Disclaimer: In Kingdom Hearts, did Cloud become a permanent member of your party? Did he sing and dance around for the player's enjoyment? Did he burst out of Kingdom Hearts when Ansem did his whole dramatic theatrical hand-gesture-wave-thing? No? Well, guess I don't own anything then.

THREE: Hello and Goodbye Again (Part the Second)

Leon couldn't sleep, feeling restless, his mind turbulent. He rolled out of bed, pulled on his boots, stood, and swore under his breath when his hip collided with the corner of the nightstand.

"Furniture," he muttered caustically, as if the very thought of it was completely absurd.

He slipped out of the inn after glancing briefly into Yuffie's room to make sure everything was calm (heart still beating, shadows in stasis, safe).

There wasn't much of this World he knew, this being his first time here, so his feet led him to the only other familiar place on this plane. The Coliseum was empty, deserted, or at least it seemed so. The night sky looked vast in this open space, and it would've been intimidating had Leon been one for stargazing.

But since he wasn't interested in things so distant (so unreachable), his attention focused on something closer, something reachable (though he wasn't too sure about that).

Without giving it much thought, he shot a fireball from his gunblade, watching as Cloud whirled around to deflect it, an effortless impromptu maneuver.

Leon stepped down into the arena, gunblade over his shoulder. "Couldn't sleep either?"

"No. But this is much more cathartic." Cloud did not tell him that he rarely slept anymore.

"Well, in the case that we're both still up at this ungodly hour, I have questions, and I'm sure you have some answers for me."

Cloud shrugged and said nothing, but he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and waited.

"Firstly, what are you hiding?"

Damn it, Cloud thought as Leon faced him fully, blue on blue. He made eye contact. No escape now.

He did not respond right away, concentrating most of his energies on smothering his habit of talking to his shoes instead of the other person. Then he decided it was too awkward standing like this: Leon waiting for him to respond and him fighting old insecurities. When he finally did answer, it wasn't with words. He felt a shift, something building up, his back prickling, and then—ah. A moment later and a leathery, black wing extended from his back, angry electricity crackling from wingtip to shoulder blade. He stretched it languidly, his eyes defensive.

"Oh." It was a wholly inadequate reaction, but Leon was never one for histrionics. He forced down the verbal flood of questions threatening to drown them both, and carefully selected just one. One word. "How?"

Cloud shrugged again. "Hades. It was in the contract."

"You signed a contract with the God of the Underworld?" Leon shook his head. "Brilliant."

"Thanks. I thought so too, at the time." The wing fluttered. "It's not so bad. Strikes fear in your opponents' hearts and all that, only trouble is that most of them don't have hearts to begin with."

Leon's grip on his gunblade tightened. "Why did you sign?"

Cloud broke and cast his gaze downward. "Didn't have much of a choice," he replied. "I was in too deep even before the Heartless invaded Hollow Bastion."

"Sephiroth," Leon confirmed.

Cloud stared into the distance, eyes focused on something no one could see. He continued. "Do you know what Jenova is?"

He blinked once, slowly. "I think I heard Ansem mention it once," Leon began, unsure of how to react to this sudden dive. "I don't know anything about it though."

Cloud flexed his hand reflexively, the light reflecting off the metal of his gauntlet.

"Jenova is a breed of Heartless. It's intelligent and manipulative, created by vengeful hearts."

"But what does that have to do with you?"

Cloud ignored him. "It lacks a corporeal form because its hatred dissolves even the darkness that makes up other Heartless. Shadows melt under its touch; toxic is the only way to describe it." There was a slight pause. "So Jenova needs a host. It needs something more tangible than mere shadow and smoke."

"You mean—flesh and bone? A body?"

"Basically."

Leon wanted to laugh suddenly. Flesh and bone, huh? Something with essence, something tangible? Hah! He studied Cloud, who had always been so pale and so quiet and so withdrawn that sometimes it was hard to believe that he existed at all. Leon felt like if he reached out to him, his hand would meet nothing, no flesh, no bone (no heart? soul?), and he frowned suddenly. But he knew that Cloud was real, as real as him or the Heartless, and he knew because he's spent countless nights telling himself just that. He's repeated it over and over like a feverish mantra, the sound of his own breathing a reassurance to his claim. Real (inhale), real (exhale), real (breathe).

Real. So that also means Sephiroth could hurt him, could use him. Puppet puppet puppet.

But.

Puppets don't cry (Cloud does; Leon's seen his tears), puppets don't bleed (Cloud does; Leon's tended to his wounds before), and puppets don't smile like that (but Cloud used to, Leon remembers).

"Why you? Why couldn't he have picked another urchin off the street?" His tone was bitter, his words demanding penance for what he felt was a huge injustice. Leon knew that he was on the wrong train of thought; the matter wasn't who was chosen to be test subjects, but that the experiments had been allowed to take place at all. Still, Sephiroth had chosen Cloud (Cloud Strife, for Merlin's sake, the skinny little blonde kid with the big eyes who had lived two houses down from him when they were young), and Leon felt strangely angered. It was simply unfair—he had a fleeting image of himself stamping his feet—that Cloud should endure this along with everything else that had happened in the past.

"I don't know. I guess because there weren't going to be any legal issues after my—"

Leon glared at him, irrationally irritated. "Shut up."

Cloud was unaffected. "You asked."

"When did he first try it?"

The question was blatantly sidestepped. "Sephiroth told me some things about Jenova. It doesn't devour hearts—the host is too weak without a heart—but it leaves traces of itself, Jenova cells. These cells continue to circulate—"

"Answer me."

"And once those cells are inside you, it's inevitable that you'll gravitate back to Jenova. You're bound to the dar—"

"Damn it, Cloud, when?"

He stared at him impassively. "You know when, Squall."

Temper pulled violently at its chains and Leon ground his teeth. "And you know that my name is Leon now."

"Whatever. Three years my senior and you still don't know any better." Cloud turned away, jaw set, arms crossed. He had always put up with stupidity by ignoring it; it would eventually become attention-starved and then die off.

Leon did not say anything (this was the first time the age card had been used against him), but he did start to recall when things had started to fall dead at his feet (one by one, they had dropped, lifeless).

He was fourteen when he watched the procession march past his house, a head of blonde hair nowhere to be seen amidst black veils and suits; fifteen when he knocked on Cloud's front door and, when no one answered, climbed through the window only to find the house empty (cold).

Fourteen when he first saw Strife cry (he had found him after the funeral, in the Bailey, curled up and shaking), fifteen when his best friend disappeared (one word, one name: Ansem).

"He only tried it once," Cloud offered at last. "Didn't really have time for a second trial."

Leon sighed. "And? What happened?"

"What do you think? It was too much, too soon; there was no way I was strong enough for it yet. My body shut down before Jenova could take full control." A pause. "It's strange. When it spoke to me, it sounded like my mother. I guess it sounds like everyone's mother, because that's what Sephiroth called it. Her. He called her Mother."

"You didn't actually believe it was her, did you?"

"Of course I did."

"What?"

"You start to believe anything when you're twelve and the only intelligent conversations you have are in your head, with a voice you never thought you'd hear again, the same voice that used to say 'Play nice' or 'Dress warmly' or 'Come in for dinner' or 'I lo—' or whatever."

Cloud's back was to Leon, wing bared. His hand was still on the hilt of his sword and for a moment, he couldn't think of a time when he had been without it, couldn't think of a time when he wasn't afraid to open his eyes and see the world for what it was.

"It nearly kills you to accept the truth sometimes. You know that, don't you, Leon?"

And Leon did know. He knew the way truth pressed soft butterfly promises to your skin, whispering I'm all you need, when really, honesty murders under the banner of virtue. He knew reality saw no difference between acceptance and surrender, and would take both as an invitation to ravage, to burn, to ruin.

But damned if he was just going to lie down and let a crusade in the name of integrity and righteousness march all over him. He was no martyr; he would live to fight another day, not for what's right, but for what's best.

And what's best was not this, was not for them to be separated, was not for Cloud to endure his darkness alone.

Leon waited a while before saying, very quietly, "Well, we're still here. We're not just voices in your head. And once Sora is through, there'll be no Ansem or Sephiroth or Jenova holding you back from seeing us."

As he said it, his resolve dug deeper, anchoring itself securely against the Heartless and even greater evils.

"That's a bit optimistic."

"No, optimism is hoping you'd be less of a stubborn bastard."

"Hah."

"When everything is over and done with, you know where to find us."

Cloud looked at him again and gave a half-salute. "Yes, sir," he said patronizingly, though a bit wearily.

It was silent for a minute before Leon found his last words. "You sure you don't need a shoulder to cry on? To satisfy your effeminate predilection for woeful dramatics or something?"

Cloud fought down a smirk. "I think I'll be fine."

"All right then. Goodbye." Leon exited the arena as the first whisper of steel cut through the air.

EURGH MY GOD. No excuses this time. Just. GYAH. That'll teach me to make unrealistic and totally ruinous promises in the future.

I think AquilaStrife would like to know that her emails (with which I am totally arse at keeping up, by the way, no surprise) inspired me to write and, eventually, update. If you liked it, thank her; if you hated it, let it be known that it was completely her fault. Ahaha, I kid. Much thanks to everyone who reviewed; you guys all deserve a cookie or some other form of baked goods.

Show of hands, who honestly gave up on updates? Who's still reading, for that matter? Really? Can I, like, whore myself to you? You rock my world.

It's 1:59 AM right now. Hoo boy.

15.05.06