Chapter 61. March – June 29, εуλ0009

"Cloud and Tifa aren't getting along."

That was not what Barret wanted to hear from his daughter. If he could have teleported back to Seventh heaven right then, he would have done so just to smack some sense into Cloud's head. Hadn't he said he'd do exactly that? It sounded like the mood of the house was affecting not only Tifa, but Marlene as well, and here he was a continent away with nothing but a telephone at his disposal.

Continuing, Marlene announced what she'd told Cloud and Tifa. "It went really well Daddy!" she said proudly. "I just explained that Cloud was going to have to sleep with Tifa so she could feel better. He was going to have to find out the best way to do that. And they just kind of looked at each other for a while and then Cloud kind of smiled like he thought it was funny and said he would try."

"I'll bet he did," Barret murmured wryly.

He let his anger slip away as Marlene chattered happily about the friends she'd made in the neighborhood, the games, they played and all the things that mattered to a five-going-on-six-year-old girl, and slowly Barret was soothed. Even if Tifa and Cloud's problems were affecting his daughter, at the heart of it, she was still her same old resilient self. He told her how they were finding oil and what he planned to do with it, simplifying as much as he could, and she'd grasped it right away. ("But you say this could be used up like the Mako stuff too, and the planet might get mad again," she asked, worried; "It doesn't hurt the planet as much, but we're still going to look for something better," he assured, her knowing he was making a promise) and by the time they hung up ("I love you, daddy"; "I love you too, sweetheart") he was at least somewhat assured that things could work out between these two dorks.

Upstairs Tifa nervously straightened sheets, fluffed pillows. Tonight was the night. It had been only a few days ago that Marlene had shouted - actually shouted! - that she couldn't take the way Tifa and Cloud had been acting. What had even been going on? Tifa had been nervously chatting, some stories she'd told before, just something to fill the empty space with words and pretend everything was alright and Cloud was kind of nodding and pretending to listen and Marlene finally burst out with, "You guys are driving me nuts!"

And that's when Tifa realized they hadn't been fooling the girl at all.

Still, it hurt to hear it secondhand. Cloud and Tifa aren't getting along. The only thing she had heard of the phone call; the only thing she needed to hear. She couldn't let this go any further; if their relationship problems were spilling over to Marlene, then something had to be done about it

Maybe tonight would help resolve things. That had been such a surprise. After her outburst, Marlene had announced definitively that Tifa was not allowed to sleep with her anymore. Tifa couldn't help the electric urges that shot through her at the implications; when was last time they had made love properly? Or at all? Overlooking their physical connection was not helping anything; she ached for him near, needed to have him close. Their hearts together and pounding as one; she wanted him on top of her, crushing her, he not holding back as she opened for him in eager invitation.

And as she and Cloud had looked at each other, a familiar scorching blue told her, he was thinking much the same thing.

Still, she'd insisted on a couple days to get ready, ostensibly to get the room cleaned up and straightened (and make some secret purchases), but realistically, it was because she was just plain frightened. This was a big step, and if she was scared, wouldn't Cloud and his stunted emotions be absolutely terrified? She fussed over the blankets, a cobbled hodgepodge of tattered quilts - not the most romantic, maybe not the way he she pictured the first bed she'd be sharing with a man, but wasn't it really the man that made the difference? It was her and Cloud's, and it was soft and comfortable, and it was theirs.

She'd closed down the bar tonight; with income improving, there were weeks she could even take two days off. If only she could talk Cloud into doing the same; he couldn't even get his days off to coordinate with hers. He'd at least agreed to make sure he was home early tonight, seven or eight at the latest, and to not drive anywhere that would get him too dirty. Tifa didn't want to waste time with a shower; as sexy as that idea might be, she wanted to get him right into bed.

She brought up a fresh wine bottle, one of the better ones from the latest improved batch; it got a little better every time she made it. Her customers seemed satisfied enough with it in any case, but she knew the difference. Two glasses, then at the last moment a flask of whiskey as well - Cloud's favorite - just in case he needed a little something extra.

It was nine o'clock when she finally heard Fenrir's engine; she realized she'd drank half the wine while she's been waiting.

Part of the deal had been Marlene's request that Cloud put her to bed this first night. Tifa barely had time to go down and greet Cloud, not even a kiss, before Marlene dragged him to what was now solely her room. It left Tifa time to return upstairs and bring out the surprise package she'd been saving - faux silk she'd bartered for, but still soft to the touch and suitably clingy, showing just enough to make him want to see more. She'd shaken out the fabric and laced up the black ribbons, when she suddenly heard thumping and whacking from downstairs. Startled, she was wondering if she should rush downstairs, even half-naked as she was, when the racket quieted as suddenly as if it had begun. Throwing a robe over her skimpy get up, she settled back to wait.

Sure enough, it was only a few minutes later that she heard Cloud and Marlene's voices murmur goodnight, and Cloud's familiar comforting footballs leading up the stairs. Entering the room, his brow creased slightly, he predictably headed to the whisky. Pouring himself a neat two fingers, he took a large swallow, standing with expression pensive.

"What was that all that noise about?" Tifa asked.

Cloud gave a half-grin. "Marlene wanted me to check under the bed for monsters," he said, chuckling. "She said it was my job to get rid of them. Wouldn't be convinced until I got my sword from the hall and poked around under the bed."

Tifa couldn't help but smile at that - Cloud a hero to a five-year-old girl. Well, he had been once, hadn't he? But now… Slyly, she let the robe drop to the floor - and Cloud nearly choked.

Setting his glass down slowly, he seemed to finally take note of her in the room. His eyes were intent; she could feel his thoughts traveling down her body, all along and back again. Suddenly, she was nervous without knowing why. Hadn't they planned this all along? What was the big deal? Yet now this step just seemed oh-so-big.

Cloud was frozen in place. It hadn't really hit him until he came upstairs and saw her dressed in that short little black… whatever those things were called… having taken the time to get his favorite drink and everything. She poured herself another glass of wine but hadn't yet touched it, one absentminded finger traveling around the glasses rim. "The bed looks nice." That was the only thing he could his brain could come up. Nice, huh? Is that the best you've got?

"It's got to be more comfortable than that caught you have set up downstairs." She brushed the sheets in a lazy manner, leaning back slightly and jutting her chest forward for emphasis.

Cloud took another swig of whiskey, stalling while he admired the view. The bed did look comfortable. And Tifa. Mmm, Tifa. And the bed…

She grabbed his free hand, pulling him gently toward her; he set down his now-empty glass and let her lead, allowed her to lower him slowly onto their bed. She stretched to lie beside him; he on his right side, her on her left, facing. "What's on your mind?" she asked.

He was mostly dressed; armaments discarded, but in vest and pants still. He lay on his outstretched arm; she curled her hands together under her ear. "Well," he began, "I don't know, it's been some time since we've been like this - you know, getting thrust into this setup with Marlene and all," he said. "We haven't really had much chance to be alone together."

For Cloud that was unusually direct; Tifa suspected she could thank the whiskey. But he was right - all the sneaking little bits of time hiding in any place they could find a few moments together, love in miniature. Her hopes for freedom, for romance had not been realized with Sephiroth's defeat. How had she ever thought her life might be simple? Instead, she was swallowed up with the practicalities of survival. In a world she had helped to save but that didn't even know her name. True, she had wanted it that way; just to move on in peace, go forward with Cloud, but easy it hadn't been. Easy was not a life she could hope to give him; that had burned in the inferno of Nibelheim along with the remains of both of their innocence.

"You make us sound like an old married couple," she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

An awkward pause. "Well, old, at least."

"We can go slowly," she said, soothing, as she reached for him.

Her clothes slipped to the floor as naturally as a breath falling away. Starting the moves with a hesitation that he hadn't felt in a while, he quickly found comfort in the familiar tangle of each other's bodies; as familiar and as exciting as when they were each new to the other.

"Slow" didn't last more than a few minutes. He started wonderfully so, tantalizing her with butterfly kisses, grazing her lips until she pulled him close, begging his lips deeper. Hands, tongues, moved of their own accord, the gestures known to best please the other.

He knew her body well by now, but she delighted in the novelty of being free of pressure, of just being able to enjoy each other at the moment. He had to have her not once, not twice, but… oh, who the hell's counting?

It was later - much later - that night; and, mostly satiated, they had slowed to a leisurely pace. Intertwined in the moonlight, Cloud's mind had begun to wander to what she said earlier. What was he supposed to do next? Should he ask her to marry him? Few people were even bothering to marry nowadays, but he would if she wanted to. Did she want him to give her a baby? He had to admit, he liked that idea… very much… but…

Cloud tried to let go and just feel, but his mind wouldn't let him. This is how it would be from now on. The words kept circling in his head. Hadn't this been what he had wanted. He loved Tifa terribly, always had. But now, living his dream he found himself at a loss.

His tender touches never failed to give her pleasure; he was always conscientious, always responsive to our needs, and she was grateful for that. But tonight, she couldn't help but feel… a distance. She climaxed quietly, the sweet release lulling her halfway to sleep; but as they separated, he seemed to be hardly there at all.

Tifa was usually the first to fall asleep, but tonight it eluded her. When he was making love to her, was the one time she could be assured of his full attention on her; but tonight, he had been distracted, and instead of holding her close as she drifted off, he turned away and passed out almost immediately.

How did he fit in? She wondered. Cloud was with her and Marlene in this house, in this bed; did that make him part of the family? It seemed like it should, but what did she know?

"We'll be alright, won't we?" She spoke in his direction, but her soft words were only for the empty air around her.

In sleep, he'd flopped back to face her, eyes scrunched shut; she wiggled closer, wanting to feel him near, as she spoke the question she most wanted to ask, but was always too afraid of the answer. "Do you love me?" she whispered, his lips close enough to kiss.

Cloud flinched, and she panicked. He opened his eyes partway, the fog of sleep still hanging low; she'd thought him soundly out.

"Hey, Cloud," she prodded him. "Do you love Marlene?"

Cloud seemed to barely register the second question; she dearly hoped he hadn't heard the first. "I guess I do," he mumbled into the pillow, "but I don't always know how to act around her."

"Even after all this time we've been together?"

Cloud sighed softly, eyelids drooping closed. "it's not just a matter of time."

"And what about you and me?" He didn't answer, and she was scared once again, worried she'd gone too far. "Sorry…" she rushed on.

"Don't be sorry," Cloud told her, his voice already speaking from dreams. "It's my problem."

Tifa held her breath, awaiting clarification, but as the minutes dragged his even breathing told her he'd returned to sleep he'd never fully woken from. It should be ours. Exhaling a deep sigh, she wished she could will tears to come, but instead a dull plodding sadness hung over her. With nothing else to be done about, it she curled up against him, and let the warmth of his body pull her to join him in sleep.

Hours later, Cloud awoke with a jolt. He couldn't remember what dreams he'd been having, but the words ringing in his head were clear. Do you love me? It hadn't been his imagination - that had been what she'd said. He was puzzled. Hadn't that been exactly what he'd been doing for hours before?

He turned, propping himself up on his elbows, gazing in the face of the woman sleeping by his side in this room - the first of what he hoped would be many nights to come. He still couldn't believe that after wishing forever, he was now privileged to enjoy her. Protect her. Care for her.

Love you? I've been waiting my whole life for you!

"How could you ever doubt?" he whispered to her sleeping form. A crease of worry he hadn't seen before marred the peaceful sleep he wanted her to enjoy. Sometimes he could hardly breathe, unable to believe she was really his. Maybe he should wake her up, tell her that; but what if it scared her off?

Instead, he thought he should just be grateful for what they already had, just enjoy it day by day. But now, in the darkest depths of the night he couldn't avoid the undeniable truth.

I'm not making you happy…

He didn't know what he needed to do, what he could do to make this better. Help me, Tifa, he thought; I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how to be the man for you.

The dead of night gave no answers. Perhaps the light of day would be better. For now, all he could do was wrap his arms around her, troubled sleep not alleviated by the plushness of the bed for the feeling of the woman beside him.

The light of day wasn't better.

It was another day out on deliveries, casually swiping away monsters to work through his crappy mood. But it didn't much help – he kept mulling over the night before, wishing he could have done something better.

What should have been a wonderful night now left a hangover of an intimate moment gone sour. He couldn't say things straight out. He couldn't risk that he would say the wrong thing, he couldn't take the chance of making a mistake and hurting her by accident. He just couldn't.

He should have been the one to make it special for her. And he'd essentially blown her off instead.

He was her hero, her lover, everything he'd wanted. He'd gotten his dream, but now he didn't know how to fill a promise that meant something new. He'd bring her the world if he could – in a way, he already had – but she deserved so much more.

Sometimes he found himself overwhelmed, drowning in his feelings for her, but no way to scream for help. Feeling and frustration in tandem conspiring to submerge him.

Tifa, It's harder than I thought. And even harder than that was trying to figure out why – and she wouldn't give him a clue.

He wasn't really angry with her. Or maybe he was, but it wasn't her fault. Or maybe it was her fault, but it was his fault for making it her fault –

He could go around in circles like this all day, and all he'd ever end up was lost.

A large rock appeared in the road, out of nowhere it seemed, and Cloud wrenched the handlebars to the right, nearly skidding out of control but at least missing a slam into the obstruction. Shaken, he turned back on course, reminding himself to keep his thoughts – and his eyes -on the road in front of him. It certainly wouldn't help his problems with Tifa if he came back to her a pancake.

Even after that, though, his mind still ran on autopilot, until he realized he was heading to the church. He'd been visiting more and more; what part of his subconscious had driven itself here today? Dismounting, he walked in and towards the flowers, staring at them for a long time, thinking.

Maybe it was a desire to see Aerith. She was another woman he had cared for, but he'd never had the unparalleled devotion he had for Tifa. And the way he was feeling today… Aerith had made him feel brave – but it was all just a front. Tifa made him feel weak, frightening him with how well she knew him. And left him wondering why she stuck with him anyway.

What if someday he didn't measure up? If she wanted a REAL man, not the emotionally stunted half-boy he still was. Someone who could give her all the things she needed now – she deserved that. Every man wanted to be his woman's knight in shining armor. Not for the first time, he wondered what kind of man he might have been if… none of what had happened, happened.

Then again, they might all be dead, so there was that.

He knew other men looked at her – he knew he had what they wanted. He was neither blind nor stupid, after all. He couldn't help but wonder if she ever looked back. His own eye didn't wander; why would he look elsewhere, when he already had all he wanted?

If only he knew how to build the bridge between their sadnesses.

He felt a bit guilty; there was plenty of worse sadness to go around. He saw those afflicted with geostigma every day – making his skin crawl, though not with disgust like most; it was a shudder of Sephiroth that razed his soul. The three of them were all healthy, and maybe they still had a chance to be happy.

He was grateful, at least, that he could financially contribute; but wasn't he burdening her in other ways? Today, the flowers didn't answer. Finally, with a shrug, he exited the church, knowing full well he'd be back soon enough. But now, it was time to go home.

Tifa streatched out her bare legs, resting her feet up on the dresser, staring out the window at the night sky of Edge – the stars the only light she had tonight.

And her only companions.

Power outages were still common, despite Reeve's best efforts to improve the grid. Tonight had been one. It had forced her to close down the bar, make it an early night – but here she was on the other side of midnight, still awake.

Cloud had warned her he'd likely be back late. Now, she wondered if he was coming home tonight at all. She'd peeked into the office earlier, in case she somehow missed Cloud coming in – he usually crashed there when he got home this time, so as not to wake her – but it was just as she knew she would find it. Empty. If only she could wish the same for her own thoughts.

The feel of their lovemaking the night before was still on her skin; the more so for infrequent it had been lately. But it had been her birthday; they'd had a small informal celebration, just as they'd had for Marlene the month before. (Barret had not made it to either, full of apology to Marlene; but his last conversation with Tifa was a weeping lament for what a terrible father he had been, another person feeling their loneliness. Tifa understood.)

After it was all done and Marlene put to bed, they'd retreated to their bedroom together; he was distracted, staring out the window. His head had been in the figurative clouds quite a lot lately, and she still didn't know why.

She came up beside him, his arm gently resting around her shoulders. Over the dimly lit cityscape of Edge, a shotting star swiped the sky, and they both flinched in remembrance; she turned to find him looking at her quizzically, as if surprised to see her there.

She snufggled closer. "What did you wish for?" she asked. He still struggled, she knew; she worried she was overburdening him with her endless demands. But she never lost her trust in him. It made the simple intimate moments like this worth all that much more.

He hung his head. "I'm not sure," he replied. "Maybe I've run out of wishes."

She nuzzled the crook of his neck. "Well, I wished for something," she told him. "I wished for… something we haven't done in a while." She bowed her head demurely, picking at unseen lint on his clothes.

"Oh?" was all he asked, and leaned in to kiss her.

It had been missing something, though; had been since the question she'd asked weeks ago remained unanswered. Had he said I love you since? How many times had he said it to her, ever? Apparently, not enough to be sure, leaving their encounter a little bittersweet.

Sharing a bed made it seem all the more real and permanent, but was it? Was Cloud even a part of this family? Or had she lost out to inescapable memories and faded dreams? She'd asked, what about us – but was there even an "us" to be worried about? He'd called her cheerful and strong; she no longer felt like either. Would he someday see through her and realize he'd made a mistake?

Or was this a result of more childlike regrets, perhaps a luxury that she could even allow herself the pettiness? She looked down at her ring; a reminder of him, even when he was absent. A metaphor for the adult form he was staring to take. Did that self still love her the way the boy had? Did he understand what adult love entailed?

She'd once been starry-eyed with thoughts of a hero, but now, she appreciated the less dashing things like gentleness and constancy. Small tidbits of romance accomplished nearly by accident. Getting supplies and better food than she had in the slums was a bigger deal than he realized (although, he had finally learned to make at least eggs and chips).

Did she ask him for too much? It wasn't that she wanted too much – she hoped. Cloud didn't yet understand that it wasn't perfection women wanted – it wasn't any one thing. That he was enough, imperfect as he was - because she was too.

Sighing, she finally forced herself to get up out of the chair. She curled herself around a pillow, pretending it was him, at let simple exhaustion finally carry her away.

Drifting through the turgid flow of light that was the Lifestream, Aerith saw without seeing, heard without hearing. Reaching just a little further to where she could almost cross the divide; but though she could not yet break the surface, she could still feel far too much.

Aerith hurt.

Zack was worried too, of course. Maybe more so, because he couldn't see for himself; he had to depend on Aerith's sight for them both. Cloud and Tifa's pain was oozing over, and it didn't take much for Marlene to catch the mood. It was a part of her heritage after all. And through Marlene, Aerith saw.

She could feel Marlene, just a little more each time. Sense her emotions. And through Marlene, she gathered worry for Cloud and Tifa and their future.

Aerith saw Tifa's self-doubt running so deep that she could no longer recognize the best in herself. She was the strongest of fighters, the most amazing of mothers. Aerith felt a familiar flash of jealousy for how easily Tifa balanced those two sides of her being, twin aspects of womanhood – together the power that Aerith herself had never quite managed to emulate.

And then there was Cloud.

Cloud needed to be a hero to someone. That was who he was. But what was a hero when there were no more monsters to fight? Did he take the fight against himself? Did Cloud bear his demons inside his heart the way Vincent did inside his body? His fears of being provider, lover, father.

A father…

Aerith had never known her father – but she'd had her hero. And her hero always was… A father was another kind of hero.

Though Marlene saw Cloud as a hero, would that be enough? Could a daughter inspire him the way he needed, inspire him to be a better man?

That's what Cloud needed, a boy, someone to reflect himself. Someone who would need Cloud badly to be the man he looked, up to, to give Cloud the push to rise to the occasion and fill this new role he'd been given. Cloud had not realized he could not find forgiveness dwelling in the past – no one could – instead, he'd have to pay it forward.

And Aerith would help him on his way. She'd loved him just a little; but more importantly, it was hers to protect hm, guide him. As she always knew she would.

Cloud alone, she might not have entrusted a child to – broken as he still was – but with Tifa by his side, she could rest assured no kid would go neglected.

She stretched her presence, following the blackened flows Sephiroth had created, those tendrils of sickened spirit energy that led her to those with geostigma. It was those with the taint inside them that she could most easily reach.

She wished she could help them all – but she didn't have that power, not yet. But perhaps this one life she could save. She'd seen him among the many orphans desperate, lonely, with geostigma lurking to catch them at their weakest. But this one stood out; his sensitivity, his reticence, a heart so reminiscent of Cloud himself. Weeping in the rubble, alone and downtrodden; as he drew closer to the church - a place where she could center her power – her wishes, her love, went out to him. The slightest brush impelled him forward, steering him to where she knew he'd be found.

At least one life…

Denzel was all alone. It had been down to just the two of them – just him and Rix. But then he'd had to go and screw it up.

"Let's go catch some rates to eat," he'd suggested, as the last of their food dwindled to nothing. "You know, like real slum kids."

Rix gave him a look of scorn he'd never forget. "That's really what you think of us?"

After he had stormed off, Denzel had waited and waited, but Rix never returned. It was a harsh lesson, and it really forced him to think. Rix had been right. He had considered himself something special, something different. Being on the streets hadn't humbled him, even after all the time he'd spent on them. And now he was one them by himself.

As the days passed in lonely repetition, he found himself closer and closer to giving up. He understood now how that girl had felt when she said I want to go home again. He wished for that so badly; instead, all he had was the framed photo of his parents he'd carried with him all this time. The glass was cracked, the photo was ripped, but it was all he had to remind him of happier times.

Rats scattered through the rubble. Full of germs, Rix had said. We'd never eat one. Maybe if he ate one, he could get sick and then it would all be over.

For days, maybe weeks, he poked around the rubble half-heartedly. Today, more exhausted than usual, he plopped on a discarded beam. He wiped his hand to his forehead, ignoring the black smudge that came away; he wanted to pretend a little longer that it wasn't really there.

Looking up, something caught his attention. He'd wandered near this church several times before, even slept inside for a couple nights, but he'd never seen the large motorcycle parked out front today. It wasn't like anything he'd ever seen; he had to go and check it out. The rats could wait.

He looked it over, stroking its shining engine – someone must be taking very good care of it – when he saw, hanging off the bike, a cell phone. It had been so long since he'd seen one. Impulsively, he grabbed it, dialing a number so familiar to him. But over and over, he got the message he knew he'd get. Your call to Sector Seven cannot be completed as dialed. Your call to Sector Seven cannot be completed as dialed. Your call to Sector Seven –

He hung up.

In anger, he nearly smashed the phone on the ground, stopping himself at the last moment. He looked at the phone's screen; a logo of a wolf caught his eye. Curious, he scrolled through the missed calls. They were all from a place called Seventh Heaven. Where had he heard that name before? It sounded nice.

He pushed redial, panicking before anyone picked up. To his surprise, the phone rand right away; nervous but with nothing to lose, he picked up, and a woman's voice came through.

"Cloud! You never call, is everything okay?"

Cloud must be the person who owned the phone then, and the bike. The woman on the other end was probably his wife… She sounded so nice… He started crying, thinking of those rats, and suddenly he didn't want to die so badly after all.

The pain shot through his arms like a lance tearing his skin; his hands spasmed, and he dropped the phone, tumbling to the ground. He could hear the woman calling to him through the phone, hey are you okay, but everything was going dim… No no please don't be the black stuff not the sickness not now… inky drips of ichor oozed out and plopped on the ground…

He saw a pair of boots running to him. A man's voice this time asking hey are you okay, a hand reached out – and that was the last thing Denzel saw.