rain's scar
II: storm
--

I'm sorry but I can't answer the phone. You can leave a message for me, if you want. Press 1 to leave a message or wait for the tone. Press 5 to leave a numeric page. Beep. Vincent, hi. I was just wondering if you've seen him yet. If you did, tell him, Zel and I are doing fine, just a bit lonely. We're staying at Barret's for a bit. Take care of yourself, Yuffie's been telling me how you haven't been eating. You goof. Beep
--

The church had walls of wood, paneled with stained glass that reflected scenes of knights and angels, falling from the sky with hands raised in blessing. He sat in the farthest pew, in a puddle of rain that fell from his clothes, his eyes following Cloud up the altar.

For a second, he thought Cloud would falter; his shoulders shook as if a sudden surge of pain exploded through his body. But then, he turned and smiled at Vincent's watchful face. Wordlessly, with just a sudden intensity in his sapphire eyes, Cloud beckoned for Vincent to join him. Vincent sighed again, and tried his best to gather his damp hair into a knot over his left shoulder; there was nothing he could about the click of his claw echoing throughout the silent church.

The roses were carefully placed before a candle Cloud lit in offering. Vincent studied the way the flame flickered in the draft of the cold wind that leaked from the corners of the church, how the light danced across the stone angel that stood before them, wings lifted high up, as if to break through the church's roof to rest in the sky itself.

Cloud lowered his head, in prayer or in thought, Vincent couldn't tell. Now, this close to the younger man, Vincent saw the fatigue that gathered in dark circles under his eyes and the stench of the long road cut deep into the folds of his very skin.

When he spoke, once more his voice was hoarse and hesitant, "We don't belong here, huh, Vincent?"

"How'd you figure?" Vincent titled his head back to catch a full glimpse of the angel statue that stood before them, stone eyes that were lifted to see something farther greater than the two men before her. The church smelled of hot candle wax and the dust of books that were opened and closed in the huddled hands of pure believers. He passed a hand over his eyes, as if to shut out the sight of flickering candles and stained glass. Something inside him lurched and twisted itself into the center of his throbbing throat.

A hand on his shoulder made Vincent lower his own palm and stare into Cloud's face, etched with sadness so profound, it spoke of Vincent's own pain, of regret that buried itself deep in the gathering darkness.

"Let's go."
--

They walked underneath one umbrella, each mindful of the silence that hugged them in comfort. The market was growing even more crowded, with school children, all dressed in uniforms, running to and fro, running through puddles and chewing sweet, sweet candies. From doorways, shopkeepers screeched for patrons and customers, and the scent of hot food drifted from the half opened windows of restaurants. He peered anxiously at Cloud's gaunt figure, as if he suddenly noticed how hungry his eyes were.

They stopped by a crepe maker, where Vincent order two crepes filled with honey and drizzled with rose water. The sweet smell of vanilla filled the air above their heads as Cloud watched the vendor eagerly, as if he was as young as Denzel, making the elderly woman smile as she flipped the cooking crepe into the air. He thanked her with a voice alive with joy, sending Vincent back to past days, where Cloud marveled at the sight of fireworks in the sky or bowed his head profusely at the feast Yuffie's father offered them all.

All he's been through and still, so happy for something as small as a simple, 2 gil crepe.

They walked farther and farther into Scar's center, where the busy market gradually faded away to reveal office buildings and a library of brick and mortar. Vincent struggled to keep the umbrella over their heads as the wind blew harder, as if in warning of the impending storm. It was only when they first caught sight of the looming hospital did Vincent say, loudly to override the ramble of thunder in the sky.

"Tifa's waiting for you."
"I know."

"She calls me everyday, asking if I saw you yet. Sometimes, Denzel takes the phone and screams out your name."

Cloud licked a finger topped with a slight drip of honey and nodded, his eyes lifting to stare into Vincent's own. "We're always so blind to the things that'll make us happy." The smile on his lips had nothing to do with joy.
--

She ran as if her life was being stolen from her with every step of her running feet. Ever since she was little, she remembered having to search for something in the long marble hallways of her father's house. It helped, he always said, with training. Ninjas were supposed to find their target swiftly, quietly and without compliant. But now, as her eyes frantically turned left and right, scanning the bustle and flow of people, she felt as if she was going insane. He was nowhere to be seen. She flexed her legs and then took a running leap over a crate of fruit left on the street, nearly knocking over the vendor who stood behind it.

When she did find him, she was going to give him hell.

A hand grabbed her elbow, pulling her back with a firm grip. Without even hesitating, Yuffie reached back with her free hand and slapped her captor roughly across the face.

"YO!"

Reno shook his head in disbelief as Rude, watching from slightly in the corner, burst into laughter. It was good to see how bright Reno's eyes were, an affect that had nothing to do with the alcohol they were previously drinking. "That how you treat yer friends, ya know?"

She shook her head, trying to forget the sudden taste of mango gum that rose to her lips. Reno's bangs, logged with rain, fell across his face in crimson slants and his green eyes glimmered in the reflection of the street lamps. They were dressed in their trademark crisp suits; Rude kept his impeccably clean, with a pair of silver cufflinks while Reno's dress shirt was undone to the fifth button and a pair of goggles perched haphazardly on his head.

Wrapping her arms over her body, she started to hop from one foot to another, "You guys dressed for work? What's up?"

Wordlessly, Rude turned, casting one look at Reno's sheepish face. Rude started walking back to the bar they just emerged from as Reno shifted his glaze to stare into Yuffie's own deep brown ones. He watched her hair cling to her forehead, her cheeks and her hands move up and down her shoulders, trying to rub warmth in them. It was lovely, to see her like this, free of her long robes and the burden of tradition.

He took off his blazer, which was barely even wet, and reached for Yuffie's elbow. Pulling her close, he draped the heavy blazer over her shoulders, never letting go of his hold on her arm. And when he leaned forward, much to her flustered cheeks and sudden surprise, to place his lips neatly against the crook of her ear, he said, softly enough to burn against her skin, "Ya look good, wet like that, babe."

Her hand sang in the air as she lifted it high to smack him across the face. But before her eager palm could sink against the soft of his cheek, Reno grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a tight embrace. "Come on, let's get out of the rain, ya know."

"Can't go nowhere if you're hugging me, dumbass."
"Then let go, yo."

She hungered for a touch like this, of human warmth to chase away the thoughts of loneliness that clung to her in late hours, smelling like closed books and dusty corners. It was warmth that was the same, no matter who touched her. She could spend hours chasing after Vincent and his red tinged shadow but for now, she was content on leaning against Reno, wrapped in his jacket that smelled like cigarettes, chocolate and mango gum, a scent so foreign to Yuffie's nose.

"YOU LET GO FIRST, TURK-HEAD!"
"As if."

They clung onto each other, each buried in thoughts that were so far removed from battlefields and gunpowder, electricity and the whistle of a shuriken cutting through the air. For once, their thoughts were of a gentler, quieter place. The streetlamps seemed to glisten and glow with the sparkle of travel-stained stars. It was love they thought about, and that was the important thing, regardless of who they were in love with.

And the rain fell, and fell, and fell.
--

He didn't know what made him hate hospitals, whether it was the fake flowers that hugged every level surface within a 20 feet radius or the blinding white coats of the doctors and nurses, who all smiled with such fake patience. When she had their baby, Cid swore it'll be at home, surrounded by the mess of their lives; crumbles piles of clothes, overturned shoes, the living room table that held the remains of an engine he never finished working on.

Sprawled out on an armchair near the window, Cid could keep an eye on the street down below, while still close enough to overhear what the doctor had to say to Yazoo. It was rather frightening how fond he was becoming of Yazoo and all his erratic moods, how the dumb ass couldn't figure his way out of the airship's lavatory but knew more about swords and weapons than even Vincent did. Cid wasn't the type of man to easily forget and previous history with silver haired, cerulean eyed men all spelled one thing; insanity. But he was becoming quite fond of Yazoo as if he was just another one of the buddies, someone to drink and swear at. Shera would have loved to meet Yazoo, giggling at the prospect of introducing all her friends to him and squealing over how much he would eat.

Shera never failed to call him every day, leaving voice messages in response to the conversation they had the night before. Her laugh over the phone was just a flattened version of her melodic laughter, but still, it never failed to make Cid smile with joy. She always ended each message with a sincere invitation to not just Yazoo, but also to Vincent and Yuffie, for them to come visit their home. Sometimes, she told Cid to make sure after all this is done with, to come back with Vincent, to make sure he's okay. When they talked on the phone, Shera would go nonstop for a good ten minutes about how their baby was kicking and moving around and giving her the worst backaches and yes, she stopped drinking coffee because of course caffeine's bad when you're pregnant and no, Diesel would be a terrible name for any baby, even if it was a middle name.

Cid lifted both of his arms high over his head, stretching this way and that in his armchair. He missed his wife more than he would ever like to say.

So deep was he in his thoughts that Cid never noticed the hospital elevator's doors opening wide, like a mouth, to reveal a drenched Vincent. At once, the elderly woman who sat near the elevator clutched tight her purse and wouldn't even lift her eyes as Vincent walked by, his long legs barely brushing against her knee. She drew back her legs, crossing them tightly and croaked out hoarsely, "Foreigner."

Vincent gritted his teeth and willed himself to keep walking, past the staring eyes of all the seated and waiting patients. Again, he wished he had something to tie back his hair with and regretted not taking off his cape before entering the hospital. Under the fluorescent lights overhead, his eyes shone bright, the crimson becoming as illuminated as a ruby held to the sun. He kept his eyes watching the ground, trying to hide his claw in the folds of his long, water logged cape and still, they stared.

"Cid."

His head snapped back to attention at the sudden sounding of his name. Cid smiled at Vincent, amuse by the uncertainty etched in the contours of his long face. Cid stared into Vincent's eyes and saw the uncomfortable look found within. His eyes drifted to Vincent's hand, where a half eaten crepe still lingered, scenting the room lightly with honey.

"What the fuck? Why yer look like someone just peed in yer coffin, Vincent?" Cid chuckled at his own joke as Vincent stood over him, his face suddenly covered with a look of intensity and urgency. It was the same mask they all wore, whenever walking to battle.

"Cid, we have to go. Now."
"Ya, sure, as soon as Zoo-boy's done."

The elevator door opened again, this time to reveal a hooded Cloud, his blonde hair sticking close to the angles of his face. His blue eyes shone as brightly as Vincent's but he didn't lower his eyes, as if in shame. Instead, he smiled, waving his fingers at a little girl, about Marlene's age, who peered at him from behind a raised magazine.

Vincent spoke softly, shifting his shoulders slightly to allow Cid to have a better view of the room.

"I mean now."

"Wha-?" Cid's question was broken in half when he caught sight of an approaching Cloud. It's been a little less than a month since Cid last saw Cloud, but the eyes were the same; blue strikes against the harsh white of the fluorescent lights and shimmers. His shoulders were pushed back and his head was held high, and to see that determination that once colored Cloud's whole essence alive and flaring once more caused Cid to lower his whole face, his hands searching through his pockets for a cigarette to hide the sudden grin that danced across Cid's gruff face.

He lifted both hands to grasp the sides of his black hood and flung it back, revealing his blonde hair and smiled. It was only then when Cid saw the accumulation of the past year's journey; Cloud's smile was so sad, as if weighed down by his consciousness or something even deeper than that, something that no one could see. The depth of that smile, all the implications of pain and loss that was spoken from it, was a true indication of just how far, and how alone, Cloud traveled.

"How you doin', Cid?"
--

They walked in silence, just for a few minutes when suddenly he stopped in mid-step to stare up at the falling rain. His black hair darken to night around his shoulders. Closing his eyes, as if to shut off its crimson glare, he took a long breath and exhaled.

He told.

Cid listened, and then took a long, long drag of his cigarette. The smoke he let fly from the corner of his face disintegrated with the touch of falling rain. They stood under a streetlamp, dim light casting a hazy halo around both of their figures. He reached out to take a hold of Vincent's shoulder roughly, as if to offer comfort.

Vincent opened his eyes to watch the way the light shifted with each falling raindrop. Their shadows were cut long into the wet grey of the sidewalk.
--

He stood directly near the door, leaning against the wall, instead of sitting in the white armchairs that hugged the corners of the waiting room. Unzipping his long black jacket, Cloud pushed the sleeves up, trying to dust off the blue shirt he wore inside. The silver ring, with its wolf's head, caught the reflection of the room's overhead lights, flaring like a sunspot and Cloud ran his hands once, twice over his hair. It was the minimal, pristine environment of the hospital, with its framed pictures of imaginary beaches and grinning dolphins, the fake flowers that stood on every table like sentinels on guard, that made Cloud always feel as if he didn't belong there, tracking in with his feet all the dust of the long roads he traveled. Hospitals terrified him, and standing there, making sure he brushed off whatever specks of dust that clung onto the folds of his skin was only a way to calm his nerves and give his beating heart some sort of peace.

"You."

Cloud looked up to see Yazoo before him, his left leg set in a snow white cast and his right ankle wrapped and bounded tightly by brown bandages. Yazoo looked up at him, from his wheelchair, and the distance his eyes traveled to meet Cloud's own marked in the sudden tightening of the hands he kept folded together in his lap. His hair was tied neatly at the nape of his neck, and with no silver hair framing his cerulean eyes to summon old ghosts and deepen past scars, Yazoo looked venerable, and most of all, young. Cloud saw a trace of Denzel's innocence corroded deep into Yazoo's face and to that touch of venerability, Cloud smiled, standing straight before Yazoo's sitting self.

And softly, he said, "We need to talk, you and I."

It was only when Yazoo nodded, his eyes never wavering as he stared long into Cloud's face, that Cloud finally saw just how far Yazoo's grown. The way Yazoo politely thanked the doctors that treated him, the way he asked Cloud to find an umbrella, a jacket, anything that would warn off the rain from his newly plastered legs and the bag of brightly wrapped candies he pulled from a pocket of his told Cloud more about Yazoo's character then anything Vincent told him on their walk through Scar, to the hospital. The desire to be different than his brothers, than even Sephiroth himself, was evident and flared almost, each and every time Yazoo smiled in gratitude and in joy. For once, Cloud thought that it was going to be okay.

The elevator was inlaid with mirrors and standing there, holding onto the handles of Yazoo's wheelchair , Cloud could catch reflections of Yazoo's face everywhere he turned to look. He took a breath and letting it escape his mouth, he lowered his gaze to stare directly at the top of Yazoo's bowed, silver haired head.

"Yazoo, I want to show you where your brother is."
--