"Zack," Cloud says. The other man doesn't answer, doesn't stand.

The Turks walk closer, closer. What the hell is he doing?

"Zack, move."

He doesn't. Cloud's never seen Zack choke under pressure before. He's a man of decisiveness and action, anything but a coward. But now he's sitting there, shaking like he can't handle two low-level Turks and a couple dozen grunts.

Cloud's seen him dispatch a similar force one-handed with Cloud's body slung over his shoulder. He doesn't understand.

Zack's energy scrambles like a jammed radio, flashes of sound and violence ringing out in distorted trills, and all Cloud can think about is Hojo's crazed smile and bubbles floating through the stasis tank. They can't go back there. Never.

Cloud looks between the shop keeper and the two Turks, coming to a snap decision with a heavy feeling. One sharp push later, his spirit dislodges Zack from his body.

The other man stares in shock as Cloud springs around the shelf and clocks the shorter Turk hard in the nose. Blood splatters hot over his right hand, and her eyes roll back. A bullet pops from her gun, burying itself in the rafters. The shop owner screams and runs for the back room.

Zack's body always throws him for a loop. His strength and speed is like trying to pilot a racecar after learning how to drive in a golf cart. One punch is all it takes to put the female Turk out cold.

The gun falls from her hand as she goes down, and Zack's senses are so attuned to the speed of combat that it looks like slow motion to him. Cloud grabs it and points it over the shelf at the other Turk. The man stares, eyes wide and bloodshot.

It's a standoff. Both of them freeze, each suspended by the pointed barrel of the other gun. He's a big guy, broad-faced with scruffy brown hair. He's built like a boxer with the crooked nose to match.

Cloud vividly remembers the Turk from the lab—his lanky limbs and uncaring strut, his constant sniffling and disdainful sneers. After the first time Sephiroth manifested, when he was still weak and bleeding, he'd dropped Cloud from shoulder height onto the cold steel floor, right on his face. When Zack came running, he laughed at his distress.

It's just as Doctor Bennet said, earlier that same day; in a world run by Shinra, a certain level of brutality is required to survive. This guy is no different. Shinra dogs are all the same. Trained to kill without question, complicit in the suffering Shinra sews.

The Turk's leather-gloved finger twitches on the trigger, and Cloud doesn't hesitate. He buries two rounds between the guy's thick brows. The whole building shakes from his weight hitting the floor. Cloud's hands shake too as he shoves them through coat sleeves and stuffs supplies in a bag.

It's not that Zack's scruples don't make sense to him. He has a vague notion from the amorphous blob of smudged memories that his mother raised him right. No matter how tough things got, they worked for their living and paid off their debts. But this is more than a poor family being dealt a bad hand. This is Shinra stacking the whole fucking deck. If Zack isn't willing to bend then Cloud has to, or they'll both go down in an inglorious blaze.

Crashing feet thunder down the stairs, and belatedly Cloud remembers the shop keeper's husband. He rips off Zack's wrecked boots and grabs a new pair the same size, growling when Zack's bigger hands and broader fingers prove cumbersome to the fiddly business of shoelaces. He only has one done up when the door to the back room bursts open.

"Shiva's tits—" the shop owner's husband curses, stopping cold just over the threshold. He won't see him crouched behind the shelves, but it's only a matter of moments before he comes looking.

A fluttery, empty feeling quivers Cloud's gut. He skips the eyelets of the second boot and just ties one massive knot around the ankle. He pulls a hat low over Zack's wiry hair, and rips the tag off a pair of gloves with his teeth. Metal clicks against metal as the other man jumps. A gun.

"Who's there? Are you the one that did this?"

Cloud checks the magazine of the pistol and counts twelve rounds. With a flick, he releases the slide and loads one into the chamber. He pulls the strap of the supply bag over his head and across his chest, and stuffs the gloves in his pocket.

"My enemy is Shinra," he barks. "Don't get in the way."

The man says something, but Cloud isn't listening. He's setting his feet under his knees and clenching his teeth so he doesn't bite off his tongue in the chase. And then he's jumping, full-force through the wall of tin cans and the antique window behind them.

Glass shards and splintered wood explode around him, and everything else is a flurry of adrenaline.

Hours later, Cloud stares up from the pile of luggage, spread out on the bed of the cart.

The sky is bleary and pale gray, miserably looking. The straight path turned into mountain switchbacks a few minutes ago, and now his stomach is threatening to betray him.

He wants out. Of the cart, but mostly his body. He has a niggling sense that Sephiroth is watching, unseen but woven into the atmosphere around him. After weeks and weeks, he's sick and tired of the feeling.

"I think it's my turn," Cloud says.

Zack pauses in the off-key tune he's humming, looking up. "Huh? Nah, the sun's barely past middle. We agreed mid-afternoon."

"Well, I want to switch now. I'll take a longer shift, I don't care."

The cart sways and tilts as Zack sets the push bar down. He rips off his hat and shakes his sweaty hair out. His nose and cheeks are bright red—wind chapped, or perhaps already burnt by the harsh mountain light.

"You sure you're up to it?"

"There's nothing wrong with my mind."

"Fine, fine—" Zack waves his hand dismissively, leaning against the side of the cart. His eyes shine double bright against the snow and gloom, like icy crystal searchlights. Unvoiced emotion still lingers in them, and that makes Cloud feel properly queasy.

He ignores it, reaching to touch Zack's face with his spirit hand. He doesn't know what made Zack freeze in the shop, what dark thoughts must have swirled through his head, but he knows how to comfort him and it seems Zack's finally ready to let him.

Cloud's palm flattens over his cheek and he runs an ethereal thumb over his lip. The other man's eyes slide shut.

When they open, Cloud's the one looking through them. Sweltering body heat pulses out from his core, his legs and back burning from exertion. The sudden change of gravity from lying on his back to standing upright makes him wobble against the cart.

"Ack, it's cold in here! What the hell man, why didn't you say something?"

"It is?" Cloud furrows his brows as a chill wind ruffles his hair and wicks away some of the unpleasant heat. "Oh. You're really warm. It just feels cold by comparison. You'll get used to it."

"Are you kidding? I'm freezing, bro! Put some gloves on me or something."

"You don't have to sit in my body, you know. You do this to yourself." Cloud crosses his arms over the cart wall, smiling despite himself. They must have had this argument a dozen times.

"And what if I did, and then hours from now we discover that you've gotten frostbite? You wouldn't be so cool if I lost you a couple toes."

Cloud rolls his eyes and hops up into the cart, sitting on the crossbeam with his elbows on his knees. His own face looks up at him, somewhere between blank and aggrieved.

It's a strange feeling. Him, but not really him. Zack, but not really Zack.

On a whim, he slides off the beam and onto his knees, bending to kiss Zack upside-down. It's quick and light, but it soothes something clogging their connection—a tangle of nerves and bad feeling. Zack makes a soft sound through Cloud's lips.

"Isn't it… kinda weird to do that? When we're switched, I mean."

"Only if we make it weird," Cloud lifts his brows, though speaking out loud with Zack's voice does highlight the strangeness of the moment a bit. He crosses his arms, feeling like he messed up somehow. "I've wanted to kiss you for so long. Didn't want to miss my chance."

"It wasn't bad! Really. It just feels a little... narcissistic."

"Then close your eyes," Cloud huffs. The bond patters with phantom laughter.

"Okay, okay, lay one on me. I won't make it weird. Promise."

"Too late, you already did."

"Noooo, I didn't mean it. I was just thinking out loud!"

Cloud feigns disinterest, stepping over his body and around the mess of never-packed camping supplies. He finds the bag of stolen goods and unzips the top, rifling through to see what he grabbed.

In his haste, he pretty much emptied the shelves of winter wear. There's only one more pair of gloves and judging by the color they were meant for a woman, but his body doesn't have particularly large hands. He tears apart the plastic tether holding them to the package and shuffles over to where Zack's lying in Cloud's skin.

The bedroll is damp with melted snow, but his hands are dry underneath. He pulls both gloves on, and then maneuvers him awkwardly into an oversized coat. Zipping it up, he lays him back down and tucks the blanket tight around him. Finally, he pulls the hat from his pocket and tugs it down over spiky blonde hair with a little patronizing pat to his crown.

"Better, sweetheart?" He asks. The corners of Zack's lips turn up, and he buffets him with warm feelings.

"I know you're sick of it, but it's kinda nice to be taken care of."

"It's… nice to be able to give it," Cloud admits.

A whistling breeze makes the birch and pine whisper around them, and spreads a tingling chill over their faces. It reminds him of the rash currently burning his cheeks, which makes him dig around in the bag again.

"The snow reflects light up from the sky," he says, opening a bottle of sunscreen and pulling one glove off with his teeth. He pours some on his hand and dabs it on both their faces. "Even on overcast days you have to wear sunscreen, or look what happens." He points to himself, at Zack's rosy face, and rubs in the cream.

"Oh—I thought I was just winded."

"Tch, low landers," Cloud mutters.

"I'll remember this when we find ourselves in a jungle and you get eaten alive by mosquitos. You'll get no sympathy from me, mister!"

"As if I'd want it."

Gently, he spreads the dots of sunscreen over his face, careful to cover everything and not pressing too hard when he rubs it in. Zack lets him do it, his eyes lowering a bit as he watches, lips parting.

Their bond tightens, like a string twisted up until it coils around itself. He traces his lips with a tube of chapstick, and this time there's no intermixing of identities. He's looking at himself, but he only sees Zack—the body currently housing Zack—and it's the most natural thing in the world to bend over and kiss him, because that's what Cloud and Zack do. Have done. For (apparently) several years, although it feels simultaneously shorter and longer. A few months separated by a timeless eternity.

He pulls away only a moment later, not wanting to take too much advantage. Second-hand chapstick flecks his lips and he rolls them, spreading it around. Zack stares up at him, and with the cap covering the hair it's not so hard to drown in mako eyes and pretend they actually belong to him.

He steals another kiss, quick and light, unable to control himself. Zack chuckles softly.

"Better," he projects. "Definitely better now."

"Hang onto that feeling. You're gonna need it. The motion sickness will definitely get worse."

"Ugh, I should have known. This is why you wanted to switch early."

"Yup." Cloud nods, sliding on a pair of sunglasses from the bag and rolling out his sore shoulders. "But you don't have to stay in there. Like you said, it's just a few toes and my eternal wrath at stake."

Zack doesn't dignify that with a response, instead opting to close his eyes and grumble silently. Cloud hops over the cart again, picking up the push bar where Zack left it.

He has no idea how far away Icicle Inn is, but he'll gladly push through the night if he has to. Anything to earn the reprieve Zack has given him, and the easy acceptance that never fails to ripple outward from him.

They reach Icicle just as the last drops of sunlight disappear behind the trees and pinprick stars start winking into existence.

For once, Cloud's happy to retreat into his own skin. Zack's body is totally gassed, achy and exhausted from head to toe. It's a relief to slip out of it and into a body still fresh and dry under its clothes.

They wheel the cart into a rickety old shed with gaps as large as his fingers between the slats. It's no warmer than outside, but just cutting the wind helps a lot. It's brutal on the summit, bare to the elements now that they've hiked up beyond the treeline.

If it were any later in the season, they'd probably catch their death in the night. As it stands, Cloud's just a normal variety of freezing, which he's become accustomed to on the northern continent.

The mood in the rustic town is active and merry. Seasonal workers have just come back, fresh from their off season breaks, and the first round of tourists have inundated the businesses with cash.

Just across the street he can see a lively crowd around a bonfire, singing old indigenous dirges and drinking from ceramic flasks. Folks in furry parkas and ski bibs pass by constantly, talking loudly about the "conditions" on the "slopes" and other such sporting jargon.

Cloud listens idly to their chatter, eyes cast low on his own fire, which Zack started in an old wrought iron furnace. It's one of his little set-ups, tricks to get Cloud to push himself. Hey Cloud, can you watch this pot? I gotta take a piss. Hey Cloud, can you scratch this part of my back? I can't reach and it's driving me crazy!

For once, Cloud gives it his all. He feels like he owes Zack after he stuck him with motion sickness for so long, and with the horror show that the morning had been.

Slowly, meticulous, he closes his thumb and forefinger around a pinch of pine needles. He lifts, hissing and grunting with concentration, and drops it on the fire. The difficulty pisses him off, but each time he sets his jaw and does it again. He can't give up because it's not about him. He needs to be strong for Zack, so Zack and stop taking the brunt of everything.

Again and again he moves pathetic amounts of foliage into a fire that's long-since moved up to devouring sticks and logs, listening all the while to Zack chatting up locals outside.

He's searching for a guide, since neither of them know how to mountain climb. It's a risk, but less of a risk than braving the Crater alone. The trouble, as always, is money. Tours here evidently cost an arm and a leg.

Zack's current target seems promising. She came by after another guide recommended her. Apparently she specializes in monster hunting, and has a keen interest in materia.

Naturally, he's poised to jump in if he thinks Zack's about to blow it, but so far he's done fine. Cloud concentrates on his needles and pine cones.

"You won't be able to take that cart past Icicle," she warns. "Once we're on the line, it's all vertical."

"That's totally fine." Zack shows his palms, smiling brightly. "It was just to get my brother up the base. He doesn't walk so well anymore."

The guide peeks past his shoulder to give Cloud a dubious look, which he bravely ignores.

"Your brother—wait, you're wanting to take an invalid up there?"

Zack sidesteps to cover the door. "I'll carry him, no sweat. It won't affect the climb at all."

"What's wrong with him?" She crosses her arms, leaning in. "He's not some drug addict, is he? Not all mako eyes come legitimately, kid. I ain't no fool."

"They're legit, watch me—" Zack picks his massive sword out of the cart, swinging it in his signature spiral before splitting a log on the pile outside cleanly in two.

"Woah."

"But that's why I need you, ma'am. My brother, he hasn't got long, you see? And he's always wanted to see the Crater, ever since we were kids. I gotta get him up there before he passes. Please? I'm begging you. I can take care of him and me, I just need someone to show us the way."

Cloud frowns, annoyed more by the accuracy of the lie than the lie itself. He could have any number of terminal diseases, and he wouldn't look or feel any differently. It's not a great feeling.

"I'll lose my license if he dies up there," the guide says. She says it low, like she's already decided but just hasn't accepted it yet.

Zack must hear it too, because he goes hard for the close, holding out one of their SOLDIER shoulder guards and the corresponding gauntlet.

"We can do it cash-free, no receipts. I've got this, premiere 1st Class armor. Six materia slots—that's two higher than the civilian limit—and the gauntlet has a built-in scanner. It uses live biometric data to show your energy levels, and scans enemies too. You won't find this on the street. This is the real deal."

"Hmm…" The guide takes the pieces, holding them up to catch the light of the bonfire across the street. She's clearly milking it, holding out just to see what hesitation can win her, and Zack walks right in.

"And we can waste any monsters on the way. Split the loot fifty-fifty. You get first pick of materia."

Cloud groans in disappointment as the guide enthusiastically shakes Zack's whole arm. He smiles ear to ear, proud of himself. Stupid, lovable idiot. Cloud throws another fistful on the fire, and breathes in the scent of carbon and pine.

"We're coming," he whispers into the Void, uncertain how he feels about it.

The darkness creeps closer, hungry. Far up on the mountain, still too close for comfort, Sephiroth stirs.

If anything, it makes him less secure in his decision. He throws up walls around his mind, suddenly cold to his bones despite the furnace.

Zack stomps through the threshold and raps his boots against the listing door frame to shake off chunks of snow. Cloud reaches for him, silently, desperately. He's met with the usual warm steadiness.

"Woah, don't push too hard," his partner murmurs, squatting beside him to press a cold hand to his forehead. "Are you feeling alright? You're really pale."

"Just tired," he manages to say out loud. "You didn't sell the gun."

Zack pushes Cloud's hair out of his face and kisses his forehead. "It's a weapon you can use. I'll worry less about leaving you places, knowing you have it."

Cloud makes a low noise of understanding. His partner hangs his gloves from the rafters above the fire.

"That guide was really something. She has muscles as big as mine." Zack says, smiling playfully. He looks Cloud up and down, from his hunched back to his soggy uniform pants and the flecks of mud the cart wheels kicked all over him. "Man, you look beat."

With a manly pat to his back, he pushes up and starts peeling off his layers.

"Tell you what, after this crazy Crater expedition, we'll sell off our loot and get us a few nights in a hotel. That'll be nice, won't it? Hot baths, clean sheets, television—oh my god, think of all the new movies we missed! We'll get room service and those little chocolates on the pillows and live like kings for a few days. Sound good?"

It does. It sounds too good to be true. Cloud pulls his mouth into a grin, willing himself to believe it, if only to get through tonight.

"That's the best idea you've ever had."

"Alright, it's a date." Zack beams and shoots him a double thumbs up. It hurts in the best way, like his heart's bursting at the seams.

His partner goes to the new bag and takes stock of their ill-gotten gains. He pulls out two canisters of long underwear and fresh socks, and plops down beside him. He starts the usual business of checking him over and changing his clothes.

"What do you think we'll find up there?" Cloud asks. He knows Zack doesn't feel Sephiroth, but he must have some sense of what they're getting into. His partner pauses in his work, and they exchange a loaded glance. Zack sighs.

"Honestly, I hope we find nothing. This whole excursion gave me a bad feeling from the get-go."

"Hmm."

"Answers would be good too, I guess." Zack shrugs.

Wind whistles through the gaps in the walls. The party across the street starts up another merry tune. Voices on the mountain call out to him, and Cloud does his best not to parse the words. He puts another pinecone on the fire.

"Hey, you're getting pretty good at that. Nice work." Zack sits beside the furnace, rubbing his hands in the warmth. Empty compliment or not, it makes Cloud's heart lurch.

How the hell did they make it this far? The more he thinks about it, the more implausible it sounds. Two lab rats with their heads blended together, limping out of a facility with half their strength gone, who still managed to evade the Turks for over a month. It's impossible. The stuff of campfire stories.

Together, his fractured memory supplies. That's how. Together, or not at all.