The wind scraped through stagnant pools of artificial light, pasting the black fabric of Aerith's skirt against her legs, sending a chill through her calves. She watched silent and numb as the pallbearers, with their white-gloved hands, reverently lowered the box of ashes into the ground. A bow of green ribbon, made from one of Elmyra's favorite dresses, wrapped the metal box—the only bit of color against pale granite and the sickly yellow light that filtered down from the plate above. Aerith would have preferred scattering the ashes of her adopted mother in the garden outside their home, or among the flowers in the church in Sector Five, but this had been decided a long time ago. The box containing Elmyra's remains fit snuggly next to a matching one. Dust covered the faded service cap that rested on top of the second box; it had once been a vibrant cobalt blue. Aerith could picture the photograph that hung above the mantle at home—Elmyra radiant in a homemade white gown, Thomas handsome in his dress uniform with that very cap on his head.
The pallbearers bowed respectfully and waited. When Aerith nodded, they knelt and lifted the heavy granite slab into place, covering the grave. The etching had already been done. Alongside Thomas Gainsborough, Beloved Husband, was Elmyra Gainsborough, Cherished Mother and Friend. They had both died so young—Thomas in the war, Elmyra suddenly one day when she'd collapsed. Their ashes were committed to the ground while their spirits had returned to the Planet, scattering into the Lifestream that was the source and sustenance of all living things.
Don't cry. Someone you love has returned to the Planet.
She heard those words for the hollow ache they were as the wind razed the back of her neck, lifting the tiny hairs that refused to be tamed into her braid. The ribbon tied into her hair was black today. In nineteen years of life she had lost two fathers and two mothers. Granted, she had never met Thomas, her adopted mother's husband, but Elmyra had told enough stories over the years that she had eagerly awaited his return from the war. But that return had come in the form of a letter, hand delivered to their door by a young soldier, and a small parcel of personal effects. The body came later.
Their task complete, the pallbearers bowed again. This signaled the end of the ceremony and the mourners began to shift and drift away, murmuring. Aerith felt their eyes, but she didn't meet their gazes. A handful of people had come to pay their respects—older women from the neighborhood, shop owners from the places they'd frequented, a few of the veterans who had known Thomas and Elmyra years ago. Slum children watched the proceedings from the shadows of nearby buildings where they thought they were hidden. Actually hidden was at least one Turk—the cold and silent sentinels who watched her every move.
They all waited to see what she would do; if she would cry or break down sobbing. Many of them were genuinely concerned—they were good folk who had cared deeply for the Gainsboroughs. But their hesitant whispers and furtive glances only made her feel more alone.
Why am I still here?
Aerith went forward and crouched, laying a bouquet of snow-white lilies tied with a silver ribbon on the grave. She was the last of her race, the Cetra—and a half-breed at that. Everyone she'd ever loved had returned to the Planet. Why was I left behind?
The graves of Elmyra and Thomas Gainsborough were surrounded by a sea of other plaques and monuments of various sizes. Several of the names were familiar. Many were scant of years—infants and children who had only seen the barest flicker of life. She had been here too many times, recently in particular. I can't…take much more of this. Life was always hard in the slums. So why did it have to get bleaker still? The gentle promise of eternity didn't alleviate the rawness of right now.
A thunder of rapid footfalls approached. "Aerith—" Zack stopped behind her, out of breath. "Sorry, I got here as soon as I could."
Aerith smoothed her black skirt against her knees as she straightened. The wind rustled her thin overcoat, sifting through her bangs as she turned to him.
Zack still wore his uniform—he must have come the instant his shift was over. The pale yellow light gleamed off his shoulder pauldrons and the sword strapped to his back. He was bent forward, his hands on his knees as he caught his breath, looking at her with concern in his glowing, mako-blue eyes. He wore black boots and leather pants held up with suspenders. The insignia of SOLDIER marked the belt at his waist. A thick turtle-neck sweater covered his torso.
Aerith unconsciously touched her left forearm, just below the elbow. The sleeve of her coat was soft beneath her fingertips. Most of the time she didn't mind his SOLDIER uniform. Sometimes though, memories forced themselves into the forefront of her mind, bubbling up unwelcome from the deepest recesses of her psyche. White walls, locked doors, SOLDIERs in uniform with helmets covering their faces— Doctors…so many doctors.
She banished those thoughts with a blink, letting her hands fall back to her sides. "It's OK," she said, her voice sounding oddly normal even to her own ears. "You came. That's what's important."
Zack wrenched himself straight, a frown creasing his brow. Shards of spiked black hair fell across his forehead. "Aerith…"
She closed to his side, even managing a small smile. "I was going to head back. Will you walk me?"
His unnaturally blue eyes studied her face for a moment. Finally he nodded, his expression easing. "Yeah."
-x-
Aerith tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat as they walked, warding off the cold. Zack, despite his sleeveless attire, didn't seem at all perturbed by the chill. For a while they were silent, making their way across dirt paths, skirting junkyards and potholes, staying on the edge of packs of workers hurrying between jobs and groups of school-aged children scavenging for things they could sell for their next meal.
Eventually, they turned from the main traffic areas, following paths where the lighting was sparser, often blinking in and out in disrepair. The cemetery wasn't far from her home, but it was safer not to walk alone. Thugs and creatures could be lurking in every shadow or around the next pile of debris. She couldn't always count on one of the ever-present Turks to be close enough to save her. But with Zack in tow, enemies and potential enemies kept their distance.
"Aerith." His voice, broken with grief, ended the silence, his footsteps coming to a halt behind her. "I'm sorry."
She slowed her steps, then stopped all together. "It isn't your fault, Zack." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "I told you already."
Zack's face was clouded with guilt. "But if you hadn't come to meet me…"
Aerith turned to face him, shaking her head. "I'm not going to blame you, Zack." She wrapped her arms around herself, looking away. "The coroner said she was gone in an instant. Even if I'd been home…" But it would haunt her. Elmyra had gone to bed with a headache the night before her collapse, refusing Aerith's offer to help. In the morning she'd insisted she felt fine. Aerith hadn't questioned her. Occasional headaches were nothing unusual.
But I should've realized. That, this time, something was wrong. Anguish sliced through the numbness she felt, gathering hot in her throat and stinging her eyes. I'm sorry, Mom. I should've been able to save you.
Aerith closed her eyes tightly, squeezing herself as a tremor ran through her body.
"Aerith—" Zack's footsteps approached, covering the distance between them. His hands closed around her trembling shoulders as he moved to embrace her.
She flinched at the contact, his kindness threatening to shatter what little self-control she had left. She'd fall apart in his arms. I can't. Maybe that was what she needed—heaven knew she had counseled others in their grief so many times. Let it out—don't hold it all in. But I can't, I can't—
Aerith pulled away, liquid blurring her vision. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze; she didn't want to see the hurt that was surely etched into his face. "I'm sorry, Zack. I just—I can't. I need—I need some time."
His arms fell back to his sides. "…Sure. OK," he said eventually, his voice monotone.
He would think she did blame him. As much as she didn't want that, more words wouldn't help. Please understand. Aerith sniffed hard and turned, swiping away tears with her fingers.
They walked the rest of the way to her house without another word. Bits of dying sunlight shafted through cracks in the plate above, spilling into the flowerbeds of her garden. The lilies were beginning to wilt. Other flowers were just starting to bloom.
The doorstep of the modest home she'd shared with Elmyra was littered with small parcels. Meals, baked goods, a package of coffee—costly items for slum dwellers who lived paycheck to paycheck, barely making ends meet. She could put on a smile and thank them tomorrow—and she was grateful for their thoughtfulness—but like Zack's embrace, it only served to further splinter her fragile emotions.
Zack helped her carry the items into the kitchen, putting away what needed to be refrigerated or frozen. "You want anything to eat now?" he asked, putting the kettle on the stove while she hung up her coat.
Aerith shook her head, brushing errant strands of hair back from her face. She still couldn't look him in the eye. "I'll—I'll call you, OK?"
"Yeah," he said, his voice gentle. "Whenever you need me, I'll be here."
She closed her eyes, swallowing. "Thanks, Zack."
He left, closing the front door behind him.
Aerith exhaled raggedly, grateful to finally be alone—or as alone as she ever got. The Turks were still out there somewhere. She reached up, pulling the black ribbon from her hair, crushing it in her fingers as she looked around the room. There was a vase of dying flowers on the table—she'd forgotten about them. A stack of mail was growing on one chair—junk mail, condolences, bills. She glanced at the mantle, which was beginning to gather dust, and wished she hadn't. All of the photos were there—Elmyra and Thomas at their wedding, Elmyra and Thomas standing proudly in front of this very house…and so many pictures of her, growing up. In every single one of them, Aerith was smiling brightly for the camera. Elmyra had always teased her about being a ham whenever there was a lens pointed at her. Precious few photos actually had the two of them together.
Her knees buckled as emotion tore through her. Mom. Aerith sank down until she was sitting on the floorboards, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirt as hot tears streaked down her face. I miss you, Mom. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—
She covered her face with her fingers, shaking with sobs.
-x-
Exhausted and dehydrated, Aerith got up when the kettle whistled. She went through the motions mechanically and automatically—turning off the stove, bypassing the coffee for a satchel of herbal tea given the hour, opening the cupboard and grabbing two mugs. "Mom, do you—" She froze there, answered by silence and the hollow ache in her heart. Aerith replaced one of the mugs and closed the cupboard. She poured the tea and carried her cup to the table, sitting down with her back to the mantle.
Aerith began sifting through the mail. Junk ad, letter, card, water bill, junk ad, junk ad— She hadn't gotten far before the colors ran together, the text swam; frustrated, she gave the pile a shove, scattering half the stack to the floor. Why couldn't she get through even this simple task? Her limbs were tight with sudden anger, which frightened her. She never got angry. Righteously indignant, maybe, but never—
Leaving her steaming mug untouched, Aerith rose from the table and went upstairs. She let the shower water warm as she stripped off her clothes and unwound her braid. I just need to calm down, get some sleep…
She stood under the spray until the hot water ran out. Drying off, she refused to look at herself in the mirror above the sink. She didn't want to see that reddened, swollen face. Aerith toweled her body dry and dressed for bed in a soft, white nightgown, leaving her hair loose.
The door to Elmyra's room was shut and she left it that way. Her room was across the hall, at the top of the stairs. Aerith didn't bother with the lights. Artificial light streaked in through the one window, a sliver of it between drawn curtains—it was enough to find her bed by. She drew the covers back and laid down, staring at the ceiling. Glow-in-the-dark stars glittered down at her, slightly faded by the years. But though she was desperately tired, sleep refused to come. Aerith was left in the company of her memories. She closed her eyes, tears leaking from the seams of her eyelids.
-x-
The Planet's screams woke her. Aerith bolted upright in bed, heart thudding in her chest, eyes burning from the lack of sleep. The ear-piercing shrieks tore through her, rising and falling in waves of anguish. She covered her ears with her hands, but of course that did nothing.
"What do you want?" She gripped fistfuls of hair, as if a bit of pain could lessen the cacophony assaulting her ears. "What is it?"
It was the same as it always was. The Planet was in pain. The ShinRa reactors, pumping mako from deep beneath the surface, were sucking the Planet dry, bleeding its life source, its energy.
For once, Aerith did not care. "You think I don't know you're hurting? I know." A glance at the glowing red numerals on her bedside clock showed it was the middle of the night, only maybe an hour since she'd finally managed to fall asleep. "I know."
She lurched out of bed, hands still locked over her ears. Aerith stumbled down the stairs in her nightgown, gritting her teeth and barely opening her eyes as the onslaught continued. Dear God, the screaming. Her foot slipped and she tumbled onto the landing, midway down the staircase, pain radiating through her kneecaps. Angry tears stung her eyes. "Can't you just be quiet? You think you're the only one in pain? You took her!" Agony seared through her. "Why did you have to take her? Why couldn't you have left her here with me? I was already alone!" There were no other Cetra. She alone bore the burden of the Planet. "Why did you have to take her and leave me here?"
The Planet had something it wanted from her—something it wanted her to do. But she didn't care. Aerith rose on shaking legs, grabbing the banister in one hand as she made her way down to the main room. Still, the Planet's cries resonated within her, unending, unceasing, maddening. "Just stop. Just stop, already. I can't do this anymore!" Anger surged up inside her. The cup of tea, long gone cold, was still sitting on the table. On impulse, Aerith grabbed it, hurling it against the brick fireplace. "I don't care about your pain!" The mug shattered, splattering cold, amber liquid across the bricks, clay shards littering the floor. "Just leave me alone! For right now, just—"
Her head pounded. Aerith staggered into the kitchen, looking around blearily, wincing from the pain. What she wouldn't give for a Sleep materia or Silence. But the only materia she had was that useless Holy orb, locked away in a drawer in her bedroom dresser. Elmyra wasn't one to keep Sleep potions around either. Aerith got out a stepstool and opened the cupboard above the fridge, where the medicine was kept. A Remedy wouldn't work as well, but it would make her a little drowsy at least. Maybe a little numb, too.
As she was digging through the cabinet, her finger scraped a dusty bottle. Aerith blinked, looking at it, her forehead creased with the constant, jagged pain. The wine had been a gift, a few years back. But Elmyra, not being much for alcohol, had simply put the bottle away.
Aerith knew better. So many slum dwellers were alcoholics, recovering and relapsing in an endless cycle. Never drink alone, don't keep alcohol in the house, call your accountability partner when you start to feel weak. It had been so easy to say those words when she'd never been tempted that way. As if she'd always been better than them, spouting her matter-of-fact advice, as if pain and reality could be ignored so easily. Her mother died when she was five. Thomas' body had come home when she was seven. Elmyra, even in the midst of her own pain, had been there to hold her, to rock her, to kiss her forehead and say that things would be OK. They'd make it through this together.
Another jarring shriek of the Planet had her closing her fingers around that bottle. Shut up. She stepped down and grabbed another mug. Just shut up and let me sleep. The bottle had a twist-off cap, not a cork like those fancy imported brands people drank above the plate. Ruby liquid sloshed into the cup as she poured with shaking hands. I don't care anymore. She raised the mug to her lips and drank, the velvet wine coating her tongue, dribbling down her chin.
Halfway through that cupful, the Planet's screams subsided. Aerith slumped against the cluttered countertop, gasping for breath in the blessed reprieve. Her veins hummed with a pleasant, numbing warmth. When that cupful was empty, she didn't care about anything at all. Aerith left the wine on the counter, ignoring the shattered remnants of her teacup as she trudged back upstairs. She collapsed into bed, consciousness fading into a dreamless slumber.
-x-
A week passed in a blur. Some days she busied herself around the house, other days she did nothing. The bottle was almost empty, its contents long since bittered by exposure to the air, but she drank it anyway, blocking out the Planet's desperate cries. She began to feel antsy, on edge. Breathing the same stale air would do that, she supposed. But she couldn't make herself go out to tend the gardens. She needed a distraction.
Aerith flipped her phone open to text Zack, pushing away a plate of half-eaten food she had no appetite for. Everything tasted bland and dry, even her favorite things. She curled up in her chair, tucking her feet beneath her, still in her nightgown even though it was past noon.
Zack, it's me. I want to see you. Can you come tonight? I need to get out of the house for a bit. She hit send and closed the pearlescent pink phone, setting it on the surface of the table in front of her.
Even though she was staring right at it, she jumped when it buzzed not a minute later. Her heart pounded a rapid staccato in her chest. She was weirdly on edge.
She flicked open the phone.
Yes, I'll be there. Seven OK?
Yes, she wrote back. I'll be ready.
Aerith got up and cleared her dishes from the table. She'd cleaned up the shattered teacup a couple days ago. The kitchen was spotless. The mail had all been sorted, bills paid, though she couldn't bring herself to open the many cards of condolences people had sent.
She took a leisurely bath, washed her face, and put on makeup for the first time in days. With a towel wrapped around her torso, Aerith contemplated her closet. She'd done wash on one of her fugue days, so everything was clean. In the back, with tags still attached, was a dress she had begged Elmyra to buy for her a year or so ago. They hadn't been able to afford it immediately, but she'd made enough extra money selling flowers to eventually purchase it. In her closet it had stayed, waiting for a special occasion that hadn't ever come.
Aerith shed her towel and pulled on the dress. It fit a tad loose—she must've lost a little weight over the last couple of weeks. Glossy red, it fell just past her knees, held up by thin straps over her shoulders. Elmyra hadn't liked the dress, actually. She had frowned her patented Mom-frown and said something like, "You're not wearing that without a jacket."
She'd comply, but only because it was cold out. Who'd care now if she went back to Zack's place at the end of the night, or brought him here to her room? It wasn't like the sanctity of her body meant anything in the grand scheme of things. It'd been pompous—high and mighty of her—to think otherwise. She wasn't better than the people she'd tried to help over the years.
From her vanity, Aerith plucked a broad gold bracelet, securing it around her left wrist, covering the faded tattoo on her skin just below the bone. 1378. Her real mother, Ifalna, had had one, too—512. It was proof that Aerith hadn't really been her own from the beginning. Even now Turks watched her house, tapped her phone, tracked her movements.
Her eyes slid up from the bangle to a pattern of feathered scars, faded, paler flesh just below her elbow. They were very, very old. She never talked about them and Zack had only asked once. Since she didn't give him a real answer, he'd never asked again. They were precious, those scars—the marks of her and Ifalna's freedom from that godforsaken lab, of a kindness she kept secret and locked away. Though the horrors of that place were the most vivid, there were cherished moments, too—the only memories she had of her real mother, for one. Along with… She sighed a little and shook herself from her thoughts of the past, of a kind of family that was long gone, now.
Aerith brushed her hair but left it loose, a cascade of chestnut colored waves that framed her face and spilled across her shoulders. Her green eyes were a little bloodshot, but lined with kohl and mascara, no one would really notice. She pushed delicate drop earrings through her ears and donned a necklace Zack had given her once—a thin, gold chain with a small golden lily for a pendant, housing a tiny white stone at its center.
After slipping into sandals, she went downstairs. The window in the kitchen looked out over her garden, her flowers beginning to droop because of her negligence. The sun was setting above the plate, thin shafts of amber slicing between the dim pools of yellow light. She knew Zack lived in the ShinRa building like most SOLDIERs did. She wasn't particularly interested in going anywhere near the place where she'd been imprisoned for the first five years of her life, but it would be nice to see a sunset above the plate sometime, or to spend a lazy morning watching a sunrise.
At the first twinge of the Planet's cries, Aerith grabbed the bottle, pouring the dregs into a mug and gulping down the last of the vinegared wine. It only took a few moments on her empty stomach for the alcohol to work its magic, deadening her ears and loosening her limbs. The knock at the door came as she was washing the mug and setting it on the dishrack to dry.
She opened the door to find Zack waiting, still in his SOLDIER uniform, pauldrons and sword gleaming in the pale, diffuse light. His mako-blue eyes widened, his face slackening with shock as he looked at her, his gaze sliding from her face, down her body, to her feet.
"Aerith." He swallowed, his eyes snapping back up to her face. "When you said 'go out,' I thought you meant you wanted to hang out at the park or something."
Aerith shook her head, warmed by the wine, and leaned against him. She lifted herself onto her tiptoes so she could twine her arms around his neck. "No, I need a distraction. Can we go above the plate?"
His arms closed around her waist, drawing her against him. She felt him inhale. "Uh, sure. If that's what you want."
Aerith nodded, curling her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck as she angled her face up towards his. "That's what I want." She kissed him, a light pressure of lips, and felt him freeze up for a second before he began to respond, kissing her back.
"Aerith—" His pupils were slightly dilated when he broke away, breathing roughly and frowning. "Have you been drinking?"
"Just a sip," she said, shrugging in his arms. "The bottle would've gone to waste if I hadn't finished it off."
"Aerith…" His frown deepened, more worry than desire clouding his gaze.
She ducked her head against his throat, refusing to be deterred. "Zack, I just need some company, please?" She kissed the edge of his jaw, below his left ear. "Help me take my mind off things for a while. Take me somewhere fun, OK?" She felt the tremor that ran through him, his arms twitching tighter around her before he firmly pushed her away.
Zack stood on her doorstep, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as he looked anywhere but at her. "Alright. But wear a coat, OK?"
