Hello! Welcome to my first multi-chapter fanfic for the FF7 community! I'll be posting new chapters every Friday on here and on AO3, so you're welcome to read where you most feel comfortable! I would like to thank my wonderful new friend and beta Rand0mSmil3z for going through my chapters and inadvertently giving me ideas to keep this going. She writes some incredible stories, so make sure to check her stories out too!
This fic will be a slow-burn, and my main focus is the beautiful plot of this AU, so not everything will be 100% accurate to the original game or to Remake (since timelines are a bit different there). I welcome you all, I look forward to your reviews, and I thank you for taking the time to read my story. :)
September 0007
Aerith
Aerith huddled under her hooded cloak at the back of the train, doing her best to blend in with the traveling crowd and not be recognized. Her breathing was labored, and her grasp was clutching at the folds of the cloak tightly, knuckles paling at the strain. Her eyes darted around at the others in the same carriage as her, on edge despite not one of them even paying her a moment's glance. She felt like at any moment someone could come along, rip her hood from her face, and recognize her; then she would be in trouble for sure, at the least with the Turks and at the most with President Shinra. Word would get out to the press, and then she would be in heaps of trouble for ruining the one useful aspect about her position as Shinra's ward.
She shuddered as a chilly wave of artificially pumped air washed through her, brushing against cold tears she hadn't realized were filling her eyes. Her heart was still reeling, peeled open like the rind of a fruit exposing the raw nerves which pulsed at the memory of his soul's presence.
It had been years, yes. Aerith had all but given up hope on seeing Zack again. But yet, until this afternoon, she had chosen not to dwell on where he was or what he was doing. Stubbornly determined in her own internal way, she had known he lived, somewhere on the great, wide expanse of planet where she could not see him, and she had accepted that he had either moved on without her, was hiding from her, or was incapacitated from reaching out to her. Their relationship had not been encouraged by President Shinra, and she had suspected at one point he had a hand in keeping the SOLDIER away.
She had been lucky to be in her painting room, on the verge of a three-day isolation session where she would try to meditate and paint her ancestor's Promised Land into existence with her mind and brush. It had been mere hours since she was set up with meals, her emergency button, and every bottle of paint and brush she could ever ask for. She had sighed and prepared herself for the mindless task of producing something President Shinra would be happy with.
And then the force had slammed into her like a hurricane, tasting of blood and rain and cold. His soul clung to her heart, whispering apologies and washing her in love. And then it went on its way, as souls would do, leaving her a horrified, sobbing mess on the floor.
Aerith almost pushed the emergency button right then and there, which would of course have been ridiculous: without results, that button would grant her nothing more than unwarranted excitement from the president, and subsequent disappointment when he realized she was doing nothing more than sobbing over a boy. As she had gasped, clutching her chest as if to will the soul to return and be held by her, a clarity washed over her. She needed to get out, and she needed to get out now. Fumbling for her long-since discovered escape plan, she picked herself up and steered her feet towards the bathroom. She had peeled away the back paneling to reveal the emergency release on the door, giving it a shove. In the main room, the door had slid open to reveal a dark, empty hallway.
She had stolen through the lab, made it back to her apartment on the eastern section of the fifty-eighth floor, grabbed her cloak, and snuck down the emergency stairwell. Leaving the Shinra building wasn't too difficult, but she made sure to seem unimposing anyway, keeping her face hidden from the troopers at either side of the outer entrance.
Aerith had found her way onto the train, stumbling as she struggled for a seat when it picked up again. She hadn't ridden the train before, and this caused a new anxiety to ripple through her on top of the others. The darkness of the tunnels threatened to close in on either side, making her curl in more on herself. She had to get to the church, and fast. She needed to be in a space where she could feel some semblance of comfort.
"Entering the Sector 5 undercity," the pleasant woman's voice echoed over the speaker. The train slowed, and Aerith swayed with it as she disentangled her legs and let them fall to the floor. After the train came to a stop, she stood and followed the others disembarking.
Once her feet stepped onto the platform, still feeling the residual sway of the motion she had just left, Aerith glanced around. The sun was setting against the empty hole of sector six, bending into the sector five undercity like a warm, coiled hand. She took a deep breath and felt the evening sun on her face, trying to calm down in the process. Then she started down the path she knew would take her to the church. The cheerful greetings of people at the station died down as she crept out the back and snuck through the fence. Her cloak caught for a moment and she tugged, feeling disheartened as part of it ripped. That would be noticed. She hurried along, nervously keeping an eye out for monsters as her hand curled around the fire materia she kept on her for moments like this.
To her luck, Aerith found the pathway cleared, with not even a trace of the usual ugly monsters Tseng had always cleared for her. Thinking she finally had a stroke of luck, she surged forward, eyes on the growing monument in the distance.
A few minutes of walking quickly through the mess of a path that the slums provided left her to her thoughts, which Aerith tried not to dive into. Not yet, anyway; under the safe canopy of the church, she would express her emotions. She wiped one stray tear away, desperately jogging forward as the church finally rose into view from the heaps of industrial trash and towering rocks that surrounded her. She stopped at its steps, panting, tears spread across the heat of her cheeks from her exertion.
I made it.
Legs trembling, Aerith slowly made her way up the stairs, stopping to rest a palm against the resolute, wooden doors that beckoned her in. It was warm against her cool touch, a testament to the last rays of sun that had snaked their way through rubble to find the church's entrance. Then she grasped the handles in both hands and pushed open the door.
The serene space welcomed her with open arms, alighting her nostrils with the wonderful scent of flowers and delighting her eyes with the stream of color through stained glass windows. She softly closed the doors behind her, their shutting leaving an echoing thud as she started towards her sanctuary. Aerith put her hands together as she stumbled towards the flowers, the raw wound in her heart ripping open again as she accepted what she had felt back in her painting room.
Zack had died.
"He's gone," she whispered brokenly, cloak dropping from her shoulders as she knelt in front of the flowers, staring at their cheerful, gentle swaying. She felt tears begin to cascade down her cheeks, dripping onto the soft petals. She closed her eyes and folded her hands, willing her spirit to search the church for the comforting lifestream, to remind herself that he may be dead but he had also returned to the planet, where she too would be someday. As she prayed and searched, she felt many reassuring souls touch her, trying to share with her a bit of their light. She resisted, desperate for a feel of him again. But she knew it was futile. He had returned to the planet. His soul, whose life had ended in a kind of horrible torment that plagued her mind, was now allowed to be at peace. She knew she couldn't pull him from that, physically or emotionally.
Aerith sensed a presence behind her and sniffled, keeping her eyes shut. Of course Tseng was here. He always knew where she was.
"Does he know?" she asked, voice cracking through her tears.
"No," came the soft reply, gentler than Tseng had ever sounded in the past. He almost sounded…apologetic. Her eyes peeked open and she turned her head ever so slightly, staring at him. His expression matched his voice.
"We were trying to get to him first," Tseng said methodically, as if giving her a report would be enough of an explanation. "But the army beat us to him."
She nodded, fresh tears leaving tracks down her face. Tseng would always try to help her. Under his professional, stoic exterior, he had always been the kindest to her out of everybody at Shinra; her one friend in a lonely world of make believe.
Tseng stepped forward then.
"I'm not sure how long you have," he warned her. "I disabled the camera in your room, put on a loop to buy you some time…but you shouldn't linger."
"I know." She hiccupped, hugging herself. Her spaghetti strap white dress wasn't the best choice for a cool fall evening, but she hadn't had a chance to do much more than grab her cloak before she made her escape.
Tseng picked up her cloak where it had pooled behind her, offering it to her. She accepted it and his outstretched hand, lifting to her feet. Her legs were still shaking from her turmoil, but she would live. That much she knew for sure.
Tseng guided her back towards the doors again, and her heart, though still aching, would eventually mend, Aerith knew this. She had a job to do and it was the only thing keeping her safe from Hojo, which meant she would willingly leave with Tseng once again.
When Tseng stopped, Aerith was confused. He put a hand up to his ear, and she wiped her eyes to see that he had an earpiece there.
"Copy. Subdue," Tseng reported back, before stepping smoothly between Aerith and the doors. "We need to wait here."
"What's going on?" Aerith asked, suddenly nervous. Had some bad monsters discovered them? She could now hear the sounds of a scuffle: electronic zapping, the fire of a couple guns, a commotion of mixed voices yelling in different pitches. She pulled her cloak closer, bringing the hood up again in case the wrong party came through the door.
"Some unexpected visitors who are very interested in you," Tseng answered her calmly. "There's only a couple, so it shouldn't take long."
Aerith felt a thrill of fear rush to her head and she took a step backwards, clutching at the small orb she had hidden in her cloak pocket. She was unsure of what her small fire materia would do to help. Luckily however, she didn't have to worry about protecting herself, as the door banged open and two of the Turks she knew well by now, Reno and Rude, came marching in with an angry girl around her age pinned under their hands.
"Let me go!" the girl yelled, fury encapsulating her voice. She had green pants, an armor-plated top, and a bright red headband under a ponytail.
"We caught this one at least," Reno muttered, brandishing her in front of him. "The other guy got away."
Tseng hummed noncommittally. Then he looked back at Aerith, giving an approving nod when he saw her hood was up.
"Detain her until I tell you otherwise," he instructed. "We will take our leave."
Aerith trembled as Tseng lead her around the spitting mad girl, whose eyes were suspicious and wide as she tried to see under the hood. Aerith had a feeling the girl knew exactly who she was.
They headed down the stairs and around obvious signs of a scuffle – smoldering rubble here, a shoe over there – she did a double take at the latter. Sure enough, a shoe lay haphazardly on the path. She blinked at it, wondering just what had happened for its owner to lose a shoe of all things, as she stepped around it.
"Rude, cover us," Tseng said quietly. Aerith didn't hear an answer but knew that Rude wasn't really the verbal type. She kept close to Tseng, his arm bracing her back as he looked calmly from side to side for signs of further danger. There was a shuffling noise to their left and Tseng stopped, once again maneuvering his body to block hers.
"Nine o'clock," he murmured. Aerith listened through her own heartbeat, pounding loudly in her ears. She heard another scuffle, a few shots and a painful yelp. Tseng pushed her forward again.
"Go," he urged quickly. "I'm right behind you."
Aerith took that as a sign she was in danger, and she began to sprint, feet uneven against the mismatched floor and ground beneath her. It was all she could do to make sure her cloak stayed over her as she made her way back to the station. Once there, she would be safe. She focused with all her might on not tripping, willing her feet to stay steady enough for her legs. At one point, she swore she heard somebody in pursuit and silently prayed that it was Tseng, following her as he had promised he would.
She nearly yelped when her cloak caught again, tugging her hood down and pausing her momentum. She looked down anxiously, seeing it was the long, thin hooks of a piece of scrap metal that had snagged her. She quickly looked back to see Tseng wasn't too far behind, but there was a bit of distance between them for now. With shaking hands, Aerith bent down and coaxed the cloak away from the metal, freeing herself in what felt like wasted hours but was more realistically a few seconds. And then she was free, continuing her sprint to the finish line. She brought her hood back up as she snuck through the fence once more, letting out the breath she had been holding only when she saw Tseng follow her through the gate.
"Is everything okay?" she asked breathlessly, gulping in as much oxygen as she could take. Her lungs were burning and there was a stitch in her side: she wasn't that attuned to physical exertion, especially in her current condition.
Tseng nodded curtly.
"We just had some unexpected guests is all," he reiterated. "They have been dealt with for now."
Aerith sighed deeply, flexing her fingers and adjusting her hood to hide her face better.
"Who were they?" she questioned as Tseng led the way back to the train station. It didn't seem he had brought a helicopter with him today, so they would be stuck taking public transport back up.
"We believe them to be members of a new cell of Avalanche," Tseng replied as he scanned the faces around the station, determining none of them were threats. "The eco-terrorist organization that has sought to thwart Shinra at every turn. What they wanted with you…perhaps leverage for their demands," he thought out loud to himself. Aerith gasped and clutched her cloak tighter.
"Anyway," Tseng continued, "let's get you back before you're discovered missing."
She nodded slowly, suddenly feeling as if she had eyes watching her from all sides. The feeling was unnerving and was most likely brought on by her current paranoia from the eco-terrorists wanting to take her away, so she shook it off as best as she could and quietly followed Tseng back to the station.
There was a bit of a commotion on the other side of the train platform as they approached, one that drew her nervous gaze. Tseng's eyes flicked over, disinterest written over his entire face as he deemed the commotion not a threat and instead watched the incoming train prepare to stop. He gestured Aerith forward when the doors opened, allowing citizens to stream out and others to step on. As she was stepping onto the train to take her back to Shinra, she got a quick glimpse of the source of the commotion: somebody was slumped over on the stairs, looking much worse for wear. She caught a glimpse of blond hair, unkempt and dirty from their surroundings. Heavily lidded eyes opened for a brief moment and caught her stare. The distinct glow of mako was undeniable, and it sent a shiver down her spine as she remembered Zack's beautiful eyes having the same effect.
Aerith broke her gaze with the ill stranger and quickly boarded the train, taking a seat next to Tseng and adjusting her hood yet again. Rumbling started up beneath her feet and the train lurched forward, slowly picking up momentum. Aerith found herself staring through the windows as the train pushed past the stranger, seeing somebody rush forward and crouch down in front of him before he disappeared from sight and the train began its ascent.
The minutes in the train lengthened, and Aerith began to feel strange. As she sat there, staring at the darkening world darting past the windows, her mind began to drift. A pleasant fog took over her thoughts, and she had the feeling like she was floating in a cloud. Her eyes became unfocused and she stared ahead, suddenly seeing with her mind's eye a new image beginning to appear on the edges of her vision.
An iridescent blue sky blanketed a pristine bed of mountains with a soft coating of white – snow? At the center of these monumental jagged rocks lay a deep, dark, eerie hole. She felt a sense of foreboding around the image, but this could not stop the thrill that reached her heart as she realized this was the location she had been longing to see for eons. The place felt familiar, comforting and yet wrong. Her heart began to ache for this place, wanting to explore it in detail as her mind's eye drank it in. She knew what it was. She had been waiting for years for this moment.
"Tseng," she gasped quietly, holding the image in her mind, "I have it. I know what to paint."
Tseng hummed to himself, choosing not to reply. As she blinked the image out of the forefront of her mind and stored it away for her painting session when she returned, she beamed up at him. She would finally be able to paint the Promised Land for President Shinra. She would finally be useful.
Tseng gave her a curt nod, the corners of his mouth twitching. His eyes were far away and troubled. Aerith didn't pay this much though, especially after what had just happened. She had to focus on what she could control now, and delivering her mental image to her guardian was something she could, after almost two decades of trying, finally control. Freedom was within her grasp.
Cloud
The pressure in his head was pounding like a hammer into his skull, beating him into a submission that he blissfully welcomed. At least if he could get some rest, he could stop this incessant abuse. His heart pounded an unfamiliar rhythm in his ears, straining under the torment of his body's pain. His limbs felt simultaneously weightless and like lead, both foreign and parasitic. The air entering his mouth tasted stale and sharp, and it bit into his tongue like an insect.
He couldn't determine where he was even if he had been strong enough to pull his eyelids open and check. The entire focus of his body was to stop the pain and he didn't know how to do it. Images kept surfacing in his mind, one after another. He didn't know what he was searching for. A pattern, maybe? Reality? Like a marching army the memories came one by one, his tormented brain shoving pieces together to try and make sense of things. An eternal ache chilled his bones as his mess of a mind tried its best to fit the puzzle pieces together.
One sense returned at once – touch. He felt cold. The ground beneath him was jagged and hard and very unpleasant. Focusing with all his might, he tried to shift into a more comfortable position. He may have cried out. He couldn't tell.
The next sense that returned was hearing. Voices, bumping against one another as they fought to enter his mind, jumbled into a blend of distorted noise. Something poked at his shoulder, and he shied away fearfully from the touch. His brain reared up and his world spun green, anger billowing beneath his useless body's surface. This anger did not feel natural, and it did not feel normal. It was angry at his discombobulation, and it made itself known by turning up the dial on the pain in his head. There was no denying it this time; the cry that bubbled up in his throat escaped through his lips in a mangled heap.
He had to figure out what was going on, anything to stop the anger from increasing his punishment tenfold. He struggled with the next sense, pushing his eyelids to bend to his will as he fought to see. A sliver of the external world returned to his sight, a twilight world of mumbling bodies and nervous hands surrounding him. He fought through these with his sight, searching for anything that could provide answers.
He discovered the brightest, most luminescent emerald green color he had ever laid eyes on, warm and welcoming unlike the swampy tinge lingering in his mind. His breathing slowed, pounding subduing into a dim roar, and coherency gradually relaxed his taut muscles. It was if the very sight of that color was pulling him out of his stupor.
The beautiful green vanished then, and he felt an instant pang in his heart, breath hitching in his throat as he awaited the return of the onslaught of anger for not completing his mission.
His hearing picked up on another sound, one that sounded familiar.
"Cloud?" The voice burst into his head, and he struggled to turn his head to see the newcomer. "Cloud Strife, is that you? Oh my goodness!"
A person floated into view, kind face swimming with worry as she brushed a stray tendril of long, dark hair behind her ear. His eyes drank in the form, struggling to put a name with the face. He knew this one. Yes, those wine-colored eyes were the subject of his childhood. This was…
"Tifa?"
The words escaped his lips as he stared helplessly up at her, struggling to place her in his jumbled memories. She knelt next to him, brushing a warm hand against his face.
"Cloud, are you okay? What's going on?" she asked, kindness radiating from her. He pieced it together then – they were friends, yes. There was a night sky, back in the farthest reaches of his mind. He struggled towards it, trying to remember…the stars. The water tower. Her meeting him and asking him to make a promise.
The puzzle, disjointed and confused, slid one piece that made sense, at least enough for now that he could work with it. This was his friend and she must be his mission.
"Tifa, I – what happened?" he asked groggily, voice raspy as he struggled to gain the rest of his senses. He took in many things at once: the departure of the train from the station he was in, the dispersing of the other people who had been around him, a faint jukebox tune playing in the distance, the delectable smell of something fried.
"I don't know," she shrugged, eyes still clouded with concern. "You were laying on the steps here. Are you hurt?"
Cloud looked down at himself, at the unfamiliar clothing he wore. Yes, of course – this was a SOLDIER's uniform. His mind happily clicked another puzzle piece into place. He was a former first class SOLDIER, back in Midgar to…do what, exactly?
"I don't feel hurt," he replied, checking his body for signs of injury. He didn't feel any grave wounds, and the headache that had enveloped him earlier was fading into a distant, pulsing memory. He felt fine. Great, in fact. "I think I'm okay."
Tifa's face shone with relief.
"I'm glad to hear it," she said. "I can't believe you're here! Are you staying nearby?"
As Cloud digested his words, the headache reared back up, throbbing angrily against the front of his skull. He grunted, hand flying up to his forehead as if pressing against it would help against the pain. One moment he had been fine, the next he wasn't.
"Oh no," Tifa muttered and he gritted his teeth, finding the words were difficult to reassure her with. He dropped his head between his legs, focusing on breathing and hoping the headache would listen. It didn't.
"Let's get you back to my place for now," she was saying, speaking as if through a tunnel. Cloud barely registered what she had to say, willingly and blindly allowing her to help him up and coax him into taking a few tentative steps.
"Stand back, the train is arriving," a disembodied voice spoke from above, and Cloud vaguely acknowledged that Tifa was leading him towards where he had seen that beautiful emerald green. He focused on that now, trying to will its temporary magic to return and soothe him.
Cloud was led onto the train and Tifa deposited him gently in a seat, removing a comforting weight from his back. A sword? There were murmurings around him as he leaned his head against the cool window, wishing it would help. Nothing seemed to be helping again, but at least this time he knew who he was and where he was. He dropped his hand and focused on keeping his head leaning against the window, especially when the doors closed once more and the chime signaled their lurched movement.
"Who is that?" a voice, soft and feminine, inquired. She didn't sound familiar.
"An old friend of mine," Tifa whispered back. "I think he's hurt. Never mind about that, how did you get away?"
"They let me go," the other girl sighed, her voice much too loud for Cloud's liking. He winced and scrunched his eyes together, riding out the worst of the ache. "It had to be her, it just had to be."
"Maybe this isn't the best idea," Tifa exhaled, and Cloud felt a soft presence lean against the seat next to him. A light hand fell on his arm and fingers began soothingly stroking his bicep. The headache dimmed somewhat, and he sucked in a deep breath, exhaling it in a sigh as he let his eyes relax a bit. He was so tired…
"Well you know what Barret's other idea is, and I know you're not a fan of it," the girl pointed out. "At least this way, we get to control the narrative."
"And nobody gets hurt." Tifa quieted for a few moments, and Cloud found through his sleepy haze he was concerned. What was she talking about? Was she in trouble? His brain brought his one strong memory back, filling his eyes with stars and her pleading face again. His promise.
"We're going to need more time to craft a plan, Jessie," Tifa said then. "She obviously has skilled bodyguards in those Turks. The last thing we need to do is run into them again."
The other girl, Jessie, scoffed.
"I let them get me," she defended, but this sounded half-hearted. "Yeah, I think you're right. There has to be a better way to do it. In the meantime," Jessie said, voice sounding like it was providing a warning, "you may want to hide your handsome Shinra pal there. You know how Barret will feel about that uniform."
He felt Tifa's gaze on him and he focused on breathing more evenly, giving the appearance of sleep even as the headache disappeared into the back recesses of his mind again.
"I can't believe he's here," she said. "He left Nibelheim seven years ago to join SOLDIER, and I never heard from him. His mom said he was doing fine…and even when our homes burned, he never tried to contact me. I thought he had just forgotten me…"
"Sounds like a lousy friend," Jessie commented, huffing. Tifa didn't respond to that, and Cloud frowned slightly, turning his face more so his forehead was facing the window, away from their watchful eyes.
"Maybe we can talk to him about our plans," she murmured. "He may know a good way to infiltrate Shinra…"
For some reason, this comment made him nervous; and Cloud did not get nervous. He was a former first class SOLDIER, after all. He'd slayed monsters, he'd faced opposition with little concern. As his brain threaded more and more pieces together, he remembered the biggest fight of all – he'd fought Sephiroth, his once idol and companion, friend even. Yes, he had faced the war hero of Wutai himself and he was still here to show for it. Cloud Strife was not afraid of anything.
Then why did his heart jolt a bit? Why did he bite his lip in a slight worry?
"True. We'll just have to wait till he's better and then we can slowly introduce the idea to Barret. After all, she's going to be under lock and key after today's kerfuffle."
Tifa sighed, removing her hand from Cloud's arm.
"That means he'll want to start planning for the other mission," she said dejectedly.
"Yup," Jessie agreed. "Looks like I'll need to start looking at those –" she whispered the last part – "bomb blueprints and get a feel for them. Who would have thought, an aspiring actress with adoring fans, jumping into pyrotechnics and explosives?" She giggled. Tiff shot back a half-hearted laugh.
"Now entering the Sector 7 undercity," the voice from before announced. A hand returned to his arm, giving him a gentle shake.
"Cloud?" Tifa asked uncertainly. "Are you feeling okay now?"
He exaggerated his eyes opening and head turning, pretending to be oblivious to the conversation he'd just heard.
"I'm doing better," he affirmed, nodding to her. She smiled, letting her hand linger a little longer than he expected on his arm. The train came shuddering to a halt and who Cloud assumed was Jessie leapt up, looking a bit worse for wear. She grinned and winked at him.
"Nice to meet you, Tifa's friend," she teased, her upfront attitude shocking him.
"Uh, hi," he replied lamely. Jessie skipped ahead and off the train then, leaving Tifa and him.
"Look," Tifa said quickly. "Why don't you stay with me tonight. You didn't seem okay before, and I want to keep an eye on you."
Cloud felt the back of his neck turn warm at the attention, not used to the feeling.
"If you…think it's necessary," he said with a shrug and standing up to follow her out of the train. Night had fallen now, and even though he did feel a lot better, the headache was still pounding aggressively, reminding him that it could floor him at any moment. He stepped gingerly, which Tifa noticed.
"Here, why don't I help you," she encouraged with a quick smile. "Just in case."
Annoyance flitted into the back of his mind, reminding him that he was not weak and did not need help, but his limbs seemed to miss the internal memo. Resigning himself to help just this once, he leaned into her assistance, treading towards a new, unknown future.
