Archive of Our Own

That evening a light snow fell in Nibelheim, drifting from a grey-lit sky and coating the streets with white. Tifa Lockhart watched it fall from the window of a taxicab as she flew through the High Street, passing electric streetlamps and huddled figures in long coats and dozens of high buildings, very black against the twilight clouds.

They turned a corner, the car decelerating gently on the slippery road, and then stopped in a dead-end street that was lined with shops and restaurants, bright lights shining in the windows and shadows shifting within.

"Here we are, ma'am," the driver said.

"Thanks."

Tifa threw open the door and stepped out into the winter air, a blast of cold attacking her face. Somewhere there was church bell ringing, and the sound of wheels and engines the High Street, and a thudding of tiny boots, coming from inside the cab's cabin.

"Mama!"

Tifa turned.

Standing in the taxi's doorway was five-year-old Aerith Strife, staring up at the snow with her violet eyes open wide. She wore an oversized jacket and a tiny hat covering her bright blonde hair, both cheeks very pink from the cold.

Then a heavy clump of snow landed on her nose, and she flinched, blowing at it violently and shaking her face.

"Sweetheart!" Tifa stepped forward and wiped her daughter's face, picking her up and setting her down on the ground. Aerith immediately began stamping on the snow with her new boots, jumping in place and giggling at the sound.

"Mama, it's cold!" She said excitedly. "Cold and scrinkly!"

"It sure is sweetie," Tifa replied. "But come on, we gotta meet the others."

She took the little girl's hand and they set off away from the High Street, their boots crunching through the snow. Ahead, they approached an older couple who were huddled together against the cold, walking toward them, and Tifa felt Aerith's hand tighten in her fingers.

"Happy Birthday!" She called happily they passed, prompting a smile from Tifa and a wave from both of the old-timers as they carried on.

Tifa could see their destination at the end of the street, a long low building with warm light shining through the windows.

"Happy birthday!"

"Happy birthday to you too little one," a passing woman said, a wide smile on her face.

Tifa squeezed Aerith's hand and they stepped up to the door of the restaurant, the sound of glasses and conversation suddenly exploding out into the night as she creaked it open.

Somewhere a bell rattled, as if announcing their arrival.

"Tifaaaaa!"

"Here she is."

"Ahhh! So cuuute!"

Inside Tifa and her daughter stepped into a cosy room filled with tables and chairs and a bar and lit by the glow of a brightly burning fireplace, one entire side of the small space filled with a long table where a dozen people were sitting. As Tifa closed the door Yuffie leapt to her feet and swept Aerith into a flying hug, the little girl laughing while Barret and Cid and Vincent and Denzel and the others cheered at them.

Tifa stepped forward, exchanging hugs and pats on the back.

"Did mama do your hair?" Yuffie asked, holding Aerith against her hip.

"No! I did!" The little girl pouted with indignation. "I'm... Five now and do it my own!"

Yuffie put her down and she crossed her arms, scowling up at the table of adults.

Tifa exchanged a glance with Barret.

Just like him.

"Reckon you're getting pretty old," Barret said, swivelling on his chair and grinning. "Pretty soon we'll have to get you a sword and send you off to save the world, huh."

"I already got a sword," Aerith replied. "But's not big enough to fight a monster with..."

The adults laughed.

"Hey! Aerith!" A small voice called.

At the far end of the stack of tables were a handful of chairs occupied by kids of varying ages, sitting separately from the adults. The boy calling was Cid and Shera's son, almost eight, who was pointing at an empty chair beside him and waving.

Aerith's eyes went wide. Tifa saw her appraise the table of people her age for moment and then, bravely, set her face into a determined expression and march over, climbing onto the chair and pulling herself up to the table.

"So how's things?" Barret asked as Tifa sank into a chair and sighed.

"Oh, you know how it is. The little one is sleeping kind of, and Aerith has made a couple of friends at school now."

Barret nodded sagely. His hair was starting to go a little grey at the temples but the rest of him was the same; still strong, still tall, still wearing his avalanche tattoos beneath the cut off sleeves of his old jacket.

"Make sure to thank Marlene for babysitting for me," Tifa suddenly remembered.

"No problems," Barret replied. "She's been working so much lately I barely see her. But it's all for the good."

"When does she leave?"

"Two weeks. Long way to Midgar, but she'll make it."

The room went quiet for a bit. Across from Tifa Vincent was staring into the fire, not saying much but clearly enjoying being there, and Yuffie and Cid were arguing fiercely, about a recent bet on a Chocobo race, which was apparently a stupid one even though he somehow managed to win. Denzel seemed to be trying to take Yuffie's side without being too blatant about it.

"We haven't ordered yet," Shera said, passing Tifa a menu.

"Thanks."

"Wine?"

"Sure."

Shera filled her glass from one of the bottles and then a bell rattled, Tifa turning to the door as it opened.

But it was a younger couple she didn't recognise, the snow pouring in behind them as they scraped it off their boots and filed inside.

Tifa turned back to the glass of wine.

"So what do you think?"

The old preacher asked as they tramped through the snowy graveyard. His name was Maize, and beside him Cloud Strife was silent for a long moment, focusing on keeping his feet on the treacherous path between gravestones that wound back toward the church, a dark shape that pierced the white-grey sky ahead.

"I think," Cloud said. "It's perfect."

"Hopefully the weather keeps away," Maize said, looking up at the sky. He was a tall, narrow man, with a mane of grey hair and an energy in his footsteps, each stride displaying a wiry strength.

"You could always have the service inside," Cloud said.

"Ah, but that would defeat the whole point!"

"I guess it would."

They reached a door and Maize pulled it open, revealing a cavernous room, the main hall of the church, with rows of empty pews and dozens of tapestries depicting Cetra iconography shining in the candlelight. Cloud followed him in and picked up his bags from where he had left them earlier, but then decided to leave them in the corner of the room, tucked under a row of books and out of the way.

He would be back soon, after all.

"See you later," Cloud said, turning his back and making for the huge door at the far end of the room.

"Farewell Cloud!" Maize called. "And make sure to warn me when you bring your little one around. I'll have to prepare myself before we get another Strife in the parish."

Cloud stopped.

"Actually..." He turned on the spot, shrugging apologetically. "He's a Lockhart."

Silence.

"We flipped a coin... You know what she's like."

And then Maize laughed, his rich voice echoing off the arches high above.

"Of course, of course!" He said. "I remember very well from when she was a child. But begone with you. Go have that hot shower you told me about."

Cloud nodded and heaved open the door, a blast of freezing snow swirling against his face.

No shower, unfortunately. I'm late. And it's her birthday after all.

He walked down the frozen High Street alone, ungloved hands shoved under his arms to keep them warm. The road was lit by lines of fairy lights hanging from the streetlamps, lighting up the night with motes of gold against the white, grey, and black. He passed plenty of people, wrapped in thick layers of clothing and walking groups of two or three, some of them going toward the church and others away from it.

Most of them he didn't know, though they all recognised him, some of them waving and others giving him a nod of appreciation as he passed.

Nibelheim's getting bigger, he thought, stepping into a dead-end street and seeing his destination ahead, a long low building with warm lights shining through the windows. Stepping up to the door, he pulled it open, a bell jangling somewhere above his head.

And then there was a cheer and they all turned, a whole table of his friends with their glasses raised sitting in the firelight, and his daughter waving, and a pair of ruby red eyes that shined from across the room, taking his breath away, until she was the only thing that was left.

His wife. Tifa Lockhart.

When the meal was over Tifa stood and wove through the others as they filtered toward the door, shaking hands and hugging shoulders and touching kids on the head, as much as she could before the whole pack of them raced out into the snow. Aerith shrieked with joy and chased after them, Tifa catching a glimpse of Cid Jr. scooping up a handful of snow and winding up up to throw it before the door swung closed.

And then it was just him.

"Hey."

"Hiya."

She stepped in close and reached for Cloud's face, touching him with both hands and pressing their foreheads together. She felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist and let herself relax, Cloud holding her tightly and lifting her slightly off of her feet, two weeks of tension and stress and worry draining out of her like water from a broken bucket.

Tifa opened her eyes.

"You were late," she said quietly, smirking at him.

"Had something I had to do," he said quietly. "I'll show you later."

"Oh?"

"Mhmm."

"Mhmm." She mimicked his response, wrinkling her nose at him and cocking her head.

"Mmmmm," Cloud hummed at her and she laughed, finally leaning in close and kissing him softly, the room vanishing as she closed her eyes and let him hold her completely.

"Ti-huh," he said, eventually.

She made a noise at him, her tongue otherwise occupied.

"Tifa... Hey."

They broke apart.

"There's something I want to show you."

The snow had stopped falling. They walked along the High Street together, huddled against the cold, through a world of white and gold and shades of black against grey.

The night was oddly quiet, their footsteps crunching in the fresh snow. At the end of the high street Tifa could see the church ahead, its huge doors closed, the bell fallen silent.

She squeezed Cloud's hand.

"How was it?" She asked.

"It was... Fine," he replied.

"Just fine?"

"It... You know how it gets, sometimes."

He rubbed his arm, almost subconsciously.

"Cloud?!"

She made a little noise of annoyance.

"It's nothing," he mumbled as she stopped him, pulling aside his jacket to reveal a line of bandages wrapping around his arm and shoulder.

"L'me see!"

He sighed and made a Cloud noise. One that meant, Don't Be Annoyed At Me Sorry Okay.

She frowned and zipped his jacket back up, giving him her best pout and looking up into his eyes.

His expression softened.

"I'll be more careful next time," he said, touching her on the waist and stepping closer.

He was giving her a look, as if something inside him was causing him pain. Tifa felt the flash of annoyance vanish inside of her, melting away in an instant.

"And I'm going stay," he said. "For a while. A long while, this time."

She reached up to cup his face in her hands.

How could she be mad at him. This perfect guy wrapped in that gorgeous face. The father of her daughter, the man who put himself in danger every day to support them.

She closed her eyes and the world went dark, empty except for the cold of his lips and wetness of his tongue, Tifa pressing her hips against his waist and feeling heat rise beneath her skin.

She had been without him for too long.

Now he was back, and she could hardly wait to drag him back to their house, to the bedroom, to the bed, where she would unwrap him like a present and finally have the ache between her legs taken away by the only one she could trust to take it.

But there was something not quite right.

His lips tightened, and he touched her on the chest, gently pushing her away.

"Cloud?"

She opened her eyes. There was still that pain in his face, a dark look in his eyes.

"There's something I need to show you," he repeated.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Something I brought," he added. "It's her birthday, after all."

The inside of the church was warm and smelled like incense, dozens of flickering candles painting the wooden building with soft yellow light. Tifa stepped through the door ahead of Cloud, and then frowned.

The place was empty.

Not a single person sat in the pews, and the altar was unattended, though it was set with the traditional flowers and laden with a smoking steel burner.

Cloud closed the door with a muffled boom and took her gently by the arm.

"Come on," he said.

"Where is everyone?" Tifa asked.

"Outside."

They stepped down the aisle together and turned left, aiming for an open wooden door that lead to a dimly lit back room.

"Outside? They're going to do the service in the snow?"

"Only the first few minutes."

Through another door they stepped back out into the freezing night air, onto a densely twisting path that had been cleared of snow a few hours earlier but was now coated with a fresh layer of powder. Tifa saw the black silhouettes of gnarled old trees, stripped of their leaves for the winter, and dozens blocky prisms covered in snow that were packed in tightly around the edges of the path.

They were gravestones.

Some of them had legible inscriptions, familiar names and very old dates, but others were bare, worn smooth by the years and the weather.

Cloud pulled her along the path.

"Why do I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me?" She asked.

"Blame Elmyra," he said. "It was her idea to keep it a secret."

His fingers slid into hers. Tifa squeezed his hand gently, and then harder as he squeezed back.

"Elmyra? Is she here?"

"Yep. She was my delivery. That and 300 pounds of marble."

They rounded the corner of the church and came out into a wider open space, pockmarked with hundreds of gravestones and ringed by an old wooden fence with half its planks missing, like a five year old with her baby teeth falling out.

Tifa caught her breath.

In the centre of the graveyard a circle of people stood, motionless, lit by dozens of candles they were holding in their hands. She recognised most of them, Barret and the others, and the old preacher Maize and dozens of others from she knew from around town.

A tiny sniffle broke the silence.

Tifa saw Elmyra in the circle of bodies, wearing a thick black coat and holding little Aerith against her hip. The lines on the older woman's face were heavier than Tifa remembered, though she smiled as they approached and turned her torso so that Aerith could see them.

The little girl sniffed again, her purple eyes shining with tears.

The circle parted as Tifa and Cloud approached, some silent signal rippling through the crowd, their shoes shuffling in the snow.

And Tifa froze, suddenly seeing what they were looking at.

There was a figure in the centre of the circle. A young woman, larger than life, sculpted out of beautiful white stone that seemed to shine in the candlelight. She had long curly bangs and a familiar pretty face, kneeling with her hands clasped in prayer and her marble eyes closed.

And set into the plinth was an inscription, chiselled into the stone, difficult to read suddenly, as Tifa's eyes were blurred by a haze of tears.

The statue read: