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Chapter IV – Much Ado About Vincent

It was decided then. It was time to clean up the Planet. By bringing nourishment in the form of souls back to a weak and diminished Lifestream, they would bring order back to a currently disrupted and chaotic balance. After breakfast, Reeve had busied himself with making phone calls all day. It was how he'd found both Barret and Tifa, by calling Barret's phone the night before and being graciously informed by the answering machine of his whereabouts. (That he was currently with Tifa because, 'Some asshat with no brains decided to disappear an' left everyone else to clean up after 'im!')

The calls he made were strictly business: in respect to the WRO, the latest shipment of shrapnel to Edge and something regarding a public campaign. Tifa made herself busy during this time, cleaning up the kitchen and bar while thanking the heavens it was a Sunday. Most public houses were open every day of the week, but not Tifa's. Her bar shut every Sunday so she could spend time with the children, thinking it would be unfair to them otherwise. The seventh day of the week was always a day they looked forward to and the bar, Seventh Heaven, couldn't have been more aptly named as a result.

Dinnertime came and went by the time Reeve finished. The nearest window revealed an evening sky of deep purple, stars just beginning to peek out from their hiding places in the heavens. Birds peeped in song as they sought a place to nest for the night, while Denzel and Marlene's hectic scuffles joined the chorus as they played upstairs with Cait Sith and Barret. Reeve took a moment to lower himself on one of the cracked red-leather bar stools, blowing an unrestrained sigh of relief to chase the laughter that drifted down from upstairs.

"I'm certainly glad that's all over with," he said. Tifa, who was putting away some wine bottles behind the bar, turned to quirk a sympathetic smile at him. Mind made up, she moved to the wooden rack before her and pulled out a vintage rosé wine. Setting it on the counter, she reached for a wineglass from the top shelf while simultaneously grabbing the corkscrew she kept hidden behind the till. She caught Reeve's impressed gaze at how she was able to swiftly gather what she needed without so much as a glance. However, what the WRO leader didn't know was that this was a familiar routine for Tifa.

Many late nights she had sat alone in the privacy of her own bar, popping open a bottle of wine for herself when she'd given up on trying to sleep – or didn't want to admit to how lonely she actually was. The thought sobered her so much that she didn't want any of the wine she was offering Reeve.

"That's not necessary, Tifa, really," Reeve politely declined, but it held light reservation. She unscrewed the cork with practised ease and poured the bubbling liquid into the glass, the last remnants of daylight catching the soft red vintage and bringing forth a refraction of sparkling pink to play against the bar top.

"Nonsense," she lightly chided, the corners of her shapely lips upturned. "I think you deserve a glass after your brilliant plan on," it was here that she turned her voice to a dramatic roll, "SAVING THE WORLD."

Reeve laughed, a wavering sound that reminded Tifa somewhat of a butterfly's wings. "Well, it's very much appreciated. Thank you." He wiped a thumb across his moustache to smooth it down before taking a sip from his drink. He made an appreciative hum, cherishing the flavour. "Speaking of which," he referred to his plan as he carefully set down the glass. "I think it's about time I picked up my phone again and gave a call to some of our old friends."

Tifa smiled and nodded in agreement. "Who are you thinking of calling first?" she asked.

"Well, I think it's best I start off with Cloud, then..." Reeve faltered, not missing the odd expression that fleeted across Tifa's face. "... Then we'll go from there." He studied her closely; he'd never before seen this look on her. Almost as if she were about to cry.

"Is that alright?" he asked gently.

"Of course!" Tifa quickly took on an upbeat tone, but her face betrayed her. "Though do you mind if I call him, Reeve? He... he left..." she swallowed at the fact that occurred to her, eyes burning. "It's been a week today since he left. He hasn't picked up at all since then. I'd like to try once more."

Reeve was silent during her confession. Taking another quiet sip of wine, he pulled his phone from the breast pocket of his suit with habitual ease. "I don't mind whatsoever, use my phone. Saves you the bill."

She smiled in gratitude but it wavered. Turning around and from her friend's studious eyes, she dialled the number she had been dialling so many times that past week. 'A week...' she thought. 'It's been a week, that has to mean something to you. Please, PLEASE. Pick up your phone.'

It began to ring.

Blood pounded in her ears as she listened to the dialling tone with great difficulty over the drumbeats of her heart.

Ring... Ring... Ring...

Beep! 'Hello, this is Cloud. I can't answer right now, so leave your details and I'll try to get back to you.' A shrill bleep resonated in Tifa's ears, which to her was the sound of a final sentence. Like a judge's gavel thundering down upon her with absolute finality. While the phone was no doubt recording, she remained silent. Lowering the device slowly from her ear, she hung up.

Her back faced Reeve but he observed her closely, watching the way her shoulders sank with her head and his phone with her hand. She slowly turned around and placed his phone back onto the counter with dejection. She didn't say a word and neither did he; silence triumphant. He took another sip of his wine, then quietly said, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Tifa shook her head, her right hand gripping her upper arm so tightly that her knuckles glazed white. Her gaze didn't budge from the floor.

"... Why don't you go get some fresh air? I'll look after the place while you're gone." A pause. "It's a beautiful evening for it."

Tifa didn't care. Her gaze was stubbornly fixed on the floorboards. Reeve sighed and rose from his barstool, carefully making his way behind the counter and towards Tifa as if he were walking on eggshells. "Come on," he coaxed, placing his hand on her upper back and guiding her towards the front door. Tifa moved alongside him with a sluggish shuffle; zombie-like.

He pushed the door open with his left hand, never removing his right which supported the fighter. A cool breeze hit their skin eliciting a shiver from Reeve, but the woman beside him remained disaffected despite her more revealing attire. "If you want some time to yourself, just let me know. Being outside does wonders for me when I'm feeling blue."

He was answered with a silence that was only interrupted by two robins chirping merrily as they danced overhead.

He moved to the side and lowered himself down on the front porch steps, patting the space beside him in invitation. Slowly, Tifa sank to the wooden floor, bringing up her knees to wrap her arms around them. They sat in companionable silence, Reeve giving her all the time to speak if need be. His eye caught the two robins he'd heard just moments before and he watched as they perched on an overhead girder. Shrill cheeping exploded from above them and clued Reeve in to the chicks now being fed at their nest.

"I think I'll take that walk after all," Tifa suddenly spoke up, rising to her feet with lethargy and descending the front steps of Seventh Heaven one by one, as if in a trance. "Thanks, Reeve."

The well-groomed man furrowed his brow. Her voice was far from the Tifa he knew. It sounded too... monotonous.

"Take all the time you need, Tifa, but please make sure you come back before dark..." 'Otherwise you'll have me even more concerned,' he added mentally to himself. He could just make out the nod of her head in response as she continued her slow walk down the street and towards the town square. Once she was just a shadow outlined by the twilight, Reeve rose to his own feet and made a mental note to send Cait Sith after her later. He allowed himself a sigh and uncharacteristically ran a hand through his shiny, combed-back hair. Turning on his heel, he walked back inside to finish off his drink. Reeve suddenly found he needed it.

-ЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭ-

~ oOo ~

-ЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭЄЭ-

Tifa didn't know where she was going, only that her legs were carrying her somewhere and she couldn't care less. She was broken. Broken from the countless messages she'd left on Cloud's voicemail when he first didn't come home, let alone the second and third night. It quickly became a habit. She would wake early in the morning, after finding herself having fallen asleep by the phone, only to leave another message. This led to her getting five hours of restless sleep at most a night. In the end, on the fourth day, Barret had called. When she'd told him what had happened, he'd dropped everything to be by her side. It was only on the afternoon of the fifth day when her old friend arrived that she'd finally gotten some rest, sleeping deep until evening the very next day.

It had been painful to attempt to get in touch again. Barret had handled it for her when he realised how she'd been destroying herself; with an endless cycle of broken hope. To be let down again, and again, and again. Her mind started to reel with possibilities, as if it had finally jerked to life and began to work.

'Has he forgotten about me? Has something happened to him? Was the work too much that he had to get away? Were the children too much?'

'… Was I too much?'

That last thought brought a severe burn to the back of her throat and blurred her vision so much she could barely see the pavement in front of her. She blinked, and the tears crashed down.

Something solid suddenly collided with her right shoulder and she jerked back in pain, though her broken heart masked the physical sting of it. She tore her eyes from the path and peered back through her veil of tears to find a tall, overweight man glaring back at her.

"You better watch where the hell you're going," he growled, voice deep in threat and inebriation as he turned his huge mass towards her. Even from Tifa's current distance, the smell of alcohol from him was repulsive and she fought against wrinkling her nose. He could only be described as a brute, and Tifa had seen many the type when she used to work in the slums of Midgar as a barmaid.

Dirty jeans that hung low at the waist, a generous belly spilling over the top. A tight fitting T-shirt that used to be white, but was now so stained in grease and dirt it was hard to tell. His beady eyes, unfocused and a little too wide for his own head, bore down on her. "So, you gonna apologise?" he slurred. "Or what?"

Tifa didn't care for the situation; she currently bore enough emotional bruising without having to add any physical blemishes to the mix. Throat and eyes burning too fiercely to respond, she turned back and continued to walk, almost automaton-like, in the direction her feet took her.

"I don't think you understand, woman!" The drunk stumbled past to block her path, thick leather jacket barely restraining the bulge of his arm muscles. Tifa stopped and glared up at him with a narrowing of sore, red eyes. His violent outburst would have completely cleared the street of any present, though Tifa had been too preoccupied with the ground to take any notice of its currently vacant state.

"Huh, cryin' already? Haha... now ain't that a shame." The brute's mockery quickly ended when he threw the heel of his palm into her shoulder, striking with much greater force than before. This was the same shoulder he'd intentionally collided with earlier, causing Tifa to stumble back and hiss through her teeth as pain screamed through the bone. The sudden violence made the alleyway shadows appear to squirm, but if anyone observed more closely, they may have noticed one shadow tense solidly.

Tifa was at her breaking point. Nails digging deep into her palms, adrenaline surged through her veins. She balled her fists tight, bracing them for the impact of one of her punches that was surely coming this man's way. She didn't have her fighting gloves, her 'Premium Hearts' as they were affectionately named, with her. However, she figured she didn't need them to beat the ignorant life out of this guy.

The sky bruised into night with or without Tifa's attention, the deep purple of twilight excusing itself for the strike of oncoming blue. Street lamps flickered to life one by one, as if spectators coming to watch the inevitable fight; meanwhile, a crimson shadow moved swiftly and silently, almost inhuman in agility, to avoid them.

"You better apologise, or I'll give ya somethin' to really cry about." The brute pounded a fist into his own burly hand to emphasise his threat, though the act was marked with a wavering aim that made the fighter wonder if alcohol was the only thing he was intoxicated with. Tifa swallowed hard against the burn in her throat and swiftly wiped an arm across her face, clearing her vision and helping stem the flow of tears. Back pulled straight, she stood tall and defiant and gave him a watery, but truly false, smile.

"I'm sorry," Tifa began, watching a smug grin creep across the brute's face like oozing tar as she spoke. "About this." She ended her mock apology with a powerful and precise kick to his knees, forcing them to buckle and bringing him crashing down to the concrete. All arrogance was effectively washed from his face when his shins hit the pavement, and especially so when Tifa delivered a solid punch straight to his face.

A sickening crack rang out; the sound of violence.

"ARRGGGH!" He pressed his hand over his mouth, blood pouring around tree trunk-like fingers. His next words were slurred around the pool of red liquid seeping from his broken teeth. "I'll fuckin' kill you!" He brought up his enormous arm and Tifa braced for the impact, aiming her next blow through the agony of her shoulder, when her vision was suddenly blinded by a deep and all-encompassing red.

"Not if I have the pleasure first," a deep voice intoned, cool as bullets.

Tifa blinked furiously and reeled back, her mind doing the same as she tried to regain her bearings. All she could see was blood-red. As she recoiled, the wash of colour to her vision narrowed down to that of a crimson cape – one she'd recognise anywhere, though its ends were now ravaged and torn to her memory's counterpart. It was a familiar sight that, ironically, she hadn't seen in three long years. She gaped in marvel, watching as long ebony locks swept across the shoulders of a man many of them thought to have long disappeared.

Vincent Valentine stood towering over the brute, positioned in front of Tifa in a stance that exuded protection. He appeared to have just fabricated from thin air, his long, black and silver revolver pressed firmly against the man's skull. The feeling of gunmetal levelled against his forehead forced a whimper from the thug's throat.

"S-sthorry! I'm sthorry!" His slurred apology was accompanied by giant, bloodstained hands raised high in the air. Vincent's glare lessened a fraction, fiery eyes hard with contempt. He slowly lowered his weapon. The brute didn't waste any time in making his retreat, the odd tooth clattering to the concrete in his haste. Blood was left in his wake, smeared in messy streaks across the pavement like a series of violent signposts. Vincent's glare remained on his back until the fleeing man disappeared down a nearby street. Eventually tucking his chin into his cowl, he holstered his gun with practised efficiency. Gaze relaxed, he turned glowing red eyes over his shoulder towards Tifa.

She was a mess. Eyes red and puffy from, what appeared to be, crying.

A terrible voice seeped into his head, a feeling similar to needles being injected into the skin. An extremely deep and malicious sound, as it spoke; a cracked and breaking tone. A whisper always followed after that sounded like a slimy, squirming mass of leeches.

'SHE REEKS OF DESPAIR, IT MAKES ME HAPPY. LET ME DEVOUR HER.'

Vincent forcefully threw up mental barriers between his conscience and Chaos; the spawn of everything putrid and black, the demon from hell that dwelled inside his body and mind. Tifa didn't seem to notice his mental distraction. She gingerly rubbed at her arm and it was only then the gunslinger took note of the damage she'd taken: her right shoulder and bicep taking on a ugly shade of indigo.

She rubbed furiously at her eyes with the heel of her palm, the threat of fresh tears creeping to the surface. She felt ashamed to cry in front of Vincent, especially after meeting him for the first time in three years, but it was now out of relief rather than sorrow. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to grab his cape and never let go. To make sure this wasn't all some crazy and cruel hallucination. That he really was standing in front of her. That he really was alive.

"I'm so glad you're alright," Tifa choked out. "I've worried about you for a long time!" She smiled, a wavering one, but genuine and clear as day. Her admission shocked Vincent, but the only outward reaction he gave was a few rapid blinks over his cowl. Tifa cleared her throat and tried again.

"Thank you–"

"Over there! That's them!"

Before Tifa could fully thank Vincent for his assistance, she was interrupted by a roar of angry voices. It rose like a wave, tearing with discordance down the streets which contained the majority of sleazy bars and cheap nightclubs in Edge. A group of men clamoured in excitement and began to rally, forming the likes of a mob too many for Vincent to count from his current distance.

His eyes narrowed with realisation. 'Of course. He ran to gather up the rest of his pitiful and pathetic gang.'

Vincent wasn't alien to fighting, and neither was Tifa, but he assessed the situation. Tifa didn't have her fighting gloves in her possession, nor was she in the right state of mind to put up much of a defence; that much was clear. He couldn't protect her from an entire gang, and while it was arguable that Tifa Lockhart didn't need protecting, Vincent didn't like the odds.

Another niggling voice in his head, primal and raw. It hissed around a mouthful of razorblade canines, voice wavering in tone and a deep, guttural growl rumbling long after its words.

'Asssert Dominanccce. Break their ssspirit and eat their heartssss.'

Vincent's glare was turned inward as he pushed Galian Beast from his mind, a feral creature born from the true qualities that made animals into monsters.

"Come, we must leave. Quickly." He strode without hesitation towards a nearby alley, gauntlet shimmering in the light of street lamps. Tifa followed without question, hissing in pain as her arm and shoulder throbbed. Her eyes burned with tears and the wind only encouraged her discomfort, as did the oncoming riot growing at her back. Vincent stopped between two brick walls, a building cobbled together on either side. Judging the distance with a hurried glance, he suddenly crouched low to the ground. Before Tifa could ask questions, Vincent leapt towards the now navy sky, clearing two storeys with ease. Landing lithely on the left building, Tifa was left gaping below as he spun his heel on the roof tiles, pushing his cape aside to face her.

"We must hurry, they're approaching," he said, timbre clipped.

Tifa's mind was a myriad of thoughts, but she pushed them away to focus on the matter at hand. She scanned her surroundings with pained russets. There was nothing in the alley to use as leverage; no dustbins to clamber or crates to climb upon. However, the alley was just narrow enough to pull off a wall jump...

Tifa backed up, forcing a furrowed brow from Vincent and a renewed interest to watch what she was about to do. Bursting forward in a full power sprint, the fighter leapt at the right wall, the heel of her boot digging into the brickwork before fluidly kicking off to now reach towards her left. Despite her impressive display of leg strength, she fell just short and seized the edge of the roof in panic. Just catching the outside guttering with her left hand, the momentum threw her into a swing that smashed her into the wall on her right with an audible whack; the side of her that was injured.

Air was forced from her lungs in a shrill scream, pain howling from her shoulder. Agony sapped her strength and she grew faint, her grip falling from the gutter when Vincent's gloved hand shot down and grabbed her forearm. Pulling her up with a swift tug, he drew her to safety and out of sight just as a cluster of gang members rounded the corner and began to search the alley. Voices barked orders from below as directions were given. Vincent knew they'd heard Tifa's scream. They had to move.

He crouched low to avoid prying eyes, his own crimson ones regarding Tifa with care. She was curled next to him, almost rocking on her heels as she cradled her shoulder. Her injury was now a deep indigo that stretched towards her collarbone, pitch-black at the edges. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, eyes filling with sheer pain. Despite her agony, she hobbled further into the centre of the roof before standing so she was out of the gang's line of sight.

Vincent berate himself; he'd been alone for so long that he didn't consider Tifa may not have been able to reach the roof the same way he did. Remaining crouched to avoid unwelcome eyes, he moved to join her before standing once reaching the centre. He stood in silence by her side and scanned the rooftops, Tifa undoubtedly doing the same thing. Thinking the same thing. There was only one path laid before them. And the chorus of shouts below was reaching a fever pitch.

They had to go. Now.

"Can you manage?" Concern laced through the gravel of his voice. She shot him a steeled gaze through pain-riddled features.

"Like I have a choice?" And with that, she kicked off the roof and onto the adjoining one, moving carefully but quickly across the roof tiles. Vincent followed, his cape sweeping behind him.