Answer

By LoveAnimeForever

The glint in the dark of every metal instrument lining the shelves on the walls made Cloud think of eyes – disapproving, malicious eyes that promised pain and sorrow. Nevertheless, he stepped in – albeit gingerly – and touched his hand to the cold wall, fingers blindly searching out a light switch. His skin swept along the painted cement, alighted on the desired object, and the lights flared to life.

Now the room had a clinical feel, too-bright and leaving nothing in shadow, and Cloud could taste each and every medicine that had ever been used by the doctors standing on the sterile, tiled floor. He took a look around again, and the glinting eyes were still malicious as ever, only they had revealed themselves as scalpels and drills and saws and – Cloud didn't want to think about it. He took another step towards the centre of the room where it was even brighter and where he knew his goal was.

His boots clicked across the linoleum, disrespectfully loud though he tried his best to maintain the silence; the sound echoed in the room, returning to his ears strangely distant. It seemed to take forever to cross the meter that was between him and the operation table, between him and what – who – lay on the unforgiving metal; as if every step he took forwards only took him backwards, away, away… Had he closed even half the distance? What had kept him from striding across the floor like Zack had taught him to? What had made him steal in like a thief, taking miniscule barely-moving steps, afraid of getting caught, afraid of…?

Hello, Cloud.

A spark of the Mako-matrix. The blonde froze. He knew that voice, he knew the sensation of the dormant aqua-green awakening and taking over. He would have liked to ignore it, but –

To what do I owe this visit?

Half of him wanted to run – yes, turn tail and flee out the still open door, along the warmly-lit corridor, back to the dorm he called home. The other half of him – the side that won – made him forget his fear, straighten up, and stride hastily where he had earlier feared to tread, and he found himself beside the body lying limp on the metal. Body with long silver hair splayed out and draped over the edge to the floor; body with closed eyes and small smile, where there had once been hatred and cruelty; body with… Cloud tried not to throw up.

Yes, I know I'm in a mess. Now don't you think you should go, Cloud?

He shook his head hesitantly, determined to stay; but first, he slumped to the floor, leaning against a leg of the operation table and resting his hand on the hilt of First Tsurugi, as he had made a habit of doing when afraid or exhausted. Head bowed, eyes unfocused, he decided he was both; the specter that had chosen to haunt him seemed to agree.

Go; I don't need your pity. There will always be another set of Remnants.

Again, Cloud shook his head, and the floor came into focus – along with it, the bloodstains. But blood Cloud could stand. He looked up, trying to put the image of the open body on the table behind him away, was met again by the malevolent silence of the glinting metal around him. His fingers tightened around First Tsurugi – a warmth amidst the coolness of the room – and he got up.

Why don't you hate me, Cloud? Haven't I done enough to deserve it? Why are you still here, trying to steal my body and rest me with the Cetra?

Cloud ignored the sneering tone of the voice, heard the hidden gratitude the phantom would have much preferred he did not notice. He wandered around the room, First Tsurugi's hilt relinquished in favour of picking up, putting down, and searched for the tools that Tifa had taught him to use, and returned with an armful of thread and scissors.

Am I that precious to you, Cloud?

The blonde would have liked to nod, just to throw his questioner off track, but he was too absorbed in trying not to throw up as he replaced the dismembered organs in their rightful places within the hollow torso on the table. Then, he had to sew up the skin; it required nimbler fingers, so he removed his bloodstained gloves, threaded the needle and tried his best to close up the gaping red.

It was crude at best, but Cloud was a soldier, after all, not a housewife. That didn't mean he could completely brush off the specter's condescending chuckle, though. Rolling his eyes slightly, he put on his gloves and picked up the limp form he had been patching. A moment later, the autopsy lab was empty, a clinical light glaring down at laughing, glinting, metal.

There was the irreverent snarling of a bike at the Forgotten City the day after, and the gleaming black metal halted at the edge of the pool, throwing up a mist of dirt. Cloud dismounted, and again resumed his lifeless burden. He stepped into the water, his boots splashing slightly at first but no more once he was waist-deep in the water.

I suppose I should thank you.

Cloud, come to terms with the half-poisonous, half-gentle tone of the voice, smiled quietly. No, there was no need to thank him.

He gently lowered the body into the water. It floated for a short while, like Aeris' did, before sinking into the darkness.

As Cloud got ready to leave, bike already growling in anticipation, he heard the water behind him ripple, and the Mako-matrix flashed before him again. He spun around.

Sephiroth. Sephiroth, levitating above the water, with unmarred bare chest, looking down at him, eyes gentle yet condemning.

"You know, this doesn't mean I'm dead forever. On the contrary, you restored my body for me. Merged it with the Lifestream, yes, but I am complete again. Are you sure you want that, Cloud?"

Said man turned his back on the silver-haired apparition, unable to reply.

Yes, he wanted Sephiroth back. But if what came back was a monster that only wished despair and pain on the world, Cloud knew he would have to be the one to vanquish that evil. No, he couldn't answer. And yet, he had the feeling Sephiroth had read his mind, that Sephiroth knew his thoughts anyway.

A soft rippling again.

Thank you, Cloud.