Archive of Our Own ^beta

Blood pooled at Tifa’s knees. It soaked through her knee-highs, sticking to her skin and chilling her to the bone. The blood had gone cold now, earlier it had been warm. The blood caked Cloud’s gloves, and in some odd way, the thought of it left a pit in Tifa’s stomach. Jealousy, perhaps, of the intimacy that Tifa didn’t get to experience herself—the warmth that could have dripped from her wrists now stained her shins instead.

Aerith’s skin was still warm to touch. At least she could have that much—a selfish thought, Tifa knew. It ate away at her as she came to cradle what was left of her—what was left of their flower girl. She had carefully slipped her hands beneath Aerith’s arms, pulling her to lay between her legs and against her chest.

There was no comfort in the closeness, though. She could hear the sniffles coming from Barret, the hiccups and labored breaths from Yuffie. Nanaki had curled up at Aerith’s feet, his tail curled carefully over her ankles, careful so as to not singe her. Cait Sith was accompanying Cloud who stood nearby—looking far too casual for Tifa’s liking. She watched him through narrowed eyes, and she couldn’t help but curl her arms over Aerith’s chest—in an act of defense, maybe. Not that there was anything left to protect anymore. 

Tifa gently nudged her nose against the back of Aerith’s head, nosing at one of her ears. Aerith’s dress stuck to Tifa’s abdomen now, blood acting as a makeshift adhesive between the two. Not that they needed it. Tifa would be here to hold her anyway. 

Nanaki heaved a sigh at their feet, and there was a beat of silence before he took in a shaky inhale. Tifa peered at him from over the crown of Aerith’s head, watching as he shifted to place his paws on Aerith’s lap so that he could rest his head atop of them. She and Nanaki were not particularly close, but she appreciated his company at that moment. He was close with Aerith. He trusted her the most, and everyone knew that even without verbal confirmation. Tifa recognized their relationship as something similar to… Family. Siblings. An older sister and her younger brother. Aerith was good with kids. 

Tifa lifted her head from where she had hidden herself away into Aerith’s hair—oh. Tifa’s lips parted in an almost strangled whimper. Aerith’s hair was loose, no longer in that signature braid of hers. Her ribbon no longer tied her hair up in place. Where was her ribbon? 

“Her ribbon is gone,” She murmured, breaking the trance—like state that they had all been in moments ago. “Where is her ribbon?” 

Tifa’s bottom lip wobbled as she shifted, arms still wrapped around Aerith’s torso to keep her pressed up against herself. She didn’t want to leave her here—but her ribbon was gone. For some odd reason, the fact that Aerith’s ribbon was seemingly gone made her nerves kick into high drive. Her arms tightened around Aerith’s torso, squeezing her to her chest as she peered over her head. Deep red eyes grew wide as they darted from person to person—Nanaki, Barret, Yuffie—the pink ribbon was nowhere to be found. A hiccup got stuck in Tifa’s throat, causing her to choke on her own saliva—her hand shot up to cover her mouth as she coughed. 

“Tifa,” Barret began softly as he stepped closer to her. The martial artist seemed to physically recoil at his approach, her heart registering it as an act of intrusion rather than comfort. “Hey, it’s okay. Jus’ me, okay?” 

Don’t take her from me, please. The words never left her mouth, only a few violent coughs. Tifa shook her head as she grappled for purchase on Aerith’s dress, taking fistfuls of the pink fabric in order to hold her closer. 

“Her ribbon is gone.” Tifa began to shake, her hands quivering as she squeezed the fabric of Aerith’s dress between her fingers. 

In all honesty, she didn’t totally understand why it mattered so much. Aerith lay dead in her arms. Blood had since dried on her knees. It also glued Aerith’s dress to Tifa’s stomach. Aerith’s chest did not rise or fall, and she could not feel the pound of her heartbeat against her chest. She lay limp and yet, Tifa could only think about her ribbon . Aerith’s pink ribbon that would bounce when she walked—it reminded her of bunny ears. It was endearing. It was just so Aerith. To see her without it was akin to the final nail being hammered into the coffin—Aerith was gone, and with her went the small things. 

One of Tifa’s hands lifted to press against Aerith’s chest, her fingers trembling as she brushed her palm against her skin. Still warm. She was here not too long ago. Tifa would keep her warm—Nanaki would, too. He was still resting his head on Aerith’s lap, but he had since brought one of his paws to rest over his muzzle to hide his eyes. His back lifted and fell again with each breath—shaken and hesitant. His soft whimpers accompanied her own heavy breaths. 

Aerith was gone, and with her went the twinkle in her eyes. The energy she carried within each simple step she took. The jingling of her bangles. The soft, passionate voice of the planet. The bounce of her bow. The skip in her step. The heart of their rag-tag team. The love that she carried for everything and everyone. Aerith was gone. 

“Tifa,” Barret was back again, and he was crouched beside Tifa, Aerith and Nanaki. In his hand, resting on his palm and dangling from the spaces between his fingers was Aerith’s ribbon. The fabric was damp and dark. It’s usual soft pink had been replaced with a deep red. 

Tifa pressed her cheek against the back of Aerith’s head. The dam broke, and Tifa began to weep. Her resolve had crumbled completely at the sight—Aerith’s pink ribbon. Aerith’s red ribbon now, she supposed. The hand that had been resting on Aerith’s chest lifted to cradle her cheek instead, and Tifa began rocking from side to side. 

I loved her, she wanted to admit to him. I love her. She had never actually said it, she realized that now. Tifa wasn’t sure if she was ever actually planning on saying it out loud. Too scared to say anything. Too scared to lose her. The irony of her fear makes her hold Aerith tighter. 

Nanaki’s whimpers fell apart into soft hiccups and sniffles, and the sound tugged at her heartstrings. At the same time, it made her feel selfish—selfish for gathering Aerith up in her arms, keeping the last bits of her living warmth to herself. She could share with Nanaki, though. The boy was young—technically speaking. He hadn’t known Aerith for very long, but she supposed that none of them really had. Did time really matter when they had already carved out a space for the flower peddler within their hearts? 

Tifa’s shoulders shook as another sob wracked her body. Barret had come to sit with her now, and she could feel his hand drawing comforting circles along her back. She didn’t mind his presence, either. He could stay, she supposed. 

From where she sat, head bowed and her nose resting against the crown of Aerith’s head, her eyes slowly drifted from Nanaki, curled up at Aerith’s feet, to look to Cloud instead. Her eyes had begun to burn by now, the pit in her stomach unfurling to reveal a sickening heat. Not warmth at the sight of him, no, something burning hot. Searing. It made her feel as though she would keel over and vomit. The feeling was worsened when the “soldier” shifted his weight and met her gaze. 

Tifa’s brows furrowed and her sobs fell short for a moment. Her fingertips dug into the fabric of Aerith’s clothes again, this time grabbing at her red jacket. The pair stared at each other in silence for a few long moments, the heat burst into an open flame within her stomach. Sparks crackled and stung as they floated their way up Tifa’s throat, burning the base of her tongue. Flames lapped at her ribs and seared her heart. Unnaturally green-blue eyes bore into her own dark red, and she could feel the flames unfurl within her own gaze. If she didn’t have an ounce of self control, she’d probably feel it crackling between her fingertips and curling over her knuckles. As she stared up at him, she came to realize what the feeling was. 

Rage. Jealousy. 

Aerith had spent her last, dying moments with him. 

Tifa tore her eyes away from him, bringing her gaze to rest on Nanaki again. She’d have been more relieved if he had been with her during her last moments. It would leave her with less anger. A selfish thought, she knew, and it brought tears to her eyes—she was not meant to be selfish like this. Still, she could not blame herself for feeling this way. 

All of this rage was love, before. It had gone sour as the blood began to go cold. 

“Tifa?” Barret’s voice came to her again. “We should find a place to send her off.” 

Send her off . Tifa’s hand lifted from where it had been clenching red fabric between her fingers, coming to cradle Aerith’s cheek again. She dropped her head, pressing her own cheek to the back of Aerith’s head.

 Her heart throbbed painfully within her chest. They could never give her a proper send off. Not the one that she truly deserved. She wished that she knew more about the historical customs of the Cetra, perhaps they could’ve given her a Cetra’s farewell. 

“Okay.” Tifa managed to whisper. 

Barret had offered to carry Aerith, but Tifa refused. The girl’s blood already painted her body, and perhaps it was yet another act of jealousy and selfishness to carry her. To keep the blood on her skin, instead. Aerith’s blood had dried on Cloud’s gloves, but Aerith’s blood was still warm on Tifa’s skin. A cruel thought, sure—Tifa would have to wash the blood off eventually, but it was an odd intimacy that Tifa wouldn’t let anyone else have. 

Nanaki gave Aerith’s leg a nuzzle before Tifa lifted her up and into her arms. Her eyes traced over Aerith’s face, maybe searching for something in a last ditch effort of hope. She looked peaceful, and it nearly fooled her into believing that she was just sleeping. A gentle yet somehow heavy thud against Tifa’s shoe told her otherwise, though. The blood continued to drip down, heavy and thick. 

The martial artist shifted Aerith in her arms, allowing her to rest her head against her shoulder instead. It would be more comfortable for her like this, Tifa convinced herself. She tipped her head to rest against Aerith again, brushing her cheek against her forehead. If she closed her eyes, she could really convince herself that she was only sleeping. She was exhausted, she passed out, and Tifa had the privilege of carrying their precious flower girl to their next destination. 

I love you, I love you, I love you. A confession she wouldn’t dare to speak out loud, but perhaps if she prayed enough, Aerith would somehow hear it. If she prayed enough, Aerith would wake and draw an arm around Tifa’s neck to say, I love you, I love you, I love you.  

Her love meant nothing and it would not change anything.