(no subject)
Title: The Between Spaces
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Characters: Cloud
Genre: Drama, Angst
Rating: Fff PG
Summary: How the man became the mess.
Somewhere in that smokey haze, beneath the fog of sickness but above the whispers of mako, someone existed, and mourned and screamed. Someone was alive, and he watched the patrons pass on their way to the train, feeling their curious stares but unable to follow them, to respond. Slumped against the lamppost like a propped up doll, the weight of the Buster heavy against his palm. It was all right. Nobody would take it because they couldn't even lift it. Only a SOLDIER could do that.
That...does that make me one after all?
Occasionally something would tap against his head or his arm; a stone, a piece of trash. It never registered as pain, that contact, and even the hissed curses that followed it were muted beneath the dull roar of Lifestream in his ears. Someone else was whispering...why were there so many voices? Well, it is a crowded train station.
...who said that?
In that in between, that little pocket of knowing, someone came to understand, realized what had happened. It had been years...right? Years since Midgar. Longer since his childhood. He'd lost something, gained something, lost someone, gained someone. Then he'd lost someone again. Lost them to rain and cold and little red rivers that changed pink and brown when the water churned up dirt and made mud. Was that what had happened? Had the ground swallowed him up? Taken them both?
You're at a train station. You're okay.
You'll never be good enough.
He flinched; that one had hurt. A mother pulled her child away; the boy had been peering right into his face, wondering whether or not touching him would be all right. Of course it wouldn't be all right. Didn't he know? He was cursed; everything that mattered to him died, or burned or bled. The ground swallowed what mattered to him, the smoke took it to the skies. The rain washed it away. The Lifestream ate it. Nothing was safe.
That's not true...
"Zack," Cloud whispered suddenly, and only knew he was speaking because of the scratchy feeling in his throat. It burned and his lips hurt; he licked them and tried to swallow. People passed, and didn't notice him, or didn't bother him. It didn't matter; all that mattered was the train behind him, the Buster heavy in his hands, and the burning in his throat. He needed a drink. He needed something.
If he died, right now...nobody in the world would care. Nobody. There wasn't a single soul in the entire universe that needed him. He truly was worthless.
Cloud hiccuped and something fierce and cold clamped down on his chest, held his breath to the point where he hyperventilated; his vision blurred and he clutched the Buster, drawing it up to his chest in a near-hug. Nobody would care. He'd just be another body on the street. Nothing would change, nothing would matter.
If I'd been a SOLDIER-!
None of this would have happened.
Cloud doubled over and clutched at his head with his free hand, the other scrabbling at the flat of the Buster, fingers curving into claws. The invisible bubble that separated he and the people milling about grew, and their hushed whispers mixed with the ones in his head, and he heard all of it, heard everything. About how weak he was- a freak, useless, pointless, worthless. How he should die, how none would be the wiser. How everyone he ever loved died because of him.
Zack- Mom- Tifa-! Cloud curled in on himself and shuddered, and the force of the memories of Nibelheim threatened to crush him. Behind it all was a silky whisper, impossible to ignore, about how if only he'd been a little stronger he'd have been able to save everyone. How it was his fault. Worthless. "I'm not worthless," he sobbed breathlessly; somehow the station had become empty. His voice -quiet as it was- rang and he was alone, more alone than before. If he died, there wouldn't even be anyone to witness his death. Truly worthless. "I'm not worthless!" he spat, and sucked in air through his teeth. "I'm-"
Cloud!
Cloud shook his head- no no, he wasn't. Who was Cloud? If he was worthless- if he was useless- Nobody cared. Were you still a person when nobody cared about you? If nobody knew your name...did you still have one? What was a sense of self if only you were aware of it?
puppet...
Stay away!
There had to be someone- there had to be anyone he could tell his name. Someone who could acknowledge him, see that he was alive, that he wasn't worthless. Someone- Please-!
"...Tifa...?"
...she turned. It was Tifa. It was her.
"Cloud, is that- oh, wow! It's been so long, how are you?" It was Tifa; she was alive. She hadn't died. She was there, she knew his name, and she hadn't died. He hadn't- But he had, it had happened, but if she was standing here-
Is...it a lie? That was it. It was a lie. Of course he'd succeeded...Tifa alive was proof. He wasn't worthless. Cloud slowly stood as she approached, rubbed his face; it might have looked like he was wiping away sleep. He was wiping away sleep. Why would Cloud Strife have a reason to cry? "Tifa, hey. It has been forever. What, five years?" Since Nibelheim. But it was all right, he wasn't a failure. He didn't have to hide from her; he had nothing to hide.
A strange look crossed her face, and she reached out to touch his arm. "...Cloud? Are you all right?"
"Huh?" He cocked his head, a hand going to his hip. SOLDIER pose. Buster over his shoulder. Only a SOLDIER could carry those. "I'm fine, why?"
"You...just looked strange." She paused, searched his eyes; gave a muted gasp. "Your eyes- They're glowing! You made it into SOLDIER!"
No, no no, don't do this to him... You don't know what you're doing-
Cloud grinned easily. "Of course I did. Did you ever doubt me?"
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Characters: Cloud
Genre: Drama, Angst
Rating: Fff PG
Summary: How the man became the mess.
Somewhere in that smokey haze, beneath the fog of sickness but above the whispers of mako, someone existed, and mourned and screamed. Someone was alive, and he watched the patrons pass on their way to the train, feeling their curious stares but unable to follow them, to respond. Slumped against the lamppost like a propped up doll, the weight of the Buster heavy against his palm. It was all right. Nobody would take it because they couldn't even lift it. Only a SOLDIER could do that.
That...does that make me one after all?
Occasionally something would tap against his head or his arm; a stone, a piece of trash. It never registered as pain, that contact, and even the hissed curses that followed it were muted beneath the dull roar of Lifestream in his ears. Someone else was whispering...why were there so many voices? Well, it is a crowded train station.
...who said that?
In that in between, that little pocket of knowing, someone came to understand, realized what had happened. It had been years...right? Years since Midgar. Longer since his childhood. He'd lost something, gained something, lost someone, gained someone. Then he'd lost someone again. Lost them to rain and cold and little red rivers that changed pink and brown when the water churned up dirt and made mud. Was that what had happened? Had the ground swallowed him up? Taken them both?
You're at a train station. You're okay.
You'll never be good enough.
He flinched; that one had hurt. A mother pulled her child away; the boy had been peering right into his face, wondering whether or not touching him would be all right. Of course it wouldn't be all right. Didn't he know? He was cursed; everything that mattered to him died, or burned or bled. The ground swallowed what mattered to him, the smoke took it to the skies. The rain washed it away. The Lifestream ate it. Nothing was safe.
That's not true...
"Zack," Cloud whispered suddenly, and only knew he was speaking because of the scratchy feeling in his throat. It burned and his lips hurt; he licked them and tried to swallow. People passed, and didn't notice him, or didn't bother him. It didn't matter; all that mattered was the train behind him, the Buster heavy in his hands, and the burning in his throat. He needed a drink. He needed something.
If he died, right now...nobody in the world would care. Nobody. There wasn't a single soul in the entire universe that needed him. He truly was worthless.
Cloud hiccuped and something fierce and cold clamped down on his chest, held his breath to the point where he hyperventilated; his vision blurred and he clutched the Buster, drawing it up to his chest in a near-hug. Nobody would care. He'd just be another body on the street. Nothing would change, nothing would matter.
If I'd been a SOLDIER-!
None of this would have happened.
Cloud doubled over and clutched at his head with his free hand, the other scrabbling at the flat of the Buster, fingers curving into claws. The invisible bubble that separated he and the people milling about grew, and their hushed whispers mixed with the ones in his head, and he heard all of it, heard everything. About how weak he was- a freak, useless, pointless, worthless. How he should die, how none would be the wiser. How everyone he ever loved died because of him.
Zack- Mom- Tifa-! Cloud curled in on himself and shuddered, and the force of the memories of Nibelheim threatened to crush him. Behind it all was a silky whisper, impossible to ignore, about how if only he'd been a little stronger he'd have been able to save everyone. How it was his fault. Worthless. "I'm not worthless," he sobbed breathlessly; somehow the station had become empty. His voice -quiet as it was- rang and he was alone, more alone than before. If he died, there wouldn't even be anyone to witness his death. Truly worthless. "I'm not worthless!" he spat, and sucked in air through his teeth. "I'm-"
Cloud!
Cloud shook his head- no no, he wasn't. Who was Cloud? If he was worthless- if he was useless- Nobody cared. Were you still a person when nobody cared about you? If nobody knew your name...did you still have one? What was a sense of self if only you were aware of it?
puppet...
Stay away!
There had to be someone- there had to be anyone he could tell his name. Someone who could acknowledge him, see that he was alive, that he wasn't worthless. Someone- Please-!
"...Tifa...?"
...she turned. It was Tifa. It was her.
"Cloud, is that- oh, wow! It's been so long, how are you?" It was Tifa; she was alive. She hadn't died. She was there, she knew his name, and she hadn't died. He hadn't- But he had, it had happened, but if she was standing here-
Is...it a lie? That was it. It was a lie. Of course he'd succeeded...Tifa alive was proof. He wasn't worthless. Cloud slowly stood as she approached, rubbed his face; it might have looked like he was wiping away sleep. He was wiping away sleep. Why would Cloud Strife have a reason to cry? "Tifa, hey. It has been forever. What, five years?" Since Nibelheim. But it was all right, he wasn't a failure. He didn't have to hide from her; he had nothing to hide.
A strange look crossed her face, and she reached out to touch his arm. "...Cloud? Are you all right?"
"Huh?" He cocked his head, a hand going to his hip. SOLDIER pose. Buster over his shoulder. Only a SOLDIER could carry those. "I'm fine, why?"
"You...just looked strange." She paused, searched his eyes; gave a muted gasp. "Your eyes- They're glowing! You made it into SOLDIER!"
No, no no, don't do this to him... You don't know what you're doing-
Cloud grinned easily. "Of course I did. Did you ever doubt me?"