tell all by frooit

ffvii au - zack/cloud

part twenty-nine

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Status: Unknown - Location: Unknown

The Director slashes in, bringing his blade straight down into Zack's own, unsettling him none. He's testing Zack's block, his strength, and the give of his over-sized sword, pushing forward, stressing, hissing, but Zack forces him to stall, and then he sends him stumbling back. He swings his giant blade out at full arc, fully extended, and full bore, winded at once.

He's damn lucky they don't have an audience. Any sort of shifting movement or voices in the distance (or close by) would make this already difficult match improbable. He can mark Cloud there in the bar, in the void, illuminated in periphery, mostly golden, all precious, still moving, and too damn close, but not much else. He's inside dealing with Reno, being the good guy, and that's stabilizing Zack enough to keep him collected and cool out here. Everything else... the street, the buildings, the Director... he's at less than 10% vision. Zack's in the dark.

He waits out every swing, slice, and lunge rather than charging in himself. He wants the Director close. He parries with his own knocks and jabs and metal-scraping glances, taking little shots and shoves as he can. He's got some stamina, thanks to Cloud and his looking after, but he's not up to snuff because of the lack of sleep, war wounds and mako. He'll never quite know that vitality again. The Director, in better shape (but twice his age) might yet be able to wait him out. He'll drag him down before the end if Zack lets him. He has the motivation and the edge.

Zack flinches after a deflected heavy strike and takes a beating for it. The gunblade hastily returns to break his guard and slash across his forearm, sliding up and back, cutting edge dragging itself both ways (upstroke, downstroke), biting deeply. Knocking his giant sword low on recoil, the blade sings all the long damn day down its length, and then flicks away.

The Director is relying on the double revolver option of his sword less and less. He's feeling more and more confident. This is good, this is bad. It means he's going to stay close like Zack wants. He can read his responses and catch him off guard with a moment of clarity. It also means the Director can deal real damage, and that might just end the fight.

Zack guesses at his moves, playing the scene in his mind, going through practice and training, poses and stances, hoping that he's right enough. This isn't his best swordsmanship, he's only gotten rusty with wear and disuse (and his tool is massive), but he's still holding his own. Forty percent of the blows Vincent rains down on Zack he deflects entirely, and that's not too bad. The rest sting and thud resonance; ache into his flesh, his hands, his very bones.

The Director, old Shinra, old SOLDIER, he is more myth than man. He still is just a man, a mortal, like Sephiroth, and like him, he still just wants to watch Zack squirm and bleed and break. He's got weaknesses. He's got that same ego and anger, but. Zack knows, just as the Director knows, he's holding all the cards, and he's pulling all the strings. His former boss could end this just as quickly and violently as he is dragging it out slowly and painfully.

This had gone differently in Zack's mind. He should be wise to that by now, but his learning curve never quite adjusted. They plan for contingencies and accidents and surprises in training, but he rarely listened. At the very least, he made it across the sea. He's on his home turf.

"Ah, fuck!" Zack shouts. His knee is kicked out. He sprawls and drops but doesn't fall. The sudden strike leaves him vulnerable and leaned over.

Vincent shows his appreciation by sending him flying onto his back with a knee to the face.

Things are getting dirty fast.

Zack lies where he lands and shakes his head, clearing some of the fog (but more of the surprise). His ears are ringing. His nose is busted, might be broken, but it's definitely not happy and showing it. Hot blood gushes over his lips and chin. The prominent taste of his life anymore.

He hasn't dropped the sword though. It remains in his right hand. If he does drop it... he really is done, and he can kiss his slipshod tactics goodbye. There's no easy way at the moment for him to locate the sword again, even with it being so large. He'd be scanning a sea of jet for the slightest blue. That unreliable vision taunts; dots and stars flicker and snap. He can almost see Vincent's disruption in the glistening show above as he stalks up to cast a shadow.

"You're not giving me your best…" he says.

"I'm hardly at my best…" Zack retorts.

(...stand up, stand up…)

"What?"

Vincent does not directly respond. "Let's try this…" he says, hanging near. "You seem to be a little confused after that one... Where is Sephiroth?"

"I... killed him," Zack spits, blood spraying, visible red.

A hand comes down from above to lock on his slicked throat. Zack only sneers, delighted.

This disrupted shadow above is giving him substance. It's starting to become evident, if not clear. The Director's aura is there, simmering, glistening on the surface, impossible to catch, because his aura is black, charcoal, oil slick; a deep smudge. He is veiled from Zack's view.

"You disappoint me," the Director drawls.

Zack's smile is beatific but gruesome. "Shouldn't you... be used to that by now?" he asks.

The hand releases and the shadow retreats.

"Stand up," the Director instructs.

Zack does so, intending to of his own accord anyway. He takes his time. He feels every wound.

"Hojo never expected you to live," the Director taunts in the meantime. "You were a crash course. You went back to being fodder so quickly. He was trying to burn you out."

"Well, he succeeded there…"

Cloud's still a low glow inside the bar. He should have cut and run by now.

"You can't expect to go on like this," Vincent opines.

Why hasn't he cut and run?

"I don't expect a lot," Zack breathes, swaying, settling and refocusing on the Director. He lurches the giant sword out before him. It gets about halfway upright before pounding unceremoniously back to the sandy street. "Yeah, see. Wasn't expecting that…"

He tries again, valiant, bearing its full weight, groaning under the crush, finally victorious.

"Resilient," the Director notes. "Brave." He makes the gunblade ready as he speaks the next words, layering them over to mask the click click of the multiple hammers flicking into position. "And desperately stupid." He takes the shot, allowing the revolver to shout and shred.

Zack has little time to react. He chooses to block, lifting the handle of the giant sword high and dry and planting the tip in the soft ground, blade side braced against his worn out boot. He ducks behind this, making the wide sword a shield, avoiding a fatal wound.

It's warming against his face. That sky blue, ocean tint, liquid soft. Its advantage in size makes it usable in so many different situations. It's a shield, it's a ram, it's a hammer. It's also exhausting and bulky, and turning the bones of his hands against him.

He lashes out before the ringing of the shots fade, gripping the handle and charging the Director, needing a taste, needing a good stand, needing to prove he can. He slashes and stomps, bringing the sword up and down, over and under, locomotion. The Director has no choice but to guard and dodge and give up the ground. He rushes back as Zack rushes forward, dust and sand kicking and swirling, the smell of it thick in the humid air.

The Director soon updates his tactics. The gunblade roars. A single is shot fired. The blast comes during his counter, a strike from above, an answer to Zack's chaos. The extra force breaks his stance and barrage, sending his giant sword's tip off to his side and into the dirt.

He recovers, able to barely divert and mark the Director's quick and opportunistic follow up. The gunblade roars its battle cry again, propelled, crashing itself into Zack's already lifted blade. The weapon catches precariously on Zack's giant sword's crossguard, driving his arms up and his spine crooked to suffer the full load. They're locked now, caught, the power struggle real. Zack drops to a knee, the gunblade coming that much closer to his face and throat.

He isn't sure if the Director will have to reload or not. He might not have the strength to press on. His outfit might be lined with unspent shells, and other tricks. The gunblade could be cocked for many more shots. If he does fire while caught up like this, Zack's giant sword might be used against him and he'll end up with it embedded in his shoulder. With a wound like that, Zack won't be able to lift anything beyond his belt. There's the sputtering crescendo.

The Director will have a small army waiting to descend on the resort even if Zack does get a lucky shot in and knocks him off balance, or into the next dimension. They'll be waiting to hop out of the woodwork and take everyone down at the slightest sign. They could be snipers. They could shoot early. They could find Cloud. They could swarm now.

"You're no SOLDIER," the Director breathes, pressing, stressing, loving every second.

"Not if you're the standard," Zack grits through clenched teeth, maintaining his level.

"I know they're both close by. They're watching from a window, or they've run off into the jungle." The Director's breath is even, unlaboured. "They'll be picked up either way. You're just trying to hold me up. Do you really want to die so badly? Can you not live with the shame?"

Zack grunts and sweats, the strain draining, but on he retains. "I only regret…" he struggles, containing his slipping grip. "I regret... getting fucked by your fruity son all day."

He can feel it, see it, smell it. The rage, the incense, it's a chain reaction, and the Director is reacting badly. He's starting to boil and brew, constrict and coil, just how Zack wants him to. His inky aura shifts and heats, deepest purple to burgundy black. His next move will be wild and vicious and blind, but something Zack can use.

"Yo! Boss!"

Only, the timing's off.

Zack didn't hear the squeak of the saloon doors, but he does hear the shuffle of boots and sneakers sliding over the wood of the landing encircling the exterior of the bar. These shamble and skid and drop into the dust of the unpaved main strip. From there, they stumble forward.

He doesn't need to look over to find the truth and the damning reality, he knows Reno has Cloud controlled. He would have seen it in the way Cloud moves, but more in how he didn't, because he's hemmed. He's a lot brighter, a lot closer, and no longer hidden away. There he is, hunched and hanging, Reno's outlined arm over his throat keeping him from yelling out or breaking free. He's struggling some, but not as much as he would under healthier volition.

I can see it in your eyes, Zack had said. It was honest and it was just starting to show. Cloud can't fight back because he's injured, he's weighed down. Zack had hoped, had prayed, that he was just seeing things before on the boat. It was paranoia, his tired mind, but the reality is twice as harsh, and thrice as progressed. Reno might have done something to him inside the bar, but more likely, it's all up to that green shimmering stain inside Cloud's skull. There was fear before... now the remnant of Sephiroth cannot be denied. Cloud is again overrun.

"Found something," Reno chimes.

"Reno!" Zack and the Director howl over each other.

While he balks, probably mouthing a heated curse, Zack wards off his blade and that crushing end. The sudden rush of rage and adrenaline bolsters his swing, clearing his delay, making it happen. He tosses the gunblade, and the Director, clear and away.

Speedily pulling back after the minor victory, Zack adds to their spread, dragging the giant sword with him. He needs to reset, recalculate and rest (most of all). Reno's addition and betrayal changes up any game plan. Cloud's condition and presence severely clips his actions and opportunities. Things have gone from bleak and right on into dire.

"I knew it! You gutless bastard!" Zack reviles.

"Fuck off, Fair," Reno hisses, voice laden.

Cloud jerks and pulls in his arms. They've wandered into the street between them.

"I'll kill you! Let him go!" Zack roars. "You're so fucking dead."

"Whatever, man," Reno grunts back. "He… fucking poisons me... and I still prefer him... over you… What does that say? You're a liar. You're a joke. Wake up!"

Zack's brandishing his oh-so-heavy sword. He's scalding, scorching, seething, but he can't be, he must see, he must hear, he must be clear. "I'm a liar? You turned on us! He trusted and defended you! You're getting him killed!"

Reno gargles a short laugh. He is a wisp of bronzed nothing against green-gold Cloud. "He's a dupe, man... A fucking daisy. At least... he's… pretty to look at. He's too soft for this... and I'm sick of... kidding myself. I'm not... a good... person."

"Oh, but good boy," Vincent remarks at last. "No accounting for taste, of course... I always liked your gumption. Loyalty out of necessity. Wonderful to see you haven't died."

Cloud's tainted aura twists and jerks. Reno struggles to contain his jolting and clawing. He's going for broke. He hasn't given up just yet. "Let… go," he manages to growl.

Zack tenses.

Reno abruptly complies, flinging Cloud to the open street with a brutal shove from behind. Cloud's head whips and he careens to the ground and the ditch edging the inn. He hits hard, outstretched arms and elbows colliding first, body following up, crashing and rolling. It's slow motion. It's insufferable. But, not everything is as it seems.

"Heads up!" Reno crows, and he throws a molotov at Vincent's shroud.

It smashes over the Director's lifted elbow and spreads across his full hood and shoulders. The flames are clear and bright and easy for Zack to follow even sailing through the air for that glimpse. Those licking fingers outline Vincent in a flickering embrace, perfectly illuminating. He's thrashing and swinging and tearing off his burning cloak.

Overcome by anger and then struck by relief and revelation, Zack advances, using the diversion to dive forward and meet Cloud. Already up and limping towards him, Cloud comes laden and lacking. The short distance is bridged, their hands meet, things greatly improve.

"Run!" And there goes Reno sprinting by.

Zack has a moment of hesitation.

Staying means his probable death and Cloud's.

Leaving means his parents' deaths confirmed.

He grips Cloud's hand and pulls him after, following Reno. They dart to the inn's courtyard across the street, moving alongside the edifice and cutting a quick left to swing behind, now parallel with the main street, parallel with Vincent, and separated by the hotel's wood and plaster. They're headed into the dense green, the jungle, and out towards dusty central land.

"Run and hide!" Vincent howls after them, over every roof, over their heavy breathing, and the crash of the ocean waves. "You're always running away, Zack! Keep running! Run!"

Clearing the resort's perimeter, the trio melt into the wilderness for cover.

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What a day.

Being dragged by Zack, Cloud's not doing well. Zack can feel him limping along on the very leg he'd broken in their second crash. He won't have the chance to check him, fleeing the way they are, but he's keen to know. He's keen to get to a level of safety and take a good, long breath, and a good, long look, and have a good, long conversation. He's also not. Not at all, because he doesn't want to peer into Cloud's face and see the evidence. Sephiroth's still there.

Reno's quick and hard to follow, but he's not the same as before. His aura has taken on a bronzed effect. Where he was silvery mist before, he is solid mass now, and much easier to spot. That's still proving dodgy. He's still got the advantage on Zack. He can see where he's going and he's probably slept within the last 72 hours.

"Come on… Keep moving," he urges from ahead, pushing through the thick flora.

The jungle is dense and dangerous (and the move probably expected), but it's also constricted on either side by water, a sort of forested channel. They can't get lost so much as gummed up. It covers the peninsula-shaped area connecting the resort to the mainland, thinning into grassy plains beyond. The longer inland you travel, you'll find long bouts of nothing and the Gold Saucer rising from a dust bowl. At the continent's southernmost point, ultimately on a separate chunk of land bisected by river, you'll also find the rising jawbone of the mountains. Gongaga's farther down still, on the opposite side of that river and ridge, and all alone.

Getting home was never an easy task. Leaving wasn't an easy task. They're looking at hundreds of miles from where they are now, outside of Costa del Sol, and to the closest good-sized settlement. It's going to be a trek over valleys and river. It's going to be bouncing from point to point, settlement to village, camp to encounter. Unless they get a lift.

It never really looked good, and now they have a confirmed tail. An angry tail. Zack's positive the Director won't be taunting now, he'll be exacting. Any faulty threat will be made real.

They're making good progress, cutting a straight line and staying true. That is, they were, before Zack lifts his foot over a low branch to be stopped by a tree stump. He can't mark the foliage very well. Everything has a radiance, but not the important details. Mako energy courses through all life on the planet. That's the benefit and the downfall. He can't see where most things begin and end, especially under Cloud's lamplight.

He goes over the stump, toppling and swinging Cloud to the side to falter into some brush or a bush. They both go down; thorns and barbs stinging and sticking.

Reno waits after having helped Cloud to his feet, only because Cloud's busy helping Zack.

"I'll lead," Cloud offers, abominable gold and green hand reaching out and down to him, wholly unholy. He's lips and lashes, flesh and flushing, constricting pupils, teeth meshing. He boasts high detail. He's everything, and that emerald.

"How's your leg?" Zack asks outright, pointed and bare naked from down on his rear in the weeds and underbrush, no longer able to hold off the care and the verbal vomit.

A little awkward, a little embarrassing (if he ever really did that), and a lot out of place. It's a wonder he didn't ask sooner. He wanted to as the Director thrashed and burned. He wanted to before that. At every glance. How ARE you? A thousand times over, into his sleepless nights.

"What?" Reno squawks first. "You're so—"

"I'm fine," Cloud answers, too calm and too firm.

Zack hears his stress, as much as he sees his stress, but he can't do much about it (not now, maybe not ever), so he reluctantly takes Cloud's outstretched hand and reshoulders his giant sword with his left hand. He stands with more than a little of Cloud's insistent help. "Is there smoke in the sky?" he asks, quickly switching the subject.

"Not that I can see," Cloud responds from ahead. "Why?"

"Was your village rebuilt after you left?"

"Uh. I, uh, don't know… Why?"

Zack can't trust the Director was telling the truth. If Nibelheim had been rebuilt since Cloud left then there would be something to burn (obviously). But, if it wasn't rebuilt, and the surviving villagers abandoned the town to move on, there wouldn't be much for Shinra to raze.

It sounded like a lie. It probably was a lie. That still doesn't change the fact that Zack might not have a home to arrive to when they do finally get there. If there is now, there won't be tomorrow. The Director's headed there. That smoke might yet rise.

"This is... bullshit," Reno groans. He sounds ill, congested, and stretched thin. He also smells like vomit. "You're rambling, Cloud's hurt. And, I mean, I knew Rude was after me… and some other folks... but now HE'S after me too? That means THEY'RE after me. The whole hive. You really pissed them off. His SON? What the fuck is that?" He waits for Zack to pass so he can direct the next remark at him personally. "Daddy doesn't like you," he hisses, jabbing a longer finger to dig Zack's aching shoulder.

"I don't like him either," Zack drones, tired and annoyed and not afraid to show it.

"I don't like you," Reno bites, digging and digging.

"Come on..." Cloud tries, doing his best to pull Zack forward and away from Reno and the standoff brewing since they first collided. He's not moving him though, only showcasing his lacking state. He won't budge Zack's resolve to flout Reno. "We're not—"

"—out of the woods yet?" Reno finishes. He quits and turns to carry on, already bored. "Why am I always the one leading? Aren't I the... untrustworthy one? The lovable rogue..."

"You're the… scout," Cloud answers, voice breaking as he concentrates to navigate both himself and Zack over the abundant obstacles, hand-in-hand. "You'll be shot first. That's our angle. No blood on our... hands. And we get away… without any real losses."

"I know you're joking... but damn. That's messed up," Reno mumbles.

"Joking?" Cloud scoffs. "I'm not a daisy." But, his fingers tighten in Zack's hand.

Zack made his choice. His parents or Cloud. His fingers tighten right back, gripping with a careful emphasis. He chose Cloud, and he would do it again and again, the very same way, with the same amount of hesitation, because he still has to see this task through.

Cloud is number one. It's not a doubt. It's a function. A reflex. It doesn't matter that his answer was rose-coloured. It doesn't matter that Zack knows it's a flimsy lie. He's going to stand tall with him, and know he will be fine, because he's going to make sure of it.

They reach the edge of the jungle channel some time later, and without anymore delays, being cautious to come out into the open without a good check first. Zack's leery of an ambush, and with good reason. That's the end of their cover anyway, and that's the end of Cloud holding his hand too. They separate and soak in the expanding landscape and the path that lies ahead.

Somehow they got out with all of their effects. Reno's guns and ammo (and other). Zack's sword and jacket. Their rucksacks (water, MREs and more other). And their hides, most of all. Cloud grabbed everything left in the room before they went to check the commotion. He and Reno collected everything as they fled the Director. Reno's toting all of this now. It's slim, but it's theirs. It almost counts as a victory. It's going to allow them to get to just another checkpoint, and just another bout with Shinra. What a day, yes. It's progress, and just as much a disaster.

Zack can almost see the curve and roll of the uneven land. There are many low clouds up there in the wide open sky. There's the sun hanging high, muted but mustering, inverted dark on light. It will be night in hours. It'll take them hours to get anywhere halfway safe. It won't be fun and it won't be easy. They'll have to move fast and watch their backs.

"Don't think anyone's close behind. Don't see anyone inland either. What now?" Reno asks.

"What do you mean?" Zack responds. "We walk."

"We should—"

"Not listen to you," Zack overrides.

"Hey—"

"No, fuck you," Zack snaps. "You've done enough damage. You're cut off from offering ideas. You're on your last leg. I can hear it. I can smell it. We're walking. We're clearing that ridge right out there to New Corel. We'll make camp only when we can't go on any longer. We're not going straight to Gongaga. We'll serpentine and throw them off and just hope they don't meet us there. Which they will. You doomed my parents."

"I'm on my last leg?" Reno trills. "You're one to talk. And I didn't do shit but save our skins. You doomed your parents from the day you were born, buddy. You can always go back, you know. Vincent might still be putting his face out."

"You wanna go back?"

"I'm fine, actually..." Reno protests, stiffening up. "I couldn't feel better knowing that we're hunted fugitives, yo. It always makes me want to go for long walks in the countryside… with two people who hate me. Tell me why we're still going to Gongaga at all? Are you brain damaged? And why zig zag? Why not get there ASAP?"

"They're more likely to catch us if we go straight on. Detouring takes longer but we might get a chance to rest and find our bearings. I want to be alive to avenge them, yo."

Zack strikes out into the next stage.

Cloud follows.

Reno grunts.

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The weather is mild. It's not even noon yet.

Cloud's keeping pace but he's said little.

Reno's still covered in sick, and he's said too much.

Zack's out ahead, completing their triangle formation. He's striding blindly, giant sword shouldered, putting aside the tire and the doubt and the awful fear. He's still working off of the second wind that whipped up back inside the inn, and that's proving to be 30% overall power. That's more than enough for him to function.

If they're really lucky, they won't be caught up to today. That's more good and bad. The Director is going on ahead to Gongaga. That might be a fair guess, but it's more like predictable in Zack's knowledge of him. If he hasn't already, he's going to carry out his decimation of their small hometowns. He'll send a unit to pester them of course, but he won't pursue in person. Especially if he has a wild card. He won't pursue because he'll be too busy going house to house to find Zack's parents. He'll be roasting Nibelheim just to watch it burn.

Things are in motion. Zack's got to keep moving too. He'll walk the entire way there if he has to. He'll show up crawling. He'll drag them both behind.

"Why did you even join Shinra?"

It's as if Reno tore it from his inner dialogue.

"I was bored," Zack answers.

"That's it?" Reno argues.

"What do you want me to say? I was born in a tiny village. My parents didn't have enough money to get out, and even if they did, they didn't have the desire to. It's like they... gave up. They got halfway. They had me. I don't know. I just know I wanted more. I wanted action. And fame. I can't… remember a time when I didn't want to be… a damn hero."

"You're so vanilla, man."

"It's romantic," Cloud responds, a buzzing drone.

"No. It's… really painful and stupid and selfish and—" Zack pauses, takes a second, adjusting the sword over his back. "I didn't even tell them in person I was leaving. I left a letter."

"Ouch," Reno exclaims.

"Sorry I didn't tell you sooner," Zack paraphrases, keeping on the move. "I just… really want to be a SOLDIER. I haven't been back since. That was… too long ago. I talked to my mom twice. I sent them money. I wrote a few letters. I got a few back. That's why I need to follow this up. Among other things."

"That's depressing," Reno admits.

"We'll get you back," Cloud ensures, his soft, damaged voice disarming.

Zack has no strong, inspiring answer. "Sure," he replies.

They leave it at that for a long stretch. The conversation afterward is light and wandering, coming on in bursts. Mostly it's Reno rambling about dicks and booze and gambling at the Gold Saucer, but all of that goes largely ignored or unanswered. The overall air is stiff and sullen. It's starting to get warm and humid. There's a storm coming straight for them.

The sudden belt of treeless hills they met after sloping jungle line is slowing their work. They're already out of sight of the coastline, the jungle, and Costa del Sol, but they're still so close to danger. The hills will soon flatten out, the valley will pick up, and their pace will again increase. It's prairie from that point on, smooth sailing, and no peace until they drop or hit Corel.

"I missed our birthday."

"What month is it?" Cloud asks, opening up the lines of communication.

Reno answers, "November."

"Happy birthday," Cloud mutters back.

"Thanks."

"Ditto," Zack notes. "We survived another year. Don't expect an encore."

"Happy birthday," Cloud repeats, tone dipping low.

As they plod on, that gives Zack a thought. He doesn't know what the date is because he doesn't have his cellphone anymore. He relied on that more than he cared to realize. He isn't an organized person, but he likes music, distracting games, and knowing when it's time to relax. The gadget was fairly new to him too. He didn't have or need the luxury at home.

"You have a cellphone?" he asks Reno.

After a beat too long Reno answers, "I HAD a cellphone."

Zack knows he's lying. His game is slipping.

As they walk, Zack stalls a few steps, letting Reno get alongside before he grabs him and quickly turns him to the side. He's already inside his hoodie's deep pockets, digging and pawing, heightened touch and reflexes helping his cause. He finds what he wants in moments and springs back, clearing the confused and then aggressive reply.

"Hey!" Reno shouts, swinging out to miss.

Zack holds the evidence loftily and backpedals.

"No!" Reno pleads, jolting forward.

Zack brings his arm down, spiking the cellphone off a well-placed rock.

Reno freezes just as it bursts and shatters. He waits a whole ailing heartbeat and then begins to tremble. He's pointing and then coming for him, but in reality, for his cellphone. "You… YouHave to be…" he moans and he crawls, ignoring Zack to examine the nearest pieces.

"You called him here," Zack accuses from above. "You gave the Director our location. You've been working behind our backs. Whenever you claimed you didn't want to watch Cloud bandage me? When you left for the bar? All your clinginess? Your brother's last words? Ridiculous. You were playing nice and calling them here. The poison was to deflect suspicion."

"What!?" Reno shouts, looking up from the remains.

"You're a spy. You've been leading us on," Zack explains.

"Everything's gone!"

"Yup," Zack confirms, shouldering his sword once more.

"Do you have… any idea… what you just DID?" Reno cries. He doesn't give Zack the chance to answer. "That was—" Reno chokes and coughs, barely composing to start again. He rises, hands fisted and shaking, his intentions clear. "That was... every photo… and video… and conversation… my brother… GONE!"

And now he's after him, a flaming red-bronze fireball.

Zack isn't bowled over, but he does stagger back several steps when Reno slams in, all anger and action. Zack drops his sword to counter with his all-too-ready fists, wanting to feel him bend and break and cringe with his bare hands.

He socks Reno in the ribs and gut in heated and reverent retaliation, even as Reno snarls and swings on him, aiming for his kidneys but getting spine, over and over. Zack pummels his mark every time meanwhile, a thud and thump, ribs and guts, forcing Reno to recoil and spring clear or face the devastating and permanent consequences.

Leaving his guns and knife untouched, Reno offers him the pleasure of boxing. For now. He's already panting and waiting, bringing his gleaming red fists steady, ready and willing. He gestures Zack on, all the rage and the distrust and disappointment bubbling and gushing up.

And Cloud is left to watch. "Stop!" he shouts. He won't hope to intervene. They're in deadlock. They're really going to kill each other, rabid and ruthless.

"Zack, stop!" He tries anyway, dodging or absorbing their throng, pulled punches and shoves included. He's attempting to get them apart, trying their arms and wrists, trying to stand between, but it's no use. He's wobbling and weak and they don't dare harm him or disengage. He's knocked back and stays back. "Assholes!" he curses, finally melting out of Zack's radar.

They're left to connect and coil, arc and strike. Reno's thin but he's got real spunk and the training. He's also motivated. Very motivated. For every blow Zack lands, Reno has an answer. It's a dodge, or a block, or a mirror. He kicks and elbows and throws his whole body at him, using those long limbs. He's not going easy. He's not playing fair. He's out for blood.

They've stopped to tussle in the dusty low down plains of the western continent, out in the middle of nowhere, within a stone's throw of people who want to kill them. They're sending punches and tossing kicks, bleeding and groaning, terrorized and exiled, and it's just now starting to rain. The stage is set. The sun is sinking. Carry on dancers.

Reno takes a licking, but he keeps coming back for more. He's fiery by now, no longer grey and shimmering, or bronze and solid, but full on blazing. Every strike he offers is a thundering one, even from his left arm and damaged hand. He brings the limb down like a hammer after a stunning right hook, using forearm or elbow instead of fist. He's already tenderized Zack's left ribs with this technique and he's looking to do the same to the right. He's sneering clenched teeth white hot, molten eye sockets streaming, just banners and flashes.

Zack tastes blood, old and new, and rain. He can take a licking himself. He's dragging every breath through his mouth and over his tongue. He can't breathe through his nose anymore. That stopped being possible long ago. His fists are numb. His lungs and his legs are too. Every movement is a feat of concentration, aggravation and a final nasty sputter of acidic adrenaline. It'll angrily dwindle and leave him bone dry. Zack's bigger and stronger than Reno (recently poisoned), but he's also running on empty. His stamina is legendary but it's not endless.

Reno cracks the ridge of his knuckles into Zack's momentarily vulnerable jaw. The force knocks Zack's head back, splinters his vision, and vibrates every one of his teeth. They crunch and throb as he mashes them during the staggering recovery. He leans and he swallows blood. He's gasping hot, but the rain falling easily finds his bare head and soaks through his jacket to freeze his flesh. He clenches his fists, he takes a breath, he stabilizes.

"Getting tired?" Reno breathes.

He's on him again so soon, coming in swift and sideways to stress his exhaustion and wrap him up with his long arms, sleeves sopping. He forces Zack into a lock from behind, his speed and wit a boon. If he gets a good enough grip he might just put the sleeper on him, and that means it's lights out for Zack. He could force him to his knees and dislocate his arms for fun. With enough brute strength he could snap his neck and cut the cord.

Zack isn't ready for any of that though, and Reno lacks that needed brute strength. With real power and ferocity, Zack fights back, giving Reno no choice but to break his slipping grip around him. Zack turns on him just as quickly, using that wide open window. He swings in with a fist, and another, catching Reno first in the face and then the upper torso, devastating clavicle.

Reno tumbles backwards, brought to a skidding, slipping halt in the rain. His sneakers give him almost no traction at all. He pants and hunches, holding his shoulder. The mud and the wet and the cold and the toil are piling up. "I'm exhausted," he admits.

"Just stop!" howls Cloud.

Out comes the knife.

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Status: Unknown - Location: Western continent

He's going down, and he knows it, but there's nothing to be done. Not much is going to stop it, reverse it, or dismiss it from being. He's been on the edge and hiding it for too long (stuck, infected, befouled, tainted), and what an edge it is. At the long drop downward, those thousands of feet, a famished fall, is Sephiroth and all his mire and vile and grinning, looking up at him. Cloud's toes poke over the break. He's teetering and waving his arms for balance.

Reno didn't trick him, and he wasn't trying to. They hurriedly agreed to his plan and then hurriedly went through with it, grabbing an unbroken bottle of spirits and tearing a bit of Reno's t-shirt for the wick. Cloud wasn't overcome or forced into anything, but those options, those choices again—he didn't have many, so he went along. He willingly used his body to hide the bottle and they stumbled to the breach together, collectively dragging the depths. Reno was shaking behind him; his every bone. The poison's still in his system even now.

The shove was planned. And he went with it. Zack, bloodied and bullied, was tuned into everything, and he watched everything, and he heard everything. Hours ago, he was a barely understandable shell helpless to stay awake. There, in the dusty and sandy street of the resort, he looked like a wild beast caught, poised and pissed. He roared like one too. He promised to kill Reno. He defended Cloud to the end.

And it still feels so wrong. Zack shouldn't be here again, a wild beast. He shouldn't want to carry out his promise against Reno, blinder now than he's ever been, induced by rage and doubt, and so willing to die. Cloud has a monster in his head. Zack's protecting what he tried to destroy.

Cloud felt him coming on like a fever, like the mist proceeding a storm. He crept over him from reboot, and now he's choking thick. He smells traces of spiced tea, honey sweet and gooey thick blood. He hears his voice low, demanding, deceptive, and degrading. The wound he championed from Reno in Junon healed by morning. He wrapped and washed it, sure they would catch on otherwise. But, he knows Zack knows. He can see it now. He guessed.

He's not to be protected, he's to be expunged.

Just stop!

Everything. All of this. (toil, fear, anxiety; the waiting, the knowing)

And down he goes.

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Status: Unknown - Location: Unknown

Zack deflects the viper-quick slash just as swiftly, rattling the knife free from Reno's shaking wet hand. That freed knife and Cloud's knees strike the mud at nearly the same stroke the skies really decide to open up. A triple beat of ups and downs.

Locked face-to-face, and then alerted, they react together and too late. Thanks to ignorance and a skid and a clumsy slide, Reno reaches their mutual totem first. The rain pours down; the air crackles; the despair collects.

Zack knows what it is. He doesn't want to rush to it either. He has every intention of keeping the knowledge to himself from now on. If he still can. If Cloud knows (and he surely does) he's already freaking out enough. Any sort of input from Reno would only be counterproductive. Hopefully he doesn't remember or make a good guess.

"What happened?" Reno croaks, so withered and spent, but all hands on Cloud.

"My… leg…" Cloud answers, pulling Reno's for sure.

"Your leg?"

Their fight ends. They don't see it through.

Reno lets his shattered phone rest destroyed and waterlogged in the emptiness, any salvageable parts now (or soon to be) lost. He puts his soul into tending and interrogating a semi-responsive Cloud instead. He goes so far as defying a reeling Zack and his own protesting body to pack the blond up and look for shelter from the drumming rain. Their wounds and hurts they put on hold; their disdain and distrust they put on hold.

"You're still sticking with the Cloud thing, huh?" Zack asks rhetorically, his mind an uneasy mess and the words jumping out. "I still want to kill you," he rumbles, every breath an agony.

"Oh, is the feeling mutual, yo…" Reno responds.

"You're not redeemed."

"Speak for yourself."

"Get over yourself."

"Oh, fuck off," Reno sighs, shrugged and shaded, his rosy-red colour all but bled out. He leans and leans, shouldering the weight of Cloud's slight body over his right shoulder. "You won't be so butthurt when you find out what I have. If I'm kind enough to share them that is. What do you think, Cloud? He been a good boy? I don't think so personally."

Cloud does not reply.

"What could you possibly have?" Zack asks, leaning too, their two rucksacks lesser than the weight of the big damn sword on his right.

"A cigarette," Reno says flatly, too beat for long games.

"You don't smoke," Zack disputes, slogging through the thickening mud.

"No, but you do," Reno explains, following closely.

They reach a cut of washed-out hill lengthy and hanging enough to act as cover. Zack offloads his sword and their gear there. Reno lowers Cloud into his already waiting arms, to his displeasure, but also his obvious relief. Zack's spine, his shoulders, and his own legs are revolting too. He can't take much more. He takes himself to the ground after getting Cloud settled and sits with a rain-slicked thump and squish. He won't be getting up. He's at 1%.

The rain spits on, rushing and running, rinsing the valley below.

"It's all for Cloud or revenge," Zack mutters.

"Why doesn't this surprise me? He's still struggling to get it..." Reno grumbles under his lacking breath. It's directed to no one or Cloud tucked low between them.

"What's to get? You're pretty shallow."

"You want that cigarette or not?"

"I don't think I do. Trying to butter me up."

"Yeah, maybe I am. Got my brother killed, my fingers snipped, smashed my phone, my face, and called me a fucking spy, but I still want to smooth things over. We gotta move on. Even though you fucked up Cloud, you have his love, yo. You're just about everything I despise… but I've changed. I'm a bad person. A bad person with a LOT of regret."

"Oh, you've changed, huh?" Zack patronizes.

"Do you think someone as... sly as me wants to be friends with you? I'm selfish and angry… and—" Reno pauses, storm thunder rumbling. "I've got issues... but I… We're... You know what—fuck you. Just take them." He tosses a still-wrapped pack of smokes and a plastic lighter at Zack's lap. "Try and smoke it in the rain, I don't care. I bought those in Junon just before we left to use as leverage against you. I'm done. I'm not a fucking spy. I don't care about you or your beliefs. I care about this stupid fucker and cleaning my slate. Thanks for laying my brother to rest in such a violent fashion, by the way." Arm going around his narrow shoulders, he pulls Cloud near, purposely brushing by Zack's arm. He hisses at the pain it causes, lightning following late and with a sudden far-reaching flash, thunder finishing it off.

"He'll be fine," Zack lies, packing away the cigarettes.

"Are you fine, Cloud?" Reno waits just long enough for a response, not smoothing anything over. "No? See. He's NOT fine. He's just as bad as before. What's with you? You have a vision? A scary nightmare? All that mako make you a witch?"

"Wizard."

"Whatever, man. You're disturbing either way. And you're cold."

"What can I say? I've got issues..." Zack admits.

"Don't know what you see in him..." Reno mutters, petting Cloud's hair and adding further insult.

Zack smiles dryly, hanging his dripping wet bare head. "I don't either."

Reno's equally wet shoulder ticks twice against him.

Sympathy or a laugh.

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