xxNejiluverxx - jealous Cloud
It's always shocking to me, how calm she stays.
Never mattered, in the sewers of Midgar, in the ruins of Nibelheim, when she tumbled into the river on the way to Mt. Nibel, at Gold Saucer trying to explain her feelings but failing, when she sat in Mideel and waited for me to recover. When she dove into the lifestream.
Tifa, always guided by her emotions, has this way of keeping everything contained when I'm involved.
And it isn't fair.
And she sits in this bed, breathing so heavy, her hand flexing and relaxing in almost a rhythmic way.
She reaches out, clenching at my fist. It's a strange feeling for me, for the past nine months. To want to pamper my love, but also to be jealous of how close she is to our child. She has something I can never have, it doesn't mean that I won't have my own experiences. I'm jealous, though, of this relationship a mother and their unborn child have. But it doesn't matter, because after this we will each have our own moment. Each of us have our experience and our tie to this tiny being who still is developing to know our voices, but what is a voice to something that has never even known sight? Something that has dreamed but has no idea of reality? It's terrifying as a parent.
There is sweat on her forehead, beading around her hairline. I squeeze her hand harder as the wave passes.
She takes a couple short breaths, meeting my eyes, "We're making it, right?"
I nod my head shortly, giving her hand a short squeeze.
The nurses are floating like bubbles around us, checking heartbeats and blood pressure.
Barret is pacing in the hallway, yelling at Yuffie and Vincent; the nurses have told him to go to the waiting room to do that but even Tifa has time to roll her eyes when they say Barret can't be in the delivery room. Cid, who is at his side like glue, has long been smoking in the waiting room at this point. When he and Shera had their first born smoking cigars was a normal rite of passage for the fathers to be.
Yuffie has been useful for once, the one to sound the alarm; they have all known this was coming. It's one of those things, though. You expect it forever and all of a sudden it's here, and even then once it's here it takes forever to happen.
At least that's what it feels like.
Probably not to Tifa though. Let's not mention that to her.
We can't bring food back into the hospital room; Tifa can't eat once in labor.
Except I'm starving and Yuffie for once is an angel when she slips five chicken nuggets into my pocket.
I scarf them down in the hallway moving from the waiting room to Tifa's room.
All of a sudden they're yelling for me even though I'm standing right there in the room. I jump, not saying anything, and I'm at her side, clinging to her hand.
She looks at me, her eyes intense and red, "Cloud," she breathes.
"I'm here," I whisper, gripping her hand tighter. "Tell me. What do you need?"
She gasps, and there's yelling and pulling. I keep holding though, as tight as I can. I keep looking at her. She's always had this balance, this center, and calmness that I wished I could find. And she has it now. She's always had it. That's what I try to tell myself as she clings to me. And for a moment I realize that center is me. That clarity and balance is me. That when I need that center, she's that for me too. We balance each other out. It's a breath, a moment, a click that should've happened long before. It's a thing I've known for a long time without giving it a name. But it's true, she's my balance.
It's a new world; I've taken so many monsters and people out of this reality. It's only fair I get to watch my love bring a new life into this reality.
She holds onto me gasping, pulling at my hair and face with her free hands. I've got enough hair she can make me bald with her yanking. I cling to her, one hand interwoven tightly with her own, the other clinging to the side of her face. She grasps at my face, pulling me closer, cursing and blessing me all in the same breath. I tell her to breathe and she curses me and thanks me all in one breath again.
And then there's a cry.
A beautiful cry.
A cry we both expect and don't know how to handle.
They're passing him to us.
He is tiny. He is wrinkly. He is pink.
And he's mine.
He's ours.
Tifa reaches out a weak hand towards me, "Cloud."
And I'm beside her, holding this tiny perfection.
"Kumo," she whispers quietly, caressing my arm.
"Kumo," I repeat, passing the tiny, warm bundle into her arms.