The Healing Power of Moogle

"I am falling into grace/ to the unknown, to where you are/ and faith makes everybody scared/ it's the unknown, the don't know/ that keeps me hanging on to you"
– Unknown, Lifehouse

"Tifa, what's wrong with Vincent? Is he sick?"

"He just needs rest, Marlene. He… had a bad shock."

"He's not sick in his body, then?"

"No, not sick in his body, honey."

"Is he… sick in his heart, Tifa? Like Cloud was?"

Tifa paused, giving the young girl a startled glance. "He might be. We'll just have to see when he wakes up." Tifa put her hands on her knees, lowering herself to look Marlene in the eye. "But if you don't hurry up, you'll be late for your friend's party." She straightened up, giving her a strained smile. "Go change and I'll meet you downstairs in a few minutes, okay?"

Marlene just nodded and turned to her room. She changed and tied her red ribbon around the end of her braid, and on her way down to leave, she stopped outside of Vincent's room, cracking open the door. She peeked her head in and stole a look at his sleeping form. Denzel wasn't sick anymore. Neither was Cloud. Marlene paused to consider. Was he? Or did his heart still hurt too? She didn't want Vincent to feel that way. She smiled as she came up with an idea. She knew just what would make him feel better.


It was his nightmare again, but it had changed. This time, he saw her eyes crack wide open against the crystal that encased her, and it melted away against her hand, as her fingers reached out, beckoned him to her, and he took a single step forward, arm outstretched as if to catch her. And that single tear she had shed slipped from it's entrapment, spilling toward the pool of water below her, and as the crystal continued to melt away and he held his arms out to catch her as she finally, finally came to him, her eyes filled with light and relief, and that tear she had cried for him struck the water, and as the soft swish it made echoed through the cavern, the spear of crystal she was still surrounded by turned midnight–black, and she slumped forward, eyes closed, poisoned by her prison and still grasping for Vincent's hand.

Vincent shot straight up in bed, quilt flying and scattering the things on top of the dresser. He immediately regretted it, wincing and clutching his head in his hands, a headache so strong he had to pinch his eyes shut against it. Is this a hangover? I haven't felt like this since the night after Lucrecia's wedding… His eyes flew open, hands still on his face, as memory crashed through his scrambled brain. The change in his dreams, the muffled radiance, those words that had made his whole world rock on its axis. What if I can come back to you, Vincent?

He fell back against his pillow, gritting his teeth. He knew what his heart wanted, what it had always wanted. He had not lied when he said he wanted her to be happy. But that selfish part of him, the part he loathed above all else, whispered that he'd really just wanted her to be happy with him. And was she? Or more importantly, would she be, if he succeeded in freeing her?

Lucrecia had locked herself into that cavern, he knew. The last time he looked on her breathing face, weary with grief and desperately asking about her son's fate, he would not allow himself to tell her anything other than the truth. No more deceptions, no more manipulation; they were both full from Hojo's, years before. And so he told her of things that were past, but not of the things in the future. He would not tell her he was on a quest to finally rid her son of life. So he was guilty of the things he despised, no matter how much he tried to deny it; he had promised her the truth and told her only half, because he was afraid she would hate him. Did she know that now? Did she ask him to free her from her self–inflicted confinement, not knowing the things that had occurred? Would she forgive him? Or had she reached the point he had, ready to simply try to forgive her own as well as other's trespasses?

Vincent rolled onto his stomach, bearing his face into the pillows, clutching it so hard his claw shredded it. Can I do something that doesn't involve the death of another? If I leave this life I have fallen into, can I ever dare hope to find it intact when I return? When everything I do to try to save or protect or restore always involves destruction? He opened his eyes against the soft fabric, staring at the blur it created. And if I attempt what she asks of me, where I do even begin? He rolled over to look up at the ceiling, trapped in his reverie, when he noticed he was laying on something incredibly lumpy. He sat up, twisting his torso to retrieve it. His eyes widened after he comprehended what it was. Marlene's precious moogle doll. Had she slipped it into his bed while he slept? He gave it a slight squeeze, feeling the place where she hugged it so tight its stuffing had been rearranged. It was worn and faded and threadbare, tired by the strength of a child's love, and she had tucked it next to him. He wanted to ask himself why, why he would deserve it, but he was tired of questioning his worth. The fact she cared that much was enough. She had wanted to comfort him, to make whatever was wrong easier to bear. Maybe he'd do it for Marlene. So what was the means to that end?

He summoned up the last joyful memory he had; the one he kept locked away in a secret place, hoping to keep it untainted from the darkness inside him. She was sitting beside him, and he could smell the blossoms from the tree, and he felt that tightness in his chest as he watched her laugh, face tipped into the sun, and he took that precious second to memorize every ridge and hollow, every laugh line around her mouth, every crease around her eyes, the exact curve of her lips. That moment, when he knew he had fallen in love.

It had been so long since he'd allowed himself to relive that memory that he lost his breath all over again. His heart began its fluttered, twisting rhythm, and he pressed the stuffed doll into his chest, riding out the wave of bittersweet ache. That was what he needed to feel better again, the one thing that would stop the torment. He needed to hear her laugh, watch her face, see her lost in her delight.

Vincent lay back, still holding the doll, and stared at the ceiling, letting himself be awash in a newfound hope, and then began to work out a plan.

Marlene swung Tifa's hand as they walked down the street toward her friend's house, carrying a brightly wrapped present. Neither said a word, lost in their own thoughts, until Marlene blurted out, "Why is Vincent sad, Tifa?"

Tifa glanced at the thoughtful girl out of the corner of her eye. "Because he lost someone that was very dear to him once, and he feels like it was his fault."

She seemed to take this in without question, nodding her head. "Was she pretty?"

Tifa was startled into a chuckle. "I don't know, sweetie, I never met her."

"I think if Vincent liked her, she had to be pretty." They walked along for a few moments, silent again, until Marlene's curiosity got better of her. "Is that why you're sad today, Tifa? Is Cloud going to leave again?"

Tifa's step faltered. "No." Marlene looked up at her, trying to discern if it was answer to one question or both, and decided to change the subject back.

"I think Vincent should get her back, Tifa. I like it when he smiles." Marlene made a face. "Even if he was kinda scary at first."

Tifa smiled. "I think he should smile more, too."

Marlene let go of Tifa's hand, dancing ahead of her a few steps. "I gave him Moogle to snuggle with. So he'll sleep better." She stopped in the middle of the deserted street, kicking at an empty soda can. "Do you think he'll get her back?"

Tifa paused next to her, wondering where this intuitive insight was coming from when they hadn't told her anything. "I think he will." She nodded her head at Marlene. "I know he will."

After dropping Marlene off at her party, she wondered once more how Marlene had even guessed at the circumstances. Tifa sat down on a nearby bench, leaning back to catch some sun, and contemplated not going home. The bar was closed for the day, Vincent most likely still sleeping, Cloud home from deliveries soon. That was what she didn't want to face. The awkward silence, that feeling like she had lost everything she's tried so hard to keep together, especially when she looked up and caught him giving her that blank gaze. She knew he had meant those words for Vincent, but they ripped her apart all the same. She felt degraded. Hadn't she lost a friend, too? Hadn't they all? Was their loss less than his, because he had loved her in a different way? Tifa shook her head against the bitter thoughts she usually kept repressed. Although the temptation to wander Edge and ignore her problems was strong, she rose to her feet and headed home anyway, trying to gather courage to tackle them with something other than her fists.

Even though beating the living hell out of Cloud still sounded like grand idea.

Tifa slammed the front door, itching for a fight. Fenrir had been parked outside, and she'd thought up a few ways to give Cloud a piece of her mind, once and for all. She was stopped cold when all she saw in her living was Vincent, upright and tapping a pen against the coffee table. She came up behind him, hands clasped behind her back. "Whatcha doing?"

Vincent dropped the pen, turning slowly. "Cloud wanted me to tell you he took Denzel out for ice cream."

Tifa nodded. Vincent was being purposefully evasive, just like Cloud. "What are you writing?" She peered over his shoulder as he sat there, staring straight ahead. When she saw her, Cloud's, and the kids' names addressed at the top, she was astonished. "You're leaving? Without saying goodbye?" She crossed her arms in front of her, tapping a foot. At least she was getting her fight.

Vincent just looked at her, expression blank, and came to his feet, towering over her. "I can't get any of you involved in this, just in case."

"Just in case what, Vincent? In case you never come back?" Tifa attempted to stare him down.

He shook his head slowly. "I cannot allow any harm to come to any of you, not because of my selfish pursuit."

Tifa's eyebrows shot up her forehead. "And saying goodbye properly would be harmful?" She uncrossed her arms as Vincent gazed at her stonily. "Besides, we're your friends. Don't you know by now you can't do anything alone anymore?" He's almost as difficult as Cloud.

He sighed. Tifa inwardly rejoiced. She loved it when she won. "Can you at least wait until Marlene gets home? She'd be heartbroken." Tifa headed toward the kitchen. "Especially if you took Moogle with you." She glanced behind her. Vincent didn't blush, but it was close.