Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII and its characters belong to Square Enix and many others. Sadly, I'm not one of them.

Revised and edited January 7, 2007.
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Metathesiophobia or, Moving Forward
By Lady Calliope

Part Sixteen: Paralipophobia

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I've never thought of myself as invincible. Even at my strongest I always knew it would take only one strike, one cut of steel through flesh, to prove how un-invincible I really am. But just because I've never considered myself to be invincible doesn't mean I haven't ever thought myself to be unrivaled at certain things. Swords. Motorcycles. Eating sweets.

Tifa.

I'd always known, somewhere in the back of my thick skull, that there was something different in the way she spoke to me, the way she patched me up. It wasn't until after Sephiroth that I realized what it was, and even longer before I realized I suffered from the same affliction. I thought that I'd never see a day when flowers didn't make me think of brown hair and a pink dress covered in blood, but, well, I've already proven that I can be proven wrong, right?

So it sort of hits me like an earthquake to open the door to the refurbished Seventh Heaven and feel the greeting literally die on my lips. At first I think I'm hallucinating or that it must be a trick of the light but underneath, somewhere deeper, I know it's real.

Tifa is backed up against the bar counter with Cid's hands running up her sides, her hands tangled in his hair, and they're kissing each other like it's the only way to breathe.

They notice me at the same moment I manage to pick my jaw up off the floor and I've never heard a louder silence. Then she whispers my name, I nod dumbly, and the next thing I know I'm being hugged hard enough to bruise a few ribs.

"I got your letter. Welcome back."

Not "Welcome Home." But I can't say I don't deserve it. She loved me for more years than I can count, but she's never been a masochist. I'd bet my life that the tears in her eyes now don't compare to the ones she probably tried to hold back when she realized I was gone. And I've been gone for nearly a year. Guilt clenches my gut for the umpteenth time since I started my journey back.

But before I can even begin to put a question to her I hear a high and loud wailing coming from upstairs. My subconscious knows exactly what kind of creature makes that sound but my conscious can't even acknowledge the possibility that there's a baby in this house.

"I'll get her. She'll want feedin' anway." I'd almost forgotten that Cid was standing there. His heavy tread fading up the stairs is the only sound besides the crying.

"Is that…"

"Yeah, it is." She smiles: a proud, shy smile that's entirely new to me. "Her name's Lani."

"Lani?" Lani Lockheart: I think it fits perfectly. But that brings me immediately to another question. "Is she…are you and he…?" I'm part confused and part scared for the answer.

I can hear the faintest intake of breath, like she's steeling herself. "No, you're the father." A pause. "But she's not yours."

"What?" How is that biologically possible? "I thought you said—"

"You fathered her, but she's not yours. She's mine." As my brain finally catches up with her words she rushes to finish before I can start. "Of course I'm not saying that you're not allowed near her! That's ridiculous. What I'm saying is that she's going to live here, with me. I'm going to raise her. But you can't live here with us."

Now that I understand I can feel the white heat of anger and indignation rising before I can even question it. Who is she to make all these decisions, these presumptions? "What! Why not? We have to be in this together! You can't keep me from her, she's as much mine as yours!"

"No, she's not! Biologically speaking, you're right, but beyond that you've got no claim!"

"No claim? I'm her father! I can't let you just raise her by yourself!" She doesn't seem to be getting the big picture here. "Damnit, Tif, I love you!"

"You weren't even here when she was born!" The fire in her eyes stops any further argument in my throat. "You weren't here when I was scared and throwing up and not knowing why! You weren't here when the strip turned blue! You weren't here for the ultrasounds or the baby shower! You weren't here when we painted the animals on the nursery walls! You weren't here!" She snaps her mouth shut and, by the way her eyes are moving, I can tell she's trying to find the right words to convey something even deeper to me.

"You left."

That sums it up rather well.

In the back of my mind I note that she used "we" in there somewhere. I never knew Cid could paint. "You're right, you're absolutely right. But these days biology counts for a lot more than you're giving. I'm within my rights, Tifa!"

"We're not married, Cloud!" She says it as if I were sitting in the corner wearing a dunce hat. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she inhales and exhales slowly, calming herself. I haven't seen her do that in years. "Why are you even arguing with me on this? You've never even talked to me about kids before and now—now you just walk back in the door after leaving me for a year and you're all up in arms about the baby you never even knew existed until this moment!"

It's a good question, one that I don't really know the answer to. Everything I come up with sounds hollow and cruel. Because it was my sperm that made the kid? Because I'm the one she's supposedly been in love with since she was young? Because I'm the one that left and sent her a note a year later telling her that I went off chasing another woman and oh, by the way, I still love you? I've never even thought about having children. It was my fault she'd been alone to begin with. Why was I fighting her on this, the one thing that seems like it's made her happy?

"She's still a little cranky. I'm gonna make her a bottle." His voice carries into the front room before I see him walk across the hallway to the kitchen. He holds a blanketed bundle in his arms like he's been doing it all his life.

Things are silent for a while before a long sigh escapes her. "Look, do you want to sit down and talk about this? I honestly hadn't considered the possibility that you'd want to play dad, but if you're really serious about it we can—"

"No."

"No? No what?"

I rub my hand over my face and realize that I haven't even put down my bag. "Do you mind if I sit? I've been riding all day and this thing isn't exactly light."

Something switches and she's suddenly flustered. "Yes! Shit, yeah, sorry! Have a seat. Throw your stuff wherever. Can I get you anything?"

"A stiff drink would be nice." I move to the hallway and turn into the living room. Nothing much has changed except for a few new knickknacks and pictures. The couch is just as comfortable as I remember.

"Coming right up."

As soon as she's gone my thoughts start whirring faster than I can keep up. Strangely, though, it's about things like finding a new place to live and getting to the bank and has nothing to do with the baby in the other room. My gut clenches a little at the thought of Cid, let alone anyone else, kissing her like I saw before. But beneath the jealously there's a much more powerful feeling of loss, like this was another journey that was doomed from the start. I don't feel sad or hurt so much as resigned and a little bit hypocritical.

I remember telling her the night I first kissed her that I had decided, that very evening, that I was tired of everything moving forward without me, tired of trying to keep everything the same. I realize how ludicrous, how unreasonable it was of me to expect things to stay the same here while I went around trying to change fate itself. She'd been standing still for me most of her life while I ran after my own ends.

I guess it was only a matter of time before she started moving in another direction, too.

"Here you go." A hand with a glass appears in front of me. Whiskey on the rocks. I smile a little—she always could remember someone's favorite drink.

"Thanks."

I'm about to ask why she hasn't made something for herself when Cid walks into the room carrying Lani with one hand and a steaming mug in the other. A small bottle is clutched in his hand by her tiny feet.

"Here. This is that herbal spicey crap. You were out of lemon." She smiles and takes the mug from him, blowing the steam off before taking a sip with eyes closed. Since when does Tifa drink tea? I glance over to see him settling into an armchair with the baby cradled along his left arm and the bottle in his right hand. He holds it up to her and she starts sucking at it, miniature hands coming up to slap softly against his larger one as gurgle noises fill the quiet.

I suddenly feel very out of place.

"Tifa, about Lani…" Her eyes snap to mine and panic flashes in them momentarily. "Don't worry. It's not that I don't…I just think you're right. I'm not ready for a kid. I don't know what all that was about. Just…surprised, I guess."

Relief floods her face and she smiles at me over the ceramic rim. "Would you be ready for something akin to uncle-like duties?"

"Anything except fatherhood, I'll take it." I can't help but stare at the couple in the armchair. He's wearing a look that I'd never expected to see on him: it's awe and pride and tenderness all in one. It's the exact look I imagine a father would give his newborn daughter.

She doesn't want me to be the father not because she thinks I can't handle it but because someone else had already applied for the job—whether he knew or not I'm not sure. I look back to Tifa and try to tell her I understand without saying it out loud. All I can do is raise my eyebrows ever so slightly and take a sip from my glass. I swear she's blushing behind that damn teacup.

I still have no idea what's going on between these two, but I know my place is not between them. The loss is still there, the pain is still there, but now there's something else there as well. Something that feels a little bigger, a little more like the peace I've never really known.

Lani laughs in that way that only babies can and I know I'm not the only one who has no rival when it comes to certain things.