Summary: The nights were quiet within Seventh Heaven, save Tifa's glass clinking. However, the drink doesn't stop him from remembering…and regretting. BarretxMyrna BarretxTifa
Disclaimer:
Don't own FF7.
Stale Ale:
The clinking of glasses trilled in the still silence of the bar, Seventh Heaven, as Tifa Lockheart moved amongst the shelves of dusty bottles of dated wine, unused decanters, and the various alcohol taps as she ran the used glasses underneath lukewarm water, her dark eyes cast down in casual mindlessness as she performed the rhythm of the task. The light was waning in the room, and seemed to hover delicately within the drab wall that was the bar, as wintry sunlight faded into early evening.
Opposite the barmaid sat a large figure; a bear of a man with hard brown beetle eyes and strong jaw; with dark tattooed skin which seemed stretched across his heavy muscles. His chest was exposed beneath a thin net shirt, where a strong torso within could smash rocks could be seen. His mouth twisted in a grimace as he stared down upon his hand; he flexed it into a fist, as his eyes sought out the churning of knuckle and bone as it curled. Raising his other hand- a huge metal monster of a thing-he seemed to almost flinch at the inhuman sound it made when it repeated the action….it was far too slick, far too effortless. No strain. Nothing.
Inhuman.
Barret Wallace seemed to be a terrifying visage on any opposing force to his group, Avalanche; a single glare from the warrior could reduce a Shinra scout to a shivering, stammering mess. He was a tall, strong and sturdy man with strong and sturdy values which….he didn't always seem to follow himself. In a action which seemed sudden for such a huge man, he grabbed what was left of his beer and gulped it down with iron will, sausage like fingers clamped round the glass with such power a small crack was visible with the mug. Tifa's lips turned up slightly at this unexpected show of thirst, but her work was quickly resumed as Barret heaved the glass down with a sigh, his dark eyes glittering as he wiped his mouth with his flesh hand, black eyes attempting to seek out Tifa's glance, but was greeted with the fist fighter's back. They sat in quiet, content silence, the only breaking of sound the soft rustling of Tifa's garments with the tinkering of glasses, endorsed with Barret's heavy, even breaths.
Barret's eyes moved slowly down her body as the slender woman moved along the beverage, bending over to polish the cups. His eyes narrowed slightly as the chapped black leather creaked with every turn of her body, clinging to her curves as if it was a second skin. A pale hand reached to tuck raven hair behind a delicate ear, as she remained immersed in her work. A twinge of guilt mixed with self disgust caused the black man to look away.
He had a wife once.
She had not been beautiful, or even that particularly pretty. She had possessed a pleasant face, with clear grey eyes and soft brown hair, with wide yet womanly curves…short, stout and plump. Her persona had been that of a reserved dreamer, a self declared optimist with a quick and explosive temper. He remembered their fights; they were always nasty, to start off with. They would both yell things they never truly meant within a cloud of swearing and smashing of cheap china plates: but afterwards, his dinner would be on in the microwave (she was never much of a cook)and a steaming mug of coffee would be awaiting him on the table.
They never apologized to each other, as nether were the type, but the steaming coffee had always been a silent "sorry." And when he drank it (he recalled), Barret would then place a strong hand on his wife's shoulder, to be rewarded with a quick yet knowing half smile to assure him everything was forgiven.
They hadn't been married a year before they tried for children. She was older then him, and would claim, with a hoarse laugh which indented her laughter lines, she could hear her biological clock ticking. It was only….afterwards, after various tries and tests-that on a fateful day the doctor with a practiced and perfected expression of empathy etched on his face, revealed Barret's wife was infertile. Barret could still see, in his mind's eye, the painful realisation in his wife's eyes as she sat, like a marble figure, with eyes like stone and a heart to match. It was only him who had seen her hand's shaking, only him which had heard her raspy, heartbroken sobs in the bathroom afterwards; only him who felt his knuckles crunch into the plaster of the dining room; only him who had known the sting of unshed tears in his eyes.
Half a year passed. They remained as they had always been, but the coffee was no longer on the table and the arguments were no more; just a dreary silence which hung in the air and suffocated the very life in his lungs. Her eyes were red rimmed, her skin pasty, the only light of joy which ever shone in her eyes was at the birth of his best friend's daughter, Marlene, a beautiful child with a smile which could temporarily melt the stone around his wife's heart, before the bitterness of remaining barren settled back in. His wife began seeing Eleanor less and less. Barret's dealings with Dyne however increased; anything to see that bright, pretty baby which could never be his. Selfish as it was, Barret had began to believe he could love that child... want that child…more then Dyne and his broad, even more so then his very wife….how he ached for little Marlene, how he prayed for her to have been his own flesh and blood bought into the world.
A twist of self loathing settled into Barret's gut as he reminded himself of how he had came to hate his wife due to her uselessness as a lover, uselessness as a woman…unable to bear a child. Their love making became more desperate, more violent. All he heard was her breathy pants and his determined grunts as limbs had been tangled together and flesh moved against flesh, though they both knew this act was in vain.
Suddenly, the woman beneath him wasn't pale with brown hair with eyes of grey and rounded body; but sprouted black silky hair with earthy brown eyes closing in ecstasy, as sun kissed legs encircled themselves around his waist, as a the tips of pert breasts rubbed against his dark chest, rose bud mouth a wide "O."
His eyes darkening, Barret noticed he had began to sweat profusely, his nails cutting into his skin on his flesh hand as the twisted memory….no, fantasy evaded his mind with the sudden bite of guilt in his chest. Ignoring Tifa's concerned glances, Barret placed his silver hand against his head as the most painful memory forced itself to the front of his mind.
The fated day in which he had last seen his town in it's former glory was the day in which his wife had discovered her pregnancy . After he had left, she had taken the pregnancy test hidden within her drawers, and found with wide eyes, a confirmation of a lost dream. Barret could almost picture the tears of joy that would have glinted in her eyes, the tapping of her plain shoes as she would have danced across the kitchen, her skirt swirling as she twirled, baby names whirling around her head. Barret was sure she would have had the sudden commotion outside, and with shining eyes would have thought her husband would have returned, before rushing outside as the last thing she would ever know would be the barrel of a gun aimed directly between her eyes.
Barret, bloodied and bitter with a stump for a hand weeping scarlet, would then return, finding his beloved town in ruins and his dear wife dispatched in cold blood with the pregnancy test still in her cold hand, a peaceful smile still being worn on her lips, her empty and staring eyes of grey still carrying an echo of the happiness which had been falsely promised to him. Barret had knelt beside her body, trying to lift her with a shaking hand, before the bloody stump of his smeared her dress with blood, smeared her cold, dead womb with his life juice, and he finally realised who all along had been the useless one.
His wife's face became a blur to him over time. Never would he be the man she fell in love with, and never would she fall in love with him again if they ever met. He searched for affection for her, deep inside his heart, in that smoky bar, looked really deep in the hope some love would still be for her. But no. His love had ended upon her death, upon Shinra's betrayal, and upon the screams of a baby Marlene's cries. The man he had once been was now dead, and along with him the love for his tragic wife. It was like everything that had happened had been somebody else's life, and he had only discovered himself whilst covered in the blood of Shinra soldiers, and that of Dyne's, and tasting the foul concoction of his own bile in his mouth. He had discovered the raging monster which lurked beneath his gruff but good-hearted exterior, therefore finding his love for revenge, love for bloodshed which outweighed any desire for anything, including his poor wife.
Except Marlene. His angel. The wonderful girl which he had desired, and what he had received. But at what cost exactly? At his friend's madness? At the destruction of everything he held dear?
Who knows. Maybe this was fate's way of punishing him, for selfish desire.
The beautiful woman which wove herself around him now, polishing tables, was possibly another fine example of fate mocking him. He was a man after all, and lust was not an emotion unknown to him. There was many a time in which the Golden Saucer's whores had pleasured him with their company… (Cid included, a fact kept well hidden from Shera) but they were merely a distraction, to keep his wandering hands from the figure which he truly yearned for.
It was not just a question of lust. The stunning girl bore strength and steel, endurance and love into everything she could breath into…Tifa managed a home, juggled a businesses, looked after two children….waited for a man to return feelings which just didn't seem to be there…..
And suddenly Cloud was him, and Tifa was his late wife.
It pained Barret deeply, for the damned girl just didn't bloody well deserve to be.
A sudden jingling of keys snapped Barret back to reality. Tifa was locking up her liquor cupboard. Catching Barret's eye, she flashed him a tired smile. "To keep Reno away," she declared, causing the glass to rattle as she struggled to remove the key from the hole. " Man has the metabolism of a….damn, this thing is rusty," she cursed, trying her best to be gentle for fear of ripping the door off, knowing her strength. Chortling, Barret lifted himself up, causing the stool to creak under his weight.
"Eh, Teefs, let me help ya…."
Reaching across, his large dark hand swallowed her pale fingers as it wrapped itself around her thin wrist. The touch of her cool skin caused Barret to inhale, before Tifa, cheeks reddening, broke the contact as she removed her hand, key and all.
"I-Its fine….I've got it…."
"Eh….yeah…." Barret's eyes turned to the two empty seats remaining at the bar. "Night cap before you turn in, eh?" he offered, with a dozy smirk. Tifa nodded, before reaching down to pick up the vodka bottle, as she reached for two shot glasses behind the counter. As she did all this, Barret's eyes fell on the nape of her neck as her body arched, and found himself shifting uncomfortably.
Hours seemed to pass like minutes as the bottle's volume ceased to exist as the two conversed, their tongue's becoming more loose as their speech began to slur. Tifa was giggling slightly, with her black bangs which had escaped the sanctity of her ear, now hanging loose around her brown eyes as she leant dangerously to one side, a skinny elbow the only thing supporting her weight beside her stool as Tifa laughed at some outrageous story Barret had conceded out of thin air. Some mindless crap concerning a oil rig and various horny women.
Barret secretly treasured moments like this, moments when the barmaid was free and wild without any longing swift head glances to the door, in hope a spiky blonde head would surface. No wistful, fleeting, downhearted expression laden on that smooth skin, just groundless mirth…..
It never lasted long enough.
Already Tifa had half staggered to the window, her eyes scanning the bleary dark outside, brow furrowed. Barret watched for a single minute, before a burning question broke out into the open.
"Why do you do it, Teefs?"
Leaning against the window sill in a drunken fashion, Tifa Lockheart's eyes seemed to burn like spitfire in the half light within the bar, as she forced herself to look at her old friend.
"Because I love him."
She seemed to flounce forward with such a determined air it took Barret by surprise, before the martial artist, heavy with drink, suddenly crashed forward. He barely managed to kick off in time to gather the sloshed woman in his arms, her head lolling against his muscle bound arm, the sleeve of her black top falling down her shoulder, revealing a white bra strap. Her eyes were shut tight, her delicate lashes combing her cheeks, her lips forming one word.
"Because I love him."
Somehow the world seemed to turn far more slowly for Barret Wallace.
It had been so long since he had held a woman like this….a woman he cared for, to be precise. He allowed himself a brief moment of indulgence, feeling the warmth of Tifa's body near to his, the musty scent of her hair, before whilst still cradling the girl in his arms, stood up and made for her bedroom.
Tifa moaned slightly as she felt her mattresses beneath her, eyes fluttering open as she noticed a large shape going to close the door behind him. Tifa hadn't meant to call out quite so strongly, hadn't meant to beg him to stay with her, just to allow some warmth beside her, only for one night. It would seem selfish of her, wouldn't it, to take up someone else's time. Naturally, her old comrade should be sharing it with Marlene!
Barret stood, still. A small smile crept onto his broad features as he moved out of the dim hallway, shutting the bedroom door closed in front of him.
The last time someone had begged, pleaded with him to stay, he had left without a single word, hate and resentment festering in his stomach. The last time he had seen her alive and well without her brains making a swirl on the pavement, with eyes like misted marbles, with a damn freakish half smile which should have been out of all the damn moments they shared together, all the care and joy and love and every single ounce of fucking happiness that was their marriage. And his dear Mynra, the woman which he should have shared a sodding lifetime with, the only female blind to his faults, but who had only ever seen hers, had been lying in a pool of blood smiling about a ball of cells developing in her wretched, useless body.
All for him. Because she wanted to see him happy. To see him smile.
Dammit. If only he had told her that day, they should just have fucking forget about the damn children and be thankful they had each other; he had Myrna, warm and plumb Myrna, whole and safe and silly and alive. They should have been making hot coffee for the rest of their small provincial lives, for he should have known to never want for more. But that Barret was dead. In place, was a bitter beast with a temper which could shake the heavens. Myrna now seemed like an alien memory, like a recollection of being in your mother's womb before the real YOU is born.
But to see the same silent pleading within his comrade's eyes, the same need for some fucking warmth in this cold, dead planet reflected within red irises bleary with waiting, wanting, needing just drove shards of sharpened glass into the large man's heart.
If to breathe in kindness is enough to power those tired fists of Tifa, so be it.
Mistakes can be repeated, he tells himself. But not when you know how to stop 'em.
So he'll stay.
But just for tonight.