(no subject)
Title: Small Victories
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Characters: Zack, Hojo, Cloud
Genre: Dark humor,
Rating: PG? idk.
Summary: Zack celebrates his birthday the only way he could; Hojo is not amused.
Zack hummed as he came to; so he was on the operating table today. Good. One less day for the kid to be on it. His limbs felt like jello and he knew he wouldn't be able to break the metal cuffs around his wrists, arms, legs and ankles, let alone the restraints at his waist and the other at his chest, but he could at least annoy Hojo as much as possible. You had to learn to appreciate the smaller victories in this place. "Hey Hojo."
Predictably, he didn't answer.
"Hojo." Zack was insistent, and when he was ignored once again he continued, knowing that Hojo was listening. He always was. "It's my birthday today; I can see the date on your readouts. Guess how old I am."
Silence.
"I'm twenty-one! Legal drinking age. Are you gonna take me out for drinks? I promise I won't slip any to Spike, he probably can't stomach his liquor anyhow. And you can get totally shitfaced, I don't mind."
Hojo's brow twitched and Zack didn't even bother suppressing his grin.
"Ah, you like the idea! I knew you would. You've always struck me as the down and out, hopelessly lonely and pathetic drunk. The one that nurses his drink at the bar and mutters about people not appreciating what he does for the world, etc. etc. The bums."
His brow twitched again.
"Aren't you gonna sing me happy birthday? I bet you didn't get me anything, so you should at least do that." There was, again, no answer, and Zack shrugged as best he could in his restraints. "Okay, if you're gonna be like that. I'll just have to sing it to myself." And sing he did; he took a deep breath and bellowed the verses at the top of his lungs, tapping the beat with bruised fingertips against the table.
"Happy birthdaaaaay toooo meeeee!" Hojo's expression was dark by the time Zack finished, and he mimicked the sounds of a madly cheering audience with his mouth. "Ah, thank you, you're too kind. I was going to go into a career in theater, but my calling has always been to be a sword-swinging barbarian. Sad, but true."
Hojo readied a syringe.
"I thought about comedy too, but it's just not exciting enough! And besides, I hear that comedians are always these sad, miserable people with no friends. And drunks. They're always drunks." Zack turned his head to the side with a light thunk, feigning concerned interest. "Actually, that sounds a lot like you, Hojo; are you a comedian?"
Hojo flicked the tube of the syringe to eliminate any air bubbles.
Zack scoffed, staring back up at the ceiling again. "I can see it. Totally. You in a nice oxford shirt, or maybe something ridiculous like plaid with a polka-dot tie. In some seedy bar, smoke for atmosphere, sitting on the stage and feeding one-liners to the audience. Don't worry, keep it up. You'll make your big- tch-" He was cut off when Hojo jabbed the needle into his arm none too gently, pressing the syringe and rubbing the spot on his arm to get whatever chemical he'd just injected circulating properly. Zack openly cringed away from the touch and shuddered.
"Shit-! Warm those up, would you? Fucking Holy, you're no sexy nurse, you could at least make your hands tolerable. It's bad enough I have to deal with your less-than-sparkling company- and-..." Zack blinked as his vision swam and a wave of nausea took over him. "Ugh...you...got me drunk after all..."
There was the soft scuff of Hojo's shoes against the floor, a whisper of papers gathered and then the door to the basement clanged shut, bolts sliding into place.
Zack trembled, and sweat beaded on his brow.
He wasn't sure how long he lay there, shaking and fighting down the urge to vomit, but he managed to drag himself to coherency long enough to register a faint tapping noise. Very, very faint; a weary gaze settled on the blond in the tank to the side of the operation table.
They were so close.
Cloud was awake; it was something becoming more and more of a miracle as time dragged on and the mako glowed so brightly in his eyes that it nearly burned them up. Zack hated it. But Cloud was awake and for him, Zack would muster forth a shaky smile. "S...Spike. Hey." He swallowed back a lump and it tasted like bile. "Nice to see you up..."
With the oxygen mask over Cloud's mouth and the thick glass between them -Hojo had reinforced both their pods when Cloud had caused a crack the length of his arm to crawl along the side in one of his fits- Zack couldn't even hope to hear him, but he watched in confusion as Cloud's finger dragged along the glass.
His brow furrowed. "...Spike, I don't..." And then the picture came together and Zack actually chuckled aloud, though the sound was weak and sick.
A birthday cake. Cloud had "drawn" a birthday cake with candles on the glass.
Zack grinned, even as darkness crept in along the corners of his vision and he mimed blowing the candles out. "I'll...tell you my wish if it comes true."
I wish I could get you out of here.
Title: (no title)
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Characters: Cloud, Zack
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG
Summary: A slightly different account of that famous clifftop scene, from a rather different POV.
He could hear it; he wasn't that far away, after all. He was safe, but not that far away. A couple soldiers had happened upon him, but they'd left him for dead. Kicked his leg a few times, but gave up when there was no response and ran to help. The renegade SOLDIER was tearing through them like tissue paper, apparently.
Cloud cheered in his mind, screamed for Zack to go, go, go, take them all out and get back behind the rock where he'd set him, where it was safe. Hurry up and end things so they could go to Midgar, see his girl, become mercenaries. Earn an honest living. Well, somewhat honest.
Be safe. Away from Hojo. Away from Shinra.
But the guns just kept shooting. And as seconds dragged into minutes, and even into hours, the shooting didn't stop. There were explosions; they were firing missiles, using grenades, and it was Zack they were hurting. Zack, who was facing them to keep him safe.
Cloud wanted to scream, he was so frustrated.
He heard a sharp sound and somewhere in the haze inside his head he froze; that was Zack. He was hurt, badly, he was hurt and they would close in on him. Screams of dying soldiers drifted past the rocks and Cloud's fists slowly clenched. He wasn't able to move much more than that.
Get up- help him, you worthless- get up! But he couldn't. And Zack was still in pain, still hurt, and still being hurt. And Cloud couldn't move. Cold dropped onto his bare skin, and he realized it was raining. No, the terrain would get muddy and slippery, Zack wouldn't be able to fight as well, the soldiers with their visors and grenades and guns would have the advantage-
The gunfire tapered off, but then Zack screamed and Cloud wrenched himself so hard that he dropped on his side.
He had to go- Zack was hurt- Zack-
Zack-!
There was more silence, and a dull, wet thump. Crunching footsteps, more gunshots, and Zack made a choked-off gargle.
No Holy no please-
The footsteps crunched closer and boots stopped in front of his face. Cloud couldn't move even if he wanted to; mako burned green behind his eyes and he imagined leaping up and strangling the soldiers with his bare hands. They said something -everything was garbled- and one of them nudged him in the ribs. Cloud wanted to tear his foot off and shove it down his throat. They'd shot Zack.
He wasn't sure when they'd left, but when he woke from the green it was still raining. Zack was still over there; he needed help. Cloud rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up on his elbows; the rain was cool against his neck and he shifted his legs. That didn't work out so well. So he clutched at the rocks and dragged himself instead, which worked out much better.
Zack was still there. He was far, but-
Cloud shuddered and his arm gave out, but he pushed himself back up. Crawled. Zack was breathing still; it looked as if it was taking all his concentration to do so, and his eyes were glassy. Cloud felt his own eyes burn again but there was no green behind them this time, and he swallowed hard.
"Z-Zack."
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Characters: Zack, Hojo, Cloud
Genre: Dark humor,
Rating: PG? idk.
Summary: Zack celebrates his birthday the only way he could; Hojo is not amused.
Zack hummed as he came to; so he was on the operating table today. Good. One less day for the kid to be on it. His limbs felt like jello and he knew he wouldn't be able to break the metal cuffs around his wrists, arms, legs and ankles, let alone the restraints at his waist and the other at his chest, but he could at least annoy Hojo as much as possible. You had to learn to appreciate the smaller victories in this place. "Hey Hojo."
Predictably, he didn't answer.
"Hojo." Zack was insistent, and when he was ignored once again he continued, knowing that Hojo was listening. He always was. "It's my birthday today; I can see the date on your readouts. Guess how old I am."
Silence.
"I'm twenty-one! Legal drinking age. Are you gonna take me out for drinks? I promise I won't slip any to Spike, he probably can't stomach his liquor anyhow. And you can get totally shitfaced, I don't mind."
Hojo's brow twitched and Zack didn't even bother suppressing his grin.
"Ah, you like the idea! I knew you would. You've always struck me as the down and out, hopelessly lonely and pathetic drunk. The one that nurses his drink at the bar and mutters about people not appreciating what he does for the world, etc. etc. The bums."
His brow twitched again.
"Aren't you gonna sing me happy birthday? I bet you didn't get me anything, so you should at least do that." There was, again, no answer, and Zack shrugged as best he could in his restraints. "Okay, if you're gonna be like that. I'll just have to sing it to myself." And sing he did; he took a deep breath and bellowed the verses at the top of his lungs, tapping the beat with bruised fingertips against the table.
"Happy birthdaaaaay toooo meeeee!" Hojo's expression was dark by the time Zack finished, and he mimicked the sounds of a madly cheering audience with his mouth. "Ah, thank you, you're too kind. I was going to go into a career in theater, but my calling has always been to be a sword-swinging barbarian. Sad, but true."
Hojo readied a syringe.
"I thought about comedy too, but it's just not exciting enough! And besides, I hear that comedians are always these sad, miserable people with no friends. And drunks. They're always drunks." Zack turned his head to the side with a light thunk, feigning concerned interest. "Actually, that sounds a lot like you, Hojo; are you a comedian?"
Hojo flicked the tube of the syringe to eliminate any air bubbles.
Zack scoffed, staring back up at the ceiling again. "I can see it. Totally. You in a nice oxford shirt, or maybe something ridiculous like plaid with a polka-dot tie. In some seedy bar, smoke for atmosphere, sitting on the stage and feeding one-liners to the audience. Don't worry, keep it up. You'll make your big- tch-" He was cut off when Hojo jabbed the needle into his arm none too gently, pressing the syringe and rubbing the spot on his arm to get whatever chemical he'd just injected circulating properly. Zack openly cringed away from the touch and shuddered.
"Shit-! Warm those up, would you? Fucking Holy, you're no sexy nurse, you could at least make your hands tolerable. It's bad enough I have to deal with your less-than-sparkling company- and-..." Zack blinked as his vision swam and a wave of nausea took over him. "Ugh...you...got me drunk after all..."
There was the soft scuff of Hojo's shoes against the floor, a whisper of papers gathered and then the door to the basement clanged shut, bolts sliding into place.
Zack trembled, and sweat beaded on his brow.
He wasn't sure how long he lay there, shaking and fighting down the urge to vomit, but he managed to drag himself to coherency long enough to register a faint tapping noise. Very, very faint; a weary gaze settled on the blond in the tank to the side of the operation table.
They were so close.
Cloud was awake; it was something becoming more and more of a miracle as time dragged on and the mako glowed so brightly in his eyes that it nearly burned them up. Zack hated it. But Cloud was awake and for him, Zack would muster forth a shaky smile. "S...Spike. Hey." He swallowed back a lump and it tasted like bile. "Nice to see you up..."
With the oxygen mask over Cloud's mouth and the thick glass between them -Hojo had reinforced both their pods when Cloud had caused a crack the length of his arm to crawl along the side in one of his fits- Zack couldn't even hope to hear him, but he watched in confusion as Cloud's finger dragged along the glass.
His brow furrowed. "...Spike, I don't..." And then the picture came together and Zack actually chuckled aloud, though the sound was weak and sick.
A birthday cake. Cloud had "drawn" a birthday cake with candles on the glass.
Zack grinned, even as darkness crept in along the corners of his vision and he mimed blowing the candles out. "I'll...tell you my wish if it comes true."
I wish I could get you out of here.
Title: (no title)
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Characters: Cloud, Zack
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG
Summary: A slightly different account of that famous clifftop scene, from a rather different POV.
He could hear it; he wasn't that far away, after all. He was safe, but not that far away. A couple soldiers had happened upon him, but they'd left him for dead. Kicked his leg a few times, but gave up when there was no response and ran to help. The renegade SOLDIER was tearing through them like tissue paper, apparently.
Cloud cheered in his mind, screamed for Zack to go, go, go, take them all out and get back behind the rock where he'd set him, where it was safe. Hurry up and end things so they could go to Midgar, see his girl, become mercenaries. Earn an honest living. Well, somewhat honest.
Be safe. Away from Hojo. Away from Shinra.
But the guns just kept shooting. And as seconds dragged into minutes, and even into hours, the shooting didn't stop. There were explosions; they were firing missiles, using grenades, and it was Zack they were hurting. Zack, who was facing them to keep him safe.
Cloud wanted to scream, he was so frustrated.
He heard a sharp sound and somewhere in the haze inside his head he froze; that was Zack. He was hurt, badly, he was hurt and they would close in on him. Screams of dying soldiers drifted past the rocks and Cloud's fists slowly clenched. He wasn't able to move much more than that.
Get up- help him, you worthless- get up! But he couldn't. And Zack was still in pain, still hurt, and still being hurt. And Cloud couldn't move. Cold dropped onto his bare skin, and he realized it was raining. No, the terrain would get muddy and slippery, Zack wouldn't be able to fight as well, the soldiers with their visors and grenades and guns would have the advantage-
The gunfire tapered off, but then Zack screamed and Cloud wrenched himself so hard that he dropped on his side.
He had to go- Zack was hurt- Zack-
Zack-!
There was more silence, and a dull, wet thump. Crunching footsteps, more gunshots, and Zack made a choked-off gargle.
No Holy no please-
The footsteps crunched closer and boots stopped in front of his face. Cloud couldn't move even if he wanted to; mako burned green behind his eyes and he imagined leaping up and strangling the soldiers with his bare hands. They said something -everything was garbled- and one of them nudged him in the ribs. Cloud wanted to tear his foot off and shove it down his throat. They'd shot Zack.
He wasn't sure when they'd left, but when he woke from the green it was still raining. Zack was still over there; he needed help. Cloud rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up on his elbows; the rain was cool against his neck and he shifted his legs. That didn't work out so well. So he clutched at the rocks and dragged himself instead, which worked out much better.
Zack was still there. He was far, but-
Cloud shuddered and his arm gave out, but he pushed himself back up. Crawled. Zack was breathing still; it looked as if it was taking all his concentration to do so, and his eyes were glassy. Cloud felt his own eyes burn again but there was no green behind them this time, and he swallowed hard.
"Z-Zack."