Chapter 23

Stupid Questions

Vincent wasn't the only science experiment visiting the labs that afternoon. Cloud sat next to Shalua, deep in thought as she pointed to pages of a journal, expounding on some topic. Vincent watched them a few moments, surprised that Cloud still visited the scientist on the regular. The younger man's brow furrowed when Shalua shook her head and shrugged, their mysterious discussion confusing them both.

Cloud's interest seemed mildly strange to Vincent. But the more he thought on it—perhaps their mutual, unique history forged an easy friendship. The younger man had seemed so oblivious to the feminine attention he stirred in years past. Vincent considered that Cloud hadn't known what to do about it at the time.

"What brings you here today, Vincent Valentine?" Shelke carried a small box of vials containing various glowing liquids. Vincent guessed the substances might be for her own self-study, determined as she was to cure her affliction. Aren't we all?

The young woman's greeting alerted Cloud, and he glanced at Vincent with subdued mistrust. Vincent returned a cold stare as he replied, "Just meeting up with Doc Simon for his research, Shelke."

Cloud mirrored the icy gaze but said nothing. The strain on their friendship permeated the air. Given time, Vincent knew they could repair and move on, but that didn't mean he was ready to make nice just yet. Let Cloud worry about his words—his warning. Vincent still felt a gnawing humiliation from Cloud's unspoken accusation. The younger man already blamed Vincent for any of the looming difficulties and heartache Tifa would suffer and which he'd so indecently thrown in Vincent's face with Reeve as a witness.

Vincent hadn't quit trying to make peace with his past. He was moving forward, making deliberate efforts to right his condition, not continuing a pretense of happy home life. Vincent exited the labs without another word, content to let the mutual frustration and distrust linger between them for now.

"There you are!" Yuffie shouted as soon as he stepped to his office door. Vincent braced himself for a dramatic narration of whatever dire event she needed help with.

"The Turks are in the conference room waiting for you." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What were you up to? They've been here for at least 30 minutes."

"Something in the labs needed my attention."

"Well, whatever. I made up some tale that you were out rescuing Nibi cubs from poachers while you were doing whatever it is a Vincent does when he disappears." Yuffie appeared incensed, but Vincent was glad she'd been available to keep them occupied.

"Thanks, Yuffie," he said, surprising her with his polite response.

Yuffie merely backed away, unsure of how to respond since Vincent usually found her annoying.

The Turks stood when he opened the door, nodding their heads respectfully as though he ranked special honor. He hid his chin behind his cowl, slightly embarrassed. Their gesture was either directed by Rufus or Tseng. He'd learn the reason eventually, but until then, he'd remain cautious.

"Mr. Valentine, a pleasure to meet with you again," Tseng said with a polite smile.

Vincent seated himself close to the door at the end of the table, and his guests followed suit, each sitting around him. Rude folded his hands in his lap while his partner slouched lazily and eyeballed Vincent with an idiotically awed expression. Elena remained professional, her back ramrod straight and hands folded neatly atop the table as she waited for the meeting to begin.

"Talk to me," Vincent said without greeting them.

"Elena has made significant progress on our missing scientists," Tseng began as the lone female Turk handed Vincent her supplementary list of former ShinRa scientists. "She was able to confirm a final list of those who worked at the mansion during the Jenova Project. We leave it in Reeve's hands to seek aid from those he's already contacted. Most marked 'UNKNOWN' from the WRO list are now deceased. As for the remaining three, Elena has located one with certainty."

Vincent scanned the new list, a few names added to those the WRO had compiled. The status of many was now corrected to 'DECEASED' with bold, red font. Three names retained the 'UNKNOWN' mark, Steve Berry, Madeline Curie, and — Brukho. Berry's status had a strikethrough and included an address.

"Sir?" Elena sought permission to begin, and Vincent inclined his head at her. He'd have to get used to their formal presentation of respect if this were to be their new working arrangement. Admittedly, he preferred it to Reno's time-wasting foolishness.

"Dr. Steve Berry was assigned to the Jenova Project from 1977 until 1980, then asked to be transferred. He didn't remain long with the company and resigned a couple of years before Professor Gast. He wasn't hard to track down either since he returned to his hometown and ran a family practice until retiring 10 years ago."

Vincent read the address handwritten next to Berry's name—a Rocket Town property. "This address is current?"

"Yes, sir. He's lived there alone since his wife passed last year," Elena replied and scooted back into her seat, clearly finished with her summarized report.

"Lucky. We're going to Rocket Town in a few days," Vincent said, noting that the Turks were not surprised by his admission. Tseng probably committed Reeve's itinerary to memory, the same as he did for his employer. "I'll visit the doctor then with Reeve." He might remember me.

"What else?" Vincent asked, tossing the list on the conference table. Their entire entourage didn't show to deliver this pittance of information.

Tseng gave a single nod before addressing the question. "We're aware of the circumstances surrounding the WRO's recent challenges with Wutai. We'd like to offer our assistance in this diplomatic setback."

Vincent's eyes darted to the director's subordinates as he waited for clarification. None looked his direction, maintaining skillful poker faces under examination. The WRO didn't need ShinRa assistance for this public relations nightmare. Their involvement would likely make things worse. The Turks—Rufus, wanted Vincent.

"What kind of assistance?" Vincent asked.

"We believe we know the identity of the former SOLDIER responsible for the delicate condition with the government official's daughter," Tseng answered though Vincent didn't see the benefit.

"Why does the WRO care?"

"The Commissioner would find allaying Lord Godo's frustrations a little easier if it were known the WRO does not employ the man." Tseng's smile never wavered. "Our source tells us that Godo was eager to move forward with an alliance and additional trade agreements. But we've heard rumors that some on his council disagree with offering concessions to the eastern continent."

"How'd you come by rumors from the emperor's council?" Vincent asked, and Tseng shot a glare at Reno when the redhead snorted.

Elena opened her mouth to speak, but Reno chimed in first, "Tiny blondes in short skirts can make a man spill anything. Right, Elena?"

Elena made a sharp movement with her leg, eliciting a tiny yelp from her target. Tseng quickly brought their childish behavior to heel, pursing his lips and a promising threat in his glare, but Vincent chose to ignore the exchange. He wasn't surprised that ShinRa had spies and sources everywhere. The president's interest in the western continent may only serve political intrigue and give him a powerplay with Reeve. Or former Turks.

"And what do you need my help for?" Tseng's polite smile returned at Vincent's direct question.

"We've not yet completed a related investigation to ascertain the location of the former SOLDIER's associates who are involved in illicit activities," Tseng answered. "These include threats against the president, which we take very seriously. Unfortunately, we recently lost contact with one of our operatives tracking a number of cohorts and may require extraction."

"Extraction," Vincent repeated as his eyes bored into Tseng's. "How far into Wutai is your operative embedded?"

"Far enough to see the hairs on Godo's ass—"

"Reno!" Tseng finally snapped before resuming his professional demeanor and straightening his jacket. "It's a complicated situation, Mr. Valentine. But we're expecting her cover blown within days, if not hours. The incident with the official's daughter and subsequent consequences for the commissioner's security teams resulted in excessive scrutiny on our undercover's assignment. We were hoping for assistance rescuing her before her exposure unfolds."

Vincent searched their faces as he mused on these developments. Interesting that ShinRa tracked activity in the western continent, the land no longer having anything to offer them. The threats against ShinRa could be credible, but such an issue was nothing new for the Turks. And officially, ShinRa had no presence in Wutai.

It wasn't lost on him that one of their own needed help escaping. There's some detail he missed. Something Tseng knew but omitted from the briefing deliberately.

It seemed too convenient their request coincided with the upcoming trip to Rocket Town, hours closer to Wutai across the sea divide. Vincent wondered if he'd need to resume his former activities—tracking the Turks.

"I can help, but I'll pick the team."

"We'd prefer minimal if no WRO assistance," Tseng replied carefully. "The commissioner's squads are invaluable; however, this mission will require—undetectable precision."

In other words, Rufus didn't want Reeve to know. Vincent suddenly felt like a double agent.

"I'll arrange in Rocket Town," Vincent finally replied. "Send me the data, but it will be my operation."

Tseng nodded in agreement. "I insist Reno and Rude accompany you. You've built quite the rapport during your previous collaborations. We view this as an opportunity to hone our improving relationship."

Vincent smirked at the description, remembering their last team effort saving Sybil Shelly from herself.

Reno whooped in delight at Vincent's lingering smile. "Great! Now let's get some booze. Right, boss? Meeting adjourned?"

"Unless you have anything else, sir?" Tseng asked Vincent respectfully.

Vincent shook his head negatively, and Reno jumped from his chair. "Neato. Let's all head to 7th. I'm in the mood for pretty waitresses and a good cocktail, yo."

Vincent masked his own excitement. This would offer him an excuse to try out the powder, a guilt-free opportunity to see Tifa for the first time all week.

Once the Turks shuffled out, he retrieved one of Doc Simon's anti-depressant packets from his pocket and tore it open, quickly emptying the contents into his mouth. The grainy texture intensified the disgusting taste as it dissolved on his tongue.

Vincent paused at a water fountain built into the wall, and his companions looked back at him with puzzled expressions. His quick drink was unexpected and bizarre—for him. When he rose, Tseng stared at him as though he'd grown horns. Not today.

"Are you feeling alright?" the director asked, concerned for Vincent's sudden need for refreshment.

"Peachy," Vincent replied as he wiped at his mouth and joined the others in the elevator.

He felt nothing.

It could be he was preempting a little too soon; maybe he should've waited for an episode to test the meds. But he wanted to be prepared. He decided he would take it easy and revert to merely being in her presence for the night, perhaps limit conversation. He could test closer interactions once assured the powder would be effective—or until Simon could provide a custom-made alternative. But Tifa couldn't know he'd been losing control; none of them could.

Carlos beamed at Tifa when she brought his drink. She'd been pleasantly surprised at his arrival and insisted on offering a free round. His buddies nudged his ribs when Tifa winked at him, their encouragement bringing an adorable flush to his cheeks.

"Who's the cutie?" Terra whispered, eyebrows elevating suggestively.

"A doctor with a delightful disposition," Tifa said, handing over their tab.

"Just for me? Thank you!" Terra replied and moved toward the group. "Hello there."

Tifa smirked when Carlos lit up at the girl's friendly hello. His bashful grin brought out a giggle, and Tifa wondered how long it would take the young man to ask for her number. She set about her work, trying not to let her thoughts get away from her. If only her own dating life would go so smoothly after a smile and a giggle.

Tifa didn't blame anyone for the way things were turning out with Vincent, though it would be easy to curse Cloud or Reeve for their involvement. But their concerns were warranted. She couldn't deny the truth of their warnings for what the future could be like. For Vincent, or herself.

The summer had been the best she'd experienced in years, all from his presence—just him showing up for dinner. And other things she didn't know she wanted anymore.

He'd danced with her; she didn't have to beg. He'd talked to her, kept her company. She had felt safe with him; her feelings and wants mattered again. And she'd begun imagining, no perceiving, that the friendship he offered was layered with a lover's affection. But that prospect seemed so out of reach because of his demons and his fate. If she could fix it, solve all his problems—everything that's been done to him, she would stop at nothing to accomplish it. She knew he would, too.

But his silence still bothered her. His absence shot a pang of painful yearning through her heart for another shared dinner, another conversation about things no one else knew. Vincent's abrupt withdrawal of late seemed to signal complete disinterest, and she felt the loss with a stinging, piercing ache.

The bell jingled when the door opened, more customers arriving on an already busy night.

"Nah, it's all good, yo. We'll take our usual spot." Tifa groaned inwardly, recognizing the lackadaisical voice without looking. She knew where they'd sit and what they'd order, long ago memorized the crude jokes and innuendos she'd heard from the redhead a thousand times.

She froze when she finally lifted her head toward the designated table. Rude and Reno claimed their usual booth but shifted their seats, making room for a larger party. The arrival of Elena and Tseng wasn't remarkable; the two often joined their colleagues. Her shock was the fifth wheel, a person she least expected to see trailing in the company of the Turks.

Vincent brought up the rear of the suited, walking convoy. Finally—he showed.

She moved toward the shadowed end of the bar to meet him, anticipating that he would lay claim to his preferred barstool, the one the rest of her regulars had taken to leaving vacant for him. But he ignored her and the seat, instead choosing the smaller table within the Turks' shared booth where he sat in the corner—with them, though alone.

His eyes trained across the restaurant but avoided hers altogether, and Tifa's chest constricted at his snub. She inhaled deeply through her nose before heading over to the table, unable to battle her thinning lips into her usual warm smile.

She lingered a moment after placing the beer pitcher and empty mugs in front of the group, pushing Vincent's cup closer in hopes he would snap out of his reticence and acknowledge her. But he only shot her an unreadable glance and wordlessly accepted the mug, waiting his turn to pour himself a drink—aloof and impartial toward her.

Tifa straightened herself awkwardly. The hurt swelled in her throat, and she fought to maintain an even expression.

"Hi, Tifa," Elena said with a friendly smile.

"Hey, Elena. Um—how've you been?" Tifa replied shakily, and she caught the imperceptible regard of her guests.

Turks noticed everything. She could practically see their ears perk up as her voice wavered. Her eyes remained fastened on the petite blonde, fearing her frayed emotions would further betray her if she glanced directly at Vincent again.

"Oh—good, I guess," Elena responded, eyes darting at Vincent before exchanging a brief look with Tseng.

"Hey," Reno called to her, demanding attention. His eyes dragged from Vincent to her as Tifa waited for whatever lewd comment was about to spill from his mouth. "Hey, how about a round of shots, babe. Oh, and can we get one of your girls to swing up here on the table. That'd be nice, yo."

Tifa placed a hand on her hip, giving him an exasperated scowl. "Leave my girls alone, Reno. Like I've told you a hundred times."

"Hey. I'm here on good terms, yo. Not to cause trouble," he insisted. "I even showed up with respectable company this time."

Tifa barely managed to silence her a huff as she turned back toward the bar. Reno's immaturity only grated on her already chafed nerves.

By the time she returned to their booth with drinks, Vincent sat alone. Reno and Rude positioned themselves at the counter, bantering with Carlos as the good doctor cracked up over some crude joke. Elena and Tseng perused songs in the jukebox, a predictable habit when they accompanied their colleagues.

As she set the drinks on the table, she thought her head might burst from the uneasiness with Vincent, a stark difference from the closer friendship they'd built over the previous months. But finally, he spoke first.

"Busy tonight," he said by way of greeting.

"Yeah, I guess so," she answered curtly, refusing to look at him. When he only fumbled with a coaster, she dialed back the hostility. "So, does this mean you're getting your old job back?" she asked in feigned jest, mouth quirking to the side.

"What's that?"

"Seems like you've got a new-old job if your happy hour crew is any clue," she joked, jutting her chin toward the Turks.

"Ah," he said. "We had a meeting this evening. They suggested dinner, thought I'd join." His answer wasn't terse, but Tifa sensed his reluctance to delve into his choice of company, leaving her disappointed with his reason for coming.

"Oh," she said with a pout, staring nervously at his hands as her mind raced for another way to prolong the conversation. "Want anything to eat with that, or are the drinks good enough for now? I can make you battered fish—or cockatrice meatballs?"

When his hands stilled at her offer, she finally lifted her eyes to meet his. Vincent's gaze swept over her face, appearing bored with the small talk. Either he preferred to sit alone, or she'd lost her gift of gab. They'd grown so close, but at this moment, he seemed a stranger again.

"I'll wait a bit," he answered, reaching for his glass and making no effort to further the conversation.

"Gotcha." Tifa nearly cursed herself for offering him dinner and bristled at the thought of his favorite foods slowly aging in her refrigerator as she walked away.

Vincent was back to his former, brooding self, no longer comfortable in that tighter, trusting bond that was building between them. His abrupt reversal hurt more than she liked to admit and reminded her of how Cloud used to make her feel. No calls, showing up after disappearing, not really speaking though expecting a welcome home on his terms. This scenario wasn't exactly the same—but the parallels were apparent.

Nothing had changed. Bitter thoughts swirled unabated through her mind—different man, same old story. Tifa felt doomed to playing mother hen to another man with too much personal baggage and damnable noble hesitations toward her. Seemed relationships for her would always be one step forward, two steps back.

She busied herself mixing cocktails and occasionally frying up food for her other customers, trying her damnest to ignore her newer target of unrequited love. A busy hour dragged on, doing little to placate her turmoil. Sometimes, a glass or tumbler was slammed too hard on the counter. Tifa finally did curse when she broke a whiskey glass in a furious grip.

Her staff kept a wary distance, learning shortly after being hired to let their boss fume it out. Tifa wouldn't admit to a problem anyway, and their concern would only be met with a pretty lie intended to ease their worries.

After a while Reno summoned her, and she grudgingly returned to their table. Vincent remained half-hidden in the shadows with his distant behavior firmly intact.

"Hey, babe. How come your hot bartenders won't ever serve me?" Reno asked, arm draped lazily atop the booth behind his predictably mute partner.

"Back off, Reno. They're sweet and in school. I don't want any funny business distracting them from their studies." She replied with motherly protection.

"College students, huh?" Reno whistled and stuck his tongue out crudely. "I'd love to get funny wi—Ow! Watch your pointy elbows, Elena."

"Oh, grow up. You're nearly old enough to be their father," the tiny Turk replied, indifferent to Reno's offended expression as she gave Tifa an apologetic smile. "Could we get a Corel cordial? And another beer for the table?" Elena asked sweetly.

"Sure thing." Tifa's eyes swept briefly toward Vincent before she retreated, Reno's incredulous 'I'm mid-thirties, Elena' fading as she ducked beneath the counter.

Roni hustled around the bar, dropping a pile of dishes into the sink as she tilted her head at Tifa. "Everything ok, Teefs?" she asked as Tifa filled a shaker with liquor and fruit.

Tifa glanced at Roni in surprise, thinking she'd been coolly concealing her anguish.

"I'm good, Roni," she replied, a little too forced to be convincing. She tossed a jigger into the sink after adding too much ginger berry to her third attempt at the cordial.

Roni placed a comforting hand on Tifa's forearm, interrupting her struggle to mix the drink.

"You know something, Tifa?" Roni's concerned tone drew Tifa's full attention in time to notice the girl's eyes cast a meaningful glance toward the Turks' booth. "If I was a guy, you'd be my first and last thought of every day—and everything in between. You deserve someone who adores you like that." Roni leaned toward her on tiptoes and placed a kiss on Tifa's cheek before taking control of the drink mix.

Tifa ghosted her knuckles over the spot Roni had kissed. Her bartenders remember the old days when she used to pine for Cloud. Her face must show the same tension.

The moment of reverie was disrupted when a pair of knuckles drummed on the bar in front of her. "Now that's the kind of action I would pay for," Reno drawled, adjusting his perch on a stool.

"Don't you already have a table, Reno?" The annoying Turk flashed a wolfish grin at her angry tone.

"Look, babe. Chill. I only came over here to chat with my science friend," he said, wrapping an arm around Carlos. "How was I to know you'd be putting on a free show?"

Carlos's involuntary snort incensed Tifa further, and she whirled away in exasperation.

"Roni, I need a few minutes. I'll be right back," Tifa growled.

"Oh—um, ok," Roni replied.

Tifa ignored the curious glances her swift departure garnered. She climbed the stairs to her apartment and sprinted toward her room, intending to flop herself onto her bed in childish angst.

The sound of a motorcycle drew her attention to the window, and she spied Cloud pulling around the side street toward their driveway. Great, just in time to ask me why I'm mad.

Several minutes later, he stomped into their shared home, pausing uncertainly as Tifa met him in the hallway and crossed her arms.

"That's a big crowd downstairs," Cloud said, tugging at the gear draped haphazardly over his shoulder. A slightly fearful expression accompanied his question. "You need a hand tonight?"

"That'd be nice," she answered, none too kindly. "Where've you been?" It had been a long time since she'd asked him that question. But it fit her mood.

"Uh—at the labs. Just checking on Shalua," he said innocently. Tifa snorted through her nose, teetering between anger and sorrow.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

"I just—needed a breather," she said as her eyes welled, dampening the anger in favor of sorrow.

Tifa sniffled forcefully, wiping at her face before the tears could fall unbidden. She needed to talk to someone, and Cloud was still supposed to be her best friend.

"Something happened?"

She shook her head negatively. "No—um, just too many people downstairs. And the Turks showed up." She sniffled loudly again.

"The Turks showed up?"

"Yeah, they showed up," she snapped at his lack of understanding. "Vincent is with them—and it's the first time I've seen or talked to him all week. Caught me off guard, is all."

"Vincent is with them?" He asked doubtfully.

"Yes!" Tifa shrieked at him, and his eyes widened in shock. "Dammit, Cloud, yes. The Turks showed up, and Vincent is with them. Do you need a damn drawing?" She cringed at her waspish tone, but sometimes she just needed him to stop asking stupid questions.

"Ok, ok," he soothed, pulling her into a hug. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you would take it this hard."

She relaxed into him, letting his embrace calm her agitation. Tifa never liked drama, least of all when she was mired in it. She was grateful knowing Cloud did care—even if she still battled internally with accepting his overprotective stunt, his culpability in the situation. She didn't need a psychiatrist to understand the turmoil Cloud felt any more than Vincent. But where did that leave her? Tifa gazed blankly at the floor, feeling destined for the friend zone forever.

Cloud lifted her chin with a finger. "Tifa, I just want you to know—"

"Don't, Cloud. Please—I can't—" she hesitated. "It'll take time, but just—please. Don't say anything else. I'll get over it. We'll move on."

She moved past him and entered the bathroom to splash water on her face. She looked over her image in the mirror, shaking her head at herself. Give it up, funny face.

"So, he's hanging out with the Turks?" Cloud asked rhetorically as she exited and followed him into the living room. "That's a—change."

"I guess they work together regularly now," Tifa said with a shrug. "Not really sure if I'm surprised. Socializing has agreed with him. And he's seemed happier than in the past. At least to me." Her voice faded at her last statement, uttered too softly for Cloud to have heard.

"Yeah, but he hates ShinRa as much as we do," Cloud replied, a little dubious.

"I dunno, Cloud. I think Vincent has come a long way in forgiving himself. Maybe he forgives them, too. They are a different generation than when he—" Tifa stopped herself, didn't want to think of all that right now. She just wanted to do—something to keep her mind off things and make it through this emotionally torturous night.

"Maybe," Cloud said with more skepticism. "I'll go downstairs and help the girls out. Why don't you rest some more, ok? We've got our trip to Rocket Town coming up, and you need to save some energy."

Tifa nodded and eased herself onto the couch. Maybe it would help to take a few to collect herself.

She turned on the TV and surfed the channels for several minutes. The remote dangled in her fingertips as she let her arms hang over the couch. She fought to take an interest in anything, pausing on each channel for only seconds before angrily mashing the buttons to switch to another. Shows on romance, adventure, cooking, cleaning, calamity, recovery, antiques, surgery, animals, monsters—nothing appealed. She flipped it off and threw the remote onto the coffee table, sighing petulantly at her persistently dejected mood.

He was downstairs, the closest he's been all week, and here she was hiding in front of the TV, afraid to face the truth in his presence and accept his old habits. Tifa pressed the heels of her hands onto her eyes, then slammed her palms onto the cushions. Hiding away is bullshit.

She returned to the bathroom and brushed through her hair, checking herself once more in the mirror. The best way to get over it is to face it.

Tifa trudged downstairs, saddened but determined to press on. Even the end of the world didn't stop her from living. Another heartbreak wouldn't either.

The crowd had dwindled to less than 20 patrons, the Turks among them. Reno and Rude had rejoined Carlos and his buddies, each desperate to impress Tifa's bartenders. They quieted when Cloud edged by with a dish bin in his hands. Tifa scoffed a little as Terra resumed working when Cloud passed. As if Cloud would scold the girl for mingling instead of bartending, he rarely reacted to any of them.

"Hey, yo," Reno continued once Cloud carried the dirty dishes into the kitchen. "I'm just sayin you gotta have more follow through with hot chicks. They don't give it up with the first ask. Wait for the giggle and a hair toss, then make your move again."

Tifa rolled her eyes at the Turk and hoped Carlos was smart enough to never listen to the womanizing redhead. She started cleaning the bar, anticipating that the remainder of her customers would leave soon. It was late, and most of the women had left. That usually triggered a quick end to the night, and she wanted nothing more than to close early.

Cloud cleaned the kitchen up and took care of restocking the shelves. A slightly wistful smile formed on her face at how sweet Cloud could sometimes be, though she suspected his offer to help was driven by guilt. She gave him a nod of thanks, and he winked before heading back upstairs for the night.

Her eyes drifted again to the Turks' booth where Elena and Tseng whispered to each other as they scanned the restaurant. Vincent had melted into the darkness like a specter. Only his hands were visible on the table.

She approached them to clear empty glasses and a plate of half-eaten fried toad legs and bread.

"Can I get you anything else?" Tifa asked as she balanced their shot glasses atop the plates in one hand. She focused intently on Elena's face, awkwardly avoiding any indication Vincent's proximity bothered her.

Tifa spotted the look Tseng cast at Elena through the corner of his eye, and the blonde shuffled out of her seat, waiting for her supervisor to do the same.

Tseng cleared his throat and smiled graciously at Tifa. "I'll close our tab if you don't mind, Ms. Lockhart. We have a long day tomorrow and should get going."

"Oh, alright," Tifa replied, leading the way back to the bar. She dropped the dishes into the sink, then turned to the register to tally their drinks. Her hand fumbled with the machine's keys when Vincent followed them and waited at the end of the counter in his usual seat.

"Goodnight, Tifa," Elena said once Tseng signed his receipt and handed Tifa her pen.

"Thanks, Elena. Come back soon." Tifa looked over her shoulder to see that Terra was writing on a small slip of paper, which she handed to Carlos. Tifa snickered to herself. Of course.

"Ah, atta boy!" Reno cackled and slapped Carlos on the back. Terra giggled and moved to cash them out, blushing at Carlos's sheepish grin. The two Turks sauntered down the bar, and Reno nodded at Tifa as he pulled his wallet out of a pocket. "My night to settle, babe. What do I owe ya?"

"Tseng paid in full, Reno. You're good," she said, hoping he would hasten his exit.

"Ya don't say? Gotta love the boss!" Reno spread his hands wide and flashed another wolfish grin.

She turned to Vincent, unsurprised, he watched her as she waited for the Turks to take the hint. Rude nudged Reno, who didn't seem too inclined to leave, so the bald man grabbed his partner by the scruff and yanked him off the barstool.

"Alright, looks like we're leaving, babe," Reno said as he hobbled a bit, walking backward. He spun on his heels and allowed Rude to guide him out of the bar, just behind Carlos's retreating form.

When she approached Vincent, he set too much Gil on the bar, far more than what he owed. Tifa wiped at the glasses sitting neatly under the bar, wanting something to do with her hands. At the same time, he only continued to stare
at her wordlessly.

"Hey, Tifa. You want to close? Everyone is gone," Roni said from the other side of the counter.

Tifa nodded her head, noting that her staff didn't see Vincent as a mere patron. She finally looked at him and took a deep breath.

"I haven't seen you much this week," she said with a sweetened sadness, careful to avoid an accusatory tone. The last thing Tifa wanted to do was sound like a nag. She quickly averted her gaze as tears welled up in her eyes, not wanting him to notice how much his absence had upset her.

"I—uh—I've been helping Pete's squad clear Deepground this week. It's better to go in at night when the monsters aren't hiding." He pursed his lips as he returned his wallet into a pocket hidden within his cape. "I'm not sure when I'll get time to come back for dinner—but as soon as I can—"

"That's alright," Tifa said, a little too quickly. "It's important. Your work." She nodded her head rapidly as though to convince them both of her words. "Someone has to do it, and you're one of the few who can," she continued with pinched lips.

The hush between them stretched uncomfortably long; the only sound now in the bar was her staff cleaning and flipping the chairs atop the tables. She moved around the small space behind the counter, setting glasses, utensils, and kitchen appliances in their place and throwing the last of the trash into the can. Vincent hadn't budged, and she let him sit quietly, not pressing him into a conversation he seemed so reluctant to engage in. But he wasn't leaving either, so maybe—

"Ok, Teefs, we're done," Roni said as Terra stepped close for a hug.

"Ok, you two. Walk home safe," Tifa said, pulling Roni in for a group hug.

"We will, Teefs. Terra snagged a chaperone," Roni replied, lightly pinching the other girl.

Terra lifted her shoulders coquettishly and said, "Sometimes a girl just can't help herself."

Tifa smirked, shaking her head at the pleasant turn of events.

"Well, keep it decent." She winked at them, and Roni waved at Vincent as the two women headed toward the exit.

Tifa followed close behind and locked the door. Cackling laughter filtered through the window. The Turks were outside with Carlos, Reno's antics not yet over for the night. 'Hey, watch this, yo.' Tifa groaned inwardly at the thought of them getting close to her bartenders.

She dimmed the lights and made to head back to the bar when Vincent suddenly appeared behind her. His chin was tucked back into his cowl, a movement he'd stopped doing as often when they had been spending more time together.

"I should probably leave, too," he said, his voice low and even, carrying no emotion one way or the other.

Her chest constricted painfully again. For a few short minutes, she'd believed they might talk again.

"Oh, right," Tifa spun awkwardly, hand clumsily fumbling with the lock.

When she opened the door a small crack, he reached out to help her. Tifa shook her head and gently shut it again.

"Vincent," she began softly, eyes dragging dejectedly to the floor before slowly continuing, "about what Cloud said—I'm—"

"Don't let it get to you," he replied as he placed a hand on the doorknob.

Her brows furrowed, and she concentrated on his fingers wrapping around the knob, turning it slowly to reopen the door.

For one moment, she considered barring the exit with her body and demanding they talk it out. But she balked at the thought. Tifa was never clingy in that kind of way. So, she retreated with a disheartened droop in her shoulders, nodding her head at him as he passed through the door with a soft-spoken 'Goodnight.'

Tifa closed her eyes, refusing to allow the tears to form beneath her lids as she breathed deeply. She calmed the rejection, anger, loneliness—the unfairness.

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she stalked back to the bar to finish her nightly routine and bag the garbage. Despite her heartache, there was still a business to run—that effort didn't end with the last customer any more than it did when she was worrying over men. She lifted the trash from the bin and tiredly carried it through the garage.

Vincent misjudged. He could feel the shudder begin at the base of his neck. He concentrated on its point of origin. If he could level out the quaking through his shoulder blades, he could delay the transformation. He braced a hand against the fence to the side of the bar. They were shouting at him, then someone yelled to get back.

Footsteps sounded to his right; someone was running to him. "What happened?" she asked, kind hands reaching out to soothe his arm. "Vincent?"

"It was that Turk." Another female voice, one of her bartenders maybe. Vincent dropped to a knee as his legs vibrated with the effort to retain control. The others talked around him, but he couldn't make out the conversation. He needed to get out of here.

He pushed up from the ground forcefully and sprinted away from her. Vincent could soothe himself better if he were alone. But he was wrong about the powder. Simon was wrong. It wasn't powerful enough for him, didn't solve his particular issue, only stalled it.

"What happened?" Tifa asked, placing a hand along Vincent's bicep as his body wracked with the transformation he struggled to contain. "Vincent?"

"It was that Turk," Roni replied, anger shading her usually friendly voice. "He was setting off that baton like fireworks. He wasn't even watching what he was doing. Just hanging out of their car and pointing every which way."

"What?" Tifa was incredulous, though not truly shocked. Reno would never grow up. "Where did they go?"

"They drove off," Carlos said. Tifa hadn't even realized he was still standing on the porch. He was keeping his distance, one arm protectively holding Terra back from the danger. "I don't think he realized he hit someone. He was drunk," Carlos explained.

Vincent rose suddenly and dashed down the street, disappearing into the shadows. Tifa looked at the others; their stunned expressions had her feeling a tinge of embarrassment on Vincent's behalf. Surely, they'd seen his body trembling, though Carlos was the only one to understand what was happening. Fear shined in the young man's eyes.

"Um, I'll walk them home," he offered protectively.

Tifa nodded sadly. "Ok, Carlos."

Terra and Roni left without another word, too shocked and confused to know what to say to her.

Tifa sighed in abject defeat, knowing full well this would prove to Vincent all the warnings Cloud had voiced. For every step forward they'd made in getting closer, two giant leaps backward followed.

Tifa locked all the doors. She shut the lights and relaxed against the wall, gazing at her bar lit only by the security lights. Her ascent up the stairs was exhausting; her twisted emotions zapped her strength.

Cloud sat on the couch watching TV. She didn't look back at him when he asked if she was going to bed already, only shut her bedroom door and curled into a ball atop her comforter.

Maybe she'd been too pushy. Perhaps Nibelheim had affected him worse than she first thought. He usually wouldn't have hit his limit from a stray bolt cast from a magrod. His threshold was much higher than what Reno could trigger, no matter how annoying the Turk could become.

Her brow furrowed, and tears welled anew as she assumed her relentless questioning had probably helped shorten his already burned fuse.