Chapter Text
Cloud sneezed as he brought fenrir to a stop.
After managing not to cough from all the dust his bike had kicked up, he found himself scowling in annoyance as he sneezed twice more, huffing a little as he slid gracefully off his bike despite the aching of his limbs. The air was just starting to cool as evening approached, blissfully refreshing, the barest hint of a breeze ruffling Cloud's gold hair. He’d had the beginnings of a fever when he set out, annoyingly persistent, and the heat of the desert had been awful as he rode. There’d been reports of a disturbance outside Edge, something strange in the desert, but so far Cloud had seen nothing but sand and sky.
Urgh. It looked like he’d come all the way out here for nothing.
He’d had this stupid cold for about a week now and it just wasn’t going away . Cures did nothing, potions did nothing, and Tifa had shrugged and said he might just have to ride it out. This was nothing like geostigma; SOLDIERs weren’t supposed to get sick, not like this, not with such a common ailment. Yet, here he was, mako enhanced and all, stuck with a cold. Ok. So perhaps it was a little more than a cold—he had a raging fever, had been coughing nonstop, and he kept getting dizzy— but he still had things to do. Deliveries to make. Monsters to slay. So, he’d grabbed the bottle of medicine Tifa had left for him, peered at the bottle and tried to remember what she’d said about dosage, and then shrugged and downed the whole thing. Couldn’t hurt, right?
There was a moment when he almost regretted the thought, grimacing as something prickled at the edge of his consciousness, a sixth sense triggered by a feeling of sameness. It did not take more than a moment for him to realise what the ‘disturbance’ was.
Or, rather, who.
“I knew they’d send you to face me…Cloud.”
He felt himself tense, knew that he really was not up for a fight with Sephiroth right now, and turned to face his enemy. Cloud drew his blade as he turned, slashing it through the air in an elegant arc more due to instinct than a need to show off. As always, Sephiroth looked unchanged—almost like a fallen angel carved from marble—untouched by time or injury, the sunlight glimmering off his silver hair. Masamune was nowhere to be seen, probably because the customary gloating hadn’t been completed yet, and those green eyes were alight with malicious pleasure.
Staring at his newly resurrected nemesis, Cloud wished that he’d stayed in bed.
“Can’t you come back later?”
Cloud didn’t quite know what made him say it—though he was betting on it having something to do with the headache currently trying to split his skull in two— but he wasn’t about to back down now he had. The question sounded a lot like an exasperated whine, distinctly petulant, rather than the world-weary brooding tone that he had been going for. Which was unfortunate, really, but he supposed some things just couldn’t be helped when you had a cold and had been forced out of bed to fight your nemesis for the umpteenth time. Sephiroth always had the worst timing.
The aforementioned silver haired menace stared at him for a moment. “Later.”
“Yeah.” Cloud hadn’t been stabbed with Masamune yet so he may as well keep going. He shifted under the weight of his sword, tipped the blade down to rest on the dirt, then leaned on the hilt with a small sigh, before letting out a soft yawn. He sneezed. Cloud watched as Sephiroth blinked. “Look, maybe you can go sightseeing. Usually you only get, what, five minutes before I return you to the lifestream? Might wanna do something fun while you’re topside. Have an ice cream or whatever.”
“Ice cream.”
Sephiroth seemed awfully fond of short sentences today. Usually Cloud was the monosyllabic one. He wondered if he’d run out of material. “Doesn’t have to be ice cream, just—I dunno—"
He was interrupted by a hacking, rattling, cough, followed by the absolutely wonderful feeling of his lungs trying their best to expel themselves from his body. Was that even possible? Cloud didn’t think he’d ever heard of someone choking up a lung, but he wasn’t going to rule it out as a possibility. Especially since he was still coughing, an awful wheezing sound that he was fairly certain made him sound like something he’d fought in a sewer once. Even Sephiroth looked faintly alarmed—a subtle twitch of his brow that could probably also be annoyance—and he was usually pretty happy to watch Cloud suffer. Usually the one making him suffer too. Cloud grimaced and cleared his throat. “Urgh. Right. So?”
“You are ill.” Sephiroth pronounced with all the aplomb of ‘shall I give you despair”.
“No shit.”
“SOLDIERS do not get ill, not with a common cold, we do not cough, the enhancements prevent it.” Sephiroth said pointedly, as if it was something Cloud didn’t know. Or, worse, it was something he was deliberately ignoring just to spite him.
“Never made it in, did I?” He said blandly, unable to help the slightest hint of bitterness from entering his tone. “’Sides, can you honestly say a SOLDIER has never gotten sick?”
Cloud hadn’t really meant anything by it—had honestly been referring to geostigma— but suddenly Sephiroth was in front of him, ignoring the sword planted in the dirt between them, hand grasping his chin, those vivid green eyes boring into his own. It was, quite frankly, not as disturbing as it ought to be; Cloud was running a high fever and those fingers were blessedly cool. He didn’t know when he’d taken off his gloves and, quite frankly, he didn’t much care. Sephiroth’s other hand was on his forehead, brushing his bangs out of his eyes, and there was something suspiciously like a frown on his face. For some reason, his words had actually meant something to the former general, who was now peering down at him with the frustrated glare of someone who did not like it when things didn’t go their way. It was obvious he was an only child.
Maybe having a sibling would have chilled him out.
“Are you—” Cloud paused as his vision swam, tried to look like he wasn’t clinging to his sword for support, eyes fluttering closed for the merest moment, the dizzy spells something he hated most of all. “—are you checking my temperature?”
Sephiroth looked at him like he was a particularly annoying insect who had spontaneously learnt to talk for the sole purpose of irritating him. It was quite frustrating actually. Not only had Cloud killed him multiple times— one of those times as an ordinary human— but Sephiroth was the one who seemed to exist purely to be Cloud’s incredibly dedicated stalker. Since the former general would regularly come back from the dead to bother him, Cloud thought that he deserved a little more respect. Still, Sephiroth answered his query with a nod, then tilted Cloud’s chin this way and that as if changing the angle would change the situation. It was very tempting to kick him in the shin. Or try and lop his head off.
“You are feverish.” Sephiroth said finally. “And much too pale. Though your eyes are still bright enough, my little puppet, so it seems your enhancements are still strong. Perhaps—”
Cloud had the blade of his fusion sword to Sephiroth’s throat before he could finish his sentence; it was an awkward angle, what with Sephiroth being so handsy today, but he managed. “Call me puppet again and see what happens.”
“Hmm.” Sephiroth wasn’t looking at him like an insect now. There was a peculiar sort of look in those slitted green eyes—something pleased and possessive—and Cloud wondered if he should just slit his throat anyway. The hand on his forehead slid down the side of his face, cupped his jaw. “Why shouldn’t I? It is what you are.”
Well then. The head was most definitely coming off.
Cloud was fully prepared to go about this task as wholeheartedly as such an endeavour deserved. He jerked his jaw out of Sephiroth’s grip, moved from that hand on his chin, gave himself enough room to get some good momentum, and struck with extreme prejudice.
Unfortunately, he’d momentarily forgotten that he had a cold that had been steadily growing worse for days, and he wasn’t quite fast enough to do more than nick the side of Sephiroth’s throat before the blade was plucked from his hand. The wound barely even bled. It was disappointing enough that Cloud actually felt himself start to pout before he stopped himself and turned it into a snarl. He aimed a brutal kick at the other man’s shin and was completely unprepared for the bout of dizziness that hit him like a starving feral chocobo. He did not have time for the horror of being disarmed by his worst enemy to truly sink in; the world swam and he stumbled, swaying unsteadily, vision suddenly spotted with black, but he didn’t fall. Cloud was completely unembarrassed to admit that he reached out and used Sephiroth to steady himself, grabbing onto his coat to keep himself upright.
Huh. Would you look at that? The other man was good for something.
“’s all your fault.” Cloud mumbled.
“And how, exactly, is this my fault? Think of your answer carefully, Cloud, for I will not be forgiving if it merits my disapproval.”
Cloud snorted dismissively, gloved hand still curled in leather, closing his eyes for a moment in an attempt to forget Sephiroth was there. “Sh’up. Making my head hurt.”
There was a pause, then a wave of power washed over him, a soothing breeze on a sunny day, gentle and cool, and Cloud blinked. Sure it made him feel warm inside—pleasantly so, in a way he did not want to start associating with his worst enemy thank you— but it did absolutely nothing for the raging cold he was currently plagued with. In fact, he started to feel worse as the feeling faded, the calming magic dissipating in mere moments. Cloud looked up at Sephiroth with an incredulous glare, noting the hilt of his sword peeking out from behind the other man’s shoulder. “…did you just use Cure?”
Sephiroth raised a brow. “And if I did? You were not making sense, puppet.”
“Stop calling me that! Ugh! You think I haven’t tried Cure?” Cloud rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t work.”
“I presumed that, in your current state, you had not yet been graced with an intelligent thought.” Sephiroth replied, his tone cutting, and wow he must have made a fair few cadets cry back in the day. Not that Cloud remembered anything about those days, of course, with the whole amnesia situation and all. As it was, Cloud didn’t even try and suppress a mocking, incredulous laugh.
“Says the guy who thought an alien was his mother and then decided to destroy the world and, what was it again? ’Sail the cosmos with this planet as my vessel’.” Cloud put on the most exaggerated Sephiroth impression he could think of. It took a lot of undue gravitas to pull of the former general’s particular brand of megalomania, but Cloud did his best. “Do you remember saying that? Are you seriously lecturing me?”
“You are currently using me to keep yourself upright, so yes, I am lecturing you.” Sephiroth replied, ignoring the perfectly valid facts Cloud had just pelted him with in favour of looking down at him with dizzying superiority.
Or maybe Cloud was just getting dizzy again.
He felt himself sway. Yeah. Definitely dizzy. Cloud unashamedly tightened his grip on his enemy’s leather coat—riding out the black spots dancing across his vision—because Sephiroth was as still and unmovable as stone. He kept his feet planted, refused to stumble, and yeah, so he was a lot closer to his nemesis than he really wanted to be but that seemed a secondary problem in comparison to the fact that Cloud felt like the world was spinning. He could deal with it after it stopped, after he’d closed his eyes for a moment and just breathed, and Sephiroth would just have to wait his turn.
It was a minute before he opened his eyes and looked up, hating the way he always had to tilt his head back to look Sephiroth in the eye. Amused green eyes stared down at him, slitted pupils as inhumanly beautiful as always, and Cloud scowled. “Well, you’re letting me.”
Sephiroth raised a hand as if to shove him off, moved at the last moment to settle possessively on his shoulder. His thumb brushed the bottom of Cloud’s throat, lingering as if to feel his pulse, a casual back and forth, gentle and proprietary. “I am preparing to enjoy the inevitable rage when you finally realise how close we are. I’m letting you lean on me, but you are letting me touch you.”
He made it sound like they were doing something obscene.
Cloud rolled his eyes at the needless drama. “You want me to even the score?”
The question left his mouth before he’d fully thought through what he meant by it. Not one to be deterred, even when he had no idea what the fuck he was doing, Cloud reached out with his free hand, catching strands of silver hair and letting them slide between his gloved fingers. Sephiroth didn’t protest, didn’t push him away, and he supposed it was because he’d surprised him. Cloud couldn’t really tell, he wasn’t looking at his face, and was also deliberately ignoring the fact that Sephiroth seemed allergic to shirts. It was strange to be so close without pain, without there being a battle, and in the stillness Cloud watched as the strands of silver hair glittered in the light. It wasn’t fair, really, for someone so hateful to be so beautiful. It wasn’t fair for Sephiroth to have the power he did. Not when all he did with it was destroy.
“Your hair is pretty.” Cloud said as he looked back up. He really should stop speaking on impulse. It was the truth though and he wasn’t embarrassed to admit it.
“Well, well, Cloud.” Sephiroth purred, seemingly unperturbed by his enemy stroking his hair, smirking as if he’d just won something invaluable. “I didn’t know you admired me so.”
“It’s objectively a fact, stupid.” Cloud rolled his eyes. Everyone knew Sephiroth had beautiful hair. Even Barrett had once admitted it— though he’d been very drunk and had gone on a tangent about the planet straight afterwards— and Barrett didn’t say things like that. “Evil people can still have pretty hair. Doesn’t make ‘em any less…evil.”
Sephiroth was frowning at him again. Cloud counted that as a win.
“Evil is a human concept. I am above such things.” His enemy replied. “You are foolish to try and label me so, yet more evidence that you simply do not understand how things are.”
“Right.” Cloud found his eyes straying to his sword, sadly out of reach on Sephiroth’s back, wanting it back in his hands. He took a step back, suddenly wary, letting the silky strands of silver hair slip through his fingers.
Sephiroth smirked at his sudden tension. His tone was mockingly soothing, a condescending attempt at comfort. “No need for such fear, I will not take advantage of your current weakness. There would be little satisfaction in defeating you like this, irresistible as your vulnerability is. I have no interest in such a hollow victory.”
Maybe Cloud would get that nap today after all.
“Ok. See you later then?” Cloud said, eyes still locked on his sword, wondering why his nemesis was still talking to him.
Sephiroth smirked. “Oh no, Cloud, I would be loathe to give up the change to torment you personally. Not when I have such a prime opportunity. I have promises to keep, after all.”
Cloud squinted up at him. “You’re enjoying this.”
Sephiroth didn’t bother to hide the gleam of victory in his eyes. “I’m beginning to see the appeal. It isn’t very often that I have you so completely at my mercy, puppet, why shouldn’t I indulge? There is something you have not considered, something that you seem to be ignoring. While killing you in this pathetic state is very much beneath me, what damage might I bring down on everything else to pass the time?”
It was a very in character thing for him to say. Just the right amount of creepy.
“That’s why I suggested you get ice cream.” Cloud muttered. He coughed again, weakly, into his hand, then glared at his nemesis with a ferocity fuelled by drugs, annoyance, and Cloud’s unique brand of determined fuck you. “I’m not going to let you hurt anyone.”
“In your current state do you really think you can stop me?” Sephiroth said with a raised brow.
Cloud leapt into the air, twisted, grabbed his sword off of Sephiroth’s back, and landed nimbly in a crouch behind him. It took less than a thought to slip into a battle stance, effortless because this was instinct, and he didn’t take his eyes off of Sephiroth as he shifted his grip on the hilt of his sword. For his part, his enemy turned with a deliberate, calculated slowness, as if Cloud were no threat at all. It irked him that the other man didn’t seem ruffled by showing him his back. It irked him that he hadn’t considered taking the opening, hadn’t seen it as one, because he knew how fast Sephiroth could move when he wanted to.
“Thought you were too sick to fight.” The silver haired SOLDIER said abruptly, his tone a purring, undaunted croon. Those eyes flicked over Cloud’s stance, searching for weakness, and it didn’t matter that he felt like a stiff wind would blow him over. It didn’t matter that his whole body hurt, as if he’d gone twelve rounds with Sephiroth already, because there was no way Cloud would ever stand aside. There was no way he’d ever give his enemy a free shot at the world. Not even if it killed him.
Cloud shrugged. “I’d rather not, doesn’t mean I won’t.”
Or that I can’t.
“Hmm.” Sephiroth smiled. He paused for a moment; head tilted to the side like a curious cat, all deadly grace with a predator’s appetite. “Perhaps we can come to an…agreement.”
“We’re not—” Cloud coughed, the tip of his sword lowering just a little, then grimaced as Sephiroth smirked. “ugh. Look. This isn’t a negotiation.”
“Isn’t it?”
If Sephiroth answered another question with a question Cloud was going to give him the haircut of a lifetime. He tightened his grip on his sword, fully prepared to strike. “No.”
“Then allow me to tell you how this is going to go, Cloud.” Sephiroth replied smoothly, so confidently persuasive, so sure that he had already won, savouring his name like a fine wine. Cloud had always hated how he did that, drew it out into an intimate purr, crafting all sorts of, well, insinuations into the way he practically caressed the word with his tongue. There was a certainty in his eyes that never meant well. Cloud was, once again, the centre of the full force of the silver haired man’s impressive attention. It was not a safe place to be. Not the least in how Sephiroth paused to enjoy his victory, to really let it sink in, before he continued in that same, silky, drawl. “You—”
Screw this.
Cloud interrupted before he could really get going. “You could help with my delivery business.”
Sephiroth stopped mid-sentence. And stared at him.
“Look if you don’t want to go sightseeing that’s fine but you can’t go around killing people.” Cloud said, pretending that he had a clue what he was talking about—hey, he’d bullshitted an entire fake personality he could do this—and trying not to look like he was just making shit up. Cold medication should come with a warning label. Though, it probably did, and he’d probably ignored it. Besides, if his drug induced word vomit could stop Sephiroth mid soliloquy then next time he might down two bottles just to see if it would double the effect. “I know you like making me miserable so…”
There was a pause. It seemed Cloud had caught Sephiroth completely off guard.
Huh. Extra point for the cold meds.
“Err.” Cloud was not unused to his audience being so passive and it was throwing him off. He lowered his sword, shrugged and sheathed it on his back, glad for the few feet of distance between him and his nemesis. Sephiroth hadn’t even blinked yet, though he was beginning to frown, something vaguely repulsed flitting across his expression. He felt himself bristle at the implied slight to his suggestion, scowling. “Well it was better than whatever you were going to say.”
That seemed to snap him out of it, the expression of disgust deepened, and Sephiroth looked him up and down dismissively. “I rather doubt you’re going to be much use at delivering anything.”
Cloud rolled his eyes. “It’s a cold, Sephiroth, not geostigma. I’ve worked while sick before.”
Sephiroth smirked at the reminder. “That was different. It was deliberate.”
“You just wanted a way to cheat back to life.”
“Why, Cloud, stop being so hateful, I only wanted to see more of you, after all.” Sephiroth replied, a cruel smile tilting his lips upwards. “Destroying the planet once you were already dead would have been such a waste. Such a disappointment.”
“Well, this cold might get there before you.” Cloud replied darkly.
“No, I will not allow you to die so easily.” Sephiroth sounded angry, almost insulted, which was as utterly unsurprising as it was disturbing. “When you die, it will be at my hand, at a time of my choosing, and that time is not now.”
Well alright then.
“You even know anything about being sick?” Cloud asked instead of addressing his enemy’s creeper tendencies.
Despite asking the question, Cloud completely spaced out once Sephiroth actually began to answer, grimacing because he did feel truly horrendous. He wondered if this day was actually just some sickness induced fever dream and he was still in bed. Hmm. That sounded nice. He should go lay down. Except Sephiroth was still speaking. Cloud honestly should have tuned him out earlier, at any one of their past meetings; just ignored him when he talked, because, Gaia, the man could monologue. He caught a few words here and there, of course, something about ‘Angeal’ and ‘Genesis’ and a ‘wound that wouldn’t heal’. Wings were somehow involved too? Cloud closed his eyes with a small sigh.
“—puppet?”
“’M not your puppet.” Cloud hissed, opening his glowing blue eyes to glare.
Sephiroth face was set, but there was an undeniable smugness there. “It is worrying that you are unable to concentrate on even the simplest of tasks. I doubt you heard any of that.”
Cloud shrugged. “Something about disintegration.”
“Degradation.”
“Discorporation.” Cloud nodded sagely. “That’s what I said.”
The glimmer in Sephiroth’s green eyes was distinctly murderous now.
Cloud was used to it.
Ok so it was probably worrying that continuing to mess with his worst enemy still seemed like a fantastic idea. The incredibly potent drugs Cloud had taken to stave off this damn cold were probably a little too strong but, well, it wasn’t like they were going to kill him. Though, if the way he was glaring at him was any indication, it looked like Sephiroth was seriously considering throwing his prior proclamation to the wind and murdering Cloud himself. Well. There was only one thing to say to that…
Bring it on.