Women Live on Love
Chapter 1:
A/N: I dont own final fantasy. PERIOD.
Sirens wailed throughout the city, the bright red lights flashing obnoxiously against the darkness of the night. Tires screeched and the engine of his car engine roared in his ear as the police chased him down. The car swerved sharply around a tight corner. The jerky movement caused the driver to hiss in pain as the strain on his bloody arm burned his muscles.
He had managed to escape the worst of the explosion from the gas bomb. He was unable to, however, escape fast enough to avoid the impact from the flying debris. Another second later and he would have been in a coma or, worst, dead. On his temple was a burn mark left by a bullet widely missing its intended mark. Pain gripped his body but he kept calm. After all, he had been trained for worse situations. Losing any rationality now would do more harm than good, especially if he was going to get out of this alive.
The engine snarled menacingly as if answering to his call for survival as he caught more speed and increased the distance between him and the government dogs. He racked his brain for a plan; he would need to set some type of plan while he had the brain power. He knew he wouldn't be able to continue to drive like this for much farther. The gas bomb they used was a special type he recognized by the particular odor it emitted. The gas bomb not only caused a deadly explosion, but it released a chemical causing the victims to lose eyesight. It would essentially make the criminals sitting ducks, even if they did end up running away and hiding. The only cure was at the medical center where the medical staff were obligated to report to government officials whenever someone suffering from this gas bomb came to be treated. It was a surprisingly effective system though not often used since no one ever dared to challenge the government's hold on the city. Not until AVALANCHE showed up.
He needed to park somewhere and soon before his vision got any worse. At most he would have 30 minutes before going completely blind. He managed to buy himself some time by darting out of the building before they were able to surround the area. By the time they realized he was gone, he was already speeding down the streets of the city. Now, he needed to hide long enough till he could make contact with HQ. The dim lights that zoomed passed outside his window told him he was no longer within the city limits. He was in the remote outer areas of the city. It was a slum of some sorts, overrun by old empty buildings and old houses. A ghost town filled with deserters of the city life, usually people running away from obligations or dejected by the life of the city and close eye of the government. It was quieter here and darker, perfect for hiding.
He swerved onto a small dirt road that came up out of nowhere on the side of the highway. The dirt changed into an unsteady gravel road, remnants of what was once a smoothly paved street. After a few of minutes, he pulled over under a crumbling bridge and parked his car in the shadows. He nearly stumbled out of the car before running off into the darkness; he wasn't sure how close the authorities were. The streets were not very well lit here and it made it harder for him to navigate through the alleys. He pulled his dark red trench tight around him, using one of its many buckles to clot the blood from his wound on his stomach so that it would not drip and leave a trail. He wasn't sure how long he had been running for though with each passing second his steps were becoming clumsier and he struggled to keep one foot in front of the other. The adrenaline rush that had pushed him on for the last 20 minutes was dying down and his body began to alert him of just what state he was actually in.
His vision was now very dull, the clear lines of objects meshing together. He needed to hide NOW. With his blood draining and heavy breathing, he nearly registered the buzzing against his thigh. He reached into his pant pocket and picked up the phone.
"VINCENT! WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU OKAY?"
He could hear violent shouts and gunshots in the background over the phone. His friend must still be in the city amongst the chaos. "I'm fine, Cloud," Vincent replied, swallowing heavily. His mouth felt very dry. "It was a trap. They were expecting me." He held his breath when he heard distant yelling behind him. The police were near. "Yellow Rose," he muttered quickly before turning his phone off completely and wordlessly dashed into the night with his last remaining strength.
The obscurity of the night and the dimly lighted streetlights made it worse along with the uneven, rough road. He had to be careful not to lose his balance. He managed to stumble onto the wall of some sort of building and patted his hands against the cold concrete trying to feel for a door. His vision was gone now and panic lurked deep inside him waiting to jump out at any sign of weakness. Vincent gritted his teeth as he forced himself to stay calm. He suddenly felt an old rusty door and lowered his hands to feel for a door knob. To his luck, the knob jiggled loosely. It was unlocked. Without a second thought, he jerked the door open and tumbled in while ungracefully shutting the door behind him.
His body nearly gave into exhaustion but his senses became alert, though not at their full potential. His hand instinctively grabbed his gun with a speed hard to believe considering his injured state. The gun was mostly steady and aimed towards to his right side. "Identify yourself," he demanded roughly, making sure to keep his voice low.
"Stay where you are," he warned threateningly when he heard a slight shuffle. A faint aroma of lemon and peonies wafted through his senses. He could conjecture where the person was through the countless training and experiences he had over the years.
After a couple of moments of silence passed by, a soft yet nervous voice spoke.
"Y…you can't see."
His cold placid mask did not falter even though he was surprised she knew so quickly. He was sure he was pointing his gun in the right direction as to not give away his vulnerability.
The tension between them was suffocating when suddenly a heavy pounding shattered the stillness.
"This is the police! Open up!"
Her face dropped in panic while the man remained perfectly still. When the banging wouldn't stop, she stepped forward ignoring the gun at her face. "Get inside quickly."
She grabbed him by the front of his jacket and nearly fell when half his weight leaned on her for support. He was much heavier than he appeared and she nearly threw him into her living room before running towards her kitchen.
He heard the two squeaky turns of a knob and heard water. The sink. There was no time to clean him up with the police right behind the front door, he thought frustrated.
He heard her feet patter past by him and felt a rush of air and something soft brush against his skin. A towel? Robe of some sorts?
"I'm coming, I'm coming!"
He heard her voice, completely devoid of the panic and nervousness he had heard before.
"Can't a girl take a shower in peace?" He heard the door open, and he held his breath.
"Have you seen anyone suspicious around here?" a man demanded in a gruff voice.
"Do I look like I saw someone suspicious around here? I literally came running out of the shower when you two jerks started pounding on my door! What's this about?" She demanded angrily.
"Watch your tongue," the other man growled.
"There was a terrorist attack in the government building in the city. We saw the man responsible escape to this area and we are looking for him. He's a tall man with long black hair, should be injured. He is a dangerous creature and should not be handled by anyone."
She rolled her eyes. "Duly noted. Can I go back to my shower now? With the way you two were knocking at my door, I thought this was some home invasion," she said with a tired sigh.
"Alert the authorities of any suspicious activity or if you think you found this man," the other man stated and handed her a small flyer.
She watched them leave, as they headed out to regroup with several other officials and some suspicious men in black suits. As they walked away, she could hear them talk.
"He can't have gone far in this dump of a town."
"Maybe if we're lucky he'll shut that bitch up."
Her lips trembled and quickly pressed them tight to hold back her emotions. All the more reasons to NOT help them out, she thought bitterly. Quickly, she shut the door and placed the locks in place. She really needed to be better about locking her door.
His face was distorted in pain as he laid there helplessly. It was not an ideal situation for him: to be so injured and vulnerable at the hands of a female stranger, young by the sound of her voice. He didn't trust people. He didn't LIKE to trust people, and he did not like to be particularly helpless and chronically injured around strangers.
She was quite busy now. After the police had left, he heard the several different locks shift in place, which made him wonder why those had not been on in the first place. He knew, though, he should not think too cynically about it since it was because of that mistake he was able to hide.
Her bare foot pitter-pattered around him vigorously. He could hear her mumble to herself, though it was too quiet for him to hear clearly exactly what she was distressed about. What he could hear clearly were usually the curse words that shot out here and there. He heard drawers sliding in and out with a noisy clatter as she rummaged through what sounded like were cluttered drawers. This person was not particularly organized.
"Not here….Shit where did I put the extras…"
He heard her run past him again, this time towards the bathroom. In the distance, the sound of the shower head turning on and the deep bellowing echo following after drew in his mind a bucket being filled with water. She was all over the place, almost as if working on each new thing that popped inside her mind. He supposed it was not all that bad. Her mindless muttering and flailing about distracted him a little bit from his excruciating pain.
Based on the sound of her bare footsteps and muttering, he deducted that this house was not particularly large. Probably a small with decent enough space for one or two persons to live comfortably without feeling too claustrophobic. A kitchen towards his front, a bedroom towards his left, and a bathroom towards his right.
She finally came back to him, and he felt her there. Her small hands lifted his head gently as she slid a soft pillow underneath, pulling his hair back. With a small grunt, she managed to slip his trench coat off his body along with his black button up shirt.
He heard a small gasp and a barely inaudible "shit" that whipped past under her breath. He assumed she finally saw the extent of his injuries. To his surprise, the shock was brief, a sort of initial reaction before she dove right in and skillfully got to work. The strong smell of the disinfectant hit his nostrils as he felt something cool and wet rub near his wounds and, to his surprise, around his eyes. He felt the stinging around his eyes from the potency of the disinfectant.
"Sorry," she murmured, "but I have to make sure there's no left over residue around your eyes."
He endured in silence. After all, it wasn't painful, just discomforting, though it did make his eyes slightly water. She shuffled beside him and he wondered what she was up to. He tensed slightly unsure of what to expect next when he heard the grinding of two smooth stones crushing against each other. She grunted softly and he heard a type of liquid drizzling down into a container; she sounded like she was ringing something out.
"Could you look straight up for me?" When he did, she made a sound of approval. "Great, if you will keep looking up. I am going to pour a solution down your eyes so please try not to blink." If he had cared, he might have been touched at her attentiveness to his current blindness.
The solution was surprisingly thick; he had expected a much thinner viscosity. As it oozed over his eyes, the stinging came as expected as if each molecule in the liquid was raging a war on every single neuron and cell in his eyes. He winced but made sure not to blink, and after a few moments, a welcoming cooling sensation flurry over his eyes.
"You can close your eyes now."
He obeyed and felt a cold moist cloth drape over his eyes the instance his lashes brushed his cheeks. Sensing his confusion and wariness, she explained, "This should help with the blindness, but it won't regain your vision completely."
His curiosity and suspicion of her grew at this information. That meant that she had treated victims of this gas bomb in whatever facility she had worked for, and he knew exactly who made up a good majority of those victims. His frown deepened and it did not go unnoticed.
"Hey, I'm not some magician all right? This is the limit of my capabilities and you should be thanking me for doing at least this much," she griped. "Some people…" she trailed off bitterly.
She went to work on his wounds next, starting with the largest and worst of the bunch: his abdomen. A horrifying gash and burned edges adorned what would have been a clean and beautiful skin. He heard another soft sigh.
It was a strange feeling, he thought. If Vincent had just gained consciousness, he would have assumed he was being treated by a doctor or a nurse. The minimal gestures that moved with a purpose and care articulated to him that she was no ordinary citizen. This woman, however young she may sounded, had to have some sort of medical background, a prestigious one at that if she had experience with treating the blind gas. It seemed the gods had not abandoned him just yet since he was lucky enough to have run into someone like her. Or, this was a very elaborate joke on him and he was actually on enemy ground.
Somewhere in his gut, he knew the latter was implausible.
A warm cloth rubbed against his skin. "A clean body heals faster," she muttered softly. She must have felt the need to explain each gesture. "Also decreases the chance of an infection, and I do not have any antibiotics for you, mister." I didn't have time to steal them. She kept that thought to herself though.
He knew she was finished with him when he heard her pack away whatever she had brought out. Careful not to ruin what she had done, he slowly moved his hands over his body of where she treated him inspecting her work. She gave him a side eye for scrutinizing her work but she was too tired to even complain and just left him to it.
He was satisfied to an extent, and leaned back into his pillow.
"You're too heavy to move so you'll have to make do on the floor," she said when she came back into the living room. A soft sheet draped over his body before another heavier blanket went over on top. He heard a little sigh as she literally tucked him in to bed like a mother would to their child. "You… You're free to stay here until your friends or whoever you work with can pick you up…or whatever. I won't rat you out, so you can relax a little bit...", she trailed off before pressing on. "Or not, do what makes you feel comfortable. Just take into consideration that the more you're stressed, the slower it is to heal your wounds. Good night." She rushed into her room and he heard the door shut along with a soft click, informing him in a strange amusement that she locked her door. Clearly, she was more worried about him than he was with her considering he was in the more vulnerable situation.
She fell against her bed with an exhausted plop as she finally had a time to reflect on her decisions and the events that swept up her night like a tornado. She had been talking on the phone with Tifa when suddenly she heard her door open and a loud thud, and inconsiderately to Tifa, Yuffie had ushered a quick 'I'll talk to you later' and hung up on her. Yuffie's heart had pounded against her chest in a panic, thinking someone had barged in and was going to mug her, and that thought had not gone away when she saw the tall man slumped against her wall, bleeding and breathing in agony. She had presumed she was right actually, especially considering he pulled that gun on her.
What she had noticed through the dangerous situation and the deadly injured man glaring at her with eyes of hate, was the way he had pulled that gun on her. The movement was smooth and barely faltered even though she was sure he had lost a lot of blood considering his sickly pale skin. This man, whoever he was, was a pro at what he did.
Why didn't she give him up when those men had knocked on her door? Her problems literally would have been solved right then and there. She could have gone back to sleep, probably. She gripped her sheets tightly and buried her face into her soft sheets, trying to physically erase the memories that flashed into her head when she saw those men. After all, who wants to remember the night her friend got murdered?
She knew immediately whatever indecision she was toiling with inside her mind had come to a complete stop the moment she saw their faces, specifically their suits. It had taken all her energy to force her to not freeze up and act naturally in front of them.
They were similar to the men she had met five years ago, back at the hospital. That terrible, terrible night. She knew from then on she couldn't give this man up. Not to these men.
Well, that was half a lie. She did bring him inside before she even saw the authorities. She even pretended she had come out of the shower to lower their suspicion. She supposed her body moved first before she had time to think: she saw an injured man first before she saw a criminal. She simply supposed. Still, whatever second thoughts that was in her mind as she walked up to that door had vanished when she saw those men.
Her attention went back to the man she treated tonight. The miniscule old scars lingering on his body told her a story of his background. One that involved a lot of combat and a lot of blood. She flipped over onto her back and inhaled deeply before exhaling painfully slow, relieving whatever pressure sat on her chest. Back to the man. Even amongst the blood and the disheveled long hair, she could tell he had a handsome face. She guessed even assassins could have a pretty face. Though, she wondered in her sad attempt to relieve the seriousness of this situation at what point did he look in the mirror and saw THAT face and thought that his career path should be the cold life of an assassin. She was sure he would have made a really successful model.
Yuffie hugged her pillow tightly and sighed again for the hundredth time that night. She hoped his friends would come quickly. She hoped they knew about his whereabouts. She hoped they wouldn't kill her when they did come to pick him up. She hoped he had friends. It would be very unfortunate of her fate if he was some sort of independent handsome guy gone awry. She tried to joke about it in her head but the unsettling shakiness inside her chest did not ease away.
At this point, she just hoped she wouldn't regret this decision to help him out. After all, she tried to stay away from any sort of drama ever since five years ago. Yuffie closed her eyes and forced herself to sleep. Whatever the fates had in store for her, she would deal with it one day at a time.
