[FFVII][Fic] The Art of Punching Stuff (Tifa/Barret, SFW)

[wallwalker]

I'll be trying to repost my fandom_stocking ficbits over the next few days (if I can find them all again.)

Title: The Art of Punching Stuff
Fandom: FFVII
Characters: Barret/Tifa
Rating: SFW
Summary: Barret gets advice on hand-to-hand combat from one of the best.

“Okay, Barret. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Right,” you answer, making a fist and turning to look at the worn old punching bag. It’s just you and Tifa, so you shouldn’t be feeling so self-conscious, but you can’t help it. Tifa’s the best brawler you’ve ever met, and you haven’t thrown a serious punch since... hell, it was before Corel burned down, wasn’t it? Back when some stranger showed up and called you all a bunch of inbred idiots who didn’t know how to live outside of a mine. That had been one hell of a barfight; poor Myrna had freaked out when you'd come home, black eye, cut arm, huge grin and all.

This was different, though. Tifa had insisted on it. “You’re not always going to be able to use the gun,” she’d argued while she’d been closing down the bar. “You’re not going to scare everyone off without fighting. What if you’re trying to shoot someone, and the gun jams? Or what if there’s a crowd, and a stray bullet could end up hurting a stranger?”

“Then I sock the asshole in the jaw,” you answered, laughing nervously. “That’ll do it, right?”

“Maybe for a civilian, but not for Shinra’s military,” she insisted. “They’re trained for that. We’ll both be a lot better off if you let me teach you a few things, trust me.”

“I figured you’d be taking care of yourself,” you say, blinking at her.

“I mean, I’d feel better about you being out there.” She put down the glass she’d been wiping, looking away for a second. Was it just you, or were her cheeks a little redder than they had been before this conversation started? “I’m not always going to be there. You get into a brawl with someone who’s really good at it, get knocked out and dragged off by Shinra... I don’t think anyone of us would want to see that happen.”

“Right.” Yeah, her cheeks were definitely red. You think that’s part of why you agreed to this. “Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Great,” she said, looking back up at you, immediately relaxing. “I’ll get something set up. It won’t take long.”

True to her word, it had only taken her a couple of days to get the punching bag set up in the hideout. So there you are, standing there, fist made, trying to psych yourself up for the first punch.

“You’re thinking too much,” Tifa says behind you.

“Ain’t I supposed to be learning something?” you answer, laughing nervously.

“You will. First I need to see you in action. Besides, if this were real you wouldn’t have time to think.”

“Heh,” you say under your breath. “You ain’t wrong.”

You round up and throw a punch the best you can, a left to the jaw, if that bag had been made with one. It doesn’t feel as strong as it used to, but it ain’t bad, so you follow it up with a couple of jabs and a roundhouse before looking back at Tifa. “How’s that?”

She smiles a bit. “It’s a good start,” she answers. “But let me give you a few tips, okay?”

“Sure. Guess that’s what we’re doing here, right?”

“Right.” She walks over to you and takes your left hand. “First of all, you need to move this,” she says, prodding gently at your thumb where it’s pressed against your index finger. “You’ll break your thumb punching this way, or worse. Move it down here.”

You follow her lead, moving your thumb down over your curled-up fingers. “Can’t even get that right, huh?” you say, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

“It’s okay. I didn’t get it right at first either,” she answers, laughing. “My master told me that nobody he trained ever made a proper fist on the first try.”

You can’t help but snort at that. “Anything else?”

“Just a few things.” She stands beside you and drops into a boxing stance. “Let’s work on those jabs; you’ll want to start with them because they’re easier to control than the roundhouse punches. Keep your arm straight, and try to put your weight into it like this, okay?” She demonstrates, rolling her hips into the punch, her knuckles making contact with the bag. It’s a lot louder than what you did, and the bag moves a little further.

You look down at your fist. Your thumb feels kind of weird, but you guess you’ll get used to it. “Right,” you say, and throw a few more jabs, moving with the punch as best you can.

She grins. “That looks better already!” she says. “But we need to practice, and with your other hand, too.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna be punching anybody with a gun, Tifa,” you say, and you can’t help but laugh at the idea.

“I hope not,” she says, and she laughs a bit with you. “But what if they have hostages? A gun would be too dangerous. We could think of something else, for times like that.”

“Heh,” you say. “Guess that’s a good point.” You fall back into the fighting stance. “So, Master Tifa, can you show me how it’s done?”

She snorts. “As long as you don’t call me that again,” she answers, blushing.

“Whatever you say, Tifa. Now, let’s go!”

You don’t know how long you’re down there. You know that your shoulder’s feeling really damn tired after a while, and your entire hand aches. She notices too, although you try to hide it; you’re clenching and unclenching your fist when she calls it a day.

“That’s enough for now,” she says. “Let’s get some materia and a warm soak for your hand. It’ll be sore tomorrow, but that can’t be helped.”

“Hey, it’s worth it,” you say. “Thanks for the help, Tifa. Seriously.”

She shakes her head. “It’s no problem. I just want to help you stay safe.”

You smile as you step on the elevator behind her. “Well, good thing I got somebody watching out for me.”