02
Bluebird
Dawn came earlier than expected at Tifa's doorstep than usual. Perhaps it was the combination of the previous night's vodka and the built up worry over no sign of Vincent in Shelke's search, but whatever the cause, the normally up and about young woman was still laying in bed when 8 a.m. came and went.
Empty drink glasses littered her room, both on the nightstand and her vanity table, and her usual clothes had been thrown hastily over a chair.
The result of this was the accumulation of stress and the infrequency of Cloud Strife to do what he had promised he would. He never answered Tifa's calls, even after he'd given her his personal number and promised he would always be in touch. To be greeted with a dial tone and robotic answering machine every time she wanted to speak with him was almost as insulting as being slapped in the face. After days of not knowing where Vincent was and not being able to get a hold of Shelke or Cloud, everything had piled up until Tifa felt like the world was going to explode if she didn't drown it all out somehow. She found her solace at the bottom of each glass she emptied.
As if on some absurd cue, the familiar musical tune of a cellular phone broke the stillness of mid-morning, and consciousness drifted back to Tifa. Her long-lashed eyes squinted slowly and a soft moan emanated from her throat as an ache tore at her forehead. The ringing continued to chirp at her like a wailing songbird until she absently reached her right hand out to the end table and grappled for it. Her hand closed upon plastic and she snatched the phone back to her, staring at the caller I.D. and trying to let her brain register itself awake.
Tifa nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the name 'Shelke' emblazoned and blinking on the vibrantly lit screen in aqua lettering. She fumbled and made a noise of distress to hit the answering button, and then lifted the phone to her ear. This was the first word she had heard from Shelke in nearly a week since she'd set out after Vincent.
"Did you—"
The precocious 19 year old cut her off in the same old monotonous tone she always held. "Yes. I'll put him on the phone for you."
"Hey! But I—"
She was about to argue that she wasn't in the most terrific of states to be making small talk with an enigmatic persona such as Vincent, but was interrupted as his velveteen voice took over the receiver.
"Tifa,"
"Vincent! Where have you been? Are you okay? Everyone has been worried sick about you." Her countenance had been rattled enough in the past few days over thoughts of her friend's death, and now out of the blue here he was phoning her up like he'd been out on vacation.
"I'm sorry that I caused you and the others such strife. I was finishing something that I meant to do years ago."
Now that she'd spat out her mind to him, Tifa reconsidered on what she'd said to him previously, and wondered if she'd sounded snappy. A feeling of illness quelled in her stomach as she let out a small sigh and sat up in bed to run her left hand through her lengthy, thick chocolate hair.
"No, don't be. I'm the one who should apologize…for snapping like that. It's just that…you really made me…think you were dead. I was almost set to find a sitter for the children and go after you myself. I tried calling Cloud…but you know how he is." Her voice held a certain lowness in it as she said the last part, and Vincent detected just a hint of vindictiveness. "Anyway, I…I'm very glad that you're alright…" Tifa let her hand slide from the nape of her neck down to her shoulder, and eventually it drooped next to her on the bed sheets. She cast her eyes downward and studied her fingernails, conveniently failing to mention that she'd been god-awful drunk every night she became more anxious over his return.
There was a slightly awkward silence between the lines, and had it been anyone else, Tifa would have thought the call had been dropped, but she knew Vincent and his silent graces, so she did not venture forth any new conversation. At last, she heard him exhale, and he gave a small "Hmm.." which she took as his way of being grateful.
Tifa heard a slight rustling noise, and then before she knew it, Shelke was back on the line. "We should be back in Edge fairly quickly. Maybe a couple of hours travel, at the least."
"That's fine. I'll be waiting at the bar for the both of you." Amused by how quickly Vincent had handed off the phone—as if he were an embarrassed schoolboy—Tifa let a weak smile grace her wan lips. "Anything special you guys want to eat?"
"Not particularly, but thanks for the offer. Anything else you need us to do?"
Tifa considered asking Shelke to phone Cloud and let him know that Vincent had been found and was headed back to Edge; she bit her bottom lip as her resolve ebbed back and forth like the sea beating on a sandbar.
"No. I guess that's it."
"Okay then. Shelke out." The cell clicked as Shelke hung up and Tifa shut it lightly, letting it resume its technological slumber on her night table. She gave a delicate yawn and then stretched her arms in the light flowing from her bedroom window with a resolution to ready herself for impending company.
She trundled to the bathroom and forced herself into a cold shower to keep from being lulled into the comforts of hot water and the general direction of slumber-associated rituals. Yet, somehow even as she stood naked in the path of the great indoor waterfall, the rain reminded her of Aerith's geostigma-healing waters, and that gave even more of an incentive for her to think of Cloud. Suddenly her face felt very hot, and she gritted her teeth together in an effort not to cry.
'That Cloud Strife…' she remembered thinking how romantic his name had sounded to her naïve ears in the beginning of their friendship; now all she could do was scowl at the memories she had forged with him. Oh, so many memories with that man, and here how they hurt her so deeply, like a cut in her heart each time they were stoked by his indecent behaviors and peculiar habits. Nothing against Aerith personally, but sometimes Tifa really wished the girl hadn't existed at all.
But she knew that was selfish of her to think that way, and she hated herself for wanting her dead friend to disappear like an erasable drawing. Most of all, she was beginning to hate Cloud for using her good will for a free crashing place. That is, when he decided to show up.
Suddenly, Tifa was returned to reality by a knock on her the bathroom door, and she flinched, somewhat startled. She shut off the shower and called out as she rung out her wet hair behind her. "Yes?"
"Tifa," It was Marlene. "We're hungry!"
Tifa jolted herself out of the shower stall and wrapped a towel that was almost too small for her figure around her body before opening the door to discover Marlene waiting behind it in a new spring dress. 'How long was I in the shower?'
"I'm sorry, Marlene! I was daydreaming. Would you guys like pancakes?"
The little girl's face lit up at the mention of every child's favorite breakfast food, and she clasped her small hands together behind her back. "Yes please!"
"Alright then! You and Denzel set the table, and I'll be down after I'm dressed to fix them for you. What kind of fruit is Denzel's favorite?" Tifa couldn't help but be happy around the little girl. Something about the child helped keep her sane.
"Strawberry!"
"Strawberries it is, then." Tifa watched her whoop with glee and then rocket out of the room to help Denzel with their task.
Several extra minutes were spent at Tifa's closet after the children were safely out of the area and she had locked her bedroom door. Somehow nothing looked good today. Tifa didn't know why, but she was about to give up and throw her pajamas back on when she crossed paths with her old outfit from 3 years prior. With a smile, she donned the white tank top, dark shorts and combat boots; she snapped the suspenders with her gloved hands and did a turn in the mirror for a moment before grinning. 'I guess not all memories can hurt.'
Once the children had been fed, they begged to go outside and play, so Tifa sent Red with them and from that time onward, she'd had the house all to herself. She even contemplated not opening the bar that night just for the sake of having her friends back. Sighing contentedly, she peered out the kitchen window over the sink while she washed dishes.
The blue hue of the atmosphere itself was a dreamy shade, the sort of thing that was usually talked about in fantasy books and never actually seen except on rare, peaceful days. Tifa wondered what the view looked like from where Vincent and Shelke were.
After doing the dishes, she made her way throughout the bar and house, dusting and sweeping everything down and tidying her room up by removing the empty glasses she had binged on over her nightmarish anticipations; when most everything was clean, Tifa started towards the stairs leading down, but then paused at the empty guest room.
She entered the darkness of the room with little concern and then paused when she came to the center of it. The bed was neatly made with one of her mother's hand-knit quilts—her second favorite—but it was the kind of bed that appeared lonely and forlorn. This was Cloud's room.
Tifa glanced around herself and did a slow-turn all the way around. Nothing in the room even suggested that anyone had used it in all of the time it had been there, as if it were a forgotten chamber in an empty castle. Crossing the room, Tifa came to the windows, and with a single movement, yanked the curtains open all the way.
Without warning, light from the open street came flooding in, and all the dust particles that had been near the sill flew into the air and danced in the mixture of sun and shadow. For airing purposes, Tifa opened the window and stepped back to survey her work momentarily. Lastly, she picked the quilt up off the bed and folded it neatly into a square, which she stowed in the upper portions of the closet. Like a brick to the brain, suddenly she knew that Cloud would never come back to stay, and it was useless to be sentimental to him anymore. With a sense of twisted pleasure, Tifa took some slight joy in laying out a new bedspread, as if it were a subtle sign of her petulance.
She replaced the quilt with a bedspread of entirely black color, almost morbid, one could say. Her mouth upturned slightly at the corner, and when she was done, she left the room without a second glance to return to her business downstairs.
She made it halfway down the stairs when the door burst open and Denzel came running in with a smile on his face. Little Marlene followed after, her hand clutched tightly in another's as she entered, almost trying to drag the other person through the doorway with her childish strength.
"Marlene! Stop pestering that poor person!" Tifa's tone was scolding, but light. She couldn't truly tell who Marlene was attempting to show in because the sun was shining in her eyes.
"But Tifa! Look who came back!"
Metal boots clanked hard against wood as the figure stepped inside the bar, and at once, the familiar, tattered red cloak floated in. Shining, long raven-black hair cascaded over a set of stern crimson eyes and flesh as pale as moonlight.
Vincent Valentine had returned.