CHAPTER 15: COPING MECHANISMS

How could she? Her mother dies and she becomes wild and unpredictable! Was it because she had too much time alone? It wasn't his fault, he had to work to make a living so he could dress and feed his wayward daughter. Tifa was old enough to be on her own during the day. At least, he had thought she was before she had run off to disobey him. Brian was furious when that Zangan fellow had knocked on his door, saying that he was pleased with his daughter's determination and felt like she had potential as his student. Tifa's obstinate refusal to obey him was one thing; he could discipline his daughter. But for a man to suggest something as outrageous as teaching a small girl how to fight was enraging!

Tifa was a young lady and ought to act as such. Her future depended on her reputation as a proper little lady and he needed to protect it. How else could Brian ensure that she'd be well taken care of as an adult? No one would want to marry a delinquent young woman with boyish hobbies. She needed to be at home, learning the skills to help her in life as a wife and mother. Only two months after the loss of his wife, he was already struggling with how to parent the girl alone. Most of the childrearing responsibilities were Lia's forte and Brian was now unsure of his role. His wife was empathetic, sentimental and expressive. She could read Tifa like a book and always knew what their daughter needed before the girl could voice a request. Sharp as a tack, she was a wonderful mother, and Brian knew he could never fill her shoes while still wearing his own.

The burden of acting as both a father and mother was a crushing one, and Brian felt the security of his world crumbling further each time Tifa gave him that forlorn face as he left the house for one reason or another. She couldn't understand why he didn't have the time or energy to spend with her anymore. Even if he wasn't so busy, there was such little happiness in his heart that he could barely form a smile on his lips, let alone do something as jovial as play with her. Things had changed; the girl would learn that soon enough. Children were quick to adapt, weren't they? Tifa had no choice, she had to be.

That night, he had sent her to bed after she finished cleaning the supper dishes. Her disobedience had gotten her into trouble in the past and he needed to nip it in the bud. Last time she had disobeyed his order to wear her coat and it had cost them Lia's life…

No, no. She was just a child and Lia's pneumonia was a grim coincidence.

Now that he had a few days to calm down and turn the idea over in his head, regretted his hostility towards the martial artist. Surely if he let Tifa try learning martial arts, she'd grow tired of it quickly and get it out of her system. Maybe it would give her something other than housework to do and help her cope with the loss of her mother. It was probably just a phase. Lia would've told him that he was overreacting, like she always did, and he smiled fondly at the thought of his late wife wagging her finger at him. It didn't change the fact that he didn't want her lessons to be seen by others. If they could keep the apprenticeship hidden and Tifa could still get her chores done, Brian would agree to let her try.

The house was quiet, save for the crackling of flames in the hearth. In the stillness of the night, the monsters in his head would emerge and take him to dark places Brian didn't know he had in his heart. His loneliness and hopelessness made him weak. The man longed to hold his daughter close and share his grief with the only one who might understand the pain of Lia's departure from this life. He wanted to go into her room and cradle her against his chest. But he couldn't show her his pain; he was a man and had to be strong. There was no room for weakness in this world. The thoughts swirled and swirled in his head, like a fly trapped in a jar: relentless, unending torture that gnawed at his psyche. It was enough to drive one to drink.

He'd tell her these lessons were her birthday present, since he'd forgotten to get her anything else.

… … …

He was in the newspaper again. All the boys at school were talking about it, saying there was a photo of him, too! Cloud grinned as her ran home from school; he couldn't wait to see the article! He opened the door to his home and stopped short when her heard giggling coming from inside. The kitchen table was piled high with fabrics of many patterns and colors. Mom and Tifa were talking and giggling, discussing what would be best appropriate for her lessons.

"Hi, Cloud!" Tifa grinned, and Cloud was relieved to see an actual smile on her face for the first time in quite a while. "I have news."

Cloud put his books and slate down on the counter and moved to stand near his friend.

"Master Zangan accepted me as his pupil. Papa said that I can learn if I still do all my chores," She smiled and shyly shifted her gaze to the floor.

"Isn't that wonderful, Cloud?" Claudia said, standing behind the girl and putting her hands on Tifa's shoulders. "How fascinating, to learn martial arts! You're a clever girl; you will do wonderfully, I'm certain!"

"Yeah, she will. She's wonderful at everything she does," said Cloud, sincerity in his eyes. Tifa blushed at the praise, her eyes cast downward with a small smile. The boy was relieved to finally see the sparkle reemerging in Tifa's eyes. He hadn't realized how much he had needed the refreshment the girl's jovial spirit offered until it was gone. Cloud remembered how much she had wanted to be Master Zangan's pupil in the past and he was happy to see that her ambition was met with success.

"Cloud, could you go upstairs for a while? I need to measure Tifa and have her undress. We are going to make some new clothes that are appropriate for her apprenticeship."

Cloud nodded, grabbing the newspaper off of the counter on his way towards the stairs. Once in his bedroom, he immediately sat, opening the newspaper wide on the floor. There, in black and white print, was the only photo he'd ever seen of the great Sephiroth. He was a young man, with bright eyes hardened by determination. His straight hair was even longer than Tifa's, but so light in color that it seemed white. It was hard to tell without a color photo, but Cloud hoped that Sephiroth's hair was blonde like his. The article was titled: The Hero of the Wutai War. He took his time learning more about his idol, reading it over and over before cutting the square of paper out with a pair of old fabric scissors.

If I could get stronger like Sephiroth, maybe I could be someone great…

I just want to be someone.

Would people care about me if I was stong? If I was like Sephiroth, I could've stopped Tifa from falling.

"Cloud! You can come down now. Let's have supper with Tifa!"

He folded the paper neatly, adding it to his collection in a small wooden wine box under his bed before hurrying down the stairs.

… … …

Tifa thanked Ms. Strife again as she exited her neighbor's house, enthusiastic energy thrumming through her body. Papa was kind enough to give her some gil for new clothes to fight in, be he seemed far from happy for her and it quelled her excitement some. She knew that her father wasn't fond of Cloud or his mom, but she was the only seamstress in town and she had no choice to ask for her services. He couldn't be angry with her, right? She'd tell him all about how kind Ms. Strife had been and how grateful she was that Papa had let her get new clothes. Maybe she could make him some hot cocoa and ask him to tell her stories, like he used to love to do. Maybe that would cheer him up! The smile disappeared from Tifa's face as she approached the front door of her house. All the lights were off. Where was Papa?

She turned the door knob and let the door slowly swing open.

"Papa?"

No answer. Something about this was unnerving and Tifa wanted to turn around and run right back into the warm atmosphere of the Strife house. Fists clenched at her sides, she steeled herself. Facing the eerie emptiness, she walked inside and flicked the switch of small lamp on the end table. Everything seemed to be in place, but there was no evidence of Papa's presence. She checked the woodshop, the back yard, his bedroom, but he was nowhere to be found. His boots were gone, she finally noticed. Tifa removed her shoes and set the kettle to boil. He'd be home soon, and he always wanted tea before he went to sleep. It would be too late for hot cocoa if he stayed out much longer.

She bathed and combed out her hair, then changed into her night gown. The tea kettle still hadn't whistled, and when she wandered to the stove, she realized that there wasn't enough wood burning in the stove. The wood box was empty—Papa must've forgotten to cut some. Tifa wondered what to do before deciding to use some of the scraps of wood scattered across the floor of the woodshop. When the tea was properly steeped, she poured a mug and set it on the kitchen table. He would be pleased that she was clever enough to keep the stove hot without proper tinder and that she had thought ahead!

Tifa moved to the sit, resting her head on the arm of the couch. Fatigue had her instinctively wishing for the soothing sound of her mother's voice to put her to lull her into dreamless sleep. She wanted to curl up in her comforter as Mama sang All Through the Night and feel her hands rubbing comforting circles on her head. Crimson eyes stared into the cold hearth. Those days were gone, but she could still remember them fondly and visit those memories whenever she wished. Her eyes were getting heavy; she would just rest them for a little while…

BANG!

Tifa startled where she lay as the front door flew open.

"Papa?" she sat up, eyes wide with fright.

"What're you doing up? Don't you know s'late?" He staggered inside and held the sideboard for balance as he unlaced his boots.

Tifa sat, frozen on the couch. Hair bristled on the back of her neck and adrenaline pumped through her blood. Something was wrong with Papa. His face was flushed and his eyes were bleary, and he seemed a little unsteady on his feet. Was he sick? What had happened? Where had he been all this time? Tifa wanted to go to him, but instinct held her fast to her seat.

"Didn'cha hear what I said? Get to bed!" He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her off the couch, shoving her towards the stairs. A tiny whimper escaped her throat as she was pushed forward. It didn't hurt, but Tifa couldn't swallow the lump of fear in her throat. Papa released her wrist and she scuttled to the bottom step. Tifa paused for a moment, placing one hand on the banister and peeking over her left shoulder.

"P-papa, I made you tea…"

"I didn't ask for any damned tea! Get upstairs or you'll be sorry!"

Tifa didn't need another warning. She scampered up the stairs, tripping over the long hem of her nightgown as she rounded the landing. Slamming the door behind her, she flung herself onto her bed and burrowed under the sheets. Tears stung her eyes as she hid, quietly listening for her father's footsteps. He was coming up the stairs! Why was he so angry with her? Tifa was afraid that he'd come in there and shout some more, or maybe even strike her! She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath as the footsteps reached the top of the stairs. Long seconds ticked by and she shivered with anticipation until heavy boots moved away, toward her parents' bedroom. A silent whimper of relief escaped her lips.

For a long time, she lay there, trembling and listening. Eventually, Tifa fell into quiet sobs, removing the blankets from her head. She ached for her mother's embrace; she would've known what to do. Mama would've protected her and made everything better again. She would've told her why Papa was acting so strangely. She rested her head on her pillow, staring out the window beside her bed. On the sill sat the little wooden horse Papa had made. Her father was kind, playing with her and taking her for lengthy walks in the woods, he got mad sometimes but it was never for long. He had never shouted at her like that before, or pushed her. Tifa couldn't understand what had changed. Closing her eyes, she prayed that she'd fall asleep and wake up in her mother's arms with her happy, cheerful Papa there to tickle her and blow raspberries on her cheek. Comforting herself with such visions, let herself be pulled into an uneasy sleep.

A/N: I wanted to upload today (May 3) in honor of Tifa's birthday! Unfortunately, this chapter was a poor birthday present for our beloved brawler.

Thank you so much for every one who has reviewed or followed this story, it really means a lot. Hearing what you guys think is really rewarding and I'm so grateful. Thank you for sharing your opinons-it's addicting to hear what I'm doing right or doing wrong!

I hope you're all ready for some dark twists and turns.