Xmas Giftfics 2012 Part 1
I am posting the first batch of giftfics only two days after Christmas. Are you proud of me? I am proud of me. Even though it's honestly probably because I'm procrastinating on cosplay or finishing Beloved.
Anyhow, these are all way longer than intended, that's why there's only three of them so far. I really need to start getting the hang of that whole 'drabble' thing. As always, these have been written by the seat of my pants without much in the way of editing and so are of varying quality. More will probably turn up sometime in the New Year, no guesses as to when. Did everyone have a good Christmas? I hope so. Happy Holidays and all that. Here are some presents!
For isadorathegreat
A. The Fifth Act
B. Cloud + chibi!Cloud + Mama Cloud
C. After chibi!Cloud find out about all these time travelling shenanigans, he decides that a temporally displaced mother and son pair should reconcile.
AN: I feel like I'm going down a rabbit hole of sidefics. You guys are wringing a sequel from me one Christmas drabble at a time. XD
Cloud watched his ‘uncle’ shift uncomfortably in front of the house. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said, for the third time that day.
“It’ll be fine, I promise,” Cloud asserted. It still fascinated him. This was him, in the future. Well, a version of him. Once he had a little more context, he’d been able to figure out some more of the details, and deduced that he wasn’t likely to become the man in front of him. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. After all, his so-called uncle was totally awesome, stronger than Cloud had even dreamed of being.
But at the same time, he rarely seemed happy. Cloud didn’t really want to be like that. His smiles were scarce, and while he’d been gradually loosening up around the other SOLDIERs, sometimes Cloud noticed him pausing around certain topics or words, or even places, gaze turning inward before he would change the subject.
He’d looked homesick. He’d looked lonely.
Which was what led them both here.
“But last time…” his ‘uncle’ hedged.
“I called Ma and explained and she promised not to shoot at you this time,” Cloud interrupted, and now that he thought about that with new context, wow, that whole thing was kind of awful. Ma had been shooting at her own son and wasn’t even aware of it. “Sorry,” he added, which probably didn’t help but someone had to say it.
“It wasn’t her fault,” his ‘uncle’ replied half-heartedly. “But how did you get her to agree?”
“I told her how you were really nice and stuff and had been looking out for me,” Cloud rushed. “Come on, let’s go inside! She’s probably waiting.”
That wasn’t all he’d said, of course. His Ma could be stubborn sometimes. But he hadn’t thought he could just outright explain, either. He’d received the very strong impression that this time travelling business was supposed to be super-secret. So what he’d really done was beg for her to at least give him a chance, and asked her to decide who exactly she thought the older Cloud Strife was after that.
It was a gamble, but even if they were different, even if he would never become that person anymore… his mother ought to be able to recognise her own son, right?
He threw open the door and hustled his older self inside. “Ma! We’re here!”
It was the least he could do. After all, his ‘uncle’ didn’t have a mother anymore. And even if they weren’t actually family in the traditional sense, well… he could share, couldn’t he? It would be kind of like having a much older brother. It didn’t seem right that he got to keep Ma, and his wayward future self didn’t have anyone. It was just too sad.
“I’m in the kitchen!” his mother called in response, as though the aroma of stew wasn’t giveaway enough.
His older self had frozen in the hallway, gaze roving over the walls with a bereft sort of hunger that was more than a little unsettling. For the first time, it occurred to Cloud that maybe his time-travelling counterpart hadn’t been home even longer than since he’d jumped back in time.
“Take care of your mother in the meantime. She needs you, more than SOLDIER does.”
Cloud shivered away the memory of those words, not wanting to think any deeper into them. The question balanced on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn’t supposed to know about the whole time-travelling thing, so he bit down on it and summoned a sunny smile copied straight from Zack. “I hope you’re hungry! Ma always cooks way too much whenever we have guests.”
His ‘uncle’ nodded numbly, following him to the kitchen where his - their - mother was drying her hands. “Cloud, it’s good to see you. Come here, so I can get a good look at you.”
His older self took half a step forward, but Cloud saved him the awkwardness by rushing ahead and giving his Ma a tight hug. “Thanks for agreeing to this,” he whispered in her ear.
She huffed lightly under her breath, but didn’t say anything, breaking away to regard their guest with a polite, if slightly wary, detachment. “My apologies for the last time we met Mister…?” she offered leadingly.
“Um, just Cloud is fine. Oh, actually, if you want-” His ‘uncle’ slanted an awkward look at him.
Cloud crossed his arms. “I’m not going to be called ‘junior’.”
The older Cloud winced. “No, I mean, I had a friend…” he began awkwardly. “If it would make it easier, he called me Spike, too. Because…” He gestured vaguely towards his hair.
…Had?
The more he gleaned about the future, the happier he became it wasn’t going to happen that way anymore.
“It suits you.” She stole a mischievous glance at her son. “Unruly hair must run in the family.”
“Ma!” Cloud complained.
It seemed to diffuse some of the tension in the room, though, so Cloud was more than happy for his older doppelganger to borrow his nickname for a while.
“Yes, well, my apologies. My darling boy here tells me I jumped to conclusions and that I should hear you out,” she said. Cloud briefly wanted to curl into a tiny ball of concentrated embarrassment at the ‘darling boy’ until he remembered that it wasn’t anything his time-travelling counterpart wouldn’t have already heard. Huh. It already was a bit like having a sibling.
“No, it… it was understandable,” his ‘uncle’ said softly. “At the time I didn’t realise… That is, I didn’t really know much about my father. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have come.”
His mother’s wariness was quickly being replaced by curiosity and puzzlement. “Oh, but if you didn’t know, how did you know about-”
“I’m starving!” Cloud blurted out before she could finish that thought. “Sorry Ma, but can we eat? It was a long trip.”
“Of course! Take a seat, I’m almost done, it’ll be just a minute.” She bustled her way around the kitchen. Cloud’s older self took a step towards his regular seat, seemed to think twice about it, and then took the one they kept for guests.
Really, now that he knew, the time travel thing just seemed kind of obvious. But maybe… maybe this was a bit cruel, too. Cloud hadn’t considered that. Was this just throwing everything his alternate self’s face? Taunting him with what he couldn’t have anymore?
Too late to turn back, though. And his Ma was already opening up, he could tell.
Although… “Hey, so who is your Dad anyway?” he whispered across the table. “Why does Ma hate him so much?” It sounded like he knew who he was, which was more than what Cloud knew.
His ‘uncle’ visibly flinched at the question. “It’s not important,” he evaded, in a flat tone of voice that left no room for argument.
Cloud mentally marked that down as ‘yet another time traveller mystery to find out about later’. Maybe Kunsel would help.
“What are you whispering about, Cloud?” his mother asked, dropping his plate in front of him. It was piled high with stew, the faint aroma of spices in the sauce tickling his sinuses. He’d only been in Midgar for a few months, but he’d yet to find a place that carried even half of the herbs his mother grew in her garden. Some things just never made the trip across the continents.
“I was only telling him how great your cooking is Ma,” Cloud replied with an innocent smile.
“Sure you were,” was the good-natured reply, as she served up a plate for their guest and herself, finally sitting down with them. “Go ahead, then. Tuck in. You boys must be hungry after coming all the way here. Fighting monsters, aren’t you?”
“I’m just support for now,” Cloud said, and didn’t even mind admitting that anymore. “Genesis has been teaching me a lot about materia.” His gaze was fixed on his ‘uncle’ though, as he took a slow, careful bite of Ma’s special homemade stew. Watched him savour it, and saw the look pass across his face, the distance in his eyes.
“Is the food okay?” his mother asked.
When he answered, his voice was tight, and near hoarse. “It’s… it’s wonderful,” he replied. “Thank you.”
And Cloud knew for sure that he’d made the right decision.
For Anonymous
A. Fallacious Deity
B. Tidus, Cloud, Squall, Terra, Onion Knight, Cecil
C. Why Tidus was so apprehensive about returning to his homeworld.
AN: Mostly just Tidus and Cloud, sorry.
Tidus was being moody again.
Cloud didn’t know what to do about it. If he tried to talk to him, the bleach-blond blitzballer would be all smiles again in an instant, insisting everything was fine. But ignoring it didn’t accomplish anything either.
He didn’t know what to do anymore. Somehow, he was expected to keep their ragtag little band of survivors together and focused on the goal of finding a way home. To make matters worse, Cloud didn’t know any of them that well - they’d been occasional foes, never friends - and the past several weeks of travelling together hadn’t done much to change that. Onion Knight and Terra were the only ones who seemed at all comfortable talking to him. Cecil was still wallowing in the death of his brother and comrades, and Squall was such an aggressive loner it was probably only a matter of time until he struck out on his own.
They weren’t the problem, though. Right now, the problem was Tidus, and as much as Cloud felt uncomfortable with it, he’d somehow been unofficially elected as leader of their excursion, and the painfully distant memory of his AVALANCHE days infused him with an odd sense of responsibility for the welfare of their little band.
It was a big adjustment. It had been a long time since he’d had comrades. Longer than he could count.
Which made him the worst possible candidate for this, but no one else was going to do it.
He approached Tidus on the bluff. The Elven Snowfields were just visible in the distance from the rocky overhang, the distant snow-peaked tips of the Frozen Continent’s mountain range stark against the endlessly roiling grey clouds. Already he could feel an icy bite to the breeze. “Hey.”
The blitzballer glanced at him, and a few seconds too late a bright grin stretched across his face. “Hey, Cloud. What’s up?”
No point dancing around the topic. “You don’t have to pretend, you know.”
“Huh?”
Cloud gave him a flat stare. “Don’t play the happy-go-lucky dumb jock card. What’s been bothering you?”
Tidus rubbed the back of his neck, his grin turning into a grimace. “You really don’t waste any time getting straight to the punch, do you?”
The Buster sword was digging into his shoulder. Cloud spent a moment shifting it into a more comfortable position. “It’s been long enough that you’re obviously not going to deal with it on your own.” He paused, thinking through his next words carefully. “You might not want to talk to me about it. That’s fine. But if you need help… that’s what comrades are for.”
Pep talks felt alien on his tongue after so long. Like lying.
Tidus shook his head at that. “Nah, it’s nothing personal. It’s just… I don’t even know where to start, you know? And I don’t want to drag you guys down.”
“We’re not exactly the cheeriest bunch in the first place,” Cloud stated bluntly. “…Is it about Jecht?” Because he’d expected problems from that. Having someone jump in front of a sword for you, sacrificing themselves right before your eyes - that did things to people. He knew better than most.
Predictably, the name brought a scowl to Tidus’s lips. “That guy? No way.” He started to pace along the edge of the bluff, kicking a stone off the side, where it tumbled and skittered for what seemed like forever. “If anything, I hate him more for doing that. Just going off and dying, protecting me like I’m still some little kid.”
The anger wasn’t entirely false, but it seemed to Cloud like it was directed more at himself than his father. “You’d rather have died in his place?” That could be a problem. It wasn’t an issue Cloud really felt comfortable counselling anybody on. Maybe he should have left this to Onion Knight or Terra after all.
“Of course not!” Tidus burst out. “I like existing, you know? My stupid old man doesn’t change any of that!”
It was an odd choice of words.
Cloud stayed quiet and didn’t ask, though. Sometimes, when confronted with enough silence, other people would fill it for him.
Luckily, Tidus was no different. His mouth twisted in a forced smile. "It’s just… I'm not even sure this is all real sometimes, you know? It could all just be... a dream."
Cloud chewed on that for a moment, then commented. "Pretty messed up dream."
That startled a laugh out of the blitzballer. "Sure is!" He threaded his fingers behind his head, staring out at the view. “…But I guess I can’t help but wondering, what happens when the dream ends?”
Cloud followed his gaze. Somewhere, out there beyond the snowfields, was a moogle who might help them. It had been a long journey so far, and they didn’t even know if it would end when they found him. “I suppose... we go home.”
“Yeah.” Tidus’s voice was soft, nearly a whisper. “But what if, back home, you’re already…”
His words were whisked away by the cold breeze. “Sorry?” Cloud asked.
Tidus slanted him a grin. “Ah, forget it. I mean, you’ve been stuck in this crazy dream for too long already, right? You don’t exactly want to stick around.” He nodded to himself, though the gesture looked oddly wistful. “Stories are supposed to have endings.”
Cloud remained silent, perplexed and more than a little unnerved. Tidus just slapped him on the back and started heading back towards the campsite. “Thanks for asking, though. It’s okay, really. Come on, it looks like Terra’s got a fire going.”
Something about the words niggled at the back of his brain though. It felt unfinished. Which was why Cloud found himself saying, “Hey. Tidus.”
The blitzballer paused. “Yeah?”
“Your story. How does it end?”
Tidus stilled at that, and for one brief moment, looked oddly insubstantial.
Then he smiled - a strange, brilliantly sad smile, that shone like the sun and reminded Cloud painfully of a flower girl he once knew, long ago.
“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
For ladyazurith
A. Dissida
B. Cloud/?
C. Jealousy
AN: Since you didn’t specify the other half of the pairing, I thought I’d try something new.
He's not Sephiroth.
He might have silver hair, but his eyes are dark blue, clear and sane. He might have the same broad shoulders and a perfectly toned chest - and why was it that even though he carried around a sword twice his own weight, Cloud never gained the sort of muscles and bulk SOLDIERS were envied for - but his strength isn't unnatural. His voice might be deep and smooth, but he enunciates every word as though it is a pronouncement, instead of drawling them in a patronizing taunt.
He’s not Sephiroth, but he’s similar enough that sometimes Cloud doubts himself.
They’re resting in a gateway, in a proper bed for once, one of the many rooms in one of the many castles, stolen fragments of other dimensions. Cloud doesn’t recognise this one. Possibly Warrior of Light might, if he had his memories, but all that really matters is that it’s safe and quiet and private. For just a while, no manikins, no Chaos, no fighting. A chance to breathe.
Warrior of Light rolls onto his side, fitting his arm across him. For several minutes, they lie there quietly, breathing synchronised and oppressively loud in the pervading, unnatural silence of the gateway, revelling in the release, the relaxation, the companionship.
Such relationships were common enough in Midgar, but he’s surprised that the Warrior of Light never seems even the slightest bit embarrassed. But even though his garb comes from a more medieval age, maybe the culture of his home world is different. Or maybe it’s because the lack of memories doesn’t give him any cultural reference to base his actions on. Or maybe it’s just because it had started so organically - an arrangement of convenience, when the lingering adrenaline from a battle had nowhere to go. Stress relief, really, but it had slowly morphed into comfort and friendship too, and Cloud didn’t know what to call it anymore.
They don’t advertise it to the others - maybe because they’re oldest, and it feels oddly like protecting young eyes. It’s an strange notion, because none of them are innocent or naïve. No one in this world could be, for long.
Sephiroth knows, though. Cloud doesn’t know how he found out, when even the other warriors of Harmony remain oblivious. But the last time they’d fought, he’d made that awareness abundantly clear.
Cloud tries not to think about it.
“I met him. Sephiroth, that is. A few days ago,” the Warrior of Light says, breaking the silence, as though he could read the turn of Cloud’s thoughts. He threads their fingers together. There’s never anything tender about their shared touches - it’s always firm, solid. An arm like a band of steel around his chest, hands clasped instead of brushing, a warm weight pressed against his side. An anchor.
“Sorry,” Cloud says, and turns his head to run his gaze across his body with more purpose now, searching the warm expanse of muscle for injuries he might have missed. He doesn’t ask if his companion is okay, because they don’t do that anymore - if any of them are conscious and breathing and not bleeding out on the floor, that counts as a win, these days.
It makes him feel better to check, though.
“We are enemies. It was inevitable. Though I find myself jealous of him,” the Warrior of Light admits.
That’s unexpected enough to send Cloud still. The Warrior of Light acts so certain all the time, it never seemed possible that he could have any doubts. “Why?”
“You have a connection I can never have. You share worlds, and memories. When this over, you’ll return to the same place. So I find myself jealous.” He feels, more than the sees, the Warrior of Light shaking his head to himself. “When I do not even know what I will be returning to.”
Cloud shifts in his grasp, turning so that they’re properly face to face, bare chest to bare chest. “You shouldn’t listen to anything Sephiroth says. We might be from the same world, but we’re enemies.”
Sephiroth didn’t understand anymore. Maybe he didn’t have enough of his memories to - couldn’t comprehend anything beyond the notion that Cloud was his, even if he’d sacrificed that claim long ago. Even though they fought on different sides now.
“I am aware. But for once, most of what he said was truth. I must acknowledge it.” The Warrior of Light meets his gaze evenly, clear and honest. Cloud wonders, sometimes, what he sees in his eyes. Does he find the glow alien and unnatural? Can he see the flaws in his heart, the weakness and doubt and tiredness that have accumulated there?
If he does, he never says. He merely holds him close, until the moment stretches too long, and Cloud feels compelled to roll back over, and pull his eyes away.
They remain that way for what feels like an eternity, but is probably only a couple of minutes. It’s hard to tell inside gateways, sometimes. They should be sleeping, taking advantage of this precious respite as much as possible, but Cloud suspects neither of them will drift off for a while yet. Cloud’s mentally tired, but his body rarely gets the message. The Warrior of Light has the opposite problem.
When the Warrior of Light speaks next, though, the words are strangely hesitant. "…You once said you lost your memories before?"
Cloud shifts onto his back, staring at the simple grey stone mosaic in the ceiling. "That's not exactly right. More... I had the wrong ones."
The Warrior of Light doesn't ask the how, or the why. He just asks, "How did you get the true ones back?"
“I didn’t. Not all of them,” Cloud admits. They’re not the words he wants to give. Not the words he knows his comrade wants to hear, but none of them have room in their lives for half-truths or white lies. Not in this endless war.
The reply is small, and more vulnerable than he’s ever heard that voice sound before. Nothing like the strong Knight who never wavers in his mission, never shows the slightest weakness to his enemies, never falters in his path. “How do you deal with it?”
Cloud finds his hand again, and clasps it hard. Enough to feel the beat of blood pulsing through it, the warmth like a fire against his palm. “I make new ones. Enough that I don’t miss the old ones anymore.”
Anyhow, these are all way longer than intended, that's why there's only three of them so far. I really need to start getting the hang of that whole 'drabble' thing. As always, these have been written by the seat of my pants without much in the way of editing and so are of varying quality. More will probably turn up sometime in the New Year, no guesses as to when. Did everyone have a good Christmas? I hope so. Happy Holidays and all that. Here are some presents!
For isadorathegreat
A. The Fifth Act
B. Cloud + chibi!Cloud + Mama Cloud
C. After chibi!Cloud find out about all these time travelling shenanigans, he decides that a temporally displaced mother and son pair should reconcile.
AN: I feel like I'm going down a rabbit hole of sidefics. You guys are wringing a sequel from me one Christmas drabble at a time. XD
Cloud watched his ‘uncle’ shift uncomfortably in front of the house. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said, for the third time that day.
“It’ll be fine, I promise,” Cloud asserted. It still fascinated him. This was him, in the future. Well, a version of him. Once he had a little more context, he’d been able to figure out some more of the details, and deduced that he wasn’t likely to become the man in front of him. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. After all, his so-called uncle was totally awesome, stronger than Cloud had even dreamed of being.
But at the same time, he rarely seemed happy. Cloud didn’t really want to be like that. His smiles were scarce, and while he’d been gradually loosening up around the other SOLDIERs, sometimes Cloud noticed him pausing around certain topics or words, or even places, gaze turning inward before he would change the subject.
He’d looked homesick. He’d looked lonely.
Which was what led them both here.
“But last time…” his ‘uncle’ hedged.
“I called Ma and explained and she promised not to shoot at you this time,” Cloud interrupted, and now that he thought about that with new context, wow, that whole thing was kind of awful. Ma had been shooting at her own son and wasn’t even aware of it. “Sorry,” he added, which probably didn’t help but someone had to say it.
“It wasn’t her fault,” his ‘uncle’ replied half-heartedly. “But how did you get her to agree?”
“I told her how you were really nice and stuff and had been looking out for me,” Cloud rushed. “Come on, let’s go inside! She’s probably waiting.”
That wasn’t all he’d said, of course. His Ma could be stubborn sometimes. But he hadn’t thought he could just outright explain, either. He’d received the very strong impression that this time travelling business was supposed to be super-secret. So what he’d really done was beg for her to at least give him a chance, and asked her to decide who exactly she thought the older Cloud Strife was after that.
It was a gamble, but even if they were different, even if he would never become that person anymore… his mother ought to be able to recognise her own son, right?
He threw open the door and hustled his older self inside. “Ma! We’re here!”
It was the least he could do. After all, his ‘uncle’ didn’t have a mother anymore. And even if they weren’t actually family in the traditional sense, well… he could share, couldn’t he? It would be kind of like having a much older brother. It didn’t seem right that he got to keep Ma, and his wayward future self didn’t have anyone. It was just too sad.
“I’m in the kitchen!” his mother called in response, as though the aroma of stew wasn’t giveaway enough.
His older self had frozen in the hallway, gaze roving over the walls with a bereft sort of hunger that was more than a little unsettling. For the first time, it occurred to Cloud that maybe his time-travelling counterpart hadn’t been home even longer than since he’d jumped back in time.
“Take care of your mother in the meantime. She needs you, more than SOLDIER does.”
Cloud shivered away the memory of those words, not wanting to think any deeper into them. The question balanced on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn’t supposed to know about the whole time-travelling thing, so he bit down on it and summoned a sunny smile copied straight from Zack. “I hope you’re hungry! Ma always cooks way too much whenever we have guests.”
His ‘uncle’ nodded numbly, following him to the kitchen where his - their - mother was drying her hands. “Cloud, it’s good to see you. Come here, so I can get a good look at you.”
His older self took half a step forward, but Cloud saved him the awkwardness by rushing ahead and giving his Ma a tight hug. “Thanks for agreeing to this,” he whispered in her ear.
She huffed lightly under her breath, but didn’t say anything, breaking away to regard their guest with a polite, if slightly wary, detachment. “My apologies for the last time we met Mister…?” she offered leadingly.
“Um, just Cloud is fine. Oh, actually, if you want-” His ‘uncle’ slanted an awkward look at him.
Cloud crossed his arms. “I’m not going to be called ‘junior’.”
The older Cloud winced. “No, I mean, I had a friend…” he began awkwardly. “If it would make it easier, he called me Spike, too. Because…” He gestured vaguely towards his hair.
…Had?
The more he gleaned about the future, the happier he became it wasn’t going to happen that way anymore.
“It suits you.” She stole a mischievous glance at her son. “Unruly hair must run in the family.”
“Ma!” Cloud complained.
It seemed to diffuse some of the tension in the room, though, so Cloud was more than happy for his older doppelganger to borrow his nickname for a while.
“Yes, well, my apologies. My darling boy here tells me I jumped to conclusions and that I should hear you out,” she said. Cloud briefly wanted to curl into a tiny ball of concentrated embarrassment at the ‘darling boy’ until he remembered that it wasn’t anything his time-travelling counterpart wouldn’t have already heard. Huh. It already was a bit like having a sibling.
“No, it… it was understandable,” his ‘uncle’ said softly. “At the time I didn’t realise… That is, I didn’t really know much about my father. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have come.”
His mother’s wariness was quickly being replaced by curiosity and puzzlement. “Oh, but if you didn’t know, how did you know about-”
“I’m starving!” Cloud blurted out before she could finish that thought. “Sorry Ma, but can we eat? It was a long trip.”
“Of course! Take a seat, I’m almost done, it’ll be just a minute.” She bustled her way around the kitchen. Cloud’s older self took a step towards his regular seat, seemed to think twice about it, and then took the one they kept for guests.
Really, now that he knew, the time travel thing just seemed kind of obvious. But maybe… maybe this was a bit cruel, too. Cloud hadn’t considered that. Was this just throwing everything his alternate self’s face? Taunting him with what he couldn’t have anymore?
Too late to turn back, though. And his Ma was already opening up, he could tell.
Although… “Hey, so who is your Dad anyway?” he whispered across the table. “Why does Ma hate him so much?” It sounded like he knew who he was, which was more than what Cloud knew.
His ‘uncle’ visibly flinched at the question. “It’s not important,” he evaded, in a flat tone of voice that left no room for argument.
Cloud mentally marked that down as ‘yet another time traveller mystery to find out about later’. Maybe Kunsel would help.
“What are you whispering about, Cloud?” his mother asked, dropping his plate in front of him. It was piled high with stew, the faint aroma of spices in the sauce tickling his sinuses. He’d only been in Midgar for a few months, but he’d yet to find a place that carried even half of the herbs his mother grew in her garden. Some things just never made the trip across the continents.
“I was only telling him how great your cooking is Ma,” Cloud replied with an innocent smile.
“Sure you were,” was the good-natured reply, as she served up a plate for their guest and herself, finally sitting down with them. “Go ahead, then. Tuck in. You boys must be hungry after coming all the way here. Fighting monsters, aren’t you?”
“I’m just support for now,” Cloud said, and didn’t even mind admitting that anymore. “Genesis has been teaching me a lot about materia.” His gaze was fixed on his ‘uncle’ though, as he took a slow, careful bite of Ma’s special homemade stew. Watched him savour it, and saw the look pass across his face, the distance in his eyes.
“Is the food okay?” his mother asked.
When he answered, his voice was tight, and near hoarse. “It’s… it’s wonderful,” he replied. “Thank you.”
And Cloud knew for sure that he’d made the right decision.
For Anonymous
A. Fallacious Deity
B. Tidus, Cloud, Squall, Terra, Onion Knight, Cecil
C. Why Tidus was so apprehensive about returning to his homeworld.
AN: Mostly just Tidus and Cloud, sorry.
Tidus was being moody again.
Cloud didn’t know what to do about it. If he tried to talk to him, the bleach-blond blitzballer would be all smiles again in an instant, insisting everything was fine. But ignoring it didn’t accomplish anything either.
He didn’t know what to do anymore. Somehow, he was expected to keep their ragtag little band of survivors together and focused on the goal of finding a way home. To make matters worse, Cloud didn’t know any of them that well - they’d been occasional foes, never friends - and the past several weeks of travelling together hadn’t done much to change that. Onion Knight and Terra were the only ones who seemed at all comfortable talking to him. Cecil was still wallowing in the death of his brother and comrades, and Squall was such an aggressive loner it was probably only a matter of time until he struck out on his own.
They weren’t the problem, though. Right now, the problem was Tidus, and as much as Cloud felt uncomfortable with it, he’d somehow been unofficially elected as leader of their excursion, and the painfully distant memory of his AVALANCHE days infused him with an odd sense of responsibility for the welfare of their little band.
It was a big adjustment. It had been a long time since he’d had comrades. Longer than he could count.
Which made him the worst possible candidate for this, but no one else was going to do it.
He approached Tidus on the bluff. The Elven Snowfields were just visible in the distance from the rocky overhang, the distant snow-peaked tips of the Frozen Continent’s mountain range stark against the endlessly roiling grey clouds. Already he could feel an icy bite to the breeze. “Hey.”
The blitzballer glanced at him, and a few seconds too late a bright grin stretched across his face. “Hey, Cloud. What’s up?”
No point dancing around the topic. “You don’t have to pretend, you know.”
“Huh?”
Cloud gave him a flat stare. “Don’t play the happy-go-lucky dumb jock card. What’s been bothering you?”
Tidus rubbed the back of his neck, his grin turning into a grimace. “You really don’t waste any time getting straight to the punch, do you?”
The Buster sword was digging into his shoulder. Cloud spent a moment shifting it into a more comfortable position. “It’s been long enough that you’re obviously not going to deal with it on your own.” He paused, thinking through his next words carefully. “You might not want to talk to me about it. That’s fine. But if you need help… that’s what comrades are for.”
Pep talks felt alien on his tongue after so long. Like lying.
Tidus shook his head at that. “Nah, it’s nothing personal. It’s just… I don’t even know where to start, you know? And I don’t want to drag you guys down.”
“We’re not exactly the cheeriest bunch in the first place,” Cloud stated bluntly. “…Is it about Jecht?” Because he’d expected problems from that. Having someone jump in front of a sword for you, sacrificing themselves right before your eyes - that did things to people. He knew better than most.
Predictably, the name brought a scowl to Tidus’s lips. “That guy? No way.” He started to pace along the edge of the bluff, kicking a stone off the side, where it tumbled and skittered for what seemed like forever. “If anything, I hate him more for doing that. Just going off and dying, protecting me like I’m still some little kid.”
The anger wasn’t entirely false, but it seemed to Cloud like it was directed more at himself than his father. “You’d rather have died in his place?” That could be a problem. It wasn’t an issue Cloud really felt comfortable counselling anybody on. Maybe he should have left this to Onion Knight or Terra after all.
“Of course not!” Tidus burst out. “I like existing, you know? My stupid old man doesn’t change any of that!”
It was an odd choice of words.
Cloud stayed quiet and didn’t ask, though. Sometimes, when confronted with enough silence, other people would fill it for him.
Luckily, Tidus was no different. His mouth twisted in a forced smile. "It’s just… I'm not even sure this is all real sometimes, you know? It could all just be... a dream."
Cloud chewed on that for a moment, then commented. "Pretty messed up dream."
That startled a laugh out of the blitzballer. "Sure is!" He threaded his fingers behind his head, staring out at the view. “…But I guess I can’t help but wondering, what happens when the dream ends?”
Cloud followed his gaze. Somewhere, out there beyond the snowfields, was a moogle who might help them. It had been a long journey so far, and they didn’t even know if it would end when they found him. “I suppose... we go home.”
“Yeah.” Tidus’s voice was soft, nearly a whisper. “But what if, back home, you’re already…”
His words were whisked away by the cold breeze. “Sorry?” Cloud asked.
Tidus slanted him a grin. “Ah, forget it. I mean, you’ve been stuck in this crazy dream for too long already, right? You don’t exactly want to stick around.” He nodded to himself, though the gesture looked oddly wistful. “Stories are supposed to have endings.”
Cloud remained silent, perplexed and more than a little unnerved. Tidus just slapped him on the back and started heading back towards the campsite. “Thanks for asking, though. It’s okay, really. Come on, it looks like Terra’s got a fire going.”
Something about the words niggled at the back of his brain though. It felt unfinished. Which was why Cloud found himself saying, “Hey. Tidus.”
The blitzballer paused. “Yeah?”
“Your story. How does it end?”
Tidus stilled at that, and for one brief moment, looked oddly insubstantial.
Then he smiled - a strange, brilliantly sad smile, that shone like the sun and reminded Cloud painfully of a flower girl he once knew, long ago.
“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
For ladyazurith
A. Dissida
B. Cloud/?
C. Jealousy
AN: Since you didn’t specify the other half of the pairing, I thought I’d try something new.
He's not Sephiroth.
He might have silver hair, but his eyes are dark blue, clear and sane. He might have the same broad shoulders and a perfectly toned chest - and why was it that even though he carried around a sword twice his own weight, Cloud never gained the sort of muscles and bulk SOLDIERS were envied for - but his strength isn't unnatural. His voice might be deep and smooth, but he enunciates every word as though it is a pronouncement, instead of drawling them in a patronizing taunt.
He’s not Sephiroth, but he’s similar enough that sometimes Cloud doubts himself.
They’re resting in a gateway, in a proper bed for once, one of the many rooms in one of the many castles, stolen fragments of other dimensions. Cloud doesn’t recognise this one. Possibly Warrior of Light might, if he had his memories, but all that really matters is that it’s safe and quiet and private. For just a while, no manikins, no Chaos, no fighting. A chance to breathe.
Warrior of Light rolls onto his side, fitting his arm across him. For several minutes, they lie there quietly, breathing synchronised and oppressively loud in the pervading, unnatural silence of the gateway, revelling in the release, the relaxation, the companionship.
Such relationships were common enough in Midgar, but he’s surprised that the Warrior of Light never seems even the slightest bit embarrassed. But even though his garb comes from a more medieval age, maybe the culture of his home world is different. Or maybe it’s because the lack of memories doesn’t give him any cultural reference to base his actions on. Or maybe it’s just because it had started so organically - an arrangement of convenience, when the lingering adrenaline from a battle had nowhere to go. Stress relief, really, but it had slowly morphed into comfort and friendship too, and Cloud didn’t know what to call it anymore.
They don’t advertise it to the others - maybe because they’re oldest, and it feels oddly like protecting young eyes. It’s an strange notion, because none of them are innocent or naïve. No one in this world could be, for long.
Sephiroth knows, though. Cloud doesn’t know how he found out, when even the other warriors of Harmony remain oblivious. But the last time they’d fought, he’d made that awareness abundantly clear.
Cloud tries not to think about it.
“I met him. Sephiroth, that is. A few days ago,” the Warrior of Light says, breaking the silence, as though he could read the turn of Cloud’s thoughts. He threads their fingers together. There’s never anything tender about their shared touches - it’s always firm, solid. An arm like a band of steel around his chest, hands clasped instead of brushing, a warm weight pressed against his side. An anchor.
“Sorry,” Cloud says, and turns his head to run his gaze across his body with more purpose now, searching the warm expanse of muscle for injuries he might have missed. He doesn’t ask if his companion is okay, because they don’t do that anymore - if any of them are conscious and breathing and not bleeding out on the floor, that counts as a win, these days.
It makes him feel better to check, though.
“We are enemies. It was inevitable. Though I find myself jealous of him,” the Warrior of Light admits.
That’s unexpected enough to send Cloud still. The Warrior of Light acts so certain all the time, it never seemed possible that he could have any doubts. “Why?”
“You have a connection I can never have. You share worlds, and memories. When this over, you’ll return to the same place. So I find myself jealous.” He feels, more than the sees, the Warrior of Light shaking his head to himself. “When I do not even know what I will be returning to.”
Cloud shifts in his grasp, turning so that they’re properly face to face, bare chest to bare chest. “You shouldn’t listen to anything Sephiroth says. We might be from the same world, but we’re enemies.”
Sephiroth didn’t understand anymore. Maybe he didn’t have enough of his memories to - couldn’t comprehend anything beyond the notion that Cloud was his, even if he’d sacrificed that claim long ago. Even though they fought on different sides now.
“I am aware. But for once, most of what he said was truth. I must acknowledge it.” The Warrior of Light meets his gaze evenly, clear and honest. Cloud wonders, sometimes, what he sees in his eyes. Does he find the glow alien and unnatural? Can he see the flaws in his heart, the weakness and doubt and tiredness that have accumulated there?
If he does, he never says. He merely holds him close, until the moment stretches too long, and Cloud feels compelled to roll back over, and pull his eyes away.
They remain that way for what feels like an eternity, but is probably only a couple of minutes. It’s hard to tell inside gateways, sometimes. They should be sleeping, taking advantage of this precious respite as much as possible, but Cloud suspects neither of them will drift off for a while yet. Cloud’s mentally tired, but his body rarely gets the message. The Warrior of Light has the opposite problem.
When the Warrior of Light speaks next, though, the words are strangely hesitant. "…You once said you lost your memories before?"
Cloud shifts onto his back, staring at the simple grey stone mosaic in the ceiling. "That's not exactly right. More... I had the wrong ones."
The Warrior of Light doesn't ask the how, or the why. He just asks, "How did you get the true ones back?"
“I didn’t. Not all of them,” Cloud admits. They’re not the words he wants to give. Not the words he knows his comrade wants to hear, but none of them have room in their lives for half-truths or white lies. Not in this endless war.
The reply is small, and more vulnerable than he’s ever heard that voice sound before. Nothing like the strong Knight who never wavers in his mission, never shows the slightest weakness to his enemies, never falters in his path. “How do you deal with it?”
Cloud finds his hand again, and clasps it hard. Enough to feel the beat of blood pulsing through it, the warmth like a fire against his palm. “I make new ones. Enough that I don’t miss the old ones anymore.”