Chapter Fifty-Eight: Denied Answers

" 'What's the point of getting better? What's the point of living?' " the psychologist said.

It was Zack's turn to sit on that couch now; to sit next to that beaded pillow, surrounded by the calming nuances of the psychologist's office. These nuances were useless when his anxiety was roiling like a torrent as the psychologist spoke.

"Cloud … he said those things?" Zack asked, his voice weak.

"Yes, he did."

There was nothing more which could be said, or further explained in a way that would make understanding her words any easier. There was nothing that would do the same for understanding Zack's own thoughts. The question now which consumed all his focus, the words which made everything else incomprehensible, was proving impossible to say aloud.

And yet, Zack managed to finally say it. It was a question that was overtly powerful and blunt, but was infinitely delicate. It made Zack's tongue numb and his ears ring upon hearing his own voice.

"Are you suggesting … that Cloud is … is suicidal?"

The psychologist paused in all movement and expression for a brief moment; she began carefully constructing her response. Zack shifted in his seat. His breath was getting shorter. His vision was unstable. It didn't take her long to think of her answer, but to Zack, it was a moment which threatened to age and rob him of whatever was left of his composure.

"For an individual to think, 'life would be easier if I weren't alive', or, 'I wish I were dead', is not uncommon among those who suffer from depression. It's called Suicidal Ideation." She paused again, and Zack aged a little more. "It doesn't necessarily mean that the individual is suicidal," she continued, "but it's not something to take lightly.

"There are several red flags I look for when speaking with patients with Suicidal Ideation. The most important being is if the patient has a plan, or if they've practiced the motions, such as holding a gun to one's head."

"He hasn't done that," Zack said quickly, but the inflection in his voice implied it was less of a statement than he intended.

"No, he hasn't," she assured, "assuming he has been honest with me. Based on his answers, I'm led to believe he's telling the truth."

Zack relaxed, if only a little.

"Still, there is ideation, and that's enough for me to break confidentiality and inform the patient's family, or in this case … a loved one. He'll need to be monitored closely for intent."

The word intent was heavy. Whatever uplift Zack was experiencing from the psychologist's assurance was plummeting again. His heart held onto the flickering hope for the uncertainties in his mind. There was helplessness which he could not ignore. Not when the thought of Cloud, frail and holding onto so much less, was prominent.

Ideation—an idea—was irrefutable, whether acted upon or not. An idea couldn't disappear. It became the breath a person breathed. It was nourishment, or it was poison. It was triumph, or downfall. An idea was neither biased towards success, nor favoring of loss. It was kind … or it was cruel.

An idea could be one's saving grace.

Or it could be one's final breath.

And what of this idea? Would the idea of Cloud giving up, as Ratcliff had, become Zack's poison? Would it become the downfall of the hope to which Zack clung for Cloud's recovery?

Would having these ideas invite the downfall of Cloud's life?

The psychologist shifted in her seat, catching Zack's attention. He let out a breath he had been holding for what felt like a lifetime, and she gave him a troubled smile. "I know this is a lot to take in," she said. "I'll be doing what I can on my end to make sure he recovers. But, I'll need you to increase your reports on him from monthly, back to weekly again."

Zack agreed, but reluctantly. Writing the reports on Cloud made him feel deceptive, but he knew its importance. There was a constant battle inside his head; should he be honest with Cloud and tell him what he had been doing all along?, or spare Cloud the mistrust and hope he never finds out? Regardless, the reports were something that Zack had to keep doing to ensure Cloud stayed healthy.

"Is there anything you would like to talk about with me, Mr. Fair? Your thoughts, emotions?"

Zack thought about it as he listened to the clock tick on her desk. He strained his hearing past that, to the waiting room as best he could, trying to be on alert for possible sounds of Cloud in distress. He heard nothing but a faint murmuring of men. He wanted to get back out to Cloud, but there was something pressing inside his mind that needed to be said, whether he received an answer or not.

"I don't believe Mejia is dead."

The psychologist looked taken aback, but her face restored itself to a neutral look in an instant. "The reports state that he is dead, Mr. Fair," she said, with nothing short of a robotic tone hanging on every word.

"You're quick to eat what's fed to you."

"We must not bite the hand that feeds."

Zack scoffed in disbelief. "You told me not to hesitate if I needed anything from you on the night Ratcliff died, didn't you?"

"Yes, those were my words," the psychologist said slowly.

"Then tell me the truth about Mejia."

"There is nothing to tell, Mr. Fair." The psychologist stood and moved to the door. She opened it in an apparent gesture for Zack to leave.

Zack stood and slammed the door shut from beneath her hand. She jumped and shifted away, but he didn't allow her to move far as he stepped right to her. There was not much difference in their height, but now he was looming over her with purpose.

The murmuring of the men out in the waiting room ceased.

Zack decided to pursue a different route.

"At least tell me if you know why Ratcliff killed himself."

"I'm afraid I can't answer that. That's patient confidentiality."

"If you haven't noticed, the patient is dead. And I'm not about to let Cloud follow behind, so tell me what you know."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Fair."

Again, he tried a different route.

"You were reluctant for Cloud to seek help outside your own. Why?"

She turned her head away from Zack towards the room. Her eyes darted around; to the bookshelves, to the potted plants placed throughout, to the ceiling tiles and the vent of the air duct above. Her eyes then went to the photographs on her desk and stayed there.

"Tell me what you know!"

"Mr. Fair!" the psychologist whispered behind clenched teeth. Her eyes crept up to his and were fearful, but not from his intimidation. When she spoke, her words were sharp, deliberate, and the source of her fear. "There is nothing more about Mejia than you don't already know." She held his gaze with firmness. "Do you understand?"

"I don't think you understand."

She was clearly becoming distressed. There was such great conflict behind her eyes that Zack couldn't help but absorb this unknown fear, and he, too, began glancing around, as though looking for a threat hiding in plain sight. But there was nothing there that he could see. It was just her office, same as it always had been.

"If you don't have anything you'd like to talk about pertaining to any emotional concerns, then I think we should end the session now. Cloud is waiting for you. You should go to him." She opened the door once again for him to leave.

A dead end.

Zack was defeated that simply. All that he had been through, all that he watched Cloud go through, all the friends that he lost, and in the end it was this woman's reluctance which stood in his way of finding closure. Lies were not enough. He wanted answers, and he wanted truth.

Instead, he was shown out of her office and down the hall. She trailed uncomfortably close behind, assuring he wouldn't be able to turn around and confront her again without colliding in the process. They reached the lobby where Cloud was sitting in the same seat Zack had left him in, but was petrified and still. His shoulders were to his ears, and his hands were wringing tightly together that they were bright red. He was gaping mindlessly at the front desk.

Standing at the front desk was Tseng. Zack scowled at him in an instant, but it wasn't noticed. Tseng was speaking with the other doctor in the office, Dr. Bleier, who stood on the other side of the desk. Zack had never spoken but a few words to Dr. Bleier, all out of standard courtesy whenever he would encounter him while dropping off the reports on Cloud in the past. He knew nothing more of the doctor, but was left to wonder about him and why Cloud seemed so terrified of him.

The psychologist stopped and grabbed Zack's arm. He glanced to her in confusion, even more when the same terrified look which Cloud wore was also on her face upon seeing the two men standing there. She motioned for Zack to step back into the hallway before they were seen. Zack glanced over his shoulder to Cloud first, who remained frozen, then followed.

"M-Mr. Fair," the psychologist said with great difficulty. There was immeasurable pain in her voice, in her face. "Tell Cloud that … that everything will be okay."

Zack stared at her in bewilderment. He caught her eyes looking over his shoulder, and he turned once more to see that both Tseng and Dr. Bleier had stepped into the hallway and were peering at them in return. Zack met the psychologist's eyes once more, expecting an explanation, but knowing he would not receive one yet again.

"Tell him that he has you," she whispered. "N-No matter what ha-happens, he mustn't forget that."

And the psychologist disappeared into her office without another word nor glance to anyone.

"Thank you for complying," was all Tseng said to Zack as he passed.

Zack said nothing in return and went straight to Cloud. He gathered him up by urging him to his feet, and guiding him toward the door as though the boy were blind. He kept his hand on Cloud's back, feeling his frame tremble beneath his fingers, and feeling the eyes of Tseng and Dr. Bleier on his own back as they left.

That night, Zack decided to take action. The psychologist had been his final option in getting the answers he needed, but that option had been compromised through means that remained unknown, although he had his suspicions.

He waited until Cloud was asleep before leaving his quarters. It was hard to tear himself away with how Cloud would show signs of panic the moment Zack would leave his side. Getting up to use the restroom would yield a frightful, almost doomed look from Cloud; and when Zack stepped out into the hallway to make a phone call to Kunsel, Cloud had clearly been crying during that time.

Even as Cloud drifted off in the late hours of the night, sapped from exhaustion, he clung to Zack's side of the bed as though the space itself were Zack.

He was pained to do so, but he shut the door to his quarters and made his way to the SOLDIER floor.

With the massive SOLDIER desertion, the floor was devoid of any life, save for the potted plants which dotted the hallways and lounge area. It made Zack feel like he was completely alone in the entire building, but he reminded himself that even in the dead of night, he could still be being watched. He moved swiftly, and silently.

The Briefing room doors opened with a sound much like shushing at Zack's intrusion. He expected the smell of stale air and dust to hit his senses, but instead found the earthy aroma of coffee to greet him.

Kunsel was sitting down at one of the monitors. A large thermos of coffee stood erect like a war general on the desk, with two cups flanking it as though readying for some battle about to unfold. Kunsel himself looked deep in thought as he stared at the monitor, his fingers tapping away at the keyboard furiously, as though they themselves were warriors scrambling around a battlefield, desperate for a victory. He barely looked up from his fight to acknowledge Zack as he entered.

"It's gonna be a long night," was all Kunsel said before Zack joined him at the monitors.

Zack tipped the general over to pour its contents into one of the cups before sipping with appreciation. The coffee was like liquid morale, or at least, so he hoped.

Together the two began accessing every report they could find which pertained to Graves, Ratcliff, and Mejia. They worked in silence for the most part, only speaking to announce there was something of interest in a particular file. Instead of reading them aloud to each other, they would swivel in their chairs and swap places, then read the report in its entirety before switching back to resume their own investigation. Neither would speak of what they had read just yet, but committed it to memory.

There had been plenty of reports on the three of them. The sheer amount of reports on Mejia came at no surprise. Both major and minor infractions, incident reports, possession of weapon contraband, even the details on Cloud's first assault—all were tucked away in his master file. Ratcliff's file contained a variety of medical documents, evaluations, a few minor infractions, and a copy of his death certificate, and the death notice to his next of kin.

Graves' was also a thorough file, indeed. There were more incident reports on insubordination than Zack or Kunsel had ever seen on a single infantryman. Kunsel had chuckled softly and muttered that not even he realized how much shit Graves actually got away with; it almost seemed more than Mejia himself.

Zack went back to reading Graves' file, the KIA report in Nibelheim specifically. He read it over and over again. He read it slowly, and aloud in heavy whispers. It wasn't hard to comprehend as it contained very few and ambiguous details on his having been gunned down by Ratcliff's unit. But something seemed off.

He pulled up the report on Ratcliff's suicide. It was brimming with details of the account: the time and date, the location, the manner of death, the witness. It spared no fact, but Zack wished it had. Mejia's KIA report was opened next. It, too, contained the same lack of details as Graves', as if glazed over with generic wording to pacify less suspicious minds. Zack swapped places with Kunsel.

"Nothing has shown to be redacted from either Mejia or Graves' reports to make them this vague," Zack said, rereading over Kunsel's shoulder. His mouth was frowning, being weighed down by the words and ideas in his head which whirled around.

"The devil's in the details," Kunsel said, his eyes skimming through the report at an expert speed. "But in this case, lack of detail is where this devil is hiding. These are complete fabrications." He reached over to the keyboard next to him where he had been seated, and began to type with a single hand, yet with the efficiency of two. He was accessing the old company-wide e-mails that Director Lazard had sent out months prior. "Look at these bullshit announcements about Genesis being KIA way back when."

Zack scoffed. "Yeah, how could I forget?"

"And you know as well as I do, if not more, that Genesis remains alive and well."

The psychologist's words rang through Zack's mind then.

There is nothing more about Mejia than you don't already know.

Kunsel switched over to the other chair when Zack motioned for him to move. He watched with interest as Zack began searching through Mejia's file once more. He toggled to Graves' file, to Ratcliff's, then back to Mejia's again.

"There's no death notice to Mejia's family in Kalm. Look," Zack said, pointing to the screen. "There's a copy of the one sent to Ratcliff's brother, Joey, and one sent to Graves' family in Corel. But nothing for Mejia's family."

"You thinkin' he's still alive?"

Zack was quiet. He recalled his conversation with Joey the day of Ratcliff's burial. He remembered the man's tone, how his mouth formed each word he spoke with confident ease. He remembered the shock in his bones when Joey claimed that Mejia was still alive.

"I think," Zack murmured through the taste of acid in his mouth from both coffee and bile frothing up from his gut. "I need to make a trip to Kalm."

It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that Zack and Kunsel called it quits with their investigation. Kunsel had said it was best not to push their luck with avoiding getting caught snooping through the files. There was only so much gil a man could be bribed with to turn a blind eye on the security feed for so long, he claimed. Zack could only guess as to how much Kunsel had paid the guard off at the terminals for this opportunity.

"I'll put it on your tab," Kunsel had joked when Zack offered to pay him back. He then admitted with a sheepish grin that he used some of the time to sniff out other information for his own interest. Kunsel had always been advantageous like that.

With the buzz of the coffee wearing off, and the tug of sleeplessness ebbing away at him, Zack made his way back to his quarters. Inside he found Cloud still asleep in his bed, but with blankets twisted around him, and sweat coating his skin—evidence of a nightmare. Zack slowly began to uncoil the blankets around Cloud's legs like some sort of constrictor from the Gongagan jungles. It was even wrapped around his hips, gripping him as though to drag him off and consume him.

Once the blankets were straightened out, Zack slipped into the bed next to the boy. He waited for Cloud to move closer like he sometimes would, but he remained on the other side.

Zack wanted to pull him close, but instead he lay there watching him as he slept. He pictured Cloud in a frenzy if he were to tell him that he needed to leave him behind to make a short trip outside the city. It would break his heart to watch Cloud go through that anguish, but he had to do it.

Zack had to go to Kalm. He had to at least speak with Mejia's family to extract any information of his whereabouts.

Zack had to kill Mejia.

He mulled around how to choose his words and tone to at least alleviate the panic Cloud might incur upon receiving the news. He thought of Cloud's clingy behavior the night they made love … the night that Ratcliff had committed suicide. Zack was quickly becoming conflicted with his resolve to go to Kalm.

How could he leave him? How could he bring such distress to the boy when he was still healing from an unbelievable loss? Cloud had no one else to watch over him, or to protect him from Shin-Ra … or from himself.

Zack reached out and caressed Cloud's face. His heart dropped into a void when the very thought of Cloud becoming suicidal crossed his mind. In his fatigue, visions of Cloud lying dead in his own blood became rampant. He couldn't stop them from striking him. He tried to open his eyes, to rip himself from these thoughts, to tell himself that Cloud was not suicidal, but they kept coming at him in flashes like lightning during a storm above a violent ocean. Waves were screaming and writhing as rain slammed down upon them. Lightning surged and fired across the sky like neurons in his brain. Cloud was there—Zack could see him. His body was floating face down on the surface of the ocean with each wave grabbing at him like the hands of death, clawing at him until his flesh was eaten away and his bones sank to the depths. Down they went, finding peace in the murky silence below. Far, deep, removed from the chaos above for an eternity.

Cloud was placed on a suicide observation that very morning.

Tseng had dropped off the notice personally, as if to ensure Zack stayed grounded with the gravity of the situation. As if Tseng had somehow read Zack's thoughts about leaving the city.

Perhaps the security guard from the night before decided the sum of gil paid to him for his silence simply was not worth it. But Zack would never know.

Zack must have read the notice a dozen times before it sank in. Even now he sat on his couch, alone in his living room as Cloud continued to sleep, and his eyes passed over but did not absorb the words. His mind was too occupied with replaying the scene just moments before.

Tseng and Reno had stepped into his quarters without a hint of permission from Zack. They treated him as though he were not there, not even when he started protesting and getting in their faces, demanding a cause as to why the two of them were throwing open each one of his kitchen drawers and commandeering his sharp knives and scissors. They then intruded on his bedroom, showing no abashment as they scooped up Cloud's uniform and plucked through the items when Cloud himself lay asleep in the bed beside them.

With the knives in their hands, and now Cloud's belt, boot straps, and pauldron straps lumped in there, too, the Turks left.

And Zack was left with this notice, the very confirmation of his deep fear. He could hear the crashing of that ocean in his mind, the dream of Cloud's flesh sloughing from his muscles and bone still too fresh. He hadn't had time to shake off the lingering nightmare before a new, tangible one was shoved into his hands without nary an explanation.

But it didn't need one.

The notice was slipped into a folder in a drawer he designated his filing cabinet, which was now wide open with its contents in disarray from the earlier invasion. He took a moment to frown down at the folder, which contained several delinquent reports on Cloud's behavior that he had failed to turn into the psychologist. It seemed a pointless task now. It seemed as though Cloud's behavior had already been decided.

"What happened?"

Zack slammed the drawer shut and turned to find Cloud squinting through drowsy eyes and through wisps of hair in his face. He was wobbling a little on his feet, chest bare and showing creases in his arms from the blankets he had been tangled in during his disturbed sleep. He was blinking slowly and deliberately with the purpose to fight against his lids from closing.

"H-hey, baby," Zack said lamely, his hand feeling out to the side to shut another kitchen drawer. "I was just looking for … for something." His mind raced, his eyes darted around his quarters to find something to use as an excuse. "For batteries. The, uh, batteries are going dead in the TV remote."

Cloud seemed satisfied with this answer, or he was still too sleepy to question anything else further. He moved to the couch as if the mention of the television reminded him that it existed. He grabbed the remote and pressed a button.

As if by some miracle, the television didn't turn on.

Zack let out a slow and quiet breath of relief. He finished shutting all the drawers and made his way to sit next to Cloud. He looked down at the remote in Cloud's hand and saw that he was trying to turn the television on by pressing the input button. Zack took the remote from him and set it out of his reach. Cloud continued to stare at the television. His face was as blank as the screen itself.

"How're you feeling?" Zack asked softly. It was such a nebulous question at this point, but Zack was still afraid of what the answer might be.

Cloud gave his answer as he slumped into Zack's chest and let out a bereaved sigh.

"That says it all," Zack said, wrapping his arms around Cloud, holding him tightly. He stroked his head and sighed with him, wondering if Cloud would soon cry, but the boy seemed too languid for such an emotional act.

There was another heavy sigh, so Zack began murmuring consoling words to Cloud as if he were crying anyway.

They stayed in each others comfort for a while longer. Cloud eventually wrapped his arms around Zack's chest and squeezed him to reciprocate the consoling. It took Cloud's own muttering of reassurance for Zack to finally realize that he, too, had sighed his own sorrow a number of times as they sat there. Zack couldn't help but chuckle dryly at Cloud's selfless gesture.

Selfless it was, for Zack didn't deserve consoling. He didn't deserve the loving warmth against him, or the soothing caress that Cloud laid upon his back. The whispered balm from Cloud's scarred lips only suited to remind Zack of his lies, and of the truths he was keeping from him. It reminded Zack of the revenge he would reap behind Cloud's back.

Zack pushed Cloud off himself gently. He looked down into his eyes, eyes that were filled with momentary panic at Zack's sudden change. Cloud's skin was still there, albeit ashen and dull. But his bones … Zack could see them. They were sinking down into the depths of what used to be an ocean of innocence.

No matter what path Zack chose, it seemed as though Cloud was destined to sink.

… to be continued in Chapter Fifty-Nine: Kalm

Ending Author's Note: …...so. Um. Yeah. Four years since this fic was last updated. I don't even know where to begin with this author's note, assuming that anyone is still interested in this story and is reading this. FFVII fandom is a bit dead right now, and y'know FOUR FREAKING YEARS SINCE I LASTED UPDATED so I won't be surprised if no one is reading.

But in case there might be a few of you, I'll start by extending a heartfelt apology for the ridiculous hiatus. I've been thinking about this story for a long time now, and a dear friend of mine firenewt (AO3) / Firenewtsblog (tumblr) convinced me to give the story a re-read and to just...have fun with it. So, being one not to defy the firenewt, I did just that. At first I could barely get through the earlier chapters due to SO MUCH EMBARRASSMENT OVER MY WRITING AND HOW I CHARACTERIZED MEJIA, but eventually I got into it and reacquainted myself with both the characters and the plot. I decided to finish this chapter. The first scene with Zack at Dr. Arolin's was four years old, the rest was the past ten days or so.

It was very hard to get back into the swing of things after four years apart from it, but I hope that it reads smooth enough and all that. Keep in mind I do not have a beta/proof reader. I haven't done much writing, except for a few children's books I'm hoping to publish one day...so yeah...I'm rusty. Anyway, I know this chapter is rather short, but I figured I'd publish it as a way to put out some feelers to see if there was anyone who's still interested in reading it. The next chapter is already started, so here's to hoping I keep up the momentum.

And if you're curious as to what the heck I've been up to this whole time, basically dealing with health issues, depression, becoming an aunt, adopting a boisterous German Shepherd, and pretty much playing Fallout 4.