The light really was golden, which Tifa was forced to reluctantly admit when she had to squint to make out Reeve's motorcycle approaching from the east. What a contradiction that man was - the polished businessman who controlled the happy-go-lucky stuffed cat and raced towards her at a suicidal speed on his bike because he was too afraid to ride chocobos.
He stopped in a controlled arc, which nevertheless kicked up a cloud of dust that left her coughing until he offered her a canteen. She took it and inclined her head his direction, an acknowledgement more than a greeting. He raised his eyebrow at that, but made no remark until she had finished.
"Your PHS is out." It was her turn to feel something reminiscent of disappointment, part of her still waiting for a simple 'how are you, today?' from the people she cared most about. Or did once. It hurt too much to think about it.
She wiped her mouth on with her arm. "I know. We had problems lifting a section of the plate, yesterday. Ever since Sector One, my men have gotten reckless." The Sector One discovery was the single greatest inspiration since the start of the Recovery. Red XIII's men lifted two collapsed sections of the upper plate that had fallen against each other and found over five hundred survivors crammed into the space, living off supplies from nearby stores that had also been spared. That was two weeks earlier, and the Recovery efforts were redoubled by the rescuers, who had been given something like hope again.
"My PHS was the only casualty," she added as an afterthought, considering that, in a different time and place, it might have been a joke.
She thought, for a moment, she saw the same flash of recognition through his own eyes, but it was crushed by business, by atonement. "Regardless, it set us back a few hours, trying to locate you. You're being reassigned."
Tifa blinked several times, owlishly as she was prone to. She didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or faint - but since she wasn't sure she could still do any of them, she opted for the next best choice. "Huh?"
"Medic Tent. Shift started twenty minutes ago, actually," he noted, looking at a watch that was once high quality.
Tifa opened her mouth to speak, but paused for a moment before crossing her arms over her chest protectively, "I am one hell of a Leader." It was fact, not idle boasting. She was as strong as most of the men she commanded, as well as smaller and more flexible. Besides, she had no long lost love lying in the rubble; all of her ties to Midgar were cut when Sector Seven was destroyed. There was no indecisiveness in her. Not anymore. Her voiced lowered but did not lose its intensity, "Some guy's dick get too big for his pants?"
Both eyebrows shot up at that, but again he made no remark on it. Tifa'd changed, he'd changed, but he couldn't be damned philosophical about it. He could only act; he wasn't indecisive anymore, either.
"Barring Sector One, the recovery missions have been turning up less and less, while the actual injured are being treated by exhausted Medics. Exhausted physically, magically, and emotionally, Tifa. Besides, I'm getting reports that you've been a bit erratic, yourself." He watched the corners of her mouth frown deeply, while she lowered her head to watch a small, brown boot kick up clouds of dust. Relenting slightly, Reeve let his hand graze hers and shook his head fervently, "Your strength will be invaluable in the Tents and you'll set a good standard for the Medics to meet. Now, get out of here. You've got work to do."
She nodded sharply and turned away, headed for the corral, where some chocobos were kept for the workers' benefit.
Reeve watched her for a few moments, but realized that there wasn't time and climbed onto his bike to head off to other, similar meetings, to give similar speeches to similar people. His eyes wandered to the still retreating figure of Tifa Lockheart. He'd always held a soft spot for the garnet-eyed girl, who would use Cait as a pillow, when the ground got to be a little too much.
He shook it off, roughly. There wasn't time for that.
**********
When she finally arrived, her body, perpetually sore from the physical work of a
Recoverer, had been jostled over every rock between Midgar and Kalm, (...possible
considering the damned bird refused to travel in a straight line...) despite her tight reign. She was tempted to turn Sunshine into her rations for the next week - another thing the Recovery was having trouble getting a steady supply of - but settled for a long string of curses as she located her Tent.
The smell of the Medic Tents was unbearable for the newcomers and intolerable for those accustomed to it. There were too many wounds and not enough Medics, or treatments, to keep them clean.
Tifa was experienced in the Tents, having pulled short shifts when a heavy load would arrive and did not need to be told much beyond where to cover and what materia was allocated before starting.
She was a bartender, once, and the skills never left her. Mixing drinks wasn't important to a kid who hadn't made up his mind whether to live or die (...kid? he's Cloud's age...), but a pretty nurse with a shoulder to cry on could be the deciding factor between life or death. So much of healing was mental, and it didn't matter if she hadn't showered in weeks or eaten properly or really combed her hair - mirrors were even more of an extravagance than private tents - because she could still fill in for the angel they'd been missing or for the big sister or oldest daughter or whatever else these people needed.
It was a skill, an act, but it was a very successful one.
Cries and shouts arose shortly before the end of her shift, and while the details were fuzzy, it was apparent that a flood of injured would be arriving. Her Team - Tifa corrected herself mentally - her old Team was not the only one being reckless.
She stayed on until they began arriving, the most serious by gold chocobo. Yuffie's was in the in the distance, but Tifa could not spare time to wave, she couldn't even chat with her own patients. She worked fast and gave as many as possible a chance to live until tomorrow, when they could be stitched up with better precision
He recognized her first, and was cognizant enough to comment on it, "Lockheart's
slummin' it with the Medics." A statement, not a question, delivered in a lazy drawl but it drew her attention to the red-haired Recoverer she was casting low level Cures on, while bandaging the messier wounds of the girl in the next cot.
"Reno?" Her's was definitely a question, "I thought you were on your way to Wutai."
He brought his hand up to his chest dramatically and gave a shaky sigh, "I'm touched that you've been scouring the newspapers for my name - "
(..."I read the newspapers hoping for some word of you"...)
"- collapse in Sector Six."
Tifa blinked back into reality, "Sector Six?" You're out of Cloud's Team?"
"Quick, Lockheart," he gave a sneer that erupted into a grimace. "The whole upper plate about fell on our heads."
She gave a sage nod, remembering the eerie silence of the day before, after her own plate had collapsed and she had to determine if she would need to replace any of her Team. She also remembered Sector Seven and swinging on a wire to avoid being crushed. Her hands pulled minutely harder on a bandage at the thought. Swinging with...
"...Cloud. Did he get out?"
Reno started to reply, but everything blurred and then went blank altogether as he fell unconscious. She shook her head fiercely; he could easily die because she'd wasted time like that. She didn't care if it was Hojo, himself - well, maybe not Hojo, she amended with a frown - but she still couldn't let the Turk die, when so many had been lost because she was too slow, because Avalanche had been too slow.
Night fell, and Tifa opted to sleep in a comparatively quiet corner rather than make the trek back to her tent. She'd worked nearly three shifts, which was completely against the rules, but she was Tifa Lockheart so no one bothered to enforce them. She welcomed the oblivion, the single most selfish thing she'd wished for during the Recovery, and wondered just how much of her wanted to collapse from exertion.
The entire day she had been healing, but she kept her eyes open in an habitual awareness that had so often saved her life. Cloud Strife was never brought in. That didn't mean much - he could have been taken to a different tent or Yuffie could have gotten to him or maybe he was alright after all.
"He might be dead, too," she mumbled as sleep overcame her, but the thought was gone and not accompanied by anything like the emotion it should have caused in a friend (...or a lover...).
He stopped in a controlled arc, which nevertheless kicked up a cloud of dust that left her coughing until he offered her a canteen. She took it and inclined her head his direction, an acknowledgement more than a greeting. He raised his eyebrow at that, but made no remark until she had finished.
"Your PHS is out." It was her turn to feel something reminiscent of disappointment, part of her still waiting for a simple 'how are you, today?' from the people she cared most about. Or did once. It hurt too much to think about it.
She wiped her mouth on with her arm. "I know. We had problems lifting a section of the plate, yesterday. Ever since Sector One, my men have gotten reckless." The Sector One discovery was the single greatest inspiration since the start of the Recovery. Red XIII's men lifted two collapsed sections of the upper plate that had fallen against each other and found over five hundred survivors crammed into the space, living off supplies from nearby stores that had also been spared. That was two weeks earlier, and the Recovery efforts were redoubled by the rescuers, who had been given something like hope again.
"My PHS was the only casualty," she added as an afterthought, considering that, in a different time and place, it might have been a joke.
She thought, for a moment, she saw the same flash of recognition through his own eyes, but it was crushed by business, by atonement. "Regardless, it set us back a few hours, trying to locate you. You're being reassigned."
Tifa blinked several times, owlishly as she was prone to. She didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or faint - but since she wasn't sure she could still do any of them, she opted for the next best choice. "Huh?"
"Medic Tent. Shift started twenty minutes ago, actually," he noted, looking at a watch that was once high quality.
Tifa opened her mouth to speak, but paused for a moment before crossing her arms over her chest protectively, "I am one hell of a Leader." It was fact, not idle boasting. She was as strong as most of the men she commanded, as well as smaller and more flexible. Besides, she had no long lost love lying in the rubble; all of her ties to Midgar were cut when Sector Seven was destroyed. There was no indecisiveness in her. Not anymore. Her voiced lowered but did not lose its intensity, "Some guy's dick get too big for his pants?"
Both eyebrows shot up at that, but again he made no remark on it. Tifa'd changed, he'd changed, but he couldn't be damned philosophical about it. He could only act; he wasn't indecisive anymore, either.
"Barring Sector One, the recovery missions have been turning up less and less, while the actual injured are being treated by exhausted Medics. Exhausted physically, magically, and emotionally, Tifa. Besides, I'm getting reports that you've been a bit erratic, yourself." He watched the corners of her mouth frown deeply, while she lowered her head to watch a small, brown boot kick up clouds of dust. Relenting slightly, Reeve let his hand graze hers and shook his head fervently, "Your strength will be invaluable in the Tents and you'll set a good standard for the Medics to meet. Now, get out of here. You've got work to do."
She nodded sharply and turned away, headed for the corral, where some chocobos were kept for the workers' benefit.
Reeve watched her for a few moments, but realized that there wasn't time and climbed onto his bike to head off to other, similar meetings, to give similar speeches to similar people. His eyes wandered to the still retreating figure of Tifa Lockheart. He'd always held a soft spot for the garnet-eyed girl, who would use Cait as a pillow, when the ground got to be a little too much.
He shook it off, roughly. There wasn't time for that.
**********
When she finally arrived, her body, perpetually sore from the physical work of a
Recoverer, had been jostled over every rock between Midgar and Kalm, (...possible
considering the damned bird refused to travel in a straight line...) despite her tight reign. She was tempted to turn Sunshine into her rations for the next week - another thing the Recovery was having trouble getting a steady supply of - but settled for a long string of curses as she located her Tent.
The smell of the Medic Tents was unbearable for the newcomers and intolerable for those accustomed to it. There were too many wounds and not enough Medics, or treatments, to keep them clean.
Tifa was experienced in the Tents, having pulled short shifts when a heavy load would arrive and did not need to be told much beyond where to cover and what materia was allocated before starting.
She was a bartender, once, and the skills never left her. Mixing drinks wasn't important to a kid who hadn't made up his mind whether to live or die (...kid? he's Cloud's age...), but a pretty nurse with a shoulder to cry on could be the deciding factor between life or death. So much of healing was mental, and it didn't matter if she hadn't showered in weeks or eaten properly or really combed her hair - mirrors were even more of an extravagance than private tents - because she could still fill in for the angel they'd been missing or for the big sister or oldest daughter or whatever else these people needed.
It was a skill, an act, but it was a very successful one.
Cries and shouts arose shortly before the end of her shift, and while the details were fuzzy, it was apparent that a flood of injured would be arriving. Her Team - Tifa corrected herself mentally - her old Team was not the only one being reckless.
She stayed on until they began arriving, the most serious by gold chocobo. Yuffie's was in the in the distance, but Tifa could not spare time to wave, she couldn't even chat with her own patients. She worked fast and gave as many as possible a chance to live until tomorrow, when they could be stitched up with better precision
He recognized her first, and was cognizant enough to comment on it, "Lockheart's
slummin' it with the Medics." A statement, not a question, delivered in a lazy drawl but it drew her attention to the red-haired Recoverer she was casting low level Cures on, while bandaging the messier wounds of the girl in the next cot.
"Reno?" Her's was definitely a question, "I thought you were on your way to Wutai."
He brought his hand up to his chest dramatically and gave a shaky sigh, "I'm touched that you've been scouring the newspapers for my name - "
(..."I read the newspapers hoping for some word of you"...)
"- collapse in Sector Six."
Tifa blinked back into reality, "Sector Six?" You're out of Cloud's Team?"
"Quick, Lockheart," he gave a sneer that erupted into a grimace. "The whole upper plate about fell on our heads."
She gave a sage nod, remembering the eerie silence of the day before, after her own plate had collapsed and she had to determine if she would need to replace any of her Team. She also remembered Sector Seven and swinging on a wire to avoid being crushed. Her hands pulled minutely harder on a bandage at the thought. Swinging with...
"...Cloud. Did he get out?"
Reno started to reply, but everything blurred and then went blank altogether as he fell unconscious. She shook her head fiercely; he could easily die because she'd wasted time like that. She didn't care if it was Hojo, himself - well, maybe not Hojo, she amended with a frown - but she still couldn't let the Turk die, when so many had been lost because she was too slow, because Avalanche had been too slow.
Night fell, and Tifa opted to sleep in a comparatively quiet corner rather than make the trek back to her tent. She'd worked nearly three shifts, which was completely against the rules, but she was Tifa Lockheart so no one bothered to enforce them. She welcomed the oblivion, the single most selfish thing she'd wished for during the Recovery, and wondered just how much of her wanted to collapse from exertion.
The entire day she had been healing, but she kept her eyes open in an habitual awareness that had so often saved her life. Cloud Strife was never brought in. That didn't mean much - he could have been taken to a different tent or Yuffie could have gotten to him or maybe he was alright after all.
"He might be dead, too," she mumbled as sleep overcame her, but the thought was gone and not accompanied by anything like the emotion it should have caused in a friend (...or a lover...).