Disclaimer: I don't not own anything from or related to Final Fantasy VII, nor do I have any affiliation with the company who owns it. I'm just a big fan of the game who likes writing fanfiction.
*No stealing stories, thanks.*
A/N: Well hello there! It's been an absurdly long time since I updated my stories so here's a oneshot for any VII fans! Kind of a weird, deep one, but I think it turned out ok. Reviews and suggestions are much appreciated, enjoy the story!
Night had long fallen over Midgar City. It could almost not be called a city anymore; what it had become was only remnants of what it used to be. The ruins of the broken buildings rose out of the shattered ground and paled in the light of the moon. The shadows they cast threw distorted shapes over the rest of the once beautiful landscape, pushing their dark fingers under the doorjams and windowpanes of the few houses whose lights were still on. Streetlamps hissed and spat harsh, grimy light at the dank concrete beneath them. In the alleyways between buildings, the occasional rat scurried away from the dim light of the streets in search of their dinner. Other than the dull clicking of their nails on the ground, all was silent. The broken city was asleep.
From behind one of the smudged windows that dotted the grey buildings, a slender face looked out onto the street. Her dark eyes scanned the roads below, following their paths out of the city, searching. Searching for what exactly, even she herself could not tell. Maybe it was him. He was never around anymore. Always on the move, and hardly ever returning her calls. It had occurred to her that he, too, was searching for something. But he hardly ever spoke about what he was up to. It wasn't her business to know, of course. She sighed. No, it wasn't, was it? She put her hand up to the window, watching the cold glass fog up around her fingers, and waited. The roads remained silent and empty.
Pulling back from the window, the woman walked out of the room and into the hall. Reaching another door, she carefully turned the knob. Inside the dark room, she could hear the soft breathing of two children fast asleep. Tiptoeing to each bed, she pulled the crumpled covers over both of the kids, pausing at each bed to look at their faces. Both kids, a boy and girl, slept silently as the woman tucked them in. They were both young, yet their faces betrayed their old souls.
As she stood by the boy's bed, the woman could barely make out the black mark that rippled across the boy's forehead, a sign that he was one of the many infected by the Geostigma. The disease did not discriminate; children had it just as bad, perhaps even worse than adults. Putting her hand to the boy's head, she gently smoothed back his auburn hair, listening to the steady rhythm of his lungs as they brought life to his body. Breathe in, breathe out. In, out. Then without a sound, the woman backed out of the room and closed the door behind her softly.
Walking back into her room, she let herself fall onto the nearest bed. It creaked under her weight, its bedsprings squealing as she rolled over to face the door. Turning onto her side, she laid her head on the pillow. Her arms were sore from the day's work, her feet worn and tired from the walking she did. She didn't complain about it, though. She was made of tougher things than other women. Work kept her busy, which was a good thing, she supposed. And taking care of the children came naturally to her now. She loved them like they were children of her own, and they treated her like she was their mother. It had taken them a long time to become a real family; something all of them had dreamed of having. No, she was ok then. She kept her guard up when she was around others, and everything would seem fine. It was when she was alone that she felt otherwise. And at that moment, she wished she wasn't alone for so long.
Propping herself up on her elbow, the woman groped in the darkened room for the cell phone that sat on the bedside table. It flashed harsh light across the bed as she dialed in a number she knew off by heart. After a few rings, the call went to voicemail. The woman sighed, hanging up and laying her head back down. He never answered anymore.
She could feel her eyes straining to focus on the room around her, her arms growing heavier as the day took its final toll on her. The last thing she saw before she fell asleep was the dank ceiling above her, crossed with streetlight shadows. Maybe she should move, there was work to be done, she thought. But she was out like a lightbulb only seconds later. She lay on the bed, sprawled out. The whisper of her breathing was the only sound in the room. Everything was dark and silent; the bedroom, the bar downstairs, and the city sitting outside their window. Sleep was kind to the occupants of the flat, and at least for one night, all slept peacefully.
o-o-o
Early in the wee hours of morning, someone opened the bar door. He swung it gently to a close, careful not to jingle the loud bell that signaled customers during open hours. He was not a customer, and barely a stranger. The man knew every inch of the place, and the exact location of the spare key kept outside for times much like this. He'd been here before at even later hours. But no one knew. He was like a ghost at night; unnoticed. And he wanted to remain that way.
Adjusting the loose sword on his back, the man ascended the stairs silently, stepping over the one that squeaked. Reaching the top, he went into the first door. The two children within slept on, unaware of the man as he watched them. His eyes hovered over their sleeping faces, coming to rest on the boy's black scar that was a dark shadow on his small face. After a minute the man closed the door slowly, still watching the boy. He let no expression betray him, even in pure darkness. The house knew him, and that was enough to keep him blank. Inside, his stomach flipped at the thought of the mark, one of its brethren haunting his own skin. At least they were safe here. He himself, he felt, was not.
His heavy boots made no sound as he walked down to the far door. Fairly certain no one would see him, he nonetheless opened the door quietly. The woman breathed gently, sound asleep as the man walked to her bedside. The streetlamp light flashes across his face as he looked down at her motionless form. The house was quiet once more. The man didn't say anything as he watched the woman sleep but, even while she was dead to the world in slumber, he could feel the words in her heart. He could see the weariness around her eyes. He knew her pain, however far she pushed it away. It shouldn't have been this way for her. He'd done all he could to protect her; always, the man had been her willing shield. But no matter how he tried, fate could not be avoided. This was the way things had to be. For now. In order to protect her, as well as the children. He could not allow them to be dragged in as well. Never.
The man allowed himself to stretch out his hand and, gently, he held her limp fingers in his. The woman remained asleep. Holding her hand, the man sat there for what seemed like hours. Slowly, the light outside began to grow brighter as dawn approached. Still, he sat. Finally, as the morning trucks began their noisy commutes outside, the man rose to go. He showed no signs of tiredness; his face remained blank and he stood unwavered. He looked down at her hand in his, her fingers so much thinner and delicate than his, and then back at the woman. Quietly and evenly, he spoke, almost as if to himself. Not to wake her, but to say his thoughts aloud. To say something.
"You are never alone."
o-o-o
Sunlight poured in through the window as the city woke from its sleep, and as the woman woke up from hers. For a moment, she stretched her arms out in front of her and, yawning, she lay there, looking around her at the room, much more cheerful in the light of day. Outside she could hear the people on the streets and the cars honking. Down the hall, the sound of sleepy childrens' voices were barely audible. The woman knew she had a long day ahead of her, and that she should get up and working soon. But she didn't move or say anything. She just lay there and smiled.