A million thanks to gingerbreadbear and Tani2!! You guys are so sweet and encouraging! This chapter took a long long long time, mainly because I wasn't sure how I wanted to go about it, but I think it turned out all right! Please read and review! Thanks guys!
Chapter 2: The First Circle
Tifa was having a nightmare.
It seemed like a funeral. That was nothing new. When her mother died, Tifa dreamt of many funerals for her. When her father died, Tifa dreamt of many more for him. When… they died… she relived their funeral every night. Her only thought was who was this one for?
All her friends were in it. Even past enemies. She couldn't remember the last time she had even contacted everyone like this. Heck, she hadn't even contacted Barret for two whole years, not even to inform him about…
Everyone was donned in black—and she felt oddly stifled by it. All that black. The "I'm sorry"s. The look everyone gave her as they came up to her, one by one, presenting their offerings of condolences. But in past dreams, everyone left her alone, knowing she liked her privacy.
The black dress she wore was too tight. Her black shoes were too small. She felt oddly self-conscious about her tear-drop earrings. They seemed inappropriate for the occasion.
But this was a dream-funeral, so why would anyone care about what earrings she wore?
Some wet heaviness took nest in her heart, and no matter how hard she tried to squeeze it out through her eyes, it only pressed harder. That's odd. When she touched her face, the tears felt real. Tifa has only cried 3 times in her life; once when her mother died, once when her father died and once during the happiest day of her life. It was another warning that something was horribly, horribly wrong.
Then something stung her nose like a siren that cut through the silence. An awful smell.
Someone said, "Tifa?" And she realized what the terrible smell was. Elymra was standing in front of her, holding a batch of gold-streaked flowers. As far as Tifa can remember, from the countless funerals she attended, she could never smell the flowers. People don't smell in their dreams.
"I brought you some flowers from Aerith's church. They've always comforted me."
"Honey, there are more people coming in."
"Oh dear, Jake's making a fuss again."
"How could this happen?"
"He seemed near immortal."
"I can't believe that ol' ****-for-brains is actually gone."
The wide, black-carpeted aisle down the middle of the room. The flowers circling the gravely dark coffin. The priest walking to the front, his black robes dragging behind him. Heads were hung; bodies crouched over with effort, swallowed up by all that darkness. Everything felt so heavy and slow. And yet, she just felt impatient with her tears, with the entire event.
A heavy hand rested on her shoulder. She could barely recognize the voice that was her husband's—the smell was making her nauseated. "I'm sorry I never got to reconcile with him, Teef. Everyone left from our village came to pay their respects. Cloud was a good man."
Her heart caught in her throat. "Cloud…?"
And Tifa sank into the blessed black.
She was flying on wings of silk.
She was never one to dress up, but for him, on this day, she wanted to be as beautiful as possible. Murmurs buzzed among the guests. "Oh, like an angel!" (The sniffing Elymra, comforted by Reeve.) "He better treat her right, or I'll whoop his sorry ass!" (Shera slapped the cussing offender in the back of the head. Yuffie laughed.) "A lovely vision in white!" (Commented Nanaki.) "That's our mom!" (The adorable Marlene and Denzel.)
The light from the stained glass windows of the church flowed through the aisle and glanced off the rose petals sprinkled before her. The heady perfume of the flowers blooming in the church was laden in the air. She felt slightly unsteady on her heels (thank goodness Barret was so sturdy), but all those hours practicing after closing time in the bar paid off—and she had the blisters to show for it.
The wide, white-carpeted aisle down the middle of the church. Lush flowers circling the bright room. The priest positioned in the front, smiling encouragingly at her. And beside him, stood a handsome specimen looking a bit shy yet glowing with joy.
The man of her dreams. She had never seen him smile like that. And oh, what a beautiful, boyish smile that was.
The spell was broken sharply when half-way down the aisle, Barret unceremoniously pulled her in for a bear-hug. "No man deserves you," he grumbled but she could tell he was bordering tears. She remembered his joy when she asked if he could act as her father during her wedding. She squeezed the gun-man closer when he whispered something else in her ear. "Are you sure this is what you want?"
She almost laughed out loud. "Yes, Barret. This is what I want." At that, he slowly released her and cleared his throat. Amid the amused chuckles echoing around them, they continued their measured steps, though Barret was developing a tinge of red on his cheeks.
When he finally received her hand (after Barret pulled that little stunt), he immediately felt his lifelong cowardice invade. When was the last time he had any little ounce of happiness that wasn't stripped away from him? His parents were gone, his hometown, his friends, even his sanity had once fled him. He was nothing but pieces that didn't fit, yet jammed together all the same. He had nothing to offer anyone, let alone a wife. Heck, he barely knew how to take care of himself, let alone raise a family.
He had often wondered, why was he given life when so often, many others perished around him? Why wasn't he killed along with the rest of his village? Why wasn't he killed when all that mako was pumped into him? Why wasn't he killed along with Zack? And why had he been able to defeat Sephiroth? Twice?
And when the time came to recite their vows, he knew. Now he knew why he had been allowed to live all those times. It was all for this angel with glistening raven hair and warm brown eyes. What had he done to deserve her? How many times has he dreamed of this moment as a child, watching her through her window? As a scrawny teenager wanting so badly to impress her? As a messed-up adult that forgot all about his entire existence, and yet still remembered her? A completion of his very soul. It was her. Tifa.
"… I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride." He didn't need an incentive. With one smooth motion-- the only indication that this was a highly skilled swords-master— he wrapped her in his arms and claimed her lips. He poured his heart to her, with the contradiction of his timid kiss and crushing embrace. But then he tasted her salty tears and immediately grew afraid. Was he doing this wrong (there weren't many opportunities for him to attend weddings for all his 20-something years)? Sensing his hesitance, Tifa giggled, speaking silent words against his lips. I love you.
In all his life, Cloud Strife has never cried. Even as a baby, his mother had found it rather odd (peaceful, but odd). All he had ever felt was rage and hatred, and that didn't allow for tears. He never allowed his mother to give him much affection, and experiments were not even treated as humans. But on that altar, with Tifa crying into his kiss, he couldn't help the bursting of joy inside the fragile heart he never knew he had, and allowed his tears to rain down like an absolution.
A sweet, perfumed wind swept through the church, stirring up a waltz of white petals; perhaps a present from a dear friend.
From this day forth, I, Cloud Strife, will live only for you, Teef.
Hmmm… is that a promise?
She kept flexing her arms as she ran, feeling a bit silly but suspecting that it was the only warm up she'll get. The moon was cradled in a bed of ebony clouds, and it kept winking at her through the trees. Already, her legs were starting to burn from the effort of running, or was it the anticipation of the fight?
Under the folds of her apron, the Elixir bottles and bags of Ether were jumbling about like a foreboding omen. It was the only other sound besides the crunch of leaves beneath her feet and it kept her sane. In the dark, the shadows tend to chase reason away.
She was starting to have second thoughts. How did she know that Vincent hadn't completely gone off his rocker (he sure seemed crazy when he came to visit her in the dead of the night and claim that Cloud still existed)? But if what he said was true, then the person that was hurting the most was Cloud. Enough to take his own life. What a tragic way for a twice-hero to die.
But what if there really was a way to save him? From whatever the enemy is? If there was an inkling of hope, Tifa wanted to believe it. The woods fell away as she remembered the funeral. The whole thing was a lengthy daze as the world shifted away and left her feeling naked and vulnerable in her disbelief. After realizing the truth of his betrayal, the swords-master had twisted the dagger and she had let out a cry as her heart ruptured, spilling regret. How long had he suffered? How long had she been unaware of his inner torture?
She tried to remember the last time she saw him. She had not spoken a word to him after he proclaimed he was leaving. Yes, the memory was painful, but through her myriad of emotions at his finality, she had not noticed the look in his eyes. They were so hopeless and still, as if witnessing the slow death of a silkworm: horrifying yet beautiful in its subtlety. She had been too much of a coward to listen to what he was trying to say, and instead, allowed Barret to scream, rant and rave about what a bastard he was to leave her, Marlene and Denzel. But even as Barret roared "You don't deserve to even look at her" he still kept his gaze. She had left the room because she couldn't take the look in his eyes anymore. And then 4 years later, he kills himself.
She no longer recognized this part of the woods. It was deeper and somehow, even darker than the rest; she wondered if she had gone the right way. Then again, he hadn't really specified where to meet him (he was never one for long explanations). She skidded to a stop on her rubber soles, looking back and forth, trying to distinguish one strange tree from the other.
When she recognized her name on the wind, she saw the faint silhouette approach her. As he reached her and their eyes met, a moment of complete and utter understanding passed between them. From the day Vincent Valentine met Tifa Lockheart, he knew that she was every bit as broken and lost as he was. After all, he recognized a strange feature on her that he also possessed. Both had eyes too old for their bodies. Eyes that had seen so much pain.
He brought out a little sack and Tifa understood, patting both sides of her apron. "We're going to need them all," he said. For a moment, she seemed fearful. But he knew her resolve better than that. "Which ones should I take?" she asked.
"Whichever ones you feel most comfortable using." He knew she hated to kill. It was not in her nature.
They stood in silence as they respectively took little glowing balls out of his sack and dissolved them into their beings. Power from the Lifestream joining with their blood. Tifa pulled out several bottles and bags to hand to Vincent. He stuffed them into his pockets carefully.
They knew they were stalling but fear was starting to gnaw at their determination. It was an endeavor that was so far beyond comprehension, that it could only be achieved if they stormed in with virtually no reason whatsoever. But the choice was already made and the actors were already dressed. Yet, Tifa couldn't stop trembling. Vincent peered at her uneasily.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he muttered.
She was unsure. The day she married Johnny, she had locked away her fighting gloves.
She spent several marvelous years as a normal person, playing business owner, mother and wife all at the same time. She was thrown into the frenzy of everyday life, and the only enemies she attacked were the notorious dust bunnies under the couch, the only things she disfigured were chicken breasts or the occasional cheerio that just refused to travel into Jake's mouth. Her torn knuckles had healed, the agility in her legs dulled. But now and then, when she passed by that hidden drawer while on her way to Jack's room; she would pause. Once upon a time, she had been a killer.
She was frozen in her fear, but the echoes of promises made so… so long ago wouldn't fade. She fingered the Cloudy Wolf ring she never took off, even when its golden companion was discarded and replaced. She remembered a night that she kept reliving in her dreams: the strength of his arms around her and the tender way he rained his tears upon her face, her neck, her body.
"I made a vow I had intended to keep," the line of her lips was taut. "No giving up."
"That's what I needed to hear." He started deeper into the forest. Tifa lingered to take the Cloudy Wolf ring off and tuck it safely away in her pocket, and at the same time, pulled out her gloves. The leather felt foreign against her skin. It was cool and smooth, but no longer molded to her hands as they once did.
"Mom?"
"Hm?"
"Why are you marrying Johnny?"
"Because I love him."
"But what about Cloud?"
"…"
"You loved him, didn't you? Isn't that why you married him? He loved you too. It's been a year now, can we at least write to him?"
"He won't read it."
"How do you know that?"
"Marlene… Things are different now. Johnny is very nice and he has already accepted you and Marlene as his own. Cloud and I are not getting back together. He doesn't love me anymore and I don't love him. I'm sorry, sweetheart."
"… Why did he have to leave?"
"… I don't know. He wasn't happy anymore, I guess. Hopefully, he found that happiness by now."
ABANDON ALL HOPE, YOU WHO ENTER HERE.
Vincent was indifferent to the carving, but Tifa felt her stomach stir. With each step they took, the veil of darkness only grew thicker. Beneath her shoes, Tifa could no longer feel any more grass or vegetation, only a dry, empty earth. The silence was too loud; it made her wary. Her heart was pounding in her ear, but she forced her stance to be strong and her mind to be resilient.
Without warning, a pungent smell assaulted her nose and she nearly gagged: it smelled like molted blood and decaying human flesh. A bloodcurdling scream cut through the thick air. Another followed and then another, mingled with the buzzing of millions of terrors. Shapeless forms were breaking off from the shadows.
"These are the souls of those who did not commit to either good or evil but whom lived their lives without making conscious moral choices," Vincent spoke calmly, reaching inside his cape. "Therefore, both Heaven and Hell have denied them entry. These souls now reside in the Ante-Inferno, within Hell yet not truly part of it." Tifa couldn't take it. The shrieks were shredding her heart. She tried to cover her ears, but they pierced through, raking her tender core.
"Be wary, they will strike!"
And a terrible face sprang up in front of her, mouth gaping and bleeding from its eyes. Though Tifa's face drained of color, her fist came up instinctively.
With the connection of fist upon enemy, she felt the adrenaline surge through her veins like wildfire. And suddenly, she could sense the slight stirring of air when someone was attacking her from behind or the slight lean of a body before they strike with the opposite hand. Her body became as light as air, the muscles rolling under skin, their strength intoxicating. It sent her into a blinding fury, relishing the sweet taste of satisfaction when the enemy recoils from the pain or the gratifying crack of a broken skull.
But then she stopped. What was she doing?
She remembered seeing so much blood. A heartless smirk that twisted her insides.
"Tifa!" Several silver bullets defaced a being from behind her. Vincent pushed her out of the way as he impaled another with the gleaming surface of his gun. "Run to the river bank!" he shouted above the ear-splitting shrieks, pointing towards a distant destination.
And she did. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, her lungs screaming from the exertion. Behind her, the gunshots were coming closer and she knew that Vincent had started to follow her. But just as she was starting to see the bank appear, the shadows came alive in front of them. Tifa dug her heels into the ground. There must have been hundreds. No. Thousands.
"Tifa! Use the materia!" Vincent cried. She shut her eyes. She couldn't bear to stain her hands with more blood.
"Tifa! Use it!" Vincent was closing in and so were the thousands of faceless souls of people that had wanted nothing more than to live a normal life. Like her, in life, they didn't want to stand for something just or for something evil. Because either way, they would have had to hurt others, and in the process, harm those that they cared most about. Either way, they couldn't prevent death from encroaching upon their fragile joy.
They were close enough for her to see some of their faces. Wasps and flies bite them mercilessly, pelting them like hail. Worms crawled through the holes in their deformed bodies, consuming their blood and tears. To her surprise, some of them were wearing SOLDIER uniforms. One was approaching her faster than the others. Tifa recognized that vacant face in an instant.
It was her own.
All she could remember was raising her hands and feeling the energy ripping from every inch of her body. There was a long eternity of blinding light and a dull buzzing in her ears. When it finally ended, there was only blessed quiet and the smell of burning mixed with the after-scent of materia magic. But at what price? In the wake of her attack, so many bodies lay scorched on top of each other, or twisted in unnatural angles. Their faces were frozen in their shock, skin curling away from the white of their bones. And yet, she couldn't look away.
A male hand gripped her shoulder in an odd form of comfort. As soon as the warm of that human hand touched her, Tifa's eyes glazed over and she heaved up the contents of her stomach.
"Tifa." His voice grounded her, reminding her that she was still alive and the ones she had killed weren't. "You have to stay strong. Remember why we're here."
During the day, it was easier to fight the shadows. But at night, they crept into the most vulnerable part of any person: the mind. On an icy winter night, Tifa and Cloud awoke to screaming.
On instinct, forgetting that the floor was biting cold, Tifa sprinted to Marlene's room barefooted, Cloud not far behind. But Marlene looked back at them from shivering on her bed, just as awake. That meant… "Denzel!" Tifa propelled herself out of the doorway, while Cloud went over to Marlene to reassure her it was all right. "I'm c-cold. W-why is Denzel screaming?" she whimpered into his embrace.
Tifa crossed his dark room by memory, knowing where to jump over the toy soldiers and where to avoid various articles of clothing on the floor. Though 7th Heaven was freezing because the heater was broken, beads of sweat laced his forehead. Her heart ached upon seeing his tears. "Denzel, it's ok, wake up."
He cried for his mother. "Shhh. It's all right." She reached down and gathered his sweating body into her arms, to her heart. "Mom's here. Mom's here."She held him tight against her, because he seemed so small when he was crying. By day, this boy was cool and collected, never showing any indication of what he was feeling: whether he was happy or ecstatic, whether he was sad or indifferent. But in the dead of the night, when there were no colors or lights to chase away the terrors, Denzel was just like any other frightened boy.
He started to quiet down, his sobs becoming calmer and the trembling slowed. Tifa sat there with him for a long time before he started awake. "Tifa… I…" he blushed deeply, already reverting back to his normal self. But she just smiled. "It's all right, Denzel."
"I… I, uh." He was fumbling with his words, so she waited patiently. "Tifa, I'm sorry for calling for my mom." He was embarrassed, she realized. "After all you and Cloud have done for me, I still…"
"Denzel," she placed a hand over his. "Listen to me. You are a part of this family just as much as any of us. We just want you to be happy. There's no need to feel embarrassed about missing your mom." She looked crestfallen.
"Tifa. I am happy here." He said honestly. She realized that when he spoke with emotion, his eyes seemed even more impossibly blue. "And, though I miss my parents sometimes, I know they are looking out for me. And…" he slipped his hand out from under hers. "I feel guilty sometimes, because I sometimes forget what my mom looked like. When I try to picture her and even dad, I see someone else."
"Someone else?" Tifa frowned.
"… Cloud," she smiled when he said that. "And… you, Tifa." Now she was surprised. It was no surprise that he saw Cloud as a father figure, he admired him so much. But herself? She was afraid that Denzel would never warm up to her. But now…
"I'm sorry, Tifa. I know I'm a lot of trouble."
"Denzel, you are my son." He was taken aback by how much conviction was behind those words. "You and Marlene are our children, and nothing's going to change that. No matter how much you change as you grow, Cloud and I are always going to love you."
"But everyone I love eventually dies!"
Tifa didn't know what to say. How much pain did this innocent child have to see? With his parents and family gone, he had no one left. Until Cloud found him. The day he brought Denzel home was a blessing to their entire group. Tifa couldn't imagine her family without Marlene and Denzel. Finally, she settled with the truth: "Cloud and I are not going anywhere. No matter what happens, we will always come back to you and Marlene."
From their position in the doorway, Cloud and Marlene came up to join Tifa. "Tifa's right, Denzel," Cloud put a hand on his wife's shoulder, giving a firm nod. "We're never going to leave you." Marlene twisted out of Cloud's arms and climbed onto Denzel's bed, wrapping her arms tightly around him. "You're stuck with us, whether you like it or not! And don't worry, I call Tifa 'Mom' by accident sometimes too! But she IS my mom, so I guess it's ok. And she's your mom too, so you can call her that also. Oh, and Cloud IS your dad, so of course you can call him dad. But I'm going to have to pass on that, because my Daddy won't be happy about that and he'll probably kick Cloud's a—"
"All right, Marlene," Cloud scooped the little chatterbox back into his arms. "Let's go back to bed."
It was hard getting Marlene to fall back asleep in the cold, so they opted for a special arrangement that night. They all went back to Cloud and Tifa's bedroom, Marlene burrowing into the middle of the bed, dragging a more reluctant Denzel with her. Once the two were settled, Cloud and Tifa climbed in on either side.
As the children drifted off into sleep, Cloud and Tifa shared a secret smile. He reached for her hand across the bed. She met his halfway.
The river pulsed beneath the small and flimsy boat. Tifa couldn't bring herself to stand—was it just her imagination or were there faces beneath the surface? She glanced over to the old man ferrying them across—Charon, his name was?—and felt a cold finger trace her spine. When she and Vincent had approached him, asking for passage across, he had refused: "Those of the dead loathe those of the living. Be forewarned." And his refusal boded well: only damned souls crossed the river.
Tifa held herself. "You know Vincent, this wasn't what I expected."
"Hell is different for everyone. Everyone's personal hell is the reality of their minds."
Tifa kept her gaze focused on her knees, wrapping her arms tighter around her legs. "Vincent? How do you know so much about this place?" He seemed deep in thought, an arm resting on his knee, eyes shut in thought.
"I've travelled through here before."
"What?" she was incredulous. The watery cries of the tortured were dulled against the current.
"In that coffin, I had time to ponder my sins. I remembered the stories I had heard of Dante's journey into Hell and how each sin was given a different punishment, all befitting the nature of the sin committed. And only naturally, I wondered what punishments awaited me in--"
"Vincent." Tifa cut him off brusquely. "Don't say that. God didn't make humans so that they can make mistakes and not learn from them. Sins can be forgiven."
"I don't believe that." Tifa looked at him, a mixture of pity and annoyance swimming in her eyes. Vincent added, "And Cloud didn't believe it either."
His only response was the sound of the water lapping against the wood. He glanced at her desolate gaze at something unfathomable. Something she didn't want to accept; never did.
He remembered the tears at the wedding. The joy in his own heart as he watched his two friends join in marriage. The new couple had cried in each other's arms, oblivious to the deafening cheers around them. It wasn't just a wedding.
Barret had lost his wife and best friend, and was hated by his entire village. Nanaki had lost all his family and was once experimented on like a common animal. Reeve was trapped with the enemy, yet did everything he could to do what was right. Cloud and Tifa had lost their families, and their entire hometown. He himself had lost his life, his humanity. And a special friend had lost her life.
They cheered because through all that sadness (and there was just so much of it), there could be this happy moment where two people that had loved each other since they were children (though fate and timing couldn't have been crueler to them) are finally joining as husband and wife. What a precious and beautiful ending for such long and terrible decades of sorrow. Laughter had shaken the church when Cid shouted "FINALLY!" after they were married. No truer words were spoken.
But fate was not through with them. There were ghosts of the past that threatened the marriage. Who but himself knew better—that feeling of utter hopelessness and regret that nothing could be done to salvage what was once there. Or maybe it was never there. From what he heard, Barret had said many terrible things to Cloud the night he left. Vincent knew that Tifa probably didn't say anything. How could she? The man she loved with all her heart, body and soul claimed that it just wasn't enough for him.
And now, fate interferes again. When Tifa finally took the initiative after so many years, and tried to reconcile with Cloud to be friends, this happens. After Tifa fainted at the funeral, she had barely said a word to anyone, even her husband and baby boy. Oddly enough, Marlene and Denzel weren't present at the funeral when he arrived, but perhaps they were too stricken by the suddenness of his death and were escorted home early. Everyone was taking it hard, but no one was taking it harder than Tifa.
The chill in the air deepened and he felt her shiver. He sat as still as a statue, the grim lines of his mouth shifting as he spoke. "We are travelling to the First Circle, which contains the souls of those who led virtuous lives but either were born before the advent of Christianity (and thus could not properly honor God) or were never baptized. They wander around for all eternity, mourning their state and drowning in self-pity."
The plains ahead shook and the souls inhabiting them were thrust about like ragdolls. Their cries were so terrible. Tifa wondered (if she ever made it out here alive) if she would ever stop hearing them. Wind swept through the barren fields, mingling with the fire being gurgled up by the earth. But what bothered Tifa the most was the amount of children's voices she heard.
How long ago had a young disillusioned survivor of Nibelheim professed their torture in such a manner?
As they got off the boat and stepped through the plains, Tifa was losing it. There were so many laments of wars, songs of desperate hope (even in this place, there are these), and screams of the unfairness, of a savior that never came, of a heart that died too slowly, too painfully, that continued dying even after the body withered into nothing. The perpetually rumbling ground and large rocks from unfathomable origins flying about made it hard to walk. Vincent advised Tifa to stay low.
Here and there; there would be a face that she recognized. Every now and then, there would be a cry that she had once heard, whether in the streets, along their journey or in her nightmares.
"Sing to the LORD, for he is highly exalted. The horse and its rider he has hurled into the sea!"
"Suddenly… there was a tremendous flash of light that cut across the sky!"
"Mother… they have killed me! It hurts, Mother!"
"Father died a slow and painful death. We've waited so long and the savior never came."
"They said it was the war to end the feud! What end? All they have ended are so many lives!"
"I hate SOLDIER, I hate Shinra, I hate them all!"
I hate them all…
"Tifa!" Vincent's shout shook the haze. He quickened his pace. "We can't stay too long. One's sanity is their greatest prize."
God, if you exist, please don't let Tifa die. She froze, and twisted around.
I'm sorry I never believed in you, but she won't open her eyes. She won't wake up. Please. make her wake up. Where was that voice coming from? Another wave churned through the ground and she fell onto her knees.
Tifa's father says I'm a bad boy and won't let me see her. It's my fault. It's all my fault. I should have been stronger. Stronger…
I hate you, God. You don't care! You didn't save dad, and you didn't save Tifa! I hate you!
The boy couldn't have been more than 9 years old. He was sitting with his back to her, his head buried in his arms, but his mane of golden hair was unmistakable. Amid the utter chaos of one-legged children crawling about, mothers searching frantically for their daughters and others still, that ran and ran and ran from a threat that will forever only live on in their hells, Tifa couldn't take her eyes off that boy. His shoulders were shaking from his sobs and he wiped his tears on his dirty sleeves.
Tifa's sharp eyes caught the thick piece of rock hurtling towards him. "Time!" and she flew beyond her body, catching the rock with a swift upper cut, and turning around to make sure he was not hurt.
When he lifted his head she had no more doubts. Eyes of the brightest blue (even before the mako injections) bore deeply into her softer ones.
The back of her eyes burned. "Cloud…"
He was never good with words. Once the festivities were over and their friends had forced them into the room, the lock clicking into place audibly, they stood next to each other as awkward strangers once more. In the long moments of silence that ensued, he started to panic. There was barely any furniture in the room, save for one very noticeably placed bed. He couldn't bring his eyes to meet hers, though he was sure she was staring at him expectantly. What if he was no good at it? What if she was dissatisfied with him? They had come this far (though it was like the blind leading the blind) but what was supposed to happen now?
A slight stir in the air between them told him she was turning away from him with a sigh. A rush of insecurity caused him to grab her arm. Her rosy cheeks were a telltale sign of her own nervousness. He was slightly perturbed. Sure, he was a messed-up adult with the mind of a teenager, hardly the ideal man for any average girl. But she was Tifa. She was the goddess of his world. Always smiling, always beautiful, his Tifa. She had everything to offer, yet she mirrored his anxiety, as if she was afraid she would disappoint him.
And that knowledge alone was enough to build his resolve. The lust part was no problem—heck, he had longed for her (and only her) ever since he noticed the first awkward hairs preceding puberty. She could never disappoint him, not even in his dreams.
Under her searching eyes, he smiled at her, having never felt so happy. But she couldn't return his smile. She was still unsure. He would show her that she no longer had to worry over him. She will always have him by her side.
Softly, tenderly, he lowered his head and enveloped her lips in his. It was only a brief kiss, but it served as a trigger. She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders and holding on tight. The entirety of his being warmed her to her core as he pressed his body hotly against hers. But soon, kissing and wandering hands were no longer enough. Suddenly his cotton suit and her wedding dress were cumbersome and annoying.
Somehow, they found the bed in the darkness. Neither knew how the heat had escalated so quickly, but the clothes were torn off their bodies and the only thing that existed were melding mouths, fumbling hands, and her shy giggles because he wouldn't stop commenting on her perfection (though she had always tried to hide the scar down her chest). And she would kiss the never-fully-healed wound on his chest, the scars all over his flawed body (remnants of a life of war), look him straight in the eye, and call him beautiful. Insisted that he was all she ever wanted. But he didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve her. The more he said it, the more he believed it.
She seemed to sense his hesitation and pressed herself flush against him, tangling her fingers in his hair. But she loved him anyway. Loved him. Tifa loved him.
Imagine her surprise when all of a sudden, he began to cry. The cool tears tickled her neck as he planted calm kisses along her collarbone. They wet her hands as he kissed each and every one of her fingers with deliberate gentleness. Buying her time to refuse. Who knew what his mako and Jenova cells could do to her? But she didn't. His happy tears slid down her face when he swiftly covered her lips with his, swallowing her scream as they found completion in each others' ecstasy. Their hands tightly intertwined, the weight of their rings sealing a promise.
After so many years of pining over, lusting after, and loving every piece of her, this moment seemed so surreal that it scared him. He clung onto her like a lifeline as the world lay forgotten in the wake of heaven's embrace, even long after she drifted off to sleep. He couldn't sleep, only press his own tear-stained cheek to hers, praying, desperately pleading to God that the one thing he ever really wanted would never be taken away from him.