What It Means To Be Living

by The-Ocean-Deep

If Cloud and Tifa were close friends as children, would their lives really have been that different? This story follows the early days of their lives up until the beginning of FFVII.

52. Fleeing the Dark

CHAPTER 52: FLEEING THE DARK

Cloud was dreaming.

He dreamt in fragments that seemed to come and go as they pleased as he remained motionless in his prison. How long had he been here? His dreams followed no logical path, nor could he be sure if they were dreams in his sleep or waking dreams in his mind. Often, he'd relive the same dream many times. As death and oblivion were closely related, so too were death and dreams. Who can truly say that a dead man doesn't dream? Was he dead, dreaming of life? Or was he alive and dreaming of death? Cloud told himself that it didn't matter, for he couldn't remember a time before he had been contained here. He told himself that he was safe in this glass case, suspended in the quiet. It was a gentle, soothing lie that blocked out the memory of the horrors that lie outside.

There was a jarring sound as time lurched back into motion. It boiled up, whirling around fiercely, arcing like lightning, regaining the pace it once knew in the past that felt like a distant memory. He could feel the warm mako being drained from around him and though he was too weak to move, Cloud felt his heart begin to pound with fear. Pain always followed when he was brought out into the open and he shivered with dread and anticipation as he heard the door slide open with a hiss. He hadn't even the strength to whimper as he was pulled from his mako tomb and into the cold, damp air of the laboratory. Overwhelmed by a flood of sensations, Cloud shivered. A weak groan forced its way out of his throat and he was frightened, for his eyes felt too heavy to open.

Everything was so loud: the hum of electric as it pulsed through machinery, the scraping of boots along the floor, the ragged breaths of the person supporting him with strong arms. A deep, gentle voice spoke to him—a man's voice—but Cloud couldn't concentrate. He felt dizzy and disoriented, as if he was falling, and his fingers tried and failed to cling to the one holding him. The light, though always dim when the laboratory wasn't in use, was blinding to his over-sensitive eyes when he tried to squint. The smell of disinfectant hung heavily in the air, the intensity of it sending nausea rising into his throat. But it wasn't just the disinfectant that assaulted his nose. He could smell everything: the worn pages of old books, dried chemical residue, and warping wood. Even his sense of touch was heightened. Each individual cell on his skin seemed to tingle where his clothing chafed against it. He was overcome by it all, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. Trembling violently, Cloud wished with all his might that he'd be shoved back into his container. There, he'd be safe and warm in the quiet of his glass cocoon.

He felt himself being carried on and on by the man. Cloud wasn't sure who this man was, or why he was carrying him so far. Normally, he'd just be thrown on the cold examination table, stripped, and experimented upon. That was routine, but this was different, and he didn't like it. Where was he being taken, now? Were they finally going to kill him? But the voice that spoke calmly to him wasn't like that of any of the people who hurt him and made him scream until his voice was hoarse and his chest was sore. The voice was soothing, like a forgotten memory from infancy, quelling his anxiety as he was taken away from the dark place where it felt like an eternity within. His head was laid to rest upon something soft. Cloud felt himself being changed out of wet clothes and into something dry, replacing the scent of mako with stale, old linen. The entire time, the man cooed encouragements, but his mind was too muddled to make out what he was saying.

There was no way to tell how much time was passing. Cloud remembered the shock when the snap of fresh air finally hit his skin for the first time in so, so long. He remembered how overwhelmed he was by the brightness of the sun, barely able to flutter his eyelids against the blinding rays. There were so many smells and sounds as the sun would rise and fall again and again. Days would pass, though Cloud couldn't count their number, but he knew that the air was getting more cold and crisp than it was before. Sometimes, he'd regain consciousness to find himself alone. He didn't like it when the other one was gone. He was always there, bringing him forward and letting him rest. During the days, he was fed and kept clean. In the cold of night, the other man kept him warm and lulled him to sleep with the sound of slow, even breaths. When the other one was near, he felt safe, protected, and content.

When he was gone, there were usually frightening noises like metallic clashing and gunshots and groaning. The metallic scent of blood would make him shiver. But the man was never gone for long, and he always came back. The thought that he might not return was one that terrified Cloud. What if he got hurt and he'd have to stay here, alone, with the sky and the dirt? He'd be cold and hungry and frightened and so, so lonesome. That would be awful. Just when panic started to rise in his chest, he'd hear the heavy boot steps and the friendly voice and warm relief would spread through his veins. Every time, Cloud would try and try to move, to speak, to do anything that might let the man know how happy he made him and that he was listening. But he was without even the strength to raise his eyes from their half lidded stare where they studied blades of grass. He was afraid the other one would get angry when he didn't respond, but he never did. Instead, he ruffled Cloud's hair and spoke kind things to him. The skin of his hands was calloused and rough, but it still felt good and made him happy. He thought that maybe someone had pet his head like that once before, a long time ago. But when he tried to remember anything before the smell of rubbing alcohol and bleach, crushing fear and bright, swirling green, a great pain would bloom in his mind and he'd shrink away from it. And so, he could only go forward.

Day after day, he was carried forward. Cloud wondered where it was they were going before he decided that it didn't really matter, as long as they weren't separated. The man talked and talked as they went along and hearing his voice meant that things were alright—they were safe and fine and that was good. Cloud knew the one with him had a name, though he couldn't recall it, and it didn't seem important, anyway. When he thought too hard about it, there'd be flashing white light and static in his brain that made his head hurt and frightened him. He didn't need to know his name. It was nice enough just to listen to him talk, even if he didn't understand the words. It was so hard to stay awake, and so Cloud slept often, making it impossible to tell how many days were passing or where they were or why they were there. But he figured that if he was safe, it didn't really matter, did it?

Sometimes, he'd be able to open his eyes when the sun wasn't so bright. He'd watch the ground move endlessly below as he was carried upon the other one's shoulder, closely observing the grass and the rocks and the dirt and seeing how the terrain would change as they'd move forward. Cloud memorized the scent of the one caring for him, taking in the aroma of dirt and sweat and old leather. Sometimes, he tried to speak so that the man knew he was listening, but he lacked the strength to open his mouth. He wanted to hear what his own voice sounded like, and wanted to tell the other one so many things. Once in a while, when he was put down to rest and stared into the distance, he tried to smile at the man with the cheery voice. But it never worked, and he hadn't the strength to move his head toward where the other one was sitting so that he could see the awkward twitching of his lips.

Resting was nice, but there was usually more talking than there was when they were on the move. Cloud hated when he asked him questions, because words meant something, maybe something important. He always felt so inadequate when the other one sat there, waiting for a response, then sighing when none came. When they were making their way forward, further and further from the bad place, it was fine because it was nice enough to hear the kind voice that soothed him. But when they were sitting together, and he could almost see the man's face, it felt so much more important to be able to talk, too. Before, it had been enough to sit and listen to the other one talking to him and breathing. Now, Cloud wanted more than ever to say something, even though he didn't know what to say or how to do it. Maybe if he spoke, he could make the other man feel as good as he made him feel.

But he couldn't speak. He was too weak and the words he heard didn't make any sense in his head until he really thought about them. As the sun rose and fell many, many times, Cloud found that it was becoming to recognize the meanings to certain words. If he didn't know the exact meaning, sometimes there was a feeling that was linked to them instead. Something deep inside him shrunk away from the word ShinRA. It was one of a few words that made his skin feel prickly and a shiver run through his body, even though he wasn't sure of the meaning. Meaning was still lost in the swirling fog in his head, and when he tried to retrieve it, the blinding, sharp pains in his head would seize him. He didn't like that, not at all, so it was best to try not to remember the words that brought hurt and fear.

The sun was beginning to set once again. Cloud knew this because it was getting darker and therefore easier to open his eyes. The chill of evening was beginning to creep into the air, and the other one's footsteps were beginning to drag. He knew they'd stop soon, and when they did, Cloud was gently propped against a thick tree trunk so he could see the dark haired man properly without having to move his head. He offered him water and cleaned his face as he talked to him. Cloud listened, eyes focused on the side of his mouth, which was curled into a gentle smile.

"Don't worry, buddy. We're getting there." His voice was warm and bright and full of hope. "Soon, we'll get to Midgar. We'll find Tifa and start a new life: you, me and our girls."

Tifa…

Something came to life inside him, like a shooting star flying through the night sky. Tifa was a good word, he knew. When he had said it, several images flashed through his mind: a night dress fanned out upon ocean waves, a silver band upon a finger, black hair against grey gravel, red eyes that twinkled, a tiny metal bell…

But as shooting stars do, the visions left him in an instant and all he could do was stare and blink with wide blue eyes. Cloud's breathing increased as he continued to grapple for the meaning of that word. It was an important word. But memories faded so quickly. No matter how hard he tried to hold onto them, they slipped away from him, like water through his fingers. Before, he had been content. It had been enough just to be there with the other man, listening to his voice and letting himself being taken wherever it was they were going. But now, something had changed within him, and he was no longer satisfied with the simplicity of his mind and the little it was able to retain. Frustration coursed through his veins, but he did not yet have the ability to do anything about it.

"You'll be alright, you'll see. We'll work together and help you get better." The man ran his fingers through his black hair with a sigh. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and soft. Cloud thought that perhaps he was sad, but didn't know why. "Don't worry, buddy. I won't leave you, okay? I promise."

Of course he'd be alright. As long as the other one was with him, Cloud knew he would be just fine.

… … …

Tifa thought that by the time she was twenty, she'd have a little house, a husband, and a few children of her own. In early childhood, she'd been free to let herself dream wildly about her future, fantasizing about bright sunny mornings cooking breakfast for her growing family and nights laughing with each other near the hearth. But reality had twisted her hopes and dreams, delivering them in a manner in which she'd never expected. The little girl who she used to be would've never imagined a future quite like this one. But it was all she had and she'd cling to it with all her strength.

It was New Year's Eve. Everyone was bustling about, excited to ring in the new year at parties and celebrations. Tifa was hiding away in the basement, preparing to wrap a gift for Marlene's birthday celebration the next day. The little girl was a constant source of hope and joy in their lives, giving off her radiant warmth even in the frigid temperatures of her birth month. It was difficult to believe that she'd be four years old: hardly the small, sickly baby she had met in the smoke and bustle of the pub. It was fascinating to watch her physically and emotionally develop as her personality continued to bloom. Tifa admired Marlene's spunk and joyful spirit, despite how little they had to offer her. Vague memories of her own childhood would surface whenever she'd watch the girl play with wine corks or dolls carefully constructed from fabric scraps and twine from beer crates. Tifa recalled the handsome toys she'd had as a little girl: a lacquered wooden horse hand-carved by Papa, an expensive wax baby doll, ornately illustrated story books... Her heart squeezed with guilt when she realized just how spoiled and privileged she had been.

Every year, it was the same. She and Barret would do their best to scrape together some gil for her birthday gift and some sweets. This year, they had no money to spare after the recent legal fees required for Barret to officially adopt Marlene as his daughter. This decision helped Barret to embrace some sort of reconciliation for what had happened to his home town and the people he loved. It'd be a gift that Marlene wouldn't understand the significance of until she was older, but Tifa felt that not having her open a physical gift just wouldn't do. And so, inspired by the adoption, she had a daring thought. She agonized over it for a week, turning the idea over and over in her head until she came to her conclusion. Tifa knew that she wasn't Marlene's mother, no matter how much she felt like (and wished) she was. Caring for that little one had been a major point of healing when it came to dealing with the loss of Aria. As a gesture of her gratitude for that particular solace, Tifa had pulled the green blanket she had knit for Aria out of its hiding place in her bedroom.

She picked it up, running her fingers over the soft, thick yarn before gathering it in her arms and hugging it against her cheek. At first, she worried that it would be disrespectful of her daughter's memory to give away such an intimate object. But reason settled upon her as she opened her heart to peace. Marlene had no mother, and Tifa swore to herself that she'd always be there to love and guide her. The knitted blanket would serve the little girl well on the cold nights in their drafty bedroom, and it would let Tifa breathe a sigh of relief to know that Aria would be a part of their daily lives in this way. No longer would the blanket be tucked away in a box in the closet, no longer would her daughter be a hidden topic that she refused to willingly visit. With a deep breath, she smiled softly and folded the blanket into a little square before wrapping it neatly in newspaper. As a finishing touch, she adorned the little package with a cheery red ribbon that she fashioned into a bow.

Tifa knew that she had to trust that Aria's short presence in her life had a purpose. Preparing her for her role in Marlene's life was one, but she knew more would reveal themselves in time.

There was an eruption of laughter upstairs, where Biggs, Wedge, Jessie and Barret were playing a card game. Tifa's smile widened as she heard Barret complaining about an unfair hand as the Biggs hollered that he was a sore loser. Despite the noisy adults, she could still hear Marlene's muffled giggles through the floorboards. Since it was Tuesday, her business was closed, and the crew had the entire bar space to all to themselves. New Year's Eve was usually a good night for business, but Tifa couldn't bear to lose her only day off and sacrifice a night of fun for her friends. But they weren't just friends, were they? They were so much more. After hiding Marlene's gift, Tifa used the pinball machine lift to join the others upstairs.

"Hey, Tifa!" Jessie greeted. "Grab a seat and I'll deal you in! Better take the opportunity while it lasts—Barret is the worst at poker but he won't stop until he wagers away everything he's got!"

Wedge snorted. "He's got nothing to gamble with in the first place!"

"Shut it, Wedge!" Barret barked in mock anger. Marlene bounced happily in his lap, not understanding what exactly the conversation was about, but knowing that all of her favorite adults were happy.

"None of us have any gil," Tifa giggled, keeping her cards close to her body. "What could you guys possibly be betting with?"

"That's Wedge's cracked fire materia on the table there." Biggs explained. "Barret wagered a bottle of your pinot grigio, Jessie figured she'd put down fifteen gil and I'm betting a chocolate bar."

She made a mock angry face at Barret (who crossed his arms and grunted) before considering her options. "Alright, if I lose, I'll cook lunch for all of you every day for a week."

The boys' eyes brightened at that, and Biggs pumped a fist into the air. "You're goin' down, Teef!"

The game lasted for about fifteen minutes. There was laughter and lightheartedness that Tifa had come to associate with this crew over the past few years. It had been so long since she felt this happy and free that she almost didn't know how to act. At first, she was cautious about feeling joy and trusting that these people were in her life to stay after everything she used to love had turned to ash. But as time stretched forward she embraced it and thrived under the support of her friends. As she bonded with AVALANCHE, she realized that it was the saddest people smiled the brightest. Every one of these people had experienced sadness, trauma and loss in their lives. If they could all move forward, then she could, too. These broken people were slowly filling in the cracks and empty spaces of her broken heart, and she felt a sense of belonging that she hadn't felt in a very long time.

There was more to this world than she had originally thought as a naïve child from a closed off village in a remote mountain. Her life was not over because she lost her home, her family, her husband, and her child. Tifa felt that when she lost those things, she had lost her identity, for nothing about her remained the same way that it did before. When she thought of herself as a small child, there wasn't one thing that she had in common with her anymore. But the circumstances of her adult life in Midgar had taught her that she needed to evolve. Changing and shifting her perspective was essential; learning to flow around the obstacles that arose was the key to not just surviving, but thriving. No longer did Tifa feel crushed by all of the longing that had welled up inside her. Now, she knew that the burning drive within her had a role to fulfill, and a sense of purpose had settled upon her at last. It had been a long time since she'd felt the way she did before her world had fallen apart around her.

Operating as a member of AVALANCHE helped her to feel useful, though at times it seemed as if they were playing some sort of kid's game as they snuck around, gathering information and making plans. In theory, when all of their efforts were put together into an elaborate plan, the mako reactors would be made inoperable. Jessie estimated that in less than a year, they'd have everything they needed to begin setting up explosives into the core of these reactors to take them out one by one. But now, it didn't seem like they were making much of a difference. Sometimes, she'd feel guilty as she thought about the destruction AVALANCHE would soon cause. Tifa would think of her mother and wonder if she'd be disappointed to see that her daughter neglected the kindness she'd been taught to express and let her anger and sadness and desperation thrive instead. Could she really have raised Aria to be a good person? How much of a hypocrite would she be to have told her daughter to be forgiving and kind when she herself was striking out in revenge against ShinRA? Was she even good enough to help raise Marlene? Tifa told herself revenge wasn't the only reason: she was trying to save the planet and help others who were continuously hurt by the mega-corporation. But were they truths or just poor excuses for her dissident behavior?

But when she thought about everything that had happened, Tifa realized that morality in life was not always black and white, good and evil. It seemed that sometimes, a little evil had to be done for the greater good. Would Mama be proud that her daughter was helping to make sure ShinRA wasn't responsible for any more needless deaths? Would Cloud have been honored to know that his wife was working to preserve his honor and strike back at the organization that was responsible for his death and the slow decaying of their planet? She knew that her loved ones would have encouraged her and thought of her as brave to give all she had to survive and fight against the ugliness of the truth regarding the ShinRA electric power company. The thought that they'd commend her for refusing to hide behind ignorance or cowardice only heartened her desire to fight against all the suffering ShinRA had caused.

"Read it and weep, boys!" Jessie said, displaying her royal flush, and a collective groan of defeat sounded from around the table.

"Jessie, that's the third time in a row!" Biggs slumped in his chair.

Barret shook his head. "I tol' ya she was cheatin'!"

They all laughed, and Tifa let herself feel all of the positive sensations overflowing in her heart.

Feigning haughtiness, Jessie held her palm open to Biggs. "Come on, hand it over!"

With a huff, Biggs pulled the chocolate bar out of his pocket and placed in Jessie's hand a little more dramatically than necessary. The brunette smile and turned toward Marlene, sitting in Barret's lap beside her. "Here you go, little lady. Happy early birthday!"

Brown eyes wide, Marlene grinned. She took the candy and turned her head up toward her father. "Can I eat it, Papa?"

"You can eat it tomorrow. It's bedtime an' I can't have you bouncin' off the walls now, could I?"

"Please, Papa? Pleeeease?"

Tifa put her cards down and made her way around the table to pluck the little girl up into her arms. "It's special birthday chocolate, Marlene. You have to wait until your real birthday to eat it!"

The child's mouth turned downward, but she did not protest. Biggs caught her eye, and stuck his tongue out in an attempt to make her smile. She stuck out her little tongue right back, making them both giggle. Tifa rubbed Marlene's back and began to move toward the stairs. "Come on, bath time."

Before disappearing out of sight, Tifa cast a glance at the precious people gathered around the tiny table, reflecting on how much they'd taught her in their relatively short friendship. Time moved forward, and nothing lasted forever, but it didn't mean that holding onto the past and refusing to let anyone in was the answer to the pain of loss. She decided that it was simply too costly to let fear, doubt and regret make her waiver in her ambitions. No longer would she hold onto feelings that made her forget that she was destined for more than hiding away, and that at least some of her future was in her hands. Tifa felt as if she'd travelled so far from the helplessness she'd experienced and it filled her with confidence.

Filled with a momentary rush of glee, she turned Marlene in her arms and attacked her neck with a slew of playful kisses, eliciting a cascade of laughter from the little girl. If there was one mistake that she was going to fix, it would be to cherish every day with the good people in her life. Tifa had come to realize that her life wasn't over; she could create her own tomorrows and reach for goals that she hadn't thought possible before. Those precious days of happiness that she thought she'd lost really didn't come to end.

After a quick bath, Tifa was helping Marlene change into her pajamas when a loud boom startled the pair. One sounded after another in staccato bursts of sound. Frightened, Marlene clung to her guardian as the older girl moved toward their tiny window to see what was happening. Tifa had only seen fireworks once in her life. As a young girl, her parents had taken her to a festival in a nearby village, where bright explosions of many colors lit up the summer night sky. It was a vivid, magical memory that she had tucked away into a far corner of her mind. She remembered sitting on Papa's shoulders as Mama stood beside them. Tifa had been so mesmerized by the display, she paying no mind to the jarring loudness of the blasts. Here in the slums, the fireworks weren't nearly as impressive. Despite the fact that they were illegal, there were a handful of people who couldn't help but ring in the new year with small rockets fired low enough to avoid the looming plate.

"Come look, Marlene! Fireworks!"

She smiled and held her arms out to the little girl. "They're not scary. I promise."

"Fireworks?" Marlene let go of Tifa's leg to let herself be lifted onto her hip. The girl gasped when she spotted a small blue pop of color in the dimly lit space below the plate. "Oh! Pretty!"

Tifa smiled as Marlene clapped and laughed, watching her brown eyes sparkle with awe and wonder. But her smile quickly faded as it occurred to her that this little girl probably had no idea what it was like to look at the sky. It frightened Tifa to think that she herself had almost forgotten what it was like to have to simple freedom of finding shapes in puffy clouds or watching each star appear as the sun set. These things were such fond memories of her childhood that a great sadness came over her when she realized that Marlene may never experience those simple joys.

"Tifa, why are there fireworks?"

Crimson eyes lowered to examine the child's face, taking in the beauty of her round cheeks, doe eyes and innocent countenance. Would it always be this hard to feel like she was raising the girl properly in this environment? More than anything, Tifa wanted her to grow up into a happy, well-adjusted young adult, it could she really do that when they had so little? She smiled at the girl, ruffling her chestnut hair affectionately.

"Everyone seems to know it's your birthday tomorrow. See? All of Midgar is celebrating for you."

...

A/N: One more chapter to go!

Thank you very much for all of your responses in regard to a possible sequel. Please look forward to it. :)