Questions

By: Illusion of the Mirror

"Yuffie and I are heading into town today. I have some business to take care of regarding the house." Tifa had waited until during breakfast to make her plans known, hoping that the others would be distracted enough not to object…or ask too many questions.

Alas, it was not to be.

"What? You can't make a call or something?" This from Cid, who was sipping oolong tea and leafing through yesterday's paper for the third time.

"Unfortunately, no. I have to do this in person."She cast a glance to where Yuffie was rinsing her cereal bowl in the sink. The ninja nodded in solidarity. Both of them knew what was coming next.

"You realize the city's a dangerous place for you right now." Vincent stated as he glowered from the back entryway. Or maybe Tifa was just imagining the glowering. Either way, he wasn't going to make this easy.

"Is it? I don't see how it's any more so than normal. It's been completely quiet around here for three days now."

Vincent's frown deepened as his brows knit together. "Very well. Then I shall accompany the two of you."

Tifa sighed and pushed her chair back from the table with an audible squeak against the tile. "Thanks, but that won't be necessary, Vincent. The two of us are more than capable of looking out for ourselves, if you'll recall." This last part was punctuated with by directly meeting his disapproving gaze. "It'll be broad daylight in the middle of a busy area. We won't separate for an instant. We'll be fine."

You could've heard a pin drop in that kitchen. Yuffie stood with her arms across her chest, matching Vincent's scowl while Cid surveyed with a bemused and expectant expression on his face, his still raised teacup poised in front of his lips. Tifa could hear the others quietly conversing in the dining room.

It didn't take long for Tifa to become uncomfortable under Vincent's scrutiny. She could tell he was trying to read her, find out what her motives were for this act of defiance. She turned away before he could figure them out. "I promise we'll be careful."

"Where will you be going?"

She could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head. "I told you: into town."

"How long will you be gone?"

"As long as it takes."

Another tense silence…and then.

"So be it."

Tifa turned to face him, but didn't meet his eyes. "Good. Glad we're on the same page. C'mon, Yuffie, let's go."

- O -

"Holy crap," Yuffie mused as the two women descended the front porch steps together. "I thought for a second there he was gonna forbid you from leaving."

Tifa didn't feel nearly as giddy about the situation. "I'm pretty sure he wanted to."

The young ninja laughed. "You scolded him, Tifa! I didn't know anyone could do that and live."

"Well, I'm not helpless. Neither of us is. And this whole self-appointed nanny thing is getting old." Tifa surprised herself with the amount of venom in her voice but Yuffie seemed not to notice.

"Whatever it was, it was brilliant. Ol' Vince needs to be shown he's not the boss every once and a while. He gets too used to being in control, if you ask me."

"Which no one did," Tifa retorted playfully.

Yuffie shrugged, playing along. "They usually don't."

They were just crossing the property line to the diner's when the front door banged open and shut and footfalls approached from behind. Both women turned to see Denzel running up the front lawn toward them, his feet bare in the still dewy grass.

"Look who it is," Yuffie teased. "Our resident explorer."

Denzel didn't even blink at her words, instead meeting Tifa's eyes, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hooded jacket. "I'm sorry about last night."

Tifa waited to see if there was anything else he had to say before breaking into a heartfelt smile. "I forgive you, Denzel. Really, I'm just glad you're alright. We were worried. All of us."

The boy shifted his weight awkwardly, glancing from Tifa to Yuffie to the ground. "If I'd have known before what had you all so worried, I'd have never wandered off."

Yuffie grinned and ruffled his hair. "Hey, no worries, man. We all botch things sometimes. Well, I don't but-"

Before she could finish, the boy fairly launched himself forward and threw his arms around Tifa's waist, burying his face in the front of her leather jacket. She started, but immediately returned the embrace, basking in the unrestrained affection as her eyes drifted closed.

"Thank you," a voice mumbled into her chest. She stroked his soft, freshly washed hair and smiled up at Yuffie, who was still beaming like a fool.

When Denzel pulled away, he quickly wiped his nose with the back of his hand and nodded to himself resolutely. He turned to leave, but stopped short and wheeled back around, digging a hand through his jeans pocket.

"Oh. I found this last night on the trail, where it starts just behind your house. I thought maybe it was yours."

He produced a thrice folded dirty envelope that had the flap tucked in and handed it to Tifa. Then, without waiting for a response, spun back toward the house and set off at a trot.

"Well, how do you like that. What you wanna bet Barret put him up to it?" Yuffie queried good-naturedly as the resumed there trek toward the diner.

Tifa hummed a smiling assent as she turned her attention the seeming garbage she'd been handed. She pulled a creased slip of paper from inside the envelope with some effort since it had been crumpled so badly.

"That yours?" Yuffie asked. They were coming up to the parking lot now and Tifa led them toward a small shed to the building's left.

"I guess it is now."

She unfolded the stained paper and gasped, immediately turning it so Yuffie could see the script. "Runes!" Tifa exclaimed excitedly. "Someone left this behind my house?"

Yuffie plucked the paper from Tifa's hand and squinted down at the symbols. "Yeah, it even looks like the same alphabet?" She looked up into Tifa's face with a matching elated expression. "I've never believed in coincidences."

They had reached the shed now, and Tifa unlocked the door using her master key-ring, swinging it wide to reveal a powder-blue motor scooter with gleaming silver trim.

Her ninja companion whistled in appreciation. "I gotta get me one of these. Any chance you'll let me drive?"

Tifa laughed and passed her the helmet that had been resting on the passenger seat. "Absolutely not."

- O -

Tifa loved the freedom of riding, she always had. Whether she was in front of the passenger, she reveled in the feel of the wind through her hair, the sun on her flesh, the unbridled glee that buzzed through her veins as the world rushed past. She had never begrudged Cloud his motorbike for that reason; she could understand his need for some measure of recklessness.

It was all too soon that they reached city limits and were forced into the regular stop-and-go the lights required. Since it was Sunday morning, there was little traffic, and Tifa pulled into the Behan History Building parking lot an hour before Keaton's professor was expecting her. She cut the power and turned to Yuffie, who was already doffing her helmet. "Looks like we're early."

Yuffie smiled as she smoothed combed her fingers through her short brown hair. "More time to work on translating those entries."

The previous night, in their efforts to decode the parchment Tifa had found, the two had been delighted to discover that they were, in fact, written in phonetic English, meaning that they wouldn't need a translation on top of their work. Further investigation led to the realization that the works were some sort of diary kept by a woman named Marie Wolfe. Some of the entries were closer in time than others, but they spread out over a three year period.

Even though the two of them had worked late into the night, they had only managed to fully decipher two of the entries and part of another. But what they had read had left them with more than enough questions and Tifa was hoping this professor of local history could answer them.

"Alright," Tifa replied. But let's take them inside first.

- O -

"Personally, I'm a little surprised Doctor Malcolm agreed to see you today. He's been incredibly busy with student reviews and various archeology projects of late." Mrs. Higgins, a short, stocky woman who wore a permanently sour expression and a bun so tight it was a wonder the hair remained attached to her head, was leading Tifa and Yuffie to the professor's office. "It's highly irregular for him to admit anyone who's not a student during this time of year. Highly irregular."

The acrimonious woman halted suddenly in the middle of the wide, tiled corridor and pointed sharply with a manicured finger. "You'll find him within. Do try not to keep him from his work long, will you?" With that, she turned on her heel and marched back toward her desk, her iron grey pumps 'pok-pok-poking' as she went.

Yuffie stuck out her tongue as the woman disappeared around a corner. "What a bitch."

Tifa agreed, but kept it to herself as she turned and surveyed the heavy wooden door in front of them. It was broad and windowless with a yellow paper schedule taped in the middle. The words 'IT'S IN THE SYLABUS. READ THE SYLABUS' were written across the top in red sharpie. Above that was an etched bronze plate that read 'Doctor Sebastian K. Malcolm.'

'Well, this is it.' Tifa reached up and gave the door a ginger knock.

At first, there was no answer, so Tifa knocked again, louder this time. From inside, she heard a muffled "come in."

Tifa took a few moments to study the room beyond the threshold after stepping in. It was a large office, but seemed hunched: walls lined with overstuffed shelving, chairs and side-tables cluttered with papers and folders, stacks of books littered here and there, plaques and framed photographs covering the walls with no particular attention paid to such details as plumb or spacing. In the back, a behemoth of a desk lurked in front of the single bay window, whose weighty curtains were drawn to let in the mid-morning light. Two hunter green wingback chairs angled away from the door and toward the desk, a newspaper laden table in between. And sitting behind the desk, pen madly scratching away in a notebook, was Doctor Malcolm.

He looked up from his work as the two young women entered, and set down his fountain pen with a calm, open smile. "Ah. You must be Miss Lockhart. I see you've brought a friend."

Tifa approached the middle-aged bespectacled man and he rose, reaching out to take her hand over his desk in a firm handshake. He shook Yuffie's as well and she introduced herself with uncharacteristic politeness.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice," Tifa began. "I hope you don't mind that I've brought her along."

"Not at all," Malcolm beckoned for his guests to take a seat and did so himself. "I'm afraid the office is hopelessly disorganized right now. Student reviews and all that. I've even had to move my assistant into another room."

Tifa smiled. "Keaton, right? He's a good kid. A hard worker."

"That he is," Malcolm tapped his chin with a finger and leaned back. "I couldn't ask for a better student."

"Would you mind if I looked around?" Yuffie had only just sat down, but Tifa could tell she was itching to discover all the secrets this room had to tell.

Malcolm waved a hand. "Please. Just be careful with the stack of books by the door. It's a mite precarious." He turned his attention to Tifa and slid the notebook he'd been writing in to his left. "So. You mentioned on the phone that you'd found some documents?"

"Oh, yes." Tifa reached into the messenger bag she'd brought with and pulled out her manila 'schedule' folder. She laid it open on top of the crowded desk. "I finally got to cleaning out the attic of my old house and found them in a wardrobe of all places."

Seemingly interested, Malcolm leaned forward. "May I?" Tifa nodded and the professor gently slid the top piece of parchment closer, turning it and then studying it over the tops of his glasses. He hummed in approval. "Yes. I believe the date is genuine. Mid-1800s."

"My friend and I have done some research on our own. The runes are Bohuslän. And the actual script is in our language. So we've been able to translate a little."

Tifa watched as the professor scanned each original piece, grimacing slightly. He was oddly tanned for a man in academia, with broad shoulders and a strong jaw. His thick, chestnut hair was graying at the temples and he was sporting a day's worth of stubble. Dark circles had settled under his battleship grey eyes. After several moments, he spoke.

"They seem authentic, although, I would have to read the translations to really know whether they hold any historical value." He placed the stack of parchment back on top of the open folder. "You said you had managed to do so?"

"Only a little," Yuffie replied from somewhere behind Tifa as she perused the burdened shelves. "And they weren't in order."

"We think it's a diary of some sort," Tifa explained. "By a woman named Marie Wolfe. Is the name familiar?"

Malcolm rubbed his chin and looked about as if searching for an answer in the very air. "I can't say as it is. What else have you found?"

"Well," Tifa began, trying to remember the translations they had left at home in her bureau. "She wrote about an organization called The King's Men and alluded to being in some kind of resistance movement. She also repeatedly mentions an heirloom that she's been charged with keeping. And her husband's name, what was it, Yuffie?"

"Seth Armand." Yuffie had moved on to the wall of trophies and pictures and was admiring the professor's many archeological treasures.

"Hmm," Malcolm eased back and pondered that a moment. "Well, Seth Armand was the name of a prominent businessman in the area during the 1860s. I've run across his name a few times in the records. And as for The King's Men…" He sat forward then and began rifling through the papers on his desk. Not coming upon what he was searching for, the professor rose and crossed to a stack of books in the corner, scanning the titles before pulling out the fourth one down and returning to his desk. He flipped through several pages and stopped to read, before snapping the book shut and regarding Tifa once more.

"During the 1800s, there was a group of wealthy landowners and businessmen called the Nationalists who were actively involved in the political and economical aspects of the city. The King's Men were a splinter sect of the Nationalstis. It was like a secret club. You see it referred to in a lot of local records and letters." Malcolm's eyes followed Yuffie as he continued.

"They were the source of a lot of turbulence during the later part of the century, infiltrating the local governments and using their power against their rivals, perhaps what your writer's resistance is referring to. However, the identities of most of the members remain a secret even to this day. They wore disguises and operated covertly." He looked back to Tifa and smiled wanly with a shake of his head. "But it's impossible to know what The King's Men actually were responsible for and what was just rumor or conveniently blamed on them."

Tifa was digesting this new information, a suspicion niggling at the back of her mind, but was interrupted by Yuffie's cry of surprise. She turned and craned her neck to see the ninja past the wing of her chair.

"This picture," Yuffie pointed excitedly to a framed photo in the corner of the room. "Where was this taken?"

Malcolm raised his glasses and squinted in her direction and upon seeing the photo in question, chuckled quietly to himself before answering. "That was a photograph taken at one of the many dig sites I've worked on in the surrounding area. The ruins of an old mining town called Sráidbhaile."

"And this here beside you," Yuffie flicked her eyes pointedly to Tifa and back. "This was Thomas Warren, right? I've seen his picture in the papers."

"Indeed it is, Miss Kisaragi," Malcolm rose slowly from his office chair with a groan and approached the young woman. Tifa rose as well so as to get a closer look. 'Thomas Warren? That's the man who hired Vincent to steal the talisman from Darknation!'

"Mr. Warren was perhaps the department's biggest benefactor. He enjoyed surveying the excavations in person from time to time." He sighed and tapped the glass over Warren's chest. "Thomas was the worst kind of backer, however; more of a treasure hunter than an academic. He always insisted on having first pick of the pieces uncovered. And then he would stow them away in that magnificent prison of a house, never to see the light of day." The professor shook his head reproachfully. "Such artifacts should be studied, not hoarded. But, Mr. Warren was exceedingly generous with his funding, so…I had little say in the matter."

Yuffie feigned ignorance. "Didn't I see something about him dying recently?"

"Ah, yes. Such a shame."

"I thought you said he was the worst?" Yuffie prodded.

Malcolm lowered his hand and headed back to his chair. "Even so, he was a colleague. We may never have been friends, but mortality is such a shock when it hits so close to home. Don't you agree?"

Tifa wasn't sure who the question was directed at so she simply nodded in answer as Malcolm glanced at his wristwatch.

"I should be getting back to work soon. Did you have any other questions for me?"

"I don't think so, thank you," Tifa answered as Yuffie crossed to stand at her side.

"Well, then. It has been a pleasure, Miss Lockhart. Miss Kisaragi." As an afterthought he added. "Perhaps you might allow me to take a closer look at these letters? Translating runes is a bit of a hobby of mine."

Tifa smiled softly as she approached and then flicked the folder shut. "I'm afraid we're still working on these. Oh!" Looking down, she sifted through her bag until she found the envelope Denzel had given her. "We found this one more recently. Perhaps you could decipher it and then call me to tell me what it says?"

The professor seemed perturbed as he received the paper offering and turned it over in his hands. Then he set the envelope down and smiled back at Tifa, although the gesture didn't quite reach his eyes. "I would be delighted."

- O -

When Tifa and Yuffie arrived back at the house, full after eating at Tifa's favorite sushi bar and thoroughly excited to get back to their translation, Vincent was sitting on the front porch step, waiting for them. Tifa sighed as they approached, knowing he was unhappy with her display of rebellion earlier and briefly contemplated going around to use the back door. But she put the kibosh on that idea. This was her house, dammit. And she was right anyway. So why did she feel so guilty about it?

Yuffie climbed the stairs right past Vincent and entered through the already open door but Tifa didn't make it as far.

"Tifa. May I have a word with you?"

She sighed again. 'Oh boy, here we go.' She took a seat on the top step next to him. "Sure, Vincent. What's on your mind."

"I would like to know why you were so vague about your dealings in town this morning."

Tifa met his crimson eyes and blinked at their intensity. "Vague?"

"Ambiguous. Nebulous. Obscure. Vague."

She scoffed and glared at him, feeling emboldened by the wave of irritation that washed through her. "I know what vague means, Vincent. In fact, I'm incredibly familiar with the term. It's the kind of answer I get from you whenever I ask a question you don't feel like answering."

'Not so nice when the tables are turned, huh?'

Infuriatingly, Vincent didn't balk at the barb, only nodded in understanding. "So then. What made you not want answer my question?"

"Vincent," Tifa paused, rallying around her indignation. "I'm not a child. I know you're worried about Darknation, but I can protect myself. You know I can protect myself. I'm all I've had for a long time. And it totally just grinds at me to have you follow me around like my babysitter!"

"You know what happened in town today? Nothing! Nobody tried to assassinate me. I didn't even break a fingernail. It was perfectly safe."

Vincent nodded again, taking in her words unflinchingly. "You resent me, then."

"What? No!" Tifa sighed, looking down and rubbing her temples. "I don't resent you, just your apparent assumption that I'm utterly helpless. You don't have to shadow me all the time."

Tifa couldn't see his facial expression, but she was pretty sure it hadn't changed. She could however, hear a tinge of something in his voice, some emotion she couldn't place.

"I don't think you're helpless, Tifa. In fact, I've never met a more capable or responsible young woman."

At this, Tifa peered up at him through her lashes and instantly regretted it. He was staring her down, daring her to disagree with him, to challenge him again. But the fight was leaving her. She knew that the real reason she was upset was because she wanted to keep the diary a secret, and she didn't even have a good reason why. After all, she'd told Yuffie about it. She'd told Keaton. Hell, she'd told a complete stranger just hours ago. Why was it so important to keep this from Vincent?

Then he asked the question she was terrified of.

"What are you hiding from me?"

"I…" Tifa couldn't finish. It all seemed so silly now. All the secrecy, the defiance. She was acting like a child. She was acting like Cloud.

Without another moment's hesitation, she reached into her messenger bag and pulled out the folder, laying it open in her lap. She lightly sifted through the papers. "I found these in the attic. When the kinds busted the armoire, I found a hidden compartment and these were inside. I've translating them. Yuffie's been helping me."

She passed the parchment to Vincent, who studied them only briefly before turning back to fix his gaze on her once more.

"I went into town today to show them to a professor at the college, to see if he could tell me anything about them, about the house." She sighed as he set the diary back on the folder in her lap. "I don't know why I treated it like some big secret. I just felt like I had to. But it seems stupid now. I'm…I'm sorry."

Vincent remained quiet for a moment that felt like an age, and even though she was scared to, scared of what she might see, Tifa looked up at him.

And he was smiling. In the middle of the day, sitting on her front porch in the sunshine, Vincent Valentine was smiling. And Tifa discovered she was smiling back, butterflies erupting beneath her sternum. 'God, he's so beautiful.'

"Thank you."

"Wh-what?"

"Thank you for being honest with me."

His smile was beginning to fade, but the memory of it was enough. Tifa tried desperately to curb the blush working its way up her neck.

"I owe you an apology as well."

Tifa made to interrupt him, but Vincent held up a hand to stop her. "I never intended for you to feel demeaned. Perhaps," he paused, looking out at the trees lining the road."I was so distracted by my intent to keep you safe, I neglected to consider your feelings."

He met her gaze again, unwavering. "And for that, I ask for your forgiveness."

"I forgive you," Tifa practically whispered. "Do you forgive me?"

"How could I not?"

Tifa looked down, nervously tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. With her other hand, she reached over and gave Vincent's a squeeze. "Good."

They sat like that for quite some time before Tifa realized she hadn't heard any of the others since they'd gotten back.

"So," she began sheepishly. "Where is everyone?"

"At the diner. While investigating the trash bins you said you heard an animal in last night, Cid and I discovered someone had broken your cellar window and cut your gas line."

"What?!" Tifa shot to her feet, forgetting to let go of Vincent's hand and therefore, dragging him with her. "Are you sure it was cut? Do you think it was on purpose? Why didn't you mention that earlier?!"

Now, a full head taller than her, Vincent gazed down at Tifa and stated matter-of-factly, "Cid has already repaired the line and boarded up the window. The problem has already been taken care of. Besides," he paused. "There were more important matters to deal with."

And then he smiled again, the warmth of it lighting his face and Tifa was utterly enchanted as he lifted her hand and guided her down the stairs to the front walk.

"Shall we fetch the others?"

- O -

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