The world, it seemed, had paused in its turning.
Time had stilled, holding in a single, golden hour. The sun rose on the valley, and set. And still, dawn remained.
Surrounding mountains cast their valley into a dim. The light that came through was soft and without edges, a warm glow. The peaks were lost in mist and silver clouds; the fog rolled down into the valley in great thick rivers. The trees flowered, then bloomed. It rained the sweet fine rain of spring, then the strong clean storms.
The mists parted to admit the last two people, then flowed closed behind them. The valley accepted them into its paused peace, and the lull went on.
From the cliffs of the mountains, the sound of laughter in the valley could be heard.
A girl with trim black hair ran, and laughed, and wore short pants, unashamed of the thin scars above her knees. A man with black hair and a shining arm of steel watched her with clear eyes and taught his hand to move again.
There was a man who carried a sword the size of his body, and there was a girl who wore pink and sang for him. There was a man with only one eye, who watched the pair and held a hand to his head.
The fog ran down the mountainside to kiss the woman with the raven hair.
And the man with the blue eyes learned to walk again.
And time itself, it seemed, stood still for them. The mountains and the mist wrapped around them, tinted them in shades of gold and green. Grass grew in the barren waste of the earth. The smell of gunpowder and corpses began to fade among the flowers and the fruits. The edges of the world blurred. The mist turned lines to soft curves, turned the day to dawn and the night to dusk, turned the valley into warmth and dreaming to morning.
In the lull between breaths, the world had stopped.
Yet however long a breath is held, eventually, it must be released.
His phone rang.
The note pierced his head at the temples, making him wince. With long fingers, he seized it quickly, making a mental note to change his ringtone to something less high-pitched. He answered the call, held the phone to his ear.
"This is Rufus Shinra."
He listened.
"I see. Thank you. I'll be in touch."
He lowered the phone.
Aerith turned away from Zack, laughing. She looked over her shoulder at Shinra, searching for the source of the ring. As she watched his face, her smile fell away.
"Rufus? What's wrong?"
He looked up at her. Bloodless, his lips twitched faintly.
"The brothers are dead. Loz, Yazoo, and Kadaj - they're dead."
They sat in a circle, silent and still, caught in their own personal reactions.
Vincent curled his fingers together cautiously, careful not to shift as Yuffie sniffled against his shoulder. Aerith sobbed into Zack's chest, the man staring into the dirt between his feet silently. Tifa clutched at Cloud's hand fervently, unable to squeeze tight enough to reassure herself.
Outside the edges of the circle, Rufus sat, head in hands, still and silent.
After incalculable amounts of time, Vincent was the first to speak.
"Sephiroth is moving again."
Sobbing wetly, Aerith nodded against Zack. "B-but why the brothers?" She gasped. "Why? They were just – just children…"
"They were too much like him," Cloud said. "Too much like me. Too much of that gene, too much of Mother – he still hates that more than anything. He's starting his genocide again. They were just the first to go."
Zack stroked Aerith's hair soothingly, his brow furrowed in thought. "But…Sephiroth hates anyone with the genes, right? So why go for the brothers? Why not just start burning towns at random? He would've had to hunt them down, find a way of getting access to them, and then kill them without getting himself caught. Why bother?"
Vincent lowered his hands to his lap, spoke carefully.
"As Strife said – they carried too much of the gene. Sephiroth has already attempted his mass genocide, starting with all who possess even a meager amount of the blood and destroying the masses. He did so at the height of his strength, and failed. It would be logical to assume that this time he would begin with a different approach."
Stirring against his shoulder, Yuffie snuffled. "How do you mean, Vin? How's k-killing the brothers a different way?"
Cloud and Vincent locked eyes across the circle. Slowly, Cloud nodded.
Zack watched the look pass between the two, inhaled sharply as comprehension dawned. "You're saying," he began, holding Aerith a little tighter to his chest. "You're saying this time, he's starting with the men who carry most of the genes. He's going after his closest brothers. And – with the brothers gone – the one he'll be going for next is…"
Tifa clutched Cloud's hand tighter.
"He'll be coming for Cloud," she whispered.
His arm found its way around her waist, pulled her tight to his side.
"Stop acting like it's such a surprise."
The circle turned its focus to Shinra, who had finally lifted his head from his hands.
His lips were a thin line, a harsh gash in his face. As ever, his eye was impassive, cold blue. Yet there was a twitch in his mouth, an arch to his brow and a tightness around his eye that said volumes, that hinted at a fury boiling behind his translucent skin.
"We've known all along that he was coming for Strife. He has been hunting Cloud for the last twenty years – did we all expect him to suddenly stop? No. We knew this would happen. But we chose to ignore it, and waste away our time, and now – now, three innocent citizens are dead."
Aerith, wiping her eyes, pushed away from Zack's chest. "Now don't you say that," she warned, her voice still wavering with tears. "Don't you dare act as if we all didn't deserve this rest – "
Rufus fixed his eye on her, a blue that went beyond cold, beyond ice, and became the blue of dead men. She swallowed the rest of her sentence.
"They were my people," he said. Quietly. Flatly. Aerith recoiled as if he had struck her across the face. "They were my people, and now they are dead. Tell me your rest was worth that."
She worked for breath, windless. He stared her down, face still and blank.
In a single, bone-shaking sob, she collapsed to her knees. He watched her go, holding out a hand to stop Zack when he moved to her. As Zack sank reluctantly back to his seat, Shinra watched Aerith. Her shoulders heaved, her hands over her eyes, tears pouring through her fingers. Slowly, he reached out with one hand, and lifted her chin until she stared him in the face.
She was flushed pink, her eyes swollen and red, mouth distorted by sobs. He watched her, appraising, before he spoke again. "My people," he repeated. "They were my people."
Her head went up and down, nodding furiously, tears flying from her cheeks.
Behind her, Zack's hands curled into fists on his thighs.
Shinra watched her face, hypnotized. "My people," he said again. "You understand."
She nodded, her tears spilling into his palm as her cheek brushed his hand. "I understand," she hiccupped. "I understand. My people – my people…"
Then Zack was on his feet, and he took a step forward to invade Shinra's space, looming over Aerith from behind, and growled, "Enough."
"No," Rufus said, not lifting his eyes from Aerith. "No, it's not enough."
The rest of the circle watched, not breathing, as Zack drew himself up. He filled the air, blazing, glaring down at the blonde president. "Shinra," he said, his voice a warning.
Rufus kept Aerith's gaze, watched the tears rise and fall down her cheeks. His right thumb brushed over her jaw, once, taking a drop of salt water with it. He taps her chin, a falsely comforting gesture. "Go do your breathing exercises, Aerith."
"She doesn't have to do anything." Zack lifted a foot to take another step forward.
Shinra's hand moved in a blur, into his jacket and out again, and then there was the barrel of a gun against Zack's breast.
Cloud and Vincent were already on their feet, Tifa and Yuffie close behind, and Zack stopped mid-step as Shinra finally met his eyes and they were ice, and every single person in that circle knew that he would pull the trigger.
But Aerith was there first.
"Noo," she screamed, and lurched up to wrap her arms around Shinra's, digging her fingers into his wrist and tugging helplessly, and he might as well have been iron in her grasp for all that she could move him. He wasn't looking at her anymore, he was looking at Zack, just staring and trying to say something with his blank eyes, and she clutched his arm and was sobbing in force again.
"Don't, please don't, no, Rufus, don't do it, please," she wailed, pulling at him, and he was wavering, his eyes on Zack but his body canting ever so slightly towards her, and that was enough. "Please, Rufus, please, don't do this, you don't have to, please don't, please…"
His hand trembled, and he broke, looked away from Zack to stare down at her, her face swollen and wet and pink, and he threw his gun to the ground with a curse.
Then he turned, and ran.
Zack collapsed to his knees, one hand to his chest, breathing fast and hard, while Aerith wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gasped into his hair.
Moving slowly, carefully, Cloud walked behind them and bent to retrieve Shinra's gun from the ground. Ejecting the magazine, he emptied the bullets into the dirt, watching them fall. That done, he tossed the empty gun to the ground, shrugging off the questioning looks. "I don't like guns," he informed Vincent, whose mouth twitched in response.
Tifa peeled Aerith away from Zack, wiping the tears from her cheeks, cradling Aerith's head in her shoulder as Zack found his feet unsteadily. Meeting Cloud's eyes over Aerith's shoulder, she nodded slightly. "Go on," she assured him. "We'll be all right."
He tilted his head, acknowledgement and gratitude, and started off after Shinra.
He found Rufus in a fetal position, only a few hundred yards from where they had been. Breathing hard, suit stained with grass and dirt, Shinra had his hands curled over his head, eye wide open and mouth agape, gasping for air, whole body shaking.
Cloud dropped to one knee, extended a careful hand. "Shinra?"
Shinra snapped at his fingers, his tremors growing, fingers digging red semicircles into his scalp. "Get away," he snarled, "Get away from me."
"No." Cloud withdrew his hand, rocking backwards to sit opposite the president. "I won't."
Snarling, Shinra covered his face with his hands. "Get away from me," he hissed. "Don't look at me…"
His fingers went stiff. A twitch ran up his arms and into his body, leaving stillness in its wake.
He uncurled in a whip, falling backwards onto the ground, and Cloud watched in horror as Rufus seized madly, foam dripping from his lips, eye rolling back into his head, legs kicking in the dirt like an upended beetle. Dumbfounded, Cloud rolled onto his knees, grabbing Shinra around the shoulders, wrapping him in the tightest grip he dared. Shinra's forearms jerked helplessly, struggling against Cloud's hold with abnormal strength, his head thrashing on Cloud's shoulder.
Cloud, stunned, held him still until the seizure passed and his eye closed, his face relaxing from its grimace. When the final tremors passed, he eased his grip on Rufus, and let the man slide limply to the ground.
He woke with a headache.
His clothes were stuck to his body by the remnants of old sweat. Dirt and sand had crept inside the fabric, chafing at the skin beneath. In his mouth, the taste of blood and bile lingered, bitter on his swollen tongue.
He lifted his face from his pillow, groaned. "I hate sleeping face-down."
"Sorry," Cloud said. "I didn't want to let you choke on your own vomit."
Slowly, every motion a hammerblow to his throbbing head, Rufus rolled onto his side. He stared at Cloud with his one good eye, drew a deep breath in. Weighing the words carefully in his mouth, he asked, "What did you tell them?"
Cloud folded his arms over his chest. "Nothing."
The unspoken yet trembled between the two men, a whisper of silence in the air. Cloud leaned back in his chair, frowned at Shinra. His eyes were clear and cold, a deeper blue than Rufus's, and if he were a more poetic man, Rufus would have thought he could see all his sins reflected in Cloud's eyes.
He took a labored breath, began, "Listen, Strife – "
"No."
Rufus stopped mid-word, the sentence clogging in his throat, and gaped at Cloud. Cloud lifted his brows, stared Shinra down.
The moment stretched, stilled. Shinra fought for breath, tried to focus through the pounding in his head.
Cloud waited.
With a groan, Rufus rolled on to his back. His fingers dipped into his clothes, beneath tie and collar, reemerged with a short silver chain. With a jerk of his hand, he tried to rip it from his throat, but the chain held beneath his feeble tug. Growling, he brought his other hand up and clumsily undid the clasp, tugging the necklace away from his skin. Hand shaking from the exertion, he held the chain out to Cloud, a small key swinging pendulously before Cloud's eyes.
"Take it, damn you," Rufus swore when Cloud made no move towards the necklace. Slowly, Cloud extended a hand, allowed the thin silver to pool in his palm. Shinra turned away, covered his face with a hand. "There's a silver briefcase, next to the bed. Open it."
Cloud took a moment to consider the man on the bed before him. Then he stood, and retrieved the briefcase. Slowly, he sat again, placed the case between his feet, and unlocked it.
Shinra sat up carefully, turned to watch as Cloud opened the briefcase. Touching the case and contents carefully, Cloud pulled out a slim manila
envelope, tore it open, and found a single sheet of black film.
"Hold it up to the light," Shinra ordered.
As the trailer's harsh fluorescent light filtered through the film, Cloud finally saw what he was looking at.
"It's called glioblastoma multiforme," Shinra muttered, watching Cloud's face. "The most aggressive form of brain cancer." Mouth open, Cloud stared in shock at the gaping white masses in Shinra's brain. "It began with the large mass in my right frontal lobe," Shinra droned on, his tone cool, his voice trembling. "Soon after, tumors developed in the left hemisphere as well. Before too much longer, that mass in my frontal lobe will cause enough intracranial pressure to kill me. If, miraculously, I survive without experiencing complete brain death, I will be left in a vegetative state, until the cancer destroys my hindbrain, and I die."
Slowly, Cloud lowered the brain scan to his lap, and looked up at Shinra. He spoke carefully. "How long?"
Shinra snorted, the sound too high-pitched and nasal, coming out a whimper. "How long? I was meant to die yesterday, Cloud. I was dead last week, last month, last year. The average prognosis is a year, maybe eighteen months. I made that last for three and a half years."
Cloud folded his hands, squeezed until his knuckles turned white. "Why didn't you tell us?"
The answering laugh was short and harsh. "Why should I? Would you have cured cancer for me, Strife? Would Fair have? No," Shinra shook his head, smirking to himself. "No, not after what I've done. Not after three years of surgeries and chemo and radiation and every treatment they would give me, not after wearing wigs and makeup like an old whore, trying to hide the weight I lost and the hair that fell out. No. Not after that.
"I spent three years waiting for my father to die. Three years of that bastard prancing about, healthy and stupid as you like, while I was fighting for every day that passed. Every day, I knew that my father would outlive me, that he'd carry on while I died without ever having my chance to do something right. But finally, finally he died, and I canceled all my treatment. I gained weight, waited for my hair to grow in. And one day, when I looked like myself again, I went to the Fair Help Center."
In a single, sudden movement, Cloud stood, and turned his back to Shinra. "You canceled your treatment?" he snarled to the wall.
"I had to," Shinra said. "The chemo was making me look sicker than anything else."
"Canceled treatment," Cloud hissed, "This coming from the man who lectured me – "
"Don't you dare make that comparison," Rufus overrode him. "Don't you dare. Don't think that your self-pity was anything like what I've known. You were a suicidal child. I am a man who has accepted his fate."
"Fate can be changed."
Shinra laughed again, louder and bitter. "Not this fate, Strife. Where the fire goes, the ashes follow. Some things never change."
Cloud's shoulders trembled, tightened, slumped. His fists fell limp at his sides, and he turned to look at Rufus, his face soft and sad. He watched Rufus's eyes, carefully asked:
"What about Aerith?"
Shinra didn't flinch – and it was a credit in part to his self-control and mostly to his impending insanity that he didn't bat an eye – just shrugged and smirked at Cloud. "Can you blame a dying man for attempting one more conquest? I've heard the best way to go is in the arms of a woman."
Cloud stared him down for a moment, and sighed.
"You've got a hell of a poker face, Shinra, I give you that," he said, and turned to the door. "But you're a terrible liar."