sinnatious

Title: Beloved

Rating: M, for violence, language, slash.

Summary: FFVII, post DoC. Genesis/Cloud, one-sided Tifa/Cloud. It all starts when Cloud tries to leave during the middle of a Loveless performance.

Author’s Note: Have been powering through all the DLC in Theatrhythm. Am kind of raging at Square for teasing us with Versus XIII music. And am now in the process of tracking down the amazing Type-0 soundtrack. Speaking of which, is Type-0 EVER coming out in English?! My PSP could use some loving. Not that any of this is relevant to writing. Hey look, a new chapter!

Thanks to Little House in the Woods for the beta!

Previous chapter

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Beloved Chapter 15

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Cloud yanked a small black tote out of his cupboard. Clothes went in first, crumpled and thrown – no time for folding. Then his emergency stash of gil in the back of his drawer. His materia next – a half dozen, nothing close to his full collection but the ones he liked best – as well as his supply of potions and ethers. First Tsurugi was swiftly assembled from its rack and slung into its holster. He swept through the bathroom, snatching up toiletries and stuffing a water flask under the tap. He left it filling and dashed into the kitchenette, grabbing anything that didn’t require cooking or refrigeration. Something glass smashed on the floor behind him but he was already rushing back to his room, tossing it all haphazardly into his bag.

His gaze swept the room for anything important he’d missed, and caught the picture frames on his desk. AVALANCHE, as well as another with him, Tifa, and the kids.

The kids. His gut tightened at the thought. They’d understand – probably better than anyone else. But Denzel might do something rash.

He scribbled out a quick note – mostly reassurance, some vague explanation, and an imperative to take care of Marlene and Tifa for him. The responsibility ought to be enough to keep Denzel from chasing after him or picking fights on his behalf – though he didn’t hold much hope on the latter. He went to the room the kids shared, and slipped it under Denzel’s pillow.

Back in his office, he zipped up his tote. At the last minute, he grabbed the picture frames and stuffed them in there too.

In their place, he left his phone.

Vincent had already vanished when he headed back downstairs. To go meet up with Shelke, most likely – Cloud could appreciate the former Turk took a risk in even that small delay to inform him of what was going on.

He slipped out the back, quietly closing the door behind him, eyes sweeping the street for familiar faces. Nobody – the backstreet was usually empty, even during the day. It was warm and sunny out, with clear blue skies overhead. The only sound was the distant rumble of traffic the next street over.

It was so painfully normal it left him unsettled. The freedom he’d fought so hard far was under threat, but business in Edge carried on as usual.

He made straight for the garage. Fenrir was in working condition now at least, even if it still needed some bodywork and paint. He would spend a few hours driving circles in the wastes to shake off any potential tails, and then head to the theatre. Warn Genesis. Then find the clone and put a stop to this mess. It would be harder if he had to hide from the WRO and ShinRa at the same time, but then again they’d been doing that already. And if things were this dire, there were riskier methods he could take.

He shoved the thought away. There were more immediate problems to worry about. He could worry about Genesis and the clone after he made it out of Edge.

There was the garage. The door stood open, and he could see his bike inside, scratched black and chrome metal gleaming in the afternoon light. Still battered and scarred from the crash, but the sight of it reassured him. Fenrir was escape.

Then he took another step, and noticed the two familiar figures loitering in the shadows of the garage.

Cloud breathed a curse and jolted back out of sight, scanning the area for anything that might give his position away. The mirror on the truck parked further down the alley. The second floor windows of the building next door, staring down at him. The small black circle of a security camera on the street corner, pointed unerringly at the entrance to the rare metals dealer. The lip of the rooftop the next block down, towering over its peers.

All clear. They couldn’t have noticed him yet. More cautiously this time, he peered around the corner again, angling just enough to catch a glimpse of the garage’s interior from the truck’s mirror.

The view was distorted, but the shock of red hair and goggles was unmistakeable.

Reno.

And just beyond him, caught in the edge of the reflection, a bald head and pair of shades. Rude.

Rude was standing by the bike with his arms crossed, while Reno lounged against the wall, muttering about something while he twirled his electro rod in his fingers. Impossible to guess what he was saying through the distorted reflection. Didn’t matter.

The security forces were already moving.

They were serious. Gaia, he didn’t think they’d act that fast.

What were his options? It was just Reno and Rude. Even together, he could take them down easily in a fair fight without doing any permanent damage.

Reno and Rude would know that. Which was why they wouldn’t allow a fair fight.

A trap, then – maybe some rigged explosives, or a sniper. A more careful study of the area didn’t reveal anything, but he didn’t expect it would. It wouldn’t work if it were obvious.

Though they didn’t have to a win a fight, if they’d hidden a tracking device in his bike.

Or if they’d sabotaged the bike itself. His arms itched with the memory of burning road rash and sharp gravel. There were many more things to cut than just the brake line.

With a quiet breath, he stepped away, heading back down the alley.

Fenrir was lost to him.

The loss ached, but he put that aside too. This made things more complicated. Without Fenrir, he would have to escape on foot. That made him easier to follow – and easier to catch.

No time to waste. The rooftops, maybe? But it was broad daylight – he’d be a clear target, especially if the WRO or Neo-ShinRa got one of their choppers in the air. This wasn’t a pack of kids looking to pick a fight over his eyes at night.

He hunched his shoulders and walked swiftly through the alley, sticking to the blind spots as much as possible. It took all of his self-control not to run. Running would only draw attention.

The back alleys and service lanes couldn’t carry him more than a couple of blocks though. He slung his tote over his shoulder and shifted First Tsurugi so it wouldn’t be so obvious, and eyed the wide intersection ahead.

It looked more like an endless expanse of desert in the current situation. Bathed yellow in the bright afternoon sun, with no cover to speak of.

He checked his sunglasses again. Casually glanced both ways as he approached.

Then froze.

A line of WRO security forces fanned across the road ahead. Setting up a perimeter. Sweeping the street.

Looking for him.

His vision flickered, replaced by a line of silver ShinRa helmets, red-eyed monsters. He shook it away – the WRO weren’t anything like that.

Except they kind of were right now.

He shifted carefully back down the alley, into the safety of the building’s shadows.

He’d go another way – head east towards the Grasslands until he was clear, then loop northwest back towards Midgar. His steps grew light and swift on the road, weaving through the dumpsters and doorways as he turned down the next side street.

Then came to an abrupt stop at the sight of guns and helmets.

The road to the east was being patrolled too.

He turned south. Seventh Heaven was located on the northern side of Edge – if he could get into the city centre, there’d be more streets to patrol. Harder for the WRO to cover everything.

His ears strained for the distant thrum of rotors as he retraced his steps. No helicopters yet. He ducked around the next corner, brushing past a pair of chatting pedestrians utterly unaware of the lockdown in progress. A car rumbled by, and he moved across the street in its wake, slipping into the shadows of another side street, and then another.

As he stepped into a grey service lane lined with rubbish skips, the brief scuff of a leather shoe on concrete reached his ears. He stilled, gaze skating across the narrow alleyway, searching out the source.

One painfully long heartbeat later, Tseng stepped into his path as though born from the shadowed alcove he’d been hiding in. His long, tidy black hair and perfectly pressed suit was incongruous with the dumpsters surrounding them, and his gun hung loosely in his grip – drawn, but not raised.

Not yet.

“Strife-”

“Not interested,” he interrupted.

Tseng paused at that. “You already know, then. Red XIII, I presume. He left in quite the hurry.”

What was Nanaki up to? It was never smart to reveal your hand to a Turk. Cloud simply replied, “You can tell Rufus to forget it.”

“You should reconsider, Strife. It’s for your own protection as much as the public’s. And it won’t be forever – it’s only until the current situation is resolved and things calm down again.”

“That’s a lie.” So this was how Rufus convinced Reeve, and then Reeve, Tifa. Telling them it was to protect him from this clone they couldn’t catch, and from a public ready to form a lynch mob at the slightest provocation. Protect him from himself, if it came to that. And it was only temporary, after all.

It was never temporary.

“We don’t want to be your enemy,” Tseng said.

They were already the enemy.

“Sorry,” Cloud murmured, and struck.

Credit to Tseng’s reflexes – he tried to evade. But for all his skills, even the best of the Turks didn’t have a hope against a SOLDIER moving at full speed. His fist slammed into his stomach before Tseng even managed to raise his gun. Hidden body armour fractured under his knuckles. Tseng folded in half, eyes widening as the breath leapt from his lungs, and then crumpled to the ground. Unconscious.

Cloud snatched up his gun, wrenched out the firing bolt, and tossed it away. It spun across the ground with a metallic scrape and disappeared underneath one of the dumpsters. He moved on, more urgently now. The net was closing in.

He kept to the alleys, careful to cross the streets when no WRO security were in sight – or were, at the very least, not looking in his direction. Slipping between bright warm sunlight and safe, cooling shadow, jostling past pedestrians, gaze constantly tracking every doorway and rooftop for black suits or uniforms.

But the further south he moved, the more WRO agents there seemed to be. He turned left, hoping to follow a narrow road through to the industrial sector, but there was a patrol at the intersection. He backtracked, but only made it two blocks before he found a checkpoint waving pedestrians and motorcars through.

No choice. He retreated north again.

It felt like Odin’s hands themselves were tightening around his throat.

His pace quickened until he was almost moving at a run. He stepped inside a grocer for a moment, pretending to scan the aisles of produce. The minute the cashier looked away to complete a transaction, he was out through the back door, into the next service lane.

He stepped up to the corner, peering around. Another patrol – seven WRO officers. All armed. That confirmed it. Completely surrounded.

His heart thudded in his ears. Should he try and get past? Bust out, before the net could close in? After Tseng woke up, there wouldn’t be a chance. The gloves would come off.

His fingers wrapped around First Tsurugi’s hilt.

There were only seven of them, and only three looking his way. Half had their weapons at the ready – the rest had them slung over their shoulders. Sloppy. Mid-tier recruits, then. Rookies would be nervous and sticking to regulation, and veterans from the DeepGround fighting would know better.

It was doable.

He forced his fingers to uncurl from their death grip on his sword. He was fast enough to draw, if it came to that. No need to invite trouble. He wouldn’t be the one to throw the first punch.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out onto the street.

They didn’t notice him immediately. Cloud kept his pace quick but steady, staying to the side of the street and doing his best to look uninterested in the patrol.

It didn’t work, of course. He was never that lucky.

“It’s him!”

The cry went out half a second before the air cracked with gunfire. A pedestrian screamed, Cloud whipped First Tsurugi forward, and a bullet pinged against the flat of the blade.

‘First sign of resistance’. Right.

In the two seconds it took for the others to turn and raise their weapons, Cloud was upon them.

First Tsurugi sliced through the barrels of the two nearest guns with sharp metallic shing. Half a second to kick away a third, then he was barrelling through, his shoulder slamming into the next trooper, knocking him to the ground.

Cloud burst past, running full tilt. Gunfire thudded behind him. There was a slice of air and a flash of pain against his left arm, and then he was ducking into the alleyway beyond, moving with all of his mako-enhanced speed. Footsteps came pounding after him, punctuated with bursts of radio static, but he had already rounded the next two corners, sprinting another three blocks down before they even came close.

The price of freedom…

He skidded to a stop just shy of the next corner, and bit down on a Cid-worthy swearing streak. Another patrol? Hadn’t he broken through the line?

How many people had the WRO put on this?

He leaned against the brick wall of the alleyway, taking another long, steadying breath that felt like sandpaper in his throat, trying to work out a plan that didn’t involve cutting down dozens of WRO troops. There wasn’t much time. The patrol he’d busted through wouldn’t be that far behind, and if they radioed back to base the other patrols would be alerted any minute.

His head pounded from adrenaline and his arm stung. Reflexively, he checked it, and found only a bullet graze. Already stopped bleeding, wouldn’t slow him down. Another quick glance around the corner revealed the other patrol wasn’t doing anything yet. Twenty seconds had passed. He probably had about another thirty to come up with a plan, or he’d be busting out the violent way.

That was when he caught sight of an awfully familiar red-haired man casually ambling towards him.

Genesis?

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