Yeah, yeah, FFVII AU. Real world AU. Blegh. They're usually not my cup of tea, but it's been nagging at me for a while, and since I've dead-ended on my other stuff (and haven't had any real desire to write anything lately), we'll just see where this goes. No ninjas, no talking animals, no ridiculous advanced tech, and no materia. Just good old-fashioned government cover ups.


If it hadn't been the dead of night, she probably never would have spotted him. Hell, she was surprised she even managed to recognize him. It had been ages since she'd seen him, and he was a mess. Looked like just another down and out fuck-up. Crackhead or wino, begging for a handout in the station, claiming that they had recently lost a family member, were sick, needed to money for food rather than their next fix. Whatever.

Had to have been the hair. Even as disheveled and matted as it was, the cornstalk blonde, in that ridiculous East Village Hipster-Punk spike job was instantly recognizable. Back then, nobody in her town had even heard of Punk, let alone knew what the fashion associated with it was. But he'd been out there, hair jelled, or sprayed, or shellacked into those crazy points, light blonde bleached even further to a brittle white. Would fight any of the boys that mocked him for it. Stomped on fingers with those oversized steel-toe boots.

It was ridiculous. She hadn't given him more than a passing thought in years, and there he was, slumped against the wall, in a somewhat ragged Marines jacket, camouflage pants tucked into military issue boots. That's right, he'd said he was going to join the army. A lot of the older folks figured that would have gotten him to finally get his head on straight, help him make something of himself.

She shifted uncomfortably, staring at him from about ten feet away, hefting the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder and glancing around, hoping to spot a cop or a station attendant, or…

Psh. At three in the morning in Times Square? Fat chance.

Sighing, she approached cautiously, and, once within arms reach she crouched down slightly, reaching out, snapping her fingers in front of his eyes lightly, hoping to stir some reaction from him. He seemed… drunk or drugged or sick, she wasn't sure what. She should just leave him, forget she'd ever even seen him. Just slip him a few bucks and hope it didn't just end up going up his nose.

But still, after what happened…

He was a familiar face, hometown boy…

She couldn't just…

"Cloud?" The name rolled thick and unfamiliar off her tongue, rusty after years of disuse. Something twisted in her stomach, and in the time it took for him to stir and open his eyes, she hoped; really, truly hoped, that it wasn't him. But then fine blonde lashes cracked open, and…

They glowed.

She jerked backwards, nearly tripping over herself and falling. Oh Jesus, what kind of-

He blinked once, staring uncomprehending at her, gleaming eyes feeling like they were boring holes through her.

Blue Curacao. That was all she could think of right then. Blue Curacao under blacklight. Making a Hurricane for that one regular, all noxious blue and-

His eyes seemed to focus, and his hand was on her wrist in an instant, wrist bone grinding uncomfortably under his thumb. She jerked her arm back, trying to reverse the hold, right hand coming up for a nerve pinch, get him to let go.

"Let go!" She snarled, catching his gaze, seeing the wild, trapped look he was giving her. He didn't recognize her. Sure, he was easy to remember from the hair, but aside from her much-admired… assets, she was sure there wasn't much else people from back home remembered about her. Nothing that really set her apart. Maybe the accent would have clued him in, but she'd managed to bury that under years and years of 'New Yawk' practice. "Cloud, it's me. Tifa Lockhart."

If the change in his death grip was any indication, he remembered the name at least. After all, not like either of their names were very common.

He met her gaze again, seeming to study her, fingers still encircling her wrist. His gaze seemed bleary and unfocused, like he was trying with all his might just to get a good look at her face.

"Is it safe?" He asked finally, confused.

"What?"

"Is it safe now?" Tongue passing rough and raspy over chapped lips. "They left me to die… Zack, he…are they coming back?"

Oh geez.

He was some kind of PTSD wreck or something.

"Uh… no. No, you're okay." She started uncertainly, swallowing back the lump in her throat. "Look, are… can you walk? Let's get you out of here. Come on." She awkwardly maneuvered her arm under his shoulders, bracing herself as she straightened, leather creaking over her thighs, forcing his weight up along with her. At least she wouldn't need to fish her Metro Card out or anything. Would only have to shove him through a turnstile when they got out at her stop and shuffled the last few blocks back to her bar. She had enough of a rep that the gang-bangers would probably leave her alone, even burdened down with some spaced-out vet.

She took a tentative step forward, hoping he wasn't so messed up that he couldn't at least stay upright on his feet, master left-foot right-foot. Thankfully, he took a step with her, seemingly still in control of his major motor functions, despite how fucked up and disoriented he was.

Great. At this rate they'd probably make it back by the time Barret closed up for the night. He'd be bristling too, by the time he saw her. Staying out so late, not checking in, bringing in some stranger.

At least she'd managed to get her hands on the files they'd been looking for. Had to count for something. She could probably even get Jessie to take a look at Cloud when she got off her shift at the clinic. Figure out what was up with his eyes; see if perhaps they could swipe him some PTSD meds on the sly. See if it even was PTSD in the first place. Maybe he'd even want to help them, once he came around. After all, state he was in, didn't look like the government was taking care of him.

If only she weren't so desperate for a familiar face. For some little scrap of home.

She shifted her weight, bracing against the wall as they took the small flight of stairs up to the landing, gritting her teeth at the grime and loose plaster rubbing off on her skin as she pushed them up the steps one at a time. Now as long as she didn't lose him going down the steps to the Uptown 1-2-3 platform, they'd be in business. Last thing she wanted to do was end up with a broken neck because he'd lost his footing and pulled her down with him.

However, despite such slow going, they made it down onto the platform without incident. He'd stumbled once, sending her clutching the handrail for the rest of the descent, but that had been the closest they'd come. The platform was all but dead, silent save for the far-off rumble of other lines coming and going, the shrill squeal of a rat scurrying around on the tracks. The air was heavy with dust and smell of half-dried paint, signs taped up over all the pillars confirming what her nose's assumption.

She made her way over to one of the pillars free of a warning and leaned one shoulder against it, the weight of Cloud's body making it an almost painful lean. She'd rather have sat down, but given how sluggish he was being, she'd never get him up and to the doors in time before their train was already pulling out of the station.

She set herself up for a rather silent wait, wishing she had her hands free to dig for her iPod. The trains ran pretty erratically from midnight to five, and even before then, the 1 ran slow as Hell. She was praying that the 2 or 3 showed up first. She'd take the 1 if needbe, but she was feeling antsy. Had been ever since she'd gotten her hands on the disc. Just wanted to get back to the bar, hand it off to Biggs and be done with it. And it wasn't like her stray was going to be much for conversation.

She sighed, blowing at a few strands of hair hanging in her eyes. She'd changed back into her normal, well, street clothes, anyway, after the job, her 'sneaky' outfit tucked away in her messenger bag. Felt conspicuous now, obvious. On her own, young woman in leather pants and a cut-off tank wouldn't raise too many eyebrows. People would mostly shrug her off as a club-kiddie and not give her a second thought. But dragging around somebody who seemed high as a kite, well, that just screamed for a 'random' bag search from a cop.

Oh, that set of lockpicks, the spare outfit and mask? Well, I just so happen to be into bondage. The super-duper borderline disgusting kind, officer.

Great, now she was getting paranoid. She just had to stay calm. After all, the only other person on the platform was aaaaaaaaaaaaall the way at the other end and seemed even worse off than Cloud.

Cloud shifted, falling more heavily against her right shoulder, his head lolling forward as he mumbled something she couldn't make out.

"You okay?" She asked, panic rising slightly. "You're not going to be sick are you?" Oh jeez, if he puked on her boots… "Hey, take it easy, we're almost home." Her hand came up, squeezing at his shoulder lightly, trying to be comforting.

She stared ahead, mentally willing the train to just. Hurry. Up. A rat, maybe the same one, maybe a different one, shrilled again from down in the tunnel. She tore her eyes away from the old, peeling warning sign that said rat pesticide had been sprayed (four years ago) and craned her head to the right, peering past Cloud's shoulder toward the empty gaping mouth of the subway tunnel.

She braced her free hand against the back of the pillar and rocked forward on the balls of her feet, squinting, waiting for that yellowish wash of light to hit the curve of the tunnel, give her something to wait for. She did that plenty, any time the train was taking too long. Just watched the tunnel wall, waiting, waiting, waiting.

She sighed again and tightened her grip around Cloud's shoulder, turning her head against his arm, sighing. She wanted a cigarette. Wondered idly if a station attendant or cop would magically appear if she managed to fumble her pack out and light up. Better not risk it. She didn't want-

"You doing okay, honey?"

A voice literally sliced through her thoughts, causing her head to jerk up, silly surprised gasp barely choked back. A man was standing there, leaning casually against the other side of the pillar, unbuttoned blazed, untucked dress shirt. Almost led her to peg him as a business man that stayed around downtown after the markets closed to have a few, but the marks on his face, the ridiculous chemical-red hair made her think otherwise. They'd never let somebody like that work on Wall Street. Could've worked for Conde-Nast or something avant-garde, but… yikes. He was looking down at her in a way that didn't match his bright, easy smile. He was taller than her, positively looming, given her weighted down stance. And… he was looking down her shirt.

Ugh.

She'd have no problem shoving her cargo off and taking a swing at him if she had to. What a fucking pig.

"Was a lot better before you came wandering over." She sighed, glancing over at Cloud quickly. His eyes were closed, thankfully. She didn't want Mr. Eccentric Creepazoid asking any questions.

One eyebrow piqued, corner of his mouth creeping up a little further. Great, he was amused.

"Now, now," He chastised smoothly. "No need to get your hackles up, honey. Just wanted to be a good Samaritan. Your boy toy doesn't look so hot."

"He's drunk." She answered almost automatically, frowning at how easy and automatically the lie came. "Military man can't hold his booze."

"Ah ha, so this is the stock we're sending overseas these days. Glad to see we're in good hands." He smirked, taking in the admittedly ragged sight of the blonde.

"Oh fuck off, why don't you?" She snarled, irritated. "Looks like you're too busy being a 'look at me' art-fag to even care about what's going on over there."

He glanced away, as if throwing a 'can you believe this broad?' look to an invisible audience, before glancing back down at her, most likely just to try and take another glance into her cleavage.

"Mm-hmm? And where's your 'Support Our Troops' jelly bracelet, little miss?" He asked, reaching over and flicking lightly at the hand still on Cloud's shoulder. She was about to spit a curse at him, shove Cloud off and just wale on that irritating, smirking face, when she caught the glint of light rounding the corner in the express tunnel.

Thank God. As long as this irritating little shit didn't take the same car as them, maybe she'd finally, finally, be able to get home and put an end to this night. She couldn't take much more.

"Believe me, I'm much more proactive than that." She snapped, scowling at him.

"Oh, I can see." He gave her a mocking little salute as she pushed away from the pillar, leading Cloud toward the edge of the platform. "Supporting our Troops on the way home from the bar; how noble."

She rolled her eyes in disgust, throwing a middle finger up in his direction as she laboriously maneuvered them over the threshold of the train car, dumping Cloud onto a seat, taking a handrail for herself.

Next stop, Fifty-ninth Street.

"Catch you around, honey!" Mr. Chemical-red dye job called from where he was still standing, hands shoved into his pockets. He gave her a wink, smirking again as she rolled her eyes in disgust. Loser probably thought he was being charming.

The doors slid shut with the requisite bing-bong of warning, and she let her shoulders slump, bringing her free hand up to pinch at the bridge of her nose. The off-yellow of the train car lights always gave her a terrible headache when she was tired. Dry ache just behind her eyes.

"What a fucking douchebag." She muttered to nobody in particular. She and Cloud were alone in the car, thankfully, and she hoped it would stay that way. She finally dropped her hand away, hooking her thumb in her belt loop. Glancing down, she found those unnatural blue eyes looking up at her. Confused again, like he couldn't understand what she was doing there.

"Is he following us?" He hissed, voice slurring. "That…guy."

"Who, that guy that was leering at me? You know him?" She leaned down a little, so they were eye-level "Were you in the Marines with him?"

"He was at the fire. Clean-up..."

"What, some kind of oil fire?" She'd read how there'd been fires on oil fields over in Iraq. Nasty stuff, could burn for days. "Over in Iraq?"

But as soon as the moment of clarity had come, it was gone just as fast, leaving him staring off to the side blankly, hands to his forehead. She just stared down at him for a long minute, before sighing, resting her head against her raised arm. She just hoped she wasn't making a mistake, dragging him home like this. For all she knew he could very well be just a crackhead, coming down off a bad high or something.

But it seemed… different than that. Drugs, yes. But like he'd been drugged, rather than just been taking drugs. He needed help.

Like she could do anything aside from get some pills and pray he wasn't going to stab them all in their sleep.

"Been a while, huh?" She muttered wryly, not expecting, and not receiving, any response. She reached out, brushing at the few pieces of hair that were long enough to flop down in his eyes. "Gonna have you all back to normal in no time."

The words fell hollowly from her lips, and they stayed like that for the duration of the ride, Tifa petting absently at his hair, Cloud just staring off into the darkness outside the subway car.


Welp, since the first chapter's out of the way, it should be smooth sailing from here on.