It was very easy, Tifa thought, to slip back into the roles they'd all played before Vincent had gone to Kalm.

Once she knew that Vincent had returned, Lily grabbed up some containers of the stew they'd made, her pack of cards, some gil, and her cigarettes. And she bustled both herself and Tifa upstairs. Vincent, when they arrived, was already dressed in a clean pair of pants and seated at his kitchen table, his right leg stretched out in a way Tifa recognized so that it didn't seem obvious if he was resting it because it was sore. The blood on his hands and in his hair was also gone without a trace, washed away as simply as if it might've been dirt.

And it wasn't hard at all to keep Vincent's 'secret' from Lily. Because, as always, Lily seemed determined to get everything ready herself. And when Lily asked him about his early return, the brief, blunt way he answered her gave nothing away. And then they were sitting down to stew and tea for breakfast while Lily and Vincent shared a cigarette and they all played poker.

It was obvious fairly soon that, playing with both Tifa and Vincent, Lily hardly stood a chance of winning a hand. And eventually, inevitably, after having split her gil with Tifa, she ran out of things to bet with. Tifa was more than willing to split her winnings, but Lily only winked and said she was going downstairs to have a bath in privacy before going out to her garden. She would return later, she told them, around lunch time.

And once she was gone, the silence in the apartment was nearly palpable. But, since Vincent seemed ready to finish the hand they'd started as if nothing had changed, Tifa resolved just to keep her seat and pay attention to her cards.

Vincent had won five hands so far, out of the eight they'd played. And right now, Tifa was almost sure he was bluffing. He had no pattern. His poker face was flawless, completely without expression. He didn't shift in his seat or fidget. But Tifa still thought he was bluffing. Something about his eyes, the way he watched her, the intervals following eye contact when he darted his gaze away. Maybe a pattern there, she mused, that she was subconsciously picking up. She raised him four gil. "I call your bluff."

He glanced up at her suddenly and, after a moment, lowered his cards. Nothing. Two sixes, a low one-pair. Tifa smiled a little and dropped her own hand: a flush of hearts. Not just a winning hand in this case, but a demolishing hand. And this gil she would give back to Lily. She scooped it up in her hands and put it in the pile at her elbow.

Vincent was still slouched in his chair, staring to his left at what Tifa expected was nothing in particular. She set about tidying up the cards, ignoring the impulse to clear her throat. "Another game?"

He didn't answer for a moment. "No." And then he levered himself out of the chair with an ease that said he'd had leg wounds before; though, as he made his way out of the kitchen and into the living room, he walked with a noticeable limp. Tifa swallowed down the urge to fill the silence with inane questions about his injury. She didn't think he'd appreciate her curiousity, considering that she'd only found out about his leg by accident.

But for that, she wouldn't have known about it at all. She expected he would've kept it hidden from both Lily and herself.

That pride she recognized, to keep the pain one feels away from others. To deal with it oneself. Refusing to be a burden, to be indebted, to show weakness. She knew all about that feeling.

She got up to pour herself another mug of tea from the pot Lily had made and then returned to the table to play a round of solitaire, the way her father had taught her when she was a girl. There had actually been a number of quiet games she'd learned to play by herself, without siblings and with friends who were mostly boys and mostly interested in playing roughly.

Vincent returned half way through her second game and pulled a glass down from a shelf. He then poured himself some water from the tap and popped what Tifa assumed were painkillers into his mouth.

"You don't have to hide your things anymore," she told him as he took a quick swallow of water. "Your pills and knives. I'm not trying to...to hurt myself anymore."

Vincent didn't say anything. Tifa stared at his back for a few seconds longer than necessary before glancing down at the card she was twitching between her fingers. Maybe he didn't believe her, but she found she couldn't get angry at him if that was the case. It hadn't been that long ago that she'd stood in this very kitchen, only a foot or so from where he was standing now, and cursed at him, pulled open drawers in search of an answer that wasn't there.

"I haven't been myself for a long time," she confessed quietly toward the table, determined to somehow make this right. "I just...things went really wrong." There was a lump growing in her throat and the telltale tingle of tears around her cheekbones. She blinked them back resolutely, before they could form. She wasn't about to start crying about this again, especially in front of him. "I guess I just started thinking that there was no other way out. Everything seemed so hopeless. I just...I don't know." She scooped the cards together and began to straighten the edges so they all matched up, if only to have something to do with her hands. "The Tifa I was in Midgar would never had tried to kill herself," she admitted; though, of course, Vincent hadn't known her Midgar.

She chanced a glance at his back. He hadn't moved from where he stood, half supporting himself against the counter. She had no idea if he was even listening. Though Lily had said he was a good listener...

"Thank you, Vincent. The Tifa I was in Midgar thanks you, for saving her. Saving me." She took a shallow breath and swept a few strands of wayward hair behind one ear. "And I'm sorry I was so...ungrateful before. I thought I wanted to die. But I guess I would've died as...the wrong Tifa." She smiled wanly to herself at the thought. "The Tifa I was when..." But she trailed off. She couldn't say it. After a moment, she gave in to her own hesitation and sighed. "I'm sorry for all of the trouble."

It felt better to have said it. Her father had once told her that it was important to apologize the first chance you had, as soon as you knew you were in the wrong. It kept things from becoming uncomfortable.

If only she'd thought to obey him before things had become uncomfortable with Cloud. Though she would never have known what to say. 'I'm sorry I'm not Aeris. I'm sorry I'm independent and willful, and that I don't like being carried around in your arms like a child.'

'I'm sorry I loved you too much to let you go, even when we both knew it wasn't working.'

"Forget it."

Tifa glanced up again, but Vincent was still facing the sink.

"No one would have left you in the water."

So he'd said earlier. "But how many would've put up with me?" she wondered softly, not sure if she was directing the question at him. "How many would've spent the energy trying to keep me safe from myself? Especially when I was so..." She frowned down at the cards. How many would have? Not many. Lily, maybe. What about Cid? Barret?

And she realized it wasn't a fair comparison. Cid and Barret had their own families now. And if she'd tried, she knew she would've been able to convince them she was all right. She was the strong one. She'd always been the strong one.

They wouldn't have recognized the mistake of leaving her alone until it was too late. And then the guilt would've broken them.

But Vincent had known. And he hadn't left her alone, hadn't given her the chance.

Maybe she'd needed to come through it the hard way.

She heard Vincent take a breath, and then he turned from the sink and limped back to the chair he always sat in. And then he carefully lowered himself into it. His eyes, Tifa noticed, he kept averted from her.

His expression didn't show it, but Tifa wondered suddenly at the pain he was undoubtedly feeling. And then she remembered something. Something that might give him away to Lily eventually.

"Lily wants you to clean the apartment."

He met her gaze for a moment, as if the sudden shift in conversation had surprised him. And then she saw the skin around his mouth tighten. "I know."

Tifa idly began to shuffle the deck. "Will you be able to do it? With your leg, I mean?"

His only answer was to shrug.

And Tifa had an idea about how she might be able to do Vincent a favour, in return for what he'd done for her. Though how to get him to accept it...

How had Lily gotten her to answer questions when she'd thought herself unwilling?

Tifa put the deck in the middle of the table and gestured at it so that Vincent was paying attention. "High card," she told him. "If I win, I'll help you clean. If you win, I'll go downstairs and...and help Lily in the garden. I'll try to stall her."

Vincent's eyebrow twitched. But he was watching her. And then he sighed.

And picked up a card. Dropped it in front of himself. The jack of spades.

Tifa pulled her lower lip between her teeth and took the next card from the top. And then she smiled.

The queen of hearts.

        * * *

Tifa took the job of vacuuming the carpets. Vincent managed the bathroom. Tifa wiped down the inside of his stove and fridge. Vincent cleaned the kitchen counters. And Tifa put the kettle on.

It was coming around to half past eleven when they finally sat back at the table, Vincent looking maybe a little paler than usual. But he wasn't complaining. He dealt the cards.

And when Lily arrived fifteen minutes later, it was to find them engrossed in a game of poker, as if they might not have stopped playing since she'd left.

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