[A silence looms over Tifa, a painful dread of understanding. Her brow pinches, her face twists with hurt as she tries to hold something back, her own hands withdrawing from the table so that she can ball them into fists on her lap as guilt quickly overcomes her while she listens, not wanting to interrupt Jill before she's finished.
Tifa never did find it hard to empathize with others. To feel the hurt that Jill feels in her own heart is the part that comes so naturally to her that she sometimes hates it... but it allows her to understand, too. However, whether it makes it worse that she actually knows those feelings and is familiar with them or not. That there are others who suffer through the same sort of thoughts. And while they aren't quite the same, they are still there, and the fact that anyone else has had to go through it—no, that someone as kind as Jill had to, only makes her hate the world just a little bit more.
Makes her hate the people responsible for making it so messed up in the first place.
She has nothing to say... not yet, anyway, because what does one say to that? She remembers Barret's words as they stood in the ruins of Sector Seven, her whole body threatening to break under her pent-up rage, but she doesn't know if they will work here.
So, instead, she unclenches a fist and reaches across the table. Her hand finds Jill's and she steals it away from her cup to grip it, tight, wrapping it up in her own warmth. And as she looks across at her, understanding flickers bright in Tifa's red eyes, her empathy shining through what look like tears starting to form.]
[The silence that rests between them seems so heavy, so untouchable. Jill isn't sure what Tifa is thinking, whether or not she's disgusted by what the Ironblood did, or worse, what Jill herself did. Words would help here, even cruel ones, so she isn't left wondering if Tifa decided that the label of monster fit well on her.
But she can't push the other woman into responding, so Jill can only sit there in her discomfort and anxiety, grey eyes searching Tifa's face for a clue into her thoughts. The pinched brow, the way her features twist, says Tifa battles an internal war with herself but over what, she cannot guess.
If, in the end, Tifa finds that knowing her past is too atrocious to move on from, then she will accept it. She'd have to. Tifa wouldn't be the first person to hate her for what she did; after all, the people who died on the battlefield had families too.
But that version of the end isn't what happens. To Jill's surprise, Tifa is suddenly reaching out towards her, pulling her hand over to hold theirs together, a firm supportive squeeze. Words now mean little in the face of actions, and as Jill looks over at Tifa and witnesses the watering of her eyes, the telltale sting in her own eyes begin to form.]
[Words are harder for Tifa than she makes it look. For all the ways she looks like she has herself pulled together, it's hard for her to convey such heavy feelings. And especially to convey them without letting her anger get the better of her. She knows nothing about Jill's world, and very little about Jill's life itself, and so is it really her place to say anything at all?
Regardless, she gives her fingers a squeeze, her heart twisting in her chest hearing that.]
Don't think I could ever.
[She tilts her head, though.]
Why would you think so?
[There's no judgment there, rather a worry that it would be her automatic assumption...]
Every person who I killed had someone that loved and care for them. I took that away from them.
[Whether it was their blood families, found family, or mere friends, Jill was haunted by the ghosts of angry loved ones in her nightmares. Maybe it would have been easier to accept if the corpses of the dead soldiers came after her instead, but knowing that there were still living people left behind in just as much pain as she was made things worse.
She looks down at their hands intertwined together, releasing a shaky breath as she tries not to let loose the tears that threatening to spill over onto her cheeks.]
My hands are not clean. I did what I could to atone for my crimes, my wrongs that I could not fully right, but those deaths will forever stain them.
[She wishes that she could just reach across the table and pull Jill into a hug, but that might bring more unwanted attention to this, so she can only squeeze a little tighter as she listens.
Tifa can't exactly say that... no, they're not. She can't say that Jill's hands are clean, because not only does she think that would diminish those feelings, that is something that she knows all too well that some people just have to live with. As difficult as it is to believe and even admit.]
I get it...
[It's said quietly, Tifa's gaze dropping to her tea, but her hold never faltering.]
We do what we can to try and make things right... to fight for the people still alive, but... it's hard to shake that off. Impossible, even, I think...
[Jill could use a hug, but she daren't ask. She's never requested one in her life and she doesn't intend on starting now. Besides, perhaps Tifa isn't the physical affection sort, though something quiet in the back of Jill's mind reminds her of who reached for the other's seemingly filthy hand first.]
Perhaps. I know that the High Priest can no longer hurt anyone else anymore. I made sure of that.
[And so did her rapier.]
It was all I could do. I've come to accept that other things are out of my control. [Jill falls silent for a moment, before speaking in voice cracked with emotion around the edges.] Most of all, I've learned to forgive myself.
But she thinks she can piece together what Jill means, and she can't say that she blames her for it. Which makes her feel just a little worse about the whole thing—she isn't one to wish death upon anyone, even her worst enemies, but what that man had done was truly abhorrent that "thank god" was the first thing she thought upon hearing that.]
I'm glad you could at least do that much...
[Tifa wishes that she could get that far. It's admirable, really...]
[One doesn't have to wish death upon the cruelest of the cruel to accept that sometimes that is the only method to end the madness. Jill wouldn't judge Tifa for thanking the universe that the Imreann is gone any more than Tifa hasn't seemingly judged Jill for making certain of that.
Admirable, sure, but Jill has to disagree with the other woman on what the most difficult of living this sort of life is.]
No, the hardest part is letting go of the fear. [She shakes her head softly as she glances down to her cup.] I told you my story for a point. Not to horrify you or for pity, but for you to understand what I say next.
[Jill pauses, breathing deep to exhale shakily. She somehow has come to trust Tifa already, for some strange reason, but admitting the scars left behind still brings on the nerves.]
I have confessed this to but one person, but I fear being forced to act upon someone else's whims again. And while Clive's story is different yet similar to my own, he also deserves to live a life without that fear. That is why I ask, no, plead to you not to call upon Ifrit in the way you can.
Tifa stares across at her, trying not to look as surprised as she is, but probably failing. It lasts only a moment, however, before her expression softens, and she squeezes Jill's hand gently.]
You have nothing to worry about on that.
[While there is plenty to worry about for sure, Tifa understands, she tries to offer her as reassuring a smile as ever.]
I have no plans on using my summon materia. And I'm going to do whatever I can to keep it safe. I promise.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Tifa never did find it hard to empathize with others. To feel the hurt that Jill feels in her own heart is the part that comes so naturally to her that she sometimes hates it... but it allows her to understand, too. However, whether it makes it worse that she actually knows those feelings and is familiar with them or not. That there are others who suffer through the same sort of thoughts. And while they aren't quite the same, they are still there, and the fact that anyone else has had to go through it—no, that someone as kind as Jill had to, only makes her hate the world just a little bit more.
Makes her hate the people responsible for making it so messed up in the first place.
She has nothing to say... not yet, anyway, because what does one say to that? She remembers Barret's words as they stood in the ruins of Sector Seven, her whole body threatening to break under her pent-up rage, but she doesn't know if they will work here.
So, instead, she unclenches a fist and reaches across the table. Her hand finds Jill's and she steals it away from her cup to grip it, tight, wrapping it up in her own warmth. And as she looks across at her, understanding flickers bright in Tifa's red eyes, her empathy shining through what look like tears starting to form.]
no subject
But she can't push the other woman into responding, so Jill can only sit there in her discomfort and anxiety, grey eyes searching Tifa's face for a clue into her thoughts. The pinched brow, the way her features twist, says Tifa battles an internal war with herself but over what, she cannot guess.
If, in the end, Tifa finds that knowing her past is too atrocious to move on from, then she will accept it. She'd have to. Tifa wouldn't be the first person to hate her for what she did; after all, the people who died on the battlefield had families too.
But that version of the end isn't what happens. To Jill's surprise, Tifa is suddenly reaching out towards her, pulling her hand over to hold theirs together, a firm supportive squeeze. Words now mean little in the face of actions, and as Jill looks over at Tifa and witnesses the watering of her eyes, the telltale sting in her own eyes begin to form.]
I was beginning to fear you hated me.
no subject
Regardless, she gives her fingers a squeeze, her heart twisting in her chest hearing that.]
Don't think I could ever.
[She tilts her head, though.]
Why would you think so?
[There's no judgment there, rather a worry that it would be her automatic assumption...]
no subject
[Whether it was their blood families, found family, or mere friends, Jill was haunted by the ghosts of angry loved ones in her nightmares. Maybe it would have been easier to accept if the corpses of the dead soldiers came after her instead, but knowing that there were still living people left behind in just as much pain as she was made things worse.
She looks down at their hands intertwined together, releasing a shaky breath as she tries not to let loose the tears that threatening to spill over onto her cheeks.]
My hands are not clean. I did what I could to atone for my crimes, my wrongs that I could not fully right, but those deaths will forever stain them.
no subject
Tifa can't exactly say that... no, they're not. She can't say that Jill's hands are clean, because not only does she think that would diminish those feelings, that is something that she knows all too well that some people just have to live with. As difficult as it is to believe and even admit.]
I get it...
[It's said quietly, Tifa's gaze dropping to her tea, but her hold never faltering.]
We do what we can to try and make things right... to fight for the people still alive, but... it's hard to shake that off. Impossible, even, I think...
no subject
Perhaps. I know that the High Priest can no longer hurt anyone else anymore. I made sure of that.
[And so did her rapier.]
It was all I could do. I've come to accept that other things are out of my control. [Jill falls silent for a moment, before speaking in voice cracked with emotion around the edges.] Most of all, I've learned to forgive myself.
no subject
But she thinks she can piece together what Jill means, and she can't say that she blames her for it. Which makes her feel just a little worse about the whole thing—she isn't one to wish death upon anyone, even her worst enemies, but what that man had done was truly abhorrent that "thank god" was the first thing she thought upon hearing that.]
I'm glad you could at least do that much...
[Tifa wishes that she could get that far. It's admirable, really...]
Think that might be the hardest part.
no subject
Admirable, sure, but Jill has to disagree with the other woman on what the most difficult of living this sort of life is.]
No, the hardest part is letting go of the fear. [She shakes her head softly as she glances down to her cup.] I told you my story for a point. Not to horrify you or for pity, but for you to understand what I say next.
[Jill pauses, breathing deep to exhale shakily. She somehow has come to trust Tifa already, for some strange reason, but admitting the scars left behind still brings on the nerves.]
I have confessed this to but one person, but I fear being forced to act upon someone else's whims again. And while Clive's story is different yet similar to my own, he also deserves to live a life without that fear. That is why I ask, no, plead to you not to call upon Ifrit in the way you can.
no subject
Tifa stares across at her, trying not to look as surprised as she is, but probably failing. It lasts only a moment, however, before her expression softens, and she squeezes Jill's hand gently.]
You have nothing to worry about on that.
[While there is plenty to worry about for sure, Tifa understands, she tries to offer her as reassuring a smile as ever.]
I have no plans on using my summon materia. And I'm going to do whatever I can to keep it safe. I promise.