Chapter 1: 0. Lost and Found (and Changed)
Chapter Text
The gondola takes them up - far, far up into the night slowly falling over the ruined skyline of Corel and above the jagged mountains that surround it. Above them, stars shine in the sky - their sight unhindered by either mako glow or fumes, oh so different from the sight of Midgar's sky, of the steel plate, of even the reactor towns. They shine so, so, so bright it is almost unreal, and there is a tear slowly rolling down Aerith's cheek that no one comments on.
Soon, though, their glow is swallowed up by a brighter, stronger, closer light. The gondola takes them over one last cliff and... And there it is.
The Gold Saucer.
The place where “your dreams (and debts) always come true !”
The place where the black robes might have gone, according to the reluctant confessions of the Corel folks.
The place where the maybe-Sephiroth might have gone after the clone had killed old Shinra and the Jenova limb had fucked over their ocean travel rest.
The place where he... where Cloud had apparently wandered off to one day, according to that Dr, and where no one had bothered to chase after him, even though they all agreed the Desert surrounding Corel past the mountains had both been his only possible destination and an almost definite death sentence even for natives.
The place where the buddy he'd worked so hard to save from the Mansion - before he'd left him behind in the hope that had least one of them would make it out of the chase that had followed - had apparently gone to die, abandoned by those he’d entrusted with his care when he'd had no more choices.
And of course, without a sure way to see it for himself, Zack doesn’t want to believe that his buddy has died but…
But Cloud could barely walk back then. Could barely swallow. Couldn’t even speak.
And he’d left him here to die alone-
Idly, Zack rubs his cheekbone and the scar running up to it along his jaw, the one that is no longer just a cross but a star instead - the new line fresher than the rest - the first genuine wound he’d received since Nibelheim over five years ago.
He’d have rather been stabbed by that Jenova piece masquerading as Sephiroth a hundred times over, rather than the one slice when he’d been crowded against the ship’s wall and whispered to.
He’d have rather died at the end of that blade, even back then in the reactor, if it only meant that Cloud-
How could he have been so stupid ?!
It has been months by now, approaching a full year, since he stumbled his way back down into the Slums of Midgar. Dressed up in khaki fatigues, a tanktop and a leather jacket instead of the First Uniform he'd traveled with - because that Doctor had been right, and maybe he would "always be a SOLDIER" but taking the damn clothes off had done wonders for his stealth, along with some contacts - his hair tied back into a fun spiky ponytail, he'd made his way down into Sector 5.
To the Church.
To Aerith.
(He'd deserved that punch to the nose - and the staff hit in the stomach.)
(He hadn't deserved the hug or the kiss that had followed, or even the light healing spell that hadn't even left bruises behind - but he wouldn't give them back ever.)
After that - and after taking a good few hits from Elmyra's broom and a few of her attempts at braining him with a frying pan, while Aerith laughed way too loudly and prettily at his misery - Zack had... had tried to do what he'd promised Cloud and he would do once in Midgar, before he'd had to leave his buddy behind and entertain their pursuers by himself well enough that they could forget him.
(He’d dug a fake grave for him, to ensure they wouldn’t even think of looking for him any more than they already had.)
(It had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do, covering the ashes of some random monsters with dirt and setting up a meager headstone before the next round of grunts could catch up to him, and it had only been a fake one.)
Setting himself up as a merc, through a borrowed name of “Stryfe Zane” on Aerith’s rather hypocritical prompting - considering she'd never changed hers, though he knew just as well as she did that it wouldn't have changed anything, for as long as Shinra existed to chase after her and hers - he'd slowly grown his reputation. In Sector 5, then 6. Then Wall Market within 6 - scaring Don Corneo into something a little more palatable thanks to Madam M, Chocobo Sam, and a strangely non-forthcoming and almost cold Andrea Rhodea's help. Then Sector 7, who wasn't quite as friendly as Sector 5, nor quite as guarded as 6.
And in Sector 7, he'd discovered Seventh Heaven. Seventh Heaven and its owner - 22 year-old Tifa Lockheart. Who'd broken his cheekbone when he'd told her Cloud had been there that day, that he had survived the fire and the reactor and Sephiroth, and... and that Zack had left him behind.
(And it had been for the best, he knew, because they’d both have been long dead otherwise no matter how good he was - but he couldn’t deny how right her anger felt, how logical her worry was, how deserved her disgust felt.)
(He was still just as furious, and concerned, and sick with himself, after all.)
They’d planned, that day, to slip away to Corel the next week, and get their mutual lost friend back.
And Zack had thought, perhaps naively, that things were really looking up, even after he’d lost both Angeal and Genesis and Sephiroth, even after he’d been a lab rat for four entire years, even after he’d had to run for his buddy’s and his own life for months…
He’d thought things were getting better.
But this was Midgar.
This was Shinra’s world.
And hope was for suckers.
The day after they’d planned out a trip to Corel, everything began to tumble out of place and into a chaotic mess. Zack’s mercenary days were suddenly hijacked by a bodyguard job turned ecoterrorist attack for a group both way too cheery, efficient and bull-headed to be ignored by Shinra for long.
The first reactor the group was targeting exploded much more violently than Jessie had predicted.
Zack had almost gotten arrested, his face caught on camera.
And everything had gone downhill.
Avalanche, the next reactor, the weird ghosts, the other reactor, the ambush, falling down into the Church again, his survival being made official to the Turks, running with Aerith, kidnappings, falling plates, dead friends, rescue missions, laboratory flashbacks, dead presidents, Sephiroth...
The Whispers. The Heralds. Fate itself.
Leaving Midgar.
And then they’d reach the outside world, and anyone who’d thought for even a second that they would get even a second of peace after the whole ordeal was deadly wrong.
There was no time to even mourn what they’d lost.
(Why would there be, really ?)
(This world was Shinra’s - and Shinra had long ago killed anything even remotely close to kindness, wherever it could reach.)
Because, of course, even more bullshit had happened from that point on. Shinra, the Turks, Hojo were after them - of course they were. Their group had both Aerith, Avalanche 2.0, and Zack - they were some of the most high-profile figures out there in the world, short of maybe the main Avalanche branch’s head, the lost Turk Cisnnei, and Sephiroth himself.
There wouldn’t be any peace for them, not before anything short of Shinra falling in its entirety, of Hojo dying and hopefully extremely gruesome death, and of Rufus calling back his spy squad if he ever got bored of chasing after them.
So they’d run.
They’d run, from field to forest to shore.
They’d run, and had dragged the Wutai Princess with them.
From Kalm to Junon to Costa del Sol.
To Corel.
Coming back to Corel, of course, had been something Zack had been aiming for from the moment he'd left the derelict town in the first place, well over a year ago. And despite how fucked up everything had turned out to be back in Midgar, Tifa’s and his plan to come here to find their lost stormcloud was coming to fruition, he’d thought. Something would finally go right !
Ah.
As if.
Moron.
It turned out that Cloud was nowhere to be found - because he'd wandered away and no one had found him. Because he could only have gone in the desert, and wouldn't have survived more than a few hours, let alone month, with how “fucked in the head” he'd been. And because they'd stopped looking after those same few hours, because he was, according to those Corel assholes, a "freak lost cause better off dead".
(Tifa may have broken more noses than Zack had in that brawl - but it had been a close thing, and he couldn't lie and say he wouldn't be happy to settle that score should the occasion present itself again.)
(Bunch of arseholes. Losing so much to Shinra, only to turn around and let other people’s friends die because they’d been fucked up by Shinra too ? Bunch of fucking bastards.)
What happened after that was a little hazy, up to the present in the Gondola, but the gist of it was this.
They’d left the group of fuckheads behind, blood on their knuckles, and marched on towards the mountain proper. And from there, they left the dead Corel. Traversed the wastelands. And everything led them here. Towards the Golden Saucer and the maybe-Sephiroth, with a dead friend’s shadow weighing down on his shoulders, when he'd been so sure he at least had left his buddy in good hands, when he'd promised Tifa and Aerith and himself and Cloud-
(Tifa had broken Zack's jaw right after they’d left the doc’s office for that loss.)
(It was fair. He'd left his buddy, thinking he would be safe, and yet those guys had left him to wander and suffer and die.)
(He was surprised she hadn’t used the brawl as an opening for another good kick, honestly.)
Zack sighs, hands wrapped tight around the handle of the Buster Sword he's set down against his thigh,the other pressed against Aerith while she fixes his ponytail absentmindedly, her fingers trembling just the slightest bit.
He leans closer to her, matching her breath, as they watch the sky outside.
He's not... unhappy they have one more goal to reach, of course. They are following the robbed men, and Sephiroth, and Shinra's influence - and he doesn't like being aimless anyways, so the continued clues and leads and hints are a blessing no matter how awful the entire thing really is - but reaching Corel…
He hadn't even brought their little clique of misfits to go after a hypothetical Sephiroth in the first place.
He'd thought he would find something else entirely here.
He'd thought he would find Cloud here.
Find him recovered. Find him smiling. Find him himself again.
And instead he'd only seen the shadow of a friend gone missing once more.
Body, mind and soul this time.
Because Zack had left him there - with people neither of them knew except for one, only one hand-off comment about Nibelheim survivors - and hadn't even tried to come back for him after losing the troopers. Zack had dragged him across a continent - only to leave him to die among uncaring strangers.
And there wasn't even a real grave to mourn his dear buddy at, now.
Only that fake one that had Tifa choking back an anguished wail.
And god, it had somehow hurt more than if it had been real.
The gondola stops at the very top of the strange tree-like structure of the Gold Saucer, and Zack slaps his cheeks, shaking himself out of his funk. He can't afford to be all maudlin right now - he's made mistakes and he has things to atone for and he can do that later once Sephiroth is no longer trying to destroy humanity. Priorities.
Aerith slips her hand in his when they step out of the gondola, and he knows the smile he gives her is tremulous, but it will do. They are in this together - and he will not fail them like he's failed before.
They step forward, walking around for a few minutes before the show is set to begin - the entrance show, where the Saucer's director Dio is set to show.
And show he does.
A small cat-shaped robot sends everyone into a frenzy, music and dance and Yuffie randomly popping into an idol dance against - is that Rhodea ? - all of that before the music swells and before…
Before Dio shows up.
Before Dio shows up - and asks for a challenger.
Before Dio shows up, asks for a challenger - and a lithe, pale blond young man not quite in his twenties, appears from the sky above like a diving prey bird.
A lithe pale blond young man, skin dotted with scars and freckles alike, dressed in night sky blue and gold, Chocobo feathers at his temple and two swords crossed at the small of his back.
A lithe pale blond young man who stares back at the crowd with sharp piercing glowing blue and teal eyes.
A lithe pale blond - familiar - young man.
And when the mask he has doned falls at the end of their fight...
Both Zack and Tifa clutch for each other in shock.
Because, it's...
Cloud.
Chapter 2: 1. Predators and Disasters
Summary:
When the mask falls - as it always does, no matter how their fight goes, even if it means the Phoenix himself is the one to rip it away - the crowd always falls silent as though the very air had been stolen away from their lungs by the sight that offers itself to them.
And it is a breathtaking sight, at the very least according to the entirety of their staff, and all of the guests who've ever seen this performance before.
Cait Sith, personally, never tires of it.
Notes:
Note :
This is definitely messy !This is a POV chapter. Note that people's perceptions of other people may not be accurate to that character's actual personality or behaviours.
Characters are also OOC, especially those affected by the canon divergence.
Finally, this fic is me trying to loosen up on word counts, forcing myself to edit out my thoughts even though im a train-of-thought writer, and my old FF7 au scenario draft that I wrote when Remake came out. The writing itself may seem disjointed, looser or more nonsensical than usual. It will probably remain like this until I really get back into it after a long trek through the writing desert. As for any inconsistencies with Rebirth, I apologize !
With this out of the way, enjoy !
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The sun set less than an hour ago over the Corel Mountains. And the Gold Saucer rises from its relative slumber, the day performances coming to a close, the night staff gathering at the entrance. They wait with baited breath, while the last round of gondolas land and the visitors gather up in the square, waiting.
The show must go on.
As the music swells on either side of the entrance arch of the Saucer, Cait Sith checks on the last of his joint revisions, taps at the fang he’d broken the previous week thoughtfully, and checks on the knot holding his red cap in place, while Moogle finishes booting up. The matching bandana around his mount’s neck is carefully secured in place, he taps his boots together one last time, he peeks from the side to check that everything is going according to plan and choreography…
Then, as the rhythm speeds up and the crowd begins to cheer, Cait Sith gets into both character and position for his own grand entrance, gets the OK from the staff surrounding the show in the shadows, and gets ready to pounce out in the open with his megaphone in hand.
All the while, he knows that far above them on one of the spires circling the entrance square, his friend is watching, waiting for his own turn.
(And he knows that, when he grins and gathers up air in his artificial lungs to cry out with the others already on the ground, that same friend likely also had the smallest of crooked smiles on his face too.)
(It is so rare to see his friend smile, even on his few-and-far-between better days. Cait Sith cherishes every single one of those small smirks, as much as his artificial heart and hard drive possibly can. And he always smiles back, as much and as often and as big as he can.)
The opening shows that go on at the Gold Saucer entrance five times a week have honestly become one of Cait Sith's favourite part of his job as a mascot-technician-medium over the last year - and he hasn't yet grown tired of them, even after they'd crossed over the 100th, 200th and even 300th show he'd personally participated in, let alone some 250 plus more he'd been a happy spectator to.
And as he gears up for yet one more, the third of the week, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
What follows is, as always, an explosion of noise and glitter and light, up until the holographic stars are all but imprinted in the retina of the visitors and soon to be guests of the resort. And the show isn’t even done by that point, either, as he circles around the crowded plaza and the audience gathered there, all to come back to the center of the square turned stage, to announce the closing act.
And Cait smiles and cheers and bellows.
And he thinks that he’s lucky he gets to be here.
And he thinks, selfishly, that he doesn’t ever want it to end.
(Even if he knows it’s only a cover, really, for the darker mission he’s been assigned as a mole planted deep into the heart of Nowhere, Luxury Resort, Western Continent, where all of the non-Shinra players hang out.)
(Even if he knows he’s really just the tool of a man who cannot choose between his values, his position, and his loyalties - and that this little life Cait has managed to build for himself here will crumble before he can blink one day, all on the whim of another.)
After the respective teams - be they part of the rotating and permanent staff of each of the Saucer’s Squares, or the cohorts of visiting Rhodea and Madame M, both of them old friends of the Saucer’s boss - the latter’s moment comes, and everyone holds their breath as the music swells to a crescendo.
Dio, as flamboyant and imposing and loud as ever, steps into the fray when Cait Sith calls out his name over the sound of the victorious trumpets, his bodybuilder silhouette highlighted by the golden spray, under the vivid red of both his minimal clothing and his cape, the biggest smile on his face while he brushes his imposing moustache and gets into position on the center platform.
If this had been their usual show of six months ago, Dio would have then looked into the crowd for either one of their performers from the Battle Square hidden amongst the visitors, or a visitor he deemed could stand up to him - often the roughened, ragged and rugged travelers who really only needed to go through the Saucer to cross Corel - or, at worst, whichever Turk was hiding in the shadows in civilian wear, for the staff of the Gold Saucer had long learned how to spot and point them out with ‘irritating’ and constant efficiency.
(Dio would never have gotten this far, had he not learned how to firmly (affirm) his control over the Gold Saucer and anything and anyone that ever crossed its doors from the start. Shinra and its lackeys included.)
(For the last four years now, those subtle and less subtle tactics, as well as a healthy amount of calculated deference to the overlords of their current world, have all kept the Saucer safe, rich and neutral in the affairs of this rotting world.)
(Cait Sith - and Reeve - have always admired everything that Dio has done for his own little world there in the deadly desert. And they’ve always envied him the strength, the presence, the will he had to preserve all those he considered his responsibility, while they failed to even salvage the crumbling ruins of their own ‘grand’ city.)
But the show has changed, over the last six months, and the new choreography is much less grounded than it had once been.
And so the performers guide their guests’ eyes up and up and up, then, when Dio bellows his challenge at the dark night sky above them.
And so everyone gasps, when the sky answers.
In a flurry of dark clothing, golden feathers, and gold-speckled pale skin, the other main character of this choreographed brawl drops from unseen heights down directly onto the open palms of Moogle, light as the fabric of his costume’s half skirt as it fans out around him into something akin to the tail of a great bird.
Barely a fraction of a second after he’s landed in view of the crowd, the performer is nearly immediately airborne again with Moogle’s help, his lithe and bendy body springing into the empty space that separates him from the slowly raising stage where Dio awaits.
He lands with barely a sound, even in the complete silence that the steadily swelling music had suddenly left behind, the flutter of his half-skirt-like tail coat audible to nearly all of the gathered crowd who all seem to be holding their breath still as it settles behind him in a strange sort of grounded halo.
When he rises from his practiced crouch, his diminutive height compared to the mountain that is Dio is barely noticed in favour of the sheer presence every inch of the new mysterious challenger exudes.
There stands a man, dressed in blacks and the darkest of blues, all the while the gold and teal feather mask that hides most of his face away seems to melt away into the just-as-golden hair that spikes into the softest-looking peaks, and while the same feathers seem to run from the small of his back into that marvelous tail coat that trails behind him as he takes one step forward towards the bodybuilder, his fully gloves hands reaching towards the small of his back for the two short swords very few usually notice before they’re pointed out.
The blades slide out of their sheats, and as he holds onto them loosely by his side, the mysterious challenger bows.
And Dio, ever the showman, crows a laugh about the Phoenix themselves answering his humble challenge, before he bows back just as low.
The breath that everyone had been holding, from the musicians to the staff to the audience, could almost feel like it contained the entire planet’s worth of air in that single moment.
And the exhale that follows, when the drummers strike down on their instruments all at once in a sharp cacophony, seems like a violent wind that rushes around both Dio and the Phoenix right as they strike.
(Once upon a time, the challenge had been changed to a cute simulation Cait Sith himself had been the one to bring up during a meeting, as a good alternative to the potentially harmful effect of actual fighting with uninformed and untrained performers, no matter how much the outside may have thrown at them, all the while having the advantage of showing off the Saucer’s entertaining technology.)
(Nowadays, on the days where the Phoenix descends from the sky to answer Dio’s challenge, the simulator is shut off and almost forgotten to the wayside while they clash for all to see.)
The choreographed fight that follows is never quite the same. No matter what had been prepared and rehearsed beforehand, both Dio and the Phoenix knew that a plan did not ever survive contact with the enemy - that it was true whether on a real battlefield or this makeshift scene of one. And both of their main grand performers were much too unpredictable to ever really follow any kind of plan whatsoever, when it was the rhythm of their blood, the flashes of light, the thunder of adrenaline that led their dance instead.
They could never be reigned in, once the fight had started, short of a disaster Dio would need to attend to, or if one of the Phoenix’s few friends and acquaintances was the one to call out for him.
Short of that…
Despite their… enthusiastic exchanges whenever they were scheduled on the same day - something which did not happen more than once each week, as per staff recommendation for the safety and lifespan of their infrastructures - both of their stars were well aware of the tight timing of the opening show, of course.
The steady beat of the remaining seconds were transmitted through one piece of their costumes each so that they would precisely know how many of their allotted 5 minutes of “all-out-brawl” time they still had, the countdown beginning from the moment that Dio would bow back and press the small button on the cord of his cape before he threw the luxurious fabric away.
And as the counter reached the last ten seconds, both of them knew what the show expected of them.
The crowd, as it always does, oohs and aahs and cheers as the imposing form of Dio seems to tower above the smaller Phoenix for the last lunge - and they gasp when the lithe and quick fighter escapes the massive man’s grasp with what appears to be effortless ease, before the masked challenger all but scales the back of his opponent and settles upright on one shoulder in perfect equilibrium - and they nearly riot when the Phoenix uses the Great Dio as a springboard, and twists in the air away from the makeshift arena in a inhumanly graceful arc, one sword sheathed again as his now freed hand reaches for a nearly translucent cable, back up in the air.
And while the Phoenix rises in the air, the cable pulling him into a fluid circle above the arena he’s just left, Dio rises back from his own crouch with a handful of golden feathers clutched in his fists, before he deeps into a profound bow with the object thrust in front of him for all to see on his open palm.
There’s the climax of their night show, whenever the combat performance involves the Phoenix.
There’s what everyone who’s ever seen that duo before is always waiting for.
It is not the first challenge and the brilliant shadow falling from above.
It is not the dance-like fight between an immovable object and an unstoppable force that follows.
It is, instead, the standstill that follows the last strike, and the revelation of their ethereal Phoenix’s unmasked face.
When the mask falls - as it always does, no matter how their fight goes, even if it means the Phoenix himself is the one to rip it away - the crowd always falls silent as though the very air had been stolen away from their lungs by the sight that offers itself to them.
And it is a breathtaking sight, at the very least according to the entirety of their staff, and all of the guests who've ever seen this performance before.
Cait Sith, personally, never tires of it.
There is a practiced smile on Cloud Strife’s now bare face as he shifts, hanging at a 45 degrees angle with only one hand and two legs holding onto the rope that carried him through the jair, and stares down with bright glowing eyes down at the arena below. His hair flutters, free from the way the mask usually pushes it back, and his bangs fall back over part of his brow - all the while the freckles on his cheeks seem to sparkle with embers, all thanks to the impressive cosmetic spin Esther, Andrea and Cloud have managed to work out of a Fire materia after the latter’s talent with anything mako - and as his pale skin appears to shine under the spotlight that trails behind his ascent, the light bouncing off of the feathers still poking here and there in his hair, along his spine and down into a fiery trail.
Cait Sith hasn’t tired of it for months now.
The Phoenix - unmasked for all to see as a perfect balance between human, spirit, and god - stares down at them all for a handful of seconds as the music dies down.
And then, graceful as the God he represents, he bows back.
And the show ends with an explosion, full of music and light and cheers, as the Phoenix vanishes back into the night sky, leaving only golden feathers to fall around the crowd behind.
Cait Sith doesn't think he'll ever tire of this.
Even after he’s seen it well over fifty times by now.
Even when the time comes for him to disappear on the bidding of another.
Even if that time seems to have creeped up on him like a forgotten predator, and is now sinking its claws in.
Because, when he naturally turns around to gather around the audience towards the entrance of the Golden Saucer, his eyes catch onto a group of Turks trailing a few Shinra executives… and the blood turning sight of a group he'd thought he'd have at least a few weeks still to prepare for.
His megaphone still up to his lips, he is glad for the pre-recorded messages he’s long recorded with it, as the sound and Moogle’s movements suffice in ushering the guests over, leaving his sudden freezing as even little more than an inconvenience instead of a professional disturbance. His eyes, which usually remain nearly imperceptible open thanks to the high tech sliver-think cameras he’s been outfitted with for a little over a year now, open a little wider than anyone would find comfortable even as his toothy smile remains the same, and he stares ahead, unmoving on his mechanical mount.
The Shinra higher-ups have entered the resort by now - the Turks have followed a few steps and guests behind, knowing not to try and cheat the entrance fee - and only the group remains in the quickly emptying square, a little ways from the arena returned to ground level, and Dio signing autographs while he supervises everything from a distance with his eagle eyes, from the gondolas to the helipads to the Moogle doors.
Cait Sith doesn’t move from his spot, on the other side of the centre ring of the square.
He knows that Cloud is probably back in the jockey lounge by now.
So, for the next handful of seconds, he just… watches.
And he does not like what he sees.
Nor what his other senses, present and in recording, tell him.
In his ears, he finds himself rewinding back to the moment the mask had fallen. To the handful of seconds of utter silence that always precede the usual gasps and whistles and cheers of wonder that follow soon afterwards, once the audience actually takes it all in. To the familiar noises his very sensitive auditory component always record and classify between “poor”, “adequate”, “good”, “outstanding” or “perfect” performances for the next review with their planning team and choreographers and performers.
And there, he finds the anomaly.
At the back of the crowd, from the same direction in which the problem group is still now partly standing huddled up bar two awkward silhouettes standing a little ways to the side, he hears the sharp painful inhale that precedes a truly heartbreaking muffled cry, the sound of it drowned out right as the rest of their audience had exploded into noises of wonder instead. Whoever made the noise, he cannot distinguish - he hadn’t been looking in that vicinity, and his cameras only cover about 240° instead of the impossible 360° considering his overall shape - but he knows it came from them.
And he knows they bring nothing but trouble with them - no matter who the targets, victims, and unintended collateral damage of that trouble might end up being - and that at the end of whatever goal brought them here in the first place, they will end up dragging him in toe and away from the one place he’d learned to love and call home - and away from the dear friend he had never quite intended to make, but had come to cherish nonetheless.
There they are, the heart of his new, and likely last mission.
There they are, the ones Reeve has classified as either one more plague or their unlikely saviours.
There they are - the Last Ancient, the Lost Deserter, the rogue Avalanche - Shinra’s current Most Wanted.
(Wanted, of course, for some of the gravest crimes ever committed since the Wutai War had ended - amongst them the murder of Rupert Shinra himself, the attempted murder of the new President Rufus Shinra, and the repeated attacks on Midgar’s reactors and other company facilities.
(As well as the destruction of the whole of Sector 7. But he supposes he knows better than most, ‘thanks’ to Reeve’s rather violent panic attack on that day, that it wasn’t really their fault at all.)
Cait Sith had long had younger pictures of the Ancient and the Deserter in his database, of course - though he can only assume they are about five to seven years out of date by now, especially considering the latter had still been considered KIA when the robot had first been booted up.
Aerith Gainsborough, née Aerith Faremis, ‘stolen away’ from Midgar.
Zackary Fair, with the alias Stryfe Zane he'd taken after his miraculous and bothersome return.
In the same timeframe, he’d found a picture of the strange canine being in some of the files he’d managed to swipe from Hojo before Reeve had warned him away, and there was no way he would have missed recognizing the wayward Princess of Wutai even a few years older.
Codename Red XIII, captured near Cosmo Canyon.
Yuffie Kisaragi, daughter of Godo Kisaragi, last seen fleeing Midgar.
As for the surviving Rogue Avalanche members, he knew their faces by heart and processor, of course - he'd downloaded them when Reeve had been messing with their wanted posters, in a last ditch effort to secure perhaps a few minutes of negotiations. if this eclectic and violent set ever decided to turn to a complete salted earth policy towards all of Shinra in the future - and their names flashed through his thought process in a fraction of a millisecond.
Barret Wallace, unexpected indirect survivor of the North Corel fire - and direct survivor of Scarlet’s attempt on his life - current leader of this rogue faction.
And Tifa Lockheart, owner of the destroyed Seventh Heaven, second in command to Wallace, and… sole known survivor of the covered-up Nibelheim massacre and fire.
There they all were.
And there they now went, their previous huddle apparently over with, as the young Ancient rises from where she’d been hugging Lockheart against her shoulder, and tugs both the woman and Fair up with one hand in each of theirs towards the entrance, all with a soft smile and a whisper Cait Sith likely only picks up thanks to his integrated ability to lip read.
“Cloud’s here, right ? Then let’s go find him !”
And there goes whatever peace Cait Sith might have been slowly coming to terms with even as he watched his current present begin to fall away. His eyes are now wide open as he stares at the slowly advancing group, all the while both Fair and Lockheart’s eyes are darting around frantically, Gainsborough is leading with a firm step, and the rest follow amidst clear confusion yet automatic support of the trio’s decision.
He stares, even as they walk past him, and only the Princess and the escaped Red XIII even throw a glance towards him before they are all on their way and disappear into the resort proper.
Looking for something he doesn’t know about, surely, even if only for passage through the mountains, for some Shinra executives, even for some of Dio’s treasures.
But most of all, now, looking for Cloud .
Looking for Cloud, whom they’ve recognized.
Whom they maybe know ?
Cait Sith’s fangs are sharp enough to pierce through his own metallic chassis, he knows - Reeve designed him this way, for fear that to give him any less would potentially render him defenseless against robots, armour or some types of weaponry - and it’s only the warning system that goes off in front of his ocular receptors that stop him from wrecking the hinge of his jaw completely.
Not only did the group’s presence here meant that Cait’s life was ending - the life he’d built against all odds, as not only a mole, as a liar, but also a robot who’s AI was never supposed to get this far - but the trouble they were bringing with them, they also meant to bring after Cloud ?
Cloud, who barely had a year to his name ?
Cloud, who did not deserve anything even close to the chaos these people were bringing ?
Cloud, who had refused Cait Sith’s help in trying to find anything about him after the last of his bleeds had put him in the clinic for a full week ?
Cloud, who was finally settling in his own skin after months of struggles ?
This was…
Unacceptable.
Cloud was, is, the one thing both Cait Sith and Reeve - and Andrea, and Esther, and Gus, and Joe, and Dio - have most and all wanted to keep hidden away from Shinra’s greedy eyes and sharpened claws, from the moment they'd each met the young man and seen his eyes glow with too much mako.
Even if none of them could really name why they’d all become protective of the young man so fast at first sight, they all had grown to know him - the little of him he’d managed to build for himself, especially once they’d realized how horribly easily they could influence him through his worst days or his amnesia-induced migraines - and to cherish him.
And if Reeve didn’t quite care for Cloud the way the others did…
And if Moogle didn’t have his capacity for attachment…
Cait Sith himself most definitely did.
Still, both the robot and his inventor had worked hard to keep the rider out of records without interfering with his life. His being employed by and living in the Saucer, all the while having no contacts with the outside world, had made this easier than one would have expected, though their Shinra visitors often brought a rather high risk no matter how skilled Cait could be.
And they hadn’t been the only ones putting effort on this front either.
Even while his skill had revealed itself multiple when - on one rare occasion when he’d been venturing away from only the Races - an intruder had seen him still a dulled blade from the costume rooms of the theater and take down both the smuggled Behemoth and the strange cloaked man that had brought the creature along with more force, agility and skill that they’d have expected from most mercenaries, let alone their resident amnesiac quiet jockey ; even then, it had been a long and arduous conversation when Dio had wanted to include the young man in the Battle Square the very next day, and in all the coming performances as one of their main stars.
A conversation which had included half a dozen people in total, and lasted over two full weeks in between other meetings, shows and breaks.
Not only because Cloud loved Fenrir too much not to Race with her every day, which would already imply a ‘split custody’ between Battle and Chocobo. Not only because he still shied away from the spotlight if it remained on him for anything longer than the time it took to wave and grab the trophy. But also because, amidst the entirety of the Gold Saucer, the Battle Square had always been the one place that attracted the most of Shinra’s attention.
For possible new hires.
For potential new allies.
For powerful future threats.
And Cloud, even without memories, even with little self-drive, even lacking will on a good day, would never be either of the two former for that company - which, in their eyes, could only leave the latter as a pregnant possibility.
(After all, they didn't believe in neutrality, or letting bygones be bygones, or letting others be.)
(With the blood of Mideel, of Wutai, of Kalm on their hands, Shinra had long ago buried any thoughts of neutrality, in regards to anything that would not bow down enthusiastically under its heel at a glance.)
Dio, who was not a stupid man by any means, nor was he a fool or so overconfident he would stake his life on it, had nodded, and the conversation had carried along, to something of a… middle ground.
(Because, as reasonable as he was, he was still both show and businessman, and Cloud had not raised any protests at the idea of show fights, even showing a smidgen of enthusiasm when custom blades had been mentioned.)
(Just like he hadn't disagreed when Rhodea had offered him “the first dance” every time his Honey Bees and he came around to perform and cheer on their single sponsored jockey, even if he did it under the guise of the gorgeous .)
The negotiations following that - carried by Andrea, Esther and Cait most of all, while Cloud had either sat in his chair giving a few hums or frowns, or slipped away completely unseen only to be found hiding away with Fenrir either in her or down in Gus’ domain - had been difficult. Between business, safety, opportunities… Between the Saucer, Shinra, and the factions in between… And despite, perhaps, their most paranoid expectations, they’d all, Cloud included, settled on the persona that would become the Phoenix, and his presence in only two places : One of their plays, and the entrance show.
The smartest thing, likely, would have been to drop it - but even if Cloud had only twitched and frowned at first when Joe and Gus had brought it up, the repeated idea of keeping the young man secluded for his safety had quickly been brushed aside under the very express mention of ‘do not ever mention again’ in their collective minds, when the usually quiet jockey had actually spoken up rather vehemently.
No matter how docile, soft, and deferent he may be on his worst days, nor how laidback he could be on the good ones, there was simply no way the newly dubbed Phoenix would appreciate a cage of any kind, for any amount of time or for any reason whatsoever.
(“If you lock me up, I’m gone.”, was the only thing he’d actually spoken aloud during that meeting.)
(Then he’d disappeared, and had not been found for a full three days, only reappearing over the horizon of the Western desert with Fenrir as the dawn rose on the morning of the fourth day.)
In the end, they'd all had the same main goal even if their secondary wants differed and even if Dio held more weight than most of them apart from the topic of the conversation himself - especially once the Midgar-Slums-born Andrea had put forward what Cait Sith could not speak aloud even if he dearly wanted to.
Cloud’s eyes shone with Mako.
Cloud’s body was littered in heavy scars.
Cloud’s mind had been shattered without care.
Shinra and by extension, anything even remotely close to an enemy of the company - because who else could be guilty of such atrocities on this planet, especially when it came to anything Mako, without being at least partially associated with either that company or some of their most sordid opponents ? - could not be allowed under any circumstances short of complete invasion, to find out about their friend-protégé-employee in any way.
They’d all been so careful - even Cloud who barely remembered his own name on the worst days, when he seemed to flinch at every shadow and to mutter to an unseen ghost haunting his every moment, waking or not - protecting one another after he’d brought them together and him.
And yet… It now seems their collective efforts will soon crumble away.
All because of the potential saviours Reeve has begun to stake all of his cards on.
Those very same saviours Cait Sith is now meant to follow to the end of their journey, as either friend or traitor.
But Reeve hasn’t accounted for any kind of interest directed towards Cloud, in that plan, even after a year getting to know of his growing importance in the resort and in his AI’s daily life. And he most likely hasn’t counted on what Cait would become thanks to him. And he certainly hasn’t counted on Cait actually acting on the things he’d begun to want for himself. Now, if it had just been leaving the Saucer, his job, and Cloud behind safe and sound, Cait Sith could have lived with that - all for the greater good of the people, or at least all those Reeve was trying to save a continent away.
And Cait Sith, for all that he’d made friends and a name for himself and his own little place in a world, was still Reeve’s creation at the end of the day, wasn’t he ?
He’d never thought he would even consider disobeying his directives before.
But now that Cloud might potentially be pulled into this mess ?
Now, doubt is blossoming in his processor even while he checks Cloud is indeed safe in the lounge on his cameras for now. Now, he wondered what he would do about the group that had entered without problem, the wanted posters updated.
Now, he can't help but feel this has become personal - and that he needs to do something about it - and that he maybe should take a page out of Cloud’s fencing book on that front.
Cats are natural predators, after all.
And Cait Sith may not have been designed with the deadliest felines in mind…
But he can learn, faster than anyone else may think possible, if someone forces his hand.
Because, Cloud…
Cloud, who has never cared that Cait wasn’t human, who has never cared that Cait wasn’t even alive, who has never cared if someone didn’t fit in…
Cloud, who has become Cait’s best friend and family-
Cloud has and would fight for him, too, if he was in his spot.
And that is what really matters, isn’t it ?
Notes:
Hope you've enjoyed !
Comments are always neat if youve got the time !No idea when the next chapter will be out, I just had a lot of off-time this week, sorry
Chapter 3: 2. No Rest for the Wanted
Summary:
Barret… knows a lot more about that Cloud boy their wonder-and-blunder trio are currently hunting down than he thought he ever would [...] considering how closed off the former had been on the subject at first, and the little context the two of them had given even when they’d come to blows on the subject a few times.
Chapter Text
Barret… knows a lot more about that Cloud boy their wonder-and-blunder trio are currently hunting down than he thought he ever would - at the very least, he knows quite a little bit more than the rest of their companions of misfortune, if only just because he’s known both Tifa and Zack longer - considering how closed off the former had been on the subject at first, and the little context the two of them had given even when they’d come to blows on the subject a few times.
Before this whole Jenova-Shinra-Ancient mess had started - and had laid way too many secrets out in plain sight like deep infected wounds slashed wide open again, very much including his own - he’d only heard the name once from Tifa, back when she’d first started babysitting Marlene for him, in her early days as a Slums inhabitant, on Merle’s recommendation.
It had been perhaps a little later at night, after a long day spent hunting around for new headquarters for his newly split up little chapter of Avalanche, and a longer evening still planning out their next raid on some Shinra warehouse for supplies. He’d been back by her newly opened bar, then, nursing a cup of coffee while Marlene had been silently babbling at the little Carbuncle plushie Wedge had gotten for her, and Tifa had had her back turned to them while she messed with the materia-shard powered stove - something she’d apparently made herself.
Idly, even as she'd been whipping up some food for his quiet little toddler and himself despite the late hour, the seventeen years-old had looked back towards Marlene’s noiseless antics with a small smile and had mentioned that her childhood friend had been “quieter than the snow” too.
(“Even when he spoke, it was… so quiet. I can count on one hand how many times he ever really raised his voice - and have three fingers left over.”, she'd said, looking out the window to the darkness outside.)
(The way she spoke of him, Barret had wondered if he was even still alive - and whether she herself knew or not - and whether, even if she hoped he was alive, she even believed it. And then she'd mentioned that she'd come here to find him, after he'd left for the SOLDIER program and they'd lost contact…)
(A few days later, after Jessie had hacked into some files for him, he'd come back to her with an answer, a picture, and a proposal.)
What he does know now, he learned from the day that brat SOLDIER deserter Zack Fair - or Stryfe Zane, as he’d then been going by around the Slums up until Tifa had nearly torn his ear off at the mere mention of the alias he’d chosen - had shown up at the Seventh Heaven with that crazed magic girl leading him by the hand like an overgrown puppy learning the lay of the land.
That first impression wasn’t too far from the truth either, honestly - as Barret had learned over the last weeks he’d had to spend in way too close quarters with the younger man - which made the sudden punch Tifa had thrown right in that puppy’s face all the more jarring, especially with no apparent context, no obvious reason and from such a collected girl too.
That Cloud, it turns out, had been the link between those two.
That, and the tragedy that had brought a lone teenage Tifa to Midgar in the first place too.
One that Zack - Zachariah, and what a full name that was for a ‘backwater’ boy - was no stranger to.
Barret hadn’t heard all of what had been said between the two of them at first - as Tifa had all but commandeered their headquarters for a ‘private’ conversation, and had only begrudgingly allowed the magic girly to come with them before they’d disappeared down there for a good hour without another word - but in the days that had followed, while tensions had been high between the two dark heads, he’d caught on comments and looks and whispers that had painted a pretty bloody puzzle.
Whoever was that Cloud - Cloud Strife, it turns out, something the Shinra file had oh so ‘sloppily’ omitted to put on record when he’d signed up for the infantry, and later when he’d been declared KIA and supposedly ‘returned to his next of kin’ despite the lack of any information on such a person in those same papers according to Jessie - he was both important, dearly missed, and not as dead as he was supposed to be.
Cloud was a friend, Cloud was a keeper, Cloud had been tucked away to ‘heal’.
That was what all he’d known - before they’d stopped in that hotel in Kalm, and Fair had all but been dogpilled into giving them the actual history of that fucking monster Jenova and whatever the fuck those Sephiroth clones even were - and before both he and Tifa had then told them about the end of Nibelheim.
There, within the story of a lonely child soldier turned brainwashed lunatic murderer, the story of the teenage girl watching her home burn to the ground, her people be skewered and tossed aside, and her father bleed out in her arms, the story of the hopeful young SOLDIER doing his best to live despite the grief only to be pushed away by the one friend of their derelict group that was still alive… There was also the story of Cloud.
Cloud, a little boy without a father, in a town so deeply entrenched in its tradition it had made his mother and him pariahs from the moment she’d begun to show. Cloud, who was always more of a child of the wilderness of Nibel that any part of their uncaring village. Cloud, a child shunned and taunted and abused after he’d saved Tifa, her own recklessness in her grief turning into his sinful act, without a word of protest from anyone other than his mother. Cloud, a pre-teen, looking at the man most respected in the entire world - and deciding he would be like him. Cloud, barely 13, living Nibelheim with only the clothes on his back and two promises tucked close to his heart.
To become the hero that could one day fly to Tifa’s rescue… and to live long past the day his mother expired her last.
(The first, it now seemed, he’d never managed to reach.)
(The second, he’d held only through the terrible tragedy that had befallen his sole family.)
Instead of the nonexistent tomb Barret had imagined in his place after Jessie’s report, Cloud turned out to be another of Shinra’s surviving victims, instead of the long ago buried ones.
A SOLDIER hopeful turned infantry death fodder, surviving through boot camp, wasteland patrols and many a deadly mission, all the while he’d made friends with not one but two SOLDIERs, a Second soon to be First and a Third, the former of which he’d ended up accompanying to what should have been their shared death.
Then, a freak science experiment kept down in a sordid basement, hidden away in the very childhood hometown that Tifa herself had been rescued from in-extremis by her martial teacher, trapped for four long years as more and more of Hojo’s horrific attention turned to him rather than the ‘stubborn subject’ Fair, up until said stubborn ass had finally managed to break the both of them out. And Cloud, of course, had not been anywhere as fine and dandy as Zack had been when they’d gotten out - something which seemed to bring a lot of shame on the ex-SOLDIER’s mind, as though he could have stopped Hojo in any way, short of actually killing the man that was keeping them trapped and starved and sedated in the first place.
Far from fine, he’d been poisoned way past the gills with Mako of all sources - from the most corrupt product of defunct reactors to the most refined essence from Midgar to the most volatile from wild strains - to such a degree no one really knew how he had still been alive for Zack to rescue in the first place, let alone to be dragged through the Nibel mountains, along the Western canyons, and across the Corel desert. And when that old arse of a doctor in Corel had taken the two men under his roof for a night, he’d been just as blunt with Zack as he’d been with anyone else for as long as Barret himself had known him.
Fair, most likely with his kicked puppy eyes and a whole fuckton of resistance to the mere idea let alone the execution of it, had reluctantly left his ‘buddy’ behind in what he’d thought would be rough but caring hands, while he’d made his way back to Midgar with always the plan to come back for Cloud with the help he could get there, whatever it might have been.
From there, Cloud had been lost - not just because Zack had had to live, and his PHS had long been broken and lost in the depths of a mako reactor well - but because those caring folks the young man had believed in had turned out to be fucking liars.
(And Barret loves his town, no matter how destroyed it is, no matter the ache it brings in his chest nowadays no matter that it and its few children left will never love him again even if he could turn back time.)
(But he’s never felt as ashamed of it all, as when the Doctor and his assistant had sighed at Fair as though he was an unwieldy toddler asking “why is the sky blue” for the umpteenth time, and dismissed his concern about the lost friend he’d entrusted them with a mere “He wandered off one day. No way he survived the desert, and you’d already dug him that fake grave, so.”)
After they’d met up with the doctor here, Barret - if he has to be honest, even if just to himself and in the privacy of his own thoughts, which he tries to always be even when all he shows on the outside is strength, outrage and confidence - Barret can admit that he hadn't even thought for a second that the blond boy of their stories had survived his disappearance.
How could he have ?
Mako-poisoned, lost in the unforgiving Corel Desert, with only fiends to turn to…
No one but the luckiest of the lucky dogs out there would have survived a week, let alone months, on those odds.
The best he could have hoped for, at this point, would have been a quick and swift death at the end of some of the most merciful monsters out there. Most of the creatures that roamed around were fast and efficient - and Barret had seen enough people affected by Mako to know that the kind of poisoning Cloud had received was not something you recovered from - and not something that would let any poor bloke as messed up as that fight back well enough to make it in Corel.
Even if he had, by some miracle, stumbled clear from any monster, which in and off itself was already almost impossible for alert and experienced travelers - there would only have been dehydration, starvation, and madness waiting for him.
It was just the way of things, in Corel.
Mines, sand, and death - and bastards in between.
Even more so since their town had been destroyed by Shinra.
Barret hadn’t said anything about this to the trio of desperate optimists that first led them in, then out of the old doc’s office, though. Not only had he known that it wouldn’t have any kind of positive effect - not after seeing the nearly mad glint in Tifa’s eyes, after she’d believed her friend dead for years, then fought him saved, only for everything to end with another tomb here - but also because he didn’t want his nose broken, either.
He’d thought he’d wait for a calmer moment, maybe during the gondola ride, or before they got into that glorified pleasure house itself…
But there’d been no time before they’d been swept up in the entrance show and by the time it had ended…
Well.
Considering what they’d seen…
There would be no stopping their mad trio, now.
Speaking of the angel-faced devils he’d both dragged into his mess and then followed along into theirs - going far beyond what he’d ever expected he’d find himself roped into, even after joining then splitting from Avalanche with his own little crowd to target the leech reactors directly, and even after meeting that stupid spiky ponytail ex-SOLDIER mercenary and his Turk-shadowed Ancient soulmate - Barret looks up towards them, a frown and scowl etched on his face.
The three of them are all but tangled up together, arms over shoulders and under armpits and around waist as they seem to both try to support and at the same time lead each other on in every direction at once - though Aerith seems to be the one actually directing their steps, while Zack’s sharp eyes look around for any sign of the silhouette that had disappeared back into the dark night sky a few minutes ago now, and Tifa keeps looking down at the map of the Saucer’s sprawling infrastructure for hints with a fervor Barret has only seen in her eyes once before.
(When she’d tried to punch Sephiroth in the face himself, and had nearly gotten herself skewered for it, before Zack had jumped in to pull her back from the trajectory of the blade.)
(Barret was almost certain that if they ever did kill the monstrous bastard, in one way or another, she would be the one to deal the fatal blow.)
The three of them are barely aware of the rest of their group, by now, too focused on the silhouette they are fervently hunting to notice anything else for more than an instant of quick scrutiny. Meanwhile, both the weird ninja princess and the mangy fire dog are standing by Barret, clearly confused by how crazy the others were suddenly acting, and definitely not keen on getting anywhere close to said craziness.
Which… is a fair reaction to their specific circumstances - if a little worrying for their sanity levels, considering the usual crazy they'd been encountering on an hourly basis and would likely keep encountering for a while still.
And there is Barret.
Barret, who was torn between the immediate instinct of their need to be discreet, because they were godsdamned fugitives, and he had never been the best at it but he still knew it was a pretty fucking important thing to try and keep at if they could - and Barret, who was also just standing there, catching the kind of desperation he could see in their eyes, one he uncomfortably recognized from too many a look in the bar’s windows ; just like he recognized their frenzied pace like an echo of his own mad dash just a few years back for his dear Myrna.
(What wouldn’t he give, to be the one who’d spotted his lost love up in that dark sky, bright and solid and alive.)
(And what right did he have to stop them, when they thought they’d found their lost loved one, when it seemed he was but one more colossal effort awat, when he just might be in reach again ?)
Barret, who is still supposed to be their leader.
Who is supposed to make a decision.
What should he do ?
In the end, the choice is taken away from him before he even gets to think any further on it, much like their collective attention is suddenly stolen away - for both their feverish trio, confused duo and conflicted solo - by none other than the very same weird cat-like creature riding on his far Moogle robot who had animated the whole entrance show in the first place.
The freaky black and white cat - Barret would swear had just been at the gates welcoming in guests just a few minutes earlier - suddenly appears right by their collective side, in between the two halves of their group, with the sharpest of wife grins.
His Moogle, who had been smiling stupidly throughout the whole show, now was standing very still - and its squishy wide face suddenly doesn't seem quite so happy anymore, its fangs now more threatening than weirdly cute, just like his previously plushy bulk.
When Barret looks a little closer, he swallows tight, blinking behind his sunglasses.
The robot’s mechanical eyes are shining red.
Well, aren’t they fucked, again ?
The cat creature smiles wider still as he turns towards the one-armed man, and his teeth are much smaller than the fangs of his ride, but Barret is pretty sure they would still hurt tearing into his damn throat.
When he speaks, the words are just as sharp, and that much colder too.
“Why hello, friends ! Noticed you lot look a little lost, eh ? Maybe you’re looking for someone ?”
Now, whether he means the bastard Sephiroth, the possible pursuers Barret keeps looking around for, or the blond ghost of Cloud Strife, the result is the same.
The cat grins.
The Moogle growls.
And Barret winces.
Now, he knows, and he's known forever, that isn't the cleverest of men. He is a great fighter, don't get him wrong - he's even a good tactician when he needs to be, even if some of his operations were led by a bit more spite than he should have allowed himself - but he is no genius.
Even if Myrna would have disagreed, and Dyne would have lost at Queen’s Blood just to make him feel otherwise if he'd told them aloud.
Case in point, Barret knows, he's not a genius.
Luckily - or unluckily - for them though, it wouldn't have taken even half of a genius to hear the clear animosity in the cat’s cheery voice.
That thing utterly loathed them.
For whatever fucking godsdamned reason.
Wasn't this mess enough of a headache already ?
Barret barely holds back a groan, while the half-mad trio rounds up on the cat, and they seem to stare each other down. Not only have they been spotted, but there's no doubt their angel-faced devils won't let go of the cat, no more than he seems ready to let go of them either. They're staring at each other, like prey and bait and tracks, hungry for something.
There's no way they're getting out of here without at least some trouble, no that they're ever that lucky anyways.
Even if they wanted to try, this cat won't easily be distracted, he just knows it, feeling helpless.
They are so, so, so very fucked.
Notes:
Here was the mess, hope you liked it nonetheless !
Chapter 4: 4. Left to Chance
Summary:
The chair Esther throws against her vanity - with a mirror luckily made of polished metal, a distracted gift from their rising star that he himself thought a ‘screw up’ when he'd suddenly taken up blacksmithing as a hobby, and one which therefore doesn't break with a mere impact - hits hard, and bounces off just as hard, nearly clipping Joe in the head as it does so.
“What. The. Fuck,” she bit out, “is everyone's problem today ?”
Notes:
Hello I hate this chapter, I spent months on it, its bad
I still hope you'll find some enjoyment in it tho !
It kicked my ass into hating writing
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Most of the Golden Saucer - that is to say, the staff hired and managed and trusted by Dio, the ones Shinra can't manage to buy no matter the check enclosed, and the ones that aren't just seasonal passerbys that will be gone with the next slew of paychecks - knows about the ‘problem guests’ and the ‘tall loner’ within two hours of them being spotted in the welcoming show’s crowd.
Not only does gossip usually run fast and wild amongst the workers, the Shinra plants and the guests alike - though they're generally different brands of gossip, because the magic had to be upheld at nearly all costs, even if Dio himself has to bring the damn birthday cake in the canteen instead of attending a meeting to make sure everyone's smiling at the end of the day - but they also have specific… codes, when something unexpected, important, or concerning , comes up.
(Those codes, the Shinra plants don't usually know, and that's for the better.)
(They can't be trusted with an inch on the best of days, let alone with the kind of sensitive information specific staff codes refer to, and they likely never will be.)
And when those codes come up, it spreads amongst them all like wildfire - usually in a matter of hours, in the single digit, no matter how busy all of them might be - until they are all watching over their shoulder for it.
Some things just cannot be left unchecked.
Whether because one has to keep the plants in the dark, another has to keep an eye on the other guests, and the last has to take care of the problem, be it at its source or its consequences, before it becomes a disaster…
(They have a code for the Turks. For the varied Directors. For Shinra Senior and Junior.)
(They have a code for the reborn Wutai rebels, for the Cosmo Canyon outcasts, for the different Avalanche factions…)
(They used to have a code for the Holy Trinity, then for the Lone General, then for the few and fewer Soldiers that needed a break from Shinra.)
The code that goes out after the welcoming show and quickly makes the rounds is much more recent than all of those the staff has memorized over the years, however. Less than a year old even.
They all remember the meeting that had seen it implemented alongside its three defined levels of severity, a few weeks after Shinra had passed through Corel in hot pursuit of some classified deserter. A few weeks after the dust had settled behind the commotion, and a lone teenager had been found in its wake, wandering aimlessly around the desert prison. A few weeks after they’d taken in their newest recruit.
‘Code Cumulus : Rainfall, Overcast, and Hurricane.’
All of them, for their new risen star, Cloud Strife.
Rainfall, for particularly bad days, when words and visions and memories seemed to slide off him like rainwater on a Chocobo’s feathers. Overcast, when came time for him to hide away, nearly always in tandem with one of their codes for either the Shinra groups or their varied opponents, after one too many concerning individuals had shown interest in their rising star at a mere glance. And Hurricane, when whatever was coming was unknown, wildly unpredictable, and almost always definitely very bad news in the making.
Natural disaster levels of bad news.
(Some might say the Saucer’s staff had been overly dramatic in their naming scheme.)
(But all good code names must match as a thematic ensemble, didn’t they ?)
(And who had more of a right to dramaturgy than they too ?)
Rainfall days came and went, more frequently than any of them liked to see, but he always bounced back in less than a week at worse. Overcast days were a little more spread out, though they always were a hassle, and no one was ever happy when he had to slip away, hide wherever, and pretend he didn't exist. As for hurricanes…
They'd only had three hurricanes, since the code had been established, nearly a year ago.
The first had been called too late, in hindsight - because they hadn't thought their rising star and Hojo had anything in common, forgetting too easily that the eerie way Cloud’s eyes shone wasn't just poetry shared around but real fact, and that there had to be an excellent reason he was so freaked out by even their first-aid practitioners on his worst days - and they'd ended up dragging another worker that looked close enough to their Cumulus in front of the greasy man to nip any questions in the bud.
The second had been only about two months back, when Rupert Shinra had come by discreetly, quickly, and unannounced - and the code of his arrival hadn't quite managed to reach the whole staff before the man himself had been harassing workers left and right, up until he'd crossed paths with their new star. The abuse in the man’s voice had been as strident and sharp as always, when their interaction had begun - up until Cloud had turned around from where he’d been fixing someone else a drink in the VIP lounge, just to be helpful to his overworked colleague. Their eyes had crossed - Shinra had gone quiet - and Cloud had run. After that, their star had gotten two weeks of paid vacation in-house, away from anything even remotely close to the public, spending most of it quietly freaking out about something he couldn't name, and Shinra had left without a word on the event, leaving a handful of Turks behind before calling them back after a week after one more blank report.
The third - and the fourth too - were on that very day. So close together they could barely be distinguished as the word ran wild through their ranks and squares. Because that morning, a familiar yet alien silhouette had stepped through the doors of the Saucer unseen by anyone other than their most advanced cameras, and the ones who had been by Cloud at the time had reported a flinch at the exact same time as that had happened.
And because now - after they'd thought the strangest thing of the month would surely be that random wraith who'd gone on its way after freaking out their hyper-mako-sensitive star for a frightening hour - a new sextupled problem is presenting itself, according to their presenter and scout Cait Sith. And Cait Sith is never wrong when it comes to trouble.
Through their ever efficient communication systems and prolific gossip vines, the entirety of the trusted Gold Saucer learns of the new ‘Hurricane’ problem in under two hours, all the while going through the motions of the busiest part of their day.
The ‘main squad’ - who had split from their respective squares and tasks before the entrance show proper, as they always did - knows about their issue within the first ten minutes of Cait stepping forward to confront the lot, and twenty of the loner being spotted in the vicinity at all.
The chair Esther throws against her vanity - with a mirror luckily made of polished metal, a distracted gift from their rising star that he himself thought a ‘screw up’ when he'd suddenly taken up blacksmithing as a hobby, and one which therefore doesn't break with a mere impact - hits hard, and bounces off just as hard, nearly clipping Joe in the head as it does so.
“What. The. Fuck,” she bit out, “is everyone's problem today ?”
She barely takes note of Joe, still crouched beside the armchair after he'd ducked in extremis away from her rage with all of the reflexes a long career as a Chocobo jockey had allowed him to sharpen, or of Gus who's cowering in his own corner of her green room, apparently more terrified than he has ever looked while surrounded by hardened criminals, while she starts to pace instead.
“Two. Two. Two fucking Hurricanes in the same day ? ”, she seethes between her teeth, her gorgeous face twitching with the smallest hint of the fury burning in her chest, while her hand closes a little too tight around her PHS, “and one of them is a bunch of fucking ecovigilante terrorist fugitives ?! ”
Because of fucking course, their current problem guests are some of the most wanted people on the planet right now, and the Turks chasing after them are apparently just a gondola ride away from the Saucer too !
And of course the fucking fugitives are just showing up with zero attempt as a disguise even after days of their wanted posters having gone out on any numeric device available on the three continents and every single person around the Saucer likely having seen their faces at least ten times by now.
Because why wouldn't they just vy for the title of biggest problem of the year, now that they're at it, by having even an ounce of discretion while they're bringing about questions and scrutiny and trouble to the lot of them here ?
(Now, Esther also knows about what Cait Sith’s weirdo maker has done to the wanted posters just about thirty minutes before the problem guests had showed up, the images of the surviving members updating into the faces of others entirely on every single device connected to the Shinranet, including most of the Saucer's security devices.)
(But she's also nothing even close to naïve - and she herself had no trouble memorising the faces of the first posters in just one look - and she has no doubt many a guest here, not to mention potential Shinra employees, not to mention the actual Turks , have too.)
Esther wants to rip someone’s head off - preferably one of the intruder’s heads, considering they’re the one giving her a headache, but she’ll settle for some lowlife Shinra if need be - and she wants to rip it off now . Sadly, that kind of thing is usually against company policy. As long as the intruders don't cause problems in the Saucer, that is, which they haven’t yet.
She has no doubts they will, though.
And when they do…
She’ll be the first to jump in !
(Esther had never been much of a physical fighter, before Cloud had come along, more comfortable with vicious words and cutting tones and sharp expressions.)
(But the swords dance show that had debuted nine months ago now demanded some skill.)
(And Esther thrived on exceeding expectations.)
For now, however…
They’ve just been walking around, checking into one of their hotels, then splitting up between the different squares
And they'vebeen doing it all in full view of the cameras both official and Cait-Sith-monitored, acting awkward and confused and slightly neurotic but nonetheless like typical first-time visitors.
They haven't bothered anyone bar a few of their wealthier customers throwing them dirty looks - but that's no crime, and Esther would never base her judgment of anyone based on that, nor on Shinra’s sole word for that matter.
She's already started making her own anyway.
(She oh so loves the upgraded PHS Cait Sith has gifted her, a little under a year ago, and the ease with which it can access nearly every camera in the Saucer with only one tap.)
(It hasn’t made her any more nosy than she’d already been, of course - it has just made her information gathering much easier - thought it was no help when it came to finding their elusive star whenever he wanted to vanish for a little while.)
(She’d tried, thought, she really had.)
The man with a gun for an arm, who postures even while on the run, cannot have chosen such a prosthetic for peace. The same can easily be said for the younger man with the massive sword strapped to his back - and is he compensating for something, or just strong enough that most basic weapons would break in his hands, like their Star ? - no matter how sunshiney he may have looked when smiling at the two women he’s following around like an overgrown puppy. And the women in question ! One of them has woven worn knuckle dusters in her armored gloves, for Shiva’s sake, and it matched with the metal reinforcing her combat boots too. And the other can look all sweet and pink and nice as she wants, but Esther can recognize the sharpness of a talented caster in her eyes, and the clear leader of a group too. Even the little lady following them around is carrying hidden blades everywhere they can possibly be concealed. And all of that disregards the genuine beast they’ve brought along, with fire at its tail and fangs in its maw and intelligence guiding its words.
Why were any of them even allowed in the Saucer in the first place ? Money is money, she knows that better than anyone, but this is just asking for trouble with Cait Sith’s megaphone at this point. If something happens tonight and the group has nothing to do with it, she’ll eat her coattails and Joe’s hat.
What grates at her even more, however, is that the group is only third on her list of potential disasters to watch out for.
Second on her updated list are all Shinra affiliated personnel, which were already an automatic Overcast on a general basis, but were now even more of a problem with Palmer and his Turk entourage showing up out of nowhere barely two hours before the fugitives.
As for the first on that list…
It's the kind of disaster they can't plan for.
They can only brace.
Six hours prior to this present mess, a disturbance in the materia field that surrounds all entrances of the Golden Saucer - either disguised as the fireworks that welcome each and every gondola climbing up Mount Corel, or as a more discreet shimmery veil only experienced casters could perceive, all of it used to monitor comings and goings of guests, staffs and intruders alike - had had all of their monitor casters fainting all at once. The ripple that had spread throughout the veil had seemed to shake the very foundations of the Saucer, for a split second, startling all of their staff and some of their guests.
Even Gus, who was notoriously insensitive to any kind of magic, had reacted to it, while Esther had dropped her favourite bottle of perfume, and Rhodea had stopped his latest rehearsal altogether.
And at the same time, on the other side of the Saucer, Cloud had fallen off Fenrir in the middle of a routine practice race - something which had never happened before, even after over two hundreds races, training or performance - that same pulse of magic echoing around him like the snap of a whip. Joe, who'd jumped off his own Chocobo the second he'd heard the cry of Fenrir, had been the first one by his side before the younger man had fainted - his body sagging like a puppet with cut strings in the older jockey’s arms.
When he'd come back after carrying the blond to the infirmary - where Cloud had apparently woken up barely a few minutes later, eyes wide with that hunted prey look he often wore during his first weeks in the Saucer, and had scrambled back to his worried Chocobo with only a vague mention of a ‘nightmare’ he'd had and a tight grip on his blades - Joe had looked… shaken too.
He'd said that Cloud hadn't yet been unconscious when he'd gotten to him.
That his eyes had been wide open, staring into nothing, unblinking.
That they had been pure Mako.
(That even the sclera had been overtaken by the glow.)
(And that his pupils had narrowed into slits, just like a predator’s on the prowl, before he'd lost consciousness.)
The next hour had been spent scrambling to find the cause of the disturbance, while their casters were gathered in the infirmary and replaced with the ‘understudies’ on call, with little to no success - to the exception of a singular camera frame that Cait Sith’s Moogle had captured and shared only with the three of them and Dio himself.
There, for a split second, in the stands of the racetrack - appearing right as Cloud fell, glowing teal eyes staring ahead, arms crossed over a strong chest - with most of the other cameras in the area showing only static during that same instant…
A man with dark clothes, long silver hair, and a wicked shape grin had stood.
A dead man walking.
(They do not say his name as they stare at the image.)
(They do not need to.)
(Everyone on Gaia knows of Sephiroth .)
After that, though - after that split second that anyone would have believed a hallucination, a mirage, a glitch if they didn’t have photographic evidence of the contrary - the silver ghost had vanished from sight. All they had been able to find for the next few hours, even as they worked to get everything back in order for the night’s performances, had been slight disturbances in this or that camera feed. Nothing that couldn’t be attributed to simple technological limitations, in a place where technology and magic tangled up so thoroughly they’d had to modify every device that came into their walls until they looked nothing like what they’d been when they’d first come in. Nothing that could point their search for the source of the mess in a concrete direction either.
And then, they’d all had to pause on their search, as the hour of the entrance performance had approached quickly. The show had to go on - no matter what, and bar a planetary catastrophe, as had always been the Saucer’s policy - including the performance fight. Including the Phoenix’s entrance.
And that had been what had brought the whole mess of the troublemakers into focus too. Something that had had Cait Sith partly go off on his own, likely because of his creator’s personal agenda as much as his own intent, leaving the rest of them to flounder.
Esther grits her teeth, staring in the mirror of her green room.
Oh how she hates being out of the loop.
Especially when that loop seems to be a noose slowly wrapping around all of their throats.
With Cloud’s neck in the first row.
Hasn’t the poor boy suffered enough - so much he doesn’t even need his memories for it to be obvious ?
The pseudo-eco-terrorist offchute of Avalanche really is the least of their troubles, she thinks spitefully, while she grabs her PHS and furiously begins to type out a quick message to Cait Sith - who’s still in the entrance tormenting the group in question - while Joe and Gus finally rise up from their cowering crouch to focus on the problems at hand again.
‘Keep the troublemakers away from the birds’, is what she sends quickly to the small robot, while she tackles the rest of the issue.
Mainly, corralling their wayward star back into view, if only to make sure that numbers Two and Three of her list don’t get to him, while they desperately scramble to understand whether number One was a fluke, a collective bout of stress-induced-madness, or some meteor ready to crash down on the meager life their cumulonimbus had started to build, leaving behind nothing but debris, ash, and blood.
(Yes, she’s being dramatic, she knows it well.)
(It’s her job. )
(And in the face of Sephiroth, there’s really little else she can do, even if it won’t stop her from trying.)
She cannot plan ahead - cannot predict the movements of this fleeting foe - she cannot read Sephiroth . She can only pack a first kit-aid, and hope the wounds will be superficial, because she's not a medic. She can only brace.
So Esther settles down, and starts on damage control.
Finding Cloud is still her priority. With Shinra shoving their noses where it doesn’t belong, the troublemakers showing a specific interest in him, and the silver-haired ghost clearly linked to his fainting spell, it would be safer to be together at least for tonight. It would be impossible to watch out for him if she doesn’t even know where to watch.
Cloud is hiding somewhere right now, likely in the rafters of either the theater stage or the racetrack, if only because those squares are the calmest of the lot when there is no show going on.
He hasn’t shown up on any camera feed - she’s checked - since the entrance show.
And he’s not answering his PHS.
She also knows there's virtually no way she will find him if he doesn't want to be found - and there's no way he wants to be found right now - whether it's because he's embarrassed about fainting, because he's hiding from the weird group that had spooked him earlier, or because of whatever had had him look so h(a)unted in the infirmary.
When he's like that, there are only three people that can find him.
Fenrir, if she's not already with him, can't be brought out of the racetrack easily.
Cait Sith is otherwise busy with the troublemakers, and the whole point of her dealing with this is that he doesn't have to do it, even if she knows he would without hesitation.
And that leaves… Andrea Rhodea.
Sponsor extraordinaire, owner of the Honey Bee Inn, one of Dio’s precious few childhood friends left… And somehow, the one human man that Cloud will fall asleep next to, after they'd met on the blond’s first week at the Saucer and immediately clicked with no one the wiser to it.
(Esther still can't fathom how that happened.)
(They're just so… different from one another, to the point of antithesis !)
(One flamboyant, the other quiet - one basking in attention, the other usually shying from it - one utterly confident in every aspect of his own existence, the other sometimes so uncertain he really existed at all…)
Contrary to popular belief, Rhodea is much too subtle to outright stalk the troublemakers Cait Sith is terrorizing, he has the most freedom of movement any performer/sponsor/friend of Dio can have in the Saucer, and he has an uncanny ability to find Cloud nearly every time he's looking for him.
(Very bad days do not count.)
(Not one of them can find him on those days.)
(They're not sure even Cloud can find himself then.)
He is her best choice - no matter how much she'd like to head out there and pick up their sulky star herself while she's clawing at the feeling of helplessness that haunts her - and it's almost muscle memory to pull up his coded contact info, open a new message, and type out what she needs to.
But then…
Her thumb hovers the ‘send’ icon.
And Esther hesitates.
For a split second, in the privacy of her own mind, she wonders if she is making a mistake.
If, by keeping the group of troublemakers as far away from Cloud as they can, they are not aslo taking away something that seems like opportunity for him.
She's not happy about who they are. She despises the danger they are bringing to her workplace, her lifestyle, her home. She’s eager to see the back of them before the danger that trails after them catches up and hurts what she loves.
Whether it be her colleagues, herself, or Cloud.
But she's also not blind to the bribes of information she's caught, even with Cait Sith keeping a tight lid on what he knows, when she'd stalked the specific trio of two women and one man through the camera feed, ever since Cloud had gone to hide.
(She learned to read lips when she was only a child, as a child traveling through the torn lands of Wutai, hiding from both armies alike.)
(Even now, when her life is at the highest she had ever dared hope for, it is all she learned at the height of misery that keeps her afloat.)
(She wonders if Gus, Joe, Cloud feel the same.)
These people…
Are part of Cloud’s lost past.
Who is she to keep him from that ?
Shouldn’t she be reaching out instead, picking their brains for information, pushing Cloud towards those answers they had been hunting for months ago - up until they’d stopped looking, after too many bloody reactions from their star, and the void they’d kept falling into - shouldn’t she be hunting for those answers herself now that they seem to be in reach ?
Doesn’t Cloud deserve to choose whether he wants to pursue this or not ?
He’s been building a life with them here, yes, but there are over fifteen years of nothing behind him. And maybe he hasn’t ever been interested in filling these up before - in part because of the pain any push about him alwaus seems to bring him, she’s sure, though he’s never complained - but everyone could change their mind.
These people - these strange, suspicious, dangerous people - could be the key.
And yet…
Cloud had already seen them.
Cloud had run away.
Cloud was hiding.
Wasn’t that answer enough ?
She’d never been one to give chances.
(She thinks of the way Cloud still wanders aimlessly sometimes, limping, hands trembling, eyes hauntingly empty.)
(She thinks of the scars she’s only ever seen blinks of, under garments and beneath silk and climbing up his neck, and of how many more she's never seen.)
(She thinks that Gus, Joe, Rhodea, Dio and her have all left their pasts behind - for a reason.)
(She thinks that Cloud, just like them, left all of his behind too.)
(She thinks it was probably for the best.)
Esther is a selfish woman. She always has been. That's what makes her so good at her job.
She presses the ‘send’ icon - she sends Rhodea on the prowl for their wayward Phoenix - and then she sends Gus and Joe back out into the fray to play their own roles. The show, their show must go on. No matter the people trying to mess it all up.
And Esther, manager extraordinaire, will do what she needs to to make sure everything goes as planned.
Against Shinra, Avalanche, and Sephiroth alike.
The Golden Saucer cares for their own and very little else.
And Cloud Strife is their star now.
Whoever was stupid enough to lose him in the first place does not deserve him back.
Notes:
Always happy to chat in comments !
Chapter 5: 4.5. Interlude
Summary:
It feels… right.
(It feels like belonging.)
(But there's something missing.)
Notes:
Super short interlude ehehehheeehheehehhehehe
Chapter Text
Hidden in the rafters of the theater, he barely notices Andrea climbing the ladder to his left either.
Cloud stares at the black feather in his palm.
And then, almost without thinking, he tucks it with the golden feathers already adorning his left temple.
It feels… right.
(It feels like belonging.)
(But there's something missing.)
There’s a whisper in his ear, right before Andrea reaches him, and Cloud focuses back on the present. A whisper that follows him, as he downs his jockey costume, and trails after his sponsor back to the racetrack quietly. A whisper that sounds like an echo of something he was told long ago, during that time he cannot remember, one that make the mirror scars on his sternum and back pulse with burning ice.
Cloud tastes blood on his tongue.
His ears ring.
A ghost passes by him.
‘Oh, how I missed you, my Cloud.’
Akkey_woah on Chapter 1 Sat 07 Dec 2024 05:09AM UTC
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EnbyNeti on Chapter 1 Sat 07 Dec 2024 07:30AM UTC
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Shatteredsky10 on Chapter 1 Sat 01 Feb 2025 03:15PM UTC
Last Edited Sat 01 Feb 2025 03:16PM UTC
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Shatteredsky10 on Chapter 2 Mon 09 Dec 2024 04:17AM UTC
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BCBB on Chapter 2 Wed 11 Dec 2024 11:03AM UTC
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EnbyNeti on Chapter 2 Wed 11 Dec 2024 11:31AM UTC
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Silvarant on Chapter 2 Wed 11 Dec 2024 08:19PM UTC
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EnbyNeti on Chapter 2 Wed 11 Dec 2024 09:08PM UTC
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YuffiesNinjaInsanity on Chapter 2 Wed 22 Jan 2025 01:32AM UTC
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EnbyNeti on Chapter 2 Sat 01 Feb 2025 07:32AM UTC
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BCBB on Chapter 3 Fri 31 Jan 2025 11:55PM UTC
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