All that remains of my tattered soul and my worn out body is a stain. An
unholy scar on the surface of the planet that shouldn't be mine. If there
were only a way to go back to that fated day, that cursed day that the
Earth Mother wept in her garden. That was the day that Destiny himself
feared to turn the page of His Book of Fate. But I don't believe in fate
any more. If there was anything such as fate, I would have been able to
pull myself from His orbit. The way His eyes were, I remember them. They
have projected themselves into my consciousness so that I will never ever
forget what I did. Those eyes, I weep at the very memory of them, and yes,
now they are only a memory. They were like stained glass, and just as
sanctimonious. Others saw in Him the eyes of a tragedy. Only insanity and
cruelty dwelt in them. But I know that's not true. And I watched as He,
the God of my dreams, thundered to the ground in glorious death. And I was
not a shaman, but a fool, and all of my demons were set rampant upon the
world. But His eyes weren't like I remembered them to be. Transcendent
power lurked within them, yes. And there was always the mocking derision
that was only truth. But never in my life did I expect to see the demons
of remorse swirl like chaos in those eyes. He was the crisis from the
skies. And Fate, oh how I loathe it, told me that on that day I was the
One. No blade ever sang the way it did on that doomed day. And I watched
as it all crashed down and shattered His eyes like stained glass. I saw as
confusion and . . . fear dawned in His eyes and replaced the things about
Him that everyone hated. If at all possible, He was nothing more than a
lost child. Spirits tore from the skin of the earth to right the wrongs He
had done. I now wonder if anything He ever did was wrong. How could it
be? The angels knew this to be true, and they wept because they knew He
was still loved. And they wept because they knew that I was the bearer of
the burdensome love.
"Cloud!!! You can't stay in there forever!! You'll kill yourself if you do this!"
And only now do I realize that, yes, His heinous acts were for the best. This planet is filth. Plagued by fools and insignificant rats. What's worse is that they wont leave me alone. I suppose to them He was concealed in darkness. None of them could see past what He did and look at who He was. The blackness that my angel was clothed in bled into His surroundings so that they could not see anything at all. But in Him I saw the whisper of an angel, the breath of my nirvana. I wish my life were just a shadow; I wish I were a ghost. Or better yet, a puppet. It was easy doing what He told me. My mind was never plagued with meaningless decisions or petty worries. Let the Gods do as they please and follow their commands. I would drown the world in my blood now if He asked me to, if He was alive to ask me. The world would be so much simpler that way. And to think that the only miniscule peon to mourn Him will be me.
"Cloud this is suicide!"
Suicide? If I thought my life mattered that much I would have ended my unholy existence as soon as I came to my senses. The only thing that keeps me alive now is the knowledge that I will be alive to love Him. I might be the only one that does. And I know that I do love Him more than one human should be allowed to love anything. My only discrepancy is the idea that maybe I didn't always feel this way. No, I always loved Him. And I remember in some dark recesses of my mind that yes, He loved me as well. But was that really me? Was that my body that He would push into with such reverence? It was reverence, I know that. Almost as if He were afraid to touch me, if indeed that was me. But I was the only one He would touch that way. I was the only one He would touch at all, I think. No, there were others. They were born only to follow, they may as well have been deaf and blind. They adored Him to no end, and they would plead with Him. He would touch them, briefly and devoid of any passion or emotion. Is that the way He touched me? Did I beg him? Or was I begged? Fragments of memories dance in my mind like broken glass. Yes, like broken glass shards that impale my mentality and my soul and my body. I remember Him and the way I was amazed when He would kiss the back of my neck in public. He did love one of us; I just don't know which one.
In Nibelheim, at the inn. He stood with His face plastered to the window and watched outside. I followed His eyes and saw nothing there. Looking around quickly and noting that we were in solitude with only each other I embraced Him in the circle of my arms. He did not move. Not a twitch or a blink or a sigh. I was heedless of His fate; he must have already known. I looked up at the clouds that His eyes wouldn't focus on and saw that their bellies were swollen with rain. My reflection seemed so dim in the glass. I told Him I loved Him and let my lips wander over the flesh on His neck. Marble still and glacial cold was what I got in response. Had He been angry with me? Was I not wanted just then, was I not wanted at all? I told Him I needed Him. Nothing. His eyes reflected the glass and I saw the clouds and my own reflection in them. Had He even heard me? I called His name and shook Him gently. He blinked then, once, told me I should get some sleep because we'd be heading out early. No emotion in that tone to indicate that He felt anything for me. I asked Him to come to bed and He complied and I pulled Him into the room and His eyes were still fixed on the raven dark clouds. As soon as I turned Him away He held my face and looked into my eyes. It never ceases to amaze me how beautiful He was. There are no words to describe Him. I kissed Him, and I remember that He would barely allow it and would barely reciprocate. I memorized the way His eyes would flutter closed and how He would brush His gloved knuckles chastely against my forearm, and I remember the slight friction of kidskin and flesh. His lips would push gently against my own and I was always more urgent than I needed to be. I remember the heat of the moment as we joined together and I always wished that we could have the same blood. I wanted to know what it felt like to have His blood coursing through my veins. And everything was agonizingly slow; He took his time. No matter how many times we did this it always seemed as if He was considering His decision to be with me, yet He was always so possessive. His anger would seethe and fester inside Him if He knew I was with another. I told Him that He too had the right to be with other people. He was spiteful and He would lie with others. He did at Nibelheim. Was I that other person? The one who He shoved into the mattress and made the pleasure unbearable so that nothing would ever be the same? The one He would slide into to prove that He could; to prove he was capable of feeling? He was capable malice and jealousy. I think He wished that His lover would be jealous as well. But was I the object of that malice and used only as a tool to make someone bitter with envy? Or was I the one He loved and was afraid to tarnish with His own touch. I failed to discover His reasoning behind this, why He was so fearful of what He felt for me, or what He felt for Zack. The only thing I know was that it wasn't both of us, only one.
Either way these memories that might not be mine serve only to deepen my love for Him. I guess that my love is so intense that it serves to compensate for the hatred people feel for Him.
"Cloud?"
But I might not be the only one who sees daily the way He fell and I may not be the only one whose eyes will never be dry again. All I see are blurred colors before me that morph into the gentle sweeping curve of an arm, or the flowing dance of silver. That voice that beckons to me now, that voice that so seldom spoke yet had the most compelling quality to it. This voice has not tried to deter me from my apparent madness yet. Perhaps he regrets what happens. Similar in ways I cannot understand. They have the same hands, the same exotic slant to the eye. Both dark and brooding, secretive in a seductive way. They both loved once and will never make that mistake again; one by circumstance the other by choice.
The creaking of the door should have startled me but I'm so jaded that I won't even deign myself to focus my eyes on that blur of red and black. I try to concentrate on something, but my body is so numb that I feel no physical discomfort. There were no distractions save for the prison of my mind. I should have barricaded the door; ex-turks seem to be able to pick locks very well. I want to say something scathing. I want him to hurt as badly I do, but I cannot will my vocal cords to work. I am glad he does not speak. I see his surreal form turn and I hear the distinct click of a locking door. But why does he care if I want to stay in this room for an eternity. If anyone, he should know about the atonement of sins. He was the one who blames the wretched workings of the earth upon himself. He's the one who lives in celibacy because he does not deserve the pious love of another.
A memory that I know is mine clothes my brain like a shroud so that I cannot escape it. Yet another regret festers raw in my mind until I can't bear it anymore. But this time it wasn't as if my sword rained death upon a god, this time I just happened to see something that wasn't there. I couldn't keep my mouth shut. I had to tell him how alike they were. I should have stopped when the only response I got was blood red eyes burrowing into my own. The intensity of them made me look away, but I kept talking. I told him about how much I loved Sephiroth and how I was having a difficult time coping with the reality of it all. He looked angry then, in his own still and passive way. I only now realize why. A crusade to kill the only one you love; it truly is a ridiculous notion. Vincent, I know, was angry because he knew the endless anguish that accompanies the killing of a beloved. If only he had said something to me I might have stopped . . . no this is my fault, I can't blame him. If anything the seething anger like embers in his eyes should have stopped me. I saw it clearly and it didn't stop me from anything. It didn't stop me from killing Sephiroth. It didn't stop me from reaching out to touch Vincent's skin at that very moment. The anger in his eyes disappeared only because his eyelids shuddered closed at the touch of skin to skin. His cheek was smooth against my rough hands, and cool against my own fevered touch. His struggle was apparent, torn between reveling in the touch of another human or pulling away in disgust and fear. I pretended he was Sephiroth for only a brief moment and I stroked a high cheekbone with my calloused thumb and closed my eyes, imagining that my angel would touch me back and kiss me. I imagined I was in heaven, but my fantasies were quickly dissipated. Fine- boned fingers caught my wrist and squeezed the pressure points there until I withdrew my gesture. He turned and walked away quickly, not needing to offer any words of explanation or commiseration to someone as lowly and demeaning as I. I wish I hadn't touched him.
Strange how I have enough time to replay that entire scenario in my head and he hasn't moved or said a word. "What?" My voice finally works, though it is hoarse and I didn't realize I could sound so cruel.
Vincent's voice is muffled from behind his cape. "There are ways of overcoming this."
I grind my teeth simply because Vincent's voice was so much like His. Both very soft-spoken that was somehow accompanied by a strange idleness of the tongue that caused words to flow together as one rather than be harshly articulated. They were both well educated and made the fact known through speech. They emphasized words the same way and paused during sentences the same way. I hated the fact that Vincent just had to barge in here and start talking like Him. The full meaning of those words cannot reach my ears.
"Delusion can be a strong ally at times like these."
I thought he would have said something like 'it's in the past, move on' or 'it is of no use to wallow in your own remorse and self-pity'. But Vincent knew what was consuming my soul; he'd experienced it too. "If I pretend he's alive it will kill me in the long run."
Silence.
Pretending He's alive will surely destroy me for as soon as I'm pulled out of my own charade the idea that I am eternally alone will send my soul plummeting straight to the depths of purgatory. But just because I could not imagine Him at my side doesn't necessarily mean I couldn't remember. But I wanted to know which memories were mine and which were not. I need to know if He loved me. I need to know.
"If possible, I believe that your feelings for him are stronger than mine for Lucrecia."
His voice was so soft and gentle, just like His voice. My eyes were blurry to begin with so I didn't notice when I started crying. The stinging hot tears down my face betrayed me and I felt my walls crumbling. And I felt a hand unbidden on my cheek drying my tears. I open my eyes and see the gleaming metal of a claw resting gently on my leg. I can't feel it though; my body is so numb I can't feel anything.
"Tell me how I can help."
"Just leave me alone." My voice wavers and a sob chokes me before I bury my face in my hands and cry. As I do, my body regains a sense of substantiality. My muscles ache. How long have I been sitting like this? I am overcome with a grief-induced nausea. I want to die. If anything let the angel of death come and take me away. Take me to Him and never make me leave His side. Let Him bear me away on His seraphim wings. Just don't let me sit here any longer. Any place but here and anytime but now. Just take me away. "Take me away."
"Where shall I take you?"
"I don't care. Anywhere. I can't stand it here with everyone. They don't understand. They're all ignorant bastards. He was right. They are sinners, they don't deserve anything." I sob uncontrollably and between my rambling and crying, forget to breathe.
The hand resting on my cheek shifts slightly to lift my chin. Vincent wears gloves too, leather ones different from His yet exactly the same. I feel familiar texture of leather rubbing against my skin as I'm forced to gaze into those smoldering eyes.
"Then we'll leave."
I take a deep breath and feel ashamed at how good it feels to have fresh oxygen sucked into my starved lungs. I don't deserve to breathe. The air restores a sense of reason in my mind, though my sanity has long since been eaten away. Gathering my thoughts I dare myself to look back into those eyes were so much like His. "You'll come with me?"
A nod. Simple as always, yet holds so much meaning for me that if my arms worked I would have embraced him. "Thanks." I let my head fall back against the wall exhausted. There is a hollow sound but I don't feel the impact.
"If you're serious about it then we'll wait until tonight and then we can leave."
"Thank you again, and yes, I'm serious." Don't leave please don't leave. I can't be alone right now. Anything to distract me. Anything anything anything. Of course he got up to leave but this time it was me who seized his wrist. I was gentler than he had been with me though. I gripped him just hard enough to feel his pulse beneath his skin, mostly because I'm not strong enough to do anything more. "Please . . . stay. I-I need to talk about something. I keep thinking about Him and wondering about things. I can't do it anymore. Please stay."
"Very well. I'll stay."
I feel his hands move to my sides, one flesh, and the other metal, one cold the other warm. Strange how that was just like Vincent; half of him is a cold, heartless bastard, the other half warm and caring. The floor beneath me becomes less supportive as I am drawn away from it. My body rebels at having to change positions as Vincent hauls me to my feet. My muscles spasm and my legs buckle. It doesn't last long before I am transported to the bed nearby. My body devoid of will or strength sags into the lumpy mattress and I close my eyes simply because I do not have the energy to keep them open any longer. I hear the sound of something falling to the ground and can't bring myself to look what it was. I later realize it must have been my boots.
"What would you like to talk about then?" The mattress shifts a little as Vincent sits down beside me. I feel, for a moment, as if I'm falling and spinning out of orbit. I grip the sheets of the bed to steady myself.
"I don't care."
"I see. Tell me about your childhood, then; aside from the atrocities of ostracism that is. What did you do to pass the time?"
I felt like laughing but I realize that I have somehow forgotten how. Vincent has uttered perhaps two cryptic phrases to me during the entire time we have known one another. He never seemed to understand mindless conversation before. I suppose we both must be desperate. I find the whole situation to be very amusing in a most cruel way. "I used to catch frogs a lot . . ." I push my palms into my temples at the memory. There aren't frogs anywhere near Nibelheim. There is an abundance of them at Gongaga. When I was in the Mako tank at Nibelheim, Zack told me /everything/ about him, mostly to keep us sane. It didn't work though; everything that he told me manifested itself as a memory in my mind. Everything from catching frogs at Gongaga to making love to the man I loved even if I was not loved back. These things have engrained themselves into my mind so that I think that they are my own experiences. I cannot distinguish between reality and delusion even now. "No. I guess that was Zack that did that." My breath sounds ragged as I inhale sharply. "I don't know what I used to do. I can't remember anything clearly."
"Memory is overrated."
I open my eyes then to look up at him. "Not when that's all you have. Not when you have memories that aren't even yours. I still don't know who I am. It was He that delivered me from the terror of my delusion. But why would He do that? Is there something that I, as Cloud, need to know? I think he was trying to let me know which one."
No response. The silence is nearly tangible. I wait for some sort of acknowledgement of my presence. " . . .Which one?"
"Me or Zack."
" . . .What about you?"
I sigh and the exhalation of air makes my sides ache. "I don't know which one of us He loved."
"You don't?"
I shake my head and wince. Gods, everything hurts. Everything aches.
"I was under the impression that you two were lovers."
I fling my arm across my eyes. No pain there, I still can't feel my arms. "I remember Him as my lover. But I don't know if those are my memories or not. I need to know, Vincent. I'll die if I don't know."
"Surely some one remembers."
He was so secretive about His love life though. He was a veritable black widow of romance; just short of eating those who He slept with to destroy the evidence. He was close to so few people. I rack my mind and catalogue all the people that might have known about His personal affairs. Zack was dead. Perhaps he told Aeris of his possible relationship with the general. But Aeris was dead. Hojo would know. But he's dead. Rufus or Scarlet might have done some eavesdropping. But they're dead too. Tseng was a trusted associate of Sephiroth's. Too bad he's dead. "They're all dead. It almost seems like He destroyed all traces of His personal life. Maybe He regretted being with me, or Zack. Whoever it was."
"And it's really that important to you? I feel compelled to remind you that enlightenment can be the swiftest path to destruction. I'm sure Sephiroth could attest to that as well."
My anger deadens before it even manages to lodge itself in my mind. If I could will my body to move I know I would do something regrettable. As it was, the remark about my angel hurts enough as it is. But I can only lie flat with my arm covering my eyes. "I don't need to know for me. I would be perfectly content with these memories, even if they aren't my own. I need to know for Him. If it were I, as Cloud Strife, that killed Him, things wouldn't have been so bad for Him. I would have been His nemesis, the one who justly should have ended His life. But if it was I, as His lover, that killed Him, well then I should for all intents and purposes rot in hell."
I can see Vincent nodding at my statement in my minds eye. He understands. I could always count on Vincent to understand. The relaxation that occurs after a bout of continuous sobbing settles upon my worn body. I realize that skin on my arm is not wet with grievous tears. For the first time in a long time, I am not crying. I am nothing but exhausted. Sleep has been evasive now more than ever. I feared my dreams would be plagued with the dying visage of Sephiroth. But those fears are put to rest momentarily as my mind wills itself to rest. I need sleep. I need rest. I don't know if Vincent says anything more. I slip away before he has the chance.
A/N: I'm writing this because my other fic is at a standstill. If anyone would like me to continue then I will. If not then this little whimsy of mine shall be put to an early grave.
"Cloud!!! You can't stay in there forever!! You'll kill yourself if you do this!"
And only now do I realize that, yes, His heinous acts were for the best. This planet is filth. Plagued by fools and insignificant rats. What's worse is that they wont leave me alone. I suppose to them He was concealed in darkness. None of them could see past what He did and look at who He was. The blackness that my angel was clothed in bled into His surroundings so that they could not see anything at all. But in Him I saw the whisper of an angel, the breath of my nirvana. I wish my life were just a shadow; I wish I were a ghost. Or better yet, a puppet. It was easy doing what He told me. My mind was never plagued with meaningless decisions or petty worries. Let the Gods do as they please and follow their commands. I would drown the world in my blood now if He asked me to, if He was alive to ask me. The world would be so much simpler that way. And to think that the only miniscule peon to mourn Him will be me.
"Cloud this is suicide!"
Suicide? If I thought my life mattered that much I would have ended my unholy existence as soon as I came to my senses. The only thing that keeps me alive now is the knowledge that I will be alive to love Him. I might be the only one that does. And I know that I do love Him more than one human should be allowed to love anything. My only discrepancy is the idea that maybe I didn't always feel this way. No, I always loved Him. And I remember in some dark recesses of my mind that yes, He loved me as well. But was that really me? Was that my body that He would push into with such reverence? It was reverence, I know that. Almost as if He were afraid to touch me, if indeed that was me. But I was the only one He would touch that way. I was the only one He would touch at all, I think. No, there were others. They were born only to follow, they may as well have been deaf and blind. They adored Him to no end, and they would plead with Him. He would touch them, briefly and devoid of any passion or emotion. Is that the way He touched me? Did I beg him? Or was I begged? Fragments of memories dance in my mind like broken glass. Yes, like broken glass shards that impale my mentality and my soul and my body. I remember Him and the way I was amazed when He would kiss the back of my neck in public. He did love one of us; I just don't know which one.
In Nibelheim, at the inn. He stood with His face plastered to the window and watched outside. I followed His eyes and saw nothing there. Looking around quickly and noting that we were in solitude with only each other I embraced Him in the circle of my arms. He did not move. Not a twitch or a blink or a sigh. I was heedless of His fate; he must have already known. I looked up at the clouds that His eyes wouldn't focus on and saw that their bellies were swollen with rain. My reflection seemed so dim in the glass. I told Him I loved Him and let my lips wander over the flesh on His neck. Marble still and glacial cold was what I got in response. Had He been angry with me? Was I not wanted just then, was I not wanted at all? I told Him I needed Him. Nothing. His eyes reflected the glass and I saw the clouds and my own reflection in them. Had He even heard me? I called His name and shook Him gently. He blinked then, once, told me I should get some sleep because we'd be heading out early. No emotion in that tone to indicate that He felt anything for me. I asked Him to come to bed and He complied and I pulled Him into the room and His eyes were still fixed on the raven dark clouds. As soon as I turned Him away He held my face and looked into my eyes. It never ceases to amaze me how beautiful He was. There are no words to describe Him. I kissed Him, and I remember that He would barely allow it and would barely reciprocate. I memorized the way His eyes would flutter closed and how He would brush His gloved knuckles chastely against my forearm, and I remember the slight friction of kidskin and flesh. His lips would push gently against my own and I was always more urgent than I needed to be. I remember the heat of the moment as we joined together and I always wished that we could have the same blood. I wanted to know what it felt like to have His blood coursing through my veins. And everything was agonizingly slow; He took his time. No matter how many times we did this it always seemed as if He was considering His decision to be with me, yet He was always so possessive. His anger would seethe and fester inside Him if He knew I was with another. I told Him that He too had the right to be with other people. He was spiteful and He would lie with others. He did at Nibelheim. Was I that other person? The one who He shoved into the mattress and made the pleasure unbearable so that nothing would ever be the same? The one He would slide into to prove that He could; to prove he was capable of feeling? He was capable malice and jealousy. I think He wished that His lover would be jealous as well. But was I the object of that malice and used only as a tool to make someone bitter with envy? Or was I the one He loved and was afraid to tarnish with His own touch. I failed to discover His reasoning behind this, why He was so fearful of what He felt for me, or what He felt for Zack. The only thing I know was that it wasn't both of us, only one.
Either way these memories that might not be mine serve only to deepen my love for Him. I guess that my love is so intense that it serves to compensate for the hatred people feel for Him.
"Cloud?"
But I might not be the only one who sees daily the way He fell and I may not be the only one whose eyes will never be dry again. All I see are blurred colors before me that morph into the gentle sweeping curve of an arm, or the flowing dance of silver. That voice that beckons to me now, that voice that so seldom spoke yet had the most compelling quality to it. This voice has not tried to deter me from my apparent madness yet. Perhaps he regrets what happens. Similar in ways I cannot understand. They have the same hands, the same exotic slant to the eye. Both dark and brooding, secretive in a seductive way. They both loved once and will never make that mistake again; one by circumstance the other by choice.
The creaking of the door should have startled me but I'm so jaded that I won't even deign myself to focus my eyes on that blur of red and black. I try to concentrate on something, but my body is so numb that I feel no physical discomfort. There were no distractions save for the prison of my mind. I should have barricaded the door; ex-turks seem to be able to pick locks very well. I want to say something scathing. I want him to hurt as badly I do, but I cannot will my vocal cords to work. I am glad he does not speak. I see his surreal form turn and I hear the distinct click of a locking door. But why does he care if I want to stay in this room for an eternity. If anyone, he should know about the atonement of sins. He was the one who blames the wretched workings of the earth upon himself. He's the one who lives in celibacy because he does not deserve the pious love of another.
A memory that I know is mine clothes my brain like a shroud so that I cannot escape it. Yet another regret festers raw in my mind until I can't bear it anymore. But this time it wasn't as if my sword rained death upon a god, this time I just happened to see something that wasn't there. I couldn't keep my mouth shut. I had to tell him how alike they were. I should have stopped when the only response I got was blood red eyes burrowing into my own. The intensity of them made me look away, but I kept talking. I told him about how much I loved Sephiroth and how I was having a difficult time coping with the reality of it all. He looked angry then, in his own still and passive way. I only now realize why. A crusade to kill the only one you love; it truly is a ridiculous notion. Vincent, I know, was angry because he knew the endless anguish that accompanies the killing of a beloved. If only he had said something to me I might have stopped . . . no this is my fault, I can't blame him. If anything the seething anger like embers in his eyes should have stopped me. I saw it clearly and it didn't stop me from anything. It didn't stop me from killing Sephiroth. It didn't stop me from reaching out to touch Vincent's skin at that very moment. The anger in his eyes disappeared only because his eyelids shuddered closed at the touch of skin to skin. His cheek was smooth against my rough hands, and cool against my own fevered touch. His struggle was apparent, torn between reveling in the touch of another human or pulling away in disgust and fear. I pretended he was Sephiroth for only a brief moment and I stroked a high cheekbone with my calloused thumb and closed my eyes, imagining that my angel would touch me back and kiss me. I imagined I was in heaven, but my fantasies were quickly dissipated. Fine- boned fingers caught my wrist and squeezed the pressure points there until I withdrew my gesture. He turned and walked away quickly, not needing to offer any words of explanation or commiseration to someone as lowly and demeaning as I. I wish I hadn't touched him.
Strange how I have enough time to replay that entire scenario in my head and he hasn't moved or said a word. "What?" My voice finally works, though it is hoarse and I didn't realize I could sound so cruel.
Vincent's voice is muffled from behind his cape. "There are ways of overcoming this."
I grind my teeth simply because Vincent's voice was so much like His. Both very soft-spoken that was somehow accompanied by a strange idleness of the tongue that caused words to flow together as one rather than be harshly articulated. They were both well educated and made the fact known through speech. They emphasized words the same way and paused during sentences the same way. I hated the fact that Vincent just had to barge in here and start talking like Him. The full meaning of those words cannot reach my ears.
"Delusion can be a strong ally at times like these."
I thought he would have said something like 'it's in the past, move on' or 'it is of no use to wallow in your own remorse and self-pity'. But Vincent knew what was consuming my soul; he'd experienced it too. "If I pretend he's alive it will kill me in the long run."
Silence.
Pretending He's alive will surely destroy me for as soon as I'm pulled out of my own charade the idea that I am eternally alone will send my soul plummeting straight to the depths of purgatory. But just because I could not imagine Him at my side doesn't necessarily mean I couldn't remember. But I wanted to know which memories were mine and which were not. I need to know if He loved me. I need to know.
"If possible, I believe that your feelings for him are stronger than mine for Lucrecia."
His voice was so soft and gentle, just like His voice. My eyes were blurry to begin with so I didn't notice when I started crying. The stinging hot tears down my face betrayed me and I felt my walls crumbling. And I felt a hand unbidden on my cheek drying my tears. I open my eyes and see the gleaming metal of a claw resting gently on my leg. I can't feel it though; my body is so numb I can't feel anything.
"Tell me how I can help."
"Just leave me alone." My voice wavers and a sob chokes me before I bury my face in my hands and cry. As I do, my body regains a sense of substantiality. My muscles ache. How long have I been sitting like this? I am overcome with a grief-induced nausea. I want to die. If anything let the angel of death come and take me away. Take me to Him and never make me leave His side. Let Him bear me away on His seraphim wings. Just don't let me sit here any longer. Any place but here and anytime but now. Just take me away. "Take me away."
"Where shall I take you?"
"I don't care. Anywhere. I can't stand it here with everyone. They don't understand. They're all ignorant bastards. He was right. They are sinners, they don't deserve anything." I sob uncontrollably and between my rambling and crying, forget to breathe.
The hand resting on my cheek shifts slightly to lift my chin. Vincent wears gloves too, leather ones different from His yet exactly the same. I feel familiar texture of leather rubbing against my skin as I'm forced to gaze into those smoldering eyes.
"Then we'll leave."
I take a deep breath and feel ashamed at how good it feels to have fresh oxygen sucked into my starved lungs. I don't deserve to breathe. The air restores a sense of reason in my mind, though my sanity has long since been eaten away. Gathering my thoughts I dare myself to look back into those eyes were so much like His. "You'll come with me?"
A nod. Simple as always, yet holds so much meaning for me that if my arms worked I would have embraced him. "Thanks." I let my head fall back against the wall exhausted. There is a hollow sound but I don't feel the impact.
"If you're serious about it then we'll wait until tonight and then we can leave."
"Thank you again, and yes, I'm serious." Don't leave please don't leave. I can't be alone right now. Anything to distract me. Anything anything anything. Of course he got up to leave but this time it was me who seized his wrist. I was gentler than he had been with me though. I gripped him just hard enough to feel his pulse beneath his skin, mostly because I'm not strong enough to do anything more. "Please . . . stay. I-I need to talk about something. I keep thinking about Him and wondering about things. I can't do it anymore. Please stay."
"Very well. I'll stay."
I feel his hands move to my sides, one flesh, and the other metal, one cold the other warm. Strange how that was just like Vincent; half of him is a cold, heartless bastard, the other half warm and caring. The floor beneath me becomes less supportive as I am drawn away from it. My body rebels at having to change positions as Vincent hauls me to my feet. My muscles spasm and my legs buckle. It doesn't last long before I am transported to the bed nearby. My body devoid of will or strength sags into the lumpy mattress and I close my eyes simply because I do not have the energy to keep them open any longer. I hear the sound of something falling to the ground and can't bring myself to look what it was. I later realize it must have been my boots.
"What would you like to talk about then?" The mattress shifts a little as Vincent sits down beside me. I feel, for a moment, as if I'm falling and spinning out of orbit. I grip the sheets of the bed to steady myself.
"I don't care."
"I see. Tell me about your childhood, then; aside from the atrocities of ostracism that is. What did you do to pass the time?"
I felt like laughing but I realize that I have somehow forgotten how. Vincent has uttered perhaps two cryptic phrases to me during the entire time we have known one another. He never seemed to understand mindless conversation before. I suppose we both must be desperate. I find the whole situation to be very amusing in a most cruel way. "I used to catch frogs a lot . . ." I push my palms into my temples at the memory. There aren't frogs anywhere near Nibelheim. There is an abundance of them at Gongaga. When I was in the Mako tank at Nibelheim, Zack told me /everything/ about him, mostly to keep us sane. It didn't work though; everything that he told me manifested itself as a memory in my mind. Everything from catching frogs at Gongaga to making love to the man I loved even if I was not loved back. These things have engrained themselves into my mind so that I think that they are my own experiences. I cannot distinguish between reality and delusion even now. "No. I guess that was Zack that did that." My breath sounds ragged as I inhale sharply. "I don't know what I used to do. I can't remember anything clearly."
"Memory is overrated."
I open my eyes then to look up at him. "Not when that's all you have. Not when you have memories that aren't even yours. I still don't know who I am. It was He that delivered me from the terror of my delusion. But why would He do that? Is there something that I, as Cloud, need to know? I think he was trying to let me know which one."
No response. The silence is nearly tangible. I wait for some sort of acknowledgement of my presence. " . . .Which one?"
"Me or Zack."
" . . .What about you?"
I sigh and the exhalation of air makes my sides ache. "I don't know which one of us He loved."
"You don't?"
I shake my head and wince. Gods, everything hurts. Everything aches.
"I was under the impression that you two were lovers."
I fling my arm across my eyes. No pain there, I still can't feel my arms. "I remember Him as my lover. But I don't know if those are my memories or not. I need to know, Vincent. I'll die if I don't know."
"Surely some one remembers."
He was so secretive about His love life though. He was a veritable black widow of romance; just short of eating those who He slept with to destroy the evidence. He was close to so few people. I rack my mind and catalogue all the people that might have known about His personal affairs. Zack was dead. Perhaps he told Aeris of his possible relationship with the general. But Aeris was dead. Hojo would know. But he's dead. Rufus or Scarlet might have done some eavesdropping. But they're dead too. Tseng was a trusted associate of Sephiroth's. Too bad he's dead. "They're all dead. It almost seems like He destroyed all traces of His personal life. Maybe He regretted being with me, or Zack. Whoever it was."
"And it's really that important to you? I feel compelled to remind you that enlightenment can be the swiftest path to destruction. I'm sure Sephiroth could attest to that as well."
My anger deadens before it even manages to lodge itself in my mind. If I could will my body to move I know I would do something regrettable. As it was, the remark about my angel hurts enough as it is. But I can only lie flat with my arm covering my eyes. "I don't need to know for me. I would be perfectly content with these memories, even if they aren't my own. I need to know for Him. If it were I, as Cloud Strife, that killed Him, things wouldn't have been so bad for Him. I would have been His nemesis, the one who justly should have ended His life. But if it was I, as His lover, that killed Him, well then I should for all intents and purposes rot in hell."
I can see Vincent nodding at my statement in my minds eye. He understands. I could always count on Vincent to understand. The relaxation that occurs after a bout of continuous sobbing settles upon my worn body. I realize that skin on my arm is not wet with grievous tears. For the first time in a long time, I am not crying. I am nothing but exhausted. Sleep has been evasive now more than ever. I feared my dreams would be plagued with the dying visage of Sephiroth. But those fears are put to rest momentarily as my mind wills itself to rest. I need sleep. I need rest. I don't know if Vincent says anything more. I slip away before he has the chance.
A/N: I'm writing this because my other fic is at a standstill. If anyone would like me to continue then I will. If not then this little whimsy of mine shall be put to an early grave.