Meet the Stranger

There are calls for him to acknowledge, there are parcels for him to deliver, but right now, he has not the strength to deal with any of it.

He lies, back on the hard floor of the church, sweat on his brow and panting hard.

The pain is fading now; the burning bubbling under his skin is growing fainter. He does not relinquish his tight grip on his left forearm though, and his fist is still clenched tightly.

Cloud winces as he tries to sit up. He only half succeeds, getting to his knees before he doubles over as a wave of nausea overcomes him.

It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and he needs a drink to get rid of it.

He manages to sit up, his face a somber, down cast mask. The soft, sweet scent of lilies gently filters the air. Cloud glances at the flowerbed, but there is no one there.

Not any more.

He inhales deeply, raising his head and closing his eyes as if in prayer.

Cloud had arrived back in Edge-or Midgar-six days ago with an overwhelming urge to see a smile. He had parked Fenrir a block away from Seventh Heaven before walking up to the converted bar. It had been evening, and the lights flickered in the windows as vague shapes moved within them.

A couple of older children had scooted out of an alleyway, joking and shoving each other loudly as they made their way towards the wooden steps. They passed him warily, allowing a wide berth between him and themselves.

It must have looked strange, or even threatening, to them. A man standing outside an orphanage as if he was waiting for something. Maybe he was.

'Hey stranger, what 'chya want here?'

One of the bolder ones met his eyes as they huddled around the front door protectively. The boy visibly flinched when he saw that Cloud's eyes possess that cursed mako glow. Cloud inwardly flinched too, at his reaction.

'So? Wh-addaya want here?'

He is impressed they don't back down. He shakes his head slowly and looks back up at the building. There is a small figure watching him now, from one of the windows. Her hands press up against the window and with a pang, Cloud realizes who it must be.

'Hey, we're talking to you, clear off, creep!'

Cloud jerked his face back to the kids in response to the hostility in their voices. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Marlene fumbling with the window latch as she tries to open it.

He had turned and left without another word, coward that he was, and retreated here, to this sanctuary.

A bitter laugh comes out, echoing throughout the church. He no longer has a place at Seventh Heaven, that much was made clear that night. Tifa had wanted a family, after Meteor, and a home, things that Sephiroth had stolen from them both years ago. He had been unable, unwilling to give them to her.

Now, it seems she has made them for herself, without him.

Cloud leans back against a pillar, weary and tired of this life. His thoughts turn back to Rufus, and what Reno had shown him, and this 'Kadaj.' He wants to ignore them, pretend they hadn't interfered in his self-exile from humanity.

He sighs, rubbing his arm tenderly.

He falls asleep there.

'I'm sorry, have we met?'

'No.'

'Oh.' Tifa frowns at this newcomer. Annie is hovering outside the doorway anxiously.

'You know, Annie really is the one who's in charge here, I-'

'I know that.' The visitor cuts her off. Her voice is quiet, yet there is a hard edge to it 'Seeing as you're here, I'd prefer to speak to you.'

Tifa shifts her weight and tightens her lips. She doesn't quiet know what this woman wants, but she feels wary of her nonetheless, like she is here to disturb the peace.

The older woman stands calmly before her, patiently waiting. Tifa places her at about thirty, but she can't be sure, it's always harder with women. Chestnut brown hair is cut smartly to shoulder length, framing a narrow face with a small, hard mouth. Her attire is that of a traveler; sturdy leather boots, trousers and a faded green knee length over coat that looks like its seen better days. Not mentioning the long Wutaian style sword she had glimpsed among the strangers packs.

Tifa wonders who the hell this woman is.

'Why?'

The woman's eyes flicker.

'You…were apart of Avalanche, were you not?'

Tifa fixes her gaze sharply onto her; uneasy at the way the woman's words have made her feel defensive. She lifts her chin just a little as she replies.

'What has that got to do with anything?'

'You…understand a bit about the way this Planet works then, don't you? Regarding lifestream.'

Tifa can't help but feel that she is being tested, judged even, in order to be found worthy of something.

'And?'

The woman sighs and walks to the window.

'Miss Lockhart, have you, in your duties as a guardian and warden of an orphanage, seen any…unusual children,' she glances sharply up 'children who display any unnatural traits or gifts, who…hear…who sometimes hear voices.'

She stands there, fingering the windowsill uneasily. Tifa is staring at her incredulously, baffled.

'No-I…no…' Tifa frowns again, wondering if she is just not hearing things properly, as this woman seems to be making no sense at all 'wha…why-'

'Are you sure? You don't seem it.'

'I'm sorry, but I really don't understand what it is you want from me.' She is sick of this, had enough. This woman, whoever she is, is being far too elusive for her liking. Tifa all but glares at the visitor, adopting the stern, teacher-like gaze she has picked up from Elmrya.

'This is an orphanage, for children, and I don't know if you're aware of this but most children hear voices at some point in their lives. Imaginary friends, faeries…whatever.' She pauses for a breath 'Most of those here are past that stage already. As for traits, gifts, every kid has something special she or he can do, so if I am to be of any help to you, you're going to have to be a bit more specific!'

Tifa definitely feels better after that rant. The woman is staring at her, slightly taken back by the curtness in her voice. Tifa is quiet surprised at it too, she doesn't often run her mouth off like that.

The woman clears her throat; her stern composure is back in place. Tifa wonders what will come next, an apology, cross words, an awkward silence.

'In that case, I shall go with you when you return to Edge.'

Tifa's jaw drops.

Rude studies the woman in front of them. He still marvels at her similarity to Elena, and he knows that his partner can't get over it either.

It's foolish, really. She, Grace, was here long before Elena. She was more professional too, as a rookie. Rude mentally shakes his head in frustration or helplessness, he doesn't know.

She is sitting up on her bed now, meek and quiet as the doctor takes a sample of blood. She doesn't even wince when the long needle goes in.

Beside him, Reno leans casually on the doorframe, flipping a coin with his long, pale fingers.

The doctor straightens.

'All done there, good girl.' He removes the blood filled vile, storing it safely in a small box before moving to bandage the woman's arm. She is compliant. That done, he packs up his things, turning to them and nodding, 'I'll get the sample tested straight away. Tell the Pres…Mr. Shinra that it will be done s soon as possible.'

Reno shrugs and Rude gives the elderly man a short nod. He leaves quickly, fingering his collar.

Grace breathes a sigh of relief when he is gone. She brings her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them.

'It weren't that bad, baby-doll.' Reno flips the coin high and catches it on the back of his fingers.

'Don't call me that.' She frowns softly, 'My name is Grace.'

'Yeah yeah…'

From behind his shades, Rude's gaze flickers between the two, and their exchange. His partner was a strange man, and sometimes, even he did not know what was running through Reno's head. Rude shifts his weight slightly from foot to foot.

It is time they left the room, and the woman in it. They need to be back by Rufus's side, they have jobs to do, however, Grace's despondency makes him feel reluctant to leave her alone. She was once a Turk, and such bonds are not lightly lost.

She looks up at them.

'Do…do you think I will be allowed to go outside soon?'

Rude shifts uncomfortably. Rufus's orders had been to keep her strictly contained. She was allowed into a small, makeshift gym once a day, but the Boss had been adamant about not letting her out of the building. He doesn't have the heart to say so, though. He wonders if he is getting soft.

'We'll see.' He answers, ignoring Reno's frown. She simply nods and sighs again.

Once out of the room, they walk crisply to the common room. Or at least, he does. Reno saunters like he owns the place.

'Yo Rude.' Rude inclines his head, and indication that he is listening. Reno continues 'Why'd you always tell her that, why don't you just say the big man says nada?'

'…' He sighs 'She needs something to hope for…'

'Nee, she already knows you're lying.'

'You tell her no then.'

His partner doesn't reply to that. Rude didn't think he would.

Grace.

That is the one thing in her memory that is clear. Her name. Everything else is hazy, fuzzy, unsure. A clouded mirror, which she cannot wipe clear.

Sometimes she gets so frustrated, but there is nothing she can do. She can only wait it out, flick through the magazines that are on the table, listen to the crackling radio on her bedside.

She cannot remember any of them. After they realized that they stopped talking so openly to her, they didn't let their guard drop. They were careful when they spoke to her; they were hiding so much.

She doesn't even know how she got here.

Rufus, the wheelchair man, has only visited her twice. She is wary of him; she can feel his cunning, his authority, and his cleverness. She doesn't like the fact that he always hides his face. The fact that he does only heightens the feeling that he has something to hide.

There is something else too, about his presence that unnerves her. It is acidic, bitter, yet somehow…familiar.

Grace curls up tighter on her bed. The two Turks (why does that word roll off her tongue so easily?), Reno and Rude, they are not so bad. The bald man pities her, she knows, and the other is uncomfortable when he is near her. Yet, they are both kind to her, in their own, detached way. She does not know what to make of them, other then that she doesn't mind them too much.

She sighs, rubbing the small patch on her arm absentmindedly. She doesn't remember ever fearing needles, but they are strange, dislikable, and the doctor is too pretentious.

Standing, she walks over to the window. It is locked and barred, but she does not think it would be too hard to escape if she wanted to. They must have overlooked it. Does she want to escape, though? Where would she go? There is no one she knows to contact, and her memory of the country's geography is hazy. A large city, Midgar, she frowns as she concentrates. That would be the place to go, she would be hidden, lost.

And then what?

She fingers the windowsill, quiet as the afternoon sun falls on her face. Try and start again? It wouldn't be that hard. Grace thinks she could bluff her way through all the kinks, people don't ask too much in the city. She smiles at this, because she remembers that she is, or was, a city girl at heart, and that's one more thing she knows about herself.

Grace is sick of this room, though. She wants to breath, go outside, see for herself what she only half recalls. The sky is only so beautiful from behind glazed glass. She wants colours, people, smells. Surely those things will trigger more aspects of her memory?

'Not today, though.' Muttering to herself, she taps the glass lightly. She is still too uncertain, unsure of herself. She will stay here, for the moment, too learn more, to perceive. She cannot leave just yet.

In all honesty, she is afraid to.

He knows he missed her just barely, a couple of days at the least. His old boss's daughter. He can't say he really wanted to meet her anyway. He wonders what she is like now, all grown up.

But that is of no concern to him, at this present moment. He is certain that Tifa will be able to manage with the visitor.

What escapes him is how one conspicuous looking man in black leather and a big motorcycle can pass by without leaving so much as a trace of their passage. Has he left the continent, or is he still hiding among the mountains?

Vincent had spied the black clad man from afar when he was making his way towards Nibleheim, close to about four weeks ago. More curious then worried at the time, he had let it slide, yet now he wonders if that had been such a wise idea. In truth though, he had wanted to face the mansion, destroy its secrets and prevent any innocents falling into whatever other horrors Hojo had hidden in there.

But the man. The more and more Vincent thought about him, the more uneasy he becomes. What was the flash of silver around the man's head? Was it just a fancy helmet, or was it, more worrisome, a slick of silver hair?

He grunts softly to himself and continues down the worn track that will lead him to the flatland of the Rocket Area. He will inquire at the town, and see if they have noticed anything, or anyone, suspicious.

Authors note: Sorry its been a while, I've had a little trouble getting motivation for this fic.

Anyway, the plot thickens...dun dun dun durrrr...