Author's Note: I really want to get out of the habit of adding these, but it's necessary this time. For anyone who has seen this title from me, please know that the base premise is the same, a story involving Tifa and Reno. However, I decided to completely revamp the story due to having so much time passing from its inception to today, and felt I no longer connected with it on the same level. However, this is the beginning of what's to come, and I hope past fans and new readers will be happy with this new direction and slightly more mature narration. I want to give a special thanks to AntiOtaku for providing priceless feedback, suggestions, and editing this chapter. I appreciate all feedback as well as (hopefully) praises. Please enjoy.

Proxy

It was odd at first, the pair of old adversaries frequenting her establishment, her home.

After the second event of impending doom of epic proportions was eradicated, life began to settle into a sense of normalcy for everyone. This included those involved with Shinra, who appeared to be less corrupt, seemingly inclined to atone for sins of the past as they no longer took on an intonation of domination, something about setting things right. After all, had they not been the primary source of the Planets' slow demise, it was possible the events as they knew them may have never come to pass. But there were many cooks in the kitchen during that time, and the blame couldn't be laid upon any solitary figure. All one could do was move forward.

Tifa Lockhart was skeptical.

They didn't sit at the bar but took to a corner table furthest from the door, content in being away from the other patrons and keeping an eye on anything or anyone that could be out of favor. Turks still weren't looked upon fondly, although their role in the most recent near disaster softened some public opinion, so she supposed they wanted to pay mind to any surprises that could be launched in their direction.

Rude had approached the bar during their first visit shortly after the dust had settled. The order was simple; Whiskey on the rocks and a Cosmo brew. They were committed to memory as they would be repeated for visits to come. And the Turk wasn't much for small talk, so it was easy enough for her to provide the request and move on. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking, what with his shades always covering his eyes despite how dim the lighting. Blessed with cat vision due to Mako exposure perhaps? She didn't have the nerve to ask just then.

While life as a whole was improving for the majority of the population with the extinction of Geostigma, things with the family hadn't fully resolved. Cloud Strife, for a short time, seemed to be on the mend, more open to embracing his makeshift family and all the trials and tribulations that came with it. He was present, at least in person, but mentally he remained mostly unavailable. Despite her best efforts, Tifa continued to struggle to reach him. Never one to push too hard, she kept a careful distance, waiting for the walls to finally lower on their own and completely let them in. She must have patience - and of that there would be an ample supply.

When he was around, Cloud acted as a bouncer of sorts, not that it was required but ultimately appreciated. His appearance alone was enough to temper down the most heated of potential brawls. He in particular was not so thrilled with the presence of Turks, however as the barmaid had explained it to him, they were paying customers and deserved to be provided service like any other. It was clear he didn't like it but was unwilling to challenge it.

One day, he was gone. He hadn't graced her with a parting word, but rather a small note with little explanation to his whereabouts. 'Business calls,' it read, 'I'll be back, not sure when. Give the kids my best.' She cried that day but kept her sorrow from the children. There was difficulty in explaining to them that she simply didn't understand why he couldn't open up to them, to accept the good within his existence and truly be a family. Instead, she told them exactly what the note detailed despite the gnawing doubt of its truth; she worried he wouldn't return this time. Marlene and Denzel however, so much more resilient than she gave them credit for, took it at face value. If they had their own suspicions, they didn't share them with her.

Though initially unnecessary, Cloud's disappearance left the role of the bouncer unfulfilled thus leaving the void of security. While she was not particularly concerned with the absence of this position, it had become a constant she was used to having as did the other patrons. So when a tussle broke out over a game of darts, it fell out of control faster than she could move to quell the disagreement.

To her surprise, the duo who silently kept to themselves in their self-designated corner made haste and broke up the altercation without throwing fists of their own. While Reno was quick with his mouth, Rude's simple presence between the two parties had a strange calming effect on the situation. That, or they knew them for who they were, and sparring against the pair could have cost more in medical bills than the game itself. She flashed them a smile of appreciation and gave them a drink on the house.

When a patron became a bit too handsy, Reno was the first to catch the exchange and make a move to halt the unwelcome advances. With a sly grin and a lowkey threat, the drunk made quick work of his apology and sauntered out of the establishment like a dog with his tail between its legs. Surprised as she was at his act of chivalry, she again thanked him by obliging his thirst, which he accepted with a shrug. She wagered he was being a good Samaritan for the free alcohol, but good behavior should be rewarded regardless of who was performing the deed.

After that incident, the duo migrated to the bar counter, becoming unofficial security of sorts when they were there, or at the very least working to maintain the safety of the barmaid from unscrupulous drunkards. It was such a turn of events to Tifa, as she could recall every time they tried to kill her and her friends. She wasn't quite prepared to let that go despite their best efforts at keeping the peace.

It had been many weeks since the shift in dynamic and the more they were around, the more she learned about them. At first, she didn't engage in their conversations but having been in her line of work for so long, she was able to pick up bits and pieces of discussions without making it obvious to the participants that she was listening in.

For instance, she learned that Reno thought himself a bit of a Casanova while Rude was much more reserved. There was physical evidence of this when the scarlet-haired Turk had set his eyes on a pair of ladies who presented themselves as open and willing for male attention, dolled up in a provocative fashion with body language to reinforce their intentions. While Reno was keen to swoop in for the kill, Rude was hesitant to participate in the assist. When his partner abandoned him to take on the mission solo, she could feel the bald man's eyes fall upon her in exasperation, the gaze so heavy she felt it through the twin glass barriers. She returned his gaze with a small smile and gentle shrug, which seemed to have communicated 'what do you have to lose'? The response to his wordless call for support appeared to have spurred him on, slipping off of the bar stool to join his friend for a conquest, not entirely sure he was making the right call. She was curious as to how it would all pan out.

The following night her curiosity was satiated. Reno was the only one to visit of the normally inseparable pair, seated on his usual stool, his countenance displaying something between annoyance and regret when he divulged the details to her.

"Man, that chick ended up sloppy drunk. Boyfriend dumped her or something. She was either bitching about how much of a bastard he was or wailing about how much better she shoulda been to him. What a waste." He took a great gulp of his beer, "That friend of hers...pretty sure the crying shit was her responsibility, as a friend, ya know? But instead, she and Rude couldn't stop making eyes at each other. Made me sick…"

She couldn't help but laugh, eyes bright with merriment at the depiction of his fruitless endeavor. Reno shot an irked expression her way but was replaced with a small grin to share her humor at his misfortune. He took it on the chin.

Rude happened to be with the same woman again that night, and she had a hard time believing his friend was truly angry that he had potentially found a love connection. A relationship may not be that Turk's cup of tea, but courtship was right in Rude's wheelhouse. Reno was certainly the type to take credit for their union should it flourish into something lasting and tangible but until then it seemed he was happy to take solace in the presence of strangers and alcohol.

That night had spawned a new pattern. Rude having apparently deciding to put some serious effort into his new affair, his appearances became few and far between. Reno on the other hand, began to appear somewhat regularly, claiming his typical spot at the bar and his Cosmo brew. On occasion, she would peer over to him from her duties to witness his flirtatious efforts sent here or there to seemingly available women. Sometimes he would score, departing with the lady of choice in tow. When he wasn't so fortunate, it didn't seem to bother him much, returning to his drink as per usual.

In between it all, she found herself conversing with the man during brief moments of freedom. The conversations hovered around mostly innocent topics as anything else felt a bit too personal for Tifa, and his past was still a difficult subject to reconcile with. However, during one of his more inebriated discussions with her, he was vocal about Shinra's vision to change their image, devoid of an ulterior motive. They were never meant to be some sort of active government entity but having claimed that mantle they wished to pull back the rule of fear and enter a phase of diplomacy and reason with Reeve's heavy influence. As Turks, their role was to assist in these endeavors, with a lot less killing. Actually, there was to be no killing really. The confession certainly had the barmaid curious, but last call prevented her from exploring further.

There was a part of her that wanted to accept this as true and forgive the past, but there was too much baggage and her heart still stung with the loss of everything Shinra represented. She wasn't certain if there would be a day that she could completely forgive and forget, but this was at least a step in the right direction.

As time pressed on and with visits almost nightly, Reno dared to make a pass at her a few times. It was innocent in nature, framed as a flirtatious comment in passing to which she'd wave off in jest. Having witnessed his habits, she was assumed that he was either bored or was practicing some new material on her. She took it in stride, but within her gut lay a feeling of brief nausea from the attention. However, much to her surprise, the feeling of squeamish discomfort faded with time.

There were nights that would be tougher than others for various reasons. Some were mentally taxing; others were physically draining. And the cleanup...it would be enough work for at least two people, yet somehow, she managed to do it all on her own. One night in particular was both mentally and physically exhausting, and as she watched the remaining patrons disappear through the entrance from where they came, her eyes glazed over as she took in the mess that lay before her. Bottles, glasses, puddles everywhere. Someone had mentioned something about a clogged toilet, and only then, with nearly everyone gone was she able to even think about tending to it.

Reno hadn't yet motioned to leave, and she noted he was watching her silently. There had been a moment that passed between them, one without words that he had heard loud and clear. Still, she was taken aback when he finally did move, and with purpose. He wasn't leaving, but he had brought himself to his feet to begin gathering discarded bottles and depositing them into the garbage. He heard her cry for help.

He must have felt her eyes transfixed on him with wonder as he turned to wink in her direction, "Looks like you owe me some free drinks for my generous service."

There was no question his request would be granted, thankful for the assistance regardless of who or what he was.

By the time they had completed their task of tidying up the tables and bar counter, freeing them of glassware, ashes, and pools of spilled alcohol, and without conversation, it had taken half the time it normally would have without his assistance. His kindness astonished her, but as she parted her lips to thank him, he was out the door with not much more than a wave and a 'See ya tomorrow'.

He began to linger past closing hours with more frequency after that, where their conversations slowly became a bit more personal. There were things he disclosed about himself, and others, that she never thought she'd hear from him. In turn, she found herself responding in kind with tidbits of her own. She even felt bold one evening, calling into question his previous actions in relation to Shinra's orders; orders that involved attempting to take her and her companions' lives on more than one occasion.

If she blinked, she would have missed it. But she caught a glimpse of Reno Sinclair that revealed true remorse. It was fleeting, gone almost as quickly as it came. This didn't come as a surprise, having paid careful attention to the things he did and didn't say to get a better read on his person. She surmised that he held his more tender feelings and emotions close to his chest, loathe to reveal what would leave him most vulnerable. She could respect that, since she wasn't too different from him in that way.

"Orders were orders, and those orders sucked. But hey, trying to make amends ain't an easy path. Working on it, yo. For what it's worth, and I can only speak for myself; I didn't really wanna kill ya."

Admitting one's mistake was half the battle and moving forward toward a better you were the rest. While his answer was perhaps not so eloquently stated, she understood him to some degree, and found herself further at ease in his company after it. Her ill feelings toward Shinra continued on, perhaps to never fully resolve, but she saw Reno in a different light than she did the organization as a whole. He was but a cog in the machine, yet a mindful cog that was clearly unhappy with his choices and direction they may have turned him. It would explain his tendency to stick around when she closed for the night and took the time to help her every now and again; not too much, but just enough to show he wasn't the same guy who followed orders that required dropping a plate on thousands of people. She wondered what he would do now if given such a directive.

Days later she made a call to him, to Cloud, and realized quickly how pointless it was to do so. She didn't know what she expected when she pressed the button on her phone to reach him. Through her near unbreakable optimism when it came to her childhood friend, she had hoped that perhaps he was aware of this day as much as she was; the day they lost everything together. Just maybe, even though he wasn't there physically he could be with her emotionally. A day of shared trauma in which they could siphon some form of comfort from the other in remembrance.

But he didn't answer. The repetition of the ring sounded in her ear before it fell to voicemail. The outcome was predictable, yet a piece of her still crumbled into a pile of dust upon hearing his recorded message. She did not leave one of her own but simply hung up and choked back tears. Still, she opened the bar without fail, a welcoming smile upon her features that never reached her eyes as the patrons slowly trickled in. However, anyone who dared look deep enough could see she was slowly coming apart at the seams, and she was doing all she could to bind them back together.

There was a time not long ago when working for Shinra, Reno could count on a paycheck and a fast-paced environment in which most days were not replicas of one another, and all too often he walked away with blood on his hands. But things changed and evolved, as did the organization and the nature of his position. There were now days that stunk of the mundane and boring, the chaos lost sometime after the Remnants and Sephiroth were defeated permanently. He wasn't exactly complaining, but how swiftly his existence had settled into some kind of normal routine was unnerving.

Occupying bars in his free time wasn't anything out of the ordinary, nor was picking up women when he felt the desire to occupy his time with undiscovered flesh. He was disinterested in true connection, finding he didn't have the time nor the desire to make something work. Additionally, the emotional complexity that came with such an endeavor was more than he cared to wrap his head around. The simplicity of one night stands more than sufficed to satiate the momentary need to shake off stress or fill the void of boredom. He was careful to select those who understood the game, but on occasion one would slip through his vetting process, and he'd find himself blocking a number or two.

When he and Rude began to take an interest in Seventh Heaven as their new watering hole, their intentions were benign. Drink, get drunk, and go home. There was infrequent conversational banter here and there between them while Reno's roaming eye would scour the establishment for possible candidates to participate in late night activities with, but they would mostly keep to themselves otherwise.

They had noticed Cloud's presence several times, taking his place as the muscle in the bar. He supposed it was a fitting position but wondered aloud to his buddy how long it would last. Everyone knew the guy to be a wanderer, but whether that was primarily due to the disease that no longer ailed him or not remained to be seen.

In truth, it didn't take long for Strife to vanish, and had he placed a bet he would have come away with the jackpot. It wasn't obvious to them at first, but since the majority of the consumers were regulars, waves of gossip filtered through large and small crowds on anything from Mrs. Dozer's missing Siamese to the rev of Fenrir's engine just before dawn, disappearing from the city proper and not returning for longer than what seemed typical for the delivery man. If that weren't evidence enough, Tifa's response to various inquiries to his whereabouts were often inconsistent - the lady was a terrible liar.

Yet no one pushed the issue, and if they were all being honest, no one was surprised by his exodus - except perhaps the childhood friend who should have been most familiar with his habits by now.

And it was something about the change in her aura after his disappearance that led him and Rude to take a more proactive role in maintaining the bars' neutral energy.

It started with a brawl over darts. When it came to drunks and gambling, things were sure to go off the rails eventually. Despite the urge to sock it to the men who took defensive swings toward their faces, they managed to talk them off the cliff that would lead to their last moments on Gaia had they pressed the issue to diffuse the situation.

Tifa took notice, and it earned them bounties of gratitude.

Other incidents transpired that had him and his best friend enter the frays of various altercations. With their collective skills and a reputation that preceded them, the behavior of the bar responded in kind and quelled into a mostly friendly atmosphere. And with it, they were always thanked with a smile and heavy-handed pours for their efforts.

Then his partner went and got himself a girlfriend, and he found himself drinking alone most nights. Without his wingman, he began taking an interest in random conversations with the barmaid in between rounds and other calls of duty. He'd take interest in the occasional hunt, but there was something about the randomness of the chase that was losing its appeal. Something just wasn't sitting right about it anymore.

When the load at the end of the night appeared too burdensome to bear on her own, he found himself sharing it with Lockhart. Of course, Sinclair did nothing that did not benefit him somehow and based on previous gifts of appreciation, he knew he was setting himself up for life.

He also couldn't keep himself from hitting on her either. He did once, twice, more times than he could count. The flutter of laughter that followed after his attempts at seduction was uncomfortable to start with, but when it became a case of playful repetition, the defenses gently relaxed and instead the response was an eye roll and a glint of a radiant smile.

That Strife guy was sure missing out.

Something was off one evening when he arrived. On the surface, everything appeared as it should; the lighting was faint, the mixed scents of perfumes and colognes, various types of alcohol and nicotine permeated the air, and the dull hum of gossip swelled throughout the bar.

Tifa was hard at work behind the counter fulfilling requests, shaking and stirring multiple types of cocktails with an ease and fluidity very few could master. The motions came so naturally, like a ballerina on a stage. But this ballerina's heart was broken.

He could see it clearly; irises that normally glistened with tender care lacked a warmth he'd come to know and looked forward to. She masked the despair he'd only come close to seeing once; when she was in the middle of scolding a forlorn Cloud many months ago, when he was ready to give up and die. He did not enjoy seeing it a second time.

Reno didn't say a word to her outside of a casual greeting as he took his place at the counter that night, keeping a watchful eye upon her instead. It wasn't the time for witty banter or flirtatious musings - she wouldn't have been receptive or even worse, they might have pissed her right off. Alternatively, he took a much cooler approach, ordering his drinks with little fanfare, making certain he didn't call for her attention when she appeared to be overwhelmed. The last thing she needed was for him to add to the chaos.

A light-haired woman with bright green eyes, oozing with intent aimed to capture his attention. In rare form, he ignored her, content enough to listen in on wistful conversation and stay within the barmaids' proximity. And she barely noticed him - she had to have been 100 miles away.

He'd wait until after hours, when her guard was down and was not overrun with responsibilities. He also didn't quite know what he would say or do, but for some reason, he felt he should be there.

But why?

At that point, he had no answer.

The time had ticked by, but once the last of her customers had vanished into the streets beyond the bar, he was free to probe her as he pleased.

"So where have you been all night?"

The question roused her from her mindless washing, hands falling still beneath the running water. "Hm?"

Reno repeated the question, a cigarette hanging between his lips as he cupped his chin lazily to watch her administer her cleaning routine. The night boiled down to a steady simmer, so he wasn't inclined to make rounds to assist. "I said, where have you been? You haven't been in the bar, that's for sure."

With the shake of her head, she turned off the faucet and grabbed a dry cloth while turning to face him. She tried to flash him a casual smile, but it just looked forced. "That's silly. You've been watching me all night."

An eye roll before a slow drag and an exhale. So she noticed. "Come on now. You're talking to someone who's not only adept at combat but also psychology 101. Jack of all trades, yo."

She snorted at the retort, wiping down a glass spotted with water droplets from her wash and setting it neatly in the rack to the side of the sink. "Are you offering me therapy?"

The Turk laughed heartily, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and tapping the ashes away into the tray before snuffing it out entirely. "I guarantee you couldn't afford me." He teased with gentle whimsy. It caused the barmaids features to soften just a touch. "But seriously, somethings' been buggin' ya all night. This inquiring mind wants to know."

A sigh escaped her lips, her countenance seemingly haunted in remembrance, "Was it that obvious?"

Reno regarded her calmly for a time before returning to his beer for a swig. "Nah, not that obvious to the untrained eye. Besides - your regulars - they come here to forget about their own woes, to have a good time. If their bartender is mopey, they'll ignore it unless they're tryin' to get lucky with the staff."

"And what does that say about you right now?" She asked with the rise of an inquisitive brow. Must have been an attempt, half-hearted at best, to redirect the line of questioning.

His sly grin in response told her he was too focused to be deterred. "Well, I wouldn't say no to you if you were so inclined to ask me nicely, but not really my intention this time. Come on, spill."

A pensive look took over her features. "It's nothing, really."

He continued to silently watch her as she lost herself again to the task at hand. He wasn't satisfied. "It's not that Strife guy, is it?"

A sudden chill in the air caused Reno's hair to stand on end. Tifa had frozen in place, her eyes locked to the floor in careful avoidance. The truth was within those wine-colored orbs, and she couldn't bear to let him see it.

"Ya know...you waste your time really." Before he gave her a chance to throw some glassware at his skull, he continued. "He's been through a lot; you'll probably see him come and go, in and out of your life for the rest of yours or his. You prepared for that?"

He was sure it had to have occurred to her that this could be the new normal. Ultimately, Cloud could be incapable of remaining in one place for extended periods of time, ill-equipped to accept his reality and would mend ties only to come back and sever them all over again. Rinse and repeat. What a maddening cycle to be involved in.

Expelling a sigh as she furrowed her brows in thought, she placed the cloth upon the counter as she turned to finally gaze at her late-night patron. "It's not so much that." Their comfort level had expanded greatly, yet he figured she wasn't one to openly air her dirty laundry, even to her closest friends, hence why she was a ticking time bomb of emotions. Being the face of hope and optimism within her family, anything less could set everything off balance. At the end of the day, she would end up picking up the pieces anyway so why add to the broken shards.

The mess only got messier.

He looked upon her kindly, patiently. She didn't say he was wrong, which was a little disconcerting. Sometimes he hated being right and knowing that she persistently pined for a shell of a man was disheartening. She could do so much better. Yet it wasn't his place and offering words of negative candor despite how honest they may be was bound to put him out of favor with her. So, he was cautious. "Care to elaborate?"

Pursed lips and heavy-lidded eyes told him she was considering. There was visibly much trepidation on her end, and in all honesty, he didn't blame her one bit. Their owner-customer relationship changed dramatically from shadow dweller to borderline comrade, but just how friendly had yet to be determined.

But she surprised him. "Today was a sort of anniversary. The day Nibelheim…" it looked as if she nearly choked on the remainder of the confession and fell silent.

"Ah," the Turk was quick to recognize the trauma such an event would bring, and suddenly he regretted inquiring entirely. "Sorry. I didn't know." Obviously.

"It's okay." The words left her in a breathless whisper. It required a moment or two of concentrated effort to regain herself. "I called him. Cloud."

Oh. So he wasn't completely off the mark. "Lemme guess. No answer?" She nodded in reply, her arms folding across her body which looked more like an attempt to console herself. "Did it ring?"

"It did."

"Well it sounds like he's charging his phone. At least he's alive. Small blessings, yeah?" The mood had shifted to something very dark, and very melancholy. He didn't like it one bit.

To Tifa's credit, she appeared to be shaking herself out of her wistful reverie, erecting her spine and forcing a small smile. "You're right. He's fine. Dealing with it in his own way."

He couldn't help but be impressed as he witnessed her transformation, successfully stuffing all of the hurt, the suffering into a box and closing the lid. "Uh huh." He tapped his finger against the side of his beer thoughtfully, "And how are you dealing with it?"

It was easy to read her in that moment; tense and reflective. He already knew the answer, that she was ignoring her problems, her feelings and leaping head first into anything that would numb the grief, but always with the pretense of obligation. "Just fine, really," the flash of a wince convinced him she didn't even believe herself. "I have the bar, the kids...plenty to focus on."

"I think you're fibbing…" he stated, playfully accusatory. He could tell she was becoming uncomfortable, her hands wringing the cloth in her possession over and over. "You just listed a bunch of stuff you had to do. What about things you want to do?"

She frowned at him, "What are you talking about? I...want to do those things. That's why I do them."

"Tsk tsk, Lockhart. Someone doesn't know how to let loose." It was quite curious to him how reluctant she was in finding the time to reduce the emotional strain and instead stick her head neck deep into work. It was not something he found very liberating and had serious doubts she did either. "You're a good woman and all, trying to keep your family together, but you sure know how to sacrifice your own wellbeing."

His words appeared to hit her hard, a faint flush coming to her cheeks. He took this moment of silence to truly take her in - how her signature white top was lightly stained with small splashes of what looked to be a variety of different liquors. Her hair flowed freely, still keeping to her slightly shorter cut, loose strands brushing against the flushed skin. Her eyes glistened in thought, concentrating on whatever excuse she was to come up with next. Even at her worst, she was a sight to behold, and his mind began to drift into dangerous territory. "Can you remember the last time you did something for yourself and really...enjoyed it?"

As her teeth came down upon her bottom lip, he quickly checked himself from making a move that could have set everything off kilter. "I actually can't, Reno," she stated softly. "How crazy is that? Living my life, going through the motions to help everyone else..." she trailed off, her voice slightly fragile in admission.

As much as he wanted to make her realize the error of her ways, he also wasn't looking to start a pity party for her either. He shifted upright in his stool, peering into her face, "Hey now, it's commendable, not gonna lie. A pretty good character trait to have. But you gotta do something to balance that out. Something like, fulfilling your needs." The wink and undertone was heavily suggestive, and he could only hope she caught wind of it.

"Oh stop it." She snapped the towel at his hands as she rounded the counter to tend to the tables cluttered with abandoned glasses and bottles. The subtle shift to amusement inspired him.

He turned in his stool, watching her intently as he lazily propped his elbows upon the corner of the counter and leaned back with an air of confidence, "Stop what? Stop telling you to enjoy your life? To find pleasure in something? I would know."

She didn't answer, gathering the abandoned bottles from the tables to dispose of them into the awaiting trash bin. He wasn't sure if she wasn't listening or actively evading his questioning.

But he wasn't dissuaded in the slightest by her natural defenses, her attempts to avoid the endless probing. "Come on, don't go slinking away in your 'duties'." He provided air quotes for emphasis, though she did not see them, "There's nothing wrong with a little pleasure, satisfaction…"

Tifa's face must have been burning, the color nearly matching the mop on his head and he stopped himself from laughing. "I didn't say there was..." her response was weak, almost a whisper.

There was a spark that lit in his blue eyes, an impish grin spreading across his face. There was delight in the chase once again. "You know, Tifa, I give you a lot of credit. Being selfless, giving people second, third, fourth chances. Hell, look at us? I'd say we're almost friends." She never stopped moving, but she slowed considerably. "And since I'm your friend, I think my opinion regarding your wellbeing is quite valuable, wouldn't you agree?"

There was no immediate answer from her, and he didn't expect one. But he did wonder if she viewed their budding relationship the same way. They had certainly spent much more time together within the past several weeks, even more than he had with his partner. Yet it may have also been a difficult thing to admit to herself, given their complicated history.

When she finally did answer, it was not quite what he was expecting, "So...what do you think I should do?"

He grinned from ear to ear. "Well, funny you should ask. Like I said before, I'm quite adept at combat and psychology. Also turns out I'm quite masterful at helping women forget about their troubles with a very hands on approach."

A bottle clattered to the floor, shattering over the planked flooring. The shards had missed her skin, but her red boots glinted with the fragments. He heard her curse under her breath and stayed his tongue to keep from teasing her.

Silence suddenly befell them as she moved toward the bar with intentions to retrieve the needed cleaning supplies to take care of the mess she'd made. And with her coming so close to his person, Reno would have been remiss to allow the opportunity to pass him by.

His hand shot out to grab her wrist and with a sharp tug he pulled her in, suddenly standing in between his open legs.

He heard her gasp, but she didn't make a move to escape him. "What do you think you're doing?" The question was weak and little hint of contention. With her strength, she could have easily broken free. Yet, there was still some resistance to break completely free of the binds that held her, of the dam before the flood.

Reno would make it crumble.

He sat erect, tilting his head ever so slightly as he stared into her eyes. They spoke of deep sorrow, hesitation, and perhaps even a bit of curiosity.

"I guess you know where I'm going with this." The other hand motioned to gently caress her free one, fingertips gradually trailing up her silken arm to rest delicately at her elbow. She was warm to the touch, and his primal instincts flipped on like a switch. He deeply inhaled the scent of her; a field of jasmines on a spring day. "You can do what you want with me, or I you, and we can go back to being friends...tomorrow."

In previous moments of seduction, there had already been a subtle hint of reciprocation from his conquest in the form of a wink, a purposeful bend at the waist, or something equally tantalizing. He pursued uncharted waters just then and did not want to give the appearance of force, though he admitted to a bit of manipulation.

The grip on her wrist and arm remained loose, allowing her to retreat any time she wished. His eyes were locked on her own, completely open with his own feelings of rising temptation. The way he looked at her, like an animal on the hunt, awaiting the prime moment of vulnerability, should have had her running.

To his surprise, their shared gaze remained uninterrupted. There was something bubbling beneath the surface that he had yet to reach. He was close.

Her silence spurred him on, as did her rise in temperature. Carefully moving his hands to her waist, he pulled her a bit closer still. She didn't resist. "Just one night," he breathed into her ear, no longer holding back his intentions. The battle for self-control was nearly at an end. "Be selfish."

Tifa's limbs began to tremble and he couldn't detect whether from apprehension or longing. And when she lifted her hands to place them at the bend of his arms, he thought she might push him away. Yet, the grip fastened tightly, appearing to steady herself before her body collapsed from under her. Almost there.

Her voice cracked when she finally found it, small and fragile, "I thought you weren't trying to get lucky with the staff…"

"Things can change in the blink of an eye. Besides…" his mouth was so close to her ear, nuzzling his lips through the strands that shielded their rosy hue, "How could I turn away a friend in need?"

The anxious sigh that escaped her lips was barely audible. The signals were there in terms of her more physical responses, but her words, or lack thereof, left him with doubt. Any misstep on his part could ruin everything; the choice had to be hers explicitly. Her inability to openly express her needs was challenging and he realized he had to come up with a way that would allow her to, without any ambiguity, spell out exactly what she wanted, whether it was for him to leave her be or take part in his offerings.

"Reno…" his name but a breathless whisper on her tongue. He became incredibly aware how tight and warm his suit was becoming.

"You're torn," slowly he removed his hand from her waist and the grip to his arm had released as well. She remained still as if hypnotized by their close proximity, awaiting his next move. "Should I, shouldn't I? While you might not be so good at telling people how you feel, what you want, you definitely don't hesitate over what you don't want. And I'm convinced that maybe...you do want."

Taking her hand, he guided the palm between his open legs and rested it against the very thing that plainly communicated just what he wanted. He watched her eyes widen slightly, but the haze of equal yearning was unmistakable. Unfortunately, it still wasn't quite enough.

"So here's what I'll tell ya. One little, teeny tiny squeeze tells me you want this. That I can be your proxy - anything you want, you'll get. One night." His body responded strongly to her touch, and control was waning significantly. It was a risky move - and he'd either lose his manhood or reap the rewards the gamble brought. "Or, you can just...walk away, and I'll leave. No harm, no foul." His own hand left hers, rising to brush battle worn fingertips against her cheek. "What will it be, Ms. Lockhart?"

The seconds that ticked away felt eternal. There wasn't a time in recent memory where Reno found himself waiting with bated breath for an answer to anything. He felt his skin tingle with anticipation, waiting for the stunning if not slightly damaged Tifa Lockhart to give in, or go.

Her response filled him with an explosive heat that seeped through his pores, a slick veil of perspiration covering his skin and damping the clothes that encased him. She tightened her grip, gently, a thumb caressing the fabric that stood in the way of fleshed contact. Her voice was like a song. "Just one night, then..."

"Atta girl." The dam fell away, and he pounced his prey. Without pause or hesitation, Reno brought himself to his feet and crushed her body, supple and sleek, against him as he brought his lips to close upon her mouth. He yearned to take her immediately but restrained himself considerably. He offered to do as she wished - and he would deliver. Either way, he would be pleased.

He felt her kiss him back with matching fervor, allowing her mental restraints to finally fall away and embrace what he had been encouraging her to do all night - be selfish.

Fingers dug into his hair and held fast. The solid urgency in her grip was difficult to ignore, and it further spurred him on to become more adventurous with discovery. His hands eagerly slipped up her sides and beneath her tank, taking precious moments to appreciate the taunt flesh and muscle courtesy of her training. He was graced with a small, muffled moan and was anxious to hear it on repeat.

Before he had an opportunity to do much else, she broke away from his lips. "Chair," she said breathlessly, "sit down."

That familiar impish grin appeared on his visage, breaking away from her to oblige. "Yes, ma'am." The wheels in his head began to turn, taking to her direction dutifully. He was intrigued, assuming he would be taking the reins of this tryst, yet suddenly Lockhart found her voice and sought control. The vessel of his arousal responded in kind.

Stepping over broken glass, he took to a chair not yet upturned from the closing of the night. As he sat, he removed his navy blazer and tossed it aimlessly away. Before much else could be discarded, Tifa stopped him, hands at his shoulders. She leaned over him, and he didn't waste the opportunity to bury his face into her neck, gently nipping while she shuddered from his advances. "I want you to keep your clothes on." When he pulled back to regard her curiously, she had already already begun to remove her undergarment from beneath her skirt.

This he did not expect. Perhaps she felt with this being a one-night occurrence, it should lack intimacy and simply delve into the rawest pleasures one could obtain from such an act. It wasn't an uncommon practice; he just didn't expect it from her. He was actually caught quite off guard, so much so that he only took notice that she was unzipping his pants when she was halfway done. "Tifa, you don't have to - "

"You said you would be my proxy, right?" She inquired seriously, yet her eyes were alight with need. She left him speechless.

With a small smile, she pulled him free.

When she mounted him, it was almost a clumsy effort. Her sharp cry of pleasure broke him from his silent daze as did her hips, rolling and grinding to take him in. Lacing an arm around her back, he planted a firm hand to her hip to guide her. When they found their rhythm, the familiar cues of verbal ecstasy began to fill the space.

The pressure continued to build, the fabric of their clothing chafing against their bodies with the motion. With Tifa's hands clasping to the back of the chair and taking charge, Reno found he couldn't keep his hands still. Clutching at each piece of her he could manage while maintaining their erotic cadence, daring to press his lips to the exposed flesh of her collarbone and taste what he'd only fantasized about. Her sighs of encouragement kept him moving toward her chest, placing tender, hungry kisses as she arched her back to accept them.

It was all coming to a thundering conclusion. Her moans became more urgent, reaching a higher frequency, which in turn drove Reno closer to his crescendo. And when it all came to an end, he hadn't expected to hear that name.

Cloud.

Atop his gyrating form, his partner convulsed into a series of tremors, clutching to him as she rode the waves of pleasure. His release did not match, the other man's name oddly deflating the build up he had worked toward. But he held her still, until the throes of passion dissipated, and the inevitable awkwardness formulated.

The barmaid slowly disentangled herself from the Turk, pulling herself free of his arms and standing to her feet. The motion was anything but fluid, resembling something of a newborn doe, but he avoided playfully patronizing her as he put himself together and zipped his trousers.

"Was I right?" Reno mused, attempting to lessen any discomfort that may take shape.

The look she gave him was nervous, much more than just awkward. Was she aware she called out another mans' name? He didn't really want to ask. "Yeah, I think so. Sorry for…" her eyes averted to the floor, searching, "not being so experienced."

The red-head shrugged it off as he scooped up his blazer, "Definitely not the worst I've had." He immediately backtracked, "Eh...really good, actually." He hated this part so much.

The pause between them was loaded, delicate. It was as if the air between them was made of crystal and one wrong word would cause it to shatter between them.

Sinclair was the more daring of the two. "Still friends?"

A small smile, one that reached her eyes, "Still friends."

"Alright then." He shrugged on his garment, casting a final glance to the woman he openly allowed to use him, "See ya tomorrow, Lockhart." He then turned on his heel to leave the bar, to leave her.

When he closed the door behind him, he took a deep inhale of the crisp night air Edge had to offer before pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He played back the events of that night as flicked the lighter, catching the end of his smoke with its concentrated flame. He was bothered, severely, but he couldn't put his finger on why. Perhaps he wasn't entirely satisfied himself. Perhaps he should have pushed for a bit more control.

Perhaps he was bothered she had envisioned Strife as she fucked him.

If anything, he was at fault. He opened the door to their affair, laid out the rules, and she followed them to the letter. He should be proud of her.

Yet, he wasn't.

But why?

He still had no answer.