Chapter Text
August 25th, εγλ 0012. 87 hours before the destruction of Junon.
The skies open up on the second day. Rain thunders against every rooftop it can find, as if the last few days of sunny weather hadn’t happened.
“So,” Genesis drawls, all casual. “How did you become enhanced as you are? Our Strife was, by all accounts, a human trooper until after Nibelheim.”
Our Strife. Yeah. Like Cloud needs yet another reminder that he’s an interloper.
He glances around the tiny, empty mess hall, but no one else is there. Too late in the morning, probably; it’s just them at the table, with the rain outside. Angeal is in the kitchen and Strife, of course, is on the ceiling and against the wall and behind Cloud, drenched in sick black Mako—
A snap brings him back to the present. “Eyes on me, Cloud,” Genesis says softly. Cloud’s face warms.
“Gen!” Zack glares at him. His big hand leaves a warm trail up and down Cloud’s back. “Give him a break, he’s not doing great.”
Genesis narrows his eyes at Cloud. “That is true,” he allows. “You’re not doing well at all.” Those eyes begin to wander to places unknown.
“Hojo got to me,” Cloud says, before Gen can make any more observations. “After the Nibelheim in my world. That’s why I’m like this.”
“And what did he do to you?” Genesis asks, quiet and intent. Cloud cracks a laugh, because hell if he knows.
Well, they invited him into the barracks, didn’t they? He might as well give them his resume. “I’m strong,” he recites. “Fast. You saw it when we fought. I have enhanced senses. I can—”
“I didn’t ask that, bird,” Genesis says. The materia he’s toying with disappears into his fist. “I asked what he did to you.”
Cloud…thinks he’s confused again. “I. What? He did science shit. I don’t know.”
“Mm. And what was this ‘science shit’?”
“I…” Why can’t he unclench his fists? “It doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, I disagree very much.” The air heats slightly with Genesis’s strange mood. Behind him, Strife looms.
For some reason, Cloud finds himself looking to Zack. “It doesn’t matter,” he insists again.
“Man, I’m starving,” Zack says abruptly, and twists to look at the kitchen. His hand stays on Cloud, and that’s…that’s good, that feels right. “Ange, how’s the food coming?”
“It’s coming,” Angeal says shortly, then rolls his eyes. “Like it was the last time you asked. Patience, Zack.”
“‘Good food requires good time’, yeah, you said,” Zack huffs with a rueful grin. “Hah! I’m starting to think that’s your way of telling us to shut up and let you meditate over the soup.”
“Who knows? Now let me cook.”
“Man, the things we do for love.” Zack looks back to Genesis, who hasn’t moved, and Cloud, who can’t. He scrubs Cloud’s back. “Bet your Angeal was just as bad, huh?”
“No,” Genesis says. The materia flickers through his fingers. “If I died, Angeal must have died as well. Yes?”
“I…yeah.” The surprise breaks him out of his tension. Clever fox. “You—”
“And the rest?” Sephiroth asks.
Cloud jackknifes upright. He almost falls over trying to twist around, to look at that—
Sephiroth isn’t wearing his coat. That’s a problem. Instead, he’s swapped it out for a loose, comfortable gray sweatshirt, with a faded logo on the front. Banora-something-something. There’s a cartoon picture of an apple in the middle. It’s cute. Cloud feels faint.
The General prowls forward, far too damn silently for nine in the morning. He lounges into a seat across the table, the sweatshirt making him look oddly real in a way Cloud doesn’t know what to do with. Tearing his eyes away from the man’s long throat is proving to be a challenge.
Far away, thunder cracks. Come here, Sephiroth, Strife calls, growing taller, paler. I need you.
“Finally.” Genesis stretches with a huff and drops his feet into Sephiroth’s lap. “Where were you yesterday? I was bored.”
“You once stated that we had died, on your Planet,” Sephiroth says with zero fanfare. Cloud finally jerks his eyes upward only to be pinned by the man’s gaze. “How?”
Deep in his brainstem, Sephiroth shifts and presses. His face is intent, ruthless; just like it was in Nibelheim, in the canyons, except for one key difference — Sephiroth’s lips are now curved into a very faint smile.
Cloud’s in his territory now.
His mouth is drier than the Corel desert. “It doesn’t—” matter. “It happened a long time ago.”
“Nevertheless. How.”
Strife’s presence stirs his hair. Tell them how you killed them. Go on, old man.
“How else?” He breathes through his teeth. “I failed them.”
Bingo.
Sephiroth is merciless. “How?”
“Aren't you busy or something?” he snaps. “Why are you even here?”
“To see my pack,” Sephiroth says simply. He inclines his head, letting his hair spill gracefully past his ears and onto that damn sweatshirt, the gray fabric stretched comfortably over his pecs. “And to pass on some news. Tifa Lockhart has escaped from Turk custody.”
Cloud — again — jerks his gaze up to Sephiroth’s, but the First gives no details, just produces a green materia out of nowhere and serenely passes it to Genesis. He looks to Zack next. “Yeah?” he asks, but inside he’s already cheering. I knew she could do it. I knew.
“Hah! Yeah.” Zack scratches the back of his neck and sends Cloud an exaggerated wink. “Happened yesterday, while you were asleep. And!” He digs something out of his pocket. “Let’s say I got a friend on the inside who lent her a PHS.” Cloud takes the scrap of paper with unsteady hands, reading the string of numbers scrawled across. Tifa. He folds it very carefully.
It takes a few swallows to get the lump out of his throat. “Thanks, Zack.”
Zack rocks their shoulders together. “What are friends for?”
“Zack,” Angeal speaks up. He’s leaning against the counter with a dishtowel slung over his shoulder. From the cant of his head, Cloud guesses he’d been watching them for a while.
Strife growls and begins to pace.
“Food’s ready?” Zack asks, already getting up. Shit. Cloud hastily gets up too. “Nah, I got it, Spike, don’t worry.”
“But—”
He pats Cloud’s shoulder, guiding him back into his seat. “Just rest!”
Cloud can’t exactly argue that he doesn’t need it. He sits back down and looks solidly at the wall as Zack abandons him. Across the table, he can feel both remaining SOLDIERs staring like Cloud’s a fascinating little mouse who just wandered into their cat tree. He’s pretty sure neither Genesis nor Sephiroth are even blinking.
What? he wants to say, except he’s genuinely afraid of the answer.
“‘Ripples form on the water’s surface’,” Genesis hums.
“Act One,” Sephiroth says.
They’re still fucking staring at him.
“So,” says Genesis. “Cloud.” Cloud does not whimper. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to, ah, get to know each other a little better.” He taps a long finger against his chin. “What’s your favorite color?”
“My favorite color?” Cloud has to give this smiling red menace some credit: that’s not the question he’d expected. “What?”
A catty pout is now brewing on Genesis’s — don’t think about his lips. “We have to start somewhere, I suppose. Unless you’d rather talk about something else? Your past? Your future? That sword you used to carry?”
Cloud’s hand jumps halfway to his shoulder before he notices. “What sword.”
Need a sword. You broke the last one.
Shut up.
Genesis is smug in victory. “What sword, he says. I’d like to ask the same question. Your style is certainly…eclectic.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Cloud insists, for the millionth time that day, and watches his words take precisely zero effect. “And you were the one who said you’d read all about my past. If that wasn’t just another trick.” He’s still trying to decide if he regrets typing out everything he can remember; if Genesis found it, there’s no way in hell the Turks didn’t. Hopefully that means the information got where it needed to go.
He flexes his hand, wishing he’d asked for new bandages. These ones are getting stained already.
“Touchy, touchy,” Genesis tuts. He lounges against Sephiroth’s shoulder, his warm gaze accompanied by a hint of teeth. “Don’t feel too bad, dearest. Plenty of people fall for my tricks. Isn’t that right, General?”
Cloud transfers his incredulous gaze to Sephiroth. Thankfully, Zack forstalls any further questions by plonking a steaming plate in front of him.
“Nothing heavy,” his friend says and ruffles his hair. “You’re on the same diet we give to people fresh from the Mako drum. Easy on the stomach.”
Cloud checks. It’s toast. Buttered toast, but still: toast.
Better eat, Strife says. We’ll need our strength.
He doesn't eat.
“I need to borrow a PHS,” he says instead. If Tifa got out…
Genesis tsks and accepts a mug of coffee from Angeal. “I can find you one by tonight,” Angeal says, studying Cloud. The big SOLDIER exchanges glances with Sephiroth and nods at the plate. “If you eat.”
Cloud sighs.
They split up after breakfast. Angeal collects the dishes and carries them to the kitchen, all the while arguing with Genesis over whether it’s even his job to do so. It has the cadence of an old and comfortable argument.
Sephiroth and his sweatshirt both vanish to places unknown the second Cloud looks away, taking most of Strife’s attention with him. Zack lingers for a little longer, before regretfully telling Cloud he has to jet.
“Vacation time is over,” he laughs ruefully. “I’ll catch you later, huh?”
“Yeah,” Cloud tells him, the same time Genesis says, “You certainly will.” Cloud attempts to sear Genesis’s smile off his face with the force of his glare. It doesn’t work.
“‘Over this farewell bottle, we can’t manage even a friendly smile’,” Genesis laments. Faster than thought, he snags Cloud’s hand and plants another kiss on his palm. Warm, warm, everything about this man is so warm. Cloud shoves his hand into a pocket and turns to follow Angeal, finally emerging from the kitchen. It takes actual effort to ignore the laugh that floats after him. “Try to have fun without me, chickadee.”
“Someone’s having a good time,” Cloud mutters, face still hot. He’s surprised by the snort ahead of him.
“Genesis has never been subtle a day in his life,” Angeal says. At Cloud’s quizzical look, he shrugs a shoulder and pushes out of the mess hall. “If you ignore him, he’ll get bored eventually.”
Doubt. “What’s he got to be so happy about? Figured he’d hate being stuck in Junon.”
There’s a pause. “...Normally, he does. He never forgave ShinRa for the part it played in his degradation, even with Hollander dead.” The SOLDIER stops to glance back at Cloud, studying him. “He’s the one who took out most of the old ShinRa elite back in the day. Bisected all of them with Rapier, right in the middle of a board meeting.”
Strife vibrates with interest, far away.
“Huh.” Cloud slows to a halt, thinking back to the news archive he’d read. Genesis, SOLDIER, and…“And you?”
“Me?” Angeal sounds surprised.
“Yeah.” All of a sudden Cloud is desperate to know what had happened, this little piece of Zack’s past that he’d never been able to access. “You were his pack then, right?”
“We were,” Angeal says slowly. “Gen and I have been together the longest, out of the five of us.”
“Must be nice,” says Cloud. “Having you to help him up when he fell.”
Not like his world at all. It’s strange: Cloud’s lost so many people in his time. But he’s old and jaded enough now that he thinks he can find room in his heart to mourn for the Genesis who had suffered all those years ago. Clones don’t count as company where it really counts.
And Cloud had always been at his worst when he was alone. He can relate.
(Never alone, Strife sings to his cells. Not ever again.)
“I like to think so,” Angeal agrees. He still looks a little surprised. But he’s eyeing Cloud with what might be…pleasure? Consideration? One of those.
Cloud coughs when the silence starts to drag. It — thankfully — seems to snap Angeal back to reality. The big SOLDIER looks like he wants to say more, but only shakes his head and opens a door Cloud hadn’t noticed they’d stopped beside.
Twenty pairs of eyes greet them the moment they step inside. Cloud immediately begins to sweat. So that’s why the hallways are so empty. Angeal’s led him into a classroom, damn him, and it’s packed full of SOLDIERs. Zack is holding court at the front of the room, looking absolutely delighted to see them. “Hey Ange! And Spike! You’re here!”
Cloud musters a wave.
Angeal strides to the front of the room while Zack comes bounding over. Not wanting to get roped into any of this, Cloud backs up against the wall and sits for good measure. He’s just here to watch.
The SOLDIERs don’t seem to get the memo; they won’t stop staring.
“Wanna leave?” Zack offers. There’s no judgment in his voice, or his face.
Cloud almost wants to take him up on that. But if they head out again, he thinks, panicking, they might run into Sephiroth wearing The Sweatshirt, and Cloud would take one look and die on the spot. I know you gave me a second chance, he’d tell the Goddess, but apparently the only thing worse for my health than seeing Sephiroth’s pecs is not seeing them. Fucking hell. “It’s fine.”
Zack accepts with a shrug. He just starts doing squats next to Cloud, and that helps settle him: that’s familiar.
Angeal is a good teacher. Once they decide they’re done staring at Cloud, the students – a random mix of Thirds — pay close attention to the drills he’s calling out. Occasionally he’ll pace closer to adjust someone’s grip or demonstrate a swing, but he keeps the class moving in a way that feels natural.
Until he stops. Everyone stops, because Cloud just stood up.
“Uh. Nothing,” he says.
About half of them go back to what they were doing.
Questioning his sanity with every step, Cloud slinks over to the SOLDIER at the end of the row. “You’re gonna destroy your edge if you strike while gripping like that,” he tells them bluntly. “And reg swords are shitty enough as is. Hold it straight. No, straight.” With a growl, he reaches forward and corrects their grip himself. “There,” he says, satisfied, and the SOLDIER nods uncertainly.
Everyone else in the Third’s row is watching him when he steps back, so Cloud sends them a flat look. He’s embarrassed and that automatically pisses him off. “Problem?”
They snap back to attention. Goddess, they’re young. Cloud leans against the wall as they break into pairs to spar, and then he can’t let this shit stand.
“Turn your grip as you cut,” he bitches. “You’re stepping wrong, too. Come on.” The two SOLDIERs wince and he toes their feet into place. “How have you not covered this already?”
“It’s a remedial class,” one of them says, and Cloud sighs.
At least everyone here is tall enough to hold their sword properly. Marlene had insisted on training from the moment she’d turned twelve—
Bad thought. He cuts it off.
By the time the class comes to an end, he’s pacing along the back, idly listening to Angeal call out the names of forms that Cloud half-almost-remembers. Nobody has managed to fuck up their stances too badly, which he counts as a personal victory.
And. Zack won’t stop smiling at him.
He’s doing sit-ups now, and every time he comes up, he smiles at Cloud. Cloud makes a face, and the smile broadens to a full-on grin. He keeps doing that as the class ends, as every student files out, as one of them insists on thanking Cloud personally.
“Trying to steal my job, Spike?” Zack teases when Cloud escapes the baby SOLDIER’s earnest words. “Looking pretty comfortable back there.”
He snorts. “You wish. I barely remember half this stuff.”
“Really?” Angeal asks.
Cloud turns around, takes one look at the tall SOLDIER’s dry expression, and goes tomato red all the way to his toes. “Uh. Sorry. About all that.”
Zack isn’t helping. “Relax, Cloud, you were great! I’d let you teach me any day—”
“We do need more instructors,” Angeal sighs at the exact same time. Both Zack and Cloud gape at him. “If you’re willing, that is.”
“You cannot be serious.” Cloud finds his voice first. “Me?”
“Why not? You saw how many SOLDIERs needed extra help. And you stepped up.”
Angeal Hewley has a really hilarious way of making things sound so simple when they’re actually not. Cloud casts around for a reason. “I was a trooper, not a SOLDIER.”
“Most SOLDIERs begin their careers as troopers. Besides, you held off Sephiroth in Nibelheim,” Angeal points out. There’s some serious consideration in the look he’s giving Cloud. “You avoided capture by Turks multiple times. You outsmarted both Genesis and Sephiroth after Corel.” He tilts his head. “Need I go on?”
“I can’t teach, I…I threatened to fucking kill you,” he protests, almost laughing. “Alexander—”
“—is in Genesis’s care. And believe me, he’s not letting it out of his clutches anytime soon.”
“...Right.” Cloud skin prickles. He rubs his bad hand against his leg, ignoring the ache. “You’ve got it wrong.”
Angeal raises his eyebrows. “Did you not do all of those things?”
His eyes dart around the room. Zack has that smile again. He’s looking between Angeal and Cloud like he’s proud of what he sees; as if Cloud could be anything close to the person Angeal described.
“Look,” he grits out. He ignores the frown that crosses Angeal’s face, because he’s doing the man a favor, here. “It’s great you think I’ve been doing so well, but you’re missing all the other shit. You weren’t there on my Planet. The fuck-ups and the stupid mistakes? That’s half my life.” He gentles his voice: trying to be reasonable. “It doesn’t matter what the fuck you think I accomplished. I did most of that shit by accident.”
Angeal says, “So?”
“What do you mean, ‘so’?! You’re—! You’re doing this on purpose,” Cloud mutters. His fists are clenching again: open and shut.
“And you saved a man I love.” Angeal reaches out to skim fingers through Zack’s hair; Zack turns his face into the touch with an ease that’s hard to look at. Cloud averts his eyes. He’s about to tell him he nearly got Zack killed, actually, when Zack kicks him very gently in the ankle. One sky blue eye gazes lazily at Cloud, and he still looks so fucking proud, it’s unbearable.
“Cloud. You healed the first man I ever loved, for no other reason than he was in pain, and you could. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that. Yes, you threatened our people on the landing pad, and we still need to talk about Corel, but given the…extenuating circumstances—”
“No!” Cloud looks between them, pleading for one of them to understand. He’s…he’s not…he’s shaking, is what he is. Extenuating circumstances. Does Angeal know? About Strife?
Does he know we’ll poison everything we touch? Strife asks rhetorically, and sure, that too. He feels the urge to run rise like the bile in his throat.
“No,” he says with finality. “That’s my answer.”
“All right.” Angeal’s voice is so gentle that Cloud sort of hates him for it. “All right.”
To escape any further emotions, Cloud goes and hides in the bathroom, and then he decides he might as well take a shower while he’s got the chance.
Getting wet feels honestly kind of redundant, with how hard it’s raining outside. At least it’s warmer? That helps a little with the pain.
This is where Cloud finds he can no longer raise his bad arm over his head, the sickness has progressed so far. When he tries, the ball of his shoulder spasms like it just received an electric shock. Gasping, he leans against the cool shower wall and lets the water pour until it soaks his grimace away.
He finally lets himself look down at his hand, for the first time in a while, and it's-
"Well, shit," he says without really meaning to.
Shit is a pretty good word to use. Long, diagonal lines of black cover his fingers. They stripe over his knuckles, twist up his wrist, and cut across the skin at the crook of his elbow - following the lacerations he'd gotten from the snapped trolley cable. Except? The black has now started bleeding into the rest of his skin. The only part of his arm that looks normal from the outside is his shoulder.
Cloud doesn't remember much from the last few weeks he'd spent in Edge, days and days ago; everything was a blur through the fever. He's still pretty sure he'd never gotten anything like this. It's Geostigma, no doubt about it, but it's acting so very strangely.
He doesn't know what's going on under the surface. The pain burns slowly up his shoulder and across his collarbone, ending with a twinge in his heart. He traces the skin with his finger, and it feels...hot.
Back home, Barret would have clucked and fussed and yelled at him for getting out of bed, while Cid would have offered him a cigarette when no one was looking. Nanaki would be listing off human-specific cures he'd "heard about". Yuffie would be jabbing curiously at his arm until Vincent pulled her off by the scruff of her neck, and Denzel and Marlene would be helping Tifa make her special curative brew.
The thoughts spur Cloud to get back to his shower, because they all would've complained that he stunk right now.
He scrubs his good arm through his hair and lets the dirt, sweat, and blood — perfectly normal and expected, with the lifestyle he leads — loosen and flake off, along with caked-up bits of Geostigma crud — not normal, and also gross. Yuffie would have shrieked at the sight. Cloud casts around for something to use and spies a single bottle of shampoo on the shelf.
When he opens it, it smells of jasmine.
Oh. Sephiroth.
By the time he flips the cap shut, it’s been open long enough for the smell of jasmine to sneak out and permeate the air. Being drenched in Sephiroth’s scent, however subtly, seems almost fitting.
Cloud slowly puts the bottle back, feeling...something. It can't possibly be grief, but it doesn't taste like anything but.
Doesn't matter. Water's getting cold now. He’d better finish up.
He turns, and steps straight into the Mount Corel reactor.
“Wh–What?” Cloud stumbles back, panting. Rapier clanks against the ground.
Cracks are showing, someone says, but he can’t hear because guards are starting to flood in the door and he has to protect the train. He steps forward, even though he doesn’t want to, and raises the blade.
It’s not enough. Or maybe it’s too much. He watches ten figures die in front of his eyes, one by one by one. Each bleeds not-green Mako all the way down.
And then they stand up.
He sees it pumping through their veins, out their mouths. A flash; they’re all looking at him, hello, stormcloud. Their feet aren’t touching the ground and they keep rising until they’re just that tall and each one flickers sideways and grows long, white hair.
Puppet, Sephiroth fucking croons at him, empty, aren’t you? And then he flips upside down and he’s Strife, they’re all Strife, all ten of them. Their eyes and mouths and veins are black as the space between stars; the Mako slams into him like a wall and the ten people become one becomes a sword that knifes through his chest. He tries to run but violence is curdling in his veins and Strife is there, skewered on the end of his sword, his face so very very very very close to his own.
Hey there, me.
—
(Cloud’s been losing a lot of fights lately. Some of it’s the Geostigma eating him up, but that’s not the main reason; it’s because he doesn’t actually want to kill these people. Tseng, Angeal, Zack, Gen, the reactor guards, he never wanted to see them dead and it tripped him up. Probably always will.
This is different.
This man, he really hates.)
—
Crack!
Something breaks. He hears Mako — no, water — pattering at his feet.
Cloud?
He’s back in the shower and his heart hurts. It hurts a lot, actually. Distantly, he notes that his whole body is shaking, his arm buried up to the elbow in the bathroom wall. A good, solid punch like that can do a lot of damage.
Missed, Strife whispers mockingly. His voice has been getting clearer since the landing pad, and way harder to ignore.
Cloud knocks the water off. He stumbles out of the shower, sending bottles crashing to the floor, and catches himself on the mirror. He and his reflection both gasp for air, cheek to illusory cheek.
Alexander didn’t respond to you, did it? Strife murmurs to Cloud like they’re the closest of friends. It never liked me either.
The lights flicker with the next roll of thunder. “We aren’t the same,” he coughs.
(Hates.)
Cloud, Sephiroth whispers to his mind, and Cloud shuts him out without even thinking.
We share a face. We share a name. We share a pack, too. How are they, by the way?
Panic swamps his bones. “Why ask about them? Thought your beef would be with me.” Cloud’s shaking so hard, trying to get the words out. “Just me. You hate that I’m taking your place. Right?”
Puppet, Sephiroth – Cloud’s Sephiroth, the old one — croons, and then he flips Strifeward. Our beef is with the whole damn world. Don’t you get it?
The thing with Cloud’s face starts to laugh, but the sound that comes out is the reactor alarm. Overload. It echoes back and forth in the tiny, ruined bathroom, louder and louder until he’s scratching at his ears, scratching at the mirror, just trying to get it to stop.
(HATES.)
He staggers. His hand leaves the mirror, slick with, with—
Don’t you miss Mother? Don’t you miss feeling connected to everything? Miss having a purpose?
“No—”
Don’t you feel Her now?
“I said no!” Thunder cracks the sky.
Like you said, it mutters. It doesn’t matter, none of it matters. It never mattered! Hah! Your arrival fucked it all up! All I gotta do is get out from under you , and then shit’s back on. Me and Sephiroth, reunited again, Strife sighs. I’ve made so much progress with him, Cloud. You can’t stop me from finishing the job, and you know why?
Cloud sneers. “‘Cuz all blond twinks share a psychic bond? Piss off, I’ve heard stupider—”
It crushes his face against his. The mirror is freezing. Because, it coos. You’re the sitting duck between me and my Planet right now. I can’t reach it, because of you.
“Good!” But something’s not right. It— he gives him a grin that bleeds at the corners, and Cloud feels his own mouth twisting to match.
But see, Cloud, I always win. We learned from the best, you know? From you. You get alllll my attention right now, and I’ve been learning your tricks.
“Stop it. Stop.” His arm hurts so bad. The pain’s in his heart. “You can’t reach the Planet. You said.”
And I didn’t lie. But you? You’re not part of the Planet.
“I—”
I can’t reach Her, Brother. But I can.
(Hates..?)
Reach.
“Please–”
YOU.
A hand covers his face, rakes through his mind, and Cloud screams.
“NO!”
CRASH!
The lights snap and pop. Electricity races through his bad arm—a different kind of pain—and then the room goes dark.
Try again, Strife calls, and sinks back into his blood. Brother.
The mirror is shattered beyond repair. Another good, solid punch. Bits of glass cut into his forearm and wrist as he blindly drags his arm out. He hisses through his teeth. Outside, running footsteps are getting closer.
Something picks at the back of his mind, humming and insistent. Cloud flinches.
A hand slides up the back of his neck.
“Careful,” Sephiroth whispers. Cloud’s throat goes so tight that it clamps pain across his temples like a brand.
“Sssephiroth,” he rasps. Maybe it’s a whine.
There is a hum. Jasmine steals into his nose. Sephiroth’s glove slides up and up, until he’s pushing fingers through Cloud’s hair. His hand is so big that he can just about cup Cloud’s entire head.
The other hand comes to rest on Cloud’s shoulder, gentle and sure. Sephiroh presses lightly into his scalp with the tips of his fingers, massaging little circles that send shivers down his throat.
“Parasympathetic nerve response,” Sephiroth tells him, like Cloud asked. “You are sensitive.”
Someone else might call his tone intimate, but no one else is here, are they?
“Try to be—”
— more careful, Cloud.
Are they?
“Spike?!”
Cloud gasps a tight breath.
He opens his eyes, wheezing and gripping the sink for dear life. Half hoping, he raises his head…But no. He’s alone in the dark bathroom. The only sign that anything had happened is the smashed mirror and the faint rill of jasmine in the air.
“Cloud? You good?” Zack taps on the door, sounding nervous. “Can I come in? Only we heard a crash, and I thought…”
“Come in.” Please.
His voice sounds awful. Zack must think so too, because the door practically flies open.
“Spike,” he breathes, and then: “Shit, what happened?”
Cloud shrugs. “I. Punched the mirror?”
Zack huffs a laugh and steps forward, cautious. “I figured.” Glass crunches under his boot. “Wow, yeah, you weren’t kidding. Can you sit? There’s a first-aid kit…somewhere.”
“Sure.” He doesn’t sit down so much as tilt sideways until he feels a wall he hasn’t managed to punch yet, and then sags to the floor. “Can do.” Zack bangs around in the dark. Cloud licks his lips, tasting jasmine. He shivers again.
“Here.” A flash of lightning shows him Zack, hefting the largest medkit Cloud’s ever seen and reaching out with his other hand. Their fingers tangle together. “Damn, that’s a lot of glass.” Zack whistles, impressed. “We’re gonna have to pick that out. It’ll hurt.”
“No doctors,” Cloud says, suddenly desperate.
“Nah.” Zack rustles around in the kit. “Got everything we need right here!” He proudly clicks a pair of tweezers. “Junon, man. I’m starting to think this place is just bad news. Here, gimme.” Cloud lets Zack take his wrist in a deceptively gentle grip, rotating it carefully. The light from the window throws everything into stark shades of black and white. Cloud’s hand is mostly black.
“Sorry for the mess,” he croaks as the rain thunders outside.
Zack gets to work patting off the blood, furrowing his brow in concentration. “Don' gotta 'pologizshe," he says around the tweezers clenched in his teeth. “We'll fixsh it. Who caresh about mirrorsh anyway, they shuck.”
That gets him a laugh. Cloud lets his head fall back, his mouth twitching. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, they do kinda shuck.”
Snickering, Zack grabs the tweezers and pulls the first bit of glass from Cloud’s wrist. Cloud breathes. It does hurt, a little bit, but that’s okay. The shadows don’t seem as tall with someone else here. Especially when that someone is Zack.
“All right?” Zack checks.
“Mm.”
Cloud pings the bond, again and again, and relaxes more every time he gets an answer. Right-here. Alive. Right-here.
Alive.
He breathes.
The storm continues to rage outside but here in the bathroom, the two of them are in their own little bubble, safe and private and apart from the world. Zack hums a show tune under his breath. Cloud lets his eyes fall half-shut. He feels vaguely like something is missing. Maybe the gentle crackle of a fire, the slow roast of woodsmoke in the air.
“Zack?” Cloud says after an interminable amount of time.
“Mhm?” The tip of Zack's tongue pokes out of his mouth when he concentrates. He takes a break to glance up at Cloud. “Yeah, bud?”
He breathes again. Thinks of home. “I...really did miss you."
Zack’s entire face softens. “Oh.” His hands gently tighten, and his expression...
Swallowing, Cloud looks away.
Strife sits cross-legged in the bathtub, watching them with black, black eyes, his arm streaked with blood, but he's quiet. Like this, he looks smaller; frailer compared to Zack's build and height. Cloud lets him fade away into shadow, and tries not to think of next time.
“The others?” he mumbles, as the backup power stutters in the walls and lights flicker back to life. “Gen and…everyone?”
“Hanging back,” is all Zack says. Dropping the tweezers, he cracks his neck with a sigh and gives him a smile. “So, I sort of yelled at them on your behalf. Not my best moment, but…yeah.” He looks to the side, a rueful tint to his mouth. “Told them not to push you too hard. But it’s kinda what they’re used to.”
Cloud frowns, watching Zack worry at his lip.
“Seph and Gen and Ange…they grew up in a rough situation,” his friend explains. “They can be kind of bad at this part. I’m sorry about that.”
“Bad?” It’s hard to imagine the Firsts being bad at anything. They’re so…them.
“Well not bad, exactly.” Zack rubs the last of the blood off Cloud’s wrist. “All done! How’s that?”
Wearily, Cloud flexes his arm. “...S’fine. No more glass.”
In the wan light of the bathroom, he can study the way the black veins spider over the skin at the crook of his elbow. I’ve almost reached your heart, Strife had said. Well, it sucks shit for him because Cloud’s real heart is now scattered all over Junon: escaping Turks and keeping AVALANCHE running and sitting here helping him pick out the shards of his latest meltdown. They're different, they're all different, but they're alive and Cloud swears to himself that it'll stay that way. This time, he'll make it an oath.
Strife can infect Cloud all he wants, he’s not reaching Cloud’s people.
“Look, before we go,” Zack says. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that they’re good at the big things. Gen, Ange, and Seph, I mean. Commitment all the way down, legally binding, next thing you know you’re sharing their sock drawer. It’s the fiddly detail stuff that actually trips them up. Like…feelings. And, and dates!” He brightens. “I’ve taken them on so many dates. Seph still doesn’t get the point of them, but he’s a real good sport about it.”
“Dates?” Sephiroth…dating? Cloud tries to imagine it, and possibly sprains something in his brain.
“Seriously!” Zack flaps his hands. “He does lots of normal person stuff, and it still blows me away if I think about it too hard. Because—”
“—he’s the General,” Cloud finishes. His head hurts. Dates? Dates. Romantic dates.
(Four people.)
“Exactly! He’s a literal legend! They all are! Like…!” Zack sits up on his heels. “I used to draw them, y’know? Before their official posters came out, I’d make my own with construction paper.”
Well, that’s about the best thing Cloud has ever heard. And the nerdiest. “Yeah?”
“Yup,” Zack says, totally unashamed. “And I’d follow the news, ‘cuz I knew I’d be drafted when I was older. My parents hated it, but I thought…” Wistful, he looks up at the window. “I thought, ‘if I get to meet them in real life, it all would’ve been worth it’.” He quirks a smile. “Was all that kept me going, sometimes. In Wutai.”
Silence falls. Zack seems a little lost in memory, and not all of it happy. Cloud casts around for something to say. “Did you ever get the posters?”
Bingo. Zack lights up. “Oh hell yeah I did! Even got ‘em signed. Don’t tell anyone, but I think I still have them in my old room.” He coughs on a laugh and starts packing up the medkit. “Had to hide ‘em just in case. Ange can't stand those posters. He gets so embarrassed at all the merch— oh. Oh! Hey, wait a minute!”
Zack throws himself to his feet. Cloud leans back. “Huh?”
“The merch!” Zack crows. He starts digging through drawers, a man on a mission. “Wait, wait, wait waitwait—!”
Cloud’s knees crack as he levers himself upright. He grimaces. Geostigma is a slowly-growing whisper in his blood. In his nerves. In his joints. In his—
“Aha!” A crumpled old box is held triumphantly in the air. “SOLDIER band-aids!” Zack cheers, pulling Cloud close. “I knew I left ‘em here!” Cloud watches, bemused, as Zack peels open a paper rectangle and sticks a band-aid to the back of his hand, right over the worst of the Geostigma. “There!”
Stunned, he tilts his hand back and forth, squinting at the three figures printed on the thick adhesive. The one on the left is probably supposed to be Genesis but looks more like a weird orange-y tree. Next to him is a white figure that might be Sephiroth in a sword stance, or possibly a backflip, and a big splotch of black that would look vaguely like Angeal if the man’s left eye took up half his face.
Cloud…
Cloud is in love. “Are these limited edition?” he breathes.
“You fucking know it, babe.” Zack winks and carefully folds up the box. “You keep that one safe for me, okay?”
Is he crazy?! “You can’t just—! Stick it to my hand! These have to be collector’s items! And, and," He waves his hand at the mess. "And I just smashed up your bathroom!"
“Yeah, but they’re mine!” Zack’s smile gentles. He rubs the back of his neck. “Don't worry about the bathroom, seriously. I want you to have this. Gotta keep all my faves in one place. You know?”
His voice is so flippant but his eyes are serious and blue. Seriously blue. Cloud works his jaw; not quite believing him. “I mean,” he says. “If you put it like that…”
“Ay!” Zack yanks him forward into a hug. “That’s the spirit!” He drops the box back into a drawer and starts to steer a still-reeling Cloud out of the bathroom. “Just promise you won’t let Angeal see it and you’ll be good. Seriously. He gets flustered.”
The thought of Angeal flustered is strangely appealing. "I..." Cloud says, admiring his new band-aid. "I'll tr - FUCK!"
He nearly climbs right into Zack’s arms in his haste to scramble away and ends up falling on his ass. Right in front of Sephiroth, who’d appeared out of nowhere.
Distantly, Strife laughs.
“Zack,” Sephiroth says, savoring Zack’s name just like he does Cloud’s. “Cloud.”
Sephiroth, Strife sings. Come. HERE.
Cloud gasps, glaring up from the ground. Rage heats his blood, easy and quick, and there goes his good mood. "The hell?"
“Shit!” Zack is practically hopping up and down. “Sorry, Spike, I forgot you guys hadn’t bonded yet. Shoulda warned you when I felt him coming.” He plops Cloud firmly back on his feet, dusting him off. “Guess I’m just too used to it!”
“It’s fine,” Cloud says, shaking off the hand that keeps straying to his hair. He steps away, spearing another steely look at Sephiroth; thankfully the SOLDIER is now wearing his normal coat. Cloud never imagined he’d be so happy to see Sephiroth’s typical levels of chestiness. The sweatshirt was just terrifying.
“Of course,” the First agrees smoothly. He starts to pace a wide circle around the two of them. Cloud eases in front of Zack. “Now. I am meant to assess Cloud’s readiness for combat.”
Cloud’s heart stalls, then kicks up a notch. He nearly turns away so that Sephiroth can't see his bad side, still herding Zack away. Don't show weakness to your enemy, that's a rule so old it doesn't need a number.
It’s Zack who asks, “Why?”
Surprised, he looks up to his friend and sees that Zack’s got himself nearly as puffed up as Cloud. There’s stubbornness in the set of his jaw as he stares down the General. "Thought I told you guys not to press him,” he grumbles.
“Nothing untoward,” Sephiroth says.
Promise? Strife cackles.
Cloud looks from Zack to Sephiroth, mind racing. This was inevitable, wasn’t it? This is SOLDIER, this is how it works. Especially for people like Cloud.
“Okay, but still– Spike is sick."
That spurs Cloud to take a step forward, his jaw clenching. “I can do it, Zack.”
yesyeSyEsy E
Zack rounds on him, betrayed. “Spike!”
Cloud's sick, sure, maybe, but with his enhancements and experience on his side? "It's fine." His fists tighten. He doesn't even feel the cuts from the mirror anymore. "I can fight." He can always fight.
Something wry flickers in the General’s smirking lips. “Not here,” he tells him quietly. “I think you’ve done enough damage to our poor walls.” Cloud stares ahead as Sephiroth steps in, as he places a cool, gloved hand on his shoulder. “This way.”
“You guys…” Zack says, sounding just about the opposite of happy.
Cloud winces. “Sorry. You probably don’t want to watch.”
“If there’s a fight, I wanna be there!” Zack sends Sephiroth an exaggerated I’m watching you gesture, then rocks forward and punches him in the bicep. “Be nice, Sephiroth.”
A languid blink. Then, to Cloud's complete surprise: “Zack will watch,” Sephiroth decides in a tone that brooks no argument. “Come.”
Of course, Sephiroth doesnt lead the way, because he’s a contrary fuck. He only presses on Cloud’s shoulder until Cloud confusedly starts walking, Zack chattering along at his right. The whole time, his mind is racing.
Why bring Zack along? The Sephiroth Cloud knew - even the SOLDIER he was passingly familiar with - would have refused all audiences. Probably. If nothing else, it would have violated Hojo's fucked-up party protocols to have a third party involved.
But...
But Hojo died years ago. And Angeal and Genesis are still around, still alive. And then there are the damn packs, and Cloud doesn't want to admit it, but there's a masochistic part of him that's telling him to poke at this weird, sane Sephiroth who wears Genesis's clothes to breakfast. It's a small part, but it's undeniably, unexpectedly there.
He looks down at his band-aid and wonders if he doesn't quite know what he's gotten himself into after all.
Strife’s anticipation is building to a roar by the time they reach an empty classroom. Zack steps away to turn the lights on and the moment he does, Cloud spins on the practice mat. “How much did you see?” he demands in an undertone.
Sephiroth is very still. “I’m sure I don't know what you’re talking about.” He flickers. There’s a flash of…white? Cloud catches the thing that comes flying at his face, whatever it is, in midair. It stings his palm.
“I—This is a stick,” he says in surprise. It’s a nice stick, at least. Solid, sturdy, perfectly straight. The hell?
“Escrima sticks, carved of dragonbone,” Sephiroth informs him. He throws another one, which Cloud fumbles to catch. The surface is sanded smooth, but not polished; he rubs it with his thumb, a little fascinated at how quickly the ivory warms under his touch. “From our hunt. I thought you’d appreciate it.”
Zack whistles through his teeth. He’s up against the wall, not even doing squats, just watching them avidly. “Not bad.”
Cloud weighs the sticks in his hands, even more off-balance. He'd gone in expecting a fight, not a gift, and especially not a good one. “Fine. Why?”
Instead of answering, Sephiroth simply vanishes. Fucking— typical—
Cloud throws the sticks into the right position out of sheer luck and almost gets his teeth smashed through his jaw for his trouble. Clack! His wrists bend from the force as Sephiroth bears forward with Masamune in its sheath, and then it's like the world, his mind, everything, goes silent.
Knees loose, he drops, hitting the ground flat and spinning away.
The sticks whistle through the air with a satisfying weight, almost like Tsurugi’s twins. But he can’t appreciate them for long. He dodges, just as Masamune’s sheathed tip shatters half the damn floor in one strike. BAM!
This close, it's louder than a gunshot. Displaced air blows Cloud’s hair away from his face. It smells of rain and distant dust.
Zack whoops. Cloud skids and nearly whoops back. He hefts almost-familiar weapons, facing almost-familiar Sephiroth, and feels something in him settle into place for the very first time.
Then he jerks and stumbles as Strife’s eager scream rings back like a clarion call. give him to ME-
“Pay attention, Cloud,” Sephiroth interrupts with a purr. One hand twirls Masamune like the famous blade is a quarterstaff, his eyes picking apart Cloud's form. “You're fighting me."
Cloud spits out a piece of tile. “Who else would I be—”
Crash!
A blur of black. He’s thrown to his knees, his arms shaking with the effort of holding Masamune at bay. Sephiroth stares down at him - also familiar - and slowly begins to step forward. The pressure increases.
Step. Step. Step, until it feels like Cloud’s very spine will snap. Step.
Cloud jags to the side, like he'd had countless times before, letting Masamune fall, and slams his left blade down to trap the it against the floor. Heart in his throat, he lunges with his right, and…
Thunk.
Sephiroth doesn’t even bother to block. He tilts his head and kicks the stick away, where it had failed to skewer him in the knee. Because it’s a stick. Not a blade. “Again,” he says, and Masamune blurs into motion.
Cloud dances back, both sticks already trembling in his grip. His right hand is numb, resisting all his attempts to shake it back to life. Each breath feels like a knife in his lungs, and Strife will not shut up. But the thing is…
Someone lets out a rusty laugh as Sephiroth severs the distance between them, the sheath carving a hard line through Cloud’s hair and shattering a hole in the wall.
…he’s having so much fun.
Pain explodes in his sternum as Sephiroth boots Cloud through the hole, straight into the next room. Cloud tries to stab the floor to stop himself from sliding but the stick merely thunks harmlessly against the mat. No edge. Right.
Boots screech on the tile before Zack appears in the door. His mouth shapes the words: you good, Spike?
Cloud nods, panting. The world is so quiet, so beautifully clear right here, right now. Sephiroth...
To buy time, he wings his right stick at Sephiroth’s head, who deflects with a twist of his mouth. The First flips his sword between his fingers until it’s nearly invisible, it’s moving so fast.
He looks perfectly unruffled, tilting his head, is that all? and Cloud’s blood boils happily.
They crash into each other so hard Masamune vibrates in its sheath, like a tuning fork struck just so. Sephiroth hums along — a single, pretty note. Then he’s grabbed Cloud by the face, lifting him straight off the ground and ignoring how he thrashes.
“Do better,” the Demon of Wutai breathes lovingly into his ear.
Cloud screams something garbled into the leather of Sephiroth’s glove, clawing at everything he can reach. Sephiroth slams him into the floor — once — twice — then hurls him away.
He doesn't know how many more walls he slams through, and he doesn't care one whit. All he knows is the dance of metal and plaster and glass, voices calling out as the two of them thunder from room to room; his mind, blissfully silent. Sephiroth: descending on him like a living nightmare, Masamune crushing through obstacles as if they’re not even there. A table: breaking into shards. Strife: screaming, howling. Coming closer.
The attacks get faster, more brutal, raining down on him from every angle and throwing him from side to side every time he manages to block. But he does manage to block, even though his arms feel like they’ve been bashed into rubber, and his laugh hitches through his chest.
Sephiroth’s stopped playing. Or — maybe — he’s just now starting to play. Cloud doesn’t need a mirror to study the way his own eyes gleam at the realization, because the love of the fight is mirrored right in front of his face.
Battle-lust, in Mako-green. What a sight.
Sweat streams into his eyes. He’s running out of energy; this needs to be fast. He keeps smashing his sticks into Masamune, keeping it at bay, but, but—
"Very good," Sephiroth murmurs, just for him.
Cloud slams forward, gripping the sheath and yanking it close: a Tifa special. He spins to dodge Sephiroth's terrifying backhand and reaches, then reaches further, get in, take the opening, sEph iROTH —
“Enough!” Angeal barks.
Time resumes.
Cloud sucks in a breath. Gravity wobbles, and then he jerks, heaves, vomits onto the floor. Soupy black splatters all over the place.
“Commander—”
“Sir—!”
He spits out another string of black, feeling something tighten on his wrist. Cloud looks up and matches gazes with Sephiroth.
His opponent’s hand is locked around Cloud’s wrist in a death grip, squeezing hard enough to grind the bones together. Cloud’s hand — the bad one — is frozen in a claw, reaching for Sephiroth’s face.
Missed, Strife hisses, and it’s angry.
“That’s enough. Clear the hallway.” Angeal’s voice cuts through the chatter, leaving silence behind. People begin to scatter.
What happened? Cloud asks, gasping. Or maybe he thinks it; the ice between them has grown so very thin. Between you two?
Sephiroth replies, Would you like to see?
What?
He pulls him forward, inch by inch. “Bond with me. Find out.”
Well, that’s a dead easy question to answer. Cloud scowls. “No. Piss off.”
Sephiroth narrows his eyes in what looks like satisfaction. “Welcome back, Cloud.” His other hand comes up to grab Cloud’s throat, and for a moment it feels so goddamn familiar. His pulse pounds against the leather.
Fuck. There really is a part of him that's missed Sephiroth — missed this: between the two of them.
"Put me down,” Cloud croaks at last. “Or I’ll vomit all over your face.”
Point to him: this threat actually works. Sephiroth lowers him in silence, refusing to blink. His eyes are so very green that they seem to leave afterimages, trailing across his vision, but maybe that's Cloud's migraine.
“Cloud.” Angeal’s voice is low and irritated enough to be called a growl. Right behind him, too: it hits Cloud’s spine and he twitches like he’s just gotten his hair pulled, shaking off the weird little shiver.“Are you all right?”
He coughs as hard as he can, manages a nod. His mouth tastes like he’s been using his tongue to clean Cid’s engine prototypes, shooting pains are now arcing up his spine, and spots collect and burst in his vision from the migraine. “I’m. Why does everyone— shut up, I’m fine.”
“Fine,” Sephiroth says, perfectly blank. Cloud glowers at him.
“What the hell was that?” Angeal asks.
“A test,” Sephiroth murmurs.
“Sephiroth.”
“For multiple reasons,” the other First adds. “You may keep the sticks, Cloud. I am satisfied.”
“This wasn’t sanctioned by me.” Angeal stares his packmate down. Sephiroth blinks at him, looking…about as contrite as Sephiroth could ever look, which is to say: not very. It’s still more than Cloud has ever seen out of him.
“My apologies. Genesis and I hadn’t expected this to get quite so out of hand.” He looks down the mess on the floor, his mouth pinching ever so briefly. “I’ll...speak with him.”
“I’ll be the one speaking with him.” The big SOLDIER squares his shoulders, still eyeing Sephiroth in disapproval, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that the General outranks the crap out of him.
Sephiroth pauses, cocking his head. Something seems to emerge in his eyes. “Ah. I am sorry,” he says — actually says, out loud. To Cloud.
Cloud gapes. At Sephiroth, yes, but also at Angeal: like he’s never seen him before. Maybe he hasn’t, not really. There, the part of his mind that belongs to this world tells him. Right there. See.
“I’m really okay?” he insists, instead of ‘are you some kind of magical creature’. Rude question, that. "This is SOLDIER. And. I agreed to it. So."
Angeal does not look impressed with this response, which is…fair. Cloud coughs and hastily wipes his mouth, tasting iron. The bigger SOLDIER shakes his head and puts a hand on his shoulder; he’s now wearing gloves, Cloud notices. Long sleeves, too.
“How do you feel?” he asks, his voice gentling. “And don’t say ‘fine’.” Stymied, Cloud closes his mouth. After a telling pause, Angeal says, “Why agree to a fight, if you felt this bad?”
He doesn't have an answer to that, either, and it’s starting to bother him. Angeal’s growing disapproval is a heavy weight he’s not quite sure how to walk with. Cloud shrinks, feeling his whole body ache, and glares, because what else can he do?
"Sorry," he grunts. This world is so strange.
"Are you?"
"Not really," Cloud admits, then immediately winces. To his surprise, Angeal quirks his lip.
"Yeah. I didn't think so." He sighs and rubs his forehead. "All four of you..."
They wait, but Angeal doesn't elaborate. He just surveys the damage from the fight with an air of put-upon magnanimity. Cloud turns to look and...yeah. Shit. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea. He's trying to be useful, not destructive.
The stalemate lasts right up until Genesis swings by, whistling with his hands in his pockets. He still seems incredibly pleased about something. "I heard property damage?" he asks. His eyes immediately go to Cloud as Angeal turns and gives him a full glare. Instead of being cowed, Genesis takes one look at the scene and pulls out four separate materia, something slightly unhinged in his eyes.
“Something happened,” he says with avid glee.
Angeal is unmoved, but his attention thankfully shifts away from Cloud. Cloud exhales: a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding. “I hear you’re somewhat to blame?”
“Perish the thought!” Gen sweeps gracefully forward and beams right into Angeal’s face. He screeches when Angeal — maintaining the exact same expression — reaches forward and picks him up by the scruff of his coat.
“We’re going to Medical,” Angeal decides, ignoring Genesis’s attempts to kick him in the ankle. Cloud dodges out of the way. "Cloud, this way."
“At least put me in a bridle carry, you buffoon!” Genesis yells. “Be sexy about it!”
“Cloud.” Angeal beckons with a jerk of his head. Cloud…can't think of anything to do but follow mutely. He only pauses once, to accept the discarded sticks - escrimas - from Zack.
“So now I can just keep these?” he asks, befuddled. They just saw him rip open countless walls, vomit black, and now they're taking him to get checked out?
“Uh-huh! Seph evaluated you, even if he got...a little carried away at the end there! Congrats, you get sticks.” Zack lowers his voice. "It may not look it but he is sorry. He never apologizes unless he really means it, so."
"But?" It was just a fight. Cloud had fought Sephiroth the exact same way countless times. Why would they be mad at Sephiroth?
Zack grins and ushers him into the hall. “Go on, get healed and then come down to dinner okay? I’ll make sure Seph doesn’t bother you.”
The last thing Cloud sees before he leaves is Sephiroth: the corner of his mouth, turned down; a flash of iris as Zack touches gently him on the shoulder, the dark puddle on the floor — and then both men are obscured from sight.
There aren't any doctors in Medical. Which means they're either lucky, or they're smart: Cloud does not want to have to rip another hole in the wall to escape, though he would, if he had to. But no - there's only a few beds, a rack of materia, a blood-pressure machine, and nobody else. Better yet, Genesis's red coat looks about as far from Hojo's white as it possibly could.
“I’m surprised at you,” Angeal says once the three of them crowd into the tiny medical office. “I’d have thought you'd insist on being the one to fight.”
Genesis hums and sits back on his heels. He rolls the green Cure over his knuckles — the same trick Cloud’s seen gamblers pull with two-gil lucky coins. “In truth," he sighs, watching it go. His eyelashes are very long. "I’d have thought so too. Two years ago, and you’d find me arguing with our dear General for hours. But we each have our own talents, don’t we?”
He casts with the confidence that comes with mastery. Fire-hot mana branches through Cloud’s system in a sudden rush, burning away the chill for a tiny, perfect speck of time. It kills a budding secondary infection taking root in his elbow and eases more aches he hadn’t even noticed.
The reprieve is nice. Temporary, like the scent of dinner permeating the air, but still nice.
Genesis spins the Cure on the tip of his finger. It’s a noticeably higher level than the one Cloud had used to heal Angeal, but Cloud suspects it’s the very same.
“Don’t we, Ange?” Gen murmurs, and laces his hands with Cloud's. The manic spark to his expression has eased slightly, and now he looks almost tired. Still pleased, though - he stares at the Cure like he's discovered something new.
A few more spells are cast for good measure, and the brief lack of pain hits Cloud in a wave. He feels his eyelids flutter. Strife's voice seems to glitch out for a second.
"All better." Genesis pats Cloud's hand.
Temporary. Cloud just needs to remind himself it's all temporary.
Next time, Strife promises. Someone dies.