Kalm reminded me of a picture I had once seen in a fairy tale storybook, swathed in the deep layer of snow, and its people all bundled up in Yuletide apparel. Vincent and I seemed a bit out of place both of us in ebony, but I doubted he cared. And his self-confidence helped to boost my own a little.
He strode without delay towards the inn, me trying my hardest to keep up. Even though he had so generously lent his traveling cloak to me, the hem was soaked and I was too cold to generate any body heat. After hiking, nonstop all morning and afternoon, the cheap inn of Kalm seemed liked heaven. I swear, Vincent was a machine with no feelings or cares. Then he paused, his human hand resting on the door handle, and his crimson eyes glanced around twice before coming to mine. Gripping the back of my neck with his golden claw, he pulled me close into what might have looked like a kind of lover's embrace, but the sharp pains on the back of my head told me otherwise. His hold of my long hair pulled my skull back so I had no choice but to look into his eyes.
"Do not try anything." He hissed into my face, and I gritted my teeth. Whether he was aware of it or not, a clot of my hair would be coming out with his metal appendage. "You must realize that if you do, innocent people could be harmed." I pressed my teeth together even harder as he released me, and stumbled away, catching the sign before I fell. He opened to door and strode through the entrance without a second glance, and I followed a few seconds after trying my absolute hardest to stay calm and appear normal.
What was I expected to act like? His beloved? A businesswoman? A snort rose in my throat at the thought of both, but I suppressed it. The innkeeper watched us cautiously when I stepped in behind my captor, although he tried to hide his nervousness by riffling through his guest log, and I looked towards Vincent. His posture was, as always, uncannily straight, and his head was level with his apparent arrogance so I mimicked him, deciding upon his accomplice no matter what the profession. Leave that choice to him.
"Can I help you?" The manager didn't even look up from his log when he asked that question.
"Yes, we need a room." Vincent said softly, letting the man know he hadn't the option of refusal.
"Of course." Still not looking at us, he turned to the wall behind him and searched for a spare key, selecting number four and handing it over the counter. I noticed Vincent took it with his normal hand, keeping his prosthetic limb well hidden, even without his cloak. I knew I was a mess with long, greasy hair, shadowed eyes, and no makeup. I hadn't even thought to grab some with my box.
"Please enjoy your stay." The man said, turning his back to us as Vincent growled a low, "we will."
I didn't hesitate to follow him up the stairs to the second level.
---
Heaven was true to its word and provided me with clean bed linens; a bathroom with soap, shampoo and conditioner; and a bathrobe. I could barely wait to get out of my grimy clothing and finally bathe after one entire week. How Vincent kept himself so nice remained a mystery to me, and I grabbed a robe and a couple fluffy towels that smelled of lavender.
Vincent chose the bed closest to the door, mainly, I think, to prevent me from running, and removed his shirt, but only put it down after it was neatly folded. I didn't even hesitate to look at him as I bounced jovially to the woman's lair, but his deep voice stopped me.
"Leave the door open." I gritted my teeth, and turned slowly to face him.
"No, thank you." I kept my temperament low and moved to go in the bathroom again.
"Leave it open." He said again, walking over to a large window located next to the unexploited fireplace. "I will not tolerate any more of your idiocy."
"How the hell would I get out of the bathroom?" I raised my voice one tone.
"The window." He pointed with his claw and watched me carefully with hooded eyes. "I've already seen you, so there no need to be difficult." How a man could say that and not flush is beyond me. But of course, I had already decided this was a monster I was dealing with.
"You didn't need to bring that up." I said through my teeth, while blushing several shades. "Fine, I leave the door open a crack. If you don't like it, suck it up."
"Halfway, or all the way open. One or the other, but nothing less."
I gave him one of the fiercest glares I could muster and then closed the door a little less than halfway merely to satisfy my childish anger. Vincent didn't seem to care, and even though he was too busy staring outside, I undressed out of his vision. He didn't seem like the type that cared for my body, but still once intuition kicked in I was stripping behind the door.
The shower was only second rate, I couldn't seem to get the water to the right temperature for more than two minutes at a time, and even after I had coaxed every drop of shampoo and conditioner from the miniature bottles it was barely enough for a thorough washing. Still, I was ten times cleaner than before, and I felt like a new woman.
Walking out of the bathroom with the white robe wrapped tightly around my otherwise naked body, I noticed Vincent immediately still looking quietly out the window where I had last seen him, staring off into the distance. Thoughts of attack flashed through my head, but they were suppressed. The killer had already warned me against fighting, and I had seen him at his worse. He probably was at his wits end with me, and who knew if there was another weapon hid on his body. A knife perhaps?
Instead, I went to my bed and tested my weight on its springs, sitting directly behind Vincent. There was something about him that tugged on the back of my mind, almost as if he reminded me of someone…
One particular spring squealed under the pressure I exerted upon it, and the man turned quickly, a half astonished look on his face…a look he hastily concealed when he saw me.
"You're finished." It was more of a statement than a question, and I lowered my hands, which had impulsively jerked up in my defense.
"Yes." I said coolly, still a little annoyed at him. "And I want to wash my clothes. What were you looking at?"
"The mountains." He beckoned to the hazy snow-covered peaks off in the distance. The setting sun reflected its red-orange glow off the white surfaces, and darkness was slowly creeping up behind them. I had a sudden image of Mount Nibel, and my fingers went to my chest instinctively, finding the robe failing to cover my worst memory. Raising my eyes, I saw Vincent's own claret orbs watching my fingers so I pulled the cloth more securely around my neck in an embarrassed fashion. But he caught my hands, opening the cloth to bare the whole hideous length of the puffy skin, while I took a moment to stand in astonishment, motionless.
"Where did you receive that scar?" He inquired, strangely quiet. I pulled away to jerk the robe shut across my chest.
"Bad choices." I mimicked his inexplicable answer, furrowing my brow in a frown.
The memory of my father's death weighed painfully on my mind, and an aching lump formed in my throat, forcing any other hope of talking far away. Thankfully, Vincent had no more questions, as I supposed he recognized my response, but he did mutter, "You had better get some sleep."
---
"Tifa! Get up!" My mother's voice echoed up the stairwell as I groaned and pulled the covers tighter over my head. "It's past ten!"
"It's also Saturday, Mom!" I shouted back, jerking the blanket off. "I kind of wanted to sleep in for a change!"
"You have chores, Tifa Lockhart." She countered sternly. "And I don't want to hear another word about it." I sighed loudly enough so that she could hear downstairs before searching through my draws for clothing, and dressing quickly. I had barely set foot in the kitchen when my mother pointed to a basket of fresh bread and ordered, "Deliver that to the Riley's, and don't spend all day about it."
I gave her a look of exasperation, but she didn't see it. Couldn't I at least have breakfast? The vexation turned to a glare, yet I still picked up the basket, being sure to slam the door on my way out. Cranky old hag.
Mrs. Riley wasn't even home when I knocked, but her annoying son was with his overeager expression at the sight of me. He grinned sheepishly from ear to ear and turned beet red, all the while stumbling on his words.
"Tifa- what're you- why-?" He flushed even more. I was too mad at my mom to be polite.
"This is for your mother, from mine." I snapped, shoving the food in his hands. The boy was to thin to be cute, like that blond boy that lived next door to me.
"O-okay!" He said fervently, nodded his head one too many times. He was a nobody. Without even saying farewell, I turned on my heel (ensuring that my hair flicked in his face) and stormed off, intent on being late to return home, but not spending anymore time here.
Nebelheim was in the running for the most unexciting town on the planet for the third year in a row, so naturally there was no interesting way to spend my morning. I had heard of places like Midgar—a new town that was a bursting metropolis—and Rocket Town where there was an actual rocket being built, but the most attention this village received was the construction of some reactor or another being built on Mt. Nibel. Yippee.
My feet, however, carried me faithfully to a source of interest—and fear—to everyone: The Shin-Ra Mansion. The place had been there for as long as anyone could remember, but no one ever recalled it ever being in use. I was positive it had been inhabited at one time and I also had this strange feeling that its inhabitant still lived there—although no one had gone in or out of the mansion in years. My hands clung to the rusted gate as I hung lightly upon it, staring intently at its darkened—and broken—windows, almost positive someone was there and trying to catch a glimpse of them.
My neck prickled.
I whipped around to face a boy, clutching my pounding heart.
"Good god, Cloud." I gasped, irritated at him catching me unaware. "Were you trying to give me a heart attack?"
"No," He smiled. I hadn't realized what a nice smile he had, or that his voice had changed. It was deeper, but it suited. "I wanted to ask you something."
"Well, ask it then," I demanded, shifting my eyes to the mansion again. Something had moved in one of the upstairs windows.
"Will you, uh," He was suddenly bashful, looking at the ground. I wanted him to look at me with his azure eyes. Instead of teasing him, I waited patiently. "Will you meet me beside the water tower tonight at midnight?" The words gushed so quickly from his mouth his voice cracked and he blushed even deeper.
A part of me—the nasty-teenage-girl part—wanted to say, "In your dreams!" and turn in his face, but the other part—the this-boy-saved-your-life-once and hey-he's-really-cute part—forced the yes to roll off my tongue. And I was glad it did.
"Okay." Cloud smiled again, and offered to walk me back to my house. I agreed-again- but first cast another glance back at the house. Vincent returned my gaze.
---
The pleasant aroma of breakfast greeted me as I returned from the strange dream, although it was forgotten immediately. Vincent was absent from the room, but I didn't care at the moment. Thankfully, he provided food, much to my delight- a large tray of it.
I stuffed my face—pardoning the expression.
He came into the room again, a cloth bag with a grocer's insignia on it hanging on his arm, and I was somewhat relieved to see him. His emotions were shielded.
"You found the food suitable?" He asked monotonously. I nodded without a smile. It didn't match the atmosphere. "We will be leaving as soon as you're packed. I hope to reach Junon by nightfall."
"Junon!" I spat, astonished. "You do realize how far that is, right? And the thirty feet of snow outside?"
"I understand our situation perfectly." He countered steely. "There will be no argument. Pack your things." I hadn't the strength to argue.
After checking out at the front desk with the manager persistent at avoiding eye contact with us—Vincent—we left the quiet town of Kalm without saying one word to each other.
I was not encouraged in the least to see that the snow upon the ground had not abated one bit, although there was not a cloud in the sky to promise more. Walking proved no less difficult than before, and I kept a constant watch on my feet, trying to match my stride with Vincent's footsteps in the snow, which were quite big considering the little effort he seemed to be putting into it. One might have guessed that cavorting in foot-and-a-half deep snow was a favorite pastime of his.
Pulling his long cloak more securely around me, I glanced up for a moment to look at his back. Well, to look at him, actually, but a view of his back was all I received. With me having his coat, all he was left with was his dark shirt, which I had worn not-so-long-ago. I had accomplished wearing most of my captor's wardrobe lately, excluding his pants but I hoped not to be in them anytime too soon.
His hair was so long, too, and messy, but it suited him. Just like his name. Everything about him fit him, yet he seemed ignorant of it. He must have been the most secure man I knew, and he probably thought I was the most insecure woman he had ever met. Did he consider me a young girl? Was I even an adult in his eyes? How old was he exactly? He certainly didn't look anything above thirty, but looks can be misleading. I never would have guessed—so many years ago—that a handsome, silver-haired SOLDIER, who appeared civil enough, would have been the one to murder my father. And almost succeed in killing me too.
We walked on in silence for about and hour and a half. I didn't complain even once about the snow in my shoes, the wind messing up my hair, or even the layer of ice building on my body; and neither did Vincent. Not that I expected him to. I wanted to talk about something, though, so perhaps then I would subtlety bring up one of those topics, so he could get mad.
Gathering my courage, and strangely putting aside my pride, I spoke, "Why do you want to kill Barret?"
His response was delayed. "It is my job. He has been assigned to me."
"But, why?" I persisted. "Why do they—whoever they are—want him dead?"
"I do not ask. It is not my business."
"Yes it is. He's your target; I think you have a right to know."
"If I know too much, I may find myself as a target."
"Shin-Ra… doesn't have anything to do with this… do they?" I asked cautiously. I didn't wish him to think I knew anything. He paused for a second, and looked back at me. So much for trying to be discreet: he knew I knew.
"Why do you ask that?" I waited this time, thinking my answer carefully through.
"I just knew he had some trouble with them a while back." I shrugged it off, continuing to walk and brushing past him. He caught my arm and twisted me around to face him. I was used to this position.
"Tifa, don't tell me you were involved in some way." I watched his eyes, seeing some cryptic emotion floating in them, and nodded once. How odd it was to hear my name coming from his mouth. Would he kill me now? "Oh, God."
"I'm sorry," I gushed, not exactly sure why I was apologizing, but feeling the need to apologize anyway.
"Of all the people." He said, talking more to himself than to me and raking a hand through his unkempt hair. "Of all the goddamned people for Ryang to-" He stopped, realizing a name had just escaped his lips. Every fiber of me screamed to disregard it, pretend he hadn't said a thing, but no. Maniac girl— best friend and backstabber to Tifa Lockhart— blurted, "Ryang?"
Vincent looked as though he three options, rifling through them quickly in his head: (option a) tell Tifa to shut up and perhaps even erase her memory; (option b) slap Tifa and then tell her to shut up and/or erase her memory; and (option c) kill Tifa and not having to worry about option a or b.
Good ol' Vincent with his uncanny originality. Apparently there was an option d I overlooked: explain.
"The man above me." He explained. The King Pin. I thought.
"Wait." Another realization hit me. "Was I selected to give the papers to you?"
"Yes." That simple answer struck me mute. I didn't know what to say; there were people in his line of business that knew I existed. And now I had just given away to one of their probably most revered henchman that I had been involved in an anti-Shin-Ra organization, which was enough to have someone killed apparently.
"Please do not tell me you were a member of AVALANCHE." I wouldn't lie to him, yet he continued before my reply, "Just say no, Tifa. Say no and I will not ask you again." He really did not wish to harm me. I raised my eyebrows and dropped my jaw in surprise. All this time I thought he needed me for something else, something work related, however, now I understood. Or partially understood. He wanted me for his own reasons. He wanted me alive, too.
"But why Barret?" I inquired. Vincent groaned and rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"Say it, Tifa!" He shouted, catching my jaw in between his fingers. I hated lying all the more when he was forcing me to do so.
"Why?" I couldn't make myself say it. His grip on my jaw increased.
"Say it." His voice was dangerous now, and I closed my eyes.
"No." I wasn't sure if I was telling him no, or saying what he wanted. He assumed the latter, and I didn't mention anything more on the matter.
"He has a daughter." I raved on. Vincent maintained walking and released his hold on me. It took me a few moments to catch up physically and mentally. This man switched so quickly it was hard for even me to keep up. My friend, Yuffie, was a lot like that. "She's not really his daughter, her real father was killed by the Shin-Ra. Barret's taken care of her ever since. You can't take him away too! She's only eleven, what will she do? Go to Midgar and sell her body at the Honeybee Inn?"
"That is not my business." He addressed simply.
"You mean you don't care!" I yelled. "How can you be so heartless?"
"You would be too if you lived as I did and still do." He whispered softly.
"Vincent, you have no idea what I have gone through!" I answered sharply.
"I understand more than you know… Lucretia." Lucretia? Was that my new nickname? Certainly didn't seem to suit or have any obvious relevance. Still, I couldn't help but ask silly questions.
"What did you call me?" He was upset and angered again; I could see it in the way he held himself.
"Forget it." I didn't forget it though. I remembered it and continued to ponder it in our silence as we crossed the frozen quagmire and into the mountain pass.
---
A/N: Recently I've wondered if I've changed Vincent too much. Yes, his personality is quite different, his speech isn't as formal as it was in the game, but…oh well. I'm really too lazy to rewrite the whole thing. This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful Kikyo Tamayume, who is awesome, and hopefully the next one won't take as long to edit (considering what little time this chappie took in the end).