They find the Promised Land where and when they can.
Now
On her back among her yellow and white flowers, she feels his breath hot on the inside of her thigh, and shudders when his tongue flicks against her clit. Zack never did this to her – for her. He always held her so carefully, too aware of his own strength, or believing naively in her fragility. Zack was so young and so beautiful – innocent in a way she can't even remember being.
This one is hard and scarred, and his jaded eyes take her in, looking at her as though he thinks she's nothing that special. This one never pretends that he can save her – or even that he'd bother to if he could. She supposes that in most people's worlds this would seem an odd reason to trust someone.
She arches, moaning, as he thrusts calloused fingers inside her, and she writhes against him, hissing, "Fuck – yes!" His mouth is so hot and wet on her, and his tongue… He thinks he's clever when he talks, but this – this is a real skill. If he asked her now, she would tell him everything – if she knew anything – if the secrets they think she keeps weren't mysteries to her, too. The Promised Land. The thought almost makes her laugh, but then he licks her like that, just there – and there's nothing in her mind but this feeling - this moment – this -
x
When she asked him, before the first time this happened, whether or not he thought Zack was dead, he shrugged and said, "Dunno for sure. But don't hold your breath, if you're waiting."
x
When she asked, before the third or fourth time, if he would really be prepared to hand her over to Hojo, he didn't look away. "If I get that order, yeah. When."
"But not today."
He couldn't even give her that much. "Not now, anyway."
"So, what will you do with me – now?"
He stubbed out his cigarette on the back of the pew, and smiled with a flash of surprisingly white teeth. "Come here and find out."
"Do you have any idea how sleazy you look?" she asked him, turning away, making a show of tending to her flowers.
"You comin' over here, or not?"
"I like nice men," she said, with a toss of her long, brown hair.
He scoffed, "Sure you do. Well – hope that works out for you, Princess."
She left the flowers, and crossed the aisle to him, hitching up her skirt, kneeling on the hard wooden seat of the pew to straddle him. He ran his hands along her thighs pushing up the thin pink cotton of her dress, until he was holding her hips, pulling her down to grind against him.
"Never said I only like nice men," she teased, pressing herself against the hardness and heat of his erection.
"Yeah, yeah," he replied, busy with the tiny shell buttons on the front of her dress. "Fuck – how many of these are there?"
x
She comes, now, the waves of her orgasm pulsing against his tongue, her hand clenched in his hair, keeping him right there until she's done. She lets go of him and relaxes back into the flowers, her forearm arm flung over her eyes, as her breathing steadies. He moves up to lie next to her, unbuttons the front of her dress and reaches inside to play with her tits, but she bats his hand away and turns over. "Just do it. Now." He salutes ironically and gets to his knees, fishing in his pocket for a condom, ripping open the packet with his teeth, his free hand already pushing her dress up out of the way. He fucks her hard, exactly how she wants it, on her hands and knees right there among the flowers. She cries out with every thrust, and he curses softly when he comes.
They lie side by side on crushed petals, looking up at crumbling plaster and splintered roof beams.
"You wouldn't mistake me for an angel," Aerith says.
"Don't believe in angels," Reno agrees, closing his eyes for a moment. They don't touch until he leans over and kisses her, once. His mouth tastes of her cunt – sweetness, salt and bitterness, mixed.
After a while they get to their feet, rearranging their clothes. Aeirth re-ties the ribbon she always wears in her hair. Reno pulls her panties out of his pocket with a flourish, and hands them back to her with a smile that, for once, has no edge. As she fastens her buttons he offers her a cigarette, but she shakes her head. "I don't."
"You did last time." He shrugs. "But - guess that was last time." He lights up anyway, and she doesn't complain, breathing in the mingled scents of smoke and sex and bruised lilies. Reno takes his usual pew, and Aerith kneels among the flowers, straightening bent stems and pretending to fuss over half-crushed blooms that they both know are much more resilient than they look.
x
By the time Tseng takes over from Reno, Aerith is the image of serenity, barely glancing his way as she bends over her precious flowerbed, a basket of cut lilies at her side. She stands, turning to give him one of her bright, sweet smiles that nonetheless always carry a vague suggestion of mockery, and picks up her basket. "I'm going to try Wall Market today," she tells him as she walks towards the doors of the church. When she was younger she used to hesitate, waiting to see whether the Turks would follow her, but now she knows that they always will.
Tseng keeps a discreet distance between them, far enough back that no one will think they're together, but close enough to protect her if necessary. The slums are full of dangers – literal and metaphorical monsters. He tries not to remember that he's one of them – one of the worst – and focuses instead on what he thinks she needs from him: the illusions of freedom, security, protection. Tseng tells himself that at least he can offer her that much, for how ever long he can convince the impatient President that continued surveillance is preferable to detention. He doesn't fool himself that he will succeed forever - not even for very much longer, perhaps. But today he can pretend that he is only her protector as she walks these dark streets without fear – here, at this moment, now.