Author's Note—I am very new to the world of fanfiction writing and am desperately seeking an experienced beta to help me with this story if you are interested please send me a private message. And any critiques will be put to good use. Thank you!

"He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors,

And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,

But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day."

– from Henry V by William Shakespeare

Crispin's Day

Chapter 1: Forgotten

The war was over. For most people, life went on almost as if it had never happened. It was easier to forget that for the last few years that young men had been marching off to battle to protect their families and neighbors than it was to recognize the poor remains of those same young men. Cloud watched from the window as a woman pulled her little girl protectively away from the path of a blinded, battle-scarred veteran. Shaking his head sadly, Cloud continued to wipe down the bar. He wished he were surprised by the blatant lack of respect people showed to his former brothers-in-arms, but he wasn't. When Cloud had first returned home, he had realized all too soon that the very people he and his fellow soldiers had bled for would rather pretend that they didn't exist.

"Everything okay?" Tifa asked from the kitchen door.

Cloud nodded. "Next time you place an order be sure to get us more vodka. We are already starting to run low again."

The brunette bit her lip, but didn't say ask what was really bothering him. They both knew he wouldn't really answer. Feeling guilty, Cloud forced a smile. "Flip a coin for closer?"

"Oh, no way!" Tifa cried with her hands on her curvacious hips. "I closed last night and I have a bubble bath calling my name. You and Axel are just going to have to do all of that hard work on your own."

"You'd really make a cripple close?" Cloud teased. The instant the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them.

Tifa's smile melted from her face. "Is your...Are you in pain again?"

"I'm sorry. It was just a joke," he told her flatly. "Not much of one, I guess."

"All right then. I guess I will go make sure all of the prep work is done in the kitchen."

As he watched her retreating form disappear through the swinging doors, Cloud swore under his breath.

Cloud was truly grateful for Tifa. She'd been his best friend for longer than he could remember and without her, Cloud wouldn't have had much of anything after the war. He wasn't sure when the idea had actually taken the shape of a bar, but the two of them had talked since they were kids about how someday they would open up their own business together. The idea of being their own bosses appealed the the rebellious youngsters. Tifa had made Cloud swear when they were teens that they would save their pennies and invest in a place the first chance they got. Before he left for the army, Cloud had given her his signing bonus and promised to send what he could from his pay. He'd never imagined that Tifa would have been able to do so much while he was away. In six years, Tifa literally built something out of nothing. She purchased a near condemned building and did most of the renovations one stage at a time with very little help. Amazingly, Tifa even converted the upstairs floors into apartments for the both of them. While many soldiers came home to crumbling homes and fractured families, Cloud came home to find that he owned half of one of the busiest establishments in town and a new flat.

Within an hour, though the street lights weren't even on yet, a modest crowd had arrived. Most of them Cloud at least recognized as having been in a time or two. The regulars shuffled their was up to their usual seats, and without taking any orders, Cloud began to pour. Something about the routine of it was almost comforting. He knew these men and there stories better than most people did their own families. True, Cloud didn't look forward to listening to middle aged men whining into their beers about how no one really understood their troubles every night, but such was the role of a bartender.

By eleven, that "modest crowd" had turned to a near mob. Every seat in the place was filled and many more patrons stood in clusters. Cloud moved quickly pouring drinks with a practiced deftness that few bartenders managed to master. From the corner of his eye he spotted Tifa racing about the room delivering all kinds of fried bar fare from the kitchen. Time flew when they were busy. Cloud didn't have time to spare to look at the clock let alone wish he were done. As hours passed and bottles were drained, Cloud saw Tifa less and less. They spoke little during their shifts. Both were too busy seeing to customers, but occasionally Tifa would sly make her way behind the bar to check on him. She claimed she was checking on the sales but Cloud knew better.

Last call came as a relief. The bar had emptied slightly by then, and Cloud was glad to see that the remaining patrons were nursing the final sips of their drinks. He tossed a towel over his shoulder and leaned against the counter. Cloud had made sure to keep his expression stoically neutral as Tifa took off for the night, but now that she was gone he let the mask slip just a tad. Absolute agony radiated from his left ankle and there wasn't a damn thing to be done about it. The best he could do was get back to work and pray that things went quickly. Axel took care of the kitchen and the dishwasher would come put the chairs up, so all Cloud really had to worry about was cleaning up the bar area and washing the glassware. Before he could get too focused on his work, a familiar female form came into view.

"I knew things were too damn easy," Cloud muttered to himself as he limped to the other end of the bar. He wanted as much distance between them as possible but he knew that wouldn't mean much to her.

"Cloud!" she called out. He heard her footsteps moving toward him but refused to turn. "Cloud, please! Just talk to me. Answer a few questions and I will leave you alone, I swear"

Pivoting on his good leg, Cloud finally faced his adversary. She was pretty—in a girl-next-door kind of way—with long, golden brown hair and soft rosy skin, but it was the desperation in her blue eyes that made Cloud want to run. Aerith might look like a sweet young girl, but she had the tenacity of a pitbull.

"I told you last time that I don't want to talk to you. Are you really too stupid to grasp that?" he ground out sullenly.

Aerith crossed her arms over her chest. "You know something about Zack that you're not telling me."

"Just leave me the hell alone. I don't remember anything solid about that day, and the bits and pieces I do remember, I just want to forget," Cloud replied looking away. "If you have any kind of understanding in that head of yours, just walk your scrawny ass out of this bar and don't come back."

"I understand that you are a selfish, jack ass." Aerith pulled on her coat and set a business card on the bar. "I'll be back, but in the mean time, if you decide to do the right thing just call me at that number or stop by."

Cloud remained silent as he watched Aerith leave the bar. Only after she was gone did he pick up the card. It was the same as all the others she had left him: a white card with a pink flower engraved for Gainsborough Floral Shoppe. He tossed it in the garbage without hesitation.

The bar was clean enough he decided. Whatever else needed done would wait until tomorrow. As he hobbled back to the kitchen, he cursed with each step. Before he made it to his destination, Axel emerged wiping wet hands on his apron. Axel was the one employee they had managed to find who pull any sort of real weight in the bar. The slender redhead eyed him curiously. "I'm all finished in the back, boss. Need me to finish up the bar?" he offered.

"No, I'll be in a little early tomorrow anyway." Cloud hated that he was tempted to let the kid do it, and he would rather deal with the pain than give in.

The one and only thing Cloud hated about the building Tifa had bought was the lack on an elevator. Twenty-six steps led up to his apartment. That may not sound like too much to most people but for Cloud it was an almost interminable trial. He grasped the railing so tightly his knuckles turned a ghostly white. His left ankle was sending white hot shards of anguish through his entire side with each movement. By the time he reached he top of the stairs, he was almost too tired to pick up his feet, but he was mere steps away from his door and he forged on.

Cloud didn't breath easily until he let himself sink into the overstuffed chair in his living room. He was mere seconds away from any semblance of relief, but it was always hard to face what was about to come. Cloud stripped off his boots and then began to slide off his black jeans. With one practiced motion Cloud then did what he did every night: he removed the prosthetic from the stump of his left leg. The stump itself was only a few inches of oddly shaped flesh with a long jagged scar at its end. After a long day behind the bar, the skin now revealed was an angry chaffed red. Biting down on his lip, Cloud began to gently massage it as he'd been shown in rehab. He was lucky that night in that the phantom pain in his ankle seemed to let up as his fingers worked. It didn't seem quite fair that his leg was gone but he could still feel such pain from it. He reasoned that the flesh from his severed limb had rotted away somewhere and that the pain should have rotted with it, but unfortunately that wasn't the way it worked.