Cloud has been here before. He is trapped in a haze of green, neither sleeping nor awake. Perhaps he is dreaming. The things he sees are like dreams. They are beautiful and confusing. He is captivated, entirely at their whim. The dreams pull him in, again and again.
Some of the dreams are more like nightmares. They are distorted and terrible, but in a way, the nightmares make sense to him more than the dreams. The dreams, the beautiful ones, cannot possibly belong to him. Surely, they belong to someone else. Someone who deserves them. He is an interloper, watching them with longing and shame.
But the nightmares belong to him. The blood, the pain, the suffering are familiar. They feel right. Deserved. This he knows better than he knows himself. Which is easily said because he does not know himself at all. He has no self. Just dreams and nightmares.
Is he even sleeping? Perhaps they are not dreams or nightmares at all. Likely, he is dead. This must be his punishment for what he did while he was living, though he cannot quite remember what exactly that was. Something terrible, he is certain.
Why else would he be subjected to the images that flood him? The terrible ones are agonizing, but somehow the beautiful ones hurt worse. No torture could be worse than to see and feel them yet know that they could never be his.
Most disconcerting of all are the moments when he has the sense that he is in two places at once. Which place is real? Was it this place, where he is floating and lost, jumping from dream to nightmare and back to dream again? Or was it the other place? The one where he feels solid and strange. Locked in. Trapped.
Of the other place, he sees and hears only in snippets. They interrupt his dreaming from time to time. He blips in and out of it. The other place breaks through, and it is quick, too quick, for him to hold onto. When he sees it, when he hears it, he tries to hold on. But it is like reaching for the wind. Impossible to grasp.
Still, he tries. Because the other place is not really a place. Rather, it is a voice. It is also a touch, warm and gentle. It is a feeling that he cannot name. He only knows the strength of it. It is the realest thing he knows. This feeling is the only reason he holds on. Tries to resist the temptation to be absorbed entirely into the dreamlike world that tries to consume him.
"Cloud, please."
Please, what? Cloud, who? He wished he knew. The voice is pleading. The voice is begging.
"Please, Cloud, tell me what you want me to do. Tell me you can see me, that you can hear my voice. I came this far, believing in what we have together…"
Suddenly, he has a body. It feels and it senses. A chair beneath him. A warm weight on his legs. Dampness seeping into the fabric that rests against his knees. A sound, a terrible one. Crying. Sobs muffled against his legs.
He wants to do something, anything to make it stop. To make it better. But he cannot move. He is stuck. There is nothing he can do. He is –
A puppet.
A failure.
That is right. He is a failure. The tears, the crying, and the pain – he is frozen before it. He does not have the strength to do what needs to be done.
Weak. He is weak. He has been here before. He has been this weak before. He has failed at this before. It is a reoccurring theme in his nightmares. He hears the crying. He sees himself fail, over and over again.
Cloud is outside. The ground is dusty. He wears shorts and a white tee shirt. Houses surround him and before him, a wooden water tower. Children are shouting. Their running feet kick up dust. A rowdy game of catch and chase.
One child does not run or shout. She hides against a wooden pillar. Looks up to the sky. Her eyes are filled with tears. The little girl is sad, really sad. So sad it stops Cloud in his tracks. He feels strange inside. His chest hurts. It feels bad.
He can fix this. Nothing has ever mattered more to him. Once, he knew how. He remembers, though the memory is distant. It is an early memory, perhaps his first. A little girl, practically a baby. Dark haired. Crying, unable to stop.
Things were so simple then. He had known exactly what to do. Cloud had only been little himself. He had little to offer, but he was willing to share the best he had. Glady, if it would make his friend feel better.
A rock was all it had taken. A pretty rock. The roundest and most shiny rock Cloud had found. Dropped into a chubby hand. It made the crying stop. The little girl smiled and Cloud was so overwhelmed, all he could do was run to his mother to hide his face in her lap.
But now, Cloud does not know what to do. He does not know how to make the sadness go away, but he is certain it would take more than just a rock. So he stands there and watches. And wishes.
Another child passes, feet kicking up dust as he runs past. With an outstretched hand, he hits the girl by the water tower. Her startled gasp hits Cloud in the chest. The way she stumbles makes him grit his teeth. Ha! Got you, Tifa! You're it now!
A new feeling seizes Cloud. He cannot make the sadness go away, but he can act on this feeling. It is immediate and demanding. Cloud has to do something about it, and he has to do it now.
So he does. He charges. With both hands, he shoves. Cloud is shouting. The anger feels good. The other boy is on the ground. When another boy tackles him from behind, it is almost a relief. Cloud swings his fists. The boys swing back. They are all on the ground.
Even when a bigger, stronger hand pulls him away, Cloud still feels angry. He still wants to fight. His lip is bleeding, he hurts, but he does not care. His fists are still clenched.
But then he sees it. Another adult, a woman. A child in her arms. Now, the little girl is crying in earnest. A hand closes on Cloud's shoulder. Come on, now. It's time for you to go home. Cloud does not resist. He is not angry any longer. He feels defeated.
If I only I were SOLDIER.
He wants so badly to be strong. But he is not strong. He is not strong enough to save anyone. Especially her. She will cry and she will be hurt and he will not be strong enough. He will fail her. Over and over.
There are dried tears on her cheeks now. And there is blood. It stains Cloud's glove as he carefully pulls her limp body into his arms. It stains his shirt too – the shirt of SOLDIER's uniform. No, it is just a regular, lowly soldier's uniform. A Shinra security officer's, a grunt's. It belongs to a nobody.
That could not be right, could it? Cloud looks down and again sees a SOLDIER's uniform. That is better, he supposes. But what does it matter? She is bleeding in his arms, and he is too late. He is certain she is already dead. He has failed her. The pain is unbearable.
Your friend died in your arms, and you didn't even shed a tear. Why is that?
Cool air whips Cloud's face. He is up high and breeze contrasts with the heat of something burning. He smells metal and smoke. Hears bullets firing and angry shouts. But for the moment, he is in a pocket of quiet. A safe alcove. Again, there is a woman in his arms. Again, she is dying.
Oh no…Tifa's crying, she says. Did I say something wrong? Cloud looks up from his dying friend and sees her. Hunched over with grief, face crumpled, cheeks wet. He cannot look for longer than a moment. He grimaces. Turns his face away. Something is clenching in his chest like a vice.
But still, he does not cry.
Even when his friend goes limp, the last of her fight leaving her, he does not cry. But Tifa does. She sobs her friend's name. Jessie…Buries her face in her hands. Cloud hates it, but he does not know what he is supposed to do. Hey, is all he manages.
Stop crying, he wants to tell her. Please, stop, I can't stand it, please Tifa don't cry. I –
He does not know what to do. Why is that? A voice answers him. The cold voice that seems to always be there. The words are part of him now. He does not know who he is, but the voice always has the answers. The answers always confirm his worst fears.
He does not love. He cannot grieve. Truly, he is not even alive in the same way that you are.
But he wants to be alive. To love and grieve. He tries. For her, he tries.
He is standing now. The night air smells like flowers. Cloud smells something else, something just as sweet if not sweeter – Tifa. She is close, so close. Her hair brushing against his cheek. She is warm and real and full of hurt and need. Her sobs are muffled against his chest, and it feels like they bypass his ears and cut straight to his heart.
Her hand lands on his shirt. She is leaning into him, but it is not enough. So Cloud tries. He meets the strength of her pain with the strength of his arms. He pulls her into him. She was close before, but he pulls her even closer. It helps, he thinks. The cries fade, anyways.
Cloud…Cloud, you're hurting me. Immediately, he lets her go. Hates himself, for a brief, sharp moment. Stupid of him, to even try. But then, she thanks him. Looks at him. And though her eyes are still full of tears, she smiles.
It is beautiful. It makes him almost believe in the possibility that maybe, maybe he can do this. Even though he did not quite get it right this time, maybe next time he might.
Shut up, miserable failure.
There are many next times. And he does not get it right. It is yet more evidence he is just a failure. A miserable failure.
As before, Cloud smells flowers. But this time, he is alone. He is on the ground, a thin bedroll beneath him. He feels unwell. His arm hurts. He is nauseous, overcome with chills and burning with fever. Cloud is sick, too sick to get up and too sick to sleep.
Despite himself, his hand wanders to his pocket. It closes around a phone. There is a message on it. He knows this. The phone rang earlier that night, and he did not have the strength to answer it. He never does anymore. Because he knows that if he answers, he will not have the strength to stay away.
And he has to stay away. It is the best for everyone, really. They are beautiful and precious and Cloud is too weak to keep them safe. All he does is hurt them, make things worse. He fears what will happen if he gets too close.
But he cannot remove himself from them entirely. He keeps his phone. He listens to her messages. They hurt, but he knows he deserves the pain. Sometimes the sharpness of it distracts him from the pain in his body. It is better to feel her this way than not at all.
Cloud presses a button. Holds the phone to his ear.
At first, all he hears is soft breathing. Interrupted by a stuttering catch, a little gasp. Then, a familiar voice. Cloud…it's me again. A pause that has his stomach sinking. Denzel had a bad day. Another pause. He can tell she is muffling the phone against something. Trying to hide that she is crying. Sorry, she says when she comes back on. He's doing a bit better. For now, anyways. Just thought that you would want to know.
A longer pause. Cloud presses the phone to his ear. Listens to her hesitate and breath. He cannot hear it in her silence, but he is certain she is still crying. He feels it in his chest. His hand grips the phone so tightly, he is afraid it might shatter. Cloud…where are you?
It is a good question. Where is he? Somehow, he knows he is not actually in a church. There is not really a phone in his hand, pressed against his ear. Where am I? Floating. Lost and confused. Who am I? That is the better question.
A failed experiment. A puppet, made of Jenova cells, mako, and memories.
That would make sense. Perhaps it explains why he cannot get it right. Why he hurts her and everyone he cares about, again and again. Why he lacks the strength to protect them. To take away the pain.
But then, there are the other images he sees. The ones that are like dreams, too wonderful to be real. In them, he is someone different. Someone who knows what to do, knows what to say. The dreams cannot be true, but he is drawn to them. He wants them more than anything he has ever wanted.
Tifa is standing in front of him. They are separated by the sleek countertop of a bar. Cloud is holding her hand between them and Tifa is talking to him. But suddenly, she stops. Her chin wobbles and her lips are trembling. She squeezes her eyes shut.
She is trying not to cry. To hide her pain from him.
And somehow, Cloud knows just what to do. He moves decisively, without hesitation. He moves around bar, reaches for Tifa. Pulls her to him, cradling the back of her head against his chest and wrapping his arm around her back.
He knows what to say too. Tifa, hey. It's okay. Her hair is silky between his fingers. The delicate skin of her temple is so soft as he brushes his lips against it. Just cry, okay? It's alright. I'm right here. His heart is breaking in two, but he stands steady for her. Wraps his arms a bit tighter when she lets out a single sob. That's it. I've got you.
She cries and talks and cries. He holds her. How does he know how to do that? To hold her against him with just the right amount of gentleness and strength? The exact way to rub between her shoulder blades, then along her spine so she melts into him entirely?
It feels right and it feels impossible. It cannot be his.
What comes after feels even more impossible. The soft way he speaks to her. How he traces her face with careful fingertips, brushes his knuckles along her cheek. The way she smiles when his lips follow the same path across her face before landing on her mouth. Her teeth graze his lip, coaxing a groan, and her hands tug him close.
Ridiculous, how happy it makes him. How their bodies fit together perfectly, and she feels familiar to him. Just like home. It is perfection. It is bliss.
It is not for him.
He pushes the images away, though he knows they will lure him back.
Is what you're feeling even real? It's time you stop pretending, Cloud.
The voice is right. He should not pretend that he made for anything but pain.
He is a failed experiment. A puppet. Put together piece by piece by Hojo five years ago, with Jenova cells and mako.
Even puppets had purposes. What was his? Not to give comfort. Certainly not to love. A puppet does not feel. It does not think or decide. A puppet does what it is told.
You are a puppet. If I wished for her to be hurt, you would do it for me.
No. No, no, no. Not that. Anything but that.
Cloud's head hurts. He smells mako and blood.
Jenova would become anyone to fool her prey. Cloud is moving to his feet. His sword in hand. Tifa stumbles backward. She is afraid. Don't do this! Her voice sounds desperate. But Cloud is moving towards her. She backs up as far as she can, her feet hitting a ledge.
What happened next? Cloud knows he swung. He knows she fell.
But sometimes he sees blood. It sprays as she falls. There is blood on his face. Is it hers? No. Not hers. Someone else's, he remembers sometimes when he sees her falling. By some miracle, he missed. He hates himself for swinging, but he did not strike her. He missed.
He did miss, right? Where, then did the blood come from? Tifa falls down the stairs. A cowboy hat goes flying. Blood stains her clothes. She is dying. He failed her. It is too late. It is all his fault.
Tifa was not wearing a cowboy hat though, was she? He saw her every day. Looked at her more than he cared to admit. Cloud could not recall a hat. And where did the stairs come from? It was a pit of mako. In the reactor. Cloud was sure of it.
Either way, that was not the important question. Hats, stairs. That did not matter. The important question was, what had Cloud done? The important question was, had there been any blood?
Blood. It is there, then it is not there. Then it is there again.
In fact, there is a pool of it. Too much blood for anyone to survive. Cloud is kneeling in it. There is a body in his arms, lighter than he expected and so very still. Cloud's fingers are tingling. His mouth is dry. His eyes are burning. There is so much blood. Aerith is –
Fine. He was mistaken. Of course she is fine. There was never any blood. She opens her eyes, green and vibrant. Unmistakenly alive. She smiles her bright, sweet smile that won all of them over. Cloud smiles back. Lifts her hand to his face to feel it, warm and living.
There is no blood. Aerith could not be dead. Cloud stopped it from happening, he is sure of it. In fact, he remembers it. Aerith was praying. Cloud saw the attack coming. He remembers moving forward, his sword lifted over his head.
To stop it right? Why else would he be moving toward Aerith, weapon raised? He would never, he –
A puppet killed Aerith. Which one? It is hard to say. How could you ever be certain?
Cloud's sword is above his head now. He cannot control his arms. Something inside him bids him to obey. It wants the sword to fall. For him to hurt and maim and kill. He afraid. He has never been so frightened in his life. It is Tifa on the ground before him, cowering.
But before, it was someone else. A pink dress. Folded hands. Whispered words. Prayers, strong ones. He had lifted his sword to protect Aerith. And he had. He saved her.
If that was all that happened, then why was he so terrified now?
Because. Because if he could make Cloud do this, raise a weapon against Tifa…Tifa. On the ground beneath him, defenseless, her eyes huge with fear. If he could make him do this to Tifa, then maybe, maybe he had also –
"Cloud, hey. Shh. It's alright."
He is in the other place now. A hand is on his forehead. It strokes a soothing line down to his cheek and rests there a moment, cupping his face. Cloud's eyes are roaming. He sees a white ceiling in a darkened room. Sometimes flashes of a face. He cannot focus on it.
"You've been restless tonight. I wish I knew what you were seeing. I'd make it stop, if I could."
The voice is tired. The hand lingers near his face, gently stroking back his hair. He feels the bed dip slightly. There is an arm near his pillow, a head resting atop it. A warm exhale of air tickles his cheek. He hears a deep, sad sigh.
"The stars are out, Cloud. You're looking toward the window. Can you see them?"
He cannot, but he hears the beginning of a sweet and tentative humming. Feels fingers trace an accompanying rhythm from his temple to his jaw. Then there are words, sung softly near his ear. They are lovely and lilting, though slightly off-key.
"Tell me why, the stars do shine…tell me why the…the…" A few hums, filling in for lost words. "Tell me why the sky is blue…and I…"
More humming. A soft laugh, or is it a sob? Either way, it is accompanied by a hearty sniff.
"I can't remember how it goes anymore. Isn't that sad? My mom used to sing it to me all the time. When I was upset, or when I couldn't sleep. Did your mother ever sing it to you?"
His mother? Did puppets have mothers?
Cloud is not sure. But he sees a woman now. Her face is haggard with grief and worry. She is looking at Cloud, where he stands in the doorway of their home. A man is gripping his shoulder. Cloud is shaking. His knees hurt.
I'll let him tell you what happened, the man says. He releases Cloud and walks away. Without the hand on his shoulder, Cloud wobbles. But the woman moves quickly, cupping his elbow and ushering him into the warm, cozy house.
Cloud's teeth chatter. Let's get that wet shirt off, hmm? The shirt is being tugged up and woodenly, Cloud lifts his arms. He is chilled for only a moment before a blanket is wrapped around his shoulders. The woman leads him over to bed and nudges him to sit down.
Her breath hisses through her teeth sympathetically as she examines his knees. Cloud watches, dazed, as she disappears and returns with a wet rag and some bandages. Kneeling on the floor, she cleans the scrapes, patting his leg soothingly when he flinches. When both knees are bandaged, she presses a light kiss to each one.
All this time, Cloud has not spoken. Now, the woman sits back on her heels and looks at him with thoughtful blue eyes. Cloud, she says. Are you going to tell me what all this is about? Cloud feels himself shaking again, though now he is warm. A tightness is rising in his throat. Sweetheart, what happened? How did you hurt your knees?
There is so much love in her voice. So much concern in her eyes. To Cloud's horror, tears brim in his. He makes an embarrassing, hiccupping gasp. Mom, he manages. She reaches for his hand and holds it, waiting for him patiently. Mom, Tifa fell.
Then, he is crying in earnest.
He is too big for this. To be crying like a little baby. For his mother to sit up on the bed next to him and pull him into her arms. Cloud is crying and his mother is rocking him, stroking back his hair and making soft shushing noises. And though he is nine years old, almost ten, he lets her. He curls onto his side and cries into her aproned skirt. She holds him on her lap.
When Cloud's crying tapers off, his mother does not speak. But she does begin to hum, a soft familiar tune. He listens to her, his breaths still shuddering.
Tell me why, she sings lowly, almost a whisper. The stars do shine. Tell me why the ivy twines. Tell me why the sky is blue. She cups Cloud's chin, turning him to look up at her. And I will tell you why I love you. His mother has not sung to him like this since he was much smaller.
She smiles sadly at Cloud and dabs his tears with her apron. Cloud blinks up at her and she speaks to him gently, no longer singing. Do you know what the song means, Cloud? He shakes his head. His mother starts stroking his hair again and Cloud presses his cheek back into her lap. His eyes are starting to feel heavy. He has been through a lot today.
The stars shine because they shine, his mother says. Just as ivy twines because it was made to twine, and the sky is blue because it was made to be blue. The stars and the ivy and sky are exactly how they are supposed to be. She bends down to kiss his head. And so are you. I love you just as you are, Cloud. I always will. You know that, don't you?
Cloud does not answer. I'll always be your mother, Cloud. And I'll love you no matter what. No matter what happens, no matter what happened today. You're my Cloud, and I love you.
She starts humming again. Her song, her words. They stay with Cloud his whole life, though there is a period of time it is shoved down and forgotten. A time when he wants to be and becomes someone else. But it comes back to him again when he is older. When he learns for himself how deeply a parent could love.
Daddy?
Cloud is sitting at a desk. It is still dark out. He got up early to finish planning his delivery routes before breakfast, so he could leave right after and be back in time for dinner. The rest of the family would be asleep for at least another hour.
Or so he thought.
A small girl pads into his office in footed pajamas. Her hair is just like Cloud's. Which means it is sticking up all over the place, a combination of genetics and bedhead. Cloud reaches out his arms and she shuffles over to climb up into his lap.
What are you doing up, Peanut? She sticks her thumb into her mouth and leans against him, not answering. It's early, Thea. Why did you get out of your big girl bed? Do you want to go get in bed with Mom? The little girl shakes her head and sniffles. Alarmed, Cloud looks down and realizes she is crying.
Hey, Thea-nut Peanut. What's the matter? Bad dream? Again, she shakes her head. Lisping, she speaks around her thumb. Can I stay with you, Daddy? Her little voice is sad, and it twists Cloud's heart. Yeah, he says. 'Course you can.
Cloud puts down his pen so he can hold his daughter close. He rocks her a bit. Tries to flatten an unruly spike of hair jutting from her head. It springs back up immediately. He, of all people, should know better. After a moment, Cloud begins to hum.
That's the song Mommy sings to me, Thea says. Her voice is full of tears. That's right, Cloud agrees. Her mommy sang it to her when she was little, and my mother did too. Do you know what the song means? His daughter shakes her head. Ah, well. It means we love you, just the way you are. And we always will. No matter what.
Thea squirms in his arms, looking up at him with interest. Even when I'm bad? Cloud nods seriously. Especially then, he said. She considers his answer. What if I was really, really bad? She pops her thumb out of her mouth to hug Cloud around the neck, hiding her face.
Cloud begins to feel nervous. It makes sense, suddenly, why Thea has appeared in his office looking adorably sad, asking for snuggles that she knows he would never refuse. Whenever she got in trouble, she always came to Cloud first. He cringes as he realizes the feet of her jammies are wet up to the ankle. She left behind little damp footprints from the hall, leading into his office.
Peanut, what did you –
A startled shout from down the hall. Cloud! Tifa! It is Denzel. Oh gawd, the toilet. Gross, it's everywhere. Cloud thinks he can hear sloshing. A door slams against the wall as it is flung open, and he hears frantic footsteps. Turn the water off, Denzel! Tifa's voice is panicked. Cloud, where are you, we need a plunger! We need towels!
No matter what, Daddy? Thea has a death grip around his neck. She has itty bitty arms. She is small for her age, only a little peanut. Yet, she is surprisingly strong. Why does Cloud feel more than a little threatened?
Cloud sighs. Depends on what you flushed, he wants to say but does not. No matter what, he chokes out instead, kissing her on a cheek that is, for some reason, sticky. He stands, carrying his little troublemaker into the trenches with him.
The song is still being hummed, keeping the nightmares away. It breaks though from time to time, and Cloud is transported to the other place. Where he cannot control his body, cannot respond. But he knows he is safe. Cared for.
The humming is sleepy now, muffled against a blanket. As Cloud's eyes move around the room, outside of his control, he perceives her in bits and pieces. Dark hair spilling over the side of the bed, where her head is resting. A hand holding his. Eyes that are beautiful, eyes that are sad. Eyes that are tired, dark circles beneath them.
It's just like her, Cloud thinks. Always taking care of me. Always taking care of everyone else.
The humming is still going, but Cloud is in a different room now. Two beds and colorful, childish drawings taped to the wall. In one, a child is fast asleep in tangled covers. The bed is crowded with stuffed animals. One pink pajamaed leg pokes out and dangles over the floor.
Tifa is sitting on the edge of the other. She is humming the song and dabbing the forehead of another child with a damp cloth. The boy in the bed groans faintly. When she places the cloth aside, it is stained black. She sits with the boy for a while, softly humming, her hand resting lightly on his chest. She watches it rise and fall, as if reassuring herself he is still breathing.
Cloud watches from the darkened hall, full of equal parts love and fear. Tifa looks exhausted. She looks afraid. Cloud's arm spasms in pain. He cannot do this to her. She can never know.
Another night, the same room and the same darkened hall.
The room looks different now. That's right, Cloud thinks. We moved the big kids into their own rooms upstairs. Marlene and Denzel love their third-floor bedrooms, with their peaked ceilings and skylight windows that make them bright and airy. Their old room was empty for a while, but it is a nursery now.
Tifa is inside, sitting in wooden chair that rocks and rocks. There are pillows beneath her and behind her back. She is humming and singing. Looking down at a small bundle in her arms. It is so tiny. A fluff of blond hair peaking over the softest blanket cover in stars.
Cloud is transfixed watching them. The look on Tifa's face is soft and adoring. It is familiar to Cloud but also different. Tifa and the baby just look at one another, entirely in their own little world as they rock and rock and rock.
But much as Tifa looks blissful, she is also wincing a little. Her face is paler than usual. She looks tired and uncomfortable. Cloud should go in. Try to get her to go back to bed.
Why is it that this moment feels complicated to him? He feels that strange feeling in his chest that he has felt in this hallway before. An ache. A twisting sensation. A love so strong it hurts. A fear so sharp, surely it might end him.
The humming has stopped. The silence leaves a vacuum. Space to be filled.
At first, it is filled with a scream.
Tifa on the floor. She is in so much pain. Cloud is panicking, yelling into a phone. The bathroom tile beneath them is bloody. Tifa convulses and holds her stomach, huge and taut before her. She arches in his arms as she cries out again. There is more blood.
Cloud is scared, he is helpless. He cannot lose her, he cannot bear it. He would not survive the pain of it, his heart cannot –
You are just a puppet. You have no heart. And cannot feel any pain.
Now the words fill the vacuum left behind by the humming. Of course. Family, love. None of it is for him. Puppets do not love. They do not have mothers and daughters and families. Even the pain is not for him. The pain, the fear that comes with loving.
It is not for him.
Sorrow. Anger. Regret. Guilt. Nothing but empty words to you.
Cloud is killing. His body knows exactly what to do. He moves his head from side to side. Dodges bullets. Carelessly swipes his blade. Several bodies fall. With dull amusement, he watches a man charge. His body is flung into the air and without looking, Cloud impales it as it falls.
Easy to kill. It is what he was made to do. One man crawls on his stomach towards his weapon. Cloud feels nothing as he watches him. Feels nothing as he stabs him through the back, blood spraying up and splattering across his face. His heart, if he has one, is hollow.
Cloud, stop! That's enough!
If he does not have a heart, then why does the voice speak directly to it? It is not hollow. It hurts. Cloud is stumbling, falling. Who is he? What is he doing? And why is he surrounded by so many bodies, so much blood?
Why are there gentle hands on him? Reassuring him, speaking his name. Cloud.
He has no name. He was not even given a number. As I said, a failed experiment.
He is a puppet. His hand is holding something. It is round and it is dark. He can feel that it is dangerous. It is all that matters to him because his master wants it.
But then, someone else has it. He will take it from her. Cloud! Snap out of it! The voice calls, but this time he shoves it away. He does not even look as she falls. It does not matter. He is not Cloud. Only a tool, meant to retrieve something. It is clasped between two slender hands. Dark yet glowing.
If she won't give it to us, we must take it.
He tries. The woman before him is running. Stumbling. He frightens her. Occasionally he calls out to her, and it seems to fuel her panic. He is something terrible. He is wrong. A monster to run from and fear.
When he catches up to her, though, she does not seem frightened. She seems sad. Whatever happens, I'm here for you, she tells him. Then, she hands over what he wants.
By the time Cloud comes back to himself, she is already starting to fall. What did he do? He is reminded of the first time he saw her. Spinning in the street, fighting off phantoms only they can see. A basket of flowers in her arms. Aerith! He runs to her. It is too late. They both go over the edge.
You are too weak to save anyone. Not even yourself.
Cloud is in a church, surrounded by flowers. He's my bodyguard! Aerith announces it with a smile. And a SOLDIER. Pretty cool, huh? It is the second time they met, but it is when their friendship takes off. Aerith is a force of nature, a whirlwind. No matter how reluctant Cloud is, she pulls him along for the ride. Often leaving him disoriented and dizzy, thrown off guard.
She teases him. Presses his buttons. Occasionally makes him snap. More often than not, she makes him smile. Sometimes she looks at him and it is like she sees someone else. You were the same rank. Cloud is confused. Huh? As who? Aerith is looking at her feet. The first guy I ever loved. When Cloud asks for his name, all he hears is static.
Other times, Aerith sees him. Really sees him. He is a reluctant and moody puzzle that she is determined to figure out. She charms him into playing along with her lighthearted games. Hunting seashells on the beach. Climbing clock towers. Taking selfies. Admitting he used to watch Tifa's window from the water tower as a boy.
For all the strength of her personality, physically she was weaker than the rest of them. She held her own in fighting well enough. But Cloud felt protective of her, they all did. It was a silly joke between them, that he was her bodyguard. Still, he was supposed to keep her safe.
I'm sorry, Aerith says. She steps forward and hugs him. Cloud returns the embrace. Whatever happens, don't blame yourself. Aerith says in in almost a whisper against his shoulder. Cloud? Thank you.
Thank you for what? He tried to save her. Is that why she was thanking him? No, that cannot be right. Because even though he tried, he thinks that maybe he failed.
But what can you expect from a mere puppet? An experiment. A failure.
Before, he was holding her in a church, arms looped around her back as she leaned into his shoulder. It was a good embrace, a warm one. He had needed it, just as much as she had.
Now, he is holding her on an altar. He is crying. He is not crying. There is blood. There is not blood. Her eyes are closed. Then, they are open. Aerith's body is limp and lifeless. Aerith is awake and moving. She smiles.
Truly, he is not even alive in the same way that you are. How could such a being understand what it means to die?
But Cloud does know. He knows death. Perhaps it is because he knows it so well that he cannot see it, cannot accept it. All he can do is deny it. Push it away.
His mother. He hears her. Run, Cloud. Run away. You have to leave…you have to live. It is her last wish. He sees blood. He sees fire. The smoke fills his lungs and darkness clouds his vision. Embers drop on him, burning his skin.
No, no. They are not embers. They are drops of rain.
Cloud is hunched over someone. Blood drips down his face, mixing with the rain. Cloud's mind is a mess, but in this moment, he knows who it is laying on the ground before him. Zack…he manages. Zack looks up at him. For the both of us…he tells Cloud. You're gonna…You're gonna live.
His mother. Zack. They tell him to live. Aerith, she tells him not to blame himself. To forgive.
But he does not know how. To live when the people he loved have died. How to let himself grieve and move on. So he pushes it all away. He pushes Cloud away too. Better to be someone else. Someone with strength. Someone who never fails. A SOLDIER, First Class.
He pushes away the flames and the smoke and the blood and the rain –
The rain is still with him. It splashes him. He is wet.
No, not rain. It is too warm. And it is not on his face, but on his feet. He is sitting in the sun. His legs are dangling in a pool of water, pleasantly heated. He is in the other place again. In this place, he is never alone. Here, there is a gentle touch. A familiar voice. He hears it now.
"If you're going to come back, maybe you could do it soon?"
Come back? Come back to where? And how? A hand brushes the hair off his forehead. The motion is so tender, he would cry if he could.
"Didn't mean to rush you. It's just that I miss you."
The voice is often sad, but today it is especially so. Arms, slender but strong, are holding Cloud upright. A head leans against his shoulder. So close, but Cloud is far away. He wants to come back, he wants to come home to her, but he cannot. He does not know how.
He always wants to come back to her, even when it feels impossible.
Cloud is on the side of the road. He has a motorcycle. He knows the way back. But he cannot let himself go home. Instead, he picks up his phone. There is one missed call. A message. It is why he stopped.
His heart is pounding. Last time, the message had not been good. What if things had gotten worse? He was not sure what he would do. He is a coward, but somehow, he finds the strength to hold the phone to his ear. He plays the message.
Cloud…I…I'm sorry about my last message. It was a bad day. I was upset. Ridiculous of her to apologize to him. But all Cloud can do is listen. Denzel is much better now. He's a fighter, you know? He's been asking for you. Marlene too.
A shaky, breathy inhale. An exhale. Her voice, surprisingly strong. I don't know what to tell them, Cloud. They have questions, but I don't have any answers. Why you left, when you're coming back. Another sigh into the receiver. But that's not why I called.
I called to tell you something. Cloud clings to the phone like a lifeline. In case you didn't know, Cloud…you can come home, okay? Whenever you're ready. No matter what it is, no matter how bad. I'm here, Cloud. I can't promise it will be easy, but we'll figure it out. You've come back to me before, remember?
Before? That was right. Before. He had come back. More than once, in fact.
Slumped against a wall, head swimming and confused. A kind voice asks him, Hey there, are you alright? A beautiful face. A face he knows well. So well, it is a part of him, woven through his heart. Uh…Tifa? He says her name. And just like that, he is back.
Sometimes he came back, but it was too late. Tifa, bloodied on the floor of a reactor. Tifa, bruised and collapsed in a bed of flowers. You're late, she had said to him. The unsaid part – but I knew you would come.
Sometimes he failed. Sometimes he left. But that was not who he was. It did not define him. The coming back, that was who he was. He may have been weak, but he always found the strength to come back. Sometimes he found it on his own, and sometimes he found it in her. The strength to try again, the strength to return.
The strength to keep his promises. Just…promise me one thing. The voice is so young. He likes to remember her that way sometimes. They had both been so innocent and hopeful, on the water tower beneath the stars. She had been so pretty in her blue green dress. Cloud could barely look at her for longer than a moment.
It was a lifetime ago, but Cloud remembers it like it was yesterday.
A blanket drops into his lap, distracting him from his reminiscing. It was like that sometimes, now. His mind is old, and it often wanders. The memories pull at him. He likes to live in them, from time to time. His family knows to expect it.
It's a bit chilly in here, isn't it? Here, this blanket is nice and warm. Careful hands tuck the blanket around his lap. It makes him grumpy right away. He had, in fact, been chilled. But he did not need to be tucked in like a child.
He looks up to meet an unbothered smile in a young face framed with blonde hair. He frowns at her. Don't fuss, Thea. Cloud's voice is querulous. The woman pats his hand. Her skin looks so unmarred and smooth against his own mottled hand. Don't be such a grouch, Grandpa. And besides, I'm not Thea. It's Claudia, remember? Your favorite.
Yeah, yeah. I know who you are. And I don't have favorites. The young woman winks and despite himself, Cloud smiles. These days, there were too many names to keep up with. He remembered the kids of course – Denzel, Marlene, and Thea – and most of their kids. But there were girlfriends and boyfriends, then husbands and wives. People calling him Dad or Grandpa or Uncle Cloud. Grandbabies that grew up, to have babies of their own.
Tifa was better at keeping track of everyone. She never forgot a name, even the children and grandchildren's partners that moved in and out of their lives. They were always greeted with a smile by name, welcomed as family. Often, she would poke Cloud and correct him in a hiss when he got a name wrong. Sometimes she accused him of doing it on purpose. Perhaps he did. He liked to keep them on their toes.
Without her, Cloud could only do his best.
But Cloud did, in fact, know this one. Claudia, his only granddaughter. Thea's youngest. He meant what he said, that he did not have favorites. Still, this grandchild, named for his mother, had a special place in his heart.
It was not only that she was the last grandchild. It was not only that she was the only girl, born after a hoard of grandsons who ranged from sweet to rowdy and ate Cloud and Tifa out of house and home when they visited. It was not only that she had been born the same month as Cloud, and would have been named after him, had she been a boy.
It was that this one, Cloud understood. She had given Thea so much trouble. Sensitive and shy when she was little. Angry and reactive as a young girl. Dad, I don't know what to do with her, Thea had cried on the phone to him once. She keeps getting into fights. After her two older sons, cheerful and friendly boys, Thea was at a loss.
How it made Tifa laugh. They might as well have named her Cloud, she said. She's just like you. And like Cloud, his granddaughter adored Tifa. She spent more time at their house than any of their grandchildren both because she did so well with her grandparents who loved and understood her, but also because Thea had a hard time finding anyone who could handle watching her after school.
Children race past Cloud, shouting. It makes him jump. He had been lost in his memories again. The room is loud. Chaotic. Adults talking loudly, to hear each other over the sound of children playing. Laughter. Glasses clinking. On occasion, a baby crying.
Tifa loved this. To be surrounded by family and friends, children and babies. Cloud loves it too, but he finds it hard these days. His hearing is going, his eyes are not what they once were. His mind tends to wander off in memories and cannot always remember a name.
He loves his family. But it is getting harder and harder to be here. Especially without Tifa.
Hey, Grandpa, I know what will cheer you up. Claudia disappears from his side for a second, then returns with a bundle. She places it in his arms. Here, she says. You got her?
He does. Cloud is not very strong anymore. He does not have the strength to lift up the bigger children, the way he once could. They talk to him, voices either too loud or too soft. He loves them, and he listens. But like most things these days, he finds it overwhelming.
But Cloud is good at holding babies. They sit in his arms. Most of the time they are quiet. Their hair is just as sparse as his own now is, on heads with skin even more delicate and fragile than his. This one looks up at him solemnly. It is a very tiny baby. She must be only weeks old.
This one belong to one of Denzel's boys? Cloud asks. There are always more babies. He cannot keep track. Claudia smiles and shakes her head. Nah, remember? This one's mine. My first. My only. Cloud feels startled. Claudia cannot be old enough to have a baby.
But then, he remembers. Dancing with Tifa at Claudia's wedding, her wrinkled hand in his. Claudia had worn Tifa's earrings, the dangling ones that once would catch Cloud's eyes, sparkling against her hair. And if Cloud really tried, he seems to recall Claudia being pregnant, though these last few months since Tifa's passing were little more than a blur.
Yours, huh. Cloud rubs the fuzzy, blonde head. He thinks of Thea, when she had been this small. What are we calling this one? Cloud looks at Claudia, who suddenly seems a bit nervous. She fiddles with the baby's blanket, looking down.
Well, you know how I'm named for your mom? Cloud nods. It had been his idea when she had been born a girl, and her parents had ruled out naming her Cloud. And how Mom is named for Grandma's mom? Again, Cloud nods. I was thinking, it's almost a tradition now in our family. To name girls for their mothers and grandmothers.
We named her Tifa, she says. I hope that's okay. Cloud reaches out and takes her hand. Finds the strength to give it a squeeze. Tifa, he says softly to the baby in his arm. Hello, little one. Do you know how much love you have in your name?
Claudia is crying. I'm sorry, Grandpa. I just miss her. Cloud holds her hand, letting her grieve. He is used to doing this by now. Tifa was loved, so loved. I'm sorry, Claudia says again, wiping her tears. I didn't mean to make you sad.
Cloud shakes his head. You didn't make me sad, sweetheart. He smiles at Claudia. She looks perplexed. She is young, she does not quite understand. Don't you miss Grandma? We worry about you, you know. That you're lonely without her.
He lifts an eyebrow at her. Lonely? In this crowd? Claudia looks around at the joy and the chaos surrounding them and laughs reluctantly. Besides, Cloud tells her. The thing about your grandma and I is that we always come back to one another. She'll be waiting for me, you know.
This makes Claudia cry again. How can you be so sure? How do you know? Cloud looks away, the memories pulling at him yet again. Because, he tells her. I found her there before. Really, we found each other. His granddaughter looks at him curiously. In the Lifestream? I always thought that was just a story.
Cloud only smiles. His mind is drifting. Like the baby in his arms, he feels like he might fall asleep. At his age, it happens sometimes. She called out to me, he mumbles to Claudia. When it's time, she'll call me again. And I'll come back to her. After all, I did make a promise…
Cloud must have fallen asleep. He is dreaming yet again. The beautiful dreams and the bad ones. The confused dreams, where he cannot make sense of what happened or who he is. A puppet or Cloud? A lover, a father, a grandfather? Or a killer, with a hollow heart who knows no pain.
Is he wandering through dreams and nightmares and memories? Or is he in the other place, where he is trapped in a useless body he cannot control, and a voice speaks to him, gentle and sad? Perhaps he is an old man, his mind fading faster than his body. Lost in memories and slipping around in time.
He does not know. Sometimes, he is alone in the dark, with only the voices. The terrible ones, that tell him the things that he fears most.
You are too weak to save anyone. Not even yourself.
Cloud sees the people he loves, dying over and over again. His mother. Zack. Aerith. Tifa.
A failed experiment. A puppet, made of Jenova cells, mako, and memories.
He sees darkness. Feels liquid mako all around him. He is being tortured. All he knows is pain. Is this where he came from? Is this how he was made? Who is he?
A puppet.
A failure.
He has no name. He was not even given a number.
But then, he hears the scream. He hears it. His name.
"Cloud!"
The scream is here. Not in the other place, not in his memories or nightmares or dreams. But here, wherever exactly that is. It is so close. It awakens something in it, the scream. She is desperate and afraid. She is in trouble. She is trapped.
Although he is not even sure where he is, or what he is for that matter, Cloud knows what he has to do. He has to save her.
He calls out to her.
"Tifa!"
Cloud does not know how to fight what is hurting her. Like him, she must be lost. In the images and the voices. He does not know how to protect her, to make it go away.
Just… promise me one thing. If I'm ever trapped or in trouble, promise you'll come and save me.
He is no hero. But he had promised.
So he does the only thing he can do. He reaches for her through the dark. Pulls her into him, into his broken mind, shattered and confused as it is. It is tangled, filled with secrets and shame. For so long, he has hidden it all from the world, even from himself.
But he will not hide it from Tifa. Not anymore.