Memories and Nightmares

By: Illusion of the Mirror

A silver curtain of rain blurred the usually picturesque view of the woods from the wooden front porch. Tifa and Vincent sat in companionable silence, each in one of the white wicker chairs Tifa had so carefully selected when she bought the place. She was utterly content just being here with him, listening to the rhythmic beating of the rain.

She smiled as she watched Vincent sip the vodka and tonic she had mixed for him and chuckled lightly as she thought of the escapade of the day. After searching through the cavernous basement for a ladder tall enough to reach the light fixture above the stairs, it had taken Vincent very little time to complete the task. But since they were at it, Tifa requested that he help her change all the light bulbs out for the new energy-efficient ones she had bought months ago, a task that would take hours. If Vincent had suspected her motives, he didn't let on. Overall, it had been fairly easy to get him to stay, and for that, Tifa was exceedingly grateful.

Now, as she nursed her glass of merlot, Tifa observed her companion with piqued interest. It was definitely evident that something was troubling him. He kept scanning the surrounding area as if expecting someone or something to appear. Granted, as long as she had known Vincent, he had ever been the vigilant type, but tonight, a peculiar aura of tension seemed to surround him. If asked, Tifa couldn't explain it, but she could feel it, and she could see it in the way that his eyes never stopped moving.

In fact, as they had been traipsing about the house searching for sockets that needed filling, several times Tifa had caught him looking out a window or pausing to listen for any foreign sound. Frankly, she found his behavior unnerving.

She took a long sip of wine and then cleared her throat. "So…Vincent, I was thinking that since you're here, maybe you could help me clean out the attic."

For the first time since they moved to the porch, Vincent fixed her with his gaze, an eyebrow up in question.

Tifa situated herself so that she was facing him, sideways in her chair. "Well, you see, there's some heavy stuff up there that I can't lift and…" she paused and then sighed abashedly, "It's kind of scary up there."

The thought of Tifa, a grown woman who had fought off the end of the world, scared of the dark, musty attic of her own house, proved too much for Vincent. Much to Tifa's surprise, he let loose a short laugh but composed himself quickly. It wasn't sharp, but rather, a gentle sort of sound. Tifa wished she heard it more often.

Her ears burned as a blush spread across her face. "Is something funny, Mr. Valentine?" she asked in playful incredulity.

Vincent simply shook his head and took another sip of his Vodka. "I suppose that could be arranged, Miss Lockheart."

The humor in his voice caused Tifa to break into a smile. She was glad that he had mellowed out since they had first met him; he had been so humorless and brooding. Now, even though he was still highly reserved, Vincent seemed much more…well, human. Tifa's smile broadened as she emptied her glass. Thunder rolled in the distance and the rain started to fall a bit harder, a light wind swirling some of the drops up underneath the roof of the porch. Tifa shuddered and pulled her knees up to her chest, setting her glass aside thoughtfully.

"You know," she said tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "I used to love the rain. Back in Nibelheim, there was an old shed behind our house. When I was a kid, I used to run out there during storms and listen to the rain hitting the tin roof. The sound was always so…calming. I used to imagine it was my mother reaching down to tell me that she loved me and that everything would be okay."

There was a pause and Tifa suddenly felt self-conscious. "I suppose it sounds silly…"

Vincent turned to look at her. "Not at all." His gaze drifted upward as if he was trying to pull a distant memory from the recesses of his mind. Then, a wistful smile graced his lips, his expression softening almost imperceptibly.

"When I was a young boy I found a little cave during my explorations of the woods. During the frequent summer rainstorms I would hole up in the cave, oftentimes pretending I was an adventurer traveling distant and undiscovered lands, perhaps running from enemy natives."

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the reminiscent look on his face faded. He met Tifa's eyes again. "So why is it that storms now trouble you?"

Tifa crinkled her nose, "Trouble me?"

He nodded and pinned her with piercing crimson eyes.

It took a moment for Tifa to gather her thoughts. It was very rare that Vincent ever shared any stories from his past, and she had never heard one from his childhood. She shook her head slightly and looked down at her clasped hands. "I'm not sure when it happened…but now that I'm older, storms make me feel so…so small. They make me feel so very…"

"Alone."

Tifa met his eyes then. That single word had held such meaning, although she had no idea what sort. She nodded and smiled pensively. "Yes. I find it odd that as a child, I was emboldened by the very same thing that now makes me feel so much like a child."

Lightning struck the trees beyond the county road and thunder pealed moments later. "It seems you won't be alone this time," Vincent murmured as he finished his drink.

Tifa hugged her knees a bit tighter to hide her spreading grin. "Yes. Yes it does."

- O -

She is hiding. The armoire is warm with her sweat. She prays her breath is quiet so that he won't hear her. The crack of light beneath the door darkens. The footfalls cease. He is right outside the door! She hears him turn and start searching the room. It's her only chance. She takes it. The door flings open and she races down the blurry staircase and out the door into the pouring rain. Thunder booms in her ears and all the noise, save the pounding of her feet and the beating of her heart, fades.

She sprints into the woods. He's following! He's right on her heels! Who? She has no idea. She knows nothing but running. She has to find help. One foot in front of the other. Her muscles ache, her lungs burn, and she runs, runs, runs and she does not see the root. That same damn root. It's too late. She trips. She careens to the earthen floor. She screams as his shadow creeps over her fallen figure. All goes red.

- O -

Tifa burst out of the nightmare with a start, gasping for breath. A drop of sweat slid down her cheek…or was that a tear? It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, but she began to reorient herself. She was in her room. She was safe.

The nightmare was different this time, and Tifa was vexed by it. It was more real, more complete. But it had still ended the same way. Thunder rolled in the distance and Tifa threw back her quilt. No way in hell was she going to sleep in here tonight.

Exiting her room and pulling the door closed softly behind her, Tifa crept into the hall, careful not to make a sound as she passed Vincent's room. But as she reached the staircase, something was wrong. There was a light on somewhere downstairs and she was sure they had been off when she and Vincent had retired to bed.

Tifa knew that Vincent was probably responsible for the light, but the nightmare had put her on edge, so she was extra careful descending the stairs. Once on the landing, she saw that the light was actually coming from a newly lit fire that blazed in the oversized stone fireplace. Vincent was nowhere in sight.

"Hello," she said in a near whisper. "Vincent?" No answer.

Rubbing her bare arms, Tifa moved closer to the flames, her tired eyes entranced by the hypnotic tongues of orange and yellow as they devoured the wooden logs offered to them so graciously.

"Tifa?"

Tifa jumped at the sound of Vincent's deep voice. She held her hand over her heart and let out a few deep breaths. "Oh, Vincent, you startled me!"

Vincent bowed his head in apology. "I am sorry. That was not my intention." He approached slowly, that eyebrow raised again. "Why are you awake at this hour?"

"I might ask you the same thing." Tifa sat down on the sofa in front of the fire and tried to calm her nerves. "The storm woke me up." It was sort of true.

"I can see where that would be a problem," Vincent said as another clap of thunder echoed through the old house, much closer than the last. He sat next to her and offered her a half-empty bowl of popcorn.

She fixed him with a questioning look but accepted the bowl, taking a handful. "Hm, I didn't think you were the popcorn type, Vincent."

He took the bowl back from her with a slight smile. "I happen to be full of surprises."

It was Tifa's turn to smile. Then, a deliciously fanciful idea came to her. "Wait here." She rose from her seat and hurried into the kitchen.

When she returned to the couch, she bore two shish-ka-bob stakes, an enormous chocolate bar, a bag of marshmallows, and a box of graham crackers. She set the items down on the coffee table with a flourish.

"Do you know what these are for?" she asked with a playful smile.

He gave her one of those eyebrow looks. "S'mores, perhaps?"

"Very good!" Tifa clapped her hands together and sat down. "Do you like smores, Vincent?" She held up the chocolate bar and held it in front of her nose. When he didn't reply, she shook her head and picked up one of the wooden sticks. "Here, I'll help you out." She produced a puffy, white marshmallow from the bag and impaled it before holding the finished product out to Vincent.

He hesitantly took the skewer from her and she immediately began to build her own. Once she had finished, she set the bag of marshmallows aside. "Splendid! Then…shall we?"

After a bit more prodding, Tifa got Vincent to join her in roasting the tasty treats. When Tifa was roasting her fourth and Vincent his third, they ran out of chocolate and discarded the other ingredients, opting to simply roast the marshmallows. When Tifa made fun of Vincent for eating his marshmallows nearly burned, he raised and referenced the fact that she merely warmed hers in the fire before stuffing them in her mouth. This led to Tifa throwing her warm, squishy marshmallow at Vincent, who then threw his own crispy marshmallow at her.

After they had polished off half of the bag, Tifa leaned back and yawned a great, sleepy yawn. Vincent stifled a yawn as well and she smiled. "Sorry, that was my fault. I should have known better than to start yawning."

This earned a rather wry smile from Vincent. "Yes, well, be sure you do not let it happen again."

Tifa rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock above the fireplace. "God, it's already three." She turned to Vincent. "I guess we should probably get some sleep then."

"I suppose."

While Tifa put away the mess of ingredients, Vincent put out the fire, and then together they climbed the stairs.

"Goodnight, Tifa," Vincent murmured with a bow of his head.

Tifa smiled playfully with finger to her lips. "Don't you mean good morning?"

Vincent indulged her. "Very well. Good morning, Tifa."

"Good morning, Vincent."

Vincent closed his door and Tifa went to her room. But she stopped in the threshold. The nightmare rushed back at her in full force. There would be no sleep to be had in this room. Slowly, Tifa turned and stared down the hall to the empty room where Marlene and Denzel had slept. Allowing herself to move without thought, Tifa reached the doorframe and paused. The rain pattered against the window, and somewhere deep in the bowels of the house, the air conditioning kicked on.

Hesitantly, Tifa let her hand trail along the footboard of the bed Marlene had claimed as her own. She sat on the edge and smoothed out the wrinkles in the comforter, ignoring the painful pricking behind her eyes. Her hands moved of their own accord, peeling back the sheets, guiding her tear-streaked face down to the goose-down pillow. Tifa breathed deeply. It still smelled like Marlene's banana-pineapple shampoo.

Sobs bubbled up from within and Tifa stifled them as best she could in her arms. God, she missed them. She missed her father…she missed her mother. She missed the family she had almost had.

As her sobs faded into hiccups and sniffles, Tifa quieted and listened to the rain hitting the roof. She thought of the shed and a tear rolled down her cheek. But the image of a young Vincent crawling about in a cave came into her mind and a wistful smile parted her lips.

Vincent would probably never know how much it meant that he had shared that story with her. She closed her eyes and slipped into a calm, yet restless, sleep. But her dreams weren't of running; they were of children in jungles and adventures in caves and fighting cannibals with Vincent Valentine at her side.

- O -

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