Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII is the property of Square Enix. I do not own any of the characters except OCs.
Crackling. Soft, steady crackling. The gentle sound broke into Cloud's consciousness, further confusing his already scattered senses. He could feel warmth radiating from something to his right, but his eyes refused to obey him and remained firmly closed. Pain wracked his entire body, at one moment dull and throbbing, at the next cutting like a knife. He moaned softly in his agony - or perhaps he only imagined doing so.
The world around him felt artificial and dreamlike to his semi-conscious mind. The air smelled thick and pungent, heavy with the scents of wood smoke and something rich that made his stomach growl. He could feel something cool being laid against his forehead; a thin, cold liquid ran in little rivulets down his cheeks and into his hair. Old memories of trivial childhood illnesses rose to the surface, making him feel warm and safe. As always, his mother was here taking care of him.
"Mo...ther...?" he whispered feebly. He hadn't realized how dry his throat was before; he could barely speak. A soft chuckle met his ears.
"No, I'm not your mother, Cloud," the stranger said, half pitying and half amused. "Open your eyes and see for yourself." His eyes slowly fluttered open, and he blinked rapidly to clear the fog from them. A young woman in a midnight blue traveling cloak was kneeling beside him; the hood was pushed back to allow him to see her face. Her head was curved in a subtle oval. Full pink lips, a slightly pointed chin, and a nose well-proportioned to the gentle build of her face all sat below two of the most expressive eyes he had ever seen. They were a glowing electric blue, and they sparkled with both intensity and a sort of laughing joy. The whole picture was framed by a shining cascade of long, choppy black hair that reminded him of waves in an ocean storm.
The young woman grinned at him as she dipped a worn rag into a bucket of cool water and began to clean his face and chest with it. Although the water stung inside of the deep wounds covering his body, it felt soothing on his aching muscles, so he silently allowed her to continue her work. As she did, he began to study his surroundings. He was lying on a pallet of worn blankets in the middle of a small clearing inside a dense forest. Nothing but more trees met his eyes in any direction. A small fire surrounded by a ring of stones and earth blazed in the center of the clearing, bringing a touch of warmth to the now frigid night, and a small pot of boiling liquid hung from a wooden pole just above the fire. Another bedroll had been laid out beside his; its blankets were far fewer and thinner. He supposed it must belong to the woman. Against one of the trees on the opposite side of the clearing, Fenrir sat beside an old Hardy Daytona and his Fusion Sword; all six of the enormous sword's blades had somehow been recovered and rejoined. His shirt and jacket hung from the tree's branches and dangled just above Fenrir; even at this distance, he could see that they were torn and blood-soaked.
Cloud could feel himself getting dizzy, so he closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths until the lightheadedness faded. His breathing was quick and shallow, though, more resembling a dog's panting than anything else. Every time he inhaled, it created a new stab of pain in his chest. He tried hard to mask his discomfort, but the woman noticed anyway. Her eyebrows came close together as she studied him with those intense blue eyes.
"Where does it hurt?" she asked casually.
"My chest," he whispered. "Whenever I... breathe..." She nodded as if she had expected this answer, then silently studied him for a moment.
"Which side?" He nodded weakly toward the right. The woman looked down at his chest and noticed, beneath the many bleeding gashes, three thin lines of swelling running horizontally across the right side of his chest. She gently touched each with a long finger, and Cloud gasped in pain. The third time, he grabbed her wrist with a clammy, shaking hand and stared hard at her.
"What... are you... doing?!"
"Sorry, I know it's uncomfortable, but I had to be sure I was right. You must've fallen hardest on your right side. You've got three broken ribs there." Cloud didn't respond, just continued staring blankly ahead of him. She thought, for just a moment, that he looked very sad. "But," she said, trying to cheer him up, "aside from all the cuts and a sprained right arm, that looks like the worst of your injuries." Again, Cloud said nothing. This woman was beginning to puzzle him.
"Umm," he finally mumbled, "Miss? You... seem to know my name, but... I have no idea who you are."
"Oh, yeah! Sorry about that!" She slapped her forehead with her palm, embarrassed by her bad manners. "My name's Zana Zira. I'm an old friend of someone you know."
"'Someone I know?'"
"Let's just leave it at that for now, okay? I'll tell you everything in the morning, but right now I need to treat your wounds without causing you any more stress."
"Too late," Cloud thought. Zana fell silent and began to prepare her supplies. She tied back her hair, rolled up her sleeves, and disinfected her hands, then dug a set of ointments and bandages out of her worn leather knapsack. She laid them and a small cloth package on a clean blanket, then slid her hands under Cloud's back and helped him sit up as comfortably as he could.
"Do you trust me enough to let me do this?" she asked. Cloud, never one for conversation even among friends, merely shrugged his consent. She sighed. "You're not much of a talker, are you?" No response. "Fine, then, be that way!" she said, grinning. Her expression made Cloud feel very safe; he felt as if he had seen it many times before, but he couldn't remember why. Zana, humming softly to herself, opened a jar of neon green gel and began to rub it into some of the smaller gashes before covering them with gauze pads.
"Crushed gysahl greens," she replied to his inquiring look. "Good in more ways than just chocobo food. In gel form they make a great numbing ointment and antiseptic. You'll hardly feel these cuts at all after a few minutes." Cloud nodded, smiling almost imperceptibly as he remembered his mother telling him exactly the same thing nearly twenty years earlier. Something about this Zana girl brought him comfort, just as something about Aerith and Tifa did.
Having treated all of the minor cuts, Zana began to focus on the large slice that ran from the area behind Cloud's left ear to just below his jaw. It had been caused by a Sincanus's claw; the beast's massive paw had been what had knocked him unconscious when it hit his head. The cut wasn't extremely deep, and it was clean enough that there would be minimal scarring, but there was still a high risk of infection if it was left untreated. Zana removed a small needle and a spool of nylon thread from among her supplies and sterilized the needle in the fire.
"This next one's gonna hurt a little more," she warned. Cloud turned his head toward her as far as was comfortable and nodded.
"Do what you have to." She smiled reassuringly. Cloud closed his eyes to keep from anticipating the pain. First, he felt Zana take a damp rag and wipe off the dried blood, careful not to touch the wound itself, and then apply some gysahl gel to the cut. Then he felt the first stab of pain as she held the sides of the cut together and began stitching it closed. He felt pain and relief in a sort of rhythm, the pace never rushed and never changing. His left hand tightened around a fistful of blankets to keep him from shaking; his right arm hung uselessly across his chest in a homemade sling.
Finally Zana tied off the thread and wiped her brow, wrapping a white gauze bandage around Cloud's head to cover the stitches and prevent swelling. Cloud noticed he could now only see out of his right eye as a result. He looked down at his chest, totally wrapped in bandages to immobilize his ribs, his arm in the sling, and his wrapped knees and ankles - to help with any hidden sprains, Zana had said. A wry smile crept across his lips.
"How do you feel now?" Zana asked as she repacked her medical supplies.
"Mummified." She giggled at his simple answer.
"Ah, so there is humor in there somewhere! And you do kind of look like a mummy. But are you still in pain?"
"Some, but not as much," Cloud answered honestly. "I have to ask, though; why do you have all this stuff, anyway? Are you a doctor or something?"
"Oh, no, nothing like that," Zana answered hastily. "I just travel a lot, and since I'm pretty accident-prone I've learned that it's best to always have something to patch myself up with, that's all."
"Oh, I see." Cloud looked downward as his stomach growled, a slight blush of embarrassment creeping up into his cheeks. He hadn't eaten since he had left Midgar that morning, and he was ravenous.
"Hungry?" Zana asked amusedly.
"A little..."
"That, I can fix." She retrieved two small silver bowls from her bag and held them up to the pot over the fire, spooning a thick stew into each. She picked up a canteen of cool water and gave it to him along with the bowl. "Hopefully my cooking's not too bad," she continued a bit shyly. "If nothing else, it'll fill you up." Cloud gratefully accepted the food and raised the bowl to his lips with his good hand. He blew on it and then tasted the thick broth. To his surprise, it was wonderful; it filled his entire body with warmth from the first sip. Zana grinned.
"You like it?"
"It's... good..."
"I hoped you'd say that."
After they had finished the meal, Zana took away the bowls and strode over to the fire. She laid them upside down in the flames until the food inside had crumbled away to ash, effectively cleaning and sterilizing the bowls, then pulled them out to cool. Cloud was feeling much better than before, and he found that if he lay on his left side his chest hardly hurt at all. His eyes were heavy with a desire to sleep. He wearily sank beneath the blankets, his mind fuzzy from the warmth of the fire and his now full stomach.
Just as he finally drifted off, he heard Zana speaking to him. "Sleep well, Cloud..."
After she was sure Cloud was asleep, Zana repacked the bowls and strode toward Fenrir. As soundlessly as possible, she opened the front storage compartment and removed the black lacquer box, reading the label on top to herself: "K. Takeru, Sector 9-E, 132nd Ave., House 55." She slipped the box into her bag and closed the door of the compartment, slipping away silently and leaving Cloud to his dreams.
When she was a safe distance from the clearing, she pulled a phone from the folds of her cloak, typed a message, and pressed SEND. A few moments later the recipient sent their response: "Thank the gods. See you soon, Lass." Zana grinned, then put the phone away and walked toward Othello. Cloud was never any the wiser.