Ah, crap. This one's longer than the first two. But it's Yazoo and Loz! (The Marlene and Barret part is kicking my ass.) It's a bit Yazoo-centric, though I assure you, I really, truly adore Loz with all my heart. He's actually my favorite of the SHM. He wears leather and cries and has the awesomest sideburns ever. I hope I haven't made him too pouty or broody or childish or too anything, really. Then again, this is the dude who used the term "meanie" in Advent Children, so I shouldn't have anything to worry about.

Still don't own any of the Final Fantasy VII people.

Makeshift

It's a small apartment, in a very small town, seemingly cutoff from the rest of the world. It's cheap and it's quiet and Yazoo figures he and Loz aren't likely to be recognized. Not for a while, anyway. They'll leave when they aren't painfully dizzy and limping, or when they're found out. They both secretly hope for the former, but expect the latter. Yazoo isn't sure where they'll go when they do leave. It's never really been his call before. It was always up to Mother, and Kadaj was her ambassador.

Loz is seated on the couch, one leg propped up on a worn looking coffee table. The right leg of his shorts is rolled up a bit. Only an inch or so of flesh is visible between the material and the cast he's wearing.

Yazoo stands near the window. He sighs, bored, and glances back at his brother. "Loz, stop that," he says, warningly.

Loz frowns and huffs a little. His leg is itching again.

Sensing Loz is about to complain, about to try to justify poking and scratching at his broken leg with a fork, Yazoo coldly tells him, "Deal with it."

"I am," he insists. He raises the utensil to further his point. "What do you call this?"

"Something a child would do."

Not surprisingly, Loz's face contorts in anger. A moment later, though, the expression he wears is a pout. He's clutching the fork, though he hasn't attempted to stick it between the cast and his leg since his scolding.

Yazoo sort of saunters by and snatches it out of his hand.

"Hey!"

A loud clank is heard; the utensil has been tossed somewhere, and somewhat violently, it would seem.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" Loz asks, annoyed.

"Better than try and keep you from scratching yourself with our very limited supply of silverware?"

There's a scraping sound, followed by a low thud as Loz slides his leg from the tabletop and moves to stand up. "Why don't you go pick on someone else?" he demands, somewhat childishly.

"Sit back down," Yazoo says, tiredly.

Loz remains standing.

Yazoo shakes his head when it dawns on him that he doesn't have anything better to do or anyone else to pick on and that's the real reason he's acting this way. Ashamedly, he admits, "No, I don't have anything better to do."

Loz stares down at the floor, shifting his weight as much as he can without knocking himself off-balance. It's uncomfortable and awkward and not just on a physical level.

"Or anyone else to pick on," Yazoo adds, though he knows he doesn't need to. It's obvious from the look on Loz's face that he understands.

Loz says nothing, just clears his throat, then hobbles out of the room, feeling like he's dragging much more than his leg.

Yazoo puts a hand to each temple. His head is throbbing, but he's almost certain it has little to do with the lump there. His whole body aches. His whole being aches.

"Kadaj?"

Cat-like green eyes twinkle and a satisfied smirk appears. Kadaj is amused. He's always liked the look of one in distress. He can't help it. It means he has the edge.

"Kadaj!" Yazoo is yelling now, but he's not sure why. Kadaj is standing right in front of him.

"I'm right here," he says, lightly, happily.

"It's really you."

"It's really me."

"You're really here."

"I'm really here."

A smile. Shared.

"But I'm still dead."

Yazoo begins yelling again.

Yazoo opens his eyes suddenly, unable to stay in the dream any longer, and immediately regrets the action. It's the middle of the night, but the lights are on and it sends an intense pain all the way to the back of his head. He squints and groans, and shields his face with his hands. Once Yazoo's eyes have begun to adjust to the light, he opens them a little wider and Loz's blurry figure slowly comes into focus. He's standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. He's holding something in one hand and looks exhausted.

"What?" Yazoo asks, slightly impatiently.

"I heard you calling his name," Loz replies quietly, sheepishly.

"Oh?" Yazoo asks, doing his best to look and sound oblivious.

"Yeah," Loz confirms, his smirk letting his younger brother know he's not buying it. The expression softens, though, a moment later; he's not going to push it.

Instead of asking Loz if he dreams of Kadaj, Yazoo inquires, "What is that in your hand?"

Loz looks down at the item in question. It's long, thin, metal and looks like it's been bent a few too many times. He shrugs. "It's a wire hanger."

If Yazoo were more awake, he'd have a snappy remark. Not so, in the dead of night. He blinks a couple of times and repeats, "A wire hanger?"

"What was I supposed to do? You took away my fork," Loz says, with a crooked smile.

Yazoo sighs. He tells himself now is not the time and he is not the slightest bit amused. "Go back to bed, Loz."

Loz cocks his head to the side.

Yazoo softly says, "I'm sorry if I woke you." Then he firmly adds, "Go."

Loz nods and flicks the light off with his free hand and the door clicks shut a second later. Yazoo can hear his heavy, clunky, uneven steps, and finally, the sound of Loz's bedroom door closing. He suddenly wonders if Loz had the hanger in bed with him. He'll ask later. Maybe.

It isn't much of a grave, really, Yazoo notes. Then again, it isn't his doing. Neither he nor Loz says anything, they just stand stiffly, side by side. Yazoo's goose egg is long gone, his strains, sprains, and bruises all healed. The headaches are better, though they still come and go. However, he doesn't imagine that changing as long as Loz is around. Loz's cast is off, his broken bones have mended and the itching has stopped; the mangled hanger has been disposed of. He's back to looking imposing and self-assured. Both are well enough to fight again, though they've decided that maybe they'll try their hand at work instead.

Yazoo wonders what Big Brother is thinking, doing this. That monstrous sword is standing again - the one Kadaj had kicked over. It feels like that was ages ago, though it really hasn't been very long.

That monstrous sword is standing again, and next to it is Souba.

Yazoo suddenly wonders what it would be like if the Velvet Nightmare and Dual Hound were part of this makeshift memorial, too.

Author's Note: In case it isn't blatantly obvious, I had a hell of a time with the end of this. I knew what I wanted to say, but I just couldn't make it sound right. I effed with the paragraph arrangement once again and this is what I went with. And yeah, maybe it's wacky of me to have Cloud put Kadaj's sword there. Whatever. There are much wackier things when it comes to Mr. Strife, including but not limited to stories where he gets it on with Sephiroth and his "There's Something About Mary" hair.

Anyhoo, reviews are good and I like them and they make me happy and stuff. ...I remember once, I put it in my profile here that I didn't care if you called yourself Penis Wrinkle so long as you reviewed me, but then someone actually did that. Still, reviews are nice. :)