Chapter Text
Mechanical clicking and the low drone of the television slice through Barret's sleep. Myrna's heart-shaped face, her soft hands gliding over his shoulders, and her golden eyes as bright as a sunny dawn fizzle away into the same old words on the television as Marlene's complaints jar him awake.
"Get up! You promised you'd make me pancakes!" she whines, standing by the rundown sofa. Marlene pouts, the pink dress Tifa picked out for her at the shops last month smudged with black grease. Dark streaks linger in the fringe of her bobbed brown hair, too.
His daughter has gotten sneaky since the "hard-headed" landlady, Marle, keeps fussing over her, letting her stay up past bedtime when he's out on "business trips." Barret's grateful as much as he finds her insistence on handing out candy like it's going out of style somewhat frustrating, especially when he's the one who has to deal with Marlene's sugar high. Still, it's a trade-off, leaving her behind while he dishes out justice with the rest of AVALANCHE.
Lately, Marlene's got a talent for getting into his things when she shouldn't, and she's got into his tools, judging by the metallic tang of gun oil and the spilt liquid dripping through the metal grates on the basement floor.
Groaning, Barret sits up; the fraying couch has seen better days. It does no justice to the stiff joint in his right shoulder, or the aching old bullet wounds he earned back in Corel that sneak up on him like the monsters in the slums. He rubs at the scars webbing on his brown skin, fingers calloused from his old work. Makes him wonder if Shinra will ever go back to using Mythril. Doubtful. Those suits don't care about employees; better to use cheap crap that wears down faster than a buggy after an hour in the Gongaga swamps.
"I've been waiting all morning! You promised, Daddy, you promised!" Marlene bobs up and down, blocking the view of his gun prosthetic locked in a wall case.
"Alright, alright, I'm up. Did you get into my stuff again, Marlene?" He looks pointedly at the stains on her dress.
"I was trying to help..." Her face falls, focus glued to her patent leather shoes. "But I made a mess..."
"Nah, don't worry, darlin'," he yawns. "I'll clean it later." He kisses the top of her head. "Go upstairs and wash up. I'll be there in a sec."
Marlene brightens. "Okay!" Her footsteps tap, tap, tap; the elevator, disguised as a jukebox, jitters while carrying her upstairs.
The television shows Scarlet, head of Shinra's Weapons Development. Her blood-red dress and blonde hair flood back memories of North Corel. It crashes through his mind: her manicured nails rapping against the table as she monologued about building a reactor. Dyne was unsure, and Barret's half-baked ideas about bumping up the economy, getting better medicine for Myrna, thrashed through his head like an echo in a tunnel.
Shinra took him and the townsfolk for fools, and they fell right into the greedy corporation's trap, their promises nothing more than a honey pot filled with bees and barbed wire, a trail of smoke leading to a raging inferno. If it hadn't been for the mako and that damn reactor, maybe he and Dyne could have still been with their wives, looking after Marlene together in a happy home...
Scarlet's shrill voice screeches at the reporters in the room. "But hear this, AVALANCHE, we will squash anyone who opposes Shinra!" The news ticker flashes a banner stating:
LIVE
AVALANCHE strikes again—Terrorists bomb Mako Reactor One.
His heart pounds. No wonder she looks ready to breathe fire, but damn if it doesn't give him a sick sense of pleasure. A taste of revenge. She's not the one he wants most, though. Scarlet's just a symptom of the bigger evil: President Shinra himself.
He scowls and turns off the television. "Bunch of greedy bastards, draining the planet dry," he mutters, boots thudding against the ground, soles worn thin from all his running.
Not enough money for a new pair, and he won't ask Jessie or Tifa. Those two have helped enough, getting him and Marlene a place. There's no way he's asking SOLDIER boy either. The spiky-haired tightwad keeps demanding more gil every mission. One day he'll chew through Barret's wallet and Marlene's college savings.
After taking his gun from the case, ensuring the safety is on, he tucks it under his right armpit and fastens the leather harness, sliding his left arm into the sleeve. A push of the button, and the prosthetic attaches to the harness and metal cap fitted over his stump, locking in place. "Pancake time."
He moves onto the elevator and snaps the rod left. Gravity lessens; the platform rises slowly. After washing up in Seventh Heaven's bathroom, he treads down the rickety steps. Tifa's and Jessie's words drift up from the bar:
"─did not expect Cloud to agree without charging his usual fee," Jessie chuckles, her weapon holster rustling while she taps her metal-plated greaves against the carpet with a soft thump. "Who knew upgrading his rusty sword would work? Boys and their toys."
"Who's gonna man the bar while we're gone?" Tifa asks, the neon egg and chips sign bouncing off her tawny beige complexion.
"Biggs will. Marlene always likes showing off her drawings to him. It's so sweet!" Jessie's hazel eyes dart to Barret as he moves down the last step. "Well, well. Look who it is. Pancake man himself!"
"Huh? What you on about?" Barret grunts, striding to where Marlene swings her legs on a green stool at the counter.
"Marlene was telling us all about your famous breakfast," Jessie snickers and tightens up her red headband.
"I wouldn't call 'em famous," he huffs.
Tifa offers a small smile, long brown hair falling over her shoulder. "Morning, Barret. I was organising the pantry. Want me to get the ingredients?" The edges of her white top cut a sharp outline in the dim lighting, wrinkled and coffee-stained. A glimpse of the scar on her collarbone flashes before she conceals it, folding her arms.
Everyone in their little rag-tag team in AVALANCHE has got something they don't want to talk about. He isn't going to force her to cough.
"Nah, I got it," he says, his tone more curt than intended. He knows Tifa offers the same to everyone each day, but his rocky sleep isn't boosting his mood.
Jessie clears her throat, picking up her tea, her fair skin flushed from the heat rising from her red mug. "C'mon, Tifa, let Barret come round. He's not a morning person. We can discuss the surprise upstairs." Her lips curve into a cheeky smile Barret knows all too well. It means trouble.
"Oh, sure," Tifa agrees. "See you later, Barret."
"Uh, yeah. Later." He watches her fiddle with her red gloves before turning. A nervous tick. Tifa's never been good at lying, not to him. What could she have planned that has Jessie so excited?
For a moment, Barret thinks of how Myrna's laugh bubbled up like waterfalls in the meadows and how bright she smiled when he gave her the colourful patterned headscarf he had surprised her with for their fifth anniversary. She always did love her yellow and purple flowers. He clenches his hand on the counter, leaning against it as Marlene draws happy, messy petals in her colouring book.
The red stains from the crayons writhe from the page, gunshots, fire, screaming. Dyne, Eleanor, and Myrna. They all died that day. Shinra's troopers were trigger-happy bastards, and the burning embers, the wailing of children, the sound of Scarlet and her infantry guards shooting people down like Doomrats─
And then the memory passes, replaced by Marlene looking up at him, studying his face.
"So, pancakes, right?" Barret asks, his features softening. Can't show weakness, not as a leader of revolutionaries.
"You were talking to yourself again. Is everything okay?" Her forehead wrinkles, mouth pressed into a thin line.
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm just thinking. You want chocolate or strawberry syrup on yours?"
"Chocolate." She jiggles up and down on the stool. "With blueberries and strawberries."
"Alright, sit tight, lemme get the ingredients." He treads into the kitchen, gathering milk, butter, flour and eggs. Then the blueberries, strawberries, and whipped cream. He glances at his gun arm, wondering if the barrel will work properly on their next mission. Doctor Sheiran told him he could get a new, more up-to-date version. One that could morph into a bionic hand.
But what's the point? As long as he's got his little princess, Marlene is all the reminder he needs.
He grabs a bowl and a mixer Biggs salvaged from the scrapyard. Cracking eggs one-handed proves awkward but manageable. With his teeth, he opens the flour bag—the white dust clouds his beard, making him sneeze. After adding sugar and baking powder, he mixes everything together and heats the frying pan.
While he's cooking, Tifa and Jessie return, whispering between themselves, and Barret notices Tifa holding something behind her back. A flash of green and blue. A present?
"Hey, girls, what've you got there?" Barret calls, waving the spatula, pancake batter dripping onto the tiles.
Tifa shifts from foot to foot. "We remembered you mentioning how you could do with a new communication device, so we all chipped in."
The sweet smell of pancakes wafts through the air and his stomach growls. Better to focus on breakfast instead of the idea that his friends went behind his back and spent a fortune. A waste of money, is what it is. Still, the fact that they did is touching in a way. “Yeah?”
"Biggs, Wedge and me made it. Tifa's been keeping it safe," Jessie says, her words tumbling over themselves. "And Cloud pitched in with the building process, too."
"Did he, now?" Barret’s brow wrinkles, the spatula frozen in mid-air.
"Gave him something to do, other than brooding." Jessie imitates his signature sullen expression, her nose twitching. "That and Tifa gave him a few words of encouragement. So, are you gonna open it?"
"Hold your horses, just finishing off Marlene's breakfast," he huffs, plating the food. Grabbing the syrup from the pantry, he tops the pancakes off, the fresh scent of blueberries and chocolate wafting through the bar. Lucky the Angel of the Slums steals good produce and sells it here for lower prices. Otherwise they probably wouldn’t get access to fruit. "Here you are, darling, your favourite." He slides the plate of steaming breakfast towards her, and Marlene's face glows with joy.
"Yay! Thank you," she squeals, and digs in, shovelling the pancakes into her mouth, her cheeks puffing out like a Mu. A chuckle ripples from his chest, the noise rolling from his gut and booming through the quiet morning.
Jessie grins, her hands on her hips. "C'mon, over here, boss man, you're going to love it." She's got a glint in her eyes, the same one she has when she's designing a new bomb.
Barret follows the young women over to the tables and plops down on a seat. Carefully, Tifa places the box in front of him and lifts the lid. Inside rests a sleek, silver device with buttons and a fancy OLED screen. Barret picks it up, noting its metallic finish and sturdy construction. His eyebrow raises in confusion. "So anything new this gizmo can do, Jessie?"
"It's got multiple channels, so we can communicate with everyone on the team, even if we're split up. And Biggs added in a radar that detects any nearby Shinra troopers or monsters. It's a work in progress, but still pretty cool, right?"
Barret turns the gadget around in his hand, marvelling at the intricate design and the thought put into it. "It's real somethin', alright. You all made this, huh?"
Jessie's auburn ponytail sways as she nods. "Yep, total team effort! I designed the motherboard, Wedge asked the folk in the slums for patrol patterns so we could track 'em with the radar better, and Biggs sorted the software with military-grade encryption. No one’s listening in unless they can crack it! You can keep in touch with Marlene on missions too. Send her lessons or pictures, that kind of thing. Plus, it’s got a music player. Just tap the sensor panel to play it!"
Rigid demeanour mellowing, Tifa chimes in, "Cloud sourced all the rare parts unavailable on the market. It wasn't cheap, but I told him higher charges would help him pay off his rent." The floorboards creak beneath her red boots. "We believed an all-in-one deal would be more beneficial in combat in general."
"And you like how the case matches your clothes, right?” Jessie laughs, gripping the edge of the table, tilting her head. “Biggs said it was a perfect way for you to show your team spirit, even if AVALANCHE doesn't technically have colours or anything. We thought a band with grey and green accents would fit."
Barret smiles, peering down at it. It’s got everything he needs for missions, and the music feature means he won’t have to listen to the old jukebox blaring the same boring tunes over and over. "Oh, guys, you shouldn't have. This is—"
The shriek of the bar's door interrupts, followed by the distinct sound of heavy steps crossing the threshold. "Hey," a deep, smooth voice says from the entrance. Barret glances up. Electric blue irises storming like the sea surrounding Under Junon and the spikiness of a cactus quill on top of his blond head. "Oh. You got it?"
Barret clears his throat. "Uh, yeah. Thanks for chipping in, SOLDIER boy." His hand brushes over the gift, cool and sleek in his palm.
"It's nothing.” Cloud’s leg muscles tense. He's itching to be out there, Barret can tell. The guy's a little annoying at times, sure, but at least he's making an effort. Maybe he's taking a cue from Tifa watching them. Doesn't matter, though. Cloud deserves a beer on the house for working and not complaining. Tifa's gotta keep some cans stashed somewhere.
Shifting to rest her back against Barret’s left shoulder, Jessie stretches her arms. "Right, we’re testing those new weapons on the monsters bothering the locals at Scrap Boulevard. Ready for it? I need your thoughts before our next raid, especially if we'll need to defend ourselves. Can’t have anything happen to that pretty face of yours." She winks at him.
"Don't you worry, Jessie, I'll give my full report." Barret beams, patting her forearm. She's not bad for a little firecracker always itching for an explosion. “Let's get to it. I'll finish my breakfast and wash up, then we'll head out."
"Sure thing!" Jessie skips over to Cloud and latches onto his arm, earning a disapproving grunt. The guy always looks at women like they're made out of broccoli. "You wanna come, too?"
"Can't. Got a job," he sighs, and pries Jessie off his shoulder. "But tell me how the new equipment goes, alright? Gotta make sure we get it right before the next mission." He strides off, the door swinging shut with a soft click.
"Ah, damn. Oh, well." Jessie shrugs, her lips tightening. "How do you put up with his attitude, Tifa?"
"Cloud's just... a little shy," Tifa murmurs, walking behind the bar and placing some empty glasses into the sink, focus drifting to the mixer Barret used earlier. "He's not that bad, I promise." She's a little too quiet, a little too defensive. Interesting. Barret wonders if there's something she's not telling him.
"Hey, don't get too worked up about SOLDIER boy," Barret says, gently moving Jessie from his side and sauntering back to the counter, where Marlene's polishing off the rest of her pancakes. "He'll come around eventually. I'm sure he's got a lot on his plate."
Tifa bites her lip, her fingers curling in the hem of her black miniskirt. "Yeah..."
After finishing his meal, he washes up and stops by Marlene, pulling her into a careful hug. Her tiny hands wrap around him, and her head leans into his chest, the top of her hair tickling his chin. "I'll see you later, darling. You be good for Uncle Biggs and Wedge, okay? They should be coming back now. If anyone gives you trouble, call me right away."
"Okay. I'll miss you." Her eyes shine, wet with unshed tears, the kind he's seen far too much of in the mirror. She's been through a lot in the past couple of months, and he can't stop the guilt swallowing him whole, leaving her here while he's out trying to save the world from Shinra's bullshit.
"I'll be back soon. I promise." Standing, he collects the gift, slips it into his pocket and scoops up the weapons and equipment he got for the crew: a bladed knuckle-duster for Tifa, a pair of twin pistols for Jessie and a collection of potions and antidotes.
Placing his sunglasses on, he heads out of Seventh Heaven, the warm morning breeze drifting through the streets, smog and gasoline filling his nostrils. The sunlamp glimmers beneath the plate, and he takes a deep breath. Another mission awaits.