Author's notes: I just want to thank you all again for your very lovely reviews. They really do make my day, you know. I'm glad that you're all enjoying this.

As a note, there are still many chapters in this. This chapter might sound like an ending but it's not. Far from it, actually. Enjoy.

Contact (pt 3)

There are so many different kinds of conversations, so many. I wish I knew... I wish I knew what to say to you. What do you do when you've transgressed so badly against someone? Gods, what can you do?

There are three things. First, you can fight – oh we used to fight, he and I – and say more words that you can never take back.

Second, you can ignore the entire situation and pretend that it never happened. It's only a little bit better than fighting, that one.

Third… you can really talk about something. You can be honest and let all the tiny pieces of yourself slip out and be exposed in the full light of day. It's a terrifying thing to contemplate. It means that you aren't allowed to hide your little indiscretions anymore. You can't pretend. Sometimes words have that kind of an impact. Sometimes a conversation can change a life, can change lives. But we've never been that brave, have we Vincent? No, we've never been that brave.

So we don't talk about my cardinal sin, my indiscretion. We don't talk about the fact that I brushed my lips against yours when you were standing in my – our – my kitchen and that, just for an instant, you placed your fingers against my jaw – why, I may never know. No, we don't talk about that.

Do we talk? Do we speak? Sometimes. Sometimes we'll talk about small things. You're a quiet man Vincent and I find your silence… comforting. I feel like you know me and, yes, some part of me admits that I know you too. In some ways.

I have no idea how you feel about any of this but I do know many things. I know that you have a sense of humour, diluted through the ages maybe but still shockingly, remarkably there. I know it because sometimes, just sometimes, there'll be the tinniest of smiles pushing against the corners of your mouth, only a little bit more than a smirk. I love that smile; it always makes me laugh.

There is something… no, many things… underneath that surface of yours. I feel like I could spend hours just sitting with you. I feel like we are always talking, you are I. We are always telling each other little things. There are times when I see you sitting alone in the living room, sipping coffee quietly first thing in the morning. There are moments when the light is filtering in quiet and diluted from our windows and I feel like I know you. There is a breadth of understanding that sometimes echoes between us. I don't need to tell you how I feel because you know and I know you do and we don't really need to talk about it. After all, you've done this all before, haven't you Vincent? You've been here, right here, where I'm standing. You've… you've…

It's not… Oh gods, it shouldn't be a sin to love someone. It shouldn't.

Vincent, I'm not brave enough for this. I can't have this conversation with you. I don't want to talk about it. But I do. Oh gods, yes I do.

This… I can't do this. I can't be here with you. I can't have these moments with you anymore. I can't stand in the kitchen and watch you from the corner of my eye. I can't sit outside at night and look at the stars with you. I can't dance with you in our living room. I can't do all of these things – these sins, these painful little sins – if, in the end…

I don't know what you think of me. I wish I knew. I wish I could read you. Maybe if I knew I could be honest. Maybe honesty is a foreign concept to both of us but I wish that I could be honest. I don't know who I am anymore. I've spent so long defining myself by someone else that I've forgotten what it's like to just be Tifa. You can only give so much of yourself away before there's nothing left. I don't have anything left Vincent. So, please. Please… I can't…

This is just a little too much for me. Please, give me back my mysteries or lose some of your own. I don't want to continue on like this. This life? I can't…

Hate me, lose me, love me, free me, I don't care anymore. I have so many things that I want to tell you. I want to sit down with you and talk for hours. I want to break down and cry. I want to scream and throw things and laugh - really laugh - until there are tears running down my face and my ribs hurt. I want to be wild and laughing and so damned alive that I can feel every pulse beating in my heart. Can you give that to me? Can you? Do I have the right to ask?

I'm tired of being numb. It's dulling, it's safe, it's quiet and tranquil… but it's not living. Oh, Vincent, I know and that's the hard thing. I realize what you are trying to do. I understand your reasons and, really, I appreciate your intentions. Maybe you were afraid for me. It would make sense; I was afraid for myself too, a little. Not suicide… just maybe that I'd fade a little too far. Maybe. I don't know. I try not to think too much about that part of myself…

So I do realize and I appreciate and I thank you but, Vincent, this isn't enough for me. I can't just… be here with you like this. I can't always dance around these… these… connections that spring it between us. I can't always gloss over everything. Maybe you can. Maybe you're stronger than I am... Gods, I wish I could tell you all of this!

… the sad thing? I know that I won't talk to you. I'm not even really debating this. This is our reality. I can't… I can't break out of this on my own. Maybe once – will there ever be a day when I don't regret something? – maybe once I could have but I can't manage alone anymore. So, you want to be this way? You want this? Alright; I won't argue, I won't protest. I won't scream and beg and cry the way that I want to. I don't feel enough anymore. I can't. You've… you've taught me too well for that. I won't give in; I'll hold back. I'll…

We won't have this conversation. I'm not strong enough to start it and you, oh you, you're too quiet by nature. We're both too quiet. I don't want to have this conversation because it might change everything between us. Yes, I'm scared. I'm petrified. I don't have too much left to me and I don't want to lose the last little bits that I cling to. I'm sorry, I just can't.

In the end, there are three things that you can do once you've transgressed against someone. You can fight, you can talk – really talk – or…

You can ignore it. You can pretend that it never happened. You can make it a blank in your life. So, Vincent, we will. We'll move on. We'll move along. It never happened.

I don't love you, not really.