For Zeff 'N Company's prompt of "jester," part of the Secret Santa exchange for the Cleon Crusade on deviantArt. I really hope you enjoy it!

I thought posting this today would be appropriate. X3 I wish you all safe, healthy and happy holidays, whatever you celebrate.

Thank you so much to BelleDragon for being my sounding board and getting me through this. ILY, darling lady!

Disclaimer: dood, fanfiction. Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy, and the characters and universes therein are the property of Disney and Square Enix. I receive no remuneration for this work; it is a parody and as such utilizes the Fair Use clause of the Copyright Act.

Leon took slow steps into the empty marketplace of Radiant Garden just after the sun had finished its descent beyond the mountains, booted feet making soft crunching sounds in the expanse of snow covering the hewn stone street. He paused at the top of the steps leading to the lowered courtyard, tucking his hands in his pockets and taking a moment to observe the peaceful silence.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost see the place as it had been that night, alight with the glow of the moon reflecting off the snowy rooftops and the twinkle of tiny enchanted sparkles that floated through the crisp winter air.

It was nearly eight o'clock on the eve of the solstice, and the marketplace was unusually full of people. The night sky was clear and bright with stars, and the flicker and glow of thousands of tiny magical lights drifted slowly through the air, thoughtfully provided by Merlin. The deep courtyard set in the center of the market had been cleared of snow and was circled by small, intimate tables set with single tapered candles, and a large, exquisite fire feature had been set up in the middle of the area to provide warmth and light.

Townsfolk milled about and mingled happily, all dressed in their finest clothing and wearing elaborate masks and painted faces to disguise their identity, dancing elegantly around the fiery centerpiece to the pleasant melodies of the small string ensemble gathered just beyond the courtyard, and speaking only in hushed tones because it was part of the game.

Leon looked over the crowd from beside one of the closed storefronts, and allowed a rare, full smile to form beneath the relative anonymity of his mask. It was a nice change, to see the people enjoying themselves like this. He was pleased that the restoration had come so far as to allow for such an event, and proud to have been a part of it all, even though he'd never say as much out loud.

An amused, exaggerated clearing of a throat brought his attention to a small figure now standing before him, wearing a colorful brocade tunic and leggings, a matching jester's hat, and a full face mask with a broad grin carved into its surface. The figure swished one arm out to the side and bowed deeply in greeting. Etiquette required that Leon return the gesture, so he tucked one arm over his waist and bowed formally, but he didn't lower his gaze from the other's sparkling eyes. Despite the innocence of the evening, ingrained training was hard to break, and there was something about the stranger he immediately didn't trust.

Apparently satisfied with the exchange, the jester placed both hands on its hips and nodded sharply in triumph, then abruptly grabbed Leon's wrist and dragged him towards the evening's dance floor in short, stomping strides. The brunet recovered his footing after a few paces, and was about to tear away from the surprisingly strong grip when he noticed several masked faces turning their way at the commotion. He very quickly decided not to make more of a scene, and was relieved when the jester ended up marching him over to one of the few people he recognized here tonight. Though her hair was set in a more impressive array of curls, swept up off of her neck and pinned in place with tiny glittering clasps, she still wore the same pink ribbon, and he allowed himself a moment to be grateful for her comforting presence.

The wiry figure released his wrist to perform the same swishy bow it had done earlier, then swiftly kicked his shin to indicate he do the same. Leon glared down at the strange jester—a man, he decided—but bowed to Aerith nonetheless, minus the elaborate swishy part. Leon did not do swishy.

With a sound of approval, the jester performed an impromptu jig, grabbed both of their hands and thrust them together, and just as abruptly as he had shown up, he disappeared again, leaving a rather bewildered Leon and a softly giggling Aerith holding hands in the middle of the dance floor.

The musicians had just begun to play again, and as the introductory strains of a waltz threaded through the chilly air, Aerith dipped into a small curtsey, green eyes twinkling up at him from behind her feathered mask. Leon took a moment to survey the crowd around them, noting that they were conveniently trapped near the center of the courtyard, and then, resigned, offered her a tight smile and shifted his hold on her slender hand to lead her into a proper starting position. It really wouldn't do to bow out, and it wasn't as if Aerith would let him get away, anyway. Despite her quiet, sweet demeanor, the woman had an iron will and unbreakable spirit, and there were few, if any, in Radiant Garden that ever dared to cross her.

It was easier than he remembered, the dancing. He supposed he should have prepared for the evening a little better, but his training from what seemed an eternity ago came back to him more and more with each passing step. He wasn't expecting to enjoy himself, but found he was oddly receptive to Aerith's good mood and even offered her a more honest smile when they separated to bow and curtsey respectfully before the music started up again.

Halfway through the next dance, a shock of familiar golden hair caught his attention, and his breath nearly caught in his throat. He stopped in his tracks, unable to tear his eyes away. Of all the people he'd never expected to see here tonight…

The man stood near the top of the steps leading into the lower courtyard, arms folded tightly over his chest, body language solemn and closed off as usual. He had on some kind of loose-sleeved shirt with ties crisscrossing the open chest, deep green or blue from what Leon could see, along with a broad belt and matching pants. A dark mask obscured the upper half of his face, but Leon didn't need to see his features or the unearthly glow of his eyes to know who it was.

No black, no leather, no armor or sword, but no mask was going to disguise that man.

A small, covert squeeze to his motionless fingers brought Leon's attention back to Aerith just in time for him to lift his right hand and twirl her with the rest of the couples, and when he next got the chance to glance around, Cloud was nowhere to be seen.

Quite some time later, after dancing briefly (and rather reluctantly) with nearly half of the guests present, Leon's patience and good will had been depleted and he found himself watching over the courtyard once more, having sought refuge from the annoyingly persistent farceur slash matchmaker beside a stack of broad, snow-covered crates near one corner of the upper market. He was not hiding, per se. He was…guarding the crates. Though his gunblade was safely tucked away at home (no weapons were allowed this evening—there really was no cause for worry anymore), the shot of whiskey he held in his hand could make for a fairly decent weapon when combined with a well-timed fire spell, he figured, should the need arise.

He had yet to catch another glimpse of Cloud. While that in itself really wasn't surprising as the blond was exceedingly good at making himself scarce, especially in such public settings, Leon found himself growing disappointed about it, and that was unsettling him. He had no right to expect anything at all of Cloud beyond the duties the other warrior had almost shyly volunteered to perform for the restoration, and though they'd gotten along well enough in their own way, Cloud's unexpected appearance at the gala tonight—and his own reactions to it—had Leon's mind reeling.

He frowned thoughtfully, and had just pushed his mask up a little to finish off his drink when a faint, tinny jingle alerted him to the presence of his increasingly unwelcome acquaintance. He froze in place, glass halfway to his lips, and listened as the cheery sound only got closer and closer. Despite common sense, a strong sense of self-preservation, and pride in the committee's accomplishments in the reconstruction, he was sorely tempted to save the precious bit of alcohol and make use of that particular offensive tactic by the time the jingling abruptly ceased.

Leon held on to a tiny fragment of hope for all of three seconds, at which point, much to his chagrin, the spry trickster did indeed peek around the crates. After leering up at Leon in a way that made the normally stoic brunet more than a little uncomfortable, he rounded the corner completely and placed his gloved hands on his hips, tapping one foot impatiently.

Without breaking eye contact—he had no idea what was going on in that odd little head and refused to let his guard down—Leon carefully finished his drink, then silently replaced the mask over his face.

There was absolutely no motion from the jester now; even the foot had abruptly ceased its tapping.

Leon gently placed the glass down on the edge of one of the crates, and raised one eyebrow warily.

Nothing but a slow, deliberate tilt of the little figure's head, and the tiny rattling chime that followed when one tip of the multi-pointed hat slipped off of a narrow shoulder.

With a sigh of apprehensive relief, Leon slowly uncurled his fingers from about the glass, and had moved scarcely an inch away before the jester clapped in delight and lunged for his now-empty hand. Fortunately (or unfortunately, by this point) rather prepared for these antics, Leon stepped quickly to the side, leaving the man stumbling comically over his own two feet. He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes in warning. "I'm done. Go pick on someone else."

There was a pause, just long enough for him to almost regret the tone of his voice, and then a forlorn whimper sounded from behind the mask, pitiful and heart-wrenching if one was susceptible to such things.

Leon merely frowned at him.

The jester slumped, bowing his head and heaving an exaggerated sigh in defeat. He shuffled off a few paces, then paused again to look back over his shoulder, head cocked just like a puppy waiting to see if it had been forgiven.

Leon stifled a soft groan of frustration and shook his head. This wasn't going to work. He brushed past the small man, heading towards the stairs to the upper landing of the market, around the corner from the central area. He'd had enough for one night. He would try to keep an eye on things from up there for a little while longer, and then head home.

As he passed, a low, pleased chuckle followed behind him, along with the quiet, persistent tinkle of bells. Leon sighed wearily and just kept going. He trudged through the deeper snow at the top of the landing and turned the corner, only to run headlong into a solid, unyielding body. Startled, he looked up into an array of blond spikes and equally surprised blue eyes—Cloud—and took a quick step back only to tread on his newfound shadow.

The jester didn't even seem to notice, slipping around to stand beside both slightly stunned warriors with a muffled giggle. He was immensely pleased by this turn of events if the proud lift of his chin and the jaunty way one hand was set on his hip was any indication.

Leon stared at the jester, glanced at Cloud, blinked, then shot a look back at the ridiculous little man and shook his head emphatically. "No."

Cloud shifted his gaze between the two with a small frown of confusion and mild irritation, and settled back against the wall that Leon had presumably jarred him away from, folding his arms across his chest.

The jester giggled again and rocked back on his heels with his hands now clasped behind him, the perfect picture of feigned innocence.

Cloud lifted an eyebrow.

Leon closed his eyes and sighed.

In retrospect, that small sign of weakness may or may not have been such a good idea.

With that same infuriatingly pleasant grin, the jester leaped to smack them both upside the head, completely ignored Leon's subsequent growl and Cloud's sharp glare, then shoved their hands together before either could reach for weapons that weren't there. He patted his smaller hands around theirs several times as if to tell them to play nice together, then traipsed off towards the marketplace, whistling happily.

Leon stared incredulously after him for several seconds, then slowly, reluctantly, turned to face the blond again. "Ah… Hi."

"Hi," Cloud returned softly, not looking up from their…bound hands? When had the little bastard—

…Oh.

Drawing a steadying breath, Leon closed his eyes in a healthy mixture of embarrassment and annoyance. "Sorry about that. I, ah…I think he meant for us to…" He jerked his head towards the townsfolk socializing in the square.

A slow smirk curved Cloud's lips, somehow visible despite his downturned face and the shadow of the mask that followed the shape of his nose and curve of his cheekbones.

"That's…that's what he's been doing all night, dragging me up to people like this," Leon elaborated quickly, almost apologetically, when the blond didn't say anything. He sighed heavily, mentally berating himself for handling this like some inept teenager with a crush, and twisted his wrist a little to test the binding holding his hand captive beneath Cloud's. "Though he hasn't gone to quite this length before."

Cloud's unreadable smile grew ever so faintly. With one sharp flick of his wrist, the strings snapped and fell away, and both men rather awkwardly returned their arms to their respective sides. "Not my kind of dance, sorry."

Leon snorted out an amused breath, regaining some of his composure and mirroring the wry smile in vague relief at the admission—and the implication. He, himself, had had quite enough of the formal scene, and for all of Cloud's effortless grace on the battlefield, he couldn't really picture the blond dancing like that…much less with another man. "Sounds like we have a lot in common, then."

Glowing blue eyes lifted from the snowy ground to meet his own. "Seems that way."

The mutually evaluative gaze broke after a long moment, and Leon glanced towards the slowly thinning crowd a short distance away. It was nearing midnight and things seemed to be still going smoothly; now was as good a time as any to get away. He tugged off his mask completely and pulled in a breath of fresh air, then looked back to his companion with as casual a shrug as he could manage. "Want to get out of here? Do some real dancing?"

At his words, Cloud's posture shifted visibly. He was suddenly much more alert and attentive, more alive, and suddenly infinitely more captivating, if it was at all possible. He remained silent, but Leon could almost feel the fresh waves of energy radiating off of the younger man, intoxicating and infectious, and the flicker of intrigue glinting in the depth of those bright eyes heated the brunet's core and told him all he needed to know.

Suddenly feeling much more in his element, Leon squared his shoulders and gave a short, confident nod. "I'll take that as a 'yes.'"

Another presence made itself known, stirring Leon out of his reverie. There was a slow scrape of metal on stone—a familiar sword being propped against a nearby wall, if Leon's keen senses were to be trusted—followed by heavy boots compacting the snow beneath them as their owner approached.

"Reminiscing?" Cloud teased mildly, moving to stand beside Leon and leaning to touch just their shoulders together before straightening.

The brunet smiled, a vague, oblique little thing that felt almost out of place on his normally solemn features. "Yes."

Cloud hummed in acknowledgement, stuffing his hands into his pockets to ward off the quiet bite of winter. "So it's been one year, has it?" he murmured a few moments later, tucking his chin into the zipped-up collar of his sweater.

Leon let his newly refocused gaze roam slowly over the familiar marketplace, over snowed-in storefronts and barely visible pillars of stone, and finally over the deep drifts of white powder that had nearly filled the lower courtyard. Having Cloud here beside him now made the memories seem even clearer. "One year," he echoed, nodding slightly.

The blond chuckled once, softly. "Who would have thought?"

"Hm."

Cloud studied him for a moment. "You're awful quiet tonight…" At the brunet's raised eyebrow, his lips curled into a crooked half-smile. "More than usual," he amended, touching their shoulders together again, though this time he didn't pull away.

Leon shrugged his other shoulder once, not wanting to break that small amount of physical contact between them. After a few minutes of continued silence, he asked, "You ever wonder…who it was?"

"Mm. Haven't thought about it, I guess. I really don't think I recognized anybody, except Aerith and Yuffie…"

"And Cid," Leon pointed out, shaking his head in amused recollection. Even for such an event, the older blond had refused to give up his ever-present toothpick, and he'd whined and wheedled (in a very manly, vocal, Cid-like manner) until he was allowed to trade in his full face mask for one that only covered his eyes and nose in order to accommodate his fixation.

Cloud hummed a brief, almost distracted reply. Though his own gaze was fixed on the horizon beyond the market, Leon felt those glowing eyes on him still. He wondered what Cloud was looking for, studying him as he was, but he really couldn't bring himself to mind the unobtrusive scrutiny. He had nothing to hide from this man, not anymore.

"Almost didn't recognize you," the swordsman continued after a time. "You know, without all the leather. Red suits you."

The brunet let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "It was burgundy, Aerith insisted, not red." He offered a tiny quirk of a smile, eyes fond as he glanced over. "I knew it was you," he admitted. "Right away, I knew…"

He watched pale cheeks flush slightly, watched Cloud step away and tuck his chin further into his sweater in an attempt to disguise the reaction. He allowed himself just a moment to mourn the loss of Cloud's comforting warmth at his side and let the blond have his space before an idea began coalescing in the back of his mind, one that would bring back that much-appreciated warmth, and if he was lucky…

He cleared his throat quietly to get Cloud's attention. "Shall we keep with tradition, then?"

Though the blond still faced away, in his mind he could clearly picture a fine golden brow lifting in dubious inquiry. "What tradition is that?"

Leon shrugged a little. "Ours."

Cloud finally glanced back over his shoulder and blinked. It only took him a moment to realize Leon's intent, and he turned around with a small snort of amusement, curious blue-green eyes fixing on cool gunmetal. "It's nearly midnight, something around twenty degrees, and we're standing in five inches of snow."

"Mm-hm."

"And you want to fight."

Leon let his only response be the subtle release of the catch holding his weapon to his hip. He felt the gunblade slide easily against his palm, firm and familiar and reassuring, and curled his fingers to support the grip before the point of the blade fell far enough to touch the ground. He did not speak, and not once did he allow his eyes to stray, knowing that the swordsman wouldn't be able to back down from his silent challenge.

"Hn." Cloud gazed at him speculatively. After several long seconds, he shook his head, and Leon was pleased to see a hint of a smile illuminate those clear blue eyes. "Knew there was a reason I fell for you," the blond muttered wryly.

With a subtle smirk to return the sentiment, Leon jerked his head towards Cloud's waiting weapon. He pivoted slowly in place as the blond retrieved it, settling his own into a two-handed battle-ready stance and arching one eyebrow in anticipation. Ready?

A soft laugh, and a soft upward curve of lips, but Leon knew better than to be deceived by his other half's rare, disarming smile. Always.

Leon lifted the very tip of his blade to the point of percussion on the Buster, cold metal singing quietly against cold metal as if in somber greeting. There they both paused, all silent eyes and collected muscles, and even the air was still save for the lazy drift and sway of falling snow. A peaceful sort of tension grew there between them, each one waiting for the other to make the first move, until one unwary snowflake dared to settle its weight on the spine of Cloud's sword and disrupt the careful balance.

In that very instant, the decision was made for them.

Two simultaneous breaths rushed into two sets of waiting lungs, and the snowy courtyard exploded in a flurry of dancing steel, a perfectly choreographed courante performed with all the precision and speed and grace they'd come to expect from one another. Each step taken, each push and pull and spin and strike all served to strengthen the bond that had, over time, come to run deeper than friendship, thicker than blood, and more earnest than any rivalry either had ever known.

Not two minutes later, they had broken free of the town's borders and began maneuvering far into the wastelands, out where there was room to move, room to breathe…and where they wouldn't chance accidental destruction of property or disturb the peacefully sleeping citizens any more than they probably already had.

Hours passed in what seemed like the blink of an eye, caught up as they were in the ebb and flow of battle. The frozen light of pre-dawn found them standing still once more, eye to eye and sword to sword upon a broad precipice overlooking the vast, snow-covered plains. Though he was loathe to admit it, Leon's limbs were trembling with the aftermath of exertion and burned-out adrenaline, and he felt an almost guilty pleasure at seeing the extended point of Cloud's sword drop a few inches before the blond could recover; it was good to know that for all his inhuman stamina, even Cloud had his breaking point.

Eventually, the blond lowered his weapon—of his own volition this time—then released it completely to drop into the deep cushion of snow that surrounded them, huffing out a satisfied breath.

It was over.

With a tremulous sigh, Leon shifted his blade into his left hand alone and tossed it to land atop to the Buster, sinking the massive blade a little deeper into the snowpack with the burden of its added weight. They remained there in silence for a time, eventually moving to stand shoulder to shoulder by unspoken accord, recovering their strength and watching the blue-gray horizon grow ever lighter.

After a while, Leon turned away from the approaching dawn to look towards the towering castle in the distance, and the younger man came to stand before him, a quiet glow in his luminescent eyes.

"Are we still keeping with tradition?" Cloud asked.

Leon furrowed his brow just slightly in confusion. "Uh…"

With another of those soft, short laughs that crystalized in the freezing air, the blond moved in and touched a light, lingering kiss to his cheek.

"Oh," Leon breathed slowly in remembrance, a little smile forming on his lips. He cupped his hand around the back of Cloud's neck before the blond could back away and murmured, "No, you'll have to do better than that this time."

A faint glint of perfect white teeth. "Oh yeah?"

Leon nodded solemnly. "Yeah."

A good five minutes later, they had gathered up their weapons and were on their way again, and Leon's heart was pounding in his chest from more than just exhilaration. Suddenly the long walk home through thick drifts of heavy snow didn't seem like such an undertaking. He felt warm inside, and he felt content, and more at peace with himself than he could ever remember being, and he had a short-statured stranger and the man now at his side to thank for that.

"Hey," Cloud's voice broke in eventually, shattering the comfortable silence once the borders of town drew into sight.

"Hm?"

A tug on his left wrist released his hand from the relative warmth of his pocket, and Cloud's fingers threaded into his own despite the bulk of their gloves. "Thanks for the dance."

Leon smirked and held on tighter. "Anytime."