Monstrosity (Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core, Zack)

[SexualOddity]

Thank you for letting me know you thought so 😊

I’m glad it worked out that way. Felt like a lot of pressure to get this one right. 😅

Thank you for all your help with it.

 

 

[dw124]

Oh my god, poor Zack! I'm halfway tempted to go back and count how many sneezes that was. Hope he gets some kind of relief!

[SexualOddity]

Aw thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate it. It will get easier on him (a bit), I just couldn’t resist the temptation to interpret ‘biological enhancement’ as ‘ridiculous allergies’. 😅

[SexualOddity]

A.N.

Hey there, people-who-have-read-this-far, hope you are doing well. Just wanted to, first, explain a random incidental reference that you won’t get if you don’t know the Final Fantasy games.

Marlboros - They’re this monster in the game that has this bad breath attack that inflicts all kind of status ailments on you that make it harder to fight.

As a irrelevant aside, I actually have this kinky headcanon that that attack also causes sneezing and streaming eyes and noses etc (kinda like a pepper spray effect) but it’s not really compatible with this story, because if that were the case I guess someone would have come up with a drug to combat those kind of symptoms before now, and Zack could have used that. Anyway, maybe it’ll be an unconnected fic one day, who knows.  😅

 

Secondly, I put a link on the other fic, but since this one is related I figured I’d drop one here, too, in case anyone is interested. Basically, Humanity (the story that precedes this one) is now available in an audio version on Youtube with real sneezes, Part 1, Part 2

 

The narrator, NaturistSneezer, also helped me out with some beta reading for this chapter.

 

—

 

The scrape of plastic on metal probably meant that another box of food was descending through the clean room bars, but Zack didn’t look up.

 

“Erm…” He cleared his throat, but none of the tone returned to his fucked up voice. “Can you, uh…heh! HehhISHHHUH! ISHHHUH! Sniff! Snifffff!”

 

Oh. He was getting congested again. Fucking perfect.

 

“‘SHYEW! K’SHYEW! SHYEW!”

 

He kept his eyes shut as he rolled onto his back, conscious of the light overhead.

 

“Can you just l’hh’leave it on the…floor?” he managed, in a gasp. “Huh’EHTchyew! Eh’TCHYEW! HUH’EHSHYEW! Ugh!”

 

The assistant’s hesitant voice came through from the opening above. “We were told—“

 

“I know,” Zack croaked. Exasperated by his symptoms, he was unnecessarily rough when he scrubbed his tissue at his nose. “Sniff! I can pick stuff up now. Sniff! I’ll get it later.”

 

He didn’t hear anything else from the guy, so he assumed he’d dropped the box and left. Zack rolled back over, facing the wall. He wasn’t hungry. He would have taken the water, but getting up from the bed seemed too steep of a cost.

 

He let his tissues fall to the mattress and helped himself to more, moving quicker when the itching in his nose deepened into an angry burn.

 

“Hh’TISHHUH! ISHHUH! HUHT’ISCHHUH! ISHUH! HIH’SHUH! HT’SCHYEW!”

 

Somewhere in the middle of his fit, the screech of his ringtone added to the racket. As his breathing steadied, Zack tilted the phone so he could see.

 

Dale, again.

 

It was his second call since Zack had been back in the clean room, and, according to the log, he’d been ringing every half an hour since Zack had left for the test. Zack sighed and felt for the bed controls, trying to avert his eyes from the overhead lights.

 

The moment the bed was raised, his nose resumed its perpetual drip. He sniffed furiously, trying to interrupt the endless flow, but he only made himself cough, and coughing made his whole face tingle.

 

“Hehh…Heyyy’ISHHHHUH!”

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

 

Soon, there wouldn’t be any visible blanket under the balls of used tissue. He dropped another bundle anyway.

 

“HYY’ISHHHEW! ISHHHEW! ISHHHEW! HUH…ISHHHEW!”

 

He stiffened, his toes curling as he wiped his nose yet again. He’d have to use some of that ointment soon, but the thought of triggering even more sneezing was about as appealing as being belched at by a marlboro. He’d prefer to endure the discomfort of the tissues. Marginally.

 

After the little fit concluded, he wiped his eyes and nose and managed to type a text message response.

 

I’m alright, buddy. I’ll call you tomorrow.

 

Within seconds he received a reply.

 

If you’re alright, why are you not picking up?

 

Zack stared at the phone, hoping that inspiration would offer a suitable answer. Instead, the screen lit up with another call.

 

Fucking hell, Dale.

 

Well, that had been a pointless exercise.

 

He switched off the phone entirely and lowered the bed, sending tissues tumbling to the floor when he dragged his blanket over his shoulders.

 

—

 

The buzzer that jolted Zack from his doze seemed to last even longer than usual, but it was probably exhaustion playing tricks with time again. He clasped his hands over his ears and curled inwards. When there was a click from the door, he jumped up, feeling more exposed than was rational for a guy who had a camera on him twenty-four hours a day.

 

He creased in two with a shuddering groan. One day, his reflex actions were going to catch up with his current level of mobility.

 

“You’re here,” he ground out, once the pain in his hip had diminished. “In my room. Not just a voice.”

 

He sounded worse every time he spoke, he noted, bitterly. Now his voice was muffled with congestion as well as grated by a million sneezes. He swallowed, but it did little for his dried-out mouth or his itchy throat.

 

Charisse still stood near the door, her body stiff and her face blank as she watched him. “I thought you’d need help to take your readings.”

 

There was something in her expression that he couldn’t place, but his nose ran, and his head throbbed, and he didn’t have the energy to try to figure her out.

 

He grabbed his box of tissues and shuffled to the edge of the bed. “I would have m’hh..! I would have m’hh’huhhh-managed—Aah..! AH’ISHHUH! ISHHUH! ISHHUH! HUHT’SCHYEW!” He let his head fall back, eyes closed and mouth slack, unable to do much but wait for the eye-watering itch to topple into more sneezing. “Hh…hh! Hh! HhhRISHHUH! ISHHHUH! HAH! ISHHHUH! ISH’SCHYEW!”

 

“You’d have been able to keep both hands on your wheels, would you?” she asked, glancing pointedly at his hip as she took his vitals monitor from the desk.

 

As he released his stitches, Zack’s lips twisted in a dissatisfied grimace, but he didn’t offer a response.

 

On the way back to the bed, she stooped to pick up the box of food. Zack battled with himself when she set it on the bed, not sure whether to prioritise water or dry tissues. Ultimately, he settled on water and lots of determined sniffs.

 

His nose prickled the fucking second he removed the bottle cap. He’d have exploded with frustration if only he could have managed to speak.

 

‘D’hh-Doc!” he gasped, shoving the water into her hands. “AhhISHHEW! ISHHHEW! HUHT’ISCHHHYEW!” He gave an almighty sniff that made the bridge of his nose ache and reached out eagerly to accept the bottle. “Can I take something?” he pleaded, once he’d had a long drink and blown his nose. “Now that the test is over? Antihistamines?”

 

Charisse frowned, looking up from the wires she was unpacking. “You’ve had some,” she said. “Antihistamines and corticosteroids. They were injected through your venous cannula before you had your shower.”

 

“My..?”

 

“This.” She lifted his arm, nodding at the taped-in tube before she wrapped his bicep in a blood pressure cuff. She was rougher than usual. “The antihistamines were administered at a half dose because you’d already had some in the prototype drug, but we can’t safely give you more today.”

 

“Guess I missed that.” He glanced at his arm, not bothering to raise his voice over the hum of the tightening cuff. “I don’t think they worked,” he said when the noise had died down. “Snffff! Or, maybe they did. I guess I was worse earlier.” He took some more tissues with his left hand as Charisse unwrapped his arm. “It’s not like I haven’t been this allergic before. It’s just, I dunno…” As his eyes settled on her, one side of his mouth lifted in a dejected smile. “I don’t feel well.”

 

She examined his face. “Let’s see what your readings look like,” she said, finally.

 

Zack waited as she placed and removed the clip for his finger, but when she took the temperature probe from the back of the device, he held up a hand to stop her. “Hold on,” he said, clenching his fist and pressing it under his septum. “Hafta sneeze first.”

 

There was just a hint of impatience about the way she held out the tissue box.

 

“Thanks,” he said breathlessly. With his left hand on his hip, he tried to combine reaching for tissues with covering his face, and he succeeded at neither. An involuntary moan escaped the back of his throat. Tissues would have to wait.

 

“HEYYISHHYEW!-ISHHYEW!-ISH’SHYEW!”

 

“Are you done?” Charisse asked when he finally reached the tissue box.

 

He shook his head wordlessly. The itching in his sinuses monopolised his attention, but he didn’t think he’d imagined her irritated sigh.

 

“HEH…HEY’ISHHEW! ISHHEW! ISHHEW! HEH! HEHH! HEHHH’ISHHSHYEW!”

 

“Done now?”

 

“I think so.” He sniffled, watching her from behind his tissues. Safer to wipe his nose than to blow it, he decided, suspecting she’d be annoyed if he triggered another sneezing fit. “Are you tired?” he asked, turning his head forward so that she could stick the probe in his ear.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“You’ve been here nearly twelve hours. If my brain is working well enough to keep track. And you seem a little—”

 

“Why did you toss the white card?” she asked, suddenly. Though her voice was soft, there was tension in it, as if it were taking some effort to control the tone.

 

Zack looked up, wanting to study her face, but, even when the thermometer beeped, she didn’t remove the probe from his ear. He dropped his tissues onto the bed and sniffled, guiding her hand backwards so he could turn his head.

 

For the past year, it had been Zack’s job to evaluate potential SOLDIER recruits. He could be decent at reading body language when he remembered to think about it.

 

Charisse was not an easy study. Even in her relaxed moments, she was closed off, but there were still a couple of things that he noticed: the crinkle of her lips as her mouth pinched—he’d seen that before, but it was intermittent—and, when her hand was relaxed, he thought he’d caught a little tremor in her fingers. As soon as his gaze shifted downwards, though, she drew them into a fist.

 

His chest gave a gentle hitch, his body pulling him back into its tickly haze. He huffed in frustration and reached for more tissues, sliding his left palm over his stitches.

 

Fucking…allergy.

 

He forced a neutral expression, even as his upper lip tried to curl.

 

“Can you just give…me…one…” His mouth resisted forming words. He tried harder. “Sehhh’heh! HhKHT’TCHH!” His head whipped sideways, and he clamped the tissues to his face. “HAH’HSHHH! HSHHH! HAH’HISHHYEW! ISHHEW! ISHHH! HEH’HISHHYEW!” He gave a weak cough. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

 

“I turned off the gas.” Charisse’s voice was hollow at his side.

 

Zack shot upright. His eyes darted over her face, searching her expression. He almost expected her to crumple in laughter and admit the whole thing was a joke.

 

She couldn’t have forgotten…

 

A knot tightened in Zack’s throat as he lifted his gaze. He flinched at the ceiling lights, but he didn’t catch the green flash of the camera’s LED before his eyes slammed shut. “HAHT’ISHHH! ISHHH! ISHH! HUHT’ISHHUH! ISHHHUH! HUHT’ISHHH! The HUH! The l’hh! li’hh’ighhh…HTCH’CHYEW! TCHYEW! HAHT’ISHHHEW! HEHT’SCHYEW!”

 

“I’ll dim them later. You owe me an explanation.” Her quiet little voice raised all of the hairs on the back of Zack’s arm.

 

“Does…Htch’TCHYEW! TCHYEW! HTCH’ISSHYEW!-ISHHEW! Does Hojo know you—ISHHH! you did that? Sniffff!”

 

“I told him.”

 

Zack spluttered, his brain stumbling as he tried to keep up. “You..?”

 

“If I hadn’t,” she said, “you would have been in there for ninety minutes with the gas that was already in the pod. Once Hojo knew about the interruption, he recognised that any further data would be compromised.”

 

“Will you lose your job?” he blurted, clutching damp tissues to his nose. Well-paid work was everything in Midgar. Self-sufficiency was impossible. The ground was raised metal, and what soil was available wouldn’t sustain plant life. With Upper Plate rents as expensive as they were, most people couldn’t last a week out of employment without landing in the slums below, stripped of the ID cards that gave them access to the socially acceptable part of the city.

 

“I think I convinced him that I had his interests at heart,” Charisse told Zack. “The worse your reactions, the longer it will take for you to recover between tests. And the President has some wild expectations about how fast we can complete this process.” Angry creases formed around her lips and on her forehead. “None of this is an answer to my question.”

 

Zack lifted his head again, checking the camera. “TSHYEW! SHYEW! SHYEW! HEH’TSHYEW! EHT’SHYEW! HEH! USHH! HEH’USHHH! USHH! HEH…USHHHUH!”

 

“It’s off, Zack. Stop looking at it.” She snatched up the box, tugging out tissues and thrusting them into his hand.

 

“ISSHUH! HEHT’ISHHUH! HEHT’SHUH!” He panted, his abdominal muscles sore and twitching with overuse. A tingly pressure high in his nose suggested more sneezing, but, after a swallow, he decided that it was safe to speak. The words dried up when his gaze fell on Charisse and her lab coat. “I…”

 

Charisse’s eyes blazed. Her shoulders hunched. “If you give me some bullshit, consider yourself on your own in here.”

 

He pulled back.

 

This was genuine, he realised, as he lifted his head from his tissues. It sure as hell wasn’t friendly, but it was a real interaction like the pair of them had rarely had. There was no wall of formality between them, no camera.

 

He stared at her in silent evaluation. “Hojo acts like he owns SOLDIERS,” he said, finally, in a hoarse snarl. “Like we’re another batch of his fucking monsters.” His eyes snapped to her face when he realised what he’d said. Rural sensibilities were hard to shed, and he didn’t swear in front of women. He faltered, wanting to offer an apology. He had a tough time spitting out the words.

 

Charisse just watched him, waiting for further explanation. No one in the city ever seemed to care about the language thing.

 

“Hojo didn’t create me,” Zack spat. “He doesn’t decide what I do.”

 

He risked a glance at her face when she didn’t reply.

 

“This is the stand you choose to take?” she said when he met her eye. Her voice was still soft, but it was dangerous. “Did this help? Anyone?”

 

“Why’s he even have that second card?” Zack shot back, his anger tearing free of his restraint. “He sees the red one; he knows the drug didn’t work. Is there a reason for the white card? Or does he just want me to beg?”

 

Charisse threw her arms wide. “Who fucking cares, Zack? Just play the Goddamn game!”

 

Zack’s mouth fell open. If he’d had a point to make, he forgot it. He only remembered to bring his tissues back to his face when his nose dripped.

 

“You don’t think there should be two cards?” Charisse raged. “Well guess what? You can hold up both at once. Stop being such a fucking princess.”

 

Zack stared at her. The only response he managed was a strangled grunt.

 

“Get your shit together.” Charisse’s words were tight and constrained and full of deadly meaning. “Don’t put me at risk again.”

 

A clinical air returned to her demeanour, and there it was: the barrier that usually separated them. “Do you want me to help you get to the bathroom before you leave?”

 

“Wha—“

 

“I think you heard the question.”

 

Still heady with adrenaline, Zack took a moment to respond. His brow furrowed. “You don’t want to help me,” he said, with some certainty.

 

“I have a job to do,” she said, bringing his wheelchair closer. “You need to brace your stitches. While you’re sneezing this much, it’s going to be difficult for you to wheel yourself around.” Her eyebrows twitched upwards in expectation. “Are we doing this?”

 

He watched her face as he shuffled into the chair, but there was nothing to read there but cold professionalism.

 

By the time he’d finished in the bathroom, his crutches were propped against the wall. Even the used tissues were gone from his bed and the floor. He regarded Charisse before he zipped the tent back up.

 

“I don’t have the first idea what to make of you,” he said as he washed his hands. His tone was thoughtful, but he could admit there was a touch of resentment in the way that he narrowed his eyes.

 

“Will you fill out these charts now? I’ll take the tablet with me to charge. Someone can lower it down to you at eleven o’clock.” Her hands smelled like sanitiser, and it pricked at his nose.

 

“HT’TCHUH! TCHUH! HihTCH’UH! HTCH’ISHHHUH!”

 

“I’d been meaning to say,” she said, as he took the tablet, “the lights will switch off at eleven thirty. You’ll have half an hour after the final buzzer to complete your readings and charts and finish anything else you need to do.”

 

“Oh.” Zack looked up, remembering how he’d been plunged into darkness the night before.

 

“I realise it’s unpleasant for you, not having the lighting under your control,” she said, as if she’d been reading his mind. “I can probably get you a torch, or a clock to keep track of the time. We don’t have light switches in here.”

 

“Right, yeah,” Zack sulked. “Because your usual inmates can’t operate them.”

 

He didn’t know whether he’d expected an answer, but he didn’t get one. She wheeled him closer to the bed, but, apart from his sneezing, they stayed silent as he finished his log.

 

“Thank you,” she said, absently, when he handed the tablet back to her. “I’ll speak to you in the morning.”

 

“Wait,” he said, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. “What happened to the monster?”

 

“We found an alternative facility.”

 

“Oh…”

 

“That should improve the quality of your sleep.” She smiled when she said it, but there was no emotion in her voice.

 

“Right,” Zack said. His shoulders sagged with a weight that he didn’t understand, but there was no time to probe his reaction. His eyes were losing their focus as the tickling in his nose resurged. His chest heaved with a painful breath. “HAH..! HAHISHHHUH! ISHHUH! H’ISHHUH! ISHHH! HUH! ISHHUH!” It hurt his hip, but he slumped over, resting his elbow on his knee as he pressed tissues to his face. “HUH! ISHHUH! ISHHEW! Hh! ISHH! HUH! TCHYEW! H’TCHYEW! H’TCHYEW! HUH! TISHHYEW!-ISSHEW! HTCH’TCHYEW!“

 

Zack waited, making sure his lungs weren’t about to fill again. He didn’t check, but he figured Charisse had gone. The room was quiet when there wasn’t a roar in response to every sneeze. He sat up, listening to the hum of the air filter.

 

“Well,” he said, his eyes tracing the scratches in the far wall, “wherever you are, I guess you’re happier without all the disruption.”

 

For the first time since he’d arrived in the clean room, he took Kunsel’s tablet from where he’d stashed it in his bag, and he loaded up a movie. He didn’t watch, but it was nice to hear the voices.

 

[SexualOddity]

 

CW: Nausea (only the feelings. I’m so sensitive to this stuff, I don’t even like typing the word for what doesn’t happen 😅, but I imagine you know what I mean).

 

A.N: NaturistSneezer was the beta reader for this chapter and will be the beta reader in general for this fic until further notice (just saves me saying it every time). Solitaire_au continues to have a huge influence on this story though, both in terms of her medical information, which helped shape the whole plot, and the internal Solitaire voice that now lives in my head, asking me questions about why things happen and telling me where to put my punctuation. I’m hugely indebted to both Solitaire and NaturistSneezer for their assistance.

 

For people who don’t know the fandom: There’s a brief reference to chocobo eggs in this fic. Chocobos these big birds that people ride like horses. I don’t think anyone actually knows for sure whether they hatch from eggs. The baby ones in the most recent game look like they’re part plant. (It’s cute, but very weird). Anyway, in the absence of certainty, the egg thing made a useful simile, so I went with that.

 

—

 

“Zack…Zack…”

 

It was his name, forcing its way through his dream-like haze.

 

It hurt.

 

Each repetition carried another layer of pain. It was his head first, and the throb deepened with every shuffle towards consciousness. Then, it was his chest and his abs, hot and constricting every time he breathed. Lastly came his nose and his throat, sharp and raw lower down and aching with stuffy pressure higher in his head.

 

He moaned as he opened his eyes and recoiled when the light was too harsh. He screwed his eyes shut, but it was already too late.

 

“Hhh..! Hh’Hh!”

 

“Oh!”

 

“HIH’TCHuhh! Hih! Hh’HIH’TCHYEW!” Pain burst across his forehead, and he fell back to the bed, unable to move until the ache settled back into its regular pulse.

 

“Sorry! I’m sorry.”

 

It was only as the room dimmed that he realised that it was Charisse’s voice he’d been hearing the whole time.

 

But she doesn’t like using names, Zack remembered. The thought seemed detached and far away.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

It was a big, uncomfortable question, and he was too tired of asking it of himself every four hours at the demand of a buzzer. He groaned and rolled over.

 

“Got a headache,” he murmured, pushing his hands under the pillow and nuzzling the padding.

 

“Some of your readings were off.”

 

“Mhm,” Zack grunted, prepared to go back to sleep.

 

“Zack!”

 

“Yeah,” he said, more irritably than he’d intended. He swallowed, but it felt like a chocobo egg forcing its way down his throat, and his mouth was still dry.

 

“Have you been dizzy?”

 

He rolled back over, shielding his eyes from the dimmed light. “How did you know?”

 

“Okay,” she said, immediately. “Don’t leave the bed. I’m coming down. I’ll have to wash, but if you need anything, press the call button. Someone will answer.”

 

She made him repeat her words before the line went quiet.

 

He supposed he slept. There was a click from the door and a patter of boots on metal. It felt like no time at all had passed, but his mouth was even drier, and there was spit on his chin.

 

It wasn’t until the bed rose that he realised that Charisse had announced that she was going to lift it. He rolled onto his back and blinked and squinted until he could make her out at the end of the bed, unpacking the vitals monitor from its carry case.

 

The instant he was upright, crap poured from his nose. He clamped a hand over his face and patted his bed until he found the tissue box.

 

He was fucking disgusting.

 

“Have you had any chest pains?” she asked.

 

“No.” He pulled back, his wad of tissues halfway to his face. “Just the muscle thing. Took my meds for it.”

 

His surprise at the question was sobering, and he sat up straighter, finding himself able to pay more attention.

 

There was too much movement in Charisse’s eyes. They darted between Zack and the blood pressure cuff that she wrapped around his arm. The monitor issued a series of shrill rings instead of its usual single bleep, and it was only then that her gaze lingered, first on the pressure gauge and then on Zack’s finger clip.

 

“I’ll come back to you,” she said, toneless and professional.

 

“Is…something wrong?”

 

“I want to bring someone here to check.” She didn’t meet his eye as she slipped the wires into the carry case. “Will you need anything in the next half an hour?”

 

“Um. Water?”

 

“They didn’t send any with your breakfast?” She frowned at the box of food, abandoned on the seat of Zack’s wheelchair.

 

“I drank it.”

 

“Oh.” A crinkle deepened between her eyebrows. “You’ve been thirsty. Ever since you arrived…” Her gaze drifted to the big washing bottle, now empty on Zack’s bed. “Have you been urinating?”

 

Zack screwed up his face. His head pounded. “Huh?” He dropped his already-sodden tissues and felt blindly in the box for more.

 

“This bucket was switched an hour ago?” she asked, unzipping the door of the toilet tent. “Was there much in it?”

 

“I…I don’t remember.” He tried to sniffle, but his nose was blocked, and a wave of pressure butted against his head.

 

Charisse was quiet for a moment, watching him. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll come back. Don’t get up from the bed.”

 

Normally, he’d have objected to the continued restriction, but his vision was tunnelling, and he didn’t trust his body. He lowered the bed, shutting his eyes and swallowing until his senses came back into focus.

 

When Charisse returned, she was wearing a hazmat suit and carrying a plastic box. He craned his neck and watched her unpack four 500ml bottles of water.

 

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re an overachiever?” he croaked.

 

“This is to tide you over. I haven’t…yet reached an agreement with Professor Hojo,” she said, handing him a bottle. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be. Let me sit you up.”

 

As the bed raised, the room lurched. Zack pressed his back against the mattress. He let the bottle drop, unopened.

 

“Do you need to be sick?” Even muffled by her hood, the note of urgency was clear in her voice.

 

The speaker crackled, and both of them looked up. It was disorientating. Charisse was supposed to be the person on the intercom.

 

“I have Nye Carter here to provide physiotherapy,” the voice announced. “Should I send him to get washed?”

 

“No.” Charisse’s demeanour changed immediately. There was energy in her posture, visible even under the big suit. Her eyes drifted behind her visor, as if in calculation. “No,” she repeated, more thoughtfully this time. “I want to speak to him first. Can you tell him to wait in my office?”

 

She left, and the next person through the door was the physiotherapist himself. Zack had seen him in the infirmary when he’d first landed in Midgar. He’d been warm, then, and friendly, but this time he didn’t offer a greeting. He strode straight across to Zack’s bed.

 

“Can I have your hand, please?” he said.

 

He turned it over so that Zack’s palm was facing down, and he pinched Zack’s skin. When he looked up, his expression was stern.

 

“You’re dehydrated.” His words were clipped, and his lips were thin. “I’m going to speak with the team here. You do need physiotherapy, but it will have to wait.”

 

He departed as quickly as he’d arrived, and Zack stared after him. Eventually, he shifted to look at the camera, wondering whether Charisse was watching. After what happened in the test, he’d been sure that she was done with taking risks for him. He dropped his chin to his chest and massaged his temples.

 

Was he imagining things, desperate to have someone on his side?

 

But the physio had entered with such obvious intent…

 

He reached to grab the box of tissues, but his head swam, and his mouth watered, and if he didn’t lean back soon, he was liable to either pass out or throw up. He wiped his nose on the back of his arm and slumped against the mattress, counting his breaths until they lulled him to sleep.

 

—

 

Voices wove themselves into Zack’s restless dream, but he didn’t truly wake until the smell of antiseptic, bitter and astringent, pricked at his nostrils. Still twitchy and oversensitive from the test, nerve endings in Zack’s nose stirred in irritable objection. The scent teased and nagged until his breath began to silently hitch. By the time he opened his eyes, his whole face was abuzz. It made his toes curl and his nostrils flare, straining for a sneeze that wouldn’t start.

 

His lips quivered as he forced his eyes open, and he was pathetically grateful to discover that the room had brightened while he slept. His head shot up, seeking out the glare of the ceiling lights.

 

“HAHKH’SHYEW!”

 

Holy shit.

 

That was effective—even through his squinting eyes. His head flew back with another strangled breath.

 

“AhhhISHHHYEW!”

 

Someone barked in protest, and, in a feat of enhanced perception, Zack recognised Blood Test Guy plunging a syringe into his arm tube.

 

“HT’ISHHH! HAHT’ISHH! ISHH! HAHT’ISHHYEW!”

 

Sneezing jarred his head and upset his balance, and pain rippled through his abdominal muscles when he tried to hold still.

 

He’d still take it over that unfulfilled itching.

 

Charisse offered him tissues from a box, and a silent conversation passed between them. She raised her gaze to the lights, lifting her eyebrows in question, and he tried not to look too dizzy when he shook his head. Pressing against the raised mattress, he took careful, steadying breaths and watched Blood Test Guy connect a long tube to his arm.

 

Once Zack was hooked up to a drip, Blood Test Guy balled up his gloves and tossed them into a yellow sack. “Are we done here?”

 

“We’ll need you to remove the IV or replace the bag once it’s empty, depending on how his vitals are looking.”

 

The noise Blood Test Guy made was almost a growl.

 

“I’m sorry. They won’t, um…” Charisse shifted her weight between her boots. “I’m not permitted to insert or manage IV lines.”

 

“So, I’ll re-organise my schedule around this then, shall I?” Blood Test Guy snapped, clipping his supply case shut with some vigour.

 

“We’re all in the same position. Hopefully, it won’t be for too much longer.” Her tone was pleasant, but if one of Zack’s recruitment candidates had offered him that kind of fixed smile, he wouldn’t be leaving Zack’s line of sight during combat.

 

“Fine,” Blood Test Guy huffed. “I suppose you’d better message when you need me back.”

 

Once the door shut, Zack tilted his head towards the drip bag. The room swayed a little in response to the movement.

 

“You saving my ass again, Doc?”

 

He followed Charisse’s pointed glance at the camera, but, of course, he saw little beyond the ceiling lights.

 

“KSHH! HAH’KSHH! HAH’KSHHAH! HAHK’SHYEW!”

 

“Bless you.”

 

There was a twinkle of amusement in her eye as she pulled tissues from the box for him. Sometimes she seemed almost personable.

 

“Why d’you keep doing things for me?” he slurred. “No one else here cares.”

 

“It’s my job to monitor your fitness so that you can participate in the drug trial.” Charisse’s voice was distant and robotic, but her eyes flicked to the camera once more.

 

“So, you’re like this with your monsters, too, then?” he said, snatching the tissues from her hand. “You’re just a really good handler?” That word had slipped from the older assistant’s lips when Zack had arrived at the clean room. It stuck out in Zack’s memory in surprising clarity, but he didn’t expect the surge of anger that it drew from him. It felt too much for his listless body.

 

“I’m not your handler, Zack,” Charisse told him, perching on the edge of his bed. “And you’re not a monster.”

 

His gaze dropped to his lap, some of the dizziness returning. “Out in the world,” he mumbled, “people look up to us. They apply for SOLDIER in crazy numbers. Most don’t make it past the pre-screen.”

 

“Well, sure. ShinRa makes it very clear that it’s an elite force. You should keep the tissues,” she offered, and he lifted his head to see her holding them out.

 

He regarded her distrustfully, but the bundle at his face was already getting damp, so he accepted the box. “It feels…different in here.”

 

“ShinRa took a very extreme step with SOLDIER, manipulating human genetics for military gain. We’re closer to the uncomfortable elements, working in this department.” Her speech had been tentative, but it grew firmer, more certain. “That doesn’t mean that our views are representative. Nor does it mean that they’re accurate.”

 

It sounded so reasoned, like a lifeline she had cast, but the gulf between them yawned wide. He could never reach it.

 

“They might be accurate,” he admitted, failing to swallow the lump in his throat. “I—I had this mentor…”

 

“Angeal Hewley.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I forget that people know who we are. Then, you’ve heard how strong he was?”

 

She nodded.

 

Suddenly, Zack was talking. These were buried words, words he had pent up for more than a year—they flowed from him faster than the IV carried liquid into his vein.

 

“Angeal had a lot of questions about where his strength came from,” Zack rambled. “I thought it was just him. His enhancement was…it was different. But I talked to Hojo the other day, and…and…” The stream dried up. Perhaps some rational part of him still knew that there were some words he could never say.

 

Charisse didn’t offer a response. She barely seemed to blink.

 

Zack’s eyes traced the line of the IV tube. “I never thought about my enhancement,” he said. It sounded ridiculous after the past couple of days. “I just wanted to be a SOLDIER, and it was—“ His head snapped up so fast he had to blink to get his bearings. “I don’t really know what they did to us.”

 

There was a cautious tension in her body. He imagined that was how he looked when he approached an unknown monster.

 

“It must be hard,” she suggested. “Discovering unintended consequences years later.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

He wondered whether that was all it was, whether all his worries would disappear if someone could take his allergy away. He found he was unconvinced.

 

“Do you want to speak with Perushi?” Charisse offered. “He might be willing to talk you through the enhancement process?”

 

“Speak with..?”

 

“Perushi. I suppose he never introduced himself.” There was something sad about her smile. “Left your room not five minutes ago. Does all of your blood tests? He also performs the mako infusions on SOLDIER recruits.”

 

“Oh.” Zack huffed a bitter laugh. “He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

 

For the briefest moment, a shadow crossed Charisse’s expression, but she slapped her hands against her thighs. “Well, you won’t know if you don’t ask. How about I mention it to him?”

 

“You’d do that?” Zack said, lifting his head from his tissues.

 

“Sure.”

 

He studied her profile in the mako light. Sometimes he wondered whether he should search for some hidden agenda, but his skills probably didn’t work at that level. Mostly, he could predict instincts—specifically, whether a person would be more likely to flee, freeze, or charge if they were set upon by gunfire.

 

Zack got the sense that Charisse would charge.

 

“It’s gonna be a real tall order to make all of this stuff up to you,” he told her.

 

There was no missing the change in her, then. Her mouth fell open and her eyes grew wide. “You don’t owe me for this,” she said. “We dropped the ball, here. We should never have allowed your dehydration to progress this far.”

 

“It’s not your fault.”

 

“It is,” she said, definitively. “You’re under our care. You should have been monitored by a doctor. A real one.”

 

“I’m fine,” Zack said. “I’m on Hojo’s side this time. I don’t wanna be examined.” He nodded at the drip stand. “This works. Head’s getting clearer.” His voice quietened, and a darker resolve crept into his tone. “Besides, the more I think about it, the more I know I won’t really feel better until I get out of here.”

 

Charisse’s eyes were big and brown and concerned.

 

Zack shook out his shoulders, squaring his jaw. “So, I’d better get on with these tests,” he concluded. “No sense in slowing down.”

 

 

[SexualOddity]

A.N. Many thanks to @solitaire-au for amazing beta-reading help with this chapter. You really helped me get a clearer image of the scene in my head, and especially of Nye.

 

—

 

There had to be some magic in ShinRa’s IV bags, because, within a couple of hours, apart from being tired and his lingering allergy symptoms, Zack felt normal.

 

He was less of an emotional wreck, that was for sure, but that brought problems of its own. Stability led to self-awareness and the terrible realisation that he’d told his innermost worries to someone he barely knew, who was quite possibly still mad at him. Worse than that, a lot of the intel about Angeal and Genesis was classified. Zack had learned it when he had been assigned to locate them after their desertions. Zack had skirted the boundaries of his confidentiality agreement when he’d spoken to Charisse. He didn’t do that. His mind reeled at the fucked up shit that he’d been asked to suppress since Angeal had left the Company. Despite everything, Zack had never broken his promise. He’d never even come close. But, apparently, all it took to shake his grip on his responsibilities was a few days with too little water. Some fucking SOLDIER.

 

The clean room was new territory, he supposed. He had to figure out how to navigate it. He could adapt to unfamiliar environments. It was a SOLDIER speciality. But this might be his toughest yet. It wasn’t just the physical strain—he was used to that type of challenge. It was the isolation here. It screwed with his brain. Charisse was virtually a stranger, but the disinterest of the other staff made that easy to forget. Even now, the shame Zack felt for over-sharing was dwarfed by his delight at having a relatively friendly human being in his room.

 

Above them, the speaker clicked on. Zack raised his head, rushing to swallow his cold scrambled egg when the ceiling light hit him square in the face.

 

“Hh! HT’ISHH! ISHH! HAHT’ISHHHuh! Huhh’Uhh..! Hh! Hh! HT’ISHHSHEW!”

 

“You are a fascinating study,” Charisse told him, her tone dry. “Just how many times can a person repeat the same mistake.”

 

Perhaps it was supposed to be cutting, but Zack spluttered with stuffy laughter. He would have liked to point out that she raised her own eyes to the camera to speak to the disembodied voice, but she was already engaged in conversation.

 

“—just dim the lights while I remember?”

 

“Is that good?” came a female voice over the intercom.

 

“A little more,” Charisse answered.

 

Zack glanced across at her, impressed by her memory.

 

“Now?” the voice asked.

 

Charisse turned to Zack, waiting for his agreement.

 

Holding a tissue to his nose, he gazed upwards. “Looks like a yes,” he said, clearing his throat.

 

“I have Dimos looking for you,” the assistant continued, through the speaker.  “He says you’d arranged to review his analysis of the test data?”

 

“Right.” Charisse shut her eyes, nodding. “Yes. Sorry. Will you tell him that something came up, and I’ll be there as soon as possible? Probably within the next half an hour.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Hold on, Lina, while I’ve got you...” Still perched on the edge of the bed, Charisse leant backwards to meet Zack’s eye. “Did you want me to arrange some food that’s actually warm? We’ll probably delay your lunch until after your physiotherapy.”

 

“It’s fine,” Zack said, with a shrug and an easygoing crinkle of his nose. “It’s not that warm even fresh from the canteen.”

 

“Okay. That’s all for now,” Charisse told the assistant. “Thank you.”

 

As the speaker fell quiet, Zack took more tissues from the rapidly emptying box. “If you need to leave, Doc, it’s alright. I promise not to keel over.”

 

The way Charisse hunched her shoulders made her body seem smaller. Zack set his food aside, tilting his head.

 

“I’ll just stay until your physio returns.” Her voice was tense.

 

Zack squashed his tissue in his palm, and, humming in curiosity, he folded his arms. “Did I freak you out? With the dehydration thing?”

 

“No,” Charisse said, turning to look at him directly. “No. And even if you had, it wouldn’t be your fault.” A thoughtful crease puckered her brow. “It did make me more conscious that we’re risking your health if we get this wrong. It’s easy to forget that with SOLDIERs.”

 

Zack shuffled closer. “There’s risk, and there’s risk,” he told her, dropping his legs over the side of the bed. “ShinRa’s publicity is exaggerated, but it’s not like we don’t have advantages. I usually brush things off.” His smile dipped a little, and he scratched the back of his head. “Dunno what happened this morning. I guess this was an off day.”

 

“I’ll find out what happened if I possibly can,” Charisse said, “and I intend to do everything in my power to keep it from happening again.” Her demeanour stayed as neutral and calm as ever, but there was a ferocity in her eyes that reminded Zack of Mikaela, or Aerith when she set her mind to something. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards.

 

“Well, Doc, I appre—“

 

At the knock from the door, Charisse sprang upright, back straight and arms pressed into her sides—alert, but perfectly composed.

 

“Thank you for coming back,” she said when the physio entered. “I assume you’ve followed our instructions to wash again?”

 

“Yes,” he said. “This might be my cleanest ever morning.” A wry smile played on his lips, but it flattened when he turned to Zack. “You’re looking better,” he said, but his tone was grim.

 

“Guess I got the two of you to thank for that,” Zack chirped. “You, and the miracle cure that they put in my drip.”

 

“Water and electrolytes,” Charisse said, flatly. As she spoke to the physiotherapist, she clasped her hands near her chest, rubbing one of her opposite knuckles. “Did you get a chance to speak with the infirmary doctors?”

 

“I did.”

 

A new tension crept into the room. It reminded Zack of the onset of a dual—outwardly civil, but there was an air of appraisal in the way the pair regarded one another.

 

“You can speak with one of the doctors if you’d like,” said the physiotherapist, “but they wanted me to be very clear that they can’t give medical advice unless you allow them to examine Zack.”

 

Charisse broke eye contact, but only for a second.

 

“What they could tell you,” the physio continued, “was that, in general, allergies carry a risk of dehydration because of the excessive tearing and mucus production.”

 

“Oh!” Charisse said, in dawning awareness. Her head swung to Zack on the bed.

 

Above his wad of tissues, Zack’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying that I got dehydrated because I made too much snot?”

 

“Essentially,” the physio said.

 

Zack turned away, rolling his eyes. “And I thought this couldn’t get any more gross...”

 

Ignoring him, Charisse thanked the physio. The fervour in her voice was enough to pull Zack’s attention back to the conversation. “This will help,” she said. “A lot.”

 

If the physio accepted her thanks, he didn’t say so. He just raised his bearded chin, his own voice flat and firm. “You know my feelings about this situation.”

 

“I do. I…” It sounded like she might say more, but she told them she would leave them to it, reminding them of the call button and departing the room with a formal nod.

 

As the door shut, Zack laughed weakly. “Guess this is one of your weirder house calls.”

 

“It’s up there,” the physio muttered, running a hand over his short hair. When he approached Zack, his shoulders relaxed. “Nye Carter, physiotherapist.” He frowned at his hand, drying it on the bottom of his shirt before offering it to Zack. “Sorry,” he chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Forgot about the wet hair.”

 

Nye’s hands were much like the rest of his body, big but soft. The way his clothes hung made Zack think he was hiding considerable muscle under his scrubs, but it wasn’t stripped and sharp, like SOLDIER muscle. He met Zack’s eye when he shook his hand, and his grip was firm.

 

Zack liked him.

 

“Do you remember me from the infirmary?” Nye asked, bushy brown eyebrows rising up his forehead.

 

“Of course, man, yeah. Hasn’t been that long. Two days?” Zack waited for Nye’s confirmatory nod before he dropped his head, rubbing at his neck. “To be fair, time does get screwy in here. Ugh, sorry.” He pressed his hand under his nose and reached for his box of tissues. “You weren’t wrong about the excessive snot.”

 

“Yeah. I see that.” Nye’s brow furrowed. “You’re hoarse, too.”

 

“Oh. Yeah. It, er—” Zack gave a rueful laugh. “Feels like I’ve been shouting over gunfire. I just took sneezing to some wild extremes. Lemme grab some more tissues,” he said, sliding towards the edge of the bed.

 

Nye held up a hand to stop him. “Where do I find them? I do want to watch you using your crutches, but I’d like a chat first.”

 

Zack directed him to the storage trolley, and Nye retrieved a fresh tissue box and a chair that he set opposite the bed.

 

“I’ll be frank with you, Zack,” Nye said when he sat down. “Having seen how you were a few hours ago, I’m concerned about your fitness for this appointment.”

 

“Yeah, that’s probably fair,” Zack admitted, “but I feel great now.” He glanced at the tissue in his hand. “Could do without the allergy stuff, obviously, but I was serious about those drip bags. I haven’t felt this clear-headed since the day I got hurt.”

 

Nye’s expression didn’t change. “Well, you’ve probably spent most of the intervening time at least moderately dehydrated.”

 

Zack just shrugged and wiped his nose, not having much more to offer.

 

“Okay.” Nye tilted his palms in a gesture of surrender. “I’m prepared to take your word about your health. This appointment is critical to your recovery, and it would be a relief to complete it whilst we have the chance. I don’t know if you know this, but it is outrageously difficult to arrange to meet with you.”

 

“I’m not exactly busy.” Zack frowned, glancing at the camera. “Did R and D say I wasn’t available?”

 

Nye’s upper body tilted forwards as he sat, palms on his thighs and elbows pointing outward. It reminded Zack of Angeal, watching in stern silence while he struggled with a difficult training exercise.

 

“The problem,” Nye said, “has been finding a time when you’re likely to be well enough.”

 

Zack’s face fell. “Right.”

 

“I don’t want to overstep my bounds, Zack, but this is clearly a physically demanding process, and you’ve just had a major injury with significant blood loss.”

 

Zack didn’t meet his eye.

 

“I spoke with your doctor,” Nye said, “about your dehydration.”

 

Zack’s breath caught in his throat. The sound he made was part surprise, part realisation and part despairing groan. He slapped his hand over his eyes, pushing it up his forehead and into his hair. “She is gonna kill me.”

 

Nye bent closer, cocking his head as if he hadn’t understood. “She was certainly angry, but I don’t think it was with you…”

 

“It will be,” Zack said, darkly. “Wait, you called her in Wutai? Alread—”

 

“Oh. No. I’m…” He sat back in his seat. “I wasn’t so concerned that I would have made an immediate overseas call, but I would have told the duty doctor and made a report for Doctor Barlow to review. She’s been called back to Midgar, though, so I spoke with her directly. You didn’t know?”

 

“No.” Zack hesitated. “I thought—”

 

“The majority of SOLDIER medics are in Midgar now, I believe. The department wanted specialists on hand to deal with the extreme reactions to this cold vir…” He trailed off. “You don’t know about that, either.”

 

“Cold? Like, the illne—” Zack stilled. ShinRa had sent that text message about fevers and medication. His head shot up. “Extreme reactions?”

 

Nye shut his eyes, shaking his head. “This is the least of your concerns right now. It may well spread beyond the barracks though, so I’ll suggest that the staff here monitor you for—“

 

“I’m not worried about me!” Zack spluttered.

 

Nye studied Zack for a long, solemn moment. “Maybe you should be,” he said, at last. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise that this information was new to you, but you’re in the middle of a recovery period, and you—”

 

“How extreme are these reactions?” Zack interrupted.

 

“I’ll ask that ShinRa keep you abreast of any official information that—“

 

“That will be no information at all!” Zack rasped. “You must know how they—“

 

Nye’s palms rose again, which was fucking lucky. It was a subtle movement, but the interruption was enough to activate Zack’s brain before he said something stupid in front of the camera.

 

“Can I sit with you?” Nye said, nodding at the bed as he rose from his chair.

 

“Alright.”

 

Nye scooped up one of the water bottles that Charisse had brought earlier, and, as he sat down, he handed it to Zack. “I’ve upset you,” he said, “and I’m sorry. I’ll tell you what I can, but you need to know that these are new developments, and I don’t know very much.”

 

“Okay,” Zack set the bottle to one side, more interested in watching Nye as he spoke.

 

“As I understand it, recalling the medics was a precaution,” Nye explained. “The team want sufficient staff available to monitor SOLDIERs who are at risk and respond quickly if intervention is needed.”

 

“Alright,” Zack said, stiffly.

 

“There are some great doctors on that team, Zack.” Nye enunciated his words as if that made them more reassuring. “I have every confidence that they’ll handle this situation.”

 

“It’s just SOLDIERs having these reactions?”

 

“As far as I know.”

 

“Why us?” Zack pressed.

 

“I don’t know. And at this stage, there’s a lot that nobody knows. I imagine that’s why the medical team are approaching the matter with caution. But we need to let them do their job. Neither one of us can influence what’s happening right now.” Nye’s grey eyes were kind but resolute.

 

Zack jiggled his leg and stared at the wall. There was definitely some sort of collusion at work. Everyone he argued with seemed to pull out this same, exasperating, tolerant type of logic.

 

“In the meantime,” Nye said, slapping his knees, “I have physiotherapy skills, and you have a joint that needs to be mobilised. And, from what I hear, you spent two hours on Thursday morning with foreign objects in your leg. Your wounds are at a high risk of infection. It’s not my field, but your doctor wanted me to examine them while I’m here.” His expression darkened. “After what I’ve seen today, I agree that we should take every opportunity to monitor your health.”

 

“Er, yeah,” Zack said. “You might wanna be aware of…” He tilted his head, slowly and deliberatly shifting his gaze towards the ceiling.

 

Nye stood. Judging by his disgusted grunt, he had got the message. He took the bed controls from their cradle and hit the call button. “Any chance of some privacy while I examine my patient?” The tightness in his voice betrayed the effort it cost him to keep it even.

 

It was Charisse who answered over the speaker system. “I can switch off the video recording. We’ll still capture audio. How long do you need?”

 

“Fifteen minutes?” Nye suggested.

 

“Okay,” said Charisse, “Zack, you’ll need to make a special effort to remember your symptoms. Without video, it will be more difficult for us to corroborate your self-assessment.”

 

“Sure,” Zack said, wiping his nose.

 

“Video is off,” Charisse confirmed.

 

Nye clapped his hands together. “Right, then, Operative Fair. Shall we get this part over with? Then, you and I can establish a roadmap to getting you walking independently.”

 

Zack eased off the bed, aware that he should be encouraged by that prospect. But his phone was still switched off and buried under his blanket, and he couldn’t tear his mind from Dale and his multiple unanswered calls.

Edited 13 hours ago by SexualOddity