A/N: ...I'm sorry!! These past couple of months have been pure insanity for me. I guess, when it comes down to it, I'm not ready to grow up when I should already be grown up, if that makes any sense at all. Hehe...
Anyhow, this is a theme that has been rolling around my head for a while when I was thinking about Cloud and Tifa's relationship in-game. I never actually completely bought in to the theory that Tifa and Cloud were childhood friends (hypocritical, I know, because I often depict them as such). That being the case, this is a short character piece exploring communication, more specifically, how Tifa came to the conclusion that "words aren't the only way." Enjoy!
CONSTANT
She knew he was different from the moment he became fully conscious after she had brought him back from the train station. It tore a piece of her heart when the sweet little boy she had once known treated her as if she didn't exist. Oh he was never outright malevolent towards her, but sometimes she wondered if that wouldn't have been better. At least then he would have had to acknowledge her presence. As it was, he was more prone to ignoring her than anything.
She'd wanted to cry that first night, when, other than knowing her by name, he had showed no signs of knowing her. It hurt and she wasn't sure why.
She had no delusions that they were best friends growing up; she knew very well that they barely spoke in all the years they grew up living next door to each other. In fact, that night of the well—precious memory that it was—was probably the longest conversation they'd ever held. It certainly wasn't for lack of opportunity; she remembered that he had always hovered just within the edges of her vision, never there completely, but always there nonetheless.
Perhaps she had taken him for granted.
Whatever the case, for the first thirteen years of her life, he had always been a physical constant, the one unshakable element that gave her life stability. Even after he left, he was still a constant, albeit one that existed only in dreams and memories. She wasn't sure why she always thought of him; maybe it was to make up for the fact that he wasn't there anymore and that she was so used to him being there. All she knew was that for the next two years, she became an avid reader of the newspaper, searching, always searching, for the name of the boy that had become such an obsession to her.
She was oh so disappointed when it was Zack who accompanied the great General Sephiroth to Nibelheim. But at least Zack knew him. Zack...had so many stories and she soaked each and every one up like a sponge. She hadn't realized how quenched she was for news of him until he'd started talking about him and then she couldn't stop. Every little detail, however minute, she wanted to know. And so it was that a vivid picture of his military life formed before her eyes and she could settle with not seeing him personally for a little while longer.
In light of the tragedies to come, it brought her a little comfort to know that he had escaped the madness of it all.
When she awoke in Midgar with a scar and countless nightmares to remind her that insanity was real, she'd searched for him. But no one seemed even know he existed. Strangely, his name was absent from the SOLDIER candidate database and there were no records of him at all. She was tempted to wonder whether he'd abandoned his desire to join SOLDIER and had decided to wander the world instead, but then flashes of an eventful military life recounted in Zack's voice echoed in her mind's eye.
Zack. Zack had told her that he'd been here. Zack had told her that he was getting close to making it into SOLDIER 1st class. Zack had told her that he'd been driven to succeed, not from dreams of becoming like Sephiroth, but by those in which a certain girl from home would acknowledge his existence and he could be her hero.
She'd smiled then, but inwardly she selfishly wished that he would come home; he'd already more than succeeded if the latter was truly his goal.
But now that he was here, she couldn't help but wonder whether he was paying her back for ignoring him when they were kids.
She stilled her motion in the kitchen to shut her eyes against the tears. She wanted to scream in frustration, but she bit her bottom lip and clenched her fists instead. He was so close now, at night, he slept in a cot next to hers, but he was anything but the constant he once was. He was unpredictable, volatile, sometimes showing flashes of the boy from Nibelheim, but more often than not, he was an entirely different person—one that reminded her eerily of Zack. And Zack, while he'd been an easy friend to make, was not him.
It hurt—it hurt, it hurt, it hurt!—that he would treat her so coldly, like she was an unwanted responsibility. But could she really blame him? Had she treated him any differently when they were growing up? She could make all the excuses she wanted, but it all came down to cowardice on her part. Forget what they all said about little Tifa Lockhart having the heart of a lion; she'd been too much of a coward to stand up for him against her father for hating him baselessly, too much of a coward to chastise the boys who hung around her for bullying him, too much of a coward to say anything more than a passing "hello, goodbye."
So how could she blame him now? It was unlikely that he was doing it on purpose; despite everything, she knew his heart was too good for that. But that knowledge didn't stop the pain of being ignored by the one thing that had remained a constant in her life.
Shaking her head, she took in several deep breaths to steady herself before she carried the dishes out to the bar. He and Barret and the rest of Avalanche should be arriving back soon. It wouldn't do to let any of them see her broken; she was Tifa Lockhart, after all. Unflappable, unshakable, firm solid ground. She was their constant now, the one person they could count on for having a cool head, for being the voice of reason where Barret was the heart and soul.
But when he came back that day, when he looked down at her with earnest eyes and handed her that single daisy, she couldn't help the way her heart sped or the way her hands slightly shook as she took it from him.
"For you," he rumbled out in a voice that reminded her of pure mountain air and days without a care.
And in that single moment, the way he looked at her…she felt as if she was the only one in his eyes, the only one he could see. For the first time, she came to understand that maybe, between him and her, words would only get in the way.
Because the proof was in her hands that he thought of her—even when he had no reason to, even when she didn't deserve to have his mind on her, he thought of her. It warmed her, just like—unbeknownst to her—her smile warmed him.
There was still much to be said, but for now, they would rather leave it be because for them, it was never a matter of acknowledging the other's presence; it was always about the little actions that proved they saw each other.
So when she mixes his drink for him later that night (hard, like he ordered), if one were very observant, one could see the small matching smiles that graced both their lips.
A/N: So...it didn't exactly come out how I envisioned and I think I tried to squeeze too many themes into one, but oh wells. Maybe I'll fix it later, but for now, I hope you liked it.