No, I have no idea what's truly wrong with me either. When I write, either I need to bust my gut or break my heart. And, well, I'm late. Still, I'm glad I made it by the week.

This is part of a birthday request from Fly, who celebrates on the twenty-sixth this month:

1) Write a birthday story (for Cloud, for Leon, or both).

2) Write and upload something for the Strifehart Kink Meme prompt you planned but never finished. (And so I saved myself the effort and did a two-in-one. Eh. I'll probably do another, but at a later date.)

3) Update A Cleon Effect, even if only just one chapter.

The list goes on, but these were the top three and the only ones mandatory. So yes, that's at least one more to go. Hopefully soon.

Before I go: I use the word "shisha" and "hookah" to describe the same thing. It's just a difference of language, so don't let it bother you like it will always bother me.

Thanks for stopping by.

The cloaks did poorly to disguise the pair of visitors who came to Agrabah. They were cheap, reasonably ragged, and bore enough stains as signs of well use, but the gait of the two men under them were not those of locals. They did not shuffle as the tired peasants, neither did they swagger as the overconfident wealthy or the arrogant guards. Each step was near silent, carefully calculated and then carefully placed, solid and sturdy upon the ground even for the briefest of seconds. Warriors of an entirely different culture, where they favored the quiet and quick efficiency of the thieves over the proud and honorable swordsmanship of what few soldiers patrolled the streets.

One of the visitors paused and looked down, where a vendor had laid a mat with his wares just by his feet. The peddler noticed at once. "Shisha, sir?" he offered.

The stranger spared a moment longer to think about it, and then he squatted. "Yeah, sure."

No haggling went in – visitors never did understand the art of squabbling over a price too high and a price too low before agreeing on a price just nice. Hands exchanged the local currency, and then a little extra for some tobacco and some water. Scooping up the vessel in one hand, letting its weight rest in the crook of his arm, the visitor shifted the hood from his face and put the end of the tube to his lips. The hood flopped into a pile of wrinkled cloth around his neck and shoulders, and he left it there.

The foreigner was a man of lightly tanned skin and brown, shoulder-length hair, two traits uncommon to the land. He wore a scar on his head from what may or may not have been a bad injury from a sharp blade, and its presence garnered him the wary respect of any who laid eyes on it. He wore only an off-white, wrinkled shirt along with a pair of dusty, faded gray slacks under the cloak, mismatched with the dark color of the gloves on his hands.

His name was Leon, and his world was Hollow Bastion. He was twenty-five years old – for nine years he had been channeling everything he had into taking back that world; for the last eleven months and fourteen days, he was dealing with the notion that something was off with that goal he had fought so hard to fulfill, that he was still unsatisfied.

The other visitor had stopped just a few steps ahead, his body turned to wait for his companion to catch up. Laying eyes on the new purchase, he made a face.

"Less than twenty-four hours in this dump, and that's the first thing you buy?" he challenged. "Do you even know how to smoke a hookah?"

The tube was drawn back for Leon to answer blandly, "I'm smoking it now."

"How are you smoking at all?"

"I was raised by Cid Highwind for nine years."

"Aerith and Yuffie don't smoke."

"They weren't teenage boys."

"Score one for them."

Leon huffed and lightly whacked his companion in the head. The second hood fell away to reveal a head of sun-colored hair done up in spikes and a pair of bright blues. His own complexion was a more noticeable shade of bronze, one of few souvenirs from having spent more time in the Coliseum against opponents twice his size. His cloaked form was bulkier, though it did not show on the arms that attempted to tidy up his hair a little. Unlike Leon, he bore no visible scars for what he had seen through. Not anymore.

His name was Cloud Strife, and for the past nine years he had been a gladiator caught in a wager with no end in sight. Hades had been clever about it, had generations of contracts and deals where either he won or someone else lost – and the only one who beat him was now a permanent thorn in his side. For all those years, Cloud had never realized the darkness' effect of him, its draining of his memories and his personality, until it would leave him nothing but a shell. Time away from that damned place was helping him regain his losses. At least, in the past months, he had taken back his own dry sense of humor.

"Some place you chose to vacation at," the blond commented now. "If this is how you celebrate a birthday, I'd think you hate me."

"I didn't know today was your birthday."

"It isn't. It was a couple of days ago."

Leon hummed in understanding over the tube he had stuck back between his lips for the moment before he drew it out again. "Besides, this isn't a vacation. We're here on business."

"What sort of business?" Cloud asked. His eyes were elsewhere, trained warily on a shady crooked figure until they got the hint and retreated.

"I paid someone to find a certain artifact for me, and I'm collecting it today," Leon explained. "You're here to make sure he doesn't cheat me on the deal."

"So you need me as your muscle?" Cloud interpreted.

"I need you and your affinity with darkness to make sure it's not a fake."

The blond could not help but bristle at the comment, but more than that he took interest. "What exactly is this thing?"

"You'll see. Come on, I'll buy you breakfast." And with that, Leon slowed in front of a fruit stall long enough to buy four apples. Three of which he handed to Cloud.

"You know," Cloud pointed out, "I could afford treating you more than you treating me."

"But I'm the one asking you for this favor," Leon replied. "Eat."

The blond did not protest further and instead sunk his teeth into the first apple. It wasn't exactly fresh, but it was still firm and gladly lacking in any worms. Leon had a good eye for this sort of thing – objects involved with life and light. That was what Cloud liked to believe, and the fact that Leon was Mickey's contact and had so easily identified Sora for what he was before the others helped justify that belief.

They came to another stop in a shaded patch of ground under someone's dry laundry, and Leon helped himself to the hookah again. This time, he frowned and drew the tube back in obvious distaste.

"Tell me you're giving that to Cid," Cloud grumbled over his second apple.

"If he wants a low-grade hookah, he can have it," Leon grumbled back. "I bought it for show."

Cloud raised his brow. "Who are you trying to impress?"

"Him."

The blond followed the implied direction with his eyes only, soon picking out the one Leon meant. "Your seller?" he queried.

"My seller," Leon confirmed. "Finish eating, and then we'll go."

The third core bounced into the street, and a large rat fearlessly strolled into the open and made off with it at it's own leisure. Securing the line back around the pipe, Leon led the way to where the seller was waiting. Not even halfway there, the stench of shadows was reeking off his figure. Cloud did not want to think on how many dark artifacts this person was smuggling on his person at any one time, never mind if his soul was still intact under all of it.

Despite the overwhelming aura, the man was young and healthy, even possessing a school boy's charm. Brown eyes were bright and twinkling, and the way he smiled warmly was far from the shady dealer imagination had made him out to be earlier. His clothes gave him the appearance of a crazed tourist instead of a local – pockets covered every visible inch of cloth, ranging in all shapes and sizes. And each and every one was filled with something ranging from the size of a small capsule to a large skin of water.

"Ah, welcome. Welcome," he greeted enthusiastically, as though he were genuinely pleased to see them. Still, he hesitated when he noticed Cloud. "… I see you brought company."

"Cassim," Leon returned in address. Once he had regained the man's attention, he held out a small pouch heavy with coins. "This is the other half of the pay. Now where is it?"

"Patience, my brother," the man coaxed. Then he drew what looked like a crude oil lamp from one of his many pockets. "It was hard to find, but well worth your while–"

"That's a fake," Cloud interrupted. The lamp in those large hands, shiny and gold and honestly too new to be ancient, held no secrets. It was tricky to filter through the waves of darkness coming off of their bearer, but none of it touched the lamp itself. From the look of how light and clean it was, there probably wasn't even a drop of oil in that. "It's just an ordinary lamp."

The dealer started to sweat, his eyes flicking to Leon in a silent plea for support. When the brunet remained silent, his own gaze gaining a hateful edge, he fidgeted. "Here, brother, I am an expert in these treasures. I have done this trade for so long. I wouldn't lie to you, brother. Never. Wouldn't dare. Surely, my brother, you won't take an outsider's word over m-"

Contemptuous eyes fell on him, and Cloud's hackles rose. In just one hard, furious glare, he cowed the cocky dealer into submission. Leon had not even looked back at him, a staggering show of faith that calmed the blond more than any verbal reassurance. He held his peace and let Leon do the talking.

"Suppose I take your word," Leon spoke softly, his tone far too normal to not be dangerous. "Suppose I hand you this pouch and take that lamp. Suppose I find out that you did lie to me. Now suppose …" he paused, then reached behind to draw Cloud's cloak aside by just a little bit. "Suppose I come back very angry, I find you – and I promise you, I will find you – and leave you alone with him for a little while…?"

In the dimmer lighting under the cloak, Cloud's buster sword beheld a distinct ghostly gleam. The dealer had the dignity to not squeak in alarm under the implied threat, and at once he snatched back the lamp even before any of Leon's fingers got near it. His tongue rattled frantically as he attempted to correct himself.

"I apologize, brother. My mistake – so many people, so many lamps, you just get so confused, you understand…"

Cloud could not hold back his smirk as Leon dropped the corner of cloak. So he did want him for the muscle, the sneaky man. The gold lamp disappeared somewhere, and then a different pocket was sought out. The second lamp Cassim pulled out was much smaller, so thoroughly blackened it did not even look like metal anymore, save for a few tarnished patches made from vigorous rubbing. The charred lid looked as though it were fused into place, that no amount of prying would free it short of denting the poor misshapen object even further.

But the darkness that radiated from its center was so overwhelming, Cloud almost choked. Whatever the dealer had hid it in before had muffled it, suppressed it to a safe level, but now it was free and raw, its intensity chilling him to the core. He had wanted to suspect the shadows he first found wrapped around the dealer to come from a variety of moderately powerful artifacts. The fact that they all came from this one little lamp terrified him. He was greatly tempted to tell Leon this wasn't it either, if only to save the other man from this danger.

But Leon had already taken one good look at him, had realized the truth for himself, and turned back to the dealer. He silently held out the pouch of coins in one hand, and extended the other for the lamp. Ever the merchant, Cassim took the money first before dropping the lamp solidly in the waiting glove. With the deal made, he bowed shallowly and then hurried away.

Now that it was closer still, the dark energy from the lamp seemed to rear its head like a snake, taking interest in him. He could feel icy claws scratch curiously at his arm, trying for a taste of what they had probably sensed in him. Then he felt them latch on a little harder, a little more eagerly. A cold beyond ice washed over him, dulling even the memory of the sweltering Agrabah heat, and he felt his fingers twitching, his arm shivering with increasing violence.

Then Leon took the cursed lamp in both gloved hands and turned it over. Like a trained animal, it obediently withdrew, and Cloud welcomed the heat's swift return.

"Sorry," the brunet muttered, aware of what might have happened. But his eyes never left the lamp, his gaze intent, as though he were staring pass the black barrier and into its darker interior. "Let's take this back."

"Let's not," the blond growled, grateful that his teeth did not chatter. Not even Hades had such an effect on him; perhaps because Hades, at least, retained a bit of familiar humanity in his personality. "That thing needs to disappear down whatever hole it crawled out of and buried there."

"Not this time," Leon agreed and disagreed in the same answer. "I need this."

"You told me I didn't need that deal with Hades," Cloud countered angrily, "and now you tell me you need this deal with a demon?"

"You don't understand."

"Then make me." The cloak drew back once more, giving Cloud better access to his weapon's hilt. "Or else that thing does not leave this place."

Leon hesitated, knowing exactly how serious Cloud was in that moment. Had they switched places, he knew that he would have done the same thing. He had little choice in the matter, he realized that. So he turned around, and started to speak.

"Merlin showed me some old legends of this world, from those careless time travel adventures he took in his 'youth'." The term he implied sarcastically with air quotes just over his grip on the lamp. "One of those legends involves a dark, very powerful jinn." He paused for a moment, then explained, "Genie."

"Go on."

"This one appeared long after many of the genies had disappeared – Aladdin was lucky to find his current one at all. If Jafar had known this one existed, who knows what he would have done to gets his hands on it."

"What's so special about it?" Cloud probed impatiently. Leon hesitated again, turning the lamp in his hands once more. The dark entity within remained coiled up, content with him.

"According to the legends, this one doesn't just alter reality," he answered. "It alters time." The way he said it, Leon was probably expecting that to answer everything. Cloud, however, was far from satisfied. The brunet sensed this, and continued to talk. "I know I can't change the past, but it's in the past that I can find my answers. I need to know what happened to my home."

"I'll tell you what happened: a crazy man invited a horde of gremlins over for tea, and an even crazier witch set up shop in what was left over from the party." Leon made a small noise, the result of stifling a laugh, but he was not agreeing. Cloud went on, "You found Hollow Bastion. You took your home back. What happened to it wasn't – isn't – something you could stop."

"You're wrong," Leon replied, as expected of him. Then, unexpectedly, "Hollow Bastion is a world. It is not my home." When Cloud stopped, he struggled to explain himself. "I thought it was. I wanted to believe it was. But no matter how I try, I can't. I'm still restless. There's something in me telling me I'm still far off, that I still haven't come home. No matter what I do to fix the world I grew up in, it doesn't go away."

"I have a suggestion," Cloud cut in crudely. "Get yourself laid."

He was getting increasingly upset, falling on humor to weasel out of this. He was getting nowhere with it. He was ignored.

"Prep the ship for takeoff," Leon told him, and in his voice was a stoic refusal to be dissuaded or argued with further, no matter how the other tried. "We're going back to Hollow Bastion, and this is coming with us."

"Damn it, Leonhart," Cloud cursed at last. Hearing his name definitely halted Leon for a half second. How often did Cloud use his name like that? Still, he was solid. He would not bend.

"I helped you back in the Coliseum. I helped you in Hollow Bastion. You owe me this."

It was low and dirty. It was desperate. Cloud gave in. Silent and fuming, he shouldered pass forcefully and made for their ship. He did not have to like it – not one bit.

The castle of Hollow Bastion was just as they had left it – dark, foreboding, barren of anything save a king's throne atop a raised platform… and of course, what was left of the keyhole. Its lost king was gone, and its one-time mistress was gone as well, leaving it so empty, almost lonely in how every mumbled word echoed in the cold air. There was nothing left to see here, to take that was of any use. And yet, coming back here felt like a mistake.

It would have seemed disrespectful for anyone else to sit at the foot of the throne, but the way Leon plopped down on that spot with little care seemed natural, as though he had always belonged there. He had mentioned a distant memory of being raised in this castle, but that would have meant he had been raised by their cruel, mad king. No one in their group wanted to really think on it, much less talk about it.

In Leon's hands sat the cursed lamp, and he continued to turn it over and examine it. It wasn't like he had no idea how to access its contents – they both knew enough about genies to know how to summon one. It was every possible consequence of releasing this one that was holding him back. Having Cloud's eyes trained hatefully upon it was not helping.

"Maybe you should leave," Leon offered. "I didn't get you away from one evil to make you vulnerable to another."

"What," Cloud retorted heatedly, "and letting it have you instead is a brilliant idea?"

"At least it would be because I chose to," Leon reasoned.

"Look at me," the blond said. He had his sword drawn, and he was standing his ground. "This is me making a choice. I'm staying."

Pale grays stared deeply. Bright, glowing blues stared back. Leon understood and bowed his head again in silent gratitude. "Okay, then," he muttered.

Then his thumb found a tarnished patch and stroked across it. Just once, just barely.

A short gust of wind blew in his face, echoed by the soft beat of leather wings. He felt the air shift, goose bumps prickling his skin at the sudden change from room temperature to extreme cold. He heard Cloud shift his feet, the blade scratch against the ground as he got it in position. In a calmer manner – if only in appearance – he raised his head and looked upon their latest guest.

Before him was a demon – horns, tail and all. Apart from its monstrous features, its body retained a mostly humanoid shape, five fingers per hand and five toes per foot, each nail sharpened into a claw. Its hide was tough and gnarled, hardened by the dark place it hailed from. The wings that spread from its back curled forward, only partially extended, surrounding him like two massive leather walls of black bone and blood skin. The spade tail of a devil flicked behind it like a curious pet monkey, every bit as impish as its wielder was not.

The demon looked so very much like a Heartless – pureblood, from its lack of the emblem – and it was massive. Yet it lacked the savage, hungry nature of such a creature, carrying instead the aloof, superior air of an intelligent sentient being – a deity, even. High above his head, its eyes of coal black stared down at him, regarding him with that strange wisdom. There was no eerie yellow glow within them. In fact, he could see no light within those dark depths, neither could he sense a thing – no maliciousness, no benevolence… there was simply nothing.

Yet to look into those eyes, Leon felt no fear. "… I know you," he spoke at last.

Those black eyes did not look away, staring with a greater intensity. They locked eyes for what seemed eternity, the seconds ticking by like a sluggish, faltering heartbeat. The room seemed darker – the suddenly feeble flame of light seemed smaller – and the air grew thicker and bone-chilling cold. The demon was searching him – searching his soul – for something. Anything. Then it found what it was looking for.

Make a wish.

Leon did not know where the voice came from. Perhaps it was coming from him, or perhaps this jinn was telepathic to an extent. Either way, something was demanded of him – the demon needed instruction to proceed.

"Show me my past," he commanded it. "Show me what happened to my home."

He wondered if he had imagined it, but the demon seemed to hesitate. Where there once was emptiness, the barest sliver of emotion flickered across the ebony – not the jinn's own, but of whoever had imposed on it once before. It looked almost like regret.

Still, a wish was a wish. A command was a command.

A large, clawed hand uncurled from its relaxed fist, extended its fingers and slowly reached forward. Leon did not run, neither did he move to defend himself. He remained still, watching the giant's palm lower over his head, fingers enveloping it entirely, too easily. Through the thick barrier, Leon could vaguely hear Cloud calling out to him, certain that he was in some sort of danger but uncertain if he should interfere. Leon knew what it was like to watch helplessly – Cloud didn't deserve this. But just this once, he said nothing. He would apologize later, once it was all over.

This will hurt, the voice he could not place whispered in is ear once more. He took the warning and braced himself. And still he was not ready. He could just barely peer between two digits that were each as thick as his wrist, when suddenly white hot pain lanced through the back of his skull. The white exploded into his vision, wiping out the shadows, the room, everything. His eyes stared unblinkingly into the vast white expanse, at what they proceeded to yield…

And through it all, Cloud watched. His eyes locked onto Leon's still form, so relaxed he might as well be dead, if not for the shallow breathing he could barely make out, along with that bit of light amidst the thick fog of shadow. As dangerous as the situation seemed, at least he could think that Leon was alright.

Suddenly, the light flickered and started to shrink.

And then Cloud heard the terrible scream tear through the room – felt it pierce his very soul – and an instant far too slow he was running. It was the first time he had heard the man scream like that, and he was not sure what exactly he was about to find. Still he ran toward it, his buster sword clenched tightly by his side.

"Get away from him!"

The demon heeded his demand, even if he suspected it wasn't because it feared him, and its clawed hand opened to release the brunet. At once the man's knees buckled under him, no longer able to support his weight. Cloud spared him an undignified collapse on the ground by catching his arm, then settling him to sit. Leon was definitely alive, but his body shook violently and an eerie pallor marked his skin – he had not even voiced his usual protest against help; he might not have even noticed.

The air had cleared, the warmth returning about them. Cloud realized the demon was withdrawing its power, a gracious move to make them more comfortable. Whatever it was, it was proving that it wasn't evil and it meant neither of them any harm. That is, any harm that they did not wish upon themselves. Cloud glared up at it before turning his attention back to Leon.

"Hey," he called to the man carefully. "Can you hear me?"

Leon was still shaking, his now pale lips struggling to form words in silence. Cloud reached for his stash of potions and produced one. Just this once, they could forget that this wasn't a spar or a battle, no one was bleeding or dying, and by their own set of rules this did not validate the use of such things. He knew the need for comfort when he saw it, and a potion was a pretty good placebo.

Tapping a glass rim against chattering teeth, he ordered softly, "Drink."

Numbly, the brunet emptied the vial. As the last of rippling red liquid disappeared down his throat, his shaking subsided. His dazed expression started to clear, to regain a little bit of focus. In the place of shock, Cloud saw an indescribable pain.

"I remember," Leon murmured – almost whimpered. The Leon he knew never whimpered. Not alone, not in front of anybody. A sob tore from the man's throat and he hunched forward, his hands burying his face as he fell back into a vulnerable sorrow. "I remember all of it…"

Perhaps, Cloud wondered in a moment of hindsight, the earlier shock had been an act of mercy.

The next morning, Leon was not doing any better. If anything, he was more sullen, near silent. When he canceled any meetings he had with the Committee and the workers, he did it callously by a slip of paper. And then he had disappeared, effectively avoiding any confrontations regarding his behavior.

Cloud found him, eventually, in Ansem's study. It figured – if he was avoiding work, the workplace would be the last place anyone would pick to look for him. He was sitting in Ansem's chair, his hands on his lap, and sitting on the desk before him was the small recording device he had used for voice memos until he got a better one. Cloud started to step inside, but then he saw a small red light. If Leon knew he was there, he did nothing about it.

Then Leon reached forward and pressed a button, with a muted "click" the red light vanished. And then the man rose slowly from his position and crossed the room. Still ignoring Cloud, he started to step around him. He nearly succeeded when a hand grabbed him above the elbow.

"The others are looking for you," he started. "Cid's furious, Yuffie's upset, and Aerith's worried."

Leon had not fought his hold, neither had he leaned into it. He just stood there, waiting. When Cloud said nothing more, he countered, "… So?"

Cloud bristled. "So?" he repeated, his anger rising in his tone, "they care about what's wrong with you, and you say, 'So'?"

"Then they're wasting their time," Leon answered bluntly. He shrugged out of the other's hold and continued walking. "You can tell them I said that."

The man did not get far before the hand recaptured his arm. "And what about the restoration work?" Cloud demanded. "Is that a waste of time too?"

"Don't–!" Leon started, turning around sharply. For a brief second, a flash of anger had burned in him. Just as quickly, it was gone. "… Don't take that tone with me, Strife. I owe this world nothing. I don't belong here. I wasn't supposed to be here."

And then his next declaration shocked Cloud's grip into slackening, into releasing him at once.

"I was supposed to be dead."

There was no self-pity in that statement, not like before, when the man had expressed regret over doing nothing about the Heartless invasion. The way he said it, he actually believed it for a stone cold fact.

Leon had stopped walking again, and this time he dug in his pocket. What came out was the recording device, and he planted that in Cloud's hand. "You can listen if you want to," he said, "but after that I want you to store it away in a safe place, until it can be archived properly."

Cloud did not ask what it was. Leon told him anyway.

"That," he told him, "is the last, true witness account of a world that no longer exists. Just because it disappeared, doesn't mean it should be forgotten."

Cloud stared down at the device, not quite knowing what to do with it. When he looked up again, Leon was already a distance ahead.

"Where are you going?" he called after him. The man ignored him again. "Leonhart!"

There was still no answer, but something in that man's posture said he did not want to be followed.

The man he knew as Leon was gone. In his place was a man who no longer believed in anything, no longer hoped for anything, no longer loved anyone. Not anymore. Cloud was looking at the back of a man whose soul was paralyzed by a grief he could not deal with.

He had been there before. He had no idea how to fix it for someone else.

But the answer, somehow, lay in that recording device.

Cloud pressed a button. A green light flashed. A mechanical voice stated the day's date.

"… My name," Leon's voice crackled through the old in-built speaker. "Is… was… Squall Leonhart. This world knows me as Leon. As of today, I am twenty-six. And twenty-six years ago, I was seventeen."

There was a pause, but it was far from silent. Through static, Cloud could hear Leon draw in a shaky breath, struggling to gather himself before he could continue.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," he went on. "My time was altered. My reality was altered. I was never supposed to be here, but I am, because someone who loved me would not let me die."

"Listen to me," he pleaded with a listener he was expecting to pick this up, "A world disappeared into the darkness, a world that you won't find on any map or in any book. That world, while it existed, was my home…"

"I cannot name this world, because while it was around, there was no reason to name it. It was the only world I ever knew. We knew of planets and moons, but not other worlds. What I can name is the place I lived in, that I grew up for twelve years in. It was … a ship. A mobile base. Her name was Balamb Garden…"

"Squall?" a voice whispers in his ear. "… sweetie, can you hear me?"

His head hurts, every inch of him hurts. Someone is holding him close, and fingers are threading through his hair. The voice continues to whisper soothingly in his ear, but he is hearing worry. He is hearing distress. He is hearing sadness. That voice provokes uneasiness within him, a desire to know if whoever is speaking is safe. He struggles to open his eyes…

"I was … a soldier. No, I was SeeD. The general term would be 'mercenary'. The only real difference is, from the moment I was born, I was destined for a specific role: My destiny was to eliminate … a sorceress. A powerful sorceress who could alter time. She would have destroyed my world, then, if we failed to stop her…"

He is looking upon the face of an angel. Dark hair falls pass her shoulders, and a pair of white wings wrap around them both like a warm shelter. Her smile is gentle, but her eyes shimmer with tears she does not allow to fall. When his eyes focus at last on her, her relief is evident.

"Hi," she whispers to him. He wants to answer, but somehow he is unable to.

"But we did not fail…"

"Don't," she says to him, when she watches how hard he is trying to speak. "It's alright, Squall. It's just Silence. It will wear off."

He suspects she was the one who cast it on him. He does not know why.

"And because we succeeded, something came to finish the job in her place. I know now that they were Heartless. Back then I had no idea. We did not know we couldn't stop them…"

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see obsidian shadow creeping toward them, writhing tendrils searching greedily for something – for them. He wants to jump to his feet, to protect the angel with every fiber of his being. He doesn't care that he hurts everywhere. He cares that no matter what, his body refuses to obey his silent pleas. She coos in his ear, trying to calm him as though he were a little child again.

"The others have been sent ahead," she continues to speak to him. "Matron and your sister guided their way, but … we don't know if it worked. We don't know if they're safe. I can't take that risk with you…"

Something wraps around him. At first he thinks it is the shadow, but then he realizes it is a familiar power. It is magic, that of a Guardian Force and that of something else. A sorceress' magic. Her magic.

"… Squall, I'm so sorry. If there were any other way…"

"I only just remember what I lost. I lost her. I lost my time. I lost everything I knew. That day… I even lost the memory of that day…"

A demon of black and red envelops him in the darkness of its leathery wings. It rumbles an answer to a command by its mistress. A familiar Time-based spell echoes in his mind, catching him and the Guardian up in its power.

NO!

He struggles. For a moment, through the seam between wings, he can see her say one last thing to him.

"I love you."

The tendrils grab her. The world disappears into the darkness. She disappears with it.

… RINOA!

"I was seventeen when that world, when my home, died right in front of me. It took with it the reality I knew, the people I loved… it took her away from me. I would have died for her, and yet I only just remember who she was and what she gave up…"

Cloud had been stunned into silence. Listening to those heartfelt words, he could only imagine the pain that Leon was feeling in that moment of recollection, in every moment after that he forced himself to live through with this memory so heavy on his mind. He could not stop himself from listening, to hear the end to this story. He felt he had to – he felt that Leon wanted him, and anyone who listened after him, to know every detail.

"I would give anything now to go back to her," Leon did continue."I would give up this reality if I could. If you're hearing this, you now know what I did and why I did it. You don't have to forgive. I only ask that you understand."

A chill trickled down Cloud's spine, encasing his gut in a painful tomb of ice. Surely Leon wasn't… he wouldn't …

"A stronger man would have done nothing. A better man would have preserved the present for the sake of those living in it. I am not that man. May you find a hero – a savior – in someone who is."

And then there was static. Leon drew in a long, deep breath. And then he let it go.

The recording stopped with a final "click".

It took all of his person for Cloud to carefully put the device away before tearing through the castle in search of the man who had made it.

"Diablos."

The demon stirred at the sound of its name. It was sitting cross-legged upon the ground, appearing much like a relaxed cat in its earlier period of meditation. Noticing the little man, the man who had once been its master in a different life, it stretched his wings and flicked its tail and did no more. But it was listening, its eyes unblinking as they gazed upon that small man.

Despite his conviction, Leon hesitated. His throat was dry with terror. No matter how certain he had been moments ago, that wretched instinct to survive was holding him back. No matter what his heart had decided, his body was refusing the idea he had imposed upon it. He recollected the memory of his home, of those final moments that should have been his last. It worked. Sorrow drowned the adrenaline, leaving him numb and tired once more.

"Diablos," he commanded quietly, "I want you to take me back."

The demon uncurled, waiting for a more specific instruction.

"I want you to take me back to that time, and leave me there no matter what she tells you. I want you to let me die with her and my home."

The demon continued to wait, but this time it seemed to be facing a personal dilemma of sorts. Two different masters with two different orders. To obey one contradicted the other's wishes.

But it was an ancient being, who had outlived generations of mortals no matter their lifespan. It came to its decision and raised its hand. It paused for one final instruction.

"Now," Leon replied.

"Don't you dare."

The clawed hand came to a halt inches from Leon's head. Leon looked up in alarm. The demon Guardian was no longer looking at him, but had its attention elsewhere. He followed the direction of its gaze, and his eyes narrowed in a glare.

"Strife…"

Cloud was not listening. He stood there, looking back up with even measure at the demon. In one hand was his buster sword, poised and ready to defend instead of strike.

In the other hand was the old lamp. The jinn house.

"New world," he spoke up. "New rules. You're bound to this lamp now." And then he raised it to the sharp edge of his sword. "You know what will happen if I destroy it."

The demon did not move, neither to obey one nor to attack the other.

"Strife," Leon growled again. "Don't interfere."

Cloud ignored him again, his focus still on the demon. "You kill him," he stated, "and I kill you."

The lamp moved a little closer to the blade, close enough for it to touch.

(Stop.)

Both men were taken by surprise, neither really certain if they had just heard the demon speak. And then Leon watched as the clawed fingers drew back and away from him.

"Diablos. I gave you an order!" he called to it. "Do it!"

But the demon was silent again, and it made no further move against him. The lamp was returned to a safe distance away from danger, and only then did it relax visibly.

"Even immortals fear death," Cloud mused dryly. The demon did not argue the point.

"Damn you…"

Cloud lifted his sword instinctively, and a loud chime of metal against metal rang in his ears. He had to put a little more strength into his grip to keep Leon with his gunblade from pushing him back.

"This is not your right!" Leon yelled at him. The increased force he put behind his own blade caught the blond unaware, and shocked the sword clean out of his grip. "I'm not one of you. I never was. I don't belong here, so let me go back. Just let me go home…!"

When Leon bore down on him again with sheer ferocity, Cloud calmly took one step to the side. And then he drove his fist into the man's gut. He felt Leon shudder against him, was aware of the blood that hit his arm, and then the other dropped to the ground. A second potion came out, but this time it validated their rules.

"Sorry," he murmured to the unconscious brunet at his feet. "I can't."

The potion soaked into the wrinkled off-white shirt, and then dried as curative magic worked on the internal bleeding he had caused. He felt the demon's eyes still on him, and he looked up at it.

"He'll try again," he confessed. "As soon as he thinks he can, the one second my back is turned, he'll try again."

The demon continued to remain silent, but Cloud knew it agreed with him on that point.

"Let's change that wish he made," he said. "I won't ask you to erase his memory – that's not my place to do so. Instead, I want you to rebuild the mental block you or that sorceress of his put there in the first place. I want you to hide those memories away again, only to be let out when he is truly ready to deal with them."

The demon considered the request, and then it nodded.

"Go for it," Cloud prompted. There was a rush of darkness that made him tremble. When it faded, he knew the deed was done.

(If he knows I exist,) the demon suddenly spoke again, (this act will be undone.)

The blond saw the truth in that statement. "In that case," he answered, "we should do something about that…"

It was late into evening when Leon woke up in his bed with a sore bruising ache in his gut and a hammer banging in his skull. Grumbling, he got to his feet in search of a remedy he could use. The sooner he cleared his mind, the sooner he could get back to work. The Bastion wasn't about to fix herself, after all.

At the bottom of the steps, he found Cloud sitting by the kitchen counter with a mug in his hands. A stranger sat next to him – he was taller than Cloud, and his complexion much fairer. Long dark hair was secured in a small ponytail, and around his neck was a pair of dog tags. He carried himself like an army veteran, every move naturally careful but still slightly stiff from lack of practice. Even before Leon had started to approach them, he already sensed him there. So when he joined them for a brief moment, neither looked surprised by his presence or his question.

"Is that my hookah?"

"He wanted to try it," Cloud answered shortly. "Maybe you could let me have it as a late birthday present."

Leon groped blindly through the shelf for medication. "When was your birthday?"

"A couple of days ago. So, can I?"

The brunet shrugged, popped two pills in his mouth and washed them down with a glass of water before he answered. "Sure. If you want it, it's yours."

And then he was out the door, already forgetting the stranger as he prioritized this oversight he had made. Cloud smirked and nodded back at the stranger sitting across from him.

"And now it's yours," he told him. "Happy birthday."

The man looked back at him blankly. "This day is not my birthday."

"Think of it as the birth of your new look. Thus, your birthday," Cloud replied. "What do you intend to call it?"

The shape that had once been a demon puffed on the hookah for a moment, thinking with such solemnity that the blond almost laughed. He did not know the true extent of Diablos' power, but the demon had cleverly cloaked its presence completely. To the unknowing eye, he was but an ordinary man in his forties.

Then, surprisingly, the man smiled. "Laguna Loire," he answered, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "to match the body."

Cloud rose a brow. "You chose someone from the past?"

"His past," the man confirmed. "The man who might have been his father. A little something for his birthday."

So their birthdays were only four days apart, Cloud realized. Still, he did not question the "gift". So instead he let it go. "Okay."

Laguna Loire hummed in agreement and went back to his hookah.

As soon as he stepped out into the streets, Leon could not help but think that he was forgetting something – something that, by the urgency of that thought, was important. But there was another voice – a vaguely familiar voice that he could not quite place – telling him not to question it – not in its truth or in its presence. Not this time. It was telling him that some things were meant to be forgotten, and this one was one of them. Perhaps, he decided, he would listen to that voice.

For the first time in a long while, he wondered if he had ever really set things down long enough to appreciate the world he had come back to. He had lost it once, and there was a good chance he might lose it again. He might as well appreciate it while it lasted, and do whatever he could for it while it was there.

And even if it didn't feel like home yet, maybe that might change.

And even if it didn't, he had the knowledge that this place and her people wanted him here, that they wanted him to find a home here with them.

Maybe, for now, that was enough.