Uh yeah… hi? is killed on the spot It's been a while. I don't know what to say, expect that I'm sorry for not updating sooner, and thank you to all you reviewers! I kid you not when I say that I am updating because of you.

On another note, Christmas break is coming up soon for me (woo! 3 ½ weeks of non-college related activities!) so that will hopefully mean another update soon. I do actually have a lot of this story planned out, believe it or not.

On another other note, there will be no Cloud and Rogue romance in this story. This chapter seems to hint at it a bit, but it is meant as FRIENDSHIP, nothing more. I am a totally Cloud and Tifa supporter. (Perhaps she will show up, ne?)

On another other completely different note, sorry this chapter is short. I just wanted to get something posted, so you knew I wasn't dead.

Well, without further natterings from the authoress, enjoy!

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Cloud felt a twinge of pain in his heart as he watched the sunset from the mansion's roof. It was so similar to the sunset he remembered, the one on his own world. He didn't like that train of thought, as it brought up faces of those most important to him, and one in particular, who left a lonely ache in his arms.

He kept wondering, asking, why was he here? Was there a point, something for him to do? Or was it merely fluke?

"Why?" He murmured.

Something brushed lightly up against his cheek.

"Cloud?"

His breath caught in his throat. Tifa? His head whipped around. The girl from the meeting, the one with the white-stripe in her hair, stood on the roof where it leaned and almost touched the public balcony. Her face was full of surprise.

"Cloud?"

Apparently this spot already belonged to someone else.

"Hm?" He answered, disappointed.

"Um… do you mind if Ah join ya?" She asked hesitantly.

Her gaze met his, and he nodded, ever so softly. She settled down next to him and turned her eyes to the splash of colors that was the setting sun.

"Ah heard about what ya did ta Scott." She said finally.

Cloud turned his head and looked at her, not answering.

"Ah wanted ta say that Ah think ya did the right thing. Scott had no right ta say that ta you."

She turned away from his gaze, embarrassed.

"So…" Cloud broke in, after a moment. "I guess this is your spot. I'll go." He got up to rise but she stopped him, a gloved hand on his arm. Standing up also, she smiled at him.

"Nah, Ah just wanted ta tell ya that. Scott's really a good guy, just a little protective of Jean."

Cloud nodded again.

"Well, Ah'm goin' back in. Enjoy the view."

She turned to go, but her boot hit the lip of a shingle and threw her off balance. She wobbled for a heartbeat, trying desperately to regain her footing, then lost the battle with gravity and began to fall.

Acting out of instinct, Cloud leaned forward and his hand shot out and grabbed her arm. His skin hit hers and a jolt ran through his body. He lost his footing and the two fell over the edge of the three story roof, hurtling towards the ground.

With enough sense left in him, the blonde swordsmen pulled her over top him so as to cushion her fall. He's survived a fall from a height like this before. She might not.

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Rogue had seen her share of other peoples' memories, and she liked to think that she was getting good at distinguishing them from each other and reality. All memories had a certain dream-like quality, as very few people have a brain capable of playing back events like a TV set. They were also subtly different from her own in that she was more a spectator than a participant and could maintain some of her conscious thought if focused enough.

This particular scene, however, lacked those qualities, and Rogue had come to the conclusion that this was not, in fact, one of Cloud's memories, nor was it any memory, his or otherwise.

When she opened her eyes, or whatever it was that you did when you were in a dream-like scene, she was immediately very disoriented, the cause of which being two things. She was standing up, and she was standing up in nothing, if an infinite amount of space colored only white can indeed be designated as nothing.

However, as orientation returned to her, she discovered that she could in fact faintly distinguish between floor and ceiling, so it was really as if both ground and sky were white. Her spontaneous inspection of the new surroundings was quite suddenly interrupted by a low, feminine voice.

"An interesting trick you have, girl."

Spinning quickly around, she came face to face with the most exotic women she had ever seen. Beautiful in an alien way, possessed of lavender skin and golden eyes, straight, almost translucent tresses drawn up delicately around her head, this woman was simultaneously exquisite and repulsive, for there was a very sadistic gleam in her eyes, and a sordid tone to the half-smile on her full, purple lips.

The woman's slender hands, her nails perfectly manicured but long enough to be claws, fisted the gauzy, sleek material of the swathes of fabric that composed her dress. Rogue read anger in that white-knuckled hold, saw the cold, meticulous malice in the amber eyes.

"A trick that serves me well now, though it was not without its perils. Amusing to think that Cetra chit and I agreed upon something."

A hint of pearlescent fang showed against the woman's lips.

For her part, Rogue was too utterly confused and bewildered to even comprehend forming words.

"No doubt you wonder if your gift has deserted you. That is not so. The memories you are not seeing would have killed you. Your body is experiencing a phantom poisoning effect as we speak, courtesy of my son's subconscious memories.

Enough of that, then." The woman waved a hand as if dispensing the particular thread of conversation.

"You will tell my son this. It will go easier for him if he does not resist. I am not to be dissuaded. I will have what I want in the end. Tell him—"

"Ah, Jenova, ever the dictator."

A man's amused voice interrupted the regal woman and both her and Rogue turned to see a man with spiky black hair wearing a soldier's garb and striding towards them.

The woman's voice seethed with anger as she replied.

"So, the Cetra's faithful lap dog, come to take away the prize. Very well then, you may have her. I am finished here."

Rogue turned to see the man was within a few feet away from her now. He smiled and reached out a hand.

"Here, take my hand. I'll find you some more pleasant company."

The man's easy manner and friendly voice compelled Rogue, and no sooner had she touched his hand then she found herself in a new setting, similar to the previous, only the ground was a field of appealing yellow flowers.

It was a definite improvement, and as Rogue looked around she discovered they were not alone. A pretty brunette in a pink dress stood close by, an air of expectancy about her. When she saw them, she smiled warmly.

"So, here is what we have been waiting for."

Rogue was startled to find that there was another person with them, as the brunette had implied. It was a tall, silver-haired man, one of the most striking men Rogue had ever laid eyes on. Decked in fine black leather and silver armor, he cut an imposing figure. His molten hair cascaded down the back of his coat, reaching to his waist. Luminescent green eyes, set within definite, masculine features, regarded her serenely.

The young woman approached and took Rogue's hands in hers eagerly.

"Well then, we mustn't waste time. We shall have to send you back soon. But before we do, we need you to deliver a message to Cloud. Tell him that he can do it. We're pulling for him."

The black-haired man who had taken her there stepped closer.

"Tell him we're sending help." He added jovially.

Then it was the silver-haired man's turn. He spoke with a quite, sure intensity, his voice tinged with many emotions.

"Tell him he is much stronger than I ever was."

The scene was beginning to fade, and Rogue felt herself being slowly but surely tugged away. The man stepped closer to her; his words were the last thing she knew of that realm.

"And tell him… tell him I am sorry."

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For the first time in a very long time, Cloud's dreams held only blackness.

However, it wasn't until later that he would be able to ponder that. Awakening with a sudden jolt, he bolted upright—or tried to.

He was expecting to be lying in a nice Cloud-shaped indention on the mansion's front lawn. He wasn't expecting to be lying on a hospital cot, two feet in the air. This—and the after affects of touching Rogue—perhaps explained the rather comical and noisy scene that ensued.

The sudden motion overbalanced the wheeled cot and promptly sent a confused and dismayed blonde swordsman over the side. The clatter of the cot and the nasty smack of cranium against sterile white tile was enough to catch the attention of the other occupants of the infirmary.

Jean was the first to reach Cloud's side, and was quite frankly surprised to see the tiles were not splashed with blood.

"Are you okay?" She cried, alarmed.

Cloud sat up, rubbing the back of his head, and Jean backed up to give him some space. His couldn't seem to decide between a grimace of pain and a look of wry amusement.

"Yeah. Hard head."

Waving off a pro-offered hand, he stood up slowly, his blue eyes clearing. The first thing he noticed was Rogue, lying on a cot identical to the one he had just tangled with, a few feet away. The Professor and Hank watched him from her side.

"Is she alright?" He asked, ignoring Jean and stepping closer.

"I thought that maybe if I cushioned her fall…" Cloud trailed off, not really wanting to hear if another person had come to harm because of him.

"A brave deed it was." Xavier spoke quietly, his eyes meeting the young man's.

That was obviously not what Cloud wanted to hear.

"And successfully, I might add." He continued, seeing the relief flit across Cloud's face.

"If you hadn't broken her fall, I'm sure she would have died. You were a long way up. As it is, she has only sprained her wrist. But that does not seem to be the problem here.

Tell me… did you touch her skin?"

Cloud shuddered, remembering the feeling.

"Yes, before we fell, her wrist." Cloud answered warily, suddenly realizing where the Professor was going.

"Does she usually faint afterwards?" He asked.

"No," replied the Professor, "that's why I'm worried. And she's not just unconscious."

Taking his cue, Dr. McCoy began to speak.

"Rogue has some other symptoms as well. Rapid, erratic heart beat; dilated pupils; weak pulse; increased rate of breathing; convulsions… All signs of some time of poisoning."

There was a very sinking feeling in the pit of Cloud's stomach. He approached Rogue's bedside, noting the sheen of sweat on her pallid face. He reached out a hand, slowly, fingers splayed, hesitating…

Oh God, don't let it be what I think it is!

All it took was one brush of his fingers against her bare skin, and he knew. The nausea, the searing pain, sickness in the veins…

"Mako…" He whispered with dread.

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Professor Xavier and Dr. McCoy saw the look of fear and recognition on Cloud's face as he approached, the revulsion as his fingertips inched closer. But most of all, they saw his blue-green eyes flash intensely as he made contact with Rogue.

Almost instantly, the young man, drew away, suddenly breathing heavier. When he met their gazes, there was old pain in his eyes.

"Mako?" Hank asked. "Isn't that one of the substances you were injected with?"

Cloud nodded, his features now hardened with anger and guilt as he gazed at Rogue.

"Yes. But she couldn't have Mako poisoning just from touching me."

"Poisoning?" McCoy repeated, somewhat alarmed.

Cloud looked up at them again as he explained.

"Everyone rejects Mako at first. Some more than others. We call it 'Mako poisoning.' It can be lethal, if too much Mako is introduced into the system, or if the system is not capable of accepting it."

"So that is what is happening to Rogue?" The Professor questioned, attempting to clarify.

"No… I don't think so. Like I said, she couldn't be poisoned from just touching someone with Mako. I think… I think that the memories she must have from me—the ones I have of Mako poisoning—must have tricked her body into thinking she is the one poisoned. 'Phantom poisoning,' sort of."

"So, not lethal." Jean added, joining the conversation.

"Well, if it is from my memories, and I obviously didn't die, than no, not lethal."

There was a large and overdue collective exhaling sigh of relief from the room's occupants—followed very quickly by an inhaling of all previously expounded air as Rogue suddenly sat bolt upright.

Her eyes swiftly locked onto Cloud's. He could see she was remarkably clear-headed, for having gone through what she had.

"Your mother…" She whispered fiercely, urgently.

"My mother?" Cloud asked, puzzled.

"She said, 'Don't resist! It will go easier!'"

Those words, six of them, simple and compact, shattered everything Cloud had previously been thinking.

Not mother, no. His mind raced, furious, raging.

JENOVA!

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