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"Guys…"
The truck bounced over another rock and Cloud felt his stomach attempt to travel up his throat. He pushed his back into the truck wall and buried his face further into his knees, curling his toes in his boots as he sat on the cold metal floor. At least he was wearing black; no one would notice the stains if he barfed.
"So, Marlene finally managed to do a cartwheel! We took her to the park and she was unsure—"
He tried to focus on the sound of Tifa's voice, usually so soothing to every cell in his body. So melodic, up and down and up and down. Oh fuck—
"That's not like my baby girl—"
Barret's voice was normally loud but right now it was like a sledgehammer directly to his eyeballs. Cloud shoved the heels of his palms into his eye sockets and tried not to whine like a child, just the way he wanted to.
"She's going through a phase at the moment. I meant to ask you to speak to her, I think it would mean more coming from you—"
Another bump, bigger this time, and Cloud audibly groaned. Maybe he could just walk to the battle. Fenrir was right there, ready and waiting, but they had to try and be fairly subtle—as subtle as a fleet of trucks and airships could be—so maybe he could just walk Fenrir there. Just the two of them. It would be nice. Sure he might be a few hours late, but no one really needed him there.
Okay, he was officially losing it. Could motion sickness make you delirious?
"Guys!" He banged his head off the wall of the truck.
" Anyway , she finally managed one and then we couldn't get her to stop! Cloud did most of the teaching. He's a really good teacher…"
Teaching Marlene was fun, that was true, and the pride in Tifa's voice was a balm to his treacherous organs. But he was so fucking done with this.
"GUYS!"
He didn't scream, not at all. He was going to end up with brain damage (more brain damage?) if he kept thudding his head off the truck cab, but it was the only thing distracting him from colouring the walls and Fenrir with partially digested pancakes.
Tifa's gentle voice came through the walkie-talkie. Oh yeah, probably should have used that instead of shouting and using his skull for morse code.
"Oh, sorry Cloud, did you say something?" She asked gently.
He cleared his throat, careful not to expel his guts in the process, and tried to sound a bit put together. Tifa had seen him at his lowest, but he didn't want to seem like a complete loser.
"Are we almost there?"
"Hmm, maybe about 30 minutes out. Are you struggling?" She said, sympathy woven through each word.
Struggling? He'd gone past struggling about 10 minutes ago. This was torture, and that was coming from someone who had been tortured.
"You better not ruin the back of the truck, Spikey!"
A flash of spite made him want to actively paint the truck's walls a new shade called "hint of Cloud's stomach contents", but he managed to refrain. Fenrir would probably get some spots on her and she didn't deserve that.
"Cloud? You okay?" Tifa's voice came back through the walkie-talkie, concern in her voice.
"Mmm, sure."
"Do you want me to come back and sit with you?"
Sitting with his face buried in Tifa's tits while she cuddled him and stroked his hair? He'd be an idiot to say no to that but…
"No, it's okay. You said we're nearly there so… I'll manage."
His abused pride could only take so much in one day and Barret didn't need any more fuel to mock him with. He could smother himself in her marvelous breasts and get cuddled later, and hopefully win points for being so brave and stoic.
Okay, totally pathetic. Definite loser. At least he could take out his embarrassment on one of the weirdos he was meant to fight that were named after primary colours. Not that he could talk as a walking weather phenomenon.
Cloud shoved his face back between his knees and wrapped his arms over his head. Maybe he could distract himself for the rest of this horrible trip by picturing Tifa in the new dress he'd bought for her a few weeks ago. Or, more to the point, the new dress he'd had a wonderful time taking her out of.
The walkie-talkie crackled somewhere between Tifa’s dress slipping past her hips and the fifth dip and swerve in the track that made him want to hurl.
Tifa’s voice came over the static, "I see it."
Sephiroth himself—the persistent, undead bastard—could be outside the sliding doors of the truck and he would throw himself out willingly.
Cloud stood on shaky legs, using the wall for support as he dragged himself upright, taking deep soothing breaths as he reached out for Fenrir and gently, so gently, slid on.
The doors of the truck opened and the barren scenery of the Midgar Wastes started screaming through his vision. He lurched forward over the handlebars for a moment. This was not the improvement he hoped it would be.
Goggles would help. If he couldn't feel the wind in his eyes, maybe he wouldn't feel sick and maybe he'd accidentally blind himself when he put them on and crash into a rock and then the nausea would finally stop .
He blew out a slow breath and leaned over the handlebars.
"Time to go, Fenrir."
Oh shit. Did he say that out loud? Hopefully they didn't hear him.
He accelerated hard and bounced out the truck, delighted to leave that hell hole behind, and sped off in front of the convoy.
_________________
Back in the truck, Barret and Tifa sat together. Barret itching to ask and Tifa dreading to answer.
"Was he talkin' to the bike?"
"I… yeah," Tifa sighed. She'd long come to accept her eccentric partner. Talking to the bike was just one of his many quirks. That he thought she hadn't noticed after two years was another.
Barret hummed, watching the blond as he zig zagged between rocks. For someone that had been ready to chuck up their guts five minutes ago, he sure looked fine now.
"Weird kid… gotta say though," Barret paused, a proud grin drawing across his face. "He's one big damn hero."