"Covers electricity and electronic principles at the introductory stage. Further into the term, students learn computer programming methodologies, data acquisition methods for sensors and explore control theory."

[ : The Curriculum : ]

Chapter 2 | Robotics

As if to mock Cloud's belief that he couldn't get any more uncomfortable, the temperature had the audacity to climb another three degrees over the course of the day. Groaning, he trudged up the stairs to the top, male-only floor of the staff residence as though wading through a bog, yanking loose his tie and undoing the top four buttons of his shirt before even entering the hallway. He was welcomed into his private space by the relentless reek of burnt plastic plus a fun, newfound hint of curdled milk which he had accidentally left on the counter.

Home sweet, and sour, home.

Well, fuck that.

To have any hope in hell of sleeping, Cloud resorted to "borrowing" a pair of radiator blades from maintenance storage and spent the evening mounting one into each window at the foot and side of his bed, praising his one stroke of luck in being assigned a corner unit. The setup blessed him with a hummingbird's wings' worth of a breeze that at least kept the stickiness from settling. He hadn't had the time or materials to fashion any sort of grate, so he could only pray not to roll over and accidentally get his hair or a toe caught.

Despite these efforts, drifting off proved to be impossible. His brain was racing too recklessly with the day's revelations.

Heidegger's expulsion.

The girl-next-door, Tifa, now his boss.

Ruvie Tuesti, the most promising student in the entire damn place, possibly pregnant at a mere sixteen-years-old.

More than the heat, the bubbling, poisonous stew of hearsay melting into reality made it difficult for him to breathe, unaided by the mounting pressure in his head. Around midnight, he succumbed to darker urges and yanked open his desk drawer, pushing past pen husks and yellowed letters to the collection of vials nestled at the bottom.

Yanking his tie from the laundry basket, he knotted it around his bicep in preparation, thanking the Goddess for small, chemical miracles.

By mid-morning the next day, his irises had dimmed to a level deemed natural enough, the green melding into the natural teal of his eyes, that he felt comfortable visiting the cafeteria for some conveniently free and plentiful carbohydrates. He didn't have a class to teach on Tuesdays but the afternoon was reserved for office hours. By "office" he was referring to the woodshed he had requisitioned to store his scavenged collection of parts, a couple of meters out from the in-building workshop and west of the sports field.

"Good afternoon, Cloud!" He had been about to deposit his tray holding a mountain of mashed potatoes, slice of pie and coffee onto his usual wonky-legged table when Aerith waved him over. Today she was wearing pink, always pastel, always with a matching cardigan and halo pin, her high ponytail held up by a silk ribbon. "Care to join me?"

She was sitting alone directly by the window; an equally unpopular spot as it was bathed in scorching sunlight. However, there was one chair that could be in shadow if he angled it just so and, if Aerith was there, Zack was probably not far behind. Which meant-

"Oh for Goddess' sake, will you sit down, you ninny! It's lunch, not a hazing." Standing up, the medic grabbed the sleeve of his sky-blue button-down and yanked him into the exact seat he had been considering. "Zack will be here as soon as he wraps up his one-on-one with the Headmistress. And hey, did you lose your glasses or something?"

Slapping a hand to his face to confirm they were indeed missing, Cloud cursed under his breath. On nights he admitted defeat, he kept forgetting that his eyesight sharpened to such stunning high definition, the glasses were a mere prop until the effects faded hours later.

Not in the mood to hear anyone's opinions on the matter, he merely shrugged before digging into his potatoes. Aerith's brow furrowed upon scanning the contents of his tray. "Just curious, my dear Cloud: ever heard of a thing called scurvy?"

Before he could automatically snap at her to mind her own business, Zack arrived.

He plopped himself in the seat next to Aerith looking positively shell shocked. His burgundy tie was undone and merely draped around his collar, grey vest unbuttoned and there were prominent sweat stains at the armpits of his white dress-shirt. Frankly, he was an absolute mess, which was a very un-Zack like state to be.

"What happened?" Both Cloud and Aerith barked in unison.

Zack said nothing for a couple of beats, merely shaking his head and groaning. "Do I look shorter? Cause I feel, like, a lot shorter."

"Oh, poor sweetie!" Instinctively, Aerith's hand reached to brush his bangs away from his forehead but, at the last second, she pulled away, glancing around to ensure no one but Cloud witnessed the aborted gesture. "Is Headmistress Lockhart really that bad? I've been praying we'd catch a break after Heidegger."

Zack rubbed both hands down his face, pulling at his skin until it resembled a gruesome rubber mask. "Different person, same reign of terror in a better-looking package. The board hired the woman to 'shake things up'. Consider them shooketh!"

Sometimes, Cloud wondered how Zack got a job teaching English anything.

Still playing the victim, he apparently felt well enough to grab a spoon off Aerith's tray and use it to dig into Cloud's potatoes before continuing his lament. "Seems like they want less classic literature and more ...I dunno, 'how to format a formal letter threatening legal action' stuff. Even Lockhart seemed unsure of the details. Anyway, long story short, I can't make it out tonight, sweets. Gotta rewrite my syllabus and dig up a bunch of temp-plates." Tapping the empty spoon to his chin, he pondered. "Do you think they're like regular plates, but biodegradable?"

Aerith giggled while Cloud, justifiably, rolled his eyes so hard it hurt.

"You're such an idiot," she told him, chewing on a carrot stick to hide her blush.

Zack's responding grin was bright enough to light the entire room. "Takes one to love one."

"Gainsborough! There ya are!" Barret Wallace came jogging up to their table out of breath, his long-sleeved shirt, worn only for the purpose of hiding his tattoos, sticking to him like a second skin. "Need you down at the tennis courts. Some freshmen dumbasses decided to try catching balls from the spin shot machines with their mouths and I collected at least four teeth in a cup. That shit is above my paygrade!"

"Oh dear." Flipping the switch to professional, Aerith reached for the medkit she always kept close by while frowning at her half-eaten meal. "Would one you mind-"

"We'll handle it. Go on. Be a hero." Zack gave her arm a squeeze and she flashed him yet another ecstatic smile, like she couldn't believe the man was real, before digging into her bag to ensure she had enough items.

"Oh, don't let me forget," she addressed Barret while counting rolls of gauze. "I found a larger sized kilt for Marlene in the donation bin. I just need to give it a new hem and a scrub and it'll be good as new!"

"You are a Gods damn angel, you know that Gainsborough?"

"Now, now. Language, Mr. Wallace. But you're welcome. Let's go see if we can save some poor kids from having to eat mush like Strife for the rest of their lives!"

With that final poke at his tendencies, they scurried to the exit. Cloud took the opportunity of Zack's distraction to snake an arm around the edge of his plate as a shield before stabbing into the pie.

He was a mere two bites in when the potato thief slid into the chair Aerith had vacated, claiming her untouched cup of coffee with one hand while poking his friend in the ribs with the other. "Hey Cloud. Clouddddd. Cloudy boy…" One poke was deep enough that Cloud involuntarily twitched and ended up smearing sticky banora apple filling across his cheek.

"For the love of- what?"

Zack's smile, like his eyes, were wide and borderline manic. "I'm soooo gonna marry that girl."

At this, Cloud paused wiping his face with a napkin, all traces of indignation scattered by genuine surprise. "You serious?"

"Hell yeah, I'm serious! Just waiting to stumble upon the perfect ring. It's quite the quest, ya know?"

"I'll bet."

Grinning like he had no choice in the matter, Zack shuffled his chair closer. "With any luck, I'll be blissfully locked down by Spring break! I got plans, man. Big plans. I'm thinking an orchestra. And flowers. Fireworks for sure! Would a skywriter be too over the top?"

"Just about the rim of it, I'd say," Cloud said with a teasing smirk. "Hope you got some sign she's gonna say yes first."

"Pft. Of course she'll say yes….why?" The ecstatic expression flickered as the most horrendous of possibilities descended like a flock of piranhas. "You think she won't say yes?"

Cloud let him stew in uncertainty for a mere few seconds before noticing his friend was becoming truly upset. So rarely had he the chance to offer support, that he leapt at the opportunity. "Of course she'll say yes. You two are perfect. Annoyingly so."

"Okay. Phew! Thanks, man. Wait! That gives me an idea!"

And here we go.

Zack was famously a diehard romantic. That is to say completely and unabashedly nuts, but romantic. Thank goodness the ethics code frowned upon staff members of the opposite sex co-mingling and forced them to keep their relationship on the down low, or Cloud likely would have been dragged into some gaudy and/or semi-suicidal wingman stunt at least twice a week.

"You do stuff to metal, right?"

Cloud grimaced after swallowing another bite of pie. "Depends on what you mean by 'stuff'?"

"YOU! Hot damn, of course, you!" Clapping his hands triumphantly, he leaned his chair back until it was balancing on two legs. "She'd love- I'm a gosh darn sparkling ball of smartituity!"

"Seriously, how do you teach this language of which you can barely speak?" Reaching behind, Cloud titled Zack's chair back onto the floor, knowing Aerith was too busy to stitch the guy's head closed for the seventh time.

"Isn't it obvious, bro?"

"Told you never to call me-"

"You'll help me make a ring for Aerith!"

As he was about to skewer the final bite, his arm was hit by an excess burst of strength and the pie remains exploded, littering the whole table, fork prongs crumpled as if made of aluminum paper.

Zack, as usual, pretended not to notice. "Come on, Cloud. Don't leave me hanging. What do you think? Isn't it romantic as hell?"

"I think it's a bad Dungeons & Demons campaign come to life," he muttered under his breath, scanning the room to make sure no one was paying them attention. "With fewer dragons and yet many more third-degree burns."

"Can you stop impersonating the fucking Sphinx for one second and just talk to me? Is the ring thing possible?"

"Of course it's possible. The same way eating a pine cone is technically possible."

"What the fuck does that mean?! Gah! You're the worst!"

Dropping the now mangled fork, Cloud brought a hand to his forehead and groaned. "You do remember that I work with machines, not jewelry, right? So unless you want her wearing a slice of intake valve on her finger..."

"Even you can be capable of delicacy with the right incentive," he insisted with a wink. "She won't care what it's made of or what it looks like, just that we made it. You know how Aerith is. She cherishes that stupid poem I wrote on a napkin our first date more than any fancy present." Zack glanced in the direction she had departed with such wistfulness that Cloud nearly gagged. "She cares more about the thought - the symbolism - than the flash."

"Says the guy whose proposal plan requires alerting the fire brigade."

"Fine. You're right. I'll tone it down. But come on. Please. Please. PLEASE!" He hooked his arm through Cloud's and leaned onto his shoulder, looking up at him with disconcertingly puppy-like, azure eyes. "I'll even pay you for it," he offered as a last resort.

This made Cloud stiffen, realizing how extremely selfish it would be to deny him - the guy who had saved his life in a thousand different ways - this one favor.

He'd do anything for him.

Even eat a pinecone.

"Lucky for you," he said after shaking him off like a pesky mosquito. "I'm running a special on engagement rings. It'll cost you one ride to the city so that I can visit mom."

"Oh, hella SOLD! Maybe, if I deem your skills skillful enough, I'll even let you be my best man too."

"Pshh. Like you have any other option." Cloud wanted to say it nonchalantly, but it was impossible to completely mask the tightness in his throat. "But the deal's off if you don't let me finish my damn meal in peace."

"All good! Huzzah! You're the best, bro!"

"Don't call me-" The request fell into a defeated sigh as Zack grabbed his head and placed a firm kiss upon his crown, accentuated by a booming 'Muwahhh!'. "Cut it out before people get the wrong idea about us."

"Ha! You should be so lucky. I'm out of your league."

Though it was a mere joke, this conservative school had fired people for dumber reasons and Cloud could not help but survey their surroundings yet again. Hojo now had an eye on them from a table on the opposite end of the room, but that was nothing new from Doctor Creepy. He had his eye on everyone at all times, as though the whole world beyond his spectacles was an exhibition tank.

"You'll need to make me a design sketch and find a stone," Cloud instructed in a whisper. "I can probably wrangle some quality silver but if you want anything fancier, you'll need to-"

"Silver is perfection. Man, am I pumped for this! Woohoo!"

"Really? I couldn't tell." Pointedly, Cloud dragged Aerith's coffee mug away to the far side of their table. "On a completely unrelated note, I recommend decaf from now on."

"Speaking of pumping." Zack swiveled and pinned him with that look: one that assured he was about to have his balls busted. "Now that I got you alone, refresh my memory: what exactly went down with you and Ms.-"

The crackle of the intercom interrupted.

"Mr. Strife, you are summoned to the Headmistress' office. Cloud Strife to the Headmistress' office."

Cloud, though slightly freaked out by the well-timed summons, chose not to look the gift horse in the mouth. Jumping to his feet and grabbing his leather satchel, he sprinted out of the room before Zack could piece together another joke.

The staff room had been designed as a control booth of sorts; a closed upper balcony with one wall of windows that overlooked the student cafeteria and lounge in the east wing of the building, beside the gym. Alternatively, the headmistress's office was part of the ancient, central temple structure, with its main entrance on a floor above the altar just in case whoever was in charge needed to fall to their knees and pray at any given moment. Considering the privilege level of the average student, Cloud imagined that happened quite often.

The frustrating part was that if you didn't have permission to use the private back staircase or terrace, normal visitors had to venture through the temple proper for access. Cloud had many reasons to avoid the holy place. The most prevalent of which was-

"Good afternoon, Mr. Strife!"

Dammit.

Primar Domino popped up from behind the podium just as Cloud was passing, like a terrifying, antique jack-in-the-box. He wouldn't have put it past the guy to have been hiding there, waiting for his arrival since the intercom announcement.

The thin, bald man was wearing a pinstriped suit as there were no assemblies or services that day. His job between such ceremonies, as far as Cloud could tell, was to provide confession for those who desired and to straight up harass those who didn't.

"Afternoon, Primar Domino," he greeted as politely as he could manage. Gesturing to the double wood doors leading to the Headmistress' lobby and office above, he tried to cut things short. "I'm just on my way to-"

"I expect you'll be joining Saturday services this semester, Mr. Strife? Your students and colleagues living on campus have all noted your absence."

Cloud's fists clenched around the strap of his satchel. "With all do respect, no, sir. I will not."

"Oh," Domino nodded, clearly unimpressed. "Is it because you visit your mother on the weekends, correct? At St-Lucretia?"

At this point, Cloud worried the heat of his palms would scorch the leather. He swallowed down the impulse to scream 'it is none of your damn business' and instead muttered "Yes."

Another nod and pointed stare, something about it seeming like an invitation to duel. "You know, dear Cloud, it is no secret that you're not exactly a...believer."

That was the understatement of the decade, but Cloud had been well trained by Zack and had the default response fully loaded. "I practice privately."

"Hmm. Indeed. Well, my boy, whatever you're doing, whatever you're going through, if you ever need to talk, or - perhaps - want to attempt finding peace, know that the Goddess-"

"I gotta go." Feeling the static start to build in his head, Cloud headed for the stairs with renewed purpose, bolting away from Domino and his bullshit offerings.

Peace via talking to some imaginary, robed woman.

What a joke.

"Afternoon, Strifey." He had been on such a warpath that he hardly noticed entering the waiting area until Yuffie Kisaragi, the Headmistress' bubbly young assistant, greeted him from her desk by the inner doors. "Good to see ya! She'll be with you in a minute. Just wrapping up things with Raspberry."

And he had thought this day couldn't get any more awkward.

Out of some primordial instinct, Cloud backed up against the wall when one of the double doors opposite opened and out came Jessie Raspberry; known around campus as the Dramatic Arts teacher but, to a select few, she was the only date Cloud had gone on in years, just a few short weeks ago.

Needless to say, it hadn't gone well. He had done his best to avoid her since.

"Well, look who it is." The self-assured woman, dressed in high-waisted tan slacks and a burgundy blouse, sauntered forward and into his personal space.

Cloud gulped. "Hi Jes- I mean, Ms. Raspberry."

"You never called," she stated through a pout, as shameless as always even with the headmaster's assistant lingering nearby. Over her shoulder, Cloud saw Yuffie giggle beneath her hand.

"Sorry," was the only thing Cloud could think to say, his mind feeling stretched like a piece of taffy between the minutes old clash with Domino and the upcoming interview with Tifa. This present conundrum he simply didn't have the capacity to deal with. "I've been-"

"Busy. Yeah. I know." Sighing dramatically, Jessie clamped a hand on his shoulder as her eyes raked over him like she was assessing a costume. "Your loss, I guess. We could have had some fun."

Of that, Cloud had no doubt. Zack had banked on it when he had set them up. 'You need to just rip off the bandaid!' his evil friend had insisted while digging through his closet for anything other than his usual blue buttoned shirts; a pursuit Cloud knew very well to be pointless. 'Jessie's the perfect starter for a dating life reset. She's fun. She's not clingy. She's known to be, ya know, open minded.'

This had become evident within the first ten seconds of the date, after she pressed herself against him, arms around his neck, stamping a sticky-lipgloss mark on the corner of his mouth that took hours to disperse, all in mere greeting. Thankfully, the woman was well versed in body language and knew to back off both then and now. She tossed him a wink just to see him fidget before sidestepping and heading back into the temple.

"See ya around, Mr. Strife."

Without any other fanfare, it was his turn.

"The Headmistress will see you now," announced Yuffie with a smug grin as her hand grasped the inner office doorknob.

Swallowing, Cloud summoned every wisp of courage he possessed and walked towards the psychological equivalent of the Gates to Hell. As he passed the threshold, Yuffie had the gall to whisper "Hope you're wearing a cup" before closing the door behind him.

Turned out, Gates to Hell wasn't much of an exaggeration.

The first thing Cloud noticed was how deathly hot the room was. Especially compared to the chilly stone walls of the temple.

In contrast, the office was all warm tones and wood paneling, the furniture covered in either gold velvet or polished brown leather. The Headmistress was seated at the core of it all, behind a mahogany desk so large and ornate she looked a bit like a child playing professional. Behind her, an impractically wide bay window looked over a private stone terrace with a perfect, panoramic view of the sports field and mini-forest beyond. Even his office-woodshed could be seen to the far left, the gazebo and pond behind the gym to the far right.

She wore a black, ruffled, sleeveless blouse and no jacket this time, fanning herself with a folder in one hand while holding away sweat soaked bangs with the other, eyes glued to the papers strewn about the desktop. Her mass of dark hair was twisted up into a gold clip, which gave him a bit of a thrill, since he had never seen it styled in such a way.

He hated himself for thinking she looked more gorgeous than ever and shoved the thought aside like any other ill-timed craving.

"Come in, come in." She gestured to the visitor's chairs beyond the desk without looking up. "Apologies for the sauna. Maintenance is looking into repairing the air conditioning. Or so they tell me."

Cloud smirked as he lowered himself into the seat. Oh, maintenance. With any luck, maybe they'd get around to it sometime before the current set of freshmen graduated.

"You know," he said, twisting his satchel onto his lap. "I could always take a look if you want?"

At the sound of his voice, something seemed to have clicked and Tifa stopped fanning herself. Looking up from her work, her eyes widened as though confronted with a monster from a childhood nightmare. She abruptly sat up straight and stopped fussing with her hair, unaware that the jarring movement had caused a red bra strap to slip from beneath her blouse and onto her shoulder.

The mere glimpse of it made his heart start pounding in his ears and he forced all his focus onto her face and face alone.

Red was for good luck and special occasions, she had declared those many moons ago.

Why did it have to be red?

Up close, he confirmed that she physically hadn't changed much in a little under a decade. Perhaps her face was more angular, eyelashes longer thanks to a swipe or two of mascara, but was otherwise the same old Tifa of Nibelheim just in fancier clothes. She still had those large, doe eyes that were a unique shade of carmine and had always reminded him of the last rays of sunset reflected on the lake. Still petite yet solid, naturally and effortlessly attractive, like an uncut diamond.

Under the pressure of her matching scrutiny, Cloud scratched the back of his head where the ponytail he donned as a teenager used to sprout. He supposed he looked pretty similar too, besides the hair which he had cut mere hours before leaving town, plus having grown a couple of inches taller. Otherwise he was still frustratingly slim, probably couldn't grow a beard if his life depended on it, but at least he had his, allegedly, piercing aquamarine eyes that Zack insisted were his best, most unique feature. Even Tifa had professed her appreciation for them. Once upon a time.

"Mr. Strife," she said after half a minute of unadulterated gawking, clearing her throat and adjusting her seat. "It's a pleasur- Umm...nice to meet you."

Cloud's stomach plummeted towards his shoes.

So they were to play the roles of strangers.

"Nice to meet you," he parroted, carefully indifferent.

"And you teach..." Shuffling around the mess of documents and empty tea mugs, she plucked out a paper and held it to the light. "Industrial Arts, correct?"

"That's correct."

"I see that you have a Masters of Mechanical Engineering from Midgar U, with high honors. Impressive." Cloud swallowed a scoff. A Masters was the lowest degree one had to have obtained to be hired here. She was indulging him and oh how he hated it. "The only thing that surprised me is that you took no education-centric electives and have no related experience. What brought you to teaching at Midgar Preparatory?"

He was tempted to tell the truth: it was desperation. On both his side and the school's. The very same incentive that had likely landed her this job. Instead, he chose to mirror her cold professionalism.

"I have an English as a Second Language certification, so I was trained in the basics. Don't slap the kids, etc.. I was hired on recommendation from Mr. Fair."

"Hmm. Not slapping students is indeed the least I would expect from my faculty," she muttered tersely.

So she didn't like to joke nowadays. Good to know.

"Moving on. I suppose the only real issue I have with your syllabus is…" She flipped open the folder she had been fanning herself with for dramatic effect. The prop was unnecessary since they both knew very well what it contained. Bupkis. "It doesn't seem to exist."

He knew this day would come. It just sucked that he had to defend his unique methods while simultaneously trying to keep his gaze diverted from the low-dipping V of a silk blouse.

"I was a last-minute hire when the previous teacher...retired." Cloud felt no need to repeat whispers of exactly what led to the abrupt departure. All he knew, according to Jessie before he could cut her off, was that Mr. Palmer had been a little too friendly with a few of her aspiring-actress students. "I've only been on staff since late summer, four days before the school year began."

"And that's an acceptable excuse because…?"

Cloud flushed with vexation which, on the bright side, voided all other inappropriate sentiments. "Because my predecessor was still teaching those kids how to build steam engines or useless cut-by-number shadow boxes. I had to reconfigure and restock the workshop from scratch to be up to code, not to mention upgrade the computers, on the most stripped of budgets might I add, so-"

"I'm not hearing any reason to not have a course outline at least. The parents of Midgar Preparatory pay good money to be able to track their children's progress."

"They can track how successful their kids are by the functionality and stability of their final projects."

"I'll be frank with you, Mr. Strife." Tossing the folder aside, Tifa leaned over the desk to pin him with those probing, dark eyes of hers. By habit, he defended through leaning back a similar number of inches. "Considering your low elective sign up and nontraditional methods, the board is seriously considering cutting Shop class."

"Industrial Arts" he corrected, hands gripping his knees.

"Whatever it's called, blue-collar work obviously isn't on the minds of most Midgar Preparatory Students. And, according to my many briefings on the subject, it shouldn't be on their minds."

Cloud bristled, biting his tongue to suppress a rant. The implication was such elitist lunacy it made him want to scream.

Noticing his refusal to rebut, Tifa huffed a deep breath.

"Look. Bottom line because I am too busy to debate-" Or most likely, based on the bead of sweat trailing down her throat, she was too uncomfortable to. "Unless you can somehow make your class more appealing, relevant and organized, your contract won't be renewed next year. Understood?"

Those eyes pinned him to his chair again, but this time, instead of sunset on the lake, they reminded him of coals on the edge of catching fire. He was tempted to do something stupid. Perhaps to swipe the ocean of papers off her desk, lean forward and request the most indecent of severance packages; a proper reunion and goodbye in one passion-laced swoop. They had done riskier things way back when. Then he remembered why he had accepted this job in the first place and all the fight drained out of him like a pin-pricked balloon.

Beggars could not afford the luxury of being quitters. At least not yet.

"To confirm: my contract is locked in till the end of the semester, barring any breaches, right? Do I still have access privileges at St. Lucretia?"

Tifa blinked, the flames of her scrutiny dying a little. "Yes. But-"

"Then whatever." Cloud stood and shifted his satchel strap up onto his shoulder. "Once this school year is done, I'm out. Do whatever you want with the class."

"Clo-Mr. Strife. Wait!"

He already had his hand on the knob with every intention of walking out when she leapt out of her chair and ran over to stop him.

How he wished it was Heidegger. Heidegger he could have flipped the bird behind his back and been satisfied. With Heidegger, he could have waited out the clock and pretended he didn't care.

"I didn't mean to..." She sighed and he felt the breeze of it against the back of his sticky neck. "I'm only asking for some paper evidence of what you do so that I can include it in a new, formal curriculum document. You simply need to jot down topics covered weekly, draft an exam or two, some project outlines with set goals and you're done. Surely that's not so difficult?"

"It's an advanced, creative mechanics class," he explained with barely suppressed disdain. "You learn via discovery and every student is at a different level. What do you expect me to do, have them write research essays comparing lubricant brands? It's a waste of time."

"Just...figure it out, Mr. Strife!" Tifa insisted, equally if not more exasperated. "I'll give you until the spring break to place a properly formatted syllabus on my desk or I will have no choice but to consider it a contract breach and immediately void your benefits. Okay?"

He remembered certain things then. Beyond the lust and awe, there had been oh-so-many instances of outrage after she handed him citation after citation as hall monitor or when she corrected his posture while he fiddled with the piano.

He remembered hoping she would fall on her face almost as often as he had wished she would fall into his arms.

Funny how those negative elements had faded over the years while the fantasy of teenage Tifa had mutated in shape and strength into something beyond human. Up until this very day, she had been this untouchable, perfect idol living in his mind; a wayward spirit that had once blessed him with her favor.

Not anymore.

This Tifa - human, adult, Tifa - was more of an earthbound, stubborn jerk than he was.

"Fine!" he spat, reaching for the doorknob, itching to get to his woodshed where he could blow off some steam. A hand on his bicep stopped him before he could take a step.

"Cloud…" He had barely felt the touch before it was gone, yanked back as though burned. For him, at least, it felt like firecrackers exploding down his arm into his twitching fingers.

Careful to appear impassive, he turned. For she had called him by his first name. That alone warranted attention.

The Headmistress, suddenly more demure than authoritative, took a lunging step backwards and bit at her bottom lip. "Just to be clear," she began, so quietly that he struggled to make out the words, those carmine eyes soft and pleading. "Is it safe to assume that our... history won't affect our working relationship?"

There it was. Acknowledgement at last.

No thanks to her attitude, he had legitimately worried that summer had been a fantasy; some alternate reality summoned by his teenage loneliness, where the beautiful, popular, intelligent Tifa Lockhart had desired a loser like him.

"Of course, Headmistress Lockhart," he responded with the utmost earnestness. "I'm a professional."

Tifa's jaw unclenched for the first time since he entered the room. However, before she completely unfurled, he couldn't resist tacking on one last reminder.

"By the way." Casually, he gestured toward her shoulder where the exposed bra strap was still slipping down. "Glad to know you still favor red."

While she was still fighting between mortified and furious, shoving the strap back up beneath her blouse, Cloud took his leave, smirking as the door slammed behind him.

He had never acted so ruthlessly arrogant in his life and yet felt justified considering the harsh changes she was forcing onto his, Zack's and presumably everyone else's courses. As an engineer, nothing irritated him more than having to revisit a completely sleek, fully functional design just because some higher-ups didn't think it looked flashy enough.

He was halfway out of a thankfully Domino-free temple when his PHS buzzed. Plopping down in the nearest pew, he fished the thing out of his satchel to find a new message from his mom. At least he thought it was his mom. The effects of his midnight depravity were just starting to wear off and he struggled to focus on the words already mangled by the cracked screen, cursing himself for not thinking to pack his glasses in his bag. He had just started to make out something about craft supplies when a tremor shot through his fingers and the phone clattered to the ground.

With an annoyed breath, he reached down to retrieve it and as soon as he straightened up, there was Domino seated a few rows ahead with his arm resting over the back of the pew.

"Holy shit!" Cloud nearly jumped out of his skin. As creepy as the guy was, Cloud knew that wouldn't excuse his swearing in the temple and he didn't want to give Lockhart any more ammunition to cut his contract and benefits short. "S-sorry, Primar."

The corner of Primar Domino's lip curled into an intimidating smile. "Are you, really, though?"

Really not in the mood, Cloud shook his head and resumed the escape path. He had a lot of work to do. In its current draft state, Marlene and Denzel's engine wouldn't take them as far as the parking lot.

He was just beyond the inner temple doors, in a T-shaped corridor that connected to both wings' atriums, when a new art piece caught his eye via a flash of color. Squinting, he strode right up into the statue's face to find focus without the aid of his glasses. It was a typical white marble Goddess with her emerald eyes, gold halo and flowing robes, the whole 'behold! The perfect embodiment of chastity and virtue' shebang. However, this one was much more macabre than the standard decoration. A deep crevasse had been chiseled out the center of her chest and stomach, revealing an anatomically correct human heart and sharp ribs dripping with dark-red precious stones. It was the red that had attracted him, he figured, unaccustomed to seeing such a violent shade in this frigid space.

Cloud frowned at the thing, of half a mind to turn back and insist the Primar take it down lest the students develop night terrors. But he hesitated. Half because he didn't want to give the guy any opening for conversation and half because there was one scripture passage that had managed to lodge itself into his brain and this piece, somehow, summoned it.

"She will be the light that guides you when darkness threatens to consume all. Upon request, she will loan you her protection, her comforts, her still-beating heart ripped from her chest for you to feast upon and ease your pangs of hunger and thirst. All she asks in return is for you to love others the same as you love her."

Blinking rapidly, Cloud turned his back on the piece and headed to the west wing, unable to stomach the sight.

If today had confirmed anything, it was that Goddesses, no matter how perfectly your hopes and memory carved them, didn't really exist.

**Author's Note**: Thank you all for both the uplifting and the constructively critical feedback this story has received. Special shout out to Perlmuttt for the beautiful Mr. Strife fan art and, as always, DrWafflepuff for his awesome beta-ing powers. I acknowledge it's a bit of a slow roast (as opposed to burn), with mysteries piling upon mysteries. Apparently, I accidentally outlined events more as a speed-read novel than a slowly unfurling fan story. Oops. Aiming for quick updates to keep people from getting lost in the storyline.

I very much love reading comments, so please do not hesitate to leave one if you were somewhat entertained or even if you want to yell at me haha. I also recently succumbed to a Twitter account, AmeMayonaka, and am glad to interact with fellow fans there. Love to all you generous, brilliant Clotis! 3