Trinity

Three

Cloud smelled smoke.

His first reaction was that there was a surprise attack and the tent caught on fire. It had happened before, when they had thought they were in relatively safe territory only woke up to find their food supplies burning. There really wasn't much one could do against hundreds of fire arrows suddenly appearing in the dark. Cloud sniffed again. It was smoke, no doubt, but not the kind he recognized. He opened his eyes slightly; shadows played in the dim pre-dawn and a tiny orange glow wavered on his right side. He sniffed once more and faintly distinguished the scent of cloves.

Cigarettes. And since Cloud himself was obviously not the culprit, it could only be –

His eyes snapped open at the thought. Vincent never smoked except under extreme circumstances. Circumstances such as the time when they had been under siege near Kingston Mines, surrounded by armies four times their size with no incoming supply of food or rescue. Vincent had smoked then. A full pack in the course of thirty minutes. Cloud felt a shudder pass through him – not many men were alive when they had risked it all and finally broken free. He still had the scars to remember it by.

Cigarettes and Vincent meant more than trouble. Cloud nearly bolted up from the bed, but one look at the brunet's profile and he caught himself. Vincent's dark brows were furrowed, his eyes two bright dots of coal under the weak dawn light. His long hair was swept to one side, cascading over the right shoulder and hanging in front of his chest. The cigarette glowed from his right hand, held tight between slender fingers. The cover was drawn up to his waist, exposing all of Vincent's back from shoulder to tailbone. It was there that Cloud retained his staring.

Extending from the middle of Vincent's shoulder blades to the curve tip of his spine was the image of a huge silver cross, archaic-styled and flourished with gothic embellishments on its sides. Engraved in the middle were the words "Adveniat Regnum Tuum." Cloud had asked him where he got it before, but all he could get out of Vincent was a shrug and a "souvenir of the past," whatever that meant. Cloud didn't press the matter further. It wasn't his secret.

He had always loved the feel of the cross when his fingers glimmered across its surface as Vincent lay on top of him. Now, the cross practically glowed. Cloud wanted to reach out and touch it, run his hands all over and bath in its glory.

Vincent shifted, and Cloud snapped out of his observation. The blond sat up quietly, leaning forward to join Vincent's side of the bed.

"Those are bad for you, you know." Cloud said.

He saw Vincent's lips curve. "You're bad for me, too." The brunet retorted, turning slightly and giving Cloud a sideway glance.

"Something bothering you?"

"No."

"Liar," Cloud chided softly. "Did General Sephiroth give you a hard time?"

At the mention of that name, Vincent stiffened. Aha, Cloud thought, jackpot. He watched as Vincent drew a final puff, then extinguished the butt with his fingertips. Cloud hated it when Vincent did that, but thankfully he didn't have to witness it often. Vincent sighed.

"That bad, huh?" Cloud said, putting his head against Vincent's shoulder. "What happened?"

Vincent shook his head. Cloud leaned closer, patiently waited in silence. He knew the brunet wouldn't offer an explanation, but if he waited long enough, Vincent would at least give him an answer. Sometimes that was all he needed.

He was right, as usual. A moment later the man beside him turned his head, his lips brushing against Cloud's trademark spikes. "Hey, are you still sleepy?"

"No, I'm quite awake."

"Good. Want to cut my hair for me?"

"Want what?" Cloud looked up.

"Cut my hair."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Vincent said nothing. Cloud thought for a minute, considering the possible reasons and when coming up blank, shrugged carelessly. "Sure, if you like. Just bear in mind I've only cut my own before, so no guarantee on the outcome."

Cloud climbed off the bed and pulled on a pair of pants in the process (not the same one from the previous night on the floor). He found more candlesticks by the weapon rack and tacked them onto a small supply stand. By the time he fetched the matches and adjusted the light so it angled correctly, day was approaching fast, although it was still not sufficient enough inside the tent for something as delicate as the task at hand. He heard the scraping of a chair and turned, watching Vincent, now dressed in a long shirt draped to the top of his thighs, smooth back the messy pool of brown strands down his shoulders.

Cloud picked up a small dagger from his weaponry. "How short you want it?" he asked, wetting the blade with a cup of water.

"Regulation."

"What?!"

He nearly dropped the dagger onto his foot. He stared at the man sitting in the middle of the floor, expression neutral but Cloud knew, knew what kind of effort Vincent had exerted simply on saying those words. The brunet's jaw was clenched tight, his shoulder was relaxed but the biceps on his arms were moving slightly from strain. Cloud walked closer, eyes focused on his lover but still not believing he had heard correctly.

"But, that's going to, you know, show it."

"I think that's the point, Cloud."

"Whose point? Yours?"

It was a negation rather than a question. Vincent leaned on the chair's wooden back, a sigh escaped his lips as he tilted his head backwards against the top. "Not important right now."

"Of course it's important!" Cloud snapped, irritated. He stalked behind Vincent, wiping off the excess water on the knife onto the hair in front of him. He grabbed a handful of dark-brown, straightening it out and pulling a bit harder than necessary. "But if you don't want to tell me what's going on, I can't make you, can I?"

He placed the knife in his mouth and used his free hands to gather up more hair. Pulling a random string from one of his uniforms nearby, he grouped the hair's top layer and tied it into a ponytail. He then took the knife with the edge facing upward, put it directly next to the skin on Vincent's neck, and started slicing the rest of the hair in short strokes while carefully maneuvering the tip away from the ears.

Pieces of brown hair fell around them in a choppy stream. Cloud felt his irritation dissolve as his hands worked, and soon he relaxed almost completely. In contrast, Vincent was getting more and more visibly uncomfortable. Cloud didn't have to look at the brunet's face to know his expression. When the last bit of hair covering Vincent's neck gave way to the knife in his hand, Cloud paused, and looked at the ink-black number bleeding out from the pale skin.

He had never seen it up close, with the natural camouflage and all. But like the ever-present blessing of the tattoo, Cloud had felt the number's eternal curse with his fingertips on a few occasions. Vincent usually brushed his hands away, but once, on the night before a suicide mission, he had simply let Cloud do what he pleased. Cloud had traced its embossed surface, felt every curve and ridge of the five-digit sequence as they lay in the dark, their crosses tingling between their chests. Its power forever branded into the soul of its bearer.

Vincent had told Cloud he was lucky to have it at a place so easily concealed, but now…

Cloud put down the knife, afraid of his urge to direct its tip into the black writing and mangle them until their teeth stop biting into his lover's flesh. He saw the muscle of Vincent's neck move, and heard him ask, "Why're you stopping?"

"I needed to figure out what to do next." He half lied, backing up to fetch more water. "First time and all."

Vincent's voice contained a smile. "Indeed. How does it look?"

"Not as bad as you think."

Cloud wiped off the hair clinging to the knife. He then took hold of the ponytail, and carefully angled the blade so the actual tail was cut off in a slant. The curtain of hair fell forward as the knife went past. Cloud held onto the leftover strands, printing its texture into his memory. His effort was interrupted when Vincent spoke again.

"What do you think?"

Cloud let the mess of ponytail drop onto the floor. He revolved around the chair, stopping slowly in front Vincent and knelt down on one knee, their eyes leveled. "What exactly are we talking about here?"

Vincent's face looked unfamiliar, framed by the mid-cheek tendrils splayed from the sides. The ends looked too uniform. He stood up again, taking the knife to mount another assault. Vincent's hand came up just before they made contact, stopping Cloud by his wrist and holding on to him. His other hand reached and relieved Cloud off of his weapon. Cloud raised an eyebrow.

He received a small kiss on the inside of his wrist. "I can fix it later," said Vincent. "And I should go."

Cloud just then noticed the tent was lit up by the morning sun. They were standing in the middle of a patch of light, a floor of hair around them. Cloud grinned, shook his head, and said before Vincent could turn away, "No you're not. Think you can escape helping me clean up? You're not going anywhere until every single piece of your damn hair leaves this tent. Then you can – hey, are you listening to me? I'm not kidding here!" He yelled at Vincent, who's already scooping up scattered clothes on the floor.

The blond stumped his foot as if he were six years old again and throwing a tantrum. "This is my tent, you can't just do whatever you want! I outrank you, too, Lieutenant!" When his words fell on deaf ears, Cloud narrowed his eyes. He watched Vincent shrug on his shirt, buckle his pants, and chose that moment to jump directly on the brunet's back, tackling them both onto the floor beneath.

They rolled around like children fighting on the playground, bumping into various things and knocking over the chair in the middle. Cloud, being mostly unclothed, took the harder end of the bargain. The radial formation of the pieces of hair was disrupted and spread haphazardly across the tent. It didn't really matter, for they were both trying to hard to hold in the laughter and control their breathing to worry about the rest.

In the end Cloud emerged victorious, with four limbs atop four limbs in a quite compromising yet very effective position. Their heartbeats slowed down a little, just missing each other's in rhythm. Cloud laid his head down on Vincent's shirt, his cheek pressed into a cold button. "See?" he said softly. "I win. You're not allowed to leave now."

By then he had stopped exerting pressure on Vincent's limbs. The man below him didn't push up, but instead wrapped his arms tightly around Cloud's torso. They lay there, content in the lazy morning devoid of bloodshed and hunger and adrenaline. It was just the two of them, caught within their own kingdom of heaven among a wreckage of sin.

"Cloud?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

Cloud smiled widely in reply.

Reno did not want to do this job. He argued until his throat ached, but it fell like lead against his fellow Turks, whom on any other day fought each other like a pack of wolves but this time were surprisingly unanimous. Even Rude, with his sunglasses forever blinding his eyes, nodded curtly when asked upon. Reno 's mouth was opened long enough for three flies to waltz through but none of his comrades paid any attention. Elena and Tseng were giving him hard glares by the end, and Reno , for the first time in years, ran out of excuses.

He dragged his feet along the path toward the telltale tent, grumbling loudly to himself and earning many odd looks from the passer-bys. Reno didn't pay attention; he was pissed. He didn't want to be the messenger. Especially considering it was the morning after a battle, and it was them. Reno wanted nothing more than a good warm bath, some nice liquor, and maybe a whore he could pick up from Ancen later. He had no intention of finding his barrack buddy when the said barrack buddy didn't come back the previous night. And he knew exactly where Vincent was, and so did everyone else, and no, Reno did not want to set a foot near Major Strife's tent anytime before noon.

Nevertheless, he was less than a couple hundred meters away from his destination. Reno kicked a rock toward a tree, satisfied when hearing its loud thunk. He then picked up a branch and dragged it on the ground behind him. He wasn't going to arrive quiet and unannounced.

When he reached the flap of Cloud's tent Reno coughed, twice, and vocally damned David for deserting his post at such a crucial time. He waited while shuffling his feet back and forth in the dirt. He whistled, looked around, and coughed more. When all of his attempts rendered not a single response, Reno frowned and took a giant step forward. Fine, he thought, I'm going to enter and catch the two of you butt-naked on the bed and I won't to be the one doing the blushing.

He lifted the fabric and stepped inside, his attention immediately caught by the heap on the floor. Reno rolled his eyes; figures. At least they were dressed, although for one of them it consisted nothing but a pair of boxers. Reno 's gaze fell on top of Cloud's pert behind, rising slightly with the movement of the hands holding them. If Reno simply tilted his head, he could see up the leg openings of the boxers, helped by the pushing fingers, and then the entire view of the major's pale ass is –

Whoa! Reno shook his head. Goddamn but did he need to get laid! He quickly averted his eyes elsewhere, and caught sight of a jug of water by the entrance. Reno smirked evilly. He looked back (carefully focusing on other places) and saw the two were paying him zero attention, too absorbed in their shared kiss. Reno then quietly walked over, lifted and carried the clay jug, and promptly dumped its entire content on top of Cloud's spiked hair.

"Augh!" The cries below were simultaneous. Reno leapt back as Cloud swung up from the floor in one swift movement, blue eyes accusingly directed at him. " Reno , you fucking bastard! You could've just said something."

"I thought this is more effective," Reno said, laughing openly at Cloud shaking his head like a dog drying itself from a dip in the pond. "Serves ya right for not paying attention to your surroundings, blondie." He set down the jug and glanced over at Vincent, who was soaked to his chest like Cloud was. Reno squinted his eyes, what the -?

"Man, the hell happened to your head?"

Vincent said nothing. He calmly looked at Reno from his position on the floor, letting the water drip from his dark hair onto the collars of his shirt. Reno nearly cringed. Cloud watched from his side, wiping his face with a towel from the cloth rack.

"A change of pace," Vincent said, standing up slowly.

"Yeah," Reno stared. "Yeah, sure it is." The frown was distinct in his voice, laced with puzzlement and a bit of concern.

The redhead didn't want to ask, but he damn well knew what it meant. Hell, all Turks knew what it meant. It was the reason Rude wore his sunglasses, Elena never had on short sleeves, Tseng kept his chin tucked down most of the time and Reno himself never lifted up his shirttail. Now, as Vincent walked toward Cloud to get the offered towel, Reno willed himself to not look at the brunet. To look at that number, which he, if Reno was honest to himself, had always wondered about.

"What're you doing here?" Cloud asked, recapturing Reno 's attention.

"I can't just visit out of my own good will?" he drawled. "You know, he's supposed to be my barrack buddy and all. Shouldn't I worry about him some time?"

"Well, then," Cloud grinned, "if you care so much, why don't you give him a hand in cleaning up?"

Reno just then noticed the incalculable amount of hair on the floor. "No way!" he exclaimed, "I ain't gonna clean up the mess you made. Call it compensation for hurting my eyes when I walked in, how about that?"

"What's going on, Reno ?" Vincent spoke up. "You're not here without a purpose."

You got that right. "General Zack said we're staying put for a good while. Probably let us recoup and prepare for the next big one. We are really close to Nadia, yo. Anyway, that's the message I'm supposed to bring."

"That's it?" Cloud said.

"Yeah, that's it. What, you expectin' more?" Reno put his hands inside his pockets. "Just my fucking luck to deliver it to you two, though. But I'm done, so, see ya."

"Not so fast!" He was about to exit the tent when a hand latched onto his arm. "I got another question for you."

Reno turned to look at Cloud. The blond had an odd look in his bright eyes, and was that a faint blush on his cheeks? Must be from the earlier activity. Vincent had produced a broom from god-knows-where and was currently sweeping the floor, his eyes down but ears picking up their conversation perfectly.

"What?" Reno said.

"There had been . . . various rumors about me flying around, hadn't there?"

"Uh . . . huh?"

"General Zack had, um, mentioned it to me, but he refused to tell me exactly what they were. But, you should know, right? You must know."

Vincent paused in his motions and stared at them intensely. Reno gave him a look back, shrugged helplessly, and said. "Well, yeah, but blondie, they're kinda pointless now. So there's no need for ya to –"

"Tell me what they were."

"Come on, blondie –"

"Tell me. Please."

Reno didn't know what to say. It was old gossip, but of course he knew what the grunts had said when the major first transferred to their division. Hell, he started some of them himself, because it was fun at the time and who was there to argue about the blond's obvious sexuality. He thought Cloud had always known, but chose that trite route of selective deafness. What a horrible time to find out he was wrong!

He sighed. Might as well play this out, since the cat's out of the bag and roaming the streets quite freely.

"Well," Reno brought up his smirk, then leaned forward to talk right into Cloud's ear, "they're mostly about who is currently occupying your bed, blondie, with you in it, of course, and on their overall performances. It varies week by week, and I think some're still going on depends on who you ask."

"What?!" Cloud jerked back, but Reno only stepped forward with him.

"Aw, don't tell me you're really that surprised." His smile grew wider when he saw the flush on Cloud's face and Vincent giving him a disapproving look from the corner. "Blondie, you're some hot stuff. A lot of people would like to get themselves a piece of that." He squeezed the flesh under the boxers roughly, earning a good shove from the major hard enough to knock him onto the floor.

" Reno !"

Reno only laughed uncontrollably at the warning from Vincent and Cloud's look of disgust. The blond walked quickly away from him, then started dressing at a furious speed. Vincent sighed, resumed his sweeping. The floor was almost clean.

"Why didn't somebody tell me this before?" Cloud suddenly exclaimed. "Why-why didn't you tell me this, Vince?"

"Why would I need to tell you this?"

"Because . . . because! I should be aware of it!"

"Now you are. Did knowing that make your life better?"

Cloud turned exasperatedly. "That's not the point –"

"Then what is?"

"It –"

The entryway of the tent suddenly flapped open and David barged in. He skidded to a halt when he had fully taken in the scene, his first words came out stammered. "Uh, oh my – sorry. Major Strife, General Sephiroth wants to see you in his quarters."

"Now?" Cloud asked.

"Yes, sir. At once, sir."

"I'm on my way." Cloud said, finished up lacing up his boots and grabbed his outer gear. He gave a look of disdain to Reno , shouted "Don't wreck the place when I'm gone!" and walked out behind the private.

Reno stood up, stretching a bit and picking up a random sheet by the bed. He sauntered to his barrack mate, who had finished sweeping the hair into a pile, and bent down to put them into the bundle. Vincent knelt beside him.

"Why did you have to do that?" the brunet asked.

"Do what?"

"Push his buttons."

Reno laughed darkly. "Heh, simple. I don't like him. And who else can I mess with? You?"

"Major Strife is here, sir."

"Let him in."

Sephiroth put on his gloves. He looked up as Cloud Strife stepped inside the tent, dressed impeccably in his uniform and stood in a salute. Sephiroth waved his hand in dismissal, "At ease, Major. I hope I hadn't interrupted anything important."

"No sir," the major said, though Sephiroth didn't miss the rising blush on those high cheekbones. He looked at his watch: it was just past nine. Must've caught the – well, them – right as they woke up. Sephiroth's lips curved into a sneer, not quite friendly but a shade below malice. Well, Major, this won't be much different.

"How is Lieutenant Valentine?"

"He's . . . fine, sir."

Cloud's hesitance indicated his confusion. Sephiroth stepped away from his desk, flexing his hands. "Is he adjusting to his new appearance?"

"Yes, sir." The reply came quickly, but soon Cloud caught himself within the implications. "Uh, how do you know about that, sir?"

Sephiroth remained still where he stood. "Because I ordered it."

Blue eyes widened. "Sir, why?"

"As a punishment, Major." Sephiroth replied smoothly. "For blatantly ignoring the code, I thought I had let him off easy."

"Sir, the code said –"

The blond stopped short. Smart move. Sephiroth smirked. Strife had always been a good soldier. "I know very well what the code said. But I didn't call you here to discuss Lieutenant Valentine. How are you handling being back in my division? Have you met your troops yet?"

"No, sir. Not yet."

"Why didn't you meet them yesterday? The scout with General Zack had not taken all night, I presume."

"I, uh, no sir." The blond eyes darted back and forth in nervousness. They ended up staring at the ground by his feet. "I'm sorry, sir. I fell asleep soon afterwards and didn't wake up until this morning."

"Alone?"

He had to add that, just to watch Cloud Strife squirm like a fresh private again. He remembered other times, other circumstances where the same effect was generated. Sephiroth liked it, and was glad to see some things never change.

The negation was quiet and mumbled. Sephiroth crossed his arms. "Repetition of a crime immediately after being punished? I don't remember you being this disobedient three years ago. I should have a talk with General Zack about his methods of discipline." He moved closer to Cloud, stopping inches away from him. His voice became soft. "Don't you think?"

He lifted his hand and gently slid it under the blond's chin, tilting up the young face – more mature than he last had seen it – and stared openly. His fingers moved downwards, feeling the throat as he tried to remember exactly where that spot was. The leather glided along the smooth skin, accentuated at the hollow and landed in a small imperceptible dip –

– and the body arched into him, eyes glazed and mouth opened in a gasp that Sephiroth had wanted to fill ever since he laid his eyes on the blond again the previous day. Ah, that familiar tremor, designed by science and reserved just for him. Sephiroth's smirk grew wider, his other arm came up to clasp onto Cloud, preventing the attempted back-step and adequately caged the blond in.

"Sir!" the soldier fought him, but not well at all. Sephiroth turned his face, focusing on the ear and the earring that shone brightly upon it. His mark of conquest. He leaned down, ignoring the panicked look on the major's face and taking the flesh with his teeth and tongue, causing Cloud to practically fall into him and he heard a whimper of mercy. Just like old times, yes? Sephiroth thought darkly. Too bad you don't seem to remember it at all.

A movement out of the corner of his eye stopped him. Sephiroth paused, turned his attention toward the tent entrance and barely missed the figure standing to the side. His arm loosened by the distraction and the major immediately detached himself. Sephiroth ignored that for the time being, but called toward the source of light. "You may come in, Lieutenant."

The shadow hesitated, but stride in a moment later with solid steps. Sephiroth tightened his gloves, eyed with piqued interest at the entrance of the short haired Vincent Valentine. The lieutenant appeared calm, if one discounted the sparks of fire burning in his eyes.

"I don't remember summoning you, Valentine."

"You didn't. I came to accompany Major Strife, once he's done with the meeting. Is he?"

Hoho, he got even more balls this time, Sephiroth thought in amusement. He didn't miss the lack of honorifics and this was the Shinra army. It could earn Vincent a good beating if Sephiroth choose to.

And he chose to.

"No, he's not done, lieutenant." Sephiroth replied, reemphasizing their vast difference in rank. "So until he is I suggest you wait outside, unless, of course, you rather stay here and be a witness."

"To what?"

Sephiroth's voice dropped a notch. "To something pure between clean men, Valentine. Or should I say, number 24601. It's not someone as sullied as yourself should be concerned with."

He could pinpoint the exact second it took for Vincent to snap. The collectedness completely drained from his posture as he advanced toward Sephiroth. The general, however, was ready. Before a single syllable could get past those annoyingly perfect lips, Sephiroth raised his hand, tensed his muscles, and brought it down upon Vincent's face as hard as he could.