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: Down the Drain

by: thelittletree

(Thanks, once again, for reading and reviews! This chapter came easier than the last one, and I'm actually kind of excited to be nearly done. Hope people have been enjoying the reading as much as I've enjoyed the writing! Thanks again!)

"They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself." -- Andy Warhol (1928 - 1987)

He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen -- and she almost couldn't imagine he had been the rambunctious weight in her stomach, the little presence she had sung to sometimes, the baby that she'd had some negligible hand in creating. Sleeping, with his tiny fingers curled into limp, unconscious fists, miniature whorls of dark hair already growing in loops against the thin red skin of his scalp -- he seemed both so vulnerable and so absolutely confident of his own safety, to be sleeping so soundly after having been ripped away from everything he'd known in her womb.

And Tifa knew, as she looked at him, that there was nothing she wouldn't do to protect him from a world he didn't yet know how to mistrust. And wished she had Vincent beside her, so that she could grip his hand and share in his smile as she laughed in the joy and the fear and the fact that she couldn't stop crying.

Cloud had stepped out from behind the wheelchair to peer into the incubator, but Tifa couldn't guess what he was feeling as he looked at her baby, the baby she and Vincent were going to raise. Anger? Resignation? Nothing? His expression was inscrutable.

When he turned to look at her, however, she recognized the heavy lines of regret around his eyes.

"This could've been us," he muttered softly.

"Could've been," Tifa agreed, though she didn't want to imagine what would've happened if they'd tried to bring a baby into their relationship. Cloud would've stayed, things would've been hell, and if she'd ever bumped into Vincent on his way through Kalm he wouldn't have let her beyond that first wall, and she never would've known there was any other way to live.

He turned back to the incubator, and Tifa waited, not impatiently, for the conversation to move around until they were talking about the past again. The past into the future.

But Cloud seemed ready to wait, too, as if he wanted to hold onto this moment where they were just in the present. And she couldn't blame him for that, really.

"Have you named him yet?"

This was something she could talk about, she thought, without having to feel the pressure of so much unsaid. In fact, maybe if they'd been able to turn their attention to other things so long ago, instead of focusing on their pain, maybe things wouldn't have been so angry and silent by the end. Maybe they could've talked like this, quietly, kindly, like real people.

Maybe he really had started to change, if they were able to talk like this now. Not that it changed circumstances, or her heart, but it gave her a little hope that he might really be able to move on, someday, and live happily despite grief and Hojo and so many misplaced memories.

"Yes. Jordan."

"After your father."

And she smiled a little, warmed somewhere by the fact that he'd remembered. "After my father. Jordan Verder Lockhart."

Cloud looked at her then, and the speculative question in his face said more than the question itself. "Not Valentine?"

And she repressed a sigh. Maybe not so much change; not yet. "No, not Valentine. We decided the baby would keep my last name." That much, at least, Vincent had expressed some opinion on. "So I could keep the family line going."

Cloud made no comment. But Tifa knew without having to wonder that it was something he wouldn't ever have completely accepted, even if he'd said yes to her. He'd always been looking, searching for someone to complete him, to merge with, to lose himself in. And, in the end, she had been too much her own person, too set in her own individuality to give herself up entirely to anyone. Had he ever asked, presented her with a ring, the name 'Strife' would've been very appropriate.

He shifted his weight a little, and then stood away from her son. And Tifa waited for it to start again.

"So, have you thought about what I said?"

And wasn't disappointed, though she wasn't going to just fall into this again. "What part of what you said?"

She saw him purse his lips, a little angry at the obvious distancing tactic. But she held his gaze when he glanced at her and waited for him to clarify.

This wasn't theirs; it was his. And she wanted him to know it.

After a moment's pause, he gave in with a short sigh. "About being a part of each other's lives again, even if it's only a little part. Just so we don't have any doubts about this."

But she was automatically shaking her head. "Cloud, I don't have any doubts..."

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you haven't wondered sometimes about us. If it might've worked if things had been a little different. I've changed, Tifa, and you've changed. Maybe now..."

And she almost couldn't believe he was really saying what she was hearing. "Cloud, how many times do I have to say it? I'm in love with Vincent. I have another life now, and I'm happy. I want to help you, but..."

"But what? You'd rather be with someone who, in thirty years, is going to look more like your son than your..."

"Cloud!" Something she never would've done before. Her first impulse a few years ago would've been to flee into another room and lock the door.

And, angry though he was, he turned to look at her. And she knew he knew that he'd been speaking out of line.

If only she'd had a backbone back then, she thought ruefully. If only she hadn't felt as if so much had been lying on the line. Things might've been so different.

His longevity was actually something Vincent had tried to discuss with her once, in the beginning. Her head on his chest, his fingers tracing the lines of her back, and a conversation he'd obviously not wanted to start. But had known needed to be addressed before things had gone further.

Though, in the mood she'd been in, too in love to worry about the particulars until they were on the doorstep, she'd simply answered his concerns with a vicious raspberry to the stomach. And she'd managed to get halfway to the living room before he'd tickled her to the floor.

"I love him and I'm not going to leave him. That's all you need to know." And she saw the lines around Cloud's eyes and mouth tighten suddenly, though he didn't interrupt her. "If you want to be a part of my life..." She took a breath and shrugged, simply giving voice to the truth. "...you can't still want to be with me that way."

And that was simply the final word.

Cloud stared at her for a moment before his features contorted with a scowl, angry and faintly helpless. "Well, what the hell am I supposed to do, then?"

"Move on." It was the only way.

"I told you, I've already tried..."

"Try harder." But her voice was sympathetic and she was smiling at him. "Don't put so much on the past. Look somewhere unexpected. Talk to a therapist, if you have to. Just..." And she gave another quick shrug. "...just realize that this is something I can't fix for you. You have to fix it yourself."

Still scowling, but not looking at her now. Still angry, but thinking, though she couldn't tell what he might be thinking about. What she'd said, maybe? What he might do next to try and convince her? It was impossible to tell.

And then Vincent was approaching through the door, though it was Cid's boots on the linoleum that made them turn their heads.

A particular look that Tifa couldn't help but notice, like the recognition of something, or maybe a kind of challenge, seemed to pass between Vincent and Cloud. But it only lasted for a second before Cloud glanced away.

"I should go," he murmured. "I'll talk to you later, Tifa."

She didn't reply, not sure what else they had to talk about. And Cloud headed out of the room without a word to anyone else.

"What the hell did he want?" Cid wondered loudly, obviously not caring whether or not Cloud heard him.

"Just to talk," Tifa answered, looking to Vincent, half expecting some anger. But there was only that resigned trust, and then the flicker of a smile. Relieved, she lifted a hand into his and squeezed his fingers. "It went okay?"

"It went fine." And then his expression warned her of something a moment before he said it. "Cid should be able to take us to Kalm tomorrow morning, if you want. The hospital is willing to transfer the baby for us."

The 'if you want', she had a feeling, was merely a formality. But Vincent had been right somewhat about Cloud. Though he wasn't dangerous, he wasn't going to give up, and she wasn't sure anything could be resolved this way. It was time to go.

"All right."

And she smiled at the look of faint surprise on his face, knowing he hadn't expected to win her agreement quite so easily.

"Early tomorrow," he continued after a moment. "Perhaps around seven."

"Okay."

Her smile grew as he frowned, his confusion surfacing. "You were against going to Kalm this morning."

"Yes, but now I'm not." Sometimes it was fun to baffle him. "Were you looking forward to a nice, drawn out argument?"

He seemed to be searching for some sort of response to that when Cid drew their attention to the incubator.

"He's awake."

And he was. Tiny Jordan's eyes were open and he was staring upward with all the appearance of being completely absorbed in his surroundings. And then in the faces.

"Oh." Tifa felt her eyes start to prick with tears again as she leaned as far forward as she could. "Oh, hello there."

"Big eyes," Cid commented. "Look at 'em. I think..." And he was drifting closer. "Fuck, I think they're different colours."

And Vincent began to lean down to take a closer look, too.

"One's green and one's blue," Cid continued. "Hopefully your naming him something good or he's gonna have one hell of a time in school."

And, watching Vincent so intent on their son, Tifa couldn't help it. "We're naming him Vincent Jr."

She almost couldn't hold onto her composure as Vincent straightened abruptly from the incubator to look at her. Almost glaring. "No, Tifa..."

And she scoffed at him. "Hey, you didn't want to help with naming him, you left it up to me. Don't go changing your mind now."

She could almost see the war this started in his mind. In his very body language as he stood, tensed, weighing her argument against his own sense of aesthetics. And she almost wanted to make the moment last a little longer, maybe until they got around to christening him, but she relented and slowly opened a grin on him.

"You believed me," she teased, satisfied.

And he looked at her for a second more before dropping his shoulders in sudden relieved annoyance. "That wasn't funny."

But Cid was laughing. "Yeah, it was goddamn hilarious. You should've seen your face, Vince. Didn't know whether to bust something or change your name."

Tifa chuckled. "At least someone appreciates my humour." She reached for Vincent's hand again and was pleased that, despite his irritation, he let her twine their fingers together. "No, I really want to name him Jordan, after my father."

And, after a moment of slightly reproving silence, Vincent nodded. She expected that, after Vincent Jr., anything else probably sounded wonderful.

Cid was standing by the incubator, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and glancing at the door. Once she noticed his restlessness, Tifa gave him an out in the conversation. "Is Shera expecting you, Cid?"

"Yeah, I gotta go. Sorry I can't stick around, but you know how it is." And then he addressed Vincent with a mock salute. "See you tomorrow, Vince, bright and early. You know the place." And he walked jauntily out of the room.

When they were alone, Tifa couldn't help a small chuckle as Vincent met her eyes. "You're telling me you don't like Vincent Jr.?" she chided him with mock reproof.

He smirked a little and, plucking a moment at his pants, crouched down in front of her. "Just what we need, more confusion."

"Not necessarily. You could be Vincent, he could be Vinnie."

"Ah, no."

"No?"

"No."

"Well, if you're sure..."

And he rolled his eyes as he stood again. Squeezed her hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired. And sore. I think it's time for my next dose of those wonderful, numbing pills."

"All right." He stepped up behind the wheelchair and pushed her out of the room. On the way, however, he stopped them in the hallway and turned the chair toward a bathroom. As he began to steer for it, Tifa smiled indulgently at his overly protective nature.

"Vincent, I can wait out here for you."

"That's not what I'm going in to do." He turned on the light and, once they'd entered, closed the door behind them. And then he brought out something from his pocket.

His cigarettes, Tifa recognized immediately. "Vincent..." she began, curious, wondering if he knew he couldn't smoke here.

But he held up a finger to belay all questions and started to pull the cigarettes out of their package. Placed them on the sink counter. And then he proceeded to pick them up in groups and break them in half, dropping them afterward into the toilet.

Tifa watched, grinning by the end. Then she clapped as he flushed them away. And, as he stood, she opened her arms and drew him into a long, deserved kiss.

And, if she seemed gently rumpled by the time Vincent brought her back to the room, the nurse who'd been looking for her said nothing about it.