Chapter 8. Dinner Hour
The crowd swelled past a reasonably safe capacity as happy hour dragged into late-night revelry. The chatter was so loud she barely heard the music playing from the jukebox. Tifa busied herself making stuffed cabbage and fried salmon sticks and tending customers' drinks to keep them in good spirits and the tip jar full. A brief lull allowed a moment of respite, so she leaned against the counter, scanning for anything amiss. A gleam from the shadowed corner drew her attention, and surprise widened her eyes as she saw a golden gauntlet catching the dimmed rail lights. She'd been so wrapped up in her work that she hadn't noticed him sitting at the counter's end.
"Vincent! How long have you been sitting there?" She mounted a stool on her side of the counter to reach over the bar and hug him. A hesitant smile returned her affectionate greeting, his reservation fully intact, a marked difference from his wedding night gallantry.
"You said come by for dinner anytime. Thought I'd take you up on that offer." His face wore a pleading expression; he didn't seem himself. A rare emotion flashed across his face.
Tifa resisted an urge to ask if he was feeling okay, fully aware the former Turk wore his reticence like a second cape. "I'm glad you came by. Now I'll have someone to eat with." She smiled warmly, opting to let him be the savior of her busy night. "Oh, one sec."
Her regular Table 3 patrons motioned for their check. Tifa called out with a friendly "Come again" when they finally exited the bar. But before the door closed behind them, a spunky college kid caught the door with her foot, breathless as she hurried herself behind the bar. She clocked in before Tifa could mouth a hello.
"I'm so sorry, Teefs. I know I'm late. It won't happen again. Please don't fire me," the girl sputtered.
"It's okay, Rikku. You can take over the bar for me. Maybe come up with some new concoctions for our guests?"
"You got it, Boss!" Rikku spotted Vincent, and her mouth fell agape. She whirled toward Tifa, mouthing 'hot' and fanning herself with a hand. Tifa frowned at the girl as she grabbed her favorite bottle of wine.
She thought perhaps Vincent missed the exchange or at least chose not to acknowledge her bartender's gawking. "Maybe I shouldn't disturb you on a busy night. Looks like your hands are full." He scanned the bar with guilt in his eyes.
Tifa crossed her arms as she propped against the counter in front of him. "The girls can handle it. Besides—This is normal for a Thursday. It'll start dying out soon; tomorrow is still a workday." He nodded, waiting for her to continue. He seemed uncertain as he uncharacteristically fumbled with a coaster, staring at her with a foreign expression.
"So," she said, saving them both from the awkward silence. "Can I make you something for dinner? You wanna go into the family kitchen?" She motioned for him to follow with her wine bottle in hand before he had a chance to disagree.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Rikku called out as they passed, and Tifa flushed crimson with mortified horror. She rewarded the young bartender with a scowl, the door swinging closed as Rikku blew a kiss.
Only muted noise from the crowd and music filtered through the walls, the lowered volume relieving some tension Tifa felt settle into her nerves at Vincent's unexpected appearance. He likely appreciated the privacy, too, not one to enjoy curious women gawking at his edgy style.
"That's better. Much quieter in here, right? So—whatever you want, I bet I can make." She tilted her chin with a challenge in her eyes and a secret hope to impress.
A bashful look flickered through his usual hard glinted stare, and Vincent chuckled. "Uh—I don't want to be any trouble." He offered her a half-smile, reminding her of the boyish charm he revealed the night of the wedding.
"Tch," she countered and turned away from him, swallowing a nervous giggle before it erupted from her throat. "Don't be silly. You could never be any trouble." She opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses. "How about sauteed coeurl and a ginger salad?" She sipped her wine as he nodded at the suggestion.
"You've hired a lot of help," Vincent observed and held the refrigerator door while she rummaged for ingredients.
"Yeah, the bar makes a little money now that Edge has a growing economy. We get enough income from the lunch and dinner crowd that I was able to take on four students needing jobs."
Vincent removed his cape and draped it over a chair. He edged near as she began tossing prepped vegetables in a bowl. Somehow, he seemed taller without the cloak, as though he found it easier to stand straighter without the weight.
"I can help," he said, drawing closer as he peered over her shoulder.
His hands suddenly reached around her, gently grasping the utensils and food from her fingers. She warmed at the brief touch, and her hands hovered over the bowl as she stared up at him in disbelief. The corner of his mouth ticked up, and he lifted an arm to allow her to pass under his impromptu embrace.
A hitched breath passed over her lips. His movements seemed so casual, natural even, though thoroughly unexpected. She cleared her throat and unwrapped the butcher paper to begin seasoning their steak.
They fell into an easy conversation, opining on the best salads and marinades for juicy meats. Vincent plucked a tomato from the salad bowl and popped it into his mouth as he watched her cook, leaning against the counter in close proximity. Tifa failed to hide a sappy smile at his domestic behavior.
He seemed self-conscious of her regard and lowered his head to chew the tomato with his face partially hidden behind his cowl, almost as though he feared letting his guard down. She wondered if he would be offended if he knew she found it adorable. Stealing another glance at him, she felt disappointed as an unreadable mask returned to his face.
This was a side to her guest that she suspected he hadn't shown in years. Stolen glances and a nervous manner. She found his boyish charm disarming. Although she knew he could be a charming person, she thought she wouldn't witness it again toward herself. At the wedding, he couldn't escape the tricky situation Yuffie forced upon the two of them without causing a scene. Tifa had assumed he only played along to save her from further embarrassment. But now, his mannerisms seemed almost adolescent. He radiated the same apprehension the boys from her hometown had shown when they started noticing her as a girl, not just a playmate.
She shook her head to scatter the thoughts before they formed whole and stuck in her mind. Tifa spooned salad and coeurl steak onto their plates as Vincent poured more wine. She waited for him to taste, hoping to glean his favorable opinion from a positive reaction.
"Your culinary skills are unmatched," he spoke to her through a mouth half-full. Tifa beamed and tackled her plate.
As they ate their meal, Tifa talked about the college students she hired to help tend the bar. Rene, Roni, Rikku, and Terra all attended the new college sponsored by the WRO. The school had a secret benefactor she suspected was Rufus ShinRa, wondering aloud how he could fund the WRO despite no revenue from the reactors. Vincent replied that he doubted the reactors had been their family's only profitable business venture. And Tifa mentioned that Rufus had been selling small, gas-powered generators, which she had bought to keep the lights on in the bar just in case. She usually insisted the girls stay during blackouts.
"But I'm glad to have more help," Tifa continued. "And I can help Reeve out when he needs, so I don't lose my skills. You know? Oh, speaking of which, Reeve called today. We'll be coming with you to Deepground."
"We'll be meeting with Rufus in the morning to coordinate. Probably have the Turks along for the ride," he said with irritation, but the news didn't surprise her. She assumed the Turks would be involved the moment Reeve mentioned they would need to gather old ShinRa archives.
Vincent scraped the last of the sauteed coeurl from his plate as Tifa tried to picture what he must have been like during his own Turk days. She smiled at the thought of him in a navy-blue suit and a clean haircut.
Tifa looked at her food and noticed she hadn't eaten much while Vincent had cleared his plate. Suddenly ashamed of her chattiness, she gulped her wine quickly and then stood to take their plates to the sink.
Not surprisingly, he helped her clean the kitchen. Tifa told herself he was only helping because he's a generally kind person. When she leaned to pull a garbage bag free, he suddenly rushed over. She smiled at him and tried to shoo him back to his seat. "You're my guest; you don't have to help."
"My mother would've insisted," he replied as he lifted the trash.
She led him through the garage and outside to the dumpster, wondering what his mother must have been like along the way. The thought of Vincent as a child had never occurred to her before, and she felt a little shame as it crossed her mind. But, of course, he had been a child and had parents, just like she did. His mother must have drilled manners into him from an early age. His reference to her was a testament to his character.
Tifa examined his frame without the cape as he lifted the garbage bags into the dumpster. His shoulders were still broad, but the rest of him appeared a little leaner than she expected. She hadn't noticed how slender he was when she had hugged him since he had still been covered by layers of clothing. But now, seeing him this way, she wondered if he ate enough most days. Certainly, he required sustenance. He seemed to need air; why wouldn't he need food?
She suddenly felt an inclination to cook for him more often. Or at least give him more leftovers to take home. The cape had been hiding that he doesn't eat much, and it worried her that he didn't because he spent too much time alone.
"You look different without a cape," she blurted out when he noticed her staring. Really need to learn not to nervous talk.
He said nothing in response and paused, somewhat self-consciously.
"Uh—I mean, smaller—" Nope, that wasn't good either. "Sorry, no. What do I mean?" Completely flustered, she looked at the ground and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. "Umm—the cape, it hides you, I meant." She laughed nervously and somehow found the courage to look into his eyes. "You seem less intimidating without it. That's what I meant." Maybe shutting up would be good now.
Vincent remained mute, and Tifa chided herself for the outburst, knowing he found remarks about his appearance annoying. Silence suddenly became her friend as she quietly headed back into the kitchen, relieved that he followed her, even if a little slower than before. When she reached the table, she picked up his cape and turned to hand it to him. He avoided her eyes and appeared tense when he accepted the garment and draped it around his shoulders. Regret and embarrassment nestled into her throat as she reclaimed her chair.
The bottle held just enough wine for two glasses. "So—why don't we finish this off? Hmm?" She smiled, hoping the change of subject would rid the atmosphere of the discomfort her observation caused. She emptied the bottle into their glasses, handing him one as he sat next to her.
"The cape is a habit," he said after an uncomfortable silence, his voice so low she barely heard him. He had not yet taken another drink from the glass, toying with the rim as he continued, "At first, I wore it because my clothes would rip to shreds when I changed into—the others." He paused and shot her a glance clouded with shame.
The others—the literal demons his body morphed into during extreme pain or stress. All due to the experiments cruelly inflicted upon him. Perhaps he had finally learned to cope with the trauma he endured at the hands of Hojo and the woman he had loved—or still loved. Did he ever regret the lengths Lucrecia had gone to save him? Did he ever yearn for death instead of the life he now led? Although his outlook appeared much improved since their first meeting, she could still see the torment flash behind his eyes at certain moments. Tifa felt the urge to wrap him in her arms but held firm to her seat, knowing he likely didn't want comfort or pity.
"Eventually, I learned to control the transformations, but it took a while before I found gear that wouldn't rip and fit all of my—forms."
Tifa felt embarrassed at having brought up such a painful topic. She desperately hoped he knew that she cared and valued his friendship. "That must have been—so incredibly hard to get through alone." She said softly, concern lining her eyes.
"Let's just say stretch pants were a quick addition to my wardrobe," he smirked, and she laughed softly, sighing in relief that he didn't appear upset with her. He smiled at her response and joined in the laughter for a few moments before a distant look crept into his eyes.
"The first time I woke up, I wandered the mansion and found it lying across a chair—the cape—before I found more clothes." He took a sip of the wine and continued reminiscing, "I continued to wear it because the mansion was cold. Sometimes seeped into my bones." He stopped and finished his wine before he continued again. "The cape helped a bit. I kept it because I was used to wearing it."
She suspected he had never shared that experience with anyone. It chilled her to think of him lying in the mansion alone for so long and then to wake up—she shivered, recalling the moment they had found him in the basement. He glanced away when she returned his gaze as though the same memory had passed between them.
"I guess it provided you with some comfort, too?" She asked softly when his silence stretched on.
"Probably did," he smirked again, more to himself. "Maybe it still does. I don't know. Never really think about it. The habit is there."
She thought of the habits she had accumulated over the years as a comfort to the trauma and heartache. Although she had lost so much, Tifa couldn't imagine what he endured in Nibelheim. Her hometown seemed to be the birthplace of trauma. Her childhood in Nibelheim had been happy—until her mother's death. Adolescence held the promise of love and adventure in Nibelheim—until it rose in flames. Nibelheim was the origin of his suffering too. Maybe they were more alike than she first thought.
"You know," she started to say with a smile, bringing his attention back to her face. "I think we have a lot in common." She clasped her hands together and placed her chin in her hands, studying him and trying to find the truth in her claim without mentioning the cursed town. He likely didn't want to talk about Nibelheim, either.
"I doubt that." The smirk grew as he chuckled at her.
"No, really. I mean—we both lost our parents—um—when we were young. Although, I guess you were a little older than me," she said as she held up a hand to count her fingers. "We've both nearly died trying to save someone. Um—oh, and we both had to learn to survive on our own. We're part of an unconventional family—and—"
"That's most people nowadays," he countered but still held a smile. "You've never had the demons or committed my sins."
"I'm not so sure about that last one. I've done plenty I'm not proud of." He knew she wasn't a saint. AVALANCE, even the branch she had been a part of, was not known for sparing innocents in their quest to destroy ShinRa.
"Hmph," he scoffed openly at her but quickly let the smile return. "If there were more people in the world like you—it would be a much better place." His eyes locked with hers as he spoke. She felt a blush creeping into her cheeks and had to look away from the intense sincerity in his eyes. When she glanced back at him, he blinked, and the intensity fled to be replaced by his usual unreadable mask.
He rose and nervously brushed his hands along his legs, breaking the mood with his sudden movement. "I should get going." She felt disappointed and looked at the clock, shocked that the hour had grown late and the bar would be closing soon.
"Oh, here—wait." She reached into the refrigerator, grabbed leftover containers filled with various meals, and placed them in a paper bag. She pressed the bag into his hands before he could decline. "Take this. I'm sure you haven't bought groceries yet. Right?" She gave him a wide grin but hoped she didn't appear too motherly.
"You guessed it." He accepted the bag from her hands graciously.
He opened the side door and stepped out onto the porch, turning to face her to tell her goodnight. Before he could speak, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug, resisting the urge to kiss him on the cheek as she had done at the wedding.
"We should do this again sometime," Vincent said and quickly kissed her cheek. Her brows lifted in surprise as his free hand grasped her arm.
He stared into her face, again deep in thought, before suddenly appearing confused, as though realizing what he had just uttered and done. His small intimate display of affection was unknown territory. Her similar shows of friendliness were almost expected, but his were non-existent. He seemed just as surprised as she did at the action.
Failing to fight back the flush again reddening her cheeks, she nodded in agreement. "You can come by as often as you like, Vincent." She almost whispered, finding it difficult to find her voice suddenly. He quietly looked at her for another moment before they were interrupted by the sound of a motorcycle. Tifa snapped her head toward the driveway and saw Cloud pulling up. When she turned her head back toward Vincent, he was gone.
Vincent quickly and silently walked away, unseen in the darkness, as he heard Cloud in the garage. "Was that Vincent?" His voice sounded worried.
"Yeah, he just finished up dinner. Are you hungry?" Their conversation faded away the further he walked down the street, keeping to the shadows to remain invisible to anyone still roaming the city.
He outwardly chuckled at himself and his actions before departing. A teenager would've demonstrated a smoother charm. Vincent picked up speed, attempting to run the mortification out of his mind as he played the event over and over in his mind.
His innocent display of affection had shocked her just as much as it did him. The night had marked the first time they'd spent alone since the wedding, and he had embarrassed himself by acting like a pimple-faced teen.
Vincent had never been good with women. He couldn't recall ever having any as friends before Tifa's small group of eco-terrorists woke him from his sleep in Nibelheim. Conversations with the opposite sex never came easy, and figuring out their expectations was always tricky.
A group of drunken WRO cadets passed by him, heading toward a nightclub. They ignored him and whistled at two young women sauntering in the same direction across the street. The women giggled in return and raced to their destination, providing a little chase for the men to follow.
Vincent inconspicuously hopped to the roof of a building to quicken his pace and avoid detection. Keeping to the rooftops, he made it to the village in minutes, thankful for the enhancements that allowed him to move unseen and with inhuman speed. He leaped to the ground and slowed through the neighborhood trees, glancing at his neighbors' homes as he passed them. He still needed to ascertain their identity. It didn't sit well with him to not know who lived close. As he neared his house, a car passed and rolled to a stop in the driveway next door. He remained in the shadows of the trees to watch the occupants exit the vehicle.
He had the worst luck of anyone he knew. He swallowed a silent curse as Yuffie climbed out of the driver's seat. Her barked orders echoed through the night air on a shrill wind as her young husband struggled with their groceries, tripping up the porch at her heels.
Of all the houses Reeve could have designated for Vincent— assigning him the house next door to the most irritating person he knew seemed like a cruel prank.
He considered calling the commissioner right at that moment, or better yet—tracking down his home and dragging him out by his collar as he screamed like a banshee—that might be a bit much. But it satisfied a tiny bit of Vincent's annoyance to contemplate showing the man his gratitude with a display of violence.
He entered his empty house, resigned to simply live with it for the moment. He placed his leftovers into the fridge and then climbed the stairs, stomping at each step, allowing the childish action to ripple through his body and ease his frustration. He undressed and flopped on the bed. No use thinking of that situation now. Although he didn't need it often, sleep would at least help him pass the time. There was another useless meeting and a mission to plan in the morning. This time with the son of his former employer. His WRO position brought him closer to his former life than he wanted, but it was necessary. Vincent knew he had to help find answers for Reeve and his group of doctors.
Vincent closed his eyes and tried willing himself to fall asleep as his mind grudgingly turned toward Lucrecia. He didn't know everything that happened to her during her pregnancy. But he knew she survived. And ShinRa probably still had the knowledge of how she survived somewhere in their archives to help the pregnant mothers suffering now. So he had to help them. Maybe it would ease some of the guilt he still harbored over the fate of Lucrecia and her son.
He tossed an arm over his eyes as he stretched out onto the bed. Focusing again on the past served no purpose. Maybe Tifa was right. They did have a lot in common. She took on the burdens of others and sought to solve their problems, perhaps even blaming herself for things out of her control. He hated to think she anguished over what might have been—if only something had been done differently. She deserved to be happy. And just being around her made him happy. She was easy to talk to and could ease an aching soul by listening and offering a word of understanding.
Maybe he could teach her his mother's recipe for seafood chowder. He had never been able to perfect it, but he was certain Tifa could master it and make it her own. Sleep finally found him as he imagined Tifa standing over the stove, holding a spoon in front of him, and offering him a taste.