Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Reeve was a former companion in arms and a valuable ally in the effort to restore the planet but, most importantly, he was a friend. So when, in the months following the battle with Deepground, this friend confided that whispers of another global threat had emerged, Cloud felt obligated to help.

“I'll only be gone a few days,” he stated confidently, tossing an extra pair of gloves into a worn leather satchel. He paused to inspect the variety of potions lined up on his desk. “A week at most.”

Tifa watched quietly from the doorway of his bedroom, arms crossed, eyes following him intently.

“It's a simple recon mission.”

Cloud was tasked with investigating several abandoned laboratories to secure Hojo's missing files and gathering intelligence from WRO members stationed in the area. Perhaps fight a monster or two along the way. Considering some of the other favors he had done over the years in the name of friendship or saving the world, this mission was practically a vacation.

“Nothing I can't handle,” with a decisive nod, perhaps more to assure himself than Tifa, Cloud grabbed a handful of potions and deposited them into his bag.

The Remnants had been defeated, Sephiroth's return halted and the Geostigma cured. The events at the church had healed more than just Cloud's physical wounds – his memories began to unravel from those belonging to Zack. The guilt weighing on his damaged heart started to gradually recede. He learned, day by day, to let go of the past without forgetting. He learned to accept who the real Cloud was and who he could become given time. He learned to smile again.

“Marlene and Denzel can call whenever they want. You too. I'll answer.”

He had promised to go. He had promised to aid a friend. Cloud longed for the open road and to sleep under the stars and the excitement that stemmed from battle and adventure. He wanted to go.

But he had promised to stay. Cloud had promised to remain close to Edge and be ever present in the lives of Tifa and the kids. The thought of leaving now stirred up those old feelings of guilt and shame. Leaving was selfish, impractical and quite possibly dangerous. He wanted to stay.

“Tifa?”

Their relationship was somewhat...unconventional. Born of a one-sided childhood crush, his youthful infatuation with the pretty girl next-door and vow to protect her paved the way to his involvement with Shinra and SOLDIER. Fate saw fit to bring them together once more, years after Sephiroth's rampage and Hojo's experiments. Cloud's being had been too entrenched in living Zack's life then, the pull of the charming Cetra too great, for his tangled web of memories and fragile heart to take notice. An awkward sort of love triangle formed despite the slow return of his own thoughts and feelings. Aerith's untimely death only complicated matters. He had responded in the end by pushing Tifa away - casting her into the realm of friend or business partner or co-parent – yet she remained, forever patient and understanding. Whatever they were to each other now was not something Cloud could put into words. Perhaps there were no words for all that they had shared together.

Cloud let out a heavy sigh, the satchel falling to the desk in front of him. He turned around to look at her. “Say something.”

“Cloud...” Tifa started softly, the bright smile touching her lips unable to fully mask the concern in her eyes. “You're right.”

“Huh?”

“You're right. Is that so hard to believe?”

“No...”

“Reeve wouldn't have asked if it wasn't important. I trust him.”

“Tifa...”

“And I trust you. Marlene and Denzel do too.”

“I know.”

“They'll be fine. A few days is hardly any time at all. You'll be back before they've even had a chance to miss you.”

“I...”

“Cloud!” Tifa uncrossed her arms and planted her hands firmly on her hips. It was the universal sign that her mind had been made up. There would be no more discussion. “You should help Reeve. You should go.”

Tifa had made a promise too. She had promised to trust him to handle situations in his own way. To have faith that no matter where his path may lead it would always bring him back home. It seemed she was doing her best now to keep that promise.

Cloud found he felt...disappointed? He had expected Tifa to demand he turn down the assignment – to clench her fists at her side, stomp her foot and pout like she had when they were children. No. Not expected. Wanted. He wanted her to tell him not to leave. He wanted Tifa to rush toward him, hands grasping his shoulders as she pleaded with those big, expressive eyes. He would stay by her side without question. She only needed to say the words.

She didn't.

“Cloud?”

“It's decided. If everything goes well I'll see you in a week.”

Everything did not go well.

Cloud freely admitted that the first complication was of his own doing. These laboratories were in remote locations. That meant little to no cell phone service. He wandered about in the open, trying to pick up a signal, paying little mind to anything else. Two days had passed since he took off on Fenrir in the general direction supplied by Reeve. Surely Tifa or one of kids would have called him by now.

He hadn't meant to wander directly into a Behemoth. What sane person did that? By some miracle Cloud came away from the battle with only minor damage to his person. His hair and clothes were another matter entirely. The clothes could easily be replaced. His hair? That was going to take some time. The beast dropped a stardust however, so Cloud considered this chance meeting a happy accident and all-around win.

His winning streak would not last.

The first laboratory produced nothing save the coordinates for a second site. The second only provided the location of a third facility, the third leading way to a fourth, and so on and so on. Cloud crisscrossed the map, finding little of value as the hours became days and finally a week. Then two weeks.

His anger was high and his patience low when he entered a small town in the mountains to rest and refuel. Cloud planned to stay at the inn so he could enjoy a hot meal and bath (the singed hair smell still lingered). He would call Tifa to let her melodic voice lull him to sleep while she recounted every minute detail of her day. That call had become a nightly ritual.

A gang of locals had other ideas. Primarily ideas that involved robbing the new guy, oblivious to his prickly demeanor or the huge sword strapped to his back. They never learned.

An unfortunate casualty of that particular brawl was Cloud's cell phone. How it ended up shattered on the pavement was a mystery for the ages. He panicked and bought a new one immediately. The vendor shook slightly at the sight of him – sword drawn, still splattered in local blood – but completed the transaction without a word. It wasn't until Cloud had put a half day's ride between him and that grisly scene (stomach empty, hair still scorched at the tips) that he realized he didn't know anyone's phone number.

Four more weeks passed in much of the same manner. And drakes. So many drakes.

At the end of week six Cloud could handle no more. Had he the number he would have gladly called Reeve to quit directly, and cared not if the man became upset when the news finally made its way to his ears. Someone else could pick up this cold case. Yuffie was a prime candidate so long as Reeve was willing to throw enough materia her way. Cloud made a mental note to suggest just that if ever pressed on the matter.

The drive back to Edge didn't clear his head as much as Cloud hoped it might. The closer he came to home the more thoughts flooded into his already cluttered mind. Old fears (could Sephiroth have murdered everyone and set Edge aflame?) mingled with recent fears (would Marlene or Denzel be mad at him?) to create brand new fears (had Tifa finally given up on him?). That last one popped up far too frequently.

Seventh Heaven was dark when he arrived.

I'm sorry I couldn't call. I lost my phone. Yes, I remembered to buy gifts. No, those certainly aren't bite marks on my forearm. What's wrong with my hair? What's wrong with your hair?! Cloud rehearsed what he would say come morning when three pairs of questioning eyes settled on him at the breakfast table. He slowly approached the bar's back entrance.

Had Tifa given up on him? That pesky thought gnawed at his mind again. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Forgotten him? Replaced him? Found a new friend? A lover? A man who could let her know just how special she was to him? A man who would hold her close? A man who stayed without having to be asked? Was it even a man Tifa was looking for?

Cloud paused, one hand resting on the doorknob as he considered what, and who, might be waiting for him on the other side.

Chapter Text

Cloud walked as quietly as he could manage through the still bar but his footsteps were heavy and the floorboards creaked.

Heading toward the staircase he noticed the door to the “family room” was slightly ajar, a bit of light seeping out into the darkened hall. The area was meant to be used as an office or to hold excess storage. Tifa, being Tifa, had instead been determined to turn it into a room for the kids. “So they'll be closer to me when I'm in the bar,” she had reasoned. Somehow she managed to fit a sofa, threadbare carpet and cheap television set into the limited space. Toys and books soon piled up in the corners. Marlene and Denzel gladly provided the artwork – colorings of moogles, chocobos and a blonde, spiky haired fella and his motley crew of friends lined the walls. It was Cloud's favorite room.

He smiled to himself. Often times when he returned from deliveries he found Tifa in that room, TV on and exhausted from a long shift at the bar. Cloud would stare, lingering on the fullness of her lips or the delicate curve of her hip, before waking her. “Thank goodness you're home safe,” she always told him, rubbing the sleep from her tired eyes. “We missed you.”

Nudging the door open with his boot, his smiled faded.

“Cloud.”

“Vincent?” Without the red cloak Cloud barely recognized him. “What are...”

Tifa's head rested on Vincent's shoulder, lips slightly parted as her chest rose and fell with each deep breath. The arm encased in a gold gauntlet pressed Tifa against his body, hand on her hip, as she slept. His other hand held Cerberus, the triple barrel revolver pointed directly at Cloud's face.

“What are you doing?” Cloud demanded. He imagined the fear Marlene or Denzel would have experienced had they come looking looking for Tifa, in need of a glass of water or comfort from a nightmare. Both confused and irritated, Cloud did his best to maintain a neutral, unwavering tone. He was rather successful. “Put the damn gun away.”

“I heard footsteps,” A lifetime ago Vincent had been a Turk. Occasionally assignments required him to fill the role of bodyguard. That sort of training and experience didn't simply disappear once you left the job.

“Why are you here?” This late. With Tifa. On the sofa. In our family room.

“I came here to... watch television.” Vincent hesitated for a moment before lowering his weapon.

“Television?”

“Yes.”

“I didn't think you liked television.” Cloud gestured toward the TV set. It wasn't even turned on.

He couldn't recall Vincent liking much of anything, save perhaps guns, revenge and brooding in caves. It was actually a running joke among the members of their party. While the others teased Vincent mercilessly, Cloud was more sympathetic. Mainly because he himself liked swords, revenge and brooding in churches.

And whiskey. A nearly forgotten image surfaced within his mind's eye. Vincent seated at the bar. He nursed a whiskey on the rocks for the fourth time that week. Tifa hovered nearby, eyes bright and smile wide, as they chatted. Cloud had been far too preoccupied with leaving, with escaping to the church to mourn and with running away from the responsibilities of being part of a family, to put the pieces together then. The way their fingers brushed each time Tifa brought him a drink. The intimidating glares Vincent gave anyone who tried to lure her away for more than a few minutes. The increase of red cloaked gunman colorings hanging up in the family room. And Tifa.

“How long?”

Vincent arched an eyebrow but said nothing.

“How long have you been coming here to...” Cloud's gaze flickered back to the hand possessively stationed at Tifa's hip. He swore the golden fingers tightened their grip. “...to watch television?”

The other man remained insufferably silent.

“Answer the question Vincent!”

“Vincent?” Tifa repeated, voice thick with sleep. Her eyelids fluttered open. “Are you still here?”

“Tifa,” His rigid shoulders relaxed and he sank back into the well-worn cushion, finally abandoning the hold on his weapon. The corners of Vincent's mouth curved to form just the hint of a smile. He reached up to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, letting his fingertips dance across the line of her jaw. “I'm here.”

No. Not happening.

“Tifa!”

“Cloud?!” Tifa lifted her head. She twisted in Vincent's arms fully awake now, searching, eyes widening with panic when they found his. “You're back?”

“Yes,” Cloud took a couple of tentative steps forward. He was eager to yank Tifa up and lead her out of this room, away from Vincent and that sofa, carrying her if he must. Cloud swallowed, trying desperately to contain this inner turmoil, willing his face and words to betray the chaos of emotions (jealousy? rage? sorrow?) burning within his veins. He was not successful. “We should talk.”

“What's wrong? Did something happen?” Tifa untangled herself from Vincent's grasp and scrambled to her feet. A hand flew up to her mouth in horror. “Are the kids hurt? Are they sick?”

“They're fine,” He hoped it wasn't a lie, since he hadn't the opportunity yet to check.

Tifa nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. “You alright?”

“No. I mean, yes. I...don't know.” Cloud had to find a way to make sense of all that was going on in his head and heart so he could tell her before he lost his nerve. “Please. Let's talk.”

“Ok.”

“I...” Deep down Cloud knew this particular conversation was overdue. He had contemplated the things he would say and the ways Tifa would react over and over and over again, never quite expecting it to take place. Least of all with an audience. Cloud flashed Vincent a helpless look, hoping the man was still friend enough to understand and oblige.

“I'll go,” Vincent offered coolly as he stood, holstering his gun.

“Wait! You don't have to go,” cried Tifa, the panic returning once again to her eyes.

He strode across the room, despite continued protests from Tifa, a pained expression on his face. In the doorway Vincent paused, head bowed. His voice was soft, barely audible. “Whatever you decide...if in the end you are happy, I won't mind.”

“I don't understand,” Tifa furrowed her brow as Vincent disappeared down the darkened hallway. She turned to Cloud. “What's going on?”

His heart hammered dangerously within his chest. Cloud loved her – had always loved her if he were to be honest – and the realization was all at once terrifying and liberating. He existed today only because Tifa had carried him through the worst of life, without expectation or complaint. He wondered if he could ever truly convey how much she meant to him. He owed it to her to at least try.

It's now or never.

“I want you to know...” Cloud opened his mouth, a string of hastily prepared declarations of love and a life together on the tip of his tongue.

“I'm so sorry. I'll be right back,” Tifa gave him a friendly pat on the arm before she too disappeared down the hallway.

He shouldn't have followed the woman who was chasing another man but Cloud was pretty good at doing things he shouldn't. He shouldn't have waited an eternity to reveal his romantic intentions, for one. He shouldn't have underestimated the allure of a dark, brooding man with a tragic past, for another. Tifa definitely had a type.

Watching from the shadows, the scene played out exactly as Cloud's bruised heart anticipated.

Tifa blocked the back entrance, pleading with big, sad eyes for an explanation. Vincent, now donning his signature red cloak and headband, made a halfhearted attempt to convince her he was a “broken monster” who had urgent matters to attend to elsewhere. She begged him to stay.

Cloud felt as he had in the Forgotten City, limbs heavy and mind numb, forced to watch as Sephiroth descended from above to cut Aerith down. Instead of Masamune it was those damn golden fingers, tangling in Tifa's hair and pulling her in for a rough kiss. A kiss that lasted (according to Cloud's thorough calculations) an eon until the two broke apart, panting.

The dull ache inside might go away given time. Cloud would go to the church and wait.

Chapter Text

Had Tifa given up on him? That pesky thought gnawed at his mind again. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Forgotten him? Replaced him? Found a new friend? A lover? A man who could let her know just how special she was to him? A man who would hold her close? A man who stayed without having to be asked? Was it even a man Tifa was looking for?

Cloud paused, one hand resting on the doorknob as he considered what, and who, might be waiting for him on the other side.

*       *       *    

Seventh Heaven was different.

Wrong.

Cloud wasn't quite able to put his finger on how it was different. He found nothing to be out of place as he maneuvered through the lower level, poking his head into the kitchen, family room and storage closets. The bar looked as it had before his mission, save perhaps a few bottles of fancy wine on the top shelf.

He moved up to the second floor, trying to make as little noise as possible. Tifa could be a light sleeper. Some nights she heard a pin drop. Other nights she was likely to snore right through an explosion. Cloud tended to air on the side of caution. Tifa had once mistaken him for a late-night intruder and that resulted in spending the next two days in bed, icing various areas of his battered body. It was not an experience worth repeating.

Nothing was out of the ordinary in the children's room either.

Denzel had himself tangled up in the blankets, flat on his back and mouth hanging open. His side of the room was littered with books, toys, dirty clothes and candy wrappers. Marlene, thanks to many a lesson from Barrett, kept her side neat with a skill to match any soldier. Even in sleep there was a sweet smile on the young girl's lips. She hugged a stuffed moogle to her chest.

Flowers from Aerith's church sat in a crystal vase on Marlene's nightstand. They provided a distinctly calming and familiar scent to the air, but Cloud still couldn't shake the uneasy feeling deep in the pit of his stomach.

Wrong.

He tossed his bag and sword onto the bed in his own room, glancing around from corner to corner and top to bottom. It was exactly as he remembered.

That only left...Tifa.

Cloud hesitated in front of the door to her bedroom, wondering if barging in uninvited this late would be crossing some sort of unspoken line. They entered each other's personal space on occasion – when Tifa asked him to fetch a paper from her desk or she popped in with a potion for him following a particularly brutal day of monster hunting. Surely this was more of the same. Just an old friend checking on an old friend.

Right?

It had been four weeks since Cloud had heard her voice. Six weeks since he had seen her face. He found himself drawn to her, feet moving of their own volition through the darkened room, until he stood gazing down at her sleeping form.

Tifa slept on her side, one arm under a pillow and the other hanging off the edge of the bed. A black sheet covered her torso. The silken material rested low on her breasts and high on her thighs, leaving very little to the imagination. 

He felt a warm blush spread over his cheeks the longer he stood staring.

It was indecent to look upon Tifa in this state of undress. It made him no better than the lechers who ogled her daily in the bar or whistled when she walked down the street. Cloud had even indulged in pleasuring himself privately, during the long nights when loneliness became too great, often to the memory of a brief embrace or smile. He was pathetic.

Yet, he couldn't tear his eyes away. They traveled to her feet; each toenail perfectly painted. Up her legs and thighs - lean, muscular and smooth. To the pale tops of her ample breasts peeking out from the dark sheet. Finally, they rested on her face, given an ethereal glow from the moonlight streaming in from the open window.

Aerith watched over him from The Lifestream and he was happy for it. But Tifa was his guardian angel on Gaia.

Right.

His hand stretched out toward her cheek, desperate to feel the softness of her skin and to make certain such a breathtaking creature truly existed in this world.

A strangled cry escaped Cloud's lips as a shadow darted out of the darkness. It latched onto his wrist with a power so great he thought the bones within might shatter. He tried to pull his arm free but the shadow monster clung tightly to his flesh. He cursed himself for having left his sword in his bedroom.

“Touch her and I will break your neck.”

Cloud stopped struggling at the rumbling baritone. It wasn't a monster that had attacked him. It was a … man? A man sitting in bed next to Tifa. The black sheet pooling in his lap provided only the tiniest bit of modesty.

“What the…” Cloud wretched his wrist from Rude's grasp with such force that it sent him stumbling back a few steps. His heart was beating painfully in his chest as he looked back and forth between Tifa and the Turk.

Wrong. So very wrong.

“Touch her and I will break your neck,” Rude repeated, inflection as calm as if they were discussing the weather. It did not at all match the fury burning in his narrowed eyes. “Get out. Now.”

In a moment that he would likely look back on and overanalyze for months (if not years) to come, Cloud turned on his heel and ran.

Escaping to the safety of his own room, Cloud sank down onto the edge of his bed and put his head in his hands. He swallowed hard to keep the bile from rising into his throat. Tifa. With a man. In her bed. Naked. He never once suspected her being intimate with anyone. Sure, she was kind, intelligent, beautiful and a hell of a fighter. Men and women alike desired her company for more than polite conversation. Cloud's gut told him some of their closest allies – Vincent and Reeve in particular – harbored secret feeling for her. Never had she expressed an interest in anyone. Never. Never!

Or had she? Had Cloud been so caught up in his own drama that he had missed all the warning signs? While he had been living in the past had Tifa been dreaming of a bright future with her new lover?

He lifted his heard to glare at the wall in front of him. It was the wall his room shared with Tifa's. On the other side she lay in bed with Rude. Why Rude? Of anyone she could have taken to bed, why did it have to be the bald-headed Turk?

Unless...it wasn't just him. Were there others? How many?

Cloud continued to glare at the wall, contemplating Tifa's sex life and formulating a list of her potential lovers that would need eliminating. Most he would happily put down – The Turks, Rufus Shinra, that weird neighbor who leered at her each time she took out the trash. Others would be difficult – He would miss Vincent and Reeve, Yuffie was a princess so security may prove challenging and there would be no more discounts on bike parts once he slashed his favorite shopkeep in two.  Others required further investigation – Where was crazy Johnny? What was the current status of Cid and Shera's marriage? Was Barret really working on a new business venture? Was Nanaki even capable of...

On and on his thoughts went, all through the night until the sun began to rise and the whole of Edge awakened.

His brooding was interrupted by a shriek on the other side of the wall. Tifa! It took a second for him pick up his sword. Hold on! Another second for him to begin the march to her bedroom, fully intent on crossing off the first name on his new list. It was for the best. She would forgive him in time.

As Cloud debated sneaking in and catching them unaware or kicking down the door, a deep, lustful moan reached his ears. He froze. It was not a cry of fear or alarm or surprise he had heard. It was one of pleasure. Immense pleasure.

Tifa moaned again. And again, louder. It was improper. Bordering on vulgar. It sent a shudder through Cloud's entire body and a tingle to his...

Her moans were soon entwined with Rude’s carnal grunts and the slow, rhythmic sound of wood thumping against wood. It was an intoxicating symphony of sensuality.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong!

Down the stairs he fled, faster than a chocobo with a bandersnatch on its tail. Like a big, dumb bird his first instinct was always to run away.

Now finding himself in the kitchen, Cloud rummaged through the cupboards. The shelves were lined with neatly stacked items that he himself had never tried but knew from his travels were very expensive. Tins of tiny fish eggs. Jars of pickled cactuar and arcanjelly. Bags of dried rolanberries. What was Tifa doing with any of this? Had she updated the Seventh Heaven menu? Could the bar afford these sorts of ingredients? And coffee too? He grabbed a canister – fancy, imported, probably from Wutai – and set about, with slightly shaking hands, making a pot.

As the coffee brewed and filled the room with a delicious aroma, Cloud sat at the table and propped his sword within arm’s reach. He tried to focus on his breathing. Slow. Steady. He tried to focus on a pleasant memory. Tifa’s smile. Then he tried to empty his mind completely. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Cloud’s meditations were cut short by the approach of footsteps.

Rude – dressed in his usual black suit, black sunglasses firmly in place, adjusting his black tie – entered the kitchen. The Turk took a (black) mug from the cupboard and poured a cup of (black) coffee into it. Rude turned to face Cloud and, leaning casually against the counter, lifted the mug to his lips. Though they could not be seen, Cloud felt Rude’s eyes sizing him up much like an animal does with its prey.

Barrett and Cid once drunkenly pondered the Turk's obsession with sunglasses. Both agreed “that son of a bitch probably sleeps with those god damn things on”. Cid found the idea to be so hilarious that he would often bring it up when the group needed a boost of morale. How they all laughed - even managing a chuckle from Vincent – at the image. Cloud could now, on good authority, inform his friends that sunglasses were not a part of the Turk’s sleeping attire.

“It tastes…” Rude took another sip of coffee. “Bitter."

Cloud scoffed at the accusation. Never had he met someone who said so little yet implied so much. Bitter? Please. To suggest Cloud was bitter about Tifa’s early morning (and apparently late night) trysts with the Bald Nemesis was preposterous. Such a ridiculous notion. He was not bitter. Oh no. He was far from bitter. He was downright homicidal.

The clacking of heels against the hardwood floor forced Cloud to put his murderous intentions aside for the moment. His eyes slid away from Rude and to Tifa who, breezing by without noticing him, pulled a matching black coffee mug from the cupboard.

Tifa was different.

Wrong.

Her black skirt was tight, stopping just below the knee. Her white long-sleeved blouse was surely made from the finest silk. Black high heels. And she sparkled. Literally. Diamonds, no doubt. Studs in her ears and a large pendant on a gold chain around her neck. Cloud let out a great sigh of relief when he noted no such shiny diamond sparkling on a particular finger.

His sigh having caught her attention, Tifa spun around, clearly startled by the sight of him.

“Cloud?! Umm…” A slight flush colored her cheeks. “Welcome home! How was your mission?”

“Fine.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No.”

“Got any leads?”

“No.”

“Have to fight any monsters?”

“Yes.”

“How’s Reeve?”

“Fine.”

“I need to leave,” Rude announced suddenly, placing his mug on the countertop with more force than necessary. He paused in front of Tifa, wrapping an arm around her waist and leaning down to gently kiss her brow. She smiled up at him in a way that made Cloud see everything in shades of red. Rude left through the back door without another word, closing it too with more force than necessary.

“Why?” Cloud asked now that they were alone. Might as well get it all out in the open. He nodded toward the door. “Why him?”

“Why not him?”

“Why not someone nice and trustworthy. Like Barrett.”

“You want me to date Barrett?” Tifa’s eyes were as big as saucers. She looked equally shocked and appalled at the very suggestion. “Barrett?!”

“No!” Truth was, Cloud didn’t want her dating anyone. Ever. “At least Barrett is a friend and loyal. That I could understand. But Rude?”

“Rude’s good to me. He’s loyal. And kind.”

“Kind? He dropped a plate on Sector 7. Remember?”

“Of course I remember!”

“He destroyed your bar. Your home. Killed your friends and neighbors.”

“I know,” Tifa busied herself tidying up the kitchen. She began to scrub the already spotless sink. Cloud knew she always started to clean when she would rather be hitting something. In this case, him. “That was a long time ago. He didn’t decide to do that. He was only following orders.”

“If he was such a good friend and kind, he wouldn’t have followed those orders.”

“People change, Cloud! He feels terrible about what happened.”

“Sure.”

“He does. He told me.”

“I bet Biggs and Wedge would be happy to know just how bad he feels. And Jessie,” It was a low blow, he was aware of that, but Cloud felt he needed to say it. He had to make Tifa understand. “If they were still alive.”

“Stop,” Tifa tossed the sponge into the sink and turned toward him. He had expected rage to be etched on her face. Or for her to crack her knuckles in warning. He hadn’t anticipated tears. “Please.”

 “Is this the type of person you want around the kids?” Her tears gave him pause. Still, Cloud was beyond being able to stop. “Is it?”

“Rude is great with kids.”

“Doubtful.”

“He is! He’s teaching Denzel some self-defense moves to help with bullies. He even ventures into the ruins of Midgar to bring Marlene flowers from….”

Flowers?! In his mind’s eye Cloud recalled the vase of flowers on Marlene’s nightstand, calming and familiar. Her flowers. That Turk had dared to step into that sacred space and remove her flowers. Rude had defiled Aerith just as he had Tifa.

Wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Tifa wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “But she was my friend too.”

Cloud rose so quickly he knocked over his chair, the loud thud making Tifa flinch as if he had struck her. That, perhaps, hurt worst of all. He had only ever tried to do right by her. Protect her. Be a hero. Be a family. He loved her with all his being though he couldn’t find the right way to express it with words or actions.

And now she belonged to a bald, flower picking trespasser who had killed their friends.

The pain in his heart might lessen in time. Cloud would go to the church and wait.