Ordinary People

.o.

Walking into the back room of the mechanic's shop in Rocket Town, Cloud winced. He was a terrible singer, but the mechanic's voice was dreadful - what little he could hear of her off-key warbling as she worked, anyhow.

His grimace only intensified as he poured himself a cup of tea and looked over at his car. He hadn't meant to destroy its undercarriage; the thing's manual said it worked as an off-road vehicle, so it should have been fine as he took the back road to Cid and Shera's. It became clear that the manufacturer's claims were grossly exaggerated however, particularly after Cid's eyebrows hit his hairline as he hitched the car to the back of his truck and drove it and Cloud into town. Once they reached Rocket Town, Cid had brought Cloud to the new repair shop, leaving the car with the chipper receptionist. As they'd driven to Cid and Shera's house, the older man's eyes had been twinkling more so than usual, but the younger blond couldn't figure out why.

Not until now, as he returned to pick up the car.

It went without saying that Cloud Strife had seen many things in his twenty-five years on the planet. Unfortunately, as the mechanic slid halfway out from underneath his car, wrench in her hand, this didn't stop him from spilling hot tea all over himself in surprise. Though safety glasses shielded her eyes, her nametag and voice gave her identity away.

In the split second before pain registered, Cloud couldn't help but wonder why Cid had sent him to a Turk.

Said split second passed, and his errant thought disappeared as he put all his energy into not squealing in pain.

Stifling a giggle, the mechanic looked up at him in surprise. "Y'all right, mister?"

"Just fine," Cloud managed, teeth gritted. Grabbing a clean rag from the workbench, he wiped off some of the tea. The thought occurred to him as he did that Tifa was going to kill him when he got back to Midgar; these pants were new, and she liked doing laundry almost as much as he did. More important was the fact that the car that was currently under repair happened to belong to Tifa, and for all that the woman was supposed to harbour a soft spot for him, she also had a mean right hook that neither his shoulders nor stomach would be safe from if he returned to Midgar with her car in bad shape.

When push came to shove, they were too similar, really. There had been a brief, disastrous stint in the wake of Meteor when he and Tifa had been lovers, but after two months of post-break-up sulking and one night of being locked in a room together by a distinctly peeved Barret, he and Tifa had no choice but to resolve their differences. After that, he started to help at the self-defence and weapons lessons that she taught, and they'd been sharing an apartment… oh, maybe it had been for a year now. Cloud wondered how Tifa was managing the weapons classes on her own, but dismissed his worry with a small grin. She'd be okay; she was Tifa.

"Er," he mumbled, setting aside his thoughts, "do you have any spare pants?"

Elena emerged completely from under the car at his question, a flinch as she caught his eye the only clue that she was as surprised at their encounter as he was. But as she pulled her safety goggles up onto bright blonde hair, her eyes were speculative. "Pants that would fit you? Nope, don't think so. But there's a spare jumpsuit on that peg over there if you want it."

Looking at the jumpsuit, Cloud winced. Barret could have worn it with room to spare. Undiluted challenge sparked from Elena's eyes, however, and he wasn't about to let that Turk – ex-Turk – mechanic – whatever – get the best of him. She might be wearing a completely different type of blue suit, and she'd obviously lost her stutter, but she was still a Turk. "Do you have a washroom I can borrow?"

Elena only laughed, a rich, infectious laugh that made Cloud shift uncomfortably. Murderers didn't laugh like that: light and lilting. In his experience, even heroes couldn't laugh like that anymore. "Are you shy or something, Mister Strife?"

Cloud's eyes narrowed. "Or something."

Elena's hands froze in the midst of dusting herself off. "Whoa there," she said slowly, "there's no need to be angry. It's kind of sweet, actually, 'cause Reno sure wouldn't have…" Trailing off, her gaze switching from Cloud to his car and back again, Elena bit her lip and continued. "Look, I'm almost done, even though you did a heck of a job on the undercarriage. I'll just go retreat under it and let you change, okay?"

Cloud nodded in response. He was vaguely aware of how ridiculous he was acting, and her sweet smile wasn't helping matters, but he'd had enough public expressions of vulnerability to last him another three lifetimes. Tifa still hadn't let him live down the Wall Market dress-wearing debacle and he still hadn't forgiven her for telling Yuffie about it. These things considered, it was going to take a lot more than a cup of hot tea to make him stand in front of a former enemy wearing only his boxer shorts. "Fine."

Elena grabbed a different wrench from her kit, replaced her goggles, and slid back under the car. "Still neurotic, I see."

"Still talkative, I see," he retorted, pulling off the tea-stained pants as fast as he could. Casting a suspicious glance around the shop, Cloud changed, knocking on the hood of the car to signal that he had finished. "Done."

"So," she began, trying not to laugh at the ridiculously large jumpsuit that was falling off of the young man's body, "the damage wasn't as bad as it looked at first; she should be all fixed. But I'd recommend staying on the designated roads with this baby, Mister Strife."

"You worked fast," he replied. "How much do I owe you?"

Elena grinned. "For a friend of Cid and Shera's? Don't worry about it."

Cloud frowned. "You're serious?"

"Dead," she replied, but hazel eyes softened after a moment. "No, that's not right. Answer me one thing."

Cloud tensed. The past was the past, but their past, particularly where it had tangled together, hadn't been pretty. And he could well imagine what could have pulled the bubbly junior Turk to one of the smallest villages on the Planet. He'd heard through Tifa that Reno had died in the last days of the Meteor crisis, and though he'd seen Rude around the city a time or two, he had maintained a careful distance from the older man.

Sensing Cloud's discomfort, Elena waved her hands carefully. "Hey, hey, don't worry about it. It's just that the old man would never let me live it down if I charged the hero of the Planet for fixing his car… and don't you dare tell him, Cloud Strife, but I like the old grump too much to deck him."

"Like you did to me?" Cloud asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

She couldn't help but laugh. "You still remember that? Shiva, it seems like that happened ages ago… I was so mad at you, but I can't remember why."

"I can't remember why either, but I do remember that punch," he lied. Cloud did remember her words, down to the last tearstained syllable, as she accused him of killing Tseng. He also remembered the act of opening his mouth to deny her claims just in time to be clocked by a punch that had knocked him off his feet. But the last thing Cloud was going to do was drag out the past uninvited. Instead, he smiled wryly and tugged a hand through his hair as he continued. "I tumbled half-way down that blasted mountain thanks to you. I think I'd remember."

Still giggling, she pulled a set of keys from the rack and tossed them to Cloud. "I'd hope you'd remember that – teach you not to mess with the Turks!"

"I guess I didn't learn my lesson," Cloud replied, his laugh joining hers as he caught the keys and got into the car. "But, say, what did you want to ask me?" Watching Elena as her eyes shot from him to Tifa's car, the blonde's nose wrinkling in obvious distaste, Cloud braced himself for her question.

"It's just— it's just I'd always thought you'd have better taste in vehicles, Mister Strife."

Ah. "It's Tifa's," he explained, flushing a bright red. "My bike's in the shop."

Elena rolled her eyes. "You know, that's what they all say."

"It's true!" Cloud protested. "I swear."

"On your oversized meat-cleaver that you call a sword?" Elena asked, smiling.

"It is not," Cloud protested, "but yeah, sure." She still didn't look convinced, and a slightly crazy plan began to form in Cloud's mind. Cid knew that he drove a motorbike; the pilot would probably be able to convince Elena. Pushing back the residual distrust roiling at the back of his thoughts when he looked over at the blonde mechanic – Reeve was an okay guy, and he trusted this girl – Cloud spoke up again, gesturing her towards the car. "C'mon."

Looking up from her clipboard, Elena frowned. "Me?"

Cloud nodded. "Yeah, you. Cid and Shera always make enough food to feed a small army, and I can't eat it all. Besides, Cid can show you pictures to prove that I don't drive a baby-blue sports car all the time."

Elena couldn't resist. "It matches your eyes, Strife - maybe you should keep it around."

Despite himself, he found himself smiling back. "Doesn't go fast enough."

"Well, that makes my choice for me," Elena replied, reaching under her worktable. "I could forgive baby blue, but sub-par acceleration? Sorry, no, it's just not gonna happen. How about I meet you there?" Standing up again with a motorcycle helmet in one hand, the blonde's smile turned teasing. "How about I race you there? I'll even give you a head start, 'cause it looks like you might need one."

Putting the key into the ignition, he looked over at the other blonde with something nearing respect. "You have a bike?" Cloud asked. At her amused nod, his smile grew. "I'll have to race you once I have my bike back, but yeah. You're on, Elena." Half-worried, Cloud added, "Hey, I'm not gonna be blown to microscopic particles when I turn this key, right?"

Although hurt flashed through her eyes, Elena jutted her chin out. "I guess it's a fair question, but blowing things up is more your style, isn't it, Strife?"

"Ouch," he replied. "Fair answer." Turning the key, the smile he shot her way was uncharacteristically devious. "Thanks for the extra head start, though!"

Elena could only blink as the sports car zoomed out of the open bay and onto the road, scattering a herd of dwarf chocobos that took to the air in a disgruntled cloud of squawking yellow feathers. That hadn't quite been the head start she'd intended, but as she dashed around the back of the shop for her Shinra Valkyrie, quickly shouting a goodbye to Marcie at the desk, she was smiling for two reasons.

The first reason was that maybe Reno was wrong – Cloud Strife didn't have that sword of his stuck up any unmentionable places after all. He actually seemed kind of… fun. Elena laughed at the thought of it as she zoomed through what little traffic lingered in the late afternoon. Seeing his car at a stop sign just ahead, she got close enough to wave jovially at him and spin into the adjoining alleyway.

The second reason Elena was smiling was that she knew every shortcut in town.

. o .

…finis…

. o .

Disclaimer: Just borrowing them.

Sabe's Scribbles: ...This is what Opiate was supposed to be. You wouldn't think so, looking at the two, but the ending eluded me until now... Thus therefore, this one's for the inimicable drakonlily, who is both an awesome writer and far too patient where my Christmasfic writing is concerned. Thanks also to Sol for betaing! (...and thank you, whoever you may be, for reading!)