Splintered Dreams
Chapter 8

"Complications"

Zack couldn't say for certain what time they'd actually fallen asleep, but the thin stream of gray light leaking beneath the window blinds and the gods-awful kink knotting his shoulders told him that several hours had passed with him in the uncomfortable, semi-prone position he was currently in.

Experimentally, he rolled his shoulders, grimaced at the brief, shooting pain he felt at the movement. A soft breath puffed against his neck and drew his gaze down, causing his chin to brush against soft hair. Slumped against his shoulder, with one arm draped across his chest and her hair spilling over his lap, Tifa was the human equivalent of a warm blanket.

Knotted shoulders immediately forgotten, Zack watched strands of dark hair sway up and back in time with even inhales and exhales. She looked very young, he observed, brushing the strands aside to get a better look at her face, but where brows and lips should have been slackened by slumber, a subtle tension still tightened the corners, and where there should have been peace, there was still an undecipherable aura of sadness that hummed around her.

He brushed the hair at her temple as he studied her. Touch was something he knew Tifa would generally discourage from him, but right now, in the hush of his room, with the barest hint of morning peeking in on them, it felt exactly right.

His hand moved down, hovered over the bare skin of her arm for only a moment before he caved to temptation and allowed the pads of his fingertips to smooth their way along her arm, over a stray freckle, and down her back. She had the softest skin, he thought with another idle sweep.

The sensation caused Tifa to stir against him again and Zack wondered how she would react to waking up in his arms. He could almost hear those stone walls of hers being erected. He didn't want to lose the closeness he felt with her now, but reason told him that forcing it would be met with not only resistance but distrust, and that was something he wouldn't risk. Tifa's trust and friendship were hard earned, but lasting, and he intended to keep them.

He knew that she considered him a friend. She had come to him when he'd felt alone—offered him a shoulder and a warm embrace. No questions, no demands. She had simply been there. Unselfish and open—like she was with the others, and for him to be included in that small circle, after all that had happened before... well, he wasn't willing to jeopardize it with demands for it.

She gave a small sigh and wiggled closer. The motion released some of the pressure the arm behind her and it became alive with prickly needles and pins. Despite that, he didn't remove it, or adjust his position. He sat, still and silent, comfortable in a way that had nothing to do with the physical and closed his eyes. He was reluctant to relinquish the night to day—reluctant to face exactly how much of himself he may have revealed in his moment of weakness, and more reluctant than he cared to admit to have that space between them again.

A sharp knock on the door jolted his eyes open.

The abrupt—unwelcome—noise was enough to rouse Tifa completely. Her head lifted slowly from the pillow of his shoulder and she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth before lifting her eyes to his.

Zack offered up a quiet, "Good morning." He didn't release her, not yet.

With face flushed pink—either from sleep or embarrassment—she smothered a yawn behind her hand. "What time is it?"

"Early, still."

Another knock—louder than the first—turned both of their attentions to the wood panel.

"Yo, Tifa!"

Barret. Zack ruffled his hair. Perfect. He glanced back to Tifa, half expecting to see mortification or alarm on her face, but was admittedly surprised when he saw neither. What he did see was a lingering concern...for him.

It touched him and made his chest feel heavy.

When she tilted her head just so, her eyes took on a crimson hue that he found so very compelling...

Sharp, more impatient rapping. "Tifa!"

"You should probably answer him," Zack leaned back with a wry tilt of his lips, "before he breaks my door down."

She gifted him with a small smile of her own and ran her fingers through her mussed bangs before pushing herself to her feet. She straightened her shirt, wiped her hands on her thighs and took a breath. "Yeah?" she called out.

"Breakfast."

"Be right down."

They heard him grumble something unintelligible, followed by the thump of his heavy boots as he marched away.

At the door she hesitated, turned back. "See you down there?"

Zack ruffled the back of his hair and shook his head. "Naw. What I need is a shower. I'm not very hungry this morning."

As abnormal as it was for Zack not to want to eat, Tifa seemed to understand. "All right." She gave him another appraising look, then with a quick nod she closed the door quietly behind her.


Down in the kitchen Barret had done something fairly tasty with left over potatoes and sausage. The smell filtered past bleary senses and Tifa's stomach rumbled. When she ventured around the corner to find the kitchen she found it curiously silent, not its usual hub of morning activity. Curiously absent was Wedge's happy grin as he shoveled food into packed cheeks, and Jessie's welcome grin, and Bigg's bleary eyed, grumbled salute.

"Good morning, Tifa!" Two wide eyes peeked up at her from beneath brown bangs.

"Morning, sweetie." Tifa ruffled her hair as she passed."Where is everybody?"

Barret finished wiping down the counter and tossed the wet dishtowel over the faucet, turned to answer. "Downstairs."

"Oh." She opened the fridge, poked her head in and avoided the unspoken questions in his eyes. "Is there any apple juice left?"

A half-full glass slid across the sideboard toward her. "Finish mine."

Well, looks like hiding wasn't an option. "Thanks." She closed the door, drank the juice. She felt like she should say something, but didn't know quite what to say, so for the next few minutes she didn't say a word and Barret, who also seemed at a loss for conversation topics, gave her room for silence.

They remained that way until Marlene sprang up from her chair with a clatter of spoon to bowl and declared herself full before scampering from the room.

When it was just the two of them, he finally spoke. "How is he?"

It wasn't the question she'd been expecting. She'd been prepared to defend her spending the night in Zack's room, even prepared for rebuke or censor, but she received neither. Caught off guard, it took her a moment to find her answer. "As well as can be, I imagine."

"And you?"

She shook her head, placed her cup in the sink before she faced him. "I'm fine."

"Wanna talk?"

"No. Not really."

"Sure you do. Just not with me anymore—" he stopped, shook his head and turned away. "Never mind, Forget I said that."

Alarmed by the underlying sadness she heard in his voice, Tifa rounded on him. "Barret?"

"It ain't none of my business, I get it." Was that disappointed in his voice? Hurt? Either way it bothered her.

Tifa stepped to him, placed a hand on his arm. "Barret." She waited until he looked down at her. She saw it then, the reason for his uncertainty; his doubt. She gave his forearm a gentle squeeze. "Nobody can replace you."

He let out a chuff, ran one beefy hand down his face and attempted a smile. "Damn straight."

She chuckled, pulled him down to her for a brief, but heartfelt hug.

He hugged her back, made her grunt and cough once—ritual between them—and released her.

"You like him."

Tifa pulled a chair back from the table and sat. "Not like that," she stated, picking at the napkin in front of her. Even to her ears the words sounded unconvincing.

Barret took the seat opposite her. "Maybe not yet."

She lifted her shoulder. "Maybe not ever, Barret. It's not..he's not...I mean..." Why was it so hard to explain? She was fond of Zack, that much was certain. He had come to mean a great deal to her over the past few weeks, but anything beyond friendship was out of the question. As much as he sometimes reminded her of Cloud...of that unspoken connection...he wasn't him.

"Tifa."

She raised her head, met his steady, understanding gaze.

Barret edged his hand across the tabletop, placed it over hers. "Eat some breakfast."

She smiled in relief and did just that.


The water was scorching hot, nearly scalding; just the way he liked it. It sluiced over tanned skin, lean muscles and through untamed black hair. Steam rolled from the water and curled around his calves and snaked along the bathroom walls in milky white tendrils.

Zack rolled his head back, relaxed by the sting of heat on tired muscles. He closed his eyes, let out a breath, and enjoyed the hot cascade across his chest and shoulders.

The slums wasn't exactly a place abundant in anything, especially not water, but thanks to one of Jessie's clever inventions, the water from Seventh was recycled and re-filtered, allowing for multiple uses without abundant waste. Hot showers were a luxury, and one he certainly appreciated.

None of the AVALANCHE crew were the type to take what they had for granted, and they were eager to share with their friends and neighbors—as was evident by the custom plumbing systems most of the neighboring homes had. If they had extra food, they shared it. Extra time to lend a hand, they did. An ear to bend, a shoulder to cry on... they did as much as they could for their little community and then some.

In all his years with SOLDIER Zack hadn't seen Shin-Ra do half so much for the people beneath them. It made him sad and more than a little angry now to realize the difference he could have made, but back then he had been blissfully oblivious to the suffering. He'd been so blindly focused on becoming one of the elite, a first-class SOLDIER—a hero.

A false hero.

Heroes didn't want praise or glory. Heroes didn't receive awards and medals for their deeds. Heroes weren't ranked.

Heroes patrolled beaten paths and fought monsters with their bare hands while others slept safe in their beds. Heroes swallowed their pain and rose to fight for a cause. Heroes...held SOLDIERS in the dark.

Zack straightened and ran his hands over his face, slicked his hair back. He didn't remember the whole of the evening, but he did remember slender fingers scraping through the hair at his temple and soothing words mouthed against his ear.

Soft spoken and steady, they had anchored him through the night.

Zack looked down sharply, feeling his dick unexpectedly stir to life against his thigh. He inhaled a sharp breath, tried to reign in his body's response with little effect and promptly bit the inside of his cheek and focused on calming breaths. It wasn't right, he thought angrily. For her to give him trust and friendship and suddenly, because of one night of comfort he wants to fuck her? No. Just no.

He wouldn't let himself think of her like that.

Despite his self-proclamation, Zack found himself considering how soft her lips might be beneath his. Would she welcome a kiss from him? Would she taste as good as he thought she would?

"Damn it, no." He shook his head, pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. A deep breath. One more. Nothing. With a frustrated grumble he jerked the knobs of the shower and all hot water ceased. "Shit!" he hissed and shivered beneath the now ice cold spray.

Zack dropped his head forward, braced his hands on the wall and let the water run over his neck and hair and down his chin. He watched it swirl down the drain with unseeing eyes. This was one complication their relationship didn't need. He wouldn't allow it.

After a few minutes beneath the frigid onslaught he turned the taps, body in now dutifully in check, and snapped his towel from the bar outside the shower. He drug it roughly over his face and hair, over his chest and arms, down his legs and back up before tucking one end beneath the other and leaning against the sink.

His steam clouded reflection stared back at him with accusing eyes. Unable to meet the censure in his own gaze Zack looked away. Behind his closed lids he was momentarily back in the desert, with Cloud's warm weight in his arms as he whispered, "Protect her..." in that low, pain-filled voice of his. That voice had haunted him nightly since their escape and it was that voice that plagued him now.

He couldn't escape it, especially not here, in the place where he should be, with the woman he'd loved.

Zack wondered if Tifa ever wished it had been him that died. She'd never blamed him, had never said anything of the sort, but still he wondered... and guiltily hoped that she didn't.

He shoved at his dripping hair with one hand and tried to convince himself that he and Tifa were friends and would only ever be friends and that was it. He'd had a girlfriend once, loved her and she him, but Shin-Ra had fucked that all up. If he was going to make an effort for something, with someone, shouldn't it be with Aerith? Hadn't she been the one he'd promised to return to?

Annoyed, he pushed himself back from the sink and began dressing. He knew, even if he left now, went straight to her and made the effort, they would fail. He wasn't the same man he'd been, and there was no unchanging that, even if he wanted to. And part of him knew he didn't want to.

He didn't want to go back to that oblivious optimism where the only thing that mattered was glory. He pressed his fingers to his eyes. He didn't want to be that guy again. He refused.

The hall was empty when he emerged. Not that he had really expected to see anyone. This time of day the others were most likely sub-level. He tossed the damp towel into the laundry basket outside the door and made his way downstairs.

As he predicted, the kitchen too was empty and the bar quiet. Deciding to take some of the quiet for himself Zack helped himself to the contents of the refrigerator and some lukewarm coffee. At the table he chewed slowly, his thoughts once more drifting.


Below the floorboard, just under Zack's feet, the rest of AVALANCHE sat watching a young, empathetic looking anchor woman, with pearly teeth and perfect blond hair, send out her condolences to the families of the men lost in the terrorist organization AVALANCHE's latest—unprovoked—raids.

"As a result of these latest attacks The Shin-Ra Electric Power Company must halt power production to several sectors while they undergo extensive repairs. This shut down will cause problems for many who will be forced to go without heat or water for several days." A picture of a mother with two young children and a baby in her arms flashed on screen. They looked sad, dejected and hopeless.

"Such lies," Jessie hissed with unexpected vehemence. Normally soft spoken and reserved, her anger drew all eyes. "Those supply lines didn't have anything to do with current power production. That Mako has already been converted and stored. They're lying!"

"When doesn't Shin-Ra lie?" Wedge mumbled with a sour look.

"They're cutting off utilities needlessly! Why would they do that? Why make those poor people suffer for no reason?"

"To make themselves look like the fuckin' good guys." Barret's voice was tight with barely controlled rage. "If they can blame us, then they get to be the victims right along with those they're punishing." He made sound of disgust.

"Those miserable sons of bitches!" Biggs threw the flask in his hand against the wall hard enough to dent the tin, his unshaven face mottled with red splotches.

"Biggs, hush!" Jessie scolded with an impatient wave of her hand. She turned the knob on the television, increasing the volume.

"Damn it, Jessie, they're blamin' us for everything!" He shook his fist at the screen. "All the suffering—they're sayin' it's us! Our fault!"

The woman on-screen continued in her practiced, polished tone, "Shin-Ra is confident that the identities of the members of AVALANCHE will soon be revealed. A witness to the Wall Market bombings has come forward. As a result, President Shinra requests, as a preventative measure, that AVALANCHE stop their raids and ask that they consider the suffering of the people they are hurting and turn themselves in to avoid prolonging their inevitable capture."

"Inevitable capture my ass," Barret flipped off the television.

The anchor woman paused, glanced up at the monitor and gave her most sympathetic nod. "Today, in a new segment called: Salute to Soldiers we honor some of the men who have fallen defending our city from AVALANCHE."

From her seat on the patchwork couch across the room Tifa tensed and sat up straighter. Tinkering, sorrowful music filtered from the speakers and a deep, melancholy voice began narrating as soft, glow-diffused images appeared on-screen. "Private Marcus Harlow, age twenty-two. He is remembered by his sister and mother."

"Oh...no..." Tifa covered her face with her hands, took several deep breaths. She didn't want to see their faces. Didn't want to know their names.

The whir of machinery and the clank of gears dropped her hands and her head snapped towards the drop-down pin-ball machine. "Jessie, turn it off," she said quickly.

"Huh?" The other girl blinked, eyes still glued to the screen.

Tifa didn't bother to ask again. She hopped up from the couch and hurried to the table to snatch up the remote. The television blinked out just as the elevator plank stopped.

"What the hell?" Biggs shot her a confused look.

"Biggs," Tifa lowered her voice. "Shut up."

"Geesh, what's up your ass? You'd think after getting some you'd be—"

"Biggs, enough!" she snapped, brandishing the remote like a sword.

Zack strode into the room, hair still damp from his shower, his deep blue gaze resting heavy on Tifa. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah, everything's just fine," she nodded and lowered her arm.

Biggs chose the same moment to respond with, "Tifa hijacked the TV."

She tensed, wanting very much to kick Biggs. Zack was at her side in a moment, a hand on her shoulder as he peered down into her face. She couldn't meet his eyes.

"Tifa?" Concern edged its way into his voice. "Are you all right?"

The room was watching her. Her teammates clearly baffled by her behavior. She didn't care. She wasn't about to let Zack suffer anymore than he had already. She shook her head resolutely. "I'm fine. It's just that we...we have other stuff to do." She was trying to edge him toward the door.

Zack frowned. It wasn't like her to be so abrupt or evasive. He scanned the room and took note of the confused expressions on the others faces. His gut told him that whatever was on the TV had to do with him--and it had upset Tifa. It bothered him to think that she was upset for him. "What's on the TV?" he asked.

"Nothing." She shot Biggs a sharp look before he could open his mouth.

Zack sighed at her refusal to tell him before he gently wrested the remote from her hand.

"Zack, wait." Her fingers curled helplessly into her palm.

He pressed the button.

The television flickered to life and the narrator was still speaking in his low, melancholy voice, but the picture on the screen was no longer Marcus Harlow. "Private First Class Nathaniel Blake, age twenty-six. He is remembered by his wife and three month old daughter." An image of all three, presumably from a family photograph, faded in over his Shin-Ra picture.

Tifa finally looked at Zack and wished she hadn't.

His face showed absolutely nothing—which for Zack--showed absolutely everything.

Her hands worked agitatedly at her sides—clench, release, clench, release. Her chest constricted into a painful knot and she found her throat too tight to speak. This was too much for him—for any of them. But what could she say? What could she possibly offer as condolence?

"They all knew what they were getting into."

Barret.

Tifa turned, her eyes meeting his from where he stood, propped against the door jamb. He had remained mostly silent during the newscast but the grim set of his features had said more than words could have. He pushed himself off the wall and made his way toward them now with that same grim look.

Zack still hadn't acknowledged his presence, hadn't taken his eyes from the images on the television.

"Whether we like it or not, this is a war, and in war there are casualties," Barret's normally booming voice was less intense now; a softer version of his deep baritone. His hand came up to rest on Zack's shoulder, the one closest to him.

The weight of it was heavy, solid, strong. It drew Zack's gaze away from the television

"It ain't ever easy to watch another man die... To know you're the reason behind it. But what we're doing...it's bigger than that." Deep-set, solemn eyes turned toward Zack. "You gotta believe that, kid, or this will eat you alive inside. I don't wanna see that." He let his hand drop. He encompassed the whole of them in one sweeping gesture. "What we do, we do for something greater than ourselves. Greater than them." He pointed at the screen. "If we don't fight, no one will, and that, that is where the real tragedy would be. You get me?"

Tifa saw the others nodding, even though the question wasn't directed at them, saw their faces morph from appalled to determined, and she felt a stirring of pride for Barret, for his ability to realign them when they fell askew.

"That bein' said," he continued, not allowing for a real response, "Tifa's right. We got other shit to do." He nodded at her once and moved toward the pinball machine. "Let's go."

"What're we doing?" Wedge asked, huffing to his feet. Biggs and Jessie followed.

"We're gonna go bottle some water, get some generators and do what we can." Barret adjusted the settings on his gun-arm. "And we're gonna keep doing what we have to to stop Shin-Ra, squeeze a few people and find out who their fuckin' witness is." He looked at Zack. "You in?"

Tifa drew in a breath, waited for his reply.

Zack straightened his shoulders. Was there ever really any doubt? "In."

"Good," Barret smirked. "Then stop bein' a sally and get your ass movin'."


AN: It's been forever since an update, I know. And, Ok, I know I said this chapter would be the Don's place, but it turned out to be longer than anticipated, so I chopped it in half. The next chapter should be up soon (not nearly so long a wait) and I can promise you some Zack x Tifa goodness. ;) Thank you so much for reading, and especially for those of you that take the time to review, I appreciate it very much.