#cloudxtifa

Notes: This storyline in Rebirth is so beautifully done, I can't help but explore it more deeply. Cloud's psyche has always been so interesting to me, and I'm convinced that without Tifa, he'd become a shell of himself once again. Cloud's self-purpose started with Tifa. I think Sephiroth knows the influence Tifa has on Cloud, and the theory that he's aware of that and wants to corrupt Cloud against her to help himself succeed is so good. So, here's my imagining of how Cloud will figure it all out.

I have one more chapter in mind which will earn the E rating. I'd like to continue this, depending on how that goes and if inspiration hits. Let me know what you think! Unbeta'd.

There may be discrepancies with canon in this story. My apologies!

Tags: How i wanted it to go // The scene was perfection don't get me wrong // But why not? // Cloud Strife Needs a Hug // And to get a grip // That's where Tifa comes in // The gang just wants to help // Trauma // Angst // Guilt // Promises // Cloud tries to figure things out // Thought she was dead again // Promptly shuts down // 404 Error Cloud Not Found // Canon Rewrite // Canon Divergence - Final Fantasy VII Rebirth // rated M for now // Just barely M // Rating May Change // Will be Rated E in future chapters

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I was supposed to protect you, no matter what's to come.

Somehow forgot when they told me we hurt the ones we love.

- Friendly Fire, Linkin Park -

Sephiroth didn’t kill her. 

Liar.

I killed her.

Imposter.

I killed Tifa.

Who is she?

She’s my… she’s…

Another streak of white hot pain screams through Cloud’s temples where he sits, elbows resting on his drawn up knees.

No.  Not his temples.  Across his face, his cheekbone against the hammer that is Barrett’s fist.  Cloud takes the punch unfazed, deserving, because he did this.  He’s the reason she…

She’s dead.

Cloud killed Tifa.  He backed her up against the mako pit, swung at her with his blade.  All because he listened to him.  So sure she wasn’t who she said she was.

But it’s Cloud who’s not himself.  If he ever was.

He felt like he was, around her…

Barret roars.  Will he punch him again?  Cloud hopes so, if it’ll help. 

“Hey, get your shit together!  Tifa needs you!” 

Cloud stands with knees daring to buckle.  She said she needed me once.  Made me promise.  Each step toward the pool of mako feels like he’s trudging through cement. 

I’m no hero.  I’m not anything, anymore.

That’s it.  He’s not anything.  That’s why his bones feel like jelly, why his blood feels cold and sluggish in his veins.  Moments ago everything was a blur around him, like looking through heat rising off concrete, pressure behind his temples.  

Something laughs.  Laughs.  Then Cloud’s thoughts clear, his head gloriously empty to match his chest.  If there was a pulse beneath his armor, he’d be surprised.  Ashamed.

Without Tifa, what was the point?

But that clarity… it came and went.  Both strongest and weakest around her. 

Something roars.  The Weapon.  It looms over them and when Cloud looks up, the light is blinding. 

Then … she’s there.  Somehow she’s there.  And the silence in his head is so forgiving.

Cloud falls to his knees for the second time that day, palms on the ground as he hovers over Tifa’s soaked, still body.  Pain flickers in his chest, now; flows out through his limbs, stokes his heart to beat at an infuriating pace. 

She sputters wet coughs and her eyes flutter open and everything inside Cloud hurts so much…

It makes him want to smile. 

Cloud carries her the whole way back to the village.  Like a cross to bear.  Like he should have done back when…

When I killed her.

She sleeps in his arms, head tucked between his chin and shoulder.  Cloud maneuvers her only when he has to in order to cross the terrain, keeping his voice low and his words short each time he needs to wake her. 

“Tifa, listen to me.”

“Tifa, put your arms around me.”

“Tifa, hold on to me.”

She does what he asks each time, arms moving languidly, heavy with exhaustion.  She’s so strong.  She’s a big girl, always has been. 

She’d been right back in Kalm.  He hadn’t been there for her.  He should have, but…

It’s hard to think back to the mako reactor in Nibelheim.  His temples throb when he does, but he does it anyway, because… because…

He can still feel the rage that flowed through him in Nibelheim.  But before that was the emptiness.  That hollow nothingness that echoed throughout every tainted cell of his being as he’d carried Tifa, just like this.  As he’d nearly lost her, just like this.

You know she's dead. 

No.  She’s warm in Cloud's arms.  Her breath whispers against his skin.  The scar peaks at him from under her top.  Tifa.  His Tifa.  She’d waited for him; found him at the train station.  She’s been here all along.  And where was he?

He’s here for her now.  And look at what it’s done - nearly cost her her life.  Nearly lost her again… Without her, there’s nothing.  Nothing left but the other part of him he doesn’t recognize, or maybe recognizes too well.  The part of him that feels so wrong when Tifa isn’t with him, that pushes out all that feels painful and perfectly right. 

The part he wants to remember, but fights against him when he tries… except when she’s with him.

When the party finally arrives, the group buzzes about, busying themselves with ways to help Tifa.  Barret leads the way, clearing it, still grumpy that he didn’t carry Tifa back himself.  Cloud should have let him, he thinks, but the moment he picked up Tifa’s limp body, his head and chest screamed not to put her down; to keep her warmth close to remind him she’s alive.  Not dead, by his hand or by Sephiroth’s.  Aerith announces she’ll grab blankets, water, food, the kitchen sink too, probably.  Yuffie nips at his heels chirping away, how can I help, what can I do, is she okay?  

Cloud almost feels bad when he crosses the threshold of the bedroom and kicks the door shut in Yuffie’s face.  Almost. 

“We’re here, Tifa,” Cloud murmurs against her forehead.  This time, despite the commotion in the next room, she doesn’t stir.  The familiar chaotic bustle of doting friends makes her feel safe, he guesses. 

He wants to be that for her.  He’s tried to be that, so many times.  When they were in the village as kids.  On Mt. Nibel…

Carefully, Cloud lays her atop the bed over the blankets, kneeling one knee on the mattress as he sets to work.  As gentle as he makes sure to be, it all feels mechanical, what he’s doing.  Pulling her red boots off her feet.  Sliding her thigh highs down her legs.  Undoing her gear from around her waist, wrists, and arms.  Even the ponytail holder has to go.  It’s all dirty, tainted.  Like him. 

Cloud knows what has to come next, and he knows the girls just outside the room are better suited for this job.  But he has to do it.  He has to be there for her.  He’d promised.

Pushing off the bed, Cloud moves with quick determination to the door where Yuffie is still yammering and Red still scratching at the wood.  Cloud yanks the door open, effectively quieting them all.  Except Aerith who simply stands there with those sad eyes of hers, always sad, a blanket folded in her arms. 

Cloud can’t bring himself to look into her eyes.  He knows.  He knows he’s the cause of all this. 

He’ll apologize later, he decides, as he yanks the blanket from Aerith’s arms and shuts the door again, this time twisting the lock.  He…. They need privacy.  He needs to do this.  He’s known Tifa his whole life.  No one knows Tifa like him. 

Right?

Cloud returns to her bedside, letting that thought distract him as he works. 

I know Tifa better than anyone. 

First he removes his own heavy gear, leaving only his sweater and fatigues. 

And she knows me better than anyone.

He coaxes Tifa into a sitting position, slumped against him, forehead against his shoulder. 

Better than I know myself.

Her suspenders were easy enough to pop off.  Gripping the back of the fabric, Cloud rolls her white top up and over her head, then the black one next.  It all needs to be washed after being in the belly of the Weapon.  He keeps his eyes trained to the wall and lets his touch guide him.  She feels so warm against him, and he finds himself thanking whoever’s listening for that.  She’s warm.  His one arm wraps around her waist to keep her body pressed against his, ensuring modesty, while his other arm pulls Aerith’s blanket around her.  Leaning forward, he guides Tifa back to the pillow, then straightens the blanket around her before reaching beneath it to undo her bottoms.  He know it’s awful of him, but his fingers yearn to feel more than the smooth, warm glide of her skin as he pulls off her skirt, her underwear…

He only ever feels warm around Tifa, he thinks.  Like his blood suddenly remembers how to move through his veins. 

Her clothes neatly set aside for later washing, Cloud kneels beside the bed, hands on his knees, shoulders straight as he checks over his work.  Tifa is still sleeping, none the wiser, every bit of her covered and her dignity intact. 

A smile hints at the corner of her lips, and Cloud buckles, shoulders slumping forward while his fingers dig into his knees. 

What had he done?

He chokes against the sobs racking through his body, swallowing them down so as not to wake her.

You tried to… you almost…

What is she?

Cloud fists his hands in his chocobo hair and doubles over, his tears falling onto his fatigues and wetting it there.  “Shes Tifa,” he hisses.  “My Tifa.  You… you tried to take her from me.  Take everything from me.”

He knows Sephiroth is kneeling behind him, grinning, whispering into his ear.  But Cloud can’t feel nothing like his former hero wants him to.  Not this time.  Because Tifa needs him.  She needs him, and the anger is raw and lawless within him. 

This is when he feels most like himself, he thinks.  This, and when he’s loving Tifa.

Cloud’s eyes snap open.  His hands slowly leave his hair, moving to the mattress to grip the hem of Tifa’s blanket.

When I’m loving her…

That’s when everything makes sense, he thinks.  That’s when he feels like… like Cloud. 

Years of hiding feel forgotten as he climbs onto the bed, easing himself down alongside Tifa’s still body.  Unsteady fingers brush her stray hair  behind her ear, then trails down to the nape of her neck, holding her there so he can press his forehead to hers.  He knows he doesn’t deserve this; shouldn’t let his nose slide along hers, his blonde eyelashes flutter against her long, dark, whispy ones.  The arm under them curls under her neck so that his forearm can cradle the back of her head, and his free arm moves from her nape to her waist, wanting nothing more than to crush her against his chest like he did in Aerith’s garden.  Instead he insistently shows restraint, but only enough to satiate himself with the rise and fall of her chest against him.  He needs this. 

Needs her.

Cloud tucks the blanket more tightly around Tifa, though his hands tremble where they hover over the hem overlapped across her front.  Years ago, days ago, hours ago, he couldn’t imagine himself doing this, but now… His fingers part the blanket just enough to smooth his hand under to her stomach, following the dip of her navel up until he finds it - the raised edges of the scar.  The very thing he’s denied, burning into his fingertips and scarring there as proof. 

He’ll never doubt her again, he swears.  Another promise.