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[Tifa -

Had to make a delivery in Junon. I'll be back in a couple of days.

- Cloud

In actuality, there was no delivery. Any amount of light investigation could have uncovered that truth. He knew it was a flimsy excuse, knew it wouldn't exactly cover all of his tracks. But it was the best he could come up with on the spur of the moment - and the spur of the moment for him, it turned out, had been when he was already outside, double checking that everything was packed and secure and that he had enough fuel to make the trip he actually planned on. Surely even a poorly thought out excuse was better than no explanation at all.

Highly unlikely, of course, considering just who the excuse had been made to. It had been four days since he had left. Four days of not answering his phone, of dodging each and every possible attempt at contact. And he was fully intent on waltzing back in as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't pulled the same disappearing act he had performed so many times in the past.

His mind might have been clearer, his thoughts and feelings finally aligning in the way he wanted them to. But at what cost? Some day, probably soon, she was going to get tired of him leaving. She was going to get so tired of it, in fact, that she wouldn't be waiting for him when he returned.]

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[At least this time, he gave her a warning and a vague idea of when he'd be back. She doesn't bother to check the validity of the delivery, because there's no point, and if she's honest with herself, she doesn't want to know if he's lying anyway.

She isn't really surprised when he doesn't answer the phone. As much as she wanted to think things had changed, that he'd be better at talking to her and letting her in... The past few months are still weighing heavily in her mind, and so she goes back to what she's already been doing: Focusing on Marlene and Denzel and throwing all of her free time into running the bar. That doesn't stop her from trying, though, or from struggling to push away disappointment when he inevitably fails to answer.

Maybe this is just how it's going to be. Maybe he'll just disappear whenever things get tough or he doesn't feel like talking to her about his problems. The frustrating thing is that she wouldn't mind if he needed space, or time by himself. If he would just be honest with her, and check in so that she knew he was safe...

But he doesn't. And after a few days it's just like before, where all of those doubts come creeping in, no matter how hard she tries to push them aside. What if they'd only ended up sticking together because he really didn't have anywhere else to go? Would he rather be somewhere else entirely? Most of the time, she can scold herself for being ridiculous, but every once in a while, she can't help but wonder if there's a kernel of truth to those fears.

She finds herself behind the bar, again, setting up even though she isn't set to open for hours. The kids are with Barret, and it's left her with nothing to do but think, no matter how hard she tries to distract herself by changing kegs and polishing glasses. If he's not going to answer, she should just stop calling altogether, shouldn't she? Deep down, though, she knows she'll call anyway, and leave another pointless voicemail that he might not even listen to.]

[In retrospect, perhaps four days had been a bit excessive. Another only half contemplated and thought out idea that had seemed perfectly reasonable and good at the time, but had later revealed itself to be poorly made and even more poorly executed. Four days of being alone with nothing but his own thoughts had garnered him a definite clarity he hadn't had before - but there were also some rather unpleasant side effects from becoming lost within your own mind for too long. Overthinking each and every possible outcome and path until it was twisted beyond recognition and no longer had any real chance of becoming a reality. Being over critical of each choice and each thought and each emotion. Of each and every way to go about conveying what that new level of clarity had brought him, the things it had made him realize.

Until self doubt and the knowledge that he wasn't good enough for her, wasn't everything she deserved took over and made him almost regret ever leaving at all.

She had always been there in the past, waiting so patiently for him to return. A strong, constant, unmovable force that was always right there when he needed her most, with gentle reassurance and soft reminders of who he was and why he continued to fight. A source on which to draw strength and courage, kindness and perseverance. The only reminder of an old life that had vanished long ago, gone on the wind never to return. The only one who remembered the little village tucked away within the mountains, the only one who remembered promises made under star light. The only one who had been there through everything, through every horror he had ever endured, through ever happy moment he had experienced. The one who had dove into his mind and saved him from himself.

She was everything. Hope and joy and peace. He only hoped those realizations hadn't come too late.

Fenrir's roar died away as he pulled into the space located behind the bar, cutting their engine and shoving down the stand easily with his foot. It was late afternoon by the time he arrived in Edge and the sun was sitting low in the sky, painting the clouds with brilliant shades of orange and pink. Each movement was slow, quiet, practiced - from the way he removed himself from the seat to the way he opened the back door and slipped inside. How many times had he repeated the interaction that was about to take pace? How many times had he left only to come slinking back days later, full of explanations and excuses?

Everything was quiet - it felt strange, to hear the house so empty and devoid of it's normal inhabitants. No pounding footsteps of Denzel and Marlene, no boisterous voices coming from the patrons of the bar. Only her and the clinking of glasses.]

[The bike's telltale growl is unmistakable, and for a moment, she's overcome with an odd mixture of emotions - relief and uncertainty and trepidation. The first few times he'd returned after leaving like this, she'd rushed to greet him, so glad to have him back and hopeful that he'd stay that everything else had fallen to the wayside. This time, she can't bring herself to do it. She doesn't want to hear his excuses, or even worse, have to deal with no explanation at all.

If it were just her, it might be different. As unfair as she knows it is, seeing Denzel and Marlene's pain when he leaves is so much worse. She's running out of comforting words and ways to deflect their questions, and she knows every justification she tries to give them is starting to ring hollow. There are only so many times she can tell them he's too busy with a delivery to talk.

So, she stays behind the bar, wiping down the same section for the fifth time. Barret was right when he said that she freezes up when she thinks too much, and she knows that's exactly what's happening now. What is there to say? She thought she'd made her feelings clear repeatedly, thought he'd finally gotten it. And there's nothing she can do if he doesn't want to talk to her, if he always brings his phone with him and keeps it on but blatantly ignores her. For once, maybe she should just let him approach her.]

[At first, each return had been joyous, with everyone coming to greet him and express how happy they were to have him home. Slowly, those greetings fell away, until his comings and goings were so common place that it seemed as if they were hardly even noticed. Perhaps it was better that way, for them to be able to continue on with their lives even when he wasn't there to be a part of it. For them to realize they didn't need him quite as much as they thought they did.

Wasn't that what he wanted?

You hate being alone, so let people in.

Being alone may have been easier, may have meant he had nothing left worth losing. The people you cared about most couldn't be taken from you if you had no one.

Sure you might not answer the phone, but I don't see you throwing it away either.

Why hadn't he? Because he needed it for clients. You couldn't exactly build and run a business if no one had any way to contact you. But why give her - or anyone else, for that matter - the number?

Because he liked it. He liked hearing her voice, liked knowing she was thinking about him, that his well being meant enough to her to take the time to reach out to him.

There's a tension in the air as he walks into the bar, bright eyes finding her in the empty expanse and watching her movements carefully before speaking. Judging just how disappointed and angry she might be with him.]

Hey. [His voice is calm, quiet, breaking the silence around them.] I'm back.

[Disappointed and frustrated, definitely. She's never been good at hiding her emotions, either, so it's obvious in the way she doesn't quite look up at him, apparently focused on carefully folding the rag she'd been using. It's certainly a flimsy excuse for not responding right away, but she clings to it as she struggles to gather her thoughts.

Finally, when there's no comfortable way to stay silent any longer, she sets the cloth down and leans against the back counter with a sigh.]

Hey.

[The first time she'd really lost her temper and yelled at him over this might have been when she'd found out he had Geostigma, but that certainly hadn't been the last time. She would just be repeating herself at this point if she brought it up again, and even the thought of it is exhausting.]

[How many times do you need to repeat the same thing to finally beat it into a chocobo's thick skull? Given the variables - what it was that was being repeated and what level of importance it carried - there was no actual right or wrong answer.

A hand lifts, still gloved fingers scratching gently at the area directly above his left eye. What had he been expecting, exactly? For her to yell and lose her temper and tell him all of the things they both already knew? How many times did he honestly think she would go through the whole spiel before realizing she was doing little more than wasting her breath?]

Tifa - [It falls from his lips with an outwards breath, followed by a steady pause as he contemplates which path to take, which words to say.] I can explain.

[She watches him, shifting her weight and rubbing a hand up and down her arm unconsciously. It's one of those fidgety, anxious gestures of hers, a telltale sign she's uncomfortable. There's a part of her that thinks she should be trying to seem more calm, but they've known each other for far too long for her to really hide her feelings from him.

And here comes the explanation. Despite how miserable this entire situation has made her, and despite the fact that none of his excuses ever seem to make it better, she can't help but feel a silly little rush of hope. It's stupid, but a part of her still wants to think that maybe it'll be different this time. Maybe he really does get it, and things will be better. She doesn't think she can do this again, and she isn't ready to analyze what that means just yet. Tifa hesitates for a split second, trying to shake off the feeling and prepare herself, then nods. She'll give him one last shot.]

Edited (words are hard) 2016-02-10 23:52 (UTC)

[He always came back with the intention of it being different, of fixing the things that were broken, of mending the fences that had been torn down and apart. Of building upon something that had been started so long ago, of fulfilling promises that had been formed with words and actions. Nothing ever came of it. Nothing ever moved forward. Everything just became stuck in the same relentless, never cycle until he could no longer find his way out.

There's a sense of hesitation now, just when his heart and mind have finally decided, have finally found a meeting place between what he wants to do and what he should do. Maybe he was too late. Maybe too much time and space had come between them and she had finally given up on waiting, on hoping.

Words aren't the only way.

There's a deep intake of breath as the words and memory flow into his mind, lending him the answer he sought, showing him precisely which path to take. It was easy enough to move forwards, to make his way around the bar to where she stood. To have electric blue eyes meet their matched set, to lock onto that beautiful mulled wine red. The sudden proximity and closeness giving him the strength and courage needed.]

I missed you. [It was a simple admission, said quietly and almost without thinking. But it was one that he had never made previously. One that was made in truth, in honesty, spoken directly from his heart.]

[It's the last thing she expects him to say, and she finds her breath catching. It's rare that he's this forthcoming, which is a perfect opening for her to doubt everything about their relationship, and for her to wonder if he really considers them his family at all. It's a relief to hear him say it, and she finds herself relaxing slightly, because she's missed him, too. She always misses him when he leaves, even when he does keep in touch.

Still, that doesn't change the fact that she's hurt, and it's certainly obvious in the way she studies him, frowning slightly. He missed her, but that doesn't give her any insight into why he keeps disappearing. Admittedly, there's nothing he can say that will magically fix it.]

You could pick up the phone.

[Her voice is as quiet as his, and there's no real heat behind the statement. She just doesn't understand it. Is it something she's doing wrong that keeps driving him away?]

[Could have. Should have.

There were so many things that he could have done differently, so many other paths he should have taken. Time had passed so rapidly, until his proclamations of what would happen later, in the future, some day when peace had returned and everything was as it should be. It never paused in it's march forward, until things he had intended to do tomorrow become too many yesterday's to count. Minutes became hours, hours became days. Days became months and months became years. Until promises grew old and faded and it was too late to make good on them.]

I needed some time. [It sounded so flimsy, even as it fell from his lips. A pitiful excuse, barely formed and thought through. She deserved so much better.]

[Her gaze drops from his, and she tangles her fingers together.]

Cloud...

[How many times have they had this conversation now? Too many to count, and when she sighs, there's a definite frustration to it. Her voice has a resigned edge to it, because she's not expecting any of this to make a difference.]

If you don't want me to call, then tell me. Don't just...

[Ignore her. But she doesn't need to finish that thought. He should know that it doesn't bother her if he needs time alone, she just hates that he never tells her what he wants. And it wouldn't kill him to talk to Marlene and Denzel for just a few minutes, would it?]

[Later, when he allowed himself to think back on this exact moment, he would realize the actions he took next were done completely without thought, without any sound reasoning. They were solely reactive, purely instinctive.

It was the only real explanation for why leather clad fingers were reaching out, worn tips cupping her chin gently and urging it upwards, eyes searching for hers under the fall of straw colored bangs.]

I won't. [It's said quickly, a given response to unspoken words.] I won't ignore you anymore.

[Physical contact is so rare from him that she would be shocked if he'd just touched her shoulder. This, though, is surprisingly intimate, enough that her eyes widen as they meet his and her heart skips a beat. For a moment, she's very still, silent for fear of saying something wrong. Finally, she reaches for his free hand hesitantly, fingers just brushing against his.

It's a relief to hear those words from him, and she exhales slowly, trying to just let herself believe it and push away the doubt.]

I missed you, too.

[A small smile forms across his lips, curving them upwards and sending his eyes dancing with the force of it. Fear and hesitation fall away, confidence retaking it's place at the forefront of his emotions. He had always been so sure of his welcome with her, always so secure in the knowledge that she would always take him back in, would always accept him. For a moment, brief and fleeting and terrifying, he believed perhaps he had worn it out. Perhaps he had finally stretched her patience too line and this was going to be the end of everything.

Fingers move upwards, skimming along the warmth of her cheek before pushing thick bangs away from her eyes, allowing him to look into them more clearly, to hold her attention more fully.]

I'm home. [That smile softens, just a little, taking on a hint of sadness around the edges.] I don't want to leave you anymore.

[His touch gives her the courage to take his hand, fingers lacing through his. This is far different than any of the other times he's come home, and she finds herself smiling back, relaxing into his touch even as her heart insists on fluttering in her chest. He really means it this time. He has to.]

Promise?

[Her tone is light, but she's half serious. She just needs that extra bit of comfort, that reassurance that he'll actually stay this time.]

[Breath hitches in his throat, catching painfully as the smile falls away and his eyes widen. Another promise. Another commitment. Another string of spoken words that were formed together with a certain intent, with a certain meaning. He had made her a promise once, long ago in another life, before the world had exploded and shattered into pieces around them.

And he had broken it, over and over and over again.]

I won't leave you anymore. [It's so quiet, barely above a whisper, a statement made purely for them, purely for her.]

[She didn't mean to upset him. When they'd made that promise all those years ago, it had been such an impulsive thing... She'd never expected it to weigh on him so heavily, or for him to look so taken aback now. Her smile falters, and she hesitates for just a second before leaning forward to rest her forehead lightly against his shoulder, trying to reassure him.]

Did you figure out what you needed to?

Edited 2016-02-11 03:59 (UTC)

[There was something incredibly comforting about the way she leaned against him, into him, forehead resting against the plane of his shoulder. Fingers curled into thick strands, slipping backwards towards the base of her neck, resting there for a moment before falling away.]

Yeah. [His cheek came to rest atop her head, sharp teeth sinking into the tender flesh of his bottom lip as he settled into the embrace.] I did.

[The sensation of his fingers through her hair is soothing, and while she wasn't expecting him to pull away, she certainly wasn't expecting him to reciprocate so fully, either. Tifa closes her eyes, savoring the moment for as long as she can, because this is rare, and she doesn't think it will happen again. She hums softly in response, and after a second risks slipping her free arm around him. They'll be okay. They're always okay if they stick together, aren't they?]

Good.

[She won't push him to tell her what it was. It doesn't seem to be bothering him anymore regardless.]

[Brilliant blue become hidden behind thick lashes, content in simply resting against her in the quiet peace that surrounded them. Fingers splayed out across the small of her back, the touch feather light and gentle, just enough to keep them held comfortably within the embrace.]

I thought a lot about you. [About us. But the words, simple as they may be, are lost with the next breath.]

[She shifts slightly, turning her head so that her cheek is resting against him. She wishes she could look up at him, try to read his expression, but that would mean pulling away.]

About me?

[She tries to guess at what he might mean, but nothing really seems to fit. Did he feel bad about leaving, maybe? About not answering her calls?]

[Fingers loosen their grasp as she shifts against him, fully prepared to let her go, to let her slip away from him as he always had in the past.

But then she settled back against him, cheek coming to rest against the expanse of his shoulder and the sense of peace and contentment falls back over him just as easily as it had before.]

Mm. [It's a soft sort of sound, made quietly enough for only her to hear.]

[If she pushes him, she's afraid he'll pull away from her or shut down, but she can't shake her curiosity.]

Was it... anything important?

[That gives him an out if he doesn't want to talk about it, at least.]

[Each path that had previously been so clearly and concisely laid out within his mind suddenly becomes shrouded in darkness, all of his careful contemplation and planning falling by the wayside now that it was actually a reality. Time seemed to slow, seconds turning into minutes and minutes turning to hours as he tried desperately to find the right answer, the right thing to say now that the moment had finally arrived.

It was strange to think how three letters could change everything, could cause it all to shift and become something different. Something better. It would be so easy, so simple to tell her no, to allow everything to remain as it had been. Stagnant and unyielding.]

I want things to be different.

["Different"? It's obvious now that he's not just talking about his regular disappearances. They'd already had that conversation, hadn't they?

A bit reluctantly, she pulls away enough to look up at him, her hand still in his and an arm looped loosely around his waist.]

What do you mean?

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