Chapter 6: Confession in the dark.
A few weeks later, Tifa had a bit of a shock as she sat in the back of the bar, talking with Zack one evening...
Tifa felt lost as she stared into his eyes. His astonishingly blue eyes. She knew nature couldn't make that color; they were the fingerprints of Mako exposure. He'd been in SOLDIER, he'd been experimented on by Hojo. He'd been through hell too, she heard it in the stories he told her.
At first she'd been overwhelmed by his openness. She wasn't used to that. Not after the years with Cloud, going around and around, anywhere but to the heart of the matter. But while he was talking all she could do was listen. Listen with sadness in her heart, trembling hands caressing hard shoulders, fingers tangled in dark spikes.
And now he'd told her he loved her. Told her casually, as though there were no consequences. She'd been listening, as she usually did, fingers interlaced with his. Right up to the moment he said that.
Then she'd tried to pull away from his suddenly uncomfortable grasp. She tried, but he held on. His arms closed over her, and he buried his face in the hollow of her shoulder. They stood there, not talking, until she stopped stroking his back, and very gently, slowly, lifted up his face. At first his eyes seemed reluctant to meet hers, but then they arrested her where she stood.
Her lips parted, no sound escaping despite supreme efforts. She wanted so much to say she loved him too--but was that the truth? Did it matter? His eyes were pleading so openly that she could hardly bear them. But he wouldn't want her to lie, would he? And what's the harm of saying she loved him? It wasn't as though anyone else loved her -- not anyone who'd come into her life, and stay.
"Tifa...don't," his voice was gentle, yet rough.
Her eyes were shining. He could plumb their depths and never fear what he'd find. She was struggling, trying to say what she thought he'd want to hear. What he _did_ long to hear from her.
But not like this. Not when it doesn't come readily, come from her heart. Not when she's torn apart by doubt and lurking memories.
"You don't have to... say anything." He held her face between his hands, his eyes pleading with her to stop agonizing over it.
"Zack...," she whispered. Tears were running down her face, and he inched closer to kiss away their tracks. He didn't expect her to turn so that his lips would meet hers--but he gratefully, greedily held on to that contact. His hands pressed against her back, bringing her slowly yet inexorably closer.
/Oh God, this isn't right. She shouldn't do this. It's gonna eat at her for weeks...
Yet his hands, his lips refused to let go.
/What the hell. Maybe we both need this...
She sank into his touch, his need. His want. His love. She made love with abandon. For that he was happy. It didn't matter to him that he wasn't the man she'd been dreaming of all her life. Not when he ran his fingers through her chocolate strands, or gazed upon her peacefully closed lids. He smiled, even as he futilely tugged to claim his share of the covers.
