1: Penance

The proud roar of a motorcycle was silenced abruptly when its rider killed the gas and jumped lithely off. The air rung with silence and mourned the loss of the black beast's howl. But its rider preferred the awkward hush to its noise. It helped him think. Helped him forget. Spongy green grass cushioned his feet as they met the ground and black boots became coated in a glassy layer of dew. He kicked down the bike's break and watched impassively as the sleek, black machine tottered for a moment before going still.

The rider was dressed in black to match his metal hound. A long, black coat covered black jeans and brushed the buckles of black boots. Even the shades that covered cornflower eyes were black. His wardrobe contrasted darkly against the paleness of his skin and his flaxen hair; the effect ghostly. Otherworldly. He fit in seamlessly with the death of the cemetary- as if he too were himself a departed soul.

The rider walked swiftly through the tombstones, strides long yet unhurried. His pale lips remained tightly closed and hidden eyes looked on blindly ahead. Occasionally a weak breeze would ripple through the gray sky, and stir the spiked bangs that fell into his face. He did not notice. Soon, through a blur of time that seemed to fray at the edges, the rider reached his destination. A small tombstone with a name and a date scribbled onto its sleet pale stone. The rider stood a couple feet away from it and grew still.

Still as the tombstones he tried to ignore. Still as the dead..

He stood there for a couple moments, as if frozen by the warped time of the graveyard, before taking in a shallow breath. His gloved hands clenched and he fell to one knee. His coat fluttered madly around him, caught by the breeze, before growing limp on the monochrome grass. The rider looked intensely at the name and seemed to become stone himself. The name carved neatly onto the rock was only two short words.

Zack Fair.

They chained the rider to his position on the ground. His breaths were labored, though his face gave away nothing, and his fists were held tight. The wind moaned and the grass shivered. Suddenly he breathed out and with his hot breath, so too did the tension drain away. "Happy Birthday old friend," the rider whispered, voice laden with pent up sorrow. In a jerked motion the rider was back on his feet. He turned to go, when another voice rang out through the stale air.

"It doesn't get any easier does it?"

The voice was deep and empty- a familiar sound. The rider turned in its direction and spotted a tall figure leaning against a sickly thin tree. Strange he hadn't noticed him before... The man's face was turned up towards the sky and his raven hair hung down his back in a thin tail. The rider stared at him for a couple moments and turned away.

But he didn't move, still chained. Silence took over and the breeze withered and died, and then was born again in a haggard cycle that stood apart from the lifelessness of the graveyard. Among all the dead the wind would always live. Gray clouds thickened and sunlight faltered.

The man spoke again, and dark lashes rose to reveal striking red eyes that pierced the haze. "You come here to try and lift some of the pain but it never does any good. The pain never leaves." The rider frowned and faced the man. "Don't give me some lecture about penance. I've heard them all," he said bitterly, anger lacing the soft words. In a whirl of black fabric he started moving- back towards his bike that waited obediently in the distance. When the rider came in line with the stranger, the man spoke again. Pale hands pulled out of the pockets of his leather jacket, one with a lighter and the other with a cigarette. "He was a good man," he murmured, perhaps only to himself. One tip of the cigarette was poised at colorless lips and a weak flame singed the other. The rider stopped, again, as if hit.

"What did you say?.."

The man regarded the rider with bright red eyes and let smoke slip languidly from his lips. "Zack Fair. He was a good man." He nodded in the small grave's direction and the rider's mouth pressed into a hard line. His blonde hair seemed to shine suddenly in the miasma of the graveyard and then, like a candle flame blown out, he collapsed into himself. His shoulders sagged as if his grief had become too heavy a burden, and he took off his shades. Empty gray eyes stared at the tombstones. They shined like glass, letting the pain inside pour out like dappled light. He sighed, letting go of his momentary anger and ran a hand through his messy locks.

"Yeah… He was."

The stranger was quiet as the rider tried to climb from the abyss of his sorrow. Eventually, the rider looked up and met the red eyes without the usual shock. "You knew him?.." His voice was hopeful. The stranger nodded and took another solemn drag from his cigarette. The rider's eyes darkened. The weakness in them vanished and his muscled back straightened under the coat. Clenched fists went slack and black shades returned; transforming the rider again into something to be feared. "What is your name?"

The stranger put out the burning end of his cigarette with bare fingers, immune to the sting, and flicked it onto another grave. Below the dead was surely humphing with indignity. The two men crossed to meet each other. "Vincent," the red eyed man said, face carefully blank. The rider nodded and lifted a hand. The stranger stared at it and seemed perplexed. Hesitantly, he clasped the gloved hand in his bigger one- naked and pale. A ghost of a smile floated on the rider's lips before his face was emotionless once more. "Cloud," he returned after a moment. The stranger raised a dark brow and the handshake broke. "Well that's an original name," he said, amusement audible. The rider shrugged and walked away. Red irises watched him go.

A year passed and Zack's birthday came again. Cloud made his annual trip to the hated graveyard with little enthusiasm. The place seemed to suck the happiness out of him, making the task of remembering his friend even more miserable. But he owed it to Zack to visit him- misery or no.

When Cloud reached the graveyard, Midgar a steely smudge behind him, he found the stranger he had met before leaning against the same tree. It was so thin and frail, Cloud was surprised it didn't snap under the man's weight. He made his way through the grass, dull and getting duller, to Zack's tombstone. He felt the stranger's gaze upon him.

The familiar pain that Cloud always felt at Zack's memory rose and formed something hard and metallic in his stomach. He choked on his breath and tried to steady himself. It's been so long. I should have this under control by now… But he didn't. He couldn't help but feel guilty for his best friend's death. He wished every day he could take his place. That Zack was the one living, and breathing- not rotting forgotten in the ground. "Happy Birthday Zack," he whispered, but really meant: I'm sorry. Cloud exhaled slowly and wished his lungs would function properly. His throat felt full of lead and swallowing was almost impossible. When Cloud looked up, the stranger was still looking at him. His hand rose in a silent hello. Cloud nodded, unable to ignore him, and slipped his hands into his jacket pockets. The sour breeze was chilled and brisk, but Cloud felt hot in his jacket- neck damp and hands slick. But he didn't want to take it off. Not until he was away from the man.

As Cloud began to walk away, his respects paid, his curiosity began to nag at him. He had to admit there was something about the man against the tree that interested him. Mabye it the unusual scarlet color of his eyes.. Or maybe it was simply his presence in the suffocating graveyard: an un-asked for companion to his solitary grief.. Well, it's not like I have anything waiting for me back in Midgar..

When Cloud was closer to the man he turned to meet his gaze. "So. You have someone here?" he asked softly, loud noises not welcome in the somberness of the necropolis. This time the man was wearing office clothes- starched black pants with a button-down shirt and a red tie. A cigarette had again been lit and smoke trickled from his lips when he spoke. "I mourn for all of them." Cloud blinked, sunglasses left at home, and frowned. He considered the answer in silence for a couple moments. It was not what he had expected.

"..Why?.."

The man savored his smoke and looked away. "Because, somebody has to," he said quietly and Cloud could accept that. The air whistled and he couldn't think of something else to say. He looked back to his bike and felt it whining in impatience. But, he couldn't bring himself to leave. Not yet.

"Do you only come here for him?" the stranger, Vincent- that was his name, asked and Cloud felt himself raise his shields. No. He let out a breath, the tension in his chest easing out, and formed a reply. "Yes." He felt a pang of guilt at this admission and couldn't brush it aside. There were others who had died. Friends. But Zack had been the most important- more than a friend: a comrade, a brother. The only one worth visiting in such a place.. Vincent nodded and red eyes lingered on Cloud's. They faceted the sunlight like rubies and Cloud found it difficult to look anywhere else. The question came out at last.. "You eyes…?" The stranger cut him off with a grin. "I had a feeling you'd ask," he said and straightened. At his full height, he was even taller than Cloud. He took one last drag and flicked his cigarette, again, onto an unsuspecting grave. He tapped his temple, black bangs concealing it. "A genetic mutation, though many would like to believe otherwise." Cloud nodded, curiosity appeased and took a step away. "Well, I have to go…," he started, the words sounding weak even to him. "Goodbye." He didn't wait for the man to reply. He was a couple feet away when Vincent spoke. "If you don't mind me asking, how did your friend die?"

Cloud struggled to keep his breathing even. Memmories he had thought securely locked away, broke free from their shackles and played again in his mind like a sick video..

They were on the battle field together. Cloud's head was ringing so loud he felt as if his brain would explode. He could hear himself screaming but could do nothing to silence himself. He had been shot- once in the leg and twice in the side. His whole body burned and his mutilated thigh pulsed; sending fresh waves of agony every minute. He wanted to die. Anything to stop the pain. Pain pain pain- had he ever had a life without it? He couldn't remember.. Oh how he wished for death. But Zack wouldn't let him. They were crouched behind a makeshift cover. Zack's face, smeared with dirt and blood, hovered above him and his hands tied something- a strip of his uniform?- above the leg wound. The holes in his sides were left neglected. The tightness of the cloth brought forth more screams but he didn't push away his friend's hands. Blue eyes shone through the dust- it was everywhere, replacing the very air. Zack's voice was little more than a whisper in his ears; drowned out by the accursed ringing and the sound of guns firing and of grenades exploding. The sound of people shouting, of tanks crunching earth under massive tracks. Of people howling in pain and of bullets flying overhead. It was deafening. Still, Zack's voice got through. Cloud clung to it like his last breath of air..

"Stay with me Cloud. I'm taking you home okay? To Aerith. To Tifa. A-and Cid! Remember them? Goddamn' it- stay with me Cloud!!" The pain blurred his sight. Rough hands dragged him and propped him up against the cover. Cloud watched as Zack grit his teeth and looked quickly over the piled, burlap sacks. Then he grabbed his machine gun from the dirt and hauled it over the bags. His body shook as he fired, eyes squinting in concentration. Cloud moaned and tried to remember what happened to his own gun. God he wanted to get out of there.. He called Zack's name but his friend didn't seem to hear him.

Then time slowed. Blurred and filled his lungs like water. Cloud blinked, rubbing the filth from his face and smearing blood in its place, and grabbed Zack's shoulder. The pain made him bite his tounge and blood filled his mouth. He yelled something and blue eyes flashed to his. Zack frowned and suddenly there was red flowing from his left temple. His eyes rolled skyward and he collapsed into the dirt. Cloud blinked and didn't understand. He choked. Then he was crying. His body was on fire and he could hardly breathe but the tears still came. He threw himself over to Zack and shook him. Get up! Get UP!

But his friend was gone. A bullet through the head. Cloud's knees and hands became coated with blood as it pooled around Zack's body.. It stainded his clothes, stained his skin. He hung himself over his friend's corpse and felt his soul leave him. But he was still, sadly alive. He stayed there until it, Zack's body, grew cold and anger flared in him brighter than the pain. Filled the hollow in his chest where a heart used to be. A burning pain that consumed him whole. He grabbed his friend's gun and took out anything that moved. He only stopped when the bullets stopped- when the world went dark..

Cloud swallowed thickly. Sweat dripped down his brow and the air burned down his throat. He quickly jammed hands into his pockets to hide their shaking. Breathe- just breathe.. Rational thought came to him eventually as he fought to remain standing.

"He died- protecting me.."

Hey guyz!! Yup I'm alive.. Well here's a little tale of Cloud and Vinny. Theyre both so emo. I thought they needed some love.. So- here it is. Umm- changed their pasts a little. It takes place here in this world- Midgar's just a normal city and people don't lugg swords the sizes of snowboards around with them lol. Hope you like!

-Kirin