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 Seventeen: Epistolophobia

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I hope this letter finds you in good health. I'm writing to let you know I'm coming home.

Sunday was her day of rest: no bar to look after, no customers to please, no expectations. It used to be that she would spend her precious free time doing things like finishing up a book, trying a few of the teas that Yuffie brought from Wutai, catching up on sleep, or just laying on the couch staring at the ceiling. When Cloud left, though, she began to dread Sundays more than Mondays. Every Sunday that passed was another week that he didn't come home, didn't write to tell her where he was or what the hell he thought he was doing leaving her by herself. And when a home test and a visit to the doctor confirmed her pregnancy it only served to reinforce the empty spaces in her life. After that, Sundays became nothing short of a chore.

I know nothing can excuse what I've done. I left to chase after her, someone I could never find.

She was not against having the baby. At first it terrified her more than any battle she'd ever fought in because, back then, if she made a mistake it would most likely only cost her own life. Now she had to think for two, which was something that was much more exhausting than she ever thought possible. She'd quickly learned that keeping a ready supply of PB&J ingredients on her nightstand was the only way to prevent morning sickness. To an outside observer it would probably look very comical to see her smack her alarm off only to reach an arm out for bread and a butter knife. But the food helped keep her stomach where it belonged—it was just one of many things she was starting to learn about carrying another person in her.

If I could rationalize my thoughts I would, but you know I've never been good at thinking things through. For instance, I never thought I would miss you more than I ever missed her.

Cid had moved to Midgar before she'd even known for sure. With his arrival, her Sundays slowly started becoming bearable and even, though she wouldn't admit it at first, fun. He'd come over, she'd make them drinks and he'd wow her with his culinary skills. The first time he'd lit up her old gas stove and started throwing things in a skillet she'd burst out laughing at the sight: to think that the gruff and self-proclaimed "man's man" knew his way around a kitchen better than she provided no end of amusement. After a few weeks, though, she often woke up with mild to severe nausea and opted for strong tea instead of her usual vodka lime gimlet in the afternoon. He'd teased her at first about losing her edge but eventually added a kettle to the assortment of pots and pans he kept warm on the stove.

I don't expect you to forgive me, but I just wanted to give you some small insight into why I left, why I didn't write before.

She told him on a Friday. It had been a busy night and she was exhausted both from the never ending stream of customers and the visit she had paid her doctor earlier in the day. Her plan had been to spill the beans, shove him out the door, and cry herself to sleep in a strange mixture of happiness and fear. His response of "I'll be sleepin' on the couch if you need me" was one of the last things she'd expected to hear—though looking back she couldn't say she was all that surprised. For all his rough skin and dirty fingernails he was oddly sensitive and often knew what she needed before she even bothered to consider. So, really, it was as natural as bird song that she came stumbling into the living room at 3AM, wriggled herself into his arms, and promptly fell back into a much sounder sleep. She'd never really bothered to question why he hadn't at least raised an eyebrow at her instead of silently shifting over to make room.

I don't expect you to understand, either. I don't even understand it completely.

The knowing and affectionate stares she'd receive from women at the market was something she'd grown accustomed to. And, though she'd nearly punched the first well-meaning lady out of instinct, the occasional stranger's hand on her belly became part of her routine as well. She soon realized that every mother she came across had her own piece of advice or story to tell her about their first baby. It was tiring and more than annoying at times, but somewhere inside herself she relished the attention that was being lavished on her for once not because she was a prize warrior but because she was a woman, pure and simple. A woman with something special about her.

On the last job I had—the one to Icicle Inn—I ran into that explorer, Holzoff. He was visiting for supplies.

The first trimester had been excruciating and she didn't think she would have survived without peanut butter or Cid. Her body was stretching and shifting and becoming more alien to her by the day—and the nausea, headaches, and cramping didn't help, either. However, the second trimester was proving easier to handle than the first. She supposed it was because she was getting used to being pregnant, which was a good thing seeing as how she was finally starting to show. Carrying the baby high meant that she didn't explode outward like a balloon but the shape of the bulge was starting to become noticeable. She carried right on with her work and her bar, though, never one to let a little thing like pregnancy get in her way. There were nights when some of the more inebriated and rude patrons would comment on her weight gain but they quickly found a strong hand gripping their shoulders and a very irate pilot escorting them out of the establishment. He'd dust his hands off and walk back in, always capturing her eyes with his in a way that said she better not take anything like that to heart or he'd have to have a serious talk with her.

Long story short, he told me something strange was happening at the Northern Crater. I told him to send me word if he found out more.

She often felt his cobalt eyes on her when she wasn't looking at him, knew that they followed her whenever she moved or left a room. She never let herself look back and meet them: there were too many unknowns and cliffs that lay in that direction. Absently she wondered if he could ever feel her eyes on him. If he did he never let on that he could. But then, neither did she. It was almost like dancing.

I remembered what had happened to Sephiroth and thought that, maybe, just maybe, she wasn't completely gone. Holzoff sent me that letter.

Week twenty-six was upon her now and something else had started to make itself known far too often for her comfort. Her doctor had answered her shy question with a knowing smile: apparently the second trimester saw the return of a woman's baser instincts. Valiantly, she tried to ignore the nerves below her belly that would ignite when she came across him shirtless and working on various repairs around her house that she'd asked him to do. She'd push away the thoughts that accompanied her reaction to his smirks and smiles and teasing words. And she fought with all her might against the blush that would creep across her skin whenever she felt his eyes on her. All this and he never even had to touch her!

I left as soon as I got it. I should have left a note or sent word or something, I know that, but I just…How could I have explained it in a note? It could have been my only chance. I had to find out.

Not that he would. She'd found out just a few nights ago, directly from him, what would happen if he ever crossed that line that he'd set for himself. She remembered wanting to chase after him, wanting to break that barrier if only for a night. But for once her courage failed her and she looked to her brain to provide the excuse: after one night, what then? This was Cloud's baby, not Cid's! She couldn't just go around pregnant with one man's child while throwing herself wantonly at another. At the time she'd been convinced that she'd made the right decision despite the laceration she swore was paining her heart.

She wasn't there, but I kept thinking if I just looked hard enough I'd find something somewhere. The Lifestream pools in all kinds of places, you know?

But now a week had passed and she was beginning to realize that the hole Cid had helped to patch up in her chest had been ripped open wider than it ever had been before he arrived. After seeing him nearly every day for six and a half months, the prospect of another Sunday without the sound of clanging pans and his off-key whistling was enough to make her don her coat and gloves. If he wasn't going to come to her then she was sure as hell going to find him. Things between them weren't settled and she'd be damned if they were going to stay that way.

I found nothing but what I already knew. It was a failed thing from the start, but you know I've never been smart like you.

Her hand was on the knob when a knock sounded right next to her ear. Startled so badly it shamed her, she opened the door to see a face she didn't recognize staring back at her.

Anyway, that's what happened. I didn't plan on leaving. It's funny, because even when I was looking for her face, yours was all I could think about.

"Miss Tifa Lockheart?"

I don't expect things to be the same between us. I don't expect much, really.

"Yes…?"

All I want is to see your face, to hear your voice. I know I probably don't even deserve that because of her and this distance I've put between us, but it's the truth.

"I have a letter for you from Cloud Strife."

I love you, whether you still want it or not.

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Author's Note: I'm trying to get out of the habit of writing these, but I felt this chapter deserved one. I hope everyone understood that the parts in regular font are what's happening to Tifa and the italics are from Cloud's letter. Was that clear? Let me know if it wasn't.

This chapter contained quite a few personal things from me. The bit about the PB&J stuff on the nightstand is actually something that my mom did when she was pregnant with me (said I gave her the worst morning sickness!). Vodka lime gimlets are my favorite drink (and I think Miss Lockheart would enjoy them as well). And the bits about experienced mothers and strangers coming up to tell Tifa stories or pet her belly is all based on what happened to my cousin when she was pregnant. Kind of creepy, but mothers the world over have this strange sort of bond that supersedes the fact that they're strangers. A sisterhood of sorts, I guess?

Also, and I don't usually do this, but please review to tell me what you think of what I'm trying with this story. I'm very curious!

In conclusion, a big thank you to all who've read this far! I know this story's format and chronology are highly unusual and I really appreciate those who've stuck with me. :o)