Kintsukuroi Chapter 1: Delivery, for Mr Zack Fair, a final fantasy vii fanfic

Story Notes - Please refer to the tags below. There will be smut in later chapters. I will supply warnings where appropriate and warranted. There are 28 chapters.

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Chapter 1
Delivery, for a Mr. Zack Fair.

Summary:
Cloud enjoys his job as a delivery driver, that is until one day he is tasked with making a special delivery to a man who lies physically and mentally broken in hospital.

Despite the lack of snow, and the winter sun hanging at its low apex, it was still cold. The frosty air gnawed and bit into the tip of Cloud's nose. It blasted against and stiffened his gloved fingers, and caused shivers to wrack his body. Winter wasn't the best time of year to ride his motorcycle, but his passion for his vehicle outweighed the seasonal discomfort. Rugged up with a scarf under his helmet, multiple shirts, a sweater under his riding jacket, and thermals beneath his leather pants, Cloud's teeth still chattered. He looked forward to arriving at work, where he would hop into the familiar white and blue delivery van with its air conditioner, funky smell, worn leather seating, and sticky patches all over the dashboard caused by spilled coffee.

He lived about half an hour's ride from work and arrived at the two-story brick warehouse at around midday. He rode around the back of the large, empty lot, to the garage capable of housing five vans, and parked his bike near the wall. He left his helmet hanging on the handlebars and headed through the lofty loading zone, past the only vehicle still remaining (his own) and to the door, stepping into the heated office space beyond. With a relieved sigh, he pulled his gloves off and rubbed them together, regaining warmth and feeling.

Tifa, wearing her trademark business suit, gave the usual teasing greeting of, "Hello, Cloud. Sleep well?" which forced an unintelligible grumbled retort from him. He clocked in and headed to the left side of the sparsely decorated rectangular room. A long, mid-chest high cupboard stood along the wall with five color-coded plastic double-letter trays atop of it. The top tray housed his schedule for the day, and the bottom one held his payslips and things of that nature. A large whiteboard hung on the wall right above the cupboard with each employee's details demarcated to line up with their specific letter-trays.

He grabbed the laminated folder containing his sheet of paper, listing addresses and delivery times, and stalked off to the van. He grabbed the held out travel mug as he passed Tifa.. "Thanks," he muttered while she smiled at him with amusement. Cloud counted his blessings that Tifa was understanding of his late starts to the day and his sporadic-yet-far-too-common absences.

Cloud sank into his familiar seat, left the bright-pink folder on his lap, and cradled his mug. It warmed his icy hands. The strong coffee brew revitalised him from the arduous task of having woken up this morning and gotten himself out of bed. He skimmed over his list of jobs for the day at a casual pace, set his GPS, and headed off to get his workday underway.

His day consisted of a sizable amount of pick-ups and drop-offs. Small and large parcels and goods alike. Usually, he'd radio Gavin or Therone to see if he could get more jobs, but today he felt extra drained, so just stuck to what was on his sheet. He drove to familiar businesses and places, and some new locations. One of these was somewhat out of the way. Cloud took a left turn onto the freeway and headed out of the metropolitan area. The densely packed housing turned rural and then downright quaint; cows and horses dotted fields, small bakeries and one-pump gas stations came and went.

The road, though no less busy, lacked maintenance. Pot-holes, great and small, peppered it. He finally reached his destination: a giant greenhouse. He pulled into the large expansive gravel forecourt, and to his surprise found the car park almost completely full. People came and went, carrying gardening equipment and flowers of all sorts of shapes and colors. He pulled into a parking space, and got out, heading for the large glass structure. For being so out-of-the-way of the major population centers, it sure was bustling.

Cloud entered through a set of glazed double doors, and then another set of automated sliding doors to get into the building proper. He was instantly accosted by the perfuming fragrant scent of flowers, as well as a very comfortable warmth. Winter didn't touch this botanist's wet dream and it almost felt tropical. Cloud sneezed. Repeatedly.

He remembered that flowers weren't his friends, though he could still appreciate the botanical marvel he found himself in. Flowers and plants of all shapes, sizes, species, and colors, grew absolutely everywhere. A lot sat in pots, but an equal number also grew right from out of the soiled and mulched ground. It smelled like earth and damp. Not a wholly unpleasant thing. It was just the flowers that got Cloud sniffling like crazy.

He sneezed again and a friendly voice sounded next to him, "Here. My flowers have that effect on some people."

Cloud turned and took the held out tissue with a, "Thanks," and blew his nose. Once back in control of his body's reflexes he looked at the short-in-stature woman who had spoken to him; her brunette hair was tied in a ponytail, with wavy bangs falling well past her shoulders. Her eyes, a vibrant green, sparkled and seemed enhanced by the rusty red of her mid-waist length cardigan, which sat over the top of a blue and white striped blouse. Her look of a homey farm-girl was completed by the soiled, three-quarter denim trousers and big brown boots.

"Your flowers?' Cloud asked, "Are you the owner?"

The woman grinned brightly and gave a curt nod. She looked around, with a lot of pride. "This place is my life's work. Growing and cultivating plants of all types has always been my dream. And of course, sharing the joy this life brings with it." Green eyes returned to settle on Cloud once more.

Cloud thought her rather pretty. He wasn't sure if it was her features or her passion for her work. Whichever the case, she seemed rather too cheerful. "For a profit though," he said, not caring to disguise the sardonic tone.

"Well of course. Girl's gotta eat, right?" she laughed. "Name's Aerith Gainsborough. Welcome to my greenhouse. How can I help you?"

She stuck out her hand and Cloud took it. "Cloud Strife. I'm here to pick up a delivery," he said with little expression to his face. Being around jovial people exhausted him. He could already feel his energy draining away and mentally scanned his brain to see if he had passed any coffee shops on the way here.

"Oh, wonderful! I've been expecting you. Come this way." She turned on a dime, her ponytail swinging wildly and marched with a slight bounce to her step.

Cloud dragged his heels as he followed.

"It's such awful news about what happened to Zack," she began, rather worried. "I absolutely hate not being able to get to see him, but I'm flat out here. So many weddings and government ceremonies to plan for. My own delivery guys are all booked up for the next few months, and the hospital is too far away for me to get to on such short notice," she added in a somewhat defeated mutter.

Cloud kept quiet, having absolutely no interest in starting conversations about matters he had no knowledge or interest in.

They made their way into a large shipping container, housed off to the side. This was apparently the office area if the desk with a computer sitting on it, and the various cork boards and whiteboards propped up on portable stands, meant anything. The other thing that Cloud spotted was the very elaborate bouquet sitting on the desk.

"It should be fine," Aerith kept talking to herself, "Besides, I'm sure he'll have far too many visitors for me to be able to spend any quality time with him." She strode to the desk and paused before the bouquet. With outstretched arms, she leaned against the desk, steadying herself.

The quiet which followed unsettled Cloud somewhat. The bubbly energy seemed depleted.

"Uh, is everything alright?" he tried, merely as a courtesy. Cloud heard the sniffle and saw the motion which could only be a wipe at eyes.

Aerith turned around, cheeks ruddy and eyes glassy. She gave a weepy smile. "No. It's not, but I hope it will be very soon. I really wish I could go be with him. He needs someone to look after him."

"I thought you said he was in hospital. Isn't that—"

"He needs love and nurture. From people who genuinely care about him. I know the hospital staff do their best, but they're just staff." She sniffled some more, then quickly grabbed a card and wrote in it.

Cloud remained quiet, and watched on. The clock ticked loudly and Aerith's sniffles and the scratching sound of pen on paper filled the room.

It was over in less than half a minute and then she placed the card in the bouquet and walked the flowers over to Cloud. "If it's alright with you, I'd like for you to make regular flower deliveries for me. I don't know if he's conscious or not, but I want his room to be full of color. I want him to not feel alone. So please, bring this to him." She handed the surprisingly heavy item over. "And I'd also like for you to be my regular delivery guy. I don't want Zack to have to put up with not getting to know you."

Cloud grunted and pulled a face. "Getting to know me?"

"Yes. You'll be my proxy."

"I'm just a delivery guy. Not an… escort, or… friend for hire," he said with unease. Cloud definitely hadn't signed up for this.

"I know that. I'm not asking you to do anything other than deliver my flowers to him. But when you meet him I'm sure you won't be able to avoid having conversations with him." Aerith's growing smile faltered and sadness swept through, robbing her of any mirth which might have burgeoned. "Oh gosh, let him be alright," she said to no one in particular. "Tifa said it would be alright for you to check in on him regularly and to give me updates when you come to pick up the flowers."

"Did she now?" Cloud said with derision and barely kept the eye roll at bay.

Aerith nodded and started walking back out into the main building. Cloud continued to follow, holding the bouquet at arms length as it tickled his nose.

The pungent smell of flowers accosted Cloud once more as they made their way back to the front of the greenhouse. His eyes watered. He tried to find something to distract himself with. "You know Tifa personally?"

"Oh yes. We've been friends for years. She's told me lots about you." Aerith threw a cheeky smile over her shoulder.

He got a sinking feeling. Without a doubt, this had all been an elaborate set-up. He let a defeated sigh slip out and wondered if this Zack guy was even an actual patient. "More like she complains about me to you."

"Oh no. Nothing like that." Her laugh was like the tinkling of bells.

Cloud still knew that it was exactly like that. "Well, she's never made mention of you," he fought back with a sulk.

His remark made Aerith spin around. Her smile radiated ever so brightly. "I'm pretty sure she has and you just never listen to her," she giggled and gently pushed her palm against his shoulder.

Cloud couldn't refute that. It seemed like a very reasonable assumption.

"Anyway, can you just wait here for a moment. This bouquet is missing something." Aerith dashed off, leaving Cloud's nose to develop another irritating tickle.

The pungent floral smell aside, he also knew this whole situation reeked of something, but he didn't know what. Well, perhaps he did know. Of course Tifa purposefully sent him on this delivery run. She was always trying to get him to be more sociable and make friends. Something which Cloud had no interest in doing. He thought it cruel to force friendship upon him with some guy who sounded bedridden. And to be fair, he felt it equally awful to force himself onto other people. Cloud hoped that if this Zack guy truly was sick, that he would get well soon. That way Cloud wouldn't have to visit for very long, saving them both the agony of playing at a fake friendship.

Aerith returned, holding a few brilliantly vibrant yellow flowers. She stuck them into the bouquet, which mostly consisted of blues and purples.

"There. Some much needed complementary opposites." She stepped back from her creation and admired it. "I hope he'll love it." Worry returned to her face. "I hope he's okay. Please tell him I'll visit as soon as I can if he's awake." Aerith looked like she was going to say more but clapped her mouth shut and shook her head. "No. I won't bombard you with any more. Everything I need to tell him is in the card. Please see to it that he receives the flowers, and I look forward to seeing you next time."

Cloud gave her a courteous nod. "Next time, then." He knew that no amount of complaining to Tifa would get him off this roster duty. She had probably also talked to everyone else at work to make sure he couldn't swap delivery duties. That's how crafty she was.

The hospital Cloud drove to was a familiar destination. He parked by the loading bay, avoiding the large conglomerate of media stationed out the front of the main entrance. The hustle and bustle out the front of the hospital, though not completely foreign, was still a little strange. Cloud wondered for all of two seconds what famous or newsworthy person had ended up inside before he refocused on his job. He grabbed the bouquet and marched himself inside, making his way to the nurses' station, as Aerith apparently hadn't known the exact location of the recipient of her gift. He had done a fair few deliveries to the different wards in the past, which was why he received acknowledging nods as he passed.

"Oh, those are lovely. Who are they for, darl?" an elderly and a rather plump woman greeted Cloud warmly as he stood by the imposing desk.

"Evening, Barbara." Though he didn't have many friends, Cloud made a point to remember people's names and to behave amicably. It's not like he hated people. It had more to do with him being too tired and exhausted most of the time to exert energy into keeping friends around. "They are for a—" he looked at the attached card for the last name. "Zack Fair."

"Oh. He's a right popular chap. I wish they would have sent him to a different hospital, to be honest with you. Maybe Golden Oak or Edgewater. That media pack out the front is driving everyone here crazy."

"Huh? All those people out there are here for him?" A sinking feeling swept through Cloud. He didn't deal well with being in the limelight, not even via loose associations.

The head nurse gave a sullen nod. "The ones out the front aren't even half of it. Military folk have been in and out of the ICU all day. Day shift have had it up to here," she gestured well above her head, "with all the kafuffle."

Barbara's words caused a rush of irritation to flurry inside of Cloud. He wrinkled his nose. "Military?"

She hummed in the back of her throat and shuffled through some papers at her station. "Mr. Fair is military personnel, or I guess that should be Corporal Fair? Is that how those titles are supposed to work?"

It took everything in Cloud's power not to dump the flowers and leave. "Don't they have a military hospital for this kind of stuff?" he grumbled through grit teeth, already knowing that the answer was 'yes'.

"Apparently it wasn't good enough for the injuries he's sustained. He'll be needing long term care and rehabilitation, and they aren't cut out for that."

"Ah—that bad, huh?" Some of the irritation quelled with a wash of sympathy.

Barbara gave a solemn nod. "Here, darl. There has been nothing else on the news all day." She directed her gaze toward a television mounted on the wall to the right of the desk and turned the volume up a little.

Cloud hadn't watched the news in what felt like months. It was always too depressing. "They let you watch TV?"

"Only the news channels, so we can be atop of any breaking disasters or crisis as they unfold."

"Ah. Seems sensible enough." Cloud turned his attention toward the news coverage. He watched the body cam footage from a battlefield. People running, gunfire, all in a vastly ambiguous and completely rubble-filled landscape. Cloud didn't know which war this was, or where it was. He tried his hardest to not pay attention to things of that nature.

The footage went on. Shaking imagery, snaps of stillness, the bottom of the screen covered in scrolling text. Images of fallen soldiers bombarded the screen, but amongst all of it someone came charging in and pulled the fallen out and to safety. Cloud couldn't make out what was happening exactly, but he got the idea that it was always the same someone darting in and out of cover, to collect the fallen.

Cloud keyed into the faint sound of the news reporter saying something about bravery and selfless acts of courage.

The footage eventually cut to the outside of a familiar building; Phoenix Dessert Downs; the hospital Cloud was currently in.

"Poor fool got himself riddled with more bullets and shrapnel than all of the men and women he saved. The field hospital got most of it out, and he's had more blood transfusions than I've ever seen anyone else get, but they can't give him the long term care he needs. Oh, darl. Don't look so glum."

Cloud startled and forced the twist from his mouth and brows, returning to his stoic neutrality. "I'll most likely be coming here regularly, to deliver flowers to him."

"He's got a sweetheart, hmm?" Barbara smiled. "Here, take this pass. It will get you through to ICU and past all the military," she said, sounding exhausted.

"Military personnel can be a right handful," he observed and gratefully took the pass.

"It's what day shift have been complaining about the most," she sighed deeply.

"Bet they're glad to hand it over to you and your crew, huh."

"You know night shift handles pressure and unwanted riff-raff better," she winked.

"That you do," he gave a small smile.

Cloud took his leave from the nurses' station, feeling exhausted from the exchange. He wandered the halls toward the ICU and passed many vending machines, all a congregation space for people in uniform. Every time another uniformed personnel came into view Cloud felt his heart-rate spike. His body jittered, unable to take the strain of the stress. He craved caffeine to get him through the ordeal.

He detoured to a thankfully-unoccupied coffee machine and drank the burnt, bitter, and old tasting brew with a scowl as he forged ahead. He showed his pass to the appropriate authorities and was let through to the ward.

Evening had fallen, and though the interior was brightly lit, the ward was rather hushed. Nursing staff came and went, tending to all the critical patients. Machines beeped and whirred. Quiet murmurs ran through the place like an electric undercurrent.

Cloud went in the direction he saw the most amount of people, unpleasantly confident that it was the room he was after. He stopped across the way and looked in through the glass windows, which lined the wall facing the ward. He recognized the high ranking officials' uniforms. A lot of Sergeants of varying degrees. It was kind of impressive, but it also irritated Cloud. This whole situation was irritating and he didn't think he'd like to make these flower deliveries a staple of his working day if this was what he had to walk into every time.

He finished his coffee, tossed it in the trash, breathed deep, and went into the room to get his delivery sorted.

The buzzing murmur of conversation grew marginally louder as he opened the door and let himself in, but then it ceased in a flash, as all eyes turned onto him.

Cloud hadn't felt this uncomfortable since his last family get-together. He swallowed down the nerves. "Delivery, for a Mr. Zack Fair, from a Miss Gainsborough."

"Ah, Aerith, the sweet thing. Just put them over there. Zack will be happy to see them if he wakes up," someone, who appeared to be a Sergeant Major, said to him.

The 'if' wasn't lost on Cloud. He gave a curt nod and weaved through the small crowd toward the bed at the center of the room, counting the seconds before he could leave this personal Hell on Earth. He saw the bed and the sleeping figure in it. The man's head was bandaged up and gauze plastered to his cheek. Wires and tubes went in all manner of directions, connecting the man to machines, monitors, and clear IV fluid bags, as well as bags of blood.

He hated the sight. Hated what this man had done or possibly been forced into doing all for service. He disconnected from the thought, not seeing the point in getting angry and agitated.

Instead, Cloud looked for somewhere to put the flowers. There was a small tray table next to the bed, which was covered in bouquets and cards. More bouquets sat on a chair, and others lined the wall to the left of the bed. Clearly, this guy wouldn't need any more flowers. He wondered if he could convince Aerith that the hospital room was colorful enough already, and could thus spare himself any future trips back to this hospital or this room.

He supposed he would have no such luck, and instead busied himself making room on the small tray table for Aerith's flower arrangement (which, if Cloud had to admit, was one of the nicest in the room). He positioned the card so it would also be seen if this guy ever woke up. Cloud figured himself lucky to get out of conversing with him today. Was it cruel to hope he'd never have to make conversation with this guy?

Probably.

He looked back at the broken man lying in the bed. The bandaged head slumped toward Cloud's direction and the man's eyes seemed to open a small crack.

Cloud looked back toward everyone else in the room, but no one payed attention: too busy talking about tactical information; what to do about the remaining company and what honors to bestow upon the survivors, because Cloud was apparently not important enough to not talk about that kind of stuff in front of.

Cloud didn't get what everyone was in here for if it wasn't to help support a fallen comrade. So he decided that they probably just wanted to feel important and were there for some other self-serving purpose. He turned back toward Zack and quietly murmured, "From Aerith. She's worried about you, and is sorry that she can't be here right now."

Eyes slipped shut and it was barely visible, but Cloud thought he saw the ghost of a smile.

He turned and left, wondering if it would be a problem that he didn't get the delivery signed off. He didn't care enough about it to get one from any of the Sergeants in the room, especially not when he heard a faint, "Doesn't General Strife have a kid?" pass through the gap in the door just as he shut it.

He got out of there as fast as possible and finished his other jobs through gnawing fatigue. Tifa asked how his day had been when he came back to deliver the van and invoices. He didn't give her more than a grunting reply before heading back out, hopping on his bike and racing back home so he could collapse on his bed and pass out.

Aerith asked for a flower arrangement to be sent every second day, which at least gave Cloud rest in between to not stress about having to be in a wholly unpalatable environment. Despite only passing through and lingering in the place for 20 minutes at most per delivery, those were still 20 minutes he would rather never have to endure in the first place. But when he saw Aerith again to pick up the next delivery, her gratitude melted Cloud's displeasure. His heart grew heavier with each passing day that he couldn't give her any good news in regards to the man she worried about so much.

He detested the hospital run. It stressed him out and stress legitimately was no good for him. As the first week of doing this job passed, Cloud could feel himself becoming unwell. He always got sick when he was highly stressed, and going to the hospital was a toxic cocktail of stress for him. It didn't matter how well he organized himself, like going in at 6 o'clock at night when there were fewer media and military sleazeballs lurking about. The late deliveries didn't let him completely escape run-ins with the military. He took to wearing a baseball cap, pulled down over his face, but he could still feel the lingering eyes and hear the too-loud whispering rumors that he was who they all thought he was and everything that came with that territory.

He wasn't looking to hear it, but he still did: 'Did you hear he couldn't even finish basic training?'; in the hallway; 'Did you hear he got special treatment?'; in the elevator; 'Did you hear his parents pulled strings?'; even at the coffee station; 'Did you hear he slept with a General?'; as well as passing the door into the bedridden man's room; 'Did you hear he got spoon-fed the entrance exam questions?'.

Each day the well of his resentment grew exponentially deeper. He screamed at himself to not run away, not balk at any of the comments, to not dignify any of that bullshit with a response or reaction. He tried to ignore it, to not hear it, to pretend he imagined it all. But it wore on him. Every. Single. Time.

Cloud hated having to be here. Hated the military. Himself. The bed-ridden source of his misery. Why, out of all the hospitals in the world, and in particular this city, did the apparent poster-boy-extraordinaire have to land in this one? Not that Cloud supposed it mattered much since Tifa somehow knew Aerith and both ladies apparently loved pushing their own agendas onto him.

He kept doing his assigned job though because Tifa (predictably) had put an embargo on anyone taking or swapping that particular job off Cloud. It did not help his mood or physical health. He could feel the onset of a head cold lingering in the back of his sinuses. The final straw seemed to break after he'd found himself in an elevator with 3 military goons who had recognized him from their days in basic training, almost a decade ago.

When Cloud got home from that ordeal he'd crashed and couldn't get out of his bed when his alarm went off at 11 in the morning. He couldn't face another day of doing that job, even though today, most likely, he wouldn't have to go to the hospital. The weeklong process of going through those sterile halls, seeing uniformed personnel, had completely sapped him of his already minimal pool of energy and it crescendoed today, so he slept the day and the next away.

Tifa rang several times, checking in on Cloud, which he appreciated… when he was conscious enough to pick up the phone.

"I'm sorry. Am I pushing you too hard? I can reduce your workload to five runs a day."

"Do I still need to cover the hospital?" he asked once he felt better again and had caught one of Tifa's phone calls.

Silence greeted him for a few beats, "Is it really stressful for you?"

Cloud felt like such a pathetic weakling. A surge of needing to 'suck it up' raced through him. "No. I think being around all the sick people is just making me sick. I'll be okay in another day… I think."

"Take as long as you need. Felix is doing the hospital runs for now. If you think it would be better for your health not to—"

"No, really. I'll be fine. Just give me back my usual runs when I'm back."

"Okay."

Cloud hated his strong sense of duty.

Cloud returned to work and did his best to ignore the people around him. He went even later to the hospital, and just to be on the safe side, hid behind the flower arrangements he carried. and as much as possible. Especially when it came to the guard, who was stationed at the door. Cloud still felt worn out by the almost-daily ordeal but, with a sardonic huff, decided to soldier on.

As the weeks passed, he learned more about his comatose burden through the media. Nothing about the operation he had been involved in though, as that was deemed highly sensitive. He wasn't one to watch the news, but found himself watching it now, just to get some information, especially when he heard conversations with phrases like 'such a shame', 'cut down in his prime', 'it's all too bad', as he passed by people in the hospital.

He learned about all the honors, achievements, and military pursuits of the spirited young man who now lay unmoving and in a critical condition in a sterile hospital bed with intubators, drips, catheters, and various other devices attached to him. Cloud could appreciate the sadness of it, the tragedy of what had befallen this man, especially since the reports said he had worked tirelessly at saving his comrades and single-handedly kept the squad's Sergeant alive.

It dawned on him one day while standing there in the empty darkened room—surrounded by a staggering amount of flowers—that it almost felt like he was visiting a crypt.

The monument of decaying flowers, deflating balloons, knocked over 'get well' cards all spoke of one thing: the love of the people that this man commandeered. All those he had saved, those who knew him, the general public; they adored him and what he represented: unwavering spirit, devotion, sacrifice, martyrdom. And yet, the sound of the rasping breath through the oxygen mask and the soft sound of machinery in the background punctuated the fragility and loneliness of life. The flowers all served as a morbid farewell, instead of a celebration of existence.

Yet Cloud didn't feel it all to be macabre and somber. There also sat awe in this place, because Cloud bore witness to this barely-there military man, fighting and struggling for his life in this perfect stillness.

He got a bit philosophical when he was left to his own devices. The introspection wasn't helped by his near-daily visitation to his man's living mausoleum, where he tried to find a place for one more flower arrangement. One more tribute to lay at the foot of the living memorial. It left a sour taste in Cloud's mouth though.

He understood that this man had been deemed a 'go-getter' by his superiors. A real 'people person' by his peers. Someone who had always joked and made sure all his comrades and anyone under, and even above himself, had been okay, which was what made him such a great Corporal—had made him. All those things were now relegated to the past, a memory, a dream. And all for what…. Cloud got stuck on that thought and with pure derision, muttered, "Look where all that love and affection has gotten you. You're stuck here, all alone, in a room full of dead things. And the public and military can't even wait for you to be properly dead before turning your room into a grave." Admittedly, Cloud was having a rather gloomy sort of a day.

He kept delivering flowers, kept watching the news late at night when he couldn't sleep, despite being utterly physically and mentally exhausted. And he listened on the radio while driving his van. It was never anything terribly meaningful or insightful. All events from the battlefield, reports on casualties, and anything pertaining to the mission which had landed the man Cloud visited on an almost daily basis in the hospital, was barely forthcoming. The operation was still deemed too sensitive and top secret. So all the media could report on was Zack Fair.

Cloud felt somewhat entrapped by the man he had been made to visit. Zack Fair turned into a morbid oddity and curiosity; a form of Stockholm Syndrome perhaps. A trainwreck Cloud was glued to witnessing. He wondered if Zack would ever wake up. He wondered what the man was actually really like. He doubted anyone would ever speak badly of the man or call him out on any asshole-ish behavior while he was in such an in-between life and death state of existence. He couldn't buy that this guy was so amazing, wonderful, kind, and fun. Sure, he sounded nice and like the exact type of person Cloud avoided in his life. It sounded like a real shame for Corporal Fair to not recover from this. But maybe it also really wasn't. Who knew? Cloud sure as hell didn't, and wouldn't know what the actual reality of the matter was unless the dead rose from his coma.

Cloud tried to not lose any more sleep over it and pushed his wonderings away, focusing on the job at hand, which in the end, led him right back to the hospital, standing before his charge, staring down at him, thinking a myriad of conflicting thoughts. In the end, he always decided he didn't care. He was getting paid. It was just the damn military personnel that got under his skin and made this the worst part of his day. He resented coming here. Hated that the comatose guy didn't just wake up, freeing Cloud of his obligations.

"You're one hell of a selfish son of a bitch," Cloud muttered another day, after having caught a half-heard conversation between the military personnel stationed outside of the door, bemoaning their station over having to watch and guard this room against media entry. "But keep giving them hell out there," Cloud finished with a smile, liking the discomfort being inflicted on people who resented having to look after someone who apparently did crazy brave things, like sticking his neck out for other people. Cloud supposed the extra resentment outside might have something to do with a new spate of news that he had caught last night.

"You know you got a bunch of medals? I don't know if anyone's been in to inform you, but… congratulations," Cloud said with bitter amusement as he set the flowers down on the tray table. "You got a Medal of Honor, a Distinguished Service Cross, and a Silver Star Medal. You're one impressive guy, Corporal Fair." He bent down to look Zack in his more-akin-to-dead-than-alive face. His eyes trailed over the bandaged forehead, the patch over his left cheek, the mask covering his nose and mouth to help him breathe.

"Hope those medals make being like this worth it, man." Cloud was greeted with even breathing, the whirring of machines, and the faint beep of the heart rate monitor.

He stood back up and left the room.

There came a point, somewhere around the 1-month mark of Cloud having started on his hospital delivery route, that things seemed to change a little. He arrived at the comatose man's room to find the oxygen mask off and a considerable amount of equipment gone. The mountain of flowers also looked smaller and a more sensible amount. Cloud tested the room with a faint, "Hello?" but received no reply. He went over to the bed, warily inspecting the other man, who looked gaunt and pale, but a lot better for not having all that equipment and tubing attached to himself.

There was no motion, other than an even fall of the chest, and generally speaking, the man looked like he had always done while lying in this bed. Cloud left the flowers and headed out, catching Barbara before getting out completely.

"How is Zack doing? He's no longer on oxygen."

"He is doing a lot better, yes. His independent breathing improved so he doesn't need the respirator. He'll be moved to another room in the ICU next week." She wasn't willing to give much more information than that, so Cloud left to return the van and to go home to sleep, which came a little easier to him that night.

It was also roughly around the 1-month mark that Cloud began enjoying his trips to the hospital a little, especially on rough days because an almost comatose person couldn't give him any flack for not arriving precisely, to the second, on time. They weren't going to back-chat or give him the stink-eye. Other than the military being everywhere, Cloud relaxed considerably when coming here every second day. The walk through the hall was uncomfortable but he grabbed an awful cup of coffee, hurried to his target's location, not even being acknowledged by the security anymore as Cloud was as good as the bland decor around the hospital, and dumped the flowers wherever he found space. He then sat down in the uncomfortable guest chair and peacefully drank his burnt coffee.

That routine and place almost became like a sanctuary. Sure, he had to traverse hell to get to it, but it was pleasant when he got there. He found it nice to not be in a mad rush. Nice not having to do small talk. And then two weeks after the respirator had come out, the military finally, for the most part, departed. Things were getting even better for Cloud.

One day, he had been in a frantic rush due to massive traffic congestion absolutely everywhere he had to get to. Exhausted and starved, he grabbed whatever looked the least offensive at the hospital cafeteria and made his way to the ICU and Zack's new room, which was slightly more comfortable. But only slightly as it actually had an attached bathroom. Once he had deposited yet another exquisite bouquet, he slumped into the guest chair, which had been cleared of flowers a while ago, and relaxed with a deep sigh.

"God, what a day from hell," he bemoaned. After a few beats of breathing and quiet, he sat up straight and opened his styrofoam food container.

"I'm sure you don't mind me eating in here, right?" Cloud glanced at the only other occupant of the room. "I mean, I do bring you all these flowers, and I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who regularly visits. So, if you're not going to thank me, the least you could afford me is to let me use you like a tray table, huh."

Cloud looked at the way the body in the bed lay almost lifeless. A steady beating and shallow rise and fall of the chest were the only signs of life.

Taking the prolonged silence as permission, Cloud dug into his meal. Was it strange talking to an unconscious person? It didn't feel any stranger than talking to himself late at night. It was about as enlightening, but he weirdly enough did enjoy the idea of another set of ears listening, without receiving dumb and pointless input.

"You're not missing out on much with this food," Cloud informed as he chewed. "Too dry and rubbery. But food's food. And bad burnt coffee is still caffeine." He took a sip, scrunched up his face, and placed the cup carefully onto the bed before himself.

He ate the rest of his meal in silence, mulling over his schedule. When he was done he tidied up and stood. "Well, it was fun, Zack. It's okay if I call you Zack, right? Or you prefer Sergeant Fair? All your new fancy medals aside, you also got a promotion, y'know?" Cloud looked and got no response. "Zack it is then. See ya later." And with that he left, feeling far more energized after a meal and some liquid energy.

Cloud kept coming because Aerith kept ordering flower arrangements to be delivered. He lingered ever longer in that room, finding it oddly meditative. Zack's silent company reminded Cloud of his family dogs, and as Cloud sat in the chair, thinking about it, he almost reached over to pat the comatose man's head. He caught himself though, leaned back and chuckled with amusement.

He wondered more and more about the man he was tasked with 'keeping company,' for he did keep him company more often than not. Now that the military had gone, with the exception of a patrol here and there, and the occasional door check, the hospital had a far more relaxed atmosphere. Cloud found himself less drained and more awake, instead of wanting to crash by the time he got home. He figured if he was going to stay up anyway, he might as well do it whilst in someone's company.

Cloud sat and used this hospital room as his private dining hall, eating evening meals he had picked up from the cafeteria or from a fast food joint outside. He also sometimes checked his phone while he ate, reading articles, playing games. It was nice and quiet, just how he liked it. And while he did these things he also cast glances over at the sleeping man. The glances turned to gazes, where he studied the man's face and the way his chest rose and fell, shallow and at rest.

Sometimes he got stuck in his head, replaying all that he knew of the other man and all he had seen on TV. It was a peaceful, quiet evening in early spring. He had a tray of hospital food in his lap, his phone in one hand, and a spork in the other when the thoughts that bothered him the most fell out of his mouth in a hushed tone, "What kind of food do you like, Zack? Bet the answer isn't hospital food," he muttered whilst putting another forkful of green mush into his mouth.

Predictably, there was no response.

"I know what school you went to. I know how hard you worked to get to where you were. I vaguely know about the mission you were on when this happened to you—that's all the news talks about. Well, they also talk about how whatever you were involved with is still highly top secret so the public isn't allowed to know the specific details of it. It's been nearly two months now since you landed here, and who knows how much time you spent in the field hospital before you were brought here. Smells like a cover-up, if you ask me. I hope you're not gonna be like some scapegoat for them." That thought riled Cloud up, but he relaxed with a huf and changed the subject, "But anyway, all that stuff in the media doesn't actually answer the real questions I have, like… what's your favorite color? Why did you think that mullet was a good look for you in high school? Yeah, the news channels love pulling out that photo of you in your yearbook."

More silence greeted him and Cloud also fell silent again.

He kept his visitations up, he kept asking Zack random things but got bored of not having anything answered and soon ran out of things he wondered about without repeating himself. So instead, he used Zack as a way to vent his frustrations with work, and some of the people he had to engage with.

"Did you know that Mr. Storgeno wanted all blue cocktail umbrellas? Well, I didn't either, until he opened up the box right in front of me and started complaining about it. Like I packed that box myself and purposefully put green and red umbrellas into the packet, just to spite him. Kinda wish I had," he finished in a mutter.

He had many more stories to tell about how he—the messenger—got shot, in the proverbial sense. Venting like this made Cloud feel lighter every time he left the hospital at the end of his day.

That was Cloud's life; struggle to wake in the mornings, struggle to stay awake in the day during work, dealing with pleasant and unpleasant people alike, and then dropping by the hospital on the days it was on his roster, to chill out before going home, where he'd have a battle to shut off in order to get a good night's sleep.

The days and weeks passed. The military continued their stance of keeping quiet to protect national interests, and so, public interest diminished. The media in front of the hospital dwindled, there were no more sensational headlines, and news of Zack Fair faded into the background and complete obscurity as the months' Zack spent in hospital turned to three.

Cloud still caught sight of the occasional military uniform, much to his chagrin. He managed to avoid them mostly, and came and went undetected as Zack's security didn't seem very dedicated to their job, especially as the public no longer had any interest in the man stuck in the ICU ward.

It was one unremarkable evening; Cloud had finished all his deliveries, except one. Exhaustion clung to him, weighing him down. He went to the coffee station on his way to Zack's room, pulling his hat over his face as he passed the goons, who stood near the coffee station, cups in hands.

"Did ya hear that they're gonna continue paying him an on-active-duty wage? The guy's barely alive from what I've seen," grumbled a burly military man into his cup of coffee.

"And here we are, gettin' paid less than the guy we are here to guard. Just makes ya wanna spit," the smaller of the two men responded.

"I'll tell ya what, Burrcott, if I were in charge of the budget I'd find better things to spend it on. Why's he even need all this special attention? Stick him in the public sector. My sister-in-law's a nurse over at the fifth district. Says they have all the same equipment."

"The big wigs gotta put on a show. Make it look like they actually give a shit about their employees. Makes for a hella PR stunt."

"Ya don't think the whole thing was a setup to begin with, do ya?"

"No clue. They tell us jack shit."

Cloud had enough. He slapped on a lid for his coffee rather violently and spilled nearly half his drink. Hissing, he grabbed for napkins to mop up the mess and dry himself off a little. He felt eyes on himself and lowered his head, as well as turning away slightly. He unfortunately still heard it though—

"Ya heard the rumors that General Strife's son doing deliveries around here, haven't ya?"

Cloud's nostrils flared.

"Deliveries…" a derisive laugh followed. "Is that the only thing that kid's good for? If that was my son I'd be disappointed. I heard everyone in that family has some foot in the army. To be doing deliveries—" disappointed tutting followed.

"I know what ya mean. But I guess that's what you get when you suck at everything. I heard he got booted out 'cause he was trying to suck up to a General, 'n' now he's here trying to suck up to a nearly-dead guy."

They laughed.

Cloud grit his teeth and threw the soiled napkins in the bin. He strode off, coffee and bouquet in each hand, heading down the hall and away from the muttonheads.

He barged into Zack's room, dumped the bouquet at the foot of the bed and started pacing. "What do they even know. None of it's true. I didn't…" He huffed and his cheeks burned. He looked at the man in bed, and refocused his rage. "How dare those jerks talk about you like that. After all you did. This is what I hate. The backstabbing, two-faced bullshit. Being treated like a number and a burden!"

He was in full swing—pacing around the room and fuming. "I can see it in their smug, douchey faces, you know. The derision. The pity. I don't need anyone's pity. I never asked for anyone's pity. And they throw that same shit at you. At least you can't see or hear it. You're a national hero, but they try to brush you off like you don't exist. Like you're broken. That's what they all do, you know. If you don't cut it they cut you off, and let you go." Cloud stomped, his hands flew around wildly gesticulating as he kept ranting, "They love nothing more than to hammer home what an epic disappointment you are to the whole fucking family," he slammed his fist into the wall with a low growl. The pain radiated up his arm. It helped to sober him and cool him off a little. He breathed furiously and stared at the wall, which had become rather blurry through the tears welling up in his eyes.

He listened to the buzzing of machinery in the room. His ragged breathing and the steady beeping of Zack's heart rate monitor cut through the slight ringing in his ears. Yet the beeping sounded a fraction faster than it had been before.

"Sorry," Cloud muttered and turned back to face the room. He stared at Zack's unchanging body for a while before he shuffled back toward the comatose man. Picking up the bouquet as he went, he sank down into the now-familiar chair and placed the flowers on the table where he should have put them to begin with. "I hate it, y'know. I hate what you do and the organization you work for. And if you were to wake up right now—well, I'd hate to think that I'd probably hate you too." His heart felt heavy. Most of all he hated that he spoke the truth. As upset as he felt right now, he wasn't saying this to be vindictive; nothing but honesty left his mouth.

He gave a hard stare at the man on the bed before him. His face was turned away, and Cloud thought it for the best as he spoke in a slow, semi-whisper, "A part of me hopes you won't pull through." He cast his eyes to the floor and felt awful admitting it. "I don't want to be here. I don't want to be doing this. And most of all, I don't wanna know you because… because if I got to actually know you through something other than the media, I'd probably end up really liking you. It's easy to hate you when they espouse you to be the poster child of the military. I don't want to like you. I don't want to hate you. Fuck… I don't know."

Cloud clutched his head, flinging off his hat and rubbing at his hair furiously. "I don't mean that. I'd rather think the best of you, really. But…" he sighed, "you also don't seem like someone I would ever get along with. Everyone seems to love you—I mean, I don't think I've ever seen a room so full of flowers and get-well wishes on cards. You know, the cleaners have to clear out your room once a week to stop this place from becoming a jungle? That's how much people like you. I mean, I don't know if they are from personal friends and family or the public, but… it doesn't even matter. It's been three months and you still get so much love showered your way. You're like an amazing poster child. The media made it sound like you were a prodigy; super good at your job; such a bright future ahead of you. That's what I hear the shitheads outside say about you too—the ones who envy you. That's what it is, you know, jealousy and envy. And I know because…" he huffed. "But here you are, nearly dead. Bet no one envies that. Bet they wouldn't have the guts to be the kind of guy you were—are. I don't even know whether you're dead or alive. All I know is that you're everything I hate in a person. You're everything I wish I could have been. Shit. I don't know. I'm just ranting, ignore me." Cloud sat up straight and replaced his hat.

With a heavy sigh, he continued, "It's a pretty shit way to feel about someone, especially since I don't even know you. Look, I guess all I know is that from everything I've seen and heard, you sound… really irritating. I guess it's not the fairest assessment to be making about a person." Cloud, leaning back down to rest his forearms on his thighs, knit his fingers together and stared at his hands. "I probably sound like a real asshole. I guess I am. And to be honest, if you woke up and I found out you were somewhat of an asshole, that would make me like you more. It would give you a redeemable quality." Cloud huffed out some sad amusement and looked up at the man he had just admonished. "Or maybe I want you to be an ass so I can feel better about myself."

He righted himself from where he had slumped. "But all that being said… I actually kind of do hope you pull through. I'm not evil. Or maybe I am." Cloud cast a glance toward the currently frosted-over privacy windows that looked into the ICU ward. "I want you to prove everyone out there wrong. It's disgusting the derisive pity and platitudes they all spout. I'm sure you deserve better than that. I'm sure you don't need their shit." Cloud sighed and picked up the coffee cup he had set down amongst the bouquets. He took a sip and grimaced. "And I'm also pretty sure I deserve better coffee than this." He aimed and threw the cup toward the bin near the door. He hit his mark and collected himself so he could walk out of the room with an air of aloofness.

"Anyway, good chat, I guess. See you later."