All I Want for Christmas
Disclaimer: I don't own the song that named this fic, nor do I own FFVII. I do own Dina and the residents, and trust me, that job will come into play very, very soon.
It was the soft sounds of someone walking that woke her, and with a stifled groan, Tifa slowly sat upright, her head spinning as she opened her eyes, then shut them abruptly, swallowing against the nausea. She knew what it was, alright; a form of exposure, brought on by the chill at work. Everyone knew that Cid's truck never worked in the winter, so she hadn't even noticed the symptoms until she'd tried to set foot in her own apartment...and fallen flat on her face, apparently. She automatically reached down to pull her bra strap up; they were always falling down, no matter how many times she tightened them...then felt confused, then slightly alarmed as she realized she was completely naked under the blankets and started as a warm hand brushed over her forehead, someone standing over her.
"You had us worried, Tifa." That familiar, slightly raspy baritone made her fear melt away, and she relaxed into Vincent's touch, cracking one eye open to survey the quiet man. He was bigger than she remembered, his once slender, skeletal body filled out and firm, as muscular as she used to be...his weight settled on the bed, and she sighed again as he drew his arms around her, pulling her tight to his chest. As always, there was a scent of leather and gun oil about him, and she had to smile a tiny bit a the feel of silk against her skin. He was a vain bird, always wearing the best of the best, though it was universally black. No matter...he looked wonderful, and she closed her eyes to the last time she'd looked in a mirror. Lank hair, scrawny, starving body, sagging breasts...oh, she couldn't hold a candle to the man. "Don't you ever do that again." He murmured, less angry than upset.
"...I am sorry, Vincent." She replied softly, wrapping her arms around his neck, leaning back to look him in the eye. She knew how much he hated that phrase, but she hoped that her sincerity would prove it. She knew she'd been abusing herself; she knew that better than anyone else. Each time, Tifa had justified it, taking a sort of perverse pride in surviving, once again, on the fringes, on absolutely nothing. In a job more abusive and soul-wearying than anything she'd ever done before, in conditions that would make a maggot retch. Her joints ached in ways that she knew had little to do with her martial arts; it was from the bending, lifting...And did she ever get a thank you? No, but she'd learned not to expect one. In fact, she could expect a groping, the occasional old, wrinkly, liver-spotted hand sliding up her thigh, and more than a few propositions. She snorted inwardly; she'd seen so many naked old men in the last year that it would take a great deal for her to feel even a little arousal, and that was about as likely as being able to open her bar again. As her thoughts wound down, Tifa became aware of one long hand threading itself through her hair, taking care to avoid tangling. She'd missed that...
"I know you are." His crimson eyes met her claret, and he nodded, leaning forward to settle his forehead and nose against hers. "But you should have called us; we are your family, Tifa." A tear shimmered over an eyelash, and he sighed a little, moving back to wipe it away. Go figure...Vincent would be the one to make her feel ashamed...
"How did you know? I mean, I thought I'd kept the kids pretty happy..."
"Yuffie. She was doing reconnaissance for one of our contacts here when she spotted you through a window changing. At first, she just ignored it...until you took off your shirt, and she saw your ribs. And your spine. She ran back, reported for the man, then told me that you were starving yourself to put food on the table for the children. We were appalled, Tifa...and we were hurt. We told you, every one of us, that all you had to do was call. We knew how hard it was for you to be mother and breadwinner, especially nowadays, and each of us swore to do our best to help you in any way. But, we didn't want to hurt your pride...and now I see that we were fools. Yuffie was in tears, Tifa; Cloud is still in shock. Barret and Cid were beyond pissed...they still are."
"And you?" He had to smile at her voice, so soft, and worried about what he would say...She held her tears in check, breath baited for his answer.
"I am furious with myself that I did not simply throw you over my shoulder and take each of the children by hand. I will not be making that mistake again." She looked surprised, then suddenly grew upset.
"But, my job...! We can't afford to go without it!"
"Tifa..."
"You don't understand!"
"Tifa..."
"If I can't make rent...!"
"Tifa."
"Vincent, I am serious! I might have been hurting myself, but we can't turn down this kind of income-mmph?" He silenced her with a long kiss, capturing her face in his hands, then pulled away, brushing several long strands of hair out of her eyes, brushing away her tears.
"Tifa, I know that. I wasn't going to ask you to give it up. But I will be staying with you, and working out of this area. Now..." He smirked, very gently, and gave a significant glance to her bosom, nearly free of the confining blankets. "Let's get you tucked back in, before..." She followed his eyes, then blushed immediately and pulled her blankets up higher. Rubbing her face with one hand, Tifa chuckled ruefully, her eyes slightly puffy and red, but glad and tired just the same.
"Why is it that I suspect you wouldn't mind that in the least?" Vincent chuckled, low and deep in his chest, and he pushed her back into the bed, carefully, leaning over her, his eyes dancing with a light she hadn't seen before. It looked...mischievious.
"Because, my dear Miss Lockheart...I wouldn't." He sealed their lips in a kiss, drawing the fingertips of his free hand down the side of her face, caressing her neck, and over the curve of her shoulder, eliciting a delightful shudder from her. He pulled away slowly, leaving her breathless, and somewhere in the back of Tifa's mind, she wondered if he'd go even further...and if she'd welcome those advances so readily as well. "Now, sleep, Tifa. I'll be back in a little while with something to eat." She smiled, then sobered suddenly, realizing what she'd forgotten to ask about.
"Vincent, where are Denzel and Marlene?" He smiled gently, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.
"They're out with Cloud, Cid, and Barret. It started snowing when you got home, and Barret suggested that they get a head start on building forts. Satisfied?" She smiled, nodding, her eyes growing heavy, and as Vincent moved off her bed, she could have sworn that she'd gotten a glimpse of a yellow orb, glowing faintly from spell casting...
Tifa was still bedridden, and clearly ill; her weakened body hadn't been able to fight off a particularly exhaustion form of the flu, and Vincent had quarantined her room, forbiding anyone from going inside just yet. He took care of her needs, and helping her to and from her bed; otherwise, he was in her bed, content to let her snuggle close as he read and wrote. He was doing Reeve a favor, and ghost-writing a biography of AVALANCHE, starting with the original group. He was particularly suited to the task; before his death, Vincent had known Fuhito, as the man was one of Hojo's old protege's and just as twisted...and he'd known quite a bit about Elfe, once Felicia Dragoon, Veld Dragoon's daughter. His old partner still lived, apparently, and Vincent had his notes nearby, detailing Shin-Ra's involvement in the many terrorist attacks...as well as a scathing review of the Presidential policies that had had him in stitches. Right now, though...his eyes were on the lady wrapped around his abdomen, and he stroked her hair out of her face.
She was beautiful still, even emaciated as she was, and her dedication to her duty astounded him, quite frankly. Anyone else would have faltered and allowed others to take over...but then, anyone else would have failed. And I don't think that I'd be nearly as attracted to her then. In fact, I might just hate her for it...But he did not, and he would not. She was so strong, even as sick and frail as she was physically, and though they hadn't gone much beyond smoldering kisses, he was quite happy to see that she was perfectly content with his affection, and returned it wholeheartedly. He had surprised himself with such a display of emotion; while he had come to terms with the fact that Lucrecia had merely used him as a means to cultivate her insane theories, he still hadn't expected Tifa. Of course, he had to smile at that. His mother would have chided him for discounting a woman of Tifa's incredible talent and love. As she slumbered, he sensed that her illness was fading, and that eased his fears. Her 'grace week', as her supervisor had called it, had been lengthened to an indeterminable time due to her illness, and Vincent was perfectly willing to call again. It was worth her disgruntled glares to see her color improve, her skin to fill out and muscles to grow again.
Two weeks of solid slumber, good food, and rest had done wonders for her, and more than once, Vincent had been tempted to slip into the bed with her...but he held his temptations far off, relying on his good sense rather than his desires. There would be more than enough time for that...though if she did feel up to a little playful petting, he would certainly oblige later on...But for now, he would focus on getting her well enough for Christmas. Three more days, and this small apartment would be overflowing with people, and she wouldn't want to miss such a chance. The kids would be back with the tree anytime, and so he laid his head back, smiling...
"Mm..." He glanced down at her soft voice.
"Good evening..."
"Mmph...no such thing..."
"That depends on what you see." She lifted her head out of his stomach and stretched, her loose, off the shoulder shirt revealing a good deal of breast, and he couldn't help settling it further up, his fingers brushing her warm, silken skin. Despite how sore she looked, though, she pouted at him and made to reach up for a kiss, one hand wrapping around his neck, when she overbalanced and fell, drawing him down on top of her. He grunted, and she smirked up at him.
"Well then, I see a very handsome man laying on top of me." He laughed low, and reached up to tangle his fingers into her hair, brushing his lips over her chin and jawline.
"And I see a beautiful woman beneath me..." He murmured, moving to her lips and laying tiny, perfect little pecks upon them, as she sighed and moved her arms up his back.
"Vincent..."
"Mmhmm?"
"What are you thinking about?"
"...Christmas with you."
"Just me?"
"Well, with the others, of course...but I wouldn't mind catching you under the mistletoe." She laughed at that, and planted a quick kiss on his nose.
"Don't leave. I don't think I could do this without you." He smiled softly, and drew her close, nuzzling into her neck.
"I don't plan to, my love. I don't plan to.."
Sensuality and fluff...and an obvious obsession with this pairing. It's all good. Especially on a rainy day.