Notes: Here is where having read Memento Mori would be helpful. Not necessary, but helpful. And yes, it actually is possible for it to seem like pain increases (or at least to not decrease) after applying something warm to sooth it. At least it's been that way for me, but maybe I'm just the odd one out. Thanks to Kaze and Lisa for plot help!

Chapter Two

We Shouldn't Speak to You

Cloud found himself falling through the sky. The puffy clouds rushed past, the trees and the ground getting closer and closer. He was not going to come out of this safely. If he could not pull himself up, he would die. He spread his wing, but it was still stiff. Trying to flap it was only making it throb. What was going on?! This was supposed to be a dream, wasn't it? He should be able to fly on it, unlike in reality. Instead he was plunging down, down . . . right to where a frozen pond was underneath him. A too-familiar frozen pond. He had seen it in another dream.

"What the . . . ?!" He never finished his exclamation. He hit the surface, the ice shattering under his weight. The water was as frosty as the ice as he went under. He reached up, clawing at the liquid. His blood ran cold. Was this what Sephiroth had felt, when he had woke up, falling through the ice?

No! He would get out of this. He moved his arms in desperation, kicking his legs as well. His wing was dead weight. But he never moved higher or lower. It was like swimming through Jell-O. Or maybe that was just how it seemed, because his limbs were getting so numb. There was no sensation in his arms now, and his legs were not faring much better. And his very blood was so cold.

He was being frozen alive.

Blue eyes flew open. Cloud gasped, staring up at the ceiling high above him. He was still cold, still freezing. Had he kicked off the quilt again? He reached out, groping for the soft material. There it was, down by his legs. He started to pull it up.

A frown crossed his features. What was he doing? He was laying in bed. He was not freezing to death.

But . . . the dream had been so real! He had been falling, drowning . . . !

The color drained from his face. It was the same location that he had seen in his other dream, the one about Sephiroth crashing through the ice. Cloud had tried to save him, and then . . . then he had died. . . .

He had not forgotten that nightmare. It had only come a week or more ago, and he, Sephiroth, and Zack still could not figure out what it could mean, if it meant anything at all. Now, for him to dream of that scene again, with himself being the one to die this time. . . .

What was the explanation?

Would they both be killed? Was there a chance it would be one or the other? Both of them had been beat up tonight, really, but if the dream was symbolic and had been referring to tonight, why would he even have it? It seemed more likely that it was something still to come.

Or maybe he was stupid for believing that anything at all would come of it. It was just two random dreams about crashing through ice and freezing to death. Oh yeah, happened every day. Nothing strange or out of the ordinary about it, especially when he wasn't afraid of drowning or freezing alive. Even though he had almost drowned once, it had not made him fear the water. And being frozen was a method of dying he had never before considered in the least.

He made a face. All this thinking about death and doom was annoying. And his neck was getting kinked from laying on his back. Maybe he should try to turn onto his side. On the other hand, maybe that would just make his rib hurt, even if he moved onto the opposite side.

"Awake, huh?"

He turned his head to the side, while keeping his body in place. Sephiroth was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and his wings unfolded, as usual. His lower right wing was held close against him, while the other two hung naturally from their sockets. His long silver hair flowed down his back, while the bangs partially concealed his eyes. Maybe he wanted it that way. A flicker of pain passed over his features. He would not want it to be seen.

Cloud frowned. "You're hurt," he mumbled.

"Yes, I know," Sephiroth grunted. "A stab wound to the shoulder generally has that effect."

Cloud rolled his eyes. "I mean besides that. Your wing."

"It will be fine." Sephiroth's tone did not leave room for arguments.

Cloud leaned further into the pillows. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear a scream---pain-filled, anguished---Sephiroth's scream. And that had not happened during the fight with that clone thing.

". . . You got hurt saving me," he realized.

A silence. "I said my wing will be fine."

Cloud turned away, focusing on the wall. "I didn't want anyone to get hurt because of me," he muttered.

". . . That's what happens when people care about others, Cloud. They get hurt. But if they manage to save the ones in trouble, they don't care about their own infirmities."

"But the people being saved care!" Cloud shot back.

He froze. What a weird conversation they were having. Had he really just said that? HadSephiroth really said what he just had? This was the first time they had been in a dire predicament since being forced to admit to their friendship. He had not thought about how it would change their reactions.

A vague smirk came over Sephiroth's features. He seemed to have come to the same conclusion that Cloud had. "Strange, isn't it."

"More like bizarre." Cloud allowed himself to smirk as well.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Where's Zack?"

"I insisted he get some sleep."

"Good deal, if he really does."

"You know Zack."

"He's probably wide awake, staring at the ceiling or something."

"You were pale when you woke up." Sephiroth abruptly changed the subject, giving Cloud a sidelong glance. "And I don't think it was altogether from the beating."

Cloud sighed now. Ordinarily, he would refuse to talk about what had happened. But he was so tired. And what if there really was something to be concerned about? After a second dream, there really was cause to wonder. Not that there had not been cause before.

". . . Remember when I busted the mirror last week?" he said.

"Yes," Sephiroth said dryly. "Seven years of bad luck, according to the superstitious. We hardly need any more than we already have."

A vague smirk passed over Cloud's features before he sobered again. ". . . I had another weird dream," he mumbled. "This time I fell in the pond from the sky. And I died too."

Sephiroth frowned. Cloud would not speak of this unless he was distressed to an extreme degree. And weary. He had actually thought he would not hear of the dream again---at least not unless a time came when it seemed to be being fulfilled. Whoever was bestowing the dreams must be growing impatient.

"You seem to be attracting odd dreams lately," he commented.

"Tell me about it." Cloud made a face. "On second thought, don't. I tell myself about it a lot these days."

Sephiroth pushed himself away from the wall. "We never did determine whether its meaning is literal or symbolic," he said. He walked over to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. Slowly he sank onto the edge of the mattress, favoring his left side and allowing his wing to stretch out. Strange, how such a simple action was such a large indication of what had changed between the two of them.

"I don't get what it means if it's symbolic," Cloud grumbled. "Unless it's that we're walking on thin ice because of this whole stupid problem with the wing prejudice, and we already know that."

"It would seem strange," Sephiroth conceded. "And unnecessary."

"Yeah, exactly." Cloud frowned. "And if it's literal, then what? We have to stay away from the ice-rink?"

"Not that we would ever go there in the first place." Sephiroth's voice was dripping sarcasm.

"I wonder what would happen if Zack tried to get us to go . . . if there wasn't any danger, I mean. Would we say Yes, just to humor him?"

"Probably, if he kept at it enough." Sephiroth imagined he would not be such a bad skater. He had perfect balance. Possessing the wings had only added to his equilibrium skills, as well. But he was not interested in engaging in any activity that would not be directly beneficial. Ice-skating sounded like a waste of time.

"But we wouldn't say Yes a second time," Cloud put in.

"No," Sephiroth agreed, "we wouldn't. And Zack would know it."

Cloud smirked, then sighed, running a hand down his face. "So . . . what do we do about this stupid dream thing? It looks like it's not going to go away."

"Is there really anything to do except to keep it in mind?" Sephiroth returned. "There aren't any ponds near our house."

"Yeah. . . . Probably a good thing," Cloud said dryly.

He ran a hand over his eyes. ". . . Why do you think they jumped me tonight?" he asked. "I mean, why now more than any other time? This stupid prejudice thing has been going on for months. We've never been attacked before."

Sephiroth frowned. "They didn't act as if there was any specific reason for it," he said. "They just seemed to want to cause any winged being pain and anguish. We've known it would come to this, if we kept being hated. And it's hard to say whether the police or even the military would or could do anything for us. I'm technically supposed to be dead, for one thing. And we can't explain to them why I'm alive again."

"Maybe they wouldn't ask," Cloud mumbled. But it sounded stupid as soon as he said it.

"Oh, they'd ask." Sephiroth crossed his arms. "We've received the short end of the stick.

"We're outcasts, Cloud."

Cloud frowned too. He knew it, of course. Both of them had been such for years. He had felt like an outcast ever since he had left following Hollow Bastion's destruction. And that had not changed after returning. It seemed to have only intensified. It was not really a surprise, after the dark road he had walked, but it was not a happy thing to discover, either. Most people had no idea what he had been through, but were wary of him because of the wing alone. It was the same for Sephiroth, as well. And hearing that Sephiroth was connected with Cloud in some way made them all the more suspicious.

". . . And God help us, right?" he said.

"He might not. This may be a consequence of our past actions." Sephiroth twitched a wing in emphasis as he spoke. "It may be something we're meant to endure."

Cloud grunted. "Is it easier for you to think we're doomed or something?"

Sephiroth shrugged. "I don't want to give in to foolish fantasies," he said. "I suppose in a sense it's easier." He smirked. "It's better than fully believing all will be well, and then being dragged back to earth with the realization that it never will be."

"Heh." Cloud was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. ". . . Or maybe you hate yourself so much that you think you aren't worthy of anyone's help, especially God's," he remarked. "That it's close to blaspheme or something to even consider it." And he narrowed his eyes. Where had that come from? Was this the night to say weird things, even to psycho-analyze the great Sephiroth? What had that knock on the head done to him?

Sephiroth continued to smirk, gazing off at the opposite wall. "Maybe I do." He turned a bit, regarding Cloud in curiousness. "What about you, Cloud? Do you think it's blaspheme?"

Cloud frowned down at the quilt. "It's not like I'd be a good judge of that," he retorted. "I'm not a religious kind of person."

"Well, I certainly am not." Sephiroth's smirk was now clearly self-depreciating.

Cloud snorted, then fell silent. When he began to speak again, he chose his words with care.

" . . . I think that, if you're an honest person trying to do what's right, it wouldn't be blaspheme to ask for help. I mean, none of us are perfect, right? God's supposed to be happy to hear from us."

Sephiroth leaned back. "Yes, but not everyone goes on frenzied rampages, murdering out of hate and not sparing the innocent."

It was hard to know what to say to that. That was Sephiroth's main problem right there---he could not forgive himself for what he had done. And he felt that he could never make up for it, since he could never bring back the lost lives or repair the hearts of the wounded.

"You just . . . really lost yourself." Cloud's voice was quiet. He could have been talking about either of them, though he had never taken a life in such a way. But he could have. He had come very close to that path more than once. Sora had saved him . . . and Sephiroth had, too. "All the stuff you'd seen, the injustice of everything . . . you just . . . couldn't take it." He shook his head.

"That doesn't make it right."

"I know that, but . . ." Cloud looked into the veiled green eyes. Who knew what Sephiroth was thinking back there? He seemed relatively docile at the moment. For him, this was a normal conversation.

"If you weren't a good person, what you did wouldn't bother you," he said at last. "And that's not just me getting stuck with Zack's optimism, it's the truth." And then he smirked. "Besides, if you weren't a good person, one of us would be dead right now. Probably me."

"Oh?"

Cloud nodded. "You would've killed me some night when I was caught up in hating you. Because I'd be too stupid to know what to do to beat you."

"Or maybe we would have killed each other in a fit of abhorrence."

"Possible." Cloud smirked again, somewhat ruefully. "If Zack came in and heard us right now, he wouldn't be happy."

"Can you blame him? It isn't really a pleasant subject." Sephiroth leaned back, gazing off into the distance. His body was still on the bed, but his mind was wandering somewhere far away. Still spread on the mattress, the left wing suddenly twitched.

Cloud watched it for a moment. He wanted to deny the flicker of fascination in his mind. It was silly, to be looking at a wing, especially when he had one too. But sometimes it just seemed so unreal, that these things were attached to their bodies, that they were capable of moving on their own because of nerves or emotions or whatever. And flying . . . that was just crazy, to know that they could take to the skies, soaring over the cities and mountains like birds. Only they were not like birds at all.

Why would they have been given wings? It was not a human's place, to fly. And the townspeople mostly thought they were monsters. Maybe it was true, that the wings were a punishment for what they had done. What if they had been given the extra limbs as proof that they were monsters, like Sephiroth often thought? It was actually pretty hard not to think something like that, especially considering the circumstances from which their wings had sprouted.

"If I was judged by a divine court," Sephiroth spoke without warning, "wouldn't they have been under the direction of God?"

Cloud started, looking up at him. Sephiroth was still not facing him. With crossed arms he studied the wall some more, as if there was nothing more fascinating to examine.

"I . . . guess so," Cloud replied then, a bit surprised by the sudden musing.

Sephiroth nodded. "Then it was God Who wanted me to have these wings."

Cloud blinked. ". . . If you put it like that, then yeah, it looks that way." He frowned. "But did they actually tell you you'd get them?"

"No. I regained consciousness with them having grown from my back." Sephiroth finally turned to look at Cloud. "My battle wounds were healed. I don't even have the faintest scar from that sword, Cloud, and it impaled me all the way through. I knew they were going to mend that damage, so I've always assumed that when they were doing that, they altered my body's workings so that the wings would grow naturally."

Cloud gave a slow nod. "It doesn't tell me where my wing came from, but it sounds logical."

"I thought you felt your wing came from your own dark feelings," Sephiroth commented.

"I did. I do," Cloud hurried to correct himself. "But it sounds crazy."

"This whole situation is crazy, Cloud." Sephiroth gave a grim smirk. "Do you think Hades cast a spell on you?"

Cloud frowned. "No . . . not really. I remember considering it, but then I was sure it was me."

"Maybe it was. A guilty conscience?"

"Something like that." Cloud sighed. "Probably doesn't really matter. It's here, and it's not going away, so I'll just have to deal with it."

Sephiroth nodded. ". . . If we did get to the point where we prayed for help, what do you think would happen?" he mused, sounding as though he was more curious than anything else.

"Who knows." Cloud shrugged. "I don't think it would hurt anything. But we should try to figure out a solution first, if there's one to even find."

"God helps those who help themselves, eh?" Sephiroth smirked, in complete agreement with the saying. "And what if there isn't any solution?"

"Then we're doomed?"

"I don't doubt it."

"Pessimist."

"I believe the definition of this would be the pot calling the kettle black."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes."

Cloud leaned into the pillows, smirking up at his former enemy and recent best friend. Undoubtedly there was still going to be trouble, possibly as soon as tomorrow. But for a little while tonight, they could relax with their banter. Hopefully Zack was getting some well-needed rest.

Zack happened to be wide awake. He had dozed briefly, but then had woke back up again when a stabbing pain shot right into his dreams. In the nightmare, he was being shot again, Hojo's maniacal laughter echoing off the walls of his mind. Upon starting awake, he had found his leg throbbing. And so he was sitting up in his bed, wearily massaging the limb.

It had been hurting more tonight than he had let on, of course. And applying a hot water bottle in bed had not helped a great deal. It was weird, but sometimes it seemed that stuff like that could make the thing hurt worse. There were nights when he could not get to sleep at all unless he took a painkiller, but he tried to make sure that such occasions were not frequent. The last thing he wanted to do was to get hung up on some drug.

He would be lying to himself if he did not admit that there had been times when he had been angry over his injury. If it never healed, he would not be able to serve in active combat again. And he abhorred the thought of a desk job. He had joined the military to protect people, and to be involved, not to do paperwork. But his physical therapist still had hope. If he would just not do so many strenuous things, then maybe it would have the chance it needed to repair the rest of the damage. Fighting a bunch of crazed thugs, even throwing them over his shoulder, would probably be classified as strenuous. Yet, what could he do, when his friends were in trouble? He refused to stand by and watch them be hurt.

He tried to be optimistic most of the time. In general, he actually felt that way. And he never complained, at least not openly---only now and then in his mind, when he found himself unable to do something he once could have accomplished with ease. Sometimes he made jokes about it, to help him deal with the problem.

Seph was crippled, in a way. Zack had never heard Seph say anything in the way of a complaint over his wing's deformity. He had learned to live with it. But it bothered him, even still. Zack could see it in his eyes, when he had to land sooner than he wanted, or needed, or when it was just hurting like heck.

Secretly, Zack wished that they could both be healed. But that seemed unlikely. At any rate, his leg sure wouldn't get better, if he kept attacking creeps like he had done tonight. He could just hear his therapist scolding him for it.

He yawned, leaning away from his leg as he placed his hands on his back. It wasn't feeling so great tonight, either. He stretched, keeping his hands in place as the muscles cracked and popped.

What was that, over there by the wall? He turned, unable to control a second yawn as he looked. And then his mouth hung open in mid-intake of air as he stared with amazement. If he was not yawning, he might very well have yelped out of shock and alarm. A transparent form was emerging from it, intent on heading over to Zack. But the fact that a spirit had just entered was not even what Zack found eerie. It was the fact of how it looked so much like Seph. Identical, in fact, except that the lower right wing was not bent. And the hair was pulled back into a sweeping ponytail, courtesy of a red hair tie. Only the bangs were free, brushing against the firm cheeks.

"Who the heck are you?!" Zack gasped, swallowing the air he had inhaled. After the experience tonight, seeing another Seph look-alike was especially unsettling. What did this one want?

The spectre stopped near the bed, a funny smile playing on its lips. "You don't remember me?" it asked, in a voice that was all at once just like Seph's and yet not like him at all. It was softer, younger, but still carried a heavy burden and was very kind.

Zack's eyes widened. He knew. Somehow he just knew. "Hey," he cried in realization, "it's you!" The "failed" clone that Hojo had created, that he had wanted to use for destruction---the one who had instead sacrificed himself to save Zack and Cloud.

The clone nodded. "I never had the chance to apologize," he said, not taking his gaze from Zack.

"Apologize?" Zack repeated in disbelief.

"For putting you and Cloud through so much agony, thinking that Sephiroth was dead."

Zack blinked, the surprise manifesting itself in his lavender eyes. But then a soft smile came over his features. "Hey," he said, "if it wasn't for you, Cloud and I might really be dead, and poor Seph would be in agony."

The clone nodded again. "But I . . . wasn't able to stop what happened tonight," he murmured.

Zack shook his head. "None of us could," he said, anger seeping into his tones. This was not, however, what he wanted to speak of with his visitor right now.

"How are you?" he exclaimed. "I mean . . . did you get to go to an afterlife or anything like that?" Surely the poor guy would not be doomed to wander, just because his creation had been artificial. He had just as much of a soul as any of the rest of them.

"I did," was the answer. "I was given a choice. I could stay there all the time, or I could be here for part of the time, watching over the three of you. I chose the latter." He gave Zack a thoughtful look. "I still wanted to know what it felt like, and what it meant, to live."

"Yeah?" Zack smiled a bit once more. It was great to see the clone again, and to know that he was doing alright. At least something was going right for somebody.

"I think I know, at least in part." Green eyes focused on Zack. "To live . . . one has to have people who will care. And they have to care about those people."

Zack's smile turned melancholy. "That's a big part of it, alright," he agreed.

"Hey," he realized, "if you're gonna be around, you need a name. I can't just keep thinking of you as 'the clone' all the time."

"I was given a name, by Merlin," said the clone. "He calls me 'Aeolus', after the Greek god of wind."

"Hey," Zack grinned, "that fits. Can't just give any name to a Seph clone, like George or Fred or something."

Aeolus smirked, showing a smidgeon of the dry humor he had inherited from the one whose DNA he possessed. But then he sobered again.

"I also came to warn you," he said.

Zack frowned. "You know about something else that's going to go wrong?" he asked.

A nod. "Hojo has created many clones, but the one that came here tonight is his pride and joy. It is carrying out the assignment I refused to accept." Aeolus's eyes narrowed. "Hojo calls it the Master Clone."

"'Master Clone' . . ." Zack repeated. That title alone was ominous. "So what's the thing up to? Just to hurt Seph?" He gripped a handful of quilt. "It's already done that now. It doesn't have to do any more!" But of course it would . . . if it was still alive. And Aeolus did not look like he felt it to be dead.

"It wants to hurt him, yes, but not only physically." Aeolus hesitated, as if this was something he was not supposed to reveal.

"What is it?!" Zack burst out. "Come on, now you've got me worried!"

Aeolus shook his head. "I don't understand all of it myself," he said. "I haven't heard them speak of this plan, but I can . . . I don't know how to explain it, but I can feel it. I can almost reach out and touch the wickedness as it's made manifest." He held out a hand in emphasis, gesturing to indicate grasping something landing across his palm. "Maybe it's because I'm connected with the other clones. We were all born from the same source, a feather taken from Sephiroth. I . . . I can sense some of what they're feeling and experiencing."

Zack swallowed. This was not good. ". . . What's the Master Clone feeling right now?" he asked. "Seph stabbed him clean through!"

Aeolus paused, gathering his senses about him. "He's . . . laying on a metal slab," he said slowly, "somewhere in Hojo's headquarters. He's alive . . . badly hurt . . . but mostly angry. But he's also reveling in the fact that he hurt Sephiroth and brought pain to you."

"That's sick!" Zack could not help exclaiming.

Aeolus nodded, but looked somewhat sad. "He was never as lucky as I," he said. "Most of the clones don't question who or what they are, or what they're supposed to do. That's what Hojo wants from them."

"It's not an excuse," Zack protested. "They've got minds, right? They could've chosen something better, like you did!"

"I know," Aeolus said. "And I'm angry for what they're doing, make no mistake about that. But I can't help feeling a certain pity, too. They'll never learn the meaning of life, of living."

Zack finally nodded as well. "That's true," he acknowledged, his tone slow. The hardness crept back in. "I guess it's harder for me to feel anything for them, after what the Master Clone did tonight, and knowing that you broke away from Hojo's plans. I just wonder why they can't, too."

"I wish they could," Aeolus sighed. "I'm not giving up hope. There must be others such as I."

He glanced up, hearing something that Zack apparently could not. "And now I have to go," he said. "But I'll come back."

And then he was gone. A ghost of a feather floated to the floor in his wake, and promptly vanished as well.

Zack was left staring, trying in vain to process everything he had been told. Now there were more questions than answers. And the answers floating through his mind were not pleasant. He slumped back into the pillow, gazing up at the ceiling. Master Clones . . . clones in general . . . some plan to hurt Seph in ways other than physically. . . .

The pain in his leg was forgotten, replaced by an agony far greater.

The pounding on the front door the next morning sent Zack starting awake and nearly falling to the floor. He threw back the covers, a hand flying to his equally pounding head as he groped for his cane. "Alright already!" he exclaimed, easing his body upright as he limped across the room and into the hall. The rapping below never ceased or slowed. And both Cloud's and Seph's doors were shut. Wow, were they really sleeping through this racket? Zack shook his head, making his way to the stairs.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he muttered. "Give a guy a chance to get there, will ya?" Hobbling down the rest of the stairs, he moved swiftly to the door and threw it open. The sight of a concerned Leon standing on the porch, along with Yuffie, made him stop and stare. Obviously Yuffie had been responsible for the knocking. Her hand was raised, her fist clenched as if to go right ahead and pound some more. Leon had his arms folded, and a newspaper could be seen dangling from his right hand.

"What's going on?" Zack demanded. "You wouldn't be waking a guy up at this hour for nothing." The clock he had passed had proclaimed it was seven in the morning. And since it was deep into winter, it was still dark outside. Up and down the block, houses had their lights on.

"There's something really bad going down!" Yuffie cried. "Show him the paper, Leon."

Leon held it out. "There was a fire started last night," he said grimly, "in the merchant's district. A lot of damage was done, but the owner got out alive. And there's only one clue to the culprit."

Zack stared at the paper. His cane almost tumbled from his hand.

Blue Feather Found At Crime Scene!

Is The Mysterious Sephiroth Showing His True Colors?

"No," Zack said, his voice cracking.

Hojo's clones were beginning their assault.