Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The hospital room is quiet; the steady soft beeping of the heart monitor and the occasional sound of one Genesis Rhapsodos turning the pages of his current reading filling the silence. The faint murmur of people going about their business filters through the wall and under the door, but it only contributes to the almost peaceful feeling of the space. One would think the SOLDIER 1st would be reading his dear LOVELESS to pass time on his vigil, but the mystery the preliminary, Turk-delivered report presents is more than enough to keep him occupied.

He casts a look towards one part of said mystery: the currently-unconscious blond man recovering from grievous injury laid out in the only bed in the room. A few bandages are still affixed to his face, covering the worst of the burns from the open air. The rest of his still-healing injuries are hidden beneath blankets and bandages, giving the appearance of an otherwise healthy and in-shape young man. Genesis shifts in his seat, switching his crossed legs and drags his eyes back to the report in front of him.

The initial explosion had destroyed the bottom floors of an apartment building in sector 1. According to bystander reports, there was no warning, nothing to indicate that something was off until the blast went off and sent debris flying into the streets. The building then came down, doing a fine job at taking down the two neighboring ones as well, and that is where the reports started to get messy.

Reportedly, three figures pulled themselves from the rubble of the building, all wearing black, and then proceeded to try and kill each other, though exactly how is yet to be clear. Most security cameras in the vicinity were either destroyed or in the wrong position to capture any of the action, and the Turks were still working their way through all the footage in an attempt to see what actually happened. Eyewitnesses claim that one of the figures, apparently the blond man in the bed before him, initiated combat by launching himself at the other two in a leap only a SOLDIER could make and was met by one of them, the other content to hang back and fire his strange gun at his opponent in support of his apparent comrade.

The resulting battle laid waste to the street and did substantial damage to the surrounding buildings and produced a body count of over 100, which was still climbing as bodies continued to be dug out of the rubble. It also resulted in the deaths of the blond man’s opponents; the man engaging him with his fists falling to the oversized blade the blond wielded before his comrade was, too, taken down. It was only then that the swordsman collapsed. By the time medics arrived on the scene, he had lost a substantial amount of blood from numerous large wounds and he was rushed to the nearest hospital for immediate care.

Of course, because the Goddess forbid anything be simple in life, the destruction and homicide right in the middle of Midgar was only the tip of the iceberg. The mystery blond’s injuries were far more numerous than anticipated, the vast majority of them being slash and stab wounds from some sort of blade, though there were also burns of various types and severities, broken bones, heavy bruises, and a single gunshot wound. Most interesting, however, was that most of the wounds had already begun to heal by the time he arrived on the operating table and continued to do so at a rate on par with, if not faster than most SOLDIERs. The mako glow in his eyes and the high concentration of mako in his blood only cemented the conclusion that the man was enhanced.

And quite readily, I might add.

Genesis gives the man another once over. The majority of the bruises, burns, and scrapes on his face had already closed by the time he’d been moved into the recovery room, and most of his wounds on their way enough that the doctors decided against stitches, as they would most likely need to be removed before the day was out. They’d also been cautious to give him any blood, unsure if even their stock of SOLDIER blood would be compatible with his enhancements, so they’d settled on a saline drip to keep him hydrated mixed with a mild SOLDIER sedative to keep him under until the worst was healed.

Most interesting of all was that the identities of all three men were a complete mystery. The blond’s face wasn’t anywhere in the ShinRa system, and his bloodwork showed no matches to anyone in the company. Which was impossible, what with the mystery cocktail of processed mako that made SOLDIERs being a closely guarded company secret. And then there were his two opponents; silver-haired, dressed in black leather, and, if the packet of information he was reading was accurate, possessing mako green eyes with slit pupils.

Sephiroth, must you be involved in every interesting thing that happens these days?

Science, or, more specifically the greasy stain that is Professor Hojo, had been outraged when the bodies of the Sephiroth look-alikes had evaporated into black smoke before they could be “properly” examined and had demanded that the blond man be “provided” for further testing of his enhancements. Which then brings Genesis to his current position: keeping vigil over the man as he heals so that he can’t be “disappeared” before the Turks get their information out of him.

The Commander had volunteered for watch duty when it became apparent that he would be forced to do damage control in one form or another in the wake of the “incident”. No, keeping the science department away from the mystery man with the threat of firaga was much preferred to coordinating troops to help with clean up or, Goddess forbid, even more paperwork.

There’s a knock at the door and Genesis shifts his attention fully to the present listening carefully for any signs of unrest in the hallway. Finding none, he calls for whoever it is to enter, and carefully preps himself to cast should someone undesirable be attempting to intrude. The door opens to admit the assigned nurse and he allows himself to relax back into the chair.

“Any changes, Commander Rhapsodos?” the nurse asks, stepping in fully and closing the door behind him.

“None, I’m afraid. The wind sails over the water's surface.”

The nurse gives him a look, eyebrow raised, before turning to the patient. He sets his clipboard down and pulls on a pair of medical gloves before beginning to check the bandages and the wounds beneath, carefully unwrapping those he deems as ready to come off. Genesis watches his progress with narrowed eyes, smirking a bit as the man tenses under his heavy gaze. He moves quickly, removing all but the ones around the blond’s foot and chest. The nurse then turns to check the IV bags and makes a few notes on his clipboard before adjusting something on the almost-empty bag of sedative. He tosses a look over at Genesis and swallows.

“I’m, uh, I’m taking him off the sedative to start waking him up, if that’s okay with you?” he asks, shifting uneasily underneath the SOLDIER’s gaze.

“Of course, the quicker he wakes, the quicker we can start figuring all of this out.” He softens his eyes a bit and smirks at the other man.

The nurse gives him a small smile and makes a few more notes on his papers before picking his clipboard back up.

“His healing is fast enough that don’t have any pain killers prepped, but we can get them if he decides he wants them. He should wake up within thirty minutes, call someone if he doesn’t.”

At Genesis’s nod, the nurse lets himself out and he turns back to the report, leafing back through it to see if he missed anything about the man’s injuries. A report of this type would usually include pictures and x-rays of the sustained injuries, though it appears that the Turk who threw it together for his convenience hadn’t had the time to get their hands on any, to the Commander’s disappointment. He would have liked to try and figure out the nature of the blade that had made the cuts by what they had left behind, a skill he’d picked up by nature of his occupation over the years.

Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess.

It’s around 20 minutes later when the blond begins to stir, shifting in bed for the first time since he’d been moved into the room. Genesis glances up, taking a quick inventory, before he “returns” to his reading; he does have a reputation to keep, after all. The process is going just as expected when the man tenses, freezing in place. The heart monitor begins to beep faster and the redhead swears to himself.

“There is no hate, only joy, for you are beloved by the goddess,” he quotes. “Peace, stranger, you are in Wilkinson General, a military hospital in Sector 4. No harm will come to you while you are within these walls.”

The man flinches at the sudden sound before taking a few deep breaths. The beeping slows down back to a more healthy speed and some, but not all, of the tension goes out from his body. He turns his head towards Genesis and slowly opens his eyes, wincing at the sudden light. The SOLDIER 1st doesn’t react other than to shift in his seat again, content to watch the man over the top of his papers. The blond blinks a few times and clears his throat, coughing a little before speaking.

“Where…?” His voice is rough and dry, anything unique about it hidden underneath the ick that always accompanies these types of hospital stays.

“You’re in a hospital, as I’ve said. Usually, cases such as yours would be taken to the SOLDIER infirmary in the tower, but the Turks didn’t want you anywhere near Science until they get to ask their questions, so here we are.”

The man blinks a few more times, his brow furrowing. He shifts in his bed, trying to sit himself up more only to let out a low hiss of pain and press a hand against his chest.

“Ah, yes, I would advise against moving too much. Your injuries might be mostly healed by now, but that doesn’t mean you’re in any shape to go running out of here. My friend, the fates are cruel.”

The man lets out a heavy sigh, looking around the room before resting his gaze on Genesis. The Commander feels his eyes rake up and down his form but doesn’t allow himself to react other than to flip the page he long since stopped reading. It’s only when the eyes leave him that he closes the folder and sets it on the side table, allowing himself to give his full attention to the enigma. He’s running a hand through his frankly ridiculous hair and looking at the window, brow still furrowed but otherwise giving no indication of emotion. Genesis is about to break the now-uncomfortable silence when the man speaks again.

“Sector 4…?” he asks, his voice still raspy. He coughs and clears his throat once more.

Genesis sighs, reaching over to the side table to grab the waiting cup of water, and holds it out.

“Please drink something, my throat feels dry just hearing you speak.”

He waits until the man focuses on him and takes the offered water before continuing.

“Yes, Sector 4. There was technically a hospital closer in Sector 2, but that one was quite busy with all the civilians and, as such, couldn’t be secured to the degree that we were able to here.” He stops, then turns his head slightly to mutter “Goddess-damned, insane scientists.”

The man’s stare intensifies at the mention of scientists, but he doesn’t react otherwise. Genesis frowns. What did he have to do to get a reaction out of this man!

As bad as Sephiroth, I swear.

“You made quite the entrance, what with you and your friends leveling a building and tearing up the place. A shame no one was able to interfere before you killed them, now we’ll just have to put blame on you for the loss of life and property.”

The man tightens his grip on the now empty cup, crushing the plastic, and shakes his head.

“Not my fault we ended up in the middle of a city when we started away from civilians,” he says, voice smooth with a hint of an accent.

Genesis blinks at him and squints.

“Wherever did you start that you ended up in the heart of Sector 1?”

The man just stares back for a moment before his face slackens, his eyes widening. He breaks eye contact, looking up at the ceiling, his eyes darting back and forth in thought. Genesis settles back into his chair, content to wait for the blond to decide he was ready to speak again. He’s about to pick the report back up, simply for something to do when the man speaks again.

“Sector 4? Sector 1?” he mumbles, then turns to look at Genesis again, his gaze sharper than before. “Midgar?”

The Commander rolls his eyes. “Yes, in Midgar, where else?”

The man’s brow furrows again and he narrows his eyes slightly before continuing.

“You’re Genesis Rhapsodos.” It’s a statement more than a question, concise in a way he had yet to speak in.

“And so he finally recognizes me! There is no hate, only joy!” He smirks, throwing his arms out in either direction in his pleasure.

The man ignores his outburst, looking down at his hands now, setting them palms up in his lap as he mumbles to himself, too quiet for even Genesis’s enhanced hearing to pick up. The SOLDIER frowns at the dismissal and crosses his arms, throwing himself back into his seat.

“What’s today’s date?”

“What?”

The question is certainly an odd one, though not completely unexpected, what with him being unconscious for an extended period of time. It still catches Genesis off-guard, however.

“The date?” The blond’s tone is harsher now, a slight tremor in the words.

Genesis pulls his PHS out, flipping it open to check.

“June 12th, year zero,” he answers, turning the device around and showing the other man before closing it and slipping it back into his pocket.

The man stares at him for a few seconds, eyes searching as if evaluating the truth of the statement before letting out a heavy breath.

“Of course, of fucking course,” he says, the words almost cutting.

He presses his palms to his face, breathing heavily and letting out a frankly impressive string of creative curses before starting to laugh.

What the fuck?

The laughter picks up - a hysterical edge to it - and lasts long enough for it to start to turn to sobbing before the man lets it die off, breathing heavily. Genesis just watches, wide-eyed, waiting to see if he’ll get to watch a man go insane right in front of him.

“Always something, huh? Can’t get a moment of peace, no sir. Odin forbid my luck actually working in my favor for once!”

The man jerks a little, looking back at Genesis as if remembering he’s not alone in the room. There’s a wild look to his eyes, the mako glow pronounced with his heightened emotions, and he scans him up and down again. The Commander shifts, not quite sure how to handle what is looking like some kind of existential breakdown.

“Sorry, just, lamenting my life is all,” the blond says, turning his eyes back to the ceiling. “What’d you do to get stuck on babysitting duty?”

Genesis blinks at the question, processing it before he bristles.

“I didn’t do anything,” he answers, tone sharp, “I just prefer not to be wasting my valuable time directing grunts or filling out paperwork when I could be unraveling the core of the mystery on hand and sticking it to the science department at the same time.”

The man lets out a laugh, still strained, but seemingly more genuine than before.

“I hear ya there.”

The two allow quiet to fill the room once more, the man fidgeting with his blanket slightly as he stares up at the ceiling and Genesis picking the folder back up to go back over it again. A few minutes pass before the redhead poses another question.

“What should I be calling you?” he asks, conversational.

“Hmm?” the man hums in question and turns his head to look at the Commander.

“I’ve been referring to you as ‘the blond’ in my head since I got here and that cannot stand.”

Said blond chuckles a bit before heaving out a breath.

“Strife.”

Genesis blinks.

“Pardon?”

“My name. It’s Strife.”

-_-_-_-

“What do you mean I’ve been called back?”

If Sephiroth had to put a name to what he was feeling right now, it was somewhere between decidedly unhappy and outright furious. The past month had been spent trying to secure the small Wutainese village as a staging point for the next leg of ShinRa’s campaign while fighting a very effective group of guerilla fighters every step of the way. He hasn’t slept in over two days, eaten since the previous night, and is splattered with mud, gore, and Shiva knows what else. But he was successful. He was looking forward to sitting down, finally getting clean, eating something more than a ration bar, and passing out after leaving his men in the hands of his lieutenants. And now, Angeal is on the line telling him to get on the first available ship back.

“I mean, something’s happened here and you’re needed.”

Sephiroth growls into the radio, fist clenching so hard around the plastic it gives a creak of protest.

“What could possibly have happened that the President needs me back in Midgar? Both you and Genesis are there, surely you can handle whatever it is.”

Angeal sighs, the sound crackling through the radio and Sephiroth knows his friend is running his hand through his hair.

“That’s what we’ve both said, Seph. But the Turks are insisting-”

“The Turks!”

Sephiroth scoffs, turning his glare at the tech sitting on the table in front of him. He notices the communications officer taking a few steps away from his post by the transceiver out of the corner of his eye.

“We just managed to clear the village of guerillas an hour ago. I’ve been on my feet for ten hours, haven’t slept-”

“I know, Seph.”

“- in fifty six, haven’t eaten anything more than a ration bar in seventy two-”

“There was an attack in the middle of Midgar, Sephiroth!”

That gave the SOLDIER a pause. It’s been a very long time since anyone tried to attack Midgar directly, especially with two of the SOLDIER Commanders in the city.

“I’m confident in your abilities to handle the attackers, Angeal. I don’t need-”

“The explosion leveled an apartment building. They’re still counting casualties, but it’s two-hundred and counting.”

“I still don’t see-”

“There were three men involved, all of them clearly enhanced in some way.”

Sephiroth sighs, running a dirty, gloved hand down the side of his face.

“So, they think Wutai managed to make their own SOLDIERs? And they’re nervous about another attack? Is that it? Would it not make more sense to keep me here in case they deploy them against our troops?”

It wasn’t his fault that Science couldn’t keep its secrets from the enemy, besides the fact that the attack would put the whole city on alert for spies and infiltrators. No, his place was here where he could keep his men alive and take the heat off of them.

“Not exactly…” Angeal sounded almost hesitant now.

“So, what are they worried about? What is so Gaia-damned important that-”

“Two of the attackers looked like you, Seph.”

What?

“I, I’m sorry. What did you just say?” His voice was cold now, expression shutting down as he locked his anger and frustration into the box in his head so he could focus.

“I, I don’t have all the details yet. I’ve been directing people all afternoon to try and keep the response ordered. But, there were three men who pulled themselves out of the rubble right away. Two of them were wearing black leather and had silver hair. Some reports say they also had green, slitted eyes. The third man didn’t and he fought both of them, killed them in fact.”

“The third in custody now?” Despite his calm tone, Sephiroth’s thoughts were racing. Two men, two men who were like him. And now they were dead.

“Not exactly. He was heavily injured and collapsed shortly after finishing the other two off. He’s recovering in a military hospital now and the Turks will be questioning him as soon as they can.”

“Any identity on him? On the… others?”

“He’s not in the system anywhere. As for the other two…” Angeal trailed off again and Sephiroth could almost picture him uncomfortably shifting his weight in place.

“What about them?”

“Well, it’s nothing concrete right now, but…” The man takes a deep breath, audible through the radio. “I heard that their bodies, well, disappeared in transport.”

“What do you mean, ‘disappeared’?”

Sephiroth was angry again; angry and concerned and confused and all kinds of other emotions that he struggled to shove back in his mental box.

“I mean disappeared. I overheard some of the lab lackeys talking about how upset the Professor was that his new specimens literally evaporated into thin air.”

“‘Evaporated’?”

“Poof, into black smoke apparently. I don’t know how accurate the info is but-”

“I’ll come back.”

If there was a single chance in Ifrit’s hell that there could be someone else like him out there, if this mysterious third man could somehow lead him to them, well, there wasn’t really a choice to be made.

“Really?” Angeal sounds almost surprised, but he lets out a sigh of relief. “Okay, good. I’ll let them know to expect you. When can you leave?”

Sephiroth checks the clock hanging on the wall of the hut communications had taken over and runs the information in his head.

“There’s a few squadrons of troopers and some SOLDIERs headed back for leave at 0500 tomorrow. Nothing sooner.”

“Alright, I’ll let you go then. Get some sleep.”

His friend laughs and the radio goes silent. Sephiroth removes the device from his ear and sets it back down on the table, then takes a deep breath to settle himself.

“Commander?” the officer steps closer again, looking up at him with his brow furrowed in concern.

“Nothing to worry over, Major Stevens. Keep doing good work here and make sure that ship is cleared to leave at 0500 tomorrow.”

“Sir.”

The man salutes and Sephiroth takes his leave. He has eight hours to himself and he plans to use every minute.

-_-_-_-

Tseng enters the hospital room fully expecting to see Rhapsodos and the so-called “mystery man” at each other’s throats. Instead, the man is sitting propped up in his hospital bed, head down and staring at his relaxed hands as he completely ignores the redhead calmly flipping through the incomplete report at his bedside. The Turk clears his throat before entering fully and watches both sets of mako blue eyes snap up to watch him.

“I see you’re awake now,” he says, keeping his voice cool and detached.

The man audibly exhales in what could almost be a snort and goes back to looking at his hands. Rhapsodos, on the other hand, gives a dramatic sigh and flips the folder closed.

“Finally,” the SOLDIER remarks, standing up and stretching out his back in a single motion, “It’s been over an hour and I’ve been completely strapped of good entertainment.”

The blond must not be feeling particularly talkative, then. Tseng slides the information into his growing mental file on the man and steps further into the room.

“I’d like to talk to our guest now, Commander. If you would be so kind as to keep watch in the hallway; the last thing we need here are uninvited parties.”

Rhapsodos nods and leaves the room in a graceful sweep, closing the door softly behind him. The Turk grabs another chair from where it rests against the wall and pulls it closer - close enough to satisfy social expectations, but out of reach of the enigma in the bed - before sitting down in a smooth motion. He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a slim device. The blond, having looked up at the sound of the chair scraping against the floor, watches him set the piece of tech on the side table with a furrowed brow and cold, calculating eyes.

“I’m just here to ask some preliminary questions. This is a recorder to keep a record of the conversation, if that is acceptable to you.”

The device is already recording of course - has been since before Tseng entered the room - but he likes to ask; being open about his intentions usually helps ease more wary subjects. The man scoffs a bit, eyes hardening, but he nods.

“Okay.” Tseng makes a show of playing with the recorder and sets it back down. “Date of recording is the 12th of June, year zero. Location is room 314 in the Wilkinson General Military Hospital, Sector 4, Midgar.”

The man visibly flinches at the date, his hands gripping the blanket on his legs, but shows no other reaction.

Interesting.

“I am Tseng, of the Turks. Might I have something to call you?”

It takes a few seconds for the blond to answer, chewing on his bottom lip before apparently coming to a decision.

“Strife,” he answers, voice clear and cold and not at all sounding like he had multiple stab wounds and a bullet through the chest the day before.

“Is that an alias? A surname?”

Strife just shrugs. His eyes wander around the room a little before resettling on the Turk.

“Alright. Do you remember how you got here, Strife?”

The man scans his person, his face, and then makes full eye contact with him for the first time. Suddenly, Tseng feels like he’s staring down something more than just an injured man in a hospital bed. Strife’s eyes are the most vivid shade of blue he’s ever seen, the mako in them enhancing the natural color rather than smothering it and bringing attention to the slight ring of bright green around the pupils. They pin him into his seat, strip him down and unearth every piece of himself he tries to bury and make him feel small, weak, unworthy. And, just like that, Strife looks away, back down at his hands. Tseng is winded, feeling like he’s just run a marathon while fighting off a horde of monsters, but he collects himself quickly - he’s a Turk, damnit - and forces his body to relax back into his chair.

“Strife?”

The man answers more readily this time. “There was an explosion. I was thrown away, into the street.”

He shifts, glancing at the window again, but doesn’t show any other signs of discomfort. Tseng waits for him to continue.

“I was fighting… them, and then… I passed out?”

Strife now looks at him again, face still a cool mask that would make any Turk proud despite the obvious question in his voice.

“Yes. After you… dispatched your opponents, you collapsed. Some SOLDIERs that had arrived on scene called it in and a medical team arrived to move you here.”

The blond nodded, satisfied with the answer.

“Who were the men you were fighting?”

“Remnants.”

“Of what?”

Strife doesn’t answer, looking away towards the window. His whole body tenses slightly. They sit in silence for over a minute before Tseng decides to ask a different question.

“Why did you kill them?”

“They tried to kill me first. Would have gone off and done more killing if I’d let them go.”

That was interesting. Two men, reportedly looking very similar to a certain SOLDIER Commander, would have been dangers to society?

“Was that why they set off the bomb?”

Strife looks at him again, brow furrowed.

“Bomb?”

“Yes, the bomb that took down an occupied apartment building.”

The blond starts at that, jaw clenching and fists tightening in his lap as he looks away again.

“Not a bomb.” He stops, running his tongue quickly over his lips. “Materia. Don’t know what kind. Incompatible though, and overloading them didn’t help.” He laughs a little, a soft, dry, and wounded sound even as Tseng blinks in surprise. “Tried to take us all down together.”

The Turk’s thoughts were racing. What kind of men were they that they could overload materia? Could that even happen? How on Gaia did they survive the blast?

“Why would they do that in the middle of a metropolis?”

The blond shakes his head and does the same almost-snort from the beginning of their conversation.

“Weren’t in the middle of a damned city when they tried. I have no idea how the fuck we ended up here.”

Strife’s eyes widen a bit, some panic slipping through his mask before he shuts down again, whole body tense.

Didn’t mean to give that away? Hmmm.

Tseng considers the man for a few moments before deciding to change topics.

“Your weapon is very well made. Where did you acquire it?”

Another minute passes in silence.

“Where did you get your enhancements?”

More silence, not that the Turk thought the man would answer the question.

“Why did those men want to kill you?”

“...”

“How did you receive injuries from a bladed weapon when your opponents did not carry any?”

At that question, Strife turns back to him sharply, suddenly attentive.

“What do you mean?”

“You were fighting two men. One of them fought you hand to hand and the second was only armed with a gun blade. Neither could have given you the slashes and stab wounds present on your person when you were admitted.”

The man shakes his head.

“No, there were three men; there was another who was badly injured already. I saw him alive before I engaged the other two.”

Tseng feels his eyebrows raise slightly in surprise; there had been no word of a fourth combatant.

“The only bodies other than civilians pulled from the rubble were of the two men I mentioned. There was no sign of a third.”

Strife lets out a string of curses that reminds Tseng strongly of a certain foul-mouthed pilot.

“Should’a killed him when I had the chance. Damn bastard could be anywhere by now.”

“I take it the man will be a problem?”

The blond makes eye contact again, bearing his teeth and snarling as his anger radiates from him.

“The monster has no care for human life. He’s killed before and will do so again without hesitation for the smallest of reasons.”

Tseng can feel himself trying to back away against his will, his body pressing into the chair in an attempt to put distance between him and the predator in front of him.

“He’s a highly enhanced individual and he needs to die. I don’t care what the creeps in science say. You need a shoot on sight order out on him immediately. He cannot be allowed the chance to wreck more havoc. He-”

Strife cuts himself off, clenching his jaw and running a hand through his hair. He takes a deep breath, and, as he releases it, the sheer immensity of his presence goes with it. Tseng himself takes a few breaths of his own, the pressure on his chest having disappeared as well.

“I think that’s enough questions for today. I’m sure we will speak again soon, Strife.”

The Turk picks the recorder back up from the table and exits the room as quickly as he can without looking like he’s running. Genesis looks up from his position leaning against the opposite wall and raises an eyebrow.

“Remain out here on guard. I’ll have someone come and relieve you within the hour.”

He’s walking away before the Commander has the chance to argue, and manages to hold his composure all the way down to his car. He’s a bit jerkier getting in than he’d like and takes a few shaky breaths to get himself back under control before starting the vehicle. He has a report to give.

-_-_-_-

On a clifftop outside the city, a lone figure stands, silhouetted against the dusty backdrop. He’s hunched over slightly, pressing an arm to his right side, but standing enough to keep the sword sheath strapped to his back from dragging on the ground. His slitted, mako-green eyes take in the sight of a fully-restored Midgar, watching the smoke from the previous day's “incident” rise until it disappears into the green-tinted cloud cover. A breeze blows by, kicking up dust and causing the man’s silver hair to glint in the limited afternoon sun. A crazed smile splits his lips open.

“Brother, dear Brother! What a gift you’ve given me! A world with Big Brother still living, and not yet knowing of Mother’s love!” Kadaj laughs, his head tilted back to look into the sky. “Please, dear Brothers, wait for me. I have so much to show you.”

Chapter Text

Kunsel leans against the side of a building and lets out a long breath. He’s been down at the site of the explosion for sixteen of the last twenty-four hours trying to help dig through the rubble. There’s still people - infantry and medics and SOLDIERs alike - swarming all over the place, but it’s been two hours since he’s allowed himself to take a break, so the 3rd Class is content to lean against the wall and observe.

The small fires have long since burned themselves out, but the smell of smoke hangs heavy in the air along with dust and the faint tinge of blood and fear. It’s a familiar environment, despite the location of the tragedy being different, and Kunsel had to fight off flashes of forest, heavy humidity, and burning houses upon arriving on scene towards the end of the battle. He’d been the one to call the situation in through the official channels and brief Commander Hewley when the 1st arrived with a battalion of 2nds to take charge of the site.

So far, Kunsel has been able to avoid getting sent back to the tower to debrief by making himself useful, but it's only a matter of time. He takes a deep breath and pulls out his PHS, flipping it open to check the time. 17:30, the clock reads, and he heaves out another sigh as he replaces the device. It’s been half an hour since Commander Hewley took Zack and left to go who knows where and the site has calmed down significantly. He watches a squad of 3rds moving a large piece of building under the direction of 1st Class Bridge as a few infantry rush into the newly-opened pocket to grab the civilians trapped inside.

Kunsel looks back down at his hands and shakes his head, clearing away the cobwebs collecting there and pulls off his helmet. He runs a hand through his hair - damp and matted with sweat - and replaces the headgear, feeling a little better. His PHS vibrates in his pocket. Frowning, he pulls the device out and flips it open.

TO: [email protected]

FROM: [email protected]

SUBJECT: Debrief

3rd Class Freeman,

Please report to 1st Class Commander Rhapsodos in room 49-13N for debrief at 1800.

    -    SOLDIER Secratorial

Sighing, Kunsel closes his PHS and shoves off the wall; he’ll need to report to Lieutenant Connor before he heads back to the tower for debrief, so he needs to hurry if he wants to eat something and make it on time. He weaves through the organized chaos for a few minutes before locating the 1st in the largest medical tent. He’s yelling at a battered-looking 2nd who’s holding an ice pack to his head.

“Lieutenant?” he asks, saluting as he approaches.

“What?” the 1st shouts, whipping around to look down at Kunsel. Some of the frustration leaves him when he recognizes the 3rd.

“I’m being called in to debrief. Just wanted to report before I went back to the tower.”

The Lieutenant sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yes, Freeman, you’re free to go. Good work out here today.”

“Sir.” He nods and spins around, hearing the 1st resume his lecturing of the poor 2nd as he exits the tent.

Kunsel sets out towards the tower at an easy pace, skating around troops and civilians alike until he breaches the perimeter of the emergency zone, ducking under the yellow tape stretched across the road. As he walks, he starts going through his memories of the previous day, combing them for pertinent details and he thinks back to what he witnessed of the initial battle.

It was 16:03 when the initial explosion hit. I remember because I was walking past a shop in Sector 8 that sells clocks and that was the time they were showing when I heard and felt the explosion. I ran back to the tower because it’s faster and easier to get to other sectors through the middle than trying to run through the alleys. I spotted the smoke rising from Sector 1 and ran to get there.

When I arrived, civilians were running away and the air was thick with dust from the collapsed building, though I didn’t see it at the time. I pulled out my PHS and called it in as I helped some people who had fallen down, trying to get to the source of the commotion to better gauge the situation. I got on site just in time to witness the blond man get thrown through the wall of another building by the guy with the gauntlet-type weapon. He was laughing, saying something that I didn’t catch. I spotted the other one, the one with the gunblade, standing on top of a pile of rubble and watching his companion fight the other. Both of them looked a lot like Sephiroth, but had different haircuts and builds. I ducked into an alley to avoid getting seen and relayed what was happening down the line, describing the combatants’ appearances and the overall situation. The guy on the other end didn’t believe me when I said that two looked like the Commander, but I don’t remember what he said exactly because the blond launched himself out of the building and back into combat with the brute.

Kunsel dodges around a group of people, giving them the stink eye as they continue to wander around, unaware of their surroundings. He shakes his head and dives back into the memory.

I remember being in awe of the speed of their battle; they were mere flashes as they clashed too fast for me to track their every move. The blond wielded his buster blade as an extension of himself, and his motions reduced him to a blur. I remember thinking that they’d make for a hell of a show if they ever did an exhibition match. Then, the third launched himself into the fray, closer to the blond’s speed and he fired off shots so quickly the sounds blended together into one.

The fight got more savage then, all three of them started using every dirty trick they could. Spells started flying, scorching the rubble, sending sparks flying, and shaking the earth. That’s when the blond’s sword separated into two pieces, a whole chunk of the dull edge breaking off to reveal a second sword altogether. His motions blurred even further, and he sent the brute flying. The gunman disengaged, leaping back and he started laughing hysterically at the blond. I remember seeing the man throw himself forward to chase after his opponent. They exchanged a few more blows before the gunblade snapped under the weight of the larger sword. The gunman had tried to run, hopping back and calling out something to his companion (“Loss”, maybe?). He was too late though, and I watched the blond land a heavy blow that slashed diagonally across his torso.

The other man screamed out something else (was it “Yahoo”? No, that makes no sense, he had sounded furious and no one would shout “ya-hoo” when they’re that angry) and started yelling curses at the blond and trying his best to pound him into the dirt. He also started just firing high-level spells off into the surroundings, blasting more holes in buildings and starting more fires. I remember thinking that the brute must have lost his head, that his motions had lost all of their brutal grace from earlier. He was resorting to wild swings in hopes of landing a vicious hit on the blond.

I also remember spotting motion out of the corner of my eye and tearing my gaze away from the battle to look. I thought that a civilian could have gotten trapped and wanted to get them away before anything happened. I remember the shock at seeing another figure with silver hair and black clothing with a long, curved sword sheath strapped to their back. They were observing the battle with one arm pressed to their side. Their clothing had been torn and their hair in disarray. I remember them making eye contact with me from across the battlefield and smirking before vanishing into the city beyond without even throwing another look at the combatants.

I remember my attention being pulled back to the battle when the brute’s weapon discharged, sending up a cloud of debris and dust. I watched as nothing came out of the cloud and waited for it to settle. When it did, I saw the blond standing over the brute, panting as he held his re-combined sword to his chest. The brute coughed and said something to the other combatant that I couldn’t hear, and then I watched the blond tense and thrust his blade through the chest of the other man. I watched him wait until the brute died before pulling it back out and stepping back before collapsing to his knees and falling forward.

I rushed in, then, dialing the paramedics. I put the device on speaker when I reached him, setting it down and running through the first response checklist. He had several slices in his shirt - stab wounds underneath - and a few slash wounds on his arms. I remember thinking back to the third silver-haired man, the one with the blade. Next, I remember giving details to the dispatcher and getting confirmation that a team was on their way before I settled in to help stanch the worst of the bleeding.

I don’t know how much time passed, but I didn’t resist when the paramedics arrived and took over for me. I remember them reassuring me that I’d done all I could have and shuttling me over to the SOLDIER teams already on search and rescue for civilians to help them.

Kunsel pulls himself from his memories as he reaches the tower. He stops, sighing. He checks his PHS again and the digital clock reads 17:51; too late for him to go back to the compound for food, but not too late to grab something from the vending machine on the SOLDIER floor. He enters the tower lobby, smiling at the receptionist as he walks past and over to the elevators. He’s unaccosted as he gets in and gets the car to himself. The doors close and he takes a deep, settling breath before pushing the button for the 49th floor.

Well, best get this over with.

-_-_-_-

The knock on his office door breaks Veld from his musing and adds to the throbbing in his head. He heaves a barely-audible sigh before closing the report sitting open on his desk.

“Enter.”

Tseng obeys the command, brisk as he closes the door behind him and walks up to the desk, standing at attention.

“Sir, I’m here to give my report on the so-called ‘Mystery Man’.”

Veld resisted the urge to sigh and rubbed his brow. His head gave another throb.

“Proceed.”

Tseng nods as the Director pulls his notepad from the pile of stuff on his desk and digs around for the pen he just put down and has already managed to lose.

“As you know, at approximately 1600 yesterday, an explosion took out the bottom 3 floors of an apartment building in Sector 1, bringing it down along with most of the two neighboring buildings. Three figures pulled themselves from the rubble and engaged in armed combat, two of them bearing a striking resemblance to SOlDIER Commander Sephiroth and the third wielding a buster-style sword and wearing an outfit similar to that of a SOLDIER 1st. The battle did damage to the surrounding road and buildings and resulted in 257 civilian deaths, the death of the two silver-haired men, and left the third man unconscious and unresponsive. Upon arrival at the labs for autopsy, the two men’s bodies evaporated into black smoke.”

Veld nodded and made a few notes; all of this had been in the preliminary report from the day before.

“The surviving man was rushed to Wilkinson General Military Hospital in Sector 4 and operated on. Doctors found only a few injuries caused by the other two combatants; a few grazes, one through-and-through bullet wound, some severe bruises. All of these wounds had already begun healing, indicating a healing factor equal to if not greater than a SOLDIER 1st. His entire body was also littered with scrapes, presumably from the explosion and flying rubble, as well as sword wounds, the most prolific of them being the impalement wound in his chest going through his right lung.”

Tseng paused, clearing his throat as Veld made more notes on his pad. Sword wounds severe enough to put down a fighter of that man’s caliber with seemingly no source? Veld hoped Tseng had managed to wrangle answers out of him.

“Your interview?”

“I entered the hospital room at 16:45 to find SOLDIER Commander Rhapsodos going over the preliminary report that we had Reno give him and the suspect awake, sitting up in bed. I had already started the recorder - the contents of which will be submitted with my full written report - and proceeded to have Rhapsodos move outside to stand guard while I conversed with the suspect. He did not appear to be intimidated by my appearance. In fact, he seemed almost dismissive of me, but he agreed to the recording anyways. When I introduced myself, he gave me the name ‘Strife’ in return.”

Veld hummed in contemplation. “An alias? Surname?”

“Most likely an alias given that it turns up nothing in the database.”

The Director contemplated the strange name. It seemed oddly appropriate for someone who’s first major public appearance resulted in 257 civilian deaths and an estimated 300 million gil in damages.

“Continue.”

“He is clearly mako enhanced. Beyond his enhanced healing, his eyes also have 1st Class levels of shine. They are… unsettling to say the least.”

Tseng’s face twitched in what Veld identified as discomfort.

So Strife got to him. Interesting….

“He referred to his opponents as ‘Remnants’, though I was unable to get him to clarify what he meant by that. When questioned about his reasons for fighting them, he told me that they tried to kill him first and would have killed more civilians if he hadn’t stopped them. I asked about the bomb that caused the initial explosion and he claimed that there wasn’t a bomb. Cited ‘overloaded materia’ as the cause of the explosion. He also seemed disturbed when I mentioned the civilian casualties.”

Overloaded materia? Could materia even overload?

He wrote a reminder to check with the materia development team about that particular thread.

“He made a comment about the two trying to ‘take him down with them’, implying that they were the ones to fire the overloaded spell and cause the explosion in an effort to kill all three of them. I inquired more about their motives and he implied that the explosion was merely a side-effect of whatever spell the two tried to cast. Apparently, they started their encounter somewhere away from people and he did not know how he came to be in the city. He was frustrated when he realized he let that bit slip.”

Definitely need to contact the materia development team.

“I asked a few other questions of varying topics to which I received no answers for, before I inquired about the nature of his injuries. He seemed surprised when I mentioned that neither of his opponents wielded bladed weapons. Strife then told me that he had been fighting three men, implying that the third had a sword of some kind, and that the man was severely injured but had been alive after the explosion.”

Shit.

“I relayed the information that only the two bodies had been recovered from the rubble and Strife became… upset.”

Veld looked up from his notes in question.

“His cursing would do Reno proud, Sir.”

He let himself show a smirk at that, though he could feel his headache building in between his ears.

“Strife referred to the third man as a monster and claimed that he is a highly dangerous individual, enhanced and fully capable and willing to wreck large amounts of damage to both life and property. He was very impassioned about this and recommended that we put out a ‘kill on sight’ order on him. He was angry, utterly enraged at this other man and that he had managed to escape with his life to the point where I feel there must be a personal grudge in play.”

“So there’s some sort of connection that they share… interesting. I’ll have someone look into it.”

Tseng tilted his head in acknowledgment, then continued. “It was after that, that I brought the conversation to a close and left to come here, organizing a replacement for Rhapsodos on the way.”

“Just what we need right now…” Veld mumbled, giving in to his urge to sigh and rub at his temples.

Silence took the room, the sounds of the other Turks going about their business muffled by the soundproofing in the walls of his office.

“... Permission to speak freely, Sir?” Tseng was still standing at attention, though his shoulders were stiff with more than just discipline.

“Granted.”

“Strife, he… When he became angry at the end of our conversation, his presence was immense, on par with any of the Commanders, even Sephiroth. I… it felt like my chest was being crushed just sitting in that room and I wasn’t even the target of his anger. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

That was… not good. Not good at all. The force of will someone would have to have to exert it so fully was immense, even for a SOLDIER with Strife’s apparent level of enhancement.

“Who did you assign to take over for Rhapsodos?”

“Hewley and his protege, Sir. His presence was no longer needed at the site and I felt it was necessary for a 1st to preside over Strife. The extra person was advantageous as well.”

“Good, good,” he nodded, finishing his notes. “I want the full report with the audio component on my desk no later than 0800 tomorrow morning.”

“Sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Tseng saluted and turned to leave. Before he could close the door, Veld called out to him.

“And Tseng, keep tabs on this. I want eyes on Strife 24/7 until we’re forced to hand him over to science.”

His Second nodded and closed the door, leaving Veld alone with his thoughts and paperwork once again. He looked back over his notes with a heavy sigh. Pain spiked across his forehead and he checked his clock; still an hour before he could take more of his migraine meds.

“Fuck.”

-_-_-_-

Angeal stands in silence outside the so-called Strife’s hospital room. Usually, he’d be ecstatic, reveling in the quiet that marks the absence of his protege (not that he dislikes Zack - he wouldn’t have taken the teen on if he didn’t like him - but his eternal energy and inability to endure silence for any length of time gets grating after a while) but the situation at hand prevents him from enjoying himself.

Genesis had updated them upon their arrival; revealing the blond’s obtuse personality, his intimidation of the Turks’ Second, and his offered name, “Strife”. When Zack asked him to elaborate, the other 1st simply laughed, quoted Loveless at them, and left with a flourish. The Doctor had turned up not 15 minutes later to check in on Strife. Upon exiting the room, she reported that the man had healed the vast majority of the damage and would be cleared to leave the hospital before the day was out. She also explained that Strife had asked for his own clothing to be returned to him along with the request for the proper materials to mend them. An unusual request, but not unheard of, especially for warriors with personalized clothing as Strife seemed to have. So, Angeal had sent Zack off to fetch his sewing kit from his apartment, a new pair of boots (Strife’s had been absolutely ruined), and the blond’s clothing from the secure room where they’d been stashed.

It’s been almost 30 minutes since Zack left, and Angeal is starting to worry a bit. The hospital isn’t so far from the SOLDIER compound that it would take his mentee that long to run there and back, and dropping Angeal’s name at the supply station would be more than enough for him to procure a pair of boots. With the city in disarray, though, there’s no telling what the teen might have gotten into.

Angeal sighs and pulls out his PHS. No messages from Zack - as expected - but there are official updates about the situation, requests for his availability for media wrangling, texts from Genesis complaining about the amount of paperwork that’s amassed on his desk, and even a few messages from Sephiroth addressing the apparent slowness of his plane and his ETA. Apparently, the other Commander will be arriving back in Midgar in 3 hours and is very unhappy about it. Angeal lets out a chuckle at his friend’s “misfortune” and flips the device closed. It’s then that he hears feet pounding on the stairs down the hall. He tenses, listening closely to try and pick out details.

Definitely only one person. Heavy footfalls, so larger in stature with boots?

His musing is cut off when the door slams open and Zack gives a cry of triumph.

“Angeaaaaal! I made it!”

The 1st rolls his eyes and suppresses a smirk as he turns to look at his mentee. The teen books it down the hall towards him, a bundle of fabric clutched in his hands and the strap of a bag over his shoulder.

“Took you long enough.”

Zack huffs at him, scowling, but he brightens up again when he skids to a stop in front of his mentor. His right hand comes up in a snappy salute, though he’s forced to drop it when the bundle in his arms threatens to fall. Angeal snorts out a laugh and returns the salute.

“I assume you got everything?”

“Sir, yes sir, Angeal! It took a bit to convince the guy at the station to give me the boots. He wouldn’t believe me when I told him they weren’t for me! And then-”

“Zack, it’s fine. Thank you.”

The 2nd beams up at him, bouncing in place a couple of times.

“Now what? Ooh! Do I get to see him? Can I give him his things?”

Zack is visibly vibrating, squirming in excitement at the prospect of meeting Strife.

“I think it would be best if I did, Zack.” The teen’s face falls in a pout and Angeal continues quickly. “Not that I don’t think you’d be in danger or that you couldn’t handle it, of course. I just need to take responsibility as the ranking officer.”

Zack nods, still pouting a bit as he rocks back on his heels.

“But Angeaaaal, I just wanna say hi and ask him some questions! Like about his sword and-”

“No, Zack. You’re to remain out here on guard and make sure we aren’t disturbed.” He softened his face and voice now, reassuring. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to talk to him later. For now, make sure no science cronies try to jump us so I can ask a few questions of my own.”

His mentee beams up at him, satisfied for the moment.

“Can do!”

He maneuvers the bundle a bit so he can get the bag off his shoulder first, passing it to Angeal, before handing the bundle over.

“His clothes got rinsed at least, so most of the blood and dirt and stuff should be gone. I grabbed his shoulder guard and harness too, since I noticed the straps were looking worse for wear, hope that’s okay!”

The 1st is struck again by the teen’s thoughtfulness and gives him a full smile.

“That’s fine, Zack. Thank you. I’ll holler if we need anything, okay?”

Zack’s smile gets impossibly larger, showing all his teeth.

“I’ll hold down the fort, sir! Go find some stuff out!”

Angeal chuckles, securing the bundle under his arm, and knocks on the door a few times.

“Strife? Is it alright if I come in?”

He hears some shuffling from inside before the man grunts in what the 1st assumes is affirmation. He lets himself in, shutting the door behind him, and turns to fully examine the man for the first time. Strife is standing on the far side of the bed, arms crossed as he stares down Angeal with a stoic face. His hair is indeed somehow more gravity-defying than his pupil’s: blond and standing up in spiky disarray. He’s shorter than Angeal thought he would be, though he can’t tell his exact height from where he’s standing. The mako in his eyes is very clear, even with the distance separating them.

Gen wasn’t kidding; he’s got enough mako in him for a First at the very least.

He realizes he’s staring when the other’s eyes narrow and his stance takes a more aggressive edge.

“Sorry,” Angeal gives an apologetic smile. “My name is Angeal Hewley, SOLDIER 1st and Commander. I hear you go by Strife?”

He waits for a response, keeping his posture open and as non-threatening as he can. The blond nods and his face relaxes again, back into a calm blankness that reminds the 1st of a certain silver-haired man.

“I brought your clothing like you requested. And supplies to repair them with, of course. My mentee-”

“I heard.” Strife’s voice is deeper than he expected, calm without any real inflection.

Angeal blinks.

His enhancements, of course.

“Uh… Where do you want these?”

He holds the bundle out. Strife blinks, and he sighs, his body relaxing more fully.

“I can take them. I assume the bag is…?”

“My personal sewing and leatherworking kit. It’s more well-stocked than the standard-issue one.”

The blond tilts his head, eyes narrowing again as he scans the 1st’s full form, reevaluating something.

“Thank you,” he’s sincere, gratitude present in his voice where there was nothing but cold impassivity before as he steps forward to take the bundle. “You didn’t have to-”

“Please, it was nothing. Zack needed to get you new boots from the supply station anyways, so it was just a mild detour at best.”

“New boots?”

Strife places the bundle on the foot of the bed and unwraps it, spying the new pair of standard-issue SOLDIER boots with a pair of socks stuffed inside.

“Your other pair were, well, ruined. The structural integrity doesn’t hold up well when a sword has been put through the sole.”

The other man chuckles darkly and moves the boots to the floor, returning to the bundle. His eyes light up when he spots a pink ribbon laying out on top of the clothing, something coiled in him visibly loosening. He picks it up, rubbing his fingers over it in something resembling reverence before looping it around his left bicep and, in a practiced motion, tying it off. That finished, he looks back at the pile and picks up an article of clothing, starting to examine it. He rubs his fingers over the neat cuts in the fabric of the ribbed top, frowning and rubbing his chest over what was probably a matching wound not a day before. He picks up the harness next, examining where one of the straps has been partially severed before placing it down next to the pile of clothing. Strife goes to examine the next item and stops, blinking, before whipping around to look at Angeal.

“What. Are these supposed to be?”

He’s holding up a pair of boxers, white with yellow chocobos printed on them, and shakes them at the 1st. Angeal muffles a laugh behind his hand.

“I had nothing to do with those. I assume Zack took some liberties when I mentioned that you would need some new underwear.”

The man puts the offending item back on the bed, grumbling something too quiet for even Angeal’s enhanced hearing to pick up, and picks up his pants to look over next.

“Um, is it alright if I sit down?”

Strife looks back at him, eyes widening in realization and he looks around the room. He spots the abandoned chair on the front side of the bed and gestures to it.

“Uh, yeah. I can’t exactly stop you, so…”

Angeal frowns.

“I’m not going to force you to do anything you feel uncomfortable with, Strife. If you don’t want me here, then I can go stand outside again.”

He really would prefer to remain in the room while the man repairs his clothing, for the piece of mind that he’s not harming himself with the needles if anything, but also because he really does want to know more about the mysterious man. He won’t push it if Strife really doesn’t want him to hang around though; he’s been through a lot in the past couple days and deserves to reestablish as much control of his life as he can.

“No, it’s fine. I know you probably have questions.” Strife shakes his head and gestures to the chair again, resolved.

Angeal gives him a smile and moves to sit down in the chair. The other man resumes his examination of his clothing, finishing looking over the pants and picking up the shoulder guard. He gives it a good once over, examining the clean cut right under the guard at the front, and puts it down next to the harness. He briefly gives his gloves and the strange large piece of leather a look over before also moving them aside. His eyes track over the piles of belongings, his brow furrowing, before he turns a questioning look at the 1st.

“Where’s my sword? Or my materia, for that matter?”

“Well, I couldn’t justify re-arming you when you’re technically in custody right now.” Angeal tries to pour as much regret into his voice as he can. “The rest of your belongings are downstairs in the same secure room that your clothes were stashed in. I’m sure you’ll get it all back once this is all cleared up.”

Strife snorts, but looks resigned as he turns back to his task. Apparently satisfied with the presence and condition of his clothing, he opens the bag and begins pulling items out. The 1st settles in his seat, turning it slightly to face the other man.

“Thank you for letting me stay. As for questions, I know there are things you’re reluctant to talk about.” The man looks at him, eyes narrowing as his body tenses again. “And I’d like to avoid stumbling onto them if I can. So, do you think you could tell me what to avoid bringing up? Or, even something you feel comfortable talking about to start with?”

Strife blinks at him, shock clear on his face before he shutters his expression again. He looks down at his hands and fidgets with the container of leather polish he’d been in the process of moving. Angeal lets him think, more than used to waiting out contemplative silences. It takes almost a minute before the other man looks up again, resuming his motions.

“Not talking about my enhancements. Period. Where I got them, how extensive they are, nothing.” He stops, waiting for a reaction.

Angeal nods and gestures for him to continue.

“I’d prefer to stay away from what brought me here. I’m still…” he trails off, clearing his throat before continuing. “Can we… not?”

“Of course. Anything else that’s off the table?” Angeal’s face softens and he has to pull back the urge to pull the blond into a hug.

“If we talk about… other people in our lives. Maybe, not name names? I know I’m in for a lot and I’d like to avoid bringing attention to them for as long as possible, if that’s okay.”

The 1st nods, giving a soft smile.

Damnit, no, Angeal. You can’t give him a hug. He’s a grown man and a suspect in a bombing that killed over 200 people.

They fall into silence, the 1st trying to decide on a safe question to ask as the blond finishes going through the bag of supplies. He puts a fair amount of it back, keeping some spools of thread, the package of needles, and the pair of sewing scissors out before settling into his own chair and pulling his shirt into his lap. He pulls out one of the thicker needles and threads it with a practiced motion before bringing it to the largest slice in the fabric and starting his stitch.

“So… you do have other people in your life?” Angeal asks finally, the silence growing too awkward for even him to wait out.

Strife hums, pulling the needle through the fabric smoothly before looping it back around to secure the thread.

“I do.”

“... Are they friends? Family? Something in between?”

“I’d consider them family, yes. A few people who I’d struggle to name as friends.” He smirks at the last comment, some sort of joke that Angeal isn’t privy to.

“Tell me about them, then. Or, I guess I could go first? Then we can trade.”

Strife looks up from his work, surprise and confusion on his face before it resolves into something almost satisfied.

“Sure, then. Why don’t you tell me about your protege?”

The mention of Zack brings a smile to the 1st’s face.

“Zack, is, well,” he starts, fondness taking over his face and voice. “He’s as close to a puppy as a human can get. He’s hyper, has a short attention span, and is endlessly endearing. He doesn’t know how to control his volume and loves physical contact.”

He’s watching Strife as the other man works, curious about any reaction he might show. He’s surprised to see a flash of longing on the other’s face before it smoothes back out into the cool calmness from before.

“He makes friends as easy as breathing and is beyond thoughtful. But, don’t let his apparent lack of common sense fool you.” Angeal huffs out a laugh. “He’s smart, always watching and picking up on tidbits of people’s reactions and expressions, puzzling out how they work before they realize that’s what he’s done. He’s got the mind for strategy too, when he can slow down enough to think ahead.”

Strife hums, nodding before taking a breath.

“Reminds me a bit of one of my family. She’s a menace, always getting underfoot and stealing our stuff when we’re not looking with a seemingly endless well of energy.” A fond smile stretches across the man’s face as he starts to finish off the stitch he’s working on. “She’s a younger sister for sure, always annoying us. But I trust her with my life. She’s gotten us out of quite a few scrapes and knows what she’s doing despite her immaturity.”

Angeal nods and tries to decide who he’s going to talk about next when Strife starts talking again.

“Are… are you just gonna sit there while I do all this work?”

He blinks and looks over at the other man to see him staring at him.

“Uh…”

“You can mend clothing, right?”

He snorts. “I would hope so, considering you’re using my supplies. Throw me something, I can help.”

Strife tosses him his pants and shoves the needles and spools to the middle of the bed. He ties off the stitch and breaks the thread with a short pull.

“There’s this guy who’s basically our crazy uncle. We’re all pretty sure he’s gone senile despite not being that old. He’s abrasive as fuck, and his creative swearing could curdle milk. Still, he’s the best damn pilot I’ve ever known and can handle himself in a fight, so we keep him around. That, and he makes really good tea.”

Something about that description sounded vaguely familiar, but Angeal brushes it off to consider later. He pulls a healthy strand of thread off the spool and threads his needle. Picking up the fabric settled in his lap, he finds one of the cuts and sets about anchoring the thread.

“I don’t have anyone quite like that in my life, but I guess you could call Genesis abrasive. It’s always Loveless with him, fitting quotes into conversations and flaunting about like he’s on a stage.” He laughs, starting his stitch. “Hell of a swordmage though; weaves spells into his swordwork like it's nothing and loves setting things on fire. I grew up with him, so I’m used to dealing with his, well, eccentricities more so than most people are.”

Strife snorts as he pulls his needle, in the middle of another stitch.

“Yeah, got my own dramatic fuck. He had the sister convinced he was a vampire for the first month we knew him and we were hard-pressed to prove her wrong, what with the brooding and his insisting to wear all black and a bright red cloak. Not that I could blame him, really. For the brooding, not the questionable fashion decisions. He’s seen some shit, but there’s no one I’ve met who’s a better shot than him. Good company to keep at night too; quiet and doesn’t judge you if you feel moved to spill some shit for some reason.”

Strife’s face hasn’t moved from that quiet fondness since they started sharing, and Angeal gives himself a mental pat on the back. He finishes his own stitch, ties it off, and moves onto another one.

“Hmm, I guess next up would be Sephiroth. I assume you’ve heard of him?”

The change is instant. The fond look is gone, wiped off his face like it never existed in the first place and replaced with something sharp and angry before settling back into cool indifference.

“Yes. I might have heard of him.”

Shit, you just had to go and bungle it, huh.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“No. It’s fine. You didn’t know.” Strife’s voice has gone cold again, all inflections removed.

Angeal swallows and concentrates more on the fabric in his lap, finishing another line and tying it off.

“Uh, well, other than that, the only person I’m really close to would probably be my mother.”

The other man flinches hard, curling away from the 1st as his face contorts in a wince. His hands clench on the fabric of his shirt before releasing it slowly. He carefully unwinds, taking slow breaths before returning to his previous position, body stiff with tension. He refuses to look up, keeping his eyes solely on the half-mended slice in front of him as he picks the needle back up and continues to sew mechanically.

Angeal swallows and opens his mouth to apologize again, but he’s stopped when Strife whips his head up, eyes burning and pinning him in place.

“Don’t,” he says, sharp.

Angeal nods and swallows again, shrinking under the weight of the other man’s presence. Strife maintains eye contact for a few more seconds, eyes narrowed, before he breaks it to return to his task. The 1st slowly lowers his own head and resumes his own stitching.

Time passes slowly, inching forward and doing nothing for the strangling tension filling the room. Angeal doesn’t dare try and restart the conversation, just focuses on the mechanical motions of sewing and trying not to curse himself out for his idiocy.

Great job Angeal, really, absolutely splendid. You’ve not only managed to undo every effort to make him feel comfortable so far, but also probably smashed right into some past trauma with all the grace of a raging behemoth.

At some point, Strife finishes mending the slices in his shirt and moves onto his shoulder guard, switching out needles and thread to the thicker versions meant for leatherworking. He shows the same amount of apparent competency with these as he did before, smoothly threading the waxy thread through the needle and anchoring it in the leather. Angeal throws a quick glance at the clock on the wall: 7:14pm it reads. He sighs and finishes off another stitch before searching for another cut to mend. Finding none, he looks back at Strife who is tying off his own stitch in the leather strap of his shoulder guard. When the man sets the piece down and immediately picks up his harness, Angeal resigns himself to waiting it out. He sets the pants back on the bed and returns his needle and spool to the kit before settling down to wait.

It’s another 20 minutes before Strife finishes mending his harness, carefully and methodically stitching the leather back together. He sets the needle and thread back down and tests his work, stretching the stitches out to make sure they’ll hold before nodding to himself. Some of the tension has bled out from his body, nullified by the simpleness of the mechanical task. He doesn’t feel like he’s on the brink of snapping anymore, though he isn’t nearly as relaxed as he had been. Angeal curses himself again; all he had to do was keep the man talking about his apparent family and it would have been fine.

Strife stands to put away the remaining scattered items, zipping the bag closed when he finishes. He stops, keeping his gaze on the bed for a few moments before raising it to look at the 1st for the first time in almost 40 minutes. He raises the bag and shifts on his feet.

“Uh, here. Thanks again for letting me use your stuff.”

Angeal nods, reaching out to take it before replying. “It really was no problem, and, again I’m really sorry-”

Strife waves him off, looking back down at the clothing spread out over the foot of the bed. Both of them stand there awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to do next before the other man looks back up at him.

“Um, do you think…?” He stops and looks away, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. “Could I have some privacy to change? I really want to get out of this smock…”

Angeal blinks, and feels a rush of embarrassment.

“Oh! Yes, of course! I’ll just leave you to it, then.”

He turns to leave immediately, the chair clattering a bit as it’s pushed away violently. He opens the door, but turns back and offers a small smile.

“It was nice to meet you, Strife. I hope we get to talk again soon, hopefully without me putting my foot in my mouth. Give a holler once you’re finished so we know you’re decent, okay?”

The man gives a small smirk in response and nods, but doesn’t say anything. Angeal finishes his exit, closing the door behind him and letting out a long breath. When he refocuses on his surroundings, he has to strangle down his yelp of surprise; Zack is standing mere inches away, looking up at him with a big smile on his face.

“So…? What was he like? Was his hair as spiky as Genesis said it was? How tall is he? Did he really have mako eyes? Was he grateful for the sewing stuff? He better have been, or I’ll-”

“Zack, please,” he takes a few breaths to calm himself back down. “Could I have some space?”

The teen’s eyes widen in realization and he backs off immediately, hopping until he’s reached a more socially acceptable distance.

“Nooow can you answer my questions?”

“This isn’t really the time, Zack. He’s definitely enhanced and he can hear us out here-” his pupil’s eyes go wide as he continues, “so anything you want to know can wait until later. Now, he’s getting changed at the moment, so we’re going to wait out here until he’s done and let the Turks know that he’s cleared to leave the hospital.”

Zack nods and starts pacing, dropping down into a squat as he does so. Angeal rolls his eyes and takes his post back up, leaning against the wall as he pulls his PHS out to send a message off to Tseng.

5 minutes pass, then 10, then 15 with no confirmation from Strife. Zack is even more restless, doing squats rapid-fire on the other side of the hallway. Angeal sighs and decides that it’s been long enough. He knocks on the door and listens for movement. Nothing.

“Strife?” he calls out, hoping for a response.

The room is silent. Sharing a look with his pupil, he throws open the door and strides in. He stops dead in the middle of the entranceway, ignoring Zack’s complaint as the teen runs into his back. The hospital room is empty, the window open and the curtains blowing in the evening breeze. Strife is gone.

Chapter Text

Cloud watches the SOLDIER exit the room with wary eyes, waiting until he hears Zack (it’s Zack, he’s alive on the other side of that door) engage him in a conversation to strip and start pulling on his newly-repaired clothing. Logically, he knows the man meant no harm when he unknowingly stumbled over not one, but two of his traumas in trying to engage him in conversation, but he can’t quite bring himself to chase away the resentment curling in his gut; not with his oh so recent battle with the resurrected nightmare playing back in his head right alongside the old memory of smoke and flame.

He shakes off the cobwebs in his head and pulls his shoulder guard on, tightening the strap down and making sure it was sitting in the right place. He picks up the harness next, rubbing at the new stitching before he swings it around back and fastens it into place. His new boots go on next, laces and leather stiff. He keeps one ear on the conversation happening in the hallway as he finishes by strapping the skirt to his waist and pulling on his gloves. They’re not talking about him specifically anymore; the conversation has moved on to the “incident” at large and what SOLDIER is expected to help with. Then, he hears the words “Sephiroth” and “Midgar” and decides to pay attention.

“-should be arriving in a few hours. He sure wasn’t happy to get called back until I explained and has sent no less than three messages to me complaining about the slow flight since he started.”

“Really? Commander Sephiroth complains?”

“Of course, just don’t go spreading it around-”

Cloud stops listening, his thoughts racing. If Sephiroth was coming back to Midgar, well, then his choice really was made for him, wasn’t it? He goes back over the information he’d been able to gather from his brief conversation with Hewley.

My gear is in a secure room somewhere in the hospital. Hewley mentioned it being “downstairs”, so I’m assuming it’s on the ground floor somewhere, most likely not where the general public can get.

He turns around, eyes the window, and walks over to it. He looks out, gauging the distance to the ground, and determines he’s on the 3rd floor; a small fall by his standards. He casts one look back at the door. The two have stopped talking at this point, so only the ambient sounds of the building prevent it from being completely silent.

No, Cloud. You have things to do. Zack can wait.

Cloud shakes his head and turns back around, straightening his posture. He eases the window open and almost coughs at the air that streams in. He’s gotten used to a life without mako smog, and the bitter, slightly minty smell catches him off guard. Swallowing his nausea, he pulls himself up and flips around so his feet are braced on the outside of the building and he’s gripping the window, facing into the room. He takes a slow breath and kicks off, dropping to the ground behind the line of shrubs with barely a whisper. He pauses there for a second, listening for any sign that he’s been spotted, before standing up.

He picks his way down the building, away from the entrance, and exits the line of shrubs. He takes a moment to breathe, settling himself before starting back towards the entrance of the hospital.

Okay, so Zack had to grab my things from a room on one of the lower floors. It’s probably guarded, or, at the very least, locked to unauthorized visitors. I’d like to not just wander around the hospital trying to find the right room and give people plenty of time to notice I’m gone and find me before I get my stuff.

Cloud finds himself reaching for his sword, looking to wrap his hand around the hilt to reassure himself of its presence, and pulls his hand down with a snarl. He stops walking and shakes his head. All of it - everything that’s happened to him in the past however-long-it’s-been since he returned to Edge and found it under attack by the Remnants - is wearing on him, fogging up his mind and making it too easy for him to get caught up in his own head. Whatever kind of time travel bullshit he’s gotten caught up in now is just the icing on a cake made of garbage. Pain spikes through his head and he winces, pressing a hand to his temple.

“Shit.”

He rubs at the spot a few times before taking another breath and rolling his shoulders. His best bet for making it to his things before they lock the whole place down is to go right in through the front and bank on no one recognizing him as the possible terrorist who’s been laid out in one of their own beds for the past day, so Cloud starts walking again.

It’s like Vincent and Yuffie always said, “just act like you belong there and the average passerby won’t question you on it”.

He lengthens his stride and straightens up out of his perpetual slouch as he enters the front of the hospital. The front lobby looks like every hospital he’s been in, but the slight chemical smell still sends shivers down his spine and phantom pricks of needles down his arms. Cloud strides right up to the front desk and puts on his best customer service smile.

“Hello, how can I help you?” the clerk asks, looking up from his computer screen. His eyes widen when he makes eye contact.

“I’m here to pick up some belongings for a friend? He got caught up in everything happening yesterday but would like his pack to not sit in a hospital storage room.”

Cloud tries to keep his voice open and friendly, wincing a bit internally when he realizes he’s leaning on Zack’s personality to get him through the conversation. The clerk, however, is already nodding and checking something on the computer.

“Of course, Mr. SOLDIER. His stuff should be in room B-12, but there’s a chance it could be in B-14 if he was in the ICU?”

Cloud blinks in confusion before he remembers that, with his eyes and choice of attire, he makes for a pretty convincing SOLDIER 1st Class. He forces a smile again, this one a bit more strained with the reminder of his current situation.

“No, he was checked in for some broken bones and a concussion. Thank you though. Now, which way…?”

The clerk smiles and points down one of the hallways to the right of the desk. “Down that hallway until you hit the staircase and then head down a level. Come back this direction from there and you’ll find it.”

“Thank you,” Cloud says, moving away from the desk. He takes a deep breath and shakes himself as he detaches his mind from the shreds of memory that always come to the surface when he finds himself needing the comfort and charisma of Zack’s personality. Squaring his shoulders again, he strides down the hallway of the hospital, keeping his eyes peeled for looks of recognition.

You belong here, you belong here, you have a totally legitimate reason for walking down this hallway, he recites in his head, trying to look more confident than he feels.

He reaches the staircase and pushes the door open, darting inside and stopping to heave a few breaths. He moves down the stairs quickly, not wanting to take the chance of being spotted in the stairwell by a frantic Hewley or Zack on a mission to find him and bring him in for questioning. Cloud throws open the door to the B floor - wincing as it bangs against the wall - and jogs down the hallway, keeping his eyes peeled for the room he was looking for.

The doctor had told him that he’d been in the ICU when he’d arrived, so his sword and materia were most likely being kept in the second of the two rooms the clerk had mentioned. He spies a sign on the wall that reads “B-14” and barges in, already sweeping the room for the tell-tale gleam of his beloved sword. He spots it in the far left corner and dashes over, grabbing the hilt and checking over the blades for damage with a practiced eye. He also checks the materia slots and, finding nothing out of place, he partially dismantles the blades and slides them into his harness. Next to where his sword was placed is a bin, and, upon checking inside, he finds his bangle and the various loose materia he’d had on his person. He puts the bangle on, securing it in place, and slides the materia into his pockets.

Alright, time for phase two.

He walks back to the door and opens it, poking his head out to check for people. The hallway is deserted and he steps out, straining his ears to check for any indication of his escape being discovered. There’s nothing out of the ordinary, so he strikes out back towards where he came from. As he’s approaching the door, however, he hears the pounding of running feet on the stairs.

Fuck.

Cloud whips around and runs back down the hallway; hospitals always were mazes with multiple stairwells, so his chances were good that he’d find one to dash up eventually. He darts around the corner right as he hears the stairwell door slam open behind him. Sprinting, he almost misses the door marked with the picture of a staircase and skids to a stop. He yanks the door open and darts through.

This is great, this is just perfect. Good old Strife luck, huh?

He’s already on the second landing and lunging for that door by the time he hears the door below him close. He shoves the one in front of him open and comes face to face with one Zack Fair. The teenager - gods, he’s just a teenager - stares back at him, eyes wide in surprise before he breaks out a wide smile.

“Strife, right? I’m glad I caught you, ya know. Angeal would have really let you have it if he’d been the one to find you.”

His voice - gods, his voice - is so much younger, so full of life and Cloud feels his throat close as he stares at the SOLDIER.

“Whoa, are you okay? You’re looking kinda pale. Here, let me help you,” Zack says, stepping forwards with a hand reaching out to steady him, his brown now furrowed in concern.

Cloud flinches back, his breathing coming harder as he fights back the panic threatening to drown him. This wasn’t at all like having Zack’s ghost at his back: supporting him in his moment of weakness, giving him the strength to continue the fight against the despair that clawed at his mind. This was all his dreams come to life, his dearest friend standing before him, restored to life and focused on him, worried about him. Just like he used to be.

“Don’t, don’t touch me,” he manages to choke out, backing away from the teen. He presses his eyes closed and tries to block out the echoes of his friend’s last words. He senses Zack take another step and backs up again, but the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching the stairwell below reminds him of his current situation. He’s got to get the fuck out of Midgar, and then he can let the tangle of emotions in his chest run their course.

He lurches forward, shoving past Zack, and takes off down the hallway in the direction he thinks will take him to the front desk. He ignores the indignant shout behind him, tuning out distractions as he runs.

“Hey! Wait! We really need to talk to you still! I promise you’ll be fine! Please come back!”

Cloud dances around startled civilians as he sprints, using the far wall as a springboard to launch himself around a corner and making for the lobby. He can hear Zack following, apologizing and yelling at him to “wait up!” as he does so. Cloud reaches the open space and charges towards the door, spotting the startled look on the clerk’s face as he rushes by before he’s outside. Freed from the building, he allows himself to speed up, lengthening his stride and leaping over obstacles as he makes his way out into the streets of Midgar.

-_-_-_-

Zack sprints down the stairs, following Angeal as they both make for the front lobby. He’s still reeling a little from the realization that Strife had given them the slip, but tries to focus on finding the guy so he can have the chance to ask him about his crazy sword! And also about why he decided to run instead of just talking to ShinRa, of course, but mostly about his sword, and his skills, and his hair and-

“Zack, he’s probably going for his gear,” Angeal cut off his stream of thought, already moving to continue down the stairs. “Go around to the other staircase and try to cut him off.”

Zack beams and throws up a cheeky salute. “Can do!”

Angeal chuckles a bit and waves him off before he disappears around the corner. Zack shakes himself and pushes open the stairwell door, jogging out into the main hallway. He moves as fast as he dares, not wanting to cause a panic just yet, cutting through the lobby and down the opposite hallway. He starts listening, stretching his senses beyond the general chatter of the hospital to try and pinpoint anything out of place. He sifts through conversations, the beeping of equipment, and the sound of people walking but doesn’t find any evidence of their escapee.

He rounds the corner and continues jogging, dodging around a few nurses, and spots the sign for the stairs just ahead of him. It’s as he’s reaching the door that he finally hears running footsteps. He reaches out to grab the handle, only for the door to go flying open before he can touch it, revealing a harried-looking Strife. They stare at each other for a moment before Zack remembers he’s supposed to keep the guy from running away.

He smiles at the man and says, “Strife, right? I’m glad I caught you, ya know. Angeal would have really let you have it if he’d been the one to find you.”

The blond’s eyes widen a fraction and he pales, looking almost horrified at being caught. Zack has to stop himself from frowning; he didn’t think he was that scary.

“Whoa, are you okay? You’re looking kinda pale. Here, let me help you.” He reaches out to try and steady the man, concerned. Strife flinches away from the touch, his expression now pained. His breathing is picking up, quickly approaching a panic attack, and his eyes start to flare.

“Don’t, don’t touch me,” he chokes out, backing up even more. His eyes close and he takes a shuddering breath, clearly trying to calm himself down. Zack takes a step closer, only for the man to retreat again. That’s when he registers the sound of Angeal approaching the stairwell from the lower floor.

Just as Zack sighs in relief, Strife seems to realize that he’ll soon be cornered and shutters his expression; all the previous vulnerability disappears behind a cold mask that would make even Sephiroth proud. He blurs into motion, slamming into Zack and shoving him to the side. Zack lets out a squawk and stumbles back.

“Hey! Wait! We really need to talk to you still! I promise you’ll be fine! Please come back!” he shouts, running after the escaping man.

Angeal’s so gonna kill me.

Zack rushes down the hallway in pursuit, gawking at the way Strife uses the walls to launch himself around the corner.

“Wait up! I’m sorry I startled you! Please come back!”

His pleas unheaded, they continue their chase down the main hallway, through the lobby, and out into the parking lot. Strife somehow manages to get even faster, clearing the lot in a second and turning to head deeper into the city. Zack pushes himself, digging into reserves he hasn’t had to use in a long while in an attempt to keep up with the man.

The chase starts in earnest then, Strife expertly hopping over and around cars as he weaves through the clogged streets. Zack keeps pace, stumbling a bit here and there as he almost misses jumps that the blond makes look easy.

“How are you so fast!” he shouts, panting as he leaps from the top of a semi-truck to the sidewalk and almost bowls over a guy walking with his head in his phone. Zack swears he hears laughter carry back to him and growls, picking up his pace. They round a corner and both have to duck out of the way of incoming gunfire.

“I thought they wanted you alive!” Zack yells, zig-zagging his way closer to what he can now identify as a blockade.

Strife doesn’t respond, too busy looking like he’s dancing as he dodges the flying bullets and closes the distance between him and the troopers manning the hastily-constructed barriers. Zack can’t help but gape as the man throws himself into the air and gracefully flips over a row of abandoned cars, then runs along the side of a building. He then launches himself over the blockade, swinging one of his blades around to deflect the continuous gunfire.

Zack finds himself pausing to gawk at the other man as he moves, stunned at the ease with which he maneuvers himself through the air. Based on how the gunshots petered out for a few seconds, a decent number of the troopers were just as awed. Then, a sharp voice barks something out and they swivel their guns around to continue shooting at Strife’s rapidly-retreating figure.

Zack swears and bursts into motion again, calling out a quick “Sorry, guys!” as he vaults the barricade and darts down the street. Vaguely, he notices that the troopers have stopped shooting at him, but he’s too focused on trying to catch up to Strife to really pay attention.

Traffic is still flowing on the next street - a main thoroughfare - they cross. Zack watches as Strife just throws himself through the air once more and clears all six lanes with a single, elegant bound. “That’s just not fair,” he grumbles and makes his own leap. He lands in the bed of a truck in the second lane and smiles sheepishly at the driver when the woman whips around and starts screaming at him.

“Sorry, lady! Official SOLDIER business!”

He waves at her and ignores the obscene gesture she makes at his back (how rude!) before finishing his own crossing. More gunfire sounds from ahead and Zack spits out a quick “shit!” as he rushes down the side street. Rounding the corner, he spots Strife flitting around and attempting to evade the actual mounted turret, what the shit, spitting bullets at him.

“Hey, what in Titan’s name do you think you’re doing!” Zack shouts at the infantry manning the turret.

He moves closer, trying to predict Strife’s movements to avoid the line of fire. It’s then that the blond apparently gives up on evading the normal and way leaps up again. He proceeds to bounce back and forth between the buildings on either side of the street, climbing higher and higher until he straight up clears the roof of one of them and disappears over it. Zack stands there for a second, blinking before it registers what he’d just seen. The troopers have also completely stopped firing, staring up at the place where Strife had vanished.

“Come on, man!” Zack moans.

He dashes forwards to round the building and catches a glimpse of Strife landing in the street on the other side. Zack gives chase, somehow pulling even more from his nearing-empty reserves. His breathing is coming hard and fast, his heart banging away in his chest. He’s more exhilarated than he’s felt in years.

There’s another blockade on this street too, but it’s much less equipped than the previous one: simply manned by regular troopers. Zack briefly wonders why they have yet to encounter any other SOLDIERs before he has to focus to dodge his own share of gunfire. Then, he hears shouting from behind him and tosses a glance over his shoulder. Another squad of infantry has appeared and set about blocking them in. Strife has stopped pushing the first blockade, simply shifting in place to keep from being hit. Then, a flash and a barrier springs into existence around him.

The gunfire peters out, the first squad realizing the futility of their efforts. Zack takes a step toward Strife. The man tenses and swings around to look at him. His arm raises and a hand closes around the hilt of one of his swords. The troopers raise their lowered weapons as one to aim at him. There’s a beat of silence, then two. Zack slowly brings his hands up, palms forwards to show that he’s not going for his weapon. Strife narrows his eyes, gaze flicking around to take in the infantry aiming their guns at him before settling back on Zack.

“Wow, that sure was a fun chase!” Zack says, wheezing a little. “You’re so cool, man! Dodging bullets like that instead of just blocking them! And when you leaped over that building! Man, I hope I can be that cool when I make 1st Class.”

Strife blinks at him, face blank, but Zack can see the bafflement in his eyes. There we go. Just need to keep talking.

“How are you so fast! I almost couldn’t keep up!” He takes a step forwards, noting how Strife shifts back about the same amount. “Maybe Angeal has a point when he tells me I need to do more exercise than just squats. If running can get me to be as fast as you, I might have to start!”

The troopers seem to take the lack of fighting as their cue to close in. Strife’s eyes dart around - noting their advancement - and he starts backing up too. Zack matches their pace, keeping his hands up and his best smile on his face.

“I really hope you running isn’t gonna make you worse off. I was looking forward to learning all about your sword and your materia and if the Turks - or worse, science - steal you away then I won’t be able to!”

The mention of the dreaded science department seems to shake something loose in Strife and he starts backing up faster, putting his back to the railing overlooking a set of train tracks. The two lines of troopers meet and trap the two of them in the kill zone. There’s rumbling in the distance and the sharp call of a train whistle.

“So, I’d really appreciate it if we didn’t have to do the fighting thing, cuz then we’ll probably never get the chance to talk! Not even if I agreed to owing Tseng a zillion favors! And Turk favors go really far, ya know?”

The rumbling gets a little closer. Strife’s eyes are wildly darting around, but his defensive posture never relaxes. His barrier shimmers in the evening light.

“So, what do ya say? Wanna come back to HQ with me? I’m sure I could ask Angeal to pull some strings and get you into SOLDIER.” The thought brings a wave of genuine excitement over him.

“You’d probably be able to jump straight to 1st Class, and it’s only a matter of time until I make 1st, so pretty soon both of us will be 1st Class together and we can be best bros!”

Strife stills, his eyes close, and some of the nervous tension seems to run out of him. The ghost of a smile appears on his face.

“‘Best bros’, huh?” His voice is soft enough that Zack is probably the only one who can hear him and carries a sort of weight. He opens his eyes again and looks straight at Zack. Something sad clouds his expression.

“If only…”

A train comes rumbling out of the tunnel under them, its whistle screeching and breaking the tension between them. Zack has a second to realize what Strife’s plan is before he’s leaping into the air and moving into a graceful backflip. The troopers open fire even as Zack rushes to the railing, but they’re too late. The train is already out of range, taking Strife with it.

Slowly, the sounds of the bustling metropolis filter back into his perception. The troopers flanking him pop the safeties on their rifles and sling them across their backs before heading back to wherever they need to report to. Zack lets out a heavy sigh and scratches the back of his head.

“Man, I really thought I had ‘im.”

It’s then that his PHS rings, the cheery jingle managing to startle him. He digs it out of his pocket and flips it open. It’s Angeal. He winces a bit, but answers the call anyways, knowing that not answering will just hurt him more in the long run.

“Zack Fair speaking!”

“Zack,” Angeal answers. “Status?”

Zack cringes hard. “Weeeeell, I kinda lost him.”

“...Zack.”

“We ran into each other in the hospital and he was kinda weird about it. He started panicking a little and then he heard you coming and ran and I chased him out of the hospital and then we ran through the city and he was so cool, Angeal! He dodged bullets and even jumped over a building!” Zack takes a second to take a deep breath before continuing.

“And then we ran into a blockade and then more troopers came up behind us and trapped us! And then I started talking to him and tried to calm him down but he was really not going for it and the troopers started closing in and it looked like he might surrender! But then there was a train and he did the sickest flip onto the train and then he was gone before I even tried to jump after him!”

Zack is jittering in place, barely resisting the urge to drop down into squats then and there. The call crackles a bit but there’s no other response.

“Angeal?”

His mentor’s exasperated sigh comes through the line. “Thank you, Zack. I expect you to be more thorough in your explanation of the events in the report.”

Zack groans. “Come on, Angeal! Can I go after him? I think that train is headed into the slums.”

“No, Zack. You’re coming back to the Tower to give your report.”

“Angeal-”

“The mission isn’t ours anymore. Orders are for us to return to headquarters and give our reports. Sephiroth is landing in 30 minutes and I want to have a briefing prepared for him when he arrives.”

Zack lets out a whine of protest even though the prospect of giving his report directly to the Silver Commander makes him vibrate in excitement.

“Who’s going after him, then? I assume we’re not just letting him go?”

A beat of silence.

“I’ve been told the Turks have officially taken over the mission of bringing Strife in for questioning, on orders of the President.”

Zack lets out an annoyed breath; the Turks sure got all the fun missions.

“Are you sure I can’t go after him?”

Zack pulls the device away to check the time. He’s still got a good 25 minutes before the Commander lands. Maybe if he just-

“Zack.” Angeal’s warning tone has him flinching on instinct. “I know how much you wanted to talk to him, but I can’t let you go rogue this time. Let the Turks do what they’re good at and I’ll see what I can do to get you some time with him.”

“Really!” Zack perks up immediately. “Aw, thanks Angeal! You’re the best!”

Another exasperated sigh. “I want you back in the Tower in 10 minutes, Zack. I’ll be counting.”

The call ends and Zack pulls the device away from his ear. He closes it with a quick motion and runs a hand through his hair before sliding it back into his pocket. He turns around, checking to make sure his sword is still slung over his back and starts making his way back to the Tower.

“Boy oh boy, is this a mess.”

Chapter Text

So, hey y'all. It's been a while, hasn't it? Something like 15 months? 😅

I've been seeing some activity on this fic recently, along with some stuff changing in my life, and that prompted me to post this so I can kinda let y'all know what's been going on.

Essentially, since spring 2021 I've been taking time off from college due to a variety of reasons and was originally intending on returning to my studies last fall. That, well, didn't happen, and to appease my parents that I wasn't just going to sit around and waste my life until I felt comfortable enough to go back to school, I moved up into a full-time role at my part-time retail job. This resulted in an extreme drop in any kind of motivation to write. The last thing I posted was "afterimage" for the fanworks exchange last summer, and the last thing I made any kind of word progress on was something in one of my friend's AUs last winter. So yeah, there has been zero progress on basically any of my posted fics - and my unposted WiPs - due to the stress from work (and also because the new Pokemon came out last winter and TotK came out in May though I didn't get it until June).

But, for good news, I will be returning to school part-time this fall, which means dropping back down to part-time and only working 20 hours a week at work! (Currently, due to the weirdness of our scheduling program, I'm scheduled for 44 hours a week to allow for hour lunches every shift, with a decent amount of stretches of 5 or 6 days without a day off 😬) I will also be transferring to the sales floor, which will pull a lot of stress off of me.

I have full intentions of finishing this fic, as well as all my posted WiPs, and hopefully having more downtime will allow me to make good progress this fall.

I really appreciate the continued support on all my fics over the past year and can't wait to share the rest of these stories with y'all. In the meantime, you can find me on tumblr @silly-bean (I don't have just a fic blog so everything is there together 😅) or come talk to me and see what I've been up to on my discord server. DMs are also open on both platforms if you want to start a conversation with me directly!

Wishing everyone the best,

Gil 💜💜💜