The next morning finds me on the deck, where I usually go when I want to pretend I don't care. I think it has gotten to be a little too much.

I admit it.

I care.

There- I said it. Happy?

I care about what happens to this rag-tag team of buffoons.

Damn it.

Tifa had left earlier than I woke up, which is surprising.

She had tried to fold my cloak; it ended up a square with things sticking out of it. Looked like a road-kill octopus. I had to smile. She left a note on it that read

'Vincent, I'll be back tonight- wait up for me, ok? Marlene can sleep in until whenever she wants. Tifa.' And she added a little stick-figure doodle of me on the bottom with a little heart coming out of my smiling head. She's an atrocious artist and should be banned from ever lifting a pencil again. Her hand writing is pleasant enough, though, and I like the little twirl she adds when she's capitalizing her V's.

It feels almost odd to have my cape on again. I've almost gotten used to going without it. Sometimes it feels like it's the only friend I have left. The only thing that's familiar and with me always. On the other hand it reminds me of closed spaces and fights and deaths. I keep wearing it anyway, more because people might start asking questions if I have the choice to wear my cape, but don't, than an actual need. I just don't feel like explaining myself.

I feel worse today, but I expected as much. I take my pain killers. What else can I do? I just need to wait until I'm better beforeI leave. I'll have to be careful with it. I don't want to hurt Marlene or Tifa. They've had enough grief for now. I'll have to handle it delicately, though I entirely expect to botch it.

.x.

In front of me is Midgar. It's ruined. I don't believe anyone would ever want to live there again. The proud Shinra tower has been stripped of its glory and reduced to a forlorn pillar of metal, reaching out towards the overcast sky like the pleading hand of the dying.

Thousands of people are dead underneath the rubble. I look at it and it cannot register. How could it? I cannot imagine that number of people. I knew none of them and there's nothing I can do to help them. There is no grief left in me. A new world order is coming. The entire world needs to adjust to what the future has in store. There are still Weapons about, and now Materia will become quite rare. Medical institutions will have to find an alternative power source for all those people on life support. They'll probably end up dieing.

So much death, so much change. I think I'm desensitized: I've seen too much death. I have to cope with too much change. I just don't care anymore about any of it. Does that make me heartless? Or Cold? I can't help it. I can't feel. I don't mean to be cold. I want to believe I do have something beating in my chest. Is it so wrong of me to feel nothing? I can't make myself feel.

I've killed people, these deaths feel no different.

I do feel rather useless, standing here on the railing while people are dying out there, right in front of me. Well, there's little I can do on one foot.

Or is it an excuse? If I had both my feet right now, would I have gone to help? Probably. Would I have cared for whomever I may have saved? Probably not.

Is the act of saving lives more important than the sentiment behind it? If you save someone and you feel nothing, does that negate the act? I guess not, because they're still alive, and they might be thankful- even if your heart is not touched.

No unlike killing: It doesn't matter if you don't feel anything towards the person you kill- they're still very dead for it.

Does caring change a man? It can- I've seen it firsthand when I fell in love with Her. My life rotated around her. I was made into a different being just by the knowledge of her grace. Just knowing that she's out there and that she knows me- just the thought she might be thinking about me- and I was transformed. Like a caterpillar into a butterfly; I felt my soul soar. I almost envy my old self for having felt all that once. I want to feel it again. But, Holy, did it hurt coming off of that high.

Then, and now, my soul hungered for something. That hunger or thirst in my heart. I feel myself caring more and more about these idiots. Tifa and Cid and all of them. Even little Marlene. And when I care… It's almost like a drink of water or a slice of bread. It's good. It's satisfying. Like a man who's found an oasis in the desert.

But is it truly water? Is it not a phatamorgana? Last time I thought I found nourishment it ended up killing me. How can I tell if I'm drinking water or sand? The parched, desperate man cares not if he drinks reviving water or scorching sand. He just wants something to drink…

If he drinks the sand and dies happy, is he really worst off than the one who drank the water and died unhappy? I don't have the answer.

Aleonde used to say: "There's nothing you want better than that that is just out of your reach".

Is this feeling- are these people- my salvation or my doom? Will caring for them make me happy or destroy whatever strength I have left?

It's almost noon already. I've been out here musing for hours. I go inside and find Marlene playing in the common area. She smiles and greets me. I nod my acknowledgment. She offers me a doll to take and play with her.

I politely decline.

.x.

I take care of her for the rest of the day. By 'take care' I mean I make sure she doesn't die from infantile stupidity. Like licking a power outlet or jumping off the Highwind again.

Even now, throughout this entire day, my thoughts remain the same.

Do I stay here?

Where do I go if I leave?

What's the right thing for me to do?

Maybe I should go to that cave again? Maybe She'll…

She'll what? Is the past really what I want to live for?

I have nothing to live for. That's why I could fight with all my might back then. If I had something to live for I wouldn't have come back when Cloud gave us the chance to leave.

I don't know what to do. My stomach clenches into a knot. Someone had stuck a fork in my gut and is twisting them like so much spaghetti. Anxiety, that's the word. It reminds me of how I used to feel before a mission. It would always be just like this. I think I even used to use that same spaghetti metaphor.

Marlene then draws my attention to the fact that the popcorn had long stopped popping in the microwave. There's no fire in this thing anywhere- I checked. Am I the only one who finds this disturbing? I put food in and it lights up and spins. Then the food is hot. That does not make any scientific sense.

She has burnt popcorn for lunch and is smart enough not to complain after I glare at her. I thought even I couldn't mess up popcorn. I used to make it all the time- in a pot, like normal people.

She plays games and I half-watch her while reading my book.

It's not unpleasant. I know she's here and she knows I'm here. We can, in a way, be together without really interacting. It's relaxing. My greatest concern in taking charge of her was that I might be expected to entertain her. Luckily she is well practiced in entertaining herself.

At one point she makes me hold one of her jigsaw puzzle pieces, which I promptly hide in the folds of my cape. I don't know why I do it. I just want to see what she'll do, I guess. I want to test her problem solving skills. I want to see if she has hope yet. Besides, it's funny.

When she asks me if I have it I shrug and continue my book. Only after she seems certain enough that she'd lost it do I produce it again to give it to her.

I wish I could smile like that; in that smile are all the hopes and all the future that Planet can offer. What happens to that? Was I ever like that? I think I was born old.

Was I ever so innocent and carefree? Did my smile hold all worries at bay?

I don't really remember. I don't think I was.

She's a sun spot. Knowing me, I was an oil spill.

She's a lot less of a hassle than I initially feared. I could get used to this. Uncomplicated; she wants nothing more from me than my presence and something of protection. No ulterior motives, no secrets or plots. She is what you see, and what I see is a happy, lighthearted child. That's how children should be. War makes people old. Something in their eyes. I can look at someone and tell if they've seen war and death. It's written on their soul and printed on their heart.

I keep hiding items in my cape several times that day. Each time she gives me something she knows I'll hide it. She watches my hands with intent until something random distracts her. Then I hide it and every time she's amazed like the first. She never catches me. It makes me want to smile.

Damn, another painful chapter. It's just going to get worse for me from here because we're at the brink of the climax. These parts make me really anxious, just like Vinnie before a mission. I feel this way because I really want to nail these chapters. It's important to me to get it just right first go. I know they'll be parts I'll look back on and cringe, but I'm doing the very best I can now. That counts too, right?

Next chapter is too short, this one turned out too long. There's just no good way to split those without breaking the flow. Frustrating.
Expect it on Saturday, as per usual!

Thanks for the comments about this chapter. I'm glad to see it helped bring the plot along and not hold it back. I was reluctant to keep it in because I felt it simply re-stated things and did not teach us anything new by the end. Also, emotionally I felt that we enter the chapter with the same emotional state in which we leave with nothing in the middle. But looking at it now and keeping all of your comments in mind, I can see I was probably too hard on myself.

SilverPurity: You're so nice to me! If we're not careful, we're going to have a big, fat LunarBlade.
If there's anything you think you'd like to see in the sequel, just let me know. It's a mix of 'I have an idea but it might suck' and 'if I don't do this idea, I don't know what I'll do' sort of thing…

And what does everybody think about a re-cap of Vincent's life as the sequel? Has the subject been done to death? Maybe I'll write it in the same first-person style as this. I was thinking of having the sequel a first-person perspective from Tifa's point of view. Because for her this is all new, while writing it from Vincent's point of view will give us the whole 'all-knowing narrator' thing going.

I had a semi-anonymous reviewer "Me" ask that I don't make this a VinTifa. If said reviewer is still around- could you explain your objection? I'm curious.

LilTigre: Please keep those grammar tips coming! I learn something new every chapter, though I'm afraid I sometimes forget to attempt an implementation… ;

Indigo Angel: Yes, it can be really difficult to write from Vincent's POV. It can come down to the smallest things like if Vincent uses full sentences and how he starts them. I mean, everything in a way has to be autistic. It's all redirected inwards. Am I making sense? I also need to constantly drop some of his lines. In the chapter where the Vincent Approach is first introduced there was a dialogue between Tifa and him. Dropping that dialogue and introducing the 'approach' helped keep Vincent in character, in my opinion. Yeesh, I just rambled again, didn't I? ;

Darknightdestiny: You're so wise! stares at DnD with admiration all over. Your comments about the chapter give me courage to face the next few. I really need to feel confidant in the climax, and I'm working and re-working it in hopes that I do.
Tell Johnny I said 'hi'.

P.S.
The little ".x." things are just seperators because doesn't let me double-space things or just put "." like I tried to until now. Sorry.