45 minutes.

That's what Tseng calculates as he spares a look at the clock hanging above the mantelpiece. 45 minutes that he'd been stuck in this… relatively serviceable sitting room, the sofa that he had been guided to a little too firm for his liking. 45 minutes of worried cries from the kitchen – "Oh, I do hope he'll be back soon! Dinner's almost ready!" – and nervous fidgeting from across the coffee table – "I swear I don't know anything else!". And yet, he's still no closer to meeting this mystery man of theirs.

But if nothing else, at least it wasn't all for naught. He had gleaned some very valuable intel from all of this. Intel that lent credence to everything Kunsel and those idiot 3rds had told him. "So, you're saying," he probes, "that Mr… Fair is in possession of a set of interlocking swords that, together, form a weapon that is the same shape and size as Commander Angeal Hewley's?" It certainly would explain why Kunsel had called it an arsenal while those two 3rds were convinced the man only had one sword.

"Y-Y-Yes," Walker splutters, choking on the tea he had been trying to drink. His… 'father', who had insisted on being present in case Tseng tried to 'trick' Walker into 'incriminating' himself, slaps the man on the back and growls something along the lines of, "Bastard did that on purpose."

Tseng provides no acknowledgment that he's right. Instead, he runs a thumb down the imitation porcelain teacup in his hand as he aggregates all of the information he had gathered so far. This man, whoever he was, was obviously enhanced, and easily to the level of a 1st Class SOLDIER. Possibly beyond that, if what Kunsel had mentioned about his eyes was to be believed. And his ability to handle three full-grown Behemoths at the same time, without breaking a sweat, was of particular interest.

Yet, that wasn't the most intriguing part about this enigma. Not when this man purportedly bore an exact resemblance to the late Cloud Strife, carried a sword that was a perfect imitation of Angeal's Buster, and waltzed around town under the moniker Fair.

It had Avalanche written all over it.

Why he had saved Genesis, though, when he could have just as easily left him there to die, Tseng couldn't fathom. But this wasn't the first time they had dealt with sleeper agents before. And if there was one clone… could there be two?

Tseng glances at the clock again – 47 minutes – and buries down all thought of the faded name on his wrist as deep as he can manage. Now was not the time for that.

Buzz.

"I hope you don't mind," Tseng says as he places the teacup back on its saucer on the table, the tea undisturbed inside. He doubts it's poisoned – Mrs. Gray didn't seem the type (Walker probably, Mr. Gray most definitely, though with that snarl on his face, he'd probably prefer to punch him instead) – but the only slum-water tea he will palate is that made by Mrs. Gainsborough. And only then to please Aerith.

"Oi, Bossman!" Reno calls the moment Tseng answers his PHS. "Word on the street's our little blond birdie already flew the coop!"

"You're sure?"

"It came straight from Old Man Verdot's mouth! Said he saw a blond man with 'bout half a dozen swords slinkin' through the shadows earlier. He tried followin', but the little bugger's got some mean legs on him!"

Blond, laden with weapons, and faster than Verdot? That had to be their man. "How long ago was this?" Tseng asks, ever mindful of the irony that even in retirement, his predecessor was still doing his job for him.

Some things never change.

Reno sighs, and Tseng can already tell he's not going to like the answer. "That's the thing, yo. Verdot said Blondie skedaddled almost an hour ago. He didn't realize we were lookin' for him."

Almost an hour ago? That was too convenient to be mere coincidence. Either this man knew he was being tracked or he had already inspired so much loyalty in these people that they would willingly go toe-to-toe with a Turk to protect him.

Or both.

Well, whichever it is, Tseng knows he cannot turn a blind eye to this. It was clear that this man posed a significant threat to Shinra. A threat that they would find and contain.

"And here I thought that crooked shopkeep would be the highlight of my day!" Reno cackles, his glee ill-contained. "He kept goin' on and onnnn about how his Chocobo Lure materia had been stolen and he was obviously the real victim here. And how that was the real reason he tried to scalp a Turk, 'promise'… Had to zap him 10 times just to get him to shaddup."

Tseng knows he shouldn't indulge him. But he does anyway. "10… times?"

"Ok, more like 2," Reno responds, and Tseng can already picture his smirk from here. "But he had the other 8 comin'! Innit that right, Rude?"

"That can wait until later, Reno," Tseng says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes in front of his hosts. "We have work to do." And he returns his PHS to the pocket of his jacket before Reno can go any further off tangent. "You have my sincerest apologies," he tells the two in front of him, the lie almost believable to his ears. "But I had to take that."

"Another one of yer friends?" Mr. Gray growls, his arms crossed over his chest, defiantly.

"Something like that. Now, where were we?" Tseng pauses, pretending like he wasn't just talking about this mystery man of theirs. "Ah, right. Did Mr. Fair mention where he was going?"

"U-Uh…" Walker turns to his 'father', silently asking permission to talk (still immature, then). "H-He…"

"If yer really his friend, shouldncha already know where he's goin'?"

Tseng sighs purposefully and folds his hands in his lap with a feigned innocence. "He ran away from home," he provides, the words smooth on his tongue. "He left no note, and his family is very worried about him. I just want to make sure he's ok."

The weighted pause and narrowing of Mr. Gray's eyes are telling enough. "Hate ta break it t' you, but the kid didn't say nothin'."

And there it was again – that same reluctance to talk about a man they had only known for all of four or five hours.

Now, Tseng could leverage Walker's parole against them – that had already convinced them to loosen their lips more than once tonight. But he could tell that Mr. Gray was about one threat away from throwing himself over the table. And while Tseng wouldn't mind charging the man with assault of an intelligence officer, that's not why he's here today.

So, he settles for a more subtle approach.

"He didn't mention anything about returning to Midgar then?" he asks, establishing a baseline to gauge their reactions against. "No? Well, perhaps he meant to visit the Chocobo Farm?" No reaction. "Or even Junon?" Walker flinches, and Tseng knows he's got him. But he continues for discretion's sake. "Hmm, I hear Costa del Sol is rather nice this time of year. Perhaps—"

"I told ya, he didn't say nothin'!"

"Ok, dinner in 10 minutes!" Mrs. Gray interrupts, the woman hobbling back into the sitting room, her apron caked in flour. "And if Mr. Fair isn't back by then—" she gestures with the wooden spoon in her hand – "then he'll just have to settle for leftovers."

There's no deceit to be found on her face – from here, all Tseng can see is an overly hospitable (and messy) old woman. But was that all an act? Was she only showing him what he expected to see? A fallen bully, a foul-mouthed idiot, and a frail old lady? He supposes he could have been over-confident – Walker and his 'father' were too emotional to pull something like this off, but Mrs. Gray was definitely the question mark in the whole situation.

Had she conned him?

"Ezekiel, be a dear and set the table."

Well, if she had, Tseng thinks as he rises gracefully from the too-firm couch, then he would leave her with that honor. It was exceedingly rare that anybody managed to trick him.

Besides, he already had his prize.

"I'm afraid I will have to pass, after all," Tseng replies, inclining his head (in defeat?) to the woman. "Something just came up."

"But what about your friend?" Mrs. Gray cries, disappointed. "I thought you were looking for him?"

"Unfortunately, that will have to wait. Duty calls." And he almost leaves it at that – Walker looks pathetic enough as it is – but then he remembers the nasty kink in the neck Rufus had gotten from sleeping in that hospital chair. All because he refused to return to his quarters while his brother's life hung in the balance. All because of this man before him.

So, Tseng smirks instead.

And savors the unfettered terror that runs through Walker's eyes.

"We'll be in touch."

Dinner had been quite the roller-coaster affair.

Don't get Zeke wrong, the food had been damn good – mashed potatoes made with just the right amount of garlic, chicken fried to perfection, hell, even the green beans had been palatable (and Zeke hates green beans). But he'd been left to whine like a toddler with food in his mouth ("But he's a Tuwk, Ma!"), while his ma spouted pretty praise for that smarmy bastard. And if that wasn't bad enough, she'd then laid into him for his 'atrocious' manners, before turning around 'n insisting that that pansy-ass Turk didn't mean nothing by threatening to throw Walker in jail – "He was just trying to toughen the boy up!"

Zeke'd gawked at that little nugget of stupidity, only to realize, from the glint in her eyes and the quirk to her brow, that his ma knew something was up too.

And that she had just pulled a fast one on him yet again.

Dangnabit.

To make matters worse, Walker'd had another episode when they'd tried to get his attention ("I-I didn't m-mean to h-hurt h-him!"), every ounce of fear from that bullshit inquisition clear as day on his face. And while Zeke's glad he hadn't heard them arguing about that no-good son-of-a-gun, it'd hurt to see the boy hiding himself behind his mask again. A mask forged in trauma and misery, and one Zeke had worked so damn hard to find his way around in the first place.

"I'm sorry. I'm not hungry," the boy had said. Had tried to leave. But Zeke's ma (bless her soul) had used that same don't argue with me tone she had when Zeke'd tried to adopt a Kalm Fang puppy as a kid – "You need to eat something. You understand me, young man? I will not stand by and watch you starve yourself again. My poor old heart can't take it."

And really, for someone who swore he wasn't hungry, Walker sure did lick his plate clean. Though, whether the boy was hungrier than he let on or had just forced himself to finish everything so he didn't worry them, Zeke doesn't know. But you know what? That's ok. He's not about to complain. They could work on building the boy back up tomorrow, piece by Turk-battered piece.

And then, once they finally got back to Midgar, he'd see if he couldn't convince the boy to pay Saanvi a visit – Walker might not think he needs a therapist anymore, but that PTSD certainly tells another tale.

"Thanks for the meal…" Walker mumbles, voice depressingly quiet.

Yup. Zeke'd definitely be talking to Saanvi later.

"Aww! Anything for my favorite grandson!" his ma coos, even though the boy is her only grandson ("That's why he's my favorite!"). "Now, once I finish loading up the dishwasher, what do you two say to a rousing game of Makonopoly?"

Zeke doesn't bother hiding his scowl – he hates Makonopoly, and his ma knows it (it's so dang boring) – but he can tell she has something else up her sleeve. He supposes he can take one for the team. "…Ugh, fine. Whatever you say, Ma."

"Wonderful!"

.

.

.

"It's a shame Mr. Fair never showed up," his ma laments as she rolls the dice across the board. "We could have given him the Chocobo piece."

"Ma," Zeke groans. "I very much doubt the boy'd appreciate the comparison."

But his ma doesn't seem to care, nor does she pay him any mind. "I guess he had more important things to worry about," she sighs and slides her piece (the Mako Reactor, tch) over the spaces. "7… 8… 9, there we go. Hmm… Loveless Avenue, 200 gil? Well, that sounds reasonable. Here you go, Mr. Banker," she says and passes over the money with a smile. Or, at least, she tries to. "…Walker, baby?"

"Huh?" Walker startles out of the trance he had fallen into, and Zeke very nearly marches off to find that Turk and give him a piece of his mind. Blasted asshole just had to up and ruin all the progress they had made. "Is it my turn now?" the boy asks, but flushes from mortification when he finally notices his grandma's still outstretched hand. "O-Oh! Y-You need to finish buying first, r-right!" he stumbles over his words, accepting the play money with shaking hands and tryna pretend he had heard the entire conversation. "K-Kalm Place, you said?"

Zeke's ma smiles sadly and draws Walker's hands into her own, halting his frenzied attempt to find the right property card. "Breathe for me," she instructs, and Walker sucks in a ragged breath. "Good. Now, breathe out… And again…" She holds him like that, guiding him through the worst of it, 'til his shaking ain't nothing but a fine tremor. "Good boy. Now, do you still want to be Banker or should Ezekiel—"

"I-I can do it! I-I swear!"

Zeke's ma drops the boy's hands only to pat him affectionately on the cheek. "That's my boy."

And Walker ducks his head, embarrassed. "W-Which one did you need again?" he asks.

"Loveless Avenue, please. But I'm happy to take Kalm Place, too, if you're handing them out for free."

.

.

.

They're halfway through the game (or at least, Zeke prays to every god he knows they are), when he finally can't wait no longer. When Walker's mood has taken such a turn for the better, that Zeke hopes his line of questioning won't push him off the deep end again.

'Sides, Walker's strong. And he needs to know – about Sky. And about keeping his mouth shut.

Now that you've got us playing your game, Zeke writes for his ma and Walker to see, cuz he doesn't trust the walls not to be listening in. Are you actually gonna explain why the hell you ratted the kid out? We're hella lucky he never showed up.

His ma smirks. "Moogle Gardens, please," she says out loud, accepting the property card with a bright "Why, thank you." But it's what she jots down underneath Zeke's scrawl that leaves him speechless. Oh, the darling left the city hours ago. Saw him from the window.

"W-What…?"

"It's called a Makonopoly, dear," his ma teases, and continues in her elegant cursive – The dear wanted to come to your rescue, but it would have just caused more trouble for all of us. So, I gave him a little goodie bag and sent him on his way.

Walker chokes on something – his breath, his water, Zeke doesn't know. Doesn't care, neither. He's too busy scribbling his own message down on that dang piece of paper. You played a Turk…

His ma snorts. "Like it was hard."

"H-He… He w-wanted—" Walker stammers, hope and disbelief warring for control in his eyes.

Zeke's ma cuts him off with a quick wave of her hand. "That's why Ezekiel hates this game," she laughs. "He can never get a Makonopoly first!"

"Ma!" Zeke grumbles, totally for this dumb show they have to put on and not cuz his ma is right. Nope, not right at all.

"Oh, there's no need to make a fuss, Ezekiel. You already have Midgar Central Station and the Sister Ray Cannon, you're not that far behind." Zeke scoffs, obviously still playing along, as his ma writes out a warning for Walker to see – Act normal. I wouldn't be surprised if that parole officer of yours left something or someone behind to fish for more info about young Mr. Fair. We mustn't let them think we're hiding something. Understand? "Now, Walker. It's your turn, isn't it, dear?"

"I… uh… r-right…" Walker manages to say, his face shifting from confusion to fear to something more like indignation, before he finally rolls the dice again. "I-I mean… yes, it's my turn." And he slides his game piece across the board, the Tonberry he had gone for just as morbid now as it was then (but as long as the boy is being this responsive, Zeke ain't about to say nothing).

"Oh, Kalm Place!" Zeke's ma claps, her exuberance the only thing that doesn't feel outta place here. "You're going to buy that, aren't you dear? You'll have your very own Makonopoly!" Zeke doesn't scowl, he swears it. His nose just itches, dammit! "Good thing you didn't give it to me after all!"

"Yeah…" Walker agrees, half-heartedly, a storm brewing behind his eyes as he snatches the paper up – What do they want with him?

Zeke balks. He has his suspicions of course – it ain't just pure coincidence that the man the Turks're after is also a walking amnesiac (how the hell'd else he not know about soulmates?). But he can't bring himself to voice… well, write his theories. He doesn't wanna see the pain in Walker's eyes again. It goddamn near killed him the last time.

So, instead, he writes a single word – Later – and hopes that that'll be enough for now.

It's not.

Walker shakes his head, violently, and underlines his earlier words. I'm not a child. I can handle it. And Zeke can tell, from the haunted look in the boy's eyes, that they won't have no peace 'til they tell him.

And his ma must realize, and accept, it too. For she nods and bids him, "Ezekiel, go ahead and take your turn while I check on the dishes. I won't be long." When she returns, she drops an old newspaper onto the desk between them. One that draws the breath straight from Zeke's lungs as easily as it does Walker's.

"The fuck?" Zeke can't help himself. Cuz that's damn well Sky's face staring back at him, the words across the front of the page – Hero Infantryman Killed In Behemoth Attack – painting quite the different picture from what he had just seen today.

I thought he looked familiar, his ma lets them know, all while rolling her eyes in Zeke's direction. "What have I told you about cursing in my household, young man?" Her exasperation doesn't sound feigned neither. "You don't need to use foul language just because you landed on one of my properties."

Zeke barely hears her, though. Barely notices that his Motorbike piece had landed on Loveless Avenue. Not with the pure grief and agony etched on Walker's face. Is he the one you hurt? Zeke asks, though he doesn't need to see Walker's strained (terrified?) nod to know the truth. Well, no wonder you acted like you'd seen a ghost.

Walker hesitates, long enough for Zeke's ma to decide to keep their charade rolling – "9… 10… 11, oh looks like I owe you some money now, too, Ezekiel!" And when the boy finally pulls conflicted eyes from the picture on the front of the newspaper, he shakily scrawls out another message – Do they think he's Cloud?

Zeke offers a half-hearted shrug in return – that ain't what he thinks, but if Walker hasn't come to the same calculation, he ain't about to lead him there. So, instead, he tries to distract the boy, "Looks like it's yer turn now, kiddo."

But Walker refuses to be deterred. What are you hiding from me?

"Walker…"

Tell me!

Zeke sighs and tries to prepare himself mentally for what's to come. I think the kiddo's an escaped experiment and that Turk of yours musta been sent to retrieve him.

"What?" Walker blurts out, turning a horrified look to Zeke's ma. But when she just nods sadly in agreement, he reaches blindly – devastatedly – for the pen. No no no. They said he was dead. He has to be dead. Why did they say he was dead?

Zeke shouldn't, he's pretty sure of that at least, but it's too damn late to take it all back. Think about it – how else wouldn't he know about soulmates and everything if nothing weird was going on? Either they faked the boy's death so nobody'd come looking for him or they're tryna bring him back to life. You've heard the rumors that people've gone missing – maybe this 'Sky' is one of 'em.

Grief burns into white-hot fury so Gaia-damn fast that Zeke doesn't even have a chance to grab Walker before he's knocked the entire game – box and all – onto the ground. "NO!"

But somehow he remembers about this lie they have to sell.

"What 'n the devil's wrong with you, boy?!" Zeke yells, latching onto the boy's shoulders and wrestling him back into his chair before he can give their ruse away. "It's just a game! Ain't nobody sendin' ya back to jail!"

And in that moment, as Walker sobs against his side and his heartbroken ma tries to fix everything – "Oh sweetheart, don't cry. We can play another game. You like Hungry Hungry Elfadunks, don't you? Or what about Mu Trap?" – Zeke realizes that he's gonna hafta keep a close eye on the boy to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. For now, though, he just holds on tight and reassures him, "Atta boy. Just let it all out."

He'd had quite the traumatic day, after all.

"No, Zack, stop!" Cloud orders, rather futilely, the Chocobo in question wriggling out of his hold to shove his head back into the bucket of Gysahl Greens. "Zack, no!" he tries again, wrapping his arms around the bird, just below his neck, and pulling. Zack doesn't move. Except to snarf down more of the greens. "Weren't you just drinking water?" he grouses, the audience they'd gained there in the stables thankfully content to lay their own feathered heads back down to sleep.

Gaia's sake. He'd taken his eyes off of Zack for all of two seconds. Two seconds – to get a drink of water from one of the troughs himself, he's not proud to admit, but he wanted to save the bottle of water for later – and that's all it took for the bird to find his way into trouble.

Well, at least he'd chosen the right name for him.

Chomp. Chomp. Snarf.

"Zack! That's not ours!" he scolds, somehow – he's not entirely sure – managing to maneuver his way around the giant-ass bird (the cursing was all Cid) and wrest the half-empty bucket out from underneath his nose. "Shiva's tits! How many of these have you eaten already?"

"Kweh! Kweh!" Zack complains, loudly – at this rate, they might as well have just woken up Chocobo Bill (or whoever the hell owned the farm), rather than sneaking into the stables through the dark of night like two third-rate idiots (Pinky and the Birdbrain, anyone?). But Zack doesn't seem to care that he might wake somebody, or that it's way past midnight and they haven't slept in hours, thank you, the annoying yet still entirely loveable bird prancing leftrightupdown in some improvised attempt at working his way past Cloud's defenses. "Kweehhhh!"

"Zack!" Cloud ducks left as Zack lunges right, only to realize at the last possible second that the dumb (stupidly smart?) bird was feinting him – ugh, how was this harder than fighting Sephiroth? "Zack, knock it off!" he says, dancing out of the way, a sight that would have made Andrea swoon, even with the 8-foot tall Chocobo after him. "Stop it! You're just going to make yourself sick!"

"Kweeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

.

.

.

It had taken a few minutes, a slightly desperate offer of an apple in exchange, and the strategic placement of the bucket of Gysahl Greens on top of one of the beams connecting the Chocobo pens together (and hopefully out of reach of any wandering beaks), but Cloud had finally managed to stop the entirely too fixated bird from bringing the stables down on them. And then he had been free to collapse in the corner, wolf down the muffin Mrs. Gray had given him (mmm, pumpkin) and no less than four cookies (they were good, ok?), and then watch as Zack padded carefully (cautiously?) around the pens and chirruped softly inside. "What're you looking for?" Cloud asks, settling further into the bedding he had prepared for them (just some fresh hay, but he'd slept on worse).

Zack doesn't answer, though. He continues his trek around the stables, chattering the whole way, until he startles to a stop in front of the furthermost pen. "Kweeeehhhhh…" he warbles, a sound somewhere between a coo and a whine, and Cloud is on his feet in an instant.

"Zack, buddy, you ok?"

"Kweh… kweehhhhh…"

"Zack…?" Cloud repeats, peering as best he can around beak and feathers. Inside the pen lay a female Chocobo and a very young chick. "Do you know them?"

"Kwehhh… kweehhh?" Zack calls out, but the female Chocobo barely lifts her head before lying back down again, her lack of recognition and interest evident.

No relation then.

"Zack…" Cloud sighs and runs a hand down the bird's back. "C'mon, buddy. Let's get you all cleaned up and then we should hit the hay." Literally. "We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Honestly, there's nothing Cloud would love more than to drop everything, disappear into the wilds, and find a nice Chocobo Zack could start a family with (Zack and Aerith the Chocobos, Cloud decides, even if the thought does cause him some pain). But unfortunately, that life would have to wait. Sephiroth was still out there, still headed straight for Nibelheim. And if there was one thing Cloud had learned from all that time spent fighting the self-proclaimed god, it was that Sephiroth didn't skimp. On anything. Once he had found a new obsession, not even death would stop him from getting what he wanted. And Cloud really couldn't afford to let this Sephiroth find a way to link themselves together, too – one planet-destroying, death-defying stalker had been one too many for him.

So, as much as he hates it, Sephiroth had to come first. Baby Chocobos, the reactors, Hojo, they'd all have to wait.

"Been thinking," Rude calls from the back seat, breaking his self-imposed silence as they turn the bend. "Is all this really necessary? Wouldn't it make more sense to head straight for Junon? And by helicopter, at that."

Tseng raises an eyebrow, even though Rude can't see him. "Have you forgotten what happened the last time Avalanche had access to surface-to-air missiles?"

"Uh… right."

"As for Junon," Tseng continues, his eyes never leaving the road in front of him. "Our target has undoubtedly been made aware of our pursuit by now. We cannot afford to head straight for Junon only to find out that he fled elsewhere. Not with how capable he is at hiding all signs of his existence." They had spent far too long searching for tracks that were never there to realize that. "Fortunately, Verdot saw him heading south-east when he left the city, so we know we're moving in the right direction." Unfortunately, that was their only saving grace right now. There were far too many unknowns for Tseng's liking.

"And if he's still going to Junon?"

"Then Cissnei and Two Guns will be there to intercept him, and we will cut him off from behind."

"But, sir," Elena cuts in. "Didn't this man save one of our own? Shouldn't we be thanking him instead of hunting him down like a Zolom?"

Tseng sighs quietly – he had forgotten she wasn't a Turk then. "What do you know of Avalanche, Elena?"

"Uh…" she stalls, and Tseng doesn't need to look to know that her brow has furrowed in thought. "They were terrorists who declared war against Shinra several years ago. They made it within the walls of Midgar, in part due to the fact that they were disguised to look like 1st Class SOLDIERs Genesis and Angeal, but they were met with the full force of Shinra's might before they could move forward in their plot to assassinate the President."

"More or less," Tseng agrees, easing up on the gas as they crest the ridge. "Or at least that's the story we fed to the press."

"…Then?"

"They didn't just plot to assassinate the President, they very nearly did," Tseng says, red splattering across his face, seeping into his clothes just like it had that day.

"Sir…?"

He doesn't tremble or quake, though he's sure his pulse is slightly elevated. He breathes evenly, and his vision returns to the dull brown and patchy green of the countryside around them. "Have you heard of a man named Hollander?" he asks, subtly readjusting their trajectory and relaxing his grip on the steering wheel.

He wouldn't fail the President again.

"Uh… You mean the person Reno refers to as 'that lumpy hackrabbit'?"

Rude snorts in the back, and even Tseng allows his lips to curve upwards. "Presumably," he acknowledges, the red starting to disappear from behind his eyelids. "More importantly, though, he was a scientist employed by Shinra Company, with full access to everything R&D had to offer. But that wasn't enough for him. He wanted more. And when the position of head scientist passed him by, he vowed revenge against the company and ran straight to Avalanche with his tail tucked between his legs." Elena doesn't breathe, and like himself, Tseng imagines Rude has found himself stuck in the midst of bad memories. "What we didn't realize at the time, though, was Hollander had discovered a way to clone a person with the use of J-cells." Elena gasps. "And he had amassed a number of vials of Genesis's and Angeal's blood over the years."

"What!" Elena yells, directly in Tseng's ear, and Tseng questions whether Reno was actually the tiresome one after all. "You mean they were clones?"

"That is exactly what I mean," he says. "And those clones might have been successful if Reno hadn't used his own body as a human shield."

"H-H-He… H-He what…?"

"It was bad, 'Lena," Rude confirms, his voice softer than Tseng has ever heard it. "I… I t-thought…" His breath hitches, but Tseng is deaf to the world, providing no acknowledgement that he had heard anything. "That's why he got those tattoos – to hide the scars… and to prove that he's the real deal."

"Oh…" Elena breathes, uncharacteristically reserved. "Is that why you kiss them every night?"

Rude splutters, and Tseng takes that as his cue to rejoin the conversation, his eyes focused on the outline of the Chocobo Farm in the distance. "Elena," he chides. "Remember that what you do in the bedroom is not an appropriate form of work conversation."

"Ack! Sorry, sir…" Elena trails off, thoroughly chastised, and Tseng welcomes the accompanying silence like he would an old friend – with nary a sound to communicate his relief.

And he would prefer to keep it that way, too, but he can see Elena fidgeting from the corner of his eye. "If you still have misgivings, Elena, then it's better to clear them up now."

"Oh! …Uh… I…" she stumbles over her words, flustered, and Tseng calculates that she must be searching for an appropriate denial. When she doesn't find one, though, she sighs, sets her jaw, and turns her full attention back to him. "Why would he have saved Genesis then, if he's working for the enemy?"

A reasonable question. "To confuse us," is his response. "What easier way to slip past our defenses than to make us believe he really is Cloud Strife back from the dead?"

"Oh…"

"Tell me, Elena," he says, because he can tell that she still doesn't fully understand. "Would you be able to kill somebody who looked like Reno or Rude if you had even the slightest doubt as to who that person really was?"

"Uh… no," she says, dejectedly, and Tseng knows she finally gets it.

"Even if this man is not a clone or in line with Avalanche, he's still a threat to Shinra Company. We cannot allow somebody that enhanced to saunter about unchecked. Either he pledges allegiance to Shinra or he must be dealt with. Permanently."

Kiss-swollen lips.

Bite marks that extend well past the sheet that covers him.

And hair like spun gold beneath the sunlight filtering in through the blinds.

Normally, Zack would be upset that Genesis had so obviously worn off on him, but not now. Not with this beauty lying next to him – in his bed, he thinks excitedly.

He still can't believe it's real, either. Sure, he had wanted it to happen. Had hoped, and dreamed, and squatted til he couldn't squat no more. But he had thought that that was all he would get. Had figured he was just being greedy, and that Cloud would belong to somebody else come morning. (Thank Gaia it wasn't Roche.)

"Zack…?"

Zack could kick himself for getting distracted. For not seeing Cloud wake up for the first time in his bed (and it was probably adorable too). But he can already see the self-doubt wriggling its way back into Cloud's eyes. The same self-doubt that had almost sent him running for the hills the moment he got his soulmarks. (Good thing Zack wasn't known for his patience, and was already out the door and racing to the infantry barracks the moment he saw Cloud's name on his wrist – he wasn't about to let Genesis get first dibs. Not when he saw Cloud first!)

Now, though, calls for a more delicate approach. A gentler approach.

So, armed with the words 'Heya, Sunshine' on the tip of his tongue, Zack leans down, a fond smile on his lips (honestly, he's probably been smiling since last night). But whoever said he was a morning person (or, really, a person who was capable of coherent thought with Cloud dazzling like that beneath him) – well, they were wrong. "No… I am your mog-father, kupo!"

Cloud groans and tries to shove him away. "Gaia, you're such a dork."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he vows and cradles Cloud to him, though he can't get the smile off his face – he's never been so happy before. "I just… I'm so glad you're actually mine."

"…Yeah… me too."

Zack leans in, watches as Cloud's eyes flutter shut in anticipation, and—

"What the hell are you doing, idiot?"

He notices a few things as he's brought abruptly back to the land of the living. One, it's dark out. Two, he's still (alone) in bed in the Junon barracks. And three, he's currently tangled up in said bed and making out with the disappointing pillow he had borrowed (disappointing because of its lack of fluffiness, not its lack of kissing ability, mind you).

Oh, and four, melancholy doesn't even have the time to set in, cause he has an audience for the first three.

"Gah!" he yells and tries to forcefully extricate himself from his cloth prison, but, as is his luck, he only sends himself crashing to the floor instead. "Dangit!"

"Well, I see I'm not the only one you'll kiss without permission."

"Aww, c'mon, man! It was one time!" he insists (whines, probably, but it wasn't fair that he had to wake up in the first place! He hadn't dreamt of anything but Cloud's death in a long, long time, so why couldn't he have one last kiss, real or not?). "It's not my fault your hair's silver!"

Wait, rewind. He hadn't dreamt of anything but Cloud's death in like forever… So, what's different now?

"It's not my fault you're an idiot."

"Rude!"

"Not his fault either."

"Gah!"

.

.

.

"We shipping out, then?" he asks once he finally manages to work his way free of his confines (no thanks to his company).

"Ha. The President's still waiting for his boy-toy."

"Still?" Zack asks, ignoring the slight against his friend. Honestly, what was taking Tseng so long? Zack wonders as he drops into a set of squats. It wasn't like him to keep people waiting. Had there been a monster attack? Zack knew he should have stayed behind. No, no. Tseng can handle himself, Zack knows that. But what about him? What was Zack supposed to do while they waited? Stay here and argue about who loved Cloud more (Zack, obviously) or 'behave' like Angeal had asked him to? "Hmm… Well, no use crying over spilt milk," he decides and straightens back up, reaching for his sword. "I'm gonna go for a walk. Don't wait up for me."

"Just as long as you promise not to accost me in my sleep again."

"One time!"

"Oh, there you are!" A delighted and familiarly feminine voice calls. "I was beginning to think you'd decided it wasn't cool to be seen with me!"

What the? Cloud jumps, startled that somebody had managed to sneak up on him. And, really, it's only the blond hair he finds in front of him (and the confusing thought that he really hopes Tifa can't see him without his helmet) that stops him from reaching for Tsurugi. "M-Ma…? Is that you?"

"Kweh…?"

"Who else would I be?" his ma laughs, as if she wasn't supposed to be dead. As if Sephiroth hadn't… As if he hadn't… Wait, what had he done again? "Now are you going to introduce me to your friend or what?"

Cloud shuffles his feet in front of him, a habit he had thought he had grown out of… well, he doesn't even remember how long ago now. "Ma, this is my… best friend…" he turns to Zack, hoping that the man would still be smiling, that he wouldn't mind Cloud calling him his best friend, but that's the least of his concerns right now. Not when the man was caked in so much blood and dirt, that no amount of rain would be able to wash him clean (though Gaia was trying her darndest). "Z-Z-Zack…" he croaks, his heart in his throat one second, and shattered on the ground in the next.

"Kweh!"

My honor… My dreams… They're yours now.

Zack was dead.

They had killed him. Shot him up, even though all he had wanted to do was live free. But that wasn't good enough for them. They didn't care. He had escaped, and they had killed him for it.

No.

They hadn't killed him. Cloud had. It was all his fault. If Cloud wasn't so weak, so pathetic, such a loser, then Zack would still be alive. Zack would still be —

"WARK!"

Cloud's wailing dies in his throat, a hand in his hair tugging, tugging, tugging until his world shifts and he's the one sprawled on the floor, a wonderfully familiar pair of mako eyes peering down at him. "Z-Z-Zack…?" he chokes, unbelieving, and the vision of a man above him smiles.

"Heya, Spike. Sure took your time waking up, didn't you?"

"I… I t-thought…" He had thought Zack was dead, had seen him die. But was it all just a dream? "Y-You're… Y-You're ok…?" he practically begs, his hand reaching up towards the other man on auto-pilot.

"Kweh?"

Cloud's vision comes back into focus at the same time his hand meets feathers. Chocobo feathers.

"O-Oh… right…" He forces a weak chuckle, ignoring the way his voice quivers. His Zack was still dead, and no amount of crying would change that. He should know. So, he settles for ignoring his problems instead. "D-Did you w-wake me up?" he asks his new friend.

"Kweh!"

Several strands of hair fall from the Chocobo's beak and, from the corner of his eye, Cloud can see the overturned, most likely empty, bucket of Gysahl Greens. But none of that matters anymore. "Good b-boy," he says, because with a name like Zack, the Chocobo couldn't be anything but a good boy.

"Kweh! Kweh!" Zack chirps and flutters his wings happily, as if he understands on some level. Or perhaps he realizes that Cloud's through the worst of it.

And Cloud is through the worst of it, he thinks. Though, normally, he would never dream of lying back down and facing his demons again so soon. But what choice did he have? His normal outlets were gone. Reno was too close to the enemy, and Roche… Well, Roche was far too conspicuous for Cloud to avoid detection. Not to mention that he had the terrible habit of opening his mouth and ruining Cloud's fantasy with talk of purring engines this and let me grab your handlebar that. How was Cloud supposed to pretend it was Zack above him, pistoning away, like that?

Not that it really mattered, anyway. He was pressed for time – saving Zack came first. It would always come first.

Though, perhaps, he could find some time to sprinkle Andrea in there once he figured out what to do about Sephiroth. Sure, the dancer wasn't as rough as Cloud liked (or needed sometimes), but he was still a good lay.

"Let's go back to b-bed," he says, patting the hay next to him in a silent invitation for the Chocobo to join him. What he doesn't expect, though, is for the bird to kweh in agreement and plonk his head right down on top of Cloud's stomach. "Uh… What are you doing…?"

"Kweh," the bird responds, and curls further into Cloud's side – a good enough sign that he doesn't plan to move anytime soon.

Cloud chuckles, a slightly watery sounding thing, and cards a (grateful) hand through the bird's feathers. "Goodnight, Z-Z-Z…" he tries to say, but can't make it around the frog in his throat or the tears in his eyes. "…Goodnight, M-Mr. Chocobo."

It was too heartbreaking to say his name.

"Sir," Rude's voice crackles to life in Tseng's ear. "We're in position."

"Good." Tseng responds and prepares himself for the task at hand. If the 'strange, but not concerning' noises the owner of the farm had heard had really been their target, then they needed to be at their best. Fortunately, they had already left behind talk of Reno's fondness for the term 'The Clone War' and Elena's surprise that he hadn't actually been referring to 'Mog Wars and Obi-Mog Kenobi'. "Do not let your guard down, no matter what this man looks like. Is that clear?" he still reminds them, mostly for Elena's sake.

"Sir."

"Yes, sir!"

"Elena," Rude chides.

"Oops! Sorry, sir!"

Tseng pinches the bridge of his nose. He had warned Elena to keep her voice down, but he supposes there's nothing he can do about it now. If they had already lost the element of surprise, then they had to act now – they couldn't allow this man more time to compose himself. Tseng would just have to scold her later. "Move in. Now." he commands and throws the door to his side of the stables open, his gun raised. "Hands where I can see them!"

A/N:

- Hungry Hungry Elfadunks was going to be Hungry Hungry Ho-chus, but my beta reader thought Elfadunks sounded funnier XD

- And because I have no life, a few more Star Wars references that might make an appearance later: Ahmogka Tano, The Mogdalorian, Mog Windu, and (not Star Wars, but) Captain Mogvel.

- I plan for the next few chapters to be mostly from Cloud's POV, but I had some things I wanted to set up in this chapter for later in the story.