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Gloves up and feet aligned, the punching bag shuddered and swung beneath a well-placed one-two jab to its core.
Tifa managed to arrange the purchase of the slightly worn training aid from Jules' Gym - having relocated to Edge upon Midgar's destruction - earlier that morning. The travel across town wet and slick, angry black clouds above drenching the city. Despite the treacherous journey, she checked off another entry from her list:
Buy a punching bag.
Lugging the 70 lbs. bag of sand from the trunk of her car, she set it on a metal hook. Chain links connected the hook to a rafter beam above, hanging it in the vacant space that Fenrir once occupied within the garage. Its glossy black finish had faded from time and wear, patched with silver tape to plug the tears, but it was good enough for her purposes.
The firm resistance beneath her strikes sent her back to days of heavy battles and battered bodies, her torn and tattered leather gloves embracing her like an old friend. Every punch from her fists to its rugged surface pumped her with adrenaline as a thin sheen of perspiration dotted her hairline.
Initially resolute in her choice to heal, her determination had significantly diminished. A week of radio silence was enough to extinguish her optimism in his appearance, and she was beginning to think the endeavor a lost cause. Perhaps this was a sign to focus on herself for once, to pour her time and energy into what made her happy.
What did she want?
The sand shifted beneath her knuckles as did her thoughts, sweet recollection of fallen foes gracing her memory. It had been some time since she'd taken to such aggressive releases, her last true battle nearly a year ago. While safety within Edge was far from guaranteed, there hadn't been a need for such extreme measures in keeping the physical peace since WRO agents had taken to public safety and patrolled the city streets. Even in Seventh Heaven, the times an altercation required force by her hand was rare, and a pressure hold of some kind was often enough to temper the rising climate.
The exertion reminded her precisely how long it had been; muscles ached from consistent extension and pressure. The skin of her knuckles, while well protected, whined beneath leather. Breath came in deep pulls as she stilled the sway of the bag between her hands. It felt good, using her fists again.
The vibration of her phone caught her attention, rattling against the hood of her car. She crossed the floor to retrieve it, flipping it open without viewing the caller I.D. "Yes?"
A snort of a laugh filtered through the other end. "Did I...interrupt something?"
Tifa rolled her eyes at the thinly veiled suggestion. "No, Yuffie. And get your mind out of the gutter."
"Hey now, you went there not me! Besides, you were probably doing something lame like rearranging furniture."
Was she really that boring? "I bought a punching bag. I was testing it out."
The young woman giggled. "Oh snap! Tifa's getting ready to kick some ass! Who's the unlucky guy or girl? Was it some idiot at the bar? Tell me!"
She shook her head with a smile. "Just practicing."
Yuffie was much like the younger sibling she never had – vivacious, spunky, and often shooting off from the hip. As the years wore on however, a bit of maturity seemed to creep its way in. Either from the company she kept within their inner circle or her current position at WRO, she was rounding out to be much more than the Materia thief she once proclaimed to be.
Her exasperated sigh was loud and obnoxious. "Geez; couldn't you make up a story or something for me?"
Tifa rolled her eyes. "Did you call just to say hello?
"Well...not really. I mean, I'd love to chat about how a Blood Taste bit me right on my ass or that pretty hot guy I met at Modeoheim who turned out to be a pedophile-"
"A what ?" Tifa was incredulous.
Her friend rushed on, "But that's not the important stuff! Now that I think about it, I should probably get tested for rabies..."
"Yuffie..."
"Okay, okay." She huffed, and Tifa bit back her laughter in response to the unnecessary drama. "What I'm about to tell you is technically classified – at least for the next couple weeks or so before the official announcement is made, so you can't tell anyone. Got it?"
There was something endearing about Yuffie entrusting sensitive information to her. Another layer of their bond from past travels and shared hardships. "Pinky swear."
"That's my girl!" Yuffie took in a deep breath, "It's kind of a two-parter. The first has been going on for a while now, but Rufus Shinra has been funding WRO."
Tifa's eyes widened a bit in surprise, taking the conversation from the garage back into the house. How the funds were obtained was never discussed and brushed off if ever questioned. Now she knew why.
Stepping through the doorway and into the kitchen, she sunk down into one of the dark wooden chairs surrounding a small, circular dining table at the rooms' center. "I guess it makes some sense. Rufus feels he owes a debt to the Planet, and WRO is trying to build it back up." The truth of it was quick to realize, the gravity of the impending situation revealing itself. "Yuffie...does Barret know this?"
"No one does, really," she answered. "I do, because I'm head Intelligence. I know everything." A snicker followed, "But no way I could tell Barret or even Cid - they'd both have a coronary. Reeve was pretty adamant that they didn't know."
"For good reason," Tifa said, idly pulling the loose thread from the floral place mat in front of her. "But you said this is going public. They are going to know, now. Everyone will."
"Kind of unavoidable considering the next bit." There was a brief pause. "Dear leader President Shinra just opened more funding to a couple of Departments, namely Energy and Science. Kinda peeved we aren't getting extra money but that's another story. Well, we're getting a few new people but we need new equipment and –"
"Focus."
"Keep yer panties on," Yuffie grumbled. "Anyway, this is good news on the surface, since they need more people and equipment for the expansion. The caveat is...Shinra employees will be filling the roles either temporarily or permanently. Which means…"
The lump that formed nearly choked her. "Barret will be working with Shinra. Oh no…" Forcing Barret to cooperate with Shinra to any degree was catastrophic at best. There was no trust, and the bad blood sizzled to a near boil with almost no provocation.
This was a disaster.
"I know what you're thinkin' and you've hit the nail on the noggin!" She sighed, the humor fading. "So, I wanted to give you a heads up cause he's gonna lose his cranium when he finds out and might blow your ear off with his bitching. Reeve is dreading that conversation, thinkin' about letting him find out through the public announcement."
"No, he can't do that," Tifa argued. "He'll feel betrayed. He has to tell him, himself."
"That's what I told him. Or least do it through Cait Sith. He has 500 more of those things in case Barret shoots it full o' holes. Cid'll probably just swear until he has a heart attack, but it probably wouldn't be the first one, so I'm not too worried about him."
The discussion of Shinra made her uneasy, but not for the reasons she would have expected. They all carried an extraordinarily painful history with the organization, many of her friends unlikely to ever bury the hatchet. It worried her more than perhaps it should have. "How do you feel, working with Shinra?"
"I sure don't like it. But...we're doing a lot of good with their money - dunno if WRO would still be functioning without it, if I'm being honest. It's weird, and sometimes brings back bad memories knowing that we're still kinda under their thumb in some way, but we're making things better. Working with them though...I dunno. Thankfully they aren't infiltrating my department!" She changed the subject. "By the way, how are you doing?"
"I'm good." The answer was quick and automatic. She was tempted to bend her friend's ear, but she didn't know where to start.
"Did uh...Barret tell you-"
"He did, and I'm fine. Like I told him, I'm glad he's okay." Everyone was always cautious with the subject of Cloud, walking on eggshells at the mere mention of his name or even the insinuation of his relevance. She really wished they would stop treating her with kid gloves; it simply didn't affect her the way everyone assumed it would.
Not anymore, anyway.
"If you say so," Yuffie responded with a hint of skepticism. "You know, I get some days off soon. I can come over and we can have a girls' night and eat super buttery popcorn and make fun of rom-coms… I can watch the kids if you wanna take some time to yourself, or go find someone to get freaky-deeky with."
The last time she'd placed the children's well-being into Yuffie's care, she returned to the scent of burnt cookies, a mess of a kitchen, and intricate blanket forts throughout the house. Two sick bellies was the end result, but the smiles on the children's faces despite their misery was enough to reduce the reprimand of her child-sitting to a simple finger wag. "I think I'd like that."
There was a smile in her voice. "Awesome! Well I've gotta get back to spying - gathering intelligence. Give the kids my best!"
Before the sound of disconnection echoed in her ear, Tifa again considered confiding some of her own secrets. "Hey, Yuffie?"
"What's up?"
Blood ran cold as her nerve evaporated. Her mouth grew dry and bitter as she rushed to collect the query that ran from her in fear. "Do you think you could ever forgive Shinra? Or at least...those who work for it?"
The extended silence on the other end furthered her apprehension. "If you asked me a year ago I would have said no way José. Now though...not real sure. What about you? You've had a hell of a run with them in your history."
Tifa certainly hadn't forgotten she suffered much by their hand over the years, their cronies carrying out the orders that trickled from the top and put her life in ruins more than once, forcing her to rebuild over and over and taking those she loved from her in the process. She had accepted that while the name would always carry an acrid taste and harrowing memories, such feelings were reserved for what they represented, and not for all its people.
Her response was a bit less confident than intended. "I think so."
"Well, maybe telling Barret that will help him over the hump. Though you should probably wear bullet proof armor when you say it." A pause, muffled mumbling in the background, "Shit - I really gotta go. Bye!"
The call ended abruptly, leaving Tifa with her thoughts in silence, removing the option to bring her present dilemmas to light.
Perhaps it was much too soon to discuss. While Yuffie's current ties to Shinra reduced her knee-jerk reactions of hatred and disgust, giving her the details pertaining to Reno and their one night tryst, and their almost repeated tryst, and her blooming feelings because of the tryst...it was all too overwhelming to put into words. It was another thing she would handle herself, just as she always did.
The afternoon came and went. From picking up the children from school, to dinner, and finally dropping Marlene off to a friends' house for a sleepover, Tifa found her thoughts rolling incessantly over Yuffie's warning. She simply didn't know how Barret could take the pseudo-merge any other way than terribly. He'd spent years fighting their tyranny only to join forces against his will. However the reveal came to pass, it wouldn't be pretty.
That evening, Denzel pressed Tifa to allow him to assist her that night with the bar. The storm raged outside, and she surmised the night would be another quiet one. Assuming boredom was a likely motivator, she inevitably relented and designated busy work to keep his mind occupied.
Her prediction was mostly accurate. The few patrons that filtered in were hardcore regulars, their arrivals as routine as a clock striking noon. And they were patient with Denzel, who asked to take their orders even if Tifa had memorized their preferences.
Denzel's change in demeanor remained intact after his time with Barret, as did the tender red hue of his flesh. A thin layer peeled from his freckled face, the patchy flakes resembling that of a snake shedding its skin. While Marlene had been vocal about her red-faced misery, Denzel stayed strong and kept his discomfort mostly to himself.
With mop in hand, he took to the floors, removing most of the water tracked in, the welcome mat at the entrance limited in its capacity to absorb it. He glanced from his work to catch Tifa's eye who watched him fondly. He spared a smile in return and continued with his duty.
The door swung wide, and the hail of the rain echoed against the roofs and roads outside throughout the venue. The sodden shock of scarlet locks against a pale silhouette crossed the floor to his regular stool, brows set firm on his countenance as he signaled for his usual, hands and navy overcoat soaked from the downpour.
Tifa's breath caught in her throat, frozen mid-wipe as she peered at him with cautious eyes. She could see, quite plainly, he was guarded and stoic, a stark contrast to what was typical of his character. His energy was different as well – dour and unbalanced in nature. This was another side to Reno she'd never seen, and she couldn't help but feel concerned.
She hadn't forgotten their last encounter, relishing in the revelry of his caress and their heated kiss. With it came the hurt and tears of his rejection, and the extended absence that left her wondering if it was all a mistake. Now he was here, and she still wasn't certain of anything other than he was broken too.
A warm presence at her side pulled her attention. She looked down to see Denzel who cautiously watched the new arrival. His words came in a whisper. "That's a Turk, isn't it?"
"Yes," she matched his pitch, "but he's a friend."
The boy frowned a bit curiously, "Barret said the Turks were bad people, like the rest of Shinra."
Tifa sighed, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. It was unsurprising to hear him say it, but nonetheless it was one more thing she had to navigate. "They were, but they aren't anymore. Don't you remember at the square...he and his partner came to help the city last year?" The details were unnecessary – none of them could forget.
His eyes averted in concentration, then lit up in remembrance. He nodded his head in reply.
"Then you know he tried to help us all – so let's be kind to him, okay?"
Denzel seemed to consider the request before nodding again, this time in understanding, and returned to his work with the floor and mop.
After retrieving his drink of choice, Tifa walked to Reno's spot at the counter, popping the top and placing it in front of him. He dipped into his pack and pulled free a smoke, thumping the end against his palm a final time before setting the tip alight with his flame, taking a drag. His cool aqua eyes avoided her burgundy ones rather pointedly, lifting the brew to pull a swig.
His avoidance unsettled her, but present company prevented her from probing. She let it alone instead, gliding down to the bars' end to give him space.
As Reno sat there, mindlessly burning through cigarette after cigarette, he realized he was no closer to an answer to his predicament.
The agitation continued to build, his conversation with Rude the previous night shedding light on his dilemma and perhaps coming to the conclusion he'd made the wrong move. But now that he was there, he was suspended in place, unable to move forward and put words to the question he had for her. It also didn't help that her kid was present.
He had nothing against children, having had a younger sibling of his own such a long time ago. In truth, their lack of a filter greatly amused him. But children didn't come into his line of work often, and if they did, it was under foul pretenses. The one grace he had in life was not having to kill kids.
At least, not directly.
As the minutes drew on, culminating into hours, Reno remained stoic throughout his silent contemplation. The air was thick with tension between himself and Tifa, and Denzel kept a watchful eye on his person. The earlier patrons of the night had long vacated, and no one else risked drowning in the vigorous weather that swept through the city.
Denzel stood on a step stool and positioned it at the sink where he methodically cleaned the same glass over and over, staring at the Turk with obvious curiosity. Reno was intrigued.
He cast a quick glance to Tifa, who was focused on a stack of receipts, a calculator, and a pen clenched between her teeth. He looked back at him kindly. "Helping out tonight?"
Denzel froze, clearly surprised he'd been addressed. "Yes."
Tifa paused her work to passively listen in on the exchange, evident by the gentle tilt and subtle turn of her head.
"She needs it sometimes. Gets pretty busy in here, yo."
The boy nodded.
"Cloud's been gone awhile," he took a quick sip from his beer. "I assume you're taking good care of the girls?"
His lips curled upward into a small, prideful smile. "I'm the man of the house; it's my job now."
The clatter of a pen momentarily disturbed their dialogue. Through a sidelong glance, he witnessed Tifa bend over at the waist to retrieve it from the floor. The effort to recalibrate his brain back to the kid was troublesome, but he managed. "You're damn right it is." A smirk spread across his mouth. "You've also gotta make sure they're protected. What's your weapon of choice?"
Denzel looked a bit puzzled at the query as Tifa visibly tensed, her face pulling into a frown. "Weapon?"
"Well, Tifa over there has her fists, good ol' Barret has a gun for an arm, Cloud's got an oversized sword, and I've got this." He reached beneath his coat to pull his Electro-mag rod free from the clip on his belt, extending the baton for the boy to see. A small flick of the wrist and a tap to the charge button sent its crackling blue tendrils into the air, there and gone in almost an instant.
Large eyes flew wide with wonder and fascination as he leaned forward for a better view. "That's cool! You use that to fight the monsters?"
"Those, and other things." The kid didn't seem to make the connection, too entranced by the device to work it out. "Wanna hold it?"
Before Denzel could reach for the baton, Tifa interjected. "Denzel, I think it's time for you to head to bed now."
Disappointment painted his expression, and with a final look to Reno, he hopped down from the stool. As he passed Tifa, he asked, "Can I get a cool weapon like that to protect you and Marlene with?"
"We'll talk about it," she responded quietly, a hint of annoyance lacing her tone as she bent forward to kiss the top of his tousled hair. "Good night." She shot the Turk a glare as he retracted his weapon and returned it to its clip, a hint of a mischievous grin capturing his mouth.
Denzel muttered his 'good night' as he shuffled obediently toward the stairs and left.
Tifa turned to Reno then. "What in the world were you thinking? What are you trying to do?"
He actually didn't know. Something about the innocence of a child had struck a chord as he watched Denzel throughout the evening. While there was a weight of experience on his shoulders, he wasn't irrevocably damaged and tainted by the rot the Planet had to offer. An orphan struck with Geostigma – it was a sore hand to be dealt, but he landed right side up after all.
Or maybe he just wanted another reason for Tifa to be pissed at him. Despite the assurance from his partner, he was still at odds with himself, and had a knack for self-sabotage.
Reno shrugged his reply, attention falling to his beer as he nursed it. He was insufferably sober and felt the window to change that rapidly closing.
A retort was formulating on her tongue, but whatever it was, she chose to hold back. Instead, she rounded the counter and approached the door, throwing the locks and flipping the 'Closed' sign. When she returned to him, she took the stool at his side, seated forward, eyes ahead.
Tifa seemed sure of what to say, but the words all retreated down her throat, fidgeting with her fingers instead. His behavior was all over the place – from impassivity to actively baiting her with Denzel; she wasn't sure how to approach him. The only thing she knew was something deeply troubled him, and she'd do her best to help him through it.
The silence between them permeated, its extension prolonged and uncomfortable. Eventually, Tifa fell back on awkward small talk just to get the ball rolling. "How's work?"
There was no response from the damp Turk, taking another drag from his cigarette, ash littering the counter and dusting his clothes.
Tifa hated it when he was quiet, so much more than his biting wit when it was meant to sting. He hadn't treated her in such a way in a long time, but those battle taunts were clear as a recording when she so chose to travel back to relive them.
"It's been quiet here, with the rain," she pressed on, her gut filling with mounting uncertainty.
He reached for his beer, taking a long deliberate pull from its contents. Still, he gave no response.
"I heard Cloud's somewhere in Gongaga a few days ago. Glad to know he's okay."
The bottom of the bottle landed against the bar top with a thud. It appeared that just for a moment he was going to speak, but inevitably stayed silent, returning to his dwindling smoke instead.
The frustration snapped like a worn rubber band and she turned on him. "Why are you here if you aren't going to say anything to me?"
He snuffed his cigarette in the tray, only to pull another from the pack, the motion thoughtless and robotic. "Is 'I don't know' a viable answer?"
"No, it's not."
"Well, that's what I got."
"There's more to it than that."
Reno looked over at her, expression ruefully pensive. "Is there? How sure are you of that? What do you actually know about me, Lockhart?"
The acid in his voice was unsettling, but she'd seen such defenses before. The coping mechanism to hide pain or something more damaging. It wasn't uncharted territory, but she'd never traversed it with him before.
Blocking her own effusive anxiety from overflowing, she looked at him empathetically. "I know you're conflicted. I know you have regrets, and you hide from them with the drinks, sex, anything else that will numb them away."
Reno visibly flinched, and the look in her eyes infuriated him - specifically because she was right. "I didn't ask you to be my therapist."
She smiled sadly. "You couldn't afford me anyway."
Reno laughed humorlessly. "Clever girl." His visage grew reflective, eyes focusing on anything and everything but her. "Tell me...why don't you hate me?"
The inquiry surprised her, and the answer didn't come quickly. She wondered if this question was the crux of it all, and she feared her hesitation would inspire further withdrawal. Fumbling for a reply that would satisfy his curiosity, she turned over her reasons. One sent her heart aflutter, and she wasn't certain if either of them was prepared for the confession. "It wasn't personal."
Reno seemed to be considering her answer as he flicked his smoke repeatedly with his thumb, some sort of nervous tick. Something was brewing, eyes clouded with a deep, untold darkness he kept hidden away.
When he pulled out of his reflection, he appeared much older and tired. "I've killed a lot of people."
The admission made her blood run cold, but she steeled herself for more, adopting an expression of neutrality.
He was letting her in.
With his sights downcast into a black void of endless transgressions, he picked the ones that hurt the most. "I've given a bullet to the face of a target, and watched his brains plaster the walls, only to find out I had the wrong guy. I strangled a woman with a garrote wire, listened as she gasped for air, for mercy as I choked every last bit of life from her while her husband watched, screaming until his voice was shot out by my pistol."
Reno paused, searching for any cracks in her mask, but she remained stone still. As he continued, he tried to remain apathetic. "I've sunk my thumbs so deep into an opponent's sockets, the gore beneath my nails lingered for a week." He paused to swallow the bile. "I don't remember the names of my victims, but I remember their faces, and if I think long enough about it, I hear them too."
The bright orange glow peeled away at the paper fibers of his smoke, hanging limp in his two fingered grip. The images haunted him, reliving a plethora of moments he'd worked so hard to bury with his vices. To bring voice to any of them reconstructed each scene, where he'd once been able to kill indiscriminately, his tongue now coated with the bitter taste of guilt. It was an unwelcome trait for a Turk, one that would easily put you in the ground by your own hand if you left it unchecked.
He extinguished the cigarette before turning to her, eyes raw and exposed. "I dropped the Sector 7 plate with my own hands and killed thousands of people, your people. I tried to kill you and your friend's numerous times. And I did it all because they told me to." His soul was bare for her to see, from every grievous act to every tender emotion he carried, she could see all of it. "You should hate me for this. For all of this."
Tifa peered through the proverbial door and absorbed his confession. She witnessed the self-flagellation, the torture and punishment he inflicted on himself for a past he would never be able to change or rectify while simultaneously desperate to numb and dull the misery that followed. She had plenty of reasons to hate him, to loathe and despise his very existence. But...
"I don't." Her pitch was faint, delicate, and breathless. "At least, I don't hate you. I hate what you represent, I hate what you've done. But I don't hate you ...at all."
For some reason, this angered him. Reno was scum, a monster, trash. He killed her friends. And yet even after all of this, there was no hate to be had in her heart for him.
This was his answer, and he wasn't ready.
And he wanted to hate her for it. He wanted to scream, to hurt her, to make her see that he was nothing. Instead, he settled for insulting her. "Well then, you're an idiot."
He watched the corners of her eyes crease with shallow lines of restrained anger, and he felt a sense of satisfaction. Color faded from her pursed lips, hands coming to fists in her lap. "I am not. I just care."
"That was your first mistake." He wanted nothing more than to push every single one of her buttons. "Didn't your parents ever warn you about guys like me, that we ain't no good, that we can't be saved? Because that's what you really wanna do isn't it? Save me - to be your next project because you couldn't save Strife?" His eyes narrowed, boring into her as she looked back, her posture erect, ready for anything. "You see, some things in this life just can't be fixed. You can't put a man's' brain back in his head and breathe life into his face. You can't change or undo death - it's permanent. The stains on these hands will never, ever fade and there isn't a Goddamn thing anyone can do about it. Not you, and least of all not me."
The thunder in the distance fueled the growing tension, the air thick with it. The ordinarily low hum of the cooler behind the bar was painfully loud as Reno waited with for her to kick him the fuck out.
When the lines of her eyes smoothed into the silk of her pale vista, and lips curved into a patient, empathic smile, he knew that he was done for.
The warmth of her hand reached out against his face, delicately tracing the red mark along the cheekbone. Instinctively, he pressed into her touch. Fingertips trailed down his jawline, grazing his lips to finally rest on the bare skin of his chest as she slipped off from the stool to stand before him, the length of her body inches within his own. The proximity was beautifully suffocating, the very scent of her eliciting a response that was both involuntary and delightful. Time stood still, and for a moment he simply couldn't breathe. His anger, his fear slipped away and he no longer remembered why he was so resistant in the first place.
Tifa touched a part of him he was convinced was dead, or perhaps never existed at all. She spoke to a need, a longing he yearned for that had been long neglected, sullied with casual cravings. Perhaps he didn't deserve her, but she wanted him.
She made her choice.
"Why do you run?" she asked quietly.
"You won't understand."
Tifa moved closer, hips set between his legs. "Tell me anyway."
Gazing into her glistening eyes, those twin mirrors reflected a man he didn't know, but the man she thought he could be, the man he wanted to be, and the fight within him melted away. His arms snaked tentatively around her waist as he pulled her against him. She didn't resist, malleable to his embrace. "Because if I don't, I'll drown."
Her hands slid across his shoulders, settling her arms around his neck. Her cheek rested against the top of his disheveled mane. "My hands aren't clean either, you know."
"You know it's not the same." There was a hint of anger to his tone, and he quickly aimed to check it. "Trust me...you don't want to relate to this."
Tifa pulled back to gaze into his face. The arrogant, sardonic bravado had crumbled to nothing, exposing the truth of who he was and what he needed and wanted to be. Behind the barriers and barbs was fear, but with it came a bit of hope. She wondered if she had anything to do with the latter.
His fingers pressed urgently against her back to keep her close, one tracing down just above the waistband of her skirt. A quiver rippled over her skin from his touch, his eyes speaking clearly to his intentions.
"Why did you come back?" she asked, a gentle tremor in her voice exposing her own, controlled desires.
The heat behind his eyes was enough to burn her alive. "You know why."
They didn't frighten her. She would let the flames to consume her. "Show me."
In the not so distant past, Reno knew he would have scooped up and exploited the request without a second thought. Lust would overcome every thought and he would allow himself to be swept away with the pleasure it wrought.
In his core, he felt things had changed far beyond his scope of understanding. He was no longer looking at a casual affair, but the potential of something far more than perhaps he thought he could handle. Fear found its way to his chest, his heart picking up speed in its rhythm. He left her once, and while he would be remiss to do it again, the weight of expectation was liable to crush him. Yet even at this thought, this panic that clawed at him, he motioned forward to show her exactly why he returned to her.
He kissed her, lips claiming hers with a slow, languid tranquility. Tifa held fast to her grip around his collar, knees set to buckle as a lightheaded weightlessness swept through her sensory. Her mind went utterly black, all thoughts eclipsed by their shared expression, silent communication of their deepest pleasures.
This was what she wanted.
A sudden flurry of footsteps clamoring downstairs jarred them both apart. Tifa's eyes widened and skin flushed to crimson as she looked toward the source at the stairwell, nearly tripping over herself to create some space between them.
Denzel, adorned by a pair of solid blue pajamas, reached the floor by then, slowly approaching the pair with small hand patting at the tender skin of his cheeks. "Tifa, my face keeps itching and I can't sleep."
She cut a quick look to Reno, who was fully composed and not nearly as mortified as she was, then back to Denzel, who was now staring at him as well. "I told you to use the aloe vera, sweetie."
"I can't find it. I think Marlene took it with her," he replied, his attention centered on the visitor.
"Sounds like my cue," Reno said, flashing a grin at Denzel as he stood to his feet.
Her hand reflexively grabbed for his wrist before dropping it entirely, suddenly cognizant of their audience. "Hold on, I'll...close you out. Denzel, go upstairs. I have another bottle and I'll bring it to you, okay?"
Several moments passed, blue eyes switching between each adult, clearly in no hurry to leave. His eyes landed on Reno once more, and slowly drifted to the rod at his belt.
Tifa assumed the weight of his stare was becoming a bit uncomfortable for Reno, but he surprised her when he knelt down to Denzel's level.
"You know, it's pretty late. The bars' closed and I've gotta get going. But I see you eyeing this baby," he gave a small pat to the weapon at his side, and Denzel's eyes lit up like a light bulb. "I'll tell you what; you do exactly what Tifa asks of you, and I'll let you give it a swing the next time I'm here."
Denzel looked up at her for approval. The suggestion itself didn't sit well with her on principle, but Reno's offer to a child he had no connection with charmed her. She smiled softly and nodded her consent.
"It's a deal." His grin radiated as brightly as the glow from his sunburn. Without further hesitation, he turned on his heel to comply, padding back toward the steps and disappearing from view.
Reno straightened and turned to Tifa, the color from her cheeks slowly receding. "Looks like I've gotta come back to fulfill my end of the bargain."
She merely nodded her acknowledgment.
The lull between them was suddenly awkward, the disruption from the kid setting the mood off kilter. Reno chose not to extend the discomfort for any longer than necessary and made his way to the exit.
He threw the locks and had the door ajar when he heard her approach, standing maybe a foot behind him. "Reno?"
Turning to face her, he just had enough time to breathe before she closed the distance, hands taking the sides of his face to pull him down, mouth rising to claim him. He reciprocated without thought, relinquishing his hold on the door and pulled her in. The taste of her he savored, burning it memory as crushed her against him. If not for the kid upstairs, he'd show her just how much he didn't want to leave.
They stayed that way, just like that, for quite some time before the reminder of duties outside of her personal pleasures pulled her from his arms. His eyes, heavy and eager, seemed to plead for more. A step back from him dissolved some of the hunger from them, his signature grin taking concealing his obvious disappointment.
"See you tomorrow?" she asked coyly.
"See you tomorrow, Tifa."
When the door closed behind him, she threw the locks in quick succession before rushing to the window and peering between the horizontal blinds.
Tifa saw him there, standing in the rain that had ebbed down to a drizzle, looking back at Seventh Heaven. Their eyes met through the illuminated darkness and shared a tender smile. He cast a final wave before he walked off, hands shoved into his pockets, and faded into the night.
Yes, she knew exactly what she wanted.