For Whom the Bell Tolls
Tifa sat there upon the floor, her eyes red from crying. One hand was clutched, futilely, at her breast, and her body trembled. She had shed her last tears hours before, but her emotions seemed detached from her body.
She had failed, she now had more than the blood of the past coating her hands and her body. How could she look at him again? But...perhaps seeing him again would wipe the memory of the last look she had read in his eyes. A lost look, one of dissapointment.
She had failed him, and...oh god....she didn't know what she was to do! Tifa began a futile rocking, her knees bumping against that which lay on the ground before her, blood soaked and ragged. She wanted to die, she wanted to find Sephiroth's remains (were there any? she couldn't remember) ressurrect him and have him kill her.
Lost within the dark cavern of her mind, of self-pity and self-loathing, and suicide, she missed the soft tread of steps behind her, in time with the painful beating of her heart.
It beat, it plodded on with agonizing steadiness. Why did it have to beat when....
A hand fell on her shoulder, and she turned. But she already knew the weight of that hand, and the smell of his skin. His Mako eyes gazed down at her, knowing her pain, knowing her agony.
He dropped at her side and clutched her hands, hands stained with blood that would not...she refused to...wash away.
"Tifa..." he spoke in a halting voice, her name roughened with the pain he himself felt.
His strong arms encompassed her, too distraught to speak just yet, to comfort her with the words that he knew would fix-it. He needed the comfort, and as always she offered it to him before seeing to her own pain.
"Oh Cloud...I am...so sorry. It was...all...my fault." she whispered, her voice thick with the tears that wanted to fall again, her lips so near his ears he could hear her licking them to moisten them, to say more.
"No Tifa. No. It was no one's fault for what happened. It just....was meant to be. We still have one another, and that does not mean we cannot..." he tried to continue, his eyes moving to the swath of cloth at the ground then away. He was going to be sick; he had been sick before. Whereas he could not cry like she did, he had merely thrown up what he could.
"Oh Cloud....I feel like I have failed you though....failed you as a wife, as a woman..." her nails pierced through his shirt and into his skin. He welcomed the pain; for how could he say no? She had undergone so much of it for such a terrible outcome. Whereas his pain was but emotional, hers had been emotional and physical.
"Tifa, no no. I still love you, please, stop crying. We will heal now, and speak of this later, or what....we are going to do." He stood, aiding her to her feet. For to carry Tifa, he felt, would be a sin. So he merely folded her to him, needing the support of her nearness, and she the support of her husband.
They walked slowly, like two silent, solemn drunkards, their steps erratic and without steadiness. They left behind the sadness, but not the pain, not the memories.
They left behind their stillborn child.
Tifa sat there upon the floor, her eyes red from crying. One hand was clutched, futilely, at her breast, and her body trembled. She had shed her last tears hours before, but her emotions seemed detached from her body.
She had failed, she now had more than the blood of the past coating her hands and her body. How could she look at him again? But...perhaps seeing him again would wipe the memory of the last look she had read in his eyes. A lost look, one of dissapointment.
She had failed him, and...oh god....she didn't know what she was to do! Tifa began a futile rocking, her knees bumping against that which lay on the ground before her, blood soaked and ragged. She wanted to die, she wanted to find Sephiroth's remains (were there any? she couldn't remember) ressurrect him and have him kill her.
Lost within the dark cavern of her mind, of self-pity and self-loathing, and suicide, she missed the soft tread of steps behind her, in time with the painful beating of her heart.
It beat, it plodded on with agonizing steadiness. Why did it have to beat when....
A hand fell on her shoulder, and she turned. But she already knew the weight of that hand, and the smell of his skin. His Mako eyes gazed down at her, knowing her pain, knowing her agony.
He dropped at her side and clutched her hands, hands stained with blood that would not...she refused to...wash away.
"Tifa..." he spoke in a halting voice, her name roughened with the pain he himself felt.
His strong arms encompassed her, too distraught to speak just yet, to comfort her with the words that he knew would fix-it. He needed the comfort, and as always she offered it to him before seeing to her own pain.
"Oh Cloud...I am...so sorry. It was...all...my fault." she whispered, her voice thick with the tears that wanted to fall again, her lips so near his ears he could hear her licking them to moisten them, to say more.
"No Tifa. No. It was no one's fault for what happened. It just....was meant to be. We still have one another, and that does not mean we cannot..." he tried to continue, his eyes moving to the swath of cloth at the ground then away. He was going to be sick; he had been sick before. Whereas he could not cry like she did, he had merely thrown up what he could.
"Oh Cloud....I feel like I have failed you though....failed you as a wife, as a woman..." her nails pierced through his shirt and into his skin. He welcomed the pain; for how could he say no? She had undergone so much of it for such a terrible outcome. Whereas his pain was but emotional, hers had been emotional and physical.
"Tifa, no no. I still love you, please, stop crying. We will heal now, and speak of this later, or what....we are going to do." He stood, aiding her to her feet. For to carry Tifa, he felt, would be a sin. So he merely folded her to him, needing the support of her nearness, and she the support of her husband.
They walked slowly, like two silent, solemn drunkards, their steps erratic and without steadiness. They left behind the sadness, but not the pain, not the memories.
They left behind their stillborn child.