The Fifth Act, Chapter 21
Title: The Fifth Act
Rating: T for violence.
Summary: FFVII Time-travel. Gen. Cloud has an accident with a Time Materia.
Author's Note: Is it really a cease-fire if the other country is still plotting to bomb you behind your back? Hmm.
As a heads up, update schedule may take a hit in the near future, social calendar is in a state of flux at the moment. IT'S TENNIS SEASON IN AUSTRALIA. :D
Previous Chapter
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The Fifth Act Chapter 21
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Cloud strode down the white hallways, resolutely ignoring the phantom sensation of mako soaking into his skin. It was the infirmary, not a lab, and he’d spent plenty of time here as a cadet. Nothing to worry about. Visiting Angeal outweighed any mental discomfort. He needed to stop freaking out over every little thing, or he really would become as crazy as everyone thought.
They’d made it back to Midgar before dark, and Angeal had still been bleeding. Even though he’d known it was pointless, Cloud had stepped in with his mastered Restore, but two casts with the bright green materia had only managed to seal the blood flow. He hadn’t said anything about it, but two casts were normally enough to bring any of his allies back from the brink of death.
Unmistakeable degradation.
He and Aeris were running out of time.
A quick stop in at the nurse’s desk gave him the right room number, before being politely informed that the patient was in the middle of treatment right now, but he could wait in the visitor’s lounge right across the hall. He remembered this, too. In the infirmary, it didn’t matter if you were the General yourself - you did what the nurses told you to do, no questions or arguments.
He wished the nurses had at least warned him about the other visitor, though. He must have been tired - his wits weren’t with him, and he hadn’t noticed until too late.
“Sephiroth.”
The silver-haired man glanced up. He leant against the wall, arms folded, with Masamune propped up against the couch several paces away. “Cloud.”
The blond very nearly turned on his heel then, but after a brief internal struggle, chose his own spot further along the wall. “Angeal?”
“Genesis is with him, and will be out to let us know his progress soon. I assume he was the one to let you know?”
“Zack. He’s leaving for a week-long mission.” And wanted Cloud to check up on Angeal for him in his stead. He could never say no to Zack. Besides, he hadn’t expected Angeal to wind up in the infirmary only a day after their return. Though it was the sensible decision, especially if the SOLDIER remained ignorant of the true nature of condition.
They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.
Cloud stared at the General from the corner of his eyes, a cold numbness settling in.
Three months back under ShinRa's wing, and he was no closer to finding the whereabouts of Jenova. He was running out of time - the foundations for Project Deep Ground would be starting soon, and Nanaki could be kidnapped from Cosmo Canyon at any point. Both problems better nipped in the bud. Yet Hojo remained out of reach, buried in the bowels of the Science Department.
The General was here now, within reach. He'd been allowing the Sephiroth matter to slide in order to keep a clear shot at Jenova and Hojo, but as time marched on, the idea held more and more merit.
That, and Cloud really wanted to kill him. Apparently three times was not revenge enough.
So why had he stopped?
Sephiroth turned his head to challenge his stare. "Is there a problem?"
Cloud just looked away.
He knew the answer. He’d stopped because the spar yesterday had changed things. Now he knew without a doubt that he could defeat this Sephiroth. This was the Sephiroth who rolled his eyes at Loveless quotes, who spent half his day doing paperwork, who left Masamune on the other side of the room when in the company of friends. Cloud had taken him down three times now, and all of those Sephiroths had been stronger than this one. He would have won that fight in the wastes if he hadn’t stopped. And he’d been holding back, too.
This Sephiroth, however, had friends. First Class SOLDIER friends, as well as the entire ShinRa army behind him. Cloud knew he could outrun ShinRa - he'd done so before, after all - but the memory made his skin itch. He needed to be careful. Friends were dangerous. They came for revenge. Kadaj's ‘brothers’ were a good reminder of that. His hand rubbed at his chest, seeking a bullet wound that wasn't there.
Aeris cheated.
“Something similar happened before,” Sephiroth spoke up suddenly, breaking his chain of thought. “Before we met in Wutai. Genesis suffered an injury that refused to heal.”
He knew this story, but asked anyway. “What happened?”
That eerie green gaze, partially obscured by silver hair, turned on him. “I thought perhaps you could shed some light on that. He left for war, and returned in perfect health.”
In the face of his superhuman strength, high standing, and lack of tact, it was easy to forget that Sephiroth was also known for his sharp intellect. Sidestepping the question, he commented, “I’m surprised Lazard put him in charge of the campaign in that state.”
“It was Heidegger then. And Heidegger didn’t know.” Sephiroth didn’t sound very approving. Then, in a softer voice, “Hopefully Angeal is more sensible.”
Cloud nodded his agreement, and turned his attention away again, stomach churning.
Sephiroth was worried for his friend. Felt guilty for what happened. Feared losing him. It was all there, plain to see if you just looked.
He hated it. He hated it because it made Sephiroth seem human, reminded him of his moments of doubt before the Northern Crater when he realised they were hunting the fragmented remains of a great man who had gone insane. When he’d ruminated that the real Sephiroth had died in Nibelheim’s Reactor, and the monster they fought was nothing more than a shadow.
He’d grown to pity him, in the end. Just a little.
"Hey," he said. Sephiroth raised an eyebrow, waiting. "Angeal’s tough - he’ll be okay. But next time you want a spar, just ask. I don't want to go through this every time you want to blow off some steam."
The General's lips quirked in a barely suppressed smirk. "You'll have to forgive them. Genesis in particular has a gift for the dramatic."
“There’s an understatement,” he muttered.
Sephiroth chuckled - a warm sound from deep in his throat. “Tired of Loveless already? I’ve been enduring recitals for years.”
Cloud shrugged. “I don’t mind it much.” The thought sparked a memory from the day before. Something he genuinely wanted to know. “Hey…The fifth act - how do you think it should end?”
Sephiroth tilted his head, eyes narrowed and silver hair swishing with the movement. “Don’t tell me we’re going to have to deal with a second Loveless fanatic?”
“…Forget it, then,” he grumbled.
What difference would the answer make? If Sephiroth wanted the happy ending, would that change what he needed to do?
The General didn’t appear willing to let it go so easily, though. “What about you, Cloud? What ending do you desire?” The words were drawn out, almost taunting. He couldn’t hear any malice in them, however. It might have made him feel better if he could.
“You expect me to tell you, when you won’t answer yourself?”
“It bothers you? That I won’t tell you?” Sephiroth sounded genuinely curious.
“It’s not even. It gives you an unfair advantage,” Cloud muttered, and crossed his arms against his chest, the coarse purple fabric of his Second Class uniform tickling his forearms. He wished he were wearing his own clothes again, just for this encounter. The reminder of the difference in title between himself and Sephiroth rankled him for no logical reason. They’d never been equals - why did he care about it so much now?
“I’m not a Puppet.”
The General, for his part, just looked amused. “Something so small? How on earth could I use that against you?”
Cloud could think of a number of ways, but then, he’d spent the first half of his life enduring taunting from bullies in Nibelheim. “Just forget it,” he repeated, starting to feel embarrassed. “I don’t really care anyway.”
Sephiroth considered him briefly, but as he opened his mouth to respond, they were interrupted by a breathless, “General Sephiroth!” A cadet scurried up to them and snapped out a jittery salute, nearly knocking his helmet off in the process. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but the President is requesting your presence! Something about a dedication, sir!”
The low growl Sephiroth nurtured in his throat would have better belonged to a coeurl. “I had forgotten.” Cloud’s confusion must have shown, as the General explained, “Another publicity luncheon for the President. Genesis wriggled out of it somehow.” He placed a hand against his forehead, as though checking for a headache he expected to have, but of course SOLDIERs didn’t get headaches so easily. “Very well, cadet. Please inform whoever sent you that I’m on my way.”
The cadet snapped out another salute and a squeaky ‘sir!’ and scuttled away. Cloud stared after him. Had he ever acted like that?
…Probably.
Retrieving Masamune, Sephiroth cast a regretful look towards the still-closed door to Angeal’s room. “It’s a waste of my time. I would prefer to be here.”
Cloud nodded in agreement. “…Glad I don’t have to deal with that.” He’d been invited to more than a couple of WRO functions in his time, but never saw the point of them. Not being under the WRO’s direct employ made it easy to refuse.
Sephiroth paused. “If… you could call me, when you hear… I would appreciate it. Genesis has my number.”
Surprised by the request, Cloud asked, “Wouldn’t it be easier to get Genesis to call you himself?”
Another pause. Then, with some effort, the General admitted, “Considering that it was my mistake in the first place… I would feel more comfortable, hearing from you. Can you do that for me?”
He wanted to say no - should have said no, should have re-established that distance between them. Instead, he found himself nodding. Sephiroth had more right to be worried about Angeal than he did.
Promise secured, the General swept from the infirmary, black leather coat flaring behind him.
Cloud felt sick.
What was going on? He was being nice. He shouldn’t be nice to Sephiroth, not even for a moment. Not when he was planning on killing him. Just because he didn't plan on killing him right now didn't make it okay.
This was just to make things easier, he tried to reason. He couldn't endure the stress of stalking Hojo on top of the stress of avoiding Sephiroth. If he could get along with the Turks after everything they'd done - Sector 7 who could forget Sector 7 and Seventh Heaven and all those innocent people - then he could put things aside with the General, just until Hojo and Jenova had been taken care of.
They wouldn't be friends, but he could handle being co-workers. He could greet him in the hallways and spar with him when asked and give him a call to let him know how things went with Angeal. They didn't need to make small talk - neither of them were conversationalists.
Taking a deep breath, Cloud focused on that. Co-workers. Never friends. Never in a million years. No matter how he pitied him. No matter how human he came to seem.
Morbidly, it occurred to him that this time, he’d finally be the traitor Sephiroth always accused him of being.
……………………….
Genesis ran a critical eye over his friend. Angeal insisted that he was fine, and that a couple of potions had taken care of it where the materia hadn’t, but he knew better. His experienced eyes picked out the bulge of bandages under his uniform, but since Angeal had never commented on his shoulder, he didn’t remark on his wound either. The bandages would hold it. He knew that firsthand.
He did, however, ask, “Have you seen Hollander yet?” Hollander would recognise this symptom of degradation for what it was immediately. Things had the potential to become complicated then. He’d been hoping Cloud would come through with the cure before they reached that point.
Angeal signed the last of the paperwork the nurse had presented him with and hopped off the white bed. “He’s out of town, visiting some remote lab to run some tests at the moment. I’ll talk to him when he gets back.”
Genesis frowned, but his friend merely slapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Stop worrying. I already told you it was nothing. I only came here as a precaution.”
He didn’t have the heart to tell Angeal that he made a terrible liar. “If you say so.” Turning on his heel, jacket flaring out from the jerkiness of the movement, he threw open the door and strode into the deserted hallway.
Then had to revise that statement. Not entirely deserted. A certain spiky-haired blond waited across the way, arms folded and apparently doing his anti-social best to secede that little corner of space from the rest of the world.
“Strife? What are you doing here?” Angeal asked, visibly surprised by the Second Class’s presence.
“Promised Zack and Sephiroth I’d let them know how you were.” He scanned Angeal with the same efficiency Genesis had, and his eyes lingered on the hidden bulge of bandages just as long.
“You shouldn’t have wasted your time. As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”
Cloud shrugged, turning his cold blue gaze to Genesis instead. “Sephiroth said to get his number off you?”
It looked like Angeal’s plan had worked after all, if the two of them had managed to get through an unsupervised conversation without bloodshed. Genesis didn’t know how he really felt about that. “And exactly where is the great General Sephiroth?” he asked, fumbling with his PHS as he mailed the number to Cloud.
“Had some luncheon with the President he couldn’t get out of. He was waiting here earlier.” The blond directed the last part to Angeal.
“Aren’t you supposed to be going to something like that too, Genesis?” Angeal pointed out.
He snapped his PHS closed with a flourish. “Trying to get rid of me so soon?” The long-suffering sigh he received in response had little effect. Pushing his hair out of his eyes - thrice be damned that stylist, they never got the length right - he declared, “The President is a buffoon. What relevance is there in having military personnel attending a dedication to some plumbing venture?”
“But I thought you liked going to those kinds of functions. Networking, and all that,” Angeal replied. Injured or not, his poor sense of humour had emerged unscathed.
“I don’t care to network with that parade of useless people. I will attend the appropriate events. ShinRa’s public relations department should learn to apply their resources properly. Sephiroth should have refused too, but I suppose he lacked to the wit to see the entire folly for what it was.”
“You could have helped him out,” Angeal scolded, though the reprimand bore no weight with the smile on his lips. He would smile - Public Relations only ever sent him to schools or orientations or ribbon-cutting ceremonies attended by old ladies. Delightful ten-minute handshake affairs, rather than the dragging hours and hours of poorly-composed and even more poorly-delivered speeches his fellows were forced to sit through.
Sometimes Genesis almost regretted the additional fame he’d earned from his masterfully executed - if he did say so himself - campaign in Wutai.
Almost.
“I’ll go call Sephiroth and let him know you’re okay then.” Cloud’s soft voice barely carried over the distance to them. With no further ceremony, he pushed off from the wall and left.
Angeal blinked. “That was abrupt.”
“He doesn’t like doctors,” Genesis reminded him, watching the blond until he disappeared around the corner. “I imagine that extends to infirmaries.” Then, fixing his friend with a displeased glare, he added, “You should be more appreciative. Sephiroth doesn’t like the infirmary either, and they both came here because they were worried about you.” And he was too, but still his friend had the audacity to just shrug his shoulders and lie to him, insisting they were concerned over nothing.
Angeal rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe that you of all people are lecturing me about appreciation.”
Genesis sniffed, nose upturned in the air. “When those two make even the slightest attempt at displaying social tact and understanding, we should encourage them.” Cloud’s stop by the infirmary reassured him some, too. It meant the blond was taking the matter seriously. Though he’d already explained that he’d done everything he could, and now they needed to wait.
Unfortunately, Genesis’s personnel file had never once listed patience as one of his strengths.
“It’s a good sign, though,” Angeal commented, thoughtful. “I think he might be warming up to us.”
“Maybe we should start dragging him along to end of week drinks,” Genesis mocked, and then paused at the expression on his friend’s face. “…Oh no. You’re serious? I intend to have that office one day, you know. I’d like it in one piece.”
“I think it would be good for him,” Angeal justified. “After all, doesn’t it worry you sometimes?”
“Doesn’t what worry me?”
“Strife. I mean,” Angeal’s tone dropped, quiet enough that only a SOLDIER with enhanced hearing had any hope of eavesdropping. “-don’t you think it’s a bit odd? He turned up in the slums, doesn’t appear to own anything other than the sword and materia on his back, and from what little he’s told us, doesn’t have any surviving friends and family. He doesn’t have any ambition, doesn’t have any hobbies, doesn’t seem to care about anything other than fighting Sephiroth.”
Genesis frowned. “So what are you getting at?” None of this was news.
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot since his reaction to his promotion. Neither the Turks nor Sephiroth can find any reason for revenge. If the Turks can’t find it, does it exist?”
“But there must be a reason. Why else would he want to kill Sephiroth?”
“Does he really want to kill Sephiroth, though?” Angeal wondered. “Or do you think maybe, just maybe, he wants Sephiroth to kill him?”
Genesis opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it again.
Could Angeal really be suggesting what he thought? He’d never once considered Cloud to have such a weakness. The man was moody, certainly, but suicidal?
“I tried to ask him about it once, right after he got promoted. I didn’t get a very good reaction,” Angeal continued, staring down the hallway thoughtfully.
“That was over two months ago,” Genesis pointed out.
“These things don’t just go away, you know.” He shrugged. “I mentioned it to Tseng, and he thought the idea had some merit. We’ve been holding off on promoting him to First Class because of it.”
“Why? Surely the responsibilities of being a First Class would be a good thing in that case.”
“Tseng was worried if he found himself in a situation where he was outclassed, he might use it as a… I guess you could say, opportunity. He’s a passive type. He probably wouldn’t take his own life, but if he happens to find himself in a situation where he could get killed…”
Genesis mulled that over. Admittedly, his friend knew more about these matters than he - the Second and Third classes who had emotional problems normally went to Angeal, who then in turn either talked them through it or sent them to the counsellors’ offices - but he still couldn’t make the logic work. “Then we don’t have anything to worry about. I doubt there’s anything on the Continent that can kill him. And if he really wanted to die, he’s had plenty of opportunities while fighting Sephiroth.”
“But why does he want to kill Sephiroth then? He stopped, yesterday. I doubt it was the contract that did it.” Angeal shook his head, a little sadly. “If he wants to go out in a blaze of glory, though, doesn’t it make sense? He’s strong enough that nobody but Sephiroth has a hope of killing him in battle. And if he starts to think that even Sephiroth can’t kill him… well, it wouldn’t hurt to give him a few more reasons to stick around would it? It’s such a waste.” The last part he muttered under his breath.
Genesis remained unconvinced, but had to admit that the more he thought on it, the more plausible it seemed. Strife had given away a priceless cure to an enemy without a thought - as though he didn’t believe he would ever have any use for it. He strode through life like a machine, disaffected by anything other than Sephiroth.
That expression flashed before his eyes again. Self-loathing.
Cloud looked out for his comrades, certainly. Would accommodate Angeal’s bouncy Puppy, went out of his way to help the other Second with his training, and came into the infirmary to check on Angeal even though it made him visibly uncomfortable.
Never once, however, had Genesis seen any sign of the man worrying about himself, even though he’d seen the dark rings under his eyes some mornings, even though the man worked the mission roster so hard that Lazard had to tell him to take a break. Could Angeal be right? Was Strife actually suicidal?
Angeal shrugged. “Anyway, it can’t hurt, right? One more for end of week drinks. A bit more socialising could help him, same way it did Sephiroth.” He rolled his shoulders briefly. “But enough of that. Let’s get out of here. Here I came for a quick patch-up, and got a crowd of visitors. I’d hate to think how you’d all react if I got seriously hurt.”
Genesis frowned, still caught up in his ruminations. “Let’s not put it to the test.”
It still didn’t sit right with him. Cloud’s actions, however illogical on the surface, were not the actions of a man seeking eternal slumber. Though tempered somewhat over the past two months, his animosity towards Sephiroth had been frighteningly real. Angeal had never witnessed the battle in Wutai. Cloud had sized the situation up in one glance, and made a tactical retreat.
Suicidal warriors did not make tactical retreats. Wutai had taught him that much. Angeal didn’t have the ruthlessness to understand. He was a different kind of SOLDIER.
What was the purpose of the tactical retreat, though? Why sign up with ShinRa, and then avoid killing Sephiroth? The same question that bothered him from the very beginning remained unanswered. Where was the meaning, the goal Cloud was working towards?
It was the missing link, the key to the mystery, he felt sure of it. But in the same breath, Genesis was not so sure he would like the answer.
Next chapter
Rating: T for violence.
Summary: FFVII Time-travel. Gen. Cloud has an accident with a Time Materia.
Author's Note: Is it really a cease-fire if the other country is still plotting to bomb you behind your back? Hmm.
As a heads up, update schedule may take a hit in the near future, social calendar is in a state of flux at the moment. IT'S TENNIS SEASON IN AUSTRALIA. :D
Previous Chapter
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The Fifth Act Chapter 21
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Cloud strode down the white hallways, resolutely ignoring the phantom sensation of mako soaking into his skin. It was the infirmary, not a lab, and he’d spent plenty of time here as a cadet. Nothing to worry about. Visiting Angeal outweighed any mental discomfort. He needed to stop freaking out over every little thing, or he really would become as crazy as everyone thought.
They’d made it back to Midgar before dark, and Angeal had still been bleeding. Even though he’d known it was pointless, Cloud had stepped in with his mastered Restore, but two casts with the bright green materia had only managed to seal the blood flow. He hadn’t said anything about it, but two casts were normally enough to bring any of his allies back from the brink of death.
Unmistakeable degradation.
He and Aeris were running out of time.
A quick stop in at the nurse’s desk gave him the right room number, before being politely informed that the patient was in the middle of treatment right now, but he could wait in the visitor’s lounge right across the hall. He remembered this, too. In the infirmary, it didn’t matter if you were the General yourself - you did what the nurses told you to do, no questions or arguments.
He wished the nurses had at least warned him about the other visitor, though. He must have been tired - his wits weren’t with him, and he hadn’t noticed until too late.
“Sephiroth.”
The silver-haired man glanced up. He leant against the wall, arms folded, with Masamune propped up against the couch several paces away. “Cloud.”
The blond very nearly turned on his heel then, but after a brief internal struggle, chose his own spot further along the wall. “Angeal?”
“Genesis is with him, and will be out to let us know his progress soon. I assume he was the one to let you know?”
“Zack. He’s leaving for a week-long mission.” And wanted Cloud to check up on Angeal for him in his stead. He could never say no to Zack. Besides, he hadn’t expected Angeal to wind up in the infirmary only a day after their return. Though it was the sensible decision, especially if the SOLDIER remained ignorant of the true nature of condition.
They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.
Cloud stared at the General from the corner of his eyes, a cold numbness settling in.
Three months back under ShinRa's wing, and he was no closer to finding the whereabouts of Jenova. He was running out of time - the foundations for Project Deep Ground would be starting soon, and Nanaki could be kidnapped from Cosmo Canyon at any point. Both problems better nipped in the bud. Yet Hojo remained out of reach, buried in the bowels of the Science Department.
The General was here now, within reach. He'd been allowing the Sephiroth matter to slide in order to keep a clear shot at Jenova and Hojo, but as time marched on, the idea held more and more merit.
That, and Cloud really wanted to kill him. Apparently three times was not revenge enough.
So why had he stopped?
Sephiroth turned his head to challenge his stare. "Is there a problem?"
Cloud just looked away.
He knew the answer. He’d stopped because the spar yesterday had changed things. Now he knew without a doubt that he could defeat this Sephiroth. This was the Sephiroth who rolled his eyes at Loveless quotes, who spent half his day doing paperwork, who left Masamune on the other side of the room when in the company of friends. Cloud had taken him down three times now, and all of those Sephiroths had been stronger than this one. He would have won that fight in the wastes if he hadn’t stopped. And he’d been holding back, too.
This Sephiroth, however, had friends. First Class SOLDIER friends, as well as the entire ShinRa army behind him. Cloud knew he could outrun ShinRa - he'd done so before, after all - but the memory made his skin itch. He needed to be careful. Friends were dangerous. They came for revenge. Kadaj's ‘brothers’ were a good reminder of that. His hand rubbed at his chest, seeking a bullet wound that wasn't there.
Aeris cheated.
“Something similar happened before,” Sephiroth spoke up suddenly, breaking his chain of thought. “Before we met in Wutai. Genesis suffered an injury that refused to heal.”
He knew this story, but asked anyway. “What happened?”
That eerie green gaze, partially obscured by silver hair, turned on him. “I thought perhaps you could shed some light on that. He left for war, and returned in perfect health.”
In the face of his superhuman strength, high standing, and lack of tact, it was easy to forget that Sephiroth was also known for his sharp intellect. Sidestepping the question, he commented, “I’m surprised Lazard put him in charge of the campaign in that state.”
“It was Heidegger then. And Heidegger didn’t know.” Sephiroth didn’t sound very approving. Then, in a softer voice, “Hopefully Angeal is more sensible.”
Cloud nodded his agreement, and turned his attention away again, stomach churning.
Sephiroth was worried for his friend. Felt guilty for what happened. Feared losing him. It was all there, plain to see if you just looked.
He hated it. He hated it because it made Sephiroth seem human, reminded him of his moments of doubt before the Northern Crater when he realised they were hunting the fragmented remains of a great man who had gone insane. When he’d ruminated that the real Sephiroth had died in Nibelheim’s Reactor, and the monster they fought was nothing more than a shadow.
He’d grown to pity him, in the end. Just a little.
"Hey," he said. Sephiroth raised an eyebrow, waiting. "Angeal’s tough - he’ll be okay. But next time you want a spar, just ask. I don't want to go through this every time you want to blow off some steam."
The General's lips quirked in a barely suppressed smirk. "You'll have to forgive them. Genesis in particular has a gift for the dramatic."
“There’s an understatement,” he muttered.
Sephiroth chuckled - a warm sound from deep in his throat. “Tired of Loveless already? I’ve been enduring recitals for years.”
Cloud shrugged. “I don’t mind it much.” The thought sparked a memory from the day before. Something he genuinely wanted to know. “Hey…The fifth act - how do you think it should end?”
Sephiroth tilted his head, eyes narrowed and silver hair swishing with the movement. “Don’t tell me we’re going to have to deal with a second Loveless fanatic?”
“…Forget it, then,” he grumbled.
What difference would the answer make? If Sephiroth wanted the happy ending, would that change what he needed to do?
The General didn’t appear willing to let it go so easily, though. “What about you, Cloud? What ending do you desire?” The words were drawn out, almost taunting. He couldn’t hear any malice in them, however. It might have made him feel better if he could.
“You expect me to tell you, when you won’t answer yourself?”
“It bothers you? That I won’t tell you?” Sephiroth sounded genuinely curious.
“It’s not even. It gives you an unfair advantage,” Cloud muttered, and crossed his arms against his chest, the coarse purple fabric of his Second Class uniform tickling his forearms. He wished he were wearing his own clothes again, just for this encounter. The reminder of the difference in title between himself and Sephiroth rankled him for no logical reason. They’d never been equals - why did he care about it so much now?
“I’m not a Puppet.”
The General, for his part, just looked amused. “Something so small? How on earth could I use that against you?”
Cloud could think of a number of ways, but then, he’d spent the first half of his life enduring taunting from bullies in Nibelheim. “Just forget it,” he repeated, starting to feel embarrassed. “I don’t really care anyway.”
Sephiroth considered him briefly, but as he opened his mouth to respond, they were interrupted by a breathless, “General Sephiroth!” A cadet scurried up to them and snapped out a jittery salute, nearly knocking his helmet off in the process. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but the President is requesting your presence! Something about a dedication, sir!”
The low growl Sephiroth nurtured in his throat would have better belonged to a coeurl. “I had forgotten.” Cloud’s confusion must have shown, as the General explained, “Another publicity luncheon for the President. Genesis wriggled out of it somehow.” He placed a hand against his forehead, as though checking for a headache he expected to have, but of course SOLDIERs didn’t get headaches so easily. “Very well, cadet. Please inform whoever sent you that I’m on my way.”
The cadet snapped out another salute and a squeaky ‘sir!’ and scuttled away. Cloud stared after him. Had he ever acted like that?
…Probably.
Retrieving Masamune, Sephiroth cast a regretful look towards the still-closed door to Angeal’s room. “It’s a waste of my time. I would prefer to be here.”
Cloud nodded in agreement. “…Glad I don’t have to deal with that.” He’d been invited to more than a couple of WRO functions in his time, but never saw the point of them. Not being under the WRO’s direct employ made it easy to refuse.
Sephiroth paused. “If… you could call me, when you hear… I would appreciate it. Genesis has my number.”
Surprised by the request, Cloud asked, “Wouldn’t it be easier to get Genesis to call you himself?”
Another pause. Then, with some effort, the General admitted, “Considering that it was my mistake in the first place… I would feel more comfortable, hearing from you. Can you do that for me?”
He wanted to say no - should have said no, should have re-established that distance between them. Instead, he found himself nodding. Sephiroth had more right to be worried about Angeal than he did.
Promise secured, the General swept from the infirmary, black leather coat flaring behind him.
Cloud felt sick.
What was going on? He was being nice. He shouldn’t be nice to Sephiroth, not even for a moment. Not when he was planning on killing him. Just because he didn't plan on killing him right now didn't make it okay.
This was just to make things easier, he tried to reason. He couldn't endure the stress of stalking Hojo on top of the stress of avoiding Sephiroth. If he could get along with the Turks after everything they'd done - Sector 7 who could forget Sector 7 and Seventh Heaven and all those innocent people - then he could put things aside with the General, just until Hojo and Jenova had been taken care of.
They wouldn't be friends, but he could handle being co-workers. He could greet him in the hallways and spar with him when asked and give him a call to let him know how things went with Angeal. They didn't need to make small talk - neither of them were conversationalists.
Taking a deep breath, Cloud focused on that. Co-workers. Never friends. Never in a million years. No matter how he pitied him. No matter how human he came to seem.
Morbidly, it occurred to him that this time, he’d finally be the traitor Sephiroth always accused him of being.
……………………….
Genesis ran a critical eye over his friend. Angeal insisted that he was fine, and that a couple of potions had taken care of it where the materia hadn’t, but he knew better. His experienced eyes picked out the bulge of bandages under his uniform, but since Angeal had never commented on his shoulder, he didn’t remark on his wound either. The bandages would hold it. He knew that firsthand.
He did, however, ask, “Have you seen Hollander yet?” Hollander would recognise this symptom of degradation for what it was immediately. Things had the potential to become complicated then. He’d been hoping Cloud would come through with the cure before they reached that point.
Angeal signed the last of the paperwork the nurse had presented him with and hopped off the white bed. “He’s out of town, visiting some remote lab to run some tests at the moment. I’ll talk to him when he gets back.”
Genesis frowned, but his friend merely slapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Stop worrying. I already told you it was nothing. I only came here as a precaution.”
He didn’t have the heart to tell Angeal that he made a terrible liar. “If you say so.” Turning on his heel, jacket flaring out from the jerkiness of the movement, he threw open the door and strode into the deserted hallway.
Then had to revise that statement. Not entirely deserted. A certain spiky-haired blond waited across the way, arms folded and apparently doing his anti-social best to secede that little corner of space from the rest of the world.
“Strife? What are you doing here?” Angeal asked, visibly surprised by the Second Class’s presence.
“Promised Zack and Sephiroth I’d let them know how you were.” He scanned Angeal with the same efficiency Genesis had, and his eyes lingered on the hidden bulge of bandages just as long.
“You shouldn’t have wasted your time. As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”
Cloud shrugged, turning his cold blue gaze to Genesis instead. “Sephiroth said to get his number off you?”
It looked like Angeal’s plan had worked after all, if the two of them had managed to get through an unsupervised conversation without bloodshed. Genesis didn’t know how he really felt about that. “And exactly where is the great General Sephiroth?” he asked, fumbling with his PHS as he mailed the number to Cloud.
“Had some luncheon with the President he couldn’t get out of. He was waiting here earlier.” The blond directed the last part to Angeal.
“Aren’t you supposed to be going to something like that too, Genesis?” Angeal pointed out.
He snapped his PHS closed with a flourish. “Trying to get rid of me so soon?” The long-suffering sigh he received in response had little effect. Pushing his hair out of his eyes - thrice be damned that stylist, they never got the length right - he declared, “The President is a buffoon. What relevance is there in having military personnel attending a dedication to some plumbing venture?”
“But I thought you liked going to those kinds of functions. Networking, and all that,” Angeal replied. Injured or not, his poor sense of humour had emerged unscathed.
“I don’t care to network with that parade of useless people. I will attend the appropriate events. ShinRa’s public relations department should learn to apply their resources properly. Sephiroth should have refused too, but I suppose he lacked to the wit to see the entire folly for what it was.”
“You could have helped him out,” Angeal scolded, though the reprimand bore no weight with the smile on his lips. He would smile - Public Relations only ever sent him to schools or orientations or ribbon-cutting ceremonies attended by old ladies. Delightful ten-minute handshake affairs, rather than the dragging hours and hours of poorly-composed and even more poorly-delivered speeches his fellows were forced to sit through.
Sometimes Genesis almost regretted the additional fame he’d earned from his masterfully executed - if he did say so himself - campaign in Wutai.
Almost.
“I’ll go call Sephiroth and let him know you’re okay then.” Cloud’s soft voice barely carried over the distance to them. With no further ceremony, he pushed off from the wall and left.
Angeal blinked. “That was abrupt.”
“He doesn’t like doctors,” Genesis reminded him, watching the blond until he disappeared around the corner. “I imagine that extends to infirmaries.” Then, fixing his friend with a displeased glare, he added, “You should be more appreciative. Sephiroth doesn’t like the infirmary either, and they both came here because they were worried about you.” And he was too, but still his friend had the audacity to just shrug his shoulders and lie to him, insisting they were concerned over nothing.
Angeal rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe that you of all people are lecturing me about appreciation.”
Genesis sniffed, nose upturned in the air. “When those two make even the slightest attempt at displaying social tact and understanding, we should encourage them.” Cloud’s stop by the infirmary reassured him some, too. It meant the blond was taking the matter seriously. Though he’d already explained that he’d done everything he could, and now they needed to wait.
Unfortunately, Genesis’s personnel file had never once listed patience as one of his strengths.
“It’s a good sign, though,” Angeal commented, thoughtful. “I think he might be warming up to us.”
“Maybe we should start dragging him along to end of week drinks,” Genesis mocked, and then paused at the expression on his friend’s face. “…Oh no. You’re serious? I intend to have that office one day, you know. I’d like it in one piece.”
“I think it would be good for him,” Angeal justified. “After all, doesn’t it worry you sometimes?”
“Doesn’t what worry me?”
“Strife. I mean,” Angeal’s tone dropped, quiet enough that only a SOLDIER with enhanced hearing had any hope of eavesdropping. “-don’t you think it’s a bit odd? He turned up in the slums, doesn’t appear to own anything other than the sword and materia on his back, and from what little he’s told us, doesn’t have any surviving friends and family. He doesn’t have any ambition, doesn’t have any hobbies, doesn’t seem to care about anything other than fighting Sephiroth.”
Genesis frowned. “So what are you getting at?” None of this was news.
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot since his reaction to his promotion. Neither the Turks nor Sephiroth can find any reason for revenge. If the Turks can’t find it, does it exist?”
“But there must be a reason. Why else would he want to kill Sephiroth?”
“Does he really want to kill Sephiroth, though?” Angeal wondered. “Or do you think maybe, just maybe, he wants Sephiroth to kill him?”
Genesis opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it again.
Could Angeal really be suggesting what he thought? He’d never once considered Cloud to have such a weakness. The man was moody, certainly, but suicidal?
“I tried to ask him about it once, right after he got promoted. I didn’t get a very good reaction,” Angeal continued, staring down the hallway thoughtfully.
“That was over two months ago,” Genesis pointed out.
“These things don’t just go away, you know.” He shrugged. “I mentioned it to Tseng, and he thought the idea had some merit. We’ve been holding off on promoting him to First Class because of it.”
“Why? Surely the responsibilities of being a First Class would be a good thing in that case.”
“Tseng was worried if he found himself in a situation where he was outclassed, he might use it as a… I guess you could say, opportunity. He’s a passive type. He probably wouldn’t take his own life, but if he happens to find himself in a situation where he could get killed…”
Genesis mulled that over. Admittedly, his friend knew more about these matters than he - the Second and Third classes who had emotional problems normally went to Angeal, who then in turn either talked them through it or sent them to the counsellors’ offices - but he still couldn’t make the logic work. “Then we don’t have anything to worry about. I doubt there’s anything on the Continent that can kill him. And if he really wanted to die, he’s had plenty of opportunities while fighting Sephiroth.”
“But why does he want to kill Sephiroth then? He stopped, yesterday. I doubt it was the contract that did it.” Angeal shook his head, a little sadly. “If he wants to go out in a blaze of glory, though, doesn’t it make sense? He’s strong enough that nobody but Sephiroth has a hope of killing him in battle. And if he starts to think that even Sephiroth can’t kill him… well, it wouldn’t hurt to give him a few more reasons to stick around would it? It’s such a waste.” The last part he muttered under his breath.
Genesis remained unconvinced, but had to admit that the more he thought on it, the more plausible it seemed. Strife had given away a priceless cure to an enemy without a thought - as though he didn’t believe he would ever have any use for it. He strode through life like a machine, disaffected by anything other than Sephiroth.
That expression flashed before his eyes again. Self-loathing.
Cloud looked out for his comrades, certainly. Would accommodate Angeal’s bouncy Puppy, went out of his way to help the other Second with his training, and came into the infirmary to check on Angeal even though it made him visibly uncomfortable.
Never once, however, had Genesis seen any sign of the man worrying about himself, even though he’d seen the dark rings under his eyes some mornings, even though the man worked the mission roster so hard that Lazard had to tell him to take a break. Could Angeal be right? Was Strife actually suicidal?
Angeal shrugged. “Anyway, it can’t hurt, right? One more for end of week drinks. A bit more socialising could help him, same way it did Sephiroth.” He rolled his shoulders briefly. “But enough of that. Let’s get out of here. Here I came for a quick patch-up, and got a crowd of visitors. I’d hate to think how you’d all react if I got seriously hurt.”
Genesis frowned, still caught up in his ruminations. “Let’s not put it to the test.”
It still didn’t sit right with him. Cloud’s actions, however illogical on the surface, were not the actions of a man seeking eternal slumber. Though tempered somewhat over the past two months, his animosity towards Sephiroth had been frighteningly real. Angeal had never witnessed the battle in Wutai. Cloud had sized the situation up in one glance, and made a tactical retreat.
Suicidal warriors did not make tactical retreats. Wutai had taught him that much. Angeal didn’t have the ruthlessness to understand. He was a different kind of SOLDIER.
What was the purpose of the tactical retreat, though? Why sign up with ShinRa, and then avoid killing Sephiroth? The same question that bothered him from the very beginning remained unanswered. Where was the meaning, the goal Cloud was working towards?
It was the missing link, the key to the mystery, he felt sure of it. But in the same breath, Genesis was not so sure he would like the answer.
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