Chibi: As always, please read and review. And enjoy. Unfortunately, the only people I own here are Mr. Fair and Mr. Strife. I don't know if I want to own them, they're kind of old…

Four

The next day I had to work. That is; doing the lunchtime shift at a local bar, Seventh Heaven, owned by friendly local Barret, juggling waitressing and looking after his seven year old daughter Marlene. I had worked there for about two years at that point, and I can't lie – I really enjoyed it. Work was a chance to get out of the house, away from the gloominess that had haunted our dwelling since her death, away from Dad and his breath that permanently carried a tang of whiskey that grew and faded depending on his mood and the time of day, and finally, away from that bloody piano that beckoned me with its cool keys and still open music book.

Barret was a huge but kind hearted man, and I guess he looked to me as a sort of second daughter. And Marlene – well, Marlene was an angel; the most beautiful little girl who was content to simply sit and colour, or jabber away at the customers. So my work shift was always generally easy – we rarely got rough, trouble making customers during the day at Seventh Heaven (they tended to turn up just as my shift was ending). So that day, I guess I was expecting the same, fairly quiet and easy-going shift I had grown accustomed to over the years. I came in at ten, checked that everything was clean and tidy and ready for the customers and lunch, made sure the till was working well and full of money, and settled Marlene down with some wax crayons, paper and inspiration for a drawing in the form of a quick story about a dragon who was in love with a princess. With some time to spare before the customers arrived, I quickly vacuumed Barret's flat above the bar, as I knew he never really had time to do it himself. By eleven, our first customers had arrived, and I got down to work.

It was, in general, a fairly quiet shift. The genre of clientele the bar tended to attract during the day were couples (young and old), stressed looking parents with very young children, and then, well, anyone who didn't really want to cook lunch themselves. Which is why I was fairly surprised when, at around half past one when only two tables were occupied in the bar, a familiar looking blonde and an older man pushed open the door. Cloud and his father looked around shyly, before closing the door and moving swiftly to the bar, sitting down quietly on the high stools. I handed them menus.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Strife, Cloud," I greeted them. Cloud nodded shyly, and Mr. Strife gave me a small, wan smile.

"Afternoon, Tifa. What's good for lunch today?"

"Hmm…I guess I would recommend the steak and ale pie. Freshly baked this morning, and it comes with a side of steamed vegetables, all picked from Barret's garden."

Mr. Strife looked to his son, as if for approval, and Cloud nodded in agreement. They handed back the menus.

"We'll have two portions of that, then."

"Good choice. Anything to drink?"

"Two pints of bitter, please." I said nothing about Cloud, who I assumed was drinking underage – the legal age was eighteen, but pretty much everyone in Gongaga ignored it. Alcohol was a substance that was fairly easy to get a hold of in our area.

I sent the order through to the chef, Cid, an ex pilot who swore every other word but cooked good food, and pulled the two pints, setting them in front of Cloud and his father. Barret was chatting to some customers, so I checked on Marlene, who was sat up behind the bar, colouring the dragon she'd drawn a very vivid purple.

"Everything okay, sweetie?"

"Hmm…" she murmured, pressing down onto the paper, hard. She was going to tear through it and ruin the top of the bar soon. I gently slipped the story book underneath the sheet, and she continued to colour neatly, her tongue slipping out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. "Tifa?"

"Yes, Marlene?"

"Who's that man?" She pointed her purple crayon very obviously and ominously at Cloud, who noticed and blushed slightly at the attention, staring down at the surface of the bar, nodding silently to something his father was saying.

"That's Cloud, Marlene. He's Mr. Strife's son."

"Oh…" she mumbled, finishing her drawing with a flourish of orange crayon flame shooting from the dragon's wide open mouth.

"That's lovely, sweetheart."

"Really?"

"Of course, Marlene." She beamed. She gently shook the wax remnants from the crayons off of the paper and onto the bar top, and then resumed her staring at Cloud.

"Would Cloud like my drawing?"

"I'm … I'm not sure, Marlene. Why don't you go show it to him?" She nodded silently, and gathered up the story book and the rest of the crayons, hopping off of her bar stool.

A loud crash, a swear word and my name were bellowed from the kitchen. I slipped in and collected the two plates from Cid, who cussed again as he burnt his finger on the hot saucepan, and I brought the plates over to Cloud and his father, just as Marlene waved the drawing in Cloud's face.

"Look, Cloud, look! I drew a dragon!"

I heard myself giggle at the frightened look on Cloud's face, at Marlene's joy at thrusting the paper into his nose and Mr. Strife's slightly bemused expression as he watched the small scene play out before him, his fork stabbing a piece of steaming steak and gently pushing it into his mouth.

"That's lovely, Marlene," he said. "You did that all by yourself?"

"Yuh huh!" she exclaimed. "But Tifa read me the story!"

I felt a soft blush tint my cheeks as I saw Cloud's eyes flickered up from the wax drawing now held in his hands to me, and back again. Mr. Strife leant over Cloud slightly, looking intently at the vividly purple dragon that posed on the sheet before them.

"It's really wonderful. In fact, it's so wonderful that I think you should do another one."

"Really, Mr. Strife?"

"Yup."

That was the first word I'd heard out of Cloud since he had entered the bar. He put the drawing down, and picked up his fork, quietly eating his food and sipping his pint. He even ate silently. This was fine for Marlene though, apparently, as she hopped up onto the bar stool beside Cloud, spreading out a new sheet of paper, lining her crayons up neatly and precisely, before selecting a green one and beginning to draw.

I watched Cloud eat, drink and gaze at Marlene drawing for quite a while, just taking in his calm but slightly nervy demeanour and the content way in which Marlene drew. I guess it calmed me. Their quietness and grace made me relax, and for a few minutes I allowed myself to lean back against the counter, fold my arms and breathe softly.

At least, I did that until Barret sidled over, leant over the bar and murmured that table four wanted their bill.

"No time to make puppy eyes, sweetheart."

"Huh? What?"

"What, she says…"

"What are you talking about, Barret?"

"I'm talking about you mooning over blondie over there."

"I was not mooning!"

"Wide eyes, dopey grin – mooning."

"I -"

"- Go give table four their bill."

I made a small noise of exasperation at what I deemed silliness on Barret's behalf, and made my way over to table four, handing them their bill and chatting with them aimlessly. As I made small talk, Barret's comments still lingered in my mind. Mooning? Was I actually looking at Cloud in that way? I felt my cheeks heat up once more in embarrassment, glancing over at the stoic blonde still silently eating, nodding gently to Marlene's almost never ending jabber. Okay, yes, he was good looking. Very good looking, in fact. It was probably something to do with that creamy looking alabaster skin, the startling and always slightly nervous looking cerulean eyes, the way he spoke so softly…

I understood at that moment what Barret was on about – I was mooning. I mentally shook myself, and sorted out table four's change. They left; I cleared the table and greeted new customers. The day went on.

When it happened the bar was empty, except for Cloud and his father. "It" was simple enough – I was collecting their plates and one of the knives slipped, and cut my hand. Cut it right down the centre. I felt only a sting of pain, but I was for some reason drawn to the vivid red streak, that looked like Marlene had dragged one of her crayons down the palm of my hand. I found myself staring at the vibrant scarlet, and the crimson drops that gently eased and squeezed themselves out of the slick and perfectly straight opening. That blood is too bright to be real, I found myself thinking. That's the fake blood they use in cheap movies.

"Ouch, Tifa, that looks nasty." I looked up into Mr. Strife's worried eyes. He looked so similar to Cloud, and was so damn…so…rugged, and handsome…it was like I was a little girl with a silly crush on a teacher or something. His eyes looked like they had been curved with a cookie cutter in the shape of an almond. I felt weird little jittery things jump about in my stomach, and I felt like I was going to be sick.

Grow up. That was the sentence that flittered through my mind.

I'm fifteen. I already am grown up.

"Here, maybe Barret can find you a plaster or something…"

I hated the way he was treating me like a child. My pathetic little school-girl crush swiftly crumbled, and the debris that littered my heart fired up into beads of annoyance.

I'm not a child. I'm not a child.

"Tifa?"

"I'm not a-"

I stopped myself swiftly. There was a tiny stretch of silence, so short that you could have easily missed it.

Then Mr. Strife broke it quietly, his eyes lazily moving between my outstretched, fake-blood covered hand and my face, concern softly worrying his forehead and the corners of his almond-cutter eyes.

"You're not a what?"

"I-" I flushed, faltering harshly and clutching my wet hand with my other hand, unsure of where to look and what to do.

I panicked. I took the coward's way out.

"Nothing!" I cried stupidly, with too much enthusiasm, and turned swiftly on my heel, darting back into the kitchen as fast as my trembling legs would move me through the door that swung open easily. I heard it bash back and forth gently until it came to a stop, mimicking the manic pulsing of my heart, pumping too much blood much too quickly throughout the trembling vessel that was my humiliated body.

I steadied my breathing as rapidly as possible, before moving to the back of the kitchen, locating the first aid box in one of the cupboards and proceeding to wash my hand and plaster the cut.

"Everything alright there, Fair?" Cid grunted in my direction.

"Cut myself," I muttered.

"How bad? Lemme see," Cid moved forward, trying to take my hand, and I felt a wave of nausea pass over me. I wasn't a child. I didn't need help. My eyes weren't about to burst quite suddenly like weak dams into disgusting, wailing rivers over the slightest, almost painless infliction. I swallowed the bile that had mounted at the back of my throat.

"It's fine, really." I moved back to put myself out of his reach, and my elbow brushed against a hot pan on the stove. I yelped and jumped forward.

"Whoa, you okay?"

"I'm fine!" I all but shouted, moving in the opposite direction and falling heavily against another hot pan, this time bullets of pain firing up and down my other arm. I wrenched my arm away from the pain, feeling the tears I desperately wanted to repress springing as easily as a young animal to the surfaces of my eyes. My skin felt like fire, and ached dully and with lasting remembrance. I almost watched the scalded flesh twist and bubble into a raw and tender dome that made my entire arm throb, regardless of the tininess of the damage.

"Ow!" I practically wailed, clutching my arm with my bandaged hand, a dull ache in my other elbow from where it had collided with the first pan.

"Jesus, Tifa, what the hell? You need to sort that out quickly!" Cid started towards me again, and the nausea rose and almost crashed across my throat once more, and I leapt back for the second time.

"Stay away from me!" I shrieked. Cid looked confused, startled, and he held a ladle up in what seemed like surrender.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"What the hell is going on in here?" Barret had stuck his head through the door, and he briefly took in the tableau that we had frozen into. He looked at the arm I clutched with concern, and the worry I saw there made the battering ram hammering against the dams that were my eyes collapse, and the broken pieces mingled with the rivers voyaging merrily over the banks of my cheeks as I choked on my own pathetic wails, sobbing away my defences.

"Christ," I heard Barret mutter, and I screwed my eyes up so I didn't have to see the horror on their faces. I felt hands pushing me towards the stairs that led into the flat, and I tremblingly climbed the stairs, slowly and with shaking precision, feeling pathetic and weak as a kitten.

The hands pushed me down into a chair, and my childish sobs began to reside as something cool was pressed against the burn on my arm. Soon I was just snivelling and hiccupping, my bandaged hand clenched and throbbing.

So much for not being a child.

"What the hell has gotten into you, Tifa?"

Barret. Of course, this was his flat after all. I kept my eyes screwed tightly shut, listening to his steady breathing as he did something to the welt on my arm. I saw myself as a six year old, sat on the kitchen table as she examined the minor scrape on my knee, and all the while I begged for a plaster. Plasters were a symbol of being grown up, of being tough. I felt her cool fingers wiping my knee with antiseptic that stung. Sting is good, she always said. If it stings, that means it's getting better already.

"It hurt."

"Obviously. Pretty nasty burn you got yourself here. But it's pretty unlike you to cry over this kind of thing, let alone shout loud enough to worry my customers out there. Sure, there's only two of them but hell, they were freaked out. I blame you if I lose their custom."

"Sorry." He breathed out heavily.

"Don't be. Not your fault you got hurt."

"I didn't need to shout."

"You can if it hurt."

"Right…"

"There. Done." I looked at my arm, which now had a greasy looking burn plaster sheltering the welt.

"Thank you."

"It's nothing. Why don't you go home now? I can finish everything up from here in time for dinner."

"You're sure?"

"Wouldn't say it if I wasn't; now would I?"

"Sorry."

"Stop apologising."

"Right, sorry."

He sighed heavily again. "I give up. Go home, girl."

"Tifa!" I turned to see Yuffie bounding up towards me, her hair a mess and her arms bruised.

"What's up with you?"

"Huh?"

"Your arms, they're all bruised…"

"Oh, it's nothing. Bit of an accident." She shook off my worry easily.

"What's happened to you?" She pointed to my arm, and then to my plastered hand. "You get in a fight with Barret or something?" She laughed loudly, almost too loudly, at her own joke, having to clutch her knees to support herself.

"No, I…just an accident. Like you."

"Guess we should stop being so clumsy, huh?"

I found myself grinning softly. "Guess so."

"Listen, I…I still feel really bad about all that stuff yesterday. You know, getting you in trouble with Zack for being drunk and all…"

Strange how much hung in that phrase: and all. Did she realise she had missed out the fact that I had basically been forced into a truck driven by a drugged up idiot, who ended up crashing the damn thing, practically got molested and was then forced to trudge home in the cold and rain? Or was she trying to whitewash over it all, and forget it all happened? If I was being honest with myself, I would have said that I wanted to forget about the events of that day too. So I guess I appreciated what she was doing.

"Oh…it's okay."

"No, it's not. I got you drunk, and you got in trouble for it. So, to make up for it, how's about I take you out for a drink tonight? Just you and me, no idiots involved?"

"You're trying to make it up to me for getting me drunk by taking me out and most likely getting me drunk again?"

"You know how I roll, girl." I sighed.

"Fine. Okay. Just one drink though, and no idiots. Promise?"

"Promise!"

Of course there were idiots. This was Yuffie we were talking about here. I was dim to have trusted her. I shouldn't have been in the least bit surprised when I found myself wedged into a booth between Kadaj and Yazoo, Yuffie perched on Kadaj's lap and Yazoo sulking like a little boy, because I had slapped his hands away from where they were trying to paw me under the table.

"An' then I said, no, man, you're the drunken idiot, coz you're drinking out of an empty glass!" Kadaj threw his head back, onto the top of the seats, laughing drunkenly and raucously. "An' then I punched him."

"Wow, aren't you the big man?" I muttered under my breath, duly sipping my drink.

"What choo say?" He reared his head round to stare at me, his eyes ugly with intoxication.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything."

"Thas' right." His hand rested on my leg. It was only then that I regretted wearing the short skirt I was wearing.

"Ya know, we can forget all about yesterday…" he slurred. His breath was hot and sticky across my face. "I love your brother man…hell, I might even love you, if we were to get to know each other better…" he leered at my waveringly, his grin tired and pointless. "Iss' just that Strife boy…"

"Listen, I gotta go, yeah?" I got up quickly, before anyone could say anything, and pushed past Yazoo. I got down from the booth and quickly exited the bar. My burn throbbed beneath the sleeve of my cardigan.

"Have you been drinking?"

"No."

"Then where have you been?"

"Out."

"Tifa, I really don't appreciate this sullen attitude. You're acting like a child."

I sighed. "Can I please just go to my room?"

"No! I am your father, Tifa Fair, and don't you forget it. You're fifteen. You're nowhere near old enough to be going out drinking without my consent."

"I'm fifteen, I'm an adult! Why do you care so much anyway?"

"Why do I care?" The tang of whiskey was strong tonight. Forget tang; the flavour hit me dead straight in the face. "I care because I am your father!"

"Maybe if you started to act like one once in a while…"

"Why, you-"

"Dad."

"Huh?" he swivelled round, seeing Zack leaning on the frame of the kitchen door. "What?"

"Can I borrow Tifa, please?"

Dad scowled, but relented. "Fine," he muttered, turning back to me. "But this conversation is by no means over, young lady!"

"Fine," I mumbled, pushing past him and following Zack towards the kitchen.

"Have you been drinking?" he whispered in my ear.

"No," I hissed back. Somehow lying to Zack felt very easy. "What did you want anyway?"

"Nothing, just thought I'd get you out of the line of fire."

"Well, thanks, I guess…"

Cloud was in the kitchen, and Aerith too. He was sat up on the kitchen table, one eye darkened and a big cut down one cheek. Aerith was gently dabbing at the cut with some kind of antiseptic. I wondered if it stung like it had done earlier for me.

"What happened here?" I heard myself asking. I dropped down heavily into a chair in front of a table.

"Cloud ran into Loz on his way here. Not too pretty, considering what happened yesterday."

"Oh." Cloud winced. I guessed the antiseptic had started to sting. Aerith held his head still as she cleaned the cut. "Are you okay?" I asked.

He nodded. "I'm fine, just a few cuts and bruises." He looked right up at me. "What about you? Today, at lunch…"

"Oh, don't worry about me, I'm fine!" I waved my plastered hand gaily at him, and he nodded stiffly. "The burn is tiny too…"

"What burn?" Aerith and Zack spoke in unison, and it irked me out slightly. I faltered, but regained my ability to speak fairly swiftly.

"I knocked my arm against a hot pan at work. Barret sorted it out for me, I'm fine, really." Aerith frowned.

"Can I at least see it?" I bit my lip, then slipped my arms out of my cardigan.

"Ouch," Zack hissed. The burn plaster made the weal look grotesque, multiplied in size and with a severe change in colour. An angry, viciously red, almost purple welt glared up from my arm.

"It didn't hurt too bad."

Cloud caught my eye briefly. I thought I saw something there, like discomfort, and I thought he was going to mention that he had heard me cry, but he said nothing, just looked back down at the burn again, his eyes darkened and tired.

Aerith took off the burn plaster for me, cleaned up the wound some more and reapplied a new plaster. The antiseptic stung, almost as bad as Cloud's unreadable stare.

Chibi: finished. Please review. Love you guys.