Chapter 7 : Return
Verb. To come back to a person or place.
-0-
She wakes with a jerk. Her mouth is dry, head pounding - and her cheeks are wet. She'd be crying in her sleep again.
She rises, kicking away tangled sheets, swaying as a drunk aboard a ship at sea, to find water. It is room temperature, stale tasting - how long had it been by her beside? - but it suffices. She slumped back to the mattress, palms ground into her eye sockets. The room remained wrapped in darkness, yet she knew it could not be far from approaching dawn. She rarely slept beyond that in recent months, not since Aeris and….
Vincent.
She mouthed the syllables of his name, as though vocalising the sounds would cut her throat, burn her tongue, blister her lips. It hurt to hold it in her thoughts, suspended and floating like some limp lifeform in formaldehyde.
She shook her head. No.
He saw himself that way: A monstrous anomaly, a cautionary tale of what lurked in the night; a reason to lock your doors and shutter your windows.
Yet Tifa saw him differently. He is more than that. Was more than that.
The tears threaten to come again, so she grinds the heels of her calloused palms further still into her eye sockets, vision dancing with abstract shapes and colours.
She missed the quiet intimacy of the campfire on mornings like these. Lost in her own thoughts, a comforting blanket of crackles and pops as the fire crumbles to smouldering embers in the pre-dawn hours, time suspended. This blurred myriad of memories are a comfort in her grief, not because of the warm glow of the fire, but because these times were spent in joyful company: Aeris, the imposing yet reassuring presence of Vincent, somewhere nearby. She had taken all of those moments for granted, and wanted nothing more than to have them back.
Eventually she rises, gathering the necessary garb to take a short walk up onto deck, where she goes to liberate her mind from the clinging horror of nightmares or the intoxicating draw of heady dreams. Up there, the air was sharp and clear. Nothing lurked out there in the night or the dawn to haunt the mind, except for perhaps her old friends 'regret' and 'longing'; intimate as she had been with them since childhood, they were unlikely to abandon her now.
Dawn threatens on the horizon as she predicted while The Highwind bobbed gently, moored some miles outside of Cosmo Canyon. Her breath rises in a mist, the chill of the open mountains unnatural given the warmth of the red stone during the day. The shape of another figure emerges in the watery pre-dawn light, gazing overboard.
It seems she is not alone in her insomnia.
"Morning Tif… Couldn't sleep too, huh?"
She can only shake her head, shuffling to join Cid by the guardrail. It is freezing to the touch, yet she grips it tightly, an anchor to reality.
An orange circle glows angrily, followed by the inevitable acrid scent of nicotine, cigarette smoke and engine oil. Oddly, it is a comfort to her, bringing forth sense-memories from childhood that had chosen this moment to wake from dormancy. Her eyes spike with tears, yet she sticks out her jaw, refusing to blink them free.
He slips an arm around her in silence. She welcomes his invitation, resting her head upon his shoulder, not minding for once the second-hand smoke inhalation. She takes comfort from the warmth of his body beside her, the rough impression of his stubble against her forehead, and asks, "Does it… Does it get easier, do you think - Losing people?"
"If it does… I'll let you know." He replies.
-0-
She rolls her shoulder in its socket, though it brings little relief. Fresh from the fight, adrenaline ranging still, she would not feel its true impact until tomorrow. The raw metallic buzz of magic is all she can feel and taste now. One of the planet's Weapons - Diamond, or so called on the ShinRa radio chatter - was dead, courtesy of Scarlett's beloved Sister Ray.
The shockwave of the blast from the cannon had set the Highwind swaying dangerously, machinery furiously bleeping, sirens wailing, lights flashing - Now they waited, the planet holding its breath collectively.
The ship became stable once more. With propellers swirling, the regular whomp whomp a comforting background sound, The party gathered in the conference room to assess the situation and decide upon their next course of action. None seemed particularly keen on breaking the silence.
Except, it seemed, Cait.
Much to the party's intrigue, the black and white cat hopped down from its Moogle-perch and onto the mahogany conference tabletop, the surface so shiny there was a reflection of the articulated mechanical animal walking in-step, toe-to-toe.
He - for it was largely agreed that it was a he - removed the small polished brass crown from his head, coming to a halt before Tifa's seat. Curiously, he appeared sheepish, head bowed, yet unable to prevent himself from glancing over to the vacant seat beside her - Vincent's seat.
"Tifa, it's me - Reeve. I have something to say." Tifa raised a brow as the voice, belonging to a man they had never actually met in person, emanated from the mechanical cat.
They had opted to restrict Cait's outings with the party - if he wasn't taken along, he didn't have to lie after all - but from time to time they leaked non-critical tid-bits to maintain this often crucial data link for as long as possible; And, increasingly, protect Reeve. She hoped, one day when this was all over, to thank him in person.
"Is everything alright Reeve? Are you safe?" She asks, bemused at the direct address. What did he have to say to her?
"Oh! I am fine, thank you, it's nothing like that - I have… I have some news. I Don't quite know how to begin but…"
He sigh deeply at the other end. She can picture him - a man she recognised only from having seen his corporate portrait - head-in-hands, elbows resting on a desk (one as shiny as this one maybe). The interior of his office is lit by the glare of Meteor, the blue-glare of a screen and the blinking artificial lights atop the support struts criss-crossing the exterior of the ShinRa building: the exoskeleton of the Sister Ray cannon. Maybe there would be a drink at his elbow. She didn't know him well enough to speculate on his poison of choice.
"What sort of news?" she encouraged gently, sensing irritation from members of the party deficient in impatience.
"Well…. A few days ago I received a message from a remote geological outpost outside of Kalm - they said an operative from deep cover had emerged demanding to speak to me. I wasn't necessarily surprised at this - These kinds of outposts sometimes get in touch, although this was under Scarlett's remit generally - I assumed it was an error. However, the operative was insistent it was me they wished to speak to. They sounded rather frantic actually, and something didn't feel right about it. I responded to the message via a secure line, and sure enough found the person trying to contact me was not an operative. They were holding the outpost hostage. I travelled at once, and alone as stipulated, to the remote location - I managed to fabricate a story about needing to visit a relative in Kalm. When I arrived I found… I found Vincent. He's alive."
"What the?!" Barret cried out.
"Vincent is dead - we saw him-" Cid stalled. He hadn't seen the body, of course. There'd been no way to get to him. "There was no way out of that fuckin' cave! Tifa I swear-"
Sound had ceased. Her heartbeat pounded in her throat. He was alive? She fixed her gaze on the tiny robotic cat before her.
Cait - or rather Reeve - continued. "It was him, no mistake, but he was in bad shape. He'd managed to survive a couple of days on water alone, clearing enough rock to crawl, and then swim out via an underwater cave network - it turned up somewhere on the other side of the mountain range. It took him another day to make the trek to the nearest town. He recognised the ShinRa geo-survey outpost and convinced the chief scientist he was a deep cover operative - his credentials checked out, seeing as his name has pretty high clearance in the database, and also was marked as deceased. It was a pretty ingenious, if not risky plan."
Tifa didn't notice she had risen to her feet until Cid's gentle hand at her elbow brought her back to her seat. Her knees were shaking so badly they bumped together beneath the surface of the table.
Cloud takes the initiative. "Well, where is he now? Why didn't he call us?"
"He is…" Reeve sighed deeply again. "I managed to get some medical attention administered to him - his body was battered and bruised, to say the least. X-rays showed fractures that were part-way healed - you know how fast he recovers better than I - he had muscle and tendon ruptures, contusions, not to mention he was severely dehydrated and malnourished… He spent a couple of days in the town on an IV and on bed rest while I ensured the outpost did not raise any further alarms to HQ. I can't guarantee nobody was alerted to the attempt to contact me or the database search. By the end of the week he had moved on, but remained in contact."
"I… don't understand why he would let us think he was dead, but contact you."Cid growled, while Tifa grips his hand tightly for support.
"His reasons for contacting me were not sentimental I assure you, for what comfort that might bring. He seemed adamant that we had to find Hojo, and that I had the means to help Vincent track him down."
"What do you mean track him down - I thought he worked for ShinRa - Isn't he in Midgar?" Cloud speaks up suddenly, brow furrowed and arms crossed. Cait pivots on his heel to direct his reply.
"Well, the ShinRa building is so huge I can go days without seeing anyone I recognise, except those I work with day to day. Hojo has always worked for Hojo and ShinRa merely foots the bill for his experiments. When I did some digging, it would appear nobody had seen him since the crater, when Weapon first appeared."
"Do we know he's even alive?" Cloud asked.
"There have been sightings of him here and there, before he disappears again for a while. Strange behaviour certainly, but not strange enough to warrant alarm considering Rufus et al have had their hands somewhat full of late."
"So why are you telling us all of this now and breaking your vow of silence to Vincent?" Cloud pressed, shooting a glance across to the still-silent Tifa. "Didn't he want us to know he was hunting Hojo down?"
"One question at a time, please! I'm telling you now because we've got a lead on where Hojo is. And… Well, it's complicated. ShinRa are about to fire the sister Ray again, but this at the North Crater barrier. The whole thing has been a huge operation costing millions of gil in transport and logistics. All of a sudden, Hojo has re-appeared - He's been sighted in Midgar, nowhere near the ShinRa building itself, but somewhere in Sector 8. I can't help but think these two things are connected, and I don't like it. Vincent is going to need your help whether he likes it or not- there's more than he can handle here. I can bypass some security measures, but you're going to have to quite literally be parachuted into Sector 8."
"Why didn't he call us?" Tifa murmured, speaking at last. The room remained silent, the remaining members of Avalanche sharing wary glances with one another.
"I don't know, Tifa. I'm so sorry." Cait crossed the table to stand before her, offering a small, reconciliatory synthetic furred-paw. He generated a soft, mechanical purr. "You will have a chance to ask him yourself, if we hurry."
Cid was the first to stand, extinguishing his spent cigarette before slapping his hands down on the conference table. "Let's go! I need to give Vince a piece of my mind - first for making me feel guilty, and secondly, for making me jump out of my own fuckin' ship."
-0-
Several hundred metres above ground, The iron walkways groaned and creaked. High speed winds, unimpeded by buildings or trees, whipped at her hair, lashing strands against her face and upper body. She wound her tangled tresses about her fist, forming a thick cable, and tucked it into the back of her shirt. Debris and grit caught up in the wind got into her eyes and scraped against her exposed skin. She gripped the handrail tightly with one hand, and with the other she did what she could to shield her eyes and face from the onslaught.
Aviation lights mounted atop the surrounding towers and structures winked on and off, drowning all in bright, crimson light.
"Wait up, Tifa!" Yuffie shouted, barely audible over the howling winds. "I don't like this!"
"I told you to wait on the ground Yuffie - we don't have time to wait for you to overcome your fear of heights!" In spite of her irritation, Tifa spares one hand to reach back for the girl.
Tifa followed closely behind Cloud as their group snaked their way upward, the irregular clanks marking their ascent masked by the groaning steel and the whistle of the wind through the gaps in the pipes.
Reeve had spoken to them intermittently through specially-adapted earpieces on their journey here. His intelligence had proved invaluable in navigating the labyrinthine tunnels underneath sector 8, and enabled them to put up a good fight and eventually prevail against Scarlett and Heidegger who had attempted to block their passage.
Reeve relayed there had been reports of an explosion at the control centre, the young President Rufus' last known location. All calls there went unanswered, sirens sounding out into the dark, the coloured flashes of rotator beacons skimming the jagged teeth of broken glass.
The radio had been silent since.
The freakish heat and unrelenting gusts could not be sheltered from as they crested the final flight. This El Niño was no doubt a direct result of Meteor, dark magic too powerful to be comprehended. As they fought to remain upright and together, arms linked tightly, they rounded the corner to find only the vaguest shelter from the machinery.
There they also found who they had come here for, or at least who Vincent had sought, anyway.
Hojo lay motionless - presumably dead - atop his console. The scientist's eyes were half open, glassy and unseeing, broken wire framed spectacles reflecting the flashing warning screen before him. His cheek rested atop his keyboard, blood slowly seeping from silenced lips and pooling between the keys. Closer inspection found him dead from a shot at point blank range in the chest. He likely died instantly. His lab coat flapped in the wind like a flag of surrender.
"-oud, do you read? Tifa? Yuffie?!"
Their earpieces crackled to life, the sudden sound shattering the eerie quiet of the scientist's execution site.
"Hojo - we found his body." Cloud reported, eyeing the corpse with distaste.
"Shit. Is Vincent there?!"
"He beat us here, clearly. Do you know where he went? "
"Hm… well he couldn't have gone the way you guys did, so he must have headed into the building. Hold on… ah. Hojo's ID card was used moments ago to access the central elevator. It must be Vincent. He's… going to the archives? How strange… You can still find him if you hurry. I will open the doors remotely for you from here."
"Reeve, man, now might be a good time to get outta this hell hole," Barret advised, shooting a glance back over his shoulder at the body of Hojo, framed by the flaming corona of Meteor. "There's nothin' left for you here but death."
-0-
Tifa didn't remember getting to the elevators - she was barely present but for the anchor of Yuffie's hand in hers as they travelled down several levels. Cid, Cait and Nanaki remained behind to link up with Reeve and figure out a way to guide the Highwind into land for their imminent extraction.
The building was eerily silent. Departments had been disbanded, or else recently abandoned in haste. Phones dangled from their hooks in empty offices, discordant dial tones sounding into the silence. Overturned coffee mugs leaked their contents onto the floor. The highspeed winds whistled and howled through the halls, invading through cracks and shattered glass windows. Papers - so many reports and files - filled the air like confetti, plucked by errant breezes that ripped and rallied down long, ghostly corridors. -
"This don' feel right." Barret muttered, looking on through the glass as they descended. "As happy as I am to see this place in chaos. Do you think maybe he-" He shoots a glance in Tifa's direction, before turning to Cloud. "Do you think this place has been empty for long?"
His insinuation hung in the air.
The elevator pinged politely, giving a few of their party a start - The archives floor.
They proceed carefully into the corridors, footfalls muffled by carpeting. This was not one of the most highly restricted floors of the ShinRa building, but there were areas that required higher levels of access to gain entry to. They followed the lead of Cait in silence, still encountering no-one; All observed desks sat vacant, office doors had been left to stand open, interiors lit by the overhead lighting and still-glowing screens. Tifa paused to enter one; the screen remained online, displaying an internal messaging window ('We should get out of here while we still can, Em…'), a mug of coffee set beside it as though the worker had stepped away for a few moments to retrieve something from the printer. She touched her fingers to the side of the mug - it was still hot.
Whoever had left had left quickly, and very recently.
"Tifa c'mere." Barret summoned her from the hall with an urgent tone.
She hurried out to catch them up, rounding the corner to find the next hallway in a very different state of hurried abandonment.
"Vincent..." She muttered, stepping closer to examine the bloody scene. Strewn across the corridor like limp discarded dolls were the ruined bodies of a handful of ShinRa soldiers, blue uniforms turned purple with blood; The walls were sprayed with it, a chaotic canvas of peppered bullet holes, blood sprays and scuffed plasterboard. The grizzly tableau was set to the irregular blinking of an overhead lighting panel wrenched free dangling from a single wire and swinging slowly.
One of the soldiers groaned, clearly still clinging to life. She stepped over the body of one of his comrades, broken glass from shattered picture frames crunching beneath her soles. One such frame announced that 'Takeo' was employee of the month in the records department earlier this year.
She turned him over, dislodging a delicate streak of tinkling empty bullet casings to find his helmet askew, knocked loose with shattering force. One side of his face was bloodied and ruined by inhuman means. As he tried to speak, blood bubbled and seethed through the deep incisions. She recognises him vagulely; a familar face from the slums. He had always talked of joining up; There was little else by way of legitimate paid work for young men in want of advancement from their situation beneath The Plate.
"Did you see where he went?" She asks urgently, assessing whether a heal spell would be worthy of deploying.
"What… what was that… thing?" His speech was thickened with unpleasant gurgling, blood blooming from his lips and staining his chin. Before she could contemplate how to answer his question, he dies, glassy eyes unseeingly reflecting the blinking fluorescent lighting.
The hairs on Tifa's arms stood on end.
"Tifa, look." She stands, tearing herself away from the dead soldiers to follow the summons of Cloud.
There was a small security room to the right, the door left wide open. Perhaps one or more of these soldiers had been on duty there until moments before. The interior of the room was dark but for a wall of small monitors. There were mugs of coffee set steaming, partially drunk; half-eaten pastries with crumbs strewn beside them upon the table top. A tableau of a workday interrupted.
Cloud tapped randomly at the console. "You were always better at this stuff - can we review the footage?"
She steps forward, nudging him out of the way. She punched in a few commands, bringing up the menu and navigating easily to the recently archived footage. This system was an old one (Jessie would have known exactly the version number) higher quality or tech capability clearly not warranted on this low-clearance floor. Doors were access controlled after all, and documents checked in and out using scanners. Within moments, she was rewinding the footage backward in real time for the displays before them. Grayscale light danced across their raised faces.
"There!" Cloud calls out unnecessarily - she had spotted it too. She slows the footage down, and then taps a few keys. It begins again in forward motion - jerky, low-framerate fragments that show VIncent traversing the corridors, armed and clearly dangerous, oblivious to the scores of onlookers in the form of confused administration workers. There is no audio, but she does not need it.
The moment the guards spot him, everything becomes instantly chaotic; People running in staccato motion, dropping everything they carried; the guards scramble to put on their helmets, to find their weapons. They shoot at Vincent, though it does not stop him in his tracks. The frames jump and dance, a dark mass of distorted shadows taking place where Vincent had one been. Then the lights go out.
When the feed resumes, everything remains still, save for the timestamp, ticking relentlessly forward.
-0-
It became evident that the archives were not accessed regularly, tucked away as they were at the rear of the floor; nor did it appear their design was condusive to anything other than transient access - ingress, the time it took to locate and check out the datafiles or physical files that one needed for one's research, egress.
Tall, silent rows of shelving stacked end-to-end, interiors prised open to reveal the pearls within by hand-turned cranks spaced regularly apart. Overhead, cold, cantankerous, motion-sensor light panels blinked to life, only to return to darkness moments after one had passed through. From somewhere deep within the labyrinth of floor-to-ceiling document-laden shelving, a light remained on, the bulb warmed and the light at its brightest, spilling its beckoning glow and casting strange oblong shadows across the ceiling.
Reeve had confirmed Vincent was alive - he'd seen it himself. Yet she still felt she was chasing a ghost. As they ventured deeper amongst the shelves, the light growing brighter as they approached, her anticipation mounted. Not wanting to be shot at, or indeed suffer worse afflictions (the fates of the soldiers the archives haunting all their thoughts), Cloud called out to announce their approach.
They hear the rustle of turning pages from behind a stack of archive boxes, dislodged from their nesting space, their contents disgorged and bared. The outline of Vincent's tall frame was unmistakable, but the veracity of his permanence was still to be doubted.
He glanced up, ruby eyes frantic, yet unsurprised to find them there en masse. Tifa stood shielded from his eyeline, stunned into silence as waves of relief and anger fought to consume her.
"Vincent, we need to get out of here," Cloud intoned softly, calm as you please, as thought not addressing a crew member recently thought dead, browsing through old-and-forgotten scientific papers.
"I almost have what I need." He muttered, returning to pour over the document he held in shaking hands. "It's here, it has to be…"
A movement catches his eye; he glances up and notices Tifa, in partial shadow at Cloud's side.
His exterior is in danger of shattering at the sight of her. It is all he can do to root himself, to tear his eyes away and consider the document in his hands. He just needed a few more moments to find what he sought. Never mind what came after.
"Vincent, you're hurt. You need to come back to the ship." She employed a soothing tone, taking a half-step closer.
Her method almost works. He blinks, surprised at her tact. He did not deserve gentleness, yet he craved it nonetheless. His body leans in, swaying a little on the spot in agreement - yes, you are so so tired - his eyes flutter closed and he gives a great shuddering sigh.
"That's close enough." She freezes, pausing at the break in his voice. "I have to…. Ah!"
He jerks the paper closer still towards his face, letting the rest of the stack fall from his fingers, fluttering softly to the ground.
"It was something Hojo said… I couldn't believe it…" His arm drops to his side, paper loosely pinched between relaxed fingers, an expression sliding into place upon his visage that, given his clearly recently inhibited state of mind, was rather unnerving to say the least; a vacant sort of relief, an achievement of understanding that brought with it a stillness.
"May I see it?" To Cloud's surprise, Vincent offered the document to him willingly.
The blonde scans it rapidly, brows furrowed before they shoot upward. "Sephiroth?"
Tifa reaches to take it from Cloud, and appraises it herself. The report shows a mugshot style photograph of a young Sephiorth as a wide-eyed, silver-haired child - possibly around 6 years old. There is a lot of scientific jargon she cannot understand - phenotype, chromosomal-something-or-other - yet beneath the photo of Sephiroth runs a series of other ID card photos of people she recognised, if not by their photograph, then by their name - Hojo, a much younger man in this photo; a beautiful female scientist in a lab coat - Dr Lucrecia Crescent; and finally, a Navy-suited Vincent.
The report named Lucrecia as the biological mother, Hojo as the biological Father, and noted a negative result for Vincent.
Realisation dawns. "Was this - all of this - because you thought… that you were…" she cannot even utter it. His father. The father of Sephiroth. Destroyer of her hometown. Murderer of her father. Giver of scars and nightmares.
Vincent has held this thought in his mind for as long as he had known her, guilt that burrowed in like rot in the tooth, a cancer of the flesh; A looming reaper that stole the joy from every moment, added a bitter taste to the sweet promise of joy and pleasure. The tempting blush of her skin, the soft swell of lips that begged to be kissed, flesh to be tasted: tainted by the poison of a lurking horrifying truth.
He would never defile her with his hands.
"I… I needed to know."
But it seemed he had been wrong. A weight was suddenly heaved from him, relieving him so suddenly of a burden borne for so long he reeled without it to anchor him to the earth.
-0-
Through Reeve's ingenuity and the group's willing misappropriation of ShinRa assets, they find themselves preparing to re-board the Highwind from the roof of the ShinRa building, their number re-bolstered by Vincent's return and in preparing to welcome one more, in the physical form of Reeve.
She appraises him quickly as he hurries across their ill-gotten landing pad to join them. Rather tall, broadset and handsome in an understated and unthreatening manner, his beard-darkened jaw and shadows beneath his eyes spoke of his having not slept in days. Shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened at the neck; A man who she assumed was usually found pristinely presentable had not shied away from what was required of him in the end. For that she was grateful enough to embrace him, and welcome him as a long-lost friend. It was nice for once to welcome someone new to their number, than to bid farewell.
They rush aboard, scrambling up ladders as fast as possible while hindered by documents - Vincent's burning question sated and the need to evacuate Midgar more pressing given the threat of Meteor-induced magnetic storms.
The crew wasted no time. As soon as all boots are firmly on deck and the rope ladder pulled, the engines roar into life, ready to bear them away at speed. Avalanche pile into the dark corridor, slamming the hatch shut behind them. The metal gangways clank under animated feet, rising voices filling the halls with sound and life once more. A sudden jerk from the acceleration destabilised Reeve, sending him lurching to one side and knocking Tifa off balance, clearly unaccustomed to the motions of The Highwind. Laughter sounds in the hallways, and there is welcome energy of mirth amongst some members of AVALANCHE, buoyed by Vincent's return and the acqusition of Reeve. Yet, Tifa finds herself unsatisfied.
She carried the boxfile to Vincent's cabin where she sets it down atop several other seemingly identical ones that her comrades had relieved themselves of for Vincent to digest in his own time.
Curious, and at leisure while the object of her frustration was apparently and momentarily absent, she removed the lid of the box she had conveyed. There was a single file placed on top, at odds with the manner in which all others were organised (she checks a few to be certain), filed vertically.
She leafed through the file, the scent of aged paper not unwelcome in spite of the underlying sinister sensation at perusing their contents. Stuffed between pages haphazardly, for it bore no narrative relationship to the report it was found sandwiched within, was a large sepia-toned image of a man. She plucked it free, studying the visage carefully. The man had shoulder length black or dark brown hair and a heavy brow framing bright, dark eyes. In spite of his apparent seriousness sitting for the photo (the neutral background suggested this was a formal photograph of some kind taken for official purposes) there was a suggestion of a smile on his lips, a quirk in one corner, framed by a dark, neatly-trimmed beard.
Turning the photograph in her hand, she found a pencil scribble - a date some years past, and a name - Dr G Valentine. Frowning softly, she returned to the report, flipping back to begin reading in more detail. The report had been written by Lucrecia, and contained her account as to his accidental death while visiting a cave site at coordinates Tifa was certain aligned with where Vincent had almost met the same fate. She was certain the typed report bore aged water marks, reminiscent of tears, as the author re-read her notes.
The metallic squeak of hinges raise her head. Her heart leaps at little at the sight of Vincent. He enters the room slowly, cautiously, as though unsure of his right to be present in the same room, yet unwilling to vocalise the question for fear of the answer. Beneath the overhead lights of the cabin, she can finally appraise his garb - dark grey utilty trousers, military-style boots and a grey sweater marked with the ShinRa geological surveryance team logo at the breast. It was no wonder then that he managed to make it so far into the building without cause of alarm.
The weariness of Vincent's features also became apparent; a bruised shade bloomed beneath his eyes, wide and manic with expression; his hair unkempt, wild about his face in the absence of his usual bandana. Still, pale and exhausted as he was, Vincent was beautiful.
She places the report down in the box she had taken it from, clenching her fists to prevent their shaking being so apparent.
"Tifa I-"
Before she had acknowledged the rising boil of her anger, without even realising she had moved closer to him, she had lashed out, and became aware of the ache in her fist and that Vincent had recoiled from the force, a hand raised to his bleeding lip. He did nothing to shield himself from any further outbursts, instead appeared to be waiting for whatever further judgement and according punishment she deemed necessary to mete out to him.
She rubs absently at her hand. The punch, delivered with barely a fraction of her capabilities of force and injury, left her void of any vindication she may have derived from it. None of this made any sense; She was angry and she was lonely: An emotional cocktail of her younger years best avoided than indulged. The hangover was acute.
She had clearly made the mistake of assuming her worth to Vincent was of greater value than reality told. She had overestimated their bond, presuming too much behind what may have merely been physical attraction and friendship forged of proximity and necessity.
She had been a fool.
Seemingly spent, her anger extinguished; doused in the waters of regret, she sinks to a seated position on the floor. Wrapping her arms about her knees, she rests her cheek against folded arms. The hum of the engine offered a cushioned white noise, an all-enveloping sensory deprivation she so desperately craved.
Still, the tears came.
"I guess I deserved that…" His voice is thick with pain.
He takes a seat on the bed to one side of her, the mattress springs squeaking a little under his weight. His countenance is open in his defeat. The distance between them is not insignificant, yet encouraging to reconciliation; a destination they were both hopeful to reach, but ahead lay careful navigation still.
"For what good my words might do. If you wanted to hit me again, I'd understand." He laughs a little, though it is a hollow and self-conscious gesture.
"I didn't… I don't want to hit you."
"Well, that's good news for me, at least." She tries a weak smile, but it doesn't fit.
"Tifa, I'm sorry. I should have found a way to contact you as soon as I was able to. But I… something happened in the cave. I… I wasn't there by accident; I am sure of it."
"We saw something on the security footage… I thought… I didn't think it was Galian."
He shakes his head, confirming her suspicions. "No. It was… it was something else. Lucrecia called it… Chaos. A project she had long worked on prior to ever meeting me. I knew there might be something to help me to understand it there. When I contacted Reeve, he was first to mention Hojo and I saw my opportunity to find out what he knew once and for all." Vincent pauses. He knows how hollow his excuses sound, even to him. "I was selfish and short-sighted and… I want you to know how sorry I am for it; for my actions, and the pain I caused you."
There is a pause Tifa is unwilling to fill. She lets the silence endure, not knowing if the apology could ever be enough; if time they did not have was the only remedy to her resentment.
He casts his gaze about, willing to give her an amount of time to recover, to gather any energy required to say her piece or to resume her violent reprimands, or else allow her to leave the room should she deem the conversation to have run its course.
It lands upon an object unfamiliar to his room; He is struck by a flash of recognition as he unfolds the item, in the form of an oversized black t-shirt adorned with the brilliantly coloured silhouette of the Gold Saucer. He recognises it as a shirt Tifa had won from the arcades there - it comes with a memory of her laughter, of Aeris too, taking lead on their group's revelry. He wonders at finding it here.
It was way too big for her - he remembered how they had laughed at finding the hem reaching mid-thigh. He knew that she favoured this shirt for sleeping in, for it bore little style or utility for any other purpose.
Curious fingers attune to the softness of the cotton - it had been well-worn since its acquisition - and an involuntary inhalation of the fabric found it laden with Tifa's particular scent. Having her so close and out of reach, and his senses so assaulted by such sensory triggers, brings about a wave of deep longing, felt keenly in his chest.
Perhaps sensing his movement and temporary distraction, she turns to discover what is occupying his attention. As their gazes meet her cheeks colour.
"Tifa, did you… have you been sleeping here?"
She bolts to her feet, stammering out her words. "I–I couldn't sleep! And when I did, I had terrible dreams and I-I couldn't…"
He rises slowly, setting the shirt aside and reaching out to take her hand, tenderly prising apart her balled fist to circle his thumb gently in her palm.
She continues. "I couldn't sleep - but this room… the bed… it smelled like you. aAd for a moment, I could… I could pretend you were still here."
She begins to dissolve in her anguish, hidden and unexpressed grief burgeoning from her lips and pouring from her eyes. The sheer force of it caught her unawares, leaving her reeling.
Vincent gathers her, in her fragments, together, folding her within his arms as loud, guttural sobs wracked her body. He soothes her with assertions of his permanence, promises to remain, of the safety of this moment and this place.
Noticed by neither, a hand reaches into the room to grasp the door handle, and pull the door softly shut, granting them privacy in their reconciliation.
Her forehead is adorned with a crown of gentle kisses, words are murmured against her hair to sooth her. She anchors herself to him, fists clenching fabric tightly, eyes screwed shut and face buried in his shirt.
He tells her that he loves her. Nothing could have been truer, and despite anything else that had prevented or may inhibit their relationship from progressing from where it currently stood, he wanted her to know this; That he always had.
-0-
A/N: It's been a while since I updated this story – I'm so sorry! I've read every single review with joy, feeling your pain at being left hanging – but truly, It's taken me some time to puzzle it out. How could I reunite them? How could it reconcile, even if I did? And I was certain that she would want to hit him… I wrote the last sentence out and felt it was perfect – until I added the last. I knew I had my chapter end. Possibly even the story's end… who can say for certain.
Happy to hear protestations to the contrary – You know what to do.