Flirting with Death, Chapter 11:

Nightmares

By Darknightdestiny

Stop, can we start again/ And rewind the hands/ 'Cause they move too fast/ I'd do it all again/ Just to have you here/ To relive the past/ I don't know how long I can take/ Watching you just walk away/ From the truth that you have known/ To a place you don't belong/ In this new complacency/ You're content to slip away/ Now there's nothing I can do/ But to say this prayer for you/ High are the walls you build/ I climb over them/ But have I come too late/ Choke on the things I said/ If you swallow them/ You may start to break

-Luna Halo

Vincent fell to the floor. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and poured out from him onto the wood, staining it a deep crimson. The entire room smelled of death and decay, and it assaulted his senses ten times worse. He dragged himself over to a dark corner and wretched uncontrollably with the pain, doubling over and wrapping his arms about himself tightly, as if he could keep the demon inside by physical force. His head jerked up when a searing pain tore from his arms up through his neck, and his eyes caught his reflection in the mirror in front of him.

He watched with horror as his face twisted and contorted into a grotesque shape before his very eyes. His arm fell against the glass surface as he tried to balance himself; he lurched forward and vomited his blood as he always did prior to a transformation. But this time it would not stop; over and over again, he lost his blood until he became so weak that he could not control the demon any longer, and he felt himself slipping away…

Vincent shot up in bed, sweaty and shaking. His eyes were burning and there was a lump in his throat that made it harder for him to breathe. He hung his head, still panting for air, and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. His body was cold and wet with perspiration, and he was shaking so badly he doubted he could stand on his own two feet.

Briefly, he wondered to himself if the nightmares would ever fade with the passing of time. But he pushed that hope away as immediately as it had come to him. As long as the demons existed within him, the nightmares would continue to visit him in the dark of night. Vincent felt the lump in his throat rise higher and despaired. He would not cry; he willed himself against it.

He almost laughed to himself. It seemed that he waged this battle against himself every morning, fighting the urge to relinquish his dignity, to admit defeat. He lifted one of his knees up and rested his elbow on it, holding his head in his human hand. His hair fell over his face once more, hiding his pain from the world, even though this time, there was no one around to see it. He had become something other than human, something he longed to get rid of and could not; it was trapped forever inside him. As much as he wanted, he could never have his old life back, no matter what he did, tried. He was utterly helpless. To let himself be broken would be the final step in his complete humiliation before the cruel scientist. The lump in his throat rose even higher, and he felt the burning in his eyes grow more intense.

He would not cry…

The sunlight streamed through the cracks in the blinds, glistening off of the pools forming in his eyes, covered by the wet lashes that struggled to keep the hot liquid from overflowing. He blinked back his tears and did not let even one of them escape. Rising from the bed, he grabbed his shirt off of a nearby chair and donned it. The room was overshadowed in a deathly silence, and every rustling of the fabric could be heard as he slipped his arms through the sleeves. Walking back over to the chair, he bent down to retrieve his boots from its base. As he did so, his eyes caught view of himself in a freestanding mirror on the other side of the room. He studied his reflection in its depths…

…and resisted the urge to smash it into a thousand tiny pieces.

Tifa awoke that next morning to find herself alone in the room. She looked over at the digital clock on the wall, which told her she had stayed in bed much later than she had planned. Moving to stretch, she found she had something clutched in her right arm, and part of it was digging into her ribs.

She looked down to see a black book cradled in her arm. The memory of the night before rushed back to bid her good morning, and she moaned knowing she'd have to face him after embarrassing herself yet again. She set the book on the side of the bed opposite her and turned over, burying her face in the pillow. She wasn't ready to face the day just yet.

She was startled out of her thoughts by a knock at the door. Quickly, she grabbed the book and shoved it under her pillow, then sat up in front of it. She straightened her hair as best as she could with her fingers, and then she called out.

"Come in, it's open."

"It is Vincent…you are decent?"

She flushed pink. "Of course."

The door creaked, and she watched as golden fingers curled around its side, slowly coaxing it further open. Two red eyes peaked at her from around the side of the wood, and Vincent stepped inside. He walked over to where she was sitting and watched her with an air of curiosity.

"May I sit?"

"Um…sure, I guess."

Vincent sat down besides her, still looking at her. This made her exceedingly nervous, in addition to the fact that she feared he might find out what she was hiding behind her. The corner was starting to jut out from underneath the pillow…

Vincent had superior perception. But maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't notice it. After all, it's not like he was looking for it in the first place, right?

"Tifa…" her heart jumped.

"Yes?"

"…How did you sleep last night?"

"Oh, I'm rested and ready to go!"

He studied her face. "…She lies," he said, more to himself than to her.

"Huh? Why, how would you know that?"

"I can tell…your eyes…they are tired. You stayed up late?"

She smiled. "You caught me," she said. When his eyebrow shot up to question her why she lost sleep, she caught the gesture and hurried to come up with an explanation. "I was talking with Shera about some things." She caught curiosity in his eyes again. "…Personal things," she was quick to add, "you know. Girl talk." Not quite a lie.

"Ah."

The ensuing silence was uncomfortable. Vincent only sat there on the end of the bed, staring off into space, probably engrossed in some deep thought that she had no idea about. She watched him, waiting for him to say something to her; there must have been some reason he had come to the room.

"So…" she ventured.

"…"

"There was something you wanted to ask me?"

"…I thought there was something you wanted to ask me."

"There was?"

He nodded his head, just once. Down. Up. "Last night."

"Oh. Right…"

There was another uncomfortable pause in the conversation. Tifa was busy trying to figure out what she should say, and Vincent was waiting for her to do so. She was so busy trying to figure out whether or not she should say anything at all, or make up an excuse, that she hadn't really given any thought to what she would say if she did.
"You… have changed your mind?"

"Oh! No…no, I've been needing to ask you if you were going to come with me to Wutai." This was also not quite a lie.

He smiled beneath his cloak and laughed something that sounded like, "hmph."

"I believe…" he started, "I believe that I will go with you."

"…You will?"

"You seem surprised."

"I really thought you would say 'no.'"

"…Why did you think so?"

"Well…I didn't think you really wanted to leave Nibelheim. You seemed pretty content where you were, but I'm glad you decided to come with me."

Vincent was quite sure she was glad. He knew she was trying to help him. He knew that she had been crying for him that day when he found her in a heap on his floor and carried her to his room. He felt extremely uncomfortable with her pity, but he understood that Tifa had made caring for others her business, and that it was how she dealt with her own unhappiness. He couldn't deny her that, no matter how much he disliked it. And now, it was his turn to help her. No one ever dared to repay her for her troubles before.

Soon, he would have to figure out how to approach her about the mask she always wore. And the words wouldn't be easy to find; she thought that he was the one who needed her help, and most likely, anything he said would be turned on him if she felt even the least bit offended by it. He knew he was guilty of masking his pain as well, but he felt he had reason to, while Tifa still had a life worth saving. Neither of them was ready to come out of hiding just yet.

He quickly changed the subject. "Have you eaten anything this morning?"

"No, I just woke up."

He knew that. It was just his way of small talk. He was still getting used to the idea of making normal conversation with her, but he knew that nothing would ever be accomplished if he stayed silent the entire time. He sighed inwardly. This was going to be very hard indeed.

He stopped his thought process of pitying himself long enough to notice something else out of the corner of his eye. Tifa was sitting there, staring at his face, making all sorts of small and distinct movements with her eyes. He could feel her irises roaming all over his face, as if she were looking for something. Had he been someone else, he would have been fidgeting under her careful scrutiny, for that's what it was; she was analyzing every detail of his face.

Of course, Vincent had no idea why this was. But Tifa had her reasons; she was merely remembering the image still tucked beneath her pillow, and now that she saw him in the light, she was trying to merge the two images in her mind. It wasn't quite working, however; there was something about the way his hair and eyes had changed that made him look like a completely different person without the rest of his face visible.

Vincent consciously hid his face from her by lowering his chin and letting his ebony locks cover what was still visible against the red fabric. Tifa realized then that she had been staring, and she felt ashamed at her blatant display of curiosity. Vincent just turned his head slightly away from her and spoke before she had the chance to apologize for gazing at him.

"There is breakfast waiting for you downstairs, if you are hungry."

She nodded.

"…And Cid has agreed to grant us the use of his plane."

Momentarily, she forgot about her embarrassment, and let her joy at that result show. "Then I guess I'd better get downstairs and thank him!"

Vincent watched her as she hopped out of the bed (forgetting in all her excitement that there was still a very precious element sticking out from underneath the pillow), and rushed to pull on her boots. He tried not to smile as she hopped around the room with one boot on her foot, trying to yank the other one on at the same time. Eventually, he had to step forward and steady her with his hand on her arm, lest she go crashing onto the floor.

Tifa blushed a bit at the contact, though she wasn't sure why. After all, he was only doing what anyone else would do, right? And he had helped to carry her up to the room at the inn the night before, and this action certainly held less contact than that had required. Then again, she had been half asleep and didn't really have any coherent say in that. She realized that this was probably stemming from her surprise the night before. She tried to shrug it off, but there was still a voice nagging at the back of her head, hoping that it wouldn't affect her memories of the Vincent she had come to know and care about.

She headed towards the stairs, hesitating for a moment, then turning back to face him. "Are you going to come?"

"…I am not hungry."

"Ah. Well, okay. Though you probably should eat something."

"I will be fine."

She shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "I tried," but instead said, "Alright then, I guess you know your body best."

And then she turned quickly and flew down the stairs, her face growing red. She berated herself inside; she'd been doing that way too much lately.

Vincent sat in the room, awaiting Tifa's return. When she was done eating, and had said her farewells, they would head off for Wutai. He made a mental note to himself to thank Cid and Shera for their hospitality; he felt guilty for the way he had ignored the two, but he had felt more than uncomfortable at the outcome of Cid's confrontation back on the Highwind, and he had assumed that the two were not on good terms. It turns out he had been wrong after all.

Sighing, he set himself down on the bed and laid back, his eyes tired from his nightly unrest. He had no particular desire to fall asleep, yet his eyes begged for the comforting caress of darkness.

He adjusted his head on the pillow, not quite able to get comfortable, which was unusual for the gunslinger; he tended to make due with whatever was presented him, yet this time something just was not right. He adjusted his head again, and this time there was a sharp pain at the nape of his neck. He sat up and looked down at the pillow; something was protruding from underneath, and it had dug itself into his tender skin. He removed the pillow and snatched up the object, holding it up at eye level in front of his face.

He didn't have to wonder what it was; he already knew. He had received a couple of them himself, back when he was a Turk working for ShinRa. He also didn't need to ask why Tifa would have the book under her pillow, unless he had a sneaking suspicion that she liked to browse through pictures of strangers just for kicks. He pulled back the cover, in search of the year issued. He was right.

Tifa sat at the table downstairs with Shera, who had made a most lovely breakfast, and Cid, who had acquired a most lovely hangover. Shera advised Tifa that if she ever found a man that always needed whiskey with his tea, then she had better make sure that he didn't have the affinity for tea that her Cid had.

"Shera, this is wonderful!" Tifa exclaimed, inhaling the steam rising from the food that lay before her, letting the smell of the food wash over her. "This is absolutely amazing!" She turned to Cid. "Aren't you going to eat something?"

"No…f*&^$%^…way," he grumbled. "Gimme a liter of cough medicine, I wanna sleep," he whined, and banged his head forcefully on the table.

"It'll make you throw up."

"Now why the h&## would I wanna do that?"

"It might help you get whatever's left out now, before things get worse…"

"No. I'm a man, d^*&@$! I'll suffer like one!" Then he moaned in pain and held his head in his hands, simultaneously banging it on the table, repetitively.

Tifa turned to Shera. "Does he always get like this? When he has one of those, I mean?"

Shera grinned at Tifa. "Yep! Just try to ignore it; it should go away by noon."

"Ah, ok. Shera, you have to show me how you make your eggs so fluffy…"

Tifa rambled on and on in gratitude, blissfully unaware that her worst nightmare was coming true as she spoke.

There was a banging noise coming from downstairs.

'Hmmm…,' Vincent mused quietly to himself, 'Cid must have a hangover.'

(A/N): Hooray! Another chapter up! More to come…

9/10/03: Started my Lucca/Magus story.

10/13/03 (Vincent's birthday): Will post my Vincent 27th birthday one-shot.