Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ One Beat Away ❯ Don't you see that? ( Chapter 1 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: CNichole 
After heartbreak and heartaches, Tifa finds herself rekindling an old friendship, but will it turn into something more?
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Romance | Type: Fanfiction Sequel | Uploaded On: 09.24.2012 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.2K | Visits: 543 | Status: Work In Progress
After heartbreak and heartaches, Tifa finds herself rekindling an old friendship, but will it turn into something more?
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Romance | Type: Fanfiction Sequel | Uploaded On: 09.24.2012 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.2K | Visits: 543 | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: I don’t own Tifa, or Vincent or anything relating to Final Fantasy VII…unfortunately. The story is my own, however.
I just want to be with you...Can I stay?...
One beat away, one beat away, one beat away... from my heart.
You're only one beat away from my heart.
Cicada, One Beat Away
I saw it all ending before he even started. But I've always been a sucker for new experiences. Well, that's not entirely true- I like new experiences and I hate them. It's almost as if my mind can't resolve which side of the issue it wants to belong to, so I'm stuck with the contradiction.
Fact is: the beginning of my story is the end of another. Isn't that how the song goes: every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end? Well, this is the end, my friend.
"I want to break-up," I remember hearing myself say. Though it wasn't for the first time, if I'm being entirely truthful with myself- and I am.
"Ok," I heard him say, as if he wasn't at all surprised, as if he couldn't really be bothered to care one way or the other.
Has he ever cared one way or the other?I wondered.
I have letters from him from years ago that I haven't trashed, though I really should. Love notes, where I'm gonna be notes, thinking of you notes. Six years ago, ages ago, lifetimes ago. He seemed to care then, but is it easier to feign interest when you never see a person? Possibly. Probably.
The road and his job took him away from me and, I think, it also kept us together. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, apparently. I think the togetherness is what killed us.
"So, you can keep the cat," I said. He nodded in agreement, though the cat eventually made its way to Cid and Shera's home.
There were never any children, never will be, as far as I'm concerned. I think it's always been a bone of contention between us, even though he said he never wanted them. I can't help but think he was a liar, that what he said to my face was entirely different than what he said behind my back.
I knew, as he so frequently reminded me, what he was like before I moved in with him. I just didn't think I'd come to regret the whole thing as much as I did.
The entire discussion was painfully ascetic, kind of like our relationship: devoid of pleasure. It ended much like it began, with somewhat of a whimper, not really a bang. All that remained of some long ago promise made on top of an old well.
The stars look so very different today than they did that night. I thought those stars would guide me, shine through my life leading me into an, if not perfect, at least happy existence. How wrong you can be.
So we ended, and here I am- figuring it out. Though, to be honest, it was unfair, both to me and him that I didn't take the time to do thatbeforeI decided to be in a relationship.
Him and I, we're just products of this new world where we all need to be instantly gratified and when we inevitably aren't our minds can't process the disappointment. Though six yearsisa long time, honestly, if I don't say so- lasted longer than most people stay married these days.
Good job, pat on the back and all that, we've just grown apart, etc, etc. I'm so glad our conversation was completely devoid of those kinds of sentiments. Simple, to the point. Done.
And it ended. I moved out, door closed, moving on.
So here I am, sitting on this fucking date, with this asshole who I can't handle, because my friends hate seeing me alone. How am I always getting dragged into situations like this? I've gotten better at saying no, really I have, but I just can't stand to hurt another person's feelings.
Well. Except Cloud. I was fuckingprofessionalat that.
"C'mon, Teef," Yuffie'd said with a friendly jab to the arm, "he's really cute and pretty loaded and I hear he has a HUGE-"
"YUFFIE!" I'd said, outraged.
"Well, that's just what I hear! Pertinent information is what I have- wouldn't want ya bitching later when you found out that he was lame in the-"
"Yuffie."
"Okay, okay," she huffed, "just do it for me, I promise you'll have a good time with this one!"
"Unlike the last two? Who you assured me were the most amazing, awesome, god-like beings of men?"
"Yah, well," she'd shrugged, "can't always be right, can I?"
And so here I am. Not like I could actually tell Yuffie who Ireallywish I was going out on a date with or anything. Oh gods, I'd never give her ammunition likethat.
Here and now and I'm having trouble keeping focused, rather, I'm having trouble convincing myselfwhyI should be focused on this man.
He eats like a cow. An honest to god cow. Scraping his plate, (seriously,you need to cut your pasta?) slopping around, food flying. Imfuckingpressive. I definitely want to have sex with you and proliferate our species.
"Yuffie tells me you're into that martial arts stuff," he says, mid chew. Gods. If there's one thing I hate, it's someone who uses the phrase "martial arts stuff."
"I am assuming you mean my karate?" I reply.
He ignores me and continues with his apparently unstoppable train of thought, "I gotta say, I used to be pretty into that stuff myself when I was younger. Took some classes, had some friends who went pro..." he says, apparently proud of his link to fame and fortune.
Oh yeah, one class in MMA and you're a true believer, baby. My phone rings and I answer it at the table, signaling a stop in, what I guess you could call, conversation.
I really hate when people do that kind of thing- answer the phone at the table, I mean. It's infinitely rude, but considering I'm having the equivalent of an aneurism as far as enjoyment goes, I ignore my rule this one time.
"Hi honey, yeah sure, what's up?"
He's staring at my breasts as I talk, not that it offends me, but I can definitely follow his current train of thought.
So not going anywhere near there, buddy.
"Oh, of course, of course. Ten minutes? You got it sweetie. Okay, bye." The phone ringing is a diversion; I've set my alarm to go off thirty minutes into the date so that I don't have to sit through anything unbearable for too long.
Glad I'm a planner.
I make an approximation of an apologetic smile, "Sorry, emergency. Gotta go," I say while moving my chair back and making my way into a standing position.
I fumble through my purse, retrieve forty bucks and drop it on the table. Heaven forbid this guy be able to say I owe him anything.
His face has gone somewhat red now and he looks angry. It is rude, what I'm doing, absolutely. But, honestly, if he had any sense at all he'd be relieved that this evening is coming to a close.
Evidently he had been anticipating a night cap, sloppy kisses, embarrassingly inadequate sex and an awkward goodbye in the morning. Sorry hon, another night and definitely another girl.
"Well, fuck," he says.
Indeed, "Yeah, you know. It happens; her car broke down and she needs a lift, can't leave a friend in a lurch, so we'll be seeing ya."
He's sputtering as I make a hasty retreat. Sorry Carl...Cary...umm, whatever. And really, I'm not sorry, just relieved.
Thank the gods I took my own car there. Keys jingle in the ignition and I make my way towards the bar. My bar. Yeah, I know; I have a hard time keeping the past from repeating itself.
It'd seemed like a good idea at the time- I'd always been great at serving, and I was a hell of a manager back at Seventh Heaven.
And so the bar had been reborn. A grant from Reeve had made it all possible and once word got out that the plucky little fighter from Nibelheim was opening another bar, well, let's just says I've never had to spend much on advertising.
Lost it all, almost lost it all again, but I guess I have my fifteen minutes as compensation.
And the apartment I've been renting, after the necessity of a new home had arisen, is almost kitty-corner to the bar, so at least I don't have far to go after work.
I park around back and make my way through the dimly-lit alley. Dimly-lit because I hadn't had time to replace the burnt out lights in the back as of yet. Add it to the list...number 10006 or so.
So I fumble around in the dark, not for the first time this week, with my keys and let myself in. The alarm beeps at the back door and I punch the code in to deactivate it.
Vicky pokes her head around from the kitchen, "Shit, Tifa. This one lasted almost forty-five minutes! You're getting better at these."
I smile back at her, "Oh lord, Vic, this one was a real winner. Let me tell you."
She waves me off, "No time, hon. Major eye-candy made his way into the bar tonight, and I'm dead set on getting his number," and with that she makes her way back into the kitchen- into the mess of things.
I let out a huge sigh, the stress of the evening releasing and settling into something comfortable, something familiar, and make my way towards the front of the bar. Thank the gods for this place; I'd always been good at diving into work to avoid the uncertainty and frustrations of my life and with the breakup things had been no different.
Six years.Six fucking years.And all I got was this lousy t-shirt. Ok, so maybe not a t-shirt, but a headache and some bittersweet memories. I guess live and learn and move on.
My fingers trail along the wood-lined walls that lead up to the front of the bar, and I let the ambiance and mood sink into me, switching my feelings from frustrated and annoyed to happy and mostly content.
A chorus of voices takes up my name as I enter my bar. I grin at them all, wave, hug. Oh yes, this is where I want to be. It may not be perfect, but it sure is mine.
Grabbing a black apron from the side of the counter and hitching it around myself, I make my way onto the sticky rubber mats lining the front counter to help with drink orders.
Oh, I am completely useless in the kitchen, but give me some Amaretto and lime juice and baby, I'll give you a good time.
The orders come fast and furious, as I'm used to, and soon I'm in my element. So in my element, in fact, that I neglect to notice that the "major eye-candy" that Vicky had been talking about was, in fact, a rather well-known friend.
I blink over towards the corner where he's sitting, currently being fawned on by a completely clueless Vicky, who is blundering through some conversation in the hopes of garnering a positive reception from the almost-always-stoic Vincent Valentine.
I do have to give the girl some credit though;he issome incredible eye-candy. Especially since he's ditched the cape and leather in favour of smart button-downs and slacks.
Even his hair had been trimmed to a more manageable length and tonight it had been slicked back and neatly gathered at his neck. Tall, dark and handsome fit Vincent to a T.Oh yeah. That Vincent Valentine, sure knows how to work it.
I smirk, oh, no-more than smirk, it's a full-fledged grin and I let him suffer a bit before swaggering over with a drink in hand (dirty martini- extra olives, gods, Vincent, sometimes you act so old). I deposit the drink on his table and lean in, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek.
"You should have called," I say simply.
He smiles slightly up at me, "And ruin the element of surprise? Never."
Grabbing Vicky around the waist I make with the introductions: "Vincent, this is my new, amazing, wonderful, lovely Vicky. Vicky, this is my friend Vincent Valentine, who has a terrible tendency to pop in and out of my life at the most opportune and inopportune moments."
His eyebrow raises at me as Vicky, thoroughly disheartened to find that her object of interest did, in fact, belong to her boss, (now didn't Iwishhe belonged to me) makes some excuses and finds her way towards the bar.
"I don't recall ever leaving inopportunely," he says; his voice rumbling; I have to focus on his words and not the timbre to keep from being distracted by how they sound.
Smiling, I poke him in the chest, "Vincent, any time you leave is completely inopportune. How the hell are we all supposed to keep tabs on you if you keep disappearing all the time?" We've had this conversation before and we both know his work is what keeps him on such a random schedule.
I watch as Vincent gets up out of his chair and makes his way towards the empty one to his right; he pulls it out and motions for me to take a seat. Vincent Valentine, always the gentleman.
I run my hand softly down his arm as I take my seat and I smile broadly up at him, "Not your lap, this time?"
I have the distinct pleasure of seeing Vincent Valentine turn a delightful shade of red as he coughs slightly before sitting down.
Oh, I've not forgotten. Has he? The look on his face tells me he hasn't; what have you been thinking of Vincent Valentine?
Have we been sharing dreams lately? I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours...
Of course, I was referring to thelast timehe'd come and visited me, exactly six months since Cloud and I had separated.
It'd been a particularly stressful day, which I'd capped off with a nice round of drinks for myself, crew and a few hangers–on and friends. Well, nice round was putting it mildly, nice round or six was more accurate and Vincent had chosen that night to knock on my door for a visit.
Vincent and I had kept in touch, since it all ended, the end of the world that is- the second time around. Actually, strangely enough, he'd kept in touch with all of us in his own subtle way.
If we weren't friends at the beginning of it all, we certainly were now. It's strange to come to the realization that you appreciate someone and want them around, when for so long you've taken for granted that they'd always be there.
I'd peeked through the haphazard cover I'd thrown on the door and found him standing there. Throwing open the door, rather violently, I'd miraculously caught him somewhat off guard.
What happened next had been even more surprising, to both him and me: I'd launched myself into the air, sailing into his arms with a high-pitched squeal and landed a sloppy, messy, horrible kiss on his lovely, pale cheek.
He'd actually taken it in good humour, much to my surprise when I'd recollected at a later, less inebriated date.
"Hello Tifa," he'd said.
"Hello Vincent!" I'd replied, my lips catching on the syllables of his name. And he'd ushered me into the closed bar, back into the staff-party.
And he'd come with. Danced with. Drank with. Smiled with me. It'd had been glorious, truly one of the best evenings I'd had in a long time. And coming at the end of such a shitty night it had been more than welcome.
I didn't know he danced, and he dances wondrously. It felt like he was meant to be moving in that rhythm; I can't imagine how he moves any other way, he's so natural on the dance floor. I said as much to him.
A secret smile crosses his lips, "I was a Turk, Tifa. We had to be prepared for any situation. And aside from that, I had a particularly demanding mother who insisted I be able to handle myself on the dance floor."
He spun me in what I'm sure looked like a ridiculous pirouette, but somehow he made my movements graceful, even in my drunken state. Now, I'm no slouch on the dance floor, but I've had better nights where I definitely drank less and definitely danced better.
He pulled me close and I was aware of the points at which our bodies were touching: his hand, low on my back, our hips slightly sliding and parting, hands clasped firmly.
For reasons I wasn't entirely comfortable with acknowledging, my heartbeat raised and my stomach did little flips; have I ever really seen you, Vincent Valentine?
He'd moved my inebriated body into a low dip, the room spins and it wasn't just from the alcohol. Slowly he slid me vertical again, his body a long caress against my own. I shivered.
For a moment, I think I caught him enjoying the dance as much as I was, his eyes closed with the pleasure of the moment.
"Somehow I don't think your mother taught you to dance quite like this," I said, a little unsteady on my feet.
The dance brings us close again, "Some things you have to perfect on your own," he murmured, lips softly caressing the edges of my ear.
Somehow one dance had blurred into seven...ten...and I lost count.
I'd ended the night in his lap. Don't ask me how I got there, I honestly don't remember. What I do remember, though, is how perfectly my head fit in the contours of his shoulder, how wonderfully he smelled, how his soft touch circled the skin of my leg.
"Vincent...?" I'd murmured into his neck, my hand softly clinging to the soft fabric of his shirt.
"Tifa?" his reply had rumbled back.
"I like you Vincent," I always had, I'd realized. Though at that moment, it felt like it was turning into something more...
He'd shifted then, arms tightening slightly, he'd said softly: "I like you too, Tifa," and then I'd passed out.
I'd found out later that Kara, my hostess had directed Vincent towards my apartment and he'd deposited me in my home and bed before taking over my couch for the night.
He'd left the next morning, only stopping in for a quick visit before his next assignment, he'd said.
And I'd smiled and thanked him for thinking of me. Regretting, more than I was willing to admit to myself both then and now, seeing him go.
Back in the now, my eyes follow him as he shifts in his seat, getting comfortable before becoming acquainted with the drink that I'd sat in front of him.
I smile as he winces on his sip, watching him drink: both loving and hating the bitter concoction.
"You know I'd make you something sweeter, if you'd drink it," I say, the side of my lip rising in a smirk.
He slips an olive from the skewer into his mouth and my gaze hitches on his lips, mouth working at the olive, the slide as it makes its way down. That Vincent Valentine...suredoes know how to work it...
"I like the olives," he says while swirling another into his mouth.
Laughing I say, "I can make you something that tastes better with olives, you know?"
His eye flicker to mine, "Sometimes the reward is sweeter when you have to go through some bitterness to get to it."
I hold his gaze, "Vincent, this is olives, gin and vermouth we're talking about. I'm pretty sure it's all bitter."
He holds out the little skewer to me, the last olive propped precariously on the tip.
Not one to be outdone, I wink at him before moving, my hand softly closing around the outsides of his own, stilling it. My mouth moves in close enough to swirl my tongue around the olive, as I slide it into my mouth, my eyes half-shuttered in unapologetic enjoyment.
Iloveolives.
He watches me closely, eyes sharply focused on the movement of my lips as I move back into my chair.
Vincent clears his throat roughly, "Have you heard from Cloud?" he asks, almost as if to distract himself.
I lean back and my legs prop themselves up on the tip of the chair, I rest my head on my knees, "Yeah. To be honest, I think we should have gone our separate ways ages ago...we're both happier for it."
He eyes me intensely, almost as if he was trying to discern whether or not there was any truth in my words.
I tip my toes forward, nudging his leg with my foot, "Honestly, Vincent. Besides, this way I can try and figure out myself. I kind of feel like I missed out on the opportunity to, well, be me."
He tips his head to the side a bit before saying, "So you're celebrating your new found freedom by going out on blind dates?"
I almost hit him, wanted to hit him hard. "Oh who the hell told you that, I'm going to bloody murder Yuffie! It was her stupid idea anyways!"
He laughs softly at me, "I take it the date went well?"
Groaning loudly I rearrange myself, leaning into him conspiratorially, "You should have seen this guy, Vincent. Total Rico Suave, hot shit, women should just melt at my feet kind of man. Neanderthal doesn't even cover it, I'm pretty sure this guy didn't make it past the soupy pond."
He laughs softly before leaning towards me, fingertips catching the edges of my hair before he brushes it back behind an ear. When had we gotten so close together? My breath caught,why aren't we always this close together?
"You need to learn to say no to people, Tifa," he whispers softly.
I wouldn't say "no" to you, Vincent,my mind helpfully supplies out of nowhere.
My eyes flicker to his wonderfully formed mouth...sinfully full lower lip...
"TIFA!" Comes a screech from the bar and the moment was broken. I smile as I shift upwards, not at all unaware of how his gaze lingers over my body, finally settling on my eyes.
"I'll be right back, Vincent. You'll stay, won't you?"
He'd nods, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back into his chair, "I'll stay."
I flash him what I hope is a brilliant smile and make my way towards the chaos.
I can feel him watching me through the thick of things. All other eyes in the room melted away and I feel like the intensity of that stare was pulling me from my normalcy into something unknown, something frightening, and something exciting. Something inexplicably him.
I wonder if he knows how alluring that intensity is, how hard it is to resist. I don't think he's even aware of the power he has over people, over me. Somehow I think if he were aware of it, that the knowledge would just make him uncomfortable and cause him to withdraw further into himself.
I smile at him between drink orders, and he waves slightly back. He waits patiently while the minutes turn into an hour and finally it's approaching closing time and things have died down to a level where the staff are able to handle things on their own.
I return to my chair, two drinks in hand, (amaretto sour for me, and a repeat performance of the dirty martini for him) hair pulled up in a messy bun by this point, apron damp and sticky with residue from the drinks I'd churned out.
He takes in my dishabille with the grace and courteousness I've grown accustomed to; you'd think I was dressed like a queen the way his eyes watch me.
"What are your plans for tomorrow?" he says while flicking a half-caught paper umbrella from my apron.
I stretch and yawn largely, "Oh, I don't know. Sleep? Work on my bookkeeping, maybe finish an order for the weekend, why?"
"I was wondering if you'd come to dinner with me," he asks quietly.
I think my face shows the shock clearly because he coughs slightly and turns his head to the side a little.
He'sneverinvited me out before, ever. Always he'd show up, we'd visit for a short while (maybe gotten a little drunk and dancy, who's to say?), but it never went any further than that. No dinners, no drinks on the town, just two friends catching up for a few hours before he inevitably left for work again.
"Dinner? What kind of dinner?"
"There's another kind of dinner I'm unaware of?" He remarks lightly, though I could see the...what is it? Insecurity in your eyes, or is it hope?
I punch him lightly in the arm, "I think you know what I mean, Vincent."
The corner of his mouth turns up slightly, and I know he's teasing me back, "No more blind dates, at least?"
I laugh at that comment, "No, I suppose not. So, is that what it is, then? A date?"
He shrugs lightly, "Maybe."
"Maybe," I repeat, "well then. Maybe I'll show up for dinner and maybe I won't, where and what time?"
"Seven thirty at the Blue Chocobo, reservations under: 'Valentine'."
"Rather sure of yourself, aren't you?"
He raises his hand as if to say, well, wouldn't you be, if you were me? And I laugh, my body coming close to his, our knees making soft contact.
"It's salsa night," he says, as if I needed to know.
"So, a short skirt and low cut top and I'll fit right in?"
This time he does smirk and it's positively delicious on that handsome face.That Vincent...
"Wear whatever you can dance the longest in," he says, flicking his wrist to the side and checking the time.
"Have to go?" I ask.
He nods slightly, "I've been up since four thirty this morning, and though Yuffie thinks I don't need any sleep, that isn't really the case," he says, amusement evident in his eyes.
I nod back at him, "Yes, yes, of course. You came in from Kalm, I guess? Where are you staying?"
"That little hotel by the new city centre, what's its name...Oh. Of course, the Meteor Inn."
I snort inelegantly at the name, "People will use anything to make a buck, call me tomorrow when you wake up so we can arrange things?"
Vincent nods before slowly raising his gaze to mine. His eyes take on a fiery intensity and somehow I'm completely captivated; the bar, my crew, everything disappears and it's just him.
Vincent shifts his body forward, leaning into mine. His hand moves upward and slowly his fingers lace themselves in my messy hair, slowly pulling the tie out of my bun, the waves of my hair softly cascading around us both.
His hand lingers there at the back of my neck, slightly swirling themselves within my hair and I almost purr from the contact. He moves closer, his legs softly brushing the length of mine.
My eyes are lidded and I know he's aware of what he's doing, what he's making me feel.Gods,it's been so long since I've had this kind of attention, though I don't think I ever wanted it from anyone else quite like the way I want it from him.
Is this how it's going to be now, Vincent? Laid myself a little too bare, apparently. Though I can't say I really regret the decision to tell you how I feel.
Close, so close, lips hovering near my earlobe. I can feel the soft whisper of his breath against my neck. My is pulse racing, every nerve ending firing rapidly with the anticipation of further contact.
He whispers something then, so soft I can barely hear it.
"What...?" I whisper back, my voice almost completely gone.
"You have..." he started, his hand slowly tracing its way down and along the sensitive points of my neck, "you have..."
"Yes...?" I almost faint from lack of breath.
"...A cherry stem in your hair."
I snap up straight and look at him. He shifts backwards with a slightly smug smirk. I'm pretty sure my eyes are shooting death-rays at him, "Just what the hell do you think that was about, Vincent Valentine?"
He shrugs elegantly, humour evident in his gaze before reaching in to pluck the offending stem from the top of my head.
"See you tomorrow, Tifa," he states simply, while making his way up and out.
I blow him a raspberry; it's not very adult, but all's fair and all that.
He smiles slightly over his shoulder and with a wave and a rush of air he was out the door.
I curl up on my chair and not for the first time and laugh softly.
See you tomorrow too, Vincent.
a/n Reposting of what I have already posted on FFnet, but this edition will have the more explicit OMAKE chapters- squee. So, if you’re looking for a censored read- FFnet, under C.Nicole is where you want to be. Hope you enjoyed this! Thanks for taking the time to read (and hopefully review!)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Property of CNichole 2012- Do not use in whole or in part without the expressed permission of the author~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I just want to be with you...Can I stay?...
One beat away, one beat away, one beat away... from my heart.
You're only one beat away from my heart.
Cicada, One Beat Away
I saw it all ending before he even started. But I've always been a sucker for new experiences. Well, that's not entirely true- I like new experiences and I hate them. It's almost as if my mind can't resolve which side of the issue it wants to belong to, so I'm stuck with the contradiction.
Fact is: the beginning of my story is the end of another. Isn't that how the song goes: every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end? Well, this is the end, my friend.
"I want to break-up," I remember hearing myself say. Though it wasn't for the first time, if I'm being entirely truthful with myself- and I am.
"Ok," I heard him say, as if he wasn't at all surprised, as if he couldn't really be bothered to care one way or the other.
Has he ever cared one way or the other?I wondered.
I have letters from him from years ago that I haven't trashed, though I really should. Love notes, where I'm gonna be notes, thinking of you notes. Six years ago, ages ago, lifetimes ago. He seemed to care then, but is it easier to feign interest when you never see a person? Possibly. Probably.
The road and his job took him away from me and, I think, it also kept us together. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, apparently. I think the togetherness is what killed us.
"So, you can keep the cat," I said. He nodded in agreement, though the cat eventually made its way to Cid and Shera's home.
There were never any children, never will be, as far as I'm concerned. I think it's always been a bone of contention between us, even though he said he never wanted them. I can't help but think he was a liar, that what he said to my face was entirely different than what he said behind my back.
I knew, as he so frequently reminded me, what he was like before I moved in with him. I just didn't think I'd come to regret the whole thing as much as I did.
The entire discussion was painfully ascetic, kind of like our relationship: devoid of pleasure. It ended much like it began, with somewhat of a whimper, not really a bang. All that remained of some long ago promise made on top of an old well.
The stars look so very different today than they did that night. I thought those stars would guide me, shine through my life leading me into an, if not perfect, at least happy existence. How wrong you can be.
So we ended, and here I am- figuring it out. Though, to be honest, it was unfair, both to me and him that I didn't take the time to do thatbeforeI decided to be in a relationship.
Him and I, we're just products of this new world where we all need to be instantly gratified and when we inevitably aren't our minds can't process the disappointment. Though six yearsisa long time, honestly, if I don't say so- lasted longer than most people stay married these days.
Good job, pat on the back and all that, we've just grown apart, etc, etc. I'm so glad our conversation was completely devoid of those kinds of sentiments. Simple, to the point. Done.
And it ended. I moved out, door closed, moving on.
So here I am, sitting on this fucking date, with this asshole who I can't handle, because my friends hate seeing me alone. How am I always getting dragged into situations like this? I've gotten better at saying no, really I have, but I just can't stand to hurt another person's feelings.
Well. Except Cloud. I was fuckingprofessionalat that.
"C'mon, Teef," Yuffie'd said with a friendly jab to the arm, "he's really cute and pretty loaded and I hear he has a HUGE-"
"YUFFIE!" I'd said, outraged.
"Well, that's just what I hear! Pertinent information is what I have- wouldn't want ya bitching later when you found out that he was lame in the-"
"Yuffie."
"Okay, okay," she huffed, "just do it for me, I promise you'll have a good time with this one!"
"Unlike the last two? Who you assured me were the most amazing, awesome, god-like beings of men?"
"Yah, well," she'd shrugged, "can't always be right, can I?"
And so here I am. Not like I could actually tell Yuffie who Ireallywish I was going out on a date with or anything. Oh gods, I'd never give her ammunition likethat.
Here and now and I'm having trouble keeping focused, rather, I'm having trouble convincing myselfwhyI should be focused on this man.
He eats like a cow. An honest to god cow. Scraping his plate, (seriously,you need to cut your pasta?) slopping around, food flying. Imfuckingpressive. I definitely want to have sex with you and proliferate our species.
"Yuffie tells me you're into that martial arts stuff," he says, mid chew. Gods. If there's one thing I hate, it's someone who uses the phrase "martial arts stuff."
"I am assuming you mean my karate?" I reply.
He ignores me and continues with his apparently unstoppable train of thought, "I gotta say, I used to be pretty into that stuff myself when I was younger. Took some classes, had some friends who went pro..." he says, apparently proud of his link to fame and fortune.
Oh yeah, one class in MMA and you're a true believer, baby. My phone rings and I answer it at the table, signaling a stop in, what I guess you could call, conversation.
I really hate when people do that kind of thing- answer the phone at the table, I mean. It's infinitely rude, but considering I'm having the equivalent of an aneurism as far as enjoyment goes, I ignore my rule this one time.
"Hi honey, yeah sure, what's up?"
He's staring at my breasts as I talk, not that it offends me, but I can definitely follow his current train of thought.
So not going anywhere near there, buddy.
"Oh, of course, of course. Ten minutes? You got it sweetie. Okay, bye." The phone ringing is a diversion; I've set my alarm to go off thirty minutes into the date so that I don't have to sit through anything unbearable for too long.
Glad I'm a planner.
I make an approximation of an apologetic smile, "Sorry, emergency. Gotta go," I say while moving my chair back and making my way into a standing position.
I fumble through my purse, retrieve forty bucks and drop it on the table. Heaven forbid this guy be able to say I owe him anything.
His face has gone somewhat red now and he looks angry. It is rude, what I'm doing, absolutely. But, honestly, if he had any sense at all he'd be relieved that this evening is coming to a close.
Evidently he had been anticipating a night cap, sloppy kisses, embarrassingly inadequate sex and an awkward goodbye in the morning. Sorry hon, another night and definitely another girl.
"Well, fuck," he says.
Indeed, "Yeah, you know. It happens; her car broke down and she needs a lift, can't leave a friend in a lurch, so we'll be seeing ya."
He's sputtering as I make a hasty retreat. Sorry Carl...Cary...umm, whatever. And really, I'm not sorry, just relieved.
Thank the gods I took my own car there. Keys jingle in the ignition and I make my way towards the bar. My bar. Yeah, I know; I have a hard time keeping the past from repeating itself.
It'd seemed like a good idea at the time- I'd always been great at serving, and I was a hell of a manager back at Seventh Heaven.
And so the bar had been reborn. A grant from Reeve had made it all possible and once word got out that the plucky little fighter from Nibelheim was opening another bar, well, let's just says I've never had to spend much on advertising.
Lost it all, almost lost it all again, but I guess I have my fifteen minutes as compensation.
And the apartment I've been renting, after the necessity of a new home had arisen, is almost kitty-corner to the bar, so at least I don't have far to go after work.
I park around back and make my way through the dimly-lit alley. Dimly-lit because I hadn't had time to replace the burnt out lights in the back as of yet. Add it to the list...number 10006 or so.
So I fumble around in the dark, not for the first time this week, with my keys and let myself in. The alarm beeps at the back door and I punch the code in to deactivate it.
Vicky pokes her head around from the kitchen, "Shit, Tifa. This one lasted almost forty-five minutes! You're getting better at these."
I smile back at her, "Oh lord, Vic, this one was a real winner. Let me tell you."
She waves me off, "No time, hon. Major eye-candy made his way into the bar tonight, and I'm dead set on getting his number," and with that she makes her way back into the kitchen- into the mess of things.
I let out a huge sigh, the stress of the evening releasing and settling into something comfortable, something familiar, and make my way towards the front of the bar. Thank the gods for this place; I'd always been good at diving into work to avoid the uncertainty and frustrations of my life and with the breakup things had been no different.
Six years.Six fucking years.And all I got was this lousy t-shirt. Ok, so maybe not a t-shirt, but a headache and some bittersweet memories. I guess live and learn and move on.
My fingers trail along the wood-lined walls that lead up to the front of the bar, and I let the ambiance and mood sink into me, switching my feelings from frustrated and annoyed to happy and mostly content.
A chorus of voices takes up my name as I enter my bar. I grin at them all, wave, hug. Oh yes, this is where I want to be. It may not be perfect, but it sure is mine.
Grabbing a black apron from the side of the counter and hitching it around myself, I make my way onto the sticky rubber mats lining the front counter to help with drink orders.
Oh, I am completely useless in the kitchen, but give me some Amaretto and lime juice and baby, I'll give you a good time.
The orders come fast and furious, as I'm used to, and soon I'm in my element. So in my element, in fact, that I neglect to notice that the "major eye-candy" that Vicky had been talking about was, in fact, a rather well-known friend.
I blink over towards the corner where he's sitting, currently being fawned on by a completely clueless Vicky, who is blundering through some conversation in the hopes of garnering a positive reception from the almost-always-stoic Vincent Valentine.
I do have to give the girl some credit though;he issome incredible eye-candy. Especially since he's ditched the cape and leather in favour of smart button-downs and slacks.
Even his hair had been trimmed to a more manageable length and tonight it had been slicked back and neatly gathered at his neck. Tall, dark and handsome fit Vincent to a T.Oh yeah. That Vincent Valentine, sure knows how to work it.
I smirk, oh, no-more than smirk, it's a full-fledged grin and I let him suffer a bit before swaggering over with a drink in hand (dirty martini- extra olives, gods, Vincent, sometimes you act so old). I deposit the drink on his table and lean in, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek.
"You should have called," I say simply.
He smiles slightly up at me, "And ruin the element of surprise? Never."
Grabbing Vicky around the waist I make with the introductions: "Vincent, this is my new, amazing, wonderful, lovely Vicky. Vicky, this is my friend Vincent Valentine, who has a terrible tendency to pop in and out of my life at the most opportune and inopportune moments."
His eyebrow raises at me as Vicky, thoroughly disheartened to find that her object of interest did, in fact, belong to her boss, (now didn't Iwishhe belonged to me) makes some excuses and finds her way towards the bar.
"I don't recall ever leaving inopportunely," he says; his voice rumbling; I have to focus on his words and not the timbre to keep from being distracted by how they sound.
Smiling, I poke him in the chest, "Vincent, any time you leave is completely inopportune. How the hell are we all supposed to keep tabs on you if you keep disappearing all the time?" We've had this conversation before and we both know his work is what keeps him on such a random schedule.
I watch as Vincent gets up out of his chair and makes his way towards the empty one to his right; he pulls it out and motions for me to take a seat. Vincent Valentine, always the gentleman.
I run my hand softly down his arm as I take my seat and I smile broadly up at him, "Not your lap, this time?"
I have the distinct pleasure of seeing Vincent Valentine turn a delightful shade of red as he coughs slightly before sitting down.
Oh, I've not forgotten. Has he? The look on his face tells me he hasn't; what have you been thinking of Vincent Valentine?
Have we been sharing dreams lately? I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours...
Of course, I was referring to thelast timehe'd come and visited me, exactly six months since Cloud and I had separated.
It'd been a particularly stressful day, which I'd capped off with a nice round of drinks for myself, crew and a few hangers–on and friends. Well, nice round was putting it mildly, nice round or six was more accurate and Vincent had chosen that night to knock on my door for a visit.
Vincent and I had kept in touch, since it all ended, the end of the world that is- the second time around. Actually, strangely enough, he'd kept in touch with all of us in his own subtle way.
If we weren't friends at the beginning of it all, we certainly were now. It's strange to come to the realization that you appreciate someone and want them around, when for so long you've taken for granted that they'd always be there.
I'd peeked through the haphazard cover I'd thrown on the door and found him standing there. Throwing open the door, rather violently, I'd miraculously caught him somewhat off guard.
What happened next had been even more surprising, to both him and me: I'd launched myself into the air, sailing into his arms with a high-pitched squeal and landed a sloppy, messy, horrible kiss on his lovely, pale cheek.
He'd actually taken it in good humour, much to my surprise when I'd recollected at a later, less inebriated date.
"Hello Tifa," he'd said.
"Hello Vincent!" I'd replied, my lips catching on the syllables of his name. And he'd ushered me into the closed bar, back into the staff-party.
And he'd come with. Danced with. Drank with. Smiled with me. It'd had been glorious, truly one of the best evenings I'd had in a long time. And coming at the end of such a shitty night it had been more than welcome.
I didn't know he danced, and he dances wondrously. It felt like he was meant to be moving in that rhythm; I can't imagine how he moves any other way, he's so natural on the dance floor. I said as much to him.
A secret smile crosses his lips, "I was a Turk, Tifa. We had to be prepared for any situation. And aside from that, I had a particularly demanding mother who insisted I be able to handle myself on the dance floor."
He spun me in what I'm sure looked like a ridiculous pirouette, but somehow he made my movements graceful, even in my drunken state. Now, I'm no slouch on the dance floor, but I've had better nights where I definitely drank less and definitely danced better.
He pulled me close and I was aware of the points at which our bodies were touching: his hand, low on my back, our hips slightly sliding and parting, hands clasped firmly.
For reasons I wasn't entirely comfortable with acknowledging, my heartbeat raised and my stomach did little flips; have I ever really seen you, Vincent Valentine?
He'd moved my inebriated body into a low dip, the room spins and it wasn't just from the alcohol. Slowly he slid me vertical again, his body a long caress against my own. I shivered.
For a moment, I think I caught him enjoying the dance as much as I was, his eyes closed with the pleasure of the moment.
"Somehow I don't think your mother taught you to dance quite like this," I said, a little unsteady on my feet.
The dance brings us close again, "Some things you have to perfect on your own," he murmured, lips softly caressing the edges of my ear.
Somehow one dance had blurred into seven...ten...and I lost count.
I'd ended the night in his lap. Don't ask me how I got there, I honestly don't remember. What I do remember, though, is how perfectly my head fit in the contours of his shoulder, how wonderfully he smelled, how his soft touch circled the skin of my leg.
"Vincent...?" I'd murmured into his neck, my hand softly clinging to the soft fabric of his shirt.
"Tifa?" his reply had rumbled back.
"I like you Vincent," I always had, I'd realized. Though at that moment, it felt like it was turning into something more...
He'd shifted then, arms tightening slightly, he'd said softly: "I like you too, Tifa," and then I'd passed out.
I'd found out later that Kara, my hostess had directed Vincent towards my apartment and he'd deposited me in my home and bed before taking over my couch for the night.
He'd left the next morning, only stopping in for a quick visit before his next assignment, he'd said.
And I'd smiled and thanked him for thinking of me. Regretting, more than I was willing to admit to myself both then and now, seeing him go.
Back in the now, my eyes follow him as he shifts in his seat, getting comfortable before becoming acquainted with the drink that I'd sat in front of him.
I smile as he winces on his sip, watching him drink: both loving and hating the bitter concoction.
"You know I'd make you something sweeter, if you'd drink it," I say, the side of my lip rising in a smirk.
He slips an olive from the skewer into his mouth and my gaze hitches on his lips, mouth working at the olive, the slide as it makes its way down. That Vincent Valentine...suredoes know how to work it...
"I like the olives," he says while swirling another into his mouth.
Laughing I say, "I can make you something that tastes better with olives, you know?"
His eye flicker to mine, "Sometimes the reward is sweeter when you have to go through some bitterness to get to it."
I hold his gaze, "Vincent, this is olives, gin and vermouth we're talking about. I'm pretty sure it's all bitter."
He holds out the little skewer to me, the last olive propped precariously on the tip.
Not one to be outdone, I wink at him before moving, my hand softly closing around the outsides of his own, stilling it. My mouth moves in close enough to swirl my tongue around the olive, as I slide it into my mouth, my eyes half-shuttered in unapologetic enjoyment.
Iloveolives.
He watches me closely, eyes sharply focused on the movement of my lips as I move back into my chair.
Vincent clears his throat roughly, "Have you heard from Cloud?" he asks, almost as if to distract himself.
I lean back and my legs prop themselves up on the tip of the chair, I rest my head on my knees, "Yeah. To be honest, I think we should have gone our separate ways ages ago...we're both happier for it."
He eyes me intensely, almost as if he was trying to discern whether or not there was any truth in my words.
I tip my toes forward, nudging his leg with my foot, "Honestly, Vincent. Besides, this way I can try and figure out myself. I kind of feel like I missed out on the opportunity to, well, be me."
He tips his head to the side a bit before saying, "So you're celebrating your new found freedom by going out on blind dates?"
I almost hit him, wanted to hit him hard. "Oh who the hell told you that, I'm going to bloody murder Yuffie! It was her stupid idea anyways!"
He laughs softly at me, "I take it the date went well?"
Groaning loudly I rearrange myself, leaning into him conspiratorially, "You should have seen this guy, Vincent. Total Rico Suave, hot shit, women should just melt at my feet kind of man. Neanderthal doesn't even cover it, I'm pretty sure this guy didn't make it past the soupy pond."
He laughs softly before leaning towards me, fingertips catching the edges of my hair before he brushes it back behind an ear. When had we gotten so close together? My breath caught,why aren't we always this close together?
"You need to learn to say no to people, Tifa," he whispers softly.
I wouldn't say "no" to you, Vincent,my mind helpfully supplies out of nowhere.
My eyes flicker to his wonderfully formed mouth...sinfully full lower lip...
"TIFA!" Comes a screech from the bar and the moment was broken. I smile as I shift upwards, not at all unaware of how his gaze lingers over my body, finally settling on my eyes.
"I'll be right back, Vincent. You'll stay, won't you?"
He'd nods, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back into his chair, "I'll stay."
I flash him what I hope is a brilliant smile and make my way towards the chaos.
I can feel him watching me through the thick of things. All other eyes in the room melted away and I feel like the intensity of that stare was pulling me from my normalcy into something unknown, something frightening, and something exciting. Something inexplicably him.
I wonder if he knows how alluring that intensity is, how hard it is to resist. I don't think he's even aware of the power he has over people, over me. Somehow I think if he were aware of it, that the knowledge would just make him uncomfortable and cause him to withdraw further into himself.
I smile at him between drink orders, and he waves slightly back. He waits patiently while the minutes turn into an hour and finally it's approaching closing time and things have died down to a level where the staff are able to handle things on their own.
I return to my chair, two drinks in hand, (amaretto sour for me, and a repeat performance of the dirty martini for him) hair pulled up in a messy bun by this point, apron damp and sticky with residue from the drinks I'd churned out.
He takes in my dishabille with the grace and courteousness I've grown accustomed to; you'd think I was dressed like a queen the way his eyes watch me.
"What are your plans for tomorrow?" he says while flicking a half-caught paper umbrella from my apron.
I stretch and yawn largely, "Oh, I don't know. Sleep? Work on my bookkeeping, maybe finish an order for the weekend, why?"
"I was wondering if you'd come to dinner with me," he asks quietly.
I think my face shows the shock clearly because he coughs slightly and turns his head to the side a little.
He'sneverinvited me out before, ever. Always he'd show up, we'd visit for a short while (maybe gotten a little drunk and dancy, who's to say?), but it never went any further than that. No dinners, no drinks on the town, just two friends catching up for a few hours before he inevitably left for work again.
"Dinner? What kind of dinner?"
"There's another kind of dinner I'm unaware of?" He remarks lightly, though I could see the...what is it? Insecurity in your eyes, or is it hope?
I punch him lightly in the arm, "I think you know what I mean, Vincent."
The corner of his mouth turns up slightly, and I know he's teasing me back, "No more blind dates, at least?"
I laugh at that comment, "No, I suppose not. So, is that what it is, then? A date?"
He shrugs lightly, "Maybe."
"Maybe," I repeat, "well then. Maybe I'll show up for dinner and maybe I won't, where and what time?"
"Seven thirty at the Blue Chocobo, reservations under: 'Valentine'."
"Rather sure of yourself, aren't you?"
He raises his hand as if to say, well, wouldn't you be, if you were me? And I laugh, my body coming close to his, our knees making soft contact.
"It's salsa night," he says, as if I needed to know.
"So, a short skirt and low cut top and I'll fit right in?"
This time he does smirk and it's positively delicious on that handsome face.That Vincent...
"Wear whatever you can dance the longest in," he says, flicking his wrist to the side and checking the time.
"Have to go?" I ask.
He nods slightly, "I've been up since four thirty this morning, and though Yuffie thinks I don't need any sleep, that isn't really the case," he says, amusement evident in his eyes.
I nod back at him, "Yes, yes, of course. You came in from Kalm, I guess? Where are you staying?"
"That little hotel by the new city centre, what's its name...Oh. Of course, the Meteor Inn."
I snort inelegantly at the name, "People will use anything to make a buck, call me tomorrow when you wake up so we can arrange things?"
Vincent nods before slowly raising his gaze to mine. His eyes take on a fiery intensity and somehow I'm completely captivated; the bar, my crew, everything disappears and it's just him.
Vincent shifts his body forward, leaning into mine. His hand moves upward and slowly his fingers lace themselves in my messy hair, slowly pulling the tie out of my bun, the waves of my hair softly cascading around us both.
His hand lingers there at the back of my neck, slightly swirling themselves within my hair and I almost purr from the contact. He moves closer, his legs softly brushing the length of mine.
My eyes are lidded and I know he's aware of what he's doing, what he's making me feel.Gods,it's been so long since I've had this kind of attention, though I don't think I ever wanted it from anyone else quite like the way I want it from him.
Is this how it's going to be now, Vincent? Laid myself a little too bare, apparently. Though I can't say I really regret the decision to tell you how I feel.
Close, so close, lips hovering near my earlobe. I can feel the soft whisper of his breath against my neck. My is pulse racing, every nerve ending firing rapidly with the anticipation of further contact.
He whispers something then, so soft I can barely hear it.
"What...?" I whisper back, my voice almost completely gone.
"You have..." he started, his hand slowly tracing its way down and along the sensitive points of my neck, "you have..."
"Yes...?" I almost faint from lack of breath.
"...A cherry stem in your hair."
I snap up straight and look at him. He shifts backwards with a slightly smug smirk. I'm pretty sure my eyes are shooting death-rays at him, "Just what the hell do you think that was about, Vincent Valentine?"
He shrugs elegantly, humour evident in his gaze before reaching in to pluck the offending stem from the top of my head.
"See you tomorrow, Tifa," he states simply, while making his way up and out.
I blow him a raspberry; it's not very adult, but all's fair and all that.
He smiles slightly over his shoulder and with a wave and a rush of air he was out the door.
I curl up on my chair and not for the first time and laugh softly.
See you tomorrow too, Vincent.
a/n Reposting of what I have already posted on FFnet, but this edition will have the more explicit OMAKE chapters- squee. So, if you’re looking for a censored read- FFnet, under C.Nicole is where you want to be. Hope you enjoyed this! Thanks for taking the time to read (and hopefully review!)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Property of CNichole 2012- Do not use in whole or in part without the expressed permission of the author~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~