An anonymous person on tumblr asked for a fic with "Older dude Cloud mechanic getting hit on by the poly supersolider boys!" This is also inspired by some recent discussion there of what it would be like if Cid were Cloud's rather grumpy uncle. Thank you, anon!

Trusty ol Odin had been making terrible sounds for at least five miles. Really, really terrible ones. Every time Zack steered left or right he was rewarded with a deep groaning. A high-pitched whistling grew increasingly annoying the longer the engine ran.

Quite honestly, Zack was sixty percent sure his beloved bike would explode on him before he got home. With luck it would happen outside Midgar's gates; there was nothing to be gained from endangering anybody with bike shrapnel. He'd be fine, of course—maybe a little singed, but hell, that would make a freakin' impressive story.

A group of Zenenes caught him on his way back from some ruins an hour or so outside Midgar. A couple unfortunate Piazzo Showers later Zack had a few sizzling holes in his clothing. He crushed his second emptied Antidote container in his fist, and threw them both at the corpse of the last Zenene, irritated.

"Poison, honestly…" he grumbled as he got back on the bike, adjusting his sword on its magnetic harness to ensure it wouldn't damage him or the bike as he rode. Midgar was close now; he was practically home. The problem was that some of the poison from the monsters had gotten onto the bike and dripped all over the engine. Unlike his uniform, it hadn't worn any holes into the metal, but… it couldn't be a good thing.

Zack tried not to think about monster poison possibly mixing with the fuel in his bike as he rolled through Sector 3. The noise of the thing drew a couple heads, but few people continued to stare. Unless you were trying to pick a fight with ShinRa the people here tended to ignore SOLDIERs; their presence wasn't exactly beloved by most folks under the plate. The infantry, charged with patrolling the various Sectors and keeping things 'orderly,' had it even worse, however.

Turning down a road that would eventually bring him towards access to the upper plate and home, Zack winced as Odin let out another unhappy noise. This time it sounded weak and defeated, almost.

Zack patted the bike. "Hang in there, buddy."

Odin did not listen. With some ear-popping spurts and a loud crack from the exhaust pipe, the bike's engine cut. It rolled to a stop.

Zack let his head thunk against the handlebars. "Fuck," he cursed, smacking the frame as he eased it to the side and out of the way. The fucking thing was dead, and here he was with liquefied garbage from the gutter squelching under his boots as he crouched to inspect it. The bike looked pretty fine, other than a few green drops here and there. Then again, the bike was powered by a mako-based fuel so… who knows what that was?

Asking someone nearby for help was always an option, but that was a last resort. He had been pointed in the wrong direction too many times to count by folks under the plate, as it was one of their small ways at getting back at ShinRa. (This was, of course, independent of all the attempted wallet thefts, one actual wallet theft, the few unsuccessful group-muggings, and other unsavory attacks.) Instead, Zack pulled out his PHS and prayed for some signal in this part of town. He was right on the border of Sectors 3 and 4, and according to his GPS, which was weak and took some time to load, but was working… there was a mechanic five blocks west.

Zack could have danced. He put the thing in neutral, grabbed the handlebars, and started to walk it there. A slow-moving SOLDIER pushing a motorcycle made an easy target but the size of the broadsword on his back and the calculating, mako-eyed frown he shot anybody who got too close kept him undisturbed.

Sector 4 was a bit better than Sector 3. He passed a large train station—he'd take it back up to the top of the plate provided the motorcycle couldn't be driven home to the Tower—and continued on a little more until arriving at Highwind Auto.

It didn't look like much, but Zack hardly cared. His PHS said the place was rated four and a half stars out of five. Not that he would have walked it an extra thirty blocks to the next mechanic, but it was nice to know anyway.

There was a small yard out back where some vehicles were cramped together but Zack went in the front after propping his bike on its kickstand on the sidewalk outside the door. The front door was dirty and smudged, and had some bells on a leather strip that jingled as he pushed it open. The place was small, with a counter in the front, a few chairs pushed together to the side for a waiting area next to a table cluttered with some worn magazines. Behind the counter was the main area of the shop—the place where they hoisted trucks up to get underneath and where they serviced the vehicles themselves.

A blond man looked up from a dingy computer as he entered. His eyes took in the uniform and sword and then hardened; he crossed his arms across his chest. "You better not be tryin' to start trouble in my shop," he growled, speaking calmly around an unlit cigarette, perched between his lips.

Zack's posture smoothed out. He pushed back his shoulders and put a playfulness into the swing of his arms and the tilt of his head. "Not at all, Sir," he said, grinning (because dammit, his bike was broken; he needed some help, asshole or no). "I'm wondering if you guys could take a look at my motorcycle. It broke down somewhere in Sector 3."

"We don't do retrieval for ShinRa."

Zack briefly clenched his jaw. "There's no need. I walked it here. It's just outside the door."

The man studied him for a moment. Zack could see the graying roots of his hair and the lines around his mouth from, he presumed, a great many cigarettes. He eventually sighed, "If ShinRa's payin' this won't be cheap," and turned to a door behind him. He stuck his head into the garage area beyond and roared, "Cloud! Get yer ass out here—got a bike for ya!"

The man pushed some paperwork into Zack's hands before disappearing into the back and Zack tended to the first few lines on the topmost form while hiding a grimace. He made no secret of his distaste for paperwork, always preferring hands-on work to the desk stuff. Still, he always did it, and he did it well.

He stared at one of the blanks, though. The make/model…? He had no clue.

The arrival of the bike specialist gave him a break, and Zack greeted the man with a kind smile despite his exhaustion—it was slightly strained, but he was trying. The sooner he got out of here the better.

"Hey," the man greeted, in a low, smooth voice that didn't quite match his face. "Heard you got a bike for me."

"Yeah," Zack sighed, flashing a grumpy frown. "Lucky you."

"Name's Cloud," he said. "Cid didn't give you a clipboard. Here." He grabbed one from nearby and passed it over, then lifted up a section of the counter on a hinge to enter the rest of the welcome room. "Write as we walk. C'mon."

Zack paid little attention to the forms as he followed Cloud back outside. It had been a tiring mission. He hadn't slept at all the previous night, on his own without backup eliminating what was supposed to be a small monster horde but was definitely not. He was running on ration bars and a few energy potions, and while he did have some excellent notes for the excavation team that was looking into salvaging what they could of the ruins and had found a rare materia half-buried in some dirt, he was mentally exhausted. A hot man with hair that shone down here in the darkness beneath the plate was exponentially more distracting than he would be under normal circumstances.

There was this thing Zack had. When one of his boyfriends was dirty or grimy or sweaty, when Genesis just finished off another horde, when Sephiroth sent him a sharp look after just hopping off the treadmill, or when Angeal was streaked with dirt from his plant projects, well… he liked that. A lot. This Cloud here wore a sleeveless white tank top, stained with grease and sweat, and tight black pants that hugged his ass as he planted his hands on his hips and bent to inspect Odin.

Zack watched shamelessly as the mechanic walked around the entire bike, his pretty lips turned down into a deep frown as he studied it. Then his unconscious leer morphed into an expression of shock as Cloud pushed with his boot, and effortlessly knocked Zack's bike over into the dirt.

"What the hell is this," Cloud asked him—but said like a statement. He faced him, his expression making Zack feel like… like he'd done something horrible.

Zack held up his hands, clipboard in one hand and his pen in the other. "I know, I know, he's old. There was a monster attack outside the city, and he kind of got drenched from a poison-based attack."

Cloud seemed unamused. He picked the bike back up and then ran a hand through his hair, sending his spikes even more askew. "It's not that the bike is old—with the right care older bikes often run better than new ones. This has just been subjected to the shittiest care I've seen in a long while."

"Heeey," Zack whined as his shoulders drooped. "Don't look at me like that, man. The thing got requisitioned to me when I hit Second Class. SOLDIERs don't service them ourselves—there's a few mechanics in the tower who take care of 'em.

"From the looks of it, they shouldn't be allowed near another bike anytime soon," Cloud said, and pat Odin's handlebar. "What do you know?"

"Not much," Zack admitted. "I don't know the model, or any specifications, or anything. I just ride it. And not often, either; no one at HQ uses these damn things, with chocobos around."

"Chocobos need care. Motorcycles do too."

Cloud crouched, wiping at his forehead with the back of one wrist as he did so. It was hot out today, though considerably more so outside the city, where, well, there was sunlight. Zack's eyes narrowed in on the movement before he forced himself to fill out the paperwork (or whatever he could of it, anyway).

"Motorcycles don't need a couple handfuls of gysahl greens every few hours, Spike," Zack said as he scribbled, "Nor do they leave nasty shits all over the place."

The man snorted. Zack glanced up—the seat of the bike was off, and Cloud was poking around at something. "No, but if you leave a bike to its own devices and neglect it, it'll end up like this. In trouble. A piece of junk."

"Hey."

"If you actually cared, you wouldn't have let it get this bad." Cloud replaced the seat and stood up. "Or let it get covered in poison."

"It's not like I was trying to give it a bath. You ever fought a Zenene?"

"Yeah." Cloud nudged up the kickstand. "And I've never gotten my bike ruined."

"Well well well," Zack drawled, narrowing his eyes as Cloud started to wheel it around to the back of the shop, through the side door. His voice grew louder so the blond could hear him; he stayed where he was. "We've got a hotshot mechanic down here, don't we?"

Cloud paused, almost disappeared around the corner. He looked back at Zack for a moment, his expression puzzled, before entering the back of the garage.

Zack grinned to himself as he strolled back in the front door. Finishing the rest of the forms didn't take long and while he waited for Cloud to return he sent his boyfriends a group message – Going to be a bit later than expected. Bike troubles. Everything's fine.

When Cloud returned he had a pair of goggles pushed up into his hair, holding his bangs back like a headband.

Damn, he was ten kinds of cute.

"What's the damage?"

Cloud shrugged. "It looks bad. I can tell you you won't be able to ride it out of here today, though."

"I figured as much. Look, if it's too much trouble, I can just arrange for ShinRa to come pick it up, get it off your hands."

"Nah." Cloud waved him away. "It'll be good to work on a bike again; they're rare down here. If it's possible to save your bike I'll do it."

Zack was impressed. Cracking a crooked grin, he asked, "You some sort of hero down here? Savior of the bikes?"

"More 'that poor bastard who gets screamed at by his uncle all day.'"

"Is that other guy Highwind?"

"Yeah. Is there a typo in…? It's not recognizing… ah, there we go. Thanks. –Yeah, he's my uncle. Cid Highwind. He knows his stuff."

"So do you," Zack flirted, unable to help himself. "You're the chocobo whisperer of motorcycles."

Cloud's brows drew together, and he sent Zack an unsavory look.

"…That was really bad," Zack admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah," Cloud agreed. He continued to process Zack's forms and enter data into the old, dirty computer.

"Lemme try again. It looks like you're a talented guy. Good with your hands. Good at lots of other things."

"You're kidding."

"I am," Zack assured, laughing brightly, encouraged by Cloud's small chuckle. He didn't really look like someone who laughed a lot—it felt like a little victory for him. "Mostly," he added, winking.

"You're paying for this with ShinRa funds, yeah?"

"Mmhmm."

"Cid'll be happy about that…"

"Have you been here with him for a long time?"

"I guess. I've been working at the shop with him for… ten years now."

"A whole decade. You must've been real young when you started in this business, wow."

"Not really," Cloud answered, shrugging. "Eighteen."

Zack opened his mouth, and then closed it with a sharp click of his teeth. He studied the masculine cut of Cloud's jaw again, the muscled arms, the… slightly short stature. "You're shittin' me," he said, leaning forward over the counter on his elbows, one leg crossed leisurely over the other. "You're twenty-eight?"

"Yeah." Cloud sounded hostile—Zack wondered if this was a sore spot for him. The glint in his eyes told Zack he dared him to say what Zack was about to say—you're too pretty to be that old.

Zack had a feeling that, although Cloud was unenhanced, he'd give a very good attempt at fucking him up, even if he wouldn't succeed. "Huh," he said instead, nodding. "That's cool, man."

"Not really."

Zack's grin just grew. Slightly contrary people were some his favorites—he was dating one, after all, and Sephiroth could be just as bad as Genesis on his good days. Cloud handed him his business card, and Zack slid it into his pocket. Twenty-eight put Cloud a solid six years older than Zack, at twenty-two.

Despite being the tall, flashy SOLDIER with the company card, the big sword, and the cute one-liners, Zack suddenly felt very out of his league.

"I'll call you when I have a better idea of what you should do about the bike. Maybe three days or so."

"Okay." Zack just nodded, the next flirt drying up on his tongue. "…Thanks for everything. You're a big help."

"Yeah." Cloud gave him a small, fond smile. "See you soon, then."

Zack left, and as the door shut behind him he heard Cid bellow from the back of the shop, "I'm not PAYING YOU to CHAT UP CUSTOMERS!"

He was still snickering about it a while later, in Sector 8, as he hopped off the roof of the train.