CHAPTER 46: DROWNING

The layers of grease on the kitchen floor did not come off easily. The steel wool and cleaning chemicals had rubbed her fingers raw after a few hours, but she didn't have the strength to care. Numbly, Tifa blinked at the way blood pooled under her fingernails.

Even in the midst of her grief, Tifa Lockhart was not an idle person. Days after she had been released from the hospital, she donned her ill-fitting uniform and set out for work. Bailey had let her have it when she had come slinking back to the pub. Tifa's dishonesty left her without excuses and had cost her any sympathy her boss may have had to give. Bailey told her that no man wanted to be serviced by a waitress with empty eyes. In fact, he had said that she was lucky she was so beautiful, since it gave her the opportunity to be quite a commodity for his business. If she wasn't so fortunate looking, he said he would've thrown her out on the street for what she had done. Tifa certainly didn't feel beautiful. Sleepless, torturous nights had left bags under her eyes and her skin was clammy and grey. Her hair was thinning and her swollen stomach was still shrinking back to its pre-pregnancy size. With a three week deadline to 'get over herself' and 'act normal' for the customers, she was punished with grueling kitchen duty.

But she didn't mind. The monotony of endless dishes to wash temporarily filled up the empty space in her chest as constant chores kept her brain empty, yet occupied. The cook ignored her except to give her orders, and she was grateful that she wasn't forced to endure small talk. She didn't feel like talking to anybody. The positioning of the stove kept his back to her, and she was grateful that she was mostly free from his gaze. Her meager earnings never left much room in her budget for food, and she sustained herself by discreetly eating the half-finished meals left by patrons that came back to the kitchen in bussing trays. Tifa downed discarded glasses of liquor when she could; the whiskey caressed her like a long lost friend. Numb. She just wanted to be numb.

Stack the dishes. Sweep the floors. Clean the endless beer mugs and shot glasses. Each day washed into another in a blur of tedium.

Two weeks had passed since she had returned, leaving her one more to pick up the pieces of her life and act cheery for Bailey's customers. In those two weeks, Tifa had tried her best to quell any emotion and leave her head as empty as everything else: empty belly, empty arms, empty crib. The only think that hadn't been empty was her breasts, which were painfully full with milk for a baby that didn't exist anymore. They ached so much it would make tears prick at the corner of her eyes, and Tifa took to hiding in the walk in freezer with a frozen bag of vegetables on her burning chest. She was no longer part of a symbiotic union and was dizzy with despair and confusion over this separation from her baby. Aria was just one more pair of hands that pulled Tifa's heart and mind away from the living world and into the next.

It occurred to Tifa that she was far from the only mother who had lost a baby. But how did people recover from such devastation? In Nibelheim, the harsh mountain winters and the resulting illnesses claimed many a baby's life. The community would rally together and try to comfort the grieving parents with attention and sympathy and small gifts. There'd be a tiny grave stone to place flowers on. But for Tifa, there were no arms to embrace her, no arms to hold her as she mourned the loss of her baby, her husband, of everything. The loneliness was maddening and depleted her drive to seek out a reason to move forward. If she had been a better mother, Aria would still be with her. She should've done something different. Maybe if she had researched more, had somehow found the means for proper food to nourish the baby inside her things would've turned out different. If she wasn't always sick and vomiting, would her daughter had been strong enough to make it? Maybe if she hadn't taken a job full of cigarette smoke, the baby would've been okay. Maybe if Aria had had a different mother, she would've lived to take a breath.

But regret was as useless as it was painful.

Putting aside the steel wool, Tifa reached into the bucket of soapy water for the rag. She rung it out before leaning forward to wipe at the grease she had loosened, taking small satisfaction when she saw the smooth, clean tiles underneath. She felt so drained, so lost. Aria had been her purpose now that Cloud was gone. Her tiny daughter, with her evidence of her father's golden locks in her light brown hair and red eyes, like her mother. Tifa's heart constricted when she realized that was all she'd ever know about her. What kind of mother was she, knowing so little about her own flesh and blood? What would her baby's voice have sounded like? What kind of foods would she liked to eat? Would she have been an artist, a musician, a book worm, a rebel?

What did it matter now?

The other waitresses weren't very sympathetic when they heard what happened. They told her it was better off that way, now that she had no 'baby-daddy' to help her. The words had initially stung her chest like a thousand bees, but over time she realized how right they were. All Tifa could think about was how she ruined everyone's life that she touched. Her mother died because she got her sick. Her father never recovered from Mama's death and hated her for it, spending the rest of his days haunting their house like a vengeful ghost. Cloud had been taken from her while on an assignment he had volunteered for to make ends meet for their tiny family. Aria never opened her eyes to this world because Tifa was inadequate as a mother, even before she could give birth. Surely, her daughter would've suffered more if Tifa had been given a chance to actually mother her. The little girl would've followed a bleak path here in the slums: without a chance, without hope.

How could she have ever provided for a baby if she couldn't even provide for herself? The amount she owed for rent was always very close to exceeding her earnings each month. The lease would be terminated in a month's time. After that, she'd have to figure something else out. Desperate, Tifa had felt something die within her when she sold her engagement ring to help pay off her hospital bills. After that, she had slid her wedding band off of her finger, hiding it under her shirt on a cord around her neck. Cloud wasn't coming back. No matter how many times she hoped and wished and fantasized, he'd never be waiting for her when she returned home. Cloud was dead, and that was that. She was alone, now. The only comfort in all of this tragedy was that Tifa didn't have to go around telling her friends and family that she had failed and her baby was dead. It was a small consolation that came at an enormous price, and she constantly longed for comforting arms to hold her.

The door to the kitchen banged open and she jumped, the rag dropping from her hands.

"Tifa!" Bailey's stern voice made her eyes snap upward. "Wash up and get out there, the girls are swamped. Try to be pleasant, will ya?"

Obediently, she collected her cleaning items and stood moved into the cramped employee bathroom to wash the grease and blood off her hands. She stood at the sink, but didn't look in the mirror. She couldn't stand to see herself. She didn't deserve to be alive when everyone else had died. Tifa was alive, but it didn't feel much like living. She was alone and empty, like a grave looking to be filled with the peace of death. Her heart used to be so full of love and life, but now it had been turned over and emptied, left hollow and broken. How could she mask the emptiness and hopelessness in her eyes to please her boss and her patrons? Taking a deep breath, she tried to smile. Long ago, Tifa had learned how to appear cheery despite the further crumbling of her life, but it wasn't working any more. Her carefully constructed mask had gone missing.

Trembling, she stepped out into the pub. It was packed with customers. Every booth, table, and bar stool was occupied, and the handful of waitresses hustled to and fro with trays piled high with soiled dishes. A blonde waitress named Rona was the first to spot her in the chaos. Arms full of plates of appetizers, she brushed past her with a huff.

"Table five, they just sat down."

Tifa nodded and pushed her way through the crowd. Voice soft and eyes averted, she took orders and collected checks. Hours passed as she weaved through crude, drunken men and their groping hands. She was glad Cloud couldn't see her now, for she was sure he wouldn't even have recognized her. She observed the patrons with detached interest. Tifa watched normal people do normal things, knowing that there was no chance she'd ever feel normal again. Her world ended the day Aria was born to her, lifeless and silent. Around her, everyone's worlds kept spinning on. Tifa felt like a stone must feel as the tide recedes around it: feeling stagnant and cold while the ocean carries on its merry way. Each breath felt like an effort. She never heard her baby laugh, never heard her smile, was never able to rest her hand on her tiny chest and feel the flutter of her little heart…

Tifa didn't cringe as a broad hand palms the curve of her rear, her hands too preoccupied with a tray to swipe it away. But what did it matter anymore? She wasn't a married woman. She wasn't a mother. She wasn't even a respectable human being.

She didn't have any value.

… … …

The slums of Midgar were a strange place for a man of the desert.

Barret Wallace had willingly traded sand and stone for iron and mako, trekking across the ocean with little else but the clothes on his back and a tired infant in his arms. He was an outsider, but fit seamlessly into this rough environment. No one gave him any trouble and he knew it was because of his large, muscular build and the hefty gun he recently had grafted to his arm, replacing his missing right hand. Once in a while, Barret would consider how strange he must look: an enormous, gruff looking man with dark skin carrying a tiny Caucasian baby. But nobody asked any questions, and he liked it that way. Sector Four was busy, especially for two in the morning, but he supposed that in a place like this people just ran by their own schedules. When you live under the sun, your life revolves around it. But denizens of the slums didn't rely upon the sun for light or food or their schedule. Without the use of mako powered electricity, the slums would remain almost as dark during the day as they were at night—especially this close to the pillar.

Barret was exhausted, but two things kept him marching. The first was anger, and it was directed at ShinRA. It was his thirst for revenge that had brought him here, to this dirty place of poverty and desperation. It was easy to strike out at your enemy when you hid right under their noses. The slums were a giant maze where people can disappear if they wanted to. He'd show them that no one double crossed Barret Wallace! Believing the company's lies had cost him everything. His home, his reputation, his friends, his wife…

A small whine from the little girl in his arms made him sigh. "I know, Marlene. I know. Jes' a little further an' we'll find somewhere to rest."

The second thing that inspired him to keep going was this baby. She wasn't his and it was obvious enough just by the stark difference in their skin color, but Marlene was so very precious to him. The only daughter of his deceased best friend, Dyne, Marlene was his chance to atone for the mistakes he had made, for the lives his ignorance had cost. The little girl was miserable. Travel wasn't easy on a four month old, and traversing across the sea had definitely taken its toll on her. Barret knew she was hungry, and always managed to locate some milk to feed her. Marlene would suck it down greedily, but almost always end up throwing most of it up again. The baby was weak and Barret felt guilty and lost. If she had been left in anyone else's care, she probably would've been well cared for. Was it selfishness that stopped him from leaving her to be adopted by a new set of loving parents? Barret wanted to think that he was doing this for his best friend, but was he really doing it for himself? Marlene was all that remained of his home, of his life before ShinRA burned it away. Her presence comforted him in a way nothing else could.

Hidden beneath his jacket flap, Marlene listlessly chewed on her fist and whimpered as she sagged against him. She needed to eat. Barret pushed through the crowd, eyes scanning the electric signs of shops lining the street. One of these places had to have food, right? His gun arm ached, still recovering from surgery and he grunted in frustration. Sector Four was full of materia shops, liquor stores and gentleman's clubs, but not a damn grocery store in sight! Most businesses were closed anyway, due to the late hour.

"It's 'bout damn time…" Barret grumbled, finally seeing a glowing sign that caught his interest.

The pub was crawling with people and he scowled, hoping for a somewhat quiet environment for Marlene. Not waiting to be seated, he plopped himself into a dim corner booth and sagged against the worn leather backing. The waitresses were buzzing like bees, sweeping around with skill and purpose. Barret tried to get their attention, but they'd rush past before he could. After ten minutes without luck, one particular waitress caught his eye. She was standing still as everyone else whirled around her, barely flinching when someone bumped her shoulder on the way past. Her wide, dark eyes were almost hidden under her black bangs, but Barret could easily see that she was staring: fixated on the baby in his arms.

"Hey, Miss," Barret called out to her over the volume of conversations and the clinking of cutlery on plates. She didn't budge, eyes glued to Marlene's little head. Protectively, he curled her under the flap of his jacket. He growled when the waitress's gaze didn't lift. "What'chu lookin' at?"

Baby mostly out of sight, she snapped out of it. Her long, black hair fell over her shoulders as she bowed her head apologetically.

"S-sorry, sir. I'm so sorry." With shaky hands, she pulled a notepad out of her apron. She kept her eyes averted. "What can I get you?"

"Your darkest beer, the curry plate and some milk for the baby."

"Yessir."

She quickly scribbled down his order, cautious eyes running over his gun arm before she scurried away into the crowd. Barret watched her disappear before shifting Marlene to a more comfortable position. His gun arm ached, still healing from surgery, and his feet were sore. He had been walking all day, looking for an apartment. He ended up signing a one year lease for a tiny hole in the wall above a tobacco shop. His background in the coal mines of North Corel had proven valuable and had landed him a job in construction, which he had hastily accepted. Barret had been so desperate for work to put a roof over their heads that he had forgotten a very important thing. In the long hours that he was working, who would watch over Marlene? No wonder he and his wife had never been blessed with children in their ten years of marriage. He was good at knowing exactly where to place dynamite for the maximum blow and how to determine small yet crucial weaknesses in mine shaft lining, but Barret was lost knowing what a tiny baby needed.

Annoyed, he pawed at the bread basket on the table. Barret occupied his mind with his pressing problem as he occupied his mouth with bread and rich butter.

… … …

Thud, thud, thud.

Her heart pounded in her ears. Despite constantly telling herself to calm down, Tifa's mind raced. It was just a baby—another person's baby. A baby girl in a stained pink dress. Tifa swallowed the lump in her throat as she hid in the kitchen, scrubbing and scrubbing at dishes that were long clean. Get a hold of yourself, Tifa scolded internally. Don't let your mind wander those paths.

As soon as the cook barked at her that her table's order was ready, she took the tray and dutifully stepped forward into the crowd. Fear and doubt and irrational dread pooled around her limbs, pulling her backward like the raging ocean tide. Tifa longed to hide from that little baby with dark eyes and fuzzy light brown hair. She wanted to hide from the emotions she'd been stifling, the desperation and rage and grief that threatened to spill over at the sight of plump little cheeks. With her head down, she marched ahead, dancing around waitresses and patrons.

"Here you are, sir." Gently, she slid the plate of food in front of him, followed by the foaming mug of beer. She paused with the glass of milk, knowing the baby was far too young to drink from a glass. How would she get her milk? The man didn't seem to have a bottle on him. It's none of your business, Tifa. She put the glass down on the table beside the mug. The little girl burbled. Tifa looked away. Bleach and sweat, pain and fear. Dark little lashes on ivory cheeks. Silent, peaceful angel.

"Is there anything else I could get for you?"

Before he could answer, the baby started to cry. It started low but intensified quickly, and Tifa felt her breasts ache in response to the hungry infant's cries. The man cradled and cooed to the child, rocking her with his good arm. It was easy to tell that he felt helpless and clueless. Tifa's addled brain didn't know what to do. Her arms yearned to reach out and comfort the infant, her body longed to nurse the little one like her clueless caretaker couldn't. But even she couldn't, not anymore. Her milk had dried up a week ago as her body finally understood that she had been the ultimate failure. Each wail from the infant was hot knives into her broken heart. Make it stop. Make it stop!

Finally, the man withdrew a small dropper from his pocket. "Aw'right, aw'right, here's your milk."

He sucked up a dropper full and carefully deposited it into her mouth. The baby greedily gulped at the dropper full of milk, instantly calming her cries. Tifa watched, fixated, as she drank each offering of white sustenance. A new flock of customers plopping at a nearby table made Tifa pry her gaze from the pair, but she continually found her gaze landing on them frequently for the next half hour or so. She couldn't help but be distracted. Even if she hadn't been grieving over the loss of Aria, a baby was a rare sight in these parts. The big man was finished feeding the baby and was now feeding himself. The little girl was quiet, but looked far from content as she writhed with a faint whine. A wave of white bubbled out of her little mouth, soaking into her collar. Almost on instinct, Tifa pulled a cloth out of her apron and rushed over. But when she got to the table, she didn't quite know what to do.

The man eventually realized she was standing there, and turned his dark head to glower in her direction. "What'chu want? You stare at all yo' customers like this?"

Tifa flinched and took a step back. She hadn't meant to be rude, and Bailey would be very cross if he knew she was making patrons uncomfortable with her lapses in mental stability. "N-no, excuse me. I'm sorry." Nervously, she swallowed. "But sir, she's..."

"I ain't looking for no 'scuses. Bring me the check an' leave us alone."

Then, he heard it. The baby sputtered and coughed, bringing up another wave of undigested milk.

"Marlene!" He held her upright to be sure she didn't choke. Tifa held out the rag and he readily took it, gently wiping the baby's mouth and neck. "C'mere, it's aight. You gonna be fine."

Tifa watched as he lifted her to rest her head on his chest. Marlene sagged into him, a weak keening sound coming from her throat. The baby looked lethargic and sick: too weak to cry. Her eyes were little slits against the fabric of the man's shirt. The sight echoed back dark memories and she breathed against the tightness forming in her chest.

"Is she sick?"

"The milk doesn't always agree wit' her...but she's got no mama to nurse her anymore."

"When I was born, my mother had trouble nursing me." Tifa closed her eyes as long buried memories rose to the surface. "Her milk dried up when I was just a month old, so the doctor told her to feed me with goat's milk. It's easier on the stomach than cow's milk. We have some in the back...we use it to make our butter and cheese. Would you like to try some?"

"Yeah...thank you." He glanced at her sideways with a dark eye before extending his hand. "Name's Barret."

"Tifa..." she took his hand and it swallowed hers. "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

She turned, weaving her way back to the kitchen. Tifa knew exactly where the goat milk was. In the past few weeks she watched the chef, silently stealing his secrets, and watched him churn butter and make cheese dozens of times. But it wasn't a menu item. Surely she could give some to Barret and just ask her boss what to charge him. Quietly, she went to the walk-in refrigerator and filled a tiny mason jar with a ration of goat's milk. Tifa snuck back out before anyone could find her and discreetly pressed the jar into Barret's hand.

"Take that home and give it a try. Hopefully it'll be easier on her little stomach." Her reward was a tiny smile on the man's gruff face.

"Thanks."

Clearing the dirty dishes from the table, she flashed him a small smile of her own. "I'll be right back with the bill."

Bailey was tending the bar, somehow distinguishing each order the customers barked at him over the noise around them. Tifa waited for the opportune time to interrupt during a momentary lapse, and went around to the swinging door leading behind the bar. All of a sudden, she felt overwhelmingly shy and unworthy to speak with him. After all, the last time she was in this very situation was when she was going into labor and trying to tell her boss what she'd hid from him for so long. But this situation wasn't about her, and she found her voice when she thought of that desperate little baby.

"Excuse me..." she squeaked, surprised when he swung his head towards her. "I have a customer who needs goat's milk. What would you have me charge for a glass?"

"It's not for sale." He grunted. Tifa waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't.

"But there's a baby who needs it..."

"Listen, do you know how costly it is to get goat's milk around here? I ain't givin' it away for charity!" He wiped down the counter with a little more force than necessary. "Don't ask me again."

Tifa nodded before slinking away. What was she going to do now? She had already given some to Barret-would the cook notice and rat her out? Would he tell Bailey and get her fired? She couldn't afford to lose this job: her housing situation depended on it. Bailey had a few rooms he rented out to the girls once in a while, maybe she could manage to afford one after her apartment's contract was up. Tifa wanted to stay, but didn't have the gil for it without the help of Cloud's savings, which was dwindling. If she damaged her relationship with her boss even further, she'd have no hope of a place to stay.

Tifa hated the thought of stealing from her boss as much as she hated the thought of that sick little baby starving to death because she didn't have her mother's milk. She felt that her shortcomings were the reason that Aria was dead, but maybe she could somehow make up for it by helping this little one that looked so much like her. Fetching Barret's check, Tifa made her way back to his table.

"You didn't charge me fo' the goat milk," he said, scratching his nose as he looked over the bill.

Tifa looked at Marlene's little doll face as she slept against Barret's chest. Surely if she only gave it to him this one time, it would be alright. "It's...on the house."

... ... ...

"Mama, where do all the paths go? I mean...what's at the end of them all?"

Tifa looked up to search her mother's face. They stood hand in hand at a fork in the pine forest trail, autumn wind tugging at their black hair.

"I'm not sure, my dear."

"What if they lead to nowhere?"

"Oh, surely they must lead to somewhere."

The path to the left of them went forward into the woods and got darker and darker the further it stretched. Naked branches of trees loomed across the path and there were no birds singing. The breeze made her shiver and she pressed herself against Mama's leg. The path to the right led westward, toward home. Tifa turned her head to look down that comforting trail, where the warmth of the sunlight beckoned her back to safety. Mama smiled down at her.

"Let's try this way, shall we?"

Obediently, she followed as her mother began to lead her down the dark path. At a crow's caw, Tifa stiffened and froze in place. She tugged on her mother's hand. "Mama, let's go back."

"What's wrong? You're not afraid, are you?"

Tifa frowned. "A'course not! I just wanna go on the other one."

"Are you sure? They say there's a waterfall down this way."

Tifa looked down the eerie path where the trees thickened and blocked out the light of the sun. She couldn't imagine ever wanting to walk down such a spooky trail, especially without a lantern. "Someone really walked that way?"

Mama laughed. "Of course! Who do you think made the path, Tifa?"

The girl paused in thought as she watched the dead leaves fall beside them in the breeze. Did the people who blazed trails ever come back? What if they were lost out there forever and no one came to rescue them? What if they went so far only to come upon a dead end or a cliff and couldn't get home? It filled her belly with a lonesome feeling and she tightened her grip on her mother's hand.

"Can we go home, Mama?"

"Yes, we can." In that moment, Lia's soft smile quelled all of the fears in Tifa's heart. "There will always be other days to be brave."

... ... ...

"Tifa, are you done? We're closin' up."

Snapping out of her memory, she dried the last glass and wiped her hands with the dish towel. "Yessir."

Quietly, Tifa hung the towel up and shrugged on Cloud's jacket. The path of her life seemed to have arrived at a dead end. She had been foolish, thinking her course would stay bright and sunny when it had morphed into an unfamiliar, treacherous journey. She hadn't her mother's hand to hold, nor Cloud's, and with each step she took, the world became darker and darker. One misstep could be fatal. The voice of her soul had disappeared—sucked away into the void—where all was empty and dark. But unlike last time, she couldn't turn back. Tifa was too far down this road and there was no option but to press forward and it frightened her.

At least here, at the pub, there was something to concentrate on to keep her from her thoughts. She liked to stay later than the other girls: rinsing and mopping and scrubbing. They didn't really talk to her much, anyway. The other waitresses were all older than her by quite a few years. Most were in their twenties and had lives and boyfriends of their own, slaving away at this place to help make ends meet or save for the next semester of college. She envied them and the opportunities they had. Tifa wondered if she could make friends with the others by trying to make conversation, but her grief filled heart had made her hesitant to open up and become vulnerable to any further wounds. When she thought about it, it had been hard for her to be completely open since Mama left this life. Before Cloud had died, she had diligently practiced openness of each thought, since she knew how important transparency was in marriage. Now that the comfort of her best friend had disappeared, she hid back in her shell like frightened clam. She had rediscovered safety in being separate and opaque, drawn into an orbit of which the other girls had no knowledge. They didn't pay her much mind, anyway. By then, misery had made Tifa almost invisible.

Tifa's body screamed for sleep, but her mind wanted to be distracted with mundane tasks. When she was in her dark apartment, there was nothing to keep her from remembering just how alone she was. She preferred to be working in the bustling pub, where the noise of so many lives drowned out the static in her head. The dishes always needed cleaning, the patrons always needed to be fed, and there was always new liquor stock to put away. After failing at everything else, she had finally found a purpose here. Maybe her purpose was to allow others to have merriment. Her place in this world was a cog in the machine, and she could endure it as long as she didn't have to suffer any more. But her heart was so full of longing, no matter how hard she tried to snuff it out. She felt like an apparition, floating through the days, struggling under her fruitless labor. Tifa had spent so many years as a servant to her father that she didn't know how to make herself happy. Did she really depend on other people for her happiness and sense of worth?

It was early April, but a bit of winter chill still hung in the dense, smoggy air. Tifa slumped into the raised collar of her coat as she headed out into the street, still crowded for such an early hour of the morning. Time seemed to make little difference in this place, where the light was all artificial. Still, after all this time, her eyes would automatically scan the crowd for a particular blonde head of unruly hair. Tifa would be listening for Cloud to call her name from the shadows of crowds, her ears straining to her the comforting familiarity of his voice. If he found her in the maze of the slums, everything would change. Hope would rush back in and she'd be able to pick up the pieces of her life. But Cloud was dead. Her hope was dying a slow death as the days kept fading, falling to the ground like autumn leaves. Cloud had left her so abruptly that she had no closure, no chance to say goodbye.

Tifa's apartment was as dark as it always was, but seemed much emptier these days. She and Cloud had never had many possessions, but lately Tifa had been so strapped for money that she had sold everything but the essentials. She showered to wash the stench of grease and cigarette smoke out of her hair, stopping to run a hand over her deflated belly. What would life be like if Aria was with her now? Undoubtedly, the baby would be suffering due to her mother's inability to provide sufficiently. The shower spray beat against her face and she closed her eyes and imagined how life would be more bearable if she had her daughter to love and hold, a warm little one to cradle against her and chase the darkness away. Old thoughts of childhood belief flooded her mind: did Aria cross over the mountain? Can someone become a ghost if they never really lived? Reminders of her broken family were everywhere she went. A shrill wail of an infant in a passing car, the blue eyes of the pale haired man at the bus stop, the smell of fresh lumber at a construction site.

Exhausted, Tifa combed out her hair and hid away in her bed. She'd have to be sure to wake up early enough to hunt for a new place to live. So far, she had been unsuccessful and the lack of certainty for her future frightened her. No one seemed remotely interested in renting anything to a fifteen year old, especially one who was alone and broke. Tifa closed her heavy eyes, trying to remember the way Cloud's body had felt beside her. Sometimes, sleep would set her free of this misery, but other times she was plagued with haunting dreams of Cloud, asking for help. Dreams of her daughter, alone and frightened without her mother. Visions of a bird's feather, drifting to the ground after its owner took flight. Baby birds never came back once they left their nest. Not so long ago, her foolish self had pined to fly away from Nibelheim, and she had gotten her wish. Watching the birds leave her bird house each year made her envy their freedom. But Tifa never considered where the birds went once they left; was it really a better life away from home? Fledglings never came back to the nest. Did they ever regret leaving the safety and security they once had? Tifa was trapped here in the dark, so far away from home—a home that didn't exist anymore. Would life always be this hard?

Her dreams kept her company through those nights. As the noose tightened around her neck, when the silence became too hard to handle, she'd picture how Cloud's eyes would sparkle when he smiled and the way his chuckle would sound clumsy, as if he was uncertain that he could really be full of such merriment. Tifa would think of Claudia, humming her jovial tunes as she measured, cut and sewed. She'd think of Zangan's hearty bellow of a laugh and the kindness in his pale eyes. She'd reminisce about long walks with Papa and the way her mother used to comb her hair before tucking her into bed. And often her final thoughts were of Aria's perfect little round face, born asleep, before she drifted off into oblivion. As sleep mercifully tugged at her consciousness, a question burned like an ember in the dark.

What am I fighting for?

...

A/N: I'm so sorry that the last chapter was so hard to deal with for so many of you! It was a hard decision to make, but it had been made from the very beginning. Aria's death will never be meaningless. She has a purpose that is hopefully already becoming apparent. While chapter 45 was the lowest point in the story, it's all uphill from here, I promise. Thank you for sticking with this story, even when it's rough. I hoped to have warned you by putting this story in the 'angst' category.

Tifa is a tough cookie, just like in the original game. Her healing process has begun. :)

Thank you all for reading and reviewing!