48. The Strange White Meadow
'Let us dance in the sun, wearing wild flowers in our hair!' -- Susan Polis Shutz
Yuffie wakes to the smell of pancakes. She stretches, every muscle tight, and then flops back. Cid's couch is much less comfortable than her own, but the blanket Tifa gave her is warm and she's loath to leave it – even if it is plaid.
Eventually, however, the call of the bathroom drives her to her feet. Not to be thwarted by her own traitorous bladder, she wraps the blanket around herself and shuffles off, a tunnel of red and green tartan with a counterpoint of black hair sticking out the top. She even keeps it on when she trundles into the kitchen instead of going back to the couch.
"Morning, Teef."
Tifa whirls, spatula in hand and a look of surprise on her face. "Yuffie!"
"S'my name, get your own." Yuffie yanks out a chair, sticks her feet on it and sits on the table. "Why the shock? You knew I was here."
"I … forgot. I was a little distracted."
"Uh-huh. Your pancakes are burning."
"Damn." Tifa turns back and hastily chisels the small circles of batter off the griddle. "I wasn't watching them even when I was looking at them."
"Still bummed about Old Fart chewing you out instead of greeting you like the victorious adventurer you are?"
She pulls a face. "Cid always chews me out. I'm used to it."
"Kinky."
She doesn't even turn around, just tosses a butter knife over her shoulder, confident Yuffie will catch it before it hits her – which she does. "Don't be so vulgar."
"Vulgar – adjective, meaning lewdly or profanely indecent."
"Commonly used in the sentence 'Yuffie is so'."
"You love me for it."
"So you're a walking dictionary now?"
"Nah." Yuffie wriggles her toes, which have gone so cold in the night they feel like someone chopped hers off and replaced them with a corpse's for a laugh. Because corpses are so damn funny. Uh-huh. "I just went through the one Leon gave me and found all the dirty words. That was one of the dirty-by-proxy ones. So, getting back to the subject, if it's not Old Fart going apeshit at you for calling me in to baby-sit his wrinkly butt – which I was so glad I didn't see this morning, by the way. Total Lucky Escapesville. I was worried he'd be in the bathroom because the lock's broken, so you can't tell if anyone's in there before you go in, and the last thing I need is to see him sitting on the can again -"
"Again?"
"Can't talk about it. Psychological scarring." Yuffie shudders theatrically. "So if you're not bummed about him going ooga-booga about you mollycoddling him too much, what's got you so glum, chum?"
"Nothing."
"Ah. It's because he gave that sword to Cloudy, isn't it?"
"How did you -?"
"Your face when he told you. You looked like he'd collected a barrel of cute ickle puppies, and then tied you to a chair to make you watch him kick in their cute ickle heads and stomp their cute ickle brains into mush. Brain matter is such a bitch to get out from between floor tiles."
Tifa glances over her shoulder. "You can be really disturbing sometimes."
"Thanks." Yuffie kicks her feet inside her blanket. They move like a mermaid's tail, only she'd never be wimpy like a mermaid. Mermaids are just sushi with uppity ideas and opposable thumbs. Plus you can't throw shuriken or kunai properly underwater." She knows because she's tried, albeit without the mermaids. It was a manky experience that gave her a cold and made her sound like she had seaweed stuffed up her nose for a week. Yuck. "This house makes weird noises."
Tifa is momentarily thrown by this change in topic. "Huh?"
"It gurgles."
"Oh, that's the cistern. It makes the pipes bang, too."
"I noticed." Three in the morning and on her feet, ready to stab whoever's attacking, only to discover they're being invaded by a dire need for a plumber. "Our apartment doesn't have a horrible cistern or pipes that are all 'clangetty-bangetty-clang-bang-you-will-not-sleep-tonight-bang'. It's nice and quiet when everyone's asleep and you creep back in. And the sofa there doesn't try to eat you. Seriously, those cushions tried to smother me in the night. I think Old Fart told them to, just because I called him on reading those raunchy books. And stole one of his potatoes at dinner."
"So why didn't you go home last night?"
"Are you kidding?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"If you don't know, I'm not gonna tell you. Can I have my pancakes now?"
"These aren't for you."
"Liar. You don't eat pancakes and they're too full of bad junk to pass Old Fart's ruby lips."
Tifa plunks the plate down in front of Yuffie, who grins and doesn't bother waiting for a knife and fork. When she has filled her mouth she reaches for the mug of coffee already on the table, but Tifa holds it away from her.
"You are not allowed caffeine."
"Spppyyll-sprrt." Yuffie bangs on her chest with a fist, eyes bulging.
Tifa takes an unconcerned sip from the mug. "You shouldn't cram your mouth so full."
Yuffie makes a strangled noise, dashes to the sink and pours water straight from the faucet into her open mouth. A lot of it goes into her hair and over her face as well, so when she stands up again she shakes like a dog and slicks her fringe back over her skull.
"Wind resistance," she grins, striking a pose like a sprinter ready for the off.
"Why didn't you go home last night, Yuffie?"
"Why did you let me crash here?"
"Yuffie -"
"And why didn't you give Cloudy that sword instead of hiding it? Come to think of it, how did you think Old Fart wouldn't ever find it when you hid it in his own workshop?"
"I didn't think about it." Tifa's grip on the mug handle tightens – slightly. Her knuckles are barely white.
"Bull. I'll bet he was really pleased with it, though. Cloudy's all 'I hate fighting, don't make me fight, I only fight because I need to be able to defend my loved ones, I couldn't fight my way out of a paper bag' but you can just tell he and Zack are totally having a virtual make-out-session whenever they bash their swords together. It's like a super macho version of playing footsie."
Okay, those knuckles are snow-coloured now. Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!
Yuffie folds her arms. "Knew it."
"Knew what?"
"You're totally in love with Cloud Strife." Tifa starts to protest, but Yuffie cuts her off with a barking laugh. "Puh-lease don't try to deny it, or say it's just a crush or some other guff, because it'd be sad to show you how my Great Ninja Skills can kick your Zangan-Ryu ass. Especially this early in the morning."
"I'm not …" Tifa breaks off, blinks rapidly, and takes a swig of coffee. It seems to give her strength to face the overwhelming force that is Yuffie Kisaragi, because she says in a voice like leather gloves with steel-weighted fingertips, "You can't say a word. Not to anyone. He's happy with Zack and Aerith."
"Pfft, like they won't have already figured it out? Give them some freaking credit, Teef! If I could figure it out, no way they won't have. You don't spend hours n' hours n' hours n' hours n' hours sharpening and repairing and whetting and polishing a big-ass sword like you did if you don't care for the person you're giving it to. And you don't then not give it to him unless there's something bigger going on beneath the surface."
Tifa doesn't slump. Her spine stays straight and her shoulders stay pushed back, but something inher eyes slumps. Just a little. "I didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea from such an elaborate gift."
Yuffie rolls her eyes. "Subtlety, thy name is not Tifa Lockheart. Is it something about growing up that turns everybody's brains into love-addled piles of mashed potato? And not even good mashed potato – the dried packet kind with lumps in. Man, from where I'm sitting, getting older sucks major ass."
"Won't hear me disagreeing, pipsqueak."
Yuffie briefly considers sticking her foot out to trip Cid, but dismisses the idea. She's not cold-blooded. She'll let him have his first cup of tea before she pranks him. "Yo, it's the landlord. Everybody scatter!"
"Wise-ass." Cid, fully dressed and already clenching a toothpick between his teeth, bustles about preparing tea and sniffing at the smell of burned pancakes. He mumbles something incomprehensible while filling the kettle with water, but Yuffie catches the word 'outnumbered'. It makes her grin.
There's tension between him and Tifa, but not as much as there could've been, considering how Cid yelled at her when she got home yesterday, and her horrified expression when he told her he'd given her precious sword to Cloud. Tifa not asking Cid how he is, or whether he felt okay during the night is a major indicator that something has shifted in the balance of power between them. She didn't check the contents of the fridge to make sure he didn't buy lard covered chocolate, either. Yuffie imagines a giant spirit gauge floating above their heads. Then she imagines the glass containing it shattering, and stifles a giggle at Soaked Tifa and Sodden Cid.
"So what's your next step, Teef?"
"There isn't any next step."
"Self-sacrificing ninny."
"Yuffie," Tifa murmurs, dark eyes piercing, "there will be no next step. Got it?" Every answer to all Yuffie's questions is packaged in these words – even those she didn't know she wanted to ask.
Yuffie imagines a giant zipper on a huge-ass bag, zipping in all the what-ifs and could-haves and might've-beens and stuffing them on top of a closet in the bedroom of life. Then she imagines herself receiving an award for her fabulous metaphorical skills. Oh yeah, uh-huh, she's so in the zone she writes the zone's paycheques.
"Fine. I guess you know your own heart best."
"I won't spoil things for him. For them," Tifa corrects herself, fooling no-one.
Cid grumbles as he watches the kettle boil. Unlike pots, it does it pretty fast even with someone watching.
"What was what, Old Fart?" Yuffie demands, as Tifa's shoulders suddenly hunch.
"Hmmf."
"Excuse me?"
"None of your beeswax, pipsqueak."
Yuffie is disgusted and doesn't hide it. "Beeswax? Beeswax? You're my mentor for how to cuss without your tongue shrivelling up and dropping out, and the best you can come up with is beeswax? Your membership of the Potty Mouths Club should be revoked. But don't worry, I'll put in a good word and get them to reinstate you for the low, low price of some toast."
Cid grunts, placing two slices of bread under the grill. "They're for me and Tifa."
"Okay, then the price is telling me what you just said to Teef."
"None of your damn business." Cid turns away, but not before she spots the embarrassment twitching his forehead into furrows.
Yuffie peers at both of them, mulling it over like any Great Ninja would assess a situation. Then she grins. "You said sorry, didn't you? You said sorry and it's killing you that you felt like you had to say it."
"Fuck off."
"I knew I was right! You're sorry you went all spiteful and let her secret out, and Tifa's sorry she didn't trust you. It's just a big ol' melting pot of sorrysorrysorry. And incidentally, I have my own sorry to add to the mix." She uncoils her blanket low enough to hold up a hand, palm towards them, the other against her chest. "I'm solemnly sorry for creeping into the kitchen last night while you were both asleep (even though I'd stuck around to make sure you didn't, like, sleepwalk and try to smother each other or anything), and I'm sorry I ate that cheesecake someone naughty, who should've known better, bought secretly and then left in the fridge."
Cid whips around. "You did what?"
Yuffie wolfs the last of her pancakes. "Since you two aren't about to kill each other anymore, I'll bid you good day and make tracks. Oh, and Teef? Next time put butter on the griddle first. Toodles!"
Gradually, Cloud's trips outside Traverse Town become more frequent. Businesses send him to Mosey City, but also to more distant places like Saunterville, Ramble Falls and a quaint little place called Meander Village, which is famous for its crystal mines. Merlin gets him to bring back one of each type mined there, and happily accepts them when Cloud returns. He even gives Cloud a protective charm made from one, despite already paying him for the job.
"Nonsense, dear boy, it's bad luck to return such a thing. It's for good health on long journeys, and given the quality of these crystals, I do believe I shall be employing your services again for further samples."
Cloud is still reluctant at first, as each trip takes him away from home for days at a time. Leaving everyone behind is suddenly like peeling away layers of his own skin.
Eventually they convince him to look on each trip as an adventure. Zack is even envious that Cloud gets to see new places, meet new people and experience new cultures while they stay in Traverse Town 'mouldering away and picking out our own toe-gunk'. Especially now he has his own sword, the journeys themselves holds little fear for Cloud, and both Aerith and Zack feel reassured that if anything does happen he can take care of himself. Cloud is no pushover, except when he is, and a lot of that's behind closed doors when he gets home.
Tifa's feelings are never discussed again – with her or without her. For Cloud, there's sometimes a bite of guilt when he looks at his sword, but when dealing with Tifa herself he can detect nothing amiss. He thanks her for the gift, but she brushes it off, saying she was keeping it for his next birthday until Cid went and spoiled the surprise. She admires the clothes Queen Minnie sent for Kairi, challenges Zack to a hand-to-hand mock fight to keep his skills sharp, teaches Aerith how to keep her face and neck protected if she's attacked by Heartless taller than her knees, and shares a thermos of Darjeeling with them. She's bright and cheerful as ever, and if she ever felt out of sorts she seems to have gotten over it now.
She doesn't move back into the apartment, though.
"Why not?"
"Come on," Tifa says uncomfortably. It's hard enough telling Zack and Aerith. She's just glad Cloud is in Mosey City for this news. "I'd just be in the way. And … I'd feel awkward."
"You don't … have to. Feel awkward, that is. Um …" Zack shoots Aerith an unhappy, slightly desperate look: Please rescue me from the hole I'm digging. "It's still your home. Kairi misses you. We all miss you -"
Tifa fixes them with a stare that scrapes the surface of pleading without fully loading the bullet. "Please. Don't ask again." Just that, but it's enough.
"Do you resent us?" Zack asks at a later date, when he brings over the last of Tifa's things. She left them at the apartment because she fully expected to go back, and when the cardboard box drops on Cid's newly scrubbed kitchen table they both try to ignore how much it sounds like a nail in a coffin.
"No," Tifa laughs. "Why would I?"
"Because if it hadn't been for us you'd still be at home."
She shakes her head and beckons him close. When he leans in to listen, however, she flicks the end of his nose so hard it turns red. Zack rears back with a yelp, both hands over his nose and eyes watering.
"You don't apologise for being happy. That's the easy way to getting your ass handed to you in wafer thin slices. What the hell kind of friend would I be if I let you go around with half your butt missing? Besides," Tifa adds, kicking back and staring into the now-familiar corners, "I kind of like it around here. Cid and I, we have our own rhythm. I cook, he eats, we share the cleaning when I badger him to pick up a duster, and we both yell at the radio when it fritzes. I've even got him doing some basic kata with me in the mornings and evenings to strengthen his heart."
"Really?" Zack's mouth drops open, remembering how hostile Cid's always been towards any kind of physical exercise.
"Who would ever have thought someone like Captain Cid Highwind wouldn't already know how to punch without breaking his thumb?" Tifa says, coating her words with innocence so sweet Zack's teeth instantly lose a layer of enamel.
The only person who doesn't speak to her about moving out is Cloud. Even Yuffie drops by to hang upside down from the rafters and fire questions at both Tifa and Cid about the nature of their living arrangement.
"I already live with one set of lovebirds. Thankfully they're not into pet name territory yet, in which case I might seriously consider hari-kari, but if I need refuge from the dewy-eyed looks, I wanna make sure I won't walk in on you two doing the humpy dance."
Both of them look for things to throw at her.
Tifa's hurt that Cloud doesn't come to try and talk her into coming home. She'd be lying of she said it doesn't sting. Still, Tifa is nothing if not a realist and knows why he can't (won't) come, even if he does want her to return. It'd be too thorny – for both of them. Him apologising for being happy and her trying not to look at the way the light picks out the shape of his jaw when it clenches. Her treacherous heart hasn't given up on its feelings for him, even if her brain has gone into lockdown. They self-propagate, feeding on themselves behind her resolve. It's the age-old problem: you always want what you can't have, and the more you can't have it, the more you want it. Thus, against her own wishes and better judgement, Tifa falls a little bit more in love with Cloud every time she sees him.
But she doesn't break. She's Tifa Lockheart, and while Tifa Lockheart may sometimes fall down, she never cracks and lets the light seep out of her. On the contrary – setting aside her own desires to ensure her friends' happiness exposes a core of something intense and dazzling inside her. She won't fully understand it until one day, in years to come, she tries to pluck it out of herself and give it away to save someone else's life.
"Cid," she says one evening, a month after Zack brings over the last of her things and a day after she finishes unpacking them. "Do you still not mind having me here? You were such a loner before, and you always complain that I'm too bossy, or that I put things away where you can't find them."
Cid just leans back in his chair, studying aging rocket schematics she unearthed from some scrap he bought, and which Cloud fetched from Saunterville. "Shut up and drink your goddamn tea."
Tifa smiles, sits back, and drinks her goddamn tea.
"You're growing your hair."
Yuffie preens. "I know. Gorgeous, isn't it? I figure it'll offset the whole lack-of-boobage thing. I may not have much sweater-meat, but I have great hair."
Chicha grimaces as little Pacha brings up milk over the front of her smock. While cleaning them both she keeps talking to Yuffie. Sounds of Kairi and Kuzco drift through the dining room window.
"Now kid, don't grip the ears so hard this time, 'kay? And if you tell anyone I let you call me Fluffy, I'll spit in your food."
"Shouldn't spit. It's unhygienic."
"How does a little squirt like you know words like that?"
"Pony ride! I'm a princess, and you're my white charger."
"No, it's the knight in shining armour who has the white charg-"
"I'm the princess and you're the white charger!"
"Okay, okay. Sheesh. You got a placard to go with that feminism?"
Chicha turns off the faucet and dabs at Pacha's mouth with a wet cloth. "Why are you growing your hair? It suits you short."
"No reason." Yuffie tugs at it. She has fine hair that gets greasy easily, and looks lank unless there's a hint of damp in the air, at which is corkscrews like she stuck her fingers in an electrical socket. "Felt like a change."
The short sentences make Chicha look up sharply. She's gotten used to Yuffie's Yuffie-isms. She narrows her eyes at the expression of calculated nonchalance now spread across her face like a sheet of paper covering a stain on the carpet. "Didn't that Rinoa girl wear her hair long?"
"I wouldn't know."
"And Aerith and Tifa both have hair past their shoulders."
"Bully for them."
"You don't have to have long hair to look feminine, Yuffie."
"Never said I did. Or was. Or even wanted to. Or whatever. I just wanted to see what I'd look like without the Short n' Greasy look. Speaking of which, did you mix up any more of that honey shampoo? I could use a little sumthin'-sumthin' to jazz up the ol' whiffy-smells." She pulls a few strands of hair around to sniff theatrically, wrinkling her nose.
"The stuff you told me Leon said smells nice?"
Yuffie doesn't miss a beat. "Yup. That's the one."
Chicha watches her for a moment. Then she sighs. "Yes, I made some the day before yesterday. I made up an extra bottle just for you."
"Cool beans!" Yuffie's eyes shine and she bounces from foot to foot, rotating her arms as though skipping with an invisible rope. "You make me feel so loved, Cheech. It's been brilliant, coming over here whenever the Clueless Trio get all sickeningly affectionate. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy as a clam for them, but there's only so much of that crap a girl can take before she wants to puke, y'know?"
Chicha says nothing, but purses her lips and wonders whether his is what Chaca would've been like if she'd been allowed to grow up. Her fingers tighten protectively around her baby boy when she thinks of her family – book-smart but plain Chaca, adorably courageous Tipo, and her sweet, caring husband. The nights she's spent reaching for a warm bulk that isn't there, or remembering the smell of tiny bodies wriggling between them after a nightmare, make her throat clog even though it's been so long since the darkness took them. She knows she's been channelling her desire for her husband and children into Yuffie, Kairi and their mishmash family, but they're all content for her to do it and she's grateful to them for that.
Kuzco helps. He was upset when Merlin told him flatly that, without a sample of Yzma's original poison, there's no way he will ever be reverted to human. He seems to have come to some sort of acceptance. Even so, those nights when she rises, unable to ignore how much her husband isn't there beside her, she often finds Kuzco sitting at the window, watching the stars with a contemplative expression.
"I really was a bastard, wasn't I?" he asked once.
Chicha, who doesn't see any point in sugar-coating the truth, replied, "Yup."
"How was I not assassinated way before this?"
"Bodyguards. Food tasters. Palace sentries."
"How was I not murdered by my bodyguards? I was a putz to them as well. And I dumped wine on my food tasters' heads. And I gave wedgies to the palace sentries, and put itching powder in their underwear when I was bored. And I made everybody line-dance. Line-dance, Chicha. In clogs. That alone deserves water torture."
"You're not the same person now."
"I'm not a person at all now."
She looked at him then, a small bundle of fur and deflated ego in the moonlight. Kuzco isn't the same as he was before the Heartless came. She couldn't have stomached living with him if he was. Pacha, her wonderful, long-suffering husband seemed fond of the kid, too, and Kuzco did try to save them all when shadows nipped at their heels, butting them along and carrying pregnant Chicha on his back. He's the reason she survived when her family didn't.
So she wrapped her arms around him, startling him with a hug. "You're more a person now than you were when you wore a crown."
Kuzco relaxed. A little. "Damn thing was too heavy anyhow. I never liked it. Plus the earrings were hella kitschy."
"I wear the same kind of earrings."
"Just saying."
Inside his llama body, Kuzco is still a spoiled teenage boy who never learned proper social skills. It took being transformed and marooned in this world to teach him what it is to be human. He's not Tipo, will never be Tipo, just like Yuffie will never be Chaca. Still, Chicha thinks to herself, it doesn't matter. They're still kids, even if they don't think they are.
So when she brings Yuffie the honey shampoo, she catches her hand, ignoring the way Yuffie becomes subtly rigid at the unnecessary contact. "You do realise Leon's too old for you, don't you?"
"Cheech, whoa, don't get all fuddy-duddy on me. You're currently quite high in the coolness stakes. Don't ruin your rep."
"I'm serious, Yuffie. He's been kind to you and your friends, but this crush …"
"Is a crush. Crushing to my ego, I know, but it's still a crush. I'm not gonna strip off and hide in his bed or anything." Her eyes dance, perhaps a little overbright, but still reassuringly playful. This is the first time she has admitted out loud to Chicha that she thinks of Leon in a romantic way – at least without trying to evade the issue. Although her tone is laced with mischief, Chicha still feels uneasy.
"You're a teenager. He's … how old?"
"Not old enough to be my dad. Well, not physically, anyway. Then again … Man, actually you have to add twenty years on top, from when he was all frozen, don't you? I take it back. He's ancient. He's even older than you."
Chicha frowns. "I'm not that old-"
"Yoink!" Yuffie whips her hand away, still holding the bottle of shampoo. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, Cheech. Leon's always gonna be in love with Rinoa anyway, so as far as crushes go, he's a pretty safe option because he'll never freaking do anything."
Chicha watches her escape to the garden to collect Kairi. Rinoa had long hair. Chicha never met her, but she's heard the stories the same as everyone else. Rinoa was dark-haired, dark-eyed, beautiful, playful, looked a lot like Tifa but with Aerith's soft curves. She wasn't angular or tomboyish, like Yuffie. She didn't have short hair, wear shorts, or sometimes look like she was wearing half a tree's worth of leaves and dirt.
Leon's always gonna be in love with Rinoa.
Apprehension curls in Chicha's gut, as she remembers being a teenage girl watching the llama breeder's son and putting her hair up when she heard he liked girls with slender necks.
"Cloud, I don't understand -"
"You're not meant to."
"But -"
"Pothole!"
Aerith holds his waist from behind, tensing so she doesn't fall off when the chocobo bounces through the pothole. It doesn't matter how much Cloud tugs on the reins, the miserable creature has aimed for every one so far. It doesn't outwardly rebel by breaking its course, but it's determined to shake one or both of them off.
"This bird doesn't like me much."
"This bird doesn't like anyone."
"Kweh?" The rooster itself does a passable impression of innocence.
Its long legs eat up the ground. When Aerith glances back she can't even see Traverse Town anymore. "Where are you taking me?"
"It's a surprise."
The wild look in Cloud's eyes when he arrived home was enough to propel her out the door when he said to go with him. However, rather than panic, Cloud's energy springs from some kind of childish happiness – which he apparently wants to share with her.
They approach a patch of grassland. Aerith has never been this far in the direction before. She thought it was all sand and rocks, like the ground immediately ringing Traverse Town. Bushes and lush green tufts streak past on both sides, flatness gradually giving way to a sheer drop, where they stop. The chocobo paws the ground, tossing its head as if it wishes it had proper wings so it could jump off the edge of this cliff.
Cloud twists in the saddle. "Well?"
Aerith just stares. "I never … Cloud, this is …"
Below them, at the foot of the cliff, is a meadow of wildflowers. They stretch in all directions. Where they hit the tree-line of an encroaching forest the flowers don't stop; they just twine in and out of the trunks, eventually vanishing amongst shadows cast by trees so wide, three people together couldn't get their arms around them. Remarkably, despite not all being the same kind of flower, every single one is white. It's an extraordinary sight, especially since this has obviously all happened naturally. There aren't any neat rows, and white weeds are mixed in with larger, more exotic blooms. Everything sways in the breeze, like a shiver across the skin of a giant they've accidentally wandered onto. Petals whisk away like waves crashing against the cliff face, spiralling up to where Cloud and Aerith stand.
Aerith holds out a hand. Petals catch in her hair. She laughs, breath well and truly taken. "How did you find this place?"
Cloud looks embarrassed but still pleased with himself. "I got kind of lost finding my way back from Stroll Town. There was a mist last night. I nearly went right off this cliff before I realised it was there. We stayed in this spot until it lifted so we wouldn't take a fall when we didn't know where we were, and when the sun came up I saw all of," he gestures, "this."
"It's beautiful."
"I thought you might like it."
"I love it. Is there any way down to it?"
"Not from here, but I think there's a trail further along."
There is. It takes a good hour to negotiate their way down, especially since the chocobo is none too helpful – at least until Cloud mentions a pair of spurs he spotted on their last visit to Mosey City. In Mosey it's a status symbol to ride on a giant running bird, or in a rickshaw pulled by one. There are many shops that cater for just those purposes. It's how Cloud finally got a proper saddle rather than having to ride bareback after his first one broke.
When they reach the bottom they have to first pass through a portion of forest before they can reach the meadow. The air amid the trees is fresh and clean. Aerith takes deep breaths, marvelling with Cloud over how different this all is to Dark Forest.
"Don't be fooled," Cloud says seriously. "We don't know what kind of animals live in this place. There could be wolves, or bears, or anything."
But Aerith can't imagine that anything could spoil the tranquillity of this place. It's too perfect. Sunlight filters through the high branches, where birds twitter to each other, and somewhere above them a squirrel squeaks to its mate. She briefly thinks of Chip and Dale, but then they break through the tree-line and her breath catches again.
The field is even more spectacular up close. It's like something from a dream. The scent is heady, a mix of wood sorrel, celandine, stitchwort, ramsons, Lady's Smock, primroses and many others that wave to her like old friends.
Cloud just smiles, faltering only when she slides from the chocobo's back. She accidentally knees him in the back when she slings her leg over the saddle. "What are you – oof!"
"I'm going to enjoy this properly." She holds out her hand. He stares at it until she jerks it towards him, flexing her fingers. It should be an impatient movement, but instead it's filled with barely concealed childlike glee. "Coming?"
The chocobo is already trying to peck the ground, where acorns and groundnuts lurk. When Cloud ties the reins to a low branch it doesn't spare him a glance.
He and Aerith walk out into the meadow, picking their way almost reverently until Aerith tightens her grip of Cloud's hand and starts running. Dragged along in her wake, he stumbles to keep up.
Suddenly they discover a slope the blooms have obscured. It's only a gentle gradient, but enough that they both lose their footing and roll down. Flowers are crushed, but more spring back up again, nodding their heads reproachfully at the two humans who land in a giggling heap at the bottom.
Neither makes any move to get up. They're not hurt, but looking up at a sky framed by daisies and amaryllis makes Aerith reluctant to move, and Cloud stays where he is because … well, she's not sure why, other than he wants to stay with her. Their grip broke when they fell. She feels his hand seeking hers again and laces her fingers with his. She regains her breath, still struck by bursts of giggles that Cloud eventually accompanies with his own chuckle.
"I'd say I haven't done that since I was a kid, but … I don't think I've ever done that. There weren't any meadows like this in Dark Forest, and any clump of flowers with more than five blossoms had poison oak in it somewhere." Aerith stretches, pointing her toes and wondering if it would be silly to kick her boots off. A thought strikes her, interrupting this question. "Do you remember when we were going flower-picking and Zack came along to protect us from monsters, and then he ended up with poison oak on the back of his neck when he fell in it?"
"You had to put liniment on it when we got home."
"And he kept squirming because it was cold."
"He smelled really bad afterwards."
"Unlike this place. Mmm." She inhales and breathes out slowly, allowing her eyes to drift shut so she can savour it.
"Aerith?"
"Mm?"
"I love you."
She rolls onto her side, propping her head on one hand. There are bits of white petal in her bangs and dirt stains on her dress, mirrored in the smear of mud on Cloud's forehead and nose. He must've really somersaulted down that slope. There's mud in his hair, too, and all his spikes have been flattened, giving him a bedraggled, kicked-puppy look. She leans across and kisses him at an awkward angle, then pulls back to spit out half a leaf.
"I love you too. Ftheh! But not your foliage. Pthh!"
Cloud settles back with a sigh. Aerith watches him, memorising the shape of him in the flowers even though she knows his face by heart. Seeing one of her passions mingled so deeply with another stirs something inside her that's rather like elation, but a lot more like contentment. He left his sword with the chocobo and his saddlebags. He didn't even pause to untie the bags from his trip when he got back to the apartment, just deposited Kairi with Yuffie and Leon, learned that Zack is at Cid's, and then bundled Aerith onto the chocobo like he'd heard she was about to be kidnapped and her only hope of survival was escape on a crotchety yellow bird. Without his sword Cloud looks softer, more like the gentle soul he is, even though he only carries it when he needs to instead of all the time like Zack.
She pulls herself up and he tips his head to look at her, not letting go of her hand. He's startled when she straddles his stomach, tucking her skirt under herself out of habit, and presses her free hand against his chest for balance as she kisses him. It's a deep, lingering kiss. When it finally ends he stares at her.
"What was that for?"
"Just a thank you," Aerith murmurs, leaning her forehead against his and feeling his pulse reverberate through her own skull. It's like an affirmation of her own heartbeat.
"Oh, right. I'm glad you like it here. It's a nice place, isn't it?"
"Not just for that."
"Huh?"
"It was a thank you for … everything." She's too sated by happiness and sweet scents to go into detail. The charm of the moment has sapped her energy, leaving her lazy and fulfilled. She slumps sideways, slithering off Cloud to lie beside him, leaving one leg trailing across his torso and flinging her free arm across as well. It's a very compromising position, but she couldn't care less. "For being you. For being here. For … everything."
Cloud says nothing for a moment. Aerith closes her eyes, so comfortable she actually thinks about taking a nap. Then a hand settles on her waist and she blinks them open again.
"Sometimes I can't believe I ever got so lucky," Cloud mutters. "You and Zack and … everything."
She laughs. "Everything."
"It's a good word. Very … inclusive."
Aerith snuggles against him. Any other guy might have pushed it further, but Cloud doesn't. They stay that way for what seems like hours, but might actually be less than half of one. Eventually, however, her nose stops tickling and more practical thoughts begin to creep in from the edges.
"We should probably get back. Zack will be home soon, and he'll fly into a blind panic when Yuffie tells him how you were acting."
"I would've told her if it'd been a real emergency." Cloud strokes a line from the bottom of her ribcage to the curve of her hip, then reaches up to do it again, as though reassuring himself she's there. "Let's just stay here for a minute."
"Cloud -"
"Just a little longer." He turns his head back to look at the sky, where his namesakes scud past, as white as the flowers around them. "I want to remember this."
A sudden shiver goes through Aerith. She can't explain it – the breeze is warm, the earth cool but not cold, and she can feel Cloud's body heat pressed against her. Yet she shudders as though it's Winter instead of Midsummer.
"Are you okay?" Cloud asks, concerned as her whole body stiffens.
"I'm fine," she replies, forcing herself to relax. A frown pleats her forehead. She holds Cloud closer to warm herself against the sudden chill.
"Aerith?"
"Just a little longer," she says into his neck. "I want to remember this too."
Cloud hesitates, and then wraps his arms around her more fully, holding her tight until the bored chocobo bellows. The noise breaks the spell, and they finally prise themselves out of their flowery bed to go home.
To Be Continued …
