Bossman Reeve

I passed Cloud on my way into work the next morning. He was standing out in front of the shop, talking on his phone. He smiled and waved at me, but his smile turned into a frown when he saw the bandages wrapped around my hand. He pointed, tilting his head in question and mouthing, 'What's that?' during a break in coversation, and I waved him off with a sheepish grin and mouthed back, 'Tell you later.' He nodded, though he didn't lose the look of concern he wore, and returned to what was, from the sound of things, not a personal call. I kept walking past him, into the store.

Cloud was as sweet as could be, with golden skin, sunbleached hair and a splash of freckles on his nose. He had a smile that could stop any girl dead in her tracks and unnaturally blue eyes. I met Cloud in college. He was studying for a degree in business, and I...well, I dropped out to become a full-time waitress when I moved out of my parent's house so that I could be with Reno. And here I was...working for him. See, I'd managed to keep in touch with him, because his girlfriend, Aerith, was also a waitress at the restaurant where I worked. When I had to quit my job there, Cloud was good enough to let me come and work for him. But Cloud was leaving; he got a job with the corporate office, and he no longer had to manage the store.

The store I speak of was a high-end clothing shop on the upper east side of Junon. We mostly attracted businessmen and the wealthy, but we also outfitted the staff of several renowned hotels and upscale dining bistros. But that wasn't really my scene.

No sooner had I busied myself with straightening the shoe displays and skimming the racks for damaged merchandise (I did anything I could to keep myself busy in those days), when I heard the office door click shut behind me. I turned around to see Vincent carrying a large and heavy-looking box in his hands and a list in his mouth, walking around the sales counter to set both items on the floor behind it. I rose from where I'd been kneeling on the floor, admiring the watches in their glass cases, and made my way over to him.

"What's all this?" I asked, pointing to the box with the papers on top.

"These," he said, pulling a pen from the pocket of his dress slacks and handing it to me, "need to be counted and tagged. The list is for inventory."

"Yay, inventory," I said with mock enthusiasm, twirling a finger in the air as I accepted the pen.

He flashed me a smile. "That's a good girl." Then, he hesitated mid-turn, as if he wasn't sure about something, and stopped. "...What happened to your hand?"

"Oh, this?" I said, gesturing to my arm and then placing it behind my back, before he could get a closer look. "I was fixing dinner last night, and I slipped and cut myself. It's not a big deal," I tried to assure him, laughing it off.

Vincent frowned, unconvinced, but he didn't press the matter any further. He just let me go with the usual "Hmm," before disappearing into the office again. I should have known better than to try and fool him anyway; Vincent had an uncanny sixth sense about those he knew, and everyone knew I didn't fix dinner anymore anyways, because I'd complained more than a few times about coming home to an empty house. The most personal details of my problems with Reno I didn't share with anyone else, but it was no secret that we were falling apart.

Vincent acted as our assistant manager and receiving manager, which was just as well, because he seemed like he belonged there. Vincent was perfectly groomed, physically and socially, with his perfect black hair tied back into a perfect black ponytail, his perfect white unblemished skin, his smooth and uncalloused hands and his most charming personality. He was elegant and classy like the clothing he sold, and he carried himself with such an air of dignity that his presence commanded attention. On top of that, he was a great listener; he knew things about some of us that we didn't even know ourselves. Maybe that's why his girlfriend was always so damn paranoid...but I'll get to her later.

About a year back, Vincent was up for a position as head manager at another store a couple of towns over, but he didn't want to move, and he didn't want to commute, so he turned the promotion down. He'd been at the shop ever since I'd started working there, and I was honestly glad he'd stayed. I guess that was the one good thing, or the one thing that wasn't bad, about Cloud leaving; I already knew Vincent, and we got along pretty well, so I didn't really mind the idea of him being in charge of things. That, and I knew my job would be secure with him.

"Awww...why?"

I was cut short from trying to determine whether or not Vincent knew what was going on with me by the tired whine of my co-worker, followed by the heavy thud of her backpack on the floor. Yuffie trudged over to the box and flopped down next to it, grabbing her set of keys from her pack before settling into a cross-legged position and ripping the tape away with the jangling metal. I ducked down next to her and examined the list, keeping my other arm as naturally useless and hidden as possible.

"You know," she said, tearing the cardboard open and holding up one of the men's dress shirts, "I hate retail."

I smiled, watching her rummage around for the pricing gun. "Tell me about it. I used to clear twenty gil an hour on tips alone."

Yuffie looked up at me, dumbfounded. "Why the hell did you quit?"

Honestly? I quit because I couldn't stand being stuck in the weeds and not knowing when I'd see Reno again. There was too much going on at once, and I felt completely powerless to do anything about it. I couldn't even stop to make a phone call, I got so busy. And half the time I could catch a breather, I couldn't get in touch with him anyways. I thought about it for a minute. "I guess I wanted to free up my nights."

Yuffie grinned at me, thinking she understood. "Oh, man. Me too. I just love the nightlife. Can you imagine being stuck here when the clubs open?"

I laughed falsely, only half listening to what she was saying. I didn't love the nightlife at all; I hated it and its women for stealing my boyfriend away. And if I hadn't known Yuffie better than that, I'd probably hate her too.

Oh, but I was becoming too bitter for my own good!

It was no sooner than Yuffie had located the gun and I began perusing the list, when Cloud walked through the front doors, pocketing his phone. He grinned at the both of us and half-sat on the counter, balancing with one leg on the floor. "Hey, ladies. The van's here, and I think Vincent could use your help."

"Uh...yeah." Yuffie nodded and headed toward the back without her usual moaning; Cloud wasn't the type to be taken in by that (not without dishing out some unwanted optimism and encouragement while trying to put things in perspective), and he was too nice to gripe at in any case. I went to follow her, but felt a hand fall lightly on my shoulder.

"...Tifa, can I talk to you for a second?"

I turned and reluctantly nodded, already knowing what it was about. I called an, "I'll be right behind you," over my shoulder to Yuffie, but she was already gone, so I casually leaned one side against the counter in preparation for his question.

Cloud tilted his head in that damned brotherly way of his, his brow creased with concern. "What happened to your hand?"

I held up my arm, glancing at it and then pushing the matter aside. Best to stick with my original story, no matter how ridiculously obvious it was that it was a lie. Should Cloud mention to Vincent that he was worried about me, I didn't want Vincent making the subtle suggestion that he didn't believe my story and Cloud not knowing what he was talking about. Then they'd know for sure that I was covering something up. "I was deboning a chicken. My knife slipped." I shrugged, shoving my hopes that he wouldn't see right through me down to the pit of my stomach. "Butterfingers."

His eyes followed my arm to where my hand came to rest on the counter, ignoring the faulty smile I wore. His voice was soft and resigned when he spoke next, and I could tell he wasn't convinced when he said, "I see. You should be more careful. Those chickens are tricky, you know, slippery bones and all."

I nodded anyways. "So...I should go help unload the van, I guess."

"Yeah, you can go," he said, but he stopped me again when I turned to leave. "Tifa?"

I twirled around on one foot, a bit too quickly, and I had to catch my balance with the other. "Mm-hmm?"

He was wearing that worried look again, and it made me feel guilty for putting it there. "...You know you can talk to me, right?"

I brightened a bit, another attempt to throw him off. "Yep."

"Ok," he said, running his hand through his hair and looking over the list I'd set down on the counter before returning his eyes to me. "That's all, then. I won't keep you."

I turned tail and headed toward the back office, not stopping to say anything else to him. I didn't want to tell Cloud exactly how upset I was, not after all he'd done for me already. I wasn't his problem, and I didn't want anyone worrying over me. Besides, I was still holding out hope that maybe Reno and I could work through our problems (I did still love him, no matter how miserable he sometimes made me), and I didn't want to deal with the complicated after-effects of badmouthing him to my co-workers every time we went through a rough patch. If I ever decided I wanted things to work, I didn't need everyone else thinking they knew what was best for me because I'd given them my side of the story alone. They didn't even know him.

And I knew Cloud would later ask Aerith if I'd told her anything. And he knew that I knew. I could just feel it in the air; everyone knew that something was wrong at home. Gossip was just another part of human nature, and I'd learned to keep the bigger things - those things which by saying had the potential to take me in directions I couldn't backtrack - to myself.

I made my way around the boxes littering the floor of Vincent's office to the hallway beyond. To my left side there was a staircase leading up to the head office, where the safe was kept, and ahead lay the back exit, propped open with a broken chair, where Cid usually parked the van. It was next to the trash bin, which was convenient when we were casting away used boxes.

Vincent passed me, two of the large boxes stacked in his arms. When I reached the back of the van, Cid was readying a box for Yuffie, and he greeted me in his cheery, surly voice. "Hey, Lockheart! How you doin'?"

Cid reminded me of an older, rougher version of Cloud (if he'd aged ten years in three years' worth of time), with his platinum hair and thick hide. He wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty, and though he had a mouth like a sailor, he didn't use it to complain, even when he knew he deserved better. He loved to party as much as Yuffie, but he had the soul of a much older man, always ready with advice, but only when asked for it.

Cid was also one of the smartest people I'd ever met. He had a degree in mechanical engineering, and he'd designed a few of the bigger projects that could be seen hovering over or sailing through the busy port. He was currently taking it easy, milking the revenue he got from other companies' adaptations. Cid had once expressed a disdain for working under anyone else if he could help it, but he also didn't like having nothing to do while he was stuck in the middle of a project. He got his job with the store by personal favor (I think he went to college with Vincent's girlfriend). I thought that was just as well, because he seemed the independent type, and if he couldn't enjoy the vacation, his spirit wouldn't break as long as he was in good company.

"I'm fine, Cid. How are you?"

"Just peachy!" He grinned around the still unlit cigarette that hung limply from the corner of his mouth. "The sun's shinin', an' there's a nice breeze comin' off the water. Can you smell that?"

"...Fish?" I teased.

"Salt air, Tifa! An' you know what?" he said, hefting the box into Yuffie's waiting arms, "It don't cost a thing."

As Yuffie rounded my still form and made her way back into the building, I heard Cloud's voice over my shoulder. I jumped, startled at the unexpected volume, but he didn't seem to notice. His attention was trained on Cid.

"When you're done here, do you think you could stick around for a bit? I want you to meet the new guy."

Cid grinned back at him. "Do I have to act like a phony?"

"No," Cloud answered, laughing. "He seems pretty cool, actually. I had lunch with him the other day while we went over some things. He's personable, but professional, if you know what I mean. I think he's a stickler for rules, but in that awkward, goody-goody way." He made some gestures with his hands, as if that would help Cid understand what he was getting at.

"Not a prick, though?"

Cloud smiled, and shook his head. "Not a prick."

"Good."

"I'll see you inside, then," he finished, and walked back toward the staircase.

Before I could react, I felt the weight of a cardboard box being pressed against my chest. I snapped back to reality just in time to ask, "...New guy?"

"Yeah," Cid said, rubbing the back of his tanned neck with a gloved hand. "Cloud's leaving, and this is the guy who's gonna take his place."

"What?" I jumped again at the sound of Yuffie's shrill outburst behind me. She put one hand up in what I assumed to be a useless effort to stop time as she came to stand next to me, and we both faced Cid with our own particular brand of confusion. "I thought Vincent was supposed to get that job!"

"Guess not." Cid shrugged. "Though he doesn't seem too upset by it. I would be, though. He has to train him an' everything."

"That doesn't seem right at all," I said, turning back to the store.

"Hey," he called after me. "Don't say anything, all right? Today might be rough for both of 'em, and neither one of 'em needs the trouble. Got me?"

"Yeah, I got you." I walked back into the office, where Vincent was scribbling something on a notepad. He had his phone cradled between his chin and shoulder, and I wouldn't have bothered him anyway. There was so much to be done before opening, and Vincent didn't like to talk when he was busy, unless he was doing something menial and mindless. I set the box down silently and went back outside.

When I returned to the rear parking lot, Yuffie was sitting cross-legged in the back of the van, and Cid was leaning against the open door. They were already engaged in a conversation, but they stopped as soon as they saw me approaching. I didn't know what it was all about, so I settled for the last thing we'd shared.

"So...when is this guy coming?"

"Before opening, I'm sure," Cid said. "It'd make sense to get started before he had to deal with the public. And it'll give him time to get used to us." He pulled one foot up behind him in a stretch, then the other, and I heard the second of his knees pop. "Besides, I know Cloud wouldn't keep me waiting that long." Then he paused, just as he was beginning to crack his knuckles. "Hey. What happened to your hand?"

"Oh, boy." I rolled my eyes. "If anyone else asks me that, I'm going to..."

"How come I never noticed that?" Yuffie asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know, but it's not important." I pointed to the two boxes sitting on the ground in front of them. "Is that all?"

"Yeah," she said. "I'll get one, you get the other."

"No, no," Cid interjected. "I'll get the boxes. You ladies go on."

Yuffie smiled in response. "All right. We'll meet you inside."

I waited for her to catch up to me before leaving. Cid was kind enough to help her out of the back of the van and onto the ground, but I didn't miss the way he guided her away from the doors he was about to shut with his hand at the small of her back, or the way the action seemed a bit softer than I would have expected from him. For all I knew, it could have been my imagination, but it was then that I began to suspect that Yuffie had a few secrets of her own. I knew the world didn't revolve around me, but I still thought it was strange that she was the one person who didn't notice my bandaged knuckles and wrist, when she was always observant and curious in the past until just recently. After witnessing the subtle exchange, I assumed her mind must have been elsewhere the entire time. Come to think of it, her mood was considerably different whenever he was around...

Vincent was reclined in his chair when we walked in, holding a packet of papers in his hand and flipping through them. Yuffie shot me a look of both sympathy and contempt, and then, as if he had sensed a disturbance in the air and without looking up from his papers, he asked, "Did you need something?"

"No," I reassured him, though he didn't seem too worked up about it. It occurred to me that he'd probably heard our entire conversation from his desk. "We're just passing through."

I ushered Yuffie out of the office, and we returned to our places behind the counter. "This sucks," she said. "Why would they do that?"

"I don't know." I picked up my list and started for the rack nearest the door so I could forget discussion for a while. When I walked in that morning, I had wanted anything to keep my mind off of what was going on at home, but it seemed that my workplace was quickly filling my drama quota for the day, and I had no desire to add that to my repertoire.

Soon I noticed Yuffie getting restless at the counter, the repetitive movements of the gun in her hand becoming too much for her as she slung garments from left to right again and again. I sensed an imminent shouting from across the room, so I attempted to sneak my way into the side room where we kept the shoes (skipping ahead couldn't hurt in this case), but I was interrupted by the soft bell at the front door chiming as it shut behind our newest visitor.

He was the kind of man who looked like he belonged in a place like ours, but he didn't have that hurried pace or that condescending appraisal I'd gotten so used to. He was well-dressed in his silk shirt and dress slacks, with that shiny clip that kept his tie from blowing about (ties are completely without function, if you ask me), and that trench coat with the scarf hung loosely over the back of his neck. His attire made me think of Vincent for a moment, but he carried a sense of approachability that Vincent only had when he had run out of things to do and we could get him to sit still for a moment. Sure, Vince was kind in his own right, but I'd never interrupt him in the middle of something.

No, this man stood his ground for a moment before slowly stepping forward, taking everything in, like he was...warming up to the place. I realized that this must have been the new manager they were talking about earlier. He was the one who was going to change everything.

"We're closed," I heard Yuffie say. I saw him walk steadily over to her, and if not for the quickening in his pace, it would have seemed like he hadn't even heard her. He held out his hand in greeting, and she eyed it warily until he spoke.

"Hi, I'm Reeve Tuesti. I believe I'm here for a meeting?" His voice was smooth and seamless, and it almost sounded as if he were singing the words. There was a depth and a warmth projected in his tone that in and of themselves could have won over the most untrusting person. He spoke clearly and confidently; he had a voice suited for television or radio, and I imagined he had a wealth of social skills.

Yuffie tilted her head, and then I saw the moment when her brain began to kick in. "Oh! Uh..." She stumbled for her words as she took his hand. "They're waiting for you, in the back...I think." She took her hand back and stepped out from around the counter. "Um, maybe I should go and tell them you're here. I don't know if they're ready or what."

"Thank you very much," he replied. "And you are?"

"I'm Yuffie," she said, recovering slightly. "...Sorry about that."

He laughed, a sincere and jovial ring. "It's nice to meet you. And it's not a problem. I'll be waiting here."

She hurried to the back of the store, flashing me wide and embarrassed eyes. I watched as he scanned the room with obvious interest, and before I knew it, his gaze had landed on me. Well, naturally. I was in the room after all, wasn't I? And I'd been caught watching him.

I must have appeared curious or expectant, because he wasted no time in making his way toward me, hand outstretched. "Hi," he said, now close enough that I could see his smile. "Reeve Tuesti."

I took his hand, flustered, but unable to help the smile his easy-going nature had elicited from me. Already I had forgotten about my problems, serious as they were. His smile was genuine, I could tell from the eager gleam in his eyes, and his hands were firm and warm despite the recent cold front, like he'd been holding them in his pockets for the last half hour. "Tifa Lockheart."

His smile faded slightly when his eyes found the source of the friction in his grip. "Did you hurt yourself?" he asked, turning my hand over in his to examine the bandages before releasing me.

My bitterness instantly returned to me, washing over me like painfully slow waves carrying me out to sea, and I said the first thing I could think of. "No, I just like them."

The reply had come out more biting that I would have liked, but to my surprise he just laughed it off with another one of his melodic, throaty chuckles. "I suppose it was a silly thing of me to ask. But you're all right now, I'm guessing?"

His brown eyes were strangely bright, bursting full and burning through me. His gaze was more intense than Vincent's when he was searching for something, yet kinder than Cloud's, and older, wiser than Cid's, but without the wear and tear.

I just met you.

I blinked. "I'm...fine."

"Well, that's good to hear, Tifa. It seems that we'll be working together from now on." His smile returned, framed by his neatly trimmed beard. Gods, but there wasn't one stray hair to be found on his face.

I searched for something to say, but the back door opened and Vincent emerged, looking every bit the professional as he offerred his hand to this new man. Reeve took his hand, and Vincent nodded to him. "Mr. Tuesti."

"Mr. Valentine," Reeve responded in kind, the corners of his eyes crinkling a bit and his smile never faltering. "Call me Reeve. It's a needless formality, don't you think?"

Vincent's eyes narrowed and his mouth softened, something I learned he did when he was considering something or someone. "Very well, then. I-"

"Reeve." Cloud came jogging out of the back room and slowed near Vincent's elbow, offering his hand out to the man with the same eagerness I'd seen Mr. Tuesti show before. "It's nice to see you again."

"It's nice to see you too, Cloud. How have you been?"

"Oh, you know. A little of this, a little of that." Cloud ran his hand through his hair like he usually did when he was at a loss for words. "If you'll just come with me, we can get started. I've got a couple of things to run by you, but you'll be spending most of the morning with Vincent." Cloud nodded toward the taller man, and I saw Yuffie slip back into the room with Cid in tow.

"Well, I guess we should get started then," Reeve said, turning to me and flashing another winning smile. "It was nice meeting you, Tifa."

"Same to you," I said lamely, "Mr. Tuesti."

"Haven't you been listening?" he said, unable to hide the humor in his voice. "You can call me Reeve, you know."

I nodded numbly. "...Sure."

He smiled at me again before following Cloud and Vincent to the office. Cloud intercepted Cid on the way, and Yuffie slipped out of the crowd unnoticed by all but myself, and perhaps Cid. "Cid Highwind," I heard his gruff voice say. "Nice to meet yeh'."

The four men went to the back to talk, while I stood there, dumbfounded by what had taken place. That man...

Yuffie scurried over to my side, animated as ever.

Reeve was...

"Oh my gawd, Tifa. Did you see that man?"

Was...

"Hot damn."

I blinked again. "...We should get back to work."

"Oh, you're no fun," Yuffie said. "Fine. But can we switch?"

"Yeah, I guess so." My concentration was worn down to a tiny nub anyways.

By the time we made our way back to the sales desk, Cid was already hobbling out of the office. "They made you stay for that?" Yuffie asked. "You weren't even in there for five minutes!"

Cid shrugged. "They've got business, I guess." He pulled the cigarette from its resting place behind his ear and twirled it absently between his fingers. "High-maintenance, if you ask me."

As he set up camp, leaning against the counter, Yuffie grabbed the pricing gun from my hands and returned to her original, mindless job without further question. "I didn't notice."

AN: 11/03/2006, Thanks to Motchi and Bleuwyn for their fantastic beta. I hope I did well with Reeve's character. He doesn't get a lot of love, and I hope I did him justice. There will be a lot of plot development later on down the line, and all the characters will fall into their specific roles as we go along. Man, I'm having so much fun.

Reviews are love :)