Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tifa awoke with a start that morning, the timid voice of the maid at her bedside beckoning her consciousness. Though even before her ruby hues opened to take in the sight of the world she's meant to face, she knew very well that this voice was not the one she wanted to hear. Still, it wasn't the maid's fault, she was aware. There was no need to direct ire towards the poor girl. When her voice sounded again, she finally faced her.

“Your highness.” The maid said. It was one last assurance that the princess was present now that she was awake.

She can't help the sigh that slips past her lips. It's with slow, grudging movements that Tifa finally decides to sit upright. The covers are pulled back for her by an extra pair of hands, and she eyed them until each blanket and sheet is draped across the large, king-sized mattress she occupied. Those hands, she would mindlessly tell herself, were not the right hands. In fact, this maid was— in general —not the right maid.

A pang of guilt for the ill thoughts churned in her chest, of which she placed her own delicate hand over while she still asked aloud, “Is Aerith coming?” She can feel herself wince at the hint of hurt in the poor maid's eyes as they fell to the floor. 

“Yes, your highness.”

Suddenly the guilt wavered, but it didn't dissipate.

“Miss Gainsborough will join you shortly.” The maid continued. “I am simply here to make sure you're awake.”

Tifa's lips purse. The hand on her chest would then reach over and clasp the other's with her signature tenderness. “Thank you.” She smiled at her, a soft, closed mouth smile crafted for the public eye, but there was still something genuine to it. “You did wonderful. I can resume my routine until she arrives.” Then comes the words that sound perhaps too listless for her taste, but she is forced to use them. “You're dismissed.”

At least there is some relief when the maid takes in her praise with some sort of new found vigor. After she bows to her, and turns away, Tifa couldn't help but notice the bounce in her step as she made her exit. The princess grinned at the sight, a memory in the back of her mind called forward of a certain brunette with a similar stride, excitedly drawing a distance between them to fulfill her duties and extract further praise. Even back then she found it endearing. Never before has anyone put as much meaning and weight into her words as she did.

Nay, even as a princess, she was still a woman, and still little more than the daughter of a very powerful man.

But to Aerith, she was always more.

Daylight's embrace trickled through the sheer material of her curtains, causing her to squint when she came to acknowledge it. After lifting herself off the bed and to her feet, she takes delicate steps towards her balcony doors, hardly concealed by the fabric that she drew open anyway to fully open her space up to the outside world. Finally the rays of the morning sun settled in, illuminating her surroundings. Even more so when she does the same to the curtains of her windows. This usually wasn't something she'd do herself, but the past few days had forced her hand. Besides— she wasn't yet ready to entrust these things, trivial as they may seem to others, upon anyone else. And speaking of, she next trudged towards her wardrobe that towers over her in all its mahogany glory, the cherry tinted wood further enhanced by the lighting, and raises her hand to the metal handle to pull it open.

An assortment of undergarments, dresses, petticoats, and corsets greet her. They were stored away with care, just the way she liked them, and the way Aerith always knew she liked them. Whilst eyeballing the variety of colors and patterns, another moment of reminiscence pursued her. This time visions of a dainty, pale hand dexterously working a needle and thread to sew some loose lace back into the hem of her skirt fill her mind, body, and soul alike with a warmth she treasured more than words could describe. Tifa could never forget the look in the other girl's eyes, face painted with concentration. She remembered the way those pink lips instinctively pursed when her focus increased, and her brows furrowed. She remembered her own mannerisms well too; how she tried so hard to steady her breath and keep her heart from skipping a beat. Or how she couldn't fathom how a girl could be so beautiful when so engrossed in the most mundane of tasks. It didn't help that she was still wearing the dress when the quick fix was made. The pin never even grazed her skin, but at that time she wished it did. At least enough to snap her out of the inexplicable daze.

As if the goddess was listening to her, she heard a light knock against her door called for her attention. When it opened, she was further allured, a wide smile forming when green eyes met her own. 

“Aerith!”

“Good morning to you, your highness!” The lilt in her voice never failed to lift her spirits.

Both of them were visibly giddy, Aerith quick to close the distance between them and pull Tifa into a hug. Her petite frame fits so perfectly into the princess’s arms. She didn’t want to let go, but eventually the two reluctantly pulled back, their movements slow as to savor every last bit of contact. Jade and ruby gazes interlocked, a comfortable silence following until Tifa finally felt ready to break it.

“Good morning to you too.” She giggles lightly.

Her eyes fall to the other’s attire. She doesn’t don a maid’s uniform, and she never will again. Instead a maroon dress covered her form. It was modest, but far more refined than anything a commoner might wear. And, as anything does, it looked beautiful on her. Warm colors have always fit her well. 

“Come now, your highness! We can't let you fall behind schedule.” Aerith exclaimed while sitting Tifa down on the cushioned stool in front of the vanity. 

“I don't have any obligations to tend to until the afternoon.” Tifa protested with an innocent grin. “Can we not take our time?”

“Your highness…” In turn the brunette's tone was wry, but playful. She can't help the titter that follows, she too grinning in amusement. By this point she held a brush in her hand, and began to run it through jet black strands. “The king will still expect your presence. Breakfast will be served in the next hour, so they'll need you in the dining hall.”

The merriment within her wavered. Tifa strained to keep her smile from faltering. “I'm aware, but…” Hesitation. “It's just that…this is the last time we'll ever see each other this way. It might be a long time before we even see each other at all. I simply want to savor it is all.”

Silence would again follow, but this one was filled with uncertainty, maybe even a touch of sadness. They both felt it. They both knew what they really wanted. Yet they both also knew that they couldn't have it.

The princess spoke again. “Must you really go?” Her head lowered.

Brush strokes grew stagnant as more silence followed. At least until Aerith was prepared to answer.

“I'm sorry, Tifa.” The mention of her name without her title caused her gaze to snap to Aerith's reflection in the mirror. “My family…our debts have been paid. And father has found me a nobleman to wed.”

She knew this already, of course, but hearing of it never became easier. 

“It's unfair, is it not?” 

“Hm?” The former maid's lips pursed in question.

“It's unfair how we, as women, are used as means to bargain in any given situation.” Tifa could feel her chest tighten with ire. Her fingertips dug into the thin fabric of her nightgown. “How you were forced into servitude by either of our fathers’ hands. And now you're forced to join hands with another man!”

Through her ramblings she could feel the tears well up, threatening to permeate her usually refined demeanor. Her eyes fell to the floor, not daring to see the other girl's reaction. It took a few moments before she finally began to wipe her eyes.

“I apologize.” She said, “That was inappropriate of me. Perhaps even selfish.” A soft, half-hearted chuckle. “I don't want you to remain little more than a servant under my care, but I don't want you to leave me either. You mean the world to me.”

“Oh Tifa.” Aerith— giggled? It surprised her, but not as much as feeling her fingers gingerly grip her chin and move her gaze to meet hers. “You mean the world to me too. And I want nothing more than to stay by your side, even as a maid.” She spoke earnestly, captivating the princess with her smile. “It is unfair. You're right.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.” She nodded. Before Tifa knew it, she grabbed from the vanity surface her lip coloring. “We're made to do a lot of things we don't want to do.” Aerith's index finger gathered a moderate amount of pigmentation, and began to gently smear it across the princess’s supple lips until they were a neatly spread coat of rouge. “Maybe one day you can change that.”

Her finger shifted when she was done, but her thumb quickly took its place, giving Tifa's lower lips the softest of strokes, and drawing a blush from her. The gap between them was closing little by little.

“Do you think I could?” Tifa asked.

“I know you could.” Aerith replied in a whisper. “I know that you have the power to do anything you want to do.”

“What if I wanted to kiss you?”

“Then you can.”

With that, the last bit of distance was instantly drawn shut. Their lips connected. Somehow the kiss was simultaneously chaste, yet passionate, and filled with pent up yearning. The two of them were gentle, Aerith careful not to ruin the makeup she just applied, and Tifa caressing the former's cheek. And they both savored each other's taste, knowing they may never taste it again; fragrant floral mixed with sweet vanilla in a way they would never forget.

When they pulled apart many moments after, quiet pants of breath filling the space around them, they found each other's eyes yet again. Longing overwhelmed them; they wanted more. If it were up to them, they'd lose themselves in one another right then and there and let the day fly by in their decadence.

But they couldn't.

Time was passing. And though their moments were sweet, they couldn't afford to lose any more time than they already had. Knowing this, Aerith moved away. Not far, but enough to continue their morning routine.

“We need to finish getting you ready, your highness.” She said.

Tifa nodded. While still left wanting, she was content nonetheless. “I know.”

“How would you like your hair today?”

“How about…in the dolphin tail?”

Aerith beamed. “That's my favorite look on you!”

And Tifa smirked coyly. “I know.”

It was hours after breakfast that Tifa was permitted to leave the palace grounds to see Aerith off. She wore the deep blue dress she chose for her, along with the silver moon and stars accessories to pair. She waited outside the Gainsborough home; a small mansion they had barely managed to upkeep thanks to their debt. Their financial troubles would be no more, however, as Aerith's soon-to-be husband promised to care for them. 

She had heard from Aerith herself he was a nice man. His name slipped Tifa's mind though, as she cared little about him. He lived in Nibel's countryside, where he tends to a vineyard that's been in his family for generations. Whatever his profession, she could only hope Aerith's reassurance would prove to be true.

Speaking of.

“Your highness!”

Their eyes meet, they both smile, and they both embrace. With their arms around one another, their proximity close, Tifa heard Aerith whisper to her.

“I'm so glad you came, Tifa.”

That drew from her a proud grin as she whispered back. “I made a promise, did I not?”

The light brunette giggled, and shielded by Tifa's dark hair that curtained their side, she snuck one last quick kiss. Too quick for either of their tastes, but they take what they can get. When it comes time for them to part, their hands remain connected while their bodies draw back.

“I'm really going to miss you.” Tifa admitted. This was the first time she did so in words.

“I'll miss you too.” Aerith replied. “Take care of yourself, alright, your highness?”

“I will.” A nod. “But…only if you promise me one thing in return.”

This made the other tilt her head in question. “Go on.”

The princess inhales deeply to gather her courage. “You've taken care of me for years. And many others have thrived under your care. I wish for you to thrive too. Promise me you will take care of yourself from time to time.”

Aerith's head tilted to the other side, brows furrowing— and then her face loosens into an expression of mirth. She laughed, shaking her head, then she grips Tifa's hands tighter.

“Is that a royal command?”

Even the princess can't help but chortle. “Not quite. Well?”

“Alright. I promise.”

One more warm embrace between the two, but this one lasts longer. They clung to each other tightly, and relished in the closeness they won't feel again until god knows when. Just a little more , they keep telling themselves. A little longer .

They're forced to let go by the call of the shorter girl's name returning the two to the present. It almost hurts to release each other, but they do. The elder Gainsboroughs bow to Tifa in a show of respect. Aerith bowed to, much to the former's dismay. Slow steps were then taken to the horse-drawn carriage that awaited the family. The former maid stared intently out the window when the door was shut, Tifa returning the gaze.

All they could further do was wave at each other while the distance between them grew. They never looked away once, not until they both left each other's sight. When the carriage is out of view, Tifa's hand lowered in a slow, agonizing movement, tears welling up again, but this time she couldn't hold them back. They fall freely, and they didn't stop until she was ready to return to the palace.

Aerith was gone, but their lives, even without each other, must go on.

Chapter Text

It was days like this she had to remind herself her chest was made of steel.

Her heart was locked behind the metal plate that pieced her back together. And though its thickness amounted only to so much, it was still enough for her— enough to guard the last fragment of humanity she felt she had left. She wore it like armor. Any attempts to poke and prod, her last resort was that armor. There was no lock and key to open the door; her heart is forever sealed away. That's how she preferred it, and everyone knew.

That fateful night two years ago did more than sear her flesh and bone. It tore her life apart with a few mere swings of a blade. She'd never forget its weight in her hands, while anger imbued her. She saw red through and through, both when she swung, and when it was turned against her. Back then she clung to a thread, something compelling her to hang on just a little longer. In that moment she wondered if it was to bear witness to the captivating orbs of cerulean that gazed down at her mournfully, stained with tears and ash. Maybe it was one last moment of serenity she's been graced with, carried in the arms of the boy she missed the most.

But that thread didn't snap when her vision went dark. Fate had other plans. And they were cruel.

“Hello? Gaia to Lockhart?” 

A shrill voice permeated her thoughts, and filled the space of the helicopter they sat in. Tifa fixed her crimson gaze onto the blonde seated beside her. Her brows were furrowed in both inquisitiveness and slight annoyance. As Tifa eyed her expression, she wasn't sure if she was grateful or irked about her attention being drawn away from the haze of memories she was losing herself in. Either way, she sure as hell wasn't going to tell Elena.

“Did you even hear me?” Elena questioned. “You always look like you're in another world when we ask you your story.”

Her eyes narrowed the blonde's way, sharp and unyielding, as if hoping to pierce her with the scrutiny. “Then maybe don't ask.” She didn't expect her words to come out so bitter, but they did.

The shorter female huffed in response, head turning away as she leaned back into her seat. Tifa half expected her to grant her silence, but she knew Elena well enough.

“Well excuse me for trying to take an interest in you.” She heard her mumble.

But she didn't respond. She didn't need nor want to. And it seemed Elena accepted that— albeit begrudgingly. And thank Minevra the rest of the ride was silent. Nothing but the hum of the helicopter blades sounded, gracing the Turks— Tifa especially —with the slightest sense of peace. It was a peace they’d relish as long as they could.

The task that called their attention wasn’t something unusual for them to confront. An assassination requested by their higher ups; the details weren’t important, so as long as they got the job done. It was a routine drilled into their heads since day one; find their target, take them out, leave no traces behind. The latter was especially important, and something Tifa excelled at. If she was dispatched for this mission, then it meant the boss wanted this to end as quickly and as cleanly as possible. Her abilities were enough to rival that of Tseng. Both held each other in high regard because of that. Though it never failed to surprise everyone how the doe-eyed girl from Nibelheim could hold her own against him in a sparring match. Two years ago, when she was first “recruited” into their numbers, she fought him with vigor, and an unsettled rage that lingered within. She held her own until her injuries reminded her of the limits she was close to reaching. Even with her body battered and bruised, she could fight. That recognized strength is what landed her where she is now.

Tifa had protested against them for weeks, but Heidegger was ruthless. He saw something in her that he needed to fulfill his vile agenda, to get the praise from the president he so desired. She hated Shinra, but it was shamefully easy to turn that hate into their own personal weapon. They held her trauma on a tight leash, and molded it into something they could use. And they always knew how to get to her.

“What else is left for you anyway? Who else is there to judge you now?”

Nothing, and no one. Her home was gone, and her loved ones were dead.

Every kill she was forced to enact, she was reminded of this. She was a husk of pain, anger, and shame. Another piece of herself lost until she grew empty— until she grew numb to the ear piercing crack of gunfire, the feel of blood splatters not her own trickling down her skin, and the sight of a corpse staring into her soul. 

This time should be no different, right?

The group would arrive at Junon's topside, and promptly split up to draw less attention to their appearance. Tifa searched alone for their target; a middle-aged man with rapidly graying black hair. An image was provided to them, of course. She opted to search the lower section of the city. It wasn't uncommon for fugitives to hide down there. It seemed to make the most sense. With care she maneuvered her way through the small crowds that traverse the underside's township. Her guard remained up, eyes warily scanning every individual in front of her. Few paid her any mind, and she was thankful for their ignorance. The less people who remembered her face, the better. Still, it was disappointing that no one here seemed to be who she was looking for.

As time went on, she began to wonder if the leads steered them wrong. A rare occurrence, but it did happen. She was about ready to pull out her PHS when something peculiar did finally catch her attention. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a pair of brown hues staring her down in the distance. When her head turned their way, the small form they belonged to was quick to bolt towards a seemingly abandoned house. Something compelled her to follow— so she did. Tifa trailed after them, approaching the home with caution. Her pistol was pulled from its holster, and held firmly in her hand. One glance at the entrance revealed the door was ajar. Careful steps were made toward it, until she stood against the aging wood. Finally she opened it, and entered, gun pointed out in front of her. She wasn't prepared for what she saw next.

A child that had to be no more than thirteen, hair long and dark draped over her shoulder sat on her knees and hovered over the body of a much older man, their target. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes as she shook him.

“Dad…please wake up…they're coming.” Her voice was small, faltering with every word that left her. When Tifa stepped in, her head snapped up, gaze quickly locking on her until it fell onto the man she presumed to be her father again.

No amount of steel could hold back the wave of emotions that flooded her in that moment. Her eyes were wide, trembling as memories of that night pooled into mind yet again. Before her the scene flickered between reality and her own father's dead form lying still on metal grating. Though this man wasn't bleeding out, not yet. Instead he appeared sickly and pale, eyelids closed, but shaking.

Mako poisoning.

She should end his misery now. If she didn't kill him, the mako would. Yet, she couldn't do it. Her finger quaked as it hovered over the trigger, hesitation growing when she heard the girl's sobs finally break free. Tifa's breath would hitch, and she scolded herself repeatedly for letting this happen. She shouldn't feel anything; she was a killer, a monster. She didn't deserve to feel anything. Not now, not again. Grasping onto that, her trembling hand reoriented her aim, pointing the firearm at the man's temple. She counted down in her head.

5…

Flames licked at her fair skin, staining it with ash and filling her with an uncomfortable heat as she and her father ran for their lives through the burning village. Screams of agony rang from all directions, eerily fading the further away they got. They drew up the mountain path, and she felt her breath stiffen as a desperate sob tried to escape her.

4…

The visions haunted her again. Dark red poured from her father's gaping wound as she fruitlessly begged for him to get up.

3…

Despair. Anger. Hatred. She screamed to no one how sick she was of everything. A familiar, large sword laid next to her father's body as if to mock her. As if this was all some sick joke. She grabbed the hilt, and lifted it. It was heavy in her hands, but she pressed forward, dragging it behind her. She was heading towards her death and she knew it, but maybe death would be a mercy.

2…

She trudged up the metal staircase, the blade still in tow. She clutched it tightly as she cursed Sephiroth and all he's done to her. The pain was eminent in her voice. He didn't even face her. He didn't care. Not until she swung. He caught it with such ease, and lifted her like she was nothing. The next thing she knew her chest spewed blood, the sharpest pain gnawing at her until she couldn't breathe. Her ears rang when her head slammed against the metal floor, and her body tumbled down the stairs. 

1…

A gunshot snapped her out of it, followed by a wail of horror

Tifa opened her eyes she hadn't realized she clamped shut and looked ahead of her. The man had a bullet hole in his forehead, and his daughter cried for him. One glance at her pistol revealed it wasn't her trigger that was pulled. She turned around to see Tseng behind her, his own gun drawn, a line of smoke trickling from the barrel. His face was devoid of emotion, but he eyed her with a scrutiny she could feel burn holes into her. 

“We're leaving.” He said to her, his eyes darkening, tone grim. “Now.”

The steel in her chest wasn't enough anymore.