It had been two weeks since Tifa thought she'd lost Cloud.
He'd died in that rooftop explosion. She knew, they'd checked. She'd come home in tears, unprepared to tell the kids that their father-figure had died in battle, at a loss for how to explain it.
But Marlene had been so insistent, finally convincing Barrett to take them to Aerith's chapel where, surprisingly, a large number of parents and children had gathered at the fringes of the pool of clear water now filling a new crater in the floor.
Tifa had been lost in tears, clinging to Yuffie, miserable at the idea of a lifetime spent without Cloud. She hadn't even noticed when the children went down into the pool, their faces full of the calm conviction of those who knew precisely what they were doing.
It was Marlene's gentle chiding that had dried her silent tears, Marlene's soft assurance that Cloud was just fine, that he would be back soon, that there was no reason to cry. And so Tifa had dried her tears and fixed a smile on for the kids, abjectly grateful that the mask fooled the little girl she so loved.
But it was Tifa who had been fooled, thinking she knew so much about life and death. Beneath those confident, innocent hands, Cloud had slowly flickered into being, his supine form growing more solid by the moment. As he'd laid there, suspended by the water, Tifa had nearly broken down again, so happy to see him that she was sure she'd burst with it.
Moments later, his familiar, gorgeous blue eyes fluttered open and he'd stood, whole and alive and welcome.
And now, weeks later, Tifa recalled that moment with bittersweet sadness.
She stopped scrubbing at the bar, taking a moment to hold her hand over her belly. So little yet, and so precious, hidden inside her—a secret, hers alone. She couldn't tell Cloud, couldn't add to his troubles, he mourned as he always had but now it had the flavor of despair to it. Cloud still ached for someone, and the ache was festering inside of him, poisoning him.
The bar door chimed and Tifa glanced up, not surprised to see Rude. The large, reticent Turk had actually become quite close to her over the last year, even moreso over the last few months. Tifa found that it was Rude she called when she needed something, it was Rude she turned to when a problem arose. It was Rude who gave her advice, calmly and rationally, always willing to help her, always answering his phone no matter what hour she called or where he was at. He'd become a rock upon which she'd slowly started to depend, his stability and quiet, constant dependability something that drew her more and more each day.
He'd picked the worst possible time to drop in, because Tifa was certainly not at her strongest. Tears threatened, and Tifa hated to cry.
"Miss Tifa," Rude said, always so formal with her, even after all this time. "I'm sorry if I'm intruding—I tried calling earlier to see if you still needed me to take Marlene to practice—"
"Oh, of course! I'm so sorry, Rude, I'm not quite with it," Tifa said, a little breathless with her desperation to sound fine and dandy. "I should have called you, I completely forgot—Barrett came back yesterday, he decided to take her."
"Oh," Rude said, nodding solemnly, but Tifa could sense his keen disappointment. "Well, I guess I'll be going then…"
"Please stay!" Tifa said, surprising herself. She hated to see him so downcast. He'd done so much for her and her little family. "I…I'm sorry, Rude. Would you like to stay? I'm not quite myself today. Please have a seat, I'll fix you a drink. Water with a cherry, right?"
Rude smiled slightly and sat down, his pleasure at her company showing in his relaxed posture.
"How's Reno?" she asked, getting him his fizzy water and plopping a cherry into it. She placed it before him, worried by his solemn frown. "Don't tell me he's still…"
"Mister ShinRa has given Reno enforced leave to pull himself together," Rude said, the concern heavy in his voice. "I think he's trying to drink himself to death. The last time I was in his apartment there was nothing but booze…I only hope he hasn't started on the drugs."
Rude suppressed a shudder, recalling years before when he'd stayed with Reno through the ugly, wretched process of detoxing. That he worried his friend would be so far gone merely concerned him all the more. To cover his apprehension, he took a sip of the water, relishing the faint sweetness of the cherry and the lingering scent of Tifa's perfume.
"Maybe…do you think Cloud could talk to him?" he asked, watching Tifa's face tighten with sudden, striking displeasure.
"I'll give him a call and ask him," Tifa said. It was all she could promise. Cloud had, supposedly, moved back in to Seventh Heaven, but spent all of his time at deliveries, avoiding them all. "I'm sorry about Reno. I really like that little rascal."
"Me too," Rude said, draining the glass. "And you, Miss Tifa? You've been looking a little strained—not that you look any less beautiful, mind you."
Tifa smiled indulgently at Rude's flush and flustered backtrack.
"Yeah, well, we've all got our problems, Rude," she sadly said, idly wiping down the shiny, polished bar top. "Some just bother me more than others."
Rude said nothing, his silence as accepting as a question from any other. It was a silence Tifa knew she could count on, a silence that kept secrets secrets and never let those secrets turn his judgment.
"I've got a little problem," she whispered, staring down at the bar as the tears formed. She'd told no one. No one—not even Yuffie, not even Vincent, who could never be shocked by anything.
"Miss Tifa," Rude softly said, reaching out to still her furious scrubbing of the bar. His hand was warm and calloused, so capable and strong. "Please…you can trust me. I hate to see you in pain like this."
The whole of her world narrowed to one tiny sentence, a sentence that brought her as much thrilling joy as it did empty despair.
"I'm pregnant."
She waited for his response, wondering if this would finally be what drove Rude away. He'd been so patient with her, so shy, so respectful of her—that he had feelings for her was no secret, and she hated like everything to abuse those feelings. But this was a secret that wouldn't keep for long, and she preferred telling him herself to just letting him stumble upon it one day. Her honesty demanded nothing less of her, and her pride wouldn't allow her to let herself off easy.
"Miss Tifa," he finally said, and his deep voice was slow, measuring. The hand on hers pulled away and Tifa closed her eyes, sure that he was abandoning her. Sure that she deserved it. What had she done in the face of his quiet, steady love? She'd piled guilt on an already guilt-laden Cloud and all but forced him into her bed. She couldn't blame anyone else for her predicament, she'd brought all of this upon herself and she knew it. "I know that I'm not worthy to even ask…"
She looked up and saw him fishing something out of his jacket pocket, his eyes inscrutable behind the mirrored lenses of his sunglasses.
"But would you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?"
Spots swam before Tifa's eyes as he withdrew a small box and opened it, only the slight trembling of his hands betraying how nervous he was. The ring inside was beautiful, a tasteful and elegant diamond that was as understated as the man who held it.
"I know we have been enemies in the past, but I care for you and your children," Rude said, offering the ring to her with one hand, the other daring to reach out and lightly touch a wisp of her hair. He'd never touched her before, he'd always respected her too much to take liberties with her person. "I would be honored to be your husband and care for you and your children. Please, Miss Tifa, say yes…"
"Rude…" she softly said, overwhelmed. Smiling gently, she carefully tugged his sunglasses off, smiling to see his anxious, amber-colored eyes fastened to hers. "You do me the honor. Don't you even want to know who the father is?"
Rude shrugged a little, the movement moving his broad shoulders beneath the clean lines of his suit.
"If I am the baby's father, does it matter?" he asked, the situation black and white to him. "Does it matter who Denzel's father is? Doesn't love make a family?"
"Do you love me, Rude?" Tifa gently asked, needing to hear it before she gave him her answer.
"Do you even need to ask?" the gruff Turk asked, shifting a little in discomfit. "I've loved you for a very long time, Miss Tifa. And I'm certain that, with time, you'll come to love me, too—and forget whoever it was who has broken your heart. Will you say yes?"
Breathlessly overcome, warm tears of happiness spilling from her eyes, Tifa flung her arms around Rude's thick neck and sobbed, "Yes! Of course yes!"
Rude's sigh of relief was as strong as the arms that held her so securely, asking so little, and giving so much.