Chapter 11: In Wutai

Tifa awakened to the sounds of morning, but not as she remembered; the faint sound of tolling bells in the mountains, the low hum of the monks in their morning prayers, and the soft trickling of water over smooth stones.

She nestled back into her bed, and smiled, watching the light dancing on the walls, bouncing off the surface of the pond outside her window. Three months ago, she travelled back with Yuffie to Wutai, hoping to stay with her for a short time. A 'short time' began to stretch into a long time. She found that she was enjoying life here more than she had expected she would.

It was peaceful here, and the people were new, unfamiliar. And perhaps just as well. She felt better, less trapped. She enjoyed the lack of recognition, and the absence of duty she felt here. She was no longer alone, with Yuffie to keep her company, as well as all the new friends she was making at the Dojo. What better place to continue her training than Wutai, the home of the ancient martial arts which she had studied since her childhood.

Slowly the moves were returning to her, her mind calmed by weeks of yoga practice, sitting still by the waterfalls in the mountains. Her muscles were returning as well, no longer forgotten due to malnourishment and inactivity. She ate with Yuffie and her family around a traditional low table, laughing and recounting frivolous daily activities. Something she had not done in a long while.

Though she had found stillness and a sense of home here, she lacked something still. She had written a few times, but she missed the company of Vincent. He replied briefly; no different to how he would have spoken, should he have been there. She missed his presence, the security it gave her, the enticing thought that maybe something could be, if he were to change his mind.

Didn't he realise that he had crushed her hopes? She had come to miss the man who at first glimpse was cold and heartless, who rarely gave anything away. Yet Tifa knew better than that. In the end he had said too much and his openness had confused her. His willingness to admit his feelings in one rare occurrence had been entirely unexpected.

Still, she hadn't allowed herself to get her hopes up. Vincent was, in his own way, telling her why he could not be with her.

And that hurt.

Sometimes at night she couldn't help the tears, no matter how much she told herself she was being foolish, expecting so much from him. After all, hadn't he done enough? She cried for herself for once, not caring to be selfish, perhaps for the first time in her life.

She'd gotten what she thought she had wanted once, and that had crashed down around her. But the man who had saved her from the rubble was only serving to show her the void left inside was still filled with choking dust.

Loss was a strange feeling, she recalled. There were many types of loss; losing her home, all that she owned in the fire, the destruction of her bar in sector 7, struggling to deal with the death of her friends as the plate fell; the death of her parents; then losing someone you were never sure you ever had.

And with Vincent, she felt that. She had been too weak, too angry with him for being nothing short of himself. She'd been so filled with a sense of injustice, that she couldn't see what he had done for her, and it pained her to think he blamed himself still.

She became aware of how still the dawn seemed; morning was fast approaching, a soft grey light filtering in from outside as the sun crept up behind the mountains.

Sighing, she slid out of bed and slipped on shoes and a jacket, making her way silently down the corridors of Yuffie's home. She prayed that her footfalls, which had little practice in avoiding the creaks, did not wake the household.

Stepping outside into the gardens, she gazed up at the mountains. They were shrouded in the early morning mist, and were only visible as ghost like projections against a murky grey backdrop. The trees had been turning their leaves recently though the days still clung to summer's warmth. Still, the morning possessed a biting chill.

"What's so good that it's keeping you up at this time?" Yuffie yawned, stepping out into the garden.

She didn't answer immediately, keeping her chin tucked close to her chest. She'd been honest with Yuffie about what had occurred between herself and Vincent. Mostly because it was kind of cathartic to spill out everything to someone, just so she didn't go crazy thinking about it.

"Is It Vincent?" Yuffie probed, voice softer now, more cautious.

"I… I think I'm missing him a lot more than I'd care to admit. Not that I'm not enjoying myself here, though." She added hastily, aware of how her statement might have sounded. "Taking some time out has been just what I needed to think things over."

"If you miss him, you should visit him, y'know?" Yuffie yawned, resting her head on Tifa's shoulder.

"I would... but it's not that simple is it?"

"I guess. Vincent's a strange one alright... You don't half know how to choose 'em, Tif."

She'd thought about dating other guys in the past, but it was too simple to fall into a relationship with someone she met at her bar, for example. Most of them were shallow, and she wasn't a fool; she was attractive, and she had a figure that men desired; she often felt their eyes on her, but she had made it clear to them, that to step out of line would have dire consequences.

But Vincent was something different.

She sometimes felt his eyes on her, when he thought she didn't notice. But she knew he would never admit to it- Back to square-bloody-one. Vincent was always on the recovery from her oppressive presence, her constant invasive questions, and her habit of shattering any comfort that had been allowed to develop between them.

Tifa was young, broken hearted, and in need of support. She had long ago realised that Vincent wasn't going to be able to offer that to her forever. He was older, wiser, and still recovering himself, because although he hid it well, she knew he still suffered. His dreams punished him, reminding him of his past mistakes.

She bit her lip, flushing upon the recollection of a memory. He had tried not to show it, but his eyes had widened in shock, he'd tried to hide what he had seen, but it was too late. The desire was there, barely contained words trembling on his slightly parted lips, the sweat gleaming on his chest, his forehead. She didn't want to create false hope, by placing herself as the sole object of his desires, but after he had looked at her like that; wide eyed and still gasping for air from a kiss barely just broken, he never looked upon her the same again.

Vincent was a man, with needs, emotions, despite what he tried to maintain otherwise. Tifa wondered if he still dreamt of her; because she had also dreamt.

His eyes are so hungry when she visualises him, and his touch on her skin is almost too real; and she wakes up with frustration in her veins. Because she knows that if he weren't so stubborn, and she so weak, they could both have what they desired.

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A/N: my favourite chapter are to come! I wrote these more recently than the earlier ones, so I think I won't have that much to change, hopefully!

Thank you to those who have re-read this and left me kind reviews.

JJ