Disclaimer: Winningly not mine.

A/N: Written as part of the Final Fantasy Kissing Battle on Dreamwidth, which can be found at ff (dash) exchange (dot) dreamwidth (dot) org (slash) 17789 (dot) html. Ser Pouce A lot asked for Leon/Cloud and the line "We're both bringers of our own destinies, right?"

With many thanks to Samuel Beckett. ;)

Failure

© Scribbler, February 2012.

"We're both bringers of our own destinies, right?"

"Something like that."

Cloud shifted backwards, poising all the weight on his left foot as a pivot. The kick-and-slash combo was great against Heartless, but not against someone who had seen it done a hundred times before. Leon ducked under the kick. Rather than let blade meet blade, he rammed his shoulder against Cloud's exposed stomach, hoping to knock him off balance. It probably would have worked, too, if he had been fighting something without even one wing. Cloud lifted off, alighting on a piece of collapsed wall like a crow waiting on the edge of a battlefield to pick at the bodies left behind.

"I prefer to think we build our own destinies." Leon shook sweat from his eyes. His hair was damp and clung to his forehead. They had been at this for hours already, but neither asked to stop. They wouldn't until their muscles trembled, the light was fading and they could barely stand up. That just wasn't who they were.

"I guess." Cloud leaped like a fox on prey under snow, feinted and spun around several times like a wickedly sharp helicopter propeller.

"If you say 'bring'," Leon grunted, dropping and rolling away, "it implies you're willing to accept whatever destiny you're handed and cart it around with you."

"But if you say 'build'," Cloud pointed out, stomping down in an attempt to get Leon's rapidly moving head under his boot, "you have to accept that if it doesn't work out, it's your fault for not building it right, or strong enough."

"So?" Leon brought his gunblade up. The 'shing' of metal on metal rang around the courtyard. This part of Radiant Garden was too badly damaged to be liveable, which made it perfect for sparring. It was totally private and hugged sound within it like a room at the nuthouse. None of the girls could worry about them hurting each other when they went all out to vent some tension in the only way they knew how. "So you build it stronger next time."

"However many times it takes?" Cloud tried to use his superior strength. His wing beat the air, attempting to help. He had the upper position; Leon was on one knee, which should have put him at a disadvantage, but that was never any indication of how things would turn out.

Case in point: Leon twisted his gunblade, wrapped the flat under the bigger, heavier Buster Sword and swiped it aside. With his free hand he grabbed Cloud's leading wrist, squeezed in just the right spot to deaden his grip and yanked so hard that his entire body pirouetted onto the floor before his sword hit the ground. Before Cloud could right himself, the edge of the gunblade was at his throat.

"However many times it takes and however long it takes," Leon panted. "If you try and fail? Try again. Fail again." He leaned in, claiming Cloud's mouth for a brief moment. "Fail better." He pulled away, getting to his feet but not offering a hand to help Cloud up. Instead he balanced in a combat-ready stance, gunblade in a perfect grip that had taken years, many defeats and many scars to get right. "Ready to fail again?"

Cloud gave a fierce little smile and bounded back to his feet.

Fin.

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