Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.

Destination: Making Up

by: thelittletree

(You guys are all great, my readers and my reviewers! Sometimes I think I'm losing my muse for this ficlet, and then I go back and read what people have written -- and it lights my fire all over again. Thank you, thank you! Oh, I really want to finish this thing!)

(PS/ Thanks, Alexandria, for the email. That made my day, completely. I was buoyed on air and even had someone comment on my smile.)

"People grow through experience if they meet life honestly and courageously. This is how character is built." -- Eleanor Roosevelt (1884 - 1962)

When Tifa woke the next morning, Vincent was already gone. Feeling empty and subdued, half remembering pieces of unsettling dreams, she went about her morning routine and kept one hopeful, anxious ear trained on the door. But Vincent didn't come back.

Only one person came to the door. Yuffie, wondering if she was coming down for breakfast. And, both hungry and tired of circular thoughts, she said yes. And she agreed later when Yuffie invited her back to her makeshift exercise room, though she knew her mind and heart wouldn't be in it. Anything seemed better than going back to the room and finding it empty -- and then waiting. Waiting until she was crying and angry at him for staying away, angry at herself for something she couldn't quite believe had been inevitable.

She'd spent a year waiting for Cloud in that misery. And it had definitely been enough for one lifetime.

Yuffie asked her once what was wrong, and it was a little strange to have empathetic compassion from the girl who had frequently shrugged off other people's feelings as easily as she'd seemed to shrug off their opinions. But Tifa gave her a smile and a shake of her head and changed the subject.

And, as Yuffie began an animated account of a fight between herself and her father, Tifa fell gratefully into a series of conversation-maintaining nods and chuckles. It was still so easy to make them believe everything was fine, that there wasn't an uncomfortably sensitive soul under her skin. And it wasn't the first time she squirmed under the vague suspicion that a lot of the things she'd been through had been caused by the fact that she was afraid -- so afraid -- to trust people with her feelings.

She returned to the room, finally, mid-morning. And it was still empty. And now she was getting a little angry. He didn't have to be like this. But it was always like this. Offended, hurt, feeling misunderstood, he often holed away and 'sulked'. And often it was up to her to make that first step toward communication. Goddamn stubborn...and the man could hold a grudge...

Cid answered the door when she knocked, Jeremy hoisted onto his shoulder and in the process of being burped. And, instead of looking embarrassed about the picture he made when she grinned, he simply smirked. Gruff, but adaptable, she thought. Now a father as much as he had ever been a pilot, and he had taken to the job with the same attention he had paid to his first 'baby'. A man undoubtedly in his element.

"On the roof."

Mostly expecting a question, or at least a greeting, Tifa was momentarily thrown. "Pardon?"

"He's on the roof. You're looking for Vince, aren't you?"

She nodded a little and was momentarily preoccupied with what might've led Vincent here as opposed to any other place. "He came here?"

"No, the roof."

"Cid?"

The pilot turned in the doorway and Tifa was given a second or two to look into Jeremy's large, curious eyes. "It's Tifa, Sher. Come to collect." He turned back to her and was chuckling a little. "He scared the shit out of the lady who runs this place. She went up to hang her laundry and there he was, just smoking and looking at her like she was friggin' trespassing. We could hear her squawking all the way down the hall."

Tifa rolled her eyes and sighed. Trust Vincent to be making friendly with the locals. "How long has he been there?"

Cid shrugged his free shoulder and gave her a sympathetic quirk of his lips. "Don't know. Since eight, at least. You might want to get him before the police show up, or something. Stairs are that way. You need a hand?"

"No, I'm okay. Thanks." She gave him a quick smile and headed off down the hall.

The stairs were blessedly shallow and few, and someone had been considerate enough to put handrailing along the walls. But as she came to the door at the top, Tifa found herself hesitating. She hadn't memorized any apologies for him, hadn't come up with any convincing excuses for what she'd done. Hadn't really thought beyond finding him and somehow sorting this out, perhaps with a lecture thrown in about his tendency to look at something from the worst angle without getting the facts.

But she'd broken a promise last night, she recognized. Even if it hadn't been her fault (or not entirely her fault), Vincent was probably feeling rejected, afraid that something momentous had happened in his absence when really it had been nothing more than a fluke. A very strange fluke that she couldn't completely get off her mind, but a fluke nonetheless.

And to come out with guns blazing would only serve to belittle his feelings, push him further away. With a breath, she forced herself to look at the situation through his eyes. Hoped his anger had lost most of its fire. And opened the door.

She didn't see him immediately. And neither had the lady who ran this establishment she surmised, looking at the laundry on the line and seeing where she'd half pinned a towel. With a small, wry smile, she stepped out from the shelter of the doorway and took a glance around.

The view was probably spectacular early in the morning, she found herself thinking, when the sun was rising and the air was cool and still. North Corel had become very green and vital since she'd been here last, as if it was trying to make up for all of the time it had spent as a harsh, ramshackle community built on the ashes of a successful mining town. A lot of things had changed -- a lot of life out of what had seemed dead; a lot of sweet out of what had seemed bitter.

And it gave her hope to realize that no one who lived here would ever want things to go back to the way they had been before the green had been allowed to grow.

He was leaning on the stone railing, the smoke from his cigarette drifting in the breeze, his posture relaxed and absorbed as he looked out over the houses. Her small smile returned. Not so often that she caught him like this, when he thought no one was watching.

She took a careful step. Her sneaker scraped on some scattered birdseed and she froze for a second at the sound.

Vincent turned suddenly, and the hard, wary look on his face made her wonder if he'd been expecting the owner. But then his features softened and he turned away again. She pursed her lips a little at what wasn't quite an unspoken invitation and started toward him. Then changed her trajectory and ended up a few feet away, elbows on the railing. Looked out and saw that there was a playground below them. Couldn't help her grin of surprise and delight when she realized he'd been watching the children.

Vincent gave no reaction to her discovery. He stubbed his cigarette out and folded his arms together.

And Tifa took a breath, both a little angry and resigned at the obvious cue. "I could give you an explanation," she offered quietly, "if it'll make a difference."

He dropped his gaze, though she couldn't tell from the angle where he was looking. "All right."

She took a moment to scratch her forehead, feeling a little flustered and wondering how angry he might still be. "I was just waiting for you when Cloud came around the building." She began to chew on her bottom lip, and gave in to the accusation. "You were late, you know."

"You finish your story first."

She glanced at him but he was still staring outward. She took a breath and continued. "I didn't walk away when I saw it was him," she admitted, though he obviously knew it. "He just...I don't know. I don't have any real excuse for staying. He talked to me a little, and apologized for...well, for everything. And then..." She swallowed, suddenly wanting to hide the words, the truth away. Hide what she'd felt in that moment. "I was crying, and he was crying."

"He kissed your hand."

His voice wasn't stern or reproachful. But she felt immediately contrite for missing that last fact.

"Yes, he kissed my hand."

He was obviously watching the children again. One girl in particular, Tifa thought, who was standing at the top of the slide with blond bobbing pigtails and a young, demanding voice.

She pursed her lips and continued. "I'm sorry, if that means anything. I shouldn't have stayed to listen to him." She watched him for a moment, waiting for some response. Wasn't really surprised when she didn't get one. "Vincent..."

"Mm."

"You know..." She frowned, not sure she could say what she wanted to say without sounding presumptuous. "You know I wouldn't have gone looking for him, don't you?"

He sighed a little and shifted his shoulders, almost like a shrug. "I know."

She felt a little relieved. At least he wasn't questioning her feelings. At least, not anymore. "It was just a coincidence. I doubt I'll be bumping into him again."

He looked at her suddenly, his gaze level and direct. And she had the feeling there was something she didn't know.

"What's wrong?" she asked automatically.

He held her gaze for a moment longer, and she knew she wasn't going to like whatever he had to say.

"Yuffie told me you'd already gone back to the room."

She blinked, trying to fit this bit of information into the conversation. "What do you mean?"

"I was late because I went to the room first. When I didn't find you there, I went looking for you." He turned again to the railing and she didn't miss the restless twitch of his fingers that meant he was missing his cigarette. "Only because Shera saw me did I know that you were still waiting for me."

Tifa drew her eyebrows together. "You mean Yuffie intentionally misled you."

"That's what I mean."

She thought over the last evening and everything Yuffie had said and done. Nothing had made her suspect that the younger woman had been planning an 'accidental' meeting with Cloud. And Cloud himself...had he schemed about it, too? She swallowed, feeling strangely as if she'd walked into a bag that someone was pulling closed behind her.

"I think Cloud very much intends to bump into you again."

She glanced at him and felt a pang of pity, something she actually hadn't felt for him in awhile. He'd eventually managed to convince her not to invest compassion in the fact that he had to transform sometimes. It was just a part of his life, and he'd learned to treat it as such. She, he had told her, should strive to do the same.

She chewed a moment on her bottom lip, wondering if there was an easy solution to this situation. "Should we leave?" she wondered aloud.

It was a moment before he answered. "Do you want to leave?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Maybe it would be best. Although... "Maybe, like you said yesterday, that wouldn't be the end of it. Maybe it would follow us."

He gave a short sigh and shifted his weight a little. "Perhaps."

She glanced at her hands on the stone railing and began to pick idly at a small hangnail. "I don't know what we should do, Vincent." She smirked a little and rubbed her finger. "That first staircase is murder on my ankles. I don't want to have to be running up here every other morning to find you."

He gave a quick, quiet laugh through his nose.

"What do you think?"

He took a breath. And then turned his head to look her in the eye. "I think it isn't my decision."

Something jumped into her throat at the look on his face. He loved her. He wanted -- she could almost read it -- he wanted to tell her to do something that would take her far away from Cloud, from all of this. But... Oh, he gave up so much for her sometimes. "You trust me," she stated quietly.

He nodded a little and turned away again.

She smiled, wishing there was a word or a gesture that could sum up all of the things she was feeling. Eventually, she settled for something that felt close enough. "Thank you."

He gave a quick shrug of one shoulder.

And she suddenly felt if they spent one more moment apart, it would kill her. "Can I have a hug?"

He took a breath, and then let it out again. Stood up from the wall and turned to her with his arms open. And she snuggled into him, absorbing every moment and nuance of the embrace.

"Love you. And I promise this will all work out in the end. Whatever happens. Because I'm going to love your for a very long time."

His arms tightened their hold around her a fraction. And when he began to withdraw, she lifted her face for a kiss.

She was actually working on the juncture of his jaw, relishing the changed timbre of his breathing, when there was the sound of someone's foot scraping on the birdseed.

Cid was standing near the door, one hand shoved into a pocket, his posture relaxed and resting on his left leg. A large smirk on his face.

"Shera told me to come up here," he started without preamble, not looking apologetic in the least about interrupting them. "Told me to make sure you weren't at each others' throats." And then he chuckled and waved a hand in the air. "I don't know what the fuck to tell her."

And, before Tifa could swat his arm, Vincent managed a gesture with a particular finger of his metal claw that Shera certainly wouldn't have appreciated.