The fragility Cissnei’s showing, so uncommon, is displayed equally by her husband—Sephiroth’s face is crumpled into some mess of joy and exhiliration and relief, and it might be the most expressive his face has ever been, this, more than all the smiles and laughs and kisses he’s shared with her.
The last time he cried, he was a child. but he does it freely now, tears streaking down his pale face, something tight caught in his throat, but it’s good. Here, in Cissnei’s arms, in this room, is the real beginning of his family. He had never even thought he’d be married, let alone have a child, and Calla is beautiful. Even if Cissnei doesn’t see it, he recognizes her cherub lips on his baby’s face, the round doe shape of her eyes.
His hands won’t stop shaking, even as he takes Calla into his arms. She still cries, but she blinks up at him, her eyes shying from the bright light, since she came from a very dark place, and she’s precious, the most precious thing he’s ever touched or seen in his life.
He swallows thickly. “Hi,” he manages, though his voice is unsteady and catching in every single breath. “Hi, Calla,” Sephiroth says, running a hand over her brow, careful about supporting her little head in the crook of his arm, and every word comes out broken. “I’m your dad, sweetie.”
She doesn’t understand, but that doesn’t matter—just saying it gives him some wonderful sense of completeness, like now everything’s right, and everything’s better, and always will be now that she’s in his world. Curiously, he touches her face, examines her tiny hands, gently uncurling her fingers and looking at her clean, pink palms. But those fingers don’t want to stay uncurled, their instinct to grasp to something, and Calla’s little hand grabs softly on to Sephiroth’s index.
He’d been controlling himself before, but as his daughter holds on to him, a sob rips from his throat, and Sephiroth breaks down entirely.
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