Learning to Live

Author's Note: Yes, another update. I apologize for the lateness. Computer problems have laid me low and haven't been able to do any editing to post any more chapters. BUT! Hopefully that's in the past now and I can get motivated to htmling and getting more of the story going.



So, without any more gab, chapter 14. Enjoy!



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Vincent:

Four days later, on Wednesday, Reeve Tuesti came by Vincent's office just before five pm. "Afternoon, Vincent," he said cordially, dropping in the chair opposite Vincent's desk.



Looking up from his computer, Vincent quirked a brow in query but returned the greeting. "Reeve," he nodded back.



The WRO leader tossed over a manila envelope, it landing in the middle of Vincent's desk. "Need you to do me a favor, if you would," he said as the former Turk leaned back in his chair. "I'm headed out of town tonight and I was hoping you'd drop these off at Seventh Heaven for Cloud and Tifa."



One of Vincent's eyebrows lifted. Reeve waved a hand. "Just some out of town reports, progress of the other WRO chapters, that sort of thing. I always try to keep them informed."



Vincent nodded. "Ah, I see."



Reeve smiled. "And since it's on your way home…" Trust Reeve to find a way to avoid anything if he could help it.



"Naturally," Vincent said dryly. He picked up the envelope and set it atop his satchel. "Of course, Reeve."

After the director left, Vincent began to close things down for the night. He turned off his computer, his desk lamp, holstered his gun, shrugged into his navy jacket and shouldered his satchel, which held all of his take-home work, laptop and the envelope he was to deliver. Instead of turning right at the second light, Vincent went left and three turns later saw the familiar sign of Seventh Heaven.



He knew the bar would be closed tonight; Sunday and Wednesdays were the nights off, but there were lights inside nevertheless. Parking the car, he retrieved the envelope and walked to the front door, but no one responded to his knock. Experimentation proved the knob unlocked, so he cautiously opened the door and peered inside, calling softly but firmly, "Hello…? …Tifa? …Cloud?"



Tifa:

A thud and a soft curse sounded from behind the bar. After some scrambling, Tifa placed both hands on the edge of the counter and hauled herself up. Vincent's voice had been the last thing she expected to hear while attempting to install the dishwasher Cid and Shera had gotten for her. Cloud had been too busy, and while it looked really simple, Tifa had shocked herself twice before having the sense to throw the breaker for that part of the building.



Hastily raking fingers through her hair, she looked at Vincent with a pleasantly surprised smile. "Hey, Vincent!" Seeing his look of confusion, she waved a hand toward the stubborn appliance. "Oh. I was just trying to install the dishwasher." She paused to cast a glare its way.



"Cloud's been too busy, and I hate to ask Cid since he and Shera paid for it…" Teeth nibbled at her bottom lip before she looked at him with the brightness of expression that could only be a bad idea. "Hey! Have you got some time to help?"



Vincent:

Red eyes blinked but before he could inform her that he more or less had no technical skills whatsoever, Tifa had bounced around the bar and grabbed him by the hand, all but dragging him behind the counter. He "hmm"ed, seeing the parts, pieces and tools strewn about the floor. He started to tell her that it might be better to wait for Cloud or even to call Cid, but the words died on his lips as he looked down at her.



Damnit. There was that look again; her eyes wide and soft, her lower lip caught between her teeth. With a resigned sigh, Vincent placed the envelope on the bar and shrugged out of his jacket. Rolling up his sleeves – he'd worn the only left glove today – the gunslinger said, "Very well, Tifa. Although I have to warn you, this isn't quite my area of expertise."



Carefully picking his way through the scattered parts, Vincent knelt down, looking about for the direction booklet. Finding it, he thumbed through it for a moment before finally finding the primary installation guidelines. Peering under the cabinet, he inquired, "How far have you gotten with it?" But he grunted sourly at realizing he was going to have to look for himself.



Disdaining the flashlight – as he could see quite well in the dark – Vincent gingerly poked his head under the cabinet, twisting around to better see how everything was supposed to fit together. Gods, this is not dignified, he thought to himself, wondering just how she'd roped him into it.



Tifa:

Tifa bit her lip again just to hold in the giggle that threatened as the deadly gunman-turned-repairman poked and prodded and wiggled beneath the washer. There was maybe two feet of room beneath, considering how it was set into the counter directly meeting with the wall cabinets above. That way, when it was installed, drawers could be replaced beneath for storage. He turned and wiggled, "uunf'ed" and "hmm'ed", until Tifa saw his hand creep out from under there, groping around for something. Ah, there was the screwdriver just out of his reach.



With an impish grin, she picked it up and wiggled her way under there with him, unable to see much without the light. "Need this?" she asked, holding the screwdriver between them. His eyes glowed red in the dark, entrancing if not for the situation.



Vincent:

Vincent nearly yelped in surprise as Tifa somehow managed to materialize under the cabinet. He spit out a piece of hair and took the screwdriver from her, saying dryly, "Thank you, Tifa."



Gesturing with the thing, he added, "I think this piece needs to be connected there, but I can't reach it from here." Before he could say anything further, she'd wiggled her way beneath him, reaching above her head to hold the two pieces together.



"Ah, perfect. Now, hold it for a second and let me…"



Balancing precariously on one hand, Vincent reached out with the screwdriver and carefully attached the two pieces, finishing with a small "Ah" of satisfaction. Tifa lifted her hand and Vincent did yelp this time as she cracked his nose with the flashlight. Brushing aside her apologies, he just chuckled at the irony of it all and groped backwards for the wrench. But his searching hand encountered a soft bare knee instead and he swallowed, clearing his throat.



"Sorry," he murmured, but damnably his fingers lingered a bit, just drifting calloused pads over her skin before pulling away. He was trying to ignore this, the fact that Tifa was wedged under him reading the instruction pamphlet by flashlight, that one of his knees was pressed rather tightly against her inner thigh, and that there suddenly seemed to be considerably less breathing oxygen under this cabinet than there had been fifty seconds ago.



Tifa:

Tifa was trying to ignore the same thing. And failing, miserably. That long, lean frame weighing down against her gave her glaring awareness that they'd been in a similar position before, though with far less clothing. She pulled the manual down an inch, peering over it at him. Lashes fluttered flirtatiously, but she chuckled and slowly - painfully slowly – wiggled down his body and out from under him just before she came to crotch level.



"I'll be right back, I heard the dryer stop." Planet, was it hot in here suddenly? Fanning herself, Tifa all but jogged to the laundry room, knowing that under the dishwasher with parts strewed about was not where she was going to initiate coitus with Vincent again. It simply was not.



Vincent:

He didn't know whether to sing praises or curse viciously when Tifa maneuvered out from under him, heading for the laundry room. Vincent took a deep breath, willing his heating blood to calm down again, the better for him to concentrate. He'd known it'd be a bad idea, coming here.



He'd done well this week, studiously ignoring all the memories that beat at his senses in the deep watches of the night and whenever he chanced to look at his couch, take a shower, or crawl into bed. He'd stayed home every night, losing himself in old movies and books, striving to forget that three blocks down, four blocks over and two blocks to the right lived a woman whom he could distinctly recall was a bit disappointed that he wasn't visiting more often.



Snorting softly, Vincent backed out from beneath the cabinet, pulling the manual with him. Reading a few more of the directions, he headed back into the war zone again, this time armed with both screwdriver and wrench, ready to wage another battle against the stubborn appliance.



Tifa:

Having taken the laundry out of the dryer, folded it, and put the washer's load in to dry, Tifa fully expected that when she walked back behind the bar, Vincent would be putting away the tools and her dishwasher would be fully operational. However, she wasn't at all disappointed to find him still stuck under there, ass in the air as he fiddled and snorted.



She grinned, looking at that firm, taut backside beneath dark slacks. Skinny as he was, Vincent didn't have a lot of ass, but barely a handful on each side. Yet those handfuls were perfectly contoured. She recalled groping and clawing at them as he dug furrows in the carpet, hips jarring her with every thrust... Dear Planet, Tifa. Shake those thoughts for a minute. After all, she'd been enjoying the view.



Unable to help herself, Tifa crept over and laid a hearty smack with the flat of her hand against the center of his backside with a resounding pop.



Vincent:

The impact his cranium made with the underside of the cabinet had him seeing stars. It didn't help that his butt was tingling, either. Tifa had just smacked his ass. Vincent growled. That went a bit too far.



He jerked out from underneath the counter, uncrossing his eyes and sitting back on his heels, glowering up at her as she giggled. Be damned if he rub his head like some pouting bratty child, but she didn't have to snicker about it! Vincent's hard stare sharpened the longer he looked at her.



"Tifa…" he said warningly, lithe frame tensing all of a sudden. His shoulders bunched as he said, "…don't let me catch you, because if I do, payback will be a bitch…"



Tifa:

She hadn't intended for him to hit his head, but when he did, she gasped, hand over mouth. When he withdrew to glare at her, how could she not laugh? At his warning though, her sparkling eyes widened and Tifa squealed, scooting around the bar and bolting across the room. "You aren't fast enough to catch me, Vincent!" she challenged, hiding behind a table with chair stacked atop it. He wouldn't dare do anything… would he?



Vincent:

"So you say," was all he said before darting after her. He followed her easily, nearly preternatural senses allowing him to anticipate even her lightning-fast movements. She lunged behind the table, but he thwarted that by simply leaping over it, landing in a crouch as she squealed and bolted again, this time heading back towards the bar. Vincent shot the opposite way, intending to cut her off in the middle, but Tifa surprised him by scrambling over the counter and fleeing for the stairs.



One hand on the polished wood, he vaulted lightly over the bar and galloped after her, taking the steps three at a time only to hear her shriek and slam the door to the kids' bedroom. Ah, had her now. Vincent paused, then slipped to the wall beside the door, stilling his breathing and waiting quietly. He knew her innate curiosity would eventually get the better of her and it did, perhaps some two minutes later when the door crept open a bare crack, revealing one wide blinking brown eye.



Vincent smirked and whirled around, inserting his fingers between the door and jamb, thrusting it open with his shoulder. His other hand snatched her arm, hauling her around as he strode determinedly towards one of the children's beds. Plunking down atop the rumpled mattress, he firmly pulled the squawking struggling woman facedown across his lap and pinned her there.



"I told you, Tifa," he said conversationally, then lifted his right hand and brought it down across her rump with a loud smack! Vincent studiously ignored her thrashing and smacked her butt again, just for good measure.



Tifa:

Tifa could not have been more shocked than when Vincent dared to actually spank her. Mouth open with a sound of indignation, she could only squawk as he smacked her derriere not once, but twice! Wearing her short leather skirt, half her rump was sticking out by the time she was bent over his lap, white cotton panties showing. She griped, wiggled and tried to pull herself off his lap, but those skilled hands held her in an iron grip.



"Hey, I only smacked yours once!" she said. That declaration quickly followed by thoughts of revenge, Tifa curled to bring one of his thighs to her mouth, teeth clamping down.



Vincent:

Calmly, as he did most things, Valentine merely lifted his heel and thumped it back to the floor, effectively jarring her teeth from his flesh.



"You forget causing me to bang my head against the counter, Tifa," he explained reasonably. Done with his chastisement, he released her. Just the barest hint of a smirk threatened his lips as she shot upright, glowering back at him. When she didn't immediately move, he lifted an eyebrow.



"Are you comfortable, Tifa? Or planning to pout indignantly for a bit?"



Tifa:

Legs still slung across his, Tifa stared at Vincent with a brow arched, expression clearly stating that she was thinking. Which, in combination with recent events, was likely a bad thing. Surprisingly, though, when she stood up she simply straightened her skirt and turned with a harrumph to exit the room. A moment later, when Vincent followed, she attacked.



As he stepped through the door, she used his trick of waiting against the wall and snatched him by the wrist, spun him around, slapped his ass again, and released him. Folding her arms beneath her breasts with a look of defiance, she spoke matter-of-factly.



"You know, Vincent Valentine, if you had asked nicely, I might have rubbed it all better." You are such a whore, the gleeful voice in her head said.



Vincent:

He'd figured she'd try something. Thus, it didn't surprise him when she pounced in the hallway. Vincent grunted as she popped him again and glowered down at her appropriately. However, he knew it would more than likely be futile to continue these little games, which was exactly what she wanted.



So, smiling very minutely, Vincent just leaned over and gently kissed her cheek, saying as he turned for the stairs, "I'll go see if I can help the dishwasher further." He paused halfway down and half-turned to look back at her, one foot still poised on the previous step. "…unless there's something else you'd rather have me look at, Tifa."



Tifa:

She could only blink dumbly as Vincent completely ignored any innuendos. She pouted until his kiss, which left her quirking a brow. At his pause and suggestion, Tifa felt warmth in her cheeks again. He was such a tease, how in the world had she missed this all these years?



"Oh, no," she replied, the toe of one shoe rubbing at the back of the other. "Well, maybe…" she amended as he took another step. The smirk could clearly be heard in her voice when she continued. "But let's see how you do with that dishwasher."



Vincent:

Vincent just nodded and continued down the stairs. Once behind the bar again, he took the manual and leaned against the counter, preferring to get a handle on how the damned thing was supposed to be installed, rather than just hare off like an idiot and make a bigger mess of things. Which he probably would have done had a certain brown-eyed woman not distracted him from the second he'd walked in the door.



Valentine unfolded the manual entirely and crossed his ankles as he read, leaning a bit nonchalantly against the bar. Concentration intense on his face, he poured over the contents, although they really made no sense whatsoever. He amusedly noted that the directions were also in three different languages. Hn, one had to be tri-lingual just to grasp the installation concept, since the diagrams were different with each language. Wonderful.



He blew aside a ragged lock of black hair obscuring his vision and continued to read.



Tifa:

Tifa followed him downstairs, and after seeing that he was rather concentrated on the manual, sighed and went about washing at least some of the dishes by hand. After all, she had to cook later. And it wasn't likely the washer could handle the pots and pans, anyway. Inwardly, she pouted that their little game was over. It had only been four days, but she'd missedhis attention. No one else gave her those intense looks, or made her feel all womanly.



Oh come on, Teef, you know that's not the reason you missed him. Perhaps, but truthfully, she wasn't sure why she had… until she looked over to see him frowning down at the pages of the manual, one hand raking back unruly black tresses. It wasn't only that he was handsome and carried a dangerous air of mystery about him, just that when she saw him, she couldn't help the warmth that tingled in her chest.



A small smile played on sighing lips, then a glance to the bar top drew her attention. "What's this?" she asked as she picked up the envelope.



Vincent:

Looking up from scowling at the damned instructions, Vincent lifted his eyebrows in query until he saw her holding the manila envelope. "Oh, Reeve asked me to bring that by for you and Cloud. He's going out of town tonight and apparently wanted to make sure you received it."



Valentine turned back to the dishwasher instructions, determined to win the fight with the meddlesome appliance. Thus resolute, he went back down to the floor again, this time shoving the entire tool box beneath the cabinet before half-way disappearing under it himself, muttering quietly as he went about connecting the small wires and water pipes.



Tifa:

Ah, so that's why you came by. Well, she supposed she probably should give him the benefit of the doubt. He might have stopped by anyway. Either way, Cloud wasn't home. The kids were with Barret. The bar was closed tonight… oh yes, Tifa could see possibilities here. How far they might go was another story entirely.



"How's it coming?" she asked a few minutes later, bending to peek at him. She could barely see for all the tools, but currently he was clanking around on the water pipe. Brown eyes widened, "Vincent, wait! I haven't turned off the-"



Vincent:

Water.



Valentine realized this about a breath too late, as the wire he'd just connected caused something deep under the sink to give a despairing groan and before he could even twitch, the not-as-yet-connected water pipe sent a stream of liquid straight into his face. Vincent spluttered and cursed, but his flailing hands only succeeded in knocking the pipe askew, further drenching the rest of him. He finally got a grip on the Planet-damned thing and groped for the on/off valve, twisting it as far to the right as it would go.



The water finally slowed to a trickle then stopped completely, but not before the disgruntled gunslinger found himself laying face-up in nearly an inch of water, which was slowly creeping its way to other parts of the floor. The directions, which had been resting on Vincent's chest, were totally soaked, not to mention the gunslinger's face, hair and shirt. And, he reasoned, his slacks would suffer the same fate, if the coldness slowly soaking into his legs and ass was any indication.



Wondering if he could go home, crawl in bed and start the day over, Vincent just gingerly slid from beneath the counter, no expression at all on his pale face. Lying in the middle of the puddle, he stared up at Tifa with a disgruntled saturnine face. "…the water, I'm assuming," he finished for her.



Tifa:

Tifa winced as she saw Vincent emerge, soaked to his bones. "I… I'll get a towel." Or three, as she soon returned with. One for him, two to mop up the floor, which she worked on. As she cleaned up the floor and pulled the book from his chest, where it was stuck, she noticed how his slacks were slowly absorbing most of the water. The only thing that escaped was his socks and shoes.



"I'm really sorry, Vincent…" she said earnestly. "I… you can borrow some of Cloud's clothes until yours get dry. It won't take long…" The frown that met her when the towel was pulled off his head looked hilarious when accompanied by such messy, wet tangles. A chuckle bubbled out before she could stop it, but she managed to stifle it quickly and pulled another towel from the drawer next to the sink.



"Here," she said, rubbing it over his head and using it to brush his hair away from his face as she grinned up at him, dark eyes mischievous as she left it there and went about unbuttoning his dripping shirt.



Vincent:

Large hands folded over hers, stilling her fingers. "I have a change of clothes in the car, Tifa. If you would be so kind to get them for me." He fished in his pockets and produced the keys, handing them over.



Valentine pulled the ridiculous towel from his face then unfastened the cord from his sodden hair and wrung it out in the towel. As she went to his car, Vincent trooped over to one of the tables and plunked down in a chair, unlacing his shoes and peeling off his socks. Dropping both on the floor, he went about shrugging out of his shirt, utilizing the towel to dry the rest of his upper body as well. He stood, running both hands through his long hair, letting it tumble wetly down his bare back.



Vincent turned as she came in with his duffel and he took it from her with a smile of thanks, saying, "Let me help you mop the floor, then I'll change clothes. Can't get these any wetter," he said, indicating his dark slacks.



Tifa:

She almost pouted when he stilled her hands, but took his keys and did as he requested. The sight that greeted her when she came back in stirred her memory, but she ignored the thoughts. For now.



"It's alright, Vincent. You don't have to help with the clean-up." A sheepish smile formed on her lips. "It was my fault, after all."



She bent to pick up the tools and drag the toolbox out, getting bare legs and the front of her shirt damp in the process, but it was nothing compared to how he'd been soaked. "Dammit," she muttered as she crawled under the dishwasher, reaching for the screwdriver. After everything was collected and set on the bar, she went to the storage closet for the mop.



Vincent:

"If you're sure."



She all but shooed him out and Valentine took the hint. Decamping to the downstairs bathroom, he skinned out of his wet pants and boxers, replacing them with a pair of dark blue jeans and a grey t-shirt. He hadn't thought to need any other socks, therefore he just went barefooted. Stuffing the wet clothes back into his duffel, he emerged back into the main barroom just as she was finishing.



Setting the bag down, he took his usual seat at the bar, leaning his elbows on the polished countertop. "If you wouldn't mind, Tifa, I think we should have a drink before wrestling further with that miserable appliance."



Tifa:

She poured him the usual and one for herself with a small smile, then hopped onto the bar to dangle her legs on the other side. She sighed, missing the sight of his bare chest: pale skin over taut muscles packed into his lean frame. With a sigh, she raised a toast, sounding sarcastic yet genuinely meaning it.



"To modern appliances." They drank and she refilled before putting the top on the bottle. After a moment of staring thoughtfully into her glass, Tifa raised a brow and asked with a completely straight face. "Vincent, have you ever done body-shots?"



To be continued…