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Chapter title from "Late Lament" by The Moody Blues
۵۵۵۵۵
-Chapter Seventeen-
Interlude II
Breathe Deep the Gathering Gloom
۵۵۵۵۵
Time marches on.
Whether you pass the endless parade of hours engaged in active participation, stepping in tune to a lively beat, or merely waste the years away, staring at the ceiling, it marches ever on.
Leon preferred active participation – battling evil witches and slaying dragons. The ceiling was fraught with too many dangers.
He filled his years with responsibility, with commitments and contracts and missions. For as far back as he could remember, duty had driven his days. It defined him and gave him a purpose, gave him a reason to get out of bed in the morning and kept him awake far too often at night; from the moment he kicked off his covers til he kicked off his tread-worn boots, it kept him moving through the relentless years, day after day and step after step, one foot in front of the other.
Before Cloud had fallen into his life, Leon would have said that there weren't enough hours in the day to fulfill all of his duties. Now... there weren't enough duties in all the worlds over to fill all the empty hours.
It was like trying to fill a black hole.
He had hardly even noticed when Cloud slipped quietly into his life; it was only after he had left that Leon began to notice all the holes he had left behind.
Like a ship cut loose from its mooring, Leon drifted through the days. Duty still dragged him from his bed and drove him through the motions, but there was no light to brighten the Traverse Town darkness, and the days began to blur, one bleeding into the next in a colorless chain of continuous night broken only by the vivid days at the coliseum, bright-hot and sharp, until Leon no longer measured time in terms of hours or days, but tournament to tournament, and no amount of responsibility could fill the space between.
-۵-
Cloud wanders.
The halls are dark and deserted; the coliseum, quiet. Most of the other fighters have gone, and those who do remain are no more prone to idle chatter than he.
He can't remember the last time he's seen the sun. Or the last time he's eaten. He doesn't need food; he has his revenge. Just as surely as Leon's responsibility, it drives him, defines him. Consumes him.
Sustains him.
It's easy to focus on, sharp and hot like the poisoned edge of a dagger pressed to too-tender skin – easy to follow, like the whisper that constantly urges him on. Unlike the other emotions that swirl through his mind like murky water, revenge is crystal clear. It's simple and straightforward.
Revenge, Cloud understands.
-۵-
Two weeks until the next tournament.
Two weeks to fill.
Leon tried to train in the waterway, but the water was too distracting.
drip. drip. drip. drip.
Had it always echoed so loudly?
He refinished the doors in First District instead.
-۵-
Cloud dreams.
He's nothing but a ...
puppet.
The word slices through his mind like a shard of ice, cold and sharp. A cold, serpentine tongue caresses his cheek. He wants to scream, but he can't.
Pain pricks his arm like a splinter of ice, cold and sharp, and spreads through his body like poison. His body thrums, synapses crackle; every cell, alive and singing. A white noise buzzes in his head. Outside, he's numb...
He's back on Hojo's table again.
He wants to open his eyes and end this unholy nightmare, but he can't move. His will is not his own.
Open your eyes... It whispers through his mind, soft as a suggestion.
He opens his eyes and looks for Zack, automatically turning his desperate gaze towards the tank that holds his last tenuous tie to sanity, but–
He isn't in Hojo's lab... He's in his room at the coliseum. The scent of peppermint assaults his senses.
This way, puppet, this way ... It's soft as a suggestion in his mind.
He doesn't want to turn his head, doesn't want to–
Turn your head and look at me ... Hard as a hand of steel on his jaw.
He turns his head and looks.
-۵-
Two weeks...
Leon visited the Dalmatians, seeking a moment's respite from responsibility, but the clock on the mantle mocked him.
tick. tick. tick. tick.
It counted out the hours, second by second by second...
What a meaningless measure of time.
He washed all the windows in the Gizmo instead.
And the hotel.
-۵-
Cloud dreams.
He dreams in green and silver, the colors of his torment.
Kneel before me, puppet; kneel and beg for mercy. I shall feast upon the fear in your eyes as I claim what is mine, and in turn, I shall feed you despair...
It sounds like some crappy line from Loveless, and Cloud wants to laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all (Oh god, he's dreaming in Loveless lines!) but pain twists his body like a dagger of ice, cold and sharp, and forces the laughter up bitter in his mouth.
A waterfall of silver caresses his face in a mockery of affection, and Cloud squeezes his eyes shut against the tears; he'll be damned if he'll allow the monster that victory. It's nothing he can't endure – hasn't endured a thousand times before – so he focuses on the physical pain until his world goes mercifully black at last.
-۵-
Two weeks...
Leon counted off the tournaments in his head: Three times they'd fought in the Pegasus Cup, then twice in the Hercules Cup – two weeks plus two weeks, plus two weeks times two... Two months.
Two months since Cloud had gone back to the coliseum.
And another two weeks until the next tournament...
Leon climbed to the roof of the Gizmo Shop for a moment of well-deserved rest and settled into his usual spot on the ledge.
Had it always been so wide?
The evening was blessedly quiet – no ticking or dripping – and starlight sparkled in the Traverse Town sky. It reflected off the gunblade at his side, causing it to glow with a soft blue sheen...
like blue eyes.
Leon climbed down and inspected the cobblestones in the courtyard instead.
-۵-
Cloud wanders.
The halls are dark and deserted; the coliseum, quiet. Most of the other fighters have gone.
He can't remember the last time he's seen the sun.
In the beginning, he had tried to keep track of the time in his head – to count the days and number the nights – but here in the underbelly of Mt. Olympus, night and day is a meaningless measure of time. The passage of time is irrelevant here; day bleeds into night and night stretches into forever...
Time crawls.
Then the beasts grow restless in their cells, and the fighters return, and Cloud knows it's time for a tournament, so he puts on the face of the hero and makes an appearance. It's easier that way; he doesn't want Leon and Yuffie searching for him down here in the darkness.
It would be easier still if they didn't come at all.
-۵-
Aerith nursed her morning coffee as she watched her housemate through the kitchen window. He looked lonely.
It wasn't anything that anyone else would have noticed, but Aerith was a Cetra; she could sense the aura of emptiness surrounding him as clearly as anyone else might notice the rain. She longed to make it better, but she knew it wasn't her company he was missing.
Leon had always been the first to rise in their little home, and he had always taken great care not to wake her and Yuffie, slipping quietly from his bed before the dawn to drink his coffee on the third district steps: two cups, black – no more and no less – his routine never changed. Leon liked it that way.
In the beginning, Aerith had been touched by the unexpected act of consideration from the outwardly uncaring man, but once she had come to understand Leon a little better, she had realized that his motivation wasn't quite so selfless as it seemed. He just didn't want them intruding on his private time; he guarded it jealously.
So she stayed in bed a little longer than she otherwise would have, waiting until he came in for his second cup of coffee, and then – and only then – after she had heard the door click quietly shut behind him, would she get up to drink her own cup of coffee at the small kitchen table. It was the least she could do for the man who had already given them so much.
She thought back to the first time that Cloud had joined him, and a smile spread like sunrise across her pretty face, momentarily lifting the corners of her mouth and the weight that had settled in her heart. Had she known where Cloud was going, she would have tried to stop him, but by the time she had realized what was happening, he was already out the front door. She had held her breath, waiting for Leon's reaction, but he had simply scooted over to give Cloud room, and that's the way it had been ever since.
Until Cloud went back to the coliseum.
Leon kept himself busy and acted like he didn't care, but Aerith wasn't fooled for a moment. He and Yuffie returned to the coliseum faithfully every two weeks for the tournaments – only because they meant so much to Yuffie, Leon insisted – but Aerith never failed to notice the spring to his step or the light in his eyes before they left; they were dead giveaways.
As was the dead look in his eyes every time they returned without Cloud. It seemed that with every trip Leon left another piece of himself behind.
Then something had happened on their last trip to the coliseum... During the Hades Cup, something had happened...
-۵-
Stupid Leon. Yuffie kicked a pebble and sent it skittering down the alley. Stupid Cloud. She chased the pebble down and kicked it again. It bounced off the wall and plunked down a culvert.
Stupid pebble.
Yuffie plopped herself down on the top of a crate and dropped her chin in her hands. Leon had given their house –their house! – to that stupid old Geppetto and his stupid wooden puppet. It just wasn't fair!
"But why can't Aerith and I have the house in First District?" she had demanded with a petulant stamp of her foot. "Then Geppetto and Pinocchio could move in with you..."
For one brief second she had thought that Leon might actually be considering the idea, but then he had taken one look at Pinocchio playing with Cid's gummi blocks and abruptly shook his head. At least Yuffie was a known annoyance, he had muttered under his breath.
Even Cid had sided with the enemy. Just because he and Geppetto were going to be working together on their stupid gummis, he thought it was a great idea to put them in the house right next door.
Stupid Cid.
Aerith didn't even get upset or anything, but then, Aerith was a bloody saint. She just patted Yuffie on the hand and said with a sad little smile that everything would work out in the end. Yuffie hated that smile. It didn't belong on Aerith's face, and it always made Yuffie feel a little sick to her tummy to see it, because when even Aerith couldn't put a happy face on things, you knew they were awful.
Yuffie swung her legs a few times, beating out an indiscriminate rhythm with her heels on the side of the empty crate, but quickly decided it wasn't worth the effort and hopped down.
She was bored.
There was nothing to do in this stupid town. Even annoying Leon wasn't any fun these days; nothing she did got a rise out of him anymore. In fact, he hardly even seemed to notice she was there!
And now ... thanks to stupid old Leon ... she didn't even have the tournaments to look forward to anymore. He was too busy, he said, to waste any more time at the coliseum.
Too busy! Yuffie snorted.
Stupid Leon.
Stupid Cloud and his stupid obsession with stupid Sephiroth.
Yuffie found another hapless pebble to take out her frustrations on and kicked it towards First District... Maybe she could talk that stupid Pinocchio into stirring up some mischief.
-۵-
Aerith nursed her morning coffee as she watched her housemate through the kitchen window. He looked lost.
It had been four months since Cloud went to the coliseum, six weeks since Leon and Yuffie had been back; six weeks since Leon had fought in the Hades Cup with Cloud, and Aerith still didn't know what had happened. Yuffie had given her an animated account of the match itself, but that didn't tell Aerith anything; Yuffie hadn't been in the ring. Other than Cloud, the only person who knew what had really gone on inside that ring was Leon, and Leon wasn't talking.
Yuffie had been itching to try fighting alone, and Phil was more than happy to oblige; he'd been wanting to team Cloud and Leon together since they first arrived. "Sure to be a real crowd-pleaser!" he had exclaimed, and the Hades Cup was just the ticket! Unfortunately for Yuffie, Sora and Company had showed up and taken her out of the running early on, so she had retired to the stands to root for her friends. Sora sailed through the rest of the competition, but the poor kid never stood a chance against Cloud. Cloud's sword was brutal.
They all knew that Cloud had been waiting for the chance to confront Hades, and he wasn't about to forfeit that chance to Sora or anyone else. He annihilated the competition, crushing opponent after opponent after opponent, just in case Hades actually showed up.
He did; he had a grudge to settle with Cloud.
From the moment Hades entered the ring, he and Cloud remained locked on each other, fury flaring equally in their eyes – Hades', a fiery rage; Cloud's, cold and controlled. It was obvious that Hades was out for blood, but Cloud sought only to disable the god; he had questions he wanted answers to before he killed the son of a bitch.
As soon as the signal was given for the match to begin, Hades hurled a massive fireball at Cloud, but Cloud deflected it easily with the flat of his massive blade. Then he unfurled his wing, crackling with electricity, and shot straight for Hades, attempting to land a stunning blow to his head. Hades ducked the blow and retaliated with a sweeping stream of fire from both arms, which Cloud, with the advantage of his wing, was able to easily dodge, but Leon was hard pressed to outrun the devastating wall of flames.
Once the fire had been extinguished, both men moved in swiftly to attack, Cloud from the front and Leon from behind. Cloud got there first and pinned Hades to the invisible barrier, the point of his sword to Hades' throat. Angry words had been exchanged, but what those words were was anyone's guess.
Aerith's guess was that Cloud had demanded answers about Vincent, and Hades' response seemed to bear her out; with a haughty sneer, he had grabbed the edge of Vincent's cape and shoved it in Cloud's face, and whatever his accompanying words, they had obviously taken Cloud aback. Taking advantage of Cloud's momentary turmoil, Hades disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, leaving Cloud facing nothing but empty air.
Cloud quickly recovered from his state of shock and attempted to follow, but a strong hand on his shoulder held him back. Turning his anger and frustration on the other man, Cloud muttered something in Leon's face and stormed from the arena.
-۵-
As soon as the tournament was over, the tents had come down, the spectators and contestants returning to their mundane lives and the vendors packing up their wares for more profitable pastures. Then the cleaning crews had swept in, whisking away any evidence that a bustling crowd had been there only hours before, and then they too had departed. Now the coliseum stands empty and waiting.
The sun burns bright in a clear blue sky as the day sleeps beneath a blanket of blistering heat. The air shimmers. Below, the corridors are blessedly dark and appear deceptively cool. They are not. The air is stifling, the utter stillness broken only by the echo of a distant drip somewhere farther down below, and farther down than that, the occasional muted bellow of some strange beast or tortured soul, deep in the bowels of this god-forsaken world.
The clink of a displaced pebble on the path just ahead stills Cloud's feet, and he stands, empty and waiting.
-۵-
Leon had always enjoyed his mornings alone, drinking his two cups of coffee on the steps outside his house as the world around him slowly came to life. No one needed him for anything yet; the responsibilities which would assault him in only a few short hours were still sleeping, along with the town.
Even the Heartless were quiet. He would catch an occasional glimpse of one or two, slinking here or there before they dissolved back into the shadows, but they never bothered him this time of morning. It was almost as if they had an understanding of sorts.
Almost like friends.
Well, that's just great – Leon frowned – you're so lonely you're starting to think of the Heartless as friends. The thought materialized out of nowhere, just like a Heartless. He crushed it like one of Seifer's nasty cigarette butts beneath the ruthless heel of his boot. He wasn't lonely. He liked his mornings alone. He did.
Besides, thinking of the Heartless as friends was ridiculous. Heartless had no emotions or feelings – no hearts.
Just like me, Leon told himself, and tried to convince himself it was true.
So what if they understood one another? That didn't make them friends. Just because you understood someone – maybe had a lot in common with someone – it didn't mean you were friends.
Friends.
The image in Leon's mind morphed from beady yellow eyes to luminous blue, and from wriggling black antennae to wayward spikes of gold.
Yeah, wayward – Leon scowled – just like his damn thoughts. He squashed them like a damn bug, splattering gooey bits of green guts all over his brain. "He's not my friend," he growled right out loud.
Friends didn't abandon your plans to share a house to go live in a shitty little room at the coliseum. Friends didn't desert you to chase a stupid madman.
Friends didn't tell you not to come back anymore...
Leon stared down at the cup on the step beside him, still full, but long gone cold; the coffee had tasted bitter this morning.
Perhaps that's why Cloud always drank his with a lot of cream...
With a defeated sigh, Leon picked up his cold cup of coffee and went inside to start another day. It would be easier to fight the Heartless than trying to fight his damn thoughts.
-۵-
Aerith couldn't shake the gnawing fear in her heart, and with every passing day, it grew stronger: Cloud was in trouble. He had been at the coliseum for four and a half months now, almost half of that time alone; Leon and Yuffie hadn't been back for a tournament in two months.
Leon was in trouble too.
She hardly ever saw him anymore; he took off first thing in the morning and rarely came home until late in the night. This was the one time of day she could count on catching him – and catching him alone. Steeling herself, Aerith turned the front doorknob and stepped outside. What was the worst that could happen? Leon would tell her to go away? That, she could handle.
But if something happened to Cloud...
In possibly the bravest move of her life – braver than joining Avalanche and leaving home to set out on a dangerous mission, braver than running off on her own to the Forgotten City – Aerith took a deep breath and sat down beside him. He looked at her with a neutral expression, neither judging nor supportive, just accepting. Embolden by the lack of reproach, Aerith relaxed against the steps and looked around. It was nice out here this time of morning, quiet and peaceful, and being allowed to share it with Leon made it feel all the more special.
It almost felt like a sacrilege to break the silence, but she was here for a cause more important than any misguided notions of reverence, and after several minutes, she remembered her mission and found her voice.
"I think you should go check on him," she said. "And I think you should go alone."
With a deep, discerning look, Leon regarded her for several long moments. Then without so much as a word, he nodded and got up to go get ready for the long overdue trip to the coliseum. He had learned long ago to trust Aerith's instincts.
-۵-
Cloud drags his feet down a rocky path deep in the bowels of this god-forsaken world. How long has it been now? ... A month? ... A year?
Forever?
He wanders aimlessly through the twisting paths of the underworld, through the twisting paths of his mind, searching for something, though he isn't sure what. It's only a feeling he can't put a finger on, a thought that refuses to form, an idea without any shape. Still it calls to him, urges him on like a memory calling him home... like a light at the end of a tunnel... A light. Yes, a light. His light.
So why is he here? There is no light here, only shadows, and he suddenly feels lost, assaulted by all of these undefined feelings and ... memories?
Are they his?
They confuse and disorient, dazzle him like so many shiny bits that beckon and lead him astray, like butterflies that flit away as soon as he catches a glimpse. It's only a mirage, these butterflies, these –silver bells and cockleshells– shimmering just out of reach and fading before his very eyes, and every bit as daunting as the shadows that dissolve into nothingness beneath his shuffling feet. It's futile and he knows it, still he reaches and grasps, even as he wonders why.
His head is filled with nonsense –four and twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie– just silly words that slip away, flitting through his mind like the butterflies, and always just out of reach. He knows this place; he's been here before, and his feet move him forward (backward?) of their own accord. It is not his will that drives him on.
He doesn't like it here, still he places one foot in front of the other –one shoe off and one shoe on, hey, diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle– becoming emptier and emptier with every step that he takes. He wants to turn back, but he doesn't know where back is, and the butterflies flit further and further away while the shadows slink closer and closer.
He wanders for hours (days?) in this desolate place until there is nothing left but the shadows and the mindless babble in his head –baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool? yes sir, yes sir, three bags full– It's nothing but nonsense, still he tries to hold on to it anyway, because at least it's something to hold on to in this god-forsaken place (and what exactly is this place? has he been here before?) but it's as insubstantial as the shadows and the butterflies that flit away –and the plate ran away with the spoon.
It's like trying to catch smoke.
Black smoke that reaches and twines like a sentient vine (like Lifestream, memory whispers) and he watches with morbid fascination as it curls around his fingers and slithers up his arm – wispy black tendrils that burn his skin and turn his blood to lava as they blaze a molten path through his veins, turning his memories to ash as they sink their fingers deep inside his mind, burning them away until there's nothing left but a comfortless, meaningless babble. It's hot here, so very hot here.
And cold.
He pulls his cape closer against the sudden chill, and a wave of anguish assaults him, urgent and oppressive. He's forgotten something important again –ring around the rosies, a pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes– and searches for it frantically, but –we all fall down.
He doesn't like it here; he wants to go –half a pound of tuppenny rice, half a pound of treacle, mix it up and make it nice– he wants to go home. It calls to him, teases him, just out of reach; so close he can almost smell the freshly baked bread that warms the night; almost feel the touch of gentle hands that soothe away the hurt. He can almost remember the glow of a smile meant only for him, like a colorful splash of flowers in the Nibelheim snow.
Almost…
Home.
He reaches for the memory, and almost finds it – so close – but it slips away, just out of reach, and dissolves beneath his fingers as he struggles to hold on. It's buried too deep.
It's a good one, this memory, and god knows he doesn't have many. Most of his memories involve cold metal tables and long silver hair. But this is a good one, and one that truly belongs to him – and god knows, he doesn't have many of those either – so he's hidden it somewhere safe, out of Hojo's reach, out of Mako's reach, out of Jenova's reach... out of even his own reach, perhaps ... and it slips away, but the shadows stretch on forever...
His mind fumbles. His step falters.
His path is lost.
Laughter sprouts like springtime, and Cloud stumbles forward, following the sound like a beacon of hope. This way, it encourages – playful and bubbly, yet sturdy as rock – gentle as a breeze and yet solid as the earth beneath his feet.
Aeris.
The cheerful promise of spring abruptly blossoms into full-throated summer, carefree and easy and brimming with confidence – Aw, Spike … lost without me, again? – Cocky and teasing, urging him onward – Didn't I promise I'd never leave you hanging like that? We're friends, right?
Zack.
The deep green of summer softens to russet and wine in the lingering warmth of autumn. It's comforting here, like the familiarity of old friends, and she doesn't have to say a word, just folds her arms and tilts her head and gives him that look – understanding and acceptance and challenge all rolled into one. Cloud smiles, the small, bashful smile of child who knows he's been found out, and follows–
Tifa
Winter settles like absolution and blankets the world with mercy. It's quiet here, and there's never a need to explain. Some call it cold, but Cloud calls it home, and it's close now, so close he can feel it; grey skies and white snow and dusky blue mountains. There's a bright light ahead – his light – shining like the winter sun on snow-covered mountains and calling him home...
Leon.
