Disclaimer:

I would absolutely love to own Final Fantasy VII and Vincent Valentine, but I don't, so I've got to make do with a little fanfic instead.

FF7, Vincent Valentine and everything else that's got to do with the FF7 world belongs to SquareSoft and not me.

Hear that? NOT ME!!!

By QueenQeeko.

Flesh, Blood + Titanium.

Chapter 4 – These Days Of Appreciation.

I'm drowning. I'm choking. Water floods around me, such pressure. There is no end to it. And it's cold. Cold hard suppressing water surrounding me.

I'm gagging and can't find my wrench.

My hand gropes around the damp soil, finally laying my fingers around the familiar handle of my plumbing tool. Instead of tightening or loosening the joint, I swing the wrench around in a large fast arc, the head of the item colliding with the pipe with a disquieting CLANG, bending the pipe and diverting the monstrous spray of water away from my face.

My misadventures as of late are seemingly always wet. I did say that the mansion now has a healthy supply of spring water. And apparently the mansion wants to share it with me. I'm all for that, as long as I can do it of my own accord. I guess I can't complain. I haven't entirely submerged yet. Currently, with surging H2O in plenteous measure, I suppose I should separate the connection after I shut the water system off. Well, for now I stuff a decent sized stone into the pipe end, distorting and fitting it roughly. No need to be too gentle. The pipe complains a little and only thin sprays of water shoot from the minor gaps, and it being the time of day where the sky transforms from tender azure to fiery cherry, I suppose I'll attack this problem again tomorrow.

Dragging myself unceremoniously out from under the backyard landing of the mansion, I emerge looking like a creation born from the mud pits of Gongaga's surrounding wastelands. Not exactly how I'd like to be caught looking like in front of-

"Hey there, Vincent!"

I swear inwardly. Well, glancing upwards, I find Tifa staring down at me, amused beyond any doubt.

"Having fun?" she asks, and I am sincerely contemplating throwing a handful of mud on her baggy denim jeans.

"Yes, very much, Tifa," I answer dryly, "would you like to join me?" At this she laughs heartily, and holds out a hand to help me up. I wave her hand away and stand up unaided, saving my friend from getting her hand as filthy as I am. I make my way along the path of trodden on grass around to the front of the house, not bothering to invite Tifa inside for I am aware of her tendency to follow me anyway. This I've learned in the last few months, as she makes herself a frequent visitor.

I find this convenient and thankfully Tifa doesn't find it rude. It feels familiar to the days in AVALANCHE really, seemingly because I don't have to say much this way. I've never been one to deliberately avoid conversation; moreover I just enjoy my silence. Words are not always needed to communicate or to analyze a person; mannerisms and background are quite enough. That is essentially how I sorted each of the AVALANCHE members into categories when I met each one in turn. I was the second last to join Cloud, and from then on I contented myself with reading others and fighting when battle ensured. No one seemed bothered by my silence, except possible Yuffie at the beginning, although I admit being less than kind to her upon meeting her.

I am of course polite enough to direct my friend into the house as an invitation by pointing with my open hand and Tifa smiles and steps inside. She busies herself soon enough in the kitchen and I my obsession with hygiene takes me to my bathroom. This time I bag my clothes with a laundry bag and toss it into the corner, then after that I turn on the shower and stand under it. I watch with minimal interest as the mud is washed away from my body and swept down the drainpipe, and I wonder if maybe I should have hosed myself down before I came inside to avoid clogging up the drain with soil. I dismiss the thought. I am sure this one time will be fine, but in future I'll prevent a reoccurrence. The shower has left me free of the worse of the dirt, and now I seek soap. Foaming the soup from its bar into a thick lather I replace the soap on its small shelf and turn off the water. The lather is then transferred to my body and I work it into my skin, removing the last of the grime and as I do so at the same time work a shampoo into my hair with one hand. When the water is blaring again I am left free of filth and soap alike.

Soon I turn off the water and step out onto my bathmat, only to reach for a towel and finding white tiled wall. My towels are gone. I'm sure I put two there this morning, but unless I'm hallucinating they are not there now. Vanished. And now I hear a small chuckling from outside the door.

"Tifa?" I am almost afraid to guess that this is the doing of my dear friend.

"Yes, Vincent? Missing something?" she answers through the door, and bursts into a small fit of laughter. I thought only Yuffie was immature enough to pull a trick like this.

"Yes, I suppose I am," I reply, still somewhat surprised, "may I have my towels back?"

"Not unless you have dinner at my house tonight!"

Oh dear. She has a valid point, and in an instinct of self-preservation I'm filled with a desire to conceal myself behind the shower curtain. I have so far avoided every request Tifa has made to me to dine with her. It's nothing personal or anything about her, I'm just not used to the formal atmosphere of dinner in a lady's home. Thirty years of detachment from the forward moving world does that to you. Unfortunately I now seem to be caught in a delicate situation.

"Tifa… I… I'm not sure… I've explained to you why I-" I try to tell her only to be cut off.

"Save it for someone who cares, Vincent! You won't get used to that kind of thing again without taking the steps forward, so you either have dinner at my place tonight or you'll have to come out here in the buff to get your towels back!"

Oh dear. Oh dear indeed. I appear to have little choice in the matter. But as Cid would call a 'Beaut Brainwave' I have suddenly thought of something.

"Tifa, if I allow you the use of my kitchen, would you accept dining here tonight instead?" I offer, and I truly believe I sense her contemplating my proposal. Finally I hear shifting behind the door and the drop of what I expect are my towels.

"Deal! I'll run home and get my spices! See you soon!" and with that footfalls charge down the hallway, around the corner and fade off until a door is opened and then soon after that is closed. I step lightly over to the door and open it, taking one of the towels from the floor and wrapping it around my waist. The other towel goes over my head and I rub at my hair, sighing because I know tonight will be a circus.

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Candles? Indeed, candles make this mansion an interesting sight, but I doubt that it was necessary to place over two hundred candles in the dining room alone. I'll check again. Yes, two hundred. That's a lot of matches. And a lot of effort. I suppose that with the expectant look Tifa is giving me from the other side of the room, I'm obligated to make a comment.

"You've set up quite a sight, Tifa," I murmur, and she breaks into a grin.

"I thought so too. I had dozens of these things already and after raiding the corner store for more of them I decided I might as well make use of them," she proudly explains, crossing her arms over her navy blue blouse. I raise an eyebrow. I myself am dressed simply tonight. I'm currently wearing long gray trousers and a black turtleneck sweater. My bandana is absent, as for now I really am happy enough to let my hair hang free. Tifa, along with her blouse, is wearing tight black jeans. Formally casual attires. Better than chocobo suits.

The table we both stand beside has been set with the same candles that surround the entire room and one side of the hallway. For all the gil spent on candles I may as well have paid for the electricity tonight. Tifa won't have any of it; when she wants something to be catered properly, she'll go the full nine yards and then fix the rest of the room to fit the occasion. What occasion it could be tonight, I'll never know. In fact I almost ask her, but think better of it. What sort of meal Tifa prepared, number of courses and all, I also have no idea. There are two dining chairs placed at the far ends of the table, and set between the shining cutlery are two covered plates of something known as food.

Tifa pushes me to one end of the table, and thus I have no choice but to take my seat. She gives me a visibly annoyed (if amused) look as she retreats to her own place on the other end, motioning me to lift the silver cover off of my plate, and, I would be guessing, begin eating. So I lift the lid and as the steam floats pass my face I take in the mouth-watering scent of the meal in front of me. Seafood in thick spicy sauces with rice and vegetables. I cannot explain it anymore simply nor can I find the words to elaborate on the finesse of the hot meal. I am again in awe of Tifa's cooking. Turning my eyes up at her, I blink and open my mouth to speak.

"Tifa, this looks splendid…" I tell her.

"Try it!" she urges with a grin. Ah, of course. I take the fork on the left of my plate and gently poke it onto a marinated oyster. Bringing it to my lips I take it between my teeth and close my eyes, as per one of my habits when I eat, and savor the expected marvelous flavor.

"I see why your bar was so popular, Tifa," I say, giving her the report. She beams and then picks up her own fork, satisfied with my answer. Indeed, the meal is delicious. I cannot help but wonder what else she prepared as the very large platter with a extra large lid sits in the middle of the table in all its mysterious glory. I do say, this is a strange treat for me. I cannot help the friendly suspicion lurking in the back of my mind however. With that said of course, I question my own views. It has been a long time indeed since I came to be in such a situation. The last time was with Lucrecia.

"Is there something wrong, Vincent?" Tifa asks, quickly noticing that I have stopped eating and my fork hangs in the air by my fingertips. I silently and mentally curse myself in as many foul words that I already know and new creative ones I learned from Cid Highwind. Again my own morose memories and self pity has affected my awareness to my surroundings and worse yet it was in the company of someone so painstakingly observant she would not miss a detail in my behavior should it change at all. I cough with surprise and take a sip of white wine.

"Daydreaming," I answer her simply and return to my meal. She seems to buy this and shrugs it off. Thank whatever-God-might-exist for that. I don't mean any harshness to my friend but I'd rather not disclose this with her. I regard a steamed mussel on the end of my fork. Not that I'm actually considering it; the morsel is simply what I stare at as I continue my 'daydreams'. I am aware of one of the many reasons why I avoided such a situation similar to this. For the life of me I cannot remember some of the ways in which I lived before my alteration, but I know that my standards are no different. Regardless, I still value my solitude.

----------------------

I hope I haven't offended Tifa too much. Immediately after dinner (and the desert she forced me to consume, nice as it was) I assisted her in a hasty clean up of the kitchen and the dining wares used, then took my leave and fled upstairs. I now sit on the high window seat in my bedroom in the lonely darkness, staring out into the night. This is where I'd rather find myself, and feel much more comfortable. Guilty, but comfortable. Lifting my metal claw to my face, I rest my cheek again the cool surface of the back of the guantlet, staring out of the window at the darkening sky, its shine of moon and stars disappearing behind the clouds. Gloomy whether for some, disappointing to others, potentially frightening to young children. I don't really know what I think of it anymore, so many a night I've perched upon a cliff or a rooftop, just staring at theses skys, with the wind in my hair and face, seeking hours of isolation rather than spend it with the only friends I have, or willing to tolerate in some cases.

A mere half hour has passed, and still she remains within the manor. How do I know this? I've yet to hear the heavy doors of the entrance swing open only to slam shut. My friend is still down there, probably dreaming up the worst things about me. Well really, if I was actually sensible enough to give Tifa more credit than that, then perhaps I'd remember sooner that Tifa is not the type to make snap judgements. More likely than not, however, she would be ticking the 'eccentric' box on the notable characteristics of Vincent Valentine.

And it isn't like I can justify my actions as anything else but cowardly. The real question is whether I'm actually up here feeling sorry for myself and angsting it up, or if I'm bitterly swimming through my frustrations toward a proper solution.

The answer never comes to me. There's a noise coming from downstairs, derailing my train of thought. Wait. Not a noise... a melody.

Is that... the piano?

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The stairs creak under my feet as I descend, the sound they make echoing a thousands times louder to me than they really are capable of doing. Such is the effect an unwanted noise has on one when one is attempting to be silent and undetected. Much to my relief, the object of my scrutiny has noticed nothing at all. Instead, her attention remains... vaguely fixed... on her task at the piano's old ivory keys. From here, in the darkness of the drawing room, hiding under my mane of pitch black hair, I just watch. Tifa's posture is straight, but relaxed, shoulders moving back and forth has her skilled fingers travel the board, eyelids sliding closed here and there. Her face holds an expression of quiet bliss. I'd not go so far to say that this is a personal or soulful display, but I truly believe what I am seeing is definitely emotional. With the graceful piece she plays, the mansion is filled with a romantic ease that I have no problem admitting is a little entrancing. The large intrument has a deep, sorrowful sound to it, and I chance at wondering whether it needs to be tuned before I fall back into the beautiful music emitting from the room.

This was the last thing I expected from her.

Why the woman had not lost heart after my retreat and departed herself us beyond me. Just from looking at her, I can't say that she is doing this to lure me down here (even if it worked...), but it would appear that she's playing in spite of my presence in the house. There's a gentle passion in the air. There's... patience, in the atmosphere. It dawns on me after a moment, and just as I realize, Tifa stops playing, and just smiles at me. She wasn't trying to bring me down. She was just waiting, and filling the time until I came down myself. I hadn't realized until she looked me right in the eyes, that I had crept all the way up to the doorway, revealed thus in the lamp light.

"Welcome back," she greets me.

Dammit.

"Hello."

And then, there is silence. A dead silence within an awkward air between two former comrades. It's so rediculous. Never in my life have I had so many unsure moments and found myself, not nervous, but really concerned with what to say, or how to say it. This was why I separated myself from others. Why I say little and rarely at that. It's just...

"Come in here, Vincent."

...so much easier...

Resigned to being social, as much as I want this night to being over, I step into the room, scowling lightly under the bangs of hair hanging in front of my face. I stand a few feet from Tifa, who seems comfortable and confident all of a sudden. She continues smiling at me.

"I'm sorry," she starts, and before I can tell her not to be, she continues on, effectively giving that pause just long enough for me to open my mouth to speak and end up looking a little silly, "I shoud have asked first, if I could play this." I stare at her blankly, closing my mouth now. "I didn't feel comfortable leaving without saying goodnight, but I didn't want to disturb you yet. I thought maybe I'd play something for you, to help settle your nerves."

She either knows nothing about me at all, or is lying through her teeth. That was not nerve settling. It was heart rate rising. It was skin tingly. It was... 'amazing...' Wait. What?

"I must get going," I hear Tifa say, and dumbly I watch as she rises from the piano bench, picks up her coat from the edge of the piano and leads the way out of the room. Calmly. "It was great to finally have dinner with you." I follow her, silently, mustering the last of my dignity from that display of coolness. Tifa never once battered an eyelash, never once made reference to why I disappeared or how it affected her visit outside of saying goodnight. She didn't look for explanation or apologise for chasing me away. She acted like it was a perfectly natural event. Is she... pretending nothing awkward happened at all? I watch her all the way to the door, noticing the unnaturally feminine toeing action to her step. Casually her hair is pulled over one shoulder. A slight sway in her hips and she wanders along in front of me. For my tough female friend, she's appearing more visually charming every day. She took it all in her stride, and here I am, still in disbelief over the odd turn of events, and violently shake my head before stepping passed Tifa to open the door for her. The very least I can do it something polite, I guess. She smiles and me, and leaned toward me to kiss my cheek. Accustomed to this by now, I don't move a muscle, and just gaze easily at her. This is a surface reaction. Underneathe, my mind still reels from Tifa's dismissal of my earlier escape.

"Goodnight, Tifa," I manage, sounding so much like my old self, cold and to the point, when AVALANCHE first woke me up that I faulter slightly before I go on, "thank you for coming, and for your generous efforts." She smiles easily at me.

"Thanks you for letting me. Goodnight"

She is down the steps quickly, and then slows to walk out of the yard, through the gateway, and off into the sleepy town. I stare after her, realizing the truth in her words. It had taken a lot of effort to consent to the night at all, but really, I wonder more about Tifa's expense. Perhaps it was pride that kept her coming back to me, or maybe it was my own for not allowing her to dig a little deeper into my life. Whatever it is, this is something I really should be thankful for, a unrelenting friend who doesn't give up just because I might put up my walls. I glance at my claw, pulling the door closed as Tifa is now long gone from my sights. I won't sleep tonight. I'll be too busy considering these days of appreciation that I have to allow myself to be part of, and not just have them pass me by.

Next Chapter – The Color Of Hate.

QueenQeeko.