A/N: I'm really sorry for the delay. You can blame a combination of factors, most recently graduation from college (woohoo!), before that writer's block and uncertainty about where to go with the story. I think I've got it now, though.
The next day, I awoke around noon, to find Elena absorbed in a terse conversation on her PHS. She carried on while I washed my face and dressed, and in the car. She bought lunch for both of us at a restaurant near the hospital, periodically answering her phone and speaking mostly in "yeah," "no," or, once, "I swear I'll rip his head off and spit down his neck if I find him first."
"Um. Someone connected to the shooting?" I asked, as she flipped her phone shut savagely after that one.
"No. Reno. You ready to leave?"
"Um, I guess?" I hadn't finished my coffee, and I still felt muddled and fuzzy around the edges. I was clearly getting soft in my old age; I used to be able to cope with weird settings. "You're still mad at him?"
"No, I'm mad at him again." Somehow, she managed to make it seem as though she were slamming things while putting on a coat. "He's disappeared, I was supposed to meet with him here and no one's heard from him."
"Did something happen to him?" I asked.
"I hope so," she snapped. Once we were in the car, she said, "The odds of him being harmed because he's a Turk are pretty low. The people who know us to target us generally don't have the nerve. If something happened to him, it's probably because he's an idiot. In which case he deserves it."
"Okay," I agreed, just wanting her to calm down. It did no good, and she ranted all the way through the parking garage, including an interesting story about a knife fight at a gay bar. I resolved to ask Rude about it, but that resolve faltered a bit once I got to his room.
Someone had given him back his sunglasses, and that, paired with his hospital gown, was a vision I would remember on my deathbed. I bit the inside of my lip furiously in hopes of keeping a straight face. "You think I look funny?" he greeted me, neutrally.
"Well, not funny like strange," I hedged, the laughter bubbling up through my voice. He broke into a smile, which I took as permission to giggle outright. I went to sit by his bed, and that's when I noticed that the dividing curtain had been drawn across the room. "What...?" I asked vaguely, tugging at it.
"Leave it," Reno's voice said from behind the curtain. I must have jumped, because I could hear Rude snickering behind me.
"Elena's going to hunt you down and kill you, Reno," I informed him, pulling it back a bit and peering around it. He was stretched out on the bed with his hands folded on his stomach as if he were already dead, lying in state.
"That's why he's hiding here," Rude explained, and Reno pulled himself wearily into a sitting position.
"I'm not hiding, okay? I'm resting."
"Right. He's lying in wait for her because he thought she'd come up with you."
"I'm not doin' that either! I'm not— I don't plan a damn thing around her! She is completely irrelevant to my life and plans, and furthermore—"
"You were supposed to meet her today for work stuff," I said, hoping either to set him off or remind him.
I guess I reminded him. "Aww, shit," he growled, flinging himself off the bed. We watched, silently, as he shuffled out of the room. Rude appeared to be counting under his breath. I glanced at him quizzically.
"Hiding from her," he said, in a low voice.
"I am NOT!" Reno yelled back, possibly from the end of the hallway. I heard someone shushing him irritably.
I realized I was grinning. "I had no idea you ever gave him grief," I said, delighted.
"Oh yeah. Goes all around. Elena still has some trouble with it, but she's learned a lot."
"Good for her," I said, still grinning. That faded as I thought about it. "Rude, do you know what's going on? Is it important that he—?"
"Nothing they can't handle. 'Lena'll tear him a new one, but he's overdue for that anyway." He seemed to be deciding whether to pat my knee or my hand comfortingly, and he settled on my hand. "Don't worry."
"Okay," I agreed. I guess I had as much reason as anyone had to doubt the competence of the Turks to deal with a small antigovernment faction, but now that I was on their side I didn't want to dwell on that.
"How was dinner?" he asked, changing the subject, and I made a face just to see how he'd react. He didn't.
"Well, the service could have been better, but the food was good. Especially the pasta." He just looked at me, lowering the shades so I could see his level stare over them. "Okay, okay. It... wasn't excruciating. I mean, I was petrified, but your parents seem really nice and your mom seems like she's used to talking for three, so that helped. And they didn't threaten my life to keep me away from you or anything."
"Did you think they would?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
"Well, they could. I don't know that I'd want my son involved with someone like me. A depressive former terrorist who can't cut a steak properly and who gets mistaken for a hooker whenever she wears a miniskirt?"
"You're depressed? Why didn't you tell me?"
"I just meant in general. Not right now." I waited for him to say something about the last part of that, but he didn't, so I folded my arms and sat back in a huff.
"You don't look like a hooker," he monotoned, and when I glared at him, I realized he was smiling. "Not that I'd mind if you dressed like it."
I thought about that. "Hey! Did you just say I'm not sexy?"
"Never. No matter what you wear. But, y'know, there's the way you act, too. Anyone who looks at you twice would get the hint. Just wishful thinking if they don't."
"So I look trashy at first glance?" I persisted.
"No!" he said, looking a bit persecuted.
"Would you want me to go back to dressing like that? Tiny little skirts or shorts?"
"Be a bit drafty this time of year," he pointed out.
"You know what I mean."
"Lockhart, sometimes I just say things. I don't always have some deeper meaning."
I spent most of that week at his side, watching the truly boring TV that played during visiting hours, talking, eventually playing cards once Elena suggested bringing them. I was never good at that, and he even beat me at the ridiculous, skill-free kiddie games we were playing. His parents would stop in every day, talk for a little while, and then, as his mom always teased us, "leave us alone."
"They hate me," I announced, on the fifth day, shortly after they'd gone.
"They do not!"
"They never want to be around when I'm around!"
"That's not it at all!" he retorted, as heatedly as he'd ever said anything. "They... okay, I know my folks. They just don't want to seem like they're trying to chase you off. They don't know you're paranoid."
"I'm not paranoid!" I insisted. "I just feel bad, like I'm chasing them off, and they're your parents, you should get to see them, and it's hard not to draw conclusions, and... would you hate me if I deserted you tomorrow when they come in?"
He said he wouldn't, so that's what I did the next day. I smiled at them and shook their hands and then went out and took a train up to the plate. The hospital, like most of the new Midgar, was built outside the bounds of the old one, but on the ground; trains, though, still ran the circuit. I guess rails and supports are easy to repair, or maybe people just think they're the most important. We were coming up on New Year's, and I admit I was thankful to be away from the bar for that. I'd forgotten, though, how much I liked the Midgar plate. Though it wasn't really considered safe for settlement – too unstable – people had moved back there anyway and tried to recreate the luxury it had once offered.
And I was willing enough to accept the illusion. It was just a matter of only seeing the gleaming glass, the clothes on display, not looking past it to tangled metal and the smokestacks of the power plants below. You could really only see the ruins from around the edges of the plate, anyway. It had only been four years, a little more, really, and I couldn't forget, but I just wanted to enjoy myself there. I'd never been able to, before; I could rarely even afford the tickets up to window shop. I'd kept up a pose of not wanting that anyway, but I'd been aware that was really all it was. Now, I could afford to buy shoes, and did, feeling ridiculously extravagant.
Outside again, shivering against the biting wind, I heard someone calling my name. When I turned I almost didn't recognize him. His hair still went every which way, though it was much shorter now and more mobile, blowing around in the wind as a train passed overhead. "Cloud?" I called back, incredulous.
"Yeah! I wasn't sure it was you at first," he shouted over the roar of the train, but the last few words came out loud after the noise had faded. He winced comically, and I grinned at him as he made his way against the flow of the crowd to join me. I jerked my head in the direction of a store's vestibule, and we headed over there, jostled by the crowd. "What are you doing here?" he asked, putting the emphasis on 'doing' rather than 'you' so the question could come out friendly. "I mean..."
"No, I understand," I said. "I mean, a year with no word, and then just to run into you here. Just a weird coincidence, I didn't realize— well, I knew you were living around here, but I hadn't thought I could possibly run into you."
"Yeah, I work up here, I live out... somewhere. I dunno, west, I think." He waved his arm vaguely towards the south, and I stifled a grin. "Hey, are you doing okay? I mean, you look great, but— well, I heard you moved, and you dropped out of touch with everybody, so I had no way of finding anything out without hiring a detective or something creepy."
Well, that had been the idea. I hadn't wanted him, or anyone, to see me being unhappy, even though they knew as well as I did that it was inevitable. I hadn't wanted to see him being unhappy, either, or hear about it, because I knew it would be way too easy to fall back together, even though I also knew it wouldn't work. "I moved to Junon," I said. "I'm doing fine, really. Met new people... I'm not just huddling."
"Yeah, I should have figured. I was just a bit worried. I mean, I know how I did, but with you away from all our friends... it was rough even with them, so I... worried," he finished, lamely.
"Well... I understand, but... so how are you doing? Why'd you give away the ranch? To Vincent?"
"I didn't give it to him outright, but he owns the majority now and I'm retired from racing. I just didn't feel like keeping it up anymore, I've got enough money to last me a while anyway. And I figured it'd do him good to get out in the sunlight, you know? Spend time with living things?"
"Yeah, it couldn't hurt," I agreed, and he opened the door for me. We stepped inside, into warmth and piped-in string music and the wafting of scents from a perfume counter.
"And I wanted to take some time off, actually get some education. It's been years, you know? That's why I'm here."
So he wouldn't let me avoid the question. Just as well. I had to tell him, so he wouldn't get the wrong idea, and I wanted to tell him. I just didn't want to see his response. A phone call would have been ideal. "I'm here to visit Rude," I said, and he blinked at me.
"The Turk? I saw he got shot, but why are you...?" I just looked at him. "You're friends with him? How'd that happen?"
"They... he was in Junon for a while," I said, cutting myself off as I realized the connections to organized crime might not be something they wanted known. And it couldn't help Reeve. "I ran into him and we started talking, we, uh, we're kind of seeing each other."
I waited, a breath, to see how he'd react, but he just smiled and said, "Whoa. So I guess that means he does talk sometimes."
"Yeah. He even takes off his sunglasses occasionally. Willingly."
"Well, that's... as long as it all works out, you know, and you're happy. He seemed kind of quiet and creepy, but then, you're kind of quiet too, so that wouldn't bother you so much."
"I'm creepy?" I huffed, teasing. I felt giddy. He hadn't informed me I'd lost my mind, or gotten angry, or begged me to take him back. If he felt weird about it, he was keeping it to himself. This was just about all I could have hoped for.
"No, no, I meant— now that's not fair, don't give me that look. You're not creepy. And you're a pretty good judge of people, better than me, so I'll take your word for it on them. Their job kinda.... but I guess it's a job, not a hobby, right?"
"Right. For him, I mean, I can't vouch for the other two so much, but Elena seems okay..."
"Yeah," he agreed, quietly. "It's, uh, it's good you're happy. You seem really happy."
"Cloud, you don't... mind? This doesn't count as rubbing your face in it, does it?"
"No! No, I... well, I'm seeing other people too, so I'd have to be a huge hypocrite to take offense, right? It's weird to... not be together, but I'm just glad we're— even's not the word I want. On the same page? I think I just turned into my boss."
"I know what you mean, though. Well, good!" I said, and while I might have sounded false, too happy, I realized the image of him with someone else didn't bother me. I wasn't going to pry about how long it had taken him to get there, or who he meant, but the idea itself didn't hurt. "I'm going to go buy something, want to help me?"
I ended up buying a ludicrously expensive bottle of perfume, which would about clean out my leisure spending for the foreseeable future. It was called Seventh Heaven, though, so I could hardly pass it up, and Cloud assured me it smelled nice to male nostrils. That evening, back at Elena's apartment, I watched her cautiously – she'd been griping about Reno again that morning, so I wanted to be careful in case she snapped – then finally threw caution to the winds and asked her for advice.
"Why are you asking me? Do you know what my love life is like?" Elena demanded.
"Um, no?"
"Well, fine. Okay, I would say don't bother telling Rude about it. It's not like you're about to run off with Cloud, right?" I shook my head vehemently. "And you didn't even kiss him by accident or anything, so unless you just want to play mind games, I'd say keep it to yourself." She poured some alcohol into a can of soda, took a drink and made a face. "Works better with bottles," she added, half to herself.
"I don't want to play mind games, but I don't want to keep secrets from him either! You're drinking more lately."
"I discovered the miracle of adding booze to soft drinks, and I'm under a lot of pressure right now. Tastes way better than what the guys were giving me. It's not keeping a secret, it's just not mentioning something. Do you give him an itemized list of what you had for breakfast every day?"
"Well, no, but...." But I wanted to be friends with Cloud without having to hide it from Rude.
"Seriously. Just let it go."
I couldn't resist wearing my new scent the next day when I went to visit him, though. He noticed, grabbed my arm and made a show of sniffing my wrist; I took that opportunity to try to get his sunglasses, and we ended up wrestling in bed. It was very embarassing when the nurse came in, but I took that opportunity to pluck them off his face and then retreat decorously back to my chair. He gave me a piteous look while the nurse grinned at us both, then made a grab for them once she was gone.
"No," I said, as if scolding a puppy, while holding them out of his reach. "They look silly indoors with a hospital gown."
"I like looking silly," he protested.
"No you don't," I reminded him.
"You smell nice, though," he said, changing the subject, and I smiled and smiled replied easily, "New perfume. Cloud helped me pick it out."
"Well... good?" he said, tentatively. No anger, no repressed hurt that I could see. I almost beamed with relief, because a couple of hours' shopping with Cloud certainly wasn't worth a fight with Rude. Maybe Elena had been right, and I shouldn't have mentioned it at all, but I'd had my fill of keeping things to myself.
"I guess so. I mean, I'd missed having him as a friend."
"How'd you run into him?" Rude asked, completely neutral.
I shrugged. "I just did. I was out shopping and he spotted me. I think I might have made him ditch work or something, now that I think about it."
"How'd he react?"
"How do you mean? He just said hi, we were talking, catching up."
"Still in love with you?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't know... I wouldn't think so, it's been well over a year. I hope not." I was beginning to feel interrogated, but I guess that shouldn't have come as a surprise given how I'd dropped the news into conversation.
"So you're not still in love with him."
"God no! I'm with you now, remember? He's my ex for a reason, Rude."
"Hmm," he said, but he seemed satisfied. "Okay."
"Well, glad you approve," I replied, sarcastic, but since that had in fact been my concern it came out a bit half-hearted. "I'd kind of like to get back in touch with him, but I forgot to get his phone number and I don't know if he wrote down mine. I guess that wouldn't do much good anyway, if I'm going to move here."
"You think you are? Thought you might, uh— wasn't sure you were thinking about it seriously." He wasn't smiling, exactly, but there was some kind of life in his eyes, possibly hope. Or maybe dread. It was a bit early in the relationship for transcontinental moves, all half-drugged declarations of love aside. And he might even think I wanted to move in with him, a level of commitment I didn't feel ready for, no matter what he thought of it.
"I think I really might. The city looks a lot better than it did last time I was within sight of it, and I'd just as soon get back out of Junon. Is that, uh—" I looked at him, then, and broke off in the middle of the question because from the way he was beaming I could tell that, no, he had no problem at all with this plan. No need even to ask. "How am I going to find an apartment?" I added.
"I can find one. Or Elena. Take you a while to get everything packed anyway, right?"
"Oh yeah. I have so much stuff – compensating for years of not having much, I guess. And I can never bear to throw it all out, so every time I move I take it all with me. What's the best way to get things over— oh, I'll work on the planning for this later, I guess."
"Ask 'Lena. She did all the arranging for us. We just threw things in boxes, she made the plans."
"I'll do that," I agreed, and he gently removed the sunglasses from my hands. I pouted, and he set them on the bed, on the far side from me.
"You have to leave soon, don't you?" he asked, and I nodded, mute.
"Tomorrow," I said, after a long moment. "My flight leaves at eight tomorrow morning."
"But you'll be back eventually," he said.
"Yeah. For good, I guess. I mean, long-term, not..." He just smiled, and laced his fingers through mine. I squeezed his hand, didn't say anything more. Eventually, we broke the silence, chatted with a nurse, talked about the TV, but we didn't discuss my departure again, even when I kissed him goodbye that evening and went out to catch a cab back to Elena's. I was just as happy to skip the dramatic goodbyes; it wasn't like it ever made being apart any easier.