Cloud pushes through the saloon doors in a tight black vest, a bangle on his left shoulder, and baggy black pants, setting down a sheathed sword and a small leather bag against the wall. His signature spiky blonde hair is shorter than it used to be and he has a light 5 o' clock shadow. He has a bit more muscle on his arms, and that's pretty much all the aging he's done in seven years.
"Hey stranger," Tifa says to him, pointing an arm out at me, "this is Jason, your reporter guy."
Cloud's eyes don't follow her arm to me, they stay fixed on her. He walks toward her with a warm smile, his boots knocking on the wooden floor, and only when he realizes that I am in his way does he slow to a stop and turn to me, his smile melting into a look of casual indifference.
"Hi there," I hold out my hand again, "Jason Weed." Cloud stares at me for a moment and then shakes my hand.
"I'm Cloud," he says, "what's your weapon?"
"Hm?" I say, my hand dropping back to my side.
"What weapon do you use to get around?" Cloud asks.
"Oh, I carry a small pistol in my bag, but I try to avoid using it. I'm a writer, you know! The pen is mightier than the sword!" I say, and my chuckle dies in the resounding silence. Cloud just keeps that blank stare. Finally, he blinks.
"Yeah, I'm not much of a writer myself, but I get by I guess," Cloud steps past me and stops right in front of Tifa, who smirks up at him through her hair as Cloud puts a hand on her baby bump and holds it there. I can't see his face, just the glint of a small blue earring in his left earlobe, but I know he's looking right at her. After a long while he dips behind her into the bar and pulls a beer out of the fridge. He takes a bottle opener from the counter and works off the cap.
"Well I was just telling Tifa I could fix your pinball machine," I say.
"So what's your limit break?" Cloud asks, the cap ringing on the counter, "do you recite poetry until the enemy gets bored and leaves?"
"Cloud..." Tifa says.
I've been living with a bunch of miners in the middle of nowhere for a year, so this is actually pretty tame, but I can't keep the fake smile on my face. "Something like that," I say. Cloud tips the beer into his mouth.
"The pinball works," Cloud says, "Go ahead. Might take a second to figure out." Cloud walks outside. Tifa sighs and walks into the back. I turn to the pinball machine. Might as well enjoy this before that killjoy comes back. I flip on the machine and the floor shudders underneath me.
"Whoa," I say, "Hey!" Me and the pinball machine start sinking below the floor. It'll take a second to figure out... oh. I sink below the floor into the room underneath. There's a punching bag in the corner, a bunch of AVALANCHE propaganda, and tables and chairs cluttered with papers. This must have been their hideout back in the day, when they were trying to blow up all the Mako reactors. "Cool," I say. I take a small notepad and pen from my pockets and scribble down some detail about the place, adding in some notes about connectors I want to make with the story. I'm so busy writing I walk a haphazard loop around the room, and when I look up I'm staring at three wanted posters for the fallen AVALANCHE members: Biggs, Wedge, and Jessie. Right next to Jessie's poster, at the end, was my first big story for The Midgar Times.
"Shit," I turn away, dropping my notepad and pulling at my hair. The article was called "Terrorist Group Destroys Sector 7 Pillar." I fought tooth and nail to add in to the story that Biggs, Wedge, and Jessie, in their crazed state, had for some reason saved hundreds of civilians in the sector before dropping the plate on it, and now it was probably the best eulogy of the three that they had. I wrote that story when I was 19. I'm 27 now. Cloud must be 31. That's a long time for him to have made up his mind about who I am. How am I going to get him to talk to me now?
Miserable, I go back to the pinball machine and flip the switch, rising back into the bar. I grab my cigarettes out of my pack and stalk outside. Cloud is sitting on the porch to the left of the doors with his sword beside him against the wall, so I take a chair to the right and shakily light a cig. Cloud turns to me.
"My wife is pregnant," he says. I take the cigarette out of my mouth, turning to him.
"I thought she was in the back?" I say. Cloud stares at me through the little smoke curls.
"Do you expect her to stay inside for you?" he asks me. I fling the cigarette into the dirt off the porch. Cloud's eyes follow it, and with a turn of his hand and a pulse of green from his wrist, a small piece of earth shifts and buries the thing. A moment after, Tifa steps outside, throwing me a kind smile as she puts a hand on Cloud's shoulder. She walks off the porch and stops a few feet away, her hair glowing from the Christmas lights that have come on next door. It is nowhere near Christmas. She folds her hands behind her back, staring up at the "sky." Cloud gets up and walks over to her, fitting the sword onto his back. I wonder if he's uncomfortable without it. I am paid to observe. I am good at becoming invisible.
Tifa turns her head to Cloud, her brown eyes glittering from the artificial lights.
"Why do you have to be so mean to our new guest?" Tifa asks, a curious little smile on her face.
"Barrett isn't here," Cloud shrugs, looking away. Tifa keeps looking at him, and finally he turns back to her, his green eyes glittering from the extensive Mako poisoning he's suffered throughout his life.
"You two are going to be stuck together for awhile. It would be good to be stuck with someone who will actually want to protect you," Tifa whispers.
"I don't need protection," Cloud says. Tifa rolls her eyes. So do I. Every TV, radio, or print interview Cloud gave after saving the Planet involved him refusing some completely reasonable offer, followed by long moments of awkward silence.
"You promised to protect me, Mr. Strife," Tifa said, leaning even closer to him, "and nowadays, protecting me means protecting you, too." She plants a long, soft kiss on his lips, and turns to go inside. She notices me as she climbs the porch and drops her head, embarrassed, but brings it right back up in the same step, without breaking her stride. The porch light comes on in the coming darkness, illuminating Cloud alone as he stares out at Sector 7. Slowly, he removes the sword from its sheath. For a wild moment I think he's going to kill me, but instead he just pumps his fist a single time and swings the sword in a circle over his head.