A/N; Thank you for the reviews! Hope you enjoy this next chapter!

IV.

Seven weeks and four days. That's it. Only seven weeks and four days until the merger.

Tifa stares at the small calendar on the edge of her desk. A happy moogle flies around the June title, its cheeks tinted with blush and its little arms gripping the J. She has jotted notes around the small blocks of the days, a B labeled for Barret for Wednesdays and an R labeled for Reeve on Thursdays.

Tifa's eyes flutter to the C. She wrote it in blue, for no other reason than to remind her of his eyes. Ink stains. Light beams.

His eyes are ink stains when he shows his perpetual, blank expressions, bleeding into her skin like pen on paper. They are only light beams when he shows the hint of thoughtfulness—the ghost of humanity.

She turns to her computer and into the graphic designing program. She still can't believe he smiled. It had been small, nothing extravagant. Barely any tips of his teeth were showing underneath his lips.

Yuffie's voice comes to mind. He looks twelve years old, and that's unsettling. Tifa admits, the smile did make him seem much more boyish. Much younger. It softened the angled slants of his face.

She stares at her progress on her computer screen. Barret had some good ideas earlier this week when she met with him. Gruff and not as creative, Barret always sees the logistics of what Tifa is trying to express with a few direct words. As a project manager, Tifa's position is now above Barret's in the technicalities of business, but their dynamic hasn't changed. Barret is still a mentor, and if Tifa's bold enough to say, a friend.

"Remember, Shinra's all about energy and fuel sources. They're bold, loud, and goddamn lunatics if you ask me, but they do good business. They're also growing materia pharmaceuticals pretty quickly. Add something shiny and obvious as a nod to it."

Reeve's meeting yesterday was just as insightful. Reeve, the Chief Marketing Officer, and Tifa's direct boss, is always a source of inspiration. Succinct, straightforward, and kind, Reeve has not been as hard on Tifa as Cloud has been. Cloud had directed Reeve to critique Tifa's work. When Reeve didn't critique as well as Cloud had wanted, Tifa received Cloud's first email. Sorry, Tifa, Reeve had told her that morning. I know what stress you're under. I didn't think your work was bad enough to warrant anything more than a scolding. And by scolding, Reeve meant a gentle suggestion. Perhaps he had known Tifa too long and watched her work evolve too closely to give her anything harsher than that. He's always been too decent, Tifa thinks. Too understanding. Sometimes, Tifa wishes they were all like Cloud in the way they do business—short and intense and, before yesterday, what Tifa believed to be completely emotionally unattached. Emotions have always been so difficult for Tifa to put away, especially now and especially this year. It's an odd thing to be envious of Cloud Strife for, but Tifa can admit that it does have its merits. What would it be like to not feel their severity? What would it be like to erase the line of feeling to actions? To cut off? To crank out her work efficiently and without doubt, going home without the burden of the day's personal stresses?

She wonders if that's why she lost all control earlier that week with her accusations. Cracking. Breaking apart at the seams. Losing her mind.

She stares at the outline on her computer and sighs. She's made headway the past two days, but it is still a half-baked piece. Of course, no one can create a complete idea in that amount of time, but it still seems to be…inadequate. The taste of the twelve and a half percent raise settles on her like the soft stings of snow. For that kind of money, she should be finishing a project a day.

She glances at the digital clock on her computer screen. There is now less than three hours before her meeting with Cloud. She shouldn't feel terrified, but the anxious rush of anticipation prickles at her skin when she thinks about sitting in front of him and that solid, expensive desk, as if she'll be examined and judged for her sins.

This is ridiculous. She shakes her head and rolls her shoulders before continuing her work.

When 1:45 pm rolls around, Tifa saves her work and composes an email, placing it as an attachment.

Mr. Strife,

Here is the work in progress of the SOLDIER CORP/Shinra Inc. Merger project. I will arrive to your office shortly.

Sincerely,

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

She stands from her desk. Hesitating for a moment, she decides to take her portable tablet—Cloud will most likely have a dozen critiques she'll need to take into account. She presses it against her chest like a shield as she makes her way out of her office, locks the door behind her, and heads up to the top floor.

Scarlet's eyes are just as strikingly severe as ever when Tifa comes up to her desk.

"I have a meeting at 2:00 pm?" Tifa says. Scarlet's gaze darts to her outfit, again, and Tifa follows her stare. She's wearing a pencil skirt, like usual, but nude hose encases her legs all the way up to her waist. Her dress shirt is long sleeved and is buttoned to her collar, tucked into her waist. It's stifling when walking outside in the summer heat, but it's comfortable in the chill of the office building. Scarlet glances back up to her and smirks. Her eyes gleam like knives, and she is a devil gloved up in her skin tight red dress—how many does she have? Tifa wonders abruptly. Maybe as many red dresses as Tifa has stockings.

Can't fault a girl for her fashion weaknesses, she supposes.

Scarlet picks up the phone on her desk. "Mr. Strife? Ms. Lockhart is here to see you. Yes? Alright."

Scarlet hangs up and motions toward the door. "You may go in. He's…ready for you."

Scarlet continues smirking at her. Tifa internally sighs. It's been a week since the meeting for the contract, and while Tifa communicates with several other employees via email throughout the week days, she isn't quite in the loop with company gossip. She thinks it's better for her state of mind not knowing what she brought onto herself where Cloud is concerned.

"Thank you," she says, walking past Scarlet to the ominous doors. They are painted with a black stain and are solid wood, with a window of glass. It shines with Cloud Strife's enameled name sliced into it. The lines are as sharp and precise as his jawline.

Except for the end of the last meeting, her mind argues. You're not allowing him to have a heart.

Tifa's lips curl into a frown, and she gives an unnecessary knock before pushing into one of the doors.

Cloud is sitting behind his desk, turned at an angle to look at his computer. His stare at its screen is inscrutable, his lips a thin, cryptic line. He glances to her as she walks through the threshold.

"Ms. Lockhart," he says, gesturing to the chair in front of him. "Please sit."

She does as she's offered, and she settles in the same cushioned chair as she has the past two times. She wonders if it'll ever start to feel…normal.

"You've received my email?" she asks.

"Of course."

She waits for him to continue. When he doesn't, she clears her throat.

"I would like to know what you think," she says. "I've brought my tablet with my saved projects so I can make notes and fixes as needed."

Cloud stares at his computer monitor for a few more seconds before sitting back in his seat, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and glancing over to her. He's wearing a black suit, today. It hangs over a dark blue suit vest and a black tie. She wonders what his closet looks like—is it severely organized, color coded, sectioned by days of the week? If his emails and his stature are anything to go by, she can't imagine him letting one article of his clothing touch the floor. Or wrinkle.

His stare alone makes her straighten. His gaze is filled with starch.

"A few things," he starts. He gestures to her tablet and looks back at the computer. "The image with the sword and the materia. I think the inclusion of both is a better idea than the previous ones."

Tifa tries to hide her grimace. The first one she made—she'll admit—was uninspired. It didn't incorporate the heart of either company, consisting of a silhouette of the metal plates creating the infrastructure of Midgar and the large, intimidating, and almost ominous, specter of Shinra's Tower.

It had been unpleasant, gray, and dire. It didn't look like the combination of two companies; rather, it had looked like a foreboding future. In her mind, Tifa thought it had been her subconsciousness talking to her, on top of the already frustrated emotions she had been feeling at the time. She had showed how ugly the world could be—and would be.

Her second, she thought, had been significantly better. She utilized the steep, steely lines of a sword—one of SOLDIER's most popular and iconic items—pushed deeply into the lines of soil outside of Midgar, with the backdrop of the Shinra Tower. When she pulls it from her files and looks upon it, now, she can now freely say it looks somewhat like a last stand. Like a death.

Death is infiltrating everything, she thinks. My mind. My work. My family.

"Thank you," she answers. "I thought it might be a better avenue to incorporate the most recognizable icons from each company."

Cloud nods, and the skin between his brows slightly knit with thought.

"It is an...improvement," Cloud relents, his pause around the word careful and slow. His face remains stone, and Tifa thinks he has the world's best poker face. He'd win countless tournaments if he ever decided to quit the CEO business.

Tifa tries to remain still in her seat, clenching her tablet.

"Okay. Great," she says. "Thank you. I also drew out and collected potential additions and ideas in case this one didn't pan out." She taps around on her tablet, pulling up different sketches. "Some of these are from other employees in the marketing department. I annotated them with their names."

One of Cloud's eyebrows raises. "Other employees?"

Tifa pauses but continues. "Yes. I've told them to email me any and all of their ideas when they have them." She hesitates again before deciding to say, "I think fostering communication between employees of the company is one of the best things for creativity and motivation." She tries to smile at him. Cloud looks at her lips for a moment before glancing back to her eyes, then shifts his gaze to the computer.

"Yes," he says, his tone still walking on the blunt edge of a knife. "I believe I'm beginning to learn my lesson in...communication."

He glances back to her after he says it. His lips pluck up in the ghost of a smirk. Tifa stares at him before feeling the lightly burning heat of a blush creep up on her face. She turns her gaze to her tablet, hoping to hide her face with her hair.

"I'm...glad to hear it, Mr. Strife," she says, her voice coming out softly.

He regards her for a moment longer before turning back to his computer. "I think a few of these have potential for different departmental designs." He begins listing off the ones that catch his attention. He emphasizes the R&D department of Shinra, including their increasing healing agents and pharmaceuticals. He touches on the elemental aspects of some of the designs, including fire and thunder harnessed from the materia Shinra has been manufacturing for the masses to protect themselves from the fiends that still roam the plains outside of city hubs. Cloud also highlights the summoning entities, which have become an archeological marvel the last few years ever since they were unearthed and mined like diamonds in various caves around the world. Shinra, being Shinra, got their greedy hands on them, first, eventually unveiling a few of them to Gaia. One is Shiva, a beautiful ice queen, long limbed and dusted with frost. The other is Ifrit, a monstrous fire lord with a mane of flame. They are dichotomous beings, opposites in every since of the word. However, since being released from their jeweled tombs, there is rumor that they have gravitated toward one another. Their energies are attracted, some news reports have written. They need one another in this world. All the romantics took the news story and ran with it, creating a massive uproar among the Midgarian community. Shinra capitalized, making trinkets and t-shirts branded with Shiva and Ifrit, separate and together, respectively. The design Cloud chooses is one Tifa is secretly proud of making—the essences of Shiva and Ifrit curled around one another in a yin and yang fashion, circled in a gleaming orb of materia.

"Complements," Cloud says, his mouth thinning with thought. "It's a good theme for both companies, to support one another's energies together."

Tifa finds herself smiling down at her tablet as she makes note of what Cloud says. Strange, she thinks. Never had she suspected him of having an opinion quite like that one.

"What?"

She glances up from her note to see Cloud's eyes focused on her. Still smiling, she shakes her head and shrugs. "Oh, nothing. I agree with you, that's all."

Cloud looks as if he's about to say something, but he doesn't and the moment passes. Tifa finishes her scribble on the tablet.

Cloud said this? she writes, and she makes a surprised smiley face surrounded by exclamation marks.

As they continue on, the enormity of the project's scope begins to hit Tifa with more and more impact the longer their meeting lasts. There will be a total of nearly twenty designs, with each one tying into the main branding title in one way or another, be it color scheme, design continuity, theme, personalization of each company, and intertwining them together. Tifa's heart races at the thought of all of it compiling, the huge endeavor clean and shiny and new as the body of it begins to take shape. It's finally beginning to defog for her, the edges and substance becoming increasingly clearer and sharpened.

Tifa takes notes in the margins of each image, adding the name of the employees she thinks will handle the branding of the smaller departments the best, marking the ones she's unsure about for Barret to divvy up, and compiling the rough draft to send to Reeve for any and all other confirmation, along with an open invitation for his thoughts and ideas.

"I guess that's everything I wanted to talk to you about," Tifa says eventually, shifting up in the chair. She realizes she's been slouching into it, and she's had her knees crossed and comfortable.

"Are you sure? It's only been two and a half hours," Cloud says.

Shocked at both Cloud's tone and his words, Tifa looks up. The time is edging toward 4:30 pm. Her mouth parts and falls open. Has she really been in his office for so long? No wonder she's been falling deeper and deeper into the chair.

Her eyes dart to Cloud, noticing the smirk that's appeared, once more, on his face. Has he cracked a joke? Sarcasm?

A hint of personality?

Tifa's spine immediately straightens. "Oh. I didn't realize the time. I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't be," he interrupts her. "I had nothing else scheduled this afternoon."

Tifa doesn't relax. She bites the inside of her lip. "Well, I...thank you. For your time. I really appreciate you going over everything with me."

"Of course. I told you I was looking forward to working with you."

Their eyes settle on each other. Cloud isn't smirking anymore, but there's a shadow, again. The ruffle of the blinds—the shift of the curtain. There's something about it that Tifa can't quite interpret, but he seems sincere with his words, and perhaps that's what's so intriguing and surprising.

She feels a sudden urge to take flight—to run—and it's so abrupt and unsettling, like an instinct deeply embedded into her genes, that her heart pounds wildly, dumping a bucket of adrenaline into her veins. She takes a breath, shuts off her tablet, and goes to stand. "I have a lot to do. I won't take up any more of your time."

"One more thing," Cloud answers her quickly, as if sensing the absolute necessity for her departure. "The Midgar Specialties account. I wanted to…show you something."

She's pulling her tablet back up to reboot it, but Cloud gestures toward his computer. "No need. I'll show you, here."

Tifa clenches the tablet to her chest. She allows her legs to take her behind Cloud's desk, and it feels bizarre, almost frightening, to stand so close to where he's sitting. It is a ridiculous feeling—an illogical sensation—but the change in perspective behind his desk is a powerful tug on her stomach. Her eyes flick to the chair she had been sitting in, and she briefly wonders how he sees everyone else who sits before him.

"I know this won't take you long to finish," he says, bringing her attention to his monitor. She's close to him, she realizes. Closer than she's ever gotten.

That's a lie, her mind tells her. You've been closer. You ran your thumb against his lip.

She tightens her hold against her tablet.

"But I wanted to comment on your progress," he continues, and he drags the cursor of his mouse along the rough draft of her project. "I'm impressed that you've continued to give this one much thought, considering the magnitude of the rebranding merger."

Tifa swallows. "Thank you."

"What I think you highlighted best is their character. Midgar Specialties is an item shop. They are locally owned, a small business, but well-known and cherished in the community—like the cathedral." He glances up to her, and Tifa has been unconsciously leaning forward to see the area he was examining. She backs up almost immediately, his stare a punch of blue, as blue as a freshly made bruise blooming on her skin. She almost winces from the weight of it.

"It's one shop. We won't get much out of this account, and I admit we're doing it to receive better reception to our company in Sector Eight. Business is all about reputation, be it if we care about who we work with or not."

Tifa's lips start twisting into a frown. She knows that. Perhaps that's why she's been so much more inspired with the smaller accounts. They're homey, and they are thankful, much more wholesome than...Shinra. She loves building the reputation for the little ones, not the giants that don't require it.

"I...realize you don't care for that," he says, and it startles her. She catches his eye again, and her legs continue to hover between running and complete stillness.

"No, I do," she manages to say. She swallows to wet her suddenly parched throat. "For the family companies. Not…" she pauses, unable to say Shinra.

Cloud doesn't comment on it, continuing. "I can tell that with this one," he says, breaking his gaze and turning back to the monitor. "There's a lot of color in this. A lot of intricate lines. It's eye catching. It's something that will have people stop when they walk past the shop on the street." He pauses, and she hears the small exhale he takes, being this close to him. When he swivels to face her, she's hit with what must be his cologne. It is mild, faint, touching her like a tease.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asks.

He opens his mouth and hesitates. Cloud Strife, pausing for the correct words just like at their last meeting. Tifa steels herself, cementing her heeled feet into the floor.

"I...wanted to tell you that this was why I sent you those emails. Not to discourage you, but to remind you." His gaze falls to the tablet covering her chest. "I've realized that was not the correct way to tell you, so...I wanted to tell you this way, by showing you what I meant."

She stares at him. At her silence, his eyes move up to catch on hers.

The blue shade of a shadow, she thinks. The blue shade of sincerity.

Tifa opens her mouth. Her throat clenches.

"I...thank you, Mr. Strife. This is...better. I think you're learning," she says, attempting lightness in her words.

She nearly drops her tablet when he smiles at her. It is brief, just like the one before, and it lasts a microsecond before he nods and stands. She takes a step back, then another. Her heart throbs behind her sternum.

Run, her muscles scream.

Cloud gestures toward the expanse of his office. "I'll walk you out."

Tifa nods and turns, attempting to keep her pace normal. Her heels nearly wobble, and she's thankful she's so used to wearing them. When they arrive to the door, Cloud reaches around her for the knob before she can, and his chest brushes against her shoulder as he opens the door.

"Enjoy your weekend, Tifa," he says.

Tifa turns her head before she walks out, her eyes in line with his mouth.

"You too," she breathes. She tries to smile again, and she sees the slight buckling of his jaw standing so close. Her eyes manage to lock onto his before she turns away from him, and his gaze is a jolt straight into her stomach.

Maybe he'll electrocute me after all.

She forces her pace to remain steady as she ignores Scarlet, whose eyes burn a hole into her back while she treads down the hallway. When she steps into the elevator, she notices Cloud's office door moving to close. She blinks and wildly wonders if she had mistaken the burn of Scarlet's stare for Cloud's. Had he watched her walk down the hallway, the whole entire hallway, with his jaw buckled, with his eyes holding that shadow?

Then she shakes her head. She runs a hand through her bangs. She tames her heart.

No, of course not. She's becoming mad. Cloud Strife, while perhaps not as robotic as she believed before, is still an asshole.

She holds onto that shred of denial the rest of the journey back to her office.

Tifa's weekend consists of her own, well-established routine.

Saturday mornings, she runs through exercises at the dojo. Saturday during the afternoon, she works on her work projects, does household chores, and, occasionally, sees her girlfriends.

Sundays, if unable to see her friends Saturday, will hold a get together for brunch. The rest of the day, she'll prep food for the coming week.

This Saturday morning, like all her others, finds her at the dojo, practicing her forms, kicking and punching and flying through the air above the mats. Once, she had imagined Cloud's face on the punching bags, fueling her fire and her rage, anything to help with the frustration of both him being a terrible human and blaming him for everything else that's happened to her.

Today, the rage is harder to focus. It's harder to find, slipping around her like droplets of mist as she jabs and hooks her gloved fists against the weighted bag. She imagines his smile on the bag, instead, hoping to sharpen her anger against something, because how dare he give her an expression so pure, when all he's been doing to her these past few months is shredding her soul?

She sidekicks and sends a halfhearted roundhouse to the midsection of the bag. It swings lightly, like her kick had merely been a gentle breeze.

"Ah, Miss Tifa. How are you?"

Tifa glances up, running her wrist across her sweaty forehead. She smiles.

"Zangan. I'm okay. How are you?"

He nods in answer, crossing his fists into his sleeves. He teaches on weekend mornings, and Tifa glances behind him to see a few adults dispersing across the room to the lockers or to their folded clothes along the benches bordering the edge of the room, the sign of class already having ended.

"I am well. Do you need any assistance with your forms or positions?"

Tifa places one of her hands on her hips, grinning. "No, I think I've run through the ones I wanted, today. They're not perfect, yet, but they will be."

Tifa competes when she can. During this tumultuous timing, she's thrown herself into everything. Tae Kwon Do. Piano and music. Work. Lots and lots of work. When Zangan offered her the opportunity to join on one of his teams for the Midgar Tae Kwon Do competition at the end of the summer, Tifa immediately accepted.

"I expect nothing less from you," he tells her, giving her a rare and soft smile. Usually, Zangan is harsh and critical, which is one of the things Tifa loves about him. She doesn't come here to be coddled or complimented. She comes here to relieve frustration and energy and to temper the difficult emotions she can't compromise on her own.

Zangan gestures to her. "I must ask. Is there anything you would like to discuss while you're here? Something you cannot express through physical attacks on mats and bags?"

Tifa's grin falters before she sighs. Zangan's relationship to her is like a distant uncle. Or a hairdresser. Someone you're not necessarily close to, but someone who is easy to talk to. She tells him things about her life that she doesn't necessarily tell to anyone else. Physical activity soothes her just like a nice, deep hair cleaning. Like a good, old fashioned blowout.

She's told Zangan everything. From the anniversary of her mother's passing, to her failing at her job, to her dad's sickness. She's told him the blunt, abridged version of events, with little emotion, listed off to him like bullet points. While she's also told her friends about her life, it is different from Zangan. His perspective is unbiased and clear, unblemished by friendship.

"I'm…fine," she says.

"It is okay not to be fine, my dear."

Tifa hesitates, the quickened beat of her heart slowing now that she isn't punching. "My dad's…he's undergone the first few rounds of chemotherapy."

Zangan nods. "Do you continue speaking with him every week?"

Tifa glances to the floor. "Yes. I call him every Friday."

"Has he changed his mind?"

Tifa's lips thin. "Not yet."

"Perhaps he will not," Zangan says, his tone even and, somehow, soothing like a stream. "You may be asked to do something you've always thought yourself incapable of doing."

Tifa's eyebrows pinch, and she glances up to him. "I can't accept it, Zangan. He needs to live here with me."

"And yet, he refuses."

Tifa begins to feel the discordant strings of sadness, coiled up against the slow burn of her anger. She clenches her internal fist around that anger, and she tries to ignore the swell of hurt. She expels a breath.

"I won't accept it."

Zangan frowns at her, the line of his brow depressing along his eyes. "Sometimes, Tifa, love is allowing yourself to see those incapabilities, greet them, know them, and accept them."

Tina clenches her teeth. "I do see them. I know them. But what happens when I don't…when I can't…"

Zangan spreads his arms out in front of him, the wide sleeves of his uniform swallowing his wrists. "Work it out. Accept here what you can't accept anywhere else. Feel here what your mind won't allow anywhere else."

Tira gazes at Zangan for moment before taking a deep, deep breath. The air fills up her lungs until they crush inside her chest. She closes her eyes and nods, expelling the air in one, big sigh.

"Yeah. I'll try. Thank you, Zangan."

He reaches out and places a hand on her shoulder. "You will find the peace you need, Tifa. It will come."

Peace, she thinks turning toward the bag behind her. She throws a kick, clipping it with her shin. Something once so simple and easy is now the rarest thing in her world.

This weekend, Sunday brunch is the girl's occasion to get together. They meet at their usual spot—and perhaps the only spot—Seventh Heaven.

Tifa lets herself swim and glide along with the other girl's lives, taking a much needed reprieve from her own.

Yuffie talks about her business, which she begrudgingly runs with her father, selling rare items and antiques that are uniquely of Wutain origin and culture.

"You know what I sold last week? A gold plated fortune cookie. That sucker didn't even realize he'd never get his fortune because he can't break through the gold!" She cackles.

Aerith talks about her flower shop and her customers, both the sweet ones and the ones that tax her endless, sparkling energy. She sells to both the upper crust, plate citizens and the poor in the slums, occasionally donating to the more rundown areas of different sectors.

Jessie tends to run her lines with them for whichever new broadway play she's starring in. She takes odd jobs here and there between her roles, from monster eradication to cleaning homes to flower delivery via Aerith.

The new role has Jessie as a down on her luck lady of the night, meeting and falling in love with a rich business owner.

"Richard! How dare you buy me all these jewels!" Jessie scolds exaggeratedly into her mimosa before snorting. "I swear, why do so many people like these kinds of dramas? The scenes aren't even that hot."

Tifa laughs. Being with them like this is the best distraction from her work and personal life—and they seem to realize it. They haven't and don't ask her specifics over her dad, and when they eventually broach the topic of Cloud—

"Okay, so the asshole smiles. What the fuck? That sounds out of character," Yuffie asks.

Jessie snickers. "Oh, I don't know about that, Yuff. It sounds like he has layers. Like Richard in the play."

Aerith grins. "And he actually sounds thoughtful. He's been listening to you, Tifa."

Tifa's neck heats up. She takes a sip of her mimosa. "I guess that's a good thing. He's been open minded about our department's ideas. He hasn't sent anymore emails."

Jessie places her chin in her hand, her lips curling into a devious smile. Tifa braces herself.

"What about his stares? Does it feel like he's undressing you with his eyes?"

Tifa shakes her head, a snort pulled out of her. Yuffie belts out a laugh.

"You know, it might be easier if it felt like that. It would mean he's a creep," Tifa says. "Instead, it's like he's…looking at me."

Aerith places a hand on her forehead. "Deep, dark, mysterious CEO attempting to show his favorite employee his true colors," she says, sighing. Tifa rolls her eyes.

"I am not his favorite employee."

Aerith simply waves her hand. "Listen, I will hate him for as long as you want me to, Tifa, but I have to say that my opinion of him is getting much better after what you've told us."

Tifa sighs. "It might have been easier hating him."

Yuffie grabs the carafe full of at least eighty percent champagne and at most twenty percent orange juice, topping off her glass. "Hate, love, what's the difference, really?"

"The sex will be explosive either way," Jessie says, grinning at Tifa's immediate protest. "Look, I'm still waiting for the week where you call us up and tell us he looked so deeply into your eyes that you had no choice but to pull him over his desk and go down on him right there."

Tifa nearly chokes on her drink. Aerith giggles. Yuffie raises her eyebrows at Tifa.

"I mean, you both have already crossed the line in ethical business practice. Him sending those emails and harassing you. You threatening him. Signing a contract in blood. A relationship is the next logical step," Yuffie says, ticking off her fingers as she speaks.

Jessie nods gravely. "I absolutely love to say this Tifa, but as an actress, this is what's going to happen in your future."

Tifa folds up the paper wrapped around her napkin and flicks it at Jessie. It hits her forehead.

"Hey!" she shrieks, grabbing the offending piece of paper and flicking it back.

Yuffie and Aerith soon join them, laughing hysterically when one veers off and lands on another customer's plate.

"Can we please never grow up?" Yuffie whispers, avoiding making eye contact with the customer as said customer looks around the room, taking the paper off their eggs.

"Never," Aerith agrees, grinning around the table at each of the girls.

Tifa adores them. After she gets back to her apartment, she feels like she can accomplish everything she needs—Cloud Strife, her work, and, most importantly, her father.

At least, for a little while.