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: Fatherhood

by: thelittletree

(Here I am again! Thanks for reading, and for reviews! They mean so much!)

'God sends children for another purpose than merely to keep up the race - to enlarge our hearts; and to make us unselfish and full of kindly sympathies and affection; to give our shoulds higher aims; to call out all our faculties to extended enterprise and exertion and to bring round our firesides bright faces, happy smiles, and loving, tender hearts.' -- Mary Howitt

The hospital had been logically laid out -- well-labeled wards, directional signs hung at every intersection – and Vincent was grateful to have little problem locating incubation. As he entered the room, a woman glanced up from behind the glass of a closed off cubicle to look at him. He waited for the inevitable flash of unease, the silent, wary observation, the immediate supposition that a man like him should have nothing to do in a place like this.

However, she only gave him a cursory inspection before turning back to her paperwork. And, for a split second, as his attention was drawn to the two adjacent, occupied incubators, he was almost sorry not to have the excuse of an obstacle.

Statistic cards in the plastic casings identified one of the babies as 'male, Lockhart'. And Vincent looked in, wondering if every day after this would be easier.

He was small, red, sleeping. Half covered by a yellow blanket and completely unaware of his observer. And Vincent couldn't help thinking: not his. This wasn't his son. Tifa's and a stranger's son. The child he had agreed through silence to help raise. And now it seemed insanity to have thought he could do this.

Tifa had promised to be there, had almost convinced him that no one was ever really prepared. Though he could very well believe at this point that part of him had been in denial of the truth, because he'd wanted to stay, wanted her to be happy, wanted to give her what other men could. Despite the fact that he could barely remember his life before Shinra, even less his own parents or childhood. He had no model to work from, he thought with a brief flash of regret toward the tiny, vulnerable individual in front of him.

Tifa, at least, had had a choice. Had willingly chosen him, knowing who he was, what he was. This baby had no choice. He was its father now. He, who had been a trained killer, who had to rely on blood for control of his body, who had so far proven that he was not even to be trusted with plants. He who had lived most of the last few decades hidden away in one way or another.

An exemplar shadow for the boy to grow in, no doubt.

He sensed the approach before he noticed Cid in the doorway.

"Shera's checking the waiting rooms. I figured you might be down here." The pilot hadn't entered. Not denying that he had come looking, but willing to leave if Vincent didn't want to be bothered.

But Vincent was simply waiting. Waiting for reality, for life to start again, for the page that would bring him to Tifa's bedside. And knowing that the best thing for now was probably to ground himself in something that was at least a little familiar.

"The baby okay?"

Vincent nodded and didn't object when Cid took the response as an invitation. Came to stand on the other side of the incubator and peered in.

"Fuck, he's small. How early was he?"

Small talk, Vincent realized, to avoid the real question. And for a moment he was angry at being tip-toed around, though the feeling faded quickly enough. He'd lost a lot of things, and Cid didn't have to be here. He imagined losing two lovers in one lifetime, both to that strange, love-triangle'd fate, both pregnant with children that were not his, was just about the most pathetic thing he could think of.

Gave in and did a few calculations in his head. "Four weeks."

"Mm." Cid nodded a little and rocked back on his heels, pushing his hands into his pockets. And then he sighed heavily, and Vincent was grateful that the charade hadn't lasted any longer. "Look, I don't mean to be tactless, but I don't know how else to ask."

Vincent didn't need him to ask. It wasn't a hard answer, though he almost couldn't believe it himself until he'd seen her. "She's going to be fine."

And Cid blew out a long breath. "Good. 'Cause I didn't know what the hell I was going to say if she wasn't."

There were a few moments of silence, and Vincent suddenly felt it was time to get out of here. Time for that page over the intercom. Time for Tifa to know she was a mother, for her to embrace the news with a contagious love for life and hope for the future. So that he might somehow pull himself into believing that what he couldn't handle alone they could handle together.

"Did you know it was going to be a boy?"

Vincent came out of his thoughts to realize he was looking into the incubator, at his son. Resisted the urge to take an anxious breath and nodded. At first Tifa had wanted the surprise. But, by the third month, the surprise had no longer been worth her curiousity.

"Picked a name?"

And he was tempted to smirk a little as he shook his head. He had been no help in that department, Tifa had discovered soon enough. And by the twentieth name or so, when he still hadn't expressed any particular excitement, she'd finally stopped suggesting them to him.

Cid gave a small chuckle. "God, you guys were prepared. Like you were just waiting to turn around and find out she was stuffing pillows up her shirt."

And Vincent couldn't help the quirk of his lips. Glanced up. "So I assume that to feel as if you're staring down a loaded gun is fairly customary."

Cid grinned suddenly and nodded. "Oh yeah. And don't expect Tifa to be any help. It's all our fault, I guess. Shera wouldn't even let me touch her for the first couple of weeks."

It wasn't his child, but Cid didn't know that. Didn't know that Tifa would never become pregnant by him. And Vincent enjoyed, for a moment, the distinction of being just like every other first-time father in the history of the universe.

"I'm sure I'll survive."

"Say that now, but you'd better keep that shower runnin' cold." Grinning again, completely insolent. "No more nuzzling on the rooftops."

But Vincent had far outgrown any feelings of stuffy embarrassment at particulars of the human condition. And any that had survived through the Turks, (through the horror and shame of everything else), had been pitilessly flattened by Lily. He simply smiled a little and shook his head. And Cid laughed, probably remembering the flip-off he'd gotten for his earlier remark.

And then the intercom crackled to life overhead, summoning Mr. Lockhart. Room one-oh-six.

And Vincent turned for the door.

Cid caught up with his stride in the hallway. "Tifa?"

He nodded a little.

"Uh, correct me if I'm wrong here, but doesn't the woman usually take the man's last name?"

But Vincent merely shrugged. No conventionality to his life as it was, and there wasn't likely to be any in the future. Only what he managed to construct for the public eye, what he managed to forget about in his personal life. Marriage was a convention that seemed false to him, created for people he no longer really belonged among. He had no ring finger that would fit a wedding band, and there was no 'lifetime of love' involved for him. Even the 'til death to us part' rang hollow.

And who took who's last name was an even greater triviality, considering that Valentine meant very little to him in terms of identity or family.

An interesting thing, in the end, he realized. To think there might be some shame in losing something he'd already lost long ago in exchange for something so much more significant to him.

Because it would still belong to her in his memory long after she was gone.

She was sleeping when the nurse opened the door for him. Hooked up to a heart monitor, though he could hear as he entered that her pulse was steady and strong. Head well bandaged, but her skin was no longer so waxy pale. Injured, but healing. She was going to be fine. The relief he'd been so reluctant to embrace finally flooded over. Breathing easier, as if he'd been holding his breath up until this point.

He pulled a chair from the wall and sat beside the bed. And then, with nothing in the world more important to do, simply settled in to wait for her.