Reno jolted awake from the nightmare, his heart trying to break free of his rib-cage. The momentary confusion was only enhanced by the fact he wasn't alone.

Dressed in one of his t-shirts and with her head resting on his chest, Tifa peered up at him, her expression far too appraising for his liking. His earlier methods of avoiding talking had left her flushed and dishevelled, and whilst she certainly hadn't been complaining he doubted he could outrun the conversation indefinitely.

He wasn't sure he wanted to. She might've been one of the most perfect sights he'd ever seen. He wrapped his arms a little tighter around her, letting her warmth seep into his skin and she didn't say anything, just pressed a gentle kiss to his bare chest and wound her arms around him.

She understood, and that scared the shit out of him.

A glance at the clock on his nightstand told him it was early afternoon. The nap had helped shake the remains of his hangover, although his body was aching still. The scenario unsettled him a little and he was confused at how normal it felt, a reminder that this wasn't a routine he should allow himself to fall into.

He wanted to though. The thought of her trembling beneath him, thighs gripping his hips and fingers wrenching urgently in his hair had his blood rushing south, his physical reaction hidden by the dark sheets that were tangled around their legs. Taking her to bed had been a cop-out, he knew, an easy way to distract them both from the actual issue at hand, but the endorphin rush had helped to settle him and this current moment of calm was far too comfortable. He had no desire whatsoever to see her leave.

"Don't you have a bar to run?" he asked, already hoping that she didn't.

"Not right now." She yawned into his chest, her exhalation humid against his skin. "Cloud's looking after things. He can manage just fine for a while at least."

"So you're not in any rush to leave?"

"No, " she said, voice sleepy.

Ordinarily, his response to that exchange would've been all too simple. It almost was, her lithe form pressed against him motivation enough to draw her beneath him and leave her breathless again. His body was more than willing but his heart threw cold water over his ardour and he gave in to a new and altogether more worrying desire, wanting to understand whatever the fuck was going on between them.

"Why'd you come here?" he asked.

It wasn't as simple as it sounded, the question far heavier than the sum of its parts. He couldn't get his head around her offer of help, couldn't understand why she wanted to. The reasons for her to take pity on his tortured soul had been scarce enough already, even before he'd started actively knocking them down.

She shifted her weight onto her elbow to look at him properly and he loosened his hold of her, meeting her raised eyebrows with an unusually open expression of concern. He didn't want her to side with the others, to remind him that his coping methods were a pile of shit and he was letting them all down. He didn't want her pity either. Her dark hair spilt across his chest and he brushed it gently behind her ear, fingers falling still against her jaw as he waited for her answer.

Her lips brushed his wrist. "You're going to have to talk about last night eventually."

"I'm fine."

He could see the cycle repeating itself. It left a bitter taste in his throat.

"I ran a bar in the slums. I've met a lot of people and heard a lot of problems. You're not fine."

His hand fell from her cheek.

"You don't know anything about me," he said, the edge in his voice betraying his temper. "Don't think you do just because this keeps happening."

"Everybody needs help sometimes. There's nothing wrong with that."

"I can do this by myself, I've done it before. Why can't people just trust me?"

The words were raw, his anger at everybody else spilling into them. He was perfectly capable of sorting himself out, he just needed the time to do it. Their lack of faith in him hurt a lot more than he cared to admit.

"I know you can. They're only worried because they care."

"Well maybe they shouldn't," he replied, far more harshly than he'd intended.

He half expected her to walk away, to untangle herself from his embrace and leave him alone to deal with his shit. He didn't want her to though, despite the temper that was simmering inside of him. He was taking it out on the wrong person, as he so often did. He knew that he should try to explain but he couldn't have even if he'd wanted to. He didn't have the words.

Her body tensed against him and he caught her hand before she could put space between them, the motion at odds with everything else he was projecting. Her lips parted, confusion clear in her expression.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asked.

He exhaled slowly, lacing his fingers through hers. His answer was simple. "No."

"I care," she said, frustration marring her words. "And maybe I don't know you. But I could if you'd let me."

"I'm a Turk," he reminded her. "We're not big on sharing."

"You left your door wide open."

She had him there. He looked away, fiddling idly with the crumpled sheets.

"I can't make you talk," she said. "But when you do, I'll listen."

Where would he even begin? She was banking on a fucking miracle if she thought he'd be able to spill his addled conscience to her. Relief surged through him when she settled back against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm back around her and pulled her closer.

They lay there in silence for a while, Tifa's attention on their clasped fingers, tracing featherlight circles across the weathered skin of his palm. He closed his eyes, content to focus on the simple contact and the heat of her bare thighs against his legs. Her presence was healing even if he couldn't voice the words, and he wished he knew how to make her see that.

Sentimentality had never come easy to him. There were easier things to hide behind.

"You'll stay anyway?" he asked quietly, fingers trailing the back of her arm.

She nodded against his shoulder.

Part of him was happy to lie there and enjoy the warmth of her. Without the pressure to talk, some of his anger dissipated. The other part of him raged, as always, the chaos in his head screaming that it wanted to be heard.

"I'm not good at this," he admitted as the silence dragged on. "You've probably realised."

He'd been assigned three different therapists by the company before Tseng had finally given up on him. He hadn't gelled with any of them, although perhaps that'd been his fault, his stand-offish attitude hardly warming them to him. Without a proper connection, their words had felt forced, their care false and their questions patronising. He'd just lost his temper with them, one by one, and they'd written him off as beyond help.

He wished now that he'd tried harder. This felt like a connection but still, the words weren't there and his mouth was dry.

"I don't think anybody is. Not really," she said. "But you can't keep running."

"I can," he assured her, burying his face in her hair.

She pressed a kiss to his throat. "I'm not going to let you."

He should've been more annoyed by this invasion of privacy, but the feel of her was too great a solace, his aching body more than happy to surrender. He supposed this was where the others had failed. She'd slipped beneath his defences and come at the intervention from a different angle, and he'd fallen willingly into her trap.

"What makes you think you can stop me?" he asked.

She laughed softly and kissed him again. "You're not running now, are you?"

"That's a technicality."

"Is it?"

He squeezed her fingers. "Fine. You got me."

He wondered, again, whether they'd be laying here if circumstances hadn't thrown them together. He wasn't naive enough to assume Erin's continued absence meant they were safe from her, and neither were the others. He was finding it difficult enough to balance the need to keep them safe against the constant feeling of eyes on the back of his neck, and he couldn't imagine life at Seventh Heaven was any easier with the constant threat hanging over them.

"How're the kids?" he asked, the small-talk feeling slightly awkward.

"They're okay," she replied. Sadness filled her expression. "They're good kids. They're used to things being a little… up in the air."

"Tseng arranged cover, right?"

"Yeah. Rude and Elena have been over most days."

"Cool…"

"Things are a little tense. It's difficult. Everyone's on edge." She shook her head slightly. "After everything that happened at Healen…"

It suddenly wasn't clear whether it was he or Erin that was the source of the tension. Both, he assumed. The photograph Cloud had seen back at the lodge left little to the imagination, although it appeared he hadn't shared his discovery with the rest of his motley crew. The fact Barret hadn't tried to turn Reno into a Turk-shaped colander suggested he didn't know Tifa was sleeping with the enemy.

"I cleared the air with Cloud though," she continued. "He knows I'm here."

Reno laughed, the sound humourless. "How'd that go down?"

"Fine. I need to sort myself out before I worry about what anyone else thinks anyway." Her expression turned wry. "Elena told me that, actually."

"Elena needs to keep her fucking nose out of other people's business."

"She speaks very highly of you."

"Yeah, well…"

He felt the heat rise in his face. Tifa shifted position slightly, burrowing her nose into the crook of his neck.

"Why'd you come to the bar?" she asked.

This time he didn't try to be vague. It seemed pointless to lie.

"To see you," he said.

"I wish you'd come sooner."

Sooner, before he'd drank a skinful and gotten himself a black eye. He should've felt a little more ashamed about it, but it certainly wasn't the worst state he'd ever been in. She probably didn't need to know that though.

"I don't react so well to pity," he admitted. "Not that kind of guy."

"It's not pity. You had me worried." Her weary sigh felt hot against his cheek. "That's why I came here."

"Why do you care?"

There was no malice in the question, just curiosity. The Turks still weren't popular in the city and he doubted many Edge's residents would piss on him if he was on fire after everything they'd done. He'd dug his grave and now he had to lie in it, and he'd resigned himself to that reality a long time ago.

"Why wouldn't I?" Tifa frowned. "You're not a monster, Reno."

"I killed thousands of people."

The words tasted sour.

"Do you regret it?"

The sadness in her expression cut at him, and Reno skimmed his fingers down her arm again, his hand coming to rest against the small of her back. He'd regretted the plate in the hours leading up to the event and every day since, although some days the noise was a little quieter and a little less all-consuming. It was always there.

Eyes burning, he nodded, unable to say the words. He didn't fully understand how she'd crashed through his defences.

She cast her gaze upwards, focusing on the ceiling. "I didn't want to be a part of it. Bombing the reactors."

"It's not the same," he said, predicting where she was headed.

"Isn't it? I knew it was wrong but I still did it. We acted like we were at war."

"Somebody else's war," he said.

"For you, maybe. For me…" She shook her head slowly. "We were the good guys. You were evil. It was supposed to be that simple."

He knew that reasoning. He'd seen it from the other perspective, where they were the good guys and the rag-tag band of ecoterrorists lived on the other side of the coin. It had made their orders slightly easier to stomach, although there was little justification for the atrocities Shinra had committed. Reno wasn't naive enough to believe everything he'd been paid to do was for the greater good. The lives Shinra had created for the people of Midgar hadn't been all bad though, and for the most part life without the Shinra Electric Power Company had been that little bit worse.

Avalanche had never been the saints they'd made themselves out to be, although Tifa was trying her hardest to repent for her sins. Her halo might be tarnished, but it still shone.

"Perspective is a bitch," he said, and he firmly believed it.

"We killed so many people. Shinra was trying to kill us..." Her expression darkened, the words coming slowly. "But what about the others? We plunged Sector Four into darkness. I know what happens when there are blackouts. Looters hit the streets. People panic."

He remembered the Sector Four blackout. They'd been dispatched to help deal with it, he and Rude. The memories weren't pretty. One stuck out in particular; an old lady, bruised and bloody after somebody had broken into her home in the neverending darkness and stolen everything she had of value. She'd been terrified, and even Reno's calloused heart had struggled with the scene. His anger at Avalanche had burnt brightly that day and he'd longed to hunt them down and stamp them out.

Tifa didn't need to know the human cost of her crimes. It was a truth she'd realised, but he'd spare her the full extent of it. She'd made a conscious effort to be a better person and he wasn't about to strip that from her. It reminded him again how odd their current situation was. Times had changed.

He brushed her cheek, watching the turmoil pan out across her expression. "Like you said, we were at war. That doesn't make you a bad person, it just makes you a pawn."

"Like you," she said quietly.

She finally met his gaze again, eyes glistening in the light. The admission had been difficult, he realised. She genuinely believed they were cut from the same cloth.

"You're nothing like me," he assured her. "You don't want to be. Trust me."

"Things aren't black and white."

"No, they're not."

"You're not a bad person either." Her expression was filled with conviction. "You might think you are, but you're not."

"Jury's out on that," he said. Her words clawed at his heart. "Doesn't mean you'll ever be able to forgive me."

He hadn't asked the question but it hung there anyway, sucking the oxygen from the air and making his chest tight. Could she forgive him? He hadn't earned it. No amount of repenting could ever make his hands clean.

"Is that what you need? Forgiveness?"

"No," he said, as panic rippled through him. "I don't know. Can you?"

He saw it then, her answer, the conflicting emotions on her face all too easy to decipher. She couldn't. She never would, and why should she? Suddenly this felt futile, his chest hollowing out as hope fled. This was why he didn't do this, he realised, the reason he kept his cards so close to his chest. Connections were dangerous, a liability, and this one was going to burn him alive.

He tried to release her hand, the craving for comfort outweighed by the need to shut everything back out. The moment he started to fidget her fingers tightened, denying him an escape route. She pressed her lips to his knuckles and he turned away, eyes fixed on the far wall.

"I don't think forgiveness is what either of us needs," she said, voice thick with emotion. "It won't change anything."

"Then this is a little pointless, babe." He tried to keep his tone light and failed miserably, still refusing her eye contact. "No hard feelings, right?"

"I don't think it's pointless," she said. "We just need to move forwards."

"And that means what exactly?"

"You need a fresh start."

He tried to argue, but his words lacked conviction. "A fresh start. Right. Because everything in my life is so shit."

"Are you happy?"

"Sure," he lied.

"I don't think you are."

She called him out and her words stung, the truth cutting him to the quick.

"What gave it away?" he snapped.

"This apartment… There's nothing here ."

"I don't spend a lot of time here."

It was only half a lie, he didn't, but that wasn't the reason for its lack of personality. There was a hold-all in his closet and he'd have his entire life folded neatly and thrust inside in a heartbeat if he wanted to. Nobody would ever know he'd been there. He'd just be a bad memory in all the other bad memories, never to be missed.

He'd never fully settled, not into the apartment, not into relationships, not into any aspect of his life. Not since the plate had crashed down, casting its heavy shadow over his future. Unable to reconcile the way he felt he'd carried on running, never letting any aspect of his life pin him down for fear of his actions catching up with him.

Shinra, of course, had always had him. But even that behemoth was trying to abandon him now, talons loosening and leaving only scars behind.

"You're scared to settle down," she said, as though she'd read his mind. "If you stand still, you'll have to confront it all."

He half-shrugged, keeping his expression carefully neutral.

"You don't have to run, Reno. I don't see that man anymore."

It was suddenly difficult to swallow. He dragged his attention back to her concerned face, his expression wary.

"What do you see?" he asked.

"I see you," she said quietly.

Tifa lifted her hand to his face, fingertips tracing the tattoo across his cheekbone. The dull ache of the bruise beneath them served to remind him just how messed up things were and he froze beneath her touch. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, every shred of guilt and torment screaming at him that he didn't deserve this and that he wasn't good for her. Self-preservation reigned, and he angled his jaw into her caress.

"Don't do this to yourself," he said, without a trace of humour in his voice.

"Do what?"

He kissed her palm. "Fall for me."

He tried to force his sardonic smirk but it fell flat. He'd cast his line, watching his baited hook bob uncertainly on the surface of the water, unsure he even wanted her to bite. An admission here could be dangerous, no matter how intrigued he was to hear it.

Her lips quirked upwards. "It's a little late for that."

Hope spiralled through him despite the doubts, the load on his shoulders lifting. He shifted his weight, manoeuvring her beneath him and she gasped, surprised by the unexpected movement. Supporting himself on his elbow, he dipped his chin to kiss her cheek and her smile brightened, eyes sparkling.

"And that is a fucking terrible idea," he said.

He kissed her before she could argue and she laughed against his mouth, kissing him back just as fervently, her arms winding possessively around his neck and pulling him down against her. The tension left his body as he melted into the embrace and when he finally pulled away her cheeks were flushed, her smile still firmly in place.

They stayed in bed a while longer after that, Reno more than happy to spend his afternoon wrapped around her, and whilst the storm clouds still drifted on the horizon the darkness at least felt more manageable, the tidal wave that had threatened to engulf him held at bay. His attention flitted in and out of the conversation, words interrupted by lazy kisses whenever the opportunity presented itself. It was almost too easy to forget the enemy they shared, and the attack they were waiting for.

Eventually, Tifa insisted she really should leave. Cloud's helpfulness could only be expected to stretch so far, and the kids would be asking after her. He thought about arguing but the memory stick in his abandoned suit jacket was calling to him, his mind more willing to cooperate now that he felt calmer. He reluctantly let her go, watching her tread softly across his bedroom collecting her scattered clothing and refusing to take his eyes off her as she stripped out of his t-shirt and dressed properly.

She stuck her tongue out at him and he grinned languorously, stretching out across the bed before he too removed himself and pulled his jeans back on. "You sure you don't want me to drive you home?"

"It's a five-minute walk," she repeated, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

He caught her wrist when she turned to leave and kissed her properly, and she softened into him all too easily. He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip, his mouth curling into a satisfied smirk.

"There's better ways to spend five minutes."

"And you have work to do," she reminded him.

"Technically, I don't have to do anything," he said.

"You will though." She kissed him again. "I'll see you soon?"

He grinned. "Count on it."

The smile she'd flashed him over her shoulder as she'd left stayed with him long after he'd closed the door. It leavened the heaviness in his chest, leaving him with a spring in his step and an idiotic grin on his face. Maybe she was right, maybe he did just need a fresh start.

He ignored the fleeting idea to call Tseng and share the revelation. The Director had set him up, making dangerous assumptions that Tifa would be able to reach him. He'd been right, but Reno wasn't about to provide him with the satisfaction of knowing that. Tseng could sweat it out a while longer, whilst Reno made the most of his imposed freedom.

Instead of a liquor bottle, his hands reached for a bowl and a box of cereal.

He was pouring milk over the makeshift meal when a sharp crack in a nearby street jarred him out of his good mood. Ordinarily, he'd have thought nothing of it, but their current state of high alert had him at the window in a heartbeat, eyes trained on the street below. There seemed to be nothing amiss but the feeling of unease brought on by the sound wouldn't leave him. It was probably a car backfiring, he reasoned, as he grabbed his bowl and headed back to the front room.

He retrieved his laptop from it's resting place beneath the sofa, having kicked the thing into the dark recess the last time he'd attempted to work from home. He hadn't touched it since. He left it on the coffee table, along with his cereal, whilst he returned to the bathroom to find the memory stick.

Tyres screeching in the distance only rattled him further. He retrieved his jacket from the pile on the floor and collected the memory stick and his PHS, shooting a quick message to Tifa as he wandered back into the front room. Back in one piece?

He couldn't shake the feeling he should've taken her home, despite her protestations.

Settling on the sofa, he booted up the laptop, jamming the memory stick into the port on the side. Rude hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said it contained everything they had so far. He scrolled through the various files and folders, all carefully named and organised to make his search easier-Elena's handiwork, no doubt. Police reports for the hit and run, medical records, every scrap of personal information Shinra had collected when they'd hired the crazy bitch, photos of her shrine at the lodge…

He found what he was looking for soon enough. Camera feeds for HQ. An idea formed, niggling at him, and he sought out the night of the fire on a whim, pulling up all the footage from the external perimeter. Each feed was displayed in a square in the vast grid on his screen, running simultaneously. He watched and waited, only half sure he knew what he was looking for. It stood to reason though… If he was going to launch an attack on HQ, he'd do it when the Turks were distracted.

The night of the fire proved fruitless. He tried another date, the day they'd ended up stranded at Healen Lodge. Rufus should've been safe, surrounded by security, but the Turks hadn't been there, he and Rude unable to return thanks to the bomb on the chopper, Tseng and Elena tied up in North Corel. There was a lot of footage to trawl through. He set it running and picked up his bowl, tucking into his now soggy meal.

At first, it appeared to be another non-starter. The cameras rolled, and he watched Shinra HQ wind down for the evening, employees drifting away from the building and making their various exits through the parking lot. Rufus wouldn't leave though, his home the penthouse at the apex of the building. There was another apartment next door, which they took it in turns to occupy. Nine times out of ten there would be a Turk on the other side of the corridor, just in case.

Occasionally, other jobs became a priority. Tseng didn't like to leave the President without cover but accepted that Rufus was capable of looking after himself. The evening in question had been one of those occasions, Rufus adamant that he wanted answers. They'd left him in the capable hands of a security team Tseng had personally vetted and left Edge on the President's orders.

He paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. The time-stamp on the camera revealed it was the early hours and there was nobody around. There should've been. Where the fuck was the perimeter guard?

A bulky figure crossed the shadows of the parking lot. He wasn't Shinra. Their guards wouldn't have kept to the shadows, they were supposed to be there. Reno placed his bowl on the table a little too sharply and pulled his PHS from his pocket.

It began to ring in his hand, Tseng's caller I.D flashing on the screen. He frowned, confused, and slapped the PHS to his ear.

"Sir," he said, keeping it short. "We've been compromised."

"There's been an attack on Seventh Heaven. I can't reach Elena. I need you back at HQ."

Adrenaline kicked in. "Understood."

The call cut off. He dialled Tifa's number, willing her to pick up, but all he got was her voicemail message. Hands shaking, he tried again.

"Hi! This is Tifa. I can't come to the phone right now-"

His t-shirt was still on the floor where he'd cast it aside. He grabbed it, already heading for the door as he pulled it over his head. Mag-rod in hand he slammed it shut behind him.

Erin thought she'd broken him. She was sorely mistaken.