An Ex-Turk, an Ex-Bartender, and a Blond Walk Into a Bar

Even after living in Nibelheim for three years (going on four now, really) Vincent had somehow forgotten there was a bar in town. So, after finding Lily's note on the kitchen table and walking down side streets for almost half an hour, he had actually had to stop and ask someone for directions. A busy man who hardly had time to glance up had pointed over a shoulder and grunted out, "Two blocks, turn right. Can't miss it."

He couldn't have missed it. It was like a blemish on the side of the road, in-between other more respectable buildings, buzzing with electricity and muffled music and a jumble like a single voice of the uninhibited. He had far outgrown these things, he thought as he shrugged his coat a little closer around him. There had been a time … but he had been young and ignorant about how unsatisfying an escape it really was. Hunting and cards and smoking in small, close company were much better for that sort of thing. At least there you remembered your carefully stockpiled memories the next morning.

The place was dim, the ceiling dotted with multicolored lights in brief, well-spaced lines above the tables. The music was loud, almost loud enough to make him grit his teeth, but he made himself concentrate on looking for two particular shapes among the hunched, shapeless patrons. It was only when an unshaven man, reeking of cognac and accompanied by a young, half-dressed woman nearly collided with him in the doorway that he realized he would have to commit himself one way or the other, in or out, before the search could continue.

He stepped out of the way; neither of them paid him any attention, for which he was grateful, and once they were gone he returned with concealed irritation to his hunt.

"What'll it be?"

He hadn't realized he had gotten so close the bar. "I'm looking for someone."

"You can look and order at the same time. There's a two drink minimum."

Damn. "Two shots of whiskey."

"Coming up."

He took them one right after the other and felt a brief, momentary hatred for the familiar burning in his throat in such a place, when the last time he had taken shots had been in his apartment with …

Well, with Tifa. Who was here, somewhere, with Lily. He was going to put the fear of God, or the devil, into Lily for this.

Of course it would be a table near the front, he realized when he finally spotted a familiar face. Lily was not one to go halfway with anything. If she was going to take Tifa to the bar to get her mind off things, she was going to do it right.

It was a circular table by the stage at the very end of the room. The stage itself was shallow and well-lit to draw the eye, and there was a large monitor to the left, right now just scrolling silently through a series of dramatic pictures. Lily sat alone, her pale hair done up in an untidy chignon for the occasion and she was wearing a sleeveless green dress. He stopped at the back of the chair beside her and glanced around, wondering where …

Lily glanced up after a moment as if he might have done something to catch her eye, not so much surprised as enlightened and amused. "There you are. I was beginning to wonder."

"Where's Tifa?" he asked quietly.

"What?"

He leaned down a little toward her ear. "Where's Tifa?" This time he made sure to pronounce it.

"Bathroom. C'mon, sit down. You're making the minors nervous."

He glanced around again, not sure what he was looking for: a distraction, maybe, something to pull him away, some excuse to leave. But no one was paying attention to him; no one even seemed to have noticed him here. And Lily was so damn reasonable she made him feel like a childish idiot for hesitating.

Fine. He pulled the chair out and lowered himself into it. It was not acquiescence to the plan to sit. It would simply be easier to talk to her this way. "You shouldn't have brought her here."

"I didn't. She brought me."

That took him aback for a moment. Tifa … Tifa had wanted to come here? Why? But then he had a feeling he already knew. "She called him."

It wasn't a question, but Lily nodded and picked up her drink. Something clear, maybe vodka. She took a sip and sighed, twitching her shoulders. So she wasn't as relaxed as she wanted to let on, but Vincent had a feeling she wasn't really trying to pretend. Not with him, at least.

"Did they fight?"

Lily glanced at him. "I left the room to give her some privacy. But she was crying." She shrugged and, looking at the drink in her hand, jostled the ice cubes against the glass. "She told me he was angry, that was all. Angry for her excuses. But, you know, she's lonely and she's half-fighting herself. I know what it's like to go to bed, knowing somewhere inside that it doesn't have to be alone. It's all damn choices."

He wondered if Lily had been drinking for long. The words were like a new rendition of an old conversation, from the side he wasn't supposed to hear, and too close to things she only ever hinted at, always too conscious of time and growth and fear to dig into the heart of the matter. But before he could be tense about it for long, it became obvious that Lily had finished talking. Tifa had come out of the bathroom and was making her way toward the table.

She was grinning. Slightly red-faced, eyes a little glazed with forgetfulness, dressed in something he couldn't quite make himself look at for long. It was black, he realized, and those parts that weren't black were made up of her skin, like that shoulder, and that mid-drift and that slice of thigh and expanse of legs …

This wasn't one of Lily's dresses. It said all of those things Lily had left behind with the death of her husband; it said ready and available and open for heartbreak if someone would just take her by the hand for a little while. It also made him feel all of those things he was usually able to convince himself weren't worth considering. Because he would take her by the hand only to lead her back home and put some clothes on her and sit her down with some tea and some cards, and maybe some tearful conversation. He was more than willing, if only to make sure what she thought she was looking for tonight didn't find her.

He wanted to say something to Lily. In fact, the look on Lily's face told him she already knew everything he wanted to say. But Tifa was too close now for any conversation on the subject.

"Vincent, I'm glad you came." Her hand was on his, briefly, as if she had meant to put it on the table. He couldn't help the instinctive impulse to twitch away, though he regretted it when her smile faltered. She reached immediately for Lily's drink. When she swallowed, however, she made a face. "This is vodka," she said.

"You finished yours," Lily reminded her. "Want another?"

She nodded distractedly as she put the drink down, nearly spilling it. "Something with rum again. A daiquiri, maybe."

"Sure." Lily turned around and signaled one of the waitresses.

Tifa sat. Her hair was falling into her face. Not that she seemed to notice. Vincent ignored the urge to push it out of the way, even if it meant he couldn't see her eyes. "How many have you had?"

She waved a dismissive hand at him and shook her head. "I'm not sure. This might be five. I guess maybe I should've eaten something before, but … if I'm being honest this is what I wanted. I forgot how nice it is, just to be in the moment. Right now, even the threat of puking doesn't seem very bad." She laughed a little and shoved her hair back with one rough gesture of her hand. Her eyes, he saw, were still glassy. "It's why I brought Lily, don't worry. She's my designated … whatever you want to call it." She laughed again and reached for Lily's drink.

That wasn't what her dress was saying, but he would bet money she had completely lost her sense of physical appearance a drink or two ago. He well-remembered alcoholic stupor, stumbling somewhere on the line between coherent and the moment when the mind slips over into drunk, when talking or laughing or crying becomes the most natural thing in the world. When he could have been someone else, a complete stranger she was talking to.

Not that he didn't trust Lily. But he was glad, suddenly, that he had showed up.

"Ugh, vodka. Where's my drink?"

Lily stood up, smiling a little cynically. "The waitresses are hanging around the rowdy tables. I hope they're making good tips for all of that ass-grabbing. I'm going to the bar."

Lily entered the crowd that seemed to have materialized since he had come in and blended, completely at ease, into the sea of open humanity at its dirtiest. Like plunging her hands into the dirt in her garden, Vincent thought suddenly. And then he tried to remember when he had last eaten. Those two shots of whiskey couldn't have reached his brain already.

"It's stupid, I know. Getting drunk."

He turned around again.

Tifa had an elbow on the table as she cradled her throat in her palm, toying vaguely with the silver hoop in her ear. Her eyes were far from meeting his. The lights above shadowed and shaded some of the hollows in her body, her cheekbones, shoulders and collarbones. She was tired, he could see. Emotionally and physically. Tired of running, tired of trying. Tired and, like a contradiction, young and beautiful. And looking at the road ahead of her without any real hope for anything besides escape.

"I'm just so sick of it all. All of the lies, all of the anger, all of the things he wants that I can't be. He thinks we're sleeping together, you know. You and me." She smirked suddenly, as if it was a joke. But the smile faded as quickly as it had come.

It was the alcohol talking, he decided. She would never have said something like that so candidly. But she still wasn't looking at him, and the sober picture she presented made him uneasy.

"He doesn't believe me when I say we aren't. Tonight … I don't know, something just snapped inside me. I couldn't hear it anymore. I just hung up on him. So he's going to be even madder when he thinks I'm not picking up my phone. And when we finally talk again, when this has blown over, it'll become just another thing he'll bring up the next time we fight. It's so stupid." She moved her hand to rub at her eyes. "I think I'm finally realizing the truth, and it's so hard to accept. I don't think I'm ever going to get back together with him. And … "

She was crying now. And trying to pretend she wasn't crying. Lucid enough, still, to be ashamed about crying over a heartbreak in a bar.

" … and it's going back to the same things as before. I've got sleeping pills in my cabinet, and I'll think, 'If I take them all, I'll just fall asleep … '"

He was almost surprised at how quickly the shock of her words turned into anger. They had talked, she had actually laughed about how she had tried, all of those months ago, to kill herself. As if it had all been some ridiculous dream. And now, here she was, saying these things like it wasn't a big deal, like death was just another possibility for her future. "Tifa, what are you telling me?"

He had grabbed her wrist, he realized belatedly, as if some part of him had felt the need to keep her close, as if she was about to disappear. Her face, when he looked, was full of surprised hurt as she twisted out of his grip.

"Ow, why'd you do that? You really think I'd tell you if I was going to kill myself? Dammit, what's happened to you? You used to just listen!"

Lily returned at that moment with a couple of drinks. Tifa glanced at her, her expression still twisted with angry confusion, before she stood from the table. "Excuse me." She disappeared swiftly from sight around a darkened corner.

Lily put Tifa's daiquiri down in front of her vacated chair and then set a shot of whiskey in front of Vincent. "Here. Got you a drink." She sat down with a grimace. "The bathrooms aren't very clean. She won't stay in there long."

He had stepped in over his head, he was suddenly sure. He wanted to believe she had simply misunderstood him, but her anger had been real beneath the alcohol. His protective impulse had offended her, though he didn't understand why. "She was talking about killing herself, Lily."

Lily seemed suddenly tired. She picked up her drink. "She was talking about her feelings, you numbskull." She took a long swallow and had barely finished grimacing before she was reaching into her coat pocket for her cigarettes. She knocked one into her palm. "She doesn't need you to protect her from herself. You have to let her make mistakes."

Vincent toyed with the shot glass for a moment, debating. And then he let it drop down his throat. It burned.

"Want one?"

He held out his fingers. She slipped a cigarette to him and handed him her lighter once she was done with it.

"She's pushing her way through the shit. She's looking for things to help her, and it's hard-going. You should know." She paused long enough to take a drag, and then blew the smoke into the air. "She needs to test her boundaries. That's all. Don't you two talk anymore? She needs to find out what's left of the old Tifa, now that everything's different."

"There are mistakes that could cost her more than she has."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Lily grinned suddenly and took another drag. "Don't trust me to keep the men in their pants? I'm not blind. I know what she's wearing."

He inhaled off his cigarette and it burned, too. Suddenly, three shots seemed severely insufficient.

"Though they're not all bad. Some of 'em I know. Some of them I would trust."

Desperately insufficient. "She's not ready."

"Look at her dress and say that again."

"She. Is. Not. Ready."

"Not even for a little harmless fun?"

"Lily … " There was something lodged his throat, he thought, strangling the rest of the warning or threat or plea that wanted to come out of his mouth.

"Don't, Vince." Her cigarette was a dark red ring in the dimness, under the colored lights, reflecting in her eyes like a glare of vigilance. No longer his friend more than Tifa's self-appointed guardian. And she would let Tifa have her dangerous fun with hardly more than half an eye on her while Vincent couldn't say what needed to be said.

"But … "

"If you know what's good for you, you'll shut up right now." Her tone was such that he shut his mouth immediately. "You proud, ignorant bastard, you don't even realize." She had moved closer somehow, her voice dropping until it was hardly more than a whisper. "You want to know why she wears that one sleeveless shirt all the time? The one that shows off her biceps?"

He frowned slightly, trying to think what shirt Lily could mean.

"Because you said something about it. Something about the way it looked on her, I don't remember. Now, imagine if you said something about her hair, or her dress, or anything."

He felt as if Lily was shining a light in his eyes; he wanted to push her away, tell her to stop, but the words hung between them like smoke. Oh, he was in way over his head.

"You've got to be damn careful, or leave her alone. She won't thank you later for being a selfish asshole if you try and fit her into your little universe without making the right room for her."

"Strawberry. Right?"

Tifa was slipping back into her chair, looking like she had forgotten all about being angry. Lily sat up with her cigarette, her expression relaxed, faintly smiling even, as if at least one heart wasn't dangling in the balance. "They had that and coconut."

"Good choice." Tifa sat down and took a quick swig of her daiquiri. Vincent tried to meet her eyes for a moment before it became evident that she was purposely avoiding him. He felt Lily pinch his elbow and shrugged away from her. Where the hell had he been while everything had been changing? He was an ignorant bastard. Now there was no way out but forward, one way or the other. Damn, damn, damn.

"May I try your drink?"

It seemed to take Tifa a moment to realize he was talking to her, as if she hadn't expected a friendly word from him for the rest of the night. And then, when she finally met his eyes, she nearly broke into a smile, though some thought seemed to curb her enthusiasm at the last moment. "Daiquiri's a girl's drink, Vincent."

"Says who?" Lily demanded. "Let the man have a sip."

She pushed the curved glass toward him and he lifted it to his lips, as if he were truly curious. And then he feigned concentration. "Two different kinds of rum. Real strawberries."

Tifa was almost laughing. He realized belatedly that there was pink foam on his upper lip. He wiped it away.

"Can I have my alcohol back? I want to keep my buzz."

He pushed it back toward her. "I should go."

Half-drunk, she was like an open book, all masks lost for a moment for those who knew what to look for. He saw her petition for him to stay before she said a word, before she lowered her eyes and swallowed it back down. And he knew Lily was right. He might have been blind all of this time not to have noticed. He was a selfish asshole. Somehow, he had become her world.

"No, stay." Lily bumped her cheek against his shoulder, and he knew he had been forgiven for whatever he had done. "It's open mic night."

All the more reason to go. But he didn't get up. There was a tightness in his stomach that felt suspiciously like anticipation, and it was deceptively pleasant. Maybe it was the whiskey, maybe his foolish old heart, but a part of him wanted another shot of burning distraction and to see how this might play out. Because something hinged on this, and he wasn't sure he could just let it go. Cloud might have been the catalyst, but their old leader wasn't the only reason she had come here tonight.

It was ten o'clock. A couple of men came onto the stage to set up a stool and a microphone in a stand, and when they left another man stepped up carrying an old, well kept guitar. A few people in the crowd cheered and roared. Lily let out a quick whistle that made Tifa cringe and laugh, as if she was trying to avoid attention.

The man hitched himself onto the stool. Vincent thought he was probably in his early thirties, brown-haired. He smiled out from behind his lights and cleared his throat into the microphone.

"My name's Jesse. Most of you know me already. And I know most of you are already drunk." This earned him a few chuckles and his smile turned into a grin of crass familiarity. "But try to listen. I've got a new song tonight. I know for sure it's going to make Dennis back there cry."

The bartender yelled something nasty and there was another ripple of laughter. And then the guitar was suddenly alive with a quick, intricate voice. Soon accompanied by the appropriately light voice of the singer.

"I'm really close tonight
And I feel like I'm moving inside her
Lying in the dark
I think that I'm beginning to know her
Let it go
I'll be there when you call

Whenever I fall at your feet
And you let your tears rain down on me
Whenever I touch your slow turning pain … "

It was impossible not to look at Tifa as she stared into her drink, brooding somewhere between the past and the present and a hundred choices she had yet to really make, a hundred paths that might all equally be mistakes. Eyes half-lidded with drink, with thought, with too much memory. Hair belatedly gathered in a gesture of growing self-consciousness. Earrings somehow completely distracting as they dangled around her throat.

Himself one of those paths, he knew, as of yet undiscarded. A hundred unknown men in this bar right now, unknown hearts, unknown futures. A hundred reasons to want to have some fun, to want to avoid love, to want to fall madly.

"You're hiding from me now
There's something in the way that you're talking
The words don't sound right
But I hear them all moving inside you
Go, I'll be waiting when you call

Whenever I fall at your feet … "

And one very good reason why they didn't talk like they used to. The same very good, very frightening reason he had stayed here tonight. It was the reason he helped her shop for groceries and slept on her couch when she didn't want to be alone and tried to be less of an unfeeling, selfish bastard around her. Not just because Lily could warn or threaten with the best of them.

"The finger of blame has turned upon itself
And I'm more than willing to offer myself
Do you want my presence or need my help?
Who knows where that might lead … "

It seemed to startle Tifa when she noticed his gaze, and he realized he had been staring at her for almost a minute. He fought not to glance away, to pretend he hadn't been looking. It was difficult, especially when he saw the growing questions in her eyes. But then it was all hidden again, as if she was sober, and she smiled a little. It was almost comfortable, like old days.

"I think I want to go home," she said.

"It's probably gotten colder out," Lily warned as she grabbed her jacket. "Told you you should've worn something warmer."

She hadn't cared then, Vincent knew. She had been angry and rash and looking to hurt someone, maybe herself. Before Lily could offer, he slipped out of his own coat and held it out as Tifa stood. Her smile returned, this one not quite so familiar, and she nodded her weary thanks before lowering her eyes and taking it.

This was his place, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. To be here for her, with her, in some way, for as long as she wanted him. It was exactly where he had put himself. And whatever happened, he needed to be ready. It wouldn't be easy, when tomorrow he would want to forget, avoid, ignore. But she needed something from him, at least the promise that he would be there. He wasn't sure how much he could promise, when ninety-nine of those roads might hurt him more than he wanted to believe.

She took his elbow as they shuffled toward the door, and for a moment he thought he felt the brush of her nose or her chin against his arm, perhaps unintentional. A strange and brief flutter of understanding, almost intimacy, flickered across the surface of his mind and he knew he would take her home, wait around until she changed into some comfortably baggy clothing and put her hair up into a messy ponytail. And then they would talk about something ridiculously safe, like her phone call with Cloud, while he made his bed on the couch. He hoped she didn't work in the morning.

And a part of him was terrified that she might not work in the morning.