A/N:
Just something sweet, thoughtful and a little sad. I spent a few months pondering the concept of Aerith meeting and falling in love with more than just Zack and Cloud. Don't worry, all character involved are cannon, and the FF7 timeline is preserved aside from a few, minor discrepancies made in order to create this tale.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plotline!
The story and its title are inspired by the beautiful, orchestral piece, Angels in the Architecture by Frank Ticheli.
Angels in the Architecture
By Catsitta
.1.
She found him in her church one day simply staring at the flowers that grew where the altar once stood. He was tall and slender with a brightly-colored leather jacket over a uniform of black. At one hip was a ruby-tinted sword. Behind him, his arms were folded, one gloved palm cupping the other. His head was bowed.
Aerith had not a clue what to say or do, so she stared, emerald eyes wide. Mama said to be wary of men, especially the types that carried swords. SOLDIERs, she called them, the oppressive arm of ShinRa Electric Company. They did not often travel down to the slums. The Plate was built to keep the lower-class out of sight and out of mind, and they were pointedly ignored…practically forgotten. ShinRa employees rarely ventured down into the perpetual darkness of the slums. They knew they were hated. They knew that any association with the company that did this to the slum-folk would incite attack. It was a dangerous life, that of an under-plate dweller, but it was even more dangerous to be from above the Plate amongst them.
Out of instinct, she took a step backwards in hopes to escape before the stranger noticed her presence. Aerith was only fourteen; there was no way that she could fend off an attack from a SOLDIER. They were inhuman; it was rumored, because they could perform acts of insurmountable agility and strength. A normal man she could handle well enough with her magic and the walking stick she carried as a makeshift weapon. But…he could not possibly be normal if he carried a sword.
She managed a few steps before one of the ancient floorboards let out a resounding groan, shattering the silence and freezing Aerith in place. Wide-eyed, she stood there, shock still as the man whipped around in the blink of an eye, his sword drawn in a metallic blur, his eyes glowing with ethereal energy. The teenaged girl almost let out a scream, but her would-be attacker suddenly lurched forwards, falling to one knee with a grunt of pain. His sword clattered the ground, and shoulder-length, auburn hair veiled an agony stricken face.
Momentarily, she was distracted from his collapse by the sparkle of something amongst the swath of red locks. It was an earring shaped to resemble a feather or a wing. An image of a fallen angel flickered into Aerith's mind ever so briefly. She saw this same man, bowed over and breathing in haggard breaths, with two beautiful black wings. Except, in that same second, the image changed, and one of the wings became a crippled mess of broken bones, decayed flesh and bloodied feathers.
Every instinct screamed at her to flee this fallen warrior of the heavens, and the Planet whom had always been a friend whispered of death and destruction inside her ear. But Aerith could not turn away. This angel, man, SOLDIER…he was injured. Thus the girl forced herself to take a step closer, her boots leaden with fear. Her blue-and-white striped sundress swirled about her knees as she pushed onwards…closer and closer until she could was within arm's reach of the stranger.
"Go away," he growled suddenly. "Don't you dare touch me."
The man attempted to straighten up, anger and arrogance imbedded into every fine-boned inch of his features. He would be a beautiful man if he was not scowling so.
Flushing slightly at her boldness, Aerith reached out with one delicate hand, as if to brush away the strands of hair sticking to the sweat-stained skin. But, before she touched him, she froze, her gesture lingering in silence. The SOLDIER growled at her and straightened himself further, almost to full height, before his shoulder seized violently, bringing him to his knees yet again.
Cowed by the pain, he let out a low groan, one of his hands clutching at a hidden injury.
"Let me help," Aerith murmured, drawing back her extended hand and swirling a lock of her long, brunette hair about an index finger nervously. "I'm a healer."
The man scoffed,"I have access to the best medical care this world has to offer. What makes you think you can accomplish what they cannot?"
"Please. Trust me. I can help."
He scowled at her, but the expression lacked ferocity, for his previously brilliant gaze had faded into a sickly gray. "I am to lead a squadron of men in Wutai," he whispered after a long pause—the distance in his eyes betraying that his mind was far away. His scowl soon faded into something akin to grim acceptance. "I cannot do such looking weak before them."
Not quite understanding what the strange SOLDIER was muttering about, Aerith reached out and placed a hand on his injured shoulder. His eyes suddenly regained a spark of life and he wrenched away.
"Who gave you permission to touch me?" he snarled.
"How am I to heal you without touching you?" Aerith inquired with a frown and an entirely feminine gesture of stubbornness, for she planted both little fists on her hips and huffed. The SOLDIER grunted dismissively, glowering at the flower girl as if she were but scum upon his boots. Unimpressed but still just as terrified as afore, Aerith crept closer and knelt before him, delicate hands tentatively reaching forwards to ghost over sallow skin.
She was not particularly brave. No, she would be the first to admit that if she could, she would be a frightful coward. Aerith adored flowers and reveled in the simple pleasures often denied to those whom grew up in the slums. She could spend her whole life content if there was a way to live amongst the lush greenery of paradise that often taunted her in her dreams, surrounded by vibrant, natural beauty—the song of the Planet her perpetual lullaby. However, such was not the case. Hardened and tutored by the life she lived, so very innocent but far from ignorant, Aerith knew she could not approach this situation with trepidation.
Thus, emboldened by the SOLDIERs lack of reaction and her own self-assurances, the flower girl cupped the crimson clad man's face between her hands. Callused fingertips were quick to trace the too-prominent edges of his cheekbones and the puffy flesh of swollen eyelids. He was ill. So very ill.
"Unhand me," he demanded, but his growl was subdued. She could feel him trembling with exhaustion. Restraint.
"This is a place of healing," Aerith told him, ignoring his protests and closing her eyes. "You are safe." The Planet shrieked in near hysteria, Her song pained and frantic. But, as the minutes drew on, the wild notes faded into a calmer, more somber melody. Sorrow flooded Aerith. Sorrow and despair. She could not help this man, she realized when the Planet at last allowed her insight into his suffering. Complicated chords of the perplexing melody that She sang reverberated between the three of them—Cetra, Planet, SOLDIER. His was an illness ingrained into every cell, degraded his blood and rotted his flesh. It was a virus, a contaminate, a sentient, evil thing.
Calamity, the Planet called it.
For its taint, She had no cure.
At least, no cure She was willing to offer to this dying soul.
But before Aerith disconnected the link, she felt something surge through her, radiant and pure, flavored of the purest essence of life itself.
Emerald eyes fluttered open to meet those of brilliantly glowing blue. The SOLDIER was staring at her, lost elsewhere, clearly bewildered by whatever consumed him. And as she pulled away, the glow faded, and the man collapsed, his body trembling briefly before his breathing became the even pattern of much needed sleep. Aerith shuddered, feathery eyelashes banishing confused tears. What had happened? She knew of the ancient magic coursing through her veins with every wild beat of her heart, but never had it manifested in such a way.
Dropping to her knees beside the SOLDIER, Aerith dared to reach out and touch the lapels of his jacket…before brushing away fine wisps of hair away from porcelain skin. Relaxed in his unexpected stupor, the man looked much younger than before—no older than his early twenties at most. And yes, much as she surmised in her earlier observances, he was quite beautiful. His lips were thin but soft, curved artfully like a bow. His nose was long, straight and narrow, a sharp divide between the chiseled lines of his brows and cheekbones. His eyelashes were thick and dark as smoke—the kind that made women envious in their want.
Worrying her lip for a moment, the flower girl lingered at his side, uncertain how to proceed. Not often did men collapse unconscious in the middle of her church. Then again, not many people knew that there was beauty, understanding and healing within these hallow walls. This was a sacred place, despite its disrepair. And it was her sanctuary, where she felt closer to the Planet than anywhere else in the city. But it was a place unbound by the sins of outsiders. Here, the troubled soul could seek solace and rest.
Thus, she folded her hands and closed her eyes, still kneeling aside the SOLDIER.
Aerith would pray for him.
At the moment, it was all a girl could do.
.x.
He woke screaming. Eyes wide open in unseeing terror, the SOLDIER writhed and from his throat tore free the most unholy of sounds. Aerith, whom had diligently returned to the task of tending her garden, nearly leapt out of her skin. One hand resting upon her pounding heart, the other smothering a shriek of surprise, the flower girl watched as the man wrenched free of his night terror, returning to the realm of the living in a cold sweat.
Jackknifing up from where he lay, he searched the room with wild eyes, his gaze halting visibly upon Aerith when it fell upon her. One hand fell to his hip where an empty scabbard now lay—the proud blade nowhere to be see, a fact the flower girl was in no hurry to rectify. It was safe, hidden from sight until she could determine if the man would do violence with it in his condition.
"Where—?" he began, his irises burning with that ethereal shine. Anger quickly replaced fear and confusion. Thin brows snapped together with rage as lips thinned against barred teeth. Like an animal caught in trap, the SOLDIER lunged at the assumed threat. Her. Once again Aerith lay witness to the unholy speed of this inhuman creature—this…dare she say it, monster. But, that was not true…he was not a monster. Just a broken man. A very powerful, beautiful man, still broken all the same.
And as he wrapped his fingers about her throat, Aerith could not find it within herself to condemn him should he harm her. Hate made for bitter, lonely souls. Only through forgiveness could one transcend into something more…
All of her thoughts were shattered with the abrupt cut in her air supply.
Instinctively, Aerith clawed at the hands that threated to choke the very life from her body. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as the pain consuming her elicited a whimper. That was when she saw it—the sudden change in his demeanor. Anger faded into disbelief and disgust. The SOLDIER released her as quickly as he grabbed her, bitter resignation contorting his angelic visage.
Softly, he whispered,"My friend, the fates are cruel. There are no dreams…No honor remains."
She knew those words. They were from an epic poem that was most recently rendered a play. It was about three friends, only one of which would become a hero. A sad tale, the poem, for it bespoke of lovers parting, friends dissolving into rivals and death. So much death. Some claimed it was a prophecy, something Aerith prayed was untrue. No Goddess would require of her beloved children so much misery in order to garner her love. Regardless, Loveless was a beautiful work that few appreciated, especially down here in the slums. It was only the curiosity of a young girl that led to her finding the poem in her mother's bookshelf…
"What do you know of Loveless?" loftily demanded the SOLDIER, startling Aerith from her errant strain of thought. She must have spoken aloud. He seemed less pale than before, and no longer was disgust or despair amongst the emotions playing upon his features. Taking his haughty tone and his new, almost dismissive stance, with hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat, as a good sign, the flower girl offered a meager smile. She could still feel the imprints of his fingers on the column of her throat. It would be wise to run away now, hide and never look at this awful, elegant man again. It was obvious he was unstable and quite willing to hurt her.
But…
"There is no hate, there is only joy…" Aerith began.
"…for you are beloved by the Goddess." The SOLDIER continued, stealing the words before she could speak them. "I reiterate, what do you know of Loveless?"
"N-not much. It's a story about friendship and love…and it's terribly sad."
With a grunt, the man shook his head,"As much as can be expected from a lowly commoner."
"Excuse me?"
A small, minutely so, curve tilted upon the strange man's lips. A smile? A smirk? It faded as the SOLDIER reached up and placed an open palm on his shoulder,"How?" It was obvious he was diverting the conversation to more "important" matters with arrogant ease.
"I told you. I'm a healer."
"I still feel…hear…" he paused, uncertain how to phrase his words. "My wound still aches."
"There is only so much I could do," Aerith told him honestly. "You're very ill."
"I'm dying." It was a virulent remark, full of acid and harshness, but it was a façade. A mask that covered his fear as well as his reluctant acceptance of death. She reached out, forgetting how violently this man reacted to surprise, only to find her touch shrugged away. "Enough of this. My sword. Return it, girl. I have places to be."
Tempted to demand him to ask nicely, but refraining from the childish gesture, Aerith shuffled off, retrieving the blade from beneath the floorboards. The SOLDIER did not even wait for her to offer it back to him. He simply strode forwards and snatched it away, replacing it on his hip, before turning his back on the flower girl. Wordlessly, marched towards the large, double doors of the church and with ease, he flung them open. Light poured down, illuminating the SOLDIER in the artificial glow of the under Plate.
Watery neon bathed the slums in its enduring radiance, giving the stranger a ghostly fogginess despite how near he stood to her. Briefly, he remained, unmoving before he tossed over one shoulder his parting words.
"Tell no one I was here and share nothing of what was said."
And with that, he disappeared, leaving Aerith with a strange, hollow ache in her chest, just below her heart. Silly thing, the affections of a young girl. A nameless stranger with a pretty face, a brusque demeanor and a war to fight should no more sway her attention than any other stranger in the slums.
Mama warned her about men.
The bruises on her neck testified their dangerous nature. Yet, something within ached for a feeling unfamiliar. She did not understand what it was she wanted. Not yet. But her heart knew.
Her heart wanted a SOLDIER.
.2.
He never returned, the crimson-clad SOLDIER. Soon the days turned into weeks, and before long, a year passed. Aerith thought of him often as she tended her garden, wondering if the man was still alive, or if his injuries overcame him. Grim ponderings for such a young girl.
Her mother knew not of Aerith's run in with the SOLDIER. A touch of magic and caution kept the bruises out of sight until they healed. After all, how was she supposed to explain those injuries? Thus she held silent, mama none the wiser. As long as the flower girl returned home with a skip to her step and a smile on her face, Mrs. Gainsborough was content.
Wearing new boots, a pretty pink dress and wielding her walking stick proudly, Aerith kissed her mama goodbye as she did every morning. Thoughts of the strange man swirled briefly in her mind as she meandered away, deceptively slow in her pace. Hurrying would draw attention, while a calm, relaxed manner would deter all but the most confident of thieves. The people of the slums were skittish creatures at times, like rats that had been in the dark too long scattering upon seeing a flash of light.
Thus it was a good hour before her journey brought her to the front steps of the church.
Small monsters were growing thick in the slums, the flower girl noted dispassionately as she pushed open the dilapidated, double doors. With the rising dissent against ShinRa came an alarming rise in illness, death and violence. The citizens of the underplate were ready for anarchy—mutated monsters preying on the vulnerable only a drop in the bucket of problems. With a sigh, Aerith pushed away all thoughts of the outside world.
This was Sanctuary. Her soul's home. Only peace and healing could be found here.
Emerald eyes focused on the blooming garden, she went to work, singing softly to the flowers as the Planet lulled her into a state of mindless bliss. Cradled by a halo of natural sunlight that peeked through cracks in the roof—the only patch that touched the underplate world—Aerith worked. It was the kind of work that left calloused hands and a satisfied soul. And for a long time, that was enough.
Ever since the SOLDIER appeared in her life, ever so briefly, she felt…unfulfilled. His presence reminded her that there was more to life, more to living, than flowers.
CRACK!
Faster than she thought herself capable, Aerith was on her feet, walking stick in hand. Heart skipping in a wild staccato beneath her ribs, the flower girl spun to face the source of the sound to find…
…a SOLDIER.
Her breathing stopped.
He was tall and imposing, a wall of a man. Broad shoulders capped with black-shoulder guards sat betwixt the thick column of his neck and the barrel-like bulk of his chest. Arms of corded steel hung passively at either side of his tapered waist, hands like dinner plates brushing against the loose black fabric that hid undoubtedly impressive thighs. Unlike the last SOLDIER, whom was slender and arrogant like an aristocrat and clad in bright attire, this one was the epitome of every rumor whispered in the slums.
With jet-black hair that fell loose past his ears, a rugged countenance that bespoke of worldly adventure, and eyes that shone bright with the unmistakable glow of mako—this man could have walked straight from the recruitment posters. In fact, if Aerith remembered correctly black was the color uniform that First Class SOLDIERs wore. This man, whom carried about on his back a blade almost as tall as he and about half as broad across the flat, was very highly ranked.
What was he doing here? What did he want? Did the crimson-clad stranger send him?
"Who are you?" asked the man after a long pause, his voice deep and surprisingly gentle.
"I could ask you the same question," Aerith countered.
"Fair enough," he consented with half of a smile. His gaze traveled to the floor where one boot lay lodged between the shambles of an ancient panel of wood. Tugging softly, he managed to free himself, wincing. Standing his full height now, which was disconcerting because he was inhumanely tall before, the dark-haired SOLDIER continued,"I am Angeal. And you are?"
Never tell anyone your name, Aerith thought with a pang of alarm that filled her belly. Except this time, it was not Mama's warning that rang in her head. It was the warning of the strange, suit wearing men whom said they guarded her from ShinRa. Slum-folk knew them as Turks, and they were the black-hearted "private investigators" of the very company they claimed to be protecting her from. Spies, murders, assassins…the terrible names went on and on...yet they watched over her like shadowy guardians for as long as she could remember.
Rarely did she actually see them. Even rarer did they speak. But when they made themselves known, Aerith hung upon every word of warning. Said warnings increased within a week of the crimson-clad SOLDIER leaving her church. Never telling anyone her name was but one of many.
Biting her lip, the flower girl shook her head.
"Ah, I see." Understanding dawned in those endless eyes. So familiar, yet alien. "It's the uniform, isn't it? Or perhaps the sword?" Slowly, he reached behind his shoulders and he unclasped the massive sword from its sheath. Then he knelt, lowering the blade with the same care and caution one might use whilst handing an infant. That was when Aerith noticed the second sword, much smaller than the first, of which Angeal removed as well. His gaze swept up to meet her own, and upon noticing no change in her wariness, he began to unbuckle his armor.
Aerith's eyes widened. By the Planet, what was this man doing?
His shoulder guards hit the floor with a dull thump, and soon the hiss of leather followed. Standing before her in only his unmarked, black uniform of a short-sleeved turtleneck with a zip down the throat, loose high-waist trouser bound with two belts, wrist-length gloves and calf-high boots.
"I need to speak with you." Angeal said after a brief pause, and she could see as well as hear the genuine nature of his words.
"Then speak." It was difficult to chase the tremble from her voice.
Relief flooded otherwise stern features and the man smiled a little brighter. This giant was much more…friendly than the aristocrat. He did not scold or snarl in impatience. Nor did he approach with the intention of violence. Nay, he was quite the opposite. Cool, calm and compassionate. But…why?
"My friend is unwell," he began. "and not of…sound judgment. He claims nothing has reduced his pain but…one thing. One person. One…place. I do not know what else to do, where else to go. Every cure we tried failed and…" At the corner of his eye, Aerith saw something glitter. A tear. Angeal was in distress, clearly angst ridden over his dying friend. "…and I want to bring him relief. Even a minute of respite could bring him an ounce of clarity…sanity. Please. I do not know what you did, but tell me. Teach me to ease his pain."
The Planet decided it best to intervene at that time, singing sadly of illness and Calamity. It touched this man as well, the degrading sickness of body and mind. A faint streak of gray marked otherwise dark hair and lines creased at the corners of his eyes. He was very young, the Planet told her, much too young to look so old, even if he appeared to be in his late thirties. And like the other, he was dying, his wounds not healing quite correctly anymore and his will to endure fading fast.
Unlike the crimson-clad SOLDIER from before, the Planet pitied this man, mourned for him. She did not wish for his death for his heart was full of honor, love and dreams.
"I can't." Aerith confessed.
Angeal looked crushed,"What? Why not?"
"Because this is a place of healing and here alone can I…help ease what ails your friend. What ails you, as well."
"How do you…?"
"I simply know," she told him, impulsively holding out one hand. She still stood amongst the flowers, and he remained across the room, but the gesture felt as if it were crossing a much smaller distance. "Call it healer's intuition. Come, take my hand. I will do what I can."
"I do not need your healing."
"Yes you do."
A small kindness it was, to offer him a few minutes without the burden she knew he carried. Angeal reluctantly approached, his pace slow and cautious. With each step closer, she noted more signs of age and illness, and by the time his hand enclosed her own, he looked positively ancient. Not in body, no, but in soul. He was a broken man. One whom was on the brink of giving up on living.
She closed her eyes; the Planet sang. And for a time, the flower lost herself in the wordless music, and willed the magic in her blood to chime in harmony. Aerith reached for Angeal as she did so, grasping his essence forcefully once she found it in the ethereal nothingness of the spell. Darkness and light intermingled, the saddening dissonance of a fading life.
Aerith smiled, feeling the power of her bloodline surge forth…only to be snatched away from her in a rush, much like before, with the crimson-clad stranger. With a gasp, they parted, the flowergirl disoriented from the peculiar sensation that followed. Clearing away her vision with a few rapid blinks, she focused her attention back on the SOLDIER, whom stood before her, trembling like a newborn kitten.
Wings.
At first she thought she was imagining them, the blood-speckled appendages. After all, this was a man before her, not an angel. Then the snowy-white limbs twitched and the SOLDIER grew noticeably paler, his head bowed with visible shame. Eyes burning with mako refused to meet her own.
"A monster," he murmured. "I should not have come. There's no help for my kind. Only death."
"They're…real."
Angeal flinched,"Yes."
"Can…can I touch them?"
His head shot up,"What? No. Stay back!"
"Why? You did not hurt me before, as a monster would. Wings do not make you a monster, so why would that change?" He took a step back; Aerith took three forwards, brushing the downy feathers with the tips of her fingers. "Soft."
In her minds eyes, again flickered the image of an angel. He was fallen but he sought redemption. He was by nature a guardian, not concerned by status but easily consumed by the torments of sin. Broken was his spirit though the flesh remained strong—a life lived by honor and stained by blood. Without hope, without dreams, without purpose, he condemned himself to a life without heaven. But why?
Angeal shuddered and pulled away. His wing slipped away from Aerith's hand and the connection was fully broken. The flower girl gazed shyly into those alien, mako eyes once more, her heart fluttering. This was a good man, she knew instinctively. A good but misguided man.
"I must go."
She sighed, understanding the apprehension in his voice. As he retrieved his armor and weaponry, Aerith watched. She watched and she sought back that foolish voice in her head that wanted to whisper nonsense about love. Why did she fall so easily for these dangerous strangers? What about their darkness drew her light? They were not injured animals in need of a healing hand, they were warriors, men whom thrived off the heat of battle.
Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes as she fought against the urge to chase this man and not let him escape like the first. Instead of following, as Angeal shuffled towards the entrance, Aerith wrapped both arms about her chest. Foolish, foolish heart.
"Give your friend my blessings."
The SOLDIER hesitated in the doorway, much like the crimson-clad stranger before him. Except, when he glanced back, she saw warmth in his eyes, kindness and understanding. Perhaps, even, a touch of hope.
"I will."
"And tell him: There is no hate, only joy, For you are beloved by the Goddess."
"Loveless…" Angeal nodded his head absently. "Genesis lives and breathes by the words in that poem."
"Genesis…Is that the name of your friend…the other SOLDIER?"
"I…yes."
"Do not worry, I won't tell anyone about you two. It's obvious you're both ill…but…"
"But?"
"What of the war? Genesis spoke of the war when he was here."
Angeal's gaze became distant, sorrowful,"Never a moment of peace. As long as there is ShinRa, there will be war."
"I…" She wanted to ask more questions, but the Planet stilled her rapid thoughts. "…goodbye, Angeal. You and your friend are always welcome here." How was it possible for her to fall so far so fast? How could two men, dying and desolate, capture the attentions of her heart? Mama warned her. Mama said men were no good. But these SOLDIERs…they needed her. She knew they did.
And in some way, she knew she needed them.
"I will remember that. Thank you…"
"Aerith."
He raised his brows.
She pressed a finger to her lips,"Keep it a secret."
Angeal nodded curtly before disappearing into the half-lit darkness, to which she had long since grown accustomed.
.3.
In the years that followed her meetings with Genesis and Angeal, Aerith fell in love twice more. And so true these loves felt, so intense that they made her heart beat in ways different than afore. So simple, it appeared, for her foolish heart to give itself away. All it took were mako eyes full of pain and loss to invoke her most primal of desires.
Mama warned her.
The Turks warned her.
The Planet warned her.
But Zack and Cloud needed her. She needed them.
Zack fell through the roof of her church, all boisterous smiles and unspoken grief. He was young, adoring and romantic—smitten by her coy smirks and endless curiosity. He built her a flower cart to sell the blooms she nurtured like children. He brought her trinkets and sweets, lingering at her side so that he could escort her home. So much like his mentor, Angeal, was Zack.
They both cried when he carried an all too familiar sword upon his back.
Suicide was never something either of them pictured the brave SOLDIER committing. Not after his monstrous "copy" acted as a guardian to Aerith, protecting her when her church was attacked. She never admitted how deep her grief went, because she never told Zack why his mentor protected her. She never told him how she offered Angeal healing and a place of sanctuary to return to. But together they mourned for a brave man that died too young, cursed by science to rot from the inside out.
Later she learned of Genesis' fateful leap.
Alone, she asked the Planet why, begged to understand why she had to love him...a dangerous stranger. And silently, she begged to understand why those she loved were dying.
Thus she soon clung to Zack like a lifeline, awaiting his return as she grieved for utter strangers.
But one day, he did not come home. He kissed her goodbye and promised to write her letters as he bounced off to complete a mission. For the first time in a long time, his spark had returned and he looked happy. Aerith loved him. She was thankful for his joy.
Then the years continued to pass and she realized that she was once again…alone.
For three men she mourned, and the pain had lessoned to a dull hum by the time Cloud dropped into her life. Just like Zack, he fell through the roof into her flowers. And just like Zack, he was a SOLDIER. In fact, aside from the color of his hair and his diminutive stature, he was just like Zack. An almost copy. An incomplete clone. His mannerisms were so familiar that, on some level, she convinced herself that Cloud was Zack
It was for this reason she followed him around the world with his ragtag group of adventures. Despite feeling quite out of place amongst them, Aerith knew she needed to be here, for him. For both of them. And she stood strong, just as she planned…but this new freedom no longer allowed for ignorance. Death hunted them each step of the way and in the end, if she was to preserve her beloved, she had to preserve their world…the Planet.
For Cloud, for Zack, for Genesis, Angeal and Mama, for her new friends and almost lovers—Aerith made the ultimate sacrifice. She summoned Holy, her blood staining the altar in the City of the Ancients, her lifeforce poured into the fragile materia. And as she laid in Cloud's arms, staring up into those troubled, mako eyes, she saw HIM. Zack. Within him he held a shadow of her beloved, missing SOLDIER.
In the Lifestream she would see him again. All three of them, she decided. And she would watch over her loyal Cloud from the afterlife. She would guide him as the Planet guided her. She would make sure he found happiness…resolution. Because if anything, Cloud deserved the happiness Sephiroth denied him.
.4.
Slowly, Aerith approached the center of her church. This place alone was left unchanged by the fall of Meteor. In fact, aside from the copious light that poured through the broken roof and the shallow pond that lay where the flowers once grew, it remained unchanged from her youth. Who knew dying at twenty-four would bind her so strongly to the realm of the living, leaving her to exist as little more than a ghost? The years passed, her friends faced their demons and found peace. And soon, she was no longer needed as a friend…a guide.
Even Zack, whom stood at her side so diligently for well over a decade, refusing his eternal sleep until he came to terms with his death and Cloud's life, faded away. The two SOLDIERs did, she learned, share memories. A result from their days spent in the mad scientist Hojo's "loving care". He was bound by their friendship and Zack's sacrifice. Once Cloud found his peace, Zack found his own.
In fact, everyone she knew found their peace.
Except her.
Cloud and Tifa married, raised a couple kids and together learned that life was for living, not pining after the dead. Vincent discovered Deepground and battled Genesis (whom, to her astonishment, was still alive); both men were rent free of their demons as a result. Yuffie came to accept her role as heiress to Wutai, but that did little to deter her love of adventure nor her hapless pursuit of a certain ex-Turk. Barret found his penance in raising Marlene and reestablishing the mining of fossil fuels in Correl. Cid fulfilled his dreams of being the first man in space. And Nanaki visited the grave of his father once a year, content with his standing in life.
They were all happy. So why was she racked with discontent?
Folding her arms across her chest, Aerith sighed, her footsteps silent on ancient floorboards. Never before had the church been so bright and airy. It was about time this place looked like a place of healing. Yet…
She dropped her emerald gaze to the water at her boot-clad toes. The surface was like glass, not a single ripple marring her view of the flowers that lay preserved beneath. Her final effort to save the Planet from disaster resulted in this pond—her healing rain, Great Gospel. Hundreds bathed in this water to rid themselves of the Geostigma, Jenova's degrading plague tainting the Lifestream.
Ironic how, in the weeks previous to her death, Aerith untapped the true depths of her primal magic. Magic that was capable of curing Degredation. Magic that could have rid Genesis and Angeal of their madness and tainted blood.
"They say it is better to have loved and to have lost, than to have never loved at all," she murmured, considering the ache that once plagued her foolish heart. Dangerous men with mako eyes plagued her memory in a way so bittersweet. Never would she regret loving them, even in the innocent way that a young girl loves from afar. But it was ever present in her mind that, perhaps, if she never met them, never learned how the darkness of SOLDIERs would ensnare her so fully, she would have found peace…resolution.
"A sentiment fit for a woman…or man like Genesis."
Aerith stiffened at the sound of THAT voice. By the Planet, not HIS voice. Anyone but HIM. Frozen by a wash of fear, she continued to stare deeply into the pond. Within its reflective surface, a face she never imagined seeing again came into focus.
The Dark One. The One-Winged Angeal. Jenova's son.
Sephiroth.
"You're dead."
Something akin to a smirk quirked upon sensuous lips,"So are you, Cetra."
She shivered. No one so evil should be so ethereally beautiful, nor should possess a voice so seductive. And those eyes, those alien, mako-stained eyes…
Sephiroth chuckled darkly, allowing arched, silver bangs to shadow his angelic countenance.
Much like Genesis and Angeal, it was all too easy to imagine him as something more. Something that transcended mere humanity. It was an image enhanced in clarity by his long, platinum hair; his alabaster complexion; his starkly contrasting black attire; his graceful wielding of Masamune; and the presence of a single, midnight wing. He was Lucifer embodied by man. An angel of incomparable beauty, whose desire to be God, rather than his jealousies of mere mortals, caused his fall from grace.
"How…? This is a place of healing. This is Sanctuary." Her voice was soft, little more than a pained whisper. Instincts conflicted. She wanted to forgive him for his sins, but it was impossible to forget his crimes…especially given that it was at the end of his blade that she met her end. Evil. This man was evil. But not purely so, she reminded herself. Everyone possessed both light and dark within, he was simply more dark than most.
Just like you're more light than most.
A tremble rippled throughout her form, incorporeal as is was, Aerith could still feel sensation if it occurred on an astral level.
"Perhaps I seek healing," Sephiroth drawled, reaching out to trace her jaw with a leather-clad finger. Except, before he could touch her, Aerith found her courage and spun around, her tiny fists balled with outrage. This was her murderer. How could he possibly believe she would heal him after all that he had done! But as her furious gaze settled on his tall, looming form, Aerith found her hatred extinguished.
By the Gods, she was too Good for her own good. Continuing to scowl, the flower girl regarded the infamous SOLDIER with a mixture of curiosity and wariness befitting her situation. What exactly does one do when you and your archenemy are face-to-face in death?
"What healing do you believe you could possibly find here?"
"The healing of our souls."
Aerith sputtered with disbelief,"OUR souls?"
"Indeed." Sephiroth proceeded to reach out once again in a manner hauntingly reminiscent of when Aerith forced her own touch upon Angeal and Genesis. Much like them, she shuffled away, accidently stepping into the water. Not that her boots would get wet…
"No. This is a trick. If you're here hoping to hurt Cloud—" she began defensively, only to be cut off by the SOLDIER snorting dismissively.
"The Puppet is of little concern to me. He's but imperfect copy. No. His existence does not, despite popular belief, determine my own. Nor does Mother dearest control my actions now. In this state, I am of sound mind. I am free."
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because, little Cetra, you need me if you wish to find your Promise Land. After all, you have yet to face your greatest demon. Me." Those perilous eyes were locked onto hers, alluring in their fathomless intensity. No one, not even Zack made her heart race this way. Perhaps it was due to the fact that, in death, she had a chance to face her soul's opposite. He was much too dark for her to forgive on a whim. But that darkness made her every molecule sing with discord, something bizarrely more enticing than the soft overture of harmony.
"What do you want?"
Sephiroth once again chuckled in a manner most villainous.
"You."
As his hands wrapped around her forearms, she felt a lance of cold spear her entire body, rendering her breathless. Dazedly, Aerith gazed into Sephiroth's strange eyes, not noticing his drawing closer.
She wondered briefly if he was going to kiss her.
She wondered if he did, would she care.
She wondered if this feeling that wrapped itself around her foolish, foolish heart was what Mama had been warning her about all along.
She closed her eyes.
She was ready for her Promise Land.
fin
A/N: (Thank you for reading.)