AN: This has been sitting in my computer for ages now and I finally decided to post it. Despite what the summary says, ratings apply more to the coming chapters than this one. Otherwise, I'm going to keep these notes short and get on with it. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Chapter one: Stray

It was already dark when the train lurched into a heavy stop in its destination. The wheels gave a tired screech against the rusted rails, steam engulfed the platform as the outdated metallic beast let out an enormous sigh before falling into slumber. The train was an unfashionable method of transportation, lacking the luxuries of more developed machinery built for the same purpose and favored by those with wealth, but still a reasonably large amount of people started to unpack from the many battered cars. Bleary eyed children were carried off, stacks of luggage were busily mounted up in a stack by the few station employees and tired travelers looked for relatives or otherwise familiar faces.

A long haired brunette exited the train as well, her impressive and elegant appearance somewhat diminished by the almost-invisible act of rubbing her sore behind. It had been a long trip, but one that she was happy to make several times a year, whenever her paycheck allowed. Even in the dull light of the lamp posts she could remember the clear, cold winter sun of her hometown, and despite the heavy pollution under the plate, she still had the remnants of Nibelheim's mountain air in her lungs.

Exhaustion pulled her limbs towards the ground, but she smiled. Around her, the crowd started to thin down when passengers one after another found their way into the city of Midgar. Oh well, she should get going too before it got too late. She knew it was dangerous for a girl to walk alone in the dark, but she could take care of herself.

Shaking her head, Tifa Lockhart refastened the strap of her large bag and slung it around her shoulder. The platform was almost empty. The sound of her steps was sucked in by the thick pavement, and she was already thinking about what to fix as a quick dinner before turning in, when she heard the loud clang of the cargo car's door being slammed open. Then, she deduced crates were hauled out by the sound of heavy breathing and thuds when they hit the ground, and still she didn't think that anything was out of the ordinary. She even had time to feel a teeny tiny bit sorry for the workers since the train had been late due to some sort of complication –

"What the –" a shout came skittering across the platform. "Hey, Bevis! Get over here!"

It was one of the workers, and the surprise in his voice forced Tifa to sneak a curious glance over her shoulder. The other worker – Bevis, apparently – jogged over to his colleague to look inside the car. He cursed loudly.

"Damn it, not one of these again! We just had one last week!" He hung his head in frustration. Neither of them noticed the brunette on the other end of the platform or that she had stopped walking.

Tifa remained standing there while the clearly irritated twosome continued talking. She had half the mind of stepping closer to hear better, but didn't. After all, it wasn't like the two men were trying to speak exceptionally quietly.

"So, what do you wanna do?" the worker who had found whatever it was that resided in the car, asked after a while. "Should we call the boss? You know, let the authorities handle this…"

"Nah," Bevis said and waved his hand in the air, almost like swatting away an annoying fly, "it won't help a thing. There'll be questions to answer, reports to be written… and we're already working overtime. Damn freeloaders." He lighted up a smoke, but soon put it out under his shoe.

"Let's just toss him out and hope he disappears before morning. They usually do," he finally decided in a gruff voice. Their figures disappeared inside the car and a mirthless laugh echoed from the shadow. "Tsch, he's too unconscious to argue anyways… You take the legs."

Outside, Tifa wondered if what she'd just witnessed was a violation of the regulations in a massive scale, or if this happened so often that everybody had stopped caring already. She suspected the latter; Midgar could be a ruthless city, and without any luck, you were left to fend for yourself. Unfortunately for the assumed rabbit, being unconscious prevented him from doing that. He was probably as good as dead – and yet, the world continued turning, uncaring of the less-fortunate.

Tifa was supposed to be used to this, because after moving to Midgar several years ago and witnessing the hard day-to-day life of the slums, she believed she had seen it all. So, she did not flinch or cringe at the sight of two men carrying the limp body of a young man onto the platform, and then throw him on the hard pavement in a rather indifferent manner. No, she wasn't disgusted or appalled – she was only mildly fascinated of the way his head seemed to move in slow motion before hitting the ground with a dull sound.

Bevis nudged the unmoving man in the side with his foot. He didn't care to be too delicate, and the man nearly rolled over with the impact. "Good luck, kid. Try getting a decent job in the next life and this won't happen again," he scoffed before turning away with his companion and starting to carry the crates towards the warehouses.

Minutes went by, with Tifa standing there and the man lying in the exact same, uncomfortable looking position. Tifa didn't know why she hadn't left already – this didn't concern her. The man was probably a criminal, a gang member, or just an unfortunate passerby caught up in the tides of the underworld. People like him couldn't survive the harsh reality of Midgar.

But… she had just come from a world where there wasn't a plate above their heads shutting out every last ray of sunlight, where people could actually afford to care for each other, where the words like 'hospitality' and 'compassion' still meant something. In Nibelheim, nobody would leave a stranger like him to die in his helpless state. In Nibelheim, he would be offered medical treatment, food and water, a warm bed and a roof above his head for as long as necessary. The whole town would contribute in the stranger's possible recovery.

Giving a weary sigh, Tifa started walking. The least she could do was correct the man's arm, which was bent in an almost unnatural way. When she reached him, she crouched on her heels and set her bag away. Then, she carefully tried to shift the man's torso and get the arm from under him. He was surprisingly heavy to move, but after some effort, his arm was lying neatly on top of his stomach. Now, Tifa allowed herself a closer look at the stranger.

His ragged clothes, or what was left of them, resembled a uniform of some kind. Tifa grimaced when the stench of blood invaded her nostrils, and that was when she realized just what the dark smears in the torn fabric were. Alarm surged in her veins, but a more detached part of her mind said that the blood was old – he wasn't bleeding anymore, at least. Here and there, patches of pale skin showed from where his uniform was even more battered. His face was obscured by the visor of his helmet, but his neck was slender and somehow beautiful under all the layers of mud, blood and other substances that Tifa was happy not recognizing.

She hesitated removing his helmet. Seeing his face… it would make him real; a human being, a person with ties and a past. She was not involved in this just yet.

Sucking in a concentrated breath, she set her hands on either sides of the helmet and pulled upwards. With some resistance, the gear came off and revealed a headful of unruly, blonde hair and a face far younger than she'd expected. He was probably only a few years older than her, and already so alone in the world, so deserted.

She was so surprised that she didn't even feel the warm blood on her hands. But then, the iron stench of it hit her in the face and her stomach immediately did flips. Instinctively, she put a hand over her mouth – and realized only then that she was only making the mess worse.

Now that she looked at him with a little more neutral eyes, she saw that it was not his youth that should have stunned her, but his general condition. His whole face was covered with smudges of dirt, mud and the combination of dry and fresh blood. His mess of a hair was also stained; blonde spikes highlighted with a grotesque hue of red. Nervous, Tifa moved her shaking hand and lifted the hair off his forehead, because the blood seemed to trickle down from there. She frowned deep in utter distaste and revulsion – strands the color of August wheat were heavy and moist with blood. They dripped small droplets on the man's already blemished skin.

The cut was nasty to say the least. The sick feeling in Tifa's stomach got more and more consequential when she looked at the edges of the wound which were not clean at all. Stitches wouldn't do, the skin was too torn. With caution, she lowered his hair back down. She couldn't help him any further, and while she knew her share of giving first-aid, she didn't have any of the necessary equipment with her.

Besides, the man didn't look like he was about to wake up anytime soon. Could he have brain damage? No, the cut wasn't that deep, and after a brief moment of examining his head with her fingers, she found no further injuries. Still, what worried her most was internal bleeding… if that was the case, she was wasting her time.

She looked around, but the whole station area was completely devoid of people. It was late already, even though it was hard to tell with the endless night of the world under the plate, and silence took over the slums – well, except for Wall Market. So, there was no help to be expected.

Tifa looked at the man again, thinking. Did he have parents that worried over him, just like her parents would if she went missing? Would no one stay behind to miss him if he died now? Should she care?

Just like she had earlier presumed, this man could be a criminal. A killer, even, or a madman. There was no way of knowing. But, since the second she had taken his helmet off and seen his face, she had let go of the chance of walking away unperturbed. The image of this helpless stranger would come back to haunt her, no matter how hard she tried to tell herself that this was the way of the city.

"Tifa Lockhart, it's your own damn fault if you get caught up in something stupid now…" she muttered with a small groan. Then, she started to rummage through her bag until coming up with one of her better shirts and promptly tearing off the sleeve. She lifted the man's head on her knee and worked a makeshift bandage around his head. "All right. Let's do this."

The hundreds and hundreds of hours she'd spent on learning martial arts with Zangan had included several handy ways of carrying people, if the time and need came. She tried lifting the man, just as a little test. They both nearly tumbled down, Tifa giving sharp, shocked gasp. He… he couldn't be this heavy, right? The man wasn't overly tall or very heavily built. He did have a well toned set of muscles, that much Tifa had felt while moving him, but it wouldn't explain this. It was going to be a lot harder than she had even dared to expect. The trip to Sector Seven wasn't that short either.

After several minutes of very unfeminine grunting under his weight, Tifa finally managed to sling him sideways over her shoulders and even succeeded in picking up her bag.

Still, her knees threatened to give away with every step. It was like carrying a boulder.

xxx

It took forever, but finally the outlines of her building came into sight. Tifa's muscles burned and trembled with sheer fatigue, but she had made it. The man seemed to have gotten heavier and heavier by the second, and for more than a couple of times Tifa had wanted nothing more than to dump him in the ditch.

They must have made the oddest pair, and the few people still around always remembered to give them cross looks before hurrying away at the stench of blood. Tifa knew what they were thinking in their heads. Foolish girl. She'll just end up in trouble.

That very well might be, she knew, but in a way it was relieving to know that this place hadn't completely gotten to her just yet. She remembered what it had been like, first coming to Midgar. After the first night, she wanted to just leave and go back home. Life under the plate… well, even calling it life was stretching it pretty far. It had been very hard for her, as she was such a naïve, young girl. But she had learned. Just like Zangan had taught her how to defend, how to protect, how to go on the offence, she had taught herself how to push her feelings aside in order to survive in this uncaring place. Her childish ideals were placed in the furthermost corner on her mind and a lid was put on top of them. She had hardened her heart, she had become selfish – and she had made it.

Of course, she spoke nothing of this at home. Her parents were still under the impression that she was living on top of the Plate amongst the beautiful houses and streets and gardens. There was no need to worry them. She had actually managed to make a living under the Plate – and she damn well would succeed on the Plate as well.

The stairs leading up to her door creaked miserably under her feet, and for a moment Tifa feared that the whole thing would fall apart. She did a mental note of checking the metal pipe constructions that held up the staircase. She had become pretty handy after moving in Midgar.

The building, miraculously well built considering where they were, had four apartments, two at street level and two sitting on top of them. Tifa had practically fought over the second floor flat, but for a good reason. It was such a little factor but reduced the possibility of being broken into quite substantially. In Midgar, burglars didn't just take the family silvers. They took everything that wasn't bolted to the floor, and carrying a couch or a stove down the stairs whilst trying to remain unnoticed proved to be pretty inconvenient.

Tifa searched for her keys and felt like collapsing. Surprisingly enough, the jingly item was in her pants pocket, and she got the door open with a sturdy shove of her shoulder. "Almost… there…" she couldn't help but telling herself as she neared the living room couch. She dipped her back right and the man flopped neatly on the cushions.

Tifa's back nearly killed her when she straightened up. She knew the man's dirty clothes were ruining the textiles of the couch, but she needed a breather and dropped down on her behind. Her joints popped when she rolled her shoulders. Getting up from her bed tomorrow would be a gamble…

She sighed tiredly and started to take off the man's boots. They were dirty and battered as well, but Tifa recognized a well made pair of boots when she saw one, and placed them in the entryway.

As she couldn't possibly get a doctor for him at this hour – not in this neighborhood – there was only one thing left to do, and so Tifa hauled up the man once again and dragged him into her bathroom. It was a cramped space by itself, but with the man on her back, Tifa couldn't even turn around. Most of the space available was stolen by the bath tub she'd insisted on bringing from home. She would get by with very little, but the tub was a must.

Trying to be as gentle as she could, Tifa placed the man in the tub. She winced when his head hit the tiles. 'Sorry', she mouthed. He was too tall for her tub, but oh well, he wasn't going to complain, was he now?

Tifa cleared her throat loudly. Now, it was time to gather her courage. She knew this had to be done, or else he'd drip mud all over her place.

It wasn't like she'd never seen a man naked before.

With unsteady hands, she began to strip the man from his rugged clothes. There were a lot of straps holding his uniform together, which explained why the badly torn fabric hadn't already fallen off. It took some effort, but she got the shirt part off him and proceeded to undo the pants. Forcing herself to remain indifferent towards the fact that there was one fine example of male anatomy lying in her tub, she checked him for any further wounds. And if she happened to notice, say, other things about him it was purely by coincidence.

She pushed him on his other side to peek at his back and his side. He had a cluster of dirty contusion wounds as if he had taken a hard fall, as well some still developing bruising near his pelvis. His back was fine. His front side had also suffered some contusions but these were a little more minor, although on his chest was a long, diagonal mark where his skin had turned an angry red. From the shape of the mark she assumed he had rammed against a tree branch… or something. She shivered at the thought of other possibilities.

She stopped to stare at him for a while. His skin was almost a deathly white and contrasted with his bruises in a somewhat… intriguing way. It was like he hadn't been out in the sun for years. Tifa concentrated her gaze on the opposite wall as her hands worked the pants down from his legs. She felt a little more than slightly self-conscious when she found her eyes wandering towards his crotch.

Suddenly hit by a spontaneous fit of coughing she grabbed his clothes in a flash and went to throw them in the dumpster, busily telling herself that she had not seen a trail of soft blonde hairs travel south from under his belly button.

When she came back, her mouth was a grim line and she finished the job efficiently enough. The water spiraling into the drain was either a muddy brown or a light pink color depending on where she was rinsing him. It took a while until the water was clear again, but finally the smell of blood was washed from her senses and replaced with the mild jasmine odor of the soap she used.

"I apologize for the unmanly scent, buddy," she murmured while draping a thick towel over him. The man had remained absolutely still during her ministrations – which was a relief, actually. She didn't want to even think about the uncomfortable and unexplainable situation they'd be in if he suddenly just woke up, stark naked and a strange woman bathing him.

After drying him off, she retrieved her first-aid kit and applied some disinfectant to his wounds and a decent bandage on his forehead. The cut was still bleeding, but at least it was clean for now.

She moved him back into the living room and went to rummage through her closet for some clothes, but none of her outfits would fit his frame. Finally, the only resolution she could think of was wrapping him up in a spare sheet and a blanket. She'd get him appropriate clothing tomorrow. Finishing up his quite sophisticated toga attire she placed a couple of pillows under his head.

That was it. That was all she could do for now. As for why she had bothered… it was hard to say. There were probably many reasons, one of them being her need to take care of things, but for now she felt good about it. He was too young to be left on the street like that. He still had time to change. Tifa had always been a firm believer in second chances, and this guy deserved his chance as well.

Sitting on the edge of her worn out, old armchair, she watched him. If not for the slight raise of his chest with every breath, he could have been dead. But what a graceful corpse he would make – he was perfect. Truly very, very beautiful. His hair formed funny spikes that stuck up in the most ridiculous directions. He had delicate, refined features and long, light lashes that fluttered against his cheeks unconsciously. His lips were tinted in a slight pink. He could look like a girl, but at the same time, there was something very masculine about him.

Tifa wondered if sunlight caused him to get freckles.

She stood up to adjust the covers on him, and then headed for the shower. Maybe he shouldn't be left unattended, but if he woke up and decided to rob the house or kill her, she would have deserved it for not knowing any better.

xxx

He slept for two days straight. Each morning Tifa would nudge his shoulder gently, but he didn't even stir. It was weird being in her apartment with someone else constantly there. Tifa hadn't lived with anybody since moving out from home. Yesterday she came home from work late at night, forgot about the sleeping guy and actually sat on him.

She screamed so loud that the neighbor, rubbing sleep from his eyes, came to ask if everything was fine. Tifa had laughed a shrilly laugh like she always did when nervous and shooed him away. Thank god she hadn't sat on the guy's bad side and caused any of his wounds to rupture.

Shadows had appeared under his eyes. Tifa had tried to make him drink, but the water just slid down his jaw. She started to panic. What if he died there, on her couch? There was no way she could afford a doctor right now, never mind the expenses for putting him on an I.V. As expected, there was no health care in the slums. Doctors, save for a few saints who worked on good will alone, charged amounts that were impossible for most.

So, all she could do was to hope he'd wake up soon. One time she even crouched down near the man's head and whispered in his ear, telling him to open his eyes. It was not his time yet. He at least owed her a thank you!

Watching him had become a habit and she was fascinated by the way the light played on his face. But, then again, it would be much more interesting to see life and movement and sound come over him. The state he was in right now reminded her more and more of a corpse with every passing moment.

Maybe it was brain damage after all, she thought to herself and pushed him out of her mind. Maybe he wouldn't wake up ever. Well, it was a hell of a lot easier not to get unnecessarily attached to a lifeless wax doll.

But on the third day, he woke up.

xxx

"Strife, run! Run, now…! Cloud! GO!"

Light shined through his eyelids. The dream fluttered away. Was it a dream…? …No… Memory?…

His eyes snapped open as the pain came in. He felt like someone had smashed his head against a brick wall. Oh, right. Maybe they had.

Consciousness rushed back in, bringing with it questions each one more fundamental than the other before it. But the questions were numbed by the pain. It wasn't just his head. He hurt everywhere. Muscles that he didn't even know existed, ached miserably.

There was no room for pain. He recited the rules in his mind, over and over. Get up. Breathe. Watch your surroundings. Move. Don't forget to check your fucking back… With an almost maniacal grimace he pushed himself in a sitting position. His side protested and his head was in flames. He exhaled sharply, forced himself to overcome the pain exploding all over his body and searched the room with his eyes for possible threats.

He was slightly surprised. But only slightly. This could be a hallucination.

It was dim, almost dark, but his eyes adjusted quickly. He seemed to be in a small room with a couple of ordinary looking pieces of furniture. On his right was the presumed main door and on his left an even smaller kitchen space and two doors more. Behind him was a window that showed a flickering street light. The light that woke him was coming from there.

He listened, his whole body tense. The apartment was empty, save for him. What the fuck was going on? No matter how hard he raked his memory, he couldn't recall ever being here before. What possible use could they have for a place like this?

Was this one of their experiments? If so, he couldn't understand its meaning. Then again, maybe that was just the point… him not understanding… yeah, it should have transmitted some fucking interesting brain waves…

He tried moving again, perhaps he could stand up. One muscle at a time… He was painfully aware of his nervous system. His head hurt when he tried to focus.

Then, the sound of keys being inserted into a lock and turning steadily. He froze. Thump. Someone was coming through the door. But why the hell would they use the keys? 'Damn it, I'm too slow, it's over…'

Artificial light illuminated the other half of the room when the door opened. He had never seen the woman in his life.

"Oh crap," she said. "You're awake."

"Where am I?" he shouted immediately, his hand instinctively shooting out to find something fit for a weapon. The glass coffee table broke when his fist came down too hard.

The woman yelled in shock at the sound of glass shattering and dropped something onto the floor.

"Who are you?" he kept shouting through the white hot pain flashing in his eyes. When he gripped the back of the couch and tried to push himself upright, he nearly vomited. "Who are you!"

"Calm down!" Now, the woman was shouting as well.

He couldn't take it anymore, the noises, the light, the movement. They all made his head split apart. Besides, his whole body started to get limp. He was out of energy already. He lifted a hand to his face, covering half of his vision with sweet darkness.

"Are you… one of them?" he heaved, his breathing becoming difficult.

"One of who?" the woman asked in a more quiet tone and took a tentative step closer. She stopped in her tracks when she saw his face. "Stay away!" he spat.

She lifted her hands up in the air, palms faced towards him. "Just… calm down, okay?"

Then, she drew in a shaky breath, not taking her eyes off him for a second. "I get it… you're scared. But it's okay now. See? I'm harmless."

Tsch. Stupid woman. Her lines were so fake it made him want to laugh. Instead, he barked, "Answer me! Who the hell are you? What is this place?"

Something flickered across the woman's eyes. For a second he thought it was anger. As if she'd been insulted. What a joke.

"I'm Tifa," she told, hands still held up, "Tifa Lockhart. This is my apartment, in Sector Seven." Her voice was calm, but fear and anxiety could be detected. She was scared of him. Hah. A better actress than he'd originally thought. He ran her face and name over in his mind again but came up with nothing. He waited. The possibility of her not being one of them increased with every second she just stood there, not attacking him. Knowing those people like he did, there was no way they'd send someone who hesitated so long. And to think there was a window behind him… If the woman intended on making her move, now would be the time. Last chance, honey.

Perhaps… just perhaps… this was all a coincidence. In that case he'd been incredibly lucky.

He didn't believe in luck, so he remained suspicious. 'Trust' or 'good will' had never done him any good in the past, so why should he start believing in them now? He cleared his throat, for it felt like someone had poured sand down it.

"Sector Seven? As in Midgar?"

"That's right," she replied quietly, not moving. After a brief moment of hesitation she spoke up again, "I found you at the station… You were unconscious. What… what's your name? Maybe I could contact someone… "

He thought about it. He looked around and listened. It seemed nobody was hiding here in the apartment and waiting to pounce on him the second he let his guard down. Not that his 'guard' was of any help to him right now. He was as helpless as a sick kitten and the only thing he could do was to take advantage of the woman's fright of him.

"…Cloud." He was too tired to think of a cover up. It was a weird name anyways, so if she didn't believe him, it didn't matter.

"Okay. Nice to meet you, Cloud." She said nervously, finally taking her eyes off his face. "Look, maybe you should lie back down? Your hand has some glass in it…" she pointed at his palm.

Surprised, he looked down, and sure enough there was a two inch shard sticking up from his hand. He frowned. The woman… no, Tifa, he reminded himself, was still talking.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get you a doctor. You know how it is here, right? I could ask around, though. One of our regulars is a doctor, but then again he's an alcoholic so you might want to reconsider that…"

Cloud cut her off, not one to listen to idle chat, "No doctors. I'm fine."

"O-okay," Tifa said, a little thrown off, "If you're sure… I just thought maybe you'd want to get checked for broken ribs or something… "

This time, he silenced her with an icy stare and started to get up. The pain had eased down to a tolerable degree, at least on his standards which he knew were pretty far from normal. The woman stepped forward, as if to help him.

"No," he told her bluntly, "it is not necessary."

The woman froze, "Oh." She watched him struggle to stay on his feet, an odd look on her face. What was that again? Worry? What reason would she have to worry about him…

There was a swishing sound as well a current of air going down his feet.

One second later, Cloud realized he was naked.

And he didn't even react.

"Where is the toilet?" he asked flatly, unconcerned.

"…Huh?" Tifa blinked. Birds sang inside her head and shooting stars flashed in her eyes.

Why on earth in this situation… then it dawned. He'd been unconscious and unmoving for possibly more than three days. She blushed bright red and pointed him in the right direction, "Oh! Go, uh, right ahead…"

xxx

Tifa swept together the remains of her coffee table with a wistful smile on her face. She had liked that table. It had been discovered at a local flee market; a real bargain that needed just a little polishing. Careful not to injure herself, she put the wood and glass fragments into a plastic bag and dumped it with the rest of the garbage. She then mentally braced herself, swept up the clothes she'd just borrowed from Biggs today and went to knock on the bathroom door, feeling uneasy.

"What?" came the muffled answer.

"Sorry to… uh… interrupt, but I forgot to give you a change of clothes…" Her free hand balled into a tight fist. Why was she so uncomfortable? It was not usual for her to become a ball of nerves.

In the back of her mind, she knew. This guy creeped her out.

The door cracked open, and a hand shot out. Tifa gave him the bundle of fabric and listened to the lock turn into place. She released a sigh. Before walking away, she called through the door, "Tell me if you need a hand, okay?"

She wandered back into the living room, chewing her nails. It was another nervous habit, one that she couldn't quite shake. Okay so, rescuing this Cloud guy had been a bad idea, she could admit it now. He obviously wasn't normal. Sure he could be still shocked about waking up in a completely unfamiliar place, but seriously, the look in his eye still made Tifa shudder. She had actually waited for him to assault her when she first walked into the apartment.

As a kid, she had watched a lot of nature documents. Cornered wild animals had that same look.

She suspected head injury. It was normal of them to cause disorientation, wasn't it? 'I should probably call a doctor, just in case… No, never mind that, I should straight up contact the nearest mental institution…Maybe they're short one loon.'

She jumped when a loud crash came from the bathroom. With her heart pounding like crazy, she rushed back to the door and tried yanking it. "Cloud? Is everything all right? Should I come in?"

No answer. She hesitated just for a second, before pressing down the handle with her martial arts enhanced full strength. Of course, the doors in Midgar weren't that sturdy to begin with. The whole handle broke down, and after a couple of solid bumps, the door was open and revealed a momentarily passed out Cloud lying flat on the floor. Scraps and hunks of what had been her porcelain sink were scattered all around him.

Tifa hurried to kneel down beside him and lifted his head into her hands, "Cloud? Cloud, wake up!"

His eyes began to stir and he mumbled something incomprehensible. Tifa wanted to shake him back into his senses, but in his current state it was impossible. 'Dear God, if I take my eyes off him for a second he's going to destroy everything…' But as she was wondering if it would be appropriate to charge him for the damages, her eyes happened to sweep over the medicine cabinet. The mirror door was thrown open and orange pill containers spilled on the broken sink.

Her brow furrowed, but she didn't have time to think further when Cloud regained his senses and practically leapt away from her. How the hell could he move so fast with injuries like that? And, more importantly, what was going on?

"What happened?" she asked, her voice stern and eyes nailed to his bruised face. If he was a junkey, she would throw him out this instant and feel no remorse. She didn't want any of that shit in her home. He looked pretty strong, but Tifa thought she could take him on, since he probably couldn't use those muscles of his right now. She squeezed her hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

Cloud swept porcelain rubble off the toilet seat and slumped down heavily. He wouldn't meet her gaze, and his tone was avoiding, "…was looking for pain killers." He grumbled, like an ill-mannered brat about to get scolded. He seemed annoyed by her questions, which was odd, since any normal person would have understood just why she felt the need to ask.

"O-kay," she said after staring at him for a while, letting her voice show just how suspicious she was of this. When he didn't bother to explain any further, she rose with a sigh and said, "You could've just asked me." There was no getting through to him. It was better to give up.

She started to go through the containers until finding one prescribed to her when she broke her arm and dislocated a shoulder during practice. This time, he glared at her openly. His icy stare unnerved her, but she met his gaze head-on.

"There," she handed him the pills. She noticed him check the label carefully, like he didn't trust her ability to discriminate. Or read. She shook her head to diffuse the irritation he brought out in her. He was not a very… easygoing person, to say the least.

"So, what about the sink then?" No matter how much he detested answering her questions, she had the right to know. This was her house he was breaking apart, bit by bit, it seemed.

Cloud was silent for a long two minutes, as if testing whether or not she'd let the matter go if he stalled long enough. Conquered by her stubbornness, he ran a hand over his face. "… I think I put my weight on the wrong leg, and it gave out. I tried grabbing the sink for support. It wasn't enough."

Tifa's eyes widened, "Really? That sounds bad… roll up the leg and I'll fix you up a splint…" She hadn't thought the injury to his right leg was major, but to be honest, she hadn't checked it afterwards either.

Cloud sat on the toilet, motionless. Tifa frowned. He had either developed a sudden case of deafness, or didn't understand her words. When Tifa stepped closer, he jerked away from her. "No. Don't touch me."

His words only made Tifa's frown deepen, and wrinkles appeared on her forehead, which her friends knew to interpret as a dangerous sign.

"Now what?" she snapped, grabbing the first aid kit from above the medicine cabinet. "I don't know what your problem is, mister, but I'm trying to help you here! If you want to bust that leg of yours forever, then I suggest you leave right now!"

But, her outburst didn't quite receive the result she'd hoped for. Instead of obeying her voice, which people usually did when she got mad, he just stared at her, his face completely neutral. And, in turn, his reaction made her feel foolish. Unable to take the staring contest anymore, she just sat down before him and yanked the leg of his pants upwards, grumbling to herself. He tried to yank away but there was no room.

She nearly whistled when she saw his knee. It was all purple with bruising and the swelling was really, really bad. During her many years of martial arts, she'd seen a lot of twists, sprains and swollen ankles but this was totally something else. It was like someone had smacked his leg with a steel pipe with the objective of busting his kneecap. Even though the perpetrator hadn't quite succeeded with his intentions, you had to give him credit for his hard effort.

Tifa glanced up at Cloud. There was nothing on his face as he regarded the injury with cool eyes.

"… I can't believe you actually walked with this leg…" Tifa said finally.

"I don't want your help," was the gruff reply and Tifa resisted rolling her eyes. But it seemed to be true, judging from the way he seemed to jump at her every touch. He reminded her more and more of a wild animal with every minute.

"Hmph. Apology accepted," she sneered lightly as the splint was just a few finishing touches away from done, "Besides, who needs two sinks anyway? The one in the kitchen works just fine." Maybe her positive outlook in life would rub off on him as well. She doubted it.

She stood up, inspecting her work. Her hands went to her hips.

"How's that?" She even offered him her hand, which he of course swatted away rudely. Well, at least she tried…

Supporting himself against the wall, Cloud rose from the seat slowly. He blinked, but that was the only acknowledgement Tifa got for her effort. She shook her head at him, but it was mainly to cover up her smile.

It seemed like her heart hadn't forgotten all about how to become happy about helping someone, and she was glad to notice it. It meant that parts of her had stayed resilient to the cold realism of this place and even if Cloud refused to thank her for all the trouble it didn't stop her from feeling pleased with herself and her work.

She was still the old Tifa with a heart big enough to take in a stray.

It was too bad she had no idea of what was still about to come.

AN: While this is so not the point, I have no idea how well an unconscious person can control their bladder... but I'm going to use my favourite excuse and say that hey, this is fanfiction after all. Anyway, thanks for reading, peeps. Feedback is very much appreciated!