What brought this on?

Well, Damion and I were discussing deviant arts, one of which portrayed Leon and Cloud as lions. Talk went on from there, and we suddenly ended up discussing about Cloud and Leon getting pets. Dogs, in particular. Damion is one of those guys who loves his neighbors' dogs (that is, he loves dogs, but he's never actually had one), especially mixed breeds, and as a result reads up a lot on them in his spare time. Our exchange through email went a little like this:

"What sort of dog would Cloud or Leon get?"

"Cloud would want a shepherd mix, brown with a wolf-like appearance. As for Leon: a greyhound mix, golden brindle."

"...let's see if I interpreted this right: Cloud would get a dog that's like Leon, and Leon would get a dog that's like Cloud?"

"Bingo."

I found it all rather amusing, and then wondered if I could write something about it. Well, either way, here it is - the first of a two-part drabble. In this piece, Leon (or Squall, in the context) is the man, and Cloud's the dog (...somehow that just always sounds a little weird). The second piece will be a reversal of roles. I'm still so entertained with all this.

Midgar was small, even for a village. What people lived there relied on each other as a community, and therefore never truly left the area. If there were any large, remotely known structures nearby, it was a building belonging to Shinra Co., but it was far off - all the better, the villagers would comment, to keep the ruckus away.

No publicity, no excessive noise, and every man was responsible to his neighbor's wellbeing. It was a peaceful little place, and yet Squall had never really known it was there. He probably would have lived his life not knowing, if not for the explosion that had taken out most of his squad. He had somehow survived, but would not return to battle for at least a year as he healed - maybe longer.

Now, here he was, one of very few actual "guests" who stuck around long enough for others to get used to him. Tifa was the volunteer who single-handedly managed both the safe house he was recuperating in, as well as raising her son and niece, both of whom came over sometimes to help out. She was famous - within the confines of the village, anyway - for being a woman stronger than most men, and her kids in turn were favorites to the townsfolk.

Yet no one had mentioned the dog to him.

It was that first morning, after Tifa had firmly ordered both children outside to attend the village's school, that she then assisted him onto the front porch to get some fresh air. He had sat there meekly, just staring at the activity, when the mutt had showed up. It was a handsome mixed breed, one had to admit, with a lean, graceful appearance as it carried itself with a quiet dignity. It had a brindle pattern to its coat, brown with light-colored stripes that seemed to shimmer in the morning sunlight.

It was a golden dog, and he did not quite understand why no one had mentioned it to him sooner.

The dog, also seeing him for the first time, paused just as it had emerged from behind the well - or wherever it had really come from - and just stared openly at him with its head tilted slightly, as though studying him. For a while, he stared back, unsure of what else to do at the moment.

At last, the dog broke off eye contact, and proceeded across the distance between the well and the front porch. Squall kept still as it sniffed at his bare feet, and then proceeded to lie down under them, no questions asked. He in turn remained in his position, unable to move himself without difficulty even if he had wanted to. It was not until Tifa had returned - and spotted the animal still under his feet - that he realized it was also a regular in these parts. She had introduced them with enthusiasm, but Squall could never remember the name Tifa had supplied. To him, the dog was just...the Dog. And to the Dog, Squall was just another guy who was in the place, was relatively harmless, and knew what to do with his feet when a spot that need scratching was placed under them.

It was only after that initial meeting that he ever came to understand anything regarding the Dog - it was from an accidental breeding between a village dog and a pet. It resembled its mother, except the greyhound dam was a fawn color, not brindle. It had been a very active juvenile once, but had finally settled down to the quiet adult it now was. It had a way with children, had never bit any of them, yet never truly warmed up to any of them either. It watched over the village, and had ended the problems with foxes and small rodents alike without hunting them excessively. It never begged, yet it never went hungry, for the villagers fed all village dogs, and there was plenty to go around. It was an independent character, and an escape artist, but it knew its limits.

And it never stayed for very long.

The only times Squall realized it hung around, was when it had an injury or illness to recuperate from - that first meeting in itself was the result of an internal injury of unknown origin that had it laid up with him for several weeks. When the Dog was at last fully recovered, it had simply gotten to its feet, shook its fur out, and then trotted away. Always on the hunt, this Dog, but for what, he never knew - it was apparently something that was worth so relentless a pursuit.

Whenever the Dog showed up again, Squall soon became one of the first to greet it as he sat on the porch, and in turn was the one to inform his caregiver about it.

"He's back."

"What's on his list?"

"Dirt, burrs, some minor cuts, and the feet seem a bit banged up."

"Which ones?"

"Guess."

"See if you can get him on your lap, and I'll get the kit."

What followed after that was time together, as though any separation had never been. The Dog, having been administered to, would be under his feet as they watched the activity in the village. Sometimes, when Tifa's kids came to help, they would sit with him for a little while to play with the Dog. That is, they tried to get the Dog's attention, while it in turn humored them with a friendly nuzzle, the wagging of the tail, perhaps a sniff and a lick; once, the Dog had even submitted itself - with a weariness - to the little girl dressing it up with pink ribbons and a doll's bonnet. It rarely got up for any roughhousing, as it rarely had the strength to. Sometimes, Tifa's friend Barrett - and the little girl's father - would come by, and would go on about the glory days before he lost his arm. While initially interesting, the stories became repetitive, and both at times exchanged empathetic glances as they waited for him to finish. Usually, however, they only had one another for company, and enjoyed it as such.

When the Dog got its strength back, it would suddenly slip itself free, stretch, shake and then trot off. In later times, it would pause to stop and look back at him. He in turn would nod, understanding, and then the dog would bound away and disappear once more; and when Tifa came back out to bring him inside, he would inform her of the situation.

"Gone again."

"And you didn't stop him?"

A shrug. "He's not mine."

This went on for a while, and it soon became routine. The Dog would show up, the Dog would have whatever injuries and ailments attended to, the Dog would rest and heal, and then the Dog would leave. Squall would greet it, Squall would hold it while Tifa cleaned, treated and bandaged, Squall would sit with it outside, and then Squall would see it off. It was not the typical life one would expect to have with a dog, but it was a consistency. There was a comfort in consistency, and neither complained.

Then a previously undetected infection worsened drastically and had Squall inside for a long time, utterly spent as his body battled fevers, pain, and nausea. He was not entirely sure how many times he was coherent, as he fell in and out of consciousness. Finally, as he woke up still exhausted but with a clearer head than usual, he felt a weight on his chest. He had looked up then, said not a word, and proceeded to reach for the phone Tifa had left on the bedside table - just in case there was anything of importance and she was elsewhere. He had rarely used it before, so she answered quickly when he did.

"I think I'm hallucinating - did you leave the door open?"

"No, but I did leave the windows. What do you mean, you think you're hallucinating?"

"He's on my chest, just staring at me."

"Who?"

"Guess."

"...is he getting anything onto the sheets? You know how hard it is to clean the sheets around here."

"That's just it - he's fine."

"...excuse me?"

"No bleeding, no dirt, no sickness-related mess. Nothing's missing, nothing's off; he's in perfect condition, and he's lying on my chest. I think I'm hallucinating."

"Don't move - I'll be right over."

The phone clicked once as Tifa hung up, and Squall replaced it on the table, his eyes not leaving the Dog. The Dog was still staring at him, and the rustling on the sheets informed him that it was waving its tail slowly.

"...you," he finally greeted.

The Dog did not reply.

"...why are you here?"

An accusing stare, and there was the closest thing to a grunt. The first sound Squall had ever heard from the latter directed at him.

"...no, I didn't leave," he explained; he understood. "Why would I leave?"

More staring, but with less accusation. There was a soft whine, and he smiled.

"Good to see you, too. Now get off me - I'm an invalid, and I can't breathe."

The Dog slipped off, much to his relief, and its nails clacked against the hardwood flooring; still, he felt its presence next to him. Turning, Squall slipped a hand out from under the covers, and promptly felt a familiar snout press against his palm. It was a comforting gesture, he found, and he sighed deeply. The two stayed that way for a while longer, until Tifa hurried in and confirmed that the Dog's presence was indeed real.

With Tifa's permission, the Dog was allowed to stay with him as he recovered. It rarely left, as it took up position under the bed, near his hand. It usually woke before he did, and being tall enough, would lean on his arm and just stare at him until he roused, just waiting for him to in turn pull that arm free to scratch behind its ears. When he was at last announced well enough to get up, he was once again on the front porch, with the Dog once again under his feet.

A week after the whole incident had come to past, the Dog slipped out again, shook itself, and then looked up at him. He looked back, nodded, and smiled. The Dog bumped his knee once, and then took off running again. In the blink of an eye, it was gone. When Tifa found out, she did not hide her disappointment.

"I thought for sure he would stay, finally. Or, at least, that either of you would be a little more attached."

A shrug. "He's not mine." and then, as an afterthought: "he's a friend."

It was still an independent character, and it still continued to come and go as it always had. But there was an understanding between them that Squall had not found before: it was his friend, and it would be there for him. And in turn, as its friend, he would let it go, to do what it had to do.

And just as he knew it never stayed for very long, he knew that it would always come back, and be with him once again.