What She Doesn't Know

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII and all of its properties belong to Square-enix, but the story is mine. Savvy?

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The night is still young when the first rain of the year has just ended. The streets are a blurry palette of color as the puddles reflect light from uncovered windows and tall street lamps. A thin layer of fog conceals the farther reaches of the city, along with the usual pollution and envelope of the night.

He looks down at his watch for the fiftieth time that minute, standing just outside the bar where she now works. He's waiting for the right minute to walk, the precise second to make his move, and soon he deems it pointless. He will just make his move and stop wasting time.

So he watches her. He figures she can't see him from this angle, or any angle, really, as she never took the time to look his way. But he can see her. Long hair swaying against her legs, twinkling eyes alert as she looks around for the next customer to help.

And yet, business is slow, as it has been the last three times he came to visit her.

She doesn't know it, but he walks in and takes a seat at the counter. Her back is turned as she fixes a drink for the patron in the third stool from him. Another female bartender, just passing from cleaning off a table in the back, smiles at him and asks what he wants.

He asks for water. No ice. He has no need for a drink, and he'll keep his mind clear.

The waitress gives him a look. He doesn't care; he is used to getting looks. But she pours him a tall glass anyway.

She doesn't know it, but he leaves a check, the corner tucked underneath his empty glass. The slip depicts an amount that covers more than his drink, more than any of the drinks in the bar, probably. Not enough to cover what happened in Sector 7. Not enough to cover what happened to her friends. But nonetheless, it's written out to the temporary title of the pub bearing her name in neon red script on a sign hanging just outside the establishment.

She doesn't know it, but when she gets home tonight, there will be a bundle of cash waiting for her there too. That had been his first stop in town. This one was his second and the last.

He doesn't need the money. Her bar needs it. She needs it. Just a little more to keep her going. And business will get going, before long.

And she doesn't know it, but even though she can protect herself well enough, he'll be keeping an eye out for her. He'll keep her safe. Even if she doesn't see him.

When he steps out of the bar and onto the stoop, he finds his companion standing against the nearest streetlight, clicking his lighter to bring it to the edge of the cigarette held between his lips. After a few tries, he makes a flame, and cups his hand around it as he lights up. It illuminates the grim lines of his face with a fiery glow, a contrast to the white lamplight coming from above.

"Finished, Rude?" he asks around the cigarette without looking up.

By the time he asks, Rude is already at his side, arms folded over his chest with his eyes downcast.

He slowly nods in response, his self-imposed mission of the day completed.

The red-head retreats from the lamppost and lazily turns to start down the sidewalk, his hands thrust in his pockets. He tips his head back to review the night sky.

Rude looks too. He thinks it might rain again.

"So... Goin' back home?" his companion asks.

"No."

"Got some late night grocery shopping to do?"

Rude looks askance at him, one eyebrow flying up behind his shades, and he sees the edges of Reno's lips curved up in a knowing smile. Of course he knows it's not that.

But the Turk impatiently shakes his head. "Then what? You just wanted to see Lockheart?" He pauses, to take a drag of his cigarette and then exhale a puff of smoke. "Well, you've done that. Why didn't you just ask her out?"

He shakes his head. He doesn't think Reno can understand.

"Out of my league," he says simply. But more likely, she is probably taken.

The other Turk snorts in response and returns, "Puttin' her up on a pedestal isn't healthy."

"Why did you come with me, Reno?" he asks lowly, his annoyed gaze fixed on his own shiny black boots.

"What, you don't like my company?"

The red-headed Turk can't understand. He lifts his head to gauge the man's reaction, and Reno turns an emerald-eyed glare on him.

"Then help me understand. You left her a lot of fucking money," he adds with a lift of his head. "You expecting her to come after you or something? To throw herself at you? Lockheart's not desperate. Just shy. So what the hell? Why didn't you just ask her instead of acting like a dog at her ass?"

He shakes his head. "She won't. And it's not like that."

"Yeah? What then?"

"...I don't know."

"You're hopeless."

He gives a half-hearted shrug at that, unsure of how to reply. He supposes he is.

"That's why I'm here, Rude," he murmurs after a time. "Because I'm not much better. I had the hots for a girl once."

"No. You?"

"Funny. She was hot. Big blue eyes and long blonde hair. And she had a hell of a body. Wore a satiny, sexy blue dress, clinging in just the right places, with heels and the longest legs I've ever seen. She knew how to work it."

"So what happened?"

He shrugs. "She walked past me."

Behind his shades, he rolls his eyes.

"Dunno what to tell you, Rude. You pass beautiful girls every day." Done with his cigarette, he tosses it into the street, as if that signifies the end of their discussion on this topic.

But they're not done.

"What about Elena?" Rude asks lowly. He sees the little black dress in the window that Reno had been eyeing earlier, knowing what was on the other Turk's mind at the time.

"What about her?"

His hazel eyes glint behind his shades and he presses his lips together to keep from smiling. "Thought you liked her."

"Sure. Who the hell doesn't? What's not to like? Don't think she's interested. She's into Tseng, remember? Doesn't want me. I don't need her to want me."

Reno talks fast when he lies.

"Out of your league, perhaps."

"Go to hell... So can we go work now?"

"I was working."

"Yeah, you." Reno laughs through his nose and shakes his head. "You're always working."

He can't deny that. But he would make time for her, always, even if she won't reciprocate.

She doesn't have to know. She doesn't have to want him. He doesn't need her to want him. She doesn't owe him anything. And he'll be just fine.