Tifa had become powerful chasing Jenova to the Northern Crater and back again, and being a Recoverer added the hardened edge to her impeccable fighting skills.
In short, Reno - weakened from blood loss and a fairly severe concussion - didn't have a chance.
She jerked back immediately, breaking the meeting of the lips that could hardly be called a kiss, and swung her fist in a self-righteous punch that would have broken his jaw had it landed a little lower.
His vision was going blurry again, and he quickly tried to swallow his pride (and the coppery blood that now filled his throat), managing to put a tight-lipped, but still smug, smirk across his face. "You hit like a girl, Lockheart. And..." He let it fade away, the words left hanging. She'd walked away from him - again!
Reno wasn't worth her time, and she had known that since he was just the redheaded guy in a crumpled suit drinking lots but tipping light. He was cute once, when he'd first started walking into her bar, but that was irrelevant. As soon as her punch made its comforting thud against his jaw, Tifa'd begun to leave. He wasn't worth wasting energy over, either.
She could have stayed and beat the crap out of him, not realizing that it was already too late and her shift relief had seen the end of that little drama. She was just going to find out why the third shift hadn't ended, when her superior came and ordered her outside. Immediately.
Tifa knew the speech (... even given it a few times...). It was short and left no doubt that she was not welcome in the Medic tents, again, with or without serious injury. The supervisor was calculating and efficient, the marks of the Recovery, and Tifa was equally well aware that her skill as a Medic was not worth the risk of an emotionally unstable worker. She could've cared less about his opinion of her and did not bother to argue. It wouldn't have moved him, regardless. She just nodded and walked away, something that had become a habit as of late.
Something in the supervisor snapped at that. He wanted a fight; he wanted to be the one in control and to have something more than responsibility for the tally sheets.
"We ought to thank you, you know," his voice was tired and held little of the cruelty he hoped it would. He started to walk away, and gave a last parting shot over his shoulder,
"20C is dead. 18.30 hours."
20C. Her cot. Her rounds. A low moan, raised from the part of her heart she'd had to shut down to be an effective Leader, escaped her lips, and she had the irrational urge to throw something. Hard.
************
Reno could hear everything - the tent offered no privacy, inside or out - up until the new Medic came in to check his symptoms and cast a low-level ice spell on his jaw to keep the swelling down. The part about 20C cut through the haze of pain and had him searching around for the guy a few beds down being carried out to a nameless burial. Great... another sin for the penitent Avalanche.
He stood up shakily, giving the Medic a Shinra-hardened glare. It dared him to remind Reno that he had much rather lie down and give in to the overriding exhaustion. The Medic merely turned away and shrugged inwardly. It might rain tonight, the first time during the whole Recovery, and the sheltered cot belonged to someone a little more appreciative.
***********
Beyond the Midgar ruins, the sun was setting, making a mockery of the division between light and dark. It twisted and deformed the shadows that were so logical during the day and non-existant at night. Her face was hidden in the shadows, lost to the red light that framed her hair, her arms, her entire being. Reno walked towards her, thinking this perhaps was not a good idea. By the time he reached her, he was sure of it.
Tifa had not moved and, as usual, noted Reno's arrival without really seeing him. Her fists were clenched in the only outward sign of emotion, but giving off a sign as clearly as if she were unsteadily throwing stones in the proverbial glass house.
Understanding, he thought, be understanding and supportive.
"Lighten up, Lockheart." Damn.
Her eyes widened, emotions playing across them as she made a move to strike, to scream, to do anything but stand there staring like a dying deer. She didn't, couldn't because...
(...there's no time there's no time there's no time...)
It played in her head, a mantra hard learned and true so long as Midgar remained littered with the innocent dead.
Her voice came out mumbled and impatient, "I don't have time for this, Reno. I'm contacting Reeve for a new post."
"Is that what they're callin' it now? And I thought you were standing there admiring the oh-so-beautiful Med Tent. Look," he took a few cautious steps closer, hands held in front of him as though to ward off another hit, "you're worn out and need rest. There's no reason -"
Lightning, unconcealled lightning. "No! There's every reason. This is more than selling murder for ten gil a drink. This," she turned slightly, waving towards the ruins, "is what I fought for. All that is left is suffering and broken bits of metal. Honestly, Reno, I didn't risk my life to save the world so someone else could clean up after me. " Memories flooded her... of late nights at the Seventh Heaven scrubbing battered floors until dawn, of folding tents and packing supplies unsure of whether it would be two days to Corel or thirty.
Reno watched her face, the dreamy expression of a person needing a night's rest or a triple latte, and felt that dissatisfaction rising from the back of his throat, again. Tifa's eyes hardened as reality intruded, and he nearly tripped trying to keep her from marching off to duty's call.
"You're right, Lockheart, there is suffering, but it's not over at Midgar." This would be so much easier if everything would hold still, he gritted his teeth against the thought and took a casual step closer, "Honestly, the world's not worth saving if everyone's gotta be like you. Cold, empty, alone."
"That's the thing, Forrester," her posture became insolent (...didn't know I knew your name, did ya...) "The planet doesn't revolve around you or me or even Cloud. Greater good. Ever hear of it?"
"Sure. And I bet you told yourself that every night for weeks, whenever the pain became too hard. Every time you had to lose your humanity to make the tough decisions. Sure, I know what you're thinking every time you turn on your heel and walk away." He paused, his speech making him lightheaded. "Dammit, Lockheart. I was a Turk, the emotion-killing, tongue-biting, 'its our fuckin' job' scum of the Shinras. There is no trick on this hell-hole that I haven't pulled and the only thing I learned was that... was that..." Nothing was making sense to him now as he tried desperately to remember just what it was he learned.
Tifa took the chance to interrupt, but her words were clipped and unconvincing, "Fine. Then, think about it while I leave. Time is lives, and I owe them that." She nodded her head once, as though agreeing with herself, and turned away towards Midgar, head held high aware that he was watching.
"Time is for living," he called after her, confident he'd won, but angry regardless.
"...Tifa."
Author's Notes: It was after writing this chapter the first time that I finally decided I am terrible at dialogue - so bear with me while I practice. ;) It's better than it used to be. Promise!
Three chapters and an epilogue left, I think, and the next two go together as soon as I get around to posting them. :)
In short, Reno - weakened from blood loss and a fairly severe concussion - didn't have a chance.
She jerked back immediately, breaking the meeting of the lips that could hardly be called a kiss, and swung her fist in a self-righteous punch that would have broken his jaw had it landed a little lower.
His vision was going blurry again, and he quickly tried to swallow his pride (and the coppery blood that now filled his throat), managing to put a tight-lipped, but still smug, smirk across his face. "You hit like a girl, Lockheart. And..." He let it fade away, the words left hanging. She'd walked away from him - again!
Reno wasn't worth her time, and she had known that since he was just the redheaded guy in a crumpled suit drinking lots but tipping light. He was cute once, when he'd first started walking into her bar, but that was irrelevant. As soon as her punch made its comforting thud against his jaw, Tifa'd begun to leave. He wasn't worth wasting energy over, either.
She could have stayed and beat the crap out of him, not realizing that it was already too late and her shift relief had seen the end of that little drama. She was just going to find out why the third shift hadn't ended, when her superior came and ordered her outside. Immediately.
Tifa knew the speech (... even given it a few times...). It was short and left no doubt that she was not welcome in the Medic tents, again, with or without serious injury. The supervisor was calculating and efficient, the marks of the Recovery, and Tifa was equally well aware that her skill as a Medic was not worth the risk of an emotionally unstable worker. She could've cared less about his opinion of her and did not bother to argue. It wouldn't have moved him, regardless. She just nodded and walked away, something that had become a habit as of late.
Something in the supervisor snapped at that. He wanted a fight; he wanted to be the one in control and to have something more than responsibility for the tally sheets.
"We ought to thank you, you know," his voice was tired and held little of the cruelty he hoped it would. He started to walk away, and gave a last parting shot over his shoulder,
"20C is dead. 18.30 hours."
20C. Her cot. Her rounds. A low moan, raised from the part of her heart she'd had to shut down to be an effective Leader, escaped her lips, and she had the irrational urge to throw something. Hard.
************
Reno could hear everything - the tent offered no privacy, inside or out - up until the new Medic came in to check his symptoms and cast a low-level ice spell on his jaw to keep the swelling down. The part about 20C cut through the haze of pain and had him searching around for the guy a few beds down being carried out to a nameless burial. Great... another sin for the penitent Avalanche.
He stood up shakily, giving the Medic a Shinra-hardened glare. It dared him to remind Reno that he had much rather lie down and give in to the overriding exhaustion. The Medic merely turned away and shrugged inwardly. It might rain tonight, the first time during the whole Recovery, and the sheltered cot belonged to someone a little more appreciative.
***********
Beyond the Midgar ruins, the sun was setting, making a mockery of the division between light and dark. It twisted and deformed the shadows that were so logical during the day and non-existant at night. Her face was hidden in the shadows, lost to the red light that framed her hair, her arms, her entire being. Reno walked towards her, thinking this perhaps was not a good idea. By the time he reached her, he was sure of it.
Tifa had not moved and, as usual, noted Reno's arrival without really seeing him. Her fists were clenched in the only outward sign of emotion, but giving off a sign as clearly as if she were unsteadily throwing stones in the proverbial glass house.
Understanding, he thought, be understanding and supportive.
"Lighten up, Lockheart." Damn.
Her eyes widened, emotions playing across them as she made a move to strike, to scream, to do anything but stand there staring like a dying deer. She didn't, couldn't because...
(...there's no time there's no time there's no time...)
It played in her head, a mantra hard learned and true so long as Midgar remained littered with the innocent dead.
Her voice came out mumbled and impatient, "I don't have time for this, Reno. I'm contacting Reeve for a new post."
"Is that what they're callin' it now? And I thought you were standing there admiring the oh-so-beautiful Med Tent. Look," he took a few cautious steps closer, hands held in front of him as though to ward off another hit, "you're worn out and need rest. There's no reason -"
Lightning, unconcealled lightning. "No! There's every reason. This is more than selling murder for ten gil a drink. This," she turned slightly, waving towards the ruins, "is what I fought for. All that is left is suffering and broken bits of metal. Honestly, Reno, I didn't risk my life to save the world so someone else could clean up after me. " Memories flooded her... of late nights at the Seventh Heaven scrubbing battered floors until dawn, of folding tents and packing supplies unsure of whether it would be two days to Corel or thirty.
Reno watched her face, the dreamy expression of a person needing a night's rest or a triple latte, and felt that dissatisfaction rising from the back of his throat, again. Tifa's eyes hardened as reality intruded, and he nearly tripped trying to keep her from marching off to duty's call.
"You're right, Lockheart, there is suffering, but it's not over at Midgar." This would be so much easier if everything would hold still, he gritted his teeth against the thought and took a casual step closer, "Honestly, the world's not worth saving if everyone's gotta be like you. Cold, empty, alone."
"That's the thing, Forrester," her posture became insolent (...didn't know I knew your name, did ya...) "The planet doesn't revolve around you or me or even Cloud. Greater good. Ever hear of it?"
"Sure. And I bet you told yourself that every night for weeks, whenever the pain became too hard. Every time you had to lose your humanity to make the tough decisions. Sure, I know what you're thinking every time you turn on your heel and walk away." He paused, his speech making him lightheaded. "Dammit, Lockheart. I was a Turk, the emotion-killing, tongue-biting, 'its our fuckin' job' scum of the Shinras. There is no trick on this hell-hole that I haven't pulled and the only thing I learned was that... was that..." Nothing was making sense to him now as he tried desperately to remember just what it was he learned.
Tifa took the chance to interrupt, but her words were clipped and unconvincing, "Fine. Then, think about it while I leave. Time is lives, and I owe them that." She nodded her head once, as though agreeing with herself, and turned away towards Midgar, head held high aware that he was watching.
"Time is for living," he called after her, confident he'd won, but angry regardless.
"...Tifa."
Author's Notes: It was after writing this chapter the first time that I finally decided I am terrible at dialogue - so bear with me while I practice. ;) It's better than it used to be. Promise!
Three chapters and an epilogue left, I think, and the next two go together as soon as I get around to posting them. :)