In the roughly two years that Tifa's mother had battled her illness, she left Nibelheim for treatment three times. Nibelheim had a village doctor who tended to its residents and midwives to deliver babies, but the hospitals in Midgar were far more advanced. Tifa's father had explained all of it to Tifa very carefully before the first time they went away.
A helicopter visited Nibelheim every so often, to deliver supplies or transport boys and men who had enlisted in the military or were headed to Midgar for work. Tifa's father had managed to arrange passage for them when needed, as Tifa's mother was often too weak for other, more lengthy modes of travel.
They were lucky. Both of her parents had repeated the sentiment and Tifa did her best to believe it herself. The treatment her mother received in Midgar helped. She returned with more energy each time and a renewed hope that the treatment might last.
But it never did.
Without fail, as the days passed, Tifa's mother would begin to sleep longer. Bad days would outnumber the good ones. Tifa's father's face would grow tight, and he would suggest more and more that Tifa spend the day at Emilio's to give her mother a break.
Tifa knew what that meant. She would begin to dread the day she heard the whirring of the helicopter overhead. We are lucky. She would try to repeat it, reminding herself that they were fortunate to be able to seek treatment for her mother in Midgar. Treatment that gave her weeks of renewed energy, free of pain.
I want Mom to stay. It was a secret thought Tifa had, one that she buried deep down. She knew it was selfish and she never spoke it aloud, even to her friends. And especially not to her parents. After the first time, Tifa never even cried when they left.
Emilio's parents, and all the other adults in the village, praised Tifa for how brave she was. Her cheerfulness despite everything. Her father was relieved at the assurances of how well Tifa was coping with it all. Everyone wanted Tifa to be okay, and so she was.
Tifa became attuned to what others needed from her. Her father needed to be able to care for her mother, without worrying about Tifa. Emilio's parents, though they took good care of Tifa, were busy running the general store and raising their boys. They needed her to be quiet and well behaved. And her friends did not know what to do with Tifa's sadness. They just wanted to have fun.
By the time she was eight, Tifa was well-practiced at catering to what everyone else needed from her. She knew what to say and do so that everyone around her would be happy, and that they also would believe that Tifa was happy herself. Tifa was pleased that she had managed to work everything out. That everyone was convinced.
Almost, anyways.
From time to time, when Tifa's mother was home, she would reach out a hand to cup Tifa's chin. Although she grew thinner and weaker by the day, Tifa would always remember how strong yet gentle her mother's hands were. She would tip Tifa's face up and study her face, her eyes troubled.
In those moments, Tifa would smile at her mother, but she never could quite hold her gaze. Eventually, she would grow antsy, squirming beneath her mother's grip. Sighing, her mother would release her.
Sometimes, at night, after her parents put Tifa to bed, she could hear them arguing in low voices. With her ear pressed against the crack of her bedroom door, Tifa could hear words. Midgar. Treatment. And more than once, Tifa heard her own name.
The spring that Tifa turned eight, it was becoming clear that her mother might leave again. Even on warm days, her mother was cold. She would nod off in the middle of Tifa talking to her. The village doctor came to see her almost daily and would talk to her parents in a serious, somber voice.
Tifa braced herself for the day that her father would pull her aside and say the words she hated to hear. Pumpkin, Mom and I are going away again. Just for a bit, so she can feel better. You'll be a good, brave girl while we're away, won't you?
But it never happened. One sunny spring day, the helicopter came. Tifa was sitting with her parents in the kitchen when she heard it. At the sound of it, her father's face grew strange and tight. If Tifa did not know better, she might have thought he was going to cry.
Her mother's face, however, was serene. She smiled softly at Tifa and reached over to tuck her hair behind her ears. Tifa, love, finish up your breakfast. You must have grown three inches overnight, you need to eat more. Tifa tried not to look at the untouched plate in front of her mother.
At first, Tifa was happy that her mother was staying home. Tifa's unspoken wish had come true. She had more time with her mother. Tifa would read quietly with her, snuggled up close under blankets. Often, Tifa would catch her mother just staring at her, her gaze as warm and comforting as the loving hand that often reached out to hold her face.
On good days, they would go on gentle walks outside as a family. Tifa's father would carefully support her mother on one side and Tifa would hold her hand on the other. It reminded Tifa of the walks they used to take together when Tifa was little. Except then, Tifa would walk in the middle, and her parents would swing her up towards the sky.
Tifa always felt loved and protected walking between her parents. Their arms felt so strong as they lifted her up, then eased her safely back down. Now, her mother's hand felt frail in her own. Her steps were shaky. But her smile was the same as always as she looked between Tifa and her father. It told Tifa that she too, felt loved and protected walking in the middle of their small family.
Soon, though, there were no longer good days. Tifa's mother mostly slept during the day. At night, Tifa could sometimes hear her mother cry out. Her father moved slowly around the house, as if his body were heavy.
Tifa's initial happiness at having her mother home dissipated.
And then, one day, her father knocked cautiously on Tifa's bedroom door. He sat next to Tifa on her bed. For a long while, he looked everywhere but at Tifa. He seemed uncomfortable to her, tense. Tifa was not sure why. They had this conversation many times before. She knew what he was going to say. It was time for her parents to go away again.
Yet, that was not what her father said at all. Instead, he told her that her mother would not be getting better. She would not leave again to seek treatment. The effects were only temporary, and her mother was tired. She wanted to spend what time she had left at home, with her family.
Time left? The words and the tears in her father's eyes confused and frightened Tifa. She had questions for her father, but she did not know how to put them into words. And the lost look on her father's face suggested to Tifa that, even if she were able to ask them, he might not have the answer.
So instead of saying anything, Tifa did something she had not done in a long time. She climbed into her father's lap and wrapped her arms around his middle. Her father returned the embrace, clinging so tightly to Tifa that she could barely breathe. He pressed his face to Tifa's hair. They sat there together without speaking for a long time.
A time came when Tifa's mother no longer got out of bed at all. Their home was somehow simultaneously quieter than usual, yet also buzzing with activity. The doctor was often there. The other women in the village brought over food and would come to sit awhile with Tifa's mother. They would hug Tifa before leaving, trying to wipe their eyes discreetly.
Cloud's mother had visited too.
With both Clouds standing silently at her side, Tifa watched as Claudia stepped out of her childhood home. She had forgotten Claudia had come by on the day that her mother had died. She had left in a hurry, pausing only briefly to place a gentle hand on Tifa's head.
Now, they watched as Claudia walked over to her own house. She did not go inside. Rather, she sat down on the steps in front of the door. Cloud's eyes were fixed on his mother, but child Cloud's eyes strayed to the window. A small face poked out from behind the curtains, watching.
Claudia bent her face into her knees. She started to cry.
Tifa knew those cries. The grief and pain behind them. It spoke to something in Tifa, an emptiness inside her. A void left behind from the loss of a friend. The way Claudia was crying was the same way Tifa had cried after Aerith had died.
Tifa's eyes were drawn away from Claudia as Cloud moved forward. He walked slowly, unable to take his eyes off his mother. He sat on the steps by her side, watching her all the while. From the window, his younger self watched too.
Much as Cloud was drawn to his mother, Tifa thought of her own. Her eyes flitted between Claudia and her childhood home. If Claudia had just left, Tifa knew that her younger self was inside at that very moment. It was the last time Tifa had seen her mother.
"Do you want to go inside?"
A small voice piped up beside her. Child Cloud was watching her anxiously. Tifa glanced over at Cloud, sitting at his mother's side.
"They'll be okay. She stayed out there for a while." He looked up at Tifa insistently and repeated his question, "Do you want to go inside your house?"
"Can I?" Tifa asked.
Child Cloud nodded solemnly.
"It's your memory," he said. "You can go back to it if you want to."
She was not sure that she did. Tifa was frozen, her heart pounding in her ears.
A small hand slipped into hers. Child Cloud looked up at her, his face serious and focused on Tifa. It was a look Tifa recognized from his older self. Despite herself, she felt reassured.
"I can come too, if you're scared." His little voice was full of bravado. "You have to hold my hand, though. It's your memory, not mine."
Tifa gave his hand a squeeze.
Suddenly, they were inside the house, in a darkened room. Together, they approached the bed at its center. A small, dark-haired girl stood by it, her head leaning against the mattress. A hand lifted from the bed to stroke her hair.
Come lay with me for a bit, Tifa. The voice was weak, but full of feeling. Child Tifa carefully climbed into the bed and snuggled close, tucking her head beneath her mother's. Thin arms wrapped around her, holding her close. There's my little girl. Don't you know I would keep you here forever, if I could? With me, safe. The mother and daughter held each other.
Tifa examined her mother, as she had been the very last time she saw her. She was so frail. Her dark, thick hair had thinned and was dull against the pillow. But her eyes as she blinked up at the ceiling, were the same.
"I didn't stay safe, Mom."
Tears choked Tifa's voice as she spoke to the memory of her mother. She thought about all that she had endured since her mother held her for the last time. All the times she had longed for the safety of her mother's arms.
Tifa's home had been destroyed, burnt to the ground. She had seen her father die, murdered. After, she had been cut down, left alone to bleed to death on the floor of the reactor. Tifa, who at age fifteen had never left her small village, had to survive in a strange city all by herself, filled with dangers she did not understand.
Once again, she had watched her home burn. Her friends had died. Jessie, Biggs, Wedge. Aerith. She had found and lost Cloud, over and over. Tifa had been left on the cold stone floor of the Northern Crater, her faith in her most precious memories shattered and her heart broken. She had been gassed, nearly killed. Seen Cloud reduced to an empty shell.
And still, she had survived.
Tifa looked between her mother on the bed and the small boy at her side. She looked at child Cloud's long, blond spiky hair. It struck a strange chord inside of her. Tifa shook herself, looking back at her mother. Her eyes were open, looking up at the ceiling. They were reddish brown, the same as Tifa's eyes.
Cloud's hair, her mother's eyes. They made Tifa remember someone else.
Memories came to her of a different bed. One she herself had lain in. A bed that might have been Tifa's own deathbed. Delirious with fear and pain, she had cried out for her mother in that bed. Strong hands held her and the voice she loved most in the world begged her to stay with him. But still, all Tifa had wanted was to see her mother.
And then, when the worst had passed, she had.
Exhausted, close to collapsing, Tifa had looked down at the tiny infant laying across her chest. She had been wet and bloody, a small, wrinkled thing. But when the infant opened her eyes, Tifa's mother looked up at her.
Even as a newborn, their daughter resembled Cloud in most ways. But her eyes were beautiful, brown with a hint of red. Although Cloud insisted they were Tifa's eyes, Tifa always saw her mother when she looked at her daughter's eyes.
"I had a daughter, Mom."
Tifa whispered the words, strange as they were to her. The child, Cloud, holding her hand looked up at her. Tifa thought about how Cloud was as child. His sweetness. She thought about how he was as a man. His quiet strength. His loyalty and bravery.
She thought about herself, how she had been as a child. The bold and exuberant girl in Cloud's memories. The passive, people pleasing child that she had become. Tifa thought about what she had once told Aerith about her mother, how much Tifa wanted to be like her. Kind and loving and strong.
"It wasn't easy without you, Mom. My life."
Tifa bowed her head, tears pricking her eyes.
"My life made me someone I wasn't proud to be, sometimes. Someone I'm scared you wouldn't be proud of either."
She took a deep breath. The child at her side clung tightly to her hand. She looked down at him again but saw someone else. A different child.
"But I had a daughter. She had everything you wanted for me, Mom. Everything that I wanted for myself."
Tifa closed her eyes briefly and saw her. A child who was safe and protected and loved. The hurts she suffered were normal hurts. She made it through life undamaged and whole. Her parents loved her more than anything and she inherited the best of them both. She was what they might have been, if life had not been so cruel.
"I wish you could have met her."
Again, Tifa looked at her mother's face. Her kind eyes. They were so beautiful, even as she laid in bed, close to death.
"She has your eyes," Tifa told her. "It's why we named her Thea."
Images swarmed Tifa. They were images she had seen before, though she was certain they had not yet occurred. For once, they were not fleeting, but stayed with her, filling her with a sudden warmth. One memory, a sweet one, rose to the surface of her mind. A memory of her daughter, beautiful and clear.
Thea is crying. She is sad, so sad. Tifa holds her in a chair and together they rock. Back and forth, back and forth. Tifa smooths back her hair. My little Thea. Cry all you need. Her mother once told her that, and Tifa says the words to own daughter now. The chair creaks beneath them. Tifa sings to her. Bits and pieces of a lullaby. A soft hum.
Marlene's cat had died. The cat had been with them since before Thea was born. Cloud liked to joke that the cat did more than any of them in their family. He worked at Seventh Heaven, an expert mouser that also charmed the customers. He soothed and guarded the children, curling up in the bed of whichever child needed it most in the moment. He entertained them all with his antics, kitten-like and playful, even when he was old.
His name was Jack, but they called him everything but that. Jacky, Jack-o, JayJay, Jack Attack. And once Thea started talking, just Kitty. He was more than a pet. He was an employee, a friend, a protector. A family member. And now he was gone.
It is the first time in Thea's five years of life that she has experienced the fragility of life. The cruel, relentless sorrow of death. Marlene and Denzel, aggrieved themselves, tried to comfort Thea with all sorts of things. Hugs and kisses. Funny memories about Jack the cat from before she was born.
But Thea was inconsolable. Thea and Cloud were two peas in a pod. So alike in appearance and demeanor, that Yuffie, master of nicknames, dubbed her the true Cloud Junior. But even Cloud was unable to soothe her. Thea only wanted her mother. And so, when Cloud took Marlene and Denzel to get flowers for Jacky's grave, Tifa and Thea stayed behind.
Her first experience of death brings up all sorts of feelings. Initiates all sorts of questions that Tifa is not prepared to answer. Mommy, do people die too? The question makes Tifa want to do something she promised herself that she would never do. She wants badly to lie to her daughter. Instead, she says yes. They sit together quietly as Thea contemplates her answer.
When Thea speaks again, her voice is tiny. Even moms die? Even you? The questions are like knives. Though Tifa has had terrible things said to her in her life, nothing pains her as much as these innocently spoken words.She holds her daughter tighter. I wish I could keep you here forever, she thinks. With me, safe.
Tifa gathers all of her courage before answering. Yes, sweet girl, even moms. Even me. But not for a long time. She kisses the top of Thea's head and pulls her even closer. My mom died, you know. Dad's too. The words have Thea squirming in her arms, looking up at Tifa.
Thea is not a child prone to sadness. Her curiosity overrides her grief, and she sits up straight, looking at Tifa with round eyes. Her small hands impatiently wipe her tears away. Your mom? There is awe in her voice as she asks the question. Tifa nods. Yes, remember how I told you that you have her eyes? It's why Dad and I gave you her name.
Tifa smiles at her daughter, despite the sadness tugging at her heart. My own mother died, Tifa says again. But even though she's gone, she's here in me and she's in you too. Thea's eyes, watching her were huge. I see her every time I look at you, Tifa tells her. She coaxes Thea back into her arms, and the child sighs, relaxing into her entirely.
They sit together quietly for a bit, but for the creaking of the chair as they rock. After a while, Tifa speaks again. A long, long time from now, when I die, I'll still be with you. She strokes Thea's face, just above her eyes. Right here, in your eyes, she says. Tifa then presses her hand to her daughter's heart. And here too.
Thea is smiling, her tears forgotten. She grabs Tifa's hand and presses it to the top of her head. What about here? Tifa laughs and tries to flatten the unruly blonde strands. That, Tifa says, will always be your father.
Even standing in the dark room where her mother had died, Tifa smiled. She looked down at her mother, holding her childhood self. Her mother pressed a kiss onto the head of child Tifa in her arms. My girl, my sweet girl, Thea said. Her hand lifted to Tifa's cheek. You have such a tender heart. A kind heart. Stay that way, my love. The hand fell away.
Tifa remembered the words she said next. The last ones her mother ever said to her. Have a sweet life, my love. A good life. I wish I could be there to see it.
"I didn't have an easy life, Mom." Tifa repeated her words from before. "But it was a sweet life. A good one. You were there with me. You never really left."
Her mother's head turned, and even though Tifa knew it was only a memory, she swore her mother looked right at her. Though her mother's face was tired and pained, Tifa could see the peace in her eyes. She closed them. Her mother had fallen asleep.
"Tifa?"
A tug to Tifa's hand brought her back to the present. It reminded her where she was. What she was supposed to be doing. She was not here to dwell on her own memories. She was here to save Cloud.
Tifa flinched.
An abrupt pain had blossomed across her head, starting in her right temple and spreading across to the left. The force of it nearly caused her to let go of the hand in her own, but the child beside her held on tightly. Slowly, it passed. Tifa breathed in and out measuredly, as the sharp pains dulled to an ache.
"Tifa!" Child Cloud's voice was urgent. "Are you okay?"
She nodded. Her head felt empty. Her heart, tender.
"I'm alright," she confirmed, despite the strangeness of the feeling.
Child Cloud accepted her words, though his face was still concerned. He looked around Tifa's memory anxiously.
"We can't stay here any longer," he reminded her. "The day isn't over yet."
Tifa nodded. "I know."
"Do you remember what happened next?" he asked.
She did. Tifa knew that soon her father would come to get Tifa from the bed. To spend a few final moments alone with her mother himself. Downstairs, Tifa would sit with Emilio's mother and the doctor. They had minutes, not even an hour, before her mother would die.
After, their home would be anything but quiet. The villagers would leap into action, filling their home with food, condolences, and shared memories of Thea. Dozens of hands would stroke Tifa's hairs. Push food into Brian's hand and kiss his cheek.
And eventually, overwhelmed by it all, the children would go outside to play.
Once, Tifa remembered very little about this part. She remembered it better now, after her first foray into the Lifestream. But still, she had been hurt badly on this day. Between the trauma of her mother's passing and her head injury, the memories still were strange and blurred.
"I tried to find Mom. On the other side of the mountain. You and the other boys came with me, but only you stayed."
Child Cloud nodded at Tifa's words.
"It's important to me," he confessed. "I hate to say it, but it's a very important memory."
He looked down at his feet, suddenly unable to meet Tifa's eyes.
"It became…a sealed up, secret wish. One that no one could ever know."
Tifa knelt to his level, holding his little hand in both her own. Around them, the bedroom disappeared as they left Tifa's memories behind. They were outside again. On the front porch of his childhood home, Cloud was now alone. His face was confused and worried.
Both Clouds watched her, a pleading look in their eyes.
"It's okay," Tifa told them. "You can tell me."