A/N: For those unfamiliar with the idiom, "up the creek without a paddle" means that you're in a challenging or troublesome situation, especially one that's difficult to resolve.

It was quite the fanciful tale, this story Angeal had weaved for him.

The devastatingly handsome, yet ill, warrior who had ventured forth to seek his revenge, only to come face to face with Death instead. The two surprisingly stalwart dimwits who had vowed to protect the warrior until the bitter end. And the burly lover who had arrived just in the nick of time to beat back Death and breathe Life into the warrior once more.

It had a certain appeal to it, he'll admit, even if it paled in comparison to the literary wonder that was Loveless.

But he didn't buy it for a second.

Oh, there was a glimmer of truth to it all. Genesis is devastatingly handsome and he had left the Tower in search of righteous vengeance. And bafflingly enough, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum had lingered behind to shield him from the onslaught of those blasted Behemoths. He remembers that much. But that's where the similarities ended.

Angeal hadn't saved him.

He knows that.

As stage-worthy of a play as it would have been, he knows those weren't Angeal's eyes he craved. The ones branded to the underside of his eyelids, carrying breathtaking joy and crushing grief with every blink.

Which is what led him to his current riddle – who could evoke such a response in him? Who had spooked Angeal so badly that he would resort to an embellishment such as this?

If Angeal refused to tell him, then Genesis would just have to unravel the mystery for himself.

Hence why he had stomached Angeal's deception and played the role that was expected of him. Flawlessly, might he add.

When Angeal spun his tale, Genesis pushed back where appropriate – "If you tell me those imbeciles bested three Behemoths by themselves, I'll eat my Fire materia."

When the hospital staff delivered his lunch, Genesis condemned the monstrosity for what it was – "I haven't been able to taste anything for years and they expect me to stomach this swill?"

And when Angeal begged him to eat something – anything – Genesis curled himself further into the obnoxiously scratchy rocks that were supposed to be pillows and insisted that he had his standards. If Angeal wanted him to eat, then he better bring him some real food. Preferably something that paired well with a nice slice of Banora White apple pie.

Infantile, perhaps. But this entire farce was an insult to his intelligence. He'd suffered a few scratches from an overgrown cat, and suddenly he couldn't tell the difference between fact and fiction? Did they truly believe him to be that much of an ignoramus?

He wouldn't stand for it – an offense like this called for death (he'd certainly killed for less).

However, since he liked those muscles exactly where they were, he had reconciled himself to lying there, unwavering, for as long as it took for the war of the beasts to bring about the world's end and the Goddess to descend from the sky, wings of light and dark spread afar.

Angeal had caved long before then, a weary resignation seeping into his bones. He had forced a promise from Genesis's lips ("Fine. I swear on the name of the Goddess that if I step foot outside of this room without your express permission, my love, that I will light every single copy of Loveless I own on fire."), placed a lingering kiss to Genesis's forehead, and then set off to find him a more palatable lunch.

What a dear.

But so very naïve. Angeal may have grown more adept at lying to him over the years, but the man had forgotten one thing. Genesis had invented the game. And his mind was sharper now than it had ever been.

As such, it had been child's play to persuade that nurse to return his confiscated PHS. A couple bats of his long eyelashes, a woeful lament that he wanted to thank the men who had saved his life, and a solemn vow that, regardless of what Angeal had told them, he wasn't actually a flight risk without his sword and materia, and the woman had been figurative putty in his hands.

And now, all that stood between him and the truth were those two witless 3rds.

Genesis allows himself an indulgent shake of his head, crosses his ankles underneath the flimsy hospital blanket, and lifts his PHS, casually, to his ear – this wouldn't take long.

If you asked anybody else, Aerith technically wasn't supposed to be up here. The Sister Ray Cannon was too 'dangerous' for a (quote unquote) regular civilian like herself. But Rufus and Tseng were still holed up in that meeting room with Sephiroth and Zack, and they hadn't specifically forbidden her from wandering around, so as far as she was concerned, she had full run of the military facility. Not that she had ever let silly things like orders or 'Authorized Personnel Only' signs stop her anyway.

Besides, she had a mission to complete – Operation Cheer Up Kadaj!

It hadn't been all that difficult to find him, either. What with the public's obsession surrounding him and his younger brothers ('Shinra's Rising Stars!') and his fear that everybody would find out the truth behind their births eventually, she knew Kadaj preferred solitude. Somewhere where he could let his mask fall without risk of recognition.

A lonely way to live his life, Aerith's sure, but with Cloud gone, he had lost the one person who really, truly understood him. Who knew what it was like to be a stranger in his own body. To feel like he was destined for so much more, but constantly afraid that everybody would find out just how far he fell short of the mark.

And that's what made Cloud's loss so devastating. He had known everything – all the dirty secrets, the horrors, the nasty little rumors swirling around – and he hadn't cared one bit. He had wormed his way into their lives, regardless; gotten into more than one fight to protect their honor; and they had latched onto him as a result.

He had been their anchor, but now that anchor of theirs was gone. Now they were left adrift, at the mercy of the sea of public opinion, unaware of if they would be able to weather the storm or if they would flounder and be dashed upon the rocks.

Aerith couldn't bear to see them like that. She had tried to fill the void as best she could, had offered her shoulder for them to lean on, but they were reluctant to let somebody in again. Somebody they could lose again. "We don't need you coddling us," they would always tell her. Which is why she was there – to coddle Kadaj without him realizing it.

Aerith sighs and takes the stairs down to the cannon slowly, her hand ghosting over the railing (why was she so fixated on ghosts today?). At the other end of the barrel, Kadaj comes to a stop, his hair dancing in the wind. He doesn't move, doesn't cry or scream his heartache away, and Aerith wonders what it is he can see. What it is he's looking for.

She doesn't ask. She waits for him to turn on his heel and resume his pacing back her way, before strolling out onto the barrel after him. "If you're not careful," she yells, "you'll wear a hole into the cannon and Rufus won't be happy about that! He might even pout!"

Honestly, she wouldn't mind if Rufus pouted – he was rather cute – but this wasn't the time for it.

Priorities.

Kadaj scoffs (or snorts, she can't really tell from this far away). "If you're not careful, you'll fall from the cannon and I'm sure the President won't be happy about that either! Though, if it means I never have to walk in on you bent over his desk again, maybe I don't really care!"

Oh, Kadaj and his mind games.

He just forgets that two can play that game.

"Excuse you!" she shouts back and takes exactly three over-exaggerated steps further down the cannon. And then she puts her plan into action. "I know what I'm do—whoa!" she fake stumbles to the side, throwing her arms out as if she's actually about to fall. "Ahhh!"

Kadaj doesn't move.

Not at first. He stares at her, silently, and Aerith is half-convinced that he's already caught on. But then, between one pretend wobble and the next, Kadaj lets out a truly heartbreaking, "Mother!" and darts down the cannon to catch her in time.

The world slows to a near stop. Aerith bent double, rooted to the spot by the shame of her mistakes. Kadaj lumbering on, in slow motion, the years falling from his shoulders with each step, until it's no longer the outwardly self-assured 2nd Class SOLDIER who pulls her steady, cat eyes shining with more fear than mako, but rather the one who was far younger mentally than any of them ever seemed to remember. (His choice of sword was truly apt in that regard – one blade to represent the person everyone expected him to be and one for who he really was, combined in such a way that it was almost indistinguishable which was which.)

"Mother! Are you ok?!"

It's a slip of the tongue, she's sure of it. It's not something Kadaj means to, or even realizes that he's said. And yet, the cheeky "Got ya!" on Aerith's lips can't die out fast enough. "Kadaj! It's ok! I'm fine!"

"But you almost fell!"

"I swear I'm fine!" she soothes, her hands wrapping around Kadaj's elbows in a painfully ironic attempt at grounding him (grounding the one who was supposed to be grounding her). "It was just a joke!"

"A… joke?" Kadaj falls silent, the only sign of the trauma Aerith had unintentionally inflicted the way his hands tremble against her shoulders.

She hates herself for it.

"Yeah… Cause you said you didn't care if I fell or not…"

The excuse sounds pathetic to her own ears, and she can't blame Kadaj for the emotionless mask he builds back up over his heart, that he wraps around himself like a safety blanket, all to protect himself from the hurt she had caused. "…A joke," he repeats, his voice as devoid of life as he feared Aerith would be not a moment ago.

"I'm—" she tries to apologize.

Kadaj doesn't let her. "Walk." he orders her, his hands curling almost painfully around her, ensuring no escape. Ensuring no further shenanigans.

And that's what Aerith does – she walks. She takes one careful step behind her after another, Kadaj forcing her on. Yet for someone who was always prepared (and after everything Rufus's father had put her through, she always was prepared), she can't find her words until Kadaj has finished marching them back to the relative safety of the cannon's base. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Don't you ever do that again."

"I won't. I promise." It's far too little, far too late, but Aerith wraps her arms around Kadaj and encloses him in a (hopefully healing) embrace.

And for the first time since Cloud died, Kadaj allows himself to melt into her.

Genesis growls and slaps his PHS down on the side table.

That two-faced scoundrel!

How dare he hide something like this from him! How dare he look Genesis in the eyes and act like there wasn't some Cloud lookalike running around, alone and scared, out there!

Goddess's sake, how gullible did Angeal think he was? Had he honestly believed that wearing that unshaven stubble like a badge of his relief would be enough to distract Genesis from what was going on behind his back? That ordering those two brainless 3rds to keep their mouths shut would actually stop him from discovering the truth? That he wouldn't just threaten to reenact The Great Trooper Barbecue on them to get their lips flapping, regardless of whether or not he had actually set an entire battalion on fire?

It was insulting, is what it was.

Disgraceful.

Unacceptable.

And it was something Angeal would be answering for soon enough.

Just as soon as Genesis manages to get out of this Goddess-damned hospital bed!

"There are no dreams, no honor remains!" Genesis hisses and shoves one of his legs over the edge of the bed.

It's a miscalculation.

Unresponsive as his foot is, the only resistance it meets on its way down is in the form of the IV stand sitting next to him. His foot rebounds off of it, the contraption lurches violently, and the needle pulls sharply at his arm.

His torment is instantaneous. It spreads, outwards, stretching till it reaches every corner of his arm, like a scorching spiderweb entangling its prey.

"Leviathan's Bones!" he swears, a little curse he had picked up during the war.

Next to him, the IV stand wobbles back into place, silently mocking him for having so nearly been brought low again.

He scowls at it, scowls at the needle still nestled innocuously in his arm. He wants revenge. He plans to get it too, and not even the prospect of having to sit through another one of Angeal's famous lectures is enough to counsel patience. If anything, it only spurs him on – Angeal had lied to him, and yet he expects Genesis to keep his word? Ha!

Yet the moment his fingers wrap around the needle and give it an experimental tug, is the same moment he finds those breathtaking, heartrending eyes shining down on him once more.

His breath hitches in his throat, his hand reaches up, up, up, yearning to peel back the fog shrouding that beautiful face. Shrouding it from him. "Little bird…?"

"Please. Let me help you."

He should refuse him. Tell him to fly away now, as far away from him as he can.

But he can't.

"Goddess… I never could… deny you anything… little one…" he hears himself say, his voice hoarser than he remembers it being. But he cares about that naught. For when his fingers finally reach that gossamer veil, those wonderous eyes, that hidden face fade back into the ether, forsaking him to his grief.

He shudders.

"My friend, your desire is the bringer of life, the gift of the goddess," he recites, anything to distract himself from his reality. All of this – Cloud returning from the dead, merely to guide Genesis to salvation – sounded more like a delusion than anything else. Just a pretty little lie conjured up by his lovesick brain. And yet, even if there was only the scantest chance that this was their Cloud, restored to them from the Lifestream (certainly not on account of Genesis's good behavior nor faith), then no matter where the winds may blow, Genesis would follow him to the ends of the world, if only to catch one final glimpse of that beautiful face. "Even if the morrow is barren of promises, nothing shall forestall my return."

His plan is solid.

His body, though, is not.

There could be no more denying the frailty of his limbs, the exhaustion clinging to his body, the bandages still binding him together. If he tried to leave now, he knows he wouldn't make it very far.

And, oh, how he was loath to admit it.

Though, perhaps an intermission wasn't entirely unwarranted. Angeal would be back shortly, and that would be the perfect opportunity to remind him who was actually in charge here. Not to mention, wring the full, unadulterated truth out of him.

Something he could address just fine from his spot perched at the edge of the bed, but if he wanted to leave a lasting impression, he'd have to do better than that. Hence why he finally pushes himself to his feet.

And promptly falls back down on his posterior.

He growls and shoves himself up again. Though, while the cold of the floor does nothing to dampen the fire in his veins, fire can't solve his problems now.

He falls down a second time.

He scowls at his useless body, snarls at the IV again. The temptation to wrest the blasted thing out is still strong, yet he convinces himself to persevere. Delusion or not, he spoke true when he said he couldn't deny Cloud anything, and he had every intention of holding to that vow. If this mystery man of theirs had given him a new lease over life, who was he to waste it?

Besides, he's a new man now. One who doesn't need to pass out on the floor from lack of medication just to get his point across. If he wants to drive Angeal to his knees, he has a better alternative.

So, this time, he spares a moment to will strength from his anger before trying to stand anew. His knees wobble, his legs creak, but as the Puppy was fond of saying, the third time's the charm. His feet hold his weight, no longer forestalling his return, and he finally takes that first glorious, unassisted step forward.

Before stopping abruptly at the strangest of sensations.

He peers over his shoulder, cranes his neck so as to get a good look behind him, and lets out an amused huff at the sight of his backside peeking out from the opening in his hospital gown. "Well," he drawls. "That certainly explains the draft."

He hadn't expected it to look quite as pert as it still does, certainly not after all those months of bedrest. Yet he adds it to his growing list of things to thank the Goddess for later and continues his short hobble over to the bedside chair, the IV stand clutched in such a way as to protect it from any wandering limbs (and not to serve as a makeshift cane).

And when Angeal returns, he startles to a stop at the sight of Genesis draped elegantly in the chair, the IV stand sitting tall and proud next to him. He opens his mouth, only to close it again, no sound coming out.

Genesis raises an eyebrow and crosses one leg over the other, the hospital gown falling away to reveal a tantalizing view of his unclad thigh. "…Gen…esis?" Angeal breathes, his Adam's apple bobbing, nostrils flaring, the to-go bag hanging limply from his hand.

Oh, yes, this would do perfectly.

"Do close the door, darling," Genesis tells him. "We have much to discuss."

The tone he uses is mild, unperturbed, but Angeal has known him long enough, undoubtedly, to realize the depth of trouble he has just landed himself in. Especially when his eyes land on the PHS still lying on the bedside table. "…Shit."

"Indeed."

Good-hearted boy, go back to sleep. The night is good.

Aerith can barely remember her mother's face, but her voice is a constant companion. It had been ever since her death. Ever since Tifa's. And some days, it was the only thing that could calm Aerith's grief, that could ease the agony of never being able to say goodbye, of never being lucid enough to feel Tifa rejoin the Lifestream.

She hopes it'll be enough to calm Kadaj now.

Good-hearted boy, go back to sleep. The night is good.

She runs a hand through Kadaj's hair, just like she would for Rufus the few times he allowed himself to be vulnerable enough to lie peacefully in her lap. Kadaj, though, she cradles to her chest as they lean back against the base of the cannon, his face hidden in the crook of her neck.

A thousand miles and a millennium away, the memory of her mother's voice sings the same lullaby again. Softly. Slowly.

Lovingly.

Aerith hums along.

Good-hearted boy, go back to sleep. The night is good.

"The President'll kill me if he sees us like this," Kadaj mumbles, yet he makes no move to pull away. Aerith thinks it's probably equals parts him being emotionally drained and his unspoken (and perhaps unbeknownst to him) need to push his luck wherever Rufus was involved.

Payback for Rufus's supposed indifference to Cloud's death.

What Kadaj doesn't realize, though, is that the snark and impassivity are just coping mechanisms. But to acknowledge that, he'd have to acknowledge that he and Rufus were more alike than either one cared to admit.

Aerith doesn't bring it up.

Her mother keeps singing.

Good-hearted boy, go back to sleep. The night is good.

"It's ok, I'll just tell him you were worried about Sephiroth," she soothes, because she's not naïve enough to think that Kadaj would care about Genesis's death except for how it would affect Sephiroth.

And from the way Kadaj tenses in her hold, she knows she's right. "I always knew that asshole was trouble! And now Brother's going to get hurt because of him!" Aerith draws him closer, and while he doesn't fight the excess attention, his arms still hang as limply by his sides as they did when she first pulled him in. "Tch. Whatever," he scoffs. "It's not like it really matters. Brother never talks to me anymore, so why should I care?"

For the second time that day, Aerith doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know whether to assure him that Sephiroth was hurting just as much as he was and would come around soon enough. Or whether she should change the subject and ask if Yazoo and Loz still planned on meeting them in Nibelheim once they finished their missions.

Both are valid.

Neither get spoken.

"There you are."

It's impressive really, the speed with which Kadaj pulls himself from the safety of Aerith's arms and builds his defenses back up. "What do you want?" He glares at their intruder, his mask back in place now that he could no longer hide in Aerith's shoulder.

"The President has a mission for you," Cissnei responds, the woman taking the stairs down to the cannon to meet them.

As far as tells go, Cissnei doesn't have many. Her posture is relaxed, her face devoid of any emotion, and her voice as professional as it always was when she was on the clock. But her eyes. Aerith thinks she can sense a hint of discomfort in them.

And not just the normal 'I interrupted you' discomfort. Aerith knew what that looked like – Cissnei had walked in her and Tseng (and, on one marvelous occasion, Tifa) in far more compromising positions before.

No, this was more of a 'fighting with your conscience' discomfort.

Aerith doesn't like it.

But Kadaj doesn't notice. "What the hell does he want now?"

"Behemoths have been spotted outside the city. The President wants you to deal with them."

In the end, Cloud hadn't managed to get a wink of sleep. He had lain awake, unable to close his eyes for fear of seeing Zack the Chocobo burnt to a crisp or Zack the Puppy breathing his last breath, eyes glazed over, for the umpteenth time that day.

So, instead, he had stared up at the canopy, his fingers carding lazily through yellow feathers (black hair only in his imagination) until the last helicopter breathed its final thwump and the last rays of sunshine started to approach the horizon. Then and only then had he roused Zack (from dreams of dancing Gyashl Greens, no doubt, going from the sound of his happy chirping) and left the forest and all thoughts of sleep behind.

What followed was a relatively uneventful trip to Junon, compared to everything else that had happened to them so far. No raging Behemoths, no ailing SOLDIERs, and best of all, no prowling Turks (even if it meant they were probably already in the city). Just the open plain and the occasional lower-level monsters along the way.

And when they finally step foot within the city limits, Cloud's bag of monster parts is filled to the brim with Capparwire teeth, Zemzelett feathers, Formula talons, and the tail of a particularly aggressive Nerosuferoth that Zack had pecked to death. An incident Cloud would have been a little more disturbed by if he wasn't running on only 2 hours of sleep, max.

As it stands, all he really cares about is finding the supplies and money he'll need for his trip without running into Shinra first. Or ever, preferably.

He scans his surroundings as subtly as he can, one hand on Zack's flank just in case there are any more Gyashl Greens lying around nearby. To his left, an old lady gossips with her neighbors, the greying wisps of what used to be grass spattering the front yard of her house. To his right, a handful of kids between Denzel's and Marlene's age (don't think about it, Cloud) play a high-stakes game of SOLDIERs and Monsters, one of them already languishing away in the 'Lifestream'. And straight ahead, he finds four men seated around a makeshift table of crates and metal, passing cards and booze between them.

The one in the corner, younger than the others by twenty years at least, and about as many holes in his tattered clothing, seems familiar to Cloud for some reason. Slicked black hair, dark gray bangs covering the right side of his face – it was certainly an odd enough fashion statement. One that niggled at Cloud's memory, though he can't put his finger on as to why.

"Gah! You win again, Mr. Hamada!" The man throws his cards down and takes a defeated swig of his beer.

The tension bleeds from Cloud's shoulders. The man's voice isn't familiar, not that he can remember at least, so he writes the strange sensation off as just lack of sleep and the nearly overwhelming paranoia that something was going to jump out of the shadows at him. Luckily for him, though, Sephiroth was already on his way to Nibelheim and Hojo had to be in a lab somewhere.

They couldn't get him here.

And to add to his good fortune, Shinra didn't appear to be planning on it either, going from the dearth of suits or troopers milling about in the slums. Cloud would almost be surprised by it, but he realizes they must be waiting to ambush him in the upper, military-controlled part of the city.

Meaning he'd just have to find a disguise and pay his dolphin friend a visit.

Just as soon as he finishes haggling for some money first, of course.

"Despite several explosive setbacks—" Cloud's attention is caught by the TV hanging above the table, suspended from one of the support beams holding Upper Junon up – "construction on the Wutai Mako Reactor nears completion, 19 months after the end of the war," the newscaster says, but it's the date running across the top of the TV that Cloud zeroes in on.

September 23, εγλ 0002.

His memories of the Nibelheim Incident are spotty and terror-infused at best, yet he knows for a fact that October 1st will be the day that everything goes to hell, if this world is anything like his own. Not on account of what he could remember himself – Hojo had seen to that. Rather because of what Tifa had filled him in on and what they had found in the Shinra Manor. (After Advent Day, Rufus had tried to offer him the entire case file he had, something about "It might clear things up." But Cloud hadn't been interested – he already knew the day his mother had died, he didn't need anything else. And he certainly didn't need to feel like he owed Rufus Shinra anything, even if the man had claimed to know who his father was.)

"Anything I can help ya with, sonny?"

The gravelly voice drags Cloud from his reverie, and he finds all four men staring back at him, their card game momentarily forgotten. There's a hint of suspicion in each of their faces, but their eyes are kind, so Cloud chalks his earlier unease up to a simple misunderstanding.

Not everybody was out to get him.

Right?

"You ok there, kiddo?"

Tifa had tried to impress on him the importance of good manners, of him being nice.

Unfortunately, her lessons had never quite stuck.

"…No." he says, unsure of which question he was actually answering.

He doesn't stop to worry about it, though. He turns on his heel and heads further into the heart of the slums, pretending like he's deaf to the mumbled "Was it sumthing I said…?" behind him.

He has things to take care of.

Unfortunately, he just doesn't hear the rest of the broadcast.

"Ten years later and tensions are on the rise again with Wutai, who blames Shinra Company for the deaths of their emperor… and their princess. Thank you for tuning in. I'm Kolfinna Spencer, and from all of us at Midgar Central News – good night, and good luck."

It's dark wherever he is. Cold. Weightless.

Lonely?

He tries to pull himself up. To get his feet under him once more. He just can't find them.

"…and now I hear you've been tangoing with a dragon?" The words are followed by a painfully familiar (yet unfamiliarly strained) laugh. "I told you you had promise, my lo—my friend! Just make sure you save the next dance for me!"

Who are you? he wants to ask, though he's half afraid of the answer. (The words 'my friend' shouldn't hurt so much… right?)

Wait.

…Who am I?

His lips don't move.

Click.

"Alright, Roche. Visiting hours are over."

That's right! Roche! That was the guy's name!

And he, himself… his name…

What was it again?

"But dear nurse, you said it yourself! Soulmates can stay!" Roche tries to cajole her. "And see there? Lukas Klein!"

Lukas.

He's Lukas…

And Roche… Roche is his soulmate?

Why… Why does that sound so wrong?

"Tattoos don't count, Roche. I'm sorry. It's company policy."

"Then why did that idiot get your name tattooed across his wrist?"

They… They had been… in the mines… Hadn't they?

Him…

Ford…

Torres…

Roberts…

What was he forgetting?

"Well, it was worth a try!" Roche claims. "Though, I must insist on another 5 minutes to make sure he won't wither away from any demons after his soul!"

…Demons?

…After… his soul?

"…Demons this time, Roche?"

Was that what they were?

Demons… with claws… and a barbed tail…?

"You were the one who said we were cursed, Nurse Akane! I'm merely agreeing with you!"

Was that…

…really what they were?

Nurse Akane huffs fondly. "Alright, fine. 5 minutes and then you're out of here."

Fire… and pain…

So much pain…

"You have my undying gratitude!"

What was he forgetting…?

"I'd rather have your promise that you'll stop landing yourselves in the hospital every week."

He… can't remember…

"Done! Every other week then!"

His head hurts…

"Incorrigible."

Click.

"Sweet dreams, my dear friend," Roche whispers, a hand running through Lukas's hair, grazing across his face, before cupping his jaw.

And then…

A feather light touch to his lips.

A weighted silence.

A wry laugh.

"I guess true love's kiss only works if Gaia actually recognizes it as true love."

True… love?

Lukas fights against the darkness, struggles to break free, claws and claws and claws his way forward until the black surrounding him takes on a more flesh-brown color. And, after what feels like an eternity, he finally manages to crack an eye open. "…R-Roche?" he croaks, desperate to find him.

But he wakes alone, in a dark room. A cold bed.

…Just a dream, then.

It hadn't taken long for Cloud to find out that the materia shop was little more than a materia stand, a couple blocks down the road. And the owner, a hawk-eyed woman who had clearly seen her share of self-serving crooks.

She had refused his custom. Flat-out. Told him that she only dealt in cold, hard gil, and if he wanted to barter, then he better find some other sucker to sweet-talk out of hearth and home. (Good thing Barret and Cid weren't there, otherwise they would have gotten quite the kick out of Cloud being able to sweet-talk anyone.)

He had tried the weapon and item shops next, only to be met with a similar resistance – no haggling. Which is how he found himself here, in the last place in the slums he wanted to be, struggling to convince Zack that yes, he really does need to wait outside. "No, Zack. Stay." he orders and blocks the doorway so the bird can't try to force his way inside again.

Zack just doesn't take kindly to that. "Kwehhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…" he whines.

But thankfully, Cloud has had experience enough with childish tantrums – Denzel's, Marlene's, and on some occasions Barret's – to be able to put his foot down when he needed to. "Nuh-uh, we talked about this." He snaps his fingers and points at the ground. "Stay, boy."

"…Kweh?" The bird crowds in close, trying to change Cloud's mind, his behavior different from Yuffie's only in that he doesn't flutter his eyelashes, too.

"Stay."

Zack deflates. Flops himself quite dramatically onto the hard-packed dirt, and heaves a great, big, disappointed sigh. "…Kwehhhh."

Cloud doesn't break, though. He waits long enough to know Zack is actually going to listen to him this time, before taking a step backwards into the building and closing the door on Zack's glum face. (It's hard, but he tells himself it'll only take him 5 minutes and then Zack will be happy again.)

He just never would have accounted for turning around and finding every single eye in the clinic on him.

Fantastic.

"Uh… sorry," he mumbles and takes his spot in the queue, doing his best not to focus on the sick children, the giggling brunette behind the counter, or the lingering scent of antiseptic.

From the muted cackling he can hear in his head, he's not entirely successful with that last one.

"I wanna pet Choc'bo too, mommy!"

"Not now, hunny."

Cloud ducks his head in a belated attempt at avoiding all the attention he had inadvertently gained, especially the brunette's wandering eyes, and thanks Gaia that her red-headed coworker (mentor?) is far more interested in helping the patient at the front of the line rather than checking Cloud out. "Can I get you to sign this consent form? It just says you agree for little Billy to be seen today."

The irony is not lost on him that he hates attention so much now when it was all he craved when he was younger. Heck, if you had told him 10 years ago that he would be famous (even if the only fame he had garnered here was from Zack's over-the-top antics), he would have lapped it all up. Would have jumped at the chance of people recognizing him. Of them acknowledging him as more than just a harbinger of doom. But now? Now, he lets his eyes wander, wishing, not for the first time (that day) that he could be invisible again.

"Of course you realize, this means war."

The TV in the waiting area becomes his focal point, and he watches as the anthropomorphic Mu on the screen gets its revenge on the Gagighandi chasing it. It throws a pie, drops a banana peel, and the blinded, unbalanced Gagighandi goes crashing down a flight of stairs, through a door, and lands, butt sticking upwards, in a pit of wet cement.

The children in the clinic don't care. Half of them chatter (or rather, wheeze) excitedly about Zack the Chocobo, while the others watch Cloud with unrestrained amazement.

"D'ya see—" cough! cough! – "his swords?"

"So… S-so c-cool…"

If Zack the Puppy had been there, though, Cloud's sure he would have laughed. Would have thrown his head back, slapped his leg, and chortled, loud and long, for anyone to hear.

And, oh, what Cloud wouldn't give to see it again. To feel Zack sling an arm around Cloud's shoulders, pull him in close, and ask why he wasn't laughing too, Zack's breath warm on—

"Name?"

Cloud startles, the daydream collapses, and he takes a moment to remind himself that he doesn't have time for this – slapstick isn't going to solve his Shinra problems – before returning his attention to the girls behind the desk.

Priscilla stares back.

"You've gotta be more careful! Cause you're going to marry me one day."

"Huh?"

Cloud blinks and the brunette is in front of him again. Brown hair, brown eyes, blue seashell necklace. He guesses she might look a little like Priscilla, if he actually knew what Priscilla looked like these days – last he had heard, she had joined the WRO as a medic. (Not that it really mattered, though. Priscilla couldn't be more than a child here.)

The red-head, though, is the one who had addressed him. "Your name, sir?" she asks again, her words far more pointed this time. (The possible Priscilla-lookalike ogles harder.)

"Uh…" Cloud racks his brain for something appropriate, names passing before his eyes like he was flipping through a Rolodex – Lockhart, Wallace, Highwind – "Valentine," he decides on, cause he's never using the moniker Sky Fair again.

(He's still kicking himself over that one.)

Yet, as is his luck, Valentine isn't the best option either. Not when the brunette leans into her coworker, cups a hand over her mouth, and whispers, "He can be my Valentine."

It's not appropriate. He's not interested. And he sets his jaw and pretends like he can't hear her. Luckily, for his sanity, the red-head only sighs and shoves her colleague away, her face showing no enjoyment for either side of the conversation. "Got a first name to go with that, Mr. Valentine?" she asks, her restraint amazing.

"…No."

She raises a brow, gives Cloud a tired once-over, but apparently decides she doesn't really care (which works for Cloud, because he's obviously not good at coming up with multiple names on the spot, not to mention that with his fatigue and the almost-flashes of Hojo in his periphery, he doesn't dare try). "Right, whatever," she says and starts to jot something down on the clipboard in front of her. "Let me guess – itchy rash and difficulty breathing?"

Cloud blanks. "I beg your pardon?"

"…Your symptoms, sir."

"I'm not sick."

The red-head drops the clipboard back onto the table and levels him with a blank stare. She doesn't outright say she thinks he's an idiot, but the length in which she looks at him, followed by the care with which she says, "You… do realize this is a clinic… right, sir?"…well, that tells an entirely different story.

And Cloud is a little embarrassed he had walked right into that one. "I'm just looking to sell some monster parts," he explains.

But that's not the right answer either.

The red-head twitches. Looks like she wants to bash her head against the table, bash his head against the table, or just quit outright so she could be done with her misery. She does none of the above. "I hate to break it to you," she drops the 'sir', "but we have all the Wererat claws and Hedgehog Pie spikes that we need."

It's not what he's looking to sell, but he knows words aren't his speciality – Aerith had told him as much (on more than one occasion). So, he settles for dumping the bag out across the table and raising an eyebrow at the speechless receptionists.

Checkmate. (Finally.)

The brunette's mouth falls open (to catch figurative Bugaboos, as his mother would say, he thinks), while her red-headed counterpart stares, dumbfounded, at him. It's almost as uncomfortable as the brunette's earlier attention, so Cloud clears his throat in the hopes that she won't start batting her eyelashes at him too.

She jolts, offers an embarrassed apology, and calls in her cavalry. (Not Cloud's.) "Doctor Barnum!"

White coat.

Black hair.

Round glasses.

"What's that boy? You want more mako? Well, I'm happy to oblige!"

Cloud shivers, hopefully imperceptibly, and reminds himself (more than once) that Hojo isn't actually there. Cloud might be able to see him there, tapping away at the mako tank he's floating in, like Cloud was some exotic exhibit and Hojo the snot-faced child trying to get him to do a trick, but he's not actually there.

He can't hurt him.

Cloud blinks and suddenly he's back on solid ground.

"How did you get these?" not-Hojo asks, the smell of antiseptic sickening with him so close.

Cloud can't answer – he's too afraid he'll puke. Instead, he sends a pointed look at the swords strapped to his back and hopes that that will be enough to convey his message.

Not-Hojo rubs the back of his head, sheepish. "I guess you know how to use those, then."

"…Just a bit."

"Huh. Well, good for you. Good for you…" the man mumbles, his eyes raking covetously over the monster parts in front of him. "Well then, I guess you're looking to sell these?" He doesn't wait for an answer, though. He just keeps talking. "Of course you are, of course you are. You wouldn't be here if you weren't. The question, though, is how much do you want?"

Cloud breathes through his nose and tries to convince himself he doesn't actually want to throw up on this man. "Depends. How much you offering?"

The doctor flinches, the girls watch their exchange apprehensively, as if afraid he was actually there to 'sweet-talk them out of hearth and home.' But just so long as they don't try to cheat him, then Cloud would offer them that same courtesy. "How about…" the doctor draws the Dragon fangs, claws, and one-fifth of the Behemoth parts into a separate pile in the middle of the table. "5000 for this?"

It's a generous offer. One Cloud would be tempted to accept if not for the fact that it's less than a fourth of everything on the table. "You don't want it all?"

"Don't want…?" the doctor snorts, quite incredulously. "We'd be able to restock our supply of antidotes, hi-potions, and elixirs with all of this," he says and casts one last, longing look at the parts. "Of course, I want it all. We just don't have the money, not with this latest wave of dragon-pox."

It's surprisingly forthcoming for somebody who thought Cloud might be a crook. And it's also what allows Cloud to see the man in a new light. To notice the fatigue covering him like a second skin. To realize that while he claimed to have no money, he sure had no lack of patients. Which could only mean one thing – he must be treating at least some of them out of his own pocket.

Cloud sighs. He already knows what he's going to do, but he takes one last look around the clinic to see if he can't change his mind.

It doesn't work.

He finds a young boy with poofy black hair, no older than 5 or 6, staring back at him. Their eyes lock, the boy 'eep's, and then turns hurriedly away.

Well, so much for that 'cold, hard gil'.

"You know what?" he says. "Forget about the money." A twinge of fear crosses over the doctor's face, but Cloud doesn't wait for him to continue down his anxious spiral. He turns on his heel, throws a jaunty wave over his shoulder, and tells the man, "It's all yours."

The man splutters, like the gesture was really all that amazing, all that unusual. "W-Wait!" he calls.

Cloud doesn't wait. He figures he has about a week before Sephiroth goes crazy (probably), but he's not about to waste it all here. He still needs to collect Zack, find a suitable disguise, and sneak the two of them onto the next ship to Costa del Sol. Preferably one where they could find a nice little nook somewhere to get a decent nap along the way (and he wouldn't complain about a galley where they could grab a few scraps to eat either).

So he strides across the room, throws the door open…

…and finds his plan promptly derailed the moment he steps foot outside of the clinic.

"Aww. You're a sweet boy, aren't you?"

For crouched there, cooing to his namesake, his face illuminated in the moonlight is—

"…Z-Zack?"

Soft, golden blond hair.

A modified 1st Class SOLDIER uniform (why hadn't he thought of adding a zipper too?).

And criss-crossed swords that really do look like wings, just like Kunsel had said.

Zack can't breathe.

"Wark!"

He's vaguely aware of the friendly bird throwing off his hand and bouncing over to greet this vision of a man. Which is funny if you think about it – a Chocobo snuggling up against Cloud, nibbling on his hair like a feathery toddler, when Cloud had been so adamant that he didn't look like a Chocobo himself. (He did, but he didn't like being compared to one. He had even dyed Zack's hair raspberry pink the last time Zack had done so – "See? Now you look like a Hedgehog Pie. So, I guess we're even.").

Zack swallows past the lump in his throat and pushes himself slowly to his feet. He knows he was the one who had offered (begged, really) to talk to this man, but how was he supposed to do that now? How was he honestly expected to string together a coherent sentence with this vision in front of him, staring at him through heartbroken eyes, as if Zack was actually the one who had been dead for 2 years, 11 months, and 362 days?

Is it really any surprise that a breathless, "…Heya," is all he can manage?

The vision shivers, gawks at him like he can't believe Zack had actually spoken aloud (Zack can't believe it either), and then offers a hesitant, "…H-Heya," of his own.

In Cloud's voice.

"It'll be easier if you don't think of this man as Cloud," Ruf—the President had told them. But what part of this was supposed to be easy? This man looked like Cloud (even with the extra muscle mass). Talked like Cloud. Heck, he probably even smelled like Cloud too, though Zack doesn't think he should try to sniff him just yet.

Whatever. His point is that Genesis's ultimatum was pretty much moot now – "Tell that President of yours that either he captures this man alive or I'll show him the true meaning of righteous fury." – Zack wouldn't have been able to harm a single hair on this man's head anyway, mother hen of a Chocobo hovering protectively over him or not.

"That's…" he clears his throat and gestures rather weakly at the animal. "That's quite the bird you've got there."

"Ah…" the man mutters, his face scrunching up with an adorable mix of surprise and confusion. He doesn't look away, though, and Zack is grateful for it. He had always imagined what Cloud would look like as a SOLDIER (awesome, of course), but this vision in front of him… Gaia, it blew all of those dreams away. And Zack can't lose that just yet. "He… He probably thinks I have Gyashl Greens hidden away in my pocket or something."

A surprised laugh forces its way out of him. It's so like what Cloud would have said, that Zack loses control of his mouth. "You sure it's not cause of the hair?"

The vision snarls. "That's rich coming from the one who looks like he stole a Griffin's toupee."

Zack halts, stunned, the vision does too, as if he can't quite believe what he had just said.

It's so familiar. So natural how it all still feels. The banter. The insults.

The happiness.

Zack can't help himself – for a moment, he gets lost in indulgent fantasy. Welcome back, Spike.

The Cloud in his memories smiles back.

I'm home.

He's an idiot.

Such an idiot.

Cloud should be groveling at Zack's feet, begging him for forgiveness, or doing any one of the million things he'd always imagined he'd do if he ever saw Zack again. But here he was insulting the man, comparing his hair to a Griffin's toupee with all the normality of it being the one-millionth time he had roasted Zack.

Perhaps it was, with what little he could remember of their friendship. Though, at the same time, was it really any wonder that Zack had stopped talking to him? That he looked at him now with what could only be disgust?

"I…" Cloud tries to apologize.

Zack, as usual, beats him to it.

"Wow, you sure do know how to throw a punch." It's not an accusation, Cloud doesn't think, not with the breathless chuckle that accompanies the man's words, or the dazed smile tugging at his lips. And the sight of it all just leaves Cloud stunned. Surprised that Zack doesn't hate him. Unable to do a thing as Zack rakes a hand through his hair, far more self-consciously than Cloud would have ever pegged him for (though perhaps Cloud was just projecting). "Oh, but, where are my manners?" Zack asks and walks slowly forward.

Cloud can't move. Can't breathe. Not while Zack approaches, crossing the chasm between them that, up until then, Cloud had been too afraid to cross himself. Too terrified that if he made one wrong move, he'd find out this was all a dream. (Though, if it was a dream, he never wants to wake up.)

It takes both an eternity and no more than a blink of an eye for Zack to close the distance. For him to tower over Cloud (had he always been that tall?), a strange emotion engraved through every line of his face. (It couldn't be hope, could it?) "…I'm Zack."

"…Kweh?"

"I…" Cloud shudders and looks at the hand that Zack has held out for him to take. He should run. He knows he should. Turn tail and flee somewhere where Zack can't find him. (Zack shouldn't have been able to find him here, he thinks, but Cloud can't remember why. Not with Zack so close.) "I…"

"…Yeah?" Zack breathes.

He knows he should run.

But he reaches out a hand instead.

"…Denzel," he finally says, because he has enough brain cells still functioning to realize that 'Cloud' and 'Valentine' are bad choices here.

Why though?

That part eludes him.

He almost thinks on it. Almost wracks his brain for an answer. He just never gets the chance. Zack's hand closes around his, and nothing else matters. Nothing except for the sparks that shoot through his body and the shock on Zack's face.

"Oh…" one of them says. Cloud's not entirely sure who. But it's definitely Zack who takes half a step closer, til they're almost pressed chest to chest, their joined hands cradled between them.

It's also Zack who lifts up his free hand, brushes his knuckles across the soft skin underneath Cloud's right eye, and stops Cloud's heart right in his chest.

"Zack…" If he could, Cloud would stay like this forever, staring up at Zack, memorizing the wonder in his eyes, the tenderness on his face, the gentle quirk to his lips.

"…Yeah, bud?"

He wants more.

"I…" miss you? I love you?

A beak enters his vision.

"Kweh?"

"Shit!" Cloud swears and jumps away, straight into the clinic door behind him.

Zack the Chocobo stares back, the bird looking between them like an overly nosy neighbor. "Kweh?" he chirps and tilts his head to the side. Are you having fun without me?

Cloud gawks at him, gawks at Zack the Puppy, trying to figure out what his life had become. The only consolation he has so far is that the clinic door is closed and the street, empty – they don't have to worry about an audience just yet.

Aside from their avian interloper, that is.

"Kweh?"

He's just not prepared for Zack the Puppy to throw his head back and start to laugh, one hand slapping away at his leg. "Aww, man! I didn't realize the bird was your chaperone!"

He had wanted more than anything to see Zack happy again, but this is just too much. "Shut up, Zack!" Cloud snaps, the words surprisingly natural. As is the way he stops rubbing his still-tingling wrist to cross his arms in front of his chest.

Zack, though, doesn't shut up. He only laughs harder, his voice obnoxiously loud. "You should see the look on your face!"

And unfortunately for him, Zack the Chocobo takes that as his cue to join in.

"Wark!"

"Oh, c'mon. Not you, too." Cloud scolds, only slightly concerned about the scraping noise he hears when he steps away from the clinic door and moves to confront both Zacks. (The door already needed a good sanding and a fresh coat of paint, so really, what was one more scratch?)

"Wark!"

"Stop it, Zack."

"Wark!"

A light at the end of the street turns on. "Who's making all that racket?!"

"Sir. Zack has engaged the target."

"And the others?"

"In position."

"Good. Bring him in."

"I can't believe you just did that." Cloud shakes his head, following along blindly as Zack leads them further down the dirt path.

He would have thought that Zack would try to charm the angry woman who had stomped out of her house after them. Or at least apologize for their behavior, his tail tucked firmly between his legs. But no, he had grabbed Cloud's hand, curled an arm around Zack the Chocobo's back, and hurried the three of them in the opposite direction, fleeing down the first alleyway he could find, before the woman could finish yelling at them to get their asses back there.

And now, he turns a knowing smile Cloud's way (one that doesn't make Cloud's heart skip a beat in his chest, no siree) and says, "That woman had real 'wait til I get my hands on you' energy. No way was I sticking around for that."

Cloud's almost surprised that he laughs. "You're an idiot."

"You know," Zack winks. "You're not the first person to say that to me today."

Cloud doesn't respond. Doesn't know what to do, aside from duck his head, a smile of his own growing on his lips.

And fortunately, his lack of eloquence is not a deal-breaker. They pass another minute or two like that in companionable silence, Zack's hand still warm in his, Zack the Chocobo padding along quietly behind them (save for the occasional chirrup), when Zack pipes up again, "So, where to next?"

"Huh?"

"…Where ya headed?"

"Oh…" Cloud almost thinks on it, almost worries about the tension on Zack's face, but his mouth is 10 steps ahead of him, apparently. "Home," he says.

He's not entirely sure why. Can't entirely explain why he's certain there's nothing waiting for him at home. But he doesn't really care either – he has more important things to worry about. Like Zack squeezing his hand and telling him, "Cool! I'll come with!"

"…What?"

"Whaddya mean 'what'?" Zack asks him and bumps their shoulders together. (Why is the action so heartwarming, yet so terribly nauseating?) "We're friends, aren't we? I can't let you walk home all by yourself!"

"We're friends… right?"

The truth hits him like a charging Grand Horn.

Glazed eyes.

Bloody face.

Ashen skin.

Zack was dead. Threw his life away because Cloud was too weak to handle a little mako poisoning. And how does Cloud repay him? By forgetting about him again and trying to shack up with his still-breathing counterpart?

What the hell's wrong with him?

Zack's corpse lifts its head and stares Cloud dead in the eyes. "Some friend you turned out to be."

Cloud falters to a stop and yanks his hand free. "No."

He can't do this.

Not again.

A thump from behind ("Kweh?") jostles him fully back to the present. A present where the wrong Zack Fair stares back, concerned and very much alive. (Had Cloud really been that desperate to have Zack back again, that he hadn't noticed that this one didn't have the Buster Sword?

Great move, Strife.)

"…You ok, bud?" Other Zack asks, the pout on his face almost drawing Cloud in again.

Cloud hates it. It was like a new form of torture. One he doesn't think he'd be able to withstand even if he does continue to refer to this Zack as 'the other one'.

He has to get out of there.

"I'm not your friend," Cloud forces himself to say, swallowing past the bile in his throat. He had loved it, having Zack back again. It was his own little Promised Land. But he knows the truth now. This wasn't a dream, it was a living nightmare. And if he stayed, he'd only get this Zack killed too. "So just leave me alone."

He spins on his heel, the walls piecing themselves back over his aching heart. In the distance, he can almost see the other Zack – his Zack – turning with him, preparing to face down Shinra's army on his own.

It was Cloud's turn this time.

His turn to take on Zack's enemies. To leave now so this Zack might live.

"C'mon, Z—Mr. Chocobo." He grabs the bird by the flank and tries to march them away.

"Kweh?"

Zack just doesn't let him. "Whoa! Wait a minute!" he yells, and in total Zack fashion, pushes past them, blocking the way forward with his body. "What happened? I thought we were getting along so well!"

"Yeah, well you thought wrong."

I'll just get you killed.

He moves to sidestep him, to widen the gap as much as he can, but Zack moves with him. "C'mon, just give me a second!"

"No."

You're better off without me.

"Just—!"

"Not interested."

I'll get you killed.

He ducks in the other direction, takes a step forward, only to find himself being dragged backwards by his wrist. Spun around, Zack's free hand coming up to clench tightly at his bicep. "Please, Spike, just talk to me!"

"Kweh!?"

"Talk to me… Please, Zack…"

"Get off me!" Cloud yanks himself free, the familiar nickname stinging just as badly as the lingering heat from Zack's hands.

What's worse, though, is the sight of Zack toppling to the ground, all because he never knew when to give up. All because he never knew when to give Cloud up. "Don't you get it?" Cloud backs away slowly, afraid of what he'd do if he stayed. "…I'll just get you killed."

Zack gawks at him, his face a blend of confusion, concern, and… fear?

Cloud can't take it. He turns his head away, grabs Zack the Chocobo, and hurries the two of them down the alleyway as far away from Zack as they can manage. It's better this way, he tells himself, even if a traitorous part of him still wishes that Zack would grab him and never let go.

"You can't just leave it like that!" Zack recovers entirely too soon.

Cloud walks faster. Ducks them under a low hanging line of laundry, around an overflowing dumpster, his eyes fixed on the side street ahead – as long as they could make it there, maybe they could actually lose Zack.

Maybe Cloud wouldn't give in.

"Hey, wait!"

"Just drop it already, Zack."

"Kweh?"

"But—!"

"I said—"

"No, please do elaborate," a silky-smooth voice cuts in, and Cloud startles to a stop, horrified as the very last person he'd want to see in any universe steps out of the side street he'd been aiming for and turns to face them. "What do you mean you'll get Zack killed?"

Cloud sees fire.

"Sephiroth!" He stumbles backwards and pulls the main blade of Tsurugi from the harness on his back.

The Sephiroth in front of him smirks. "Good to see you… Cloud."

"How many times do I have to kill you before you actually stay dead?!"

The words are out of his mouth before he realizes his mistake. Before the terror in front of him dissolves in a flurry of black feathers, and the Sephiroth that is left behind is one who watches Cloud through an impenetrable mask, every inch the calm and calculating leader Cloud had thought he was when he first sold his soul to Shinra. "Ah. So, I'm your target then," he concludes.

It makes Cloud sick.

Though not as sick as when Zack the Puppy throws himself between them and utters several damning words. "Sephiroth! You said you were going to let me talk to him!"

"That was before he threatened to kill you."

Talk to him?

Had it all been a lie then? The lingering touches, the smiles, the joy, the hope in Zack's eyes? Had it just been some sort of twisted ploy to get Cloud to talk? To lure him back into Shinra's clutches?

Cloud staggers half a step backwards, a soft, choked sound escaping his throat. He doesn't want to believe that Zack would do that, not to him, but the only Zack who rushes to meet him, who nuzzles up against his side, is Zack the Chocobo, the bird no doubt sensing his growing unease. Zack the Puppy, on the other hand – the Other Zack, the wrong Zack – doesn't move to contradict him. He holds up his hands in front of him, his back to Sephiroth, like Cloud was actually the true threat here. "Hey, it's ok. Nobody's killing anybody, right? We just want to talk." His eyes look pointedly at Tsurugi still in Cloud's hands. "So whaddya say you put that fancy sword of yours away and we work this out like adults, yeah?"

It's the hesitant look on his face, the unimpressed one on Sephiroth's that confirms it.

Zack… Zack had betrayed him.

Yet that's not the worst of it.

"You're wasting your breath, Fair. He's not gonna tell you anything."

Cloud jolts at the sound of the now familiar voice. Snaps his head to the side, only to find the same man from before, still in that tattered clothing, crouched at the edge of one of the rooftops like a threadbare harbinger of Cloud's doom.

Their eyes meet. The man inclines his head, his lips quirking upwards – a condescending show of his acknowledgement. "Hello again."

The realization is horrifying – the man wasn't some random slum dweller, playing cards with old friends. He was a Turk. And Cloud had walked straight into his trap.

"Two Guns! I told you to let me handle it!"

"The mission was clear, Fair," the man – this Two Guns – responds, still in that lazy, patronizing voice. "You couldn't get him to talk, so it's our turn now."

Cloud's heart drops further into the pit of his stomach at the use of the words 'our turn'. He swears he had known, somewhere underneath all of the dread and fatigue, that there had to be more of them – Turks always traveled in packs. But he can't deny his alarm when he whirls around and sees Rude on the rooftop on the other side of the street, and Reno slinking from around the dumpster behind them like the rat he sometimes could be.

Cloud was surrounded.

"Well, well, well," Reno drawls, his eyes roving dangerously down Cloud's body. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes, Blondie?"

Meanwhile, a world away

Deep down, Tifa knew Cloud's disappearance wasn't normal. She knew it wasn't caused by some monster attack or another bout of depression. But still, she couldn't help the hope that she was just wrong. That Cloud would waltz into Seventh Heaven at any moment, like none of this had ever happened.

Yet, as the hours passed and the sky darkened, that hope had wavered. So much so that she had sent the kids to bed early and poured herself a drink. The first of many that night.

And when Barret had appeared out of nowhere, Nanaki hot on his heels ("Oi, Red! Swing that tail of yours somewhere else!), Tifa had already been quite pleasantly, yet no less anxiously, buzzed.

"How did you get here so fast?" she remembers herself asking, having expected them to take another 24 hours at the least.

Barret's response, though, had been just as curious as it was concerning. They had already been on the way when Tifa had sounded the alarm, an invisible force calling them into action, telling them they were needed, just like when Sephiroth had last reincarnated himself.

"Then Cloud…?" Tifa had choked on her spit, the liquor in her system and the thought that Sephiroth might have gotten the better of Cloud overriding any inhibitions she might have had.

She was in good company, though.

Company that had drawn her into a tight hug and promised that they'd figure all of this out in the morning, just as soon as Cid and the others got there. "You know the kid's no pushover. He may be cursed, but any trouble he gets himself into, he always finds a way out. We just have to trust that he'll find his way out this time."

She had sagged into his arms – Cloud may have been her first love, but Barret had always been her rock, ever since she had woken up scarred and destitute half a world away. So it shouldn't have come as any surprise that he had taken one look at her (and the bags under her eyes, no doubt), and sent her off to bed herself – "Red and I'll take care of things here."

She had still tried to argue. At least until Barret had threatened to throw her over his shoulder and haul her upstairs himself.

She had caved.

Trudged her way up to bed.

And that night, she dreamt in miniature.

A child-sized Sephiroth, banished to time-out for his inability to play nice.

An even smaller Cloud, curled safely in the arms of Aerith and Zack, sucking his thumb as they carried him away.

And a strange woman, hair the color of summer leaves, watching over everything. "You brought this upon yourself."

Sephiroth had cried. Screamed. Hammered away at his bonds, all in an attempt to break free. But none of it had mattered. The woman had stood strong, the prison held – "He's gone. And he will never return." – and as the fight left Sephiroth, he slumped down onto the greenish-white floor, foiled.

Frustrated.

Forgotten.

A/N:

- My poor attempt at a joke: "What do you call a pretend SOLDIER who just walked into a trap?" "Up the Lifestream without a paddle"

- In the Advent Children movie, there's a point where Kadaj hears Aerith's voice (from the Lifestream) and mistakes her for his mother. So, that's why Kadaj calls Aerith 'Mother' here - I liked the idea of Kadaj (and Yazoo and Loz) secretly seeing Aerith as their mother since she's the closest thing they have.

- The song Aerith hums to Kadaj is a Lakota lullaby - since the Cetra are portrayed as being rather spiritual and in tune with nature, I thought it fit well.

- I plan to have a flashback next chapter to show Seph's and Zack's reaction to the news, as well as Gen's conversation with them, but I wanted to keep Zack's appearance in this chapter as much of a surprise as I could.

- I was going to have a few more subtle hints towards Zack the Chocobo's backstory, at which point Cloud would have guessed the likeliest reason behind his behavior, but I've since changed the plot some and lost those hints as a result. So, here it is, Zack's backstory. Zack had a family - a female Chocobo he was head over tail feathers for and their young chick. However, they were killed in a monster attack, and Zack was left all alone (this is why he hadn't been grooming himself and was covered in dirt and dried blood when Cloud first met him). He's wandering aimlessly, when all of a sudden he feels a familiar tug. He follows the pull, only to come face to beak with a strange looking creature. He pads thoughtfully over, wondering why he had been drawn to this creature. But then he notices Cloud's hair, which sort of looks like a Chocobo's tail feathers, and he senses the same grief in Cloud that he himself feels. And he just is so happy, cause "yes, we're the same. yes, I'm not alone anymore". And this why he's so attached to Cloud, why he wakes him up from his nightmares, why he curls up on top of Cloud when he goes to sleep, and why he doesn't even like being left outside the clinic. And that's also why he went rushing off after that dragon in the mines, cause it brought back bad memories and he's like "no, not again." So, basically, Cloud is as much Zack's Emotional Support Human as Zack is Cloud's Emotional Support Chocobo.