The Warrior
Chapter 19
So...I recently received two reviews for this story from a new reader and I thought I might share them with the rest of you in the interest of discussion.
Courtesy of Hammerchuckery:
Chapter 4 review: I'm enjoying the character development, but all for one MASSIVE thing. What the hell is Tifa's goal?
Chapter 6 review: It's very difficult to read when the protagonist has no character to speak of. It's written well, but I can't latch on any longer and hope for something more substantial.
Okay. I'm having a hard time understanding a few things here - A. There's nothing constructive here for me to work with, B. You were enjoying the character development, but now there is none, and C. How is something well written while totally failing to give the protagonist a character to speak of?
I...I don't understand! But since you're all here and so very awesome for staying with this story, here's another chapter!
The guards marched a solemn tune as they departed. They had set the gas chamber's controls on a timer – just enough for her to become well and truly terrified, and not enough for that fear to wear off before the end. Tifa writhed against the bindings, a desperate sound ripping from her throat. Pain flared in her right wrist with a shock of numbness shooting into her fingers tips and she gasped, throwing her head back with a snarl.
Her eyes blinked rapidly, a horribly cloying sting making it hard to breath as she fought back the rising panic. There were cameras in the room and a voice droning on the speakers as the world prepared to watch her die. She tried to put the sound out of her head, to think of things that mattered, but all she could hear was that voice, bright and jovial, commentating for an execution like it was a chocobo race.
When the room gave a violent jerk the speakers cut out, or the person had stopped, and than there was a poignant silence. Tifa stilled, listening. The intercom burst alive with a sudden cacophony of shouting, pierced by deafening shriek and an alarmed voice calling to turn the cameras off. An edge of panic mingled in the sounds coming through the intercom, but no one opened the door.
Another tremor shook the building, this one harder than the last. Tifa's eyes skimmed the controls off to her right, pleading uselessly for something or someone to turn them off. Whatever was happening outside had completely turned their attention. She couldn't decide which was worse – dying in front of thousands of spectators, or dying alone.
The timer was counting down. A series of high impact explosions sounded out somewhere in the distance, punctuated by sharp lurches in the building foundations. Tifa reeled in her chair and started to twist and yank with all her strength, tearing skin where the binding chafed. Streams of blood spread across her hands like branches from a tree. She felt a flash of white hot pain in her thumb and she screamed through her teeth, but she didn't stop.
It was too tight. She couldn't get out.
This is it, she thought with a hopeless glance at the ceiling. She bit her lip, breathing ragged and fast as she pushed and pulled while the corner of her eye watched the time tick down to zero.
When the light came on and the gas started to fill the chamber, Tifa sucked in her last lungful of air. She shut her eyes and wished for someone to save her. Of all the people she might have thought of in that moment, Sephiroth should have been low on her list, but there he was in her mind's eye, a force of nature.
A shriek of tearing metal made her flinch away with a startled gasp and then there was a resounding metallic crash. She gagged around the mouthful of vapor as it entered her lungs, burning. Her eyes flew open at her mistake and she began to cough violently, but it was too late.
There was a whisper of footsteps off to her right and she wrenched her head up, peering through her narrowing vision with a sliver of hope. Her eyes widened at the bamboo hatted man dashing across the room in the rough woven cotton guise of a peasant farmer. His back turned to her at the controls, a long braid of silver hair – though not quite as long as it had been she noted vaguely – falling down between his shoulder blades.
The gas valve shut off with a hiss and the last residues of the vapor dissolved into the air with a sigh.
Tifa breathed in desperately though it hurt to. Her head was pounding, her lungs reluctant to respond to her urging, but she was alive. When she looked up to study her would be rescuer in his shrouded, wide brimmed hat she felt her heart skip a beat. His eyes were just sparkles of reflective light in a pool of darkness that looked at her as if this was the first time, raw and understanding.
That's when she knew. He ducked his head a second later and knelt to undo her bindings. A large needle materialized from a pocket into his hand and he made short work of them, much to her delighted surprise. It was heavily tempered by something dark and angry swelling inside her as she watched him.
Sephiroth chanced a glance up at her, "Are you alright?" He asked and averted his gaze quickly.
"I'm fine." She muttered.
A high pitched whistle over head proceeded a sudden series of impact that set the building trembling again and Tifa was scrambling to her feet. She looked around, seeing for the first time the opening in the domed ceiling. Her breath caught in her throat for a second, casting a side long look at her rescuer with no small amount of awe.
He'd cut a chunk two feet thick out of the ceiling.
"We must go now." Sephiroth urged quickly and disappeared up through the crack in the wall with one powerful leap. He reappeared a second later, extending his hand.
Tifa ran forward and jumped, catching him around the wrist and he hauled her up. He snatched his hand away as soon as her feet touched down. A fierce wind, ripe with the salty tang smell of the ocean, ripped at her hair as she stood on the sloping surface beneath her. The waves far, far below were a distant murmur between the din of gunfire and furious shouting that swallowed the harbor of Junon. Ahead of them stretched the giant canon out over the sea – it was there that Sephiroth headed and she followed.
His pace was blistering, silver braid rippling behind him as he ran. In a distant part of her mind she recognized that something terrible was happening around them, but that had no bearing on her thoughts right then. Only the man running from her did.
He knows, the gaping hole in her heart whispered vengefully. It was blazing through her brain as she followed at a sedate distance. His movements were uncharacteristically stiff, so unlike the fluidity she was accustom to seeing, and the distance between them might as well be that of stars in space.
Tifa stopped sharp, the soles of her boots digging into the smooth metal beneath them like she might burrow a hole through it if she stood there long enough. Screaming punctuated the odd silence between them and the explosive impact of rockets through the harbor were suddenly mute to the burning question in her eyes.
So this was it then. The moment of truth.
Sephiroth knew she had stopped and he had a good idea why, which was all the more reason not to humor her. Now wasn't the time for this conversation. In fact, he couldn't think of any time at all in the foreseeable future where he wanted to have that conversation, but fate would not allow him that luxury so he dragged his boots to a reluctant halt.
Leaving her would be counterproductive, seeing as she was the reason he'd come in the first place - against his better judgment. This was all Angeal's fault of course. Everyone thought the man was so honorable and kind, but they didn't know him the way his friend did. They didn't know the hard and sometime frightening edge he carried underneath that kind, inviting exterior.
That man could be terrifying when he wanted to be.
Sephiroth would've disappeared long before this confrontation could ever risk being had, if it was not for that man's conniving ways - or so he would have himself believe. It was a lie of course, because they all had thought she was going to die in a gas chamber, which he wouldn't have allowed no matter how condemned he was for what he'd already done to her. So he had come anyway, knowing that it would probably haunt him later because he couldn't hide what he knew, or the uncertainty that lurked beneath the surface.
"You remember." Simply spoken, no accusation or anger.
Sephiroth made a quarter turn and met her gaze reluctantly. It was hard holding it for any length of time because the memories were so prevalent in his thoughts now. Not thinking about them was impossible. Not seeing the agony written all over her face, even when she looked at him now fully grateful, just as impossible.
But at the same time, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. This girl who kept her emotions locked and her head high with a proud, but unassuming gait - she had delivered him from the gaping maw of insanity.
A warrior indeed.
Tifa stared at him, waiting for some kind of confirmation, though she hardly needed it. His eyes said everything, from the way he could not look at her for very long to the edge of madness that lingered there. He was changed, but not in the way she had expected.
She wasn't sure what she expected.
"Ask me about it later." Sephiroth murmured quietly, resigned.
"You!"
Tifa blinked and turned around as the loud clackity clack of healed shoes registered in her brain. Coming towards her in a rather comical display of running was the woman in the red dress and radioactive lipstick. Her gaze was murderous, her heels hilarious. It seemed she would get the opportunity to thank her personally for her generous contribution to her execution after all.
Scarlet came to stop, nose to the air like a harpy on the prowl, "Look what you've done…you…you conceited little whore!"
"I didn't pick this outfit." Tifa replied with a scowl.
"How dare you!"The older woman hissed and reeled back to strike with open palm.
Right…
Tifa stepped forward, her hand making a fist with a swift jab. The blow landed square in the face of the blonde with a satisfying crunch and the woman staggered back, falling on her behind when her outrageously high, pointed heel caught on the surface of the canon. Big, swollen tears filled her eyes as she tried to catch the blood before it ruined her dress.
With that the dark haired woman turned to follow the General, who was standing at the edge of the canon and gazing out over the sea with a vaguely perplexed look. There were running footsteps approaching from behind them now, no doubt back up for the woman left staggering to her feet in a rage. Tifa glanced at Sephiroth with undisguised concern.
"They are late." He stated bluntly.
"Who?" She queried and a missile shot by over head, exploding just to the left of the gas chamber from which she'd been rescued. The impact sent them lurching and a hand clamped around her wrist before she was launched off the edge. As the ground settled she glanced back at the distant white caps.
"Our ride." Sephiroth answered finally and then looked down at the water with a calculated frown. "We'll have to jump."
Tifa opened her mouth to protest, a recent memory clear in her mind. Oh Chaka would be thrilled. Too bad he wouldn't get to see. Then the reverberating thrum of an engine drowned out her thoughts and a massive ship rose up from below. Whatever she'd been about to say died in her throat as her eyes widened comically.
"Is that-"
"Yes." He confirmed and stepped aside for her to pass. "You first."
A rope ladder was dangling from the open deck of the ship a few feet off the edge of the canon. She could see familiar faces moving about just above and her heart lightened. Then she broke into a run, launching herself into the air, and caught one of the ladder rungs in her hand. With a quick glance up she started to climb.
At the top Chaka offered a hand and pulled her up on deck with a silly grin. Behind him Yuffie bounced on her toes with a smile to rival his.
"Hello Chaka." Tifa gave him a distracted smile, her eyes casting about for anyone else, hopeful. They were the only ones on deck though.
"Fancy seein' you here, ay?" He clapped her on the back with a short bark of laughter. "Seriously though, nobody jumped? Girl, you disappoint me." With a wink he nudged her in the arm.
"Sephiroth was about to." She commented and remembered only then that she'd forgotten to check if he was behind her, but as soon as she turned around he was climbing up over the edge.
"About to what?" He asked as he straightened, a weariness in the sag of his shoulders that surprised her. Sephiroth was never weary.
"Jump off the canon," Chaka beamed. "Somebody's got to do it one of these days. Preferably when I've got a video camera on hand."
"Ah," The General made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat and started walking towards a door that lead inside. "Perhaps a day when we are not under siege by Weapon." He called over his shoulder in return.
Tifa watched him disappear with a darkening look as rage burned through her system like a wildfire. Beside her Chaka exchanged a worried look with Yuffie, but neither spoke. Then the ship was moving under foot and everyone swayed a bit as their legs adjusted.
"Aww crap," Wutai's princess lurched forward, back bent and arms clutching her stomach she gasped out, "I'm so gonna be sick."
Her partner in crime hop stepped away from her with a horrified glance at her rapidly changing pallor. "Not on the deck!" Chaka cried, "Over the railing!"
Yuffie's eyes narrowed dangerously at him. "If I," erp, "-throw up anywhere…" and her gaze brightened with maniacal glee, "-it will be on you."
Chaka broke for the door, singing brightly over his shoulder, "You'll have to catch me first!" to which Yuffie stumbled after him, lurching this way and that, and flung herself inside with a howl of rage.
That left Tifa alone on the deck with the wind cold against her skin and rage hot just beneath the surface. She could kill him for turning his back on her! How long did he think he could run from her?
The creek of hinges started her from her thoughts and the subject of her ire re-appeared, having exchanged his peasant disguise for his old clothes and armor, and looking very reluctant to be there. He shut the door with a resounding click behind him, watching her as if she were a ticking time bomb - he would not be very far off the mark.
She recovered quickly from her surprise that he'd come back at all, advancing on him with slow, precise steps that echoed ominous intent. He didn't even have the good grace to move, though he must have seen what was coming. Her aim was true and succinct and he stumbled back a step from the blow with an almost resigned sort of calm, and a groan of pain.
His was the second nose she'd broken today and, oddly, the least satisfying. The blood leaking over his mouth and down his chin did not bring her any joy or absolution.
It did, however, break her hand.
Tifa ground her teeth as her eyes watered, desperately trying to hide her discomfort and failing. It had hurt the first time when she'd punched Scarlet without a glove. The second time was the last straw - she'd felt the bone crack as soon as it made contact with his face, and now it was throbbing with raw and uninhibited pain.
The world could have been ending at that moment though and she wouldn't have noticed.
She wrenched her hands into the collar of his coat anyway, and slammed him up against the door with a furious snarl. "Goddamn you, you bastard!" She cursed, eyes glossy and bright with raw anger, "You took everything from me!" Something had snapped inside her and she reeled back with her left hand, moving with speed she scarcely knew she possessed.
Sephiroth flinched, one eye clenched shut as the blow landed a few inches to the right of his head into the wall. It left an impressive indention in the wall that he wasn't so sure wouldn't have killed him had she not altered its course at the last second. He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd held and watched as the girl took a shaky step back, shoulders wracked by deep, agonized sobs.
Tifa felt over-wrought as she shank to the floor, everything pouring out of her in a torrent of emotions long overdue. "Damn it." She whispered, and stared blindly at the wood planking beneath her, small bubbles of crystalline water clinging to her lashes like raindrops. Her cheeks glistened in a flash of sunlight as the ship turned and she lifted a sluggish hand to shade her face.
Sephiroth looked at her over his gloved hand, now covered in blood from holding his nose, with a resigned sort of calm. He began to hope as he'd scarcely allowed himself in the past two days. This was nothing compared to the penance he owed. The physical pain was much preferred to mental agony ripping him apart just to stand there in front of her, but maybe...maybe she could forgive him.
His face made a tight grimace as he gripped the bridge of his nose firmly in his fingers. With a quick jerk it ground back into place with a crunching snap.
"Eeaaa…" Tifa winced at the sound and looked away, cringing.
"I'm sorry." He said and it was unclear as to what he referred, but the husky quality to his voice was all she needed to hear.
Tifa drew her arms around herself against the sudden chill in the air. They had increased speed and the wind now roared in her ears. This was supposed to have been simple. He had no right to endear himself to her now, not after what he'd done to her – to so many people.
"You could have let me die." His voice cut in through the din of emotional chaos that was suffocating her brain.
Tifa lifted her head with a blank look, the words tumbling out in a hushed tone before she could stop them, "I didn't want you to die."
He paused a moment, gathering himself, before posing the question that loomed between them, "And now? You can change your mind. You have every right"
The blade of the masamune flashed across her peripheral as he wielded it from out of nowhere, a talent he frequently performed. With a quick flourish the handle was proffered to her, the point pressed firmly to his chest no doubt in the vicinity of an old scar.
She stared at it, the leather wrappings worn and chafed from years of use. It brought her back to a day when she had held it with wild fear as the sight of her father's body filled her vision with blood rage. Her hands were reluctant to move now, not least of which because her right was broken, so she reached forward with her left and wrapped her fingers around the familiar hilt with a hesitance born of wonder and loathing.
Her eyes flickered up at the man who stood before her and she took hold of it firmly. He let go of the blade, but she was unprepared for its weight or the flare of pain in her thumb as she tried to grip it and the tip fell to the deck with a clang. She bit back a cry and let go.
"What happened?" His voice startled her and she glanced up, surprised to see the accusation there.
"What?" Tifa blurted out, confused.
"Your hand. " Sephiroth declared with a disapproving look between the appendage in question and her face. "What's wrong?" He asked again.
"Oh," She paused dumbly and glanced down at the appendage in question, "I dislocated my thumb, back in the gas chamber trying to get out." Then she laughed, flexing her right hand with an undisguised wince, "I think both of then might be broken too actually."
His expression faltered and he looked away from her, clearing his throat nervously. "Perhaps you should fix that first and then try again?" Was that a flicker of amusement in his eye, or had she just imagined it? He was still having trouble meeting her gaze even now, but he made no move to escape her.
Tifa muttered something unkind under her breath and gazed down at the sword where it had fallen. It was heavy, yet balanced. Perfectly so, in her limited experience with swords. That is what she remembered about it from that night. A beautiful instrument of death to be sure.
"I killed you once already. It didn't change anything." She looked at him steadily and shook her head. "A second time won't make me feel any better."
Some of the tension that coiled in his shoulders gave way and he allowed himself to meet her eyes again. His were vulnerable and unsure – there were things he didn't know how to say, but that showed so clearly on his face that it was almost painful to watch.
"As I said. You have every right." He said with a hollow chuckle and looked away from her again.
Somewhere within that small window of time Sepheroth had produced a white handkerchief , which was now mostly red and pink from being held against his nose. There was still a track of smeared blood along his chin, and one across his upper lip, but most of it was gone. The bridge of his nose was swollen and bruising - so very out of place amongst his finely chiseled features.
"Maybe you should get that fixed." She said and there was the first hint of a smile on her lips.
Sephiroth took a hesitant step towards her and knelt down. With quiet resolve he removed his gloves and set them aside, eyes carefully averted. Then, with a hesitant glance at her, which she did not refuse, he took her right hand in both of his.
Tifa gazed down at them distantly, the heat of his skin warming her to the tips of her toes. He turned her hand over carefully so that her knuckles faced up and gently ran his thumbs along the back of her fractured fingers. It hurt at first, but she resisted the urge the flinch and didn't pull away.
Gradually the pain began to recede with the cooling breath of magic that surrounded his hands. Her skin tingled under his ministrations and a ripple of pleasure echoed in her belly. She tensed, breath catching in her throat and her eyes jerked to his face.
With one last stroke of his thumbs - quite unnecessary as it were - he relinquished her hand, only to take up the other one in its stead. He met her gaze patiently,"This will hurt." He warned, waiting for her go ahead.
Tifa nodded wordlessly – she didn't trust her voice at the moment.
He was quick about it, but she cried out all the same when the bone popped back into place. His eyes flickered at her face briefly, before returning to her hand. The healing process swiftly overcame the pain and then he was letting go and somewhere in her muddled mind she desperately wished he hadn't.
The tear tracks that had gone dry moistened anew. Angeal had been right. He was worth it, but Gods was she afraid of what that meant – what it would mean if she made the first step down that road. What if it didn't last? What if he relapsed? What if did last and he was everything she could ever dream of?
She felt her head fall behind a curtain of dark hair, her shoulders quaking as something between laughing and crying caught in her chest, and burst into ugly, loud tears. There was no holding back anymore. She was tired and confused and afraid, and somehow the person she hated more than anything in the world had touched her heart.
She must be nuts.
A shadow fell over her as Sephiroth leaned forward. One hand laced through her fingers and she relented to its coaxing without a fight – she had nothing left to fight anymore. The ghost of a touch brushed lightly against her cheek, weaving through the dark brown curtain that was her last line of defense and then it fell away to wrap around the small of her back. With a soft tug of encouragement she gave in and proceeded soak his coat.
It must have been several minutes before her head finally began to clear. She blinked, nestled snugly against his side, and breathed the air like it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever tasted. The heavy weight on her shoulders and the pressure in her chest were gone.
Sighing, Tifa sat up stiffly, and Sephroth's arm obligingly fell away. She winced as something popped in her neck. Her face felt sticky and wet. She frowned slightly and wiped her nose on the back of her hand.
"Sorry." She mumbled, now embarrassed.
"I'd give you my handkerchief, but I doubt you'd want it in its current state." He offered.
Tifa held her hand out expectantly, not looking at him.
Sephiroth regarded her with a thoughtful quirk of his brow and shrugged, retrieving the item in question from his pocket. He held it out to her and she took it without hesitation. She examined it carefully, finding the cleanest spot, to which she applied some spit and swiveled to look at him.
"Lean forward." She motioned.
His head tilted slightly to one side, bemused.
With a huff Tifa crawled over his legs, which were now stretched out in front of him, and promptly sat down straddling his lap, much to his dismay - he had officially stopped breathing. Then she proceeded to scrub at that last smudge of blood on his chin that had secretly been driving her crazy for the past 10 minutes. Satisfied, she sat back and nodded.
"There." She folded the rag once and blew her nose on it, twice, before carefully folding it up and handing it back.
He eyed it disdainfully.
"Is the great General squeamish of a little body fluid?" She inquired with a measured look.
His mouth framed a dry half smirk as he pocketed it with a sigh. "I've seen more than enough of it to last me a life time, thank you."
Tifa found a lock of his hair and twirled it in her fingers, "Well, at least you don't go on suicidal killing rampages in the simulator anymore."
"I was not-"
"I'm kidding." She smiled lightly and let the lock of hair fall back to his shoulder.
A roaring silence, brought on by the mechanical hum of the engines, stretched between them. Sephiroth watched her intently and his eyes seemed to glow as he reached over, slowly, and brushed his thumb across a trail of drying tears. When she did not pull away his second hand reached forward to do the same on the other side.
His touch was light, reverent. It sucked the air out of her lungs like a vacuum.
"I must look terrible." Tifa murmured softly, and she did. All puffy, red eyed and red nosed.
"It brings out the color in your eyes." His voice was soft, gaze intense. Every fiber in his being screamed to kiss her senseless.
Feeling suddenly very uncomfortable and unsure, Tifa removed herself from what she only then realized was a terribly compromising position, across Sephiroth's lap, and got to her feet unsteadily. She bit her lip, "I think I'll go check on the others." With a smile of apology that didn't quite erase the fear in her eyes, she turned and walked away.
Sephiroth watched her go with a wistful sigh. His head fell infinitesimally when the door closed behind her. Then he growled low in the back of his throat and rubbed his eyes, shaking his head. The truth was banging against the walls of his psyche – there was no going back to the way things were before when she was simply a curiosity in his life.
His gut had never failed him before and it was insisting quite ardently that he was well and truly in love with her now.
A very exuberant Chaka intercepted Tifa on her way to what she hoped was the bridge. Yuffie was nowhere to be seen, but that was no surprise – he informed her that she was puking her guts out in the engine room. Then he happily volunteered himself to escort her the rest of the way, talking animatedly about how they'd hi-jacked the airship and who had masqueraded as who during the rescue operation – Yuffie had been the news reporter, to which Tifa just shook her head, smiling.
She was pleasantly surprised to see none other than Cid Highwind at the helm when they stepped onto the bridge. When asked how he'd fallen in with this unlikely lot he grumbled back, "Ask Hiho Silver."
Tifa choked on a bark of laughter to which Chaka gave her a pat on the back before leading her away on an extensive tour of the ship. It was bigger than it looked on the outside with over a dozen quarters to house crew and passengers. There was a small kitchen, a makeshift bar (she made a note to put out some suggestions for that later) and a commons room for meetings. It even had a stable for animals – chocobos specifically.
The best news was that Angeal's surgery was a success. They'd put him in a safe house just outside of Kalm, near the chocobo farm, where he could recover. Everything, Chaka said, was Sephiroth's doing – without him they never would've been able to stage such a thorough rescue operation.
At the mention of his name Tifa's mind went into a tumble. A shiver ran down her spine and she cast her eyes despondently at the smooth paneled floor beneath her boots. They were sitting in the common room - it was not very big, but there was a table and chairs, and a couch on the far side with another smaller coffee table. You just didn't have much room to walk around the various furniture tucked in the room.
"Hey," Chaka said seriously and sat forward, elbows braced on his knees. "You okay?"
She'd been wandering that herself. "I don't really know."
"Did you talk to him?" He asked hesitantly.
"Yes." Tifa murmured. "I just...don't know what to do now that – oh hell, you don't want to hear about this." She dismissed tiredly and sat back with a gusty sigh.
Chaka shifted around to lean against the arm of the couch, one leg bent over the other that draped off the edge of the cushions down to the floor, and looked at her. "You keep things bottled down too much. Let's hear it."
Tifa stared at the floor with a hopeless frown and raked a hand through her hair. When she pulled her fingers loose and held her hand in front of her face she saw that it was trembling. "I'm afraid of..." she couldn't quite put it to words.
"Him relapsing?" He supplied questioningly. "Or how he feels about you?"
...or how you feel about him, a traitorous voice whispered inside her, but that she didn't dare speak of. "Both." Her eyes had begun to burn anew and she mentally shook herself.
"There's no shortage of fucked up things in the world, yeah?" Chaka said, "but you know, whatever he might have been or might be in the future, he's doin' a damn fine job of fighting the good fight right now. Best any of us can do is hope that he keeps his head."
"And if he doesn't?" Tifa asked pointedly, meeting his eyes.
"Then we deal with it." He answered and reached over to give her hand a squeeze, "What else can yo do? He's earned himself a chance to try, ay?"
She nodded, feeling vaguely guilty. "I guess you're right."
"I can tell you one thing – no harm ever came from loving someone. It's the hating that's the problem, you know?" With that he stood and gave her a mock salute, "I'm gonna check on Wutai's princess. You'll be alright?"
"I'm good." Tifa tried to assured him through the rapid beat of her heart. Love? Did Sephiroth love her? Or did Chaka mean her loving him? Could she do that after all that had happened?
The click of the door as it shut behind the tall ex-Soldier left a chill in the air and she inhaled sharply.
Her chest ached. She remembered that unexpected kiss in the stairwell at HQ, how terrified she'd been of the feelings growing inside her then when the question still stood of what he would do when he remembered the truth. But he did remember, now, and his touch from earlier still lingered on her skin like a brand, the memory of how excruciatingly careful he'd been with her crumbling all of her bitter resolve.
Tifa had always wondered about the phrase 'afraid of falling'. She never imagined she would come to understand it as clearly as she did now. Yet here she was at the edge of a choice - to take a leap of faith, or run away - and she was more scared than she'd ever been in her entire life because she already knew her answer.
Sephiroth had not budged from the deck after Tifa had left. There was no place for him to be, no one expecting him. He might have stayed there the whole night had Chaka not appeared to drag him reluctantly back to his senses.
"Give her time." He told him somberly. "That one won't let down her guard easy."
"I have no right to her." Sephroth retorted.
Chaka looked like he might want to belt him, but thought better of it. "So what, you gonna just walk out on her then? She deserves better than that."
The ex-General gazed down at the myriad of colors blurring below them and fought the despondent sound that huddled in his throat, "No," he murmured. "And yes, she does."
"Well there you go then." The other man announced flatly, "Don't give up on her – she hasn't given up on you."
Sephiroth turned his head abruptly to meet Chaka's eyes in silent question.
The dark skinned man cracked a gleaming white smile full of knowing and no small amount of cheek, "She only broke your nose, after all."
Author's Notes: Well now, that wasn't so long of a wait, was it? Not as expedient as the last chapter update, but miles ahead of my usual pace. Hopefully the writing hasn't suffered for it, although I have it on good authority that Tifa has no character to speak of. Oh snap, I'm already 19 chapters in... I swear, this whole writing business can be tough. I profusely apologize to all who were unable to continue reading for my lack of skills as an author. It was nothing personal, I swear.
I'm going to draw a picture of Sephiroth as he's dressed in the beginning. And the reason behind Sephiroth's hair cut is, for those of you wondering, TO BE CONTINUED...don't worry I only took off a few inches. More like a trim. You'll hardly notice!
Okay, I'll be quiet now! Thank you, all of you! So much! Don't stop being awesome!