Notes: This is an AU adventure that takes place before and eventually during the events of FFVIIR. The timeline here is gently altered, putting a little over a year between when the Turks are nearly executed and when Avalanche bombs Mako Reactor 5. This story takes place in the year between the two events. It also assumes Tifa isn't a known member of Avalanche to Shinra at this point. Just a fun idea that popped into mind as I farmed at the colosseum on my latest play through of Remake. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1: Wildcard
December 0006
Tifa Lockhart struggled to bring her heartbeat down from a thundering roar. She could feel the tremor in her gloved hands, the only sign of nervousness betraying her calm before the storm. The metallic tang of blood and the thick smell of dust floated all around her. Overhead, fluorescents buzzed while bathing the hallway in white light. The man in aviators smirked at her, shifting aside to clear the way.
Stepping forward, she hopped from one foot to the other, anxiously waiting for the doors to slide open. This arena was her sanctuary. After Zangan brought her to Midgar only to abandon her once he was sure she'd live, she struggled to find her place. Alone in a new city, she floundered for a while.
Four years later, she found herself connected with Avalanche and managing a bar named Seventh Heaven. Being a part of the mission to take down Shinra gave her purpose but it left her conflicted, in need of a way to work out her frustrations. The fiends on Scrap Boulevard weren't typically much of a challenge these days so against Barret's wishes, she found herself in Wall Market more often than she ever intended.
Original intent aside, she saw the battles as a way to keep up with her training. Under a fake name, she worked her way through the cheap matches where she discovered the freedom of an arena where innocent bystanders couldn't be harmed. The lack of rules, the amorality of it all, fighting in a place where the only limit was her own ability, all of it was an unexpected comfort. She came to relish exploring an entire side of herself that was hiding just beneath the surface. The Cuahl waiting in the fringes, ready to pounce.
Tifa rose through the ranks, justifying her habit by putting her winnings to good use. The cathartic outlet became a way to balance the scales for the questionable things Avalanche sometimes got her into. The promoters quickly took notice of her exceptional fighting style. That notice brought her to this very event, the biggest she had been invited to yet.
Through the massive door, voices traveled to her, interwoven as if the two announcers had become of one mind. Kotch kicked things off with bravado. "Tonight, in the city that never sleeps—"
"Among those who chase their every debaucherous desire—" Scotch followed.
"Who have come seeking a violently good time here at the Corneo Colosseum—"
"We present to you, a never before seen spectacle!"
She could hear the jeering chants of the crowd growing louder in response, whipped into a frenzy by the pandering announcers. The walls vibrated with the crash of feet against the floor above her. Her stomach knotted tightly as she thought about all that was on the line with a match like this. With a deep breath, she firmly shut it out again, channeling the energy in her limbs and centering her chi. This was just any other night, any other opponent.
Tifa let the uproar of the crowd become her battle-song.
The dance of words went on around her. "A spectacle guaranteed to bring you to your knees—"
"You won't be able to tear your eyes away from the chaos, the gore, and—"
"The vivacious, most bodacious competitor this Colosseum has ever seen!"
"But don't let her killer looks distract—"
"She'll rip off your balls and smash 'em!"
Tifa rolled her eyes.
"But can she take on the special challenge we have waiting for her?"
"The worst of the fiends all wrapped up in one ugly little present—"
"Will she go out in flames or take the prize?"
"Find out in tonight's Corneo Cup!"
As the doors parted, she released all of her worries and fears. Instead, she thought only of victory. The lights above made it impossible to see the crowd, something she always found herself grateful for. Especially as Kotch and Scotch each took one of her arms and lifted them above her head.
"Our very own Ava Wallace!" They shouted in synch, further hyping up the crowd.
She winced at the name, not her finest invention. It was the first thing to come to mind in her panic the night she signed up for that first match. All nerves and little forethought, she blurted the name of an old friend and the last name of a man who embodied strength and vigor.
"Good luck, love," Scotch told her with a little tap on the rear. She considered taking a swing at his retreating head but thought better of it, giving him only a threatening look instead. More fuel for the fire she was stoking.
As she turned to face the entrance to the ring opposite her, she shut out the screams and catcalls hurled from the gallery. The doors cracked slowly, building her anticipation until she was nearly drowning in it. A nasty looking face formed in the darkness, flames glowing atop both of its horns. Haunting red eyes focused on her with glowing intensity. Grizzly shoulders came next, brutal scars worn proudly on each. The beast's stocky legs tapered down to deadly talons that scraped at the ground with ferocity. The gaping, bloody maw full of razor-sharp teeth was a nice touch, she thought. They really wanted this to look completely hopeless for her.
There was no time to consider how she might be in over her head.
Silence surged through the crowd as the creature burst forth with a chilling roar. As it reared up, chants began to fill the stadium, calls for the creature to rip her apart countered by her name like a prayer on strangers tongues. None of it mattered as the match started. Adrenaline crashed into her veins, buzzing through her limbs.
The frustration toward Avalanche and their nefarious plans, the disrespect from the announcers, and the audience of miscreants who wished her dead in the name of a good show all culminated. She harnessed the rage, embraced the bloodlust. With a dangerous smile, she launched herself straight at the fiend.
"Killer looks, huh?" Reno elbowed his partner with a wink. "Can't wait to see who they've got lined up for this now."
Rude gave an indifferent grunt. "They always hype things up, you know."
"A guy can hope."
Reno stood in the VIP section of the gallery with Rude, excited to see the special match they learned of while grabbing dinner at a ramen joint. After paying up, they'd gone immediately to the underground colosseum. The place was packed, the fervor of the crowd palpable as they ate up every word the announcers fed them. He sipped fizzy yellow beer from a plastic cup, trying not to grimace at the cheap, watered down taste.
The crowd went wild as a dark-haired woman jogged up to the announcers, her red high-tops scuffing with every bouncing step. Reno took in the curves, the leather, the short skirt, the thigh-highs.
"Fuck, man. I think they didn't hype things up enough this time."
A glance at Rude confirmed he agreed. His brows shot up high, a grin on his lips. "I suppose not," he said, lowering his head a bit to get a better look over the top of his glasses.
"Shit, I hope she doesn't get her ass splattered all over the ring. Would be a real waste."
"Something tells me she can hold her own."
Reno watched, just able to make out that she was glaring daggers at one of the announcers after he gave her an overly friendly pat. "You just might be right."
The opposing doors opened at an excruciatingly slow rate, revealing bit-by-bit the murderous beast that awaited the fighter with the killer looks. He nearly felt bad for her as he sucked in a breath, letting it out in a whistle.
"Damn," Rude added.
The signal sounded, initiating the match. Without hesitation, the woman launched herself across the arena at a surprising clip. "The hell..." he said.
"She's faster than you."
"You better clean your glasses, partner. I've got her by a mile."
As she rained down a series of punches, whirling uppercuts, and dive kicks on the beast, Rude asked, "You sure about that?"
Reno had to admit, she looked like she might give him a run for his gil. "Only one way to find out. If she wins, I could challenge her."
Rude looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. "Not happening."
"Why not, yo? Could be fun." His focus returned to the fight. Fun was definitely on the menu.
"Tseng will have your head on a platter for it."
"Right along with his fancy breakfast tea, I'm sure."
Rude chuckled. He was right, Tseng wouldn't appreciate either of them getting involved in a match. While they often sent new tech and several of Hojo's lab experiments to test, maybe even the occasional Public Security member, he knew they'd frown on a Turk jumping in the ring. Two months ago, what remained of the Turks narrowly survived being put down by order of the president himself. The last thing their division needed was any more attention.
Focusing on the match again, he watched as the fighter dodged and parried in something he could only describe as a lethal dance. The beast managed to land a couple of healthy hits, but every time he thought the woman might end up on her back, she managed to twist mid-air to land on her feet. Typically, a vicious cast of Blizzara followed. It was the first time in a long time that he was truly impressed by anyone else's prowess.
One look at Rude said they shared a mutual appreciation for the show of force.
A tense moment reduced the crowd to murmurs and he nearly took it all back when the fiend caught her off-guard. She went in for a shoulder bash, something she'd done a few times now. The beast read her tell, the grind of her heel and the shift of her torso a dead giveaway. It feinted left, throwing her off balance. The creature was there to catch her with its horns, tossing her across the ring like a rag doll. A few gasps sounded around him as the fighter crashed into the wall with a wet thud.
Rarely one to hold his breath, he was surprised when it caught in his chest. The woman was dazed, slow to get back to her feet. He could see the blood leaking down her shoulder and from a deep gash on her thigh. Just when he thought she might be a goner, she snapped out a dose of Cura and collected herself.
The beast charged again, dashing across the ring with bellowed fury.
"Don't be an idiot," he mumbled as he saw her set up for another shoulder bash to counter the oncoming attack.
This time, it seemed, she knew better. Reno caught the sly flick of her wrist, the muted blue glow from her gloves. The beast was so set on repeating its attack, her sleight of hand didn't even register. It feinted left again and right into an awaiting crag of icy magic. The spell shattered at just the right moment, sending a spectator to his right howling forward, fists raised in the air.
With a smirk, Reno said, "Clever girl. You know, I'm pretty sure she'd at least get a second look."
"Still thinking about that recruiting kickback?"
"You heard them. Find a viable candidate, get a little bonus. They get signed, even better." He scratched his jaw in thought. "I'm also getting sick of the excessive workload with our newly reduced ranks."
"And imagine what a fighter like that would mean for us if shit ever hits the fan again."
"You genius." He clapped his partner on the shoulder. "That's exactly right."
Rude gave him a small smile, likely appreciating the compliment. An ear-splitting roar drew his gaze back to the arena where the beast was suffering beneath a barrage of leaping kicks that staggered it thoroughly. Likely sensing her advantage, the fighter culminated her attack with a hard-hitting somersault. A sickening crack rang out as her feet connected with the fiend's neck. When it went down, it did not rise again.
Victory fanfare chimed from the speakers, the crowd nearly covering the sound with their enthusiastic screaming. The fighter simply dusted off her skirt and stretched like she'd just finished an easy jog around the block. Clever girl, indeed.
Reno turned to Rude with a grin. "You thinking what I'm thinkin'?"
"Gonna go out on a limb and say probably not."
"Ha-ha," he snarked. "I'm thinking we set up a little exchange. See what else she's got up her sleeve."
Rude gave him a look. "You don't mean..."
"Oh, that's exactly what I mean. C'mon, partner. Let's have a little fun."
Tifa cleaned herself up in the small room outside the arena. As the adrenaline drained from her veins, she found exhaustion quickly taking its place. Bruises were already forming, the worst of them turning her shoulder an angry purple ringed with yellow discoloration. Her lip was split and the gash on her thigh had barely knitted closed with healing materia in the ring. It would be a while for these injuries to fully heal.
This was reckless. The match was sobering, a wake-up call. Time to get a handle on this addiction of hers. She dabbed a cotton swab over her lip, wincing as the alcohol singed the sensitive nerves. A couple of scratches on her face required attention as well, but she couldn't bring herself to mess with the wound on her leg. Tossing her used supplies in the waste bin, she moved to the vending machine where she purchased a potion to help dull the throbbing pain raking through her body. As she popped the top, the door swung open with a creak.
"You okay?" Chocobo Sam's deep timbre set her at ease.
She met him a few weeks back after a particularly big win. He approached her in this very room, congratulating her and going on about how he liked to sponsor fighters now and then. She could tell there was an edge to the offer, some unspoken competition on his mind. When she later saw him arguing with a beautiful woman in a kimono who liked to sponsor his opponents, it made more sense.
While she initially turned Sam down, she couldn't afford this match on her own. And the prize was enough to upgrade some things at the bar and help cover an unexpected medical expense for Marle. Asking for his help was difficult, but a necessary sacrifice.
"I'm all right," she said, turning toward him. "Thanks for sponsoring my entry for this match."
He laughed as she chugged her potion. "You sure you want to thank me? Those bruises look painful as hell."
"These?" Tifa shrugged, grimacing when the motion sent fire racing across her shoulder. "They're nothing. I'll be fine."
"Well, I sure am glad you reached out. Just won me a hefty payout. Speaking of, there's another special match next week. You interested?"
"Can I get back to you on that?"
"Sure thing, Ava." Sam tipped his hat. "Take care of yourself now, you hear?"
"I will."
Sam set her cut from the night on the table. "Oh, and if you change your mind about the other thing, let me know."
An invitation to be presented to the Don of Wall Market like a prize Chocobo. No thank you. Instead, she told him, "I'll let you know."
As he left her alone, she realized her answer was a way of keeping things open. One of those early lessons for life on the ground floor. Never know when you might need a wildcard. That option, however, was perhaps the least appealing thing she could imagine. The last resort if she ever needed intel and nothing more.
With a slow gait, she collected her winnings and made her way to the elevator for the long ride up. This was always the most difficult part of fighting in the arena, the aftermath of starstruck fans who sometimes got a little too friendly with her. She braced herself as the doors opened. A couple of people clapped her on the shoulder, jolting pain through her body. Others commented on how well she fought or told her their favorite part of the match. She nodded her thanks and darted for the exit, uninterested in the attention.
The street was oddly empty in contrast, most of the enthusiasts still in the colosseum lobby or watching the fight that followed hers. Tifa wrapped her arms around herself to fight off the chill. She almost always made a break for the Sector Seven slums as quickly as she could, but she felt like she could use a drink. And not one that came with the potential of more scheming and arguing over plans.
Diverting from her path, she took an alleyway to her left. The decision came with immediate regret as she sensed someone watching her. The hair on the back of her neck rose, adrenaline spilling into her veins once again. Midway through she risked a glance over her shoulder, finding the alley dark and empty. Despite her slight limp, she picked up the pace only to bounce off of a chest.
"That was quite a show you put on," the owner of the chest told her.
She lifted her eyes, finding a bearded face she didn't recognize looming over her. The man's cold brown eyes fixed on her like a blast of winter wind, making her stomach churn. He grabbed her bad shoulder, squeezing until she wanted to cry out. She held her tongue, glaring at him.
He stared back.
Finding the resolve to speak, she said, "Let me go."
"Ask nicely." A sick smirk twisted across his lips. "Or I'll have to punish you."
Bile rose in her throat at the implication of his words, but she used it to harness a nasty tone as she repeated herself. "I said, let me go. "
The grip on her shoulder remained and he dared to lean closer. "Afraid I can't do that. You see—"
Not interested in finding out what he had to say, she snapped. She lifted her arm, knocking his hand from her shoulder. In his brief moment of shock that followed, she caught his jaw with a right hook. Thrown off-balance, he crashed into the concrete wall with a groan. She stepped around him, only to have him latch onto her leg.
There were only a couple of reasons she ever fought. To save someone she loved or to defend herself. Or, as of late, to blow off steam in a way that wouldn't harm anyone who didn't deserve it. That was beside the point. This stranger was proving to be a threat and she wasn't about to be another victim of Wall Market's seedier side. She whirled on him with a kick to the gut. A kick he was expecting.
The man caught her foot and twisted, bringing her down. Pain lanced through every place that connected with the ground. As he crawled toward her, she brought her forehead into his with fury, a move that he didn't expect. Her teeth sang with the impact but she got to her feet, watching as he cupped his face.
"Help!" he suddenly howled.
Help? He was attacking her, not the other way around. She moved quickly, taking advantage of whatever the hell he was doing. The alley opened into a quiet courtyard, just wide enough to give her an upper hand if he followed and tried to fight with her again. She glanced back to see if he was indeed following, surprised to find two men standing over him.
The suited figures helped him to his feet and she saw the man point in her direction. They exchanged a few words she couldn't catch and her assailant ran off in the opposite direction. Not wanting to look a gift Chocobo in the beak, she turned forward to the task of determining which alley led back to the main drag. She wasn't in the mood for a drink any longer.
"Stop right there," a deep voice commanded.
Tifa sighed loudly, unhappy to hear two sets of footsteps drawing near. This night was getting out of hand. She started to the left, not heeding whoever told her to stop.
"I believe my partner said 'stop,'" another voice snapped.
Rolling her eyes, she pivoted. "Look, he attacked me. I was defending myself."
The two men stopped at the edge of the courtyard, illuminated by the dim light from overhead. They were a menacing presence, both tall and flawlessly dressed in sleek black suits. Turks. The word clanged through her mind, bringing dread with it. She glanced from one to the other, waiting.
The one with wild red hair spoke first. "Well, that's not what he said."
His associate grunted in agreement.
"And what, exactly, did he have to say for himself?"
"He said you attacked him," the man with shades commented.
"Caused a threat to public order," the other added. "We take those pretty seriously."
"I bet you do," she replied with an acerbic laugh. The deadpan she received in response cut her short. She fumbled. "Even if I was somehow a threat to public order, he's gone now. I can't attack him, so I'll just be on my way."
The redhead laughed in a short burst. "And how do we know you won't go causing any more trouble?"
"Sure looks like you've already caused a ruckus," his partner said, waving a hand at her injuries.
Her pulse raced. These two were already in agreement on something and she felt like a pawn in whatever scheme was afoot. The truth of why she looked so rough wouldn't matter. Whatever they were up to, she knew better than to try and argue her way out of it. Her hand twitched, the movement drawing a pair of blue eyes.
"Hey, partner?" The man glanced from her hand to her overall stance as it adjusted. He tapped his weapon against his shoulder. "Do you feel threatened? 'Cause I sure as hell do."
The other man only cracked his knuckles.
So that's how this is going to be? With that, Tifa knew, without a doubt, they weren't letting her go. Fighting her way out of it was highly unappealing. Not only was she in no condition, but Barret would have her head for this. It would draw the eye of the enemy right to their doorstep. She had to think of a way out.
Willing herself to calm down, she relaxed her stance. "Listen, I don't want any trouble. I've had a long night and I just want to get home."
"And where is home?" the chattier of the two asked.
She sized him up then. Lanky, but likely much stronger than he looked. Feral eyes to match his sharp tongue. A plunging neckline exposing a well-muscled chest that confirmed her suspicions about his strength. If she weren't already hurting, she might be able to take him alone. But her battered body begged her not to do this.
"I believe he asked you a question," his partner said.
Tifa yanked her eyes to him. Tall, broad-shouldered, and likely very strong. He was calmer and it somehow made him seem even more lethal. With his eyes hidden, she couldn't read him as well. Together, they would pose a very real threat. And she couldn't tell them where she lived.
Think, think, think. Yes! " I'm new in town. Staying at the inn."
They exchanged a look, another bout of laughter from the wildcard. "I smell bullshit. You?"
"Definitely."
Growing more irritated by the minute, she finally barked, "What the hell do you want from me? I'm getting tired of whatever this game is."
That sucked the humor right out of things. The men straightened up, the redhead fixing her with a flat stare. "Back to making threats, I see."
When he looked at her hands again, she realized they were balled up into fists. Tension straightened all her limbs painfully, her posture inching toward aggressive. No one moved as the charged silence of the courtyard somehow drowned out the chaotic sounds of Wall Market.
The man in the glasses moved first. A swift attack that she barely dodged. Instinctively, she knew to focus on his partner next. Sure enough, his mag rod crackled to life as he took a swing at her ribs. The lightning-quick movement nearly caught her off-guard even though she'd anticipated it. She ducked, feeling the static building in her hair from the near-miss.
Tifa rolled, coming up hastily and taking a defensive position. Another look between the men. What was happening?
One of them struck again, a blur of red hair and blue light careening by. She swiveled and swept her foot at the last second, tripping him just before he could take a swing at her back. Surprise registered as he fumbled but easily righted himself. They faced off once more, fire in his eyes.
"Ooh, she is quick," the readhead sang.
"But not quick enough," the other boasted, grabbing her from behind. She should have seen that move coming.
Tifa stomped down on his in-step and sent the back of her head into his chin, the difference in height preventing her from hitting a better target. It hurt like hell, but it worked. The grip on her biceps disappeared and she dodged an incoming attack from the redhead. Swirling to face them, she noted that his partner hung back, aggravated and rubbing his jaw.
The fight became a game after that. Very few hits landed and most were easily dodged on both sides. It went on that way for a while, long enough that she got the impression they weren't trying to hurt her at all. In fact, it seemed as though they were testing her, trying to get a read on her skills. With no real threat she found she was too tired for this, her mouth was dry and her stomach grumbled with hunger. Reaching her limit, she stood in the middle of the courtyard with her hands raised.
"Enough," she panted.
The reply was smug as his electric blue eyes trailed over her. "You surrender?"
"Cut the shit."
His brows raised. "Oh-ho, the lady has claws."
"I think we've learned enough," his partner said evenly.
"You're probably right. Drinks?"
Drinks? What the hell? Confused, she only stared at him, wondering just what in Gaia this was all about. Warmth seeped from her lip and she wiped fresh blood on the back of her gloved hand, annoyed that all her work cleaning up was ruined.
"Whoops, seems we got a bit carried away," the smug one said.
His partner fished the purple pocket square from his suit and held it out her way. She gave him a wary look as he drew closer, further extending it to her. When she still didn't take it, he said, "Don't worry, I have plenty."
Tifa quickly snatched the handkerchief, dabbing away the blood. Unsure whether to keep the item or hand it back, she tucked it through her belt loop and thanked him awkwardly.
He tipped his chin down once and said, "What my partner means is, we'd like to have a talk with you."
She furrowed her brows. "Now you want to talk?"
"You've proven worthy of a chat, babe," the other chimed in.
Bewildered, she glanced between them and tilted her head. "Worthy of a chat?"
"C'mon, we'll buy you a drink. Our way of compensating you for the charade."
The situation seemed to grow more perplexing by the minute. She wanted to tell them to screw off and make her way back home, but she felt not hearing them out might cause more trouble. And what if they followed her? She wanted a drink, after all, and she needed to throw them off her trail. Hesitantly, she decided on her course of action.
"Fine. One drink," she replied firmly. "And don't call me babe."
"You got it, babe," came the sarcastic reply.
Reno couldn't help his laughter as the fighter glared daggers at him. She certainly held her own in the play fight they staged. Though she didn't know them, she anticipated a few of their moves and proved her speed. The fact that she was at a disadvantage from her brutal match only solidified his thinking. She would indeed make a good candidate.
A snarky tone interrupted his thoughts, "You can call me Tifa or nothing at all."
"I knew that name was bullshit," he said without thinking.
"What name?"
Rude shot him a look. "Nothing. Shall we?"
Reno swept a hand toward the alleyway on the right. It led to his favorite dive bar, somewhere no one would hear their little conversation and even if they did, they'd be too shit-faced to remember it. He stalked down the path, Rude and Tifa in tow.
The stale smell of booze hit him like a brick to the face as he slipped into the dingy establishment. Neon lights in the shape of cocktail glasses flashed over the bar, toasting each other. The overhead lights were dim, barely illuminating a range of patrons of all ages, each hammered and talking loudly.
A wordless tilt of Reno's head gave Rude the signal, his partner weaving through the crowd, scanning the establishment for a vacancy to occupy. When Tifa followed, he turned back to the bar and put in an order for the trio. Once he had beers in hand, he searched the room for his partner. He stood out like a well-dressed sore thumb amidst this group. Winding through clusters of chatty patrons, Reno joined them in the corner. He held a bottle toward Rude to free up a hand, separating the two he held in his left. Tifa claimed the brew he offered and took a healthy swig.
"Right, say whatever it is you have to say," she shouted over the noise.
Reno shushed her, earning another glare. "First things first, this is Rude."
"Sorry, where are my manners?" she said, her tone saccharine.
Reno chuckled. "No, this," he waved a hand at his partner, "is Rude."
A rosy hue spilled onto her cheeks. She took a sip before she spoke again. "Oh, that's his name." Tifa gave Rude an apologetic look. "Sorry, Rude."
Rude just shrugged and took his own healthy swig.
"I'm Reno," he said with a mock salute.
"Great. Now that we've established who everyone is, what was that all about back in the alley?"
Her spunk intrigued him. He rolled on, "We've been tasked with keeping an eye out for anyone who might be of interest to our organization."
Tifa went a few shades paler, her eyes darting as if plotting an escape route.
Rude stepped in. "Your skills caught our eye. You're quite the fighter."
She relaxed visibly as she said, "And what's that matter to you?"
"Threats to public order, remember?" Reno drawled. Watching her tense again was worth it.
"I already told you, I'm not a threat. I fight at the arena for sport, that's it."
"We know," Rude interjected.
"We saw your performance earlier. You'll have to forgive our methods back in the alley, but we needed to be sure you were as good as you seemed."
"Wait..." Realization flashed across her features. "Did you send that man after me?"
The setup gave them a multitude of necessary information. Not only did they discover she was well balanced, neither a pushover nor a loose cannon, but it gave them an excuse to interfere. If things went wrong, it would seem as if they were preserving the peace.
He couldn't very well admit that, so he offered a short explanation. "Only to get a read on the situation. You were never in any danger."
Anger limned her eyes, setting them ablaze. "Seriously?"
She moved to set down her beer and leave, but Reno caught her wrist before she could do either. Tifa tried to free her arm, her eyes fierce as she met his gaze.
"Hear us out," he told her soothingly.
She tensed but stopped struggling. He dropped her wrist, hoping she wouldn't deck him.
"You have two minutes," she declared. Despite the sharp tone, the fire in her eyes waned.
Rude cleared his throat. "We're on the hunt for qualified candidates. Are you familiar with Shinra's Department of Administrative Research?"
Her expression remained bland, too disinterested to be authentic. "You mean the Turks." When Rude nodded, she added, "I'm familiar."
"We think you might have what it takes to be a valuable asset to our ranks."
"Provided we work on your tells," Reno supplied.
Tifa shot him yet another nasty look. "And why would I want to be a part of your...organization?"
"Well, for one thing, it pays way better than those deathmatches you've been fighting in." He wanted to laugh but she was still scowling.
"You'll have a chance to make a true difference. To preserve peace and protect our way of life."
His partner was so full of shit. Reno tacked on, "And the job is chock full of adventure. Travel, intrigue, you know, the good stuff."
Tifa chewed her bottom lip. "I did not see this coming. But I'm happy with my life as is."
Damn. That bonus was so close, yet so far. "You sure about that?"
Tifa only nodded, taking a quick sip. She set the bottle on a nearby ledge. "Thanks for the drink."
Before he could reply, she slipped into the crowd and disappeared. Dissatisfied with her answer, he moved after her without thinking. Outside, he searched for her retreating figure. He spotted her weaving around drunks in the street.
"Tifa," he called after her.
She didn't stop, but she slowed. It was enough of a sign. He jogged over, snagging a business card from his pocket. Falling in step with her, he held it out.
"If you change your mind, you can reach me here."
Finally pausing, she eyed the card in his outstretched hand. The tips of her fingers brushed his palm when she reached for the card. Her gaze lifted and he held her stare. Beneath the light of paper lanterns, he noticed the garnet color of her irises, the gemstone hue unlike anything he'd ever seen. Beautiful eyes, he thought uselessly. Silence stretched between them until her fingers finally left his palm.
"I probably won't," she said at last. Yet she took the card, tucking it into a pocket as she started forward again.
Reno stood in the street for a long moment, beer still in hand, watching her walk away. His eyes caught on the swish of her long hair, accentuated by a gait so resolved not to give away her slight limp.
Wall Market carried on all around him but he became a rock in the middle of a rushing stream as she faded from his sight. Currents of thought brushed against him as he wondered if he would ever see her again, and why he cared if he did. The thought did not surprise him nearly as much as the vague curiosity he had of her hiding just behind it.
It struck him that she was a true fighter. Not just the sort who could hold her own in a battle arena, but someone who could claw her way out of anything and come out on top.
Someone quite like him.