Learning to Live

Vincent:



“I won’t,” he promised. Truly, Vincent rarely felt the need to communicate with Cid Highwind on any given matter. Not that he disliked the man, but Cid’s abrasive nature and gruff cadences were enough to wear thin even the thickest of nerves. And unfortunately, Vincent Valentine’s nerves were strung tenuous at best. It was good to hear progress of the children, however, and he nodded to Tifa appropriately. And Shelke…



“I trust Shera will curb Cid’s raucous language while she’s there,” he replied, one black eyebrow lifting. “Of all the things Shelke should be learning, the finer points of swearing I wouldn’t think one of them.”



But Valentine couldn’t deny he oft thought of the girl, the almost-woman trapped in a child’s body. Her life would be a struggle, no doubt. Yet he was pleased she was in a safe, if sometimes boisterous environment, putting her skills to good use. Heaven knew, Cid needed help sometimes. The loss of her sister still saddened him, but Vincent knew why Shalua made the choice. He could relate well, after all.



Vincent nodded thanks for the refill and fell to sipping it, hearing the door opening and the evening beginning. He made no objection as Tifa moved away to her other customers, merely remained on his stool and savored his whiskey.



Perhaps an hour or two later, Vincent had lost all track of time and merely stared at memories through his cigarette smoke, not really noticing the burn of the nicotine, then he heard an unfamiliar yet unmistakable female voice say, “Hello, Commander Valentine.”



Blinking in mild surprise, he turned only his head to see a rather attractive blonde woman leaning on the counter beside him. The photographic memory in his brain went into overdrive and he recalled the lady’s name with surprising clarity, as he’d seen her before.



Corrina Delray, Bio-genetic Research. Ah yes, a scientist for the WRO. Made sense now. Protocol and manners kicked Vincent to nod recognition slightly and reply, “Good evening, Dr. Delray,” with formal correctness.



Thus it nearly shocked him right off the stool as the blue-eyed woman merely chuckled and slipped atop the stool next to him, it having sat woefully empty all evening long, thanks to the aura of aloofness the enigmatic gunman displayed, unconsciously or not.



Tifa’s assistant bartender approached, smilingly inquiring as to the lady’s drink, and Vincent’s eyebrow lifted as he heard her answer without a moment’s hesitation, “Double malt Scotch, on the rocks.” The man moved away and she turned back to Vincent with a benign smile.



“So,” she asked, tucking a lock of short cropped hair behind her ear, “come here often, do you? Most people at the office don’t have any vices, so they rarely frequent these places, and the folks here are rather deadly dull.” She nodded thanks for her drink. “Makes for uninteresting company, that.”



The gears in Valentine’s brain were whirring. Why in hell was this happening? For Gaia’s love, gunslinger, he heard Chaos snort in exasperation, you seem to think that anyone who’d bother conversation with you either demented or bordering insane. Personally, I’d think the lady the latter, for Shiva knows you’ll probably retreat back into your moroseness and completely look a fool. Thankful for the long locks partially covering his countenance, Vincent scowled and mentally slammed the door of his brain in Chaos’ face.



Taking a breath, more in preparation for something he’d not done in years than actually needing it, Vincent Valentine mustered up his courage and shifted atop his barstool, half-turning to the woman beside him. At first, the words tripped hesitatingly from his lips, but he found himself saying, “They’re young. They’re still innocents, most of them. Not jaded or cynical to the world. But good people, I’d think. And no, bars aren’t the best places to find…interesting company.”



Tifa:



The conversation with Vincent was cut short just after her laughter over the very true remark about Cid, when business began to trickle in. Alfonse, a tall man a little younger than herself with red-blond hair, came in about ten minutes later, as usual. Tifa gave him the little bit of fuss he was used to, and he in turn apologized with an entirely obligatory "it won't happen again!" before getting to work. He knew he was in no danger of losing his job, and Tifa knew that, when it came down to it, he was dependable. Now and then his sister could be called on during really busy nights, and between them, Tifa was rarely overwhelmed at the establishment.



An hour passed to two, and Vincent still sat at the bar. She stopped by occasionally to refill his glass and ask if he wanted anything else, then she'd move along. When she saw him light up a cigarette, she had the urge to swipe it out of his mouth. Of all the habits he could have picked up... Tifa thought she'd rather have heard him swearing enough to make other patrons blush. It wasn't a smell she was unused to, many patrons lit up along with their booze, but it was still a tad annoying.



Maybe, she thought to herself, because it's just so odd that Vincent Valentine is sitting there, drinking scotch and puffing away in my bar. Well, she might never complain of it to him. Cid, however? Oh, that man always got an earful.



Not for a while did she notice the lady who sat next to him, as she milled from table to table to pick up empty mugs and glasses. When she did take a look, and saw Vincent turn to the woman, she smiled to herself. Is she flirting with him? Curiosity kept her watching. Abstrusely, of course.



Vincent:



How long had it been since he’d had regular conversation with anyone barring his former comrades and about anything not work related? Vincent sourly waited for Chaos’ snarky remark, but the beast kept quiet for once.



Corrina Delray had merely chuckled to his reply and launched into genial conversation, which Vincent found himself easily able to follow, once he got over the nuance that this woman might not an ulterior motive and just might be a decent enough individual to simply have a human conversation with a very obscure acquaintance.



It turned out that Corrina had known Shalua Rui; they both had been scientists for the WRO but Corrina had been dispatched to investigate the disappearances due to Deepground’s kidnappings. She’d been able to return to Edge only after the Midgar Assault, when Commissioner Tuesti had cleared travel coming into the city.



“A shame she’s gone,” Corrina said, sipping her second drink.



Vincent nodded quietly.



“But at least she’s not suffering anymore.” The scientist stared at the bartop. “It was me and my team, you know,” she said suddenly. “We were the ones who manufactured her artificial parts.” A bitter laugh. “Shalua just wouldn’t give up. I can remember telling her she was crazy for it, but she made me do it. ‘So I can keep on going’, she told me.”



Vincent honestly had no clue what to say to that, save, “She was a strong woman.” A swallow of liquid courage. “But she finally found what she was looking for, so her sacrifice wasn’t in vain.”



Corrina looked at him and a smile curved her lips. “That’s very true. She was a strong woman. And yes, she was luckier than some of us, that’s certain.”



Alfonse brought another round of drinks; Vincent had lost count of how many he’d had. The place was bustling nicely now and the noise level was loud, but not unpleasant. Corrina switched topics again, making nonsensical small-talk and, although he considered himself terribly rusty, Vincent found he got a bit better with practice. Isn’t this strange… No, that was his own mind talking.



“So,” Corrina asked after a bit, “what keeps you coming here?”



A half smile. “I know the owner.”



One of Corrina’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh? That so? That’s right, this place belongs to another of Metor’s Heroes.”



Vincent’s red gaze automatically sought and found Tifa, at the other end of the bar, chatting and laughing with a few other patrons.



Corrina turned and followed his glance. “Lovely girl. Quite a fighter, from what I hear.”



Quite a fighter… Corrina had no idea, Vincent quietly thought.



But her former statement somehow slipped past his hearing and entered his brain the round-a-bout way, just as Tifa spun on her heel to draw another draught of beer from the tap. The movement caught the light in her dark sable locks, sparking the amber highlights hidden deep within the strands.



Yes…his traitorous brain thought, quite a lovely girl indeed. But he lowered his eyes to his glass, lest Tifa catch him staring.



Corrina flicked an eyebrow but said, “Well, Commander, I’m on call this weekend, so I think I’m going to head home for some much-needed sleep. It was nice talking with you…” she extended her hand; automatically Vincent shook it. “…even if you’re out of practice,” she added with a chuckle and a wink.



Flummoxed on both sides, Vincent just stared at her as she paid her tab and left, then turned back to staring at his half-empty glass once again. Good sense told him to get his sorry ass up and do the same, but he just couldn’t force himself to move right at this moment. Something about eight glasses of double malt Scotch…



Tifa:



With her back momentarily to them, Tifa missed the handshake and didn't spin back around until the woman was heading for the door. She found herself almost sighing in disappointment, but it quickly turned to another smile as she delivered the drinks to the patrons who ordered them. Some of whom, she noted, might need to be dragged home by their drinking buddies.



Not so with the man sitting at her bar. She tried to recall seeing him drunk, or at least tipsy enough to be noticeably impaired, but the man was a machine in all things. That led briefly to a tiny thought that was only squelched after she flushed a bit. Really, she'd been hanging out with Barret, Cid and Yuffie for way too long.



With a stride longer than her meager height might give away, she crossed the room quickly, weaving skillfully between bodies and furniture alike, to return behind the bar again.



"Alfonse," she said to her help, "I need a drink, myself. Table five ordered a full pitcher. Would you mind?"



The man made a show of rolling his eyes, but smiled soon enough and left the bar after filling the pitcher from the tap. As soon as he was gone, Tifa turned to Vincent and grinned. "Who was that?"



Another refill was poured, and she added, "She's really pretty." The sparkle in her eyes was enough to convey a small tease, but nothing overt. This was Vincent, after all.



Vincent:



Slogging through the alcohol-soaked mesh of his mind, Vincent dimly heard Tifa’s familiar quick steps and managed to look up as she appeared in his sight-line. Although she topped off his glass again, Valentine doubted he could lift it to save his soul. His brain was still trying to digest his earlier conversation with Corrina Delray and he was having trouble coming up with a reason for it. It boggled him, in all honesty.



Since he’d crawled from his coffin, Vincent figured he projected enough angst and coldness to keep most folks within a reasonable radius. Even now, holding the status within the WRO that he did, most members were still hesitant to approach. What motivated the scientist? Belatedly, he heard Tifa’s light inquiry.



“Hm?” he asked, glancing at her. “Oh. Corrina Delray, scientist for the WRO. An associate of Shalua Rui’s.” He briefly ruminated on it a moment. “Attractive enough, I suppose,” he replied absently. But his brow was still furrowed in puzzled consideration.



Tifa:



Tifa arched a fine brow at the gunslinger's slow responses and slightly furrowed brow over dazed eyes. Had the man finally done it? Had he found his limit in alcohol? Dear gods, Tifa could almost call everyone and tell them, but doubted they'd believe her. She wouldn't have done that, anyway. But it was an amusing thought.



"Vincent?" she asked, swishing two fingers back and forth in front of him to see if he could follow them quickly enough. He did better than most... but not up to the standards she was used to seeing from him.



With a smirk, Tifa picked up the abandoned glass and downed the contents herself, shutting her eyes briefly at the familiar burn. It rushed to her head soon after, but wouldn't impair her in the least. With a sigh she tossed her head just enough to shake near-black bangs from her face, then said, "I think you've had enough for the night, Vince. So where are your keys?"



She held out an expectant hand with the disarming smile she was known for, that carried just a hint of a smirk. Alfonse could handle the customers until she returned, though she'd hear no end of fussing. She didn't mind. It was more than worth it, just seeing Valentine muddled as he was.



Vincent:



Vincent hauled his car keys from his pocket and was in the process of dropping them into Tifa’s outstretched hand, but a thought woke up his brain and he quirked a brow at her, still-focused although tired eyes lifting to hers.



“I am not quite drunk, Tifa, but I appreciate the thought. Besides,” he added, folding the keys in long fingers, “how will you get back home?”



Tifa:



Undaunted by his question and his hesitation, she patiently dug the keys from his grip. "Vincent, it's not a big deal. I can get home just fine."



A glance to the window, along with the thunder and patter that wasn't quite drowned in the background music from the jukebox, told her it was raining like a monsoon outside. Walking home wasn't an option... But maybe Cloud could pick her up. They'd be soaked to the bone, no doubt, and that's if he still planned to be home tonight.



But another look at the former Turk turned WRO hero, and Tifa's decision was reaffirmed. "Don't worry, Vince. It's no big deal, and besides, I've never been to your house before!"



Before he could protest further, she turned to Alfonse, who had just returned to the bar. "I'm going to drive Vincent home, Al. Think you can handle things?" It wasn't really a question, just a courtesy, Alfonse knew. With a heavy sigh, he nodded, "Sure, Miss Lockheart. This time."



Another exchange of smirks while Tifa grabbed her phone and umbrella, then she was on the opposite side of the bar, gently tugging Vincent by one arm into the maelstrom of exceedingly bad weather outside.



Vincent:



Damn the alcohol that rendered his protestations snail-paced! Vincent was just about to tell her she didn’t have to, he’d be quite fine sleeping in one of the bar’s booths, nevermind that Tifa didn’t allow that but that realization didn’t occur to him till they were a few miles away from Seventh Heaven, but she pried the keys from his hand and whirled away. Valentine knew that there’d be no stopping her now and carefully maneuvered his long frame from the stool, wondering why the floor was so far down there.



Shaking his head a bit, he blinked and jerked himself back into focus. He just did remember to move his feet as Tifa breezed around the bar and latched to his arm, pulling him towards the door. Vincent stopped abruptly as she opened it and they were greeted with a bright flash of lightening and a resounding crash of thunder. And he’d parked halfway across the damned lot…



Brilliant, Valentine, he thought acidly. It wasn’t enough he’d drank more than was necessary and appeared so pathetic a friend had to abandon her job to drive his sorry carcass home, but now both of them would get soaked in the process. But he jerked away out of reflex as Tifa’s unfolding umbrella nearly caught him in the eye. Before it rendered him blind, he took it and held it, while at the same time divesting his jacket to drape over her shoulders, his half-smile testament to his action. Manners, even partially soused.



Pointing to the keys in her hand, he wordlessly pushed the little button on the keyless entry and the black sedan’s lights blazed to life. Now for the dash through the drenching wet. How he’d never know, but somehow they managed to make it to the car, the umbrella useless, as a rogue gust of wind caught it and turned the thing inside out. Vincent simply dropped it and ran. But somehow, they managed to get inside, with Tifa behind the wheel.



Vincent folded into the passenger seat; he had to adjust the controls as he’d never once ridden on this side of the car since he’d purchased it. Leaning back in the seat, he closed his eyes and sighed, water dripping from his soaked hair onto his soaked white shirt. “Do you need directions?” he inquired softly, not glancing over.



Tifa:



She smiled, feeling the expression was showing a bit too much of her rare girlishness, when he placed the jacket over her shoulders despite a brief protest. It was followed by a, "Thank you, Vincent." Then, they waded, literally, across the parking lot. Well, Tifa thought as they ran through the shower, poor Vincent having to abandon their umbrella half way through, at least I didn't wear a white shirt today. Good thing, that. Though she doubted Vincent would have noticed anything, at least in his current state.



They made it into the car and she sighed heavily, putting the keys into the ignition and cranking the car. While it purred, idling, she ran both hands through drenched hair and slicked it back away from her face. She doubted that, even in the span of five seconds, there was any part of her that did not get utterly waterlogged. She shifted into gear and maneuvered out of the parking lot, answering Vincent's query with, "Nope, I remember Yuffie pointing it out." To her knowledge, no one had been inside the apartment yet, but if anyone had, it was likely to be the nosy ninja.



The accelerator was a touch sensitive, and several times Tifa had to ease off of it entirely when it got away from her. She looked over to Vincent with an apologetic smile, "Heh, sorry..." Once she got used to it, they crept along, the rain pounding too hard and too thick against the windshield to allow for more than five feet of visibility. She huffed and sighed, then finally asked, "Um, Vincent? I can't see any of the signs. Just let me know when we come to the right intersection."



Though she was driving extremely slow, his reactions still came almost too late. More than twenty minutes and a few turns later, Tifa parked the car - a damn near impressive feat, since parallel parking wasn't her strong suit - and turned the engine off. She returned his keys and waited for the rain to let up. And waited. And waited a bit longer. She pulled his jacket tighter around her, looking up at the building with a sigh.



"I guess it's not going to let up for some time. Um, you want this back? I'm mostly soaked." Meaning so was the jacket, though it did provide some warmth against the chill of the rain. She smiled once more at the thoughtful gesture and waited for his reply, her hand already on the door handle as she prepared for another dash.



Vincent:


Opening his eyes would require far too much effort, Vincent decided, so he didn’t as Tifa drove out of the parking lot and headed across town. It was only when she informed him she couldn’t see the signs very well did he endeavor to pry his brick-like eyelids open and attempt to figure out where they were. She’d taken an alternate route, so his sense of direction was completely skewed. At least that’s what he told himself.



But the familiar building of home loomed finally and before Vincent could point out the basement parking lot, Tifa had somehow managed to wedge his car against the curb. Taking his keys, he sighed, listening to the drumming rain. Ah, Edge in the fall. Lovely weather we’re having, yes?



Finally speaking, he answered, “No, you may keep it, Tifa. I am sorry I lost your umbrella. I will replace it, if necessary.” A corner of his mouth curved. “With one of considerably higher quality.”



Tifa:



Tifa took the time to slide her arms into the sleeve of the jacket, her smile turning into a smirk at his last words. "Yeah, I know. I guess that's what I get for buying something on sale. Don't worry about it, though."



She looked up at the building, then with another sigh she pulled the handle and opened it just a crack. Water already splattered on the back of her hand, "Let's get this over with..."



And that was all the warning she gave before flinging the door open, quickly shutting it and dashing to the small bit of cover offered by the overhang at the top of the steps to the front doors. She waited on Vincent, fiddled with the doors to find them unsurprisingly locked, and was pelted with the spray of the rain along with the occasional wind gust. Tifa dearly hoped her cell phone was still dry enough to remain operational.



Once Vincent had unlocked the door, they passed through the lobby and to the elevator. He pressed the button for his floor - the eighth, Tifa noted - and they waited to the background noise of unusually bad music, then exited as the doors opened to a dimly lit hall. So far, the building was nice, not too ornate, clean, with a nice enough decor to denote the monetary status of its occupants.



She couldn't help staring at Vincent now and then. He lived here? She'd known the building had been newly renovated, and was supposedly nice enough, but it was already a little beyond expectations. Plush carpet of the same design as the lobby ran through the hall, and while Vincent fished out his keys, Tifa commented, "Wow... this is really nice, Vincent." Reeve must pay you a lot more than he pays me when I work for him. She decided not to voice the thought aloud.



Vincent:



Had he been more observant and less drunk (yes, he would finally admit to being inebriated, damnit), Valentine would have noticed Tifa staring around the place, a bit enraptured. But he rummaged around in his pocket for his keys, grimacing at the cold clammy feeling of wet slacks. They both were leaving wet footprints in the carpet, but he couldn’t muster the will to care. After all, for what he paid in rent, the manager could well afford a good commercial cleaning service. But finally squishing to a halt before his door, number 807, Vincent squinted and inserted the key, opening the door and, after a long pause, motioned Tifa inside.



“…you’re welcome to come in,” he offered, and was less than surprised to see her cautiously step over the threshold to his private residence. Following her inside, Vincent closed the door and sighed in sympathy for his now aching head and moved past her, flicking on the lights and disappearing into the apartment in search of towels.



The carpet inside was a pale cream white, the walls only a half-shade darker. Black leather furniture, naturally; sofa, coffee table with glass top, and a rather comfortable seeming recliner behind which stood a tall white reading lamp, the room’s only source of illumination. A stand alone end table, upon which rested several books and a coffee mug stood beside the chair, indicating Vincent spent a good amount of time in it. Across the living room the entertainment center housed the television and other electronics, tapes and discs neatly stacked in cabinets below it. A few paintings and framed artworks adorned the walls; contemporary works done by recent artists.



But one large poster sized photograph stood alone on the wall beside the large bay windows: a framed picture of the former Shin-Ra building. Obviously done as a recruitment advertisement, it showed the Tower in all its powerful glory. Further inside, the living room gave way to the kitchen by way of an open bar cut into the wall, serving as both dining and serving area. The doorless frame led into the kitchen, then a hallway hinted at the rest of the apartment, from which Vincent quickly returned, holding two large white towels.



Crossing the living room quickly, he went to Tifa and draped one around her shoulders and handed her the other. Now what, he thought frantically, wishing he’d retrieved some aspirin before the towels.



“…if you wish to dry off a bit, the bathroom is just down the hall. First door on the left.”



Tifa:



As Vincent disappeared down the hall, Tifa couldn't help staring at everything around her. It was so neat. She almost felt ashamed for standing there, dripping all over the floor. She wanted to explore a bit, but good sense kept her rooted in place. Better to get only one area wet rather than leave a wet trail throughout.



Carefully, she stepped out of her shoes, knowing her socks were wet beneath, but at least there was no chance of any remaining dirt being tracked further in. The dim lighting and black furniture was befitting of the occupant, as were the books. When he returned to the towels, Tifa slipped out of his jacket as he draped the first over her shoulders. A smile formed at this, which almost turned to a giggle. Vincent was the only man she'd ever seen to retain perfect manners when inebriated. It was astounding, given that most men became rowdy with alcohol in their system. But then, she didn't imagine that 'rowdy' or any like description could ever be applied to the man standing next to her.



She took the second towel and nodded to him. "Thanks, Vincent." She supposed he would go into his bedroom to change clothes... and with that thought Tifa realized with dismay that she had none to change into. With a sigh, she walked on tip-toes across the room to the hallway. "I'll be done in a moment."



Once in the bathroom - and she found that just as spotless and monochrome as the rest of the house - she undressed with the intention of wringing as much of the water from her clothes as possible. For the moment, her clothes simply fell to the tiled floor in a series of wet slaps and she dried her body off, skin still chilled to goosebumps from the cool air of the apartment. Damn, but the man liked it cold!



Toweling her hair with one hand, she checked her cell phone and thanked Lifestream that the thing still worked. She then pressed a button and held it to her ear, waiting for the familiar voice.



"Hey," came the voice of Cloud Strife, noticeably with the absence of rain or wind in the background. Tifa sighed with a smile.



"I guess you aren't going to make it tonight, huh?"



The barest chuckle, then, "Sorry, Teef. Even I’m not crazy enough to ride Fenrir in this. So how's business?"



Tifa blinked, "Oh, it's fine. I stepped out for a bit, Al is taking care of it."



She expected him to ask where she was, but instead she got, "Ah, ok. Well, I'm staying the night at a chocobo ranch. I'll get back sometime in the morning."



Tifa sighed, "Ok, just remember you have several deliveries tomorrow. Most are in town, though."



She imagined he nodded on the other end. "Ok. Goodnight, Tifa."



A smile touched with the slightest bit of melancholy, then, "Goodnight, Cloud."



After she pressed the 'end call' button, she finished drying her hair, wrung out her clothes only to realize that she wasn't going anywhere for the night. With a sigh and a slight blush, Tifa wrapped a towel around herself and poked her head out the door to call, "Vincent?"



Vincent:



After following Tifa down the hall and pointing out the mentioned bathroom, Vincent left her and continued, finally emerging into his laundry room. One great thing about this building, the apartments housed residential washing machines and dryers. One of the reasons he’d picked it. He supposed the gentlemanly thing to do would be to change clothes in his bedroom, but the laundry room sported the only tile in the house, save the kitchen, and that was wildly inappropriate. Besides, he had clean clothes in here as well as his closet.



He peeled off the wet shirt, shoes, socks and pants, tossing everything into the hamper and pulled on loose cotton pants and a white t-shirt. Using a spare towel to dry at his hair, he pulled the mess free of its leather queue and raked fingers through it, not bothering to refasten it, as it would dry faster strewn across his back. But his attention finally came to his gloves.



The right was no problem, the black leather gave easily, stripping down his pale arm to be tossed atop the washing machine. The left…not as charitable. Grimacing in coming distaste, Valentine carefully unbuckled the brass platings and set them atop the washing machine as well, then utilized the most care he could manage at the moment to resolutely peel the left glove from his arm.



As always, he hissed at the flesh revealed. Spidery bloody lines ran in broken puzzle patterns across the ivory flesh, beginning an inch below his elbow, where a dark angry welt ringed his arm. The fingers flexed and Vincent resisted the urge to wretch. Not that it was overly hideous, but because of the memory that came with it.



He shook with rage and fear, jerking at his restraints; wide drug-red eyes staring in loathing at the insane scientist, hovering over him with a surgical saw… His right hand slammed down atop the dryer, jolting him from the vision. His left arm tingled, as if seconding the motion.



Curling both hands into fists, he wildly contemplated putting both gloves back on, but since they were soaked they’d do him little good. Besides, this was his house, he could do as he liked. But for the questions, he sighed.



Forcing his feet to move, he went into his bedroom, realizing he could be a charitable host and offer his guest drier clothes. Rummaging around in his closet, he finally located a pair of new sweatpants which luckily had a drawstring and he took a t-shirt from the dresser, identical to the one he wore. He blinked as he realized it just might be a tad too small, but there was no help for it.



His face flaming at the thought, he relentlessly shoved it from his mind, along with a certain evil chuckle, and stepped across the hall just as Tifa’s head emerged from the bathroom. Averting his eyes, he wordlessly handed her the clothes and quickly turned on a heel to vanish into the kitchen, desperately seeking pain-killers and water.



Tifa:



Just as she opened her mouth to ask for something to wear, said clothes were shoved in her direction while the man holding them made a point not to look at her. Tifa blinked once, smiled shyly and took them, "Thanks."



The door closed and she slipped into the pants, pulling the string and tying it to keep them from falling half-way down her butt. Then she pulled the t-shirt on, and found that it fit a little snug in the chest, but not obscenely so. Vincent was rather thin for his height, she realized. She'd noticed before, but hadn't paid as much mind until now. Then again, Cloud was the thin and wiry type as well, if quite a bit shorter than the gunman.



She turned to look at herself in the large mirror that ran the length of the marbled counter, and instantly came to the conclusion that she'd have to wear her damp bra with the shirt, but her skin crawled at that uncomfortable notion. Her cheeks reddened. The towel around her shoulders hid a lot, at least. The towel that kept her wet hair from soaking the back of the shirt was adjusted and held by one hand as she dialed the number to the bar with the other, informing Alfonse that he'd have to close for the night.



She blushed furiously at the suggestive chuckle that came from him, her tone turning flat. "Oh hush, Al. You know better."



Another chuckle. "Whatever you say, Miss Lockheart."



She growled and rolled her eyes, "Just be sure to lock up when you leave."



It was a completely unnecessary reminder, then she hung up the phone and slipped it into the pocket of the sweatpants. Her clothes were draped over the shower curtain rod to drip dry, as was the other towel. She found Vincent in the living room a moment later, sitting in what was obviously his favorite spot in the area, and made herself comfortable on the couch.



"Well, Cloud isn't going to be home until tomorrow. The rain caught him, too." She fiddled for a moment, then got around to asking out of courtesy. "Do you mind if I stay here for tonight? I mean... I could have Alfonse pick me up after closing if you'd prefer..." She'd rather not, because closing time came late on weekends. Plus she wasn't in any hurry to go back out there, as she was firmly reminded by a rumble of thunder.



Vincent:



After ingesting six 500mg tablets, Vincent drank three glasses of cold water, willing himself to hurriedly rehydrate so he could pass out somewhere comfortable, like his king-sized bed. As he shuffled to the living room and settled down in his chair with a huge sigh, his quick ears caught Tifa talking in the bathroom. On the phone, he realized.



Scarlet eyes flicked to her as she appeared and he silently thanked whatever gods were watching and listening that she still carried that towel around her shoulders. He’d known that shirt was going to be small for her. But, damnit, he couldn’t help the wandering rampant completely male part of his brain that just frolicked in the sewers of testosterone laden ideas.



Been a while for you, hasn’t it, sport? Hm, you just seem to be noticing all sorts of females these days, gunslinger. I have to say it’s impressive. Vincent really wanted to rend that damning voice asunder but he knew it was exactly what that part of his mind wanted, so he clenched down on his considerable will and shoved it back to the darkness.



Regaining composure, slightly flared nostrils the only sign of his inner struggle, he lifted one eyebrow as Tifa told him of Cloud’s decision not to drive this evening.



“Wise of him,” he heard himself agreeing. Black lashes lowered then lifted again as Tifa asked to stay and he replied slowly, “…I don’t mind, Tifa. It is dangerous for anyone to drive in this weather.”



A hesitant pause, then, “I have a washer and dryer, if you wish their use.” Tifa was a friend, a good friend, thus he gave her a half smile and added, “I know my clothes cannot be overly comfortable; I apologize.”



If only the galloping chocobos in his skull would find another place to play, he devoutly wished, eyes closing on a rather fierce hammer strike. “…I’m sorry. Post inebriated headache…”



Tifa:



"Thanks, Vincent. I'll put my stuff in the dryer soon." Right now, she wanted to stay on the incredibly comfy couch and curl in a ball until the chill left her. Folding her legs beneath her, Tifa watched Vincent wallow in post-buzz misery. A small sigh and a sheepish smile preceded her next words.



"Guess I should've stopped the refills after number five or so, huh, Vince?" She felt badly about it, because somewhere in her mind, she had wanted to see how much it would take to get him drunk. Now, once she realized he was little different and twice as quiet, she regretted it. Poor guy, she thought. He was human, after all. If a little... different.



She scooted to the end of the couch closest to his chair and leaned on the armrest. "Well, if you want, I can do something that might relieve the headache a bit. Master Zangan showed me how," she added at the last to explain. Contrary to popular belief, Tifa did learn more from her old master than a few hundred ways to stomp a grown man's ass into the ground.



Vincent:



He grimaced accordingly to the “number five” comment and heartily agreed. But it was his own bloody fault, not knowing when to quit. He honestly hadn’t known it was affecting him that much, till he’d tried to stand up. Blame it on Dr. Delray for shocking his good sense into oblivion. Yeah, he could do that.



One crimson eye opened as she moved and offered. “Oh?” And what’s that, pray tell, deliver a skull-knocking to my temple? Well, it’d stop the pounding, at least. But he said instead, “…if you wish. The pain medicine is quite slow working.”



Tifa:



A lopsided smile at that. Tifa knew from experience, when one was in real pain, no pill could ever work fast enough. She stood, moving to stand beside his chair and lean over enough to run the fingers of her right hand through the thick, wet mane of his hair, feeling over his scalp. At the back, where the indentation of the skull began and beneath which, buried under notably tense muscles, the spine connected to the skull. Tifa pressed firmly in a specific spot and held it for several seconds, then did likewise a little higher and several inches to the left, then right.



Between the nerves, she figured one was bound to be the source of the problem. Or at least part of it, considering the actual source was an overabundance of alcohol in Vincent's system. She kept a hand on his shoulder as she pulled back, trying to read in his expression if it had helped. It had always worked for her, and usually for Cloud as well. Few others ever received the treatment, as Tifa thought the headache a deserved punishment for too many drinks. With Cid, this was especially the case.



"Well? How do you feel now?"



Vincent:



Valentine’s eyes widened a bit as Tifa rose from the couch and moved behind his chair; he admonished himself and forced his muscles to relax. Tifa was no threat. But he nearly leapt from the chair when he felt hands not his own thread through his hair. Vincent went rigid and mentally slapped himself.



Calm down, Valentine, he sternly told his panicky muscles. But he was so unused to any non-threatening touch. His fists clenched but he obediently lowered his head, knowing she was merely trying to help. Shoulder muscles rippled under her hand and his eyes closed as she pressed on the aching nerves with scientific precision.



Yet the throbbing in his brain diminished a bit as she pulled away and Vincent’s brow soothed a fraction. She stepped back around and looked down at him; he met her inquiring eyes with his own, a little less fogged. Rubbing at the left side of his neck, he nodded and smiled fractionally.



“Better. Thank you, Tifa.” For some strange reason, his shoulder tingled.



To be continued…