Tifa woke up overheated and aching.
At first, she was too groggy to remember why. She had slept hard, and it took her a moment to process her surroundings. And remember what had happened the night before.
The cause of the overheating became apparent first. The bed was crowded. Marlene, who had always been a chaotic and clingy sleeper, was to Tifa's right. Her head had somehow migrated onto Tifa's stomach, her body tucked under one of her arms. She was fully beneath the covers, like a tiny space heater.
On her left, Cloud was on top of the covers and fully dressed. He was on his stomach fast asleep, his face close to Tifa's on her pillow. His breath warm on her neck. One arm was flung across her waist and his weight pinned the blankets atop her. Between the blankets and the heat of Cloud and Marlene's bodies, Tifa was beginning to sweat.
Still, their closeness was a comfort.
The cause of Tifa's achiness came back to her as well. It was the same reason that Marlene was in bed with her, clingier than usual. And why Cloud had been holding onto her nearly as tightly as Marlene in his sleep. It was why he had climbed into bed without leaving her to change clothes or clean up.
Tifa managed to shift a little, giving herself just enough space to free her arms from the blankets. She turned her head to peer at Cloud's face beside her. There was a smudge of something on his cheek, grease or dirt. Tifa swiped at it with her thumb.
The movement made her wince. Her knuckles stung where they had split. Blood had leaked through the bandage. She pulled her hand away from Cloud's face and stretched her fingers experimentally. It had been a long time since she had fought without gloves.
It had been a long time since she had fought at all.
Her body's aching urged her to move. She was almost certain it was stiffness, more so than pain. But still, she needed to get up and stretch her limbs.
Carefully, Tifa lifted Cloud's arm and shifted away, placing his arm back down on the bed. He mumbled indistinctly in his sleep, reaching for a pillow and hugging it to him. She relocated Marlene as well, placing her head back up on the pillows and tucking her back in. Marlene did not wake either, but sighed and rolled, kicking her feet toward Cloud.
Tifa tensed, but Cloud did not move. Typically, he was a much lighter sleeper than this. Tifa was surprised she even managed to stir without him waking. But he was dead to the world, oblivious to the child's foot nearly on his face. It had been an exhausting night for all of them.
She watched him for a moment. The smudge was still there. Tifa had only managed to smear it. His face was smooshed against the pillow, mouth hanging open. Between the dirt and the depth of his slumber, he looked younger than he usually did. Peaceful, almost.
It was a stark contrast to his intensity from the night before. Cloud had been tightly wound, emotions simmering just beneath the surface. He had been unable to stand still, practically trembling as he paced back and forth. They had argued.
And then he left.
Arguing was rare for them, but it had happened before. It did not worry Tifa too much. Their fights were small fights. They never yelled. And they never stayed angry with one another. Always, they made up, quick to apologize and quick to forgive.
The fighting did not worry Tifa. But the leaving, that worried her.
He came back, Tifa reminded herself. He had. Cloud came back, drained of the anger and fear that had grated against Tifa's own emotions when he had first arrived back home. He had been his usual self, solid and comforting. It had released something in her, something she had been pushing down since the moment she had abruptly woken to the intruders.
Tifa had not known what she had needed until the moment he climbed into the bed and held her. She had not realized that she had only been pretending to be okay.
Sighing, Tifa pulled her eyes away from Cloud and Marlene's sleeping forms. She stepped into the hall, closing the door gently behind her. It was still early. She hoped they might both sleep a bit longer.
The hallway was dark, and Tifa stepped gingerly, avoiding the crumbled dry wall on the floor. They had raised these walls themselves, Tifa, Cloud, Barret, and Marlene along with the help of their neighbors in Edge. There had been a sense of excitement and most of all, hope, as they built the new Seventh Heaven and their home above it.
Tifa had gotten used to a more peaceful life. She kept busy updating Seventh Heaven's menu and managing its finances. Familiar, smiling regulars frequented the bar. Marlene filled the space with activity, running between the house and the business side of their home, leaving a trail of laughter and toys behind her.
And Cloud was here too. Sitting at a booth in the bar at night, studying maps. Trying to act nonchalant when Marlene decided she wanted Cloud, not Tifa, to tuck her in. Frowning at his hair in the bathroom mirror in the morning, shirtless and disheveled. Reaching out for Tifa in bed at night, but still blushing if he walked in on her changing in the light of day.
This life together, it was new. It was not simple or easy, but it was good. Their home was safe. There was no AVALANCHE. No Shinra. No Sephiroth. There were no enemies to hate or fight.
Besides the lingering ones in their heads, anyways. Those, they had to work through together. They could not be fought with fist or blade. Though Cloud always traveled armed, prepared for monsters, he no longer walked around with his sword always mounted on his back. Tifa kept her gloves close, but her hands were almost always bare.
Luckily though, they still remembered how to throw a punch.
Tifa shuddered, remembering the initial jolt of unfamiliar voices coming up the stairs. Rough voices, men's. They were not even trying to be quiet, too drunk or perhaps just too certain that the three of them would face no real resistance in taking what they wanted.
It had been a long time since Tifa had felt such overwhelming rage. She had flown out of Marlene's bed. Barely perceived the face of the man reaching toward the door before her bare fist was crunching against his face. The blow stunned him, but he still tried to retaliate, aiming punches at Tifa's sides.
Tifa gripped greasy hair and slammed a skull against the walls that they had so carefully constructed to make their home. He crumbled.
Behind her, Marlene's cry of fear had pulled her focus. Tifa had turned her head to shout at her to keep back, giving another one of the men an opening to backhand her across the face. He wrapped a large, untrained fist around her arm and squeezed hard, twisting cruelly.
Him, Tifa had made quick work of. She evaded his grip and deposited him down the stairs. At least one bone snapped as he tumbled down. More plaster showered the floor as he slammed into the wall below. A picture frame fell, glass shattering.
The last man attempted an attack, if you could call it that. His teeth cut across Tifa's knuckles as she dislodged a few from his face. The idiot had his knees locked. Tifa aimed a kick at them. There was a snapping sound. Blood spattered from his mouth when he screamed out in pain.
It was then that they seemed to realize what they were facing. The first man had recovered enough to grab the one Tifa had just disabled, helping him down the stairs. The man at the bottom was unconscious. They dragged him out together.
Tifa felt no pain, only fury. She took one step down the stairs to chase after them, when Marlene sobbed her name from the bedroom doorway, stopping Tifa in her tracks.
In all, the fight could not have lasted longer than a minute or two. But that was all that it had taken. Walls, picture frames, and bones were not all that had been broken. The illusion of security in their new life had shattered.
We can fix the walls, Tifa told herself, passing by a dented segment of hall on the way to the bathroom. We can make it like it was before.
In the bathroom mirror, her own face did not convince her. Bruises always looked worse the next day. Tifa sighed and splashed water on her face, careful with her cheek and the cut on her lip as she washed up. Her clothes from the night before were still heaped on the floor. It was unlike her to leave a mess of any kind, but she had been distracted. Rattled.
She picked them up now but hesitated before putting them in the hamper. They were bloodied and the collar of the shirt had a deep rip. The stains might wash out. The tear could be stitched. Once, Tifa had a closet full of clothing in Nibelheim, but life in the slums had taught her to be thrifty. It went against instinct to toss out salvageable clothing.
Still, Tifa thought she might get rid of these. She had done the same with the clothes she had once worn in battle, during their long travels. So many things had happened in those clothes. They, too, had been stained with blood. She had been glad to see them go.
Without giving it another thought, Tifa shoved the clothes into the waste bin and left the bathroom.
Tifa breezed down the stairs, ignoring the debris. Glass was the one thing she had been careful to thoroughly pick up the night before. What was left behind would not hurt her, unless she stopped to think about it.
Soft snores sounded in the living room. Junior was fast asleep in their armchair, the one that Barret favored when he stayed with them. His gun was in one hand, chin in the other. His long, skinny limbs were awkwardly folded into the chair, and it seemed like more than the usual number of knees and elbows spilled over the sides.
Tifa bit back a smile. She had a soft spot for Junior. It made Cloud grumpy at times, the way she let him linger at the bar without ordering. How he almost always got free food if he looked pitiful enough. Tifa could not help it. His goofiness and appetite always brought Wedge to mind. And there was something of Cloud in him too, in his shyness and the way he sought out his grandfather's approval, acting tougher than his sweet self.
"Good morning," Tifa sang, stepping to the side of the chair and out of the line of fire.
Knees and elbows clashed, and Junior tried to spring from the chair, but mostly got tangled in his own gangly limbs. By the time he was standing, he was blushing furiously. He tried to stand at attention, weapon in hand, but his shoulders slouched, ruining the effect. He looked like he wished he could fold into himself entirely.
He glanced at Tifa sheepishly, then flinched. He gaped, his embarrassment momentarily forgotten.
"Ouch, Tifa you look – your face is –" Tifa raised an eyebrow, and he clamped his mouth shut. "I mean, uh, g-good morning."
Tifa smiled pleasantly and tilted her head to acknowledge his greeting.
"Coffee? I was going to get a pot going while I started on breakfast."
If anything could distract Junior, it was food. He nodded eagerly. His eyes were drawn longingly toward the door to Seventh Heaven, but then he looked anxiously back toward the stairs and the dark hallway above.
"You, um, won't tell Cloud that I fell asleep, will you?"
He could not look Tifa in the eyes when he asked the question. It surprised Tifa. As far as she knew, Junior and Cloud mostly ignored one another. Then, Tifa remembered their manly exchange of plans to guard the house the night before. Plans that had excluded Tifa's input. She tried not to roll her eyes.
"Just Cloud?" she asked.
Junior fidgeted uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot. Although she was still annoyed, Tifa took pity on him.
"I won't tell Gordy either."
Tifa pressed a finger to her lips and sealed the promise with a wink. She pretended not to notice the resurgence of his blush, flaring from his neck all the way up to his cheeks. Not just Cloud or Gordy's opinion you care about, hmm? Tifa thought smugly. It seemed to her that all three men might need a reminder who it was who ran things at Seventh Heaven.
Just as the thought occurred to Tifa, Junior spoke.
"I should check in with Gramps," he said. "He's coming over with some folks to clean up. Told me to give him a call when you were awake. He said not to let you go in the garage."
"Not to let me go in my garage?"
Tifa felt that her eyebrows might float off the top of her face if she raised them any higher. Her expression and the ice in her tone had Junior slouching again, but to her surprise he held his ground.
"We all want to help, okay, Tifa?"
Did he have to say it so softly? Despite herself, she nodded, suppressing the urge to grab a broom and march into the garage.
Junior's eyes flitted from her face to the bruise on her arm. For a second, it looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he just cleared his throat. He held up his radio before awkwardly exiting, moving through the bar area to step outside.
Tifa sighed and made to follow behind him into the kitchen. If Gordy and Junior insisted Tifa not help with the cleaning, she would consider listening to them. But they could not stop her from feeding everyone.
Just as Tifa turned toward the bar, thundering footsteps sounded on the stairs behind her. Tifa turned.
Cloud was at the bottom of the stairs, pillow marks on his face and the confusion of sleep still in his eyes. He looked blearily at Tifa and tried to act casual, as if he had not woken up in a panic. Forcibly, he relaxed his shoulders and leaned against the wall. Tifa knew him too well to believe the act but chose not to comment on it.
"Morning," she said.
She, too, could pretend that nothing was amiss.
"G'morning."
Cloud's voice was croaky, like it often was first thing in the morning. A tense silence fell between them. Cloud's eyes scanned her, lingering on her injuries, as she knew they would. The rest of him was still, other than a twitch in his jaw as he clenched it shut.
It looks worse than it is, Tifa almost said to him. But she knew it was not necessary. Cloud was familiar with how bruises worked, and the dismissive words would not change the way he felt. Tifa knew Cloud too well. Even if her injuries were minor, the bruises were still evidence that Tifa had been hurt.
I'm glad you came back. Those words nearly escaped her lips as well, but she held them in. If she said them, it was an admission of her own weakness, a fear that he might not have returned to her. A revelation that despite how far they had come together, Tifa worried about their relationship.
Would you hold me again? Those words, they felt impossible. And besides, she would not be able to maintain the façade of strength if she said it. It was easy enough to fall apart in his arms at night, to hide her face in his neck and cry just a little. But Tifa had a whole day ahead of her. People would be here soon. She needed to cook. She needed to smile.
She needed to hold it together, not fall apart.
"I was going to start coffee and breakfast."
The words she said instead were superficial, matter of fact. They were words she might have said to Cloud any other morning when there was not plaster covering the floor and unspoken feelings were not dancing across his face. His throat worked, as if swallowing words of his own.
"Alright," he said. "I'll go shower."
His tone was as falsely light as Tifa's. It contrasted with the heavy look he gave her before turning to go back up the stairs.
By the time Cloud came back down, Junior was already digging into his first, but certainly not his last, plate of pancakes. Gordy would be arriving any minute. Tifa was done cooking. Stacks of pancakes and trays of eggs and potatoes were on the bar, covered to keep them warm.
Tifa looked at Cloud curiously as he slid into the booth next to Junior. He had been upstairs longer than she expected. Cloud was a quick showerer, and quick to get dressed for the day. His hair was wet, and he smelled of soap. He wore comfortable, causal clothes. He looked good, he always did to Tifa, but there was no evidence that he had taken any special care getting ready.
She wanted to ask what took him so long, but was not sure how to phrase it without sounding accusatory or nagging.
"Marlene not up yet?" she asked instead.
Cloud shook his head. "She is. She's still on the phone with Barret. I gave him a call."
His face looked a little nervous at the admission, like it often did when he took initiative with something.
Tifa, on the other hand, felt her face fall. Barret. How could I forget to call Barret? Of course he needed to be told what happened. He would be worried about Marlene. He would be furious. He might question everything, think that Marlene was not safe here with Tifa and Cloud. Tifa should run upstairs, talk to him, reassure him that –
"He's fine," Cloud said quickly.
His voice was firm. The steadiness in it stopped Tifa's spiraling thoughts. Still, she could not help but look a bit skeptical.
"He's fine now," Cloud clarified. "You know how he is. He had to get some, uh, commentary out first."
She could imagine it all too well. Sometimes, when Barret and Cloud talked on the phone, Cloud would simply sit the phone down if Barret got on a rampage. His voice, garbled by the speaker, would shout up at the ceiling until Cloud felt like dealing with him again.
"I actually talked to him." Cloud reassured Tifa, almost as if he had been reading her mind. "He settled down, I promise. I waited until he did before putting Marlene on."
Tifa almost smiled, but another worry stopped her.
"How is Marlene?"
Last night, Marlene's initial terror had not lasted. Still, she had been worked up. She had been full of questions that Tifa could not answer or did not want to. Who were they? And, what did they want? Tifa had fielded her questions for what felt like hours as she tried to get Marlene to go back to sleep.
Bad men, she had told her. They wanted to hurt us. But you know I'd never let them, don't you? Marlene did know that. She had seen it, in the ferocity of Tifa's fighting. But that had opened a whole new can of worms, as Marlene questioned Tifa about her fighting. Where she had learned it and if she could teach Marlene too.
"She seems okay," Cloud said dryly. "Better than okay, actually. I think Barret is getting a play by play of the fight. Apparently, you punched somebody's head off?"
Junior snorted over his pancakes. Tifa grimaced. She was glad that Marlene was not overly traumatized by the experience, but her enthusiasm gave Tifa pause as well. Even when housed in AVALANCHE's headquarters, Tifa and Barret had done everything they could to shield Marlene from violence.
"Not quite," Tifa replied. "I did tell her it was all only in self-defense. I'll remind her again."
Cloud nodded seriously, but Tifa could tell he was holding back a smile.
His nose twitched suddenly, and distracted, he turned his head toward Junior's plate. The pile of pancakes was dwindling. Junior shifted the plate over protectively. They were Cloud's favorite. Tifa tried to make them every Saturday. She felt a surge of tenderness at the eagerness in his eyes.
With his face turned away from her, Tifa could see that there was still a smudge of dirt Cloud had missed in the shower. It was on his jaw, just below his ear. Tifa reached out and wiped it away with her fingers, then cupped his face in her hand.
"Thanks for calling Barret."
Cloud turned from the pancakes and locked eyes with Tifa. The heat of his gaze surprised her. His eyes dipped to her lips, and for a moment, Tifa was tempted to climb over the table and into his lap to kiss him. It would not be the first time.
Out of the corner of her eye, Tifa spotted Junior trying to disappear into his plate.
She removed her hand from Cloud's face, fingers tracing across his jaw as she stood. Cloud's followed the path of her fingers, and he blinked at her from the booth, looking dazed. When he realized that she was getting up to fix him a plate, he rushed to his feet.
"Tifa don't – I can get my own –"
Small footsteps and a bright voice interrupted his stammered protests.
"Tifa!"
Marlene ran into the bar area, arms spread wide. Her socked feet slid on the slick floor of the bar. She collided with Tifa, wrapping her in a hug from behind.
Involuntarily, Tifa gasped. Pain flared across her ribs. Perhaps she had taken harder hits than she recalled. It had all happened so fast.
"Ease up, Marlene!"
Cloud's voice was sharp, not a tone he ever used with Marlene or Tifa. But it was unnecessary. Marlene had felt Tifa flinch. Her arms were already loosening, and she was moving away. Tifa balanced the plate in one hand and pulled Marlene back into a hug with the other, hand cradling her head. She stroked her hair reassuringly.
"It's alright, Marlene. You just startled me."
Marlene leaned into the embrace, returning it more gently than before.
"Tifa…" Cloud was moving toward her, his face etched with concern.
Tifa briskly nudged Marlene toward the booth and moved back toward the food.
"Have a seat!" she instructed. "You two should eat before the others get here."
She could hear Marlene obeying, chattering Junior's ear off before she even reached the booth. But she could feel Cloud still watching her. She ignored him, stacking pancakes on his plate before moving over to the other dishes.
Then, suddenly, he was right behind her. His hand came up beneath hers, prying the plate out of it. The other ghosted over her sides, the pressure of his fingers so light she could barely feel them as they danced across her ribs. She felt Cloud tense as he noted the swelling.
"I've got it. I can get Marlene's too."
Before Tifa could stop him, he was scooping food onto his plate and placing it back on the table. He came back to grab another plate for Marlene. Tifa watched him, surprised when he got the selections and portions right, choosing the cinnamon sugar pancakes with just a small pile of eggs on the side.
He glanced at Tifa over the tray of eggs. Some of the previous night's emotions had returned to his face, giving the look sharp, jagged edges.
"Would you sit down?"
His tone was softer than the hard, assessing look he had been giving her. But still, Tifa could hear the traces of anger in it. At her, or at what had happened to her, Tifa was not sure. Perhaps a bit of both.
Tifa followed him over to the booth and sat down next to Marlene. Cloud slid Marlene's plate to her but did not sit down in front of his own. Oblivious to the tension, Marlene dug happily into her food. Junior made miserable eye contact with the last bites of his pancakes, even more uncomfortable than he had been when Cloud and Tifa had almost kissed.
A plate dropped in front of Tifa, piled with more food than she wanted or needed. Cloud sat down across from her, tucking into his own food without comment.
"I already –"
Junior coughed and Tifa stopped. Her glare was lost on him as he pretended to be fully engrossed in his last bite of food. True, Tifa had not sat down and eaten a full plate of food. But she always sampled her cooking as she went. It was not a lie. She had eaten.
Their breakfast continued with Junior and Marlene doing most of the talking. Both Junior and Cloud got up for seconds. Eventually Marlene left them to play, doing her usual dash between the bar and the living room. Tifa picked at her food, irrationally annoyed at Cloud every time she took a bite. He seemed just as irritated with her every time did not.
The awkwardness broke when Gordy burst into the bar, entering from the home side rather than the customer entrance. Marlene, who had settled on the floor with her coloring books, leapt to her feet. She was grinning maniacally. Gordy always humored Marlene's rambunctiousness.
"Intruder!" Marlene shouted gleefully.
She adopted a fighting stance that was clearly an imitation of Tifa's, followed by chaotic punches and kicks that also were trying to imitate Tifa, but were closer to a drunken ballerina. Gordy put his hands up in defense, though Marlene was several feet in front of him, too far to land a hit.
"You got me, you got me!" he told her.
Marlene gave him a smug smile.
"Bet you weren't expecting that, you sick son of a bitch!"
Gordy was stunned into silence. Satisfied, Marlene dashed back into the living room.
Three pairs of eyes turned to Tifa. She felt her face heating. Just as the silence grew thick, Gordy broke it with his hearty chortle. He motioned for Tifa to scoot over. Meekly, Tifa made space so Gordy could sit.
"Sorry, Gordy. I was already planning on having a talk with her."
"Not to worry, not to worry." He waved off her apology. "Kids have their way of handling these things. Glad she at least is bouncing back from it."
Gordy raised his eyebrows and gave Cloud and Tifa each a loaded look. Even with Marlene's diversion, he had not missed that all was not well at the breakfast table. Junior sighed but said nothing. He was used to his grandfather stirring the pot.
"I'll make you a plate," Cloud said, getting up quickly. "Eggs, extra potatoes, no pancakes?"
Gordy grunted in agreement. Tifa was momentarily taken aback by Cloud's memory of everyone's breakfast orders, but then felt irritated again as she noticed Gordy looking at her critically. Cloud took his time making Gordy a plate. Tifa could have sworn he was placing the pieces of potato onto it individually.
Coward, Tifa thought.
She was jolted from her sulk when Gordy placed something on the table with a clunk! It was a potion, slightly dusty, clearly from the Neighborhood Watch's stockpile.
"Brought this for you," he said gruffly.
Tifa frowned. "We have potions."
Gordy gave her a look of exaggerated surprise.
"Do you, now? See, I thought for sure the two of you must be out or running low when Junior here said you looked like hell this morning."
Junior sputtered. "That's not what I sai–"
"We have potions," Tifa repeated. "For emergencies. This isn't one. I'm barely injured, I'll heal up on my own."
The Neighborhood Watch saw worse injuries than Tifa's on a daily basis. They never turned someone down who needed their help. And because of it, their supplies were constantly on the brink of running out. Gordy knew it, and he knew that Tifa knew it too.
Still, he rolled at his eyes at her, jerking a thumb in Cloud's direction. "And I thought he was the only stubborn ass around here."
Junior looked horrified.
"Gramps," he groaned. "You can't call Tifa a stubborn ass–"
Aware that she was proving him right, but unable to help herself now that her temper had been stoked, Tifa pushed the potion away from her. "I don't want it!"
He only lifted an eyebrow at her, his face grim. He leaned in a bit closer to Tifa and gave her the same no-nonsense stare that made brawlers scatter from the bar.
"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."
Cloud chose that opportune moment to return to the booth, letting Gordy's plate drop to the table before him with more force than necessary. He looked angry with Gordy but conflicted, like he might also agree with him. Still, he gave Gordy a dirty look, and in response, the old man put up his hands in surrender and backed away from Tifa.
Gordy began scooping food into his mouth with one hand and slid the potion across the table to Cloud with the other.
"Here you go, son."
Cloud accepted the potion but glanced at Tifa uncertainly. She frowned at Gordy, who was ignoring her entirely, engrossed in his breakfast.
"I thought that was for me," Tifa said pointedly.
"It is," he agreed. "And I want to make sure that you use it."
Gordy gave Cloud a hard look, before turning to Tifa with a gentler one.
"Consider it a thank you for services rendered to the watch, if that helps," he said.
His tone was more reasonable than before, calm and placating.
"Services rendered?" Tifa asked, bewildered.
He nodded seriously.
"They caught the men in Kalm. Early this morning. They were too messed up to get away or put up a fight. Who knows what they might have done around here or there if you hadn't taken care of them." He reached for one of Tifa's hands, giving the finger tips a light squeeze above the bandages. "It's in everyone's best interest that those fists stay in fighting shape."
Gordy's gruff voice and the gentle way his callused fingers held her own made her feel unsteady. This was exactly what Tifa wanted to avoid. She tried to push the feeling away.
She shook her head. "The watch is a volunteer organization."
"You don't volunteer for the watch!" Junior piped in.
Junior immediately flushed when Tifa's head jerked in his direction, looking like he regretted his decision to speak. But he did not back down from Tifa's gaze. She turned back to Gordy.
"You're already thanking me by cleaning up the garage."
Gordy sighed, a weary sound. It was the same sound he made when Cloud disappointed him, like when he turned down an arm-wrestling challenge. Tifa could practically hear his dramatic declaration. Lost cause, that one!
Gordy gave her hand one more pat before releasing it. He moved in on his breakfast plate with renewed vigor, continuing his lecture around mouthfuls of eggs and potatoes.
"Those people are down there now helping to clean up because they care about you. Or at least because like this little leech –" Gordy jabbed the fork emphatically in Junior's direction. "They're worried they might starve to death if Seventh Heaven closes, and they don't get to have your cooking for even a day or two."
He jerked his head toward the bar with its bottle-lined shelves.
"And some of us are especially motivated to keep this place open because we might dry up and perish if our favorite bartender doesn't serve us a cold one a few nights a week. We wouldn't want that would we?"
Gordy winked at Tifa, who was still processing the first thing he had said.
"They're down there cleaning right now?!" Tifa asked.
Mouth full of potatoes, Gordy nodded. Incredulous, Tifa motioned for him to leave the booth, so she could get out.
"I should bring them some food," Tifa insisted. "Or at least coffee. Why didn't you send them up here first?"
"They'll eat when they're done," Gordy replied.
He did not budge from his seat, blocking Tifa from leaving. Tifa huffed impatiently.
"How did you even get in anyways?" she asked. "Haven't you heard of knocking?"
Gordy exchanged looks with Cloud and Junior, before turning to Tifa. Though before he had seemed to be at least somewhat enjoying going toe-to-toe with Tifa, he seemed somber now. When he responded, his voice was careful.
"Sweetheart, you don't have much of a door left down there."
Tifa swallowed, her throat feeling suddenly dry. She had been focused on the damage to the house from the fighting, the drywall and the pictures frames. And of course, on Marlene. She had not been down into the garage yet, nor had she asked about it.
"How bad is it?"
The question slipped out of Tifa in a small voice. She kept her eyes trained on Gordy, but she could feel Cloud watching her. Gordy shook his head.
"Bad enough," he answered. "You'll need a new door and locks. And you might be out of the Corel wine for a while."
"They couldn't have drunk all of it?!"
Seventh Heaven had a healthy supply of Corel wine. Tifa had been experimenting with the recipe for months and had managed a few varieties ranging in sweetness and flavor. It was still nothing fancy, but Tifa was proud of Seventh Heaven's small collection that could accommodate most of her customers' preferences.
"No, not all of it. But they smashed up most of the bottles. And some others were ah…" Gordy cleared his throat delicately. "Soiled."
His words hit Tifa unexpectedly.
All the work that had gone into the wine. Tifa, poring over the formulas. Cloud, traveling new delivery routes to find ingredients. Nights when Cloud and Tifa got silly with one another, tipsy from testing them, trying to decide which ones would make the menu.
They had made mistakes along the way. Tifa, flubbing the ratios. Cloud, purchasing the wrong thing. But they always figured it out. And in the end, the collection was solid. It was good. It came about from weeks of effort and care, mistakes that they forgave, and laughter on the garage floor while exchanging kisses that were sticky with sugar and fruit.
Destroyed. Not even stolen or consumed but destroyed. Shattered on the floor. Despoiled. For no other reason than to be destructive and cruel.
"We'll make more."
Cloud had not spoken in some time, but now his voice brought Tifa back from her thoughts. He was staring at her from across the table, his brow puckered with concern. He was done eating and his hands were wrapped around the potion that Gordy had given him. He was gripping it tightly, the look in his eyes pleading Tifa. Let me make it better.
Tifa could feel Gordy and Junior's eyes on her as well. They want to take care of you, Tifa told herself, frustrated when she felt tears sting her eyes. She knew this all along, of course, but the thought still felt like a revelation. And that was not the point. The real question was, why can't you let them?
She could not bear to cry here, in Seventh Heaven. Here, where she was always in charge and capable, running everything and taking care of everyone. The booth felt claustrophobic suddenly, with three pairs of eyes fixed on her. Junior, anxious and sad. Gordy, grandfatherly and kind. And Cloud –
Tifa needed space. She pushed at Gordy's arm. This time he complied immediately with her silent request, standing up to let her out of the booth. Tifa heard herself make polite, rushed excuses as she bolted from the room, though she was certain none of them bought it. Still, they let her go.
She moved through the living room, making another, falsely light excuse when Marlene called out to her. Tifa ran up the stairs, too focused on getting away to dodge the plaster that stuck to her bare feet. There was a sense of relief as she reached the bathroom and shut the door behind her.
The bathroom was quiet and dark. Tifa flicked on the light, but it was a soft one that glowed warmly just above the mirror in front of the sink. The bathroom was still warm and slightly humid from Cloud's shower, the light scent of his soap lingering. She braced her hands on the counter and took a few deep breaths.
After a moment, there was a knock at the door. Tifa had been expecting it.
"Tifa?"
She took another shaky breath, not ready to speak.
"I'm coming in, okay?"
He paused, allowing her time to protest. When she did not, the door opened. Cloud came into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Tifa did not look up from the sink. But she could feel Cloud standing behind her, not yet touching her or speaking, but waiting for her to be ready. Eventually, Tifa leaned back against him. Cloud's arms wrapped around her from behind, crossing over her stomach, hands coming to rest on her hips. He held her lightly, careful of her bruised ribs.
They stood there in silence for a while. Once Tifa had relaxed entirely into Cloud, her back melted into his chest and her head leaning into his neck, Cloud reached for one of her hands. Slowly, he unraveled the bandages around her knuckles. He paused when the last layer came off, feeling Tifa flinch as the bandage stuck to the opened skin.
After the first hand was bared, he did the other, just as slowly and carefully. Once he was finished, he reached over Tifa to turn on the faucet. He nudged Tifa forward and she moved from him to wash her hands.
The water in the sink was pink as dried and fresh blood was rinsed from her knuckles. Tifa grimaced at an especially nasty cut on her right fist, likely where it had collided with one of the men's teeth. She turned the faucet off once the water ran clear.
Cloud's hands cupped her elbows, gently turning her around to face him. He backed her against the bathroom counter, his hands applying a light upward pressure that cued her to sit atop it. He moved close, standing between her legs. Carefully, he placed a hand under her right hand, and lifted it up to examine the jagged cuts.
He procured the potion from his pocket and poured some of the liquid directly onto her knuckles. Tifa hissed at the fresh sting.
"Cloud, you have to –"
"Shh," he hushed her.
He was already massaging the liquid into her hand, bending and stretching the fingers as they healed. Cloud had seen Tifa do the same to herself hundreds of times before, when she had applied a potion directly to her fists after a battle. The benefits of fast healing could be offset by a loss of flexibility, if you did not do it correctly.
Tifa closed her eyes, leaning against the mirror behind her. The potion alleviated the pain in her hands that had been just present enough to irritate her, putting her on edge since waking. And Cloud's touch was rhythmic, soothing. By the time he finished, Tifa was nearly dozing off.
Cold glass pressed against her palm, making Tifa open her eyes. Cloud bent Tifa's fingers around the potion, watching her seriously. Tifa accepted it.
It worked quickly as Tifa drank. She felt the swelling on her face go down, the discomfort in her ribs receding. Her upper arm no longer ached where it had been grabbed. Even her muscles felt better, knots releasing from where she had overextended herself.
Tifa had been right. She did not need the potion. She would have been fine to work and continue about her days without it. Perhaps a bit more stiffly than usual. But after a few days, a week or two at worst, she would have been better than ever.
That was not the point, though, she realized, as Cloud took the empty bottle from her hands. She had not needed it, but Cloud and the others wanted her to have it. There was relief on Cloud's face as he looked at Tifa, a dulling of the intense emotions that had clung to him ever since returning home in response to her call.
With his thumb, he swiped up the last of the liquid from the neck of the bottle. He cupped Tifa's chin in his palm and placed his thumb on her lower lip. The delicate skin there still had a slight cut, the barest remnants from where it had split. His thumb moved back and forth over the spot, until her lip was smooth and unmarred beneath his calluses.
He started to pull his hand away, but Tifa grabbed it, holding it to her face with one hand and reaching for his shoulder with the other. She twined her arms around his neck, and he leaned in close, brushing his lips against hers. The potion lingering on her lips tingled between them.
Much as the potion clung to Tifa's lips, she could feel the aftermath of Cloud's anger and fear clinging to him in the way he kissed her. He held her to him tighter than he usually might. There was something almost desperate in the way his hands fisted into her hair and his soft gasps when he came up for air before landing on her lips again.
Tifa thought of a thousand things she might say to him, in the privacy of the bathroom, tucked close in the safety of his arms.
I'm not used to having anyone to call. Tifa had navigated terrible moments on her own, living by herself in the Sector Seven slums as a young teen. Times that men had yelled obscenities to her in the streets, and she had run home, locking the door behind her. She would sit, terrified and alone in her sparse apartment, uncertain if she had been followed. Eventually she had learned when and how to fight back. By the time she was twenty, she could fend off a rogue with a twist of the hand. If they knew her reputation, sometimes it only took a look.
I'm used to just pushing past my own pain. Alone, she had recovered from the worst injury of her life when she had awoken in Midgar after Sephiroth had nearly killed her. Tifa had lost all of her physical strength, and most of her inner strength as well. But she had to earn money and so, she lifted boxes and stayed on her feet, ignoring the protests of her healing body. She endured on her own, even when despair urged her to give up.
I don't know how to trust anyone else to take care of me. Her parents had loved her dearly but died, leaving Tifa an orphan at fifteen. Zangan had saved her life but left her alone and injured in the slums. The men who she thought had helped her to get back on feet had exploited her, taking her hard-earned money and trapping her in poverty.
Cloud and Tifa had come so far, and still, Tifa struggled. Asking for Cloud's help felt hard, even when she knew he was eager to give it. Her own pain felt like a burden for her to bear, too much to put on Cloud or anybody else. The way Cloud cared for her, his love, was the most beautiful thing in her life. For Tifa, surely something so perfect could not last.
A click sounded as Cloud, fumbling blindly at the door behind him, finally managed to find the lock. His face was now buried between Tifa's neck, and he bit lightly at the skin there, making her gasp. It effectively stopped all her thoughts. Most of them, anyways.
"Marlene…?" Tifa asked breathlessly.
Cloud rested his forehead against her, answering her question in a distracted murmur against her skin.
"Gordy is letting her play with plaster," he said. "They'll be busy for a while."
"Sounds like trouble," Tifa replied.
"I think it's worth the risk."
Clouds hands were beginning to wander beneath her shirt. His fingers traced over each bump of her healed ribs, traveling upward. As his hands moved up, his mouth traveled down. He moved from her neck to her shoulder, to her upper arm. There, he paused.
The dark, ugly bruise was gone, but he looked at her arm as if he could still see the outline of the hand that had grabbed her. He dipped his head down. The brush of his lips against her skin was so light it made Tifa shiver.
Tifa needed him closer all of a sudden, and she tugged him back up to her lips, pulling his body flush against her own. A whisper of her doubts and fears crossed her mind, but she chased them away with her last coherent thought. It's definitely worth the risk. This, right here, is worth risking everything.
In the following days, Seventh Heaven returned to normalcy. They fixed the walls. They made more wine. Tifa returned to life with her usual energy and good cheer. Cloud had fixed her bruises and scrapes with a potion and soothed her lingering hurts with his hands and lips.
But all that Tifa had left unspoken did not go away.
What if they could not fix everything else? Cloud's tendency to blame himself for everything, running and avoiding when it all became too much. Tifa's incapability to say what she needed and to accept help, losing herself to everyone else's needs.
Sometime, late in the evenings, she watched Cloud from across the bar as she finished cleaning up. There were nights when the silence felt thick between them, and Cloud looked troubled as he sorted through maps and receipts. She knew, or at least suspected, that Cloud had unspoken doubts and fears of his own.
It was in those moments that Tifa developed a new fear, one that she did not even recognize or acknowledge at first. It grew slowly over time, a sick feeling in her stomach and an uneasiness that tightened her shoulders.
Tifa began to fear the growing silence between them. That in the silent evenings and days, she might lose him.