Oh my goodness, this was absolutely the hardest chapter I've ever written. It's short, and it's a filler, and I hate it, but at least it's here. I promise. Cid's chapters are SO much easier to write than Vinnie's...he's just too emo for me. VV Enjoy!...or not...

--

Vincent didn't drink, he never had. At first, he'd refrained from drink to keep his secrets safe. He'd heard stories of people becoming inebriated and spilling their deepest held thoughts to the barkeep, and such information could always be bought if the right price was offered. He wanted to keep his feelings to himself, and if keeping away from alcohol was what it took, so be it. He didn't much care for the taste anyway, except for the tang of a good white wine.

As the years passed, his reasoning became more convoluted, and he abstained merely because he couldn't be bothered not to. The guys he'd worked with would urge him to go out, to let loose, live a little, but he'd never been one for pointless indulgences.

Now, looking out the window at the small sprigs of green grass poking gently through the snow, he had a sudden urge to get quietly and slowly drunk.

Winters in Nibelheim had been something he enjoyed immensely. He loved looking out the window and seeing the fresh coat of snow sprinkled on the ground, perfect and untainted by the press of footprints. He reveled in the way that the cold air felt on his pale skin, and the way that nothing seemed alive but nothing was truly dead. It would all come back with the sunny days and soft spring air.

Knowing what he did now, that the coming of the thaw would force him to leave his haven, his small but comfortable room with its pale blue curtains, he wasn't sure how he'd ever enjoyed those gentle grass shoots.

Mel hadn't said anything, of course, but he knew she wanted him to leave. She'd said that he could stay as long as he'd wanted to in the winter, but now it was spring and she would be getting customers that could actually afford to pay for that comfortable room he'd come to rely on.

He'd come out of the crater with nothing but the clothes draped across his body, and that terrible metal claw attached to his arm. No gil, no potions, no materia, nothing. Maybe Mel had sensed a kindred spirit in him. Whatever the reason, he'd officially outstayed the comfort it had afforded him.

That was why, while he was contemplating the idea of getting ragingly drunk, he was packing a bag with the small amount of belongings he'd collected. Mostly they were things that Mel had given to him, like a pair of hand knitted gloves that she'd insisted he have when he'd gone outside to fix the roof in the middle of a snowstorm, or a small silver crucifix she'd made him wear, insisting that it might keep his vampiric tendencies at bay. She'd smirked at him, her eyes full of mischief, and slipped it around his neck smoothly

i "There. It never hurts to be protected, Vincent." /i

He smiled at the memory as he slid the necklace into the bag sitting on his coverlet. She didn't know he was leaving, but they'd both known it would happen sooner rather than later. He only hoped that she didn't cry; he'd always had a hard time comforting those in pain.

He didn't really have a destination in mind, nor did he have any particular place where he i could /i go. He couldn't possibly return to the mansion, if it was even still there. He'd be easily recognized, and dead people didn't go back home. For a while, he'd been considering Kalm. The beach was nearby, and he'd never actually been there, so it would be unlikely that anyone would recognize him. The only problem would be getting there. The easiest way, according to those who cared enough to say, would be to take an airship, but Cid knew all of the other pilots very well. All it would take was one slip of their tongue, and his death would be ruined.

In the months that he'd been sequestered at the inn, he'd often wondered whether he'd done the right thing. After all, faking suicide seemed to be an awfully ostentatious way of ridding yourself of a lover, especially one whom you still loved. Was he a fool for throwing it away? He would remember Cid's face, or the smell that was uniquely him, a mixture of cigarette smoke and oil, and his heart would ache for what he'd lost.

What he wouldn't give to see The Highwind again, gliding gently through the air, its pilot expertly manning the helm.

Maybe, one day, he could go back. He could find Cid, and tell him that everything Vincent had done, he'd done for him. He would explain that there had been no other way, and he would look at the new life Cid had made and be happy for what he'd done.

i Did /i that make him a fool?

Since Vincent Valentine had never been a stupid man, he supposed so.

He hitched his bag over his shoulder, and cast one last cursory glance around the room to look for anything he might have left. Opening the door, he shut off the overhead light before stepping out into the hallway and gently shutting it behind him. He turned when he heard a soft noise behind him, and saw Mel standing there, that ever-present tray balanced on her hip.

"So, you're leaving then."

Her face was resigned, neither sad nor bitter like he had somehow been expecting. As he tried to gage her reaction, his gaze met hers and a touch of regret tinged her features, but other than that, she didn't seem all that distressed about the news.

"Yes. It is time for me to go. I have been a burden on you long enough, Mel." She sighed, and put the tray down on the ground, bringing her hand up to touch his shoulder briefly, then raising it to cup his cheek.

"Oh, Vincent, ya know you'd never be a burden here..."

"Regardless, it is time."

As she turned around to pick up the tray again, she stood there for a moment, silently.

"You know, Vincent, ever since you can here, parking yourself on my doorstep what seems like so long ago, there was something about you that felt a bit strange. I wondered why someone as handsome and obviously educated as you would be in such a backwater place, beaten and bloody with nothing but that awful brass claw to your name.

"But, underneath your coldness, you turned out to be kind and unsure, and I found that I didn't care about your past anymore. I didn't want to know how you'd gotten here because it didn't matter. The only thing that was important was the fact that you i were /i here. I came to dread the coming of the day when your past would catch up with you, and you'd leave this place. I fell in love with you, Vincent, just a little. Just enough that my heart would jump when you came into the room, and I'd think about you sometimes when my mind should've been at rest. I hope you'll come visit me every once in a while; I'd like to feel this way again."

Vincent looked at her back, shocked into speechlessness from her words. Why would Mel lie to him like this? What was the purpose of telling him such a thing? Unless...she...wasn't lying? Was it possible that she really i did /i ...love...feel that way about him? He, who had always viewed himself as something detestable, he, who looked in the mirror each morning and felt sickness welling up inside of him at what he had become.

"You cannot possibly know what you feel after such a short time, Mel." His hand tightened on the strap of his bag as he turned away, trying to hide the flash of pain in his eyes.

"Oh don't be an ass, Vincent. I said it because I meant it, and don't you go cheapening my words. Love might be a bit fleeting sometimes, but that doesn't make it any less real. I never saw you as the arrogant type of person who would presume to know the thoughts of others, please don't start now."

"You do not understand. I used up the care and affection I was afforded when I was young. I deserve nothing more." Mel sighed, finally picking up the tray and turning around.

"Vincent, if someone wants to give you something, they won't hold it back just because you feel that you're not worth it. In the end, love is a very selfish thing. It doesn't always make the best choice, but the feelings can't be ignored. They're there, whether you welcome them or not. Now, let's go downstairs and set you up with some food for your trip."

She lightly grabbed his free hand and led him towards the kitchen.

--

He looked out across the flat plain in front of him, seeing nothing but gently waving grass for miles and miles on all sides. Though the grass looked innocent enough, he wrapped his fingers gently around the grip of the Death Penalty strapped to his hip, readying himself for battle. He pulled it out of its holster and inserted a soft pink ball of materia that Mel had given him, removing the Destruct Materia. He instantly felt the slight shock as the magic left his body, his fingers tingling as it left through their tips to recollect inside the ball.

He reached behind him, opening the black pack that was tied snugly against his back, and pulled out a bright orange carrot, its leafy greens slightly bruised from the trip but still edible. He swept his gaze across the horizon, carefully scrutinizing what seemed like every blade of grass.

'There we go...'

He quickly started walking towards a large section of grass that had strange indentations running all through it. Feeling the back of his neck begin to prickle in anticipation of a battle, he slid the Death Penalty out of its holster, holding the carrot loosely in his other hand. As the enemies appeared from the grass he leveled his weapon, his senses flaring even for such an easy battle.

After throwing the food at the bright yellow bird in the middle of the fray, he took out the three other enemies quickly, dispatching them each with a single bullet. The chocobo looked up at him, its eyes inquisitive and shy, and he walked over to it, holstering his weapon and holding out his hand for the bird to inspect.

It let out a pleased keening sound, and he reached into his bag to pull out another carrot, and the chocobo happily began munching on it. He gently stroked the feathers on its head as it ate. A happy chirping came from around the carrot, and when he tried to stop his ministrations, the bird opened one eye, giving him a half-hearted glare. With a sigh, he continued stroking it.

--

A few weeks later found Vincent riding up to the chocobo stable at the Bone Village Inn, astride the very same chocobo. His black leather bodysuit was covered in dust, and the chocobo's feathers were dull and limp. They'd ridden hard on that final day, intent on reaching their destination by nightfall.

He wearily dismounted, patting the chocobo's head happily as he led her into the stables, handing the fifty gil fee to the stable boy by the entrance.

"Thank you for getting us here so quickly today, Asako. I think we'll be leaving tomorrow, alright? I know you do not like the stables, but they will have to do for now. I can let you loose once we get to Kalm, I think." He stroked her feathers again, and she chirped tiredly before settling herself down on the fresh hay.

As he left the stables, he took a breath of the cool night air. He felt it fill his lungs with a fresh feeling, and he entered the inn, intent on finding a room then returning outside to enjoy the evening alone.

The inn was above a bar which was already filled with slightly inebriated patrons, slouching drunkenly on their stools as they raised their hands for another round. He approached the bartender as he wiped down the counter with his polishing rag.

He knew he was taking a chance staying here. The whole group had come through this way, and there was a chance that someone might recognize him, but it was the quickest way to Kalm, and they'd spent even more time in the other towns near the coast. Still, he had his cape covering as much of his face as possible, with his hair covering much of the rest. He didn't want to take any more unnecessary chances.

"Is there still a room available for the night?" His deep voice carried across to the barkeep, and the man looked up, his gaze locking with Vincent's deep red eyes.

"Sure is. It's a hundred gil a night. Take it or leave it. There ain't many other places to stay round here though."

He sighed. He knew from paying the stable boy that he had less than a hundred and fifty left. It looked like he'd be spending most of the next day fighting enemies to get enough money for a ticket overseas.

"A hundred gil will be fine. I would also like to reserve the same room, as well as a place in the stables, for tomorrow night."

"Fine. You plannin on staying around for a drink or two? Or do ya want the room right now?"

Vincent turned his eyes towards the people draped across the bar in various states of drunkenness, and shook his head.

"I will be going out for a while. I just wanted to make sure that there would be a room available for me when I return."

"It'll be here."

--

When he finally heard the distant sound of the ocean, he sighed in relief. After the long months of doing nothing, then weeks of relying solely on a chocobo, he'd forgotten how long it took to i walk /i everywhere. Bone Village wasn't even particularily close to the coast, either.

But, as that first gust of icy coastal wind blew against his face, he knew it was worth it. The cold air and brutally sharp rocks were the perfect backdrop for his thoughts. Ever since he'd left Mel's inn, he'd been thinking about what she'd told him. He'd been having doubts about what he'd done, about faking his death.

He couldn't help but wonder about it. Not that there was much he could really do at that point. Even if he went back, Cid would never understand why he'd gone in the first place. His lover had always hated liars.

For a brief moment, he thought he could smell him on the brisk sea air. His brain remembered the scent of cigarettes and gin, of skin permanently stained black with the tang of grease and oil. He had to fight the urge to search for the source of it.

--