Title: Nightmare

Author: Dùlin

Pairings: Tifa/Vincent, mentions of Cloud/Vincent

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Rating: PG

Warnings: Between AC and DoC. Fic 5 in the Welcome Home Arc. Vincent stays the night at Seventh Heaven and has a nightmare. He's not the only one.

Disclaimer: Squeenix owns. I am not Squeenix. You do the math.

Vincent doesn't often stay the night. Tifa is used to having him drop in when the bar closes, sometimes earlier in the day, but he's usually gone by the time the sun rises again. He only stays if there's someone he needs to see in Edge or he has to go somewhere with Cloud.

Try as she might, Tifa can't remember ever seeing Vincent sleeping. For a long time, she wasn't even sure he ever slept. But on the nights where he doesn't stand watch on the roof, he usually will share Cloud's bed. That doesn't mean he sleeps, of course. She wouldn't put it past Vincent to actually stare at the ceiling for hours while Cloud sleeps on the other side of the bed. But he has to get rest at some point, and it makes more sense to believe he just sleeps when no one's watching.

At least, thinking about it is keeping her entertained while she stares at the ceiling in her room. It's one of those nights, and she is pretty sure she won't be able to go back to sleep.

The sound of bare feet in the hallway outside makes her tense up and she's out of her bed before she even realizes that it comes from inside the house, not outside, and that the door that was just closed carefully is that of Cloud's bedroom.

When she gets down into the shop, he is standing behind the bar, arms braced on the counter next to the sink. There's a glass next to his hand, half full of water. The claw is glinting in what little light there is coming from outside.

"Want some tea?" she says softly.

He gives a start and turns around, and she sees his eyes dart around, as if he's looking for a way out. She knows why, too. He's only wearing a pair of sweatpants, probably Cloud's. He hates having his body – his scars – on display. She doesn't blame him for that. She doesn't know the whole story, but she understands enough. ShinRa doesn't let anyone escape its clutches unscathed.

"It's okay," she says. "I was going to make some for myself anyway."

She gives him some space even as she comes closer. Enough space that he could say 'no' and flee and hide in Cloud's room and pretend nothing's wrong. For a moment, it looks like this is exactly what he's going to do, but then he nods.

He moves away when she comes behind the bar to put the kettle on. He grabs the glass and goes to sit at one of the tables – the one in the darkest corner – and doesn't say anything until she eventually puts a mug down in front of him and sits down with her own.

"… Thanks."

She nods back at him and starts sipping her tea. He just puts his hands around the mug and stares into it. She lets a minute go by, then another, but he doesn't say anything. She doesn't mind the silence, really, but there are days where she wishes the men in her life would just get over themselves and admit that they don't always feel a hundred percent, and that they're allowed to feel that way.

"I get them too, you know."

He looks up at her and blinks. That's the second time tonight she's caught him by surprise, and she doesn't know whether she should be smug or worried about it.

"The nightmares," she adds. "We all get them."

Again, there's no answer, but she isn't expecting one. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath.

"There was a fire near the square today."

She opens her eyes again and meets his. He's watching her. Listening.

It was a textile workshop, she heard as she went by. Probably some electrical malfunction, they're common in the city. She doesn't think she's ever been down that road before today, doesn't know anyone there, but…

"The moment I saw the flames, I knew… I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep after that. I tried, though."

She always does, because you never know. You think, maybe tonight, it'll be different. Maybe this time I'll be able to close my eyes and see something else.

"I don't know how other people do it. If they just close their eyes and… I don't know if it works for anyone. It hasn't worked yet for me."

She catches his eyes, and he shakes his head, taking advantage of the movement to hide behind his hair the way he always does when something hits a little too close to home.

"…I don't know," he says, his voice barely over a whisper. "I've never tried."

She looks down at her cup. She's gripping it hard, letting the warmth of the tea seep through the ceramic and all but scald her hand. She can see, from the corner of her eyes, that he's doing the same.

It's the smell that gets her every time. She doesn't think she'll ever forget that smell. It still turns her stomach. She threw up when she came home yesterday. She even took a shower, because she could still smell it on herself. On her clothes. But…

"It doesn't go away. It just hides in a corner, and it jumps at me when I don't expect it. And I don't have time for this."

She has a business to run. She has bills to pay. She has two kids to raise. She has people who are counting on her to do the right thing. She can't afford to sit in that corner and feel sorry for herself.

"I know it's there, and I know it's not going away, but I'm done with letting it rule my life. If it jumps out at me, well… I guess I just have to face it head on."

Until next time. There is always a next time. There probably will be a next time for a very long time. She's made her peace with that.

There's a creaking sound as he shifts on his chair, and she sees his face just long enough to notice how hard he is clenching his jaw. She shakes her head with a smile.

"Don't break the cup, okay? I don't have that many of those."

There is that blink again, and he slowly peels his fingers off the cup, balling his hand into a fist on the table next to it.

She finishes her own tea and stands up, pushing her chair back as silently as possible and going to put the cup in the sink. She'll wash it tomorrow. She's going back to bed even if she'll spend most of the rest of the night tossing and turning.

She looks back just before she goes up the stairs. He's almost invisible in that corner, and he is so immobile now he makes absolutely no sound.

"Good night, Vincent."