Thoughts Read Unspoken - Prompt #21 Cloud, Tifa, Denzel, and Marlene
Title: Thoughts Read Unspoken
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII Compilation
Characters: Cloud, Tifa, Denzel, and Marlene
Prompt: #21 - Scar
Word Count: 1,228
Rating: PG
Summary: Cloud wasn't the only one who had scars.
Disclaimer: The Final Fantasy VII Compilation does not belong to me.
Table of Prompts: Qwi_Xux's FFVII Prompts
Prompt #21 - Scar
Cloud had wanted to offer his family so much more than he'd been able to give them. He had been full of dreams when he left Nibelheim, full of hopes and ambitions--he would prove himself to Tifa; he would show everyone that he was strong, and maybe one day, he would even be worthy of her.
Instead of fulfilling those dreams, instead of giving Tifa anything like she deserved, all he did was take from her. He took and he took and sometimes he didn't know how she was still standing, didn't know how he hadn't yet bled her completely dry.
Sometimes he wasn't sure he really had much of anything to give to anyone. The times when he was stuck between the years that Hojo had taken from him and the years he had taken from himself as he was consumed in guilt, he wondered how there could be anything left. It had taken a lot for Cloud to really face Tifa, Denzel, and Marlene--to face himself. It had taken Geostigma, and the Remnants, and battling Sephiroth again. It had taken their words. Tifa asking him why they had to lose out to a memory. Marlene demanding to know why he didn't pay any attention to them. Denzel's hopeful voice when he asked if he would see Cloud at home.
Part of him knew that it should have been an impossibility that he was even there at all. He should have been dead, or crazy, or shattered into so many pieces that nothing could ever put him back together. Except he was alive, he had survived the insanity in his mind, and his pieces, though broken, were not as many as they should have been. They were slowly being put back together.
He didn't know if anyone would ever completely be able to understand what he had been through--even Tifa, who had walked with him through his mind and memories, would never fully know what it was like to be snatched up by a mad scientist at the age of sixteen, to slowly lose awareness of everyone and everything around him. She would never really know what it was like to be rescued by the man who had been a friend and hero to him, only to find him dying, to come back to awareness and find himself twenty-one and living with someone else's persona in his head.
Denzel and Marlene didn't yet know everything that had happened to him in his past, and he couldn't say he was looking forward to the day when they asked more about it. Their little questions already brought back enough.
When Marlene asked Cloud why he didn't like riding in cars, his answer to her was that they were too small and he liked his bike. He didn't tell her that being trapped in a tank of Mako for so many of his teenage years had made him hate confined spaces.
When Denzel asked him if he sat in the rain because it reminded him of the healing rain that had cleansed the Geostigma, he had replied, "Sometimes," but if the rain reminded him of Aerith, then it also reminded him of Zack--of the day Zack had died, when the rain had washed his blood into the ground. Death and healing, completely opposite, yet both had played parts in Cloud's life. And when it came down to the rain, it usually wasn't memory that brought him outside into it, but just the simple relief that he wasn't trapped in a place where he couldn't feel rain on his skin.
When he woke up in the night, gasping and shaking as the nightmares still danced before his eyes, he felt completely suffocated. He was stifled under the blankets, in the confines of four walls. And Tifa would slip out of bed and open the window, no matter what the weather, before returning to sit next to him and wrap her arms around him. He hated those moments, because it made him weak in front of her, and he'd been weak enough for her to last several lifetimes. And he wouldn't hate those moments, because she knew. She knew why he had nightmares and why he sat in the rain and why he didn't like being cars. She knew and she didn't think him weak because of it. It was both terrifying and relieving to be known that well.
Sometimes, during those after-nightmare moments, when she was holding him, her cheek pressed to his back or shoulder, she would murmur, "Do you want to talk about it?"
Most of the time, he wouldn't want to talk about it at all. These were his struggles, his pain, his memories of horror paying him a visit. The past was in the past; he had spent enough time dwelling in it already, and far too much time dragging Tifa through it, to want to relive it at all.
Every once in a while, though, the words would come out. Fragmented and jagged, those horrors would be whispered in the darkness. Tifa never said anything; maybe they both knew that if she had apologized or told him it was okay he wouldn't have been able to talk about it. He didn't want to hear apologies or sympathies; what had happened had happened and nothing would change it.
Even though she didn't speak, her grip on him would tighten, and sometimes her fingers would graze over his skin, over the scars left by Sephiroth's sword or Hojo's knives and needles--marks left on his skin before the years of Mako enhancements changed him so that he healed before he scarred. These outward marks were only the barest reflection of the ones he bore inside.
He didn't push Tifa's fingers away, even when it hurt, even when the only thing he could see in those nighttime moments were shadows of his own failures. She might not ever be able to really understand how it had felt to go through everything he had, but she bore her own pain and her own scars, and in that, they shared a silent understanding.
Tifa, Denzel, and Marlene all gave to him, and the longer he was with them, the more he was able to give to them in return. It didn't always come easily or naturally, but it came and that was what really mattered. When it really came down to it, they were all scarred. In different ways, perhaps, but none of them had escaped unscathed. They all had their own fears.
So when Marlene woke up early as he was getting ready to leave on deliveries and joined him for breakfast, he got used to making food for both of them. As he listened to her chat, he came to understand that her fear was being alone, and just by sitting with her, he was helping.
When there was a thunderstorm and Denzel cringed with every loud crash and boom, trying not to show how afraid he was, Cloud slipped a pair of headphones over his ears and played cards with him.
And on the nights when Tifa was the one to wake up trembling from her own haunted past, he was there to wrap her in his arms.
Maybe it still wasn't as much as they deserved. But maybe for them it was enough.
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII Compilation
Characters: Cloud, Tifa, Denzel, and Marlene
Prompt: #21 - Scar
Word Count: 1,228
Rating: PG
Summary: Cloud wasn't the only one who had scars.
Disclaimer: The Final Fantasy VII Compilation does not belong to me.
Table of Prompts: Qwi_Xux's FFVII Prompts
Prompt #21 - Scar
Cloud had wanted to offer his family so much more than he'd been able to give them. He had been full of dreams when he left Nibelheim, full of hopes and ambitions--he would prove himself to Tifa; he would show everyone that he was strong, and maybe one day, he would even be worthy of her.
Instead of fulfilling those dreams, instead of giving Tifa anything like she deserved, all he did was take from her. He took and he took and sometimes he didn't know how she was still standing, didn't know how he hadn't yet bled her completely dry.
Sometimes he wasn't sure he really had much of anything to give to anyone. The times when he was stuck between the years that Hojo had taken from him and the years he had taken from himself as he was consumed in guilt, he wondered how there could be anything left. It had taken a lot for Cloud to really face Tifa, Denzel, and Marlene--to face himself. It had taken Geostigma, and the Remnants, and battling Sephiroth again. It had taken their words. Tifa asking him why they had to lose out to a memory. Marlene demanding to know why he didn't pay any attention to them. Denzel's hopeful voice when he asked if he would see Cloud at home.
Part of him knew that it should have been an impossibility that he was even there at all. He should have been dead, or crazy, or shattered into so many pieces that nothing could ever put him back together. Except he was alive, he had survived the insanity in his mind, and his pieces, though broken, were not as many as they should have been. They were slowly being put back together.
He didn't know if anyone would ever completely be able to understand what he had been through--even Tifa, who had walked with him through his mind and memories, would never fully know what it was like to be snatched up by a mad scientist at the age of sixteen, to slowly lose awareness of everyone and everything around him. She would never really know what it was like to be rescued by the man who had been a friend and hero to him, only to find him dying, to come back to awareness and find himself twenty-one and living with someone else's persona in his head.
Denzel and Marlene didn't yet know everything that had happened to him in his past, and he couldn't say he was looking forward to the day when they asked more about it. Their little questions already brought back enough.
When Marlene asked Cloud why he didn't like riding in cars, his answer to her was that they were too small and he liked his bike. He didn't tell her that being trapped in a tank of Mako for so many of his teenage years had made him hate confined spaces.
When Denzel asked him if he sat in the rain because it reminded him of the healing rain that had cleansed the Geostigma, he had replied, "Sometimes," but if the rain reminded him of Aerith, then it also reminded him of Zack--of the day Zack had died, when the rain had washed his blood into the ground. Death and healing, completely opposite, yet both had played parts in Cloud's life. And when it came down to the rain, it usually wasn't memory that brought him outside into it, but just the simple relief that he wasn't trapped in a place where he couldn't feel rain on his skin.
When he woke up in the night, gasping and shaking as the nightmares still danced before his eyes, he felt completely suffocated. He was stifled under the blankets, in the confines of four walls. And Tifa would slip out of bed and open the window, no matter what the weather, before returning to sit next to him and wrap her arms around him. He hated those moments, because it made him weak in front of her, and he'd been weak enough for her to last several lifetimes. And he wouldn't hate those moments, because she knew. She knew why he had nightmares and why he sat in the rain and why he didn't like being cars. She knew and she didn't think him weak because of it. It was both terrifying and relieving to be known that well.
Sometimes, during those after-nightmare moments, when she was holding him, her cheek pressed to his back or shoulder, she would murmur, "Do you want to talk about it?"
Most of the time, he wouldn't want to talk about it at all. These were his struggles, his pain, his memories of horror paying him a visit. The past was in the past; he had spent enough time dwelling in it already, and far too much time dragging Tifa through it, to want to relive it at all.
Every once in a while, though, the words would come out. Fragmented and jagged, those horrors would be whispered in the darkness. Tifa never said anything; maybe they both knew that if she had apologized or told him it was okay he wouldn't have been able to talk about it. He didn't want to hear apologies or sympathies; what had happened had happened and nothing would change it.
Even though she didn't speak, her grip on him would tighten, and sometimes her fingers would graze over his skin, over the scars left by Sephiroth's sword or Hojo's knives and needles--marks left on his skin before the years of Mako enhancements changed him so that he healed before he scarred. These outward marks were only the barest reflection of the ones he bore inside.
He didn't push Tifa's fingers away, even when it hurt, even when the only thing he could see in those nighttime moments were shadows of his own failures. She might not ever be able to really understand how it had felt to go through everything he had, but she bore her own pain and her own scars, and in that, they shared a silent understanding.
Tifa, Denzel, and Marlene all gave to him, and the longer he was with them, the more he was able to give to them in return. It didn't always come easily or naturally, but it came and that was what really mattered. When it really came down to it, they were all scarred. In different ways, perhaps, but none of them had escaped unscathed. They all had their own fears.
So when Marlene woke up early as he was getting ready to leave on deliveries and joined him for breakfast, he got used to making food for both of them. As he listened to her chat, he came to understand that her fear was being alone, and just by sitting with her, he was helping.
When there was a thunderstorm and Denzel cringed with every loud crash and boom, trying not to show how afraid he was, Cloud slipped a pair of headphones over his ears and played cards with him.
And on the nights when Tifa was the one to wake up trembling from her own haunted past, he was there to wrap her in his arms.
Maybe it still wasn't as much as they deserved. But maybe for them it was enough.