Disclaimer: Anything that is not mine, is not mine. The games, the characters, they are not mine. The concept of the story is mine, but the elements added that were not originally mine, are definitely not mine. I hope that's enough disclaimer!

Author's Note: THANK YOU NAYA FOR BETA-READING!

The chants and the drumming were harder and louder when they came back to the colosseum that Tuesday. Even when they were led underground where the waiting area for fighters was, the muffled noise was pulsating into her and her uneasy heart. She was sitting on a bench by the vendo machine in one of the storage rooms while Rude stood by the open door and looked on to the large gates leading to the arena. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest and his weight was constantly shifting on his feet from side to side.

"You can't get nervous now," Tifa berated.

She saw his shoulders rise and fall. "If you can promise me you'll win this one unscathed, then I won't be."

"I can't promise that."

"Then you'll have to forgive me for being nervous."

Tifa sighed and shook her head, her soles bouncing repeatedly against the floor. "It's not helping my nerves."

Rude turned to her then lowered his head. "I'm sorry."

"It's…" Tifa sighed. It was okay, she understood why he was nervous. He had warned her over and over that no one was truly prepared for any fight in the Don's Coliseum. Even after all the egregious training and preparation they did the past week, the contenders always played as dirty as the Don himself.

"Forget it," she muttered.

Tifa heard his footsteps draw closer then met his eyes when he squatted in front of her. She didn't know why he still wore his shades when he was already unreadable enough without them.

"You want to be here," Rude dictated the words to her like slow bullets. "And for a good reason. Do you need to be reminded why you're fighting here now?"

Tifa sighed loudly again then nodded. "Yeah. For Seventh Heaven."

"Exactly. I understand why you're worried. And it's easier for me to ask you to worry less, but you have to go out there and fight. You've worked hard for this, and that's what we're here for."

Tifa nodded more. "I know."

"You're stronger than you know."

She let out a shaky chuckle. "Thanks."

Rude tilted his head to his right when she became quiet after that. "What?"

"It's just…" she clasped her gloved hands together on her lap then bounced them on her thighs. "It's not the same. Without him."

Rude hummed and nodded firmly before rising up to his feet again. "That's why I'm here."

"Really," Tifa tilted her head up to him. "Thanks, Rude."

They both snapped up when the door creaked open and the organizer's head popped in. "Guys, you're up."

Tifa inhaled sharply and Rude nodded at her when she eyed him nervously. She straightened up, cleared her throat, and marched out the room to the wide corridor then followed the organizer to the two large metal gates.

As Scotch's and Kotch's voices echoed from the arena at the other side of the gates, the organizer swept his eyes all over Rude.

"You sure you wanna fight in that suit?" he asked.

Rude grimaced slightly at the question. "Nothing wrong with the suit. We can fight very well in it, as usual. Shinra technology and all. Besides,—" he turned to Tifa. "—I'm not the contender. She is."

Tifa tilted her head slightly to the side and smiled at the organizer curiously when he gave her a dubious look.

"I'm sure," Tifa said before he could ask.

The organizer looked at Rude and then back at Tifa, sighed, then finally pushed the button that reeled the gates to the sides and made way to the arena.

Rude was still there when she came back after the fight. She had almost thought he wouldn't be and was nearly astonished to see him standing so close by the doors to the arena where he presumably watched and waited for her.

Tifa limped towards him and he strode to her when she was close enough for him to reach and guided her by her arms. They waited until the metal gates opened for them then she felt it again, the stabbing pain on the side of her rib from the strong hook her opponent threw. She cursed and hissed and cursed again because she should have been able to evade that one. She had become too slow, too rusty to be throwing herself into the pit again to look for a fight.

Rude tightened his grip on her when she groaned and bent to ease the bruise on her side then steadied her back to her feet. Tifa had forgotten about the loud cheers and drumming chants from the audience until the doors muffled them from inside the wide waiting hall.

"Congratulations!" The organizer greeted. "I don't know how you did it, but that was a good fight."

Tifa responded with a weak and brief smile. "Thanks."

The organizer nodded. "We have bandages in there," he pointed at one of the doors. "And some potions. I'm sure you'll need them."

"A medic?" Rude asked.

"Currently busy with the other fighter," the organizer smirked.

"I'm fine," Tifa interrupted. "I don't need a medic. Just the potions will be great."

They walked back into their room and Rude guided her to the same bench where she sat and waited before the fight. He scanned her, seemingly assessing her state behind his shades before heading to the table nearby where a box of potions, bandages, and ointments sat. He pulled a Hi-potion and a pack of cotton balls.

"I did it," Tifa began with a mild tone. "I won the fight."

He turned to her, his hands still full with the potion and a pack of cotton balls. "That was just one fight. There will be others after."

"Twenty thousand gil," Tifa said hopefully. "I'm getting ten thousand gil from this fight. That's enough to repair the windows and replenish some of the beers, wine, and kitchen supplies. I can also set some of it aside for the bills"

"That's barely enough to cover you for a longer term," Rude admonished, approached her side, and handed her the potion. Tifa chugged the half of it with no delay. "If you want to secure the bar, you'll need more than twenty thousand gil. There's another fight next week."

"I know. More would be nice, but—" Tifa glanced down on herself, spotting the fresh red bruise just above her chest, the blisters on her thighs, and cuts with dried blood along her arms. There were more of those injuries under her clothings and she could feel them. "Can I endure another so soon?"

"Not that soon. You can take another week to recuperate until you're ready." Rude pulled out another bottle, an ointment from the looks of it, and poured a little amount on a cotton ball, staining it brown. "In the meantime, you should train harder. Maybe we can visit again next week to watch and study your next opponent's moves. That's… something we failed to do for this fight."

Tfa winced. "Did I do badly?"

Rude grimaced with a detracted expression and began to dab the cotton ball on a cut on her arm. "You could've gone better. For starters, you were the slower one."

Tifa already knew that.

"He threw the first punch, and that's good. I could tell in the way you looked at him that you were studying his moves and his style. And you knew he was the type who attacks before he thinks, which was his weakness. That was your advantage because you strategize, like we agreed on. He has strong jabs but he struggled with his uppercuts. It made him slow. His kicks have limited reach, whereas yours are higher. It was wise that you used it to your advantage and eventually knocked him to the ground. The hook got to you, that one he gave you on your right rib. He incapacitated you with that and made you slower. You retaliated with a jab and an uppercut which surprised him because you came in faster than he had expected. He failed to block those, so you came in with more. He eventually caught up to you and started kicking you to your lower limbs, hence—" Rude nodded at the large bruises on her thighs. "—those. You backed away, countered with a hook and a jab when you found an opening, before delivering your last kick that sealed your victory. The fight could have been shorter with less injuries had you been faster."

Tifa blinked a few times, her mouth halfway open, words frozen at the tip of her tongue from awe over the amazing rehash of her fight. He was a Turk and he was a strategist, but was also keen and sharp with the details and committing them to memory.

"You… what… how closely were you watching me?" she asked.

"Close enough to see everything." Rude patched a cut on her upper arm with a gauze and secured it with a surgical tape. "You are a good fighter. You just need more polishing."

"I…" Tifa sighed deeply. "I tried to forget all of it. I won. That's all that matters, right?"

"For now. It won't matter when you come back out there for your next fight."

Tifa smiled briefly and mistakenly thought Rude didn't catch that.

"You just need more training," Rude quickly added when Tifa's face bore an expression of visible forlornness. "Me and you, just like we did at Jules'."

"Yeah." Tifa pressed her lips together in a tight line.

Rude's face slightly folded into worriment. "What's wrong?"

Tifa shook her head. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

Tifa lifted her gaze to his. "I know you're a busy man, Rude."

"I'm not. Which is all for the better. It means there's no trouble around."

"Isn't Reno looking for you?"

Rude narrowed his eyes. "No. He isn't. He has other affairs of his own. And I got this."

"But—"

"What are you trying to say, Tifa?"

Tifa sighed again and looked away. "Nothing. It's just that…"

Rude paused. He placed everything on top of the table then settled on a stool across Tifa. She couldn't say it because it hurt too much to know and not to see. Cloud had left a long time ago and she still hadn't heard a word. He didn't even have the decency to tell her where he went, just straight up left her guessing in the dark and in the mess of the life they were supposed to build and was now falling apart. She was desperately trying to keep it all together with sticks and plasters, alone and confused. Cloud was supposed to be there, not Rude. She needed Cloud, but a Turk was all she was going to get.

"I'll take you home," Rude said and held up a hand when Tifa tried to protest. "We'll finish patching you up and then we'll head back to Seventh Heaven where you can rest. I'll take care of everything else."

Tifa watched him rise from his seat without another word and rummage through the box of curatives again. She didn't attempt to object this time, knowing better now that nothing could get through his clinched resolve to be a part of it all.

Tifa took a shower the moment they arrived at Seventh Heaven. "Make yourself at home," she told Rude, then he went straight to the kitchen.

It ached and stung everywhere the warm water touched, and the bathroom echoed with her constant hisses and loud exhales while she tried to wash off the grime all over her. The potions could only do so much for such a short amount of time, and she knew she would feel better after a long good sleep. She spent more time than she usually did in the shower, but she supposed she earned that, too.

Rude was sitting in one of the booths when she climbed down the bar. There was a pot of hot stew, a bowl of rice, and a pitcher of red juice waiting for her on the winebar. Rude rose on his feet.

"Let me know when you're ready for training again," he said. "Eat well and recover for now. I'll try to get in touch with you on Thursday."

"Did you make all of these?" Tifa asked.

Rude moved his head towards the bar counter then back to Tifa. "Spicy beef and vegetable stew. You'll need the protein from the meat. I hope you'll like it."

Tifa smiled. "Spicy and beef. It's the perfect combination."

Rude smirked. "It is."

Tifa giggled. "Share the recipe with me?"

"Sure. Expect it tonight."

"Share it over dinner, then."

Rude pressed his lips into a thin line, looked away, and shifted on his feet.

Ah. Tifa's face fell as it dawned on her. "You're not joining me?"

Rude cleared his throat, craned his neck, and avoided her eyes. "Reno called."

Tifa's gaze lowered. "I… see."

A stifling silence befell between them and Rude shifted on his feet once more. Tifa clasped her hands together and squeezed them tightly, awkwardly turning to the bar counter and back to Rude.

"Well, can't keep Reno waiting."

Rude nodded. "Yeah. I better go."

"Yeah."

"I'll see you."

"Yeah, I'll…"

Rude snapped his head up at her.

Tifa bowed a little. "Thank you, Rude."

He seemed to have considered this before nodding. "Yeah. You're welcome."

Tifa stood there as Rude walked away and disappeared out the door. It was already late in the evening and the quietness of the night was filling the room with the worries, the doubts, and the loneliness she had always been carrying. She had wanted his company that could have lasted her until after dinner time and might have helped her endure less minutes until she closed her eyes again.

She forced herself to walk to a barstool next to the stew and lifted the spoon Rude placed on top of the bowl of rice. She sighed deeply, the aroma and spice of the soup scaling up her nose and her eyes burning with an exhale. She scooped a chunk of beef mindlessly and then scooped more of the soup and the cabbage as her vision started to blur with her tears. She took a bite— it was a really good stew— and another, and then she had started to sob while she chewed. She ran a hand up to her forehead and leaned against it, now that it sank into her how freely she could break down like this because she was alone. And the fact was, she had been so alone for a long time. And she always broke down.

It surprised her, however, that he was back at Seventh Heaven early the next day, an hour before she usually woke up. Too early, in fact, since she had spent most of the night before crying even as she ate, cleaned up, and clambered into her bed. She shot up at the sudden knocks on her front door, glanced at her phone for the time (and to see the three missed calls on the notifications), then began dragging herself again down to the bar.

Rude stood there by the door and cradled a large brown bag in one arm. Tifa's lips quirked on one side and stepped away to let Rude in.

Rude silently placed the bag on one of the booths. "Are you opening today?"

Tifa nodded. "Yeah. I might."

Rude nodded at all of her. "You look better."

"The potions did the trick. I just needed more sleep."

"Are you okay?"

"Huh?"

"You look—" Rude's eyebrows dipped.

Tifa tipped her head to a side curiously.

Rude shook his head then glanced at the bag. "Nothing. I bought you a few things."

Tifa's eyes shifted from Rude to the bag. "Please, let me pay for those."

"Maybe next time."

"Rude."

"What?"

"You can't keep doing this."

"You're the one who's joining the colosseum fights because you can't keep up with the bills," Rude retorted, pulling a bottle of ketchup and placing it on the table. "You can't do everything alone."

Tifa slammed a hand on the table and conjured the most severe scowl she could muster. Rude didn't even flinch. "I'm not asking you to help me this way."

Rude exhaled loudly, smoothly removed his shades off, and met her eyes with a fiercer glare. "Don't turn down the graces you can count on."

"I'm not destitute," she spat.

"You're not the only one with pride," Rude retorted, his voice growing louder and firmer. "I will stand by my promise to help you. Every step of the way."

"Why?" she challenged.

"Because you need it. And I want to." Rude narrowed his eyes. "Because I want to make it up to you."

Tifa's frown dug deeper. "I never asked you to make it up to me," she said with an attempt to match his own tone.

Rude leaned in closer then quickly withdrew. "Then consider my reason that I want to."

Tifa straightened up and crossed her arms against her chest. "And if I tell you that I don't need your help either?"

"Then you can stop crying at night."

Tifa's eyes widened, and she could tell that even Rude was shocked at his frankness. He made an effort to brush it off by clearing his throat softly then quickly turning back around at the grocery bag. Tifa held her breath, dropped her arms to her sides, and tightened her fists as she watched Rude lay out more things on the table.

Tifa slowly backed away from Rude and then quickly stomped her way to the back of the bar counter.

Rude paused at the sudden strong smell of coffee in the room. He lifted his head just as Tifa was approaching with two mugs of coffee. She handed one to Rude.

"Then take this as my payment," she told him. Because at the end of the day, payment should be given where payment was due. And she would not allow it all to be given to her for free. And his excuse of "making it up to her" simply would not do. "The door's right there when you're done."

Rude watched her walk away, sipping from her own cup, then climbing up the staircase to her room. He looked at his coffee, steam slowly rising from it with a strong and sweet aroma. He smiled as he lifted her payment to his lips.

Rude was more unforgiving with her training. So grueling and torturous was it that Tifa caught Andrea throwing her a sympathetic look every now and then, even handing her a liter of cold drink when Rude gave her barely a few minutes of rest. Tifa was sure she pulled a muscle and even acquired a bruise or two, but her body was already so used to it she had learned to ignore them and feel nothing. But that wasn't the only thing that was different about that day.

After she had finished changing when Rude finally decided to conclude their training, he approached her and said "Let me take you home."

Tifa knew she wasn't even supposed to be surprised at this point, what with all the groceries and the cooking and the other favors he had done for her. But she was used to doing things on her own so much more that getting help from other people had started to become a strange thing. She began shaking her head, ready to turn down his offer, when she felt a strong nudge behind her that she almost stumbled forward and her eyes caught Andrea innocently passing by to her side.

"And we'll get you something for your muscle sores on the way," Rude added as some sort of an incentive. Andrea pivoted gracefully and stood behind Rude, shooting Tifa a look with glaring wide eyes.

"GO WITH HIM," Andrea mouthed.

"I… Yeah! Okay," Tifa replied. Because when it really came down to it, she might have been more of a people-pleaser. And she could not say no to Andrea.

The trip back to Sector Seven was quiet and painfully uneventful even when they stopped by a pharmacy for her painkillers. Rude carried her bag on the same shoulder he carried his, and Tifa noticed that he wasn't wearing his shades. They reached Seventh Heaven around nine in the evening, just as when the moon shone the brightest in the dark sky. Rude quietly handed her bag when she unlocked the door then turned around without another word. It didn't feel right, how she simply stood watching him leave just like that without any parting words. It was like a tug in her chest that pulled harder and harder the farther he walked away. And he was a brisk walker. Tifa curled her lips down in her self-chagrin.

"Thanks, Rude," she whispered, hoping her words would chase him in the air.

And it seemed like they did. Rude halted on his step and turned his head slightly to his shoulder. Tifa waited for him to turn around. He didn't, but she caught a smile on the corner of his lips that reached his hazel eyes.

She remained where she was as she watched him leave and disappear through the gates of the Sector. She slept quietly that night.

They were back in the stands again that Tuesday Rude promised to take her back to the colosseum. They stood with the crowd, watching rounds of fights up until the final one, tensely anticipating the first punch to be thrown in the arena. And somehow, it felt even more unnerving now that she knew what it felt like to be a fighter down there.

And with every punch and kick thrown, she felt her stomach churn.

The final fight was supposed to be an elimination round. The current fighters were victors of past battles in the pit, just like the opponent she faced herself a week ago. But one of the two she was watching was crowned "undefeated," and she was about to find out why.

His punches flew in so quickly the other guy barely had a second to dodge. The fast momentum of the punch also defined the strength and impact, and it whacked so hard on the jaw that Tifa almost thought the punch had twisted the man's neck. He had gone too slow and the length of the battle had definitely worn him out. He threw a punch with what seemed like little energy he had, yet the "undefeated" was relentless. He walloped another one onto the abdomen and delivered the final blow to the other jaw that sent the guy down to the ground.

The beaten was unrecognizable from the cuts and swelling bruises he accrued from the battle. His chest was heaving incessantly while the rest of his body was sprawled without a flinch. The "undefeated" shot his fists in the air victoriously and walked around the arena to gloat on his triumph as Scotch and Kotch announced his "another winning streak."

Tifa tightly clasped a hand on her other arm. "Can I win against him?"

Rude didn't say anything nor did he glance at Tifa. He pushed his shade up his nose and looked around the arena, at the cheering and hooting crowd. And she wondered if it was because she had the same reception from the audience too. She never knew and never asked because lasting in the fight and winning was all that mattered to her.

But the "undefeated" was different. He was there for the glory. And the crowd was there for the show.

"If you want to go against him—"

"I plan to."

Rude grimaced slightly. "Then you will have to close the bar for a few weeks straight to train."

Tifa's eyebrows were raised when he turned to her.

"We will design a strategy based on what we saw today. He is the undefeated because he is faster and stronger than the others who faced him. If you reach his level, you will be better than you were last week and easily win your next fight. We will train like you've never trained before. You need to be stronger and faster, and I know we can work on that. But it's a lot of work."

Tifa nodded firmly. "Okay. I know."