AN: Written for maera_winters and originally posted at my LJ. In the First Dates-verse.

Prompt: Rude/Tifa, silent war

"Solitaire" Doesn't Mean "Solitary"

The moment he pulls up the screen Rude notices the difference. It brings a low noise from his chest.

"Something wrong, buddy?" Reno perches a hip on the edge of the receptionist desk and bends his neck for a peek at the computer screen.

"You do this?" Rude asks.

"Me? Naw. Only card games I play are real." Reno stands. "It's a glitch, I tell you."

A glitch. A glitch that has cost him his six-month long Solitaire record. But Rude doesn't say anything. He watches Reno stroll off toward the elevators and begins the arduous task of making up a twenty-three point deficit.

A week later Rude notices it again.

This time he's sharing the desk with Elena. "So then Tseng says to the hostess, 'Our soup was cold, our—'" She stops. "What? What's that look for, Rude?"

"Just a glitch," Rude mumbles, though he's less convinced now that's it's happened twice.

Elena rolls her chair over to look at the screen. "Wow. Are you sure that glitch's name isn't 'Reno'?"

Rude's not sure of anything, but he shakes his head. "Not Reno." Then adds, "Probably."

Elena shrugs then slides her chair back. "Well, it isn't me—I don't like that game—but I'll interrogate Tseng about it tonight. How does that sound?"

Rude doesn't say anything. He's already focused on bringing his game back from a fifty-two point deficit.

When he sits down to the computer three days later, he sees it again. The growl is inadvertent and loud enough to make Tseng twitch aside the morning paper to look at him.

"Is something bothering you, Rude?"

"Mmm."

"I'm afraid you'll have to elaborate," Tseng says.

Rude silently fumes for a moment, then admits, more to himself than to Tseng, "Solitaire game's being tampered with."

"Reno?" is Tseng's automatic response.

Rude shakes his head. "Don't think so."

"It isn't Elena—she hates that game—and I can assure you it's not me." Tseng's newspaper lowers a few inches while he thinks. "You might try locking it with a password. If that doesn't work, then I don't know what to say, Rude."

Neither does Rude. But there's an eighty point loss to make up and he's unhappy at how angry it makes him.

When Rude steps off the elevators the next evening, the first thing he notices is the shine off a head of black hair at the receptionist desk. His heart immediately skips a beat.

"Tifa?" he says, then catches himself. "What are you doing here, Lockhart?"

She looks up at him as he approaches the desk, and he can see she's upset. "My office isn't ready yet, so I've been doing some stuff on this computer after hours..."

"Stuff?" Rude asks, surprised.

"Stuff for Rufus," Tifa says, blushing. "He wants me to be well-acquainted with these solar panels before we start our big marketing push in Junon next week."

"Oh." Rude feels his mood sink a little. Tifa and Rufus in Junon. "I'll leave you to it, then. Have a good night, Lockhart."

He turns away to head toward the front doors, but a voice stops him. "Rude, wait, please? I— I think I broke something. The computer... I think I did something and now I can't get into this thing..."

Rude's at her side before he knows it. "What's the problem?" But as soon as he catches sight of the screen he knows what it is.

"Can you fix it?" Tifa whispers.

He leans over her and types in a password. "There. Fixed." A green Solitaire background fills the screen.

"Oh! You did it, Rude!" Tifa hugs the arm still hovering over the keyboard. "How can I thank you?"

His arm still tingles after she releases it. "It was nothing."

"Nothing? I feel like you saved my life." Her eyes turn solemn as she confesses, "I was so scared I broke the computer. At least let me buy you a coffee or something."

Rude doesn't know what to say. He's too stunned.

"Please? There's this place around the corner..."

Rude's nervousness relents enough for him to say, "All right, Lockhart, you're on."

Tifa smiles and grabs for her purse. As they walk toward the front doors, she says, "I bet you think I'm silly for liking that game."

Rude smiles, though he keeps to himself why. "Solitaire? I don't think that at all."

"I wish I was better at it, though." When he holds the door open for her, she accidentally brushes against his hand. "I'm not very good."

"Practice," Rude says, and mentally bids farewell to his score.

But when she hooks her hand in the bend of his arm, he's not at all sorry to see it go.

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