Tifa and Cloud don't argue often. But when they do, the unspoken understanding amongst the remaining group is that bystanders should evacuate for safety reasons. Cloud and Tifa would never raise a hand against each other; nearby personal possessions, however, have previously proven to be fair game as throwable outlets for outbursts of frustration, and it's easier to simply vacate the area instead of constantly ducking. Grandfather has always taught Nanaki that dormant tempers are often the most volatile when unleashed. And so, he currently sits with Vincent, Yuffie, and Aerith on a ledge overlooking a sprawling stretch of grassy plains. The sun will begin to set soon, so Barret, Cid, and Cait Sith elected to run in to whatever town is nearby to restock on supplies. After all, a lot of potions were used to heal Cloud up after the messy monster encounter a half hour ago.
Speaking of which, Nanaki can do nothing to keep his sensitive hearing from clearly picking up Cloud and Tifa's discussion. Around him, the others remain blissfully deaf to the back-and-forth.
"I had it under control—if you had just waited a few seconds—" Tifa rants. Nanaki can hear a rare hardness in her voice; Tifa is genuinely angry.
"I just wasn't sure! And since I wasn't sure, I played it safe." Cloud's tone matches Tifa's.
"'Played it safe?!' By leaping in front of me and getting mauled for no good reason?!"
Cloud scoffs—Nanaki almost winces as he pictures Tifa's indignant expression at the dismissive sound. "Your life seems like a pretty good reason to me."
"My life wasn't in danger! I can take care of myself—I know you know that!"
"Of course, I know that! But you don't always have to."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Nanaki hears Cloud sigh in frustration. "The promise, Tifa."
Curious. Nanaki doesn't know what Cloud is referring to, but the words were obviously crafted with care.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Then—
"Cloud, that promise isn't worth your life."
"…Yeah, well, you are."
Tifa emits a distressed noise. "Cloud."
Nothing.
Nothing.
Then—
"Honestly…I can't argue against that, because I feel the same about you and so it would be hypocritical of me. So, I guess we'll just have to stay alive for each other."
Nanaki can clearly imagine Cloud's blush at Tifa's timid admission.
"…Deal."
Tifa sighs, but it's a fond sound. "Come on, let's go to that creek down the hill so I can wash the blood out of your hair."
Nanaki emits a satisfied hum as he rises.
"They've made peace," he tells the others before turning to head for camp. "It is safe to return."
It's been three days.
Tifa is still missing.
There are no more hunches to follow, no clues, not even a whisper.
Cloud stares down at the screen of his PHS as it times out, dimming before blinking into blackness. His thumb depresses a button and the device flares to life once more, displaying Tifa's phone number and two options: green to call, red to go back. He wouldn't even have her number if she hadn't confiscated his phone and programmed it in while the kids were missing. Since he refused to allow her to join him in the rescue efforts, she justified, the least he could do would be to text her an update. He hadn't fought her on it, exhausted by the circumstances and the unpleasant interactions they had already had, and he wordlessly accepted his PHS back when she finished. But he never messaged her. After all, he hadn't particularly cared if she was worrying herself sick.
He has been gazing at that string of numbers for so long that their imprint continues to glare at him when he closes his eyes.
"Only one person is responsible for my death."
"There was no other way."
He has known that all along, hasn't he? And, in typical Cloud Strife fashion, he ignored the truth, fled from it with reckless abandon, inadvertently affecting everyone with his chaotic, misplaced ire. This time, however, he doesn't have a psyche fractured by trauma to fall back on. There were no incorrect memories, no murky recollections over which he had no control, no mistaken identities. There was only his anger at Tifa, at Aerith, and ultimately, at himself.
He has to find Tifa. Cloud knows now that the two of them are not done with each other, not by a long shot, and there are more discussions to be had. He's finally ready to confront the past instead of running from it—he owes it to her, owes her an apology—owes her the chance to scream at him, hit him, throw his failures off of her shoulders and onto his own. But she's missing—gone, with no trace and no leads. Cloud refuses to let himself worry that he'll never have the chance to tell her what she's always deserved to hear.
And fuck, he doesn't know what he would say. While seeing her lying amidst the flowers in the church, damaged and hurt, had tempered his fury enough to stay his hand and voice before they could rise against her, it was only his worry for the kids' safety that coaxed him to speak to her. It was only her tears that made him listen, though in such limited capacity, when she told him why she did what she did. It was only Aerith's farewell that allowed him to open himself up to the first brushstrokes of healing upon the black canvas of his life. For how much clearer the world seems now that he's crawled out of the deep well of hateful grief, he still can't find the words he needs. He wants—needs—to find her. But the very thought of confronting her is terrifying to the point of nausea.
Because—and he can finally say this to himself, now—it seems that she did what he couldn't do, and she saved the world because of it.
In exchange, she offered up the terrible price of her soul and he pushed her to pay it.
And Shiva, there is so much that has burned between them. Cloud deadened himself to it long ago, but now he has to stop himself from falling into the charred remains of their intimacy, from examining the memories of her laugh and smile and skin, from analyzing what happened to the feelings within him. There is too much that he has to work through before going near that trove of complex emotion.
The screen of his PHS deadens again. This time, Cloud leaves it and drops his head onto the back of the couch in his tiny apartment.
"Cloud?"
Leaving his head tilted back, Cloud glances over at where Denzel stands in the opening of the hallway. He looks so wonderfully healthy now that his Geostigma has been cured—there is pink in his cheeks and alertness in his eyes. His posture no longer droops with exhaustion and he is quicker to laugh. Cloud feels a warm burst of affection for the kid, who has been the one spot of something close to happiness in the recent history of his life; he doesn't have any sort of father figure to reference, besides Barret, but he's newly resolved to do his absolute best—even though the thought of screwing up strikes terror into him.
"You okay?" Denzel asks with the beginnings of concern.
Cloud nods and leans forward to brace his elbows on his knees. "Yeah. Just thinking."
"Oh." Denzel walks over to the couch and sits next to Cloud. "What about?"
Before Cloud sent Denzel off to stay with Barret so that he could deal with his Geostigma alone, Denzel would have been too timid to pry like this. Cloud can't blame him—to say that he wasn't an open book would be a severe understatement. He regrets the unapproachable demeanor that used to hold Denzel at arm's length, but he is glad that the distance has washed away with the rain, like every other rotten thing poisoning their lives.
Denzel knows that Tifa is missing, and the worry has been hounding him nearly nonstop.
"Nothing interesting," he replies vaguely. Cloud understands that it wouldn't be very appropriate to unload his confusing emotions onto a child, especially with everything going on.
"Okay…well, is there any news about Tifa?"
Cloud reads the hope in Denzel's eyes, but notes that it has dwindled compared to previous iterations of the question.
"Not yet." Denzel's shoulders drop a little and he looks away. Cloud scrambles to think of something to distract Denzel from the concern, a new topic to talk about or maybe even an excursion for ice cream—but nothing seems right. And then he thinks that perhaps Denzel doesn't need a distraction at all. Maybe it would help to simply talk about her.
"Did you like staying with her?"
Denzel glances up in faint yet understandable surprise—Cloud has, until now, maintained an unbroken streak of avoidance concerning the subject of Tifa Lockhart—and then he turns his blue eyes to his hands where they fidget in his lap. "Yeah. She reminded me of my mom—she would cook my favorite foods and play fun games with us—it's just that…"
"Yeah?" Cloud prompts when Denzel trails off.
He shrugs. "She was sad a lot. I know she tried to hide it from me and Marlene, but I could tell. I think Marlene could, too."
Cloud feels those words settle like stones in his chest. It's not as if he doesn't know what Tifa had to be going through, but to hear it spoken, no matter how simply and understated, is not easy.
"Maybe when we find her," he begins slowly. "We can go visit her in Gongaga."
"Together?"
Cloud doesn't allow himself to wince at the cautious clarification. He can't be surprised that Denzel is afraid of being abandoned again.
"Yeah. I'll even ask Cid if he'll give us a ride. Sound good?"
Denzel's face splits into a small smile. "That'd be awesome!" He simmers down and adds, "I really miss her."
Cloud lays a hand onto Denzel's shoulder and gives a gentle squeeze. "I'll let you know as soon as we find out anything promising, okay?"
With a more stable smile and a nod of agreement, Denzel heads back to his room, leaving Cloud to sink into his labyrinthian thoughts once more.
Yuffie slams the door shut behind her with a gravelly snarl and begins to forcefully strip off her gear. Her shuriken clatters noisily to the metal floor of the airship cabin and her light pieces of armor are roughly tossed into an empty corner. When all of the clunky, superfluous items are cast aside, Yuffie throws herself into the small chair at her small desk in her small room and plants her elbows atop the cheap plastic so that her head can fall into her hands with a huff.
It's been over three weeks since the battle with the Remnants. Absolutely zero progress has been made toward finding Tifa.
Yuffie is leading the WRO's efforts on the matter. She's placed Cid at the helm of his own task force and Vincent is working solo, as she knows he prefers. Barret and Nanaki, while not under her direct command, defer to her guidance so that they don't cover regions that are already being canvassed by her own personnel. Cloud calls every day—three days a week, he allows her to point him in a direction to investigate. He runs deliveries on the other four, to maintain an income for himself and Denzel, but he calls to see if Yuffie has any suggestions for searchable locations along his routes.
Their efforts have been exhaustive.
Yuffie is struggling to remain optimistic. If Tifa was taken by the Remnants and held somewhere, she would have either escaped or died by now. If she escaped, she would have contacted someone. If she wasn't taken by the Remnants—no, not an option. Yuffie believes Cloud's claim that Tifa didn't just run off into obscurity. Not only would she never leave without knowing that the kids were safe, but she wouldn't put them all through this worry—no matter how distant she's become over the years. On top of that, Yuffie doubts that even Tifa would be able to evade the WRO's vast intelligence network for this long.
She's worried that they're searching for a corpse.
It's the first time that the thought has surfaced in such clarity. Yuffie's eyes burn with defeated tears of premature mourning.
She wishes that Aerith were here. Whenever Yuffie thinks about Aerith, she thinks of comfort, of having a place to go when everything gets to be too much. In retrospect, she can admit that she wasn't the most pleasant person to be around back when the group was travelling the Planet; what sixteen year old would be, when she's already got a chip on her shoulder and too much pride for her own good? It had all been stacking atop her back then—the heartache with her family and Wutai, the consuming need to prove herself, trying to come to terms with Sonon's—
Yuffie derails that train of thought before it can run her down.
Aerith was the first to really listen. At the time, Yuffie didn't really know that she needed someone to listen. Aerith was the older sister who took Yuffie under her wing, always making sure that she was included and trying to cheer her up when her mood began to drown under the torrential downpour of her thoughts. Being on the receiving end of such care felt akin to discovering a rare new materia; Wutaian families are not nurturing by nature, and Yuffie soaked up Aerith's attention like a parched sponge. Perhaps that perception of Aerith contributed to the incapacitating impact Yuffie felt when she looked over and saw a dash of reddened pink smeared across the ground at the Norther Crater. If it weren't for Vincent's hard shove to her shoulder, she would have stood there, gaping in disbelief until Sephiroth saw fit to obliterate her. When all was said and done, and the group stood in shocked silence aboard the Highwind, she whirled on the others and—
"Did anyone see how—how sh-she—"
No one could meet her despondent gaze. After Nanaki's succinct, earth-shattering reply, she wished that she hadn't asked.
It took a while, but Yuffie eventually came to terms with what Tifa had been forced to do. Reason forced her to allow the anger and resentment to drain away until sorrowful acceptance remained. Tifa may have taken a light out of Yuffie's life, but it was only because of her and Aerith that Yuffie still had a life to call her own. And then she realized—if this is how simply grieving Aerith made her feel, Tifa's pain must have been unfathomable.
At least...if Tifa is really is...gone...she isn't hurting, anymore.
Yuffie's vision blurs beneath a film of water.
Before the droplets can fall, her PHS vibrates in her pocket. She blinks the tears away and struggles to reorient herself to the present. Usually, she's too distracted by work to allow herself to fall into the gravity well of the past; it's been a while since she zoned out so thoroughly.
Get it together, Kisaragi.
With a wet sniffle and irritated grumble, Yuffie whips out the phone and answers the call without checking the name on the screen.
"What?" she snaps rudely.
"Any news?" Cloud is entirely unfazed by her scathing greeting.
He sounds so…she can't put her finger on it. "Hopeful" isn't the right description…maybe "anxious?" Yuffie has utterly no idea what changed in Cloud Strife to make him so concerned about Tifa Lockhart's wellbeing, but she hasn't asked out of the irrational fear that he'll snap out of it and retract his assistance. Although, he's given her no reason to believe that his motivation is quite so fragile. Perhaps it has something to do with his new persona—more like, actually, the return of his old persona. Despite the seriousness of a missing friend hanging over their heads, Yuffie has noticed that he seems more...stable, she supposes. Much more at peace. He used to remind her of a walking time-bomb, like a wrong look would send him into a fit of rage or a silent spiral of apathy. He never called, never checked in. But now he talks—like, actual conversations—and he is so much more present in everyone's lives. If Yuffie could stop worrying about Tifa for more than two seconds, maybe she could enjoy having her friend back.
"Another dead end," she answers dully, the rising tide of confrontation smoothing out. "I guess you've got nothing, either?"
"No. Where do you want me tomorrow?"
Yuffie lets out a long, drawn sigh and stares up at the broad map on the wall above her desk. It is littered with multicolored markings that make sense to her but would look like gibberish to anyone else.
"Honestly, I'm running out of answers to that question," she admits in a small voice. Then her eyes alight on a purple dot and she jerks with the arrival of an idea. "Oh! What about that small town just west of Bone Village—"
"Barret and Red were there last week."
Yuffie deflates once more. "Oh. That's right. Um…" She scans the map with a furrowed brow, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as her mind races. "Tell you what—why don't you go back to where the bastards were camped and take a look around? I know the WRO swept the place, but I don't trust the grunts and no one from our circle has been up there since. Maybe you'll find something they missed."
Cloud's reply betrays no emotion. "Good idea. I'll let you know if I come across anything."
It's a familiar promise that they make before ending these phone calls, as if they're holding each other accountable to not give up. "Same here."
The line goes dead.
Yuffie carelessly lets her phone drop onto the desk with a harsh thud and drops her head onto folded arms.
Vincent stalks along the familiar cavern and breathes in the cool scent of damp stone. It has been much too long since he last visited, and he feels unbalanced for it. Sitting with Lucrecia, whether silent or swept up in a vocal deluge, clears his mind but keeps him chained to the past. Yuffie scolds him for it, says that it's an unhealthy habit that holds him back from moving on. Vincent knows this, but he's never been the type of person to care about fairytale endings, so why strive for one?
The only light guiding his feet is offered by the small chunks of crystal embedded in the rock of the narrow passageway. A soft glow spills onto the ground up ahead, coming from around a shallow bend, and he ducks as the ceiling dips just before opening up into the voluminous cave.
Vincent's sharp eyes land on a vision that is startlingly different from what he is used to seeing, and they widen in shock.
"This should be a good spot."
The stream is clean and clear, like fluid glass meandering slowly over the smooth pebbles scattered beneath the surface. So many vibrant colors of the late afternoon sky play off the water like jubilant rays tossing shadows at one another. The occasional fish darts by, small and silvery.
Cloud tears his eyes away from the pretty tableau and finds Tifa already barefoot next to him. He watches as she steps into the creek and releases a blissful sigh. It's been a hotter day than usual, and the water must be a soothing contrast of cool comfort.
Tifa glances back at him over her shoulder. Cloud's heart somersaults at the picture she makes, doused in amber sunbeams against a backdrop of brilliant jade foliage and the comely little stream.
"C'mon."
When he joins her in the water, Tifa steps in deeper and then sits, legs obliquely folded in front of her and completely submerged. She looks up at him and motions him down to her level.
"Lay down," she requests softly.
Cloud hesitates for only a moment at the idea of getting his fatigues wet, but the discomfort of being covered in sweat and blood soon has him complying. He rests his head atop Tifa's thighs at her beckoning and allows the water to lazily wander over him, carrying away the heat of the day. His chest remains above the surface, and he makes a mental note to dunk himself completely when Tifa is finished. He can change into some casual clothes back at camp and let his uniform dry off overnight—it'll be worth the small hassle to feel somewhat clean after such an exhausting day.
Tifa breaks into his sightline as she leans over him to tilt his head back. She spears her fingers into his hair, saturating it completely with cool water, and Cloud fights off a pleased purr. Instead, he closes his eyes and reflects on Tifa's words from mere minutes ago.
Never before have they spoken so plainly about their…well, Cloud doesn't even know what to call it. "Friendship" feels insufficient, "bond" feels too strange, and "relationship"—
That one isn't quite right, yet, but…maybe someday.
He eventually settles on "closeness." Never before have they so blatantly acknowledged it, this closeness that goes beyond mere friendship and camaraderie. But ever since rediscovering her in Midgar, Cloud has known that Tifa Lockhart is the most important person in his life. She amounts to whatever brightness can be gleaned from his past and all the hopes of his future. Her presence centers him, giving him a harbor to return to when his world dissociates beyond what he can control or keep track of. He hadn't been exaggerating when he blurted thoughtlessly that he would literally lay down his life for her, and not simply because of a promise between two teenagers. But to hear that she feels the same…it rocked something within him.
"There's that golden color—I had almost forgotten that you're blond beneath all that blood!" Tifa jokes, interrupting Cloud's introspection.
"Are you saying I can't cut it as a redhead?" he queries, peering up at her amused smile.
"Hm…" Tifa makes a show of pretending to think while she gazes at his hair—still spiky despite being soaked. "I guess that depends on whether or not you would mind being mistaken for Reno."
Cloud makes a face and Tifa laughs. He wants to bottle that sound so that he can listen to it whenever he wishes.
"Tifa."
"Hm?" The way her eyes meet his even as her fingers continue to card through his hair leads him to believe that the blood is gone, but she's simply enjoying a rare moment of peace.
"Did you mean what you said?"
As usual, Tifa can read between the lines of his vague words. Understanding crafts her expression into soft affection.
"Of course. I…" She looks away and Cloud recognizes the familiar tell—she's battling away the shyness that wells up within her during discussions such as this. "I don't think there's anything I wouldn't do for you."
Cloud stares up at her as she blushes, utterly transfixed. The sky behind her is beginning to lose its tangerine to the encroaching indigo of twilight. With the fading sunlight comes the first whispers of a chilly night; soon, being wet will be more uncomfortable than refreshing. But he can't bring himself to break this moment.
The feelings within him well up, pushing words into his mouth—words that apprehension and uncertainty have long kept locked away, now freed by her weighty admission.
"Tifa, I—"
"Hey guys, Barret's back with food—oh!" Aerith picks her way through the trees and halts upon seeing them in the creek. Cloud sits up hastily, splashing water all over himself and Tifa in with the jerky movement. Aerith's keen eyes run over them without discretion and a knowing smirk quirks her lips. "Sorry to interrupt, forget I was here!"
She offers a parting giggle, scampering back toward camp before Cloud can think to say anything.
When he glances at Tifa, she's turned halfway so that she is facing him and her cheeks are the color of her eyes, which are staring at where Aerith was just standing. But then she pins her stunned gaze onto him and three heartbeats pass in silence.
The moment is shattered, but Cloud isn't as disappointed as he thought he would be. Rather, a pleasant contentment settles within him, making itself right at home where some sort of unconscious tension has unwound. He stands and holds out a dripping hand to pull Tifa to her feet.
She allows him to lift her and then drops his hand in order to wring the water out of the lower half of her hair while Cloud attempts to do the same to his clothes, both of them having limited success. Once they've donned their shoes and weapons, he goes to lead the way back to camp.
Tifa glides smoothly into his path and lightly presses her hand to his damp chest. He freezes, mouth opening to ask—
She reaches up and runs her fingers through his hair once again, the strokes long and delightful. She repeats the motion twice more so that his spikes are restored and then steps back with an easy grin.
"There. Perfect."
Looking at her, Cloud cannot help but agree.
Vincent takes a breath in preparation, feeling more somber than usual for the news he carries, and knocks on the door.
His sharp hearing picks up the sound of footsteps crossing the length of the city apartment, too heavy to belong to child living with Cloud, and Vincent allows himself to be relieved. He wasn't sure that Cloud would be home, having no way to see if Fenrir is parked in the closed garage adjacent to the housing unit, but he figured he would try his luck for late evening, when Cloud would likely be finished with his deliveries.
A lock disengages and the door swings open. Cloud is stripped down from his usual ensemble, bare of his armor and gear. The amber light of the setting sun glints off the wolf stud in his ear.
"Vincent?"
"Cloud," Vincent murmurs in a gravelly voice. "We need to talk." His eyes dart knowingly into the living area behind Cloud's back and he adds, "Alone."
With a curious frown, Cloud steps outside and closes the door behind him.
Vincent's explanation is succinct. On the other side of the short time that passes, Cloud's expression has hardened into a marble expanse of severity. He reenters the apartment, leaving the door ajar for Vincent to follow, and wordlessly dons his equipment. Vincent scans the minimal furnishings with little interest and eyes the closed door behind which Denzel must be busying himself.
It takes half a minute for Cloud to be ready. His eyes appear almost darkened by the shadows grim determination.
"Can you watch—"
Vincent nods. "I've got him. Go."
Cloud strides out the door and seconds later, Vincent hears the vengeful growl of Fenrir speeding off into the twilight.
Cid snarls as a vicious pounding startles him awake. He rolls gracelessly off the bunk of the WRO's standard temporary quarters and somehow manages to snatch a pair of discarded pants from the floor. He trips as he blearily tugs them on, slamming against the wall—the resounding thud is buried amidst the noise of the intruder knocking again.
"Fuck, I'm coming!" Cid bellows. He pushes himself off the wall and wrenches the door open. "Who the fuck—"
The sight of Cloud Strife snaps off the latter half of Cid's tirade.
"Strife?"
"I need you to fly me to the western continent."
Cid gapes, squinting into the light of the hallway. "Fly you to the—are you outta your damn mind? What time is it?"
"This can't wait."
"I ain't a chauffeur!" Cid exclaims. "And I'm stationed here for an operation—second shift, I might add, so thanks for cutting into my fucking beauty sleep—I can't just up and leave!"
"Reeve already approved it. Cid, I know where she is."
Cid's blistering annoyance disappears, and he finally looks at Cloud. There is a sort of wild desperation buried amidst the fierceness simmering in those mako eyes. Cid remembers a similar burning in Tifa's eyes as she threw herself into the chaos at the Meteorfall monument for the sake of those kids, and apprehension begins to churn in his gut. He wants a cigarette.
"Let me put on a damn shirt, at least," he grumbles in acquiescence.
A/N: For those who may not know, Sonon is a new character from the Yuffie DLC of Final Fantasy 7 Remake Intergrade. As I currently sit here writing this, Intergrade isn't due to come out for another month; personally, I sense a tragic end for Sonon. I think they may kill him off to add some depth and complexity to Yuffie's character.