Type: Fanfiction
Genre: Angst/Tragedy
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Pairings: Tifa / Sephiroth
Rating: M (themes)
Author's Notes:

There's something inescapably lonely about motherhood. Some people come to resent the child they're carrying, thinking that the child leeches off their life in order to build his/her own. Sometimes these emotions cause the mother to become unhinged, vulnerable to demons they make in a failed attempt to cope. They commit desperate acts that would harm both the child and herself.

It would be doubly so if the child was fathered by a person you once hated, who took away everything from you, even your own heart.

Story was inspired by a dream I had and was written with the background music of the song "Dreamcatcher" by Secret Garden and "The Burdened" by Takeharu Ishimoto, from the soundtrack of Crisis Core.

WARNING: Don't read if you're pregnant. Or happy. This is a dark angsty fic. I don't know what I ate when I wrote this, but hey, gotta let out those dark energies somewhere.

A Mother's Love

It has to be done.

Warm breeze that smelled of salt and earth caressed the skin on pale arms. Long brown lashes that hid deep brown eyes parted as a sigh escaped her lips. "Mama…?"

You know it has to be done.

Her eyelids fluttered as she stirred; the chair creaking as the bare soles of her feet landed on the tiled surface of the floor. The white hem of her dress swayed above her knees, eager to fly with the wind. Her hands gripped the edges of the armrest, knuckles turning white. A frown appeared on her face. "I don't want to..." Her voice was quiet, gone quickly with the wind.

You have no choice.

Her lips quivered as her hands, pale against the dark wood of the table, reached across and closed around a black pen. Her other hand pulled a white piece of paper closer to her, flat surface scraping against the dark mahogany of the table. Her brown eyes fell upon the hand that held the paper, where the silver band on her fourth finger glinted with the orange rays of the sun.

A single sob escaped her lips but it was quickly lost to the sounds of the waves in the distance. Her unbound hair cascaded to hide her face as she leaned forward, gripping the pen in her hand.

Troubled eyes lifted to the horizon before her; the setting sun perched majestically above the violet expanse of the sea. Red, marigold, yellow, dark blue… the colors blurred as tears came to her eyes. White spots began to appear in her vision.

The sun will burn her as, she knew this. She knew...

You must do it.

"No…! Stop it, you're not real!" She looked around, seeking a way to quiet down the voice in her head. Her eyes glared hatefully at the orange bottles gathered in the corner of the table. Useless. With one flick of her wrist, she knocked them away, spilling their small round contents on the floor. Oh, where was he when he needed her? Her eyes fell upon a smooth metal that was half-covered by the bottles. Her hand grabbed the familiar shape of her PHS, her ring making a familiar sound against its cold surface. She grasped it tightly. Acting on her resolve before it disappeared, she dialed the only number saved in its memory.

The line was picked up after the first ring. Silence from the other end.

She took a deep breath to steady her voice. "It's me…"

There was a light chuckle from the receiver that made her heart beat a little faster. "Who else would it be?" His voice, deep and brisk, always softened for her. Only for her.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She gripped the pen in her other hand tighter. "When… when are you coming home?"

"In a few minutes." A pause. She could hear the sound of marching in the background. Left, right, left, right. The scraping of boots against hard earth. "What's wrong?" His voice brought back her attention to him.

She bowed down until her forehead rested on the table. "Nothing. I just… wanted… to… hear… your voice." The tears she held back escaped as she closed her eyes.

He chuckled again. A deep vibrating sound that reminded her of the deep ocean. His laughter, his voice, always stirred something within her. He was her anchor. When he spoke all other voices fell silent. Even the ones that only she can hear.

She lifted her head and looked down at the blank paper before her. She knew what he wanted to hear from her; the reason for the silences that were never uncomfortable, the source of his endless patience, the steady presence that was there whenever she needed it.

Her hand picked up the pen again and began to trail the writing edge across white surface, forming the words she could never say outloud.

Three words. That's all that she wanted say, really.

He seemed to sense the restlessness in her. "I will be there soon."

She closed her eyes and exhaled. "I know." Her trembling hand released the pen and slid down to hold the fullness protruding from under the soft layers of cloth on her belly. "We're waiting. Don't…be late."

Another chuckle. "Of course…" He paused. She heard the marching stop and the collective gruff voice call 'Hail General!'. He made no response. She could imagine the graceful wave of his fingers as he dismissed them. "I don't want to add another reason for you to hate me..."He continued as if there had been no interruption from his end.

She hummed, the closest she ever allowed herself to a laugh. "I still hate you." She said this with all the conviction she had.

She could almost see the smile that graced his face at this. "I know… We've come a long way, haven't we?"

She bit her lip and did not reply. His words set fire to her emotions, bidding unwelcome memories to haunt her once again. The long blade of his sword dripping with the blood of the people that she cared about. The way the flames drowned out the stars with its heat and light. The feeling of the wind against her face as she raced towards the reactor, following her father's trail…

The silence had gone on longer than usual. When he spoke again he suddenly seemed so far away. "I'll see you later then… Tifa…? I love you."

He knew better than to wait for responses that would never come. The line was dead when she replied 'farewell'. Her head turned to one side as tears made its way down her cheeks. Just like that, her resolve broke again. She threw the phone away.

It will never be enough, you know. His voice is not enough. HE is not enough. But I can make the pain go away.

She sobbed. "Mama… do you promise?"

We can be together again. Weren't we happy then?

She wiped her tears and nodded, slowly standing up from her chair, holding her belly. "Yes…" The paper flew with the wind that scattered her long brown locks. She watched it go with detachment.

He will never know now. Never see or hear the words he always wanted to come from her.

"I'm s-sorry… I'm so sorry…" She draped her arms across her midsection, her breathing heavier now. Her thoughts turned to the child within. How would he look like when he grows old? Will he have his father's eyes and hair? Will he have his strength, his intelligence, his drive? Will he join SOLDIER and turn the tides of wars? Will he get anything at all from her?

She will never know.

Her fingers trailed up to the beginning of the scar in her chest, the one that started it all. They were orphans; that was the only thing that they had in common. The man who gave her the scar killed her father, and in return she killed his mother.

When they fought his blade seared her skin and she lost; her lifeblood pouring from the wound. A part of her died that day. What remained came to slowly love the man who did it to her. He, whose hands wielded his sword with merciless accuracy, and cared for her wounds with such gentleness. He tended to her until she recovered. Until... they reached this point.

He is a monster who took it all away from you.

He gave her a part of himself. Her hand trailed down to palm the steady heartbeat inside her. Its steady rhythm was calming. Another life within her own. Theirs. A proof of his love and trust.

And today… today you shall do the same.

The day they fought the voice in his head was silenced. And then she began to hear her own.

Her bare feet advanced across tiles until she stood at the ledge that fronted the sea. They say being inside a mother's womb is like being underwater.

She took a deep breath. The wind in her face was cold and salty.

One step was all it took.

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