Insomnia often had pleasant facets, if one looked closely enough. On such a terribly grim evening, however, he was disinclined to seek such delectation. The rain had been pouring down, dancing upon the roof tops for hours. The sound was welcome to his ears, but that was not enough to soothe him into slumber. Using the tips of his knees as a makeshift pillow, he allowed sanguine irises to roam the silhouette of the neighboring buildings in idle attentiveness. The menacing ashen clouds filtered the glow of the moon and what wan light did manage to leak through was forgotten in the darkness. Perhaps that was the reason he'd been so surprised to see her wandering through the streets below, seemingly lost beneath the deluge released by the sky.
As if to be sure he was not dreaming, he blinked twice and moved to the window where he met the icy glass to gain a better look. The tail of her leather attire swished just so, catching his eye. The tips of white cotton peeked from beneath her vest to come alight beneath a street lamp, sealing the deal. What could she possibly be thinking?
Without hesitation, he moved from the bed and slipped from his humble apartment into the dingy halls. The push bar banged against the glass door as he swung it wide and entered the watery streets, narrowing his eyes to search for her form again. It really couldn't be that difficult, the street did not fork off for another block or so. The rain began to soak through his cloak, tickling down his chest in hurried streams as he started to stray from the apartment building. A fair pace sent him down the cobbled stone, and he found her just feet from where he'd last seen her. She was standing, straddling the center of the street and looking around as if she were lost.
"Tifa?" he called, his voice breaking the silent song of the rain.
Startled by his appearance, she turned quickly and her eyes softened when they settled upon him. There was something in her eyes, an odd emptiness he only saw on those occasions that Cloud abandoned reason to chase ghosts. Through parted pastel, she breathed a puff of steam. The air was chilled enough to bite at his skin beneath leather, and she was certainly far less covered.
"You're going to get sick out here," he added. Still, she stood unmoving.
"It's not that bad…" she finally spoke, her voice low and subtle.
"Don't be ridiculous." With that, he gestured toward the apartment building, "Come on."
Tifa must have realized that he was right, and she slowly began to walk toward the glowing door. The frown perched upon her lips betrayed her, and he knew in that moment that she was beginning to break. When they met the door, he opened it for her, waiting until she was a good distance down the hall before entering himself. She knew where to go from there; she'd visited a few times whenever she was in the area. Her company was always a ray of light through the darkness that enveloped his mind all too often.
Inside, she leaned against the bar top of the kitchen counter, shivering and dripping from head to toe. Watching her for a moment was reason enough to grab two plush, red towels from the linen cabinet beside the bathroom. He handed one over, and set the other atop the bed. He worked quickly at the buckles and belts holding his cloak in place, allowing the fabric to fall away as he tossed it into the bathroom. Such things could be dealt with later.
"So maybe it was really c-cold outside," she said, teeth chattering on the 'C.'
"What are you doing here?" he asked, holding the other towel incase she happened to need it. The carpet was beginning to turn darker beneath the puddle she was dripping onto the floor.
"I needed to talk," she admitted, gaze faltering to the floor.
An interesting response, since he'd finally gotten a phone after the insistence of several who shall go unnamed. She'd come all this way on foot, simply to talk? He didn't buy that. She was running.
"I hope I'm not intruding," she offered dryly. He could see her frail lashes flutter briefly, as if blinking back tears.
"Not at all," he consoled. She was never intruding when she stopped by to talk or visit, but usually she was on much happier terms.
A chill raked her spine and she shuddered involuntarily, running her hands up and down her biceps to rush away the cold. The sight brought the sympathy he'd stored away bubbling to the surface, and he came to the conclusion that she was not about to get warm beneath all that freezing leather. He wandered over to the dresser and pulled out the middle drawer, removing a white cotton shirt and a pair of boxers he hadn't worn in ages.
"Here," he offered the clothing to her with gloved fingers, watching as she accepted the items cautiously.
"Thanks… freezing to death doesn't sound like much fun," she laughed delicately and started for the bathroom.
"I'd imagine not," he added as she closed the door. He took that opportunity to remove the soaked bandana from his forehead, the relief from the moisture obstructed by the slosh of water elsewhere. Getting dry with all this… clothing, would be impossible.
When she emerged shyly with the white shirt draping around her torso and the shorts falling mid thigh, he had to avoid her to keep from gawking. Crossing that line between friendship and romance wasn't at the top of his to-do list, but he'd never deny the fact that she was an attractive woman. With a thin smile, she dabbed her matted hair with a towel and wandered further into the room.
"What did you wish to talk about?" he asked, remembering her purpose for coming. Though quite content, he shifted uncomfortably beneath the cold leather.
"Well… before I get on to that, you should really change. You're so busy worrying about me," she said as she sat on the edge of the bed. She really did make herself at home whenever she was around.
"I suppose you're right," he replied. The thought of listening to whatever ailed her with the interruption of sticky, wet leather was less than appealing.
He fumbled through the bottom drawer, seeking the pair of black pajamas he never really wore. Living alone meant having the liberty to sleep in whatever one desired to sleep in—including nothing at all.
Peeling off the leather and buckles, gauntlet and boots proved noisy and difficult in the cramped bathroom. The semi-studio apartment was far from accommodating when visitors came. Perhaps that said something about him? Dismissing the thought, he dried off and slid on the black pants and tee shirt. The look he received when he came into the living room was nothing if not forward, but he calculated that it was due to the fact that she'd never really seen him quite that naked. Once or twice she'd seen him in a dress shirt and slacks, and she knew full well about his favored gauntlet, but never in a short sleeved shirt with bare feet. Interesting how she seemed to smile even through the sadness tugging at her eyes.
"Much better," she said as cheerily as she could manage.
He nodded, moving into the kitchen to pour a bit of water into the kettle. The sound of the tap water filling the kettle drown his thoughts a moment, but he turned the lever as soon as the water met the half way point. The kettle was set with a distinct clink, the stove igniting beneath the metal. There was one thing he knew would send the chill away and perhaps even bring a lengthier smile back to that pretty face.
Waiting for the water to boil, he came around the counter and leaned against it as she had done when she first came inside. He ventured a glance toward her, hoping to see something more than a frown and downcast eyes. She heaved a sigh, shoulders sloping downward as he watched.
"Did he leave?" he asked, watching a dry smirk form on her lips.
"Wouldn't that be easier," she said with a faint, breathed laugh. Routine was always predictable and easy. "Actually, this time I left."
This was a new development. Several times she'd called to work things out in her mind after Cloud would wander off. Once or twice, she even came over to escape the loneliness she was left to. Never had she left him there, at Seventh Heaven. "What happened?" he asked, listening to the water as it began to bubble meekly.
She met his gaze, "I guess I got fed up. I don't know what came over me, but I got up and thought 'I should just leave.'" A dejected smile followed her words, a chaser to a sour statement.
"And the bar?" he queried. He could imagine her frustration with Cloud, but the bar was her livelihood. And what about… "the kids?"
"They're sleeping, of course. Luckily, Barret's will be there in the morning to take them for a week. The bar… he'll manage it," she replied without missing a beat. Clearly, this had been coming for longer than she let on.
The kettle interrupted with a shrill cry, and he abandoned the conversation to shut off the stove. The cry faded as he brought two mugs over and poured a bit of cocoa into each. Tifa usually preferred milk to water, but he was fresh out. He carefully poured the water in and stirred the contents with a spoon lifted from the silver ware drawer.
He carried the steaming mugs over to the bed and held one out to her, which she gracefully accepted. "Thanks, I needed this." Another fleeting smile, but encouragement enough. And what, pray tell, did she need? The hot cocoa, or his company?
He sat beside her, dangling one leg lazily off the bed while crooking the other to create a perch for his elbow. The mug rested between bare fingers, his eyes settling once again on hers.
"This is all rash, I know… he'll have no idea where I've gone," she brought the mug to her lips and blew on the hot cocoa, watching the steam drift listlessly in the breeze she created.
"Sometimes that's necessary," he added. Decisions often needed to be hastily made, unless one desired to drift endlessly on indecision.
"I guess," she nodded, sipping her first taste of the warm drink.
He watched her curiously, knowing that if he'd failed to make it correctly, she'd give that tell tale face she always had when something tasted off. When she sighed indulgently and smiled, he realized he'd mixed the right amount of cocoa in. "What will you do now?"
A fair question, but one she obviously was not prepared to answer. She shrugged and let the mug lower into her lap, staring absently at the opposite wall. "I… I don't know."
This was so unlike her, and yet so justified. A woman could only be pushed so far before emotions shut down and things stopped working. He was suddenly angry with Cloud for putting her in such a state, but the emotion was unjustified. The boy likely hadn't a clue what he'd done to her. He was fairly ignorant to some of the more delicate things in life, and several times he'd sent her whirling in a fix of disarray.
"Vincent…" she began, looking toward him with moistened eyes. He encouraged her by nodding, his head tilted downward. "Can I… stay here tonight?"
The question caught him off guard. It occurred to him that she really didn't have anywhere else to go, and staying at the inn would be rather lonely. He didn't much feel like driving to Edge, though Kalm was not too far in distance. That left but one option, and she'd clearly found that most appealing.
As if she felt the need to justify the question and break the hanging silence, she added "I don't want to be alone…" Her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly, but he caught it. A glistening tear hung dangerously close to the corner of her eye, but she pushed it away with a quick hand.
That was quite compelling, to say the least. Understandably, she had no desire to lie in a cold bed and think about what had transpired earlier in the evening. She'd stayed over once before, when she'd come for the festival and consumed a little too much of the spiked punch to make it home. However, that night she'd been loud and nearly disturbed half the building before he coaxed her into going to bed. It really wasn't too much to ask, though for some inexplicable reason, he felt as if he were wedged in a predicament. Nevertheless, he agreed. "You can stay…"
"I appreciate it," she forced a smile and resumed to sipping from the mug. He took a sip himself this time, enjoying the way the rich chocolate flooded his mouth and caressed his tongue before continuing to warm his stomach.
"So what made you leave?" There was no avoiding the fact that she'd need to get this off her chest before making any attempt to sleep. Besides, he wanted to listen to whatever she had to say, just to hear her speak in that animated, lovely voice. It was then he realized how much he enjoyed her company. She was always full of interesting conversation and oddly insightful musings. Perhaps seeing her more often in the past year and a half, since Cloud started back up with those unreliable ways, had worn on his stubborn soul.
"A lot of things, I suppose. It built for so long… you know? I don't know why I kept taking him back through all the stages of disappearance. Lately, he's been coming home late with remnants of dust or flower pollen. And the smell is unmistakable," she shook her head, downing a gulp of cocoa as if he'd spiked it with something to dull the pain.
"It's easy to fall back on things that are comfortable," he mused. That was close to the truth for any human being. Routine, pattern, addiction… they were all comfortable ways to deal with every day life. "So he's been at the church?"
"Of course. I asked him… back when I found out he had Geostigma, whether it would be a memory… or us. I guess I didn't want to see the answer, since it didn't fit my hopes and expectations. But here I am, over three years later… still asking him the same question every night." At this, she gave an indignant laugh. As if there were any humor to be found in the hard truth she'd just voiced.
"I'm sorry," was all he could think to say. There were many things drifting by on the tip of his tongue, but it was as if razor blades and rose in his throat, forbidding him to voice any of the questions or bits of thought. She already knew most everything he might say, this situation was nothing new.
Why did people always cling to those who hurt them most? It was a self destructive path quite common in the present day, and he pondered the reasons for such an affliction. The idea that Tifa would stay around through all of Cloud's odd habits and destructive patterns was a mystery to him.
"Well…" she started, her speech interrupted by a wide yawn which she politely covered with a fisted hand. "I really don't want to think about this any more."
He noticed the tenderness of the reddened skin beneath her eyes, and judging by the second yawn she exhaled in a matter of minutes, she must have been physically and emotionally exhausted. Before he could ask if she felt like going to sleep, she set her mug on the end table and faced him almost nervously.
"Vince…?" she asked, as if the next words would somehow damage him.
"Tifa…" he replied, narrowing his eyes reflexively.
"Are you sure I'm not imposing?" she asked timidly. Always worrying about others. That must be a tiring existence.
"I'm sure," he replied with a faint smile.
"Then… can I ask you a question?" He should have predicted that.
"Go ahead…"
"Have you ever found peace? I mean… truly?" She looked at him with such dire emotion, he felt as if he were beneath a magnifying glass. And where did this come from? Was she actually concerned for her future… or perhaps wondering whether she'd ever find an end to this rocky relationship she'd relied on for nearly six years?
"Tifa… peace is an elusive concept. To be at peace, one must know conflict." He sipped the last of his cocoa, wondering where it had gone during their conversation, and set the mug away on the floor by the end of the bed.
Something must have been funny, perhaps had a cocoa mustache? She laughed audibly and smiled, "And that was an elusive answer."
The sweet chorus of her laughter did not last nearly as long as he wished it would, but perhaps he would make her laugh some other time. For now, he was more concerned with the way she'd just inched toward him on the mattress. Without any hint of hesitation, she rested her head against his chest and draped an arm across his leg, toying with a loose thread from his cotton pants. The innocent move toward physical comfort did not catch him with frozen limbs, and he moved his hand to stroke her back consolingly.
After a moment of silence, she looked up at him, though she did not move away. "Thanks, Vincent…" she whispered, looking quite content. The glassy tears that had shone in her Chianti eyes had simply vanished, and he gloated inwardly to think that he'd aided her in finding a little peace of her own.
"For?" he asked nonchalantly.
"Oh, I don't know… being there right when I needed you?" she smiled brightly, and he realized just why he had become her confidant in the first place.
"Well, would you prefer I just send you back onto the streets?" He smirked shamelessly, letting her realize that he was only being sarcastic.
"Smart ass," she mumbled, barely enough so that he could register the words. Another yawn came crashing onto her and she hid her face near his collar bone, blowing the moist warmth against his neck. The accidental affection sent a shiver crawling down his spine, but he set that aside and looked to her with concern.
"You really should rest," he said, brushing his chin across the crown of her head.
"You're probably right…" she inhaled a deep breath, and brushed her thumb against the delicate flesh beneath her left eye. "I can barely see straight."
He waited until she moved away from him to stand, how ever reluctantly. As he began to gather the spare blankets from the linen closet, she gave him quite the glare. "I don't think so, Vincent Valentine. You are not sleeping on the floor again," she ordered.
He was in for it now. The idea of sleeping with her wasn't necessarily unappealing, but it brought to light other things he was not prepared to think about. However, ignoring a demand of Tifa's was asking for a lot more than he felt like bargaining. He settled the blankets back on the shelf and shut the cabinet door. She was already inching beneath his messy blankets, burying her head against the pillow when he turned back toward the bed.
With an inaudible sigh, he pulled back the covers and climbed in beside her. The bed was hardly larger than a twin, and the space between them was made even less as she cuddled in beside him. The tips of her fingers graced the raised flesh of a scar on his arm from peak to tip, trailing feather light across his skin until she tangled her fingers with his. He breathed a deep breath, letting his fingers join with hers.
Within minutes, her breathing had evened out and he supposed that she'd fallen into slumber. He idly let his thoughts drift as he lay beside her, wondering what tomorrow might bring. For a moment, he wished she'd just let Cloud go…
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Well, there it is. I couldn't possibly have played Dirge without stumbling into the desire to write a little bit of fiction. Vincent was marvelous, and of course… so evolved my latest creation based more on his personality in the game and also a bit from Advent Children. Tifa may have seemed down here, but that's to be expected as she's likely hit rock bottom on this Cloud mess.
Why is it always raining in my fictions? Well, for one—it aided the plot of this first chapter. But as you might have guessed, I'm obsessed with storms and rainy weather. I just love the smell of rain and the sound of thunder. It's also quite romantic. I swear, one day I'll write sunshine… but for now, it was necessary ;)
I began this as a one-shot, but now I have ideas flooding in and a strong pull to spawn a multi-chapter fiction. Shall I? Suggestions, comments and the like would be much appreciated. Thanks for reading!
-- Randi --
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