Blood & Sympathy (FFVII: Vincent x OC)

Ch55 - A Real Mother

She hadn't realized what a privilege walking could be. She was finally able to move. Her feet were no longer wobbly. Her fingers traced her exposed belly. There was no longer need for bandages. But she had added another scar in her vast collection of them. Another ugly scar spread across her belly and her back.

But she could get off the bed now. She could walk. And the first thing she did, when she achieved walking, was head towards Sephiroth's room. Tifa brought her some clothes first. Shera helped her get dressed up. Even the slightest movement of her shoulders and her back brought pain. She would wince and hiss, and grit her teeth. Vincent was with Barret and Cid. Cid had suggested they go grab a drink. Cloud was still nowhere to be seen, and Tifa wasn't talking about it. Jocasta noted to herself to find him and let him know that everything was alright. That it wasn't his fault. Neither Aerith's or Zack's deaths were his fault. That drowning in sins and guilt was simply life-consuming and depressive. Depression is never the answer.

Shera and Tifa helped her put on the grey t-shirt and the black, flexible pants that they had bought for her. Jocasta wouldn't stop giving those thank you(s) and those words of gratitude. They really owed her nothing to treat her that well. Tifa was spending time with Marlene, and Shera was still somewhere around in her room.

Jocasta sighed as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was still long, and pitch-black. Her eyes were still grey. Her body was thinner than before. He wouldn't recognize her if Sephiroth saw her now. But she sighed. So many things had happened since the last time she'd seen him. He probably wouldn't even remember her. He was still a three-year-old boy when she knew him.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned and looked at Shera. She gave her a smile "Nervous?" she asked.

Jocasta sighed again and she shook her head. "He won't recognize me,"

"Well, maybe he will, maybe he won't. He has to know you're the one who saved him. It's the truth-" Shera tried to say but Jocasta cut her.

"No. I failed the first time. They caught us. They took him from me. It was my fault I couldn't save him back then-"

"But you saved him now," Shera insisted and Jocasta turned at her. "His own mother didn't think to do that when she had the chance. But you did. You brought him back. You gave him a chance and it nearly cost your life. So, stop being stupid and saying that you failed,"

Jocasta let out a breath that she'd been holding for an unknown reason. She was right. Shera was right. She should stop being stupid. She should stop blaming herself for everything. Even agreeing with her, she still knew that the moment she'd step into his room, she'd start crying. She'd collapse and lose her words, and she would either want to hug him or she'd be afraid to touch him, because it made sense that he'd pull away. He wouldn't recognize her.

He wouldn't recognize the woman that'd given her life for him. And it was okay. She wasn't expecting him to. She wasn't expecting him to thank her, smile at her, hug her. She didn't expect any of these. She just wanted to know that he was willing to grasp the chance that she had given him. The new life that he deserved to have.

Jocasta turned around she headed towards the door of her room. She hadn't noticed this would be the first time she would walk out of her room. It's been days that she'd been bed-ridden, and actually meeting strangers that walked around the corridors, was a feeling she hadn't had for a while. A few of the oldest nurses recognized her. They stopped to exchange a quick word before they continued their tasks.

Hester had told her that he was in room number 474. So, Jocasta made her way there. But when she looked at the number on the door, she took her moment before she knocked. Her hand hesitated and she didn't know why she was hesitating. She didn't know if she should be nervous or frightened. Obviously, he wasn't a threat to her, but the tears were already on top of her lower eyelids. Maybe it was happiness? Maybe she was happy that she would finally see him.