Memories Uncovered 'Neath the Dust

by pinkpower

My dreams often remind me of my unforgivable sins, but my nightmare last night was something different. It was like someone had pulled back the curtains of time and space to show me the consequences of my mistakes, the price of my sins.

Disclaimer: The following characters are property of Square Enix. I just like to play dolls with them in my head.

Dust piled against the pad of her pointer finger as she cautiously swept across the length of her father's desk, the surface long-since forgotten underneath layers and layers of allergens. A peculiar pattern of shapes laid under the gray blanket of filth, one that quickly engaged her attention. Thus, she utilized the entirety of her hand to clean off the wooden surface until the shapes were clear enough to decipher. "Someone etched a heart here," she announced to the rest of the group. "G.F. And I.F. are scratched inside of the heart." Her thumb traced the letters to and from, again and again, trying to memorize the sensation of the initials into her being.

"Your parents?" queried Tifa from a couple of feet away.

"Mm-hmm," nodded Aerith as she softly smiled down at the desk's markings. For a fraction of a minute, all she could do was smile, while a dull, but large knot formed at the back of her throat and forbade her from speaking. Discretely, she cleared the swell with a tiny cough, before she tossed a glassy-eyed glance at the monk. "Gast Faremis and Ifalna Faremis. The Icicle Inn was their refuge for a short period of time, I guess."

Actually, Aerith didn't know a great deal about her parents' history together, nor about her father in general, except for the bare minimum – Ifalna was a true Cetra, the last of her kind and she generously offered to intern for Professor Gast Faremis and Professor Taishi Hojo at the Shinra laboratory, where she would give information about the nearly extinct race, donate any biological samples they required, and hopefully quell their interest in the calamity that fell from the sky, in exchange for answers; all Ifalna requested in return for her services was that the scientists was transparency and copies of their documented research; she merely desired answers to what she was, wondering if scientific wisdom would free her from the questions she never got around to asking her own parents. Aerith also knew that Gast broken Ifalna out from the Shinra Research Facility when his colleague, Hojo, became too obsessed with the project and began to abuse Ifalna's trust, as well as her body. For two of the happiest years Ifalna knew, she and Gast lived at the Icicle Inn, secreted away from the rest of the world, with the aid of Gast's closest and most trustworthy allies.

Beyond that, Aerith was clueless.

Although she had wondered about her father a handful of times while Ifalna was still alive, she preferred to keep her curiosities bottled inside; fore those few times Aerith had voiced her questions about Gast, her mother's bright, cheerful demeanor hardened into steel and she could no longer speak, save for quick tidbits of information. It was obvious to Aerith from a young age that Gast had been the love of Ifalna's life, and the reminder of his loss punctured and pierced at her strong resolve more than any of the cruelties Hojo put her body through.

"Think you'll be okay?" Barret asked, handing his pink-clad traveling companion a paper towel to wipe the dust off her hands.

"Thanks."

Meanwhile, the rest of the gang stood idly around the room, afraid to examine anything too closely, lest a spider leap out from one of the dozens of cobwebs strung from corner-to-corner or breathe the dust spores in too deeply and forever scar their lung tissue. Not to mention it seemed that the Shinra shills had already found everything they had been searching for. Every room in the Inn was left in a disastrous state – men's clothes laid in heaps on the floor of the master bedroom alongside of a tipped over crib and a broken mobile, pink and yellow turtles scattered across the floorboards, books had been haphazardly dropped in front of the bookcase with their pages splayed wide open, and it was impossible to not notice the bullet holes that had wounded the back wall in the main area. Something awful had taken place in that home – everyone could sense the decrepit, depressing mood that pervaded every last inch; everyone desired departure, though it seemed fitting that Aerith would discover the only wholesome feature among the mess and chaos.

However, Cloud was also doing his best to investigate the Faremis home. His instincts led him to the professor's television monitor, complete with a hooked up VCR. "Hey, guys, come check this out."

"Whatcha found there, boy?" Yuffie asked in a patronizingly sweet tone as though she were speaking to a dog.

"Don't do that," the mercenary retorted, unamused. "There's a stack of video recordings here. It looks like they were labeled in order based on the dates."

"Have some of them gone missing?" As Aerith joined the gathering around Cloud and the VCR, a strange expression of reluctance and optimism flickered across her visage.

"No doubt Shinra took only what they needed," Vincent stated, his frosty disdain for the corporation coated in his deep, raspy voice. He spared a sympathetic glance in Aerith's direction, apprehensive to verbally suppose what could have been on the cassettes; Cloud evidently shared a similar thought as his mako eyes briefly locked with Vincent's strikingly red ones.

"Just tryna be realistic here – you might not find anythin' nice on there," Cid chimed in, all too familiar with the sting of disappointment.

"Or maybe you will," Tifa exclaimed, placing a hand upon her best friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry if I'm speaking out of turn, but I don't have any videos or photos of my parents. Sephiroth burnt all those to a crisp a long time ago, and... Sometimes I have trouble remembering what my mom looked like, what my dad sounded like. Aerith, I would kill to have any footage of my folks, even if it was just boring, old security camera footage and they're talking about taxes."

"Er, uh-" The young, spiky-haired traveler struggled not to deliver a swift, seething side-eye at the well-meaning bartender, wishing that she hadn't pointed out the brutalized camera posted on the upper right-hand corner of the living area – with a gaping hole blasted through the center of the lens. He didn't want the precious Flower Girl to notice it, fearing what graphic images her mind might summon.

But it was too late.

Momentarily, Aerith's head shifted over her shoulder to see the broken, dead camera mounted on the wall – a former witness to all the sweet memories that must have occurred there in the Icicle Inn, now evidence of a horrific conclusion. Her jaw strained as she stared at the camera, terrified of what Shinra could have deemed unnecessary information. They could get away with anything – human experimentation, animal cruelty, murder – fore, until recently, they were too powerful to stop. But it was also possible that no horrors awaited her, that all that was left behind were fleeting, but loving moments shared between her mother and a man she could never quite picture; she had no idea what he looked like.

Then, her innocent, wide-eyed, evergreen gaze searched out Cloud's expression for what she should do, how she should proceed – if she should find something, anything, out about what came before Ifalna's recapture, or if the ghosts of the past were better off ignored.

"It's up to you what we do with these tapes," Cloud firmly, yet gently responded.

Expelling a drawn out sigh from her ballooned lungs, Aerith nodded. "Play the tapes.

Sitting at a long, oak-brown desk was a bored scientist, who kept himself quite busy with the task of keeping his mustache groomed – purposefully running a black comb through the thick, milk chocolate hairs with one hand, and used the opposite hand to twist the edges into curls, since he wanted to make himself appear like an actor from one of those silent, black and white motion pictures Ifalna adored so much. Anything to pass the time while his poor, sick wife slept in for the morning. Even as her deep rest stretched into the afternoon. Normally, the professor spent these hours writing in his journals – one for his research and another to record his days spent within their beloved sanctuary from the rest of the world, as well as his stream of consciousness. But the loquacious gentleman had a peculiar tendency – his wife called it a charming quirk – where he narrated every single, solitary sentence in an English accent. Usually, Ifalna found herself entertained by the habit, but she had politely requested pure silence over the past week as she recuperated in bed, which he complied to.

"Honey..." the scientist's partner in all things called up to him as she ascended the stairs to their living room and study.

In less than a second, Gast tucked his mustache comb into a side drawer and was out of his chair to his his beloved. "Sweetheart! Good afternoon! How are you feeling?"

"I am much improved," Ifalna answered. A warm, radiant smile graced her perfect face when Gast draped one arm over her shoulders to share his body heat with her, since she had yet to adjust to the Icicle Area's chillier climate, and then curled her closer to him.

"That's splendid news. With all the colds you get, we've run out of our supply of antibiotics, but I have plans to find strawberries for you at the market later. They're in season, you know," replied the biologist, leading her to rest on the baby blue sofa in front of the television screen.

"Actually, ever since I've woken up, I've had a monstrous appetite for buffalo choco-wings and macaroni salad," Ifalna said, utterly cheerful about her recovering hunger.

"Yes, well, you really should concentrate on consuming foods that are packed with vitamin C while you're ill."

"I fear that if anything but the foods I'm craving touch my pallet, I will vomit."

"Nonsense. Your body needs organic, unprocessed produce. It'll help your immune system fight whatever ails you."

Stubbornly, the brunette shook her head from side-to-side. "I'm not sick, Gast."

"Of course you're sick," Gast responded, not understanding why she was acting like a difficult patient. "You've had intermittent bouts of nausea, you're fatigued, you're emotional. My dear, please, you are sick and I hate to see you suffer any longer than you have to."

"Gast..." Missus Faremis murmured; his concern elicited a mirthy giggle as she sat back an inch from him. "Okay. I have been sick, yes, and I suspect that I will continue to experience even more sick days, but there is no illness in my body. Quite the opposite."

Now, Gast Faremis was viewed as a brilliant man to a large sum of people, including his dear wife. After all, he showed a great love for biology and botany at a young age, studied every scientific journal he could get his grubby, curious hands on at his hometown library, graduated at the top of his class in a school curated for developing and encouraging the intelligence of budding scientists, pursued higher education at an ivy league in Rocket Town, and studied further under the tutelage of minds even more brilliant. Knowledge was his passion; his ambition. But, Gast was still a man. A man as clumsy at picking up on hints as any other.

And so, the poor, perplexed soul could only offer Ifalna a blank stare while his thoughts tried to make sense of what she'd told him.

Emitting a sigh, Ifalna kissed her sweet love's cheek – catching on to the fact he needed a tiny bit more information to get the picture. "Two weeks ago, I noticed something odd about myself – my monthly cycle didn't begin on the day it normally does. Of course, I didn't think it was too strange, and it would probably come in another day or so. But, as you know, it's very easy to lose track of time here."

Nodding in agreement, the thirty something year-old man continued to work out Ifalna's insinuations. "And you're telling me that your monthly visitor has yet to reappear? That you're two weeks passed due?"

"Exactly."

Realization blasted through Gast's brain like a meteor crashing into the planet as a cascade of emotions kept transforming his expressions, making it difficult to figure out if he was happy or trouble over the revelation.

The sprite-sized ninja bounced up and down, clinging onto Cloud's shoulder to spring herself higher. "Aw, so cute! Missus Aerith's Mom's got a bun in the oven!"

Reacting with a minute laugh, which was barely audible over Yuffie's energetic shouts, Tifa added, "Yep, Aerith would have been a cute, little bean at the time."

"Ooh, ooh! Bean Aerith, Bean Aerith!" the sixteen year-old exclaimed.

"Who the hell gave her caffeine?" complained Cloud, yanking his arm back. As impatience and exasperation over Yuffie's bombastic exuberance wrinkled between his blond eyebrows, Cloud went to stand closer to Aerith.

But the young florist wasn't paying much attention to anything else going on in her surroundings – too shell-shocked by the people onscreen, too caught up; she didn't want to miss a second. God, it had been fifteen years since she's last heard her mother's voice, it was just as deliberate and tranquil as she recollected, yet younger and healthier sounding – there was not a trace of struggle or exertion strained in her vocal chords. It was as though Ifalna spoke every syllable with a distinct purpose, to soothe and to calm her conversation partner. And her father... He was goofier than she expected, but in an endearing way. At least she knew where she got it from. Also, Aerith noticed that his hair, while also brown, was a lighter shade than Ifalna's, with silver strands peppered throughout his scalp. He was young, perhaps in his early thirties, but stress had aged his hair ever-so distinguishedly.

Yet, with Gast's failure to immediately jump for joy at Ifalna's news, the Flower Girl feared that maybe he didn't want a child. Was she a mistake?

Before the group could learn how the scientist reacted over the initial surprise, the video cut out just as his slack jaw began to rise and move again. Then, Cloud ejected the videocassette from the VCR, placed the next one inside, and pressed play.

Once again, Professor Gast was alone at his desk. This time, his appearance was more disheveled as though he hadn't slept well in awhile. Hefty, dark circles sagged beneath his eyelids; his complexion was ghostly, almost like his skin hadn't seen a single ray of sunshine in weeks; and now his regal, perfectly maintained mustache was a accompanied by a wild, manic, not nearly as cared for beard. Something was wrong.

"Last night I had a dream, the worst dream I have ever had in my entire life," the biologist began to elaborated as he smoothed a black-gel pen across the thick paper sheets of a composition notebook. His voice was somber and quiet – hearable enough for the camera to pick up – but also raspy. "When I awoke, my heart raced so fast that I thought my time had come and Ifalna would have no choice but to raise the baby alone. I wonder if that would have been more ideal than bringing up a child with a foolish man who jeopardized his entire family in the first place. Before he or she is even delivered, their father has already failed to provide a safe environment. Even worse, I was the one to ensure that life would be a great misery by giving Jenova..."

Pausing, Gast reached out for a small glass filled with yellowish-brown liquid. The ice cubes clinked against one another as he brought the drink to his parched, chapped lips. A satisfied sigh reverberated from his throat before he settled the glass back down on a coaster, then resumed his journaling. "My dreams often remind me of my unforgivable sins, but my nightmare last night was something different. It was like someone had pulled back the curtains of time and space to show me the consequences of my mistakes, the price of my sins. A vision of the future, and it was grim.

It started out as a fine enough dream. I believe Ifalna and I were preparing the nursery by assembling the baby's crib. She was singing a lullaby while we worked. The song was so beautiful. So peaceful. I remember feeling hopeful as she sang, that our lives would be simple. As long as we share love between us, our baby would want for nothing. I was almost excited to have a child. An extra person to love completely and unconditionally." An extra person to fail and lose in the midst of this chaos.

"But then I turned around and saw that bastard! I can still hear the chilling sound of a rocking chair creaking back and forth, as clear as day. There Taishi Hojo was in the corner, smiling – no – grinning at me like a crazed, hungry jackal. He was cradling something swaddled in a blanket. A baby. My baby. My baby wasn't old enough to speak, only cry. But I understand she, maybe he, was crying for Papa to save her from the lunatic villain. Crying out to get away from that sewer monster of a man.

I couldn't... I couldn't do anything but stand there and stare. Hojo taunted me, of course. 'There, there. No need to cry. I have no sympathy for whiny, demanding creatures. Your screaming only serves to annoy me. Hush now, lest we attract the locals' attention. You don't want them killed, do you?'

That's when I deduced that Hojo was going to take the baby to Shinra. He saw Ifalna as a test subject; that's how he treated his own son. Why would my son or daughter be any different? And I wan-" a mute sob briefly interrupted the biologist, aiding him to intake a breath before he continued. "I wanted to snatch my child out of his arms and promise him or her that everything would be okay. But I couldn't move! My child screaming for me and I was useless! I couldn't move or look around or do anything to protect her...or him. I failed, I failed, I failed, I failed. I. Failed.

At some point, I eventually regained a modicum of mobility, enough to glance around the baby's room for Ifalna. She was on the ground, pale and gasping for breath. Dying. She was so frail just lying there, dressed in a hospital gown, reaching out to me to save her from the pain. Hojo's cruel experiments were slowly killing her. To breathe was to suffer. But for as much as Taishi was to blame, this was a mess of my own creation.

And then I heard a voice. It was distorted, like layers and echoes of white noise and people talking in unison. 'Thank you for bringing me back.' I believe it was Jenova. The voice slithered through my brain like a venomous serpent, and I just like it was Jenova...

After that, I woke up, safe and sound next to my wife."

Suddenly, heavy footsteps could be heard climbing up the stairs, which resulted in Gast slamming the journal shut in a nervous, paranoid panic.

"Sorry for taking so long at the physician's office, my love," Ifalna apologized, carrying a white paper sack. "The pharmacist took an eternity to give me my prenatal stuff."

"Your company was sorely missed," Gast retorted, up ad out of his seat.

"How's your head? Still aching?" When Ifalna further came into view of the camera shot, everyone could see that she was sporting a proud, but slim baby bump, not yet bulbous or large.

"I feel somewhat better after some extra rest. Thank you for always being the perfect wife and not holding a grudge against me for missing the doctor's appointment today." In a suave motion, the brunet bowed to his wife, gently took her free hand, and pecked the top.

"When did I say that I'm not holding a grudge?" Playfully, Ifalna stuck out her lips in a dubious pout as she freed her hand from his grasp. "How dare you stay at home while I'm carrying a child with me at all times? And now I come home and you have the nerve to not have chocolate chip muffins waiting for me!"

"But you don't like chocolate or muffins?"

"Your child does, it seems."

"Very well," Gast nodded, chuckling at her silly tone and sillier request. "I am but a dutiful husband and father, here to fulfill any wish made of me."

Ifalna giggled at her husband's playful hunching around, delivering a little slap over his chest. "Before you go down to the kitchen, I do have some news for you."

Standing up perfectly straight, the biology expert lent his total attention to the sonogram photograph Ifalna produced from the paper bag. A loud, anxious gulp resounded from the hollow of his throat when she handed the picture evidence of the growing baby bean off to him. "Twenty weeks. Has that much time passed already?"

"Do you remember the names we discussed? I decided on Makoto for a boy. Something simplistic, something that doesn't draw too much attention. Naturally, you wanted the complete opposite. Aerith... A name soaked proudly in her Cetra ancestry, because she shouldn't fear her own blood. She should love who she is," Ifalna elaborated, the fine, forest-green of her irises glistening. "You win."

"We're having an Aerith?" Gast muttered as his own eyes of the warmest, richest brown glazed over. Chortles erupted from his vocal chords as he drew the mother of their child into his embrace, concealing the fear and dread that latched onto his visage.

"A daughter, Gast! Can you believe it? We're going to have a daughter! A baby girl!" the last Cetra exclaimed, choking back gleeful sobs.

"Yes, my love. She'll be our little princess," he promised.

The videotape ended there, with Ifalna nestled happily in Gast's loving arms. Aerith let out a long, long breath, apparently one that she had been holding in for awhile. She blinked back tears of her very own. It burdened her spirit to learn of the pressurizing guilt her dear, sweet father carried around and the fears he kept hidden away in a notebook. She longed to tell Gast that he shouldn't have dragged that kind of remorse around; he wasn't to blame for Shinra's greed or Hojo's cruelty; he shouldn't have been too afraid to let himself feel joy alongside Ifalna, though Aerith also understood that his joy was just as real as his anxieties. He did love Aerith. Wanted her. For as much as Gast may have languished over the past, for as much as he shouldered melancholy over his mistakes, he was the one responsible for her name...

"I had no idea that my name was a lesson about loving myself," Aerith murmured, shaking her head. "Wow..."

As the half-Cetra's arms hung at her sides, she felt a soft collection of fingertips brush over hers – Tifa appearing at her side to hold her hand in support. "One of the many things that make you unique."

"There are two more tapes here," Cloud stated coldly – or rather, his tone may have sounded cold. It felt like a sand-covered stone was slowly sinking down his esophagus, grinding every gland in its path, as he watched Aerith fake a smile for Tifa, which made it a challenge for him to focus on how words came out.

"I want to keep going," Aerith affirmed as Yuffied wedged herself between the two women to give the former a side-hug. "Go ahead, Cloud. I'm fine."

With no choice but to respect Aerith's request for more, Cloud played the next videotape.

The footage found on this VHS was unlike the two that came before; the quality was slightly higher and there were actual movements the camera could make. The screen displayed a dissaray of blurry images, accompanied by chunky pixels, as the person holding the camera clearly struggled to hold it steady in all of the excitement.

"Ifalna! Look at her! She's so small! And pink! My god!" Gast shouted over the newborn's wailing, the sting of winter air highly disagreeable.

"Gast, I love you, but if you don't get that camera off me, you'll be the one to require a bed with stirrups!" the partially naked mother cautioned in an exhausted, but fiery tone as she aided her struggling infant in finding a breast to suckle.

"Now, honey, this is for posterity! For nostalgia! Aerith will want to see the miracle of her birth in a couple of years! We'll have this recording to look back on," the biologist countered, keeping the camera focused on the couple's brand new bundle of joy. "My little movie star."

"She is only half an hour old. She is too young to be a movie star," replied Ifalna, cradling Aerith close to her loving bosom. She stroked a thumb along the supple, soft slope of the baby's cheek, mesmerized by that little face. "Aerith..."

Suddenly, the screen went dark, with Gast possibly having set the camera down – as the sounds of Ifalna crying were the last thing the microphone picked up. Then, a second or two later, baby Aerith reappeared at the center of the monitor. Her face was chubby and round, quite pink as well, though she wasn't nearly as smushed-looking or beat-red as before; she might have been a day or two older. The infant's body was protectively swaddled in a flower-patterned afghan, keeping her safe from the harsh bite of wintertime, while she snoozed amongst a plush pile of fluffy, cloud-like bedding.

Professor Faremis had to stop himself from melting as his baby daughter opened her mouth, yawning a perfect 'O', while the right side of her nose wrinkled when she woke up. For a moment, she appeared startled by her dad's presence – his facial features gawking wide at her alongside a clunky device – but she didn't cry or scream for her mother; rather, Aerith stared back, her round, radiant orbs of evergreen full of curiosity.

"Good morning, sleepyhead. The milk machine is taking a well-deserved shower, so you're stuck with me for awhile. Never you fear. I have a bottle prepared for you already." Once again, the camera shifted around, as the clearly amateur cameraman placed the machinery atop a steady surface, a dressertop or a nightstand perhaps, before slowly removing the newborn from her crib.

The poor man was visibly knackered when he came into view of the camera lens – sleep-deprived, thirsty, and unkempt – yet there was a gentle glow to him now, an easiness. Arduous anxieties no longer seemed to loom over the shadows of his face; his energy invited only light. His frazzled, tired appearance wasn't the result of fears haunting his dreams, but was the natural consequence of a father who couldn't get enough of his daughter. Gast loved Aerith; her existence distracted him from all his worries and presented him with a newfound purpose to protect his family.

For too long, the phantoms—guilt and doubt—of a past he could not bargain with followed his every footstep, barring him from truly enjoying his wife's pregnancy. But now, Aerith was here, she was real, and anything seemed possible. Everything was alright. It was as though Gast had been granted the gift of clairvoyance, fore he could see his little girl taking her very first footsteps toward a patch of flowers, learning how to ride a bike, and blowing out a cluster of candles on her eighteenth birthday.

"Seems odd, doesn't it? My head has been stuck in the past for months, and now I can't stop looking to the future," the new father started, finally giving voice to his musings, as he held Aerith with one arm and bottle fed her with the other. "Feels nice to have so much to look forward to. At least eighteen years." Momentarily, his attention strayed toward the camera, his large eyebrows narrowing in a glower. "You got that, future boyfriend? Eighteen years, or I'll break out of some of my science gear to teach you a lesson." Then, Gast's dark cocoa eyes softened as he rested them back on Aerith's tiny face, her stare fixated on the gradually disappearing breast milk. He chortled in adoration. "Yes, I know you have no interest in the future. Right now, Ifalna is your entire world, but I just can't stop myself from imagining what parenthood will be like and how it'll change me – how you will change me as you grown and learn and become a person with your own goals and convictions. I think it's inevitable that we'll get into miscommunications and misunderstandings. Arguments, too. But I'm going to tell you something right now and I promise that I will tell you every day for as long as I live: I love you, Aerith. No matter what happens, you have my total, unconditional, and absolute support. Please, my little love. Always remember that. No matter what confrontations happen or what the future brings, always remember that my love for you is more infinite than there are stars in the sky."

"Oh, Dad..." Aerith whispered, her speech fractured by the knot wedged in her throat. Never in her life had she spoken that word, at least not in reference to her dad. She had always called him Father, Gast, or Professor Faremis, when her emotions were detached from him. But now, as he actually, audibly, and comprehensively declared his unconditional love to the baby cradled in his arms – something she never thought she'd hear from him – he was her dad. Just her dad. And the word felt so good to say. Happiness flowed through the half-human half-Cetra's bloodstream, the pit of her belly warmed by the immense love she felt for her dad.

Then, Ifalna, dressed in an over-sized, pastel-blue, cotton robe walked into frame. Her thousands and thousands of freshly washed, oak-shaded locks dripped into the hardwood floor, as she peered over Gast's shoulder and down at the baby. "You know she doesn't understand a word you say."

"Someday she will," Gast stated, leaning himself back as his wife wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind.

"My turn," Ifalna proclaimed in a sing-song, almost smug manner.

"But I love her," the scientist protested. "Why do you get to spend all day with her?"

"Because I'm the momma, that's why."

"Ugh."

"Just one more VHS left," Cloud said, practically in warning.

"It's alright. Go ahead and play it," Aerith requested. She was aware that whatever came next would be the last of what she'd learn of Gast – that his days upon the planet were over, but this was her only method of making memories of him.

"Aerith..." the bodyguard whispered in plea, ever-so slightly tilting his head.

"Please," the florist beseeched underneath a muted breath. "I need this."

In despair of his better judgment, his finger had already pushed the final tape into the video player the second she said please.

"My thoughts are no longer galloping long stretches ahead," the biology professor began, scribbling in his journal, while the faint sound of melodic singing echoed beneath his talking. "I look forward to what Aerith will look like the first time she recognizes me, what she'll sound like when she laughs, and how I'll feel when she first calls me dad. I doubt Ifalna and I will ever know a dull moment again with Aerith around."

"She makes every day a new adventure," Ifalna chimed in, returning from the nursery. "Took half an hour to get her to sleep."

"That's a new record."

"I'll have this mom job figured out in no time."

With that, Ifalna plomped down on the couch, invitingly patting the empty cushion adjacent to her. Gast clapped the composition notebook shut, complying to his love's nonverbal request. Mere seconds later, the two lovebirds were snuggled close together on the sofa, peacefully lying down – with Ifalna's face nestled against his chest. He peppered dozens of kisses on her forehead, embracing his arms around her body in a hold that promised to never forget how much he loved her.

Releasing a minute squeal of utter bliss, Ifalna started, "Gast, my love..."

"Hmm?"

"Aerith is the light of our small, dark world. Being what she is..." the planet's hope mumbled, her meaning somewhat lost on him. "A Cetra."

"Yes?" he answered sheepishly.

"For so long, the duty to translate the planet's will and protect it has rested solely with me. I have been the last of my kind for years. That's a heavy burden. I don't know if I can describe how frightening it is to fear that my purpose as a Cetra is a lost cause. I wouldn't wish it on anyone, but to Aerith has no choice but to inherit every danger I have ever faced," Ifalna explained in a mouse-like voice, speaking as though she was half-asleep.

"My darling, Aerith will grow to be a force to contend with, and we'll raise her that way. You'll see," Gast vowed, refusing to allow any morbid daydreams to spoil their early days of parenthood.

"I just wish that we could give her a world free of Jenova and Shinra, bless her with miles and miles of flowers and trees. She deserves so much more." Restlessly, the sophisticatedly attired woman sat up. "Don't you think so?"

"Of course I do, but right here in the Icicle Inn, we can create that world together as a family. I believe starting small will be good." Gast sat up as well, went to his feet, and gently tugged his porcelain doll of a wife back into the tender solace of his arms.

Nodding along, the Ancient responded with a stunning smile, one that never failed to hasten the bumbling scientist's heartbeat. "You're such a sap."

"Yeah," he admitted. Gingerly, the brunet pinched his beloved's chin between the curl of his index finger and thumb, tilting her face toward his.

In turn, Ifalna's eyelids fluttered closed while her hands took rest against her husband's chest. Their faces leaned closer and closer toward one another until, finally, their lips met somewhere in the middle. Precious seconds fleeted by as their lips brushed together in a myriad of sweet kisses. Auras of peace and innocence resonated between them, almost as if they were certain nothing and no one else existed outside of the Icicle Inn.

Abruptly, the interruption in the form of loud, aggressive door knocks ended the moment.

"Gast," Ifalna murmured, blithe floating within her breath as her lips parted from her husband's. "We should get that."

"No, no, no. We should ignore it and go on as we were," the scientist debated, his grasp growing tighter.

Again, whomever was at the frontdoor banged upon it urgently. Insistently. Angrily. Heinous, sharp chills bolted up and down Professor Faremis' spine, the cold temperature ready to turn his blood into icicles. His heart was catapulted into the center of his throat when the person shouted, "Open up, old friend! I have come to pay you a visit! I have a few other confidantes here as well! Armed to the teeth for my protection!"

"H-H-H-He's here!" Panic pulsed through the Cetra's clover-green irises as she began to tremble in Gast's arms. "He f-found us!"

"Sh, sh," Gast whispered, granting her the gift of calm through a single forehead kiss. "I will handle Hojo. You will go get our daughter, take the back exit, and go to the Willermann's. You will stay put until I come for you." His commands were spoken in a firm tone, leaving no room for argument or reluctance. "Go, quickly!"

"But, I-"

"I will see you soon," Gast promised. But he couldn't mask his doubts behind bravery forward. "Take Aerith and get out of here."

Faltering once more for the fraction of a second, Ifalna departed from Gast with a final, "I love you," went to collect Aerith, and followed the remainder of his instructions as quickly as possible. All the while, the baby sobbed out, too young to understand why her irenic slumber had been cut short. Those horrible, heartbreaking cries were the last things he ever head from his daughter.

A minute later, the earsplitting noise of a metal door crashing against the floor echoed throughout the home, as Gast patiently waited upstairs to have everything he cherished up-heaved.

"Gast Faremis! So you are here after all! Lucky me!" Taishi exclaimed in sardonic exuberance, surrounded by infantrymen. "My apologies for the imposition, old friend, but we can call it payback after you borrowed my test subject."

"Taishi," Gast snarled, giving the man an icy nod. "I'm afraid you've come at an inopportune time. Why don't you come back in, oh, let's just say five years?"

"Ha-ha," Hojo chortled ironically. "Oh, how I have missed pretending to laugh at your oddball humor." Casting a nonchalant over his shoulder, the malevolent creature of a man ordered the guards to search the place for the Cetra, before helping himself to a self-guided tour of the living room. Curiously, he stared at the one photograph attached to the wall. "Ah, most intriguing!" Carefully, he removed the picture from its frame to examine the image more closely. "You and Ifalna bred a new sample for me. Half-human, half-Ancient. Why, thank you, Gast!"

The biologist's resolve hardened into titanium, too familiar with Taishis brand of humor. The man may have possessed sick-minded intentions, but he was no lunatic. There was no way he was sincerely delusional enough to believe that he and Gast had ever been anything more than colleagues. Every single world slipping from his thin lips dripped venomously, aiming to provoke a reaction from the younger scientist. Several times already, Gast almost gave in when Taishi stroked a finger down the first Faremis family portrait, pausing only to observe the baby girl tucked safely in her mother's arms. No one who knew Gast intimately or casually would accuse him of being anything but mild-mannered, but at that moment, he prayed to the planet for strength enough to squash Hojo's head underneath his boot and make it burst like a strawberry.

"Let's cut the act, Taishi."

"Oh? I'm disappointed that you don't enjoy my playacting. Then again, you never did. But I prefer to think that I'm a brilliant actor, born for the theater and deafening applause in another reality."

"You are certainly theatrical."

"Thank you."

"Anyway," Hojo said, carelessly crumbling the photograph into a ball and shoved it into the pocket of his lab coat, "since you make for a reluctant scene partner, let me tell you what I want. Come back to work for Shinra."

"Come back? After everything I've done?" Gast questioned incredulously, shock coursing through him.

"Yes, I know. I was just as flabbergasted as you are now when President Shinra filled me in, but he still holds your intellect in high regard, and he's willing to grant clemency in exchange for your cooperation. You can come back to the office, your pay will increase, and you and your family will have a home outside of headquarters," Taishi elucidated, his tone ever-elegantly persuasive.

"But my family will be used and exploited to find the Promised Land," the brunet stated, immune to the polished lies Hojo offered. He would not trade his family's rights and freedom for the benefit of a corrupt government.

"Can't get something for nothing," the long-haired man conceded. "But is that really such an awful bargain? My son has no trouble giving a little blood here and there in the name of genetic innovation," the white-clad scientist countered, while the wildest, sharpest grin consumed his wiry visage.

At the mere mention of Sephiroth, Gast formed one hand into a tight fist – the sweet child he never said goodbye to, the boy he would have taken with him had he been around that day. His knuckles went painfully white while Taishi chuckled at Gast's nonverbal reply – how his hand gave away his angered state – triumphant in his provocation. "I will not surrender my family to Shinra's incorrigible greed, nor to your experiments. I would sooner have you all kiss my ass," the boffin hissed, finally launching himself at the treacherous snake in his path.

But before Gast could reach him, Hojo drew a handgun from his pocket – swiftly lodging a bullet through his attacker's shoulder. It didn't matter, though. Gast clenched his through through the searing pain, as the bullet scorched and simmered between his sinew and nerves, and successfully landed punch after punch upon that skinny freak's ugly face.

"Help me, you useless curs!" Taishi bellowed for the infantrymen. He tried to shield his face from Gast's onrush of blows, but it was too late – his nose snapped like a twig under the ferocity of the husband and father's mighty, vengeful beatings. Although, a few seconds later, the Shinra grunts peeled Gast from Hojo, forcing the struggling man upon his hands and knees, while Hojo straightened himself out – patting out the wrinkles from his designer coat, then grabbed the gun off the ground. "Where are the Cetra?" questioned the bony, bruised, bleeding professor, placing the weight of his foot directly on Gast's fingers.

Gast's following response came in the form of gathering all the saliva in his mouth and drenching Hojo's shoe in it.

"Such bad manners," he tsked. "So be it. The president will understand."

And then, Professor Taishi Hojo raised the barrel of the gun to took aim at the helpless, pinned former Shinra employee. There was no way he could miss, as the cold metal pressed right against Gast's sweat-drenched forehead.

With only seventeen seconds left on the videocassette, Cloud stopped it right there. He granted Aerith the smallest of mercies by keeping the bloody visual of her father's execution far from her brain.

"Aerith...?" Tifa murmured at the Flower Girl's side.

But words, nor sounds of any sort could reach Aerith in that moment, as the television screen went black. Splotches of green and red light sullied his vision as her eyes adjusted to the blank, dark monitor. She couldn't glance anywhere else – too afraid to look upon her friends' concerned, sympathetic faces, knowing she would collapse into a mournful oblivion if any of them so much as tainted her peripherals. All she could do was stand there in silence. Sadness, rage, nor horror dared to stain her expression; it was unreadable as the unbelievable, unbearable mass of her travel companions' gazes bored down upon her – everyone watched and waited for Aerith to dismantle at the seams. As if Aerith was back under Hojo's boastful, gleeful watch, she promised to give that monster no such satisfaction; she would not crumble. Hojo had already stripped her of everything else – her mother, her father, the life she could have had with both her parents, her first home, her childhood – but her spirit was resilient still.

/ / /

Later that night, Cloud found himself wandering the halls of the secluded cabin the party had rented for the night. He was restless as the sky darkened, the chill of the mountain's forbade him from respite. Then again, perhaps the issue of Cloud's unwillingness to stay still was not the fault of the climate, but the fault of his mind. Unease and disquiet rattled ruthlessly inside of his brain while his feet paced the narrow hallway, with his memory replaying today's events. The uncharacteristic darkness draped across the contours of Aerith's face had discolored his entire world. What was wrong with him? Why had he not said anything? Why didn't he just cast fire to those fucking tapes? Why did he have to open his big yap and tell Aerith about them? If it wasn't for him, she would have never donned that kind of darkness no one should ever know – the kind of darkness that worked like an adhesive to keep one's emotions steady, the kind of darkness that afflicted Cloud as a boy, the kind of darkness that, he expected, plagued Sephiroth.

Had those videos changed the sweet Flower Girl forever? Had he destroyed her happiness?

Abruptly, Yuffie swung open the girls' bedroom door. "Can you and your elephant boots stop marching up and down the hall already? I'm trying to get some shut-eye!" she demanded sternly.

"Sorry," he apologized briskly. "Is Aerith awake? I want to talk to her."

"She's not in here," Yuffie answered, visibly impatient.

"Where is she?"

"How should I know? You're the boyfriend!"

Before Cloud could confirm or deny Yuffie's claim or interrogate her for Aerith's exact whereabouts, she slammed the door shut in his face. What a moody teenager.

Next, Cloud checked the kitchen, where Barrett busied himself over a kettle, boiling water to make some hot cocoa. Cid was there, too, inhaling an extra large bag of beef jerky. When he asked about Aerith, both of them shrugged, said that they hadn't seen her since dinner, though Barret did make mention of, "Some ice cream from the freezer is missin'. I guess it musta been her."

"Who can eat ice cream when we're all getting' frostbite up here?" Cid complained.

Then, Cloud checked the cabin's family area. No sign of Aerith there either. But Tifa was cozied up underneath a wide, heavy blanket, reading a book as the crackling flames from the fireplace offered her superb heat and light. "Aerith walked out the front door about an hour ago. She said that she wanted to go for a walk and think about some things," Tifa stated, casually looking up from the novel's pages.

"I didn't say anything."

"Please, Cloud," the monk responded, the contours of her face angled in a wooden expression, "give me a little bit of credit. Who else would you be looking for?"

"I could have been looking for you."

"Well, are you?"

"No, I-"

"I rest my case," the raven-haired beauty replied, burying herself further beneath the weighted covers. "Now get going. The book's getting good and I can hear you worrying about Aerith from here."

Was he really that obvious?

Nevertheless, Cloud his way outside to the front porch, carrying every confidence that he would discover the flower merchant sitting amongst the wicker chairs, spooning at whatever ice cream had gone missing. But he was wrong. Panic and dread suddenly lashed against the center of his stomach, anxiety rushing through his veins. Aerith had wandered off alone, down unfamiliar territory, without anyone to back her up. What if she got lost? What if she encountered bandits or a pack of hungry, gigantic animals?

Fortunately, there was a long trail of footprints for the decently trained bodyguard to pursue, one that led downward, but was still on a safe enough, cleared-out route for tourists and campers. With thick sheets of snow crunching beneath his boots, the warmly dressed man frantically chased down the source of the tracks imprinted upon the trailways. He was a man possessed, fighting off the sharp-toothed bites of the cold, harsh winds – trying his damn best not blink, otherwise the blurry, dreamlike nightmare of Aerith venturing into the forest would plague his sights.

However, Aerith's footprints eventually deviated from the trail, heading into the heart of the woods. Cloud didn't hesitate to charge into the darkness of night, fore his own sense and forethought of self-preservation were the last things on his mind. Then, after spending a good amount of time tracking her down, Cloud spied a boulder with the Cetra's floral-patterned dress draped across, along with Vincent's cloak.

"Aerith!" Cloud called out in a hushed voice, cautious of the snow sitting in piles atop the trees, as terror turned into confusion. Confusion turned into embarrassment when he looked ahead to find Aerith... From behind, he recognized the unmistakable almond color of her braid as he approached, but he couldn't help but to also note the quizzical nudity of her shoulders and how they glowed with an almost alabaster sheen underneath the star's luminescence. Alone, she sat in some sort of body of water, or maybe mud, as steam pervaded the area. "Aerith?"

"Hmm?" The Flower Girl muttered and glanced over her shoulder. "Cloud? What are you doing all the way out here?"

"Looking for you."

"Oh."

"Why did you wander off so far away from the group? You could have gotten injured or lost."

Breathing a heavy sigh, Aerith scooted herself along the pool's wall until she was able to face the highly concerned bodyguard. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. I just needed to get some space. Then, I found this hot spring and it feels really, really good on the muscles."

At last, now that he knew that she was safe and well, relief softened Cloud's core. He knelt down next to what Aerith called a hot spring, insistent upon keeping his eyes fixed on her face. "I guess that I'm impressed that you managed to find a natural hot tub in the middle of the woods."

"Do you want to join me?"

Eyes on her face, Strife. Keep your eyes on her face. "I don't think so."

Normally, Aerith would have insisted – playfully teasing him until he inevitably relented – but she immediately dropped the issue. Her spirits were not high enough to partake in their usual rounds of banter. Instead, she went silent and nodded at him. "Alright."

"Okay, okay. You can stop chattering my ears off," he jibed sarcastically, desperate to get a smile out of her. "Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close your eyes."

"Why, Cloud Strife, I had no idea you were so bashful."

"Close your eyes, Aerith."

Approximately two minutes later, Cloud's clothes and belongings laid resting on a boulder next to Aerith's. Instantly, he regretted his decision to strip down somewhere in the heart of the forest, on a cold night, with his skin cells screaming at him to build a fire; but as he descended into the water, its warmth made him forget that he had ever been cold. The deliciously hot temperature relaxed his muscles while the steam warded off the freezing air. "Okay. It's safe to look."

Uncovering her face, the brunette slid her hands back into the water. "Blissful, isn't it?"

"Yeah. It's nice."

From opposite sides of the circular spring, Cloud and Aerith brewed in a somber quiet. He wasn't quite sure what to say to her, or if he should say anything at all. After all, he could sense that the winds around the expert flower saleswoman were still tense. Cloud missed Aerith's cheerful, yet calming nature – how she always embodied the wonders of spring; he hated to see the way winter tainted her now. Oh, how the young man pined for the return of her smile.

But then, as though she'd been listening to Cloud's thoughts, quiet chuckles sparked from Aerith's voice box. A rosy shade of pink every-so gently tinted her cheeks as laughter continued streaming from her mouth while the toasty water displaced around her, due the shaking of her arms – although she was able to spare enough consideration for her modesty that she ended up folding her arms across her vulnerable breasts to stop her present company from peaking. Thick globs of tears rained down from the dark edges of her eyelashes, as bittersweet redness glazed over the whites of her eyes.

"What's so funny?" asked a very confused, very concerned Cloud.

"N-N-Nothing!" Aerith shouted back, struggling to get out a single breath, let alone an actual word. Over and over again, the horticulturist shook her head, while her sharp fingernails bit hard against the slow-cooked flesh of her underbreasts in attempt to cure the giggles. "N-N-Nothing ab-about today has been funny!"

Yep. She'd lost it. Perhaps the affects of the cold were finally getting to her or that tub of Rocky Road ice cream went to her brain instead of her stomach. Either way, something was off. Even now, the hearty sounds of her laughter didn't sound earnest. It reminded Cloud of the way Aerith had broken out into a giggle in front of Elmyra's house, after he had inquired about why that day had been so special, and his heart ached to make everything better.

"Uh-uh-hah," Aerith breathed out slowly, taking control of the anomaly rippling through her stomach. "Okay, okay. Woo. I think I'm good. Wow. I'll have to check if I have a six pack now."

"Doubt it. Not after all the ice cream you ate," the former infantryman remarked, returning her banter.

"You're just jealous I got to have all that deliciousness to myself."

"Pass. I'm not really into sweets."

"Sure, Cloud," she answered, dubiously nodding at him. Further, she sank into the spring's toasty water, until her shoulders disappeared below the surface. "What a weird day." Cloud patiently waited for Aerith to continue her thought when she opened her mouth to speak, several times.

Instead, another melancholic silence fell around them, with the Flower Girl mindlessly staring at the reflectionless, steamy surface of the hot spring. Inaudibly, the blond expelled a discontented sigh from his system, as he scooted an inch or two closer in her direction. "You know, we are..." No. "I'm here for you."

The sincerest, greenest eyes in the entire world glanced up at him, grateful he'd shattered the barrier between them. She could no longer hide behind laughter, run away, or keep those walls built high enough to forbade him from her innermost, darkest self. A new river of tears stormed down the sides of her face. "I never knew before today how much my dad really loved me. I gained something really special today, from watching those tapes, only to realize that shithead Hojo took it away from me. He took away my father and my mother. And it's so strange. I don't even have the luxury of visiting a headstone."

"We'll meet up with Hojo again one day," was the only thing the irrevocably in love bodyguard thought to say. He was too afraid of accidentally saying something insensitive or dismissive, but he refused to allow another quiet settle between them.

"Nothing I could do to him would ever make him feel a sliver of remorse for anything he's done, but the idea of making him beg for his life is an adequate enough substitute," the brunette commented, seething and sobbing simultaneously. "I have never felt so angry in my entire life. It feels like I'm going to explode into flames. It's torture!"

Sitting upright, Aerith buried her digits through the thick, slightly damp mass of her cinnamon locks and lightly yanked at the roots. Harder, the Midgar native wept, shaking her head repeatedly. Was this how Sephiroth felt? No wonder he went completely mad. She didn't want to go mad, nor did she possess any desire to take out her fury on the rest of the world, but she wanted to inflict as many emotional scars upon Hojo – scars that ran so deep that his psychological suffering would echo throughout all of time. And Aerith loathed to allow Hojo to spoil and sour her good-hearted nature in that way, especially when she was the last one standing. The last Cetra. The last of her family. She despise the new fire blazing within her bloodstream; she feared how much she wanted to torture him.

"But maybe I would have never met you if he'd..."

"You don't have to do that. You don't have to be strong and find the silver lining," Cloud retorted, tenderly taking Aerith into his arms. He couldn't bare to witness her retreat back into her eternal optimism just yet, not when she was exposed with her guard down in every way that made him love her more. "You can just be mad. Or sad. You don't have to be afraid of what you're feeling. It's just me here with you, Aerith. I'm not going to judge or dismiss you. If you want to laugh, then laugh. If you want to cry, then cry."

Aerith nodded her against the comfort of his shoulder, succumbing to the awful ache spiraling throughout her chest. "Thank you, Cloud. Thank you so much.

/ / /

Hefty sheets of snow cracked and crunched while the tranquil heat of fire worked to dry off the soaked twosome. The flower merchant and mercenary stood with their backs turned to one another as they patiently waited for the fire to completely evaporate the hot spring's evidence from their skin. It was going to be a lengthy trek back up the mountain path, and making the journey in wet clothes didn't feel like the wisest decision, even if Cloud's loud yearning for a mug of coffee hot enough to burn his his tongued increased by the nanosecond.

Granted, the fire Aerith had cast was nice – powerful – but his mind was once again hyperfocused on the fact that they were naked. Exposed. If curiosity got the better of him or if he accidentally glanced over his shoulder, the image of the mage's albescent, bare backside would be eternally imprinted on his retinas. And he refused to disrespect Aerith like that, no matter how much the devil on his shoulder tried to persuade him otherwise. A small peak wouldn't hurt, he said. Meanwhile, the angel upon the opposite shoulder appreciated the horrendous cold, to keep Cloud's lower brain in line.

"Such a gentleman," the florist abruptly piped up.

"Huh?" came Cloud's clumsy response.

"You. You're very polite for looking the other way. Resolutely, I imagine," Aerith elaborated, an element of smugness sewn through her voice. "I have been told that I have a very nice ass."

Fuck. What was he even supposed to say to that? What did she expect him to say? "I haven't...noticed?"

She giggled – genuinely giggled. It was a tiny sound, entirely missable if someone wasn't anywhere near as alert as Cloud, but it was still a nice treat for his ears. "Oh, really? Well, I've noticed yours. So maybe I'm the one being polite here."

And just like that, the frigid gnawing of the wintery air was forgotten, as the flames in his cheeks resonated and warmed the rest of his body. "Guess you'll just have to practice some self-control."

"Mm-hmm." The sound of Aerith sliding on her red-leather jacket was faint, but not faint enough for his ears to pick up the gentle way the material glided over shoulders. "All done!"

"Doesn't the cold slow you down?" he asked, bemused how the frost and snow barely fazed her. "You came out here with ice cream."

"It's the rush that's kept me going. The bite of the air, the warmth of the hot spring, and then back into the cold. I feel invigorated," deliberated the young woman when she started to jog in place. "Don't you?"

"Hell no." Adjusting and situating his clothes over his body a little while longer, the Midgar outlaw almost feared departing from the small, but deliciously warm fire. He wasn't exactly in any rush to get anywhere. But then, he felt a ginger tap upon his shoulder, beckoning him to turn around.

"Here. You need this more than I do." Offering her sweet bodyguard a teeny-tiny, yet amused smile, Aerith whipped out Vincent's crimson cape around his shoulders, fastened the neck straps, and patted out a couple of wrinkles. "So handsome... Do you feel any better?"

"It's helpful," responded Cloud. His poor heart galloped across the planet and back as Aerith's set of magnificently green eyes maintained contact with his fluorite ones the entire time. It was alarming how easily she could reduce him into a lovesick, little boy. Without a doubt, Hojo had stolen so much from her, but he didn't take her smile, nor the way its brilliance converged with the emerald glistening of her irises.

"Ready?"

"Huh?"

"Are you ready to head back to the cabin?"

"Oh. Um, yeah."

That ever-resilient smile of hers widened for just a second as her gaze drifted toward the ground between their feet, before they started back in the direction of the rental cabin. "So, if you hate the coldly why did you come after me?"

Gulping almost all of the saliva down his gullet, the would-be SOLDIER bashful retorted, "You know why."

As they walked side-by-side, the Flower Girl strayed to wander slightly closer to him and affectionately nudged her shoulder against his. "Yeah. I do."

After all, Cloud's special fondness for Aerith wasn't exactly a secret, nor something he necessarily tried to conceal; even though he was not the type of man to wear his heart on his sleeve, he equally couldn't be bothered with to pretend his feelings were wrong. All of their friends were aware of that fact, too; Barret and Yuffie frequently voiced their lighthearted, but blunt jibes at Cloud and Aerith as their quiet moments became rarer and rarer, with the traveling party growing. Granted, they weren't official, or at lease they hadn't put an official characterization to their relationship, but everyone understood that there was an obvious, unspoken thing between the two lovebirds.

"I guess sometimes I forget," Aerith confessed, expanding on her prior thought, "how this, you and me, isn't some teenage fantasy."

"It's real, Aerith," Cloud confirmed in a gentle voice, questioning if his voice was audible enough over the loud pounding of his chest.

"Tell me a story!" Aerith exclaimed, latching both of her hands around one of Cloud's to leech a smidgen more warmth from his glove.

"Gonna have to tax you for it."

"I'm sure we can work out some sort of an agreement."

"Fine. What kind of story?"

"I want to know how my parents fell in love."

"But I don't know-"

"Don't care. Make something up," she requested enthusiastically, hoping to simply imagine the way they were. "C'mon, Cloud, get creative."

"Okay." Emitting a sigh of resignation, it took a long moment for Cloud to conjure enough words to at least get him started. "Once upon a time, when the land of Midgar still had a blue sky to take for granted, a man and a woman first intertwined their fates under dubious circumstances. You see, the man, Professor Gast, was under the employment of the greedy and ambitious Shinra Corporation, a company hellbent on exploiting the planet for mako. And the woman, Ifalna, was mainly viewed as a resource to help Shinra find more mako."

"The planet's lifeblood," stated the last Cetra.

"Exactly," Cloud confirmed and nodded. "Anyway, it's wasn't necessarily love at first sight between them – although Ifalna was, um, easy on the eyes. Very pretty." An exotic beauty just like her daughter... "Gast and Ifalna never planned to fall in love; he wanted information from her and she wanted to set him straight about Jenova. But throughout the processes of the interviews the eager scientist conducted with the last of the Ancients, he began to realize just how rare of a woman she really was, while she realized that maybe he was one of the reasons that made the planet worth saving. It was the little things that drew them toward each other."

"Like what?" questioned Aerith, giddy with intrigue as her teeth dug into the bottom of lip.

"Well, for instance..." Trailing off for less than half a second, the ex-infantryman excavated the recesses of his imagination for examples what would satisfy Aerith, "Her laugh. Gast grew to enjoy the sound of Ifalna's laughter. Reserved, but sweet and inviting. It reminded him of flower petal adrift in the wind. And she liked Gast for his dorkiness – the way he adjusted his glasses, how he sometimes stumbled over his own speech when his mouth couldn't quite keep up with the speed of his thoughts or whenever he was just nervous to be around her. Then, Ifalna suggested they start meeting outside of the office for coffee and meals and movies."

"What sort of movies did they like?"

"You tell me. They're your parents."

"Well, I remember Mom used to love reading stories about the medieval era, with lots of adventure, so her taste in movies would probably match," Aerith remarked, eager to accept Cloud's invitation to dayream and wonder about her folks. "Dad... He strikes me as someone who would be into psychological thrillers, stuff that's kind of weird and macabre."

"I'll take any excuse to binge popcorn," the blond commented casually. "Haven't seen a lot of movies to guess which genres I prefer."

"I prefer stage plays to movies, especially musicals. Love those." Then, Aerith released a mild giggle and shook her head. "Back on the topic of my parents, I bet Mom gave Dad flowers all the time and he'd make the best smelling potpourri."

Over the night thirty minutes, Aerith openly imagined what Gast and Ifalna's relationship had been like, long before they ran off to the Icicle Inn, while Cloud took his turn to listen. Of course, there were too many tidbits that Aerith could only guess at – too many gaps to fill – having never truly known Gast herself, yet it brought her delight to talk about him. According to her, Ifalna was strength personified – sporadically showing any signs of weakness, ever the epitome of grace and dignity, but she wasn't anywhere near as loquacious, so Aerith figured Gast was the chatterbox of the relationship. She also supposed that Gast was clean-shaven in the early months of his acquaintanceship with Ifalna, until she casually mentioned a general attraction to men with Victorian-style facial hair; meanwhile, Ifalna used to keep her long, coffee-brown hair braided in a style similar to her daughter's, though she favored the triple fold-over method, but one day she failed to go through the effort – perhaps she was late to one of their dates – and Gast's jaw hit the floor with a bang.

"She felt like someone had rolled out the red carpet and fireworks burst in the sky!" Aerith giggled as she and Cloud entered the rented cabin, dimming her exalted voice to a cheerful whisper.

"Sounds vaguely familiar," Cloud chuckled in return, gently closing the front door behind them.

"I guess this is where we say good night?"

"It is very late."Actually, it was very early. Through the view of the windows, the earliest trickles of sunrise shone in the distance as the sky went from velvet-blue to a peachy pink. "We should sleep while we can, but I do owe you payment for that story."

"True," he nodded.

As the two stood face-to-face in front of the girls' bedroom, it felt like someone had kicked Aerith's heart into acceleration when she daringly stepped forward. There wasn't a single trace of hesitation in her actions; only blithe and certainty, as she pressed her lips to Cloud's. Of course, it was a chaste kiss, one that felt vague, yet exhilarating – especially when the handsome hero puckered his lips in return. Butterflies gently fluttered within the confines of the florist's tummy while hummingbirds went berserk in Cloud's. Over and over, their lips pressed, shaped, and molded together.

"Satisfied?" the Midgarian inquired, a playful and flirtatious glint buttered across her smile.

"Who's the cheapskate now? I deserve better pay than that," the bodyguard jibed, a smirk perched upon the lefthand corner of his mouth.

Infected by the sweet sensation of their previous kiss, Cloud boldly, but carefully cupped the back of Aerith's head in an effort to retrieve another, with the latter exploding into gleeful giggles.

Just as the sparks between were on the verge on igniting into a powerful flame, the bedroom door opened to reveal a groggy, sixteen year-old girl rubbing the sand out of her eyes. "Out of my way, Mister and Missus Smooch McGee. I gotta go!"