Chapter Fifteen
—
[ ν ] - εγλ - 2007 | November 28th
Childish Things
Tifa lay tucked under the heavy down comforter in Cloud's old room. It was still dark, dawn creeping away at the corners of the horizon.
She hadn't slept all night.
The tremors in her belly had been mostly silent, with the exception of a few twirls and kicks during the night. But aside from that, all had been still, the life inside of her more at ease than Tifa's own heart.
Turning on her side, Tifa faced Cloud, finding him still asleep, one arm slung around her waist in a loose but protective hold. Perhaps it was his constant closeness that was so reassuring to their unborn child, but for Tifa, even the intimacy and warmth of the man she had loved for as long as she could remember ever possessing such feelings was not enough to quiet the bubbles of anxiety that had kept her up for most of the night.
The sun was just beginning to filter a hazy blue and yellow blur behind the mountains as it lifted, shining the first rays of its morning light into Cloud's childhood bedroom. Tifa's eyes were transfixed on the window, watching every beam as it quietly lit up the sky while Cloud snoozed behind her. But her attention was focused on the window of the house beyond, leading to her own bedroom that she had not seen in nearly a decade.
Tifa closed her eyes to the sight and inhaled deeply, running her palm up and down over her swollen belly. Sensing her subtle movement in his sleep, Cloud instinctively tightened his hold around her waist, curling his body even closer to hers. Tifa leaned back against him, doing her best to absorb the warmth and serenity of his body in hopes it would quell the disruption she felt in her soul. But as the second hand on the clock above his door ticked its way through its rotations, Tifa knew that it was no use and that she would have to face her fears and the reason she had returned to this village in the first place.
Papa.
Working to avoid rousing Cloud, Tifa slid out from under his arm, pushing it gently to the side as she sat up in the bed, still holding her belly with one hand. She shifted in the bed, tearing her eyes from the window and the unease that awaited her just next door. Instead, she glanced down at the distention of flesh in front of her, letting out another quiet sight while Cloud stirred at her side, seemingly aware of the sudden absence of her warmth.
Tifa was reminded of the fact that it had been many, many years since she had spoken with her father. Their contact with one another had broken off not long after Tifa had moved to Midgar to take up her performance studies, following arduous months of his demands that Tifa grew to reject more and more as the distance between them grew. After her breakup with Cloud and subsequent departure to the great city of mako on the other side of the world, Tifa soon came to realize that her father's designs for her life extended far deeper than his betrothal of his only daughter to the wealthy boy who lived a few blocks away. He had plans for her entire future, and with her mother no longer alive, his machinations ran unchecked.
She had told him in no uncertain terms that she would not follow any of his wishes, least of all his desires for her to marry Jody Hartley and return to Nibelheim to carry out her days as his wife. She wanted nothing to do with small-town living after what she had been through that year, least of all did she want to become the trophy wife of an arrogant, over-inflated boy who was expecting the reigns of City Hall to be handed over to him as a result of the nepotism and backdoor dealings of their parents and the city's elders.
Tifa knew that her defiance had cost her father greatly back home after all of the promises he made that involved her, despite her lack of consent. But after mama's death and the way that she had been humiliated and her relationship with Cloud disintegrated, she let every tether that kept her connected to Nibelheim and her life there wither. She still remembered her last conversation with her father vividly, his final words to her alarm bells she could never erase from her mind.
"After everything we have been through, with your mother, with this family… you would dare to defy me? Why do you insist on ruining everything I have worked so hard for?
"Papa - "
"Don't think of showing your face here again unless you've changed your tune, Tifa."
"Tifa?"
Her father's voice faded from memory at the sound of Cloud's gentle call of her name, and Tifa turned and shifted to find him awake, sitting up on his elbows and staring at her intently in the darkness. The first wisps of early morning sunlight were casting gold highlights on his mussed hair, and his blue eyes were groggy with sleep. He blinked at her, and Tifa could see he was still wading his way through wakefulness. It made her smile, despite the heaviness that sat on her heart.
"Morning," she greeted him.
Cloud wrinkled his nose in response, his eyes narrowing knowingly at her. "You doing okay, Tifa?" he asked her right away. "You looked like you were far away for a moment there."
Tifa felt a warm rush pass over her, her smile expanding. No matter what lived inside of her at any moment, Cloud always found a way to uncover it. There was never any hiding her feelings or troubles from him. He could read her like an open book, and she'd come to realize he had been able to do so for as long as she could remember, stretching back to their blunted youths together.
"Just nerves," she answered, shifting on the bed so that she could face him. "I'll be okay."
Cloud sat up fully, scooting closer to her. His arm looped around her waist again, one hand falling to the crest of her stomach as he nuzzled the side of her face and dropped a solitary kiss to her cheek.
"Are you sure?" he asked her softly, his breath a warm wind across her skin. "You're all pent up. You know, Tifa, you don't have to do this if you don't want to. We can still go home and leave all of this in the past."
Tifa sighed, leaning against him as he held her. If only things were that simple, she mused. Of course, though, Cloud may not understand it fully, but she knew that her circumstances in life would not improve if she didn't face her demons head-on. It may not be fair, but after years of living with this disease consuming her from the inside out, it was time for her to confront the trauma and the damage that had killed her mother and laid ruin to her own mind, body, and soul.
"No, Cloud," she told him, turning in his arms so that she could face him. His dark blue eyes seemed to glow in the dimness of his room, picking up the sunlight that began to leak inside. He quirked his head to one side, his lips forming into a small pout. "I need to do this. I have to see my father, and, well… If I don't do this now, I may never have the opportunity."
"Let me come with you," he countered immediately. But Tifa simply shook her head.
"I have to do this on my own, Cloud," she told him. "It's been years since I saw my father last, since I've spoken to him. I have to make this right by myself."
Cloud nodded, but she could see in the displeasure that rippled across his features. Nonetheless, he said nothing more in protest, just squeezed her gently, his hand traveling her belly again.
"I'm here, Tifa," he reminded her, and she felt her cheeks flush as she leaned into his embrace.
No matter what happened, she thought, that was all that mattered.
Yet, it was time to put away childish things.
—
It turned out to be a rainy day by the time Tifa roused, showered, and dressed, enjoying a hearty breakfast of eggs and home fries prepared by Claudia before she tore away from Cloud's side and left the Strife household for the day. Yet despite the wet weather, bright rays of sunshine beamed through the gaps in the clouds, leaving the landscape of the village awash in sparkle and shine.
It reminded Tifa of the very first day she had met Cloud in the rain, all those summers ago.
She pushed that memory to the recesses of her mind as she stepped out onto the sidewalk with her umbrella overhead, facing in the direction of her childhood home that was next door. Approaching the white picket fence that surrounded her father's property, Tifa stood by the gate, staring up at the painted red door of her house, memories returning and keeping her rooted in place for endlessly long moments.
It had been ten long years since she had last set eyes on her home, and standing in front of it like this after all that time kicked up old sadness and the fond memories of a childhood that had once been happy but had been far too fleeting. She remembered the days of her youth when she had played with Mama outside, making snow angels in the winter and tending her vegetable garden in the spring and summer months. Those were the days before her mother's illness and her father's drinking, before the coil of disease and depression and betrayal began to choke all of the life out of their little family.
Tifa inhaled deeply, and feeling a roll inside of her tummy, she held her belly affectionately. The child growing inside of her was as in tune to every feeling she had, as much a part of her body it was. She swallowed to bite back her fears, rubbing her stomach consolingly.
"It's going to be okay," she whispered to her baby. "Mama is going to be okay."
Soothed by her words, the child stopped stirring, settling again somewhere against her ribcage. Tifa smiled ruefully, then straightened her shoulders and pushed past the gate, making her way up the cobblestone path to her front door.
The house was quiet and still, and Tifa found herself waiting for long moments while she stood on the front steps after ringing the bell. Her father's truck was parked in the driveway, so she knew that he had to be home. And after losing his position at the village hall, Tifa didn't imagine that he had very many places to go anymore, anyway. From what Claudia Strife had told her, his illness had relegated him to the home.
She peered through the front window, gazing into the living room and finding it dark. She realized with a bleak sense of disillusionment that their entire property had begun to fall into shambles. The grass of their front lawn was uncut and yellowing in patches, the paint on the siding of the house had begun to weather and chip, and weeds were climbing their way through the hedges and bushes that had once been trim and neat, lining the house. And the flowerpots that Tifa had helped her mother maintain on the front porch still sat there but were now packed with dead, dried-out soil.
She was shaking her head when the front door finally creaked open. Tifa backed away from the window and returned to the door, her eyes widening slightly when she found her father standing there, eyeing her cautiously.
She hadn't been prepared for the sight that greeted her as he pulled the door open and stood in its threshold, deep brown eyes narrowing in confusion and then widening as they scanned her face. He had changed - irrevocably - in ways that Tifa knew shouldn't shock her given the circumstances, but did nonetheless.
It seemed that Brian Lockhart had shrunk - he was thin and gaunt compared to her memories, and his hunched gait had him appearing shorter than she recalled. Her father had been a big man in his prime - tall and broad-shouldered, easily towering over most of the other villagers and far taller than Tifa or her mother. But with the weight he had lost over the years and the way that he could scarcely hold himself up, leaning against the doorjamb, he appeared diminutive in a way that caused Tifa to blink in surprise.
His face was hollowed, the skin there pallid and sallow. His cheeks were sunken in, and his face was shadowed by unkempt, patchy gray stubble, his mustache untrimmed above his lips. His hair had thinned and silvered, and his eyes were watery and wet, bloodshot and dim.
And Tifa could smell the whiskey from where she stood.
She resisted the urge to make a face at the stench, shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot as she stared back at him. She watched as her father took one long look at her up and down, his stare taking pause at her pregnant belly. He finally looked back up at her face, and Tifa swallowed carefully when he finally spoke.
"Tifa…?" he said incredulously.
"Papa," Tifa responded slowly, lifting her eyes to his.
Brian remained standing there, still holding onto the threshold of his front door, using it to prop himself up. He hadn't torn his eyes from her swollen figure yet, and Tifa just watched as his brow furrowed and he seemed to waver slightly where he stood.
Moments passed, and despite the deep chills in Nibelheim's air and the gentle pelt of the rain on the street beyond, Tifa could feel a faint line of sweat break out across her temple. She stared back at him, her mind racing to come up with words to fill the cloud of static that was rising in the air between them. But before she could come up with anything, Brian heaved a sigh and stepped out of the way, making room for her to pass.
He said nothing as he moved, and Tifa took it as a cue to slowly move past him. She heard the door close with a soft click behind her, but by then she was falling into a curious blend of nostalgic dismay as she looked around her childhood home, stepping into the living room.
Everything was as she remembered it - furniture arranged in their same places, electronics and appliances as old and outdated as they had been in her teenage years. The only difference was the dust and the decay, the empty but dirtied glasses that sat on the coffee table and lined the mantle. The air inside their home was thick with a stagnant, stale scent, one that caused Tifa to draw inwardly into herself, wrapping her arms around the life that was inside of her.
She stopped in the center of the room, waiting, her eyes drifting around the room as she absorbed the mess and the squalor her father was living in. Brian made his way around and faced her, dropping his hands into his pockets as he glanced up at her and gave his head a toss.
He remained silent, and despite the gauntness of his figure, Tifa could see a quiet, familiar rage burning behind his dark eyes. It was the same note of fury they carried whenever she had defied him as a young girl, the same look he gave her mother when they would argue or when the bourbon had infected his veins to their roots. Tifa wondered why he was looking at her that way, especially after all of these years had passed between them.
Could he still possibly be holding a grudge against her, after everything?
Even when he was dying?
"Papa - " She tried again.
"I wasn't ever expecting to see you again," Brian finally spoke, and Tifa could hear the rough, thin edge around his voice, betraying the weakness that lived inside of him. "You're pregnant."
That last bit was spoken flatly, an observation that was colorless and left Tifa feeling even more anxious than she might have been had he shown outright anger. Brian shook his head once and then took a seat on the couch, the same spot he always sat in when both her parents were still alive. He picked up a glass with a dark liquid in it from the coffee table, then sat back, sipping it.
Tifa wasn't sure what to say. Instead, she took the moment of awkward silence to glance about the room again, still in awe that she had finally returned here after all of these years of pushing the memories born here away. Above the mantle of the fireplace, she spotted the arrangements of photographs that were from a time long, long ago in the past. There was a photo of Tifa when she was a toddler, sitting in the grass in front of a group of women in long skirts, thick dark hair curling around her ears while she played with a toy xylophone in her lap. In another photo, Tifa was twelve, standing between her mother and father in her school's auditorium in front of the piano, a bouquet of red and pink roses in hand while she beamed a gapped-tooth, happy grin at the camera. And in yet another, it was just Tifa and her mother, somewhere near the end of her junior year, arms around one another while Tifa smiled.
By then, death was already living in her mother's eyes.
Brian coughed then, tearing Tifa out of her reverie, not even realizing that her eyes had begun to mist over as she stared. She blinked her tears back, then turned again to her father, dropping her hands to her belly once more as he continued to stare at her.
"I am," she finally replied. She wondered for a moment if she should elaborate, but she didn't think her father would be happy to hear any of the truth, especially not the fact that the reason for her current condition was right next door at that very moment.
"Are you married?" he asked her before she could properly get her next thought out.
Tifa felt a mild sense of panic develop as she realized her father, in his pallid but inebriated state, was approaching this conversation with far more force and determination than she could even have tried to bring herself, even with her best efforts. She shook her head, and needing to steady herself, she unbuttoned her jacket and settled into the armchair adjacent to the couch.
"I heard you were sick, Papa," she said softly instead of answering, folding her hands in her lap.
Brian sighed in response, turning away from her and refocusing his attention on his glass. He sipped carefully, and Tifa could see that his eyes were wet. She wasn't sure if it was from age or from emotion, but it intrigued her nonetheless.
"Long time coming," he responded bitterly. His glass was almost empty, but he seemed to be avoiding draining it completely, staring down into the remaining swirl of bourbon as he sipped it carefully. "I'm sorry your mother and I couldn't have been better for you."
Tifa looked up, eyes widening in surprise. The last thing that she had been expecting from this visit was any sort of apology. Though she had to admit, it did sting that he brought Mama into it.
Tifa could only fidget her hands in her lap as she tried to formulate a response. Brian finally finished the last of his drink and set the empty tumbler on the table with a thud, then leaned back again, staring at the same photos on the mantle that had captured Tifa's attention.
Tifa found her eyes gazing in that same direction again, and the flood of memories was returning to her. Some of them were happy and colorful- those moments of her girlhood days, when her family had been a protective unit around her, when she had friends in grade school who cared about her and when she had learned to play the piano. But they were also melancholy and bleak, times when her mother had screamed and cried stars, when her father had passed out from too much drink, when her friends became little more than acquaintances all climbing the same social ladders and when the piano had been the only ray of light in her life throughout it all.
Until she met Cloud.
Tifa touched her belly again, and her movements drew her father's eyes back to her. But she didn't dare broach that subject yet.
"I've been sick too," she responded, hoping that might spur the lag in their conversation. At that, her father looked up at her.
"Because of…?" he started, glancing at the swell of her figure again, but Tifa shook her head.
"No, Papa," she responded. "I… I never got a chance to tell you, but… I have Star Scar."
Brian sighed so quickly and so explosively that it almost seemed to Tifa that he had been expecting her to say those exact words. Soon, he was leaning forward over his knees with his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth.
"My sins…"
It was an odd response, Tifa thought, and not one that she was anticipating at all. Brian dragged his hand across his face, then turned to glance back at her.
"Papa, I'm-" Tifa started, but her words came out choked and Brian was soon facing her again, his face even more shorn than when he had first opened the door for her, his eyes even glassier.
"This is all my fault, Tifa," he began, leaning in close. "I gave up a long time ago… on your mother, on our family, on you… and after she was gone, I never thought how my actions had brought this pain down on all of us. It was only when I got sick myself did I realize how badly I had made a mess of things after all of these years. But by then, you were already gone."
Tifa thought back to her parting words with her father over the phone, back when she had been thousands of miles away, alone in Midgar. She remembered curling the phone's cord around her fingers until the blood drained away and they turned white, tears pooling the corners of her eyes as she realized she was fighting a losing battle against her future and her relationship with her father. She remembered the lonely bitterness of those days, of thinking about her final days in Nibelheim and her final days with Cloud, and how every relationship she had ever cherished had been turned to dust, leaving her alone in a foreign, unforgiving city that after a decade she still felt unseen in.
She was unable to respond to her father at that moment, able only to close her eyes and let the first tears spill across her cheeks. They burned, and Tifa knew that the threat of stardust was etched behind them. She breathed in deeply, and feeling her and Cloud's child kick and shift inside of her, she remembered again why she was here and what she had set out to accomplish.
"How did you find out I was dying?" Brian asked, leaning back against the couch again, and he seemed so frail and diminutive in his sickly state that it was almost as if he were sinking into the cushions.
Tifa hesitated for only a moment. "Claudia Strife called me," she answered carefully.
Brian looked up at that. Once again, his eyes passed over Tifa's distended abdomen, round with the evidence of a broken romance that had spanned a decade. She watched his mustache twitch, now almost completely grayed and far thinner than she remembered before he opened his mouth to speak, but she quickly interjected.
"I just wanted to see you before it got to be too late for either of us," she said.
That seemed to deflate the questions that hovered above his tongue, and Brian shook his head, looking down at his hands once again.
"I hope you can forgive me," he said softly, before he turned away with another gruff cough into his hand, settling into the couch with his eyes downturned.
Tifa could only stare, trying to find the words to respond to him. Forgiveness, she knew, was the hardest part about all of this, but it was the most crucial part. It was the only part that would matter for her and her child if she ever hoped to be whole enough to live a normal life.
"I will try," was all she could say.
She stared at her father as he nodded, still not meeting her eyes, his body trembling as he rocked back and forth on the couch. He said nothing more, and Tifa could only take in his appearance, sunken yellow eyes and hunched shoulders and sallow skin, the shadowed shell of a man who she had, at once, admired, feared, and loved.
Now, she didn't know what she felt. But as her baby kicked again and she felt the sharp burn of star-tears singe her eyelids again, Tifa knew one thing.
She would see this to the end.
—
[ ν ] - εγλ - 2007 | December 1st
Redemption
It was approaching the fourth day that they had been in Nibelheim when Cloud was staring at the screen of his PHS while he sat over the edge of his childhood bed, arms draped over his knees and the corded muscles in his neck and shoulders tight with tension and strain.
Denzel: Are you coming home soon? Yuffie only knows how to make packaged ramen.
Cloud sighed and tossed the PHS on the mattress, running his fingers through his unkempt hair. It was only early evening, but Nibelheim's sun had fallen behind the mountains hours ago, and it had already grown dark. The only lights that Cloud could see from his window came from streetlights and the Yule fairy lights that decorated the town beyond, and the light from the moon and stars.
He glanced out of the window for a moment, and catching the glitter of starlight, Cloud shifted and turned on the bed, finding Tifa lying on her side on top of the covers, one arm curled around the front of her body. She was snoring lightly, still dressed in her day clothes, her long black hair askew in a river of satin and silk all around her.
He watched the rise and fall of her back as she slept, aware of how his heart beat faster and louder the longer he focused his attention on her and his unborn child that she grew and protected with her own flesh and blood. Without any preconceived consideration, he leaned over and placed one hand on the expanse of her belly, then dropped a kiss right above the place where he held onto her.
Tifa had crashed and fallen asleep as soon as she had returned home, just a little while ago. For the last three days, she had spent nearly every waking moment of the day next door at her father's house. Ever since her first visit when they returned to Nibelheim, she seemed determined to make the most out of every last moment that she might have with him. After seeing the way that her eyes had misted over and her mood had darkened when she returned after her first visit, Cloud wasn't sure of what to say or how to say it to comfort her. He'd tried, but she hadn't wanted to talk much about her father, only said that she needed to spend as much time as possible with him.
They had been back in the village for half the week now, and Cloud had a son to get back to. They couldn't rely on Barret's generosity or Yuffie's services forever, and judging from the way that Denzel's phone calls and texts to his PHS grew in frequency, Cloud knew he couldn't stay here forever.
But he wasn't going to leave Tifa and his child here alone, either, even if his mother was willing to watch over her, and he made it a point to remind them both of this fact.
Eventually, his mother scolded him and told him to leave it alone, and Cloud dropped it, letting Tifa have her space to deal with her family affairs herself. He knew the reason that Tifa was here and why this visit with her dying father was so important to her. It ran far deeper than the need for reconciliation between them after so many years.
It was about healing herself for their family.
Despite that, Cloud had his own demons to confront, and although he had assured Tifa he would let her handle her father the way that she wanted, he wanted to close the door on the parts of his past that this visit had unearthed. If he had learned anything from his therapy with Dr. Rayleigh, it was that letting old hurts go unchecked never solved anything.
And by now, he was itching with the urge to let out what had been pent up inside of him for ten long, lonely years.
Cloud let out another quiet sigh and pushed up to his feet, snatching his PHS and shoving it into his pocket. He afforded Tifa another glance, then grabbed one of the blankets from his bed and carefully covered her up. She stirred slightly under his care, but she didn't awaken. Instead, she only seemed to curl further into the comfort of his sheets.
"I'll be back," he whispered to her and the baby she carried.
Cloud pulled on his jacket and made his way down the stairs in a light jog, hands deep in his pockets as he headed for the front door. As he passed through the living room, he found Claudia seated on the couch in front of her old black and white television set, sipping a mug of hot tea.
"Going somewhere?" she asked him, an eyebrow raised as he came to a full stop by the foyer and turned to her.
He didn't want to get his mother anymore involved than she already was. After all, she was already doing so much for him and Tifa both, and Brian Lockhart had given Claudia Strife her fair amount of troubles over the years.
Cloud scratched the back of his neck in an effort to appear nonchalant. "Just for a walk," he lied, shrugging his shoulders. "Tifa's still asleep."
Claudia wore a look of perplexity, but she sipped her tea innocently and then set it down, reaching for a bundle of yarn and a pair of knitting needles that sat at her hip. "Okay, sweetheart," she responded, appearing disinterested but her lips still pulled into a slight but knowing smirk. "Just don't do anything foolish, okay?"
Cloud felt the blood rush to his cheeks, and he quickly turned away, fingering his keys in his pockets. How did his mother somehow always have an intuition about what he was up to?
"Yeah, okay, Mom," he conceded, every intention to go through with his plan anyway.
He left their cottage without another word, carefully closing the front door behind him. The temperatures had dropped even lower now that the sun had gone down, and Cloud could hear the wind whistle through the gaping cracks in the mountains beyond. He rolled his shoulders in response to the cold, but he didn't give it much more thought past that.
Instead, he glanced over at the Lockhart's home.
Cloud crossed the concrete path to the sidewalk just beyond the gate that bordered his mother's property, stopping to stare at the house next door. He still remembered the very first day that he moved in next door to Tifa Lockhart, catching her from afar as he stared out of his kitchen window, watching as she moved with effortless beauty and grace through the daily machinations of her life. He remembered thinking that her house was so much larger than his, that her parents must be wealthy and important, that he would somehow never be enough for a girl who was not only beautiful and illustrious but whose reputation for being talented and smart had preceded her and piqued his interest before he'd ever laid eyes on her.
The inadequacy that he'd felt stab at him during those vulnerable years had remained with him through adulthood, pestering him even when he moved back across the world and tried to push Tifa and their breakup from his mind. They had persisted and kept him from achieving his own dreams, and resulted in some of the most terrible failures of his life, including one that cost his dearest friends their own.
Cloud flung that miserable thought from his mind as he stared up at the Lockhart's home. He had learned how to cope with the trajectory that lay in the wake of his past mistakes and in the circumstances in which he had no control. But he had control over this - his life and relationship with Tifa and the child they were going to bring into the world together, years and years after he had thought he'd missed his only shot forever.
No turning back.
With purposeful strides, Cloud made his down the sidewalk to the Lockhart's next door, following the stone pathway to the front door. He glanced at the front window that offered a sheltered view of the living room and foyer, but all that Cloud could see was darkness. Knowing that Brian Lockhart was deathly ill from the ways in which he'd poisoned his own body over the years, he wondered if the man had already fallen asleep for the evening.
Considering how he'd made much of his life a living hell, Cloud was past caring.
Cloud gave the bell a ring, and after several moments of standing there, he grew impatient and began to pound the wood with his fist. Another beat passed, but after some time, he could hear a clatter and then faint movement inside. Soon, the front door was opening.
Cloud took a hesitant step back. Brian Lockhart stood there, holding the door open with one hand and steadying himself against the threshold as he peered at Cloud with eyes narrowed.
It had been years since Cloud had seen Tifa's father, but despite what Tifa and his mother had told him, he wasn't quite prepared for the changes that had erupted in the man's countenance over the course of a decade. He had always towered over Cloud - still did, in fact - but his gait was disjointed and unseemly, characterized by a stiffness of limb that preambled death. The lines that had erupted under his eyes and across his forehead told stories of the years that were behind all of them, his skin pallor and his eyes jaundiced.
"Strife," Brian said at once.
Cloud leveled his gaze with Brian, resisting the urge to curl his shoulders protectively into himself and instead managing to throw them back, widening his stance. He met Tifa's father eye to eye, and while Brian continued to glare at him from the doorway without invitation, Cloud summoned every reserve of strength he had put together to make this trip over here.
"Can I come in?"
Brian eyed him for a moment longer, the creases in his forehead deepening as he considered Cloud from where he stood. Cloud felt beads of sweat roll down the back of his neck behind his collar, but he tried to ignore it and not let the way that the anxiety and fear over what he was doing cripple him.
Brian expelled a quiet grunt, then moved out of the way, making room for Cloud to pass. Cloud hesitated for only a moment before he nodded and stepped inside, every muscle in his body tight as he dug his fingernails into his palms as he passed inside.
Brian closed the front door with a little more force than was necessary, and Cloud blinked, managing not to jump out of his skin at the sound.
He looked around Tifa's home, taking in how poorly kept the living room was, how the banisters of the stairway were lined with dust, and the carpets were covered with lint as if they had not been vacuumed in months. He imagined his mother forcing her way over here to help Brian keep the home clean and manage it, and he found himself gently shaking his head, dismayed at how deep the deterioration had gone, beyond just Brian's physical self.
Cloud watched Brian hobble towards the couch, falling into a seat and letting a pile of blankets swallow him. From the way things were arranged, it seemed that this had become Brian's sleeping arrangements. Cloud silently wondered how long that had been going on and why, but he said nothing, only lifting his hands into the pockets of his jacket in an effort to keep them from shaking.
Brian immediately picked up an open bottle of beer that sat in front of him, raising it to his lips. He didn't bother to offer Cloud a seat or offer any sort of polite hospitality. Instead, he simply turned to him from his place on the couch, letting out a phlegmy cough before he spoke.
"I'm guessing you're the one who knocked my daughter up," Brian deadpanned.
Despite the frailty of his body and the flatness of his tone, Cloud could see the silent vexation that burned behind Tifa's father's eyes as he stared at him with his accusation clouding the air between them. Cloud's heart was already racing in his chest, goosebumps lining his arms all the way up to his shoulders. As he stared back, doing his best not to falter, he glanced at the bottle that Brian held, opting to change the subject.
"You still drinking?"
The frigid snap of snark that lined his voice when he spoke hung in the air well after the words had left his mouth, and Cloud almost regretted them, especially seeing the way that Brian's lips twisted in consternation beneath his mustache. The older man then turned away, directing his attention to his drink.
"I should have known," he went on with his own train of thought. "She never could stay away from you, no matter how hard I tried."
Brian laughed ruefully, and the sound broke away into a cough that left Cloud feeling uncomfortable as Brian hacked into his own hand. He tried to rally a response, but he couldn't imagine what to say to that. The longer that he stood there the more that he began to lament his choice in coming over here, suddenly fearing that his involvement with Tifa's father might do more harm than good to her efforts to repair their relationship.
"How long has it been going on?" Brian asked after Cloud stood there for too many seconds, his brain mulling over his next choice of words. "Since she left for university?"
At that, Cloud raised an eyebrow. He hadn't been expecting that summation, and it made him realize just how much time had truly been lost.
For all of them.
"We only reunited earlier this year," he managed, looking down at the floor, his nails digging new divots into the insides of his hands.
At that, Brian simply shook his head, still staring down into his beer. He took a long swig of it, and Cloud couldn't help but watch his jowls and his Adam's apple bob as he drank it down, his skin littered with the telltale pockmarks of cirrhosis. He swallowed carefully, wondering internally if he should elaborate, but Brian set the bottle down and directed his attention to him finally.
"At least marry her," Brian demanded, his eyes narrowing. "Don't turn my grandchild into a bastard."
Cloud nearly choked on his own saliva at the bluntness of that statement. His mouth fell open, but Brian was turned away, settling into his place on the couch and drawing his fleece blankets around himself.
Cloud stood there dumbfounded, trying to muddle his way through his thoughts so he could properly assemble them into words. Brian Lockhart had always intimidated him, and even now, seeing him as infirm and cadaverous as he was, nothing had changed. The sweat that had begun to pour down his neck became torrential, and Brian's sharp words to him did nothing to alleviate it.
He pulled his hands out of his pockets, resting them at his sides as he tore his eyes from the floor and looked back at Brian. He thought about his reason for coming here, how Tifa had tried to shoulder this burden on her own and how she tried to protect him from her father's wrath, the same way she had ten years ago.
She always protected him.
That thought was enough to motivate Cloud to see his task through to completion. He rolled his neck slightly, and even though Brian Lockhart was no longer facing him, he cleared his throat and tried to throw a little authority behind his voice.
It was time to step up and be the man that Tifa had always deserved him to be.
"I know you're dying," Cloud said, wincing at the way his voice cracked mid-sentence. "But that's not the reason I'm here. Tifa didn't want me to come here. She was trying to keep me away from you, same way she did when you tried to kill me ten years ago."
Brian huffed, leaning his head back against the couch. "Come now, boy," he wheezed over a laugh. "I didn't try to kill you."
That wasn't how Cloud remembered things, but he let it pass. "The truth is," Cloud went on, remembering the words he had stored away in preparation for this visit, "You're the reason that Tifa is the way that she is. That she's sick, the way that she is now."
At that, Brian sat up again, finally turning to face Cloud.
"Tifa is too kind to ever tell you this," Cloud continued, feeling heat rise and paint his neck as the words crawled forth, "But I'm not. She got sick because of what you did to her all those years ago. The way that you treated her mother and how you forced Tifa to do things that she didn't want just because they benefited you. The way that you let this entire town humiliate her. The way that you kept us apart."
Brian's eyes had narrowed into slits by now, and Cloud could see the gears turning, his mouth dropping open to form a retort. But Cloud plowed forward, taking a careful step closer to Brian on the couch.
"She only came here because she wanted to fix things before you died. The doctors have told her for years that her coming to see you might only make things worse. But Tifa is stubborn, and she wants to get better for our baby and for our family."
"Now listen -"
"You listen," Cloud raised his voice, speaking over Brian with purpose. "I know that Tifa has already forgiven you and that she wants to make things right. That's what she needed to do. But I need you to know that I will never forgive you for what you did to her and to us."
From where he stood, Cloud could see the way that Tifa's father was beginning to tremble with fury. But he did not relent, only stepping closer as he felt his own anger that had burned for years bubble inside of him.
"I'll never forgive you," he repeated. "But I will promise you one thing. I will take care of Tifa and our child. I will marry her. You'll never have to worry about that."
"Cloud," Brian tried to interrupt, but Cloud simply shook her head.
"I love her," Cloud declared, tears that were born from a furious combination of rage and regret and overpowering emotion for the girl next door burning the corners of his eyes. "I know you could never see that, but it's true. I've always loved her, and I will never stop loving her. You have my word."
Brian was at his feet by now, but Cloud could only see a blur in front of him as tears fogged his vision. Brian was ambling in his direction, and Cloud vaguely made out the sound of his voice, but his thoughts were already somewhere far, far away.
Before Brian could finish whatever he had been trying to say, Cloud was turning away, not wanting him to see the tears finally cascade down his cheeks. They burned his skin when the cold winter's chill greeted him outside, his boots thundering across the wooden floorboards of the foyer as he made his way out. He slammed the door behind him, sprinting back to his own childhood home without chancing a glance behind him, not realizing that Brian never bothered to follow him, anyway.
Cloud wasn't sure how Tifa would react when she inevitably found out that he had gone to see her father without her knowledge. He wasn't sure if his actions and his words would have a ripple effect, if they would make things worse and if the repercussions were worth getting ten years' worth of guilt and anger off of his chest.
He never got a chance to find out, though.
Tifa's father died that night.
—
[ μ ] - εγλ - 1997 | 19th August
Midnight's Last Melody
Cloud stood under the water tower in the center of Nibelheim's oldest park, unable to keep from pacing back and forth as he waited. It was after midnight, a cool summer evening in late August, and the air was bitten by the occasional gusts of wind that descended from the mountains that cried into the heaven to the north of the village. His hands were buried deep in his pockets, balled into fists as he tried to swallow back the anxiety that had been boiling through his blood ever since Tifa had phoned him earlier that afternoon.
Cloud hadn't seen Tifa since his birthday, the night that her father had caught them together in her bedroom. It seemed that her father had forbidden her from leaving the house in the days that followed, and despite Cloud's best efforts to get her attention from his bedroom window, the safest way to contact her, she had not responded to him. He stayed out of town aside from reporting to work, and he avoided Brian Lockhart like the plague. It was only his mother's intervention on his behalf that kept the man from pursuing him after the violent eruption that night.
Cloud couldn't imagine a way that his nineteenth birthday could have gone any worse.
His depression had begun to eat him alive as the days stretched on where he had no contact with Tifa, so when the phone rang and his mother called him downstairs to tell him that it was her, he was so elated that he had felt his heart regrow the wings that they always carried because of Tifa. She asked him to meet her at the water tower that night, but she refused his offer to pick her up and drive her. She didn't want to do anything that would raise her father's suspicions any further, and Cloud readily agreed.
Still, after all of the times that he had picked her up and driven her here, their own special spot that they had carved out as their own almost a year ago, Cloud couldn't stop the anxiety and the slight feeling of nausea that burned the back of his throat while he waited for her.
His mind was racing with thoughts of what he would say to her while he waited. Part of him - the most basic part of him, perhaps - was thrilled about the prospect of just seeing her again. The longing that piled inside of him after days and days of not being able to see her beautiful face or her shapely figure, of having her soft body pressed against his and her lips sealed with his own, was leveling every remaining iota of his sanity. He was ashamed to admit that it had gotten so bad that he had taken to lying on his back on his bed, holding the picture that he and Tifa had taken together at the carnival earlier that spring, his mind spun with her and finding all sorts of fantasies to entertain.
But more than that, Cloud had spent most of his time worrying about how Tifa was doing and feeling. Her silent disappearance in the days following the mortification that exploded that night had unnerved him, and he had no way to gauge if she was okay or even safe, knowing her father's proclivity to drink. It kept him up at night, and more than once, his mother had to redirect his impulsive urges to throw all caution to the wind and run over to her house.
The last time that he had seen her, tears had streaked her cheeks, and the sounds of her cries were still burned into his ears.
It was an image he despairingly found that he could not wipe away.
Now, though, he finally heard from her and at least knew that she was okay. He would see her any moment, and finally, he could make sure for himself that she knew he was still there for her.
He was turning his first words to her over in his head when he heard soft footsteps in the grass behind him, and he turned to find Tifa walking up to him, her hands folded in front of her and her handbag slung over one shoulder. She was dressed in dark jeans and a light summer blouse, and her hair was loose, tousled by the wind, and hanging long around her shoulders and hips.
She wasn't wearing any makeup, and Cloud could only smile at her fresh-faced appearance. Tifa always liked to wear a little eyeliner and lip gloss whenever they went out on their dates, and Cloud inwardly admitted that he appreciated her efforts to doll herself up for him for rather selfish reasons. But it was a plain and simple truth that Tifa simply did not need those things to be the ravishing beauty she was.
"Hi," she greeted him softly as she approached.
She stopped a few feet in front of him, and Cloud could feel the words he had been practicing so diligently in his mind choke the back of his throat, his heart a thunderclap in his chest. Resisting the urge to run up to her and pull her to him, he slowly dragged his hands out of his pockets, dropping them to his sides.
"Tifa," he responded, his voice so low it was nearly chased away by the wind.
Cloud saw Tifa's cheeks bloom with the faintest tinge of color as she lowered her eyes, but he could already detect the sadness that was floating behind those dark crimson specters. He clenched his fingers at his sides, itching with the compulsion to do something to alleviate the tension that was snapping the air between them.
"Are you okay?" he finally managed, unsure of what else he should say.
Tifa looked up at him again then, and she offered him the barest hint of a sad, tiny smile. It was enough to compel Cloud to finally close the remaining gap between them, and he strode in her direction, taking her face in both of his hands.
"I'm okay," she whispered, and then she burst into tears.
Cloud instantly lowered his hands and wrapped his arms around Tifa, pulling her in close and holding her tight. She began to sob, her body gently trembling in his embrace. She buried and hid her face against his shoulder, muffling her cries and her sniffs.
So many times Cloud had held Tifa like this over the course of the past year, clutching her much smaller body against his while he waited for her to let out everything that had been bottled up inside of her. He'd held her and let her cry this way when her mother was sick and her father was killing himself and their family with booze. He'd comforted her all throughout those achingly long months when school stressed her and her father tried to reign over her choices, the mounting pressures of her life shattering her into pieces every time she let herself let go. And he'd squeezed her tight when her mother died, the same night that she had fallen from the mountain a short time later and nearly perished herself.
Any time that she needed him, he was there, and that was not going to stop now.
Tifa continued to weep, but her sounds slowly began to fade away, and Cloud rubbed the center of her back to encourage her. The more that he squeezed and the more that he rubbed, the more that she seemed to quiet and fall calm. Ducking his head by the crook of her shoulder, he pressed a solitary kiss to her hair and wished with everything left inside of him that she would just stop crying and finally be okay.
He heard her quietly hiccup, and then she pulled against him.
"Cloud… Cloud?"
"Hm?"
"… You're hurting me."
Her words were a quiet, tentative whisper, but immediately Cloud released her, though the reluctance he felt in letting go of her was apparent in the way that it took far too long for him to lower his arms. She stepped back, but Cloud couldn't tear his eyes away from her face, watching as she wiped her cheeks clean with the back of her hand.
"…Sorry," he responded sheepishly.
"It's okay," Tifa offered him with a toss of her head from side to side.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked her again, now stricken with the urge to protect her now that she was no longer wrapped in his arms. The physical distance had become more than he could handle, and he wanted nothing more than to reach for her again so that he could comfort her with his touch, the best way that he knew how.
She sniffed and nodded, looking back up at him, her rouge-tinted eyes wet. "I'm okay. Thank you, Cloud."
"I missed you," he blurted, unable to stop himself.
This caused her to smile slightly again, but it was still colored by the same note of sadness. It crawled under his skin, but Cloud tried to push away the chill that it inspired in his blood, focusing on Tifa and repairing whatever had happened between them since that night.
"I missed you too," she responded, holding his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Cloud."
Her words had Cloud's neck feeling hot, and he took a step closer to her again, leaving them only inches apart. "What are you sorry for?" he asked, unaware of how his brow furrowed and his lips twisted down into a pout. "This is all my fault, Tifa. I was being selfish. I knew we could've gotten caught, and I shouldn't have -"
"No, Cloud," Tifa interrupted him, and she closed her eyes, shaking her head back and forth. For whatever reason, the nervousness of her movements was raising the sense of panic in his own body, and Cloud could only deal with it by clenching and unclenching his right fist at his side. "It - it's my fault. I should have known better and I should never have put you in that sort of… position, especially knowing how my father feels about us."
"It's not your fault," Cloud insisted defiantly.
Tifa opened her eyes again, and Cloud could see every tear that was caught in her lashes, sparkling in the starlight from above.
Tifa just shook her head, clearly not intending to argue the point. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her midriff, holding herself, a habit that Cloud knew she fell into when she was feeling insecure.
"Listen," she finally spoke, her eyes once again averted from his. "I… I'm leaving for Midgar tomorrow. My father is sending me to the dormitory a few weeks early."
Instantly, the panic that Cloud had been feeling blew away into full-blown dread, his heart beginning to fall out of pace in its rhythm. He shook his head, disbelief beginning to crowd his thinking.
"Tomorrow?" he heard himself whine. "But Tifa, what about our plans? What's going to happen to us?"
His voice had risen in pitch and if Cloud had not been so terrified, he might have been embarrassed by the way that he sounded. But all he could think about was the sudden fear that he was about to lose Tifa Lockhart forever.
Tifa at last tilted her head up to look at him again. "Oh, Cloud," she sighed softly. "I - I'm so sorry."
"Sorry for what?" he demanded, now feeling a subtle current of anger begin to the ride the waves of his fear.
Tifa shook her head again, and Cloud watched another lonely tear leak from the corner of her eye and wind its way down her cheek.
"I just…" she started, and then she turned her body completely away from him, turning to look up at the stars.
Cloud followed her gaze, catching the bright streaks of indigo and white that painted the sky, filtering swirls of gemstones around the moon that sat in the center of it all. It was in the crescent phase, just like the charm on her mother's necklace that she had given him when they shared their promise that nothing would ever come between them.
Was that promise about to be broken?
"What's wrong, Tifa?" Cloud asked when she remained silent. "Please… talk to me. Everything's going to be alright. Just please… talk to me."
"I just need time…"
"Time for what?"
"Time to think," Tifa whirled back around to face him, and Cloud could hear the broken rift in her voice that betrayed that she was on the verge of exploding into fresh tears. "I… with everything with my father, and university, and Jody - "
"Jody?" Cloud repeated, completely rebuffed. The anger he was beginning to feel was threatening to explode into rage, and he did everything in his power to quell it, the muscles in his forearms corded as he squeezed his fists yet again.
"It doesn't matter," Tifa responded at once. "Cloud, you have no idea the things that have happened in the last few days. You wouldn't believe it, even if I told you. My father… I can't go on like this, Cloud."
Cloud felt tears beginning to burn the corners of his eyes now. He moved in closer to Tifa, taking her by the arms with both hands, no longer able to control himself from touching her.
"What did he say to you, Tifa?" he asked, his voice quiet but trembling from dismay. "What did he do to you?"
Tifa just shook her head in response, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Goddamnit, Tifa!" Cloud swore, giving her a gentle shake. "Talk to me!"
"I have to go," Tifa choked out, and then, she had begun to sob again. "I have to pack, Cloud."
Cloud had imagined a hundred different ways that this rendezvous would pan out, but he had not been prepared for Tifa's avoidance, for her to be so closed off and to have locked everything away.
He had always had access to her heart, and suddenly, he was beginning to feel as if that access had been revoked forever.
"So that's it?" Cloud growled, releasing her arms. "You bring me here - after all that - to tell me that you're leaving tomorrow and that you need time to think? Tifa, what am I supposed to do? What about us?"
Tifa just wept in response, refusing to lift her eyes. She shook her head again, wiping her chin with her fist.
"I'm sorry, Cloud," she apologized again, setting loose the trepidation that had been coiling in his blood and sending it into the fiery cauldron of despair and rage that had been stirring in his heart. "I'm so sorry, I never meant for -"
"Are you breaking up with me?" Cloud finally exclaimed, frustration blowing up every emotion that lived inside of him. It had been his greatest fear, and the longer that he stood there facing Tifa this way, the more that his fear broke free to the surface.
"Cloud…" Tifa murmured softly in reply, and she covered her face with her hands, her crying now graduating into raspy weeping.
That she did not deny his accusation sent Cloud's heart to the pit of his stomach, all of the anxiety he had been feeling in those last few days now an open confirmation of the one outcome he had been desperate to avoid.
If he lost Tifa and her love, he was certain that he might die from the grief of that loss alone.
"Tifa," he tried, searching for any way to salvage what was splintering away. He stepped closer to her again, closing the remaining space between them until the fronts of their bodies were nearly touching. He was compelled by a vicious need to wrap his arms around her, to pull her hands from her face and kiss every tear into oblivion. But he hesitated, instead trying to find his words.
He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, how he needed her more than he needed the air that he breathed every second. He wanted to tell her that she was the only person, besides his mother, who mattered to him. That she was the one who made his world go around, who made him get up every morning, who made him want more out of life than what he had thought he was capable of before he had met her. That she was was the single star in the center of his galaxy that he and everything in his life revolved around, and that no matter what her fucking father said or thought, he would fight for her every waking hour for the rest of her life, because he had promised her that they would always be together.
He wanted to tell her that he loved her, more than life and more than anything or anyone he would ever come to love again.
The words never came.
Tifa finally looked up, dropping her hands and dragging the streaks of wetness across her face. She held his eyes for a long moment, and Cloud could feel the synapses in his brain fry as he tried to figure out what to say to her as she waited. But he was stagnated, his mouth parted but frozen, and as sparkling sapphire held on to ruby red, Tifa just began to offer that sad little smile again, sniffling away the rest of her sobs.
Before he could muster the strength to give voice to his thoughts, Tifa ducked away from him, her beautiful ebony hair shielding her face. She was digging through her handbag, and Cloud watched her carefully, the inside of his chest caved in and his legs barely still supporting him.
She turned back to him when she had fished through it, and Cloud realized that she was holding a blank compact disc case in hand, offering it to him.
"Here," she whispered. "I recorded myself playing the piano - some of your favorite songs - and I burned it on a CD. The CD you gave me on my birthday… it always makes me think about you. I think - I thought it might help you to remember me, at least… until we can meet again."
Cloud stared at the disc, finding nothing written on it but CT in Tifa's simple but delicate cursive. Cloud lifted a hand to take it from her, turning it over in disbelief before he finally looked back up at her and met her eyes.
"Don't cry," she whispered, and then, she was rising on her toes and holding his face, kissing him.
Cloud just stood there, feeling himself dissolve from the inside out as her lips connected with his. He hadn't realized that the tears he'd felt scalding his eyelids had broken free, but with Tifa kissing him this way - a hot, bittersweet press of her soft lips against his - he became oblivious to everything around him but her. He felt something break apart inside of him as her tongue slid into his mouth just enough to find his, gently prodding it in a way that had his already liquified limbs ready to puddle away. He was inundated by her scent, fresh, honeyed vanilla that lived in her skin and in her hair. He couldn't remember a time that one of the kisses they shared had tasted sweeter, and Cloud found himself raising his arms to hug her, eager to hold her and never let her go.
But it was already too late. Before he could wrap his arms around her, Tifa broke the contact, taking all of her softness and sweetness and everything that he cherished about her away as she stepped back, sliding her palms from his face. The instant that her lips were no longer connected to his, Cloud's tears began to flow freely.
"I'll call you," Tifa told him before she turned away, Cloud still holding her CD and watching her as she walked past the water tower, leaving him alone in the place that had once been hers and that had become theirs.
They were the last words he'd ever hear her say. It was the last time that he would ever see Tifa Lockhart.
"I love you," he whispered to the wind after she was gone.