'Of course, I am a better chocobo rider than you,' Sephiroth declared in the back of Cloud's mind.

"You are not," Cloud snorted. "I'm great with chocobos." He was washing the dishes while the kids finished their homework in the living room.

'Your achievements are nothing more than a shadow of my own.'

"You're too tall to be a good jockey. Well, you were," he smiled, "when you still had a body."

Sephiroth's irritation spiked, as it always did when Cloud brought that up.

'I have transcended.'

"Uh-huh." Cloud focused on scrubbing a casserole dish.

"Are you talking to someone, Cloud?"

He spun around. Marlene was standing in the door of the kitchen, holding an empty mug and watching him with a confused smile.

"No," he said.

'Yes.'

"I am not," he said firmly.

She skipped to the sink, placing her mug next to it. She looked up at him with a smile. "It's okay if you are. I won't tell anyone. I used to have imaginary friends too."

He cringed. "I don't have imaginary friends."

'Don't you?'

"Of course not," he snapped.

Marlene giggled. He pinched the bridge of his nose and got suds on his face.

"Okay." She patted his arm as she walked past. "Let me know if you want to introduce them to me."

'She'd be better company at least.'

"Shut up," he mumbled, turning back to the pile of dishes. At least the crockery didn't talk back.

"You see, Cloud, we're not that different in the end," Rufus Shinra said, sitting in his high backed wheelchair and steepling his fingers before him.

Cloud barely refrained from growling in response. The pretentious Shinra had called him here for who knew what. Instead of getting to the point, Rufus had insisted on playing a game of chess, because he was an idiot.

Cloud barely had the patience for it but had been sucked into the game anyway. The idea of beating Rufus was a tempting one. The only problem: he wasn't very good at chess.

Rufus took another of Cloud's pawns, and looked far too smug about it. Cloud reached for the board, then retracted his hand. In a sword fight he wouldn't have hesitated, but this calm strategy without physical effort threw him off balance. He wasn't a tactician; he was a deliveryman, for planet's sake.

He moved his queen. Rufus promptly took it.

Losing to Rufus was humiliating, but he knew he was out of his depth. He was about to walk out; this was a waste of time.

'Move the bishop to D6,' Sephiroth's voice slithered through his mind.

Cloud paused. He looked at the board. Rufus watched him like a hawk, giving him that infuriating smug smile.

In a move Cloud had promised himself he would never, under any circumstances, make, he followed the whispered instructions. He took Rufus' knight.

Rufus looked at him in surprise.

'Good little puppet.' Sephiroth sounded as surprised as he was pleased.

"I can still throw the match," Cloud murmured under his breath. Sephiroth grumbled about ingratitude.

Rufus must have overheard because he raised an eyebrow. "Don't hold back for my sake." He leaned forward and made his own move.

Cloud sat hunched in his chair. He still didn't know what he was doing. Rufus' queen looked exposed and he smile was still smug.

'Ignore the queen, take his rook.'

Rude and Reno flanked Rufus, the three of them all watching Cloud for his next move.

'You are not in charge here,' Cloud thought at Sephiroth.

'No, the Shinra is.' Sephiroth's voice curled around him like a wisp of smoke, a caustic wisp of smoke that oozed bitterness at the idea of losing to Rufus. 'You cannot compete against him; you don't know a King's Gambit from a Troitsky Line.' Nothing on Gaia would get Cloud to admit he had no idea what Sephiroth was talking about.

He looked down, knowing his opponent was waiting eagerly for his move.

He took the rook.

Twenty minutes later Cloud strolled out of the office, ignoring the smug presence in the back of his mind and leaving an embarrassed and baffled Rufus staring at his cornered king.

"I think we've forgotten something," Tifa said, carting a small airport bag up the escalator

Sephiroth hummed in the back of his mind.

"What is it?" Cloud asked.

Tifa looked at him over her shoulder, "I wouldn't have forgotten it if I knew what it was."

He was hauling two carry-on bags, one for himself and a second for Tifa, both of which were filled with Tifa's things. He liked to travel light; she liked to be prepared.

"Did you pack your gloves?" he asked.

"Yes. Did you lock the garage?"

He nodded. "You've got the tickets?"

"We're already checked in our luggage, of course we have the tickets."

"I can't think of anything else." He shrugged.

It felt like Sephiroth was about to say something, but the silence in the back of his mind went undisturbed.

"Elymra will pick up Marlene and Denzel from school," she said, walking with determination and her eyes flicking between terminal numbers. "Barret's taking care of the Sir Pounce-A-Lot, and I definitely locked the front door." She paused, her eyebrows scrunched up in thought. "You made breakfast, then I did the dishes, and we both packed. What else is there?"

The overhead speakers announced their plane was boarding.

"Too late now, whatever it is," Tifa sighed.

"I'm sure it's nothing." Cloud led the way through the crowds to their terminal.

It wasn't until they were both sitting squished into the seats with the plane taxiing down the runway that Sephiroth spoke.

'You left the gas on.'

Cloud's face fell into his hands.

Cloud sat next to Vincent on a pile of debris. The ruins of Midgar stretched out before them.

'Pathetic creature,' Sephiroth hissed with unusual vehemence.

Vincent looked startled.

"What?" Cloud asked.

Vincent shook his head, looking confused. "It was nothing."

There was a comfortable silence for moment.

'You are but a puppet to the planet; you know nothing of me.'

Cloud had grown used to ignoring Sephiroth's moods, but he had the weirdest feeling that Sephiroth wasn't actually talking to him.

Vincent twitched and his brow pulled down into a heavy frown. His mouth opened and then closed again.

'Mindless beast, your taunts are wasted,'

"What are you doing?" Vincent asked quietly.

"I'm not doing anything," Cloud said, giving him a strange look. He wasn't even sure who Vincent was speaking to.

"Neither am I," Vincent replied, looking disturbed. "Chaos… has taken a dislike to you."

'You know nothing,' Sephiroth spat.

Cloud cleared his throat and stood. "See you around."

Vincent nodded and swiftly left.

"What was that about?" Cloud asked the presence in his mind.

'Mako drenched dullard,' he groused.

Cloud shook his head. He was perfectly happy not understanding Sephiroth.

Golden sunlight streaked through the garage windows. Old tunes crooned from the radio, and Cloud was polishing the fusion sword. It was a calming activity. Sephiroth appeared to agree because he shut up for once.

Denzel watched, eyeing the various pieces. His hand reached for the nearest blade, a single-edged short sword, but he drew his fingers back into a fist before he could touch it. He hung his head.

"You can touch it if you want," Cloud said. "Just be careful of the sharp edge."

His fingers gently brushed the metal.

"Can you teach me?" he asked, turning to look up at Cloud.

Cloud paused. He had never taught anyone anything before. Could he do it?

'I doubt it.'

"Of course I can."

Fifteen minutes later they were in the small backyard. Cloud held a short double-edged sword and Denzel a light wooden version. Denzel's enthusiasm quickly turned into nervousness. He held the sword clumsily, but they had only just started—there was plenty of time. Cloud had vague memories of being equally bad back in his trooper days.

"Right foot forward," Cloud said, going through the stances. "No, wait. Yes, right foot."

The problem with skills he had inherited as opposed to actually studied was the theory could be a little fuzzy. A lot of it was instinct.

"Other foot," he said when Denzel didn't move to copy him.

"Oh, sorry," Denzel said, lowering the sword and shuffling about on his feet. His stance looked uncomfortable.

"What's is it?" Cloud couldn't see anything obviously wrong, but it didn't look right.

'He's left handed, you inept excuse for a swordsman.'

"No, he isn't." He had seen Denzel do his homework many times. He would have noticed.

'Of course he is. Look at his footing!'

It did look off. He lowered his own sword.

"Denzel, are you left-handed?"

"No!" Panic flooded his eyes, and he held the wooden sword tighter in his right hand. "I don't write with my left hand. My teachers said I'm not supposed to."

"Why not?" Cloud asked with a frown.

Denzel hung his head.

"Because… he was left-handed. It's bad."

Cloud didn't know what to say. He saw the shame in his son's eyes as he held his left hand behind his back.

'The fools,' Sephiroth hissed, his voice dripping scorn.

Irrational fear he could understand, but telling a child he was evil because of which hand he used? How dare they!

'And you didn't even notice.'

It never came up—except, that wasn't strictly true. Three years of reports, all citing bad handwriting and slow work. Yet it had never occurred to them.

'Congratulations.' Sephiroth said with disgust. 'You are a more negligent parent than Hojo.'

Cloud winced. That hurt more than any stab wound.

Denzel was looking up at him with slumped shoulders, trying to make himself smaller. Cloud knelt, putting one hand on his shoulder.

"There is nothing wrong with being left-handed," he said, trying to catch Denzel's eyes.

"Are you sure?" Denzel peeked up at him through his messy fringe.

"Definitely."

He felt Sephiroth nod in agreement in the back of his mind.

Denzel swallowed thickly, and Cloud pushed back his fringe. "And I'm still going to teach you how to use a sword."

The boy hugged him.

"Thank you," he mumbled into his shirt.

Afterwards, when Denzel had collected himself and Cloud had a firmer grasp of the situation, he put the sword in the boy's left hand.

"Hold it like this." He adjusted Denzel's hand. "Not so close to the hilt."

'Not such a firm grip either.'

"Looser. That's better."

Denzel held the wooden sword and beamed up at him.

"Left foot forward," Cloud said.

"Let's go!" Tifa called from the curb, one foot already in the taxi. "If we're late because of you again, so help me!"

"I'm coming," Cloud called, running through the house. He grabbed a shirt from the back of a chair and another from the end of his bed and shoved it in his pack. Two shirts would have to do. He threw his wallet and keys in, as well, and ran for the door. He leapt the banister, then flew out the front door and locked it behind him.

'You left the gas on again.'

He swore and charged back inside again.

"Cloud!" Tifa yelled.

"Be right back," he mumbled over his shoulder, sprinting up the staircase. Why were there so many stairs in this house?

He rounded the corner to the kitchen and reached for the stove—

It was already off.

Sephiroth laughed, deep and condescending.

"You bastard."

"Leaving without you!" Tifa called.

"Wait!" He sprinted back out again.

A/N: Thanks for reading my folly! Reviews are always welcome.

Next Time: cannot confirm.