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Chapter V – Hide and Seek

The moon loomed from behind scattered clouds in the sky, ever vigil over the pair of shadows that dashed and climbed from rooftop to rooftop. One fluidly ducked, darted, leapt, and almost seemed to disappear at times within the dark silhouettes of chimneys and other taller structures. The other ran with effortless grace, kicking off ledges and other protruding debris prepared for the use of construction with impressive footwork; for any who bore witness, it was hard to notice either party were injured in any way.

As Tifa kicked off the wooden floorboards of some worn scaffolding her shoulder lanced with pain, spiralling her vision into a nauseating blur.

She felt sick.

Slowing to a stop, she heaved for breath and wiped her forehead with her uninjured arm while her right hung limply by her side. Drawing back her hand, she watched it gleam with the perspiration now beading on her forehead. A strange tingle crept upon her like pins and needles, bringing forth a sensation of white that fell upon her eyes and robbed her of sight. Her knees buckled under its spell and she was desperate to right herself, but the feeling sapped her of strength and rendered her blind.

Tifa screwed her eyes shut, frustrated. A wave of anger swelled from within and she forced herself to her feet... only to lose balance and teeter towards the side; right towards a three-storey drop. She threw out her arm in panic, just catching a bar of scaffolding right before Vincent appeared by her side having dashed to reach her. Arm still held slightly outstretched, his cape sailed on the rush of air before finally settling at his heels.

"Tifa–"

"I know, okay?" she bit back.

Vincent's attentive gaze hardened to a steely glare and she immediately regret her tone. She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just... in pain." Her voice was strained, wind teasing her chocolate locks to wave gently with the waver in her voice. She turned her head to the streets below as raised voices drew near by the second, sweat trickling down her cheek to drip neatly from her chin.

A manic voice rushed into Vincent's head, hysterical as if on the brink of suicide. Quick and sharp-like, it invited madness, psychotic laughter, and screams echoing long after it silenced. If he listened for too long, he felt the fabric of sanity begin to fray and unravel in his mind.

'Look! She's at the edge the edge of the knife the edge of the world the edge of everything! PUSH! HER! Go on she deserves it, surely! The screams the blood the howling– the bones smashing I can SEE! MARROW. The wonderful juicy tasty part of skeletons on the pavement, doitdoitdoitDOIIIIT!'

Vincent snapped his head to the side, hard. Hellmasker lingered; hyper, crazed, twisting. Head hanging horizontal as if hinged on a snapped neck. Brimstone eyes burned through a dirty, faceless mask and into Vincent's grip on reality. He jammed his eyes shut, shut down his mind and re-enforced his mental barriers.

The maddening urge. Finally. It was gone.

When he returned to the rooftop whence he stood, he found Tifa to be staring at him with a prominent frown. The fear in her eyes was not lost on him.

"Vincent? Are you... alright?" She straightened and took a hesitant step, only for him to take a brisk one back in turn. His annoyance rose close to the surface and he feared his demons as well.

"Fine," he said curtly. Tifa shot him a look filled with scepticism, concern written all over her face.

'Should I mention the fact I've been calling his name four or five times before he noticed me?' she wondered.

She decided against it.

There were so many questions just ready to burst forth. She wanted desperately to know where he'd been. What had he been doing and why had he never tried to get in contact? Why did he disappear in the first place? And part of her pain was accepting she may never find out, knowing Vincent Valentine. He was illusive at the best of times, and to pry him open was like trying to open a locked box without a key.

She feared if someone did manage to open it, however, they would find it to be similar to Pandora's: something terrible would be unleashed. What exactly, she didn't know.

"Vincent," she began, voice laced with caution. "Are you sure you're alright? You seem... paler than usu–"

Pain flared with a vengeance that caught her off-guard. She quickly covered her shoulder with her left hand, inhaling through her teeth and hissing deep into the night. Vincent took the opportunity to turn away and Tifa's eyes ineluctably fixed onto his golden claw, watching as silver light shimmered and curved down spiked talons to fall from their tips like moon drops.

"We do not have time for this. We're being chased." He peered up at the moon as he spoke, his crimson eyes burning in the pale luminance. He turned to look over his shoulder and, on noticing Tifa's gaze fixed on his claw, took no time in concealing it within the folds of his cape. "Are you well enough to keep moving?"

She blinked at the sudden disappearance of the wicked looking appendage and nodded. "I'll manage."

She didn't sound entirely convinced, neither to herself nor Vincent. She could barely feel her arm and was deeply worried as such, but the situation they found themselves in far surpassed that concern. They were being chased by God only knows how many, though Tifa suspected a gang of at least thirty or so. The bellows that tore down the alleys and streets were loud enough to become a monster all of its own.

Vincent, about to break into a sprint, stopped at a passing thought. He paused.

"If you feel unwell once more, shout for me. I may not reach you next time." With that, he bound forward on long legs and leapt to the next rooftop, the night swallowing him into nothing but a silhouette once more. Tifa snapped from her stunned countenance with a blink and mentally steeled herself for the path ahead.

The air was heavy with the roar of an oncoming riot.

Taking care to hold her arm in place best she could, the fighter jumped off the ledge and followed after the trail of shadowy cloak. As Vincent ran, he made sure to keep an ear attuned towards Tifa: her footsteps, her movements, her breathing. The gunslinger occasionally turned sharp eyes over the mantle folds of his shoulder, ensuring she still followed close behind at a steady gait.

Another voice, inviting an icy chill similar to frost settling across his braincase and a deep ache to lay across his senses like heavy snow. Slow and cumbersome, it had difficulty making words: breaking syllables like breaking bones to then drag them out like corpses. After it spoke, moans of pain would carry on a harrowing lament inside his skull.

'She-ee is bro-kennn. Per-hap-ss we sho-uld e-nd her-rr mi-ser-yyy.'

Vincent was mentally weary. He tiredly pushed Death Gigas from his conscience who dragged his presence away without resistance. The more compliant of the tetrad, he was a walking hulk of lumps, scars, stitches, and the abomination of scientific wrongs.

His three year absence had given all his demons time to grow accustomed to his body and steadily rise in power since his awakening from that damnable coffin. They had become harder to control: harder to resist in their macabre suggestions and insinuations. Completely transfigured from what his former teammates had once known them as; he feared the day he lost control. Not just around his old comrades, but around anyone that was human.

"Vincent!"

Tifa's cry broke through his brooding and he whirled round, alert and ready as he pushed his cape aside. He found her leaning against a stack of planks, no doubt prepared for use in building construction. Sweat dripped from her forehead as she struggled to stand. Discreetly annoyed by his mental distraction, Vincent relaxed from his tense stance on seeing she wasn't in any immediate danger and strode across the rooftop to her side. He hesitated.

"... Do you need assistance?" he asked.

Tifa shook her head with stubborn briskness, then immediately regret it if her face was anything to go by. Gripping her makeshift lumber support tighter, she fought the tide of white and wave of nausea that sought to pull her under. "Do you even know where you're heading?"

Vincent stared blankly in response.

'That's what I thought.' She wiped her forehead and winced as pain screamed up her arm.

Eventually, he replied. "Somewhere we can wait out this... search party." Tifa suppressed a smile at Vincent's terminology for the gang that no doubt bade for their blood. "Do you have elsewhere in mind?" he enquired.

"My bar. Seventh Heaven."

Vincent rose an elegant brow at this and Tifa could almost hear his way of thinking: it was an obvious place to go and somewhere they would no doubt search for her. But that was if they even knew her, and the fighter firmly believed they didn't. It was the best chance they had. (Though what Tifa didn't know was Vincent actually had no idea she even had a bar called Seventh Heaven.)

"I don't think that guy knew who I was," she clarified. "I think they're too stupid to remember faces." Vincent couldn't help but quirk his lip at her comment, humour passing over his face like a fleeting ghost. The incredibly rare sight was hidden by his cowl and he tucked his chin inside the tall wall of fabric, ruminating over her point.

Despite them stopping Sephiroth a few years ago, they were not worldly recognised for their actions. People celebrated the day Meteor was stopped by the ancient magic of Holy, but AVALANCHE was just a group of 'terrorists,' as they were so quickly branded and publicly announced by Shinra. Only a handful of people knew what had really transpired; what had really brought on the events of Meteorfall and those who had stopped it. Very few knew the truth, and subsequently, recognised them for it.

Vincent met her eyes and paused at the pain conveyed through russet hues.

"... Alright. Show me the way."

Tifa nodded at his baritone and rose from her wooden support, left arm shaking with the effort while her knees quivered. Cool leather at her elbow drew her head up in surprise. Vincent reached out to support her arm, his gentle grip helping her rise to full height. Their eyes met and a moment was shared; indescribable in its complexity.

It was quickly broken when Tifa suddenly cried out, once again gripping her shoulder in the hopes to quell her suffering. Before Vincent could ask of her wellbeing further, she began to move. "Come on," she urged. "It's this way. To the right." It took a few shaky steps before she grew emboldened enough by the lack of additional pain to start running. Quenching his concern, Vincent followed. Two shadows once more jumped from rooftop to rooftop, the hourglass figure now lead.

It took a few blocks and a few pangs of agony more for Tifa before they finally reached the proximity of her bar. Standing on a rooftop opposite, they gazed down into the avenue below. A group of gang members patrolled the narrow pathways, their eyes subdued glimmers as they darted from darkened alleys to shadowed streets in their search.

"I don't suppose they'll let us walk through the front door," Vincent remarked moodily. He turned bright, blood-red eyes to Tifa who reflected his inner feelings judging by the look of vexation on her face. A cool breeze swept at Vincent's tattered cape and encouraged Tifa's hair to dance with it, though some remained plastered to her forehead with sweat. "Do you have any ideas?" he enquired, voice calm as the wind.

"I'm thinking." Tifa's stressed murmur manifest into a tense pace behind him and Vincent's eyes followed for a moment before he crouched low at the roof's edge. Returning his gaze to the streets below, he kept watch like a vigilant, stoic gargoyle.

Tifa paused shortly after he turned away and stole the opportunity to truly look at him, taking a moment to watch him herself. Admiration swelled in her breast as she took note of his tall figure and strong posture; a part of her recognised it to be rather rigid from his past self, however. The way his cape lazed alongside the wind, ebony locks following suit like an old friend... it was a somewhat pleasant sight, yet something bothered her.

'The way he moves and speaks, as if he's trying to control... something. You've changed, Vincent. Something's off and I just can't place my finger on it. Though I guess your hair's longer than I remember–"

"I do hope you've thought of a way in." His sudden baritone caused heat to surge to her cheeks and she quickly spun on her heel to face away from him.

"I'm working on it."

That was a lie and she knew it. All she could think about as she rubbed her right arm was Reeve and Cait Sith. Barret and the children. Were they worried about her? What were they doing? Were they still playing? Were they alright?

Her mind cast back to the times Barret would play tag with Denzel and Marlene. Hide and seek. Play pretend. Suddenly, unbidden, Barret's brash voice from few days past growled in her head. 'I'm never playin' with 'em again! You know where they were hidin'? The goddamn motherf***in' air vent!'

… That was it!

She burst out in excitement, like a philosopher reaching their biggest epiphany, "The goddamn motherf***in' air vent!"

Vincent froze. Slowly, muscle by muscle, the gunslinger turned to peer over his shoulder, crimson eyes a reflection of disbelief. Did Tifa Lockhart just swear?

For a few moments, silence reigned supreme.

"Pardon?"

Tifa caught herself and returned to rubbing her right arm, albeit self-consciously this time as heat danced across her cheeks. "W-well, err, that's what Barret calls it. The, ah... the air vent. We can use the air vent to get into the bar. It comes out straight behind it. The kids like to hide in it a lot, so if it can fit the two of them I'm sure it can hold the two of us."

"... Very well." Vincent rose to his full height and Tifa's gaze was immediately drawn to his claw as taloned fingers flexed slightly. He made his way to the edge and hopped down to the closest building, cape flaring in the wind. Ensuring Tifa followed with a twist of his head, he continued on his path to the rooftop of the bar. A few leaps and bounds after, the pair found themselves standing on the roof tiles of Seventh Heaven.

A holler of coarse slurs rose from below and Vincent quickly motioned for Tifa to lower herself with a flick of his leather-buckled wrist.

"Come on, let's find these bastards quick! Hurry up, Eddie!"

"Hold on, I think I saw somethin'!"

Tifa's breath was snatched from her throat at the words and she held it as she tried to press herself even further to the cool roof tiles. She saw Vincent's arm reach under his cape to rest upon the weathered grip of his revolver. Studying the smoothly etched chambers, she watched the way the moonlight accentuated the metal with a lustrous shimmer, running a dangerous gleam down the gun barrel like silver tears; she welcomed the distraction. Seconds passed by in heartbeats, their ears near painfully attuned to the group below. Tifa arduously held her breath while each passing tick saw Vincent further wound with tension like a taught bow string.

"Nah, must have been a cat or summit..." A bout of mockery rang out before the footsteps finally receded. Tifa's lungs pulled in air again while Vincent's hand slowly fell from his revolver. Straightening herself with bent knees, the fighter remained low and stooped her way past the upper-floor windows to the right-hand side of the building. Eyes scouring the black, it wasn't long before pained russets fell upon the air duct they'd been looking for. Inspecting the jutting metal for a moment, Tifa leaned forward to dip her head inside.

Voices echoed and coalesced from within like a discordant bell and, while muffled and indecipherable, the fighter could easily judge from the pitch that an argument was well underway. Despite the clues the raised voices provided, the inside was too dark to discern how far the drop was – if, indeed, there was a drop at all. While Tifa stepped back to ponder if the vent curved midway or dipped into a straight fall, Vincent moved to assess the duct himself. Bowing from his great height, he peered down the pitch-black shaft. Soon after, he paused. Before the fighter could muse on his apparent hesitation, crimson eyes fell upon her.

"It appears to be a straight drop, though it slopes inwards near the bottom," he informed. Tifa blinked, secretly amazed he could tell given the black. "You may cause yourself further injury if you attempt to descend down here." His glowing eyes shift focus to her wound. Skin once the colour of soft champagne was now a myriad of purple and black blotches, violet veins creeping around her shoulder to trace skeletal fingers down her arm.

Vincent could tell it was causing a tremendous amount of pain just on visual and Tifa shied away from his observations, using her left arm as cover to gingerly hold her shoulder in place while her right hung limp by her side.

"I'll be okay once I get inside. I'm sure we have some Curative Materia..." Now it was Tifa's turn to hesitate. Materia grew the more it was used, channelling the energy of the Planet to the user. Without frequent use, that power would slowly diminish. Now the real question was if the Materia they still had, the ones they hadn't donated to the refugees of Edge, were still powerful enough to heal such a significant wound after so many years of disuse.

"Is there enough space at the bottom for me to catch you?"

The question caught Tifa completely off-guard and her jaw hung slack by Vincent's enquiry. He waited patiently for her answer with a steady gaze, a neat, ebony-winged eyebrow slowly climbing the longer her silence grew. The idea struck her as unthinkable, to imagine Vincent offering himself to catch her, despite the fact it was quite a logical thing to do. The man was notoriously reticent from past encounters, both physically and emotionally. Simply standing too close would often cause him to withdraw to a more comfortable distance. It took a further moment for Tifa to respond.

"I don't think so. The space behind the bar is quite narrow. I'm sure I'll manage, but thank you, Vincent." Her tone gained confidence as she finished, but she didn't exactly feel her conviction. Vincent once more peered into the air vent, lost in thought as a gentle frown creased his brow. A few seconds later, he turned to look over his shoulder at Tifa just as a stray breeze stirred the air. His cape rose on the currents in a dramatic billow.

"I'll lower you down first to lessen your fall. I'll follow after." The gunslinger took a neat step aside to stand by the air vent and gazed at her expectantly. He left no room for negotiation. Tifa nodded, fighting the sudden urge to swallow. Moving to the mouth of the metal duct, she placed her foot firmly inside and tried to ignore the knots tying themselves in her stomach. Shuffling around a bit, she manoeuvred herself so that her back was to the gaping depth while making sure her left arm, her usable arm, was closest to Vincent.

Sensing she was suitably prepared, the gunslinger, despite the unsociable set of his shoulders, held out his right hand with gentle ease. Tifa took a moment to relish the sight. They all knew Vincent to be a true gentleman, but to see him as he stood in front of her right now... it was a rare treat indeed. She smiled, genuine and true, and softly placed her hand in his own. The leather he wore was cool on her skin, yet heat radiated from within like a spent bullet round. His thin yet large hand felt deceptively strong as it held its firm grip around her own small and slender. Before she could delight herself further in the unprecedented fact she actually holding the hand of Vincent Valentine, he gently began to lower her down into the duct. Tifa shuffled back bit by bit until she had nothing more to stand on.

Suddenly aware of the looming darkness nipping at her heels, russet eyes sought out crimson in silent question. Vincent gave a curt nod.

She took a full step back and suddenly dropped, air rushing from her lungs at the plunge. Vincent lurched forward but held on strong, claw audibly colliding against metal as golden talons fiercely gripped the side of the duct. The metallic clash tore down the vent and pounded through Tifa's head, ringing her ears like a stricken blade. The muscles of her left arm screamed in protest at the strain of dangling in the middle of the shaft like a loose pendulum. Now more than ever did she wish for the support of her right arm. Inch by inch, Vincent slowly lowered her down until he himself was poised inside the vent's metallic jaws, wicked talons gripping the sides so tightly it pierced the metal with fierce indentations. Tifa's eyes grew wide.

'! His strength's impressive! I don't remember Vincent being this strong...' Her thoughts stopped as abruptly as her descent and she shift her gaze from what little she could see of his appendage to the gunslinger himself. Vincent's arm was fully outstretched, crimson mantle stretched across broad shoulders as knife-like fingers clutched into dull metal like a bird would its prey. Vincent had lowered her to the extent of his ability, and the fighter now suspect she hung about halfway down the vent. Vincent's smooth baritone rumbled down after her.

"I'm going to let go now," he warned. Tifa simply nodded up at his shadow, the moonlight accentuating his silhouette and crowning him with a near angelic silver halo. A pair of blood-red eyes pierced through the visage and glowed back at her in the darkness. She braced herself.

Vincent's strength disappeared and she fell fast to the bottom, cracking her back on the base of the vent slope. She swallowed her pain through grit teeth but the momentum knocked her right arm into the duct walls and tore an agonised scream from her throat. Tumbling further, she took a white-knuckled grip of her injured shoulder before she was blinded by sudden light.

She was inside Seventh Heaven once more.

Reeve and Barret, who were standing in the middle of the bar and appeared to be facing off, stared over the counter with wide eyes and slack jaws. Cait Sith, who was sitting on the bar top, leapt to his feet with a curl of his tail.

"TIFA!" Their unified cry was accompanied by a scramble to her aid, but they all stopped when a throaty growl echoed from the air vent and resonated like thunder.

A few more bangs, a growing rumble of quivering metal, then suddenly a ball of crimson was spat tumbling from the vent's mouth. Vincent just caught himself before he landed on Tifa, falling into a graceful crouch beside her as his cape pooled around them in tatters of red. The woman was curled in on herself, rocking back and forth in a ball of agony as unwilful tears streamed down her face, her left hand clutched over her injured shoulder. Vincent immediately took to her aid, blood-red eyes darting over her figure. His gaze sought fresh injuries before moving on to assess the damage and extent of her already existing ones.

Besides himself and Tifa, who were in their own personal little bubble, everyone else in the room was awestruck. Frozen in place like the picturesque scene of a snowglobe. They could barely move, let alone speak the name of the man they'd all thought to have disappeared off the face of the Planet.

The room was glass and words were the hammer.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Cait Sith shattered the taut atmosphere.

"Sooo... THAT'S where you've been hidin' foor three years!"