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The first time Aerith heals Tifa, she asks her to tend to Cloud instead. Aerith abides by her request, even though a second-degree burn is technically more serious than a puncture wound.
When she gets around to the burn on Tifa’s shoulder, Cloud hovers a few feet away, pretending not to watch. “Stop fussing, Cloud, and go stand guard over there.” He huffs. “This burn is going to take me longer to heal.”
Green light feathers around the raw, glistening skin and Aerith braces herself for the coming heat. When the blood pumping in her ears becomes too much to ignore, she distracts herself with smalltalk.
“I’m sorry this is taking so long,” she says.
“Oh… no,” Tifa says, almost dreamily, as though the concept of time hadn’t crossed her mind until now. Healing magic sometimes had that effect. She shakes her head. “Thank you for doing this. I’m not so great at magic, so I’m—we’re—lucky to have you here.” A small smile.
“Then you won’t mind if I’m thorough?” From the corner of her eye, Aerith can see Cloud pacing back and forth impatiently within the narrow space of the abandoned train car.
Tifa just hums in response. Long lashes blink slowly as her eyes follow Cloud’s movements.
“I wouldn’t want this to leave behind an ugly scar,” Aerith says.
Tifa’s gaze falls to her shoulder and Aerith watches her watch her own skin slowly knit itself back together. “It wouldn’t be my first.” The words come out in a soft breath, too quiet for Cloud to hear.
The air in Gongaga is heavy and suffocating. The buzz of insects is matched only by the chorus of voices buried beneath the remains of the burned up reactor. Aerith has been hearing them ever since they stepped foot onto the dirt paths just outside of town.
Tifa is on the ground catching her breath, her knees pressing hard into the dirt. Aerith squats down next to her to take a look at the cut on her neck, but Tifa waves her away. It doesn’t look so bad, but still—
“You were being reckless.”
Cloud’s tone is cool and even, but Tifa picks up on the underlying criticism. This kind of perceptiveness isn’t out of the ordinary. What is, however, is that this time, Tifa rises to meet it.
“What did you expect?” She pushes herself up off the ground. He turns to face her. “For me to just sit back and do nothing?”
Cloud has to get his bearings. From a distance, Barret pauses to watch.
“We had a chance to sneak past them. It was unnecessary to engage them like that.”
“They’re Turks, Cloud.”
He crosses his arms. “I know. And if we have a chance to avoid them, we should. It’s already bad enough as it is that they keep finding us somehow.”
He’s trying to be diplomatic, Aerith thinks. But something in Tifa’s expression suggests his words aren’t getting through. There’s also the barely noticeable way she’s swaying ever so slightly that concerns Aerith.
Cloud shifts his weight onto his other leg. “They’ve hampered our progress every step of the way. We shouldn’t be helping them with that.”
“Progress? What about the past? What about Sector 7 and Jessie and—”
Cloud shakes his head. “We can’t lose focus for a shot at revenge, Tifa.”
Barret puts his good hand on Cloud’s shoulder. “Cloud, hey, come on, now…”
Tifa grits her teeth. Aerith doesn’t think she’s ever seen her this angry before. “Progress, focus… just the kind of loyalty I’d expect from a SOLDIER.”
For a moment, everyone is silent. The shock is clear on Cloud’s face. Then, Tifa remembers herself. Gathers her composure. Recovers with a hasty apology. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Whatever.” He turns to walk away.
“Wait—” Tifa calls after him. She loses her balance, knees nearly giving out from under her. Aerith catches her by the arm and steadies her gently. Under her fingertips, Tifa’s skin feels clammy to touch.
“Whoa, hey.”
She groans and holds onto Aerith’s arm for balance.
“Tifa, are you okay?”
“I’m… I feel a little dizzy.”
Aerith glances at the cut on her neck. Shallow, clean, nothing out of the ordinary, and yet…
Suddenly, Tifa lurches forward—a splash of vomit lands in the dirt.
Up ahead, Cloud stops in his tracks, SOLDIER instincts likely tuning in to the quiet commotion behind him. Aerith gathers Tifa up in her arms as best as she can to lead her back to camp.
Cloud jogs up next to Aerith and helps get her inside the tent. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Poison, I think. One of the blue suits nicked her with it. Nothing too serious.”
It’s cooler inside the tent, away from the oppressive, mid-afternoon sunlight. Tifa crumples heavily onto the cot, bending forward to hide her head in her knees. Her long hair falls like a curtain over her legs. Aerith brushes the bangs away from her brow and presses the back of her hand to her forehead.
“You’re burning up, love. Do you think you can sit up straight for me?”
Tifa moans into her arms. “I think I’m going to be sick again.” Cloud leans forward to examine her.
Aerith touches him gently on the arm. “Could you step outside for a minute? I’ll handle this.” He grunts and leaves. At the sound of the tent flap zipping shut, Tifa lifts her head.
Aerith smiles. “Just a bit of poison. Once the spell starts, the nausea will go away in no time.”
Tifa shivers slightly. “You don’t have to waste your mana. I can just take an antidote.”
Too late, Aerith thinks as she activates the materia in her bangle. “My way feels so much better, though, don’t you think?” The magic washes over Tifa’s hunched form. Even as the nausea siphons into the pit of her own stomach, Aerith finds relief in the way Tifa’s expression returns to something resembling calm.
When the brief bout of queasiness fades, Aerith hands her a canteen and watches as she takes a long drink of water. Almost by instinct, she rests her hands lightly on Tifa’s knees.
“Thank you.”
“Better?”
Tifa nods. When she places her own gloved hands over Aerith’s, there's a hesitance to her movements. Outside, Aerith can hear the chirping of cicadas, mosquitos buzzing around in clouds, the deep rumble of Barret’s voice overlapping with Red’s thoughtful purrs.
“The way you talk to him,” Tifa starts, her voice so low, it’s nearly a whisper. “It’s so easy between you two.”
Aerith shrugs. “Not always.” Which is the truth. It’s a rare victory any time she’s able to get a glimpse past the fog of mako blue or wade through the thick, hazy layer that clings to his entire being like film.
“I don’t know why I want him to care,” Tifa whispers. Aerith ignores that white little lie—she's pretty sure they both know why.
“Every time I think I’m getting somewhere with him, the wall comes back. And then he’s that same aloof stranger I met in Midgar.”
Aerith just listens.
“It’s like he’s two different people sometimes.”
“I know. I see it, too.”
Aerith tightens her grip around Tifa’s hands, trying her best to ignore the impulse to strip the gloves off her fingers so she can feel the bare skin beneath. They sit together like this in silence for a few long moments before Barret’s voice interrupts from outside.
When they arrive in Rocket Town, they all decide to splurge a little and have dinner together as a team. After weeks on the road surviving on tinned camp food, they’ve earned a decent meal at a real restaurant.
Tifa begs off with the excuse of a residual headache from their last battle. It’s unexpected and Aerith takes notice—she knows a lie when she sees one, particularly if it's unskilled. When she offers to stay behind in case she needs medical attention, a guilty look falls over Tifa’s face. Bingo. You’re stuck with me, Aerith tries to relay with a wink.
Back at the inn, Aerith rummages through her things while Tifa lies back on the bed, eyes shut and arms propped behind her head. Aerith clambers up onto the mattress next to Tifa, prize in hand.
“What’s that? … Rum?” She can’t help a curious quirk of the mouth. “Where did you even get that?”
“Costa del Sol. I nicked it from a beach bum passed out on the sand.”
Tifa sits up. “You stole it?” Aerith places a finger to her lips. “Our secret.” She fetches two glasses from the nightstand and fills them up.
“Cheers.” She’s relieved when Tifa seems game. They touch glasses and take a sip.
Tifa crinkles her nose. “Coconut…” Aerith hisses at the cloying notes lingering on her tongue. “Yeah, it’s not great, but it’ll do.”
She peers at Tifa over her glass. “Surprised you can drink with a headache.” Tifa freezes and Aerith almost regrets teasing her.
“Relax, your secret’s safe with me.”
They drink in silence.
“Besides, you’ve been sad,” she says. Since Nibelheim, she thinks to herself. Aerith tucks a stray lock of hair behind Tifa’s ear. “I wanted to cheer you up.”
Tifa doesn’t know what to say. Instead, she downs her drink and pours them each a generous refill. It’s subtle, but her demeanor’s changed. There’s a smile on her face—a small one, but it’s real.
They continue drinking and talking into the night. When Cloud knocks on their door, they just about fall off the bed laughing. It turns out their fearless leader was thoughtful enough to bring them leftovers.
“How’re you feeling?” His voice stammers a little, momentarily taken aback by the sight of them tipsy in their pajamas.
“She’s fine, Cloud. Great, even. Right? Aren’t you feeling great, Tifa?”
Tifa laughs and nearly spills her drink, barely able to answer the question. She stumbles over to him, face flushed, and takes the doggie bags off his hands. “Thanks, Cloud.”
“Yeah, thanks, Cloud!” Aerith shouts from the bed.
“Sure,” he mumbles before quickly ducking out, eager to escape whatever private joke they’re sharing that doesn’t include him.
They don’t mind. In fact, they almost forget he was there.
When Aerith finishes healing Tifa’s broken ankle, she stands up from her seat—and stumbles. Tifa is quick to catch her.
“Ah, my foot must have fallen asleep,” she says, throwing in a laugh to mask the lie. When Aerith tumbles over a second time, Tifa just stares at her expectantly.
Aerith gives up on standing for now and sits back down, defeated. She takes a slow, deep breath until the pain needling at her own ankle finally retracts and fades.
“So, here’s the deal. Whenever I heal someone, I can feel their injury, ailment—whatever it is I’m healing.”
Tifa is still watching her with that intense look usually reserved for Cloud.
“It’s a real pain,” Aerith says.
“That’s… a terrible joke,” Tifa says, laughing a little. Behind her eyes, Aerith can see that she’s worried.
“It’s always been like this. Sometimes, I can feel other things, too.”
“Like what?” Her voice is so gentle.
“Well, sometimes, I can hear things… other times, it’s something I can sense or recognize, like snatches of color. Or a specific scent.”
There’s a constant noise inside of Cloud and every now and then, she can hear a small voice crying out through a veil of poison green. A part of her aches every time she tends to his wounds, and though it feels localized, it's strangely impossible to locate.
“With someone like Cloud, for instance, it’s like you’ve said before. It’s hard to get through to him. There’s just so much noise.”
Tifa’s eyes fall to her hands. There’s an anxiousness to the way she laces her fingers together—something Aerith can see and hear and feel, all at once. The guardedness within Tifa is worlds different from Cloud’s. It’s less alien, more familiar. The kind of wall that threatens to fall away like ash in the presence of hard truths. It’s soft and tenuous and scared in a way that Aerith can actually understand.
Aerith realizes she’s been holding her breath when Tifa finally speaks. “I never knew that. But it makes sense, in a way.”
“The closer I am to someone, the more I can feel what they’re feeling.”
“That’s… oh.” She bites her lip. “Well, I feel a bit guilty now.”
“Don’t. I’m glad I could share this with you.” Aerith reaches over and takes her hand to reassure her. “Besides, what am I going to do, not help people? You guys would’ve overdosed on potions by now if it weren’t for me.”
“Speaking of which…” She turns her attention to the landscape of fresh cuts and bruises across Tifa’s knuckles. Pressing a soft kiss to the center of her palm, she begins to activate the spell.
Tifa stops her. “No, it’s okay. Sometimes, I need to feel it.”
“Does it hurt?”
Tifa nods. “A lot.”
Earlier, she’d taken a hit for Cloud. Shattered her collarbone in two places. Aerith grips the materia in her left hand and holds out her right.
“Take my hand.”
Tifa looks up at her. She takes her hand, grips it hard.
Aerith holds her gaze. The spell casts soft green light over Tifa’s features.
“Do you love him?”
A bead of sweat gathers and trickles down her forehead. Aerith waits, forgetting to breathe.
“I don’t know.”
When the pain transfers, Aerith doubles over. Bites her lip until she tastes iron. Tifa wipes the blood away with her thumb before leaning in to close the distance between them, leaving no room for words unspoken.
Her mouth is warm and soft, Aerith thinks, and the sensation alone is enough for now.