7. Call My Name (And I'll Be There) – Michael Benghiat


Cloud slammed against the rock-face, clutching his side as a couple more ribs snapped. Breathing was already a nightmare, as was seeing through the red of so many burst blood vessels. His collarbone ground unpleasantly on the left side and he was pretty sure the burning across his gut meant the monster's fangs had connected more than he'd hoped.

It lunged at him, all long claws and far too many teeth. He avoided it, gasping at the stabbing sensation deep in his chest. Just his luck to be out alone and land himself in something like this. He'd only been able to pull First Tsurugi when the giant thing jumped him and mangled Fenrir like cheap tinfoil.

He fell to one knee, digging his blade into the earth to stay upright. He couldn't fall down, or he'd stay down – permanently. It was kind of embarrassing, actually: him, the guy who'd defeated Sephiroth (not once but twice), laid low by a glorified gecko.

He pulled his protective arm away from his middle. The blood on his hand was so thick it was almost black and dripped from his gloves like melting wax. He brought his sword up, only to have it knocked from his grasp. He tumbled backwards, grunting and gasping, and had time to think, This is it. Oh fuck, Tifa – before a hot-breathed shadow fell across him.

And then there was someone standing over him and the monster was falling back, whimpering. Cloud heard the skitter of loose shale as it ran away, but that couldn't be right. Neither could the warm hand cupping his cheek, the smell of leather and sword polish cutting through the smell of his own blood, or the indigo eyes looking at him with concern through the red haze. There was someone there, he knew, because his phone was pulled from his pocket and pressed into his hand, but the person's face wavered like a heat haze and then vanished entirely.

Working mostly on instinct, Cloud raised the phone to his ear and pressed the button for the first programmed number. "Tifa," he croaked, coughing wetly.

"Cloud?" Panic infused her voice. She didn't bother asking whether he was all right, just went with a practical, "Where are you?"

"Not far … from Edge … 'bout eleven miles south …" He coughed again and groaned at the grinding in his chest. He healed faster than ordinary people, but the number of broken ribs probably outnumbered the ones still whole inside him. His lungs felt like they'd been caught in a steel bear trap.

"I'll be there. Don't worry. Just hang on, Cloud. I'm on my way."

Cloud let the phone drop and tried hard not to pass out. If that monster came back and he was unconscious, he was toast, but he couldn't keep his eyes open. "Fuck …"

And then the not-person presence was back, and though his eyelids were heavier than lead, he didn't need to see to know he'd be safe until Tifa got there.

Never let you down before, have I? Well, apart from one time, and that really wasn't my fault…