Pre-A/N: A beta reader mentioned it could be helpful to list the yakuza hierarchy for reference, so I will do that at end of each chapter for easy reference. It's worth mentioning though, that I am in no way trying to be 100% accurate to the real Japanese mafia, and am taking some creative licenses and inspiration. Any yaks out there, don't come kill me.

Oyabun = Family Head, Father, Leader

Kumicho = Operational Leader (in charge of managing rest of the kobun, and executing the oyabun's desires)

Kobun = All Members (general term used to describe the entire body of the family organization)

Saiko-komon = Senior Advisors

So-honbucho = Headquarters/Section Chief

Waka-gashira = First Lieutenant (regional gang leader)

Shatei-gashira = Second Lieutenant (gang leader)

Shingiin = Legal Affairs (assumed law enforcement liaison and PR manager)

Kaikei = Accountant

Kyodai = Team Captain (referred to often as Big Brother out of respect)

Hope that helps! Happy reading!


It was the middle of the night, which somehow made the whirring and beeping and gurgling of Hojo's machines more sinister if that were possible. The lab was awash in vibrant green and blue glows supplied by the various solution-filled containment tubes the mad scientist kept specimens in. Heidegger found the person-sized ones disconcerting, but the tanks larger than even those, he just didn't want to know about. The behemoth sized containers were always blissfully empty, at least that he'd seen. If he weren't so desperate to get a report on the weapons project progress, he wouldn't be caught dead down here.

Where that damnable psychopath was, the overworked saiko-komon couldn't guess. This was a regular game Hojo seemed to play. He would tease Heidegger down with news of promising results, then disappear. With a guttural grunt, he decided to hunt for the bastard. The beeps and bubbling noises were punctuated with his heavy leather boot-falls, and his weary eyes flicked from monstrosity to monstrosity.

Until he came upon a different sort of container.

This one had no glowing fluid, no otherworldly slime, no grotesque fleshy form in suspended animation for whatever gods-forsaken reason. This one had air holes, but was still totally secure, and inside sat a young woman with golden cinnamon hair. And very angry glowing green eyes. There was a second cell beside her, but its contents were cloaked by tinted glass, so his gaze returned to the female. Heidegger stepped closer with a kind of fascination in his eyes, and he wondered what that goblin was intending for this creature.

"Exquisite, isn't she?"

Heidegger whirled around to find the huddled form he'd been searching for, greasy hair and all. The lines in Hojo's face were deepened into crevices by his penchant for extreme, maniacal expressions, and made all the more disconcerting by the reptilian sneer he wore and the neon lights casting shadows. A twisted, gnarled man who delighted in suffering and science. Heidegger was far from being some kind of hippie creampuff, and he'd killed more people in his day than he kept count of, but Hojo's methods made his skin crawl.

A hand made decrepit by chemical burns and arthritis reached to pet the glass almost lovingly, longingly, and it made Heidegger want to leave. "Why am I down in your blasted hall of horrors, Fujisaki?"

The spell broke, and Hojo jerked back to clap and rub his dry hands together theatrically. "Patience, patience, my dear colleague. I wouldn't dream of wasting your precious time." His beady eyes fixed on the larger man, who shifted in distaste.

"This had better be worth it. The oyabun grows more and more eager for advancements, so give me something to report that will satisfy him." This seemed to send the unstable 'genius' into a rant that the test tubes had probably heard many times by now.

"Great scientific breakthroughs cannot be rushed!" His arms waved aggressively, sending his lab coat fluttering. "I am doing battle with the very fabric of life, ripping it down to its atoms and stitching it back together into a far superior form!"

"You're cooking up drugs, you lunatic, not playing god. We need weapons, and tools to secure our holdings!" He'd lost his patience now, and was turning to leave in frustration, ready to tell Sephiroth that Hojo had finally lost the rest of his mind, when the hollow cackling behind him gave him pause. Against his better judgment, he turned back to the madman.

The professor grinned dementedly, and Heidegger decided immediately that he hated it. "Oh but these are not just 'drugs,' oh no… Your microscopic brain has missed the point my work entirely, but I'm not surprised. I won't hold your shortcomings against you…" Hojo chuckled to himself as Heidegger felt a surge of rage that almost had him start swinging. The lucid, penetrating stare the deranged man gave over his narrow spectacles stayed him just long enough to let Hojo continue.

"You see, these enhancement serums are different from the narcotics we flood those cockroaches with. You may have seen some of the results from lower doses already." The scientist paused to relish the confusion twisting on the saiko-komon's face. "The glowing eyes… The tripled performance and feats of strength out in the field? I'm sure you've seen the reports."

Something fell into place and Heidegger finally found his voice. "You've been drugging our kobun? Are you out of your mind?!" The large man grasped the crazy bastard by the front of his rumpled coat, hauling him to his tiptoes. Hojo only laughed uproariously, as if finding the display vulgar and hilarious.

"I have enhanced them, altered them. I have made them better and stepped us closer to godhood so we might lord over the common filth!"

Horror dawned on Heidegger's rugged face, and his grip loosened. "How long has this been going on?"

Hojo managed to separate himself from the brute, and smoothed at his clothing uselessly. It was forever creased and unkempt. "I'm glad you're taking an interest, finally… I began some years ago when I was working out of a field lab. It was mountainous and remote, the town's inhabitants were none the wiser… Easily fooled, and eager to be test subjects for a few gil."

"… Nibelheim? That was you?" The vague accusation caused Hojo to sigh long-sufferingly, and he placed a hand over his heart as if it were broken by the insulting tone.

"Regrettable, razing the village was an accident, but the path to discovery is littered with temporary setbacks."

"How am I only just now hearing of your involvement in that incident?" Heidegger crossed his bear arms across his barrel chest, feeling a kind of way about being so out of the loop. Perhaps the mad dog was simply baying lies.

"Coverups are much easier when there are no recorded survivors, I've found. A serendipitous occurrence that lent itself to my purposes."

When his eyes were drawn back to the young woman still watching them from behind glass, unflinching, Heidegger balked. "Is that where she came from?"

"Oh heavens no! So close, but once again your tiny intellect missed the mark." The larger man was too shocked by all this to be angered by the second insult, and he simply stared at Hojo. "This lovely specimen was an unexpected fluke, a gift… As if Fate had decided to intervene and elevate my work to heights yet unseen! It is becoming harder and harder to dismiss my successes as mere luck." The scientist spat, seemingly seizing on old mockeries he'd suffered and held onto, another festering ingredient to his apparent mad descent.

"Then where did this… 'specimen' come from?" Though he had at least some idea what she was connected to.

"She was being hidden right under our noses… I suppose I can't blame the kyodai who was attempting to keep her all for himself, he clearly has good taste for a plebian. But she was wasted on him, tucked away to rot…" Hojo sighed mournfully. "To think, I may have never gotten hold of such a magnificent mutation to study, that she would have wasted away in silence until her cells broke uselessly apart… As if she were just some human."

A frown creased Heidegger's brow, as some understanding filtered in. "She's a mutant that you're taking cells from to create your drug-"

"Serum," the vile man hissed.

"Serum. You're getting what you need to enhance our kobun from her." Hojo almost looked excited that his colleague was finally catching on, as if it had been obvious from the beginning.

"Yes! Isn't it glorious? Only the most loyal and elite shall be granted these drops of perfection, naturally… Most are wholly unworthy, and so deserve to be ruled over by their betters."

It was here that he lost Heidegger, and he shook his head dismissively. "And when she dies? And you run out of material to harvest from this mutant?"

Hojo waved a hand with a scoff. "I have nearly perfected a synthesized sequence to create an unlimited supply. She will no longer be needed."

The woman's eyes widened and her frame went rigid, but still she refused to move any further. The panic was hard to miss either way.

"And the kyodai that harbored her? The oyabun dislikes loose ends."

"Already neutralized with prejudice. Naturally."

Heidegger nodded quickly, as he was beyond eager to finalize this briefing and report back, and he hoped he wouldn't need to supply another update for a while after. "How soon can we expect the next phase?" Hojo gave him a flat, disdainful look, annoyed once more by idiots who wanted to put him on timetables.

"Perhaps within the next quarter, if all goes to plan."

"See that it does. I wish I could say it's been a pleasure, but it never is." Heidegger refused to waste another second and stomped hurriedly out of the lab.

A few moments of humming machinery was all that was left before Hojo stepped to the glass once more. "Pleasure is subjective though, isn't it my dear?" The woman shrank away, but still said nothing. It only made the scientist cackle, and it built into a sudden crescendo that echoed off the sterile metropolis of metal contraptions.


To call it a trap house undersold it. It was a sprawling, opulent mansion in the highest priced district in the city, and inconspicuous it was not. There was no need to hide the nature of the place, being that the police were either too scared or bought off to bother them. It was a centralized location the Turks and other kobun often used as a meeting place for business and pleasure, and while Vincent tended to keep his distance, it did serve well as a briefing spot. Mostly this was due to being able to track down some of his wayward subordinates. A few were prone to overindulgence in their off time, and seeing as how this was where they got rowdy so often, it was convenient. Forcing them to sit through a briefing while hungover was a halfway decent punishment.

He strode with a clipped pace to one of the converted board rooms, and he expected to find every one of his men bright eyed and bushy tailed this morning, and in their seats. There wasn't time to hunt anyone down, though there was someone he'd make time for if he caught him. She'd asked him not to, but Vincent found himself wishing to seek out Loz to ensure he didn't have a reason to bloody him up. He wouldn't admit that sleep had been difficult, as he worried the fellow lieutenant might still have caught up with Tifa last night.

Gaia help Loz if he had.

With a whoosh of air, he swung the door open to find a packed room. Every seat was taken, and the walls were lined with yet more Shinra foot soldiers forced to stand. Once the Turk was behind the podium, the man closest to the lights slid a palm down the panel to dim the room. The projector clicked on, and light and pictures flickered to life over Vincent's shoulder. Tidy bullet points, concise but detailed, stood out on an undecorated slide. He didn't believe in unnecessary noise on his briefing presentations, especially since he wasn't reinventing the wheel.

"Today's mission is one you're all familiar with, so I won't insult you by wasting your time with needless explanations. We have a shipment to Junon this afternoon, and with the uptick in oppositional activity, extra care and security are required."

There were a few groans from the shatei along the walls, but none said anything outright. That was, until a hand shot up towards the back.

"Can I pre-emptively sign up for shipments to Costa del Sol?" a familiar, grating voice requested without being called on. Vincent's eyes narrowed as they focused on a mop of red hair.

"Are you lost, Reno?" Disapproval was laced deeply into the shatei-gashira's tone, and Reno belatedly appeared to realize maybe he wasn't as funny as he thought he was.

"Ah, heh, no Big Bro, Tseng told us to report to you. Said you put in a request for a few extra bodies."

Red eyes flicked dangerously to the taller man beside the troublemaker, seeing as how he was loathe to take just Reno at his word. "Rude?"

"Tseng did indeed give us that order, sir. Apologies for the confusion."

Vincent's jaw tightened, but finally he nodded. "Very well. Keep your partner in line, or I'll have you both stationed permanently in Icicle Village." The redhead's eyes bugged out and he made a strangled sound of panic before the bald shatei clamped a leather gloved hand forcibly around his partner's mouth. Silence finally settled.

"Now. This should only take the afternoon, so the quicker we accomplish our objective, the sooner we return home." That was enough incentive for a good portion of his men, as some of them were managing to hold together fulfilling private lives and even families. He himself simply wished to get it over with, and return to his quiet solitude, but Vincent had no issue with working hard to play hard. To quiet the murmur around the room, his arm lifted purposefully with a finger poised over the projector's remote, and once noise subsided, he clicked to the next slide. A map.

"We are taking an alternate route that hasn't been attempted before in hopes that it keeps the chance of enemy engagement to a minimum." Another click, and red-dashed lines overlaid to show their intended path to Junon.

Another hand raised, and this time Vincent recognized a man he'd only been made aware of through rumors. His blond hair, unsettlingly blue eyes, and overly serious expression fit the description he was familiar with, so he nodded ascent to sate his curiosity. "Another extra body, I assume. Go ahead."

The man stood from his seat at the table and gestured to the map. "Sir. That route will take us through some woodland areas that have reports of an uptick in mega-fauna sightings."

"That's right."

After half a moment, he continued. "I'd like to propose that we obtain sonic cannons from the armory."

The Turk's brow tilted for a moment as his interest was piqued. He had to admire the man's eagerness, but he wondered what it really stemmed from. "Any particular reason? Those are most often employed to disable combat machinery." There were waves of chatter, seemingly agreeing to Vincent's point, but he wanted to hear the younger man out.

To his credit, he wasn't deterred by the snickers at his back. "Sir, I spent a lot of time in that area, and discovered that the employment of sonic waves as a pre-emptive measure often sent the fauna packing. The vibrations irritate them, and it acts as a repellent. They move to avoid it, rather than engage the source."

Vincent couldn't stop the pleased tilt that pulled the corner of his mouth, and he found himself nodding his head. "I'm making you responsible for this. Make it happen…"

"Strife. Cloud Strife."

"Strife," the lieutenant acknowledged. "Bring me the forms and I will sign, distribute them as you see fit, but ensure they are all accounted for by close of mission." Cloud clenched his jaw and bowed his head in answer. There was a flicker to his eyes for a moment as he resumed his seat, but perhaps it was a trick of the projector.

"Any other questions or bright ideas?" The room went dead silent for several pregnant seconds. "Good. Get your gear, and mount up. Dismissed."

A cacophony erupted as the men hurried to make their escape. The crowd dispersed, and Vincent followed sedately, reflecting on the golden-haired newcomer. He was well aware that he wasn't a new recruit, but it did surprise him that they'd never run into each other until now. Strife's best friend was a kyodai killed under mysterious circumstances, and there was any number of stories the junior ranking came up with to explain the event. They certainly liked to gossip. However, Strife reportedly kept to himself and didn't attempt to engage with his peers on a personal level. Loss often did that to a man, after all. And Vincent should know.

If they were lucky, Strife's plan would allow them safe, easy passage to their objective, and they'd all make it home safe and sound with time for him to see to his own business. He didn't usually spend two nights in a row at the club, but a knot in his gut was still nagging at him, and he'd feel better just getting eyes on the beguiling bartender. This level of stress over someone that wasn't even under his command was something Vincent was totally unused to, and he wanted to see it sorted.

As if in answer to his thoughts, he caught sight of a certain silver-haired lout. Fire blazed lines in his veins and Vincent picked up the pace to close the distance. "Loz!" he called.

When his quarry turned wearing a scowl, a black eye, and broken nose, he stopped in his tracks. If Loz had had a tail, Vincent imagined it between his legs.

"What, Valentine? I'm busy." The bewildered look on the elder lieutenant's face seemed to make the beaten man more annoyed. "The fuck you looking at?"

"Never mind. You look like you had a rough night." Vincent couldn't keep the amusement out of his voice, which incensed Loz further.

"Kch… None of your business, you vampy bastard. Fuck off," the cantankerous man spat and stalked away in an even fouler mood, leaving Vincent to chuckle under his breath. He never really liked the menace but wasn't aware of him ever being put in his place to that degree.

"I wonder…"


Everyone else avoided the opening shift like the plague, but not her. She enjoyed the peace, the quiet, only disrupted by the clink of bottles as she inventoried and rearranged the shelves. It wasn't that Tifa was more of an early riser than the other bartenders, mostly she'd just learned to accept less sleep. Having the place to herself for a few hours was enough consolation though.

What began as a low hum while she worked, became words, then slowly led to full-throated song. Her hands moved the soapy rag across the bar-top in time with the lyrics she sang with reckless abandon. It was one of the few effective ways she knew to banish the ever-present thread of anxiety whenever she was in this place, and it didn't hurt that it made the chores fly by more quickly.

As her voice swelled to include new lyrics, Tifa pushed a mop across the glossy wood paneled floor that was often used for dancing when they had a particularly lively band on stage. She'd only been working here a short time but learned through chit-chat that there used to be acts every night. Now, it was more like once a week, so there wasn't too much elbow grease required to return a full shine to the floor that was hardly used these days.

When she reached the grand piano on the raised bandstand, her song came to a natural end. Her eyes locked on the lightly dusted onyx finish of the instrument, and her hands ached to touch the keys. A bittersweet weight settled in her chest, and she retrieved a microfiber cloth from her back pocket. The only sound she made was a low, private hum as she made quick but reverent work of the beautiful piece. Once it was shining again, Tifa stepped back to survey the improvement.

Years ago, she would have given anything to have one of these, but the price was prohibitive and this was top of the line. Not that she'd had the room in her parents' small home, but the desire was there even so. Errant thoughts, memories, and emotions began to tug painfully at the mere suggestion of her late family, until she wordlessly slid into the seat in front of the ivory keys. She was certain they were real ivory, which gave her a moment of guilty pause, but decided just this once, it couldn't hurt.

The first tentative keystrokes rang out clear as a bell and in tune. Not that she was surprised that the owner would ensure it remained in perfect condition, as he spared few expenses for this place that she could see. Tifa would have to make sure she dusted this thing more often if that much attention was paid to it even when it wasn't being used. It was such a shame that she felt a desire to remedy that without much more thought.

She began to play, rusty, but gaining confidence with each note. Her hands fell into the notes of a melancholy old tune, one that was as sad as it was hopeful. And that was the most painful part, something she felt so keenly she could cry. Sometimes holding onto hope was the tragedy, after all. The barmaid's eyes closed and her voice picked up the lyrics, though perhaps they were unnecessary. There was no mistaking what the music was trying to say, but she sang the words anyway. It had been so long since she let herself be lost to the chords of a piano, and it was like being transported back in time. The world around her faded with a crescendo as her fingertips moved almost on their own.

Tifa finished the final dramatic note while rooted to the seat, and let the last notes absorb back into the silence of the room.

Loud, cadenced clapping sounded from the bar and Tifa startled with no small amount of mortification when she realized she had an audience. When her sights fell on silver hair, strangely glowing green eyes, and the most imposing man she'd ever seen, terror flooded her system. She stood so fast that the bench nearly toppled and the mop resting nearby fell with a loud crack, causing her to jump again. Tifa's distraction was for only a second, as she was unable to stray for long from the dangerous man and the way he smirked at her. She couldn't breathe.

"A songbird of your caliber, I've rarely encountered."

She swallowed hard, his voice washing over her like ice. His cheshire grin deepened at the slight tremble in her small frame.

"Oyabun," Tifa murmured carefully, finding her voice, but not trusting herself entirely. There was no point in trying to use her charm or her wiles, she was sure, and she could hardly speak frankly with a man like him. She was well aware of who he was, after all. For his part, he seemed pleased that she observed the proper respect of his position.

"Come." He hooked a finger at her, drawing her to him with a subtle but irrefutable command. She obeyed, leaving the mop abandoned on the floor to stand before him. Tifa was loathe to get too close with her fight or flight instincts firing like cannons in her head. Damned if she wouldn't meet his gaze though, she had her pride. Her boldness seemed to amuse him. The oyabun stood and invaded her space further. He towered over the bartender and her trembling intensified, but perhaps it wasn't due to fear, as a subdued fury hardened her gaze.

"And how long have I had you, Songbird?"

Her throat threatened to close, and she almost couldn't breathe. His word choice was unsettling but it was his predatory cockiness that finally loosened her muscles out of pure defiance.

"Only a few weeks, oyabun." Slowly, carefully, she smiled. This seemed to please him in a different way, and she wasn't sure if it was good, but what could she do.

"Then why have you not sung for me before now?" His emerald, almost reptilian eyes flashed. "Surely you have not been hiding from me…"

"It wasn't intentional, oyabun," she responded, carefully bowing her head with the lie. Tifa had no intention of avoiding him forever, just until she was ready to face him. Sephiroth's hand gripped her jaw delicately, forcing her to face him fully, and she feared he could somehow read her thoughts. "I'd never make designs on your time," she ground out, as angry tears threatened to escape her eyes. Being this close to him was like standing beside the most radioactive thing on the planet, and her mind was on fire with contradictory orders that kept her frozen in place. He turned her face this way and that, inspecting her street clothing since it was still several hours before the true start of her shift.

"I would prepare then, if I were you. I may yet call on you… At my whim, of course." His handsome face bearing down on hers was paralyzing, and he knew it. Tifa nodded in his grasp, and he released her with a flick of his wrist. "Good girl…"

And then he stalked away, leaving her alone again. Once she was certain he was truly gone after the loud clang of an exit door being slammed somewhere in the building, she fell to her knees and gasped for air. Rage and shame and anger and pain all warred inside her, and they all reprimanded her for being as docile as a lamb in the face of such a creature. Tifa's fists clenched so hard she cut bloody crescents into her palms.

Several heaping, steadying breaths later, she'd finally stopped trembling. But it would be some time before she calmed down.


Overlapping voices swelled and wove a jovial tapestry as shatei and kyodai celebrated their successful delivery mission. Thanks to Strife, on loan from another gang, it was one of the smoothest passages they'd had in recent weeks. They made record time, suffered zero casualties, and the lack of monster attacks seemed to prove his harebrained sonic cannon theory. It would to be raised with other lieutenants in hopes it would prove a solid tactic for the Syndicate at large.

"It could be a game-changer, Strife. You did well," the crimson-eyed Turk said as he clasped a hand on Cloud's shoulder. His body dipped from the unexpected weight of his superior's congratulatory gesture, but his surprised expression gave way to his usual seriousness quickly.

"Just doing my job," was his humble reply. Vincent found he respected this man in spite of the rumors, and nodded. His hand lifted, and he motioned meaningfully to the entrance of the club where Cloud's new cohorts were filtering in.

"You've earned tonight. Go on and enjoy yourself." The praise seemed to unnerve the young kyodai, but he bowed his head, and fell into step with the shatei he'd become a legend to today. They all piled on, heaping their arms around his shrinking frame, and hustled him inside towards the promise of libations and women and entertainment.

"It seems my loaner bodies performed well for you today."

Vincent sighed, caught between annoyance and laughing in Tseng's face for his arrogance. "A warning would have been appreciated." The sleek-haired, overly manicured man waved dismissively.

"You'd have refused if I told you who I was sending. Admit it, it was a boon without detriment."

He hated to admit it, but the prim bastard was right. "All three were invaluable today. Though I could always do without Reno," Vincent grumbled. Tseng laughed.

"We all need long breaks from him… So, tag, you're it."

"Strife's sonic cannon ploy appeared to work. But I assume you knew as much?"

"I did. I imagine if the results can be replicated once more, it will pass from theory into standard operating procedure." Exotic eyes narrowed in Valentine's direction. "If I can count on you to sign on, I'll do the required paperwork."

"Any measure that promises improved safety for the kobun, I will gladly sign on to."

Tseng smiled a rare smile and bowed his head respectfully. They were of the same mind, and Vincent didn't shy away from the small comfort that gave him in this viper's nest.

"Thank you, Valentine. I won't keep you from your celebrations. Good evening, brother." The man bowed at the waist, his long straight hair fanning around his body as he did so, before he righted himself and departed.

A relieved exhale cleared Vincent's mind, and his focus returned to the nagging buzz that'd planted itself in his skull all day, and opened a flood of concern and curiosity to discover what last night's epilogue was. Ensuring she was safe was suddenly more important than ever, so Vincent pressed his way into the club with no patience to spare.

Down the hazy steps, past the double doors and stone, the underworld opened to him, and he surveyed the realm critically. He would not admit to the urgency he felt, but it was there either way. His crimson eyes fell on a scene at the bar that gave him some pause.

He watched as Tifa, clearly in one piece, spoke heatedly with today's hotshot, Cloud Strife, and she appeared to be begging something of him. Her movements were restrained but spoke volumes if one knew what to look for. She leaned over the bar-top with a gravity that looked alien on her, and she briefly grasped his hand. Strife was unmoved, dead-eyed. His expression was blank, and her plaintive words appeared to do nothing to break through to him. Finally, he laid his free hand over hers as it held his other hostage, and almost pried her fingers from him to disengage from her.

It was painful to watch in ways that Vincent didn't readily grasp, or at least couldn't put a name to. He couldn't help but feel as though he was missing a much deeper context, but all he had to go on were his experiences in dealing with Tifa directly. She was hardly prone to melodrama, and Strife's treatment of her was familiar, but cold.

Cloud pushed away from the bar and walked away. Vincent lost sight of where he went, because his gaze was pinned helplessly to Tifa, and the heartbreak writ all over her face and frame. She took a shuddering breath, re-set her shoulders, and glanced around to clear her vision. Her beautiful claret eyes fell on Vincent, and suddenly he felt guilty, like he'd been eavesdropping on some personal, agonizing moment. But the way she smiled at him, it erased his desire to flee. It was a beacon, it said 'help me,' and he was incapable of refusing her when she looked like that.

When he reached the bar, she made a concerted effort to avoid speaking on the scene he'd been witness to, and he was ready to let her.

"I can get you the usual, right?" She almost begged, but he wagered he was the only one who heard anything out of the ordinary. Vincent purposely leaned across the tabletop without taking a seat and invaded her space.

"Are you all right?" The seriousness of his low tone is what probably diffused whatever arguments or dismissals she had ready, and she simply bowed her head in a nod.

"I'm okay... Nothing I can't figure out," she assured with more flint than he expected. Now she sounded more annoyed than anything else as her eyes glanced in the direction Strife retreated, and Vincent couldn't help but feel more confounded by the entire thing. He wasn't about to walk away yet though.

Situating himself very pointedly on the bar stool in front of her, he sat back and laid his left palm face down on the counter as close to her as possible. "Would you indulge me… Do you have any recommendations?" Tifa's expression shifted, and she watched him closely, almost as if for the first time as she tried to read between his lines. He was a careful creature of habit, and he knew she knew that, even given their very limited interactions.

"Something outside of your usual?" she asked cautiously. His lips turned up into a small smile that he hoped was comforting, and he nodded.

"I want to know what you think I would like, Tifa."

He hadn't meant it as a purr, but the flush that reached her cheeks said he'd done it anyway. Vincent found he was loathe to back away from the signal, that he was strangely all right with riling her. If he were being entirely honest, he'd admit that he enjoyed having that effect on her, assuming it wasn't just in his head. Perhaps he was too wrapped up in the corona of his mild fascination to know for sure, and no one could accuse him of being an expert on properly wooing women.

"Well…" And she put almost all her strength into that one syllable… "We did get in a new type of gin that's difficult to find due to current 'geopolitical challenges.'" Tifa paused to gauge his interest, and once encouraged, continued. "If you're willing, there's a mix I wanted to try…"

Now he was genuinely interested, present distraction attempt be damned. "Do tell."

The blush deepened, and now he was all in, though he seemed to forget what game he was even playing. She rallied, and began to play along, seeing as how she started leaning across the bar-top, scandalously close to him.

"Well, I have a lavender syrup that I made last week that would probably taste amazing with the Gysahl infused gin we got in this morning…" She may as well have been talking about something entirely outside of cocktail ingredients, for all he cared.

But his interest was piqued at the concept alone, and when her head tilted to regard him with her chocolate hair spilling to the side, both of their charms on full display, Vincent realized he was wholly unmatched. His mouth ran dry, yet he managed a nod.

"I trust you, Tifa."

She gave him an odd look, and took an extra moment to recover, but she eventually retreated to gather the ingredients for the promised drink. Vincent tried to feign disinterest, but the rest of the clientele that gathered randomly along the bar didn't hide their attention to her motions, so he didn't either. Tifa spilled an expert amount of the aforementioned gin through a spout top, timing it by the second, then switched to a stoppered glass bottle that held a transparent, dusty-purple liquid. Again, she refused to use a measuring glass, opting to time it by some unknown personal metric.

Tifa reached for some ice and added it to the shaker with a clang, then slammed a glass cup over the metal one to seal the unmixed drink in the receptacle. Rapturous attention from everyone in the immediate area gave her a small smile, and she began to shake the concoction, knowing the effect it probably had on her audience.

Once the metal shaking vessel began to frost with the drink's desired chill, Tifa stopped. A tumbler was slid to the place beside Vincent's left hand, still planted protectively, and she released the contents into the glass. Ice and all. Finally, a crack and hiss of a carbonated pull tab being activated, and she added what looked to be top shelf tonic water from the looks of the label. Producing a bar spoon, she gave it a gentle stir, then made a small show of licking the residual mixture off the shiny metal implement before it was shuffled into the nearest sink.

Every set of eyes seated along the straight plank of the bar was glued to Vincent now, looking for his reaction. More than a few didn't bother to hide the jealous, dirty looks they were sending his way. The cocktail itself was subtly colored, and mostly, didn't seem all that different from his usual straight shots of gin.

Ignoring the pressure of those around him, he took a slow, deliberate drink. The ice cubes clanked in his glass, but he was so focused on the flavor it didn't register. Vincent's brow knit as the flavors hit him, and he realized he could pick out the herbal, almost lemongrass flavor of the Gysahl greens, and the way they played off the lavender syrup. It was like drinking a potion, but unlike any he'd ever had. It was crisp and conspiratorial.

"Well…?" He was roused by her quiet urging, and realized she'd been watching him. Closely. There was so much more in her eyes than a drink, but he was trying to keep it as simple as possible. For her sake. For added effect, he gave his glass a pointed swirl, then took another calculated sip.

As if he were weighing this one differently from the last, he hummed audibly in contemplation. Tifa leaned further in, and he considered whether he'd called his own bluff with the way her perfume went to his head. Finally, he met her eyes, and he wondered if either of them had taken a breath recently.

"I've never experienced anything like this." She gave him a flat look, clearly searching for more, but he gave her a serious one in return. "Can it be added to the menu? It's genius."

Tifa smiled, and the way it affected the flicker in her eyes gave away her genuine satisfaction. "I'll see what I can do." Habit had her tearing away from the counter to see to the next client, but she paused and lingered. She chanced more closeness with him, and again he was inebriated by the lily scent that came with her. "Thank you, Vincent…" It was so quiet that he was certain it was only for him, and he found himself returning her smile.

"I'll consider it even, if you tell me one small, but very important thing in return." She eyed him skeptically, but she'd come this far with him tonight.

"Anything."

"Did you break Loz's nose?"

Tifa blinked, and then laughed, and continued to laugh so hard she needed to hold onto the bar. That was all Vincent needed, really. He was far more pleased with himself in that moment than he'd been in a long time, and in more ways than one. Once she calmed down, he marshaled her attention for one more moment.

"Call me if you need anything."

She stared at him breathlessly, incomprehension tugging at her features. Then Vincent lifted his left hand, the one that hadn't moved for some time, and a nondescript card with his name printed on it caught her eye. A number was handwritten on it, and with a surge of secrecy, she ghosted her right hand over his knuckles to obscure the exchange. With infinite, intimate care, she slid her fingers under the shelter of his palm, prying the card loose, and snatched it smooth as silk with her opposite hand. A pickpocket could have certainly done better, but not by much. He'd admittedly been distracted enough to miss it himself, and tried not to lament the loss of contact already, brief as it was.

"Normally I don't accept numbers, but… For you, I'll make an exception…"

"Thank the gods. That was almost extremely awkward."