Flirting With Death, Chapter 19:
Standing at the Floodgates
By Darknightdestiny



Vincent looked down at the girl caught in his arms as her hold was pressed tight around him. His entire body tensed and he wished for her to let go. He was unused to this kind of treatment, and coming from Tifa, he didn't understand it. She was supposed to be afraid of him. She was crying after all, and he'd assumed this to be out of fear. He assumed her apology the last night at his door to be out of fear, and he thought that she had just been trying to fix a mistake that she had made, trying to make up for offending him, so that she wouldn't have to live with the guilt of exposing him for what he was.

But people usually didn't seek comfort in the very thing that brought forth their fear. What was she doing?

"...Tifa?" His voice was soft and worried, searching for something. He wasn't sure what her reaction was going to be, and for the first time since their last battle with the One-Winged Angel, Vincent Valentine was frightened.

"Oh, Vincent..." she cried into his chest. "I'm so sorry. I never meant for it to be like this. We were supposed to go find happiness. We were supposed to get something done, find a reason to go back home. I didn't mean to do this to you..."

His hands moved up to her shoulders and he grasped them firmly, and he started to pull her off of him, but she held on firmly. "Tifa, please. Let go..."

"Vincent, I can't," she sobbed, shaking against him. "Not until I make this right. I've known you for a while, and I can't stand to see you like this. And it's all my fault. Besides..." she let out a pitiful laugh onto his body, "I can't let you see me cry." Of course, she knew that this was selfish, especially since she had received her glimpse into his world of pain, but she couldn't even bring herself to expose one tear, even for the sake of his own comfort.

"Your guilt is irrational," he said passively, more to himself than to her, though the words were meant for her ears, and he had wanted her to get his point. In surprise, and even possible offense, she brought her head up and her eyes met his. Looking up at him, she forgot the hot salt running down her face. He smelled it dripping on her skin, and he felt that sick feeling again. He was the one who was guilty.

"I don't know how you can say that," she said in dismay. "I didn't even knock. I didn't feel right being there, but I didn't turn around. I should have let you be..."

"...That is your regret?" he turned his eyes away from her and stared off into space, directly to his left. He couldn't watch her break down like this in front of him. He'd seen it twice before; once she had cried over Aeris' death, the other time she had cried at Cloud's side when the Lifestream had spit him up on the shores of Mideel. But he couldn't bear to think that he was the source of her pain.

"Vincent...I never want to be the source of your pain, or anyone's." Apparently Tifa thought the same way. "I know that you've been through a lot, but I don't know anything about it. I can't pretend to understand, or try to offer anything more than my sympathy, because I don't know how you're feeling. You are the one person I could never figure out. I never meant to bring this out into the open, and I never meant to drag you into something you weren't ready for. Maybe you never wanted to bring it out, I don't know. But I'm sorry it had to happen like this."

Vincent closed his eyes. "Tifa, it was not...your fault..."

"I'm so sorry!" she wailed. She remembered him trying to pry her off. She was being so open, so honest with him, and he wasn't saying anything. She wanted him to at least acknowledge that she had a reason to apologize, so that she could try to fix something, anything, and in some way help the entire situation. "Vincent, I know I hurt you. I hate that I did that." She buried her face in his warmth again, her long fingers grasping the silken folds of his shirt, pressing in against his back. "I want you to be able to trust me..." she whispered. "I don't want to lose that."

Vincent took a deep breath and expelled it with a sigh, opening his weary eyes. "...Your curiosity has been sated, then?" Tifa nodded, and he felt her response through his shirt.

"Are you going to leave me now?" She loosened her grip and shifted herself against him before tightening her hold again. Vincent tensed even more.

"...If it would make you feel better." He already knew her answer to that.

"No! That...that would make me sad." She pulled tighter, trying to emphasize her point, the thought that she might be sending off a wrong signal never entering her mind. "Please stay. I know it will be awkward for a while, but I'd miss your company."

"...My company."

"...It's nice having you around."

"...Very well." His hands came down on her shoulders and he pulled her off in one fluid motion with the intent of turning around and going back to his room to spend his last day there in solitude before heading back to Midgar. Instead, his eyes took in a look of hurt from her, stung by his rejection of her apology. That was what she was feeling, even though that was not the reason that he had removed her from her position of comfort that she had so desperately needed. It was as if all of her frustrations had culminated and she finally needed to release them somehow. It had not been his intent to hurt her back, or to hurt her again; it depended on whether or not he was looking at the situation through his own eyes or through hers. He could be stubborn sometimes...

Definitely through his own eyes. He had not wanted to hurt her again. Because in his mind, he had already hurt her once.

"..." He looked at her hurt expression as she waited, wanting something. "What is it?"

She studied him. "I just want to hear you say that everything will be all right between us." He couldn't say that just yet. He didn't know what it would be like, having someone as caring as Tifa around him, knowing that he was hurting, and trying to make him feel better all the time. He didn't enjoy sympathy, and didn't like being made to feel helpless. That was definitely not what he needed.

"..."

"Vincent, I don't want things to be ruined between us," she confessed. "It seems like I've been working for ages to try to get you to warm up to me, and I could have sworn that you were starting to get comfortable around me, even though I've been dragging you all over the place." He didn't really mind, but her eyebrows creased with worry over it. "I don't want to have to start all over after that. I'd just gotten used to travelling with you, and I was starting to enjoy it."

He looked back to his left again in contemplation. Tifa still saw the need to make things better. "You know..." she started cautiously, "It doesn't bother me. It doesn't make me uncomfortable." No response. "I mean...I care of course, and it makes me hate him even more, even though he's dead...but I'd never look at you any differently." Still no response. "Because of that," she was quick to add. Why she was, she did not know. Vincent remained silent, still standing in the doorway. "Vincent? Vincent, speak to me. Are you going to be alright?"

Vincent bowed his head and leaned over, placing his back against the doorframe, on Tifa's right. He folded his arms across his chest and stared through half-lidded eyes at the spot where his foot was wedged at the bottom of the other side of the doorframe, where it met with the floor.

"...Vincent..."

"It bothers me."

"...I know."

Audible, plain, simple. A clear point. Tifa's face faulted again, and she thought she was going to break into a fresh burst of tears. Silence.

What bothered him the most was that it had been her. It didn't seem fair. She was just so understanding, so compassionate and accepting of everyone and everything, and he would never know exactly what went through her mind when she first saw his scars. Would someone as kindhearted as her- even her- be able to stand that? Would she go so far as to compromise the truth so as to ease his own discomfort? He wasn't sure he wanted to know. The shock written on her face still stuck out in his memory like a sharp thorn, and he reasoned that if he really knew what had raced through her mind then, it would most likely depress him to no end.

Vincent was the only one who remembered the pain that went along with the scars, and it still hurt physically at times, as well as emotionally, when he let himself think about it. It was just so fresh in his memory, and he still would not step into a hospital without feeling sick. If any of his friends were to understand his pain after only one glance at the simple lines that only appeared to be minor surgery scars, then they must have an extremely creative imagination. Tifa was already feeling sick from all the crying she had done, but the real reason she was crying was not because she realized any of the pain that he went through, because she wasn't told the entirety of the story. No one was. All she knew was that it caused Vincent a lot of pain, and so she cried for him. Vincent wondered what would have happened if he had reacted differently and not made a big deal about it. Would she have acted the same way, or would she still have been shaken up? But the design on his chest reminded her too much of the familiar pattern of a dissection lab- the ones she took in anatomy class- and if she had known the extent of her correctness in that generalization, she too would have been feeling as sick as he.

Vincent's red eyes gleamed with a supernatural brightness in the light which filtered through the windows of Tifa's room. They shone through and glinted, though his face was hidden for the most part by a cascade of ebony and smoke-tinted shine that feathered down over his visage. It had been her- she, the first one- the very first. She was not only the first of their own, but the first of anyone to see them. She was the easiest one to deal with, and she was kind and comforting, but that was part of the problem. He knew in his heart that she had already taken it upon herself to help him bear his cross.

He had almost wished that it had been someone else. Someone else would not have tried to tell him what they thought would help him, what was best for him. Someone else would have said exactly what was on their mind at the point in time when they were faced with the situation, rather than waiting to sort through panicked thought processes. Someone else would have told him what he really wanted to hear for now, and wouldn't have kept him guessing, wondering, unsure of what they had thought, and in fear of rejection.

...Even though rejection was something he had come to accept, and he had gotten quite used to the idea that someday he would lose all of their care, especially when they found out the things he had done to be so deserving of those scars...

Cid might have freaked out a bit, and then he would have asked questions. Cid was one of the older of the others and a male, so he would understand Vincent's hiding his emotions once he found out why. Cid was Vincent's opposite, loud, rude and boisterous, but he had a big heart. Cid always hid his emotions as well, but he did it by covering them with a tough image and his assertiveness and proud talk of the skies. Vincent simply shut his mouth and stood in the corner brooding. He knew that Cid's dreams meant a lot to him and that he had always cared for Shera. Vincent had always held a natural ability to sense out people's feelings. That was part of the reason he was helping Tifa; he had been genuinely concerned about her, though he would never say it.

Vincent understood what it was like to have something so wonderful and to always be in fear of losing it; Shera actually reminded Vincent of Lucrecia a bit, and he understood Cid's way of expressing his affection better than anyone would have guessed. It had been hard to hide his scars from Cid, because during their travels he always seemed to end up rooming with the pilot, because neither one of them wanted to room with Barret, who was chronically in a bad mood, wheras Vincent was just simply moody and wanted to be left alone. Cloud had been used to handling Barret's temper, and Cid and Vincent had gotten along well enough.

Vincent bit back a smirk at the image of Cid, staring across the room and shouting, "Shit! So that's how you got those?! That bastard..."

The only other person that Vincent could have pictured was Yuffie. Perhaps this was because Cid and Yuffie were the only two people from their misfit band that he had seen since the Meteor incident, besides Tifa. For a minute, he imagined that Yuffie would have shrieked and ran away with the speed of a true shinobi, or else she would have just gawked at it. No...he knew better. Most likely, she would have scrunched up her face and said, "Eww," before walking over and poking at him. She would have followed this up with several questions involving a 'why,' 'how' and 'when,' not to mention the dreaded 'who.' Then she would have smiled a great big smile and acted as if everything was fixed, because in her mind it was. Simple solution to a simple problem.

...Or not.

Either way, the reason he would have preferred them was that they would have given him an excuse for his seclusive behavior. It seemed selfish, but after all it was a human impulse to justify one's own sins. Even though what he really needed was a change, needed to be pulled up out of his dark and bottomless pit of despair, he also felt the need to justify his existence.

They would have been able to enforce his reasons to brood about, causing despair and bringing doom and gloom to everyone else, and it would have justified his way of dealing with it all. He didn't want to find a new way of dealing with it all, mainly because of his fear of the unknown. He was just too afraid to take the first step.

Cid, with his heart and his anger, would have forced him to feel, forced him to stand for himself against the pain he had tried so hard to forget, but could not. Yuffie was not insincere, just blissfully unaware. And it was enough to make him feel completely alone. No one could feel with him, empathize with him or hurt with him, because they simply could not understand what he was feeling. This was despite the fact that there were people all around him, and despite his nagging suspicion all those months that Yuffie would enjoy the hug much more than he would, though she would be disappointed if he did not return it- which he had absolutely no intentions of doing in the first place- and she would probably be more than happy to use the situation as an excuse for just that.

Not like Tifa. Sweet, caring, compassionate Tifa, a true fighter with the heart of a warrior. She just would not give up. Though she had come to just accept things as they were when there was nothing to be done, she would work with whatever she could to make life better for everyone involved. She comforted those in pain and was always more concerned with helping her friends get through their trials and tribulations no matter how much of that pain was poured over onto her, and she wanted them to be at peace and to feel loved.

Vincent was never at peace, nor did he feel loved. He felt unworthy of companionship, unworthy of forgiveness. He could not see either happening for him. It wasn't that he didn't want those things; they just seemed so far away, as if they were never meant for him, destined to fall forever. He couldn't relate to the things she said, to the ideas she tried to spread. It was the one and only time ever since he woke up that anyone had dared to get close to him, but here she was, about to try that very thing, to sincerely understand him, to dissect his emotions and his troubles and help him re-arrange them in such a way that his world would make sense once again. He couldn't remember what that was like. And he did not know how to handle such a delicate situation, with such an emotionally fragile being.

"...Vincent?" Tifa called him out of his silent musings, bringing his weary consciousness back from its downward spiral into oblivion.

"...It should not have been you."

"...What?" Tifa wasn't sure she had heard him correctly, or that she even understood what she had thought he had said. Vincent sighed.

"That was not meant for you..." he pulled his extended leg back to where the other had previously been bent up against the wall.

"...I don't think I understand. What wasn't meant for me?" she questioned, truly confused. She hadn't known where Vincent's thoughts had wandered in the last few minutes. He tugged at the buckle on his belt, idly searching for something to do now that he had lost his train of thought. She noticed this, read into every movement he made, because she knew this was how he spoke over half of the time. She watched his eyes half close again and trail down the black sea of silk on his chest, and she understood. "Oh...I see. I know that was a very private thing-"

"I did not mean to be so careless."

Tifa shook her head in protest. "Vincent, it wasn't your fault in any way," she stressed the point. "But I did see, and I can't take it back, no matter how much I want to." She didn't catch the look that passed over his face at that comment. "I just want you to accept my apology." She looked at him with hopeful eyes.

Vincent rolled against the frame so that he was leaning on his left side, rather than on his back. He crossed his arms again and lowered his face to where she could barely see his lashes underneath his long bangs. His voice was at a low whisper, barely audible this time. "...I know you would rather have not...there is no need to apologize..."

"Vincent, you can look at me. You don't have to look at your feet." The tension in the room was so thick, he could have sliced through it with one of his sharp metal digits.

"...I...am looking at the space between our feet," he corrected her, failing in his attempt to lighten the mood and shift the attention elsewhere. Light humor just wasn't his thing. Now, dark and morbid humor...

That gap between his feet and hers closed rather quickly, he noticed. "Vincent..." Tifa reached up and lifted his face so that they were at eye level- almost. "Please don't shut yourself off from me for the rest of our trip." She paused. "I miss what conversations we do have. It's been a whole day."

Vincent shifted against the wall again, uncomfortable under her gaze. He reflected idly that she obviously knew how to make people pay attention. In his case, this was a bad thing, because he did not wish to be thought about in personal terms. It felt so unreal to have her standing in front of him, talking to him about something she was never supposed to know. Talking about him, his past...even though she didn't know anything about it. He wondered if she still wanted to. He still had that book in his room; he'd almost forgotten about it. She'd said she was satisfied, her curiosity was settled, but did she still care about that? He felt a bit like a display piece, but that could be expected, given his situation. At least he knew that Tifa would never make him suffer. She would treat him as any other human being, no matter how inhuman he felt.

He reached out and gently took her wrist in his claw, making sure that she got the point, and he lowered her hand from his face. "...So it has."

"Vincent, would you like to get breakfast?"

"..." That had come from out of nowhere.

"...I know you might not be feeling up to it, but we should carry on like normal, right?"

"..." Would he ever be normal?

"Vincent, you can trust me. I promise...I won't make a big deal out of it, honest. Unless you do. Then I'll be forced to dissuade you out of your bad mood." She smiled at him. He could touch her with his claw, and she still did not flinch. Was she sincere in every way? Did it really not bother her at all?

Vincent looked at Tifa. She was probably the most loyal friend he had ever had, and that was including everyone he knew before his transformation into that...thing. She expressed a want to stay by his side, even though he'd been less than friendly, and even though he hadn't offered her much comfort in any of the problems she'd tried to confide in him. He'd always been a man of few words, and spoke through his actions. Somehow this had worked, because his presence eased her loneliness. Though it seemed quite strange to him that someone as lonely as he, and even in enormous crowds of people, could comfort someone who was loved by so many. And in return, she was willing to spend as much time as it took to help him with his own problems. But he'd known that from the moment she'd asked him to come along. He knew that she was doing this for his benefit, but now he knew that she realized she would be needing someone as well. As strange as Vincent felt being this someone, he could not deny Tifa the favor after all she'd tried to do for him regarding the whole incident.

"So what do you say?" Tifa was smiling at him, searching his eyes for a decision. The tears had dried to her cheeks, and she was trying her best, once again, to pretend that in her world, there were no such things as sadness or pain.

"...I suppose I should eat something."

"That's what I like to hear." Her grin grew wider. "We can go downstairs and pick something up and bring it here, or we can stay there if you'd like." He wasn't in the mood for another talk like this, at least not right away. But if it was inevitable, he would keep himelf out of such an informal setting. Still...he didn't want to be around the rest of the inn's patrons, either.

"...Outside." There was no hesitation, though he was still frozen in place.

Tifa grinned some more, and Vincent wondered if her face hurt yet. Of course her cheeks were sore; she'd experienced more emotions in the last few days than she had in the past five months. "Outside it is."

Vincent had left his cloak in his room, and he felt a bit awkward without it, but he decided not to mention it and avoided the subject altogether. He let Tifa lead the way, and together, they made their way down to the dining room.

...But not until Tifa had successfully removed her hand from Vincent's forgotten appendage.



A/N: Hi! Do you like it? I tried to make this situation work while keeping Vincent in character. I wonder if I succeeded? Much thinking in this one and not too much action or dialogue. Well...it was about time I updated this. What's next on the list? Ah...Things Unseen. Hmmm. Yes, I have a list. Is it so bad? It's located under my profile, haha. You have one, too! ::points the accusatory finger:: I'll just be rotating my four active fics until I finish them off one by one. I think I'll write another songfic or two in the meantime. And I've been meaning to write something dedicated to Cid. Maybe a fun short or something involving Shera and tea. ::shrugs:: We shall see.

That last line might have been a bit much as far as keeping everyone in character, though I wanted to emphasize that he was more lost in thought than paying attention to his actions...because that's what he usually spoke with and here he was being forced into speaking with words. So feel free to ignore it if you didn't like it. It can be easily disregarded and doesn't disrupt the flow of the story.

Actually...when I go back and read it, it sounds a little...wow. Haha. ::holds fist high in air:: I am on my way to a new level! Ah...just kidding. Maybe I'm just a pervert.

Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing! I'll do personal thank-you's and plugs at the end of the story, but we've still got a good ways to go. Let's see...Thanksgiving break is coming up...yay! ::tosses term papers aside and pulls out writing tablet and sketchbook:: Expect some updates from me that week. Unless of course, my roommate decides to monopolize the computer. That one might not even be in town though...::winks and crosses fingers:: Tiiiiiime for fuuuuuuuun!