I may have added a bit of my own personality to Ayla in this chapter... Let's get Cloud back on track. Only an epilogue remains after this! As always, I'm still not a therapist.

It was almost eleven at night when Cloud finally emerged from his villa, anxious eyes darting at shadows and wary body taut as if for an oncoming fight. There was no enemy, of course – nobody would dare cross him in this state, he probably looked like a deranged ex-SOLDIER. The cacophony of night sounds – distant waves crashing against the shoreline, evening birds twittering in their palms, small rodents scurrying about – was enough to nearly drive him crazy.

He'd never felt this on edge outside of battle in his life, not since when he was a kid and frequently hid from the town bullies. Spending the entire afternoon and evening hiding like a child in a corner of his bedroom, all he could hear was the ringing of failure, failure, failure in his brain. His mind had yelled at him for his cowardice, too, so it felt as if he were being pummeled on all sides of his brain. Suffice to say that this therapy shit was not working out and he was going to stick to his latest and greatest plan: to not ever go back.

There was only one problem with that: that stupid manila envelope was still at the office.

As he quietly shut and locked the door to his villa behind him, Cloud glanced wistfully down the stairs to where Fenrir sat waiting, its black metal body gleaming in the few streetlights the street possessed. If he had his way, he'd be out of town, across the sea, and back in the eastern continent before morning came, but the next ship out of the port wasn't leaving until five am. That meant he had six hours to break into the office, take the manila envelope, and sneak his bike and himself down to the harbor.

Six hours. I can do this.

Shame filled his empty stomach like a three-course dinner, something of which he did not partake. In fact, he really hadn't had the chance to grab food at all today, but that wasn't his focus: he was nervous, jittery, awake, and alert only because of his morning coffee and the pulsing anxiety in his limbs. Was he running away? Maybe in some people's eyes, but this was different, it had to be. Before, when he'd had geostigma and hadn't wanted to burden Tifa, Denzel, or Marlene, he was running away to protect them. Now, he was running away to protect himself. There was a difference, right?

Cloud shoved his thoughts down angrily – they'd had enough control for today – and crept silently down the stairs and onto the main street of Costa del Sol. Leaving Fenrir behind, he kept to the shadows in case anybody were to spot him. At one point he had to cross the street to avoid the drunken late-night crowd at the bar. A couple of smokers were standing outside, but they thankfully didn't notice him.

Once he was past the bar, he was home-free. He sprinted across the cobblestone streets towards the beach, until the daunting building he'd left while overwhelmed earlier came into view. He didn't slow his pace until he was at the front door and jiggling the knob.

Locked. Shit.

Moving onto plan b (the second quickest plan before having to formally lockpick the door), he high-tailed it around the corner and counted the windows on the outside of the building. The empty, dark beach and the sounds of calm waves watched his plight as he finally found the last window and gave it a once-over. The window was awning-style, which meant it would swing up and create a canopy when opened. Unsheathing his sword, he pulled his smallest side blade out and set the rest of the sword to the side, propped against the building.

Cloud got to work on the window, using the thin blade as a lever as he jostled it between the window and its frame until it was far enough in. Next, he began the long process of encouraging the window outwards and upwards, bit by bit. After about thirty seconds of prying, he finally had success: the window came open and quickly swung on its spring to the upright position, swiping his cheek in the process.

"Damn it," he swore and rose a hand to the painful cut, frowning in annoyance when his fingers came back covered in fresh, shining blood. He'd have to worry about that another time, since he didn't even have healing materia or a potion with him. Instead, he glanced into the dark chasm that was the empty office. Dim moonlight shone past his shoulder and outlined the bookshelf in an eerie glow. There was no movement inside, perfect.

He reattached the blade to the rest of his sword and glanced between it and the window – there was no way he was getting in comfortably with that on his back. He regrettably left the weapon where it was, choosing instead to hoist only himself up through the window. He'd be in and out soon enough.

Nearly banging his head on the window again, he grunted when he landed not-too-gracefully on his ass after doing a full somersault. He groaned to himself and squeezed his eyes shut at the sting of another fresh cut on his arm he'd obtained somewhere along the process. Hopefully he didn't leave bloody evidence of his crime; that would be sure to pinpoint him as the culprit.

"Fancy seeing you here, Cloud."

The voice was chipper, all too familiar, and an incredible shock as his eyes flew open to see none other than Ayla herself, sitting cross-legged on the floor and using the coffee table as an actual table. She looked as comfortable as if she did this sort of thing all the time. The candle he'd noticed on the bookshelf earlier in the week was finally lit in front of her and left deep shadows on her face.

"What the hell?" he asked incredulously.

Ayla smiled, her eyes tinged with both mischief and a hint of sadness as she patted the carpet next to her. "You're welcome to join me for tea. Unless you'd rather stay over there, that is."

Everything was going wrong and his heart was thudding anxiously in his chest. He'd been caught, and now she would know he was running away. Swallowing the retort that threatened to cross his lips in a biting moment of self-preservation, he slowly crawled over to sit at the other end of the table, as far from her as he could get.

In front of her, a simple, small, black teapot sat on a wicker coaster, its contents steaming silently through the spout. Next to the teapot were two identical black mugs that looked to be part of a set. As he watched, she picked up the teapot by its wooden handle and poured liquid into both mugs.

"It's funny of you to 'drop in' like this," she joked lightly as she put the pot back on its coaster and gently nudged one of the mugs over to him. "I was just thinking about how much I wanted company while having a pot of tea in the moonlight."

He didn't answer, shame coloring his cheeks as he glared angrily at the mug pushed towards him. He really didn't trust any drinks from her now. Was she above putting a sedative in his drink to force him to stay? Ayla, seeming to sense that, daintily picked up her mug, blew on the steaming contents, and took a small sip. Her eyelids fluttered shut and she took a deep breath. "Ah, that hits the spot. Nothing better than a spot of chamomile on an insomnia-filled evening!"

Cloud crossed his arms and looked at the couch to avoid her gaze. There were a few minutes of silence, in which the gentle sound of waves crashing against the shore and the crickets and the therapist sipping her tea were the only interruptions.

"I remember what it was like, before Meteorfall," she spoke into the quiet, her tone much more subdued than it was before. "Working for Shinra was nothing like what I thought it would be. I used to counsel SOLDIERS and troops during the war."

He turned in surprise and distrust to meet her calculated gaze. "You worked for Shinra?" he asked suspiciously, voice betraying the nerves that still rattled beneath his skin at being back in this office again.

Ayla nodded. "That I did," she admitted softly. "At first, I was so excited to work for the largest company in the world. Helping people is all I ever wanted to do, and so many of them suffered mentally and emotionally from the war. Then…" she sighed. "Counseling took a back burner for the company. My patients weren't allowed to visit more than a set amount of times, and it began to take its toll. So many of them defected when the third of SOLDIER rebelled."

Frowning towards his mug, Cloud found himself reaching for it and taking a sip before he could stop himself. The liquid was hot against his tongue and scalded slightly, but the flavor was soothing and went down almost like a blanket coating his insides. "I don't remember that," he said.

"You may not because the company did its best to cover it up," she informed him. "Still, the toll that took… I decided to step down and move here, to a place where I could set up a private office."

He took another sip of tea and set his mug down. "Why are you telling me this? You know me, you know I have no love for Shinra."

"I know." She took a deep breath and Cloud was surprised to see she looked almost hesitant. "I remember when you and your friends first came through town. You stuck out like sore thumbs."

"You saw us?" he asked before he could help himself. His curiosity was really getting the better of his wary side tonight.

She nodded solemnly. "I didn't know who you were at the time, but it didn't take long for me to figure it out. When Meteor fell, your faces were everywhere on the news. Yours especially, Cloud." Smiling sadly at him, she added, "You're always made out to be Gaia's hero."

He winced at the mention of his fame, hiding his face in favor of picking up and drinking more tea. "I'm not a hero. I'm a nobody," he told her plainly. He knew it to be true, most of what he'd done had been luck and the support of his friends guiding his hand.

"Having the expectations of a hero thrust upon you must feel jarring," Ayla offered kindly.

It didn't help that he'd never set out for fame or glory; that had been Zack's dream and it somehow felt like he had stolen it from his friend. "You don't know the half of it."

"I know who you are, Cloud," she said. He glanced up tentatively at her. "You're just a normal person. You have feelings like anybody else, but somewhere along the way you got lost regarding what makes you you, and you replaced it with the burden of the entire planet on your shoulders."

She scooted a little closer, setting her mug down, and met his eyes evenly. Her gaze was warm and her eyes glittered like shining pieces of obsidian in the candlelight. "There's an entire culture of fame and hero worship that people subscribe too, and people like you who are caught up in it have to either adapt or distance yourself. It doesn't take an intelligent person to see which you chose."

The corner of his lips twitched. He'd distanced himself, all right.

"It's dehumanizing, the idea that somebody is a 'hero' or a 'savior,'" Ayla went on to say. "It takes out the human part of the person and adds a worship culture that is dangerous for anybody involved. Tell me, Cloud, when you're with your friends, what do you think they expect from you?"

He bit his lip and sighed. "They want somebody to help them save the world. They want a hero."

"Are you sure about that?"

The headache was returning but the weariness in his bones didn't allow for his fight or flight reflex to kick in. Instead, he shook his head tentatively as a response.

"I think they want something else," she suggested kindly. "I think they want a friend. If you can work on seeing that and take the 'hero' part out of it – which is not an easy feat, let me tell you – then I think there's something here we can work with. I think I can help you.

Absently, he ran a hand across his forehead and felt sticky blood. Ayla must have noticed too because her eyes widened. "You're injured, let me help you," she insisted as she turned behind her and pulled a first-aid kit out from under the chair she had been sitting in.

"It's fine," he said. "It's already mostly healed anyway."

Shaking her head in disagreement, she opened the pack and pulled out a few items. "Be that as it may, you should still clean yourself of the blood."

He was handed two sealed wipe packets and two larger bandages. Cloud silently obliged, ripping open the wipes one at a time and cleaning up both his forehead and his arm. Sure enough, the wounds were almost fully healed already. To appease her, he ripped the bandage covers open and put them on anyway. Having a bandage on his forehead made the skin there feel stretched and uncomfortable, but he did his best not to fidget.

As he put the used items back on the coffee table next to his mug, Ayla spoke again.

"I had a feeling you would be trying to make a run for it after today's session. That's okay, I completely understand, Cloud. I want you to know though, that here you don't have to be a hero in my office. You don't have to be strong for somebody, you don't have to take a bullet for anybody. You can just be yourself here and nobody will ever have to know otherwise if that's what you want."

Cloud swallowed nervously. The very concept seemed impossible; when hadn't he felt the need to protect people around him? He had to be ready for Sephiroth or any other bad guy at any moment. Ayla let him ponder this as she moved back again and pulled something from the floor next to her.

The envelope.

"Do you want to go through it together?" she asked as she noticed his eyes glued to it. "Or would you rather look at it yourself?"

His fingers itched to move forward and snatch the only snippet of a foggy past from her grasp, but then he clenched them into a fist. A resolution took over his body, reminding him that he was doing this for Tifa and he had to see it through. The sickening lurch in his stomach wanted to disagree, but he was nothing if not stubborn.

"You can open it," he finally relented in a half-gasp, stubbornness winning the inner struggle. Ayla chuckled to herself but nodded in understanding. It was like she knew everything that was going on with him internally. She broke the wax seal and proceeded to lift out a simple gray folder with a disgustingly familiar Shinra logo on the front. Cloud stared apprehensively as she set the envelope back on the ground and then opened the folder, much more slowly than he liked. Anticipation thrummed in his veins.

And then she burst out laughing.

Caught off-guard, Cloud stared at her in alarm, half-crouching and ready to fight at the loud noise. As he realized what she was doing, he settled back onto his knees and frowned.

"What's so funny?" he asked defensively. This was his file, after all.

Ayla, through a chortle, pulled something from the paper-clipped front of the folder and showed it to him. It was a picture of him, albeit from a fair amount of years ago. His face was rounder and his eyes were pure blue and hopeful. The wistful smile he had was just so young.

"I'm – sorry," she wheezed as she began to settle down. "You have this air about you, Cloud, like you've always been this wizened, toughened, battle-hardened warrior, and this," she brandished the photo at him, "is the exact opposite of that image. Look how cute you were!"

"I wasn't cute!" he countered in embarrassment. "I just didn't know any better."

Finally, she quieted down and set the photo on the table while she glanced at the rest of the file, making sure to turn her body so the soft candlelight lit the page. "There isn't much here, I'm afraid," she said then. "You joined at fourteen, like you said. This file says you didn't have many friends until much later. You were sent on patrol out in Junon because of some bullying. You were – ah, you were there when Professor Hollander escaped."

A faint twinge in his stomach he hadn't felt in years and a distant memory of Zack Fair offering to take him for food later popped into his head. It was fuzzy, but it was a new memory. His mouth fell open in surprise as he digested each moment of the new recollection.

"Ah yes…here's your last mission. Nibelheim."

Cloud winced again, this time at the negative connotations his childhood hometown brought up. Horrible images flashed through his mind of his mom being cut down, of the town burning, of Tifa with a deadly wound in the reactor…

"I remember that," he said quietly.

Ayla studied the document for a few silent moments and then closed it gently and held it out for him to take. "Cloud," she started, "it says in here you tried for SOLDIER three times."

"And failed three times," he answered glumly, that ringing of failure threatening to begin its mantra once more.

But she shook her head. "The fact that you tried and failed not once but twice and still went back for a third round tells me all I need to know about you. When you put your mind to something, you get it done."

Was that a compliment? He felt himself blushing at her words but didn't know how to respond to them. He didn't have to, however, because at that moment, while he was clutching the closed folder in both hands, she reached down and picked up the envelope it came in again. This time he realized there was a soft clinking sound coming from inside. Turning the envelope upside down, Ayla held her hand out to catch what fell out. She handed this to him then, too.

He accepted the cool metal item and opened his fingers to get a good look at it. In his palm was a set of dog tags, issued to all Shinra military upon successful completion of basic training. A faint memory of first receiving them washed to the forefront of his mind like the nearby waves from the sea onto the sandy shore.

"The file said your tags were kept with it because there was no family to give them to," Ayla told him softly. Cloud curled his fingers around the tags again and stared between them and the folder. He couldn't tell what emotions he was feeling; some were bad, some were good, and some were bittersweet, like saying goodbye to a friend.

"What do I do with this?" he asked her desperately.

She smiled in that soft candlelight and gently placed a hand over his fist. "You use them to move on, Cloud. I can help with that, if you'll let me."

When he had first snuck through the window, Cloud had been dead set on giving up, taking his file, and leaving the continent altogether. The thought of having to deal with his emotions was too daunting a task. Now, however…her warm, inviting smile and the presence of items and memories that he didn't even know existed clouded that judgment. Why couldn't he give it another try, see it through, and make his family proud?

"I've been told I'm difficult to work with," he warned her.

Ayla grinned. "Cloud, if I didn't know that before, I definitely know that now. I'm willing to do this if you are. What do you say? Can you hold off returning to Edge a bit longer?"

Sighing, he set the folder down and used both hands to untangle the chain holding the dog tags, slipping them over his head as a way of acceptance. "I suppose I can give it a try."