After leaving the horror of Midgar behind, Tifa, Cloud, Aerith, Barret, and Red split into two groups to try to remain as safe and inconspicuous as possible, and both groups headed on different paths to the nearest town of Kalm. Tifa accompanied Cloud and Aerith on the main road, and Barret and Red—the two most conspicuous—took the less direct route. The actual journey to Kalm was a haze in Tifa's mind. She felt like, with every step she took away from Midgar, the more her thoughts shut down, as if she had thought through and around everything that had happened so much that her brain couldn't take it anymore. As if the pain and grief and guilt had finally become so great that if she dwelt on it for a second longer, she might collapse and never want to get up again.

So instead, she put one foot in front of the other. Step, and step again, listening to the murmur of Cloud and Aerith's occasional conversations but not really processing what they were saying. Tifa was pretty sure she responded to their questions a few times, but she couldn't recall what they had asked or what she might have said. Even when the monsters showed up on the road to Kalm, her body took over and fought, but it all felt detached and far away. These monsters were nothing to everything she had faced in the past…day? Two days? Three? How long had it been since the Sector 7 plate had fallen? How long since the chaos and terror, fire and screaming and death?

Hardly any time, and an eternity.

When they finally reached Kalm, Barret and Red had already arrived and were waiting for them just off of the main road. Barret's eyes met Tifa's, and he seemed to relax slightly—as did she upon seeing that he had made it safely. Then Barret's gaze moved to Cloud. "We gonna need to have a talk about you and Sephiroth and the whole crisis of the planet."

Cloud's jaw set, but he only gave a short nod. "It's a long story. A lot of it started in Nibelheim…my hometown"—he glanced at Tifa, who had gone stiff—"our hometown, five years ago, when I went back with Sephiroth as a SOLDIER."

The words pierced Tifa's hazy thoughts, snapping her to the present as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown on her, and her blood seemed to freeze in her veins. Wrong. It was wrong.

And she didn't know what that meant, or how to address it or even begin to approach it. She closed her eyes, utterly exhausted.

"How about we get clean first, and then talk?" Aerith said. "Surely there's an inn around here?"

"There is," Barret agreed. "C'mon. This way."

When they stumbled into the inn, Tifa wasn't sure if the wide-eyed shock on the innkeeper's face had to do with the fact that they looked threatening, what with Cloud's sword, Barret's gun arm, and Red's teeth, or smelled threatening, what with the layers of sweat, dirt, blood, sewage, monster bits, and anything else they had picked up over the last however-long-it-had-been. Either way, the innkeeper seemed to find it best to hastily offer them keys to a couple of rooms and hurry them out of the lobby as fast as possible.

"Come on." Aerith snatched one of the keys and looped her arm through Tifa's. "Let's get a room, just us girls. You can take a shower first."

Tifa cast Aerith a sideways glance. Strands of Aerith's hair had fallen out of her once-neat twist, there were dark bags under her eyes, and she was covered in all of the gunk and fluids and who-knew-what-else that Tifa was, but somehow Aerith managed to smile encouragingly at Tifa. Aerith also, somehow, carried the faint scent of flowers around her. It was probably mingled with the rank stench of everything else—Tifa herself smelled so bad that she couldn't tell which smells belonged to whom—but the flowery aroma lingered, and Tifa was pretty sure that meant Aerith must be even more magical than she was letting on.

"I'd kill for a shower," Tifa mumbled, and Aerith smiled gently.

"I know. Come on." Aerith tugged on Tifa's arm, and Tifa didn't resist. She trudged up the stairs with Aerith and waited for Aerith to unlock the door on one of the inn rooms. The room was nothing fancy—a couple of beds with practical blankets, beige-colored wallpaper that was peeling in places, and a painting of some flowers, as if to add a splash of color to the room. Aerith pulled Tifa inside and nudged her into the attached bathroom, which was just as bland and practical as the bedroom.

Aerith pointed at the stand-up shower in the corner. "Go. Take your time. I'm not in a hurry. I need to go find us some clean clothes anyway." She finally let go of Tifa's arm and closed the bathroom door behind her, leaving Tifa alone.

Truly alone for the first time since the fall of Sector 7.

Suddenly trembling, Tifa peeled off her dirty clothes. Her white tank top was the worst, spatters of brown and smears of red all over it. Red. Blood. Whose blood? Monsters? Her own? Her friends'? Jessie's?

The top dropped from Tifa's hands as dizziness hit her. It was all she could do to stumble into the shower, her fingers scrabbling for the faucet. She was shaking so violently that when the blast of cold water it her, she wasn't sure if her gasp was from the shock of the temperature or from the struggle of trying to breathe.

The hot water kicked in a minute later, and her body still couldn't stop shaking. The water's smell—or the lack of it—stuck out absurdly to Tifa. There was no rotten egg stench like she was so used to living in the Midgar Slums, and that should have been a good thing, but it was the unfamiliarity that broke her. The realization that her rusty old shower with its annoying faucet that she'd had to take apart and fix too many times…it was gone. Crushed beneath a plate. Her home, her bar, everything. Crushed like all of those people…the ones who hadn't made it out…all of those who had been living their lives on top of the plate, the ones who'd had no warning, who had done nothing wrong. And Wedge, and Jessie, and Tifa didn't even know what had happened to Biggs—

And Sephiroth. They had fought Sephiroth. Who was supposed to be dead. The person—if he could be called that—who had destroyed her first home, her village, her father, Cloud's mother—

Cloud. And Cloud. She was so scared about Cloud. For Cloud. Something was going on with him, something she didn't understand—his memories were confused, or wrong, or…or…she didn't even know, but he kept getting those headaches and then brushing them off as if they were nothing, but they were something, and Tifa didn't think she could stand it if something happened to him-

Tifa's knees hit the rough tile floor. She'd thought she'd cried herself out when she'd collapsed into Cloud outside of Aerith's house, but it was nothing to the sobs now tearing from her throat. She cried so hard that she heaved and vomited what little she had in her stomach—mostly water. She pressed her back against the shower wall and drew her knees to her chest, her tears mingling with the water streaming down on her.

My fault. It's my fault. I could have done something differently. I could have spoken up more in Avalanche meetings—we could have found another way—we could have…

No matter how much Barret raged that this was on Shinra, that Shinra had dropped the plate and killed all those people, that they were the ones responsible, Tifa knew otherwise. The blood of all of those people were on her, and as her tears started to fade and she watched the dirty trail of water running off of her, she knew she would never lose the stain of those lives. She would carry it for the rest of her life. She deserved to carry it for the rest of her life.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and she knew sorry would never fix anything.

A knock sounded on the bathroom door, and then it opened just enough that Tifa could hear Aerith's voice clearly. "Tifa? I have clothes for you, and some soap and shampoo. Oh, and a towel. I'm going to leave it all here on the sink."

Through the steam on the glass shower door, Tifa could just make out a blur of color as Aerith set the items down, and then Aerith disappeared, and the bathroom door clicked shut again.

Pull yourself together, Tifa told herself. She wanted to tell herself that this was far from over, that there was still so much to do, but the very thought of anything else at that moment made her want to close her eyes and never open them again. Instead, she decided all she could do was focus on right here, right at this moment. And right at this moment, her very generous friend was waiting for a shower, and if that was the only thing Tifa could control or do anything about, then that was what she would set her mind on doing.

With that, she dragged herself to her feet—still shaky, but not so much that she couldn't stand now—and hastily retrieved the soap and shampoo Aerith had brought. The water ran brown off of her as she washed, and she had to lather her hair twice with the shampoo—which smelled like some sort of sweet berries—but finally, the water ran clear, and Tifa's limbs were again steady.

She turned off the faucet with a squeak of metal, squeezed out as much water from her hair as she could, dried herself on the rough towel Aerith had brought, and pulled on clothes—some sort of long, simple dress that was probably much more Aerith's style than Tifa's. Tifa didn't know where Aerith had managed to get it, but it didn't matter. It was soft and comfortable and not covered in blood. Aerith had also—bless her forever—procured a toothbrush. Tifa scrubbed her teeth hard, erasing the taste of vomit and all remaining traces of the last few days.

As soon as Tifa opened the bathroom door, Aerith rose from where she was seated on the floor and smiled at Tifa. "My turn! You can go wait in the guys' room. Next door on the left. I think they're already cleaned up."

"Thank you, Aerith. For…everything."

"Of course! We've gotta stick together, right?" Aerith scooped up a pile of clothes and vanished into the bathroom.

Tifa stared at the closed door to their inn room. She knew what was coming next—Barret wanted Cloud to talk about Sephiroth. About what he knew and remembered. She was going to have to relive more painful memories when she already felt scraped so raw…but maybe….maybe she'd finally have some answers from Cloud…about Cloud… Maybe she'd finally get to hear a clear picture of what had happened after he'd left Nibelheim.

Which also brought her back to being scared about what that might mean.

Tifa took a deep breath and left the room, going next door to the guys' room, which was halfway open. She knocked on it anyway and then slipped inside. Red was sitting on the floor at the foot of one of the beds, his fur darker with its dampness. Barret leaned against the wall, also clean, though he looked a little uncomfortable in clothing that was slightly too small for him. It was a wonder any clothes had been found for him on such short notice that fit his massive frame.

Cloud sat on a bed, one leg drawn up to his chest, his hair sticking up everywhere even freshly washed. He wore a simple shirt and pants that reminded Tifa forcibly of the sort of homespun, comfortable clothing he'd worn as a kid. It made him look a little…softer, maybe. A little less intimidating. A little more like the Cloud she remembered—the Cloud she'd caught glimpses of in recent days when he wasn't being all not interested and SOLDIER-like and stiff.

"You good?" Barret asked her gruffly, his sharp eyes staring hard at hers, which were probably puffy and still red from crying.

Good. No. Tifa wasn't sure she would ever be good again. But she was on her feet, so she gave Barret a nod and settled on the bed next to Cloud. His eyes darted across her face and narrowed slightly, and she raised an eyebrow at him, trying to look like she was even somewhat together, even though everything inside of her felt like it was pulling apart.

"Tifa," he said quietly, and she waited, but no other words followed.

Tifa placed her hand over his. Neither of them were wearing gloves, and his fingers were warm beneath hers—he was real, and solid, and Tifa tried to ground herself in that—Cloud was here. Cloud was real. Whatever was going on with his memories, they could sort it out, right? She could listen to what he had to say, and she could figure something out. "It's going to be okay," she murmured, not sure if she was talking to him or herself.

Cloud's eyes fixed intently on hers—those beautiful eyes, the same in the blue color he'd always had and different in the Mako green that tinged the irises, eyes that had become so familiar to her in recent times. She had gotten better at reading his expressions, but right now, she couldn't begin to guess what he might be thinking.

Then he flipped his hand over and folded his fingers through hers, giving them a quick squeeze. He didn't agree, didn't tell her yeah, it would be okay, but he didn't need to. The pressure of his hand was enough. The warmth and touch was enough. For the first time in days, the tightness in Tifa's chest eased, just the slightest bit, and she let out a slow, deep breath.

I can't give up. No matter what comes next, no matter what Cloud says, no matter what happened to him, no matter what we're facing with the planet and the Promised Land and Shinra and Sephiroth…I have to stay strong. For Cloud. For Aerith. For Barret and Marlene and Avalanche and everyone who died…for myself.

For now, she would sit, and listen…and hold on to Cloud's hand for as long as he would let her, taking the strength that he might not even know he was lending her, letting it soak into her so that she could rebuild enough of her own strength to give it back to him when he needed it.

They would make it be okay. Together.

Somehow.