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Aerith looks asleep: eyes fluttered shut, lips parted slightly. Seeing her like this conjures up a vague memory of the mornings shared during camp. Dawn, hushed and green. Before everyone else is awake. Warmth shared between bodies. Whispering something in the shell of her ear, to hear her laugh. No words or particulars come to mind. Cloud can almost make himself believe, if not for the red stain bleeding through to the front of her dress.
No.
Instead, she’s cold and limp and doll-like.
No.
Cloud clutches her close, burying his nose in the hair. Her scent isn’t the same. She isn’t the same. This isn’t Aerith, but in some horrible twist it is. But still not her at all; how the hell can it be? Not anymore that is, because now this Aerith will never walk or talk or smile or cry or laugh again. His hug tightens. Not so much that she can’t breathe, though. The fact she isn’t breathing at all doesn’t stop him from being careful.
No.
Maybe she can still wake up. He stays with her like this, hoping. Wishing isn’t something Cloud normally does, but he tries anyway. Just this once, just to see.
Of course, it doesn’t work. She remains still and small.
He’s smart enough to know that there are not enough miracles for everyone; there were none at Nibelheim, and there are none here. But as senseless as it is, it’s devastating that nothing could be assed to share one for Aerith: complete indifference to the Planet’s one remaining keeper.
Wake up. Please wake up.
Cloud picks her up, cradling her. Her body rests easy in his arms, as it always does. A perfect fit. This isn't even to tarnish her beauty.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
His apology rolls off his tongue like a prayer. All he can think of are their shared starry dawns. Of Aerith’s large green eyes drinking in the endless skies, always holding the same wonder like the first time she saw it without Midgar’s steel plate shading it.
This will probably be his last time ever holding her like this; Cloud can’t appreciate that for what it is. In any second he’ll blink, and they will be far away from this fossilized city. Aerith will be laying beside him in the soft grass, back pressed into his chest with his hands tracing her soft curves. Another quiet moment they are meant to have, along with the countless laying in front of them. She will stir, turn, and smile at him. He will reach towards her, running his fingers through the tangles of her hair. She will shift towards his lips for––
––Any second now.
Any––
Single––
No. Too many are praying to the Planet for stupid shit that doesn't matter. For money, or for power. For the love of someone who doesn’t love them back. For fame, infamy. And there’s no sound, speaking, or song ––only silence–- in the Forgotten City.
Cloud notices he’s trembling. He can’t stop himself from doing so. Why can’t he stop?
The others have left the altar already. Cloud hates that they’re waiting for him and Aerith. Waiting in this case means waiting to leave. To leave Aerith behind. All alone, all by herself, since fuck her too, apparently.
He’s being unreasonable and knows it, but wants to be selfish anyway--well, maybe not that. Others' selfishness is what got her killed.
Shaking his head to himself, he carries her from the altar and begins the upward climb. The marble staircase’s spinning is unending, and twists high enough for Cloud to see no light above. It makes for the worst kind of procession and gives him way too much time to think. There was no time to think shortly after that sword was plunged through her stomach. Sephiroth made sure of that. Or Jenova, whatever they fought. It doesn’t matter, because Aerith is fucking gone and nothing can fix that.
His arms are shaking as well. Hard. But Cloud doesn’t care that he is anymore––he’s mostly concerned about it causing him to drop her. Though it’s not like he’s fit for this job of carrying her one last time, or to have been her bodyguard at all. One hand is dusted with the ashes of his mother and childhood, and now the other is smeared in Aerith’s blood. He resents that. And it occurs to Cloud that he will now have all the time in the world to hate, and he resents that even more.
Why did she have to go alone? Why was he so stupid as to let her?
“Shut up, ” he snarls at himself, but not so loud that Aerith can hear. All pointless questions. Nothing can be done to reverse this, so the presence of guilt repulses him. But it lingers on, ghosting all around, until it feels like he's choking.
Earlier, Tifa spoke with him. Her face was pale and drawn, eyes swollen from crying. She loves Aerith too; they all do. Cloud felt that love in the way Barrett consoled him, heard it in Nanaki’s howl that reverberated through the high ceiling in a hollow echo.
Tifa had said, “Nothing that happened is your fault. None of it.”
His own response was terse.
“But whose fault is it then?”
Cloud feels the wetness from them on his cheeks first, and the hot silent tears leaking from his eyes second. He did not notice to begin with because all he is fixated on the memories, the what-if’s, the should’ve would’ve could've of it all, and one single question:
Why did she have to die?
Everyone else stands on the edge of the pool of water in the center of the Forgotten City. No one talks, holding vigil instead. Yuffie can’t stop crying, her shuddering sobs shake her frame. Cid is staring at the ground. Barret seems to be keeping Tifa upright.
Cloud is the one to take Aerith into the water. He glances upward. Never in his life has he seen trees so tall with branches so wide. They create a silvery canopy above, seeming to slouch towards them alone. He wonders what Aerith’s thoughts on them are. She would share them with flowers they would find in the world, or anything else she finds interesting––which is a lot of stuff. Maybe she knows the history of this place, and will tell them all about it. To Cloud, it only feels like a giant urn for the Cetra. Each step further into the pool’s heart feels more and more final, and he hates it for having to be this way at all.
He stands on the precipice now, at the edge of where the marble steps end and the lake deepens. She’s close to him, so she doesn’t dip below the surface. Shit’s freezing, and Cloud knows how much she hates the cold.
Not now. Not yet.
It’s too soon to say goodbye, even though no amount of time could be enough.
Cloud doesn’t let go. He can’t. His fingers dig into her skin. Still not happening. An embarrassment for a SOLDIER, he’s sure. But he doesn’t give a shit.
––In his grief, one of her quiet good mornings swirl around him, the memories rippling and pulling in the water surrounding them ––
He shares one final secret that only she (and no one else) will ever know. It is sealed in a kiss on the forehead, Cloud brushing her bangs from her brow, letting his lips linger for a minute longer. And then never again.
He watches her sink to the bottom as long as he can stand before it’s his turn to leave her behind.
“Let’s go.” His voice doesn’t reach himself.
And Cloud leads the others without turning to look back at them.
Later, there is always the quiet whisper in his mind, at daybreak’s sunless sky.