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Chapter 11: All Wounds Take Time

By the time Tifa was done showering, Vincent was already gone. Frowning, but glad to be alone, she ran a comb through her still soaking wet hair with one arm. Her left arm, the one that had been shot in the back of the shoulder, throbbed painfully whenever she tried to move it, so she did everything one-handedly. Her once clean white shirt that Vincent had bought her was now stained red in the back with a small, bullet-sized hole in it. She winced, pushing her injured limb through the sleeve hole with some difficulty, but she managed to get everything on.

No matter what anyone would think, her trust for Vincent was really what hurt the most. He had shot her—but surprisingly, she wasn't mad at him for that. Chaos shot her, really; it wasn't Vincent's fault that he wasn't strong enough to resist the head demon.

What really hurt was that he had sent her friends away while in full control of himself. He knew she wanted to see her friends again, and yet, had he really allowed that to happen? No. She desperately wanted to trust him, to love him, but she just couldn't. He had forced her to stay in this situation because HE wanted to keep her his captive, not because CHAOS made him do that.

Tears of frustration streamed down her cheeks at the thought of the man. Despite her shattered trust, she still loved him, and she didn't want to do that. He hadn't allowed her to regain her freedom. She used to think that she would be able to bear being Vincent's captive forever, but now…

"Stop thinking about him," she hissed at herself.

"I assume you're talking about me?"

The wine-eyed girl whirled around, ignoring a painful throb that the movement had given her. "Oh…h-hi, Vincent, didn't hear you come in," she said, avoiding his gaze as she brushed the sopping wet hair that had plastered to her face when she made the sudden turn.

"Yes, I do tend to be silent sometimes. How is your shoulder doing?" he asked, his voice full of gentle concern.

Tifa scowled and turned away. "Why would you care? You're the one who shot me…"

Though Vincent understood her anger and didn't blame her at all, the words still stung him. "No, Tifa. It was Chaos that shot you. I will forever regret that moment."

She turned to face him, giving him an intense glare. "Do you regret sending away my friends?" she snarled.

Vincent blinked, a hint of a frown hanging on his lips. "That was Chaos," he lied.

"No it wasn't! I saw the look in your eyes—you were in control of yourself then! You'd gone against Chaos's will at that point! Don't lie to me, Vincent! Please, Vincent, just tell me why!" she cried out, her wine eyes perfectly displaying her distress, though she didn't intend for that to happen.

"I…" Vincent sighed and closed his eyes, setting down the plastic bags that he had been carrying. "I honestly don't know, I just…I just did, it just happened."

"No, Vincent," Tifa breathed, hysteria flashing in her eyes. "Getting your hand snagged while picking blackberries just happens! Biting your tongue while eating a particularly chewy stake just happens! But no, Vincent Valentine, purposely sending away your captive's friends when you are in full control of yourself, claim to love her, and know how much she wants to be with her friends again DOESN'T JUST HAPPEN! TELL ME WHY, DAMNIT! TELL ME!"

Vincent was alarmed. "Calm down," he said firmly, gently grabbing her shoulders. "Please, calm down, Tifa…"

"CALM DOWN? HOW CAN I CALM DOWN? I FINALLY THOUGHT I COULD TRUST YOU AND YOU PROVED ME WRONG! I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME! YOU SAID YOU'D PROTECT ME FROM CHAOS! YOU WERE SO CAREFUL WITH ME! SO WHY DID YOU HURT ME LIKE THAT?"

The woman was shaking with hysteria, teeth clenched. Vincent could only stare at his captive in shock. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Tifa wrenched herself out of his grip and backed up until her back was against the closed bedroom door. "Like hell you're sorry!" she hissed, and, without the merest hint of a warning, she charged at him, swinging her right fist so that it collided with the side if his head, and then her left. She would have continued if it weren't for the unbearable surge of pain that shot through her arm. As the man staggered backwards, she fell forward to her knees, clutching her arm and grinding her teeth together.

Vincent rubbed his cheeks, then grabbed one of the plastic bags that he had brought with him from his trip to the outside world. "We have to heal that shoulder," he said.

"You're not touching it," she snapped through clenched teeth, standing up.

Vincent nodded curtly and tenderly grabbed her wrist. "You won't be able to reach it to clean it yourself, and I don't want you to lose mobility in your arm, which is what will happen if it goes unhealed," he said gently.

Despite his obviously apologetic nature, Tifa couldn't forgive him. "So what if I have to get my arm amputated?" she growled.

"How much help would a one-armed person be in the fight against Sephiroth?"

Tifa bit her lip, unable to stop him when he slowly led her to the bedroom. He held her good wrist in his natural hand, and dangled the plastic bag on a claw of his golden hand.

"I'm going to have to look at your wound…" he muttered awkwardly.

Tifa groaned, knowing what he meant. "Let me guess. You want me to take off my shirt."

"I promise that the only thing I'll ask to see is your back," he whispered, emptying the plastic bag onto the dark colored quilt of the bed.

Tifa sat on the edge of the bed and examined the healing items. "There's no Materia there," she observed.

"For the type of bullets Chaos used, Materia would only make the injury worse," the red-eyed man explained. "Now, I have to see where you were hurt."

Tifa sighed, tears pricking at her eyes. At least I'm wearing a bra underneath, she thought bitterly, removing the stained white shirt with some difficulty.

Vincent gathered the ends of her hair together and twisted it, gently clipping it to the back of her still-wet head so that none of the wet strands were plastered to her back. That way, her hair was out of the way.

"Hrm," he breathed, tracing the outline of the injury with the index finger of his natural hand. "It's in a place where I can't cover it with a wrap-around bandage so we'll have to use the sticky kind," he informed her.

"Whatever," she murmured.

"I'll also have to clean it first."

"Knock yourself out."

"This will sting a bit."

"Whoopee," Tifa snapped sarcastically. "Don't give me a play-by-play! If you really want to help my shoulder heal, just do it already!"

Vincent nodded, and, not wasting any more time, he grabbed a handful of cotton balls and other things he'd need to use to clean the wound.

"…The bullet's still in there," he said, clenching his teeth together.

"So?"

"Without the right tools, this is going to be excruciating…"

Tifa straightened her back and said bravely, "I don't care."

Vincent felt proud of Tifa, even though he knew she was only being brave to spite him. "Here it goes," he muttered, sticking the index finger and thumb of his natural hand gently into the wound.

Tifa, though, didn't consider this "gentle" at all. His fingers caused her injury to sting and throb even worse than it had before. "STOP!" she shrieked, wrenching away from him.

"Tifa, it has to be done," Vincent said, yelling over her screaming.

To stop her flailing arms from hitting him, he firmly wrapped his metal arm around her waist from behind, pinning both of her arms to her side in the process.

"LET GO OF ME!" she screamed. "YOU AREN'T HELPING, THIS ISN'T HELPING, LET ME GO!"

Vincent knew that even if he DID try to calm her down, the attempt wouldn't work at all, so he clenched his teeth together and pressed his fingers into the wound again, trying to reach the bullet. Tifa's screams became louder and he felt regret from hurting her so badly swell inside of him, but it had to be done or else her arm would slowly become useless. Finally, he swiftly withdrew his fingers, the bullet tightly grasped in his hand.

"Done," he panted.

Tifa's screams were reduced to slightly muffled sobs. "O-ok," she breathed, relaxing slightly.

Vincent yanked a tissue out of the tissue box he'd bought and hastily dropped the bullet onto it, then did his work with a Band-Aid and some disinfectants. Though the disinfectants caused her injury to give occasional painful throb, it wasn't as bad as when her captor's fingers were buried in the bullet hole.

"Finished," the red-eyed man finally said after carefully applying the Band-Aid.

"Ok," the dark-haired woman said, hastily replacing her shirt.

"Oh, and I got you another shirt," said Vincent. "Be right back."

Tifa bit her lip and stared at the floor. There he was, being thoughtful again while she was trying to be mad at him.

He reappeared in the room a few seconds later with a second plastic bag and handed it to her. "Go ahead and look," he urged her.

Tifa emptied the bag onto her lap. Not only was there one long-sleeved, midnight blue sweater but also two short-sleeved wine-colored T-shirts, a dark brown jacket, a couple of unmentionable clothing items, and a couple of assorted female-only items that she was going to need but wouldn't typically find in a male-only house.

She smiled briefly, still unable to face his gaze. "That was nice of you," she said quietly.

"I know what I did, and I know it was wrong…but…I still don't want you to be unhappy," the ex-Turk said awkwardly. He watched her yawn. "You should get some rest," he observed.

"Okay, but first I'm changing my shirt," she said, submitting to his suggestion for rest for once.

She was wearing one of the wine-colored shirts when she came back out of the bathroom. It matched her eyes perfectly.

Beautiful, Vincent thought, even though the outfit wasn't fancy at all.

"Vincent…"

"Yes?"

"…Thanks. I mean…you really didn't have to buy me new clothes and all that stuff…thanks for doing it anyway. But…it'll take a while before I can trust you again, ok? I really, really wish I could love you and trust you again, but…it'll take some time," the woman whispered.

Vincent nodded. "I know, and I'm not expecting you to rapidly change your mind and fall into my arms. However long it takes, I'll wait for you."

The dark-haired woman climbed into the bed as her captor swept the trash off of the quilt and neatly stacked her belongings next to the bed. She sighed.

Why was it that whenever she didn't want to trust him, it always came bubbling back? I won't give in so easily this time, she told herself, silent but firm.

Yumesuta: Well, that's that chapter! Please review!