A/N: Happy Singles Awareness Day (AKA Valentine's Day for you lucky few. Lol.)

Disclaimer: I own a heart that's more duct tape than red and a little piece of imagination that I keep in my pocket. Everything else belongs to the sharks of business.

When You Lose It All

Week One

The first time he came around, the barmaid was surprised. The last she had seen of him was during their goodbyes back when the flowergirl had . . .

No.

Shaking her head to rid herself of the maddening thoughts that would soon follow, she gathered up a tray of filled drinks and headed towards the three men who had ordered them.

They were deep in conversation when she arrived gracefully at their table with a smile. And she didn't flinch under the appreciative up-and-down glances she got on her physique. When you served enough drinks, when you waited on enough tables, when you talked to enough of them, you learned to ignore those dirty little looks, or the way their fingers seemed to twitch nervously, and the way they grinned at you.

And even though they didn't touch her (though some had been stupid enough to try before), she felt dirty. Like she was doing something wrong, or had disappointed someone, or even done them a terrible wrong.

And now, with an old comrade sitting on a stool by the main bar counter, the feeling seemed to magnify. But she didn't shrink under the stare that bore a hole into her back. That accusing stare had been on her for so long that she had learned to bear the worst of it.

If he were here, she wouldn't feel this way though.

But he wasn't.

And the fact that she had failed to keep him here beside her made her feel ashamed. The others had expected her to ground him. Hell, they expected her to marry him.

And she had failed.

Cloud should be here helping her. He should've been beside her, holding the bigger trays while she served drinks, like back in the beginning after the end when it all seemed right again . . . if only for a little while.

But it wasn't.

When she returned to the counter, she pretended not to see the gunslinger there for a few moments as she scrabbled to fill more orders.

He watched her every movement; how she took bottles off shelves with fluid hands, her eyes calm in the midst of the chaos and liveliness of the bar patrons that laughed and talked. It was like finding two crimson pools of calm waters among an earthquake.

From her lips came small muttered lists of things she needed to stock and other things that even his keen ears couldn't catch. When the front door's bell chimed she stood up, plastering a well-versed smile on her face and nodding a welcome at the new arrivals before continuing her work.

It was as she was gathering the colorful assortment of drinks on a tray that he decided to force a response from her. Not from annoyance, mind you, and not even boredom. It just seemed so wrong to watch her and not do anything. That, he guessed, was a remnant of the old days where help wasn't asked for-it was given without a second thought.

"Need help?" She didn't jump at the sound of his voice like he knew she wouldn't. Instead, her eyes strayed to him and she smiled; another fake smile, but Gods did it ever look convincing on her.

"Thank you Vincent, but I think I'm-" He lifted the tray with ease, balancing it on his human hand and holding the other edge with his claw.

"Where do you want these?" He said from behind his collar.

Thin brown eyebrows arced then as her eyes widened. But then they came down and her lips slowly spread into a genuine smile; her eyes glittered with mirth and appreciation.

"Bring them here please." She said.