_Boys of Summer_

Cloud leaned against the wall, not entirely sure what he was doing, much less why it seemed to require him to muster his courage. He shook his head, feeling a fool. There was nothing dangerous behind the nondescript paneled door. Just a spare room, filled with a few dusty old boxes. One of Cid’s crewmen sketched him a salute and ducked past him down the hall towards the engines. Feeling strangely furtive, the blond checked for anyone else, nominally alone at last. Closing his eyes, he felt around, fairly confident that he was the only one there too, at least for the moment. As bad as it had been to occasionally black out and wake up somewhere else, sometimes it was worse to never blank out at all. There were things inside that were just as ugly as anything Jenova could create. Where ever the voices were, they wouldn’t be bothering him for a little while.

He pushed off the wall, gently turning the knob and slipping into the empty bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him, he flicked on the lights. Battered and dusty as they had been the day before, the boxes were a mystery. He frowned seeing several of them had been popped open, some of their contents laying in neatly folded stacks on the bed. Shirts, socks, a well worn leather jacket, a ratty pair of sneakers that hadn’t been in fashion for over 10 years. Each of the cardboard cubes was a time capsule, a man’s life caught in amber to be extracted and analyzed years after he was gone. The memory of his teammates pawing at the well-loved relics made him a little sick, and a little angry. They just didn’t get it.

He sat gently on the bed, picking up the battered jacket, unfolding it and holding it up to his face. If he concentrated he could make out a faint odor of cigarettes and cologne along the collar. Ten years carefully preserved in its coffin of paper and dust, the scent, like the memories, lingered. Kid-print handwriting on the sewn-in tag carefully stated that this coat had belonged to someone, belonged to them still, in a way. He wondered what the voices would say if he tried to burry it along with the body that had worn it.

// … probably say it was a waste of a perfectly good coat… // Cloud couldn’t help but laugh a little at the thought.

Not entirely sure what he was looking for, he set the brown leather aside in favor of looking in to the box it had come from. It seemed to have been mostly clothes. He tried the two other opened containers seeing much the same. Popping the tape on each of the remaining ones in turn he found ancient bottles of shampoo, the carefully packed evidence of a tiny bachelor kitchen complete with mismatched silverware and a surprising number of books. Pulling one free he traced his hand along the well-creased spine, and remembered that Zack had once confessed that he liked mysteries.

// … sure they’re contrived, and usually pretty cheesy… but what in life isn’t? Ya know? Besides they give your head something to do while waiting, and in the army there’s plenty of that to be had by all… //

The echo of his friend’s words almost made him flinch.

The second to last box was the jackpot. Reverently lifting out a large black folio, he unzipped the side and flipped through what had to be 200 discs worth of random music, most commercially available as of a decade ago, some obviously home-made compilations. His eye caught on one or two names in particular, the lyrics coming to him unbidden. It was close, but not exactly what he was thinking of. He set it on the mattress, on top of the jacket. There would be time for that later. Reaching further into the box resulted in a stack of videos, he blinked in surprise at one that was obviously porn, dropping it back in the box. The others were similarly uninteresting save two, both with cases covered in the same childish block print. One was titled ‘Damn Funny,’ with a side note saying ‘Don’t you dare tape over this ol’man!, ’ the other was simply labeled ‘Band-Winter’07 ’. They were equally tempting, and after a moment’s hesitation, were both tucked into his pockets. Tidying the room a little, he shut off the lights and quietly left.

It took only a moment to quickly patrol the ship, counting heads as he went. Tifa and Barrett in their rooms, Yuffie training on the lower deck against a dart board, Cid in command with Reeve’s robotic alter-ego recharging in the corner. Vincent was lurking along the railing and watched the stars, a trio of Turks drank and played poker on deck with Scarlet. She seemed to be winning. He nodded a greeting to them as they looked his way but didn’t stop to chat.

// That only leaves one… //

One quick peek out the door leading to the upper deck was all he needed. A shimmer of silver hair, unmistakable, was trickling down the wall from where its owner lounged, also stargazing. Cloud blinked. The cloned SOLDIER was wearing one of Zack’s old t-shirts. For a moment he was irritated at the blatant theft from the dead. He stopped himself and turned around, leaving as quietly as he had come. It wasn’t like the man probably had much choice. Of his entire team, only Barrett would have been broad enough to loan him a clean shirt, and somehow he didn’t imagine them being /that/ friendly any time soon.

// It’s just a shirt… hell… he’s probably worn it before… //

He swallowed against the sour taste in his mouth.

// Ten years ago… before snapping one day and attempting to kill the guy. Sure, no problem… ‘hey Zack, mind if I borrow your cammo-shirt? All mine are dirty…’ … probably happened all the time. //

Satisfied he could escape unobserved, the blond padded down to the ‘conference’ room and crouched in front of the projector equipment, puzzling out where the staff had left the remote. While hardly a tech-genius, he could usually navigate the buttons on a VCR. Finally getting the screen and tape player to cooperate, he settled in a chair to watch. Like most home movies, it started with a lurch and someone randomly fiddling with the buttons, the image completely unintelligible. The brightness adjusted abruptly however and the sound although scratchy and low quality, faded in. Mostly it was a crowd, a mass of cheering, yelling young people at what had to be a dance club. They panned into view, waving and dancing, generally having a good time. Threading musically through the din was fast-paced song, the snatches of melody familiar.

Out on the road today…

… Inside my head said…

… You can never look back."

Sinking down further into his chair, Cloud waited as the camera-man wedged through the crowd to get closer to the stage where four guys seemed to be having way too much fun. The drummer had oversized sunglasses, the base guitarist was in a Costa del Sol style floral shirt.

I thought I knew what love was… What did I know?

The second guitarist was hammering his instrument like he meant business, even with the poor tape quality coming off as the most professional of the group. The singer only bothered with his instrument during the bridges. Cloud forgave the man, he made up for it with his voice. Not exactly pretty, but edgy, catchy, sharp, rather like the words. He gave the band its punch, breathing life into the old song stolen off the radio, and obviously contributing to a fair portion of its popularity with the women.

“… hey Zack… You’re looking good…” He quietly gave his former friend’s image a thumb’s up.

Hunkering down lower still, the former Avalanche leader wished he had thought to bring a drink. Suddenly he really wanted one. Getting drunk wouldn’t help, even if it wasn’t damn near impossible. Watching the blurry antics of his friend on stage, years before they had even met, he could feel his eyes grow suspiciously itchy.

Those days are gone forever…

…I should just let them go but-

Zack’s expressive face seemed unquestionably alive, real, almost more so than his own memories. He wished he could say they were lying, but he knew the real from the false now. Even with the camera right in front of the stage, the occasional stray limb would block his view, he wished the dancers could have given the guy a little room.

I can see you...

He remembered the dark haired man singing… usually to himself after the scientists had left them for the day. The warm rough voice right next to his ear on the rare days they were allowed in the same holding-cell, or echoing oddly behind thick glass on the days they weren’t. The blond had always wondered if the SOLDIER was singing for his sake, or simply to cheer himself up. It seemed to amount to the same thing.

Your brown skin…

The words came back to him suddenly, his brain filling in the lyrics drowned out by the crowd. For a distorted moment, he actually remembered a different day, in a different place. In the walled courtyard behind the old mansion, they had sat in a patch of sunshine, a rare day out, under heavy guard. The dark hair had hung ratty and limp around his friend’s tired face, his normally commanding voice little more than a gentle croon. Exhausted, drugged and bleeding from the latest round of tests, Cloud remembered sitting in the cocoon of his larger prison-mate’s arms and legs feeling a rare moment of safety while he was sung to sleep.

You got that…

…radio on, baby

…my love for you will still be strong…

After the boys of summer have gone

The tape cut off abruptly as the band was playing the final bars, leaving him with nothing but noisy static and an ache in his chest. He wiped his nose on his arm, wishing he had left well enough alone. It never helped to remember things. Mechanically the blond went about powering down the screen, rewinding the old tape and carefully putting it back in its carton. The other home movie could wait, he wasn’t in the mood to see what it was his old friend had found so funny. Tucking both boxes back into his pockets, he exited the board room only to stop at the door, alarmed at the sight.

Leaning against the wall just outside was a familiar silver-haired ghost, a cloned relic from ten years ago. Memories of the burning town fresh in his mind, Cloud turned away a moment, trying to gather himself. He was surprised when the copied SOLDIER didn’t exploit the weakness. The taller man seemed frozen, watching the carpet by his feet as if it would divulge the mysteries of the universe. He cleared his throat to catch his unwanted guest’s attention.

“… you heard…?”

Sephiroth looked up, expression strange, even for him. For a long moment it seemed he wouldn’t speak at all, but eventually he resumed his study of the floor with a murmured, “… yes.”

Not sure what etiquette expected of two people in their particularly confused situation, the blond scrubbed his hair nervously only to catch himself. It was a gesture he had learned from Zack after all, just another reminder of what was gone. He firmly stuffed his hands in his pockets, knuckles grazing the tapes.

“… I’m going to go put it back…” The silver-haired man made no sign that he heard, lost in his own thoughts. Cloud was sorely tempted to ask what /he/ remembered about his former officer and the song, but it wasn’t his place. Clearing his throat again, he found the voice for a short. “I’ll see you in the morning…” and made his escape.

-Compliments of the Ataris, and Don Henley before them. Yeah. I suck, everyone and their cousin has used this song for something.