I own nothing.
Sometimes when it rains all he can smell is the sharp metallic tang of blood in the air, overwhelming and surrounding him, and when he looks out the window he swears everything is drenched in red underneath gunpowder grey skies. It's suffocating. The sound pounds against thin walls, too similar to the rough staccato of machine guns and assault rifles being fired into the otherwise silent air. There's no escape in the small space above the bar, and his only choice is to try and drown the sound in the din of the bar downstairs.
Tifa knows she can always find him sitting at the end of the bar when it rains, furthest way from the windows. He never says anything, but when she hears the tell-tale crack of thunder she knows he'll show up. He sits, motionless, body held taut with tension, and she wordlessly slides a drink—bourbon on the rocks—to him. He drains it evenly, and drops the glass back to the bartop. She refills automatically.
Yuffie once teased him for being afraid of thunderstorms. He had only rolled his eyes at her. She refused to let it go after a storm had swept over Edge and stayed for several days straight. She had been stuck there as well, along with Cid, who had no desire to fly her to Wutai in those conditions.
Similarly, nearly all of his deliveries had been cancelled. Fenrir was a superior bike, but he wasn't about to travel across the Planet in the storm. So, he parked himself at his spot at the bar each afternoon and evening for five days in a row, mindlessly drinking bourbon in an effort to blot out the sound.
Cid had wondered aloud if he was developing a "problem." He only snorted softly in disdain, reminding the pilot that he couldn't really get drunk. The Mako in his veins just burns away the alcohol, doing little in his attempts to forget blood-soaked dreams.
It's raining again, and he's there, sitting at her bar. But she does a double take when she realizes he's not in his normal spot.
Rather than at the far corner, he's at the opposite end. He's sitting next to the window, and he's with someone. They're not conversing, merely sitting in silence, one staring down into his glass of bourbon, the other with chin propped up by an arm, staring outside at the rain falling.
"Those two need to cheer up, yo."
Tifa whips around, startled at the unexpected voice.
"Reno!" She tilts her head towards the pair at the window. "Did he come with you?"
He taps a few folded bills of gil on the bartop next to his empty glass, signaling a refill. "Yeah. Convinced him to come out with everyone." He motions his thumb behind him at the table where Rude and Elena are sitting. "Surprised he agreed, honestly."
Tifa hums her agreement, pouring vodka shots.
"It's the rain. Makes him all gloomy, yo."
She overpours, not realizing until the liquor pools on the wood, spilling over onto Reno's shoes.
The Turk's yelp breaks her reverie, and she jerks into motion, grabbing a rag to sop up the liquid. "Sorry, Reno," she mutters.
He raises an eyebrow at her. "You okay, yo?"
She just shrugs. "He never sits by the window. He hates it when it rains."
Reno makes a small noise of sudden understanding, but doesn't respond to Tifa's inquiring expression. "He ever told you why?"
"No," she shakes her head. Her eyes narrow. "Tseng ever tell you?"
"No."
She leans over the bar towards him. "But...?"
"I can see it, yo."
"See what?"
"They both feel guilty."
Surprise colors her face. "Is Tseng feeling some sort of misplaced guilt over Aerith, all of a sudden?"
Reno almost chokes on the shot he's downing, though he manages to swallow it. "What? No." He coughs. "Well, maybe some, y'know? Tseng had known her for a long time, yo." He waves his hand dismissively, picking up the second too-full shot of vodka. "But he's made his peace with her death, more or less. It was in the cards—there was nothing he could do about it, yo."
Tifa crosses her arms, ignoring the leer Reno gives her. Her gaze turns confused. "Then, who...?"
To her surprise, Reno puts down the shot glass, undrunk, and stares at the bartop for a moment. He's silent for a minute, and it unnerves her.
"Turks are supposed to be able to rinse their hands of the job right afterwards, regardless of success or failure," he says suddenly. "We're not supposed to get involved." He snorts, humorlessly, "Look where that got Valentine." He idly traces a finger around the rim of the shotglass. "But even I can't forget it, sometimes."
Tifa digs the palms of her hands into the counter, frustrated with Reno's refusal to actually tell her what was going on. She knows it's characteristic of the redhead to be intentionally vague, but it's different this time—he's genuinely hesitant rather than calculated. But she's learned after enough time and experience with Cloud that the answers will come eventually, if she keeps quiet and just listens.
His eyes are distant, and she follows their gaze past Cloud and Tseng, and out the window where the rain is still falling.
Reno watches for a moment, then shakes his head like he's waking, and drops a wad of gil on the bar.
"Maybe this'll be good for them."
Tifa can only stand still as he exits the bar, waving a casual salute to his fellow Turks on his way out.
She looks back over to the table by the window.
Tseng is now gazing intently at Cloud, hand outstretched across the table to grasp the other's left arm. Cloud's face is buried in his free hand, and she can see a fine tremor running through in his shoulders. Tseng's eyes hold a guarded expression of sadness in them.
She picks up Reno's abandoned shot of vodka and downs it.