Chibi: I am in the process of a bit of an overhaul on this story. I'm not making any major changes, just editing some of the wording to make it flow a bit more nicely and make it all fit better with the ending. This is still my first FFVII fanfiction! I refer to this in my head as my Magnum Opus. The story was previously known as I Kissed the Rain – my reason for changing the title was now that I have reached the final chapters, this one (In the Quiet of Days) just fit a lot better. Hopefully no one will be too confused.

Reviews mean a lot to me, so I would greatly appreciate it if you could just drop me one to let me know what you though.

Thank you!

In the Quiet of Days

One

It was Zack's idea for me to write it all down. Everything – all the stuff that happened that summer with him, Cloud, Yuffie, me and Kadaj. "It's not going to make you feel any better," he told me. "It'll probably make you feel worse for a while. But it will help you. You've been through so much, you can't keep it all stuck inside of you." When he said this he took my hand. "There's stuff … stuff that I want to know. Stuff I know that you can't tell me. I'll respect some of your privacy … but the stuff with Kadaj? I need to know about that. For your own sake. You need to just …"

"Let it all out?" He nodded hard. I know he's right. I need to remember the stuff that happened … not just for me, but for his sake. Kadaj. So here I am. Sat at my desk, trying to get this all down. Because I know that Zack is right. I need to get it all out for my own sake. Otherwise … I'm lost.

It only happened a year ago, my fifteenth summer, but it feels as though it happened a long, long time ago. I've been thinking about that summer for so long, for an entire year, that the thought it was only one year, a single year, three hundred and sixty five days … it seems impossible. The events that took place that summer helped me grow up – I was so naïve back then, a young girl of fifteen who just liked to stare at the sky, and hang out with her older brother. I feel so much older than just sixteen, I feel as though the past year made me age a decade or so. I guess that's because, like they say, so much stuff shouldn't happen to someone so young. I'm not the only one who was so affected, though … Zack, Dad, Cloud … Dad's moving on slowly, but at least he's managing it. And Zack … I cannot believe how well he's doing. If I were him, I would have locked myself away from the world, curled in a little ball and died. I almost did. But Zack … it's not in his nature. He grieved. Of course he grieved, it would be unnatural not to. But then, when he had cried his sadness away, he got up and got on with his life. I guess the reason I'm writing this down is so that I can do the same. I'm not as easy as Zack – I hurt too easily. At least I used to. Zack is strong…so strong. I would always wish I could be as strong as him. I guess I still do.

I first heard about Cloud by the village rumours. There's some in every village you go to. The one going around Gongaga when my father and I returned from a rare holiday in Costa del Sol at the start of that summer was that old man Strife, who lived halfway up the hill that Gongaga stood in the shadow of, had a guest for the summer. A boy. His son. The boy's mother was what people would call an Earth Child, and she had given her son some weird name … Bird, or Sky or something. A kid from Nibelheim. I didn't really think anything of it, there's plenty of weird people in our village. I ignored the stupid rumour. It probably meant nothing.

We'd had a bit of a fright when we'd returned from Costa del Sol, Dad and I. We'd just pulled up in our car, on returning from the airport, only to find a strange motorbike in the yard. The front door was open. We both believed that there was a burglar in the house, and so we'd shakily crossed the yard, and slowly entered the house. I let Dad go in first, seeings as he was a man, and could maybe, somehow protect me if needs be. He'd slowly climbed the stairs in the front hall, after checking the lounge for intruders. I watched him climb the stairs cautiously, and I then slowly edged towards the kitchen. The door to this room was closed, but I wasn't sure if that was because the intruder was in there, or if they simply hadn't gone in there yet. I reached the door, my heart hammering. What if someone wasin there? What if pulled open the door, and came face to face with a gun? What if I was killed? And if there was no one down here, was Dad okay? Was the burglar upstairs, waiting, a knife, or a gun, or any weapon in hand, ready to pounce on and kill the first person they saw? I swallowed, gripped the door handle with my sweaty hands, and slowly pushed open the door. I opened it a fraction of an inch, my fingers curling around the side as I peered through the crack. No one there. I breathed a sigh of relief. God, how stupid could I get? Thinking there was someone there … as if … I swung open the door, feeling a bit more relaxed, and then my heart leapt. There was someone there. Two someones, in fact, sat at the kitchen table. I opened my mouth and screamed, causing the two people sat there to look up in fright.

"Tifa?" I heard Dad yell. I heard him thundering down the stairs, still calling: "Tifa, what is it?" I kept screaming, I couldn't stop it, and when one of the intruders leapt up, coming towards me and trying to wrap me up in their arms I screamed even more, struggling and trying to push them away. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the blow that I knew was going to come when the intruder tried to shut me up … and then there was laughter. I stopped screaming, my arms up in front of my face and my eyes still squeezed shut. I listened hard. The laughter wasn't coming from the chest in my face … but from Dad.

"Jesus Christ, Zack. You know how to give a scare, don't you?" Zack? What the-?

I opened my eyes, keeping my arms up in front of my face just in case I was wrong. I was met with a chest right in front of me, so I looked upwards, towards the man's face … and a familiar face it was. Bright blue eyes, eyes that were so bright that they seemed to glow, smiled down at me, accompanied by a wide grin. It was Zack. My brother. I breathed out deeply, pulling my arms down from my face.

"Shit, Zack." I shook my head. "You're such an ass!"

Apparently, my brother was back from university in Midgar.

"Don't you be starting with that Shit Zack stuff again, that's not my name! I'm gonna start taking offence if you're not careful." Yes, it was definitely my brother. I hugged him tightly, not struggling away from him this time, breathing in his familiar scent. It was good to have him back, but he was kind of early …

"Hey," I said suddenly, pulling away. "Why are you home so early? I thought you were staying in Midgar until the middle of August? It's only the second today."

"Ah, well…" he stepped back. There was a tiny grin on his face, one that I recognised. He was unsure, but what of I wasn't sure. As he stood back, though, I noticed the other person sat at the table. She wasn't someone that I recognised. But she was beautiful, probably the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She had this perfect, peachy coloured skin, and these soft green eyes that I felt I could get lost in. Her hair… god, I wanted hair like that. I knew that I was pretty lucky, with my dark brown, almost black, long poker straight hair, but hers was beautiful. It was brown too, but a softer sort of brown than mine. It was pulled back into a plait, with a pink ribbon tied in it, and she had soft bangs that fell down into her eyes. She was … incredible. Without a doubt the prettiest girl I had ever seen. She smiled at me - a pretty, almost dainty smile. She looked like an angel. Or whatever angels were supposed to look like …

"This," Zack's voice dragged me out of my little dream world, and I watched him step backwards again, until he was behind the girl, placing his hands on her shoulders and pushing her forwards slightly. "This is Aerith."

"Hello," she murmured softly. I wondered briefly how nervous she was, meeting some strange people, one who had screamed her head off on first sight and the other who thought she had broken into his house. But if she was nervous, she certainly didn't show it. She just smiled wanly, holding a hand out to me to shake. "You must be Tifa. Zack's told me a lot about you …"

Her voice was low, but just loud enough so that you could catch it, and she spoke with a gentle softness. Her voice was sweet, but not sickly - just nice and calmly. She was confident, but not in an overpowering way.

"You didn't answer her question," Dad reminded Zack. I swear, for the first time ever, I actually saw Zack blush. His face coloured, but, as quickly as it had appeared, the blush disappeared, replaced with his lightly tanned skin. He gave his unsure, uneasy smile again.

"Well, I … I dropped out."

To be honest, I wasn't particularly shocked by this verdict. Zack hadn't been too eager to go to university, but my father had pushed him. He wanted a brain in the family, someone to be proud of. I knew he wanted me to go too, and no doubt he'd push me into going. Zack was clever – straight As at GCSE, and four A's at A Level. But that wasn't enough for Dad; he wanted his son to be a doctor. Someone who could set himself up for life, with a degree and a Masters … sometimes, back then, I would wonder if anything was good enough for my father. I knew that I would be pushed to go, to be a nurse or a high flying business woman. He wanted great things out of his children. Back then I was happy to stay in Gongaga … or there abouts. I wouldn't have minded stretching my wings, but I was a country girl at heart. Just as I knew Zack was.

My father didn't seem to be taking the news very well. He was breathing heavily, and I couldn't help but be reminded of the miniature bottles of whiskey that had stood on his flight tray on the aeroplane. Dad had always been a heavy drinker…even more so after Mum died. I never liked to ask him not to drive after he'd had a drink – felt that I couldn't, it wasn't my right. His face was slowly growing redder, as though he was sat too close to a fire or something. Zack sensed that Dad wasn't particularly happy (or sober), and he stood back, his face set. He pushed Aerith down into one of the kitchen chairs, and waited for the explosion.

I love my Dad. He means everything to me. My world, my happiness, my father … I'd never asked though if, during the accident, the one thing I really felt I needed to know. They'd been at an awards ceremony for his first book. Dad had been drinking so my mother was driving, but I had never had the guts to ask if she had been drinking too. She liked a drink as much as he did. They skidded off the road, I guess they'd hit a bend to quickly or there was black ice, no one is sure, and the car careered down a bank. Mum died instantly. Dad wasn't in brilliant shape, but he was alright. Physically, at least. After the funeral, an event I can only vaguely remember, he turned to his good friend whiskey more and more for help. And because of this … he had moments. Moments when, if he was angered and he'd had a drink or too, he scared me. I love him, but he scared me. He'd never hit me, never, but I remember in our youth, when he was old enough to answer back, that Zack came out of one or two of these moments with bruises.

"Teef," Zack murmured. "Can you show Aerith the guest bedroom please?" I nodded. I wanted to get out of there sharpish, and, well, Zack was old enough to fight his own battles. So I grabbed Aerith's wrist, and kind of dragged her out of the room, pulling her out into the hall and gently closing the door behind me. We were halfway up the stairs when the shouting started. Aerith looked at me with a kind of startled look on her face, and I can't say I blamed her. I vaguely heard the words "Do you know how much I was bloody payingfor you to have a future?" being thrown about. I just hoped that Zack was going to be alright.

I pulled Aerith up the stairs and into the guest bedroom. Our guest bedroom used to be a nursery, so it still had pale yellow walls with a border of little ducks travelling just below where the wall meets the ceiling. The cots and toddler sofa and toys had by then been taken out of the room, and replaced with a double bed and wardrobe, so our guests stay in our old nursery now. When Zack and I were little, and this room had been our playroom, we used to play the 'Ducky Game', which involved us flapping our arms about like loons, trying to fly as high as the ducks. But we had since grown up.

"Um ... Tifa?"

I'd drifted off. Aerith was looking at me, her face slightly coloured (was she blushing?), her hands clutching her oversized holdall. She was just kind of stood in the middle of the room, looking around slightly embarrassed.

"Where should I put my … uh … stuff?"

"Oh! Sorry, just put it all in the wardrobe." She put her bag on the bed, and then it was a kind of awkward moment, both of us just stood there, nothing to say and not sure what to look at. So I kind of rubbed the back of my neck, and murmured: "I'll leave you to it, then."

"Right … okay." I left the room, shutting the door gently behind me. Wow. Zack had … a girlfriend. A proper, beautiful girlfriend. Good. Good for him. Good for … him. Good for me? I guess I was happy for him; he clearly liked her enough to bring her home and meet his family. And she was lovely, and obviously made him happy. And that made me happy. Right? I was happy. Was I? I didn't feel particularly happy. I had put it down to Dad being all scary, and the fright Zack had given me earlier. But … my stomach wasn't very controlled. It was swirling about, churning, making me want to be sick. I had to go and sit down in my room, sinking slowly onto the bed, trying to take it all in. I had never really felt like this before. Was it … jealousy? Was I jealous of Aerith? I was kind of envious, I guess. Angry. He wouldn't just be MY brother anymore. He belonged to someone else. Someone who loved him, and he loved her back … I had to let him be happy. Even if it meant not being as close to him. But we were only brother and sister, so … they were gonna be happy together. I guess … without me …

I sighed, and fell backwards so I was lying down on the bed. Zack had only been back for like five minutes and everything was going WRONG. Wrong wrong wrong. There was a slam from downstairs, the kitchen door I assumed, and there was a thundering up the stairs. My bedroom door went flying open, and Zack was stood there, his hair all mussed from where he'd been running his fingers through it and his face red. He was breathing heavily, still holding the door with one hand and clutching the door frame in the other. To be honest, he looked like a madman.

"Hey," he breathed, panting.

"Hey," I replied, sitting up.

"Get your running stuff on then." I nodded, and watched him leave. I guessed he was going to his room, to get his stuff on. I got up, and began rummaging around for my running clothes. It's a sort of habit, Zack and I like running together. It's kind of calming, just running up the mountain, and then stopping for a drink at the top, taking in the view. So it was really nice, ten minutes later, to be jogging alongside my brother, listening to our feet crunching on the gravel on the path through the village. I didn't mind that Aerith was gliding along on my bike next to us (she didn't seem like the running type, and I'd surprised myself by offering her the bike. I didn't really want to leave her alone in the house whilst Dad was in such a bad mood, and it was kind of rude to leave her out. There'd be plenty of time for brother/sister bonding later, seeings as Zack was seemingly here to stay) and I was happy to be heading up the mountain again. The mountain overlooked Gongaga, and we'd always run up it together, Zack and I. It was a nice view. Lots of stuff had happened up there too – it was up there that Zack had broken his arm by falling into the stream when he was nine, and it was up there that I had told him my secret that I was certain that there was a ghost living in the back of my wardrobe. It was also up there that we'd seen the police car driving towards our house, and a policeman getting out of the car with a grim look on his face. He looked so grim because he had come to bear the news, early on that Sunday morning five years ago when my brother and I had decided to take an early morning run, that our mother was dead, and our father seriously injured.

Yeah, we'd had lots of memories up on that hill.

We'd reached the base of the mountain now, and Aerith had slid off of the bike and had begun pushing it up the fairly steep slope. Zack and I stopped for a breather, and then began pushing ourselves up the path. I concentrated on keeping my breathing steady, just like Zack had shown me all those years ago, when we went for our very first run together. Inhale … hold briefly … exhale … inhale … hold briefly … exhale … I looked down at my feet, encased in their battered trainers, pounding along the dirt path. Always the same pace … it was rather hypnotising really. Seeing my shoes beating into the stones and dirt, hearing my regulated breathing, in and out, feeling Zack next to me, his breathing and pounding feet exactly the same pace as my own…it was just like old times. I even felt as though Aerith, pushing the bike up just ahead of us, panting ever so slightly, had been part of our twosome forever. Our twosome was now a threesome. At least they didn't give me the feeling of that saying – two's company, three's a crowd. Because I knew that I wouldn't have asked Aerith to join me and Zack on our brother-sister-run if she made me uncomfortable. I guess I was a bit jealous of her, yeah. I couldn't tell if I liked her. She was sweet and kind and looked as though she'd never said a mean word in her life. She made my brother happy. That had to mean something to me.

We splashed through the stream halfway up the cliff, pushing ourselves up further. I was panting harder now, sweat trickling down my forehead. One glance at Zack told me that he was finding it quite hard too. It seemed like we weren't as fit as we used to be. Aerith was still up ahead, managing better than I thought she would. I concentrated hard on my breathing – in and out, in and out, only coughing every now and then. It was definitely getting harder now – I was having a lot more trouble breathing. I regretted not doing this whilst Zack had been away; I had seemingly forgotten how to control my breathing.

Zack must have noticed that I was struggling, because he murmured as best as he could through his concentrated breathing: "Just a bit further, now."

I nodded as best as one can when panting and running and sweating all at the same time. I pushed myself, told myself to go further, promised myself that I would be rewarded if I got there. Just a bit further … just a bit further … a bit further…

There. We reached the final mount, and the view hit us as hard as a bullet. I slowed down until I had stopped running, and stared out. The whole of Gongaga lay at our feet, our hands were touching the sky and it felt as though the sunshine was kissing us all over. The view was … amazing. I always forgot each time how absolutely incredible the view was up here. It was like being on top of the world. With all the trees around, and the soft sunshine filtering down through the leafy shelter the tress provided, it was the perfect place to take friends, have a picnic, sleep … or just sit. And relax. Which was what I liked to do with Zack, after we had made the run up there. The sitting down and chilling out part was always our reward.

"Wow," I heard Aerith breathe. I grinned, looking over at her stood near the edge, the bike still stood upright in her hands, staring out over the village.

"Pretty cool, huh?" I said.

"It's amazing," she breathed. "Absolutely incredible."

Zack went over to her, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

"Welcome to your new home," he said.

New home? Here? In the middle of nowhere?

"Really?" I asked. I made my way over to them, all three of us looking out over our home.

"Yep," he grinned. "I didn't get a chance to tell ya, Dad was so mad about the dropping out thing."

"So what are you gonna do now?"

"Live here … find a job … stay with my girlfriend." He bent down and pecked Aerith on the cheek. I felt myself smiling at the affection – it was about time my big brother found himself a girlfriend. Well, one that really cared for him too. Zack wasn't exactly unpopular with the few girls there were in our village, but he had admitted to me before he left for university that he had never been with a girl who actually cared for him … well as much as he cared for them.

"So how did you two meet?" I asked.

"I live in Midgar. We just kind of … met. On the street. I sold him a flower, he asked for a date … and that was it."

"What, do you believe in love at first sight?"

"You got it." Aerith smiled widely. I felt myself smiling again, pleased for the two of them. They were lucky, they'd found love … not everyone gets to experience love. And sometimes love is cut short. Like with my mother and father. I didn't want that to happen to me. It had scared me, when I saw how sad Dad had been after her death, how the grief took over him and refused to let him go. So I was scared too, I guess. Scared of feeling too strongly for someone, in case that person left as suddenly as Mum had been forced to leave Dad. I'd loved her too, but not in the same way as Dad. He was in love with her. He still was. He loved her as strongly as he had the day she died, maybe even more so. And that love was slowly, slowly but surely killing him.

I was too scared to go through something like that.

"Time for us to go," I heard Zack murmur.

"Okay,"

"You're going?" I swung around to look at them. "Already? We just got here."

"Yeah, well, Aerith's got some unpacking to do," Zack grinned, and putting a hand on Aerith's shoulder, they turned, and began walking away, wheeling the bike between them.

"You coming Teef?" he called back.

"No … I think I'll stay up here for a while." I called back, but there was no point. They had already disappeared down the slope, the faint squeaking growing more and more distant. The sun was bright, and warm on my skin.

I sighed, and flopped down on the ground, crossing my legs. I guessed he was too wrapped up in his girlfriend to really care about what I was going to do. Well, alright. I'd let him have that … for now. Because this wasn't going to last forever. He would be my brother again, even if with a girlfriend. I knew he would. He'd go back to being my brother in the end. He had to.

I was just sitting there, drinking in the view and wondering why exactly I hadn't been up here for so long, when I heard the movement behind me. You know how tiny things, like the crunch of gravel or the sound of something moving very slowly through grass can get you anxious, and really frightened? It was like that. I could hear something slowly, very slowly approaching me from behind. I clutched my knees tighter together, ignoring the goosebumps that had now risen to attention on my arms, and tried not to look around. To be honest, I was really worried about what I would find if I did turn around.

The sun disappeared behind a cloud. Another shadow passed over me. I felt like all the warmth I had been revelling in earlier had been sucked straight out of me.

"Well well," a voice, presumably from the person, or creature behind me, drawled. "If it isn't little Teefy Fair,"

I turned around then. Because I wasn't surprised with what I met. I'd recognised who it was from the moment I'd heard that voice.

"Oh, Kadaj …" I mumbled. "You frightened me."

Kadaj Shinra was the son of a local, wealthy landowner, the son of a local business tycoon and the son of a local MP. His father was like a celebrity around here, as was Kadaj himself – national swimming champion at the age of just fourteen, perfect exam results and currently studying business and politics at Wutai University, the best in the country. I guessed he had come home for the summer, just like Zack. Well, I knew Kadaj wouldn't have dropped out of university – no woman could ever steal his heart away like Aerith had done with Zack. Others may have welcomed Kadaj home enthusiastically, but I wasn't too sad to say that I was one of those people. I had never really liked Kadaj. There were lots of rumours around, mainly between the few people my age around here, about Kadaj, and the girls in my year at school. I knew one girl, Cissnei, had been terrified of him ever since the night of her sixteenth birthday, when she and a couple of her friends had gone out to the local pub. I was frightened of him because of that – and also the fact that his eyes, a horrible, bright, lucid green, were too close together for my liking, and his hair, always flopping in his face, made me want to scream at him to get a haircut. His fringe was so ridiculously big, it stretched across his face and reached his chin. He looked like some sad, stupid emo.

And here he was, sidling up to me as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. I stood up, feeling at a disadvantage sat on the floor. He smirked at me, and took a step closer to me, too close for my liking.

"So, Zack home yet?"

"Today. We all just got home today." God, did I have to sound so jumpy, and wobbly? I sounded like a total, simpering, terrified girl, and I hated it. I didn't want to be scared anymore. Not of him.

"Is he coming out tonight?" Kadaj took another too close step. There was hardly any space between us now, and I could feel his breath, disgusting and warm, with a familiar tang of whiskey to it, on my cheeks. I felt dirtied, just by the feel of him breathing heavily on me. I shrank back away from him, and he smirked at me again.

"I … I don't know. Maybe."

"Well," he grinned, and licked his lips, leaving them shining wetly in a way that I found almost revolting. "You say 'hi' to him for me, okay? Let him know that I'm home too." I nodded. Agreeing with him seemed like the best option.

And then, to my horror, he was reaching forward, grabbing one of my hands, and pulling it slowly towards his chest. He was wearing a grey vest top, and just over the neck of it I could see the hairs of his chest, glistening and matted with sweat. The same sweat had seeped through the front of the vest, leaving a dark circle around the neckline that was visibly damp. It looked repulsive, I was pretty sure it would feel repulsive and I was very certain that I didn't want my hand anywhere near him, nor his chest, nor his sweat.

"No-" I tried to protest, yanking my hand away from him, but he held on tightly, so tightly that it hurt and I cried out. His eyes narrowed as they stared straight into my face, and he pulled my hand forwards, down towards the glistening hair and damp material that was his upper body. I struggled still, trying desperately to wriggle out of his grip, but he still held on tightly. I guess I could have hit him with my other hand, or kicked him, or aimed my knee between his legs, but I was so horrified and frightened that I couldn't move, no matter how hard I tried. I was frozen.

And then, he'd pushed my hand downward one final time, until my hand was pressed against his chest. It was as revolting and nauseating as I had thought it would be, and it made my hand go horribly cold and clammy as he pushed my hand down further, down his chest, over his flat, almost concave stomach and towards the waistband of his jeans.

"No!" I yelled, and pulled once more, this time managing to wrench my hand out of his grip. I wanted to hit him, was ready to, but I knew I couldn't Knew that it would be stupid to. I could see the headline if I did: CRAZED LOCAL GIRL ATTACKS MP'S SON. I actually imagined the headline, I was so certain of what would happen if I hit him. So I stood there, staring at him for a full minute and panting hard, before turning on my heel and running, running back down the mountain and trying to put as much distance between Kadaj and myself as possible. He gave me a final parting sentence, one that I almost missed. But it was impossible to miss, it hung unmistakably in the air: "I'll be seeing you, little Tifa Fair."

I only stopped by the stream to wash the tears from my face, but I found myself staring at my reflection in the wavering surface. Had I been asking for it? I knew that if I said anything, to Dad, Zack or anybody at all, that was what he would tell them. But was it true? Was that it? WasI asking for it? I shook my head, and scrubbed furiously at my cheeks as more tears fell down my already raw face.

Sneaking back into the house wasn't as easy as I had anticipated – I bumped straight into Zack in the hall, just as I was wiping away the final tears from my salted cheeks. He took in my red eyes, sore cheeks and still trembling lips, and grabbed my arm as I tried to push past him to climb the stairs.

"Hey, are you crying?" he asked. I shook my head. I could see that he wanted to press me further, but I just eased my arm out of his grip and started up the stairs. I could feel his gaze on my back the entire journey up to my room.

It was hard. I couldn't tell him, because, well, Kadaj Shinra and my brother were best friends.

That evening, Zack announced that he was taking Aerith out to the pub in the village. Just like that – he didn't invite me or Dad, just said that he was going to introduce Aerith to some friends. I heard them leaving as I was taking a bath; Zack muttering something to Dad, Aerith giving a cheery goodbye, and then the door slamming, and then finally the sound of Zack's motorbike, the one that had been in the yard that morning, roaring off. I listened hard, and upon hearing Dad's study door close, and the very distant sound of a bottle opening, and of whiskey pouring into as glass – a sound very familiar, one that made me think instantly of home, one that I had to strain my ears to hear – I leant back against the tiles of the bathroom wall. I slid down them, due to the condensation on the tiles and the water on my back. The dampness just made me think of Kadaj Shinra's chest, warm, damp and glistening, and it was all I could do not to be sick. I looked at my hands, soaked from sitting in the bathwater, and started crying again, deep, heaving sobs that I made no effort to quieten. Dad wouldn't hear me. He was probably too drunk to hear his daughter sobbing in the bathroom upstairs.

It was later, when I was in the kitchen making myself a late night cup of hot chocolate, when Dad swung into the kitchen. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair rumpled where I guessed he'd been running his fingers through it and he seemed very tired, no, exhausted, as he just stood there in the middle of the kitchen, his old scratchy cardigan done up with the buttons done up in the wrong holes. He looked a mess. A tired, rather drunk mess.

"The kettle's just boiled, if you want some tea," I told him. "Do you want me to make you a cup?" He shook his head, and wearily made his way over to the cupboard under the sink, from which he produced a fresh bottle of whiskey. He stood there for a moment, whiskey bottle in hand as he stared out of the kitchen window and into the dark, empty garden.

"Strange day," he murmured. I nodded stirring the milk into my hot chocolate. Above us, the floorboards and beams of the old house groaned as the wind whistled through them. In a way, the house reminded me of Dad – old, exhausted, with aching bones … I looked at him, as he watched the still garden, and I took in the old, worn, lined face, the hair that was scrubby, and more salt than pepper, sparse on his soft head, the copious amounts of grey hair sprinkled across his beard and moustache … Dad looked like an old man, but he was in fact forty three – my mother's death had aged him considerably.

"You alright?" he suddenly asked me. I put down the spoon that I had been stirring my drink with, and stared at it on the kitchen table. I mulled his question over on my head. Was I alright?

"Yeah, I guess so …" I murmured. I picked up my mug and took a sip from it, nearly burning my tongue. Dad nodded, still staring out of the window.

"But you'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"

"Nothing's wrong Dad. I'm fine." He nodded again.

"No one ever kept a secret as well as a child." There was a silence; a rather uncomfortable one that I felt was my duty to break.

"I'm not a child, Dad."

"No," he replied, finally drawing his eyes away from the window and looking sadly into my own eyes instead. "And that's the truth of it."

I just stood there, unsure of what to say, until he leant forward and placed a slightly scratchy kiss on my cheek.

"Night, love."

He went to leave the kitchen, swinging the bottle in his hand, when I murmured: "Dad, don't drink too much, please?"

"You have my word, Tifa."

"Please."

"I promise." And then he walked back to his study, whistling softly, and gently shut the door.

I was just heading out into the hall, meaning to go back up the stairs and towards my room, when my fingers brushed the top of it. It was the lid that covered the keys on the old piano in the hall. I stopped and looked at it. The music book stood on the stand, still open on the song Amazing Grace, the one she had always said was her namesake. Just touching the wood of the lid brought back memories of sitting there on the soft stool, as her long, graceful fingers helped my short stubby ones find the cool keys, the soft murmur of her voice as she hummed along to the tune we were playing that day. I pulled my hand away quickly, as though I had been burnt, and headed up the stairs. It had been Mum's piano. No one, not even I, had played it in five years.

As I lay in bed that night, watching the hands on my clock inch their way around to eleven o'clock and holding a well-thumbed copy of the Catcher in the Rye in my hands, I heard Dad's study door opening and closing, and I listened to him climb the stairs. He stopped outside my room to sigh, to whisper my mother's name. He then continued to his room, singing softly. "I once was lost …" But then the singing stopped. I don't think he had heart to finish it. He was far from being found, no matter how hard I tried to kid myself. His bedroom door opened and closed, and then there was more silence.

Her name was Grace Marie Fair. She was just thirty five years old when she died.

At eleven thirty, when I was still engrossed in the Catcher in the Rye, a car pulled up onto the drive. I remembered that Zack and Aerith had left on the motorbike, so I put down the book, and knelt up on the bed to peer out of the window through my drawn curtains. It was a taxi-cab. I watched as, illuminated in the moonlight, Aerith paid the driver, thanked him and got out of the car. She made her way silently down the drive, waving as the taxi-cab pulled away. She was alone.

I flopped back down on the bed again, picking up the book irritably. I heard her open and close the front door as quietly as she could, and then patter across the hallway and up the stairs. Her sandals flapped noisily against each step as she climbed – tap, tap, tap-tap … it was like listening to a hesitant clock, as I knew she was trying to stop her sandals from being so noisy by slowing down as she climbed – which, in turn, made the sounds more noticeable. Aerith made it up the stairs eventually, and as she crossed the landing on her way to the guest bedroom, she paused outside of my bedroom, just as Dad had done. She sighed heavily, but chose not to come in. I heard her finish the journey to her bedroom and slowly close the door. The house was silent once more. I put down the book, flipped the switch on my bedside light and nestled down under the covers, trying to get some sleep.

That was easier said than done. My dreams consisted of various, horrifying images: a wet and oily Kadaj, plonking away on my poor mother's piano; my father, huddled in a corner, swamped by an enormous, wonky cardigan; Aerith and Zack, stood there, sopping wet and holding between them a boy, a messy haired blonde boy that I had never seen before. The blood running down his pale, white face skin and leaking from his torso, and his lifeless body and close eyes told me he was dead. I started screaming, and I couldn't stop screaming, like that morning when I had caught sight of my brother in the kitchen, I was screaming like a crazed girl, and I couldn't stop it. Not even when I opened my eyes, realising that I was sat up in bed, someone's hand over my mouth, somehow managing to stifle my cries. The salty tang in my mouth told me that I was crying. My cries died down to whimpers, and then deep, shuddering breaths. How many times was I going to cry today? The hand was removed from my mouth, and Zack wrapped his arms around me, gently rocking us to and fro. I leant my head on his shoulder, breathing in his smell, feeling his hair tickling my cheek. It was too long, now, I remember thinking. It really needed a cut.

My breathing slowly returned to normal, and Zack's whispers of comfort in my ear died down, until we were just sat there holding each other. He pulled away, and, staring into my eyes with his own calm, bright blue eyes, so bright that they seemed to glow, smoothed my hair away from my face.

"Just a nightmare, Teef. You're alright." He whispered thickly. I nodded slowly.

"When did you get in?"

"Just now." I glanced at the luminous display of clock face, and realised with some worry that it was a quarter past three. What on earth had Zack been doingall of this time? There were a million questions I wanted to ask: where have you been? What were you doing? Who were you with? Instead of letting them run out of my mouth like I normally would, however, I kept quiet. I doubted he wanted an interrogation at this time in the morning.

"Come downstairs, I'll make you some tea. There's someone I want you to meet."

Zack stood up, and took my hand, gently leading me out of bed. I took the old cardigan he passed me – one of Dad's, a scratchy, holey thing with several buttons missing – and followed him out of the room. I vaguely remember wondering as we padded silently down the stairs who Zack wanted me to meet – who was visiting us at this time in the morning? But, any doubts that I may have had at the time, I must have ignored them and pushed them to the back of my head, because I obediently followed Zack across the hall and towards the kitchen.

The door to the kitchen was open, and I just walked in easily. It was so different to the way that I had entered the kitchen the previous day, certain that there was a burglar lurking within our old, musty kitchen. I almost laughed at the thought of it as I strolled – well, shuffled, I was still quite drowsy – into the warm room.

But then I stopped dead. Because there was a boy sat at my kitchen table. A boy, one I had never met before in my life but one that I instantly recognised. Except last time I saw him, he was lifeless and dripping in blood, a motionless corpse. And yet now, he was alive and well, although a little tired, sat at my kitchen table. His hair was messier than it had been in my dream, sticking up at all angles and somehow defying gravity, but something told me that it was like this naturally.

And suddenly, I was five years old, looking at a picture of an angel in one of my father's books, tracing my stubby finger over the blonde hair, pale, porcelain-looking flawless skin, deep blue eyes and beautifully carved features. I was looking at him, at the picture, in awe – he was so undeniably beautiful that it was completely unreal. His forehead was creased with concern, or anxiety, or worry, or even nerves, I just didn't know, he looked scared, and I got the feeling that he always looked this way. I found it rather endearing, to be honest. His beautiful dark eyes stood out and sparkled with anxiety against his smooth, creamy skin … he was an angel, someone so heavenly, so holy and unreachable that I could only dream of talking to him, touching him … and then he looked at me, fixing those blue, sparkling eyes upon my own wine coloured ones, seeming to see straight through me and into my soul.

I wasn't five years old. And he wasn't an angel. He was a boy, maybe only a year or so older than myself, sat at my kitchen table. And I was a fifteen year old girl with a gormless look on her face.

Chibi: Well, there you have the first chapter. There's only a few edits that I've made right now (28/9/2011). The writing before was fine but since I started this story (around 2007) I feel that my writing style has matured somewhat, so I only changed some of the glaringly embarrassing (for me) parts. Anyway, thank you for reading. Please review!