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: Waking From Dreams

by: thelittletree

(I actually finished this chapter yesterday after fighting with it through the whole thing, but I was very unsatisfied with it. And then, this morning, I sat down and looked at it. And completely rewrote it -- it was all there in my mind. Strange. Sometimes it's just a waiting game. Thanks again, everyone, for reading and for reviews! blows sloppy kisses)

'Honesty is the only way with anyone, when you'll be so close as to be living inside each other's skins.' -- Lois McMaster Bujold

The dream was really a part of a memory at first. But, like a flickering candle, not quite bright enough to wake her to the fact that it was a dream. Doing the actions as she faintly remembered doing them...

Arriving home and cursing as she fumbled her keys. Wretchedly upset over the large, brown stain down the front of her blouse...

Vincent glanced up from the counter as she entered, halting what he'd been doing. Carrots, her mind prodded seamlessly. He was cutting carrots, making supper.

And she couldn't help smiling in sudden weary relief, glad she wasn't going to have to fix anything tonight. "Oh god, I love you." Closed the door quickly, as if to firmly shut out the rest of the world. "I had the worst day."

And though she suddenly remembered that he probably had the monopoly on 'worst days', he didn't say anything about it. Simply addressed the stain on her shirt with his eyes. "Coffee?"

And she finally felt able to laugh about it, her favourite blouse -- the tension rolling off her shoulders as she shrugged out of her coat. "Yeah, I got some on my break and managed to get elbowed in the arm at the register." Pulled off her shoes and threw them into the closet. "Guess where my double latte landed."

"Not on the other person, I'm assuming." He turned back to the carrots, continued cutting. Sleeves rolled up, a half finished mug of tea beside him. Sometimes, she'd noticed, mundane chores almost seemed to relax him. "Did it burn you?"

"No. Not really." Sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Never so bad as it could've been, right? When her worst day was not watching Nibelheim burn, but having coffee spilled on herself. And she walked up behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist. Snuggled into his back as he continued with the carrots. He always managed to put it all into perspective. "That was the worst part, you know."

"What was?"

"That the guy who elbowed me didn't so much as get a drop on himself, and he didn't apologize."

"How terrible."

"It was terrible. You could at least fake a little sympathy."

And in reality, the memory continued with Vincent finally turning in her arms to hug her. Everything forgotten for a few moments as they'd moved into a few leisurely kisses.

But the dream veered off at this point, and somewhere in her subconscious she realized it. No reason to be uneasy, though, she realized vaguely, as Vincent continued to cut carrots.

Though the stain was wet, and growing. She could feel it oozing down her body, between her legs. And eventually it was too uncomfortable for her to tolerate anymore.

"I'm starting to think getting that coffee was a bad choice," she commented to him absently.

"You should have stuck with tea."

And she knew it. But coffee was addictive, and hard to give up completely.

Suddenly in the bedroom, and she opened the closet door and began to rummage through her clothes. Eventually found a shirt she liked and pulled it out. But...

She knew it immediately for a part of her maternity wardrobe. And there was coffee on it, too. A big brown stain, dry and crumbling on her fingers.

But it wasn't coffee, she began to realize as she held it. It was blood.

Blood on the clothes she was wearing now. Blood on her stomach, between her legs, dripping to the floor. Blood, and she wondered how she would ever wash it all out. Really shouldn't have ordered a coffee. Should've stuck with tea. Because now there was blood on her hands.

And it was all her fault, she was beginning to remember in horrified stillness. Something very wrong. Wrong with the baby -- lying on the floor and knowing the labour was wrong, all wrong. And if only she'd listened to Vincent in the first place, she wouldn't have followed Barret, talked to Cloud, fallen down the stairs...

And she was crying as she came suddenly awake.

And further unsettled by the unfamiliarity of her surroundings. Not their bed, or their walls, or their ceiling. And something beeping obstinately beside her until she couldn't pass it off as a residue of the nightmare.

Hospital, she eventually began to recognize. And she ached everywhere, in her chest, in her head. In her stomach. And she immediately touched her abdomen with hands that felt cold and bloodless. Still with its roundness, she realized, but something was undeniably different. Something was wrong.

Something was gone.

"Oh...oh no..."

There was a stirring of breath and movement nearby, as familiar as if he was in bed beside her. And then Vincent was sitting up from where he'd been slouching in a chair, his fingers fumbling for a moment to touch her hand. "Tifa?" Voice soft and groggy, as if he'd been asleep.

And she met his eyes for a moment, looking for the truth. Found only the vague shadow of worry in his features and wasn't sure how to interpret it. And then his expression was clouding with confusion at her scrutiny. "What's wrong?"

And she looked back down at herself, at innocent beige blankets. Touched her abdomen through the starchy hospital gown and felt the numb padding of gauze. And knew for a certainty that there was no baby inside her anymore.

"Vincent..." She felt suddenly sick, not sure she would be able to handle the truth. "...where's the baby?"

And then his features were smoothing out in understanding, and he gently brushed his thumb over her knuckles. A simple gesture of comfort carried over from days when she'd felt justified enough in the weary discomfort of pregnancy to list all of her bitter complaints about it. After he'd learned that to say anything, especially anything that sounded even slightly placating, was to have it ungratefully thrown back at him. A gesture she'd learned to appreciate as much as his patience, and she knew, even before he spoke, that the baby had at least survived the accident.

"He's in an incubator, in the natal ward."

And she let out a sigh of relief. "God, I was dreaming. There was blood everywhere, and I was standing in our bedroom so afraid that I'd killed him."

And he frowned a little, a corner of his mouth coming up in a kind of amused puzzlement. "That you'd killed him?"

"Well..." She shrugged a little and gave him a smile. "By talking to Cloud. If I hadn't gone, I wouldn't have fallen down those stairs." And then she chuckled a little and squeezed his hand. "Should've stuck with tea."

"Excuse me?"

"Just a part of the dream. He was coffee and you were tea and...oh, nevermind. It was strange." And, as he seemed to try and process this, she lifted a hand to her aching head and felt the bandage. And grimaced a little, spent a moment twitching her limbs to make sure nothing was broken. "Did I crack my head?"

He nodded briefly and she could feel his thumb now tracing one of her fingers. "And you broke a rib."

She sighed a little and noticed again the twinge in her chest. "I think whatever painkiller they've got me on is starting to wear off."

"Do you want me to call a nurse?"

"No, not yet. They'll probably make you go away. I'm all right for now."

"You should be sleeping."

"No, I want you to tell me about the baby." And she smiled a little, trying to ignore the throbbing in the back of her head. "Did he have all of his fingers and toes?"

"Well..." Vincent paused for a moment, glancing away as if he was trying to remember. "I didn't see his toes, but I assume I would have noticed if he was missing any fingers."

She laughed a little and winced.

"Tifa..."

"No, please, I'm fine. Did he have any hair?"

"I...I don't think so."

And she frowned, couldn't help laughing again. "I probably shouldn't even ask about weight and height, should I?"

And Vincent shook his head after a second, lips twitching with an obdurate smirk. "No, you shouldn't."

"And I thought you were so good with details."

Half annoyed, half amused by her teasing, and he gave in gracefully. "Obviously not the important details."

A momentary silence followed and Tifa laced their fingers together. Let her smile become gentler as she decided it had to be said. "Sorry if I scared you. I tell you to trust me, and then I throw myself down the stairs."

And he gave a quick shrug. "You're all right. That's all that matters."

And she looked into his eyes, tried to see the shadow of something she was sure had to be lurking in there somewhere. "Is it?"

And sometimes, when things were subdued like this, it was easier to be honest. His expression faltered a little and she waited, steeled herself for the argument.

"You're not going to like it."

And she gave her own awkward shrug, stiff with a little pain. "If you don't say it now..." She left the rest unsaid.

He gave a slight nod and looked at their hands. Pursed his lips. "Did he push you, Tifa?"

And she took a breath. Here it was. "No, Vincent. He didn't. I was walking out of the room, away from him, and when he touched my shoulder to turn me around I backed up and slipped down the stairs."

He seemed to analyze this for a moment, as if there might be something suspicious about it. And she struggled with the brief desire to become angry that he wouldn't simply trust that she knew.

"Are you sure he didn't mean for you to fall?"

And that broke it open, as much as she didn't want to fight right now. "Vincent..." Shook her head and scowled at the blanket for a second before meeting his eyes steadily. "He's not a murderer. I know he didn't do it on purpose."

But Vincent was looking back at her, his eyes hardening. "It's not difficult to guess why he's wanted to talk to you," he started softly. "You've wanted to talk to him, I haven't gotten in your way. But don't protect him."

And she rolled her eyes, threw all of the rules to the wind. "I'm not. There's no reason for you to be jealous, I'm not interested...."

"This isn't about jealousy." And it wasn't often that he interrupted her. His hand had slipped out of hers at some point and was now clenched into a fist at the edge of the bed. "I don't want us to stay here if he's a danger to you."

"But, Vincent..." And there were simple complicating factors he didn't know about, she was realizing. "The clinic in Nibelheim doesn't have a ward for premature babies."

But that only set him back for a moment. "Then we'll go to Kalm."

"But that's so far..."

"Tifa." And he was staring at her so hard, almost glaring. "If he's responsible for your fall, I don't want you to be anywhere near him. And I don't want to take the risk of simply believing he's innocent."

And now her head was pounding and she put a hand to the bandage, not wanting this to go on. Could sense the change in Vincent's posture as he sat back, as he accepted that the argument was over for now. "I'm going to call the nurse." Voice soft, and almost apologetic.

"Okay."

He stood and began to head, without a word, for the door.

"Vincent, wait."

He stopped. Turned after a moment to look at her, no longer so angry.

And she tried to smile a little. "I love you."

He seemed to swallow, the edges of his mouth softening. And in a moment he was by the bed again. Leaned down and she accepted his kiss on her lips, and then her forehead.

"Get some rest."

And then he was out the door.