'd just walked all the way from Dunkirk, under enemy fire for the first hour. They were dirty, disheveled, and dog tired. They probably looked like vagrants.
The woman who appeared in the entranceway was young-- probably in her late twenties. Her ginger hair was tied back from her pale face. She looked nervously at them through golden-brown eyes. "Bonjour," she said.
Charlie gulped. He didn't know a word of French. It wasn't something he'd ever learned. Thankfully Alex seemed to have the situation in hand; conversing quite comfortably with the woman, who nodded, and welcomed them in a moment later. The smile she gave to Alex was more than just a friendly, welcoming one.
How did he do that?

The room was nice. Second floor, room eight-- why did that seem significant? Alex said it was his lucky number, but Charlie felt like there was something else to it. Call it a deja vu moment. There were two beds, both with the softest sheets that Charlie had ever felt. The window looked out on the street below.
The first thing Charlie had done after kicking off his shoes was collapse on the nearest bed. His legs didn't want to hold him up any longer, and his back and feet felt like they were on fire. He'd never done so much walking at once in his whole life, and his muscles were letting him know it.
"I'm gonna go wash up," Alex said, dropping his coat on the other bed. Charlie couldn't help his eyes drifting to where Alex's uniform shirt parted to reveal his chest, and-- God, what was with him?
"Okay," Charlie replied. He was fully aware that he was a sixteen year old man with raging hormones, but looking at another guy? Wasn't that kind of ... odd? Didn't people get arrested for that sort of thing?
He didn't get much of a chance to think his questions over before he found himself nodding off. It had been a long day. His eyes drooped, and he struggled to keep them open. His limbs felt like lead, heavy and immovable. His view of the room fuzzed. The last thing he remembered was the sound of running water.

When Alex emerged from the bathroom, his naturally spiky hair once again standing as it should, and dressed in a fresh uniform, he found Charlie fast asleep in the bed he'd flopped on. His dirty clothes were still on and the blankets weren't even over him.
"Damn," Alex whispered to himself. "Poor kid."
He carefully slipped the covers out from under Charlie's lanky body and draped them over him. The blonde didn't stir.
Alex watched him sleep for a while, sifting through his memory. The kid looked so familiar, and Alex felt like he should now him, like it was really significant, but he couldn't recall ever having met him before.
Nope, no cute, blonde, sixteen-year-olds in his recent memory. Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Whatever it was, it made him all the more determined to get Charlie home. His gut feelings had never been wrong before, and right now they were telling him to keep Charlie safe.
After briefly checking the street outside, Alex crawled into the other bed. The morning would come soon enough, and he needed sleep. Especially if he was going to have to fight off Nazi hordes. He switched off the light, letting the room fall into darkness. He fell asleep seeing a blonde figure in a black cloak swinging a giant key like a sword.