Roundabout

"And if I don't make it/ know that I loved you all along"
– 4 A.M., Our Lady Peace

"Shin–Ra Incorporated, do you know your extension?"

Vincent halted. Elena? "Rufus Shin–Ra, please."

A pause on the other end. "The president is not available right now. Can I take a message?"

He'd prepared himself to jump through hoops, however much he disliked it, but he hadn't expected to be leaping them before he'd even reached the blonde president. "No. Tell him Vincent Valentine needs a favor." He drummed his clawed hand against the shingles on Tifa's tilted roof.

"Vincent Valentine?" She was familiar with him, her voice catching, confirming that it was the lady Turk. "I'll have him give you a call back."

The drumming stopped. "I'm not getting off this phone until I reach Rufus Shin–Ra." He leaned forward, intent, patience with the conversation already running thin. I have too many other things to concern myself with now. Sunlight slanted into his narrowed eyes. "Elena. We both know he's there and that I need to talk to him. Please stop wasting my time."

There was a gulp and a click, and Vincent was greeted with hold music. "Please hold, your call is important to us…" Vincent closed his eyes, imagining the breeze wafting in patience to replace the urge to toss the phone in the air and take it out with a bullet. The image of it scattering over the city in a glittering mess of shards soothed his mind, but only so much.

Thankfully, before he gave into the impulse, a man's voice came on the line. "Valentine, what can I do for you?"

Vincent leaned back again, claw scraping against rough tiles. Laughter and a loud honk echoed up to him from Edge's streets below. "I need the services of your pilot and helicopter."

Another long pause, but unlike the previous stunned air, Rufus was calculating. "Surely your Captain Highwind can accommodate you?"

"His wife gave birth to a son last night, and none of his pilots are skilled enough to reach my destination."

"Give him my congratulations." Another pause. "Unfortunately, my helicopter is currently undergoing repairs, and we do not have resources to spare at the moment."

For Turks and the people who train them, they are terrible at deception. Vincent pushed himself to his feet, pacing the edge of the roof, ignoring the pedestrians staring bewilderedly up at him from below. "Then you should inform your pilot not to over exaggerate the state of your affairs when enjoying too many of Tifa's famous martinis." Point, set, match.

The polished diplomat vanished, all pretense gone. "Why should I bother with you?"

The list flooded Vincent's mind. Because of the years of service you got out of my father before his death that you never explained, because I was a loyal member of the Turks before one of your deranged scientists turned me into a human experiment, because of the fact I've saved the world you've nearly ruined twice, because if not for Reeve and the others' kindness you'd never retain your respectable name. No, he'd play the trump card. "Tseng and Elena. How are they?"

Rufus gave a cold chuckle. "Still on desk duty."

That would explain why Elena was manning the office. "Northern crater, tomorrow. I'll be at your airfield at nine. Make sure Reno is prompt." Vincent, exasperated by the long conversation, went to hang up.

Rufus spoke again. "I don't take kindly to being threatened, Valentine."

Vincent brought the phone back up to his ear. "Good thing that's not an issue, Shin–Ra," he told him before clicking off his phone.

Cloud came home early but irritated, a rarity for him. He hadn't wanted to come home at all, really, after dealing with bureaucratic bullshit all day, Fenrir making unidentifiable clicking noises, and a cocky customer who insisted on talking to his boss, disbelieving that Cloud was smart enough to run a business. I only saved your goddamned ass three times and you won't even treat me with respect? He'd wanted to snarl at the man, but refrained, trying to do what was best in the end. Just like how he'd come home anyway, since he'd promised Denzel he would.

So when he slammed the side door, storming into the kitchen only to find it empty, he paused. Where the hell is everyone? Great. He'd bitten the bullet and come home, and now no one was here. Just as well. I guess I'll just finish up the paperwork for today. He took off his heavy boots, leaving them by the door, and went into the bar. It was always closed on Sundays, Tifa's day off. He looked around. Barret must've taken the kids out, but where was she? Probably shopping for a gift for the baby. He shrugged to himself, grabbing a beer from Tifa's stocked refrigerator. Maybe she'll come home in a good mood.

He swung open his bedroom door, expecting to kick back, drink his beer, and square away his desk, but instead found Tifa standing in the middle of the sparse room, her back to him, clutching something in her hand. She straightened at the sound of the door, knees locking into that defensive manner, and he caught a glimpse of pink trailing from her fingers. Closing his eyes, he braced himself. Of all the fuckin' things that have gone wrong today…

She turned slowly, her hands shaking, wined eyes wavering. His heart clutched and sputtered, but his anger and pride prevented him from reaching out for her. Just say it, Tifa. Tell me I'm a bastard so we can move on from there. She held out the long, silken ribbon. "I… found it changing your sheets." She trembled so hard he thought she'd crumble apart, a pile of Tifa–dust on his bedroom floor. "You had it… under your bed." She sat down suddenly, legs folding beneath her, eyes filled with tears, as if she hadn't realized it was true until she said it out loud. He stood in front of her, stoic, unable to say a word, knowing there was nothing he could do since she'd already reached her own conclusions. She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with accusation. "At least Vincent has a chance to bring Lucrecia back. You… you're never going to let her go, are you? All this talk of us as your family, has it…" She dropped her eyes again, swallowing hard enough to be audible. "It's all been a lie." She pounded a fist into the floor, the hardwood planks cracking and splintering under her force. "And I was stupid enough to fall for it again!"

His aggravation spilled over. "And you're going to make me choose again?" He shook his head, eyes closed, jaw clenched. He couldn't believe this. Just could not believe this. He leaned down, pulled the ribbon from her hands. "You or a memory?" He twined his hands into the ribbon, letting it wrap his fingers together. He buried his face into it, its scent long lost, silk smooth against his five o'clock shadow. "Goddamnit, Tifa, am I not allowed to grieve?"

She stared up at him, tear–tracks down her cheeks, although her anger halted the flow. "We all lost her, too, you know."

He dropped his hands away from his face. "Don't you think I know that!" She took a sharp breath, and he covered his eyes with one hand, his voice louder than he'd meant to make it. "But why do I have to choose? You and Barret… all the rest… you can grieve all you want, but I can't anymore because I let it drag along behind me? Because it almost killed me? Don't you think, maybe, it's time for you to let this go?" He shook his head again. "Because I've come to terms with it, despite what you think. But I'm not going to forget her and the things she's done for us because it makes you feel insecure." He dropped his hand from his eyes, refusing to look at her, bitterness seeping into his voice. "All I'm trying to do is be honest. And it's not enough, is it?"

Tifa pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her face into the top of them. She began to cry, sobs ripping through her, gasping for breath, her whole body shaking. He was taken aback; he'd never seen this from her before. She was always so strong, so together, and watching her cry like her heart had plummeted off a cliff rocked him to the core. It reminded him of how sunny she had been, content with her family, until just a few weeks ago, and how he couldn't bring that back to her, how he'd let it all boil down to this. Can't ever be any good to anyone, can I? He pushed the thought out of his mind. He'd made it about himself again, about his grief and his sadness and his needs, and he hated himself for it.

Cloud crouched next to her, pulling her into his arms. "I'm sorry, Tifa, I'm sorry I'm so weak… I'm trying so hard…" He sat down, leaning her back against his chest so he could cradle her better. He began to rock her gently, her sobs slowing down.

She spoke without lifting her face from her knees, shaking her head, making her ebony hair spill off her back, sticking to her flushed cheeks. "Cloud… it hurts, so much. My best friends." She let out a choked sob. "I lost her, and I can't stand to lose you, too. I can't block it out anymore." She lifted a hand and scrubbed it across her face. "I miss her so much…"

Cloud brushed her hair aside and rested his cheek against her shoulder. "I miss her, too…" He leaned into her, just a little, tightening his arms. Just like I miss you…

She finally took a shaky breath, raising her face. "I know you're trying, Cloud, I really do." She swallowed, throat clogged with tears. "It's just… hard to change."

He looked down on her, barely able to see her swollen, burgundy eyes from his angle. He reached out, touched a finger to the pink ribbon tied around her upper arm, mirrored by his own. "Why… have we let this tear us apart? Why didn't we think to grieve together?"

"Harder, that way." She sniffled, burying her face further into her knees, her arms still wrapped around them. "I've felt so lonely…"

He didn't hesitate, tugging her to one side and pulling her between his legs as he rested against his bed frame, hardwood floor cold underneath him. She leaned back into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind. She clutched at his hands, and they twined their fingers together. She let her head drop back against his shoulder, and he let his face fall forward into the place where her neck met her shoulder, cheek resting against hers, breathing in the salt from her tears and the fragrance of her skin, hair brushing against his neck. He closed his eyes, reveling in her closeness. He'd been so afraid, he'd never allowed himself before.

Although she'd stopped crying, Cloud continued to rock her, and Tifa rubbed her fingers in the grooves between his own, taking shaky breaths. He thought ahead to the heartbreak, to the yelling and tears and slamming doors, all the times he'd undoubtedly walk away when he shouldn't and all the times she'd turn away from him, the times they'd break all they had molded together and stare at the pieces, baffled by the fact it had fit in the first place and wondering if it was worth the effort to put it back together, and he knew they would anyway, because in the end…

"It'll all come back to this, Tifa." He tightened his arms, holding her closer because he never wanted to lose the feeling. "No matter what, it'll always come back to this."

She closed her eyes, face tilted toward the ceiling, and he gazed at her profile, lovely despite the lashes stuck together from crying, the tip of her nose bright red. "You promise?" She squeezed his wrists. "It'll be all right?"

He closed his eyes again, burying his face into her neck. "I promise."

As soon as he said them, Cloud Strife found those words no longer frightened him.