Author's Note: You might have to read this twice... what's happening isn't immediately obvious at first.

Oh, and your "mother's son-in-law" is your husband.


Chapter 9

~ Running Out of Ragtime ~

Cloud was polishing off the freshly washed rims of his bike's wheels when a strange sound began emanating from radio in the bar. The bizarre change in background music wafted into the garage and into his ears. He stared blankly at the open door as he unintentionally wiped grease across his forehead in puzzlement. After a moment or so the resemblance of a smile played across his face and he started to approach the door to the bar.

Denzel and Marlene were upstairs playing checkers like Tifa had taught them, since the temperature outside was too hot to go out to play. Marlene was laughing, throwing a piece at Denzel after having "taken it out" when the strange sound floated into their bedroom too. They stopped their game and exchanged glances.

"I've only heard that kind of music in old-fashioned Technicolor films," Denzel said bewildered.

Marlene simply shrugged. "Tifa's full of surprises."

They both smirked affectionately and returned to their board game.

Cloud opened the door and watched Tifa as she hummed in time to the music and lifted bottles of liquor from the top shelf to the bar for dusting. She kept sneezing or holding herself mid-sneeze as the dust tickled her nose.

"What are you listening to?"

She was caught off guard. Cloud was leaning against the wall just before the staircase, his head cocked, looking a little amused, a small smile tugging on his lips.

A woman with a deep and husky voice began to sing from the radio's little speakers amongst the warm hum and slight fuzzing of an assortment of jazzy instruments:

You don't have to have a hanker, be a broker or banker.

"It's jazz hour," she explained. His facial expression didn't change. "This is Billie Holiday. You know, the famous jazz singer?"

Just simply be...

His expression grew blank. It was the amusement playing around in his eyes that made her shy away.

...my mother's son-in-law.

"Mom used to listen to this kind of stuff over and over again and fall asleep when my dad wasn't around."

Needn't even think of trying...

Her sudden taste for very old sounding jazz now made a little more sense to him.

...be a mighty social lion.

"Nostalgia?"

She nodded.

Sipping tea if you will be... my mother's son-in-law.

His thoughts began to stir as he entered a reminiscence of his own. He recalled the kind face, blond locks and favorite pastel orange dress of his own mother. He realised he'd nearly forgotten what she looked like. For a moment he felt quite sad.

"Say, Tifa, where do you think you'd be if Nibelheim was never burnt down?"

Ain't got the least desire,
to set the world on fire.

She smiled to herself. "Oh, I don't know. I'd probably still be there giving mountain tours, or helping dad by doing his cooking occasionally - especially since he was so useless when mom died. Maybe I'd have a house of my own, have my own little business, maybe I'd have even got a degree if I'd fancied it," she was saying wistfully. "Maybe I'd even have met a husband or something," she laughed. As she listened to what she was saying she felt ridiculous and silly. That life was far away in the ashes of a madman's torrent now. What's more, Cloud was probably thinking she was as silly as she was.

Just wish you'd make it proper,
to call my old man papa.

He also laughed although it seemed a little nervous. She looked up.

"A husband at twenty-three? You're still young."

His anxiety was making her cheeks color slightly. What a silly reaction to have.

"Maybe, but you remember country life? Less time to shop," she joked.

You don't have to sing like bledsoe,
you can tell the world I said so.

"He'd have to be strong and stubborn to handle you, Tifa."

"I suppose so," she shrugged off. The coloring of her cheeks was still embarrassingly evident and she had to turn her back to him, pretending to assort the bottles scatted across the bar to hide it.

Can't you see you've got to be...

"As well as protect you," he finished.

...my mother's son-in-law.

The song cut out in the brisk eruption of jazzy solos and the soft crash of symbols. A casual and almost lethargic sounding voice oozed into the room announcing something, "A little more bluesy". The soft clamour of piano keys, a brushing of a symbol somewhere in the distance and the underlying bass of a stringed instrument softened the atmosphere. Tifa nearly sneezed again as she chucked her polishing cloth aside.

Why was I born? Why am I living...?

A thought came over Cloud as he watched Tifa, and he traced back over the topic they had been discussing only moments before. "I've been thinking..."

She turned her shoulders to look at him.

"Maybe I should start taking up more deliveries during the day."

He was now cross-armed and looking at the bar surface with a serious expression on his face. He couldn't see the hurt in Tifa's wide, brown eyes.

What do I get? What am I giving?

"What makes you say that, Cloud?" She was fighting to keep her voice steady. The change in his tone had been so sudden.

A few moments passed and he remained silent.

Why do I wait for things I dare not hope for?

"Perhaps..." he began. "Perhaps it's best if I'm not in the bar so much anyway."

She took a sharp but silent inhale of breath. Was it something she'd said?

What can I hope for? I wish I knew.

"You'd be missed. Denzel and Marlene love it when you're home. Your return is all they talk about when you've been away." She paused, clasping and unclasping the neck of a bottle of gin under her fingertips. "I also like it when you're home."

Why do I try to draw you near me?

"I know, but at least for a bit. I have a lot of work lined up." He then looked up and his face brightened a little. "Besides, I know you can't miss me that much when I'm gone."

She had to blink her gaze away from his. He was so wrong.

Why do I cry? You never hear me.

"I'll bring you all sorts of things back, like all those spices you said you were running out of." But then he drew back and frowned slightly. He looked like he was thumbing over something in his mind. "Although, maybe I won't have so much time."

Tifa could feel the corners of her eyes beginning to feel heavy, and her composure threatening to falter. Whether it was a feeling of frustration, anger, or hurt she was experiencing, or simply a horrible combination of all three, she wasn't sure, but all the same time she knew it wasn't going to come to surface. She wouldn't let it. She didn't have the energy left to deal with the aftereffects, to deal with the children possibly overhearing, to deal with him and his sudden change in demeanour.

I'm a poor fool, but what can I do?

"I better start getting ready. I can still make a few more deliveries today," he said absent-mindedly and removed himself from the wall he'd been leaning on. She watched him as he strode back into the garage, obviously completely unaware of the effect he'd just had on her. It felt like he'd ripped her heart from her chest and strewn it all over the light fixtures. The rest of her had flown wildly into the currents of some far away wind. Her mind was all that remained, but it was empty.

The door closed behind him and the bar went completely still. There was just the sound of a single water droplet hitting the metal surface of the sink. The tap wasn't on.

Oh baby... why was I born to love you?

The song gradually eased out in her head, zooming down to a gnat in the far reaches of the room where she no longer noticed it, and her head slid down her shoulders until her hair was just above the thin film of water clinging to the metallic bottom of the sink.

She thought back to when he'd had geostigma and never told her. She thought back to when he'd suddenly left the house and she'd had no idea why. She dimly remembered being alone and hurting, slowly giving up on him ever coming back to her and the kids, yet forcing herself to hold on.

She remembered who she thought Cloud no longer was.

"You're never going to change, are you?"

There was the drip, drip, drip of more tiny droplets into the sink. The room couldn't answer her.

She looked up slowly and stared through the foggy insecurities of the pane of glass of her own mind.

Maybe I should just... move on.