Author's Note:

Here you go, the official renewed first chapter of Darker Cloud. I'm excited to boot the old chapters that bring me back to my youth, in remembrance of how young and careless I used to sound, the good ol' days. We're all old and boring now..! To catch you up to speed, I'm not focusing on any other projects I may have mentioned years ago (seemingly decades, even centuries). My main concern is not becoming absent-minded, and letting the story collect dust again. I'm going to be storing the old chapters in documents to keep track of the plot or anything I may have presented, and I will be deleting the old chapters from the content and starting it all over. Keep in mind that the original plot stands, but the feel of the story will be rather different. It's going to be more engaging, more particular and straightforward. I'm expanding more on what Tifa had gone through before Cloud returns in this first Chapter, focusing on the difficulties it presented and the obstacles it created for her and the people around her. Of course I'm directing this toward the people who have been following this story from the very beginning, and have read the old material. To the newcomer's, I'm glad you will be reading the revised version of Darker Cloud instead of the rough drafts, because it is so very embarrassing reading back on the old chapters (_). I want to present you with another huge gigantic apology, and also thanks to whoever decides to stick by DC with your support instead of getting sick of my all-but-exciting incomplete promises. Please enjoy these new installments, as it leads up to the continuation as I further the depth and revelations of this series. Excuse the conservation of revealing too much, I enjoy cliffhangers as a crash victim enjoys painkillers. Let it begin!

Disclaimer: I have no owning of Final Fantasy VII, or any professional claims whatsoever.

~Silent

Just let me revel in your blue notes.
Who was it sitting here,
Yesterday,
Saying that I'm leaving in a hurry,
Oh, my bad.

Lyrics throughout this Chapter, by -Fink

Pitter-patter, pitter patter goes the heartbeats a lifetime ago. But today, they beat no longer at ease. Tifa Lockhart was born a different woman when the absence hit her like a revolving door without warning. And even after a year, that moved like the fat hand on the clock, the pain of that absence was all but too clear, like revisiting a memory through a video recording. But she could play it off, yes, even pretend to be indifferent to the fact, like it had been an April fool's joke that she had fallen too easily for. It was difficult to manage her new life without the business partner, slash father-figure for the orphans they fostered. It was challenging to run a bar with aggravating regular costumer's that would cop a feel every now and again that she would have trouble preventing because of her dozing and her lack of fervor and keenness. She could retaliate, she could be tough, but she couldn't save herself from the nightmare that she relived every day when being reminded of his loss by the emptiness of the place they had once shared. Where did she go wrong? Who could she blame, but herself? Yeah, maybe she could be a pest sometimes, with her womanly obligations, and maybe her over-affectionate inevitability. Maybe even her mindfulness of the past, her anxiety of loss, mustn't forget her ability to leave the floor wet and the rug drenched after a shower. But was it so horrible, so ghastly to stick around and endure it? Maybe even overlook the imperfections of Tifa Lockhart..? The answer was obvious, all she needed to do was look in a mirror and see who was beside her…

The bar counter couldn't be any shinier; it has gotten its greatest clean yet as Tifa was lost in translation, a riveting circular motion. If she had paid much attention, she probably would've realized the pains in her forearm or the soreness in her fiery tomato red fingertips as they ripped through the paper towels. But she kept on like there was some purpose she was going to fulfill by continuing the tirade on the counter-top with her anger directed at the paper towels. But the circular motion raged on, even quicker as she was losing her composure, sanity slipping from her grasp. Her lips curled, and her brows furrowed while the anger overwhelmed her, consuming the very bits of strength she had mustered to remain. Before she could break into the tantrum she so eagerly projected, a small soft hand grasped the top of her hand quickly, as if to stop her from sudden destruction. Her eyes were steady on the hand that clasped hers, surprise seeping from her eyes. Denzel breathed slowly, a solemn look on his face that he had used in the past to tame her, cultivated her even. But it wouldn't work on her anymore; she felt like the clown in the box that someone hadn't coiled in centuries. She was ready to pop out of that box, to be released from the anguish. She was drowning in despair. There was nothing else holding her to this planet, not even the small smile that creased the little boy's lips in an attempt to brighten her distasteful mood. But the children had held her and cultivated her on this planet by a strand, however thin that strand was.

She was out of apologies; she was out of the guilt discussions she had repeated over and over to little Denzel and Marlene. She was no longer the mother for them, the one that showered them with love and care. They barely got edible meals any longer, she would either overcook their meals, or under-cook them. She was bombarded with the burden of being a single-parent to the children who so desperately deserved what they had lost. But what much could she do, when she suffered a great loss as well? Two negatives do not create a positive; it just created more negatives, a swamp of endless dead-ends, and incompetence to live a proper life. Cloud Strife had taken everything with him when he left that cold morning, he might as well have taken everything else with him. The apartment, the bar, his damn toothbrush! She couldn't bear to remember him anymore, his face, and those blue eyes that glowed like a nightlight in the shadows. He was her misfortune, to say the least. Like a bad dream that wouldn't go away. There was no solution, not even Vincent Valentine. He could maybe tend to her wounds, but without results. He was the only one that had kept her alive this past year of her ongoing lurid life. It was even a tough take for Vincent, alone. He was the only one that hadn't given up on the promise of revitalizing Tifa, to get her back to the lovely and exquisite woman she had once been. But she had lost her tremors of life, the signs of coming back to herself she had shown after a year. But it wasn't long before he caught on that it was an act. "Remind me to set you up on an audition; you're perfect at pretending, Tifa."

His humor wasn't humorous underneath the surface; Tifa had become the crackjob that everyone would jester over, the type that was lobotomized because of their lack of humanity and grip on reality. Worst of all, she had forgotten her anchor; she lost sight of the hope that had stranded her to a faithful place. Despite Vincent's desperate attempts, nothing could fill the empty hole. No one could place the serenity back in her presence, or refill the costumer's drinks, or make the late-night deliveries, or tuck the kids into bed for her. Vincent could fill in from time to time, realizing that she was lacking that extra hand, but once he satisfied her wounds with a band aid and left them to heal; they would bleed through and cause irritability again. The solution wasn't another body to fill his shoes, because no one could replace him and suddenly make it all better like a surgery could heal a problematic injury, this was permanent damage. . .

Incurable.

And her solution to the problem would be perpetual also.

She could barely answer Denzel's worried gesture, as he prompted her to answer him. She was at a loss for words, realizing that there was nothing she could say this time to water it down. Her behavior had worsened, and the children knew that, she was aware they knew that. There was no reason to downplay it, and they had grown used to her overlooking her mistakes, and ignoring their worried glances and attempts at resurfacing her drowning former self. "Denzel, brush your teeth, Marlene and you both. I'll load your bags in the car." She looked at the clock on the wall, studying the time. Her eyes widened in her observation, seeing that she had lost track of time. "Oh my, I must've been dozing off for quite some time. I was supposed to have you at Barret's two hours ago. Be hasty, I'll finish up down here." Denzel stared at her for a couple of seconds, he was counting on her acknowledging her trances that had grown violent this time, but she was hard to crack. It was like trying to put two magnets together, the resistance was incredibly difficult to push against, especially for a young kid to try.

Her eyes were empty and tired, the effort she wanted to perform was powerless to inspire her, she left him to wonder and there was not much else he could say. She dropped the mangled paper towels in a bin, and wiped her hands of it while she wandered over to the phone, seeing that there were 10 missed phone calls and 3 voicemails. Some were from a berating Barret who inquired on her condition once again, asking if he should just pick up the little munchkins himself. And the very last voicemail would be from the one and only Vincent Valentine, disturbed by her distance and privation. He was still fretting about the night she disappeared when the kids were away with Barret, he had searched for her high and low in all of the places Yuffie had assumed she'd be. He ended up finding her in the back of the bar behind the trash cans, passed out due to an over dose of alcohol on her way to dispose of the evidence of her binge. If he had been a second late, he would've lost her… and that would've been the worst loss of this ongoing battle. Yes, he was still paranoid over that, she could detect it in his tone of voice. She began to realize that she was his misfortune. What a vicious cycle this all had become.

The tinge of pain in his voice was apparent, though he coveted it frightfully well. But she knew that voice. She knew the "and's" and the "but's" and the "hopefully's" all too well coming from Vincent, she couldn't help but feel like a hefty burden for Vincent. She had been such a basket-case the past summer, like having to deal with a drug addict undergoing withdrawals, and a knack for welcoming any hindrance at improving. She frowned on that note; she had more than enough influence to end this for everyone she was making miserable in the process of her existence. Yes, it had become a process. It was that severe now. Vincent always acted, better yet, pretended is a better word… he pretended to not be bothered by dealing with her outbursts, well, the aftermath of those outbursts per se. He was like a caregiver, she felt like an elderly person in a nursing home, for she had no more willpower to do humanly obligations on her own accord.

But Vincent was gentle with her, tender in his speech when confronting the issue. And even when she'd wince at hearing his name, he would stroke her cheek with the back of his hand, and for a moment, just a moment… everything was okay again. A momentary fix, but it was short-lived, every single time. Sometimes she wished he wouldn't leave, but she thought about the affliction it would cause him to be around her every waking day. She felt like a contagious disease, or to be less harsh, like an allergy that would inflict a sickness upon him. She couldn't do that to him; after all he had done for her… it was so selfish for her to even contemplate approaching him on the idea. She shook her head and furrowed her brow. No, she couldn't bring herself to do it even though it was such a savory idea, like attaining water on a hot day that she was miles from grasping. Like the temptation of the perspiration and condensation of an icy glass of water, this would be a perfect comparison to the idea of having Vincent around all the time to tend to her needs.

The more she thought about it, the more she thought about a therapy patient. Did everyone have to keep her on life support? Could she not breathe without being hooked up to a mechanical ventilator, the support of her friends? They had been her crutch for far too long, it was so discouraging for her, and it left a bitter taste in her mouth, a churning in her stomach. She knew that her loved ones could sate the inevitable pain of the loss of Cloud Strife, which had burned a hole in her heart. But only for a little while, the agony would continue to scorch on like a wildfire. Her sanity was disappearing more and more by the day, her time was just about up, and before she could continue the thought, Denzel and Marlene had reached the end of the staircase. She hadn't heard them approaching, and she realized they had been witnessing her heavy trance by the time she had snapped out of it. She had certainly lost her marbles, well, she looked the part. She hurried them off to the car, acting ignorant of the exposure of her melancholy.

The drive to Barret's was exceedingly inaudible, not even a peep from the young ones that sat in her back seat. She was feeling the fault and the weight of her issues pile on her back like a sack of bricks. She couldn't tolerate it, her patience had subsided over the one year time-span, and she knew that her composure was coming to a head. "This is silly, guys. You know I will be alright. I'm always in one piece when Barret brings you two back. Get those worried looks off of your faces… you're giving me the chills."

Denzel didn't appreciate her softening her condition, they had endured quite a deal over the summer… and her close call had kept them from making any visits to Barret. Denzel didn't trust her anymore, and he knew that she was unstable and couldn't be trusted alone. Somehow, someway, she had convinced them that time away to collect her thoughts would do her some good. With lots of resistance and a few tear drops later, they had come to a conclusion that they would only leave for a weekend. "That was enough time…" Tifa thought consciously. "We just don't want you to be stuffed in your closet the next we come back. Marlene is afraid you won't answer her calls next time, hopefully there isn't a next time though." Denzel's voice quieted below a whisper at the last part, he didn't quite want her to hear it, and he knew she would be stung by that. She had already showered them with promises not to let it get that bad again.

There was no words left to reassure them, nothing could convince them that she was saving herself, which was clearly not the case. She would be sick of her, too, if she were them. Who would enjoy living with a ticking time bomb? All the more reason for her to comply with the decision she had been wrestling with. She pressed her lips into a hard line, catching the last words that Denzel had tried to blanket, exhaling with a shiver. Even if it was bad to remove her from their lives, wouldn't it be easier to excuse the problem at hand, which was blatantly clear that it was herself? It may be rough around the edges, but who was to say that it wouldn't eventually get easy for them all? Because it was obvious it wouldn't get easy in their current state. She shook the thought from her mind; she needed her attentiveness for the road ahead, the rain was furious today, and could be dangerous if you weren't concentrating on the curves of the highway road.

An hour had already drained, and they were nearing Barret's place. He wasn't very pleased with her tardiness, and realized that the children had been on edge, the tension evident in their expressions. He questioned her; she felt the lectures rising in him as his tone increased along with his alarm. She tried to reassure him, but to no avail it wasn't enough to hold him off. She had to force him to let her leave that night, but he didn't show the difficulty letting her leave around Denzel and Marlene. She couldn't combat his inquiries, because he was right. She wasn't living anymore, barely surviving the lacerations that Cloud had struck her with. He was apprehensive of her safety, being alone for the first time since her last incident. Was it fair? Or caring on their part to just send her off on her own like a troublesome puppy that they adored but didn't have the time to take care of? He felt as if, this could be a terrible mistake. More reassurance, more apologies, and more guilt.

He finally agreed to let her go, with enough pleading that made him comfortable to wave her goodbye. But the tension was still present. She'd have to be quick, because she promised to call the kids to say goodnight. She couldn't wait much longer; it was gnawing at her like a dog chewed at his flees that infested his skin. It was suffocating her, the responsibilities that she could no longer perform because of her lack of poise, or any sort of gratification for life. She had lost it all, gone off the deep end.

I don't know if you noticed anything different,
It's getting dark and it's getting cold and the nights are getting long.
I don't know if you even noticed at all,
That I'm long gone baby, I'm long gone.

And the things that keep us apart keep me alive, and
The things that keep me alive keep me alone.

Back at Seventh Heaven, she trudged through the bar door with her muddy boots. She didn't pay any mind to the mess she was making, because the mess was benign in comparison to the disaster of her life, where it all began for her. She walked across the bar, lifeless, ready to get the task over with. The answering machine blinked a bright red number, three new voicemails. She knew she had checked them before she had left to drop Denzel and Marlene off. She huffed, hesitant to descend the staircase. She went behind the bar; eyeing the voicemail machine, slow to react to it. She pulled a plastic box from below the bar counter on a shelf; it had several envelopes and belongings she had coveted over the years. She sifted through the papers and found what she was looking for. She placed it on the counter and pressed a button on the answering machine that released the voicemails, and Vincent's concerned voice sounded through the speaker.

She had been ignoring all of his phone calls lately, and it had troubled him. She made sure to avoid him when he came around the bar, she'd leave Yuffie to the bar and blame it on the lack of groceries in the apartment, or errands she had to run for her and the kids. He didn't buy it anymore, up until the day she wouldn't come out from the shower. He apologized over and over for their quarrel like it must've been his fault; he thought that that had been the trigger for her distancing herself from him. But it wasn't that, she thought internally. She felt like the match that started the fire, like the reason for the domino effect. She was inflicting pain on everyone around her, it had become a chain reaction, and she couldn't deal with it anymore. She wanted him to get used to not her being present in his life, which had lessened the guilt she had for his increasing affections for her. She flashed back to that dreadful memory, cringing in regret and tangible remorse.

"Don't let me be the onion that continues to burn your eyes. You should remove yourself from this situation, Vincent. It's unhealthy. Just look at what it's done to Denzel and Marlene… I can't forgive myself for any of it anymore…" Vincent immediately grabbed Tifa by the arms, his firm grip tight around her arms; it was a little frightening for her because she could tell the stern look on his face was more serious than he'd ever been with her before. His crimson irises stared deliberately into her eyes, steadfast and unmoving.

"Let me tell you something, Tifa. And you listen clear. I'm not like that "callous" bastard, and I would never even have an increment of a thought of consideration to leave you. Not in this state, not ever. I see the life in you when I'm around you, you need this. And even that glimmer of hope, how little it is, I'm holding onto it. There's no way I could…" He couldn't finish his sentence as he realized his grasp on Tifa was getting too tight as the look on her face spilt discomfort and pain. He let go instantaneously.

"I don't need you… I don't need someone to pretend to be Cloud, Vincent." Her words broke off there as she saw what they done to him. He took a step back to process what she had said, and inhaled sharply, his eyes moving and his fingers flexed, trying to grasp some sort of explanation to her cruel behavior, he hadn't anticipated this reaction. He opened his mouth to speak, but she stopped him with her voice before he could continue. "I need to be clear. This isn't making me better, it's making me worse. I don't need baby-sitters, or any pity-party, to say the least. You guys' hover over me for gods-sakes! I cannot be saved anymore Vincent… I'm incurable. I need to be treated with some level of respect. And that is always so much to ask from all of you. I don't need to be reminded every day that I'm damn well near a horror film. And if that's the case, than I need to be quarantined."

"Tifa…" His hand found its place on her shoulder, but it wasn't enough to console her, because she knew that tomorrow would be the same. She'd had shoulders to cry on, she'd had hugs, and back-pats, even the occasional sympathy talk, in hopes to relate. But they all didn't know, or even comprehend the power the anguish had on her, her misfortune… The life it sapped from her-. "I'm here for you." And her train of thought halted, mid-sentence. She felt it rise up in perfect darkness, the tremor of panic rising in her spine. Her lungs lost air, and nothing escaped, her eyes hardened their stare to share her reaction from his proclamation, he wasn't going anymore, and it pained her that he was willing to take on the weighty responsibility of being her fall-guy. "…and I'm not afraid. You don't need to be quarantined. I choose to be in your presence; don't speak of yourself as if you're a monster. I'm determined to save you whether you are willing to be saved or not. I know you're confused and obliterated, but at least let me try to compensate. I just want to make you happy…"

Her eyes looked hastily around herself, as if to find something that can help her recover from his revelation. He was uneasy with the silence, letting his hand drop from her shoulder, embarrassed by her empty mouth. Fear is like fire, you can burn your house down with it. "Vincent…" She started, but failed to finish. Every time she looked back into his eyes, she saw the regard and affection behind them. As much as she wanted to utilize it, she knew that it would reveal the selfish side of her, because she was using him for the comfort, the convenience, and it was malicious of her. She squinted her eyes shut, shaking her head. And his heart broke into a panic, his breath caught in his throat instantly regretful of his revelation. "I can't deal with this right now! Close my casket already Vincent and stop throwing me a life jacket. If this is your way of getting me into therapy, or even trying to go into another lecture, stop because this is a pathetic way of getting what you want from me!" She shouted it, and it shattered him like glass. He stared, and finally blinked; looking away in surprise that she resorted to insulting his revelation and turning it into a plot to get her help. Fear is like fire, you can light it and watch it burn.

"Tifa…" There was so much he wanted to say, and accusations he wanted to divert and dismantle. She had got him good with that, speechless. That's what she wanted; she took her rage out on him because she knew it was the only ploy to get him to leave and to let her be. He was writhing internally from the rejection, trying to understand it and come to that conclusion. She didn't give him time to gather.

"Get out! Now please!" She started pushing and shoving and smacking, all at once in a fit of anger. He was caught off guard and he tried to overcome her surge of wrath with the calming of his cool hands, but she kept on barreling into him, backing him into the door of the bar. He had a mixture of emotions, shock, pain, rejection. But he let her fists do what damage they could, whatever she had intended them to do. And for that one moment their eyes were locked once he was on the other side of the door, he was lifeless and unable to register what was going on in her head. But he did know one thing; he finally realized why her pain had been so vibrantly excruciating. Because in that moment, he felt it too.

She punched the numbers into the phone and placed the envelope on the stool as she walked with the phone propped in between her shoulder and cheek. This may have not been the best idea, not even the slightest. She knew the consequences, the jeopardies it could cause. And it may have even endangered the precision of her well thought out plan, but she didn't care at this very moment. Her fervent desire to hear from the man that had been her rock and soul for the past year weighed heavier than her need to keep her plan intact. Did that mean she wanted to be saved, for once? She couldn't say, but she was sure that she needed that voice to purify her very being right now, one last time…for time's sake.

"Tifa?" He picked up on the first ring, and she felt the pitter patter, her heart flinching like an eager reaction, like a reaction you would get upon finding out you were going to overcome a revolting disease. Vincent had sounded so calm, but how could he manage to be so self-restrained even after how vile she had been towards him? She didn't deserve his benevolence, she deserved a punch in the kidneys, or if he insisted on being less unforgiving, he could at least curse her to her very core, causing her shame and guilt. That much was warranted. She let her breath escape her lips; she hadn't exactly prepared a speech for this. She probably should've been timelier, meticulous even to talk with more sagacity. But calling on a whim, with no warning or heads up? He would certainly suspect something was out of place.

"Vincent. I was a jerk, a jackass, even… You've been a pearl, with your shoulder that befriends my dreadful tearful outbursts, your generous helpfulness when it comes to being a guardian to Denzel and Marlene, tending to the bar and delivery service when I need a hand. I didn't even have to request any of that from you, you've done it all on your accord. And I'm so very grateful and obliged to you, Vincent. Words can't go on to describe my gratitude… And I've been a monster to you, utterly and completely…" Her mind went in different directions, she could barely fathom how much Vincent had done for her, and it was surely overwhelming. She had only reminded herself of how ungracious she had treated him, and he deserved so much more than she could have to offer. "I've been selfish, and I've identified the problem here Vincent… it's no longer going to be an issue, and I'm so sorry." Her voice caught in her throat and the pain rippled through her like a flame clothing her entire body, a burning sensation that inclined her to clench her fists and eye lids, the remorse building and boiling in her brain once more. "I can't do this to you… what he's done to me, I have to discontinue the vicious cycle."

Breathe in the future; breathe out the past.
Savor this moment as long as it lasts. Let me tell you,
Put it back together piece by piece.
Put it back together,
Make it good.
If you stayed over I'd make it so sweet,
I'd make you remember, baby, from your head to your feet.
If you go now babe we'll never know, how it ends.

Tifa's words flowed from her lips like a jumble of words, Vincent could barely make out what she was saying, and he could sense the anxiety in her tone. He tried to follow her, but all he was getting from this was a plea, an avenue of escape. She could no longer justify her motive for ousting him from her life, it all sounded like the invisible pun on a remark, but he caught it with affluence and there was no absconding what was, and what is. Vincent wasn't pulling anymore punches, per se… He was going to tell it to her straight, and tell her he wouldn't be going anywhere. He had nowhere to go, but to be near her and take her through the path to rectify all of her misplaced fortunes. It was going to be challenging, he would have to strive, but there was nothing he couldn't do for Tifa at this point, which she was blatant about adhering to.

"Tifa there's nothing to terminate here, don't be senseless. You're human; you're breathing your imperfections. You think any of us expected you to take this with stride? We expected no less… You just haven't exactly… let us try to abide to your pain, and strive to figure out an antidote for you. Whatever that may be, I've been on board to be patient, and to take it step by step. You just need to let-" And there was no way he could finish that sentence, with each word that mounted on top of the other, the panic rose in her throat. But hadn't she expected this? She made the sacrifice, the leap into fire, said phone call.

He didn't need to finish his sentence, she knew very well what he was going to say, she needed to "let go," but how could she? She felt as if there was a cord tied around her middle, anchored to that one person and no matter how far she walked, she'd always feel its pull back to the way she came. Cloud Strife had a hold on her; there was no way of sugar coating it. She cursed at herself repeatedly in her brain, and if she could hang up and get away with it she would do it in a millisecond. But instead of ruining what chance she had to keep this under wraps, she swept it under the rug conserving her temptations and leaning on willpower.

She managed to chuckle a little after a few moments of silence, playing it off like a joke on herself. "When I look back on it, I have been senseless, haven't I?" It was a rhetorical question, but she didn't intend for it to be answered. She stopped his lips in their tracks with more words of her own, like the inevitable sunrise. "I need to let him go… I need to let myself go. It's my way of ignoring, the torment that it causes, mostly for others, but secondly for myself." His principal reflex was to relax and exhale with comprehension that she had come to logic, and he stretched on the couch he was sitting on to relish over the lack of indignation he had now that she was coming to an understanding, unlike several confrontations in the past. He was glad. "I apologize for the absurdity Vincent; I haven't exactly been useful to you at all. Let alone Denzel and Marlene… I made so many promises, and I've broken them as effortlessly as I've made them. The way they look at me, it's as if I'm turning around and taking the knife out of my back and returning the lacerations to them, to everyone. So undeserved. How could I even begin to ask for forgiveness? I've given up on that choice." She was itching to complete her awaiting tasks, but she felt like it was miles away from her in the distance, lingering in the shadows. And Vincent continued to hover, making it more difficult. But the time was delicate, and she was losing it. 7:55, bed time was 8:00 for the kids; Barret would be ringing her soon. She'd have to sound more believable, like she was on a peek of conquering the sickness that threatened to surmount her.

"Like I said, step by step. You start at keeping one promise, and the rest will come later. Don't overwhelm yourself." Sure, he was right, that could work, for someone on pills. For someone who was monitored and adored by so many family members that were willing to force feed and admonish as much that was needed to keep the person's heart beating. But Tifa hated feeling like she was the cancer patient who needed saving, needed fending for. If she wanted to lose her own battle, than that was her choice. It was okay for cancer victims to make that choice, because the pain was beyond agonizing for them to resist the combat any longer. How was her situation different? Cloud was Tifa's cancer, her debilitating factor, and inevitable death. This was the way it was, there was no pardoning it. She was ready.

"Thank you for the reassurance. I'm glad I called you, I needed this… it's like rehabilitating for me. You've really done too much for me, Vincent Valentine. Oh! The time is passing me by, I promised Barret I'd give the kids a goodnight call, I should abide by that calling." She bit her lip, not quite sure whether he'd buy this and overlook some obvious indications of hastening the conversation. "And Vincent…?" She got a 'Hmm?' in return and she closed her eyes when she said it, trying to squeeze every increment of sincerity from the pores within her. "I really am sorry, for every last bit of it. What I said, how foolish I was towards you, I hope you can find it in yourself to extract that from your mind, because it was all a lie. I said those things out of ancient pain, and you were in my line of fire. Trust mewhen I say that it will never, ever happen again."

He thought to himself, the apologies were needless, because she was instantly forgiven after the words had left her mouth. He didn't hold a grudge against her inexorable plague that Cloud had thrown upon her, she needed a parachute, and if he had to undergo a fistful punching rage and the aggravated outbursts and tantrums, than he'd take the blows with a smile. If it ultimately meant her survival from this war, she would need an armistice. He could work with that, of course. "Don't mention it. Already forgotten. . ."

Well, when he put it that way, she felt better. She smiled weakly, not much else she could say to that, she saw the exit in the box she was trying to escape when she made the phone call. "Goodbye Vincent." And the pain returned to her brain, her fingertips and down to her toes. She felt it everywhere, like an electrical shock, and it terrified her. She realized that these were the last words, and she choked back a cry silently, regaining her equanimity.

"Have a good night, Tifa." He was content with the conversation, and he was okay to hang up the phone without a second thought or double take. Maybe he had finally made a break through; she seemed to have come alive again somehow. It had been several weeks since their little quarrel, and he was glad that the worst was over, he could exhale now without worrying about her of whom he was expectant of every single morning, it was routine. It'd be nice to switch that up for a first, and he was feeling on top of the situation, finally. He'd come around again; maybe even buy her that favorite passion tea she reveled over so much. He smiled at the prospect of that. Yes, tomorrow he would surprise her, and it would be splendid. She'd be doing her afternoon laundry obligations and she wouldn't even see it coming. He wanted to replay the conversation in his head, and he caroused in it again remembering the savory parts that made his hairs stand up. Wait. Goodbye?

She said Goodbye… That was strange; especially her tone of voice, the fashion in which she said it just took his attention. He raised an eyebrow at it, questioning it.

She usually said, "Seeya Vincent," "Talk to you later, Vincent," "Have a nice night, Vincent." but never "Goodbye, Vincent." That couldn't be typical of Tifa, he tried to replay memories back in his head, figuring he was being exaggerative. It was a possibility that she would say it when leaving on a delivery run not in the area, an overnight run that would take her from all other duties until the very next day, but even still, it was unlike her. Maybe it was something very insignificant, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

He walked to the other side of his apartment, needing a sufficient distraction because he was sure he was losing his mind. "Butter your bagels, Vincent." He picked up his revolver, re-filling the ammunition that he was meaning to do earlier, but he hadn't finished much of what he presumed to accomplish lately. He'd lose his train of thought, enough to discomfort and incapacitate him from continuing the task any further. He couldn't get her out of his head, she pierced his thoughts, one by one, every one. No, Vincent was not overreacting; he was entitled to taking this out of context, because Tifa hated saying goodbye. He knew that for a fact. "Don't say goodbye, it feels like that's the last time you're going to bid me farewell. How bout', talk to you soon? Yeah, that's more fitting." He had a distinct memory, and there was no uncertainty in his mind to tell him otherwise. This was an alarm, ringing like bells. When she said, "I need to let him go. I need to let myself go." What was that supposed to entail? He had no time to speculate, he had to be hasty. She could have minutes left. So he ran rancid, his cape taking flight.

When he came to his suppositions, he was begging his brain to make excuses for why that could not be the case. Vincent had struggled so inflexibly for it to not reach this point, where he doubted her will to live. How imprudent would he feel if he showed up and she was soundly asleep? How relieved and dismissed? But what if that could possibly not be the case? And he was too late… He would never forgive himself, in fact, he would purchase a jackhammer and he would hunt the ghastly bastard down who had enabled the misery to take place to the point of her perished soul. "If she even had a soul…" He thought, it was improbable at this point for her to even have a cell left of her that was unabridged.

When he reached Seventh Heaven, and the cool air swept over every hair on his entire body when he entered the unlocked back door, a cold shiver washed over him, and he wondered if he was just imagining the bleak feeling of an empty life-less apartment. He wanted to hope so badly, that this was all delusion and that he was psyching himself out. Every step he took was rapid, but ironically he felt like his feet were weighed down with weights the size of anchors, because his brain didn't wish him to descend the stairs and witness either great respite, or great devastation. He couldn't imagine her with the expression of death, like the life had been sucked from her, but willfully. Was he even the one to take this unspeakable responsibility? Could he even recover such a dreadful obligation, which he was unsure he would even restrain himself from taking some sort of blame for being too late, if that were the case here? No, this was foolish, and irrational! Tifa would be just fine, alive, well, and breathing, because he was strong enough to gather the vigor to actually believe that very unlikely reassurance.

Because he knew where the end was going, and he liked to turn off the light at the end of the tunnel so he could stay lost in confusion a little while longer. Just so he could hope a little while longer. Fear is like fire, you can watch it burn.

Feel the night end in perfect darkness.

Perfect darkness is all I can see.

Deep water, stay under, see it rolling over your head and just,

Roll with it, until its all good, yea.

Deep water, a little deeper than you thought,

Feel it going over the edge and just, go with it, until it's all good, yea.

Keep those brown eyes wide open for this moment we own for now.

But, she wasn't okay, because once he found two letters left on the kitchen counter. He knew something wasn't right. He opened the one with his name on it.

Vincent,

I want you to stop feeling like you couldn't make me happy. You did make me happy. I left you because I couldn't return the favor.

I didn't deserve any of it. I don't deserve to be happy when all I do is hurt you.

I'm sorry this so easy to write, hard to say, and incredibly painful to feel. Compared to feeling truly sorry, writing it and saying it looks and feels so inadequate.

Please forgive me for all that I have done to you.

Love,

Tifa

He dropped the note as quickly as he departed up the staircase and found himself in an empty room; he fought against endless possibilities when he found the light peeking through the bottom of her bathroom door. His thoughts conflicted, thoughts of possible reprieve from his speculations, thinking she could be bouncing in perfect distinct health with her familiar flush of humanity still bright within her wine-colored eyes and in the flush of her cheeks, but a resilient part of him was doubtful she would even have her eyes opened when he found her. Vincent was hasty, desperate even just to reach her, but everything seemed to move in slow motion. It reeled him, burned his bones to feel some sort of a magnetic pull against him reaching her quickly.

She was not okay.

He fought against the appeal of turning around and bolting out of the point of no return if he fought for her life that could be possibly already lost. Her body was engulfed in freezing bath water, but she was perfectly still, and soul-less. He could see that her body was slowly lifting to touch the surface, cyanosis.

"No!" he wanted to shout and plummet into the bath-water and will her consciousness back into her body, like an order could do the trick. All the moments happened so suddenly, clip by clip it happened in his solitary mindset. In his recollection and now memory, as soon as his body met doorway, his hands met the cold bath-water; and the frail body of Tifa Lockhart. "God damn it Tifa!" Was all he could manage to even say, he was battered with shock, and severe frustration that if he wasn't so set on saving her life that seemed like it was hanging in the balance, he would've beat her to life.

He settled her on his lap, as icy cold clothing drenched his lower half. "What the hell have you done?" He knew he had to quit the one-liners, as he realized she was more far gone than he could've ever imagined. How much time had passed since she'd been under? Would she still be Tifa, if he even manages to bring her back? He couldn't discharge the infinite possibilities of the conclusion of the current situation. He began compressions on her delicate chest, he could feel the very ribs beneath her blue skin crack underneath his hands, and he felt like he was finally finishing Cloud's job, the one he began that day he left one winter ago… leaving a crack in her soul. He gave her two hefty breaths through her lips that were currently a pale blue, no sign of blood flow in her entire body. It looked like she had stored snow throughout her figure. She was such a pale white.

He pumped her chest, and he pumped her chest, and pumped her chest some more.

He was in shockwave, this wasn't real, this wasn't something he was supposed to undergo, and this wasn't a way to remember the exquisite girl that had enamored him so. It felt like the ending, before it had even begun. The woman he was so fond of was no longer breathing. He was beset on saving, but he had been trying to do it for several months now, and had been failing robustly and consistently. Maybe this was the solid palpable apprehension that he was never going to win, that he was never going to obtain the old Tifa Lockhart that they had all besotted. Or the realization that he had been climbing a mountain that had no top, that just kept on ascending infinitely, with no finish line. He didn't want to compare her to a topless mountain; he needed to know that there were some grounds to never give up on Tifa. There was a tremor of a pulse, so he kept pumping, and kept hoping, and kept climbing, to will her back to life.

Distance and time are no protection for bad luck,

So many roads, so many crowds.

And I know I'm leaving early, and these things test us baby.

Distance and time, so many moves to make.

I try to stop the fire spreading from under my feet, to under our bed.

Distance and time are no protection for your sweet brain.

-1 Year Later-

Darker clouds approached, and the perspiration they carried was cradled, ready for another batter of rainfall. It was breaching midnight and the floor gleamed and reflected the moonlight, it was so cold the puddles could've frozen over and caused a hazard. It was typical Midgar, and he knew it so well, familiar being an understatement. The man had reached the top of a hill, surveying the town he would descend that he hadn't initiated in a little over two years. He grasped the hilt of the sword that was barricaded deep into the terrain. The icy cold unforgiving wind tousled his thick now darkened locks, but he was unaffected, knowing the commission he would fulfill tonight would be every bit of the word problematic, but it was worth the trouble. He would have to pay his dues, for he was to blame for the damage he would have to mend. You break it, you buy it. That meant tending to its injury, right? Even after it had been a while, a long while to be thorough. And even though the thought of the long channel ahead creased his brows and impelled an exasperated breath to part his lips, he knew that this would be the only way to reconcile his past, to make his demons slumber, and to cause his anxieties to perish. And so he descended the mountain, with the sword holstered on his right shoulder. Midgar wouldn't know what hit em'.

Compass points out in no directions,

From this moment we own for now.

A/N: Another big thanks to all of those who have continued to read this fic, it is near and dear to my heart despite the lack of updates. I've identified with this story a lot, and have seen people suffer the loss of a loved one who has either abandoned them or who have lost them in death, and even from my own personal experiences. I think we could all relate in one way or another. As you may have realized, the revised version of Chapter 1 is not identical to the original rough version, which solely focused on the return of Cloud Strife, and Tifa's internal struggle to trust him because of his drastic changes. I wanted you guys' to get a broader view of why Tifa was so reluctant to jump into his arms, and why it had been so difficult for Vincent to witness Tifa's shortcomings and to accept that Cloud was making a comeback. I apologize for how gigantically long this chapter was, but notwithstanding my exasperated efforts to shorten it, this was as good as it was going to get. Please express your thoughts, views, and questions about this chapter. Don't be reluctant, let me have it! Thanks for reading and for your assertive attention, till' next time.

P.S: If you'd like to know who authored the lyrics throughout this chapter, they were by the wonderful and inspiring artist Fink. Songs I used were: "Honesty," "Perfect Darkness," "Make it Good," "So Many Roads," and last but not least, "This is the Thing". And also, desperately searching for a beta reader for this story, contact me if you'd like to behold the responsibility..! ;)