A/N: Disclamer crap: Don't own jack squat. The end. Lyrics: Jumper, Third Eye Blind

Also, I want to thank Sael for beta-reading this! Thanks again Sael! When you finish this chappie, go hop on over to his profile. He's got some great stories over there.

Deliverance

You could cut ties with all the lies
That you've been living in,
And if you do not want to see me again,
I would understand.

I.

All his life it seemed, all he had ever known seemed to be marked by blood. Blood, pain, death, all of it. A river of blood, connected seamlessly through his mind, tying the memories together. Deaths marked each chapter, each beginning and ending of another time, another moment in his life. He didn't have years, months, or days. He had death.

Death was there, when his mother moved to Nibelheim in the first place. The death of his father was the beginning of his story, the beginning of his childhood. Death was there when he went to SOLDIER. Battles were fought, accidents happened, that was his chapter of SOLDIER. That chapter was ended with the death of his mother, the death of his town. And that began the chapter of mako; mako, voices, blood, needles, Sephiroth. It was all he knew for five years, five years that were suppose to be spent with friends, girls, growing up. Instead, it was spent in a tube dying next to his best friend. Dying and living, bleeding memories and thoughts together, till his mind was nothing but blood, death, mako and the heroic stories told to him by the voice in his ear.

Death ended that chapter too, on a cliff side overlooking Midgar, and he took with him all he had left; mako, blood, death and stories that turned into memories.

Death started with him the next chapter; he had been sure he was dead until he saw the blood that ran in her eyes, memories and pain concealed by smiles and winks. That's why he never looked her in the eye. It was easier to focus on her smile that seemed so hopeful, than to see the blood in her eyes and realize she was hurting just as much as him. He supposed that was selfish of him.

Death came, when they destroyed the reactor, killing people in the explosion; when the plate fell, and half of AVALANCHE fell too, and suddenly it wasn't about money anymore; it was about the people, and the planet.

Death was there too, on that cold, marble floor in the empty city with glowing trees. Death ended his dream, and woke him up when he saw death pierce through the chest of an angel, a Godsend meant to end all the pain and suffering with her own mortality. Death marked the end of his story too, the end of death.

And so it left him pondering, after death ended, after the planet was saved and there were no more angels on the planet, what was left? What could define his life anymore? Death, blood, and mako. False memories, false personality. What was he? A hybrid freak of nature, glowing eyes, and a broken mind. Was this how he was supposed to live out his life? Death defined him; death, blood and mako.

There was a sick, squelching sound as Cloud freed his mammoth sword from the man's chest, a frozen scream written across his face, barely out when the blade had sliced through him. It had died slowly, left to a strange gurgling, pulling sound, echoing from the edge of the dead man's throat.

Cloud brushed his gloved fingers across his cheek, wiping away the blood, or smearing it. He didn't really care, his eyes focused on the river of blood that spilled from the man's side, already stanched, his heart no longer pumping the blood from his wounds. His gaze lifted to the green glass above him; pure, unfiltered mako pumping its eerie green aura into the room, turning his skin a sickly, green tinge. He had the sudden urge to plunge his blade through the glass, let the mako run free to drown him, just to see what would happen; just to see if it would kill him this time.

"Is this what she meant, Cloud?"

Cloud turned quickly, sword raised in defense, before lowering it slightly at the sight of the man. He remained tense though, eyes queried with a sense of apprehension. He didn't respond to the man, the man with eyes the color of a red sea, swirling with depths of pain and regret.

He could almost imagine tears of blood spilling from his eyes.

Vincent shifted slightly, the soft ruffle of his cloak heard just above the hum of the machines behind Cloud. He clicked the clawed fingertips of his golden appendage together once out of habit and thought, before narrowing his eyes at Cloud again.

"I don't think she meant for you to go around killing people...do you?"

Cloud blinked once, tilting his head off to the side, "I don't know what you're talking about, Vincent."

"I think you do. Bitter, Cloud? That she can live happily while quench your thirst for blood. That she–

"Don't talk about her," Cloud replied, venom in his voice as he glared at Vincent, his head lowered slightly.

"Ahh, right. Your mission, that would be bringing so much more in, wouldn't it?" Cloud didn't miss the light, mocking tone of Vincent's voice.

Cloud narrowed his eyes.

"After all, you're only doing it yourself, aren't you? Going around killing ShinRa lackeys," Vincent kicked the boot of a slain scientist, "I didn't really take you as a cold blooded murderer, Strife."

Cloud swung his sword down, moving forward, "That's because you never knew me; neither did she, she even admitted that much. Look around Vincent, I wouldn't exactly call these people innocent," he gestured to the machines.

"True, but just killing them, Cloud? Doesn't ShinRa tie you to a false past more than I? More than her? Is that why you're here, Cloud? Killing these men...to try and make up for your sins?"

"I don't think you're anyone to be discussing sins here," Cloud smirked lightly, before moving forward past Vincent.

He didn't see Vincent's claw shoot out, catching his forearm, tiny points pricking into the leather padding of his glove. Cloud glared at Vincent from beneath his hair, Vincent matching the glare with his own look of disgust; eyebrows slightly lowered, the corners of his eyes pulled up in revulsion.

Cloud jerked his arm once from Vincent's grip. Vincent clicked his claw again, waiting for Cloud to continue, watching him from his peripheral vision, watching Cloud turn his head away from Vincent.

There was a moment of the briefest silence before Cloud's voice broke it, hesitant, "Did..." he questioned asking, "...she send you?"

Vincent let out a short 'hmph', a humor-filled grunt, "I don't need her worries to be concerned about you. Anyone could see you're on the brink of insanity, if you aren't already there. Besides, you weren't the only one who wanted to let go."

Cloud turned his gaze back to Vincent, almost a triumphant look in his eyes, adding to the beaten soul, and traumatized mind.

"Maybe," Cloud stated, before moving towards the door, "Don't follow me again, Vincent. If memory serves correctly and well...who knows with mine? You were once a ShinRa lackey too, Turk."

"Same could be said about you, soldier," Vincent stated, hearing Cloud's bitter chuckle before the door swung shut.

Vincent stood, blinking around at the death before him, "So, you've fallen that far. She wouldn't be happy."

"No, wait...wait, wait. Watch this," she twirled the bottle easily with one hand, spinning it as she tossed the other one in a circle in the air before flipping it around her back and catching it.

Through the haze of the cigarette smoke, and the flash of the lights, one could see a tiny crowd clustered around a single woman. The club was packed, bodies pressed together, adding heat to the air; it probably didn't help that the woman wore a long sleeve shirt. Sweat tickled the back of her neck, and she swiped her hand across it once, stirring her hair, red ribbon playing through the dark plaits. The bartender gaped like a fish as she topped off her own drink, her small audience ohh'd and ahh'd before breaking out into an applause. The bartender gathered himself together, watching as her eyes flashed as red as wine, before shaking his head and taking the bottles back.

"Where'd you learn that?"

"Old Midgar trick. Weren't into it, then? Ah, the trade has died!" she exclaimed, smiling in a good-natured way.

The bartender chuckled, before turning to serve another customer. She grinned, sipping on her drink. A man pushed up against her side, as she backed away, turning to look at him.

He smiled, in a friendly way, "Sorry! It's a little crowded in here."

She nodded her head in agreement.

"That was pretty cool what you did with the bottles. Ya know, if I could take you out–

"No, no thanks. I won't be around here for much longer. I'm not from here," she smiled apologetically, squirmed beneath his gaze.

"Well, that's why we're all here, right?" he shouted to the people that gathered around, and they all cheered.

She smiled, "Sorry," she said, twisting to move around him.

A hand caught her wrist though, and she reacted upon instinct, flipping the guy over her shoulder and onto the hard floor with too much ease it seemed.

The crowd gasped, some laughing as the man sprawled out on the floor, writhed in pain. The woman flung her hands over her mouth, embarrassed that she still couldn't stop doing that.

"Tifa!"

And she was hit by a solid force, small and compact, but strong none the less. And again her body was reacting, but her eyes fell upon the familiar face and she slowed down, barely keeping from flat out throttling a hyper and probably halfway drunk Yuffie Kisaragi.

"Y-Yuffie! What...what are you doing here?"

Yuffie mock punched Tifa's arm, before winking, "Don't steal my words! What are you doing here, Teefie? I never figured you for a clubber."

Tifa grinned, sheepish, "Not really, but I mean...I miss the trade," she shrugged towards the bar, sending Yuffie into a fit a giggles.

"I see you haven't changed," Yuffie rolled her eyes.

"Neither have you. You look a bit taller, though."

Yuffie groaned, "Good. What about my breasts?" she squeezed one, "They're still as small as radio knobs, I swear."

Tifa flushed red, "You're fine, Yuff."

Yuffie clamped down on Tifa's hand, "Let's get out of here, Ti-fa! We have got to catch up, woman!"

"W-wait, Yuffie!" Tifa tried to pull back, but the girl kept a steady grip on her wrist.

Yuffie tugged her towards the bathroom, pushing through the crowds, a knife cutting its path along flowing water. She slammed the door shut behind them as they reached their refuge, checking stalls before locking the door. Tifa watched her quizzically, and Yuffie shrugged in response.

Yuffie ran up to the counter, plopping down on it, swinging her legs to the dull thump of the music. She'd changed in the last year; her hair was a bit longer, brushing her shoulders only just, and the last of her childhood cheeks had seemed to fade away. She grinned large though, and Tifa saw the old Yuffie there, childish, klepto, and as nosy as ever.

"Sooooo..." Yuffie began, "What's up! I haven't seen you...in like...ages!"

Tifa scuffed her boot across the ground, bit her lip, and pulled on a fingernail. True, she hadn't been the best at keeping in touch, but it was a promise she'd made to herself. Her eyes strayed off to the side as she twisted her foot around on the toe of her shoe.

"Well? What's your excuse, woman?"

Tifa could feel Yuffie's eyes on her, expectant and ready, like a hunter eying its prey to make the first move. And it would probably be like that with Yuffie, too. She'd wait for the first move to see how she could corner Tifa, and pry every little bit of information out of her.

Tifa looked up suddenly, plastering a grin across her face, "Why don't you tell me–

"Oh hell no. I know you did not just try and change the subject," Yuffie said, slapping her palm on the counter top.

Tifa chuckled nervously, "Sorry."

"I called, and I left messages. Angry messages."

"Oops."

"What?"

"I changed my number six months ago."

"Fuck," Yuffie hissed, "No wonder this guy named Randy kept leaving messages cussing me out and telling me not to call him. Now I'll have to call and apologize."

Tifa chuckled lightly this time, a real tone to it, and Yuffie looked up, slightly startled. The woman didn't seem herself; there she was, the shell, and there was something inside of her, but not the woman Yuffie had come to know with their travels of the world.

"Hey," Tifa glanced up at the harshness of Yuffie's voice, "How could you just leave us like that? Cid called more than you did! I mean–

"I didn't talk to anyone, Yuffie," her look was somber, outlined by the ghost of the woman she'd once been, "I sort of...drifted off. I'm sorry for that, but that's what I have to do," she sighed, resting her palms on the counter top, focusing on the dirty sink, "Understand, that much at least. Barret...God, Barret...you think your messages were bad? And Marlene...oh my sweet little Marlene... God, Vincent makes better phone partner than I do now."

Yuffie snorted slightly, eyes on the floor. She missed the small trickle of water on Tifa's cheeks. Tifa raised her head slowly, studying herself in the dirty mirror. A track here that was what it was, really, and how depressing this place was; sitting beside an old friend she didn't know anymore, in a decrepit bathroom, mold clinging to the walls, tiles upset, and a peculiar stench. And all that was past these four, paper-thin walls were more people who didn't care about her, and if they did, they were looking for company for the night, and yet she'd pushed away her old friend, the one that really cared about her, far worse than she'd pushed away those faceless bodies. She studied herself in the mirror, looking for herself. She still looked like Tifa, there was no denying that...but something was missing.

"Explain it to me, then," Yuffie hummed softly, banging her feet on the wall beneath the cabinet.

Tifa grunted in amusement, "There is no explaining."

"What about..." Tifa tensed, "What about..."

"Not even him, Yuff; especially not him."

"Hmm, that's why."

Tifa raised her head in surprise, Yuffie's face turned away from her. So, she'd figured it out that fast.

Forgot she was clever with her ninja ways.

Tifa lowered her head slightly, "Maybe it is, Yuffie. Maybe it is."

Yuffie nodded once, rocking slowly on the cabinet, before slapping her palms on her thighs and levering herself off the counter. She planted her feet solidly on the ground, bracing her hands on her hips, staring up at Tifa. Tifa blinked back, startled.

"Wha–

"So, you want to forget the past, huh?"

Tifa blinked again, and then nodded her head sloppily.

"Okay, then!" Yuffie thrust her hand out, making Tifa jump back slightly. She nodded once towards her hand, before Tifa finally took it, slowly, "Pleasure to meet you. My name's Yuffie Kisaragi, heiress to the throne of Wutai."

"Um...I'm Tifa...Tifa Lockhart. I'm...uh... a vagabond, kind of...I guess...I sort of...am the heiress...to the throne of jack squat," Tifa squirmed beneath Yuffie's grip, "God, I didn't know you could squeeze that hard."

"Hey, bitch," Yuffie narrowed her eyes, "Conformer was a hell of a lot heavier than your fists."

Tifa chuckled lightly, clearing her throat, "It doesn't hurt, and I thought you didn't know me, though. I said my name is–

Yuffie grinned, releasing her hand, "Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Lockhart!" she opened her eyes wide, in a dramatic fashion, "Say there, new friend and never before met Tifa! How bout you accompany me back to my hotel, so we can head for my Wutai estates and chill like pickles, feelin it, yo?"

Tifa blinked, "...excuse me?"

"Come on, friend. Surely you do not want to spend your time with the writhing, horny masses that will pinch your tush and grope your cherries...well, radioactive cherries in your case. I will do neither, unless you stuff your bra with materia...in which case you don't so you're good to go," Yuffie thrust two thumbs up in Tifa's face.

Yuffie grinned again, before moving towards the door, unlatching it, turning to wait on Tifa.

"...Yuffie..."

"We can have girl talk, and fish, and dance and swim and be like cool, ya?"

Tifa smiled hesitantly, and she let it spread across her face even more, the more she thought about it, "...Okay..."

"Great!"

"One thing, Yuffie."

"Hmm?"

"Will you be my little sister?"

And that was one thing she loved about Yuffie, as the girl tilted her head over her shoulder, not hesitating at all, never missing a beat; quick with her tongue.

"Hun, we've always been sisters, even before we met."

She supposed part of the reason for leaving was to escape him. He had an intoxicating presence; that was for sure, one that breathed into the edges of her mind and clung there desperately. It made her antsy, like she had an itch she just couldn't scratch. It sat at the back of her head, lounging at the edge of her mind, teasing her and taunting her. She wanted to be free from that, that feeling that she could have him, but wasn't allowed to. And it was more than just physical, or love, it was just being friends. It was that much, and more.

She'd come to know him over the years, that was for sure. Without a doubt, they hadn't been close as children, speaking on rare occasion, but still, when you're the only surviving people of your hometown, there's still a connection. She was his best friend now, or at least, she'd like to think she was. She knew him better than most, and he knew her pretty well, even if he didn't act on it most times.

But what good was it doing them? Where had they gotten with their knowledge of each other, living in a suspended silence, forging through each day with a too precise schedule, a predictable routine. That wasn't them. They had been terrorists, a resistance group. They had fought, shed blood, and killed. They had died in some way, and yet here they sat, once again. Silence, plain and unfiltered silence. Repetitive and maybe that was what he was feeling too.

So why did she stay with him? Sure, he was her best friend, but...if they didn't act on anything...well, then they might as well be apart.

Despite how she felt for him and despite how he felt for her. It was just as simple as that.

Why?

Let go, that's what they had been telling him all along; move on from the past. Don't feel guilty for living Zack's life; look what came from it...you saved the world. But he wanted to let that go, didn't he? That's what she thought. He wanted to let that go, because he wasn't him. He wasn't Cloud. And how could she be in love with someone who wasn't them self? He needed to figure this out, and so did she. She wasn't the person she'd wanted to be as a little girl. She was a murderer, and she had done a lot of things she wished she could take back, but she couldn't.

She remembered as a little girl wishing for new and exciting things; Nibelheim had been too boring for her. She had two things as a child, and wished for one more. She had love; she loved her parents, and her friends and her town. She loved to fight, and she loved to be loud and crude because it would make her mother flush and yell. She loved to be a girl, too; play dress-up and have tea parties. She loved to climb trees and look at the stars, the feeling of mud between her toes when the creek would overflow. She loved to read, dance, sing and play the piano. She loved seeing him steal glances at her the most though, because it made her feel special, important.

Even more still, she loved to dream. Dreams, that was the other thing she had as a child. After reading so many adventure novels, she wanted one for herself. She dreamed she was a pirate, sailing across wild seas and battling giant squids. She dreamed she was a princess, but not the damsel in distress; she fought beside of her knight. She was a mermaid, breathing underwater and swimming with the dolphins; an elf, hidden in the forest, speaking with animals. Still, even more than that, what overtook her mind as she got older and older, and when a boy made a promise to her...she dreamed of freedom. That's what she dreamed of the most; freedom to do as she pleased, go where she wanted to, be loved by who she wanted to be loved.

And that's when the idea occurred to her, using her past ways as a child. Why not start over? Start new and fresh, without the heavy weight of her past on her shoulders. And she had voiced these things to him, one night like so many others. She made up a past, told him, even though it seemed like he wasn't even listening. She'd dreamed up her own family, she was a quarter Wutai from her mother's side. Her grandparents still lived in Wutai, while they lived in Mideel, where her mother had met her father. She had a little sister too, one she could protect and teach and laugh with. They caught fireflies in the night, making a lantern; they fished at the pond, and played with toads, and chased butterflies.

But it was only a dream, only a past dreamt up, and not the real one. Despite how she could accept her make-up past, it wasn't the truth, and she'd never forget that, but sometimes...sometimes it was nice to let go of her past, and not be Tifa Lockhart. The Tifa Lockhart who fought Sephiroth, whose parents were taken from her, who lost two best friends, one to their death physically, the other mentally; the woman with a tragic past, and bleak future. She didn't want to be that.

That's what defined her; dreams, love, and freedom.

It was strange for Tifa, sleeping in the same room as Yuffie. The last time she'd done that, was when AVALANCHE had still been together, and she'd been with him. Sure, she'd decided upon a new path, a new past, and so had he...but that didn't put him out of mind anymore than it use to.

She sighed, rolling onto her side away from Yuffie, her soft breathing interrupted by the ruffle of the mesh curtains in the wind. She stared blankly ahead, the room dulled in the dim light of the moon. The soft whispers of wind across her cheek made her sit up slowly, pushing back the light blanket, wincing slightly at the cool tiles beneath her feet. Sighing, she slowly pushed herself off the bed, careful not to disturb Yuffie. She padded softly over to the balcony door, the curtains billowing out as if to meet her in a strange embrace.

They slipped around her skin, smooth and soft, gracing her lightly, and making her shiver. She slowly moved forward to close the door, before pausing to look up at the clear sky.

She was going to Wutai. Why had she agreed to that? She was going with Yuffie, and she wondered if that was a break to their promise. She wondered if he ever saw any of the others. She rested her head against the door frame, gazing up at the moon and stars, the soft crash of the ocean lulling her into a sense of peace. Her eyes slowly closed, and the wind gusted against her, before returning to a slight breeze.

It tickled her arm, like fingertips grazing across her skin oh so slightly, whistling in her ear softly like a concerned voice–

–his fingers brushed her forearm, "I won't...if you don't want to. If you don't think this is a good idea, to separate."

She smiled, "Hey, I was the one who suggested it–

Tifa slammed the door to the balcony shut quickly, blocking out the traitorous wind and its touches, the curtains drifting to a lifeless rest at her feet as her blood pounded in her ears, face burning. There was no point in questioning what she had done; he had wanted it as much as she did. Maybe it was because she was here with Yuffie, she didn't really care, but she would get back under control soon.

She glanced at the curtains once more, still, no longer moving like a ghost. That was like her past; a lifeless rest, never to have it be caressed by the wind, caressed by memories. She'd shut the door on them along time ago, and she wasn't about to open it up again.

He woke to the sound of slamming door, jerking quickly up, his hand immediately grappling for the hilt of his sword. The inn fell silent again, and Cloud relaxed only slightly against the headboard again. His soft breathing was masked by the ferocious howl of the blizzard, snow blanking out the outside world.

He hated being trapped. It reminded him of that tube, not being able to move and do as he pleased. He had revamped his room in his own way, a chair resting beneath the door knob to slow any intruder; a board nailed across the window to keep it from being opened. Paranoia had been eating his mind for a long time, ever since he had began hunting down and killing the last of ShinRa.

Icicle Inn certainly wasn't exactly the most happening place, but he wouldn't put it past anyone to attack him here, when he could be resting. There hadn't been many ShinRa workers hanging around the Northern Crater, but there had been enough to bother with. The visit of Vincent had been unexpected to be sure, but what had been even more unexpected was finding the small makeshift facility at the rim of the crater. Obviously that had to be dealt with swiftly and smoothly.

And then Vincent had been there, the same as always, tattered cloak blowing, and his red eyes studying him like he was some sort of specimen under a magnifying glass. Course, with his current behavior, it really didn't startle him that much. Red eyes, growing darker, a brown rim to them, wine spilling out like it had on the floor when she dropped the bottle; tiny flecks of blood across her leg where glass shards had caught her.

He was falling, oh God he was falling again, –red, red, red. Was that his blood? Was it hers? Did she do this? Did he kill someone again– take you as a cold blooded murderer– Oh God, it wasn't her, was it? That was the last thing he saw. Red. Red– blood-wine eyes –Blood. He hated drowning in blood, how it hazed his eyes, like a red fog that concealed the truth.

Red, red, red.

"Cloud! What are you doing?! It's freezing out there! Get in here you idiot–

The cool air slapped his face, snow frosting across his hair, getting caught in his eyes. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the window sill, his breath labored, shaking violently with each exhale. He winced against the harsh wind, bringing up a hand to cover his face. Snow and ice swirled around him, drifting into his room with a slow precision. His shirt ruffled slightly, stirring in the cold wind, and he lifted his eyes to the white world around him. When he had left, he'd been almost excited and apprehensive at the same time. Wanting to leave, and wanting to stay; relaxed because he had made up his mind, but tense because he wasn't sure if he liked the decision. The wind whistled with the shrillness of her voice, the snow as white as her eyes were red when she was angry at him, or worried about him–

Stop it, stop it.

He was breaking his promise; he had to finish his mission. He couldn't remember her, that would only cause more problems in the end, betray his past. Of course, wasn't he already doing that? Hadn't Vincent said something along the line, killing off the last of ShinRa.

He smirked, maybe so.

The window squealed as it shut off the roaring storm before him, and he caught his dim reflection. His eyes were blood shot, little streams of red separating the white expanse; green mako swirled through his irises, dominating over the natural blue, his pupil fighting to be an orb again, rather than a slit.

It was then he heard the voice.

"–Hey, hey! Hey! Are you okay?! Is everything okay in there?!" There was a pounding on his door.

Cloud turned slowly, gazing at the destruction before his eyes, before smirking again.

"Fine," his dull voice sounded, "Window opened."

There was a pause, before a muffled 'ok' was heard, and then there was silence.

Cloud traced the path of destruction across the room; the blankets ripped from the bed, the picture above it askew. The night-stand had been knocked over, the lamp was broken, the bulb busted. The curtains had been ripped from the window torn to shreds, and there was a hole in the wall opposite him. And the board, the board that he had so meticulously nailed across the window and been snapped like a toothpick, strewn across the floor in splinters.

He chuckled.

"Fulfilling your bloodlust, Cloud?"

"Shut up, Vincent."

A/N: If you're confused, that's okay. You're supposed to be. I'm not explainin anything...at all...you'll just have to wait XP. I'm serious when I say this, it is a tragedy, and it is tragic. If you need proof I carry out my tragedies, hop on over to Painted Lady. It's complete and full of tragicness. This one? More tragic. Hold on people, it's going to be a rough road.