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8. Ifalna: Widow


You could almost hear the scritch-scratching as Ifalna clawed her self-control back from the edge. She took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. The smell of blood was heavy enough to taste. Knowing it was Gast's only made the nausea worse.

She stared straight ahead, at the opposite wall, not daring to look at the body. His body. No, the body. That wasn't Gast. Not anymore. The spray against her cheek was still sticky, but she couldn't bring herself to wipe it off. Likewise the red spatter on the maternity blanket, stained by the blowback of the first bullet.

A low grizzling made her look down, smoothing aside a soft pastel corner. No blood had got on the baby, at least. Ifalna shushed as a distraction from what was going on. If she pretended Gast wasn't dead on the floor, Shinra employees weren't ringing her with weapons drawn, and Professor Hojo wasn't just outside the door, then perhaps none of it would be true. She'd still be Ifalna Faramis, wife, not Ifalna Faramis, widow and abductee.

She'd been running from this fate for years. She could recall in perfect detail each dream that had promised dark things for her at Shinra's hands. She'd left so many sanctuaries when her Cetra blood flared and a fresh warning came. Sometimes she's regretted leaving places so much she'd almost ignored the messages and stayed anyhow. Now she knew what might have happened if she had, and she was glad she'd never given in to her own selfishness.

Not until she met a jaded scientist who'd made the unprecedented move of leaving Shinra of his own free will, that is. Ifalna had been so impressed with that courage, and so lonely after leaving a particularly nice place called Kalm, that she'd let her guard down. She'd been foolish. And, foolishly, she'd fallen in love. It was the best and worst thing she'd ever done, and now it was over.

Oh, Gast …

The baby mewled.

"Hush, little one," she murmured. Every day she was still exhausted from the traumatic pregnancy and difficult birth. Months of being on the run, living hand to mouth to keep Shinra from finding them, had ultimately been a failure. Her tiredness was now just an insult to add to injury.

Her fingers flexed on the edge of the blanket. She brought the baby to her face to hide the tears she could no longer hold back.

The door opened. "Transportation will arrive shortly," said a nasal voice.

Ifalna refused to look up, but her grip on her daughter tightened. Hojo's shadow fell across them.

"I look forward to all the time we shall be spending together," he said. He sounded like he was almost laughing. The false politeness made Ifalna want to ignore the pacifism of the Ancients and pop him in the nose. Hojo had killed her husband. Even if he hadn't pulled the trigger himself, Gast was dead because of him. Aerith would never know her father because of him. "You really are the most exasperating woman to track down. Do you realise how long I've been waiting to meet you?"

"Leave us alone," she whispered hotly.

"It speaks at last." Now Hojo sounded delighted. Ifalna's impulse change from punching to strangulation. "You and that fool colleague of mine have set back our research by months. We have a lot of ground to cover if we're to catch up before Yule – next year!"

"Leave us alone. Haven't you done enough already?"

"Enough? After all these years of searching for a genuine Ancient? Oh no, my dear. Not even close."

Ifalna finally raised her gaze. Contrary to his tone, behind his glasses Hojo's eyes were flat and hard, like a slab of marble: covered in interesting patterns that hinted at something underneath, but cold and immoveable all the way through. Snake-eyes, her own mother would have called them. There was certainly something reptilian about the way he stared at her, and the way his gaze came to rest on the bundle in her arms.

It was then that she knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, that she couldn't let this man have her daughter. A mother's duty was to guard her child, even if circumstances worked against her. That basic responsibility was the same all over the world, no matter the era, location or even species. Ifalna was the last full-blooded Cetra, but she had the same maternal instincts as any lioness, dragon mare or she-wolf. All three of those would fight to the death to protect their babies. She was no different, even if she had no claws or fangs to fight with. She had Ancient patience.

And so, when she finally did get the opportunity to save her daughter's life, Ifalna took her chance even though it was risky to the point of stupidity. She had to count on the fact that Shinra had invested countless funds and seven years of research, and that this had made them too valuable to shoot at.

She was wrong. She should have counted on Hojo's mercilessness. If the secrets of the Ancients weren't to be his, he'd make damn sure they weren't anybody's.

Ifalna sat quietly in her seat on the train, Aerith bopping with excitement beside her. Of course, Aerith didn't fully understand what was going on. To her, this escape was full of wonder and excitement at finally getting out of the labs. Even slum air tasted fresh when you'd been a prisoner all your life.

Ifalna had healed her of the tranquiliser overdose dispensed by the first round of darts as they escaped – the one that came just before the guards switched to regular bullets. Slowly bleeding out from a stomach wound she was too weak to deal with after healing Aerith, Ifalna's protectiveness carried her as far as the next station, and allowed her to find someone whose spirit echoed the feeling. She had no fangs or claws, but she did have the Cetra ability to sense goodness in people she'd only just met.

"Please," she murmured, swallowing blood and no longer able to feel her midriff. "Look after her."

"I … I …" stuttered the stranger. She had kind eyes. They'd filled with a kind of horror as she realised what was happening to Ifalna.

"Please. Please don't let Shinra take her back. I only just got her out. She deserves her freedom. Please, she's … she's all I have …"

The woman swallowed, but finally nodded.

Ifalna's last sight was of Aerith's hand held tight in the stranger's, and she knew her daughter would be all right now. "Thank y-" she wheezed, but got no further before her poor abused body finally gave up and she died a true Midgar death: in public, ignored by most passers-by, and without any dignity at all.