Coming Full Circle

The copy of Mideelmoiselle had been perused so many times over the past two weeks the ink and gloss were smudged off in places on the cover.

It sat on top of the mini-fridge under the counter, still promising in bold hot pink that today was the first day of the rest of Tifa's life. Over the past two weeks, it supplied Tifa with tips on everything from fashion to perfectly scrambled eggs. But it had no advice whatsoever for her current situation. What To Do With Unexpected Guests!

"Anyway, back to my story…"

Tifa came out of her daze to find Elena leaning over the counter in a spill of sundress, forearms and several vodka shots. She slammed a fourth vodka shot, tucked an errant strand of her short blonde hair behind an ear, and waved Tifa closer.

"So Reno stands up and announces he's leaving because he's got"—Elena made air quotes with her fingers—"'some errands to run.' After which, Rude says, 'Same,' and next thing we know he's leaving too. But I'm no idiot, Tifa. Reno doesn't run, nor does he do errands, and Rude never does them on the weekends. Also, Jerry, the guy who operates the complaint desk, informed us not five minutes earlier that his brother called to say his wife and her sister saw you at the carnival with a certain someone…"

Elena's eyes slithered to the end of the bar, where Vincent sat weathering Reno's baleful gaze and not-quite talking to Rude.

"Then I said to Tseng, 'Well. I'm no idiot. I know exactly where they're going. Let's go home and change because we're going after them.' At first he was like"—Elena modified her voice to a rough facsimile of Tseng's—"'We should mind our own business, Elena. They're adults, blah blah blah,' but then I reminded him of that nice, collared shirt two months ago that he's never worn, and that if Reno and Rude started a fight in public and word got to Rufus…"

Elena punctuated the last syllable with a finger across her throat.

Next to her, Tseng shifted on his stool. "Why are you telling her all of this?" he asked. "It's extremely unwise to be discussing company affairs outside of the office, you know."

He glanced over his shoulder and Tifa followed his gaze, past the dismally empty room to where Rufus, still in the white suit he probably wore to work, stood before a gallery wall of photos in silent and improbable appreciation.

Elena rolled her eyes. "Come on. It's not like I'm spilling company secrets."

"Nonetheless—"

"And besides…" Absently, Elena reached over to fix the collar of Tseng's shirt. "Tifa's practically one of us now. She's like a, um—what's the word I'm looking for—like a…"

"Friend?" Tifa offered.

"…Shinra-in-law," Elena finished.

"Wait. I'm a what?"

"Wait! You said 'friend.' Really? Me?"

They stared at each other for a tangled, confused second before bursting into laughter. Why not? Tifa thought. Why not be friends? She and Elena had a lot in common. They were around the same age, wore a lot of black, both trained in the martial arts, and too-often the lone female among a bunch of men. Elena had even worked as a bartender once.

If anything, her copy of Mideelmoiselle had shown her just how few females she had in her life. How often had she wished she could call up Aerith in the Lifestream and ask, Have you experienced this? Are men really like this? Should I wear the red or blue one? What do you think he meant when he said this? Do you miss me too?

"A friend." Tifa sighed. "I think I would like that."

Elena backhanded Tseng's arm. "Did you hear that? Tifa and I are friends now. I have a friend."

Tseng's face took on a practiced glaze. "I was sitting here the whole time, yes. May the ancestors smile upon this moment."

Elena laughed and swatted his arm again.

"I do like your shirt, Tseng," Tifa ventured.

He inclined his head toward her. "Thank you, Ms. Lockhart."

Elena fairly glowed. "Isn't it nice, Tifa? I got it on sale too."

As she described the day she bought it, the store she bought it from, and the neighborhood around the store she bought it from, Tseng's flat expression softened while he listened. Tifa tried to pretend it wasn't a smile making her mouth twitch, but the incident lodged a complaint in her chest, about the unself-conscious ease people in love acquire around each other, and Tifa found her eyes straying to the front door.

"Hey, Lockhart. You like my shirt?"

Next to Tseng, Reno struck a pose in a loose, brightly patterned shirt that somehow managed to outshine his hair. "Got it in Costa. Come here—you can still smell the sand."

Tifa didn't believe it, of course, but she obliged him by coming closer and sniffing the air around him. Hints of coconut and lime floated in the air, and though she suspected they originated from a bottle of sunscreen, they made her think of the sand, and of burying her toes under its shifting, sun-baked weight. She sighed, filled with longing to be outside under a warm sky.

Reno slapped the counter. "Dammit, Lockhart." The cocky grin was gone and, in its place, a rueful smile. "That's it, I'm cashing in my raincheck. You and me and a Junon Fishwives concert."

A concert! Something people her age regularly went to and danced at and had fun memories of. And Tifa had heard a few Fishwives songs on the radio. They were fast and catchy tunes she could sing along with while she cleaned the house.

"When?" she asked.

"Next Sunday. What do you say?"

"Sunday?" Tifa squinted at the moogle-festooned calendar hanging on the wall—a gift from Marlene and Barret. A star was drawn in next Sunday's square. She made a rueful face. "That's the day the kids are supposed to return. I'll have to get back to you."

"What about Thursday?" Rude asked.

All eyes jumped from Reno's parrot-like shirt to Rude's subdued black t-shirt next to him. The contrast couldn't be greater.

Rude blushed at the attention and cleared his throat. "Are you busy then? The woman I mentioned on our, um, dinner is starting a baking class."

Tifa remembered Rude's name, his eyes and his help in the kitchen more than any talk of classes, but the idea intrigued her. "Oh yeah? What is she teaching?"

"She said she'd start with cheesecake. Interested?"

"I might be. What time?"

Before Rude could answer, Reno gave him a push sideways. "Hey, what's the play here? I don't know how to bake either, buddy. Why didn't you ask me?"

"Or me?" demanded Elena, leaning past Tseng to glare at Rude. "Tseng happens to love cheesecakes."

"No, I don't."

Reno placed a hand over his chest. "Did you stop to consider that a man in my stage of life might want to acquire domestic skills? Or did you only think about yourself, friend?"

A low rumble came from Rude's chest.

A gasp sounded from Elena's end of the bar. "Tseng! Since when do you not like cheesecake?"

"Since never, Elena," was the reply. "You know I have a milk intolerance."

"Listen, guys…" Tifa tried, but the rising volume drowned her out. She tried to telegraph with her eyes an SOS to Vincent, but the blasted man ignored her. He sat at the end of the bar with his head propped up on an elbow, not even trying to hide his amusement.

"Okay, I see how it is," Reno said. His eyebrows, which had shot to a place just beneath his goggles, now lowered into red slashes above narrowed eyes. "So you want war, partner."

Rude angled his jaw sideways until his neck made a loud crack. "People lose teeth talking like that."

"Milk intolerance! Since when!"

"Don't go using your goddamned noir movie quotes at me!"

"Since…why does it matter when? I do."

"This is quite an impressive collection, Ms. Lockhart," came Rufus's placid voice. "I had no idea Strife was so well-traveled."

The remark was a dagger thrown from the gallery wall, neatly slicing through the Turks' squabbling. All four of them fell into an abashed silence.

Tifa nearly laughed in relief. "Yeah, well, at least something good came from him always being gone."

An unmistakable note of resentment had crept into her tone, and Tifa glanced at the front door again, half expecting Cloud to walk through with a lecture at the ready. He disapproved of everything she did these days.

If Rufus noticed, he didn't show it. He nodded, somewhat absently, and turned away from the photos to approach the bar. "Ah yes, the infamous silver lining. I've become very familiar with it lately. A whiskey ginger, and put whatever they had"—he flicked a hand at the Turks—"on my tab."

Vincent suddenly stood up. "I'll get it, Tifa. Rufus, have a seat."

"Vincent!" Tifa hissed. She caught his arm as he rounded the end of the counter. "What are you doing?"

A corner of Vincent's mouth twitched. "Last Saturday was brutal. I could do with some practice." Then he leaned in close to her ear and murmured in a voice that sent a lit match into Tifa's cheeks and other parts, "Or do you need a reminder that you're the only professional bartender in the room?"1

"I-I don't know what you're talking about."

"Shall I remind you later?"

Vincent skimmed a hand along her waist, laughing softly, before he glided off to make Rufus's drink. By now, Tifa's entire face must've resembled the back of Vincent's neck. She didn't dare look over at him, lest her mind run riot and send her whole body up in flames.

"And speaking of silver linings." Rufus, now seated on Vincent's stool at the end of the bar, beckoned her over. "If you have an opportunity to come into the office this next week, there's something I'd like to show you that I had the engineers draw up."

Tifa's eyes widened. "But me? Why?"

A faint smile hovered around the seam of Rufus's lips. "Because it was your idea."

"My idea?" Tifa repeated. Her mind recalled flashbulbs, a wine stain, iced coffee, an erotic photo… She felt her cheeks burn again.

"The solar panels," Rufus prodded. "Remember our discussion?"

She put a hand to her mouth in shock. "Oh my goodness! You were serious? It was really worth considering?"

The faint smile grew into a full grin. "Indeed, it was," he said. "I put R and D on it the next morning, and now we even have a working prototype."

Tifa clapped her hands together in delight. "Like a gingerbread house?"

"But without the frosting," Rufus reminded her with mock seriousness. "Shin-Ra has a reputation for being sugar-free, after all. Stop in sometime, Ms. Lockhart, and I'll personally show you what we've worked up."

Tifa couldn't control her smile. A useful, complex thing that came from her brain! "I can't wait to see what it looks like!"

"And if you let me know what day, I'll accompany you," Vincent said, joining the conversation. He set a lowball glass filled with an amber liquid and ice down on the counter and slid it toward Rufus. "Your drink."

"Valentine." Rufus nodded at Vincent as he lifted his glass. He took a sip and set it down but kept his long fingers loose around the base. "Another one of your many hidden talents. No wonder why you won't let me reinstate you as a Turk."

Vincent stood so close to Tifa she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. When he shrugged, his sleeve whispered against her bare arm.

"I prefer being a free agent," Vincent said.

"No doubt." Rufus took another swallow from his glass. "Reeve tells me that you travel as much, if not more, than Strife."

"I can vouch for that," Tifa said. "He's always in some far-flung part of the planet whenever I call to check in on him."

"Though not for much longer."

"Oh?" Tifa swiveled to look at him in surprise. "What's changed?"

"I told you I was open to possibilities." Vincent gave her a look. "You don't remember?"

Tifa blinked. "Was this recently?"

Vincent gaped at her. "It was less than four hours ago, in the Tunnel."

The Tunnel…Tifa cast her mind back to that monstrosity of a ride. A memory began to surface of Vincent laughing at her, and then insisting he was her date, and then…

"Oh," Tifa said. "I thought you meant you were open to the possibilities of what we would ride next. And then we didn't ride anything next, we just kind of walked around and ate funnel cake. I was really confused by what you meant."

Vincent gaped at her. "Tifa, for the love of… You thought I meant…" He closed his eyes.

"No, wait. Come on now," Tifa cajoled, tugging at his arm. "So I misunderstood. I'm sorry! What did you mean?"

Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. But before he could say anything, the bell above the front door chimed.

All heads swiveled to where Cloud stood, framed in the doorway.

"Oh, you're home," Tifa said, surprised, though she shouldn't have been. He did live there.

Cloud closed the door behind him and hiked his bag higher on his shoulder. "Yeah, I'm home," he said, slowly trudging toward the bar. "Sorry I'm late."

"Let's hope Strife hates cheesecake too," Reno quipped to muted laughter.

"Strife," Rufus greeted. "How's the traffic tonight?"

Cloud shifted his attention away from Vincent, and the unspoken conversation Tifa saw them start after Reno's comment. He blinked at Rufus, no doubt trying to process the incongruity of seeing a hoity-toity Shinra drinking in their little bar.

"Not bad," Cloud answered. "Most of it's concentrated at the Plaza, or south where the fair's still going. Take West Street to 12 when you leave."

Rufus tapped his fingers on his still half-full glass. "Noted."

"Tifa, can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Sure, Cloud." She walked with him to the hallway at the edge of the room. "What's up?"

Cloud hissed under his breath, "I thought you said it would be empty tonight!"

Tifa made a sweeping gesture at the deserted tables. "It is!" she hissed back.

Cloud's eyes flicked over her shoulder, to the bar. "Doesn't look like it to me."

"Look here," Tifa said, gearing up for an argument. "I didn't plan on having Shin-Ra over for drinks tonight. So whatever you're insinuating, just—"

"Tifa, I'm not insinuating anything. Relax. Here, I got you something." Cloud brandished the arm he'd kept at his side. "Oh, shit."

Tifa eyed the bundle of green sticks clutched in his fist. "What are they?"

"They were flowers, but I guess they didn't survive the ride. Figures." He tossed the stems onto the nearest table and wiped his hand on his pants. "Listen, you still have tomorrow off, right?"

"Yes…"

"And have you made any plans yet?"

"No…"

"Good. Don't. Tomorrow is mine."

"Why? What's going on?"

"You'll see." Cloud headed for the stairs.

Tifa followed him. "Cloud, you're scaring me. You're not bringing home another child, are you?"

"No…"

Tifa frowned at the cagey answer. "Was that a question mark I heard at the end?"

Cloud stopped and turned to look at her, a smile in his eyes. "I promise, there was no question mark anywhere in the area."

"Okay then," she said warily. He preferred to be tight-lipped or blunt. It wasn't like him to be cryptic. "Fine. Tomorrow. But it had better not be—"

"It won't. Goodnight right now, Tifa."

"Goodnight right now, Cloud."

Tifa left the hallway feeling a headache coming on. The bar, blissfully, was nearly empty. Only Tseng stood at the counter, an all-white credit card in hand, while Vincent tallied up the bill on a notepad. Elena hovered nearby, and when she caught Tifa's eye she hurried over to her.

"The others have left already, and after Tseng and Vincent are done, I'm going to try to convince Tseng to check out what's happening at the Plaza for"—she made air quotes again—"'public safety purposes.' What are you going to do?"

Tifa shrugged. "I guess I'll start cleaning up, since—"

"No, I meant about all this." Elena nodded at the now-vacant counter. "The level of testosterone in here tonight was enough to light the whole block. I kept waiting for someone to rip off their shirt and build you a house with their bare hands."

"Oh my god, you felt that too?" Tifa put both hands to her cheeks in wonder. "And to think I only scored a 3 out of 10 on the 'Are You Second Date Material' quiz."

"Well clearly that quiz is a bust," Elena said. "Not only are you second date material, but easily third and fourth—and probably marriage too, if you like Rude's cheesecakes."

Tifa laughed. "Maybe I should see if Mideelmoiselle has any advice about this."

"Or—" Elena said. "Or you could stop second-guessing everything and trust yourself to know what you want."

Memory, Cloud had learned, wasn't one big thing, but the sum total of a bunch of little things.

Though his past still felt like an old coat he'd found in the back of the closet, there were certain memories that still fit. He could remember the two-syllable way his mother called his name for dinner, the wood creaks of the old Niebelheim well in the dark.

What he couldn't remember, though, was the last time he'd been this nervous.

Last night, while tossing restlessly in bed, Cloud played an old game with himself. If it's sunny, she'll say yes. If it's cloudy, she'll say no. And now, under puffs of white streaking across a weak-colored sky, he sat on his bike and waited for Tifa to finish locking the front door. As he watched her, he felt the weight of the moment. Would this date work? And if he failed, would there be time for a second or third or seventh chance? Or did she already have someone else in mind? He feared the answer.

While speeding out of the city toward their destination, Cloud thought about how many times he'd taken this road. Going from Point A to Point B was a task usually saturated in routine and the monotony of the open road. But today felt different, new, exhilarating, and it had everything to do with the woman seated behind him.

The buildings along the road gradually became trees and rocks and grass. The change in the air scrubbed the smell of rust from his senses and brought a remembered intimacy. Before the children, before the pressures of work, before they were strangers living in the same house, they had often escaped like this, together. During the day, under the stars, out of the city, in the rain, in the wind—it didn't matter.

Her arms tightened at his waist and the weight of her cheek settled between his shoulder blades. He glanced down, refreshing the sight of her overlapped hands in his memory. How he had missed this.

He turned off the main road onto a barely there path that led them into a copse of trees. He slowed Fenrir to a stop at the edge of a clearing and killed the engine.

"Are we here?" Tifa asked.

Cloud swung his leg over the bike and dismounted. "Yep."

"Is this it?"

He opened a side compartment and pulled out a heavy insulated bag and a blanket. "Yep."

The sun had disappeared, reflective of the mood of the woman. She watched him spread out the blanket and with a mixture of wariness, curiosity and something else on her face that he didn't feel reckless enough to identify.

"And what is it, exactly?" she asked.

"It's a picnic, Tifa." Cloud sat down and stretched out his legs. "And I promise, none of it was cooked by me. Join me?"

If it's sunny, she'll say yes. If it's cloudy, she'll say no.

Either politeness, cramped legs or the reappearance of the sun got Tifa off of Fenrir and onto the blanket. She poked around the inside of the bag. "Oh," she said softly. "Did you bring a platter?"

"I put a tray in one of the pockets." Cloud pointed to the side of the bag. "I didn't want it to smash the crackers."

As Tifa opened containers of cheese, crackers, nuts, cold cuts, olives and pickles, and laid them out on the tray, Cloud fetched two plastic glasses from another cooler pocket and opened a bottle of wine.

Tifa handed him a cracker with a stack of cheese and sausage on it. "Where did you get the idea for this?"

"From your magazine." When she glanced sharply at him, he explained, "You left it lying out the night Vincent and I watched the bar. During a lull, I browsed through it. Are you mad at me now?"

The stern line of her mouth eased into a crooked smile. "No. I'd be madder if you had actually cooked."

They spent the next few minutes picking over the food on the tray as though they were fancy bonbons instead of common tidbits. And when there was nothing left but a few pickles and olives, Cloud leaned back on his hands and crossed his legs at the ankles, more content than he had been in a long time. He tipped his head back to let the good omens of the sun and sky above further warm his mood.

"Hey." He grinned. "Remember the time I tried to bake a potato?"

"Ha!" Tifa covered her mouth while she chewed on a pickle. "How could I forget? Marlene kept asking, 'Who's whistling?' and you kept telling her it was the air conditioning. And then—boom!"

Cloud scratched the back of his head, happy they were happy at the same time. "I really thought it was. Those potatoes need to come with instructions."

Tifa gave him a look. "Cloud, it's a well-known fact that you need to poke them first."

"Can't be that well-known otherwise I would've known it." He tossed an olive up in the air and caught it in his mouth. "You know, I seem to remember you making some brownies that were the worst I've ever eaten."

Tifa blushed at the reminder. "Cloud, we were, like, seven years old!"

"They were awful," he said, laughing. "I think Mom was hoping I'd eat them, but she eventually threw them away."

Red-faced, Tifa poured herself a cup of wine and downed it. Cloud watched her, feeling guilty and amused, then guilty for being amused. "I'm sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. I'm probably a terrible date. I'm not funny like Reno, or polished like Rufus, or witty like Vincent, or—hell, I don't even know what Rude is, but I bet I'm not that either."

"He cooks."

"Figures." A fly buzzed close to his ear, and he swatted at it. "Yeah. I'm none of those things and won't ever be."

"But I never wanted you to be any of those things," Tifa insisted. "All I wanted was for you to see me for who I am—or for who I was—a woman who would've done anything for you. But you never did, and I couldn't keep pausing my life on the tiniest chance that someday you might love me back. The night Barret took the children? That was the night I decided to move on, and I haven't regretted it."

Cloud already knew that was the night. But since he was a fighter and she was a fighter, he had thought this thing between them could be resolved by fighting. Instead, it accomplished nothing more than pushing her further away. This should've been a time of late-night rides, but they were combatants now, trying to bait each other into giving up.

"Do you want to know why we aren't together?"

If it's sunny, she'll say yes. If it's cloudy, she'll say no.

"Sure." Her eyes were expressionless.

"I was in love with you when we were kids," Cloud began, the calmness in his voice surprising him. "But you didn't notice. And if you were in love with me when we were trying to save the world, I wasn't enough of myself to notice. We've never been short on feelings for each other, but I think love is about more than just feelings—love is about timing. And from what I've seen, it's never been our time."

At that last comment, Tifa became animated. She sprang to her feet, livid. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. What do you mean 'it's never been our time'? We've been living together for two years! At any point you could've said the word and it would've been our time."

"You think I don't know that?" Cloud said, scrambling to his feet as well. "But we were living together, we owned a bar together, we had two kids together—what if it didn't work out between us? Then everything we have together falls apart. And I'm so tired of letting people down, Tifa."

The look Tifa turned on him was full of hurt. "You think I would let that happen just because it's the end of you and me? I don't think you know—or trust—me at all, Cloud Strife!"

"You're right," he admitted. "You're right about all of it—except it was me I didn't trust. And I didn't think I knew you, especially these last two weeks, but I do."

Tifa scoffed and folded her arms. "Yeah, right."

Cloud chuckled to himself. "I do, Tifa. Even the little things like how you like to read in the bathtub. Or that your second toe is longer than your big toe. You bite your nails when you don't think anyone's looking. You still think about your dad, especially on holidays. You'd like Barret to spend more time with Marlene…"

Something flickered in her eyes.

"And I know..." Cloud drew in a deep breath and let it out. "I know you love me because you still tell me to drive safe."

A crease appeared between Tifa's eyebrows. "Cloud…"

He held her stare until she was the first to look away. "Tifa, I know I often keep my thoughts to myself, especially when it matters, but it doesn't mean I don't see you or think about you—or that I don't love you—"

Tifa squeezed her eyes shut.

"—Because I do," Cloud finished. "All of it."

He swallowed, wanting to say more, but was too terrified of saying the wrong thing and pushing her to somewhere he couldn't reach. His hands clenched and unclenched uselessly at his sides.

If it's sunny, she'll say yes. If it's cloudy…

Cloud took hold of Tifa's arms and asked, "Am I too late?"

He was close enough to see the light dusting of freckles across her nose, a scar at her hairline. He skimmed his fingertips lightly along her cheek and her eyes fluttered her open. They locked gazes—his pensive and fearful, hers shimmering with unspilled tears.

"Tifa, please." He had to know. "Am I too late?"

"I don't know." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I'm afraid."

She blinked and her tears ran over the edges to make uneven trails down to her jaw. He lifted both hands to wipe at the wetness on her cheeks.

"Let's be afraid together," he said.

Then Cloud kissed her, soundly, finally, under a sky that no longer mattered.

1 See Forfeits

AN: On July 5, 2006, I posted the first chapter to my very first fanfic, which was called, incidentally, First Dates. And here I am, 15 years to the day later, posting the (revamped) final chapter of the same fic, which is called, incidentally, "Coming Full Circle." The original AN to this chapter said: "Some endings are endings, and some endings are beginnings. I'll leave it to your interpretation." That still stands.

I have a lot of people to thank, first of which is my beta, my husband, who isn't really a beta so much as the person who keeps me fed and watered while I struggle with a chapter. Second of which are the ASSC members, who have listened to me rant and rave about life, the universe, tile glaze quizzes, my stories…and yet they still choose to be my friends. You guys make me laugh daily, and I wouldn't have finished this fic (probably) without your unfailing support.

And third, I am immensely grateful to the readers here who take the time to leave me comments. YOU are the reason I haven't abandoned this site entirely.