002. there's no place like home

[findmyownreason.livejournal.com]

It's one of those absolutely beautiful days when the sky outside is clear blue for a change instead of grey and the rain from the night before actually cleaned things instead of adding to the layer of grime.  Outside, the people passing on the street don't seem quite as in a rush or beat down as usual and there's a feeling of faint relief in the air, almost as if you can inhale deeply and it will be okay.  Down one of the quieter streets, there's a building with a sign over its front door that proudly proclaims itself to be Seventh Heaven.  The door's locked and the sign on it reads 'closed'... but just to the side of the building, tucked away and private, is a little garage attached to the side of the building.  That door is wide open to let the fresh spring air into its cramped interior.

It's a small space and a great deal of it is taken up with stacked boxes and bits and pieces of things that might be useful items or just might be junk.  There's a washing machine and dryer tucked into one corner and that area is the only neat one in the entire place.  A child's bike and a faded ball lay near the front of the open garage door.  What takes up most of the space however is a monster of a motorcycle, glistening black as a beetle's shell after a rain storm and even parked it looks like speed on wheels.  The air is full of the smell of oil and wax and a hint of gasoline.  And there's a long, lean pair of legs sticking out from under the back of the bike where it's been cranked up, the soft sounds of metal on metal coming dimly from underneath.  There's a tool chest nearby and a decent amount of dirty rags to show that this has been an ongoing process.  Somewhere back through the closed door on the wall that connects this with the rest of the house the faint sound of a radio can be heard playing.  The body attached to the legs under the bike might, or might not, be humming - poorly - snatches of whatever song it is that's playing.

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[auncyenhalig.livejournal.com]

[ She lifts her eyes just slightly when he looks at her so closely at that moment, feeling a small amount of alarm -- what might he see when she needs him to recall her appearance -- before she meets his gaze again, slowly putting on a broad smile. ]

Just checking. [ Nothing's wrong, see? ] How is she? Is she still little? I wonder if it's tough for you with two girls in the house.

[findmyownreason.livejournal.com]

[he knows her too well. And not well enough. So much of this time spent with her had been watching her intently for any sign of answers to all the multitude of mysteries in his life... and being completely oblivious to everything that might have been going on with her.

So he knows when she's glossing over something and for just a minute she seems to blur slightly at the edges in front of him - but when he blinks she's just herself with that slightly teasing smile he knows so well. He doesn't move, he doesn't touch - but he watches her as if he's afraid to blink and lose her.]

I don't know how to talk to them.

[for someone that's bad at talking at the best of times... it's a handicap he's not sure how he can ever get over.]

Marlene's six.

[auncyenhalig.livejournal.com]

[ For now she just keeps that smile, holding on tightly to it, hoping he'll relax. ]

She's a smart girl. [ She remembers that much. Shyness, and then growing curious with questions... a lot of details are missing but the feelings are there. Marlene is someone special. ] Do you think she just might understand as long as you try? I'm sure Tifa would. They know you're not good at it; that's okay. It's "Cloud".

[findmyownreason.livejournal.com]

[that's the problem, Aerith. You of all people should know that being 'Cloud' isn't enough sometimes. Usually when it's most important. It's soft and spoken as the understood truth before he can think about it - but then again, Aerith was always good of drawing him outside of himself.]

They deserve better than that.

...

You did too.

[auncyenhalig.livejournal.com]

Hmm ... no. Sorry! I can't agree. You gave me what I wanted.

Or, why would I be here? [ And she hopes he considers that seriously for a moment. ]

[findmyownreason.livejournal.com]

[he looks up at her and for a minute his pale brows twitch, coming down and closer together. He... isn't sure why she's here with him. Somehow it didn't hit him to wonder in the first place. As much as he knew he'd failed, it had never occurred to him that Aerith would ever scold or yell at him. Not for something this painful. So... she wanted something? Either needed something from him or needed to tell him something?

And yet - before he can ask that, he has to ask:]

What did I give you?

[auncyenhalig.livejournal.com]

[ Oh, now that takes words. Things she's never been the best with in explaining. But she smiles, closing her eyes as her hands cup over the center of her chest, as though trying to hold something. ] A good feeling. Something really nice. Because I got to travel with everyone and see the world, and ... you came. [ Her brow wrinkles with the memory. That moment, of opening her eyes and seeing him standing there, has stayed vivid enough. ] Even though you were scared, and it hurt, you came for me. Not everyone would do that. It meant a lot to me. I wasn't alone. ... You mean a lot to me, Cloud.

[findmyownreason.livejournal.com]

[he... understands how it feels to not be alone. Because he understands how it feels to be alone. So he actually absorbs what she says - and the way she says it - instead of shrugging it off.

He had been scared. But he couldn't leave her alone.

For the first time his inhale isn't shallow.

It's not redemption though. He hasn't earned that. Forgiveness for letting her die in the first place. Being there hadn't been enough in the end. Again, someone else he loved had died while he'd stood there helplessly. Pointlessly. And, that time, it had been someone that had been counting on him to keep them safe.

Aerith had trusted him.

Even after what... he'd done to her at the Temple...]

...why are you here?

[auncyenhalig.livejournal.com]

[ To have that feeling back. To not be alone. She sorts through the possible answers, her eyes distant. The various degrees of truth. It only takes a second to decide. She had already decided before coming, really, but sometimes ... sometimes it was tempting to be weak. ]

Do I need a reason besides wanting to see you? Though I guess I should have called ahead, huh.

[ She won't lie, but she won't explain everything. Because it's now that the slow process that began with her death nears completion; now that "Aerith" the flower girl is returning to the Planet. She may continue to still exist within the Lifestream, but solely as a Cetra. This (breakdown) change is natural, and if there is a difference between memories she wants to keep and memories she needs to keep, if Aerith the flower girl and Aerith the Cetra are two different people, that's what is best for the Planet, and best for the people the flower girl has loved.

It still scares her.

She thinks it will scare Cloud even worse. And he doesn't need any more weight ("shilly shally, dilly dally") to put on his own shoulders, and she wants (needs?) to keep his heart safe, to protect this fragile dream from dark thoughts. ]

[findmyownreason.livejournal.com]

[he's been afraid to lose her completely. During Meteor, they'd all still felt her there with them, even after... after the City. He wanted her to go on, find whatever peace came after... but he'd been afraid of it too. That... loss of everything you were when the Lifestream ate you.

He knew he wasn't supposed to look at it that way... but he'd been lost in mako too often to view anything made of it as less than malevolent. Or, at the very least, uncaring and careless.

Aerith should have had more time. She should have been able to fly on an airship and grow her flowers in the sun and visit the spots on Gaia they'd been to but she hadn't been with them to see. She'd deserved to have longer to laugh.

If he'd been faster. Stronger. Smarter.

If he'd been able to be the protector she'd thought he was.

His blue eyes had sunk but they flick back up to her face at her words, searching behind them for what she was really saying. He can't touch her, afraid to have his hand go through her and make her disappear but the emotion makes his voice, as soft as it is, rough at the edges and the honesty is heart deep in his blue eyes as they focus on the green of hers.]

You never need a reason, Aerith. I always want you to come.

[auncyenhalig.livejournal.com]

[ She'd stayed with them as much as she could, has stayed over the years and for her it has been more than two. The immediate threats have been dealt with.

Now it's time for new life to blossom. And old life to accept the purpose of the cycle. Aerith knows she is lucky for having known that purpose so long, unlike most people. It helps ease the anxiety that is also normal for someone facing a major change. The familiar feelings being with Cloud brings help, too. One last really good, really bright memory ... she can be happy with that. ]

I'm here. [ She says it the way one might say "I'm home", and then she laughs and rises out of her crouch, still stooping over Cloud and offering her hands. ] And I'll be visiting again soon, I think. Come on. Up, up, up! How can we have fun with you lying around like that?

[findmyownreason.livejournal.com]

[he blinks up at her and his heart aches. It's a bittersweet ache but he accepts it because there is so much sweet to balance the bitter. He looks at her hands though... and even though he knows they're used to dirt, his own hands are filthy with oil and engine grease, a slicker, less honest kind of unclean. There's even a streak of black, glistening oil down his left arm, almost coating the pale skin and he doesn't even remember how he spilled that on himself. Taking her hands means marking them with his own work stains and he - doesn't want to do that. Doesn't want to tarnish up her small hands with the proof of his day to day life.

He doesn't want to deny her touch either though. He never wants her to think he'd deny her anything, much less something as simple as holding her hands.

When was the last time she had someone to do something as simple as hold her hand?

So his chin tucks but he, very carefully, very gently, curls his hands around hers, trying not to make a mess of her and still hold her tightly when he gets over the first fear as his skin doesn't melt through hers. He sits up and than stands and little drops of black oil fall off his elbow to patter against the concrete. He doesn't notice.]

Fun?

black stuff on the left arm, huh? XD

[auncyenhalig.livejournal.com]

[ The black on his arm is an unpleasant reminder of the epidemic that nearly seized hold of life itself. Just a reminder, because it's passed now, and Cloud is not hiding his arm away like something shameful. He's not infected. But then as he lets go of her hands she notices it splattering from his elbow, and she's not entirely convinced it's just oil. Instead of moving back, Aerith's hand reaches up to hold his arm gently; her eyes dart back to Cloud's to seek out any telltales of pain.

No sign of suffering, not that she can see. Aerith sighs at her own worrying and smiles and lifts her now-oily hand to streak Cloud's nose with the stuff. (How can you fix things if you're afraid of getting a little dirty?) ]

F-U-N. I remember that being a tough word for you. Maybe we should wash up before giving it a try?

remember which arm she was 'operating' on as well?

[findmyownreason.livejournal.com]

(ooc. guess who's not as far along in the timeline as this version of Aerith is and is mentally denying what his subconscious is already aware of?)

[he holds very still when she touches his arm, careful not to let anything show. He thinks he must have gotten it too close to Fenrir while the muffler was still hot because even her light touch hurts - except he's been hurt so much worse so often that the little shards that skitter upward aren't worth acknowledging. He'll use a potion on it when he gets back inside but for now this, now, is so much more important.

For some reason seeing the black on her hand though bothers him much more than it should.

His chin ducks when she paints his nose with oil.

He knows he's not good with 'fun'. And so instead he concentrates on the other part of her talk, leaving the 'fun' to her. Still worried about her disappearing, he very gently captures her wrist with his right hand, touch almost delicate.]

In the sink.

[there's a industrial sink set next to the washer in the corner and, eyes carefully checking on her every second or so, Cloud tugs Aerith there. Tifa uses it for hard stains... and he uses it for himself in general considering how filthy he can get and how he doesn't like tracking that into the house. A twist of the faucet sets the water running and as if she wouldn't on her own, he pulls her hand with its black mark under the running water. Not until he's sure it comes off on its own does he let go and hand her the soap, putting his own hands under the water under hers and making the clear water run black as it spirals down the drain.]

...AHHH if he had it back then, that's evil lol

[auncyenhalig.livejournal.com]

Hey, I can do this -- oh. [ She stays still as the black washes off under the water, then flexes that hand's fingers after he lets go. It feels ... different. But after a second or two of that she looks up at Cloud again, absentmindedly soaping up her hands. She understands why he worries, but she wishes he wouldn't. ]

I can't get sick. I'll be okay.

[ In a way it might have been the lesser cruelty that Sephiroth had killed her when he had, because she could work against the plague's effects without worrying about herself. The stigma was caused by his will acting through the Jenova cells. In the past those cells had turned the infected Cetra into monsters. She didn't know what they would have done to her in this day and age, but she did know Sephiroth's will when he was at full strength was stronger than hers. If she had been infected ... But there's no use thinking about what ifs. ]

Promise, Cloud. You'll only see me the way I'm supposed to be. Myself. [ That was why she'd decided she didn't like Sephiroth's approach, after all. (And maybe the thought of copying him left a bad taste in her mouth, too.) ]

;) wait until the fever dreams start kicking in...

[findmyownreason.livejournal.com]

[Of course she won't get sick. She's... dead.

The reminder has him ducking his chin into his chest again as his brows come down and he scrubs at his own hands and arms, pale skin starting to show under the black. He's still going to worry though. She feels... very solid and real with him right now and he's afraid something is going to take her away while he stands helplessly by. Again. Even standing next to her there's a set to the way he's standing that let's him - well, he's too short to loom but even with his hands to one side, his body is definitely shifted to shelter hers, even though there's nothing but a sink and an empty garage. Yes, he's doing the Cloud equivalent of hovering.

His blue eyes shift sideways to her though as she keeps talking and he doesn't understand what she's saying. It makes his eyebrows twitch again but he doesn't ask. Too used to not understanding what other people are saying and having to put it together himself later on. Does she mean she's not going to turn into one of those blurry, pointy hatted creatures they saw in the Temple and 'nyum, nyum' at him?

He... hopes not. He's not sure what that would do to him if she did.

Withdrawing, he dries his hands on one of the rags Tifa leaves near the sink just for that purpose, ignoring the spots of black oil on his arm near the elbow that he's apparently missed. His voice is quiet.]

That's all I want you to be, Aerith. Yourself.

... gotta wonder if he'll remember enough to feel bad about it later XD

[auncyenhalig.livejournal.com]

[ She's talking to her own thoughts, which change track when he says that; she turns to look up at him, her tone both playful and slightly lecturing. ]

But just being yourself isn't enough for us? That sounds like a double standard to me.

... Come on. It's time to play now!

[ She takes his hand -- being so careful to take his right hand. Sometimes it's important to throw Cloud off-balance so he doesn't think so much. She needs to stop thinking too and just have fun.

This completely justifies Aerith trying to drag him out the garage by hand. ]

he's good at remembering things that make him feel bad XD

[findmyownreason.livejournal.com]

[it's - not the same. He's the one that's not enough as he is. The rest of them - they're just the way they should be and everything he needs. He's opening his mouth to say something along those lines in fact when she catches at his hand with her small one and short circuits his argument with her tug.

Despite himself, his lips relax and soften a little, twitching the smallest bit upward at their edges.

Aerith has always been impossible for him to refuse and so, greasy shirt and pants with rips in them, he still follows her out into the daylight, wondering where they're going and if he should get his sword.]

Aerith says his memory needs some tweaking. o9

[auncyenhalig.livejournal.com]

[ Not at all. Aerith hardly has anything dangerous in mind.

Though Cloud might find it a little scary. ]

There are a lot of kids here from Midgar, I remember.

[findmyownreason.livejournal.com]

[he follows her lead, having no idea where they're going or if they're even going anywhere... normal. Where do you go when you're following the dead? And... can anyone else see her? If not, it's not as if his reputation can't take the hit of him walking the streets talking to air. It would worry Tifa though, if it got back to her.

Her question draws his attention back and he makes a soft sound as he nods. Edge has more than it's share of homeless and there's a high number of children in that. Denzel was a street urchin before he came to them. He knows Tifa feeds the ones that 'happen' to stop by the bar from time to time too. Two years later and they're still trying to clean up the mess of Meteor - and yet it isn't as if kids roaming the streets is new to Edge and not something Midgar's slums at least had just as well.

The kids are tough... but a lot of them have been hit with geostigma lately.

Like Denzel.]

Yeah. They're good kids.

................./_\ *HIDES THIS LATENESS FOREVER*

[auncyenhalig.livejournal.com]

[ Still leading, she answers: ] I know. They have a lot of faith and hope, if you give them just the smallest reason to believe.

We're going to give them that reason. [ She looks over her shoulder and smiles gently. ] I know it's hard to believe now, but you're close to finding it, Cloud.

shhh - I wasn't even here. I saw nothing ;)

[findmyownreason.livejournal.com]

[there's a little jump in his chest because...

he's been trying so damned hard to find a cure for the geostigma. He knows he's not a doctor but if he just pushes hard enough, searches in the right place, asks the right questions, then surely - surely - the answer will show up. He can't let Denzel down.

This is his chance for salvation.

But, even more than that, Denzel deserves the chance to run around and play without pain just like a healthy kid...

Awareness of his past failures follows right on the heels of that hope though and, seeing her smile like that, he still has to quietly ask:]

I am?