Learning to Live

Vincent:



Two hours later, Vincent lay on his couch, staring unseeing at the uninteresting white ceiling. Of course, his thoughts were running the previous events that had taken place in his kitchen back and forth behind his eyes, in stark and vivid detail to all his senses. Even going so far as to allow feel to partake. A nuance he damned.



However, survival instinct had saved him, he knew. After the embarrassing awkwardness of fighting not to shove her against the counter and take her right there, Vincent had fallen silent and merely showed Tifa the bedroom, informing her he would sleep on the couch. After closing the door and retreating, Such a coward, gunslinger, he’d collapsed on the sofa, trying not to dwell on it. Too much alcohol, certainly. And Tifa would never offer him anything but tender affection, that Vincent knew for a fact. She loved Cloud. All was content in her world. And Vincent was satisfied that it should remain that way. Besides, he was so starved for any sort of gentleness, he didn’t know if he could handle any at all. For all his professional competence, he was woefully inexperienced when it came to matters of the heart.



For example, the last woman he’d dared to love had quite literally gotten him killed. Sort of put a damper on a man’s confidence.



Vincent snorted and rolled over, facing the back of the couch. She didn’t beat you senseless for your ‘liberties’, gunslinger. You should go push your luck a bit harder, methinks. A suppressed growl rippled his lips as he jerked around yet again, nearly wallowing the cushions off the couch. Tifa didn’t love him. She merely wanted to understand him and thought that kissing him would gain his attention. Well, she surely managed that. His normally placid, quiet little world had been sufficiently ‘rocked’, as Cid said, and he blamed it all on Dr. Corrina Delray. Had she not dared cross his barrier this evening, he wouldn’t have kept drinking and wouldn’t have appeared so pathetic as to have Tifa drive him home.



Wouldn’t have had her natural loveliness brought to his eye. Wouldn’t have told her about his torture. Wouldn’t have needed to be understood.



Wouldn’t have kissed her…



With a growled snarl, Vincent sat up on the couch, plowing fingers through tousled hair. He felt them seethe beneath his skin, testament to his loss of internal balance. A red-eyed glance down the hall and he took two steps…before he stopped, veering into the kitchen. Not bothering with the light, as it would, he knew, bring glaring memory back yet again to beat at his soul with suppressed (longing, desire, passion, need) thoughts, he retrieved a glass of icy water by touch and the streetlights alone. The rain had ceased its incessant pounding, but fell quietly, a sheen of silver in the city’s lights, although a rogue flash of lightening and answering rumble of thunder signaled heavy weather still in the distance.



Tifa:



Two hours. Two hours, and nothing but silence and her own thoughts. Well, there was the sound of the central air kicking on now and then, and the occasional drops of rain outside, but other than those Tifa was left with nothing but the kisses that shouldn't have happened replaying in her mind. I kissed Vincent Valentine...



What about Cloud? How could she tell him that... no. No. No one would know but she and Vincent, after all, both had good excuses and it hadn't lead anywhere. Besides, the small cynic in her mind chided, it’s not like you and Cloud are ever doing anything more than talking, on the rare occasion you do talk...



She rolled on her other side, head buried under the sheet. The bed was more than comfortable, and she was damn tired. The cold room made it perfect for snuggling under the heavy comforter and blankets, but the bed smelled too familiar now. It was plain by the scent of detergent that the sheets and pillowcases were clean, but Vincent's smell passed through from the pillows and mattress on occasion to faintly catch her attention. Always just before she dozed off, where her mind's flighty, pre-dream state would translate the scent into the man, lying next to her, encircling her with strong arms, barely grazing his lips over hers...



Tifa let out a frustrated sigh and sat up, unable to banish the thoughts completely. Damn the drinks they'd had, the story he told her, the kiss she'd rushed into giving him. Hands grasped the hair at both temples in aggravation, then Tifa pushed the covers off, ignored the goosebumps that ran up her arms and legs, and padding out of the bedroom, into the hall. She'd forgotten her laundry, but supposed there'd be time in the morning to dry it. That was, if morning did get there before sleep.



Quietly as she could, she headed towards the kitchen, making her way slowly in the near darkness. She could barely see anything, what she could see was illuminated by the street lights through the kitchen window. She intended to - as quietly as possible - revisit Vincent's stash of spirits. Though alcohol had played a part in this awkward mess, she didn't doubt that another drink could put her right to sleep.



Vincent:



Habit had him rinsing the glass and returning it to the dish-strainer. Valentine stood there for a long moment, utilizing his considerable willpower to gather the rampant thoughts and shove them down, down, down into his subconscious mind, where the monsters that lurked there would pounce upon them gleefully. He didn’t care, as long as they did it quietly. And away from his mind’s eye. Vincent inhaled a deep breath, running his hand through his hair in effort to regain a bit of his shattered balance. Calm, calm, calm. Cold, methodical. Precise. Yes, that was it. Bury those seething needs beneath a killer’s cold façade, never to be released again.



Yet a soft step in the hall behind him alerted his ear and he silently groaned as his eyes fell closed to hear the familiar rustling of his houseguest. That new control was shot straight to hell as Vincent turned and smoldering red eyes found Tifa just beyond the kitchen door, moving cautiously in the dim light. His night vision was excellent, a trait he damned at the moment since he could vividly see every detail; the tousled hair that spilled over her shoulders, the wide eyes that saw very little in the darkness, the long well-muscled legs that had been divested of the borrowed sweats, Gaia, he knew he was damned. Better head it off right now.



“Tifa,” he said quietly, sounding to his ears as if he’d swallowed ground glass, “is everything all right?”



Tifa:



The low, deep voice that spoke her name made her jump, then Tifa placed one hand to her chest and breathed deeply.



"Vincent... you startled me!" She paused, then answered his question. "I... I couldn't sleep. I thought I'd get something to drink."



Gods, but his voice sounded so... she couldn't place it. Yet she found it very, very attractive. A thought she pushed far away for the moment, or at least tried. She didn't step any closer. The awkward tension between them filled the space plenty. Would that she could go back and undo the night... but part of her knew she didn't really want to. Not completely. The effect it was having now was uneasy... but before that, all had been just dandy. Particularly with wet mouths fighting to see who might better taste whom.



She shivered, only a little from the chill of the room. Hesitantly, she spoke again, "Is... is that alright?" Made sure to say 'is that' instead of 'are you'.



Vincent:



“It’s fine.” A rustle of cloth as he moved and Vincent flicked on the light over the stove, the golden glow soft upon the tile. Mistake! his brain screamed, because now he could easily see the outline of voluptuous breasts beneath that white t-shirt. Teeth ground together behind thin lips.



This is idiocy, gunslinger, he heard the snark clearly. You are so infantile. She is receptive to you; see the way her eyes seek yours, the way her lips part, the way her breath hitches…



“I will not do this,” he hissed through his teeth quietly, eyebrows lowering over eerie eyes. Turning away to open the refrigerator, he swallowed several times for calm, and said for the second time, “There is soda, ice water, beer, or the hard liquor.”



Closing it, Vincent fetched a glass from the cabinet for her yet again, the surrealness not lost to his mind. “Although I would think the brandy best left alone.”



Realizing she was a grown woman, Can’t really ignore that fact, can we, gunslinger, Valentine gave her a quiet nod and moved past her to the kitchen door, fully intent on returning to the couch, but paused, unable to help saying, “If you need anything further, Tifa, don’t hesitate to tell me.”



Another soft nod and he returned to the living room, heaving a deep sigh before settling atop the couch once more.



Tifa:



The glow lit his face in a strange way, casting dynamic shadows that made him look even more mysterious than usual. Dark, handsome, tragically attractive and alone. And he was tall enough without the dim light making him look taller in her eyes, thin but she knew now the muscles that rippled and rose beneath his shirt, giving his lanky frame an incredible strength. She was aware of her bare legs, and blushed only slightly. Anything else he might notice was forgotten as she picked through her options in her mind, thinking of anything but the man whom in all these years she'd barely known.



A mute nod at his words, then she stepped further into the kitchen and opened the bottom cabinet she'd seen him pull the brandy from. That, she would stay away from. The peach schnapps, on the other hand, seemed fair game. She poured a good dose - though not too much - into the glass he'd politely set out for her. After taking her time to drink it, Tifa set the glass in the sink and turned out the light over the stove.



As she made her way carefully back into the living room, now fully blind from the exposure to the light, she saw the darker silhouette of Vincent, framed by long, black hair, sitting instead of laying on the couch. Tifa stilled. Things... just weren't right. They needed to be right again. Once she got her bearings and guessed at where the coffee table was, she walked over to the couch and sat next to him. The reason he couldn't sleep seemed obvious enough that she didn't ask. What she did ask was equally rhetorical.



“Things are weird now, aren't they?"



Vincent:



Vincent acidly expected the demons in his mind to make some evil comment, but for once, they were quiet. Deserting bastards, he swore at them internally.



He heard Tifa moving around in the kitchen, some muted clinks, then the light vanished as she turned it off. He didn’t turn as she maneuvered around the coffee table and carefully sat down on the couch beside him, although he knew she’d been into the schnapps. She had an affinity for peach flavors, he catalogued automatically.



Elbows on his knees, Valentine laced his fingers together, piano-long digits gripping tightly. He ducked his head a bit, staring at the floor between his feet. Weird, that was an understatement.



“They are,” he replied softly after a moment. A slight sigh. “I never meant for them to be so, Tifa.” He gave a rueful chuckle, lifting his head but not looking at her. “…I’m afraid I’m not very good at this,” he admitted.



Tifa:



While Vincent sat leaning forward, Tifa sat leaning into the back of the sofa, hands clasped in her lap. Like him, she kept her gaze down, mostly because she couldn't see him.



With a heavy sigh, she spoke softly. "I don't think anyone is really good at things like this, Vincent. I never meant for it to get like this either. It's just that... I didn't stop to think of what I was doing before I," she paused and chose careful, vague words, "... did that."



It was easy to get the meaning across without actually saying anything specific. That would have lead to a deeper blush than she now wore. A slow intake of breath to steady herself, then she was leaning forward, next to him but half an arm's length away as she stared at his profile.



"You looked so alone, tonight. You always have. And that," she looked down again, "That's something I can sympathize with." The last was spoken so quietly she almost didn't hear herself. She wasn't alone in the same sense; she did have several close friends. The one she wanted closest, though, he was never quite close enough. Just aloof enough to do his own thing, be her friend, and she his. They could laugh together, talk, share things. They loved each other. Just not the way Tifa felt she needed to be loved.



Vincent:



His head reflexively ducked again. I’m always alone, Tifa. You have no idea how alone…simply because I do not have a choice.



But Vincent’s ear quirked at her latter statement. What did she mean? Cloud? Were things not right between her and the hero? His brow furrowed. Glancing over, seeing her so-expressive face in the very dim light, Vincent dared ask hesitantly, “…what is wrong, Tifa?”



Tifa:



She smiled, aware that he might see her, but not caring. The smile did not reach her eyes. It took a moment before she responded in words, as her eyes fell to the dim red glow of his own.



"You can't tell, can you? About Cloud and me..." She didn't need him to answer; she knew everyone assumed that if they weren't yet 'together', they would be. It was like some unwritten proclamation. It hadn't been set-in-stone when Aeris was alive, but now most people assumed she and Cloud (probably because they shared a home) were sleeping together. If only they knew. Vincent asked, therefore, he would know. He could understand, if anyone could.



"Cloud and I... we are still just friends. We never..." she trailed off and looked back to the floor, shaking her head. "It just never happened."



Vincent:



Is the man a complete idiot? was Vincent’s first thought. His second, Yes, all things considered. He could only blink at her. “…never happened,” he echoed. Hn, this was unexpected.



Any and every time Vincent encountered one or both (barring tonight, naturally), Tifa and Cloud always seemed the picture of perfect bliss. Valentine supposed he didn’t analyze too much; one, because it was none of his business in the first place, and two, because they seemed so happy together there wasn’t a need to wonder. With this revelation, Vincent considered the ramifications.



“But Cloud loves you,” he heard himself saying. “If not, he’s a fool, Tifa.” Sympathy darkened scarlet eyes. “…why do you stay?” he quietly inquired.



Tifa:



Though she could barely see the outline of her feet stretched out in front of her, Tifa kept her gaze studiously on them as she answered, words coming slowly at first. "Cloud... he does love me. I love him, too. It's just... not like that. Not for him, at least, and I'm beginning to wonder how I really feel." She paused, that damnable mist blurred her vision again and had to take a deep breath so she could continue.



"I always thought it'd be different, you know? I used to picture Cloud in his Soldier uniform, coming home to me every day in this big house with the picket fence and the whole nine yards. Then I grew up... and I dreamed about him then, too. I used to think that if he would show up and join the fight, if he'd come like he promised, everything would be ok. And he did come, he did keep his promise. He saved the world. Well... we all did. But then..." She rubbed the heel of her palm over her eyes quickly and sighed.



"I just feel like I've got the ticket in my hand, but that train has already left the station. Like whatever could have been between us romantically... is gone." She wasn't going to say that it was because of Aeris. In truth, she could guess that Cloud's feelings for Aeris had shown him he could have those kinds of attachments to people other than Tifa, and changed his perspective on his feelings for her. She had never asked him, probably never would. She understood, and couldn't hold it against him. It just hurt to let go of something she'd held onto for so long.



Vincent:



Vincent sat silent. He’d known her love for Cloud had held such wonderful imagery. Idyllic setting, even. Tifa the wonderful wife and mother, Cloud the loving husband and hero SOLDIER. The scene was enough to pull a heavy sigh from him. But what to say? Vincent knew he was positively the last breathing being on the Planet to offer advice, thus he simply listened quietly. He would do so for her, always. As she’d done for him earlier when he’d poured out the tale of his torture, unable to stop himself.



As she fell quiet, he waited a moment, digesting this, then asked again, “Other than the business and the children, Tifa, why do you stay?” A slight smile curved his lips. “There are other ways of getting somewhere…besides the train.” He glanced at her, able to see her well in the darkness. His voice was still quiet and deep, unintentionally soothing. “Of all people, Tifa, you deserve happiness and the chance to live your life. As you’ve dreamed.”



Tifa:



Both hands pushed back bangs made unruly by her earlier wallowing in his bed. The quietest hint of a chuckle accompanied her half-smile and soft sniffle as she murmured, "Thanks, Vincent. It's nice to hear that, coming from you." Because I know you mean it, you never bullshit.



"I guess I stay because... well, he's the closest thing to family I have. He's my best friend, even. And I guess I'm still waiting. If there's another way to get somewhere...I don't know it." She looked over at him then, meeting the soft glow of red, red eyes. She knew some people found them discomforting. She couldn't imagine why, even if he didn't say a word, his eyes always expressed so much.



You know another way, the softest inner voice told her, you just won't admit it. She told herself it was the alcohol and the emotions that tugged at her heart and mind on nights like this. Yet try as she might, as long as she was looking into his eyes, she couldn't be convinced.



Vincent:



“Tifa,” he said on a soft sigh, a sigh of recognizable delusion. Vincent could relate well, after all. Hadn’t he for-Gaia’s-sake died trying to love a woman who’d never return it?



“Sometimes…” he began hesitantly, fingers idly rubbing the leather couch cushion, “…you just have to break those ties and find your own way. It took me…decades to do that.” He shook his head slightly.



“I won’t say it’s easy, because it is not, but sometimes, it’s necessary, for your life, for your own sanity, even.” Sanguine eyes lifted to sable brown just as a flash of lightening flooded the living room with a second’s intensity, throwing both Vincent and Tifa into stark relief. A hesitant hand, the fingers rough and skilled from years of familiarity with weapons, both man-made and non, brushed against Tifa’s that rested beside her on the couch.



“Don’t make my mistake, Tifa. Don’t spend your life waiting for something not worth such a sacrifice.” A bit uncertain of what his words revealed, Vincent lowered his gaze again, staring at his traitorous fingers, resting cross-ways atop equally slender and feminine digits, stark against the black.



Tifa:



The lightning gave her a distinct image of his face, even paler than usual in the blue-white flash. Her eyes saw only spots afterward, but his face was stuck in her mind as she listened to his words, then felt his hand cover hers in a comforting touch. Tifa's brow furrowed and her eyes watered again. He did understand. He'd gone through the same, and far, far worse. But could she cut those ties? Was she that strong? She knew she could never fully separate herself from Cloud, he was her friend and she cared deeply for him even beyond the yearning for a relationship.



But the feelings... those she would be better without, wouldn't she? Still, it was so hard to even think about. Her hand shifted beneath his to curl her fingers between his, lacing them as she held on. At the same time, Tifa closed her eyes and leaned into a strong shoulder, head hung low with her cheek resting against soft black locks that still smelled like rain. She knew it was asking for a lot from him, this kind of touch, but she was tired of being strong. For one night, she wanted someone there when her smile faded and hope was smothered, even for a brief time. It was a weight he shouldn't have to help her with, she scolded herself. It was just so easy to lean against him, take support rather than give and never receive. She was asking for too much, had taken too much with that kiss. She just hoped he wouldn't turn her away, wouldn't pull away from her.



"How?" she whispered, turning a faintly glistening gaze back to him, needing to see an answer in vermilion eyes. "How do I tell myself that it's never going to happen? And how do I move on when I accept that?" Despair threatened Tifa few times in her life. She had always been resilient, always strong with an iron will. When her mother died, it broke for the first time. The second when her father was slain. Since then, very few had been the times when it threatened to be so bad, even when she thought the world might end. Because she was with Cloud. Now, he was there, but not the way she needed. Vincent was here, and for the briefest moment, she wondered if that kiss had really been a mistake.



Vincent:



If possible, Valentine stilled even more as warm fragile fingers curled around his hand and a dark head leaned needingly against his shoulder. He resisted the urge to leap away in fright, and mentally sucker-punched Chaos even before the first snarked word. Touch was usually a thing he feared. Irrationally, he knew, but because it had betrayed him to literal death earlier in his life.



But as Vincent ruminated on the words he’d told Tifa, he realized that he was a hypocrite of the first order. Although he’d more or less settled his past, he was still letting it affect his present. To be human… He was figuratively still living a lie. Automatic as a robot. The need for human interaction was so strong, but so very frightening, as that same need and his naïveté had been his downfall in his youth. Well, Tifa was damn sure not Lucrecia and Vincent wasn’t Cloud, nor himself thirty years ago. He fancied himself a bit wiser, albeit a hell of a lot more wary and aloof.



But the events earlier in his kitchen had convinced Vincent rather well he wasn’t dead from the neck down. Be careful, but relent, Valentine, he told himself. Vincent somewhat awkwardly put his right arm over Tifa’s shoulders as she lay against his shoulder, looking down at her misty gaze as she voiced her fears. He thought a moment before answering quietly.



“You just do, Tifa. There is no guidebook for life. The chasm below is deep, I know. I’ve seen the bottom of it.” He sighed, ruffling her hair. “Monsters hunt there. It’s a place I would never wish for you.” The fingers of his hand rested gently against her arm as he held her loosely.



“I know how alone you feel,” he went on, staring at the floor. “Scared, trembling in the dark.” A shudder from his own memories tremored through him and he closed his eyes. Vincent was so tired of fighting it, as well. Greatly daring, he tentatively leaned his temple against her forehead. “…you are my friend, Tifa. If you wish…” and how he feared of uttering these words, “…lean upon me and I will help you fight them.”



Vincent took a soft breath. “I owe you that much, if not more. Simply ask of me what you need…”



Tifa:



Though it showed in his shy gaze, in his halting, awkward actions, and in his voice, Tifa could not imagine how difficult it was for him to do what he now did for her, to offer whatever she needed. She bit her lip against the first instinct... to kiss him. Instead her left arm came up around his back while her right slid over his shoulder to the back of his neck, that hand buried in the soft tangles of his hair as her face pressed to the side of his neck. She trembled, and let a handful of tears slip free.



"This," she whispered. "Just you being here." It was more than she'd had alone, and infinitely better. "Just to forget, even for a while." Another kiss. That, she denied herself, for his sake. He was giving plenty, as it was. Vincent was an expert at fighting monsters, within and without. His presence was an anchor, and a safe harbor, even if just for a while. And she wanted to be that for him.



It wasn't fair, she knew, to let this be one-sided. He said he owed her... she didn't see how. If she'd done anything, it seemed to cause awkwardness between them, throwing up as many walls as he'd lowered for her. That was gone, for the moment. She didn't want to endanger this tentatively deeper friendship, but she felt so much, so strongly that it was hard. She pulled back just enough to rest her cheek to his, catching her breath and willing her eyes to stay closed, to only feel the softness of his skin, his breath in her ear.



"Vincent, I... I haven't had someone there for me in a long time. Like this, I mean." About Cloud. "I just want you to know, it means so much that you'd do this... for me." Just for me? "I'll do the same for you, gladly. Whenever you need." She meant it, and hoped he could hear that in her voice. How he'd faced so much by himself, she would never know. She only wanted him to know that he didn't have to, anymore. Not alone.



To be continued…