Cid hangs up the phone and immediately retrieves his worn carton of cigarettes. The assembly gathered around him watches with bated breath as he lights the stick and takes a long, slow drag. The smoke curls into the air like ink into water.
"Dammit, Cid, I'm 'bout to shoot your dramatic ass—!" Barret growls.
"Did he find her?" Yuffie asks eagerly.
Reeve, Nanaki, and Vincent wait silently.
Cid takes another brief inhale and decides to put them out of their misery.
"He got her."
The tension in the room breaks, shatters, dissolves into ecstatic relief.
Tifa looks at herself in the mirror.
Most of the smaller injuries from her fight with Kadaj are nearly healed, thanks to Cloud's efforts. The twin stab wounds in her shoulder from that double-bladed katana are angry maroon scabs that ache terribly if she moves her arm the wrong way.
Despite the spells and potions, her entire body is sore and tired. She figures it's an effect of the strange stasis phenomenon.
Her eyes. They're underlined by dark circles and weighed with fatigue, and though they are somehow less empty, they are troubled.
She's…alright. Raw and shaky, but alright.
Hours later, Cloud emerges from the shower feeling blissfully clean but also dead tired. That's okay, though, because it's the sort of tired that makes one look forward to rest—he has nowhere to be, nothing to do, and no reason not to collapse into a nap that can simply drag on for as long as his body needs it to. He changes into the sweatpants and t-shirt that he purchased from a nearby shop while Tifa was in the shower and emerges from the suite's bathroom, rustling a towel over his hair. Tifa is sitting on the bed, eating the scone he picked up for her at the bakery.
Her expression is blank when she looks over at him. It isn't closed, but there's just something off about her that has Cloud's attention. His first inclination is to wonder if, despite his apology and her seemingly cathartic tears that punctuated their conversation, maybe some part of her truly does hate him for…well, everything. But then he remembers the softness of her lips brushing against his knuckles, and the phantom sensation lays waste to the idea that she harbors any resentment—though he knows to his marrow that he deserves her ire. The tension in the air is not quite what he would call awkward…more cautious, than anything. Perhaps it is simply that they have forgotten how to act around each other. This isn't the cheerful, smiling Tifa he used to know—understandably—but he isn't sure how to treat this new Tifa, the one who is quiet and pensive and…sad.
"I took our clothes downstairs to be cleaned," she tells him, ever neutral.
Cloud pads across the room and sinks into the armchair. "Thanks."
He fixes his eyes on the television. More than anything, he wants to look at her—he's still not sure that this whole surreal situation isn't just a teasing daydream, that he didn't fail her yet again, and seeing her will assure him of reality—but he doesn't want to pressure her or push her away. So, he watches the histrionic drama without actually seeing or hearing the characters and waits for her to make a move. For the time being, he has said his piece. Conversely, it is plain that Tifa has her own sentiments bubbling to the surface, but Cloud has no idea what's going on in her head and that worries him. Now that he thinks about it, her reaction to his apology was quite multifaceted; she cried like her heart was simultaneously healing and breaking. She seemed receptive, but there was just something about her demeanor that has him wondering…
After a few beats of nothing, he hears her close the box that her scone came packaged in and set it on the nightstand. Then she takes a deep breath—it sounds like preparation.
Sure enough, Tifa gets straight to the point. "You didn't need to apologize."
Cloud immediately turns his eyes on her with a curious frown. "What?"
She's sitting cross legged atop the bed linens, dressed in the simple shorts and t-shirt he bought for her. Her eyes—a deep, pretty grenadine red—flicker up to his before dropping down to her fidgeting fingers.
"You don't need to apologize for how you felt or how you handled it," she clarifies in a quiet, unreadable tone. "It was completely justified. You were grieving, and it was my fault. How else where you supposed to react?"
Cloud is shaking his head before she finishes speaking. He knows that she is trying to comfort him—she's always trying to be strong for others, to take away their burdens, willingly handing over parts of herself if required. He can't allow her to let him off so easily.
"Tifa, it's not like I just went and got drunk for a few weeks or punched a wall in a fit of rage. I broke our promise—I let you suffer more than you ever should have because I couldn't face the facts."
She doesn't like that he is owning this, taking responsibility for her pain. It's clear in the crease of her brow as she studies him, and he can see that he hasn't changed her opinion whatsoever. "Even if you had sought me out and tried to help me, it probably wouldn't have made a difference. I'm not—I wasn't in a good place."
That slip doesn't escape his notice. Cloud files it away in the growing list of tells that have him watching her more and more closely.
"That's what I thought, too," he tells her earnestly, suddenly so eager just to get through to her about this. "I didn't believe that letting people in would make things better, so I spent the last two years pushing everyone away and trying to deal with everything on my own. But I…I've learned that it really does help. Just being around everyone again recently—even though I was a huge jackass to all of them—it made the pain easier to work through. You were part of that, too, even though I tried to deny it."
Tifa seems to take this in and mull it over, her eyes growing distant as she retreats into her head. He can see her looking over the past few months and it's obvious who she is thinking of—Marlene and Denzel. Even still, darkness lingers at the edges of her gaze.
"I'm glad," is all she says, directing the sentiment down to her lap. "That you're feeling better, I mean."
And just like that, she gives up on the conversation.
Cloud beats back the wave of frustration that rises as she easily ignores his attempt to absolve her. A tightness begins to coil in his chest as he realizes just how deeply imbedded the past is in her psyche—after all, it's a mindset he relates to intimately. And he feels foolish for expecting more out of her after his ungraceful attempt to set things right, for being even the slightest bit caught off guard that she hasn't suddenly transformed back into the Tifa he remembers. He may have freed her physically, but, oh, there are still chains.
That's okay, he thinks resolutely. I owe her every bit of work that it will take to break them.
"This day will never come again, so…let me have this moment."
Cloud shifts slightly as Tifa settles back against him, tucking herself into the hollows of his body as if she were crafted to fit there. He allows himself to sink down against the grassy ridge serving as their backboard and closes his eyes against the first beginnings of dawn spilling across the sky. Apprehension for the events to come attempts to battle away the remaining wisps of sleep that cling to him, but Tifa's warm, clean scent and the cadence of her steady breaths lull him back into a doze.
"Sure," he murmurs as his eyes slip closed again.
His arm tugs her closer; after last night, they are far past any pretense of platonic decorum.
Cloud awakens once more when the morning light becomes too intrusive for the shadow of the Highwind to combat. Tifa stirs next to him and emits a yawn that Cloud finds strangely adorable—he can't remember the last time he considered anything adorable. She slowly sits up and turns to face him, still totally within his personal space, and gives him a content smile that is just a bit shy. Meanwhile, Cloud admires the mussed drape of her hair, the dark cast over her irises, the blush blooming across her face.
"Hey," she says, her voice rich with sleep. Its tone evokes sensations within him that kickstart a reel of flashbacks from mere hours prior.
"Hey." Shiva, his own voice is equally as throaty.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah, sure."
Tifa's unique eyes rove away, looking unsure all of the sudden.
"Say we make it out of this alive—say we win. What would you want to do when everything's over?"
Cloud blinks at her, somewhat taken aback. That was certainly not what he was expecting her to ask. He was leaning more along the lines of—
What does this mean?
Does this change things between us?
Do you regret last night?
"Honestly…I haven't thought that far ahead," he admits sheepishly. His response doesn't elicit any remarkable reaction from her, which tells him that she is searching for something specific and he missed the mark. Unfortunately for her overestimation of his intuition, he needs a hint. "What about you?"
"Hm…" Tifa becomes contemplative. "I guess the natural thing to do would be to build another bar. Not in Midgar, though. I'm sick of living in Shinra's backyard."
"Nibelheim?"
She shakes her head adamantly. "Definitely not."
"Where, then?"
Her slender shoulders shrug and the movement sends her arm brushing along his own. "Not sure." She chuckles. "But at least I've gotten to see a bunch of different options, since we started this whole thing."
So, Tifa wants to build another bar. That's something to go off of.. Normally, he doesn't really care for puzzles; but this time, Tifa's words are the pieces and he likes the music of her voice, so he is willing to continue to play.
"Did any of them stand out?"
She takes a few moments to consider the long list of locations that they have visited. "Well, Junon would be the most practical place to start a business in terms of making money. But it's too big, I think—feels too much like Midgar. Kalm was nice, I suppose." Her gaze lands back on him, a little hesitant. "Any preference?"
Ah. There it is.
Cloud finds himself feeling pleasantly warm as her implication registers in his mind. The quiet satisfaction at the knowledge that she would like to spend her future with him turns his lips up into a small smile.
"I think I'm good with wherever. I'll let you pick."
Her answering grin is so much more dazzling than the sun peeking over the horizon.
"Cloud."
"Vincent. I'm sure Cid's told you, but Tifa's okay—we're spending the night in Nibelheim and then he'll pick us up tomorrow."
"Good to hear."
"How's Denzel?"
"He's fine. He's out playing with a girl—the one with the moogle doll."
"Yeah, I know her. Tell him I'll be home soon, will you?"
"Sure thing."
"Spike! How's Teef? She okay?"
"She's doing alright—sleeping right now, but I'll tell her you said hi. Listen, got a favor to ask. You think you could come stay in Edge for a few weeks, after your project is finished? I've got something that I could use your help with."
"I mean—yeah, I guess. You gonna tell me anything about this 'something?'"
"I want your help designing and building a bar."
Tifa exits the bathroom dressed in her practical clothing once more, running a brush through her hair, and spots Cloud packing their casual attire into a small duffle. He, too, is looking ready for travel, and Tifa can't help but notice the striking image he presents. Cloud has always been beautiful, but that knowledge is significantly more present now that he's here, calm and centered and absolutely adamant that she come to stay with him in Edge.
"You've already been away for a while. What's a little bit longer?" he counters to her argument about her bartending job in Gongaga. Truth be told, she seriously doubts that she even has a job to return to, now that she's been gone for weeks past her approved leave.
"Still. I should go back." It's a weak rebuttal, and she winces as he answers it with a killing blow.
"Tifa." His voice takes on a prodding, imploring edge. "I would just feel better if you weren't alone for a little while. And," he adds. "Denzel misses you."
Despite her plans to subtract herself from his life for the sake of his happiness, her resolve thaws in the face of those words. After all, when has she ever been able to deny Cloud Strife anything?
She tells herself that she'll only stay for a few days. Promises herself. Commands herself.
Cloud looks up at her from under his eyelashes as he zips the bag closed and Tifa's cheeks warm in response.
"I grabbed some food from the café down the road. Take as much as you want—if I eat too much, I'll feel sicker on the flight."
"Thanks," she murmurs, glancing at the take-out bag. Two water bottles flank it; she wishes they were whiskey handles.
She's terrified of going back to stay with him, despite the magnetic pull towards him that tugs at her chest. It seems to her almost as if they're starting at square one again, like they have done so many times before. Like when they were kids simply orbiting each other but never significantly interacting. Like when she found him in Midgar, rousing from the haze of mako poisoning, a completely different person from the shy boy she remembered. Like when they emerged from the Lifestream and had to come to terms with having shared such a life-altering experience. Part of her wonders if she should have slipped away last night while he was sleeping. It would have been easier, that's for certain, though she isn't sure she would have made it past his hyperactive senses.
Only a few days, she repeats to herself.
"What's on your mind?" Cloud ventures, startling her into looking back up at him. There is weight in the question; he knows that she isn't simply wrapped up in idle thoughts.
Even still, Tifa shoots him a small, hopefully disarming smile and gathers the water and food into her arms. "Nothing. Just looking forward to getting out of this town."
Cloud's gaze loses none of its intensity, telling her that he doesn't buy the flimsy diversion, but he chooses not to press. "Me, too. I didn't want to come here in the first place, but it was the closest town."
"What is Edge like?" she asks, suddenly a bit curious.
He looks mildly pleased by her interest and hums in thought. "Honestly, it's a bit like the upper plates and slums mixed together. Most of the buildings were made from whatever could be salvaged from Midgar, so they're a bit…patchwork, I guess. But since Reeve had a hand in the planning, the city is a lot more organized than the slums."
Tifa thinks back on her brief time in Edge—any chance to take in the town was misplaced by fleeing crowds and the massive summon tearing into the Meteorfall monument. Consequently, she doesn't remember much. It's strange to envision a place that marries the two most polarizing parts of Midgar.
Cloud slings the duffle over his shoulder but makes no move toward the door.
"Ready? Cid will be here soon."
And just like that, Tifa feels anxious all over again. "Everyone will be there, won't they?"
Cloud shakes his head, altogether too understanding. "I told them to wait at the WRO. They'll be there when we land, but we don't have to stay long."
It's a thoughtful, intuitive gesture that is somewhat surprising of him. Although, Tifa supposes that her demeanor has given plenty of hints about not wanting to be smothered by a herd of concerned loved ones. Nevertheless, she is grateful that the flight back will be somewhat peaceful. She is looking forward to seeing everyone, but she can only pretend to be sociable for so long.
"Thanks," she says quietly.
Cloud nods. "Let's go."