Disclaimer: I in no way own any portion of the Final Fantasy franchise except the spiffy stuff I've purchased and the Squall plushie I snuggle with regularity. I also don't own any song by Linkin Park, especially not 'Shadow of the Day' which provides not only the chapter titles for this story but also the inspiration for this fic in its entirety. Please don't sue – I'm simply an E6 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.
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Chapter 10
Embrace in Gray
Garden. I wish I could say I'm happy to be back.
After only a couple days in the ICU in Delling, Irvine managed to sweet-talk my caretakers into relinquishing me to Garden control. How that man works his magic is beyond me.
I… still feel numb.
But right now, the numbness is good.
Feeling empty, feeling alone, feeling the abyss within my heart and the shadows in my mind where she once shone with so much light, feeling the horrible pain of her absence is something I can't withstand right now.
Perhaps in the future I'll be able to tolerate it. But right now, I need that numbness.
I need to not lose myself to my grief.
Because right now, I need to find him.
During that short span of time that I was locked away and incapable of searching for the beast that struck Rinoa down, Irvine had been relaying news to me.
He'd found my gunblade at the site of the battle. He'd also found huge pools of blood, presumably from us. He'd found the shards of bone and lumps of flesh and skin left by my opponent's right arm. He'd found the body of the village fisherman the beast I'd engaged in battle with had slain near where the tire tracks left by our abandoned vehicle were. He'd found our vehicle completely intact and apparently untouched, its tank still nearly half full and the GPS still in the glovebox where I'd left it.
He didn't find her body.
He didn't find any trace of my target, either.
I need to stay cold, to stay focused.
Because if I lose myself, I will never find him.
I have to find the monster who killed her. I have to find out what he's done with her.
I need to have her back. If only to lay her to rest, to give her father closure, to give myself a final outlet for the grief that's threatening to rip me asunder, I need to have her back.
I need to murder the beast that's taken her from me. He's taken my happiness. Our happiness. Our future. My life, as much as he's taken hers.
So I will stay numb. Cold. Logical. Until I have him.
Then I will allow the rage that boils in me to burst free.
And once he is dead, perhaps then I can grieve.
My thoughts are so scattered right now. I should be rejoicing that I'm finally back home, but I can't. I want to be back in Timber, back facing that monster who's hiding from me.
It's been nearly two weeks since we faced off with one another. I'm still less than optimal, hardly in any shape to face him. The fact that I've regained a semblance of mobility at all is apparently a medicinal miracle, according to Doctor K.
What the hell's so miraculous about it? I'm in more pain than I've ever known before – my dizzy spells whenever I sit upright put those moments of vertigo I suffered after Seifer slashed my face open with Hyperion to utter and complete shame. I can barely stand upright without being overtaken by spots of black and white filling my vision and agony racing along my spine.
Sure, my spine was apparently severed when I was disemboweled. But hey, Guardian Forces are known for being able to keep pieces of humans together and viable if it's their will, and I have the most powerful of Guardian Forces this world has ever seen nesting in my head. Nothing miraculous at all about my nerves being knitted back together.
Yes it's odd that this time the good Doctor's been hovering after me with a thermometer, growling that there's no way I should have any viable vitals and holding her head as confusion rakes her brain. Wish I could provide her with answers (if only to get her off my back), but how am I supposed to know why Eden's mending me as rapidly as she is, sapping every ounce of energy I have to the point that my body temperature's plummeted far below what's normal for anything that's living?
Every time I attempt to ask Eden anything, she hisses and recoils into the back of my head. I'm torn over that reaction – while it's a blessing that she's not cackling and screaming and ripping my mind to shreds with songs of despair and destruction, she's also being less cooperative than normal. I fear that if I ever need to rely on her, the response time might be slow enough to get me killed.
Or she'll just let me get maimed and then come to my rescue. If she really wanted me dead, she would just let me fade. She'd let me join with Rinoa in death.
Eleven days back on Garden. Three in Delling. Two weeks since she died.
It seems so impossible, even now.
Especially considering my dreams – Rinoa's present in them, right? The dream where she arrives, and that beast that dared to strike her down is battling the blond swordsman in the muddied pit? It has to be her – no other has her looks, her presence, her eyes….
Her wings.
Those beautiful, white, pure wings. They spread in my dreams. I see them every night.
So impossible.
Her body missing, her presence in my dreams… it lends towards her still being alive. Oh, how I wish it were truly possible!
But if she were alive… I am her Knight. I would feel her. Even if the one-sided bond only allows her to pry through my brain and not vice versa, I would feel her. That emptiness in my heart would have some substance to it, the darkness in my mind have an inkling of light. Of hope. Of love.
So… where is she? Why does she appear in my dreams? Those questions are ones I can't begin to answer.
Best to focus on one dilemma at a time. The one who killed her. The one who defeated me in a moment of weakness, when Rinoa's ability to flee was most prominent on my mind and distracted me from fully expending my efforts towards self-preservation and defeating my foe.
Since Quistis told me that I was in no shape to get back into my office and shooed me back to Medical the day I returned, I've been stuck reminiscing on that monster.
He was in fact the one I saw in my dreams. The one in the security footage I'd reviewed.
Taller than even Irvine. Well muscled, but not overly stocky in build. Wearing a black trench coat and black pants, silver shoulder guards held in place by leather straps and silver buckles. Carrying a sword whose blade was as long as he was tall. Staring at us with green cat eyes from between twin falls of long white hair that shone silver in the moon's light, confidence radiating from a thin face with skinny lips twisted into a sneer that glistened on alabaster skin. Hair that reached past the small of his back, fluttering thickly on the breeze that stirred the night around Obel Lake.
He wasn't a figure I'd be forgetting. Not now. Not in the near future. Likely not for the remainder of my life.
My friends have been trying to distract me from my morose recollections. Irvine has been by my side so consistently I'm beginning to wonder if Selphie has any radical ideas about us. Every evening he comes to see me, encouraging me to write my thoughts – he's going to be smug and giddy that I've finally listened to him and given in. He keeps thinking this will help get me out of my supposed funk.
All it's doing for me is aiding me in organizing my thoughts. Everything's been scattered, tossed about in the sea of chaos my brain has become. Perhaps tomorrow I'll be able to read my thoughts jotted down here and make sense of what I should be doing and where I can go from here.
Selphie has been trying to be a ray of sunshine, but unfortunately has been falling short. Rinoa's absence is affecting her pretty heavily – I know she was looking forward to helping decorate for yet another party and was lobbing suggestions to Rinoa for our reception, and is likely disheartened that said event will never occur. Still, her smiles and bright professions that we'd get the guy who did this have helped the hurt retreat. She helps the numb I need to feel overtake the pain. And… it's good to know I'll have her at my side when I find the monster I intend to hunt to the ends of the world.
I haven't really seen much of Quistis. According to Irvine, she is a bit overwhelmed with all that's occurred and Cid is unabashedly tossing responsibility to those underneath him as to allow himself to scurry away at a moment's notice. While I would simply shrug and accept his typical reaction, she's been wrapping herself in worry and self-depreciative criticism of the job she's been doing and her lacking expertise in governing the very lives of the SeeD personnel of Balamb Garden.
Personally, I think she'd do just fine if she just got past the mindset of sending people to die and instead adopted the thought of sending people who are going to live. That one simple angle would likely pave the path to her success in filling the Commander position.
And she asked for it, shooing me away when I was more than ready to take my seat back.
I get that she's trying to keep me away from the stress and the idiocy that awaits me in that office and attempting to encourage my healing and recovery, but still, having nothing to do is driving me a touch stir-crazy.
Zell actually brought me a card signed by everyone from our little 'Orphanage Gang' and flowers when I first arrived back on Garden.
I find it a bit odd to receive that kind of stuff, but… it's actually kind of nice.
Thank Hyne he's never going to read this journal. He'd get wishy-washy and hug me or something.
But after that, he's been in Medical. The second day I was there, he was brought into the ward. Doctor K. didn't bother coming into my room for her hourly checks on my healing; he must've been in pretty terrible shape.
The bruises he's sporting as he meanders around the Medical Ward looking for anyone who'll sign a release for him look horrendously painful, but he's assured me he's fine and dandy and more than ready for action when we find the man who's responsible for my current condition.
Ten days ago, Selphie told me that an intruder managed to make it onboard, and that stranger was in fact responsible for Zell's newly acquired resemblance to a pummeled chunk of meat. Must've been right after Irvine and I got back from Delling – I'd been exhausted and simply passed out the moment I was laid down on the surprisingly comfortable bed Doctor K. had waiting for me in Medical.
Irvine's occupied himself with questioning the stranger, him playing the 'good cop' to oppose Selphie's 'bad.' What he'd reported to me needed to be backed up – the stranger was weaving them tales about places no one's ever heard of.
The stranger also carried many of the same markers that were found in the blood that had graced my gunblade.
Thank goodness Irvine had the foresight to not clean my weapon – guess he figured that having the good people of our Medical department draw a full panel from the DNA my enemy left behind would come in handy when it came time to identify him. Smart man.
The nurses had breathed to me that the blood on my gunblade was quite unique, substances whirling within it completely alien and chromosome pairings unlike what they'd ever seen. I'd told them to give the folks over in Esthar something to puzzle over. They've yet to get back to us with any answers as to what the other foreign material in those blood samples could possibly be.
But seems that our stranger in the brig carries the same markers, the same foreign material as the blood that had marked my blade. Irvine and Selphie were nearly chomping at the bit, hoping for my permission to override Quistis' firmly stated negative response in regards to their desire to torture our captive for more information regarding why he'd be burning villages and slaughtering people. They were convinced he was the guy I'd faced off with, infiltrating Garden to finish me off during my weakest hours.
While foreign substances matching identically in eerily similar blood samples seemed pretty concrete in identifying the prisoner as the guy who attacked us at Obel Lake, I decided that I needed to see him for myself. After all, if it was the same guy, seeing him and being able to direct his fate myself might have alleviated my stress and my constant nightmares.
So today I went down to talk to him.
And this is probably why I'm writing this journal entry. Because there's something about this meeting… I don't really know how to describe it. But it's something I don't want to forget.
I remember standing out in the hallway, Irvine having helped me tighten the new bandages one of the Doc's trusted nurses had trussed me up with before aiding me in getting a pair of sweats on. It was still hard to stand upright, vertigo washing over my senses whenever I tried to move. He was accompanying me to ensure I wouldn't fall over on my way to the brig.
The guard… SeeD cadet Rigger, I think – the kid brother of Jack of the Card Club – was a bit slow in answering the door, but made a hasty departure when Irvine told him to scram. It was then that I first got to lay eyes on the man who'd managed to infiltrate Garden right after we'd arrived.
He's unimpressive, to say the least.
Short doesn't color my impressions. Selphie is insanely powerful, but happens to be the shortest person I've ever come across that's veritably an adult. Zell isn't exactly tall yet he's the strongest, most dangerous man I've met other than the monster who cut Rinoa down. Those two with their abilities with magic and sheer physical might destroy any preconceived notion that anyone of diminutive stature might be harmless.
Same goes for muscle mass – once again, Selphie is my designated example. Zell shows that he's capable, bulging muscles more than visible under his muscle shirts. Selphie, however, is toothpick thin and fragile in appearance. But she's more than capable of dropping a man at a moment's notice, whether with Doomtrain, her insanely outrageous limit breaks or just by bashing a skull in with her flail. Plus I myself have been told I'm not exactly intimidating, yet I can wield a revolver-model gunblade without junctions.
So while he is shorter than myself and his musculature is wiry to put it best, that doesn't really drive my opinion. Nor does the fairness of his skin, which when coupled with the light sheen of blond hair and brilliant blue eyes make him look immensely young.
No, it has to do with his stance. The means by which he carried himself when I met him.
He was slumped even as he sat, demure and quiet and completely unassuming. It didn't seem to be a posture derived by self-consciousness driven by the fact that he smelled a bit rank from not being able to bathe since his capture or was dressed in nothing but those flimsy boxers Medical provides you when all of your belongings to up in blood, smoke or what have you. It seemed to be more derived of his nature.
His eyes were in fact captivating, their sheen almost seeming to glow in the faint light of the brig, but their unique and intriguing aura was lost when looking at the rest of him.
Pity.
He truly resembled the blond stranger in my dream that faces off with the monster that struck me down; however, that man stood with confidence and courage. The man in the prison cell lacked both of those qualities.
Irvine actually seemed rather crushed when I told him that our prisoner isn't the man who attacked us out at Obel Lake. Guess he really wanted to kick him around a bit.
Cloud Strife… such an odd name.
At first I thought that maybe Selphie's supposition that he was using a false name to keep us tracing his true identity might be on the money, but after seeing him…
Nah. Cloud actually fits him.
Plus he wasn't exactly hesitant in answering to that name. Even the most familiar of aliases usually draws a touch of hesitation when the man carrying that alias is suddenly faced with a new interrogator.
I'd given him a map today. I'd asked Selphie, once she'd brought me news of the captured stranger's inability to put forth any recognizable locations after apparently being on the receiving end of her interrogative stilts for over an hour, to get me a copy of the world map without any locations on it. She'd produced better than I'd expected, giving me the most accurate line-art of the globe that I've ever seen.
I still have that map on my desk. I'd still love to know where this guy's really from.
It's pretty evident that he's not from our planet, though. His pen strokes when he was writing the names of the places he was trying to identify the locations of were flawless and lacking hesitance. Those names are names he's mentioned before, both to Irvine's calm and soothing questions and Selphie's stressful badgering.
It just leave me wondering what the hell a Midgar is. Or if 'Edge' is the name of a town, city, or simply a label denoting the edge of the Midgar. Or how a chocobo farm derives an entire spot on the map dedicated to it.
The expression on his face was wrought with confusion when he'd started to add landmasses and scribble out islands. I'm positive that if he were falsifying his alien heritage, he would've given these locations labels or scratched them away with more confidence.
I still find myself bemused that Irvine and Selphie hadn't considered the possibility of encountering an alien intruder. It's not like we haven't dealt with aliens in the past.
Cloud was able to give me some pretty important information, though.
He's not unique on his world.
He's the result of experimentation.
So the man I am hunting is likely the same.
If anything could be derived from Zell's state after apparently taking Cloud Strife down a few notches, then they're of like abilities as well.
I don't remember much of my battle with the silver-haired stranger. I let it rest, buried in the sands of time, rotting beside my happiness and drive for life.
Studying what Strife is capable of might be to our benefit. Through him, we can learn what my target's fully capable of.
Selphie should already be pulling the security tapes that caught his fight with Zell. Zell will be able to supplement those tapes with first-hand knowledge. What they present might spur my mind enough to give us a complete picture of what we're dealing with.
Maybe, with those pieces in place, with fully functioning knowledge of my target's strength, speed, agility and defensive capacities, we can formulate a plan to put him down.
I know I'll have Selphie. I know I'll have Irvine. There's no way in hell I'm taking Zell – with the pounding he's been through and the obvious pain he still suffers day in and day out, he's likely not going to be at one hundred percent for taking on the man who killed Rinoa. I'm more than willing to bet his knuckles and forearms are still laced with splinter fractures from slamming those fists of his so hard that he made metal warp and put Cloud Strife square on his ass. And Quistis… while I'd love to have her backing me with her magic and her whip, I'd rather leave Garden in capable hands in case I fail to return.
I don't really want to tap my other resources – I know most of Garden would be chomping at the bit if they knew we were actively hunting down the man who'd put me in the Medical Ward, but I don't want more people at risk than there needs to be. Nida would readily follow me, but Garden needs him more. Xu would likely come, but Quistis needs her aid manning the helm of command. The Card Club members would all rally behind me, but I don't want them killed.
Hell, I wouldn't take Selphie and Irvine with me, but I know there's no way they'd let me go alone. Irvine could easily stalk me without me noticing him, his skills nothing short of inhuman at times. Selphie would raise me from the dead just to beat me to death for not taking her with me.
Two out of four of the Orphanage Gang isn't too bad, I guess.
I might not have Zell or Quistis, but I'll have Cloud.
Why did I just write that…?
Because he'd openly offered to aid me…?
Am I that desperate for assistance? Can't be – see the above lengthy paragraph concerning resources.
But….
When Irvine and I were leaving, I felt… something.
I'd just chewed Cloud out for offering his assistance. It was asinine, after all! Allowing a prisoner to assist Garden personnel? Preposterous.
But I felt it. A sincerity. A longing. A true desire to be useful.
And… I saw it.
Somewhere in the back of my head, I saw things I've never seen before. Things that I was never present for. I felt emotions that in no way were my own.
I saw a raven-haired girl on a cliff, just out of reach, falling and landing with a sickening crunch of her leg before she could be aided. I saw that same girl, older and more refined, laying wounded upon a metal floor with a sword's deeply inflicted gash racing over her side. I saw her again, older still, staring at the remnants of a building that had been demolished completely. I stared as she rested in a field of wildflowers, beaten and bruised and barely breathing.
I saw a woman, blond hair spiked and chaotic, resting in a pool of blood as fire licked her frame, those orange flickers of light pouring from the entire landscape.
I saw a man with spiky black hair laying prone on metal stairs, the background identical to that with which I'd seen the girl with her wound. I saw him again on a cliff, riddled with bullet holes, a wounded smile on his face as he pushed a huge blade towards me.
I saw a huge dark-skinned man with a gun where his right hand once was, his face shining with woe and abject misery as a ruby-haired man mowed down people without mercy, shooting them as they attempted to crawl up a spiraling staircase to stop him. I saw tears mark that strong bearded face as people screamed and fell to their deaths, the man with red tattoos under his eyes sneering before punching a button that triggered a massive explosion and escaping in the chaos.
I saw a young girl with shortly trimmed raven locks hanging upon a mountain, screaming and crying to be released – inadequacy washed over me as I watched the same ruby-haired man who'd been the source of the burly gun-armed man's misery turn into the key to her freedom.
I saw children in a pool, three silver-haired youths before them with wicked smirks on their faces. Eyes met mine, imploring yet distant, innocence overridden by some force that their rescuer was incapable of defeating, the sensation of being just a moment too late overwhelming.
I saw one of those silver-haired youths resting in thin arms, pain washed over his features and hand grasping for something only his dying eyes could see. Regret saddled itself in my heart, accompanied by realization – the youth that was drawing his final shuddering breaths was controlled by forces greater than he, incapable of deciding his own fate or living his own life, a victim killed for his desperate actions wrought to acquire freedom.
I saw a girl. Brunette and dressed in pink. Fair skin, beautiful face, large green eyes.
I watched as she was run through, mere feet away from me.
I watches as the same monster, the silver-haired beast in his black garb, drew that horribly long sword from her body and smiled.
And so much pain…
Those sensations… those images…
Were those Cloud's thoughts? Cloud's memories? Cloud's emotions?
Those memories of the beast I'm hunting… he's faced off with him in the past?
With such clarity in the visions in the back of my head I… couldn't help it.
I had to know.
A quick glance, a trip through memories not my own, a pull on whatever odd junction-link we were sharing courtesy of Eden (at least, I suspect such) that he failed to notice…
A reflection in a pane of glass stained with green and filled with bubbling liquid…
Blond hair framed brilliant blue eyes.
I thanked him for wanting to help us, and then immediately fled with Irvine at my side.
Though I avoided telling him, I knew exactly why he wanted to help us.
No, not us.
Me.
He wanted to help me.
He doesn't know that the target is the same individual who killed the brunette girl. He doesn't know that the foe he's bested time and time again has risen once more from the grave to terrorize our land as the beast has terrorized his. So it wasn't because he wanted vengeance for the brunette girl.
It's because I need help. He wants someone to need him.
He… wants someone to aid. Someone to assist. Someone to not fail. Someone to protect adequately.
He thinks himself a failure in that fashion, his day-to-day life a calamity of errors that's resulted in an oddly regular life before his appearance here on our world. He thinks himself a puppet that's finally begun to remove his strings and find a life that he can be adequate in.
He wants to make a true name for himself, to have a presence he can firmly point to and without hesitation or shame profess 'that is me.' He wants a strong present to lead to a future independent of a muddled and indeterminate past he can't recall with any clarity, something to define himself.
And within his heart, he wants to define himself as someone dependable. Someone who can aid anyone in any situation.
That opportunity hasn't been present in his life until now – he's latching onto it.
I don't know how I know this.
I just know that… I'm right.
I know that those visions I had, those images I can recall any moment I choose to focus on them, are his. I know that somehow I've managed to junction straight to his memory.
Eden is hissing that there's no junction, though… But if it's not, what can it be?
Regardless, I can't let it distract me. One dilemma at a time. The focus is the hunt. The focus is the target. The focus is Rinoa's murderer.
Yeah, I'd be a fool to say I don't need any help. Especially against the foe I'm facing. Especially from someone who's faced him in the past. But still…
Cloud… why me?
Cloud breathed a quiet sigh of relief as the hand he had been holding day in and day out finally derived some warmth of its own.
The odd buzz in his head, the static stillness of the alien emotions that resided at the base of his mind, had finally begun to amplify and stir. While nothing new was added to the mixture of what he felt, the simple movement, the strengthening of some and weakening of others, brought the blond comfort.
Unlike the unwelcome reintroduction of Jenova's touch upon his brain after his momentary blissful reprieve, he felt solace in the return of movement to those sensations he could now pinpoint as Squall's unintentional interference.
Jenova's acrid touch, the sour green that stained his vision and tainted his senses with bile and poison, that burned his blood with its taint, stood as a harsh reminder of a failed past and loss. The loss of friends, of loved ones, of family, of home. It was a stark recollection of his connection with the epitome of his failures, the one who had once held his awe and envy, who had fallen from grace and taken all of Cloud's dreams and hopes with him, that continued living on within him in some small manner despite his external cessation to exist on more than one occasion. The calamity of the sky, her alien blood seeping through his body with his own, brought nothing but pain and foul bitterness.
The touch of the boy on the bed, however, had become something of a comfort on Cloud's poison-tainted senses as time had slid by. It provided a counterpoint for Cloud to focus on, to drive his attention away from the alien burn in his blood and his brain. The emptiness and hopelessness that slid just a hair's breadth away from his conscious thoughts were warm and smooth as silk, soft despite their darkness. Fleeting yet eternal, those sensations seemed to dart from his conscious attempts to locate them, to touch them, perhaps to attempt to sooth them. The difference as compared to Jenova's strong and forceful attempts to grasp his mind and not let his thoughts stray from the calamity's own was invigorating and intriguing, reassuring even in its mild frustration concerning its foreign feel.
Over the course of the week that had followed the brutish Seifer's visitation, Cloud had allowed all he'd learned to settle fully into his mind.
He was beginning to fully understand what had happened to him.
While he suspected he should be disturbed with the turn of events, he couldn't bring himself to feel any anger or sadness.
He knew now why he'd done what he'd done. While he suspected that Squall's call for aid might have moved him more than he'd garnered originally, he couldn't find any comparison between the Sorcerer moving him and Sephiroth's overtaking of him to deliver the Black Materia that would bring the Planet's doom; the youth who'd called for his aid had done only that – call. It was Cloud's decision to respond. And once he'd chosen to respond, if his movements had been made by his conscious thoughts or by Squall's will to be rescued, Cloud could draw no distinguishing differentiation. Unlike that time when Sephiroth wrenched control of his body and he watched himself move without his will motivating his body, when he'd leapt into the ocean after the drowning SeeD commander he felt that he was in complete command of himself.
He knew Squall needed his help. The soft desperation, the sullen loneliness, the overwrought courage that bordered on reckless abandon and laid buried beneath quiet solitude, refused to outwardly express any desire for assistance, but that desire rested within Cloud's head all the same. The sensations longed for someone to respond to them, to assist them, to come to their rescue.
Cloud was more than willing to answer that call. Because, as he'd confessed to Seifer, the youth needed him more than anyone else in his life.
While his home life with Tifa at Seventh Heaven was indeed wonderful, he always held the sinking suspicion that he was simply passing time in his life, attempting to forget a present devoid of his forgotten past and failing to find anything upon which to set a foundation. It was day-to-day living for himself and himself alone. Certainly he'd come to terms with living for himself being a viable option, but something about following that mandate was unsatisfying.
He wanted to live for another. To define himself in the eyes of others. Living for himself, while an option he was capable of executing to allow him to carry on, wasn't overly rewarding to him.
He'd realized long ago that Tifa simply didn't need him. She longed for him to be around, cared for him, loved him. But love wasn't need.
The same went for Denzel, who had moved on to find his own place in the developing world that was post-Omega Edge and assist those who'd helped him during his most tender and delicate of times as he could. While the boy emulated Cloud in many ways and enjoyed his presence, the warrior wasn't a necessary part of his life.
His friends called upon him plenty – he was never lacking for conversation or company.
Simply, Cloud found himself a home on the post-trauma Planet, but couldn't formulate a purpose. And without purpose, he felt empty.
While the depth to which he had inadvertently tethered himself to the young Commander of the military institution that held him captive was intimidating at first, the descriptions Seifer gave him of his new duties daunting at minimum, Cloud had been reflecting on such during the slow passage of time while holding the pale hand of his charge.
To preserve his humanity. To keep him firmly rooted in the Present rather than allow him to lose himself to Time's eternal river. To protect him, keeping him from necessitating the power that coursed through him, keeping him from lobbing those horribly powerful spells with reckless abandon and drawing the power of whatever God was bound to him through the ties of Sorcery.
The scope of his newly acquired duties was enormous and mind-boggling to the point of being frightening. But it was a fright that also stirred excitement within Cloud's heart.
He was truly and completely needed.
If Sorcery could threaten the very fabric of existence in the hands of a madness-tainted Sorcerer as the tales spun by Cloud's guards suggested, the world itself needed him to keep Squall grounded. Squall needed him to keep him human, to keep him grounded and living. And those responsibilities would never fade.
He refused to allow himself to see his first moments as a failure – while he'd not been able to keep Squall from unleashing with the apparently new power that raced through his unimposing frame, the boy hadn't continued to rampage. Squall had calmed almost instantly, drifting off into a comatose state once they'd reached the room they were being held captive in and he'd been laid upon the bed. And as long as the young Sorcerer maintained his humanity and kept himself free of the craze that swept those who inherited the inhuman power of whatever deity afflicted them, Cloud saw his presence as a successful intervention, preventing what so many breathed was inevitable.
Confusion suddenly came to the forefront of Cloud's mind. Stirring himself out of his internal musings, he looked at the owner of the hand he held, tightening his grip gently on the thin appendage in his palm.
Hazed gunmetal eyes looked back at him, blinking slowly before snapping fully open. "Where…?" he attempted to blurt, trying to bolt upright.
"Woah," Cloud breathed, his hand dropping Squall's and pushing lightly against the Commander's shoulder. "Lay down."
Grunting, eyes narrowing into feral slits, Squall glowered at the ceiling. A few tense seconds passed before he frowned. "Medical?"
"I guess," Cloud supplied with a casual shrug of his shoulders.
"My journal… I want my journal."
Blinking owlishly, Cloud looked around the room. "What journal?"
With a snort, Squall tossed his blanket away.
Cloud resisted the urge to grin like a madman when the boy scrambled to regain his blanket and covered himself.
"New question, then. Where the hell are my clothes?"
Amusement came unabashedly to Cloud's mind, his surprise that the young brunet's scowl deepened considerably registering for a split second before he realized that so much as he could sense Squall's emotions in his head, the Sorcerer could likely do the same. "The doctor confiscated them. The nurses claim to have run out of those paper boxers as of two days ago. Same with the charming little gowns that do nothing to preserve anyone's dignity."
"Fantastic," Squall seethed, his voice a low-pitched growl. "Is there anything resembling paper and a writing utensil around this room, at least?"
Cloud sighed before rising from his seat and searching the small accommodations he'd inhabited since the battle with the nameless monster Squall had sunk into the ocean. After much digging through cabinets, he was rewarded with a black utensil loaded with an odd dark inky product that reminded him of a solidified grease stick and a wad of paper napkins used to form lay-down areas for surgical tools. Lifting the board Squall's chart was clipped to from the foot of his bed, he held everything he'd found out to the Commander with a shrug. "Best there is."
Squall accepted the offerings with a nod and a softly breathed 'thanks,' then dedicated himself to scribbling madly, his handwriting shaky at best and his hand flying rapidly over the paper products he held.
A frown took Cloud's lips as he focuses momentarily on what suddenly burst across the back of his mind – panic, worry, fear, rage. With a sigh, he retook his seat and leaned forward, pressing his elbows onto his knees and resting his chin firmly in the palm of his hand. "Gil for your thoughts? Provided this world uses gil, I mean… uh…."
A clipped nod answered Cloud. "Gil. Yeah. Thoughts, later."
Cloud waited patiently until Squall breathed a quiet sigh and put the pencil with its grease tip down. He waited as the Commander looked over his writing.
As Squall stuffed his grease-coated napkins behind his pillow and fell back upon it with a grunt, Cloud's eyebrow twitched.
Arching a brow, the brunet's frown matched his blond companions. "What?"
"What was that?"
A puff of breath stirred limp brown bangs. "Journal. Since it's not here, I'll just transcribe that later. Gotta get it down now, though. Before I lose any thoughts. Details." An errant wave of a thin hand accompanied a grumbled, "You know. That kind of thing."
"I don't get to read it?"
"No."
A faint well of irritation bubbled at the base of Cloud's being. "But-"
"Not now," Squall grumbled, cleanly interrupting Cloud's statement. "Just… not now. It's more of a self therapy thing than something to be perused by others, alright?"
Arching a brow, Cloud settled back onto his chair.
And at that moment, looking at the tired youth on the bed, he realized how little he truly knew about his new charge.
He knew plenty about his apparent duty thanks to Seifer's sharp and cynical statements combined with the whispers about apocalyptic destruction from the guards when questioned about why Sorcery was such a big deal. But about the actual Sorcerer in question? Cloud realized he knew next to nothing.
All he was aware of was that something happened to him in Timber. He'd faced off with a clone from Cloud's world, apparently, and been defeated. His wounds were a testament to the battle he'd encountered, healed now only due to the powerful magic that raced through his veins. According to Seifer's snappish comments, he'd also derived that he'd garnered his powers recently – apparently taking them from the previous Sorcery-afflicted individual.
He'd gathered that the only way to become a Sorcerer or Sorceress was to inherit the powers from a Sorcerer or Sorceress that was dying. That only in death could powers be transferred. And that Squall had previously been a Knight – and failed to keep his charge safe.
He also knew that the youth was in command of the Garden he'd been a forced inhabitant of since the day he'd arrived from the energy surge that had swept him from his home. But in truth, that was all.
Cloud started as he lifted his gaze and found himself looking straight into gunmetal eyes.
"I'm just as confused as you are," the young brunet sighed quietly, turning his gaze towards the window the room featured, the fading light of day dancing over his face. "I have no idea how this happened."
Shaking his head, Cloud frowned. "Pity. But actually, I was wondering…"
"What do you want to know?" Squall asked, arching one brow as he diverted his attention back to the other occupant in the room.
"Why me?"
Frowning, Squall bowed his head, studying his hands as he twisted his fingers together in his lap. "I… was wondering the same thing. Have been for awhile."
Groaning, the blond scooted his chair closer to the bed, bringing himself close enough to use the bed itself as a resting place for his arms. Folding them, he rested his chin on his wrists and stared up Squall's frame to watch his face, observing as those ice-coated gray storm eyes flashed with buried emotions that burbled at the base of his brain.
"Maybe instead of wondering about this connection, we should just learn about each other," Cloud offered.
He decided at that moment that, regardless of gender, there was something shamelessly cute about the brunet. Cloud barely suppressed a grin when those stormy eyes sprang wide open and his brow smoothed with astonishment at that simple suggestion, the mental urge to kick himself for not thinking of such an idea first resonating in the back of Cloud's head with crystalline clarity. Moments later, a huff possibly derived of irritation at the thought of being considered cute, Squall forced his face into a scowl before shrugging and snapping his eyes closed. "Sounds… good."
"So tell me about yourself."
Cloud listened as silence filled the minutes.
Finally, Squall grunted. "You first."
With a huff of breath escaping him, Cloud let a timid smile touch his lips. The young Commander's outward coolness and frigid approach barely concealed a warm and shy interior, bathed in uncertainty that he could scarcely cover. Realizing he'd have to break the ice, the blond nodded. "Fine. Cloud Strife. From a snowy village you've never heard of. Joined the army at a young age. Experimented on in my teens. Joined with a band called AVALANCHE. Fought a monopolistic company called Shin-Ra and their SOLDIER General Sephiroth. Watched Meteor nearly destroy my world, survived, watched remnants of Sephiroth rise from nowhere and try to bring him back to life, survived again. Most recent, resident of Seventh Heaven in Edge, living with Tifa Lockhart, a person you've never heard of and will likely never meet. Ran a delivery service."
"That was abbreviated," Squall supplied with a snort.
"Looking for the gory details?"
"Nah."
Cloud shrugged. "Is there anything in particular you want to know?"
A frown that bordered on a pout overtook the youthful brunet's face as he reflected on all that Cloud had said. Cloud realized he was likely comparing it to the reports he'd received from his interrogators, piecing his entire history together without any need for further information. "A few things," Squall finally supplied. "But… I don't want to talk about that now."
Cloud resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The boy was certainly unhelpful. "Now turnabout's fair play," he grunted, gesturing towards the bedridden Commander with a finger.
"Fine," Squall grumbled. "Squall Leonheart. Raised in an orphanage on Centra. Transferred to Balamb Garden in my youth. Trained on this Garden to be a SeeD. Passed the exam my first time up when I was seventeen. Failed a couple missions, met up with a few friends, got whisked to the future and defeated Sorceress Ultimecia. Came back and have been saddled with the job of Commander ever since."
"Wow, details," Cloud said with a snort.
"Whatever," Squall replied.
At that moment, a clearing of a throat interrupted them both. "Speaking of Commander, nice to see you're up," a smooth baritone voice interrupted.
Cloud lifted his head and turned towards the force field even as Squall clutched his blanket a little more protectively over himself. "Irvine," Cloud greeted with a nod.
"How'd'ya do?" the tall auburn-haired man asked with a friendly grin, waving a large bound notebook aloft in one hand. "Now if one of ya'll would drop this force field, that'd be dandy."
The guards who up to that point were practically snoozing in their chairs stirred and gave sloppy salutes to Irvine before disengaging the field. One of the guards snuck a glance in and grinned, lifting a hand to Squall. "Play a game some time, sir?"
"Don't have my deck," the brunet grumbled. "Another time, Spade."
"Now if ya'll don't mind-" Irvine began.
"Sure thing," the man Squall'd called 'Spade' replied with a shrug, cutting neatly into Irvine's coming order. Tapping his mate on the shoulder, he gestured towards the door to the Medical Ward with a nod of his head even as he grabbed his weapon, a large staff with weighted metal ends, and wandered out of sight. The other guard joined up with him moments later.
"Nice to see you again," Cloud breathed, stretching and sighing with heartfelt relief that the murderous electrical field had been dropped.
"Same here. Thought you might want this, Squall," the cowboy stated, replying to Cloud and shuttling his attention off to the apparent focal point of his visit.
"Yeah. Thanks," Squall responded, grabbing almost greedily for the notebook and pulling the napkins out from under his pillow. Looking suspiciously at the cowboy moments later even as he retrieved the pen that was cleverly hidden in its binding, he scowled. "You haven't read it, have you?"
"Nah. I respect your privacy. And before you ask, I had it out of Selphie's reach on top of the kitchen cabinets in our suite."
"Thanks," he responded with a visible sag of his shoulders, his frame slumping in relief as he began to transpose his earlier scribblings.
"Don't mention it," Irvine stated, his lips turning slightly towards a frown. "Actually… the journal wasn't really why I came down here."
Cloud arched a brow, crossing his arms and frowning. "What's up?" he questioned lazily.
"Just… Xu's on her way down. You might wanna be presentable."
A scathing glower from Squall's direction nearly sent shivers down both Irvine's and Cloud's spines. "I mean, as presentable as you can be, given current circumstances. I'll be getting you some of your belongings in a few, alright?" Irvine quickly stammered in an attempt to rectify his statement.
"Thanks," Squall hissed quietly before seeming to stir out of his concentrative staring at the pages and focusing on Irvine's presence. "You said Xu's on her way down… information on the target?"
"Nah, not really," Irvine quietly supplied, his earlier cheer evaporating quickly.
"Information on a target?" Cloud whispered, looking between the two of them.
"Truth be told we've got some, but… Selphie'll join up with us later. And Zell. He's been helping her out on the mainframe."
"Dear Hyne, tell me it's survived his kicks," Squall snorted.
Cloud blinked as Irvine failed to reply, instead turning his focus to the door to the hallway beyond. "Squall, she's here."
Cloud watched as Squall clicked his pen, every movement practiced to perfection and screaming of far too much time behind a desk for someone with heavy weapon-derived calluses on his fingers. With a bare glance he had the writing utensil stashed back in its slot in his notebook's binding and had his private journal sealed and stashed by his pillow. Sitting upright, his blanket strategically pooled around his lower body, he folded his hands and patiently looked towards the door of their shared room.
The young woman standing outside of the room's confines nervously shifted from one foot to the other, her hands folded before her and her pearly white teeth worrying a soft pink lower lip. Brown eyes stared ruefully at the floor as shoulder-length brown locks brushed over the heavily garnished shoulder-guards that were worn by SeeD personnel.
"Xu," Squall crisply greeted, a small nod moving his bangs as he greeted her.
"Squall," she replied, her voice soft but hardly lacking in firm resolution. A soft sigh leaked from her lips as she ceased worrying her lip and straightened her posture.
Striding into the room, her footfalls purposeful and her stance simmering with professionalism, the young brunette woman's forceful aura nearly encouraged Cloud to recoil and make way for her. Nearly shaken from his station by Squall's side, he shuffled from one socked foot to the other, his nervousness compounded by the stern sheen to her eyes as she regarded both him and his charge.
Without further delay, she turned her serious gaze fully on Squall. "I have news you need to hear. It's best that you receive it now, before the faculty gets word and things get out of hand."
Cloud shuddered as an overwhelming sensation of dread powered through all the bundled emotions that simmered in his depths. His own dread, compiled with fear of the unknown and frustration at being so completely out of the loop that he had no idea how to confront the emotions the youth at his side was being buried by, crushed his ability to truly harness that unique sensation that was Squall.
"I take it that it's not… good news?" Squall asked, his voice surprisingly soft and subdued.
Even as Irvine removed his hat and worried it in his fingers, Xu frowned and hung her head, her resolve to maintain eye contact with the bedridden brunet failing her. "Squall… you know what I'm here to say, don't you?"
"Because of what happened?"
"Everyone on Garden knows. Some doubt if you'll be able to maintain your allegiance to us," she stated, her voice cracking as it approached a whisper. "So… the upper chain of command made their decision. It's…. they feel it's in the best interest of the Garden. After all, given… everything, how can you rightfully command us?"
Irvine's hat made a soft 'piff' sound as it fell to the floor. "Now hold on just a Hyne-damned minute!" he bit sharply, his voice lifted with anger. "You can't-"
"Irvine," Squall interrupted, his head bowed as Xu's was and his voice quiet.
"-tell me that just because he happened to light off, we're kickin' him down! C'mon, who else could ever be a Commander as good as he is?"
Cloud stared, his voice lost completely, his confusion blown apart by sudden understanding.
Squall was being relieved of his command.
Because he was a Sorcerer.
Because Garden's focus was to destroy Sorcerers who made themselves threats to the world.
The destroyer of Sorcerers couldn't very well have a Sorcerer leading them, could it?
"Xu, let's be reasonable!" Irvine continued, his tirade barreling unhindered from him even as his eyes, narrowed in rage, shined in the steadily failing light of the sun. "No one can replace him. No one! Cid Kramer's out of his damned mind if he thinks anyone else can do half as good of a job as Squall here!"
Shaking her head, she waited for Irvine to stop, his fists balled at his sides before she licked her lips. "It's… more than that."
"What do you mean?" Cloud instantly burst, one hand flying to Squall's shoulder.
Barely casting a glance to Cloud, Xu sighed as she crossed her arms before her chest and shook her head. "Delling, Timber and Dollet are requesting we hold the Sorcerer indefinitely. The sinking of Eden off the continental coast has them up in arms. And with the display that was picked up on world surveillance, Esthar's making noise much to the same effect. They know the Sorcerer's here… there's no way to deny it, given the evidence every advanced nation in the world has in their hands."
"Wha…?" Irvine breathed even as Cloud's grip on Squall's tightened and his eyes narrowed.
"You're going to keep him captive?" Cloud hissed, his teeth gritting together.
Xu bit her lip and looked at Squall, her eyes imploring, seeking something from the young Sorcerer.
With a sigh, Squall closed his eyes. "It's to be expected, I guess. They know the Sorcerer's onboard Garden. Do they know it's me?"
Blinking, Xu lightly pressed a fingertip to her chin. "I don't believe your identity's been released. But with everyone on Garden knowing, it's just a matter of time," she quietly mused.
Cloud looked down at Squall, noting the expression on his face – desperation coupled with buried anger, blanketed by sorrow. With a scowl, he directed his gaze to Irvine.
"If they don't know it's Squall yet," Irvine was already surmising, chewing on his thumb, "then we can get him outta here. Cid can wheel and deal all he likes. All we've gotta do is keep the world convinced that we've got the Sorcerer here, locked up on Garden. And keep those who'd spout off who it is silent."
"Might be tough. You know my intentions," Squall growled quietly to Irvine. "I'm not letting this go. And if I have to use that power to put him down-"
"I know, I know. We can blame that on there being more than one, and SeeD can conveniently come save the day and put it down before anyone gets wind of who it might be," Irvine interrupted with a grin. "Tell me you're well enough to get off this floating jalopy, Squall."
"Once I have clothing," the brunet stated bluntly with a frown.
"Alright, that can be readily fixed. There's a bar that's still standing out in town. A bit shady, but it's only three blocks down the main road and has a few rooms available. Just… don't ask any questions, right?" Irvine casually supplied.
"Got it," Cloud replied. Turning his attention, he rested his eyes on the woman with her chewed lips. "Listen, Ms. Xu-"
"We never had this conversation," she bluntly stated, turning sharply on her heel. "I've got to check on our prisoner in the brig. Even though he's a Sorcerer, he's not invulnerable – we've dealt with enough to prove such. Maybe he's died of his injuries incurred in his fight with Eden by now."
As Irvine left the room as silently as he'd arrived and Squall clutched his journal to his chest, Cloud let his gaze follow the young woman out of the room, her figure embraced in gray as twilight dominated the sky outside.
"Thank you."
-to be continued-
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raerobdestiny: Sorry I didn't get around to replying to your review in the last chapter. Thanks for reviewing, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story! Thanks much for the critiques and here's to hoping you stick around to the bitter end – it's only a few more chapters away, after all. :) As for Rinoa not putting up a fight? Who's to know? She may have – Squall's just not going into detail about it. A bit torn up and all, you know. XD And as for CxS? Well… we'll have to see. And who's Tifa? Cowboy erased Tifa long ago in the fluffy chocobo-brain. (j/k) Mweheheheh.
A/N: GAW, CHAPTER 9! And I put that thing out around CHRISTMAS? My FAVORITE CHEERY ANNUAL HOLIDAY? (is shot) Hopefully this rapidly turned out chapter helped rectify that! GAW! I FELL LIKE A HEEL! (is punted 8,000,000,000 times in the head for daring to put Chapter 9 out during Christmas, of all seasons)