To Become (FFVII Cloud/Zack)
Title: To Become
Fandom: FFVII-Cloud/Zack
Author: Bururu
Recipient: Eimear
Rating: G
Summary: A series of memories from before Nibelheim.
Prompt: Kingdom Hearts, Sora/Riku/Kairi - something sweet;Valentine's Day seems like the perfect time for cute getting-togetherfic, doesn't it? And they are quite possibly my favorite threesomeever.Alternate pairings: I'd also be quite happy with some teenagenothing's-gone-wrong-yet Zack/Cloud with the same basic theme. ^^
I didn't quite adhere to the prompt, but I hope it's sweet enough all the same.
A year after training began, all of the new Shinra recruits were gathered together for a series of tests, to determine their ranking and assignments. Marksmanship proved not to be his forte, but he did well enough in the various tests of physical strength and endurance, and better than average in the hand to hand combat. In the end, it’s the injections that defeat him. A mixture of mako and several other drugs, designed to extend their bodies limits and enhance physical and mental endurance under duress. They proved to be too potent for his system, leaving him feverish and delirious for days. Even though he knows that a scant few ever respond well enough to qualify for SOLDIER, he still blamed himself when the head of the Turks passed by him with little more than a disinterested glance. Zack tells him to count his blessings. “Being in my division is hardly something to frown at,” he says good naturedly, “and it means we get to see each other all the time.”
~~~~~
“Check it out, I’m almost as tall as you now,” he says, stretching himself to full height and grinning. He’s been measuring himself every week for several months now, but he hasn’t told Zack that. “Yeah, but you’re still as skinny as a chocobo,” Zack laughs, prodding him in the ribs, “and I think your hair is giving you a few inches,” he adds. He sticks his tongue out at him before he remembers that it makes him look twelve, and then shoves him in the shoulder. Zack responds by wrapping an arm around his head and giving him a noogie until all his spikes are flat and hanging around his face in unhappy tendrils. When he goes to inspect the damage in the bathroom mirror, Zack walks up behind him, staring for a moment before saying, “Wow, you really are as tall as me!” and they both burst into laughter, clutching at each other’s shoulders to keep standing.
~~~~~
Sometimes, when Zack lets him crash at his place after a mission, he waits until he’s gone into the shower, and pulls on his cast-off clothing and armor. Zack’s shoulder guard smells like leather and iron, his shirts like motor oil and the faint scent of his cologne. He tries to heft the buster sword in one hand and nearly pitches over from the weight, and dreams of a day when Zack will give him a clap on the shoulder instead of a pat on the head. On these days, he often daydreams through the end of Zack’s shower, and is barely dressed in his own clothes before he comes out, his spiky hair mussed and face flushed. Zack usually chuckles and says, “Go on kid, get yourself cleaned up,” before disappearing into his closet to change.
~~~~~
Zack kissed him once, at the end of a holiday party on one of the outdoor balconies of the banquet hall. The details of it blur together for him, soot-dark hair brushing against his forehead, the sweet bite of peppermint, long lashes fanned across pale skin. Zack never brings it up again, so he doesn’t either, though he thinks of it often. He also never brings up how when Zack slings an arm around his shoulders his hand wanders, touching his collarbone, tugging lightly on the dog tags around his neck. Zack’s hands are large and warm, covered in calluses from his sword, making his breath catch slightly whenever he trails his fingers down his neck.
~~~~~
Zack’s eyes are a strange hue, lavender mixing with slate gray like a sunset on an overcast sky. Even when they’re on a stake out, wrapped in the pitch-dark of underbrush and night, they manage to give off light, an unearthly glow. They’re a result of long-term exposure to mako, an inner core burning within him like a reactor in miniature. He wonders if they make him an easier target in the darkness. Sometimes he can’t help staring at them, but when he catches sight of his own face reflected back at him he frowns and quickly looks away.
~~~~~
“So, what are you going to do?” Zack says one day, off handedly. They’ve been walking across the plain for hours now, trying to find the nearest town so they can buy tools to repair their jeep. The dust and sand finds its way into everything, the insides of their boots and gloves, their packs, their canteens. He’s been trying to keep from getting the dust in his mouth too, but Zack wouldn’t stop talking if his life and job depended on it, and he can’t bring himself to ignore him.
“Do about what?” he says, his voice more gravelly than usual and thick in his throat.
“You know, when you make it to SOLDIER.”
He recognizes this game; they’ve played it before on long patrols when the only thing to eat away at the hours of boredom was to imagine themselves somewhere or sometime far away. This topic is never one that they’ve discussed though, for obvious reasons. He wonders why Zack brings it up here, of all places, and has to think a moment before he can really formulate an answer.
“Well, I always thought I wanted to be like Sephiroth, you know? Strong enough to protect anybody, to really do some good,” he says, though he’s never met the man. Zack makes an incredulous face, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
“Sephiroth? Sure he’s a great fighter, but the guy might as well be made of marble!” he says, mock shuddering before giving him a look and saying, “You can do much better.”
He gives Zack a lopsided smile. “You really think so?”
“There’s no doubt.”
He’s silent for a moment, squinting at the long stretch of nothing laid out before them. He thinks about large hands, peppermint and motor oil, the feel of the buster sword across his shoulders, easy laughter and overcast skies.
“I guess I’ll aim for you then,” he says jokingly.
Fandom: FFVII-Cloud/Zack
Author: Bururu
Recipient: Eimear
Rating: G
Summary: A series of memories from before Nibelheim.
Prompt: Kingdom Hearts, Sora/Riku/Kairi - something sweet;Valentine's Day seems like the perfect time for cute getting-togetherfic, doesn't it? And they are quite possibly my favorite threesomeever.Alternate pairings: I'd also be quite happy with some teenagenothing's-gone-wrong-yet Zack/Cloud with the same basic theme. ^^
I didn't quite adhere to the prompt, but I hope it's sweet enough all the same.
A year after training began, all of the new Shinra recruits were gathered together for a series of tests, to determine their ranking and assignments. Marksmanship proved not to be his forte, but he did well enough in the various tests of physical strength and endurance, and better than average in the hand to hand combat. In the end, it’s the injections that defeat him. A mixture of mako and several other drugs, designed to extend their bodies limits and enhance physical and mental endurance under duress. They proved to be too potent for his system, leaving him feverish and delirious for days. Even though he knows that a scant few ever respond well enough to qualify for SOLDIER, he still blamed himself when the head of the Turks passed by him with little more than a disinterested glance. Zack tells him to count his blessings. “Being in my division is hardly something to frown at,” he says good naturedly, “and it means we get to see each other all the time.”
~~~~~
“Check it out, I’m almost as tall as you now,” he says, stretching himself to full height and grinning. He’s been measuring himself every week for several months now, but he hasn’t told Zack that. “Yeah, but you’re still as skinny as a chocobo,” Zack laughs, prodding him in the ribs, “and I think your hair is giving you a few inches,” he adds. He sticks his tongue out at him before he remembers that it makes him look twelve, and then shoves him in the shoulder. Zack responds by wrapping an arm around his head and giving him a noogie until all his spikes are flat and hanging around his face in unhappy tendrils. When he goes to inspect the damage in the bathroom mirror, Zack walks up behind him, staring for a moment before saying, “Wow, you really are as tall as me!” and they both burst into laughter, clutching at each other’s shoulders to keep standing.
~~~~~
Sometimes, when Zack lets him crash at his place after a mission, he waits until he’s gone into the shower, and pulls on his cast-off clothing and armor. Zack’s shoulder guard smells like leather and iron, his shirts like motor oil and the faint scent of his cologne. He tries to heft the buster sword in one hand and nearly pitches over from the weight, and dreams of a day when Zack will give him a clap on the shoulder instead of a pat on the head. On these days, he often daydreams through the end of Zack’s shower, and is barely dressed in his own clothes before he comes out, his spiky hair mussed and face flushed. Zack usually chuckles and says, “Go on kid, get yourself cleaned up,” before disappearing into his closet to change.
~~~~~
Zack kissed him once, at the end of a holiday party on one of the outdoor balconies of the banquet hall. The details of it blur together for him, soot-dark hair brushing against his forehead, the sweet bite of peppermint, long lashes fanned across pale skin. Zack never brings it up again, so he doesn’t either, though he thinks of it often. He also never brings up how when Zack slings an arm around his shoulders his hand wanders, touching his collarbone, tugging lightly on the dog tags around his neck. Zack’s hands are large and warm, covered in calluses from his sword, making his breath catch slightly whenever he trails his fingers down his neck.
~~~~~
Zack’s eyes are a strange hue, lavender mixing with slate gray like a sunset on an overcast sky. Even when they’re on a stake out, wrapped in the pitch-dark of underbrush and night, they manage to give off light, an unearthly glow. They’re a result of long-term exposure to mako, an inner core burning within him like a reactor in miniature. He wonders if they make him an easier target in the darkness. Sometimes he can’t help staring at them, but when he catches sight of his own face reflected back at him he frowns and quickly looks away.
~~~~~
“So, what are you going to do?” Zack says one day, off handedly. They’ve been walking across the plain for hours now, trying to find the nearest town so they can buy tools to repair their jeep. The dust and sand finds its way into everything, the insides of their boots and gloves, their packs, their canteens. He’s been trying to keep from getting the dust in his mouth too, but Zack wouldn’t stop talking if his life and job depended on it, and he can’t bring himself to ignore him.
“Do about what?” he says, his voice more gravelly than usual and thick in his throat.
“You know, when you make it to SOLDIER.”
He recognizes this game; they’ve played it before on long patrols when the only thing to eat away at the hours of boredom was to imagine themselves somewhere or sometime far away. This topic is never one that they’ve discussed though, for obvious reasons. He wonders why Zack brings it up here, of all places, and has to think a moment before he can really formulate an answer.
“Well, I always thought I wanted to be like Sephiroth, you know? Strong enough to protect anybody, to really do some good,” he says, though he’s never met the man. Zack makes an incredulous face, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
“Sephiroth? Sure he’s a great fighter, but the guy might as well be made of marble!” he says, mock shuddering before giving him a look and saying, “You can do much better.”
He gives Zack a lopsided smile. “You really think so?”
“There’s no doubt.”
He’s silent for a moment, squinting at the long stretch of nothing laid out before them. He thinks about large hands, peppermint and motor oil, the feel of the buster sword across his shoulders, easy laughter and overcast skies.
“I guess I’ll aim for you then,” he says jokingly.