Chapter Six: Erg

Someone once said, "A dream is a wish your heart makes."

Cloud dreamt of fire and pain. He dreamt of black shadows with glowing eyes and a demon's wing, awkward and barbaric, jutting from his flesh. On good nights, he dreamt of parasitic aliens and giant monsters sent by the planet to kill him.

If he ever met that person, he'd light them on fire. That was his interpretation of it at least. Hey for all he knew, the dream that he wished would come true.

If life was made of dreams – the dreams young people were supposed to have, filled with light and happily-ever-after - he was quite certain he wouldn't be being pushed into a low dark car, dressed up in a penguin suit and ready to be carted off for later usage. Then again, maybe this was someone else's dream coming true, and he was just a puppet acting out their visions.

Was this Sephiroth's dream?

He was also pretty sure he'd never worn a suit before in his life, and he couldn't help loosening the noose around his neck, even knowing they would reprimand him for it.

When Sephiroth slid in next to him, he couldn't help shrinking closer to the window, the last of his pride hoping quite forcefully that the other man didn't notice.

Of course he didn't.

Cloud didn't even know why he had thought the General would even acknowledge his presence. He was sitting quite calmly, adjusting his inseparable gloves as the car pulled away, and straightening his tie. The man gave no indication at all that he was even sharing a vehicle, let alone with an ex-soldier coerced into being his…what was the word Tifa had used? Oh yes, escort.

The General's escort wasn't important enough to be acknowledged.

Neither was the driver, apparently, but it seemed like the man was well used to that kind of treatment.

The ride passed slowly; Cloud staring fixedly out the window at the dark buildings passing, the General still calm and composed, ignoring the world as though it was second nature. Every minute that passed had him falling deeper into the mindset that this was quite possibly the worst idea – predicament – situation they could have thought up. He had little to no social skills, he avoided speaking around large groups as often as possible, and he still wasn't able to control which memories would trigger his blackouts.

He could only see this ending in fiasco. Even that was being lenient. He was becoming more partial to 'flaming slag heap' with each reassessment.

The building they eventually pulled alongside was unlike any Cloud could remember seeing. Granted, the main structural base was nothing more than a very tall stone building with column details and basic windows. But recent additions to the old building made it...unique.

Neon lights hung from surrounding buildings, that one advertising a bar, another three hotels. He was quite sure the one down the street – the one with the giant diamond shaped light blazing in the night air – that had to be a casino.

This building proclaimed a giant star in glowing green lights under what looked like a golden rainbow. Golden rainbow…was that even possible? He shook his head quickly, hoping just a little that the action might jostle his thoughts back into some semblance of normalcy. No such luck. His eyes fell on the fountain made of neon lights in front of the door, ringed in by two sets of stone stairs. Who made neon fountains?

And that flickering…his gaze travelled up, landing on the skyscraper's roof. At least, he thought it was the roof. It was rather hard to tell where the roof began, the entire thing covered in what looked like giant screens. They ranged from a few feet to a few metres all piled together…but for some reason all they showed was static.

It was then that he realized the majority of light in the area came from the grey and white squares flickering incandescently above. It was creepy. It was foreboding. It was another reason why Cloud felt that at this point turning around and leaving was certainly the best option.

He very nearly did, too.

If the General hadn't gripped him firmly be the elbow and began stalking resolutely towards the stairs.

"You know no one. You will refer to me as Sephiroth, not the General." The orders broke the silence that had been maintained so well until that moment, uttering the notions that had already been drilled into his head from Tifa and Leon's intervention. "Keep your eyes open."

As far as he was concerned, Sephiroth's job was 'hush hush' and far more important than his little escort needed to know.

Sephiroth neither waited for, nor expected a response, and Cloud offered none as they passed by the doorman, crossed the foyer and stepped into the elevators.

It was mildly surprising that the elevator was as small as it was, but then it only confirmed his suspicion that this place was nothing more than refurbished offices decades old. It was a skyscraper of memories, even with its new coat of paint.

He found it rather ironic.

Each floor let out a passing chime as they passed. Fourth.

Fifth.

Cloud tensed as there was movement, his hands darting to snatch at the man, his mind snapping to defence mode. He found himself restrained. He couldn't fight them – what…

His eyes met the General's in angry confusion. The General…Sephiroth…well this wasn't good.

It was the same thing that Leon had done. He could see that now. The other man had mimicked perfectly the angle of attack and the distance he would have in which to react. Only unlike the simulation – the failed attempt at one – here he hadn't moved fast enough.

No. Cloud had been right.

Leon was nothing compared to the General. It wasn't that Cloud had been any slower; Sephiroth was faster.

He'd have to tell Tifa she'd been wrong.

But he didn't understand, looking up at the General, wrists pinned above his head with a single gloved hand. They were in an elevator with no audience, why would he do this now? What were they playing at? To make a point? The rest of the team would already be in position, why -

Was the hand at his neck unbuttoning…?

"What are you –"

He was silenced quite abruptly by the forced pressure of the other man's lips against his, his head knocking rather painfully against the wall. He supposed that this was what many would call a kiss, but really, he'd always thought that sort of thing was mutually agreed to by both parties involved.

And his hands were still held quite firmly in place, the General's free hand loosening the blonde's tie further.

Was this his function for the evening?

The moment he was allowed to breathe again, whatever air he had gained was once again ripped from him when he felt teeth against his neck.

That wasn't a gasp. It was a manly grunt.

Of pain.

Dimly in his mind he realised what this meant. The General was marking him. His puppet.

"Preparing you."

Oh.

Wait, what?

Thirteenth.

There was the metallic chime as the doors opened, and damn it, if he wasn't red before, he sure as hell was now. Shirt half pulled out, top few buttons undone…tie hanging dejectedly. He could still feel the tingling pulse at his neck which he was sure was well on its way to forming a sizeable bruise.

The swollen lips and need for air weren't helping the matter.

Or the half amused, half shocked faces of the other inhabitants of the thirteenth floor.

He caught a glimpse of Tifa snickering behind a hand and the raised brow of Leon in the distance. Yuffie, decked out in a white dress shirt and fitted black vest – He had to admit he was somewhat surprised to know she knew what buttons were - gave him a thumbs up and a grin before sweeping away to offer a tray of liquor.

Sephiroth said nothing, smirking as he straightened his immaculate tie and stepped from the elevator.

…

"Hey Squall, eyes on me." Tifa none too gently pulled the dark haired man around to face her, a frown tugging at her lips. "You haven't stopped staring since they arrived."

Funny. She tactfully ignored the fact that he had switched some time ago to hard liquor, and the fact that he'd already had four glasses; the fifth cradled close as his eyes swept the room – hey, she was right, they always did return to the same spot. But of all the things she could have chastised him for, it had to be that. Was a man not allowed to stare anymore?

"I don't know what you're talking about." Slick. He growled at the sarcastic voice in his head.

"Oh I'm sure you don't." Was the equally ambiguous response as she gripped him firmly by the elbow and escorted him away from their position at the bar. He caught Selphie casting them a concerned glance, but he waved it off. If Tifa wanted to spend this time lecturing him, there was little he could do now. Above all, he would avoid making a scene. Telling that insufferable woman to do the same though was like asking a grat not to ooze as it died.

"What do you think you're doing?" she pulled him closer, her back resting against the wall, hand firmly planted on her hips. Well, at least she'd chosen an area that was reasonably dark.

Wasn't giving him the option of looking at anything other than her or a wall though. Bitch. He had to give her credit though, she knew what she was doing – he just had issues when she turned her skills against him.

He didn't doubt that she knew exactly what he would have done if left alone.

"Surveying the crowd; keeping my eyes open."

She smirked. Oh good, she was still amused. That at least meant it was unlikely that she'd run his ear off about his -- "More like surveying a blond. Enjoy the party, converse a little more. You're usually quiet, but I've never seen you this silent and brooding in public."

She wanted him to talk to people? Wait. She thought he was watching Cloud? "Whatever"

"We're here to do something important, okay? I know Rinoa's news was a little bit of a shock to you, but you can't let that af-"

"How do –" Yuffie. She had taken four hours for off-base leave yesterday afternoon after the meeting. After he had mentioned that she was back in town. Damn it. He knew that would happen. He had known and still he had said something. He could see Tifa smiling hesitantly, slouching further back against the wall at the same time.

Meddling little no good snooping…

"Lucky guess?"

His arms pinned her against the wall. "When we get out of here, I'm going to –"

"-- Lurker at eight o'clock." She said suddenly, the tenseness in her body disappearing as she moved a little closer.

"How close?"

"Eight…seven…he has a friend…six…"

Leon moved in, pressing himself firmly against her and capturing her lips. Did she really have to shift like that?

Four….three…

"Mr. Loire?"

He stepped back slowly, giving Tifa a wink. He had to admit, she was a wonderful actress; still flushed and slightly breathless against the wall. She grinned.

Even if she did have a habit of meddling in the affairs of others. He shot Yuffie a glare at the bar, feeling slightly better at seeing her grin falter. Good, she knew she was in deep shit after this was over.

"And you might be?"

The man was short. He'd wager no taller than five, five and a half feet tall. Grey - no, was that…periwinkle?- hair that fell in his eyes, and he was watching them with those eyes that seemed to know too much. His companion looked like he didn't know enough. But then he also looked like a blond punk that had been stuffed into a suit, so that wasn't saying much.

For some reason, of the two, Leon was more concerned with the blond. It was when you underestimated someone that things turned around and bit you in the ass. Then again, it could also have been the fact that he had issues with blond men.

"Zexion. And my…associate, Demyx." Funny, only Demyx extended a hand. When he met with Leon's cold stare however, it dropped. "I didn't expect to see you here…Laguna couldn't spare the time to drop by himself?"

"He's a busy man. Doesn't have much time for anything." He grated out, sliding an arm around Tifa's waist mechanically. "Are you insinuating that I shouldn't be here?"

"Darling, I'm sure he didn't mean anything of the sort." He was careful not to flinch when he felt the painful pinch against his spine. A warning. He had a feeling he wouldn't make it out of this night with out a few more of her marks across his skin.

"Of course. It's always a pleasure to have the opportunity to converse with a man such as yourself. If your lovely company doesn't mind, that is?"

Oh this certainly would not end well. Small talk was never his forte, and this man's was loaded. Tifa shot him a worried look. What, he couldn't take care of himself now? He downed his drink.

"Not at all." Tifa still looked concerned as she caught the small nod from him, but if she used the moment right, it could very well end in gain. Especially if that glint of metal and red meant what he thought it did. To get a chance to speak with her and Eric here of all places…

And in Zexion's care, somehow he found himself manoeuvred through the other guests and positioned directly across from his superior and his blond toy.

"Enjoying the party thus far, Mr. Loire?" A young man with white hair said casually from one of the red sofas, an arm draped over Riku's shoulders. White hair…Xehanort? Had to be. He had changed since the last time they had met, but it wasn't as though white hair on young men was all that common a feature. Except for Sephiroth. And Riku. And Kuja. And Kadaj, Loz and Yazoo. Zexion's hair was pretty close. Cecil…Bartz, Klauser…oh yes, Setzer. Alright, maybe a few had it.

But Xehanort would never have allowed anyone to touch Riku, and Sephiroth would have wasted time with no one else.

They'd have to have Matron update their photo stocks.

Speaking of Sephiroth, he didn't seem altogether pleased from where he sat. Though it was hard to tell given that the only indication was a slight inclination of a brow and the barest tightening of his jaw. Still, he knew the man well enough to realize being here wasn't in his favour.

And they were all looking at him expectantly, as though he was the feature at some chintzy bar ready to perform. He wouldn't argue that he probably emitted a wonderful aroma of liquor. If they thought that meant he would jump at their command, though, they would be sorely disappointed.

"They certainly keep creating new ways to celebrate mediocrity." He responded dryly, making sure to monitor his eye movement. Staring too long was suspicious. Avoiding looking at something for too long was suspicious. He really shouldn't have had that last drink.

Well, at least they seemed to accept that response as acceptable as they watched him. Blondie was watching him too.

Could this night get any better?

Probably once Strife realized where that hand was headed.

…

"So this is the man you were talking about."

When he had first seen him, he could have sworn the man who spoke was a woman. What kind of man had pink hair? Yeah, it was an understated murky pink in these lights, but still. He still looked dangerous beneath it though, so Cloud was glad there was a good distance and a few bodies between.

They'd been introduced when he'd first been positioned; sandwiched between an eye-patched and scarred man who looked more than a little trigger happy, and the silent Sephiroth who exuded boredom and arrogance with every move. Marluxia?

Yes. But when did Leon get here? Wasn't he supposed to be gathering information?

Don't stare. Don't stare. But he looked a little…off.

The man that the others had been talking about was the son of an actor, the largest shareholder in almost every publishing company in this country and beyond, and a man who held a remarkable amount of political sway. There was even mention of him being related to Galbadia's singing sweetheart, Julia Heartilly. Or was that soon to be related? Not a single mention of his military career, unless you counted General Caraway as a relation. Couldn't possibly have been Leonhart.

…Was that the alias he was using? Seemed a little far fetched to give him that many connections. He made note to point out the ridiculousness of their cover stor—

His body froze, the hand working its way up his thigh tightening on the tense muscles, a thumb stroking almost idly. Sephiroth. That was Sephiroth's hand. He couldn't break it. He couldn't react to it.

So he silently clenched his jaw, closed his eyes and pushed back against the couch, willing his mind to ignore it. Ignore it. Just – the soft grunt escaped completely unbidden when the hand got a little too friendly.

Damn it. Leon was staring at him now. No, they all were staring at him now, he realized as his eyes darted quickly from face to face.

More than half of the men present were watching him in a manner that was not at all reassuring, and he felt the definite heat rising to his face. The sole woman – blonde - looked absolutely murderous. Cloud wanted to get out of here. He was trapped here, surrounded by eyes and judgements and scrutiny and people. This was his first time on the field, one of few times surrounded by more than a handful of onlookers, and this was what they were throwing at him?

"I…I'll be back." He had to make an escape. Now. If only for a short time. He couldn't snap here, there was too much at stake. Bathroom. Bathroom was good.

But before he could make it to the edge of the ring of couches – before he could even make it more than to his feet – he felt a large gloved hand at the back of his neck, dragging him down to meet a smirking mouth.

"Don't be long."

Cloud didn't flee. He walked with purpose, trying to ignore the chuckling from behind him without succumbing to the urge to maim them all.

…

Frankly, the blond was holding up far better than he had imagined. Under Sephiroth's 'care', most needed far more time to adjust to the demands to not only their ego, but the sheer weight of mental demands. Leon had actually counted on having to drug the man and take him home under the guise of drunken stupor; the chemicals sitting snugly in both his and Sephiroth's pockets. The girls on staff probably had enough on hand to take down five wendigos. Yes, they had to watch out for Riku and Sora's unfavourable reactions as well, but it was an unspoken agreement that the boys knew enough to monitor themselves. They rarely needed to subdue them, and even less of late.

Either this man's pride was more flexible than he thought, or it was a better façade than he gave Strife credit for. If the latter, he hoped the man wouldn't come out of this too damaged; he showed promise.

God, he was becoming like him.

"Tragic, what happened to your last consort." Xehanort's fingers were weaving through Riku's hair, and Leon was glad to note that Riku at least showed no outward discomfort at the gesture. He sat comfortably relaxed against the older man like the perfect doll. Even if his eyes were a little glassy. The boy had once, in one of his rare moments of openness, explained that it was his defence mechanism; thinking of warm sand and blue waves. Of a tree that grew stars.

They all had their ways to deal with strain.

"To think that he jumped…" Larxene smirked her eyes dancing over Leon even as she spoke to Sephiroth.

"It was unfortunate." The grey-haired man said in a tone that made clear that he didn't care for the subject in the least. "However, matters have turned in my favour, it seems."

Tidus didn't deserve this. No one deserved to be spoken of in such a manner. Past tense. So definite. So cold. If the blond broke like that, would they talk about him in the same way?

And he was pretty damn sure he could use another drink. There was nothing here that could be learned from his presence; Sephiroth was far more adept at prying information from these men, and with Riku as a distraction, Xehanort would be feeling far more confident. Especially if Cloud's new face was temporarily absent.

It was time to extract himself.

…

Well, they hadn't skimped on the refurbishing of the men's room at least, regardless of how old the original facilities were.

The room was large – larger than he had thought a men's room would be, though if this floor was accustomed to hosting parties, it was no real wonder. It was also remarkably clean, which really was the greater of surprises. Four cubicles were built into the back wall, each resembling more closely a closet. Wood slated doors, brass handles. Eight urinals on the left wall, six sinks to the right. A large window separated the urinals into sets of four.

Dead centre sat a couch, two plush lounge chairs and a glass coffee table.

What for, he had no idea. Well, maybe a bit of an idea. But what reason would a logical man of stature need to spend extended periods in the bathroom? He quelled the voice that quickly – and eagerly, the traitor – supplied an answer. That was not the sort of thing that would be helpful in a situation like this.

Take it calmly, think it over.

Don't sit down.

He found himself at one of the sinks - the second from the left, if it mattered – turning on the hot water and watching it run; wondering with no real purpose how long it would take for the water to run cold. Exactly how much water did this building have stored?

Okay, he was doing well. At least he was alone; he'd made sure of that when he'd first entered. But the night wasn't over yet, and he could only hide for so long in the washroom before someone would come looking for him; no doubt one of the others well before Sephiroth himself would bother.

He had to stop reacting. Had to shut down his responses, his senses. Trust that these people would see him through this in one piece. Trust Sephiroth.

How did Riku do it?

"Tifa said you'd run in here." Leon. Why hadn't he locked the door? "She was going to come in after you herself. Thank God she had enough sense not to."

"I didn't run anywhere." Cloud noticed that Leon was taking precaution to avoid the couch just as he had. He also pondered the pros and cons of taking the man off-guard and pushing him onto it, just to see the look on his face. Cons won out in the end; wouldn't want to give him the wrong impression, after all.

That drink in his hand…was he tilting? No, that was his imagination. Had to be. "No, it looked more like a scamper from where I sat."

"Oh fuck you."

The dark-haired man grunted as he took a drink, making his way to lean against the row of sinks. The liquid may have been clear, but Cloud was certain it was hardly water.

"You come here to finish what he started? Where's the audience, Leon?"

"Why, do you need help?"

"Are you offering?"

"You alone?"

"No, me and my crew of eco-terrorists are in the middle of plotting a dynamic return." Steam was still rising from the sink. He had to admit, though, he liked the blanket of noise it provided. Let him concentrate a little more on the white noise and a lot less on Mr. Leonhart. Leonhart…Loire? Didn't really matter in the end, he supposed.

"Useful, those. Doesn't change the fact that you can't hide out –"

Cloud's hand caught the counter on reflex as the building shuddered violently, the other covering his coughs from the plaster falling from the ceiling. Leon was slightly less graceful – which compounded Cloud's belief that he had drank far too much that night – but still managed to retain his balance, even as his drink crashed to the floor.

"What the hell was that?"

"Sounded like an explosion." Said Captain Obvious, quickly answering the irritating jingle of a cell phone. "Tifa?"

Cloud made his way to the window, craning to see as much of the building as he could. There were sparks coming from around the corner of the building and – the giant screens were breaking apart, just the edges visible from his position, the largest crashing down to the pavement thirteen stories below. That couldn't be a good sign. If the building was falling apart, would he end up dying in a bathroom? He found it rather funny, in a tragically depressing sort of way.

"We have to get out. Sephiroth and his contacts have already taken the stairs with the others." Leon was beside him then, pulling him from the window. We can leave through the window; there should be a ledge and a fire escape to the right."

"And then to the roof where we stage a daring bid for freedom?"

"No, then to Griever parked around the corner." He responded, hands searching the window for a means to open it. The building was falling apart and he was still trying to open it the polite way?

"Move."

In all fairness, he should have given the dark-haired man more time to get out of the way; taken into account his slowed reflexes and general misjudgement on the speed that a human can travel at. As a result, Leon tripped over himself as the coffee table passed by his shoulder, landing rather hard on his side as the glass shattered.

"Window's open."