I put my cards on the table with the rest of them, trying to stack them nicely with a metal claw. It doesn't work. I lean back painfully. As much as I'm feeling better the pain is still substantial. Honestly, I can be so spoiled sometimes. My cracked ribs will mend just as fast if I don't complain about them.

I lean my head on the back of the seat and stare at the walkway above. It leads to the cockpit. How many hours did I spend there? How many hours was I to be found standing on the lower section of the bridge, by the computer that calculated the engine pressure.? Now that it's quiet again my spirit sinks. It does that. I'm horrible when it comes to these things. I can forget my sorrows for a few moments, only to have them fall upon my head more heavily than before when I remember them anew. I hate this feeling. I feel my muscles tense again; I feel my heart pinch in my chest. It makes me feel dirty and worthless. I cannot help but replay every moment of the last few hours. I replay everything I said and everything she said. Holy, I'm an idiot. I sounded like a complete moron in at least twelve different occasions. I should exercise shutting up more. Little things I said or didn't, things I should or should not have done. But I had fun. I really did. For a moment, while ousting these two girls in Poker, I forgot. I felt… Free? I try and remember the last time I played poker with the rest of the Turks…

I haven't thought about it. Not really. It hasn't sunk in. Just thinking about them triggers a painful burning in my chest and behind my eyes. All of the people I considered 'friends'… They're all gone.

Sometimes I wonder if she doesn't just spend time with me out of pity or the great kindness in her heart.

Self pity is not something I condone. I hate wallowing, I do. I just can't help myself. I cannot see a single redeeming trait in my character. I'm selfish, moody, self-involved, negligent and down right unpleasant company.

One of these days Tifa will notice and waste no more time on me. Every instance we spend time together I'm afraid she'll learn I'm really like and turn away. All of them. All of Avalanche.

They're only my 'friends' because they don't know me. If they really knew me they'd turn away. If they knew not only what I've done, but also what was done to me.

I hate hating myself, and that just makes me hate myself more. I hate all this hating. I just don't know how to stop. Sometimes I wish I never existed. More than just 'never born' I wish I had never existed. But I do. I painfully, regrettably do. See? I'm wallowing again. How do I stop? How do I let go of the past, of who I was? How do I let myself find out who I can become? How do I move on? How can I be free of an eternal Sin? And there's something else, something I feel and don't want to think about because it will erode the last of my strength and I'll collapse into a useless heap…

Sometimes I get the feeling that I'm watching myself from outside my body. It's almost as though I'm looking at myself, waiting for me to feel something. Most of the times I just point and laugh at myself. How could I not- if someone knew how wretched I am- they'd laugh too.

Disconnected. I feel… Disconnected.

Anachronistic.

Lost.

Where am I? On the Highwind. What am I doing here? Cheating at cards. Where am I going? To the bathroom.

That's about the extent of my life right now. Hobbling on one foot towards nowhere.

When I come back to the common room I wonder if I should just retire for the night. It's getting late. I'm not tired, but…

I should leave tonight. I think it would be best. Everybody's gone. The festivities are over. No one would see me and no one would miss me.

Then Tifa walks back in. I sit down again and bury my face in my book.

Damn. I guess I missed my chance, for now.

She looks distressed, preoccupied and distraught. Not specifically in that order. She looks worse than before.

To help someone close is to hide your troubles. It's to be strong enough to help carry someone else's burdens, while not showing your own. In a way, it's like a game of poker; you need to know what to share, what to hold and how to see what the person in front of you has on their mind. I wish I could help you, Tifa. I wish I had the strength.

I smell clean laundry just as a feel soft cloth brush my feet. She spread my cloak over my outstretched feet. It looks much cleaner, I must admit.

Holy, it's gotten so torn and tattered. It's starting to look like my mind; frayed at the edges and in need of someone who can mend the seams.

She then sits back on the couch across from me and goes back to hugging her knees, her eyes lost in thoughtful wandering.

We stay in quiet contemplation for a long while. She in her own thoughts, me in my book and my brooding.

The clock just passed 1:30 when I say,

"Any more sighs and you'll hyper ventilate."

She gives me this weak smile that's supposed to convince me that she's alright. My worry doubles, and my previous troubles are put aside. Her face looks haggard. She's hugging her knees so tightly, and as I look at her I see her lower lip fighting tears.

I have never seen her cry. The only time I've ever seen her shaken like this was when we had found Cloud at Medeel.

Cloud. It has something to do with Cloud.

The bastard had hurt her.

I shuffle though question in my head. Something neutral, something she can back out of, something non-intrusive. The questions cause a traffic jam in my throat and all I manage to come up with is;

"What happened?" I ask even as I feel my heart clench with concern.

Maybe she was searching for the same peace and quiet that I am. Maybe she just wanted to get away from it all. Maybe the stress of saving the world had finally caught up with her. That smile is still present, and she bites her lower lip. She won't let a single tear come out. She's stronger than me. Stronger than anyone I've seen. It's really heart-rending to see her like this.

I sit up, leaning on my knees with my claw. I'm wondering if I should go and sit beside her? No. She won't accept such comfort. It'll be insulting to her pride. At least, that's what I would feel. I'm half tempted to leave, to let her deal with her pain alone, because that's what I would want in her situation; not to appear weak in front of anyone. It's also because I don't want to see her in pain. I don't want to care and worry about her. I don't have the emotional strength. I can't deal with it. I can't deal with anyone else's burdens. Yes, to be a friend one must swallow one's own problems- but you don't see me bothering anyone else with mine, do you? I can barely live with myself… But she looks so miserable, to leave her will be to leave my heart here- torn from my chest.

What are my worries compared to hers? How do I dare feel sorry for myself? Here is a girl torn by love, by seeing the world she knows fall apart and get ripped to shreds. I mourn a world that no longer exists. She mourns for the very real pain around her.

I'm a selfish bastard.

"…He's gone." She chokes out. I can see she's at the point where speech hastens tears.

"He is?" I ask with incredulity before I can stop myself. Yes, Valentine, she just said he was. Idiot.

She just nods, her lip quickly loosing ground against the flood of tears. He is always the eccentric one, that Cloud.

Oh, perhaps I've just called the kettle black? It doesn't matter. He did mention something about taking the bike and going on a long trip. Has he done that? It must be more than that to cause her such pain.

Maybe he's gone for good, or maybe he just needs time to find himself and doesn't know when he'll be back or where he'll end up. I respect him, but I never understood him.

Damn you, Cloud. You shouldn't hurt her: She who has been beside you all along, she who would have given everything to be with you.

Marlene was right. When it's dark outside, you don't know who's gone for good.

Oh Tifa, I sigh, I'm sorry.

"We talked and he was so cold." She's openly crying, "I know he's just running away from it all, but he was so cold…!" Her eyes are closed so tight, "I offered to come with him, but he said someone needs to take care of the kids left behind by Meteor. He knew I couldn't walk away from that. He deliberately said it so he could go alone!" I look away briefly, trying to find courage to look at her sorrow, "I wish I could be like you." She sobs, "I wish I could be strong and never give in to grief and pain." She buries her face between her knees as suppressed sobs wrack her body. "I wish I could be so brave that I could still know what's the right thing to do, despite anything!" She missed my startled expression. Still, if the pretense of strength gives her courage, I'll pretend until I'm dead.

I stretch my good leg, then shift my weight to it, easing myself across the short distance and sitting on the sofa beside her.

Words are difficult. There's nothing coming to mind, so I say nothing. Eventually I recall something my brother once said to me;

"You cannot live people's lives for them. Even if you know what they're doing is wrong… All you can do is tell them that. They have to realize it on their own."

Then there's silence. I'm not sure if I just wasted breath or not. Probably did.

At a loss, I drape my cloak around her shivering shoulders. She is crying silently into her legs and hiccups her thanks. I nod even if she's not looking at me.

So I'm sitting here like a dimwit, hands clasped between my legs. One arm encased in bandages, the other in metal. Neither is fitting to be put on her shoulder. Will that even be an appropriate form of comfort? I don't remember how these things work.

She cries on, and I don't know how long. Each sobs tares my heart, and my mind plays before me every sob I have heard in my life. From my own pitiful wails on the operation table or the coffin, to my mother's quiet pain, to Her tears at a choice that'll tear her apart…

And every tear had my reflection in it, helpless and weak.

..

Wow! Thanks for all the reviews, guys! Over 100 reviews! W00! I hope I can express my joy and gratitude well enough, else I'm doing you all a grave injustice. Thank you. All of you.

Tiramisu mentioned that these little author's notes are "helpful". Do people agree? Do you want to hear more about the creative process and the reasoning behind choices? I'm not sure in what way these are helpful. ;

Thanks for all the feedback regarding the balance of the story. It's good to know that it's a mix that people enjoy. This chapter has been mostly serious (that was my intention, anyway!), so I hope it is also pleasurable to read. Keep the feedback coming, please!

Regarding the sequel: Well, this story takes place soon after the game, about a year and a half (or two) before AC. I was thinking that the sequel will be right after the movie.

Now about poker: I know it's been done to death, but I haven't seen many (or any?) in which he cheats. It was an internal debate for me. I wasn't sure I should put that in, but I thought about it and looked at the pacing and figured a cheating Vincent will perhaps ease the cliché of his poker-playing.

A teacher once told me you can only write about what you know. For example; you can't write an evil character well without knowing evil yourself.
I'm wondering what does this Vincent mean about my personality? ; I'm a little scared. To write in first-person I need to draw on real emotions, but I'm wondering if I'm drawing from my own emotions, or from other sources around me? I'm wondering where this Vincent is coming from within me.

My heart is brimming with gratitude I don't know how to express… I started this story so afraid and uncertain and now I feel so happy to be writing again. Thank you.
The thankyouthankyouthankyou list grows longer with every chapter:
BabyGurl278, DemonSurfer (Axel and Reno rock!), LilTigre & raggedywings.
Darknightdesitny; it is a true honor to have you review my writing, since I've been great fan of yours for a long time now. I bow before your superior skillz and thank you for your intelligent review.

To Feather Wolf whose cookies I cherish in my stomach forever: If had "Melodramatic self-inflicted comedy" section that would totally be the genre of this. I laughed when I read that.
As it stands now… It changed a little from my original idea, but I think the 'romance' comes from the style and Vincent's thoughts. Does 'romantic' always mean 'love'? I think wishing for the impossible and dreaming is considered 'romantic', but then again, my English might be a little off there.
Also; thelittletree made me re-think and re-love VinTifa, too! Go thelittletree.
And: I've actually written a Vincent/Elena story, but it was, like, 8 years ago and it's so bad it makes you want to cry… Poor 'Blind Love'… had to suffer my teenager years…

To everyone reading- unless something far beyond my control happens, I will finish this story. I promise! I will do my best to update steadily every Saturday or as soon as I can. I make this solemn promise to all those who took the time to peek into my heart by reading this tale.

Do a lot of people really read all this 'afterthought' part? I wonder…