Chapter Text
The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed with a low, irritating hum that seemed to drill right into the center of Tifa’s skull. It was a sterile, white noise that usually wouldn't have bothered her, but today, it felt aggressive.
Tifa sat on the edge of the stiff waiting room chair in the clinic, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She was squeezing her knuckles so hard they had turned a stark bone-white. The air in the small waiting area smelled aggressively of antiseptic and lemon-scented floor wax—a clean smell, objectively, but right now it made her stomach do a slow, dangerous roll.
She swallowed hard, closing her eyes for a second to steady the room.
Just a bug, she told herself firmly, gripping the strap of her bag. It’s just a stomach flu. Or maybe stress. Or maybe that fish I ate at the market yesterday was off.
She glanced up at the clock on the wall. The second hand ticked by agonizingly slowly. She’d been waiting for twenty-five minutes. That was twenty-five minutes of overthinking, of letting her mind spiral into worst-case scenarios. She hadn't told Cloud she was coming here. She hadn't told anyone. She had just slipped out of the Seventh Heaven while Denzel was at school and Marlene was helping with inventory, muttering something about running errands.
Things had finally—finally—settled down. After the chaos of Sephiroth’s remnants, the Geostigma, and the near-destruction of Edge, life had fallen into a rhythm that felt almost fragile in its peace. Cloud was home. Actually home. The awkwardness that had plagued them right after the battle had slowly melted away, replaced by quiet dinners, shared responsibilities, and nights where they didn't just sleep back-to-back but actually held onto each other.
They were a family. A real one. And Tifa was terrified of anything that might rock that boat. If she was sick, if she had some lingering effect from the Lifestream or some new ailment, she didn't want Cloud to worry. He worried enough for ten lifetimes.
"Ms. Lockhart?"
Tifa’s head snapped up. A nurse in pale blue scrubs was standing by the hallway door, holding a clipboard and scanning the room.
"Yes," Tifa said, her voice coming out a little huskier than she intended. She cleared her throat and stood up, perhaps a little too quickly. The room spun for a fraction of a second, the edges of her vision blurring before righting themselves. "That’s me."
"Dr. Aris is ready for you now. If you’ll just follow me."
Tifa followed the nurse down a short, pristine hallway. The exam room was smaller than the waiting area, freezing cold, and smelled even stronger of rubbing alcohol.
"The doctor will be right with you," the nurse said, closing the door and leaving Tifa alone with the silence.
Tifa sat on the examination table, the crinkly paper beneath her making a loud, rustling noise every time she shifted her weight. She stared at a diagram of the human ear on the wall, trying to focus on the anatomy rather than the churning in her gut.
A sharp knock came at the door, and a moment later, Dr. Aris walked in. She was an older woman with sharp, intelligent eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. She didn't look up immediately; her eyes were scanning the file in her hands.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Lockhart," Dr. Aris said, her tone professional and brisk. She closed the file and looked up, offering a polite, practiced smile. "I see you’re a new patient with us. Welcome."
"Thank you," Tifa said, rubbing her bare arms against the chill of the room.
"So," Dr. Aris said, moving to the sink to wash her hands. The sound of running water filled the small room. "The nurse took your vitals and we have the sample you provided. While we wait for those results, tell me what brings you in today. The chart says 'general malaise'?"
Tifa let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "I don't know. I’ve just been... off."
"Off in what way?" Dr. Aris asked, drying her hands thoroughly with a paper towel. She pulled a rolling stool over and sat in front of Tifa, clicking her pen. "Be specific."
"Nauseous," Tifa admitted, looking down at her boots. "Almost every morning for the past few weeks. Sometimes it hits me in the middle of the day, too. And I’m tired. Like, bone-tired. Even after a full night of sleep, I feel like I just went ten rounds in the... like I just ran a marathon." She corrected herself quickly; she didn't need to explain her fighting history to a stranger.
Dr. Aris nodded, making a note. She reached out and took Tifa's wrist, checking her pulse against her watch. "Any fever? Chills? Muscle aches?"
"No fever," Tifa said. "Just the stomach thing. And... I’ve been a little moody. Short-tempered. I snapped at my... at my partner the other day for leaving his boots in the hallway, which isn't like me. I usually just kick them aside."
Dr. Aris hummed thoughtfully, letting go of Tifa’s wrist. She picked up her stethoscope. "Deep breath for me."
Tifa complied, inhaling deeply as the cold metal disc pressed against her back, then her chest.
"And out," the doctor instructed. "Again."
After a few moments of silence, Dr. Aris pulled the stethoscope away and draped it around her neck. She picked up the clipboard again, her expression neutral.
"Ms. Lockhart, I have to ask a few routine questions to rule some things out. Have you noticed any changes in your appetite? Aside from the nausea?"
"Actually, yeah," Tifa frowned, thinking back to the breakfast she hadn't been able to touch. "I couldn't stand the smell of coffee yesterday. And I love coffee. But the smell just made me gag. And I’ve been craving salty stuff. A lot."
Dr. Aris wrote something down, her face unreadable. "Okay. Any tenderness? Specifically in the breast tissue?"
Tifa blinked, confused by the shift in topic. "My... chest?"
"Do they feel sore? Heavy? Sensitive to touch?"
Tifa felt a flush of heat rise to her cheeks. She shifted uncomfortably on the paper. "I mean... yes. A little. I thought it was just from... from working out. I train pretty hard."
"Mmhmm," the doctor said, not looking up. "And your cycle, Ms. Lockhart? When was your last period?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and sudden.
Tifa froze. She stared at the doctor’s pen, watching it hover over the paper. She tried to do the mental math. The days blurred together—the reopening of the bar, the supply runs, the kids' school schedule, Cloud’s delivery service logs.
"I..." Tifa started, her voice sounding small in the quiet room. "I’m not sure. I haven't really been tracking it closely. Things have been busy with work."
"Would you say you're late?" Dr. Aris asked. Her voice wasn't accusatory, just seeking data.
Tifa looked at the doctor. The realization hit her like a physical blow, a cold douse of water that washed away the heat in her face and left her feeling lightheaded.
"I... I think so," Tifa whispered. "Maybe a couple of weeks? But I’ve been stressed. That happens when you’re stressed, right? Irregularity is normal for athletes."
Dr. Aris set the clipboard down on the counter. She turned back to Tifa, her expression softening just a fraction, shifting from purely diagnostic to something more gentle.
"Ms. Lockhart," she began calmly. "We ran a standard panel on the urine sample you gave the nurse when you arrived. Given your symptoms, I wanted to confirm the levels before I brought it up."
Tifa’s heart started to hammer against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that she was sure the doctor could hear. "Confirm what?"
"Your HCG levels."
"My what?"
"Human chorionic gonadotropin," Dr. Aris explained efficiently. "It's a hormone produced by the placenta after implantation."
The room went completely silent. The buzzing of the lights seemed to fade away, leaving only the sound of Tifa’s own rapid, shallow breathing.
"Ms. Lockhart," Dr. Aris said, folding her hands in her lap. "You aren't sick. You’re pregnant."
Tifa stared at her. She didn't blink. She didn't breathe. The words floated in the air between them, heavy, impossible, and undeniable.
Pregnant.
"That’s..." Tifa started, then stopped. She shook her head, a nervous, breathless laugh escaping her lips. "No. No, that’s... are you sure? Like, one hundred percent sure?"
"The test is definitive," Dr. Aris said. "Based on the hormone levels and the physical symptoms you’ve described—the nausea, the breast tenderness, the fatigue—I’d estimate you’re about six weeks along. It’s early, but it is definitely happening."
Tifa gripped the edge of the exam table so hard the paper tore beneath her fingers with a sharp rip.
Pregnant. Her and Cloud.
Her mind flashed to Cloud. To the way he had been lately—so much lighter, so much more open. They had reconnected in a way she had dreamed about for years. It was intense and real and... apparently, it had consequences she hadn't calculated.
"Oh my god," Tifa whispered, bringing her hands up to cover her mouth. Her eyes widened, staring at the floor tiles. "I’m... oh my god."
"Is this... good news?" Dr. Aris asked cautiously, tilting her head. "I don't see a partner listed on your emergency contact forms, so I don't want to assume."
"I... I don't know," Tifa stammered, her thoughts racing at a million miles an hour. "I mean... yes? No? It’s just... we just got everything stable. My life... it's complicated. And we have two kids already, well, adopted, but... the bar is finally busy, and..." She looked at the doctor, panic flaring in her red eyes. "I don't know anything about babies. I mean, I raise kids, but babies? From scratch?"
Dr. Aris offered a small, reassuring smile. "It is a shock, I understand. But you have plenty of time to figure that part out. You’ve got nearly eight months. Nature has a way of preparing you."
Tifa looked down at her stomach. It looked exactly the same as it had this morning. Flat, toned, strong. It was terrifying to think that something was changing fundamentally on the inside. That her body was no longer just hers.
"Six weeks?" Tifa asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"Roughly," the doctor confirmed. "Which explains the nausea. It’s a sign that the hormones are doing their job."
Dr. Aris stood up and moved to the counter, opening a drawer and pulling out a few pamphlets and a small bottle of pills.
"Okay, Ms. Lockhart, listen to me," the doctor said, her tone shifting back into instruction mode. Tifa tried to focus, but her brain felt like it was full of cotton. "Since we caught this early, we want to make sure you start off on the right foot. This is a prenatal vitamin. I want you to take one every day starting now."
She handed the bottle to Tifa, who took it delicately, staring at the label.
"Now, regarding your lifestyle," Dr. Aris continued, looking at the chart. "You didn't list an occupation. Do you work in an office? Manual labor?"
"I... I own a restaurant," Tifa said vaguely. "And a bar."
"Okay," Dr. Aris nodded. "You need to cut out alcohol completely. Obviously. And watch the caffeine. One cup of coffee is okay, but try to switch to decaf if you can. And be careful with heavy lifting. If you're moving kegs or crates, stop. Ask for help."
Tifa almost laughed. If only the doctor knew what 'heavy lifting' usually meant for her. "No heavy lifting. Right."
"And rest," Dr. Aris emphasized, giving Tifa a stern look over her glasses. "Fatigue is your body's way of telling you to slow down. You’re growing a person, Ms. Lockhart. It takes a massive amount of energy. If you push yourself too hard, you risk your health and the pregnancy."
"I... I have to tell him," Tifa whispered, the reality crashing down on her again. "My partner."
"That is usually the next step," Dr. Aris said. "But take your time. Let it sink in for you first before you share the news."
"He's going to freak out," Tifa murmured, staring at the floor, but a small, terrified, yet tender smile started to tug at the corner of her mouth. "He worries about everything. He’s going to try to wrap me in bubble wrap."
"Support is good," Dr. Aris said, oblivious to the context of Cloud Strife's anxiety. "I need to see you again in four weeks for a formal ultrasound. We should be able to hear the heartbeat by then."
Heartbeat.
Tifa’s hand moved instinctively to her abdomen again, resting flat against the fabric of her skirt. A heartbeat. A second heartbeat, right there inside her. A part of her. A part of Cloud.
"Checkups are a must, Ms. Lockhart," the doctor said firmly, tearing off a slip of paper with an appointment date. "No skipping because the restaurant is busy."
"I won't," Tifa promised, her voice sounding a little stronger now. She slid off the table, her legs feeling wobbly but holding her up.
She clutched the prescription paper and the vitamins in her hand like a lifeline. She walked out of the office, past the nurse who gave her a polite nod, and back into the waiting room. The smell of antiseptic didn't seem quite as nauseating anymore. It smelled like... change.
She stepped out of the clinic and into the bright sunlight of Edge. The noise of the city—construction work, wind turbines, the chatter of people—washed over her. She took a deep, shaky breath of fresh air. She had walked in thinking she had a stomach bug. She was walking out carrying the future.
Now, she just had to figure out how to tell the ex-SOLDIER waiting at home that their little family was about to get a little bit bigger.