"No one makes a lock without a key."
.| Codes of Conduct |.
Chapter 1: Deadbolt
Tifa swore that for a fraction of a second - an inestimable crumb of time - Cloud Strife looked happy.
Like, genuinely happy. Or at the very least amused.
Thank goodness the noodles they were eating were slippery enough that she didn't choke in shock. For days now she had been trying to get a rise out of him and thus far only conjured an approving grunt upon suggesting they hit the laundromat.
Alas, the expression was gone as quickly as it arrived, stoic demeanor snapping back into place like an elastic stretched too thin. It's sudden erasure hit her in the face just as candidly and she fell back in her seat.
Must have been the light playing tricks. Perhaps from the flickering strings of multicolored bulbs suspended above their heads where they sat opposite one another at Mr. Yang's food cart. Though she had been reacquainted with her childhood friend for a mere three days after finding him barely conscious at the Sector 7 train station, it had long since become clear that "happy" was not one of his natural states.
"What did I tell you? Amazing, isn't it?" she prompted after a perfectly gooey bite of soft-boiled, miso egg.
True to low expectations, the ex-SOLDIER raised his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug, swirling his chopsticks around the peppery broth as if expecting a response to float to the surface. Tifa grinned. How absurdly predictable.
Chatting with Cloud was a lot like juggling; it took all of her concentration to keep the flow lest she drop the ball and everything plummet into uncomfortable silence. It was both exhausting and yet fun, as she had never been one to back away from a challenge.
If there was one word to define the guy, challenging was a definite contender.
She was not deterred. Never would be.
"Seriously? That's all you got? This is hands down the best ramen in all of Midgar and anyone who says otherwise is crazy."
Another shrug as he pinched and released a tangle of noodles. "I've had better."
Tifa's jaw dropped in mock outrage. "Blasphemy! I'm not sure we can be friends anymore, Strife."
To enforce the point, she threw a light punch to his non armored shoulder from across the table and immediately regretted it. Most people would have reeled from the hit but Cloud's body, like his mood, seemed to be made of granite. His lips twitched at the corner as if to say she got what she deserved and, despite the knuckle pain, her chest swelled with pride. It wasn't exactly a smile but it was as close as she was gonna get tonight and more than she had been able to coax so far.
Finally.
She rewarded herself with leaning her chin on her fist and taking a minute to shamelessly observe while he fussed about his bowl, piling slivers of fatty pork to one side and mushrooms opposite to better access the real treasure, the hand pulled noodles, nested at the bottom. Cloud ate the same way he did everything else she had so far witnessed; with grace, efficiency and unwarranted suspicion. As if a drill sergeant were breathing down his neck and every second bite threatened to be laced with arsenic. The elegance of his gestures, the way he handled the chopsticks like a dancer's baton, made Tifa want to giggle but she swallowed the impulse, remembering how any comment on his masculinity (or lack thereof) used to make him especially uncomfortable.
To throw or talk or walk like a girl was the height of insult comedy to the less creative bullies of their hometown, and the slim-hipped, fair-complexioned Cloud Strife had been too obvious a target. Too bad he hadn't stuck around long enough to see her complete her martial arts training with Master Zangan, when "like a girl" became something to aspire to within their distorted social circle.
That was a long time ago. That Strife bastard, as her father had oh-so-affectionately dubbed him, was an entirely different sort of creature now. If it wasn't for the unique coloring of his pale hair, dark blue eyes and, not to mention, the acute social awkwardness, it would have been difficult to believe that her scrawny fourteen-year-old neighbor and this hardened twenty-one-year-old SOLDIER were the same person. Then again, as she instinctively flattened the leather pleats of her skirt when a trio of tipsy students staggered up to the cart, she supposed she had changed rather drastically as well over seven years.
Tifa pushed her hair behind her ears in nervous habit as she chanced a glance toward the rowdy group loudly and rudely slurring their orders at Mr. Yang.
Where she may have once ignored such buffoonery, which was never sparse this time of night in the slums, it had since become custom for her to identify and ideally put a cap on it before the scale tipped more towards endangerment than mere horseplay. Even if that meant a jaw or three needed to get busted.
Tapping her dirt crusted, chipped nails on the table, Tifa concluded that, yes, she was unquestionably no longer that demure, country girl-the-next-door that Cloud may remember. He would figure that out soon enough and her outfit alone probably cinched it. Tonight however, for reasons she didn't dare read too much into, she wanted to maintain the illusion for him if only for a few more nostalgic hours.
Back then, last they had seen each other that night on the water tower, she had still been under the small-town delusion that her security and happiness depended solely on attracting a husband. The right kind of husband. Not one who hit, like Ryu's dad. Not one who drank, like Mr. Shinto at the inn. Not one who would vanish once a child came along, like whoever the poor Claudia Strife had gotten herself mixed up with, resulting in the damaged man before her. Someone who wouldn't mind and maybe even appreciate a girl who took the reins, who could let her share if not take over the duties of protector and/or breadwinner without any egos bruised.
Pickins' for such a man were more than just slim in Nibleheim. They were downright translucent. Perhaps that was why she decided that the stigma of "bastard" would never deter her, no matter her father's opinions. There were so many worse labels a man could don. That night, at the tender age of thirteen, when the quiet but kind boy-next-door asked that she secretly meet him under the cover of darkness, she remembered putting on her prettiest blue dress and daring to think - to hope - that maybe her ticket to freedom had been right in front of her the entire time.
A long, long time ago.
"Heyyy, Tifa baby!" Her musings were scattered by a chair being dragged to their table, scraping across the concrete like nails on a chalkboard. A dark-haired teen who had recently reached legal age and spent nearly every day since at her bar, plopped himself down close enough that their knees brushed.
Tifa didn't bother veiling her wince.
Here we go again.
"Hi Theo," she said through a tense smile. "Can I help you?"
"Course you can, sweetness. Why the heck is 7th Heaven closed again!? My boys and I here-" A hiccup interrupted and Tifa caught a whiff of that illegal moonshine sold in Wall Market, a famous catalyst of the ground floor's dumbest and most deadly stunts. "We- uh, we wanted to have a little party. We're celebrating!"
"Yeah, sorry. I've had a bit of a-" she glanced at Cloud while contemplating her words, but he was too busy dissecting his soup to give them any mind, "personal matter. Dare I ask what you are celebrating?" She said this while not so subtly shifting her own chair backward a foot. This was and would forever be a delicate dance in her line of work; tip-toeing the line between flirtatious, at-your-service bartender versus the weary, takes-no-BS owner who just wanted to collect cash and keep the peace.
"Life, Tifa! We're celebrating LIFE! And you gotsa join us! You're too pretty to be spending a Friday night alone."
"Yeah!" Two other guys of similar levels of inebriation woohoo-ed their agreement from the ramen stand line.
Across the table, she heard Cloud tsk. She flashed him a sympathetic smirk but the apparently fascinating soup still maintained his attention.
"Life, huh? Well, as fun as that sounds, I'm a little busy right now. How about you stop by tomorrow? I have a feeling you'll need a good, greasy meal come morning."
"Tiffaaaa…" Theo whined, shuffling his chair forward again, this time close enough that one of his knees slipped between hers and a hand clapped down onto her leg just above the elastic of her thigh-highs. The girl she was five years ago, before being dumped injured, alone and broke in Midgar, would have been shocked and perhaps terrified by this uninvited invasion. The woman she now was was merely exhausted by it. "Come on, baby, you know you want-"
He never got to finish the sentence. As Tifa was adjusting her gloves to quietly but sternly remind Theo where they stood, the metal beneath him vanished and in a blink he was sprawled on the ground. For a second, she had thought that the chair had collapsed in a rare instance of poetic justice, but then her view was blocked by Cloud's back as he stood between them. The chair itself was several meters away, embedded in the wooden planks that served as a divider between carts.
"What the hell, dude! You-" Tifa could do nothing but watch, glued to her chair in a stupor, as Cloud leaned over the younger man, brandishing his cheap, splintered chopsticks like a knife at Theo's throat.
"You touch her again," he whispered, blue eyes suddenly more vivid green and flashing "and the only thing your friends will be celebrating is your funeral. Understand?"
If the kid had had any alcohol-spurred inclination to fight, it dissolved the second he met and recognized those eyes. Mako eyes. More than the uniform, more than the muscular arms, more than the gigantic sword leaning nearby, it was that subtle but disconcerting green glow that proved any test of strength would be horrendously unbalanced. While frantically nodding, Theo scampered backwards through the dirt until he hit his friends' boots. They didn't waste time yanking him to his feet and staggered back the way they came, towards Sector 6, abandoning their freshly prepared orders.
Some things just weren't worth it. Even the best ramen in Midgar.
Tifa remained frozen as Cloud nonchalantly returned to his seat and resumed eating. As if nothing more dramatic had happened beyond him tying his bootlace. The surrounding patrons whispered for a minute or two - words like "SOLIDER" and "wow" and "big sword" raining upon her ears but not enough to compile a whole sentence - but they fell back into their own conversations soon enough as Cloud slurped his broth, proving that he was done entertaining for the evening.
"You're right," he said a while later, eyes on his bowl as Tifa gripped the edges of her chair tighter. "I think this is the best ramen in Midgar."
After splashing a handful of cold water on her face, Tifa released a long held gasp. Glancing up in the mirror, she tried to morph her shell-shocked expression into something normal by half closing her eyes and furrowing her brow, but ended up looking pained.
It was a lost cause. Whatever. She had bigger problems to worry about than her face.
Glancing around the apartment, Tifa scrutinized the sleeping bag beside her bed with newfound awe.
Three days and a lifetime ago, she had been wiping dried blood off a semi-cataonic Cloud's cheek and wringing mass amounts of it out of his uniform sweater, none of which proved to be his. Three nights since she had been digging coins from between the bar's floorboards, praying to scrounge enough for a doctor visit, regardless of how pissed Barret would be if they had to delay the mission yet again due to lack of funds. Only the day before yesterday that she had woken up to find him showered, dressed and, for all intents and purposes, normal, asking where he could find a good weapon polish.
She had insisted he stay without really thinking about it. It was supposed to be simple. Helping out an old friend who had fallen on hard times. It was meant to be only for a few days. Until he got a chance to earn some gil and figure out his next steps. She'd had shadier roommates back when she first came to the city. Why not, she had thought. Three days and forever ago.
But Cloud Strife wasn't normal.
Mysterious? Yes.
Handsome? Undoubtedly, to her eternal confusion.
But normal?
No way.
He never had been, even back in Nibelheim. Normal kids didn't spend their summers alone indoors, reading about war. Normal adults didn't casually threaten stranger's lives with utensils. The life of a SOLDIER was known to be filled with death and destruction and that's what attracted most candidates. Whatever event or atrocities could inspire one to quit must have been…
"What happened to you?" Tifa whispered to her dripping reflection.
"Tifa?" She was pulled from her reverie by a knock on the door. "Can I come in?"
"In a minute," she called back, turning on the faucet again to wash her face in earnest.
It didn't matter what had happened to Cloud. The past was the past and if she hadn't oh-so-carefully suppressed certain parts of hers, she wouldn't have been unable to function as the sole survivor of Nibelheim. Maybe he felt the exact same.
All she could do now is help him cobble together a future.
After throwing on a pair of drawstring shorts and a cotton tank top, Tifa instinctively fluffed her hair before stepping towards the door.
This was the awkward part.
Though Cloud was every bit the gentleman and had no complaints regarding their cramped studio or sleeping on the floor, the getting ready for bed routine for two adults of the opposite gender was inevitably tense. Even Cloud's stoicism floundered that first night when she had asked him to turn around while she changed. It had taken a mere twenty seconds, but the air in the room seemed to thicken in that time, the restless tapping of his foot on the floorboards like a wardrum, prompting action. When he stripped off his navy sweater prior to climbing under the covers, Tifa full on walked into her punching bag while brushing her hair.
Cloud Strife, though still slight of frame, definitely wasn't a scrawny fourteen-year-old anymore. She had the bruise on her temple to prove it.
The second night, Cloud had wisely excused himself on an errand as the sun began to set. The tradition apparently continued as she opened the door to find him clutching a paper bag most likely filled with some random, cheap staple. Yesterday, it was crackers. Today it was-
"I noticed your toothpaste is almost finished," he said, offering up the bag with his eyes diverted.
"Thanks. You're a lifesaver," she said, accepting the gift, even though she already had two tubes in stock behind the mirror. "Seriously. I owe you one."
She ducked to try to meet his eyes but he was clearly avoiding them. Both knew she was talking about his intervention at the ramen stall but, despite being confident at the time, he was now radiating shame. Recognizing this, Tifa eased off the subject. She added it to the ever growing list of what they eventually needed to talk about. Later. Once he was settled.
"Maybe tomorrow you could grab some shampoo? We're running low."
Still not meeting her face, he nodded with clear gratitude for the assignment. She imagined him agonizing at the corner store for what would be worth spending his measly gil stash without crowding her small, well organized space, all to give her a few minutes of privacy. A wave of affection swelled in her as she stepped aside to give him room to enter. "I'm about ready to call it in. Shower's all yours if you want."
"Thanks, Tifa." That twitch of his lips again, just the corner, set her heart racing as he strode towards and into the small shower room. With her back against the opposite wall, she listened to the thump of his heavy uniform hitting the floor and closed her eyes to stop from glaring at the steel door and willing it to turn to glass.
Breathing a tad more quickly, she dropped onto her bed, clutching the paper bag to her chest as the sound of running water engulfed the space. Walls were especially thin in Stargazer heights and as hard as she tried not, it was impossible not to hear and therefore envision his movements as he went through a routine cleansing. The thump of the shampoo bottle as he coaxed the last drops from it. The scratch of his nails over his scalp as he lathered up those gravity defying, blonde spikes. The sputter of his lips as he blew the accumulating droplets away. The wet slapping, bordering on obscene, of the washcloth as he rubbed away the layer of sweat and grime that accumulated daily on all slums dwellers.
"Dammit," she muttered, shaking her head to void the images of droplets shimmering on pale skin with defined musculature.
This was so stupid. She had just watched the man nearly kill one of her best customers for the sin of being overly friendly. He continued to have those weird, paralyzing headaches every so often, especially when she asked questions of how he came to be here.
He was sick. He needed help.
Lusting after such a guy, an old friend in a tight spot with some possible brain damage, was especially inappropriate. Besides, if she prioritized finding him his own place to stay, she could always take care of her frustrations appropriately. Alone.
Thus, with all the resolve she could muster, Tifa threw herself back onto her sheets and curled up facing the wall, refusing to allow herself even the small thrill of watching him climb into bed, damp and shirtless.
Efficient as always, Cloud was heard sliding into the sleeping bag not five minutes later. As had been the case for the last three nights and counting, she struggled to drift off despite the exhaustion, all too aware of his body heat only a few feet but eons away. Only when her eyelids began to droop was Tifa's guard down enough to continue fantasizing. Not about the mentally disturbed man squatting in her crappy apartment, but about the one he could have been if he hadn't joined the military. About the woman - the life - that would have been hers if Nibelheim hadn't burned. It wasn't uncommon for sixteen year olds to marry in their admittedly (compared to Midgar) backwater town. By now, she probably would have had a kid or two. Maybe a third on the way, if only due to boredom.
That thought of all things finally broke the dam and she chuckled into the darkness. If Cloud heard it, he didn't react. She glanced over at the outline of his back and noted how still it was. Too still to be natural, but she was grateful for his ignorance. Having an impenetrable facade must be nice sometimes.
Tifa Lockhart. A mother. How ridiculous that seemed now, as a slum's barmaid with split knuckles, laying in her overcrowded, dingy apartment.
Who was she to judge Cloud for not being "normal". As if she could claim such a label herself.
Besides, she reminded herself while burying her cheek deeper into the pillow, she wasn't aiming for a husband anymore. Hadn't been for a long time.
She was aiming for revenge. One that could be conveniently delivered as a side order to saving the planet.
In a few day's time, starting with the ticking package slumbering in the underbelly of her bar, she would have it.
*Author's Note*: I am at it again. Three months obsessing over the pixels saturated with pure awesome that is the Final Fantasy VII Remake and I had to start writing about my favorite couple again. Thanks to everyone who has encouraged me and all the kind reviews/comments I received over the years for "Wait For It". Hope you enjoy this new one.
**FUTURE MATURE CONTENT WARNING**: I am older now (though not much wiser) than I was when I wrote "Wait For It" and my writing/reading preferences have...let's say "reformed". Please note that though this fic will be Cloti fluff and character exploration, filling in the gaps throughout the remake's main storyline, it will feature mature themes and content. I purposefully didn't put any in this first chapter so as to give people a heads up while it was still teen friendly. If that's not your jam, I understand and hope to see you in another story! I try to keep things tasteful and honest to the characters, meaning it'll be full of cute awkwardness. It won't get to the point of hardcore "explicit" since it's not my thing to be overly descriptive/realistic and I don't want to go against fanfiction's site policies. Thanks for reading and, if you feel so inclined, I really love comments/reviews as they encourage me to write faster :).
Also, special shout-out to the amazing fellow-fans on the Final Heaven Discord server. It was surreal to go online there and have so many people recognize my pen name from a fic I wrote nearly a decade ago. This one's for you!