Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own anything even remotely associated with Final Fantasy VII. I may have kidnapped Vincent and Tifa (and whoever else I decide to throw into the pot) for this story, but they're not mine to keep. Yup. Now, read.
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Chapter Twenty-Four: Messy
by thelittletree
'Ooh, this could be messy / But you don't seem to mind...'
--- 'Hands Clean', Alanis Morissette
Trying very hard not to think. The cold, the texture of Vincent's coat in her fingers again, that spot between his shoulder blades, the air misting out of her mouth. Shivering a little. Now that they were on the way back to Nibelheim, she was starting to think of it in terms of a dream. Now she was in the present. Now she was going back home, and she would wake up on Lily's couch, go to work with Mr. Fallowfield, eat warm food, play cards, drink tea.
Cloud would be far away again, almost like she didn't know where he was. The further they traveled, the more it would feel like this hadn't really happened. All a part of another bad dream, the life she'd died to. Back to life she'd woken up to. Back to the life that was the reality. Back to finding out who she really was without...
Training. It had all started with training, a long time ago. Well, it had all started with her father, actually. But she couldn't go back to that. It would start again with what Zangan had left her as his legacy. Tifa, the Tifa she'd known a long time ago, had not been focused on her pain, had not been obsessed with a love that wasn't working, had not even been the job. She had been a fighter. Her first love, the feel of that strength and ability in her limbs. The smell, the creak, the solid resistance of the old punching bag, now buried in Midgar with the rest of the dead. It was all a part of who she had been.
Who she would be again.
Her mind was stumbling over something, some memory triggered by something that had happened. A glance, a movement, maybe a word. She was a little hesitant to think too much about it. Hesitant the way she might've been, sitting up in bed in the middle of the night with a piece of a forgotten nightmare niggling at the back of her thoughts like an itch that wants scratching. But she gave in after a few moments and let her mind struggle sluggishly for the connection. What was it?
Oh yes. She remembered. A comparison. That sudden pull, that sudden fear of hurting that had made her jump away when Cloud had tried to touch her, to yell "Don't!" when she knew she was too weak to withstand the draw, the warmth, the memory of comfort in his embrace. A memory that had come up so strongly, she might've been standing in his arms yesterday.
Vincent, stepping away from her in his living room like she might've been scalding hot. Vincent, suddenly pulling his lips out of the kiss and breathing into the silence. Vincent, harsh and loud and using the word like it was the only weapon he had to stop her: "Don't!"
Not wanting to be hurt. Not by something that could sap the will because a part of you wanted it so much, because a part of you still remembered how good it had been and how much agony it had given birth to when it had died. Cloud and she had had it. But not she and Vincent. For Vincent, it had been a long time ago, another life, another woman. And maybe she should've realized it before, maybe she could've confronted him about it, maybe all of this wouldn't have happened if she hadn't been too caught up in her own pain to try to understand why he was so afraid.
Lucrecia. It all had to do with Lucrecia. The way it all had to do with Cloud for her. She was frightened and hesitant; Vincent, scarred and traumatized, maybe because Lucrecia had died. But maybe if she'd known, she could've addressed it properly. Could've talked to him about it. Could have saved them both the pain and discomfort.
But no use in regretting the past. Time to look to the future. Right? A future where she made decisions for herself, where she had her own bedroom, where she finally brought Cloud into perspective, not as the old Cloud who she'd loved and who had hurt her, but as a new Cloud. Someone to meet again on new ground. Forgetting what had happened before in the hopes of learning it all again. Forgetting the sound of his voice in the morning, the way he hummed off-key when he made coffee; forgetting the quick movements of his hands when he did up his boots, likely the way they'd taught him when he'd been training in soldier and needed to be quick; forgetting the feel of his hands on her body in the beginning, how beautiful he'd looked, eyes dark and half-lidded with passion...
Oh...oh God...
* * *
Vincent was angry. Angry enough to want to bring their mount to a halt, order her back to Kalm, claim Nibelheim for his own again and let her deal with her own damn problems by herself.
That's what she'd intended to do. So that's what she should've done. He had his own life, his own demons, his own wounds. Didn't want to have to deal with her, with *this*, anymore. He wasn't a hero, didn't want her to feel like she could run to him when she felt she couldn't cope; he couldn't be anyone's shelter. It was infuriating, frustrating...
Knowing that he was going to take her to Nibelheim anyway. Knowing that it had been his choice to save her in the first place from the water. Knowing that to leave her there with Cloud would have simply brought her back to where she'd been. She wouldn't have healed, and even if he'd stayed at the inn to watch her, it would only have been a waiting game until she'd come to the bridge again. The same stupid situation over and over...
Damn Cloud for having been there. Damn Tifa for having turned to him to help her again when she could've turned to anyone else they'd traveled with in Avalanche. Damn himself, for having given in.
And damn the part of him that had felt a fierce flash of protective panic when she'd been running toward him, her eyes wide and frightened, her hair flying behind her. Too much like the way it had fluttered when she'd thrown herself into the water, as if it had been trying to escape the tragedy. Damn that strange jealousy when he'd realized it was Cloud. Not Lucrecia, and not Hojo. Not the same at all.
But all of the same damn feelings. Some part of him wanting to tell her that it would be wrong for her to stay. Some part unwillingly proud of her when she'd stood her ground against her own heart, the way Lucrecia hadn't. Some part wanting to take her back, to keep her from what might hurt her, from those who might try to make her stay.
Torn. Wanting to push her away, and wanting what other people had and took for granted. Wanting her...
And just wanting some peace, some small space of time without this hellish inner conflict. Please, just himself and Lily and that quiet kind of life back. It was the first peace he'd had in a long time, and probably the best he could ever hope for. Didn't care if poker was never the same; didn't care if some part of him was going to miss her; didn't even care what Lily might threaten him with, because her anger wouldn't last forever. Just, please...
Tifa had been silent since they'd left Kalm, and so far he'd been glad for it. Too angry to try and be civil right now. Not that her feelings should matter, really, but things were certainly uncomfortable enough without trying to bring some kind of conversation into it.
Now, however, she was becoming not so silent. Not speaking, but her breathing...
Gasping a little. Sharper, as she began to panic. He should've expected, he realized belatedly as her fingers in his coat became the pressure of her nails through the material, and he had to fight a hiss of pain as the wound above his hip gave a sudden twinge of complaint. You could only remain in numb shock for as long as a part of you didn't believe what you had witnessed, or done, was the truth. And then it turned into a trauma until even your muscles were fighting against every breath.
"Tifa..."
"I can't breathe. Oh God, I can't breathe..."
"Hold on." Dammit. Too far to go back, too far to go forward to Nibelheim, and along this stretch of the ride he knew there was no kind of shelter for at least half a mile. They would just have to chance it for a few minutes. He brought their mount to a halt. "Let go of me. We're going to dismount."
Once he was on the ground, however, she looked less than ready to join him, her darting eyes rapidly measuring the amount of space between herself and the dark grass. And, trying not to grimace, he came a step closer and held out his arms. "Slip to the side. I'll catch you."
She was shivering, he noticed, as she did as he said and slowly allowed herself to start sliding toward him. Just before she got to the point of no return, though, she stopped herself, still gasping out her breaths. "Don't let me fall," she pleaded.
"I wouldn't. Trust me."
And she closed her eyes and let go.
She seemed to weigh less now than the first day he'd carried her, but then she had been limp and water-logged. And this time he was only holding her a brief second before putting her onto the ground on her own feet. Shivering, her arms coming around automatically to hold herself, her fingers already clenching into cramping fists as she worked to try and catch her breath.
And then she stumbled with a startled sound as he slipped out of his coat, nearly falling with the boneless, unconscious grace of fainting. Catching herself just as he shot out his hand for her elbow. Her eyes suddenly flashing with a restless fear, an uncertain kind of pain.
"I...I can't do this. What am I doing? I can't. He came back for me, I can't just leave. Oh God, there's so much...I didn't say." Gasping, starting to panic. "I...I have to...talk to him...before he...leaves again."
It wasn't her talking, not really her; not the rational part of her that knew it would be a bad idea to return. And he couldn't help thinking of something he'd witnessed once that, though it had hardly seemed to touch him then, sometimes came to mind now with a pang of something like sympathetic anguish. A mother outside of her house, watching it burn, long past saving, screaming and sobbing and fighting against the arms of some bystanders as she'd tried to make them understand...
'My daughter! My daughter's in there! Let go, please, oh God, she's burning...'
She wouldn't save her old relationship this way, no more than that mother would have been able to save her dead daughter. No more than he'd been able to find Lucrecia, even her body, in his travels after Avalanche had disbanded. Searching for life, searching for reason, searching for *her*. Unable to die, he'd had to move on. That mother would have had to move on. Tifa would have to move on.
There was never any life when one looked back. Only dead memories. And one could live years among them before they realized that they were really living in a cemetery.
"Calm down." His voice was a little harsher than he'd intended it to sound and he consciously forced himself to take his own advice as he furled his coat around her shoulders. "He'll still be there if you return tomorrow."
"How...how do you know? What if he...leaves in the night?"
"Then he would have left eventually anyway."
Caught off-guard again, it was too late in the end to avoid it completely. Not a slap, like Lily would have, but a balled fist aimed for the side of his mouth. Though he caught it on the jaw; a bruise, maybe, but no trickle of blood. A surprisingly strong punch for someone who was without her training, and currently hyperventilating.
And then Tifa covered her own mouth with fingers shaking out of shock. "Oh...oh God, I'm sorry..."
But she'd meant that punch; too late to take the intent back. Hadn't wanted to hear the truth; had wanted to shut him up. And he remembered something. Talking to Lucrecia, trying to convince her the experiment she was participating in with Hojo was dangerous, trying to assure her that he wasn't only trying to convince her of this to make her come with him, trying to make her understand that he loved her and only wanted to make sure she was all right.
And Lucrecia hadn't wanted to hear it. Slapped him soundly, and then stared into his face with her mouth open as if she couldn't believe what she'd done. Fled from him, and things had never been the same between them.
But Tifa wasn't fleeing. And he struggled for a moment with the first urge of his offended anger: to get back onto his chocobo and leave her here to walk back to Kalm on her own. But he knew he couldn't, knew he wouldn't. Too many things in the darkness that wouldn't mind an easy meal. And too many reasons, both impartial and uncomfortable, for her not to go back to Kalm. So he simply took a silent calming breath and let himself glare coldly at her, raising an eyebrow. "Feel better?"
"God, I..." She seemed unable to keep meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry, Vincent. I don't know why I did that."
But he knew. And, really, he thought with a sigh, there was no point in harping on it. Resigned, he let his anger go. "Forget it. If you're ready, we should continue."
She glanced up at him again as if surprised by the change in his tone. But then, instead of nodding, she turned away, drew his coat a little closer about her shoulders. "He's going to be mad at me when I come back," she began softly, and Vincent was initially unsure if she was speaking to him. "He can be really difficult when he's mad. I might've had more luck talking to him tonight." She took a breath, and then let it out in a slow mist of air. "But we would've started again where we left off, I know we would've. And nothing would've been resolved. And it all would've just happened again." She ran a hand through her hair as she looked back through the darkness, back in the direction Kalm lay, and gave another weary sigh. "I don't know what I want to do. I'm sorry. I can be so...indecisive, and I hate it."
At least she seemed calmer now, though perhaps they were further from getting on their way than they'd been when they'd stopped. "Simply decide, and accept the consequences. It doesn't have to be complicated."
And after a moment she gave a quick shrug with one shoulder. "Maybe." And then she fell silent.
And Vincent allowed her reverie for nearly a minute before finally giving in to his impatience and the logic of caution. "Tifa, we can't stay out here indefinitely."
"I know. Let's go."
"To Kalm or Nibelheim?"
And she turned to look at him, and he realized that he was almost surprised not to see tears on her face. "What do you think I should do?"
"I think you should make up your mind."
She turned away from him again. "But you would prefer it if I went to Kalm."
And he tensed against her words, not wanting to get into this conversation, especially right now. Craving a cigarette suddenly. "You can do what you like."
"What if..." Her voice seemed a little shaky somehow. "What if I'd 'like' to kiss you again?"
He *really* didn't want to be having this conversation. For so long, they'd managed not to talk about it, and now she was going to avoid all of the rules of social comfort and pull out all of the stops. And, though there was a rational part of him that knew this particular topic would have come up again someday, one way or another, he hadn't really wanted to acknowledge the truth of it.
"See, you'd prefer it if I went to Kalm."
"It's not a matter of preference," he told her, trying not to sound as stiff and uncomfortable as he felt. "This isn't my decision to make."
"But if I decide to go to Nibelheim, it creates problems, doesn't it?"
He fought against giving a heavy sigh. "As I see it, there are problems no matter what you choose."
"But at least if I go back to Kalm I'm not involving anyone else in those problems." Her breathing was starting to become unsteady again; quiet, uneven gasps.
It was true. And if he said so, he was fairly sure she would make up her mind to go back to Kalm. Face her own problems alone, the way a proud individual did. The way he'd planned to when he'd settled in Nibelheim.
He'd never told Lily; wasn't likely ever to tell her. Though she probably knew it anyway. He'd needed her. He'd needed her friendship, her care, her understanding. And, even if those things hadn't solved his problems, they had made them bearable. Grateful, but selfish. Was it ungrateful to deny others the same balm for their pain? Dishonourable to abandon someone who was hurting when there was something you could do?
Dammit. He couldn't do it. "Tifa..." And it felt embarrassing on some level to admit it. "I wasn't going to leave you alone if you'd stayed in Kalm."
She turned around to look at him in obvious surprise. "What? What do you mean?"
"I was planning to stay at the inn until I knew you were all right."
And the change in her expression was a fascinating, beautiful thing to watch, as much as a part of him wished he hadn't noticed. The dull calm of the mask she'd donned to hide her fear simply vanishing as she broke into a sudden, teary smile. Like abruptly coming across a rainbow in a sky of clouds. "Really?" And then she wiped at her eyes with the available collar of his coat. "Sorry, I don't know why I'm crying. Oh, and this is your coat..." She moved as if to shrug out of it.
"Keep it on." Fighting the urge to tuck it more securely around her neck. "To keep you warm."
That smile again, her eyes shining and her lips trembling. "Okay. Thanks." And then she took a second to compose herself. "Nibelheim it is, then. Since you would've come and stayed with me in Kalm anyway."
He mounted the chocobo first and then gave her the stability of his elbow again as she pulled herself up behind him. And then he could nearly feel her restless uncertainty a moment before her hands came to rest on either side of his waist. Without his coat, he belatedly realized, he had left her with nothing to hold onto, and he had to struggle with the immediate inclination to twitch away from the contact.
She seemed to sense his discomfort anyway, however. "Is...is this okay, Vincent?"
And he nodded. A little *too* okay, maybe, but it would only be for a few more hours.
"Then..." A brush against his spine through his shirt between his shoulder-blades that might've been her forehead, her nose, her lips. Maybe accidental. "...take me home."
A comfortable silence as they rode. And, eventually weary, both emotionally and physically Vincent expected, Tifa leaned forward to rest her cheek against his back. Didn't ask him this time if it was okay. And he made no complaint. Only for a few hours. And maybe he could even let himself enjoy the closeness, just for a little while.
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Unresolved, a bit, at the end. Though there's still the epilogue to come.
Thanks so much for reviews! I've had so much fun writing this fic! Maybe someday I'll write a sequel, where he eventually falls in love with the girl... Oh wait, I did that already with 'Does Fate Allow...', didn't I? *grin* Who knows what's in store next? Maybe I'll actually start to write stuff I can get published somewhere for money...
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Chapter Twenty-Four: Messy
by thelittletree
'Ooh, this could be messy / But you don't seem to mind...'
--- 'Hands Clean', Alanis Morissette
Trying very hard not to think. The cold, the texture of Vincent's coat in her fingers again, that spot between his shoulder blades, the air misting out of her mouth. Shivering a little. Now that they were on the way back to Nibelheim, she was starting to think of it in terms of a dream. Now she was in the present. Now she was going back home, and she would wake up on Lily's couch, go to work with Mr. Fallowfield, eat warm food, play cards, drink tea.
Cloud would be far away again, almost like she didn't know where he was. The further they traveled, the more it would feel like this hadn't really happened. All a part of another bad dream, the life she'd died to. Back to life she'd woken up to. Back to the life that was the reality. Back to finding out who she really was without...
Training. It had all started with training, a long time ago. Well, it had all started with her father, actually. But she couldn't go back to that. It would start again with what Zangan had left her as his legacy. Tifa, the Tifa she'd known a long time ago, had not been focused on her pain, had not been obsessed with a love that wasn't working, had not even been the job. She had been a fighter. Her first love, the feel of that strength and ability in her limbs. The smell, the creak, the solid resistance of the old punching bag, now buried in Midgar with the rest of the dead. It was all a part of who she had been.
Who she would be again.
Her mind was stumbling over something, some memory triggered by something that had happened. A glance, a movement, maybe a word. She was a little hesitant to think too much about it. Hesitant the way she might've been, sitting up in bed in the middle of the night with a piece of a forgotten nightmare niggling at the back of her thoughts like an itch that wants scratching. But she gave in after a few moments and let her mind struggle sluggishly for the connection. What was it?
Oh yes. She remembered. A comparison. That sudden pull, that sudden fear of hurting that had made her jump away when Cloud had tried to touch her, to yell "Don't!" when she knew she was too weak to withstand the draw, the warmth, the memory of comfort in his embrace. A memory that had come up so strongly, she might've been standing in his arms yesterday.
Vincent, stepping away from her in his living room like she might've been scalding hot. Vincent, suddenly pulling his lips out of the kiss and breathing into the silence. Vincent, harsh and loud and using the word like it was the only weapon he had to stop her: "Don't!"
Not wanting to be hurt. Not by something that could sap the will because a part of you wanted it so much, because a part of you still remembered how good it had been and how much agony it had given birth to when it had died. Cloud and she had had it. But not she and Vincent. For Vincent, it had been a long time ago, another life, another woman. And maybe she should've realized it before, maybe she could've confronted him about it, maybe all of this wouldn't have happened if she hadn't been too caught up in her own pain to try to understand why he was so afraid.
Lucrecia. It all had to do with Lucrecia. The way it all had to do with Cloud for her. She was frightened and hesitant; Vincent, scarred and traumatized, maybe because Lucrecia had died. But maybe if she'd known, she could've addressed it properly. Could've talked to him about it. Could have saved them both the pain and discomfort.
But no use in regretting the past. Time to look to the future. Right? A future where she made decisions for herself, where she had her own bedroom, where she finally brought Cloud into perspective, not as the old Cloud who she'd loved and who had hurt her, but as a new Cloud. Someone to meet again on new ground. Forgetting what had happened before in the hopes of learning it all again. Forgetting the sound of his voice in the morning, the way he hummed off-key when he made coffee; forgetting the quick movements of his hands when he did up his boots, likely the way they'd taught him when he'd been training in soldier and needed to be quick; forgetting the feel of his hands on her body in the beginning, how beautiful he'd looked, eyes dark and half-lidded with passion...
Oh...oh God...
* * *
Vincent was angry. Angry enough to want to bring their mount to a halt, order her back to Kalm, claim Nibelheim for his own again and let her deal with her own damn problems by herself.
That's what she'd intended to do. So that's what she should've done. He had his own life, his own demons, his own wounds. Didn't want to have to deal with her, with *this*, anymore. He wasn't a hero, didn't want her to feel like she could run to him when she felt she couldn't cope; he couldn't be anyone's shelter. It was infuriating, frustrating...
Knowing that he was going to take her to Nibelheim anyway. Knowing that it had been his choice to save her in the first place from the water. Knowing that to leave her there with Cloud would have simply brought her back to where she'd been. She wouldn't have healed, and even if he'd stayed at the inn to watch her, it would only have been a waiting game until she'd come to the bridge again. The same stupid situation over and over...
Damn Cloud for having been there. Damn Tifa for having turned to him to help her again when she could've turned to anyone else they'd traveled with in Avalanche. Damn himself, for having given in.
And damn the part of him that had felt a fierce flash of protective panic when she'd been running toward him, her eyes wide and frightened, her hair flying behind her. Too much like the way it had fluttered when she'd thrown herself into the water, as if it had been trying to escape the tragedy. Damn that strange jealousy when he'd realized it was Cloud. Not Lucrecia, and not Hojo. Not the same at all.
But all of the same damn feelings. Some part of him wanting to tell her that it would be wrong for her to stay. Some part unwillingly proud of her when she'd stood her ground against her own heart, the way Lucrecia hadn't. Some part wanting to take her back, to keep her from what might hurt her, from those who might try to make her stay.
Torn. Wanting to push her away, and wanting what other people had and took for granted. Wanting her...
And just wanting some peace, some small space of time without this hellish inner conflict. Please, just himself and Lily and that quiet kind of life back. It was the first peace he'd had in a long time, and probably the best he could ever hope for. Didn't care if poker was never the same; didn't care if some part of him was going to miss her; didn't even care what Lily might threaten him with, because her anger wouldn't last forever. Just, please...
Tifa had been silent since they'd left Kalm, and so far he'd been glad for it. Too angry to try and be civil right now. Not that her feelings should matter, really, but things were certainly uncomfortable enough without trying to bring some kind of conversation into it.
Now, however, she was becoming not so silent. Not speaking, but her breathing...
Gasping a little. Sharper, as she began to panic. He should've expected, he realized belatedly as her fingers in his coat became the pressure of her nails through the material, and he had to fight a hiss of pain as the wound above his hip gave a sudden twinge of complaint. You could only remain in numb shock for as long as a part of you didn't believe what you had witnessed, or done, was the truth. And then it turned into a trauma until even your muscles were fighting against every breath.
"Tifa..."
"I can't breathe. Oh God, I can't breathe..."
"Hold on." Dammit. Too far to go back, too far to go forward to Nibelheim, and along this stretch of the ride he knew there was no kind of shelter for at least half a mile. They would just have to chance it for a few minutes. He brought their mount to a halt. "Let go of me. We're going to dismount."
Once he was on the ground, however, she looked less than ready to join him, her darting eyes rapidly measuring the amount of space between herself and the dark grass. And, trying not to grimace, he came a step closer and held out his arms. "Slip to the side. I'll catch you."
She was shivering, he noticed, as she did as he said and slowly allowed herself to start sliding toward him. Just before she got to the point of no return, though, she stopped herself, still gasping out her breaths. "Don't let me fall," she pleaded.
"I wouldn't. Trust me."
And she closed her eyes and let go.
She seemed to weigh less now than the first day he'd carried her, but then she had been limp and water-logged. And this time he was only holding her a brief second before putting her onto the ground on her own feet. Shivering, her arms coming around automatically to hold herself, her fingers already clenching into cramping fists as she worked to try and catch her breath.
And then she stumbled with a startled sound as he slipped out of his coat, nearly falling with the boneless, unconscious grace of fainting. Catching herself just as he shot out his hand for her elbow. Her eyes suddenly flashing with a restless fear, an uncertain kind of pain.
"I...I can't do this. What am I doing? I can't. He came back for me, I can't just leave. Oh God, there's so much...I didn't say." Gasping, starting to panic. "I...I have to...talk to him...before he...leaves again."
It wasn't her talking, not really her; not the rational part of her that knew it would be a bad idea to return. And he couldn't help thinking of something he'd witnessed once that, though it had hardly seemed to touch him then, sometimes came to mind now with a pang of something like sympathetic anguish. A mother outside of her house, watching it burn, long past saving, screaming and sobbing and fighting against the arms of some bystanders as she'd tried to make them understand...
'My daughter! My daughter's in there! Let go, please, oh God, she's burning...'
She wouldn't save her old relationship this way, no more than that mother would have been able to save her dead daughter. No more than he'd been able to find Lucrecia, even her body, in his travels after Avalanche had disbanded. Searching for life, searching for reason, searching for *her*. Unable to die, he'd had to move on. That mother would have had to move on. Tifa would have to move on.
There was never any life when one looked back. Only dead memories. And one could live years among them before they realized that they were really living in a cemetery.
"Calm down." His voice was a little harsher than he'd intended it to sound and he consciously forced himself to take his own advice as he furled his coat around her shoulders. "He'll still be there if you return tomorrow."
"How...how do you know? What if he...leaves in the night?"
"Then he would have left eventually anyway."
Caught off-guard again, it was too late in the end to avoid it completely. Not a slap, like Lily would have, but a balled fist aimed for the side of his mouth. Though he caught it on the jaw; a bruise, maybe, but no trickle of blood. A surprisingly strong punch for someone who was without her training, and currently hyperventilating.
And then Tifa covered her own mouth with fingers shaking out of shock. "Oh...oh God, I'm sorry..."
But she'd meant that punch; too late to take the intent back. Hadn't wanted to hear the truth; had wanted to shut him up. And he remembered something. Talking to Lucrecia, trying to convince her the experiment she was participating in with Hojo was dangerous, trying to assure her that he wasn't only trying to convince her of this to make her come with him, trying to make her understand that he loved her and only wanted to make sure she was all right.
And Lucrecia hadn't wanted to hear it. Slapped him soundly, and then stared into his face with her mouth open as if she couldn't believe what she'd done. Fled from him, and things had never been the same between them.
But Tifa wasn't fleeing. And he struggled for a moment with the first urge of his offended anger: to get back onto his chocobo and leave her here to walk back to Kalm on her own. But he knew he couldn't, knew he wouldn't. Too many things in the darkness that wouldn't mind an easy meal. And too many reasons, both impartial and uncomfortable, for her not to go back to Kalm. So he simply took a silent calming breath and let himself glare coldly at her, raising an eyebrow. "Feel better?"
"God, I..." She seemed unable to keep meeting his eyes. "I'm sorry, Vincent. I don't know why I did that."
But he knew. And, really, he thought with a sigh, there was no point in harping on it. Resigned, he let his anger go. "Forget it. If you're ready, we should continue."
She glanced up at him again as if surprised by the change in his tone. But then, instead of nodding, she turned away, drew his coat a little closer about her shoulders. "He's going to be mad at me when I come back," she began softly, and Vincent was initially unsure if she was speaking to him. "He can be really difficult when he's mad. I might've had more luck talking to him tonight." She took a breath, and then let it out in a slow mist of air. "But we would've started again where we left off, I know we would've. And nothing would've been resolved. And it all would've just happened again." She ran a hand through her hair as she looked back through the darkness, back in the direction Kalm lay, and gave another weary sigh. "I don't know what I want to do. I'm sorry. I can be so...indecisive, and I hate it."
At least she seemed calmer now, though perhaps they were further from getting on their way than they'd been when they'd stopped. "Simply decide, and accept the consequences. It doesn't have to be complicated."
And after a moment she gave a quick shrug with one shoulder. "Maybe." And then she fell silent.
And Vincent allowed her reverie for nearly a minute before finally giving in to his impatience and the logic of caution. "Tifa, we can't stay out here indefinitely."
"I know. Let's go."
"To Kalm or Nibelheim?"
And she turned to look at him, and he realized that he was almost surprised not to see tears on her face. "What do you think I should do?"
"I think you should make up your mind."
She turned away from him again. "But you would prefer it if I went to Kalm."
And he tensed against her words, not wanting to get into this conversation, especially right now. Craving a cigarette suddenly. "You can do what you like."
"What if..." Her voice seemed a little shaky somehow. "What if I'd 'like' to kiss you again?"
He *really* didn't want to be having this conversation. For so long, they'd managed not to talk about it, and now she was going to avoid all of the rules of social comfort and pull out all of the stops. And, though there was a rational part of him that knew this particular topic would have come up again someday, one way or another, he hadn't really wanted to acknowledge the truth of it.
"See, you'd prefer it if I went to Kalm."
"It's not a matter of preference," he told her, trying not to sound as stiff and uncomfortable as he felt. "This isn't my decision to make."
"But if I decide to go to Nibelheim, it creates problems, doesn't it?"
He fought against giving a heavy sigh. "As I see it, there are problems no matter what you choose."
"But at least if I go back to Kalm I'm not involving anyone else in those problems." Her breathing was starting to become unsteady again; quiet, uneven gasps.
It was true. And if he said so, he was fairly sure she would make up her mind to go back to Kalm. Face her own problems alone, the way a proud individual did. The way he'd planned to when he'd settled in Nibelheim.
He'd never told Lily; wasn't likely ever to tell her. Though she probably knew it anyway. He'd needed her. He'd needed her friendship, her care, her understanding. And, even if those things hadn't solved his problems, they had made them bearable. Grateful, but selfish. Was it ungrateful to deny others the same balm for their pain? Dishonourable to abandon someone who was hurting when there was something you could do?
Dammit. He couldn't do it. "Tifa..." And it felt embarrassing on some level to admit it. "I wasn't going to leave you alone if you'd stayed in Kalm."
She turned around to look at him in obvious surprise. "What? What do you mean?"
"I was planning to stay at the inn until I knew you were all right."
And the change in her expression was a fascinating, beautiful thing to watch, as much as a part of him wished he hadn't noticed. The dull calm of the mask she'd donned to hide her fear simply vanishing as she broke into a sudden, teary smile. Like abruptly coming across a rainbow in a sky of clouds. "Really?" And then she wiped at her eyes with the available collar of his coat. "Sorry, I don't know why I'm crying. Oh, and this is your coat..." She moved as if to shrug out of it.
"Keep it on." Fighting the urge to tuck it more securely around her neck. "To keep you warm."
That smile again, her eyes shining and her lips trembling. "Okay. Thanks." And then she took a second to compose herself. "Nibelheim it is, then. Since you would've come and stayed with me in Kalm anyway."
He mounted the chocobo first and then gave her the stability of his elbow again as she pulled herself up behind him. And then he could nearly feel her restless uncertainty a moment before her hands came to rest on either side of his waist. Without his coat, he belatedly realized, he had left her with nothing to hold onto, and he had to struggle with the immediate inclination to twitch away from the contact.
She seemed to sense his discomfort anyway, however. "Is...is this okay, Vincent?"
And he nodded. A little *too* okay, maybe, but it would only be for a few more hours.
"Then..." A brush against his spine through his shirt between his shoulder-blades that might've been her forehead, her nose, her lips. Maybe accidental. "...take me home."
A comfortable silence as they rode. And, eventually weary, both emotionally and physically Vincent expected, Tifa leaned forward to rest her cheek against his back. Didn't ask him this time if it was okay. And he made no complaint. Only for a few hours. And maybe he could even let himself enjoy the closeness, just for a little while.
* * *
Unresolved, a bit, at the end. Though there's still the epilogue to come.
Thanks so much for reviews! I've had so much fun writing this fic! Maybe someday I'll write a sequel, where he eventually falls in love with the girl... Oh wait, I did that already with 'Does Fate Allow...', didn't I? *grin* Who knows what's in store next? Maybe I'll actually start to write stuff I can get published somewhere for money...