A/N: Sorry for the repost; part of the chapter was writen out twice. It should be good now!

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THE STARS WE DREAMED OF

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4

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Shinra Tower looms at the centre of the city. It's menacing and immense, a constant reminder they are being monitored. It can be seen from anywhere and everywhere in Midgard. Tifa watches the Tower's Sector 2 entrance through its reflection in a store's window. According to Jesse, Heidegger leaves at 8 PM and walks home. She glances at one of the flashing billboards to see the time: 7:57 PM. She arrived 5 minutes ago. Right on time.

Sector 2, Tifa thinks, is a different world. The first thing she'd noticed on her original visit here was the carelessness. People weren't cautious; they were out in masses at night, partying, dining, shopping. The officers were everywhere but didn't do random checks as long as you fit the décor. Then, she'd taken in the place itself. Neon adverts are scarce Instead, the buildings are colourful and architecturally artistic; the rare trees and flowers line the streets.

Tifa hates it. She's also somewhat jealous of the residents, though she'd never admit it aloud.

The clock hits 8 PM. She moves on to another store at an angle from the Tower's entrance and continues her pretend window-shopping. A second later, she spots him. Heidegger is tall and powerfully built, recognizable by his bushy black beard, strong eyebrows and constant frown. His briefcase looks ridiculously tiny in his hand, and he's talking on the phone. Tifa pouts. Having him distracted makes her job easier, but it also takes away from the challenge.

He moves, joining the throng in the pedestrian-only street. Tifa smoothly takes her place amongst the dozens of people, following the crowd's movement. There's a good distance between them, but his height makes keeping up with him child's play. Still, she stays on her toes, surveying the surroundings.

That's how she makes out the soldiers encircling the crowd. It's not obvious, not at first. They come streaming from the side streets, casual in their pace. She's been tailing Heidegger—no longer on his phone—for a while now. They've moved on to a wide street with restaurants and cafes. There are fewer people in this area and it makes Tifa nervous though she doesn't show it. For an instant, she's afraid they're here for her. It's irrational, and she tells herself to calm down. She didn't give herself away, her ID and record are perfect, her ability is under control. A relieved sigh escapes her as the soldiers converge on the left side of the street, away from her and towards a parked car and the two men next to it. There's nothing special about them. They're dressed impeccably, the picture-perfect Midgard wealthy businessmen.

The soldiers break into a run, heading for them. They bump into people, jostling the crowd, and everyone stops moving as if ordered. The whistle is heard despite all the city's cacophony.

It's a raid.

Heidegger comes to a halt. So does Tifa a few meters behind him. Everyone turns to look at the scene, and Tifa goes along with the cues. She doesn't want to see this, she really fucking doesn't want to, but she can't get singled out because she's ignoring the scene.

For a minute, it's complete chaos. Soldiers push away the eager crowd, forming a circle around the two men, now kneeling on the sidewalk with their hands behind their heads. Tifa sees their mouths move, their panicked expressions, but there's too much noise to understand what they're saying. But she knows the script and can fill in the blanks. You have the wrong people, please check our IDs, we're innocent. Any Carrier would know.

Tifa spots one of the two men twist his head. Following his line of sight brings her to a car near the larger part of the soldiers—and oh shit, she cannot stay where she is, she's too exposed. She backs up, but her back hits a wall. Damn it.

The car blows up a second later.

Tifa throws herself on the ground. She senses the pieces flying overhead, hears the mixture of horrified and pained screams, feels the heat of the fire. Another explosion, further down the street. That's when she sees the car less than a meter from her, still intact but who knows for how long? She gets up on all fours, crawling away into the doorway of a store. Her heart is threatening to burst. The shelter from the doorway is minimal, but it lets her even out her panic and allows her to glance around.

Most people are on the ground, afraid, wounded, dead—it's hard to tell. There are barely any soldiers left. The two men are standing, uninjured. A slight shimmer in the surrounding air betrays a protective barrier. Sirens wail in the distance, and it prompts them to run just as a military vehicle rounds the corner. Tifa looks away as it flies apart. When she turns her head to assess the damage, the two Carriers have vanished and the leftover soldiers are running into an alley. All that's left of the truck is its burning frame. Her nails are digging into the palm of her hands, and the urge to run away is overwhelming.

In, out, in out—breathe in, out, Tifa Lockhart. You cannot run. Barret's voice is loud in her head.

So she gets on her feet, doing her best to minimize the trembling of her body. She can't stay here, she can't stay, she can't—Heidegger, what happened to the target—other trucks, more soldiers, they're saying something, but she can't—what's the procedure in these situations—a perimeter, they'll blockade the area—ID verification and testing for Type-D—she needs to get out—

Her ears are ringing, her vision is spotty, but her legs work, so she carries herself into a side street, away from the madness and the fires. Conjuring her internal map of the city proves difficult. She's been everywhere, seen every corner of this godforsaken city, and damn it, why can't she focus—That sign, she recognizes that sign, Yale, Sloan & Kishimoto LLP, she's been in there before. She can hide in there.

The doors are heavy and she pushes with all the strength she has left, stumbling into the abandoned reception area when they open. She remembers now. This place closed down years ago; there was an accident, part of the building crumbled. The doors shut behind her, muting the noise of the commotion. Tifa can hear herself think again. Spots cloud her vision and she blinks them away. Though her head still hurts, it's bearable. She'll be fine. She has to be.

First, she should go up. If the soldiers extend their search to this area—and she's certain they will—chances are they'll look through the first few levels only. Walking gets easier with every step, and she soon finds herself jogging towards the door leading to the stairwell. It gives away under her weight, and she holds it as it falls to lessen the noise. She takes the time to picture the layout of this place. She hid in here ages ago, but if memory serves her well, she'll need to go up at least three flights of stairs and then—

Sudden hurried footsteps coming from the reception area make her freeze. A quick look around tells her the only place to hide is behind a wall corner. Climbing the stairs would attract too much attention. She hesitates, considers using her ability, but it could get her identified and that's too big of a risk. She lunges for the corner just as the footsteps near. A second later, there's the distinct sound of the stairwell door softly being pushed open. Whoever this is, they know they aren't alone. Fuck. She's in no state to fight her way out. Tifa bends her knees in case she has to bolt. She raises her eyes, only to notice the hazy image of a man coming closer through the dirty window. The faintest reflection of a movement is her sole sign to move out of the way. She sidesteps in time to see the guy turn the corner, knife in hand. She hadn't heard the switchblade releasing.

Tifa's first instinct is to pretend—pretend she is scared, that she panicked and hid. But the agitated glint in the man's eyes is familiar, and she bets he can see the same in hers. She straightens her body, raising her hands to show she has no weapons. He doesn't budge, his blade still held out in front of him.

He breaks the silence. "What are you doing here?"

Tifa inhales sharply, then exhales. If she's wrong about this guy and he sells her out…

"Same as you," she says.

He blinks in rapid succession as if the thought hadn't crossed his mind, but his stance stays the same. They both jump when the beam from a flashlight flickers through the door's window. A growing noise indicates soldiers in the reception area.

"Fuck," she hisses. "Come on!" She moves past him and climbs up the stairs quietly and quickly. The footsteps following hers tell her the guy listened. After three flights, Tifa veers to the right, towards the elevator. She pokes her head inside the shaft, seeing the elevator car is still on the lower levels. Good. She twists around, witnessing the stranger curse at the demolished staircase leading up.

"This way," she calls.

He turns, swearing again when he sees her disappear inside the elevator shaft. "Are you fucking serious?"

Tifa looks down as she keeps climbing the service ladder, ready to retort, but keeps her mouth shut when she sees him get inside. They go up three levels before Tifa climbs out. He does the same seconds later. She crouches down close to the entrance, watching out for signs that the soldiers pursued, but there is only the even breathing of the stranger next to her. She gets up, motioning him through a hallway towards a big, abandoned office. Her head thumps but she ignores it.

Tifa stands next to the window. It gives her a good enough, though distant, view of the street where the fight broke out. People are being helped up, carried out on stretchers. But she also sees some trying to leave and being stopped. She sees them take out their ID, hold out their arms. She lets the dusty blinds close and turns her head towards the guy. He's sitting in a swivel chair and staring at her, his knife still loosely held at his side.

"So," he begins, "what's a nice Sector 2 girl like you hiding from?" He continues before she can speak. "Of course, you're not actually from Sector 2, or you'd have handed over your ID and submitted to testing." He puts the knife away. Tifa catches sight of the small bleeding cuts on his cheek and jaw. Must have been from the exploding cars.

She lets the pause grow. Then, "What gave it away?"

"Not much I'll admit." He rests an ankle on a knee, fingers steepled over his stomach. Tifa would think him relaxed if not for the tension lining his face. "You look the part, that's for sure. But I don't think a Sector 2 girl would climb an elevator shaft."

"I could have been full of surprises."

A ghost of a smirk forms on his lips, but he doesn't reply. Tifa goes back to watching the street.

"Doesn't look like they'll clear out anytime soon," she observes aloud.

She can hear him spin the chair around. "You think they'll climb up?"

"Doubtful. Last time they didn't bother."

"Right, last time. And what would make you hide in here twice?"

"You know what," she says, turning around to face him fully. "I expect it's the same for you."

The guy hums but doesn't take the bait. She has to get him to confirm he is a Carrier, or she hinted at being one to the wrong person.

"What were you doing here, anyway?" She asks. "You clearly aren't from this Sector."

"Work." He opens his jacket to show the insignia sewed unto the left pocket of his shirt. From the other side of the room, Tifa can't see what it reads. "I was on my way back from a delivery. What about you?"

Tifa leans against the wall.

"Hey, fair's fair. I answered."

She gives him the same excuse she told Vincent. "I was visiting someone."

He raises an eyebrow, silently calling her out on her answer. She doesn't bother elaborating. Instead, she crosses the room, grabbing another chair on her way, and sits down a couple of feet away from him. The silence goes on for awhile; they both busy themselves on their phones. The racket from outside gets louder and closer until it's too loud and too close, and both stiffen.

"Did you hear that?" His voice is tense.

Tifa did, and before he can react, she's out of her seat and into the hallway. The soft curse that echoes behind her lets her know she moved too fast. She nears the elevator shaft, unsurprised at the beams of light dancing on the walls. Fuck, she really thought they wouldn't extend their search this far into the edifice. Careful not to be seen, she gets as close as she can. The voices carry upwards, the sound amplified by the empty passage. She's relieved when their snappy conversation tells her they haven't climbed up yet.

"There is a chance."

"Don't think so, Weber. We didn't even see anyone come in here. We're wasting our time."

"No, there were footsteps earlier."

"Okay, then, stage's yours."

"Alone?"

"Yeah, alone, Weber. You chickenshit?"

"I can't go alone. There could be Carriers!"

"That's why you have a gun, Weber. Pew pew."

"We can't split up—"

"I decided we can. Come on, go on. We have to meet back up with the others in ten minutes."

"Fuck, don't push me, okay? I'm going."

Tifa has to resist the urge to swear aloud. In a flash, she's back in the office. The stranger is still seated, looking unbothered with a dash of annoyance.

"You could have said something."

"Get up," Tifa orders, dismissing his remark for later. "We have to hide."

He listens, walking after her as she leads them further into the building. She gets nervous when it becomes obvious there is no good hiding spot. All the rooms are bare with only the occasional desk and chair lying around. They've just turned a corner when they hear the soldier approaching. They duck into the first open room, running for the desk, and Tifa can't believe their luck. The desk is huge and full-framed, and unless Weber comes inside and looks under it, they won't be visible. They slide under it, crouching shoulder to shoulder.

"We can take him," the guy whispers; it's so faint she has to strain to understand.

He's taken out his switchblade again. Tifa shakes her head, signalling he should shut up and stay put. Weber's footsteps are muted on the carpeted floor, though increasingly louder. Tifa grits her teeth as he stops close, the flashlight brightening the room. Next to her, the stranger is light on his toes, ready to bounce.

They both almost jump at the crackling of the radio and the distorted "Weber?" that comes after. The soldier swears and there's the sound of the flashlight tumbling on the floor.

"Weber? We gotta head back."

"I'm on my way," the soldier says shakily, recovering from the fright.

"You sound like you pissed your pants. Find any Carriers?"

"None."

The voices fade away as Weber leaves, but Tifa and the guy don't dare come out of hiding. She counts three minutes before poking her head around the desk's corner, then tiptoes towards the hallway.

"Coast seems clear," she says.

The guy adds nothing, but he trails behind her as she ushers them back to the big office they were in before. As a measure of precaution, Tifa goes back to the elevator shaft to make sure the soldiers left. She hears their voices grow dim until there is nothing but the ever-present noise from the streets. Satisfied though a little shaken, she heads back, falling into the chair she had vacated earlier. The stranger is staring at her, and she breaks the ice.

"I did tell you."

"What?"

"About being a Carrier?"

He frowns. "You hinted, but you could have been hiding for other reasons."

Well, she has to grant him that. "True. But I guessed you were one; figured you would do the same."

"It's risky to do so." A shrug. "Speed, huh?"

She raises her eyebrows in expectation. "Fair's fair," she echoes his words.

He rubs a hand over his face. Then, he brings it before him. A moment later, a small flame bursts from his fingertips. He lets it sway for a few seconds. It disappears when he closes his fist.

"That's neat," she says. "First time I've seen someone able to manipulate fire."

"It's…yeah, it's fire and heat manipulation." He rocks the chair from side to side. "Goes hand in hand."

"So you can raise something's temperature until it combusts?"

"Or whatever the object's reaction would be."

Tifa shuffles in her seat, trying to get comfortable. There's a feeling going through her, and she thinks she could call it eagerness. Being able to speak freely with another Carrier is a first. She tucks one of her legs under the other and leans forward.

"When did it manifest?"

A shadow passes over his face at her words, but he answers anyway. "When I was 13."

"That's late," Tifa notes to herself. "Mine showed when I was 7."

He nods. The gloominess dissipates from his eyes, replaced by a glint of curiosity. "Speed must hard to keep under control."

"Yeah." The memory makes her breathing loud. "It's all right now, but it was horrible when I was a kid. I had to concentrate every time I moved."

When he replies, his voice matches her hushed tone. "How did you get it under control?"

"I run every day. I don't know how, but it helps me focus."

"Yeah."

She tilts her head to the side. "What about you?"

His mouth twists into a hard line, and Tifa isn't sure she said the right thing.

"It's…hard to get under control." He scratches his cheek. She thinks he might be bothered by the cuts there. "It flares up at the slightest emotion."

"Linked with your temper? That's almost…" She wants to say poetic, but she has a hunch he wouldn't like it.

"It's shit, is what it is," he grounds out. Yeah, she was right.

"It didn't show earlier?" He looks at her, quizzical. "When we were running away and hiding?"

"Oh." He looks away. "I guess fear is different. I had to learn to channel it or I wouldn't be here. It's worse with strong emotions."

She senses he wants to drop the subject, and though she'd like to continue discussing this, she knows better than to push a stranger. She realizes she still hasn't learned his name, so she asks him.

He blinks at her question.

"Right. I'm Cloud."

She gives him a small smile. "Tifa."

He makes a show of glancing around the room. "I'd say nice to meet you, but the circumstances are a little unpleasant."

Tifa chuckles. "Likewise."

There are still shouts coming from outside. Her cellphone tells her it's nearing 8:40 PM, and she has a hard time believing everything happened in such a short amount of time.

"Damn, the incident's everywhere on the net," Cloud says. He's scrolling through something on his phone.

Tifa startles. Right, if the events of tonight have made their way to the net, there's no way Yuffie hasn't learned of it by now. She needs to call Barret.

"I'm gonna call my friend," she mentions offhandedly. "There's no way I can make it tonight."

It rings once before Barret picks up. It's not like her to call during an assignment.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. But I can't come see you tonight, sorry."

Barret's voice reflects his confusion. "What are you talking about? Are you sure you're okay?"

Tifa feels a little bad for not being direct, but she doesn't want to take the chance to speak about tonight's mission. Cloud is a Carrier, yes, but he's still a stranger, and she can't trust him with that kind of information.

"Turn on the news, you'll have the details."

"Wait a second. Yuffie!" She hears him yell away from the receiver. "What happened in Sector 2?"

Yuffie's answer is immediate but muffled, and Tifa can't make it out.

"Fucking hell, kiddo, are you safe?" His shaky intake of breath betrays his panic.

"Yeah, no worries." She raises her eyes to look at Cloud, who's playing with his knife. "I'll talk to you later."

"Call me if anything happens," are Barret's last words before he hangs up.

Tifa puts the phone away and goes back to the window. Her stomach drops at the sight of citizens being shoved into a truck. The number of soldiers has increased exponentially—reinforcements for the blockade, she realizes. People huddle near the newly installed railings barricading the way out. They're stuck in here. She swallows her fear. This is not the time to let it overtake her. She's been in worse situations than this; the comfort of the last years has dulled her sharp edges.

"We're gonna be in here for a while," she tells Cloud as she sits back down.

He grunts. "Blockade?"

"Yeah," she says, quiet. "This is just a guess, but it must be a Level 4 alert. The physical blockade should last at least 8 hours."

"And after that?" There is no trace of anxiety in Cloud's expression but his fidgeting gives him away.

"It depends on them getting the guys. If they arrest them, there shouldn't be any random checks. Otherwise…" She lets the unsaid words hang in the air.

"We both know they won't arrest them." Cloud twirls the knife. "They'll be killed on sight."

Tifa rests her chin on her hand. "I don't know."

He looks at her, slightly incredulous. "Come on, they're gonna call on that goddamn shoot-to-kill Article."

Yes, they could do that; Tifa knows they like to pull out the Article 34.2 card often enough. But she's also aware of the recently increasing number of raids that don't end in Carrier deaths. It's information she's been monitoring and keeping close, suspicious of what Shinra is up to. She can't appear to know too much.

So she sighs as if resigned, and says, "Yeah, you're right."

Cloud eyes her in a way that puts her on edge, and she relaxes her body to mask any nervousness.

Finally, he blinks and the intensity of his stare shatters. "How can you tell it's a Level 4 alert?"

His question sounds innocent enough, but Tifa still gauges her words.

"Too many civilian and military deaths. Plus as far as we know, they're still on the run." She points to the window behind her with her thumb. "Also, there are a lot of soldiers outside."

"I wonder what 'too many' is to Shinra."

There's a chilliness to Cloud's voice that makes her want to give him a clear answer. Still, she doesn't explain, and he doesn't inquire how she gained this information. They let the conversation die, for a while. It picks up again, on and off, until 10 PM rolls around. They go around the room, attempting to find anything to entertain themselves. They're both growing tired and grumpy, and they're angry at the situation; it bleeds into their interactions with each other. Tifa considers it a success when she discovers an old pack of cards in a desk drawer.

They sit down on the floor facing each other, and Cloud shuffles the deck.

"What do you play?" He asks.

"Everything. You choose."

"A challenge. All right, let me think."

He settles on a basic game ever Midgard resident know. She wins. He calls for a rematch. It goes on for a while until they switch to a betting game. She's prepping the cards. He asks what they should bet. They end up gathering pens, paper clips, staplers, anything they can find. At some point, a gunshot resonates from the street, and Tifa drops her card. Frustrated with herself and all that's happening, she rubs her eyes, silent. When she opens them, Cloud is studying her.

"What?" She snaps, then regrets it. "Sorry."

"We should sleep." She shakes her head, but he insists. "It's almost midnight."

She inhales deeply. "What if they come back?"

"I'm a light sleeper."

Which is code for: I won't sleep. She'd do the same, but she is exhausted, emotionally and physically. There's a soreness to her body she began feeling an hour ago, probably an aftermath of the earlier skirmish. Against her judgment, Tifa agrees. They pick up the cards and the stationary they spread on the floor. She goes in search of a bathroom, and when she comes back, Cloud is finishing a conversation on his phone.

"—worry. I'll be back tomorrow. Yes, I'll be careful. Good night, Sunshine."

Too tired to care, Tifa dismisses him, and stakes a corner of the room. She lays down, doing her best to get comfortable, which turns out to be impossible. Cloud walks to the opposite wall and slides down below the window; he props his arms on his knees, knife in hand. He's facing the doorway.

"You should sleep, too," Tifa says.

He yawns but hides it. "I'll be fine."

"Sure. Okay."

Hard to tell from afar, but she's sure he rolled his eyes. She shuts hers, and it doesn't take long for her fatigue to seize control of her.

"Night, Tifa."

The voice is a hazy whisper. She thinks she'd like to answer, but she can't. She sleeps.

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