November was frigid. The Seventh Heaven Bar and Inn was either filled to bursting point with weary travelers, or completely empty except for its permanent inhabitants. It changed week to week.

The replacement cook had arrived three days after the old one had stormed out through the kitchen back door into what grew to be the most vicious snow storm anyone had seen. She was an elderly woman, with stern lines carved into her broad face and hard, calloused hands.

"I am Anuska Ibatini."

"Ibatini?" Tifa had inquired, as politely as was possible.

"Ibatini. You may call me Anuska," the woman had announced. The children clustered around Tifa watched in wonder for any sign of a change in facial expression; the twitch of a lip, a hollowing cheek. The new cook's face remained as impassive and as hard as rock.

"Who told you about the job offering?" Cloud came to stand behind Tifa, muscled arms crossed over his chest and suitably displayed by the short sleeve t-shirt he wore. Ms. Anuska Ibatini straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

"T'was recommended to me by a family friend."

"Which family friend?" Cloud persisted, the corner of his mouth twitching downwards. Anuska titled her head forward, peering at Cloud's face. Then, to the children's amazement, a dry, humorless smile stretched her old face.

"You must be Mr. Strife," she said, and paused before continuing. "Cloud, if my memory serves me. What a… beautiful name."

Cloud's crooked lip dissolved into a full-blown scowl.

"Who were you recommended by?" he demanded, bristling. The smirking smile fell from Anuska's lips like shed skin, and once again, she straightened herself, towering over Cloud's 5 foot 7.

"Your former cook, Ms. Vice, recommended me, Mr. Strife, Ms. Lockhart. Her father is a comrade of mine."

"Comrade?" Denzel muttered, but was shushed immediately by Tifa, who herded the little ones away from the door.

"Mari sent you?" Marlene called back, brightening at the name.

"Mariel Vice, yes."

"Mari!" Marlene repeated to Denzel excitedly.

"But if you're replacing her," Denzel trailed off. Anuska's face soured mildly, and Denzel shrunk against Cloud. "She's not coming back?"

"It would seem not," Anuska barked out slowly. Her habit of clipping all her words short would have been funny to Denzel, had she not been so physically imposing. Tifa stepped in, holding her hands out in a pacifying manner.

"Well, if Mariel sent you, then I suppose we can't refuse," Tifa smiled as widely as she could. Anuska inspected her for a moment before taking a step farther into the entryway.

"No, I suppose not."

"Here," Tifa offered, leading the tall woman towards the kitchen. "Let me show you around. Cloud, why don't you grab her bags…bag and take it to Mari's old room?"

Cloud barely got ahold of the dark grey suitcase that was thrust into his chest before Anuska Ibatini had turned and begun her slow, stiff procession after Tifa.

"Is this supposed to be funny?" Denzel grumbled. He and Marlene followed behind Cloud who'd begun to trudge up the stairs to the rooms.

"I don't know, Den," Cloud breathed. "It's for the best, I guess."

"But I don't like her!" Marlene cried out, grabbing Cloud's free hand and winding herself around his arm.

"Look, I don't particularly like her either, but we need a cook –"

"I want Mari!" Marlene whined from his arm. Cloud sighed and looked down at her.

"I know, but –"

"We miss her," Denzel explained solemnly.

"I do too kids, but –"

"No you don't!" Marlene cried out and Cloud stiffened. Denzel dug his elbow into Marlene's ribs.

"I miss her," Cloud stated, as calmly as he could.

"You didn't even like her," Denzel grumbled. This time, Marlene – still clutching Cloud's arm – kicked out at him, catching his thigh with the toe of her little sneaker. Cloud paused a moment, before lifting both Marlene and the suitcase over the threshold of the spare room. He leaned the suitcase against the desk and deposited Marlene on the bed. He jerked his head at Denzel, who obediently, if not hesitantly, joined her.

"What have you two heard?" Cloud asked sternly, arms crossed. Marlene clutched her hands in her lap and tried to smile. Denzel swung his legs, glowering at the wooden paneling of the floor. Marlene sent a wistful look at Denzel.

"We have to tell," she murmured. Denzel sighed and rolled his eyes.

"We didn't mean to hear it," he said as a disclaimer. Cloud raised an eyebrow.

"Hear what?"

"It was Yuffie," Denzel continued matter-of-factly. "She's really loud."

"What did you hear?" Cloud ground out quietly.

"Yuffie said that Mari left because you were mean to her!" Marlene, who'd been gazing up at him with big eyes and pouted lips, bounced with the force of her confession.

"Yuffie said that?" Cloud asked, and shifted just slightly under their imploring eyes.

"That's what Den told me," Marlene clarified. Denzel blushed and turned his head away.

"She didn't exactly say it so nicely," he muttered, and Cloud believed him. Loud footsteps neared. Cloud bent to scoop Marlene up and took hold of Denzel's hand. Silently and speedily, he slipped across the hall into another room, swinging the door shut.

"So, this is where you'll be staying. The bathroom is just inside, though sometimes in the winter the hot water is a little slow."

"Hot water is not necessary."

Anuska's booming voice faded as Tifa led her into the spare room. Cloud let go of the children.

"Were you mean to her, Cloud?" Marlene asked, her eyes once again enlarged to the size of saucers and her lips puckered.

Cloud couldn't think of anything to say. How could he explain his reasons to two small children, to these two particular children? He couldn't.

"Not very cool, Cloud," Denzel said grumpily, kicking at nothing, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"You should apologize," Marlene concluded, hands on her hips in a very Tifa-like fashion. "Then she'll come back."

"It's late. You two should get to bed," Cloud advised, and ushered them from the room. "Marlene, make sure Den brushes his teeth."

He caught the soft "I will" from Marlene and Denzel's grumbling as he descended the stairs. Running his fingers through his hair, he decided that he most definitely needed a drink. Verbal confrontation was just not in his nature. Give him a horde of mutant attackers and a buster sword any day.