Chapter 22

Interference

The August heat turned the garage into a sweltering oven. Tifa wiped the moisture from her brow, resting a moment between intervals. She held the bag and tore off a glove to uncap her bottled water. Thirst quenched, she poured a bit over her face for good measure, relishing its chilling effect on her skin.

Replacing her glove, she slid into position, lining up her fighting stance to begin her fifth set. More than a week after their return from Nibelheim and she was finally getting over the stress. She'd barely spoken to Cloud again. Tifa was no longer angry, recognizing that his warning came from a place of concern for her. But the resulting aftermath of the WRO confrontation left Tifa bereft of the dinner guest she'd grown accustomed to hosting.

She pummeled the bag, whipping it with a deadly cadence—straight punch, right hook, uppercut, and roundhouse kick, each strike harder than the one before.

Memories of Vincent helping cook dinner and wash plates and chatting with her over a bottle of wine flooded her mind. He'd even flirted with her at times, coyly answering her innocent innuendos with equally suggestive banter. Tifa felt certain Vincent enjoyed the cozy moments they'd spent together. His absence was likely a direct cause of Cloud's overprotective interference.

Tifa switched her stance, launching into the sixth set as her dances with Vincent replayed in her head. His tender touches and furtive glances exposed his apprehension to get close. But he had, and his escalating attention had stirred her imagination as much as his domestic side had increased her affection.

By her tenth cycle, Tifa was thoroughly exhausted and dripping with sweat. She mounted her training gloves on a wall hook and ambled into the kitchen. Her exasperated sigh filled the quiet as she scanned the refrigerator. Each shelf carried foods she'd bought in anticipation of Vincent's appetite. Tifa had learned his favorite dishes, buying groceries specifically to tempt his palate and make him feel more welcome at her place.

Tifa surmised Vincent stayed away to protect her, taking Cloud's disapproval to heart, perhaps even agreeing with Cloud's beliefs regarding the challenges a relationship with her would trigger. She rubbed her forehead in agitation, once again stifling a fresh well of tears. No, she needed to focus on something else.

The backdoor slammed shut, solving her predicament, and Marlene ran through the hall, backpack bouncing off her shoulder. The girl threw it onto the table in a desperate rush and scurried back toward the bathroom.

"Hey, Marlene," Tifa called to her.

"Hi, Tifa." She smiled at Marlene's muffled yell from behind the closed door.

The garage door opened again, and Barret held it open as Denzel entered the hallway. "Hey, you two. What's up?" Tifa called out.

"What's for lunch?" Denzel asked her without so much as a greeting. Barret hugged her as the two walked past and settled into the kitchen.

"I'm gonna get cleaned up," Tifa said as Barret and Denzel ransacked the kitchen.

By the time she showered and returned downstairs, her family had already dived into their meal. Bread, lunch meat, cheese, mayonnaise, mustard, leafy greens, and a jar of sweet relish littered the counters in wild disarray. Tifa held her arms akimbo with an irritated sigh. "Leave anything for me?" she asked, a little crossly.

Barret stared at her as he quickly chewed his sandwich. "Mm sowwy, Teef," he said with a mouth full, then swallowed painfully. "Kids were hungry, and we're headin out to Kalm today for the harvest festival."

"Why aren't you coming too, Tifa?" Marlene asked, innocent and wide-eyed.

For starters, no one invited me.

Tifa forced her pout into a smile before responding, "Maybe next time, sweetie. I'll be opening the bar soon. But you can bring me back some fresh fruits, ok? I'll give you some money."

Marlene canted her head, mouth knotted skeptically. "Are you sad, Tifa? Where's Vincent?"

Barret pretended not to hear the question, taking another large bite. Denzel watched her expectantly as he finished his first sandwich and reached for the second. Since when did they notice? And no questions about Cloud's whereabouts?

"Umm, he's busy."

Barret cleared his throat loudly. "Hey, if y'all are finished eatin, why don't you go play out back for a minute. I'mma clean up this mess."

Marlene didn't hesitate to jump from her seat with a squeal, not one to pass up the opportunity to avoid kitchen duty. Denzel rose slowly, sandwich in hand. He gave a Tifa an unreadable look and followed Marlene into the garage.

Tifa wouldn't meet Barret's perceptive gaze. She wordlessly washed dirty glasses at the sink, refusing to turn around when he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Guess I shoulda invited you to come with us. But Cloud said you been kinda wantin some alone time lately," he offered the explanation, guilt dripping in his voice.

"When did you talk to Cloud?" Tifa asked, indignant that Barret had talked to Cloud instead of her.

"Couple a' days ago—after y'all got back from Nibelheim." His words were cautious. He wiped the table down, bringing her more dishes to wash before continuing, "talked to Reeve, too."

Tifa threw her dishrag onto the counter and forcefully snatched at the food items left scattered on the surface. She slammed the food jars into the refrigerator before doing the same to the door. "So, I guess my business, my life is now decided on by committee? No input from me?"

"Hey, it ain't like that. You know it ain't." Barret grabbed her shoulders, gently forcing her to face him. "Guess I didn't see how things had changed. You and Vincent—I mean, guess it was a bit shockin to hear. So, I needed time to absorb—"

"Yeah, well. There's nothing for anyone to worry about, is there? I haven't heard from Vincent since we got back. He's got his own life," she snapped, shrugging from his hold.

"Teef."

She ignored him, sifting through the cupboards in search of—anything.

"Teef—come on, girl. Look at me," Barret implored, stepping closer.

She banged the cabinet shut and faced him, head down, partly refusing his request. Tifa wiped an involuntary tear petulantly. She never even took advantage of the numerous opportunities to test the romance with Vincent. Now that everyone else had interfered—the chance seemed lost.

"Maybe everything's already been said," he began awkwardly, unable to adequately voice his own concerns. He paused several moments and gently squeezed her shoulders as he looked down at their feet and struggled to find his words.

She thought he might give up, watching him shake his head and mumble to himself. Finally, Barret cleared his throat and lifted his eyes to hers, forcing her to let him say his peace. His words were tender and careful, full of warmth and caution when he continued, "I don't think there's much I can add to it—but uh, I'm here for ya, Teef. You're like my little sister, an' I don't like seeing you moonin an' cryin over some guy again. No matter who it is."

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "I'm not mooning over anyone, Barret."

"Listen, why don't you come on with us today. Let the girls open the bar. Get outta the house for a change."

With that request, she finally met his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Barret chuckled. "Go on, get your face on. I'll let the kids know you're comin."

As Barret headed into the garage, Tifa pulled her phone out of her pocket to message her staff.

Tifa—Hey guys. I'm heading to Kalm with the fam today. Can anyone open for me? Sorry for the late notice. If not, we can open at happy hour.

She mounted the stairs, relieved as her phone vibrated with multiple notifications at once.

Terra—No problem, Tifa. I'm almost ready and will leave in 20.

Rikku—Oh—was I scheduled today? Cuz I kinda have a hot date lined up. Can someone take my shift?

Rene—OMW. Hope you have fun!

Roni—I have class till 4 but can come by for happy hour. Could use the extra $!

Rikku—Wait! Do YOU have a hot date? OMG! Girl gonna get some freak on!

Tifa giggled; she loved her employees. If only the men in her life were so responsive.

She considered sending Vincent a message, asking how he was doing. But she'd played that scenario in her mind all week. Tifa would ask—there would be no response. Or Tifa would ask—he'd answer without answering. Did he even wonder why she wasn't calling? Why wasn't he? Did he mull over sending her messages? Did he send one, and she missed it?

She stared at the screen, checking for the messages she knew weren't sent. Tifa shoved it back in her pocket. She was always the first to text, first to call. Maybe this time, someone else could reach out.

Vincent tucked his phone into his cape after checking for messages a tenth time. None worth replying to.

He grumbled as he waited for Dr. Simon to return to his office. Waiting led to thinking when he had nothing else to do. Once Vincent finished with this visit, he'd go home instead of heading to the bar, like usual. He'd grown fond of his previous routine, the one that included a homecooked meal and just enough family spice to fulfill his minimal social needs.

Sometimes he would sit on a barstool; they'd converse between the minutes other customers demanded Tifa's attention. Then he would go home and feel depressed over not having the opportunity to stretch their conversation longer. Other nights, they would seek a little more privacy in the family kitchen, either joined by Barret and the kids or just the two of them. Cloud would show up infrequently, not as absent as before, but not quite the family man Tifa had prayed for in the past.

Vincent favored their more intimate setting, having her all to himself. Seeking out the lesser crowd suited his loner nature while satisfying his desire to be in her company. But any of those scenarios were preferable to the night he knew would greet him. He looked forward to the family atmosphere and brooded less and less the more time he spent with the dark-haired beauty. Now the evening offered only his churning thoughts and leftovers until Simon could solve his predicament.

Vincent had already shown up to the labs twice this week. He hoped all the effort would eventually prove fruitful. Simon asked him to stop by again today, promising no needles would be involved and a temporary solution.

The office door swung wide, and Simon appeared with a small box in his hands.

"Sorry about that, Vincent. I had to sign these out of the pharmacy—official purpose as testing. I'll have to get Sandra and Reeve to approve later, so we don't run into any more obstacles," he said, sitting in front of Vincent and opening the box.

"What are those?" he asked, dubious of how the small, card-sized packets stacked inside would benefit him.

"These are antidepressants. We use them to treat former SOLDIERs with severe PTSD and anxiety," Simon explained, removing a packet for Vincent to examine. "The dose is extremely high and only used on SOLDIERs. It's in powder form, so it's fast-acting and not on a timed-release like you may find with pills. But we recommend they mix it with their tea. The smell from the vaporized form reminded them too much of Marlboro dung. Hence the suggestion to drink with tea."

Vincent rolled the packet between his fingers and glanced at Simon, "I'm not a SOLDIER."

Simon raised his hands defensively to explain, "I understand that, but you do have some similar enhancements as well as a high level of mako coursing through your bloodstream. This is our best option until I can pinpoint a better, custom blend for you."

Vincent inwardly recoiled at the thought of taking one every day for anxiety. Never occurred to him before he'd have to medicate his demons. Literally.

Simon seemed to read his mind. "Now, I don't expect you need a daily dose. I would recommend only taking it when you start to feel anxiety or stress."

"How quickly does it work? The episodes happen in a matter of seconds."

"Well, it works within seconds, but whether fast enough—you will probably be the best judge of that. So, keep me posted," Simon chuckled, and Vincent smirked at the response.

Vincent concealed the box within his cape and stood to leave, impatient to get back to work.

"Call me if you have side-effects, particularly constipation, bloody stools, or impotence. That's—the only adverse reaction we've documented so far, but that may have been a special circumstance. The SOLDIER in question also ingested an entire bottle of a black-market aphrodisiac."

Simon shrugged when Vincent arched a brow at the warning. "Just—keep me apprised of anything you notice."

"Thanks, Doc," Vincent said, surprising Simon by offering his hand to shake. "Contact me when you have something to test."