Section 3

"Tifa, will you marry me?"

Cloud listened to his voice as it bounced off the cold walls, echoing through his head as it did the small room in which he was trapped. He couldn’t help the mad chortle that bubbled inside him. How cruel life could be. How completely, utterly cruel. His laugh deepened, reverberating through the enclosure. His laughter converted into sobs.

What had he done to deserve this? Why was he fated to a long life of suffering with nothing to show of it but an increasing body count? Why was he so weak?!

The tears that had run cold with sorrow now flowed hot with his anger. Why couldn’t he stand up to himself? He had never been strong, not even as a child. As far back as he dared remember he was weak with his anger, his prejudice, his pride. Damn his pride. He could not swallow it; he could not push it away. It was the worst plague with which he had been cursed, forever returning as though driven by life itself. It was an unstoppable pestilence. It was his sin.

His pride had kept him from any happiness he could have known. What a fool he had been. A fool and his pride. What was it people always said? He frowned bitterly. "Pride goeth before the fall." Definitely not his, but someone else’s, someone he would kill out of wrath at Sephiroth, at himself. What a fool he was.

He cried until there were no tears left to cry.

Aeris pulled Cloud into her warm embrace, resting his head against her bosom, rubbing his back as he shuddered with silent tears. She slowly rocked back and forth, humming a song her real mother had taught her, comforting him in his time of need. He was slowly coming around, and, when he did, he would remember her solace, her loving arms wrapped around him in a protective hug. He would remember her, not Tifa. He would remember the woman who had been there when he needed her the most. He would remember Aeris Gainsborough.

"Shh," she whispered, resting her head on top of his, drawing him closer. "Don’t cry, Cloud. I’m here. I love you. I won’t let anything happen to you anymore."

Her own eyes filled with tears. He had been her bodyguard; now, it was time for her to be his. She could still remember the hurt he had caused her when he had called Tifa his girlfriend all those months ago. He hadn’t meant it; she could tell from the look in his eyes when the words had come from his mouth. But they still hurt. He would never make that mistake again. Tifa didn’t care about him; her inaction proved it. She didn’t deserve him.

Cloud shifted in her grasp, moving his head back to look into her own face. She wiped her tears away from her eyes with her knuckles. He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, cupping her face in his hand.

"Don’t cry," he whispered, his voice soft from the sobs that had wracked his own body. "Don’t cry, Tifa. I love you, Tifa. Marry me."

She stared down at him, unable to stop the tears from reforming in her emerald eyes. God, it hurt. Those words stung her to her core, wrenching her heart until she thought she might die from heart break. I love you, Tifa. How could Tifa love him when she chose to ignore him and his agony? How could she mock even the word "love" while he hurt so? Tifa couldn’t love him; Tifa was blind to his hurt. How could he mistake her for Tifa? She closed her eyes to her tears. How could he be so confused?

"Tifa, you will marry me, won’t you? You love me."

"You don’t mean that," she said softly, running a hand through his hair, her chin quivering. "You can’t mean that."

"Marry me, Tifa. You love me, don’t you? I’ve figured it all out." He pulled away from Aeris’ embrace, turning to face her. "I love you, Tifa."

Pain running through her entire body, Aeris abruptly stood, letting the tears stream down her face and drip off her chin. "She doesn’t love you!" she snapped, her voice breaking with emotion. How could he be so blind? "I love you, Cloud! Not her! Me!"

She turned, her face buried in her hands, and fled from the room, trembling with her sobs. Cloud let himself fall back onto the hard floor, oblivious to her sobbing. "Why don’t you answer, Tifa? Marry me!" Silence reigned in the small room, not even the air daring to move. "Will you marry me? I love you, Tifa. Damn it, Tifa! Answer! Will you marry me?!"

The only response he received was his own words reverberating through the room, silence his only answer. Why didn’t she answer him? Where was she? Was his sin that horrible? The hurt he had caused her through their childhood, was it that bad? Was the distance he had put between them that far, so far that she could not love him? Or was that pity he had mistaken for love? Did she view him as a man, or was he a indigent boy with nothing to show for his life but a handful of empty yesterdays and bleak tomorrows?

From her answer, or lack thereof, he could tell. The tears would not come, all of them having been cried long ago. He knew who he was. He was Cloud Strife, the master of an illusionary world where his anger was his power and he was a hero. He was poor Cloud Strife, the man who had lost everything dear to him on the pretense that his pride had been his strength.

Reeve leaned back into his corporate command chair, setting his feet on top of his desk, completely at ease. He sighed, slouching farther into the large, almost ostentatious, leather chair in his office. The office itself, though quite large, was surprisingly sparse; other than a conference table with chairs around it, there were no other furnishings besides his desk and his chair. The walls were bare, and the carpeting was a dull gray. Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home, he thought, his lips parting in a grin.

He wasn’t a looker, in fact, he thought himself as bland as his office. People always said you could tell someone’s personality by looking at their surroundings. He hoped not. Reeve didn’t exactly think of himself as dull. Intellectual, yes. Interesting, yes. Maybe even handsome, but not flashy and definitely not dull. Conservative, that was the word.

He scratched at his finely trimmed beard, which covered only a portion of his pale face, closing his dark eyes against the light streaming into his office through the large window behind his desk. He could learn to like this position in life, this office. It certainly was nice, especially these quiet breaks when the entire corporation seemed to be taking a small breather. He sighed again, unbuttoning the top button on his dress shirt and loosening his tie, sinking deeper into his chair, giving into the fatigue that plagued him with the rebuilding of Midgar and the problems of finding sources of energy other than Mako.

The phone rang, breaking through his relaxation like a warm knife through butter.

He frowned, his feet dropping to the floor, anger cutting through him. He had told his secretary that he did not want to be disturbed for five minutes. She couldn’t even let him alone that long. For about ten seconds, he considered not answering the phone. The thought quickly vanished, and he reached for the phone. Not answering the phone was very unShinra President-like. He picked it up.

"Yeah," he said, buttoning the collar of his shirt again, the phone braced between his head and his shoulder. When the button and collar had been fixed, he grabbed the phone and leaned back into his chair, revolving to look out the window.

"Mr. President," his secretary started, her voice sounding surprisingly metallic. "Mr. President, there’s some nut on line three, wants to talk to you about cloning. She’s called about four times in a row. I told her you weren’t to be disturbed, but –"

Reeve grimaced. "Might as well see what she wants, Doloris," he said, frowning. Quiet time’s over, he thought. "Patch her through."

"Yes, sir."

Doloris got off the other line. He stared out the window at the skeleton of Midgar as he waited for the call to come through. There was little left of the once majestic city, all the plates destroyed or removed, debris still littering much of the city’s limits. The slums were being rebuilt into more comfortable, and certainly, better quality housing establishments. Shinra, Inc., was helping the citizens with the task of rebuilding of their houses and businesses while its technicians worked at a way to solve the power problems. Already, his team of carefully selected engineers and scientists were working on ways to provide power for the people, using Mako energy or not. He would prefer a way to use Mako energy without leeching it from the planet. They were still working on that.

"Hello? Mr. Reeve, can I offer you a glass of beer and the quiet stool in the corner? Free of charge."

Reeve grinned, forgetting that this call was interrupting his break. He turned the chair back to his desk, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the metal. "That sounds almost like a bribe. It would not be suiting for a man of my position to accept bribes. What can I do for you, Tifa?"

She laughed lightly. "It wasn’t a bribe. Only an offer. I’m not sure we should speak about this over an open line."

"I’ve secured this line myself, Tifa. I don’t trust my people that much. There are still a lot of them that would gut me for a feather."

"No open vents that lead to bathrooms in your office?" she asked, a joking note in her voice.

"Nope. I prefer to get my fresh air through the window. Now, really, what can I do for you?"

She paused, a muttering on the other end that told him, she had her hand cupped over the mouthpiece while she consulted someone else. She got back on the line. "I suppose you’ve heard what happened?"

He shook his head. "No, I haven’t heard anything about anything. Something happen in Sector 7? You need some help with repairs?"

"Not unless you can repair…" she muttered, her voice barely audible.

"Repair what?" he asked, curiosity overwhelming him. What had happened down there to prompt this phone call?

"Nothing, Reeve. We didn’t have an accident on the job. There’s been a slight… confrontation between Cid and one of your commandos."

"What?!" Reeve demanded, standing and leaning heavily on the desk, nonplussed. "What are you talking about?"

"Actually, we’re not quite sure who was behind this… confrontation, but Cid," she took a deep breath, "Cid got himself run through."

"God," Reeve breathed, sitting back down on the edge of his chair. "Is he alright? He’s not dead, is he?"

Tifa paused, as though she was considering her next words. "He’s fine. It wasn’t serious, but we found one of your commandos there. Cid said he killed him."

"Well, what should I do about it? You know how many commandos this company has under its employment? And there are more that have been AWOL for months. It’d be like looking for the proverbial needle in a hay stack. It’s going to take weeks at least."

She grunted in response. "There’s one more thing, Reeve, and you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to. I was wondering if Shinra was cloning people again."

Reeve was silent. He didn’t know what to say. It was embarrassing to him that his knowledge of what went on in the Shinra corporation was not extensive, or even close to what most soldiers could hear in a day through gossip. He really didn’t know what type of people certain wings of Shinra might have hired to work for them. He made a mental note to fix this in the future.

"I have no idea if there is someone with access to Hojo’s labs, or what’s left of them, that is attempting to make clones," he declared. "However, I have no intention of sitting here on my behind waiting for some fruit loop to start cloning Sephiroth again." He hit the intercom on his desk. "Doloris, get me the employee list. I want everyone with access to Hojo’s labs to be on the top of that list." He turned back to the phone. "I’ll get back to you as soon as possible, Tifa. And, you don’t have to answer this either, but why do you want to know this information?"

Tifa’s response was not immediate. "Cid thought he saw a dead woman trying to take his head off."

She hung up with a barely audible click. Reeve replaced his phone back onto the cradle, his lips pursed in thought. A dead woman trying to take someone’s head off? He snorted, turning to his computer and back to his work. What was the world coming to?

Tifa Lockhart cut off the telephone call sharply, leaning against the counter of the bar. Barret looked at her expectantly, but she said nothing. She didn’t like lying to Reeve; no matter what his actions had been, he showed himself to be a true friend. Lying to friends was wrong, especially when they took so many pains to help her and Barret and Cloud get back on their feet after Meteor, especially when the friend was taking the responsibility of reforming the entire city of Midgar.

As if reading her thoughts, Barret said, "Ya weren’t lying to him."

"Then why do I feel like I have?" she snapped, her voice cold.

"Come on, Tifa," he declared. "Get that outta yo head right now. Ya weren’t lying, you was keeping our edge."

"Edge against what?!" she demanded. "I would really like to know because right now I feel like slime."

"’Gainst the Shinra, who else?"

"We aren’t fighting the Shinra, Barret. Why can’t you see that?" She sat down on a stool. "We aren’t fighting Reeve, or Vincent, or Cid either. We’re fighting against Aeris this time. Lying to Reeve, or having an edge, is not going to help the situation. We gotta be a team again."

"Team my ass! The hell you thinkin’?! Reeve’s a liar, Vincent’s a cold bastard, and Cid’s already proven he ain’t to be trusted. We’re lying? Ya oughtta talk ta them. *&$%, we could take lessons from them."

"No, Barret. You’re wrong. Reeve wouldn’t have done this. He wouldn’t have used something so painful just to get back at Cloud."

"That’s $%&*."

"I’m afraid Tifa’s reasoning is more sound than yours," Red interjected.

Barret turned on the creature. "Well, no one’s talkin’ ta yo furry ass."

Red XIII ignored him. "I doubt that Reeve is unaware of the amount of anguish Cloud feels when he thinks about Aeris and her death." Tifa felt her throat constrict, tears threatening to spring forth. No, she would be strong for Cloud. Red pretended not to notice her reaction as he continued. "To use something so hurtful against him is below even a spy like Reeve. We know Reeve as a happy-go-lucky stuffed cat on a mog. Let’s consider that as the real Reeve, and he is not a spy."

"So, what if it ain’t? You both are takin’ a risk trustin’ that guy. You bet Cloud’s life."

Red XII gave Barret half a shrug, or as close to one as he could manage. "If Cait Sith isn’t the real Reeve, I’m wrong and we lose. I believe that in a situation such as this, we really have no choice in the matter."

"No choice." Barret turned away. "I say we walk in the front door of that buildin’, take Cloud, and get our asses outta there."

"We don’t even know if he’s there," Tifa declared, running a hand through her hair.

"Damn it! Where else he gonna be?! The bloody City of the Ancients?!"

Silence followed his comment, a hurt look easily visible on Tifa’s face. "What’s the matter with you, Barret? Why can’t you just understand? I don’t like the Shinra any more than you, but I have to trust them. I have to trust Reeve’s judgements and I have to trust Cid’s. He doesn’t want to tell us something, fine; I don’t give a damn. I want to find Cloud. You may believe that that screws up my judgement, but I think that that’s my edge over Aeris. I love him and I openly admit that I would do most anything to have him back!"

Her teeth clenched in anger as she looked between Barret and Red XII. Her jaw relaxed as she finally realized what she had just said. She felt her face burning in embarrassment and she looked away, ashamed of her outburst. "I’m sorry," she muttered.

Barret frowned. "Don’t be. I’d probably feel the same way if it was Marlene out there, missing. %&#*, maybe even if it was you." He glanced out the door. "I oughtta be the one ’pologizing. Where’s that damn pilot?"

Tifa rubbed her brow. "Out working on the Highwind. Trying to get it off the ground again."

Barret frowned. "Maybe we shouldn’t visit him. Probably cussin’ all those trainees he’s got, again. Yellin’ and screamin’, throwin’ them tools all around."

Red XIII grinned. "Does sound like a bad idea, doesn’t it?" Tifa giggled. "Well, that leaves one option."

Barret raised his eyebrows in question. "What?"

"We wait."

"What the hell does this do?!" Cid demanded after carefully scrutinizing the lever. It was unmarked, uncolored, and, furthermore, a new addition to the controls. "Who put this here?!" His eyes darted to each of the pilots working on the bridge of the airship. None of them responded. "Well? I didn’t train any idiots!"

Finally, one pilot, a new guy, raised his hand. "I – I did, sir," he stammered.

Cid rolled his eyes at the rookie. "What does it do?! Sit there and look pretty?! Does it have a purpose? Yes? No? Maybe so?"

The rookie shrugged. "I dunno. I just thought that having a lever to pull in an emergency was, you know, mandatory. It should do something."

Cid groaned, slapping a hand to his face. "Find out what it does, you blockhead! It’d be nice to know what the lever does before you pull it."

"Why? You’ve pulled levers before without prior knowledge of thir functions," Jerry said, leaning back into the rail of the ship. His comment prompted laughter from the rest of the crew. Cid frowned.

"Those were special circumstances. I knew what they did."

"Yeah, right. ‘Well, there are two levers here I haven’t tried, yet’," Jerry declared in an impression of Cid.

Cid’s frown deepened as the laughter of the crew was renewed. "That was Shinra. I can’t help it if that damn company screwed up my ship. Now, get your asses back to work, you morons! And, Jerry, make a note to me to have you fired."

"Aye, aye, Captain!" Jerry made a mock salute to the other pilot before crouching back down under the control console.

"Find out what that damn lever does!" Cid ordered as he walked off the bridge and into the body of the ship. He sighed as he started across the metal grate bridge over the gap, his shoes rattling the metal. More of the crew was working beneath him, running diagnostics and tests on the new engines which had been added to the ship to replace the two that had been ripped off of it at the North Cave.

He climbed down a ladder into the pit, glancing at the gears and machinery to make sure everything was in its proper place. He watched as the crew worked, his brow furrowed in concentration as he inspected their progress. His presence made the man in front of him nervous, and he glanced back at his boss.

"Can I help you with something, sir?" he asked, licking dry lips. "There’s nothing wrong, is there?"

There was no response from the captain as he glanced to his right, frowning. He walked away purposefully, his eyes hard. He pulled the tech away from the machinery with a hard yank, anger in his eyes.

"The hell you doin’?!" he demanded, though he did not wait for an answer. "That goes there!" He pointed. "This goes here! Damn it, you can’t even find some decent techs, anymore! Put it back and start it over! @%$#…"

Somebody tapped him on the shoulder, pulling his attention from the first tech. He turned abruptly. "The hell you want?!"

"Sir, we’re ready for a test," the tech declared. "On the engines."

Cid angrily shook his head. "A test! We ain’t gonna have any tests until this blockhead learns were to put things in their rightful places!"

The tech cleared his throat, lowering his voice. "Sir, you never come down here, and you’re, ah, making everyone just a bit nervous right now."

Cid lowered his voice as well though the angry note was still very audible. "I never come down here because I’m a pilot. I fly the ship, but right now my ship don’t fly, so I don’t fly. And I like flying and so does my ship. My ship is not happy because she is not flying. When my ship isn’t happy, I’m not happy, so make my damn ship fly!"

"We will, we will," the tech declared. "But you’re making everyone nervous by peering over their shoulders while they work. I can understand you wanting your ship to fly, but our job is down here and yours is on the bridge."

"And just what are you insinuating?!" Cid demanded, his voice rising in anger again. "That I don’t know my own ship? I know it like I know the back of my hand!" He subconsciously raised his left hand which was clenched into a fist, cursing himself as he realized what he had just said. His left hand. He let the hand drop back to his side. "Never mind," he said, sighing. He slowly shook his head as he began walking back to the ladder, his anger forgotten and replaced with weariness. He turned back to the tech. "Just call me when she flies."

"Yes, sir. Where will you be?"

Cid placed a hand on one rung, thinking. He didn’t want to go back to the Seventh Heaven; he had not received word from Tifa that Barret had cooled down a couple of notches. He did not want to stay here, rotting in the operations room. He had to be somewhere where one of his crew could find him, though, which ruled out wandering in Midgar. His choices were slowly running out. Finally, he turned back to the tech. "I’ll be at the Gay Boat."

The tech nodded. The Gay Boat was what Cid had taken to calling the Tiny Bronco after he had found it in a marshy area near Midgar. "Boat" because he could not get it to fly; "gay" because it didn’t float very well either. In fact, it didn’t do much of anything anymore. The tech watched as he began to climb back up the ladder.

"We’ll get you when we’re ready."

"Yeah, you better, else I’ll have to make another note to Jerry to have me fire you, too."

The crew in the pit watched as he left, bewildered at his sudden change of heart. They contemplated it no further, and quickly returned to their work. Their ship wasn’t happy; it needed to fly.

Doctor Nygel Huiji stared out the window of his office, a paper cup of coffee in one hand, the other in the pocket of his lab coat. His gaze was undefined, his lips pursed in thought. The world seemed to be crashing down upon his balding head, his scheme becoming dust in his fingers. His meticulously thought-out plans were becoming invalid, unusable, miscalculated. How could he, Nygel Huiji, master of genetics, possibly err in such a manner? It was absurd.

The obvious key to his miscalculations was most undoubtedly his first clone, Aeris Gainsborough. She thought that this was her show, that she was going to rule the Planet, make it into her own private Promised Land. As his error in the experiment was plaguing him, so would hers. He drained his cup of its coffee, downing the remains of the warm liquid. He continued to glare out the window, over Midgar, as if the ruins were somehow mocking him in his fault. He would not make the same mistake Hojo had with Sephiroth. He would not give his creation free reign. The ramifications of that had been made clear with the Meteor incident.

But his error made hers all the more unfortunate. She could not honestly believe that she could override his power in this project or anything that was derived from his experiment. She did not hold his power, and her judgement that she could was the epitome of her lunacy. She was his creation. It would be foolish of her to believe she had power over him. Her only role was to manipulate Strife, end of story. If she expected more, she was sorely mistaken. She may be able to destroy, he thought benevolently, but I am able to breathe life into the inanimate creatures the world has shunned. I gave her life, and I can take it back just as easily.

His fist clenched around the paper cup he was holding. It folded inward on itself at the pressure he applied to it, crackling as the rim of the cup bent. He dropped the crushed cup into the trash can, a small, self-satisfied grin on his face. Underestimating him was the greatest blunder of all as she would soon see. There was nothing that could stop him now. As soon as Aeris was gone, destroyed by her own insanity or by Strife’s, the Destroyer would belong to him. He would be the ultimate power of the world, and with Strife below him, the people would live beneath him in fear of his power and fear of him.

The door opened a crack and a head popped into the room, merely a mess of shoulder length red hair and an unshaven jaw. Nonetheless, it interrupted Nygel’s reverie, and the doctor turned an angry gaze on the trespasser.

"Knock next time, you fool," he said, his voice cold. He leaned forward onto the desk, his elbows locked, his eyes hard. "This had better be worth my time," he growled, the menace thick in his tone. "I do not appreciate my train of thought being derailed."

"Yes, sir – I mean, no, sir," the man, Nygel’s assistant, stammered. "I mean…" He shook his head, anger replacing his fear. "We’re ready for you, now. Everything’s set up."

"Do you have him on the monitors? I would be such a shame if this were to kill him after all our hard work."

"Yes, sir. We’re not incompetent."

Nygel merely shrugged as he walked around the desk and opened the door, straightening his lab coat as he strided from his office. "That, my friend, is a matter of opinion."

Cloud couldn’t see a thing, again. The world around him was that same black velvet that was so familiar. He could not remember it ever being so dark, but he often found that his memories were fleeting, and, more than often, he found that they could not be trusted. But the black he somehow knew almost as though he had lived it before, as if he had lived the darkness.

And with the darkness came the fear.

Why he should fear the darkness was as intangible as why it was so familiar. It was almost as if it was all a nightmarish dream, a dream from which he could not wake up. It was the dark, surrounding him, choking him. He couldn’t break free; he couldn’t breathe. A shudder wracked his body, chilling him to his core.

"Cease your thermal convulsions!" someone growled. He tried to pinpoint the voice, tried to find some way out of this phantasm and back to the real world. "You’re making this hard on us as well as yourself."

Us? Where was he? Who was "us"? What was happening? He felt somehow naked without his sight, cursing himself. He couldn’t even tell if he had his eyes closed or not. He couldn’t even see the black silhouettes of foes. A foe you couldn’t see was a foe you couldn’t kill.

"What’s happening?" he demanded, though the bravado in his voice was clearly false. He licked his dry lips. "Tell me what’s going on!"

"You’re becoming agitated," the voice declared. "Hold still, and this will be finished as soon as humanly possible."

"What’s happening?! I can’t see!" Cloud tested the bonds holding him down, a memory rushing to the surface of his psyche. His heart pounded in his ears. He had been here before with this vulnerability haunting him and this sickening sense of déjà vu. Somebody had hurt him like this before. Somebody had…

No!

"Stop it! You’re agitated!" the voice declared. "Hold him down!"

Gruff hands grabbed his arms and legs, pushing the his knees flat and holding his elbows against the table. Cloud shook his head, trying to knock away the voices that filled the darkness inside his head. He was shaking uncontrollably, images and sensations flashing through his mind. Things he had forgotten. Things that had been erased. They were… they were doing this to him again! He couldn’t let that happen! "No! Let go of me!" he ordered, panic rising in his voice as he struggled. "Stop! Let me go! Please!"

He jerked his right arm up, breaking the grip holding down his arm. Somehow, he found strength in his mental agony. The bond holding down his wrist ripped from the table with the shriek of grinding metal. His ability to break free was rewarded with a stab of pain.

A sharp pinprick pierced the darkness, a small hurt in a sea of anguish. And then there was the fire.

Another recollection tugged at his mind as the hurt washed through him, boiling his blood. He kicked and struggled, unable to here the cries and protests of metal and the people, unable to hear his own screaming over the thundering of his heart. He rolled over, falling off the table with a thud, in an attempt to snuff the internal flames eating at his body. His foot twisted, still locked in a bond, but the pain was lost in him.

"God, stop it! Please!" he pleaded hoarsely. His throat was dry and rough from screaming, and he kicked the table away from him, snapping the final bond. He struggled in his blindness, knocking away the hands that grabbed him, trying to defend himself from the invisible men that had violated his mind.

Anger filled him, taking control over his actions. "Get away from me!" His own voice was alien to his ears, and the screams that followed were even more so. The black was replaced by a blinding white for a moment before drifting back to the dismal dark, the air crackling with power around him. The hands were gone, and, yet, so was his energy. He staggered to his feet.

Stumbling, his knees buckling and the strength he had found in his hurt dwindling, he lurched spasmodically, futilely searching for an exit from this insanity. He toppled into something, falling over it. Shattering glass was barely audible to him as he fell over the object. He hit the ground with a dull thud, metal clattering to the floor, pain paralyzing him.

He rolled onto his back, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. The burning in his body had not stopped, had not lessened, slowly eating away at his core. Too weak to struggle, too tired to move, he let the tears fall silently from his eyes, his foolish dignity forgotten in his strife. "Somebody stop it, please," he whispered, a beseeching note in his voice. "Stop it, somebody, stop…"

Nygel Huiji rubbed his chin thoughtfully, thoroughly pleased with himself. The lab was in ruins around him; the table was destroyed, glass beakers shattered, inanimate bodies laying where Strife had knocked them in a momentary show of power. A light flickered on and off above him, buzzing as the electrical current was slowly being connected and severed. Nygel felt a smile coming to his lips, the proverbial light bulb illuminating his thoughts in a burst of inspiration. It was all too easy.

He had found the key; the missing link to a newly formulated plan. This time his scheme would not be ruined by anything. The pieces were falling into place, everything working out as it should be. He could and would rule the Planet and all its life by gaining the trust of the one man who had the power to destroy it.

He knelt next to the young man, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I can make it stop," he whispered. "Trust in me, and your pain will cease to exist." He smiled crookedly. "I can help you."

The Destroyer would choose him over Aeris, for while Aeris acted on revenge, cajoling and wheedling her way into his soul, he could and would be one step ahead of her. For while Aeris only sought the power to destroy the world, he was acting out of the goodness of his heart.

The loud barrage of curses coming from the small ship, almost stopped Tifa dead in her tracks. Almost. What she had to say, or rather find, was too important to be stopped by a foul mood and a broken ship.

"Die, you bastard! Damn you!"

Tifa dismounted her red chocobo and tied the reins to the shredded tail of the Tiny Bronco next to a similarly tied blue chocobo. Turning to the front of the plane, the origin of the streaming cursing and every now and then a pounding, her gaze landed on the wing of the red plane, a small smile playing on her lips. Tiny Bronco was crossed out with a large black "x". Written sloppily below it was "Gay Boat". She ducked under the wing.

"So, that what you’ve taken to calling it," she declared.

Cid glanced up in surprise, a hammer raised in his hand. He slammed it down onto the engine with a clank. "Calling what?"

She shook her head, a grin on her face. Cid nodded in a sudden realization and grinned as well, his face reddening. "It seemed appropriate. It’s a happy, little–" the hammer came down again, "–piece of #%&$. Work, you – you – you…" His voice trailed off as he ran out of curses, unable to find the word that best described his plane. He straightened, clearing his throat, the humor gone from his eyes. "But you didn’t come here to see how my little friend was functioning."

She nodded, placing a hand on the wing. The engine sputtered, coughing, and the propellers on the sides of the wings spun spasmodically before coming to a stop as the engine died again. Cid screamed in frustration, his cigarette falling from his mouth, the chocobos warbling nervously. "You piece of junk!" he growled. "Gay Boat is too good a name for you! You should be called Pimple on the Ass of Aviation! Or Stationary Scrap Pile! Or – or…" He slammed his fist into the wing, cursed again, and waved his aching hand to ease the stinging. He finally turned back to Tifa, his brow furrowed, setting the hammer onto the wing, waiting expectantly for her question.

You know what’s she’s going to ask, Aeris declared. He nodded, sighing, meeting Tifa’s gaze. "You wanna know what happened to Cloud."

Tifa looked away from his Mako eyes and stared instead at the ground. "Yes," she said smally. She saw him turn his back on her, staring at the distant sea. "And I know you know," she added, her voice gaining strength. "And I need to know."

He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "You ain’t gonna like it."

Tifa felt tears forming in her eyes. "I don’t care, Cid. I need to know."

He was silent, and Tifa had a feeling he wasn’t going to tell her anything. The tears rolled down her cheeks silently as she turned away from him. She would ride her chocobo back to the Seventh Heaven and leave him desolate. Her tears turned hot with anger. If he wanted solitude, let him rot alone.

"Tifa," he called, his voice pained. She turned back to him, her eyes landing on his. There was a hurtful, pleading look surfacing there. Her anger melted in shame. "Tifa, Cloud loves you."

She snorted, turning to lean on the wing of plane as her anger returned. "I know. Somehow, I’ve always known. You tell me something I already know. I asked you a question!" She was unable to keep the bite out of her voice. "And when you’re in trouble, I hope to God that someone treats you like this!" She didn’t have to look to know that her words stung him. She didn’t want to look at him, to see that God-awful, hurt puppy look in his eyes. He didn’t respond.

Tell her. Cid shook his head as if the action could dislodge Aeris from inside his mind. Why? he silently yelled. So she can live with the knowledge that the man she loves almost killed me? I wouldn’t want that. He opened his mouth to apologize to Tifa, but Aeris’ voice stopped him. You want to live with the knowledge that she doesn’t know?! Which is worse, knowing you can help him, or not even knowing he’s alive? Think for once, Cid, about what she must be going through instead of what’s happening to you. His anger snapped. You think telling her’s gonna put her out of her misery?! The answer was one word. No.

Cid turned to Tifa, leaning against the engine of the Gay Boat. "Tifa, I don’t want to hurt you," he said, finally.

She turned to face him, tears streaming from her face. "I don’t care. I’ve hurt so much these past few months, I don’t think I can feel the pain any more."

"You’ll feel this pain. Damn, I feel this pain deeper than anything else that’s ever happened to me. For once in my life, I’ve been ordered to look at the truth long and hard, and I don’t like what I’ve seen."

Tifa crossed her arms under her breasts. "Tell me what you see that makes you hurt so much." The bitterness had returned to her tone.

He ran a hand through his hair. "I see myself standing there in front of Aeris, and she has this strange look in her eye like she knows I’m going to die. I never saw it coming."

"Saw what?" Tifa asked, although she had a feeling she knew what he was going to say next.

"Saw my death. God, he was right there. He could’ve helped me kill her. He could’ve done something!" His chin quivered, and he looked away briefly and then back again, tears in his eyes. "Tifa, he loved you."

"What happened?"

Cid shook his head. "He ran me through," he whispered. "Damn it! He took the bloody Ultima Weapon and ran me through."

Tifa could feel the blood draining from her face, her eyes wide. She collapsed against the wing of the Gay Boat, sobs wracking her body, her tears no longer silent and no longer able to wash away her agony. Cid cursed and looked away, blinking back the pain and the tears that accompanied it.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asked, his voice inaudible to Tifa. Aeris did not respond, struck wordless by his actions. He buried his face in his hands, leaning heavily against the other wing. Metal shrieked and he felt himself falling.

He hit the ground with a crash, pain cracking through his head, the wing digging painfully into his stomach and chest. The hammer slid from where it had been perched and the plane tilted with a screech. He rolled over, looking up into the cloudless sky. Laughter filled his head.

Groaning, anger at the stupid plane filling him, he attempted to get up. The curvature of the wing prevented him from completing that task. "You %*(&#$@ piece of stupid @%$#! Rot in hell! Die, you son of a bitch!" he yelled, pounding the ground with his clenched fist, the tears leaking unheeded from his eyes. It was then he realized the laughter was not from Aeris.

Tifa, her eyes red from crying, was laughing uncontrollably, her breath coming in choked gasps. Cid looked at her, unable to stifle the chuckles boiling up in him. In a manner of seconds, they were both laughing uproariously, letting all their hurt out in their noisy hilarity. The chocobos warbled from where they were tied to the plane, almost as if scrutinizing the humans’ behavior. The laughter continued, riding up into the sky, simply because there were no more tears left to cry.

© Junj, 1998

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