Disclaimer – I don't own FF7
Tetrachord
By Crimson Skies
"If you walk out that door…"
The words stopped the man short. One hand rested lightly on the door frame, the other on his gun. Slowly he turned his head to look at the man standing behind him. Standing there, framed by the harsh orange light of dusk was the one man he didn't wish to see – the one man who might be able to stop him.
"Think about what you're doing Vincent Valentine. If you walk through that door, it will be closed to you forever."
"You're being unusually melodramatic today Veld," he answered turning back away. He couldn't afford to look the other in the face, not now. Indeed, he thought that he was set in his decision, but still he wavered. Vincent never heard the footsteps, but was acutely aware of the sudden proximity of the other. "All this time, and I still can't hear when you come or go. One of these days I'll get the drop on you."
"I take it you're aware of the consequences of your actions?" Veld's words were soft, but echoed loudly in the silent room.
"How could I not be?"
"So you'll simply leave for that woman," he hissed. "What makes her worth the cost?"
Vincent paused briefly, not sure he should even answer. It was certain, however, that Veld would not let him go easily. "Not just her, but him…"
"Hojo?" he spat, recoil in his words. "No, that's not right. It's the child, isn't it?"
The question needed no reply. What could he say? He would not be moved from his decision. His fingers tightened on the doorframe, turning white at the knuckles. He could almost see the other man's face, furrowed with anger. "You'll get wrinkles if you keep scowling like that, Veld."
"I've already got wrinkles you fool. And I told you from the beginning that your moronic sense of justice would be the end of you." Veld reminded him. "Why can't you just leave it be?"
"I am who you made me," Vincent reminded him. "No more and no less." This time he turned his head just enough to see the scowl deepen.
"One of these days I'll be right, and you won't," the other man said. He narrowed his eyes, carefully wiping the scowl from his face. The air was heavy with the unresolved tension. But that wasn't the reason that Vincent was having difficulty breathing.
"Of course," Vincent replied with a self-depreciative smirk. "But before then you'll realize that the first mistake was yours. And I'll be right just one more time."
Veld ignored the words. Instead, he observed Vincent's eyes close and his head snap back around with a certain resignation. He buried his grief and anguish under a sword of rage, which he then leveled at the source this emotion - Vincent. "You know what I have to do then. You're disobeying a direct, and necessary, order to stay away from Hojo and Lucrecia. Turks who display open defiance are eliminated." Veld's voice was void of any betraying emotion.
"And because you can't stand to see me choose anyone or anything – even my conscience – over…" Vincent's breath hitched mid-sentences as he felt the cold metal of the gun on the nape of his neck.
"Don't finish that sentence."
"Bastard."
The world stood still for a moment in time. Shadows stretched as the sun sank, but neither man noticed. It was only them, with only a cocked gun and fresh regrets between them. Vincent squeezed his eyes shut, willing the moisture away. Veld's finger tightened on the trigger. Shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Bang!" Veld whispered.
A click echoed through the room. Vincent's closed eyes snapped open. There was a soft thump as the empty gun hit the carpet. Suddenly there was a body pressed tightly behind him. One arm snaked around his waist like a vice-grip. A hand threaded through his hair, sharply tugging his head back. He could feel Veld's rapid breath in his ear. A shiver ran up his spine.
"You always had an unhealthy obsession for my hair," Vincent snickered, choking slightly on the words lightly edged with suppressed hysteria. Veld's answering laugh was not pleasant in the least. The sound grated on the soul like a siren's wail.
"I still say you should grow it out."
"I'll have time for that when I'm dead."
"So it seems. But you're already dead Vincent Valentine. I've killed you."
With that he shoved Vincent unceremoniously through the doorway, nearly pulling out a fistful of hair as he did so.
"No, maybe it was fate, but it was never you," Vincent countered. And then he was gone. Disappeared like the living ghost he was. Veld took a deep breath before pulling his PHS from his pocket and dialing the number to his damnation.
"What is it?"
"Professor, you're about to receive an unwanted visitor. Be prepared."
He hung up without waiting for an answer. As he did so, his fingertips brushed the engraving on the back – V. Valentine.
Flash
Fine. Then you can borrow my PHS. Just know if you lose it I'll have your head.
Thanks. I owe you.
I won't forget it.
I'm sure…
Just one thing I don't understand.
What?
How the hell do you keep breaking them?
Flash
Right. About the…
You broke it…
So little faith. I still have it, but...nevermind. I bought you a new one…
Flash
Veld's hand tightened around the plastic casing. With a feral cry, he launched it through the window, shattering the glass. And then all he had left of Vincent were the memories. And between the time the pane broke and the shards hit the floor he discovered he no longer had the capacity for regret.
Vincent was right. Veld had cared too much, invested too much of himself. The first mistake was his all along. But he was right as well. It was he who killed Vincent, because though he didn't fire the weapon he pulled the trigger.
END
Bonus points to anyone who figures out the meaning behind the title.