. . . Chorophobia . . .

Thirteenth Stanza: Tifa Lockhart

The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.

Sylvia Plath Lady Lazarus

"Nice to finally meet you."

That was he had said to Tifa, with a quick and unexpected handshake. The man with the sunglasses. Rude. She'd only known his name because at one time she had entertained thoughts of revenge. For if she was a woman who could never say the right thing; she was also a woman of long standing and burning anger.

The very reason she fought with fists instead of something more delicate. It was more personal that way.

She was surprised at how quickly that resolve had fizzled out, with as simple a gesture as a handshake. Maybe the fires of her belly weren't nearly as eternal as she had once thought. Maybe she was fading.

Oh, she hated that thought. She was 26 years old. What was that stigma attached to aging really about?

"Tifa."

She hadn't realized she'd been standing, mouth probably agape for some time now. And it was Vincent's voice too; only he would use simply her name to get her attention. She smiled.

Paying attention, Lockhart?

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she replied, turning to face him, "You don't have to worry. He didn't say anything rude." She deliberately made a pun; she giggled at herself for a second. She was silly for some reason... didn't quite know why.

And she could've sworn she'd seen him smile a little. But her eyes had been playing tricks on her all day in regards to him; silly man. He was out of the cloak and out of the awkward little hiding spot that they lived in.

Oh yes, they were hiding. Cloud didn't know where she lived. And nobody except Cid and Shera knew that Vincent lived in the apartment above her. Perhaps that's why they had been throwing subtle jokes back and forth the entire time between each other. Hell, Barret didn't even know who her neighbor was... just that Vincent was around sometimes.

"Do you still require my services?" he asked, and she blinked in answer. Services... what services...?

Oh, dancing. Right. She really needed to get out of the girly dress all pale lavender and flowing, and well, pretty... she didn't feel right in it and it was affecting her judgment. It was all Shera's fault anyway, altering it for her, saying things about how she was still so young and needed to get out and look feminine...

He cleared his throat. She had been babbling in her head again.

"Well, I wouldn't want to get in the way of any of your other conquests," she replied, recovering her wits. He arched an eyebrow and she couldn't help but giggle. He found her ridiculous and she knew it.

But there was a tap on her shoulder, and she had to turn around before she could muse any further.

Assaulted by blue, first and foremost, and the giggle stopped in her throat. Cloud. There went her ideas with hiding.

"What exactly did he say to you?" he said, mouth set in a straight line. She had to admit, the protectiveness did surprise her. Though the last words they had spoken hadn't been the angry ones, it was the angry ones that left impressions in her mind about him. She could forgive him for his guilt; she could forgive him for calling her a liar...

...but she couldn't forgive him for assuming that only he felt the pain at losing her. That he was the only one who appreciated her.

"Just that he was happy to meet me," she replied, point-blank and devoid of any hesitance. It surprised her how easy it was to talk to him, now that she wasn't trying to get him to love her. Had she really been hiding from him that long to realize that?

Even more surprising was his reaction. A grin.

"Funny... told me the same thing," his intense gaze left her and scanned across the people. Apparently he found what he was looking for because he turned around, gave her a quick wave and disappeared.

That was... weird.

She shook her head. There were forces at work that were beyond her control, and comprehension. He was always such a brief force. The well; then separation. Finding him in Midgar, traveling, defeating evil; then Costa del Sol. When they had lived together in Costa del Sol... they were friends. Simply that. Not a relationship of any kind, as he so pointedly made clear to her...

She shook her head. There had been a reason she had hid. It had taken a separation from him for her to learn that she needed him. It would, and maybe even had, taken another one to learn that she really only need herself.

Herself. Alone. It made her shiver in the warm air.

That's when she felt another hand on her shoulder. Not poking, nor prodding, nor begging her attention. Barely even a feather touch, really.

"Tiff, ya gonna be awright?" Cid's quieter voice came from behind her. She wanted to laugh.

No, he wouldn't. Don't go deluding yourself again.

"Won't your wife get jealous from all the attention you're paying me?" she replied. She knew how to deal with him. Shera had taught her well. But she was glad for his effort. Cid seemed to draw broken souls to him; some "birds of a feather" phrase often came to mind. Maybe that's why Vincent never ventured into complete oblivion. He felt the draw too.

"Oh, she's gone an' found 'erself someone to dance with," he responded gruffly, crossing his arms, "Some young stud, the tart." Tifa raised her eyebrows. She hadn't seen anyone that Cid would trust with Shera at this party...unless...

She faced the dance floor, and saw Shera beaming like she'd just caught the best looking guy at her debutante ball. Every bit of that big grin on her face was for the sole embarrassment of the most uptight man Tifa had ever had the pleasure of knowing.

But Vincent was having his own fun too. She detected just the barest hints of vengeance as he drew her an inch closer and... winked at Cid.

Winked? Did Vincent even know how to do that?

Suffice to say, if his aim was to make Cid appear like he was going to blow a fuse... then he'd achieved that. And more.

Cid snaked an arm around her waist before she even had a chance to laugh at his red faced fury, and was unceremoniously dragged onto the dance floor. He was a bad dancer, she'd known from observing him and Shera, but to experience it firsthand was certainly... an experience. No wonder Shera'd wanted to trade him in for Vincent.

When they got close enough, Cid leaned over, a giant fake smile plastered on his face. Vincent pretended not to notice him, while Shera tried to do the same, with spurts of giggles proving her fortitude in the face of such... silliness.

"Wanna trade?" Cid asked, pushing Tifa towards him. Vincent gave a glance to Shera, who nodded.

"Deal," he said, and skillfully twirled Shera back to the old pilot, who in turn nudged Tifa forcefully into Vincent's stiff frame. Second time that day she'd nearly been thrown at him, and it was getting to be rather annoying. She knew how much Vincent just didn't like touching. He was probably about to have a heart attack or something.

"Sorry," she said, and made to pull away, but he carefully arranged her arms for dancing. Now she was confused. He raised an eyebrow.

"It was a trade," he said, as if defending himself from her glaring confusion. She knew she was red, and didn't really care at the moment. She had never been more exposed or passed around today than any other usual day. She was used to a life of ogling and being put on display...

Get over it, Tifa.

She liked to think her conscience was Aeris, mentally thwaping her on the head for good measure. It would have been better if the girl was actually there... because did she ever have questions for her. It had been a difficult February this year... not that every year it was any different.

But here, under the big blue sky... she felt her. Gods... did it always hurt like this?

"I want to go home," she whispered, her throat dry. She was mechanically moving with the music she didn't hear. She slumped forward resting her forehead on his upper arm. Contact be damned... she was feeling weak.

"You are not finished," he replied simply, nudging her head back to upright, "...And I am a poor shroud to hide behind." Did he feel responsible for her? She'd told Shera that he could live upstairs because she had been so damned alone and she wanted to help someone, he seemed so desperate...

...but it appeared he was made of firmer stuff than she.

She looked around. Cid and Shera, conspicuously avoiding her eye contact. It was their day. Brilliant bright blue sky. Barret, smiling while telling a story; he loved stories. Elmyra; listening, looking and... living. Looking so elegant as she always did, no wonder Aeris had turned out so well. Reeve, chattering excitedly to Rude, who appeared to be contributing to the conversation once in a while.

Yuffie, scolding a fidgeting Reno. Nanaki scolding a fidgeting Yuffie. A small version of Cid flitting amongst all of it, the untamed hooligan he was. And Cloud, where was he...?

The next step of the dance revealed him, hiding at his own table. But he'd been found. The little tuft of pink, Tifa's very own promise to the world... Marlene. She was holding out her little hand, begging him to dance. All those little habits, that boldness, that utter determination... many attributed that to Tifa's influence.

But Tifa knew the real influence.

"You can't hide behind me either," she replied, finally looking at her partner. Another trick of the light could've fooled her into thinking he smiled. What a brilliant sunlight it was, playing with her mind. He looked so much younger in it, for no matter what age his body was, he betrayed his real age in his face. Tired. Worn.

"A man that would hide behind you..." he began but changed his mind with the tap of a falsified piano note, "...Thank you." She didn't probe him; he didn't often thank her for anything. She bullied him a lot, and he probably didn't like her intrusions or anyone's really, into his life. But her voice wanted an exchange.

"People are going to talk, you know," she said, even though she really didn't give a damn. And she knew he didn't either, but it was something to say. Sometimes she just needed something to say...

"I am sure the Captain," she couldn't help but giggle at the intonation of his favorite prod at the man, "will have something to say. I could shoot him if you would like." And she was full out laughing; his humor was often so morbid...

...but so wonderfully rare and delightful that she was almost giddy with it.

"Only if I get to watch..." They tilted into another movement, oblivious that the first had ended. There would be talk later; people so scrutinized her moves. A woman was expected to be so much... mother, virgin, daughter, friend, lover, support...

For now she would be Tifa. He would be Vincent. And everyone else would just have to watch her dance with him.

Thank you, Aeris. I needed that.

AN: Ok, they're dancing again. Couldn't help it. My Tifa always ends up slightly neurotic...hmm. She's fun though. My muse. Oh, and this isn't the last 'stanza'. The last one will be indicated as such. I've got a sort of twist for the ending, so I hope you're prepared. Anyone who's ever read anything by me... I'm experimental. Much love! Thanks for following along... I would think would be boring (as there is really no plot) but I'm glad to be proven wrong! Thank you.