Chapter 10: A Burial

She found herself back in her own room at night. Partly because she wanted to show Vincent she was strong enough, and partly so she would not have face him in that dark. She was suddenly cautious, hyper aware of Vincent's perception of her. Following his revelation beneath the oak tree, her mind had been left reeling, conflicted between an unaddressed grief for Cloud's passing, and her growing feelings for Vincent.

She should have been pleased; she long gave up telling herself that she wasn't attracted to him. It was plain that something between them had changed, though whether just on her behalf, or on both, she wasn't entirely sure. Her pragmatic side told her that her attachment was purely opportunistic, that had it been another man, she might feel the same way for him. Yet her heart disagreed. There had been something there already. A miniscule thing, locked away within her, so small she didn't even know it was there. All it took was a little care and attention, and that seed had sprouted, beginning to grow into something that promised to be beautiful.

It would take so much more before anything between them was ever possible, she suspected. Vincent was far too cautious and damaged in his own way to allow consequence to dictate his emotions.

All she did know, was that now wasn't the time to speak of it. Cloud was dead, the first man she had ever loved, leaving the gaping hole in her heart chafing and bleeding at its new loss. In fact, she had lost him years ago, though for as long as he lived she had had hope. Now that was gone.

She still woke in the night sometimes, alone and shivering, craving the warmth of an embrace that wasn't there waiting for her beneath the sheets. This night being no exception, she gave in to an impulse, silently berating herself for her weakness. She tiptoed down the stairs, sure enough to find Vincent awake on the couch; He had been reading, though he slotted his bookmark into place and set his novel aside upon noticing her dithering at the foot of the stairs.

"Do you need something?"

"Actually… yes: A drink."

-0-

An hour later found them cramped together on the small sofa in the bar. Vincent had set the fire to crackling merrily before them, thawing away her shivers. Still, she rubbed at imaginary goosebumps on her arms, tucking her feet beneath her. She sipped at her glass of mulled wine, soothed by the scent of cloves and cinnamon. Vincent sat comfortably beside her with a whiskey, gaze trained lazily on the fire.

She studied him, her chin in her hand. He seemed relaxed, by anyone's standards. Yet she'd gotten to know him so much better recently, tuned herself into his habits, the way he liked to sit, how his body language reflected or contrasted with his moods. His feet were crossed at the ankles, long legs stretched out before him, yet his fingers resting in his lap were tensed, twitching occasionally, the tendons shortening and lengthening beneath the surface of his skin.

Her mouth suddenly dry, she took a rather large sip of her drink to lubricate her speech.

"It's… It's the funeral in three days."

So far, their conversation had managed to avoid Cloud all together in the days since the incident. Vincent's gaze snapped to her face, and in an instant that pretence of ease was gone. His legs were drawn up, drink temporarily forgotten.

"Everyone is coming?"

She nodded dumbly, aware of how awkward Vincent was feeling. He mirrored her, nodding back because it was all he could think to do. There was nothing to say, except the obvious which they had both been skirting around for days. Even Cid, most notorious of their friends for saying what needed to be said when nobody else would, had kept his lips firmly sealed without any persuasion from Shera.

"It's going to be strange…" The word seemed so ill-fitted. She was dreading it, unsure of how she should act in front of so many friends who hadn't even known. "Saying goodbye…"

"I… He was a good man, once."

Tifa nodded silently again, taking another sip of her drink. Then another. "He was all I had left… After my parents, and after… after Sephiroth burned down Nibelheim. And now it's all gone."

…Because of him. He closed his eyes, sighing through his nose. He had taken what little she had left away. Though he didn't regret it for an instant, although that was a sentiment he would never reveal.

"When you shot him… did you… intend to kill him?" she suddenly asked, her eyes beginning to fill up with tears. His stomach gave an involuntary flip. She had broken the unspoken vow of silence, crossed the line into unfamiliar territory. "Honestly?"

If he was honest with her about this, could he ever repair the damage? "I told Cloud… that if he ever came back to hurt you… I would kill him." Shame knotted up his throat, a nervous sweat breaking out all over his body.

Tifa dissolved into tears, her hands covering her face as she turned away from him. This was different from all those other times she had cried, he recalled thinking then, anguish and torment gnawing away at him. His raised hand at the level of her shoulder quivered; too tainted to touch and far too guilty to comfort.

"Tifa I had no other choice, he was going to kill you." his protests were in vain, his voice failing to obey him in remaining calm and steady. He even sounded guilty.

Though he said nothing more, his mind recalled the details of the event; the glint of Cloud's sword in the moonlight, the way his own hands shook as he raised his gun arm. It had never felt so heavy to lift in his life, and suddenly it had never been so important that he didn't miss. One shot to the leg had thrown off his lunge. The blade had still made contact, her scream cut short as she crumpled to the ground. The second bullet tore through his chest, shredding his lungs to pieces, shrapnel embedded in his heart.

Curling into a tight ball on the floor by his feet, no more sense could be made from her unhushed, shoulder-wracking sobs.

A sudden wave of indignation hit him, his lips pulled tight. He had saved her from Cloud, not once, but twice. Yet it seemed the real enemy was now herself. He lifted her to her feet without ceremony as she set about kicking in resistance, taking her against her will to the window overlooking the square.

"Look, Tifa. If I hadn't of done what I did, that would have been the spot where you died, not him," he stressed, her wrists held tight in his grasp to stop her from punching him. "Did you seriously expect me to let that happen?"

She only whimpered in response.

"What's going on?"

Cid stood in his bed clothes in the doorway, groggy eyed and yawning, taking everything in with an air of suspicion. Vincent had never been so pleased to see him, begging with his gaze for the pilot to rescue him.

"C'mon Tifa, let's get you back to bed." Cid took Tifa by the elbow and led her into the back, shooting an apologetic glance over his shoulder, leaving Vincent reeling in the bar. To vent his frustration, he picked up his whiskey glass, drained it, and then threw it to the floor, the glass shattering violently.

Would Tifa ever see what he had done for her? No. Of course not. Not now, at least.

He had allowed Lucrecia to make her own mistakes, mistakes that cost her life in the end, and where had that gotten him; Propelled thirty years into the future, sharing his body with demons, unable to move on from his not-so distant past.

Still, he wasn't about to let Tifa suffer the same fate. In spite of everything, how angry he was, how much he just wanted to slam the door after him as he stormed out of this godforsaken town, he would remain behind a little while longer. He would have had to say goodbye to Tifa, eventually though, and he didn't know how that would transpire. She had started to expect things from him; she'd started to get attached. Yet that wasn't even the worst part of it: he wanted to stay. When she wasn't crying, berating him for his failures and faults, he enjoyed her company, probably more than anyone else's.

His mother had told him once, that he couldn't lose what he didn't have. And she was right.

-0-

The day of the funeral loomed. Tifa had simply existed for most of the day, not leaving her room, and eating little. Her clothes for the next day lay on her chair, simple black attire which she had picked impassively. She didn't know how she felt any longer.

Drained, tired from no sleep. She didn't miss him anymore, didn't feel that emptiness inside when she realised he no longer loved her. Nor did she hate him. She waited out the dawn, standing at her window, not moving, watching a weak sun ascend into the watery sky. Coldness crept over her skin, a light shiver travelling across her body as she suddenly became aware of how long she had been stood there, unmoving. With a sigh, she divulged herself of her clothing, coming to stand before her bedroom mirror, staring dispassionately at her dreary reflection.

Sharply protruding hipbones, flat stomach, pointed shoulders, sunken eyes. Her hair hung limp about her face, her arms crossed defensively across her breasts. An ugly scar, only just healing again, crossed her abdomen, a red smile, an evil grin. She hated to see it. It was forever a reminder of her past and of her losses.

Her every muscle ached, as they used to after she had been to training as a girl. But she hadn't trained in years, and all that muscle definition and tone had been lost long ago. She was a shadow of her former self.

But today was a new day, a new beginning. Just like Midgar, although it had only been two years. It felt longer. She smiled. She could start a fresh, with a new house, somewhere quiet, perhaps on a riverbank, or by a lake. She could walk there every evening, grass tickling her ankles, wild flowers grasped loosely in one hand, and someone else's hand clasped in the other.

Oh Vincent….

Tears forced their way down her cheeks; it felt almost painful, as though the tears of previous nights had left weeping sores where they had fallen. Ignoring them, she dressed her aching body in black, the items not fitting her frame the same way they used to.

Cid and Shera mistook her tears for grieving, tried to comfort her when she went down to the bar. She sobbed silently into a tissue, refusing to speak, until it was time to leave for the burial.

It was in a beautiful place, the Kalm cemetery. She thought of the old Cloud, the one she had loved, and of his apparent happiness with the town when they had arrived here two years ago. How he had smiled, how she had smiled.

The day was fresh and cool, and light breeze caressing her tear-stained cheeks. Yuffie, Red, Barrett; they were all there, faces solemn yet shocked, ashamed that they hadn't noticed their friend slowly fading away at the hands of a man she loved so much. And Vincent, stood at the back of the procession. His back was turned to the group, form leaning heavily against the tall willow tree that shaded the cemetery.

The minister said a prayer over the grave. A prayer Tifa had heard before, when at the funerals of her parents. God it hurt so much. Why did it always come to this?

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters…

She longed for such peace, one day.

He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness, for His name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for you are with me….

She was never afraid, once. A tremor in Vincent's shoulders caught her attention. She felt as though she were walking in a dream; no one watched her as she moved around the assembled group, towards Vincent.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; my cup runs over.

She reached the tree, stopping behind his tall frame, unsure of what to say. Instead, she slid her fingers between his, resting her cheek on his shoulder. She wanted to tell him she didn't blame him anymore, that she had only been angry. Angry with Cloud, for never being the things he had promised her.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord Forever."

-0-

Everyone had returned to the bar. The cemetery was lit, as by tradition, with small lanterns, flickering in the breeze. It was nightfall in Kalm, and Tifa had not moved from the grave side since the morning, knelt on the grass, staring at the freshly turned soil.

"Tifa, it's getting late."

"I know Vincent." Tifa sighed, struggling to her feet, her joints complaining at her sudden movements.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" He asked, tossing a coat over her shoulders. She offered him a weak smile, threading her arm through his. "Everyone has been waiting for you."

"I'm sorry." She sighed, walking stiffly, their conjoined shadow moving in and out of the little pools of lantern light. "I just needed to talk to him. It's been the only time that he has listened."

"I understand. And what did he tell you?" She looked up quickly, expecting to find mockery in his face, but found none, only the directness of the Vincent she knew.

"That I should try to forget. Move to a place with… green pastures and still waters…" She lowered her gaze, as though ashamed.

"Is there such a place, for you?" He was leading her to the square. The moonlight illuminated the paving, and she could remember the taste of rain and blood on her lips, the cold of her wet clothes on her skin.

"I haven't found it yet." She sighed, resting heavily against him, suddenly weak. "Vincent I'm cold and tired. Please take me home." She whimpered, before fainting. Vincent steadied her, before hooking an arm under her knees, lifting her into his arms. He too remembered the rain, the blood, and the cold, and Cloud's last words:

Love Tifa like I never could.

A/N: A little fixing here and there as well for this chapter, though I am still happy with the last two parts!