Just a Few Reminders - 10
Disclaimer: All properties of Final Fantasy 7 belong to Square-enix, but the original characters and story are mine. Capisce?
Maria Thornton was sure that she heard him murmur a name. Abruptly, she sat up in bed, holding the mystery novel in her lap, and she decided that the book was, without a doubt, just as puzzling as her current bed partner.
Without thinking it through overmuch, she set the book aside and flicked off the light. Then she carefully rose from the bed so as not to disturb him. She crossed the room to move down the hall, ending up in the kitchen. In the dark, she found a glass, and the particular bottle she unconsciously sought, and sat down at the table. As her eyes adjusted, she poured herself a drink, and emptied the glass in a matter of seconds. Catching her breath, she refilled the cup, and took her time with this one, ensuring that it would last for at least a few minutes.
They were strictly bedfellows for warmth, just for their proximity under the covers, and otherwise, but her relationship with the man wasn't very physical. A hug or maybe a hand clasp here and there. On occasion, she'd find a wrinkle on one of his nice shirts and smooth it with a caring hand, and he'd smile crookedly in gratitude. She did love that smile. And his crazy hair that went every which way, as though he'd stuck his hand in an electrical outlet. Sometimes he seemed stupid enough to do something just like that in fact, but that wasn't it at all. It was… distance. He was often somewhere far away, and she could never comprehend where that world was in his head, because he never told her. But she could guess.
And of course, there was the cat. On nights when Cloud wasn't around for dinner, she talked to the cat, demanding where Blue Eyes went, and the creature ended up being as much as a conversationalist as the man in question. But he'd been the one to find the cat in the first place, so Maria sometimes wondered if he and the cat spoke the same language, because she seemed to be left out of their discussions.
She'd half-humorously, half-seriously named the cat 'Daphne,' because the name sounded so uppity for a house pet and yet it reminded her of the mythical stories that she used to love so much when her late father had told them to her. But Cloud Strife never cared to use that name. In fact, he never called the cat anything, really. Maybe "Hey cat," once in awhile. But the feline just gravitated toward him anyway, and he never told her to do anything. He would just stay quiet and maybe bend down to pet her, or he'd sit on the couch and she'd hop up there to join him. And when he would turn to leave the room, the cat, like a shadow, would follow him obediently. If he went to the kitchen to feed her, she would know, and trail him.
Those few times when he showed up to eat something, they wouldn't talk about much. Not of significant things, anyway. He'd comment on some construction going on by the busiest roads, or rude customers he frequently encountered, or he'd just give her one of his seemingly irrelevant observations or questions. She wouldn't think of it much with him there, but when he'd leave her sitting there afterward, she'd wonder what he meant. Was he simply acknowledging simple facts about life or giving her some oblique piece of information?
Even though he confused her, she was damn sure that she loved this man in some way. A parent loved their child in the way she loved him. Or perhaps as one sibling to another—Cloud playing the younger brother while she played the older sister. Or maybe she just felt obligated to be with him, to keep him company. Maybe she loved that mysterious aspect about him, because it made him more interesting.
Maybe she was just afraid of being by herself because sometimes being alone made her think too much. Like about the time when a young man at work came up and flirt with her, as he often did, to compliment the way her hair smelled or voice his approval in some other way, slipping the comment into their discussion smoothly. And each time, she'd flirt right back, enjoying his twinkling brown eyes, but whenever he'd asked her out on a date she'd shut him down. Back then, she was so worried about her family and the planet that she wasn't sure if she could waste time on a relationship, or if she should just take a dive and get a damn coffee with him. To enjoy it while it lasted. And on a cold day in February, just when she was about to agree with him, he was recruited to be part of Soldier, and he didn't make it back home. It took her time to return to her spunky self after that. She'd taken up the bottle then.
And now, here she was, feeling like a woman kindly taking in a stowaway. And once again, she was upset and drinking from a bottle she thought she'd never have to reopen. That explained why it tasted so awful. Cloud might have seemed like her man at one time, taking her on numerous dates and staring at her, but he'd obviously changed his mind about her. Clearly, he'd been in denial, and so had she.
Maria tipped her glass toward the light from outside, as if acknowledging another person at the table, and when she noted the empty cup, she rose from her seat to place it in the sink. She returned the bottle to the high cupboard.
She smiled wryly. High cupboard. As if someone else, like Cloud Strife, was too short to reach it, like a toddler. Obviously, she was feeling a little strange. Alcohol and the wee hours of the morning must've been a bad mix.
Her head hurt a little as well. She forgot that she didn't have much of a dinner tonight, and that was hours ago, but she didn't let the ache bother her.
She returned to bed, still managing not to wake him even though she bumped her shin on the metal frame at the bottom and whispered a loud curse in the dark. Her leg throbbing, she slipped under the covers and turned on her side, propping herself up on one elbow so she could watch him sleep.
He lay on his back, with one arm bent and his hand beneath the pillow under his head. Silly. He would wake up tomorrow morning and shake the cold numbness from his arm. His other hand lay across his chest, and she smiled faintly when she looked at his face.
Young. Childlike. Again, likening him to a child. But she concluded that everyone looked younger in sleep. At any rate, it seemed that in many of the books she'd read, the protagonists nearly always found their love interest asleep and thought that they looked that way. Angelic. Peaceful. Childlike. It seemed to make sense.
She shifted her attention to his lips, and registered the familiar name she saw them form once again.
Aeris. Dreaming of Aeris, and not for the first time either. He would mention her name in passing, along with the names of other people he knew. "I know Aeris would like that." "Yeah, Tifa doesn't like that either." "No, Cid's not into that kind of thing." But he never said Tifa Lockheart's name in his sleep. Aeris must have been special to him. Then… where was she?
Maria knew these things because she rarely slept much anymore, and she would take the time to listen.
Her smile faded then. Tifa, his childhood friend. He'd never introduced her, but Maria would've liked very much to meet her. Did Tifa understand Cloud, or had she too been left out of his world? Did Tifa ever wonder what he meant, those times when he said those seemingly non sequitur things? Or did she know? Did Cloud ever leave her a note and disappear for awhile? Did she ever wonder if he was there at all? If he was a ghost?
Would he spare Maria further heartache and just… leave for good? Or at least tell her why he stayed with her and what he wanted so she would stop worrying?
There was too much she didn't understand—too many complexities to consider. But she'd sleep now, and tomorrow, she would ask.
Dana froze halfway down the stairs, grabbed onto the railing for support at the sight of him. Tall, with neat, light brown hair curling just slightly into his cerulean eyes. She recognized the finely boned features of his face at once. And she also remembered now, why he drove her absolutely nuts.
He was arranging the magazines on the coffee table in alphabetical order, matching up the corners of each as he stacked them. A wonder he didn't organize them by date or subject as well. Sweet, merciful heaven…
Then he noticed her, and his hand moved spastically, sending the magazines into disarray, as they were before. He straightened at once, his face turning a bit pink, and swiped the hair out of his face as he drank her in with eager eyes.
"Hello, Dana," he greeted softly.
She slumped down another step. "H… Hi. Aidan."
She distantly noted Barret retrieving his coffee cup from the kitchen before he headed upstairs. He'd probably go spend time with his daughter, and wouldn't think twice about her company.
Meanwhile, Aidan stood there in the middle of the living room, quietly observing her for a moment. When their gazes collided, his eyes darted away almost immediately, taking in the surroundings.
She slowly descended the stairs, feeling suddenly very plain in her blue jeans and pumpkin-orange top, while he stood so dapper and clean in his neatly pressed grey suit, its faint blue pinstripes matching his eyes—well—perfectly.
She lingered at the bottom of the stairs, one hand still on the banister, her eyes on the floor, then on her bare toes, the nails half-painted sky blue because Marlene couldn't let her escape the room without some sort of coloring. She was aware of the pink ribbon in her hair as well, and the glitter scattered across her face and hands that was also probably all over her clothes. That sparkly crap was so hard to get rid of... Here she thought she would just have to help the girl with a school project. She didn't realize she'd actually be part of it.
She curled her fingers into her hair self-consciously, but also in despair of being herself with this man who must have traveled so far to come here… and… oh… oh damn… He'd always made her feel this way, didn't he? Making her thoughts turn into scrambled eggs. Though, he never really meant to, she was sure.
Funny, how easily she could convince Tifa Lockheart to go find a man whose whereabouts were unknown and to talk with him. Funny, how much easier it was to give advice about relationships than to actually have one. And with Aidan Thompson here, for her, Dana found herself tongue-tied. Maybe there would have been more time to practice what she wanted to say—if she'd only known that he was coming.
She felt his hand rest on hers upon the newel post, his fingers lightly brushing her knuckles.
Startled, she lifted her eyes to his, thinking he would look away then, as he had before, and maybe withdraw his hand. Hell, she thought that she would have by now. But neither of them moved.
He gave her a gentle smile.
"Day… How have you been?" he asked. His voice was still as soft as though he meant to tame a wild creature.
Her lips loosened into a faint smile. His politeness was horrendously contagious, and his nickname for her that had once annoyed her to no end was now a welcome appellation. It was like cleaning out your closet only to find a treasure you'd lost once and couldn't find before. A fragile reunion. Was the treasure broken, completely beyond repair, or just a little dusty? Or was it just as you remembered it? In this case, Aidan Thompson appeared to be the very same.
"Fine," she replied. "…And you?"
"Ah… well enough, thank you…" He drew his hand from hers so he could sweep the hair out of his face, a common gesture from him. But since the unbelievable ass hat was so interested in keeping things neat and tidy, he should've just cut his hair short so he didn't have to worry about it, even if she preferred his hair this way.
He blinked and shook his head then, as if out of a trance, and drew a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. Had she been more aware of anything besides the fact that he was here, she would've noticed them before.
"Here."
"Oh," she breathed in amazement, unaware of the two pairs of curious eyes—one from a significantly higher viewpoint than the other—watching from upstairs, peeking around the edge of a doorframe.
She reached out to take the bouquet from him, dedicating a moment to appreciating the flowers he chose. "They're beautiful," she murmured, and returned her wholehearted attention to his face, annoyed that her own was burning.
His smile grew, and his hand came up, as if to hide it, and then they stood there for a moment, silently, gazing at each other.
Irritated with herself, she threw up one hand in dismissal, and pointed to the kitchen. "So let's go sit down, Aidan. Do you want a drink?"
"Ah… okay. Yes, please. Anything is fine…" And he didn't drink coffee, thank the gods. Even a few sips off that stuff would make the stressed man bounce around the walls.
"Let me just… put these in some water first."
A muffled giggle came from upstairs, and Dana turned her head to look, just in time to catch Barret and Marlene disappearing behind the wall. Damn spies.
Smiling helplessly, she returned her attention to Aidan, who had stepped toward the kitchen, his gaze warily drawn to the eavesdroppers above. She wondered what he'd thought when he found Barret Wallace at the door.
She moved past him so she could put the flowers in a vase in the kitchen, while Aidan cautiously followed, his slow movements reminiscent of a man searching for a wild predator in a dark glade. "Go ahead and sit down," she urged him. You're making me nervous, just standing there… Any minute now and you'll…
"Do you live here?"
She blinked in surprise at the question, as she'd expected another, and her fingers stilled around the vase for a moment, before she remembered to slide it across the counter, turning it so her favorite aspect of the fragrant bundle faced her.
"Well, I've got a little place of my own…" She drifted off in her reply as she visited the fridge to review the contents. Marlene's apple juice. Half a gallon of milk. And some chocolate milk. Frowning, she grabbed the chocolate milk carton and went to bring down a glass so she could pour him some.
"But I'm just taking care of things here for my friend," she continued. "She went on a little excursion."
"Tifa."
"Yes, Tifa. You would like her, I'm sure…"
"And is Mr. Wallace… a relative of hers?"
She shook her head, her back still to him as she returned the milk carton to the refrigerator. "No, they're not blood relatives or anything. They're just close friends. And the girl is his daughter," she thought to add. And she'd leave it at that for now.
"So… Tifa likes leaving her house to her friends while she's gone…"
She shrugged as she stepped over to the table to set his drink down in front of him. "She likes company and lets us stick around if we like to, but she doesn't make us her slaves or anything. I chose to come here on purpose. Besides… it's pretty cool that she opens her house for everyone else, putting our needs before hers. About time she went about her own way…"
He nodded in agreement. "Yes… very nice of her…"
Silence prevailed for a time as Dana distantly wondered where Tifa Lockheart was now. The woman had called them to tell them she was leaving Rockettown, but that was awhile ago. Hopefully, wherever she was, she was safe.
"Well… it's very clean," he softly commented. "The house, I mean…"
Still standing, she looked down at him blankly, remembering. One thing out of place in her apartment and without so much as a by-your-leave, he'd been all over it, to return it to some state of spotlessness. And whenever they'd gone out, he'd made a point to study their silverware, to make sure they were properly cleaned. Lipstick stains around the glass, and he'd ask for another, when she wouldn't have given it a second thought. He'd meant well with all of those things. It wasn't his way of telling someone that their ways were inferior to his. Even if she might've felt that way sometimes. That was her fault, not his. Part of why they had so many stupid arguments before.
And now, he looked down at his glass, just to check. Good thing it was clean.
"Is this… chocolate milk?" He asked, glancing up at her quizzically.
"Yes, it is."
"…Okay." He smiled amusedly as he carried the glass to his lips for a sip.
"I figured… you wouldn't drink water from the tap."
"Yeah."
She stood there, thinking of which question she should ask him first before he glanced up at her, his brow knit in concern.
"Sit down, Day," he murmured.
"…Yeah… okay." She slowly stepped toward the table, and she must have looked wary of the thought of it, for he found a need to defend himself.
"I didn't mean that as um… You know, an order… I just…" He hesitated. "…Just for you to be comfort—"
"I know, I know," she answered curtly, aggravated that she made him uncomfortable, and abruptly sat down.
He was supposed to be the uptight one. Why couldn't she just make it a friendly reunion? Why did it have to be awkward? Well, dammit, because it was. They weren't technically 'together' anymore. Which begged the question…
"Why did you come here, Aidan?" And how…?
"I came to see you. It's been awhile."
"It has."
"And I wanted to ask… if you were…" He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took another drink, wiping any excess chocolate milk from his upper lip with a swipe of his tongue. "Do you mind if I take off my jacket?"
She nodded, clasping her hands in front of her. She was stuck watching his lips for some reason. "Go right ahead," she answered absentmindedly.
He scooted back a little and shrugged off the jacket. After he draped it over the back of his chair, he moved closer once more, his gaze averted from hers.
She straightened in her seat, her eyebrows raised curiously. "You wanted to ask me something?" she prompted.
He shook his head. "Ah… it'll keep," he said, his eyes straying to where her hands were folded on the table.
It would keep, but she could pry it out of him later. "Okay… so… tell me what you've been up to." And we'll go from there…
"I've been working and I decided to go... er… traveling, now that I have a few days off. Finally. The next time I'll have a break like this will be on Christmas."
"How is business?"
"Good enough. I have to move around a lot, you know… I've been living in apartments for the most part… and staying at a lot of hotels…" He glanced up at her, and she caught the meaning there. He hated sleeping in hotels. Amazing that the guy ever got anything done, with his issues. "Kind of a pain in the ass, you know."
She nodded, but really, her mind was already moving on to the next topic foremost in her mind.
"Do you still have it?" she asked softly, speaking without thinking. At once, she thought she would have to explain herself, but he didn't need any further clarification.
He freed the top buttons of his shirt and reached down into his collar to pull out the corded necklace, holding it up for her to see the pendant. Blue, like…
"You wear it… under your suit?" she managed in a broken voice.
He shrugged, fingers moving across the pendant, almost protectively. "You made it for me," he said simply.
She smiled faintly. He kept a part of her with him after all this time, actually kept it, as stupid as she thought it was, and now she wanted to show him that she cared…
"Thank you," she said softly.
He smiled shyly, bowing his head to hide his blush, even though his long bangs did little to conceal it from her. "You always liked making necklaces," he reminisced, his words spoken in a low mumble.
She nodded. She certainly did enjoy making necklaces once, but after Meteor she spent less time on her creative endeavors and more time worrying about keeping afloat. Not to mention the stress of the destruction of Midgar, which would take many years to rebuild. Widowed wives, orphaned children, and so on. What had been home to millions was now mostly rubble. Reduced to memories, and if you didn't have any mementos, then that was too bad for you.
But… he'd actually kept it. Close to his heart, in fact. And that was a good reason to consider a second chance.