Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They are relaxing in the lower-ranked rec room in Shinra headquarters when it happens. Zack is standing in front of his months long friend Cloud, delivering line after witty line in an attempt to get more than a shy chuckle out of him. Cloud does his best to be stoic, too embarrassed to let on that he truly thinks Zack is funny. Zack knows he does though, has been able to read him since he managed to pry that stupid infantry helmet off of him a week into their friendship, so Cloud’s outward reaction doesn’t matter so much.

“You know you think I’m funny,” Zack ribs with a wink. Cloud rolls his eyes, but the way he purses his lips gives away he is holding in a laugh. 

He looks sideways at Zack. “Maybe,” he says.

 At the admittance, Zack chortles like a schoolboy, crowding into Cloud’s space and trying to wheedle more of a confession out of him.

“But I’ve always been told I have bad taste,” Cloud finishes, cutting off Zack’s victorious laughter.

Zack growls in mock offense. “Why you-” Zack reaches forward, mussing Cloud’s rat’s nest of a hairdo. He does it so roughly that he manages to sway the kid from side to side.

“Hey- Stop!” Cloud winces his eyes shut, taking a few steps away to escape. Then he opens his eyes, and the jovial mood drops to the floor and shatters.

Zack’s heart stops when he catches sight of his eyes. One moment, he had been joking with his friend. In the next, in a literal blink, he is gone, replaced by someone else. The eyes that glance up to meet his own, are not Cloud’s soft, sky blues, but grayer, like a shallow pond on an overcast day. They are weary and old, their true age reflected in their depths, even if the face they belong to cannot be a day past fifteen. More shocking and damning, than all of that, however, is the glow of mako lurking around the blacks of his pupils.

“...Cloud?” Zack questions.

Cloud stares up at him, as if frozen, dazed. He blinks again, a slow fluttering of soft blonde lashes over those terribly old eyes before he looks up. “Zack…” he whispers. It hangs in the air between them like a plume of smoke.

Then Cloud takes two wavering steps forward and collapses into Zack’s chest. Zack fumbles him with a curse, dropping to his knees. Cloud lays limply against him, head hanging between his two shoulders as Zack wrestles him upright. “Cloud? Buddy?” he asks, giving Cloud a little shake. The kid doesn’t respond, doesn't even react.

When he looks up, he has the attention of a few other cadets. They spare the two of them a glance, before looking away. “Ah,” Zack stutters, “Ah-ahahahaha… Wow, Cloud! You really overdid it!” He continues to chuckle unnaturally as he pulls one of Cloud’s arms over his shoulders, wrapping an arm around his thin waist. When they stand, Cloud doesn’t move to help, thoroughly unconscious. “Don’t worry, guys!” he says to everyone in the breakroom who definitely aren’t worried, “I’ll get him to medical!”

With that, he edges out of the room, taking refuge in the hall outside. He manages to maneuver Cloud’s limp form into his lap. The boy lays splayed over Zack’s thighs, expression slack, hair falling away from his face. Zack presses a hand to his chest, feeling his heart beat slow and steady underneath. Then spares a moment to watch him breathe, deep, easy breaths passing through slightly parted lips. It looks as if Cloud merely decided that Zack’s lap was a good place for a nap.

Swallowing, Zack cradles Cloud’s head in one hand. Using the other, he pries one of Cloud’s eyes open, peering at it. There, swimming in the depths of an ash-tinged pool lurks the green glow of mako, troublingly bright. Only the eyes of SOLDIERs and far-gone junkies glow like this, Zack knows. He also knows that Cloud was neither of those things as of three minutes ago.

“Alright, Spike. I think that’s a bit too weird for medical…” he mutters to Cloud. If he took him to medical, at best he would end up in a holding cell, probably expelled from Shinra. At worst he would wind up a test subject if the rumors held true. He shivers on Cloud’s behalf.

Making his decision, Zack tosses Cloud over his shoulder. He stands and then sprints towards the Soldier First class residential floors. He takes the stairs to avoid as many witnesses as possible. Not many people know Cloud, but nearly everyone knows Zack, and word would spread quickly of him spiriting a petit cadet away.

He arrives at his apartment after a blur of stairs and truly impressive feats of stealth, one of which included vaulting a desk to avoid the gaze of a dozing secretary. He stands in the center of his apartment, breathing heavily, with Cloud still hanging limply over his shoulder. “Come on, man. Can you just wake up and be normal and make my life easier?” he pleads, jostling Cloud. The kid doesn’t even stir.

Zack makes for the bedroom, shutting the curtains quickly and slapping the light switch hard enough to crack the wall. The light flickers on regardless, and Zack gently lays Cloud out on the bed. He is unresponsive the whole way, face slack, eyes closed and mouth hung slightly open.

Zack checks his pulse first, pressing fingers against the artery under Cloud’s jaw. His pulse is just as easy and untroubled as before. Likewise is his breathing. Then comes the moment of truth, deciding whether or not Zack will well and truly freak out, now in the privacy of his apartment. He reaches forward, prying one of Cloud’s eyes open, then the other, examining the irises critically. No matter how long he sits and stares, nothing erases that tell-tale ring of light around his pupil, and the eerie luminescence of his eyes. It glows, barely-there under the bright fluorescent light of Zack’s apartment, but glowing all the same. The fact that he can still make it out in the bright lights of his apartment proves this is more than an optical illusion.

Cloud has gone from a SOLDIER wash-out to mako-fied in the half-second it took for him to blink.

Zack sits back on the balls of his feet, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. “What the hell, Cloud…” he mutters. He rockets upright, walking quickly out of the room, making a lap around his living room, and then back into the bedroom. Cloud remains unchanged, unconscious on his bed.

He pinches himself. It hurts, and Cloud doesn’t disappear. He makes another lap, for good measure, and when he returns, Cloud is still there.

He has no idea what he is going to do. 

He stands in front of his front door, peering out through the small peephole. Finding no one, and feeling oddly relieved, he walks to the living room window, closing the shades and curtains for that as well. With the apartment plunged into relative darkness, aside from the light leaking from his bedroom, Zack drops into a squat and stays there.  

When he feels a bit less like his heart is going to burst out of his chest, he comes back into the bedroom.  He freezes, still half in the dark. Cloud is sitting up. At first, he gazes dazedly around the room, but when Zack works up the courage to enter the doorway, his eyes snap to him. Zack stiffens, caught like a bug under the pin of Cloud’s newly luminous gaze.  He looks Zack up and down, brows furrowing ever so slightly. His face folds, eyes glimmering wetly as his jaw muscles work. “Zack…” he chokes. The sound is full of both joy and mourning.

Zack tries not to let that voice get the best of him. He marches right up to Cloud, hands on his hips and expression stern. “Who the hell are you, and what did you do to my friend?” he demands, towering over Cloud. The shadow he casts over the kid only serves to emphasize those eerie, mako bright eyes that Cloud definitely should not have.

“Zack… what-“ Cloud begins to say, but Zack speaks over him quickly.

“Are you some kind of ghost?! Are you possessing him?” he demands, stomping his foot, “Leave Cloud the hell alone!”

“What…?” Cloud mutters. He stares up at Zack. He looks as much in disbelief as Zack feels. “Y-you’re the ghost…” he whispers, reaching up to him, fingers hovering just over his chest like if he touches Zack, he will disappear. 

Zack smacks his hand away. “Is this mind control?” Zack snaps. He moves forward, and clamps both his hands on either side of Cloud’s face, making the kid flinch hard and stiffen. He ignores it, staring deeply into his friend’s eyes. “Are you in there, Cloud? Can you hear me? Don’t worry, I got you!” he shouts. He isn’t sure if volume will make him any easier for Cloud to hear, but it’s worth a try.

The thing hiding behind Cloud’s face scrunches its nose at the noise. He places both his hands on Zack’s, slender fingers trying to pry them away. “Zack… please,” he says, “This isn’t funny.” He tries to struggle away, but is unsuccessful. 

“Am I dead?” he asks when Zack refuses to let him go, and struggling proves futile. “Is this what this is? Where’s Aerith? I heard her with you.”

Zack’s own nose wrinkles at the name. “Who’s Aerith?” he asks. 

The Cloud imposter freezes, staring at Zack with wide eyes. His face pales, and the mako flares brightly with the horror in his eyes. He swallows with effort, audibly dry before he looks away. He gives another hurried glance around the room. His breathing is quick, heart pattering against his chest. “Your apartment,” he says quietly. He looks to Zack. “It’s real?”

“What do you mean, ‘it’s real’?” Zack questions, then quickly backtracks. He can't get lost in the false Cloud's false terror, even if the pulse pounding quickly through his veins sounds real and the way his fingers clutch at his pants is so uniquely Cloud that it's hard to look away. “You didn’t answer my question… er… questions! Are you a ghost? Whose Aerith?!” he repeats.

“She loved you. I met her,” the imposter says, looking through Zack, “We tried to save the world together and then...” Cloud’s eyes refocus, a little furrow making its way between his brows like he is trying not to cry. Zack takes a moment to really look at him. The way Cloud holds himself, curled up, shoulders towards his ears. The way he hides his feelings behind a stiff lip and a furrowed brow. His eyes still hold that malleable quality, like a turbulent storm, even if they now glow. Cloud has always spoken with his eyes and his body, a language unique to only him. Call Zack stupid, but he doubts a ghost could mimic that, at least not quite to this level of perfection. He takes a hesitant step forward, only to be pinned in place by Cloud’s desperate gaze.

“Zack, please. Am I dead?” he begs. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, standing quickly. His knees fold under him like wet noodles, and he would have hit the floor if not for Zack’s quick reflexes. He catches Cloud around the middle, holding him steady as he clutches at his head with a breathy groan. “What’s happening…?” he mutters, leaning heavily against Zack. He is radiating heat now, more than normal.

“That’s what I’d like to know, Spikes,” Zack says, his temper gentled by Cloud’s vulnerability. Cloud didn’t show this side of himself to anyone. The times when he did to Zack were all accidents borne from exhaustion or injury. “That’s really you in there, yeah?” he asks, just to be sure.

Cloud gives a weak nod, “At least I think so,” he mutters. He looks up. Now it is his turn to grasp Zack’s face with both his hands, eyes roving over every little feature for what feels like an eternity. “You’re… different…” he breathes.

“So are you,” Zack quips. He pulls Cloud’s hands away from his face, and Cloud relinquishes his grip easily. His hands are trembling, and Zack carefully braces them against the kid’s chest. “Cloud, what happened to you?” he asks.

Cloud snorts as Zack helps him onto the bed again. “Right now? Or just in general?” he asks. He pushes away Zack’s hands as he continues to paw at him in concern.

“Both?” Zack questions, scooting ever closer to Cloud. The thought of him being mind-controlled has completely fled his mind. He knows Cloud, and while the eyes look impossibly older than the body, the mannerisms have stayed the same. This point is proven even more soundly when Cloud still tries to scoot away despite how unsteady he is. “Come on, Cloud. What happened? You were a fine, normal cadet, and now you’ve got mako eyes, and I know you haven’t been down to the labs.”

Cloud looks away, that furrow still firmly fixed between his brows. “I don’t know if you’ll believe me,” he whispers.

“At this point, I’ll believe anything,” Zack says honestly, “Try me.”

“First... tell me what year it is,” Cloud says with a heavy sigh. Zack’s gut twists, as he tells him and a look of profound loss overtakes Cloud’s features. “Well, first off, ten years from now, I get shot, and then… blown up. But there’s a lot that happens before that," he says haltingly. Zack settles in to listen.

When Cloud finishes his long story, Zack remains still, sat stiffly in the same spot he started in. His eyes are wide, there is the tangy taste of copper on his tongue from a hole gnawed through his lip, and he has a headache from clenching his teeth. 

According to Cloud, he dies, not too long from now, and he spends a majority of his remaining time locked in Hojo’s lab. Beyond that, Sephiroth of all people would be at least the partial cause of his and Cloud’s capture, Zack’s demise, and eventually that of the entire world. Sephiroth doesn’t succeed, not the first time at least, but the world doesn’t recover either. Long after Zack's death, Sephiroth's death, and Shinra's fall, Cloud continued to speak waveringly about something called Geostigma. It was an illness borne from Sepheroth's madness and taint that ate away at people until there was nothing left. It spread rapidly and was always fatal. Cloud talked about another set of clones, though he failed to mention where the first went. And his eyes go oddly distant as he wound his tale down.

“I got shot, and...” Cloud wavers as he speaks, “I died. I know I did. I heard yours and Aerith’s voices…” He grimaces and looks at the ground, something distinctly hurt in his expression. “She said I was too old to adopt.”

Zack lets out the breath he had been holding. It's a lot. Looking at Cloud, seeing the pain in his eyes, the guilt, loss, and loneliness that weaved through his voice, Zack feels regrets for things that haven't happened yet. Cloud fought a war with the sword Zack forced into his hands, not once, but twice. He wasn't a SOLDIER and had no hand in the unmaking of its members. Yet he battled against demons that weren't his to battle like it was his purpose. Fragile and lost, he carried another’s burden all alone. Not this time.

 Zack forces it out. The regret and anxiety chased out with a deep breath and force of will. “Not anymore, eh?” he says, forcing a smirk onto his face, “You’re what, fifteen now?” The smirk becomes more genuine as he formulates his next words. “To hell with her. I can be your daddy if you want!” 

Cloud looks up at him sharply. “This is serious!” he snaps, but his cheeks have gone a touch pinker.

“I am serious,” Zack replies.

This earns him a hard shove to the floor. Zack takes it, laughing the whole way down.

“I forgot how much of an ass you were,” Cloud grumbles, crossing his arms and turning away.

“Hm… I must not have made a very good impression, then,” Zack says, “I’ll try harder this time.”

That gets a startled chuckle out of Cloud. The same shy smile, as if someone would tease him if they saw it, curls his lips. He sighs, and it disappears and Zack is sorry to see it go. 

“So you believe me?” Cloud asks, petulance forgotten in the face of desperation.

“What else can I believe?” Zack asks. At Cloud’s searching look, he shrugs. “I don’t wanna believe you, but I don’t see much other choice,” he says, “You blink and suddenly you’ve got SOLDIER eyes, Cloud. I don’t know who Aerith is, and I don’t want to believe Shinra would… would do us dirty like they did- do, but I've heard the rumors about Hojo, so…” He trails off, shrugging. “Better explanation than my ghost theory.”

Cloud stares at him, disbelieving. Zack snaps his fingers in his face. “Did you hear me? I believe you!” he says.

“I’m not even sure I believe myself,” Cloud mutters, blinking those bright eyes closed and then open again. The flush across his pale cheeks is still present, growing stronger since he began his tale, a feverish glaze to his eyes beyond the mako. Cloud huffs a sigh, leaning back.

“You… You’re reacting to the mako, aren't you?” Zack says quietly, “This isn’t your future body?”

Cloud glances up at him, then down at his hands. They still tremble, and all of Cloud is soon following suit. “I would look ten years older if it was my future body,” he says.

“Then… why’d you bring the enhancements with you?” Zack questions. He is quickly ramping himself up into a panic again. Beyond the freakiness of time travel, this is troubling. What if it was too much mako and Cloud became mako poisoned? How would Zack even explain what happened?

Cloud shrugs. “Don’t worry, Zack,” he says with a little half-smile, “It’s not that bad this time. I can feel it.”

Zack quiets. He feels dizzy with the realization that Cloud would indeed know what being dangerously exposed to mako felt like. “It’s still gonna suck,” he says, instead of crying.

Then there is a knock at the door, and Zack nearly jumps out of his skin. “Shit!” he hisses.

Cloud only looks over his shoulder questioningly. “You expecting company?” he asks calmly, as Zack begins to really panic.

“No!” he whispers, “Keep your voice down. This is the SOLDIER Second floor, whoever they are can probably hear you!”

He drops into another squat, this time holding the back of his neck and breathing slowly. “Do you think it’d be more suspicious if I don’t answer the door?” he asks, looking up to Cloud for some form of guidance.

Cloud shrugs unhelpfully. “I don’t know who it is, so maybe?” he says.

The knock at the door sounds again, causing them both to jump. “Well, they know we’re in here. It’s… It’s only as suspicious as you make it look,” he says in a way that sounds like it’s supposed to be reassuring, but only assures Zack that they are absolutely doomed.

“What am I even gonna say?” Zack laments, “I’m a terrible liar, Cloud! What if it’s a Turk?” Even Cloud looks a bit hopeless at that.

“Making them wait any longer will definitely make them suspicious,” Cloud reasons. He pauses for a moment, thinking, while Zack rocks back and forth on his heels. “Just tell them what happened. I passed out. I just have a little fever, so you took me here instead of medical.”

“Yes!” Zack shouts, “That’s exactly what I’ll tell them!”

Cloud is given only a minute to wince at his volume before whoever it is knocks again. This one is harder and more insistent. “Zack?” Angeal’s voice calls through the wood of the door. Zack gives his own wince. He doesn’t know what has brought him to this floor, but it can’t be good. He looks back at Cloud who nods towards the door, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Coming! Just a second!” Zack shouts.

He shuts the bedroom door as he leaves, rushing towards the front door. He peers outside the peephole, seeing not only Angeal, but the very top of Genesis’s head behind him. Angeal stares directly at the peephole, clearly able to hear Zack’s footsteps near the door. Zack quickly unlocks the door, opening it wide enough for him to poke his head out. “Sorry! I was listening to music!” he blurts, “Didn’t hear the door.”

Angeal looks doubtful at that. Zack tries not to laugh nervously about it. “W-what can I do for you?” Zack says instead, cringing at his stutter.

“You seem a bit frantic, Zack,” Angeal says. Behind him, Genesis snorts. “We came here to check on you,” he adds, attempting to catch a glimpse of Zack’s apartment through the crack in the door. Zack swallows. He knows Angeal can see where the light from the bedroom leaks past the door frame, bright in the otherwise dark apartment.

“ You came to check on him,” Genesis corrects. He gives Zack no warning as he reaches forward and forces the door open with the effortless strength of a SOLDIER First. He lets himself inside with a haughty strut. “I came to make sure we made it on time for our next meeting,” he says. He stands in the center of the living room, staring at the old take-out containers on the coffee table and the blanket crumpled on the couch with disgust.

“A mess as usual,” Genesis sniffs. Zack ignores him, trying not to bounce on the balls of his feet as Angeal makes his way inside.

“Wow! Angeal,” Zack says, a bit louder than is strictly necessary, “Genesis! Why’d you come to check on little old me?” He keeps his eyes trained on the two of them and not at all towards the bedroom door.

“We heard from a secretary that you were ducking and rolling around like a Wutai ninja,” Angeal says. He glances around disapprovingly at Zack’s mess, but doesn’t comment on it. “And we heard from some troops in the rec room that your trooper friend fainted?” he adds, casting an obvious glance to the bedroom door.

“Oh! Yeah!” Zack says, scratching the back of his head, “Yeah. He passed out. He just has a little cold or flu, or something. We didn’t want to bother the infirmary, so I brought him here to sleep it off.” He hopes the explanation comes off as casual, or at least logical.

“Doesn’t explain why you made a stealth mission out of it,” Genesis points out. He pushes the blanket to the side and sits on Zack’s couch.

“Well… you know… people talk…” Zack says weakly, “Cloud was worried about people judging him for getting special treatment, you know?”

Genesis rolls his eyes at that, but Angeal takes on a more concerned look. “Oh, that must be some cold,” Angeal says, “If he passed out, it must be serious, Zack. You should know that. Unenhanced people aren’t as sturdy as you think they are.”

“O-oh… you think so?” Zack says, glancing towards the door as well, “But Cloud said he was fine. Said he’d be better after a little medicine and some r&r.” 

Angeal sighs. “You should have still taken him to medical,” he says, “A trooper’s job is taxing. There’s any number of things that could be making him feel sick, not just a virus.” He gives Zack one of his disappointed looks, the one reserved for when Zack makes a particularly egregious mistake.

“I want to check on him myself,” Angeal says. He turns to make his way towards the bedroom door. “He just through here, right?” he asks.

“W-wait,” Zack yelps, stepping between Angeal and the door. “Cloud’s a little nervous about appearances. If a First comes and checks on him when he’s not feeling good, he’ll be embarrassed!” At least that bit was true. For someone who spent most of their life content with being invisible, Cloud was awfully concerned with the impression he left on the higher-ups. Mostly because there was always that small sliver of hope that he could reapply to SOLDIER.

Angeal shakes his head. “I think this overrides feelings, Zack,” he says gently. Before Zack can protest, Angeal has reached past him and opened the door. Zack spins on his heel, dreading what he will find. A mako-fied Cloud sat up in bed, staring at them with his wide and glowing blue eyes would spell disaster.

Instead, Zack finds Cloud’s boots near the window. Cloud himself is curled on his side under the covers. He has pulled them over his chin and nose, tucking his face into his chest, so that all that is readily visible is his tuft of blonde spikes. With how small Cloud is, it looks like a child snuggled down in bed. Zack can see on Angeal’s face the moment he makes a similar connection. His expression melts from worry into fondness. Angeal has always loved children, especially cute children. Cloud isn’t a kid, not technically, but he is cute. He is close enough that he tugs at Angeal’s heart, Zack supposes.

“Oh… he’s sleeping,” Angeal whispers. He takes a step back. “Let’s wait for him to come around.”

“Oh, please,” Genesis huffs, stomping past them into the room. “Cloud, was it? Get the hell up and tell Angeal you’re fine so that we can be on our way.” He says it in a loud stage voice so that it echoes off the walls.

Cloud twitches, then shifts, rolling underneath the covers. He makes slow progress onto his back, squinting up at Genesis. His hair sticks out in all directions, and there is a clear fever flush high on his cheeks. “Who the hell?” he mutters muzzily. Zack is almost frightened by how good Cloud’s act is. He looks like he has been dead asleep, and he even sounds a bit congested.

“Hey,” Angeal calls in a much gentler voice than Genesis. This draws Cloud’s slow attention to him and prompts an eye roll from Genesis. “We wanted to come check on you. We heard you passed out,” he explains, voice and eyes soft, “How are you feeling?”

Cloud’s sleep bleary facade breaks for a half-second, leaving clear befuddlement in its wake. By the time any of them have blinked, drowsy, sick Cloud is back. He gives Angeal a sour look. “Fine,” he says, nose wrinkled. He sniffs with effort, making to roll back over in bed.

“Wait a second,” Genesis snaps. His hand strikes like lightning, grabbing Cloud by the chin. He jerks him up, nearly out of bed, and stares directly into his eyes. Cloud grabs his bare wrist to support himself. “That’s mak- Argh!”

Before either Zack or Angeal can yell at him to put Cloud down, Genesis abruptly drops to his knees, clutching his shoulder. He breathes heavily, letting out a few thin whimpers. Angeal is immediately at his side. Cloud leans over the side of the bed, staring at Genesis with wide eyes, his sleepy act forgotten.

“You… you’re hurt,” Cloud says, eyes distant, “...sick…” His expression darkens, struck wide-eyed and horrified at his own words, hands fisting the blankets underneath him.

Angeal ignores him. “What’s wrong, Gen, talk to me!” he mutters. Without waiting for Genesis to reply, he strips off his jacket, then tears the collar of his shirt down to reveal a layer of bandages, soaked through with black. Another tug and his shoulder is bared for all to see. What comes to light is a horrible black mark, darkest in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. It climbs over Genesis’s shoulder, down his front, and disappearing behind his back. It is black as pitch, and wet with a viscous inky liquid. It sticks to Angeal’s fingers when he touches it, and Genesis cries out in pain.

The black mark moves, pulsing. Zack moves forward in terrified fascination, watching as the mark begins to melt into black liquid and drip down to stain Genesis’s shirt. It starts at the source, the wound dissolving outward from there to reveal pale skin underneath. In less than a minute, the entire thing has disappeared as if it were never there. Genesis lets out a strained breath and collapses into Angeal’s side.

Angeal braces him. “Genesis? Genesis!” he yells, giving his limp form a little shake. When Genesis doesn’t respond, he turns his attention to Cloud. “What’d you do to him?!” he demands, fondness replaced by betrayal.

Cloud stares at his own hands as they tremble violently. “I don’t know…” he whispers. His face is blank, but his eyes are wide. “That was… geostigma…?” he whispers, like saying the word will summon the awful disease into the room.

“A much more poetic name…” Genesis mutters, his face still pressed in Angeal’s shoulder, “Hollander called it degradation.” He sits up under Angeal’s careful assistance. They both spare a moment to run their hands over his blemishless skin. Then he uses his grip on Angeal’s shirt to right himself, rolling his shoulder. “But you would know better, wouldn’t you? You healed me,” he declares, shooting to his feet. Angeal follows him, continuing to brace him, but it looks unneeded. 

“I don’t know,” Cloud says honestly. His gaze runs over Genesis’s healed shoulder. The expression he makes is somehow pained. “There was never a cure before,” he explains. He squints, summoning information from a painful place. “Geostigma… It’s not a disease, really. It’s the body’s reaction to Jenova cells. Once you’re exposed, it will eat away at you until there’s nothing left, or you die. We could never figure out how it was triggered, or how to remove the cells,” he finishes. He looks to Genesis as if the man might have answers for Cloud’s own miracle.

“Jenova…?” Angeal asks, looking from Cloud to Genesis, “I’ve heard that name before… where…?”

“I’m sure you have,” Cloud says, derailing his train of thought, “Don’t believe anything you’ve heard or... hear. She’s an alien parasite, the Calamity. She has no plans to save anyone or anything and she won’t.” His gaze has gone distant again like he is caught in a memory. He blinks, and his eyes clear, though he still looks troubled.

Genesis nods along as if Cloud is speaking gospel. As he looks at Cloud, almost in awe, he keeps running his fingers over the sight of the wound. It is completely gone, not even a scar to mark its existence. His lips move as he recites something to himself, eyes still roving over Cloud’s form. “You… You’re the Gift,” he finally says, narrowing his eyes at Cloud.

“Uh…” Cloud looks helplessly to Zack, who gives a little shrug, helpless himself. “I don’t know about that,” he says.

“I know! For certain,” Genesis says, nearly manic with the rush of his discovery, “The gift of the goddess!” 

Genesis pushes Angeal away, standing without help, looking both brighter and healthier than he had before. His cheeks have regained the color Zack hadn’t realized they had lost, and his eyes are clearer. He grins at Cloud, all straight white teeth as Angeal continues to look between them. Leaving Genesis, he reaches forward, he hovers his large hand cautiously just over Cloud’s face, directing him to look up without touching him. Cloud does so, only to glare at him, after glancing at his hand as if it were a snake.

“...Those… are the eyes of a SOLDIER,” Angeal says, squinting down at Cloud, ignoring his poisonous glare, “You’re only a trooper. How did this happen?”

“...the bringer of life,” Genesis quotes as if that were a good explanation. He looks dreamily at Cloud. “The gift of the goddess,” he breathes, amazed.

Cloud moves away from Angeal, smacking his hand away, only to wither under Genesis’s eager stare. Zack doesn’t blame him. Angeal spares a look at Genesis, only to roll his eyes and run a hand down his face. Zack doesn’t blame him either. “Genesis, please. Now is not the time,” he groans.

Genesis ignores him. He strides forward, his jacket fluttering behind him as he falls to his knees before Cloud. He grabs both of Cloud’s hands before he can recoil, holding them reverently. “To become the dew that quenches the land,” he says, voice grave and soft, “to spare the sands, the seas, the skies…” He bows his head, raising both Cloud’s hands above his head. “I offer thee this silent sacrifice.”

The delivery is somber, weighty with commitment. Yet the words fall flatly into silence, even if they sounded for a moment like they meant something. Cloud looks uncomfortable. Angeal looks embarrassed. Zack can’t believe this is happening. 

“Did you just pledge your life to Cloud?” Zack chokes.

Cloud quickly snatches his hands away from Genesis at that. “I’m good, thanks,” he mutters. This only earns him a pleading look from Genesis. Cloud looks away quickly.

“Genesis, I mean it. Stop that,” Angeal says, pulling him roughly from the floor, “This isn’t the time to be joking around.” He turns on Cloud now, looking him up and down, taking in the pink high on his cheeks and the glazed quality of his eyes over the otherwordly glow of mako. 

“You’re actually sick,” Angeal says, wonderingly. He moves forward, pulls one glove off, and inches the palm of his hand towards Cloud’s forehead. Cloud wrinkles his nose and moves away from the show of concern from a stranger, but Angeal follows until Cloud has nowhere to go but off the side of the bed. His other hand comes to rest on Cloud’s back behind his shoulder blades to keep him from falling while the other slides under his blonde fringe. Zack holds his breath, expecting some kind of explosive reaction like with Genesis, but nothing happens. The moment lingers.

Cloud squirms. “You say you became enhanced within the last few hours?” Angeal questions, breaking the silence.

“That’s the story,” Cloud says reluctantly. He manages to slide out of Angeal’s hold, and Angeal lets him go without a fight. “Passed out, woke up, and suddenly I have eyes like Zack’s,” he finishes, scooting away from both the SOLDIER Firsts. He conveniently leaves out the bit about time-travel. Zack doubts it would go over well with Angeal anyway. 

“However you got it, you will start to feel seriously ill without help,” Angeal says sternly, “The mako could send you into a coma, or worse, it could kill you. I’m surprised it hasn’t done so already. We need to take you down to the infirmary right away. Zack should have done that to begin with.”

Cloud blanches so badly that even the fevered red of his cheeks flees. “I’m fine!” he barks. Then, a little less desperate, “I’m fine. I’d know if I wasn’t. If the mako was gonna kill me, it would have done it by now. You know that.”

Angeal looks hesitant. “Be that as it may, these are extenuating circumstances,” he replies. He rests his hands on his hips, staring down Cloud with the same look he gives Zack when he orders him to do more reps. “We don’t know if you will have a delayed reaction to the mako. We don’t know if your enhancements are safe!”

“Of course they’re safe. He’s blessed,” Genesis chimes in, “The infirmary wouldn’t know what to do with something so divine.” 

“Genesis. Stop,” Angeal scolds. It does nothing to cow Genesis at all. He smirks at him, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

Cloud huffs, looking between the two. “I don’t know anything about any blessings, but I know I’ll be fine. I know what too much mako feels like. This isn’t that,” he says. Angeal’s rightfully troubled look indicates Cloud’s impending doom.

“What do you mean, ‘you know what that feels like?'” he asks, his scolding tone sounds worried now. When Angeal is suspicious or angry, he may back down. Now that he is concerned, he will hound Cloud until he goes to the infirmary and gets a clean bill of health. Zack groans internally.

“I mean this isn’t my first time on the behemoth,” Cloud says flatly, “You said it yourself, this is an extenuating circumstance, what’s medical going to do about it?” He doesn’t wait for Angeal to formulate a response. “I’ll tell you what they’ll do. Once they find out I'm not a junkie, they’ll hand me over to the science department, and then they’ll do a bunch of tests, and when they can’t figure out what happened, they’ll kill me, lock me up, or keep experimenting on me. Probably all three.” He says it all in that same flat tone, matter-of-fact and emotionless. The intensity can be seen in his eyes, though. The blue is deep and intense, the depths of a storm-torn sea. It makes the ring of light around his pupil that much more intense.

“You can’t tell me I’m wrong. You’re not that stupid. Even Zack could figure out that much,” he says.

“Hey!” Zack calls, snapped out of his daze by the offense.

Angeal studies Cloud carefully. “They will find out eventually,” he says. It isn’t a threat, but it sounds like one anyway.

“No, they won’t,” Cloud says blandly, “I’m leaving.”

With that, he slides his legs over the side of the bed and stands. He makes it one step before his legs fold under him like wet noodles. If not for Angeal’s super speed, he would have fallen and cracked his head on the bedside table. Instead, Angeal catches him with a hand on his chest, steadying him.

“I’ll leave when the room stops spinning,” Cloud corrects. At least this time he looks more dizzy than in pain. Angeal glances up, fixing Zack with a meaningful look, then nods towards the door.

“Okay... We’ll let you rest, for now, then,” Angeal says. He winds an arm under Cloud’s legs and another under his back and lifts him like he weighs nothing. He deposits him carefully in the center of the bed, with his head resting on the pillows, before pulling the blanket up over his legs. Cloud watches him with clear confusion through the entire process, with a frowning mouth and furrowed brow. He doesn’t resist being tucked in though, or the hand that rests for a moment on his forehead. Angeal seems to have confused him into compliance. “Come on, Zack. Genesis,” he calls, withdrawing his hand.

“But I…” Zack begins to protest, but is forced to leave when Angeal grabs his arm and drags him out. “Cloud! Feel better!” he calls, glancing at the still befuddled blonde over Angeal’s shoulder. Genesis brings up the rear, still smiling, ever so slightly.

Once they are in the living room, Angeal lets him go. He lets out a long sigh and doesn’t speak for long enough that the air becomes tense again. He looks over Zack, then over Genesis, eyes hard.

“So that was Cloud,” Zack says as casually as he can, “Uh… normally he’s a little more… normal than that.”

“You’re certain this was sudden?” Angeal asks, ignoring his weak attempt at conversation. “You are absolutely sure that he wasn’t enhanced before he passed out?” The look he gives him is stern, sharp as the buster sword on his back, and just as weighty.

Zack shrinks under it. “Yeah,” he says, somber, “One minute we were joking around and the next he’s got SOLDIER eyes. I don’t know… I don’t know what happened.” That much is at least not a lie. “Cloud doesn’t either.”

“It’s simple,” Genesis says. He walks over to Zack’s couch and settle’s himself down, crossing his legs. His manic smile from earlier has mellowed out into a smirk, though his eyes are still bright and sparking with energy. “He is blessed. As I said, he is the Gift of the Goddess. Life, and light. Salvation in our darkest hour of need,” he explains.

“Even if it is… divine intervention,” Angeal says reluctantly, “We still don’t know how he cured you. We don’t know if he did a complete job of it. How do we know he isn’t infected himself? How about the rest of us?” He turns to look at each of them as he speaks. His tone is calm, but his expression belies his urgency. “As much as I hate to go against his wishes, we must take him to medical,” he finishes.

“We can’t!” Zack protests, stepping between Angeal and his bedroom door. “You heard Cloud. You heard what they’ll do! The science department will tear him apart trying to figure out what happened!”

“Just yesterday, you were singing the praises of the science department,” Angeal says, raising an eyebrow knowingly. “You were just telling me about how their scientific advancements were improving life for Midgar. What changed, Zack? Why suddenly all the suspicion?”

Zack flounders. What changed is that Cloud told him about how they tortured them and Shinra turned a blind eye. What changed is that he saw the way Cloud’s eyes went distant and pained and heard how his voice dipped and wavered. He saw the devastation on his face when he said the words, “They killed you.” Cloud wouldn’t lie about that, even if it was to save his own skin. Zack wouldn’t ever let him fall back into their hands if he could help it.

“Zack is right,” Genesis says. His smirk is gone, replaced by something darker as he glares up at Angeal. “Do you think I became ill overnight and kept it to myself?” Genesis asks. When no one replies, he snorts humorlessly. “Of course I reported my injury. Of course, I told them when it didn’t heal. I was told not to worry. Then Hollander pounced on me like a cat on a mouse caught in a trap,” he tells them, “When he approached me, he seemed awfully eager. Like magic, he knew what the problem was. He promised if I let him experiment on me… if I let him use me, he could cure me. Months passed… and here we are.” He waves his hand carelessly, tucking his chin towards his chest.

“We know Hollander specializes in our enhancements,” Angeal says, though his voice is weak, “Maybe he knew that the possibility existed-”

“And he said nothing,” Genesis interrupts. “Would that not be something we should know? That the mako that grants us such extraordinary strength could also rot away our bodies? That it could sap that strength, steal our sanity, and even take our lives?”

“We knew this was not without risks…” Angeal replies, but even he doesn’t sound convinced.

“You know, Hollander offered me an ultimatum after this most recent set of 'remedies' proved futile,” he mentions casually as if talking about the forecast, “If a transfusion from you didn’t work, he wanted me to defect from Shinra. Go with him and take as many people as would come with me.”

“What?!” Angeal shouts. It is probably loud enough to be heard in the hall. Zack swallows, as Angeal’s expression becomes livid. In his pocket, Zack’s PHS buzzes, unnoticed by either SOLDIER First.

Genesis remains calm in the face of Angeal’s rage. “I am just mentioning to make my point,” Genesis says, “It seems Shinra’s science department has neither the company nor its people as its highest priority. I would hate to bring someone as precious as Cloud into that.”

Angeal’s shoulders slump. His eyes dart over Genesis’s face, searching for something. Genesis meets his gaze, and for a moment they share a silent conversation Zack can’t quite interpret. Angeal sighs. “We need to speak about that later,” he says, finally, “But Cloud cannot wait. I’m sure there’s a way to protect him while we have him checked out. We can stay with him throughout.”

“Why must we hand him over at all?” Genesis complains. He smacks his hand on the couch arm, exasperated. “Shinra is ever so talented at squandering magnificence. There’s no harm if we keep our lips sealed. In fact, it would be a service to do so.”

Zack’s PHS buzzes again, once and then after a short pause, three more times in short succession. He looks down, pulling it out of his pocket and glancing at the screen. As Angeal and Genesis continue to argue, Zack pulls his PHS out of sleep to see five unread messages from Cloud. He opens the first.

“I’m going to head out,” it reads. Zack stares at the screen, uncomprehending. He scrolls down.

“I’m gonna ditch this phone. I know your number,” the second reads. Then the third reads, “Angeal seems like a nice guy, just dumb.” A laugh fights its way out of Zack at that. “Genesis is weird though,” the fourth one states. Zack can hear it in Cloud’s contemplative voice. “Can you give me his number?” the fifth one asks. 

“Why? You think he’s cute?” Zack questions, partially teasing, but also because he knows how Cloud used to get when the SOLDIER Firsts were mentioned. He really looked up to them, especially Sephiroth, but maybe there was a little something more to that.

“Ew. no,” Cloud types back, almost immediately, “He swore his life to me. Isn’t that coercion?”

There is a little bubble at the bottom of the screen, a chocobo feather pen dipping into an inkwell and scribbling before dipping back in. Cloud is still typing, so Zack stays his fingers for a moment.

“No. I wanted to talk to him about all that Gift of the Goddess stuff,” Cloud sends after a pause.

“Dude. Don’t you know Loveless? That’s a quote from it. He does that all the time,” Zack explains, trying not to laugh, even as concern wells in him. Cloud had mentioned his memory was bad, but not to what extent.

“Oh,” Cloud sends back. The ink pen scribbles for a few moments more. “Nevermind.”

“Btw, how are you going to get out? I don’t think I can get G and A to leave,” Zack texts curiously.

“Zack, texting while we are having a conversation is quite rude, don’t you think?” Genesis scolds him. Zack looks up from his phone to see Angeal frowning severely at him, hands on his hips. Genesis also looks righteously offended.

Zack looks back down at his phone as it vibrates in his hands. “Already out,” Cloud’s text reads. Zack’s stomach drops into his feet.

“Uh… guys… I think Cloud escaped,” he says, staring at his phone.

“What?!” Angeal snaps, rushing for the bedroom door. Zack is quick to follow. Though Genesis remains sat on his couch, chuckling.

Angeal throws open the door, and Zack weaves around his bulk into the room. The bed is still a mess, but there is no Cloud wrapped in the blankets anymore. His shoes under the window are gone. Zack’s navy blue curtains blow in the gentle breeze from the open window. The screen used to keep out whatever bugs might be courageous enough to fly this high is absent too.

“H-holy shit!” Zack stutters, rushing towards the window. “Did he jump?!” He shoves his head out the window, glancing around. It isn’t a sheer drop, a few meandering pipes, the tops of connecting buildings and balconies dotting the area under the window, but Cloud is nowhere to be seen on any of them. “Cloud!” he shouts, long and desperate.

Angeal shoves him out of the way and climbs out the window, dropping onto a pipe winding just under Zack’s window. “He might have gone this way. Stay there in case he comes back!” Angeal commands, stomping fearlessly along the pipe and around the corner out of sight. Zack backs away from the window until his legs hit the bed, falling onto it.

Cloud is gone. Cloud is mako sick and recently time-traveled and now missing. He could fall to his death from the piping and scaffolding outside the window. He could get caught by Angeal, dragged back, and tortured by the science department. He could be on the run forever, and Zack might never see him again. Zack feels sick

“Oh, this keeps getting better and better,” Genesis says, delighted. He is standing in the doorway, though it is clear he has no intention to help Angeal find Cloud. “Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess,” he whispers with another touch to his shoulder.

“With all due respect,” Zack breathes, staring blankly at his open window,  “Shut up, Genesis.”

Chapter Text

Even out of the building and hidden safely in the bustle of one of Midgar’s busiest plate-side streets, Cloud is still reeling. Everything had happened so fast and just wouldn’t stop. One minute, Cloud was floating in the warm embrace of the lifestream, ready to give himself up and finally rest. The next, he is over a decade into the past, surrounded by two of Shinra’s most powerful SOLDIERS and performing miracle healings of a once incurable disease.

Now he stands in the middle of one of Midgar’s upper plates, marveling at the lack of destruction from Meteor, or exploded reactors. It seemed like Zack hadn’t been trying to perform an elaborate prank. Cloud is truly in the past.

He hears the echo of Aerith’s laughter ring in his ears. The light-headedness from earlier returns, nearly tipping him sideways. The ambient sounds of Midgar fade away. Cars rumbling past, children calling to each other as they play, angry phone conversations, everything falls to a dull roar in the back of his mind as Aerith’s sweet voice takes center stage.

“This one’s too old to adopt,” she says, voice full of amusement. Cloud’s chest tightens at the rejection.

“Sorry, Spike.” Zack’s voice this time. It is just a little older, a little graver, but still jovial. “Looks like you’ll have to go back.”

“But don’t worry! We’ll leave you with a gift!” Aerith soothes Cloud’s building anxiety lightly. He feels gentle fingers on his cheek, eyes fluttering shut as cool rain patters on his face. “You’ll be alright,” Aerith promises. Cloud believes her.

Someone bowls directly into Cloud’s back, knocking themselves to the ground, and causing Cloud to stumble. A short, bald man curses as he hits the ground, dropping his briefcase and cellphone into the street. Cloud blinks, remembering himself, where he is. He takes the opportunity to disappear down a back alley as the man scrambles to his feet.

His PHS is buzzing incessantly. Has been since he told Zack he had escaped. He ducks into the shadow of a few clustered buildings, pulling it from his pocket. When he flips it open, he finds two missed calls and over twenty unread messages, all from Zack.

The first ten are variations of ‘CLOUD! COME BACK!’ or ‘OH MY GODS!’ Cloud scrolls through them quickly before he comes across the first coherent message.

“Angeal is gonna blab!” it says. Cloud can almost hear Zack’s voice when he reads it, the helplessness in it flavored distinctly like Angeal caught them stealing food from the mess hall, not attempting to hide sudden SOLDIER-ification. “Genesis is in your corner, though!” Zack reassures him. Cloud is unsure if that’s entirely a good thing.

“On second thought. Don’t come back,” Zack texts again, two minutes later. Cloud almost feels a little hurt, but recognizes the logic in it. Then he reads the last text. “Sephiroth is here.”

Cloud doesn’t bother to read the rest because panic knocks his vision out for a moment. He doesn’t feel or see himself launch the phone into the adjacent brick wall, only sees the pieces of it rain to the ground as his vision clears. His heart is pounding, and it feels like no matter how hard he tries he can’t get a deep breath in. He stares at the broken pieces for a long time, feeling his heart try to beat itself out of his chest. He listens to the sounds of passing cars and stomping footsteps outside the alley. Eventually, after no Sephiroth appears, no voices fill his head, his heart rate slows, and he feels like he can breathe again.

It is over ten years into the past. Sephiroth isn’t the unhinged, eternal, vengeful monster that he would become. Cloud still wonders. Was he evil before Jenova sunk her claws into him and drove him to madness? Was Jenova really the cause of it all? Cloud still didn’t remember that much from before he met Tifa in Midgar. He vaguely remembers idolizing Sephiroth, the most powerful of the SOLDIER Firsts. He remembers how the SOLDIER behaved towards Zack at Nibelheim, but that isn’t nearly enough to put Cloud at ease. 

He knows the end of the world truly begins in Nibelheim, when Cloud throws Sephiroth and a piece of Jenova into the lifestream, thus ensuring they would never truly die. Was that truly the beginning of it all, or just the inevitable climax?

He looks at his hands. Geostigma is another one of Jenova’s and Sephiroth’s slights against Gaia. Caused by the body’s attempts to fight off Jenova’s cells, it was as cruel as it was fatal. That black mark on Genesis’s shoulder was definitely Geostigma, ten years before it spread throughout the world. Cloud had stopped it with a touch. Did that make him some kind of Jenova filter now?

He shakes his head once, roughly. Either way, one surefire way to prevent the ultimate decay and death of the planet was to destroy Jenova. Sephiroth was dangerous, but not a threat to the world without her. In a perfect world, he would do away with Jenova and Sephiroth both. However, at the moment, mako sick with no weapons, no materia, no allies, and probably all of Shinra on his ass, going after Sephiroth would be as good as suicide. Cloud isn’t about to throw Aerith’s and Zack’s second chance away.

So to Nibelheim, it is. Only the same obstacles still present themselves. He has no money, materia, weapons, or allies. He could do without allies, but he needs a weapon, and a way to Nibelheim, both of which cost money. Something he couldn’t access as he didn’t remember his bank account information. Even if he did, Shinra would be on him before he had time to blink.

He sighs, making his way to one of the many secret ways to cross between the upper plate and the slums. The train would definitely be a no-go. His pockets had a wallet in them, but he isn’t carrying much. He would just have to do this the old-fashioned way.

Aerith’s church looks the same, even ten years into the past. It stands, illuminated by the dimmed lights and sparse moonlight that leaks underneath the plate. The wood is chipped, paint eaten away by time, but it still stands there sturdily, beckoning Cloud forward. It is night, so Cloud knows Aerith isn’t there. He won’t have to worry about startling her as he pushes one of the grand double doors open wide enough to slip through. Once inside, he is struck breathless by the sight of a small bed of beautiful, blooming flowers. Sunny yellow and pure white, they almost glow in the sparse light shining through the holes in the church ceiling.

As Cloud makes his way further inside, evidence of Aerith is everywhere. He sees muddy boot prints traipsing from the hole in the church floor in between the many dusty pews, then deeper into the recesses of the church. There is a rusty watering can, still full, set on the floor by a pew. A basket is tucked against one wall with a pink ribbon wound around the arched handle. It is empty, but a few small leaves and white petals reveal what it normally holds. He sees a small wooden crate full of small hand rakes and trowels, a pair of worn work gloves draped over the side. Deeper still, behind the podium and through the small door at the back of the church, there is an unlit oil lamp. Next to it sits a thick book of ancient fairytales, a dragon embossed on the cover.

Cloud’s chest feels tight as he steps over the book. Before, he had always come here when everything got to be too much. When he needed rest deeper than sleep could provide. It was a reminder that there was still hope. When he felt alone and a stranger to even himself, this is where he went. He always thought that Aerith’s presence was a little stronger here like he could hear her better if he listened. Sitting on a church pew, he could hear her delighted laugh, her matter-of-fact, yet bright speech, the swish of her dress as she moved all became so much clearer here. Now, despite all the physical evidence of her presence, it is silent. There is nothing, but the sound of his boots against the creaking wood. He should feel relieved, and he does, but also hollow.

Cloud chooses a place in the shadows and drops into an exhausted sleep.

He wakes to the feeling of water cooling his face and Aerith’s humming. He blinks open his eyes to the church’s backroom, dappled with patchy, warm light. It makes everything look so much more alive, as does the sound of Aerith’s voice and the tap of her boots against the floor. Cloud can’t help but smile a little bit. “Just a dream, huh?” he mutters to himself, rolling to sit up. Though when he does a cloth falls from his face into his lap with a wet slap.

“What was?” Aerith’s voice asks him. Cloud looks up to see her peering at him through the doorway, green eyes wide and curious.

Cloud’s breath gets caught in his throat and his head spins. “Hellooooo?” she calls, stepping into the room.

“Ah…” Cloud says intelligently, at a loss, “Hell-Hello.”

She giggles. Coming to kneel before him, she gazes into his eyes. A smile plays on her lips, but her own eyes betray her anxiety. She reaches forward, pressing the palm of her hand to Cloud’s forehead. Her skin feels cool, and Cloud closes his eyes. She lets out a thoughtful hum. “Much better than earlier,” she mutters.

“Earlier…?” Cloud questions hazily.

“Yeah,” Aerith says. Then her brows furrow as she looks over his face critically. “Did the fever fry your brain?” she asks worriedly.

“I don’t think there’s much left to fry,” he mutters honestly. Things start slotting back into place. Cloud remembers this is an Aerith years younger than the one Cloud knows. She doesn’t know him, or Zack, or what happens five years from now. She just walked in to see him sleeping on her floor.

“Sorry!” he blurts at the realization. He makes to stand, finding it a bit more difficult than it ought to be. “I only wanted to stay the night,” he explains, sheepish, “I’ll leave.”

Aerith places both her hands on Cloud’s shoulders and steers him with surprising strength back to sitting. “Nope!” she chirps, “You’re fever’s better, but it’s not all the way better.” She stands. Hands on her hips, she looks over Cloud appraisingly. “Besides, like I’d let someone this exciting get away!” she declares.

Cloud blinks at her, looking around to try and figure out what she means. He hardly thinks a random stranger sleeping in her church counts as exciting, but he didn’t have anything remotely interesting on him either, much less something Aerith would find exciting. He frowns at her. Aerith laughs, delighted. “Not something, someone! You!” she says. Then she leans down and flicks him on the nose.

“Hey!” Cloud snaps. He swats at her, but she dances gracefully away.

“I'm not exciting, I’m trouble,” Cloud warns sternly. The Aerith of his future didn’t need such a warning. This one is a lot more carefree.

“Alright, Mr. Trouble,” she says, eyes sparkling with mirth and mischief, “I’m Aerith!”

Cloud sighs. “I’m not joking, Aerith,” he argues. No wonder she and Zack got along so well. They couldn’t read the room if it was engraved on the backs of their eyelids. Or maybe they blatantly choose not to. “I really shouldn’t be here. Let alone be seen with you.”

“Oh? Why?” Aerith asks, “Because you’re trouble?”

“Yes. Exactly,” Cloud says sternly. Aerith still smiles at him.

“I love trouble,” she says her smile turning into a grin, “Now you have to stay.”

Cloud lets loose another sigh. Aerith winks at him, then disappears into the main room of the church, leaving Cloud reeling. He remembered Aerith like this, insistent and stubborn, but didn't think she had always been this way.

She returns to him a moment later with a small picnic basket.

“You hungry, Trouble?” she asks. Cloud rolls his eyes, but doesn’t correct her.

Aerith settles next to him on the floor despite Cloud’s grumbling. She eats cheerfully. Won’t call him anything but Trouble, which Cloud supposes is apt. She also insists on shoving food into his hands like it’s her life’s mission to feed him until he explodes. Cloud has never had a good appetite, that he can remember, and it got even worse after his enhancements. It’s hard to refuse something when Aerith gives him a disappointed look the first time he says no though. 

Once Cloud has eaten everything Aerith can offer, she speaks. “The Planet told me you were coming,” she says. He looks over at her, surprised. Though she still smiles, it looks strained. “Actually, she said you had arrived,” she corrects, “She said that you were alone, so you might come find me. But I don't know why, and she didn't say.”

Cloud considers her. He recognizes her expression, the set of her shoulders. He saw it when Aerith saw the sky for the first time, and before she entered the Forgotten City. He sees apprehension mixed with a determination, or rather, the knowledge that there is nothing that can stop what is coming. It can only be endured.

“I knew you in the future,” Cloud says because he knows it would be useless to lie, “I… just needed a familiar place to rest.”

Aerith’s shoulders slump in relief and her smile brightens. “Then rest all you need!” she says cheerily, “But don’t leave until your fever is gone!” With that, she prances away.

Cloud rests for the rest of the day. He knows that Shinra is looking for him and this is the best place to be spotted, but he can’t shake the security he feels. Aerith interrupts him occasionally with questions. Ordinarily, they would be taxing, but it is nice to really hear Aerith’s voice again.

“Are you a SOLDIER?” she asks.

“No, but I’m made of the same stuff,” he answers.

“How old are you?” she queries.

“15 or 16, I think,” he replies. He doesn’t remember when he left for SOLDIER, but he would have to be the proper age for application.

“Are you really all alone?” she questions.

“Not anymore,” he says.

That answer makes her grin and has her singing softly as she tends to her garden.

By evening, when Cloud is feeling a lot better, Aerith returns with another picnic basket and a new question.

“What are you going to do now?” she asks, passing him a small tin of soup. She has two, so she must have told her mother that she was eating with someone else.

“I've got a skeleton of a plan,” Cloud says, setting the soup on the ground by his feet. “Make money, get a weapon, get a bike, get to Nibelheim, save the world,” he counts them all off on his fingers.

“Sounds simple!” Aerith says with a clap. She pulls a loaf of bread out of the basket, tears off a piece, and shoves it in her mouth without much preamble. “How are you gonna make money?” she questions, mouth still full. She offers the bread to Cloud.

Cloud pulls a piece off with his fingers. “Odd jobs, I guess,” he says, examining the piece. It is still warm, freshly baked from Aerith’s mother. “I’m good with a sword, but I don't have one, so I figured I could fix things up for people, run deliveries, stuff like that.” 

Aerith’s eyes light up. “What kinds of things can you fix?” she asks, leaning closer to him, fixing him with that wide green gaze of her.

“I don't know... fences, rooves..." he lists off the things as he remembers all the work that went into their homes in Edge. "I'm also good with anything with a motor, really,” he adds, thinking of Fenrir. Aerith leans in closer, and Cloud leans back. “I’m a little iffy with pipes, and I don’t know shit about things that run on mako.” That includes himself, he supposes.

“You’re going to be so popular,” she promises, sounding almost awed. Cloud has a bad feeling about that.

The day after next, has Cloud exiting the church before sunup with a handwritten note from Aerith. It has a list of locations, names, and what needs fixing. Mostly it is old energy generators fences and some appliances. Underneath that, it says ‘Good Luck, Trouble!’ written in whimsical loops. Cloud sighs at the new nickname he inadvertently gave himself. He guesses it’s better than using his name. Zack would be down below plate looking for him as soon as he caught wind of any Clouds floating around. He decides to stick with it.

He recognizes a bunch of places from his first visit. Nothing much changed, at least not in the five years it took for him to arrive here the first time. Before, Cloud had been preoccupied with a lot of things, mind and memory foggy, heart fearful and cold. He had been basically clueless. He didn’t know or care about much more than swordplay, thanks to all the memories he stole from Zack. Now he is handy, as Tifa liked to call him, and it’s easy to spot all the places that have fallen into disrepair. There is certainly enough work for Cloud to pay for what he needs, assuming the people of Sector 5 can pay.

He approaches the door to the first place on his list. It’s a residential place with a door made of repurposed metal from a scrap pile. There are a few children’s toys out front on the porch, and a barrel set under a drain running along the roof of the house to keep runoff from flooding around the front door. Cloud knocks once on the door and it swings open almost immediately.

He had never been good at customer service, even when he ran his delivery service. However, he doesn’t have his reputation to rely on anymore, so he softens his voice, even if he can’t quite form a smile. “Hi, I’m-”

“Trouble, right?” the man at the door asks. He is burly, about two heads taller than Cloud and twice his width. He has a balding head and a trimmed black beard with dark brown eyes. He gives Cloud an appraising look as he nods. “Good. Get in here!” he says, rough, but not unkind. 

He sweeps Cloud inside with a big hand between his shoulders. He uses that same hand to steer Cloud around their cluttered house, stepping over toys and a screaming child. He is eventually brought to the back of the house to a room crowded with shelves. An old fuel-powered generator sits in the corner. Though there are several canisters of fuel, the generator itself looks dusty and unused.

The man gestures to it rather hopelessly. “Don’t think you can fix it, but if you don’t mind giving it a try,” he says morosely, “Without it, I don’t know how much longer we can keep the lights on.”

Cloud remembers this dilemma, at least vaguely. While mako was the main source of power and what Shinra pushed on the people with all its might, fossil fuels were still cheaper. They became cheaper still as fuel companies started struggling to make sales. Though after the destruction of Corel, it all but disappeared from common use. Those who couldn’t afford mako had to make do with candles and battery packs.

Cloud looks over the machine with a nod. He hasn’t touched a model like this before, but it couldn’t be too different from the ones they used for the hospitals in the aftermath of Shinra’s fall. “I’ll give it a shot,” he says, “You have any tools I can borrow?”

The man obliges, and soon Cloud has the machine taken apart. He carefully examines each bit and piece, cleaning dirt and rust from the gears and examining the wiring. Eventually, he stumbles across what must be the problem. He finds a spot where the wire that would transmit the signal for the spark plug has frayed. He carefully reconnects them and secures them with electrical tape. It isn’t the most sophisticated fix, but as long as no one picks the generator up and jostles it around, it will hold.

He stands back and fills the generator with a bit of fuel. He jams the starter on the side a few times with his thumb before the machine sputters to life. The man whoops, clapping Cloud on the back. “Well, I’ll be damned!” he chortles, “You’re a genius!”

“It’s not too hard if you know what to look for,” Cloud says with a shrug, “You want me to show you?”

“Won’t that put you out of business?” the man asks, hands on his hips. It doesn’t sound suspicious, and when Cloud looks at him, there is a small smile under his thick beard.

Cloud shrugs again. “This isn’t the business I want to be in,” he answers honestly.

“Fair enough,” the man sighs, then kneels down next to the generator as Cloud hits the shutoff.

The rest of the day goes more or less like that. Two more generators come to life under Cloud’s hands. A stove with chewed wires lights anew. A truck drives off with a new tire and a repaired bumper. Cloud is thanked hardily, but paid sparingly. He can’t say he really expected more.

By nightfall, he has netted himself around 700 gil, a free lunch, dinner, and a set of used tools. Aerith is still waiting in the church when he arrives through the back. As he walks into the main room, she spins like she had been expecting him all along. Her dress flares, arms wide as she comes to face him. She has a wide smile on her face. “Looks like you were successful!” she says at the sight of his small metal pail of stew and the set of tools now hooked to his belt. She shoots him a thumbs up, which Cloud returns with a small smile of his own.

“The people here are generous,” he says with a nod towards the pale of soup, “I don’t think I can eat it all.”

They share dinner. For Aerith, it’s her second dinner, though you couldn’t tell by the way she eats. Afterward, she lights the lantern and Cloud counts his earnings, doing math in his head. He needs new clothes, a weapon, materia, and some form of transportation to Nibelheim. He can’t stay here forever, and if a day’s work only gets him 700 gil, then it would take him months to save up for both a good weapon and a motorcycle, or really any vehicle at all. He sighs.

“It’d be stupid if I went out into the wastes without a weapon, huh?” he asks the open air.

“Pretty dumb,” Aerith agrees. She doesn’t look at him, instead looking out at her flowers. “Maybe you wouldn’t have to worry about having enough money if you stopped teaching everyone how to do your job!” she points out.

Cloud huffs, stuffing the gil back into his wallet. “I can’t stay here for long,” he explains, “And things will still need fixing after I’m gone. It’s better if they know how to do it themselves.” 

Aerith nods along. She looks at him and smiles. Cloud flushes, ruffling his own hair. “I know it’s stupid, okay?” he says.

“For someone who’s nothing but trouble, you’re awfully kind,” Aerith says thoughtfully.

Cloud’s embarrassment rises from a five to an eleven at that. He looks away, face burning. He hunches his shoulders. “I’ll make you regret those words,” he grumbles, “Believe me, I am trouble. Nothing but it.” 

Aerith laughs and reaches over to ruffle his hair. Cloud doesn’t laugh, but there is something warm inside of him and it isn’t just the soup.

Cloud buys new clothes the next day. He buys a black athletic shirt with long sleeves and a pair of thick, loose work pants in the same color. He sells the infantry uniform to a thrift shop and uses the surprising amount of money from that, plus what is leftover in his wallet to purchase a sword.

The sword he chooses isn’t a buster sword. It isn’t even close. It’s just a simple greatsword with one slot for a materia in the handle. It is needlessly heavy; an unbalanced, solid hunk of metal, and yet it rings like it will shatter if Cloud hits something the wrong way. He stares at it, his distorted reflection staring back at him on the blade’s surface.

“That’s unexpected, Trouble,” the shopkeeper mutters as Cloud tries another swing of the unwieldy thing. It feels like it is constantly trying to escape his grip. “You’re such a tiny fella, I would’ve pinned you for a rapier or a short sword,” he says. He doesn’t flinch as Cloud spins on his heel, pointing the tip of the sword at the man’s nose.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Cloud says, ignoring the tiny comment. He was young now, probably between fifteen and sixteen if he remembered. He still had time to grow. “How much?”

Even with the discount he gets for ‘being Trouble,’ it still drains his day’s worth of earnings down to almost nothing. He is left with enough to buy a simple PHS, no special capabilities, and packaged with a prepaid, no-contract plan. He can be assured when he powers it off, it won’t keep tracking him in the background.

That night, he composes a text to Zack.

“Hey, it’s Cloud,” he types, “I’m checking in to tell you I’m not dead.” He waits for a moment, then quickly adds, “If you tell anyone I’m still texting you, I’ll never text you again.”

He is not lying either. He worries about Zack, but he shouldn’t be in too much trouble until a year or so from now. By then, if Cloud does his job right, he shouldn’t be in any trouble at all. He doesn’t need Cloud to be babysitting him.

A few seconds later, he gets a text back. “WTF Spike I thought you were dead!”

Then his phone starts to ring. Cloud considers it for a moment, then answers it. “Hey, Zack,” he says.

“Cloud! You jumped out a sixtieth story window! I thought you were dead!” Zack basically shouts. Cloud winces, holding the phone away from his ear.

“Keep your voice down. I swear I don’t even need this phone, all of Midgar can hear you,” he scolds. Zack makes a sound of agreement that sounds more like a whine. “And I texted. What else do you want?” he snaps.

“For you not to jump out of very high windows, preferably,” Zack grumbles, “Dude, where are you?! Where did you even go? How’d you get down?”

“That’s classified. Sorry, Zack,” Cloud says, but he takes pity on Zack. He knows what he really wants to know. “But I’m safe,” he finishes.

There’s a rush of static as Zack sighs in relief. “Good… That’s all I can really ask for, huh?”

“Even that’s pushing it,” Cloud says with a grin Zack can’t see, “How’s Shinra?” He is more curious than concerned at this point. Below the plate, Shinra had very little sway unless they managed to get the Turks involved. Even then, Cloud knows how to avoid them.

“Everyone is losing their shit, but… quietly?” Zack says, “After you… uh… jumped, Angeal called Sephiroth to come look for you. After that failed, they turned on Genesis.”

Clouds steadies his breathing, determined not to freak out about Sephiroth possibly looking for him. They weren’t connected here, at least Cloud didn’t think they were. He would be just as clueless as Angeal.

“Cloud, if I didn’t believe you about Shinra before, I do now. Genesis spilled everything and it’s… it’s fucked up,” Zack says softly, “Genesis talked about Hollander, then Angeal and Sephiroth started digging around Hollander’s research. He tried to run… We caught him, but he destroyed a lot, and we don’t know how much of what’s left is true, but it isn’t good.”

Zack takes a moment to breathe. Cloud listens solemnly. He doesn’t know anything about Genesis or Angeal, the two of them gone before Cloud’s memories picked up. He knew of them, knew vaguely that something terrible had taken place, but nothing more.

“The degradation was always gonna happen,” Zack says quietly, disgusted, “They experimented on him as a baby and messed him up. Hollander knew it would probably happen and he didn’t say anything about it, didn’t even bother looking for a cure. He was just gonna experiment on Genesis and let him die. He was gonna make Genesis turn on us… If you hadn’t…”

Cloud feels Zack’s horror, but not his surprise. That kind of behavior was on par with Shinra. It was terrible, but not unexpected.

“So what now?” Cloud asks, “What will Genesis do?”

“He’s staying, but he’s angry,” Zack says. There is a long pause with just the sound of Zack shuffling his feet. “...But he’s got nothing on Sephiroth. The man is livid,” Zack rambles excitedly, “I know he’s supposed to be crazy and evil, so maybe him getting so worked up is bad, but I’ve never seen him emote before, and when he found out what happened to Genesis, oh boy! It took Angeal and an entire platoon of seconds to keep him from trying to murder Hollander.”

Cloud listens, carefully disengaging from his emotions about a protectively angry Sephiroth. It goes against everything Cloud knows about him. Sephiroth is first and foremost self-absorbed and imperious, wrapped up in the false glamor of his origins. He was quite possessive. Maybe he was angry that one of his things had been tampered with, like a jealous child and his toys.

“So they’re all staying,” Zack continues, though Cloud doesn’t know what he missed in between, “But all SOLDIERs have to go in for testing, and Shinra is launching an investigation into Hollander’s research at Sepheroth’s demand. No one tells that guy no.”

Cloud’s gut flips. Hollander’s and Hojo’s works were connected, both under project JENOVA. Would they be led to Nibelheim ahead of time? How much time did Cloud have now?

“...Cloud?” Zack questions. It sounds as if he has been calling Cloud’s name for a while. Cloud snaps back to reality to find his heart pounding and his breath shallow.

“Sorry, just thinking,” Cloud says hoarsely, “Does Sephiroth know how Genesis was healed?”

Zack pauses for far too long for the answer to be something that Cloud will like. “Well, Genesis kept talking about the Gift of the Goddess and some other stuff about Loveless, and Sephiroth was just gonna write him off. Then Angeal blabbed!” Zack says quickly.

“So… Sephiroth knows about it,” Cloud sighs, trying to keep his heartbeat in check, “How much about me does he know?”

“Spike, everything Shinra knows about you, he knows,” Zack says.

“That’s not much anymore,” Cloud says, more reassurance for himself, “I guess he’s looking for me?”

“Everyone is looking for you,” Zack says, “Even the President wants a word. Not only did you miraculously heal a disease not even one of Shinra’s best scientists could heal, you opened this big old can of worms. They think you know something else!”

Cloud takes a deep breath, reigning in the surge of panic. The slums have been so far removed from the drama of Shinra tower that he had forgotten he was on multiple time crunches. With how much time he and Aerith had spent together, there’s no doubt a Turk has seen him. If not, then word of a mako-eyed mechanic will reach a guard eventually.

“Maybe it’d be better if you came back?” Zack suggests, “If you keep running, it looks like you know something and you’re dangerous.”

Cloud can’t help the stab of betrayal he feels. “I do know something, and I am dangerous. And I will never willingly go back to Shinra,” Cloud growls. Cloud can hardly believe Zack would even ask that, and judging by the sharp intake of breath he hears from Zack, he knows his friend regrets asking it.

“The next time I step into that building will be to burn it to the ground,” Cloud promises, “No large-scale investigation or reforms will reverse the damage of what they’ve done.”

“What they will do,” Zack corrects anxiously, “They might never do it now.”

“No, what they’ve done. I meant what I said,” Cloud says firmly. He spares a thought for Aerith’s mother’s sacrifice and how Aerith still lives in fear. He thinks about Vincent’s story, told in wavering stops and starts, filled to the brim with regret. Corel burning, Nanaki’s capture, the war in Wutai, the planet’s decay, the list continues endlessly. He even counts Sephiroth as one of their crimes, a little boy who was only ever meant to be a monster. Countless crimes committed, either carelessly or purposely, long before Cloud’s time. “If you knew what I knew, you’d feel the same. You’d know what you just asked me to do.”

“Then tell me,” comes the calm reply. That voice is not Zack’s. It is too deep and flat. The same voice Cloud heard echoing in his head for years. The same voice that haunted his dreams and followed him in the dark. He hisses out a curse. He had been too affected by his memories to notice the PHS switch hands.

“Where’s Zack?” Cloud says, voice equally flat. He knows Zack wouldn’t have willingly handed over the phone. His question is answered by Zack’s distant complaints, the sound of scuffling as he tries to reach the phone.

“He’s fine,” Sephiroth replies, “I asked for the phone, so we could talk.”

“That’s not true, Cloud!” Zack shouts. Sephiroth grunts into the mic, a heavy whoosh of air fills Cloud’s ears with static. Then there is a sound of effort from Zack, and scrabbling against the phone. “He just grabbed it right out of my hand! I swear I didn’t give it to him!”

There is more scrabbling. Then another grunt from Sephiroth followed by a distant thump. “So I took the phone,” Sephiroth agrees. He sounds a bit breathless now. Cloud can hear Zack struggling with him again. “This is important. I want to hear from you about Shinra’s cri-”

“Don’t bother calling this number again,” Cloud says, then dunks the phone in Aerith’s watering can.

Tossing the soaked phone on the floor, he crushes the screen under the heel of his boot. Once the phone’s screen goes completely dark, sparking weakly, Cloud collapses against the wall. His heart is hammering in his ears, his breath coming in short sharp gasps. Bringing his knees up and resting his head on them, Cloud fights to breathe.

Chapter Text

When Sephiroth had marched past Zack’s new apartment on the SOLDIER Firsts' floor, he hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. However, Zack was loud, and more than that, he had said Sepheroth’s name more than once in a quiet, subdued tone. It sounded as if even Sepheroth’s own name were a threat that if spoken too loudly would summon only misfortune. It worked, Sephiroth thinks sardonically as he lets himself into the room to listen.

Zack doesn't notice, too preoccupied with his conversation to hear the click of the door or Sepheroth’s near-silent footsteps. He sits on the floor in the center of the room, surrounded by old take-out containers and crushed soda cans. His voice provides the perfect mask, rambling aimlessly and endlessly about Shinra’s current wild goose chase.

“Wouldn’t it be better if you came back?” Zack says, hesitant, but still hopeful. Sephiroth pauses. With one simple sentence, he knows exactly who Zack is speaking with.

“I do know something, and I am dangerous. And I will never willingly go back to Shinra," Cadet Cloud Strife’s voice sounds tinny through the speaker, “The next time I step into that building, it will be to burn it down to the ground.” Zack inhales sharply through his nose, shoulders slumping. “No large-scale investigation or reforms will reverse the damage from what they’ve done.” There is a fire there, but also something deeper, pained, and personal.

“What they will do,” Zack says, placating, “Maybe with the way things are going, they won’t!”

That is a curious reply, Sephiroth wonders. Had Strife heard something? Was he truly connected at all to what Hollander had planned?

“No, what they’ve done. I meant what I said,” Strife replies. His voice is firm, but there is the slightest waver to what he says next. “If you knew what I knew, you’d feel the same,” he promises, “You’d know what you just asked me to do.”

Zack pales, the phone dipping away from his ear as his hands begin to shake. Sephiroth uses this moment to snatch the phone from his ear. 

“Hey!” Zack cries, shooting to his feet. He begins to shout something, but is cut off when Sephiroth shoves him roughly to the floor. Zack hits the ground with a breathless ‘oof’ and Sephiroth spares a moment to make sure he is more surprised than hurt before he turns his back to him. “Then tell me,” Sephiroth says.

He hears Strife gasp a breath, then curse. “Where’s Zack?” he demands, voice hard like steel. Sephiroth startles a bit. No one has spoken to him in that tone before, fearless, threatening. Either Strife is confident or reckless, perhaps both. Speaking of fearless, he has to spin to avoid Zack's swipe for the phone. 

“He’s fine,” Sephiroth says, dismissive, “I asked for the phone, so we could talk.”

Strife takes a breath to speak, but then Zack is jumping onto Sepheroth’s back. Sephiroth rocks slightly at the added weight. Then he stumbles as muscular thighs lock around his waist and thick arms wrap around his neck. Zack scrabbles for the phone as Sephiroth tries to shake him off.

“That’s not true, Cloud,” Zack shouts directly into Sepheroth’s ears, “He just grabbed the phone out of my hand! I swear I didn’t give it to him!”

Sephiroth manages to toss Zack off without breaking the first's ribs; rolling his shoulders to loosen his grip and then jerking to knock him off. Zack rolls to the floor, but it won’t be long before he is trying to climb Sespheroth again.

“So I took the phone,” he admits, glaring at Zack who glares right back. It is almost refreshing for someone to be so irreverent. “This is important. I want to hear from you about Shinra’s cri-”

“Don’t bother calling this number again,” Strife says flatly, followed by a splash and a high-pitched squeal that nearly prompts Sephiroth to toss the phone across the room. 

He looks at the phone in his hand, displaying a 'disconnected' message. “He hung up,” Sephiroth says, turning towards Zack. 

Zack growls at him. “Nice going, asshole!” he snaps. He is flushed with anger, his body trembling with it. “Now he’s never going to call again!”

Sephiroth regards him with caution, ready for if Zack attempts to attack him. It is a small setback and he doesn't quite understand Zack's reaction. “I’ll admit that not having a direct line to him will be inconvenient,” he sighs, choosing to acknowledge his mistake.

Zack frowns at him. “Oh yeah. It’ll be so inconvenient not to know if my friend’s alive or dead!” he snaps. Now that Sephiroth looks closer at him, he seems more distraught than angry. His blue eyes are wet, glistening in the light, and there are lines of worry around his eyes and on his forehead.

He huffs, running his hands through his hair, tugging at the ends. The movement is similar to what Angeal does when one of them is injured. “Gods, he’s all alone now,” Zack mutters, “Shit.”

“You had no intention of reporting that call,” Sephiroth surmises from his behavior. 

Zack looks up sharply. His expression hardens, determined and defiant. “Yeah,” he says, “Yeah. I wasn’t gonna tell anyone. And… you can arrest me or kill me or whatever, and I still won't.”

“Why?” Sepheroth asks. He knows he should feel betrayed or perhaps disappointed as Angeal would be, but he only feels confused. If Zack knew he would be arrested or killed if found out, why would he risk that for a simple phone call?

Zack only blinks at him. His anger gives way to befuddlement. “What do you mean, ‘why?'” Before Sepheropth can clarify, Zack continues, “Because he’s my friend, duh.”

“You would go back on your honor as a SOLDIER, betray your mentor and risk punishment or death, all to provide your friend company?” Sephiroth asks, curiosity dulling how very heavy the consequences would be.

Zack looks briefly shocked, but recovers quickly. “W-when you put it like that, it sounds really really stupid,” he mutters, looking at his feet, “But… But  I wasn’t thinking about that. Cloud’s my friend, and I was worried about him… Still am...”

“Hm... Before last week’s incident, he didn’t seem impressive… or valuable,” Sephiroth ponders, “Certainly not worth enough for you to risk your life and livelihood for him.”

Zack furrows his brow at Sephiroth. He is silent, eyes roving around his face. Sephiroth tries not to shift under his gaze. “I don’t pick my friends based on how impressive, strong, or important they are,” Zack says quietly. There is a distinct note of pity in his voice. “I thought… Don’t you have friends, Sephiroth?” he asks, “People you would break the rules for, even if it’s only to give them a little comfort?”

Sephiroth thinks about Genesis and Angeal, the two constants in his life other than Hojo. Angeal’s gentleness that wins him no battles, and Genesis incessant ribbing that makes him no allies. Compared to himself, they are not particularly extraordinary. Yet the news of Genesis’s degradation had inspired an unfamiliar fury that Sephiroth couldn’t describe. So much anger over someone who can gain Sepheroth virtually nothing. He hadn't thought about it until now.

He frowns. Genesis would have sooner abandoned them than asked for help. He wonders why it is mostly hurt and helplessness, he feels, over indignant betrayal. Would Sephiroth have turned his back on everything had Genesis asked? Would it be an expression of friendship, or merely an excuse to rebel?

“Those kinds of friends… I suppose not,” Sephiroth says finally. Zack’s shoulders slump in resignation. Before hopelessness can overtake his expression, Sephiroth reaches forward, placing a hand on one drooping shoulder like he has seen Angeal do countless times before. “But I never need terribly strong motivation to break the rules,” he admits.

Zack gazes up at him, perplexed. “Seph-Sir?” he asks. Zack’s sudden remembrance of his rank inspires a smirk on Sephiroth's face.

“We will keep that phone call between us,” Sephiroth decides, “I do not understand why, but this Cloud Strife seems to have his own reasons to make Shinra his enemy. I want to know what they are before Shinra does.”

Zack’s expression brightens like the sun breaking through a storm. He practically beams at Sephiroth, so bright that Sephiroth has to squint. “Sir!” he chirps.

“Besides, he saved Genesis’s life,” Sephiroth adds, turning his back before he can catch Zack’s contagious smile, “I owe him for that. I hope this will also serve as an apology for losing you your contact with your friend.”

“Pretty weak as an apology. It's not even close to enough,” Zack says, but there is far from anger in his tone, “You’ll have to do a lot more to make it up to me!”

“I just spared your life,” Sephiroth says, his hand on Zack’s door handle, “Is that not enough?”

“If I cared about that, I wouldn’t have been on the phone.” Sephiroth ought to scold him for such carelessness. “Besides, now we’re both in the shit!” Zack decides, reclaiming his courage, “We’re co-conspirators now!”

“I could still report you,” Sephiroth warns, turning away from the door. 

Zack doesn’t appear too concerned. “You won’t!” he asserts.

Sephiroth watches him. He is foolishly bright, much too elated to be keeping secrets and conspiring with a possible enemy. “You’re right,” Sephiroth sighs.

“Partners in crime!” Zack declares, motioning between them. Sephiroth realizes this is one battle he won’t be winning.

“If that’s the case, then if Strife ever reveals his reason for hating Shinra, please tell me,” he says, "Depending on what it is, I may be inclined to help him burn it to the ground.”

That leaves Zack speechless, mouth agape as Sephiroth exits in a flourish.

The next stop for Sephiroth, after dropping his things off in his own apartment, is back down to the medical floor. This next meeting is not so friendly. It appears Hojo has taken the degradation scare as an excuse to pull Sephiroth back into his clutches. He asked to do a thorough examination, and Sephiroth lacked the appropriate reasons to refuse.

Sephiroth cannot help, but have his distrust of Hollander bleed onto Hojo as well. Before, he thought nothing of Hojo’s cold demeanor and his rough methods. He didn’t like it, thought it unnecessarily cruel and Hojo delusional at best, maniacal at worst, but now Sephiroth cannot take his mind off of it.

Hollander had intended on using Genesis and leaving him to die. He planned to force Genesis to pay for his own negligence and malpractice with his dignity and his life. Hollander wanted Genesis to die alone and out of options, ignorant that Hollander orchestrated his misfortune from beginning to end.

If Sephiroth also had such a fatal flaw, a time bomb waiting in his blood, rot hiding under his skin, would Hojo say? Would he leave Sephiroth to die? Certainly, he would delight in observing the process.

He watches as Hojo holds a vile of his blood to the fluorescent lights of the laboratory. It bubbles in the vial, reacting to the chemicals at the bottom. It is a standard test, checking his enhancements and their efficacy, but not for the new threat to the SOLDIER ranks.

“Why won’t you test for degradation?” Sephiroth asks, watching as the red of his blood slowly turns neon pink, then mako green. Hojo shakes the vial before setting it into its holder. He turns to narrow his eyes at Sephiroth, clear disapproval on his face. He has said many times how he does not like for Sephiroth to speak in the lab. It ruins his concentration and sullies the results.

“You’re a superior subject,” Hojo says succinctly, “You’re not at risk.”

“But Dr. Hollander said it is a reaction to J-cells. I have them too, do I not?” Sephiroth asks.

Hojo chuckles, to his surprise “Genesis’s was a faulty integration,” Hojo says with the same confidence that he says anything else. He turns away again and observes a few more beakers, each filled with murky fluids, some Sephiroth's, some not. “Hollander is a fool and it shows in his work,” he says.

Hojo turns then, appraising Sepheroth behind his smudged glasses. “But I am a genius,” he says. It is a fact, not a boast. He approaches Sephiroth in two fearless strides, cupping the side of his face with his hand. “You are a perfect union,” he says. His dark eyes lock with Sephiroth's. His hand is clammy and cold against his face, his breath fetid. Sephiroth feels both anxiety and anticipation roil in his gut. “You are beyond Genesis. Beyond Angeal… Beyond human,” he states. Sephiroth fights not to pull away.

Hojo’s eyes are devoid of warmth. There is something hungry and desperate lurking in them, pulling at Sephiroth, threatening to swallow him whole. “You do not believe me,” he spits bitterly. His fingers dig into Sepheroth’s cheek painfully. “You will understand in time.” It sounds more like a threat than a promise.

When Sephiroth exits the lab in a daze, Genesis is waiting for him. He is leaned casually against the wall with his nose buried in a copy of Loveless.

“My friends, the fates are cruel,” Genesis quotes as a greeting, “There are no dreams, no honor remains.”

Sephiroth walks past him, not in the mood for Genesis’s dramatics. Genesis follows, much to his displeasure. “Why do you continue to visit him, knowing what you know?” Genesis asks, keeping easy pace with Sephiroth.

“Hollander and Hojo conducted separate research,” Sephiroth says smoothly, “They were not friends. They could hardly be called allies. Hojo would not jeopardize  his research.” But he hadn’t been so sure earlier. He can feel something insidious in his blood, crawling through his veins, waiting to burst forth and destroy him. The way Hojo had looked at him seemed as if the scientist already knew.

“I didn’t come here to argue anyway,” Genesis says, pulling Sephiroth from his thoughts. “I wanted to confirm something.” Without warning, Genesis grabs Sephiroth by the collar, forcefully directing him into a blind spot for the security cameras on this floor.

“I assume that was purposeful,” Sephiroth says.

Genesis fixes him with an intense stare, a furrow between his brows, eyes bright and piercing. “What is the name of your mother?” he asks.

Sephiroth flinches, a thrill of anger and betrayal shooting from his feet to his chest, causing his heart to pound. “Jenova,” he spits, “I fail to see how that is any business of yours.”

To his surprise, Genesis looks away with a curse. He continues to hold the lapels of Sepheroth’s coat. He gnaws his lip. “Do you trust me, Sephiroth?” Genesis questions, gaze snapping to his.

The question catches Sephiroth off guard. He looks over Genesis’s face, at his regained color, the spark returned to his eyes. He had hidden it all from them. He would have left them, betrayed them, had Strife not come along. “I… I don’t know,” he says honestly, “I might have… once.”

Genesis slumps, a wry smile twisting his lips. “It’s to be expected,” Genesis says, “I suppose you can’t trust me not to hurt you for petty reasons alone. Do you at least trust that I would not hurt you unless it were dire?”

Sephiroth is silent. Genesis chuckles sardonically. “Of course you don’t,” he says, turning away, “I don’t blame you. But you ought to speak with Angeal before our next meeting with the Director. This news is a bitter medicine, but would be better administered by a gentle, trusted hand.”

He walks further down the hallway. “Just know that you cannot trust Hojo, not a single thing he says. He will lead you to ruin just as Hollander planned with Angeal and me.”

“What… What do you mean?” Sephiroth asks, anxiety curling in his gut. Genesis does not answer, only quickens his step, and disappears around the corner. By the time Sephiroth gathers his wits to follow, the elevator doors at the end of the hall have shut, leaving Sephiroth alone in the hallway with his doubts.

Chapter Text

Cloud is granted another week of peace after he drowns his PHS. Though he would hardly call it peaceful. The sound of Sepheroth’s voice has set him on edge. He sees him in every shadow, catches the silver of his hair disappearing around corners, hears his voice in the general ruckus of the morning market. He is everywhere, in the corner of Cloud's eyes and in the ringing of his ears. Just like before. 

Where the conversation with Sephiroth has him restless with anxiety, the loss of his connection with Zack has depressed him at the same time. Zack was his one connection to before everything. The one person he was able to be completely honest with. He acted just as Cloud remembered, concerned and peppy, always on his side. He can't rely on Aerith without putting her in danger, and everyone else will be different from this point. He is well and truly alone now.

Through a strange haze of restlessness and exhaustion, he continues doing odd jobs and collecting money while casting countless looks over his shoulder. It seems the Turks haven’t caught on just yet, or else Shinra has neglected to ask for their help in locating him. It’s only a matter of time before they get desperate enough to sick them on his ass, though.

That time comes without much fanfare. He is moving from one job to the next, gil weighing heavy in his pocket. He thinks idly about how he could afford a broken motorcycle from the scrap shop if he can make it another month. It would be easy to fix up and then he would be on his way to Nibelheim. Jenova is soon to be no more.

He is jerked out of his thoughts by a hand on his wrist. He flinches, spinning abruptly to face Carla, the wife of the slum equivalent of a blacksmith. He notes her grave expression, her already pale skin has gone paper white with fear, and her grip is like iron. Her mouth is set in a grim line as she tugs him silently in the opposite direction. Cloud goes because he knows her and he trusts her. She taught him how to use the forge and gave him a metal bangle for materia in exchange for clearing out the scrapyard.

“What happened?” he asks. He worries about monsters. He is now well-known as the only person in Sector 5 who is halfway decent with a weapon, so people come to him when there are problems. He has been training some of the younger kids how to fight in his spare time, but he had never been a teacher, let alone a good one.

“Just come with me, quickly, Trouble,” she hisses. She speeds up, her small feet kicking up dust as she drags Cloud along. “We’re getting you out of here." She yanks him around a corner, glancing behind her shoulder as they go. Cloud mimics her. She speaks in a low voice, "I don’t know why… but there are men asking around the market for you.”

She ducks under an overhang of metal plating stacked haphazardly on two overturned concrete tubes, pulling them out of the minimal morning light. It lets them out into a dark alleyway lined with doors and houses made of similar scrap. They are cramped together tightly, all different sizes. They jut forward and sit backward, following the uneven bumps and dips of the dirt road. “My husband is trying to give them the runaround, but he’s a terrible liar. It’s only a matter of time before they find you here,” she explains.

“Why?” Cloud finds himself asking. Her grip tightens on his wrist and he nearly winces at it. “If they find out you helped me, they could hurt you… hurt your family,” he continues on regardless. He isn’t a hero here. He is just a guy with a few more skills than most. A disgraced infantryman with a shitty sword and shittier attitude. He isn’t Cloud Strife who slew the Calamity. Not here. Not yet. Hopefully not ever.

“Because you helped us. All of us,” Carla says, matter-of-fact, “So now we’re gonna help you. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let Shinra get their hands on you without a fight.”

As they approach a metal door at the end of the alleyway, it swings open, revealing Paula, the grocer’s wife, and her two children. Her normally orderly, braided hair is a mess, her freckles stand out starkly on her nose and cheeks. The look in her eyes communicates that she is harried by more than just rambunctious children. She ushers them inside, immediately marching Cloud towards the back door.

“We heard them asking about you around Wall Market last night,” Paula says gravely. Her face is stormy, her grip iron-clad on Cloud’s shoulder. “We have a plan to get you out, okay?” she says, “You’ll be safe.”

Cloud nods dumbly, perplexed. This hadn’t happened before. Not in Sector 7, or Sector 5. Maybe the hope and courage hadn’t been sucked out of these people yet. Five years is a long time, after all. Cloud fears he has only expedited their misery.

“Follow this back street to the tattoo parlor. Cut through it and to the bar. Irv will show you the way,” she says softly. Cloud nods, and she mirrors him. Something tender overtakes her expression, and she touches his cheek. “Stay safe, you hear?” she says, “Jay will be so disappointed if he can’t finish his lessons.”

Cloud gives her another nod, and she pushes him out the door and into the dirt path. She lingers in the door, watching him. Before she can close it, Cloud pulls an envelope out of his pocket. He has been carrying it since his conversation with Sephiroth. He knew his time was limited, after all. He holds it out to her. “Can you give this to Aerith?” he asks.

She takes it, dropping it into her apron pocket. “Of course,” she says. Then her expression hardens. “Now go!” She shoos him away with a wave of her hand.

Cloud turns on his heel without another word, jogging through the dim streets until he sees a neon sign advertising the tattoo parlor. He slips inside, greeted by Irv, waiting by the front door. As always, they wear a black tank top, showing off the intricate inky black tattoos up and down their bronzy arms. Their long black hair is swept back into a messy bun like they were about to start on a piece before Cloud popped in. Cloud's assumptions are proven correct when they sweep Cloud past a desk with several papers with a looping floral pattern scrawled across them.“I was hoping by the time you came in here, you’d be a customer,” Irv says, as they lead Cloud to their basement, swinging a ring of keys on their pointer finger.

“Maybe next time,” Cloud says. Irv laughs, flipping a cellar door open and ushering Cloud inside.

“I’ll hold you to that!” they say with a smile. Then they shut the door,  joining Cloud in the dim lights of a shared cellar between the bar and the tattoo parlor. Cloud spares a brief moment to wonder why a bar and a tattoo parlor would need to share something like this. A glance around, revealing unmarked wooden crates gives him his answer. He isn't the first piece of contraband to be ferried out of Midgar.

His thoughts are interrupted when a blocky, pale man drops into the cellar from an opening in the bar. Cloud doesn't frequent the bar, but he would reckon this is its keep.

“This way, guys!” he calls, ushering them quickly up the ladder and into the empty bar. Soon Cloud finds himself being pushed around the crowded bar tables, up some stairs, and out over the rooftops of sector 5. Irv leaves them on the roof of the bar,  waving to Cloud in wide arcs, like a wife seeing her soldier son off. Cloud gives them a wave back, not nearly as strong, but just as heartfelt.

“I’ll be drafting designs for you!” they promise on a shout.

“They better not suck!” Cloud calls back. Then he is yanked across another roof by the bartender.

They hop over the Sector 5 rooftops surprisingly quickly considering the barkeep’s size, weaving in between lines of drying laundry and ducking around decaying sheets of metal fallen from the plate above. Cloud blinks at it all. In less than ten years, this would be in ruins if he failed. If he was caught now, things could go even worse than they had before.

The barkeep tightens his grip on Cloud’s arm. “Don’t look like you’ll never see any of this again,” he scolds, as he leads Cloud down a rickety metal staircase. They end up on a wide, dusty road, lined by chainlink fences topped with barbed wire. In the distance, Cloud can see the end of the shadow cast by the plate and a set of gates leading out into the wastes.

The barkeep pushes Cloud through a small hole in the chainlink fence, unlocking the door to a shack constructed from scrap metal. Inside, wait two people; a man and a woman that Cloud vaguely recognizes as smugglers. Smugglers would carry anything in and out of the city, from untaxed snack foods and essentials to drugs and explosives. In a way, they were a friend to the people, though. They brought in what was in demand and didn’t charge as exorbitant a price as Shinra.

They both look rough. The man’s face is a patchy red from too many days exposed to the sun. He grins at them and waves at them with a hand made of wire and bits of metal. The woman’s leg ends at her ankle, a bent metal pipe attached to a brace around her calf acting as her foot. She has a piece of thick cloth tied over one eye, though she too smiles at Cloud, her tanned face folded many times over with wrinkles.

“So this is the guy we’ve been hearing so much about!” she says brightly, but in a husky voice. She turns, grabbing a big black bag from atop of a crate, and offering it to Cloud.

Cloud accepts it, but makes his confusion clear when he looks back up at her. “What’s this?” he asks. If they wanted him to take this somewhere, that wasn’t going to be in the cards for a while.

She laughs. “Don’t worry. It’s not anything illegal,” she says, “Just some stuff to see you through to Costa del Sol.” 

Cloud nods and unzips the bag, revealing a compact bedroll, some nutrition bars, a small journal, and a pen. On top of it all is a black cloak with a hood that will hide Cloud’s eyes and hair. Cloud pulls it out and immediately slides it on. It flutters down close to the soles of his boots and he feels a bit like Vincent, but he likes the security the hood gives him. “Thank you,” he says.

“It ain’t just a gift!” the man cautions him, though he is still grinning with good humor, “She’ll hold it over you when you get back, guaranteed.”

“I will not!” the woman complains, huffing, “Since you’ve been fixing all those generators and appliances, the demand for fuel smuggling’s been going up. This is an investment.” She fixes Cloud with a serious look. “You better come back once you’ve got Shinra off your tail! Then we’ll call it even,” she says.

“If I don’t die, I’ll be back eventually,” Cloud says honestly. The woman laughs like it’s a joke.

“Then you better not die,” she says, “Now let’s get moving before they grow brains and come here to check.”

The barkeep wishes Cloud well, slapping him on the back as the smuggler man goes ahead of them and opens another trap door in the floor. The woman loops her arm through Clouds and strolls with him down the stairs and into the dark tunnel below. 

“It’s a straight shot from here to our outpost in the wastes. Just keep walking,” the man explains, pointing down the long, shadowed expanse of the tunnel. “From there, follow the road to Liurn. It’s a tiny port town, way smaller than Junon, but someone’ll get you off the continent, no questions asked if you pay enough Gil. Shinra doesn’t have many ties there,” he finishes.

Cloud nods, committing the instructions to memory. If anyone knows where someone can get around unseen under Shinra’s nose, it would be smugglers. “Thank you,” he says, again, “I know you’re all taking a big risk.”

“Nah,” the smuggler man says, waving his metal hand dismissively, “That’s just living under the plate, not to mention being a smuggler.” He winks.

Cloud nods, not wanting to push the issue. It isn’t like he disagrees. He worries for the regular folks of Sector 5, though. He wonders if they miscalculated. If they got hurt, would think he was worth it? He certainly didn’t think so.

They leave him in the dim light of the tunnel and head back up the stairs, locking the trapdoor behind them. Cloud stands there for a moment, contemplative, before he turns to start the long underground trek out of Midgar.

He can’t keep track of time down in the tunnels, but he is mildly certain he walks for a few hours at least. He can feel the moment he crosses the border between Midgar and the wastes, though. It’s like a string that’s been pulled taught in his chest suddenly snaps and he can breathe again. A heavy weight he hadn’t known he had been shouldering suddenly lifts. He will miss Aerith and the people of the slums, but he has no love for Midgar, past, present, or future.

By the time he emerges from the tunnel, through another unlocked trapdoor and into the smuggler’s outpost above, the sun is beginning to set. It casts the interior of the flimsy wood shack in gold and orange from the small window at the front of the shack. The crates piled up around him, filled with benign things on top, and dangerous things below, cast long shadows across the floor. Cloud shoulders his bag, pulls his hood over his head, and cautiously exits the shack.

Outside, he is surrounded by nothing, barely a tuft of grass calls this dusty wasteland home. Midgar looms in the distance, glowing slightly green and hazy with pollutants in the dusky twilight. Once upon a time, Cloud thought his dreams were there, or maybe Zack had. Maybe they both were taken in by the siren song of purpose and glory that Shinra sings. Either way, they had both been lied to.

He sighs, turning his back on the city and towards his hometown. Traveling back won’t be easy, but Cloud will count it as worth it if he can see Jenova burn in Nibbleheim’s place. He clips the fire materia he bought a few days previous into the hilt of his sword as he walks.

He stays well away from the roads, walking at an easy enough pace. There aren’t any cities for days, but he has SOLDIER strength to back him up for the walk.

The sun sets, then rises again. Cloud walks and muses on what he left behind.

He reaches Liurn after several days of hiking. The deadlands around Midgar giving way to a tiny coastline. He notes that there are markedly weaker monsters haunting the wastes than ten years in the future. Most run when they see him, or take a shot and give up when he fights back. He is thankful for it, and also mournful of how much Gaia and her people would suffer again if he failed.

At night, the skies light up with millions of stars. The haze he had grown accustomed to in the future is absent. The only pollution is the phantom light of Midgar far on the horizon. It looks like nothing more than a blur in the distance now. Cloud wonders about how drastically things changed. It only serves to steel his resolve.

When he arrives at the port, it is early morning. It is small, but bustling with activity, hundreds of sailors rushing around to prepare for their voyage later in the day. Cloud pulls his black hood over his head and blends seamlessly into the crowd. He grabs a pair of tinted goggles, and asks around for someone willing to take an extra passenger for cheap while he is at it. He is pointed in the direction of a stocky fisherman, shouting orders at a group of men as they repair an enormous net.

“Excuse me,” Cloud greets. It is polite, but his voice is still small and inflectionless. He can’t quite mimic Tifa’s warm cheerfulness or Barret’s aggressive kindness. “I was told you’d accept a stow-a-way on the way to Costa del Sol.”

The fisherman glances at Cloud. He has tan skin and dark hair, though his eyes are a molten amber color, like fresh honey. He gives Cloud a thorough look over with those eyes, dark brows furrowed as he considers him. Cloud stands still for the inspection. He knows the riding goggles he acquired hide the glow of his eyes, and small blond teens come a dime a dozen in Midgar. “Better if I know about them, I suppose,” he says after Cloud presumably comes up non-threatening, “But why do you want to stow away on my ship? There’s plenty of luxury cruises for your sort  out of Junon.”

“Afraid I can’t afford that,” Cloud says, truthful, “Used up all my money just getting to Midgar, now I barely have enough to get back home.”

The fisherman gives him another once over, eyes catching this time on Cloud’s dusty boots and tattered cloak. The edges of it are starting to fray and tear, resembling Vincent’s more and more. 

“How much can you pay me?” he asks dubiously.

“I can spare around 100 gil,” Cloud says. He could give more, but he needs a way to Nibbleheim that is faster than his feet or a wild chocobo. Still, the fisherman’s eyes light up, so Cloud knows it’s the right price.

“Won’t be a luxury cruise,” he promises, “But for that price, we’ll get you there.” He offers his hand to Cloud. Cloud takes it, giving it a firm shake. “The name’s Joseph,” he says, “What do I call you?”

“Most people call me Trouble,” Cloud says. That has never been a lie.

Joseph grins, eyes sparkling. “Well then,” he chuckles, “Welcome aboard, Trouble.”

Cloud’s sense of triumph leaves him almost as soon as the boat leaves the dock later that morning. Listening to fishermen shout goodbyes to their families and sweethearts, Cloud folds himself over the side of the ship and vomits. Joseph has himself quite the laugh, but he gives Cloud a soothing pat on the back. “I wouldn't have expected someone who looks so weathered to be done in by a little seasickness!” he chortles.

 Cloud looks up blearily, wiping sweat from under his bangs. He is absolutely dreading the next 24 hours, “We all have our weaknesses, don’t we?” he says hoarsely. He is past being embarrassed about this part of himself. He had managed to get a better hold on it in the future than he had now. It seems his body has taken several steps back, he can only hope someone doesn’t try to gut him while he hurls his guts into the sea.

“That we do,” Joseph agrees with fondness in his voice. He gives Cloud another pat on the back. His hand rests there as he looks out at the horizon. This behavior alarms Cloud as much as it confuses him. Cloud knows he is smaller, rounder, and softer in the face now, but he still poses a danger to everyone he interacts with. He quietly shrugs Joseph’s hand off. It only makes the man laugh harder. “Try not to get it in the nets,” he says, leaving Cloud to his misery.

Throughout the voyage, the other crew members try their hardest to include Cloud despite his reluctance. They are curious about him. Even more so after Cloud refuses to give anything up about his past or plans. They persist, though.

One of them hands him a box of ginger candies, claiming they will help his stomach. Cloud is desperate enough to try anything at this point, and though it doesn’t quell the nausea, it settles his stomach somewhat. Another sits with him on a crate and shows him how to sew while he mends a sale. Yet another tells him about the fish in the ocean and what sells big in Costa del Sol. At night, they all gather on the deck and sing under the stars. Though it makes Cloud’s chest stir with anxiety, he remembers why he is doing this. Because people are bright and colorful, and the sky and the sea are beautiful when they aren’t washed out by despair. He will not let Jenova have this. He will not let Shinra destroy it.

He doesn’t sing along to the fishermen’s songs, but he falls asleep to the sound of warm voices and thinks of another group of friendly faces, gathered around a fire and laughing together.

The boat docks in the early hours of the next morning. The fishing boat crew don’t have time to say goodbye as they haul crates of still flopping fish onto shore. Joseph, however, manages to track Cloud down in the chaos before he can melt into the shadows. He claps Cloud on the back. “Stay safe,” he says, echoing the well-wishes of many before him. “If you ever need work, come find me."

“Maybe I will,” Cloud says thoughtfully, wistfully, “One day.”

“After you get over your seasickness,” Joseph says with a wink.

Cloud nods with a small smile, then jogs into town, dodging rushing fishermen as he goes.

Meanwhile, Sephiroth watches a different kind of chaos unfold. Shinra’s quiet collapse is a wonder to behold. It is amazing how much stability hinged upon Shinra being untouchable. Now they have someone enhanced running loose, and fingers pointed in every direction as to who was responsible. One of their own scientists tried to bate away a soldier first class in one of the largest rebellions Shinra had ever seen. All of that made possible because of Genesis being brought down by an illness that could be hiding in every soldier produced to date. Hojo insists it isn’t possible, but even he can’t quell the paranoia of a Turk.

All of this madness unleashed by one previously unenhanced trooper Cloud Strife. They needed him to know what he cured, not to mention how he cured it. Beyond that, they don't know where or how he became enhanced, or what else he could possibly know. He is quite possibly the biggest security threat Shinra has ever seen. It would only be a matter of time before Sephiroth is sent after him. The Turks had already failed to capture him in Sector 5, right under their noses, after all.

Then there is the secret Genesis spoke of. How he asked Sephiroth to trust him, how he said he wouldn’t hurt him ‘for petty reasons.’ What secret could he possibly hide that would wound Sepheroth enough to inspire Genesis to worry? He certainly hadn’t been concerned with his feelings before.

Thus Sephiroth goes to find Angeal in his office. He has been swamped with filling out more descriptions of Cloud Strife for the Turks. After Zack’s extremely unhelpful report of ‘a really cool guy. Kinda short. Kinda blonde. Looks like an ugly chocobo. Pretty quiet and a little grumpy,’ Angeal had been asked to fill out the sheets. The door is already open, but it clicks as Sephiroth closes it behind him. The sound of it draws Angeal’s attention to him.

“Sephiroth,” Angeal greets, though it also asks a question.

“Genesis said that you wished to speak with me?” Sephiroth says. He had aimed for quietly casual, but his voice wavered at the end, just so. It isn’t often that someone holds the upper hand, or knows more than him. It has been a long time since anyone could hurt him. The face Angeal makes, a pinched expression complete with a slight grimace, tells Sephiroth he knows it too.

“Let’s go outside,” Angeal says, standing. There is anxiety painted over his fade, pulling his shoulders up to his ears. He gives Sephiroth a lot of room as he walks around the desk, like Sephiroth might suddenly attack. Sephiroth doesn’t comment on it, only follows him quietly.

Once they are outside in the shadows of the loading and unloading zone in the back of the building, Angeal turns to face him. 

“Are we truly alone?” Angeal asks. Sephiroth casts his awareness around them. He hears only their twin heartbeats and breathing, and the high-pitched buzz of devices with microphones is absent. He can not hear the whir of cameras recording, or the click of their lenses either.

“Yes,” Sephiroth says, “Shockingly.”

There wouldn’t need to be tight security this far back inside Shinra. Any vehicles or personnel that made it back here would have gone through several stringent security checks already. Though Shinra loves to have eyes and ears everywhere, the Turks even more so. It must be that other places have higher priority. No one comes out here to so much as smoke, after all.

Angeal snorts, but the smile only stays on his face for a brief few moments. Then he is serious again. “There is something Cloud Strife mentioned after he healed Genesis. We decided not to say initially to protect him… and you,” he begins, holding Sepheroth’s gaze with his steady gray eyes. His expression is firm, yet sympathetic and it makes Sepheroth’s pulse quicken with anticipation. “Only Cloud, Genesis, Zack, and I know about this. And only Genesis and I know of its significance.”

Sephiroth nods seriously, heartbeat jumping in his chest. It was something only the two other Soldier Firsts knew. Something about Cloud Strife kept secret for his safety.

“As you know, we are infused with mako,” Angeal continues after a heavy sigh, “Though from Hollander’s research, we have another component, J cells.” Sephiroth nods along. That was not hidden information. When Hollander’s betrayal came to light, so did his research, though it was garbled and partially destroyed before they could confiscate it. Hojo wasn’t inclined to elaborate on the content, only that it was inferior to his own.

“Cloud didn’t call them J cells, though,” Angeal says, his brow furrowing, “He called them Jenova cells.”

At first, this makes sense to Sephiroth. Of course he has his mother’s cells inside of him. She is his mother, after all. Then, as it dawns on him, he almost laughs. Perhaps they are all related, then, all children of Jenova. Shinra’s lie merely being that truly impressive soldiers were born, not made with hard work and cutting edge technology. Perhaps Jenova was someone extraordinary herself. She would have to be to birth extraordinary SOLDIERs like Angeal, Genesis, and Sephiroth. Perhaps she was a goddess, or some equivalent, some kind of figure from legend.

However, Angeal continues to speak, and what he says drops a stone in Sephiroth's stomach. “He called Jenova a parasite,” he explains slowly, “And degradation is a negative reaction to her cells. It’s a disease, not a defect like Hojo thinks.”

“Lies,” Sephiroth hisses immediately. The world shakes underneath his feet, threatening to crumble. His hands tremble as they grasp for Masamune. “That is a lie,” he spits.

Angeal catches his hands, bringing them to his chest to brace him as he trembles with rage, not fear. Never fear.

“Maybe,” Angeal says with a nod. He strokes his hand up Sepheroth’s arm as if soothing a child. “Maybe Cloud is lying, or mistaken, or confused. We don’t know. But we wanted you to hear what we heard, so we’re all on the same page. Even if it is a lie, you deserve to know.”

Sephiroth squeezes Angeal’s hand, causing him to wince. “She is not a parasite,” Sephiroth chokes through a tight chest. He is not hurt at the offense, he is merely so overwhelmed by Strife’s audacity that his eyes burn and his head spins. Certainly, that is the reason why his heart is pounding and the air around him feels simultaneously too hot and too cold. He does not consider what it would mean if Strife was right. Hojo’s words echo in his ears, “Beyond Angeal and Genesis. Beyond human.” Was he a disease too?

Angeal tugs him forward, arms wrap around his waist, and squeeze. Angeal tucks his chin in the junction between Sepheroth’s neck and shoulder. “Whatever the truth is, we'll find it together,” he says sagely, “I’ll be here for you. It won't change anything.”

“You don’t understand,” Sephiroth says, looking dazedly at the wall over Angeal’s head, “It would change everything.”

Sephiroth has always been separated by his birth. His father is an ordinary, if intelligent man. What set him apart, his looks, strength, speed, and healing, he is sure all originated in his mother. It connected all of them, according to Hollander. Jenova’s essence ran through the veins of every soldier, generation after generation, countless children, an army of heroes fueled by a mother’s strength. Sephiroth stands at the forefront, her biological child, her concentrated power and benevolence.

If Jenova were not that; if she were instead the disease that brought someone as powerful as Genesis to his knees; if she were the one to coat them all in flesh-eating tar, then what did that make Sephiroth?

“Maybe for you,” Angeal allows, “Maybe to you, everything for you would change, but you’d still be Sephiroth to us.”

“And who is that to you?” Sephiroth asks, feeling the steady beat of Angeal’s heart against his breastbone, “What is Sephiroth to you?”

Angeal’s heart rate does not change as he answers. “A friend,” he says without pause. One hand strokes between Sepheroth’s shoulder blades, down his spine, back up again. “A brother,” he finishes. 

Sephiroth pushes away from Angeal's warm embrace. Suddenly the thought of touching Angeal fills him with foreboding. Images of black tar and translucent pale skin fill his head. He heart pounds against his sternum, threatening to come up his throat. “I need to speak to Cloud Strife,” he says fighting to keep his voice level. Angeal reaches for him, but when Sephiroth takes a step back, he sighs, crossing his arms instead of pulling Sephiroth back.

“Don’t we all,” Angeal finally says, shrugging.

Sephiroth is not so nonchalant. “I’m going to find him,” he says, burning with new determination.

“What? How?!” Angeal asks, jogging after him. Sephiroth does not slow.

“I’ll figure something out,” he says like a vow. Angeal manages to follow him as far as the Records Room before Sephiroth slams the door in his face.

Strife’s record is easy to find. There are not many with a name like Cloud Strife, after all. With Sephiroth's level of security clearance, he does not need to bypass any locks. He reads through the file quietly while Strife stares up at him from his photo on file. He looks just like Angeal's description, baby-faced with ridiculously spiked blond hair. In the file proper, he learns that Strife is a short, waif of a boy, having failed the Soldier exam due to his weight, height, and reaction to mako. His physical and exam scores were adequate, but a mako intolerance is enough to disqualify anyone. Afterward, he was originally meant to be stationed in Junon, but there is a form signed by one Zackery Fair calling him back as security patrol for Midgar. Sephiroth will have to ask Zack about that and his obvious abuse of authority.

There are a few additional notes attached to the file. One is a note from his intake physician about his height. There is a red mark from Hojo himself barring him from mako injections due to possible previous exposure as a child. Then he finds Cloud's parentage. His mother is Claudia Strife and his father is unknown. His hometown is Nibelheim, a cold mountain town far from Midgar. There is a reactor there, possibly a reason for his previous exposure to mako.

He closes the file and storms out of the room past Angeal. “Sephiroth!” Angeal calls, grabbing for him and just barely missing him.

Sephiroth turns. “I’m going to Nibelheim!” he says, "I don't have time for the Turk's incompetence. I will get my answers now."

“I’ll get Genesis,” Angeal announces, then sprints in the other direction.

Sephiroth hadn’t exactly extended an invitation, but if they insisted on coming, he wouldn’t stop them.

Chapter Text

When Cloud rolls into the mining town of Corel, his buggy is running on fumes. He had been honestly surprised to see it there in Costa del Sol five years before he acquired it the first time. That might explain why he got it for free before, that and is still ugly. Armed with the knowledge that it might literally never sell and the correct opinion that it is a crime against the eyes, Cloud managed to argue it down from 500 gil to 200 gil along with some fuel.

He managed to purchase a time materia to go along with his fire materia. He had wanted to purchase a healing materia, but he only had enough in his tight budget for one. Time had more combat capabilities and would, in theory, keep him from needing to use a cure in the first place. He would stock up on potions instead. 

He had ample opportunity on the road between Costa del Sol and Corel to level the materia up, so they were nearly mastered now. He managed to collect a little more gil on his way too, beating monsters and collecting what they had stolen from less fortunate travelers. The combat also granted him a chance to work his muscles, and though he isn’t nearly as strong as he was before, with the help of the mako in his system he would get there quicker.

His buggy pulls into a dusty clearing just outside Corel proper, kicking up dust and letting out an ominous choking sound as the fan in the back grinds. He steps out of it before shoving the keys in his pants pocket, zipping it shut. He didn’t want to linger for long. To him, this place was a ghost of a town, dead and gone long before he had ever heard of it. He didn’t know what he would do if he saw Barret or Marlene either. They were no doubt very different before Corel burned.

He would rest, refuel and get going before the townsfolk had a chance to gossip.

Though now looking at the town, he sees that it would be difficult not to encounter every person living there. It is even smaller than Nibelheim, just a collection of wooden structures with only a small inn and a general store. The rest of the buildings look residential, or businesses devoted to mining. Cloud sighs, pulls his hood down and walks into town. As soon as he steps into the midst of the worn wooden buildings, he can feel eyes on him. A few old women stand in the shade of their homes and whisper as he passes. Children playing in the road stop and stare. He didn’t look like much, not without Zack’s buster sword and his mako eyes hidden, but he must have cut an imposing figure dressed all in black, and spattered with mud and monster blood. Perhaps it would be better to refuel and camp outside town instead.

He pushes the general store’s door open, a bell tinkling above his head to signal his arrival. There is a man behind the counter at the back of the store and a woman chatting with him. They both look up as he steps inside, going silent. The man is old and thin with dark gray hair and a beard with white speckled amongst the thick curls. The young woman next to him leans casually on the counter, also thin with long black braids spilling down her back. Cloud eyes the bangle heavy with materia around her right wrist warily. They both seem startled by him at first, but manage to smile at him soon after.

“Howdy,” the man says.

Cloud looks up and nods his acknowledgment, but doesn’t speak. The man’s smile wavers, but he powers through his dismay, probably in the hopes of making a profit. Cloud hopes he can make him a happy man, even if he can’t set him at ease. His gil jingles in his pocket as he turns around one of the shelves stacked with dried foods.

“What can I do for you?” the man asks as Cloud makes his way further into the shop. The shelves inside the shop are tightly packed together, heaped with all manner of supplies from non-perishable food to mining tools. There is ammunition along the back wall, as well as a few guns locked securely in a glass case. “You looking for anything in particular?” he asks when Cloud doesn’t reply.

“Fuel,” Cloud finally says.

“Ah! You came to the right place!” the man says jovially. The woman is already heading towards a door set into the side of the store, grabbing a ring of keys from a hook on the wall nearby. “How much do you need?”

Cloud does some quick calculations in his head. The buggy doesn’t exactly guzzle fuel. The fan in the back helps with fuel efficiency, even if it is loud and ugly. He managed to make it here on around 200 liters, so about 300 should get him to Nibelheim if he didn’t leave the buggy running for no reason. He could refuel at Nibelheim, or leave the buggy there and continue on foot once the most pressing parts of his plans were complete.

“Around 300 liters should be fine,” he says, “How much will that be?”

The man hums, jabbing some numbers down on a small calculator on the counter. “Around 80 gil,” he says, “Buy another 100 litres, though, and I’ll cut you a deal. 100 gil for 400 liters and some food for the road.”

“That’s cheap,” Cloud comments, allowing for the suspicion to seep into his tone. He doesn’t want to argue up the price, but he also doesn’t want to feed bad fuel into his only transport.

The old man laughs at that. It drops into a chesty cough, and he shrugs, wiping surreptitiously at his mouth. “What can I say? No one’s buying anymore,” he admits, “Between Gongaga and Nibelheim with their reactors and Shinra moving everything over to battery-powered, no one needs the old fashioned stuff anymore. Nobody wants it either.”

“But it’s cheap,” Cloud says wonderingly. Cloud barely remembered his life before his second meeting with Tifa, even now. His knowledge about the world as a whole before that point is likewise lacking. When Barret had talked about the mining town Corel, Cloud had wondered how they made a living in Shinra’s mako-powered world. They probably didn’t.

“It makes the air dirty,” the old man says, “Can make you sick, too.” He chuckles, letting out a few more coughs. “But you’re right. It’s cheap.”

“Making it sound awfully appetizing,” Cloud remarks. The man gives him another shrug with a sheepish smile.

The woman walks in then, carrying four large canisters on either of her shoulders. She is thin, yes, but now that Cloud looks at her, she is lithe with muscle too. “You sold him on it, Jasper?” she asks, looking sideways at Cloud.

“Have I?” the man, Jasper, asks him.

“Sure,” Cloud shrugs, selecting a few cans of soup and candied fruits from the shelves. He sets his selection down on the counter, dropping 150 gil into the man’s hand.

Jasper frowns at it. “That’s too much,” he says.

“No, it’s not,” Cloud says flatly. It is honestly more than he can spare, but paying so little still sits wrongly with him. “The extra is for delivery.”

“Delivery?” both Jasper and the woman echo in synchrony.

“Yeah, to my buggy,” Cloud explains with a small smirk, “Do I look like I can carry all that on my own?”

Jasper frowns, but the woman laughs. “Sure, I’ll carry it for you!” she says with a grin.

“You sure about that, Spinel?” Jasper asks, “You’re not--”

“For sure,” she interrupts him, “Anything for a little extra gil, and this is easy!”

Cloud’s food is swept into a bag and Spinel lifts the canisters from the counter easily. “Let’s go!” she says, leading the way out the door. Cloud follows behind, actually finding it difficult to keep up with Spinel’s long strides.

As they walk through the center of town, Cloud begins to feel a little more optimistic. So far he had spent a good thirty minutes in town and he hadn’t encountered anyone he once knew.

“Spinel!” a familiar voice shouts, shattering his optimism like bat to an expensive vase.

Spinel stops and turns. Cloud stops too, but keeps his eyes trained ahead. He can hear heavy footsteps as someone approaches, the sound of their panting breaths loud in Cloud’s enhanced ears.

“I’m glad I caught you!” a voice that can only belong to Barret Wallace says. His voice is lighter, younger, though not carefree like Cloud would have expected. “We have a situation at the mines-- Who’s this squirt?” he interrupts himself to ask.

Cloud braces himself and turns just in time for Spinel to shrug. “Dunno,” Spinel says, careless, “Just rolled into town this morning.”

Barret looks down at Cloud. He is different, but not by much. The scars on his cheek are absent, as is his gun, leaving only a regular human hand in its place. There are fewer wrinkles around his eyes, making his expression softer. His whole demeanor seems softer. “Welcome to Corel! Where are you from?” he says with a bright smile. He is friendlier too, it seems.

“Nibelheim,” Cloud says, chest tight, “Was heading back there now.” Keeping his voice steady feels like fighting back a flood.

He watches Barret take in that information, looking Cloud up and down. “That sword,” Barret points out, “You any good with it?”

“Depends,” Cloud says. He almost says ‘for the right price,’ just to see if Barret will be so friendly then, but he isn’t here to make enemies. An asshole is much more memorable than someone who was basically courteous. “What am I using it for?” he asks.

Barret grins, all teeth, suitably satisfied with Cloud’s answer. It gives him deja-vu to see it, and he blinks a few times. “There’s bombs up near one of the mines, wanna go get yourself a workout?” Barret asks.

It is as easy as it is jarring to fall back into their banter. Cloud feigns thoughtfulness. “I guess I could stretch my legs a little,” he says.

Though Barret’s chirp of, “Great!” is enough to pull him right back out.

“I’ll drop these off at your bug,” Spinel says, “You two go ahead, I’ll catch up.” She sprints in the direction of Cloud’s buggy. Cloud looks to Barret.

“Lead the way,” he says.

They arrive after jogging over Corel's rocky terrain up a small rocky mountain. It is more of a hill compared to Nibelheim, but it takes a while to traverse anyway. The bombs Barret mentioned are all clustered around one of the mine entrances. There are about fifteen of them hovering around and waiting for victims to terrorize, their metal bodies clanging against each other. Even from several meters away, the area is sweltering with the heat they put off.

“There’s twice as many now!” Barret hisses, sounding almost offended.

“Is there anyone inside the mine?” Cloud asks, sizing up the group.

“Yeah, a whole group of miners,” Barret says, “You think the bombs know they’re there?”

“Probably why they’re clustering,” Cloud agrees with a nod. He stands, pulling his sword from the sheath on his back. “We need to lead them away,” Cloud says. He kneels down, gathering a few good-sized stones from the ground. 

Before Barret can reply, he casts haste on himself and launches the stones at the group. They all turn to face him as the stones pelt their bodies harmlessly. Cloud casts fire at one, just to keep their attention, then sprints away from the mine. He vaults over an overturned minecart, narrowly avoiding a fireball lobbed at his head. He rolls and looks over his shoulder to see the group of bombs following him now.

Barret moves behind them, moving as stealthily as a mass of muscle can. As Cloud backs into the clearing, he sees Barret rush a group of miners down the path and away from the bombs. The bombs, uncaring of their former victims, spread out in a circle to surround Cloud. One attempts to ram into him, its burning body singing the hair on his arms as it whips past. Another spits a second fireball at him. Cloud flips over it, retaliating by swinging his sword in a wide arch. It glances off their metal bodies with a loud shriek. From behind them, Barret charges in with a yell.

While Barret’s demeanor is different, his fighting style is much the same. He is loud, encouraging, and fearless. He assaults the bombs head-on with a beefy handgun. Cloud gains an understanding as to why Barret chose the prosthetic he did. His aim is superb, and whatever makes it past his barrage of bullets is quickly batted away with a strong swipe of the butt of his gun.

They hold their own, but are nowhere close to victory. Barret's bullets and Cloud’s sword are not quite strong enough to leave a dent. Cloud only has a time and flame materia, and Barret isn’t equipped with any at all. All they can do is hold the bombs off until someone arrives with something more useful.

Their prayers are answered when a burst of blizzard flies over Barret’s head and drenches a Bomb in ice. Cloud runs at it before it can recover, jumping and flipping forward, using the momentum to smash his sword between its eyes. The bomb crumbles, and Barret gives a surprised and elated cheer. Cloud shoots Spinel, standing at the mine’s mouth, a thumbs up. She returns it before thrusting her hand in the air, the materia set into the silver bangle on her wrist sparkling with energy. She shoots off another spell, encasing a bomb quietly approaching Barret in ice.

After Spinel joins, the fight becomes child’s play. Spinel casts blizzard after blizzard and Cloud charges after the bomb’s fragile frozen husks with a singular focus. Barret manages to crack a few in half just by punching them after Spinel’s spell has done its work.

There is a wobbly one, dented by a few bullets to its hull and fire dimmed by a dose of blizzard, so Cloud ignores it in favor of the hardier-looking bombs creeping their way towards Spinel. It continues to hover after him unsteadily. When Cloud pauses to slice a bomb clear in half through a thick layer of ice, the wobbly one lands a body blow on him that Cloud barely feels. He shrugs it off, but it continues to crowd him, beginning to glow a dangerous red, the ice covering it beginning to melt.

Cloud hip checks it away, then hits another bomb with the flat of his sword. Barret cheers when wizzes away like a baseball and shatters against the bark of a nearby tree. “Good going, stranger!” he shouts, pumping his fist in the air in victory. Cloud smiles despite himself. Then he hears a familiar, deadly click.

The world moves in slow motion. Cloud can see the way Barret’s face falls from elation to fear, feel the bomb at his back grow unbearably hot. Spinel shouts a warning Cloud doesn’t have the time to process. He spins, too slow, on his heel to face the bomb. He lifts his sword, but he knows he won’t attack in time. The bomb’s exterior turns from a dangerous red to a blinding yellow, an ear-piercing whine filling the air.

The wind is knocked from Cloud's lungs as he hits the gravel, vision blocked by something hulking and heavy. He can feel a quick heartbeat, not his own, close to his ear before everything is silenced by a deafening boom.

Cloud doesn’t lose consciousness, but he loses time. His ears ring and his head pounds, lungs choked by smoke and the smell of burnt flesh. His mouth is filled with dirt and soot. He gags, pressing his hands against the body over top of him.

“Barret!” he cries, muted to his own ears. Cloud coughs, struggling to get the heavy body off of him enough to sit up.

He can hear another higher, feminine voice shouting Barret’s name too. Cloud blinks dazedly, then rolls his eyes up to look at Tifa. He startles harshly when he sees an unfamiliar woman, face stained with soot. She has tears in her eyes as she kneels next to them and begins to help Cloud roll Barret off of him.

“Spinel,” Cloud says, remembering where he is. She ignores him, focused on Barret as she rolls him onto his back. Cloud looks down to see him sprawled across his legs now, there is an unrecognizable, bleeding hunk of mangled flesh where his the lower half of his right arm once was. Burns bloom out from that spot, traveling up his arm and along his side, vibrantly red against his dark skin, the edges of the awful wounds singed black. Cloud feels sick.

Spinal casts a cure. Green surrounds Barret, eating away at the burns, but it isn’t enough. The bleeding slows, but doesn’t stop completely. Cloud knows nothing will salvage his arm.

“C’mon, Barret,” Spinel hisses, pushing her braids over her shoulder. She casts another cure, Barret doesn’t stir. “Barret,” she begs him harder.

“He needs a doctor,” Cloud says, already maneuvering Barret to sit with great effort. Barret hangs limply in his grip. Spinel casts one more cure, then slings Barret’s good arm over her shoulders. Cloud wraps his arms around his waist, and together they pull him up with a shared grunt. Barret does not move to help them, eyes closed and face slack. His feet drag a trail in the dirt as they walk. Blood falls in fat droplets marking their path back to town. Spinel is silent and quick as she drags Barret along and Cloud follows. The only sound is of their boots scuffing through the dirt.

When they arrive in town, Spinel takes a deep breath and shouts for the doctor. Less than a second later, the town doctor rushes out of a sturdy brick building, followed by several of the miners Barret freed from the cave. When they see Barret, the small crowd livens up with gasps and whispers of Barret’s name. The excitement draws another woman into the doorway of the building as Cloud and Spinel move through the crowd. She is a thin, waif of a woman, amber eyes wide and worried when they fall on Barret. Her hair is in short, tight curls, pulled away from her face by a thick, pink ribbon.

The doctor shoos the crowd away, directing them inside. When the woman’s eyes fall on Barret,  she pales and falls to her knees, clamping a hand over her mouth. The doctor casts her a concerned glance, but focuses mostly on Barret. He directs them to lay him down on a cot before he jogs away, calling for his nurse. Spinel goes to the woman at the door, leaving Cloud alone with Barret.

Barret groans, squinting dark eyes up at Cloud, face pale and expression strained. “You alright, kid?” he asks in a hoarse voice.

Cloud huffs. “You ought to worry about yourself,” he says, scolding. Barret has always been kind, selfless and heroic, but throwing himself in front of a stranger bordered on foolishness. Cloud glares at him, even as Barret lets out a weak chuckle.

“I’m fine,” he says, clutching his right arm, “Just a few burns.” He gives Cloud a pained, but genuine smile. “Thanks for your help,” he says, with undeserved warmth.

Cloud grimaces and turns harshly away. He storms past Spinel who is helping the frail woman to Barret’s bedside. Cloud knows who that is, another casualty of everything. He just hopes he hasn't ruined Barret's chance at a life with her again with this. She looks so fragile, hunching over Barret's bedside and clutching his large hand. 

“Merna…” he can hear Barret mutter just before Cloud shuts the door behind him. The way he says it with such love and relief makes Cloud feel like sprinting away.

He is halfway through town to his buggy, dogged by townsfolk who keep their distance, but not distantly enough, when he realizes his hands are trembling. His ears still ring from the explosion, and there is a spatter of blood dried to the back of his right glove. He grits his teeth, kicking up dirt as he walks. If he had not been there, would that still have happened? Barret said he lost his arm the night Corel burned. Corel wouldn’t burn for some time yet, not ever if he did this right.

“Hey, wait!” Spinel’s voice jars him out of his thoughts. He looks up to see her sprinting after him. Cloud pauses, bracing himself for the accusations and blame. Instead, Spinel braces a hand on his shoulder as she slides to a stop at his side. “The doc says he’ll be okay,” she says, “Thanks for your help.”

The surprise from her words is enough to get Cloud to fully turn around. He knocks her hand from his shoulder and stares up into her bright eyes. “It’s my fault he’s like that,” he says, incredulous, “I was careless and he paid the price.”

Spinel frowns at him, and Cloud feels a little satisfaction knowing he has wisened her up. Then she sighs. “We were outnumbered,” she says slowly, as if to a child, “I’ve never seen so many bombs in one place. If you hadn’t been there, Barret would be way worse!”

“He lost an arm!” Cloud chokes, horrified by the nonchalance. Spinel doesn’t know what Cloud knows. Spinel doesn’t know that Barret would have remained whole if Cloud never stepped foot in Corel. Even without that knowledge, she should at least be horrified by the loss of a limb.

Spinel huffs. “He would have rather lost an arm than you or all those miners!” she argues, driving a finger into Cloud’s chest. Cloud glares at her, absolutely perplexed by Spinel’s lack of aggression, lack of blame.

“Besides,” she continues, “Losing limbs is like a right of passage for us miners.” She shifts her weight, pulling her long work pants up slightly to reveal the gleam of a metal ankle shoved into her boot. “We’ll just get him a fancy new one!”

Cloud stares down at the prosthetic, then up at Spinel. “Barret won’t feel the same,” he says. He remembers the way Barret looked at his arm. He described it as useful, as convenient, but Cloud could see the barrier it placed between him and most civilians. People didn't look at a man like him with an arm like that quite the same. “He won’t be so casual,” Cloud insists.

Spinel blinks at him, surprised. “Maybe he won’t,” she allows with a sad smile, “But he’s alive, and he’ll get over it.”

Cloud looks away. Spinel insistently steps into his line of sight. “What i’m trying to say is accidents happen,” she says, “And being alive is better than being dead. Even if you’re a little different.”

Cloud stomach flips and he feels sick. He supposes he should be happy she doesn’t believe the opposite. If he does his job right, she will never have to know.

Without a word, he turns on his heel, marching back to his buggy. Spinel follows closely behind. “Leaving already?” she says. Cloud doesn’t reply, tossing his hood up over his head. “You haven’t even really introduced yourself to Barret! Or me! What’s your name?”

Cloud is practically sprinting now, but Spinel keeps up easily with her long legs. Cloud spins around, kicking up a cloud of dust. Spinel nearly barrels into him, but stops just shy of the tips of his boots. “Quit following me,” Cloud demands, narrowing his eyes at her. He brushes off the small amount of humiliation he feels having to jerk his head straight up to glare at her.  “I’m not your hero and I’m not your friend. I’m nothing to you but trouble and it would be in your best interest to forget I was here.”

Spinel leans her weight on one leg, cocking her hip. With a tilted head, she smirks. “Alright, whatever you say,” she agrees, “Trouble.”

“You think you’re smart, but you’re not,” Cloud says, “Someone else already made that joke. And she's funnier than you.” Spinel cackles and Cloud glowers at her. Defeated, Cloud runs a hand over his face with a groan.

“Call me what you want, but don’t tell anyone I was here,” he cautions, “If Shinra comes here asking to build a reactor, don’t get involved. If Avalanche says they’ll help you, tell them to fuck off. You can’t trust either of them. Just stand back, let them fight it out, don’t get involved. Any of you.”

“Where’d that come from?” Spinel asks, cocking an eyebrow and frowning. Her shoulders tense a bit at the mention of Shinra.

“Take your own advice, and make sure Barret follows it too,” Cloud says, ignoring her, “If it’s better to be alive than dead, then don’t throw your life away on fights that aren’t yours.”

With that, he jerks the door of his buggy open roughly and flops into the driver’s seat. He sticks the key in the ignition, while Spinel continues to look confused. Without another word, he slams the door and revs the engine. The fan kicks on with a roar and the wheels dig furrows into the dirt before he twists the wheel, leaving Spinel and Corel literally in the dust.

Cloud feels guilty leaving Barret with no explanation, and Spinel with such ominous words, but the longer he stays, the more likely he is to cause problems. If all goes well, then Barret will never know Cloud’s name. He would forever be the idiot that lost him his arm.

Chapter Text

The drive to Nibelheim takes less time than Cloud expected. He knows he should be thankful for that with how short he is on time, but he also doesn’t want to return. The last time he saw Nibelheim, the real Nibelheim, it was in flames. He wants more time to prepare to see it whole again. He needs to brace himself to see Tifa, now young and sunny again, unburdened by the world’s darkness. He wants to think of what to say to his mother whose face he hardly remembers.

Before he feels ready for any of that, though, the small mountain village comes into view. At the last moment, he chooses to ignore it, making a u-turn and parking his buggy on the outskirts. For the sake of stealth and avoidance, he walks through the trees around town towards the reactor. If all goes well, he can talk to his mother and Tifa afterward, in his own time, on his own terms.

Once sufficiently away from town, he takes off into a sprint through Nibelheim’s forests, avoiding the plentiful wolves and hedgehog pies. He stays away from the barely visible path, keeping his sword drawn in preparation for the terrible monsters that surround the reactor.

There are no dragons waiting for him when he cuts his way through the lock on the reactor gate. Though a young, mutated drake sleeps on the other side. He cuts through it before it has time to stir. 

Inside the reactor, he pointedly avoids looking into the plentiful tanks full of unfortunate souls as he runs towards the innermost chamber. They were all doomed anyway, once he got rid of their progenitor. Soon, he comes to stand in front of a familiar door, illuminated by green lights. He looks up at the nameplate above it, proudly proclaiming ‘Jenova.’ The door swings open under his hand with a loud shriek, revealing the chamber within. 

Cloud takes a step inside, then falls to his knees at the cacophony of noise that slams into him. He can hear the screaming of millions of voices, desperate, wrathful, shouts of agony and pleading. The mako is thick in the air, swirling in green wisps around his face, burning his lungs as he breathes and amplifying the noise. His ears ring and his head pounds as he trembles and clutches at hair. Over the desperate cries of the planet, Jenova howls at him. She spits and snarls like a feral animal, her influence trying to wash him away. Cloud grits his teeth, and stumbles to his feet, bringing his gaze up to her. There she is, petrified, inert, and helpless in a tank full of mako, yet so dangerous to everything he cherishes. He approaches her with faltering steps as the planet rages and grieves around him.

When he cracks the glass to her tank with his sword, he swears she says something to him, her frozen eyes rolling up to meet his. When he blinks, the illusion is gone. Her body is dead and motionless, but he can hear her voice vibrating in his core, the same place the planet’s voice is loudest. He can feel her phantom fingers on his skin, scrabbling at his arms and face. He can hear venom pour from her mouth.

“Blight,” she screams at him. It is an accusation full of disgust and hatred. She is not used to being on this end of an infection.

Cloud grins, an expression that feels like a grimace on his face. “Damn right,” he agrees. Stripping off his gloves, he reaches for her face.

Her skin begins to dissolve before his fingers even make contact. She screeches, pitched high and piercing. It makes Cloud’s head pound harder and his vision double. However, he persists, forcing his hands against Jenova, feeling her cold skin against his palms, shivering when it is reduced to slime. It drips down in great globs from where his hands grasp her face, pooling in the bottom of the tube. It slips through the grating at his feet when it overflows, sizzling as it hits the mako churning below.

Cloud spares a moment of worry for the taint, but the Planet soothes it away, like a hand through his hair. His touch is acting as a purifier, rendering her harmless by the time she touches the mako. As Jenova melts under his touch, the remnants free of her essence, the tune of the Planet’s cry changes. It grows from disparaged weeping to a joyful clamoring, like the sound of a thousand bells. There is still pain and apprehension, but Cloud can feel the hope as it blooms like a lily under Aerith’s hand.

Things are changing.

When the job is done, and Jenova is nothing more than sludge washed away by the lifestream, Cloud collapses to his hands and knees. His breaths come in rough and fast, staring dazedly down at the mako as the Planet’s voice quiets. She leaves Cloud to listen only to the chug of mako through the reactor pumps, and the metal shifting in Nibelheim’s cold. He flops over onto the grated metal floor, curling his knees towards his chest. He clenches and unclenches his fists. There is not a trace of Jenova left on them, burned away completely by whatever force now lives inside of him. He still wants to scrub his hands until a new layer of skin replaces the old.

He closes his eyes, feeling his breath whoosh through his lungs. His limbs ache in time to the beating of his heart, but he does not succumb to the exhaustion. His job isn’t finished.

It isn’t the Planet that tells him, but his own intuition. Sephiroth is still saturated in Jenova cells, as are an unknown amount of SOLDIERS. If Jenova didn’t drive them all mad and send them on a revenge spree, then Shinra’s own overuse of mako will kill the Planet eventually. There is still a lot of work to do.

He rolls to his feet with effort. He has a headache, and his muscles are sore from his weeks of travel. There is an exhaustion that permeates to his very core and makes the grated floor in a mako reactor look like a luxurious down mattress.

He doesn’t have the time, though. There is no telling when Shinra will be arriving here to look for him, and no way of predicting if or when Jenova will try to exert her remaining influence. Not to mention, if Sephiroth can feel Jenova like Cloud could, then he is likely now aware of her demise. In disarming one bomb, Cloud has lit the fuse on another and the explosion is fast approaching.

When he exits the reactor, he catches sight of a helicopter flying towards the tiny town of Nibelheim nestled among the trees. It is black, military-style, with Shinra’s logo painted in glossy white on the side. The sound of the blades beating the air echoes through the mountains, even at such a distance from the reactor. Cloud moves quickly.

He sprints down the path towards Shinra Mansion, sword pulled from its shieth on his back in case he encounters anyone. Thus far, the path is empty aside from wildlife skittering out of his way as he rockets by on haste. He barely notices the transition of dirt path to scuffed wood flooring as he bursts through the front door of the mansion. The monsters haunting the halls scatter at his entrance, startled by the loud noise. The first few that charge him, fall to the frantic swing of his sword, and the others get the message, leaving Cloud alone in the foyer.

He looks over the area, his breath echoing through the empty house, eyes falling on the faded carpet and chipping paint over rotting wood. It should burn nicely with a powerful enough spell. Before that, though, Cloud has someone he needs to wake up.

He heads towards the stairs by memory, slipping easily down the passageway that leads to Hojo’s hidden sins. He pries the door to Vincent’s tomb open with his sword and walks inside. He can almost feel Aerith at his side, struck silent by the horrors in the Shinra Mansion’s basement. Yuffie shuffling impatiently, searching for anything valuable. Tifa, unsurprised, but fuming. Barret stands in the doorway, peering cautiously inside and keeping watch for danger behind them. When Cloud turns, though, they aren’t there. He is completely alone in the musty basement, watching dust motes float lazily through the air in the spare light. As it should be.

He approaches the coffin that houses Vincent, set in the very center of the room, the lid tightly sealed. He stares down at the polished wood surface, then balls his fingers into a fist, rapping three times loudly on the lid.

There is silence as a response, but Cloud waits patiently for around thirty seconds before he huffs. “I don’t have time for this,” he says. Then he rears his booted foot back and kicks the cover off with the flat of his heel. It doesn’t fly as far as it would have ten years from now,  but it makes a sizable racket as it hits the opposite wall, and clatters to the ground. It is splintered now, misshapen, denying Vincent any chance of using it again.

Inside the coffin, Vincent glares up at him, unmoving. Cloud glares right back, feeling an odd mixture of relief, annoyance, and longing swirl in his chest. He wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of this, Vincent laid out in a coffin, alive, but not, like some fairytale creature. He wants to collapse to his knees and weep for the things that were lost to get to this point again.

This isn’t like meeting Aerith or Zack again. They were long dead by the time Cloud was sent back. He had made as much peace as he could with their deaths. He knew he would never meet them again, long before he woke up to Zack’s concerned blue eyes. Seeing them again had felt like he had earned something.

Barret had been different enough too. He was young and unburdened. His eyes were bright, disposition sunny, his hand fully flesh and human. It was like looking at a faded photograph, like a baby photo. He knew they were the same person, but he was so far removed, that Cloud couldn’t fathom knowing him years from now. He benefited from this choice, even if Cloud lost his companionship, Barret still had his happiness.

Seeing Vincent, exactly as he was the day they met and the day they parted, with eyes devoid of recognition, his mouth twisted with irritation, and his brows furrowed warily, hammers home the extent of what Cloud has lost. At first, he thought he had won something back. Everyone was alive again, happy again, restored. Though that ignored the whole truth. In reality, they had been erased. The people he knew, his team, his family from the past, were gone completely. The realization is enough to tear his heart from his chest, send him crashing to his knees as the world trembles.

Cloud has suffered loss before, though. He has suffered, again and again, lost himself, and everyone he loved, and had no chance to heal until after the wounds had festered. He persisted then, so Cloud persists now. Instead of sobbing, running, or dissolving into the overwhelming hysterics his body is pushing him towards, he says to Vincent, “I’m going to burn this place down. Thought you might want a warning.”

Then he turns on his heel and marches towards the door. He expects Vincent to call after him, ask for an explanation, maybe even follow him, or try to stop him. He remains in his coffin. Cloud can’t even see him as he walks out the door. He sighs. In a distant way, he wishes Vincent would join him like last time, but this is for the better. Everyone thought Vincent was dead, at least this way he could start anew, go find Lucrecia, or live a life outside of Shinra’s grasp.

Leaving Vincent to stew, Cloud starts with the basement, grabbing anything he can find that might have information in it. He tears books off shelves, stuffs small black tapes in wooden crates, and totes them upstairs to the foyer. Papers fly as he tears into the files in the filing cabinet. He is careful to collect them all and leave them in a pile in the foyer.

Once he has completely emptied the basement, aside from Vincent, he ransacks the mansion. He breaks beds with his sword, shreds sheets, puts them in piles in the center of every room. Any papers, any scrap of data he finds, books, files, disks, and tapes, no matter how benign they seem, get carried down to the foyer and piled together. He looks at it all with grim determination. These were the things that sparked Sepheroth’s madness. Without them, he would have no motivation to burn down Nibelheim. 

He starts the first fires upstairs. He sets his piles of junk alight first, then sets a few smaller fires in the corners of every room. He works meticulously, making sure every square inch of the mansion will burn. The attention pays off. By the time Cloud leaves, the smoke is thick and the fire is raging, greedily licking at his heels. He strolls out onto the dry dirt surrounding the mansion to watch it burn.

There is something soothing about the destruction. He feels his shoulders slumping against his will, the aching in his limbs and the heaviness in his body making themselves known again. He listens to the crackling of the flames, plastic memory drives melting and papers dissolving into smoke. With them goes all of Hojo’s lies and any chance of Sephiroth‘s delusions. Like hitting snooze on a timebomb, he can't help but feel a little relief.

Now he has time. Dormant Jenova cells might eventually drive Sephiroth to insanity, but it should be harder with nothing to chip away at his will. The mako reactors are still draining Gaia's life force, but it will be ten years or more before the damage is irreversible. He has time to plan, regroup, compartmentalize and mourn what he lost to be here.

Or so he thought. Cloud sighs as he hears a pair of footsteps hurrying up the hill leading to the mansion. They clomp carelessly through the dry earth, one pair lighter than the other. They are running, and soon Cloud can match the hustled footsteps to heavy breathing. 

"I'm sure everything's fine," says a girl's voice, still shameless with a Nibelheim twang. "It's probably just some folks burning out the underbrush. It's been dry this year," she continues around her harried breaths, "You can stop big fires by starting little ones…"

She trails off as the footsteps in front of her skid to a halt. Both of them stand behind Cloud, no doubt so distracted by the sight of the second floor of the mansion collapsing onto the first that they don't yet see him. Tifa’s gaze falls to him first. “Cloud!” she shouts, both elated and confused. He turns in time to catch her in his arms as she runs at him, her dumb cowboy hat falling to the ground behind her. She throws her arms around his neck, smiling at him. “When did you get back?!” she asks.

Cloud freezes at the contact, still uncomfortable even after years of Tifa’s warm touch. He glances at her, then at Sephiroth standing behind her. He has his hand near his sword, staring at Cloud with wide, vibrant green eyes. His expression gives little away, nothing but a small furrow between his brows to communicate that he is the least bit troubled. Cloud slowly shifts, so that Tifa is shielded by him. “A while ago,” he answers, purposely vague.

“Why didn’t you come to the village?!” Tifa demands, “What are you even doing out here?” She moves easily with Cloud’s urging, expression changing from scolding to cautious, even as the words leave her mouth. She had always been good at reading him.

“You know… like you were saying,” Cloud replies without looking at her, “A little bit of preventative burning.” He glares at Sephiroth as he says it, and Sephiroth’s gaze becomes sharper.

“And what were you trying to prevent?” Sephiroth asks. He does not move, hand still hovering dangerously near Masamune at his hip, feet planted firmly in the dirt. “By burning the Shinra Mansion?” he finishes.

“What else?” Cloud responds, “Bigger fires, of course.” He gives up on subtlety, stepping in front of Tifa, hand moving back for his sword. Tifa makes a confused noise, grabbing the back of Cloud’s cloak. That is lost to what Sephiroth does in response to his movement. When Cloud took a step forward, Sephiroth had taken a step back.

His hand falls away from his sword, watching the SOLDIER watch him. He slides his foot through the dirt, and Sephiroth tenses. He takes another step, and Sephiroth shifts back, hands flexing near Masamune. “You’re jumpy,” Cloud comments.

Sephiroth doesn’t give it a response. “What were you trying to hide in the Mansion?” he asks instead, hand now firmly resting on Masamune’s hilt. Cloud resists grabbing his own sword strapped to his back. 

“Nothing you’d care to see,” Cloud says, “Don’t worry about it."

“I would’ve liked to decide that for myself,” Sephiroth says, face folding in mellow anger.

Cloud shifts his stance, and Tifa, reading the tensing air, squares up behind him. Cloud is thankful she hasn’t changed too much, still ready for a fight.

“Can’t always get what we want,” Cloud says with a shrug, even as his heart pounds against his chest. The situation isn’t completely a lost cause, but with Tifa behind him, and Sephiroth, of all people, confronting him, his odds of getting out unscathed aren’t good. This Tifa isn’t the Tifa with four years of making it on her own, fighting rowdy bar-goers, and monster infestations with her bare fists. This is the Tifa that Sephiroth cut down in the reactor entrance, who had never witnessed what darkness the world truly had to offer and barely lived through it when she had.

Sephiroth watches his feet slide through the dirt intently. Cloud keeps up his unconcerned front. When he flexes his fingers, Sephiroth’s eyes snap to them. They remain focused there as if Cloud is brandishing a gun instead of ten empty fingers. “What did you do to Genesis?” Sephiroth questions next, continuing his unproductive interrogation.

Cloud scrunches his face in thought. “Who…?” he questions. Had he encountered anyone named Genesis in his travels here? If he had, then what did he do to them? Then, he remembers, the two men Zack introduced to him before he escaped. He hadn’t been paying much attention, but he remembers their faces, specifically the one with geostigma that healed after touching him. “The Loveless guy?” he asks.

“Yes,” Sephiroth says. His face does something funny, then smoothes. “What did you do to him?” 

“Don’t know,” Cloud admits, looking down at his hands, “He touched me and I healed him, I guess.” He looks at Sephiroth, something mean-spirited brewing just behind his teeth. “Seems like I’m Jenova cell repellent now,” he adds, watching the SOLDIER for a reaction. 

“Jenova…” Sephiroth mutters, just barely loud enough for Cloud to hear.

“Yeah,” Cloud says, resting one, bare, ungloved hand on his hip. His pale fingers stand out starkly against the black, and Sephiroth watches them like one would watch someone with a loaded gun or a readied grenade. “Really convenient. All I had to do was touch her and she melted into nothing,” he says, words sharp and loud.

“You… She… what?” Sephiroth asks, his own tone gaining an edge. His expression is a little more lively now, the angry slant of his pale eyebrows more pronounced, his straight, white teeth peeking out from his frown. “She what?”

“Dissolved,” Cloud says, matter-of-fact, “Turned to sludge.”

“What…” Sephiroth begins to say, his voice a short, sharp bark. Then he closes his eyes, clenches his hands at his sides. Cloud watches, fascinated. “Whatever you… dissolved, was not Jenova,” he insists, “Jenova was my mother. She died giving birth to me… long ago.”

Cloud nearly chokes on a laugh. “You trust that? Hojo told you that, didn’t he?” he asks, “You still trust a single word he says after what happened to Loveless Guy?”

“What happened to Genesis was Hollander’s mistake,” Sephiroth says, “Hollander never had a hand in my development.”

Cloud smirks, sour and unkind. “He was imitating Hojo, Sephiroth,” he says slowly. He doesn’t know for sure, doesn’t know anything about the other two Firsts, but those Jenova cells had to have come from somewhere. “They used the same materials, maybe even the same methods. Just because you’re a more stable product, doesn’t mean you and Genesis weren’t both made with the same ingredients and with the same result in mind.”

“Jenova wasn’t your mother. She’s the shit Hojo injected you with to make you a monster,” Cloud finishes.

“That’s a lie!” Sephiroth spits, his eyes flashing bright green, pupils stark, dark slits in a sea of mako. Cloud tenses and Tifa stumbles back a bit, her clunky boots kicking up a cloud of dust. “Jenova was my mother! And I am not a-”

“He isn’t lying about that at least,” a familiar voice interrupts. It is deep, and calm, emanating from the treeline. Cloud turns to see Vincent melt from the shadows, previously invisible despite his vibrant red coat and headband. “I can’t confirm anything else. But he is right. Jenova is not your mother.”

“So you finally decided to come out?” Cloud asks, more to tease Vincent than with any actual ire.

Vincent, on the other hand, stares at him. “You burnt the mansion down around my ears,” he points out.

“I gave you a warning,” Cloud replies with a shrug, “Plus, it’s not like a little fire is gonna kill you.”

Vincent gives him a wary look, but before he can comment further, Sephiroth speaks up. “How… Who are you?” he demands. He slides Masamune from its sheath so that only the barest sliver of the silver blade can be seen. “What do you know about my mother?” The second question comes out softer. There is something different about Sephiroth, now that Cloud looks. Not angry or unhinged, but cautious and unsure, watching the three of them like they might be his undoing. Cloud wonders if the latent Jenova cells in him can somehow sense that Cloud’s original meetings with Tifa and Vincent eventually led to her downfall.

“My name is Vincent Valentine,” Vincent replies smoothly, “But I doubt that you’ve heard of me. I protected Hojo and your mother while Hojo conducted his experiments here… a long time ago. It turned out to be my… last assignment. Thanks to Hojo.”

Sephiroth does not relax, but he allows Masamune to slide fully back into its sheath. “You knew my mother?” he asks, quiet.

“Yes,” Vincent replies, “Her name was not Jenova, it was Lucrecia… Lucrecia Cresent. She was a scientist, a brilliant one.”

Sephiroth looks between him and Cloud, eyes still distrustful. “It’s a lie,” he says, eyes flicking quickly between the two of them. “My mother’s name was Jenova,” he recites like it was something he was forced to remember, or forced himself to remember, “She died in childbirth. She was… she was not… I’m not….”

“If you really want to, you can ask her,” Cloud says, “Lucrecia, I mean. She’s still alive.” He doesn’t miss the sharp intake of breath from Vincent. He knows the man will follow him around now until he has the location and Cloud sighs. “Jenova isn’t anything but a parasite. Her cells are poison,” he says.

He isn’t expecting Sephiroth to flinch at that, eyes snapping from Vincent’s face to his. The expression on his face is almost fearful, the most open, and vulnerable thing Cloud has ever seen. It shutters soon after, smoothed over by stoicism, but for a moment Sephiroth looks human. Cloud takes a bold step forward, and Sephiroth doesn’t move. “But I can help you,” Cloud says. He holds his hand out for Sephiroth, over the invisible line that separates them, palm open and unarmed.

He might as well have been holding a charged Knights of the Round summon in that hand with the way Sephiroth looks at it. At the start, he has naked fear on his face, then blinks and it is replaced by icy anger. He takes a pointed step back. “If you think I’m foolish enough to fall for your lies that easily, you’re a fool yourself,” he says.

Cloud huffs. “Why are you so determined to be related to that thing?” he demands, fire flaring in his chest, “You want to be that special that bad?” He takes another step forward, Sephiroth grips Masamune in an iron grip, taking a step back. “Well, that's a damn shame. You’re not anything, you’re just--”

“I am not a monster. I am-” Sephiroth begins to say, but Cloud plows over his desperate words.

“No! And that’s what makes me so mad!” Cloud seethes, glaring at Sephiroth’s frightened expression, the desperate set of his shoulders, the all-too-human way he holds himself. This was what hunted and haunted him? This shoved a sword through Aerith's gut and a meteor into Gaia? This sad shadow of a man clinging to lies and fairytales nearly ended the world?

 “You’re just like the rest of us!" Cloud spits, fists so tight at his sides that his nails bite into his palms. He can't stand it, that he has to save Sephiroth too. He hates how he makes it so difficult. "You’re not a monster! And you’re not special or chosen, or anything else. You’re just a stupid, dumbass child clinging to something that you know is a lie to try to change the truth.” Blood slips between his knuckles, dripping onto the dirt. His whole body trembles. He clenches his teeth forcing a breath into his impossibly tight lungs. “You're a victim. It’s… sad, honestly.”

At those words, Sephiroth’s eyes blow wide, then narrow in anger. He chooses that moment to charge at Cloud, unsheathing Masamune as he goes. Cloud dodges the first pointed stab with an easy sidestep. “I am a SOLDIER!” Sephiroth spits at him. He twists the katana to the side, slicing in an arc towards Cloud who barely manages to stumble back out of the path of the blade. “The perfect SOLDIER!” Sephiroth insists, “With the perfect enhancements and genetics. I was built for this!”

Cloud draws his broadsword in enough time to block a powerful downward strike from Masamune. “You’re an experiment!” Cloud shouts over the clash of their swords. Sephiroth tries unsuccessfully to overpower him, glaring at Cloud from behind Masamune’s paper-thin, razor-sharp blade. A hair-thin crack creeps across Cloud's broadsword from where their swords meet. Cloud doesn't falter. 

“You weren’t built for shit!” Cloud breaks the deadlock with a shove forward. Sephiroth stumbles back. His eyes flash green and he growls before slamming his sword into the earth. Cloud jumps back, shielding his face from the spray of dirt.

"You're just another project," Cloud yells, reveling in the look it brings to Sephiroth's face, "A favorable result." 

Sephiroth's face crumples with rage, stabbing Masamune forward. Cloud parries it, the tip of the blade screeching across Cloud's broadsword.

Sephiroth doesn't let up, raining a series of blows down that Cloud has to scramble to dodge and block. "You're the way you are only because of what Hojo did to you," Cloud says over the clang of their blades. Cloud's sword whines, trembling in his hands under the endless onslaught.

"Silence!" Sephiroth snarls. He slams Masamune in a powerful downward arc. Cloud catches it with his broadsword, swinging it upwards and forcing Sephiroth's stance to break. As Sephiroth stumbles back, the broadsword gives up the ghost. It shatters, breaking into two jagged pieces. The top half of it falls into the dirt behind Cloud, leaving him with only the hilt and a hand's length of the broken, dulled blade.

"You think that madman had a purpose?" Cloud demands, pointing the broken end of his sword at Sephiroth's wide-eyed, wild glare. "You think he was following some grand, master plan? That it's destiny?!" he continues to rant, "Maybe in his delusional fantasy land. But in reality? It's all just happenstance. A happy accident… or maybe an unfortunate one."

"I said be silent!" Sephiroth yells, then charges him. Cloud tosses his broken sword to the side, jumping over the horizontal strike aimed at his legs. He lands in Sephiroth's space, barely a footstep away. Sephiroth's footing slips with his shock. Cloud wastes no time, he wraps both arms around Sephiroth's waist and pushing off of his toes, tackles Sephiroth to the ground, sending dust and dead leaves flying into the air as they fall.

"You better hope you're nothing more than an experiment," Cloud says, slamming his knees on either side of Sephiroth's waist. Bracing a hand on his shoulder, he shoots the other out towards Sephiroth's ridiculous, exposed chest like a knife over his heart.

Sephiroth snatches his wrist over the long sleeves of his shirt. His grip is crushing around Cloud's thin arm, and he hears the bone creek before it snaps. Even after the bone breaks, Sephiroth keeps his grip tight. Cloud stares down into his face as he struggles. Sephiroth's anger is gone, all that is left is something desperate and wild. He tries to yank his arm away, but Sephiroth only uses this moment to grab his other wrist.

Sephiroth pushes the advantage, surging up and pushing Cloud off him and on his back. He presses his wrists against the ground, one knee planted in his gut. Cloud squirms like a dying snake, but he can't get free.

Sephiroth towers over him, hair falling over them both like a silver curtain. His grip is like iron and Cloud can't break it. His eyes are bright, slit like that of a predator's. It sets Clouds heart pounding. His struggles grow more desperate, writhing in the dirt. His shoes dig furrows in the earth beneath him, and he is watching helplessly as a meteor bears down on Midgar. He is handing over the black materia and he can't move his body. Aerith is in front of him, a sword through her middle, and Cloud can only watch. He is standing, helpless, watching his village burn to the ground.

"Cloud…" Sephiroth says, in his deep baritone, like he owned his name before it ever crossed his mother’s mind. "Strife…?" he says again. But Sephiroth has never used Cloud's last name before. He was always so unabashedly familiar, unashamedly intimate.

Cloud blinks, staring up at a set of confused eyes. Sephiroth's grip has slackened, and there is concern creased between his fair brows. Cloud remembers where he is, and with a sudden surge, jackknifes upwards and slams his head into Sephiroth's.

It's like making contact with a brick wall, and stars explode behind his eyes, a headache already forming. At least it’s not for nothing. It prompts Sephiroth to roll off of him, clutching his head, while Cloud curls into a ball and does the same. 

Cloud stumbles to his feet first, head still spinning. Sephiroth remains on his hands and knees, staring at the ground. He looks disheveled with dirt caked on his hands and face, dead leaves caught in his mussed hair. He is paler than normal, with a bright red spot on his forehead where his and Cloud's met. For a moment, he remains there, hunched over, staring at nothing.

Then, with a choked-off noise, his arms collapse under him, leaving him to face plant into the dirt. He gives a full-body tremble, cut-off grunts, and short gasps spilling from his mouth as he curls in on himself like a dead bug.

Cloud takes a step forward, watching with sick fascination as Sephiroth shudders and makes thin sounds from deep in his chest. His eyes remain wide, vacant, but there is something swimming in them, fighting against Cloud's touch. Cloud kneels to get a closer look at the way his irises seem to bubble and spark, his pupils thinning, then abruptly widening as he claws trails into the earth with his fingers. It is a move that proves foolhardy when a wing erupts from his back. It unfurls like a whip, knocking Cloud in the side and sending him rolling a few meters away.

Tifa cries his name and runs to his side. She helps him back up to his feet and keeps a hand braced on his back. Clutching his side, he lifts his gaze in time to watch the wing stretch to its full length, feathers flaring wide and pearlescent like a slick of oil in the sparse light from the overcast sky. Then Sephiroth lets loose a howl, something primal and guttural that tears at his throat as it escapes. It reverberates through Cloud's bones and sends a shudder up his spine.

Then the feathers start to fall. While Sephiroth stares into the sky, neck craned back, expression pain-stricken, the feathers begin to rain down by the handful. They float delicately in the air, caught by the light breeze. They start to disintegrate before they hit the ground, mixing with the ash-laden air around the still burning Shinra Mansion. as they fall away, pale skin like porcelain is revealed, cracked and peeling away like chipping paint to bare spindly bones beneath. They too begin to crumble, bit by bit, until the only evidence left of it is the tear in the back of Sephiroth's coat.

Silence settles over them, broken only by Sephiroth’s labored breathing and the crackle of fire eating away at the foundation of the Shinra Mansion. Cloud leans against Tifa, head fuzzy and pounding, ribs likely bruised or broken. He takes a step back and Sephiroth tenses.

Then Cloud hears a voice, far off, but getting steadily closer. "It came from over here, guys!" Zack shouts.

"Not that we need your direction," another sour voice intones, "that scream could be heard in Corel."

"Stop squabbling and move!" a third voice commands. Soon he can hear the sounds of three sets of boots pounding the ground steadily. Zack is coming with the two other SOLDIER Firsts, and who knows who else will follow. Cloud steps away from Tifa, already charging up his time materia. She follows, grasping his unbroken wrist.

"Cloud," she says when their eyes meet, "You're… You're hurt!" It isn't the exclamation he is expecting, but he doesn't let it distract him. He gently pulls his arm out of her grasp.

"It's fine," Cloud says, making a valiant effort not to slur his words even as the world around him distorts like he is looking through curved glass.

"Cloud, what?" Tifa questions. She reaches for him again, despite Cloud's tensed shoulders. "What happened to you? What did you do to Sephiroth?" she asks him, concern heavy in her voice. 

Between them, Sephiroth is slowly shaking off whatever happened to him. Vincent has wisely disappeared. The footsteps draw closer. Cloud is running out of time. "I can't explain right now," he says quickly. He can later when he isn't at risk of getting captured. Maybe in a letter or a phone call. Shinra will likely monitor her from this point forward, and he doesn't want to endanger her. 

He grits his teeth, fighting the unique brand of mourning he felt with Vincent. She is so different. She is so young and untried, open-hearted and unabashedly concerned for him, and even for Sephiroth. She doesn't know what either of them can do and doesn't care. He forgot what Tifa was like before she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. When caring was as natural to her as breathing, not a risk she took.

He casts haste, feeling the spell stir his blood from his fingertips to his toes. He swallows thickly, giving her one last, long look. Later, he would get to know this Tifa. He could learn all the things he forgot and she thought were too unimportant to mention after the end of the world. "I'm sorry," he says honestly,  "I'll talk to you soon."

Then he is dashing the opposite direction into the trees. He casts another haste, dodging thick tree trunks and tufts of weeds. He jumps over rocks and vaults bushes, leaving Tifa and the rest of Nibelheim at his back.

Chapter Text

The sound of a horrifying, monstrous scream jolts Vincent from sleep. It cuts off abruptly, but continues to echo in his ears. While the sound sets his heart racing, his uninvited passengers settle. Like a dog being called off guard, they relax, falling into the back of his mind.

Vincent stares up at the lid of his coffin. It is pitch black. The only light in the small space is the two faint red dots cast from his monstrous eyes. Like his passengers, Vincent too settles. Perhaps he imagined the scream. Even if he hadn't, it certainly wasn't human, and Vincent isn't interested in coming to its aid.

He has fallen back into some semblance of rest when someone raps on his coffin lid. They knock sharply three times before they wait. Vincent can hear their breathing, easy and calm, though their heartbeat flutters anxiously in their chest. Vincent remains still, silencing his breathing. Vincent is a patient man. He has played dead for almost thirty years.

The intruder is not so patient, it seems. They huff before saying, "I don't have time for this."

Vincent feels rather smug before something launches the lid of his coffin off. It makes a loud clattering as it falls to the ground several meters away. Vincent does not look for it, his eyes are already locked on the culprit.

It's a young boy, face still plump with baby fat, with soft blue eyes and messy blonde hair. His initial appearance does a good job belying how much of a threat Vincent can see he is upon closer inspection. His eyes glow brightly with Mako's toxic light and look aged beyond the boy's young appearance. His tattered black cloak makes him look beaten and ragged, but the toned muscle of his arms and the sword slung across his back give away strength and experience. He stares down at Vincent with something like heartbreak, brows furrowed and eyes glimmering in the dim light of the basement. It disappears with a blink, replaced with neutrality.

"I'm going to burn this place down," the boy says like one might say they are going for a walk, "thought you might like a warning."

Without waiting for a reply, he turns on his heel and marches out of the room. Vincent remains where he is. He won't rise to the bait, even as he hears the sound of things breaking, tearing fabric, and clamoring cabinets. He can hear stomping footsteps and the thump of things against the floor in all parts of the mansion. Soon after, he catches the scent of smoke. It seems that the boy was serious.

He sits up, casting a mournful look over at the mangled lid to his coffin. His bones creak from over two decades of no use as he stands. Above him, he can hear the fire truly beginning to rage, catching quickly on the old, dry wood. He makes his way through piles of smoldering files and melting plastic out the back of the mansion.

It isn't hard to find the boy again. He is standing in front of the mansion, his voice level and soft as he speaks with two other people. Vincent carefully approaches the tree line, keeping himself out of sight. It seems rather than having a conversation, the boy is interested in tormenting someone, his tone careless and his words biting.

"Jenova wasn't your mother," the boy says, "She's the shit Hojo injected you with to make you a monster."

Vincent knows of Jenova, the strange, petrified creature Hojo worshipped like a goddess and studied like dogma. He also has an idea of at least one of the people who Hojo injected with its cells, and he has to stop himself from dashing around a tree and directly into their eye-line when he hears it.

He shuffles instead, peaking around the thick trunk of a tall tree to catch sight of a man. He is taller than the boy, dressed all in black and carrying a comically long sword. Vincent pauses at the silver hair, certain he is mistaken, but then he looks closer. Without a shadow of a doubt, he knows that man belongs to her.

It is not immediately apparent in his silver hair or vibrantly green irises, but he sees her in the shape of his eyes, the bridge of his nose, and the curve of his lips. Even in the way he holds himself, Lucrecia is echoed. His expression is hers, curious, but cautious, eager for an answer despite fearing it.

Vincent had heard her, in the moments between pitch-black nothingness and mind-numbing pain. She had cried out, longing and desperate, "My baby! My son!"

Sephiroth.

Sephiroth is desperate himself. Crying out another woman's, another thing's, name as his mother. He claims not to be a monster and then stands stubbornly in defense of one.

Surprisingly, shockingly, the boy agrees, at least on the subject of monsters. He burns clearly with rage at Sephiroth's blind foolishness. His eyes are bright and modeled like the reflection of the moon over a disturbed sea.

Vincent intervenes, but it does little good. Things still escalate,  the blond boy standing firm by his convictions while Sephiroth continues to teeter on the line between denial and despair. How he felt ultimately didn't matter in the end, the boy lays hands on him, or rather, slams his head violently into Sephiroth's, and Vincent witnesses a purification.

It is horrifying to witness, a struggle against pure agony. Whatever poison lurks in Sephiroth does not relinquish its hold easily. It takes the form of a single, black wing exploding from his back in a spray of feathers. Vincent watches, stunned, as the wing begins to molt, feathers falling away in clumps. Then the skin flakes away, followed by bones, until it is no more. Sephiroth collapses into the dirt and the boy runs.

Vincent wants to linger and help Lucrecia's child who still struggles even to stand, but he had just seen a miracle. The boy had banished Jenova's cells with just a touch. Moreover, he knew where Lucrecia, still alive, was hiding.

It isn't as if he was abandoning Sephiroth, in the distance he can hear his allies, running at top speed and shouting to each other with concern. He can tell by listening to his fluttering heartbeat and labored breath that while he is shaken, he is overall unharmed by the experience. Meanwhile, the miracle worker of a boy was sprinting through the dense Nibel forests hyped up on a haste spell with a concussion and a broken wrist at least. Out of the two, his situation is more dire. Beyond that, something in him, likely his passengers, calls to the boy, protective and ferocious, like loyal dogs.

Vincent melts into the shadows before he can convince himself otherwise. The boy might be concussed, but he is running away on enhanced legs, with a high-level haste spell aiding him. He would be covering quite a bit of ground if he didn't splatter himself on a tree first.

All things considered, weaving through the trees, Vincent expected the boy to be harder to find. He seems to have been able to avoid Shinra and by extension, the Turks, thus far, after all. What alerts Vincent to his presence is not the shuffle of feet or labored breathing. No unexpected attack or burst from the trees announces his arrival. Instead, Vincent only has to follow the long, obnoxious blare of a vehicle's horn.

It echoes through the trees, disturbing the local fauna as they skitter away from the noise. If he weren't so perplexed, Vincent would have snorted. The sound is loud, but high pitched, like air escaping from a punctured balloon. If the boy is trying to call for help, he certainly isn't doing it in the most dignified way.

He follows the noise to a buggy trapped in a thick copse of trees. The front of it is crumpled, partially curved around one thick trunk. It is tipped forward, its three sturdy wheels spinning uselessly just above the dirt. The boy is tossed over the steering wheel, arms by his sides, and eyes firmly closed. His weight is clearly what is depressing the horn. Vincent sprints over.

After tearing the door from its hinges, his hands flutter over the blond for a moment, dialing into training that he hasn't used in almost thirty years. First, he presses two fingers to the boy's neck, feeling a strong pulse beat against his fingers. He listens to his breathing as it comes out steady, though hitched at the end of the inhale, like there is pain if he breathes too deeply. A cursory examination from the base of the boy's neck down to his hips reveals no obvious breaks in his spinal column. Satisfied he can be moved, Vincent pulls him back against the seat. With the horn silenced, he lifts the boy into his arms.

As if his name were called, the boy awakens when he comes to rest against Vincent's chest. His gold lashes flutter, revealing stormy blue eyes. They are glazed, roving over Vincent's face with some confusion. Vincent stares at the mako that circles his pupils and lurks in his iris. After a breath, those luminous eyes focus, and the boy smiles. It isn't the same smile from before, the sardonic smirk, sharp as the edge of his sword. This one is shy, but gentle and warm like he couldn't help it, almost joyful to see Vincent. "Oh…" he sighs with audible relief, "Vincent…" Then he promptly passes out.

Vincent tenses as the boy goes limp in his arms, eyes scanning his face. Vincent never told him his name, and unless things have drastically changed, Vincent Valentine is not a household name. The boy is also too young to have learned his name before Hojo happened to him. He could have easily mistaken Vincent for someone else, another friend coincidentally called Vincent, but that chance is low. Besides, the boy knows other things about him, like where in the mansion to find him, and the fact that fire wouldn't kill him.

He stares at the boy, feeling uneasy, but the passengers inside of him surge forward. They reassure him, lock his hands around the boy’s body, so he can't drop him. He holds something precious, they tell him, necessary to the planet and everything on it. As unsettling as he is, Vincent absolutely can't drop him.

Vincent sighs, figuring he can demand an explanation when the boy wakes up and disappears into the trees.

When they find Sephiroth, he is on his hands and knees in the dirt. That in and of itself is shocking. Even gushing blood and leaking guts, pitted against armies, Sephiroth could never be brought to his knees.

Then they take in his condition. His pale face and his gasping lungs, eyes wide and haunted. Almost paradoxically there is a round, red welt swelling in the center of his forehead.

 Angeal is the first to kneel next to him, a hand on his back as he speaks softly to him. Sephiroth shakes his head and waves him off, but Angeal doesn’t move.

“That’s unfortunate,” Genesis says, pointing to the mansion. They had planned to search it for information while they waited for Cloud to show up.

Now the ruins of it are smoldering, barely giving off smoke. They had originally believed Tifa’s words when they saw the first hints of smoke. It wasn't unreasonable that some of the people living farther out in the woods were just burning the undergrowth to prevent fires, so they hung back. Then they heard a scream, like nothing they had ever heard before; mainly because it was from Sephiroth.

As Genesis brushes past him and heads towards the collapsed remains of the mansion, Zack turns his attention to the girl. She had called herself Tifa and claimed to be one of the only combat-ready people in the village that could lead them to the mansion and the reactor. Sephiroth had felt that something was wrong even before they saw the smoke, and Tifa volunteered to go up ahead with him and come back to get them later.

After the scream, they weren’t going to wait. Tifa's guidance wasn't needed, they could just follow the smoke, and the sound of Sephiroth’s anguish echoing off the peaks of the Nibel Mountains.

“What happened?” Zack asks Tifa roughly. Sephiroth still refuses to speak, gripping Angeal’s sleeve as he recovers from whatever it is that occurred. “What did you do to Sephiroth?”

“I didn’t-” Tifa stutters, eyes going wide, “I… I’m not sure…”

“What do you mean you’re not sure?” Zack demands, marching towards her. For her credit, Tifa doesn’t cower, even as he towers over her. “You and Sephiroth are the only people here. You expect me to believe he collapsed on his own?” he questions.

“Leave her be, Zack. It was Strife,” Sephiroth says, managing to make it to his feet with Angeal’s help. He is still pale, hair sticking to his face with sweat. When he looks up, Zack notices with a start that his pupils are no longer slits, and around them, his irises are a duller green, almost a natural hazel. The mako glow is still there, but dimmer now. “It seems I have fallen victim to his magic touch,” Sephiroth mutters.

Zack gawks, unsure whether to ask where Cloud ran off to or point out how different he looks. Genesis’s dramatics beat him to the punch. He spins around, kicking ash and embers into the air. He has a grin on his face, their predicament apparently forgotten. “And how does it feel?” he asks, stepping out of the ruins of the mansion. "To be touched by the Gift of the Goddess. To reach your Salvation, given freely and joyfully?"

"He wasn't very joyful to give it this time, it seems," Sephiroth says, voice distant, "but to be truthful, it feels… empty. Quiet." He looks off into the trees surrounding the mansion like he can see past them.

“Quiet?” Angeal asks, sounding deeply concerned. Zack agrees with him, wandering closer to the general to get a better look at his pallid face and newly rounded pupils. “You’ve been… hearing things?” Angeal continues, low and cautious. It is low enough that Tifa can’t hear, though she doesn’t seem overly concerned with their conversation anyway.

“It’s… not voices,” Sephiroth says, placing a reassuring hand on Angeal's arm. “More like… a buzzing in my ears. I hadn’t noticed it until it was gone,” he mutters this distantly, staring at his other hand before looking at Angeal. “What did he do…?”

“Removed the influence of Jenova!” Genesis says cheerily, “And now you are free.”

Sephiroth looks at Genesis, shooting him a glare. “Jenova is-” Then his eyes widen, and he cuts himself off. He glances down at his boots. His mouth works, like he plans to say something more, then he shuts it with a click.

“Nevermind,” Sephiroth says, more to himself than them. He looks between the three of them. “Because of my… distraction, I allowed Strife to get away,” he reports as if he expects to be reprimanded. No one would dare. They already have a first-hand experience with how slippery Cloud can be anyway, and Sephiroth didn’t escape unscathed. When no scolding comes, he continues, “He is likely long gone by now, and he probably won’t return for some time. He spoke as if his… business here was finished.”

He removes his hand from Angeal, leaning away from his support. “Some pieces to our puzzle may remain in the reactor,” he reasons. Straightening, he looks to Tifa. “You can take us there?” he asks, though it sounds more like a plea.

Tifa meets his gaze, and they share a long look. Zack glances between them, trying to discern meaning in the curve of Sephiroth’s brows, or Tifa’s wide eyes and slightly parted lips. He can’t decipher anything before Tifa is nodding her head quickly. “Yeah, it’s just a little hike up this path,” she says. She points to a faded line weaving in between the trees.

They set off soon after, Sephiroth passing the ruins over as a lost cause. The trek up to the reactor is tense, to say the least. While Zack tries to break the silence by starting a conversation, no one engages with him. Tifa walks so quickly, she might as well be running from them, rather than leading them. Sephiroth continues to stare at his hands, then his boots, then blankly ahead at Tifa’s long braid swinging back and forth over her back. Angeal has eyes only for Sephiroth, concern written deeply in his features as they walk. Genesis is the happiest of the bunch, grinning and quoting Loveless. That also means he doesn’t feel the desire to bully Zack, argue with Angeal, or take shots at Sephiroth. Needless to say, it is a long, quiet walk for Zack. A fancy way to say 'miserable,' in his book.

When they arrive at the reactor, the area around it is barren and rocky, the gray of the sky growing darker. They quarrel a bit about who will go first down the rickety-looking bridge to the entrance. Sephiroth takes the lead without a word, brushing past them with single-minded determination. Angeal is quick to follow him, his instinct to protect overriding any apprehension about the bridge and the deep chasm underneath. Genesis is next, watching Angeal’s new doting on Sephiroth with dangerous interest. Zack hangs back for a moment to speak to Tifa.

It is hard to speak to her, which is odd for Zack. She had playfully flirted with him when they arrived, and Zack had been receptive. Now she was quiet, and wouldn’t meet his eyes. There was something guarded and secretive about her now. “So… uh…” Zack says, looking between her and the reactor.

“I won’t tell you where Cloud went,” she says firmly. Then her eyes widen and her lips thin. “I don’t even know where he went. If I did, you'd be the last to know.” She clenches her fists, raising them like she plans to fight him.

Zack immediately lifts both hands up, palms facing her. “Wait! Wait! Wait!” he says, stumbling back as she stomps toward him, “I wasn’t even gonna ask about Cloud! Well maybe-” Her glare grows hot, the muscles in her arms flexing, “-But no! Wait!" She pauses, her fist inches from his face. "Was he okay, at least?” Zack yelps, cringing away.

Tifa deflates, the defensive set to her shoulders slumping into something forlorn. “I don’t know…” she says quietly, “He acted so differently.” Zack looks back at her in time to watch as she lowers her fists, looking away from him and toward the treeline. “He seemed so different. Not just… not just the eyes, like I expected, but his whole self.” She looks back at him, worry stark in her wine-red gaze. “It’s only been a year. What… what happened?”

Zack rubs the back of his neck. How much did Cloud want to give up and to who? He blows out a breath, long and heavy. “Well, mako can mess with the mind, so…” he says, trying not to wince at Tifa’s sharp intake of breath. “Ah… Fo-Forget I said that. I just... I can't say much, but… Long story short, Cloud didn't get those eyes from Shinra, he woke up one day with them and a mission and ran off."

Tifa watches him with her guarded gaze. Zack does his very best to project being the paragon of reliability and trust. He must succeed, because Tifa relaxes more, meeting Zack’s eyes with her own. “Are you going to go after him?” she asks.

“I think if we were gonna, we would have,” Zack says, looking back towards the mansion, “He might have incapacitated Sephiroth, but Angeal and Genesis are both still SOLDIER Firsts, they could have caught him if Seph told them to.” Though, with how easily Cloud has slipped away two times now, he isn’t so sure. “He wanted to come here instead, so I guess Cloud’s lower priority.”

Tifa sighs with relief. “Then… will you try to go after him later…?” she asks.

Zack shrugs. “I wish I could tell you,” he says honestly. Contrary to his expectations, Tifa doesn’t get aggressive with him. She looks thoughtfully over him, eyes lingering on his face. He heats up under her stare, suddenly bashful. Tifa is pretty, strong, apparently caring, and Zack is only human. “Uh… er... If we do… it’ll be on our terms, I can tell you that. So you don’t have to worry about Shinra,” he assures her as he tries to will his face to cool.

“Shinra is after him?” Tifa asks. Zack continues to bluster, accidentally giving away way too much.

“Maybe…?” Zack says, high-pitched with a wince, “But I already said you don’t have to worry! If Cloud can give Sephiroth the slip, then no one in Shinra can catch him!” He gives her a reassuring grin.

Tifa doesn’t smile back, but her expression softens. “You’re his friend, aren’t you?” she asks. Her voice is soft, inquisitive, but also warm.

“Yeah!” Zack declares, “I’m his bestie!” If Cloud were around, he knows he would have argued. He would have fought against him as he dragged Cloud into his side and squeezed his shoulders tight. Zack can’t help the pang of melancholy that dulls the confidence in his voice.

Tifa smiles then, bright eyes squinting slightly. “I’m so glad,” she says with relief, “This is… this is a lot, but… I’m glad he has a friend that’s looking out for him.”

Zack feels the same warmth that Tifa projects in his smile flood him too. Heartened, confident, united, he feels a type of solidarity with this stranger he met in Cloud’s backwater hometown. They both ended up in way over their heads, but they still want to show up where it counts for this grumpy, quiet kid. He remembers what Cloud had said about the team he put together before, united to save the world. He talked like they were all just unfortunate business partners, but his voice was laden with affection.

“He’s got a lot of people out there rooting for him,” Zack says, even if he doesn’t know for sure. Eventually, there will be, if not from the life Cloud had sacrificed, then in the life Cloud would forge now. At the very least, he has Zack and Tifa on his side now. “You don’t have to worry,” he finishes with a more subdued smile than the grin he normally shows people.

Tifa nods at him. Then she looks towards the rickety bridge, drawing Zack’s gaze with hers. Angeal is stomping back across the bridge, looking pale and shaken. “Zack,” he shouts, “You need to see this.”

Tifa agrees to wait outside with one glance at Angeal’s pallid face. Angeal practically drags Zack across the bridge and into the reactor. At first glance, everything seems normal. It is cylindrical, like all reactors are, and made of harsh steel. Catwalks are layered from the ceiling down to the floor, leading to stairs and a host of rooms. Mako runs through clear tubes, giving the entire building a green glow, accentuated by the red emergency lighting over the exits and lining the floor. Angeal doesn’t pause in the entryway, dragging Zack to the back of the reactor towards some cordoned-off rooms.

Inside, there are tanks upon tanks, each made of metal with glass windows letting mako’s light escape into the otherwise dark room. Even before he sets foot in the room, Zack feels sick. The tanks have thick, gurgling tubes running through them, up and away and into the ceiling or crisscrossing haphazardly on the floor. As Angeal drags him past, he notices that some of the tanks are broken, leaving a smear of luminous goo on the floor, or a pile of green bones. Others are still full, and things that may have once been human float there, mutated beyond recognition.

Zack swallows. “Angeal, what-” he begins to say, but Angeal continues to yank him forward.

They stop before a door labeled ‘JENOVA’ and Zack’s heart sinks. When they enter, they find Genesis there, leaning against the back wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest, and Sephiroth, standing frozen in front of a shattered tube. Zack looks to Angeal, waiting for an explanation.

Angeal looks ahead at Sephiroth, mouth a firm grim line. “If Jenova were ever human, she ceased to be so long ago,”  he says quietly like if he speaks too loudly he will disturb Sephiroth. “You saw those things in the tanks, none of those were human. At least not anymore. What do you want to bet they were being fed by this main tank?”

“Concentrated Jenova cells…” Zack mutters, remembering the fear in Cloud’s eyes when he saw Genesis’s shoulder. He shivers.

Angeal’s expression is grave as he watches Sephiroth stand motionless before the mako tank. “What is inside of them… is inside of us,” he whispers, glancing down at his hand. He balls it into a fist. “If they aren’t human anymore, then are we-”

“Woah! That’s way different!” Zack shouts, suddenly uncomfortably aware of where Angeal’s mind is going. Sephiroth turns to them, lit eerily in green from the mako pooled below him. His face is blank, eyes piercing in the dim light.  It makes Zack feel nauseous, fills him with a dizzying sense of deja-vu. Cloud had said the end began in Nibelheim. Is this how it started? Is this how it would start again?

“How?” Angeal snaps back, “We have her- its- cells in us. You saw what it did to those things inside the tanks! How long until it does that to us!? We aren't- We're just-”

“Would you then rob those sorry souls of their humanity?” Genesis speaks up. He pushes off of the wall and struts forward. “They are human. Perhaps they have been changed beyond recognition, tainted by Jenova’s cruel touch, but human nonetheless.” He fixes Angeal with a hard look, eyes almost as piercing as Sephiroth’s, the green of the mako bringing out the red of his hair and coat. “Or perhaps, I am simply a monster in denial? If we remember correctly, 'twas I that fell first to her corruption. Does that not make me the least human of us all?”

Angeal grimaces, pained. “Genesis, of course not,” he says like a reflex.

“Then be careful how you speak,” Genesis says, “We share the same fate as these lost souls. We are victims of a cruel master, seduced by promises, or perhaps dragged here against our will.” With that, he looks to Sephiroth, still standing dazed in the center of the room.

Zack remembers the research from Hollander. Angeal had relayed it to him, piecemeal as it was. At the very least, Genesis had been an experiment since before he was born, always meant to be a SOLDIER, even if he originally thought it had been his choice. It was no secret Sephiroth was the same.

“You would call yourself that?” Sephiroth speaks up. His voice sounds distant as if he is talking in his sleep. His gaze rests solely on Genesis now. “A victim?” he says, barely loud enough to be heard over the swish of mako through cold pipes.

“I will call myself what I am,” Genesis says, his expression sour, “A fool. A victim. Blind and stupid. ‘Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul. Pride is lost.’ And I would call you that too.”

“Strife said as much,” Sephiroth says quietly. He turns back towards the tank. “He said Jenova was not my mother. He said that she was… what Hojo injected me with to make me a monster.”

“And ever incompetent, Hojo failed,” Genesis says, marching past Angeal towards where Sephiroth stands, “There is no hate, only joy. For you are beloved by the Goddess. Hero of the dawn, Healer of worlds.”

Sephiroth stares at him for a long time, not moving. Genesis takes it, nearly preening under his attention. “I thought that verse was about you,” Sephiroth says blandly.

“Perhaps I got the interpretation wrong,” Genesis says with a shrug, “Loveless is, after all, an ever breathing, changing text. It transforms with the times, changes with circumstance. That is why it’s so timeless. It could be about all of us or none of us. We should stop dwelling on questions that have no meaning.”

“We came from… from this,” Angeal motions around them helplessly, “How can… How could-”

“Cloud Strife came from this backwater garbage hole and he is our Gift. Our origins hardly predict our outcomes. You yourself are proof of that, from rags to sickeningly honor-obsessed riches,” Genesis says easily, “And some would say I am the antithesis.” He grins, sharp and sardonic.

Angeal sighs, his breath coming easier. Behind them, Sephiroth also slumps slightly. They all breathe a collective sigh, the horrors, and the relief finally dawning on them. For once, Zack couldn’t be happier with Genesis’s smart mouth.

Then Tifa comes clamoring in through the door. She looks harried, eyes wide and hair a windswept mess. “I know you told me to wait outside!” she snaps before Angeal can scold her, “But another helicopter just came over the mountain and landed in Nibelheim. It looks a lot like yours.”

Rather than feeding off of Tifa’s frantic energy, something Zack had fully planned on doing, Angeal merely sighs. “Well, looks like we’ve been caught,” he says.

“What are we gonna tell them?!” Zack shouts, not quite taken in by the calm in Angeal’s voice.

Angeal shoots him a look, the kind that reminds him that for all his strength, Zack is still green in all of this. “The truth,” he says simply, “We thought we might be able to catch Cloud if we headed to his hometown and didn’t want to wait in case he rolled in and out quickly.” He looks to Tifa. “It’s best not to lie unless you’re good at it,” he says, “So you can tell them the truth, but if you would leave out the part about Sephiroth, that wou-”

Behind them, Sephiroth takes two heavy steps, then falls limply to the grated floor with a thump. His hair has fallen over his face, arms limp at his sides like he hadn’t even tried to catch himself. Genesis is on his knees by his head in a second, and all of them stand around with bated breath as Genesis gently moves his hair and checks his pulse.

After a few bated breaths, he breathes a sigh of relief. “He’s just passed out,” Genesis says.

“Sephiroth doesn’t pass out!” Zack squeaks, almost affronted.

“Oh, he does,” Genesis says, already moving to get Sephiroth over his shoulders. Angeal helps, gently lifting Sephiroth’s limp form off the grated floor. “He just doesn’t do it in public. He has an image to keep up, after all.” He stands, Sephiroth riding piggyback, Angeal’s hand on his back. Sephiroth’s head slumps forward over Genesis’s shoulder, hair now making him resemble a mop more than anything else as it falls over his face in messy tangles.

Genesis looks at Tifa, a small, flirtatious smirk on his face. “You’ll have to leave this part out too, Miss. I’m afraid Sephiroth wouldn’t survive the hit to his ego.”

Tifa is not swayed by it. “I’m telling Cloud as soon as I see him again. He took out the Great Silver Sephiroth. He won’t believe it,” she says, painfully innocent.

Chapter Text

The cloying smell of smoke and charred wood greets Cloud in his first few moments of awareness. His only thought, as the acrid scent stings his throat is, 'no!'

He shoots up from his prone position, snapping his eyes open to catch only the orange glow of flames and then the sparse, tall trunks of Nibelheim's evergreens. He tries to take a step forward, but something tangles his legs. When he pinwheels his arms to steady himself, only one responds, the other refusing to budge from where it is bound tightly across his ribs.

He loses balance and would have fallen face-first into the flames beneath him if a pair of strong arms did not catch him. He blinks down at sturdy metal boots standing in the center of a small fire pit. One arm made of flesh, and another cased in cold metal brace his shoulders. The fire sputters weakly before dying completely under Vincent's feet.

"That was surprising," Vincent comments, voice a familiar, deep lilt. It serves to slow Cloud's pounding heart as he guides him back down to the forest floor. He props Cloud up against a tree, then unwinds his cloak from around his feet, before tossing it back over his lap.

Cloud stares dumbly at him, struck speechless. Vincent returns to his spot on the opposite side of the fire pit, fixing Cloud with a flat stare.

Cloud returns it, wracking his brain for some kind of response. He can tell from the tightness around his chest that his ribs are bound expertly, and his broken wrist is secured to his side to keep him from damaging it further. There is a fire pit between them, likely made to keep them from freezing in Nibelheim's frigid air. Without it, the temperature is dropping quickly. Cloud’s black backpack with his supplies is at Vincent’s side. The buggy is nowhere to be seen, as well as Cloud’s own cloak. He still has his athletic shirt and pants, so it must have gone to treat his injuries.

Cloud looks up at Vincent, to find him still staring.  “Who are you?” he coughs uncomfortably, after what is likely far too long.

Vincent quirks an eyebrow at him. “You know,” he responds, inflectionless. 

Cloud swallows, considering how far he wants to push the issue. He tries to read Vincent, but the man is even more closed-off than he was when Cloud met him the first time. He probably only has himself to blame for that, considering he burnt a house down on top of him.

“My turn,” Vincent says. He lets the smallest bit of annoyance leak into his voice, and Cloud has to repress a wince. “Who are you?”

“You heard them say my name,” Cloud replies stubbornly, “I’m not using an alias.”

Vincent frowns, the slightest downturn of his thin lips. It is strange to see the lower half of his face, now that Cloud thinks about it. The collar of his cloak usually covers it. “Cloud Strife,” Vincent says, “Yet that doesn’t answer my question, and you know it.” He shifts, crossing his arms over his chest and sliding one knee up. “Who are you?” he repeats, this time with more feeling.

Cloud bites the inside of his cheek. There are only two ways this will go if he tells the truth. Either Vincent will think he is crazy and dismiss him outright, or Vincent will believe him and think he is some Gaia sent ticket to salvation. Cloud isn't interested in helping Vincent seek repentance for his dubiously existent sins. “You won’t believe me,” he finally decides. Vincent eyes him suspiciously, and Cloud struggles with what to say next. “I’m… I’m just a guy that knows more than he should. Let’s leave it at that,” he finishes.

Vincent’s eyes narrow, his eyebrows drawing together as his frown deepens. “You know things that no one should know. You know about me. And you… you kne- thought you were safe with me when I found your wrecked vehicle in the woods.” 

“That tracks for someone who knows more than they should,” Cloud agrees, bullish. 

If it annoys him, Vincent doesn’t let on. “You know me,” Vincent repeats, intent, “And I don’t know you. I am interested in the reason why.”

“That’s too damn bad,” Cloud huffs, “Because I don’t have anything for you.”

Vincent glares at him, eyes flashing vibrantly. It isn't his usual, intense stare, but a real glare full of fire. Cloud doesn’t flinch. He knows what Vincent has at his disposal, and he knows that Vincent wouldn’t use it against Cloud after going to the trouble of treating his injuries.

Eventually, Vincent sighs. “Are you an Ancient?” he asks.

Cloud chokes on his own spit, dropping into a coughing fit. “Oh hell,” he gasps once it feels less like his throat is trying to swallow itself, “No. Shit. No.” He had not thought people would come to that conclusion, but considering the way Aerith acted, like she was always one hundred steps ahead, it would make sense. “I’m just a regular guy,” he finishes.

Vincent’s expression doesn’t change. “Agents of the planet are my… passengers,” he says, “I cannot begin to discern your origins through their rambling, but I know you are not ‘a regular guy.’” His eyes scan over Cloud, from head to toe. “Everything around you seems to... reach for you. And my… passengers… whisper about you… are calmed by you,” he admits, “Either you are an Ancient or something equally precious to the Planet.”

Cloud nearly curses. Of course, Vincent’s demons would give him away. “Okay,” Cloud says, “You got me.” Vincent looks neither triumphant nor frustrated. Cloud forgot how hard it was to talk to this brick wall of a man. After they had been traveling on the road together for a while, Vincent had softened up and spoken more, emoted more. It wasn't much, but it was certainly more than this. Now they are back to square one, and the glimpse of what Vincent could become is quickly making Cloud impatient. 

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you,” Cloud adds, growing uncomfortable under Vincent’s stare, “I don’t even really know what I am now, or what happened. The Planet doesn’t talk to me, just kinda yanks me around.”

Vincent nods, seemingly satisfied for the time being. “Chaos says that you destroyed the Calamity many times over,” he relays the information with that same toneless voice, though it tips up at the end, like a question, “So I suppose if your job is complete, you're ‘a regular guy' again."

Cloud snorts. “Yeah? Tell that to Shinra when they finally catch up to me,” he spits.

Vincent tilts his head, ever so slightly. "Ah," he breathes, the sound itself more telling than an entire sentence. "What will you do?"

"Try to keep them off my ass and make life harder for them in the meantime," Cloud says. "The calamity is gone," it feels strange to say it, freeing and damning all in one breath, "But the Planet isn't safe. A hundred… fifty… maybe even less than that many years from now, Shinra is what will ultimately doom us. So Shinra's gotta go. First the reactors, then the company."

Vincent listens, nodding along with Cloud. "So you'll destroy the reactors. Where will we go first? Surely not Nibelheim," he asks.

Cloud's brain grinds to a halt, staring at Vincent with wide eyes. "We?" he practically squeaks. 

"I don't have anything else pressing to do," Vincent says in a tone that makes Cloud feel stupid, "You burnt down my tomb."

"What about Lucretia?" Cloud questions, incredulous. Vincent hadn't mentioned her even once.

He doesn't miss the way Vincent's shoulders straighten. "She is alive," Vincent says, "That is good enough for now," he says slowly, almost melancholy.

Cloud bites his tongue. He could say something to urge Vincent on his way. He doesn't know how long Lucrecia will wait. At least five years, but what if they take longer than that? What if Sephiroth goes to find her? What then?  He doesn't know what the result would be if he sent Vincent there earlier. 

"We don't know how long that will take," Cloud says.

"She has waited almost thirty years. If she is indeed still alive, she can wait a few more," Vincent says. There is something reluctant in his expression. Understanding dawns on Cloud. He can't make Vincent go if he doesn't feel ready for it

"So what, you're just gonna follow me around while I commit eco-terrorism?" Cloud asks him. He would cross his arms if he could, as it is, he just brings his legs up, touching his heels together.

"You said that the Planet will soon be in a bad way without you, and you do not seem particularly interested in ensuring that you're still capable of completing your goal," Vincent points out.

"So what? You're gonna babysit me?!" Cloud snaps, glaring fully at Vincent now, "Not interested. In case you didn't notice, I made my way to Nibelheim, destroyed Jenova, and beat Sephiroth's ass without anyone’s help.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Vincent says, “Considering you thought it was a good idea to do all of this with only a few materia and some health potions. They are shattered, by the way. Possibly when you crashed your vehicle into a tree while driving concussed.”

“I would’ve been fine,” Cloud says with a glare.

“Yes, perfectly fine in Shinra’s care after they tracked you down using the sound of your car horn,” Vincent says neutrally.

Cloud huffs, feeling heat flush his face. It would have worked itself out, but again he doesn’t have his reputation to back him up. Unless… “Ask Chaos, he’ll know,” Cloud demands.

“Chaos is the one particularly reluctant to leave,” Vincent says without missing a beat, “And so, no matter how ornery you are determined to be, I won't leave you.” 

Cloud wiggles his knee, frustrated and embarrassed and with nowhere to hide. He is well and truly trapped with Vincent. How ironic, considering he had to practically beg the man to wake up and join him the first time.

“It’ll be dangerous,” Cloud warns him.

“You don’t say,” Vincent replies, expression flat.

Cloud shoots to his feet, turning his back on Vincent’s face.  “I’m leaving now,” he says, “And I’m going the opposite direction of Lucrecia.”

Vincent stands too. “Okay. Let me carry you,” he says, completely normal like he isn’t suggesting the most ridiculous thing.

“What?! No way!” Cloud snaps.

“You’re still exhausted, and your wrist and ribs are still healing. You need to re-” Vincent begins to say.

“I will run,” Cloud interrupts, spinning to narrow his gaze on Vincent, “And if you know that I know you, then you should know I know how to get away from you.” It is a blatant lie, but Vincent bought the first untruth, so why not try his luck again?

Cloud doesn’t end up needing to run from Vincent, but it is a near thing. The man refuses to accept his cloak back and narrows his eyes at Cloud when he tries to unwind the makeshift bandages around his chest. He practically hovers, much to Cloud's frustration. It is subtle, but obvious to Cloud. He walks only a few steps behind Cloud as they make their way down the Nibel mountains, fabric shifting when his arms lift, ready to catch Cloud if he stumbles.

It isn't an unfounded concern, it turns out. While Cloud has recovered relatively well from his injuries, he hasn’t had any food or rest to compensate. He is running on fumes as he navigates the rocky mountain paths, having to dodge trees at the last minute and tripping over more than a few stones. He blinks, trying to soothe his eyes, now burning with exhaustion. He knows the only reason Vincent hasn’t forced them to take a moment to rest is that Shinra is likely combing the mountains for them.

They probably found his buggy. Vincent said he hadn’t made it far from the village with it. They know that he is moving on foot, so they will likely focus their efforts on searching the beaten mountain paths for him.

Hopefully, they won’t account for Cloud’s stubbornness, so as long as they stay off the roads, move quickly, and get off the mountain before morning, they will be safe.

It feels like an eternity of walking in a foggy haze, but eventually, the jagged, rocky terrain of the Nibel Mountains gives way to rocky hills, then to a flat, grassy plane. By this time, the sun is peeking up from the horizon, lightening the sky from indigo to powdered blue. They have walked for half a day and all night. Cloud hopes that will be enough to shake Shinra as he comes to a stop, watching the grass sway in the wind, turned from a sea of spring green to gold in the light of the rising sun. It tickles his skin as he walks into the thick of it, some of it grown up to his elbows at least.

It is so beautiful. For the life of him, Cloud can’t remember seeing anything like this. An endless sea of life set against a horizon dotted with soft, pink, and lavender clouds, all alight with the softened colors of early morning. He must have seen this, at least before with his team on their romp across the Planet, and after on his various deliveries. Perhaps he had been too busy to appreciate it, or Jenova was powerful enough to wash the color out of not just people, but the Planet itself.

"Cloud," Vincent calls, drawing his attention back to him. He looks strange, cloakless, dressed all in black with his hair ruffled by the gentle breeze. He seems smaller, more vulnerable. Cloud blinks at him once, takes an aborted step forward, then falls flat on his face into the grass. 

When he blinks again and turns his head away from the smell of soil, Vincent is leaning over him, eyes scrunched in concern. "I'll find a place to rest," he says. Cloud doesn't argue, shutting his eyes against the blinding sun.

When he returns, Cloud doesn't argue as Vincent helps him to his feet and practically drags him over to a small hill. He sets Cloud against the incline, then steps back, looking at him. “If you try to run off, I will go after you,” Vincent says, “And you know me, so you know that I know how to find you.”

Cloud snorts, but closes his eyes, leaning his head against the cool grass. “Yeah, sure,” he says. Vincent huffs and stomps away somewhere. Cloud falls asleep to the sound of his fading footsteps.

When he comes to again, his head feels much clearer. His limbs don’t burn with exhaustion and his breath comes easier with freshly healed ribs. There is another fire crackling away in a hastily dug pit, fish stabbed through on sticks stuck near the flames. Cloud blinks at them, sitting up. He looks over to see Vincent examining a can of preserved fruit. He turns the can around in his hands, looking for dents or breaks in the seal. Though his eyes glance to the side when Cloud sits up.

“Did you shoot those?” Cloud says, nodding towards the fish. Vincent stares at him for only a second before offering his gauntleted hand for Cloud’s inspection.

Cloud can’t help it. He grins, picturing Vincent wading into a stream to stab at fish with his ridiculously long metal fingers. “That’s one way to do it,” he says.

Vincent grunts. He sets the can of fruit on the ground before plucking a stick from the flames and offering it to Cloud. “A man cannot live off of fruit alone,” he says. The look on his face is accusatory, like Cloud’s supplies were lacking just to spite him.

“I had more stuff before coming to Nibelheim,” Cloud defends himself, “The road between there and Corel is long. I was planning to restock in the village.”

“No you weren’t,” Vincent says flatly. He tilts the fish more in Cloud’s direction so that he can stare into the gaping mouth. Cloud snatches it from him.

With Cloud eating the fish, Vincent works on breaking into the canned fruit, working the tips of his metal claws under the lid. Before, Cloud had only seen the man use his clawed hand as a weapon. Otherwise, he hid it. It was really only out if he was threatening harm or delivering harm with it. Watching him now use it so casually is almost mesmerizing. He knew from before that Vincent felt guilty for his inaction, ashamed of his past, and disgusted with his inhumanity. He wonders why this turn of events, of all things, changed that.

Vincent looks over at him, holding the can in his flesh hand and the lid in his metal one. He silently offers him the can. “Aren’t you going to eat?” Cloud asks, accepting the offered can and fishing out a slice of something overly sweet and bright orange with his fingers.

“I don’t need to,” Vincent replies, looking out over the fire. His shoulders tick up slightly towards his ears, his back arched ever so slightly.

Cloud grabs another cube of something. This one is light yellow and ribbed. “Here,” he says, offering it to Vincent, “You should at least taste some of the fruits of your labor.”

Vincent looks at him, red eyes almost imperceptibly wider. “Disgusting,” Vincent says, accepting the fruit from Cloud.

“What? I thought it was pretty clever,” Cloud says, leaning back against the hill, letting the grass tickle the exposed skin of his neck.

“I was talking about your fingers,” Vincent says, even as he pops the fruit into his mouth. His eyes slide shut, and his shoulders slump. He takes a breath through his nose as he chews. Cloud tries not to stare too much at Vincent enjoying the first bit of food he has had in almost thirty years. He is glad it is something sweet.

Vincent eats. Cloud sleeps. Somehow they wile away a few hours sitting in the grass in the middle of a field. By the time the sun is creeping high above the grass sea, they are packing up their meager belongings to travel again. Vincent finally allows Cloud to unwind himself from his bandages, dropping the remains of his black cloak into the fire to destroy the evidence.

Then Cloud offers Vincent his cloak back. “Keep it,” Vincent says, pushing a flat palm against the heap of fabric.

“Red isn’t my color,” Cloud says, “And you look naked without it.”

Reluctantly, Vincent accepts it. Then they set off in the vague direction of his next objective. Making countless deliveries across the map, his navigation skills are top-notch, but with how much the terrain has changed, he still has slight doubts about where they are going. He figures if they keep walking in a straight line, they will find a village eventually.

After a few hours of walking, Vincent speaks up. “Do you know where you are going?” he asks. His tone lacks inflection, but the fact that he spoke up at all tells Cloud that he is genuinely concerned.

Cloud shrugs. “Hopefully, Gongaga,” he says, “I know it’s south from here, so if we keep walking south…”

Vincent side-eyes him, face twisted with doubt. “South,” he parrots, “For how long?”

“Uh…” Cloud scratches his head, “A while… probably.”

Vincent doesn’t say anything else, but the way he burrows his nose into the collar of his cloak gives away more than words ever could.

They walk until the sun has already dipped below the opposite horizon and make camp amongst a copse of trees by a stream. Cloud sharpens a stick and helps Vincent catch dinner. Vincent refuses to let them take shifts to keep watch and refuses to engage with Cloud’s attempts at arguing about it. Cloud falls asleep in a huff on the ground near the fire and wakes up at first light to Vincent’s cloak thrown over him.

By the middle of the next day, after nearly getting washed away by a river Cloud did not remember, even Vincent is tired of walking. “A while,” he huffs, staring out at the endless fields around them. There hasn’t been a single sign of civilization, which tells Cloud they are headed the right way, but he has to admit, a while is starting to feel like an eternity.

“I may have underestimated how much time it would take,” Cloud admits sheepishly.

Vincent’s eyes fall close for a moment as he sighs. Looking out around the field, he eventually points a clawed finger to the east at something far in the distance. Cloud squints in that direction, just barely making out a group of fluffy yellow heads.

“Chocobos,” Cloud says. He can’t help the happy little skip his heart does at the sight of the wild birds. “That’s great, but we don’t have a lure or any greens,” he mutters, turning towards Vincent. It is hard to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Vincent doesn’t look disappointed at all, however. Instead, he is staring intently at Cloud. “Vincent…?” Cloud questions, watching red eyes flick from his face out to the birds a good distance away. His mood quickly sours. “Vincent, no.”

“You strike me as someone who would be good with chocobos,” Vincent says, ever so carefully devoid of any emotion.

Cloud glowers at him. “You’re not original,” he says, “You’re at least the thousandth person to make that joke.”

“It’s not a joke,” Vincent says, “They are very parental creatures. If you crouch in the grass, you might be able to lure them over.”

“Vincent, no,” Cloud snaps again, "What would I even do once they came over? They'll attack me or run away."

"I'll be nearby," Vincent says, "If you can't befriend one, I'll catch it."

Cloud doesn't want to know how Vincent plans to catch a wild chocobo with nothing but his bare hands, so he doesn't ask. "The answer is no, Vincent," he says.

Vincent eyes him, but reneges with a strong enough glare from Cloud. They keep walking, and the birds keep wandering closer into their orbit, heads down as they peck around in the grass. They manage to wander a bit closer, oblivious to their near-silent footsteps, before Vincent hip-checks him. Cloud falls on his ass in the dirt with an indignant squawk as Vincent ducks away through the tall grass.

“Vincent!” he hisses, but his attention is pulled away from where Vincent disappeared by a curious wark.

Cloud looks up, seeing one of the taller yellow chocobos has bounded over to him, staring down its big beak at him with large black eyes. Cloud freezes. Chocobos are usually more shy than aggressive, but they still have sharp talons and beaks with powerful legs. There is a reason they have few natural predators. Cloud is dangerous in his own right, but weaponless and on his ass, the chocobo would get in a good hit before Cloud could even move.

While Cloud remains frozen, praying that it runs away once it realizes he isn’t a baby, it leans down towards him with another wark. It tilts its head this way and that, looking at Cloud from all angles, then nibbles at the tips of his hair with a low chattering sound. The other two chocobos in the group approach curiously, chattering amongst themselves. When the largest one finishes preening Cloud’s hair and nuzzles into it with its beak, the other two start warking at him for attention.

Cloud moves slowly, reaching up with clearly telegraphed movements to give scratches behind the largest one’s crest. He knows it is a hard place for them to reach on their own. As he predicted, the chocobo makes a delighted noise, nibbling at the collar of his shirt. The other two crowd in closer, lowering their heads and butting against his hands for attention. Cloud grins, scratching obligingly while the chocobos peck at his clothes and make contented clicking noises.

The largest one settles down behind Cloud, its big fluffy rump at his back. It busies itself with grooming Cloud’s hair. Another settles near his knee and rests its head in his lap while the other nearly sits on him, nibbling impatiently at his fingers. With their feathery, fluffy bodies out of the way, Cloud can see Vincent standing only a few steps away, the birds oblivious to his presence, watching. While scratching the head of the one in his lap, Cloud uses his other to flip him off. Vincent tucks his chin into his cloak, but it does nothing to hide the mirth in his eyes.

Vincent gets the biggest one to ride. While it likes Cloud the most- they all do, but this one is the most affectionate- Vincent's tall, lanky form fits best on it. Cloud chooses one of the others, and the third follows them, making little curious kwehs at them as they go.

With the chocobos, they make much better time. Cloud can tell they are quickly approaching Gongaga when the grasslands start to give way to trees, growing thicker and thicker and the air growing more hot and humid as the sun dips behind the horizon. They stop for the night in a small clearing. Cloud leads the chocobos to a stream while Vincent prepares the camp. The birds seem determined to follow Cloud now that they know he has the valuable ability to give good scratches. Watching as they splash around drinking and catching bugs, Cloud wonders what he will do when they reach the town. He can’t exactly take them with him.

"You'll be alright, yeah?" he mutters to the birds. One looks up and warks at him. The tilt of its head makes it look like it's smiling.

The sound of several gunshots causes him to jump nearly a foot in the air. The birds react in kind, scattering at the noise, feathers ruffled. Cloud spins on his heel, kicking off in the mud and sprinting back towards camp. He arrives just in time, it seems. Vincent is cornered by seven Touch Mes. He has shot one, but the others are advancing, not at all cowed by Vincent’s gun.

Vincent turns toward him. “Cloud, wha-” he begins to say, then disappears in a puff of white smoke. A vibrantly green frog with mottled red and black flanks, bulbous yellow toes, and big red eyes takes his place, falling from about the height of Vincent’s head to lay stunned on his back in the mud. He somehow still has his cloak, now much tinier and resting around his thick neck and small shoulders like a scarf.

Cloud doesn’t have much time to laugh at that. With Vincent transformed, the Touch Mes turn towards him, standing on two legs and flexing their fingers. Cloud takes a few steps back as they approach. Crouching, he snatches a long stick from the ground, bringing it in front of himself. “Back off!” he warns, waving it back and forth.

One Touch Me licks an eyeball. Another inflates its neck sack and they all make low, croaking noises at him. When one lunges at him, Cloud uses the stick like a bat, knocking it away. It makes a high-pitched noise, which seems to encourage the others to attack. Cloud dodges out of the way of one attempting to jab at him, spinning the stick in his hands to bring it down hard on its head. It falls to the ground and doesn’t move. Still, the other frogs continue to approach.

Another one jumps at him with an angry croak. He manages to bat it away, but he spies another out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't have time to turn and block it and silently prepares himself to be frog-jabbed. Then the newly frog-ified Vincent is there, using one four-toed foot to kick the Touch Me off course. Cloud takes that opportunity to take care of the other one. “Watch my back!” Cloud snaps. Vincent lets out a ribbit that sounds more like a grunt as he stands at Cloud’s heels, frog hands raised and ready.

Together, with Vincent launching himself bodily at any Touch Mes that might try to frog jab Cloud from behind, they manage to dispatch four more Touch Mes. Then it is just the two of them against one. The Touch Me stares at them with wide eyes before it retreats into the bushes with a frightened croak.

Cloud lets go of a sigh, wiping sweat from his brow. The fight wasn’t too difficult, but breathing the air in Gongaga is like trying to breathe soup. He turns towards Vincent, looking over the man-turned-frog. Vincent stares back at him, red eyes very wide, expression somehow surprised on his frog face. Cloud blinks down at him, then snorts.

“Let me guess. Never heard of a Touch Me before?” Cloud says, holding back a grin.

Vincent tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. He makes a deep croaking noise, and his eyes shoot wide again. Cloud chuckles.

“They’re only native to Gongaga. They’re not dangerous unless they do this,” he explains, gesturing to Vincent.

Vincent nods his frog head to show understanding. Then he gestures to himself, tilting his head again. “You wanna know how to change back?” Cloud clarifies. He gets another nod. “Uh… well, I don’t know how long it takes to wear off… if it does at all. But if we get a Maiden’s Kiss, you’ll be good as new.”

Vincent’s eyes blow wide again, his little throat inflating and deflating with agitation. He hunches his shoulders. “We’re almost to Gongaga, I’m sure they’ll have some in town,” Cloud says reassuringly.

Vincent shakes his head, looking imploringly at Cloud. “You don’t want one?” Cloud asks, befuddled. Vincent nods this time. “Come on, Vince. I know being a human is tough, but I don’t think being a frog is much better.”

Vincent makes another low sound, glaring up at Cloud. He shakes his head again. “So you don’t want to stay a frog?” Cloud surmises, “Then I don’t get what the problem is.”

Vincent opens his frog mouth, lets loose a ribbit, then snaps it shut. He huffs, looking around for something before he bends over and starts scrawling something in the mud with his fingers. Cloud waits patiently. Slowly, but surely, the phrase “No kisses” takes shape. Once he finishes Vincent looks back up at him, pointing.

Cloud can’t help it. He bursts into laughter. It starts as a few poorly concealed snorts, then something that is far too close to giggling shakes him and forces him to bend over his core. Meanwhile, Vincent continues to glower, thoroughly unimpressed. He croaks at him, short and sharp.

Cloud takes a breath, trying not to grin. “It’s an item,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye, “Not a real maiden’s kiss.”

Vincent lets loose a sigh, shoulders slumping with relief. “Although… I haven’t had my first kiss yet, maybe I count. Wanna try?” he says, biting back another grin.

Vincent crosses his arms, his already wide mouth dipping even farther down in a pronounced frown. He ribbits at him, clicking his tongue. “You don’t want a kiss from me?” Cloud says, feigning offense.

Vincent scratches something into the mud with one of his toes. “Hardly a fair maiden,” it reads.

Cloud snorts again. If Vincent only knew.

Chapter Text

If Cloud thought Corel was different, Gongaga feels like another animal entirely. When he arrived here five years from now, they were isolated, and completely independent from the mako grid. The people were closed off and suspicious, especially of Cloud’s bright mako stare. Now, he has seen more than one person traveling towards the much larger town, none particularly suspicious or distrustful of Cloud if they spot him, and the town lights up the early morning dimness like a beacon with mako-generated electricity. However, the most disorientating thing is the reactor looming, whole and menacing, in the distance.

Cloud looks to Vincent, perched on his shoulder. The man has adapted surprisingly well to his smaller size and generally being a frog. He often took advantage of his size to get the drop on monsters that attacked them and to wiggle into hard-to-reach places. He also used his innocuous status as a frog to scout out the area ahead of them as they traveled, helping Cloud avoid encounters he couldn't handle with just a stick. He is an effective fighter and a stellar teammate no matter what form he takes, though Cloud already knew that. As far as speaking, Vincent is as forthcoming with words as a frog as he was as a man, so Cloud notices very little difference overall.

As they approach the town, Cloud points to the reactor slightly hazy from the humidity in the air. “We’re in a time crunch,” he explains, “That reactor is going to blow… sometime soon.”

Vincent looks at him, tilting his head. Cloud bites his cheek, remembering he hasn’t quite revealed everything to Vincent yet. “We also have to get you back to normal,” Cloud says, aiming to change the subject. It does little, and he has to stew silently under Vincent's watchful gaze all the way up the dirt path to the town.

When they reach the gate to the town, a group of people walking out spot them. It's a group of around five people, all of them dressed in clothes that look thick and easy to maneuver in. Two of the men in the group have swords at their sides. One woman has a staff strapped to her back and another has a pair of brass knuckles. The last of them carries a spear. Cloud pauses, heart dropping into his stomach. He hopes they aren't a welcoming committee.

“Oh hey! It's a traveler!” one of the sword-toting men shouts. Cloud feels himself wanting for his hood and goggles as the others at the gate turn to face them. Luckily, as they walk up to Cloud and Vincent, their eyes aren't on Cloud. They all take one look at Vincent on his shoulder and a chorus of laughter rises up.

“I see the touch mes are at it again!” the woman with the brass knuckles says, “Bet that was a shock!”

Cloud decides to play along, ducking his head bashfully to hide the glow of his eyes. “Yeah… We don’t have those… er… where we’re from,” he says quietly.

The woman with the staff slaps him on the back, surprisingly strong for how small her hand is. It nearly jars Vincent off his shoulder. “We’ve got stuff to remedy that at the general store,” she says with a chuckle, “Don’t be a stranger!”

With another shared laugh, they turn and head off toward the swamp. They drag a cart full of fruit along with them. He wonders how they plan to get that through the thick mud, but figures locals would know best about how to navigate around here.

“That was… different,” Cloud says, realizing his presence hadn’t really garnered much attention. He turns to look at Vincent, who has tucked himself further into Cloud’s spikes. If it’s because of bashfulness or a fear of falling, Cloud can’t tell. “Wanna stay a frog? I could use the distraction,” he says.

He can feel Vincent’s throat sack inflate against the back of his neck as the man-turned-frog lets out an annoyed sounding croak. “It’s not like there’s much difference,” Cloud adds, which earns him a smack from a clammy, three-fingered hand.

The town is small, but bustling as they make their way inside. A large, open market sits in the center of town, people shouting about their wares from various stalls. Cloud melts seamlessly into the cluster of morning shoppers, bumping shoulders with the locals as he spies collections of fruits he has never seen before, handicrafts, and fresh flowers. He stops in front of one stall, entranced by a bouquet of white flowers with plentiful, ruffled petals and vibrant green stalks. Aerith would probably like them. It tugs his heart a little bit and he sighs.

When he starts to move again, jostled along by the crowd, he catches Vincent staring at him again and lets loose another sigh. He doesn’t remember being watched so closely before, at least, not until it was clear he had lost every marble he ever had. Even then, Vincent didn’t keep as much of an eye on him as Tifa or Barret.

They follow the flow of people out into a four-way crossing. Many people continue to the center of town, but Cloud steals off to the side to grasp their surroundings. The town is bigger than Nibelheim, but not by much. There are two inns, hinting that Gongaga must get slightly more traffic than Nibelheim.

It made sense. Even if Nibelheim wasn't all the way up a mountain that was frozen eight months out of the year, the reactor had given them a host of problems to deal with. Low fertility rates among the women, weak crops, and mutated monsters made Nibelheim an undesirable mid-way point or vacation spot. It seems in Gongaga, the reactor is far enough away and new enough that they can enjoy the benefits with few setbacks. At least for now.

After wandering down another street, Cloud sees the sign for a general store. He approaches the shop, and as predicted, sitting in the window is a delicate bottle shaped like a busty woman and full of sparkling liquid. ‘Maiden's Kiss’ is written in looping letters on a tag tied around the cap with the price underneath. 150 gil glares down Cloud like a behemoth, and he swallows.

He still has his wallet, zipped into one of the many pockets of his pants. He had drained it in Corel, but he had been steadily filling it by snatching money off of any monsters that happened to have it. However, he was still around seventy gil short.

He glances over at Vincent and the look on his face tells Cloud he doesn’t have to say anything. He does anyway. “Too expensive,” he huffs.

He could probably collect a little bit more by wandering around the swamp and taking out monsters. However, with no sword and only a few materia, it would take a while. He has a while. He couldn’t leave Gongaga until the reactor was taken care of, but he wonders how fine Vincent really is with being a frog for an extended period of time.

“We could steal it?" Cloud mutters, even as anxiety twists his stomach about it. Luckily Vincent seems to share his sentiment, giving a firm shake of his head.

"Maybe it will wear off?” Cloud suggests hopefully. Though, if it hadn’t in twenty-four hours, then who is to say it would in forty-eight? Vincent tugs a bit on the ends of Cloud's hair as if to say just that. Together they turn their back on the store and head deeper into town.

He spies the last thing he had come here for soon after. A library, constructed of sturdy wood and stone, sits nestled between two smaller buildings. Now he just has to hope they have a computer he can borrow.

Sephiroth comes awake slowly. He can hear people talking. They do not sound aggressive, and they don't bother to keep their voices down either, so his ire must not be a concern for them. The only people that brazen were Angeal, Genesis, Hojo, and the upper ranks of the Turks.

Without fanfare, he sits up. A cloth slides off from his forehead and falls into his lap with a damp slap. He blinks at it, dumbfounded. Then looks up to see Zack hovering by his bedside. "I thought you might have a headache… you know… from that bump," he says, keeping his voice low, "A cool rag normally helps."

It figures that Zack had hit his hard head enough times that he would have the wisdom of experience. Sephiroth nods his appreciation, gathering the rag up into his hands, then turns his attention to the other occupants of the room who have gone silent.

As expected, Angeal and Genesis are there. Shockingly, it is not Lazard or any military personnel sitting in the tiny lounge in the center of their Nibelheim inn room. Rather, Sephiroth is greeted by Rufus Shinra and two Turks. Rufus sits in a wicker chair with a cushioned seat, leaned forward slightly mid-conversation with Genesis who sits in a matching chair. Angeal is sitting stiffly next to Genesis in a chair that looks like it has been taken from the small dining area downstairs. The two Turks stand behind Rufus. One is a taller woman with short, bluntly cut blond hair, the other is a taller man with sharp features. His long, black hair is pulled back away from his face.  Other than Zack, there is no one else in the room. The village girl is nowhere to be seen.

“It looks like someone has decided to rejoin the land of the living,” Rufus says, straightening up.

Sephiroth stares at him, watching the two Turks in his periphery. He knows better than to say the first word, lest he gives more away than he intends. Turks are tricky like that.

Rufus takes it in stride. “I hear Cloud Strife did a number on you,” he says, a smirk curling his lips. His eyes are sharp as they fearlessly hold Sephiroth’s gaze. Most people didn’t have the stomach to keep prolonged eye contact with Sephiroth, but Rufus likely has the guts for far worse. “Very impressive… taking out Shinra’s best.”

“He is a formidable threat,” Sephiroth admits. He catches Angeal shift in his chair uncomfortably. Zack mirrors it, settling next to Sephiroth’s legs on the bed with his arms crossed. Genesis doesn’t move at all in the chair, reclined as lazily as he started, ever the actor.

Rufus’s gaze doesn’t move from Sephiroth, but the Turk with the ponytail tracks all the shifting with a tilt of his head. Sephiroth silently begs them to keep still and stop giving away clues with their body language while he racks his brain for what to say.

Lazard would want an explanation or at least an excuse. Veld would want a detailed report. Hojo would demand a short physical status report and a barrage of tests. Rufus Shinra, on the other hand, Sephiroth has no idea. The Turks are an expected presence, but the son of the President tagging along with them is stumping. It sets Sephiroth on edge, putting him at a clear tactical disadvantage.

“A threat,” Rufus echoes, either oblivious or uncaring of Sephiroth’s inner turmoil, “Or an asset.”

Both Angeal and Zack stiffen, their shoulders shooting up to their ears and their expressions forcibly stoic. Sephiroth tilts his head, pushing the long curtain of his hair behind his shoulder to draw attention from them. Genesis crosses his legs, leaning his chin into his palm. His fingers barely conceal a smirk. The blonde Turk turns her attention to him, brows ever so slightly furrowed.

“I’m afraid Strife has made his opinions on Shinra quite clear,” Sephiroth says, fingers wandering up to prod the fading bruise on his forehead, “In fact, he seems hell-bent on destroying the Company and its property.”

“And you let him slip right through your fingers,” Rufus says. It gives Sephiroth pause and he fights the defensive curl of his shoulders against his gaze. 

“He incapacitated me,” Sephiroth begins to explain. Rufus interrupts him with a low chuckle, too measured to be mirthful.

“And the other three of Shinra’s best couldn’t catch him?” Rufus says, “You are… impressive, Sephiroth, but there is a reason you are not the only First Class.” He leans back in his chair, an easy, lazy movement. “You expect me to believe Genesis could not have ensnared him with his collection of spells, or Angeal could not have run him down?” He crosses his legs, smirk immovable. “He is just a child, and each of you three has mowed down armies single-handedly. I should hope that this level of incompetence is a performance.”

They fall into silence at that. Both Zack and Angeal exchange a look, clenching their firsts. Sephiroth slowly prepares to commit to an escape. Genesis doesn’t move, still reclining, still smirking.

“In any case, this is preferable,” Rufus says, his level voice nearly booming in the silence, “At least for me.” His smile shows the barest hint of white teeth.

Genesis snorts. “Of course,” he says, “Why let the competition get hold of your best chance at usurping the throne?” 

The blonde Turk jumps at those words, while the one with the ponytail sighs and closes his eyes. Rufus laughs, this time with clear amusement. He turns to Genesis, tipping his head in a surprisingly modest gesture for someone so haughty.

“I appreciate you allowing me to have my fun,” he says.

“Why else would you come here with only a few Turks and no one else?” Genesis asks rhetorically, “It isn’t my job to explain something clear as day to overdramatic idiots.”

Sephiroth looks sharply at Genesis, feeling an unfamiliar stab of offense. He can see the same sentiment reflected on Angeal’s face, much more at home in his stern features. Zack, on the other hand, stands from the bed. The Turks both tense, and even Angeal readies himself to intervene.

Zack doesn’t move beyond standing. Glancing at the Turks and Rufus, he says, “Wait. I don’t get it.”

Angeal releases a breath, relaxing. Genesis’s face twists into a scowl. “Rufus Shinra is trying to overthrow his father,” Genesis says slowly, "He wants to be president, you idiot."

Zack scowls right back at him. “Yeah, I get that... but...." Looking again to Rufus, his eyes flick to the Turks. It is a quick movement like he shouldn’t look at them for too long. “You know, maybe you shouldn’t let the Turks in on your plans,” he says, speaking quickly, “They might say that they’re all for it, but one time Balto told me he was ‘all for’ stealing snacks from the mess and then he didn’t show and called security on my ass and now he's a Turk."

Angeal’s head jerks up abruptly. “What?” he says.

“It was before you took me on,” Zack says with a wave of his hand, “And I didn’t get caught anyway.”

Before Angeal can start on a lecture, Sephiroth speaks up, “Zack has a point, in a way. There’s much about this situation that we can’t trust.” He does not shrink under everyone’s attention on him again, but it is a near thing. Another foreign feeling, being so aware of everyone’s eyes.  He continues on, regardless. “You would come here and reveal something like that to us? Why? Moreover, what makes you think we share Strife’s sentiments at all?"

“Because you let him get away, obviously,” Rufus says dully, “And because you already have a reason to hate my father and his management of the company.” He waves carelessly in Genesis’s direction.

“And you’d be better?” Zack asks, blunt as always.

Rufus looks placidly up at Zack. “Fools who waste time and resources chasing after fairy tales would not be tolerated. That includes Holandar and Hojo, to be clear,” he says glibly, “That should be enough for you.”

“That doesn’t mean you’d be better,” Zack says, frowning.

Rufus runs a hand down his face. “This isn’t a negotiation or a recruitment,” he sighs, glancing around Zack and to Sephiroth, “I am asking for an exchange. I give you something, then you reciprocate.”

“It isn’t exactly a revelation that you have notions of patricide,” Genesis huffs. His smirk has disappeared, picking at the arm to his chair with disinterest, “All your little confession has done is put us all into a difficult position. Now we all know we’re traitors. Goodie.” He rolls a fabric pill between his fingers.

“I don’t know what you expect us to give you,” Angeal adds with a shrug, “Please keep in mind, Cloud ran from us. We aren’t friendly with him.”

“But one of you is,” Rufus says, gaze focusing on Zack, “He already risked discovery to contact you once.” He pauses, allowing Zack to pale slightly and Sephiroth’s heart to stutter. His eyes glint as he continues, “He will likely do so again. All I’m asking is to have a line of communication open between us. I have a proposition for him.”

“And if we don’t agree?” Sephiroth asks. Even the Turk with the ponytail shows surprise at his interjection.

“Then I am out of luck, I suppose,” Rufus says with a shrug, “As Rhapsodos said, I’ve put us into a situation where neither of us has the upper hand. I am relying on your goodwill… and your interest in my offer.” 

“Which is worth nothing, as we have also established,” Genesis says.

Rufus’s gaze sharpens as he meets Sephiroth’s again. Clasping his hands in his lap, he says, “But you haven’t even heard it.” He waits for an interjection, and when none comes, he smiles. His teeth are flawless, straight, and white. They make the smile look even more suspicious on his face.

“I’m willing to give you information from my father and his compatriots regarding Cloud Strife in exchange for only the promise that you will mediate communication between Strife and I, should the opportunity present itself.”

“I refuse,” Sephiroth says. Genesis nods along with the decision.

“It isn’t your proposal to refuse,” Rufus says slowly, “You are not the one with what I want.“ His eyes flick pointedly to Zack.

Angeal is the first to speak. “Zack, you don’t have to agree with him. We can find another way to-”

“Deal,” Zack says with a nod. Sephiroth watches as both Angeal and Genesis make to stand, protests at the ready. Zack stops them with a look. His brows are furrowed, mouth a stern frown. It is the most serious Sephiroth has ever seen him. “But it’s direct contact between you, me, and Cloud. I don’t trust Turks after that bullshit Balto pulled,” he continues.

“That is acceptable,” Rufus says. He offers a hand. Zack doesn’t take it.

“I should warn you before we shake on it. I don’t know how much talking is gonna convince Cloud. He’s super stubborn,” he explains, “Last time I talked to him, he was dead-set on burning Shinra to the ground. I don’t think he’ll be satisfied with just a change in management.”

“I’m sure I can convince him to see things from my point of view,” Rufus says. He keeps his hand extended for Zack to shake. After they lock eyes for several beats, Zack finally takes it, shaking it firmly. With that, Rufus stands, a satisfied smile curving his lips.

“I suppose I should give you some information in exchange, as a show of good faith,” he says, “After reading through Angeal’s reports, my father is quite interested in Strife. I believe he may suspect Strife has the key to the fabled Promised Land because of the abilities he has shown thus far. He has most of Shinra tasked with searching for him now, including the Turks. Though currently, the Turks have their hands full with other matters. One less thing to worry about, hm?”

“They think he’s an Ancient,” Angeal says, squeezing the bridge of his nose. Sephiroth never thought he would see the day that  Angeal would regret doing a thorough job with paperwork.

“Cloud can’t be ancient,” Zack says, “He’s, like, fifteen. I bet his mom can even vouch.”

Rufus chuckles. “I’m sure she will be able to clear that up when Shinra arrives to speak with her in a few days’ time. In the meantime, you may want to return to Shinra with your ‘borrowed’ helicopter before anyone notices.”

He makes his way to the door, the two Turks flanking him dutifully from the sides. Before he can open the door, another Turk opens it for him. This one is tall, with short, cropped blond hair. She doesn’t spare them even a glance as she holds the door open for Rufus. “I’ll be in contact soon, First Class Fair,” he says with a nod, “Goodbye.”

The door closes behind him, and the room remains silent until the sound of helicopter rotors begins outside.

“What were you thinking?!” Angeal is the first to hiss, crowding immediately into Zack’s space, “Selling your friend out for some scraps of information!? I thought you were smarter than that!”

“I didn’t sell anyone out for anything,” Zack is quick to argue. Normally he would shrink under Angeal’s ire, but today he rises to the challenge. “You think Cloud’s gonna jump into Rufus’s pocket just because he says some words? No way!”

“You are opening an opportunity for it!” Angeal says, “Rufus Shinra is a snake. He won’t hesitate to manipulate and blackmail to get what he wants. He could threaten Cloud’s family or his friends!”

“I think Cloud thought about that before he left,” Zack says, “And I’ve been thinking about it too. The thing is, Shinra doesn’t know anything about Cloud. Sure, they know he has a mom, but they don’t know about their relationship. They don’t know who or what he cares about. They just know he’s not a fan of Shinra anymore. How can Rufus blackmail someone he doesn’t have any dirt on? How can he manipulate him when he doesn’t know how he thinks?”

“They have records on this stuff, Zack,” Angeal says sternly, “They can dig up his communications, look up his history. They can piece him together from scraps.”

“Don’t you think the Turks would have done that already?” Zack asks, tilting his head, “I know Cloud. Even before he went AWOL, he was pretty closed off, and I’m pretty sure he’s been like that his whole life. He lived out in the sticks. He doesn’t have a paper trail or a Chocobook page. Neither Shinra or the Turks know what to use against him. Think about it. They followed us here. They came to us with a deal.”

“They will figure something out,” Angeal cautions, but he backs off now. His arms are crossed and he looks off to the side.

“Yeah, but they would have done that if I had agreed or not,” Zack says with a shrug, “This way, I get some information out of it. And Rufus thinks he has us.”

“And he doesn’t?” Genesis asks, “You basically sat into the palm of his hand.”

“Nah. It’s the other way around,” Zack says. Sephiroth’s ears prick at the sound of Zack’s PHS buzzing in his pocket. He pulls it out and checks it, flashing the screen at everyone.

“Keep in touch,” is written in blocky letters for everyone to read, Rufus’s name signed below.

“He would’ve figured out if how to get to Cloud whether or not I agreed. He knew when Cloud called the first time, you heard him,” Zack continues, adding Rufus into his contacts, “Next time, he and the Turks have to hide it to keep Shinra from finding out. And…” 

He balls his left hand into a fist and points it towards the door. Lifting his PHS with the other hand, he extends his middle finger and snaps a photo of it. “I think Cloud has a few things to say to Rufus after all.”

“Wait!” Genesis snaps, snatching the PHS from Zack’s hand before he can send the photo.

“Hey!” Zack makes a grab for the phone, but Genesis dances out of the way.

“Have you no finesse?” Genesis demands, holding the PHS out of Zack’s reach, “You have to let these things simmer!”

“Genesis, what?” Angeal asks. Genesis ignores him, deleting Zack’s drafted message.

“Clearly you’ve never tried to be a nuisance before,” Genesis says, glaring at the two of them. They both shake their heads dumbly. “Ugh… Amateurs. Time is irritation’s best friend. Let him think he has you, then in a few days, send this. An ego that’s been given the opportunity to grow makes a much bigger boom when it pops.”

Zack grins. “Ah! I got it,” he says. This time, when he reaches for it, Genesis hands over the PHS. Zack types in a message before showing it to them.

“Better keep your end of the deal,” is written on the screen. With Genesis’s nod of approval, Zack sends it off.

“Keep up that somber act for a few days, then we begin the harassment,” Genesis says with a truly frightening grin.

“This is a terrible idea,” Angeal groans, “Sephiroth, stop them.”

Sephiroth lays back down in bed, throwing his arm over his eyes. “I’m afraid my head hurts far too much for that,” he says, “Please, defeat the menaces in my stead.”

Chapter Text

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re:Re:Re:A Helping Hand

To: [email protected]

Chapter Text

Email correspondence with Reeve took a few days. Cloud was nervous he wouldn’t be able to contact him in the first place. He couldn’t exactly send an email frankly laying out the issue and asking for help, and it was difficult to sound both desperate and trustworthy enough in a spam email to be clicked on. He had to rely on Reeve’s curiosity and bleeding heart. Luckily, it worked out and Reeve put the pieces together quickly enough. Now Cloud could only hope he wasn’t sending the Turks or the military his way.

In the meantime, he was scraping up enough money to de-frog Vincent. Cloud is a little glad such an unfortunate thing happened. On the one hand, Vincent was the only one between them with a weapon and he couldn’t use it as a frog, but on the other, he would have fought Cloud the whole way on those emails; and he is one of the few people in the world who might actually win. At least as a frog, he couldn’t wrestle Cloud to the ground. Though Cloud still had to endure quite a few clammy slaps from tiny frog hands and a strong kick to the gut for his trouble.

Over Vincent being ornery and dangerous with his absurdly powerful frog limbs, getting money was the biggest challenge. Without a weapon, he couldn’t work as a mercenary. Carrying around a frog-ified friend also put dents in his reputation. He had to make do by killing things with a sharp stick and his materia and lifting whatever his prey had on it. Few of the monsters had stolen Gil. Sometimes, they had organs, claws, or horns that could be sold to the right people in town, but not for much. In the end, they resorted to combing through the thick mud for things to sell at the pawn shop.

By the time Cloud has finished his email correspondence with Reeve, they have enough for the Maiden’s Kiss. Cloud can feel Vincent’s anticipation as he carries the ornate bottle to their camping spot just outside of town. Cloud knows Vincent is anxious to get back to being human, but he doubts he wants to transform in the middle of the bustling Gongaga streets.

They get situated behind some trees before Cloud pops the cork. Without warning, he dumps the bottle of slightly glittering liquid over Vincent’s head. Silvery smoke erupts when the liquid makes contact with his skin, growing into a cloud taller and thicker than Cloud. He can see Vincent’s human body take shape slowly like a shadow through the fragrant smoke. Red eyes gleam through the haze at him, and Cloud braces himself for the onslaught.

“We’re leaving,” are Vincent’s first words post-frogging. It sounds like it; his voice is hoarse and gravelly, still like the croaks Cloud had grown used to over the past few days. It seems being a frog was rough on the throat.

“We can't,” Cloud says firmly, “We have to shut off the reactor. Besides, I’m waiting for someone.”

“Waiting for the Turks, or Shinra’s entire military more like,” Vincent snaps. He is the most visibly angry Cloud has ever seen him, brows furrowed and frowning over the collar of his cloak. Vincent darts forward suddenly, one arm outstretched like he plans to scoop Cloud up off the ground. Cloud dodges, but it’s a near thing.

“Reeve wouldn’t do that,” Cloud says, “I think…” He winces at the way Vincent’s eyes flair wide at that.

“Do you even know this man?” Vincent demands. He circles Cloud like a predator looking for a weak point, and Cloud keeps step with him. He is glad he had a chance to get to know Vincent before being on the receiving end of his anger. He is already a scary man without his glowing red eyes and crumpled face. “He is a director. That is not a position for an honest man,” he growls.

“Listen,” Cloud pleads. He resists the urge to shrink when Vincent enters his space, towering over him. “Reeve might not be honest, but he is a good man. He’s only in that position because he’s smart enough to build a reactor and dumb enough to think he can change the company from the inside.”

Vincent frowns, tapping the metal fingers of his gauntlet against the gun at his hip. “If he created the reactors, then why would he help you destroy them?” he asks.

“Shut off, not destroy,” Cloud corrects him, “Destroying them will probably take more convincing…” He trails off as he thinks. He still hadn’t figured out exactly how he planned to do that.

Vincent clears his throat. 

“Anyway,” Cloud says, looking up, “He designed the reactor, so he knows the risks. He knows what will happen if something goes wrong, so at the very least he will want to take a look at it himself.”

“He can do both,” Vincent says, “Betray you and come here for an inspection. Did you think about that?”

Cloud had, actually. It had happened before, after all. “That’s fine, then,” he snaps, “As long as someone does something.” He catches Vincent’s gaze, once again pleading. “Vincent, this reactor is going to blow and the explosion will be so large that this place will be unrecognizable. People will die. Lots of people."

Vincent remains silent, watching him closely. Cloud ignores it, continuing with his conviction, "If he sold me out, fine. As long as someone comes here and fixes the damn thing.”

Vincent’s glare cools and he takes a step back out of Cloud’s space. “The consequences if you get caught will be...  terrible for you,” he says, voice soft, “You understand that, don’t you?”

Cloud sighs, looking away. “I probably understand that just as well as you do,” he mutters. Vincent doesn’t prod, so Cloud steals the moment to hammer home his point. “What happens to me doesn’t matter. As long as I can… fix this… do something… I don’t care what they do to me.” He lived through it all once. He could do it again and again and again if that is what it took.

Vincent’s shoulders slump, and he tilts his head. “I will trust your judgment,” he says.

Cloud nods at him thankfully, but Vincent raises a hand to grab his attention again. “But if the time comes, I won’t stand by and watch you toss yourself away so flippantly,” he continues, “I will keep you out of their hands by any means.”

The shock of the statement hits Cloud like a punch to the gut, and he chokes. “Vincent, that’s- you can’t- That’s way too dangerous,” he stutters. He winces, he is sure Vincent caught on to that.

“Yes,” Vincent agrees. He definitely caught onto it. “It will only be as dangerous as you choose to make it.” Even if he can’t see the bottom of his face, Cloud can hear the smirk in his voice.

“You barely know me,” Cloud spits.

“You are the closest friend I have had in over twenty years,” Vincent says, eyes narrowing with mirth.

“I don’t know you’re not bluffing,” Cloud decides, even if he does, in fact, know that Vincent isn’t bluffing, “If you think this changes anything, you’re dead wrong.”

“I suppose then, in the worst case, I’ll also be dead period, hm?” Vincent comments casually.

Cloud stares at him with disbelief. “I liked you better as a frog,” he snaps. Then he turns on his heel and marches away from Vincent, back towards the town. 

He hates to lose the verbal spar, but he can’t risk Vincent reading the new tightness in his chest. What Vincent said on Mount Nibel niggles at his brain. He had said his passengers wouldn’t leave Cloud, so he wouldn’t either. Cloud may have him trapped in this suicide mission to save the planet against his will.

As expected, Vincent follows close behind him. When they return to town, Vincent, newly de-frogged and all the more striking and intimidating, is flocked by curious townsfolk. Cloud snatches the opportunity to slip away to be alone with his thoughts.

He ends up in an alley, shaded from the sun, but not free of the sweltering, muggy late-afternoon heat. Living in Gongaga is like being wrapped in a hot, wet towel twenty-four hours a day. Cloud understands now why nothing seems to get underneath Zack’s skin if he learned to deal with this every day.

He flops onto the ground, bringing his knees up and hanging his head between his shoulders. He trusts Reeve not to send Shinra sniffing after them, at least not when there are lives on the line. After Cloud convinces him to shut down the reactor, though, he isn’t so sure. Reeve had sold them out before, for reasons Cloud was still fuzzy on even after he explained. Did he still have that same motivation? Those same loyalties? Cloud isn’t part of a ragtag group of travelers running from the law and trying to fight Sephiroth this time. He is decidedly doing this for the people. Would that be enough?

What would happen to Vincent if they got caught? Would he be forced to stay with Cloud? Maybe Cloud could convince Chaos or Galian, or whoever it is that is determined to babysit him, that Vincent could save Cloud more easily if he ran off. 

Not now, at least. He looks up and Vincent is there, standing over him. “I thought you would try to run away,” Vincent says. His voice doesn’t have much of an inflection to it, but it doesn’t really need to.

Cloud drops his head back down between his knees. “Can’t,” he says simply. He won’t abandon these people here. Shinra’s body count stopped the moment Cloud woke up ten years in the past.

Vincent lets go of a breath, relief or irritation, Cloud isn’t entirely sure. “I have a job request,” he says.

“Congrats,” Cloud says for lack of anything better. He is honestly surprised. He figured being frog-ified would put a big enough damper on Vincent’s reputation that no one would ask him for mercenary work. “How’d that happen?” he asks.

“There’s a monster deeper in the swamp. No one can get close enough to it to kill it. I have a gun, so they asked for my help,” Vincent explains. Cloud can feel Vincent watching him, and the pressure is almost too much.

“You gonna take it?” he asks. He already knows the answer, but he has no choice but to throw the pressure to respond back on Vincent. 

“Of course,” Vincent says, “It pays well.”

Cloud lifts his head. “Worried about getting stuck as a frog again?” he teases. Vincent’s frown is just barely hidden behind his collar.

“We don’t have any money,” Vincent says, “And as talented you are with a stick, you are disadvantaged against anything with armor. Not to mention, one of us is still human and could use things like food, shelter… and a bath.”

“You’re still human, Vince…” Cloud says in reflex, then his gaze sharpens into a glare. “Are you saying that I stink?” he snaps.

“You haven’t bathed since we met,” Vincent says frankly.

“I waded through a river!” Cloud defends.

The flat look he gets in return tells him that did little to convince Vincent of his good hygiene practices.

Cloud huffs. “You don’t exactly smell like daisies either,” he snarks.

Vincent has a point though. Between Gongaga’s endlessly muggy climate and the constant romps through the mud, they are both smelling a little ripe and looking more than a bit disheveled. Vincent, for his credit, always looks worn, torn, and battered, but he wears it far better than Cloud. Cloud just looks like a child that lost his parents and got stranded in the woods for a few days. He has gotten more than a few pitying looks as he wandered around the town.

“So when are we leaving for the job?” Cloud asks, standing up. He dusts the rear of his pants off with a few firm pats.

“I’ll be leaving within the hour,” Vincent says, “You’re staying here, or not going there, whichever you will argue with less.”

Cloud crosses his arms, scowling openly at that. “I’m not going to-”

“Your stick is intimidating, but we don’t need the townspeople talking more than they already are,” Vincent explains stubbornly over his protest. He looks down at Cloud with a jarringly familiar expression, but one that belongs on Cloud’s mother’s face. He has a stern furrow between his brows and the tilt of his shoulders betrays how closely he teeters towards exasperation.

“You’re just worried I’ll show you up with it,” Cloud says, with no real fire. It’s hard to stay riled up in the face of Vincent’s stubborn calm.

“That would certainly get the locals talking,” Vincents concedes, “As it is, I don’t think my ego could take another hit.”

Cloud snorts. “You don’t have an ego,” he quips, again, without much thought.

That earns him an off look from Vincent, but the man luckily doesn’t chase down that particular line of questioning. “Not anymore,” Vincent finally agrees after a pregnant pause, “I’m asking you to stay here, choose whichever reason you like for it.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Cloud says, just to be ornery.

“No, but I can beg,” Vincent says. It comes out flat, but his eyes are imploring. “Please stay here. I do not want to come back to a frog or… worse."

“Just because you were dumb enough to get frogged doesn’t mean I am,” Cloud says sourly, “But sure, I’ll stay here. Gotta figure out what I’m doing after we finally get that reactor shut down.”

Vincent wrinkles his brows again, clearly irritated with something that Cloud said. “That’s all I can ask for, I suppose,” he mutters, then turns, “I’m going to meet with my employers, try to rest.”

Cloud watches him go, not bothering with a reply. When Vincent first started following him, he thought their destination would be the point of contention between them, not how Cloud chose to conduct his business. He watches Vincent’s back until it disappears around a corner, then heads out of the alley to find a place to exist for a while.

Cloud settles on making loops around the market. It is mostly shaded, keeping him out of direct sunlight. It also is the most exciting thing in the city aside from the library. He contents himself with people watching as he chews over the expanse of the unknown future in front of him.

As he is turning around a cart selling dumbapple juice from Banora, he freezes when someone familiar walks into his path. She looks younger than the last time they met. There are far fewer wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, and the dark circles are non-existent. Her black hair, now devoid of any gray, is pulled back into a barely tamed braid. Her blue eyes scrunch slightly as she makes out the prices at a nearby stall. Shaking her head slightly, she turns, tripping over seemingly nothing and dropping a few items from her shopping basket onto the path.

Cloud walks over, kneeling along with her. He gathers up two deep green, leafy bundles while she quickly saves a bag of root vegetables from getting trod on. As she returns it to her bag, Cloud offers her the bundles, and their eyes meet as she accepts them. “Thank you! You’re so sweet…” she trails off, distracted as her eyes land on his.

As they stand, she keeps her gaze trained on Cloud. “This might seem like it’s out of the blue, but are you with SOLDIER?” she asks. Cloud is expecting as much. SOLDIER eyes are distinctive, especially ones as bright as Clouds. She would likely recognize the same light from her son’s eyes.

“Sure am,” Cloud says, brain already churning out a plan. 

Mrs. Fair lights up with excitement. Her grin is almost a mirror image of her son’s. “My son’s in SOLDIER!” she says happily, “Oh! Maybe you know him? He’s Zack Fair.”

Cloud feigns surprise, raising his eyebrows and folding his mouth into a little ‘O.’ “Zack Fair? You mean First Class Zack Fair?” he asks, acting like he needs to confirm it.

Mrs. Fair presses a hand to her cheek, her own surprise overtaking her face. “He’s First Class now!?” she questions, “Oh! That boy never tells me anything!” The face she makes with the exclamation tells Cloud Zack will be getting an angry phone call in the near future.

“Ah, he’s probably busy. There’s a situation with some of the other Firsts in Shinra right now,” Cloud says. Before Mrs. Fair can interrogate him about that, he is quick to add. “But yeah, I know him! He’s been a bit of a mentor for me, actually.” He rubs a hand through his spikes at how drastically things have changed in such a short time. He could probably school Zack in sword fighting now. He hadn’t even touched the buster sword yet.

“Is that why you’re here?” Mrs. Fair asks. She sounds concerned and Cloud winces.

“Nothing like that,” he says, waving his hands placatingly, “I’m here on leave.”

“Gongaga? For leave?” she asks with disbelief. Cloud can’t blame her for that. As pretty as the surrounding jungles were, Gongaga was an all-around miserable place to be this time of year. She squints at him, drifting further into his space. “Are you from around here, dear?”

“No, uh…” Cloud takes a step back despite himself. He has never liked people staring at him, even before he was on the run. “Zack actually suggested I come here,” he lies quickly.

“My Zack recommended Gongaga for a vacation?” Mrs. Fair asks, her tone rising with her disbelief.

Cloud tries not to flounder after being called out so quickly. There was a reason Zack left here without telling anyone when he first joined SOLDIER. “Well, I said I wanted to go somewhere boring. After you’ve seen Midgar, you’ve seen everything any big city on Gaia has to offer, you know?” he explains, “And he said there was no place more boring than Gongaga. I took his word for it.”

“That sounds more like my Zack,” Mrs. Fair chuckles. She looks at him again, giving him a quick sweep from his feet to the tips of his spiky hair. “It looks like it hasn’t been that boring though…”

“Yeah,” Cloud agrees, “I bet he sent me here as a joke. Boring, my ass.” He glances surreptitiously at Mrs. Fair and she continues to watch him, expression still cheerful. “First my friend and I got attacked by touch mes. He got turned into a frog, and in my panic, I lost our luggage somewhere in the swamp. I went back to find it the next day, but I just got attacked again and dropped my PHS in the mud while I was running away.”

“Oh my!” Mrs. Fair tuts in that way that mothers do, “That sounds awful. He didn’t warn you about the touch mes? Terrible boy…”

Cloud winces. He will have to apologize to Zack later. “Eh…” he says, shrugging, “It will make a good story to tell back in Midgar. There are touch mes in the sewers back there, so it’s not like I’ve never seen them before. I just let my guard down.”

“A good story indeed,” Mrs. Fair says, tutting again, “Not much of a vacation, though.”

“And it’s almost over…” Cloud says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Feigning like he has just remembered something, he widens his eyes, glancing at Mrs. Fair. “I… hate to intrude, but could I ask you for a favor?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Fair says, “I feel like I owe you with all the trouble my son has gotten you into.” She is frowning now. Yet another motherly expression directed at him today. At least this time it comes from an actual mother.

“Don’t worry. I’ll pay him back plenty when I get back,” Cloud says, though the look on her face and her clear second-hand guilt forces him to duck his head a bit. “I just… need to call my CO… er, my commanding officer to let him know when to expect me back,” he lies, “Do you have a PHS I could borrow?”

“Sure!” she chirps, “We don’t have a PHS, but we have a landline you could borrow. The connection will be better anyway.”

“That’s perfect,” Cloud says, directing his sunniest smile at her kindness, “Thank you so much.”

She pauses, staring at him for a little too long. Anxiety fills Cloud’s chest, making his heart jump in his chest. “Uh… ma’am?” he says, when her staring doesn’t abate.

“Oh…” she blinks, then looks at her feet, “I’m sorry. I just thought… you remind me a lot of my son.”

It’s like a cold bucket of water is dumped over his head. Cloud feels chilled and goosebumps erupt across his skin as he tries not to shiver. He hadn’t even noticed what he was doing. “I guess I… I’m picking up more from him than I thought,” he tries another smile, but it doesn’t come quite as easily as it had before.

“Is the heat starting to get to you? You've gone pale all of a sudden...” Mrs. Fair asks with concern now, pressing a hand to his face, “You’re a little clammy. How about we get you inside and you can make your phone call.” She grasps him by the arm, oblivious to what exactly Cloud had taken from both her and her son ten years ago and four years from now. He allows her to lead him, following her dazedly through the streets of Gongaga. 

Her house is different, and that helps chase away some of the chill. The quaint little three-bedroom home he stands in, with a bright yellow welcome mat and windchimes on the front porch, must have been destroyed when the reactor exploded. The thought centers him and reminds him what he can do now. He can’t fix the past, but he can change the future.

“The phone’s just through here,” Mrs. Fair says, leading him through the narrow hallway and into an open kitchen. She pulls a chair out from their small dining table and directs him into it, then busies herself with putting away her groceries.

“No, you just stay there. I’ll get you some water and then you can use the phone,” she says sternly when Cloud stands to help her. He sits back down, watching the woman bustle around as she rambles about Zack. “Did you know our boy just up and left without saying a thing?” Mrs. Fair says as she opens the refrigerator and stows some things inside, “Then he didn’t contact us until he made SOLDIER. No phone calls, no letters, nothing! For weeks!”

Cloud, out of the many memories he still has from Zack, doesn’t remember that. He must not have said anything. Cloud can understand his reasoning though. When Cloud left his village, he remembers boasting about how he would make SOLDIER, and then the shame when he hadn’t. He wishes he had just kept his mouth shut, in the end.

“How is he doing in SOLDIER?” Mrs. Fair asks, turning to him, “He writes and calls, but I know you boys don’t tell the whole story. Be honest with me.” The stern look she shoots him almost makes him see double.

“He’s doing great,” Cloud says honestly, “He’s real diligent… and popular. Everyone likes him.”

“Glad to hear that, I suppose,” Mrs. Fair says, “He mostly just complains about everyone treating him like a kid.”

“Maybe when he stops taking the company rovers for joyrides and stealing sweets from the mess after midnight, people will change their tune,” Cloud says thoughtfully. His stubborn optimism and sunny disposition probably didn’t help either, but Cloud isn’t about to suggest he lose those.

Mrs. Fair sets a glass of water on the table in front of him, smiling gently. “He’ll never,” she says, distantly fond. Cloud marvels at it and feels guilt churn in his gut for something that hasn’t happened yet. It will never happen if Cloud gets his way.

He drinks the glass of water with a thank you, and when Mrs. Fair is satisfied with the color coming back to Cloud’s cheeks, she offers him their phone. It is in a laundry room area, cluttered with cleaning supplies and piles of fresh laundry, set into the wall near a door leading into a backyard. She apologizes about the mess before shutting the door on him to let him have his privacy. Cloud looks at the landline phone on the wall, a simple thing he hasn’t seen in at least ten years. With Shinra’s rapidly progressing technological world, anything with buttons quickly became obsolete. Everything was slick with light-up touch screens and video-calling capabilities.

Still, his body remembers how to use it, at least. Pulling the phone from the receiver, he pokes at the numbers he has committed to memory. The phone rings a few times, a flat tone before there is a click as someone picks up.

Immediately, his ears are flooded with noise, people talking, and cars moving past. “Hey Mom,” Zack says, sounding distracted, “I’m out right now, can I call you back la-”

“Zack. It’s me,” Cloud says lowly, leaning his rear against the washing machine.

There is a sound like Zack is fumbling with the phone. A cut-off, distant, “Oh shi-” and then he is back again. “O-o-oh hey, uh…”

“You alone?” Cloud asks, he hopes so. This is the only chance he has to speak to Zack for a while yet. “Out of HQ?”

“Yeah, thank Gaia,” Zack says in a hushed tone, “Listen, man, I don’t know if they’re watching me or… or listening in or what…. Are you at my parents' house?!”

“Yeah,” Cloud says, “It was a little… spur of the moment. Your mom’s nice, by the way. You should call her more.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Zack bites back, “What are you even doing there, man? I don’t want to be a hard-ass, but I don’t really want Sh-”

“No name drops,” Cloud snaps quickly, “I have an idea of how they… keep tabs. It isn’t efficient for them to field phone calls constantly, even for you, and especially for familiar numbers. Just keep the conversation casual and they won’t clue in. That’s… also why you should call your mother more… and maybe invite your friends to call you too. From many different numbers, at different times of the day. Maybe you should even call yourself a few times from a payphone or three." The more crowded Zack’s phone was with unrelated things, the more likely Cloud could contact him without getting caught.

“Oh…” Zack says. The noise dies down a bit, presumably as he ducks down a less populated street. “Gotcha,” he agrees. There is a pause while Zack continues walking and Cloud just listens to him breathe on the other end. “How are you?” comes Zack’s voice a few moments later, “Are you okay? Se-You know who says he might’ve hurt you, and then you ran off and I haven’t heard from you for weeks and I thought-”

“I’m fine,” Cloud says quickly, “He didn’t hurt me too bad. I healed just fine. He owes me a sword, though." It is odd to be talking about the man so casually, especially after Nibelheim. The thought fills him with a flash of anxiety. "Is he… acting strange, by the way?” he adds. He knows what he saw, and what he felt, but he can’t be entirely sure of himself.

Zack sighs on the other end, a rush of static in Cloud's ear. “He’s… fine,” he says, “Normal, I guess. Whatever that means. Just… you stirred up a lot of shit around here and he’s been getting grilled just as much as the rest of us. I don’t think he’s used to it. But he's got us. He'll be fine! We’ll be fine.” He sounds confident in that.

Cloud lets himself rest in that comfort for a moment, relieved that at least a few things are going right.

“Ah!” Zack shouts, and Cloud jumps, his grip nearly cracking the phone, “I need to tell you something!”

“Geez, Zack,” Cloud says, breathless, “Don’t shout like that. I can’t see what’s going on over there.”

Zack laughs like Cloud hadn’t almost cost his mother a new phone. “Sorry. It’s just… crazy. So I can’t say names, right, but we’ve got someone working with us… or trying to work with us, on the inside.”

“Us?” Cloud questions. Since when has all this become an ‘us?’ “Wait. Who? Can you give me a hint?” he asks.

“Uh…” Zack trails off, thinking, “It’s a he… Um… He is the… the prince of… you-know-where! You really don’t like him. You called him a bastard a lot when you mentioned him in your… uh… story.”

Cloud processes that for a moment. There were a lot of uppity assholes Cloud had mentioned to Zack that he didn’t like. Though, someone prince-like… It hits him all at once and his mood sours. Of course. “Ah. Yeah. I think I know who you’re talking about.” He sighs. If he was working with Zack, then they probably didn’t need to worry about surveillance.

“Yeah. He… uh… wants to talk to you,” Zack says, “Made a deal that he’d keep the Tu- some guys off your ass if I let him talk to you.”

“I figured he would want to,” Cloud says thoughtfully. What better way to dethrone your father and discredit Shinra’s board of directors than to have him killed by a rogue SOLDIER that they commissioned? “What did you say?”

“I agreed,” Zack says, “It made everyone really mad, but I figured he’d find out anyway, right?” Cloud hums in agreement. The Turks are skilled and Zack isn't subtle. They would get the information from him one way or another.

Cloud can hear the satisfied grin in his voice when he speaks next. “Plus he gave me his personal number. Haven't sent him anything yet. Anything you want me to pass along?"

“Tell him he can get bent,” Cloud says sagely, "I trust you can get my message across more poetically." He shouldn’t encourage Zack to go around poking bears, but since that bear is trying to murder a very powerful man, he couldn’t afford to lash out anyway. 

“Can do!" Zack agrees, the grin has turned devilish. Cloud can hear it.

"He gave me some info in exchange too,” Zack adds, still sounding smug, “Basically… How do I explain this without saying it… Everyone is after you, but you probably already knew that…” He pauses for a moment. Cloud can hear him pacing, quick steps against the pavement. “They uh… think you’re special? Like, not the way you said you were. A different way. I don’t really get it, but it’s really made everyone… crazy about you. “

Cloud rolls his eyes. Vincent’s first question to him echoes in his ears. ‘Are you an Ancient?’ he had asked, all awe and trepidation. “Don’t worry. I'm not that kind of special, but I guess them thinking I'm that and not something else will keep them from shooting on sight,” Cloud says.

Zack makes a choked noise at the thought of it and Cloud smiles wryly. “Anyway. Don’t trust that guy. He’s just as bad as his dad and I won’t work with him or his cronies.”

“You don’t gotta tell me,” Zack says, “Could see he couldn’t be trusted just with that look on his smug face.”

Cloud nods to himself. “His number might still be useful, though. Can you give it to me along with your three friends’ numbers?” he asks. It wouldn’t hurt to have all of their numbers. Maybe he could spice it up, take Shinra by surprise and call random people from random numbers whenever he gets the chance.

“Aw, Spike, I thought we were exclusive!” Zack mock whines, “Now you’re going around, seeing other people behind my back.”

“Need to complain about your terrible sense of humor to someone,” Cloud says easily.

“Ouch,” Zack says. Then rattles off the numbers obediently. Cloud doesn't write them down. Since running his delivery service, he has gotten very good at remembering numbers. He notes, with a little surprise, that Rufus had the same number post-Meteor. “I know they say that if you love someone you should let them go, but it still hurts, Spi— oop!”

Zack’s wordless exclamation becomes distant as the phone flies out of his hand. Cloud can hear the woosh of air as it makes a rapid descent towards the ground, already trying to plan out who he is going to ask for Zack’s new number when the phone makes a soft thump rather than the electric squeal of dying electronics.

“Caught it!” a familiar, feminine voice says triumphantly. Aerith.

“Oh shit! Nice catch!” Zack says distantly. Then, a little more sheepish, “Sorry! I didn't see... you…” Cloud recognizes that tell-tale shift in Zack’s tone, from embarrassed to dopy in less than three seconds. He can’t help but smile.

“It’s alright, I wasn’t paying much attention,” Aerith says in her usual cheery voice, “Here you go.”

Cloud listens as the phone changes hands. “Thanks,” Zack says like Aerith handed him one million Gil instead of his PHS. “You really saved me.”

“Hey, Clo- er, Spike,” Zack says, full of distraction, “Sorry… uh… I”

“Now who is cheating on who?” Cloud asks. If he could quirk a brow at Zack, he would. Zack stutters on the other end. “I’ll call you later, okay? Stay safe.”

Then he hangs up. He is loath to get in the way of that meeting. Many things were changing, would change, had to change, but maybe a few things ought to stay just as they were.

Chapter Text

Cloud sets the phone back on the receiver and opens the laundry room door only to find Mrs. Fair standing right outside it. He jumps, stumbling back a few steps. Her expression is still gentle, but there is anxiety in her eyes.

“Is Zack your commanding officer?” she asks seemingly casually, though her tone betrays her. 

Cloud swallows. He doesn’t speak.

Mrs. Fair breathes in through her nose, closing her eyes as she twists her hands in her skirts. “I didn’t hear much,” she says, “But, it sounds like you’re in a lot of trouble. You’re not with SOLDIER, are you?”

Cloud bites the inside of his cheek, thinking. “I’m not a threat to Zack,” he assures her, over any attempt at lying.

“I’m sure you’re not. My son is a good judge of character, even if he doesn’t have any common sense,” she says, frowning, “But is Shinra?”

Cloud mulls over the question for a moment, watching her. She is standing strong, face stern, shoulders straight, but her fists are clenched and there is a malleable quality to her blue eyes. “Now? No. He has three other First-Class SOLDIERs on his side, and he's smarter than he acts, ” Cloud says, “But if someone comes around asking about me or him, you should play dumb."

"I'm not stupid, young man," Mrs. Fair says bluntly, "No mincing words now; Will Shinra hurt my son?"

"They'll hurt anyone who gets in their way," Cloud says, remembering the dropped plate, Nibelheim, Corel, Gongaga, and countless other towns and people wiped from the map for almost no reason at all. "But he's stronger than they are," he adds. He had to be if he carried Cloud's comatose body across continents and took an entire army down with him at the end. He didn't have dead weight to carry around with him anymore. He would win this time if push came to shove.

Mrs. Fair's face crumples like the fabric of her skirt gripped in her fist. "Oh," she breathes. Cloud's heart jumps at the sound, the concern in it urging him to comfort. He bites down on it. He isn't going to make promises that aren't his to keep.

"Have a little faith in your son," Cloud says instead, "He's made it this far. And he's not alone."

She looks at him as if the thought hadn't occurred to her. Slowly, her hands unwind from her skirt and she takes a bracing breath through her nose. Then, as she looks up at him, he finds her chipper again. "It must be hard on the road. Would you like to stay for dinner? We can put your clothes… and you, in the wash."

It is tempting, far more tempting than Cloud could imagine it being. He has to physically fight the urge to lean into her space and give in to the siren song that is her well-meaning, gently lilting voice. To spend time in a home with a family, even if it wasn't his and even if it was only for a night, is a desire he had not known had been burning so deep. Not to mention, the sore need for basic things like a bath and laundry.

Then he blinks and he remembers. What had he been saying to everyone he met thus far? He is nothing but trouble. He can't afford to linger in this woman's house pretending to be her son. He has Shinra on his tail and he may have invited them straight to his doorstep if Reeve proved untrustworthy, straight to the Fairs' doorstep. Zack would never forgive him if he endangered his family. Cloud could never forgive himself.

"Thank you for the offer, but I can't take it," Cloud says, "I have someone who’s probably looking for me by now. I’m also… not exactly on Shinra-sanctioned leave. The less contact we have the better."

He can see the brief sting of hurt as tears well in the corner of her eyes at the rejection, but soon her desire to keep her family safe wins over. She nods, and steps out of the way as Cloud makes for the front door. "Thanks for your hospitality," Cloud says.

A cold stone of guilt drops in his gut as his hand comes to rest on the door handle. He feels like he let Zack down. He certainly doesn't feel good about making his mom cry. Though Mrs. Fair still gives him a watery smile. "Any time," she says softly, "I wish you could stay… Maybe next time?"

"Next time," Cloud agrees, and it is as good as forgiveness as he is going to get. He opens the door and steps out into the street. 

With a sad wave, Mrs. Fair shuts the door behind him.

He stalks the streets again, his head swirling with regret and fear for Zack’s family. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t been, obviously. He got caught up in seeing a familiar face and now she would know to act secretive rather than truly be oblivious if Shinra ever came calling. Regular people couldn’t lie to the Turks. No one could lie to the Turks. If she acted too suspicious, they would certainly take her in for questioning. What a mess.

The distraction is the only thing that keeps him from flinching when Vincent drops like a specter out of nowhere in front of him. Cloud glares up at him, nothing but a pair of red eyes and a block of shadow in Gongaga’s dark streets. "What?" Cloud demands, physically and emotionally exhausted.

Vincent stares at him, likely just to spite him, before he speaks. "It seems you still managed to get into trouble within the city walls. Though contacting your friend through his mother is not the most dangerous thing you could have done,” he says. There isn't disapproval there, but it isn't approval either.

“How did you-“ Cloud begins to say.

“Gongaga is a small town and you have a unique face,” Vincent explains, “The people are all too happy to gossip about the only family with a SOLDIER son in town inviting a lost child into their home.”

Cloud blanches and hopes that Vincent can’t make it out in the dark. "It was a dumb move, I get it. I needed information from Zack and this seemed the safest way." Cloud says. He conveniently leaves out the part about how he forgot Zack's parents were even here. Vincent still looks as if he wants something from him. If it's an apology or an explanation, he isn't getting it. 

"Have you stopped to consider that I might know more about Shinra than your twenty-something-year outdated Turk information does?" Cloud asks. He knows he shouldn't be taking his guilt and anger at himself out on Vincent, but Vincent doesn't know or doesn't care when to leave Cloud alone.

Vincent stiffens for a moment, eyes widening as they focus on Cloud. Cloud flinches once he catches his mistake. Vincent hasn't said a thing about himself yet. Cloud isn't supposed to know that about him. He meets Vincent's gaze full-on, waiting for the onslaught of questions.

They don't come. Vincent lets loose a sigh and leans out of Cloud's space. "I hadn't thought of that, no," he says, sounding tired. "I don't think you're incapable, Cloud. I only worry about you putting your faith in the wrong people. I do not know Reeve Tuesti. I don't know your friend. I don't know if he or Reeve are liable to turn you in."

"They won't," Cloud spits with more aggression than Vincent probably deserves, "Especially not Zack."

"I don't have any reason to believe that," Vincent points out, "And neither do you, from what you've told me."

Cloud crosses his arms. He knows what Vincent is probing for and he honestly doesn't appreciate it. "You don't like it? Then you can leave," Cloud growls at him.

Vincent stares at him while Cloud seethes. The silence does little to soothe Cloud's anger. If anything it grows with all the space Vincent allows to open up between the words. "What?!" Cloud snaps.

"I am not concerned about myself," Vincent says simply, "I am missing context. I don't have any reason to believe in your assertions. To me, it looks like you are recklessly taking risks so that you can accomplish something with little care for the consequences."

Cloud flushes. He understands where Vincent is coming from and the difficult spot he is in, but being questioned at every turn is frustrating. He is running on a constant time crunch with few allies and even fewer options. To make the situation even worse, the options he does have are putting people at risk. He is doing the best he can.

"I can handle it," Cloud says, doing his best to even his tone.

"I have no doubt," Vincent says, but his expression is softer than the firm words, "But you are not alone, Cloud."

Cloud pauses, staring up at Vincent's face. He feels a sense of deja-vu.

Before Cloud can reply, Vincent turns his attention away, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing an envelope. "We have money," he says, putting special emphasis on the 'we' while he eyes Cloud. Cloud shoves his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders. "And I have another job lined up for tomorrow. My vote is for lodging tonight, then we spend tomorrow's pay on a weapon for you."

"You don't have to spend your money on me," Cloud says, mostly on embarrassment-fueled reflex.

"It's not my money. It's our money," Vincent says firmly, "I don't know what I would spend this on other than you regardless."

Cloud nods, head down. Above him, Vincent lets go of another sigh, making Cloud feel like a particularly heavy burden. Vincent doesn't say anything else, though. He just turns and leads the way toward the inn they had seen when they first entered town.

It is easy enough to get a room. There are few travelers this time of year in Gongaga. While Cloud fumes, Vincent manages to get them into a room with two twin beds. It is small and utilitarian, but it has an air conditioner that Cloud immediately turns on and stands in front of, basking in the cool breeze. Vincent settles on the bed nearest the door and begins fiddling with his metal-plated boots.

Cloud busies himself with exploring the tiny room, attempting to avoid Vincent's gaze. There is a singular chair and a small round table with a pen and pad of paper near the window. A lamp stands in the corner of the room nearest the remaining bed. Cloud snaps it on and closes the curtains against the last rays of the sun before investigating the bathroom.

It is equally small, with just a toilet and a standing shower, though it has all the amenities one would expect from staying in more modern accommodations: shampoo, conditioner, and bar soap in the shower, and hand soap by the sink. Cloud considers stealing some of the towels he finds hidden beneath the sink in a small wooden cabinet. Those could be useful.

Before that, he grabs one and leans out the door. "I'm going to wash my clothes and take a shower," Cloud says, "I'll be a while."

Anxious to have a door between himself and Vincent's judgemental gaze, he doesn't wait for a reply before he locks it and gets to work.

Cloud spends a good two hours in the bathroom, popping out only once to hang his wet clothes in front of the air conditioner. He is glad all his clothes are black because he is sure some of the stains from Nibel dirt, Gongagan mud, and the copious amounts of monster blood have definitely remained against just a bar of soap and Cloud's lazy scrubbing. Vincent is busy cleaning his gun when he comes out in nothing but his underwear, and he doesn't even look up when the door opens.

Cloud spends a long time in the shower. His hair is a haven for dirt, leaves, twigs, and even a bug or two, but also he needs the time to think. As warm water cascades over his head, Cloud considers the pros and cons of telling Vincent about the time travel.

One obvious pro would be he wouldn't have to be absolutely terrible at hiding it. It is hard for him to remember that this isn't the old Vincent, especially when he is tired or stressed. His life would be so much easier if he didn’t have to constantly check his speech. It might also encourage Vincent to be a little more confident in his abilities. 

On the other hand, Vincent might just declare him crazy and run off. The thought hurt, but at least if that happened Cloud wouldn’t have to constantly defend his decisions. 

It is a win-win if he really thinks about it.

Decision made, he shuts the shower off. When he emerges from the shower room, he is followed by a cloud of steam, wrapped in a towel while he rubs another through his hair. Vincent looks up and deftly clips his gun back together despite his unwieldy metal fingers. “Shower’s open,” Cloud says, drawing Vincent’s attention up to him.

“I don’t need to,” Vincent says like he had planned to say it. Cloud frowns at him, giving him a pointed look from head to foot. While he doesn’t look as rough as Cloud did, he still looks ruffled. There is dirt in his hair and mud crusted along the edges of his cloak and in the folds of his pants. Cloud quirks a brow at him.

“I haven’t needed to bathe in almost thirty years,” Vincent says, dipping his chin down into his collar.

“Haven’t needed to, or just haven’t?” Cloud replies, tossing the towel for his hair back into the bathroom. Vincent doesn’t reply, staring at the gun still sitting in his lap. “I’m not saying you smell, but your clothes do,” Cloud says.

Vincent remains silent, still staring at the gun. Though when Cloud looks closer in the direction of his gaze and finds it trained on the metal gauntlet. Cloud swallows, then flops back onto the opposite bed. His clothes are still wet, so he can’t get dressed yet. Not that he would want to. He wants to take advantage of sleeping in a real bed without his clothes making it cramped and uncomfortable. He no longer had anything worth hiding either. His scars are all gone, save for the spare few he got before turning fifteen.

However, Vincent hid a roadmap of suffering under his clothes. Cloud knew as much; there wasn’t much opportunity for privacy out on the road before. Faced with someone who looks pure as untrodden snow, the contrast is unmistakable. Broken and unbroken. If only Vincent really knew how deceiving appearances could be.

At least now Cloud has another good reason to spill his secrets.

Though, for now, Cloud decides to put their conversation on hold in favor of getting Vincent into the shower. Cloud knows from recent experience how uncomfortable stewing in almost two weeks’ worth of dirt can be. He can't imagine what more than twenty years must feel like.

He pulls the covers back from the bed, sliding underneath them with a sigh. "I'm gonna go to sleep, so do what you want," he says as flippantly as possible. Despite it still being rather hot in the room even with the air conditioning, Cloud rolls away from Vincent and pulls the blankets over his head.

He isn't really intending to fall asleep, but the mattress is soft and the covers are comforting. The whir of the air conditioner paired with Vincent's carefully quiet puttering is hypnotic. Between the constant woosh of cool air and the barely audible clink of metal against metal, Cloud quickly finds himself dropping off.

He awakens to the feeling of a gaze trained on the back of his neck. A cool breeze brushes the skin of his cheeks and ruffles his hair, and yet it still feels far too humid. It is cool, but somehow damp anyway, making the comforter stick uncomfortably to his skin. Edge never got this bad. Had he ended up falling asleep somewhere else? He is no longer sure where he is, but he definitely recognizes the feeling of those eyes on the back of his neck.

Scrunching his nose he opens his eyes to look out into the gloomy darkness of the room, lit only by a single bedside lamp. "Don't gotta stare at me all night, Teef. I'm not running off," he grumbles as he rolls over, then nearly freezes in shock. Though still a warm red, that gaze does not belong to Tifa. Vincent sits on the opposite bed.

"That's a new one," Vincent comments. He waits patiently as Cloud's brain works furiously to place him back into the right time. It takes longer than it should have. While the humid air in the smell of damp soil and vegetation places him in Gongaga, Vincent is befuddling. His red coat is absent. His hair falls in wet tendrils in front of his face, obscuring everything but the glow of his red eyes. He has the hotel comforter wrapped around his shoulders to preserve his decency, but it isn’t quite enough to cover his long, spindly legs. They are liberally peppered with scars.

“Sorry,” Cloud says. He averts his eyes, considering if he should roll back over and grant Vincent the privacy he wants. “Got… misplaced,” he mutters.

“You do that often,” Vincent says, ignoring his apology. He shifts under the blanket, letting his hair fall a bit more into his face.

Cloud continues to ruminate in the silence. Luckily, Vincent leaves him to it, watching the digital clock on the bedside table tick from 2:59 to 3 am. Cloud takes a breath and lets it go slowly.

“About that,” Cloud says after too long a pause, “I figure I might as well… give you a better explanation."

“You have foresight,” Vincent interrupts him, “Or you are from the future, though how that is possible, I’m not certain.” Cloud winces, and Vincent holds his gaze steadily, face blank. “I am a former Turk,” he says as an explanation, “As you know.”

“That doesn’t seem a bit unbelievable to you?” Cloud asks. He kicks the blankets off and sits up. It doesn’t help him feel less vulnerable under Vincent’s gaze.

“You know more than you should. Much more,” Vincent says with the subtlest lift of one brow, “I have a weapon of the planet whispering in my head. It speaks cryptically, but not incomprehensibly. Chaos has no reason to lie to me. And you lie badly.”

Cloud looks away, flushing. “I didn’t lie,” he mutters to the wall.

Vincent tilts his head. “I would not categorize a fortune teller nor a time traveler as a regular guy,” he argues.

“I’m a regular guy… who time traveled,” Cloud says, still not making eye contact with Vincent.

“Yes,” Vincent says, “A regular guy who time traveled and has saved the world multiple times and can banish plagues with just a touch. Very… regular."

Cloud snaps his head around to glare at Vincent. “That’s semantics!” he says, even as something in Vincent’s gaze flashes with amusement. It only serves to annoy Cloud more. “Whatever. Sure, I lied. I’m from the future. Saved the world three times, but it didn’t stick so the planet sent me back to square one,” he says in a rush, fists gripping the sheets beneath him.

“Jenova,” Vincent surmises, “And Sephiroth?”

“Yeah, they made quite a team,” Cloud says bitterly, “Jenova’s gone though, so Sephiroth… shouldn’t be a threat anymore.”

“And the mako reactors?” Vincent inquires.

“That kind of power comes at a price,” Cloud intones seriously, “You can see how it pollutes the air and drains the life from the surrounding areas. It’s not an endless supply either, though the planet will die long before we deplete it all.”

Vincent nods along. “And when those are taken care of, the world is saved?” he asks, eyes trained on Cloud, reading things in his features that Cloud can’t hide no matter how hard he tries.

“Then Shinra goes,” Cloud says, “They started all this. I’m ending it with them.”

“And then?” Vincent asks.

“I’ll take on the next thing that tries it,” Cloud says with determination. He has worked so hard to make it this far, he isn’t about to let his guard down. The original Avalanche, Deep Ground, Rufus, hell even the WRO; Cloud is ready for any of them.

“It seems like your mission will never end,” Vincent comments, voice neutral.

“Whatever it takes,” Cloud says, without missing a beat.

“Why?” Vincent asks. His gaze has gone sharp and bright like the edge of a sword, glinting in the dim lamplight.

That knocks the wind out of Cloud's sails, and the frustrated fire smoldering in his chest from all the questions snuffs with its exit. "What?" he breathes, befuddled, "What do you mean, why?"

"You are not the only person interested in keeping this world alive," Vincent says, "So why are you the only one protecting it?"

Cloud narrows his eyes at Vincent. "You see anyone else going out of their way?" he asks, "You gonna do it for me?" Vincent slept through everything the first time. He slept through Nibelheim burning, and Cloud and Zack's torture. He nearly told Cloud and his party to get lost when they asked for help saving the world. Even then, the only thing motivating him to help was his guilt.

Cloud also knows that Vincent already felt guilty about that. He already regretted lying dormant for thirty years while the world around him fell apart. He knows the blow is purposely low, aimed at all of Vincent's insecurities. And yet he can't stop himself.  Why Cloud? Because Avalanche couldn't do it, Cloud couldn't trust Shinra to pull its head out of its ass, and he wasn't about to compromise any of his friends' now happier lives. Vincent isn't even here because he wants to be. 

"The only reason you're here now is that Chaos won't let you leave," he pointed out.

Vincent recoils, just the slightest bit at that, teeth clicking as he grits them together. Cloud would feel bad about it if it weren't true, and he didn't have to wrestle with his own guilt from dragging Vincent across the continent against his will.

Cloud keeps his eyes trained on the floor, gritting his teeth. “Look. Sorry. That wasn’t-” he begins to backtrack immediately. If Vincent didn’t want to save the world this time around, how could Cloud blame him after everything that had been done to him?

“No,” Vincent says, “It seems I’ve given you the wrong idea.” His voice is calm, but flat in a way Cloud recognizes. He shifts under the blanket as Cloud looks up at him. “Chaos is… persuasive, but it does not have control over me. I followed you because I recognize the importance of your mission,” he explains slowly, “You have not… trapped me with you. It is the opposite, really.”

Cloud chews his cheek, staring up at Vincent. “Well now I just feel like an ass,” he says. 

“You are,” Vincent says bluntly. Cloud frowns at him. Nothing is there to hide the slight upturn of Vincent’s lips. “But you aren’t wrong. After I failed to stop Hojo, I gave up. An… unforgivable mistake on my part.”

Now Cloud hopes he isn’t being followed around because he ‘fixed’ it. “There wasn’t anything you could have done that would’ve stopped Hojo,” Cloud says tiredly, “He would’ve just killed you earlier, or found someone other than Lucrecia. I think you figured that out eventually.”

“Regardless,” Vincent says, “I want to make up for that mistake. Perhaps in saving the world… saving Gaia… I can get a little bit of forgiveness.” 

Cloud resists the urge to point out that nothing needs forgiving. Mistakes were not intentional slights. Cloud doubts Vincent would accept that, though. 

“It would be easier, however,” Vincent continues with no response from Cloud, “If you would give me more information, so I can actually help you, instead of antagonizing you every step of the way.”

Cloud huffs. “Fine, but I hate this story and I’m only telling it once,” he says, before launching himself into a brisk retelling of what he could remember from before.

Silence follows his tale. Cloud waits for Vincent to dismiss him or at least call him crazy. Instead, Vincent sits, silent and still for a long while after the end.

"So you trust Reeve because you knew him before," Vincent comments thoughtfully, "But he betrayed you."

"That's what you took from that?!" Cloud demands.

"It's what's important now," Vincent points out reasonably, "When you first met, Reeve, or Cait Sith, he accompanied you specifically to spy on you."

"He didn't know what we were doing then," Cloud argues, "To him, we were just causing havoc. This time I told him what we're doing. Reeve cares about the people and the planet. He'll want to help!" 

"Be that as it may, have you considered his idea of helping people and the planet might be helping apprehend a dangerous fugitive?" Vincent asks seriously, "He did it befo-"

He cuts himself off abruptly, tilting his head to listen. Cloud does the same for a split second before he pushes himself off the bed and towards the door. He has it thrown open in an instant, grabbing something black and furry by the collar of its dumb red cape and lifting it bodily from the ground.

"Hey Cait," Cloud says to the cat he has scruffed. Cait Sith struggles against him, but Cloud's limbs are just long enough and Cait's just short enough, that he can't reach to claw at him. Is he smaller than he was before? "Enjoy the radio show?"

"I-I-I didn't hear anythin'!" Cait Sith says, "I w-was just passin' through! Honest!"

"Right. I'm sure Gongaga has a robust population of remote-controlled cats running around," Cloud says doubtfully, "Since we’re all being honest here, how much did you hear?"

Cloud drags him into the room, shutting the door behind them. Vincent sits tensely on the bed, gun drawn and aimed at Cait Sith. "Don't bother, if you kill him, Reeve can just make more," he says to Vincent.

He gives Cait a little shake. It displaces Cait's little crown and he scrambles to right it. "What'd you hear, so I know how much I have to repeat.” Cloud demands. Cait Sith squirms a bit more, before what Cloud said sinks in.

He peers up at Cloud cautiously, the little whiskers peppered just above his eyes furrowed with thought. “That you’re from th' future,”  he mutters, his irises just barely visible through his squinting eyes,  “That’s not possible.”

“Very possible,” Cloud says, “Want me to confirm it? I worked with Reeve for three years and saved the world with him twice. I know a lot about the guy.”

Not waiting for Cait to reply, Cloud continues, “He came from a small, well-to-do family from some backwoods town. He hides his accent because city folk won’t take him seriously, but you don’t.” As he speaks, Cait Sith’s eyes widen ever so slightly, small mouth forming a perfect ‘o.’ “I know he joined Shinra thinking he could help make life better for people. I also know he’s now caught up in a web of corporate corruption and greed and he can’t get out. He hid his origins, so people in Shinra would include him. That didn’t work. Even being a director doesn’t give him much sway. He doesn’t regret inventing the mako reactors, but he will in a few weeks' time if we don’t mosey.”

Cait crosses his arms, frowning. He turns away from Cloud and thinks for a bit too long, likely relaying the information to Reeve, or Reeve simply mulling everything over. “You’re right, aside from your timeline,” Cait Sith agrees, turning his gaze back on Cloud, “He… I already regret making the mako reactors.” Reeve’s familiar voice floats through Cait’s invisible speakers, a bit tinny from the transmission, “More so after I double-checked your information. The Gongagan Reactor certainly is unstable and the failsafe hasn't triggered. If the fluctuating production levels are any indication, it may blow as soon as a few days.”

Cloud immediately drops Cait Sith, heart fluttering at that news. “Shit, I thought we had more time,” he hisses, “We’ve just been… fooling around here and it could have blown-”

“How did you know?” Reeve asks through Cait Sith, “The only hint that there is a malfunction is a marked drop in power production efficiency compared to three years ago, it would be overlooked by most engineers."

“I’m from the future, remember?” Cloud says, tapping his foot impatiently, “Anyway. We have to get over there now.”

“I agree,” Reeve says, “There is a report in the reactor's maintenance history about a sparking wire, but it is marked as resolved. Though judging from the increasingly erratic fluctuations since then, I would guess that, more accurately, it was ignored.”

“They've been leaving it,” Cloud spits, disgusted. He leaves Cait Sith on the floor by the door, pulling his still-damp clothes down from where they hang. He pulls his clothes on quickly, while Vincent trails after him, the comforter still wrapped around his shoulders like the robe of an old king. Cloud turns and tosses Vincent’s clothing over the man’s bony shoulder, so he doesn’t have to risk exposing himself by using his arms.

Cait Sith scampers in between Cloud's feet as Vincent disappears into the bathroom. “I don’t know if shutting down the reactor is a good idea,” Reeve says, as Cloud wrestles himself into his shirt, “Shinra will definitely notice the tampering.”

“Will they care?” Cloud asks rhetorically, “They were gonna let it explode in a few days.”

“Perhaps they won’t care about the reactor,” Reeve says, “But they will know it was you and come looking. The Company is abuzz about you.”

“Let them. I don’t plan to loiter after we shut this damn thing down,” Cloud says. He grabs his pack from the floor and shouts at Vincent to grab some extra towels from the bathroom, so he can shove them inside.

“But they’ll know what your goal is,” Reeve argues, “They will have a military waiting for you at every reactor. They’ll stalk all the towns around them. If we’re to do this. We need to do it all the way. A few deactivated reactors will not turn their attention to renewable energy. Especially when there is a good place in Corel already chosen for a new reactor."

Cloud's stomach flips. He is already running out of time again. “That’s not negotiable,” Cloud states, “The reactors go. No matter the cost.”

“I understand that,” Reeve says, “I have a better solution. I will leave Cait Sith with you for the time being, while I confirm my theory. I promise you, the mako reactor will no longer siphon mako after today.”

“How’s that possible?” Cloud asks. Vincent emerges from the bathroom with three towels neatly folded in his hands. Fully dressed, he is much more intimidating, and it shows a bit on Cait’s face.

“W-we trigger the failsafe, as I intended to happen if such a thing were to occur,” Reeve says, “There’s a way to do it without leaving a trace. Just give me an hour to make sure.”

“Guess if you fail, I’ll just explode and it won’t be my problem anymore,” Cloud says flippantly, stuffing the towels into the bag. Vincent gives him a sharp look.

“If it doesn’t work in the simulation, then we’ll do it your way,” Reeve promises. Cloud trusts him, he recognizes the steel in his voice. "I'll see you in a few hours."

There is a click, followed by an exclamation from Cait. "You're really from th' future!" he sounds amazed, a complete about-face from Reeve's steely determination. "Wow!"

"See how much easier it is when you are frank with people?" Vincent comments as he slips an unopened bar of soap into the bag.

"Shut up," Cloud snaps sourly, "How was I supposed to know you'd take it well?"

"It's certainly a better explanation than 'trust me, I just know,'" Vincent says. As if trying to annoy Cloud, he also takes the bag and swings it over his shoulder for good measure. Cloud grinds his teeth. “Shall we go?” Vincent says.

“Fine,” Cloud spits, “C’mon, Cait, let’s go.”

“Okay!” Cait chirps, apparently equal parts cheerful and excited. He follows them out of the inn and through the murky Gongagan early morning air towards the reactor.

The walk over is spotted by sporadic chatter between Cait and Cloud. Cait has a hundred questions about the future, about what Cloud has been doing, and surprisingly, about Reeve. Not anything about his future, but just things about Reeve’s personality, his family, and preferences. At first, Cloud thinks he is being quizzed, but then the questions get deeper, going from “Where exactly is Reeve from?” to “Why do you think he doesn’t talk to his family much?”

It gives Cloud pause. He hadn’t thought much about Cait Sith before. He was content with him being Reeve’s weird robot, but meeting him again in different circumstances brings up questions about what exactly Cait Sith is. If Cloud strains his hearing, he can’t hear the whir of machinery or the hum of electric motors. Cait doesn’t have a heartbeat, but it sounds like something close to it, a small, fluttering, metallic pattering sound like a one gil coin caught in a glass jar. When he speaks, it doesn’t sound like it comes from a speaker, but a voice box. However, when Reeve talks to them it is definitely through some kind of broadcasting device inside Cait somewhere. Also the words Reeve used, 'I’ll leave Cait Sith with you for the time being,' implies that whoever is controlling Cait now certainly isn’t Reeve.

“Are you an AI?" Cloud asks abruptly, interrupting Cait mid-offer of a fortune reading competition.

Cait pauses, and Vincent glances at him. "What's that?" Cait Sith says innocently.

Cloud doesn't reply, unsettled. He isn't sure Cait would take being told he is just a complicated computer program very well if he isn't already aware.

"What else could he be?" Vincent says reasonably.

"It's just…" Cloud looks to Cait and then to Vincent. He regrets never asking Reeve exactly what Cait Sith was. He was helpful and that was enough for Cloud. Of course, then Cait and Reeve didn't seem so different. "He doesn't know a lot about the guy who made him. Isn't that weird… for an AI?"

"AI was a fledgling technology in my day," Vincent says, "I'm not sure what's possible at this point."

Though the look he gives Cloud over Cait's head is heavy. Cait continues on ahead, cheerful with his tail swishing under his cape. Cloud and Vincent are caught contemplating their newfound companion, but at least Cait seems content enough to chatter to fill the silence.

Cait's chatter only grinds to a halt once they enter the reactor. It looks the same as they always do; a large, round metal structure with catwalks crisscrossing the interior from its mako-flooded floor to the narrow ceiling. The entire area glows a dim green, and mako fumes are thick in the air. The planet isn't loud here like it was in the Nibelheim reactor, but Cloud's ears still ring with indistinct noise. He feels the phantom touch of hundreds of hands, gentle, but insistent as they guide him down the catwalk to where the mako pools below.

Vincent follows him, calling his name quietly. Cloud ignores it, staring down as the thick green liquid churns below his feet. Something isn't right. He can feel it like a vice tightening around his chest. The mantra, 'not finished, not finished, not finished,' echoes in his head, and he sways forward towards the endless green. Vincent catches his arm, pulling him away wordlessly. Cloud blinks, made light-headed by the struggle to breathe the noxious fumes.

A few paces away, Cait Sith stands, watching them with a concerned furrow on his feline brow. “Is he alright?” he calls, already halfway across the narrow catwalk towards a thick panel set against one wall. Catwalk, Cloud thinks with humor, it’s almost like Cait Sith was built to be in reactors.

Vincent gives him a little shake and Cloud blinks. His brain moves to catch up with everything going on around them and he swallows thickly. “Fine,” he coughs, catching Vincent’s luminous, red-eyed gaze with his own. “Just… the fumes are thick,” he mutters as Vincent releases him, “We should hurry. Any word from Reeve?”

“Not yet!” Cait reports. He scampers over to a metal box set into the wall. It has three lights set into the front of it. One yellow light blinks on and off softly while the remaining two glow a steady green. The top looks like it can be opened, but thick metal screws secure it shut. A little further away is a panel littered with screens and a mind-boggling amount of buttons. A phone painted obnoxiously orange sits on a receiver near the panel.

“Th' source of th' malfunction's here,” Cait Sith reports, pointing to the box. He quickly takes care of the screws holding the front of it shut with his claws. It swings open with a creak, showing a mess of thin wires and thicker tubing. Something within sparks rhythmically like a heartbeat. Cait Sith points at it. “These are th' cables that send signals to th' different parts of th' reactor. This one controls part of th' pump system. Right now, it's actin' screwy and making the pumps work too slow or too fast. If this part doesn't work, there’s supposed to be a failsafe to shut th' reactor down, but it’s disabled… If it was ever abled in th' first place.” He squints, doubtful, at the mess of cables. “Anyway, if it fails and th' pump stops workin' completely, and th' rest of the pump system doesn't shut off, they’ll overheat. Mako's pretty stable, but if enough of it gets hot enough, it’ll explode.” He illustrates the resulting explosion by turning to them and holding his paws aloft, spreading his palms as wide as they will go.

“This seems like an easy thing to fix,” Vincent says, looking at the wires, “Why would they allow it to explode?”

Cait Sith crosses his arms, thoughtful. “Reeve thinks it’s 'cause of th' cost,” he says slowly, “If you wantta' fix th' control, you havta' shut off all th' pumps, and if you wantta' shut off those pumps, th' mako might drain back into th' pool it's being siphoned from if repairs take too long. It takes a lotta energy to pull it back up and fill the reactor with enough to make energy again, especially if th' surface pool was already low. You also havta' bring people over to do th' whole thing manually. They must've decided it would've been cheaper to let it work for as long as it could 'til it failed. They'll be building a new one soon anyway. Maybe they weren't thinkin' it could make such a big boom?”

Cloud scowls. “Of course,” he grits out, "bastards."

“Bastards?” Cait repeats. Then there is a click as Reeve drops into the conversation.

“Please try not to use language like that around Cait Sith, he is still learning,” Reeve says with a cough.

“Got worse words I could use to describe Shinra. Want me to use them instead?” Cloud says, unapologetic. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders as he towers over Cait. “So, did it work?” 

“Yes,” Reeve says. Cloud can almost hear the smile in his voice. “There is a manual fail safe you can activate at that control panel over there. It will prompt a full reactor shutdown. When the reactor sends a report over to Shinra’s servers, it will only read as a ‘failsafe trigger,’ regardless of if it was hit manually or an error caused it. It is noted like that in the reactor’s logs as well. An investigation will probably blame it on the wire's failure."

“Probably?” Vincent asks. Cloud ignores them, already marching over to the panel. 

“Likely, an engineer sent to investigate would assume the previous repairs on the wire didn't stick. The most recent records report the wire issue is resolved, after all,” Reeve explains readily, “But that is only what I can access. If there is some kind of paperwork describing their decision to ignore the wire rather than repair it and disable the failsafe, then an investigation may suspect tampering with the reactor. I doubt they would detail something so incriminating, however. There is also a possibility that the software that I used to test this is not the same as the one running in the Gongagan reactor, but the likelihood of them having updated it since I programmed it are… slim.”

“I’m willing to bet on their incompetence,” Cloud says, “Which of these buttons do I press?”

“The big red one,” Reeve says with amusement, “It should say ‘emergency’ on it somewhere.”

Cloud grins, hovering his hand over the red button gleefully, but then his eyes are drawn to the phone. The feeling of something still loose, dangling and dangerous like that sparking wire niggles at his brain. It stays his hand for a moment as he considers the ugly orange phone. He looks to Vincent and Cait Sith, both of them watching him with confusion. “You’re not gonna like this, Vincent,” Cloud says, “I’m gonna make a call. Then we shut this thing down.”

Chapter Text

In all honesty, Zack should be worried about someone who isn't him holding his PHS while Cloud is on the other end. He is in the slums, finishing up an errand for Genesis, and he could have run into literally anyone. He can't quite bring himself to panic though, because the girl standing before him just caught his PHS in a basket full of flowers, and she is so pretty it makes his brain short-circuit for a minute. She looks like a fairytale with her basket of pretty white petals and hair like caramel cascading down her shoulders in loose curls, framing a face just as sweet.

She fishes his phone out of the petals and leaves with careful fingers, then hands it to him with a blinding smile. "Thanks," Zack says, still star-struck by her, "You really saved me."

Then he looks at his PHS, catching sight of the active call and he remembers where he is and what he is doing. He fumbles the phone up to his ear. He flushes a little as the girl giggles at him. "Sorry, Clo- er… Spike," he says, dazed.

"Now who's cheating on who?" Cloud says, the gentle fondness in his voice is so unfamiliar, nostalgic, and aged.

It manages to knock a little bit of sense back into Zack. However, before he can answer, Cloud is speaking again. "I'll call you later, okay? Stay safe," he says, then hangs up soon after.

Zack stares dumbly at the PHS. He knows Cloud wants to keep his phone calls a secret, but this cute slum girl couldn't possibly pose that big a risk. He guesses Cloud doesn't know just how pretty she is, though.

"Oh… did they hang up on you?" the girl says, “I’m sorry about that.” Now she sports a frown with a concerned furrow between her brows. It makes Zack’s heart flutter. She looks just as cute frowning as she does smiling.

“A-ah, yeah,” Zack says with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck, “But it’s okay. He’s normally like that. It wasn’t you or anything.”

She continues to watch him, and Zack tries not to stare. He can feel a flush growing under his collar, suddenly self-conscious at being observed so closely. “Hm…” the girl says, pressing a finger to her chin, “Still, I feel like I should make it up to you!”

“What? No, that’s oka-” Zack begins to say before the girl thrusts a flower into his face. It is a yellow flower with six broad, sprawling petals. It bobs a little on the end of its stem. Zack stares at it, dumbstruck.

“For you!” she says, shaking the flower a little bit.

Zack reaches forward and shakily accepts it. He continues to marvel at it. It looks so healthy with its vibrant color and glossy petals. The last time he saw a flower like this, he was on a mission in the sticks around Junon. Seeing one in the middle of Midgar feels like a miracle. To receive one, especially from this girl, feels impossible to describe. 

He fills his grin with every bit of his delight. “Wow! Thanks!” he says, holding the bloom delicately, “I’ll take really good care of it!"

When he looks back up at the girl, she is smiling softly at him. “You better!” she warns, “But if you need another one, you know where to find me. It’ll cost you, though.”

“You sell these?” Zack asks, amazed, “That’s smart!”

“Yeah! A friend of mine told me I should,” she says, giggling at him, “If I don’t pick them, they’ll overcrowd the garden. It’s good they don’t go to waste.”

Zack can’t feel self-conscious about her laughing at him since her laugh sounds so nice. “Great idea! Midgar full of flowers, wallet full of money,” he says. He continues to stare at the flower. He isn’t sure what has him more amazed, the flower itself, or the fact that the girl in front of him grew it herself. 

“I should get going,” she says. He looks up from the beautiful flower to see the even more beautiful girl waving farewell. “It was nice meeting you!”

It is enough to snap Zack out of his daze and into action. “Wait!” he says quickly, “I haven’t paid you back!”

The girl pauses. Zack breathes an internal sigh of relief.

“Pay me back…?” she echoes. Something anxious passes over her face as she looks away from him towards the main road. Zack scrambles to banish it.

“Yeah, for the flower!” Zack says.

“You want to… pay me back for the flower I gave you as an apology for making you drop your phone?” Rather than anxious, she sounds incredulous now. She quirks a brow at him.

“Yeah! Duh,”  Zack says, mimicking her tone.

“You don’t have to pay me back! It's an apology flower!” she insists.

Zack looks at the flower, then at her. He theatrically furrows his brow. “I don’t want a pity flower!” he argues.

“It’s not a pity flower! It’s an apology flower. They're different,” she explains slowly. Zack has to bite back a grin.

“An apology for what? What are you even apologizing for?” he asks, shaking the flower back and forth.

“For making you drop your phone! I told you!” the girl says, her face twisting up into a cute pout, “You’re so weird!” Weird enough to tether her in his presence for just a few moments longer. Zack doubles down.

“But I ran into you. And then you caught my phone like a ninja. You really saved my bacon, actually,” Zack says, rubbing his chin, “If anything, I owe you a flower!” He glances back at the flower, furrowing his brow. "What am I gonna do?!"

The girl's eyes blow wide, and a small smile begins to curve her lips even as her eyebrows slant down. "If you try to give me that back…" she says dangerously. Her voice wavers on a laugh.

Zack lets the moment sit. He holds the flower close to his face, squinting at it as if it might give him the answers he seeks. The girl waits patiently, almost with anticipation as she curiously leans into his space.

"I know!" Zack says, snapping his fingers. He spins to face her. "Hey miss, how much for a flower?"

The girl freezes, any hint of anxiety now fleeing in the face of open surprise. Zack plows on, emboldened by her reaction. “Ah… actually make it two flowers… no-no, three!” he says, lifting the fingers on his hand with each number. Then he scrunches his face and scratches the back of his head. “Agh… is three too many…?” he mutters, directing his gaze down at his boots.

Leaving a single moment of pretend thought, he snaps his gaze back up to hers. “Hey, what do you think? I ran straight into this girl and she caught my phone like a total ninja badass, so I wanted to get her some flowers, you know? I’m thinking three would be good. One to say sorry for running into her, and another to say thank you for catching my phone,” he explains to her.

“What’s the third flower for?” she asks with a tilt of her head.

“Oh right! Actually, the third one is to bribe her into letting me take her out on a date,” he says with a wink. 

Her expression doesn't change. Neither delight nor disgust replaces the blank expression she holds for far too long.  It makes Zack sweat. Already, he regrets his plan. Of course, he is way too eager, too goofy; a girl like her would never be charmed by a guy like him.

“Well…” She hums, puffing out her cheeks. He braces himself for rejection as her gaze moves to his face. “If you’re gonna buy her three flowers, you might as well buy a whole bouquet,” she says, business-like, “That’s four more flowers, and I’ll give you a discount.”

Zack holds his breath, watching another smile lighten her face. “Since you’re just gonna hand the flowers right back to me, I’ll give you the bouquet… and the date… for free,” she says with a wink of her own.

Zack is shocked and speechless. He knows he looks like a fool with his mouth hung open. He flounders far too long for recovery.

Then, “How'd you know the flowers were for you?!" he asks with theatrical surprise, “Damn, you’re psychic too?!”

The girl rolls her eyes. Resting her hands on her hips, she lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Really?”

Zack chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. Perhaps he came on a little too strong there. "So… date?" he asks, then blinks. "Wait, before that, name?"

"A date and a name? Now you're getting demanding…" the girl says, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting her lips. The basket hangs off her elbow. The pink ribbon wrapped around the handle shimmers in the artificial plate lights as she turns and glances over her shoulder at him. A single braid, stretching to her mid-back, swings against the soft fabric of her dress.

"If I can only have one, I guess I'll take a name, then," Zack says, deflating a bit. He likes this girl a lot, and he is honestly already hoping for a second date, then a third, then a hundredth. He is willing to settle for just her name, though.

"It's Aerith," she says. It's pretty. It feels oddly fitting and… familiar. 

Zack gasps.

At the noise, Aerith spins to face him, then backs a few steps away. Her expression goes quickly from playful to wary. 

Zack shoots his hands up. "Sorry! Sorry! The name just sounds familiar," he explains quickly.

Aerith holds her basket protectively in front of her chest, hunched down with her eyes trained on him. "Familiar?" she almost growls, “How?”

It is such an about-face from the earlier relaxed flirting that Zack takes a pointed step back, hands still up. Now that he looks he can see the bangle of materia around her wrist and the staff she has hung off her belt loop. She isn't helpless, which means she might stick around long enough for him to be able to salvage this.

He remembers what Cloud said about Aerith Gainsborough. She was being followed by Shinra. She was beautiful, kind, and unshakably strong. She fought beside them. She died because of him. He trusted her with his life. Had he gone to meet her after he escaped Shinra?

"My… friend… talked about you a lot," Zack explains, hands still up, giving Aerith a wide berth. She straightens slightly, but her fingers still brush the staff at her hip. "He's a shorter fella', spikey blonde hair, blue eyes. They glow like mine?" he questions, "He's really prickly. Not too good with people."

She blinks at him and her hand falls away from her staff. "Trouble?" she asks.

"Trouble?" Zack echoes, "I mean, sure, he can be…"

"Oh, no, he called himself Trouble," Aerith says. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a neatly folded sheet of notepaper. "He never told me his name." She unfolds it quickly, eyes scanning the paper. "Speaking of, what's your name?"

"Uh… Zack Fair?" he asks more than says, “Wait! You really know Cloud?!”

She nods to herself. “You know, your claim that you know my name because your friend knows me doesn’t inspire much confidence when you’re surprised I know your friend,” she says conversationally. Zack snaps his mouth shut. She just looks up from the paper and smiles. “Luckily, Trouble vouched for you, so I don’t have to beat you senseless and run.”

Before Zack can react to that, she loops her arm through his, leading him from the alleyway in a jaunty stroll. “So his name is Cloud?” she asks conversationally.

“Yeah. It doesn’t sound like a real name, right? Guess what? His last name is Strife. Not that far off from Trouble, huh? He seriously let you call him that?” Zack replies, enamored. So far Zack is the only person who could christen Cloud with a nickname and not get punched or stonewalled. This girl must be something special.

“He called himself that instead of giving me a real name. It’s not my fault if he didn’t want it to stick!” she says cheerily. There is definitely more to that story and Zack wants to hear about it.

“But enough about Trouble,” Aerith says, twirling herself in front of Zack. Her dress twirls gracefully about her legs and wafts a sweet floral scent through the air. “This is a date. I want to learn more about you! Come on! Impress me!”

Maybe later. Definitely, he would ask about Cloud later. Though now, he is finding it hard to think about anything aside from Aerith. He blinks dreamily down at her.

“Of course,” he says, “Well, first off, I’m the coolest, strongest guy you’ll meet from Gongaga. Guaranteed.”

“Really?” she asks dubiously, “The strongest?”

“Well, there’s not many people around here from Gongaga…” Zack admits, scratching the back of his head. She snorts at him.

He flushes a bit, but stuffs down his slight embarrassment. “How about you, huh? Impress me!” he echoes, not that she would have to try that hard.

“Hm…” Aerith hums, thinking, “I’m the coolest, most exciting girl you’ll meet under Midgar.”

“The most exciting?” Zack asks. Somehow, he is more intrigued than he was before. “Prove it.”

Aerith grins at the challenge, scrunching her nose and eyes. It is beautiful and infectious, and it makes Zack a little giddy to see. “Can do!” she sings before she grabs his hand and drags him out into the Sector 5 slums.

Less than twenty-four hours later, Sephiroth’s cell phone rings at seven am on Sunday.

This is monumental for many reasons. For one, few aside from Angeal, Genesis, and the upper ranks of SOLDIER have the courage to contact Sephiroth via anything but email. Second, if few have the courage but Angeal, Genesis, and their superiors to call Sephiroth, then even fewer have the nerve to call Sephiroth at seven am. Third, if no one but Angeal and Genesis has the courage to call Sephiroth, and even they barely have the nerve to call at seven am, then certainly no one has the balls to call Sephiroth at seven am on a Sunday, one of his only consistent days off.

Angeal stares at the phone, wide-eyed with disbelief as it lights up and buzzes on the table near Sephiroth’s hand. Sephiroth also stares at it a bit dumbly as it pauses between the first and second rings.

He has seemed softer lately, more vulnerable, so Angeal and Genesis have been sticking close, forcing him to eat and be sociable instead of isolating himself in his room to think about his shattered identity. 

That is why this morning, Angeal is making breakfast for the three of them while Sephiroth stares at the dark wood of his table and Genesis complains about the most recent rendition of Loveless to himself. Though, despite his passion, Genesis, too, falls silent as the phone rings a third time.

Sephiroth continues to stare at his phone through the third ring. An unfamiliar string of numbers flashes on the screen with each artificial trill from the phone’s speakers. If Angeal thinks about it, he might recognize the area code. Sephiroth reaches over, seemingly ready to silence it, but Genesis’s eyes light up hungrily.

“Answer it, it’s our Gift!” he snaps. He reaches for it, but Sephiroth quickly snatches it from his reach, holding the phone delicately between his fingers.

“What makes you so sure?” Angeal asks, interpreting the furrow between Sephiroth’s brows. 

"Who else would try to call you at this hour on your day off?" Genesis demands, "Angeal and I are right here."

"Zack?" Sephiroth ponders, though the look on his face says he doubts it.

Genesis levels a flat look at him. "You think he would be awake right now? Please," he scoffs.

Sephiroth nods, carefully swiping the accept call button and setting the phone on speaker. "Strife," he greets.

The sounds of a struggle float through the other end. They all tense, worried Cloud might be calling for help. Then his voice comes through the speaker, strained and slightly distant. "Come on, Vince. Let go!" Cloud grunts, less desperation, and more clear exasperation. There is the sound of something hard hitting fabric and a huff that doesn't belong to Cloud.

"You said you were calling a friend," the other voice accuses, deep and graveled. It gives the impression of a serrated knife.

"Possible friend," Cloud corrects carelessly.

"I heard you say friend," another, higher-pitched and foreignly accented voice chimes in, "Lyin's bad!"

"What?! That's rich coming from you!" Cloud spits back, still sounding like he is struggling with something, or rather someone. "I didn't lie. We're friends. Right, Sephiroth?"

Sephiroth looks from the phone to Angeal. Angeal raises his eyebrows. He can't tell Sephiroth who his friends are.

Sephiroth looks away, lips pursed. "Yes. We're friends," he says, not unlike someone put a gun to his head.

"See?" Cloud says. There is more shuffling, the sound of boots against metal, and then Cloud's voice is closer to the phone this time. "And friends look out for each other. Give each other advice," Cloud continues.

"What advice would that be?" Sephiroth asks, eyes narrowing. He touches the center of his forehead. The bruise is long gone, but his ego still hasn't recovered fully. Angeal doubts it ever will.

"Stay away from Hojo," Cloud says. His voice is like steel. "Don't touch him, don't talk to him, hell, don't even look at him."

"Is he under your protection now?" Sephiroth asks, "Another piece of my past you are determined to withhold?"

The laugh Cloud lets loose is sardonic and cruel. "He's on my hit list actually," he says. Sephiroth can hear the teeth in his smile. "And he doesn't know a thing about you, but you don't need me to tell you that."

"He has been assigned to my project since I was born," Sephiroth says, "I would venture he knows everything about me." He does not look happy about that. In fact, something flashes in his eyes, guarded and hurt.

"Does he?" Cloud asks, doubtful, "And you think he would tell you a single morsel of truth? After all these years? He didn't even tell you the truth about your mother."

"He is-" Sephiroth begins to say, his voice rising. Then his face falls. He sighs, clenching his fist on the table. "He is… a cruel and incompetent quack. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised he's a liar as well. I don't need your advice, Strife."

There is a pause on the other end, drawn out and heavy. "Hey," Cloud's voice is softer this time, "We might be friends, but I don't know how dumb you are. I’m... looking out for you. It's what friends do."

"What friends do," Sephiroth repeats softly, staring at the phone like it holds all the answers to everything. The pause he takes is long and contemplative.

"I'm not dumb, just ignorant," Sephiroth says with a slump of his shoulders, "You seem to have the opposite problem. Seeing as you are calling me in the first place.”

Cloud scoffs. "Yeah, maybe you're right," he says, "Everyone over here agrees at least."

Sephiroth tilts his head slightly. "Everyone," he echoes, "You're not alone then."

There is a long pause. "It'd be good if Shinra didn't learn about that from you," Cloud says as Sephiroth listens to the uncomfortable shuffling on the other end, "For what it's worth."

"Of course not," Sephiroth says, frowning with his brow furrowed. There is that hurt look again, and Angeal fights the urge to comfort him. "As far as I'm concerned, this conversation never happened." He pauses for a moment, pursing his lips. "Partners in crime," he says.

The silence on the other end is more informative than anything that has come out of Cloud's mouth so far. "Er… uh…" Cloud stutters. 

Genesis grins.

 "I… uh… I just called to tell you to stay away from Hojo. And keep Zack's mentor and Loveless away from him too," he says, regaining a more business-like tone, but it still wavers slightly, "I don't want to have to do… whatever it is I did… to you again."

"I, for one, would gladly submit to your touch again," Genesis says eagerly. Angeal rolls his eyes. Cloud obviously didn't remember Genesis's name, but calling him ‘Loveless’ as a stand-in was as bad as calling him ‘darling.’ "Though I am loath to go through Hojo to do it."

"If you stay away from Hojo, I'll hold your hand, I'll hug you, I’ll even kiss you, whatever you want, just stay away from him," Cloud says, sounding exhausted already.

What is likely supposed to put Genesis off only motivates him further. "So you'll kiss me if I stay away from Hojo?" he asks with an absolutely evil smirk, "I'm going to hold you to that. I expect one, right on the cheek, as soon as we meet again."

For his credit, Cloud only pauses a moment before he speaks again. "It's your prize for not making me have to redo all my hard work over again," he says, "I'll give anyone a kiss if they please stay away from Hojo," he says slowly, "Two if you can stay out of Science completely."

"You don't need to threaten us, Strife," Sephiroth cuts in before Genesis can continue his torment, "I'll schedule an appointment with Hojo tomorrow morning for us three if that's what you're going to do." Sephiroth's expression is so flat and his voice so toneless that even Angeal has a hard time discerning if he is joking.

"Except for Sephiroth," Cloud adds after a pause, "Sephiroth, I'll kick in the balls no matter what he does."

Something lights up in Sephiroth's eyes and his lips turn up subtly. "You're welcome to try if you think you can reach them," he says flippantly.

There is a deeper chuckle from further away from the phone. Cloud lets loose a squawk. "I'm not even that short!" he says, clearly not to the phone.

"It's okay. You still have time to grow!" another, brighter voice says.

“Okay. This call is over,” Cloud says grumpily, more to his companions than to Sephiroth. “Stay out of Science while I’m gone or else!”

With that, there is a click and the phone goes silent.

“Friends, huh?” Angeal says as soon as Sephiroth has stopped the call on his end.

Sephiroth looks up from the phone, and the lightest of red hues colors his cheeks. “His companions would have hung up, had I not agreed,” he says, glancing away quickly.

“I am ecstatic,” Genesis says firmly, stabbing into his pancake to punctuate, “He trusts us enough to call us, and cares enough to deliver a warning, however unneeded it may have been.”

Angeal finds himself thankful for that as well. If he trusts them enough to risk a call, then perhaps he would call them if he were in trouble too. He had spent the near month-long space between Cloud’s second escape and this phone call distractingly anxious. Sephiroth had confessed with no small amount of concern and guilt that he had injured the boy, and then the strange man from the mansion had run after him. It was even harder pretending to be calm for Zack’s sake too, not knowing if Cloud had been snatched up by someone even worse than Shinra.

“It’s good,” Angeal agrees, “Though now we’ll have Rufus beating down our door for sure. Did no one teach you about secret phone call etiquette?”

It is meant to be a good-natured jab, but Sephiroth’s expression flattens. “Do you think Rufus would be foolish enough to threaten me?” he asks, “The Turks are impressive, but they are only human, in the end.”

“Like you are,” Angeal says, pouring Sephiroth a glass of orange juice. Ever since their time in the reactor, they had all been taking turns reminding each other of that fact. They are only human.

Genesis points his fork at Angeal. “They don’t need to know that,” he says, “Though it’s a shame. Your eyes really did afford you an extra level of intimidation. Now you look as ordinary as the rest of us.” He delicately puts a piece of pancake in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “A small price to pay, I suppose.”

Sephiroth touches the skin under his eyes, frowning. “This may be a problem if I am truly to stay out of Science,” he says. Since returning to Headquarters, they haven’t been asked to do anything but wait while the company scrambles to locate Cloud and fights the Turk’s subtle sabotaging at the same time. Angeal and Genesis have been successful in redirecting any public appearances from Sephiroth during the chaos, but it is only a matter of time before Hojo manages to scrape together a spare moment to drag Sephiroth in for more tests.

Once he does, it will take quite the excuse to keep Sephiroth out of his hands. Angeal considers relocating them to Junon or Costa del Sol to create some distance between them. All it would take would be Zack asking the Turks to plant suspicions of Cloud’s presence in those places and they would likely send at least Sephiroth over. He wonders if they really want to indebt themselves to the Turks though.

Sephiroth's hand enters his vision. Angeal turns his attention back to him instead of the pitcher of orange juice he is holding. “Don’t trouble yourself over it,” Sephiroth says, “We will cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Just tell him no,” Genesis says flippantly, “He does not own you. If they really want you seen to, then demand a different doctor. If they refuse, then give them that look of yours.”

Sephiroth looks away, gaze distant. “Sometimes I wonder if he really doesn’t own me,” he says, “He was the head of my project since the time I was born.”

Angeal gets ready to argue, but Genesis beats him to it. “You’re a person, not a project,” Genesis says, looking at him sharply. He points a fork at Sephiroth’s nose, eyes bright and burning. “You have the strength to assert that fact. Use it.”

“It is not that easy-”

“Then I’ll do it for you,” Genesis says, “A few well-placed firagas would do the trick, I think.” At Sephiroth’s wide-eyed startlement, he returns his attention to his pancakes. “For The Gift… of course,” he adds.

“Of course,” Sephiroth echoes. Angeal sighs, settling down at the table too. The rest of the meal is eaten in silence, but it is no less warm and companionable.

Chapter Text

Once the phone hits the receiver, Cloud slams his hand gleefully down on the big red button just as Reeve instructed. As soon as it is fully depressed, every light in the reactor shuts off at once. The wooshing of the pipes ceases just as abruptly and there is a mechanical whine as the pump whirs to a stop due to the lack of power. It leaves Cloud’s ears ringing. He hadn’t noticed the noise that the reactor was making until it was gone. 

Aside from that, nothing happens. There are no alarms, nor Turks nor SOLDIERs descending from the catwalks above. Neither is there a fanfare, no people cheering for their safety.  He looks over at Vincent and Cait Sith, illuminated from below by the settling mako. If he strains his ears, he can hear as the mako slowly leaks back down the subterranean pipes and into the planet’s core where it belongs.

“Well, we better not wait for Shinra to wisen up,” Cloud says, clapping his hands together as if to knock dust from them, “Let’s mosey.”

Neither Vincent nor Cait Sith argues with him as they climb up the crisscrossing catwalks back to the entrance. The city still glows with mako power; the energy stored in Shinra's power cells will start to dwindle in a few weeks’ time, but for now, they won’t notice a difference. It will be tough for them afterward, but it is better than an explosion.

When they are in the center of town with the sun beginning to peek over the horizon, Vincent speaks up. “I have a rendezvous for my job in a half hour or so,” he says. His eyes linger on Cait Sith as he thinks. “You need more sleep,” he says, his gaze locking on Cloud, “You also need a weapon, and we need supplies. Do you trust Reeve not to betray us long enough for us to acquire these things?”

Cloud blinks at the question. Pressing his hands to his hips, he looks down at Cait. Cait looks back up at him with a tilted head, tail flicking lazily behind him. “I trust him to have a creative enough imagination to guess what might happen if he does,” he says to the cat, “Besides… Even with a helicopter, it’ll take several hours to get here, at least. You think your job will take longer than that?”

“Reeve won’ betray you!” Cait Sith interrupts with a little frown, “We’re friends!”

Vincent ignores him. “It is only to clear out a nest of Kimara Bugs close to town. It can be done in fifteen minutes if you don’t mind attracting attention,” he says.

Cloud shrugs. “It’s not like if anyone hears that you’re here, they’ll know who you are,” he says, “And even if they do, who will believe it?”

Vincent nods. “It would be better not to scare the townsfolk,” he adds, “I will be efficient, but… still possibly human. I will be finished within an hour,” he mutters.

“Hey! Are you listenin'?” Cait wines. He budges up against Cloud’s leg and paws at his pants. “We’re friends! So you don’ havta' worry! Hey!”

Cloud looks down at him. Cait has his little claws caught in the thick fabric of his pants as he stares up at Cloud with a pleading furrow to his brows. If Reeve had any intention of betrayal, it seems to Cloud that he intends to play the long con.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not the one who’s suspicious,” Cloud says honestly.

Cait aims his little pouting mouth and droopy ears in Vincent’s direction, smooshing his cheek into Cloud’s pants. He curls his tail around himself and sniffles as if absolutely devastated at the thought that Vincent doesn't consider him a friend.

Vincent stiffens ever so slightly, subtle, but enough for Cloud to notice. “Cloud trusts a Reeve from the future,” he states, “I know neither version of Reeve. I fully expect you to turn us in at your first opportunity. Or to attempt to manipulate us for Shinra’s benefit.” 

“But I promise!” Cait pleads. His voice warbles and wavers. “We won’t tell!”

Cloud has to admit that his whiny voice and sad face are mightily convincing on their own. Though, Reeve cuts in from the speaker located somewhere within Cait to plead a more logically solid case.

“May I remind you that I am also taking on an enormous personal risk as well? I could have turned you in the moment I decoded Cloud’s emails, but obviously, I did not. That alone would get me sacked," his tinny voice argues, "If Shinra is as dangerous as you claim, and as a Director, I strongly suspect that it is, then helping you not only to shut down a reactor, but make you privy to how critical alerts are stored in our systems, is enough to have me arrested, if not killed. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Vincent tilts his head down, a hair too slow in obscuring his frowning mouth with his collar and furrowed brow with his bangs before Cloud can catch the indecision written on his face. Cloud reaches down and scoops Cait up from the ground, cuddling him close to his chest and aiming his own pleading look at the man.

“See, Vince? We’re friends. Cait says so, and Reeve has no other choice but to keep quiet if he wants to save his own skin,” Cloud says.

Cait snuggles against his cheek. Even as the speaker inside of him voices objections, “Now, I don’t know if I would put it like that. That’s not the only reason I’m helping you!”

Vincent stares at the two of them. His arms are slumped at his sides, and even with his head tilted down, Cloud recognizes that flat, exasperated look. He silently cheers his victory.

“Fine,” Vincent says.

Cait audibly cheers, throwing his furry arms around Cloud’s neck and starting up a happy purr. Cloud is caught off guard once again, almost certain that Cait Sith never did that before. It sounds exactly like the organic, resonant, breathy vibration of a real cat, not a mechanical whir or a grainy recording.

“Though Reeve’s most pressing fear should be neither you nor Shinra, but me.” He levels a look at Cait that could whither entire forests, eyes flaring red like a Bomb on the cusp of exploding. Cait weathers it obliviously, still purring happily in Cloud’s ear, but Cloud knows the message isn’t for their new robot-cat-companion thing.

Reeve doesn’t respond. Cloud figures that is probably for the best. If they are ever not outrunning an enormous, powerful company and attempting to wreak havoc across most of Gaia, maybe they all can reconcile. They managed before.

As it is, Cloud is just pleased to have someone who knows their way around a reactor in their group. It is a bonus that they are small, amicable, and relatively cooperative. Cait Sith also wasn’t anything to sneeze at in combat too, chaotic and strange, but competent. 

As Vincent turns to head towards his rendezvous with one final warning look at Cloud and Cait not to cause too much trouble, Cloud turns his attention to the cat now mostly perched on his shoulder.

“So… are you any good in a fight?” he asks.

Cait Sith looks down at him in open confusion. Reeve cuts in again. “Please, don’t put Cait Sith in the line of fire. He’s not made for combat. He is only meant for-“

“But I am in the future, right?” Cait Sith interrupts the speaker with his own voice, “Betcha' I could fight really good, then. If Cloud says so!”

Cloud reaches up and scratches under the collar of his red cape. “In the future,” Cloud emphasizes, “Which means you have to stay out of trouble long enough to get there.”

Cait slumps against his neck, clearly disappointed. Cloud pats his back consolingly. He knew what it was like to be the little guy who couldn’t fight. He doesn’t remember much from that time but frustration and deep disappointment. To this day he felt a little bitter about being shorter and lighter than most. Hopefully, Cait handles it a little better.

“Come on, let’s go take a nap before Vincent has a behemoth about it,” Cloud says in an attempt to distract.

It works, as Cait immediately latches onto the new mission with the same amount of enthusiasm as he does everything else. He takes paw-fulls of Cloud’s spikey hair and basically uses them as reins to direct them toward their lodgings.

Cloud sleeps soundly, this time on top of the blankets with Cait’s head pressed under his chin, his furry body sprawled over the pillows. Just as Reeve promised, there is no whir of helicopters landing in Gongaga, nor do any Turks or SOLDIERs try to break in through the doors or windows. All he hears is Cait’s purring tapering off into steady breathing and the air conditioner rustling the window’s curtains. The next thing he knows, Cloud wakes to the click of Vincent opening the door.

“We have money,” he announces flatly, but the little shake he does with his envelope full of gil gives away how triumphant he feels. Cait makes a sleepy, cat-like noise as Cloud sits up. “Let’s go shopping,” Vincent says.

Their meager belongings are still packed up from their earlier panicked rush to the reactor, so all Cloud has to do is pull his pack on. Cait jumps gracefully from the bed onto Cloud’s shoulders again and Vincent does a sweep of the room to make sure they have left as little evidence of their stay as possible.

Vincent checks out at the inn’s front desk. If Shinra comes calling, hopefully, people will remember the tall, gloomy-looking man dressed in bright red over the pitiful blonde child and his cat. It also means Vincent has to endure some berating from the innkeeper about bringing pets into the room. Cloud sniggers at him as he walks out of the inn to join them on the road.

“He is not even my cat.” It is as close as Vincent ever gets to a complaint.

“Hey, he’s not mine either,” Cloud says easily, “He’s Reeve’s.”

Vincent huffs, but doesn’t argue, Cloud leads the way to the smaller weapons shop he saw on the outside of town. He is anxious to get his hands on another weapon, maybe a few more materia if they can afford it.

His budget, this time, is a bit bigger, so he takes his time testing out swords. The weaponsmith, a short, stout woman with arms so muscular she might make a SOLDIER jealous, is just as helpful as the one back in Midgar.

He appreciates the tips and suggestions for what they are. They would be good advice if anything about Cloud and his life made sense. As it is, he refuses the daggers, spear, and rapier that the woman tries to hand him. He is compact and looks fragile, so it would be smart to focus on stealth, speed, and range, but Cloud is more stubborn than he is smart, in the end. He sets his eyes on the claymore hanging on the back wall behind the shop counter. It is a bit bigger than his trashed greatsword, and certainly much heavier.

“How much is that?” he asks.

It is within their budget, just barely. The woman eyes him with open doubt as she hefts it down from the wall. It is taller than her by about a head, but clearly not too heavy for her as she carries it over to Cloud. “I’m not gonna lie, I don’t know if this is the smartest choice for someone like you, even if you can carry it around,” she says.

He takes the handle from her, considering the weight and how balanced it feels. It is thinner than what he is used to using, but the length is already welcomingly familiar. He adjusts his grip on the handle and tries a slow swing. This kind of reach feels right, even if the weight is a little off.

The woman watches him appraisingly with her hands on her hips. “Well, you certainly seem to know what you’re doing,” she comments.

 “I used to fight with a buster sword,” he says by way of explanation.

The woman whistles. “Those are hard to come by. I’m sorry we don’t have one for you to try out,” she says, “I’d love to see you with one.”

Cloud looks back at her, repressing an unhappy sigh. “Me too,” he says wistfully. He knew now how Zack had come by his, but then how did Angeal get a buster sword in a small town like Banora?

“Oh well,” he says, “This’ll work.” The woman nods and goes to grab the sheath while Cloud moves to look at some of the materia displayed in a glass case by the register. A thunder materia glimmers at him temptingly. Thunder might be useful for short-circuiting electronics…

“We will also take the cure materia,” Vincent says as he pulls out his envelope full of gil. Cloud looks up to argue, but is stopped by Vincent’s narrow-eyed stare and flat frown. “Our money,” he says simply.

Cloud reneges. If they are lucky, maybe they can find a combat-focused materia somewhere out in the wilds.

After weapons come provisions. The non-perishable food they settle on is not delicious, but will also last them should they end up broke or outside of civilization again. By the time the sun is making its dip towards the opposite horizon, they have everything they need.

Cloud takes one last look at the inert reactor towering over the town. He should feel accomplished, and satisfied, but anxiety still swirls in his gut. It is almost as if he has forgotten something, a very familiar, but no less distressing feeling. Though, they couldn’t afford to linger here any longer. If the reactor hadn’t tipped Shinra off, then one of the two phone calls must have alerted the Turks. Though, at the moment, Rufus seems more interested in trying to persuade Cloud to his side than outright chasing after him, Cloud has no idea how long that will last. They have no time to dally.

He turns towards the town gate with Vincent and Cait, a new team with a new mission. Together, they slip into the swamps surrounding Gongaga.

Deep within the now-dark, dormant reactor. Unbeknownst to Cloud and his teammates, powered by emergency power cells, the garish orange phone on the console rings. It will go unanswered. Not that the caller expected anything different.

By the time the phone rings its last, Cloud and his companions are struggling out of the last of Gongaga’s swamps. They are smart enough to keep out of the deepest of the mud, but even on the beaten paths the earth sinks substantially under their feet. If Cloud were any shorter or weaker, he would have to ride on Vincent's shoulders to keep from getting trapped.

As it is, Cait is both small and weak and must hitch a ride on Cloud’s shoulders. It’s not an unfamiliar position for Cloud, as their feline companion made a habit of leaping onto their shoulders when he wasn’t directing his moogle around. The brush of fur against the nape of his neck and the tail that occasionally flicks ticklishly under his nose are welcome and nostalgic.

Their newest companion contents himself with humming jovially as they push their boots through the last bit of mud before hitting solid ground. Once the last of the thick mud releases its hold on their boots, they can dare to dream of finally being out of Gongaga for good. At least, Cloud can.

Though as they emerge into sparse surrounding forests, he breaks his song to ask, “So where’re we gonna go next?”

Cloud had been pondering it for a while. This was the problem with these kinds of journeys. Now that the first major problem has been solved, they find themselves presented with a deceiving abundance of options. Though, only a sparse few choices would keep them from getting captured or killed, and they had to act as quickly and efficiently as they could. The proverbial bomb’s fuse might be extended, but now Cloud could no longer see how long he had until it blew.

If they are going to get through this without getting caught, they need something they can use to get from point A to point B quickly once Shinra catches wind of their plans. Something that they would have difficulty tracking or catching. Cloud knows someone who could get them just the thing.

“Rocket Town,” Cloud decides after a silence that went on for a bit too long. Cait startles at the sound of his voice.

He hears Vincent release a breath through his nose. “The headquarters for Shinra’s space program,” he says, “That is on the other side of the continent.”

“I know… er… knew a guy there,” Cloud explains, “He might be able to get us a plane. Then we can hopefully deactivate the reactors before Shinra can counteract us.”

“Another Shinra executive?” Vincent questions, sounding more than a little leery.

“No. He’s a… an ex-employee,” Cloud explains, “He hates Shinra, maybe more than I do. He’ll probably help us out if we ask.” He remembers Cid’s open disdain for the company. Rufus trying to steal his plane had been the last straw that launched him onto their side. Though truth be told, even without that incident Cloud doubts it would have taken much convincing to get him to turn against the company. Cid had all but been waiting for an excuse to get back at Shinra.

“We will have to pass through Nibelheim,” Vincent points out, “The military may be waiting there for you.”

Cloud shakes his head. “No, we’ll go around Nibelheim,” he says. He avoids the eyes drilling into the back of his neck as Vincent analyzes him. “It’ll be summer for a few weeks more, so the entire mountain will be maneuverable. My plan is, we go over the western foothills and stay off the roads until we pass Mount Nibel. We can use Chocobos in that area. It’s not too steep or rocky. We get our plane from Cid, and then fly over Nibelheim to hit that reactor.”

Vincent is quiet for a long moment as they walk. “The mountain is easily maneuverable in summer. What about fall and winter?” he asks.

“We can’t wait that long,” Cloud reminds him, working to temper the snap in his tone.

“I’m not asking that,” Vincent says with impeccable cool, “Though, when you shut off the Nibel reactor, Shinra will become suspicious of your goals. You have family in Nibelheim, do you not? It will be difficult for them to escape should Shinra try to leverage them against you.”

Cloud paused, stopping so abruptly that Cait nearly slid off his shoulders. The pain from the little pinpricks of his claws is washed away immediately by a chill. 

He forgot. 

He stopped the Nibelheim incident from happening. His mother is still alive. Tifa still lives in her hometown. Cloud is no longer listed as MIA or KIA in Shinra’s files. They know exactly who he is and who he cares about.

He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, breath picking up to match its speed. Vincent places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “That was not meant to panic you,” he says. 

“I forgot,” Cloud blurts, “I didn’t even think about it. Before, Ma was… Ma died… before I could get into too much trouble. And Tifa moved to Midgar. Even if they knew about her, they would’ve thought she was dead too… Hell, I was dead on paper.” He scrubs his hands through his hair, wracking his brain for a solution.

He hadn’t stopped anything for them, had he? He saved his hometown just to damn his family. Barret had already paid a price for Cloud’s carelessness, and now Tifa and his mother would too. Would they go after Zack’s family? How many more innocent people had he tried to save only to doom?

He is supposed to be saving everyone, making everyone’s lives better this time around. Instead, he is just delaying the inevitable, still ruining their lives, just differently. Isn’t that worse? Before, he didn’t have control. Now he does and look at what he is doing with it!

The grip Vincent has on him tightens. Cait’s cold nose presses behind his ear. The horrors he may have only delayed parading before his vision fade as Vincent gives him a small shake. “Come back, Cloud,” Vincent says, firm as a stone and just as inflexible. It allows him no choice, but to focus back on his face.

“I understand that this is worrying,” Vincent says.

“Understatement,” Cloud croaks, still battling back panic.

“Yes,” Vincent agrees, “You are not alone, Cloud.”

“That’s the problem,” Cloud bites out, jerking away from Vincent’s grasp. “I keep… dragging people into this. What am I do-“

“That’s not what I mean,” Vincent cuts in with that firm, no-nonsense tone again, “You have allies. We want to help. Now, how can we?”

“I need to convince Ma and Tifa to get out of Nibelheim… but I can’t go in person. There must at least be a Turk there and I can’t be seen talking to them. They need a place to go, too.”

“I can relay a message for you,” Vincent says easily.

“But then what happens after that?” Cloud says, still fighting the urge to tug desperately at his hair, “Tifa’s never been out of Nibelheim, and I don’t… I don’t remember about Ma. They won’t make a trip anywhere alone. Especially not if they have to stay off the roads.”

Vincent steps back, tipping his chin forward into his collar as he thinks. Cloud paces in front of him still struggling to summon a solution. Cait tries and fails to ease Cloud’s stress, purring and pressing his face into Cloud’s spikes. It does little. As much as Cloud is thankful to have him there, Cait doesn’t serve as much of a solution the way he is now.

Eventually, Vincent breaks the silence. “I will escort them out of Nibelheim,” he says. It sounds like he is accepting a suicide mission, and the look on his face betrays how reluctant he truly is. “We will separate in the foothills. I will collect your mother and Tifa and lead them somewhere safe and then meet you at another destination.”

Cloud blinks at him. Relief hits so hard it nearly knocks him over. If anyone could keep Tifa and his mother safe, it would be Vincent with his arsenal of beasts and intimate knowledge of the people who would be sent after them. “Thank you,” he breathes. 

Then, he processes Vincent’s full statement. “I… Wouldn’t it be better if you stayed with them? To keep them safe?” he suggests. He is reluctant to lose an ally, but even more reluctant to leave his family unguarded.

“Perhaps,” Vincent says, “But, to be frank, I am unwilling to leave you to do this alone.”

“I’m not alone. I have Cait,” Cloud says, flicking his head in the cat’s direction. Cait grins, resting his head on top of Cloud’s.

It should be impossible to communicate so much skepticism in just the barest tilt of one’s mouth.

“Where should I take them?” Vincent says, “And where are we meeting afterward?”

Cait makes an affronted noise and Cloud consoles him with a gentle pat.

Cloud takes a moment to think, and perhaps, a moment to bargain with Gaia. He can’t hear Her, but he hopes She hears him, or else he is going to have words the next time he ends up in the Lifestream. “Take them to Cosmo Canyon,” he says. It is the safest place he can think for them, and perhaps the Planet will put in a word for them on his behalf. 

“Then we’ll meet in…” He looks up at the sky, now starting to deepen from bright, sunny blue, to the more subdued tones of sunset. “Corel.” It is a good midpoint before heading to Junon. Not yet on Shinra’s radar, hopefully not for a few more years at least, if ever. It should be easy to hide a plane outside of town, send Cait to grab Vincent, and then get the hell out of dodge.

Vincent nods. Cloud feels the tight knot of anxiety begins to loosen. 

“If you do not honor your meeting in Corel, I will find you,” Vincent says. The threatening edge in his voice is uncharacteristically apparent. “I know what your plans are. You know I know how to track you down.”

“You don’t need to threaten me. I’ll be there,” Cloud says with offense. When Vincent continues to look at him doubtfully, he snaps, “I wouldn’t lie to you!”

“You have been lying to me for the past month,” Vincent points out flatly.

“…about this. I wouldn’t lie to you about this,” Cloud says, “Besides, you said I was a bad liar. Do I look like I’m lying to you?” He turns his most innocent face on Vincent, all big blue eyes and soft features. He distinctly remembers Zack telling this look could let him get away with murder.

Vincent squints at him, unmoved. “I can no longer tell,” he says.

Cloud almost cheers, but is rudely stopped as Vincent shoves at his face with his human hand, nearly toppling him and Cait into the dirt. “I cannot tell if you are lying or pretending to lie. Either way, you are terrible at it.”

“You still can’t tell though,” Cloud insists.

Vincent doesn’t reply as he overtakes them, taking unfairly long strides towards the Nibel Mountains growing steadily in the distance.

Meanwhile, a sunset and sunrise later, Zack’s snoring is abruptly cut off by the ringing of his PHS. He has been especially anxious, so he is up in a flash. He snatches the phone off the nightstand and presses it to his ear frantically. “Buddy!” he begins, excitedly.

“Buddy?” a feminine voice asks on the other end. Zack flushes, immediately recognizing Aerith’s voice. “Is that what you call all your girlfriends?”

“Y-You’re my girlfriend?” Zack asks, feeling a bit blindsided by the question. They had not known each other long, but after a fun afternoon running around beneath the plate, Zack can readily admit he is smitten. If Aerith is calling him first thing in the morning, then maybe she is too.

“Well, not if you call me buddy,” she says. Her laugh is like bells, making butterflies swarm in his stomach. He flushes a little at the slip.

“Sorry, I was expecting a call from Cl- er… Trouble,” Zack says sheepishly, “But a call from you is good too! Better even!”

Aerith hums on the other end. “I was calling to tell you that you forgot something,” she says. Zack can hear the smile in her words.

“Maybe I forgot it on purpose…” he says, with a small smile of his own, “So you’d call me.”

“I don’t think you’d accidentally-on-purpose forget your wallet."

“What?!” Zack yelps. He pats himself down, then through his bed sheets, and even checks under his bed. This search is accompanied by Aerith’s sweet laughter, though it has more of a teasing edge to it now.

“Oh… Shoot,” Zack says when a search of his living room turns up nothing either, “Guess you’re right.” He pauses, realizing how very uncool he probably sounds, stumbling around looking for his wallet. It is probably doubly uncool that he forgot something so important in Aerith’s care. “Or… are you?” he quickly corrects.

“Am I?” Aerith asks, sounding intrigued. 

Zack grins. “See, if I ‘forget’ my wallet, and you find it for me, then I have no choice but to come and meet you, and you have no choice but to return it to me,” he says.

“Or I could take it and keep all your money for myself,” Aerith says ponderingly, “Do you know how much fertilizer costs? I think that’s the smarter option.”

“I’ll come over there and buy you fertilizer,” he argues, “All the fertilizer you want. And anything else too.”

Aerith laughs. “You better hurry, then,” she says with a smile in her words. Zack hasn’t even fully hung up the phone before he is quickly throwing on clothes.

Somehow, he is down below the plate in less than an hour, pushing his way into Aerith’s church excitedly. He finds her on her knees in the middle of the tiny flower bed. She is wearing a pink dress today, and thick, leather gloves are pulled over her hands as she digs around with a small trowel. When he is about halfway down the aisle leading to the altar, she looks up at him, smiling. The artificial lighting from the plate hits her just so, making her almost glow. Zack jogs the remaining steps to her.

“Good morning!” he calls. Aerith stands from the soil, taking her gloves off and tossing them to the side as she carefully weaves around the many blooms. There is dirt caked on her dress hem and ground into little round spots over her knees. He notices a bit smudged along the apple of her cheek when she smiles. Zack is enamored.

“Good morning!” Aerith replies. She steps back up onto the hardwood church floor with a thunk from her blocky boots. She sets the shovel near her gloves and heads over to a box near the front row of pews. After digging around for a moment, she pulls out a small, black leather wallet before she trots over to him and offers it to him. “Here!” she says, “I promise I didn’t actually take anything.”

“You’re allowed,” Zack says distantly, accepting his wallet and stuffing it into his pocket without a second glance. “Do you really need more fertilizer?” he asks, “We could go get some since I’m here now!”

She looks at him with wide eyes. A small smile curves her lips up once again. “I… I don’t know if I really need fertilizer,” she says, with a bashful dip of her head. It sets her curls bouncing around her face, turning the streaks of caramel into gold in the light breaking in through the hollow church window frames. 

“Ah… okay,” Zack says, “Then…”

“But I still want to spend time with you,” Aerith says, “So… maybe we can go shopping? Even if I don’t need anything.”

Zack brightens immediately. “Yeah, 'course!” he says, “I told you I’d buy you anything, not just fertilizer! Let’s go!”

Aerith’s hesitant expression lifts and she smiles, eyes sparkling. “Okay!” she chirps. She grabs his hand and practically drags him out of the church. “You don’t have to buy me anything, though."

Aerith knows the streets of the Sector 5 slums better than Zack knows the back of his own hand. She leads him confidently, clopping cheerily along in her clunky boots and muddy dress. She directs him through shortcuts, nimbly climbs onto roofs, and shows him a breathtaking view of her home. 

This high up, and this close to the artificial lights, it’s hard to believe they are still below plate. He pauses between one roof and the next, watching people bustle down below, children running and playing, and adults shopping for groceries at the market. He sees people dragging metal from the many places Shinra left unneeded construction materials, people hanging laundry out on poles used in the scaffolding during the construction of the plate, and even the metal roof under their feet is a piece of the plate repurposed. It is an entire tiny community living literally in Shinra’s gigantic shadow.

“Come on, Zack,” Aerith calls to him, standing on the opposite side of the roof. There is a metal pipe stretching between it and another. Zack nods, following after her.

They aren’t just living, they are thriving. It makes Zack feel a little sick, more than the dizzying distance below him as he follows Aerith across the pipe. He can't help but worry about what Cloud says happened to these people in the future. This entire place, destroyed because of Shinra’s greedy appetite. It would be different now, right?

He knows he is lying to himself, though. Even now, Shinra did not look favorably on the people in the slums, withholding a majority of security for the upper plate and leaving the people below to deal with monsters on their own. These people are thriving despite Shinra's best efforts.

“You seem distracted,” Aerith says, leading Zack out into a little market constructed of metal carts and plywood stands. “Is it too much?”

Zack bites his lip, thinking. Relationships are built on trust and honesty, and honestly, he feels as if he could trust Areith with anything. “I guess with everything that has been going on lately, I’ve been… rethinking some things,” he confessed. At Aerith’s concerned look, he is quick to console, “Not about you… Just about my job… and why I took it in the first place.”

“You’re a SOLDIER, right?” she asks, still leading him by the hand through the people swarming the market. “Friend to children… protector of the people…” she lists off, “To be honest… I find them a little scary.”

Zack flinches a little. He understands the fear, but it still stings.

She looks up at him, brows furrowed. “You… You're not scary… but…. They're not right,” she continues, looking away, “They look like they love fighting… And They... They’re so strong.” She looks at Zack over her shoulder and catches his eye.  “You have to get a special surgery to make you stronger, right?”

“Something like that,” Zack replies.

“I just think that…  it’s not right,” Aerith says, “It sounds scary… dangerous.”

If she had told him this a few months ago, Zack would have denied it. Mako made them stronger heroes, so they could protect people better than anyone else.

However, he saw the black mark on Genesis’s shoulder, and the awful tear in the back of Sephiroth’s coat. Whatever they are doing to SOLDIERS turns them into something inhuman, something Gaia itself felt needed purifying, if Cloud was to be believed. And Zack believes him, wholeheartedly.

“Yeah…” Zack says, “That’s… kinda what I’m thinking about. I wanted to be a hero, but in SOLDIER, I’m just a…” He is hesitant to end the sentence. He doesn’t want to know what exactly would best fill in the blank.

Aerith spins suddenly, grasping both his hands in hers and looking earnestly up into his eyes. “You've got it all wrong! I mean it, Zack. You're not scary. You’re really not,” she insists.

Zack nods, looking down at their hands. “Don’t worry. I understand,” he assures her, “I guess I might not be able to be a hero in SOLDIER, but… that doesn’t mean I can’t keep following my dreams. I'm going to be a hero, no matter what."

Aerith blinks at him for a moment, then smiles again with an enthusiastic nod. “Yeah!” she agrees, "Besides, being a hero is about what you do, not what you are!"

Zack smiles softly, chest warming slightly. He doesn't feel like much of a hero now, but maybe he would get a chance to prove himself soon. Aerith smiles back, still clasping his hand as she turns away from him, her twisted braid bouncing over her shoulder.

A few stalls, a bag of chocobo bean popcorn, and a new pink ribbon for Aerith’s hair later, and they are heading toward the church again. The artificial lights under the plate have turned a golden color as the afternoon turns into evening. They walk shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, Aerith leaning comfortably against him as she chats about the slums. Though as soon as Zack opens the door, she tenses, backing up.

Zack looks up from her to see the dark-haired, ponytail Turk from Nibelheim. He looks up at them from Aerith’s field of flowers, face placid. “Zack,” he greets.

Zack frowns, pushing Aerith back behind himself. “I told you everything goes between me and Rufus. I don’t want to deal with the Turks,” he says firmly. He marches into the church, leaving Aerith at the door. His feet stomp loudly, menacingly across the wood floor.

The Turk’s face pinches at the mention of Rufus’s name. “Do you understand what a secret is?” he says bitterly. He does not cower, even as Zack bares down on him with the stormiest look he can muster.

“Do you know what a deal is?” Zack spits back, “Or are Turks as bad at listening as they are at keeping their word?”

The Turk’s eyes widen ever so slightly, sharp as they comb over Zack’s face. “You are awfully sour about Balto,” he says contemplatively as if he knows the true distrust comes from something deeper. 

Zack snorts, but doesn't respond. Let them speculate.

The Turk closes his eyes and sighs. “I am not here about our mutual friend,” he says, “Any of them, to be precise.” He fixes Zack with another stare. Zack returns it and backs off a few steps, shoulders relaxing.

“Then why are you bothering me?” Zack asks. He crosses his arms and puffs up his chest like he has seen Angeal do. Despite his posturing, the Turk’s gaze moves over Zack’s shoulder to Aerith, still standing in the doorway.

“Aerith,” the Turk greets with a nod.

Aerith clutches the front of her dress, brows furrowed and frown deep. “Tseng,” she replies, her voice strong despite her obvious discomfort.

“If they catch Strife, Science will demand Aerith be brought in as well,” Tseng informs them, voice cold and sterile.

“Well then, no worries!” Zack says, trying not to blanch at the mention of Science, “Because you’ll never catch him.”

“Yes, of course,” Tseng says. He looks away from Zack, back to Aerith. “But I wanted to inform you of what we must do, should we capture him.

“We are currently… preoccupied. We cannot keep as close an eye on you as we once could,” he continues, returning his gaze to Aerith. “You should take care not to… disappear… when we have our attention elsewhere.”

Zack bristles at what he thinks is a threat, but when he looks at Aerith, she only examines Tseng with speculation. “So… no eyes on me?” she asks, hesitating.

Tseng holds her gaze, level. “Not as many as there have been,” he confirms, “I only came here to warn you… to be careful.”

Aerith fidgets nervously, even as Tseng walks placidly past them and out of the front doors of the church. Though she relaxes somewhat after he has left, she still looks anxious. Not one to let another stew in their thoughts, Zack quickly strikes up a conversation. Though the subject matter is a little selfish on his part.

“So the Turks have been badgering you too?” he asks. He wants to reach out and offer comfort, but Aerith is bristling like a scared cat, curling up and shying away even from his gentle voice. Her hand shakes where it grips her dress and Zack wants nothing more than to steady it with his own.

She blinks, then nods, one rough bob of her head.

“Because of Cloud?” Zack asks. He feels like he should apologize on Cloud’s behalf. Though Zack was fully ready to commit to his mission, he knows not everyone is ready for that kind of trouble.

This gains him a little shake of her head and a negative hum. “No,” she mutters, eyes still trained on the beat-up wooden floors at their feet, “They have always been watching me. Ever since I was little.”

“Ever since you were- Why?!” Zack asks.

She shies away from him even more, back towards the church door. Zack’s heart falls at the nervous furrow to her brows and the unhappy tilt to her mouth. It looks so out of place.

“Damn, that sucks!” he says, aiming to pull the conversation away from the path that makes Aerith’s expression darken and her shoulders rise towards her ears. “I can’t even stand having them around for a few minutes. You had to deal with them every day!”

Finally, Aerith looks up at him. Her expression is shadowed, her usually sparkling green eyes haunted, but she tries for a soft smile. It honestly hurts Zack a little to see. He wants to make that smile grow into something more genuine.

“Not anymore, I guess,” Aerith murmurs. Her smile has an edge to it, much too wry for someone celebrating their liberation from Turk babysitting. “But I… No matter how much I try, I don’t feel happy about it at all.”

Zack finds himself frowning, floundering for something to say, something to do. Aerith strides past him while he stands there speechless, coming to stop in front of the flowers. “It sounded like he wanted me to leave, didn’t it?” she asks, though it doesn’t sound like it is meant for Zack.

“Sounded more like a threat to me,” Zack grumbles. He follows her but stops a few paces away as she kneels. Gently, she traces one finger along the petals of a white lily. It seems to sway towards her, reaching for her as if she were the sun. The silence drags as the church grows gloomier in the dimming under-plate lights.

“He said himself, it was a warning,” Aerith says. Her voice is level, but small. If Zack didn’t have enhanced hearing, he doubts he would have heard it.

“Well, whatever reason, you said they’d been watching you since you were little. Isn’t this a great time to escape? They won’t be able to watch you anymore if they can’t find you. And you wouldn’t have to worry about them catching Cloud -not that they would!- but you know, for peace of mind…” Zack rambles, falling into silence again when Aerith does nothing to cut him off.

She leaves him to stand there, shuffling uncomfortably as he digs for something else to say.

When she speaks again, it is a little louder, more similar to her usual tone. “You know, I’m a little afraid of the sky,” Aerith says, “I’ve never seen it before… Well, at least not in person. It’s just so…so... Big. Too big, you know?"

Zack can’t help but tilt his head. “How do you know it’s scary if you’ve never seen it?” he asks.

“You don’t have to see something to think it’s scary,” Aerith intones, “I’ve never seen a zolom either, but I know it would be scary.”

“That’s true, I guess,” Zack agrees. He gathers his courage and kneels next to her by the flowers. It’s like a little pond, full of springy green leaves and delicate yellow and white petals. He can see the way the flowers spill out of their little space, some peaking through the still intact wood slats where the plate light can still hit. “But hey, you said SOLDIERs were scary too, and you’re talking to me just fine now,” he says.

The look she gives him as she turns to him pulls at his heart. Again, she is trying to smile at him, trying to feign cheer for him. He can see right through it. The way her wobbling smile barely holds, and the way she keeps her chin pressed to her knees give her away, even to Zack’s terrible observation skills. “I guess you’re right,” she says, though her voice wavers dangerously.

The sound nearly shatters his heart. “And you don’t have to face it alone, right?” Zack presses, desperate to relieve some of her pain, “You’ve got Cloud! And me too!” He wants to clasp her hands, but doesn’t want to push too far. 

Instead, he presses his hands to the floor to steady himself as he leans in to meet her gaze. “If you want to, I’ll help you take this chance,” he says bolstering his words with every ounce of determination he can muster, “I know Cloud would too… if he ever lets us find him again.”

Aerith meets his gaze. Her chin wobbles and he can see a clustering of tears at the corner of her green eyes, but the turn of her mouth becomes straighter, less wilted, and more iron. She nods, once more a single, quick dip of her head that sends her curls bouncing around her face. She breathes in once through her nose. “Okay,” she says.

She reaches down and presses her own hand on top of Zack’s. “Okay,” she says again, “Show me the sky, Zack.”

Chapter Text

Cissnei is so dead.

She had arrived in this backwater town in the middle of nowhere, charmed her way into the townspeople's hearts even after Rufus and the Turks renewed their suspicion and disdain of outsiders. And then the moment she blinked, both her marks were gone.

How was she supposed to anticipate this? Calling her marks meek and naive would have been an understatement; Ms.Strife, Cloud's mother, is a long-time widow, with a quaint little house, warm smile and a dusty shotgun on her mantel that likely hadn’t been touched since her husband died. Tifa, Cloud's childhood friend, is friendly and pretty despite her ridiculous cowboy hat, and was so overjoyed to see another girl around her age in the village that she invited Cissnei into her room almost immediately. Cissnei was sure they hadn’t caught on as they welcomed Alba, the young runaway from Costa del Sol into their circle.

Now the dusty shotgun on the mantel is gone, along with Ms. Strife herself. There is not even a note left in the empty house to tell someone where she has gone. The cowboy hat is still hanging on Tifa’s door, though according to its owner’s irate and worried father, his daughter has been missing since at least that morning.

They both disappeared in the night, right before a heavy rainstorm that all but erased their footprints leading out of town. It was almost perfect, like they had planned their escape right under Cissnei’s nose. They hadn’t seemed the least bit suspicious. Even now, Cissnei still doubts that they came up with the plan themselves. Had Cloud Strife managed to sneak into the village without her notice? He had proven too slippery so far even for the most experienced of them.

Still, Verdot wouldn't accept that as an excuse. 

Cissnei had been chosen for this mission because of the new recruits, she had been the most promising. At least, that is what she interpreted. Now, she is wondering if it had more to do with the fact that Cloud Strife showed no inclination to kill.

She trudges through the mud, trying and failing to make sense of the faint footprints leading down the path and into the tall, thin tree trunks that made up the forests surrounding Nibelheim. There are two sets of footprints, a clunky set of sneakers that Cissnei remembers sitting next to Tifa's front door and Mrs. Strife’s sturdy leather boots. This is the weirdest part. No matter how Cissnei squints, there are only two sets of footprints, becoming more unrecognizable as they go deeper into the trees, smeared by pouring rain and drowned in puddles. There are no tire tracks, no chocobo feet, no trace of anyone else having entered or exited the village before Tifa and Ms. Strife made their escape.

Unless Cloud Strife had learned how to fly, these two women left the village alone.

She keeps walking, cursing her own ignorance. What did Verdot always tell her? People are rarely what they seem.

The footprints grow harder and harder to track as they leave the traffic smoothed paths nearest the village. When they disappear off the beaten path into the forest proper, overgrown with tufts of rough grass and covered by a layer of wet, dead leaves and pine needles, Cissnei lets out a loud, ugly curse.

Nibelheim is gloomy and gray on a good day. Now, with a healthy cover of dark clouds, barely any sun makes it to the path cleared through the trees, let alone deeper in the thick of the forest. Everything is wet, reflecting the light of her PHS flashlight back at her and obscuring any trace she could hope to find in the sopping undergrowth.

Tseng would have her head if Verdot didn’t get it first. The only people they might have to lure Cloud Strife gone under cover of a summer storm. Most embarrassingly for Cissnei, they had run off alone .

She turns to head back to the village to access to Mr. Lockhart's landline phone. For all the wonders of  technology her PHS contained, it had become useless as soon as she was a quarter of the way up Mt. Nibel. She curses Reno's smug comment that she wouldn't need a satellite phone; Nibelheim wasn't that far out in the sticks. Of course, he had been wrong. When wasn’t he?

The forest is dark around her, shadowed by clouds and unsettled by the storm. She lifts her eyes from her hopelessly muddied shoes and freezes. In front of her stands a wraith.

Wraith is really the only thing to call it, standing tall and thin before her, and dressed in tattered reds and sharp blacks. Its black hair hanging over its paper-white face is enough to obscure its features, though dots of red like embers pierce through the inky strands to pin her in place. Cissnei forgets about the gun in the holster under her arm, or the blades she has concealed in the folds of her innocuous knit cardigan. She forgets even to breathe.

“Turk,” it says. She expects a rasp, like wind through a gap in the floorboards of an old house. It isn’t. It is quiet, yet deep, dragging through the air like a heavy blade, and deceptively human. “Where are they?” 

Cissnei cannot help the way her nose wrinkles at the accusation she hears in its voice. “Who?” she says innocently. She doesn’t know why this thing would suspect her of being a Turk, dressed as she is in a soft sundress with a light knit cardigan to ward off the storm's chill. Even more curious is how this thing knows what a Turk is at all.

The being doesn’t reply. It takes a long, lanky step towards her. Its cape flows behind it ethereally like blood in water. Though she sees the way that the earth gives way under one scuffed, metal boot. Cissnei has her pistol out in a second. She fires without thought, aiming at center mass. It doesn’t dodge. Something metallic glints between the tatters of its cloak. The sound of the bullet embedding into the bark of a nearby tree echoes through the forest.

The gun is yanked from her hand in a flash, and before she knows it, she locks eyes with a strangely familiar face. Its skin is pale like death and its eyes have turned a dangerous vibrant red from the warm brown they ought to be, but she remembers the shape of the face and the serious, downward curve of the mouth. The same features had stared up at her from a file she once spied left open on Verdot’s desk. ‘Killed in Action’ had been stamped across the bottom in the same shade of red as what roved across her face now.

She doesn’t speak. Though, the wraith doesn’t take long to read her like a book anyway.

It is subtle, so subtle that perhaps only a Turk would notice, and only this close up, nearly nose to nose, but she can make out an upturn of its thin, pale lips.

The ghost of Vincent Valentine smirks at her. 

“Careless,” it says.

Then in a flash of red and black, it vanishes like the specter it is into the ample shadows around them.

Cissnei stands there.

Forget about Verdot’s anger or Tseng’s disappointment. Cissnei is sure nothing will ever top this unique flavor of shame, not Reno’s ribbing or Katana’s snorting.

She fucked up so badly that the legendary Turk Vincent Valentine rose from his grave to laugh at her.

Rufus Shinra, on the other hand, is not laughing. Instead, Rufus grinds his teeth. Cloud Strife had chosen to contact not him, not Zack, but Sephiroth. Considering the ferocity with which he purportedly attacked the SOLDIER, Rufus had thought he would be the last person Cloud would want to call. Unpredictable. To make matters worse, there is no way Rufus will be able to manipulate or intimidate the Silver General into getting him access to Cloud. Even to Turks, he is untouchable.

Though, it is honestly the least of his worries. Zack was proving too stupid to manipulate, head-strong and oblivious to veiled threats. Certainly, he gave Rufus information, but it was far from helpful. Cloud didn’t have a PHS, Cloud was probably somewhere out in the middle of nowhere, Cloud didn’t want to cooperate. All things Rufus was more than aware of. Not to mention the extra, unasked for updates; “Nothing to report about Cloud, but my ass has been extra itchy today. Maybe it’s a sign?” “Cloud told me to tell you to stuff it up your ass. Hey! I’m just telling you what he said, don’t shoot the messenger!” “It’s always Cloud this, and Cloud that, when are we going to talk about us ?”

Infuriating, and admittedly not Rufus's smartest move. It was hard to outsmart someone in a game of chess when all they were interested in doing was eating the pieces. He sighs, deleting yet another photo of a chocobo Zack sent, this time with the caption “Not Cloud, but looks pretty close, right?”

Verdot and Tseng are still arguing about dead Turks as Cissnei’s tinny voice chimes in from the PHS between them to ramble about ghosts. 

While neither Cloud nor Zack seem particularly interested in cooperating, Cloud has left a clue despite himself; he called Sephiroth from within the Gongaga Reactor. A reactor that now sat inert due to an emergency fail-safe trigger.

Now, why would he be there? If only Cloud were a predictable entity, then the answer would be straight forward.

The easiest answer is that he intends to shut down Shrinra's reactors. He had said himself that his ultimate goal was to see Shinra down in flames. Whether figuratively or literally, he did not specify. Either way, it would certainly help him further his goal by crippling their resources and sowing unrest among the people.

Oh, but Cloud is anything but predictable. If he simply wished to disable the reactors, there were a hundred ways to do so much easier than wriggling his way into Reeve's good graces and figuring out how to covertly disable them. 

Then, he intended to keep it a secret, perhaps. It is far easier to hide than try to outrun an army. But even then, Rufus didn't think so. If he wanted to hide it, why would he call Sephiroth, of all people? From the inert reactor’s phone, of all places? And only to warn him about Hojo? As interesting as the conversation was, it hardly warranted giving up his hard-won secrecy. 

Moreover, the Nibelheim reactor still functioned, untouched aside from the destruction of one of Hojo's tasteless experiments. And still did, despite Cloud having ample time to rectify that, and apparently ample opportunity, judging by the competence of the Turk stationed there. What did sit in ruins? The old mansion Hojo used to use for his experiments.

"Send agents to Junon and Fort Condor," Rufus commands, cutting through the three arguing, “No rookies this time. Send senior agents.”

Their conversation ceases immediately. "You think he will hit the other reactors?" Verdot questions.

"In a way, yes," Rufus says, drumming his fingers on his desk as he mulls over all the information they have.

"Shouldn't we send backup to Cissnei, then?" Tseng asks. 

Rufus scrunches his nose at the reminder of the Turk's failed mission. "No, I don't think it will be necessary," he says.

"If he is going after the reactors, then the Nibelheim reactor will-"

"His business at the Nibelheim reactor is finished," Rufus states, cutting Tseng off. He sighs at the questioning looks he received in return.

"If he intended to disable the reactors, then why would he go to such lengths to do so peacefully?" He attempts to lead them on to the same conclusion he made.

"To cover his tracks. Though, I'm sure you have already considered this," Verdot says. He eyes Rufus calculatingly. "You think his motivations are different?"

"He is being terribly reckless for someone trying to hide, don't you think?" Rufus ponders aloud, "Almost as if that is not his priority."

He watches as understanding dawns on both of their faces as the pieces fall into place. "Cloud is searching for something within the reactors. It is unclear if he found what he was looking for at the Gongaga Reactor, but in his search, he found the defective wire and forever concerned for the welfare of the people, he queried Director Tsuesti as to how to safely trigger the malfunctioning fail-safe," he explains slowly.

As far as Cloud knew, the reactor would be left repairable, and Cloud could go about wreaking havoc on only those who he thought deserved it without guilt. It is just happenstance that such a small defect has snowballed into something that would be cheaper to ignore than fix in the long run.

“I will send some agents over to the remaining reactors,” Verdot says firmly, “I’ll have them investigate while they’re at it. Maybe we can figure out what Strife’s after before he destroys it.” He turns his attention back to the phone with Cissnei still on the other end. “Cissnei, remain in Nibelheim, in case Strife returns there.”

“Realy?!” Cissnei groans, “But this place is haunted!”

Rufus rolls his eyes. “And place some Turks on standby at a midway point between Gongaga and the west continent ports and the at the ports themselves. If Cloud is still on the west continent, I would like to present him with my deal now that we have an idea of what his intentions are. Alert me immediately if your Turks turn up anything.”

With a wave of his hand, he sends Verdot and Tseng towards the door. Tseng lingers, however, standing still as a statue as it swings shut behind Verdot. Rufus flicks his eyes to him, quirking a single brow.

Tseng furrows his own, a deliberate and calculated action. “Are you sure… his goal is not the reactors?” he asks.

Rufus huffs a sigh. “I am not sure of anything,” he says, “But the pieces have to fit together with some amount of logic. Cloud is slippery, but he is only human.”

Tseng’s gaze lingers on him, something flickering in the depths of his dark eyes that Rufus lacks the ability to parse. He is certainly accustomed to the ways of the Turks, but he is not a Turk himself. Though, he thinks if he really puzzles it apart, the pinch at the corner of his eyes, the neutral line of his mouth that sits a bit too firmly, perhaps Rufus reads doubt from Tseng. Doubt of what, though?

“Regardless,” Rufus says, “The Turks will be waiting for him in the reactors whether he plans to disable them or not.”

With that, Tseng nods. There is still something lagging in the movement, almost reluctant. “Yes, sir,” he says. In reality, it sounds more like ‘if you say so.’

Whatever Tseng is thinking, Rufus has to be right about this. Once the door swings shut, he allows himself to drop his head into his hands. The company can’t wait for more investigations. His father is beyond reason, howling for the Promised Land and hemorrhaging profits as he sinks everything into the science department, seduced by a single delusional hack who has free reign with the Board of Directors in chaos, distracted by the controversy Cloud uncovered, and with unlimited free time now that his biggest project refuses to associate with him.

 There must be something hiding in the last few reactors, something that he could use to bait Cloud into cooperating before this company slips right out of his hands and off the edge of a cliff. He had lost his only leverage, disappeared into the night, right under their noses. This is his last chance.

Chapter Text

Things had been going suspiciously smoothly. Granted, Vincent, Cloud and Cait Sith, now just Cloud and Cait Sith had been traveling away from any civilization for several weeks now, effectively off the grid with no PHS and no computer access. If shit hit the fan, they would be well and truly ignorant of it. They got some updates from Reeve, though they were sparse and short. Cloud isn’t clear on what Reeve does to contact him through Cait, but he understands that it can’t be done willy-nilly, lest they all get caught.

From their few check-ins, Cloud knows that the other department heads are irritated and frustrated as no one, not even the Turks, can seem to find where he is. The reactor failure in Gongaga has yet to be noted as strange, though they haven’t sent an inspector out to the remote town yet. The people of Gongaga are growing more uneasy as their power is slowly sapped away without replacement, uneasy and impatient. Reeve sounds distinctly optimistic when he outlines a plan to replace the reactor with solar paneling that will be quicker to produce and install than fixing the now inert hunk of junk. The people of Gongaga might actually be able to pressure Shinra into choosing his option.

Hojo is also especially moody at meetings, waspish and short, often leaving in a huff as chaos and bickering breaks out. Cloud has the courage to hope that’s because Sephiroth took his words to heart. 

With Vincent gone on his mission, Cloud is now free to travel as quickly and recklessly as he pleases. Or, at least, he thought he would be. Cait seems keen to start complaining every time Cloud tries to push through the night to travel, whining about being tired and kneading his pointy claws into the back of Cloud’s neck as soon as the sun starts to set.

Cloud knows there is no way Cait is actually tired. He is a robot. He probably has one of Shinra’s rumored "eternal" power cells nestled alongside his state of the art voice box and his odd facsimile of cat’s purr. Only, Cloud doesn’t know for sure, and the one time he ignores him and pushes through the night, Cait falls asleep, limp, heavy and unwieldy over his shoulders, and then is inconsolably grumpy the next day. 

Cloud learned the hard way that day that while the Cait Sith of the future was above biting to get what he wanted, this Cait is not and has a mouth full of sharp, needle-like kitten teeth.

It is far less trouble to travel as fast and as far as Cait will let him get away with and then let the temperamental cat call a break.

Despite the minor setback, they are making surprisingly good time. He can see Rocket Town’s unique shape growing on the horizon, the rocket that will never launch looming in the far distance behind it.

He picks up speed, and is so distracted, he almost doesn’t notice the little figure charging into his path until he has almost barrelled them over.

“Halt!“ a small voice commands, far too loud for the size of the body it ejects from.

Cloud slides to a stop, stumbling back a few steps to avoid losing the tip of his nose to a swinging kodachi. He blinks down the length of the sword, his brain stuttering as he comes face to face with a tiny, dirty, red-faced, Yuffie Kisaragi.

She positively scowls at him, one hand on her hip while she continues to point the sword at his nose. “You have fallen into my trap, SOLDIER scum! Now hand over your weapons and gil and I might let you live!” she announces. She holds out a tiny, dirt-caked hand. Cloud stares at it dumbly.

He cannot quite reconcile what he knows about Yuffie and her presence before him. When he met her the first time out in the middle of Gaia knows where, she had definitely been a kid, so what is she now, a toddler? He squints back at her. No, toddlers aren’t that tall. Or are they? How old was Marlene? Yuffie looked around her age now if Cloud tilted his head to the left a little and lied to himself.

Yuffie wiggles her dirty fingers, clearing her throat. “Are you listening to me?! Hand your materia over or die, SOLDIER!” she declares.

“Not a SOLDIER,” Cloud quips first. He is mostly too stunned to come up with a good response to an even younger version of Yuffie. Yuffie seems equally dumbstruck that her trap didn’t net a SOLDIER, just some guy, as she falters back a step. He gives her a cursory once over, noting that, although she is quite filthy, she doesn’t appear to be injured.

In the time it took for him to complete his inspection, Yuffie has recovered enough to speak. “Fine! This is a robbery!” she snaps. She turns her kodachi just so, and it glints dangerously in the dimming light. “Give up your valuables or die!”

Cloud scoffs. “So you’ll just rob anyone?” he asks, more entertained than scandalized. Yuffie didn’t care much who her victims were when she robbed them in the future either.

“You look close enough to those Shrinra scumbags that I don’t feel too bad,” Yuffie says. 

Cloud almost feels insulted. “Ouch, okay,” he says. Though, if all Yuffie has seen of Shinra are military and big wigs, she isn’t exactly wrong. Cloud would fit right in with his bright blonde hair and glowing blue eyes. He and Rufus were practically twins. He rubs a hand through his spikes  self-consciously at the thought before reaching into his pocket, revealing his heal materia. “I don’t have much, though.”

Yuffie snatches the little ball of green from his hands. Her face screws up in disappointment as she turns it in the light for inspection. “This is it?” she groans.

“There’s a time and fire materia in the hilt of my sword, but I figure you wouldn’t appreciate me pulling that out myself,” Cloud adds.

She blinks at him, then drops his heal materia on the ground with an unceremonious thump. Cloud doesn’t have time to voice his offense before she is on him. She climbs him like a heavier version of Cait Sith, and soon dirty fingers are leaving smudges all over his pants and shirt and inside every pocket he has. Cait squawks and scampers off of him to avoid being kicked off.

It is an embarrassingly long time before he can wrangle Yuffie off of himself, grabbing an unguarded ankle and yanking her away, but not before being kicked in the jaw. She hangs upside down with his wallet in her hands, frowning stormily at the lack of gil within. “You’re broke too?!” she grouches.

“This is why you should be more choosy about your victims,” Cloud retorts, just as grumpy. He rubs at his smarting jaw with his other hand.

She growls and throws his wallet at him. It bounces off his chest and Cloud unceremoniously drops her. The yell she lets out is more offended than hurt, so Cloud pays her no mind as he leans down to collect his wallet. “Are we done here?” he asks impatiently. A cursory check reveals that his time and fire materia are untouched, and the healing materia sits abandoned in the grass. He knows Yuffie has little interest in such common materia. There are fingerprints on the hilt of his sword, as if she tried to take it, but couldn't lift its weight.

“Why are you even out here? I only sent my message to SOLDIERS, not pathetic losers with nothing good on them!” Yuffie rants as she picks herself up from the dirt.

Cloud tries to ignore the mild prick of concern at Yuffie’s words. She was baiting SOLDIERS out into the middle of nowhere to rob them? Not all of them would be as unbothered by casual thievery as Cloud. Not to mention, they might recognize the potential leverage Yuffie offers as the Princess of Wutai. She was doing this in the past at this time, right? Nothing had changed so severely yet, had it?

“I’m just passing through,” Cloud says with remarkable calm despite his turmoil, “There is a town past here, you know?”

“This far off the road?” Yuffie demands, incredulous.

Cloud blinks. The dirt road to Rocket Town is nowhere to be seen. Honestly, he hadn’t been paying attention to how close or far away from the beaten path he had wandered, as long as he wasn’t directly on it. Perhaps Yuffie had cause to be a bit more upset, then.

“I was trying to avoid robbers,” Cloud lies.

“For what? So they won’t steal all the nothing you have?“ Yuffie says flatly.

Cloud acknowledges that fair observation with a tilt of his head. “Your scheme’s a bust. Go home,” he says sourly, crossing his arms. Now that she has frisked him for materia and gil and found nothing, hopefully she will heed his command and go back to Wutai. 

Probably not, though. He doubts he is her first unsuccessful shakedown.

Yuffie rolls her eyes. “You can’t tell me what to do,” she spits. Though she is already walking backwards towards where the trees grow closer together. Cloud represses a sigh of relief. If she doesn’t go home, at least she won’t be following him. She stayed alive and unscathed long enough on her own to meet him four years from now. As much as the part of him that was compelled to snatch Marlene off the top of Tifa’s bar counter whenever she climbed atop it wants to tuck Yuffie under his arm and drag her all the way back to Wutai, he knows that she will be okay.

She gets far enough away that he wouldn’t easily be able to grab her and disappears in a flashy puff of smoke. Cloud wisely doesn’t point out that he can see the heel of one Yuffie-sized shoe disappear behind a tree as the smoke dissipates.

Cloud lingers there for a breath. Logically, he knows it would be worse if she came with him, if he could even convince this smaller, somehow even more stubborn version of his friend to follow him in the first place, but he worries. She is out here baiting and robbing SOLDIERS. It’s dangerous, even for someone as sharp as Yuffie.

“Should we go after her?” Cait asks, peering up at him from where he has pressed against this legs.

Cloud stares into the shadows between the trees for a moment longer. Then he sighs. “No,” he says, “It’s better this way.” 

He would destroy the reactors, dismantle Shinra, and Yuffie would have no reason to run around in the wilderness stealing enough to wage a war against them. She could go home, live a normal life, just like Cloud had been aiming for everyone.

Though he slows his pace after his unplanned encounter with Yuffie to avoid running any other hapless wanderers over, they still make it to Rocket Town by sundown, right before Cait elects to begin complaining again. It is much different to what Cloud had expected.

Not much larger than Nibelheim, in Cloud's time, Rocket Town had been a ghost town. Now, it is practically bursting with people running through the town square from building to building. The rocket seems so much larger standing straight up and not half-eaten by plant-life and rust, gleaming in the dying rays of the sun. He can see workers kneeling on scaffolding around it as they work on its silver hull. A gaggle of people speaking equations Cloud couldn’t hope to parse and carrying clipboards push past him as he reluctantly makes his way into town. He catches sight of Shinra’s logo embroidered on their flight jacket sleeves and stamped on badges hanging from their necks.

“We need to get in and out. Fast,” Cloud mutters to Cait, “And keep the chitchat down to a minimum unless you want to get taken apart and studied.” Cait obediently, silently hunkers down close to his neck.

He hadn’t forgotten this time, just plain hadn’t known exactly when Shinra abandoned its space program. Still a mistake, now they are in a town swarming with Shinra employees. Hopefully, Shinra had chosen to keep his escape a secret from the general staff and they are not about to be swarmed by violent scientists hungry for clout with the company.

He is glad he sent Vincent away for this. He would most certainly not be pleased.

“Not SOLDIER, my ass. You dirty liar.”

The voice that pipes up from behind him is familiar, but does nothing to keep Cloud from jumping a meter out of his skin. His heart shoots into his throat, effectively gagging him as he turns on his heel to see Yuffie, still dirty, still angry, staring up at him. He doesn’t think, just shoots forward and grabs Yuffie around the middle, sprinting behind the nearest building before they can draw too much attention.

Little teeth find their way into his wrist and Cloud growls. At least he wouldn’t put it past Yuffie to bite him even ten years from now. It is still annoying and he has to shake her off like a stubborn dog when he puts her down behind a residential building. He determinedly does not look at the neat row of human teeth marks now marring his skin in multiple places up his arm in favor of glaring down at Yuffie.

“What the fu- hell are you doing here?!” Cloud hisses.

“Whatever the fuck I want,” Yuffie replies with a sharp grin.

Cloud groans and runs a hand through his spikes. Yuffie’s grin falls and she points an accusing finger at him.

“You said you weren’t Shinra! You lied to me!” she shouts.

Cloud scrambles forward, clamping a hand over her mouth. “Shush, you idiot!” he hisses. This time, instead of biting him, she licks him. A repulsed shiver runs up Cloud’s spine at the wet tongue across his palm, but he keeps his grip firm. He has had far worse on his hands. Yuffie’s glare turns dangerous.

“And I didn’t lie. I’m not with Shinra,” Cloud scrambles to whisper, “But everyone in this town is, and I can’t fight them all, so keep it down before we get caught.” 

Yuffie slaps his hand away and Cloud allows it. She hops a few steps back from him, braced for a fight. “Fight them,” she echoes. He can see the gears turning in her head as she runs her fingers over the kodachi strapped to her side. “So you’re not with them. You’re against them?” she asks. There is a glint in her eyes that Cloud does not like at all.

“Yes,” Cloud admits, defeated, “Why do you think I was traveling off the roads?”

Yuffie eyes him again with suspicion. “They didn’t look too bothered by you when you came into town,” she points out.

“They don’t know who I am,” Cloud explains. Yet , he thinks bitterly. It is only a matter of time before Shinra will start sicking civilians on him, if they get frustrated enough. “But they might recognize you . Did you think about that?” he says.

Yuffie doesn’t deign that worth replying to, simply glancing down at her dirt-covered self and then back up at him flatly. Fair. She didn’t exactly look like a princess right now. Not that she ever did.

Then her face screws up with thought, and Cloud realizes he has definitely messed up . “Hey,” she says. Her voice is laden with suspicion. “How did you recognize me?”

“I saw your picture in a newspaper,” Cloud lies. He almost winces at how falsely casual and unconvincing it sounds.

“Uh-huh,” Yuffie huffs, “And it just stuck with you?”

“Absolutely. I have an amazing memory,” Cloud replies, "Photographic, even." It falls very flat.

Before Yuffie can push him for more information, Cloud says, “I’m not the only one. This is a village full of geniuses. You should get out of here, just in case.”

Yuffie scrunches her face up. “You can’t tell me what to do,” she states, crossing her arms over her chest, “What are you doing here? Are you gonna steal something?”

“No, I am going to ask Ci- er… a friend to give me something I need,” he leaves as many details out as he is able, but he can see the way Yuffie reads more than what he says.

“To fight Shinra?” she asks.

Cloud couldn’t exactly back-pedal now. He had already said he was against Shinra, Yuffie wouldn’t believe him if he said he changed his mind or that this was all a clever trick and he was actually on Shinra’s side. Besides, what kind of undercover double-agent for Shinra had no money, basic materia and a mid-tier weapon? Yuffie could read him like a book from the moment she met him. He isn’t some special undercover Shinra SOLDIER, he is just some guy, a fact that is quickly working against him.

“Yes,” he says, “And you aren’t invited.”

“Who says I want to be invited?” she snaps petulantly.

Cloud valiantly resists the urge to eye her dubiously. 

Yes. Perfect. You don’t want to help me. You don’t need my help. You are going to become a menace all on your own. Cloud silently prays.

“No one invites a princess. A princess invites herself,” Yuffie declares.  

“I’m not your subject, I don’t need to honor that,” Cloud says.

“You can’t stop me, though,” Yuffie states, and she is right. Cloud knows this from years of friendship.

“Guess I can’t,” Cloud ascents. He looks over Yuffie. He wonders what would have been better for her in the long run: her trying to rob SOLDIERs out in the wilderness until Shinra falls and she feels she can go home, or her following after him. He guesses he will never know now. 

Still, whether he has a choice or not, Yuffie is tiny and dirty and the farthest thing from threatening even with her kodachi and materia knowledge. “But I need to look like I know what I’m doing and I can’t have some smelly little kid following me around when I meet my friend,” Cloud says, crossing his own arms in a show of stubbornness. Cid would laugh in his face if he brought Yuffie with him.

“I’m not a little kid!” Yuffie snaps, much like the angry toddler that Cloud is sure she is.

“Great, then you understand why I need you to wait here while I talk to my friend,” Cloud tries.

Yuffie remains unconvinced. “You don’t look so reliable yourself,” she points out, “Besides, why don’t you just steal it?”

Because I don’t want Cid on my ass as well as the rest of Shinra, Cloud thinks. “Because I’m not good at that kind of thing,” he says. It isn’t a lie. Cloud had thoroughly inherited all of Zack’s brashness and none of his subtlety, possibly because the man had none to share. Even if Cloud himself is on the quieter side, he is far from stealthy.

“But I am!“ Yuffie argues.

Honestly, Cloud doubts it. Picking locks and disappearing in puffs of smoke are not stealthy in and of themselves, especially when most people on the west and east continents don’t use smoke bombs and shuriken. Yuffie stands out just as much as he does, and dangerously so considering the tensions brought on by the war.

Cloud chews his cheek. “Let me try it my way,” he bargains, “If it doesn’t work, then we can do it your way.”

Yuffie mulls that over. She tilts her head to the side and crinkles her brow as she squints at him. “Hm… Fine,” she says. Cloud doesn’t like the note of victory he catches already in her voice. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Out of sight,” Cloud begs. He is starting to understand why Vincent seemed so frustrated with him all the time.

By the time Cloud makes it to the small building tucked comfortably in the rocket’s shadow, the sun has fully settled behind the horizon, bathing Rocket Town in cool blues. As he pushes through the front door, he has to wait as countless others push past him, all dressed in white coats or flight jackets and congratulating each other on a hard day’s work. Cloud doesn’t bother looking for Cid’s face among them. He knows where Cid will be, in his office, burning the midnight oil to make his dreams come true.

This fact is cemented as he ventures deeper into the building. The halls are deserted and dimly lit, but eventually, he spies a younger Shera pop out of a doorway and continue down the hall away from him, following a sign labeled “hangar.”

From what he can see, she looks better. Her back is straighter and her face less wan. Cloud hopes he has caught Cid before he starts directing his temper at her.

She doesn’t notice Cloud as she turns the corner out of sight. Cloud heads to the door she emerged from and sure enough there is Cid Highwind’s name is engraved into a bronze placard. Cloud clasps the handle and lets himself inside.

He is immediately greeted by a plume of smoke desperate to escape the room. The burst of air from the hall does little to clear it, the room remains hazy even as a massive cloud escapes. The walls are packed with cluttered shelves and schematics taped over more schematics and layered with memos. There is a single long desk against the back wall, equally crowded with books and papers littered with measurements and equations. Sitting at the center of the desk with his back to the door is Cid Highwind. He hunches over a blueprint, scribbling on it as he puffs on a cigarette like a brooding dragon.

“Forgot something, Shera?” he grumbles past the cigarette. He doesn’t turn around. His rolling chair squeaks as he rolls it to another part of the table and he roughly snatches a few papers sticking out of a folder. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth to tap ash into the ashtray at the corner of the desk. Sitting up straighter, he takes a drag and lets loose yet another cloud of pungent gray smoke into the stagnant air. “Well?” he growls and turns.

Cloud blinks. Cid looks so young compared to who he would meet five years from now. Cloud knows intimately what years of bitterness can do to a person, but he has never seen it wear away at someone quite like it had Cid. He looks brighter despite the haze in the room, younger, with straighter shoulders.

Cloud takes a breath to speak, then all the smoke gets caught in his throat trying to invade his lungs all at once and he forces it all back out with an embarrassing set of coughs. It sounds young to his own ears. It brings back a mortifying memory from his murky childhood, when he stole a cigarette from Tifa’s dad and nearly choked himself on it behind his house. He can feel how his face burns all the way to his ears.

Cait helpfully sneezes a string of wet sneezes into his ear before hiding his face in his cape.

Cid uncharacteristically, politely snuffs out his cigarette in the ashtray. Cloud straightens up in time to catch Cid’s quirked brow. “Can’t say I recognize you,” he grunts, looking Cloud over pointedly from head to toe. His eyes linger on Cait for only a moment before he brushes a hand through his hair . “If you’re here for a job, sorry, kid. We don’t need any extra hands.”

With that, he turns back around and resumes his work. Cloud stands, momentarily stunned.

“Uh,” Cloud says. He still sounds hoarse. “That’s not why we’re here.” The gravel in his voice might sound intimidating if it weren’t because he had torn his throat up breathing in tobacco smoke. As it is, he just sounds a little sick.

“Then get out. I don’t have time for kids and their cats,” Cid grumbles, shooing them away with a wave of his hand.

“I know you can’t be satisfied with this job,” Cloud hurries to say, “Shinra has been jerking you around and letting you down, right? I can help you get back at them.”

Cid pauses, then turns again to face Cloud. He props his arm against the desk while he eyes him again with much more speculative eyes. Cloud remains relaxed and nonchalant. He aims for confident, rather than anticipatory, but probably fails with the way sweat is running down the back of his neck. 

Cid holds his gaze for a moment longer, then bursts out laughing. It isn’t a conspiring chuckle, or a scoff at Cloud’s lofty promise. It is a full, loud, belly laugh, the kind that Cloud has only heard from Barret on the rare occasions that they really managed to hit his funny bone. He has never heard a laugh like that from Cid, mostly because Cid finds very little truly worth laughing at.

This goes on for several confusing, embarrassing seconds before Cid sniffs and wipes at the corners of his eyes with his thumb. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes when he catches sight of Cloud’s face, “You’re just so obvious.” He shoots Cloud a toothy grin.

“Huh?” Cloud says. He truly lacks anything else to respond with.

“You’re one the Company’s kids, right? What are they called…” He snaps his fingers a few times as he thinks. “Trips… tarps…?”

“Turks?” Cloud fills in, heart dropping.

Cid does one last snap and points at Cloud. “Yeah! That’s it!” he says, stomping his foot, “You’re one a’ those Turks. Am I right? I’m right.” He decides before Cloud can interject.

He spins around fully in his chair, lounging lazily against the back rest. “They sent ya’ to check on me, right?” he asks, “Test me!”

“No. Wait. You’ve got it-“

“Right,” Cid finishes for him. “Tell yer’ boss not to worry! They’ve got my loyalty for life the minute this rocket launches. Simple as that.”

Cloud processes that and has to bite back a curse. Of course. Why would someone like Cid spontaneously hold a grudge against a company that, so far, had done nothing but fund his dreams? Cid is a realist, he deals in physical reality, and the realty right now is that Shinra plans to send him to space.

Still, Cloud has to try. “And if they don’t?” he asks. He wishes he had pried more into Cid’s past, not like the man would have told him anything. If he had done a little reading, a little research, he might know exactly when the rocket would fail. “Shinra can pull funding in a second!” he argues.

“And sink all this gil into this for nothing? No way,” Cid says, waving away the idea, “Now, if I passed the test, you can get lost. I’ve got work to do.”

Cloud shares a look with Cait, feeling a little helpless. Cait gives him a sympathetic look, but otherwise is useless. He came all the way here just to find out that Cid is most loyal to whoever has pissed him off the least that day, and so far it isn't Cloud. This entire plan was a bust.

Unless…

“That’s not the only reason I’m here,”Cloud says, attempting to straighten his shoulders and smooth his voice. This might not be a total failure, and perhaps he can sow the seeds of discontent with Shinra in Cid while he is at it.

“We need a plane,” Cloud says, “Something fast and discreet.” His mouth moves while he tries to fabricate a possible reason why the Turks would come to Cid for it, especially now. “For… private reasons… it can’t be obviously Shinra’s and since you like…er … customizing company property, we came to you.”

Cloud can’t help the nerves that seep into his voice as Cid’s face becomes stormy. Still, he mulls over Cloud’s weak suggestion.

“Ain’t sent me to space yet,” Cid points out. He reaches into his pocket, withdrawing a carton of cigarettes. “Wouldn’t take much to do your own ‘customizing.’ Just paint over your logo on one of your own ‘copters, yeah? They’re plenty fast. Why d’ya need mine?”

“There aren’t any helicopters here,” Cloud says, and hopes he is right.

“How the hell’d you get here, then? Not by car. Mt. Nibel would’ve made quick work of it.” Cid lights the cigarette and shoves it in his mouth, taking a deep drag from it.

“Part of the way by chocobo and then I walked,” Cloud says. Anything else would sound like the outright lie it was.

Cid laughs at him, this time with a sharper, more sardonic edge. “Sending you out here on chocobo? I think you got hazed,” he says.

Cloud doesn’t say anything to reply, just turns his attention towards his feet. He can’t argue with him. For an organization like Shinra to send a Turk this far out with a chocobo, they would have to be close to bankruptcy or simply bullying. 

Cid snorts at him. “Rookies,” he mutters as he turns back towards his desk. “Better call out for a pick up. You can use the lobby's phone,” he says, already hunching back over his schematics, “Or else hope your bird is still waiting out there for you somewhere.”

And that was that. Cloud stands there dumbly for a few moments more, processing how horribly this whole thing had gone. 

Eventually though, he has to leave the smoky office, if not because Cid will no longer respond to him then because he and Cait are slowly suffocating. He takes a bracing breath of mildly cleaner air as he steps back out into the hall.

“Now what?” he hisses, tugging a hand through his spikes. Cait peers at him from his perch on his shoulders, tail flicking back and forth in response to Cloud’s anxiety. He is still obediently silent.

He doesn’t need to speak for Cloud to understand exactly what their next step should be. Cloud had asked permission.

Now he would need to ask forgiveness.

Taking another deep breath through his nose, he resolves to make an enemy of Cid. At the very least, the man thinks he is a part of Shinra and will hopefully direct his ire at the company before going after him. Straightening his shoulders and adopting a steely expression of determination he does not feel, he heads down the hall towards the hangar.

When he turns the corner, Yuffie is already fiddling with a lock on a heavy-duty security door. Cloud hisses in a breath before he realizes that despite the facility being Shinra build and thus likely equipped with all the latest technologies, they have decided to secure their aircraft with a physical, rather than digital lock. Cloud is almost certain that Cid had something to do with that. He might be looking to Shinra with starry-eyed anticipation to be sent to space, but that didn’t mean he trusted any technology that he didn’t have intimate knowledge about how to operate.

Unfortunately for him, Yuffie is a menace and is also familiar with the inner-workings of physical locks. As he approaches, it drops to the floor with a thud. Yuffie jerks her head up at the sound of his footsteps, eyes wide and shoulders tense, before she relaxes at the sight of his face.

“What are you doing?!” Cloud whispers, even though it is abundantly clear. It is more to let Yuffie know that he is not onboard with preemptive theft, as well as his own frustration with her being a few steps ahead of him.

She grins, not the least bit cowed. “Your talk with your friend didn’t go so good, huh?” she asks casually.

“You’d better be glad it didn’t, or else you would’ve ruined it!” Cloud snaps.

“I knew it wouldn’t from the start, don’t worry,” Yuffie says with a flippant wave of her hand, “Besides, this was way easier!” She nudges the lock with her foot before turning the handle and leading them inside, or rather, outside, into the aircraft yard. Yuffie holds the door for him the whole way, grinning brightly before easing the door shut behind them.

Despite the size of the yard, there is only one craft sitting in the center of it, the Tiny Bronco. It looks to be in better shape than it would be four years from now; its freshly polished steel shines brilliantly even in the sun’s dying light.

“Resorting to theft, I see.”

The voice would have made Cloud piss himself if he hadn’t recognized it. He turns to find Vincent leaned against the wall near the door, arms crossed casually over his chest.

“Vince!”  Cloud exclaims despite himself. Conflicting emotions rush to overtake the initial elation at seeing his friend, surprise, confusion, and a touch of fear. “What… what are you doing here? What about Ma and Tifa?! he shouts. He leaves Yuffie by the plane as he walks back towards the door. Vincent meets him half-way. “What happened?”

Vincent braces his hands on Cloud’s shoulders, stifling the full extent of his freak-out. “It seems they left the night before I arrived in Nibelheim,” Vincent reports. Cloud blinks, stunned into silence by the news. “They are impressive. They slipped right by a Turk. I see where you get your own… talents… from.” He sounds more annoyed than amused, despite his words. “The rain washed away most of their footprints, but it looked as if they were heading down the mountain.”

“And you didn’t- you didn’t go after them?!” Cloud sputters, shocked and more than a little upset. “You’re just gonna let them get killed-“

“Cloud,” Vincent says, his voice deep and commanding, “They would not have left if they did not feel themselves capable. Trust them.”

Cloud snaps his mouth shut, meeting Vincent’s intense stare with one of his own. “You should have followed them,” he growls. He wrenches himself from Vincent’s grasp. He lets Cloud go without a fight, but follows as he marches back towards the plane.

“I’m flattered by your faith in my skills,” Vincent says. The neutral tone of the words only serves to fan Cloud’s temper more. “I followed their footprints for as long as I was able, but eventually the rain erased them entirely as it did with their scent. Not even the Beast could have tracked them.”

“You found me here easily enough,” Cloud spits.

“You told me where you would be. All I had to do was locate a plane and wait,” Vincent points out. 

Cloud spins, then. “Wait… you beat me here?!” he shouts.

Vincent winces, ever so slightly. “Cloud, quiet,” he hisses, “And yes, by a few hours.”

Cloud honestly shouldn’t be surprised. He also shouldn’t be as angry as he feels. Vincent had been upfront of where his priorities lay, and now that his mother and Tifa couldn’t be used as leverage, he returned to make sure Cloud didn’t get himself killed in some other way.

It doesn’t stop him from being frustrated, though.

Yuffie clears her throat and slaps a hand impatiently against the Tiny Bronco’s side. “Hello?! We’re kinda in a hurry here,” she snaps.

Cloud levels one more glare at Vincent, a look that is reciprocated with frustrating placidity before Cloud is jogging back over to the plane. He slides next to Yuffie to find the door to the cockpit already jimmied open. 

“I can get it open, but I don’t know how to get it in the air,” Yuffie admits as she steps to the side.

“I’ve got it,” Cloud says. He peers into the small cockpit, then at his companions. Somehow during their first escape with the craft, it didn’t feel so small. “Gonna be a tight fit,” he comments.

There is a gasp near the door to the hangar, drawing all their attention over to Shera. She has her hands held up to her mouth, eyes wide in shock. The door is left ajar behind her. As their eyes land on her, she visibly pales and backs up towards the door, no doubt to call Cid and security. “Shit,” Cloud spits.

He looks to Vincent, who is tensed and ready to tackle her, but likely not quick enough. Yuffie has a bunch of materia in her small hands, but isn't doing anything with them. A seal materia sparkles at him from the selection like a call. Cloud grabs it.

“Sleep!” he calls and the cast hits Shera in the chest before she can pass through the threshold back inside. A gentle blue light surrounds her and she crumples as it dissipates, left in a heap half-inside the door, but not before she lets loose a frightened scream.

“Vincent!” Cloud snaps as he boosts Yuffie quickly into the plane. She scrambles into the back seat followed by Cait off Cloud’s shoulder. Vincent practically flies into the plane, as fluid as a ribbon through the breeze. As Cloud climbs in to the cockpit next to him, a bullet pings off the hull. “Duck!” he shouts.

He peeks over the metal siding of the plane to see Cid pistol in one hand, cigarette clenched between his teeth, lean down to check on Shera. When he finds her alive, just sleepel-ed, it does little to ease his visible temper. If anything, his face grows redder as he stands and points the gun right at Cloud’s head.

“You bastards!” he rages. He squeezes the trigger twice and Cloud ducks but can feel as two bullets whizz through his hair. He slams his hand down on the button to seal the cockpit door as he flips the switches necessary to get the engine rumbling. Another three bullets ricochet off the glass, muffling the string of curses Cid spits as he hurriedly reloads the pistol. 

“This is your friend?!” Yuffie shouts as the plane engine roars to life, “He’s trying to kill us!”

“Cloud, I’m startin’ to think you dunno what ‘friend’ means!” Cait yelps as another four bullets bounce harmlessly off the cockpit glass.

On the tarmac, Cid is rapidly approaching, gun held aloft, as well as the spear Cloud remembers from their journey together clutched in the other hand. The cigarette is gone from his mouth, either dropped or swallowed with the ferocity with which Cid cusses him out.

Cloud ignores all of them as he pushes the plane forward. The last thing they need is a homicidal Cid Highwind hitching a ride. It sputters forward and Cid stumbles to the ground mid-grab for a wing. Somehow Cloud can still hear him shouting over the engine.

“Get ready for take-off!” Cloud tells them. He is ignored as both Yuffie and Cait stare out the back of the cockpit, then duck down as yet more bullets hit the glass.

Soon though, Cloud can feel the force of their speed pushing him back in his seat, the plane vibrating as its wheels leave the tarmac once, twice, and then not again. He flips the switch for the landing gear to retract just in time to avoid ruining the aircraft yard’s wall as they shoot into the sky.

Cloud steadies the plane a little as they gain altitude, sparing a glance behind himself to see Cid, distant and tiny, throw his gun to the ground and wave his spear around, beyond wrathful.

As they continue their accent into the night sky, the attitude within the cockpit begins to settle. Yuffie leans back down into her seat, and Cait’s fur and tail deflate back to their usual amount of fluffiness. Vincent glances over at him from where he sits with his lanky legs pulled up, knees pushed to his chest. 

“Friend,” he mutters flatly.

Somehow Yuffie manages to mimic the looks Vincent gives him perfectly, and even Cait looks a little doubtful of him. “Okay, all of you hush,” Cloud says grumpily, “He will be. He doesn’t know what Shinra’s capable of yet.” Everyone continues to give him that shared, incredulous look. How is it that they all think he is the craziest person here? “I got the plane, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, after he shot at us a hundred times,” Cait mumbles, hunkering down in his seat.

Yuffie blinks. “Wait a minute!” she snaps, “You really can talk!?”

“‘Course I can, but it’s a secret, so don’ tell anyone!” Cait replies, though he still puffs his chest out with pride at Yuffie’s intrigue.

Cloud relaxes as Yuffie and Cait take their attention from him to each other. He can feel Vincent’s eyes still trained on him. “Shut up,” Cloud grumbles.

“I haven’t said anything,” he says simply.

“I can feel you thinking at me,” Cloud says instead.

“You’ve picked up another companion,” Vincent points out, “A child.”

“She wouldn’t have let me get away with leaving her behind,” Cloud explains. He isn’t any happier about it than Vincent seems to be. Though he has to admit the enthused chatter behind him is a welcome return. It reminds him of before when everyone he loved was together instead of scattered across the planet, or trapped under Shinra’s thumb.

“She is from your first journey,” Vincent surmises, voice low enough that only the two of them can hear.

Cloud nods. “And the princess of Wutai,” he adds. Vincent’s eyes blow wide, and he flicks his eyes towards the back seat. “She followed me to Rocket Town. Leaving her there….”

“The war is after my time, but I’ve heard whispers of it,” Vincent says. He tips his head forward, and seems to startle  himself when his forehead brushes his knees. “Yes, it would be better not to leave her in the heart of a Shinra held town.”

Cloud nods to himself at the approval. He looks out at the night sky, a sea of rich indigo dotted with winking sparks of light. The moonlight reflects off the snow sitting on the very peak of Mt. Nibel towering in the far distance. The plane cruises forward with little turbulence in the clear night, smoothly following Cloud’s careful steering.

He worries.

With Yuffie joining them, things have changed, the stakes are higher. Her capture or death could the countries' already tenuous relations in a bad direction. It could mean another war, more deaths, a new reactor, a much worse outcome for Yuffie’s people. Never mind the tragedy it would be. She is so young, Cloud wants to keep her as far away from all of this as he can and already he has failed.

“Vince,” he says, voice lower than Yuffie and Cait’s contented chattering.

Vincent looks over from where he was observing the night sky through the window. “I… I get that you think I’m indispensable… or whatever, with my mission and my whole deal with the planet,” he begins. The words are like molasses leaking out of a tipped jar. “But, I’m just a guy,” he says. The same thing he told Vincent before on Mt. Nibel. 

“I think I’ve pretty much done what the Planet sent me here to do,” he adds. Ignore the niggling feeling in his chest. That is just anxiety, he is sure. Jenova is gone, Sephiroth is purified, Gongaga is saved. Everything is blank from here forward.

“Cloud,” Vincent intones, just as low, but there is a dangerous edge to it.

“I’m just saying,” Cloud rumbles, “Maybe you need to readjust your priorities.”

The silence stretches. Cloud refuses to look at Vincent as he nudges the plane to gain altitude as they approach the Nibel mountain range. It is no small ask. He knew how reluctant his friends were to leave him, even when he was clearly compromised, a danger to himself and them and barely capable of walking, let alone holding a sword. He remembers what Tifa told him about how much they wanted to stay. At first, he thought it was to placate him, help him feel not so alone. But they all proved her words true in that final battle, and the many that came after it.

"It is true that I view you as 'indispensable,'" Vincent admits, "But your reasoning is wrong. You very well may be "just some guy," but you are a good man, a type of 'guy' that there are few of on this planet." 

Cloud rolls his eyes. Any one of them would have done the same, knowing what he knows.

"And, you are my friend," Vincent adds, "Of which there are even fewer."

Such an admission from Vincent fills Cloud with a disproportionate amount of warmth. They are friends, of course, they are friends. Though, he doesn't think he ever heard Vincent say as much. 

Cloud scoffs and scrubs a hand over his face. "You're just trying to conserve an endangered species when you put it like that," he points out.

"Whatever phrasing makes your face less red, I suppose," Vincent says, failing to hide his smirk under his collar. "All the same, if the time comes, I will do what I feel must be done, for your sake as well as that of the planet's and its people. I understand what is at stake."

Cloud sighs. Behind them, Yuffie snores and Cait purrs. Before them, the Nibel Mountain range grows larger.

No matter what happens to Cloud, the days of the reactors, and Shinra, are numbered.

Chapter Text

Once the odd SOLDIERs and the Shinra suits cleared out of Nibelheim, the military proper came storming in. Tifa couldn’t do much but pray that Cloud had managed to escape off the mountain as they combed the forested slopes high and low for him. For the most part, she took shelter in her room and her father successfully barred anyone trying to pull her out for an interview with a nasty attitude and accusations of harassment or attempted kidnapping.

Yelling that Tifa hadn’t been allowed to have anything to do with ‘'that Strife boy’' since they were young children helped push them off their backs. It was clear the neither the suits from before nor the SOLDIERs had given a list of witnesses. She wasn’t about to argue either; a confession would come with questions from Shinra’s prying infantry and reprimands from her own father.

Eventually all the unfamiliar faces cleared out of town when they realized Cloud was no longer there. His only real connection in the town was his mother who hadn’t heard from him aside from a monthly sum of money sent with a sparse letter that had promptly stopped when he went rogue. Tifa thought that would be that.

Then Ms. Strife had pulled her aside in the market and asked if she was alright. Unlike Tifa, Ms. Strife had no strong-arming father to save her from prying eyes and interviews. Orphaned and widowed, she only had Cloud, who hadn’t even stopped in to see her when he had blown through town. It felt unfair for Ms. Strife to be worrying after her, when she most likely got the shortest end of the stick with no one to support her. 

Thus, Tifa ushered them into the Strife house, noting the dirt left behind by careless boots and the furniture and shelves that were just slightly not in their right spot. Ms. Strife herself looked tired and harried, skin pale with dark circles under her eyes. Still, she sat Tifa down at her table and offered her a mug of warm tea.

“So, they left you alone, dear?” Ms. Strife had asked as she sat down with her own mug. Her hands trembled ever so slightly where she gripped her cup, but her eyes only held concern for Tifa.

“Dad said I hadn’t talked to Cloud since we were real young,” Tifa explained, “Guess they thought I wasn’t connected, not that dad woulda’ let them in even if they did.”

Ms. Strife nodded and took a sip of her tea. Tifa turned the line of questioning on the other woman. “What about you?” she asked, “Were they rough with you?” 

“No, just firm… and nosy,” she replied. She turned her attention toward her disorganized bookshelves with a wrinkled nose. “Your pa oughta’ count himself lucky. They searched the whole house, then interrogated me for hours. Cloud ain’t been talking to me, not earnestly, anyway, and didn’t visit either when he came through, so ‘course they found nothin’.” 

She sighed, setting her mug down on the table. “They’re lookin’ for somethin’ I doubt they’ll find. The questions they asked me… they didn’t make a bit of sense anyway.”

Tifa tilted her head then. “What kinda’ questions?” She figured they would ask the usual stuff people like that asked when they were looking for someone. ‘Why would they have done this?’ ‘Have they spoken to you recently?’ ‘Do you know where they could have gone?’ Those kinds of questions.

While they did ask the usual questions, the extra ones really were strange. “Are you Cloud’s biological mother?” “Is there anything strange you can remember about his father?” “Has he or his father displayed any strange abilities? What about you?” 

For as long as Tifa could remember, Cloud had been a normal boy, much to his own frustration. Ms. Strife had told them as much. A normal boy, with a normal father who died soon after his birth due to an illness that took many in Nibelheim that winter. They had been doubtful, demanded blood samples that Ms. Strife gave easily, then packed up and left when they couldn’t find whatever they were looking for, but not before promising they would be back for more questions at a later date.

“Sounds awful, Ms.Stife,” Tifa said empathically.

Ms. Strife leaned her chin into her hand. “Wish I knew what that boy was thinkin’,” she sighed, “All he wanted was to be a SOLDIER, what’s he doin’ runnin’ off and causin’ all this trouble?”

Tifa remembered what she had witnessed outside the mansion, inside of the Reactor, the look on Cloud’s face and Zack’s too. 

“Whatever it is, it’s important,” she said.

Ms. Stife’s eyes had flicked to her then, sharpening past their tired haziness. “Yeah?” she asked, leading.

Tifa bit her lip. Though, as much as the SOLDIERS and Shinra had wanted to keep all this a secret, Ms. Strife deserved to know. Not to mention, it might keep her from tanning Cloud’s hide for all his trouble, later. 

“I don’t know much,” Tifa said before Ms. Strife could get too excited, “But Shinra’s doin’ stuff… terrible stuff. There was something awful in the reactor… I think Cloud destroyed it. And there might’ve been even more in the mansion that he burned down.”

“Something awful…” Ms. Strife whispered. Her eyes had gone distant, brow furrowed in barely hidden grief. “Don’t know about the reactor. It’s been too dangerous to get close for a long while. But that mansion was no doubt full of atrocities. It’s not somethin’ many livin’ here today talk about, or even know, but… How would Cloud know? I certainly didn’t tell him.”

“Maybe he found out about it at Shinra?” Tifa surmised. It made sense. He joined the military, did a bit of snooping or heard through the grapevine, and then came back to save his hometown and get revenge on Shinra.

Ms. Strife tapped her fingers against the aged wood of the table. “Well, whatever the reason. I wasn’t planning to be around should they come lookin’ for more answers,” she admitted, “I wanted to make sure you weren’t wrapped up in all this, but it looks like you might be.” She bit her lip in thought.

“You’re gonna leave?” Tifa asked. She couldn’t quite help the disappointment. Everyone kept leaving. Not that Ms, Strife had much of a choice, but it still made Tifa’s heart heavy.

“Was gonna,” Ms. Strife clarified, “Don’t feel right leavin’ you here on your own, especially with how wrapped up in this you’ve gotten. Tangled, if I’m guessin’ right. It’ll only be a matter of time before they wise up if they don’t have me as a distraction.”

Tifa’s heavy heart had dropped farther, weighed down by guilt. It wasn’t fair to leave Ms. Strife to struggle with Shinra all on her own.  It wasn’t right, now that Tifa knew what she knew about the Company. Despite the anxiety beginning to curl in her gut, and her own reluctance, she blurted, “Why don’t we leave together?”

Ms. Strife looked up. Tifa would never forget the look of surprise on her face, as if she couldn’t fathom Tifa wanting to leave. She was right, Tifa didn’t want to. Nibelheim was small, a dead-end reactor town in the middle of nowhere, but it was her home. Though it soon wouldn’t be if Shinra kept coming in and out, harassing townsfolk and overturning every rock in their desperate search.

She had always felt so helpless too. Even after starting martial arts lessons with Zangan, she still felt as if she were always waiting for someone to come and help her, to save her from falling to her death, save her cat from the mountains, save her from the loneliness she felt. 

She wanted to change that. She wanted to be the one who helped for once. And, she owed it to Cloud and Ms. Strife, didn’t she? They had always been there for her, even after her father had ostracized them.

“Let’s leave,” Tifa repeated. The rock of anxiety in her gut started to dissolve into fluttering, like butterflies.

“Hang on now, your pa would be furious with you!” Ms. Strife pointed out in that motherly tone of hers.

“Dad’ll be angry at me just for being here,” Tifa responded flippantly. No doubt a town gossip had already reported her to him. “And I… I don’t care. I shouldn’t’ve cared from the start. He’s a dumb, bitter old man.”

“He is trying to keep you safe,” Ms. Strife said out firmly, “He’s lost a lot.”

“So have I,” Tifa said. She knew it wasn’t the same, but it felt that way. She lost her mother, her childhood friendship with Cloud, her confidence and her freedom, all so that her father could think he was keeping her safe. “I’m… I’m tired of sittin’ around here waitin’. Don’t get me wrong, I’m nervous about goin’, but I’m miserable stayin’.”

As she spoke, Ms. Strife sat straighter at the table. She watched Tifa for a long breath, eyes searching her face for something. “This somethin’ you want?” she asked, her voice leaving no room for a lie.

Tifa took a moment to think, to search inside, and while she knew she didn’t want to leave, she didn’t want to stay either. There was nothing here for her anymore with Cloud and all her friends gone to the city, Nibelheim’s dark past slowly coming to light and strangers of all types encroaching on their tiny community. Could she truly consider this a home anymore?

“Yes,” she said, and finds that it isn’t a lie. “Like I said, I’m tired of sittin’ around.” If she kept sitting and waiting, then she would be the only one left in Nibelheim one day.

“Don’t go taking heat for my sake,” Ms. Strife reminded her. Her usually soft blue eyes were sharp as they searched for a crack in Tifa’s convictions. “In the end, this is my son’s mess, I’m prepared to stay here and weather through it. Have to be, gods know that boy has been trouble from the moment he was born.”

Despite her words, there was a gentle, loving smile that curved her lips, warmth lingering in her eyes. She took a sip from her mug and the steam curled around her face. Her hands were no steadier, but her eyes were like steel when they landed back on Tifa. “No need for you to ruin everything you have here.”

Tifa returned the look with steel of her own. “What, exactly, do I have here?” she asked. It was a pure and simple, honest question. All of her friends had left, her mother was long dead, and her father would never see her as an adult, always as that stupid little girl that went searching for her mother in the mountains. 

What was she waiting for? For her childhood friend to come back and sweep her off her feet? Cloud had the weight of the world on his shoulders, she didn’t need to add to it. Besides, Tifa’s legs worked perfectly fine.

“I’m ready to go,” she said, her words ironclad, “When are we going? Tonight?”

She made to stand, but Ms. Strife snatched her wrist and directed her back into her seat. “I’m glad to see that fire in your eyes, dear, but we don’t wanna act hasty,” she said with a chuckle.

Tifa settled back in her seat. She could feel her cheeks burning. “W-well, we don’t exactly have a lotta’ time, yeah?” she stuttered through her embarrassment.

“Yes, but without some proper planning we’ll end up runnin’ back with our tails between our legs,” Ms. Strife said reasonably. “Or get dragged back. We’ve gotta be strategic about this.”

Tifa nodded. She watched Ms. Strife take another sip of her tea. There was something about her Tifa hadn’t seen before in the glint of her eye and the way her fingers curled around her cup. She fixed that glint like sunlight off a sharpened blade right at Tifa.

“If you’re sure, really sure, about this, then I want you to head home and get ready to go,” Ms. Strife said slowly, “I won’t be able to letcha’ know when it’s time to mosey, so you gotta be ready as soon as you see the sign.”

Tifa blinked, a thrill of nerves shooting through her. “Ah, but- but what’s the sign? If you can’t tell me, how will I know?“ She didn’t want to get left behind just because she was a touch too naive.

“As soon as you see those first few storm clouds building on the horizon, you’ll know it’s time to go,” Ms. Strife said sagely.

Tifa mulled that over for a moment. She leaned close, just in case someone was listening just outside the window, “Does that mean Cloud’s coming?” she whispered hopefully.

Ms. Strife snorted. “Ah, no, no,” she had said with a light chuckle, “Wasn’t lyin’ when I said I got no idea what that boy is planning, no. This ain’t no metaphor, darling. Real storm clouds, you know the ones I’m talking about.”

And of course, Tifa did. Nibelheim was gray most days, even in summer. The sky always looked fussy, like it was threatening rain, but a local knew when a real storm was blowing in. Tifa nodded, her face burning brightly crimson again. Ms. Strife nodded back with a fond smile, the glint in her eye softening into something warm.

“Then it’s settled. When you feel that storm blowing in, you grab your things and you meet me by the water tower,” Ms. Strife said, “And only if you’re really sure. We might not be coming back for a long while.”

Tifa left Ms. Strife’s house through her back door, walked into the trees lining the edge of town and circled back around to walk through the market as it closed up. No one was the wiser to their secret meeting. Tifa’s father was pleased when she came back home on time that night, even more so when she spent the whole evening with him. If she left, then he would be the one alone. Could she do that to him?

Each day dragged as Tifa waited for the tell-tale approach of the fat, angry, gray clouds that meant rain. A week passed with nothing but a light sprinkling of rain and a haze of fog through the trees. And as the fog blew away with the cool summer breeze, in came a girl off the mountain path.

Tifa was suspicious, at first. Everyone from Nibelheim was with everyone who wasn’t. If someone made the climb up to Nibelheim in the dead-end of nowhere, they were almost certainly up to no good. While this girl was certainly up to no good, Tifa and many of the other villagers found it to be the reasonable kind of no good.

She was about Tifa’s age, not at all dressed for the mountain weather or the rough mountain climb and showing it. Her knees under her dirty sundress were scuffed and her warm red hair was lank with sweat. She was from Costa del Sol, used to sunny days and city conveniences, but she had no choice but to flee as far as she could. She had broken it off with a fiance who didn’t understand the meaning of ‘no,’ and hoped a city boy like that wouldn’t even know what Nibelheim was, let alone that she would have run there.

Alba may have been an outsider, but she was young and her story tugged at more than a few of the older ladies’ heart-strings. When she looked pleadingly at Tifa and her father, Tifa knew she would be welcomed right away. Her eyes were almost exactly the color of Tifa’s mother’s, perhaps just a shade off.

Tifa saw an opportunity in her. She wanted to become a part of the community. She wanted to be protected. She wanted to stay. Tifa immediately invited her to their house for dinner that night, and for the few nights after, and she could see the way her father looked at Alba like she was a second daughter at the end of the third night. She was meek and sweet, naive and obedient, everything Tifa’s father wished Tifa would be. It seemed almost too good to be true.

Though there was the distinct sting of bitterness in Tifa’s heart that assured her it was all reality. Alba could easily take her place as Tifa’s father’s beloved daughter. It was convenient as much as much as it hurt.

Less than a week after that wonderful, terrible realization, the first storm of the summer rolled in over the mountains. Zangen spotted the stormy gray clouds crowding in first and called an end to their session. As Tifa meandered back home from the clearing they used for training, her heart fluttering with anticipation and nerves, she met Alba among the trees. She was a little strange like that, often caught wandering the forests. Not that Tifa could blame her much. There was very little to do around Nibelheim other than wander the rocky, tree-lined paths.

“We should really head back,” Tifa had told the girl, “A storm’s rolling in. Seems like it’s gonna be a big one.”

Alba squinted at the sky doubtfully. “It always looks like that,” she said. The suspicion in her tone was telling. She likely thought Tifa was trying to send her away. Though that was the last thing she wanted to do. 

“You’ll learn to tell the difference,” Tifa assured her. She would have to if she didn’t want to be caught in downpours. It only took once or twice before the youngins were running back home just before the first big fat drops of rain hit the dirt. 

“Teach me how?” Alba had asked her. Tifa was more than happy to as they walked back to Alba’s room at the inn. Tifa did her best to describe the change in the clouds and the scent of the air that foretold rain, though judging by the look on her face, Alba would have to feel it a few times before she really got it.

Then, with the first rumbles of thunder, she left Alba to watch the storm from the window of her room at the inn. Tifa went home like she always did on nights like this, ate dinner as always, went to her room to prepare for bed as always, said goodnight to her father as she always did. Then when her father was snoring and the rain was coming down in bucket-fulls, she slipped out the front door and into the night.

It was easy to find Ms. Strife waiting at the water tower. She had a big, worn leather pack and the old shotgun from her mantel strapped to her hip. She had a leather cloak with fur lining on with the hood shielding her from the rain, and she offered a second one to Tifa as she approached. 

With their heads now covered by water resistant leather, Ms. Strife skillfully led Tifa down the path out of town, trudging through slippery mud and massive puddles. They walked until the trees started to grow close together, though their spare canopies of thin needles did nothing to shield them from the rain, and then, she took them sharply off the path and into the thick of them.

Tifa could practically feel it when they left the borders of Nibelheim and entered the wilderness proper. The underbrush grew lush and thick and the leaves on the trees became crowded enough that the downpour was reduced to a few spare drops pattering in between them. It was nearly pitch black between the canopy and cloud-cover, but Ms. Strife withdrew a heavy flashlight from her pack and wound the crank by the handle until is sputtered to life, nearly blindingly bright.

The forest was quiet around them and Ms. Strife didn’t break it as she navigated between the trees. Still, curiosity ate at Tifa, and she couldn’t help her questions.

“How do you know where to go?” she whispered. Ms. Strife looked back at Tifa with a smile tinged a little with sadness as she brushed the shotgun at her hip.

“Back before the reactor, when monsters were killable by a regular man, Strifes were hunters,” she said, “They had to know the mountain as well as any of the monsters they were hunting, better even. Cloud’s grandpa was killed by a mutated dragon and that put a stop to the family business, but not before passing on what he knew to me. Can’t take down a dragon, mind you, but I can get us off the mountain easy enough.”

Tifa nodded. She hadn’t heard anything about that from Cloud or her father. She figured Cloud knew the mountain so well from wandering it as a loner. Though it made sense when she thought about it. Cloud’s wilderness survival skills were strong even when he was small.

They kept walking. Ms. Strife seemed to have a paranormal sense for whenever Tifa was about to trip over a tree root or her own feet, catching her before she could roll her ankle. Eventually, the rain slowed to a gentle patter, then to a complete stop. Ms. Strife cursed softly under her breath.

“Better hope that’s enough to keep them off our trail,” she muttered, “There’ll likely be another before they can make it back up the mountain anyway.”

“Where are we going?” Tifa mused. Despite the lack of rain, the thick forest around them remained dark. She didn’t know what time it was or even how far they had made it.

Ms. Strife shrugged. “Can’t say I know,” she said, a little sheepish, “The last time I was outta’ Nibelheim I was younger than you. I reckon the world is much different now.” 

She glanced back at Tifa, no doubt catching the hesitancy on her face. Tifa couldn’t exactly help it. Leaving Nibelheim was one thing, having no destination was entirely another. “Don’t worry,” Ms. Strife said with a comforting smile, “I have plenty of rations for us, and if we run out, Grandpa Strife wasn’t the only one in the house with good aim.” She pats the shotgun. “We’ll walk until we find a town, and then we’ll lay low.”

“And then… what?” Tifa questioned. It was all starting to sink in. The gaping expanse that freedom brought with it painted in clear, bold strokes before her and she feared she might drown in it.

Ms. Strife eyed her, then. Her cool confidence melted away just enough to reveal her own insecure center. "I don't know," she admitted, though it held sympathy in it, “That’s the thing about leaving home. You don’t know where you’ll end up.”

The silence stretched. Ms. Strife watched Tifa closely. “It ain’t too late to head back. We could say we got lost in the rain,” she suggested.

Though she tried to hide it, Tifa could see the way Ms. Strife’s hands tightened into fists beneath her cloak, the bob of her throat when she swallowed nervously. Tifa shook her head in one sharp motion. “No,” she said. Turning back would be giving up, would be proving that she couldn’t get away from Nibelheim no matter how she tried. And what would become of Ms. Strife? “No, we keep going. Like you said, this is all part of leavin’ home. I ain’t givin’ up.”

“Eventually, you won’t have an option to turn back,” Ms. Strife pointed out, level. Her eyes were on Tifa again, speculative. “There won’t be any givin’ up after that, and I can’t tell you when that’ll be.”

“Good,” Tifa said, “Let’s keep going. Unless you’re lookin’ to turn tail?”

Ms. Strife snorted. “‘Course not. I’m a Strife,” she said with pride, “Ain’t a single Strife who’s said no to a challenge.” She stomped her boots into a puddle definitively. “Let’s go see what’s waiting for us out there in the outside world.”

The outside world turns out to be hot and dusty, much to Tifa's displeasure. They quickly trade out Mt. Nibel’s frigid, fussy climate for a steadier blue and sunny sky, but the trade off comes with the consistent assault of heat from the unfiltered sun. It had briefly been worth it for the golden, grassy fields stretched out endlessly in every direction, but that had been a few days ago and now they had reached the eastern horizon and the grass gradually thinned into dirt, and the dirt got lighter and lighter, as parched as Tifa became with it clogging her throat.

Ms. Strife takes the change with very little comment. She wordlessly removes her cloak and swings it over her pack, pushing her sweaty blonde bangs away from her face. Tifa can’t quite keep her complaints to herself as she trudges along behind her. Luckily, Ms. Strife only seems to find it funny. 

“A mountain girl, through and through,” she comments, even as she swipes sweat from her brow.

Tifa rolls her eyes. “How is it even possible to be this hot? I’m soaked through with sweat and it ain’t doin’ nothin’!“ she groans.

“I hear it gets hotter down south,” Ms. Strife says conversationally.

Tifa refuses to even entertain that thought. “There ain't no way anyone actually lives there,” she grumbles.

“Well, most don’t, that’s true,” she says, “Small town, if I remember right. It was bigger than Nibelheim, though.” Then she points ahead of them, drawing Tifa’s gaze away from her dusty boots to the town sprouting up out of the dust and rocks like a fleet of worn wooden cactuar. “Lucky for us, Seems there are some crazies out this direction too.”

It’s a small town, about the size of Nibelheim or smaller, each building made out of wind-beaten wood and sand-blasted metal. As they approach, Ms. Strife unlatches the shotgun from the holster at her side and slides it between her back and her pack, careful to throw her cloak over it. At Tifa’s curious look, she smiles. “A coupla’ girls travelin’ alone is weird enough, add a gun into the mix and we’re that much more memorable.”

As they enter the town, Tifa can make out a few people sitting on buildings' porches, taking shelter in the shade. A few people mill about the center of town, pulling or pushing carts piled high with stone, crates or plastic drums. Just before crossing the invisible border marking the desert and the town, she sees a sign. The paint is faded and chipped by time, but Tifa can make out the word engraved on it. “Corel, mining capital of the world.”

No one greets them as they enter the town. Though some people stare and whisper to themselves at the sight of them, it is not the curious gathering of every person in town that it would be in Nibelheim. Considering they aren’t on a dead-end path on the top of a mountain, visitors are probably a more common occurrence for them. Still, though they may get their fair share of visitors, it looks like they don’t have many of them stay for long. Many of the buildings are vacant, Tifa notices as they pass by, with boarded up windows. Many businesses with their pretty, painted signs are locked up tight, their interiors dark and their welcome mats dusty.

She follows Ms. Strife’s lead, fighting the urge to curl over herself. The stares aren't many, but they are relentless. Ms. Strife looks to all the world, completely unbothered. Tifa knows she knows people are staring, but she pays them no mind as she marches towards a building called the Crackling Coal Inn as if she had been here a thousand times before.

She pushes through the inn’s double-doors with a chipper, “Howdy!” To accompany the tinkling bell that welcomes them in.

It looks like a lot of people have retreated indoors to escape the heat as well. It isn’t exactly bustling, but it’s more people than Tifa would expect mulling about an inn in a place just shy of being a ghost town. Two people sit at a table playing a game of cards. Another is reclined in a chair, with his head tipped back, likely asleep. Then at the front desk, a large, burly man leans against it, previously caught in conversation before Ms. Strife’s call pulled them out of it. They look like locals, though, with their sturdy clothing and boots caked with dust. Tifa cannot help the way that her eyes linger on the burly man by the counter. His arm ends abruptly at the elbow, and a shiny silver drill takes the place of a forearm and hand. The scars wrapping up the limb and under his sleeve are healed, though they are freshly pink, raised and shiny.

He looks back and squints at them, his gaze immediately landing on Ms. Strife. The woman behind the counter who had been speaking to the bigger man, bustles out from behind it. “Welcome to Corel’s Crackling Coals!” she says. Her tone is boisterous, but her voice is anything, but; wispy and hoarse. “How can I help you?”

Oblivious to Tifa’s continued staring, the burly man continues to squint at Ms. Strife with an odd tilt to his mouth. Ms. Strife either doesn’t notice, or pays no mind as she warmly greets the other woman. She is rail thin, a fact not at all hidden by her cheery yellow dress. Her naturally curly hair pulled back by an equally sunny, sky-blue bandana. Though all the bright colors only serve to draw attention to how much her skin is paled by illness. Still, the smile she fixes on Ms. Strife is bright and kind, despite the odd look the man at her counter is giving them.

“We’re just passing through, hoping to get a room for the night… and a bath,” Ms. Strife explains. Tifa tunes out the price of the room and amenities as she watches the man push off from the counter and saunter over. He comes to stand behind the innkeeper, positively towering. His expression is not aggressive, but it still far too focused on Ms. Strife for Tifa’s liking.

“Great, let me just get you your keys and show you to your rooms,” the woman says cheerily, “It’s been a long time since we’ve had anyone pass throu-“ She pauses as the man’s massive hand lands on her shoulder.

“How ‘bout I take them up?” he suggests. His voice is rough, but gentle, and the look he gives the woman is impossibly warm. “You’ve been on your feet all day, go take a break.”

Despite her generally frail appearance, the woman still puffs up at him, hands landing firmly on her hips. “On my feet all day doin’ nothin’! I can climb some stairs, Barret,” she says.

Barret immediately lifts his hand in a placating gesture, his other arm lifting to follow the motion. Despite his massive size, he still manages to look small with his shoulders hunching towards his ears and the meek way he regards the innkeeper. “Alright,  alright,” he allows. Then he huffs through his nose, his gaze subtly flicking to Ms. Strife again, then to the woman. “Maybe it's for my sake, huh? You’re not the only one who’s been standin’ around with nothin’ to do.” The last bit of it comes out with a hint of bitterness that immediately softens the woman’s tense shoulders.

She lets loose a heavy sigh. “Aw, hon.” She looks back at Ms. Strife and Tifa, then back up to Barret.

“I’ll say, I don’t much mind who leads us up the stairs, so long as there is a bed and a bath somewhere up there,” Ms. Strife says with good humor, effortlessly cutting the melancholy tension between the pair.

The woman sighs again, Barret smiles at her, raising his eyebrows. “Alright, fine,” she acquiesces, “But you better not scare them away!” She warns, before dodging around his attempt at scooping her into a hug and ducking behind the counter.

“Looks like I’ll be your escort, madams,” Barret says with a nod and a theatrical little bow, clearly more for the innkeeper than for Tifa or Ms. Strife judging by the way she huffs and rolls her eyes. 

They swing by the counter and Ms. Strife pays, and Tifa’s heart drops at the exchange of gil. She didn’t have much, but she had brought the allowance she saved with her, and she hadn’t even offered. Did Ms. Strife even have that much to spare?

Though the money is exchanged painlessly, without a blink from Ms. Strife. The keys are handed over, but not before the woman seriously informs Barret about the correct room number and to not  ‘lead the guests into the storage closet again.’ 

Barret laughs it off, though as he climbs the steps Tifa hears him mutter, “It was one time. I figured it out eventually…”

Luckily, the room he leads them to is not a storage closet, but a quaint room with two twin beds, a bit dusty, but smelling of clean linens. Unluckily, he idles near the door as they let themselves inside, still eyeing Ms. Strife like he has something to say.

Ms. Strife swings her pack off her back and lets it thunk heavily onto the floor, leaving the shotgun strapped to her back. Barret’s gaze is finally drawn to something other than Ms. Strife’s face as the light from the window glints off the barrel. “Alright, I’ve been catchin’ that stare and I know it ain’t my looks judgin’ by how head over heels you are for that woman downstairs, so what is it?” Ms. Strife demands, her cheery expression dropping into something stormier than Tifa has ever seen.

Barret blinks, then bites his lip. He brings his hand up where Ms. Strife can see it, fist open to show he is unarmed. “Okay. This is a long shot, but you’re the spitting image of him, so I gotta ask, you know anyone that goes by Trouble?” he asks. He looks rather apologetic, though equally eager as he slightly leans past the doorway. 

Is that code? Hunter code? Tifa looks between both Barret and Ms. Strife. There does not appear to be any exchange of information occurring, just Ms. Strife looking scarily angry while Barret does his best to look meek and nonthreatening at two meters tall.

“Can’t say that I do,” Ms. Strife says eventually.

Barret’s face crumples. “You sure? He said it was a nickname, but….” He takes a moment to think, leaning against the door frame now. “He’s blonde, about this tall,” he gestures a little lower than chest level. “Spiky hair, blue eye, from Nibelheim, at least he said so, bad attitude… uh… he’s got your nose?”

Ms. Strife blinks, and for a brief moment her expression breaks into surprise, before settling back onto aggressive. It’s enough, though. 

“I knew it!” Barret cheers.

“You don’t know nothin’,” Ms. Strife growls, reaching for her shotgun, "And if you know what's good for you, you'll say nothin'!"

Barret is straight backed again in an instant, raising his hand and shoving his drill behind his back. “You’ve got the wrong idea,” he says. He pushes a breath out noisily through his lips. “I just… me and some of the other miners in town owe that kid our lives. He left before we could thank him properly.”

Ms. Strife’s hand inches away from the shotgun. Barret relaxes a bit.  “Was wondering if he ever made it back to Nibelheim. He seemed capable, but reckless… a little weird in the head too. He’s got us all worried, to be honest,” he says, sheepish.

“Yeah, Cloud has that effect on people,” Ms. Strife says, “‘Trouble,’ huh? Not wrong.”

Barret bites his lip, clearly holding back a snort. He tilts his head with a question, Ms. Strife obliges with an answer. “Yeah, he rolled through Nibelheim and left just as quick. Didn’t even say hello.”

Barret’s face sours. “Hell no! He didn’t even say hi to his mama?!” Tifa jumps at the volume, but Ms. Strife seems to bask in the validation. “What a brat! Going all the way home, and for what?”

“Apparently to burn down a building,” Ms. Strife says conversationally. The shotgun makes its way to the bed, completely forgotten by Ms. Strife as she hangs her cloak on the coat hook by the door. 

Barret huffs. “Time to do that, but no time to be decent? Sounds like him somehow.” He crosses his arms, pulling himself back on topic. “Guess that means I can’t ask you to pass along a ‘thank you?’”

“If I see him, sure,” Ms. Strife says, “After I give him an earful for this whole thing.” She returns to the bed and settles down on it with a heavy sigh. “Though our goal right now is not to find him, just to lay low.”

Tifa finally follows her lead, setting her bag down and pulling off her cloak. Barret eyes them both, pensive, as he thinks.

“Layin’ low, huh?” he echoes, “Anything we can do to help with that. Troub- er, Cloud might’ve been stirring a lot of trouble up elsewhere, but he helped us out of a tight spot. The townsfolk are itching to do something to return the favor.”

Ms. Strife at least looks to be considering it, eyes sweeping over Barret before looking out the window at the rest of the dust beaten town. “Just the hospitality is enough,” she says, “And if any military folks or strangers come by asking for me or my son, maybe pretend like you never saw us.”

Barret nods. “That goes without saying,” he mutters. “I’ll ask Myrna to refund the room for yo-”

“Why?” Ms. Strife says curtly, “Asking you to look the other way is plenty thank you.”

Barret blinks. “Hardly. ‘Course we won’t tell anybody you’re here, same for Cloud. That’s just common sense and common decency.” He scrunches his face up, like he has been dealt a grave insult. “No, we here in Corel do things right.”

Ms. Strife’s gaze sharpens and she stands. “Do you know the types of people I am askin’ you to lie to?” she asks, “If anything, you should be chargin’ me extra for your silence. I will accept your reasonably priced room and a promise that you won’t be runnin’ off and tattlin' the first chance you get.”

Ms. Strife’s tone leaves no room for argument. Barret crosses his arms, clearly displeased and Ms. Strife easily ignores him. Tifa stands awkwardly between the two.

“At least let us cook you dinner,” he finally settles upon, after a bit longer deliberating.

“Now that is just common sense and common decency,” Ms. Strife replies.