Flirting with Death, Chapter 23:
The Morning After
By Darknightdestiny

Tifa looked down at the man beside her on the bed, watching his back rise up and down. She remembered that he still had blood drying to his legs, but he was so exhausted that she decided she would let him sleep. She had a feeling that he would rather take his shower after the cuts on his back had started to heal over, and he could take care of that himself. She was under the impression that he wouldn't appreciate her trying to get him to do it at that point, since he might still need a support, and she hadn't seen any cuts on his legs earlier, from what she could tell. Then again, she hadn't seen everything, but she didn't think he would have wanted her to. Until he was ready to shower, she would wait.

She noticed there was a small fan plugged into the wall, and it sat on top of the tallest dresser in the room. Tifa got up slowly from the bed, careful to not wake Vincent with her movement and watching him cautiously as she did. She walked quietly over to the dresser and reached up to turn on the fan. The batteries brought the small blades to life within their cage, and a cool breeze washed over her, then curved to her right, before coming back around and then curving to the left.

The soft air was soothing to her skin, and she hoped that it would help Vincent cool down after his episode. She didn't know what had caused it, but she was hoping that it wouldn't happen again anytime soon. He had seemed like he was in so much more pain than she had witnessed during battle. To be fair, she thought that perhaps their environment, and all of the time that had passed since the last time she'd seen it happen, might have made it seem worse than it had been compared to past occurences. Maybe she had just gotten unaccustomed to being around it. Then again, it hadn't happened so often before either, so she couldn't really compare.

She sat down on the bed once again, careful not to wake him with the slight movements she made. By the way his left elbow was bent next to him and his other arm was stretched out so that it draped over the side of the bed, it looked like he had just fallen down onto the bed and collapsed right where he was. His hair fell over his back and down into the crook of his neck, and his mouth was slightly parted.

"...You're beat," she breathed out as she let herself lean backwards, and she stretched out next to him. Tifa folded her hands neatly on her stomach, and arched her back once, readjusting her shoulders so that she was comfortable. She turned her head softly to her left, looking beyond her own hair, which was spread out over the covers. Vincent was perfectly still, save for the movement his breathing caused, and he looked much more peaceful than anyone who could have endured what he had should have.

Tifa was brought back to her senses by a loud slamming of the front door downstairs. She looked at the tall clock in the corner of the room and realized that more time had passed than she'd thought. She peered up at the window from her awkward angle on the bed, and she saw that the sky outside had turned a reddish orange color.

Her suspicions were confirmed when the slamming of the door was soon followed by the gruff announcement, "Ah'm home!"

Tifa bolted up at the sound of Cid's voice, and Vincent shifted a bit on the mattress. She wanted to go down and explain their presence because that would be the polite thing to do, but she didn't want to leave Vincent alone. She sat on the bed, wondering what move to make, until she heard footsteps coming down the hall.

There was a knock at the door, and Tifa started to get up to answer it, but thought better. "Come in," she called softly.

She heard the knob turn, and watched the door slowly creak open. A tuft of blonde hair appeared around the side and soon, Cid's baby blues were staring the two of them down. "Ah see yer all right," he said to her, before his eyes fell on Vincent. "How's he?"

Tifa shook her head and smiled sadly. "I don't know. He just went to sleep." She reached down next to her and fixed a wrinkle in the fabric. "Thanks for letting us stay here."

Of course, she didn't know that it was all right, but she knew that Cid would never say no, especially given the circumstances. "Well hell," he continued, "I don't want anythin' bad happenin' to you," he finished, pulling his cigarette from his mouth.

"Thank you," Tifa replied, a grin forming on her face. "You know," she mused, "you should be outside with that, since Shera is pregnant and all..."

"Hey, hey!" He raised his eyebrows both at once and exclaimed, "Yer livin' in my house!"

"Yes, dad," she laughed and saluted.

"Damn, you make me feel old. C'mere." Cid walked over and gave Tifa a hug, while passing a glance over Vincent. "He looks tired," he said. "You wanna come downstairs and eat somethin'?"

Tifa shook her head. "Maybe later. I want to be here when he wakes up."

Cid shrugged and made for the door. "Suit yerself. Let 'im know that I wanted t' make sure he was okay."

"I will," she said as he closed the door behind him.

Tifa leaned back on her elbows and looked at Vincent, whose hair was in different crevices in his neck ever since he'd shifted in his sleep. She reached over and gently slid her hand under his black mane and against the nape of his neck, and she brushed the hair away from his neck and over to the other side of his head behind him. She noticed that the tips were a little hardened, and that he probably had some blood there that had dried and caused his hair to stick together.

She wished she could wash it for him and get it over with, but he was content to lay there in whatever was left of it until he was able to take care of it himself. She decided then, that she would promise Shera to wash her sheets before they left. She turned over on her side to face him, and she soon fell asleep to the quiet humming of the fan, and the sound of Vincent's soft breathing.

|

Vincent opened his eyes and found himself staring into Tifa's face, though her eyes were closed. There was a cool breeze drifting over his skin, and he slowly sat up on the bed and checked to see if the window was open. It wasn't long before he realized that the breeze was coming from the other side of the room, and when he glanced over, he saw the fan she had turned on.

The light outside the window was almost non-existent; the sky was a muddled shade of blue and grey, and he was surprised that he had slept until twilight. He looked around for his shirt, but he couldn't seem to spot it anywhere. Vincent placed his hand and his clawed arm both at his sides and pushed himself off the bed, rising carefully so as not to wake her. His head spun for a few seconds once he was standing, but it passed soon enough.

Taking a step forward, Vincent felt the discomfort of the dried blood that clung to his legs and held his pants in a stiff position, making it hard for him to move. He directed himself towards the door and turned the knob gently, entering the hall quietly. He made his way over to the kitchen, hoping that someone else would be there.

A soft light coming from the kitchen flooded the hallway near the end, and Vincent brushed up against the wall and peeked around the corner. Shera was nowhere to be found, but Cid was sitting at the table, having a cup of tea she had apparently fixed him before disappearing. The pilot seemed to be deep in thought, something he usually didn't let on to when other people were around, Vincent mused. But he most likely had a lot on his mind lately, with Shera getting ready to have their child, and with two of his former allies dropping in looking the way they did.

"...Cid."

Cid looked up from his cup of tea and caught Vincent's crimson gaze. He sat back in his chair and propped his feet up on the table, shifting in his seat as he did so, and he lifted his head forward to place his arms behind his neck. "Yer up early," Cid commented idly. Vincent took this as sarcasm, and he shook his head.

"I was wanting to take a shower, and I was wondering..." Vincent paused.

"Y' want to borrow somin'?" Cid asked. Vincent nodded from his position on the wall, half in the hallway and half the back of his left shoulder peeking out into the kitchen as his gaze returned to the floor. "Well why didn' y' say so?" Cid replied. "Shit. You come in 'ere lookin' like death himself, and y' can't speak up when y' need somin?"

A small smile began to creep up inside of Vincent, but he barely let it slip past the right corner of his mouth.

"C'mon," Cid said as he rose from the kitchen table, "I'll get y' somin'." Cid walked out into the hallway and passed Vincent, who had consciously crossed his arms over his chest. The gauze that Tifa had wrapped around his torso had covered most of his scarring, but he was still ashamed of what was visible. Fortunately enough for him, the light in the hallway was much dimmer than the light in the kitchen.

They came upon a closet in the hall where Cid stopped and turned to Vincent. "Don't know what I got that'll fit ya, but I'm sure I can find y' somin' to wait around in 'till yer clothes get cleaned up." Cid opened the door and walked inside, rummaging around on the tops of the shelves, sifting through piles of folded clothing. Finally, he pulled down a pair of long fleece pants and an oversized white t-shirt. "These oughtta take care of ya for now."

Vincent hesitantly reached forward and took the clothing from Cid. "...Thank you."

Cid looked Vincent over and shook his head. "Y' don't have t' act like yer acceptin' a car. It's jes somin' to cover yerself. Speakin' of..." Cid trailed off. Vincent looked up at him with an irrational amount of fear welling up inside, as if he'd been caught at something he'd neglected to guard himself against. "...I think this's the first time I've seen yer face."

Vincent's heart lept into his throat and then sunk quickly back down, and he stared at Cid in a sort of shock for a while. He then brought the clothes up to his chest in his arms and nodded, realizing that he'd forgotten about the entire thing ever since other more urgent things had taken precedence on his list of things that he was paranoid about.

"Well..." Cid finished, "nice t' meet ya." He walked off back towards the kitchen, and he called over his shoulder, "There's a shower in the bathroom in Shera's room. Jes rinse yer pants off, an' leave 'em hangin' up in there. She'll come an' get 'em an' make 'em like new." With that, he disappeared, and Vincent was left standing alone in the hallway.

When he entered Shera's room again, he set the clothes on the familiar side chair, and his hand instinctively went for the zipper of his pants. He was suddenly reminded of Tifa's presence when he caught her sleeping form out of the corner of his eye, and thought better of it. Instead, he gathered the clothing in his hand and slung it over his right shoulder, and he walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, locking it this time, before undressing himself.

Vincent's eyes caught the mirror, a thin plate that stretched along the entire wall above the counter, and he winced at his appearance. His eyes still spoke on accord of their own, a haunting scene as they pulsed along with the throbbing in his temples. To Vincent, he looked more haggardly than usual, paler in contrast, and he trembled as he fumbled with his zipper.

His hands moved to his hips and he began to slide the fabric from his skin, and he bit his lip as it peeled away, tugging at the small hairs on his body and leaving behind a trail of crusted red. He let the garment fall to the floor around his ankles and stepped out of it, picking it up and setting it in the tub. He turned on the hot water and let it soak into the cloth, and he turned to the cabinets in search of a towel.

Searching through the cabinets on the right side, which were full of lotions and perfumes, he realized quickly that he'd come upon Shera's personal items. Moving to the left side of the counter, he opened the top cabinet and saw a toothbrush, a razor, some toothpaste and some shaving cream, and some deodorant. Directly beneath that small collection were the towels.

Vincent grabbed a towel from the stack and a washcloth as well, and he draped both of them over the sliding shower door. He slid the door open soon after another check in the mirror followed by a heavy sigh, and stepped inside. He bent over to grasp the knob over the faucet, and he pulled it tightly, sending the water flow from the faucet to the showerhead above him. He stepped underneath of the hot spray and let it cleanse him of the stench of his own blood.

The water felt refreshing on his skin, and he held his head back to revel in the feel of it. His cuts had almost closed by then, but there was still a harsh burn on some parts of his back, so once he felt he had gotten used to the feeling, he turned the water cold. It was just in time as well, because as soon as his hand gripped the knob to turn it, he started to feel light in the head, and he crouched down in the tub for fear that he might faint.

Vincent put his head down and idly watched the water run down the drain, clear, pink and red. His breathing became heavy and he sat back on the porcelain surface with his left leg setting out before him and his right knee up. He picked up the mass of cloth that the blood-stained water ran around and permeated with its flow, and he wrung it with his hands. He sat there for a long time, thinking that if he rose again that he would fall over, but after a while he had the urge to rid himself of the water-heavy clothing. He stood slowly so that the blood wouldn't rush to his head all at once, and he draped the pants over the sliding door before dipping back into the shallow water in the bottom of the tub once more.

He let his head rest back on the tiled wall and listened to the labored sound of his own breathing. There was a ringing in his left ear, and he felt as if his head was gradually plugging up. His eyes grew heavy as he watched the steam rise up around him, and he leaned forward with his right hand as a support on the bottom of the tub, and he turned the water cold again with his clawed arm. He inched forward and splashed some of it on his face before finally sticking his entire head under the spray.

After his hair was drenched so that rivulets of the water ran from it, Vincent laid back again. How long he stayed there he did not know, because he fell asleep. When he awoke, the steam was gone, and he was very cold. He pushed himself up from the bottom of the tub and shut the water off. Standing carefully on the slippery surface, he slid the door open and stepped out onto the bathroom floor. Vincent's back was sore from being hunched up against the back of the tub, and he propped himself up by setting his arms on the counter, facing the mirror again. His lips had turned a pale shade of purple, but he wasn't sure whether that was from the cold water or if they had been that way before from his incident with his demons.

Vincent picked the towel up from the counter and quickly dried himself off. Though extreme temperatures normally had little to no effect on him, he was eager to get warm and sought the comfort of the bed. He reached for the pants, which were soft and cozy, something he would never have expected from anything in Cid's wardrobe. Once he had pulled them up, he stopped before grabbing the shirt. He noticed that the absorbption of the water into his skin had caused his scars to stand out, pulling the tissue tight. He ran his fingers over his chest, feeling the rough ridges where they intersected beneath the hollow of his throat.

Vincent slipped the shirt over his head and felt the markings through the thin fabric. The shirt hung from his lithe frame and stretched just past his hip bones. Though he was slender, he was tall and the material was loose on him and worn thin. Clearly defined, his build showed through the cloth, outlined by the way it hung on him, and he felt less than comfortable with it. However, he was much too tired to care; it was clean, and it was better than nothing.

Stepping out from the bathroom and into the bedroom, he noticed quickly that it was light outside. He looked over at the clock on the wall and saw that it was morning. With a heavy sigh, he approached the bed where Tifa lay resting peacefully on her side, her arm curled up beneath her head. He lowered himself to the covers and laid down next to her. As soon as his head hit the pillow, her eyes fluttered open. "...Good morning," she said, smiling at him. "Did you sleep well?"

Vincent continued to watch her expression, somehow warmed by her concern but unsure how to respond to it. He didn't feel he deserved it, after putting her in danger and having her go out of her way to take care of him. He shook his head slightly against the pillow, his eyes unwavering from hers.

Tifa frowned slightly. "You seemed like you were. I stayed up late to see if you would wake up, but you didn't."

Vincent raised an eyebrow, and then he realized that it must have been early morning when he had gotten up, rather than twilight. He relaxed and closed his eyes, pulling the pillow further down with his hand.

"Are you still tired?" she asked him, concern ringing true in her voice. Vincent fought the urge to wince at that and gave a small nod of his head. "Sore?" He nodded again. "It sounds like they're making breakfast. Would you like me to bring you up something?"

It was true, he could hear the sounds of pots and pans in the kitchen. And though he felt strange having her take care of him, he couldn't deny that after almost falling over in the shower, it might be a good idea to eat something. "...That would be...nice," he replied, opening his eyes to catch the relief that passed over her face at the news that he was going to let her help; As far as she could remember, he had barely even touched the breakfast they had two mornings ago. She didn't even know if he'd eaten anything since then.

"Good," she grinned. "I'll go and get some food. You just stay here and rest up." She rose quickly from the bed, still in the clothes she had worn the prevous day, though her sweater was replaced with her white tank top, since it had been stained with blood. She stood on bare feet and made her way to the door. As she stepped out into the hallway, she heard a voice call to her from the bed.

"Tifa."

She turned quickly in her step and saw Vincent facing her, sitting up in the bed and leaning forward slightly, so that his hair covered his face. "Yes?" she asked, hoping something else wasn't wrong.

"My thanks...for all you have done."

Tifa was surprised by this sudden display of gratitude, especially since she wouldn't have thought twice about helping him. Her eyes softened, and she smiled at him, unsure of whether or not he was even looking at her. "You're welcome, Vincent. But I wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn't, now would I?" She turned and left for the kitchen after that, intent on getting the both of them something to eat and wondering all the way why Vincent never bothered to take care of himself when he was able.

Vincent fell back onto the bed. He'd come to consider her as a friend, that much was true. But he didn't feel ready for her to feel like his burdens were hers. He felt it was something he should never have to share with anyone; she didn't deserve to have to deal with such things.

He closed his eyes again, thinking that he would have to make it up to her somehow.