It's been so long since I posted something, I forgot how to format the title!

Do you ever work on something until it's perfect...and then work on it again? And again? And then put it off, or try it again, but it accomplishes absolutely nothing? That's where I've been with this particular chapter. I had inspiration for it, but my freshman year of college sort of diluted that inspiration and motivation. (My heartiest of thanks to great friends Alisha, Courtney, and Clarisa; without their encouragement and inspiration I may never have finished this stupid thing! xD Yes, I yelled at this chapter on MULTIPLE occasions! So much grief. So many tears. So much sweat. *Emo party* --although that's sort of an oxymoron, n'est-ce pas? Heheh.)

And today it's Christmas.

The tradition of gift-giving is one begun a long time ago when Someone came to our world--not to judge us for what we've done wrong, but to rescue us through the gift of Himself.

Anyway, I don't personally know all of you like a certain Person does, but consider this my gift to you. I hope you enjoy it. =]

(Actually, you'd BETTER enjoy it after all the pain it put me through...kidding.)

Merry Christmas! =]

[insert cute li'l hearts here]

IV. LIKE YOU'RE SOBER

They had chatted about everything from the old AVALANCHE glory days to the reconstruction of Midgar (which was taking place right outside the bar as they spoke) when Yuffie blundered into a startling revelation. She had such a vivid, preconceived notion of how everyone's stories were supposed to end, so the prospect of a different ending surprised her. But she knew Cloud. She shouldn't have been surprised.

"So, Tifa," the innocent question had begun in the privacy of the empty bar, "you and Cloud are still together, right?"

"What do you mean, 'together'?"

"Like, together, together."

Tifa laughed. "No, we're not. Weren't, to begin with."

The nineteen-year-old slammed her glass down. "What?" Water splashed up the sides and fell to the counter. "But—but you've been gaga for each other for a kazillion years now! You're practically raising a kid together—and on top of that, you're living in the same house! What's 'not to begin with'?!"

Tifa didn't miss a beat as she placed a glass back on the shelf. However, ill-concealed emotion flickered across her face. Wistfulness? Nostalgia? Confusion? "It's strange, Yuffie. I…I understand him—very well. Sometimes it's like I can read his mind, and I can see why he does what he does. Even when he's quiet, I know what he's saying. But there is one thing I can't figure out." She paused, eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement.

"Aaaand?" Yuffie prodded.

"It's the way he acts toward me. I don't get it."

Yuffie burst into incredulous laughter. "You mean—Tifa, you--! You think he's—"

"'Not interested.'" She impersonated Cloud with a smile and a wave of the hand, but it was a half-hearted facade. "In that way, I mean. But we're very close. I'm just not sure if he wants to get any…uh…closer than we already are. Which is fine," she added quickly. "I just…I wouldn't want to rush in to anything." A smile hesitated at her lips. "I just want him to be happy."

Happy? Yuffie gawked. Happy? You want him to be happy, but you don't realize what truly makes him happy: you. "Are you blind, Tifa?!" she shrieked.

"What?" blinked the bewildered bartender.

At that moment the adjoining garage door opened and there stood the unsuspecting subject of their conversation himself, his mouth half-open as he paused midsentence. "Hey Teef…uh, hello. Didn't expect to see you here, Yuffie."

Yuffie smiled sweetly. "Hi. Go away. We're having a discussion."

He raised an eyebrow.

"A discussion," emphasized Yuffie. She gestured toward the door.

He shrugged, puzzled, but closed the door—only to open it half a second later. "Before I forget, I needed to ask: Tifa, have you seen the keys to my bike?"

Tifa frowned. "…Your left hand, Cloud."

"Oh. Right." A tinge of pink crept into his face. He flashed an adorably embarrassed smile before closing the door again.

"Did you see that?" Yuffie breathed after he had left.

"See what?"

"The face."

"…What face?"

"The face, Tifa."

"The face?" repeated Tifa, baffled.

"HIS FACE! Aw, forget it."

Tifa glanced sidelong at her friend, head slanted quizzically. Her clueless expression made it evident that she was obviously oblivious to every second of Cloud's lovesick awkwardness. Couldn't she see the way he flushed beneath her gaze? The way a simple glance stole his stumbling words away?

Yuffie moaned in disbelief and plopped her head in her hands, ninja headband drooping sadly to the table. "Cloud and Tifa" was what happened when two people--painfully shy yet hopelessly head-over-heels—got together: nothing. Anyone within ten miles of those lovebirds could see they were meant for each other, so why couldn't they? Why couldn't that stupid delivery boy swallow his insecurities and tell the girl of his dreams, who was equally blind to his feelings for her, how he felt? Tifa, Tifa, Tifa, Yuffie chided mentally. They say love is blind, but in the case of you two, I'd say you didn't have eyes to begin with. We've got some work to do.

……………………………

It had been necessary to procure a little extra help. She had thought the others would laugh her idea off, but when the rest of AVALANCHE had heard word of Yuffie's devious scheme, they insisted on joining the fun. Perhaps they were as equally fed up with the two as Yuffie was and just wanted the love triangle (err, love line) to be resolved. Perhaps they just enjoyed lecturing the delivery boy. Either way, Yuffie intended this very evening to persuade Cloud into professing his undying love for Tifa. By "persuade" Yuffie meant "guilt-trip" (something Cloud was always vulnerable to), but in the end it became much more than a simple "I love you."

A slight mist drifted through the streets of Edge. Late autumn winds chased leaves of orange across the sidewalks and pressed them against the windows of Seventh Heaven. Inside, the bar was teeming with people and light and warmth and noise. Amid the hustling and chatter of the bar stood two people not in search of a warm meal or drink, but a certain skulking blond man. They scanned the room, the shorter girl with the wild boots standing on tiptoe to do so, but the hulking giant of a man beside her peered effortlessly over the crowd. "There he is."

They pressed through the throng of people toward the back wall. Their unsuspecting victim had just stepped through a side door was now making his way toward the back of the bar. A large metal hand grabbed his shoulder and Cloud whirled around, startled.

"Yo, Cloud. It's just me."

"Hey, Barret. Yuffie. It's been a while."

"Yeah! You got a moment? We need to talk."

"Is something wrong?"

Yuffie chimed in before Barret could answer: "Yeah, something is wrong." She nodded seriously, one hand on her hip. "An AVALANCHE crisis—one like we've never seen before."

Cloud glanced at Barret as if to confirm this information, as it didcome from a questionable source. Barret nodded.

"Okay," Cloud consented. They led him to a large wooden booth near the window, which was empty except for Cid. The pilot grinned impishly at him, a grimy cigarette between his teeth. Cloud slipped in across from him, frowning.

"Why you lookin' at me like that, SOLDIER boy?"

"Cid, didn't you read the sign?"

"Eh? What's that?"

"'No smoking'…?" The disgust in his tone was unmistakable.

"You serious, Cloud? Since when did you have a problem with--"

"It's bad for you and it's bad for the kids, Cid," he said in a tired sigh.

The pilot muttered something under his breath before resignedly crushing out his cigarette.

Well, he may not be in the best of moods; but on the bright side, he's definitely ready for kids, Yuffie thought. "Ahem!" She slapped her hand on the table to get their attention. "Let the meeting begin. I'll get right to the point because I mean business. Cloud, this meeting is mostly about you."

"Me?" He glanced at them, confused. "I thought you said we had a problem?"

"Yes, Cloud. You are the problem."

"You and Tifa, to be exact," cut in Barret.

There was a moment of mystified silence. Then Cloud froze. If it were possible to pale under such a light complexion, he would have been whiter than Modeoheim in winter. "Wait a second. If this is you guys trying to run my personal affairs, let me tell you right now that I'm one hundred percent not interes—"

"Cloud, don't look now but you ain't got no personal affairs! That's why we're here. We're your pals. We wanna help you, so listen. Mebbe someday you'll thank us."

Blue eyes narrowed to sarcastic slits. "From the kind of advice you usually give me, I somehow doubt that."

"Sit down and SHADDUP!" ordered Cid, but Cloud didn't really have a choice--they were prepared to resort to physical abuse if that's what it took to make him stay.

Yuffie was just about to dive into the lecture when a familiar black skirt appeared at the end of the table and there stood Tifa with a platter of drinks. "Hey guys!" she chirped. "More than two is a party, so I thought I'd bring some drinks over. How's it going?" She placed sparkling golden glasses in front of them, completely oblivious to the humiliated delivery boy in the corner.

"We're jes' havin' an AVALANCHE meeting," Barret said, pointedly staring at Cloud.

"But you're not invited," put in Yuffie hastily.

"An AVALANCHE meeting and I'm not invited?"

Cloud risked a glance in her direction and she caught his eyes, looking for an answer. He looked away. "It's a men-only meeting," he muttered weakly.

"Just what does that make me?!" Yuffie protested.

He stared at her. "You're not a woman, you're a girl."

Amid the growling and foot-stamping that followed, Tifa picked up the platter and shifted her weight uncertainly. "Well…let me know if you need anything."

Once she had left and was out of earshot, three gleeful faces directed their attention to a wide-eyed Cloud—who was currently melting into a puddle of pure mortification.

"Make it fast…and as painless as possible," he said miserably.

…………………………………………

Tifa had no idea what was going on in that corner of the bar, but she was sure it wasn't pleasant—not for Cloud, anyway. His face changed color more than twice. Once, he tried to get up and leave, but sat down again. Maybe Barret's expression persuaded him to stay, or maybe the others said something that changed his mind. Normally, Tifa would have laughed at his ridiculous facial expressions, which ranged from sickened to shocked, but she was more annoyed at not knowing what provoked these expressions. It must have been something serious: Cloud seemed to have developed a nervous drinking habit. Again and again Tifa refilled his glass, each time trying to overhear the conversation. Her eavesdropping efforts were in vain--the bar was too noisy, and they changed the subject each time she approached. (Somehow, just somehow, she doubted they were really discussing the possibility of Rufus ShinRa beginning a fashion line for wheelchairs.)

Why wouldn't they tell her? Maybe a dangerous crisis was threatening the city and they wouldn't let her listen because Cloud was being paranoid. Maybe they were discussing a suitable birthday present for her—but that was a selfish thought, and probably unlikely. Maybe she hadn't the faintest idea as to what they were talking about. Yes, that was it.

"I have no idea," she said aloud, staring absently through a puzzled customer.

……………………………………

It was working.

Yuffie crunched happily on an ice cube (her favorite food).

By all the materia in Gaia, it was working!

She popped another ice cube in her mouth, munching them like popcorn as she watched the entertainment, which was—surprisingly—Cloud. At the moment, he seemed completely hypnotized in the conversation now as he had been several hours ago.

"But you gotta act soon," Barret was saying with great persuasion and emphasis and spreading of the arms. "Ain't you a man? The man's supposed to be a man, an' go chase his girl. Don't make her do all the work, cuz that ain't her part." (Yuffie and Barret had taken up most of the persuading after Cid tried to compare a man and woman's relationship to some obscure technological terms found only in the engine of a rocket. Needless to say, the illustration was completely lost on Cloud.)

"No more dilly dallying," the delivery boy nodded seriously, sipping the golden liquid in his drink. "I'm gonna say it, guys."

"Say what?"

"I'm gonna say: 'I…I care for you, Teeeefa Lockhart.'"

"That's it?"

Cloud glanced from face to face, evidently confused. "I really…care for you, Tifa Lockhart." He said it like a question.

"No, Cloud."

Crestfallen, he stared into his glass for several seconds. Then his head jerked up in sudden inspiration. "Love! 'I love you, Teef," he proclaimed triumphantly.

Yuffie applauded. "Now why don't you trying telling her that?" she encouraged.

His half-grin disappeared. "I can't. It's just that…what if this is a one-way thing? What if, she doesn't like me back?"

"Spiky, we've been through this already, remember?"

"Oh yeah…she's crazy about me, but I don't know it."

"Right! And even if she weren't, you've got to…? (Psst! Fill in the blank.)"

"I've got to…take a risk."

"Bingo! See? You've got this! I don't know what you were talkin' 'bout when you said you was bad with words an' all that crap. It's all gonna smooth over. You can do this, Cloud."

"I know! I don't know what's wrong with me," wailed the delivery boy, "because that's exactly what I told myself when I bought the ring--"

Yuffie choked on an ice cube. "The ring?! You bought her a RING?" Here they were, simply trying to make him get more obvious message across to Tifa, but apparently he had already been thinking along these lines and wanted to take it to a whole new level.

His eyes glinted like those of an excited schoolboy who knew a particularly juicy secret. "Do you want to see it?"

They watched as he scrambled to his feet and, blond spikes bobbing below the taller customers, proceeded to weave around the crowd, through the bar, past Tifa, around a corner—and right into the women's restroom. His scarlet face crept back into sight after he realized his mistake. Tifa, who had been watching him, looked concerned and pointed to the stairs, gently pushing him in that direction, and stared in bewilderment after him.

He returned a few minutes later to the table. He rummaged in his pockets and produced a faded grey sock. With the cunning stealth and sneakiness of a SOLDIER 1st Class, he removed a black velvet box and shyly displayed the sparkling ring inside. "This is an engagement ring. I didn't to buy a wedding ring, because there's always the change she'll say no." For the amount of money he spent on this one, he might as well have bought a wedding ring instead. It was slender band of silver that elegantly sprouted tendrils. They curved attractively around a very, very gil-happy diamond.

"When did you get this?" asked Cid.

"A while ago."

"As in?"

He paused and seemed to calculate mentally: "Five months. And a week."

Yuffie wished she had something harder than the table to bang her forehead against.

All this time Barret had been quiet, but now he frowned and sighed. "That's a nice rock, Spiky—but it don't mean a thing if it ain't on her finger."

Cloud stared out the window. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. And opened it and closed it. The box in his hand snapped shut; he stuffed it and the sock in his pockets. "Move over, Yuffie."

"What?"

"I'm leaving. Move."

"But Clou—"

She toppled onto the ground as Cloud pushed his way out of the booth. They watched as he took several steps into the crowd. Then he paused, back to them, and turned and paced back to the table whereupon he took his glass and hastily downed the rest of his drink. After slamming it loudly back down on the wooden table, he grunted and turned back across the bar.

………………………………

"I never really had a family."

The voice sounded familiar. Tifa turned around. She had been half-listening to snatches of small talk and sob stories, along with the occasional tipsy joke. After years of working in a public place all the voices sounded more or less the same, but this one—deep, soft and contemplative—never failed to draw her attention.

"Cloud. Can I get you something?"

He was staring at her, detached. "I'm fine, thanks."

"You don't look well."

"I feel kind of sick, actually."

It wasn't like him to admit things. Not when he had the stigma, not when he didn't make SOLDIER…not in any crucial moment. But even trivialities he seemed to struggle with, as if they were weaknesses. Maybe he was having something as simple as a stomachache but was too egotistic to admit it. "You should go lie down."

"Not that kind of sick." His eyes flickered down to his hands folded neatly on the counter. The dim light above cast vague shadow across his face, washing it grey save twin flames of dark blue.

"All right?" Tifa said doubtfully. She left the counter and pretended to occupy herself somewhere else. But his eyes were still linked to her; she could feel them. It was awkward and she compulsively rearranged the objects nearest to her, two bottles and a decorative basket of fruit. In the dark, polished glass she saw his reflection.

"Tifa?"

She turned around.

"I lied. I am sick."

"Then go t—"

"Sick for you, I mean."

Well, that stopped her. This was something else entirely. She'd never heard him say anything like this, and "being sick" was his first attempt at a romantic expression, she wasn't sure whether to be flattered or floored. Maybe a little of both. She knew that, as a friend, he cared about her—it was a mutual, unspoken feeling—and she wanted to believe him now but he was obviously not in his right mind. "Are you feeling tipsy?" she asked with a straight face, even though she knew him better than that.

"N…uh, no? Maybe?" It sounded like his tongue didn't know how to form words; they were jumbled in whatever state of a mind he had; and they formed awkwardly, clumsily. "Hold on a sec…."

She watched him suspiciously. "Are you sure you didn't drink something?" Glancing at the far table where the rest of the company was seated, she noticed the gang was intently focused on them. Barret saw her staring. He coughed inaudibly, elbowed Cid, and then seemed to find something fascinating in his fingernails. Whatever they had been scheming about over there, she was now convinced it everything had to do with Cloud's strange behavior and nothing to do with an AVALANCHE meeting. Eyes narrowed, she turned back to the bar. "Cloud. You know I'm not going to—HEY! Get down from there! What on earth are you doing?"

Apparently his body was moving much faster than his mind. He was standing—standing—on top of the high bar counter.

A subtle turning of his lips almost grew into a full smile, but stopped at the seriousness in his eyes. They locked gaze for several long seconds, his mysterious to her incredulous, before he cleared his throat. When he spoke, it wasn't to her.

"Excuse me," he tried in a moderately loud tone, looking out across the room and the heads now far below him. His mouth felt somewhat dry but he needed the crowd's attention so he cupped his hands over his mouth and—"EXCUSE ME. Shut up and listen! Err…can I have your attention, please?" he yelled. That got few heads. Look. The man who saved the world is standing intoxicated on the counter and he wants us to shut up. Gradually the room quieted. At the bar, several customers strained sideways for a better view. Cloud didn't particularly desire the audience of half the low lives in here (his friends were the ones who needed to hear), but if they were fated to be present for this unprecedented chapter in The Romantic Life of Cloud Strife, now was the golden opportunity.

Now. The room was packed, and almost every head was turned his way. He swallowed. "Thank you. Ahem. As you all know or don't know, I, uh.... I'm awful at speeches." He really was awful and his hands and forehead felt uncomfortably hot. Probably because he was closer to the ceiling lights up here. "Don't worry--I'm not going to ask you to sing happy birthday to anybody. I just want you to listen to what I've got to say. I've been…" he faltered. Stood up straighter, heart pounding because one of the faces staring at him made him stronger and weaker all at once. "I've been too reticent, before. But today I think I can verbalize something that has been staring me in the face, unspoken for far too long. A sickness. A fascination. An addiction. Something that took the advice of my friends, some soul-searching, and several drinks for me to finally come to grips with: my feelings for Tifa Lockhart."

Up to this point, Tifa had been suspecting a full-blown confession of a secret mako addiction or something along those dark, wild lines. But this…she, Tifa Lockhart, was the topic? Maybe she'd fallen asleep at the bar and this was an illusion—but it felt undeniably real. She put a hand against the bar to keep from melting to her knees as he went on.

"You probably just see her as the bartender—" (he hesitated and by the blush that colored his face appeared to refrain from adding something else to that description) "—but to a lot of people here, she's a lot more. Especially to me. She's the girl I grew up with. Dreamed about. Went to war for, took a scar for her." His fingers brushed his dark shirt and the old wound underneath, the only tangible evidence left of the reactor incident seven years ago. "A couple years ago, I even, uh…wore women's clothing and was assaulted by half-naked men of questionable merit in attempt to rescue her." This elicited hoots of laughter from across the room, as well as a deepening red in Cloud's face. "And it turned out she didn't even need rescuing in the first place. No, it's the opposite--it seems she's always the one saving me. I've…lost myself. More than once. But she always brings me back. Tifa. I don't know why it has taken me so many years to understand this; and I don't know why it's so difficult to say how I feel, but it comes down to this: do you remember my promise? If you'll let me, I want to keep it now. That is," and he stared softly at her with those heart-melting eyes: "forever, now."

His lips kept moving but no sound came out because she was trapped in cerulean. There was a little black box in his hand with something sparkly inside and, oddly, he was kneeling on the countertop. The room was so silent that the ringing in her ears seemed louder than her heartbeat. She felt there was some sort of link between what he was doing and what he was saying, but nothing registered. She heard herself say: "Get your muddy feet off the counter and maybe I'll think about it."

And the usually graceful Cloud Strife must have been truly sick with love because he toppled in shock to the floor.

………………………………..

"You were betting on me?!" was the first thing Cloud said to several unexpected guests after the on-the-house drinks had been drank and most of the entertained crowd had begun to disperse. The ex-Turk and his canine friend had apparently witnessed the entire spectacle—but not without betting on the outcome of Cloud's expression skills. Vincent almost looked as if he were sulking as he pushed a fistful of gold bills across the table to a smug Nanaki. "I'm disappointed in you, Cloud. This was the one time your emoism might have been profitable," muttered Vincent.

"It's emoNESS! Get it RIGHT! And it's not like you have room to talk," yelled Yuffie, leaning over from the back of the table behind them.

Tifa was trying to define the word emo for Cloud, who was rather mentally distracted in holding her hand, without using Vincent as the definition when Cid rounded the corner. "I believe congratulations are in order?" He shook Cloud's free hand. "You said you were 'awful at speeches.' I think that's a lie, 'cause Barret was bawlin' his eyes out."

"Shut yer hole; of course I wasn't…" The massive man approached and enthusiastically clapped Cloud on the shoulder. A mischievous grin was plastered on his face. "After all the hard talk that we had to git through that thick skull of yours, the least you could do to repay us is have a couple o' spiky-haired rug-rats crawlin' around here next time I visit."

Judging by Cloud's response to this mild suggestion, it was lucky for Barret that Tifa prohibited brawls indoors.

Night had fallen and, outside, silken grey mist had been replaced with almost imperceptible snowflakes. Cloud and Tifa slipped away from the lively company a the quieter, cooler place on the steps outside where they stood now; Cloud leaned against the wall and Tifa backlit by golden light inside. Ever the cautious one, Cloud was awkwardly recalling something Zack had said about the first time you kissed a girl when the door opened.

There were several minutes' worth of greetings and thanks as the gang filed out. There was much laughter, shaking of hands, well-wishing, and thanks. Yuffie was especially triumphant. "Well, guys, we did it. It took a lot of effort on your part and I'm proud of you. It was high time these two hooked up. Even if," she looked smugly at Cloud, "even if we had to get him drunk to do it."

"Yuffie," countered Cloud, "I don't drink."

"Huh?"

"I wasn't tipsy: that was apple juice."