Sorry there's not really any action yet, but we're still in that 'development' stage of the story. No worries – stuff'll start happening soon enough! For further drabble, please see the bottom of this story.

Disclaimer: I in no way own any portion of the Final Fantasy franchise except the spiffy stuff I've purchased and the Squall plushie I snuggle with regularity. I also don't own any song by Linkin Park, especially not 'Shadow of the Day' which provides not only the chapter titles for this story but also the inspiration for this fic in its entirety. Please don't sue – I'm simply an E6 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

-BEGIN FIC-

Chapter 2
Closing the Blinds

I never dreamed that I would be listening to advice from Selphie with regularity.

Her suggestion to keep a journal was so spot-on, however, that I've decided that she deserves more than a casual listen and dismissal. Even if most of her professions are usually benign and ridiculous, she does impart some advice that even I am beginning to see the wisdom in.

It's now been two weeks since I'd attempted to unjunction Eden. Seven days have passed since the celebratory day for lovers had passed, mine having been spent with Rinoa sitting beside my hospital bed and her laughing at my professions that Garden's Jell-O was the worst thing I'd ever had to endure in my life (she was thankfully understanding that dinner and a movie were out of the question, and berated me for apologizing for not getting her chocolates like I was planning). Three days have ended following my release from Medical, Doctor K's acceptance of relinquishing responsibility for my wellbeing only being derived only by Rinoa's continued stubborn resolution to keep me out of trouble and maintain her eye on me. Today I finally went back to work and finally had to face everyone for the first time since I was admitted to our local medical professional's expert care.

They had filtered into my office one at a time today, grating on me time and time again as I attempted to figure out what all had transpired in the two weeks I'd been missing from my own personal hellhole. Granted they were all concerned, every last one of those people who I consider to be friends professing nothing but caring, but they were beginning to wear at my already thin patience.

I've never been known to be an inexhaustible well of patience and good mannerism, but I try my best. At the very least, I didn't snap anyone's head off today. That I can recall, anyway; a slip of memory I wouldn't attribute to Eden's influence, but rather simply to the hectic manner in which my day flowed and the stress of trying to piece my life back together.

I'm certain that their well-wishing, while important in that moment of time to affirm our bonds of friendship, isn't of earth-shattering importance, so I'm not going to bother wasting any more ink on the subject. Just let it be known that I did not snap at Zell that I am, in fact, no real fan of the 'delectable perfection that is the Balamb Garden hot dog' when he suggested we ditch my office and my email and my continually ringing telephone to snag a few from that 'cute pig-tailed girl' that worked with the Library Committee and promised to get him a tray.

Quistis, Xu, Zell, even Nida… I realize they all meant well. They were just eating into my day. I had infinitely more important things to attend to – I had my overflowing email inbox, my now antiquated voicemail messages, and two weeks of wedding magazines Rinoa had forced me to relinquish my evenings to in order to help her in making apparently world-shattering decisions once my eyes had healed (and she said no going back to the office until I could see straight – she'd conveniently tethered my return to work and our delving into those oddly terrifying documents together).

Selphie had been oddly subdued and grounded; the fact that she didn't skip into my office like she always did with a loud squeal of "SQUALLY!" or "Lookit my pretty new rocket launcher!" or some other exuberant nonsense on her lips had my insides instantly knotted with fear. Instead she'd walked in, her feet flat and thumping rhythmically in my thick office carpeting as she strode directly towards my desk and left Irvine to close the door behind them. At my direction she'd taken a seat and folded her hands in her lap, focusing her eyes on me without blinking. Then she'd said something I really don't want to forget.

"She told you no, didn't she?"

I know exactly what she meant. I think it must have shown on my face, because she'd nodded even as Irvine's eyes narrowed considerably after a wash of shock splashed across his features and he walked with that silent sniper's stride of his to her side.

"Doomy said the same thing to me," she'd revealed moments later. "It's why I suggested the journals, you know. Because they're always loathe to leave, and sometimes it gets hard to say no."

I'd suspected after that it would just be the now standardized routine of listening to voiced concern that I'd returned to work so quickly after my ordeal, strong professions that I could overcome Eden's power, handy promises that everyone would be at my side whenever they were needed and et cetera, but instead Selphie twisted her fingers together in her lap and Irvine laid a hand on her shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze.

"Have you been having dreams, Squall?"

If she would have asked me about that two weeks ago, I would have shooed her out of my office with a bark for her to stop wasting my time. But now…

"They seem to make it happen. Dreams," she clarified. "The longer they're in your head and the stronger they are, the more… I guess you could say prophetic? Yeah, that's right. The more prophetic dreams get. Don't know why, but it happens."

As she regaled me with stories of how she'd dreamed that she'd be in a situation she can no longer remember days before it happened back when she was twelve, I originally let myself think about how all of this was nonsense derived by a far too active imagination. But that look in her eyes…

Haunted and empty, staring straight into my soul…

"And when I first got Doomy, he told me that it was my second time with him and he'd make sure he stayed put this time." I clearly recall the weedy smile, so hopeless and huge on her lips, as she ducked her head. "Seems he was pretty right. He didn't do to me what Eden did to you, but he laughed off my attempt to push him into the hard drive and instead chugged his way deeper into my mind. I gave up trying to get rid of him when he started taking memories of my friends in Trabia and let me know what he was taking away from me."

I'd wanted to reach for her, to touch her and somehow reassure her, but with Irvine there to lightly brush her cheek with a long finger and set a hard stare at me, I didn't dare budge. "She's serious, Squall. Just sit back and listen," he'd said.

For once in my life, I did as instructed without a second thought or complaint.

"I just thought you should know. I dreamed that we'd be going to the future almost a whole week before we went. Doomy already knew it somehow. He wanted me to know what was going to happen."

Her words still linger in my head even as I write this. I tried to send these thoughts to Eden, but she refuses to speak with me directly unless its her will – unlike Shiva, she won't strike up casual conversation with me or answer my nagging questions, but simply decides upon her own time, place and topic to let her voice ravage my mind with its shrieks and apocalyptic song.

But back to what'd happened in the office, it was about the time that Selphie had finished telling me that Doomtrain had somehow warned her of our inevitable encounter with Ultimecia in her future-based fortress that my phone had rang loudly, shattering the still office air. It snapped Selphie right out of that state of empty-eyed recollection she'd seemed to be trapped in, that had me wondering what exactly Doomtrain was whispering in the depths of her mind and how intent their conversation was.

"Snack time!" she'd squeaked, her normal Selphie cheer instantly in place as she hopped to her feet and smacked Irvine's hand off of her shoulder. "Join us, why don't'cha!" she ordered with a wink. "After all, you aren't getting anything else done, right? Oh! And make sure you remember Rinny's birthday's coming up, you big doof! You forgot all about poor Sir Laguna, after all." She stuck her tongue out at me right before skipping off, boundless energy verily sparkling in her wake before she wrenched the door to my office open and vanished into the hall.

"Selphie keeps a dream journal," Irvine had imparted on me after she left my office. "Some of it's nonsense, but some of it… it's spooky, Squall. If her dream revolves around her, it seems almost probable. If she dreams the same thing more than once, it comes true in one way or another."

Even as I leaned back in my chair, directing my glower to my computer's softly glowing monitor to keep the far too observant sniper from seeing the fear I was feeling in the depths of my guts straight through my eyes, I recall dismissing him with a nod and a casual profession that it sounded interesting.

He'd not taken my thinly veiled excusal of his presence and invitation for him to leave me to my devices. Instead, he leaned over my desk, very nearly getting nose to nose with me, the brim of his hat touching my bangs.

My heart banged wildly against my ribcage as my attention was instantly drawn to him.

Stupid Galbadian cowboy… it's because he's still so unfamiliar to me. Yes we grew up together at the orphanage, but that was only for a year; and that was so washed into the sands of the past that I couldn't readily redress those times, as they'd likely been consumed and no longer existed for me. Yes he was here at Balamb and had been for months on end, but he mainly kept himself busy with Selphie, avoiding work and responsibility as if they carried the plague. And his mindset is so entirely foreign – not caring about the need of Garden for him; his usefulness to this organization, which was paramount to it remaining his home, seemed secondary in his life, whereas it was a primary concern in my own.

It was also that damned strawberry shampoo he used, just like Rinoa's. And that ridiculous drawl in his voice that made me strain to understand him at times, especially when he slipped into his region's thick slang. The close proximity didn't help any, either – the man has no respect for personal space. Even Zell has respect for personal space.

"Listen, Squall," he commanded, his voice surprisingly stern. "You're in the same boat she is. I suggest you listen to her. Of all of us, she knows the effects of GFs on the brain. Odine doesn't know anything compared to my Seffie. She's concerned, 'cause what you've got runnin' amuck in your head's a million times worse than what's parked itself in hers. So don't blow her off."

I remember telling Irvine that I understood. He'd physically dragged me away from my desk and made me go to the cafeteria to join him and Selphie for snacks.

I don't even want to know what the students at the Garden thought, seeing the resident playboy cowboy hauling me down the hallway by my t-shirt, me barely able to keep up with his extraordinarily long stride and a flush to my face as he grit his teeth together and soundlessly dragged me along.

Thanks to those two, I really didn't get much accomplished today. They ate into a lot of my available time to actually work, keeping me away from my desk and computer much longer than I was intending to be absent.

Goodness knows if I don't get things done, nothing gets accomplished. Cid's taking too many liberties with this 'Commander' position he's created.

Here I actually thought that he'd take back the administrative stuff once we were done with the saving of the world and what not. Nope, he told me that deciding where to take jobs, where to assign SeeD personnel and where to set the Garden to most expeditiously service our people was all my job now – he was taking the 'administrative road,' which I guess means marlin fishing and spending time with his wife. And I guess acting as school Headmaster every now and again to waggle his finger at the newest troublemaker before sending them back to class with their tail tucked between their legs.

Must be nice. Having someone to stick with all the dirty work, that is.

I mean I can kind of see where he's coming from – with Trabia Garden so completely out of commission that it's actually looking like it's going to take another year or two before it can service as a shelter much less an adequate training facility or base for SeeD activity, with Galbadia Garden devastated still from our battle that sank it off the coast of Centra and barely capable of lumbering from location to location and its compliment of soldiers lacking thanks to the huge losses they suffered battling our Garden and the subsequent damages their structure suffered, we were the only truly operational Garden and the only home for SeeDs in the world. Every country has their armies, but we're the only neutral force that exists anymore.

We're the only pendulum that can swing and change the fate of nations, free of alliances and obligations.

So since we're the end-all of forces, the only SeeDs in existence and therefore constantly on-call and on-site, Cid's decided that the battle-position of 'Commander' now has a resounding permanence I find supremely aggravating.

After all, he didn't give me a choice in the matter.

I know I was supposedly 'the one' who was fated to face off with Ultimecia and what not, but this is utterly ridiculous – I never imagined that I'd be spending the rest of my life immersed in paperwork and developing eyestrain by glowering at computer monitors. I imagined I'd be a bloody smear on the landscape, shat out of a geezard or something.

I was able to finally call back to a few people. The first was Laguna Loire, President of Esther, concerning SeeD providing security detail during a move of highly sensitive test equipment and controversial material from the Lunatic Pandora Laboratory to the Sorceress Memorial for permanent storage – I'd apologized for my lack of expedience in responding to his demand, and requested a firm timeframe so I could get him people as quickly as possible. Another was a returned email to a contact in Winhill concerning missing cows, informing him that I could not in good conscious go chasing UFO rumors with the limited number of SeeD I had available and would require something more substantiated than a few half-drunk eyewitnesses. The third was a delegate from Timber – a Senator, I think – who had left a message about an odd gathering of monsters around Obel Lake; I'd relayed his voicemail to a contact I have in the region (a man who owes me a favor in exchange for… something I can't recall any longer) to get me more information on the matter before I decided what to do about it. The forth and final for the day was a traveling merchant who ran goods between the restoration site of Trabia Garden and the Shumi Village who's seeking protection for his caravan owing to a rise in the snow lion and gayla populations along his route – I relayed that I would handily draft a contract with him, but we needed an idea of how much he'd be able to put forth so I could properly assign qualified personnel to him. If he could afford it, I might even go myself, if only to get myself out of Balamb for a while.

Too bad it's in Trabia, though – place is wretchedly cold this time of year. How Selphie can dance around in that icy hellhole with nothing more than a skimpy jumper and thick boots is far beyond me.

I would have kept going, but Rinoa decided enough was enough and that she'd walk into my office and forcibly dragged me away. I can't say that I was ready to offer her much in the way of resistance.

We'd had dinner – pasta delivered from her favorite downtown Balamb pizza joint with a couple of sodas – and settled onto the couch in my new suite together.

Sure is nice to be in a full sized suite now instead of the old SeeD room. I have a lounge all to myself, a bedroom large enough to accommodate a dresser and a queen-sized bed, and a head I don't have to share with anyone other than Rinoa. Never again will I awaken to have Selphie, Quistis and Zell hovering over my bed because I'm late to a team meeting and scaring me senseless when I realize all that's keeping my dignity intact is a flimsy sheet because it was too hot with the Garden's A/C being on the fritz to sleep in pajamas.

I will now record that Rinoa has settled on ivory being one of her colors. Because if it doesn't get written, it will be forgotten and we'll go through hours of deciding again. The second color awaits a second day of deliberation, currently being trapped firmly between a forest green and a burgundy red. I really would have preferred a dark blue myself, after she shot down my idea of black as being something more for a funeral than a wedding, but apparently a holiday-season wedding doesn't make blue an overly obvious or acceptable choice. Plus, she firmly stated, Selphie just wouldn't look right in blue, and she was going to be one of her bridesmaids.

I certainly hope she doesn't intend to have more than two or three bridesmaids that I have to match. Otherwise it's going to be… problematic.

I know she's got a plethora of friends from back in Delling and from her stint with the Forest Owls in Timber, but me? I've been a loner most of my life – sure, I've got a weird fanbase that clings to my heels and a lot of people I associate with, but I'd never feel comfortable asking them to participate actively in my wedding, for crying out loud. They can attend (namely because I can't legitimately stop them short of putting snipers on patrol and giving them permission to shoot to kill), but I don't really want them in the pictures.

She prattled on about who's going to be the best man and maid of honor, giving me tomorrow's task right off. Deciding on a best man. Shit.

And every time I tried to inform her tonight that our wedding's almost a full ten months away and we don't have to get everything plotted at this very moment, trying desperately to wrap my arms around her and maybe distract her with a nuzzle and a kiss to her neck right where it usually makes her melt, she'd just shoot me a look full of acid and say 'if we don't get it done now, we're going to regret it later' and instantly crush the mood.

So burgundy, forest green, Zell or Irvine, Gorgino's or Ferdinand's for catering and where exactly we're going to park the Garden, how to get Laguna to the ceremony in something resembling a suit and which chapel in Delling/Balamb/Esther/Timber we're going to book for the event have suddenly become my priorities in life, Esthar's material transfer be damned.

Even a night of satisfying sex and Rinoa's soft kisses on my shoulder as her naked body pressed against mine can't lull me to sleep. So now she's curled under the blankets, hugging my pillow and breathing softly with sleep as I finish writing today's thoughts, events and gripes.

Images of bouquets of wilted flowers, clashing colors and a waving, grinning idiot of a president in a flower-print shirt among formal-wear have haunted me so much that I haven't been able to fall asleep. Better that I accomplish something rather than nothing – writing's surprisingly more soothing than staring at the blank white wash that is my ceiling.

Well, Rinoa's stirring and looking drowsily my way, her nude form looking soft and inviting as she brushes the blankets aside and purses her lips. Maybe she can sooth me to sleep now.

The light of the newly risen sun poured viscously through the room's windows, highlighting the soft, nearly invisible streaks left by cheap cleaning solution and illuminating the hovering dust that was drifting through the lightly stirred air carried upon gentle currents produced by the low speed of ventilation fans. A sparkling, almost surreal display, that soft curtain of dust segregated the morning's rays into separate beams of light that pierced through the thin, sparse protection provided to the room beyond by curtains that did not provide perfect coverage, the gaps between separate drapes and the joining of wall and fabric evident. Sea-colored eyes watched the dance of fairy-lit particles drifting lazily through the room, blown free of the ventilation ducts in the ceiling by rise in temperature finally encouraging the thermostat to activate the air conditioning system.

With a sigh, Cloud curled a slim hand's thin fingers into his blanket and pushed it down his body. A quick shiver passed under pale skin and a brief run of chill-induced bumps marred his arms as the breath of artificially cooled air kissed his bare chest and arms. As the wear of that initial shock of cool temperature and the deprivation of the warmth his blankets had imparted upon him wore from his nerves, he swung his feet off the bed and set them on the smooth wood floor before stretching.

His eyes fell across the slender figure that slept peacefully in the bed that mirrored his own, still buried in thick blankets, swaddled in warmth. Dark hair splayed in careless array around her head and obscuring her face from view, Tifa didn't stir once as Cloud rose from his mattress with the barest of creaks following him.

A small smile lit his lips as he stood over her, watching her breath deeply and effortlessly in slumber. It had been weeks, perhaps a month, since he'd last been home, since he'd last witnessed this sight. He intended to drink in all that lay before him as thoroughly as possible, memorizing every tiny detail and committing it to his fragmented, depreciated memory.

After all, this was his new life. A life he would live, separated from the doubts and worries about his past and his questionable origins, filled instead with the recent past formed of friends, foes, a few dismal failures and equally astonishing successes. His life was not the life of the sorry little bully whose inability to attract the attention or affection of the girl he longed for lead him to crass hatred and a vow to become someone worthy of his precious next-door neighbor. His life was not the life of a clone crafted in a laboratory from the genetic material of a now twice-dead SOLDIER and an alien invader of his world. His life was not the life of a doubter, a man whose confusion over which past presented to him was truly reality stood in the way of his ability to live life in the now.

No, his life started in Midgar. When he'd felt her love and tender forgiveness surround him. When he'd seen his hero's specter smile serenely at him before granting him a departing salute and following his one true love into eternity. When he'd opened his eyes and seen the brunette who laid in the cocoon of warmth her blankets provided her cast him a soft smile of her own, outshined only by the adoration that laid deep in her doe eyes.

It was a life without a hearty or well-defined past, but he was okay with that. He'd been forgiven. He'd been deemed worthy to live. He'd been given an identity that was his own, a family to call his own, a home to call his own.

He was finally Cloud Strife. Not a figment of a girl's imagination responded to by alien genetic material, not a shadow of a forgotten boy, not a wandering, hopeless soul without any definition of self. He was himself, and he was home.

And Tifa certainly didn't need an early wake-up. She'd been up quite late the night before, entertaining the most aggravating of persons Cloud regularly was forced to consort with, waiting for him to get home. After all, he'd texted her notification that he'd be arriving some time during the current week. She'd taken it upon herself to diligently wait for him, to ensure the homestead they shared together was warm and welcoming when he arrived.

The barest brush of lips over a cheek marred by a stray tendril of soft brown hair brought a slight smile to sleeping lips and a soft sigh of contentment as arms wrapped more tightly around a soft feather-filled pillow. No action was derived from the light touch of a calloused fingertip upon that cheek that lifted that wild lock from her sun-kissed flesh and returned it to the earthen-colored halo that surrounded her.

Dressing himself as silently as he could and tossing his sleeping pants below his pillow, Cloud slid stealthily from the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Tifa didn't need to awaken until later in the day, her business not opening its doors until the late afternoon during weekdays, and he was going to ensure that he wasn't the catalyst to unwanted consciousness. Keeping his steps quiet as he progressed down the slim wooden hallway from their shared bedroom, he practically tiptoed down the stairs, narrowly avoiding the perpetually squeaky spot on the third step down.

A breath of relief escaped him as he set foot on the ground floor of their establishment and he progressed into the kitchen that existed behind the scenes of the bar and grill's substantial lobby. Routing through the fridge, he settled quickly on a bottle of water and an apple for a makeshift breakfast.

Cloud had work to do, after all. Fenrir had been run through its paces on their journey. It had developed a minor growl that was an abnormality in its usual cacophony of sounds and a vibration that spoke of loosened bolts and nuts. The desert's dust had infiltrated not only every crevice of his own body, but every nook and cranny of his dependable charge, requiring a thorough cleaning. The hot environments combined with the high driving speeds and long hours logged on the road had depleted not only his fuel supply but also aged Fenrir's oil and grease, making the frame of the bike creak and groan in protest to harsh conditions. The bike needed just as much rest and reconstitution as Cloud himself required – he wasn't about to allow its need to go unanswered. His water bottle quickly found its way into one of the massive pockets of the loose cargo pants he'd earlier donned, his apple making its way to the secure grip of his teeth and his gloveless left hand wrapping around the handle of the toolbox he kept under the sink in the kitchen even as his similarly bared right tackled the tasks of opening and closing cabinet doors and repeating those actions with the back door.

Sitting on the ground by his massive cycle, shielded from the dirt and oil of the alley's permanently discolored pavement by the very tarp he used to cover his pride and joy, Cloud kicked his black leather boots off of his feet and made himself comfortable for a long afternoon tinkering with his bike.

Time flew by without his notice, his diligence in tending to his partner in business eradicating his awareness of the rest of the world. He ignored the sensation of his white tank top clinging to his sweaty body as easily as he ignored the passage of the sun across the sky, stretching towards its peak in the sky and destroying the shadows the buildings surrounding him had earlier cast over his body to protect him from the impressive day's heat. However, the passage of people past his position never went undetected – his mind, hyperaware of his surroundings if not time and temperature, made note of every individual that passed by the entrance to the alley in which he worked. While no one would stop to bother him and certainly no stranger would think to accost the blond tending to his bike, he still found it not only difficult but also illogical to lower his constant guard.

After all, with Rufus Shinra's unsavory employees still wandering around the premises after all of this time, one could never be too careful. Regardless of the fact that they had caused no trouble for Cloud and his companions as of late and seemed to actively work with the World Regenesis Organization rather than attempting to undermine it, he still wouldn't trust those individuals as far as he could throw them. They'd proven themselves time and time again to be underhanded, scheming and dishonest so far as Cloud was concerned, and as long as he knew at least one Turk still lived, he would always be on guard.

With his subconscious attention focused on the street, Denzel didn't startle him at all when he suddenly barreled around the corner of Seventh Heaven, all smiles and laughter as he nearly bowled the blond mako warrior over. "Cloud!" he cried happily in greeting.

"Hey, Denzel," Cloud replied quietly, a shy and tiny smile turning his lips as he reached forward with his less greasy hand and ruffled the young adolescent's already wild hair.

"Eww," Denzel hissed as he felt oil spread into the wafting spikes of his hair, backing away a touch before squatting by Fenrir's front tire and watching Cloud with a huge grin. "I didn't think you were going to be back so soon. I was surprised to see Fenrir uncovered this morning."

"Why?" Cloud enquired, arching one brow even as he worked his ratchet, tightening a bolt that had come loose over the miles he and Fenrir had traveled.

Denzel shrugged loosely. "You never came back when you said you would before. In fact, you'd never give us a date, much less try and keep it."

Testing the next bolt he had set his eyes on with his fingertips, Cloud allowed another slight smile to curl his mouth. "Tifa would be upset if I were to stay away for long. She's be beyond upset if I were to miss a deadline."

A wild grin took the boy. "We all would. Glad you're back!"

Nodding, Cloud gestured with his chin towards the Seventh Heaven's front door. "Why don't you go get breakfast?"

"You mean lunch, right?" Denzel chuckled before rising and quickly dusting off his knees regardless of the fact that they'd not once contacted the ground. "C'mon, Cloud. It's not like you have anywhere to go right now. Your motorcycle can wait for a little while, right?"

Making a mental note to pick up some more grease for the scant joints on his bike, Cloud packed his toolbox and pulled his boots back on, rose from his seat and covered Fenrir once more. "Sure," he quietly intoned before hefting his toolbox and joining Denzel on his determined march into the front lobby of the bar.

He came to a halt, staring with slightly widened eyes.

Cloud hadn't expected to see any others in the bar. At least, he'd not expected anyone until the sun had finally set for the evening.

Even as Denzel hopped onto a stool and greeted Tifa with a smile and a wave, the other two inhabitants of the establishment turned to set their gazes on Cloud. One seemed to sag visibly with relief. The other tensed slightly in the shoulders,

Brown eyes meeting hazel, the black-haired man nodded politely to his brunet compatriot. "Another time, then," he stated, his voice monotone and bland as he brought an end to whatever conversation had been taking place prior to Cloud's arrival within the bar proper. Slender hands gripped the bottom hem of a well-pressed black suit jacket, tugging it neat and straight even as those brow eyes narrowed slightly, their gaze not intentionally menacing but rather strict and professional. A swift pass of a hand to brush long, perfectly straight hair behind a stiff shoulder, the Wutian departed from the table he'd been sharing with his conversational partner.

Cloud stepped aside, giving Tseng a wide breadth as he departed Tifa's establishment. After the heavy door to Seventh Heaven had swung shut, he let his stride draw him to the seat the Turk had abandoned.

"Reeve," he said with a nod of greeting.

"Ah, Cloud. It's good to have you back in town," the WRO Commissioner breathed, a genuine smile flitting across his lips.

"Trouble?" Cloud breathed, a brow arched as he put his toolbox down beside the chair he now occupied.

A thin laugh rattled Reeve's lungs as he dragged a hand with worn fingers through brown bangs touched with gray, dragging it away from his face for a moment before letting it flop lifelessly back into place and contenting himself with brushing his calloused fingers' pads over his goatee. "When is there not trouble?"

"A bad question, then," Cloud responded, narrowing his eyes slightly. "What was the issue between you and Tseng?"

Arching a brow himself, Reeve stared with critical hazel eyes at his blond companion, a frown turning his lips. "Have you not been watching the news?"

"No," Cloud simply replied, a shrug accompanying his statement.

"Ah. Then you have no idea about the attack on our oil refineries."

That statement caused Cloud's eyes to widen considerably. "Your oil refineries? Was anyone hurt?"

"Personnel casualties were minimal," Reeve grumbled, a light wave of his hand dismissing the concerned inquiry. "It's a huge production setback, though. Edge's dream of complete self-sufficiency and the world's departure from Mako-based energies have suffered quite the blow."

"They responsible?"

A series of rapid blinks preceded a frustrated sigh. "No, no. The Turks aren't responsible for the attack."

"And you can be certain of this," Cloud blandly observed, his eyes narrowed slightly as he pursed his lips, his face screaming of disbelief.

Narrowing his eyes himself, Reeve snorted. "Yes. If the word came from their employer I'd not believe it for an instant, but Tseng and I had a decent relationship at Shin-Ra. Among my former colleagues, I trust him explicitly."

"And among your current colleagues?"

"He still has my trust, Cloud. Simply because you have difficulties with the Turks-"

Cloud's sigh bordered on a growl as he glanced away to hide his true opinion of the black-ops division of Shin-Ra's considerable empire.

"-doesn't mean that they are all lying, undermining bastards," Reeve continued without interruption. "Tseng happens to be quite the trustworthy fellow, once you have a good rapport with him."

"If you say," Cloud grunted noncommittally.

"He was simply informing me that his best Turk is unavailable to assist me in suppressing these increasingly frequent strikes against our expeditions and projects. It would seem that their primary employer has that Turk otherwise occupied. Believe what you will, but know that truly the Turks are as dedicated as I am towards seeing the WRO's goals ultimately realized."

Any comment Cloud might have derived was brought to a standstill in his throat as he regarded the man before him, his brain choosing that moment to kindly remind him that, indeed, Reeve was and very much still was an executive of Shin-Ra Electric Company.

Pressing his long fingers together, Reeve glowered at his fingertips. "I simply am worried about the overhead losses we're suffering at this time. I fear our expeditions for energy sources will have to be cut back."

"You mean cutting Barrett and Red's jobs?" Cloud inquired.

"Perhaps. They're already scheduled for an excursion to start two days from today that already has its funding slated, but following that-"

Tifa suddenly pulled a chair at the table, cleanly interrupting Reeve from continuing down his path of thoughts even as she placed a large tumbler of dark, high-quality bourbon before her friend. "It'll be a nice vacation for them, don't you think? Barrett will be able to spend some quality time with Marlene."

Cloud nodded in agreement even as Reeve hummed into his fingers, his brow furrowed as his mind wrapped itself around every issue he was facing.

"Actually, I was hoping to enlist some other aid while the Turks are unavailable."

"Sorry," Cloud cut sharply, "but I'm not available either."

Tifa and Reeve both stared at him, their eyes wide with shock.

"I just got back," Cloud stated, crossing his arms over his white tank top. "I want to spend some time home before you send me out on another task, no matter how much pay you're thinking of offering me."

As a warm smile took Tifa's lips, Reeve shook his head. "Of course, of course. Simply pondering aloud is all," he stated, his voice barely hiding his disappointment. "Perhaps you can assist me in the problem persists?"

"Look me up in a month. Maybe."

Tifa reached over and lightly smacked Cloud's arm. "Cloud, come on. Reeve's a friend."

"I know. But I want to get Fenrir up and running smoothly again before I go gallivanting around the world."

A smirk and a soft chuckle escaped the WRO Commissioner. "Understood, Cloud. Of course I'd not take advantage of your generosity or friendship. If all other avenues fail, only then will I seek your aid. Is that satisfactory?"

"It's fine," Cloud agreed with a shrug.

"Excellent," Reeve stated with a smirk even as he drained his tumbler in one long, satisfied draw.

Turning his attention away from his executive friend and off-times employer, Cloud arched a brow to Tifa. "Denzel?" he questioned.

"Raiding the refrigerator," Tifa stated. "He should be back out here soon."

"You calling?" Denzel all but chirped as he returned to the main room, a pair of sodas in his hands and a plate of sandwiches carefully balanced on his forearm. Making his way to the table, he thrust one can towards Cloud even as he carefully set the remainder of his load down.

"Thanks," Cloud stated. "Don't you think that's a lot of sandwiches, though?"

"Geez, Denzel. You didn't have to use up the whole loaf," Tifa chuckled.

"Why not? I'm hungry," the boy stated, his voice flat and static as he stared at the two he considered 'family.'

Reeve was the first to laugh, even as he set his emptied tumbler down. "On that note, I believe I have quite the mountain of work to get back to. Thank you for the excellent service, Ms. Lockhart. And Cloud, thanks for at least entertaining my requisition for your assistance."

"Of course, Reeve," Tifa answered even as Cloud responded to his statement with a simple nod.

As the businessman left the establishment and the small gathering enjoyed their lunch, afternoon slowly wound its way into evening. Soon enough Tifa was turning the sign in her window and bracing the front doors of Seventh Heaven open, Denzel was retreating into the room he regularly utilized when he chose to stay the night at the establishment, and Cloud was occupying a stool at the end of the bar, every sense he had in his possession sharpened and lit as he observed the steady ruckus of the night.

With nary an incident, he sat undisturbed and unmotivated to rise from his stool for the entirety of the Seventh Heaven's business hours. Before he knew it, he was helping Tifa mop the floors and wipe the tables clean of cigarette butts, rings of perspiration from warming glasses and splattered ketchup and stray french fries.

Warmth in his heart and comfort in his mind, Cloud ran a rag over yet another table, his eyes focused on the woman who verily danced with her mop, a cheerful song hummed from her long throat as she worked.

This, after all, was now his life. The day-to-day routine, the comforting repetition, the mediocrity of ordinary living without being intertwined with earth-shattering events and 'save the world' written over his every action. Working on his bike, eating with his family, watching the patrons of Tifa's bar to ensure they don't get too rowdy and helping her clean up before returning to the warmth of his bed.

Cloud, despite it all, was pleased. He held no resignation or regret over the choices he'd made and the paths he'd followed that had finally lead him to this destination.

With a content smile, he closed the bar's blinds and turned away from the lobby to follow Tifa upstairs and into slumber.

-to be continued-

First off thanks to those who've already favorited/alerted this story! It does mean a lot. :) And as for review replies, I'm doing those on a person-by-person basis using that nifty feature fanfiction . net has now, so they won't be at the bottom of my stories anymore (unless a person reviews either anonymously, or not logged in so I have no other recourse). Spooky change, eh? So please review via logging in and what not, so I can reply personally! (if you don't have an account, go ahead and review anonymously – I don't mind, but you'll have to wait for the next chapter before a reply can be made. :) )

Anyway, thanks for continuing to read! Hopefully this chapter was adequate, even though it wasn't very exciting. The 'adventure' part of this little story WILL be coming up soon (as will the 'tragedy' bit, but that's even further down the line), so I simply ask that a little patience be had by all. Thanks again! :D