Chapter Text
Cloud finished the last delivery just after noon.
The morning had been uneventful—quiet streets, polite nods, the familiar weight of packages strapped to the bike. Edge was still waking up, sunlight catching on half-built structures and rusted metal the way it always did. The city looked fragile in the daylight, but calm. Manageable.
Cloud liked mornings like this. Predictable. They didn’t ask much of him.
He entered Seventh Heaven with that dull satisfaction of routine still clinging to him. The door swung shut behind him with a familiar thud, the bell above it giving its tired jingle. The sound settled something in his chest.
Normal.
The bar was nearly empty.
One man sat hunched at the counter, a half-finished drink in front of him, shoulders rounded as if he’d been there awhile. The rest of the stools were vacant. Chairs pushed in. Lights dimmer than usual.
Cloud slowed without realizing it.
He glanced toward the kitchen, already expecting to see movement—Tifa moving between tasks, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back in that way she did when she was thinking three steps ahead.
“Tifa?” he called, casual.
No answer.
That wasn’t unusual. She was always in motion. He stepped behind the counter and peeked into the kitchen.
Empty.
No clatter of dishes. No heat from the stove. Just a single towel abandoned on the edge of the counter, folded wrong, like it had been dropped rather than placed.
Cloud frowned.
That’s strange.
He checked the back room next. Storage shelves lined with crates, the faint hum of the old fridge filling the space. Everything was where it should be—except her.
A tightness settled low in his chest.
Cloud turned back toward the bar.
That was when the man at the counter spoke, casual, unbothered—like he was commenting on the weather.
“Lady ran upstairs in a hurry,” he said. “Looked like she was gonna be sick.”
Cloud’s breath caught.
He turned sharply toward the stairs, already moving.
“Hey—” the man lifted his glass. “Mind topping me off while you’re at—”
Cloud was already halfway up the steps.
He heard it before he reached the landing.
The sound cut through him instantly.
Muffled. Harsh. Wrong.
Cloud stopped just long enough to register it—his body reacting before his thoughts caught up—then moved again.
He reached the bathroom door just as it happened once more. Tifa retched violently, the sound echoing faintly through the walls, sharp and uncontrolled in a way he’d never heard from her before.
“Tifa?” He knocked once, knuckles tight against the door.
Silence stretched just long enough to make his chest ache.
Then, weakly, “Cloud?”
Relief hit him first. Then fear followed close behind.
“Don’t—” she coughed, voice strained. “Don’t come in.”
Cloud stood there, hand hovering near the handle. He told himself to wait. To give her space.
Then she gagged again.
Cloud opened the door.
Tifa was on the floor beside the toilet, knees drawn up awkwardly, one hand braced against the tile as if the ground itself might give way beneath her. Her hair had come loose, dark strands clinging to her face and neck. She looked smaller like this. Folded in on herself. Vulnerable in a way that made something tighten painfully in Cloud’s chest.
She glanced up at him, eyes wide with embarrassment. “I told you not to—”
She didn’t finish.
Another wave hit her, sharp and sudden.
Cloud was at her side instantly, dropping to his knees, gathering her hair back with one hand and holding it away from her face. He didn’t speak. Didn’t rush her. He stayed steady, grounded, letting her lean into his presence until it passed.
When she finally slumped back against the tub, breathing shallow and uneven, Cloud reached for a towel and gently wiped her mouth. His movements were careful, deliberate—like she might break if he moved too fast.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, refusing to meet his eyes.
The words hit him harder than they should have.
He shook his head immediately. “Don’t be.”
She swallowed and forced a weak, embarrassed breath. “This is… gross.”
“It’s fine,” he said, without hesitation. Because it was. Because none of this mattered. Not the mess, not the interruption, not the bar downstairs. The only thing that mattered was the way she looked like she might tip over if she tried to stand on her own.
“Tifa…” His voice softened despite himself. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“I don’t know,” she said finally, waving a hand as if to brush it away. “Maybe one of the kids brought something home. There’s been stuff going around. I’ll be okay.”
“Maybe we should get you to a doctor,” he said.
“No.” She insisted “It’s okay. Really.”
She tried to stand.
She swayed immediately, her balance slipping.
Cloud caught her without thinking, one arm around her back, the other steadying her before she could hit the floor. Her weight leaned into him, warmer and heavier than he expected.
“Tifa—”
“I’m okay,” she insisted, even as her grip tightened in his shirt. “Just lightheaded.”
He didn’t argue. He never did when she was like this. He just adjusted his hold and helped her out of the bathroom, guiding her down the short hallway and into their room.
He eased her onto the bed, watching closely until she was settled. Then he grabbed the small trash can from the corner and placed it beside her within easy reach.
“Just in case,” he said.
She nodded, eyes already closing, exhaustion pulling her under.
For a moment, Cloud stayed there, standing beside the bed, listening to her breathing even out. Making sure it stayed that way.
Then she jolted upright.
“The bar—Cloud, I—”
“I got it,” he said immediately, pressing her gently back down. His hand lingered at her shoulder just long enough to feel her relax beneath it. “Stay.”
She hesitated, searching his face, then nodded. Whatever fight she’d been holding onto finally drained away. She was asleep again within seconds.
Cloud stood there a moment longer before leaving the room.
Downstairs, a few regulars protested when he announced he was closing early. Cloud didn’t bother explaining. He didn’t care. He shut the place down with practiced efficiency, the motions familiar enough to keep his hands busy while his thoughts stayed upstairs.
When he returned, the room was dimmer, the afternoon light fading.
Tifa stirred sometime later.
Cloud was sitting in the chair beside the bed when she opened her eyes. He’d moved it closer without realizing it. A bowl of soup sat on the nightstand alongside a glass of water, both untouched.
“You’re awake,” he said quietly, as if afraid to startle her.
She blinked, disoriented, then focused on him. “How long was I out?”
“Not long,” he replied. “How are you feeling?”
“A little better,” she said, trying to sit up.
Cloud shifted forward instinctively, ready to catch her if she needed it.
“I brought you soup,” he said. “If you’re hungry.”
She barely had time to glance at it before her face paled.
Cloud noticed immediately. He always did.
“Maybe later,” he added gently. “Drink some water. You need to stay hydrated.”
She nodded and took a careful sip, then lay back against the pillows.
Cloud stayed where he was.
Watching. Waiting.
Cloud stayed in the chair beside the bed.
He told himself it was because she might need something. Water. The trash can. Help sitting up. But even after her breathing evened out again, he didn’t move. The room felt too fragile to leave.
Tifa lay back against the pillows, eyes half-lidded. For a few minutes, the quiet held.
Then her hand tightened in the sheet.
Cloud noticed the change immediately—the subtle stiffening in her shoulders, the way her breathing shifted. He leaned forward before she could say anything.
She turned abruptly, one hand flying to her mouth. Cloud was already there, pulling the trash can closer, steadying it as she retched. The sound was quieter this time, but no less violent. Her whole body tensed with it, breath hitching between each wave.
Cloud kept one hand braced against the can, the other hovering uselessly at her back. He hated that feeling—watching, waiting, unable to stop it.
When it passed, she slumped forward, forehead resting against the edge of the bed. Her shoulders shook once, then stilled.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, voice raw.
Cloud exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing the tightness in his chest down where it couldn’t take over.
“Tifa, it's okay,” he said. “I’m just really worried about you.”
She flinched slightly at that, then shook her head. “I’m sure it’s just something I ate. Or a bug. I’ll be fine.”
Cloud didn’t respond right away. He picked up the water and held it out to her. She took a small sip, then another, hands trembling slightly.
He watched her carefully.
This wasn’t like her.
Tifa pushed through pain. Through exhaustion. Through things that would’ve put anyone else on the floor. She didn’t sit down unless she had to. She didn’t ask for help unless there was no other option left.
And she was on the bed. Pale. Getting sick again.
“I’m calling a doctor.”
Her eyes snapped to his. “Cloud—no. You don’t need to—”
She looked away, jaw tightening. “I don’t want to make a big deal out of this.”
Cloud stood, the chair scraping softly against the floor. “You’re not.”
He crossed the room and grabbed the phone before she could protest again.
She hesitated. Cloud saw the calculation in her eyes—the part of her that always measured whether her discomfort was worth worrying someone else. Finally, she gave a small nod.
“Okay,” she said. “Just… ask.”
Cloud turned away before she could see the relief on his face.
He kept his voice low as he spoke to the doctor, pacing once along the wall before forcing himself to stand still.
“She’s been throwing up all morning,” he said. “She got dizzy trying to stand. No fever that I can tell.”
He listened carefully, committing every instruction to memory. Rest. Fluids. Specific herbs that might help with nausea.
Cloud ended the call and stood there for a moment, phone still in his hand.
When he turned back, Tifa was watching him.
“What did he say?” she asked quietly.
“Nothing serious,” Cloud replied.“But he wants you resting.”
Tifa nodded, already looking tired again.
Cloud sat back down beside her as she drifted toward sleep, his presence anchoring her even as his thoughts refused to settle. He stepped into the hallway briefly to see if someone could pick up the herbs for Tifa so he wouldn’t have to leave her side.
She slept lightly, one hand curled near the edge of the blanket as if she might wake at any moment. Cloud remained in the chair beside the bed. There was a knock at the door downstairs. When he finally stood, it was only to step into the hallway and close the door most of the way. Not all the way. Just enough.
By the time Marle arrived, the sky outside had shifted, afternoon light slanting low through the windows. Cloud went downstairs to let her in, already bracing himself. She placed the bundle of herbs on the counter with a solid thump.
“I got what the doctor suggested,” she said.
Cloud reached for the bundle automatically. “Thank you.”
Marle didn’t let go right away.
“I also brought mandrake. That one works better for morning sickness.” she added.
The words slid into place without resistance.
Cloud frowned. “Morning sickness?”
Marle stared at him.
Really looked at him.
“Man,” she muttered, releasing the bundle and shaking her head. “Nothin’ gets past you, does it, boy?”
Cloud’s confusion sharpened into something uneasy. “I don’t understand.”
She sighed, the sound half-exasperation, half-resignation. “You want me to spell it out for you?”
Cloud waited.
“Tifa’s pregnant.”
The world went quiet.
Not empty. Not distant.
Just… still.
“That’s not possible,” Cloud said immediately.
The words came out flat, instinctive. Protective. Like if he said them out loud, they might hold.
Marle snorted. “Well, you’d know better than me.”
She rolled her eyes and turned toward the door.
“Marle,” Cloud said, without thinking.
She paused.
He didn’t know what he was about to ask. Or say. His thoughts hadn’t caught up yet.
But she spoke first.
“Have Tifa-girl call me” she added, not turning around. Then she was gone.
The door shut behind her.
Cloud stood there, herbs clutched in his hands, heart pounding hard enough that he could feel it in his throat.
Pregnant.
The word didn’t fit. It bounced around his head, looking for something to attach to and finding nothing.
Cloud forced himself to move, to breathe, to do something useful..
Cloud took the stairs slowly this time.
Not because he was tired, but because moving too fast felt dangerous—like if he rushed, the thought might catch up to him all at once. The herbs were warm in his hands, their earthy smell sharp and unfamiliar. Mandrake. He turned the word over in his head, cataloging it like a materia he didn’t know how to equip yet.
Pregnant.
He pushed the word aside and focused on the kitchen.
Kettle. Water. Heat.
Simple things. Things he could control.
The flame caught with a soft click. Cloud stood there watching it, arms folded, eyes fixed on the blue glow beneath the pot. His reflection wavered faintly in the metal surface. He barely recognized himself like this—tense, still, waiting.
He tried to think logically.
This explained the nausea. The dizziness. She had been more tired lately. It started to make sense in a way that should’ve reassured him.
It didn’t.
His thoughts slid somewhere darker, pulled by instinct more than reason.
SOLDIER.
He’d spent years pretending the experiments were just another chapter—something finished, sealed away. But now they resurfaced unbidden, hazy memories clawing at the edges of his mind. Procedures he didn’t understand. Tests he never consented to. Changes he still couldn’t fully explain.
What had Shinra taken from him?
What had they altered?
Cloud had always assumed—quietly, firmly—that children weren’t possible. It wasn’t a conclusion he’d arrived at through discussion or confirmation. It was just… there. A truth he’d accepted without examining too closely. Easier that way.
They’d never talked about it. Not seriously.
With Marlene and Denzel in their lives, the thought had never pressed in on him. Family already existed around them. It had felt… sufficient.
Had Tifa wanted more?
The question landed hard.
Had she wanted a child of her own and simply never said anything because she thought he couldn’t give her that?
His grip tightened around the edge of the counter.
The kettle began to hum softly, steam curling upward. Cloud poured the water carefully, hands steady despite the noise in his head. He followed the instructions the doctor had given him exactly. Measured. Precise.
If he did everything right, maybe nothing would go wrong.
Another thought crept in, unwelcome and sharp.
What if this was his fault?
What if his body—whatever Shinra had turned it into—was making her sick?
He’d never heard stories of ex-SOLDIERs having children. Never heard of anyone like him becoming a father. The absence of proof felt heavier now than it ever had before.
The familiar voice stirred in the back of his mind, low and insidious.
You ruin things.
Cloud shut his eyes briefly, jaw tightening. Not now. He couldn’t afford that voice right now.
The tea finished steeping. He poured it into a cup, the smell stronger now—bitter, grounding. Real.
He picked up the cup and turned toward the room.
With each step, the fear sharpened—not of the unknown, but of what he might see reflected in her eyes. Concern. Uncertainty. Worse… disappointment.
What if she regretted this?
What if she looked at him and saw risk instead of reassurance?
Cloud paused outside the bedroom door, steadying himself before going in. He adjusted his grip on the cup, straightened his shoulders, and forced his breathing to slow.
Whatever was happening, whatever this meant—
He wasn’t going to let her face it alone.
He opened the door quietly.
Cloud entered the room quietly.
Tifa lay on her side, the blanket pulled up to her shoulders, hair fanned messily across the pillow. She looked peaceful now, but her color had yet to return. Cloud set the cup of tea on the nightstand and sat back down in the chair beside the bed, careful not to jostle it.
He watched her breathe for a moment before speaking.
“Tifa?” he said softly.
She stirred, eyes fluttering open. “Mm?”
“How’re you feeling?” he asked.
She shifted slightly, wincing as she sat up a little. “Better, I think. My stomach’s still… not great.”
He nodded. He’d expected that.
“I made some tea,” he said, gesturing to the cup. “Marle brought some herbs that are supposed to help”
That caught her attention. “Marle was here?”
“Briefly,” he said. “She didn’t come up.”
Tifa frowned faintly, then reached for the cup. She took a cautious sip, waiting. When nothing happened, she relaxed just a little.
Cloud exhaled slowly.
He didn’t know how to start.
He tried to think of the right words—ones that wouldn’t scare her, wouldn’t imply blame, wouldn’t reveal how far ahead his thoughts had already gone. The question sat heavy in his chest, pressing upward.
So he did what he always did.
He circled it.
“Tifa…” He paused, then tried again. “You’ve been feeling like this all morning?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Since early. I thought it’d pass.”
Cloud absorbed that. Filed it away.
Silence stretched between them. The kind that pressed, not the comfortable kind they shared when everything was fine.
Cloud shifted in the chair, fingers curling loosely against his knee. “You think there's a bug going around?”
“Yeah.” She gave a small shrug. “Or maybe something I ate.”
“Yeah, but it’s a little weird that no one else is sick?” he shook his head, avoiding eye contact.
He didn’t look at her when he asked the next question.
“Have you… noticed anything different lately?”
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Not really. I guess, I’ve been a little more tired.”
She paused. “Why?”
Cloud’s gaze dropped to the floor. He felt suddenly, acutely aware of how much space the question might take up.
“Tifa,” he said, voice low, careful. “Do you think you might be… pregnant?”
The word felt fragile as soon as it left him.
For a moment, she didn’t respond at all. Cloud wondered if she’d heard him. His pulse thrummed in his ears.
Then she shook her head slightly. “No,” she said.
Relief washed through him so fast it made him dizzy.
He nodded, once. “Okay.”
The silence returned, softer now.
Then—
Tifa’s eyes widened.
“…At least,” she added slowly, “I don’t think so.”
Cloud looked up.
She shifted, frowning faintly, her hand drifting absently to her stomach. “I mean… is that even possible?”
She glanced at him then, careful—too careful. Like she was afraid of hurting him just by asking.
Cloud’s expression must have given him away.
“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly.
Tifa’s brow furrowed. “I might be late,” she whispered. “I hadn’t really thought about it until now.”
The room suddenly felt too small.
Cloud stood abruptly, chair scraping softly against the floor. “I’m calling the doctor again.”
Tifa reached for his sleeve. “Cloud, wait—”
“I just want to be sure,” he said quickly. Too quickly. He softened his tone. “Please.”
She hesitated, then nodded.
Cloud stepped out into the hall, phone already in hand.
He didn’t trust his voice to do this in front of her.
The doctor arrived just before dusk.
Cloud heard the knock from the top of the stairs and was already moving by the time it echoed a second time. He paused at Tifa’s door long enough to make sure she was settled, then went down to answer it.
The man looked ordinary. Middle-aged. Calm. Carrying a worn medical bag that had clearly seen more homes than clinics. That should have reassured Cloud.
It didn’t.
“Thank you for coming,” Cloud said, stepping aside to let him in.
“No trouble,” the doctor replied. His eyes flicked over Cloud quickly—taking in the tension in his posture, the way his hands never quite stilled. “You said she’s been sick all day?”
“Yes,” Cloud said. “She can’t seem to keep anything down. A friend mentioned she might be pregnant”
The doctor nodded and started toward the stairs.
Cloud stopped him.
“Before you see her,” Cloud said, the words coming out more strained than he intended. “I—there’s something you should know.”
The doctor turned back to him, patient.
“I used to work for Shinra,” Cloud said. The word tasted wrong in his mouth. “I’m an ex-SOLDIER.”
There it was.
The doctor didn’t react the way Cloud expected. No visible shock. No immediate concern. Just a thoughtful pause.
“I don’t know how much that matters,” the doctor said carefully.
“But… I’ve never heard of people like me having children,” Cloud added. “Not really.”
He didn’t say experiments. Didn’t say Mako. Didn’t say the things that still woke him up some nights.
But they were there, between the words.
“What if there’s… complications?” Cloud continued, his hands tightening. “Is this safe for her?”
The doctor studied him for a moment longer, then gave a small, reassuring smile.
“Right now,” he said gently, “you’re thinking very far ahead.”
Cloud didn’t argue. He knew that was true. He also knew he couldn’t stop.
“Let’s take this one step at a time,” the doctor added. “I’ll examine her. Then we’ll talk.”
Cloud nodded and stepped aside.
He stayed in the hallway while the doctor went into the bedroom, the door closing softly behind him. The sound made Cloud’s chest tighten.
He stood there, hands braced against the wall, listening.
Muffled voices. Tifa’s—quiet, steady despite everything. The doctor’s calm and practiced.
Cloud stared at the floor, thoughts spiraling again despite his efforts to rein them in.
Father.
The word felt unreal. Like something meant for someone else.
What did he even know about that kind of life? About staying? About being present every day instead of showing up only when things were on fire?
The door opened.
Cloud straightened immediately.
The doctor stepped out first, a faint smile on his face.
“Well,” he said, clapping Cloud lightly on the shoulder, “looks like congratulations are in order”
The world tilted.
Cloud stared at him, words caught somewhere between his chest and throat.
“Ms. Lockhart is pregnant,” the doctor continued, as if stating something simple. “Early, but everything looks normal so far.”
Normal.
Cloud felt lightheaded.
“I’ll see you next Tuesday, Ms. Lockhart,” the doctor called back into the room.
“Okay,” Tifa replied softly.
The doctor turned to leave, but Cloud reached out without thinking.
“Wait.”
The doctor paused.
“What about…?” Cloud asked quietly.
“I never worked with Shinra.” The doctor sighed. “I’m not really familiar with their science but I already gave Ms. Lockhart the contact information for a physician who does,” the doctor said. “He’ll be better equipped to answer those questions.”
Cloud nodded, though the unease didn’t fully lift.
“For what it’s worth,” the doctor added, meeting Cloud’s eyes, “I’ve seen a few former SOLDIERs with perfectly healthy children. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
Cloud wasn’t sure he believed that, but somehow it was enough.
The doctor left.
Cloud stood there for a moment longer before turning back toward the bedroom.
Tifa was watching him when he entered, eyes searching his face.
“Cloud?” she asked softly.
He crossed the room in two strides and dropped to his knees beside the bed, taking her hand in both of his. His grip was firm—like he was anchoring himself.
“You’re… you’re going to have a baby,” he said.
His voice broke despite his best effort.
Tears blurred his vision. He laughed weakly, breath hitching, a raw, unguarded smile spreading across his face—one Tifa had never seen before.
“Yes,” she said, laughing through her own tears. “We are.”
Cloud leaned forward, resting his forehead against her lap, eyes squeezed shut.
Somehow, he knew it was all going to be okay.
Cloud lingered by the door after Tifa drifted back to sleep.
The room felt different now. Still fragile, but warmer. Like something had settled into place without asking permission. He stood there a moment longer than necessary, watching her breathe, then finally stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door mostly closed behind him.
Footsteps sounded at the far end of the hall.
Cloud looked up just as Denzel appeared at the top of the stairs, backpack slung over one shoulder, shoes scuffing softly against the floor. He’d just come in from school—Cloud realized he hadn’t even noticed the time.
Denzel paused when he saw him.
“What’s going on?” he asked, eyes flicking toward the closed bedroom door. “Is Tifa okay?”
The concern was casual, almost automatic—but it was there.
Cloud nodded. “Yeah. She was sick this morning. We had to close the bar early.”
He hesitated, the words catching up to his thoughts only after they’d already decided to leave his mouth.
“She’s pregnant.”
For a second, Denzel just stared at him.
Then his expression flattened, the surprise smoothing over into something unreadable.
“…Wow,” he said after a beat. “You’re going to be a father?”
There was a faint edge to it—something sharp beneath the words—but Cloud barely registered it. He was still caught somewhere between disbelief and quiet joy, the reality looping through his mind like it might vanish if he didn’t hold onto it.
Denzel shifted his weight and turned toward his room.
“Congrats,” he added, already moving away.
Cloud blinked, the moment slipping past him too quickly.
“Hey—” he called, snapping back into himself just in time. “Don’t tell Marlene. Tifa wants to be the one to tell her.”
Denzel didn’t turn around.
He lifted one hand in acknowledgment, a small nod of understanding, then disappeared into his room, the door closing softly behind him.
Cloud remained in the hallway a moment longer. Then he turned back toward the bedroom, his thoughts already elsewhere.