Disclaimer: Compliation of FFVII does not belong to me.
Author natterings: This took far longer than I expected. Holy moly. I am sorry for the wait, to those who had this on alert. I may or may not add to this with other notable calendar days. This all depends on my urge to write, I suppose. I like to think this chapter is sweet. Feel free to tell me what you think!
Calendar Days
You could track a life in many ways, Vincent thought. Being Vincent though, he had to think of a completely convoluted method. But really, it was more that the complexity of the method helped him to better stand the shrieking ringing in his ears.
He thought of those old murder mysteries where one acquaintance of a person led to a another acquaintance, which led to an estranged relative, which led to a traitorous husband or some sort.
Today, Vincent had come into contact with a grand total of eight people. From the morning: the cleaning lady at the hotel, who bumped her funny bone on the doorknob as she closed it, and cussed prettily. The lady picking up her morning newspaper from in front of her hotel room door, leaning over far too much and exposing herself. (Vincent, gentleman that he was, looked away and as a result almost bumped into an ice dispenser.) The hotel checkout clerk, the overseer of the ship that landed him in Edge. Each could give some snippet of information about Vincent. The cleaning lady could say that she had cleaned his room for two days. The newspaper lady could say that he must be a little spacey because he almost hit his head. The checkout clerk could say that he checked out at precisely 8:02 am, May third. And the ship commander could say that they had an interesting conversation, and that Vincent really knew his mechanics. It was like a trail.
Marlene and Denzel could say he arrived to take care of them and manage a bar single-handedly. Tifa could say that his cape was looking tattered and he should get a new one. Cloud could say he called Vincent at the beginning of the week to request a favour.
Which was, if Vincent recalled correctly, over the high-pitched voices still ringing in his brain, something like: Hi, Vincent. It's Tifa's birthday Thursday. We're celebrating, all of us, Saturday. Could you come over to watch the bar a few days early? I finally grew a pair and realized the woman I live with and have two children with likes me, and I like her. 'Kay, thanks, bye.
Vincent furrowed his brow at the rememberance of this. It was also partially because of the sudden water dripping from his face.
"Oh!" Marlene gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "I'm so sorry, Mister Valentine!"
"Vincent!" Denzel exclaimed, turned the tap shut, and zipped around the counter to get a cloth.
"It's fine," Vincent told them, water dripping from the point of his nose.
"Here." A dark square of cloth was thrust into his face.
"Thank you, Denzel," Vincent said, taking the cloth.
"I'm so, so sorry, Mister Valentine," Marlene apologized and edged across the countertop toward him, her small hand grasping the cloth as well and rubbing his cheek. "I didn't mean to."
"I know," Vincent said, meaning it. "It's my fault for not paying more attention."
"It's mine!" Marlene insisted, rubbing his forehead with vigor. "And Denzel's. He shouldn't have turned the tap on when I had the nozzle out."
Denzel seemed to puff up with indignation, but realized the futility. "Yeah, it's mine too, Mister Valentine." He climbed onto his stool and took ahold of the cloth as well.
By this point, Vincent had given up on wiping his own face and now concentrated on just scrunching it behind the cloth. His hands were at his side, and he tried not to jerk his head back at Denzel and Marlene's drying techniques. They both rubbed far too hard...
"The both of you can stop..."
"Vincent?" Cloud's inquisitive voice.
Both Denzel and Marlene froze, the dark cloth still over Vincent's face.
"Why... are Marlene and Denzel washing your face for you?" Tifa's voice, a trace of laughter.
Vincent coughed in embarassment from behind the cloth, and the fabric blew outward as a result. Both Tifa and Cloud stifled a laugh, barely.
Marlene and Denzel sensed that now would be the time to drop the cloth. So they did.
Vincent was sure his face was mildly pink. But he could attribute that to the fact that several layers of his skin were probably peeled off. "They were helping me wipe away some water."
"Sorry, Vincent," Denzel said quietly, his body half-turned in his seat.
"Sorry," Marlene said as well.
"Apology accepted," Vincent told them both as warmly as he could, despite the events of the past five minutes. They both smiled at him. Really, he should not have fallen so easily for their childish charm. They helped him feel better though, and he'd never openly admit it to anyone, but he did, on some level, like taking care of them. Vincent walked them out from behind the bar, then stopped in front of Cloud and Tifa. Both Marlene and Denzel left for the kitchen, knowing exactly why Tifa was holding a purse and why Cloud had on his formal slacks.
Tifa's eyes were bright as she strode forward. Hanging from the hand she extended to Vincent was a bracelet. "Thank you so much, Vincent," she said honestly, traces of laughter still evident in her voice. After shaking his hand, she gave him a brief hug and stepped aside, her skirt swirling.
"Happy birthday," he wished her, to which she smiled.
"Thanks, Vincent," Cloud said as well, coming forward and placing a hand on Vincent's shoulder. Vincent nodded in response.
"You should be going," Vincent told them both. He nodded at the clock above the calendar.
Cloud stepped away to join Tifa. He pulled open the door and let in the nighttime air.
"Bedtime's nine-thirty! And we should be back before the bar closes," Tifa added, calling over her shoulder, her hair sweeping the air. Cloud was already smiling.
"Enjoy yourselves," Vincent said, nodding firmly.
They both waved goodbye. Cloud shut the door behind them.
--------
Outside, Cloud stopped hesistantly in front of Fenrir. Tifa came up alongside him, eyeing the motorcycle, then Cloud.
"Something wrong?" she asked.
He turned to face her, his eyes nearly glowing in the coming moonlight. "Do you mind walking tonight?" he asked, taking her by surprise.
"No," she answered honestly.
Cloud pointed his dress shoes in the right direction, and they started down the sidewalk together. For once, his arm was covered completely in cloth. He couldn't feel the warmth of hers.
"I didn't think it would really fit, tonight," Cloud was saying suddenly.
"What wouldn't fit?" she asked, looking at him for a response. She was such a good listener, even on her own birthday, even at the start of a maybe-maybe-not date.
"Riding a motorcycle," he laughed. The machine had never really struck him as masculine before, but he knew it was. Maybe it was just because Tifa was so distinctly feminine tonight, with her flowy skirt and her added bracelet and her lip gloss that didn't change the (nice) colour of her lips.
"Well," she started, making a sort of slyness evident in her voice, "What did you have planned tonight?"
Cloud blinked his baby blues at her pointedly. "Oh, no. You've got to wait and see."
A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Darn."
They shared a small laugh together. The sound echoed into the sky.
"What's it like, being twenty three?" Cloud asked, nudging her arm with his clothed elbow.
"I don't know, you tell me," she smiled at him.
"Twenty three's good. Except for the whole--"
"--fanatical silver-haired men thing," she finished, sensing what he would say. She got it right, of course. "Yeah, that wasn't so hot."
"And the- what, third time I've had to kill Sephiroth." He was still smiling, though it was somewhat dimmed now. "And geostigma."
"A very full twenty third year for Cloud Strife," Tifa concluded, nodding her head. He nodded along.
Their steps were suddenly loud in the silence. They were nearing one of the busier parts of the city, and there were people flitting on and off the sidewalk. Dim streetlights lit the way, yellow through their casings. Tifa cast a glance Cloud's way. The full moon sat on his shoulder.
"I was scared when I found that bandage in the church," she said absently. "But I was more scared not knowing what was happening with you." She looked at the moon. It was bright, contesting for her attention with the blue of Cloud's eyes.
He looked her way. He replied in kind, serious but with lips still curved up the slightest bit- "I was scared when I found you in the church. All those damaged benches, and I knew something bad had happened."
Cloud's eyes won out. She looked right into them.
"Everyone is precious to me," he said, "but I think... you're a different kind of precious."
Tifa's eyes widened and she bit her lip, hard, unintentionally. "Ow!" she exclaimed, surprised by the pain, hand flying to her mouth.
"What?" Cloud asked, eyes dancing skittishly over her face, trying to assess what was wrong.
"I just bit my lip," she answered him, looking down at the sidewalk, embarassment probably burning on her face. Why, just when Cloud was telling her something so... powerfully sincere, when they were as close as could be to a profession of something more...
He surprised her by lowering her hand from her face, his hand gentle. His thumb was on the soft underside of her wrist, fingers on top. He was walking partially backward to look her in the eyes. "You look great to me," he said, and it was shy, weighted with honesty.
She was so glad he was him. She smiled at him smiling at her, and they did not stop smiling, even though it wasn't full blast, even when they walked through the doors of the restaurant and sat down at an outdoor table and the waiters talked to them.
"Could we get some wine?" Cloud asked the waiter, breaking his gaze with Tifa temporarily.
"Of course. Red?"
"Yes," he replied, simply. Tifa noticed the contrast between Cloud-talking-to-her and Cloud-talking-to-other-people. She didn't know whether to feel pleased or not, but the thought only occured to her very faintly, and it was swept away once a breadstick was dangled in front of her nose.
Cloud was smiling again. How she loved to see that. She'd always thought him attractive, physically or not, but when he smiled, he- everything- it-... was just perfect.
"Have one," he said, and waggled the breadstick.
She reached into the basket and plucked one free. She touched her breadstick to his. "Cheers," she said, poorly keeping a straight face.
He smiled wider. "Cheers." And they both bit into their toasts.
--------
"Really, Cloud."
It was now eight o' clock. Neither had ever taken so long over a meal before and enjoyed it. The wine bottle was three-quarters gone and the weather was absolutely perfect - warm, with the occasional breeze to make Tifa chilly enough to need a coat.
"This really isn't necessary," she told him from her seat, he, walking back to his.
"It is, if you don't want to catch a cold," he replied, amused and concerned all at once. He sat in his seat across from her. He liked the look of his suitjacket draped around her, her stooping to taste the dessert balanced on her fork. It seemed she had dropped her protests. He was glad.
"Do you want some?" she offered. She held her fork out to him, a wedge of mousse with it. She held it over the candle in its glass covering, still flickering despite.
He smiled, showing his perfect teeth (except for that one, a tiny bit crooked, second right from the centre). "I'm okay."
She looked heavenward in a display of brief, playful, annoyance, then popped the slice of dessert between her lips. "You're missing out," she smirked.
"I could say the same for you." He didn't realize that he was mirroring her, smirking in return. "This cake is pretty good." He pointed at his dessert with his fork, spearing some icing in the process.
His suitjacket fell off of her right shoulder then, and she set down her fork and tugged it carefully back on. He couldn't help but smile a little again.
"What time is it?" Tifa asked him, seeing him pop the fork in his mouth to lick chocolate icing off.
He took the fork out, uncrossed his legs, and crossed them again in the opposite position. "A while before we go home."
The surprise on her face was plain. "But, Vincent..." she trailed off.
Cloud looked up at her, pausing to see if she would finish, the gentleman in him. "Vincent's a grown man. And he's managing the bar for you." He tilted his head, looking at her. "Relax."
She furrowed her brows.
"It's your birthday... your night off," Cloud told her, not sure if she needed persuading. His forearm rested on the edge of the table, his wrist arched towards his wineglass.
His words must have worked some magic, because before too long she was eating her slice of mousse again, the last wedge now in her mouth. The in-house pianist was warming up - The Pink Panther.
"Do you want to tell me what you have planned?" His suitjacket was sliding slightly off her shoulders again.
Cloud's eyebrows went up, as did the tilt of his gaze, towards the darkening sky. The action was endearing, something she never would have seen two years before. He looked thoughtful before opening his mouth.
"You'll see."
She smiled good-naturedly.
Cloud raised his arm and tilted his chin up, calling out to their waiter, passing by, "Could I get the bill?"
"Surely," he replied.
When Cloud lowered his gaze again, he was met with the sight of Tifa licking off the remaining whipped cream from her fork. His brain stalled momentarily...
The contained clatter of the fork as it met her plate broke him from the slighlty embarassing episode. Ack, Tifa wasn't... like... that. He liked her, and it was weird to think of her any other way than that of a fri-- a childhood-- a fellow guar-- no. It was just weird to think of her that way.
... Except, maybe...
"Cloud?"
"Yes?" He hoped he wasn't blushing like the idiot fourteen-year old he knew he was.
"You just looked a little out of it," she told him now, her face coming into focus. She was holding still, her fingers on the rim of her wineglass, her bracelet already slid down her arm. "Just checking on you," she said. Her cheeks were rosy.
He took the prod in stride, his faux-annoyed suck of tooth purely for her amusement. She had eased away his awkward feelings, just like that, after all.
Their waiter materialized at Cloud's side. "Your bill."
Cloud promptly paid and gave Tifa warning looks about trying to comp half.
"So where to?" Tifa asked now, sliding Cloud's suitjacket off, presumably to return it.
Cloud slid his wallet into his pocket without looking. "Inside."
Grown women did not usually make this noise. But it was all Tifa could think of at the moment. "... Huh?" she said, as his suitjacket hit her seat with a small thud.
Her confounded expression sent a smile to Cloud's face immediately. He held out his warm hand, palm up, for her to take. "Come on."
She took his hand, her own feeling significantly colder than his.
He seemed to notice this too. "You should've actually worn my jacket," he half-suggested half-teased.
"That would've felt weird," she murmured, but loudly enough for him to hear.
Cloud thought the opposite. She would've looked wonderful in something of his. She didn't need his protection anymore, and he was glad that small, dinky things like weather changes gave him a chance to take care of her. "You never know," he murmured back.
Tifa followed his lead, her heels clacking on the suddenly wooden floor. The noise was foreign enough to surprise her. "What are we...?" She hadn't realized that she hadn't been paying attention to where they were going. Normally, she wasn't so out of it, but she was distracted, thinking of herself dressed his jacket, his sweaters...
"We're dancing," he answered, smiling down to measure her reaction.
He was getting nervous when The Gentle Waltz began to play. Maybe she--
"But Cloud, we've never danced," she laughed freely.
His eyes lit up, and he took her other hand in his. "So, we learn."
--------
A thin crease of light split the darkened room from the hallway, obstructed in part by the body of one Tifa Lockheart.
She widened the gap to sneak into the room, carrying her high heels in her left hand. Her right hand skimmed the surface of Marlene's forehead, the little girl's chin tucked just outside the crease of her blanket.
The slight creak of the door and soft sounds of socks against hardwood told Tifa that Cloud had made his way into the room. He hovered over Denzel, ruffling the boy's hair. Denzel slept on his stomach.
They looked up at each other in the dark and shared a knowing, happy smile. Then they left together, Cloud reaching for Tifa's hand, closing the door behind him with his free hand.
Exactly ten seconds passed. Marlene snapped her eyes open and so did Denzel. They smirked at each other. Then, to the corner of the room, where an exhausted Vincent Valentine lay sleeping sitting up, his feet sockless.
Denzel held out his hand, palm up, to Marlene across the gap between their beds. Marlene gave him five.
"Happy birthday, Tifa," they giggled, before falling asleep for real.