Back so soon? Oh my god the world must be ending!
So, yup! Chapter 15 is here. Because of a lack of feedback on a revised version of the story I can only take it as a "continue" for the old story. One of these days I'll get around to revisions of all parts of the AU but for now, I'll just pull a SQUARE and get to it later. I will, however, try to weave in some of the elements of the new story into this one but I can only do so much without making an even bigger mess of the plot. The previous chapter had strayed from the story's usual drama and romance to bring a little humor in. I just wanted to use that as a reminder that even though this story will at times be dark and dramatic it's still a story about pregnancy which will mean that normal complications and side effects will ensue. Even if Aerith is a Cetra, she is still a woman, which means we'll be able to see Aerith in the everyday norm of pregnant mood swings, cravings, and other equally amusing normal situations :) Even though I have decided to wait on the revision for the AU please don't be afraid to contact me about it, any thoughts or feedback would be nice, heck you can even talk to me about this story, thoughts opinions, don't be afraid to share them with me!
Also, a small warning, later in the chapter we get a small glimpse into the inner workings of Rufus Shinra and it gets a little risqué and maybe even a little disturbing, I'd like to remind everyone that this is an M-rated story and to read at your own risk.
As always
Disclaimer: I own nothing. SQUARE-ENIX owns all.
"Where the hell you been, shithead?! Tifa and Barret told me you an' Aerith fuckin' dropped off the face'a'tha goddamn planet! Swear ta god, if you two broke up again and are hiding your pain an' despair from the world I'm gonna fuckin' kick your emo asses straight to he—!"
"Message erased. Next unheard message."
"Ok you two, this stopped being funny three months ago. Ya got yer own lives, sure, I respect that, but disappearin' for five months isn't a laughin' matter! I especially don't appreciate those two rings and unavail'ble voicemail messages I get on yer cells! Look, I ain't here to yell at'cha, but I AM here to remind you two of what'cha got wait'n for ya at Teef's place, remember? Either come around once and a while or answer yer phones! You don't know how heartbroken these kids are righ'now . . ."
"Message erased. Next unheard message."
"Cloud, Aerith, please! Where have you been? Are you okay? Please answer the phone . . . please. The Turks have been stopping by the bar and they're saying things I can't—"
"Message erased. Next unheard message."
"Um, hey! It's Yuffie! . . . Are you guys mad at us . . .?"
"Message erased. Next unheard message."
Tseng had been sitting in the office for a while. Even though he'd been trained to manipulate the most powerful technology, break the most strenuous codes, there was still nothing he could do about a simple answering machine's listen-first-delete-later system. It was a company answering machine, which shouldn't have surprised him at all, its sole purpose was to not miss a single call, storing the message for the listener to hear later and erase at his own leisure. A simple purpose, with a much more complicated code. So he sat and listened, pressing the button that sent the erase command whenever he felt he was done listening, if he was being forced to sit here in the dark and play along in Rufus' little game, he may as well get a bit of fun out of it.
The next message played and Tifa's voice traveled through the wires, repressed desperation the soundtrack to his night. This whole job was adolescent. The messages played through his own personal-use ear buds—o ne in his right ear and the other resting lazily on his chest—as he sat rigid, deleting messages on the answering machine like a child trying to hide a secret from their parents. If there was one thing he prided himself on it was his professionalism when it came to getting a job done. This was not one of those moments. A different message began and he let his hand fall from its place on the red button, his eyes had long since adjusted to the dark and with his ability to make out objects hidden in the darkness he surveyed the room, bored.
He still didn't understand why this room was called Cloud's, it seemed as though Aerith occupied it more than her brooding delivery boy husband.
Pressing the delete button, his mind wandered again. The office could be Cloud's now, he supposed, they'd put her on tight restrictions after all. The room, however, oozed Aerith.
The desk was arranged with objects of all kinds, and though it looked a mess from afar it was actually quite neat. The answering machine from hell had a few neighbors in its corner of the desk, a few picture frames reclining on their stands; a file sorter with each slot filled and labeled; a three tier desk shelf side by side with a tray sorter, both filled; binders of different colors and sizes; a sleekly styled computer, monitor, and keyboard; a wooden pencil holder; and a printer, sat on top, a bowl filled with individually wrapped candies. Pressed against the wall was a large ebony bookcase brimming with more files and binders; next to it, but above the computer, was a large bulletin board with white and yellow papers pinned to it. An all-around normal home office that anyone could have, but . . .
Picking up the closest thing to him, he let his gaze travel over it, thinking as he did. The pencil holder was polished dark cherry wood, and intricately designed with flower carvings, it housed a couple greenish-blue pens with the addition of a red pen, green highlighters, and a thick metallic pink pen that had a plastic moogle topper (further inspection revealed that pushing down on the moogle's pom-pom caused the pen to click open and shut). Setting it down he examined the picture frames, pressing the erase button robotically.
They were school pictures of Marlene Wallace and Denzel, each child getting their own frame. Marlene's sunny smile lit up the entire picture, while Denzel held a more reserved closed-lip smile; both children looked generally happy in their spring background photos. The next photo was of the adults, all sat at the bar in Seventh Heaven, large smiles on most of the faces. He couldn't help but look for the brunette first, quilted by sitting in her office uninvited perhaps, and found her sitting with the girls smack dab in the middle of the group, leaning forward on her stool against the counter holding a glass of wine. Tifa had leaned forward from her place behind the bar, smiling wide and holding a wine glass of her own while Yuffie slumped against the counter, face annoyed and hand on her cheek as she held up a soda bottle, miffed at being un-allowed to partake in the alcohol. The men in the picture all held beer bottles, and he was a little surprised to see Vincent held one in his gloved hand as well, though he didn't smile like the others. Even the fire wolf Hojo had procured for research had a bowl before him, but the liquid appeared to be water; the Cait Sith unit present didn't have a drink with him but he still looked happy to have been included. The older men held the biggest grins; Barret and Cid both had their arms on the other's shoulder, and bottles raised high. Lastly, he examined Cloud, standing between Barret and Aerith, a small smile on his face as he tried to figure out exactly where he stood in the group, uncertainty in his eyes, to anyone else it would have looked a normal pose, bottle tipped toward the camera in a less prominent way than the older members to his right and smile good enough for a picture yet awkward enough to show he wasn't used to the expression.
However, Tseng knew better.
From the way the two weren't completely wrapped around each other, staring lovingly into the other's eyes, the picture had to have been taken during the small amount of time between Aerith deciding to take residence in Edge, and Cloud and her becoming an official item. The stoic wall of genetically engineered muscle mass couldn't hide it, it was as clear to anyone as the glow of his mako eyes, the longing to be with the woman who stood beside him, immersing herself in her friends, body close enough to where if he leaned in a bit closer, he could wrap his arms around her, but far enough back to where he could silence the urge and stand by her side as a friend. It was hard to believe that the battle hardened SOLDIER he had first encountered when Reno had set the bomb to destroy the plate would turn into this simple man, driven to move forward by his unwavering love for the last Cetra. The first years of restoration had seen an unsettlingly desperate Cloud.
Something glimmered in the darkness and he realized the frame was adorned with a small silver plaque. Tilting his head as he pressed the erase button, he read the words engraved on the silver: DREAM TEAM.
The next message played and he turned to the frame beside it. This was a picture taken during their relationship. Cloud had his arm around her waist, hand settled comfortably on the curve of her hip, smiling a genuine smile as she leaned into him, proudly showing off a stack of neatly organized papers to the camera. The house he currently sat in stood behind them, looking empty and unlived in, desperately needing a coat of color or two to chase away the gloomy atmosphere of the dark gray walls. It had been taken the day all of the paperwork had been finalized and they were allowed to move into the modest two-story home/headquarters.
Tseng hit the erase button and vaguely wondered what he would find if her were to turn on the computer. Would the desktop background be a boring mixture of work tittle and slogan? Or another sickeningly sweet picture of the mother and father to-be, swept up in the midst of young love and the life they planned to build together? Pre-baby crisis of course. Perhaps a picture of the orphans that were not their children by blood, or even a picture of some place they'd been to.
Pressing the erase button, his eyes flickered up to the clock. It was three in the morning. No wonder his mind was entertaining such nonsense.
Continuing his scrutiny of the Strife Delivery Service main office, he began gathering more evidence of Aerith's presence in the business, reeling from just how much he knew about her and her husband's relationship. Anywhere that she possibly could have without embarrassing Cloud or making it overkill, she had included flowers. The pencil holder was one of them, and the bowl filled with candies was shaped into the long willowy petals of a flower he couldn't identify, painted in pastel pink and green. A small corner of the bulletin board had dried flowers pinned into the cork material, and he racked his brain for the names of the preserved plants, having remembered seeing them in a childhood that seemed a thousand years ago . . .
His eyes laid upon a branch like plant pinned closest to the edge of the board, the leaves were spiny and small, with crumpled blooms that might have once been white. He'd remembered seeing quite a few of them in his youth, most commonly around spring . . . holly, he believed. The next was a plant whose brown rimmed petals told him they had once been a bright yellow . . . a tulip. Next to the tulip was a delicate bloom whose long petals belled out like a woman's skirt mid twirl, the dingy brown was tinted pink and he mused as to how lovely it would have been in its prime, a pink hibiscus. The last of the flowers were a small bunch of ivy blossoms, bundled neatly with the others in their little corner of the bulletin board, the faint hints of their distinctive aromas hung in the air if you were to get close enough, and he had, taking an opportunity that hadn't been available to him since he was a child. The lilies that prospered in the church were lovely, but for many years had been the only plant he had ever known in the foul depths of Midgar, it was nice to breathe in the scent of other flowers again, to remember that the world was slowly but surely flourishing.
All of it reminded him of her.
The numbers on the machine were slowly counting down to the final message, his hand extending to delete the current message that was awaiting a command when he heard a creek from down the hall.
The machine waited for a command, going through its protocol for lack of user action.
"To listen to this message again, press—", he pulled the ear bud out of his ear, listening intently. The noise had sounded like a door. It couldn't have been the front door, the time and circumstances just wouldn't allow it that only left a bedroom door. Removing the ear buds from the jack as he stood, he slipped into the shadows. Soft footfalls could be heard descending the stairs and he moved on cat's paws to the crack between the door and the door frame, peering through.
"This is the path I was always meant to take!"
Her heart hurt, it hurt so badly she felt as if she would die. There was so much she wanted to do, so much she wanted to say, but she couldn't speak, she couldn't function. Her lips parted but all that escaped was a ragged breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Strong hands took hold of her own and she wanted to cry. These hands she thought would be forever holding her own were gentle, giving her a comfort that only they could.
Brilliant blue eyes locked with hers and she was reminded of the first time she ever gazed upon those glowing pools that reminded her so much of the sky after a storm. Her world revolved around those eyes. His heartbeat was hers, his smiles were her happiness, and his pain was her heartache.
He smiled at her, unafraid, unacquainted with the terrible fear that beat within her chest. Her grip on his hands tightened as he whispered words that chilled her to the very bone.
"I'll come back when it's over, I promise . . ."
Aerith's eyes fluttered open. Rain beat softly against the roof, the sound soothing, like a lullaby, setting her frantic heart at ease. She shifted, leaning up to rest on her elbow, watching the rain from the crack between the curtains. She didn't move, the sheets pooled around her hips as her eyes lingered on the falling rain. Placing her arms behind her back she gently pushed herself all the way up, belly brushing against the knee she had drawn towards her. She slid the leg a little ways aside, foot gliding over the smooth silk of the sheets, chilled from her unmoving form just moments before.
She thought about the dream, slipping quickly through her grasp like sand, she thought about those eyes, those feelings, and blinked as it all disappeared.
"Zack . . ."
The rain continued to fall, gentle pitter-pattering calming to lighter drops, as if the clouds were acknowledging the word that had escaped her lips with a whisper. Something pulled at her, telling her there was something she was missing, something she wasn't quite seeing. The fog cleared from her sleepy mind, and her eyes widened once the realization of what she had said set in.
She stared at her hand, studying the fine lines and creases in her palm, trying to make sense of what had happened, failing to collect the pieces of the dream that were falling away faster and faster. Pulling the plush covers off, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, toes twitching from the shock of the icy hardwood floor on her warm skin, and carefully stood, remembering her doctor's advice. Her eyes never left the gap in the curtains. Turning her head she broke the connection between emerald orbs and the call of the rain. She crossed the room and approached the closet, opening the doors and sifting through the clothing. Her fingers felt blindly for a certain material, the chill beginning to get to her as it raised goose bumps along her flesh, and her hands finally found what she had been looking for. Removing a fluffy cream colored robe from its hangar, she slipped it back into the closet and slid her arms through the sleeves, tying it into a sloppy bow at the front, letting the fabric drape over the chilled skin her less modest nightgown didn't cover. Her gaze drifted down as she realized just how much shorter the fabric belt hung than the last time she had worn it. Closing the closet doors, she turned around to open the bedroom door, the squeal of the wood not loud enough to concern waking her mother with, and descended the stairs. The darkness of the stairwell melted into the faint milky glow of the living room, illuminated by the street lights outside. Aerith could only stand, transfixed on a feeling she couldn't place, a memory she couldn't recall. The dream itself had long since vanished but the name still remained, along with the image of two magnificent blue eyes, no face to place the pieces, only eyes that were so familiar to her yet so different all the same. Before she even processed she was moving she had crossed the room to the kitchen, led by the small square of light on the counter that called her like a beacon. Her hands closed around her cellphone, still plugged into the charger, and she could only stare at it, digital numbers returning her stare. She bit her lip, moving to put it back down and turn around to get some much needed sleep, when her hand instead choose to flip it open. Chewing her bottom lip, she fought with herself, thinking it through. It was late . . . it was really late . . .
She made her decision. Opening up her contacts list she typed in two letters to narrow down her results and hit send, the muffled sound of the ring reached her ears as she raised it and waited. If the phone went to voice mail she'd go to bed, if it answered . . .
There was a click on the other end and her heart fluttered as a voice groggy with sleep answered, "Strife . . ."
She smiled, not really expecting to have been given his business greeting and fished for something to say, she'd wanted to hear his voice so badly she didn't even think to prepare words for herself.
". . . Hello?" His voice sounded more woken up with the slightest bit of irritation, annoyed at the hour.
Fearing he would hang up, she said the most logical thing she should have said at the beginning, "Hello, Cloud . . ."
There was a pause and she could hear him fumbling with the phone, most likely checking the caller ID that he hadn't checked before, and replied, voice surprised and very much awake, "Aerith? What's wrong?"
She wrapped both her hands around the phone, not really sure what to say. Maybe it would have been best if she hadn't called. Unable to come up with a lie that would satisfy her, she figured telling the truth was better than nothing at all.
"I just . . . needed to hear your voice . . ." she whispered, hair falling over her eyes and hands clasping her cell tighter. He'd been gone for awhile; she needed something to tell her he was still there. "I need . . ." she faltered, the last two weeks taking its toll on her. There was a small shift in her core and she wondered if she had woken the baby.
"It's okay, I'm here . . ." there was another movement in her tummy that was stronger than the one before. Recognition, perhaps? They shared the same body for now, the same pulse and blood. Maybe the baby sensed just how much she missed its father . . . and was trying to comfort her with a reminder of its presence. Releasing her vise on the phone, she placed a hand on her bump, feeling the small push through her nightgown and robe clear as day against her palm. Tears began to gather at the corner of her eyes and she cursed the instability of her hormones for the runny nose that was to ensue.
Although a little choked up, she spoke into the phone with a smile, "the baby's moving."
"Really?" his voice had gone from worried to excited, a seemingly impossible change this early in the morning, "Did it wake you up? You're not in pain, are you?"
"I'm fine," she answered gently, unable to hide the joy in her voice caused by the joy in his, "I've been awake for a while now . . ."
"Aerith, you really need to—"
"I know, I know," she cut him off. He'd always been so protective of her, even before they had fallen in love. She wasn't just one person anymore, she was two and though his protective persistence could be a bit overbearing at times it was sweet to know how much he cared.
"I just couldn't sleep," she whispered, "I miss you, Cloud . . ."
He was silent.
"I miss you too . . . I'll be back in a few days, it won't be much longer." She nodded to herself—fully aware he couldn't see it—and unplugged her cellphone, taking a seat at the table. The baby shifted once more.
"I know . . ."
"Still doesn't make it easier, huh?"
"Not a bit." She rested her cheek on her palm; sifting her fingers though her hair, "I've grown accustomed to your face . . ." she played, giving a nonchalant lilt to her words. He chuckled softly and the sound set her heart aflutter. His laughs were a rarity due to his withdrawn nature, undeniably sexy too. What had she done in her life to be the cause of such a sound? To be able to make him happy.
"I had a dream, you know," she found herself speaking into the phone, words tumbling out of their own accord, passing her lips before she could process they were there.
"Tell me about it . . ." he urged, voice silky smooth, almost as if he were relaxing himself, getting comfortable.
"Mmhmm," she nodded taking her head off her palm and righting it so she could lean against the table with her elbow, cradling the phone to her ear almost lovingly, "I dreamed that I was in the church."
"Okay, then what happened?"
She smiled, "All of a sudden, something came crashing through the roof and nearly landed on top of me!" Her words were barely louder than whispers as she tried her best to not alert her mother to her presence downstairs. He was silent, most likely figuring out where this conversation was going and let her proceed anyway, having no intention to cut her short, "it was a strange man I'd never seen before, but as I got closer, I realized I had met him before."
Why on the planet she had decided to recount the events of their first meeting she didn't know, but she was glad she did, feeling things so differently now than she had at that moment in time, unaware of the impact this lucky-to-be-alive man would have on her life. She could almost feel him smile from so many miles away and with the mental image of his smile she was about to continue when he spoke.
"And then what happened?"
"Well, I woke him up, told him how lucky he was to not be dead, exchanged names and then we went on an adventure!" She listed as the baby began to move once more, she liked to believe that it was listening to her story, settling itself to go back to sleep with the tale of its parents' journey not so long ago, "We saw the world, met so many new people, did so many new things! Danger was always right around the corner, even years after we thought the journey had ended but things always turned out alright in the end . . ."
There was silence, but not the uncomfortable separating kind, it was a knowing silence, as they both let her words sink in, and thought about what they truly meant now.
After a while, he spoke, ". . . and then what happened?"
Aerith smiled, wishing more than ever to be by his side, once more all too aware of the distance between them. The phone would have to do for now. With no hint of hesitation in her voice, she recited the ending of her story, "We lived happily ever after."
Miles away, in a bed that wasn't his, in a place that wasn't home, he smiled, hand around his phone tightening ever so slightly.
"I like that ending," he felt himself whisper, warmth flooding into his chest that only she could let flow.
"I like it too . . ."
Tseng watched her walk up the stairs, looking tired and hair disheveled. She emerged from the stairwell, scratching the back of her head, a lovely close-lipped smile gracing her lips as the hand that had previously been lost in the nest of her honey kissed locks wrapped around her body. She rubbed herself to ward off the chill and slowly opened the door to her bedroom, disappearing inside. Tseng stepped out of the shadows just as she shut the door halfway. Pocketing his ear buds he moved to sneak out the way he had come when he paused, feet turning to cement before her door. Whatever force had compelled him to cease all action and observe her was a persuasive one, and he watched wordlessly as she removed her robe, the thin straps of her nightgown slipping off her shoulders in the process. Yawning into her hand, she made no motion to fix them and only turned; pulling back the rumpled covers and curling herself back into bed. A sigh escaped impeccable lips as her arms crept out from her blanket cocoon, grabbing the unoccupied pillow beside her and wrapping it in a tight embrace. He turned away from the door and continued on, trying to erase the vision of her face buried in the plush pillow, completely unaware of what was going on right under her nose.
He wanted to forget it, but at the same time he wanted to keep it close, hold the image of her unknowing visage for the months that were to come, when she would no longer be able to live her life as blissfully undisturbed as she did now.
He could only hope she'd find it in her to forgive him.
Having finished what he'd set out to do, he left the Strife residence and turned to walk along the empty streets, unsure of where he was going or what he was going to do when he got there. With no destination set, he walked into the night, letting the streetlamps light his way.
How long would it be before he could manage a decent night's sleep?
Rufus' eyes were bloodshot, as they had been for the past few weeks. He couldn't sleep, no matter how much his body demanded rest or his eyes craved to seal shut. Closing his eyes was bad, worse than draining his body with the lack of sleep. If he closed his eyes now he subjected himself to salacious illusions that threatened to throw him off the enticing precipice he had been tip-toeing along for the last year and a half. It was maddening, his mind coveted sleep . . . but his body craved more corporeal enterprise.
Every time it was the same. Since the very minute he learned she had survived the cooperative calamity that was Jenova and Sephiroth, METEOR, and Geostigma, even if it was irrelevant to his plan for the planet and the Geostigma that was slowly killing him from the inside out.
Each time he saw her, standing before him like a mortal Venus, appearance adapting to whatever form he had seen her in before. For now her hair was long, much longer than it had been the first time he had lain eyes on the 'key to the promised land', and flowed in umber waves around delicate pale skin. She was never fully clothed, his mind choosing to instead adorn her in material that struggled to cling to her shapely frame. The encounters with his apparition were always the same . . . she would smile at him, emerald eyes darkened with hungry thoughts he could never decode as her hands would discard whatever kept his gaze from taking in every inch of her ethereal body. Slender fingers would travel along her own body, grasping and sighing as she explored herself, biting her lower lip, gasping at her own touch. She'd always set her eyes on him at one point in his irrational fantasy, ceasing her self-pleasuring to stalk her way towards him with impure intentions glittering in those lust-filled eyes.
She'd climb the bed on all fours, womanhood trembling with need, rose tipped breasts erect with arousal and he'd fuck her. He'd fuck her so good and so hard that she'd scream, begging him for more, begging him to hurt her. Humiliate her. Let her take it wherever he damn well pleased. The ultimate fantasy. So real he'd wake up filthy, exhausted, and satisfied.
And it terrified him.
That this creature—this woman—could have such an effect on him. That she could warp his mind with thoughts of sex and torture—to where he conjured ghosts of her in his imagination that were ready willing slaves to whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, wherever he wanted. He was a changed man, he was working to restore the planet, correct his transgressions, not harbor dangerous fantasies about a woman whose purity he'd desecrated when the world had been his and the Promised Land was within his grasp.
But these terrifyingly delicious dreams were beginning to change. Since the day she had stormed into his office, not noticeably big and pregnant but not quite as thin as she had used to be either, his vision of her was beginning to melt away. Of course he was still haunted by the illusions of her, naked and breathless and bound to something that would keep her still as he fucked into her slick heat, but reality was beginning to meld with the play thing his lust had fabricated. Only now, she wasn't as willing as she used to be. Only now, Strife was beginning to work his way in, making love to his wife as only he could, making her moan and sigh in exquisite delight, hips pumping in rhythm to her breathless cries. He had no control over the torture, didn't have a say as his own sick subconscious made him suffer, giving him vision after vision of Cloud and Aerith screwing into the night. Whenever she'd reach her breaking point, throwing her head back in a paroxysm of pleasure, she would set her eyes on him from over Strife's shoulder, grinning at the fact that Cloud would be able to do it, that he would accomplish the one thing Rufus Shinra couldn't. With a few more desperate thrusts and Aerith's wicked grin never leaving, Strife would growl his climax into her ear, breath shuddering out of him as his seed planted itself within her womb, as he impregnated the last Cetra.
The one thing he hadn't been able to do. He was Rufus Shinra, at one point in his life callous and professional, disgustingly handsome, rich beyond his wildest dreams. He may have been the son of the president and next in line to take over the business but he had had a reputation that could rival his father's. Women were disposable. He was no stranger to an infuriated mess of females whose names and faces escaped him storming into his office and proclaiming she was with child and he was the father. Security always saw them to the door. Thrown out without a single piece of the multibillion-gil pie that they had intended to gain under threat of a lawsuit and a fake paternity test.
Life continued to go on, his business was getting bigger and bigger every day and the planet was getting weaker. Then his father was murdered. The moment he had waited for his whole life had presented itself on a bloody silver platter and he took his place as president of Shin-Ra, unknowingly sealing his fate. It had started out as a simple plan, kill off AVALANCHE and take over the world, but as much as he despised himself to admit it, his father had been right. He needed mako energy and the planet was nearly tapped dry, the Promised Land was his only key to the amount of energy he required. The old man had been right about something, he needed the Cetra to open the floodgates to the Promised Land, and much like his father, like the man he had told AVALANCHE he would be different from, he had fallen under the Promised Land's spell. Obsessing over it, coveting it, and then falling under the spell of the Cetra herself.
He took her in his office, not at all bothered by the half-dead state his soldiers had left her in. When he finished he left the room satisfied, confident even, that she would be pronounced pregnant at her next examination but he had never been given the chance. Tseng helped her escape and he never saw her again, the company exploded and he barely escaped with his life, METEOR nearly obliterated the planet and he figured her and the rest of AVALANCHE had been killed . . . until Reno had happened to stumble across a flier a few days after his Turks had encountered the remnants of Sephiroth.
Strife Delivery service. Cloud was alive.
All of AVALANCHE had survived the apocalypse, well . . . all but one. But he had been dead before their paths had crossed. He found out Cloud was rooming with the barmaid, she was running a new drunk house, and everyone else was leading relatively normal lives.
And Aerith?
She hadn't given birth.
He couldn't bring himself to believe that she had aborted the child; it had been war and they were far more preoccupied with more important things than seeking out a doctor who would help her perform such an operation. But he had still done what he'd done, her body had been ready and he hadn't used protection. It had left him with questions, so many questions, and he finally decided not to wait around for the next time their paths were to cross.
He had sought out an answer and he got it.
He was sterile.
It had taken a while for the news to really have an impact on him. The world was building itself back up from the wreckage and he had to do his part. He pushed out the realization that all those faked paternity tests to get gold-diggers off his back had been true all along. He had no children. He would never have any children. The Shinra line had come to a halt.
It hadn't bothered him in the slightest, the notion that he'd never have a family to call his own, no matter how undeserving he was of one or how much he'd told himself families were an inconvenience. It hadn't fazed him one bit, he was content, getting over a disease that had rotted him from his very core and actually making a difference with the funding to Edge and his contributions to the WRO. Then the day had come, a rumor had found its way to his ear and he immediately sent Reno and Rude to confirm or deny its validity.
Aerith Gainsborough was pregnant. Two years too late to be the father, he could only conclude what the evidence had provided: Cloud Strife was the father. The spiky-haired ex-SOLDIER had created the strongest bond between him and the woman who haunted the last Shinra's dreams with naked bodies and dirty sex and everything in between.
Rufus' eyes struggled to stay open but he dare not close them, too afraid of closing his heavy lids only to be tormented by the image of the two making hot sweaty love on his bed. Dark glittering emeralds watching him, grinning maniacally as her lover fucked her slowly, legs wrapped tight around the blond's waist and tongue darting out to lick her lips in a torturously slow tease. He fought to stay awake. As the images began to flood even without sleep and he wanted to scream. He wanted to get up and smash everything in the room to pieces, he wanted to break the windows and destroy anything that could shatter by being slammed against a wall. He wanted to tear his eyes from their sockets because he couldn't control the visions and he couldn't control himself and all he wanted was some godforsaken sleep.
But there was nothing he could do. The vision would come whether he shut his eyes or not and he wanted to cry, because he didn't have a grip on anything in his life anymore.