Chapter 8. Dinner Hour
The bar crowd swelled past a reasonably safe capacity as the dinner hour dragged into late-night revelry, the chatter so loud she barely heard the music playing from the jukebox. Tifa busied herself making stuffed cabbage and fried salmon sticks, tending to customers at the bar every few minutes to refill drinks and keep them happy. Once she filled the orders, she relaxed a moment against the counter and scanned the bar. Tifa had been so wrapped up in her work she hadn't noticed the man who sat at the bar in the shadows near the wall until a slight movement of his gauntlet caught the dim light and flashed a gleam toward her eyes.
"Vincent! How long have you been sitting there?" She mounted a stool on her side of the counter to reach over the bar and hug him. When she pulled back, she received a hesitant smile in return for her show of affection and worried she was too forward with her reserved friend. He hadn't been as relaxed with her since the wedding and she assumed alcohol dissolved his usual reticence that night. If alcohol even had an affect on him. However, it seemed obvious that his aloof personality remained intact.
"You said come by for dinner anytime. Thought I'd take you up on that offer." His face wore a pleading expression, he didn't seem himself. A rare emotion to flash across his face.
Tifa suppressed her curiosity at his demeanor. Vincent wasn't known to be the most forthcoming and she doubted he wanted to share immediately, so she opted to focus on dinner. "I'm glad you came by. Now I'll have someone to eat with."
A couple of patrons at the bar motioned her over to close out their check. Once they paid the bill, she cleared their dishes and called out a friendly "Come again" as they exited. Before the door closed, a spunky bartender entered and ran behind the bar, clocking in to work before Tifa could mouth a hello.
"I'm so sorry, Teefs. I know I'm late. It won't happen again. Please don't fire me." The girl spoke so quickly Tifa barely understood her.
"It's ok, Rikku. You can take over the bar for me. Maybe come up with some new concoctions for our guests?"
"You got it, Boss!" Rikku's gaze passed over Vincent before glancing at Tifa with her mouth open. The girl mouthed the word "hot" and Tifa frowned at her, ordering her to get to work before reaching to grab a favorite bottle of wine. Rikku turned away from her with a wink and set about serving customers at the counter.
Tifa turned her attention back to Vincent, who scanned the bar with guilt in his eyes. "Maybe I shouldn't disturb you on a busy night. Looks like your hands are full."
Tifa crossed her arms as she propped against the counter in front of him. "The girls can handle it. Besides—This is normal for a Thursday. It'll start dying out soon, tomorrow is still a workday." He nodded, waiting for her to continue. He seemed uncertain as he uncharacteristically fumbled with a coaster, staring at her with a foreign expression.
"So," she said, saving them both from the awkward silence. "Can I make you something for dinner? You wanna go into the family kitchen?" Without giving him a chance to disagree, she held the wine bottle with an invitation to follow and led the way around the bar and into the kitchen.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Rikku called out as Vincent passed through the open door Tifa held open. Horrified, Tifa scowled at the young bartender as the door swung closed. The kitchen muted the noise from the crowd and the music carried through the walls at a lower volume. Tifa sighed in relief at their privacy, knowing Vincent would likely not appreciate gawking from her staff.
"That's better. Much quieter in here, right? So—whatever you want, I bet I can make." She cupped her chin in her hand, leaning her elbows on the kitchen counter with a challenge in her eyes.
Another bashful look flickered over the usual hard glint in eyes, and Vincent chuckled at her before he looked down at the plates on the counter. "Uh—I don't want to be any trouble." He offered her a half-smile, reminding her of the boyish charm he revealed the night of the wedding.
"Tch," she countered and turned away from him, swallowing a nervous giggle before it erupted from her throat. "Don't be silly, you could never be any trouble." She opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses. "How about sauteed coeurl and a ginger salad?" She sipped her wine as he nodded at the suggestion.
"You've hired a lot of help," Vincent observed and held the refrigerator door while she rummaged for ingredients.
"Yeah, the bar makes a little money now that Edge has a growing economy. We get enough income from the lunch and dinner crowd that I was able to take on four students needing jobs."
He didn't move away as she straightened and carried the ingredients around him to set on the counter. As she began tossing prepped vegetables in a salad bowl, his hands moved over hers, grabbing the utensils and food from her grasp.
"I can help," he said and immediately took over making the salad as she stared in disbelief. Deciding not to question the pleasant offer, she reached for the meat wrapped in butcher paper, placing it on a cutting board to season. She focused on her movements, avoiding his gaze as he in turn watched her prepare the meat.
Vincent reached into the salad bowl and plucked out a tomato, which he popped into his mouth as he continued to watch her cook, leaning against the counter next to her. Tifa failed at hiding a smile at his unexpected and—domestic—behavior.
He seemed to become self-conscious of her regard and lowered his head to chew the tomato with his face partially hidden behind his cowl, almost as though he feared letting his guard down. She wondered if he would be offended if he knew she found it adorable. Stealing another glance at him, she felt a tinge of disappointment as an unreadable mask returned to his face. The silence stretched between them as she continued to make the meal, only peeking at one another occasionally and when certain the other wasn't looking.
This was a side to her guest that she suspected he hadn't shown in years. Stolen glances and a nervous manner. She found his boyish charm disarming. Although she knew he could be a charming person, she thought she wouldn't witness it again toward herself. At the wedding, he couldn't escape the tricky situation Yuffie forced upon the two of them without causing a scene, and she had later assumed he only played along to save her from further embarrassment. But now his mannerisms seemed almost adolescent. He radiated the same apprehension as the boys from her hometown had shown when they started taking notice of her as a girl and not just a playmate.
She shook her head to scatter the thoughts before they formed whole and stuck in her mind. Tifa looked to him again when she felt his gaze returned. He stared at her in contemplation, as though trying to ascertain the thoughts she attempted to shake.
With the meal prepared, they took their seats at the table, and Tifa carefully spooned salad onto their plates as Vincent poured more wine. She waited for him to taste and glean his reaction before asking his opinion on the meal. "Your culinary skills are unmatched," he spoke to her through a mouth half-full. Tifa beamed at him in response and tackled her plate.
As they ate their meal, Tifa talked about the college students she hired to help tend the bar. Rene, Roni, Rikku, and Terra were all attending the new college set up by the WRO. The school had a secret benefactor that she suspected was Rufus ShinRa, and she wondered how much money Rufus had that he's been able to fund the WRO despite no revenue from the reactors. Vincent thought it unlikely the reactors had been their family's only profitable business venture. Tifa mentioned that Rufus had been selling small, gas-powered generators, which she had bought to keep the lights on in the bar just in case, and usually insisted the girls stay during blackouts.
"But I'm glad to have more help," Tifa continued as Vincent ate his meal. "And I can help Reeve out when he needs, so I don't lose my edge. You know? Oh, speaking of which, we'll be coming with you to Deepground. Reeve called today and gave some details."
"We'll be meeting with Rufus in the morning to coordinate. Probably have the Turks along for the ride," he said with a note of irritation, but the news didn't surprise her. She assumed the Turks would be involved the moment Reeve mentioned they would need to gather old ShinRa archives.
He scraped the last of the sauteed coeurl from his plate as Tifa tried to picture what Vincent must have been like during his own Turk days. She smiled at the thought of him in a navy-blue suit and a clean haircut.
Tifa looked at her food and noticed she hadn't eaten much while Vincent had cleared his plate. Suddenly feeling ashamed of her chattiness, she gulped her wine quickly and then stood to take their plates to the sink.
Not surprisingly, he helped her clean the kitchen. Tifa told herself he was only helping because he's a generally kind person. When she leaned to pull a garbage bag free, he suddenly rushed over. She smiled at him and tried to shoo him back to his seat. "You're my guest, you don't have to help."
"My mother would've insisted," he replied as he lifted the trash from the bottom of the can and grabbed another bag from her hand.
As she led the way out through the garage and to the dumpster at the end of the driveway, Tifa wondered what his mother must have been like. The thought of Vincent as a child had never occurred to her before, and she felt a little shame as it crossed her mind. Of course, he had been a child and had parents, just like she did. His mother must have drilled manners into him from an early age. His reference to her was a testament to his character.
Tifa examined his frame without the cape as he lifted the garbage bags into the dumpster. His shoulders were still broad, but the rest of him appeared a little leaner than she expected. She hadn't noticed how slender he was when she had hugged him since he had still been covered by layers of clothing. But now, seeing him this way she wondered if he ate enough most days. Certainly, he required sustenance. He seemed to need air, why wouldn't he need food?
She suddenly felt an inclination to cook for him more often. Or at least give him more leftovers to take home. The cape had been hiding the fact that he doesn't eat much, and it worried her that he didn't because he spent too much time alone.
"You look different without a cape," she blurted out when he had noticed her staring. Really need to learn not to nervous talk.
He said nothing in response and paused in his movements, somewhat self-consciously. "Uh—I mean, smaller—" Nope, that wasn't good either. "Sorry, no. What do I mean?" Completely flustered, she looked at the ground and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. "Umm—the cape, it hides you, I meant." She laughed nervously and somehow found the courage to look into his eyes. "You seem less intimidating without it. That's what I meant." Maybe shutting up would be good now.
Vincent remained mute and looked away from her. Tifa chided herself for the outburst, knowing he found remarks about his appearance annoying. Silence suddenly became her friend as she quietly headed back into the kitchen, feeling relieved that he followed her, even if a little slower than he had before. When she reached the table, she picked up his cape and turned to hand it to him. He avoided her eyes and appeared tense when he accepted the garment and draped it around his shoulders. Noticing his reluctance to meet her gaze, Tifa grabbed the wine bottle left on the table and stared at it in her hands, further regretting that she had broken the friendly mood.
The bottle held just enough wine for two glasses. "So—why don't we finish off this bottle? Hmm?" She smiled, hoping the change of subject would rid the atmosphere of the discomfort her observation caused.
He sat in the nearest chair without acknowledging her question. Assuming he agreed, she emptied the bottle into their glasses, handing him one as she sat next to him, and hoping she hadn't ruined the dinner they had just shared.
"The cape is a habit." He spoke after several awkward moments of uncomfortable silence. His voice was so low she barely heard him. He had not yet taken another drink from the glass, toying with the rim as he continued without looking up at her. "At first, I wore it because my clothes would rip to shreds when I changed into—the others." He paused and shot her an embarrassed glance.
The others—the demons his body could transform into due to the experiments conducted on him. She wondered if he had finally learned to cope with what had been done to him. It must have been so hard to deal with even after he had survived the murder attempt by Hojo—and what had been done to him by the woman he had loved—or still loved. Did he ever regret the length Lucrecia had gone to save him? Did he ever yearn for death instead of the life he now led? Although his outlook on life appeared much improved since their first meeting, she could still see the torment flash behind his eyes at certain moments. Tifa felt the urge to wrap him in her arms, but held firm to her seat, knowing he likely didn't want comfort or pity.
"Eventually, I learned to control the transformations, but it took a while before I found gear that wouldn't rip—and that fit all of my—forms."
Tifa felt embarrassed at having brought up such a painful topic. She desperately hoped he knew that she cared and valued his friendship. "That must have been—so incredibly hard to get through alone." She said softly and with concern lining her eyes.
"Let's just say stretch pants were a quick addition to my wardrobe," he smirked, quickly making light of it to ease the mood, and she laughed softly, sighing in relief that he didn't appear upset with her. He smiled at her response and joined in the laughter for a few moments before a distant look crept into his eyes.
"The first time I woke up, I wandered the mansion and found it lying across a chair—the cape—before I found more clothes." He took a sip of the wine and continued his reminiscence, "I continued to wear it because the mansion was cold. Sometimes seeped into my bones." He stopped and finished his wine before he continued again. "The cape helped a bit. I kept it because I was used to wearing it."
She suspected he had never shared that experience with anyone. It brought chills to her to think of him lying in the mansion alone for so long, and then to wake up—she shivered, recalling the moment they had found him in the basement. He glanced away from her when she returned her gaze to his, appearing to realize the same memory had passed between them.
"I guess it provided you with some comfort, too?" She asked softly when his silence stretched on.
"Probably did," he smirked again, more to himself. "Maybe it still does. I don't know. Never really think about it. The habit is there."
She thought of her own habits she had accumulated over the years as a comfort to the trauma and heartache. Although she had lost so much, Tifa couldn't imagine what he endured in Nibelheim. Her hometown seemed to be the birthplace of trauma. Her childhood in Nibelheim had been happy—until her mother's death. Adolescence held promise of love and adventure in Nibelheim—until it went up in flames. Nibelheim was the origin of his suffering too. Maybe they were more alike than she first thought.
"You know," she started to say with a smile, bringing his attention back to her face. "I think we have a lot in common." She clasped her hands together and placed her chin in her hands, studying him and trying to find the truth in her claim without mentioning the cursed town. He likely didn't want to talk about Nibelheim, either.
"I doubt that." The smirk grew as he chuckled at her. Ok, maybe not exactly. She felt a little stupid for the comment at his chuckle but decided to press on, hoping she could save the conversation and make him feel connected. He always seemed so alone.
"No, really. I mean—we both lost our parents—um—when we were young. Although, I guess you were a little older than me," she said as she held up a hand to count on her fingers. "We've both nearly died trying to save someone. Um—oh, and we both had to learn to survive on our own. We're part of an unconventional family—and—"
"That's most people nowadays," he countered but still held a smile on his face. "You've never had the demons or committed the sins I have."
"I'm not so sure about that last one. I've done plenty I'm not proud of." He knew she wasn't a saint. AVALANCE, even the branch she had been a part of, was not known for sparing innocents in their quest to destroy ShinRa.
"Hmph," he scoffed openly at her but quickly let the smile return. "If there were more people in the world like you—it would be a much better place." His eyes locked with hers as he spoke. She felt a blush creeping into her cheeks and had to look away from the intense sincerity in his eyes. When she glanced back at him, he blinked, and the intensity fled to be replaced by his usual unreadable mask.
He rose and nervously brushed his hands along his legs, breaking the mood with his sudden movement. "I should get going." She felt disappointed and looked at the clock, shocked that the hour had grown late, and the bar would be closing soon.
"Oh, here—wait." She reached into the refrigerator, grabbing leftover containers filled with various meals, and placing them in a paper bag. She pressed the bag into his hands before he could decline. "Take this. I'm sure you haven't bought groceries yet. Right?" She gave him a wide grin but hoped she didn't appear too motherly.
"You guessed it." He accepted the bag from her hands graciously.
He opened the side door and stepped out onto the porch, turning to face her to tell her goodnight. Before he could speak, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug, resisting the urge to kiss him on the cheek as she had done at the wedding.
"We should do this again sometime," Vincent said and quickly kissed her cheek. Her brows lifted in surprise at him, as his free hand grasped her arm.
He stared into her face, again deep in thought before he suddenly appeared confused, as though realizing what he had just uttered and done. His small intimate display of affection was unknown territory. Her similar shows of friendliness were almost expected, but his were non-existent. He seemed just as surprised as she did at the action.
Failing to fight back the flush again reddening her cheeks, she nodded in agreement. "You can come by as often as you like, Vincent." She almost whispered, finding it difficult to find her voice suddenly. He quietly looked at her for another moment before they were interrupted by the sound of a motorcycle. Tifa snapped her head toward the driveway and saw Cloud pulling up. When she turned her head back toward Vincent, he was gone.
Vincent quickly and silently walked away, unseen in the darkness as he heard Cloud in the garage. "Was that Vincent?" His voice sounded worried.
"Yeah, he just finished up dinner. Are you hungry?" Their conversation faded away the further he walked down the street, keeping to the shadows to remain invisible to anyone still roaming the city.
He outwardly chuckled at himself and his actions before departing. A teenager would've demonstrated a more smooth and cool demeanor. Vincent picked up speed, attempting to run the mortification out of his mind as he played the event over and over in his mind.
She had been shocked at his innocent display of affection, just as much as he had been that he'd done it. The night had marked the first they'd spent any time alone since the wedding and he had embarrassed himself by acting like a pimple-faced freshman.
Vincent had never been good with women. He couldn't recall ever having any as friends before Tifa's small group of eco-terrorists woke him from his sleep in Nibelheim. Conversations with the opposite sex never came easy and figuring out their expectations was always difficult.
A group of drunken WRO cadets passed by him heading toward a nightclub. They ignored him and instead whistled at two young women sauntering the same direction across the street. The women giggled in return and raced to their destination, providing a little chase for the men to follow.
Vincent quickly tired of the late-night party seekers and inconspicuously hopped to the roof of a building to quicken his pace and avoid detection. Keeping to the rooftops, he made it to the village in minutes, thankful for the enhancements that allowed him to move unseen and with inhuman speed. He leaped to the ground and slowed through the neighborhood trees, glancing at his neighbors' homes as he passed by them. He still needed to ascertain their identity. It didn't sit well with him to not know who lived close. As he neared his house a car passed and rolled to a stop in the driveway next door. He remained in the shadows of the trees to watch the occupants exit the vehicle.
He had the worst luck of anyone he knew. He swallowed a silent curse as Yuffie climbed out of the driver's side seat, barking orders at her young husband as he struggled with their groceries and followed her onto the porch. Of all the houses Reeve could have designated for Vincent assigning him the house next door to the most annoying person he knew seemed like a cruel prank. He considered calling the commissioner right at that moment, or better yet—tracking down his home and dragging him out by his collar as he screamed like a banshee—that might be a bit much. But it satisfied a small bit of his annoyance to contemplate showing the man his gratitude with a display of violence.
He entered his empty house, resigned to simply live with it for the moment. He placed his leftovers into the fridge and then climbed the stairs, uncharacteristically stomping at each step, allowing the childish action to ripple through his body and ease his frustration. He undressed and flopped on the bed. No use thinking of that situation now. Although he didn't need it often, sleep would at least help him pass the time. There was another useless meeting and a mission to plan in the morning. This time with the son of his former employer. His WRO position was bringing him closer to his former life than he wanted but it was necessary. Vincent knew he had to help find answers for Reeve and his group of doctors.
Vincent closed his eyes and tried willing himself to fall asleep as his mind grudgingly turned toward Lucrecia. He didn't know everything that happened to her during her pregnancy. Hojo had shot him and turned him into a lab rat before her child had been born. But he did know that she was able to survive and ShinRa probably still had the knowledge somewhere in their archives to help the pregnant mothers suffering now. He had to help them. Maybe it would ease some of the guilt he still harbored over the fate of Lucrecia and her son.
He tossed an arm over his eyes as he stretched out onto the bed. Focusing again on the past served no purpose. Maybe Tifa was right. They did have a lot in common. She took on the burdens of others and sought to solve their problems. She may have even blamed herself for things that were out of her control. He hated to think of her in anguish over what might have been—if only something had been done differently. She deserved to be happy. And just being around her made him happy. She was easy to talk to and could ease an aching soul just by listening and offering a word of understanding.
Maybe he could teach her his mother's recipe for seafood chowder. He had never been able to perfect it, but he was certain Tifa could master it and make it her own. Sleep finally found him as he imagined Tifa standing over the stove, holding a spoon in front of him, and offering him a taste.