A Day in the Life
Collection of drabbles.
l l l Part 17 l l l
Tifa grabbed the large black bag filled with miscellaneous garbage and made her way out the back door of the bar. It was just after closing time. Her feet ached from the long day, and she could feel the alcohol soaking into her skin, and imagined she could smell it sweating itself out of her body. She didn't drink it much, but she was around it so much she could practically taste it. The bar brought in good business, of which they needed the money, but she was looking forward to the day when she could say goodbye to the place and move on.
Pushing out the door and into the alleyway, Tifa trudged to the large garbage container and tossed the trash inside, wiping her hands on the cloth towel she kept at her side while she worked. Closing her eyes, she sighed slowly, taking in a deep breath, feeling the overwhelming fatigue begin to seep into her system and break through the caffeinated fog she'd created. Hands on her hips, she shook her head to clear her mind enough so that she would be able to finish up for the night.
With a slightly more awake focus, she turned around to head back inside, but stopped short when she saw the slouched yet very recognizable figure of one redheaded Turk leaning lazily against the side of the building. He was inhaling slowly from a cigarette with practiced ease. His eyes were closed and his other hand was hanging loosely by his side, resting gently against the brick. And he didn't seem to have noticed Tifa's presence at all.
It was a rare moment to get one up on the Shinra assassin. Though, if she wanted to admit it, she would bet Reno wasn't as unaware as he pretended to be.
Instead, she stood there and observed him. He seemed to be content with ignoring her presence, anyway. She'd never before had the opportunity to be this close to the man without her defenses raised. And although she was on alert, she felt comfortable enough to simply play along with his "off duty" expression.
The Turk was more haphazardly dressed than she was used to seeing—it didn't quite make him look sloppy, however—he looked tired. There were deep lines etched around his eyes, and faint circles colored beneath his lashes.
Tifa was willing to bet Reno hadn't slept in days.
Then his eyes opened. Though Tifa was standing in what could clearly be seen as his direct line of sight, he looked straight past her as if she weren't even there. Lowering his arm, he dropped the cigarette to the ground, the ember dying completely beneath the heel of his boot. Raising his other arm, he ran the palm of his hand across his brow in a pained expression, closing his eyes for another moment.
That's when Tifa noticed the blood. The back of his hand had trails of blood running along its length, ending below the cuff of his jacket. It was dark and looked as if it had already dried. Though, when Reno moved his arm away from his face, she could see it smeared across his forehead.
She knew well enough not to ask any questions. Suddenly, she was reminded of what it meant to be a Turk. And as she watched Reno turn down the alleyway and head away from the bar, she was glad he hadn't presumed her to be in his way.
With one final look at his retreating form in the distance, she made her way inside the bar, locking the door firmly behind herself.
l l l
to be continued.