Most of the time, sparring with Sephiroth leaves Cloud with an array of cuts, bruises, and spell-inflicted damage. Sephiroth isn't one to hold back, and Cloud doesn't want him to, anyway. Most of the time, the damage is manageable on his own. If he thinks it would cause more trouble to try and tend it himself, or if it would be impossible to hide from Angeal, then he goes to Genesis.

Sometimes, he doesn't want to go to Genesis even though he knows he reasonably should. Sometimes, he can't stand the reminder.

The cut running across his forearm is deep enough that he can see bone and the severed lines of his muscle. He can't just toss a Cure at it, or the muscles won't fuse properly. This is something he should take to Genesis —a two-person job. Should. But he won't. Not today.

He strips off his shirt and wraps his arm in it before sneaking through the camp back to his tent. He has to make sure he doesn't leave a trail of blood in his wake, and he has to take a route that sticks close to the medical section of the camp. Someone would raise an alarm if they saw fresh blood, or smelled it, and couldn't find the source.

Cloud exhales in relief once the flap of the tent closes safely behind him and goes to pull the stuffed medical kit out from under his cot. He drops to the floor, letting his ruined shirt drape across his lap so it will catch the rest of the blood that drips from his arm as he works. There's a bottle of sterilized water with a flushing head in the kit, and he uses that to quickly wash the cut. His SOLDIER healing has already started to close the severed blood vessels, which is good because it means less blood to block his view, but bad because he needs to work fast before they heal too much and refuse to re-connect.

With only one hand, using forceps properly is out of the question. Cloud rips open the surgical needle packet with his teeth. He spits out the packaging and straightens the thread. This will take...two layers of stitches, he thinks. Maybe three. He takes a deep breath, sliding his awareness into that terrible, familiar state of dissociation from his physical body, and sets to work.

Breathe. In and out. Even. Deep. Pull the needle through, outside to in. Tie. Move on to the next. Breathe, in and out. Tie. Move on to the next.

"Cloud, why do I smell bl —Cloud!"

The needle is slick with blood, and so are his fingers. His injured arm is coated in red. He can feel the way the blood is steadily soaking through the shirt and into his pants. He ties off the last stitch. The lower layers of stitches will dissolve quickly, in line with his healing rate, as the mako eats away at it. He'll remove the top layer of stitches and Cure it once he's sure everything deeper in his arm is aligned properly.

Cloud breathes deeply, blinking as he comes back to himself. His arm throbs. He looks up and nearly falls over in shock when he sees Genesis sitting cross-leg on the ground in front of him, close enough that their knees are almost touching.

"Shit —" he gasps, falling back on his uninjured palm.

Genesis looks furious. "Cloud Strife," he grits out, eyes alight, "what in the goddess's name do you think you're doing?"

Cloud still feels a little fuzzy after being so focused for so long. And maybe because of the blood loss. He rubs at his eyes with his wrist. "What are you talking about?" he asks tiredly.

That just makes Genesis angrier. "Don't play dumb with me!" He gets to his feet and grabs Cloud under the arms with so much as a by-your-leave, hauling him up and setting him on top of his footlocker. At least he has the good sense not to ruin Cloud's bedsheets when he doesn't have to.

"You —" he starts, seizing Cloud's still-blood-covered arm and inspecting it, fingers gentle despite his fury, "why didn't you bring this to me?" He gets even angrier when he realizes how good Cloud's stitching is.

"I handled it," Cloud mutters, looking away.

"You thought performing an advanced medical procedure one-handed on yourself was handling it?"

That earns Genesis a glare. "Is it or is it not handled, Rhapsodos?" Cloud snaps, tired enough to lose his temper. This is exactly what he'd been trying to avoid.

They glare at each other for a moment until Genesis's expression suddenly crumples. He kneels, still holding Cloud's forearm with both hands. "Where did you learn this," he asks in a voice without bite.

Cloud looks away and shrugs. He doesn't want to match wits with Genesis right now, and he doesn't feel like lying, either. He makes it a habit not to lie, as much as possible. It's just too much effort to keep track of lies.

Genesis sighs, releasing Cloud's arm as he stands and retrieves the medical kit. Wordless, he soaks a sterile rag and starts cleaning the blood away. "...I don't understand you," Genesis says midway through his task. "Why would you do this on your own when you can just as easily ask me for help?"

"I don't want anyone's help," Cloud mutters. "We would all be better off if everyone stopped helping."

Genesis's grip tightens on Cloud's wrist. He doesn't ask the question that Cloud knows he must be thinking. Instead, he says, "Sephiroth did this."

"We sparred today. I made a mistake."

The noise Genesis makes in the back of his throat is derisive in the extreme. If Cloud hadn't known him as well as he did, he might have thought the derision was aimed at him. It's not —it's aimed entirely at Sephiroth.

When he's done, he inspects Cloud's arm one last time before setting it down, tossing the rag aside, and grabbing Cloud's chin. With an irritated chuff, Cloud yields and meets his eyes. They're deadly serious, and far too knowing for either of their good. Cloud grits his teeth at the sight.

"You," Genesis promises, "are not getting rid of me that easily."

Don't miss out on bonus art for this fic at my Tumblr, .com, or embedded in the Ao3 version of this fic under the username aimeelouwrites