Beloved, Chapter 18
For three days, they stayed inside and kept their heads down. The drone of a helicopter rose in the distance several times, and once passed worryingly near the theatre, but nobody intruded in their world. It appeared the inner districts remained as difficult for the WRO to access as before.
Genesis, for his part, seemed to revel in having Cloud there, and was apparently doing his utmost best to make up for the three weeks he’d been forced to wait after that first kiss.
Possibly he was trying to make up for the previous four years of inactivity, too.
It was dizzying how quickly Cloud had fallen into this relationship with Genesis, and absurd that he could feel so comfortable with a man he’d known for less than three months. But it felt right. The stress and tension he’d come to take for granted in his interactions with his comrades just didn’t exist with Genesis.
They should have been a bad match, personality-wise. But it didn't seem to matter. Unlike all the ambiguity with Tifa, Genesis made sure he always knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted sex. He wanted a spar. He wanted someone to sit quietly and listen while he waxed poetic. It was easy.
More importantly, he never said a word when Cloud woke up from nightmares, or when he failed to contribute to the one-sided conversation, or when he propped his sword in reach next to the table or bed, or when he didn't bother with the candles because he could see just fine. Because for all the ways they differed, there were just as many where they were the same.
As tempting as it was to disappear into the bowels of the theatre and forget the rest of the world existed, however, Cloud knew he couldn’t hide forever. So when the morning sun broke over Midgar’s ruins on the fourth day, they ventured outside.
“So,” Genesis drawled from his perch on one of the many bits of rubble surrounding the theatre entrance. “How is today going to differ from any other day we’ve gone clone hunting?”
Cloud took a deep breath. The musty smell of dew-damp carpet mixed with the faintest whiff of mako in the air made him want to sneeze. Even four years on, pollution lingered around Midgar. “Today I’m going to use a different method.”
Genesis raised an eyebrow at that, but seemed to sense to gravitas of the moment and remained quiet.
Cloud should have done this a long time ago, instead of letting sleeping dragons lie. Had been selfishly avoiding it, determined to make do with other means, because reaching for this feeling, for this sense, meant acknowledging a connection he desperately wanted to pretend didn’t exist.
And there was always a degree of risk, too. The bond wasn’t one way.
But the risk had become worth it now. The clone was the only way left to fix things. If they sorted out the clone problem, things would be sure to settle down eventually. Neo-ShinRa and the WRO would sooner or later have to rescind their orders, the Turks would have their vengeance for Elena, and the public would have time to forget and focus on some new demon to vilify.
Moving back to Edge, or seeing Tifa again… neither of those things were very high on his priorities list currently. But Cloud didn’t want to spend the rest of his life running and hiding. And he didn’t want Genesis to have to, either.
That meant he needed to step up, before things could get any worse.
Cloud closed his eyes and stretched out his senses.
It wasn’t a sensation he could easily explain to anyone else. He might never have become aware of it if Sephiroth hadn’t tried so often to use it against him in the past. After a while, he’d learned how to recognise the uncomfortable prickle of static against his thoughts, the scratchiness as his eyeballs tried to shift, the way it felt like his body was trying to forcibly tune into a radio station just out of range.
He’d learned the signs so he could recognise and fight the pull of Reunion. But with that, he’d also learned how to use them. He’d figured out how to consciously tap into the Call, to discover where exactly it was calling him to.
The thread of thought snaked through the back of his mind like a slither of lightning, the ghostly afterimage burning behind his eyelids. It took a moment to parse the information, to make sense of the snatched jumble of information, of knowledge he’d acquired without being conscious of learning it. And when he did, he almost didn’t believe it.
Cloud blinked, and looked back at the theatre.
It couldn’t be. It had to be a mistake.
He turned on his heel, and stalked back the way he came.
“You have something?” Genesis trailed his steps impatiently.
Cloud didn’t respond, too focused on following what amounted to instinct. He paused outside the theatre doors, staring into the dim interior. The presence flickered strangely, and for a moment, he was left only with the impression of shadows. There was an echo nearby that briefly confused him. A glance out the corner of his eye showed only Genesis. Not a clone then, just the presence of inert Jenova cells distracting him.
“Does this work like a compass?” Genesis asked with humour. “Perhaps I should fly us, and you merely point the direction?”
Cloud shook his head. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. “No. I think…” He swallowed, stretching for that sense, even as it flitted just barely out of reach, like a butterfly of static noise. “I think he’s in here.”
Genesis suddenly straightened, tension rippling through his body in a wave. “Impossible.” He stalked past him into the theatre, coat flaring. “Impossible!”
Cloud followed on automatic, one hand moving to rest on First Tsurugi, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. Paranoia clung to his skin like a cloak. This felt wrong. This had to be a trap.
“How could he hide here? How could I not notice?” Genesis fumed, pausing when he reached the stage. “Which way?!” he demanded.
The presence was ghostly and strangely difficult to grasp - odd, for being so close. Normally at this kind of range Cloud would be getting a headache and inexplicable yearnings. “Backstage.” Genesis stormed down the stairs in a whirl of red leather.
It was unnerving for more than just one reason. Not only that they somehow hadn’t noticed the clone’s presence, but that the theatre had not been nearly so private as they’d believed.
Stupid of them. It was the one habitable building they never bothered checking. Who checked their own home, after all?
But how hadn’t Cloud sensed him before now? Even if he’d locked down on the connection, with the clone so near…
Cloud followed closely on Genesis’s heels down into the narrow backstage hallways, and very nearly ran into him when he pulled to a stop and whirled around once more. “Where?”
Cloud frowned, moving forward more slowly now. The pressure behind his eyes grew stronger, though ebbed and flowed with an irregular rhythm, like an unsteady heartbeat. Even as he struggled with disbelief, though, the knowledge pulsed at him, unmistakeable conviction dragging him down the narrow corridor.
He came to a stop outside the furthest room. This far back, no light reached into the building, their way lit only by the faint glow of their eyes. The stench of mildew was pervasive and tickled maddeningly at his senses - it was obviously a part of the theatre Genesis didn’t bother with maintaining, one of the smaller rooms directly under the stage. “Here.”
He reached for his sword, and took a deep breath. The bond held steady, but there didn’t seem to be any movement. Were they expected? They should be. Surely the clone had sensed him coming.
An ambush?
“Be ready,” Cloud cautioned, and then, before he could lose his nerve, pushed open the door.
The room beyond yawned into pitch black darkness.
For a long moment, nothing happened. The room remained still, and black, and empty.
Then two glowing greens circles bloomed in the darkness, and rushed towards them with the speed of freight train.
Even prepared, Cloud barely yanked First Tsurugi up in time. The blow struck with a shuddering jolt that jarred his bones and sent him flying. He crashed through the opposite wall in a shower of plaster.
Fast. Faster than even Kadaj.
The darkness fled in an explosion of orange light and heat. Genesis. Cloud pulled himself from the wreckage, leaping back to his feet.
Then the bond crashed over him like a breaking wave, and his muscles seized.
Frozen in place, Cloud could do nothing more than stare at the vision stepping into the room across from him, bathed amber in the flickering firelight.
Long trailing silver hair. Black open-chested leather coat. Eyes, mako green, slitted like a snake’s.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Cloud,” Sephiroth murmured.
This wasn’t happening. Not again.
“It can’t be,” Genesis rasped.
Sephiroth slanted his old comrade a smirk. “Genesis. It’s been a long time.” He tilted his head. “I’m surprised such a failure is still alive.”
Genesis practically snarled at that, but Sephiroth dismissed him carelessly, turning back to Cloud, stepping closer. “Have you missed me, Cloud?” he asked, voice low and amused. “I told you. I will never be a memory.”
An odd sort of panic gripped him as his foe stepped closer. His hand trembled with effort, but First Tsurugi barely twitched. It felt as though his head were gripped in a vice and the air squeezed from his lungs. “Stay away,” he gasped.
“There’s no need to fight, Cloud. It’s time you came back to me.” Sephiroth took another step closer. Cloud’s muscles jerked him forward even as he struggled to push back. It felt like trying to wade through cement. “There’s a good puppet.” He reached out, as though to caress his face.
Fire burst between them in a blast of roaring light and heat.
Then suddenly, Cloud could move again.
He flung himself forward through the flames, swinging First Tsurugi blindly. He met only air. There was a whoosh of a flapping leather coat. Sephiroth alighted gently on the other side of the room.
“How?” Cloud demanded, voice cracking on the word. He forced back the fear and panic, let it hide under the rising tide of anger - anything to keep focused, to keep his head in the game and his sword steady as they faced off. He hadn’t been prepared for this. They were supposed to be dealing with a clone, not Sephiroth himself.
Sephiroth, for his part, merely looked bemused. “Don’t you remember that day, Cloud? Our glorious second Reunion?”
“I remember it fine,” he retorted, tightening his grip around First Tsurugi’s hilt. Wished he could forget it, in fact.
“Then why are you so surprised?” Sephiroth regarded him through half-lidded eyes. “Everything I required to return has been waiting for me all along.”
“What about Jenova cells?” Cloud snapped. His muscles were tensed, ready to strike, waiting for the first hint of an opening. The close quarters didn’t sit well with him - this near, if Sephiroth tried to take over again…
Sephiroth wore the barest of condescending smirks. “You were careless, Cloud. You failed to notice what was left behind.”
No …He’d sliced Jenova’s neck in half. Kadaj had leapt after it, and absorbed it…
He’d sliced Jenova’s neck in half.
Cloud sucked in a ragged breath.
“Sephiroth!” A third voice demanded. Genesis, sounding irritated at being ignored. Cloud had almost forgotten he was there.
At Genesis’s call, though, Sephiroth suddenly paused. His image wavered for a moment, and in its place stood a broad-chested man, with shorter, wildly spiky hair, white instead of silver, and eyes that were wide and blank instead of narrowed and cunning.
It lasted for only an instant. Abruptly, Sephiroth leapt back through the hole in the wall Cloud had created, and dashed into the hallway. Running away?
“Genesis!” Cloud warned, and rushed after him. He couldn’t let him escape, who knew who he’d kill next-
The hallway filled with fire, a dull roar filling his ears. It wasn’t enough. Black feathers scattered in the air. Sephiroth, with one sweep of Masamune, tore straight through the roof, disappearing into the theatre beyond. Plaster and woodchips crashed around them, peppering his arms and face with dust and grit.
Cloud followed, kicking off the wall to follow through the hole. His boots thudded onto the wooden stage, his glowing blue gaze sharp, sweeping the theatre, searching for his enemy…
The heavy exit doors were wrenched open with a crash, torn clean from their hinges. Sephiroth stood by them, framed in the glare of sunlight. He looked strangely insubstantial around the edges.
His voice carried effortlessly across the distance. “I’ll see you again soon, Cloud.”
A blast of static, and his muscles were wracked with spasms. Cloud dropped to one knee with a hiss, instinctively rallying his concentration, pushing the awful, crushing pain away. His eyes itched, but he fought it back, and the sensation receded with a snap.
When he struggled back to his feet, Sephiroth was gone.
A whoosh of warm air washed over him as Genesis arrived on the stage, his own black wing sweeping the floor.
“In mistrust, joy
In faith, despair
Cruel are the trials of the Goddess.” He turned to him, face grim. “We have a problem, Cloud Strife.”
There was an understatement. But Genesis wasn’t finished.
“That wasn’t a clone.” Genesis said. “That was Weiss.”
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