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: Last Battle

by: thelittletree

(Thanks, everyone, for reading and for reviews! This fic has been a lot of fun. One more chapter, maybe, before the final epilogue. Thanks again, so much, to all of you. None of my fics would've come into being without the encouragement and support of readers. You're all incredible and deserve cookies and kisses and blank cheques!)

"All truth passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed. Third, it is accepted as being self-evident." - Aruthur Schopenhauer (1788 - 1860)

Barret's house was a funny mishmash of belongings, as much was obvious as soon as Yuffie led them blithely through the front door. A remarkable variety of personal effects were lined up against the walls, piled on ill-assorted furniture, or shoved into corners -- either the unfortunate property of someone with a severe identity disorder, or the properties of four distinct someones all living under the same roof. Several unpaired shoes were half-stepped out of the closet; various appliances and dirtied plates, pots and pans sat confidently on any table and counter space in the kitchen that was not taken up with cat dishes or hair scrunchies or oblong boxes spitting tinfoil or plastic wrap; curly-haired dolls in pink dresses were having tea on the floor around empty containers of machine-gun ammo, duct-taped together.

Cid cursed quietly in something like awe as he flicked his cigarette out the door without turning from the scene, and Vincent felt tempted to echo the sentiment. No wonder Cloud was having problems moving on with his life, if his own lonely future and the unsalvageable-looking confusion of Barret's present were the only examples he had to go by.

Lily's house, Vincent had to admit after a moment, had sometimes been a mixed-up mess of cooking and laundry and a half-dozen other ongoing projects. But at least he'd always known, even stepping in the door into the middle of it all, where he'd fit into her strangely efficient upheaval. She'd always made room for him, the most important of her undertakings.

"Good old Barret," Tifa said, barely under her breath, just loud enough for Vincent to hear while still holding her in his arms. And Vincent had a feeling this was what Tifa had known, perhaps cleaned up after, in the months when Avalanche had been little more than five people planning out of the basement of a bar.

"Nice to know we weren't the only ones to get our acts together," he said in soft reply.

Tifa glanced at him with a chiding, amused smirk at his sarcasm. But he couldn't feel shame for pointing out the obvious. Because, really, who would've believed years ago that, out of all of them, Vincent would be one of the few who would manage to create a new life out of ghosts and nightmares? Not even he himself, when for the others it had seemed so easy in comparison.

Though, of course, he'd been forced to start over when the rest of them would have tried to go back to aborted lives. So maybe, in some ways, it had been easier for him, he realized. Since he'd had no preconceived notions about his future to try and live up to, he'd inevitably set himself up to be satisfied with anything even slightly better than living in a coffin.

"Is Barret here?" Tifa asked suddenly, bringing Vincent out of his thoughts.

"No, he took Marlene to the park." Yuffie stood with her hands in her pockets, clearly accustomed to the turmoil around her, probably even an instigator. "He and Cloud have been avoiding each other since Barret accused him of lying."

Which was understandable, Vincent acknowledged, if not the best course of action, considering what had followed. Inevitable that Tifa would feel the necessity of going back, once she knew. And inevitable that Vincent would take her back, though he had to admit it was partly because he wasn't leaving her alone with Cloud that he could justify it.

And because he knew that, if it became obvious that Cloud was closing his ears to anything that wasn't what he wanted to hear, Tifa would be able to forgive him if he turned on his heel and walked out of the house. When she might not ever have forgiven him if he'd forced her onto the Highwind.

"Vincent, can you put me down somewhere?"

There was a couch in the living room, half covered in clothing, paper, half-empty cereal boxes. And, despite the part of him that said he should keep tight hold of her, he moved to set her down on a portion of the sofa that was mostly free of clutter. And tried to ignore the sudden, flaring desire for a cigarette as he straightened up.

Oh, there were many places he would rather be. Home, being the foremost. Even if it meant changing the diaper of that tiny baby with the mismatched eyes.

He hadn't spent the night in Tifa's room -- it had been against policy and he'd understood the precaution. So he'd spent most of the quiet hours of obscurity sitting on a bench in the park, mostly thinking about what it was going to be like. A baby, a little stranger entirely dependent on his care, and wouldn't Lily have laughed when he'd showed up at her door in the middle of the night, completely out of his league.

But somehow the fact that it had one blue, one green eye made him feel as if he had some preordained place in its life. He couldn't kid himself that he was going to be a perfect father, but at least there was something they would have in common. Eyes that would make people stop and stare for a second, not sure they had seen what they had really seen.

Red, or blue and green. At least they could be different together.

Yuffie was still being unusually close-mouthed, staring at a spot on the floor and seeming to have every intention of leaving this to someone else now that she'd done her part. Vincent was actually starting to wonder if perhaps Cloud had left North Corel while Yuffie had been gone, and thinking they should find out before they wasted any more time sitting around, when Cid suddenly tossed a key chain he'd been turning in his fingers back onto a table and said, "Well, is he even here?"

Yuffie glanced up quickly and took a breath before shrugging. "I don't know."

"Okay. You could find out."

And then she scoffed, her eyes bright and her face contorting into a scowl that was three parts tantrum and very familiar. "Look, I've already tried talking to him, he doesn't listen to me. None of you ever listened to me. Gawd, I just came here to get away from Godo, not to play 'gopher' for everyone. I just wanted to help, but if I'd known it was going to turn out like this I wouldn't even have come. I think I've done a lot just doing what I've already done. None of this is my responsibility, you know."

"And you think we fuckin' want to be here? We've got other places to be, too, you know."

Just when it looked like Yuffie might respond, turning the argument into one of those glorious battles of old, a door opened somewhere in the house and someone jogged down the stairs.

And then Cloud was stepping into the living room, glancing up in time to see everyone turned toward him, his expression weary confusion for a moment. And then his face hardened with cold realization, and he began to walk without a word toward the front door.

"Cloud?"

"Go home, Tifa."

"Cloud, wait!"

He didn't. And Vincent only noticed a moment after that Tifa was standing unsteadily beside him with a hand on the arm of the sofa. And then she took a tiny step, obviously wanting to follow. Quickly, he put a hand under her shoulder blades for stability, but she brushed him off after a moment.

"It can't be you, Vincent," she told him quietly. "You're part of the reason he's running."

And of course he knew that, but she wasn't going to try and walk alone as long as he was in the room.

"Here, Tifa." Yuffie had slipped up, mostly unnoticed, and was wrapping an arm under Tifa's shoulders. "I'll help you."

There was a moment where, under the force of Tifa's grateful smile, a glimmer of Yuffie's child-grin returned. And Vincent thought he understood the two ideas: not wanting to be involved because you had a feeling you would never be completely welcome -- but wanting so badly to be involved because you didn't seem to fit anywhere else. The plight of humanity, of being different in a world where everyone was different but some people were better able to hide it.

Vincent followed them out of the house with Cid at his back, but he kept at a discreet distance as Yuffie and Tifa made their way down the walkway, after Cloud's back. No one could say they hadn't tried their hardest.

And then Cloud seemed to be slowing. And Vincent grit his teeth at the familiar, tempting presence of Cid's lit cigarette at his shoulder.
Tifa's mind was flitting back and forth between two heavy thoughts as Yuffie helped her the last few yards -- considering both the past and the present, the feelings she understood all too well, and the fact that she wasn't really sure what she could say to change them. Glancing into Cloud's tired, angry, resigned expression and idly wondering if he'd looked this way, staring down at her as she'd slept in those moments before he'd left her alone in Kalm to face the morning without him. Just tired and angry and knowing it wasn't going to work, and maybe it was better just to leave. Just to leave. But not like this, with your heart a rock in your chest, its iron weight pulling you down to the bottom until breathing was no longer something you would ever have to worry about again.

"What is it, Tifa?" His tone was clipped and softly distant, and he wasn't meeting her eyes. Feeling every second, she expected, stealing strength from him, every moment just adding to the hurt. And she had to suppress the urge to apologize and simply let him go. Because if Vincent had done that, her life would've been little more than the last few circling grains in an hourglass.

"Where are you going?"

He only shook his head, feeling massively misunderstood, she knew. "Why does it matter? Go home and live your life and forget I ever existed. Whoever I am." His eyes darted to Yuffie's face and then away just as quickly, acknowledging her presence and dismissing it in almost the same moment as either unavoidable or unimportant.

And it tore at Tifa, the desire to somehow take all of the hurt and confusion away, and she had to viciously remind herself that what he wanted was something she wouldn't ever be able to give him. Because he wasn't even sure what it was he wanted.

The only way to address this was head-on, without mincing words. "If you kill yourself, you'll never be able to find out who you are."

She knew she'd hit the sensitive hub when he met her eyes, his face suddenly taut with a cold, straining rage at her presumption. But his voice was quiet and controlled, and almost worse for it. "Fuck off, Tifa. You don't understand."

"Yes, I do."

"No. You don't."

"Yes. I do," she insisted firmly. And she watched in a mixture of hope and dread as the ice in his eyes turned into the horror of recognition. Yes, she did know. She'd been there, on the edge of the bridge, helplessly despairing of looking for answers that were constantly, frustratingly out of reach.

And his next move, she thought, was mostly out of a kind of self-preservation. Caught for a moment between needing her and fearing her, and he shot out a hand as if to push her away, to escape from the terrible knowledge she held over him . Caught her in the shoulder and managed to spin her out of Yuffie's arm. And she landed vulnerably hard on her stomach on the pavement, choking on the sudden suffocating pain that cut through her abdomen like hot knives.

The next part happened so quickly, she was hardly conscious of it until Yuffie was there, distractedly trying to pull her off the ground. And she was simply trying to roll over and not vomit at the clenching nausea of fire her stomach. Eyes finally focusing outward to see Vincent and Cloud locked in a terrible contest at the arms, Cloud's face tight with fearful effort as if he knew the second he lost his defensive hold was the second his life was forfeit.

There were some people gathering, she noticed distantly in the rigid, voiceless instant before Cid was suddenly there at Vincent's back, swearing as he worked to get a good grip around Vincent's shoulders.

"Shit, Vince, stop! Let 'im go!"

But in the end it wasn't Cid who finally broke the shuddering stalemate. It was Vincent, abruptly pushing off and knocking both Cid and Cloud to the ground. And Tifa knew why as she watched Vincent start to run. As he stumbled once, curling in on himself, wings and black hair and half-transformed by the time he was in the air, out into the wild around North Corel.

And then there was silence. And Cloud was breathing and looking at her, looking at her, and she realized that she was bleeding through the white hospital robe. The stitches had ripped open, she knew. And for a moment, without Vincent there, she wondered what she was going to do.

But there were friends here. Yuffie was trying to pull her to her feet, and Cid was coming to put a hand under her shoulder. And then she was in Cid's arms.

Cloud was there for a moment, following as Cid started back toward the hospital, trying to meet her eyes as she clenched her teeth on the burning agony. Somehow uncomfortably reminiscent of the whip-quick swipe of Sephiroth's blade when Cloud hadn't been able to do anything.

"Tifa, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't believe I did that…"

And then she couldn't see him or hear him anymore. But she had a feeling he had at least been reminded that there were things in life that were more important than one's own selfish suffering. And she hoped, in a pain-distant part of her mind, that it had been enough to make him try. Try again.

Because her part in this was over.