Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.
Destination: Reunion
by: thelittletree
(No point to this, exactly. At least, not yet. I have an idea of where I want it to go. Let's see if it goes that way. Based, of course, on the Vin/Tifa relationship established in my previous fics. Once I'm wearing something that fits, I wear it thin, baby!)
'Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of the resurrection.' -- Arthur Schopenhauer (1788–1860), German philosopher
* * *
Nervous, Tifa realized as the small evidences she'd been chewing away at suddenly fell into place. He was nervous. And she felt a pang of sympathy even as she smothered a smile. Glanced at him again out of the corner of her eye, and gracefully accepted the absorbed distraction that made him oblivious to her gaze.
Vincent-nervous didn't look all that different from Vincent-bored, she mused. Or Vincent-impatient. Or even Vincent-happy. He wasn't fidgeting; he wasn't looking around idly or tapping his feet -- to any unfamiliar observer, he was giving no indication that he might be feeling anything beyond the inevitably composed and focused expression on his face.
But his mouth was pressed into a very thin line, and his palm was sweating. And though there was no obvious indication of restlessness, there was a certain twitch that went through his fingers sometimes -- something she knew through experience meant he was craving the tension-hungry surge of a cigarette.
A quick glance around the room, over and between the sea of strangers, to make sure they still had a moment, and she gave his hand an appreciative squeeze.
"You okay?"
He stirred a little and took a breath. Continued to stare across the room. "I'm fine."
A lie, of course, but she let it go. Leaned into his arm a fraction. "Thanks again, for coming."
No visible reaction, but she could almost mimic his response. "I couldn't very well let you go alone."
And that was a can of worms all by itself. But Tifa left it go, too, for the moment, in favour of trying to lighten the atmosphere. Shook his arm a little and grinned. "You sure you don't want to drink tonight?"
He finally glanced at her from where he'd been gazing into the distance, his eyes narrowing a little. Customarily somewhere between annoyed and amused at her teasing, and she continued grinning with the satisfaction of having broken through the first layer of his funk. "I said I wouldn't. I'm not going to."
"All right." She squeezed his hand again. "If I were you, though, I would get rid of your 'itch' before we have to make any conversation."
She'd felt his cigarettes in his pocket earlier, accidentally too close and nearly sitting on him as they'd tried to adjust into a taxi.
Expecting a sigh at having been discovered -- he who had promised to quit, for the baby's sake -- Tifa was sent questing around the room with her eyes as Vincent lifted his head a little, abruptly and uncharacteristically distracted.
"You see her?"
"There." He said the word quickly, and she couldn't help but notice his tone. Strained, maybe a little anxious. "To the left, under the gold awning."
She craned upward, searching for the familiar eyes, large and darting wide, over the trembling child-grin that had always seemed to characterize the youngest of their group. Spotted her. Waved, before she even realized she was waving.
"Yuffie!"
The girl turned, her face alight with the suddenness of recognition. "Tifa?" Even from a distance she looked taller, firmer, longer somehow, as if she might've finally started growing into the bursting exuberance of spirit that had always seemed to fuel her mischief. But her stride was the same -- abrupt and unforgiving as she shouldered for space through the crowd -- making her way to stand in front of her two old comrades.
And she didn't say anything for a moment, just grinning fit to light the room. And Tifa had the impression she was waiting for some kind of approval. Quickly, she tried to take note of all of the differences, wondering where a compliment would be proper.
"Oh, Yuffie." She smiled, not quite sure how the younger woman remembered her, and not sure how much Barret might've told her. "Look at your muscles!"
The grin, if possible, flashed wider, and Tifa had a peculiar notion that she'd just passed some kind of test. As if Yuffie might've been waiting for some indication of the old intimacy.
"Yeah, I've been training. You should see all of the materia I have. Most of it's mastered. But, you know, that's really not the point any more." Another flash of her grin. "Didn't think I'd ever be admitting that."
She didn't have to say it. Tifa could see the flame of something familiar in Yuffie's expression. Maybe it was her father, or some new tutor. Someone she was trying to prove herself to. Tifa had seen the look in her own mirror often enough after years of coming home, sweat-drenched, from Zangan's backyard. Someone had finally managed to tap into all of that energy, teaching the young Kisaragi the addictive power of harnessing it.
Ready with some appropriate social platitude, trying to remember the ease that had once existed, Tifa was surprised when Yuffie continued with no idea of awkwardness. "Ye Gods, Barret told me you were pregnant, but I didn't expect you to be so..." She opened her arms a little around her own inevitably narrow abdomen and seemed to lose the words, as if the gain of years had also lost her some of her tactless vocabulary.
And then her eyes slid upward to Vincent's face, like he might've said something.
None of them, Tifa suddenly remembered with a pang of clumsy regret, had ever really figured out how to address Vincent. Back then, non-action had kind of become their answer to him, since he'd always seemed to fade into the background on his own. But right now, of course, he was very visible. For the first time, obviously more than the shadow they'd always taken him for. Holding her hand; and she with her belly -- Tifa recognized with a kind of unpolished pride that she was the contradiction to his character.
And Yuffie seemed to be realizing it, too, in some stiffening embarrassment. Belatedly aware that she had made no conversational provision for this moment, Tifa struggled for some words to break the heavy silence.
But Yuffie, very unlike a child, faced the situation head-on without a bumbling excuse or an apology.
"You cut your hair, Vincent."
One of Vincent's eyebrows twitched. Caught off-guard, Tifa interpreted automatically, by the non-sequiter.
They had cut his hair, she recalled. Weeks ago, just to get rid of the loose ends. About six inches, all told.
"It looks good."
And it did. She'd thought so, both privately and audibly, a number of times. Glanced at Vincent to see what he would say, and then watched him blink, looking suddenly lost for words. Squeezed his hand, wanting to encourage him, somehow, to move beyond what had always been holding him back.
He swallowed and licked his lips quickly as if he might've been trying to relax his guard, to accept a consequence he'd probably been wrestling with since he'd agreed to go with her. Finally inclined his head slightly. "Thank you."
And Tifa smiled, feeling absurdly grateful.
Yuffie smiled, too, a peculiar kind of eager victory in her expression. "Tifa cut it?"
It was like watching a statue start to soften into semi-fluid life, she thought.
"Yes. Tifa cut it."
And Yuffie glanced at her, a selflessly satisfied look in her eyes. No longer a child; old enough to realize the value of change. "Good job, Tifa," she commented casually, as if they might still be talking about the hair cut.
And, suddenly reminded of the constant and subtle support of Lily, Tifa felt the prick of tears behind her smile. "It took practice."
"That kind of thing does." And something told her that Godo was probably getting belated lessons on how to raise his daughter.
There was a crackle of static, and a somewhat garbled announcement broadcast the arrival of a train headed for all points west. Yuffie grinned and clapped suddenly, and the moment was broken. "That's us. Let's go." She turned without a pause and headed back through the moving crowd.
And Tifa knew she would search Yuffie out again, to talk to the woman the child had become. It seemed they had more in common now than simple training. And no sharp edges of an untried love triangle, this time, to have to beware of.
Destination: Reunion
by: thelittletree
(No point to this, exactly. At least, not yet. I have an idea of where I want it to go. Let's see if it goes that way. Based, of course, on the Vin/Tifa relationship established in my previous fics. Once I'm wearing something that fits, I wear it thin, baby!)
'Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of the resurrection.' -- Arthur Schopenhauer (1788–1860), German philosopher
* * *
Nervous, Tifa realized as the small evidences she'd been chewing away at suddenly fell into place. He was nervous. And she felt a pang of sympathy even as she smothered a smile. Glanced at him again out of the corner of her eye, and gracefully accepted the absorbed distraction that made him oblivious to her gaze.
Vincent-nervous didn't look all that different from Vincent-bored, she mused. Or Vincent-impatient. Or even Vincent-happy. He wasn't fidgeting; he wasn't looking around idly or tapping his feet -- to any unfamiliar observer, he was giving no indication that he might be feeling anything beyond the inevitably composed and focused expression on his face.
But his mouth was pressed into a very thin line, and his palm was sweating. And though there was no obvious indication of restlessness, there was a certain twitch that went through his fingers sometimes -- something she knew through experience meant he was craving the tension-hungry surge of a cigarette.
A quick glance around the room, over and between the sea of strangers, to make sure they still had a moment, and she gave his hand an appreciative squeeze.
"You okay?"
He stirred a little and took a breath. Continued to stare across the room. "I'm fine."
A lie, of course, but she let it go. Leaned into his arm a fraction. "Thanks again, for coming."
No visible reaction, but she could almost mimic his response. "I couldn't very well let you go alone."
And that was a can of worms all by itself. But Tifa left it go, too, for the moment, in favour of trying to lighten the atmosphere. Shook his arm a little and grinned. "You sure you don't want to drink tonight?"
He finally glanced at her from where he'd been gazing into the distance, his eyes narrowing a little. Customarily somewhere between annoyed and amused at her teasing, and she continued grinning with the satisfaction of having broken through the first layer of his funk. "I said I wouldn't. I'm not going to."
"All right." She squeezed his hand again. "If I were you, though, I would get rid of your 'itch' before we have to make any conversation."
She'd felt his cigarettes in his pocket earlier, accidentally too close and nearly sitting on him as they'd tried to adjust into a taxi.
Expecting a sigh at having been discovered -- he who had promised to quit, for the baby's sake -- Tifa was sent questing around the room with her eyes as Vincent lifted his head a little, abruptly and uncharacteristically distracted.
"You see her?"
"There." He said the word quickly, and she couldn't help but notice his tone. Strained, maybe a little anxious. "To the left, under the gold awning."
She craned upward, searching for the familiar eyes, large and darting wide, over the trembling child-grin that had always seemed to characterize the youngest of their group. Spotted her. Waved, before she even realized she was waving.
"Yuffie!"
The girl turned, her face alight with the suddenness of recognition. "Tifa?" Even from a distance she looked taller, firmer, longer somehow, as if she might've finally started growing into the bursting exuberance of spirit that had always seemed to fuel her mischief. But her stride was the same -- abrupt and unforgiving as she shouldered for space through the crowd -- making her way to stand in front of her two old comrades.
And she didn't say anything for a moment, just grinning fit to light the room. And Tifa had the impression she was waiting for some kind of approval. Quickly, she tried to take note of all of the differences, wondering where a compliment would be proper.
"Oh, Yuffie." She smiled, not quite sure how the younger woman remembered her, and not sure how much Barret might've told her. "Look at your muscles!"
The grin, if possible, flashed wider, and Tifa had a peculiar notion that she'd just passed some kind of test. As if Yuffie might've been waiting for some indication of the old intimacy.
"Yeah, I've been training. You should see all of the materia I have. Most of it's mastered. But, you know, that's really not the point any more." Another flash of her grin. "Didn't think I'd ever be admitting that."
She didn't have to say it. Tifa could see the flame of something familiar in Yuffie's expression. Maybe it was her father, or some new tutor. Someone she was trying to prove herself to. Tifa had seen the look in her own mirror often enough after years of coming home, sweat-drenched, from Zangan's backyard. Someone had finally managed to tap into all of that energy, teaching the young Kisaragi the addictive power of harnessing it.
Ready with some appropriate social platitude, trying to remember the ease that had once existed, Tifa was surprised when Yuffie continued with no idea of awkwardness. "Ye Gods, Barret told me you were pregnant, but I didn't expect you to be so..." She opened her arms a little around her own inevitably narrow abdomen and seemed to lose the words, as if the gain of years had also lost her some of her tactless vocabulary.
And then her eyes slid upward to Vincent's face, like he might've said something.
None of them, Tifa suddenly remembered with a pang of clumsy regret, had ever really figured out how to address Vincent. Back then, non-action had kind of become their answer to him, since he'd always seemed to fade into the background on his own. But right now, of course, he was very visible. For the first time, obviously more than the shadow they'd always taken him for. Holding her hand; and she with her belly -- Tifa recognized with a kind of unpolished pride that she was the contradiction to his character.
And Yuffie seemed to be realizing it, too, in some stiffening embarrassment. Belatedly aware that she had made no conversational provision for this moment, Tifa struggled for some words to break the heavy silence.
But Yuffie, very unlike a child, faced the situation head-on without a bumbling excuse or an apology.
"You cut your hair, Vincent."
One of Vincent's eyebrows twitched. Caught off-guard, Tifa interpreted automatically, by the non-sequiter.
They had cut his hair, she recalled. Weeks ago, just to get rid of the loose ends. About six inches, all told.
"It looks good."
And it did. She'd thought so, both privately and audibly, a number of times. Glanced at Vincent to see what he would say, and then watched him blink, looking suddenly lost for words. Squeezed his hand, wanting to encourage him, somehow, to move beyond what had always been holding him back.
He swallowed and licked his lips quickly as if he might've been trying to relax his guard, to accept a consequence he'd probably been wrestling with since he'd agreed to go with her. Finally inclined his head slightly. "Thank you."
And Tifa smiled, feeling absurdly grateful.
Yuffie smiled, too, a peculiar kind of eager victory in her expression. "Tifa cut it?"
It was like watching a statue start to soften into semi-fluid life, she thought.
"Yes. Tifa cut it."
And Yuffie glanced at her, a selflessly satisfied look in her eyes. No longer a child; old enough to realize the value of change. "Good job, Tifa," she commented casually, as if they might still be talking about the hair cut.
And, suddenly reminded of the constant and subtle support of Lily, Tifa felt the prick of tears behind her smile. "It took practice."
"That kind of thing does." And something told her that Godo was probably getting belated lessons on how to raise his daughter.
There was a crackle of static, and a somewhat garbled announcement broadcast the arrival of a train headed for all points west. Yuffie grinned and clapped suddenly, and the moment was broken. "That's us. Let's go." She turned without a pause and headed back through the moving crowd.
And Tifa knew she would search Yuffie out again, to talk to the woman the child had become. It seemed they had more in common now than simple training. And no sharp edges of an untried love triangle, this time, to have to beware of.