Chapter 5: A Promise

Vincent awoke to the sound of chirping birds outside, although the sun had not quite made its presence known. He rose silently, passing the sleeping figure on the sofa, and crossed to the window.

The town was still sleeping; not a soul traversed the square on this the frigid morning, not a breath of wind ruffled the grass in the square and all the shadows lay still; exactly how Vincent liked it.

The sky to the east was tinted a delicate gold, the surrounding sky still blackened by darkness; though the colour was beginning to bleed out, like mixing paint. A lone cat slinked in-between the shadows of two houses quickly, and then was gone, as though she realised that it was absurd to be stalking the streets at such an hour.

He knew Cloud would be out there somewhere, and it was only a matter of time before he would come back. He was a determined man after all; if he wanted to get to Tifa, he would try his hardest. But now, Vincent thought, he was the force between them, protecting Tifa from the sole thing she lived for.

Things were going to get worse before they got better, he knew, gritting his teeth at the very thought of it. She would curse him, scream at him, try to hurt him, and even hate him. But Vincent was used to this. He had tried to keep Lucrecia away, tried to keep her safe, from making her last fatal mistake, but in the end she had hated him too.

There he was again, making the same comparisons. Perhaps it was unfair to compare the only two women he had allowed to get close to him in his life. Tifa was Tifa, here and now, alive and in another place, yet he couldn't ignore that bitter taste of familiarity.

No. Lucrecia didn't listen to Vincent. Had instead defied him, and had given up her body for 'science' (In more ways than one, Vincent thought with a bitter grimace).

Tifa had succumbed to him, had listened to him, although she didn't really understand his reasons for helping her, for staying behind after all that had transpired. Yet why should she? Who was he to waltz in and try to tell her how to live her life? Should anyone else have done the same thing to him, he wouldn't have listened.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, Tifa needed him. His harsh words and his almost cruel way of dealing with things would help her more than both of them knew. She might never be grateful, but at least he would have the satisfaction of seeing her live.

Like Lucrecia had not.

He watched her sleeping for as long as he dared, noting just how care-free she looked; no anguish, no hard lines on that flawless face, and most relieving, no tears. He tore his eyes away, gazing out onto the town once more, arms folded defensively across his chest.

He almost scoffed aloud to think what Cid would say right now, if he could see him; Weakened by the sight of a beautiful woman, the damsel in distress in need of his help. He screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip, inwardly admonishing himself. So damn weak. Damn him, and damn Tifa.

Several hours had passed, with Vincent staring resolutely out of the window, watching the morning envelope the town and slowly bring it to life. His meditative silence went on, unbroken, until a soft murmur aroused him from his reflections.

He silently crossed to her side, levelling his face with hers. He found her sleeping still, though her lips were slightly apart, a trace of a whisper. He touched his fingers lightly to her forehead; she was slightly feverish. He wasn't surprised after all she'd been through. It was enough to make anyone sick.

He got to his feet again, and made to leave, until her voice called out to him.

"Father." Vincent glanced back over his shoulder, a slight frown marring his features; her eyes were closed, though her lashes fluttered ever so slightly. He returned to her, gaze travelling from her face to her slightly clenched fingers resting beside her. Hesitating, he placed his cool fingers between hers, ignoring the sudden lump that rose in his throat. She clasped his fingers in hers gently, a reflex perhaps, turning her face towards their entwined hands as though seeking comfort from its presence. "Daddy."

"No, Tifa." He said somewhat coldly, unable to think of anything to say, to a woman who had lost her father years before. He cursed himself silently, giving her fingers a tentative squeeze in return.

Although he wasn't her father, he was the next best thing right now.

"Vincent..." She whispered, eyes opening slowly, blinking in the harsh morning light. "You've been here all night?"

"Yes. Where else would I have been?" He gazed at her blankly, feeling more and more uncomfortable by the second with the arrangement.

"I don't know, I just thought you might... oh." A slight blush rose to her cheeks upon noticing their clasped hands. She pulled away without obvious haste. "Sorry, was I talking in my sleep?"

"Yes you were." He looked momentarily surprised by her question.

"Cloud said I often did it. Used to call out for my Dad." She sighed gently, gazing up at the ceiling, her eyes fresh and clear from sleep.

Sensing that his presence could be considered overbearing, he rose to his feet, crossing to the window and letting the blinds open up to the morning.

Tifa gasped and shielded her eyes from the sun with her bare forearm. It shone pale and smooth in the light.

There was something symbolic and oddly therapeutic about moving through each room of Tifa's lonely house and opening the rooms up to the hazy morning sunshine. He threw open the windows, letting in the sounds of the day, along with a fresh breeze and the scent of the meadow.

That done, he entered her cosy kitchen. Various shelves dotted the walls, encumbered by cookbooks, utensils and pretty objects that he supposed Tifa had been collecting for a while; pretty glass vases, one filled with drooping wild flowers, ornaments, and pictures.

It was the latter that stalled Vincent's wandering eyes. A few were of her mother and father, another of her as a child, then one of Avalanche, assembled in front of the Highwind. Shera had taken the picture when they had landed in Rocket Town, two years ago. He remembered the day vividly. The sun was shining so brightly, yet Tifa's expression did not reflect the good weather. Something had been troubling her ever since they had left Midgar. But Vincent wasn't one to meddle with other people's problems. He had had enough with his own back then.

The walls were dappled with sunlight which drew his attention to a novelty clock that hung there, adorned with chickens. A rather startled chicken was pointing its wing at the ninth hour.

The sound of water in the pipes- Tifa must be running a bath or taking a shower. He supposed that she must be hungry; she looked underweight in comparison to her image from two years ago. Yet he understood how one could easily forget your most basic needs, as the lonely days stretched ahead of you. It mustn't have seemed to matter anymore.

There had been many times when he hadn't bothered about eating, or even sleeping for that matter. He knew he couldn't let Tifa deprive herself of both, for as long as she was in his care though.

He began the process of opening the cupboards in the unfamiliar kitchen to locate the breakfast things. When Tifa returned downstairs, hair damp about her shoulders and feeling invigorated from her bath, it was to find Vincent bent intently over the stove, several pans sizzling away under his watch.

She smiled to herself, watching him for a moment from her place leant in the doorway, admiring how seemingly being unobserved affected his facial expressions. It only took him a few moment to notice her presence eventually, so she entered the kitchen and opened the fridge, pouring out two glasses of orange juice. She set one down for Vincent on the work surface beside him. He murmured a 'thanks', and drank deeply, maintaining his supervision on the cooking.

In next to no time a fully cooked breakfast was placed before her upon her kitchen table, and it was all she could do not to eat it too quickly, because it was delicious. She suddenly became aware of how hungry she was, her appetite returning to her with vengeance. When she had finished, she pushed her plate towards the centre of the table and reclined in her seat, a hand resting idly on her now-full stomach.

"Vincent that was amazing!" She thanked him graciously, and he, now also fully nourished, waved his hand dismissively to her recognition. "I'll make us dinner tonight," she began, a new enthusiasm for food that had evaded her for so long, erupting within her. "I'll make a pie."

Vincent observed the almost instantaneous changes that had occurred within her, in the time since he'd arrived. Her cheeks possessed some colour now, and her general manner seemed optimistic and much more reminiscent of a Tifa that had existed a few years ago. No more Cloud, no more restraints, no more violence. Tifa was a free woman.

"Vincent?" Tifa's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Hm?"

"I said would you like pie or stew?" An amused smile graced her lips. "You can't be thinking about something much more interesting than food?" She gave a laugh that Vincent felt relieved to hear from her, after so long.

"Well actually Tifa, I need to talk to you." He observed a momentary flicker in her smile, reminding him that she hadn't quite fully recovered. It would take longer, for the cracks were still showing through. "It's about Cloud."

"Yes, of course." The smile was gone now.

"You do know he will return someday." He asked.

"Of course I know he will come back. He always does." She gazed into his face with open defiance. "His fierce protective streak will win him over and he'll come back for me. Whether to apologise, or..." She ran a hand agitatedly through her hair, pausing mid-sentence. "I know… I'm being wishful. There's no going back now, after what I've been through. I… I can never forgive him for what he's done. For… for hating me for being me, and not someone else."

Vincent offered no response to her revelations. Her words was enough for him to leave the conversation where it had started. Part of her wanted to think he would come back a changed man, but he was glad to see that the rational part of her knew that he would never be the same man. She wouldn't allow her old feelings to interfere should he ever return, and for that, he felt as though they had achieved a small victory at least.

Tifa began to clear away the dishes, as a way to fill the silence that Vincent had allowed to form.

"I'm sorry Vincent, I didn't mean to get… overwhelmed." she sighed, her arms elbow deep in soapy water, hair pulled tightly over one shoulder. "I'm just finding it difficult to adjust, now that he's gone. I've always relied on him… and I've had to learn the hard way that I have to rely on myself now."

"There's no need to be sorry," Vincent answered, drying each article as she finished washing it. "I merely wished to ask you if you objected to me staying here. To make sure you're safe."

She surveyed him for a moment, drying her hands with a cloth, the water gurgling away down the sink.

"I would have never guessed that you would have come here and… well, done everything that you have done for me. You never cease to surprise me Vincent." Her eyes were lowered, her hands now resting limp at her sides. "I'm… I'm thankful. And yes, I would be happy to have you here. I… I can't imagine what would have happened had you not… intervened…"

"Tifa..."

"But how long do you think that I will be safe for, Vincent? How will you know when it is safe to leave?"

"I will not leave if I believe you are in danger, Tifa."

Now having finished his task of drying the dishes, Vincent felt suddenly uncomfortable, no longer having anything to busy himself with. Instead, he forced himself to look into Tifa's troubled face. She sighed and exited the room, entering into the empty bar at the front of her house, aware of Vincent's quietly following footsteps.

"I'll be opening the bar at 6pm." She stated, her voice sounding rudely loud in the large vacant bar. Vincent noticed that the broken glass from the night before still lay scattered across the wooden floor, the shards glinting in the shafts of sunlight. He could still detect traces of blood gleaming upon the shattered remnants of the whiskey glass.

"We should clear this up." She said quietly, turning away from the scene and staring at Vincent, looking suddenly pale.

"I'll do it." He said, taking her by the arm and leading her to a chair. "You don't have to worry." Sensing he was losing her again, he shook her gently. "Tifa. I'll be here, I promise. I… I won't let him hurt you again."

"You're really angry with him, aren't you?" She gazed into his face, torn between gentle appreciation and panic.

He crouched before her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

The action reminded Tifa of when he'd done the same to a frightened child running from the fires of her hometown. The girl's face had been streaked with soot, and her feet were bare and bleeding. She had fainted shortly afterwards, and Vincent had had to carry her, Tifa and the others watching in amazement at the sudden show of protectiveness from their newest introverted group member. The girl murmured that her parents had perished in the fire. She had no other family. She had died shortly after.

"I am angry, yes. I cannot allow him to go on treating you that way. Others would be so lucky to receive the same devotion such as you have shown to him."

Tifa lowered her head, long hair falling over her face. "You make me sound like a devoted child. I… I thought we could start a life together." She twisted the fabric of her t-shirt in her hands. "I was naive, and foolish, but… he was the nearest thing to family I had."

"Avalanche are your family, Tifa. Barrett and Cid would tear him to pieces if they knew."

As would I, he thought, if only I weren't so worried about what Tifa would think of me afterwards. He had controlled his rage, so as not to show it in Tifa's presence. He didn't want to be stood between Tifa and Cloud's corpse. "You should have told them."

"It's not that simple though, is it?" She laughed bitterly, shoving the stray hair behind her ear with irritation. "I was living with the hope that he would get over it eventually, someday. Why would I want to push him away from me, when I had been trying so hard to get closer?" She gave him a meaningful glance, which he couldn't fully comprehend. "Don't pretend to understand me, Vincent." She averted her face, her jaw set in resoluteness.

"Tifa you were trying to kill yourself. If that isn't trying to get away, I don't know what is." She brought back her arm and slapped him sharply, before giving a shocked hiccough, raising her hand to her mouth, shame emanating from her eyes. It didn't hurt, just enough to sting on contact. Vincent let a slow breath out through his nose.

"I don't pretend to understand. I do understand. Don't be so ignorant as to presume you are the only one to have gotten your heart broken." He got to his feet and retrieved the sweeping brush that stood in the corner, setting about brushing the shards of glass noisily together into a pile with anger-fuelled fervour.

"I'm sorry Vincent, I don't know why I did that..."

"I do. You're ashamed, so the first thing you do is silence the people who try to help you." He kept his back to her, trying to quash his contempt. It didn't work. All he could taste was bitterness, so old and so strong he wondered if any of it could possibly be directed at her. He sighed and straightened up, turning his face towards her slightly. "Just forget it."

She knew he wouldn't have her apologise again, and neither would her pride, so instead she fetched the shovel, and together they removed the broken pieces in silence.

-0-

A/N: a bit of tidying up of the dialogue, adjectives and sentence structure for this chapter. Not too much to do here! Remembered the switch in narrative to 3rd person; trying to get people to see how they interact, rather than just receiving Vincent's perspective.

Night all!