All the summary info and stuff can be found in the first chapter.
Return to Me
Chapter Two
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The sky always holds a certain scent to it when its planning on raining, something strikingly familiar and out of place, it seemed. Out of what he had come to understand was the ordinary. Someone had dragged him out here, and it was going to rain. He tried to say something, but he instead got a mouthful of something warm, damp, thick, reminding him somehow of shower water. Fabric, maybe? Someone's shirt?
Why a shirt would be pressed up against his mouth was beyond him. His body didn't seem to be working correctly (oh, this is a dream, right?), moving when he did not tell it to and remaining still when he did. His senses were mingling together somehow, and voices became colors and colors became the scratchy feeling on his face. Nothing was working right, or maybe it was working too well and his mind wasn't working correctly.
Something flashed, a loud color (no, colors aren't loud..) or a voice? A voice, a familiar voice. But the colors didn't seem to form words and the voice kept speaking louder and the colors responded in kind. This wasn't unfamiliar to him, it had happened before, but not here.. somewhere else, somewhere far away. He had to work through it, and things would find themselves out.
"...and don't you worry about a thing, kid." (That's Zack...)
And with a disconcerting snap and a twinge of anguish, the separate realities focused into one as he realized what was happening. He struggled to gain control of his drooping limbs, but, as it was in every nightmare, it was a worthless attempt. He was trapped inside his own mind with no way to tell Zack that he was in danger and no way to protect him from what would inevitably come. It wouldn't work, he knew in the back of his mind, it never worked. He had been inside this dream before, he had lived it far too many times, and it didn't matter what he did, it would not work.
"See? We're almost to Midgar now. Wasn't so bad, was it."
His eyes were finally taking in images the way they should, and he could make out the compact navy ridges of the shirt he was pressed against. His voice worked up in his throat, feeling raw and unformed, just out or reach in the far corners of his mouth. He attempted to harness it, to warn Zack of the impending danger, but opened his mouth only to receive another taste of fabric.
"Zaaaaghh..."
His face lifted, probably something to do with the warm touch on his chin, and the shoulder he had been resting against shifted as a pair of glowing silver orbs focused on him. Concern glinted there, discernable by the knitting of the ebony eyebrows and the creases in the tanned skin between them. Zack's face. Zack's eyes.
"Shh, hang on, kiddo.. we're almost there."
Zack's voice was quiet, calming, gentle, but underneath the surface, it was strained and tired, weary yet hopeful in the same tone. He could now feel the strong arm snaked around his waist, supporting him, and the drag of his strangely loose boots on the rocky ground. They had started moving again, though he didn't remember stopping.
He began to panic. Don't put me down... use me as a shield, Zack... don't let them take you away from me... again...
He could hear the heartbeat beneath the ridges in the shirt, thumping quickly, and warm breath moved through his hair. Gasping, he again tried to make some sort of noise or indication, some kind of distraction, anything, but he couldn't. He couldn't choke out a word of warning or move his fingers or.. anything. He was caught inside his own dream, his own memory, and he couldn't do anything about it.
He could not even breathe.
When they came, they were rhythmic taps, perfectly spaced from each other like the sound of rain pattering against a tin roof, only far too even. They were far away, across a reddish boulder and down part of a cliff. His boots had been scraping through the sparsely scattered grass and rocks, but now they were stopped. Zack was stopping. And from the shift in his shoulder, thusly noted by his half-conscious burden, it was easy to guess he was looking back.
He was being laid on the ground in the shelter of a larger rock. Zack's voice purred in his ears and he tried to respond to the lips brushing gently across his cheek. The words seemed to flit about just out of reach and comprehension, something about coming back, and there was something that needed to take care of. Unable to warn him or react, he felt himself slump to the side, forcing one hand up in a useless gesture to stop the other, though heaven knew he'd tried.
Zack took the hand in his own, and kissed the fingertips, as though this time, this time he wouldn't be left alone, that Zack wouldn't leave him again. But his hand was laid aside and instead Zack's fingers brushed his cheek and then were gone.
Tears formed unshed in his half-closed eyes. Don't go, Zack... they're going to kill you...
The sounds from beyond the rock where he lay were familiar to him, the sounds of the large buster sword slashing through the metal and the clanking of the severed machines as they tumbled to the ground. There were shouts, more slashes, then nothing. He felt the first drops of rain hit his face as he lay there, helpless even as Zack returned and knelt by him, the sword stained with deep crimson that dripped down off the silver steel.
There are more, more beyond the first ones! Run, run, run, leave me here, run run runrunrunrun... gods, Zack, please!
Zack did not hear his silent plea. He never did. Even as he opened his mouth to speak again, another set of gunfire rang through the night, and suddenly Zack was not there. Boots were running by, he thought they might step on him, but they did not, they just ran on, ignoring him. They were going toward the other body lying amidst the rocks.
The gunfire was endless, and the rain started.
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He was sitting straight up in bed, staring breathlessly at his hands and mistaking the sweat on his brow for the rain, just like every time he awoke from this nightmare. He found himself blinking back tears that didn't seem to be there and swallowing against a raw throat. The seeming lack of air in his lungs was making him dizzy.
"Cloud..! Oh, calm down." Tifa's was emanating from somewhere to his left and he turned his head as a pair of cool hands took his shoulders and gently pushed him back down on the bed. He complied, letting his shoulders press into the firm, yet soft mattress. His head was swimming and he felt warm. Tifa placed something cool against his forehead and sighed. "You finally woke up," she murmured, sounding relieved.
He turned his head to look at her. "...was I talking in my sleep?" he asked quietly, and the scratchy feeling in the back of his throat easily told him the answer.
"Yeah...it's all right. You've got a fever," she responded, and held up a glass for him. "Here--drink this. Cold water." She waited until he took the cup from her extended hand before continuing. "I thought you were delirious for a while, but it was Zack who found you. He heard you; his room is just down the hall."
He coughed, momentarily forgetting that Zack had indeed returned the night before. Brushing away the concerned noise Tifa made in response, he took another sip of the water, then handing her the empty cup. "Where is Zack?" he asked softly, his throat feeling less like it was on fire, though he still didn't want to push it more than necessary.
"I'm right here," came the all too familiar voice, coming from the doorway, and all eyes were turned to the speaker simultaneously. Zack was leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded, but he looked up as he spoke. He then pushed away from the wall and approached the opposite of the bed as Tifa. His gait was rigid, as though trying to compensate for a limp that wasn't there or just wasn't noticeable. He grabbed a chair and sat in it backwards, his arms leaning against the back of the chair. He was frowning just a little, giving Cloud an odd look for a long moment before glancing up at the room's other occupant. "Tifa? Can we...have a moment?" he asked quietly.
She blinked a moment in surprise, but nodded as she stood. "Sure thing," she murmured as she made her way towards the door. "If you need anything, I'll be downstairs." She awaited Zack's nod and then shuffled from the room, closing the door behind her.
Cloud sat up in bed, propping a pillow up behind his back. A wave of dizziness hit him, but he ignored it. Zack was looking at him, staring at him, seeming to take in all the details there. He realized he must be doing the same thing, noting how the silvery blue of Zack's eyes were just as bright as he had remembered them, how his cheekbones were slightly more pronounced than they were before, how he now bore a scar on his right temple--just a scratch, it seemed, noticeable only to one who was staring. Like he was.
Zack spoke, then, shattering the silent barrier between them, asking what Cloud knew he would and did not want to answer. "You were dreaming about me? About...that night?" His voice was quieter than it had been, quiet to the point where Cloud might not have heard him had he not known the question before it was asked.
His hands suddenly became the focus of his gaze, his fingers intertwining with one another, his palms damp and sliding back and forth in an unintentionally rhythmic pattern. "Yeah." His voice wasn't more than a whisper, but it was loud enough. "It's not the first time."
Another hand reached across the blankets and came to rest atop his own. He studied the change intently, not wanting to look up at Zack. The hand was larger than his, though not by a whole lot, the palm calloused and worn. He recognized the line of hardened skin along Zack's palm not only from years ago when these hands had been so much of his life, but he recognized the touch from that of the calluses on his own palms. It was the mark of a swordsman, or maybe just someone tagging along who ended up using a sword that didn't belong to him.
He remembered coming back from missions with AVALANCHE in which his palms were bloody and blistered and that didn't make any sense because he had been using a sword for seven years, hadn't he? Why would his skin rub raw? Tifa had seen them once after he had removed his gloves and had scolded him for fifteen minutes while wrapping them up. Now his hands were hardened to the grip of the overly heavy sword, welcoming the feeling of the wooden hilt that still felt just a little bit odd.
"Cloud.. I'm sorry about what happened last night." Zack's voice was devoid of the mirth he remembered there almost always being in his undertones. "I guess I just assumed things were just like they were before. We...should probably talk about this, hmm?"
There was nothing to talk about. Zack likely had his assumptions about why he had been rejected, and they were likely all wrong as well. He did not look up from his hands, his or Zack's, which remain atop. He did not want to talk about his reasons. He did not think he could. "I don't think there's anything to talk about, Zack," he heard himself quietly say.
A pause. He did not look up from the pile of hands, even as Zack slowly, almost reluctantly removed his from the other two. "What's that supposed to mean?" His voice was low. Not angry, not accusing, but low, almost hurt. Sad.
Cloud felt his heart freeze in his chest as this occurred to him. He couldn't remember ever making Zack sad before, not in anything he had done or said, not in any action. Circumstances had made Zack cringe, made him swear, sweat, whatever. But now...Cloud had said something, and Zack's reactions were completely his fault. He couldn't look up, he couldn't even speak his apology. The air was stagnant and hot in his lungs and he couldn't breathe it properly.
Zack took his body language to mean a different sort of guilt. He felt Zack shift in his chair, heard the scrape of the chair legs against the hardwood floor. "Look...Cloud...." His voice was still low, laced with that melancholy Cloud had heard before, but it was apologetic at the same time. "Look. I can understand if there's someone else, I know you thought I--"
"Zack." His voice was quiet, demure, but enough so that silenced the other man. "Zack, there is no one else, there never was. I just... I just can't right now, okay?" He found his eyes adverted again, his gaze pointed distractedly at the other side of the room. It felt odd to be upset around Zack and not let him comfort. It felt wrong not to cry when he needed to and Zack was there.
But he wasn't the boy Zack had loved six years ago. He was someone else, now. A shadow, a puppet with no strings, left abandoned. He was nothing anymore, and Zack failed to see that. He never had been worthy of the other man's attentions, but now, he was less than nothing. He couldn't shake the odd feelings he felt when he saw Zack walk, recognizing the gait in his own step. The way he talked, acted, fought, dressed--it was all Zack. It was all wrong, everything he was now had been stolen because Zack was everything he had wanted to be and so he had chosen to live in a Mako drenched dream as his idol and the man he loved.
For a while, he had not hated himself. And now, that self-loathing was worse than before.
"Okay...I understand," Zack was saying in a voice that clearly stated that he did not understand, but he'd accept this. Cloud sometimes thought Zack never really understood most things about him, but that didn't matter because Zack had always tried to understand and had always cared, regardless of whether or not he understood. "It's all right, Cloud.. just let me..."
He allowed Zack's fingers to turn his chin towards the older man and he did not resist when tenderly pressed his lips against Cloud's. Zack kept the kiss brief, but let it lack none in fervor. After pulling away, Cloud was still breathless when the other man stood. Zack leaned down, a casual smirk making him look so much more handsome. He felt the fingers mess with his hair and heard Zack's voice. "Get some sleep and get better soon, kiddo. You know, if I get sick, it's your fault--"
Cloud threw the pillow at him.
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End of Chapter 2. I swear this will get a little more interesting next chapter. ~_~ Please review.
Return to Me
Chapter Two
-------
The sky always holds a certain scent to it when its planning on raining, something strikingly familiar and out of place, it seemed. Out of what he had come to understand was the ordinary. Someone had dragged him out here, and it was going to rain. He tried to say something, but he instead got a mouthful of something warm, damp, thick, reminding him somehow of shower water. Fabric, maybe? Someone's shirt?
Why a shirt would be pressed up against his mouth was beyond him. His body didn't seem to be working correctly (oh, this is a dream, right?), moving when he did not tell it to and remaining still when he did. His senses were mingling together somehow, and voices became colors and colors became the scratchy feeling on his face. Nothing was working right, or maybe it was working too well and his mind wasn't working correctly.
Something flashed, a loud color (no, colors aren't loud..) or a voice? A voice, a familiar voice. But the colors didn't seem to form words and the voice kept speaking louder and the colors responded in kind. This wasn't unfamiliar to him, it had happened before, but not here.. somewhere else, somewhere far away. He had to work through it, and things would find themselves out.
"...and don't you worry about a thing, kid." (That's Zack...)
And with a disconcerting snap and a twinge of anguish, the separate realities focused into one as he realized what was happening. He struggled to gain control of his drooping limbs, but, as it was in every nightmare, it was a worthless attempt. He was trapped inside his own mind with no way to tell Zack that he was in danger and no way to protect him from what would inevitably come. It wouldn't work, he knew in the back of his mind, it never worked. He had been inside this dream before, he had lived it far too many times, and it didn't matter what he did, it would not work.
"See? We're almost to Midgar now. Wasn't so bad, was it."
His eyes were finally taking in images the way they should, and he could make out the compact navy ridges of the shirt he was pressed against. His voice worked up in his throat, feeling raw and unformed, just out or reach in the far corners of his mouth. He attempted to harness it, to warn Zack of the impending danger, but opened his mouth only to receive another taste of fabric.
"Zaaaaghh..."
His face lifted, probably something to do with the warm touch on his chin, and the shoulder he had been resting against shifted as a pair of glowing silver orbs focused on him. Concern glinted there, discernable by the knitting of the ebony eyebrows and the creases in the tanned skin between them. Zack's face. Zack's eyes.
"Shh, hang on, kiddo.. we're almost there."
Zack's voice was quiet, calming, gentle, but underneath the surface, it was strained and tired, weary yet hopeful in the same tone. He could now feel the strong arm snaked around his waist, supporting him, and the drag of his strangely loose boots on the rocky ground. They had started moving again, though he didn't remember stopping.
He began to panic. Don't put me down... use me as a shield, Zack... don't let them take you away from me... again...
He could hear the heartbeat beneath the ridges in the shirt, thumping quickly, and warm breath moved through his hair. Gasping, he again tried to make some sort of noise or indication, some kind of distraction, anything, but he couldn't. He couldn't choke out a word of warning or move his fingers or.. anything. He was caught inside his own dream, his own memory, and he couldn't do anything about it.
He could not even breathe.
When they came, they were rhythmic taps, perfectly spaced from each other like the sound of rain pattering against a tin roof, only far too even. They were far away, across a reddish boulder and down part of a cliff. His boots had been scraping through the sparsely scattered grass and rocks, but now they were stopped. Zack was stopping. And from the shift in his shoulder, thusly noted by his half-conscious burden, it was easy to guess he was looking back.
He was being laid on the ground in the shelter of a larger rock. Zack's voice purred in his ears and he tried to respond to the lips brushing gently across his cheek. The words seemed to flit about just out of reach and comprehension, something about coming back, and there was something that needed to take care of. Unable to warn him or react, he felt himself slump to the side, forcing one hand up in a useless gesture to stop the other, though heaven knew he'd tried.
Zack took the hand in his own, and kissed the fingertips, as though this time, this time he wouldn't be left alone, that Zack wouldn't leave him again. But his hand was laid aside and instead Zack's fingers brushed his cheek and then were gone.
Tears formed unshed in his half-closed eyes. Don't go, Zack... they're going to kill you...
The sounds from beyond the rock where he lay were familiar to him, the sounds of the large buster sword slashing through the metal and the clanking of the severed machines as they tumbled to the ground. There were shouts, more slashes, then nothing. He felt the first drops of rain hit his face as he lay there, helpless even as Zack returned and knelt by him, the sword stained with deep crimson that dripped down off the silver steel.
There are more, more beyond the first ones! Run, run, run, leave me here, run run runrunrunrun... gods, Zack, please!
Zack did not hear his silent plea. He never did. Even as he opened his mouth to speak again, another set of gunfire rang through the night, and suddenly Zack was not there. Boots were running by, he thought they might step on him, but they did not, they just ran on, ignoring him. They were going toward the other body lying amidst the rocks.
The gunfire was endless, and the rain started.
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He was sitting straight up in bed, staring breathlessly at his hands and mistaking the sweat on his brow for the rain, just like every time he awoke from this nightmare. He found himself blinking back tears that didn't seem to be there and swallowing against a raw throat. The seeming lack of air in his lungs was making him dizzy.
"Cloud..! Oh, calm down." Tifa's was emanating from somewhere to his left and he turned his head as a pair of cool hands took his shoulders and gently pushed him back down on the bed. He complied, letting his shoulders press into the firm, yet soft mattress. His head was swimming and he felt warm. Tifa placed something cool against his forehead and sighed. "You finally woke up," she murmured, sounding relieved.
He turned his head to look at her. "...was I talking in my sleep?" he asked quietly, and the scratchy feeling in the back of his throat easily told him the answer.
"Yeah...it's all right. You've got a fever," she responded, and held up a glass for him. "Here--drink this. Cold water." She waited until he took the cup from her extended hand before continuing. "I thought you were delirious for a while, but it was Zack who found you. He heard you; his room is just down the hall."
He coughed, momentarily forgetting that Zack had indeed returned the night before. Brushing away the concerned noise Tifa made in response, he took another sip of the water, then handing her the empty cup. "Where is Zack?" he asked softly, his throat feeling less like it was on fire, though he still didn't want to push it more than necessary.
"I'm right here," came the all too familiar voice, coming from the doorway, and all eyes were turned to the speaker simultaneously. Zack was leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded, but he looked up as he spoke. He then pushed away from the wall and approached the opposite of the bed as Tifa. His gait was rigid, as though trying to compensate for a limp that wasn't there or just wasn't noticeable. He grabbed a chair and sat in it backwards, his arms leaning against the back of the chair. He was frowning just a little, giving Cloud an odd look for a long moment before glancing up at the room's other occupant. "Tifa? Can we...have a moment?" he asked quietly.
She blinked a moment in surprise, but nodded as she stood. "Sure thing," she murmured as she made her way towards the door. "If you need anything, I'll be downstairs." She awaited Zack's nod and then shuffled from the room, closing the door behind her.
Cloud sat up in bed, propping a pillow up behind his back. A wave of dizziness hit him, but he ignored it. Zack was looking at him, staring at him, seeming to take in all the details there. He realized he must be doing the same thing, noting how the silvery blue of Zack's eyes were just as bright as he had remembered them, how his cheekbones were slightly more pronounced than they were before, how he now bore a scar on his right temple--just a scratch, it seemed, noticeable only to one who was staring. Like he was.
Zack spoke, then, shattering the silent barrier between them, asking what Cloud knew he would and did not want to answer. "You were dreaming about me? About...that night?" His voice was quieter than it had been, quiet to the point where Cloud might not have heard him had he not known the question before it was asked.
His hands suddenly became the focus of his gaze, his fingers intertwining with one another, his palms damp and sliding back and forth in an unintentionally rhythmic pattern. "Yeah." His voice wasn't more than a whisper, but it was loud enough. "It's not the first time."
Another hand reached across the blankets and came to rest atop his own. He studied the change intently, not wanting to look up at Zack. The hand was larger than his, though not by a whole lot, the palm calloused and worn. He recognized the line of hardened skin along Zack's palm not only from years ago when these hands had been so much of his life, but he recognized the touch from that of the calluses on his own palms. It was the mark of a swordsman, or maybe just someone tagging along who ended up using a sword that didn't belong to him.
He remembered coming back from missions with AVALANCHE in which his palms were bloody and blistered and that didn't make any sense because he had been using a sword for seven years, hadn't he? Why would his skin rub raw? Tifa had seen them once after he had removed his gloves and had scolded him for fifteen minutes while wrapping them up. Now his hands were hardened to the grip of the overly heavy sword, welcoming the feeling of the wooden hilt that still felt just a little bit odd.
"Cloud.. I'm sorry about what happened last night." Zack's voice was devoid of the mirth he remembered there almost always being in his undertones. "I guess I just assumed things were just like they were before. We...should probably talk about this, hmm?"
There was nothing to talk about. Zack likely had his assumptions about why he had been rejected, and they were likely all wrong as well. He did not look up from his hands, his or Zack's, which remain atop. He did not want to talk about his reasons. He did not think he could. "I don't think there's anything to talk about, Zack," he heard himself quietly say.
A pause. He did not look up from the pile of hands, even as Zack slowly, almost reluctantly removed his from the other two. "What's that supposed to mean?" His voice was low. Not angry, not accusing, but low, almost hurt. Sad.
Cloud felt his heart freeze in his chest as this occurred to him. He couldn't remember ever making Zack sad before, not in anything he had done or said, not in any action. Circumstances had made Zack cringe, made him swear, sweat, whatever. But now...Cloud had said something, and Zack's reactions were completely his fault. He couldn't look up, he couldn't even speak his apology. The air was stagnant and hot in his lungs and he couldn't breathe it properly.
Zack took his body language to mean a different sort of guilt. He felt Zack shift in his chair, heard the scrape of the chair legs against the hardwood floor. "Look...Cloud...." His voice was still low, laced with that melancholy Cloud had heard before, but it was apologetic at the same time. "Look. I can understand if there's someone else, I know you thought I--"
"Zack." His voice was quiet, demure, but enough so that silenced the other man. "Zack, there is no one else, there never was. I just... I just can't right now, okay?" He found his eyes adverted again, his gaze pointed distractedly at the other side of the room. It felt odd to be upset around Zack and not let him comfort. It felt wrong not to cry when he needed to and Zack was there.
But he wasn't the boy Zack had loved six years ago. He was someone else, now. A shadow, a puppet with no strings, left abandoned. He was nothing anymore, and Zack failed to see that. He never had been worthy of the other man's attentions, but now, he was less than nothing. He couldn't shake the odd feelings he felt when he saw Zack walk, recognizing the gait in his own step. The way he talked, acted, fought, dressed--it was all Zack. It was all wrong, everything he was now had been stolen because Zack was everything he had wanted to be and so he had chosen to live in a Mako drenched dream as his idol and the man he loved.
For a while, he had not hated himself. And now, that self-loathing was worse than before.
"Okay...I understand," Zack was saying in a voice that clearly stated that he did not understand, but he'd accept this. Cloud sometimes thought Zack never really understood most things about him, but that didn't matter because Zack had always tried to understand and had always cared, regardless of whether or not he understood. "It's all right, Cloud.. just let me..."
He allowed Zack's fingers to turn his chin towards the older man and he did not resist when tenderly pressed his lips against Cloud's. Zack kept the kiss brief, but let it lack none in fervor. After pulling away, Cloud was still breathless when the other man stood. Zack leaned down, a casual smirk making him look so much more handsome. He felt the fingers mess with his hair and heard Zack's voice. "Get some sleep and get better soon, kiddo. You know, if I get sick, it's your fault--"
Cloud threw the pillow at him.
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End of Chapter 2. I swear this will get a little more interesting next chapter. ~_~ Please review.