AN:// Set before Advent Children, this has no point and anyway, I'm just spilling out stories right now so this is a bit of a blip. Enjoy.

This in no way belongs to me, I own nothing.

BEGIN:

Cloud Strife stood on the cliff overlooking the ruins of Midgar as he so often did, staring at Zack's sword.

It was always "Zack's sword" to him, not the "Buster Sword". It was all he had left of him, the man who was willing to die to let him live, other than a few stolen memories that still burned in his mind. And the guilt that haunted him for having stolen them and then forgotten him like he was nothing.

But sometimes he couldn't face the guilt, so he looked at Zack's sword and tried to remember the exact location of his buried body. Of course, Cloud had been mostly out of it at the time so the precise place was still unknown. All he could remember – it always came down to the memories, didn't it? – was that it was here, on a cliff that was at once so close and yet so far away from freedom.

Reno had told him once, when he was as drunk as a lord off cheap beer in Seventh Heaven, that Tseng had given orders for them to be captured, not killed, and that it was a ShinRa grunt who wanted glory who had fired. Tseng, when pressed, merely said that there were many things to regret and that lingering on them would only cause pain.

Cloud thought that it was unfair that Zack had been so close to life, and a grunt just like Cloud was (he was never a First Class SOLDIER, never) that only wanted to be noticed was the one who killed him. Killed Zack, and killed Cloud too in a way.

Zack's sword was his memory, too. When he held it, he held the world's hopes on his shoulders and his memories in his heart, and that was too heavy a burden for anyone to bear let alone a genetically mutated, chemically raped man like Cloud.

Zack's sword was sufficient for a tombstone. Rock was too cold, too hard, and too impersonal and commercial for someone as open and warm as he had been. After all, he was a First Class who was still in touch with reality, who didn't think that the grunts were losers and failures. That was pretty rare. And he had made friends with Cloud, when he was the weakest loser and biggest failure of the lot. His sword reflected his own eccentricity and willingness to defend. Well, when it wasn't rusty.

He once said it was his heart and perseverance that marked him out, but Cloud had the sneaking suspicion he'd actually noticed the hair.

And that's where he'd leave it, with a wry smile. Not as good as a proper smile, or a laugh even, but better than a fit of crying (he'd done that more than once before now) or a frown.

Yeah – he'd have liked that. A smile as the tribute for Zack.

He turned away, rubbing his left arm. There seemed to be some sort of a bruise on it – irritating, but hardly fatal. Kicking his motorcycle, the Fenrir, into action he sped off out, heading back home.