A/N: Now for something completely different! This isn't my favourite couple (It's not even a crossover, it's barely crack at all!) but I do have a soft spot for them when written well. Here are my own meagre efforts.

Tifa didn't know how it had started. She wasn't even sure when it had started. At first he had been just another customer at her bar, but now he was something else. Something that had her smiling softly when she thought no one was looking, that had her spontaneously investigating the nicer clothes in the back of her wardrobe.

The first night he had appeared at Seventh Heaven she hadn't recognized him. He had sat at a table in the corner and mulled over a glass of Banora White wine, drawing very little attention to himself. The auburn hair did nudge at something in her memory but she had other customers demanding her attention and there was no time to sort through old recollections. He was drinking one of the most expensive liquors she had in stock and wasn't causing any trouble so she was content to let him be.

He came back on occasion. She could never predict when, but he always ordered the same glass of wine and sat alone for a few hours. When his drink was delivered he would raise a silent toast, to whom or what she couldn't say. She could guess though.

It wasn't uncommon these days, after all the disasters, to see people on their own. The survivors, remembering those who were gone.

Meteor. Geostigma. Deep Ground.

So much had been lost. The world was in tatters and few knew what to make of the remaining pieces. She saw it so very often in her steady stream of customer, people looking back and wondering how it all fell apart so spectacularly. Once she could have even been numbered amoungst them. For more time than she was happy to admit she had fretted and regretted while Cloud entered and left her life with such frequency that she ought to have installing a revolving door.

In the end it had taken Cid to shake her out of her stupor. He had been stopping by at the same time that Cloud left on another of his soul searching pilgrimages. He watched her stare mournfully at the departing blonde and asked with all the tenderness of a dear friend: "Tifa, what the hell are you doing?"

Cid's candid question pulled her up short. In response she did a little soul searching of her own.

After that, life began anew for her, even if it was still the same by all appearances. She still worked her bar and provided a ready ear for all her friends but there was no more moping, no more looking back with the doleful eyes of a victim. She had a life to live and it was about time she started doing just that. She told Cloud he was welcome to tag along if he so wished.

As it turned out, he did not.

Her bar had thrived all the more after that. The red headed man she almost remembered but didn't quite, became an irregular regular. One Saturday night when Seventh Heaven was at its busiest, he came but couldn't have an entire table to himself and instead sat at the bar. She smiled, made idle conversation, and served him his drink. He smiled back and thanked her in a lightly accented voice. Then she noticed that his eyes glowed.

It wasn't a trick of the light. They were a vibrant blue with an inner glow she was far too familiar with.

Mako.

Of course, she didn't react as violently as many would have. She just continued wiping the bar and serving drinks. She didn't stare or cause a fuss. Given his cautious look she suspected he had noticed her double take.

After Deepground there were a lot of people with mako poisoning. Most of them had been trapped within the hidden labs; people were afraid and blamed them for the crisis. Tifa however knew what it was like to lose yourself within mako and not know how to find your way back. Clouds blank stare as he sat in a wheel chair in Mideel was an image she would never forget.

This man clearly wasn't so crippled. He sat straight and tall, despite the telling shadow of grief in his eyes. Naturally vivid red hair fell to just above his eyes and he wore a non-descript brown leather coat that had seen better days.

He might have been gotten his mako years ago in a freak accident. It could be totally innocent. Or he could even have been a SOLDIER, now alone in a world that had so quickly turned on them. After Sephiroth and Meteor the public had demonized everyone who had ever so much as looked in Shinra's direction. She couldn't blame them; she had done the same once. It made it so much more difficult for those who had been wrapped up with the Mega Corporation. Even Cloud, who was lauded with saving the world by so many, was still sneered at for his glowing eyes.

Hers was one of the few bars in town that served ex Shinra employees without causing a fuss. It wasn't something she advertised but it was understood. They had made mistakes, everyone had, but now it was time to rebuild. Providing a safe place to drink and to forget, or to remember, was Tifa's rebuilding effort.

So as the red headed man with the glowing eyes looked at her expectantly, waiting for her outrage and horror, she smiled softly and topped up his glass.

"On the house." she said quietly before moving on. Everybody needed somewhere to relax.

Later, when the evening was winding down and most customers had either gone home or fallen into blissful numbness, he remained.

She'd almost forgotten he was there. He only ordered two drinks and then retreated into his own private world. It had been a busy evening and she was nearly run off her feet filling orders. She was collecting glasses and feeding racks of the dirty ones into the sterilizer when she noticed him still sitting quietly at the bar, his eyes idly following her.

It wasn't the leering stare of a drunk who had forgotten how dangerous she was, or the love-struck gaze that was common near the end of the evening.

"Do you know who I am?" He asked softly, something curious in his eyes.

She dragged a rack of filthy, beer stained glasses from atop the bar into the sterilizer below. Stretching slightly to ease the strain from the work, she gave him a once over. The red hair nudged faintly at an old memory, but it skittered away before she could grasp it. She couldn't give a name to the man before her but she felt that once she might have.

"I've seen you before… somewhere. I don't know your name." she said finally.

He gave a small smile and looked down at the polished bar before him. His expression was ever so slightly bitter but it held an edge of relief.

"The world appears to have forgotten." He said, looking up at her again. "I find myself envious."

"Who are you?"

"Today? Today I am nobody." He replied, resignation in his eyes. "And today, I am content with that." He held up his glass, verging on empty, in a mock toast.

She gave a slightly worn smile and held up a dirty glass with the last of someone else's beer in it.

"Me too." She said, meeting his toast. Once it would have hurt. Today she smiled. He drained his glass with a wince. She put her dirty glass in an empty rack.

"A woman as beautiful as yourself could never be nobody." He said, lowering his glass and idly watching for her reaction.

"Charmer." She replied with a dry smile, taking the glass and placing it with the others. "If looks were all that mattered neither of us would have any problems."

That earned her a dry chuckle.

He returned on occasion. Weeks passed and sometimes he would stay as the evening wore on and then share a silent toast with her, his glass nearly empty and hers borrowed. Some weeks he didn't come at all.

One evening there was a storm, far stronger than most that hit Edge and Tifa was considering closing early. There were very few customers. Anyone with sense would be at home, curled up in front of the fireplace. The wind was roaring outside, the rain falling hard and fast and sporadic bursts of lightning illuminated the darkness. The building groaned and she knew her two adopted kids upstairs would be hiding under their blankets.

Then the unnamed man arrived, his red hair darkened by the rain. She leaned back against the bar and watched him attempt to dry himself off.

"You're brave, to come out in this weather. It's going to be miserable tonight." She said when he had deposited himself in a barstool, like the most dignified of bedraggled rats.

"True, but I would much rather be miserable here then miserable by myself." He said, trying to flick the rainwater from his hair. Mako enhancements meant he would be less affected by the cold but the wet seemed to be irritating him enough to make up for it.

"Misery does love company." She said, reaching up for the bottle of his usual. "But in my bar, maybe you'll leave a little of it behind."

"Wouldn't that be nice." He said with a sigh. She recognized the sound; it was the sigh of someone miring in depressed philosophy. Vincent was especially good at it.

"Some pains will hound you no matter where you sit." He murmured.

"Only if you let them." She said quietly.

He looked up at her with an unusually honest expression. Regret.

"No amount of wishful thinking can fix some things." He replied sombrely.

"True." She said with a sad smile. "But then wishful thinking never fixed anything anyway."

"Perhaps not, but it can be a great comfort." He said, bitter amusement in his eyes.

"Sure, as comforting as a stiff drink. Sooner or later you get to the bottom of the glass." She said while pouring his. She couldn't help but speak in alcohol metaphors and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'm a bartender." She said with a shrug. "It's my job to give sage advice."

He accepted that truth with a tilt of his head. Pseudo philosophy was part of the service.

The night wore on, few others coming in, so she stayed and they spoke quietly together. It was tame conversation, neither personal nor daring, but a comfort nonetheless. He was composed and opinionated, despite saying little. She had the strangest feeling that he might be harbouring a vivacious and dramatic side beneath his downtrodden persona and she was curious to find it. For his part he listened intently to her and seemed to revel in conversing freely.

She hadn't expected to spend half the evening discussing theatre, or to find herself so interested in the subject.

Later, when his glass was nearly empty and it was becoming increasingly obvious that storm wasn't going to abate he rose to leave. Everybody else was already gone and Tifa had nearly run out of things to clean.

He was almost at the door when she called out to him.

"You aren't nobody, you know."

He turned his head to look at her, his brow furrowed for a second as recalled the conversation from weeks ago. She was leaning against the bar with a broom propped up against her shoulder. She didn't know what had made her speak, but it felt important.

"Who am I then?" He asked, mako eyes glowing with intensity.

She could hardly know the answer to that question if he didn't. It was a familiar refrain though.

"That's up to you." She said with a shrug. She'd figured out who she was and who she wanted to be, she could only hope that he would do that same.

"And who are you?" He said, turning fully back to her.

"I'm Tifa." She said with a full smile. "Tifa Lockheart."

"It's been a pleasure, Tifa." He said, giving her a low bow.

"Why are you here?" He asked her nearly a month later.

"Well, I do own the place." She replied smiling as she wiped down the bar, the dishcloth obliterating spills mercilessly.

He was here during the daytime, something that had just recently become a more regular occurrence. He had even broken tradition and ordered food instead of just inordinately expensive wine. He still sat tall and straight, as though expecting to be called to attention, while dining on disposable bar food. The edge of regret and resignation never left his eyes, but he smiled at her and kept coming back.

It had not escaped her attention that his hair caught the sun magnificently and his glowing eyes complimented the look. She didn't know if she should be excited or scared. Glowing eyes and remarkable hair had never ended well for her before.

She didn't even know his name.

"Why are you in Edge," He pressed, "Running a bar for the miserable? Looking after orphans?" Marlene and Denzel were frequently seen in the bar during the day. Sometimes they even did homework while sitting in the booths.

"Somebody ought to do it." She said, focusing on a particularly stubborn stain on the varnish.

"So it's duty?" He asked with lifted chin.

"No." She replied haltingly, pausing in her cleaning. Duty wasn't the word for the things she did. "I don't have to. Nobody even asked me to." Well, Barret did some days, but that wasn't the point.

"Then why bother?" He looked at her like she was a puzzle.

"Because somebody should. And it's a pleasure to do something that benefits others."

He gave her a very sceptical look.

"You don't believe me!" She exclaimed in mock outrage, her hands on her hips.

"I don't see how humouring lowlifes could possibly be pleasurable." He said, flicking his hair in disdain.

"I would hardly call you a lowlife." She replied sweetly.

"Perhaps that's ignorance speaking." He replied dryly. "Regardless, it sounds exhausting."

"It is tiring. It's very hard work." She leaned sideways to rest her elbow on the bar and felt her back stretch painfully. "But it's nowhere near as exhausting as sulking and nursing dead dreams." She said, watching him and wondering how he'd react.

"You hide a whip-like tongue beneath that disarming smile." He said, his piercing eyes and wry smile amused at her nerve. "And I am not sulking."

"Who said I was talking about you?" She said.

"You're a bar tender. Isn't it your job to give sage advice?"

"Advice gleaned from hard won experience." She said, wringing out the cloth and setting it aside. The bar was spotless. "It was a long road to this bar."

"Then I am glad you made it." He said with a fond smile. "You are a brighter light then Edge deserves."

She definitely needed to know his name. And his phone number.

Why was it only the troubled ones ever caught her eye?

"You're a kick boxer?" He asked with a raised brow one day. One of the other patrons had forgotten his manners as she walked past and let his hands wander.

Tifa did not put up with such behaviour. The impolite patron and his two friends, construction workers going by the uniforms they still wore, had been immediately shown the error of their ways. Now they were outside, two of them nursing black eyes and the third sitting on the cold ground and wondering how he had gotten there.

The red headed man looked at her with curiosity and renewed interest.

"Close." She said, rolling her shoulders to release the tension. "Zangan style martial arts."

"That's not close at all." He said, giving her a far more thorough perusal that she most definitely didn't blush under. "Your style is far more advanced and far more difficult to master."

"True." She agreed mildly, it was far more complicated than kick boxing. "But I like to let people think it's about the same."

He chuckled.

"You must be quite the deadly surprise on the battlefield, Tifa." He said with an appreciative smile.

"Shh! Don't tell anyone." She said with a stage whisper and a wink. He rolled his eyes.

"And of course you're a swordsman." She said idly, leaning against the bar and looking sideways at him. He froze for a moment and then looked at her almost sharply.

"'Of course'?" He questioned, his voice carefully neutral.

"Your hands." She replied, nodding at where he had them interlocked on the bar. He usually wore gloves but today the hardened digits and scarred knuckles of a swordsman were visible. He looked at them as though they had betrayed him somehow.

"Perhaps I wield a spear." He offered loftily.

"Not with those calluses you don't." she replied lightly. "Or with your physique."

His careful neutrality dissolved into something very pleased.

"You're very observant, Tifa." He drawled, his piercing eyes glinting at her with amusement.

She felt a blush start to creep up her neck as she realised what she'd said. It wasn't particularly outrageous, oh but he made it sound sinfully decadent.

"Oh, you know exactly what I meant." She said, her smile becoming a bit more self-conscious.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of Tifa. I don't blame you for observing my body." He continued with his smile sly and self-satisfied at her blush.

She barely refrained from dropping her head into her hands. Since when was she so hopeless at flirting? Dammit, she wasn't a teenager blushing in front of a first crush; she wasn't going to be reduced to a stuttering mess just because his eyes and voice were a wicked combination that had just blind sided her.

Finally taking mercy on her he relented and changed the subject.

"How did you come to learn Zangan style?" He enquired, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands and watching her thoughtfully. "It isn't widely taught in civilian or even military sectors."

That subject was hardly more comfortable for her, but he couldn't have known that.

"Master Zangan lived in my village when I was a child." She said softly. "I asked him to teach me to fight because there were wolves and sometimes even dragon attacks in the area."

"..no matter where the winds may blow…" He said absently, looking away for a moment. She didn't know what it meant but the words were oddly familiar. In the same way that he was familiar. She stood up straighter, looking at him anew.

"And where was that? Your home town?" He asked cautiously, snapping back into the present. He watched her now with a pinning gaze that bordered on disconcerting. "There aren't many places with both wolves and dragons."

"Nowhere interesting." She replied, her smile half-hearted.

She knew this man. It wasn't a maybe. She definitely recognized him. The only question was how?

A/N: There's only one chapter left to go, this won't be a long story. Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated.

Next Time: The Past and how to deal with it. Also, more fluff.