Morning broke cool and clear; the air was crisp and so cold that it almost made it hard to breath. The craggy peaks of the Nibel mountain range towered over the valley, casting looming shadows over the town that stood just beneath its winding spires. Clear rays of ebullient sunshine rose from the shadows, unfurling in concentric waves and painting the light dusting of snow on the ground a brilliant pale blue. This was an unusually beautiful mid-February morning for Nibelheim.
For the last three weeks all they'd had was fierce winter storms. The sky obliterated by swirling masses of snow and ice, spurred on by the fierce winds known so well by the locals. It was those winds that made the winter so hard and the mountains surrounding the town so dangerous. Locals called them the Noreasters. Penetrating winter storms, characterized by heavy snowfall, subzero temperatures and hurricane force winds that have been known to rip trees from the very soil they were rooted in. These storms start around mid-January and taper down around April or May, generally, and usually continue without interruption for the entire length of winter until the spring dig-out.
This morning the residents of Nibelheim woke to a great surprise when they walked out their doors. Never had a sky been so clear, even during the best months of spring and summer. The sun peaked just behind the mountains, tinting the lavender blue sky with touches of pink and gold. Old timers in the village exclaimed upon waking that this was a bad omen. Many of the elders still believed the old folktales about the mountains. The lore was that the only thing that stood between Mount Nibel's angry mountain spirit and the town was the fog that covered its peaks. Of course, only the very young, very old or hopelessly superstitious believed in such nonsense.
Though the rather ominous reputation of the Nibel Mountains was richly deserved. They were notoriously hard to climb, with slick rock walls and few handholds, and of course, the vicious and unpredictable winds that buffeted the range year round. In years past, when people still tried to make a living off the mountains, it was expected that at least a couple of people a year would die or get injured trying to best the peaks. Lately the town had switched industries. From mining to the commercial resort industry, as adventure seekers from Midgar and other places around the world came to climb the most challenging range in the world.
Recently, the climbing had become more difficult due to the increase in monster activity in the general area. During the harsh winter months, this meant little, as few tourists would dare the Nibel Mountains, with the exception of foolhardy thrill seekers who wanted to test death. This winter there were tests a plenty. A month ago an entire party of twenty thrill junkies had been mauled and killed by rogue Nibel wolves. The offending creatures had been hunted down and killed, but there was worry that once the summer months came that with more tourists would come more attacks.
Already news of the incident had reached the outside papers, and several tours had been cancelled. It wasn't just the loss of revenue and the possible threat to the town's economy. The monsters in the area had become less fearful. Some had even been spotted waltzing through town without a care in the world. Local house pets had gone missing and a little girl had lost her arm the week before when she ventured too far out into her backyard.
Residents had called a town meeting, insisting on answers on why this was happening and what the local government was to do about it. There was a rather cursory investigation into the matter that resulted in little actual action--other than shutting down all roads to the mountain and closing the hot springs. No answers were given and the locals were left up to their own devices to find out what was going on in their town. A group of disgruntled neighbors had banded together, lead by the richest and most influential man in town, Aidan Lockheart.
He was the owner and operator of Peake Travel, the largest tour and travel agency in the area. Peake sold tour packages to rich day trippers, who wanted nothing more than a relaxing mountain view, pleasant hikes and a soak in their legendary hot springs to top it off. Though he did offer packages to the adventure set, his main targets were the incredibly wealthy and it was these clients that kept Nibelheim afloat economically.
High rollers from Midgar weren't willing to spend their bank in a city that was dangerous and plagued with wild animal roaming about, mauling the populace. It was his business that had suffered because of these attacks. Already fourteen of his most important clients had cancelled their tours. Rebooking with other agencies for vacations in safer locals, like the old standby, Costa Del Sol, and the burgeoning ski resorts in Icicle Village. The loss of these accounts would severely damage his finances, besides the fact that he had a teenage daughter to worry about. An incredibly impetuous and strong willed teenaged daughter, who'd taken to practicing her martial arts in the hills near the mountain.
Aidan had taken the initiative and arranged an expedition to investigate the mountains, to try and find out where all the monsters were coming from. After a good solid month of work, they located the center of activity. The old Shinra Mako reactor. It seemed that the damned thing hadn't been turned off properly and had been leaking for quite some time. The heat had attracted prey animals, which consequently attracted their predators. Once the prey had been hunted out, the predators had no other choice but to turn to the next available food source. Nibelheim's human population.
With this information in hand, Aidan had stormed into the mayor's office demanding results. The mayor could hardly refuse Aidan, without Lockheart's support, he'd never get reelected. So Shinra had been called back in to fix the ailing reactor and take care of the rampant monster population. It'd been rumored that they were going to send General Sephiroth himself to take care of things. The town had burst into a frenzy of activity in preparation for the arrival of their illustrious guest.
Tifa Lockheart, the teenaged daughter of the man who started this whole business, stared out her bedroom window with disgust. Ever since the town got the news of the great general's arrival, the town was abuzz with chatter about him and Shinra...and how great they were. And how kind it was they'd send someone as famous and important to little old Nibelheim. The neighbors all got busy trying to out do each other. The town had been called on to help neaten up common streets and buildings. Not to mention the vacuous preening seen not only amongst the teen girl set, who wanted nothing more than a single glimpse of the great general, but adults as well.
Tifa had tired of hearing her "friends" go on and on about Sephiroth and how handsome he was and brave and noble and...so on and so forth. It was enough to make her want to puke until she dry heaved. Her father had been more than just a little displeased by her attitude but Tifa could care less. She had no interest in the petty good neighbor bullshit everyone else engaged in. She'd long ago lost her taste for keeping up appearances.
There was a time in her life when something like Shinra coming to town would have been exciting. She was in part glad those days were over, but the wiser side of her knew that those were days of innocence, now lost, and to be glad for such a thing was a sadness in and of itself. A mere two years ago, she'd been a completely different person. She was a rather shallow, image conscious, pretty girl. Dressing in the latest Midgar fashion and worrying about her nails. Then her mother died and her world fell apart.
She rarely talked about the event itself, and had at the time secluded herself from friends and family rather than face her mother's death. Sarea Lockheart was a remarkable woman, and her daughter's best friend. She had shared everything with her mother. Even at her busiest times, when a test loomed or plans with friends intervened; Tifa would always find that spare moment to tell Sarea about her day. And she would listen, whether or not she was interested was another story, but she had always acted like she was.
She was a warm and giving woman, kind to a fault. Sarea was well liked in the village, even though she wasn't born there, a feat for a secluded mountain town like Nibelheim, which tended to be a bit xenophobic. The young girl idolized her mother and wanted to be just like her, do the things she did. In all ways emulating the paragon of beauty and kindness that Sarea encompassed. Often after her mother's death, she'd find herself staring at her portraits and wondering if she'd ever be able to match her in quality.
Tifa had found that she always came up short. Her mother was so perfect and there was a guilt-ridden bit of resentment in that fact. While she was alive, Tifa strived to please the woman, to be as perfect as she could be. Once her mother had died, she found herself consciously rebelling against her mother's image. The resentment at her mother's insistence on perfection was at the heart of it. She was a good mother but could be as cold as she was warm and as much as she admired her mother, she hated the way she seemed preoccupied with appearances. Sarea had raised her to be the ideal lady, demanding that at all times she obey an arcane set of rules in order for her to nab a rich husband. Tifa had found it hard to live up to her mother's expectations, which meant that she was constantly correcting her.
The cool glares and disapproving coughs she'd make when Tifa would make a mistake at the dinner table were foremost in her mind. She remembered one time when she'd used her dinner fork to eat her salad. Her mother had berated her for an hour afterwards about the importance of using the right dinnerware. Stating that she'd never get a husband with such terrible manners. She could hear the soft voice of her dead mother reverberating in her memory. "Posture Tifara. Young ladies don't slouch over their meals." She could always tell how much trouble she was in by the iterations of her name. If she called her Tifa, she was okay but if it got to Tifara, her full name, or worse yet, Tifara Marie Lockheart, then she knew she'd really screwed the pooch. Sarea never raised her voice. She never had to. All she had to do was give Tifa a look, a word, and the damage would be done. She used guilt like a weapon; her taciturn disapproval was enough to send the young girl into a fit of tears. She knew her mother was only worried about her future but it still stung that things of such triviality mattered so much. Didn't the stories always say that appearances didn't matter; it was what was in your heart that counted?
There were times when Tifa would see past the superficial side to her mother. There was a sense, especially nearing the end of her mother's long sickness that Sarea wasn't entirely happy with where she was in life. She'd look into her mother's dull black eyes and see it. Tifa could remember many of the stories her mother used to tell her when she was young. Vivid tales of world spanning adventure, of kings and queens long past. Her eyes would light up in the telling and the echo of a girl long secreted away would peek from behind her mother's facade. She was still young, her dreams not yet challenged by adult responsibility.
Her favorite was the War of the Magi. One of her mother's longer tales, detailing a group of heroes who banded together and defeated a mad man bent on becoming a god. She remembered her favorite part. When Locke, the main protagonist, risked his life to save his true love, the magi-tech knight, Celes. Saving her from a terrible fall as the palace where their enemy lived crumbled to the ground upon his defeat.
You needn't have helped me; I can take care of myself...
...I know. And then Locke scooped her up into a tight embrace before leaving the shattered remnants of the tower....
She had always blushed terribly at that part, wondering what it would be like to be held like that by someone she loved. The story evoked wonderful dreams of adventure, and she wished to be like Celes in the story. A strong warrior with a heart of gold with the man she loved always by her side. Tifa used to pretend to be Celes, slipping an old nightgown over her head to approximate the pale blond hair her hero had. Wooden sword in hand, she'd run around her backyard, swiping at imaginary dragons. When she was young she used to dream that someday, she'd find her Locke and he'd save her, just like the real Locke saved Celes. She'd even made one of the village boys promise her he'd save her someday. Cloud Strife. That was his name.
August Strife, his mother, was not spoken well of in the village and neither was Cloud. He was a bastard or as her parents had put it to her, he was born out of wedlock. When Tifa was younger she'd never known what that had meant, she'd only known that her mother and father seemed to think it a bad thing. They told her to stay away from Cloud, so she did. It didn't help that most of the other kids in the village seemed to have equal dislike for him because he was poor.
At the time, she followed the crowd and shunned the boy, but there was a pang of regret every time she did. Tifa had always been acutely aware of other's pain. She couldn't help but notice the lonely longing in Cloud's large blue eyes whenever the other children would leave him out of their games. There was once when she even went over and invited him to play, but the other children had pulled her away. She never stopped kicking herself for letting them but she was still caught up in her mother's world, and hadn't resisted.
Then it happened. It was a bright, almost joyous spring day. May second, it was a Tuesday...she remembered that, the day before her birthday. Around four o'clock her father had sent her up to bring her mother tea and her normal cocktail of medicines. Tifa had dutifully obeyed. Everything had seemed so fine. She closed her eyes, recalling how the sun had shone through the window and illuminated her mother's pale form. Sarea had taken her tea and vitamins; she had looked so tired that day. The normal routine was that afterwards, she'd take a nap and so Tifa had taken away the dishes and prepared to leave when her mother stopped her.
"Do you remember those stories I used to tell you when you were little?"
"Of course, Mama." Tifa found herself mouthing her memory self's words.
"They weren't just stories you know. They were true. The women in my family have passed on the tales of our ancestors from one generation to the next. To keep the memories alive....Someday, that honor will pass to you."
"Not for a long time, though...right?"
Sarea smiled sadly, her voice slurring slightly as she spoke, "I don't think so. Promise me you'll remember...."
"Sure, of course...Mama....is something...are you okay?"
She nodded slowly, and Tifa could still see the odd tranquility in her mother's eyes. "Promise me something else. Promise me that no matter what, you'll follow your dreams, Tifa. You can do whatever you want to...." At this sentiment, her mother had reached out and held her hand, squeezing gently as she gazed at her daughter through a haze of obvious pain, "I know I've always expected you to stay here, but something tells me...you're destined for greater things. I believe that. So please, promise me...follow your star...don't let your dreams die like I did..."
"I promise, Mama..." Tifa said, her heart quickening as it dawned on her that something wasn't right.
The pressure from her mother's hand went slack and as Tifa looked into her mother's eyes, she could see the light leave them as she breathed her last excruciatingly long breath. There was a terrible moment of silence that followed, where she wasn't sure what had just happened. She shook her head slowly as if to negate what clearly had transpired. The tears came then, holding themselves at the edge, ready to spill.
"Mama...." she said, her voice cracking. "Mama....Mama, please....Mama..." She shook her mother's hand, as if somehow that would help. "No....NoNoNoNonononono..." she repeated the word, over and over again, her mind swirling in hysterical denial as tears streamed down her cheeks in red hot rivulets.
Shaking, Tifa dropped her mother's hand and ran as fast as she could to find her father but by the time he arrived with the paramedics it was too late. The medics worked fruitlessly on her mother in a desperate appeal to bring back life and Tifa stood there, as still as stone. When they put her mother into a big black body bag, she'd fainted. In the days after, she remembered very little, she'd gone entirely numb and the world passed as time slipped by. She could still hear the eerie wail of the heart monitor as it screeched out in one long sustained note and the image of her mother's face as the black bag was zipped over it never left her memory.
The service was held two days later and Tifa had hardly felt a thing. She hadn't cried at the funeral, nor did she in the days that passed by. Perhaps it was unwillingness on her part to accept the inevitability of the end of life; at least that's what everyone thought. It was a natural reaction to deny the passing of a loved one, a single step along the path of grief. However, Tifa had accepted her mother's death, it settled into her bones like a dull lead weight. She saw the life leave her eyes and no volume of tears shed would bring her back.
Death is the great equalizer. It takes people who are important to you and no matter how much you scream and cry nothing changes that. For as young as she was, she was amazingly perceptive and had already made this connection. Crying would do her no good. Holding her grief in her heart, she had to be strong for her father, who'd fallen apart at the seams. In the long days and weeks following, she became very much like her last name. She locked her heart, shut it off from the world and threw away the key. She stood over her mother's grave, thinking all those things as a breeze lifted her bangs from her face. How could things change so fast? One day she was going through the normal routines. The next, her life was turned upside down.
Things had changed, for good or for ill. Tifa still wasn't really sure which it was. Sometimes she'd actually forget her mother was dead. On more than one occasion she'd find herself racing up to her mother's old room. Grasping the ornate handle on the door and just before she'd open it, she'd remember. She never told her father about those instances. He was too fragile already and she'd tried to remain bright and happy for him. Masking her pain and focusing all her effort on easing his. She had tried so hard to put everything back the way it was before but it was no use. Tried to be perfect, like her mother but no matter how hard she tried, that was something she'd never be.
There was one way in which she was very much like her mother; some would say she surpassed Sarea in that one area. Tifa was a very beautiful girl; the aura of tragedy only heightened that perception. Tall for her age, with an oval shaped face and high cheekbones, not to mention her early development in the chest region, she was in a word. Desirable. She'd always been sought after. Boys competing for her attention like they would for a medal in a track race. Her recent loss hadn't stopped the deluge of young men who wanted her attention. If anything, the interest focused on her increased alarmingly. All the boys in town wanted to be the one to "comfort" her and the girls, her supposed friends, only came because they were hoping to snatch up the leftovers.
It didn't take her long to realize that none of the people who visited her gave a good god damn if she felt better. They were here because she was rich and beautiful and they hoped to gain something from her. Liars and sycophants, the whole lot of them. Tifa learned all too quickly about the ugliness of humanity, and she hated it. It was disgusting. Horrifying that these...people...if they could be called that, would play on her pain to further their own agenda. The worst part was that they expected her to feel better right away. As if I'm sorry your mom died and I hope you feel better, was going to actually make the grief she felt disappear. She couldn't stand it and rather than try to continue on as if nothing had happened, she locked herself away. Becoming a virtual prisoner of her own home, her "friends" banging on the door begging to be let in. Her mother's death had placed before her a decision and she couldn't do that with the expectation of others weighing on her shoulders. When she finally emerged from her self-induced seclusion, the girl they'd all grown to love, the girl they knew was gone. Dead and in the box, like her mother.
It started with all her clothes. Every last dress was thrown out or given away. She had once been so fond of dressing up, concerned with appearance and the superficial values of looking good for boys. Every last scrap of her former identity was tossed, as she transformed herself into what she wanted to become. Tifa had scoured the local thrift shops for more simple clothes. Jeans and t-shirts, practical clothing that placed little emphasis on her beauty, picked for their comfortability rather than their label. No more make up, no more hours of preening over hair and face. This new Tifa was simple, almost tomboyish. The only vestiges of who she used to be was her long chocolate hair and a pair of simple silver earrings. Beyond that, this girl was a stranger and those who knew her before had openly gapped in surprise when they first saw her walk out her front door.
Where there was once a shallow, vacuous little nothing of a girl, now stood a young woman with a mission. Her mother's last words resonated and had stayed with her. They had been a plea for her to become more than just another suburban good wife. More than just a pretty girl. Don't end up like me. Tied, shackled to a life you never even wanted. Sacrificing your dreams for comfort. Her mother had said it, not in so many words, but that message was behind them.
This change extended to more than just the way she looked. Tifa held herself differently, more sorrowful but stronger somehow. She began to apply herself like never before in school. Forgoing shopping trips or visits to the local arcade to gawp at boys, for studying. Her grades had gone from low C's and D's, to straight A's. It had impressed her father and her teachers, and thoroughly confused her friends. Those people soon showed their loyalty. As she succeeded in school and cared less about appearances, they slunk away from her. She lost friends but gained something else. Confidence.
They were afraid of what she'd become and it surprised Tifa that she didn't really care if they liked her or not. Without an ever-changing social calendar, she was able to help her father more. She took over the bookkeeping, which had been her mother's job and found that she was very good at it. Numbers, unlike everything else in the world, were simple. Some would call it tedious or boring but Tifa had found that it was kind of fun, she liked handling the money and making sure the books balanced at the end of the day. The meticulous nature of the work made it easy to forget, to push aside the roiling tide of emotions in favor of the cool calculations found in numbers. Plus, she got to spend more time with her Dad, and it made him happy to see his daughter interested in his work. The paycheck at the end of the week didn't hurt either.
With her newfound outlook on life and confidence in herself, Tifa found the courage to finally talk at length with Cloud. The friends she had left didn't understand and most didn't stick around to ask her. She didn't care. From now on, she'd talk to whom she wanted, when she wanted. This was her world now, not her mother's, not her friends--her life, her choices. So she had invited him out to the old junkyard to talk. She was surprised when he came, expecting that her rejection of him years earlier would make him bitter and longing for payback. But he came, moreover he came with a smile and it was incredible.
They talked, about anything and everything as if they'd been friends forever. He was reserved yet amiable enough once you gave him time, with a rather dry sense of humor that Tifa could fully appreciate. Never tried to impress her by being extra witty or flamboyant. She felt comfortable with him, letting down many of her normally high walls as their conversation deepened.
He'd been the only one who hadn't bothered her after her mother's death. She'd sometimes see him watching her window but he never approached her door. Never stopped her on the street to ask if she was alright, only to turn the concern right around and ask if she'd like to go out on a date. He'd just stop, look up and then leave. As if he was letting her know that he was there if she wanted him to be. It was half the reason she'd asked him out here.
The conversation had somehow turned to her mother, and for the first time she talked about it with another person. He listened, by god, he sat and he actually listened. There were no attempts to put an arm around her, no hands on her shoulder, no false promises that everything would be alright. His large blue eyes regarding her with real sympathy. She half expected him to say what everyone else said, I'm sorry...but he didn't. He didn't say a word for a long time, the look in his eyes telling her that he knew I'm sorry was a hollow sentiment and that things were far from alright. To say such things would be to lie and he knew that she didn't need little white lies when she longed for someone to admit the truth. He took her hand and told her it was okay to cry, if she wanted to. And she did. She cried longer and harder than she had in her entire life. When he finally held her, it was only because she'd been the one to initiate it. Leaning on his shoulder as she shook free the tears she held back for well over six months.
She remembered the moment when he looked down at her, after her tears subsided. How his clear blue eyes swirled with longing. For the first time, noticing what a handsome young man he'd grown into. Her heart had fluttered, her stomach twirling with butterflies as she returned his gaze. They'd shared a single, chaste kiss that night underneath a curtain of stars. Afterwards, he told her he was leaving to join SOLDIER and Tifa felt as if her heart would swell and break. To finally find the one person in the world who would understand her, only to loose him in the same instant. He told her why he was doing it. To become strong, like General Sephiroth. Tifa knew it was a lie and so did he. He did it for her.
Cloud knew what he was. A poor boy with no resources, no honor. Despite her outward change, Tifa came from a wealthy family and there was no way her father would accept Cloud. No way he'd be good enough for his daughter. If he made something of himself, became a SOLDIER. He'd be worthy of Tifa, at least in the eyes of her family. She would have given up everything for him in that moment, but he didn't want that. He couldn't ask her to leave the only family she had left. So his solution for such a problem was to make himself a better man.
It killed her that he'd leave and that she'd wasted so much time being shallow and self-absorbed. If only she'd been brave enough to break free, perhaps then it wouldn't be this way. To find her Locke, the key to her heart, only to loose him. She made him promise to come back and rescue her from this town. Though she tried to fob it off, make it sound like he would rescue her from some kind of danger...but that wasn't what she meant at all. Looking down at her, the stars reflected in his eyes as he gave her his promise, "As you wish." It was all that he said, like a line straight out of her mother's fairy tales.
Every day after that was a waiting game. She'd received a few letters from him that sounded promising, but in recent weeks they'd come less and less often. In his absence she'd decided to become stronger as well. Just after he'd left, a man named Zangan had stopped in Nibelheim. He was a wandering martial arts instructor. Teaching from town to town for food, or shelter. Tifa had used the money she saved from her paychecks to buy herself lessons, much to her father's dismay.
Then one of his best guides quit and her father was left with a paying batch of tourists and no tour leader. Tifa had volunteered and he objected, until of course she gave him a demonstration of her new skills with the "help" of one of the local boys. From that day forward she became not only the agency's accountant but their main tour guide. It was widely regarded that she knew the mountains better than Aidan himself, who'd spent the better half of his life on those peaks. This was due to her the training regimen Zangan had set. She'd spent quite some time with her sifu, climbing the peaks in search of monsters to best. It didn't make Aidan very happy to realize what danger his daughter put herself in, but he knew she was a capable fighter--her demonstration had shown him that and he wasn't willing to risk argument with her. She was as stubborn as her mother had been and in the end, she'd get what she wanted anyway.
Tifa shook her head, she was wasting time and Zangan didn't appreciate it when she was late. Turning away from the window, Tifa dressed quickly. Pulling on a pair of long underwear before slipping into a pair of heavy cotton slacks and a plain charcoal colored sweater. With a thump, she sat on the floor and stuffed her feet into a pair of heavy wool socks before putting on her hiking boots. Downstairs she could hear the sounds of movement and cursed herself for not getting up earlier. Her father would be awake and no doubt find a way to make her later.
"TIFA?" he called up to her.
"YEAH?"
"COULD YOU COME DOWN HERE A MINTUE?"
"Shit!" she cursed under her breath, "YEAH SURE DAD! BE RIGHT THERE!"
Jumping to her feet, she looked at herself in the mirror for a moment before picking out a single brown ribbon from the top of her dressing table. Carefully, she used the ribbon to secure back her hair into a loose ponytail. The knot she used was tight enough to keep it out of her eyes, but not so tight that it wouldn't fall out if yanked sharply by an opponent. Important considerations one had to make as a martial artist with long hair. Satisfied, she grabbed her fighting gloves before leaving the room and jogging down the stairs to see what her father wanted. She found him sitting in the breakfast nook in the kitchen, stuffing a jam-covered piece of toast into his mouth.
Tifa couldn't help herself, she giggled, "Mornin' Dad...you know, most normal people take more than one bite when they eat."
"Zif iz moah efizzshunt....an goo moning to oo too..." He mumbled, still chewing the entire piece of toast he'd shoved into his maw.
"It's gross, Dad...not efficient. Really, really gross." She said, with a mock-exasperated roll of her eyes as she entered and walked past the nook to the kitchen proper, resting her gloves on the counter next to the entrance.
"Sahm-bady hazh zher gwuhmpy panhtz ahn...." He replied, a small smile appearing on his face, as he took extra long to chew just to tease her.
Tifa looked back at him, raising an eyebrow while she rummaged through the cupboards for her own breakfast, pulling out a bag of bagels, a knife and a small plate. "Spaz. Swallow that crap before you choke."
He began to laugh, only to cough out bits of toast crumbs that he'd choked on. The sputtering only stopping one he took one long swig of orange juice.
"Told you." She said in a singsong voice as she shuffled over to the center counter of the kitchen, which amongst other odds and ends was where they kept the toaster.
Slipping a bagel from the package, she looked up at her father, who was sipping his orange juice but had turned his attention from teasing her to some papers spread over the small breakfast table. For the moment, they remained in silence. Him reading his papers and her waiting for her breakfast to pop up. Tifa amused herself by humming an old tune she'd heard at the last festival, banging her hands in time as she watched the toaster. Her father glanced up and shook his head with a smile, to which she stuck her tongue out and he laughed.
Their relationship was an easy thing, smooth and with very few bumps in the road. She loved her father for all the indefinable reasons one loves a parent, but also because despite his frail emotional condition after her mother's death, he'd been there for her. He was always there for her. In those long, dark days, her father was all she had to turn to and vice versa. They clung to each other as the vine clings to the tree during a storm. Aidan wasn't at all like other people's fathers. He wasn't stern or authoritative, never telling her to eat up or go to bed. That had been Sarea's job. She'd been the serious disciplinarian; her father was and always had been her partner in crime.
The toast popped up with a surprisingly loud thunk, jarring Tifa from the well of thought she'd fallen into. Carefully she lifted it from the toaster and with a hiss she transferred it quickly to the plate, blowing her slightly burnt fingers as she reached for her knife. Hastily buttering the bagel, she took her plate and joined her father at the small table but not before stopping to grab a cup. She poured herself a glass of orange juice and sat in the chair directly opposite her father.
"Whatcha lookin' at?"
"Maps..." he said, absently.
Tifa shrugged, after two years she'd become an accurate judge of her father's mood. He wasn't ready to talk about whatever he'd called her down for and he'd get to it in his own time. Aidan was a man you couldn't push to do something; you just waited until he was good and ready. In some ways, Tifa was the same way. So she turned to look out the of the nook's large bay windows, warming rays of morning sunshine caressing her face as she chewed her bagel. The view out this part of the kitchen had always been nice and Tifa lost herself in it for a moment.
"AH! SHIT IN HEAVEN!"
Her father's voice snapped her from her short reverie, "What?!"
"Spilled juice all over the maps. Could you...?" he asked, holding his wet and dripping hand out to her in a gesture of helplessness.
"Sure." she replied, dark eyes dancing with amusement while she strode over to the sink, grabbing a towel from a nearby drawer and wetting it, "You know, you're worse than a two year old."
He smirked at her and once she came back to the table, towel in hand, he stuck out his tongue in a childish mirror of her own actions earlier. "To think I'd have such a disrespectful daughter....You shouldn't talk to your father like that."
"Hey, you're the putz who raised me to be honest and speak my mind." She said with a laugh as she handed him the towel. "Really not my fault."
He took it and looked up at her with admiration, taking the towel and wiping the maps off as he replied, "So, I shot myself in the foot, then?"
"Yup." She chirped, letting a sweet smile spread over her face, " Is it salvageable?"
"Yeah, think so. Might be a bit sticky...."
"Could be worse." she said with a shrug, "So, I'm tired with the pussyfooting. What's the deal, schmeal?"
"What deal?"
"Why you called me down here?! I mean, breakfast....YEEHAW!" a pause, "There was more to this than breakfast, wasn't there?" She eyed him suspiciously, wondering if it might be another one of his practical jokes. He was fond of playing tricks on her like that. One time he'd reset her clock and her alarm, waking her at what she thought to be the normal six in the morning when it was really almost two.
He thought for a moment, unaware of his daughter's mistrustful glares, "Huh? OH YEAH! I wanted to talk to you about the itinerary for the expedition this afternoon."
"What itinerary?"
"The one those nice people from Shinra are coming out all this way for?"
"Oh, that." She replied flatly, clearly annoyed at not only the subject but the fact that he'd actually have questions about it. Tifa had prided herself on being thorough. "What's there to talk about? I thought my itinerary was pretty self-explanatory."
"Well, I'm concerned about the route you have planned." He said, knowing her temper was as quick as his own and already sensing her growing ire.
"What's wrong with the route?"
"I think it's too prudent." he said, laying out the map to demonstrate, "You have them starting at the Moorehouse trailhead. So I assume you'll be using the old Hoffmaster trail, which is on the western face. The reactor is on the northeastern side. You'll practically have to travel around the entire mountain to get to it."
"So what? Hoffmaster is the safest route and you know it."
"The safest route isn't always the best."
"In this case it is...I don't trust those twits from Shinra to be able to handle any of the other routes. The great high and mighty General Sephiroth might--and I stress might-- be able to make a go of it, but there'll be three other soldiers with him and god knows their level of skill. Hoffmaster will be the easiest climb."
"Well, it's not really up to me or you to decide that. Hoffmaster will put you all on the mountain for three solid days. Shinra brass wants them up to fix the reactor STAT."
"I thought about that....that's why Hoffmaster is better. It gets them to the reactor and takes them past possible monster dens. Two birds, one stone."
He shook his head, "Sorry, sweets. They want them up and down for the reactor. Monster recon apparently comes later." he paused, wincing at her angry glare, "My hands are tied. They came with the provision they'd approve all route choices."
"Fine. Which route then?" She replied, her mood turning from gregarious to morose.
"I was thinking the Highroad would be a good choice."
"THE HIGHROAD!? Are you nuts? That route is downright dangerous."
"You're exaggerating."
"Not really. Then again, I guess if I fall off one of the bridges-- this time you can blame Shinra and not Cloud."
"Tifa." Aidan said, a warning tone in his voice indicating that she'd gone too far.
"I'm sorry, Da. But the bridges up there were rickety and unstable when I was a kid." She said, sighing, "Plus the crosswinds on that side are vicious...What if we get up there and those bridges are down? I don't know about you, but I don't have any desire to try and cross one of those big crevices on that side with a bunch of greenhorns."
"I know....I.Know. It makes me nervous too but this is the route they approved."
Tifa's mood soured completely and what began as a mildly promising morning was turned to pure shit in the span of ten minutes. She went about chewing the last bit of her bagel before getting up wordlessly.
"Tifa....Tifa..." Her father called after her and she paused at the entrance, where she'd left her gloves, "Teef...don't get that way with me. You know it's not that I don't trust you. I agree, but...."
"It's a bad idea. This whole thing." She interjected quietly, her back turned to him. "Did you even argue with them? Or did you just cave in right away?"
"Teef...You know me better than that. I didn't have a choice. They want them up and down in less than a day. If we didn't agree to it, they wouldn't have come at all."
She folded her arms over her chest and turned slowly, her eyes were darkly serious, "It's their damn reactor! There shouldn't be any provisions for fixing their own equipment. They were the ones who didn't turn it off properly, they left it to rot for twenty odd years leaking like a bloody awful sieve, and when the shit hits the fan they act like they're doing us a god damned favor by fixing THEIR problem! It's bullshit."
"Tifa, I've already heard enough of this argument."
"What, that we should have just blown the damned thing up? Because right now, that's starting to sound like a heck of a plan."
"It wasn't funny when Quinlan brought it up and it certainly isn't funny when you do. This discussion has ended." her father replied, tersely.
"Sure. Fine. Whatever. Mark my words, this is a bad idea and it will end like all bad ideas do."
"Well, if you're so damned opposed to it, I'll go."
"I'm opposed to the route. I'm opposed to having Shinra involved and all their 'provisions'. But that doesn't mean I won't go."
Her father remained quiet, staring at the maps with seeming deep concentration but she knew all to well what it was. He was letting himself simmer down. Cooling his anger before speaking out of turn. The cool silence was a distant cousin to her own battles with her temper, that struggle to find something to silence the bitter rage that wanted nothing more than to be released. Tifa sighed deeply, knowing that she couldn't win this round or any round after it. Her father had made up his mind and against all logic, she'd do what he said. Though she couldn't fathom why in the world he'd commit to the plan Shinra had set up. It was insane. The Highroad had been closed for years, ever since she'd fallen off of it when she was eight. She, Cloud and a bunch of other kids had gone up to the Highroad to get to the reactor. For the life of her she couldn't remember why they'd gone and climbed the mountain. She remembered vaguely some story about a ghost and someone having the bright idea to catch one.
They'd gone on the Highroad because it was rarely used because it was so dangerous and to little kids it seemed spooky and mysterious for that very reason. The winds were high that day and in her mind's eye she could see herself setting a foot onto the suspension bridge with trepidation just before it broke underneath her foot. She'd broken her leg in the fall and was in traction for the rest of the summer. When her father had asked the other kids what had happened, they blamed Cloud. Tifa had tried to set it to rights afterwards, but being unconscious for two straight weeks had its disadvantages.
She cracked her knuckles in defeat, "Listen, I'm sorry I was a witsy bit bitchy. I know you tried really hard...and Shinra's just made it harder for you, plus with the mayor on your back...It's just..."
"That route makes you nervous. I know...that whole area makes me nervous." her father replied, his shoulders sagging, "I never understood why they left it running...shoulda turned it off when they left twenty years ago...Strange things have always followed the Shinra name and now...I'm just worried that..." he stopped, as if realizing he'd said too much, "Nevermind. Nothing to worry about."
"Dad?" she questioned, softly approaching him and placing a hand on his arm.
Her father smiled and put a hand over hers, patting it gently, "It's nothing. You're going to be late for practice. I'm sorry we fought."
"Me too. Is everything going to be alright?" She looked up at him, her eyes large and impossibly dark.
"Of course it is, sweetie. Of course it is." He said, running a hand through her hair and pulling his daughter close.
For one moment she actually looked the age she was supposed to be. She'd tried hard to hide the fact that she'd taken on so much responsibility. The innocence she should have at age fifteen had been stolen from her and weak man that he was, he'd depended on her instead of the other way around. He was a lucky father but at the same time he lamented that her childhood had been cut so short. Sometimes she looked ten years older than she was and it killed him inside. He pulled back to take a good look at her. God, she looked just like her mother.
She gave him a quizzical look; startled by the odd gaze he was giving her, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm just so damn proud of you." He sniffed, keeping any tears he might shed at bay, still gazing at her with proud, fatherly affection, "You're growing up so fast..."
"Don't get sappy on me now, Da." she said, her cheeks growing hot with embarrassment.
"Oh, I'm an old man. I'm allowed to get sappy, when my daughter's turning into a young lady before my eyes." there was a smile that started out bright and cheery but slowly faded to something more somber, "Your mother would have been proud of you, too...you know."
Tifa grew very quiet, her reply was barely audible, "I know." She bowed her head so that he couldn't see her face. If she had to look at him she'd cry and that was the last thing she wanted to do right now. Especially in front of her father.
Ruffling her hair, he let her go. She held her emotions in too much and sometimes it worried him, but there was no pushing Tifa. Once she'd made up her mind, there was no changing it, "You better get going."
"Yeah. See ya later, Dad."
"Yup. Remember, you have to be back at two."
"Right." She said, lifting up her head once she got her emotions under control.
With a controlled smile, she gave him a peck on the cheek before jogging over and picking up her forgotten gloves. She gave a little wave as she exited the kitchen and started towards the foyer, where she grabbed her coat off the rack. Slipping it on quickly, she opened the front door and forged out into the cool morning, worry buried deeply in her heart.
Author's Notes
Well, here it is. My first chapter in Nibelheim and my first time writing Tifa for a story. I hope I've done well. You can kick me if I didn't. I debated whether or not to make this chapter longer and then decided just to publish what I had. It's twenty-six pages after all. Interesting note--Tifa's full name, Tifara, as I gave it here is an actual Hebrew name. Tifara means beautiful or glorious. One of the variations of Tifara is Tiferet. Tiferet is interestingly enough one of the sefirot on the tree of life as taught in the Kabbalah, a text used in some sects of Judaism. Each individual sefirot (sephira) together are collectively called sephiroth. Interesting.