Chapter 1: Shattered on Impact

The phone was ringing again. Vincent could tell by the way it was vibrating in little half circles on the desk perched on the other side of the room. He knew it was ringing, even though he couldn't hear it over the roar of his blood rushing in his ears. A thick, pounding sound that, despite its massive noise, was not at the forefront of his senses. Instead he was preoccupied with trying to curl himself as tightly as he could into himself.

Hands curled knuckle deep into ebony tresses, the ex-Turk could barely operate beyond thinking "breathe" over and over again. The blankets—white hot beneath him—twisted cruelly around his limbs. His eyes might have been open, but Vincent couldn't see the phone anymore, as it vibrated dangerously close to the edge of the desk. Couldn't see anything beyond fragmented flashes of blue, and green—

—And fire, so much fire.

The phone shattered upon impact.

Tifa shut off the engine with a little more force than necessary, and yanked the keys from the ignition slot. After two ignored phone calls, Vincent had resorted to turning off his phone.

She forced herself to remain in the vehicle for a long moment, and calmed her breathing. After waking up that morning to a house that was empty, as compared to finding Vincent in the kitchen, she turned the Bar over trying to figure out what happened. By the time she had realized the man wasn't at the Bar at all, everyone had become worried. Cloud was trying to phone him while she drove out to his once upon a time hidey-hole. A few minutes ago her own cell rang. Cloud informed her that the black haired man's phone was turned off now, and he wouldn't be able to get through from the Bar.

With a shove of her shoulder, the brunette exited her little vehicle, and closed the door behind her. The parking garage was empty for the most part.

"Vincent Valentine," she growled as she entered the main hall of the hotel she knew he was staying in, "You better have one hell of a reason."

Tifa subconsciously popped her knuckles as she reached the front desk. Somewhere in the pit of her stomach, her anger at being held to worry covered her gut feeling that something wasn't right. Vincent wasn't one to leave without notice.

Considering how early her little visit was, there wasn't exactly a line to hold her up. A blessing for the hotel staff, a curse for Vincent. She was able to wheedle out his room number from the clerk with relative ease, and proceeded to storm through the wood worn halls to the ex-Turk's room.

After double-checking the room number, twice (she wasn't so lost in her temper as to be unmindful of other guests, she told herself). Tifa paused to force herself through a slow breath. Once it was over, she rapped on the door as politely as she could. Given the fact that she had woken to find her houseguest missing, it was more than he deserved. At the lack of response, she raised her fingers again —

She ran one hand through her yet to be dealt with hair, and took the steps down two at a time only to run into a rather morning stunned Cloud.

"What's the rush, Teef?" Cloud asked, steadying her by the shoulder, forcing her to stop.

"Have you seen Vincent? He's always up before me to get the bar ready, but—"

Cloud's brows drew down, the morning haze in his blue eyes now dispersed, and shook his head, "Afraid not…haven't seen him since he left dinner last night."

Tifa frowned and shifted from one foot to another, "He's been strange, these last few weeks…but he wouldn't just leave. He's over that, isn't he?"

Cloud pursed his lips and sighed, "Maybe he needed to get away for a little while. He's been looking a bit sick for a while, you know. Maybe he finally decided to try and rest it off."

Tifa shrugged out of Cloud's hold, and moved towards the new phone they had installed in the bar, "It isn't like him to not tell us when he leaves. You know that."

She hadn't even noticed Denzel sitting by the far bar window until he spoke up, "He isn't here."

Tifa and Cloud both turned to look at the young boy, now slightly taller though hair no less tame, but the boy didn't return the look. He instead continued to stare out at the empty streets of Midgar. There usually wasn't much life outside at seven in the morning.

"Denzel, what're you doing up so early?" Tifa asked softly as she moved to get closer to the boy.

"He woke me up."

Tifa frowned slightly. Denzel tended to be a terribly light sleeper, a habit he would probably never be able to break thanks to his time alone on the streets of Midgar. Once she reached the little bar table, she sat down beside Denzel. Cloud watched on from the bar.

"He woke you up? This morning?"

Denzel nodded, "Around six. He was trying to be quiet…but I could hear him."

"Hear him leave?" Tifa asked softly, "Was he packing?"

The boy shook his head, his brown locks waving as he did so.

She glanced to Cloud, and saw him at the phone, dialing silently. The dark haired woman turned her attention back to Denzel, and gently placed one hand on his shoulder, "Marlene?"

"She didn't hear," he said.

Tifa nodded, and watched the boy worriedly. All the while, a bit of anger stirred in her belly. A few weeks after the Deep Ground Incident, she and Cloud had invited Vincent to stay with them. They had the room, and since Cloud was still working as a Delivery Boy, she kind of needed the help. Vincent, after a little persuasion, agreed. In compensation for room and board, he worked the bar with her while it was open, helped with the housework, and the kids. His coming to stay was quite a blessing, and things started getting easier for the whole family. Marlene warmed up to him immediately, but it took Denzel a little longer.

And then, without warning, Denzel suddenly accepted Vincent's presence. Tifa was happy, but worried. When Denzel chose to warm up to a person, he tended to become overly attached. Considering his past losses, it was understandable, but Tifa didn't know if Vincent planned on making the arrangements permanent. She had feared that if he ever left, Denzel would see it as abandonment, or loosing yet another family member. The matter was only made worse by the fact that she and Cloud didn't know where Vincent was, and that the boy had watched him go.

"Vincent told me once," Denzel said softly, breaking Tifa out of her thoughts, "That when dogs die, they leave to do it. That they don't want anyone to watch them pass."

Tifa jerked at the depressing comment, "Denzel, Vincent isn't a dog. He's fine, he's probably just—"

"He said he used to be able to transform into a dog."

Tifa frowned. Galian Beast wasn't exactly a dog, and she was surprised that Denzel knew about the creature at all. The boy was overly curious about their experiences during Meteor, and he no doubt wheedled the information from Vincent somehow, though she doubted he knew the truth behind those painful demons. The ex-Turk wouldn't release more information than he should. But the comment, in and of itself, was odd. Denzel was prone to over attachment, but he never assumed that Cloud was dead when he used to go missing.

Tifa turned to see if Cloud had gotten anywhere with the phone, but the blonde merely shook his head at her, and dialed the number again. Tifa sighed, "Well, yes, but he doesn't have that ability any—"

Denzel cut her off, "He wasn't packing."

The brunette woman turned to look at the boy to find his shoulders shaking only slightly. One shuddering breath later, Denzel murmured, "He couldn't breathe."

Brown brows furrowed, and—

Tifa rapped on the door once more, "Vincent, its me. You in there?"

Nothing. Tifa frowned, and held back the urge to kick in the door. After calling his name out one last time, she gently placed one ear against the door. Vincent was an ex-Turk. If traveling around with him through Meteor hadn't taught her one thing, living with him now did: Old habits die hard. He was a Turk, even if he wasn't in active duty. If Vincent didn't want to found, he wouldn't be. If he didn't want to be seen, he wouldn't be, and if he didn't want to be heard, there was no way anything less than a bat would detect him. If he was ok, that was.

"He couldn't breathe."

She could hear the all-together too familiar drone of the newscaster, faintly, and forced herself to close her eyes. She settled herself closer to the door, and tried to ignore the sound of blood in her ears.

"The last known case of GeoStigma was cured last week. Doctors say that it was all within good timing, because the original strand from the water that first cured the disease has become so diluted, some fear that within a few days, it will no longer have the capability to heal patients."

The brunette scowled, and tried to listen more closely; past her heartbeat, past the TV's drone—

There. Ragged breathing. She could hear it, but barely. There was a chance it was her own breathing, now slightly faster at finally catching the faint sound, but she was willing to risk it.

"Vincent, last chance to save the door."

She glanced down at the little 'do not disturb' sign, and doubted she could glean help from the staff without breaching some kind of company policy. Door repair bill it shall be, she thought to herself as she settled into a stance. With a deep breath, she pulled one fist back, waited for the soft burn in her forearm from pulling too deep into form, before thrusting her hand out. The blunt of her palm forward, and fingers curled high and flat, her first connected solidly with the door for one moment, and then was pressing through splintered ruins the next.

Half the door hung haphazardly from its hinges, while the rest collapsed to the floor, defeated. Tifa sighed, "I was hoping it would break the door jam, not the door…that'll be expensive," before stepping through the dusty frame.

"Vincent?"

The brunette woman took a hesitant step in, watched the flickers from the TV light up the room beyond the little hall she was in, and tried to spot anything familiar. From her spot in the hallway, all she could see was a desk, the TV, and a chair with a tattered red mess draped over it. A mess that Vincent hadn't worn since Deep Ground…

The corner of her lip ticked downward, and her brows furrowed as she took another step forward. By the desk, the pieces of a sleek black phone laid scattered. She took another step forward, and stopped as the bathroom door crept into view from around the corner. The light was on, and the door was halfway closed. From its angle, she could see further into the small bathroom. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a regular shower tucked in the far corner, its plastic drape drawn. She assumed the sink was parallel to it, therefore out of sight of the mirror.

He must be sleeping, she thought, and rounded the corner. She stopped at the corner of a sheet-mangled bed.

"I guess Cloud was right," she murmured softly as she observed, for almost the first time, a sleeping Vincent Valentine. Hair strewn, and body limply akimbo, she nearly couldn't believe her eyes. Somehow she figured he would be dignified, even in sleep. But the image before her made her smile, so human. He was dressed in a simple pair of jeans, and damp looking shirt—he must have taken a shower before bed. The idea of him wearing that large red cloak without his old leathers nearly made her laugh. Tifa tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and despite her anger at being left to worry, thus being dragged out of her morning, she pushed it aside and decided to address the ex-Turk when he woke. Like Denzel, the man was a light sleeper. If he hadn't woken up to his door being destroyed, then he was obviously far more exhausted than he had been letting on these past few weeks. Tifa shook her head at the man's stubbornness, and wished he had gone about resting in a manner less worrisome than he chose, but was grateful that he had decided to take care of himself, regardless.

She moved to turn off the TV, and with that little flickering light source gone, she saw that the bathroom light was diminishing what little darkness she could glean for Vincent. Tifa strode towards the bathroom, eyes on Vincent as she moved, then stopped when she felt fabric shift between her shoe and the bath tile. Fingers limp upon the light switch, she glanced down to look at what she had stepped on.

White fabric peeked out from beneath her shoe, so innocent, and trailed towards the tub. Tifa followed the trail to the drawn shower curtain, and slowly moved the plastic cover aside to find more of that thin white fabric—bandages—floating haphazardly throughout brownish pink, hazy bathwater. The plug had been pulled, but a large knot of white—bandages—had clogged the little drain. Eyes wide and unbelieving, she turned to look at the rest of the bathroom. Shoes and socks strewn randomly across the floor, she could see a small first aid kit in the far corner, bandages pulled and trailing out unused. In the toilet, the water was clear but there were black finger smudges along its base, seat, and floor. Following those smudges, her cherry browns found more offending smears along the white porcelain of the sick. After her eyes finally registered the familiar mess—

"I'm sorry, Tifa, I'm so sorry," he repeated again, like a mantra, as he stood trembling in the light of her doorway, the collar and shoulders of his pajama's soiled as blackish red ooze crept down from his forehead, ears, and nose.

"Oh, Denzel!" She gasped, suddenly awake where she was once caught in stupor, and hurried the far too young boy to the bathroom, grabbing new clothing—Cloud's—along the way.

—And with that acknowledgment, the smell of it hit her. Rotten flesh, puss, and alien otherness punched her senses from out of nowhere. She stumbled, pulled on the sleeve of her old track jacket and brought it to her nose out of instinct, needing a familiar smell amongst the putrid thickness of the bathroom. She looked to the mirror, and tried to take in a breath when she needed to exhale. Black smudged her reflection in the mirror. She rubbed frantically at her face only to realize they were merely smudges marring the mirror as well—Vincent's. ­

She turned to the bed and noticed, for the first time, Vincent's clawless left hand. Perfectly human, but fingertips smeared with watery black puss. His face was tucked into the crook of his right shoulder, and elbow, but the sight of those fingers was enough for her to know.

Cloud was number one on her speed dial.