Chapter 11

It was so big, looming over them like a giant sign of what was to come. Like an enormous crypt...

Aerith could hear it, feel it, the voices coming in muffled waves from the building before them, from the very ground. It was overwhelming.

She hadn't even realised she was on the ground until she felt Tifa's hand on her shoulder, her soft voice gently calling.

"I'm... I'm ok," she assured her worried girlfriend, threading their fingers together. "Let's go in."

The two of them made their way up the stairs, Cloud following behind, his uneasiness clear on his face. Aerith almost fell back down the stairs in shock when they got to the top and found another of those mysterious black-cloaked people huddled on the floor there.

"Black...Materia..." he wheezed, collapsing more and more into himself.

Aerith felt her heart squeeze with pity, her mind riddled with confusion, not to mention fear.

"Number 9..." Tifa murmured gently beside her, her expression mirroring Aerith's own as she examined the tattoo on the man's neck.

"Come on," Cloud said, his tone conveying all sorts of agitation. "Let's get going."

Tifa squeezed Aerith's hand and it gave the flower girl courage as they followed Cloud into the doorway. The room was dark, dimly lit by a few torches but they could make out what looked like an altar in the centre and a man slumped on the floor at the side.

"Hey!" Aerith exclaimed in shock as she recognised him. "It's Tseng!"

Aerith could practically feel Tifa bristling beside her and the younger girl somewhat aggressively took a step forward to stand between Aerith and the Turk as he slowly and obviously painfully pulled himself to his feet. Tifa had apparently never forgiven Tseng for his treatment of Aerith in Midgar.

"Tseng? Of the Turks?" Cloud's tone demonstrated his shock.

"Uh... I've been had," Tseng grunted and slowly slumped back down to the ground. "It's not the Promised Land... Sephiroth's searching for..."

"Sephiroth? He's inside!?" Cloud demanded, fear and excitement both present in his voice.

"Look... for yourself..." the Turk muttered, gesturing wearily toward the altar. "Damn...Letting Aerith go was the start... of my... bad luck...The President... was wrong..."

Aerith couldn't help feeling the familiar frustration that Tseng always inspired.

"You're wrong," she asserted, stepping past Tifa to address him. "The Promised Land isn't like what you imagined." Her breath caught for a moment as she saw the extent of his injuries.

Tseng... No! You can't waste your pity and emotion on him! He's Shinra!

She turned away, trying to force herself not to care.

"And, I'm not going to help," she stressed. "Either way, there was no way Shinra could have won."

"Pretty harsh," he wheezed, but Aerith could still hear the bitter laugh in his voice. "Sounds like something... you'd say."

"You deserve far worse, Turk," Tifa growled at him, again stepping between them, her hand finding Aerith's.

"Think what you will," he replied carelessly, shrugging rather painfully as he stood again, now approaching Cloud. "The Keystone," he said, holding it out to the blonde man. "Place it... on... the altar..."

Aerith whipped around, unable not to gape at him for this. She held on to Tifa's hand like a life raft. She tried not to care as she watched Tseng wince heavily, heaving himself away to collapse in a corner.

"Aerith..." Tifa's voice was so gentle, her eyes so soft, Aerith didn't realise it was because she was crying until the martial artist brought up a callused hand with which to tenderly wipe her tears away.

"I'm fine," she said quickly, although unable not to lean into the feel of Tifa's hand at her cheek. "I just... There aren't many people in the world who've known me all my life and... he's one of them."

Tifa nodded her understanding, pulling Aerith close for a second and pressing her lips to Aerith forehead.

"We'll just have to make sure he survives then, I suppose." She squeezed Aerith's hand before releasing it and walking over to the fallen Turk. "Hey you; Turk. Take these."

"Potions?"

"Yeah, potions," Tifa said, the dislike plain in her voice.

"Any reason you're giving me potions?"

"It's not out of any love or concern for your well-being, I assure you," the fighter retorted acidly. "But, because she is a person of more grace and compassion than you can possibly comprehend, your death would make Aerith sad; so I'm not going to let it happen if I can help it. Lucky for you, asshat."

Tifa turned on her heel and stalked back across the room to Aerith who was almost collapsing from the sheer weight of her love for the girl in front of her, love and lust and awe and gratitude that she had her in her life, even shortened as it was.