Cloud hopes his feet don't stink. Fuhito took off his shoes as soon as he was on the futon, and that's all he can think about now.
As far as he can remember, Zack never made any comments about it, which would be reassuring except that Zack's feet stink like the dead and Cloud's never said anything either.
Fuhito sits cross-legged beside him and slides a pen from his tan shirt pocket.
"Comfortable?"
Not really, not knowing what comes next. He nods anyway.
"Before we start, I'll need to know a little more about your condition. When did the mako exposure occur?"
In his mind it was six weeks and an eternity ago. In reality, four years. But was it four years physically, when he neither ate nor aged in that time? As far as his body was concerned, had those four years happened at all?
"Don't remember."
A line forms between Fuhito's brows. "What do you remember about it? Was it a long exposure or short? A single event or multiple?"
"Uh," he says, heart beating faster from embarrassment. The lab is a jumble of disconnected moments; some of them ordered by Zack's stilted retelling, others mere flashes of image or sensation that he pieced together on his own.
There were injections, no clue how many. There was a tank early on—or maybe that was Zack? And then, on the last day, the super concentration…
"Perhaps it would be best to do this with Mr. Fair present."
"No, no, I can tell you. It happened a lot. Everyday for… a few weeks. Injections, and then twice in tanks. There could have been more while I wasn't conscious, but that's what I remember."
"Goodness." Fuhito clicks the pen a few times, catching himself and turning it around so the pointed end is towards him. "And your symptoms started immediately upon exposure? Or was it gradual?"
Cloud stares at the pen, at the ink-rolled tip, and hears paper scratching, electric wands cracking. Shuddering, he tamps down a spike of nausea.
"Both."
Fuhito taps his palm with the butt of the pen. "How do you mean?"
"I got worse slowly, but the paralysis happened overnight. At one point I forgot how to talk."
"Did you happen to be in a tank that night?"
"No." Cloud chews the inside of his cheek, knowing how it must sound.
"An injection, then?"
"No. I wasn't exposed that day."
"I see. Was the incident—and I know this is a rather invasive question, but—could it be reasonably described as a near death experience?"
His eyes shut as he fights his own breath. They hadn't strictly been in mortal danger, but it felt that way. It felt like something had died that night. Their lives as individual people, maybe. Their ability to tolerate being apart. He hasn't left Zack's side since, not once until today.
"I don't mean to force you," Fuhito says after a moment. "In fact, I have enough to make a guess at your condition as it is. However, I am here if you would like someone to listen."
Rather than open him up, it clamps his mouth shut. The easy air that coaxed him into answering feels like a trap, too risky.
"I have Zack," he says quietly, but is it true? Does Zack actually listen ? Lately it feels like he's shouting into the Void while his partner nods his head and then does whatever he wants.
It brought them to Avalanche, but only by happenstance. The Turks could have sent them anywhere and Zack would have dragged him along.
Fuhito accepts his answer with the same unreadable nod, walking on his knees towards Cloud's feet in a quiet shuffle of cloth.
"I'm going to test your strength now. I'll push against various muscle groups, and I want you to push back as hard as you can. Okay?"
"This isn't what you did for those other people."
"I conducted these more usual examinations when they arrived. Because Mr. Fair stood in the way, I must do them now to ensure you're healthy enough for spirit healing. Exposing someone in a poor state to the Lifestream can have adverse effects."
Fuhito lifts one of Cloud's heels and presses his other hand to his sole. Cloud's foot leans back, and he musters up the energy to push against it like a car's gas pedal.
"Good. Now the other."
"Why?"
"Hmm?" Fuhito lifts his brows, letting the other foot go after Cloud resists his pressure.
"Why would it be bad for sick people to be healed?"
"Forgive me, I forget this is new to you." Fuhito moves to do the same to his hand. "The Lifestream is the realm of the dead. To be connected to it is to see what awaits you on the other side. For those in deep suffering, it can seem more inviting than the prospect of recovery. Mother Gaia is merciful. If she senses that a soul does not wish to live, she will take them from us. I… prefer not to perform such rituals myself."
"Oh."
"In my experience, a good deal of souls go on to change their minds. I find it… wasteful to deprive them of the chance to have second thoughts. But that's the heretic in me speaking. If Master Bugenhagen were here I would get a lecture," Fuhito laughs sadly, sitting back on his heels.
"Who is that? Everybody keeps mentioning him."
"Master? He is the oldest of the Cosmo sages, quite easily one of the wisest beings alive. He is a bit peculiar, but honorable. Myself and many others here were orphans raised by him and his disciples. We are his living legacy, so to speak. We live to carry his knowledge into the future. It's only natural that we would speak of him often."
"So he's… like your father," Cloud says.
"I wonder. I've never had the clearest idea of what exactly that word means," Fuhito hums thoughtfully. Shaking himself, he pushes up his glasses and takes Cloud's hand in his. "But nevermind that, we're here to seek answers to your questions, not mine. For the next test, I'm going to write some letters on different parts of you. Pay attention, and try to identify which letters I'm writing. Can you do that?"
"I can try."
"Very good," Fuhito says, lowering the cool metal to his palm. He draws two lines in a point and one across.
"A."
"Good."
They go on like that for several minutes, until Cloud's almost forgotten about his nerves. It takes his full concentration to keep up with Fuhito's movements. It gets harder on his legs and feet, but he thinks he does an alright job. He sees no hint of trouble on Fuhito's face.
Finally, after a half dozen tries, the Commander slips the pen back into his pocket.
"It seems you are in every appearance of good health, and your senses are quite sharp for someone suffering from paralysis." Cloud narrows his eyes, and Fuhito holds up a pacifying hand. "That is a good thing. It conforms with the diagnosis I was already considering."
"Which is?"
Fuhito folds his hands in his lap.
"You are not suffering from mako poisoning," he says. "In fact, that term was entirely made up by Shinra to displace the blame for the poor health of their workers onto the Planet. In actuality, Planet energy poses very little harm to humans. It is only during the refining process that toxic byproducts are released, which cause great harm to those exposed.
"Most people who find themselves affected die in a matter of hours. The fact that you are still here and in good health indicates that you were not exposed to such chemicals."
"But… Gloria said I was like her father."
"Yes, that you are," Fuhito agrees, gesturing to his own temple with a pointed finger. "To be exposed to the Lifestream is to experience the full range of raw human thought and experience.
"It may surprise you to know that the dead do not rest easily. They have many stories to tell, and on the rare occasion that a living soul contacts them, they are overeager to share them. If the living person lacks a strong sense of identity, they can lose themselves to the inundation of information.
"Your loss of memory was very likely caused by mako infusion, but your nerves respond to stimuli and your muscles are able to act on your brain signals, such as—"
Fuhito raises his arm without warning, the pen held tight in his closed fist. He brings it down in a swift swing, on a collision course with Cloud's right eye. Cloud grabs it, faster than blinking, just a few inches from his face.
Behind his wire-framed glasses, Fuhito's dark eyes smile. "—in moments of duress," he finishes.
"The hell—" Cloud gasps, his blood rushing, hand shaking. Already it feels heavy, as if cursed by the other man's words. His fingers stiffen and lock from the effort of holding it up.
"In matters of mind-body disunity, I find that patients often don't believe without a practical demonstration."
"Disunity," Cloud echoes.
"Your true affliction." Fuhito loosens Cloud's hold with his other hand. "Scientific medicine has long condescended to mystics like myself, calling us lesser, invalid, but there are phenomena in this world which cannot be accounted for solely by measurable facts and figures.
"The human being is an amalgamation of interconnected parts, each dependent on the others for health and welfare. The mind, the soul, the body; I consider them all to be in concert with one another.
"In the case of traumatic injury or a brush with death, it's common for these parts to fall out of sync, or even to manifest symptoms of an injury which can only be seen by examining the other aspects. Getting a sick stomach from anxiety, for instance, or becoming spiritually drained as a result of chronic illness."
"So you're saying I am broken. Inside," Cloud says, picturing the house in his head, the stasis tank, the Void.
"Disincorporated," Fuhito corrects. "But then, you already knew that, didn't you? I suspected as much the moment I saw your soul hanging around the corners of the cell."
"You—" Cloud's eyes go wide. Fuhito slides his hand from his grip and lowers it back to the futon.
"My training allows me to see spirits, although I admit that you gave me quite a shock. I've not seen someone capable of that since Gloria's father died, and he never had conscious control of it like you do. You are quite unique, Cloud."
"I don't see how that could be a good thing."
"Not when it's plaguing you with these difficulties, but with proper training you could perhaps regain what you've lost. If you can see souls and manipulate them, I see no reason you could not learn to harness that power as the Ancients did. As I do."
"I don't care about power," Cloud says instantly. Not like before, not anymore. "I just want my freedom back."
"For someone with your ability, I believe this is more than possible. In fact, the technique I would need to teach you is the same one that I would prescribe for your mind-body disunity."
Cloud sits up in a flurry without really comprehending, a rush of pure desire and willpower.
"Teach me."
The other man regards him with mild surprise. He looks different now that Cloud can see him eye-to-eye. Smaller somehow, less imposing. Blinking tiredness from his eyes, Fuhito sits up straighter.
"It's not as simple as following steps," he hedges. "There's no established standard for this sort of thing. It will take time."
"Then tell me how to get started."
Rubbing the spaces between his knuckles, Fuhito sighs.
"You're quite demanding for a lab rat. I'm amazed you made it out alive."
"I made it out because I'm demanding," Cloud says, although it's only half of the truth.
He made it out because of Zack, because he refused to let Hojo have him. The rest was luck and a stranger's sympathy.
Either way, it births a spark of interest and respect in Fuhito that feels heady and satisfying. No one but Zack has ever looked at him like he was worth something.
"Well, let's hope that stubbornness continues to serve you. It will take time for you to see progress. It will be tempting to throw up your hands and call it a loss."
Helping him to fold his legs under him, Fuhito settles on the futon across. Taking Cloud's hands, he lays one flat across his chest and the other across his belly. The feel of smoother skin and narrower fingers touching him in such an odd way makes his skin itch and prickle.
"The technique is simple enough. You can do it laying down when you're alone, but since I'm here I'll brace you, so you can learn to do it properly."
"Do what?" Cloud asks, a sinking, uncertain weight gathering in his core. This feels wrong somehow, too close.
"Breathing," Fuhito says.
"That's it?"
A prolonged stare passes as Fuhito says nothing. Cloying, invasive heat builds up between their hands. Cloud becomes aware—not entirely of his own volition—of just how much movement is involved in the act of breathing. The points of Fuhito's bent fingers press against his stomach, dragging against his cotton shirt as his chest expands and then contracts.
"That's it," Fuhito says.
"Can you let go of me?"
The other man's grip loosens, and Cloud's hands start to shake.
"Can you hold them up on your own?"
They both know he can't. He doesn't say it. Fuhito doesn't press. A taut moment lingers and lengthens, and then the other man closes his eyes.
"In order to command the spirits, you must first be able to hear them. In order to hear them, you must be able to quiet your own thoughts. Moreover, when connecting with the Lifestream you will always feel a sort of pull, right here in the nexus of your being." Fuhito prods him in the center of his chest with his knuckle, and Cloud shocks at the feeling of energy coiling up right where he indicated.
"You feel it, excellent. That is where the soul meets the body. The Ancients called it the 'door between worlds.' It was by opening that door they were able to wield magic modern people can only manifest through materia."
"But why is it there? Why not in the soul?"
"Because the body is what gives you life. The body is the only thing which attaches you to this living world. Breathe slowly and feel it. Feel how your breath draws energy from that spot."
Cloud breathes, only partially understanding but trying hard to do as he's told. Niggling, nudging distractions dance at his periphery. He shuts his eyes to focus better.
"Resistance creates counter-resistance. If you have thoughts, simply let them in and then let them go. The goal is not to be perfect, but to be aware. Feel your mind, body, and soul connecting, and nurture that connection with your attention. That's all you need to do for now."
Like a slow drip from a faucet, his tension leaks out. The cool fabric under his hands becomes more noticeable than Fuhito's touch. He notices the way his ribs stretch when he inhales, the way the air feels flowing out of his nose. In time, the statue-still support of Fuhito's hands becomes invisible beside the soft, pleasant brush of his cotton shirt against his skin.
Little by little, his shoulders creep down and his head hangs forward. White haze starts to gather in the dark blankness behind his eyelids. Out of nowhere, he sees green. Toxic green irises with slitted, cat-like pupils. A sharp, sudden pain cracks through his skull.
Gasping, he tears his hand from Fuhito's to press at the side of his head. Whatever the other man says is muffled by a whistling, ringing sound filling his ears. He would have fallen over if the other man hadn't braced him.
In a burst of fragmented images, he sees his feet stomping on cool gray grating, feels his heart hammer like it's about to burst. Fire. Flaring, bursting everywhere. The walkway explodes and there's a city under his feet—massive, hungry, hundreds of feet below. A gloved hand snatches him from the air and he swings, gasping, looking up at the blurry figure holding him while Zack's sword dangles in the wind.
Another burst of pain rips him from the vision and it hurts, like being pulled apart at both ends. He yells, rocking on his knees.
A door bursts open on screaming hinges. Zack. His spirit hits Cloud like a freight train, like the chugging, ceaseless engine that runs circles around Midgar. It wraps around him and through him—worried, angry, oppressive and comforting at the exact same time.
"Zack—"
He pries his eyes open just in time to see his partner jerk Fuhito up by his collar and walk him backwards into the nearest wall. He pants through the pain, trying to get up and falling.
"Zack, wait—"
"I fucking knew it," his partner growls.
"Woah, dude, what are you doing? That's the fucking Commander," some guy shouts, running up behind Zack and pulling him away.
"I don't care who he is, I told him pointblank not to touch Cloud."
"Zack, stop," Cloud pants, his ears still ringing and vision dancing distressingly between focus and oblivion. The next thing he knows Zack's boots are stomping up to him, his knees slamming carelessly into the floor in his hurry to kneel. Love and annoyance intermingle in his chest. This isn't how he wants people to see him—shaking, helpless, huddling under Zack like some helpless child—but that doesn't stop his spirit from reaching out for him the moment Zack's arms pull him close.
"What happened? What did he do?"
"Nothing I didn't ask for. It's fine. Calm down."
"Calm down? Are you serious?" Images splash over. Cloud bent over screaming, Fuhito holding him in his lap. Okay, so that looks bad. Really bad.
He shoves his own images clumsily back. The walkway, the explosion, his body hanging precariously over a two-layered city, the woman holding his hand with a fighter's grip.
"Tifa," Zack whispers. "That was… oh shit."
"I'm gonna walk." Cloud shivers and shakes, his face buried in Zack's neck. "I'm gonna walk again."
"We don't know that, it's just a vision."
Fuhito clears his throat, righting his rumpled clothes while the stranger watches on. Zack's hair tickles Cloud's cheek as he looks up, as his mind boomerangs back from their internal conversation. His anger hisses out like a punctured tire, giving way to confusion.
Cloud seizes the opportunity.
"He was teaching me to meditate. I asked him to. Nothing happened."
"You asked him?" Zack says.
"Not here," Cloud begs. "Not now."
"You asked him?"
The low tone of a gong sounds distantly out in the hall.
"Uh…" The stranger says with a hesitant voice.
"Perhaps it would be best to discuss this in the morning," Fuhito says.
Cloud feels Zack's mind whip around, feels him dig his proverbial heels in purely because Fuhito deigned to speak, and it's so characteristic of him that Cloud can't even bring himself to be annoyed.
His partner fumbles for some reason to argue, and Cloud knows he has to intervene before things get even more out of hand. His fingers find the gap between Zack's pants and his coat, digging into the folds of the t-shirt underneath.
"I'm tired," he says, pitched low only for Zack. "I'll explain, I promise. Can we please just go to bed?"
Cold blue eyes bore into him as his partner pulls away. A sinking, corrosive feeling solidifies in his stomach. Strong, familiar hands reach under his legs and lift him, carrying him off the platform with both of the other men watching.
Without a thought for the wheelchair, he carries Cloud out the door and down the hall.
The elevator operator hesitates when Zack stares at him, like he's unsure if he should look towards him or away. Cloud hides his face in shame, certain he'll never be able to look the man in the eye again.
"Fifth floor, once Kunsel gets here," Zack says.
Their entrance into the elevator is nothing compared to the wait.