03

Nonpareil

He entered with swift grace even though Marlene appeared to be dragging him in through the door, metal clanking on the wooden floor with a distinct doomp kloomp noise as he stepped forwards in patterns of twos. Tifa's languid dark eyes drank him in and the sunlight rayed out behind his shoulders, illuminating the shining, lush tresses of his hair which fell over them. There was a solemn pause, and Tifa opened her mouth to venture forth a greeting, but it died in her throat as Vincent interrupted.

"Shelke left halfway through the journey. She's not coming back."

Immediate concern flooded Tifa, but somehow she found it less vital then when she had feared for Vincent's safety. Perhaps, she thought, it was because she knew how to reach the 19 year old; glancing half-mindedly at the phone on the wall, she resolved to wait for tirades and questions.

"I see."

While she had her eyes cast aside, she never saw the smirk that crossed the other's face.

"I haven't seen that outfit in a while."

"Eh…oh, well I…" She was startled by the intensity of his attention to detail, and she felt a hot feeling creeping into her cheeks. Embarrassed, she tried to hide it with a smile. "I was just going through my closet and I found it…so…"

He was quiet after that, and when she looked back, the laughter on his lips was missing in action. "Um…would you like a drink?" She made her way to the bar and reached for a small crystal glass as if reading his mind.

"Vodka on the rocks with lime." He slipped out of Marlene's grasp and she giggled at him, apparently finding humor in his every aspect. Vincent looked back at her and the corner of his mouth twitched, forcing him to pull a Mona Lisa. The familiar sounds of liquid meeting glass caught his attention, and he looked towards Tifa, who worked with silent eloquence at her task. He observed the way she placed the little wedge of lime on the edge of the glass with her dainty ladyfingers, and for some reason his heart skipped a beat.

Eventually, Marlene found her way upstairs to Denzel, and as she faded from the room, Vincent casually approached the bar and took a seat in front of his drink. Tifa busied herself as if she had been nothing to him the whole time. She did not expect much conversation from Vincent, and thus she moved about her tasks in quiet, nothing more than a moth in the lamplight. Currently, she was rearranging the tequila in order of brand. He observed her for a moment at her job, and then lifted the crystal to his lips for a drink.

The alcohol left a cool singe down the back of his throat, and he plucked the lime off of the glass and bit into it. He sloshed the flavor around in his mouth for a second, swallowed, and then uttered in his deep baritone, "Thanks."

Tifa froze momentarily with a bottle of El Matador red tequila in her hands; slowly, she put the bottle back on the middle shelf and uttered a quick "You're welcome, Vincent" before returning to her polishing and organizing. Vincent continued to eye her as he sipped the vodka, and thoughts of how meticulously clean women were marred his brain; the familiar calm fuzz that came with the effects of the drink sucked the tenseness from his mind while he rested. She was rearranging a bottle she had just put back on the shelf, he noticed, and with a frustrated sigh, she set it down and escaped into the back kitchen.

Ribbons of light filtered from the windows to the left of him, and Vincent basked in the sun while his drink disappeared in due time. He shut his eyes as the day washed over him, and set his glass on the dark wooden counter. With the metallic armor of his left hand, he traced the rim with a delicate golden claw, carefully fingering it as if he were a dragon caressing a butterfly.

He drifted back to reality and with a snatch, picked up the glass and headed for the kitchen. For some reason, he knew Tifa was thinking about something, and he had a vague idea of what it was likely about. Carefully, he fused with the darkness of the back kitchen, and entered the dim sanctum. Dust stirred in the air, filtered only by the rays of light which penetrated a single, small kitchen window overlooking the street and partial pieces of blue sky. In the sink were what appeared to be 8 or 9 empty drinking glasses that had not yet been washed, and Tifa was standing with her back to him and leaning against the door.

"Is there something wrong?"

As soon as he let his words out, her shoulders jumped and he knew he had startled her without meaning to. He hastily began to add an apology, but she whipped around too quickly and began talking over him.

"Oh! Uh…no! No! Why would you think that?" Her eyes looked slightly red, and he sensed an off balance in her actions as she fumbled to hide her hands behind her back. Before she slipped them away, he noticed a half-empty glass of something clutched in one. She stepped in a hasty manner in front of the sink, but her efforts were not well enough to fool Vincent. He took a step closer to her, and she shrank back in slight quickness. Her breath hinted of mint liqueur.

"You must've had a lot of customers recently."

She resisted the urge to bite her lower lip and looked away to the side, to her feet, to anywhere but at Vincent. "I…uh…yes. Yes, we've been kind of busy."

Silence enveloped them, for which Tifa was grateful, but her hope was short-lived. Without warning, he reached out with his clawed hand and firmly but gently grasped her right arm. She let out a small gasp and stuttered, "V-Vincent! What are you doing! Stop that--"

He brought her hand forwards out in front of both of them and she stopped talking when he plucked the half-full glass from her fingers, letting her go instantly.

Tifa felt the shame of a liar leak into her face, and she turned away from him to avoid being caught turning crimson. Vincent set the glass down on the counter and stepped back from her to give her some space.

"I know it's none of my business, and I don't mean to insult you, but do yourself a favor for once. Don't let Cloud pull your strings all the time."

There was a noise that resembled a very small, half-choke, and Tifa tried to cache her face away as a frown molded onto her features over her blush. She felt the heat in her face rise, and the throb of a stone in her throat threatened to melt her composure into destructive sobs.

Vincent's brows knitted and cast dark shadows over his hollow, velvet-crimson eyes as he saw her recoil against the cabinets as if she had been bitten by a serpent. He said nothing to further cause her pain, but he knew that the damage was already done.

It seemed anyone who came in contact with Cloud Strife suffered just as his name implied: pure and utter friction.

Tifa let out a rather loud sniff, and against her own wishes, shut her eyes as her lips parted slightly. She seemed to struggle against an invisible demon which she was too weak to fight, and her lower lip quivered vainly. Before the unwilling tears came, she slammed her fist violently on the countertop first, and then followed up with feebler imitations as she gave in to her raw frustration. Her fist opened and she rested her palm weakly on the precipice of the sink, failing to stay angry as she began to cry.

She emanated a particularly loud sob and her knees buckled under her, allowing her to sink pitifully to the ground with her head against the cabinets and dark hair strewn carelessly after her fawnish form.

As he observed her breakdown, Vincent couldn't help but feel a bit of outrage stoking in his stomach. Here was a woman that could bring some of the most powerful men to their knees in pools of their own blood, and yet the very man she trusted most had broken her heart and slain her confidence. She was a kitten now, helplessly mewing for an owner who acted like she did not even exist. He gritted his teeth inwardly and advanced toward her; bending to her level, he hesitated, but then ventured his non-armored hand out to rest on her head.

She responded by jerking toward his direction in surprise and eyeing him with large eyes full of wetness and beautiful rejection. The very sight of a woman like her with tears streaming down her face made Vincent angry, angry at the man who had done this to her, but he was careful to place a lid on his seething for fear she wouldn't open up to someone; Vincent sighed softly, and moved his hand to cradle her cheek in what he thought could have been too bold if he had had any less daring in him. "Tifa," he cooed in soft, dark undertones.

Her expression vaguely changed to a saddened, sulking frown, and he noted the way her lips trembled as he assumed she attempted to say something; she failed, and only a tremulous, small cry came out. The note seemed to strike Vincent like a harpoon through the chest, and his look of severity lightened as he dropped his hand down to his side and situated himself in a sitting position, as a sign of his want to aid in her comfort, though he was silent, as always. He cast his eyes away, in case she rebuked him, busying himself with the intricacy of the floor tile's design.

"Oh Vincent," came the smothered reply from her. He glanced into her face and moved his hand aside, knowing full well what she would desire from him. As expected, she crawled the short distance to his side and murmured his name again. "Vincent,"

"Come."

She obeyed without hesitation, and flung herself into his chest and buried her face full on his neck. Her fierce torrent of crying was muffled by the fabrics of his red cloak, which darkened in a deeper shade in the spots where the tears made contact. Tifa clenched absently at the cloak attachments and shook her head softly back and forth, occasionally trying to say fragments of conversation which Vincent couldn't understand. His eyes softened a bit, and in a small sweeping motion, he wrapped both arms and part of the cloak around her shuddering form, drawing her closer in a temperate embrace.

He closed his eyes partially and rested his forehead in a tender fashion on the top of her silken dark hair. "How much does it take to heal a heart completely, I wonder?"

Authors' Note: Thanks to the seven people who reviewed! I thought this story wasn't going to get that much attention, but I'm definitely happy I got so many in such a short time! I apologize for the wait for this chapter. I was very busy at school and with commissions for art. Once again, many thanks to those who reviewed! (It boosts my ego, you see. Makes the chapters better, yes, yes, it does.)

Regarding this chapter, I don't intend on making Tifa into the weepy type, but I thought that after so long, she deserved at least one emotional moment. Don't kill me, kill CLOUD! XD

And no, Vincent is not turning into an OC. I just though that after DoC he had matured a little bit in the emotional department towards others. He may be silent, but you know he cares on the inside. : Sappy "Awww" noises here:

Vincent: STOP RUINING MY BADASS IMAGE : pelts author with papayas:

Also, more on Shelke's sudden disappearance will be explained in later chapters to come (possibly the next one). I just needed her off-ed for this one so Tifa and Vincent could share quality character development time together.

Well, a new chapter is coming soon, so stay tuned and remember to review!