Chapter Text
“Good morning Cloud!”
The first thing Cloud wakes up to is the sound of the elevator lift whirring to life, signaling the arrival of a visitor (usually Tifa). A small and eager voice coming from his bedside is the next thing he hears after the mechanical gears stop, before he’s able to sit up or even open his eyes. It’s a voice he’s heard before, a voice he reminded himself to avoid if he could help it, lest he cause any more problems around the bar than he already has. But here it is, confronting him instead.
“...Marlene?”
“Woah, you really are awake! Say, do your glowey eyes make it harder to sleep? Is it like always having the ceiling lights on?”
Cloud blinks, slowly. Seventh Heaven’s basement remains a consistent brightness depending on which wall lights and lamps happen to be on, no matter what time of day it is, on account of the lack of windows. But if he’s waking up, that means it’s morning. Probably. Did he sleep in again? He certainly doesn’t feel very rested. And where’s Tifa?
“Tifa…”
Marlene tilts her head in puzzlement. “You want Tifa?”
Two different answers to her question collide with eachother, fighting for dominance on his tongue: saying yes the easy and direct way of just saying that one word, or saying yes the hard and avoidant way of dancing around the subject, delicately fishing for information. But describing this predicament in that way churns something in his gut. He shakes his head and groans.
“Where is she?”
Marlene looks a bit sad. “Daddy and Tifa went out real early to meet with Mr. Mulgan and Old Attercop. They’re really important people in our part of the Sector. Jessie said she had things to do in Topside, and Biggs and Wedge were s’posed to stay, but Biggs said you weren’t gonna wake up for a long time anyway, so he and Wedge left, ‘cause the Neighborhood Watch needed them. But it’s okay! I’m Tifa’s bestest kitchen assistant, and I can watch the bar all by myself!”
Without a word, Cloud burrows back into bed and rolls over to face the wall, ignoring the small confused whimper. He vaguely remembers Barret mentioning the two of them were meeting with community leaders soon, to “clear up his mess”, as the gunman put it. Stupid. He can clear up his own mess. The “incident” of tossing a pervert out shouldn’t even be a “mess” that needs clearing up in the first place. And Tifa shouldn’t have to leave her own bar so early in the morning because of him. Again.
“...Cloud? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He growls, though a pang of guilt in his chest scolds him for snapping at a small child over a simple question. He sits up, groaning at the pain in his still-sore limbs from yesterday’s monster extermination, and faces Marlene. “Listen. Your dad will kill me if he finds out we’re talking.” He reconsiders for a moment, and adds “he’ll try to kill me, anyway. He won’t. He’s not that tough.”
Marlene giggles at this, relieving the knot in his chest somewhat. “But why wouldn’t he like it?” she asks.
Cloud sniffles, feeling a runny nose coming on. Great. “We don’t see eye to eye.” He leaves it at this; if Tifa didn’t tell Marlene about his past as a SOLDIER, then he’ll keep it that way.
“But that’s just you and Daddy! I like you, and Daddy is always happy when I make new friends in the neighborhood! Come watch cartoons with me Cloud! Pretty please?”
Cloud blinks. He turns her words in his head as if inspecting a strange curio. A part of him wanted to slap himself for even considering Marlene is trying to deceive him somehow—not for the supposed cruelty of such an assumption (he’s not paranoid, of course), but for the improbability that a child could successfully trick an Ex-SOLDIER. But it made no sense why she’d ask him of all people to accompany her on anything. She did say Tifa’s other friends left her alone. If he’s the only adult left in the bar, then it can’t be helped.
He can’t help but roll his eyes. “Fine. I’ll join you upstairs in a bit.”
Today is the fourth day he’s spent at Seventh Heaven, after Tifa found him at the train station. Four days of sleeping in, greedily devouring the generous food, care and attention Tifa gives him, and...not much else, aside from dubious success as a bouncer and impromptu monster slaying at Scrap Boulevard. Pathetic. He should be doing more than that! Despite how much she urges him to rest, he was a SOLDIER, not a normal person. She knows this.
And yet. Last night, he’d been sent to the upstairs lobby before the bar opened, with Barret breathing down his neck every step of the way reminding him it was his fault today may be slower for business than usual, after the incident with Jeremy scared half the neighborhood stiff. Among many things, he lectured that if Cloud really cared for Tifa so much, he’d stay out of the lobby for the time being. Of course, Barret said nothing about him staying away from the top step of the staircase where he could sit as close to the lobby as possible while remaining out of sight, using his enhanced hearing to scan every inch of the commotion downstairs for trouble. Whenever Tifa’s unmistakable footsteps approached to check on him, he’d hear them well in advance and retreat back to the sofa and into the blanket and pillow—another part of Barret’s lecture. The gunman had set them out himself, reiterating that he doesn’t care for his dumb ass, but the battle with Great Gullet had obviously taken its toll, and Tifa will skin both their hides if Cloud ends up keeling over from it.
Cloud had meant to discreetly resume his post at the stairs each time Tifa left, in spite of the soreness in his body rebelling against this constant dance. But after she brought him dinner—another chicken soup, this time with tomato broth and a dish of toasted bread, he lost any will to leave the couch again, incapacitated by how warm it suddenly was under the blankets. Were it not for the final approach of her footsteps and her gentle voice telling him the bar’s closed, and they (as in, she will accompany him?) can return downstairs and get ready for bed, he might have decided to spend the night on that couch.
He hadn’t expected anything of course. Tifa would take the elevator right back up to the lobby once she took a look at his bandaged arm to make sure the wrappings were still intact...except she didn’t. After informing him that she left a spare toothbrush and paste in the bathroom, she began talking about her day. About shopping in the Sector 4 market, about one of her regulars, about a quite adventurous modification a patron requested for their drink, and so on. He listened intently, both of them content with the conversation flowing uninterrupted as Cloud brushed his teeth and climbed into bed, though he did not burrow into the blankets, lest it give the impression he would rather be left alone to sleep. Though Tifa did most of the talking while he, a rather poor conversationalist, offered little more than hums of acknowledgment, he felt strangely...whole. That they truly were two old friends settling into casual and inconsequential “How was your day?” talk that was neither uncomfortable nor small, for there was an affection behind it that didn’t quite fit into a “distant acquaintances” or “old childhood neighbors” shaped hole. But weren’t they just friendly neighbors? The question kept him awake, hours after she’d wished him a good night.
Cloud shakes his head. No, he fell asleep at some point obviously, so that means he’s rested plenty, he’ll be fine—he is fine. Better, even!
He sniffles again and shivers—true to the news broadcast he heard on the radio yesterday, he can hear the torrential downpour raining buckets against the walls and roof of the bar. Loud of course, but also exacerbating the already chilly weather. He glares down and slips into the fluffy chocobo slippers he’d used while cleaning the bar a few nights ago, that Tifa insisted he kept because of said chilly weather; he still hates them, though he can’t decide if it’s because of how stupid they look, or if it’s because deep down he knows Tifa should have kept them instead. She would be cold too.
Nevertheless, Cloud shambles out of bed and into the slippers, beginning to stretch his arms but gasps at the pain, very quickly allowing them to fall limp to his sides as his legs wobble like a three legged chair. He hears Barret’s loud voice in his head again, calling him a reckless idiot for picking a fight with such a notorious monster. What else was he supposed to do? Let it rampage into town? He’ll be fine soon enough, SOLDIERs bounce back quickly. Not quickly enough, he grumbles to himself. As if he’s just too…weak. But a scenario like this can’t have been rare for a SOLDIER: returning from some battle, only being allowed a short moment of respite (if he was allowed one at all) before diving headfirst back into the meat grinder. His career was no different. Wasn’t it? He remembers being sent all over Gaia, from Junon to Wutai, the Mideel region to the south...he was even sent on a mission back to Nibelheim—
Static noise screeching like shattered glass and a haze of green floods his vision. Green, and...a crackling sea of red. His senses activate on instinct. His head is pounding. Everything is red. Everything is green. Everything burns. He scrambles to the bathroom (not without barreling through a side table next to one of the couches) and makes it to the toilet just in time to vomit into it. He’s sweating, how is it suddenly so hot? It’s the smoke. How is there smoke down here? IS there smoke down here? No, it’s just hot. He’s on the floor now, wrestling his clothes off as if they were a net he’s ensnared in, and stumbles into the shower to lean against the wall, sighing in relief at the icy cold water extinguishing the sudden heat. When he exits the shower, it’s no longer too hot—now it’s too cold. He grasps a towel from the adjacent rack and collapses against the wall, shivering with raspy breathes through the cocoon he’s wrapped himself into.
Five minutes pass before he stabilizes. It’s unacceptable! He’s still on the floor, there’s a mess in the toilet, and he was supposed to meet Marlene upstairs. Look after her. Do something useful, help out around the bar, for once. The shame of it all sparks his limbs to move, as if they’d been burned. It’s no big deal. Put clothes back on, clean up, and get ready for the morning. People do this every day.
After finishing up and exiting the bathroom looking marginally less disheveled, Cloud returns to the bed to grab one of the three fleece blankets (he’d dried off the best he could, but an impromptu cold shower in an already cold morning chilled him to the bones), but he reconsiders for a moment and grabs two instead—he wraps himself tightly in the light blue chocobo print blanket like a robe and bundles the pink moogle print one into his arms to bring for Marlene. He’s been tasked to look after her for the time being, after all.
The lights are on when Cloud emerges from the elevator lift, but the lobby and kitchen are empty—at first glance. He can hear Marlene’s breathing from behind the front section of the bar, the soft shuffle of small feet adjusting a perfect position, somewhere in the very middle of the counter. He makes his way over to the stool situated in this same middle area and takes a seat. Two seconds later, Marlene bursts from behind the counter with one great leap, holding herself up by anchoring her arms onto the table’s edge.
“Good morning! Welcome to Seventh Heaven! Your own personal slice of heaven in this...um! Heck of a city we live in!”
Cloud blinks, unfazed.
“Aw man, you weren’t surprised at all!”
“Nope.”
A small pout forms on her face, though not out of anger. “Tifa told everyone you might have super hearing. You heard me behind the counter, huh!”
Cloud blinks again, fazed. “...Tifa talks about me?” This shouldn’t be surprising; everyone in the bar lives together and seem very close, so a new stranger moving in is bound to be a topic of discussion. A not very pleasant topic, he’d wager, but he didn’t care what Barret and the others thought about him. But what does she say, when he’s not there? “What else has she said?”
Marlene cups her hand around her chin, tapping her index finger against her cheek. “Hmmm…okay! It’s a secret, but I’ll tell you very quietly.” She closes her eyes with a wide cheeky smile and holds her hands behind her back, idly rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. After thirty seconds, she opens her eyes again and looks at him with an expecting stare. Cloud frowns. She tilts her head to the side. “You said you have super hearing didn’cha? So I repeated everything she told me in my head!”
“That’s—“
“Think long and hard about it, Cloud!” Marlene turns around and marches over to a lower kitchen cabinet with determination. With a world-weary sigh, he realizes she really is like her father: bold and unafraid to speak her mind. But it’s good that she’s not afraid, right? He watches her pull out two bowls, a small colorful one and a larger plain wooden one. “We’re gonna have cereal and milk for breakfast, okay?”
Right down to insulting him to his face. Silently telling him he’s useless and weak. As if he isn’t a SOLDIER for Gaia’s sake!
“I don’t need your help.”
“Huh?”
Marlene turns back to him with wide innocent eyes. Cloud flounders, her worried look pulling him back into reality. What is HE doing? Marlene is a child. Clearing his throat, he looks down. “Nothing. It’s fine.”
A bright smile returns to her face as she brings the bowls over to the bar counter. Now that she’s in front of him, he remembers the pink moogle pattern blanket he’d brought for her and holds it out without a word. The smile widens. “Awwww, so she was right, huh!”
Before he’s able to cough up what feels like a frog stuck in his throat and ask what the hell Marlene is talking about, she’s disappeared in a billow of long pink cloak. “Now it won’t just be any ‘ol cereal and milk, Cloud. You’re a good friend of Tifa’s, so that means I’ll…” Marlene runs back to his side and sidles close to him, looks around, and holds her palm to the side of her mouth, as if preparing to speak of scandals. Cloud squats to meet at her level with a raised eyebrow. “...share my secret stash! It’s in the waaaay far corner over there, on the top shelf behind the boxes of rice.”
Cloud stands up and walks over to the cabinet tucked away in the corner. Sure enough, buried deep behind tubs of grain blocked off by their own barricade of plain cereal boxes is a bright indigo box with a cartoon graphic of Stamp holding a bowl illustrating its contents: star shaped frosted wheat shapes and several different variants of colorful planet-shaped marshmallows.
“That’s it!” Marlene beams, but her expression turns serious. “But don’t tell Biggs and Wedge about it, okay? They really like sweets…”
Cloud nods, and heads towards the fridge. “I’ll pour the milk, then you pour the cereal.”
“What! Cloud, you pour the cereal in first, and then the milk!”
Cloud blinks. In his mind, he sees a glimpse of his younger self wearing a mischievous smile and deep blue eyes that gleam without mako over a bowl with a mound of corn flakes in it, but only for a moment. A similar childish upturn in his lips dares to knit into his otherwise blank expression, like a stubborn bud sprouting from a harsh and unforgiving soil. “Well, if you pour the cereal first, you’ll know exactly how much milk to pour afterwards. If you pour the milk first, who knows how much cereal you’ll need to finish it all. Could be two servings worth or more, for all you know.”
Marlene’s brow furrows briefly, then lights up. “And Daddy would say, “Sugar plum, don’t leave no drop of milk left ‘cuz it’s wasteful! Go ahead and pour extra cereal!” She laughs at the faux deep voice she uses to imitate her father.
“Yeah.” Cloud agrees, filling both bowls halfway with milk.
“And it’s just this once because today is special! Because you’re here, Cloud!”
Cloud does not look at her, turning around to return the milk to the fridge. “Nothing special about that.” He just happens to be the only adult in the bar right now to stand in as a guardian for the time being.
“Uh huh, it is! Just like Tifa said!”
He pauses halfway from placing the milk carton back on the shelf, the fridge door remaining wide open. The cool air gushing from its interior does nothing to quell the sudden heat flooding his body. Maybe he really is coming down with something. Just his luck.
“Cloud! We can’t leave the fridge open like that!”
Startled, Cloud swiftly places the milk on a shelf and slams the fridge door shut. “Right. Finished with the cereal?”
“Yup!” Marlene beams, wrapping both blanket-engulfed arms over the smaller of the bowls and bolting towards the stairs. She stops halfway up. “Cloud! Bring the rest of the cereal with you, we’re gonna need it!”
Now situated on the couch, Marlene eagerly spoons cereal into her mouth and chews with gusto, blanket wrapped around her lower body like a nest as she leans forward to watch Stamp and Friends, a popular children’s cartoon that plays in the afternoon on weekdays (right on the dot for children coming home from school) and in the mornings on weekends (right on the dot for children to watch during breakfast.) To her right, Cloud sits with his back straight, eyes focused everywhere but the television to survey for suspicious sights or sounds. Be it a stray pebble blown in from the wind colliding against the window or the wingbeats of a crow flying by, he tenses and shifts his posture forward into a barrier by Marlene’s side, the mako in his eyes brightening slightly. If a monster from very far away was still able to attack the bar once, there’s no reason it can’t happen again.
“Cloud? Are you watching? Kamu is about to tell Stamp about the baby moogle!”
“Huh?” Cloud turns his attention to Marlene, then to the television. A feline with grey fur—a design he recognizes as one of the characters from one of the decorative posters in the basement, speaks in a comically sinister voice with its red eyes aglow and fangs bared. He also realizes he’s yet to touch his cereal, and shovels a generous spoonful into his mouth. It’s very sweet, practically a dessert, but not too bad. “Right. The baby moogle.”
Marlene’s eyes widen with understanding. “Ohhh you haven’t seen this episode yet! So Kamu finds a baby moogle in the forest, and says to his brother Hagure ‘Let’s go to Stamp’s house and dangle ‘im in front of ‘em and say we’ll eat ‘im, unless Stamp coughs up one million gil’.” She uses a rather sinister voice to enunciate Kamu’s words; Cloud doesn’t realize a corner of his mouth twitching up and a quiet snort escape his mouth fast enough to stop it.
“Cats don’t eat moogles.” he replies plainly. On the television, the other feline character with black fur dives at his brother and takes the baby moogle into its jaws, but promptly spits it out into its caressing arms as it runs away on his hind legs. “See?”
Marlene giggles. “Well duh! But Kamu didn’t tell Hagure it’s a lie to trick Stamp, so Hagure thinks Kamu is stupid to eat a moogle, because everyone knows moogles are, um. Ven-geh-full—“
“Vengeful” Cloud adds, popping another generous spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “They are, by the way. If you put me in a room with a scorned moogle or a tonberry—”
She’s laughing again. “Cloud, I dunno what you’re saying with your mouth full!”
He’s about to swallow, but instead he grins. “I’ll repeat it again, in my head.”
“Cloud!”
There is no annoyance in her voice—in fact, Marlene seems more entertained with him than the cartoon. But soon enough the program captures her undivided attention again, when Hagure runs for three days and three nights, until he escapes into a small village. Cloud idly keeps up with the story, as the rain and outside noise has quieted a bit. When Hagure enters the town square, the villagers are wary and throw rocks and trash at him. He proclaims with great confidence that he will eat every last one of them, for he is very hungry from his long journey—but he will reconsider this punishment if the villagers give him a bottle of milk. He fastens his hold on the baby moogle into his fur. The cat is foolish. While it is a bad idea to directly harm a moogle, there’s no risk in leaving them alone. If he left the moogle back in the forest, he would be free to return to his brother, or run around and eat as he pleases. Why carry around a weak, defenseless thing that only slows him down?
A sudden pang in his chest pulls Cloud out of this thought, but it subsides just as quickly as it arrived. No use getting worked up about the story making sense, it’s a children’s cartoon. Case in point, a gigantic serpentine dragon descends into the village, calling for Hagure to step forward.
“Hm. He ought to run.” Cloud looks to Marlene’s bowl as well as his own, and grabs the cereal box from where he’d left it at the foot of the couch to refill them. He hands Marlene’s bowl back first before settling into the couch again. The dragon had been speaking with a stern tone directed at Hagure, but the cat does not defend itself or attempt to fight.
“That’s their daddy! Kamu and Hagure are the sons of Jagu of the Mountain, the great winged serpent. But you saw, the two argue a lot and usually foil eachother’s plans, and then Jagu of the Mountain appears to scold them, but that’s when he finds out Stamp and his friends are there too, and they battle!”
Cloud hums. “Heroes can handle anything, even if they’re outnumbered.”
Marlene laughs, nearly spitting out cereal. “Well, they’re technically the villains. Stamp and his friends are the heroes, but I like Kamu and Hagure more. They’re really funny! And Daddy says Stamp works for Shinra!”
“I see.” An uncomfortable thought in the back of his head stews. Marlene knows about Shinra? He supposes it’s impossible not to, what with the slums being right underneath their doorstep. She’s a smart kid. What else will she notice? He’s kept tight lipped enough, but. But he doesn’t work for Shinra anymore. He’s no Shinra dog.
“Do you like it, Cloud?”
Meeting the pair of wide eyes staring hopefully into his rather forlorn ones, Cloud shrugs in forced nonchalance.
“It’s candy, so it’s not bad.”
Marlene shakes her head. “Not just the cereal! I mean watching cartoons with me!”
Cloud leans back into the sofa to think. He reminisces on the snow days of his childhood: bundling up in a bright-patterned warm blanket with breakfast and family, the living room filled with the slightly-static-muffled chattering program on a small clunky box of a television and the occasional tap tap of hail (rain, in this case). It wasn’t loud though, not the kind that gave him headaches, for the house was warm, breakfast was delicious, and the company—just him and his mom, was always good. Looking to Marlene, the little girl who hardly knows him yet so readily invited him to join her morning routine, looking down at the bowl of cereal (that may be a much more sugary breakfast than he’d prefer, but it wasn’t unpleasant), and looking around the upstairs living room, at the wallpaper that’s peeling a bit but still retains its homely stripes and floral patterns, at furniture that has seen better days yet are still soft and warm as the blanket he’s engulfed in… It wasn’t the worst way to spend the morning.
“I guess.” he answers.
Marlene scoots closer. Cloud flinches—not in pain, she’s rested on his left upper arm (the only one that is unscathed). He just hadn’t expected her to want to be so friendly with him, a stranger. Let alone touch him. Let alone anyone touch him in an affectionate way.
“I like hanging out with you too, Cloud! Daddy and Tifa are usually busy, and Biggs, Wedge and Jessie usually talk about adult stuff while we watch the TV. But you’ve really been watching my show with me!”
The cartoon concludes and announces that Stamp and his friends will return “after these messages”, much to Marlene’s disappointment. She returns her full attention to her cereal. A commercial for a popular model of car plays, showing montages of a brand new sparkling mint blue vehicle speeding through freshly-asphalted streets lined with white picket fenced two story houses on either side of the road, leading into lively city streets full of tall, well-maintained corporate buildings and shopping complexes adorned with garish billboards and bright, flashing signs. The streetlights are fully operational, and the roads are packed with several modern cars and cleanly-dressed civilians.
Cloud frowns. “What...Sector is that?”
Marlene looks up to examine the commercial, squinting her eyes. “I dunno. The sky is called the Big Pizza. And everything on top of the Big Pizza is just Topside. Daddy says I’m not allowed to go to Topside.”
Cloud runs his hand through his hair. The images on screen don’t seem very familiar to him, but he would remember living above the plate, wouldn’t he? The life of a SOLDIER may have been a busy one, but no doubt he would’ve spent time in the bustling metropolis when off duty. He would’ve seen a real sky, and packed streets and marketplaces with more colors to them than several shades of brown and gray that don’t smell like rotten eggs. Wasn’t there a popular one that all the infantry guys wanted to spend the weekends at? It was called Loveless Street—
“That’s where I’ll take her, first thing after our reunion!”
Both of his hands fly to his temples. More headaches. Again. What did it matter that he didn’t recognize this particular part of Midgar in the commercial? Or much of Midgar down here, in the slums. Or any part of Midgar, for that matter!
“Cloud?”
He blinks twice, very slowly. Lowering his hands from his head, he straightens his back out of the fetal position he didn’t realize he’d twisted into, and clears his throat. Get it together.
“Just the cold weather. But I’m fine.”
The television is tuned to the morning news network now—Marlene insisted it was Cloud’s turn to pick what they get to watch next, “them’s the rules in Seventh Heaven, everyone gets a turn!” she bellowed. Her spirit dampened a little bit when Cloud settled on the local news, but she’s determined to put on a brave face, for the sake of Seventh Heaven’s sacred rules. Now he would agree, the news is boring. But a terrible realization hit him during that commercial break: he can hardly recall anything about...well. Here and now. What day it is, what season they’re in right now, or even just what is going on in the world these days. The news anchor thankfully answers some of these questions (September, in a particularly chilly and rainy Fall), but the subjects of the news itself was a different story. He nearly changed the channel when the co-anchor made an off-hand comment about repairs to Dusk Market going well, after “the incident” from a few days ago, but the main anchor was quick to change the subject, and neither seemed willing to specify the cause of said “incident”. Smart of them. Nobody in the slums wants Shinra to come knocking on doorsteps if word that one of their own went rogue escaped the relatively localized hushed gossips and made it into broadcast news. The company may be their masters, but the slums protect their own. Is he a part of that now?
Like a sudden burst of lightning, the large front doors of the bar fly open downstairs, with a booming “DADDY’S HOME, MARLENE!” and loud footsteps shuffling around. He can hear a lighter pair of footsteps walk in as well—Tifa. His first instinct is to jolt up from the couch, but—
“We’re up here, Daddy!”
Cloud freezes, as if he were trapped in the coil of a snake. He might as well have been, for Marlene is still nestled against his left arm, and doesn’t move. The heavy footfalls approach from the stairs. No other way about it, he’ll just have to face this.
“You up there too, Biggs? Got somethin’ to ask ya abou—“
Sunglasses meet mako, and freezes. Cloud maintains direct eye contact with a hard stare, a silent “I know why I’m here, I know you don’t like it, just get it over with” stare. Barret removes his sunglasses and blinks, his focus darting from him, to Marlene, then back to him.
“Daddy, I made friends with Cloud today! We had a lot of fun watching cartoons!”
Barret mumbles, tripping over his words before he’s able to decide on what to say.
“That’s…! With...ahem. Baby, where’s Biggs an’ Wedge?“
“They left.” Cloud adds. Barret whips around to him with dark eyes, his flesh fist flexing as if itching to go for his throat.
“Man, would it kill you to shut up when no-one’s talkin’ to your bum ass!?”
The mako in his eyes flickers. A fight it is, then.
“Would it kill you to not shout everything you ask me!?”
Tifa’s steps grew frantic as his voice raised to match Barret’s, and she’s barreling into the upstairs living room, panting. “Guys, please—“
“HA! Speakin’ of killin’ you—“
“Daddy? Cloud?” Despite being the quietest of the three, Marlene’s voice silences everyone as if it were the loudest and most dominant one. She looks to the television, as the news anchors talk about fruits that are currently in season, and what to look out for next week at the Sector 4 markets. “I wanna listen to the news man, it’s really important!” For as hard as she’s trying to put on a brave face, Marlene is no doubt upset to hear two grown men shout at eachother like bickering neighbors—both of them come to this realization at the same time, as they look directly at one another with strained grins, the tension from both their brows forcefully pulled into artificial polite expressions.
“Listen, kid. I did ask you politely, to please let my daughter be. It’s my job to worry about who my baby girl’s talkin’ to, y’know?”
Cloud is the first to show cracks in the fraudulent act with a twitch of his eye. Beside him, Tifa buries her face in her palm. “Guys—“
“Yes Barret. I remember you asking me so politely. But I—“ a glance at Marlene’s guilt-ridden face extinguished the heated words on the tip of his tongue. Fix it, you’re supposed to be a hero. “—just couldn’t find the cereal in the kitchen, and asked her where it was. That’s it.”
Barret blinks. His face morphs from fury to confusion, sizing him up for any sign of deception. Not that it was difficult to speak plainly and conceal any hint towards a lie—it’s an important skill in the mercenary business. Barret grumbles, seemingly finding (or not finding, in this case) what he was looking for.
“Sheesh kid, can you do anything on your own? And of course you wouldn’t listen to a damn word—“
“Language.” Cloud cuts in. He can’t help a smug grin as Barret’s mouth hangs wide open for a second. Tifa clears her throat, ready to intervene, but Barret resumes as if nothing happened.
“Worse than a four year old. Dunno why I even bother.”
“Then stop acting so bothered.”
Barret snorts, looks to Tifa, and shakes his head. “This from the chocobo-head who don’t even know how to make a bowl of cereal without my lil’ angel’s help!”
“Yeah. Couldn’t have done it without her.” Cloud deadpans, rolling his eyes. Now Barret is really belly-laughing, but Marlene’s face is still wrought with anxiety. Her eyes meet Cloud’s, a silent plea to tell her whether it was really okay to lie to her father like this. Cloud’s own face softens, and he gives her a quick nod, an “it’ll be our secret” nod. Whether or not it was his reassurance or Barret’s infectious energy that sways Marlene to join her father in his merriment, it didn’t matter. Barret is all too eager to scoop up Marlene with one sweep of his flesh arm and perch her on his shoulder, whispering something about “father-daughter morning” at the park, leaving Cloud and Tifa alone to stare at eachother with wide, questioning eyes. Before it devolves completely into a staring contest, Tifa sighs and joins him on the couch. She sits a few inches away from him.
“So…” she starts, her eyes scanning the table where the empty bowls sit, down to Marlene’s cereal box, then back to him. “Fun morning?”
Cloud shrugs, looking at the wall. “Marlene’s alright.”
Tifa chuckles. His eyes can’t help but move to her face, inches away.
“Sorry, I forgot to tell you the talk with the community leaders was today. But I think it went well! Mulgan and Attercop agreed to meet in the town square, so there were plenty of others around to hear Barret rally with me about how Sector 7 could use a strong, brave mercenary who isn’t with Shinra anymore in its workforce. He’s definitely better at public speaking than me.”
Cloud raises an eyebrow. “Really. Barret said nice things about me.”
She nods tentatively, though with a crooked smile while folding her arms together. So not too nice. Whatever.
“I’m shocked.” He spoke in complete monotone, yet she chuckles again. He didn’t say anything funny. Maybe that’s okay. He should say more things that aren’t funny.
“Asking nicely goes a long way.”
Cloud rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure.” Except a thought dawns on him, and he sits up from the couch, shedding the blanket in spite of the sudden chill. He hardly feels it, with the newfound fire flickering in his spirit. “Wait. If it went well, then that means my reputation is clear.”
Tifa’s expression falls, just a bit. “For the most part, yes. But—“
“Right. I’m going to look for work.” Finally. Finally, he can stand on his own two feet and prove his usefulness. Make his own money. Pay Tifa back for everything she’s done.
“Purchase a train ticket to Sector 5!”
He supposes it wouldn’t hurt to look for extra work outside of Sector 7, where his reputation would already be a clean slate. Why didn’t he do this before?
“Cloud!”
“Tifa?” Her voice, tainted with a hint of distress, petrifies him on the spot. He turns around to study her, she looks sad again. But that can’t be right. A man of his skills will surely find work somewhere in the slums—she said it herself, that he’s a capable independent mercenary. She also said not to worry about settling a tab. But he has to, it’s only fair.
“I...it’s a shame you couldn’t go shopping with us to Sector 4 yesterday, right? The weather’s getting colder, so you’ll want some warmer clothes, maybe extra socks… Oh, we should get you a PHS too!”
Cloud blinks twice, unsure of where this is coming from. “It’s raining.”
“You were just about to go out there in the rain to look for work.” Her words may seem accusatory, but they lack the bite. She still looks sad.
“Well, yeah. But I’ll be fi—“
“I want to come with you! To shop, I mean. I meant to pick up a few things yesterday and forgot to in all the commotion of keeping up with the guys. And besides, you do only have that one shirt. And...we have plenty of household items at the bar and don’t mind sharing, but you never know when you’ll need a spare hair brush, or want a different bottle of shampoo, right?”
She wants to go with him? Cloud couldn’t fathom why; rain aside, it wasn’t a very exciting way to spend the day. But at the same time, he couldn’t quite bring himself to say no, even if he wanted to. Did he want to say no? She’s looking directly at him, expecting an answer.
“We can go shopping.”
Her face lights up. That’s good. Tifa’s right, anyway. And yet...the thought of buying common household items carries with it the implication that he plans to stay for a while. He thought as much in his head, except that “a while” only meant “until Tifa asks him to leave”, which he’d assumed wouldn’t take very long. He’s been a useless bum for most of the time he’s been here, taking up space in the “living room” basement that most assuredly was more than just another living room, and she’d surely want that space back. But she hasn’t seemed bothered by it. Has she just been waiting for payment on a tab this whole time after all? Or did she really just want him to stay?
“Talked to her yet?”
No. She just understands the benefits of keeping an Ex-SOLDIER around, that’s it. That’s probably the “secret” Marlene “told” him when he asked her what Tifa says about him to the others. And she’s right. Despite all the setbacks, he’s the best of the best at what he does.
“I’m sensing some issues here… Shouldn’t you do something?”
Cloud sighs, raising his palm to his forehead. If nothing else, it wouldn’t do to march up to prospective clients with a splitting headache, let alone while dressed the way he currently is, still in a stupid chocobo shirt and striped boxers. Though he has no desire to buy new shampoo. He’s content with smelling like Tifa’s hair.
“Great! It’ll be good to show you around Sector 7 while we’re at it, too. I’ll just need some time to prepare tonight’s vegetable stew—I prepped most of the veggies last night, so it won’t be long ‘til I can get the slow cooker going. Mind waiting a bit before we can go?”
Cloud looks away. Right. The stew. After giving her a tentative nod, Tifa gets up from the sofa to meet him in the hallway, a sideways glance beckoning him to join her. He can wait, if that’s what Tifa wants.