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Rain lashed against the windowpane. A violent tempest, testament to the desolate state the ruins of Midgar lay in. Black and twisted much like the man who had wrought the destruction. Her home, her life - gone in the blink of an eye. It wasn't the first time Sephiroth had nearly destroyed her, either.
Lightning lanced across the stormy night sky, temporarily casting light over her recumbent form. Bed sheets twisted around well defined legs, the fist fighter murmured in her sleep.
It had been a long time since these dreams had plagued Tifa’s sleep. Forced to relive the events of her youth. The destruction, the fire - the loss.
Some logical part of her sleeping mind rationalised this was merely a dream but it didn't assuage the fear, or the panic Tifa had felt that night. The lick of the flames against exposed flesh, the intrepid heat making every breath a struggle and the smoke; the acrid stench permeating the air, stinging her lungs and impairing her vision.
“Papa!” Tifa’s fifteen-year-old self called across the chaos and panic. Nibelheim ablaze, terrified people pouring from their homes. Panicked screams filled the air. All she could think about was finding her papa.
Her own home burned bright, yet she still forced herself across the threshold, a vain hope her papa might be there spurring her on.
The house had been empty, tendrils of fire caressing everything her father had worked so hard for over the years. She watched it all blacken and burn before her eyes. Priceless, irreplaceable mementos gone. Her heart wrenched.
“Papa!” Tifa called out. “Papa, please!” There was no answer but still she searched, skirting around a fallen beam. If she had remained where she was standing, it would have crushed her under its weight. Her heart hammered in her chest, the rising tide of panic threatening to consume her.
Carefully she made her way to the foot of the stairs, intending to search the upper floors. What if her father was up there, unconscious, unable to move?
“Don't think, just do,” the teen chanted, a panicked mantra lending her strength.
The air was close, to close. The longer she remained, the harder it was to breath. Trapped within the inferno raging through her childhood home.
Tifa barely even crested the first few steps when a wall of fire surged between her and her destination. Another of the supporting beams ripped loose, tearing a hole in the middle of the stairs. Arms thrown up over her face in defence against the searing heat, she stumbled backward, landing hard on her ass.
“Papa!” The teen screamed over the roar of the inferno. If he was up there, she couldn’t reach him, not now.
Scuttling backward, Tifa rolled onto her front, her panicked gaze roaming the expanse of the lower level. She had to get out. Pushing herself to her feet, the teen made a quick exit from the raging inferno she had once called home.
It was no better out here. More homes ablaze. Fire raging through her hometown. Her heart despaired to see the destruction wrought. People she had known since she had been nothing more than a babe in arms, so despondent. Blinking away unshed tears and swallowing down the panic, the teen pressed on. Helping where she could and seeking any information on her father and his whereabouts. It felt as though a lifetime had passed, but it couldn't have been more than midday.
Tifa found the breakthrough she had been looking for; information on her father's whereabouts readily shared with her. Her heart had surged with hope at the news. Wasting no time she was off; cowgirl hat flying out behind her. The only thing keeping it from flying away being the ties around her neck.
Mt. Nibel, that's where he was, not the mangled ruined mess that had once been a loving home. Tifa was no stranger to Mt. Nibel. Even as a child she had been more than familiar with its peaks and the dangers it posed. Days previous she had been hired as a guide for an expedition of ShinRa’s most elite forces - SOLDIER. If she was honest, Tifa was hoping to catch a glimpse of a childhood friend. He had, after all, promised to return when he was a famous member of SOLDIER. The young fist fighter had found it odd that she could find no mention of him in any of the papers she had meticulously scanned. Even so, she had refused to believe there was anything to it.
Back in the present, a sleeping Tifa stirred, restlessly shifting onto her side. She became further entangled in the sheets. Unaware of the tiny form that had strayed into her room. Marlene Wallace. The storm raging over their heads had woken the child, startled from her sleep. She sought the comfort of the only mother figure she had ever known. Marlene needed to hear the murmured reassurances only Tifa could offer. Yes, it was only a storm. Yes, she was safe. No, nothing could get her while Tifa was there and yes, it would be over soon.
“Tifa,” Marlene’s small voice called to her surrogate mother. Tifa didn't stir.
Small pout turned down in a frown, Marlene sighed, clutching her stuffed moogle ever closer to her small frame. The thing was tatty and old but she refused to give it up. It had, after all, been a gift from one of the many orphans roaming the streets of Edge.
As small as she was, Marlene was perceptive and understood what was happening around her. She worried Cloud wouldn't come back, worried of Tifa’s unrequited love for him - not that Tifa would ever verbally admit it. Tifa was always too busy being everyone else's rock. Soothing their troubles, being their mother, but what about her? Who was there for Tifa?
Marlene started, lightning briefly brightening the dark room, chasing the shadows from the corners. The child knew what came next.
“One… two… thr--” A mighty roll of thunder rumbled above the bar. Marlene slapped her hands over her ears, her moogle thumping quietly against the floor. She stumbled into the side of the bed, whipping round to face the rest of the room. Her imagination ran away with her, imagining all kinds of nightmare monsters leering at her from the shadow. Her fear of the storm and her imagination spurred her into action. Marlene stooped to retrieve her moogle before launching herself onto Tifa’s bed, a small hand placed against the woman’s cheek. Tifa didn't stir, too lost in the memory of her youth. A nightmare that still haunted her.
A young Tifa raced along the mountain trail, stumbling in her haste to reach the newly erected Mako Reactor. She knew she would carry the memory of this day with her for the rest of her life. A hollow ache in her heart for all the people she knew and subsequently lost thanks to one man's reckless actions. The mighty Sephiroth couldn’t have done this, could he? All she knew was that he had disappeared into the ShinRa mansion for days, ferreting out whatever secrets lay behind its serene facade.
Tifa fell on her knees, hard. Stumbling over yet another obstacle in her way. The skin of her knees torn and red raw. A terrified sob spilled from plush tiers, she needed to find her papa, she couldn't lose him too. The tan leather of her tasseled skirt was already soot stained and dirty, what was a little more in the name of finding her father?
She pushed herself to her feet, wincing at her scraped knees and hands. It didn't matter. It wasn’t important. Tifa has survived a lot worse than skinned knees. If only she knew what nasty surprise fate had in store for her. She might have changed her mind.
The teen drew ever closer to her final destination, a growing sense of trepidation rising within her. It was quiet, too quiet. Now that Tifa thought about it, she hadn't even seen a single sign of any of the many fiends roaming the mountains. The door to the reactor stood open but unlike last time, no one stood guard, barring her entry. Cautiously - hesitantly - she climbed the first few steps, stopping midway to take stock of her surroundings.
Come, on Tifa, she mentally chided herself, forcing booted feet up the last few stairs.
This was ridiculous yet at the same time, Tifa feared what she would find within. She crossed the threshold against her better judgement. An entirely different silence settled over her, pressing her down. It was unnerving. Lights flickered infrequently, threatening to plunge her into darkness. Wine coloured hues rose to glance around the metal structure, it was quiet, too quiet.
The eerie silence, combined with the flickering of the already dim lighting set her nerves on edge. Goosebumps rose across exposed flesh and she had to push back her rising sense of unease, forcing her feet to carry her across the bridge. Tifa cringed, the echo of her own booted footsteps ringing out against the cold metal under foot. It was enough to announce her presence to whomever or whatever happened to be within the heart of the reactor.
Unprepared for what greeted her on the other side of the bridge, a startled gasp emanated from her. Frozen on the spot, Tifa drank in the dark sight laid out before her. Her father's crumpled and broken body at the foot of the stairs.
“Papa?” A tentative step forward, unwilling to believe what her eyes saw. “Papa!” Tifa surged forward, something broke through the emotional dam.
The teen dropped to her knees, hands uselessly fluttering before her father's crumpled form. He was bleeding profusely, Tifa didn't even know where to start in her vain attempt to stem the flow of blood.
“Papa, I--” Eyes bright with unshed tears her hands dropped to her sides, balling into fists.
He drew a ragged breath, her eyes immediately snapping up searching his face for some sign he would be all right.
Her father sat in a pool of his own blood. So much blood. How could so much spill from one person? A broken sob filled the air. Tifa hadn't even realised it had come from her until her father touched two fingers to her cheek. He didn't want to leave his little girl - his beautiful baby girl - anymore than she wanted to lose him.
“Sephiroth, he--” the man grimaced against the pain wracking his broken form.
“Papa, please--” don't leave me, she almost added. “Don't talk. I'll make this right. I'll fix this - get you fixed. Please!”
Cloud, where are you? Where was her hero when she needed him most. He had promised, yet he wasn't here.
“Tifa!”
A panicked screech broke through, Tifa surging up with a gasp. Marlene’s small hand fell from her cheek. Still caught in her nightmares of the past, the fist fighter blinked. It took several moments for her mind to catch up to the present, finally realising it was only a dream.
Her heart still hammered wildly in her chest, her breath still too quick for her liking. She briefly touched a hand to her chest. Tifa still bore the scars from that night, both mental and physical.
“I'm sorry,” Marlene murmured. “I didn't mean to wake you.”
Tifa shook her head. The familiarity of Marlene’s voice and close proximity enough to cause the tension thrumming through her to disperse. She turned to the girl, untangling herself from the sheets and pulling them up. Marlene looked uncertain until she realised Tifa held the corner of the covers up for her to crawl under. The girl wasted no time in doing just that, curling her small form as close to the woman as she possibly could. Tifa tucked her closer, embracing the child, her familiar weight and warmth chasing away the vestiges of her dream.
“It’s just a storm,” Tifa murmured the familiar comfort into Marlene’s hair, lips pressed tenderly to the child's temple.
It was just a dream she also told herself. Truth be told, she needed the closeness Marlene offered, it anchored her to the present.
She lay, silently listening to the girl's breathing even out, sleep once again claiming her and it was the last thing Tifa remembered, curled around her little girl.
It was just a dream.