AN: This is a sequel of sorts to First Dates, but answers the question: "What if Tifa picked Rufus?" So read to chapter 4 at least, if you haven't already. Also, since Headlines was originally plotted back in 2006, I'm disregarding "The Kids Are Alright." That's right—I'm ignoring the events described post-Meteor as well as the fact that Mrs. Shinra is dead. Suck it, canon-sticklers!

Yes, I'm aware I have other stories open, and I don't know how often I'll update any of them, tbh. The thing is, a couple of dear friends really wanted to see this story again so here it is.

Chapter One: Former AVALANCHE Member Seen...

For as long as Rufus Shinra could remember, he had always woken up at six, always sweating, always trembling, and always after a wonderfully horrific dream.

When Rufus was younger, the dreams had been about failure, his father, sometimes his mother, and his desperation to avoid all three. After Diamond Weapon shattered open his world, they were about, unsurprisingly, Diamond Weapon, and steel tables with jagged pieces of metal. When he was struck with Geostigma, the dreams were of slow deaths with a black ache in his joints and an unpaid debt to a very angry collector.

Rufus went to sleep every night with the same dread he reserved for buffet-style restaurants. He never knew what would end up on his plate, but he knew it would be long past its prime and likely to be purged later. And every six a.m. found him on the rug next to his bed, panting and shaking from whichever nightmare his mind had just dined on.

And most mornings found him grimly pushing himself off the floor, again and again (Rufus heard they were called "push-ups"), until his arms ached and whatever horrors that lingered in his mind were overridden. Only after that would he stagger to the shower to stand under a scalding spray until his skin glowed red and the water ran cold, cursing his name, cursing his life, or just cursing in general.

This morning, however, was a little different.

This morning, waking up was more of a "gradual fluttering of the eyelids" affair instead of the gasping jackknife out of bed he was used to. He ruthlessly quashed the counterproductive panic welling up at the lack of panic and tasked his mind with savoring this unexpected but wholly welcome respite.

As Rufus lay there blinking, the novelty of doing slow blinks at his ceiling not lost on him, his memory made a desperate grab at the last wisps of a dream so pleasant it made him melancholy.

Flashbulbs. A string of pearls. Dark tendrils of hair. Red wine stain on a white coat.

Last night's exhibit…of course. The event had been so out of his normal routine that it must have left an impression. Yes, that was it. No need to further examine it or obsess over an answer; there was no other logical explanation that his mind wasn't already primed to reject.

Ms. Lockhart was attractive, but hardly worth losing sleep over.

On the way to the shower, his eyes flicked to the clock on the nightstand, the one he never set the alarm on because he always woke up at the same time. It read 8:07.

Rufus stopped. 8:07? How in Gaia's name could it be that late? It had to be a glitch. A faulty model. His eyes, still marveling at how odd the ceiling looked early in the morning, must've misread it. Or the clock froze last night at 8:07 p.m. An infinite number of reasons existed for why the clock was wrong on this particular morning.

While Rufus stood there looking for them, the numbers on the clock turned over to 8:08. An unfamiliar sensation settled over him. For the first time in—well, he wasn't certain, but it was a long damned time—he'd slept in.

Ms. Lockhart was hardly worth losing sleep over...but gaining?

No, that was absurd.

In the sterile white bathroom, Rufus turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature to just under a boil. A long stare into the large vanity mirror showed him the six-inch scar on his right hip, still just as jagged and unforgiving as ever, just like the one down by his left knee. So many scars to sneer at, but Rufus decided the morning was going too well to linger. While he stood under the spray, uncomfortably comfortable, he mused that this must be what it felt like to take a shower that wasn't some form of self-help or flagellation.

The first step out of the bathroom didn't leave him light-headed. The raised fibers of the towel felt strange to skin that wasn't poached. It was disconcerting, yet secretly exhilarating, and Rufus didn't know what to do with it. He preferred one emotion at a time, and rarely were his choices anything resembling happiness.

He dressed in silence, brooding over this odd joy, and when he reached for his favorite coat, it wasn't where he normally left it.

Flashbulbs. A string of pearls. Dark tendrils of hair. Red wine stain on a white coat.

Shit.

Well, he could write that coat off. Ms. Lockhart had probably taken it home and thrown it in the trash bin, followed by lighter fluid and a match. He doubted he'd ever see her again anyway, unless either Reno or Rude managed to catch her, and then…and then…and then he'd be going to great lengths to avoid her, he supposed.

But on his way to work (which was, in actuality, a walk down the hall), resentment began to well up from a neglected part of his mind, and it demanded to know: Why can't it be me?

Because, Rufus told it. A nanny had once accused him of being a picky child—he dismissed the comment and had her dismissed as well. A psychologist at a party once told him he was a workaholic—Rufus bought the building the man's practice was in and evicted him. Because we already know why.

When he reached the door to his office, he paused as an extreme moment of self-awareness. The moment he set foot in that room, the pleasantness of his morning would burst, popped by the ruthless safety pin of his daily grind, his company, his life. Would he ever experience this kind of morning again? Rufus highly doubted it.

Resolute, he pushed the door open. He surveyed his domain, where everything was spare and organized and in its proper place. When he took up his spot behind his desk, his body settled into his chair like he'd never really left it—and today, for reasons Rufus refused to fully acknowledge, it bothered him.

Though the subjects of last night's photo exhibit still occupied the lobby of the Shinra building, the two Turks behind the reception desk had no interest in artistic visions of landscapes and eroticism.

Tseng dragged the ace to the top of the screen and pulled the six of hearts down to rest on the seven of spades.

"Rude's going to kill you if you ruin his streak. You know that, don't you?"

Tseng's gaze shifted briefly to the woman in the chair next to him. She wore a dark suit similar to his, but tailored in the places women were different from men. These places, as well as her face, were hidden behind a newspaper, but Tseng knew them all by heart.

"Elena," he said, maneuvering the mouse arrow back up to the deck at the corner of the screen. "What Rude doesn't know..."

"Oh, he'll notice." Elena's voice came from behind the paper. "Bet me he won't. His solitaire score is his baby. The only thing he's prouder of was that piece of chocolate cake Tifa sent home with him."

"Then I will have to make sure I win, won't I?"

The newspaper rustled as Elena flicked it to the next page. "He'll still know. Rude is like a hunting dog when it comes to these things. Once he gets the scent, he—oh, fuck."

Tseng looked up from the solitaire screen. "What is it?"

Elena slowly lowered the newspaper, and the expression on her face told him it was bad. It had to be if she was resorting to Reno's favorite word.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why did we have to work today?" she groaned, eyes still glued to something on the page. "It's Sunday! Why couldn't we have slept in with the rest of Edge and done boring Sunday afternoon things like everyone else? Why do we have to be here for this? Fuckity, fuck, fuck—"

She held the page open for Tseng to see, and he grudgingly allowed that she had picked the right word for the occasion. "Elena," he said, with a calmness that surprised even him. "Please tell me you haven't given Rufus his copy yet."

"—fuck, fuck. I took it up there, but…" Her expression turned contemplative. "I left it on his desk because he wasn't in the office yet, which is really strange when you think about it."

Tseng rubbed his chin. "That is strange, but that means we might have a chance to retrieve it before he—"

"Tseng!" shouted a voice through the reception phone's intercom.

Together, they turned twin stares of horror to the phone. It was Rufus, and the solid green light next to the button labeled "Rufus Office" a clear indicator that Rufus was now, indeed, in his office—and that they were, indeed, shit out of luck.

Tseng swallowed. "Sir?"

"I'm in my office now." A pause. "Obviously."

Under her breath, Elena began chanting "fuck" again. Tseng tried not to let it rattle him, but the green light next to Rufus's line glowed with such an abnormal cheeriness that, if it had been a man, he would've strangled it by now.

"Yes, sir," he managed to say.

"Is Elena with you?"

Elena's eyes darted to Tseng, undoubtedly wondering where this question was headed. "Yes, I'm here, sir," she said. "Do you, uh, need me for something?"

While Tseng held his breath and waited for an answer, he noted that Elena's shoulders had frozen in a defensive hunch.

"No," Rufus finally said. "Not at the moment. I'll be sure to notify you when I do."

Tseng waited until the green light blinked out before exhaling. As Elena flopped back in her chair with a loud sigh, he fixed her with a stern look.

She blinked. "What? I wasn't saying fuck loud enough for him to hear."

Tseng shook his head. "He's going to find it eventually, and he's not going to be pleased at all. You know that, don't you?"

"How is this my fault?" The pitch of Elena's voice rose. "I didn't put this stuff"—she shook the newspaper still clutched in her hands—"in there! All I did was take it up to his office, like I do every day. Like it's my job to do. So don't look at me like that."

She was right—Tseng knew it—but the hopeless inevitability creeping into his skin made him want to blame it on someone. If only Reno and Rude were in Edge instead of Costa del Sol. Then they would be working the desk, and he and Elena would be doing boring Sunday things instead of waiting for the axe to fall on their necks.

"You know though," Elena said, tilting her head at the paper, "it's not a bad photo. It's kind of cute, actually." She paused and looked across the lobby, her expression thoughtful. "I wonder if..."

"Do not pursue this line of thought," Tseng cautioned. He pursed his lips as she pouted at him. "You know the reason why Reno quit smoking. You know who Rude's had a crush on for two years."

Elena dismissed it with an eye-roll. "Yeah, yeah. But look! How can you argue with this?" She fairly shoved the newspaper at Tseng's face. "Look! Tseng, you're not looking. Look! What are you looking at?"

Tseng's attention had been caught by a small and seemingly harmless stack of papers sitting on the high counter of the desk. "What," he said slowly, "are those?"

"Hmm?" Elena lowered the paper to her lap. "Oh, those. They're our other subscriptions. They were sitting outside the door when we came in. You know how Rufus thinks he has to know what's happening on the other side of the planet. Why? You don't think that..."

Her words slowed as she reached the conclusion Tseng had been sitting on for the last terrible minute. They both dove for the stack at the same time.

Rufus pushed the button to disconnect from the reception desk and sat back in his chair, mulling over the list of things he needed to do today.

Being alive to the public again meant Rufus was busier than ever. There seemed to be no end to the contracts in need of negotiations, lines to sign on, meetings to preside over, or press releases to draft. Though he'd never admit it to anyone, there were times when he considered throwing a white sheet over himself again just to escape the routine he was trapped in.

Rufus spied the stack of newspapers sitting on the corner of his desk. There were other things he should be doing, but he could at least see if they got a write-up on the exhibit since that was the whole purpose of the damned thing.

He picked up the paper on top and rustled it open to the society page. The first thing Rufus saw was:

Former AVALANCHE Member Seen Canoodling with Rufus Shinra

The second thing Rufus saw, under the center-justified subheading of scandal, was a very large photo from the exhibit last night. It must've been taken just after Tifa had spilled the wine on his jacket. She had her hand on his chest, he had a smile on his face, and the ineffectual tissue was suspiciously absent. It looked very much like canoodling, and not at all like an accident.

And the caption under that read:

Rumor has it that a certain young president has been secretly wooing a certain young hero-turned-bar-owner. Though there have been no confirmations from either camp, tongues were wagging last night when they were seen together at the Shin-Ra "Re:growth" photography exhibit. The very gorgeous Tifa Lockhart, wearing a Bertemi-designed silk halter, arrived separately, but was quick to cozy up to Edge's most eligible bachelor and spent the rest of the evening on his arm.

"They seemed to be very much in love," said one exhibit goer. Another attendee reported, "They were inseparable. You could tell they wanted to be somewhere else, somewhere more private." That sentiment was later to be proven true as numerous eyewitnesses reported them making an early exit.

What might have brought these two former enemies together? Who knows? But rumor has it that they've certainly "kissed and made up."

Oh.

Dear.

Gods.

Rufus stabbed at the reception desk button on his phone. "Tseng!"

"Sir?"

"Find out how much it would cost to buy the building Gaia Weekly is housed in!"

"Yes, sir, but if you intend to do what I think you're going to do, you should know there are more buildings I'll have to inquire about."

Rufus's eyebrows shot up. "What do you mean?"

Tseng made an uncharacteristic sound of hesitation before answering, "You and Ms. Lockhart are in four other newspapers, as well. And, oh…no."

"What?" Rufus wanted to throttle the man. "What's going on?"

After an agonizing moment of silence passed, Rufus could stand it no longer. He yanked the phone receiver from its cradle and jammed it to his ear, listening for something, anything, to tell him what was transpiring in his own bloody lobby. Finally, Rufus made out Elena's muffled voice speaking to someone, but damned if he could tell what or who it was.

Just as Rufus was about to leave his desk and head for the door, Tseng came back on. "Sir?"

"Yes!" Rufus nearly shrieked, now clutching the phone with both hands. "What in Gaia's name is going on down there?"

"Ah..." Another uncharacteristic pause. "Ms. Lockhart is now on her way up to see you."

Rufus nearly dropped the receiver. Bloody hell.

And the morning had been going so well.

AN: Talk to me, yo! Are you happy to see it again? Is it new to you? Leave a comment in the box.