A/N; Thank you all so much for your comments! I love everyone's thoughts and feelings about this.

I want to say that since this is an AU, I'm attempting to keep all the characters as IN-character as possible. I know Tifa and Cloud may seem a bit OOC right now, especially with how bananas the entire situation/conflict this story was first based upon, and for that I deeply apologize. But I'm hoping this all unfolds in a genuine, justifiable way to get them to where they are ultimately supposed to be.

Shout out to kotaface for being my soundboard, my beta for this chapter, and to make sure I didn't fuck this up. You're amazing, and I love you forever. Thank you!

With that being said, I hope whoever continues and/or tries this story enjoys where it goes!

III.

The rest of the day drags.

It might be one of the longest days of Tifa's life. She's too anxious to concentrate on any projects. She's not even sure if she should be working—she's ninety-nine percent sure Cloud will crush her like a pill, avoiding any potential damage from the threat she made—and at the time she said it, full of adrenaline and passion and a crazy, limitless impulse, she thought she might actually follow through with it—but she would never do something like that. Never. She would never falsely accuse someone of something they didn't do—even if they'd sent her several emotionally severing emails. Even if they tore her to pieces.

And yet…she can't understand.

Why had he indulged her? Was he playing with her? Had he been manipulating her to his whims, just as the tabloids said he did to everyone?

She groans and shakes her head. It doesn't matter. She'll wait until 5 pm, tell Cissnei she's quitting, then empty her desk.

She spends the rest of the day bookmarking different jobs that sound interesting and researching different companies within the outstanding Midgar area. Some jobs are listed in Edge, and Tifa thinks that might be a nice change. Living in Midgar's sister city—its smaller subset and population, a slower pace, a more relaxed atmosphere. It would be good for her, she thinks. It would also give her increased opportunity to visit her father, who still lived in the Western Continent. Maybe she'd be able to persuade him to finally move closer to her.

In her weaker moments throughout the day, she imagines the twelve and a half percent raise. She thinks about an increased resource budget and the myriad opportunities for collaboration with different departments. She imagines everything she wants, and she sighs, her mind bathing in the sweetness of the daydream.

As the clock edges to 4 pm, Tifa is finally able to accept her inane behavior in the CEO's office. At 4:30, she wallows in the consequences of her actions, knowing that while she might have screwed herself over for any chance staying in the company—and why does she still want to stay?—it was also the gutsiest, riskiest, and stupidest thing she's ever done in her life.

At 4:45, she allows herself to remember Cloud Strife's face. She remembers the muscle bunching in his jaw. She noticed the whiteness of his knuckles, the gleaming coals shining behind his eyes, the emotion he showed in his office—a thing of such mythical proportions, Tifa wishes there was an opportunity to take a picture of it. Cloud Strife, the automaton, losing his cool for probably the first moment in his life.

At 4:59, she's readying herself to call Cissnei when her computer pings with a notification.

The sender is Cloud Strife. Tifa's heart immediately jumps like a rabbit. The subject line is bolded with its newness, titled CONTRACT.

Her eyes widen. She fumbles for the mouse and clicks it as fast as she can.

Ms. Lockhart,

Attached, you will find a renewed contract for your position. Read over it, if you'd like. I'm sure you will, as your impression of my character was quite thorough and clear to me this morning.

The details and updated clauses for your job position will be in effect as soon as you send me a signed attachment. When you do, I will forward it to HR, who I believe will not be required to file any grievances against me. According to my timestamp on this email, it will reach you at 4:59 pm, thus within the timeframe you verbalized during our meeting.

Regards,

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

Tifa's mouth twitches, and she downloads the attachment. It opens up into a PDF, and she combs over it arduously. Nearly an hour later, her jaw feels like it's full of loose screws. It's an inch away from touching her desk.

She isn't able to find any loopholes or oddly worded clauses. She doesn't find extraneous words or sentences that make her go cross-eyed in confusion. It is all succinct, direct, and ultimately…ultimately…

Everything she wants.

She reads over it two more times before she believes it might be real. She picks up her cell phone and texts Aerith.

Aerith, I'm going to forward you an email with a newly drawn up business contract. Do you think Zack could look over it for me? I've read over it, but I'm not very good with business and law lingo.

A minute after she sends it, Aerith replies.

OMG. Is it from Asshole? Please say it's from Asshole.

Tifa feels her lips curling up into a smile.

Yes.

Amazing. Zack will read it thoroughly, I'll be sure of it.

Great! Thank you. Sending now.

Another minute passes.

I cannot wait to hear what happened. The end of her message is punctuated with five exclamation points.

Lunch, tomorrow?

I'M THERE.

Tifa regales her tale to the girls the next day. They almost react like how she envisions.

Yuffie spits out half her tea. Aerith cackles in glee. Jessie pounds the table with her fists.

"Tifa! Oh, my sweet Leviathan, you are insane! I love you! That went over better than our original plan! " Yuffie exclaims.

"Well, almost," Jessie says, smirking. "She didn't get to have the best hate-sex of her life, but…I guess sticking it to the man and threatening the HR hound dogs on him is about the same level of orgasmic high."

Tifa laughs at her, shaking her head. "No, it really wasn't. I actually…I feel really bad about it. I'm not sure what it was about sitting in front of him that made me so…crazy."

Yuffie shakes her head. "No. Don't even put yourself through the guilt trip I know you will."

"Yeah, Teef, it's over and done with, and I'll bet that Strife likes his women with spine," Jessie grins.

"And guess what," Aerith says, pulling out a printed copy of Tifa's contract. "Zack told me everything was kosher over the business and job aspects. He only advises you to read over this tiny little section here." She flips over to the fifth page. One sentence is highlighted, and Aerith points to it. "He told me he didn't understand the point of it, but after what you told us, it makes so much more sense." Aerith says, raising her eyebrows. "Apparently, it means forbidding either of you to tarnish each other's reputation with HR grievances…but basically in Old Ancients terminology. It's like he wanted you to miss it."

Tifa spins the page over to herself. She glances over the highlight.

Furthermore, for complete servitude and preponderance of loyalty among factions of executives and their employees, no grievances shall be issued against either party without full disclosure between both the accuser and the complainant. Breach of the aforementioned will terminate the contract.

Tifa blinks. How had she missed these sentences? She read over the damn thing nearly a hundred times the previous evening. She reads the previous section and the section after, until she finally realizes what he tried to do.

He sandwiched it between the things that were most important to me. The collaborative efforts and the increased assurances of communication, with one monthly meeting ensured between department heads versus quarterly meetings.

Tifa utters a noise of disbelief, though she's not sure why it surprises her so much. This is Cloud Strife they're talking about—the borderline narcissistic, egotistical robot heading a corporation in charge of manufacturing impossible mechanical artistry and protective equipment. Him trying to sneak something so blatantly impertinent into the contract is a power move he would always attempt to make.

Jessie steals the paper, and Yuffie curves her neck over Jessie's shoulder, both reading over the passage. Jessie's nose wrinkles, and Yuffie raises a brow.

"Wait, did Asshole write this himself?"

Jessie fans herself. "Um, if he did, can I just say how this is blackmail? It's like he's putting you into handcuffs. Don't get me wrong, I know this is ethically unsound, but… why does this turn me on?"

Tifa shakes her head at her. "Jessie, you've always been ethically unsound."

Jessie laughs. "What can I say, I love it."

"Teef, this is nuts," Yuffie says, sucking her tea loudly through her straw. "This might even be crazier than those emails."

"That's what Zack said, too," Aerith says. "He says you shouldn't sign this unless you are absolutely okay with being chained to the company. Zack's words," Aerith adds. "Even though Asshole also chained himself, it's still…questionable."

Tifa sighs. "This is his next move. It's like we're going to battle."

"Yeah. But, he's an asshole who gave you a twelve and a half percent raise. That's like, unheard of anywhere," Yuffie exclaims.

"And only after I threatened to ruin his reputation…" Tifa mumbles.

"You know what I think really sealed the deal?" Aerith says, leaning against the table. Her eyes sparkle, summery green and bubbly. "When you thumbed lipstick on his mouth."

"Oh, you know he was so turned on by that," Jessie titters. "I bet no other girl has ever dared touch him that way."

Tifa begins to feel herself blush.

"You are all the worst."

"Also, when you leaned over his desk. I know that camisole dips. I'm sure he got to see your bra," Yuffie adds.

"And when you mussed your hair up, he must have been beside himself," Aerith states.

"And your bunched up skirt—"

"Okay, I get it," Tifa interrupts, but she begins hiding her face. "I promise, nothing in his demeanor changed the whole time. He clenched his fist, but…" She ends with a sigh.

"So, you know what I think you should do?" Aerith says, reaching over and poking Tifa's shoulder. "You should go to his office, discuss that tiny little clause, and then—"

"And then tell him you'll only sign it if he bends you over his office desk and—"

Yuffie snorts up her tea. Tifa's cheeks burn brightly.

"Jessie!"

She holds up her hands, beginning to laugh loudly. "I'm just saying. Remember, I'm the morally unsound one, here."

"Brilliant," Yuffie says. "Guess it's time to go to battle again, Teef."

"And make sure you tell him you know exactly what he's trying to make you do," Aerith advises. "He, of all people, knows this is not how you do business."

When Tifa gets back to her office, she mulls over the contract for a few minutes before sending Cloud Strife an email.

Mr. Strife,

I have read over the contract. There is a section I would like to personally discuss with you before signing.

Please let me know what time would be best for you to meet with me.

Sincerely,

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

His responding email arrives to her inbox not thirty seconds later.

Ms. Lockhart,

I have no scheduled appointments, today. I am available to discuss it now.

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

Astounded, Tifa glances around her desk, making sure she needs nothing other than herself and her contract. She does a quick self-assessment in the bathroom before she rolls her eyes exasperatedly at herself. Locking her office door behind her, she heads to the elevator, feeling that strange, persevering bout of nerves she experienced before the first meeting.

The elevator ride lasts about a century, and the hallway is twice as long as yesterday. Scarlet eyes her with her severe, almost icy, stare, and tells her she is free to enter Mr. Strife's office.

"Thank you," Tifa tells her, and Scarlet glances at her stockings and her skirt. Tifa feels an uncomfortable flare of defensiveness, as if she needs to explain herself for seeing Mr. Strife for two consecutive days when she previously never had before in the whole year he's been CEO. She does her best to ignore it—she's just his secretary, and Tifa did do this to herself—and places her hand on the chilled knob of the office door. She pushes it open and enters.

Cloud Strife is again seated in his giant office chair. Pen in hand, he is writing something down on his notepad. He looks up at her entry.

"Miss Lockhart," he states, glancing to a chair in front of him. "Please, sit."

She takes the same seat as she had the day before. She tries not to feel the flames of shame as she waits for him to finish.

When he does, he looks up to her. No expression again. He's wearing a dark navy suit today, a pale blue undershirt, a navy suit vest, and a black tie. She notices a wolf head cufflink for the first time. She doesn't think he was wearing one the previous day.

"What passage did you want to discuss?" he asks.

She clears her throat, thumbing to the correct page. "This one," she says, leaning forward and bringing the paper in front of him. She presses her finger to the beginning of the paragraph.

Cloud hardly glances over it. "Yes. And?"

"Did you write this?"

He looks up at her question. "I write all my business contracts."

"I…see," she says. Her gaze falls back to the packet. "Well, I wanted to discuss this more thoroughly. Was this in reference to my threat about HR?"

Cloud raises one eyebrow one centimeter. "Yes. It was also to…" he trails, and this shocks her. Tifa doesn't think Cloud Strife never doesn't know what to say. His eyes flick down to the vicinity of her neck and chest before they move up to her face. His stare turns contemplative, and the expression of them flutters. It is like the bending of blinds across the window, hinting at something in the shadows. His eyes move back to the contract, and it's such a quick thing, Tifa isn't sure if she imagined it. "It was also to assure loyalty to the company."

"Loyalty?" Tifa asks. "Mr. Strife, it was blackmail."

"And, I don't think, any different than your threat," he counters.

She stares at him. He stares back. The blinds shift again.

She takes a deep breath. "I…admit my behavior yesterday was very out of character of me. I was angry. I've…" she looks away from him, unable to take the depth of his stare. "I've never been so angry before. And I…I admit that I'm ashamed of all of it. Then, I read over this contract, and I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe you would write out something like this, that detailed everything I asked." She tilts her head, smiling wryly. "Then I saw the clause, and I knew it was too good to be true."

When she looks up, she sees his jaw buckling. It's the second time she's ever seen it, but it's not backed by ire. He shifts in his seat, and the line of his brow hovers over his eyes, gently pinching the skin.

"I am sure it was nothing that surprised you, considering who you believe me to be."

Tifa begins to frown.

"I don't see how my perception of you has anything to do with this, Mr. Strife."

His chest rises in a sigh, and he glances at his notepad. His eyebrows are still pinched. It's a curious thing. He's frustrated. Cloud Strife, frustrated. This is different. Cloud Strife doesn't have emotion attached to business.

"Earlier this year," he begins, and his voice, while edged in the sharp, succinct tone that rules him, it is also dusted with something else. "January, the end of winter. You finished a project for the Sector Five cathedral."

A blinding zap ricochets into her. She stiffens on her chair. "I…I did."

"Reeve was in charge of it, but he had so much on his plate at the beginning of the year that you offered to take it."

Tifa swallows, unsure of what he's trying to do. More baiting? More twisting of her hands behind her back?

"Yes," she says, voice taut.

His eyes leave his notepad, and he catches her eye.

"I think you know it was successful. The cathedral took your blueprint for their signature, which in turn helped with their branding. It increased their membership and increased their donations. They've been able to make an orphanage with these profits. The Leaf House?"

Tifa feels like her stomach is bottoming out. She visits the cathedral from time to time, if only to say hello to the owners and preacher, to see how they're faring. Aerith donates flowers from her shop and babysits when she can.

"Yes. Yes, that's correct."

Cloud's eyebrows relax as he looks at her, then his eyes fall back to his notepad. What's written on it? She thinks. What's there that I can't see?

"After that project, your work began to…falter, which is why I began to send you emails."

The emails, she thinks. The dastardly, terrible emails. She has them saved in a separate folder, opening them up when she feels like she needs the slap to her heart. To remember her shortcomings, and, if she's honest, to fuel her desperate fire to be better.

So far, it has never seemed to work.

"They were…enlightening," Tifa tries. Cloud must notice he discomfort, because he continues.

"I sent them because I knew how great your work has been. How great is has always been. This last project with the merger has not been up to your normal standards," he says. "Do you know what's been holding you back?"

Tifa resettles into her seat, feeling the claw of unease. She can easily tell him something that is untruthful. Just a creative block. Just tired. Just stressed from his pressuring.

She thinks it might stem from something more personal. It's all about timing. She was promoted, and she was on top of the world. She could do anything. She had been proud and happy and felt like she'd conquered life. She had control.

And then, she didn't.

"I know," she says. "I'm…working through it. It will take me some time, but…" she shakes her head. "I will finish by the deadline."

Cloud looks at her for a moment longer. The stare is not heated, nor is it overwhelming. It is simply an acknowledgement. He nods and moves on.

"You've also held your own and threatened me. I, in turn, tried to blackmail you. "

Strangely enough, the change of topic is a relief. She places her hands on top of her knees.

"You are the first employee who has ever…demanded so much from me, and with such…intent," he continues, and his tone is continually dusted with that something. It is not as edged. It's almost dulling. Tifa's frown deepens, uncertain if her ears are deceiving her.

"Blackmailing you was…" he trails, smirking, but it looks sardonic as it twists up the end of his lip. "Shortsighted."

Tifa blinks. Her chest heaves in a deep breath, and it catches when he looks up at her, his eyes a potent, saturated blue. They aren't so blank as they had been when she first walked in. He's trying, she thinks, suddenly. All the belligerent, twisted up feelings she had walking in, the ones that subsisted inside of her heart these past months, the ones weighing heavy in her heart and making her eyes prick with angry tears—they are blunted in the moment. It feels like the beginning structure of a bridge, the circle of light at the end of a long, dreary, enclosed tunnel that is rank with sewage.

Tifa is mature enough and responsible enough to extend an olive branch when it's warranted, and this feels as good a time as any. The prickling of guilt has been imbedding itself in her ever since the meeting the day before.

"It was shortsighted," she says. "But so were my actions yesterday. I'd never accuse anyone like that. Not falsely. I was—and am—disappointed with myself." His gaze is trained on her face so intensely that she must steel herself from looking away. "I wanted to let you know that, not because of the contract, but…because I think it's the right thing to do."

Perhaps it is the way that the afternoon sunlight hits the back of his neck. His jaw does not look as sharp as it had a minute before. His lips are in a straight line, and he is not showing any overt, outward emotion, but there is something that gives Tifa the impression of openness.

"I hope you don't mind me saying this," he starts. "But as reckless and questionable as your actions were yesterday, it also showed a lot of fortitude. It made me realize even further that our company couldn't lose you, and...it impressed me."

He doesn't say it with any warmth. It is a fact-of-the-matter, no nonsense sentiment. But his eyes and his jaw make it different. It means more, but Tifa isn't sure what kind of more.

Tifa feels herself straighten. "I…thank you, I think."

"Now, for this contract," he says, dragging the page back in front of him. "Is this clause the only thing you don't like?"

He looks up at her, waiting. Her mouth parts, but nothing else comes to her mind except that he's listening.

"No…I don't believe so, Mr. Strife."

He nods before opening a drawer in his desk. Sharpie in hand, he uncaps it and crosses through the clause on the paper. Tifa watches, and she waits for something to happen. She looks for the meteor to glimmer in the windowed wall behind him. She watches for hair to begin growing out of his palms.

"I believe this takes care of it, then," he says, and he slides the page back to her. She takes it and looks over it, seeing the clause black and marked out like a scar.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Strife."

A small smirk appears on his face, and he grabs a pen from the holder on his desk. He stands, and he reaches across the desk, handing it to her. She stands and takes it from him. Her fingers graze against his hand when she grasps it, and his skin doesn't cut her so he must be human.

She leans over to sign her name on the spot designated for her signature, right beside his own.

When she straightens to hand him back his pen, he's looking at her like he's never seen her before. His eyes have softened.

They aren't ink stains. Suddenly, they are light beams.

Something has shifted. Tifa isn't sure what's happened, nor how this change in energy between them, this change of demeanor, this different dusting has settled over them, just like it has settled against the blunted tone of his voice.

"As we put this episode behind us," he says, his eyes holding hers. "I look forward to seeing as much heart in all your projects that you've shown in the cathedral. And I look forward to working with you more closely, Tifa." He lifts out his palm to her.

She glances down at it before shifting her stance. She takes his hand.

"As do I, Mr. Strife."

His hand is warm—so different than what she expected. She imagined a chill, as icy and frosted as frozen grass.

And the next thing, she doesn't expect at all.

He smiles.