Seems as soon as I decide to write more regularly, uni takes over. = p That's life, I guess. Anyway, I wrote this fic probably about three years ago now but stumbled across it today and decided to post it. I guess it'd be best to slot it into the timeline somewhere after Dirge of Cerberus, but it's not so important. Reviews and concrit are much welcome, as always. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 and all related characters are just being borrowed by me for this story for my own amusement.
Inaction.
It's all very simple, almost painfully so: he just can't be with her.
How exactly this had all come about, how exactly they'd been thrown into this situation he doesn't know, nor does he really consider. The human psyche is weak, unable or perhaps just unwilling to withstand prolonged discomfort, and so it was with this subject: he simply does not want to think about it. It doesn't matter that he is barely human as it was, or perhaps it just confirmed his reactions. Whatever the reasons, he's clearly the coward he's always been.
There are a few things that are obvious, however. The adoration with which her grey eyes drink in his appearance; the pleading sweetness with which she kisses him, gives herself entirely to him; the cajoling playfulness of the tone she uses for him. He knows that with every look, every touch, every word she's begging for his love, for him to feel for her with the intensity and passion that she feels for him.
Yet he does nothing to change the situation.
Why?
He knows this- no, he- will destroy her, and that the damage will only worsen if time progresses. And yet he makes no move to distance himself from her or to push her away from him.
Why?
Even now, as she stands there before him, he doesn't attempt to deter her.
Why?
"Vincent."
She's staring up at him with those same grey eyes, but they're different now. Tired. Hollow. Something he's done- another sin for the list.
"Tell me the truth."
Her voice is tired too, carrying in it a weight and conviction he would never have thought possible of someone usually so light-hearted. He can almost guess at the exact words she's about to say and exactly how her tone will change with them.
"It's not me you want, is it? It's her."
And sure enough, the weight of such a possibility proves too much for her voice, cracking as it does. Nevertheless she remains standing, arms folded across her chest in a gesture half of defiance and half of self-comfort. His gaze doesn't flicker, never once wavers from hers. Why should it? He's not one to conceal the truth when asked for it, despite his desire not to initiate such openness.
So he speaks.
"That is correct."
There's no malice in his tone, no mockery; in fact, there's nothing at all. Just a simplistic truth that hadn't been put into exact words before this moment.
He continues to watch her, how her grip tightens on her own arms, how her gaze falls to the floor, how she licks her dry lips slightly. Her shoulders have slumped a little and her head is bowed- hardly the stance of a proud ninja, especially not one from the oldest House of Wutai. Her old exuberance is gone as she replies and, with it, the very core of her being.
"I know." She sighs slightly, almost inaudibly. "I've always known."
With that, she turns on her heel and he watches her head for the door. Her movements are as fluid as ever, but lacking that ever present energy that so characterised her. Watching her leave, Vincent knows that he'd altered her irreparably, smashed her hopes with such seemingly simple gestures that had been so devastatingly profound to her. He realises that perhaps they're not so different, this vivacious young girl who had been so real before him and the face and voice from the past that existed equally realistically in his mind.
After all, one way or another, he'd killed them both by doing nothing at all.