Disclaimer: If I had the creative capacity to think up the idea of Final Fantasy VII, I wouldn't be here dreading what to do with my life. Alas, Square Enix has beat me to it. And I was so close too.

and the world will spin

"Happy endings are just stories that haven't finished yet." – Jane Smith from Mr. and Mrs. Smith

She thinks that there must be something wrong with her because she can't seem to find it in her to join in the jubilant festivities happening just on the other side of that thin slab of wood and plaster that passes for a wall. It is illogical, this strange obstinacy of hers to avoid good company and joyous laughter, but while her mind tells her that the defeat of Sephiroth (once again) and the curing of that damn Geostigma is more than enough cause for revelry, her heart refuses to participate. Somehow, she can't convince herself that it's worth it to celebrate this one victory when the next crisis is probably waiting just around the proverbial corner. Why waste the energy to party when they could be preparing for the next "end of the world"?

Scoffing a little, she tries to remember when she lost that naïve idealism that once defined her. At one point in her young life, she would have easily believed that everything was—is—going to be okay, now that all the battles have been won and diseases healed; that all the unspoken problems would suddenly going to fix themselves; that she wouldn't have to do anything but sit back and relax as life resolved itself.

Then she remembers that she has always been a fast learner and if the past two years has taught her anything, it is that the pain doesn't end the moment the bad guy gets beat and the crisis is averted. What everyone conveniently forgets to mention is that after the credits roll, nothing really changes. While people may be resolved to "do better," the change doesn't happen automatically. And what good is change, really? The world itself is impartial; life going on as it did before you and as it will continue on after you.

Shaking her head mirthlessly, she slowly leans in to rest her forehead against the cold pane of her bedroom window. It's still raining outside. Rain…rain emblemizes sadness, does it not? After all, the skies cry when you cry, and it brings with it the cold finger of death, a harbinger of desolation. How ironic it is, then, that the advent of another chance at life would manifest itself in the form of rain.

The Planet has a strange sense of humor. She smiles a little to herself, a fond light softening her eyes. No, Aerith has a strange sense of humor.

She brings her gaze up to the heavens and is greeted by nothing but a steadily undulating curtain of raindrops. "Will it ever end, Aerith? Will our lives ever be normal?"

She presses her ear against the window, but hears nothing but the cryptic howling of the wind. She supposes that really is as good an answer as she will ever get. After all, she already knows that the answer is no.

"Tifa." His voice is soft and the inflection at the end of her name is raised, but not quite enough to make it a question. It's the kind of tone he uses when he's concerned but too shy to let it show outright and there's just a bit of hesitance too because he can't figure out what she may be thinking.

She finds it funny—almost pathetic—that she can hear and understand and interpret every little nuance in his speech. It's because he gives her so little to work with that she has to capitalize on every little hint of communication that he cedes.

"Cloud," she acknowledges without turning her gaze away from the cleansing rain. "Why aren't you out there with everyone else?"

Although she can't see him, she's fairly certain that he is slanting an eyebrow at her which clearly says that she can't possibly honestly think that he would willingly submit himself to all that…noise for the entire night. The thought is almost enough to make her smile.

"I was looking for you."

It surprises her enough to turn her gaze to him. She'd expected him to say something like how he couldn't stand Yuffie's obnoxiousness or Barret's bellowing or even Cid's cursing anymore. Even more in character would be for him to say nothing at all.

She takes the time to study him before trying to formulate a response. He's standing quietly in the middle of the room, far in enough to escape the artificial light of the hall yet not deep enough to catch the dim luminescence of the moon. It shadows his face from her and she finds herself irritated by that. He's depriving her of the one form of communication she has come to rely on since he so rarely speaks.

"Do you need something?" She grimaces even as the words exit her mouth. That…sounded terrible, like she was upset that the only time he would ever seek her out was if he was in need of something from her. Then again, maybe she isn't so far off after all, she thinks wryly as she reflects on the past years. Too many years of always being too available, perhaps.

He doesn't answer immediately, so she knows that she's right because he's shifting on his feet slowly like a child embarrassed by having his intention so easily found out. She thinks that maybe her judgment is a little too harsh, but her battered heart protests that she's only stating the facts.

"I just…wanted to talk."

She can't hide the way her eyebrows shoot up skeptically. The Cloud of recent days doesn't talk. She often wonders what happened to his ability to string more than three sentences together at a time. He didn't seem to have this problem just two years prior when they were traversing the world. She wonders if it's because she put too much effort into understanding him nonverbally that he doesn't feel there is a need to talk anymore. Or is it the other way around? After all, there wouldn't be a need to become so adept at interpreting his body language if he spoke on a consistent basis.

"What about?" she finally asks in response.

He takes another step closer into the light and it's hard for her not to react to the abundance of emotions spilling forth from his eyes. This is new for him. While she has always loved reading his eyes, she has never once seen them filled with so much of everything. It makes her shiver, though she can't figure out if it's a good or bad thing.

"We've been through a lot together, haven't we?" He glances at her and only continues when she gives a barely perceptible nod. "You've…You've always been there to catch me, even when I didn't know I was falling or didn't want to be caught. I…I promised myself before that once everything was over, once I could know for sure that I'm completely okay, I could let myself free and…and I could love you the way I've always wanted to, the way you deserve to be loved."

Love, reverently repeats that secret place in her heart that has yearned for such affection for so many years. She is not naïve enough to think that he noticed nothing of the way she'd gaze at him or the things she was—is—willing to sacrifice for him. She thinks that she might even know that he does indeed love her back on some level. Yet to hear it said through his own lips sill makes her heart beat erratically.

But…But. Oh that ever elusive but. Even while her tender heart rejoices, her eyes shimmer with unshed tears because she knows that there is a godforsaken but that will follow. It terrifies her to think upon what it may be.

"But Tifa, I'm not okay. I don't think I'll ever be okay. I want to love you, but I'm never going to be okay." He watches her carefully but her face is suddenly devoid of all emotion, a beautiful mask constructed to hide everything she may be thinking.

She hears what's left unspoken. I can't love you. I will never love you because I will never be okay.

What then? What does he expect her say in response? What does he want from her? Absolution? Or maybe…maybe he's telling her to let go. Let go because she cannot forever suspend herself in this one moment, fooling herself that something good will come of it. Let go because the world she had a hand in saving cares little for her personal issues. Let go because the planet will continue spinning, regardless of whether she follows its course or not.

Letgoletgoletgoletgo…

But what to do, what to do when her grip is so tight that it's not physically possible for her to let go? What to do when the first step she takes toward joining the world-that-will-spin-on will break her? What to do, what to do?

She wishes that she could say something encouraging, something to give him that gentle nudge forward she knows he's looking for, but she can't. She can't find it in herself to lie to him anymore because she realizes that "Everything will work out eventually" is the biggest lie she's ever told. And she realizes also that maybe he isn't looking for a happily ever after. Maybe he has recognized just the same as she has that there are no happy endings, only beginnings that have no end.

"We won't ever be okay, will we Cloud?" The surprise clearly evident in his gaze would have been comical if only she could remember how to laugh. She knows he was expecting something positive from her, especially from her, but she doesn't have it in her to be positive anymore. "There's always going to be a world to save and a past to get over and old wounds to heal. But they'll never go away completely. They'll always be there, at the back of our minds, haunting us, won't they? There are no 'happily ever after's for people like us."

"Tifa?"

He's worried now. She can tell by his voice, but she's tired, so tired of pretending. So she continues. "The world doesn't care that we saved it. The world is selfish. People are selfish. I'm selfish. I'm selfish enough that though there may be a better future, I only want to hold on to the present. Changes scare me. The world spinning on without me scares me."

He looks indecisive; she can tell by the way he shifts his weight to his left foot before shifting it back to his right. His gaze is indecipherable, even for a learned Cloud-studier such as her. Suddenly, he locks his jaw in determination and his feet carry him until he's standing close beside her.

"You didn't let me finish," he says softly. She doesn't really trust her eyes because it looks—it looks—like his lips are turned up in a gentle smile, one that is so tender that it makes her heart run fast. It can't be a smile, but it is and she doesn't know if she can take this sudden onslaught of emotions when he shifts to a crouch before her so that he's looking up at her with those eyes that first stole her heart, and he shyly but determinedly takes her hands in his. "I'm not okay—we're not okay—but what I really wanted to say is that this whole thing with the stigma and Sephiroth coming back again has made me seen that it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that we're not okay because you're here and I'm here and in the end, all that matters is that we're here, together."

She wants to throw herself into his embrace and let the warmth of his body comfort her, but she hesitates. It's strange, but she's frustrated. Frustrated that he would dare…dare what? Dare to give her hope?

She pulls one of her hands out from his grasp to gently trace the strong line of his jaw. "Is it though? Is that really all that matters? Can we—can you—just let go of everything in the past and pretend everything is okay because we're together?"

"No, I can't. We can't. We can't go on pretending like the past didn't happen because it did and without it we wouldn't be who we are today. I'm not going to lie and say everything is going to work out fine now that we're together, but I know…I know that having you with me gives me the strength to try."

"Is it really worth trying?"

Her downcast eyes stirs something in his chest which unexpectedly hurts.

With slow, deliberate movements, Cloud slides one hand behind her neck and gently tugs her forward as he leans up to feather a light kiss on the corner of her mouth, the shaky exhalation of her breath against his lips quickening his pulse. Eyes flashing with some unnamed emotion, he tilts his head towards her again and presses more firmly against her mouth. With unhurried, tender movements, he coaxes the tension in her body to drain out, a small smile threatening to break loose when he feels her hands fist into the material of his shirt.

The feel of him is addicting, she finds, and she wonders how she ever managed to pass so many years without relishing the contrast of his soft lips and hardened body. It thrills her to feel the shift of lean muscles contracting and relaxing beneath her fingertips and it distracts her enough that she forgets about the rain, forgets about the world that would happily leave them to die. She knows only the soft flutter in her stomach that's turning into molten warmth, the constant slide and parry of tongue against tongue, the electrifying suction of lips and lightning bolts of sensation wrought from her body by dexterous hands…

When they part, Cloud presses his forehead against hers, heavy breaths puffing heatedly against each other's cheeks. The silence between them is fraught with something she dare not name, some passion that threatens to consume her if she gives it free reign.

Cloud can't seem to pull himself away from her any more than that scant inch between them and his lips dip in to brush against the outer whorl of her ear with each deliberate word. "This is worth trying for."

For some inexplicable reason, a choked sob escapes her and she can't even tell if it's because she's agonizingly anguished or deliriously happy. But maybe it doesn't even matter.

Because in all likelihood, they'll probably never be okay. They may be haunted for the rest of their lives by the same specters that hang over their shoulders now, but for some reason, as Cloud pulls her further into the shadow of his body, she finds that she doesn't care.

They are broken, but maybe that's just the way it's meant to be.

A/N: Apparently, I wrote this one some six months ago and never posted it for whatever reason. I guess this is just me being cynical while refusing to let go of some element of romanticism. I think I wanted to explore the concept that for people like Tifa and Cloud, there is not really any such thing as "normal." They may end up having to spend the rest of their lives looking over their shoulders for threats that may or may not be real. Despite that, it doesn't mean that they have any less right to live regardless.

I also just really like that quote from Mr. and Mrs. Smith. It's superbly profound in an extremely cynical way. I think it's a bleak way of looking at things, but there's some measure of truth to it. Of course, I'm more the type to look at the glass half-full rather than half-empty (though it may be hard to tell by the number of depressing things I write), but it's fun to explore nonetheless. Hope you all enjoyed this!