CHAPTER 44: THE CRUMBLING PATH

A frigid January wind whipped through the concrete canyons as Tifa made her way through the slums. It cut through her tunic and she shivered, instinctively wrapping her hands protectively around her growing belly. Flighty and timid, she made her way through the streets as quiet and stealthy as a mouse. These days, Tifa was afraid to leave her apartment. If she got into trouble, it seemed that there was no one to come to her rescue. No one would come looking for her if she didn't make it home, and the thought made her feel more desperately lonesome than she ever had before.

She had good days and bad days.

Weeks turned into months. The days spilled one by one into an endless muddle and Tifa could only remember snippets of things, aside from a constant feeling of misery and fear. On good days, she found the strength to get to her feet, check her mail, and maybe even get a few groceries. But most days were bad days, where she'd let herself remain buried in the darkness of her sheets with no comprehension of time without the rise and fall of the sun. She'd lay in one of Cloud's sweatshirts and savor any trace of his scent that still clung to the cotton. A cold, black wind had ripped the dreams of rolling waves and laughing gulls out of her fists and Tifa felt hopelessly lost. Day after hopeless day, night after desperate night, she silently called out for him again and again. But Cloud never came home.

She had been left behind.

All she could think of was her loved ones who were lost, just like Mama. Cloud, Papa, Claudia, Zangan…what had happened to them? She was alone, thinking of her husband, numbering his wonderful qualities and silently praising his virtues. There just wasn't enough room in her heart for any other thought. She felt as if she was suffocating under the weight of her grief and a newfound claustrophobia as she pined for the familiar safety of her mountain home. A girl who once lived under the sun felt like a trapped bird within these concrete walls. But did home even exist anymore? No one in Nibelheim answered the dozens of letters she sent and it frightened her to the core. Tifa endlessly called the number to the inn, but every time there was a new employee who answered. None of them knew the names of any of the townspeople of the village that raised her. Tifa didn't know what to do. She had no closure concerning the fate of her loved ones, no place to go and no money to get there. Would she ever keep her promise to return to her mother's grave?

The wind tore Tifa's hair out of her jacket collar, making it whip behind her like a wild black river. She kept her eyes on the uneven sidewalk, only peeping upwards to check for any help wanted signs.

Fear had paralyzed her for the past two months, but today she needed to be out. She had a purpose and a goal. ShinRA had given her some paper work when she tried to investigate Cloud's death, including the notice of the severance of her medical benefits. Cloud's last paycheck had been mailed to her weeks ago, and she now had no means of income. With a limited amount in her savings and a baby on the way, finding a job was imperative. There were two issues with this. One was that her nausea had never let up, even though she was now well past her first trimester, and she constantly felt weak and tired. It was distressing to spend precious gil on food only to waste it when it came right back up again. The second problem was that she had no marketable skills for Midgar's environment. Tifa could card wool, make soap, tend a garden and follow patterns to make clothing, but what use was any of that here?

Cloud's suggestion to try working for ShinRA as a secretary crossed her mind once or twice, but she never would dwell on it for long. Even if she was practiced with telephones and computers, she would never ever work for that monster of an organization! ShinRA had taken everything from her and she'd rather die than serve such a corrupt, calloused company. Instead, she had taken to roaming the streets in Cloud's winter jacket, desperately searching for help wanted signs in shop windows or outside vendors' tents. She hadn't had any luck thus far, every employment opportunity she came upon required heavy lifting or a special skill set—neither of which she could provide at the moment. When she had tried to apply as a maid in a nearby doctor's office, the woman who interviewed her had turned her away when that analytical gaze landed on Tifa's belly. She had been so sick and sad that her bump was smaller than it should have been, but it was still sizable enough for a keen-eyed stranger to notice. No one wanted to hire someone who would soon be disabled by the size of the baby growing within her and who would need time off to recover from birth. Tifa hated to be deceitful, but she was incredibly desperate. She would be more careful to hide her stomach from this point on.

When she first found out that she was expecting, the baby was all she could think about. Joy had filled up her spirit and she'd smiled without effort, because what more could she want from life? Starting a family with the love of her life had always been a dream, a goal, a vision. Now, her pregnancy frightened her and thoughts of the baby were laced with fear. Tifa had never been a mother before; she had never even had a pet to take care of! Was she even capable of parenting a small human being? How could she teach her baby how to survive in this place when she herself felt so lost? She had thought that by the time one had children, they would be secure in their place as an adult. But she still felt like a child, and in Midgar she was still legally one.

If Cloud was here, they could've figured it out together. Cloud would have had a plan. He would have kept them safe and happy. If Cloud was still alive, they wouldn't even be in Midgar anymore.

Cloud…

She couldn't let her hope that he was still alive be snuffed out. It was against all rational sense, but she couldn't help but ponder over the strangeness of it all. Her financial situation was so grim that it was in her best interest to try to find a cheaper apartment or rent out a single room somewhere instead of keeping their tiny home. But what if Cloud was alive after all? What if he came home and she was gone? What if he couldn't find her? Tifa knew she had to stay put for as long as she could.

Her sharp eyes caught the messy scrawl of a hand written sign taped to the glass pane of a shop: NOW HIRING BARTENDERS. Bailey's Pub was a small little tavern on the border of Sector Three and Sector Four, only about a half hour's walk from her apartment. She wasn't a bartender, but she did know a bit about alcohol. How hard could it be? If they were willing to teach her, she could handle it. When it came down to the truth, Tifa didn't really have a choice. She had to try. Taking a deep breath, she pushed through the front doors.

The smell of cigarette smoke hit her like a wall and she stifled the urge to retch. The place was loud and packed with patrons, talking or singing loudly to celebrate the arrival of the New Year. There were clinking glasses and the sound of utensils against ceramic plates. The air was stifling in the overcrowded space and Tifa pulled off her jacket, holding it against her stomach as she looked around for an employee. The long bar was packed; every stool was taken with tipsy customers that were made jaunty or sullen by their drinks. A large, middle aged man with a dark beard stood behind the bar, his blue eyes relaxed despite the seemingly chaotic surroundings. The girl gathered her courage and approached him, squeezing into a small vacant space to stand at the end of the bar.

"E-excuse me, sir," she squeaked, surprised when she got his attention so easily. "Do you know where the owner is?"

"Yer lookin' at 'im, Miss!" The man plunked down two shot glasses on the bar top and took a bottle of brandy off the shelf. It was hard for Tifa to decide whether he was friendly or just lackadaisical. "Name's Bailey. What can I do fer ya?"

She swallowed against her nausea. "I'm here because of your help wanted sign."

It was then that Bailey finally stopped to really look at her. Tifa tried not to cringe as she felt his gaze washing over her. Her black shirt hid her stomach well in the dimly lit bar, but she still held the jacket tightly against her abdomen. She was glad it was a man, since they were usually too busy staring at her swelling breasts to notice her baby bump. His booming laugh cut through the chatter of the others.

"How old are you?"

She kept her head down. If her cheeks weren't already red and chapped from wind burn, her face would've definitely been colored with embarrassment. "Fifteen."

"Missy, you got a license?" A license? She looked up at him then, and he sighed when he saw the confusion on her features. "You need a license to tend a bar, ya hear? You can't just waltz in here and start pourin' out liquor."

"How do I get a license?"

"There's a test you have to take, but forget about it, kid. You have to be eighteen to apply for a license."

The small glimmer of hope Tifa had had rushed out of her like water from a toppled bucket, and desperation took over rational thought. She gripped the edge of the bar, as if to hold on to any fleeting chance of success.

"Please, Mr. Bailey. I need a job so badly. I-I can cook or clean—anything you like! Please…I'll do anything."

The man was no fool. He stopped to look her up and down, taking in her pretty face, slim shoulders and supple chest. Most of Bailey's patrons were young men looking to relax and drink away their pay after long, unsatisfying work days. All of his waitresses were young women (though not quite as young as fifteen) and that was no coincidence. Beautiful women were great for business, whether they knew it or not. If this girl's desperation mirrored her work ethic, she may be worth the trouble. He sighed, running a hand through his thick brown hair.

"Listen," Bailey said softly as he leaned in close, studying the unique ruby hue of her eyes. His face was fixed with the false smile usually reserved for adults trying to fool a child. There was false honey on his tongue as he spoke, eyeing her figure as she waited for his offer. "What do you think about being one of my waitresses? It's an easy job and you can keep all of your tips. Our customers will love a sweet lil' thing like you."

Tifa could hardly believe what she was hearing. Was he actually offering her a job? She blinked and nodded, fingers still pressed against the polished wood. Snapping out of her spell, she quickly bowed her head with gratitude.

"Thank you, Mr. Bailey. I promise I won't let you down."

"Can you start tomorrow?"

"Absolutely."

"One slip up and you're out—understood?"

"Yes, sir."

After a brief discussion about her temporary work schedule, she was given a 'uniform' of black spandex shorts, a black t-shirt with the pub logo and a small apron that tied at the waist to hold straws and napkins. Bundled back up in Cloud's jacket, she headed out into the frigid evening air after thanking Bailey profusely.

Traffic in the slums was always hectic; there was never a shortage of bikes, buses or cars clogging up the streets. However, most couldn't afford any sort of transportation, so the number of people on foot always made walking anywhere a challenge. Although it was past rush hour, there were more people on the streets than usual. Many clutched large packages of food and rushed off toward their destinations. Adolescents hung out in alley ways, lighting small fireworks and smoking cigarettes. Colored lights flashed in shop windows, attempting to entice customers with sale prices for the special occasion. It seemed like everyone was celebrating the arrival of the New Year. Although she had been victorious in finding a place to work, Tifa didn't feel like there was anything to celebrate at all.

The holiday was a time to be with loved ones and family, and she regretted any time she had taken them for granted. Her eyes welled up with tears as Cloud's written words from one of his letters resurfaced in her head: Don't forget, I love you. Tifa sniffed and scrubbed at her face before the world could blur into swirls of grey and black. She wanted so badly to feel loved by someone, anyone. She was tired of dancing between anger and sadness, hopelessness and pain. What had become of her life? Did it really mean anything?

As if in answer, she felt a flutter in her womb. Startled, Tifa stopped in her tracks, eyes wide with wonder. Hands reached under her jacket and she pressed her palms against her abdomen—waiting. When it happened again, she sucked in a breath. The third time she felt the tumbling feeling, like butterflies inside her, a grin broke free. Her baby was moving! Tucking herself into the privacy of a small alley, she waited for any more small flutters, eyes wide with awe and wonder. Her days had been so laden with sadness; each dark hour rolled into the next, heavy with feelings of loneliness, hopelessness, and worthlessness. In her despair, all she could think of was how there was no one left who found value in her. Tifa had forgotten that to one person, she was everything.

The baby wasn't just a concept. The beginning of its life wasn't the day it was born, but the day it had been conceived inside her. It had been alive all this time and depended on her for everything to sustain it, though she had only felt it move now. Tifa realized there, in the bitter cold of the dark alleyway, that she would need to be this baby's beacon of hope in the dark world of Midgar. She couldn't give up.
Closing her eyes, she promised herself that her grief over the loss of her husband (and most likely her father and Claudia) would not turn her into the monster her father had become after her mother had been laid to rest. She needed to be like Cloud, who had been a constant source of love and dependability. She needed to be like Lia, who had led her through early childhood with benign guidance and gentle hands. Tifa needed to be like Claudia, whose companionship had brought her peace and security in her turbulent world. She needed to be like Master Zangan, who showed her that she was capable of much more than she knew. If she could be those things for the child within her, maybe it would be alright in the end.

Cloud would have wanted her to try. He had never given up, despite all he frightening things he faced. Tifa knew that she had no choice but to press forward: in her life there had never been another option. But oh, how hard it was! She was so worried about whether or not she would keep this job or be forced to wander around again, looking for a way to earn some desperately needed gil. Tomorrow would hold its own challenges, but Tifa was more concerned with concealing her progressing pregnancy in the work place. He hadn't asked her if she was expecting, so she hadn't told him. It wasn't lying, but she wasn't being honest about it either, and it left her feeling uneasy.

Besides, what would she do after the baby was born? A bar was a terrible environment for any baby, especially a newborn. She wouldn't be able to work there with an infant sling against her chest, would she? Her heart pounded with anxiety and she stepped out of the alley to continue her trek home.

One day at a time, she chanted to herself. One day at a time.

… … …

"New girl! Table six!"

"Yessir!"

Balancing a tray with a half dozen mugs of foaming ale, Tifa carefully wove through the rowdy crowd of young men. She had been training for three days and in that time, she had made a few mistakes that she was sure would get her fired. Once, she had confused drink pricing and overcharged a patron for his alcohol. Another time, she had been cleaning off a table and dropped a glass mug. Yesterday, she had been scolded by one of her fellow waitresses for taking too long to deliver a table's food, which had gone cold. Tifa had hidden in the restroom to be sick at the time, but wasn't something she thought would be wise to tell anyone. She had recently developed nasty, throbbing headaches that refused to let up, even with pain relief drugs. Once in a while, her vision would blur and she'd vomit shortly after. Were these normal pregnancy symptoms? She had no friends or mother to ask, and no time to spend researching these things at the library. Tifa was always worried that her physical ailments would cause her to make more mistakes. Although she had been threatened to be outed with a single slip up, somehow she was still here. Despite all of her shortcomings, Bailey continued to ask her to come back each day, and she was very grateful.

It was hard work. The pub was opened at four in the afternoon and closed at two in the morning. Most days, Tifa would finish cleaning the tables and scrubbing the floor about an hour later. Walking through the slums at three in the morning was frightening, at best. The strange hour brought all sorts of strange characters out of the darkness, and Tifa did her best to remain unseen. She'd sleep until it was time to wake up for her next shift. Each day, she'd dress in her uniform, carefully using her apron to hide her tiny baby belly. The disguise wouldn't last forever, but it might buy her some time.

Table six had half a dozen young men in threadbare work clothes, cackling loudly as they crammed appetizers into their mouths. Carefully, she placed the drinks on the tray in front of their respective owners and smiled politely. "Is there anything else I could get for you?"

"How much for a piece of that ass?" asked the one with a scruffy jawline before he laughed and elbowed the man next to him.

Tifa just stood there, unsure of how to handle such blatant crudeness. No one in Nibelheim would ever dare be so crass, but she was in a different world now. Red eyes looked puzzled as she searched for an appropriate response.

"She's married, jackass. Look, she's got a ring."

"So what?" His white teeth flashed with his smile. "He doesn't have to know! What's wrong with earning a little gil?"

Tifa felt her face flushing with embarrassment. Were these men really discussing these kinds of things in public? Flustered and unsure of what to do, she swiped up her tray and bowed her head to hide her eyes behind her bangs.

"Your food will be out shortly, thank you for your patience," she said before scuttling back towards the kitchen. Her heart wouldn't stop hammering against her ribcage as she tried not to get upset. She couldn't do this. Since that stranger had touched her behind on the train that one day, she had known that she was in a different world where respect and chivalry were nonexistent. But it was still hard to adjust to, and it still frightened her.

Trading the empty tray for one with table three's orders, she glanced at the rings on her finger. No girl should have to endure this sort of objectification, especially a married one. Technically, she wasn't married anymore, but she still felt married. She still felt bonded and loyal to Cloud. In her mind she was still faithful to their union, but it was all pretend. Her wedding and engagement ring were now just for show, but she couldn't bear to take them off. It felt like betrayal to do such a thing.

Cloud would've been so upset to see her working in a place like this, surrounded by smoke and booze and strange, handsy men. He would've been heartbroken to know she was so uncomfortable under the leering and wandering of strangers' eyes and the crudeness of their remarks. Cloud would've suffered greatly over the knowledge that she worked such long hours with less than kind coworkers who ignored her except to correct or scold her. The other waitresses, to Tifa's surprise, were as rude and crass as some of the customers. Her cheeks had reddened to hear how they'd talk to customers or accept physical advances from patrons in exchange for gil, leaving with them at the end of their shift. A few of them told her it was a great way to earn some extra cash on the side, but Tifa could never imagine doing such a thing no matter how desperate she got.

Every once in a while she'd hear Papa's voice echoing the back of her mind, haunting her.

You're a fool, Tifa! Go on—run off to Midgar! You'll regret it; I know you will!

Maybe she had been a fool. Maybe she could've convinced Cloud to quit his job at ShinRA when he had proposed to her. Cloud could've taken on an apprenticeship somewhere and they could've escaped Nibelheim, taking Claudia along as well. Maybe, she could've convinced Papa to come, too. What if her naiveté had led to the demise of everyone she loved? Day after day, week after week, Tifa worked her hardest despite her meager earnings. No amount of labor or toiling could earn back everything she had lost, but her exhaustion made it much easier to slip into the peace of dreamless sleep in the hours that she didn't have her job to distract her.

… … …

Floating, floating, alone in the endless void. It's not so bad here, in the quiet and stillness. Nothing hurts in the dark. There's a pleasant numbness in his body and he welcomes the gentle tingling feeling. But soon, he knows, the bad things will come. Their velvety voices whisper to him in foreign tongues that he can somehow understand. He's frightened, unspeakably afraid, because they speak only of darkness and despair and ruin. Calamity. Devastation. Destruction.

Click. Click. Click.

Cloud gasps awake abruptly, feeling momentarily disoriented. But he's right where he always is, encased in his prison—a cylindrical specimen tube full to the brim with mako. He's too weak to scream, but there would be no use for that, even if he could. No one could hear him through the liquid mako and the thickness of the glass. A mask covered his mouth and nose, allowing him to receive oxygen as he marinated in a sea of unnatural green.

Click. Click. Click.

That noise! Cloud knew that noise. He moved his weary eyes to find the source of the sound. The spectacled man with the black hair: his captor—his keeper, was there, rigging something up to his pod. Cloud knew what it was: tranquilizing gas. The clicking noise was always followed by a drug induced haze, making him helpless and vulnerable. The man called Hojo was a sadistic bastard, who treated him with a terrible coldness as if he wasn't a human being. No matter how much Cloud begged for freedom, for an end to the ruthless, painful experimentation done on his body, the professor remained unfazed and unflinching. Never once did the man address him directly or look him in the eye.

A final click and Cloud's body tensed as a surge of dread and adrenaline pulses through him. No, no, no! It would happen again. He'd be drugged and dragged out of his cage to be cut and poked and prodded and worse. There was never any anesthetic or pain relief. He held his breath so that he wouldn't breathe in the sleep inducing gas, like he always did, but it was never any use. He flailed his arms outward and his hands brushed over the scratched up glass, the work of his fingernails as he pawed at his tank like a trapped animal. There was movement out of the corner of his eye, behind Hojo, and Cloud stopped thrashing long enough to look. Zack was there; laid flat on the examination table, out of his own mako cylinder. He couldn't hear his friend, but he could see his brows drawn together in pain as he lazily tugged at the restraints on his wrists and ankles. Zack writhed, blood seeping from his mouth and chest and abdomen. Cloud released his breath to draw in a shaking sob. He knew that he would be next.

He wasn't sure exactly what Hojo was doing to them or why. Cloud knew that he was being injected with mako constantly, but also something else, and he wasn't sure whether it was the treatments or his captive environment that were driving him out of his mind. Why were they cut open again and again? Why did they constantly have their blood taken and tissue samples collected? Cloud had lost count of how many times he had watched Zack endure this torture, and yet every time his body was thrown on the examination table, he had no scars. Was his body regenerating from all the mako energy? Cloud knew that his body was capable of the same thing, for no matter how often he was mutilated in the name of 'science' he would never stay mangled and broken. Painful as it was, his body rebuilt itself. It rebuilt itself no matter how much he wished it would just let him die.

It happened quickly, like it always did. Cloud wasn't aware how much he had slumped forward until he felt his forehead gently brush against the cool glass of the cylinder. Hojo always knew when he had administered enough gas to leave his experiments incapacitated. The professor drained the mako in the tank and Cloud slumped lifelessly to the floor of his prison, where two of Hojo's assistants took off his mask and brought him out into the lab to lie upon his own torture table. Two others wheeled Zack's stretcher past him, his body bruised and bleeding.

"Zuh…Zack…" he croaked, hoping to see any response from his companion.

But there was none. The blonde could only stare, raw fear flashing across his face. What if Zack didn't wake up this time? His best friend was his sole remaining link to sanity in the face of this endless torture and Cloud couldn't bear to think of enduring this alone. How long had they been here in this nightmarish place? Where were they, anyway? Had there ever been life before this? Yes, yes there had been.

A girl with dark hair who gladdened his heart like a sunrise. A tiny baby yet unseen in the womb of his beloved. A dream of the wide freedom of the sea.

With a broken groan, Cloud tried his best to lash out at his captors, but his body felt sluggish and heavy. At this point, it was all he could do to try to stay awake and remember his name. He tried to struggle, tried to cry out, but his body did not respond to the demands of his mind. He was so tired. Was he going to die here? The smell of rubbing alcohol and sterilized equipment caused a new wave of anxiety to surge through his body, but he was frozen there on the table, barely able to blink. His mind was hazy, but Cloud tried to sort his way through that fog and hold on as long as he could. The odds were against him, but weren't they always? He had defied the odds again and again and again. He overcame illness and frailness as an infant, survived in an unwelcoming village without a father to guide him, found his way to Midgar, married the love of his life, fathered a baby…

Somewhere in his drug addled mind, he could hear Hojo barking orders.

"A tissue sample is required from the small intestine. Get to work prepping him; he won't be sedate for more than an hour."

Somehow, some way, he could overcome this, right? Half lidded eyes watched numbly as the other 'specimen' was returned to his prison. Zack was his last tether to anything good and right. Zack was the last comfort Cloud had aside from escaping into the recesses of his mind and blocking out as much as he could. He was sure he would've died long ago without the presence of his friend.

A sudden, searing pain cut through his thoughts as he was opened with a scalpel. Cloud somehow found the strength to wail. He was surprised at how his voice cracked and how his sobs degenerated into childlike whimpers. He had no control over himself as he lay there, keening cries flowing from his throat, slicing through the silence of the windowless chamber. Eyes clenched shut, he called out with the last of his strength.

"Zack!"

They had done nothing to deserve this. The pain was as blinding as the bright lights above his head and Cloud couldn't help but continue to sob brokenly, even as a gag was shoved into his mouth. Too weak and drugged to writhe, he tried to focus on breathing through his nose. The air was still thick with the metallic scent of Zack's blood and sweat. He could see the other man from where he lay, floating upright once again in his prison, head limply settled against his bloody chest. Of everything Cloud had faced in this nightmarish hell, the idea of losing Zack was the most frightening. It was too much, it was just too much. White hot pain shot through his body until he was sure he would die. His breathes came quickly and unevenly, and he coughed and choked into his cloth gag.

He tried to retreat into his mind to ease his suffering. He closed his eyes, drawing up memories of playing with Tifa in the surf. He longed to bathe once again in the bright rays of the sun and watch how it filtered through the canopy of trees. He wanted to feel the roundness of his wife's womb, protective palm over the life they had created. His visions were shaped by the murmurs of scientists and a fresh, searing pain made his eyes fly open once again. Would he ever get back to her? Would he have left Tifa alone in the slums, trying desperately to care for their baby? After the lengths he had taken to avoid it, would he end up condemning them to the same fate he and his mother had shared? History repeats itself. Cloud was the same as his father, after all. The overhead light was bright, but blackness began to cloud at the edges of his vision. His desperate noises began to subside as his consciousness started to fade. Once again, Cloud welcomed the sweet escape of oblivion. There, he could dream of the one who was still halfway across the world, waiting for him to return.

...

A/N: Hope you all enjoy some angst for Christmas! Seriously, the plot of FFVII is so dark that a lot of it was only bearable because the character models were so cute and there were so many strange comic relief moments. I seriously wonder how they are going to present this disturbing (yet intriguing) story in realistic graphics with a modern twist.

I guess only time will tell, huh?

I hope you all have a very happy holiday! Thank you for taking the time to read and leave feedback. :)