The business card looked the same on her tiny kitchen table as it had in her hand last night. Tifa ran a finger along an embossed side, over the raised gold letters that said Mystery Soldier. Her other hand curled around a warm mug, the bitter scent of coffee wafting through the air as she took a sip.

Cloud had a business card.

It made sense. In the years that had passed since they'd last seen each other, they'd grown from teenager to adult. Just looking at him had made it obvious. Cloud looked good. His wiry frame now had muscle and he towered over her. When he had left the bar in a rush, there had been a sense of power in his steps.

Had he noticed the same? She wasn't the lanky teen she used to be either, all limbs and no grace.

"This is stupid," Tifa sighed, running a hand through her thick hair and winding a lock around a finger contemplatively.

It had been years. The long silence since he'd disappeared was enough for her to know that he hadn't considered them friends, not in the same way she had. Or, if he had, that had changed now—no one ran from an acquaintance like that, let alone a friend.

She gripped her mug tightly. What had been with his reaction last night? While she had talked, Cloud had not once met her eyes, his gaze distant as he avoided her. There had been bags under his eyes and his skin had looked almost sickly pale. And when he had finally looked at her, his expression had been…haunted.

Like he'd seen a ghost.

There was nothing of his old smile in that expression—nothing of the boy who used to duck his head at compliments and fiddled with his fingers when the silence got too long. That boy had been human. The man last night looked like he had been chiseled from rock. If Tifa didn't know better, she would have thought he was someone else.

A truck honked. Tifa sipped her coffee as she stood up, letting the warmth flood through her body. The caffeine was just what she needed to wake her senses. Her tiny window afforded a nice view of the street below and Tifa leaned against it as she peeked down at the tiny, dirty neighbourhood she called home.

The truck all but crawled through the neighbourhood. Painted on its white sides was a giant-sized picture of Mayor Shinra, smiling greasily like the polished politician he was. His slogan, For a better tomorrow, was scrawled under him in blue. Most pedestrians glanced at it as they passed by. One pumped her fist in excitement. Another sighed in disappointment.

With only a week to go, it was impossible to escape from the election. Tifa didn't like her options. Shinra was a slime, to put it lightly, but his opponents were paper thin, cardboard cut-outs. A single breath and Shinra could wipe them out. Part of her wondered if they were just running so Shinra could claim the election was fair.

Tifa glanced over her shoulder, at the still folded newspaper on her table. The headline was cut up but the imagine of a smirking Rufus Shinra remained clearly visible. If the rumours were anything to go by, corruption ran in the family. In fact, the mayor's son sounded even worse with allegations of illegal labour practices and experimentation.

The truck turned a right, leaving her street. Tifa gulped down the last of her coffee and set down the mug. She only had ten minutes left before she had to catch her bus. There was no time to waste.

Besides, the longer she lazed about at home, the longer Barret was alone in their office. And that spelled trouble for everyone.

-x-

As it turned out, Tifa didn't have to worry. She opened their office door to find only Barret there. Lounging on the sofa, he leaned back and rested his feet on the wooden coffee table. His trademark glower was directed at the ceiling, his left hand tapping on his chest.

He didn't bother to look when she greeted him. Barret grunted, annoyed. "I hate waiting like this."

Tifa sighed as she took off her coat. This wasn't an unusual sight but it was nonetheless disappointing every time she saw it. Their clientele were inconsistent at best and on a good week, they spent only half of it idling. "We'll have to drum up business again soon."

Barret scowled. "Every fricking time."

No curse words today. The swear jar must be filled up. Tifa sat down next to him and leaned against his arm. He shifted slightly so she was comfortable. Barret was as warm as a heater, a boon on a winter day and a curse in the summer. On a middling day like today, it was tolerable. She said, "We'll have to put up flyers again."

"There's so much shit going on in this town, you'd think someone would need us." Barret turned his glare to the window now. Warm sunlight streamed in through the blinds and pooled on the padded white carpet below. The window was slightly open and a cool breeze wafted in, bringing with it the sounds of the crowds thronging below. Gesturing at the bright blue sky, he complained, "I could be in the park with Marlene now!"

Tifa rubbed her wrist. Did shit count for the swear jar? "It's a nice day," she agreed reluctantly.

"It's a freakin' great day," Barret corrected, still miffed. Part of her wondered if he'd one day say 'fudge' instead of fuck and 'sugar' instead of 'shit'. It painted a funny image.

Still, he wasn't wrong. It was a quiet day of a quiet week. If everything kept to pattern, they wouldn't get a single client today. And even if they did, Barret's grumpy scowl and barked questions would scare them away anyways. Better to just take a break and regroup.

Besides, it was nice outside.

"Let's close up early and just take her. No one's going to miss us today," Tifa suggested. She straightened up, about to call for Marlene when she realized none of the usual sounds were coming from the side rooms. There was no cheerful humming as Marlene drew, no sounds of dolls and paper cups hitting one another as she played. The office was overly empty. "Where is she?"

"Playing hopscotch out back." Barret finally smiled, his tension easing as he relaxed. Taking a break had been the right idea. "She's really good at it too. She can even double dutch!"

Those weren't even from the same type of game. Tifa nodded regardless. The most important lesson she'd learned was to just agree with Barret whenever he talked about Marlene. If she encouraged him, he could talk for hours about his daughter. It had been cute at first. By the tenth time she'd heard the same stories over and over again, Tifa had enough.

"Sounds like she's liking school," Tifa said, directing the conversation to safer topic.

"Yeah." Barret's expression softened. "Helps she's not the only werewolf there either."

Tifa remembered the help books they'd both paged through over the years, trying to figure out everything about werewolves from lunar cycles to puberty. Even now she wasn't sure if what they'd read was correct. "How's the adoption going?"

"Shitty." Barret scowled again, like a thunder cloud rolling in. Another nickel for the swear jar. "They're saying I'm too human. I told 'em to look at my arm and say that again."

He wasn't wrong. Tifa glanced at his right arm, at the marvel of technology and alchemy combined. At first glance, it was like someone had welded a machine gun to his arm, the line between flesh and metal obvious. It seemed clunky and awkward, impractical for ordinary use. A gun was only useful in combat, after all.

Yet, if one looked closer, they'd see the alchemical markings on the metal. The black, elegant writing kept the weapon light enough to lift and even allowed Barret to transform it into a metal hand instead. A hand that could effortlessly pick up his daughter. A hand that could grip a mug properly, despite what excuses he gave.

"I can come with you next time," Tifa offered, resting her hands on her knees. "Maybe with another reference—"

The door cracked open and Tifa cut herself off. She could offer again after the customer left. Forcing a smile, she called out, "You can come in."

There was no response. The door remained open just a crack. Tifa heard tiny feet shuffling outside before a familiar brown-haired girl in a simple pink dress poked her head inside.

"Marlene?" Tifa stared, surprised. It wasn't like the girl to act so shy when they were alone. "The game's over?"

"No, um…" Marlene bit her lip nervously. She was still only partially inside and her left hand squeezed her pleated skirt. "Daddy…"

Immediately, Barret turned into overprotective father mode. He got up from his seat quickly and approached his daughter. Kneeling before her, he reached out and cradled her cheek with his good hand. His other hand opened the door wider. "What is it, sweetheart?"

Marlene's eyes flicked to his, then to the ground. She squeezed her hem one last time. "We need help."

"We?" Tifa asked, getting up and approaching the door now.

Marlene glanced at the hallway, at something unknown, before tugging her hand forward. An older boy stumbled forward. Despite his ratty clothes and a bird's nest of a hair, Tifa recognized Denzel. His mother had made Barret's arm. But the boy she'd met back then had a more open smile.

The one standing awkwardly in front of them now avoided all eye contact, his expression dark, his feet shuffling as though ready to flee. Something heavy sank in Tifa's stomach. She wasn't going to like this.

Barret's eyes narrowed at the two kids' clasped hands, but thankfully he didn't bring it up for now. "What happened?"

Denzel opened his mouth, then closed it, clamming up without even waiting for a word.

Marlene patted his arm and smiled kindly. "Please tell them. Daddy will help."

Barret managed a convincing smile. "Of course I will. No child's left behind."

Maybe it was the cheesy line, maybe it was the sincerity behind it, but Denzel nodded. Hesitantly, he muttered, "My mom. She needs help."

That was a start. Tifa crouched down in front of him too. She reached forward for his hand slowly, giving him enough time to recoil if he wanted to. When he didn't, she gently squeezed it. "What can we do?"

"It's…" Denzel still looked cagey, like a cornered animal. Unbidden, Tifa thought of gold, of Cloud—he'd been just like that last night too. Like a terrified child, not sure who to turn to or where to run.

"It's?" Tifa prompted.

"She's sick," Denzel whispered, his voice barely audible. It was though he feared saying it would make it real. "She's been sick for a while. She's…" His voice cracked but he didn't cry. "She's not getting better."

His mother had looked so healthy the last time they'd seen her.

Then again, so had Tifa's before they'd died. Her grip tightened and she directed his attention back to her. What reassuring words had she wanted to hear the most back then? Tifa gently rubbed his hand, keeping Denzel focused on her, on the present. "Don't worry, we'll get a doctor. She'll be fine."

It wasn't enough. He pulled away and stepped back, his expression dark. "We can't afford one."

"We can," Barret barked, standing up now. There was no hesitation in his response, just sheer, utter belief. "And we will."

Marlene nodded eagerly, copying her father's confident stance. "Uh-huh!"

Denzel glanced at Barret, then down at her. For a second, his expression brightened. Yet, just as quickly, he recoiled, curling into himself. "But…"

She could only imagine how much he had been through.

"No buts." Tifa wrapped her arms around Denzel, hugging him tight. "We'll take care of it, don't worry."