Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII, the world, or the characters; Square Enix does.

Author's Note: Takes place a few years after Advent Children. Exact time is unknown. Also, Truce and Truce Canyon are not from Final Fantasy VII but from Chrono Trigger.

Pieces of You

Chapter 1

To Cry Wolf

Cloud had left Tifa's bar earlier than usual. There was a package that required delivery in a small town farther away from Edge than he normally agreed to drive, but something about the offer had piqued his interest and he'd agreed. Tifa, only too happy to have a willing Cloud, woke him up as soon as the sun had begun to peak through the tall buildings that made up the new city-and to ensure he was awake, she promptly had opened the window and a blinding stripe of the sun's rays had unlawfully bombarded Cloud's vision.

He was out the door before Denzel and Marlene were up and on his motorcycle, Fenrir, before Tifa had a chance to offer him breakfast. He figured if hunger overtook him, he could stop somewhere along the way; perhaps somewhere around Kalm, but this delivery seemed important. Whoever it was had paid extra for immediate delivery.

And besides, how often would he pass up a chance to visit the place where he died? The place where his Buster sword sat, lodged into dusty desert ground, rusted, and old? How much time had passed since then? Five years? Seven? Three? It seemed too long.

This was the place he liked to come whenever times got tough, whenever he needed time to think, time to plan out his next move, time to rethink his life and what he'd become. It was always barren, still, quiet, allowing him to endlessly drift from thought to thought without distraction, but it would never be long before Tifa would call on his PHS to remind him to head back. But not today. And he knew he couldn't stay there long, either. Just maybe a few minutes to gaze upon his sword and remember him.

The sun was fully in the sky by the time he reached his first stop. He slowed Fenrir to a stop and just sat on his motorcycle, his hands gripping the handlebars firmly, his fingers sweaty underneath his leather gloves.

It didn't matter if an ache expanded in his chest every time he sat here, it didn't matter if he had to bow his head every time Zack's image flashed in his mind, it didn't matter if he found himself choking as the memory of Zack's voice washed over him. None of it mattered because he had spent the last few years, since the Geostigma incident, tempering his emotions until they no longer interfered with his ability to function in every day life.

But…when he came here…the feeling of Zack's presence all around him reminded him that he could still feel, that he had yet to rid himself of those emotions completely. More importantly, that he could still love. None of that mattered. He could feel here. He felt the need to visit it frequently to remind himself he was still alive—just like Tifa, just like Denzel, just like Marlene.

When he felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead, he knew he'd spent too much time in his own thoughts. He swiveled Fenrir around and charged toward his destination without any more reluctance. He wasn't sure exactly where he was delivering this particular package; but he had the address with him, and he would drive around until he found it. Normally, he never had much trouble, but he'd never been to this town before, this newer settlement, Truce, and he expected to drive a little more than usual looking for it. He could always ask, anyway. He had maps, too, but Truce was ever changing. It was too new.

He passed Kalm just after noon, but he didn't stop. It wasn't that he felt no hunger—because his stomach growled rather loudly—nor was it because he didn't have any money for it; he just didn't want to deal with it. He didn't want to stop.

Though he wasn't afraid of traveling in the dark—especially now that he didn't have to worry about anyone else getting hurt—he did not particularly want to be in that situation. He wanted to make it back to Tifa's bar at a good time, maybe have a drink or two and kick up his feet, but mainly for Denzel. Denzel wouldn't go to sleep until Cloud came back. It would make Tifa angry, but there wasn't anything Cloud could do about it. And it made him feel…something. Lighter. Warmer. Loved. But mainly needed, a feeling for which Cloud yearned.

He didn't run into many enemies on his way there, which he had thought was strange. A few Kalm Fangs here and there when he passed by Kalm and even fewer Prowlers as he moved on farther and farther from Midgar. He had expected these fights to slow him down, but he was making fairly good progress in light of their absence.

He had just passed by the Chocobo Farm when he realized why there weren't any enemies around, and by then, it was a little too late. A movement to his right caught his attention. He jerked his head in that direction, scanning the area with sharp eyes, frowning when nothing out of the ordinary could be seen. Another movement, this time on his other side, forced him to swerve from his path. Pulling out his First Tsurugi, he try to get a better look at the assaulting animal.

A wolf. A very large wolf, with yellow fangs half the size of the Buster Sword and sky blue eyes. It snarled, racing along side Fenrir, keeping pace easily, as if it could run much faster upon necessity. It leapt over Cloud, crashing onto its front paws on his right, letting out a menacing growl.

He tightened his grip around the crimson hilt of his sword and tightened his jaw. This would be no easy battle, but why hadn't the animal attacked him yet?

It leapt overhead again, snapping at Cloud's form below, not being near enough to touch.

I won't attack until it makes the first move, he told himself, but if it doesn't knock this off soon, I'll have to do something. I can't lead it into Truce.

As the mountains came into view, a change came over the beast. His eyes turned green, his snarl increased in volume, and he jumped towards Fenrir. Without hesitating, he brought First Tsurugi up and swung at the airborn beast. The animal whined at contact, but the force at which they collided sent Fenrir toppling over. Cloud leapt off the bike, stumbling for a moment before regaining balance. It took a split second to realize that his sword was no longer in his hand and another split second to locate the beast—which came at him with a open maw.

Cloud sidestepped out of the way a second too late, but fast enough to save his arm from being torn off. The beast knocked him off his feet, and he rolled before standing up right and reaching for his sword. This time when the wolf came at him, he was ready.

He swung First Tsurugi at the beast, but it easily jumped out of the way. Cloud gritted his teeth, thinking of the materia he'd left back at Tifa's bar, that materia she'd insisted he take with him. He'd brushed it off, claiming he didn't need it. Fool.

Cloud twirled his sword in his hand, fixing his grip, before launching himself at the wolf. It met him half way, sinking its teeth into his right wrist. Groaning, he dropped the sword and collapsed to his knees, holding the bite. It hadn't ground its huge fangs into his arm, but the fangs had gone straight through.

The wolf took the opportunity to maul him again, but he rolled out of the way, grabbing First Tsurugi in his left hand. It came after him again, this time latching onto his shoulder. Holding back a cry, he bit his tongue and looked away, as if that would make it disappear. The metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth, but he didn't feel it. He only felt the pain searing through his shoulder blade as the wolf gnawed through the bones, holding Cloud down with its enormous paws.

Somewhere along the way, Cloud had let ago of his sword. Without thinking, he patted the ground blindly, fumbling to find that hilt. Finger wrapping around warm metal, he closed his eyes and summoned all his strength before jabbing the sword right through its chest.

The screech it gave off as it flung itself back was reassuring. Cloud opened his eyes in time to see it disappearing into the mountains—the mountains where he was now heading.

Cursing, Cloud rolled on his knees in an endeavor to stand up. It took several tries, but soon he was on his two feet and stumbling to Fenrir, which was lying on its side in a fit of steam. Massaging his shoulder where the beast had grabbed onto him, he stood in front of his bike, staring at it with a blank mind before everything registered—he was in the middle of nowhere and his bike probably wasn't going to work. Oh, and his shoulder and wrist were gushing out blood.

Using his good arm, he lifted Fenrir upright and swung a leg over. Successfully straddling the bike, he turned it on. It sputtered a few times before it fired up, but it still worked. Cloud wrinkled his nose when the smell of blood fused with the brown smoke his bike had jutted out when turning back on. He would need to find a repair service somewhere in Truce. Hopefully the place had one.

He headed toward the mountain pass, called Truce Canyon, his sword strapped on his back for easier access, his right hand gripping the handle hard enough to turn his knuckles white and his hand trembled at the strain, his left hand gripping his shoulder. How long until Truce? How long before he lost too much blood to concentrate?

When he and his comrades had fought against Sephiroth, he'd felt worse pains before. He could endure. He could. He had to.

Just as the sun began to set behind the sharp peaks of Truce's mountain range, the lights of the town came into view. Still thirty or so minutes off, but the fact that there was an end to this winding road gave Cloud a sense of calm. He would check himself into the inn right away and then do something about his wounds, and maybe then the world would stop spinning. And then he'd have to tell Tifa why he wasn't going to be home tonight. Truce was farther away than he thought. It didn't surprise him, though, that he hadn't once thought of his hunger…of course, until he saw the lights. That would be something he would do right away. Perhaps, the lack of food, water, and blood were all to blame for his luckless state.

But it would all be taken care of as soon when he got there.

That is, if he got there at all.

Fenrir gave a loud guttural roar before it sputtered and died, trembling underneath Cloud. And then it flung him over the handle bars as it skidded to a halt.

Cloud crashed into a pointy ledge and let out a cry as he toppled to the stony ground. The world spun faster and he clamped his eyes shut, hoping it would ease after a minute or two. His head throbbed, threatening to squeeze the life out of his brain, and he threw his hands up to massage his temples. Not now, not now, not now! he chanted in his head over and over again. Not a good time. Just a little while more. Must get into town. Must get there.

He dared himself to open his eyes, and when he did, all he saw was blood. Get up, Cloud, he told himself. Just get up.

He grabbed onto a natural handhold on the side of the mountain and pulled himself up with his good arm. Stupid Fenrir. Did it just have to die right here? Couldn't it have waited a little while longer? Just a little bit?

He dragged his feet toward the bike, and when he stood before it, he bent down and straightened it. He wasn't just about to leave it there. He needed to get it to town to get it repaired. The damn repair shop had better not be closed by the time he arrived there, otherwise he was going to find the owner's house and force him to fix it right then and there. He needed to get back before Tifa died of worry—and now he definitely couldn't tell her what happened.

Thrusting the bike forward with all his might, he walked it down the path towards the lights of town, still vague as the orange light of the sun splashed across the canyon.

Just a little longer. Just a little longer.

The sun had set by the time he passed through the gates of Truce, but the lights in some of the stores were still on, suggesting that it was not yet passed six. There was still a chance the repair shop was open. He didn't care how much they charged him—he was just about willing to pay every piece of gil he had to fix Fenrir and get home. The delivery would just have to wait until tomorrow morning.

He found the repair shop just outside the town square. It was obvious it was open because the two garage doors were gaping open and the lights burned brightly overhead. Cloud pushed the bike forward into the light and stopped.

There was one man whose head was tucked underneath the hood of a car, his oil blackened fingers crawling along the edge for a tool that wasn't there. When they reached the end of the car and he turned his gaze up to find it, he saw Cloud and stuck his head out and hollered to the guy behind the counter before stalking off into the back. Cloud kicked the stand on his bike and stepped toward the counter.

The black-haired boy, probably around the age of fourteen, shrugged. "Sorry about that," he told Cloud. "I don't know what's his problem. He normally likes to chat with customers, but, I guess, he's been acting weird all day—he got angry this morning because the landlord stopped by and—"

"How soon can you fix my bike?"

The boy peered around Cloud's slim form at the bike and made a face. "I dunno. If Boss was here, he'd give you a good estimate, but I don't know anything about bikes."

Cloud drummed his fingers across the chipped wooden counter as he leaned his body into it.

The boy winced. "You all right?"

"I've been better," he said, shrugging his good shoulder and nodding to his bike. "I need my bike fixed by tomorrow."

The boy cocked his head to one side, his eyes narrowing. "Hmm, I don't know about that."

"Well, what do you know about?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "Look, we're the only repair service in Truce. How 'bout you leave your motorcycle here overnight, Boss'll take a look at it sometime tonight before he goes home, and you can haggle with him in the morning? It'll be better than standing here arguing with me when your arm's all messed up. I can't do anything I'm not already doing."

"Let me talk to your boss."

The boy shook his head. "I don't know where he went."

Brat. "All right, how much do you think it will cost?" Cloud asked, grinding his teeth together as ribbons of pain ran up and down his arm. This had been happening sporadically the entire way, warning him that he'd better do something quick before the damage became irreversible.

The boy looked up into Cloud's blue eyes, dull from the day's journey, and scratched his chin. "Hmm, how much you got?"

Cloud pushed off from the counter, tossing the bike key to the boy. "I'll be here bright and early to talk to your boss; hopefully he has more of an idea of what's going on that you do," he murmured as he exited the shop. How infuriating. But it couldn't be helped. He expected as much. Hopefully the fool and his boss were competent enough to care for Fenrir, but now he had to be competent enough to take care of himself.

He found the inn not far away from the repair shop, and walked in. A few visitors were at tables eating dinner when he entered. A hush fell across the room and all eyes followed him as he steadily made his way to the woman behind the counter. He paced himself, holding himself straight, pretending as if he didn't feel he was on the verge of a painful death, and maintained eye contact with the woman.

She paled as he stepped into the light. "Are you a-all right?"

He nodded. "I just need a room and a meal."

Her eyes widened. "S-sure. Are you positive you don't need—"

"Just a room and a meal."

She nodded, fumbling for the keys to one of her rooms. "That'll be a hundred gil for the night, and a hundred and forty gil for dinner and breakfast tomorrow morning."

He nodded, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. After extracting the bills, he snapped his wallet shut, flung it into his pocket, and handed her the money. "Here."

"Upstairs, second room to the right. I'll have dinner delivered to your room in an hour. And if you want your clothes washed, leave them in a bag outside your door. I'll have them washed and dried by the time you wake up."

He took the key and headed for the stairs. "There's…there's a healer in town named Kirin…do..." she started after him.

He ignored her and went upstairs, ignoring his legs which groaned in protest.

After tossing the small box onto the bed and glaring at it (it turned out to be more trouble than it ought to have been), he stripped down, stuffing his clothes into a bag and slipping them outside, and filled up the water in the bathtub. Taking out the first aid kit from underneath the sink, he sifted through it to find suturing wire, a needle, an antiseptic, and gauze wrap and placed them on the sink. After cleaning up in the bathtub the best he could, the water having immediately turned red, he toweled off and rummaged through his bag for spare clothes. And then his PHS rang.

He gazed at the phone for some time before answering. Cradling it between his cheek and good shoulder, he went back into the bathroom to stitch up his shoulder. "Cloud, here."

"Cloud? Where are you?" It was Tifa.

"Truce." He carefully measured the length of the wire and cut the edge and then prepared the needle.

"Did you deliver the package?"

"No. Tomorrow."

"You must have arrived late. It took you longer than I expected. Denzel and Marlene—"

"I'll call you back, I'm a little busy." He snapped the phone shut and concentrated on his sutures.

/ - / - / - / - / - /

When Cloud woke up the next morning, it was well after dawn. The sun beamed through the windows and streamed down onto his bed. Stupid him, he thought, he'd chosen to sleep on the bed closest to the window. Groggy, he turned his face away and kept his eyes closed, dreading the moment he needed to get up. He should have been up already, but he figured the bike wasn't fixed yet. It was useless.

But the guilt had already settled in. He wouldn't fall back to sleep.

Groaning, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. They were a bit stiff from all the walking, but they felt good compared to the fiery ache that plagued his shoulder. He rolled his shoulders, tightening his jaw to stifle any type of noise that might escape from his throat as he did so, and relaxed when he found that the pain was only mild. His mako infused body did have its advantages now and then. Knowing that the drive home wasn't going to be so bad, he got up and walked lightly to the bathroom.

Washing his face and hands, he examined his reflection in the mirror. The laceration on his shoulder looked considerably better than it had last night, but he decided to add a bit more antiseptic anyway. And the gash on his wrist was all but gone, leaving a white puffy scar in its wake. His face, though untouched by the beast, looked tired. He had bags under his eyes as if he hadn't slept much the night before, but he had—his dreams had just been riddled with memories of Zack. One particular memory repeatedly, to be exact. Except the last dream was good. It was of the last night before the Nibelheim incident, where Cloud and Zack had spent a good portion of the night talking, until Sephiroth told them to go to bed and shut up.

He left the inn, his pack, sword, and package in hand, and crossed the square.

It was cool here in the mountain town. The deep blue sky stretched out beyond the hills encasing Truce with not a cloud in sight. A bit of frost covered the red tiled roofs of the shops around the square and a thin sheen of ice covered the floor. It was getting too close to winter. The great thing about Midgar was that its weather was uncorrupted by the seasons.

But Cloud almost missed this weather. It reminded him of Nibelheim and of his mother. During the winter, she made a mean beef stew that Cloud would have given almost anything just to taste one more time. He tried to keep his mother from his mind, which was why Cloud remained in the city rather than moving into a town like this. At least Midgar, or the Edge more specifically, was nothing like Nibelheim. His mother rarely invaded his thoughts.

He hugged himself as a frosty wind shifted through the trees lining the square. He should have brought a sweater. It was going to be a bitch riding Fenrir out of here with nothing but a sleeveless shirt and thin pants on.

The garage was already open and the smell of coffee and grease filled his nostrils as he strode in. His stomach grumbled and reminded him he'd need to get something to eat before he headed out again. No more of yesterday's events.

"Whoa, you look way better."

Cloud jolted in surprise and looked around for the boy. He was walking in from the square behind Cloud carrying a pink box of doughnuts with him. And he was bundled up in a very warm looking coat.

"Where's your boss?"

The boy dropped the doughnuts on the table. "He's sleeping. But don't worry. He fixed your bike last night."

Cloud lifted an eyebrow in question.

"Yep. He felt sorry for you, so he fixed it up. But it'll cost ya. He said he expects to be well paid."

Cloud peered over his shoulder at Fenrir. It looked as if it hadn't even been moved from the spot he'd left it in. "Did he really fix it?"

He nodded. "Yep. Fire her up." The boy handed him the key expectantly.

Cloud approached it warily and then straddled it, putting the key in and turning on the ignition. Fenrir fired up immediately, the roar of the engine comforting, the tremble relaxing. He turned it off and circled the bike, taking in the shiny black surface and examining the oil tank, the exhaust pipe, the engine, everything. Everything was in prime condition as far as he was concerned.

He shrugged and returned to the counter.

"How much is your boss asking for?"

The boy tilted his chin upwards with a smug smile and replied, "Oh, about two thousand gil."

"Two thousand? No." He shouldn't have left the bike here.

"He worked on it all night. That's a fair deal."

"I won't pay anymore than a thousand." And even that was too much in his book. He was expecting five hundred gil or something.

"You're lucky we had all the parts for that bike! They're rare, you know! He replaced the tires and—"

"All right, whatever." He took out his wallet and counted the bills.

The boy rocked on his heels, his hands stuffed in his back pocket. He added another fifty gil and when the boy looked up at him questioningly, he explained, "Do you know where I can find a Rocktree Lane?"

The boy wrinkled his face in thought for a second before he replied. "What city?"

"This one."

"Nope. No such thing."

Cloud frowned. "Let me talk to your superior."

The boy pouted, his hands on his hips. "I know every street in this town. You have Apple Berry Boulevard, Sunny Cove, Drapple Lane, Truce—"

"I have a package to be delivered to 7132 Rocktree Lane. Here in Truce." He held up the package that he had stored under his arm and showed the boy the address.

The raven-haired kid only shook his head. "No, there's no place here by that address."

"But—"

The boy reached underneath the desk and promptly brought out a map. "This is the most recent map of Truce. I'll show you." He splayed it out over the table for Cloud to skim over and waited.

Cloud stepped back with a frown.

"Sorry. You'll just have to send it back to the return address."

"Damn." How could that be? He drove all the way over here to deliver it and there wasn't even a place to deliver it to. "Damn."

The boy scratched his head.

Cloud brushed blond strands out of his face and backed away. "All right, then. Thanks for the information, kid."

He turned to his bike and got on.

The boy behind the counter skirted it and ran towards him. "Wait!" he shouted over the roar of the engine. "Here!" He handed back a few bills.

Cloud took them out of the boy's small hands with a scowl. "What's this for?"

"He said to charge you for a thousand gil. Sorry."

Cloud gave him a stern look and then sighed, handing the bills back over. "Keep it." And he drove away.