Echobrain - I can't tell you how happy I am you're along for this ride. We're about to go a bit off the charts and you've got such a good eye for spotting my little inside jokes, not to mention catching the nuances of the characters (which you do in your own stories so I'm not surprised - I bet you know what Cloud is thinking in most of those moments when Tifa's clueless). Horky - all I have to do is see your name pop up and I grab the review like a starving person - you have no idea! You're an awesome writer AND reviewer. Your last review made me bounce around in my chair like Zack on pixie stix - by the way - chapter 37 is for you. Dis – good eye! Yep, you're right, I obviously won't be sticking to the game stats (or even the game storyline) here (w00t AU!). For instance, you've probably already noticed that besides materia not always being up and charged, Cloud has yet to ransack random people's houses and shops to steal their stuff while they sit there and watch him and he hasn't yet managed to find a way to absorb the rest of the team into his own body whenever its time for them to travel (funny as that would be – see Inyuo's 'Party in my Pants' joke over at DA). Some of the game dynamics obviously need adjustment for what I'm doing. And - me too! I like Cissnei as well. Though don't worry, I'll get you a shower scene soon. er - kinda. Zi-ling - I'm so glad you brought that up. I'm trying so hard not to make anyone one dimensional and that goes for the opponents as much as the main characters. Thank you - I'm so happy it seems to be working. And of course, again thanks to Peeka-chan for editing this as well as the Chitty Chitty Bang Bang comment that made me burst out laughing and almost get soda on my computer screen. All mistakes in here are me ignoring her suggestions. To her credit, she has threatened to hunt me down with a frying pan two weeks in a row now.

Chapter 36: Silence

The door opened and Tifa walked through it, stepping out of the complete dark outside to move into the warm, golden light of her home. She walked down the familiar hall, carpet soft under her feet, and turned to look into the living room. No one was there and for a minute her heart clenched in unbearable panic. Helpless, her fingers tightened on the doorway until she suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of children's giggles. Following the sound she climbed the stairs and turned to the left. The door opened just as her hand reached for it and she looked into the room beyond as she heard the familiar sound of a plinking piano.

For a minute everything was only gold light and then her vision divided the sunlight streaming in the wide window from everything else and she smiled. And yet – for some strange reason – she felt like crying too.

Marlene was sitting at her piano, brow furrowed in concentration as she picked out a hesitant tune on the keys but she turned her head when Tifa stepped into the room and her smile went brilliant.

"Tifa!" The sound was younger than Marlene's body - a child's exclamation of pure pleasure. Tifa opened her arms for a hug but Marlene, still smiling that little girl's smile, shook her head and stayed where she was.

"Tifa!" She turned her head and saw Denzel standing at the window, surrounded in gold light. He'd been playing SOLDIER, a little boy's game, cooking pot still on his head and a giant silver sword with a red wrapped hilt in his hands. The blade was so long it had to lie at a slant for him to hold it and its edge, sharp as a cry, a long as the fall of a drop of blood, stretched out in the light next to him. She started to lift her hands for him but he too shook his head even though his brilliant untainted smile of pleasure at her arrival didn't dim.

"Tifa!" Again, Tifa, still in the doorway, turned her head and saw Aerith sprawled out on her bed with a glossy magazine spread in front of her. Her friend had her hair up in its familiar pink bow and her bare feet were kicked up in the air as she lay on her stomach on the comforter. Green eyes held sunshine inside them.

Tifa's heart clenched suddenly inside her chest – a pain so great she felt the edges of her world go black and blurred. Her hand closed over the fabric of her shirt and she realized she was in a tattered jacket with the edges of the hem frayed and the hand that clenched it was gloved in battered black gloves and overlaid with her red fighting gloves, scuffed and worn. Empty spots like great holes, singed at the edges, were in the backs of the red.

"Tifa," the call came from behind her and she turned her head, having to rip her eyes from the sight in front of her to look back down the stairs.

Her mother stood at the foot of the steps with a smile.

"Hurry and change, Tee. I'm making rum balls and I need you to mix the drinks."

"Mom?"

The pain came at her again, harder this time, and she felt her knees collapse. Except the floor didn't have carpeting anymore and its old boards groaned as she fell. The stairs changed, went wider, flatter, a shorter distance. The walls lost their bright paint. Desperate her fingers dug into the post of the bedroom door.

"Tifa?"

"Tifa?"

"Teef?"

"Tee?"

Below her the shadows closed in on her mother, now standing in the opening of a larger space crowded with tables and chairs.

"No – "

Tifa turned her head. Looked into her small bedroom with its single narrow bed, the desk, the window that was curtained against the gloom outside – saw Marlene expressionless at the desk, Denzel shadowed in the corner, Aerith lying unmoving on her back on the bed…

"No..." it came out a plea and a whimper at the same time.

"Tee?" her mother called her from down the stairs, sounding miles away.

"Momma," it slipped out of her but it was the bedroom she tried to move toward. Feeling as if her body was weak. Her lungs were clogged with something black and she coughed and coughed and coughed. Spots swam in front of her eyes and the taste of medicine was on her tongue, thick and oily. Her body felt heavy and far away and she dug her fingernails into the wood and dragged herself forward a nail length at a time, feeling black clogging her throat, her lungs. Not able to breath and everything was so – heavy. Even the air was heavy.

"Tifa…"

The voice came from somewhere behind her as she struggled, no longer able to even see the bedroom anymore, her eyes too heavy to keep open. But –

"help me – "

Something she would never ask. Words she would never say. But – her family was there – just there. She had to get to where they were. Had to be with them. Her fingernails dug into the wood of the floor, moved her less than a breath forward. Pride wasn't anything – determination wasn't anything –

Not if she couldn't be with them.

So she said the words.

And felt strong hands close over her. Felt them lift her. Felt warmth and strength come back to her. Except the pain came too and, this time, with it the hopelessness came as well. There was no bedroom in front of her and no voices in the darkness now and she let the despair swallow her whole.

She woke up with tears slipping down her cheeks.

"Cloud…?"

She knew him before her mind even recognized him. Inhaled his smell, lighting and rain and wind. Felt the way his heat soaked into her. Knew the feel of his touch. Blinking against the wet blur covering her sight she opened her eyes and raised them to see pale light – blond hair – and dark cloth. And even though she'd whispered his name – he didn't answer her.

It made something in her chest crumple like black tissue paper and the tears slid past her lashes again. He held her in his arms, cradled against his chest and walked with her, pacing back and forth. As if she was a small child who couldn't sleep because of bad dreams.

More than anything she wanted that to be true.

She shouldn't cry in front of him. She shouldn't rely on him. She shouldn't want comfort from him. But she found herself knotting her stiff fingers in the fabric of his shirt and burying her face against him. He had said he'd listened to her cry when they were children. This once more – just this once – he would hear her cry again.

Because if the Plate hadn't fallen – if her family was safe – Cloud wouldn't have been silent.

There was no fury in her tears, no mad despair. Maybe that would come later. Now though, there was only the broken promise of her heart and the end of her world and the tears and the soft sounds that escaped her were empty. He lowered his head to hers and lifted her a little more in his arms, burying his face in her hair, his cheek against hers and she felt a dampness on his warm skin that wasn't her own tears. Like a child, she lifted her arms and wound them around his neck, helpless lost sounds slipping almost silently out of her as the tears mingled. He sank down, sitting, pressing them into a corner and his legs rose. His body curled around hers, enfolding her as he held her tightly and she clung to him, nails digging into wherever they rested. Aware of only the emptiness of her world – and him. There was no room for anything else in her life. When the exhaustion rose in her, she was glad and she let it swallow her whole. Falling into the black that matched the clothes he wore.

She woke later and there was no brief merciful moment of unawareness. She felt weak, as if she hadn't eaten in days and shaky. Empty and drained and cold inside. She would have welcomed apathy but not even that emotion would rouse. There was only the eternal hopelessness of sorrow, like a blanket made of lead over her lungs and chest.

Cloud's body was still curled protectively around hers, his legs drawn up to form a barrier as she rested in his lap and against his chest, his arms completely around her and his body hunched forward. Sheltering her. Hiding her. The smell of dried blood leaked in to her consciousness. Dried blood and sweat. It wasn't an unpleasant smell, just – real. It made things real. Cloud had blood on his clothes. Maybe she did too.

The world deserved to smell like blood. Blood and fire.

It roused her a little bit more and she shifted slightly. The move woke Cloud and, for the first time, he actually made a noise. A purely male, barely there sound in the back of his throat. Something about that almost silent sound made Tifa want to crawl right into him, which didn't even make sense. Instead she stayed still even though her fingers tightened on his shirt where they'd fallen in her sleep. His fingers spread and tightened on her in response, almost encircling the outside of one of her thighs and against her ribs and back. For a very long time that acknowledgment was enough. Finally, still not lifting her head or moving, Tifa whispered:

"Are you hurt?"

His fingers tightened again on her in response, even harder this time but it didn't hurt. Even if it bruised her it felt – it felt – real.

"Are you?" his voice was just as low as hers had been. As if they were hiding and didn't want anyone to find them.

"My arm feels funny. My fingers hurt. My ribs. And my jaw feels sore."

He nodded against her, that single, barely there move of his and the hand that had been against her ribs moved to curl over the fingers she had clenched in his shirt. She didn't unclench them though and after a long moment, he finally traded fairly for what she'd given him.

"Bruises, cuts, scraps. Two holes - sealing over now. Down my arm – nothing hindering. Loose molar or two."

In another time, in another place, it would have alarmed her. Now she stayed very still against him. He wasn't dying. He was still talking to her. For just a little while longer, they could stay that way. With an exhale, she briefly shut her eyes because they felt hot and dry.

"Thank you," she whispered and he didn't answer. But he did gently coax the fingers of one of her hands apart so that he could slide his own warmer, longer ones between them. She closed her fingers tightly, sealing him to her and held on while her throat closed painfully and she blocked the tears that wanted to slip from her eyes again. Still not moving, she asked quietly:

"Where are we?"

"Shinra," his voice didn't change. "Holding cell."

It should have scared her or at the very least been a shock but she couldn't seem to dredge up emotion for anything past the bottomless emptiness in her chest. She was quiet for a very long time before finally asking:

"How long?"

His head shook slightly against hers, moving his chin against her hair.

"Don't know. Long."

For some absurd reason Tifa found herself smiling even with emptiness in her eyes.

"I love it when you use monosyllables."

It pulled a grunt out of him and his arms tightened just a little bit more around her. In response she let out a long sigh and shut her eyes again, pressing her body into his. The detached part of her realized she was being too familiar with him and his body. That she was being intimate beyond what she should. That same part of her realized that it didn't really matter though. She had nothing more intimate than her tears and he'd already taken those into himself. He'd always carried those apparently. And – that woman – she'd said the fallen Plate would be blamed on the terrorists. Which meant the only ones left – her and Cloud. The logical, detached side of her realized they were here and not dead because Shinra probably wanted to make a public example of them. Which meant, in the end, execution. For both of them. It didn't bother her – what was left here for her but Cloud? Knowing you were going to die soon however did make snuggling with the man that held your tears seem much more important and left a lot less room for worrying about what he'd think of her for doing so.

"Cloud…?"

His low sound hummed through his chest and into hers and she opened her eyes and pressed her lips together.

"I – I just – thank you, Cloud."

A low sound in his throat again and Tifa squeezed her eyes shut. Apparently mentally accepting snuggling didn't extend to being able to confess your feelings to the man holding you in his arms. It was probably better that way. Better to be this way than awkward and left alone because her confession frightened him off. If they were near the end, she didn't want to lose a moment of it.