D

He did not like Gaia. The Planet – yes. After all, a lump of unfeeling dirt was nothing but fair. He'd remembered enough of the favour – ill, mostly - in his life to appreciate something so unbendingly neutral.

The consciousness herself, not so much. After many brushes with the Life-stream and nearly being killed - mentally, physically, dignified or otherwise – on a regular basis, he'd become a little disenchanted. In his defence, after losing his mind multiple times, it was hard to like the cause.

Because despite all that universally worshipped godhood Loveless yammered on about endlessly, she hadn't been bothered to get off her metaphorical ass and do something about JENOVA before it reached crisis point –

But yes, not going there. Dark thoughts.

So it was with a certain sense of vindictive satisfaction that he repeated himself.

"No."

The look on Minerva's metaphysical face was priceless, and probably a mirror of what had been on his for the last only-the-Planet-knew-how-long. Literally, in this case, he thought with a blink.

It was impossible to tell what time it was in a glowing white expanse of absolutely nothing, and he had the feeling – the same kind usually associated with Life-stream induced hallucinations – that trying to estimate it's passing would be worse than useless.

She had invaded his dream with her white wasteland, which was irritating - he'd gotten fed up of having his mind invaded with Hojo. While having a nightmare about Sephiroth wearing a mini-skirt and chasing him with an over-sized toothpick was weird (the heels oddest of all, though the bun had been a subtle touch), it had at least been interesting and the product of his own troubled, twisted mind rather than anyone else's.

This would have been bad enough, but the moment she'd arrived she'd been sending him impressions, sensations, the ghosts of thoughts for a small eternity. Brokenwingalwaybrokenneverbroken-endbeforebeginningbeforeend-cyclesflightof stars-sunsetbeforesunrise-

It had been the same identity overwhelming pulse that MAKO had always had, the type that over-rode thought or logic and had sent his mind screaming into insanity and pain before-hand by being too much, too strong. The planet wasn't human, didn't think like one, and no human was meant to comprehend the entirety of it's consciousness - let alone be able to hold a conversation with it. Trying tended to have a bad, and permanent, effect on sanity, self-awareness, and life-expectancy – in his experience at least.

That it wasn't now was vaguely terrifying. Almost as terrifying as the sheer focus coming from the thing in front of him, seeming to study every inch.

Either it was the marked impact of being exposed to it so often that he was automatically, subconsciously countering it and winning – worrying in itself – or his brain was so absolutely screwed up that being exposed to a cosmic beings thoughts couldn't screw it up any further, or at least not enough to make a noticeable difference.

What it said about his life that the second sounded more likely, he thought, was something to ponder on a rainy day with copious amounts of Tifa's Mako Bomb Delux, and never to be thought of again.

A sharp movement caught his eye, and he found himself following Minerva as she glided towards him.

Brunette, coldly statuesque. She was wearing what looked like a tastefully pinned sheet, hiding a lot but suggesting more, embroidered edges of suns, moons and vines. Delicate featured, all angles. Hot, in the kind of remote way that Aeris had been – too obviously something more than human to really appeal to his natural, non-Zack-influenced leanings.

And eerily predatory, poised for something. It was actually more disturbing than the talking.

Well – it hadn't been talking so much as the determined sending of a single concept, the human shaped image of the Planet trying to frame it in language and only just succeeding.

Chance, truth: end before beginning. Making right what is wrong, healing wounds before they begin.

He barely resisted the urge to snarl at the over-loud thought-voice-concept.

She had been going on about turning back time, having a second chance, saving the wasted lives – and just, by coincidence, stopping Hojo, JENOVA and Shin'Ra before they could even get started. Which, equally as coincidentally, might involve fighting them all over again.

It hadn't been a bad pitch – for a cosmic being which probably understood human language and emotion about as well a Zolom understood the concept of playing Noughts and Crosses. Guilt tripping, restoring hope, with just enough personal carrot to make all that effort seem worth it beyond personal gratification.

From the absolute blank mask, she clearly hadn't been expecting his response.

Chance, truth: end before beginning. The mouth wasn't moving, but it didn't need to: the voice was loud enough to make his imaginary teeth rattle, even as he instinctively backed up a step from the rapidly approaching mirage. Sunset to sunrise. Giving the impossible, giving life, giving chance. Stopping rot. Stopping pain – us, I, you, all. Live as you wish.

"I won't do it." He repeated to the statue.

And he wouldn't. Did she think he was some scavenger, a starving wolf, to be baited with poisoned meat? He'd been described as a wolf – and less kind epithets - before, but starving he wasn't. Not for attention – he had enough of that, thank you, and would much rather he didn't, gods-damn it.

Not for fulfilment: Tifa was a beautiful and caring woman, and while Hojo had stripped his ability to give her a squalling Strife, Denzel and Marlene managed to fill that gap well enough – tantrums and all. Did he want Aerith dead? Zack? Not really, but they were happy enough where they were – and the people he'd be rescuing wouldn't be them if he went back and changed it all.

The disasters were over, people were healing, and they were building something – a community, something worthwhile – with their lives. Edge was thriving, Shin'Ra had finally stopped dealing under the table, and for the first time in a while people dared to hope.

Though he rarely had cause to say it, he was content, happy even, with what he had. So were the others.

Mostly, he amended even as he took another instinctive step back.

The glowy white plain managed – impossibly – to brighten to eye-glaring intensity. His stomach seemed to drop even as air-pressure built.

"Hey, what the-?"

He didn't even get to finish the sentence.

When he woke up, it was to coarse language, the stink of sweat, and the very familiar frayed underside of a bunk-bed. It even had Miko the spring, who liked to rain fibres on him at night.

Newly-Always-Fourteen year old Cloud Strife's first thought of the day was perhaps more fitting than ever before:

"Gaia be-damned bit-!"

Cloud Strife, Gaia and any other associated characters (including the setting) do not belong to me - they belong to Square Enix. I have written this purely for entertainment purposes and there is no profit motive behind it. I claim full responsibility for the Fanfiction above, though.

I seem to have a thing for one-shots. Sorry