To The Man That Said Goodbye
It's always sad, walking in there. A heavy stench hangs in the air, a mix of smoke and medicine. She doesn't like it. She's grown use to the smell of smoke; after all, it is pretty common in a bar. But medicine, modern medicine, she hates it. The smell, how it burns your nose with its stench. She hates the how everything is so washed out, has to be white, and so clean that nothing has color. She hates the sounds it makes, the clicks and pops, the beeps of machines, because she knows when those stop, so will he.
But she's grateful there's no more machines anymore, just the bed that's laid out so awkward in the front room beside the dinning room table.
How many years had it been since she'd been in this situation? How many years since she'd been waiting for someone to die? It'd been about ten, she figured. Shera's death anniversary was coming up on them fast, and this wouldn't help matters.
Dropping her keys onto the table to try and alert someone, she pushes her way on to the front room.
It's hard, each step, to get there. It was even harder driving over here. She's afraid, she has been for a while. She's afraid he'll die, that she won't get enough time with him, but she's afraid to see him, too.
It's been near nine years since Cid moved in with him, after Shera passed. It was rough on Cid, the first few months, and he had convinced Cid to move in with him...to try and move from the past. They'd sort of been the resident 'odd couple' of the bunch. They were both grouches, especially in the morning, and they both hated to cook, so that didn't help the food situation at all.
She remembers the second time she came to visit them, that Cid had finally folded and taken up cooking. It was cute, seeing him dabble about the kitchen in Shera's old green apron. She'd tease him endlessly about that; of course there was no denying the fact Cid actually had talent in the kitchen.
She had tried to be loud when she came in, but she's not able to keep it up. She finds herself tiptoeing across the room, afraid to actually see that body laying in that bed; to see the steady rise and fall of his chest stop.
His clothes hide how frail he is, how tiny he's become. The blankets spread across his chest, though, don't hide how thin he's gotten. He shifts, the blankets falling from his arms, and she sees how his hands look too big for his arms. Course, that's all he is now, skin and bones, literally. There's no more muscle, no more fat...just the skin hanging off in wrinkles from his bones. She can barely wrap her hand around her own wrist, yet she can still wrap her hand around his, and have room to spare.
The skin on his face is stretched, pulling out his features...that huge nose, now skinny and frail...his eye lids...he's lost so much weight than when he sleeps, his eyelids don't close all the way. It took her a while to get use to that; the first time she saw the whites of his eyes poking through those slits, she thought he had died. But his chest still rose and fell, his neck a sea of a thousand wrinkles, where all his excess skin seems to collect.
They said it was cancer...Mako cancer, whatever that was. It was a new disease that they discovered, subject to those with weak mako tolerance. It didn't make sense though, to her. She'd always thought he'd been pretty tolerant to Mako. She wonders if he knew about the disease, about when he contracted it.
They don't know if it's the treatments or the disease that's pushed him this far. The treatments, they're suppose to help, or at least that's what the doctors say. But he was always so weak afterwards, that she didn't believe he had the strength to fight the disease.
Either way, it didn't matter anymore.
If she would've had it her way when he died, he would have been him: alive, and him, large and full of life, loud and angry, ornery as a devil, huggable as a teddy bear, and soft as a kitten.
But he isn't alive, really. He drifts in and out of consciousness, and doesn't really acknowledge people that much.
He isn't large, and he isn't full of life...he's dying for Gaia's sake...and there's nothing anyone can do about it.
He isn't loud; he can talk, but it hurts him. His dry throat rasps with whispers that once would've shook the world.
He isn't angry and ornery; he's docile, scared and quiet...afraid of death.
And who can hug a skeleton?
She reaches the dining table; he's turned on his back, resting for the moment. There's a chair turned to sit beside of the bed, and she takes it up, resting her arm on the guard rail of his bed. Resting her head on her arm, she watches him sleep. It's hard to watch him sleep though; it's probably the hardest thing to see.
She remembers when it first started, the treatments; he had been so strong, and he'd pick and flirt with the nurses and make them laugh. He was so strong, and so big, and all of them believed in him...even the nurses said so.
She wonders now if they knew...it didn't matter how strong he was; they were just feeding them hope.
She's tired; she hasn't gotten much sleep lately, and she figures that's where Cid is. He's probably snatching a nap, though it's surprising that he left him alone for this long. Or maybe he's in the bathroom, she doesn't really care. She'd rather be alone with him, anyways.
There's a soft-rough, light-heavy touch on her arm...and she flicks her eyes up. She hadn't even realized he had awakened. He's rested his hand on her own, the dark, ashy skin a contrast to her own pale flesh. She meets his eyes, dulled out and glazed, and places her other hand over his and gives a small, sad smile.
He winks, or tries, and gives his own pressed lip smile...the most he can muster right now.
His hand bumps against her ring, and she gives a little tooth to her smile. He'd been there for the wedding, one of the many best men Cloud had. It'd been two years after the defeat of Deep Ground, and they'd finally managed to get it together...or at least, that's what he had told her. She was so grateful that he had been able to come her wedding, but she's bitter about it now. He isn't going to see his grand-babies get married. He isn't going to get to see that, and that's not fair.
Gaia, she just wants to crack; just cry and cry all over him; she wants to tell him he can't die, that he can't leave. She wants to beg him to get better, to yell and shout and eat and be fat. She wants all of these things, but she can't have them. Every time she was away, she'd just scream out to the planet how he couldn't die, how she couldn't let go of him...but watching him now...she's fearful for him. Seeing him suffering like this...it isn't right. He shouldn't have to suffer through this.
She can't say it, and she never will. But she meets his eyes and speaks levels.
She tells him it's okay if he wants to die; it's okay if he wants to let go, that she's alright with it...because he doesn't need to be in pain anymore...that he needs to move on.
He replies he's afraid.
Afraid to die, she asks. It's understandable...we all say we know what death brings...the Lifestream and the Promised Land...but, we won't know till we get there.
He tells her that he doesn't want to go alone, that he doesn't want to be the first.
She silently reprimands him for disgracing Aerith's death, and he gives a short huff through his nostrils.
He isn't disgracing her, he blinks, it's merely she's a Cetra; guaranteed happiness...he's afraid he didn't make up for all of his sins...that he's still in the negative.
But you'll be strong again.
That's all she can tell him with her eyes, before she has to blink and look away.
He doesn't like to be reminded of how weak he is; how he has to smack the bed to get people's attention; how he can't say what he wants, just has to nod his head till someone guesses right; he hates that.
The other day Reeve brought tapes of days after Meteor, after everything bad, of times when Marlene was still a child, when he was still strong, when Emily had been born. Reeve showed them, with everyone there..even Vincent, and Nanaki.
They all laughed and smiled at the antics of the new children, children of the saviors...and she knows Reeve brought it for him, but he doesn't want to watch it. And it was confirmed when he rolled over to face away from the TV, and shook his head no. He didn't want to watch it, because he didn't want to be reminded how far he'd fallen.
And where he was bound to fall.
Everyone else enjoyed them; and...they all seemed to ignore him. People do that though, she figures, to sick people. They all come together to see them, but they ignore them. They don't have conversations, and they speak as if they aren't there. They want to be loved, but they want to be treated as equals, but no ones got the heart to. No ones got the heart to say anything, and everyone ignores the sick people. They all go there for them, but they do nothing with them.
And he watches her with a clear understanding of this, and she watches him.
He winks, and she gives a little laugh, a smile just for him.
"Tifa?"
It's Cid.
She smiles up at him, "Hey, Cid."
"Weren't expectin you, gal. Where's lover boy?"
She blushes, "Errands. Picking some stuff up with Denzel."
She doesn't say they're out shopping for suits they'll where to a funeral that hasn't even been scheduled.
She wonders what Cid will do, once he dies. It's going to be hard on Cid, losing Shera, his love, and now him, his best friend. How will he cope with that? Is he going to move in with her and Cloud? Vincent? Nanaki? Yuffie?
She turns her attention back to the sick one, the one she's here for.
"So what you up to gal?"
"Just telling our friend here how he's so good looking." Tifa smiles at him, and gets another wink.
They long removed his gunarm, too much weight, especially now.
"Oh, you spoil him...stop stop!" Cid mock cries, pouring himself a drink, "The others are coming over later."
"Hmm," She mumbles.
"Listen, if you're with him, I gotta make a run to the store...get some cigs...you want anythin, buddy?" Cid asks.
The weak one nods his head no, and Cid leaves.
"Cloud said he was coming...bringing Denzel too...do you want to see them?" she asks.
And then he's letting go of her hand, covering his eyes. She doesn't say anything, merely waits quietly.
It's a no. A silent one, but a no none the less.
"I understand." She states, standing.
She walks over, standing above his head, and pushes his arm out of the way. It's easy, despite his weak protests.
"I love you, Barret." she kisses him on his forehead, and wraps her arms around his frail little body, feeling his bones press against her own.
"I love you so much..." she chokes, holding back tears.
He squeezes her arm. She releases him, swiping her eyes quickly, and puts on a large, plaster smile.
She erases the moments before from her mind and moves towards the door.
A glance, and he smiles. This was what he wanted...peace. A goodbye. Alone. To pass into a world unknown, without feeling guilty for leaving others behind.
"I'll see you around, big fella'." a wave over her shoulder as she leaves.
She knows it's going to be awhile, though.
A/N: I'm so sorry guys...I really don't have the heart to write right now (Notes lack of updates) Forgive me...I can't say when I'll be updating...maybe another week, maybe two...I've always read stories about Cloud having a wasting disease, or something of that sort. Well, what about Barret? We don't give the man enough credit...nor how much of a father/daughter relationship him and Teef have, or atleast in my opinion.