a little bitty bit thats been in my drive for a while i have nothing more for this at the moment and probably not in the future either so here it is

and yes it's another crossover because i'm a slut for crossovers

Leaving the room behind, Cloud wonders what is happening to him. He wonders if he's not still caught in the unmerciful grasp of mako poisoning, the way things have been going. It would certainly make more sense; his own contradictory and uncontrollable behaviors, the world he's in, the things he's seen while here.

Yes, he concludes, eying the large trees outside and seeing flickers of shapes jumping between the sturdy branches, mako poisoning is surely a better explanation than anything they've told me. Mako, and the less-than-controlled application of it by, undoubtedly, some unhinged scientist's hand. Possibly even Hojo himself, depending on how much of his memories are hallucinations. Something inside him aches at the thought of the friends he made and the experiences they fought through together being fake, but, once more, it explains far more than that being the reality of his life.

The quiet crinkle of fabric beside him makes Cloud twitch. He hadn't even sensed the man walking up behind him, so that small slip must have been on purpose.

And there lays the crux of the matter, the one thing that destroys all the wild theories Cloud can make up no matter what: there is no mako here. There is no mako, no Lifestream, nothing. Those that die here don't return the planet. Instead, they grow stiff and rot and are planted in the ground or burned.

In whatever horrid depths of his mind, never could've Cloud ever considered life without mako. From the most corporate of Shinra stooges to the most isolated villager to the most devoted AVALANCHE member, they could all agree on one thing only: mako made the world go 'round. Of course, for several different reasons, but the ultimate consensus was that life couldn't exist without it.

There was never a moment in Cloud's life, raised as he was in the Old Ways, that he doubted this universal truth.

(And he can hardly contain the rough chuckle that wants to escape his chest at that. He can give a basic description of the Old Gods and summarize many of their stories, and yet he still isn't completely sure if his mother's hair was brown or gold. Hell, had Tifa not told him, Cloud would still think he came from Gongaga. How that worked, Cloud wouldn't be able to even guess and he's not quite desperate enough to track down a scientist. He doesn't think he'd ever be that desperate, in fact.)

Taking a deep breath, Cloud turns to the man, or shinobi as they call themselves, beside him. The washed out green, sleeveless jacket and odd bandana with a piece of metal sewn on seems to be some sort of uniform, despite the complete lack of clothing regulation elsewhere, but one covered eye, half face mask, and spiky hair an uncomfortably close shade to Sephiroth's are all Hatake Kakashi.

He's watching the trees like Cloud was, and the lack of visible facial expressions, small though they may be, puts Cloud on edge. It's smart, of course, but also unnerving. Cloud has used people's expressions to determine a lot about them and their current mindset (or was that Zack coming through once again?). Body language in a fight was most important of course, but not when the enemy was too fast to see any movement.

Sephiroth taught him several hard lessons, and those lessons are more ingrained in Cloud's mind than his own name.

Hatake slides his lazy gaze toward Cloud. "You seem to have something on your mind. Care to share?"

Humming noncommittally, Cloud doesn't look away from the black eye tracking his movement.

"Right," Hatake snorts, slouching down and taking out two bright orange books from his jacket pocket. Their small staring contest ends with Hatake shoving one at his face and forcing Cloud to catch it or lose an eye. "Read that, maybe you'll loosen up." Cloud isn't sure, but that sounds like a joke. He hasn't spent much time talking to Hatake, or anyone really.

He looks down at the cover and squints slightly. That isn't… that isn't legible at all. It's as if a toddler had tried to create its own language from a half-learned alphabet while also using its non-dominate hand to write. Yet Cloud is certain, going by the fact Hatake has another one, that this was printed, which means that—

"You can't read. That's interesting," Hatake says blandly, already nose deep in his own book.

Cloud looks up sharply. So it was a test. With the shinobi's face covered and one eye not on him, Cloud isn't sure if he passed or failed. Or perhaps, more likely even, it was a simple stab in the dark that hit and now Hatake has more information. It's like being around Tseng, and the other more understated Turks. Cloud's skin itches.

Giving into a small, petty part of himself, Cloud drops the book and walks toward the door, relishing in the almost panicked way Hatake snatches it out of the air like one would a child. Before the door closes, Cloud can hear the snap of, "That was very rude of you, Mister Guest."

And there goes his good mood. Cloud is all too aware of how much he is relying on the kindness of a very military focused government and it has been made clear that goodwill can be very easily taken away, depending on his behavior and willingness to comply to their questioning after his grace period is over.

It's all very… ShinRa. They can say he has two more days left to acclimate all they like, Cloud knows he's been followed and watched on multiple occasions, and that's just when a stray breath or shift makes enough noise for him to be sure they're there. That cannot be even close to the true amount. Cloud shudders to think of Turks meeting these shinobi. The level of skill many Turks already possess are enough to make them a nuisance, let alone if they can learn to somehow refrain from so much as letting their clothing move too much.

thanks for reading pals