A/N: Another old fic of mine, converted for these three. AU where Cloud is struggling to figure out whether he was left behind by his home, or if it simply isn't meant to be his home anymore. Life goes on. No Meteorfall. And, I don't know about anyone else, but Cid's DRINK YOUR GODDAMN TEA line was one of my favourites in the whole game, just saying. RxR

Evolution

Palms sweaty, his fingers curled around the handle of the briefcase, other hand tugging at the knot of his simple black tie - the heat was stifling, even down in the cool, brisk air of the subway line.

Cloud was not alone as he stood there, apathetic, awaiting the arrival of the next train. Hordes of students and workers returning from classes and employment filled the busy station, his ears ringing with the overwhelming sound of excited chatter. This world felt unfamiliar to him, and he found himself straining to translate the slew of feelings thrown into the air for everyone to see all around him.

It had been a long time.

Years had passed since he had seen the city, but it was his first to see the underground lines of Nibelheim. The thought of the backwater city actually having something as advanced as a train system, or even having enough people to make a train system, was strange. To him, Nibelheim represented clean, fresh, comfortable home in the country – not a bustling city centre.

When had it all changed?

After all, people used to generally travelled in Nibelheim to do two things: first, to work, which was unnecessary for his unknown, crazy engineer of a father and full-time 'mom' of a mother, who spent all their days within their four walls; and second, to spend money and time and other things which could never come back.

Cloud had never exactly been in a situation where he could afford to spend time or money.

But, the scholarship had changed that – and, as he felt himself be jostled by the numerous passengers all around him, he couldn't help but realize that the scholarship had changed a lot of things.

Like him.

Living in Midgar had granted him and his family freedom for the past ten years, with a full-ride admission and dorm for years at Shinra Electric Power Company's affiliated military university, and then among the company's infantrymen; but after living among the grand, towering buildings and the constantly pulsing life on the plate, it had taken its toll. He had missed the greenery, the fresh, crisp air of the mountain air.

Midgar wasn't the city he had grown up with. It wasn't Nibelheim.

After receiving a few calls from prospective employers after completing his business degree, he honestly had thought that his life would be forever spent living within the concrete jungle which was Midgar. It wasn't really his ideal – Midgar folk, even after living with them for numerous years, just weren't the same as the people of his childhood. He missed the old traditions and customs he had grown up with, the simple things of living in his birthplace. How 'simple' traditions had held on in this new age of technology and innovation in the formerly tiny town was something yet to be seen.

The moment he had heard of his father's ailing health (triggered by the death of his mother one year before) he had come home permanently right away, finding a small job in designing blueprints for a small, practically unknown company in Rocket Town. The office was an hour away with light traffic, so it was convenient for him. The doctor wouldn't disclose the details of the illness, but whatever it was, his father needed him.

So, he had packed up his bags and bid goodbye to the plate.

But now, the suit just didn't feel right. The tie was too constraining, the dull black material hanging heavily upon his skin. Yet, he knew that he looked sharp, with his usual spiked blond haircut that accentuated his charismatic Mako-teal eyes and a calm, confident demeanor; he knew that he looked like the epitome of handsome and professional.

But it wasn't him. It wasn't Cloud. Where was his combat uniform?

"Please remain behind the yellow line until the train-" the automated voice began to call, shaking him out of his reverie.

No matter how uncomfortable he felt, it had been his duty to his father to return home. Even though he would have liked to see where his prospective military career in Shinra would have led him, he had missed that train. At least now he had a reason to return to the place he had been missing for the past ten years. His new life would begin the moment he walked through the front door of his old home.

So, despite his discomfort within the strangely unfamiliar city, he clenched his fingers around the unfeeling leather handle of his suitcase, and as the train slowed to a stop in front of him, he boarded without a second thought.

Dread and dark anticipation filled her heart as the woman took a seat upon the subway train, allowing herself to slip into the last empty seat before another could claim it. Her weary body sunk just barely into the plastic-covered seats, the cushions worn from the thousands of passengers it carried day by day. However, she was grateful for the brief respite which it gave her, for her soles were utterly sore from strutting in her heeled boots the entire day.

Pulling out a small compact from her purse, she quickly checked her appearance over, groaning when it was far worse than what she could have possibly expected. Soft, chestnut brown hair mussed; deep, seductive lines of eyeliner beginning to smudge down the sides of her face – she looked absolutely awful.

Yet, Tifa couldn't help but chuckle. "At least I don't look as bad as I feel," she murmured to herself, for her heart stung over a thousand times more than what her current appearance would give away. "Twelve failures - that's a new record."

It was her twelfth failure. Her twelfth failure in only three months – there was no hope for her. No matter how hard she tried, for some reason, her appeals were always struck down. She was sick and tired of degrading herself in front of greedy businessmen and possible employers, of wearing the low-cut shirts which exposed her ample breasts and the short tight business skirts that came along with them. Every time, there was always a problem – a better paying client, a new buyer, a full staff – and her results never improved. And although denial had been strong throughout the last few months, her landlord was becoming a bit edgy, waiting for his last renter to leave the apartment so that he could tear the place down.

With her pay, unfortunately, she couldn't afford to leave her current home; not unless she managed to get another job. Her current employment couldn't cover the rapidly rising rates of the emerging city center.

Still, she knew in her heart that her true ambitions would never come to light. Her dream to open a bar in Midgar, the capital of their country, would never work if she couldn't get support through other bar owners, and that was only possible if she built up a resume first, working there.

Even if she did manage to get a job and the qualifications, obtaining a property lease and business license was the hardest part – unfortunately, it was near impossible to get any land in the completely congested city.

It seemed like Midgar would never be her home, no matter how much she dreamed of it, dreamed of escape from the strangely shifting city she stayed in now – Nibelheim was stuck in this loop of awkward growth, the industrialization and emigration having been increasing exponentially each year since she was a teen, ever since the fire which had burned down the majority of the city. She was sick of it. All she wanted was a place she could run her business, but Nibelheim was still disapproving of bars, being the small, overtly religious town it was, and the hopes of living in Midgar was rapidly leaving her behind. She just wanted to escape this limbo.

A child sitting two seats to her left began to bawl, the mother hurrying to comfort him. She envied the child. Feeling the man seated beside her stir momentarily at the sudden noise, she spared a moment to glance over to him.

He was young, she saw, but the sharp business suit he wore, along with the classy leather suitcase which sat stiffly by his pointed dress shoes, displayed the maturity of a working man. His sharp, almost unnaturally blue eyes were glued to the window of the train, locked in some faraway stupor which no amount of jostling from other passengers or the vehicle could taint.

However, the deep furrow in between his brows and the downwards onset of his small, thin-lipped mouth depicted someone troubled about something, as if he was stuck on a decision. If he smiled, with that bright blond hair and fair skin, he would look handsome in an innocent, lighthearted way – but at the moment, he simply looked lonely.

I'm really not the one to judge anyone right now, she thought, remembering how utterly disheveled she looked. So, her gaze turned back to her hands sitting upon her lap, fingers curled slightly as her dreams slipped through her fingers for the final time.

The train stopped moving eventually, and just like almost all of the other passengers in her cart, she wandered out of the station. "Please take care when exiting the train-" the PA system droned as the flood of bodies left the underground.

People paid no attention to the heartbroken girl who stumbled her way up and entered the bathroom, only to come out a few moments later, face bare, eyes red and puffy from sorrow. No one noticed.

The hiss of the closing door upon the bus was comforting. She had just made it to the last bus going to her workplace. At least her current job had some solidarity, some hope in it.

Sitting in a cramped taxi, Cloud passed his time watching the bustling streets and flashing lights of the city whiz by in an endless blur, ignoring the driver's blatant attempts to wheedle conversation out of him.

Where was he even going?

He remembered when he used to take this route, those few times when his father had decided to actually leave the house. Cloud had always adored those trips, keeping his father company with his eyes glued to the magical views outside. Everything used to be so wonderful, the greenery so majestic – but now, looking out of the window as the taxi sped through the highway, he felt a strange pang of loneliness strike his heart.

The skyline had changed. As the car sped over endless concrete, through busy crowds and down empty streets, nothing was familiar. A vague understanding of his location had remained the same – there was still a coffee shop upon this intersection, a supermarket was in between a donut shop and an ice cream store to his left when he headed down that side road – but the atmosphere was different.

He snorted unbecomingly as a thought occurred to him. I wasn't happy in the big city, and now that I'm here, I'm still not happy. What's it going to take?

His pocket began vibrating, but he ignored it, waiting for the ringing to finally cease before he pulled it out to check the messages. Bringing it up to his ear, a pang of nostalgia filled his heart as the voices of his companions for the last ten years filled his ears.

"Whaddup, fool! It's Barret. I am the man! Oil, Cloud! I just found the biggest damn oil field you've ever seen! Survey's done so I should be to get out there soon..." Cloud stopped drifted off, sighing in frustration. He hadn't told Barrett he was leaving, had he? God, he'd never hear the end of it, especially with Marlene having cried the way she had when he told her he wasn't going to be able to visit her anymore... The little girl's father was going to kill him the next time he visited Midgar.

Closing his eyelids wearily, he laid an arm over his eyes, leaning back against the hard cushions and breathing out heavily as he allowed himself to be lulled by the sound of traffic and people and life. At least the sound of wind rushing through the driver's open window didn't change with years, with the continents.

It was too bad that he had missed the bus which would have taken him directly to his neighbourhood, for the taxi fare was expensive. He had wanted to bring Fenrir along, but his father had always had a large distaste for the large motorcycle, so Cloud had left it back in Midgar with a friend to watch over it.

The taxi ride came to an end, the driver more than a little bit miffed that he had been ignored for practically the entire journey. Cloud paid him no heed – as he swung himself out of the vehicle and looked up the daunting hill which led to his old home, a pang of nostalgia washed over him, effectively taking away his attention from the driver who sped off in a huff.

Just like everything else, it wasn't the same.

Despite the groaning of his stiff muscles (he had been travelling for far too long) he began the steep ascent towards his home. On either side, the walls of his neighbours' homes were vandalized, the standard yellowed cream paint chipped off and mangled with graffiti. The gates to each home were still hanging by mere threads, threatening to collapse inwards at any second. He let out a choked cough as the dust from the road entered his lungs, the particles seeming to permeate in the air constantly, coating his throat and settling upon his clothing instantly.

It didn't look like it had all been rebuilt after the massive fires ten years earlier – no, it looked like it had been standing for hundreds of years, the last remnants of a degenerate era, full of the scum of society and the outcasts. No longer was it the beautiful little residential town Cloud remembered.

But this was home.

Footsteps caught his attention to the left, where an elderly woman tottered out of her front gate, a basket perched precariously upon her head. She seemed not to notice the man until she had nearly run into him, to which she simply cocked her head in curiosity, thin eyes squinting even further to scrutinize him. An old neighbour, he recognized – the woman would often come to his home to visit his parents while he was growing up, even as he passed his teens. She had aged immensely in the last four years. Time had taken its toll, finally turning her head into a shock of flyaway greys and amplifying the deep onset of wrinkles upon her withered skin.

Despite his remembrance of her, no familiarity or recognition flickered in her eyes. "What a handsome young man," she mused in a gravelly tone before shuffling away down the slope, completely ignoring his existence.

She didn't remember him, even though she had watched him grow up.

His home was no different from any other decrepit living space in the entire area, the rusted gate holding on by a hair. Looking around the tiny courtyard, his eyes drank in the site of the traditional home – a small porch, sliding doors leading to the living room, with three pairs of shoes lined up nicely upon the ground and the lantern hanging from the rafters lit.

Snapping his eyes back to the shoes, he frowned. The first two pairs were clearly for his father – but why was there a pair of women's pumps beside them?

Quickly slipping off his own shoes, he stepped upon the porch. Before his hand could slide the door open, however, he froze – and for just one moment, it was like the entire world had stilled. All he could sense was his deep breathing, his heartbeat racing between his ears, the cool feel of wood smoothed down by time and constant use underneath his fingertips. This was it.

He was home.

Finally pulling open the door, he paused by the entrance, basking in the slight rush of air that met his face from within. A frown tugged at his lips as a sickly sweet scent was carried to his nose – his grandmother used to have that scent, before she passed away, he dimly recalled.

Barely restraining his worry, he strode towards his father's room, which sat at the end of the relatively short hallway. "Father?" His voice was more strained that he would have liked, but Cloud could do nothing about it. Without another thought, he slid open the door, only to be met with large, confused puffy eyes.

He opened his mouth to roar at the frightened girl for entering his home, when he saw the tray in her hand – and his father lying peacefully in slumber upon the futon behind her.

"It's you," she breathed, ushering him out before he could begin interrogating her. "You were on the train with me."

He paused at that information and frowned, confused at her recognition of him. "You were on my train?"

She nodded, a small, awed smile pulling her lips before the worry returned to her face. He absentmindedly noted that she was fairly pretty, albeit not his type, when she was smiling. "But who are you? What are you doing here?"

He sighed, dropping his suitcase by the wall. "I'm his son, Cloud," he stated gruffly, ignoring her surprised gasp. "And who are you?"

The girl looked at the tray in her hands bashfully. "I'm his caretaker."

The man took in that information for a moment, nodding thoughtfully. It would make sense for his father to have used the money his son had sent him from Midgar on someone to help the ailing man live comfortably now that his wife was no longer with him. "Thank you for taking care of him," he bowed curtly, leaving her speechless as he slipped past her to speak to his father.

"Don't bother him now!" she rushed before he could enter the bedroom, one hand holding onto his sleeve desperately. "He becomes awfully cranky if you wake him during the afternoons – sometimes he refuses to take his medicine because of it and it's terrible for him."

Cloud stopped in his tracks, analyzing what this girl had just said. The father he knew hated naps, for laziness was a sin and 'there would be none of that in his household'. The man had been always doing something, whether it was tinkering or mechanical work or helping their even more elderly neighbours. And, the father he knew would never get angry at someone over something as small as waking him up on accident.

But that was the father from ten years earlier; this caretaker was better equipped to take care of his father today than he would ever be. The thought boiled his blood, the clench in his jaw unmistakeable as he slowly spun around to look at the girl, who was still bewildered as to what was going on.

After a moment of silence, the girl offered, "Would you like some tea? You're probably tired from your travels."

Before he knew it, he was seated at the dining table – his old dining table, the one he had been raised with, with the little notches in the leg showing how much he grew for the first few years of his life – with a cup of freshly steeped tea between his hands.

It was a hot day. He really didn't want it.

There used to be three chairs at the table, but now, only two remained. They had always been mismatched; a strong wooden chair for his father, a wiry stool for himself, and a worn, padded seat for his mother. It was all they could afford while he was growing up, but he had been happy with the arrangement. Without her seat, however, the table looked empty – but Cloud couldn't blame his father for removing it. He had adored his wife.

Watching this girl work in his kitchen, however, unnerved him. She wasn't meant to be there, to be using the same sink and wearing the same apron that his mother had donned once upon a time. "Your father likes seeing a clean kitchen when he wakes up," the girl had murmured. "He's a bit obsessive over cleanliness at times, you see." And with that, she began to wash the dishes which had accumulated slightly in the sink.

Fingers clenching unconsciously upon the cup in his hands, he watched with grim disgust until he finally muttered, "I need to speak to you."

She immediately turned off the sink and pulled off her rubber gloves, tired eyes warm with curiosity. "Sure? What would you like to talk about?"

He stood up, pushing the full mug away coldly. "Thank you for your efforts, but I'm going to ask you to take your leave now."

The girl stopped dead, her puffy eyes widening immensely in order to recover from the impact of his words. "What did you say?" she breathed, brows arched almost to her hairline, jaw dropped open and the gloves barely hanging on to her fingertips.

He took the gloves from her before she could allow them to hit the floor, nodding to the girl curtly. "I appreciate everything you've done for my father, but I've come from Midgar for the very purpose of caring for him myself. If I wanted someone else to be here for him, why would I have returned?"

The girl's expression turned from shock to a barely concealed fury, her fingers clenching and unclenching into fists subtly. Her face twisted into utter disgust as she scrutinized his face, the hatred within her eyes so strong that he felt chills run up and down his spine in trepidation. "You're telling me," she breathed, voice barely distinguishable, "that you want me to stop caring for Mr. Highwind, who has been under me for almost an entire year?"

"If you're worried about compensation, then I will be more than happy to-"

"It's not about compensation, it's about my pride!" she hissed, chest heaving from the effort to keep her voice low. "Even if you're the son, how dare you come in here and tell me that you're going to dismiss me from my job? Your father was the one who hired me, not you! What right do you have?"

"It's my money you're getting paid with," he explained dryly. "I send it over every month – I just never knew it had been used for a caretaker until a few weeks ago."

She paused, lowering her head. Her hands gripped the edges of the faded blue apron, fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles were completely white. "So in the end, nothing works out, is that it?" she muttered bitterly.

He took a step forward, then paused – what was she talking about?

"All I want is for somewhere to call my own at the end of the day. No matter how much I make a mess of things, I was always able to come here, to work, to help your father. That's all I wanted. Is that so bad?"

His back looked lonely as he walked down the hill by himself, shoulders slouched and hands swinging forlornly by his side. She sighed, hugging her coat around her shoulders just a little tighter – the wind was picking up. Wasn't he cold as well? Shouldn't he at least stay the night? She was leaving soon either way – she left in the wee hours of the night and returned before sunrise the next day, so he wouldn't have to worry about her making him uncomfortable.

But he would have none of it when she offered – his place wasn't here, he had said. There was no point staying where someone else was already doing a better job than he ever could. And so, he had picked up his suitcase and left. Tifa felt ashamed, watching him go – in any other situation, it would have been her leaving, not the other way around. She wasn't Cid Highwind's child, whilst the similarities between him and the man he claimed his father were too many to count. The same hair, stature, strength – they had definitely been father and son. She was the outsider.

However, as the man's back disappeared around the corner, she knew it was too late. He was gone.

The words were barely out of her throat when the girl tore the apron off of her front, draping it over one of the two chairs at the table. "I'm going. Make sure you don't mistreat him." Her eyes softened, as she glanced down the hallway to where his father remained asleep. "He's a good man, when all's said and done."

Right before she could open the front door, however, a scuffling and muffled groan from within the building caught their attention. "Aerith, what the bloody hell is going on out there?" The elderly man – it was his father, he realized in awe, recognizing the same thin, stern eyes and wide, thin-lipped mouth, despite the ridiculously ruffled white-blond hair upon his head – slipped out of the bedroom and down the hallway, his cane clacking irregularly upon the wooden floors with ever shaky step. "Who've you got here?"

As the man entered the kitchen, Cloud stood, a warm, welcoming smile upon his face. "It's been a long time-"

"Who are you?"

The younger man stopped short, smile slowly dropping off of his lips.

The elder groaned and limped over to the sink, drawing a glass of water with trembling fingers. "Aerith, I don't mind if a young girl like you dates, but don't do it in my house. I'll have no indecency here. Now," he turned to Cloud, gesturing with his cane, "drink your goddamned tea and go." Turning back to the girl, he emphasized, "Get this hooligan out of my house." The girl flushed a deep red from head to toe in response, but she said nothing.

"But-" Cloud tried again, but the elder simply shot him a look. "But I'm your son. It's me, Cloud."

But no recognition came.

Cloud had had no idea what to expect. As he stumbled down the same hill he had climbed earlier that afternoon, a vibration from his pocket alerted him of a phone call. Trembling, he pulled it out and responded, not even bothering to conceal the shaking hurt in his voice as he murmured out a hello.

"Cloud? Hey, are you in Nibelheim yet? I'd really like if you could help me out with one last delivery – I know that I said the one last week was it, but you're so fast on Fenrir, and it would be really helpful if you could-"

"What, to who, and when and where for the pickup and drops?" His normally clipped voice was even more lifeless than usual, and he flinched, recognizing the pure weakness in his own tone.

He heard the other man chuckle, but thankfully, he made no real mention as to the cause of Cloud's obvious discomfort. "Well, you're enthusiastic today, huh?"

Staring at his other open, drooping palm, Cloud simply replied, "I might be coming back to Shinra after all."

The man's tone softened, compassion entering his voice slightly – just slightly, so Cloud could feel his support, but not come across as overbearing. "Hey, there's always a spot for you, you know that."

"Yeah. Ready Fenrir for me – I'll be back in a few days."

"Take your time. It's not an urgent delivery, it's just far away – in Icicle. You'll have to do some chocobo riding to reach it, so none of my boys wanted to do it. Thanks for helping me out."

"My bike, Reeve."

The other man simply laughed at that, said his goodbyes, and hung up, leaving the broken man to slowly lift his gaze from his hand and into the dead night sky. It was funny, really – he had dropped everything to come back to a man who didn't even need him anymore, one who had been out of his life for a decade, and just as quickly, he was running from that decision. Thinking of the girl watching over his father, however, a small smile pulled at his lips. She was dedicated, clearly – he had never seen someone fight for their job like that before. Cid would be fine, he decided, and he looked up at the sky with a renewed determination, really looking this time.

The stars were out.

"Take care, dad."

And he was off.

The elderly man simply wandered back to his bedroom after finishing his cup of water, leaving his son with nothing but a cracked heart and a whirlwind of questions.

After the sliding door had clicked shut once more, the girl murmured softly, "Did you even know what his illness is?"

Mutely, he shook his head. "His doctor called me here, saying he needed me badly," he whispered at last. "I haven't seen him in years – I was in Shinra."

She froze, then let out a tired sigh, taking the glass the elderly man had drunk out of and quickly rinsed it clean before leaving it to dry on the rack. "He's suffering from early onset of dementia. It's gotten quite bad – he forgets a lot. He doesn't remember what day of the week it is, or what time his favourite shows come on." She paused before adding in a quieter tone, "He doesn't remember when his wife's memorial is. I did it for him this year."

Cloud fell upon the table, gripping it hard for support. His mother's memorial – if his father had loved anything in the world, it was his mother. How could he forget? How in the world was it possible for such a devoted man to lose sight of the hardest day of his life? "How? Why would he block all his memories out?" Letting out a bark of a laugh, he angrily cried, "You're lying to me. How could that be possible? He still remembers me, this is all just a joke – it has to be!"

The girl looked up at him with pity emanating in her eyes. She knew the turmoil he felt. She knew, and he hated how honest her gaze was as it rested upon him.

And, for some strange reason, he felt like he had lost this argument. He didn't belong there, by his father's side.

"I've worked here for almost a full year now. Your father hired me himself, on recommendation of his doctor. He handpicked me. He did a full search on my history too, before he decided upon anything. He should know me better than anyone."

"So?" He sounded breathless, but she didn't comment on that. Instead, she simply laid a hand upon his arm, gently squeezing it in useless reassurance.

"He doesn't ever get it right these days. My name is Tifa, not Aerith."

Cid would be waking up soon. She had to go prepare tea, otherwise he'd be irritated and wouldn't take his night time dosage. There was no point watching a disappointed soul figure out a new path for himself. Letting out a long sigh, she trudged back into the small, desolate home to meet her ward.

The son was handsome. He could probably win anyone over in a job interview. It was hard to believe that he had actually worked for the Shinra Electric Company – the bright eyes made sense now, as he had probably been a part of their military units – and seeing that he had come here, giving that whole life up, was hard to digest. That was the home that Tifa had always wanted, and yet, here was someone who would throw it away on a dime.

But somehow, that dream of hers didn't feel as important anymore, not with that lonely, handsome man attempting to piece together a life he had cast aside. Thinking upon it further, her heart sank deep inside herself. Who was she to complain? If he had really come here with the intention to take care of Cid, then he had most likely dropped his old position to move back here. Did he even have anywhere to go back to?

At least she was needed by someone, and she had a place to return to at the end of the day – that was good enough. Leaving Nibelheim wasn't really that important.

Movements inside of the house drew her attention, and the familiar clacking of a cane upon hardwood become retreating towards the bathroom. "Aerith? Get back in 'ere, and do your damned job! Where's the newspaper?" the disgruntled voice crowed, and she let out a little giggle, all the tension from that afternoon suddenly melting off of her shoulders. It was time to head back inside, to do her job. Maybe one day, she would get the chance to go to Midgar. A smile on her lips, she re-entered the old house, heading towards the kitchen. Maybe she would even see Cid's son – Cloud, was it? – there, sitting in her dream bar, one day.

She'd like that.