Learning to Live

Author’s Note: This story is a role play fiction, meaning the tale is told in posts, or blocks of text. Put simply, this is co-op’ed by myself, writing Vincent, and my great friend Animenadie writing Tifa. I realize the format is odd and unusual, but since there are two authors writing this fiction, this style-set is the best I can do with what time I have.



It is set some about a month or so after the game Dirge of Cerberus. We’ve taken liberties with a few things, so please be tolerant. There are spoilers included, so readers that haven’t yet played the game, please be advised. R/R requested and enjoyed, but please be constructive in any criticism given. We do this because we enjoy it and want to share with the other fans of this series and paring. Fiction has not been Beta’ed; any volunteers would be welcomed.



I have added paragraphs and spaced the blocks out a bit. I hope this makes for easier reading. This is not read as a novel would be, but rather by posts, as it's written in role play form. I hope it helps.


Disclaimer: We, in no way whatsoever, own anything of and pertaining to the Final Fantasy VII or Dirge of Cerberus works; that right belongs to other fortunate souls. We also reap no monetary benefits from this exercise in literary creativity.



Learning to Live


- Siblant Macabre & Animenadie -


Tifa:



Just another day. It wasn't a bad thing, really. 'No news is good news' and all that. The problem lay in the fact that, without much going on, one day just seemed to blend seamlessly into the next with little to differentiate. The only real breaks in monotony were the occasional assignments she took from Reeve, or a visit from an old friend or two. Tifa sighed softly and put away the last of the glasses she'd neglected to wash the previous night. Cleaning wasn't her favorite part of bartending; she was better at mixing drinks, talking with patrons, and occasionally drinking a bit herself. The fighter smiled to herself, remembering drinking games won and lost to friends - almost all of them male - who were shocked at how well she could hold her liquor.



A glance at the back wall, and her eyes lingered on pictures that lined it. Mostly just snapshots, two portraits of the members of AVALANCHE, and even some newspaper clippings, all framed. There was even a photo of the ever enigmatic Vincent Valentine. She couldn't help but chuckle at the memory. She had surprised him with the shot just after Shelke had come back with him. The surprise showed on his face... well, as much as anything could show on the stoic gunman's face. But at the time, everyone had been so relieved to see him that no one cared how expressive he was. He had changed though... and as far as she could tell, it was for the better.



Her eyes drifted over the rest of the pictures and she sighed softly. They were damn lucky, to have all made it through not one, not even two, but three nearly world-ending disasters and all come out alive. All, save one. Tifa shook her head against the thought and began to prepare for the bar's opening in little more than an hour. Really, she'd have to stop procrastinating on cleaning so much. It wouldn't hurt for Reeve to call her, though...



Vincent:



Vincent held off a sigh as yet another of the troops approached. Classes were over for the day, damnit; all he wanted now was to get out of here and get home. Home. What a novel concept, he thought, not for the first time.



The soldier snapped smartly to attention and saluted; Vincent lazily returned it and continued rummaging in his locker. No matter how many times he reiterated that his status required no saluting, it never sunk in with these kids.



“What is it, Private?” he drawled, unable to keep the growl from his voice.



The boy bit his lip in hesitation, then hustled on as one black eyebrow lifted over eerie wine-red eyes. “Um, sir! Sir, some of the men were talking. Er, talking about how some remaining soldiers from Deepground were still under operation in Midgar.” The kid blinked wide blue eyes. “Is that true, Sir?”



Vincent took a deep breath, for patience, then answered, as ever slow and methodical. “No, Private. The operation of Deepground is over and done with. I can personally attest to that. Carry on.” A vague hand wave, the artificial lights glinting off metal, and the private scurried away.



Vincent shrugged on his suit jacket, not for the first time wishing himself able to don the familiar black buckle studded leather and comfortable red cloak. But here, in the WRO headquarters, the environment was a bit more… “formal” than such and he’d opted for an ensemble that was vaguely familiar and at the same time haunting. Dark navy slacks and blazer, white shirt and black tie. Vincent didn’t miss the irony. But at least it was comfortable. Besides, he was usually ensconced in the building most days, unless Reeve had a situation which required his particular “talents”.



Such as the afore mentioned mission of eradicating the rest of Deepground. After returning to Edge with Shelke, he’d taken Reeve’s offer and his first assignment was to clean house. Which he did, with alacrity. Cloud, Barret and Tifa had helped, a fact that made Vincent’s half-smile curve his lips. They’d fussed that he’d gotten most of the action earlier and they were entitled to some fun.



Driving through Edge, the sleek black car sweet beneath his fingertips, Vincent inhaled the pungent smoke of his cigarette and flicked the thing out the window. Smoking really wasn’t a habit, just something new to try. Metal talons clicked on the window controls. He still wore the gauntlet, for reasons only known to himself.



But his stomach rumbled, reminding him there was little junk food at his apartment and he’d need sustenance rather soon. What he could really use was a double malt Scotch and blues on the jukebox. Sounded damn good, actually. Changing lanes rather abruptly, he turned the corner and headed for a familiar part of Edge, just three blocks from his own condo, his half smile on his lips as Seventh Heaven’s sign came into view.



Tifa:



The phone rang, interrupting Tifa's chores in a not unwelcome way. She answered, the sound of a quiet, familiar voice greeting her.



"Hey Tif, I'm on my way back. I'll be a little late though..."



The fighter chuckled at the swordsman. "Did you get lost again? Cloud, I swear it's a good thing your bike is fast enough to make up for the time you spend making wrong turns..."



She could just picture his brow creasing slightly in the pause before he responded, "I didn't get lost. Not exactly. The guy's house was further out than I had guessed, is all."



Something akin to a know-it-all smile painted her lips, not inappropriate since, when it came to Cloud, she did know everything. Well, almost. "Fine. I'll save you some dinner, ok?"



A longer pause, followed by, "That's ok, Tifa. I'll stop somewhere and pick something up to bring home."



Brown eyes rolled in irritation. Her cooking wasn't great, but was it that bad? It was a question she didn't care to have a real answer to.

"Besides," he added, "You'll be busy with the bar."



She smirked at that. Business wasn't bad, but wasn't really what you might call "booming" either. "Ok, thanks. See you in a while." She could see his slight smile in her head, barely noticeable to one who didn't know him.



"Right. Bye, Tif."



She hung up after hearing the click on the other end, then exhaled slowly. That was another thing weighing on her mind. But deeper thoughts for later in the evening, if at all.



She cleaned the last table, decided nicotine-yellow and white water-spots weren't a good look for windows, and grabbed the window cleaner and paper towels. As she spritzed the first of the diluted ammonia that always made her sneeze - one reason she never cleaned windows - she couldn't help noticing the black sedan that pulled up and parked outside.



Thin brows drew together in curiosity, then rose in recognition accompanied by a wide smile as she looked at the man stepping out of the vehicle, barely recognizable without all the red and black that normally covered him. A couple of swipes on the window, then a wave to him through it, and she went back to the pretense of cleaning. In truth, it, the cleaner, and the paper towels would be all but abandoned in light of possible conversation. Even one-sided.



It was, after all, Vincent.



Vincent:



Automatically as breathing, Vincent’s photographic memory noticed his was the only car in the parking lot beside the building. He checked his watch reflexively. Well, it was just now quitting time for most of Edge’s citizens, so he was early. As usual.



Getting of the car, he compulsively straightened his jacket, feeling the snug shoulder holster that rode beneath it. Another nuance that couldn’t be helped. He was restricted to a mere handgun these days. Hauling around the Cerberus in its oversized holster would shock the normal folk, so Vincent opted to keep his standard WRO issue pistol carefully concealed beneath his left arm, within easy reach of his right hand.



After locking the car and shoving keys into his pockets, he turned and headed towards the building, an eyebrow quirking to see a familiar face smearing a paper towel across the windows. Ah, Tifa. That half smile again. He nodded to her wave and continued towards the front door. It was unlocked, he supposed she was open by now, and Vincent stepped inside, squinting to let his eyes adjust to the light contrast.



Closing the door behind him, he offered a cordial greeting to Heaven’s hostess as he made his way to his “usual” spot at the bar. “Good evening, Tifa. How are you?” That was the extent of his conversation, unless by some miracle she happened to get him to speak further. He took a seat on “his” barstool and sighed as his human hand pushed away the eternally disheveled locks from his face. Even with his new employment and outfit, he’d not deigned to cut his hair, but rather let it do as it wished, merely keeping the long mass tied at the nape of his neck, which resulted in the shorter bangs always finding residence before his eyes.



Tifa:



As Vincent sat down, the window was indeed forgotten as Tifa made her way behind the bar and pulled a glass from under the counter to set before him. She smiled genuinely as she replied, "Bored. Not much going on lately, but I guess it's a good thing. You?"



Working as both an operative for the WRO and also as an instructor, she could guess he'd been busy. She'd rarely seen the man look worn out or tired, though, and that had not occurred in recent years. She couldn't help keeping her eyes on him whenever he was dressed like this, and stared even now, out of more than just conversational attention, though she knew it only looked like that. He looked so unlike the broody, quiet man she was used to. He was still both of those, but the outfit and pulled back hair made him more... approachable? Yes, that was the word.



She thought it a nice change, but forever would be a little endeared to the man in red who would stand or sit at the edge of their encampment every night, looking as if he were trying to blend into the background and failing miserably. Remembering he probably wasn't here for the conversation, she reflexively went for the scotch, but recalled that on a rare occasion he liked other drinks. "Oh, and the usual?" she asked.



Vincent:



“Please,” Vincent quietly answered with the barest nod of his head. He waited to speak further until she’d set the tumbler before him, the dark amber liquid glinting in the wan light. After taking a slow reverent sip, savoring the bittersweetness on his tongue, Vincent replaced the glass in exactly the same spot from which he’d lifted it and rumbled, “Indeed, busy.”



Scarlet eyes glanced at the hostess through long black strands then flicked back to the bar counter, lashes shielding the uncertainty within them. It was strange, all these changes. Ever used to being enigmatic and aloof, Vincent sometimes found himself still shocked at what he found outside his door. Bogglement never ceased to abound, it seemed. Not a day went by that he didn’t long for the solitude and familiarity of years’ past travels, but he nearly had to kick his own ass to pull himself away from the lure of those brooding days. Not that Vincent painted the town, that would be absurd. But he did at times harbor a deep and bitter loathing towards himself, living such a dejected and miserable life for nearly three decades.



He contained a snort at himself. Had he truly wanted out of that despicable coffin, he’d have found a way out. But instead he’d chosen to remain within, feeling no end of guilt and loathing. That niggling little voice (which came to him usually while he was wallowing in self-loathing, be it past or present) chose to snark, Oh, Valentine, did you think you were the first man betrayed by woman? What arrogance you carry, gunslinger.



Vincent’s head ducked and his lip curled. Several explicatives, courtesy of a certain pilot, seethed through his mind, but what he settled for was, Fuck off, Chaos. I’m not in the mood for your comments.



A heartbeat passed while Vincent steamed atop his stool but the voice retreated, though not without a sadistic chuckle before fading. Vincent’s gaze once more flicked back to Tifa, noting she was staring at him and smiling. Good, he thought in relief, haven’t lost that much control. Good, good. But her gaze still made him…not exactly uncomfortable, but…ah, anxious, that was the word. Like she knew a secret and didn’t want to tell.



Conversation, he kicked himself, punctuated by another swallow of Scotch, conversation, Valentine. “How’s Cloud?” he heard himself quietly ask. “Still working those late hours, I suppose?”



Tifa:



She watched him during the long lapse in speech where he seemed to study the patternless grain of the bar top. Tifa couldn't help a small smirk, as much as things changed, they were still the same. He was still Vincent Valentine, so she waited out the silence until he finally spoke.



At his question, she responded with a small chuckle. "Yeah, you know him. Gotta stay busy. He's had a lot of deliveries lately, which is good for business. Reeve's been calling him off and on to get him to check up on this or that." A small sigh, there. She offered another bright smile, then with forearms leaning on the bar and hands folded, she tilted her head curiously.



"So, how do you like working for the WRO? I have to say, this..." she looked pointedly at the suit with a grin, "…is a good look for you, Vincent." A part of her still preferred the big red cape that seemed to swirl all by itself over the black outfit that had more buckles than she would ever know what to do with. She had already heard from Reeve, as well as a few of the regular customers who happened to be in the organization, that Commander Valentine was the best marksman in the entire group, and a surprisingly good instructor.



This could be, Tifa guessed, because no one really wanted to get on the bad side of the man who had helped save the world twice, saved it almost single-handedly a third time, and had the ability to transform into any one of four beasts. She failed to suppress a small giggle as she tried to imagine the quiet man trying to train a bunch of chatty, overzealous rookies.



Vincent:



Valentine took another sip of the smooth whiskey. “It is…different,” he said finally, staring at his leather and bronze covered hands. “…strange, even.” A rueful chuckle.



“After the events of Deepground, I had no thought of where to go or what to do. It had been so very long since…I had anything resembling a ‘normal’ life.” Falling silent again, Vincent methodically studied the play of light over the glass’s rim.



“Routine, stability…they are nice to have, at last. And my talents are not wasted.” But just a hint of pink rode his high cheekbones at her remark regarding his attire. “It is suitable,” he said, one shoulder lifting in a slight shrug. His lips twisted in irony, but he added, a spark of sly mischief surfacing in the half-lidded eyes, “Besides, the other outfit is dry-clean only.”



Tifa:



Tifa nodded as he spoke, straightening herself and grabbing the towel from under the counter in a pretense of cleaning. Truthfully, she wasn't even sure the towel was all that clean or if it was one of those she'd forgotten to throw on the laundry pile the night before. Oh well, it didn't look or smell dirty.



As she listened to him, Tifa found herself smiling a little more than just her usual conversational look. She was genuinely happy for Vince, that he'd found some sort of life to make for himself after the hell he'd been through. She didn't know every detail, but knew with certainty that the things he'd endured up to them finding him had been very tragic.



They had all found better lives. Even Shelke, who now resided with Cid and Shera, helping with the airship's computer system, and occasionally aiding the WRO with any technical problems. For the most part, though, the girl was just trying to learn to live again, to regain some of what she'd been denied in Deepground. It warmed Tifa's heart that Cid and Shera had asked the girl to stay with them. Beneath the cursing and cigarettes, Cid was really a big softy. Shelke had stayed with Tifa and Cloud for a while, but there hadn't been all that much in Edge to keep the girl occupied.



Her attention snapped back to present company when she noticed the pink in Vincent's cheeks and her mouth opened in a grin. To his comment, she laughed and mused, "That so?" She peered over the edge of the bar, leaning on the polished surface as she did. "I have to say, I like your new shoes better, though." She stood back up and refilled his glass.



"So what else do you do now, Vince? I mean, besides work."



Vincent:



A bit of exasperation to her mirth. She leaned over to look down at his feet and Vincent’s eyes refrained from rolling in exasperation, although a quiet sigh did manage to escape barely parted lips, idly stirring a stray lock of Tifa’s dark hair. But he merely nodded and replied, “Thank you.”



Silently praising the refill, he took another deliberate swallow and tilted his head slightly to her query, carefully leaning his cheek on his right hand. Odd, that Tifa would seem so interested in his activities. But upon reflection, Vincent realized it wasn’t so odd; Tifa was the group-styled backbone of their former cadre and any concern she expressed was just that, friendly curiosity and concern. It was touching, that she would inquire.



One finger idly flicked a stray lock of black hair from his face. “In all honesty, not too much else.” Hell, he spent most of his free time just sitting in his living room, not quite able to believe he lived there. A new nuance, that one.



“Read a bit, watch television.” His half-smile peered from behind the long bangs. “Most of the town’s entertainments aren’t exactly to my taste.” But enough of him. It was disconcerting.



Clearing his throat after swallowing a swarthy gulp of Scotch, Vincent quietly inquired, “And everyone else? Reeve reports Yuffie well away from Edge, back in Wutai. How are Marlene and Denzel?”



Marlene, he knew, was in Corel with Barret, and Vincent knew this because the little girl still called him at least once a week to update him on the tumultuous events in her life, such as her first pair of earrings, the new clothes her father indulged her, what flavor of ice cream was now her favorite. Although he couldn’t fathom why, Vincent was simply patient and took her phone calls, making all the correct responses at the appointed times.



Tifa:



The towel now slung over one shoulder, Tifa fiddled with the end while she answered, "Oh, they're all doing fine, last I heard. I haven't talked to Yuffie in a couple of weeks, but she is probably really busy. You know how she is, always getting into something." Usually it was something to do with small, shiny orbs of materia. It was the only way the ninja ever consented to being paid. After all, the heir to the throne of Wutai had little need for money.



"Marlene and Denzel are growing up fast," Tifa breathed with a small, nostalgic sigh. "Seems like just yesterday we found that boy. They're both in Corel with Barret." With a small, knowing grin, she tiled her head back, lashes lowering halfway over dark eyes. "I heard you've become one of her 'bestest friends'..." She chuckled and shook her head. "She's getting to be such a big girl. Next thing we know, Barret will be threatening to tear the heads off of any boy that comes near her." The gruff man had been bad enough around her when she'd been younger, at least until she'd set him straight about it.



As she watched more of the amber liquid disappear from Vincent's glass, she refilled it once more. He'd tell her when to stop. A glance at the clock told her more customers would be filing in within the next thirty minutes or so... but for now Tifa was more than content to catch up with an old friend.



"Shelke is still staying with Cid and Shera. They've been working on a new airship... or repairing the old one. I'm not too sure; they all seem pretty similar to me." She gave a conspiratorial smile and added, "Don't tell Cid I said that, though."



To be continued…