Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or the characters that may or may not appear in this story. These belong to Square-Enix and them alone.

Author's Note: - I would like to thank Miss IceyCold for her most wonderful friendship. You've given me much inspiration and have been a great help with my usual writer's block. I would also like to thank my reviewers for giving me the inspiration to continue on. To be truthful I was a little afraid to take on this project with what sparse time I have. (Holidays be damned shakes fist violently in air) I hope you all enjoy this story as it is updated from time to time (though the hiatuses will be large, I do apologize in advance).

- I've chosen to use the "!#$" whenever Cid curses. It just seems so unnatural to me to actually know what the heck he was saying. Hehe... Old habits die hard. Whee...

- Also! Much to my surprise Tifa's last name is indeed Lockhart not Lockheart. A look behind the official Vincent Valentine toy box (ahem action figure... ) and a trip to Square-Enix's website did much clarifying much to my dismay... All those years... misled! So wrong! Why? -sob-

Places of Origin

By Lady Winde

Chapter 1: Hard and Sweet

To search for the sweetest tonic... you have to prepare for that 'hard kick' in the mouth.

Vincent Valentine took in the scenery before him as he gently pulled back on the leather reins, signaling his crimson feathered chocobo to slow its rather fast pace. An ocean of tall grass gently rocked against the tender breeze with the sapphire crown of heaven hanging overhead, finding amusement that the clouds had not dared to tarnish the skies. There was hardly a creature, or monster, in sight save for the lone snake weaving in and out through slender blades of emerald as its tongue tickled the air before it.

Since the burning of the Shinra Mansion, the ex-Turk had found himself on a journey of sorts. It wasn't the kind of soul searching expedition most had found themselves half-in after the almost certain doom meteor had unleashed upon the world. No, Vincent had found himself feeling restless, taking on the role of wanderer curious to see how those were coping. He had often wondered how many actually knew just how close their mortality was to being hushed beneath the weight of twisting rocks and blasting winds.

He had often found that there were many who simply just didn't care.

As far as taking permanent residence in any of the towns he had come across, it had never seemed like a viable option. Cid and Shera had offered to take the solitary man in when he was traveling through Rocket Town. When he declined, Vincent was quite grateful that the "anything but tactful" pilot didn't cause an awkward scene like the energetic Princess of Wutai, Yuffie, had. He contained not a single desire to relive that atrocious nightmare yet again.

Even though he declined their well intentioned invitations it was never meant as an act of ill will. He just wasn't ready. Even if he hadn't a place to stay, he did find a temporary solace within the shadows of the Sleeping Forest. However he was far from those haunting woods which seemed to be full of nothing but whispers from the past for those willing to listen and there was one last friend he needed to visit.

His brow furrowed beneath the scarlet bandana as his red eyes scanned the distant horizon, looking for the tell tale signs of civilization. Hidden lips tightened with a slight determination. It would be a few more hours before he reached the relatively peaceful town of Kalm.

oOoOoOoOo

The weary chocobo cooed softly as Vincent's gloved hand gently stroked through fiery feathers. With half lidded eyes, the ex-Turk's steed settled down into the comfortable bed of hay, the poor thing, fighting valiantly against the urge to succumb to peaceful slumber. Vincent's tender caresses weren't helping the stubborn bird remain wakeful and within a few moments the creature's head dipped, a low sigh escaping its beak...

"Sleep while you can, my friend..." The shadow of a whisper fell upon deaf sleeping ears; a hint of a sympathetic smile played upon Vincent's concealed lips as he continued. "Our journey is not over and will not be for quite some time..."

With a swift pivot of a heel that sent scarlet tattered fabric fluttering in the air, Vincent left his chocobo in Kalm's stables to search for a place to unwind his own tired limbs.

Vincent chided himself, a little frustrated he had allowed an aggravated sigh to escape. He hated the feel of uneasy eyes upon him as he traveled. He wasn't all that different when compared to the next person... much. Perhaps this was the reason he never ridded himself of the large cloak that currently draped over his shoulders and masked his face. He wasn't one to show off his own persona... or was he?

His metal-claw covered fingers flexed dramatically, letting the light dance along the polished metal for added effect.

Vincent smirked freely beneath the mask of fabric as a few gasps could be heard. The ex-Turk had noticed the slow change in his usually aloof behavior since the burning of that damnable building. Was that all it took? Perhaps it was the symbolic nature of the act. In some ways it was as if it allowed a clean slate. He felt almost human, almost... normal.

It would certainly explain his aggravated behavior and his questionable urge to give them something to talk about. The certain notion to suddenly transform into the "Galian Beast" was something to be entertained. Common sense, thankfully, kept such thoughts in check.

His pace slowed as his crimson gaze leisurely rose to meet the shaky luminance that buzzed just ahead his unsure path. The dirty neon tube lights held his attention briefly before Vincent finally decided to enter "The Dirty Hammock." It wasn't going to hurt to get a drink... and there was the slight chance that the last of his friends was employed. She had been a bartender before the crisis of the world after all.

The stale smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, causing his lip to curl slightly in repugnance, the stench reminding him of Captain Highwind and his particular habit. Suspended in the air were a few fans, their unclean blades lazily turned hardly causing a stir in the fog of smoke.

Lit candles were spread through out the bar; their tiny dancing orbs of light added a curious dream like quality to the atmosphere. Patrons sat scattered about, drinking their poisons for whatever their reasons may be: death, regret, lost love, or boredom. Each person was there for a particular cause or two not that it was any of his business to figure out why. No one seemed to be in any sort of a celebratory mood that was for certain.

Vincent Valentine slid atop a barstool, a certain spot away from those huddled over the bar. The barmaid behind the counter sent an appreciative wink the gunman's way, giving her hips a seductive sway as she walked over to the solitary Vincent. She conveniently dropped her damp cleaning rag beside the ex-Turks hand, taking her time as she slowly massaged the already clean counter.

"So..." she gave her voice an extra lilt hoping to catch some sort of interest from Vincent who chose to simply hold his attention toward the row of liquor bottles lined along the back counter. "What'll be your poison, stranger?"

Vincent merely tossed an unapproachable glance her way, a little irritated by her all too obvious behavior. He never did care too much for that kind of woman. "I want something..." His low monotone voice stopped short as he considered his choices carefully, "hard and sweet..."

The bartender raised an inquiring eyebrow as she stepped back to look over what she had, "I'll see what I can do..." She tossed the ex-Turk a flirtatious wink along with a quick pucker to the air. "I'll try and add a little something special... just for you."

"Please don't," he briskly whispered into the collar of his cloak.

The pads of his leather clad fingers lightly tapped against the counter as he patiently awaited his vague order. Watching the woman worry over what do with what she had lined up bottle to bottle triggered a memory, thankfully it was pleasant in its nature.

oOoOoOoOo

With careful silent footsteps, Vincent Valentine descended the carpet covered stairs of Rocket Town's only inn. His hand slid along the rail as he stared at the pictures lined against the wall. They were but simple memories of things that had happened in the world within the last thirty years.

Vincent's impassive stare lingered from frame to frame with each step he took. Everything was so strange to him, the fashion of clothes the people now wore, and the technology that had advanced... he wouldn't even try to pretend to understand the true functionality of the PHS.

It had been only two days since he joined Avalanche, awoken from such a long tortured slumber... and already he found it a daunting task to absorb everything in.

The antique lamp that stood in the corner of the room gave the lounge a golden glow, its soft light making sure to comfort those who would welcome it. With arms warily folded beneath his scarlet cloak, like a ghost, he made his way to the lamp. The stranger that stared from the reflection of the glass lampshade unnerved him: the pale skin that had lost its healthy glow, deep crimson irises that were no longer the dark wells of amber, and the long tousled ebony locks that were messily wrapped within the scarlet bandana...

The talons that dug into his arm were pitiless to remind him of the metallic gauntlet that was eternally and cruelly implanted onto his left arm. Just as the unwanted thoughts of Lucrecia and the experiments were about to plague his suffering mind, the slightest whisper of movement from the side of the room sent him on alert.

The tick tock of the near by grandfather clock held no protest when the faint humming began to fill the air. Curiosity slowly washing away the uneasiness from the gunman's tensed limbs, the carefree melody seemed to be intriguingly tinged with a hint of melancholy. Before he knew it, Vincent found himself involuntarily drawn to peer over the closed bar counter, the point in origin of the low melodic hum.

A woman was crouched on the floor shuffling through bottles, picking up one then placing it down to search for another. Perhaps it was his shadow that gloomed over her, but for whatever reason she looked back...

As quickly as the barmaid could she jumped back, fighting off the sharp intake of breath that caused her frame to shake so, "O-oh my god!" The bottle she was handling dropped to the floor rolling idly to the metal-toe of her boot.

Clink

Stoic red stared impassively into startled cinnamon. "...Hello Miss Lockhart..."

Her mouth fell open, wobbling to try and say anything her poor petrified mind could conjure, finally with a shudder she wearily regained her composure. An unsteady sigh escaping her coral colored lips. "Honestly," her words were desperately trying to seek confidence, "you can't sneak up on people like that. It's just... it's just rude!"

Had he been Vincent of the Turks, of the past, he would have leaned on the counter with a soft smile adorning his handsome face, shifting his weight in posture allowing just enough movement to permit ebony locks to glide against the skin of his cheek. Amber eyes would dance with delight as he would hold her gaze captive in a trance. Perhaps letting suave and sure words to both woo and calm his poor victim.

Instead... old habits apparently were easy to shoot and stuff into a coffin. It seemed only the obligatory words were necessary. "...You have my apologies."

Tifa's eyes fluttered shut as she nervously waved her hand in the air, as if hoping to dismiss the inert awkwardness away to never return. "Its fine, its fine..." She allowed herself to lean against the counter, her gloved arms hugging her frame allowing bored fingers to play with the slightly frayed hem of her shirt. "Just don't do it again..." She peered up into his face, a slight look of confusion glazing her eyes. "Mr..? I'm sorry I don't think Cloud introduced us with Barret and me waiting to rendezvous with you guys here. So uhm... You are?"

He was almost disappointed that word of his joining the ragtag group of misfits hadn't been properly addressed. With a curt nod of his head, the Ex-Turk made his introduction. "Vincent. Vincent Valentine."

Tifa's brow furrowed in amusement, her cheek dimpled as her grin spread, finally feeling at ease. "Vincent Valentine?" She couldn't help but chuckle, Vincent however could only arch an inquiring eyebrow to her queer behavior as he stood before her. With a tilt of her head, chocolate tresses spilled over one shoulder as her eyes playfully regarded the gunman. The brawler barmaid couldn't hide her enjoyment as she continued, "That almost sounds a bit too romantic for a name."

"...Too romantic?" the words echoed breathlessly between his dry lips. Vincent's aloof gaze was torn from the girl's, finding it comfortable to hover over the polished wood of the bar. There had been another woman who had made a similar comment many years earlier. Comments aside, Vincent found himself still unable to understand why there were those who simply couldn't just take what they had heard for what it was. He happened to like his name. It had a nice rhythm to it when spoken out loud.

Her peals of laughter were full of delight, soft and welcoming to those that were listening. Nimble fingers pushed back stray hairs behind her ear, the reflecting light of her dangling earring caught the gunman's attention, "Never mind Vincent...," Her smile was almost contagious. "How'd you know my name anyways?"

"I met Yuffie and Aeris already..." The meaning in the statement wasn't entirely false. He had actually heard her name in a conversation that was believed to be held in private between the supposed ex-Soldier and flower girl while exiting the Shinra Mansion. Only when Aeris and Yuffie were reunited outside had the gaps and holes been conveniently filled in.

A slight wave of annoyance washed over her features. Was she... disappointed? "Ah well... heh that would explain it; and here I thou-" The chimes of the nearby tower of a clock rudely interrupted her words; letting the only two in the area know that it was now three in the morning. "Well so much for making a quick drink before bed," Vincent could easily read the resignation woven between her words.

He could hear her heels drag a bit along the floor as she came out and around the bar, leaving Vincent alone to ponder his choice and reasons for joining their group. When his thoughts were once again teetering towards the unpleasant the now familiar feminine voice broke him out of his reverie.

"Hey... I don't know what your reasons are for joining or whatever but don't look so down." Vincent simply replied with a cold stare. She would never understand the gravity of what the experience of his past was. He would by no means be able to live on like it never happened. It just wasn't his way. "Ouch, if looks could kill...," he could hear the nervous chuckle escape her.

The gunman tore his gaze away from the woman once a tinge of hurt seemed to sparkle in her eyes, perhaps it wasn't fair to react that way. "You have my apologies..."

He was presented with a warm smile, such a genuine and pure thing that it was. It seemed rather odd that it was directed at him. Then again no one else was around. "You talk so proper," Vincent merely raised an eyebrow at the comment, "Hey, well with whatever's bothering you I've been known to make some drinks that could make a man forget his troubles if but for a few moments... Hmm, well how about this," He could hear the toe of her boot try to worm its way into the carpet. Was she nervous? "Whenever we get some free time I'll make you one of my specialties. I uh don't have a name for it just yet but it's ah well... I guess some people would say hard and sweet."

Her words were full of the promise, something as far as he could read between each syllable, she meant to keep. The dip of his head forced a few waves of ebony to cascade over the rim on his bandana, hiding what was left of his already hidden face. "That would be nice... Thank you Miss Lockhart."

oOoOoOoOo

The fleeting memory gently tucked itself away into the many shadows that mingled inside Vincent's already foggy past. Tifa... A metallic tip of one of his talons lightly traced the edge of the mug he had been served while lost in his reverie.

Perhaps there was more reasoning behind his decision to visit her last after all.

Sooty lashes fell as his gaze lowered to the contents of the glass, failing to push back the girlish promise a friend had made two years prior. Just what was Tifa Lockhart to him?

His analytical thoughts were at work as he considered the question. First and foremost her obvious strength and skill as a warrior came to mind. Despite appearances, she wasn't the frail woman some would be led to believe.

Vincent could remember a time when they were forced into battle with one of the larger creatures that dared to roam the plains of their world. With careful precision his bullet screamed across the air, tearing flesh and shattering bone, proving to the rest just how deadly his marksmanship could be.

With a confident tip of his head he had briskly turned around, walking away only to be stopped by a shriek of alarm. Just as he turned around, ready to spring back into action he had found himself suddenly frozen in mid-step at the sight before him.

Just as the behemoth of a thing was about to crush a fallen Aeris, Tifa had dashed to her friend's aide without a second thought. Using what momentum she had, the barmaid brawler was able to land a fatal somersault kick, the strength behind the lethal movement forced the dead creature to fall elsewhere out of harms way.

Crimson eyes followed every twist of her agile limbs. It was indeed, as cliché as it sounded, poetry in motion. And Vincent had always appreciated a verse or two.

Perhaps her culinary and bartending skills helped add to the mask that had many fooled that she was some helpless waif. Using those of which she knew, perhaps passed on from loving parents or studied from cook books, Vincent had always welcomed the plate that was usually presented by Tifa.

He would toss her an aloof stare that would seem to hold her own hostage before turning away, muttering a thanks beneath his breath. From what he remembered, Tifa would modestly say she was still learning after Cid would comment something like "Oh !#$ yeah! This hits the !#$ing spot! Oh yeah, Gimme mah tea."

Vincent, thankfully, was able to suppress the chuckle that fought to escape his smiling lips. How odd. However, that hidden smile slowly faded when his thoughts traveled to a more usual melancholy realm.

Cloud, Tifa, and Aeris.

The love triangle no one had the gall to mention. There would be telling looks of some fashion. It was such an absolutely taboo subject.

Perhaps this was why he held so much empathy for the girl. The awkwardness of it all had forced Vincent to remember his last steps as a normal mortal man. All too often he saw his past self in the girl in the way Tifa would act around the two. Her eyes would lose their usual brilliance and her smile would grow fake.

Watching the three torture each other aggravated him the most. It was this passiveness that had proved his fatal mistake before waiting too late to take things into his bloodied hands. He didn't care for the bitter taste that was left in his mouth watching them.

But... he had been surprised by Tifa's actions during all that. Instead of falling from grace she forced herself to stay on level. She had never been found moping, feeling sorry for herself, etc. No, not Tifa. He was pleasantly surprised by her tenacity to try and keep herself focused on whatever task she had at hand.

When those troubles were especially trying, she would stay up late at night with him. It was during these late night sessions that she would confide her thoughts to Vincent. With each soft word spoken she slowly allowed him inside, such a trivial act and all of them had meant the world to him. She treated him like an equal and he respected her greatly for it.

Later those nights continued on after Aeris had been brutally slain, something Vincent was selfishly thankful for...

"Here I go making you a drink and all you can do is stare off into space." Vincent fought back the urge to roll his eyes as he regarded the bartender. Her lips were puckered into a large pout, the woman playfully feigning her disappointment. He hated having his thoughts interrupted.

"I was thinking," the glare and his terse words did little to force the barmaid to cower and hide like he had hoped.

"Don't be like that handsome," The bartender rested her face in her palms as she leaned against the counter much to the gunman's chagrin. "Aren't you going to have a teeny tiny sip?"

Vincent gladly shoved his gaze into the contents of his full mug. If it will let you leave me alone then all the better... A hand surfaced to unclasp the leather buckles of his collar allowing the folds to fall open, ignoring the slight intake of breathe from the irritating woman.

His dark lashes fanned against his pale skin as he raised the mug to his parched mouth. Vincent couldn't help but wonder at the anticipation he felt as the liquid began to seep between parted lips. What is hard and sweet...

The shiver violently ran along the curve of his spine, his shoulders shaking, his throat burning and eyes closed shut. The bartender leaned in closer, waiting with bated breath to hear the final verdict on her latest concoction.

Ever so slowly, the lids of his eyes parted causing the tears that had built up to fall along the curve of his cheek. He sat there, blinking absently while trying to steady his breath. He dared to look up, the man's eyes full of wariness, at the bartender who seemed to be eagerly waiting for something or another.

"So... how was it? You can lay it to me straight." Her words were laced with a smug confidence.

It was alarming the number of words that sprang to mind, each one fighting inside his weary mind to be chosen to describe the full power of what the bartender deemed her greatest creation. Certainly such a powerful and wonderful drink that it had moved the usually aloof man to quiet tears. Lay it to her straight? Well Vincent Valentine wasn't one to disappoint the ladies...

He carefully leaned forward, allowing the eloquent whisper to teasingly tickle her ear with such trembling breath, unmistakably a sign he was still recovering from such a fine masterpiece.

"Terrible."