Be Bold, But Not Too Bold (Vincent/Tifa, NC-17) 2/3

[memoriamvictus]

Title: Be Bold, But Not Too Bold
Characters/Pairing(s): FF7 post-DoC, Vincent/Tifa
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Language, antics, sex.
Notes: For bleuwyn . I hope it proves worth the wait!
Summary: “I mostly abandoned the idea once I'd managed to make you cry,”he admitted, “and finding out you think I'm a pedophile nailed the lid on that mostly shut.”



She scooped the beads up and pocketed them as she rose, leaving Vincent with an awkward nod. As odd as the whole night had been, this was turning out to be a much more pleasant conclusion to it than even she'd predicted. The necklace was a light, tantalizing weight against her hip; that must have been why he'd come, she realized, and with the thought came a tricky mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. He couldn't have known, of course; the appalled look on his face at her outburst had spoken volumes. What had he said? A trinket. And he'd still come all this way to bring it to her. Taken advantage of the layover he'd mentioned, at least. It was still nice.

She found herself wondering how he'd come by it as she shouldered her way into the bathroom. She'd never had the heart to go and see the ruins for herself; the pitying look Yuffie had given her after they'd returned from the Crater, the subdued description of “not good” she'd given in response to Tifa's hopeful inquiries about Sector Seven, had said all that needed to be said. Most of her worldly possessions had been in the tiny basement apartment beneath the bar; her photos, her competition trophies, her father's sheet music... it had seemed better not to dwell on it, and so she had refused to allow herself to.

And now this.

Fresh tears stung the backs of her eyes, and she cursed herself for a fool as she ran the tap and splashed cold water on her face. The man goes this far out of his way-literally!-- to do her a good turn, and she responds by getting depressed and weepy; no wonder he was such a stranger. Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she resolved to do better; truth be told, she was having a lot of fun talking to him, if only for the novelty. She had never imagined being able to tease him without him clamming up and stalking off in response, and she suspected she'd learned more about his emotional state in the last hour or so than she had in all the previous years. Burnishing his shine, indeed. She was happy to help.

She tore off a bit of paper towel and dried her face, examining herself critically in the mirror. She looked... well, she looked as if she'd just washed up after having a bit of a cry. She felt better, anyway. Smiling shyly at herself, she tossed the debris into the wastebasket and headed back out--

--only to nearly crash into the opposing wall as her foot caught on an unseen obstacle. She swayed to her feet, and gritted her teeth in frustration when she saw what had caused it. Someone had decided that hauling the trash bags near the back door was an acceptable substitute for taking them out; four black bags crowded the hallway, and she was only amazed she hadn't tripped over them on her way in.

Peeking around the corner, she thought for a heartstopping moment that Vincent actually had stalked off in response to her crack about Yuffie, but the light gleamed faintly on his hair as he turned his head to inspect the posters behind the bar. The trash would only take a moment, and it would be one less thing to do before bed; he probably wouldn't realize she hadn't simply been in the bathroom.

Feeling guilty, she fisted her hands into the thin plastic and hoisted the bags. Crammed with the napkins, straw wrappers, fruit peels, and other effluvia a tavern generated, they weren't heavy, but they were unwieldy, and she bit off a growl of frustration when one of them snagged on the wall molding. Realizing that Vincent would probably-and quite rightly-be offended if he got the impression she was sneaking off to do chores, she simply let it drop; she could come back and disentangle it when her hands were free.

Dropping the rest of the bags at the back door, she quickly shot the bolts and opened it onto the chill and somewhat fetid pre-dawn alley. The dumpster lid was already open, something else she highly frowned upon, but she couldn't find it in herself to be too irritated as she quickly tossed the bags in. Hurrying quietly back down the hall, she eased the recalcitrant bag free of its mooring and soft-footed her way back to the alley, where she swung it up--

--and froze, dumbfounded, at the sight of the sickly orange flames that had begun to dance along the pile of trash.

The bag dropped from her nerveless fingers as her mind, hazed by alcohol and exhaustion, struggled to make sense of what she was seeing. Instinct kicked in as the first wash of heat hit her; she spun on her heel and pounded back down the hall.

“Tifa?”

“Hang on!” she called distractedly, skidding to a halt beside the waitress gate. She worked desperately at the fittings for a few precious seconds before yanking the fire extinguisher from the wall and charging back to the dumpster. Her hand was already fumbling with the release as she crossed the threshold, and she immediately directed the spray of quelling foam at the burning garbage. It died almost instantly, and she cudgeled her brain for an explanation as she worked the stream back and forth: a smoldering cigarette butt? Wouldn't it have happened sooner? How had it taken this long?

Her train of thought was abruptly derailed by something hard and heavy smashing into the base of her skull.

She cried out as she fell forward, but swept a leg out behind her as she did so, and connected sharply with something yielding that gave a rough grunt of pain. The extinguisher hit the ground with an echoing clang; something heavy hit the ground behind her like a sack of potatoes; her palms hit the pavement, and she bounced upright with a fluid grace that was spoiled by the arm that wrapped around her knees and hauled her backwards. She pinwheeled her arms for balance, realized it was a loss, and flung them behind her to break her fall--

--when another arm circled her waist and lifted her up. She heard the wet, meaty crack as the arm around her legs let go and she eeled around in her assailant's grip, ready to strike--

--and managed to refrain from belting Vincent in the face by a hairsbreadth.

He flinched back, releasing her, and she pulled her raised fists close to her collarbone in momentary dismay. An apology rose to her lips, but rather than voice it she whirled away, as he was already doing; they stood back to back, scanning for further dangers.

The dumpster still smoked gently, but did not seem to conceal any other attackers; her end of the alley was as empty and innocent as might be expected at this time of night. With a weary sigh she relaxed her stance, and turned to see who or what had just happened to her.

The face was hard to recognize at first, being somewhat obscured by the blood trickling steadily from its smashed nose, and her vision swam in time to the pulse of her throbbing headache. She squeezed her eyes shut, took a few deep breaths, and opened them again; much better. She crouched down beside the sprawled form; the face still wasn't ringing a bell, but the short, shaven hair, the stained, one-piece coverall...

It started as a slight shaking of her shoulders. She bit her lip to stop it trembling. She wrapped her arms around her midsection in an attempt to hold it in, but it was all to no avail. Before she knew it, she was seated on the pavement, laughing like a madwoman; giddy, half-hysterical peals that wracked her body. It was just that kind of night.

Vincent squatted down opposite her, eyeing her cautiously, but showing no inclination to interrupt. Finally, when her laughter had died down to breathless giggles, he ventured a comment. “Good time?”

She sputtered with renewed force, raising a hand to plead for indulgence. “He.. ah ha... he... hee hee... he was in here earlier,” she wheezed, clutching her ribs. “Got loud with some of the ladies, and I had to... hah!... show him the door. I guess he took that p-pretty s-s-seriously--” She gasped for breath, fighting to get the grim hilarity under control. “Oh, wow.” Rising to her knees, she bent over to re-confirm that her erstwhile patron was still breathing; seemed in fact to be largely alright, save for the obvious consequences of having a large boot introduced to his face at a high rate of speed. She slapped her hands against her thighs with a sigh. “I'm going to have to call the cops.”

“Why?”

“I can't just leave him here.”

“You've never had drunks sleeping it off back here?”

“He's hurt! And-I'll need to make a statement about what happened--”

Vincent shrugged. “He fell down. Or,” he added as he extended a claw to inspect one of the man's pockets, “he got mugged.”

“Vincent!” She clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle another onslaught of giggles. “We can't just take his wallet!”

“Why? He owes you a fire extinguisher,” he said mildly, continuing to rifle through pockets.

Still trying to restrain her laughter, she slapped his hand away. He subsided with a wicked grin, settling back on his haunches. He regarded the fallen man for a moment, then very ostentatiously turned to regard the narrow lip of the dumpster.

“He wouldn't fit!”

“He would if I broke his collarbone a few times.”

“Vincent!” She levered herself to her feet and cuffed him on the shoulder. “Come on in. I don't trust you out here with him.” She softened the statement with a grin, but she had the sudden suspicion that he wasn't kidding as much as she might have liked to hope he was. “I'll tell them I was here alone,” she continued, as she ushered him back into the building. “I completely understand if you've had enough fun and games for the evening.”

“I don't understand,” he said, as she made her way behind the bar and stooped down to rummage beneath the cash register. “This man has apparently assaulted you twice now, and attempted to set fire to your premises. You needn't do him any favors.” He was peering at her with concern when she surfaced. “Are you... well?”

She set the plastic bottle on the bar with a rattle of pills, and fetched one from the back wall to go with it. “Oh, I'll be fine. Two aspirin and plenty of clear fluids.”

“I don't think they meant gin.”

“Says you.” She ran herself a glass of water to swallow the pills with, and added a healthy dollop from the bottle once she had. She sighed heavily, pressing the cool glass against her cheek. “Is there a full moon tonight? I mean, honestly.” Her head still throbbed, but the ache already seemed to be subsiding; she was almost as upset about having fallen prey to a sucker punch as she was about the actual pain. That might have gotten ugly had Vincent not, quite literally, stepped in.

She bit her lip as she looked up at him, unsure what to make of the muted distress he regarded her with. She'd be lucky if she ever saw him again, at this rate, and a gnawing sense of shame told her she'd already soaked up far more of his patience than she was entitled to. The poor guy had just wanted a quiet drink and a bit of catching up, and walked into the mess this evening had been instead; she couldn't even imagine how to go about smoothing this over... and she was too wrung-out to try. “I'm sorry,” she said tiredly. “You should probably get going.”

“I'd... like to see you home,” he said quietly. He arched an eyebrow. “Or take the first watch.”

She smiled, touched, as she reached over to drag the phone closer. “This will probably take awhile...”

He laid a hand over hers as she made to lift the receiver; she froze, startled, and was even more taken aback by the entreating look he gave her. “You don't need this now,” he said. “It can be someone else's problem.”

“That's... really sweet,” she temporized. “I just... I can't just leave him out there.”

“Are you going to press charges?” His fingers were surprisingly soft, she realized, so light on her wrist his touch was barely perceptible.

“I haven't yet,” she admitted. “Seems silly to get people in such trouble over a little stupidity.” She shrugged. “I can deal with escalating stuff... I just don't like to.”

“You're not worried, then.” She supposed that made sense. He wore a glove most of the time; he probably wanted to look after the one he had left.

“No, no.” She laughed humorlessly. “It's not a really bad night until somebody pulls a gun.” He tone softened. “Which I appreciate you refraining from, by the way.”

“So there's no need to see him incarcerated.” The thumbnail that trailed across the back of her hand elicited a surprising shiver. She was embarrassed by such a response to a simple shift of his grip.

“Not really, no. But he still needs to be looked at.” She shrugged. “I suppose...”

“Yes?”

She smiled shyly. “I suppose I could just... I could say I just saw something. Heard a noise, maybe.” Then she shook her head. “But I check those myself. And I bring the drunks in to wait until a squad can get around to picking them up.”

“So? Let them do their job for once.”

She bit her lip again, choosing her next words carefully. “Are you... worried? About the police?”

He snorted, squeezing her hand lightly before he withdrew. He drew breath as if to speak, then shut his mouth with a snap, shaking his head. She frowned, apprehensive at his reaction. “I mean... if you are worried...”

“About you,” he said shortly.

“But I--”

“Have had a filthy night, and don't need to waste time making statements to the police.” He spread his hands. “That's all. He's not worth it. And he won't dare tell them what really happened if he's half bright.” He paused. “On the off chance he remembers.”

“Vincent...” Her voice caught in her throat. “I...” He was so frustrated, so dismayed. She preferred this to finding out he was on the run for some reason, but had just as little idea what to make of it.

“Do not let me sway you, if you feel you must. But...”

“That's... sweet of you, Vincent. Really, really, sweet.” She looked away, considering. Finally she exhaled roughly through her nostrils, lifted the receiver, and dialed.

“Yes. Yes, hi, it's Lockhart, over at the Seventh Heaven. Yeah, thank you! Listen, I'm about ready to lock up over here, but I keep hearing some kind of, I don't know, clanging out back.” She turned back to Vincent and tipped him a wink. “I haven't seen anything out there, but I keep... yeah. Yes. Could you? That'd be really great. I just-yeah, you can't be, these days. Thank you so much! Sure. Okay. Bye!” She set the receiver back in its cradle decisively. “There. You'll have me playing hookey next.”

Vincent nodded in acknowledgment, folding his hands behind his back. “A little shirking can be good for the soul,” he said. “You're opting in.”

Her glass halted on the way to her mouth at the repetition of her own words. “I suppose you're right,” she said, after she'd taken a swallow. “Were you always this smart?” she asked teasingly.

He smiled briefly. “No.” His gaze flicked uncertainly around the room. “I can still go, if you wish.”

“No! I mean, um, if you want,” she amended hastily. “You probably want to. I mean, I understand. I just, well... I'm having fun.” She smiled as winningly as she could. “Except for. You know. The not-fun parts.” She laughed in chagrin. “I'm so sorry. You didn't need all of this nonsense. I'm such a mess. It's not like this, usually. Often, anyway.”

He gave her a searching look, then stepped forward to perch himself on a stool. “I could send Cloud back tomorrow, so you could join us at the reactor.” He slid closer. “You might find it soothing.”

“I might! No, except for the last bit, this has pretty much been a regular day at the office. I'll have to take you out on the town one of these nights, so you can see what happens when it really gets crazy.”

“I, ah. Hmm.”

She sniggered, polishing off her drink and turning to refill it at the sink. “Anything?”

“For me as well.”

She filled a second glass with water and made her way around the bar to take a place on the stool beside him. She lifted the bottle of gin and made as if to top his glass off, but he waved her away; she shrugged, and did her own. “More for me.”

They sat quietly for awhile, and Tifa found herself enjoying how companionable the silence seemed to be. Cloud had fallen into the habit of deliberately not noticing altercations in the bar. Barrett, back when they all still worked out of the bar, had had a tendency to put troublemakers through walls; the last time he'd come to visit, it had taken every ounce of speed she possessed to keep his helpful intervention from landing three people in the hospital. She couldn't exactly call a wounded man unconscious in the alley an improvement, but it was certainly less dramatic. He wasn't that badly hurt. Surgeons could do wonderful things with broken noses, these days.

“So... do you often get arson attempts?”

“No, no. Mostly they like to break bottles and slash at each other.”

“Colorful.”

“Funny thing.” She swirled her drink meditatively. “They tend not to smash in half, like you see on television. The shards--”

Vincent abruptly lifted a claw for silence, puzzling her; she hadn't thought such an anecdote could disturb a man who had been discussing breaking a foe's bones so as to better stash his body in apparent seriousness a few moments before. He pointed to the hallway and, straining her senses, she managed to make out the faint crunch of tires on gravel.

Guilty panic gripped her for a moment; the nagging realization that she could still head back there and explain what had happened-claim it had taken place after she'd called-just so happen to 'discover' him as they came up-

--and opt in.

She lunged across the bar, fumbled painfully beside the register, and palmed the switches, plunging the room into darkness. She felt Vincent straighten beside her, and flicked the one that brought the back lights up; if that showed from the outside, it would be only faintly. She felt a thrill of unease at her own misbehavior as she grinned at him, keeping her ears open for further sounds from the alley. They didn't typically get much traffic at this time of night, but on the off chance it wasn't the police, she could easily rush out there and break things up.

A slamming door. Footsteps. A long pause; long enough that Tifa began to grow anxious, the recollection of Vincent calmly going through his pockets slithering through her memory.

Then came the light rapping on the door. “Ms. Lockhart?”

Her shoulders sagged with relief. Vincent shot her a knowing look as the knocking came again.

“Shit.”

She stifled a fresh outburst of hilarity at the aggravation in the visitor's tone, hugging herself tightly. She and Vincent sat quietly, listening carefully to the shuffling, dragging, and aggrieved mutters coming from outside until, finally, they heard the engine growl back into life.

“See?” he asked, with no little amount of smugness. “Handled.”

“Until they come back tomorrow to arrest me!”

“Tifa Lockhart, Crisis veteran and pillar of the community? Please.”

“You're bad.”

“I'm pragmatic.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I... was sincere about seeing you home. To a cab, at least.”

“That sloshed, am I?” She took another swallow and eyed him challengingly.

“You seem as if you've had a tiring evening, which I doubt being hit in the head improved.”

She propped her chin on her fist with a sigh. “I appreciate it,” she said, “but I'm still upstairs. I think I can manage the staircase by myself.” She shot him a sidelong look. “You really can get going, if you want.”

“I don't wish to keep you.”

“Then how about we both pretend we're telling the truth and stop worrying about putting the other out?” She chuckled. “I admit, I'm being selfish.”

“Oh?”

“It's kind of interesting having someone try to look after me... and you're about the last person in the world I expected to.”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “What are friends for?”

“Indeed.” She idly trailed a finger through the tracks left by the glass, suddenly uncertain. “Not like it's the first time, now that I think on it.”

“Quite the other way around, as I recall.”

“What?” she almost squawked in surprise. “You mean... but that's just tactics! You weren't going to get a whole lot of shooting done if you were busy getting dogpiled!”

“Nevertheless.”

“And, anyway, it was in all our best interests to keep you from getting smacked around too much.” She sat up, rueing her incautious tongue. “Not that... I mean...”

“Those were interesting days.”

“That's one way to put it.” The silence drew out between them, not as welcoming as it had been. “Does that... still happen?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes.” He finished his water. “Some of it.”

“I don't mean to pry...”

“Of course you do.” He smiled, albeit a wry one. “I'd rather you speculated about that than Shelke.”

“Oh!” She ducked her head, blushing. “I didn't mean... I certainly didn't have a problem with the idea. It was... nice, actually.” She tucked her bangs behind her ears. “You've had a pretty tough go of it. It was nice to think of you being happy with someone.”

He was silent, and still in that practiced way that suggested it took concentration. “I can't fault you for that,” he said softly.

“I... I'm sorry. I'm emotional and grumpy and taking it out on you.” She spun her glass between her hands. “I guess I do miss it,” she admitted. “This is... this is great, you know? This is everything I thought I ever wanted. But it's so much harder than it used to be... and it seems like it adds up to so little. People get their beer, idiots get a second chance, Denzel gets to enjoy being a kid... well, Denzel is a totally different story. But the rest of it... we were doing something, back then. And... there were some attractions to tromping through the wilderness and crashing at inns. Different responsibilities.”

“I wouldn't know a thing about that.”

She snorted. “I suppose you wouldn't. You could at least get a box at the post office, you know.”

“Why? I have the phone now.”

“Yeah? Are you going to start answering it when I call you?”

He paused to think about this. “Probably.”

“You're honest, at least.”

“I try.”

“I could barely believe it was you when I saw you across the street tonight. I mean, really. You always turn up in a pinch, but I was starting to think...” She sighed morosely. “So, instead of enjoying your company, I drag you into a maelstrom of chaos and anarchy, and polish it off by whining at you.” She leaned forward, burying her fingers in her hair. “I'm really not winning here, am I?”

“I don't mind.”

“...really?”

The hand settling onto the bent curve of her neck was a shock, but the firm, steady pressure it exerted felt so good on tense, taut, muscles, it did not occur to her to flinch. She sighed happily, instinctively arching into it as Vincent began to knead. “Really.”

“That's great,” she mumbled indistinctly, bracing her elbows against the bar as he obliged by rubbing harder. “You're... mmf...” She had reached the weary state of exhaustion where her entire skin felt a fraction too tight, and the merest brush was pleasant; this was nigh euphoric; but at the same time... “You're rubbing my neck.”

His knuckles brushed against the sore spot at the back of her head, and she winced unconsciously. His palm slipped down the back of her neck, cupping the curve of her shoulder. “I'll stop.” But he did not remove his hand.

“Far be it from me to turn down a massage.” She laughed nervously. “But this is, um...” Something niggled at her, some recollection beyond the inherent weirdness of the situation. “...petting?”

“Mmhmm.” He stroked her lightly behind the ear, his fingertip leaving a delighted trail of flesh in its wake.

“Not just a big kitty, then.”

“...no.” He traced his thumbnail across the curve of her jaw, and she could not repress the shiver it brought. “Are we... having a misunderstanding?”

“Oh, Vince.” She exhaled slowly. “This is, um... this is huge.” She licked her lips. “I mean... I never...”

His touch withdrew, as insubstantial as her response seemed to be, now that she'd spoken it. “I'm sorry. I had to know.”

“No, I...” She straightened and turn to face him, bringing her knee into contact with his, which she certainly hadn't intended; but she was not going to embarrass them both by scooting away. Hands folded in his lap he looked, if anything, sheepish; not quite able to meet her gaze. “This is just so sudden.”

“So much for my impeccable timing,” he said lightly.

“Not long on romance, are you?” She could have bitten her tongue as soon as the words escaped, but he surprised her by laughing, actually laughing. She wasn't sure she'd ever heard more than a soft chuckle out of him before, and the deep humor in it both unnerved and pleased her.

“I mostly abandoned the idea once I'd managed to make you cry,” he admitted, “and finding out you think I'm a pedophile nailed the lid on that mostly shut.” He gestured to the hallway. “But I figured your night couldn't get any worse.”

She bit her lip, the realization of just how badly she'd bungled things striking like a hammer blow; whatever he saw in her face spurred him to reach out to comfort her, but he checked himself. The short, painful finality of that aborted gesture was too much; she took his hand between both of hers. “Oh, Vincent.” She tightened her grip when he attempted to pull away. “I thought you were just being nice!”

“I was.” He smiled briefly. “I thought it might go over better than flowers.”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

“We were rather busy at the time.” He met her gaze for the first time, a fond look in his eye. “There is much to be said for a beautiful woman who can get up laughing after being spit on by a marlboro.”

“A...?” She swallowed as the enormity of that sunk in. “All this time?”

He shrugged. “Surprise.”

She smiled, squeezing his hand, and his expression took on a wistful tinge. Her mind raced, still barely able to come to terms with the idea, and the realization that most of the years they'd known each other needed to be looked at in a different light was staggering. “But you never...”

“You never seemed interested. And I was... not in a good frame of mind.” He looked down at their entwined hands, his jaw set. “Cid had told me... what had happened with... that's why I didn't come, that day.” His hair swept forward to obscure his features, but his tone left no doubt as to his feelings on the subject. “The last time I tried something like that... well.” He raised his eyes, seeming to peek out at her from behind his bangs. “I... hope you take it as a compliment, at least.”

Tifa's breath caught in her throat, her heart aching for him... for both of them. “You have no idea how much I do.” He was shy, so much so that he'd nursed his affection in secret for all these years, too frightened to reach out to her in even the slightest way. Yet he was still so devoted that even so much later, without the slightest hint of encouragement, he could grow that angry on her behalf.. and still refrain from giving any sign of it, for fear of discomfiting her.

She marveled at that, a little unnerved, but mostly awestruck. She'd never thought she'd ever inspire that depth of feeling in someone; had largely given up. To find out that she had, even in such an unexpected source... She flushed at the thought. He'd always been kind, on the occasions they'd spoken; to learn now that there was likely a very particular reason for the scarcity of his presence...

“Thank you for talking to me,” Vincent said softly, rising to his feet.

She quailed internally; of course he would have taken her immersion in her thoughts in the worst possible way. “Hey.” She pulled at his hand, refusing to let him turn away. “I... I didn't say no.”

He sighed roughly. “Tifa. Spare me a little dignity--”

“Sit down, Vincent.” She looked up at him imploringly. “Please.”

He stood motionless for long enough that she was certain he was going to leave anyway, probably for the last time; another missed chance, another lost opportunity, more needless hurt for both of them. Then he very carefully lowered himself back onto the stool; poised as if for flight, but still there. Still touching her.

“You can't blame me for being a little out of it,” she said finally. It seemed safe.

“Your silence speaks volumes. Tifa--”

“Yeah, it does,” she interrupted firmly, “to me.” She cupped his hand in hers, running her thumbs across the heel of his palm. “I was thinking. About how oblivious I've been, and for how long. About you. About... how different things could have been.” She grinned wryly. “Give me a little credit. Were you expecting me to leap into your arms?”

“No. But it's fairly--”

“We've been friends for a long time, Vincent...”

“I understand. So if you'll--”

“...so I think we can skip some of the preliminaries.”

Next...