Final Fantasy VII (Zack/Cloud)
Jul. 26th, 2007 12:08 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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kinkfestTitle: Purple Materia
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dogmatix_san
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: WAFF?
Word count: about four pages?
Summary: Someone is playing a prank and Cloud is not amused.
A/N: Set after Advent Children
Promtp: Cloud/Zack: Battle Rush - "He hadn't felt this alive in months. He hadn't been feeling alive at all."
Purple Materia
This.. this had to be some kind of practical joke. And it was Not. Funny.
Stunned, Cloud stared at the gleaming Buster Sword jabbed point first into the earth, all traces of rust gone as if they’d never been. It could have been oiled yesterday, morning sunshine glinting sleekly along it.
And in the topmost slot, a glowing, almost swirling materia the exact shade of Zack’s eyes.
Fury caught like fire, roaring through Cloud. Someone had taken Zack’s sword and replaced it with this, this copy. He almost couldn’t think past the rage, his hands trembled as he reached for the Buster Sword’s grip.
At least Kadaj and his brothers had only kicked it from where it stood, not played at this kind of cruel farce.
Yanking it out of the ground, Cloud swung the heavy blade as if it were no more than air, drawing it back to throw - and stopped. Frowning, he drew the sword through some basic moves. That couldn’t be right… the sword had the same heft, the same balance as Zack’s, and the hilt fit his hand as if it had never left. If he hadn’t seen Zack’s sword rusting in the wind only three days ago, he could have believed this one to be real.
The material seemed to sparkle, and Cloud reached automatically to take it out.
It was like being sucker-punched by Sephiroth, and everything went black.
*
He blinked. He was standing in an alley somewhere, five guys sprawled out groaning at his feet. A sense of happiness and excitement buzzed through his veins. From the feel of things, someone had landed a few hits on him.
He looked up at grey building rising up into the smog-hazed sky. Still in Midgar at least, he oriented himself. Back behind one of the new factories, unless he was mistaken, where the old Chocobo stables used to be. Late afternoon sunlight slanted over the high roofs.
And a weight on his back that, when he unslung it, proved to be Zack’s sword. Or the copy of it, at least, but if felt like Zack’s.
The groaning street toughs on the ground were starting to think about getting up, so Cloud turned and walked away.
He considered walking back to Tifa’s, though it would take a while since his bike was nowhere in sight. More importantly, was Sephiroth coming back, taking him over like the puppet Kadaj had named him? Should he risk going back to Tifa’s, if he’d only bring Sephiroth there as well?
It wasn’t a difficult choice. He went to the church, finally staggering up the steps well after nightfall. It was emotional exhaustion more than physical, his mind kept winding itself tighter and tighter, like a dog chasing its own tail.
There were no further blackouts that night; he stayed awake to make sure. Tifa called around noon, while he was unenthusiastically working his way through a rations bar. When he’d failed to show up the previous night, she’s been worried about him, and he could still hear it in her voice even as she scolded him for not completing the deliveries.
He’d replied on autopilot, apologizing and promising to finish up today. His panic had wound itself back up to that sticking point where he was numb more than anything else. It was a state he knew well – he’d functioned in it for most of his active time in AVALANCHE.
Taking a taxi out of Midgar was expensive, but the movement soothed something in him, letting him think again. There wasn’t that sickly pressure that signaled the Geostigmata, or the echo of insanity through his Jenova cells that heralded Sephiroth’s presence. So whatever was causing him to go over the edge this time was something new. The taxi was on dirt roads now, pebbles and rippled dirt making it shiver and shake as Cloud watched the scenery go by.
Back up at the ridge, he found his bike, sitting untouched. He ran his hands over the black metal and leather, grounding himself. Without thinking, one hand went back to the hilt of the broad sword resting against his back.
Emotions slammed into him like a stone wall, and the world greyed out around him.
’Aw crap not again, sorry Spike’ he thought he heard as he went under.
*
When he opened his eyes, he was seated on the softly idling bike, not a kilometer out from Midgar. Pushing the hysteria down under the cracked ice of familiar panic, he pulled the first address from memory and set about his deliveries.
He put his poker face back on and headed to Tifa’s. If he thought about too much, he’d curl up in a ball and scream.
“Cloud, is everything okay?” Tifa asked anyway. She knew the bland expression for what it was.
“Yes, why?” he bluffed, closing Fenrir’s hatch on the new letters and an oddly shaped package.
“Because you’re carrying a Buster Sword like Zack’s again.” She frowned, and her hands were on her hips.
Busted. There was really nothing he could say when he didn’t know himself why he’d kept it. It was connected with the episodes, he knew with an unquestioning certainty. But it was also Zack’s, and its weight on his back felt familiar, necessary. He found his hand on the hilt again.
Rueful good humour flowed lightly over panic like warm spring water. He felt his mouth twitch into a small smile and heard himself say, “Just felt like keeping a bit of Zack’s memory with me, y’know? It’s no big deal, w-I’ll be fine.”
“Mm, okay, but you come talk to me, or any of us, if you need to,” she insisted. “You have friends, remember?”
Cloud nodded, blocking the urge to throw out a jaunty salute, not able to say anything past the huge lump in his throat. He went about the day on autopilot, the blooming, aching, desperate hope held tight under a white-knuckled mental grip. As the long shadows grew darker, he finally left Midgar, Fenrir flying along at top speed, swallowing the miles hungrily as he headed out over dusty plains.
The evening camp was small, as usual, a fire and a bedroll stretched out next to Fenrir. Cloud leaned back against still-warm metal, Buster Sword lying across his lap. Carefully, he ran his fingertips over the materia still held in its slot.
The emotions this time were less overwhelming and had a slightly sheepish flavour.
“Z-Zack?” Cloud asked, barely able to catch his breath.
‘Yeah, it’s me. Um, sorry about earlier, I guess I was a little over-enthusiastic.’ The words drifted into Cloud’s mind.
Cloud realized his arms were curled tight around his own torso, a suspicious wetness prickling at his eyes. “You’re really back?”
‘Well, as back as I can be – I’m not here to live your life, by the way.’ Zack said firmly.
“You could,” Cloud offered with a smile, a real smile.
A ghostly ruffle of his hair made his eyes close.
‘Nah, then I’d be no better than that thing Jenova turned Seph int- oh damn I’m sorry Spike…’
Cloud bowed his head to hide the tears, shook his head violently.
Warmth enveloped him, held him. Cloud pulled himself back together, pushing the sorrow away slightlly. He usually had better control over his emotions, but right now they were running high, and control just didn't seem that important anymore.
“I wouldn’t mind, you know that.”
Fond exasperation nudged at him. ‘Oh for… okay, lemme out every once in a while to whack things around and I’ll be happy as a clam.’
“We don’t get much call for violence running a delivery service,” Cloud pointed out wistfully.
‘Hey, I found those street punks without even trying,’ Zack grinned. ‘As long as you’re happy… you are happy, right?’
Cloud wondered guiltily what Zack had picked up on. On the other hand, he never could hide anything from Zack.
'...Clouuuud.'
Shoulders hunched. "I'm. I have a good, well-paying job. I have friends. Steady clients. I have a- a life." Cloud felt inexplicably like that last word deserved quotation marks.
The sceptical 'uh-huhn' was silent but loud in the chilly night air.
"It's not like I can run around saving the world now," Cloud huffed defensively.
'You know, there are still loads of monsters and gangs and stuff out there,' Zack hinted, about as subtle as his Buster Sword and just as unstopable. 'We certainly see enough people die from 'em. Lifestream traffic can be very interesting,' the SOLDIER encouraged.
Cloud looked into the heart of the small fire, feeling its heat readiate across his skin.. Midgar was safe, stable, especially now with Jenova dealt with. Tifa, Marlene, and Denzel were a constant, steady presence in his life. He had duties and delivery-routes and a warm place to sleep every night.
He was bored out of his gourd, he realized with a shock.
"Where would we go?" He wanted to know.
'Anywhere we wanted.' Anticipation rose.
"What would we do there?" Cloud was grinning.
'Kick monster butt!' Zack whooped.
Sleeping out in the rain and wind, listening to howls and dark rustles in the undergrowth. Throwing sword-skill and muscle into the teeth of raging monsters, and having to wash the blood out of everything afterwards. Doing it all with Zack at his side again. It sounded like heaven.
All he had to do was give up the life he'd built for the past three years.
Before he could reconsider, he'd plucked the swirling almost-purple materia from the sword.
'Cloud?' hopeful eagerness radiated from Zack.
"I'm equiping you," Cloud said with a shaky breath, matching word to action.
Zack let out a whoop as his presence filled and spread into Cloud like a second soul, buzzing in the blond's veins like pure joy.
Leaning back against Fenrir with closed eyes and a grin that just wouldn't quit, Cloud basked in Zack and felt more alive than he had in years.
FIN
Author/Artist:
dogmatix_sanRating: PG-13
Warnings: WAFF?
Word count: about four pages?
Summary: Someone is playing a prank and Cloud is not amused.
A/N: Set after Advent Children
Promtp: Cloud/Zack: Battle Rush - "He hadn't felt this alive in months. He hadn't been feeling alive at all."
Purple Materia
This.. this had to be some kind of practical joke. And it was Not. Funny.
Stunned, Cloud stared at the gleaming Buster Sword jabbed point first into the earth, all traces of rust gone as if they’d never been. It could have been oiled yesterday, morning sunshine glinting sleekly along it.
And in the topmost slot, a glowing, almost swirling materia the exact shade of Zack’s eyes.
Fury caught like fire, roaring through Cloud. Someone had taken Zack’s sword and replaced it with this, this copy. He almost couldn’t think past the rage, his hands trembled as he reached for the Buster Sword’s grip.
At least Kadaj and his brothers had only kicked it from where it stood, not played at this kind of cruel farce.
Yanking it out of the ground, Cloud swung the heavy blade as if it were no more than air, drawing it back to throw - and stopped. Frowning, he drew the sword through some basic moves. That couldn’t be right… the sword had the same heft, the same balance as Zack’s, and the hilt fit his hand as if it had never left. If he hadn’t seen Zack’s sword rusting in the wind only three days ago, he could have believed this one to be real.
The material seemed to sparkle, and Cloud reached automatically to take it out.
It was like being sucker-punched by Sephiroth, and everything went black.
*
He blinked. He was standing in an alley somewhere, five guys sprawled out groaning at his feet. A sense of happiness and excitement buzzed through his veins. From the feel of things, someone had landed a few hits on him.
He looked up at grey building rising up into the smog-hazed sky. Still in Midgar at least, he oriented himself. Back behind one of the new factories, unless he was mistaken, where the old Chocobo stables used to be. Late afternoon sunlight slanted over the high roofs.
And a weight on his back that, when he unslung it, proved to be Zack’s sword. Or the copy of it, at least, but if felt like Zack’s.
The groaning street toughs on the ground were starting to think about getting up, so Cloud turned and walked away.
He considered walking back to Tifa’s, though it would take a while since his bike was nowhere in sight. More importantly, was Sephiroth coming back, taking him over like the puppet Kadaj had named him? Should he risk going back to Tifa’s, if he’d only bring Sephiroth there as well?
It wasn’t a difficult choice. He went to the church, finally staggering up the steps well after nightfall. It was emotional exhaustion more than physical, his mind kept winding itself tighter and tighter, like a dog chasing its own tail.
There were no further blackouts that night; he stayed awake to make sure. Tifa called around noon, while he was unenthusiastically working his way through a rations bar. When he’d failed to show up the previous night, she’s been worried about him, and he could still hear it in her voice even as she scolded him for not completing the deliveries.
He’d replied on autopilot, apologizing and promising to finish up today. His panic had wound itself back up to that sticking point where he was numb more than anything else. It was a state he knew well – he’d functioned in it for most of his active time in AVALANCHE.
Taking a taxi out of Midgar was expensive, but the movement soothed something in him, letting him think again. There wasn’t that sickly pressure that signaled the Geostigmata, or the echo of insanity through his Jenova cells that heralded Sephiroth’s presence. So whatever was causing him to go over the edge this time was something new. The taxi was on dirt roads now, pebbles and rippled dirt making it shiver and shake as Cloud watched the scenery go by.
Back up at the ridge, he found his bike, sitting untouched. He ran his hands over the black metal and leather, grounding himself. Without thinking, one hand went back to the hilt of the broad sword resting against his back.
Emotions slammed into him like a stone wall, and the world greyed out around him.
’Aw crap not again, sorry Spike’ he thought he heard as he went under.
*
When he opened his eyes, he was seated on the softly idling bike, not a kilometer out from Midgar. Pushing the hysteria down under the cracked ice of familiar panic, he pulled the first address from memory and set about his deliveries.
He put his poker face back on and headed to Tifa’s. If he thought about too much, he’d curl up in a ball and scream.
“Cloud, is everything okay?” Tifa asked anyway. She knew the bland expression for what it was.
“Yes, why?” he bluffed, closing Fenrir’s hatch on the new letters and an oddly shaped package.
“Because you’re carrying a Buster Sword like Zack’s again.” She frowned, and her hands were on her hips.
Busted. There was really nothing he could say when he didn’t know himself why he’d kept it. It was connected with the episodes, he knew with an unquestioning certainty. But it was also Zack’s, and its weight on his back felt familiar, necessary. He found his hand on the hilt again.
Rueful good humour flowed lightly over panic like warm spring water. He felt his mouth twitch into a small smile and heard himself say, “Just felt like keeping a bit of Zack’s memory with me, y’know? It’s no big deal, w-I’ll be fine.”
“Mm, okay, but you come talk to me, or any of us, if you need to,” she insisted. “You have friends, remember?”
Cloud nodded, blocking the urge to throw out a jaunty salute, not able to say anything past the huge lump in his throat. He went about the day on autopilot, the blooming, aching, desperate hope held tight under a white-knuckled mental grip. As the long shadows grew darker, he finally left Midgar, Fenrir flying along at top speed, swallowing the miles hungrily as he headed out over dusty plains.
The evening camp was small, as usual, a fire and a bedroll stretched out next to Fenrir. Cloud leaned back against still-warm metal, Buster Sword lying across his lap. Carefully, he ran his fingertips over the materia still held in its slot.
The emotions this time were less overwhelming and had a slightly sheepish flavour.
“Z-Zack?” Cloud asked, barely able to catch his breath.
‘Yeah, it’s me. Um, sorry about earlier, I guess I was a little over-enthusiastic.’ The words drifted into Cloud’s mind.
Cloud realized his arms were curled tight around his own torso, a suspicious wetness prickling at his eyes. “You’re really back?”
‘Well, as back as I can be – I’m not here to live your life, by the way.’ Zack said firmly.
“You could,” Cloud offered with a smile, a real smile.
A ghostly ruffle of his hair made his eyes close.
‘Nah, then I’d be no better than that thing Jenova turned Seph int- oh damn I’m sorry Spike…’
Cloud bowed his head to hide the tears, shook his head violently.
Warmth enveloped him, held him. Cloud pulled himself back together, pushing the sorrow away slightlly. He usually had better control over his emotions, but right now they were running high, and control just didn't seem that important anymore.
“I wouldn’t mind, you know that.”
Fond exasperation nudged at him. ‘Oh for… okay, lemme out every once in a while to whack things around and I’ll be happy as a clam.’
“We don’t get much call for violence running a delivery service,” Cloud pointed out wistfully.
‘Hey, I found those street punks without even trying,’ Zack grinned. ‘As long as you’re happy… you are happy, right?’
Cloud wondered guiltily what Zack had picked up on. On the other hand, he never could hide anything from Zack.
'...Clouuuud.'
Shoulders hunched. "I'm. I have a good, well-paying job. I have friends. Steady clients. I have a- a life." Cloud felt inexplicably like that last word deserved quotation marks.
The sceptical 'uh-huhn' was silent but loud in the chilly night air.
"It's not like I can run around saving the world now," Cloud huffed defensively.
'You know, there are still loads of monsters and gangs and stuff out there,' Zack hinted, about as subtle as his Buster Sword and just as unstopable. 'We certainly see enough people die from 'em. Lifestream traffic can be very interesting,' the SOLDIER encouraged.
Cloud looked into the heart of the small fire, feeling its heat readiate across his skin.. Midgar was safe, stable, especially now with Jenova dealt with. Tifa, Marlene, and Denzel were a constant, steady presence in his life. He had duties and delivery-routes and a warm place to sleep every night.
He was bored out of his gourd, he realized with a shock.
"Where would we go?" He wanted to know.
'Anywhere we wanted.' Anticipation rose.
"What would we do there?" Cloud was grinning.
'Kick monster butt!' Zack whooped.
Sleeping out in the rain and wind, listening to howls and dark rustles in the undergrowth. Throwing sword-skill and muscle into the teeth of raging monsters, and having to wash the blood out of everything afterwards. Doing it all with Zack at his side again. It sounded like heaven.
All he had to do was give up the life he'd built for the past three years.
Before he could reconsider, he'd plucked the swirling almost-purple materia from the sword.
'Cloud?' hopeful eagerness radiated from Zack.
"I'm equiping you," Cloud said with a shaky breath, matching word to action.
Zack let out a whoop as his presence filled and spread into Cloud like a second soul, buzzing in the blond's veins like pure joy.
Leaning back against Fenrir with closed eyes and a grin that just wouldn't quit, Cloud basked in Zack and felt more alive than he had in years.
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Date: 2007-07-29 03:05 pm (UTC)