Substitute

Summary: Cloud Strife knew the meaning of the word substitute intimately. After all, he could easily interchange that word and the word life itself.

Disclaimer: The ownership thing again? I wished I owned Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy or Cloud in general, I even clicked my heels together three times, and wouldn't you know it, so far no luck in that field.

Substitute: The Oxford dictionary defines a substitute as a person or a thing acting in place of another; an artificial alternative to a natural substance. Loosely, a substitute is something or someone who exists in lieu of the original, its sole purpose is to tide us over until we get what we truly want. It adheres to the idiom, "Something is better than nothing." And what happens when the coveted real item, the original appears? Why, there's nothing easier than discarding the substitute, tossing it away like a piece of worthless trash.

Cloud Strife knew one heck of a lot about being a substitute.

Only two decades ago, his mother had been nothing but a young, naïve impressionable woman. A typical Nibel youth, her entire knowledge of the outside world, of modernity and cities came from the stories the young men brought back with them. And so, Freyja Strife passed her days, dreaming of a man who would sweep her off her feet and whisk her away from what she perceived as a backwater hell. It was only natural therefore, that she fell head over heels for the first city slicker she laid her eyes on. The following weeks consisted of shy smiles, blushes and gifts of food and drink. And when her affections were readily reciprocated, her heart swelled with joy and she never hesitated once to wonder at her good fortunes. As for the man, he had no qualms about the whirlwind affair, Freyja was blessed by the all the gods with beauty and charm.

By the third week, they made love beneath the clear expanse of the blue mountain sky. For her, it was pure and simple and wonderful. For him, it was just another conquest. And when he left the small hut, leaving her and their yet unborn child behind, it was not his heart that shattered into innumerable pieces, nor would he be subjected to a life of isolation and ostracism. It was almost too easy for him to ignore her plaintive cries and tears, to him it was one voice among a sea of others.

He never saw Freyja keep vigil day and night, fruitlessly believing that any minute now he would walk back in through that door and sweep her off her feet again. After all, she mused to herself as she rubbed her swollen belly; he had a son to come home to as well.

Cloud had not even set foot into the world yet and already he was being used as a substitute. A substitute for blind hope, for stability, for an impossible assurance.

But Freyja had waned, both physically and mentally, the strain of her seemingly endless wait had taken its toll on her. When Cloud was born, it dawned on her that no matter how much she prayed, how many sacrifices she made, the man who took so much from her would never return. Her last thread to the realm of reality snapped, and Cloud was left with an empty shell, who bore almost no semblance to the vibrant woman she once was. Growing up, he became accustomed to her erratic mood swings. On some days, she cooed over her bundle of joy; her beautiful baby boy that brought so much joy into her otherwise dull life. On others, she cursed the very ground he lay on, swearing to every god she knew and then some. But the worst by far, was only revealed when Cloud grew older, and Freyja developed a newer, almost frightening personality change. In the mists of her troubled mind, Cloud looked so very much like the man she fell in love with, so many years ago. And although Cloud knew well to run, get as far away as possible during her 'episodes', it was then that he truly came to understand the meaning of the word substitute.

Because he was the substitute for the man who had ruined his life, the man who had stolen among other things his mother's sanity. He was the substitute for a monster whom he would never meet but hated with a passion that horrified him.

At the age of fifteen, Cloud decided that he wanted to be a hero. He had spent every free moment of his life gazing up at the poster of his idol, and he had every detail memorized. The prospect of freedom, of identity, of happiness though elusive made his insides clench almost painfully.

It's funny how so many things change, yet everything remains exactly the same.

Being the runt of the pack in Shinra, inevitably led to a substitution of a more physically painful kind for him. Being a substitute punching bag for a bunch of sweaty bullies was not something advertised for in the brochure for this place.

However, a substitute is never exactly the same as the original. There's always some sort of difference, something that qualifies it only to be a substitute, not the original. And Cloud was certainly no exception to the norm. For one thing, no matter how much you hit them and how hard the force of your blow may be, a punching bag doesn't bleed. It doesn't bruise and its bones won't crack, won't break as though snapping like a used toothpick. There are no cries of pain when its head slams against the wall. And late at night, when its job is done, a punching bag doesn't cry; its tears mingling with the blood as it feels its heart shattering into a million tiny pieces.

When Cloud failed the SOLDIER exams, he thought he had truly reached the worst point of his existence. But as he screamed in pain when Hojo pushed yet another needle into him he knew he was wrong. The slow, burning feeling of the mako pulsing through his veins blurred with the images of Nibelheim being razed to the ground. In his mind, he could still see his mother, crazed and delusional, as she breathed her last, gazing up at what she deemed to be her love finally come home.

When the testing for the day was done, and the knives and needles were kept away, and Cloud curled up in his glass prison, the dull ache of the mako could only be overshadowed by one thing. The knowledge that here too, he was a substitute, for Sephiroth of all people, an experiment that Hojo hoped would not go wrong.

He was a stand-in for Tifa, a temporary knight in shining armor. He was her 'hero' because she needed one, and at the time, he was all she was going to get. And for awhile, she gave him her undivided attention, her loyalty and love, but when Rude showed up and Tifa knew that he was the one she had been waiting for. It was bittersweet for Cloud, as happy as he was for Tifa, he knew that his job was done and the replacement had been made.

Cloud always knew deep down, that each time Aerith looked at him she saw Zack. She saw the sunny, friendly Gongagan native who flung himself into her life to make a lasting impression, and who had given his life to save Cloud's. How could he even dream of measuring up to a hero like that? But none of that lessened the pain the day she died. It didn't stop his heart from being crushed just a little bit more, as he cradled Aerith in his arms, watching her fade away. It didn't do a thing to soothe the sting as the final spark of life dimmed from her eyes, and the last word to grace her lips was, "Zack."

Present Day

Cloud smiled, more of a bitter twist of his lips really, as he pondered over the humor, if you could call it that, of the situation. When you looked at it, only Sephiroth, the man hell-bent on killing him, had never even remotely seen him as a substitute.

And now, as he gazed up at the moon which hung like a pale lantern in the night sky, he pondered the fragile relationship that he had struck up with Leon. It was only natural that it should follow the same pattern as everything else in his life. Oh, he pretended that he didn't notice when Leon nearly addressed him by the wrong name. He pointedly ignored the wince that marred his face when this happened. He shut his eyes firmly when Leon talked about him, preferring to shield himself from the currents of affection that he knew were not directed towards him. And when Leon shifted in his sleep, and whispered the name, "Seifer," Cloud closed more than his ears, he closed his heart. But that didn't heal the pain. After all, substitute love was just as painful as the real thing.

A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who took the time to review and favorite Flying and On the Flipside! Read and review, even if it's just a smiley face, it's still very appreciated!