A/N: Sorry for the extra long wait-going through some stuff (aren't we all). Can't say it won't happen again, but it's not intentional.
Hopefully the extra meatiness satisfies the delay.
Super duper thank you to everyone still with it. Major shout outs to my beta for pointing out shit I miss, to Bouncymouse who has continued to be a great sounding board, and to every single person who has read, reviewed, kudo'ed, or simply enjoyed it in silence.
Control
The Plaza within Edge was restless with activity, and Reno begrudgingly watched over the expanding crowd.
Within days of WRO's announcement that Shinra would oversee the completion of Edge and take the reins in its governance, a sect of its citizens united in their mutual distaste for their new leadership. In lending a helping hand and ample coin to the construction of the city, public opinion was mostly neutral toward Shinra, some even praising their goodwill. The majority either remained silent or accepted the shift without fanfare, while a vocal minority took to the streets. Ill feelings from the past spilled over to the present, and those who loathed Shinra more than life itself demanded to be heard.
Nearly one-hundred strong, they came to march around the monument—the symbol of survival during the Planet's darkest hour—that stood at the center of the city. The protesters chanted loud and wildly for Shinra to exit the city and to pay for their crimes against humanity. They were more bark than bite, unwilling to toss a stick of real dynamite. Shinra would only toss it back, and they weren't large enough in numbers to suffer that kind of retaliation. Their words remained their only weapon.
While the threat of violence was minimal, Shinra knew this could change on a gil, and countermeasures were put into place.
Between himself and Elena, Tseng designated Reno to keep the rising unrest under control. As much as he would have preferred a different assignment that didn't include playing nice with the rabid locals, he found it to be a welcome distraction. He thought the protests pointless however; a waste of time considering there was no chance of Shinra relinquishing its power and WRO too just and cowardly to renege on the agreement. With more than a few handfuls of armed Shinra security on hand, they surrounded the outer perimeter and kept a watchful eye on its development.
Monitor the situation, Tseng ordered. Don't let the citizens get out of hand but let them vent.
Between the voluntary snip of his budding relationship and the departure of his partner, he felt well and truly alone. With the loss of both pillars, the shudder of instability had him wavering. His current state of mind disgusted him, falling into old, drunken habits to silence the noise of regret. Despite his dour disposition, his temperament was more amicable than Elena's, who would have been happy to bludgeon the protesters into submission.
The flask in his breast pocket was a testament to the strain of his addled brain; a comforting and equally destructive companion. The influence of the drink rode his veins and tinged his breath, the haze of it reducing clarity of thought and vision. He knew he should care, but he didn't.
It felt like there wasn't much to care about anymore.
Commotion to his right cleared some of his fog. He turned to catch the tail end of a shove to one guard, who took the blow in stride. The assailants' fellow protesters hauled the large, salt and pepper haired man away before the situation could escalate. Reno didn't quite recognize him, his stocky physique and bland features rather unremarkable. But the pure, vile hatred in his sea-green eyes was noteworthy. He'd have to monitor him.
Reno pulled a quick swig, smoothing out his bubbling annoyance as he approached the clamoring residents. He gave a quick nod of acknowledgment to the guard before he addressed the crowd.
"Alright guys, listen up!" The chants and the marching continued, but a small group quieted just enough to pay their mind in his direction, including the aggressor. "Let's not start something we can't finish, huh? You have a voice and you're using it. We get it. But this city wouldn't be standing if not for us—we didn't summon the end of the world, ya know. So, you can either suck it up and live side by side with us, or you can ship on out. No one's keepin' ya here."
"Go fuck yourself!" the aggressor spat.
"We haven't forgotten about Sector 7!" another man with ashen hair and narrowed black eyes shouted. His gaze was particularly penetrating, and the anger within his expression felt personal.
The group grew visibly agitated, and Reno suppressed the glare that threatened to surface. Play nice with the locals. "Just keep your hands to yourselves and there won't be any trouble."
Murmurs kicked up as the group seemed to grow even more restless, sideways glances and heated looks exchanged between the lot. He was already sick of them.
The orange glow in the distance began its slow descent behind gray skyscrapers as Reno positioned himself at the perimeter once more. He took another drink of his flask, gazing toward the shroud of gloom overhead, where pockets of blue gradually darkened with the setting sun.
Apparently, he wasn't the only one who couldn't forget his sin. Signs carried by the masses—most crudely nailed to wooden planks—indicated this, the messaging of each either sloppily scribbled or constructed with a passionate and patient hand. One sign spoke to him directly, one held high by the ashen haired man with the seething black eyes:
Justice for Sector 7.
Jokes on them—he was punishing himself well and good without anyone else's help.
The sneers and glowers they aimed his direction didn't escape his notice. He was a Turk, and Turks were still a shining symbol of Shinra, an ambassador of the organization. Show disrespect to them, and you show disrespect to Shinra. The level of contempt from the protesters made it abundantly clear just how hated they still were, and he got to receive the brunt of it.
Maybe bludgeoning them all into submission wasn't such a terrible idea.
A presence at his side drew his attention; a tall, dark shadow falling over him. Recognition lit his face as he turned to take in the familiar figure.
"The hell are you doing here?" asked Reno, taken aback by the appearance.
Rude focused his gaze out into the crowd, hands shoved into his pockets. He wore his ever-present shades and civilian clothing. In contrast to his normal black attire, he sported something more casual, subtle even—jeans, white tee, and brown coat, something Reno hadn't seen before. Then again, he couldn't remember the last time he caught Rude in anything outside of his Turk uniform—the very uniform he hung up for good only days ago.
"Gathering intelligence."
"Ah, the check and balance." Reno snickered, thinking back to his conversation with Tseng. It felt so long ago. "Don't ya mean spying?"
"Same difference."
"Isn't this a conflict of interest or something? Spying on a former employer you still have connections to?"
Rude shrugged. "Maybe."
"Then how the hell did you get this assignment?"
"Made a deal."
Reno looked skeptical. "What kind of deal?"
"It's classified."
"I guess the days of sleepovers and gossip are over."
"Never did like the way you painted my nails."
The banter quelled some of the disquiet raging in his head. He blinked back the glaze and cleared his view, the alcohol in his system edging to take control. "How do you like reporting to that pipsqueak?"
"Could be worse. Could be reporting to you."
Reno rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah yeah, I know you're too hard to admit you miss me." The chanting pressed on as he reached for his pack and lighter, eyes sweeping over the display. "Cassie glad you're rid of Shinra?"
There was a long pause, and he turned toward his ex-partner to witness the slight flex in his otherwise stoic expression. "I'm not sure."
"Ain't this what she wanted? Figured she'd be jumping your dick over it."
"She didn't ask me to quit."
Reno frowned, the lighter straining beneath his tightening grip. "Sounds like you made a knee jerk decision to me, yo."
Rude gave a small sigh, shrugging weakly. "Maybe."
This wasn't what he expected to hear, that his friend left the last bit of family he had to appease a woman who didn't even ask for it. It made him angry, this admittance. What did he even have to gain from it? Redemption?
It took but a moment for the realization to strike him, for the understanding to slip in and bring an awareness he may not have been able to see months, even weeks ago.
They were both fools.
Reno wedged a cigarette between his lips and lit the end. "I'm not seeing Tifa anymore."
Nothing came from Rude, his attention fastened on the swelling protest ahead.
"Aren't you going to ask me why?"
"Does it matter?"
"I guess not."
Reno inhaled deeply, the pull from his smoke filling his lungs with a pleasant sear. He held it there, the noxious fumes scorching, pulling his focus toward something besides the bright-eyed, dark-haired wonder who fluttered across his mind without reprieve. From the flit of her voice to the infectious smile that chased him, he couldn't seem to escape her.
Ultimately, he didn't want to forget her, but just for one Goddamn second, he wished he could.
"It explains why you smell like a distillery," Rude said, an upward twitch at the corner of his mouth.
The smoke of the exhale faded with the breeze. The cigarette did little to settle the pinch of his nerves. "You're so fucking funny."
Several days passed since Rude's last day with Shinra came and went. The distance between them expanded each one that followed, and Reno knew he was to blame for the withdrawal. He thought it would be an easier separation to force the wedge between them. It was just another notch on his bedpost of mistakes.
Reno was glad to have him there now. He could certainly use his ear.
"She told Barret about us," he said after a time, "and he acted just as you'd expect. Was gonna take the kids from her."
Rude glanced over at him. His expression remained even, but the slight crease to the corners of his eyes showed his concern for the topic. "That's extreme."
"Is it?" He reached for his flask, pulling it free from his pocket and taking a drink. He offered it to Rude, who shook his head in decline. "She was sleeping with the enemy. I wanna say I did the right thing. I think I did. Fuck me though... it doesn't feel like it."
"Sounds like you made a knee jerk decision," said Rude with a smirk.
"I had to Goddammit," Reno muttered. He took another swig for good measure before returning the flask to his blazer.
The journey home was agonizing the night he left her. A blur of space and time with heavy limbs and a salty sting behind his eyes. He convinced himself it was his only recourse and anything else would ensure disaster. But as he stood there gazing out into the angry, boisterous mob while the incandescent sun sunk into the horizon, he questioned whether or not he fucked up again.
Then he remembered.
"Denzel's parents died in the plate drop."
Rude offered no reply outside of an acknowledging grunt.
"She didn't tell me." His tone turned solemn, "I was bein' all buddy buddy with this kid, and I didn't know I killed his parents. He didn't know I killed his parents. How fucked up is that?"
Again, Rude didn't answer, sights set straight ahead.
Reno sighed. "I feel like I need to tell him."
"Why?" Rude questioned, the slight turn of his head toward Reno indicative of his scrutiny.
"Now you ask why," Reno snuffed the unfinished cigarette beneath his shoe. It failed to steady the pitch of his stomach. "He should get to face his family's killer. Wouldn't you want to know?"
"For what purpose?" There was no judgment in the query, but a genuine curiosity difficult to detect.
"Closure, revenge, all the shit that comes with it."
"Forgiveness?"
Reno scoffed. "That kid ain't forgiving me for this. And he fucking shouldn't, yo."
The only acceptable outcome was complete and utter animosity. A man of his caliber deserved nothing less. It was something he always knew but didn't want to accept. Now the truth was clear—the reflection he faced in the mirror was nothing but a blood-soaked monstrosity. It was time he accepted who he was.
"It was a job. An impersonal job."
Reno looked defeated. "And they're dead all the same, aren't they?"
They both turned to survey the crowd together, silence wrapping around them like a warm blanket. For a moment, it felt just like old times.
Swaths of people stood just outside of the Shinra perimeter. The spectacle drew onlookers, most curious, while others either displayed their support or shook their heads in disapproval. Others had joined the fray from when he'd last taken count, and he noted the green-eyed troublemaker leading the charge, the loudest one from the chorus.
Rude's voice cut through the rising dissonance. "Looks like you could have your chance." He gestured off into the distance, cocking his head diagonally across from them.
The haze of the drink clouded his vision exponentially, and he knew his mind was compromised because of it. However, the stark angles of yellow were difficult to miss, as was the effulgence of Mako infused cerulean eyes.
Cloud stood at Denzel's side from across the way, viewing the protest with indifference, standing within the throng of casual observers. Denzel's face, framed by the mop of chestnut hair, reflected the wonder that only a child would show from such a rowdy demonstration.
Whispers of Cloud's local deliveries and drop-offs reached him not long after he returned to the city. The pit in his stomach sunk deep and anchored when he got the intel. He knew the decision was his alone that brought his time with Tifa to an end. With Strife back in the picture, any thought of potential reconciliation was dead and obliterated.
Not that he was planning to. She was better off without him.
"What fuckin' timing," he grumbled, eyes narrowing despite himself.
As if on cue, Denzel's attention drifted to catch him within his line of sight, the Turk suit and crop of scarlet hair a dead giveaway to his position. An enormous smile spread across his mouth as he made his way through the crowd toward him. The sudden movement appeared to startle Cloud into action, following him quietly.
Somehow, his eyes locked with Reno, and there was a sudden glint of understanding behind his blues. His countenance was mostly unreadable, as it often was, but it lacked the simmering hostility he was used to. Now, it even looked sympathetic.
What a fucking disaster.
"Dammit kid, why can't you hate me like everyone else?" Reno mumbled, looking back toward the swarm. His stance grew stiff, the hair on his neck standing at attention.
A rare chuckle came from the friend at his side. "He will."
Reno snapped his head to scowl, but Rude was already moving away, fading into the crowd like a ghost.
He was on his own.
The pair approached, and Denzel seemed far too enthused to see him for his liking. Regardless, he forced a smirk. "Hey kid, dunno if you should be out here." He glanced at Cloud, gesturing to the boy. "Ain't this reckless endangerment or somethin'?"
"That's why I'm here," Cloud offered dryly.
Reno wondered what Tifa saw in the boring, emotionless nitwit.
Denzel glanced up at him before looking back out into the crowd. "I wanted to see what was going on in the Plaza. There's a lot of people here."
"Yeah, a bunch of citizens with their panties in wads," said Reno. "We've basically been in charge since Edge's inception, they just didn't know it. Now they don't like it, yo."
"Rufus is just letting them do this?" Cloud asked.
Reno gave a bit of a shrug. "He doesn't want to be his fathers' legacy. Let the people vent, he says. If they feel like their voices are being heard, they'll be more likely to work with us instead of," he gave Cloud a pointed, knowing look, "blowing shit up."
A flicker of something in Cloud's eye told him he received the delivered insinuation. Otherwise, he appeared unmoved. "Quite a change, coming from him."
Reno grinned. "Believe it or not, he actually gives a shit. We give a shit."
Cloud studied him, placing him beneath the microscope, seeking out the truth of their intentions—of his intentions.
Mako eyes always unsettled him, reminding him of a past filled with infusions and experiments. The torture, the transformations, the deaths—the marks forever embedded into his history, memories that couldn't be expunged.
A moment or two passed before Cloud's gaze softened as he nodded. What they saw must have appeased him. "I believe it."
Their attention diverted toward the protest as the chants rose sharply in volume. The notable sign from earlier made its round to pass them, large and bold and demanding of attention. The reminder of its existence filled Reno with dread.
When he looked down at Denzel, he was staring at it too. A forlorn and faraway expression, as if traveling back in time to a place where his parents weren't dead, and the killer wasn't his fascination.
A wave of guilt crashed over him as he swallowed uncomfortably. He didn't know if it was the right time—perhaps no time was the right time. Regardless, he knew he needed to destroy that fascination as it should have never existed.
"Keep an eye on those rascals, eh Denzel? I need to bend daddy Strife's ear for a second."
Without contention, Denzel did as directed, turning his sights toward the crowd. The protesters continued their march as the spectators surrounding it slowly grew in number.
Obvious puzzlement painted Cloud's face as he followed Reno a few steps from Denzel.
"What does Denzel know about Sector 7?" Reno asked once out of earshot.
The confusion didn't dissipate with the question, but he answered anyway. "That Shinra was responsible."
"Shinra, and not me directly?"
Cloud shook his head cautiously. There was a gap in his understanding regarding the implication, and Reno could see his wheels turning, trying to fill it.
Reno wasn't surprised that the kid still didn't know. He didn't hear the majority of the fallout, and no one divulged the truth to him afterward. "He needs to know it was me."
Cloud looked at him quizzically. "Why would you want that?"
"Every man deserves to face his family's' killer."
A dark shadow passed over Cloud's visage, and Reno knew he understood. Still, there was some reluctance. "Not sure it's the right time."
"It'll never be the right fucking time," he growled. With a sigh, he pulled back his temper. "You saw how the kid looks at me. I don't deserve that, I don't deserve any of that kids' kindness or idolization."
Cloud pursed his lips, considering. "Tifa won't like it."
The name was like a boot to his gut. Suddenly, sobriety was much too close for comfort, but the present company had him begrudgingly abstaining. He maintained at least some dignity. "She can't protect that boy forever. She shouldn't. And aren't you his guardian, too? You can make decisions, can't ya?"
Cloud didn't answer, but his eyes narrowed in thought.
"He's going to find out, eventually. I just think it should come from me, now, considering..." Reno trailed off, dragging a hand through his hair. His discomfort was visible to anyone watching; tightly furrowed brows, taut lines across his forehead, the incessant tap of his foot to the pavement. He looked ready to explode.
Cloud must have noticed. "It means that much to you?"
"Don't say it like that," he grumbled, but his face plainly said as much.
It felt like it was the right thing to do; to tell the kid he was the monster who changed his life from a cushy existence to roaming the streets like a stray cat. But it didn't stop Reno's heart from pounding against his ribcage. For a moment, it was all he could hear.
Silence between them stretched, unnerving him to no end. It was a stupid thing to ask, to be the one to drop the bomb that the blood of Denzel's parents was on his hands. Maybe Tifa was right, that some truths were better left beneath the rubble. Why reopen those old wounds?
When Cloud nodded his approval, he knew there was no turning back.
"Denzel," Reno called out, "come over here a second."
The boy whipped his head around and stepped toward Reno. His expression was light and curious.
That was all about to change.
Reno dipped down to him, a knee to the ground as he propped a forearm against the other. "I'm about to tell you something you're not gonna like, but something you should know. However you react to it, just know that it's justified, and you shouldn't feel guilty about it later. But I need you to really listen to everything I'm about to say. You understand?"
Denzel looked puzzled, cautious even, but nodded all the same. Cloud stood close by but offered them space. Reno was grateful for it, already under the weight of his own idiocy.
That infernal sign haunted him in the background. He neared their perch on the front line, and Reno did his best to ignore the distraction, allotting the entirety of his concentration on his confession. Pulling a deep breath to level his nerves, he looked straight at Denzel. "You remember how your parents died in the Sector 7 collapse?"
The light faded from his eyes, but he nodded slowly. His previous confusion morphed into quiet understanding and something heavier. Sadness maybe.
"Shinra deployed someone to start the drop. This much you know, I think."
Denzel remained quiet. He didn't contest it, so Reno kept on.
"That someone fought those you know, those in your new family to accomplish this. Cloud, Tifa, Barret—they were all trying to stop it, and this Shinra employee still fought them off and activated the drop."
Reno paused, the chanting surrounding them a layer of white noise. It buzzed in his ear, melding with the hammering within his chest. His concentration faltered as he watched Denzel, wondering what the hell the point of it all was. But he'd come this far, resolved to confess his sin.
It was now or never.
"That someone was me."
It wasn't long before understanding glossed over Denzel's expression. An array of different emotions crossed his eyes, moisture quick to rim the corners as he stared at Reno. There was something else there, previously tucked away. It revealed itself now, as if some long, forgotten part of him already knew.
Cloud hovered close but stayed silent. Reno didn't dare chance a glance in his direction.
"Why?" Denzel finally asked, blinking back the shine of his unshed tears. His inquiry wasn't much more than a whisper.
Reno's throat clenched, taking several beats to find the words to satisfy his question. He dug deep for it, and what he uncovered surprised him. "Because at the time... I thought I was on the right side. That I was inevitably saving more people at the end of it all than destroying. When you tell yourself enough lies for long enough, you think you're the good guy and that whatever you do to accomplish your end goal is justified. But one day, you wake up and realize the world you helped create is another version of hell you have to live in. Your conscience, the one you tried to keep quiet, comes screaming back at you."
Denzel tentatively swallowed. His body stood rigid as he peered into Reno's face with scrutiny, as if searching for someone that may or may not exist. "Are you a bad person?"
The question had him reeling. "I don't know. I'm trying not to be. I've got a lot to atone for, and I'm working on it. Shinra's working on it. The most I can do though, for you, is to tell you I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything you went through because of me and you have every right to hate me and seek revenge when the time is right. Maybe you'll use my own rod against me." He smirked sadly, "You're a natural with it."
Reno was met with a vacant expression then, and the stillness of Denzel shook him. Standing from his crouched position, he turned away and faced the protests.
The man that boy thought he knew pulled back the mask to reveal the truth of his character. It was an ugly, bitter reality they would always have to live with.
Reno would never have his redemption.
For now, he waited for the hatred to come, for the venom of his victim's anger to coat is skin. He waited for tears, or even cold, hard rage. He waited for all of it. He deserved all of it.
"I forgive you."
Denzel knocked him off of his proverbial feet.
The sudden lump in Reno's throat choked off his breath as he looked down at him. He appeared sullen, dejected even, but there was an inexplicable calmness about him that rattled Reno to his core. He didn't understand it. Couldn't understand it. How could Denzel just forgive? It didn't make any sense. This was impossible.
"Why?"
"You have to forgive yourself for letting the pain hurt you and those who inflicted it. Then you can stand as a complete person without the darkness." He looked toward Cloud. "Right?"
"That's right," Cloud affirmed, brow slightly furrowed as he glanced at between the two of them.
Reno didn't recognize himself, the desperation that laced his voice. "You shouldn't. You shouldn't forgive me. You should hate me for this. You have to." He was completely dumbfounded.
"You said however I react is justified."
It wasn't supposed to go like this. It was supposed to be accepted and understood he was a vile monster, undeserving of affection, idolization or forgiveness.
He couldn't find the words to express it, so he just said nothing at all.
The tension grew thick and unbearable before Cloud finally spoke up to disrupt it. "Let's head home. Tifa could probably use our help."
Her name alone carried enough weight to break him. He fought through it, but barely.
Denzel came to his side obediently. Before they walked off, he turned back to Reno. The sorrow remained, but he seemed resolved to hide it now. "Will you ever come back to Seventh Heaven?"
He wanted to laugh. He really didn't understand this kid. "I don't think so. But..." he noted the disappointment in Denzel's face before shifting his gaze to Cloud. Licking his lips, dry like his mouth, he forced a grin. "Look after Lockhart, will ya?"
The response came in the form of a nod, curt and quick. Without another word, Cloud walked from the plaza with Denzel in tow.
The drink called to Reno like a cloying whisper in the wind, begging him to soothe his tattered nerves with its offering. He watched their silhouettes fade from view as he obeyed the command, pulling out his flask and emptied the contents into his mouth, swallowing the burning liquid in one generous gulp. Wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist, he returned the empty container to his blazer.
Reno was a dog. And like a dog, Shinra sent him to do whatever was commanded of him to do. It didn't matter the job, whether espionage or dropping a fucking plate on a section of an unsuspecting city populace; he stepped up to the task and completed his assignment with little complaint. A consummate professional.
This consummate professional grew a conscience, and that conscience was unceremoniously tearing him to pieces.
From the corner of his eye, he spied the ashen haired protester with the black eyes standing still and openly staring in his direction. The intensity of the gaze bothered him, and the liquid fire coursing through him clicking his mood toward antsy. When he spared a glance to challenge him to make one false move, he didn't expect to see pity reflecting back at him. The sign the man proudly held high through the demonstration slowly lowered from its previous heights as he turned his back and disappeared from his sight. Reno glared after him.
Nothing pissed him off quite like pity.
His hands itched as he scowled out into the circus. Other signs peaked high as streetlamps flickered to life. Something roiled through him he couldn't place, but it reached his fingers as they curled into his palms, nails digging into the leather of his gloves.
This dog wanted a fight. He needed a fight.
Reno saw him then; those sea-green eyes gleaming beneath the effervescent glow, an inferno of hatred blazing behind them. The sneer at his lip stretched and settled on his mouth as he drew near from the outer circle of his march.
A predatory grin spread across Reno's face, his balled fists trembling under the intensity of his grip.
With the speed of a lightning strike, he crossed the distance between them and met the protester with a left hook across his jaw. His head snapped sideways as he stumbled from the blow.
Time slowed as shouts and screams rippled across the crowd. Something hard and flat connected with the back of his skull, splintered wood raining down around him. The shock of the hit flashed his vision red, the pain of it dulled only by the poison in his blood. It did nothing to slow him, to cut off the steady pump of his adrenaline—it increased it twofold.
He swung blindly in retaliation, high and fast. Knuckles connected with something soft and sharp, a wet crunch vibrating with the strike. A cry of agony rang out, and it was the sweetest sound he heard in days.
Before he could land another, a large and meaty fist connected with his temple and sent him sprawling to the ground. His head cracked against the pavement, stars dancing behind his eyelids.
They squinted open just as a steel-toed boot drove into his gut, his body recoiling naturally into a fetal position. He choked back the groan. His eyes screwed shut once more as the assault on his person continued from multiple directions. Kicks to his neck, head, arms, legs, back all came fast and heavy. Hatred for Shinra, hatred for the Turks poured from their mouths as they battered and bruised him. He heard a pop from his ribcage and smirked through to anguish.
This was what he wanted. This was what he deserved.
The assault abruptly ended with the clash of flesh against flesh. A sickly echo reverberated, the snap of bone merging with the background of vocal disarray from fleeing protesters and bystanders alike. Shouts and grunts of pain resounded in tandem with each point of contact, adding to the choir of chaos.
Reno cracked his eyes ajar to see a man drop to the ground beside him, only to scramble backward and onto his feet. Thundering footfalls rumbled beneath him as the fallen man—the same one he merrily clocked in the face to start the ruckus—and his cohorts retreated from the scene and out of sight.
A man's voice, deep and commanding, called out above him. He couldn't make out the words, but they sounded like orders to guards. The voice was familiar, but the drone of his brain hampered his ability to think clearly.
Suddenly, the man hovered over him, his features indiscernible through his spiraling daze. There was a shake of the round, smooth head as he bent down to move him. The sharp surge of his ribs protested against it as he hoisted Reno up, an arm curling beneath his knees and another around his back below his shoulders.
When he fully opened his eyes, that familiar voice came with a familiar face. He smirked through the pain. "Ah Rude...you came to my rescue." The chuckle that followed ended with a gasp.
Darkness fluttered as consciousness ebbed away, but he heard the note of disapproval in his friends' tone. "The hell is wrong with you?"
They were moving, and his eyes momentarily focused on that ashen haired man with the sign in the distance—the catalyst that triggered the mayhem. He laughed, and the pain from his sides sent his world spinning.
All he wanted to do was sleep, to let the world fade to black. Maybe this time he'd escape the nightmares that plagued him so frequently.
Rude shook him, and his body screamed at the jostling. "Stay awake."
Staying awake was a directive he wasn't likely to follow for long, the calling toward unconsciousness too difficult to ignore. Still, he opened his eyes just enough to look into Rude's taut face, lips set tight and thin.
What was he going to do without him?
"You know what, partner?" He grinned sleepily, his eyes drooped and drowsy, "We were both wrong. Not quite three days, not quite a week…"
If there was a reply, it was lost to ether.
Reno succumbed to the darkness.
Seventh Heaven was quiet in light of the protests.
There was an ominous silence treading through the bar as she and Marlene sat together at one of the center tables, an art pad and colored pencils splayed across the surface. It was expected, but the entire event left Tifa uneasy. Cloud offering to survey the protest put a few of her fears to rest, thankful to have a pair of eyes out there as it unfolded. With Denzel at his side, curious as a boy his age could be and desperate to spend more time with his hero, they set off to take in the scene.
Whispers of the demonstration circulated around the bar for the past several days before going full speed ahead that late afternoon. A few of her regular patrons were directly involved and inevitably used the bar as a meeting hub during the lunch hour. These gatherings launched her back to her days in Avalanche, and the recollection brought the guilt from her past with it. Memories of that dark past loomed over and followed her like a phantom, dragging many regrets alongside it. Nights of planning, collecting resources, recruitment, loss—the days of old dangled in corners of her mind, the protesters' presence pulling them painfully to the forefront. The foreboding it brought was troubling at best.
Nevertheless, she let them meet and make their plans, greeting them with a welcoming smile each time. It gave her the opportunity to obtain firsthand knowledge of their intentions. Upon fluttering in and out of their conversations, she was relieved to learn the protests were intended to be peaceful. Still, the anxiety for what was to come brought her sleepless nights. She wondered if Shinra knew. She wondered if he knew...
The goal was for WRO to rescind the agreement of Governance and for Shinra to, at the very least, pull out of the city entirely. Tifa knew they had no chance since Shinra's tendrils were deeply rooted, their footprint all over town. They wouldn't be happy with the result. She desperately hoped it wouldn't escalate into territory they weren't prepared to face.
A part of her wondered if she should intervene and appeal to them on Shinra's behalf. Perhaps she could ask them to give Shinra a chance to prove themselves and allow the opportunity for good, solid change. They weren't the same as they were three years ago while under the leadership of the old President—it was possible this governance could be a positive thing. It was a thought that lingered on until she gave up and resigned herself to what lay ahead. What good would it do, anyway? No one listened to her.
The subtle creak of the door sounded as the glow of streetlamps spilled through the doorway behind the new arrivals. A dusky backdrop outlined the figures of Cloud and Denzel as they stepped through in silence, the door closing behind them.
Tifa smiled at the pair, but the warmth of her expression faded as she focused on Denzel, studying him. The vibrance of his person was missing, replaced with a dull and grim demeanor. His head tilted at a downward slant, brown locks of hair shielding his eyes from view. She knew the struggle—the internal battle to conceal the truth of his feelings and cast an image of indifference. She could see right through him.
He was heartbroken.
"Denzel…" Tifa started but stopped short as his swift gait carried him across the bar. Cold and locked up tight, he didn't offer a greeting, slipping past them to the bar and behind it. Through the stillness of the venue, she heard his footsteps echo up the stairs.
She and Marlene abruptly turned to Cloud, the question clear in both their eyes.
"He'll be alright, just leave him alone for now," he said as he crossed the floor, slipping onto one of the bar stools. His manner almost seemed nonchalant, but something stirred beneath the cool exterior. His obvious avoidance told her as much.
"I'll go talk to him," Marlene offered, already gathering her supplies.
Tifa smiled reassuringly at her, collecting the stray colored pencils and reaching over to stuff them into its box. "Thank you. It's almost time for bed anyway."
Marlene returned the smile, hands clenching the pack of pencils in her hand, the art pad pinched securely beneath her arm. Hopping from her chair, she padded her way toward the bar. She slowed suddenly, looking to Cloud with a slight frown. "Did something bad happen at the protest?"
There was a moment of hesitation before he looked down at her to answer. "No, nothing bad."
It appeared to satisfy her. Without another word, she retreated behind the bar and up the steps.
Tifa's smile faded as she rose from her chair. She approached Cloud's side, open concern on her face as she addressed him. "What's wrong with him?"
"He'll be fine."
Tifa wasn't mollified, placing her hands at her hips stubbornly. "Cloud, tell me."
She knew his tells. Every microscopic tick of his brow, every twitch of his lip, and precisely what each of them meant. As she observed the slow blink of his blue eyes and downcast look toward the counter, she knew she wasn't about to like what he was going to tell her.
"We saw Reno at the Plaza," he paused, eyes narrowing in thought. "He told him about Sector 7."
The reply was like a bullet to her chest. The color drained from her, skin pale as a marble slab. The pit at the base of her belly was heavy like cement, and her heart dropped to meet it.
He wasn't supposed to find out like this.
"I have to go talk to him," she declared, her voice breaking.
Cloud shook his head, turning his head to look at her sternly. "You need to leave him. Let him process it."
She knew he was right, but she didn't like it. More than that—she hated it. What gave Reno the right? What gave him the authority to tell him? It wasn't his place.
And Cloud...he just let it happen?
The opportunity for interrogation evaporated when a flurry of voices sounded behind the entrance before the door swung wide. The room suddenly rumbled with activity, a group of patrons taking post at a corner booth, their conversation lively. With a final look of disapproval, Tifa moved on to greet them, her simmering frustration cooling into a welcoming smile.
The night wore on as the bar slowly came to life. Talk of the protests dominated the conversations as more and more bodies filled the establishment. A particular detail about the event reached her through the ensemble. The more she heard, the more distressed she became.
A fight broke out among the protesters. A Turk—the red-headed one with murderous aqua colored eyes—started the brawl with a well-connected swing to Sarno's jaw. Others who witnessed the scrap leapt into the fray in the man's defense, which caused a ripple of disorder throughout the crowds. It all ended with everyone within the Plaza scattering like roaches the moment Shinra made a move to take control of the discord.
No one knew what happened to the Turk, but rumor had it he received quite the beating.
Tifa weathered the news with a brave face, but her concentration suffered. She forgot orders, produced incorrect drinks, and swapped requests between patrons. While her customers seemed to show a certain amount of patience regarding her blunders, there was distinct displeasure from the quickly growing crowd.
Angry, concerned, scared—the ceiling was crashing down around her and all she could do was stand and watch it crumble. She realized just how ready she was to burst at the seams, and all because of him. Multiple points within the evening had her reaching for her phone only to withdraw at the last second. He had a life to lead, a path that didn't converge with her own. They were two different people in two different worlds. Reaching out would only serve to hurt them both.
"Do you need some help?"
Tifa snapped her head toward Cloud from behind the bar, a shot glass in one hand and a cloth in the other. He sat at the end, a full beer in front of him. "No, I've got it."
"You sure? You've been standing there for close to five minutes."
"You've been timing me?"
"I guess so." Shaking his head with a small frown, he lifted his beverage and took a drink. "If you need some, I'm here."
"I've got it," she insisted, a slight edge to her tone.
Cloud appeared to let the issue lie, and she was relieved to be greeted by his silence again.
Tifa would handle it herself, just like she always did.
Even as she stood there with cloth and glass in hand, she couldn't recall why she had them in the first place. She knew her head was precisely where it shouldn't be, locked within a reverie that only served to torture her. The distractions of the bar weren't enough as they were, slowly falling deeper into a prison of her own making.
As her turbulent emotions continued its rampage, Tifa gravitated toward liquid therapy. A shot for a customer turned into a shot for herself, throwing the amber fluid back in one smooth swig. The familiar burn slid down her throat and pooled at her belly, giving her cheeks a faint pink flush. It smoothed out some of the edges long enough for her to stuff the inconvenient feelings back into the box from whence they came.
Somehow, she muscled through the rest of the evening with minimal errors. The last of her distractions departed with the last patron as they dragged themselves out into the city streets. With the door locked and the blinds closed, Tifa's heart raced as her thoughts spiraled straight toward the man she tried desperately not to think about.
Images of the bruised and battered Turk with a disheveled scarlet mane and a dirt-streaked complexion played through her mind. The sound of hitched, sputtering breath, and the sight of scraped skin and broken bones sent her stomach tumbling. Despite the fear that churned for him, she was no longer in the position to tend to his wounds inside or out. And yet, the discourse in her head grew into a symphony, the crescendo of the orchestra escalating to a deafening tempo.
Vice or not, she sought to silence it the only surefire way she knew how.
Scanning the shelves behind the bar, her eyes fell on a familiar bottle tucked away behind the usual line. Scooting a few aside to reach it, her fingers closed around the neck and pulled it forward. She gazed at the bottle with the green and gold label like an old friend, its contents a bit more than half empty. The memories which spawned from it were both warm and equally somber. It would either silence the noise or add a few more instruments to it. She would take her chances.
Taking a shot glass from the rack, she rounded the counter to sit beside Cloud. He eyed her carefully, a look of curiosity painting his features as he glanced between Tifa and the bottle in her company.
"That looks familiar."
"It came from you and one of your runs," she said, screwing off the cap and aiming a hefty pour into the glass.
"From Corel I think."
She nodded without looking at him. "Barnabas."
"Yeah, that's right. Made the stuff himself. When he gave it to me, he said 'it'll put hair on your chest son, so don't let your ol' lady drink it'." The flinch was subtle, the realization of the statement slowly registering. He abruptly glued his attention to his beer.
Tifa thought she should have felt a ping of something from the recollection, a twinge of sentimentality. Nothing came. She took the shot, the abrasive scorch blazing the pathway down her throat. She wasted no time in pouring another. "What do you think about Shinra after today?"
"I think Rufus might actually mean what he says, from what I saw. And I don't think Reeve wants a repeat of history. Whatever they worked out, he must be confident that it'll stick, at least for a while. We'll have to wait and see." He stopped, sparing a sideways glance at her. "I don't think that fight helped public opinion."
The imagery of mayhem in the Plaza fluttered across her mind. She downed her beverage, thoughts soon drifting to Denzel and the look in his eye, the pain he fought to hide. Frustration bubbled up as she filled her glass again. "He had no right to tell him."
She couldn't say his name. It hurt too much when she did.
Cloud slightly tensed, his frame stiff as he leaned his elbows into the bar's edge. "Denzel had a right to know."
"It should have come from me. From us." With a breath inward, she grappled with her waning temper. "How did it even come up?"
"Reno asked. He seemed really troubled by it. I gave him the okay." He looked at her fully, a firm quality to his features he rarely directed at her, "You should have told him before now, when he first showed interest. When you and him..." he didn't finish. He didn't have to.
Tifa focused on a divot ingrained into the surface of the bar top as the tension grew between them. "He wasn't ready."
"He's ready for a lot more than we give him credit for. Think about what he's been through. He sees and understands more than we know. He knew about you two." Cloud drew his finger through the condensation of his beer, dripping and pooling at the base. "If I know you well enough, you didn't tell the kids about it."
"It wasn't the right time," she said stubbornly, but she knew it was more than that.
"Time doesn't wait. It's always moving."
"Like you?" The moment she said it, she wanted to take it back.
A small, sad smirk came and went. "Yeah, just like me."
The sting that followed didn't come from the drink as she threw it back and swallowed. There was something unspoken below the surface, something they hadn't yet fully addressed. They continually skirted around the issue while small insinuations floated in the atmosphere.
Some things never changed.
A distant smile colored her face as she changed the subject. "While you've been gone, Denzel's been trying to take on more responsibilities. Barret encouraged him to embrace the mantle of man of the house. He's really settled into that role."
Cloud smirked. "I'm sure it kept him focused."
"That's what Barret said." She heard the groan of the floodgate as she poured a fresh shot. Something screeched a warning in the back of her mind. She ignored it. "He threatened to take them from me, Denzel and Marlene."
He narrowed his eyes. "Barret wouldn't do it."
Tifa took the shot, her lips and mouth sizzling, her head buzzing. There was a quiver to her hand as she filled the glass. The symphony of chaos played on, unrelenting. Briefly, she noted Cloud's face tightened ever so slightly as she set down the bottle. She ignored that, too. "The threat was enough. I'm a Shinra sympathizer, after all."
"He said that?"
"You know how Barret can be."
There was hesitation before he spoke again. His question nearly broke her. "Is that why Reno left?"
A finger mindlessly circled the rim of her glass as she plummeted into the depths of her grief. It took her days to understand and truly grasp his reasons for walking out on her, on what they had together. He spoke of them honestly and sincerely, but her devastation hindered her from seeing the full spectrum of it. And it wasn't what she wanted. It was so far from it.
The floodgate broke open with the intake of her newest drink, the room taking a generous tilt as she did so. The subject she did her best to avoid flowed freely from her mouth without obstruction. It was almost liberating. "He didn't want to break up the family. He didn't want to see us hurt, even though it wasn't what I wanted or what he wanted. He did it for us."
From the night he left her, she could still feel the impassioned touch of his lips against hers, sorrowful and anguished goodbye. It was the night when everything fell apart against her best efforts, the night she realized what she wanted didn't matter.
Cloud took a quick pull from his beer, returning it quietly to its coaster. "That's selfless of him."
"Yeah, it was." Her eyes lit up suddenly, a tender memory projecting like a motion picture. "He took me to Loveless on a date, you know. And he hates it. He hates that play, but he did it, anyway. I didn't think he could be so... I don't know, caring?"
"Me neither."
"I didn't think anything would come of this, from a one-time no strings attached...you know." She chuckled, but it was mirthless. "I did it because I missed you, and then I did it because I wanted him. And now…"
A cascade of thoughts and recollections all came down at once. She plowed through them, bringing her focus back to the present, to the drink that added fuel to their lustful fire.
"We drank this together." Tifa pointed to the bottle of Cactus Kick, a sad smile on her face. Her eyes fogged over as she rambled on. "I was embarrassed and felt so stupid. But now I know he did it to protect me, like I tried to protect him and Denzel from the truth of who they were to each other. That blew up in my face, like it always does. Like everything seems to."
If Cloud was uncomfortable with the conversation she couldn't tell. He seemed to take it all in stride. "You did what you thought was right."
She poured another, her brows furrowing. The tremor in her hand was more evident now, as was the slur to her speech. "Right is wrong, up is down. Nothing makes sense anymore. We made little sense… and then we did, somehow. He encouraged me to think about myself, to be selfish. And I tried—I even made a list of things I wanted to do, things I wanted to change. That punching bag is a... a thing from it, the things I wrote. I look at it all the time, every day."
The list and his lighter were her only mementos of their time together. Those fleeting, beautiful moments that made her feel impossibly whole, made her feel like a wanted woman, a desired woman.
Perhaps even a loved woman.
"What else did you write?"
"Learn to fly a helicopter. It sounds silly, I guess. I kind of asked him if he'd teach me. That'll never happen now." She shook her head, moisture standing in her eyes. "Other things too, like nap and learn the Samba."
"The Samba?" There was a hint of amusement in his tone.
Tifa laughed a little. "Yeah, maybe. I was going to see if I could get him…" Her throat constricted as she tried to blink away the heartache.
Cloud's visage softened, his cerulean eyes reflecting a tenderness he reserved for her alone. "Talk to me. What do you want?"
The tremor in her voice rang hollow and strained as the confession she locked away in her heart revealed itself without delay. "Maybe it's wrong. Maybe it is selfish, but I don't care anymore. I just want him to come back."
She tipped back the shot, a small stream slipping down the side of her mouth as she swallowed the contents in an audible gulp. The glass toppled over when it hit the bar top, falling from her shaky grip. Her eyes glazed over, carried off to a time where she lay within his embrace, surrendering herself to his fervid touch. To a time when the wound in her heart wasn't hemorrhaging in her chest.
With arms folding atop the bar, she laid her cheek against them. Staring blankly past Cloud, she stayed in her reverie until the room pitched and her stomach flipped. "I can't fix this. I don't know how."
"You can't fix everything."
"I know. I couldn't fix you. You fixed yourself, even though I tried so hard to."
"Tifa…" he sighed, looking away to collect a thought or two. When he dragged his eyes back to her, they were earnest and unafraid, "I was messed up, okay? It wasn't you. It was never you."
The assertion should have made her feel better. It only fostered her rising guilt. "I'm sorry I couldn't wait for you any longer."
"I never expected you to. It's on me."
"Time doesn't wait." Tifa smiled sadly, her eyes slowly closing against her will. Under the cover of darkness, she saw him there with that cocky grin plastered on his lips and a piercing pair of azure eyes.
She suddenly felt empty.
"Maybe you should go to sleep."
When she opened her eyes to disrupt the fantasy, Cloud was standing in his place. She nodded weakly into her arms. "I should, shouldn't I?"
"Can you walk?"
Tifa laughed sharply. "Of course I can. I have legs."
She slipped from the stool only to have her knees buckle beneath her. Cloud was there in an instant, gripping her arms at the elbows before she hit the floor.
Her hands landed on his biceps, holding firmly to steady herself on her own two feet. "Always saving me. I don't need you to anymore, ya know. I'm a big girl." Conviction was lacking in the statement.
She felt so small.
The liquor's full effect finally hit her. With her body like putty, she struggled to stand on her own, legs wobbly as a newborn while the room spun like a teetotum. The floor seemed like the preferable place to occupy, a perfect spot to curl up and let the velvet black settle in. The thought disappeared when he lifted her, as if she weighed nothing more than a moogle. Instinctively, she slung her arms around his neck as he carried her behind the bar and up the stairwell.
A semblance of regret rolled through as she traveled back to old times, to old feelings she thought would be forever. Within his arms was somewhere she once yearned to be, where the melody of their existence would join as one. As he brought her to her room, where moonlight spilled through the glass paned window, she knew that time had passed. It wasn't where she wanted to be.
Not anymore.
Cloud was gentle with her, setting her carefully upon the plush comforter, her head lolling onto the pillow underneath it. She welcomed the soft darkness that surrounded them, a pleasing reprieve from harsh lights and spinning atmospheres from below. Unable to make out his form beneath the shroud of obscurity, the depression of the bed alerted her to his presence seated at her side by her thighs. Her feet soon met the cool air as he gently pulled her shoes and socks, followed by a muted thud as they hit the floor.
"I was angry with myself, when you left," she blurted out, her voice heavy with the approaching somnolence.
With the luminescence of the starlit sky at his back, Cloud moved up the length of the bed, coming to sit by her hip. He simply watched her from his position, calm and attentive.
"I wondered if I should have asked you more questions, asked you to talk to me and tell me how you felt. Maybe you wouldn't have left if I did."
His hand moved through the shroud, a thumb brushing across her wet cheek. She hadn't realized she'd been crying. "It's my fault. I should have said something."
"It's okay."
Cloud shook his head. "It's not. It's not okay."
Her eyelids grew heavier by the second. "It will be. It will all be okay."
Consciousness hung by a mere, thinning thread. Her eyes fluttered, struggling to keep them open when he spoke, his voice not much more than murmur above the orchestra. "What can I do for you?"
The flood threatened to seep through the cracks of her resilience, to drown her in its chasm of desolation. She managed to keep it at bay. "If you see him again…please tell him that I miss him. So much."
Exhaustion wrapped around her then, pulling her under. She was almost gone, the symphony fading away into the background, when she heard him one final time, the stroke of her hair lulling her faster beneath the veil of sleep.
"I'll make it right. I promise."
A small smile graced her lips. Her eyes wouldn't open this time. "You don't have to save me you know."
He might have replied, but she didn't hear him.
Tifa succumbed to the darkness.