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Chapter XXXII – Gradation of Truths

In the hazy gloom of Corel's small hours, amongst the swathe of muted fireflies that was numerous lanterns burning thin, Tifa paced.

Their return from the outskirts of Corel had been a sullen affair. Their party – minus two of its members – had trudged through the ill silence of town compared to the loud throes of battle still ringing through their ears and veins. They barely spoke a word to each other and even then, if necessity demanded, only in terse sounds and brief vocals. Their exhaustion was mimicked by the guiding lamplight smothered behind the canvas of miners' tents, flames and wicks long since burnt down after the group's hasty departure into the night in chase of two missing children.

Their dim glow haunted their minds like the fields of fire alight at their backs: and the one monster responsible for it all.

They slogged up the rust-riddled ramps to Barret's bedraggled abode, dirty and resigned to continue their search at day's first break. Bundled securely in her father's arms, Barret carried Marlene across the threshold of his home and into the kitchen, weariness spurring him to find the closest chair to collapse into. He promised Tifa he would round up a search party once he took a break to calm his little girl. He didn't bother turning on the lights.

Nanaki padded inside after the trailing hiccups of Marlene, meek and tame and not at all like the wild and proud beast he usually carried himself as. His beads and bracelets tinkled in conspiratorial whispers against his fur. Vibrant tail-flame now but a waning candle, he slinked away into Barret's living room with Cait Sith riding the saddle of his shoulder blades. He settled on the floor beside the mottled sofa where the cat puppet remained between the tousled strands of his mane, the feline muttering and murmuring his worries into the quadruped's ear.

Yuffie cradled her trembling arms and made straight for Marlene's bedroom where her sleeping quarters took temporary residence. Tifa followed with equal disquietude, the ninja's electrical burns calling for the Cure Materia balled tight in one of her fists to be cast. They sat together on Marlene's delicate quilt of pastel pinks and purples, each woman doing their best to focus on the wounds of skin and not the ones that lay behind their eyes. The bauble of Materia was both enchanting and haunting in the dark and, as Tifa watched the flecks of emerald float around the room on waves of magic ribbons, she wondered if Yuffie too was comparing the glow to a certain gunslinger's eyes.

The weight in her chest sunk even deeper after that.

As soon as the armlet of theurgy released the ninja's arm in dissipating wisps, Yuffie gingerly settled into her blankets and propped her shuriken, Conformer, within arm's reach against one of Marlene's plush toys. With purple-framed eyes and a quiet promise she would be ready when called, the young woman lay down to rest, leaving Tifa feeling empty, drained, and alone.

So, with no other course of action, at the pinnacle of mesas where Barret's home perched, Tifa paced.

A smoky murk had descended upon the town, the kind only the first flush of morning could afford. Not quite dawn nor daybreak, the night held stubbornly on to wash everything a dusky, translucent shade of blue. The gloom itself was so thick it almost gave the impression it could permeate one's own skin to ooze thoughts of sadness throughout. At least, that's what Tifa wanted to believe – it was easier than recognising the tumult of emotions swirling in her heart.

And that the origin of this melancholy she suffered from was, indeed, herself.

'This is all my fault.'

Her arms prickled with the cold that chilled the small droplets pooled in the corners of her eyes. Yet, it didn't compare to the icy, leaden weight that settled in her chest and stomach. It was the same dense, smothering feeling that sunk deep when she first discovered Cloud's absence. Impossible to lighten nor disentangle, it clung to her insides as stubbornly as her teardrops clung to her lashes. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't quite shake it, just like the thoughts that threatened to swallow her whole.

Frigid fingers curled into the cold leather of her fighting gloves.

'I shouldn't have given Denzel space. I should have watched over him more closely! I'm the reason he ran away. He ran away from me. Why didn't I watch him more closely... '

Her nails bit more fiercely into her palms than the frigid wind did.

'And Vincent. I probably pushed him too hard. I shouldn't have asked him to track Cloud. It's none of his business. It's mine. It's my problem! It's my fault Cloud left. It's my fault for Vincent's 'episode'. It's my fault Denzel ran away. It's all my fault. It's all my...'

She immediately stopped dead in her pacing and let the early brume whirl around her with predatory coils.

Tifa regressed into a disconsolate version of herself.

Her cheeks stung numb with the air's chill, but she let it continue its feast as it nipped away at any and all warmth she had to give. Time trickled by to slowly snuff out the lanterns dotted about Corel one by one, their wicks extinguishing in silent deference. One lantern, however, was unaffected by the passage of time – it weaved through the various tents and left a blurred line in its wake, like a shining needle guiding a thread of light.

This sewing glow through the ramshackle town's structures went completely unnoticed by the fighter, too deep was she in her own all-consuming melancholy. Not even the metallic resonance of boots on makeshift ramps could draw her from her self-critical trance.

A small, timid voice tore through Tifa's fog as effectively as a bullet.

"Ah, umm..."

The fighter whirled, the smoke and gloom swirling with her.

Denzel himself shuffled before her, fingers toying with the lantern handle in his grasp. A spectre fabricated by the fog itself. Or so she thought, until the orphan spoke in his unmistakable, bashful, murmuring way.

"Sorry we're late..."

Denzel spoke with all the airs and graces of a child who was late to class, rather than one who'd only hours before been completely separated from his guardians and lost in the fog.

Tifa's lashes fluttered. One blink, then two. Her mind reeled, undecided to whether the boy was actually there or simply an instrument driven by her own wishful thinking.

Her lips ran without the patience and input of her mind.

"'We?'" Tifa choked out.

This time it was Denzel's turn to blink. "Y-yeah." He gave a shaky nod that wavered the flame within his lantern and cast shadows to dance between them. "Me and Vincent–"

The orphan's half-turn and gesture faltered when his hand met nothing but thick haze. Tifa's russet hues, wide-eyed and somewhat glazed, peered deep into the surrounding murk. The gunslinger's name was but a breath on her lips. Denzel twist this way and that, raising his borrowed lamp higher in confusion as his backpack swung in time with his movements. The effort did little to banish the darkness of the surrounding gloom. He shook the tousled hair from his eyes, turning to face Tifa once more, when suddenly he was enveloped by softness and warmth.

His arm locked above his head as did his lantern as Tifa enveloped the boy in a huge, bodily hug. The lamp swung along with them as the fighter rocked back and forth on the heels of her boots. She pressed Denzel's face into the crook of her neck, running her fingers through his messy hazel locks. Apologies sprung from her lips like an overflowing fountain.

Denzel could only blink away his stupor.

"D-don't be sorry." His right hand curled around her own nestled between the cotton folds of his hood. "Y-your hands are r-really cold..." he stuttered, small fingers curling around her own of ice.

Tifa continued her apologies like the mantra of a devout believer.

When the tremble of Denzel's jaw knocked at her collarbone, she released him to rub warmth into his arms. The orphan clutched at his shaking lantern, the light illuminating each half of the rocky outcrop in turn like a radiant pendulum.

"I'm sorry. I-I shouldn't have l-left everyone. P-please don't be mad."

Tifa shushed him through the tightness in her throat, once more tugging the boy into her arms to rub reassuring circles onto his back. Emotion choked her response for some considerable time, but Denzel graced her with a patience most children didn't possess. He returned Tifa's gesture by rubbing small hands over slim, prominent shoulder blades. He could feel the chill of her skin through her leather vest. Her chocolate tresses teased his nose, the light fragrance of coconut shampoo and talcum powder now laced with tinges of smoke and sweat.

"I'm not mad," Tifa hushed with a shake of her head, vocal chords tight. "I'm not. How could I be? You came back. You're safe. That's all that matters." The fighter waited for a response from the boy, but all she got was the tightening of his grip around her shoulder blades. She peppered his hair with light kisses in turn. When another tremor ran through Denzel's elbows, she prompted him towards Barret's home. "Come on. Let's get you inside."

Denzel nodded, though it was meek, and released his circlet of arms from around her neck. He shook the lantern from his wrist and back into his hand, using his other to grasp Tifa's own. The fighter's surprise at the act was quelled by her own overwhelming, heady mixture of worry and relief. The sensations fought as surely as her eyes did in the dark to catch any sign of the gunslinger Denzel had apparently delivered with him.

Or rather, Vincent had delivered Denzel. That much she was certain.

The orphan shuffled towards the ramshackle front door, his reluctance enough to confirm Tifa's suspicions: she wasn't the only one seeking out the party's most laconic member.

When no tincture of familiar crimson met her eye, she decided to speak into the void.

"... Vincent... ?" she ventured. The darkness and brume drifted by with idle sang-froid, like a calm sea in the dead of night after it weathered the brunt of a terrible, raging storm. A storm no one had witnessed, so no praise or appreciation could be offered to the bulwark waters, yet the infallible truth it had occurred remained all the same.

In this, Vincent was like that sea. And while Tifa hadn't seen the storm, she knew. She knew all too well.

Just like that night in Kalm spent enchanting his wounds with her Curative Materia, Vincent suffered.

"... Thank you. Please... wait for me. I'll come back for you."

The early morn answered in hushed hues of blue.

With her plea freed from her lips, she squeezed Denzel's hand and gathered him safely in. The orphan no longer dragged his sneakers, though for a moment he paused by the entryway to the house. Jostling the lantern from his grip, he placed the light outside Barret's door. The flame waved them both a happy goodbye from inside its glass casing.

They both knew it was a beacon left for Vincent Valentine.

Once ushered inside that rugged dim that was Barret's home, Denzel's shivers waned to a mute tremble.

Tifa took a moment to let the house's warmth smooth down the goosebumps of her skin. Light snuffles, soft as the fur belonging to their makers, drifted in from the living room. The surprise of Cait Sith's snores mixed in with Nanaki's, along with the audible cadence of his accent coming through them, was a welcome distraction.

Running her thumb over small knuckles, Tifa silently tugged Denzel along the corridor and past the hushed murmurs of two shadows in the kitchen: one voluminous while the other cherubic.

Upon reaching the door to Marlene's room, hesitation took hold of Tifa's limbs and mind as effectively as the Petrification status. Would Denzel be ready to sleep after all that had happened? Should she speak to him here and risk waking Yuffie, or guide him elsewhere to talk to him? Would he even want to be near her... ? Or would he instead rather be with Barret or Red XIII?

Thankfully, Denzel answered all her questions for her by shuffling through the door without complaint and shrugging his backpack off to meet the floor. Broken from her spell by the resulting thud, Tifa followed by way of his guiding hand, her russet eyes dilating in the dark.

Yuffie's form lay just as Tifa had left her, the young ninja ensconced in a cocoon of blankets and quilting. Her back faced them as she turned towards the wall and under the eyes of her watchful guardians: a turquoise stuffed Chocobo, a stitched bear with cream fur, and the shimmer of her resting shuriken. Yuffie's steady breathing was but a faint whisper in the room and had a somewhat somnolent effect, forcing Tifa to fight off the sudden urge to yawn.

Denzel had no such inhibitions however and did just that, the whites of his teeth matching the dull gleam of Yuffie's Conformer in the dark. Smoke diffused the moonlight's complexion to a sickly mien behind the only glass window in Barret's home. Kicking off his sneakers, the boy crawled into the haphazard futon made-up by the ninja's side.

Tifa crouched beside him, her duster leather pooling cold around her ankles. She could just make out the boy pulling a dark shape from his hoodie pocket to cradle close against his chest. The fighter began to weigh her options in joining him on the floor or having a quiet word with Barret, when Denzel's voice joined Yuffie's wisps of breath.

"Did you come looking for me?" he whispered.

Tifa busied herself by tucking an extra quilt over the boy and tried to still the quake in her fingers. "I did. We all did. We came back to rest and ready ourselves to look for you again once the sun rose. It was hard for us to decide, but it would have been even harder to find you in all that smoke and fog." Tifa squeezed his hand, unsure if it was more for her own sake or for Denzel's. "Thankfully, we didn't have to. You came back. We wouldn't have left you, Denzel."

Tifa closed her eyes, the pressure behind them as persistent as her heartbeat. She ran her hand through his tousled hair. "I would never have left you."

Denzel hummed in his throat, burying himself deeper into his patchwork blankets. An extra one of thoughtful silence settled over them both.

"... Would you have left Vincent?" he asked.

Yuffie shifted in her sleep.

Tifa stopped combing through Denzel's locks for a moment. Staring at the shape she knew to be the young ninja's back, every possible scenario she could think of played out behind her eyes.

When the answer came to her as assuredly as the sun would rise, she was unsure if it was the revelation itself or the quiet of the room that hushed her words.

"... No. No, I wouldn't have."

She felt the boy nod against her palm. The fighter continued her ministrations, hoping the smoothing of his hair was as soothing to the orphan as it was for her. Time trickled by in its eternal hourglass, the brume skulking outside in thick sheets of obscurity.

"Tifa? … What is Vincent?"

Despite the fact Tifa Lockhart knew this question was coming, it didn't any lessen the pull of air from her lungs. What could she possibly say to Denzel when their whole party wasn't even sure? More importantly still, what could she say to the child that wasn't a blatant lie? Loathe to give the boy false truths or scare the poor thing into nightmares, she carefully turned the words over her mind before turning them over her tongue.

"He's... Vincent... Vincent is..."

'What is Vincent?'

Her thoughts fell through the cotton-stuffing that was her head.

'Vincent Valentine is... cold, but warm.' Memories filtered by in downy reminiscence: healing his wounds in Kalm with her Cure Materia while he avoided her eyes, only for her to fall asleep and – apparently from what she could gather – be carried to bed by the man.

'Distant, yet close.' Avoiding her presence along with her concern towards his sloping shoulder outside of Corel, then suddenly bringing her a sunny daffodil to keep.

'He's stubborn, aloof, self-deprecating, and, at times, even cutting.' Brushing past the party outside Edge after delivering a fatal bullet between the eyes of a Kalm Fang, a clipped warning of keeping guard his only passing grace.

'Then again, he's also insightful, intelligent, and wise.' His words and smooth timbre an anodyne for her heartache towards an ailing Planet; a blessed lesson imparted to her on the roof of Barret's home under a galactic tapestry of stars.

'Patient, observant, mysterious. An enigma. A man haunted by some past unknown to all but him.' Her fists clenched in response to the emergence of a shadow among shadows in the basement of Costa del Sol's villa. Blood-red eyes cutting through the dark with sanguine blades.

'But he's also...'

Her eyes softened.

'Chivalrous.' The delightful sight of him holding his right hand out for her to take on the roof of Seventh Heaven.

'Brave.' Watching in horror as he desperately latched onto Denzel, his claw tearing wicked scars into the rugged cliff face as he slid ever closer towards the gaping maw of Mako below.

'Poetic.' Seeing the colour of Yuffie's cheeks darken while her own heart flipped at his recited verse beside a roaring waterfall.

'And surprisingly... caring.' The Hi-Potion he offered her shimmered before her mind's eye as she recalled his gifted medicine on board the ship leaving Junon, and the cobalt glimmer of the Potion bottle he turned over before that.

Her lashes fluttered to batter against the gloom. 'Was Vincent always like this? Or am I just beginning to notice... ?'

"When I found him..." Denzel murmured, tugging her from her mental carousel of memories, "he said he was a– err... a 'mistake'. I don't get it."

"Vincent is a friend. He's certainly not a mistake." Tifa was so quick to correct the orphan that it surprised herself. She paused to rein in her tongue, combing through Denzel's hair in comfort before continuing.

"Vincent... has a lot of personal issues, so you can't always trust him when he talks about himself. And sometimes... sometimes something takes over him that turns him into something scary. Very scary. It's something we don't really understand ourselves."

The fighter tried to suppress the heart-quivering sight of rot-mottled knuckles hammering down on tank steel, eyes of anguished scarlet bleeding into her head. "When that happens, you need to make sure you tell one of us adults. But he helped all of us save the Planet, just as he's helping us now. Vincent's our friend."

"Did he help Cloud, too?"

"He did. Many times."

Memories of three years ago, of watching Cloud slip away to seek Vincent's counsel upon the Highwind, surfaced. With it, her old, familiar haunt by the bridge's main window. Her act — her secret — of pretending to watch the numerous vistas rolling below was as transparent to her as the glass she once looked through: in reality, she would be staring deep into her own reflection. She could almost hear Cid's gibe of 'so, where the ^$%# are we goin' next?!' cut through Cloud and Vincent's hushed discussion and her own personal melancholy.

"... I'm glad I found him," Denzel drowsed.

After a stunned moment of pause, of crashing back down to the present, Tifa nodded. "I'm glad you did, too."

The room fell into a hush that was a little too still for the fighter's comfort. The icy burn to her nose, along with the absence of Yuffie's quiet breaths, suddenly grew evident.

When Denzel's breathing began to slow, Tifa carefully tucked the quilt more snugly under his chin. A fold momentarily peeled away to reveal the object Denzel so preciously held to his heart: an ornately carved Chocobo. Tifa traced its delicate engraving with her eyes, taking note of every fine etch and notch that shaped the wood into the bird-like creature's resemblance.

How easy it was, to apply a knife to wood. To transform something into a better state with a little bit of steel and grit. Oh, if only that were true. All the fighting they'd endured. All the pain. All their suffering. When would it end? When would it be enough? They'd stopped Meteor, and yet their trials and ordeals continued. They'd carved their way to something better through brutal conviction; through broken bones, bruises, and blood. But what their end result was, she still didn't know. If Shinra were back – Shinra SIN as they now apparently called themselves – then just how much progress had they made?

Would they all repeat the same mistakes?

She just wanted it to stop.

Tifa curled her fingers around the only possession Denzel carried with him when Cloud had brought him into their lives one year ago. Silently, she prayed in the boy's stead for its protection. To banish bad dreams and only welcome good ones, as toys were so wont to do for children. As if in response, Denzel clutched the carving tighter in his small hands. Tifa smoothed the blanket and tucked in his talisman along with it.

"Denzel... I need to see Vincent now. I'll come straight back to you when I'm done. Is that okay?"

Sleepy eyes of azure cracked open under messy locks. He mumbled out an affirmative – or at least something Tifa knew to be one not by words but by intonation. Satisfied, or as much as she could be given the situation, she nodded even though the orphan had already drifted off to sleep once more. With one final parting squeeze, she tip-toed over the boy and nearby ninja to creep from the room and make her soundless way down the hall.

As Tifa approached the archway to the open kitchen, hushed voices stopped her in her tracks. Pressing herself to the wall with care, she suppressed her guilt for eavesdropping on the two figures in favour of the solicitude that swelled in her breast like a wave. She stilled in solemnity and tuned herself to the heavy gruff and light honey that was Barret and Marlene.

"–Jes' want the best fer ya. Ya know that, right?"

"I know... I just..."

"Just what? You still ain't told me why you ran away. There's gotta be sum reason... an' you gotta tell me. 'Cuz if I ain't doin' somethin' right fer ya, then I gotta know. So I can damn well make it right. I... I just want you to be safe, Marlene."

Tifa watched the light of Nanaki's tail-flame dance across the scored walls of her old friend's living room. The hushed tightness in Barret's voice translated to her own throat and she did her best to swallow down the lump that lodged itself there.

Out of the fighter's sight and inside the kitchen, Marlene had moved from her father's embrace where Tifa had seen her last to now shuffle on the chair that looked as careworn as Barret's face. When her soft brown eyes continued to avoid his, Barret smoothed his metal fingers over the three scars that decorated his right cheek with angry aplomb.

"Yer not in any trouble, Marlene. But I need ta know. Did Denzel put ya up to this? And if ya tell me, he won't be in any trouble either."

'At least not right now. Not 'til we find 'im,' Barret added to himself.

When his little girl stilled in her seat and stared adamantly at the plaid lines in the tablecloth, he blew a gusty sigh in a vein attempt to alleviate the weight in his chest; so gusty in fact it almost blew the carefully laced condor feather out of Marlene's hair. Fishing inside the pocket lining of his puffer vest, he tugged out a carefully concealed piece of paper. Unrolling it, he did his best to remove the inevitable creases it had picked up from being stuffed inside his jacket before pushing it towards Marlene with a gentle, "Here. You dropped this."

Soft-browns finally moved from the table for the little girl to regard her own artwork placed in front of her. Small fingers moved to brush against the waxy grains carefully etched upon the page.

"I found it on the floor outside tha kitchen," Barret explained. "Not sure how it ended up there. Especially since I think it's one'uv tha best ones you've done so far!"

Two figures stared up at her while a sketched forest rolled behind them in scratchy abundance. Parts of the trees were blotted with dark patches after something wet met the paper and sunk deep into their branches. The pink pads of her fingertips traced the brown curves of the taller person's face.

For the first time since their conversation began, Marlene looked up to meet Barret's eyes.

"Daddy... are you my real daddy?"

This time it was air that lodged itself in Tifa's throat.

Barret's brows jumped towards his cornrow-styled hair. His jaw slackened, a pained expression slowly bringing his lips together once more. Marlene studied him with a scrutiny he'd been under many times before. Mainly from Shinra 'bigwigs': from the late President Shinra, to Rufus his heir and predecessor, to Heidegger: Head of Public Safety, and Scarlet: Head of Weapons Development. It was a look he knew to be an assessment, one that was sizing him up, and it was one he would steel through with pride.

But seeing it straight from his 'little girl' – seeing it straight from Marlene – pierced through him deeper than any bullet could.

His nostrils flared from the pain.

"I know you said Mom died when I was a baby..." Marlene wavered, "but you never show me any pictures of her. Or us. As a family." Her voice rose as did the water in her eyes. "We look different, and sound different. My skin's... my skin's not even the same colour..." Her jaw trembled along with her hands as she rose them towards Barret. A sickly ray of moonlight painted her fingernails silver.

Barret's knuckles were splashed to latte.

When a sob bubbled from her lips, Barret wrapped his huge, trembling left hand around both of Marlene's at once.

"Marlene... Marlene, listen ta me." It took a few attempts for the man to grind the words out through the raw hoarseness of his throat. The sight of tears on Marlene's face was more terrifying than any apparition of Dyne that haunted his mind – asleep or awake.

"You've always bin' smart fer your age. So, so smart. I'm so proud of you." He grit his teeth as another sob met his ears, as if the sound itself winded him. "I've... I've been tryin' to tell ya fer so long, 'cuz I knew eventually you'd think about it and ask me yerself." He flinched as her hiccups worsened. "But you gotta listen to me here..."

Marlene's lips quivered as much as Barret's jaw as soft brown eyes met his own of burnt umber.

Confusion momentarily stemmed the flow of tears as something small was fed through Barret's grip to fall into Marlene's enclosed palms. The gun-armed man let go of her hands and allowed her to inspect the golden pendant now found within them.

"I'll always be yer Daddy if you want me ta be." Water crept unwillingly from the corners of his eyes to trickle down into his beard. "But that ain't my decision to make. In that pendant... that's... that's who yer real parents are."

Marlene's eyes fluttered, showering the trinket in tears. She carefully turned the golden locket over in her hands, the attached .45 bullet and ball-chain tinkling in reassurance. Her fingers found a small clasp and, after a moment or realisation, she popped open the locket to behold its kept secrets.

A picture, warm in sepia from age rather than print, greeted her. A man with ash-brown hair – Marlene's shade of hair – stood tall behind a seated woman, his chest as wide as his grin. The woman, kind in eyes and expression – eyes the colour of Marlene's own – stared at the camera lens with her own modest sense of pride. Bundled in her arms was a blanket with a little face. Chubby cheeks and a button nose stuck out of the folds along with two podgy hands and a cute curl of baby hair.

Marlene stared at her barely one-year-old self, her biological mother, and her biological father, through her tears. She traced the set oval picture with a small thumb, as if doing so would reconnect her with the parents she couldn't even remember. Through her eyes glazed with the attempt to recount early memories and fresh tears, her vision refocused to the splash of coloured wax lying beneath the pendant.

The crayon figures of Barret and herself smiled up at her, their hands clasped in happy company. The pink and brown of their fingers mixed together with the vanilla parchment to create a sunny Neapolitan blend.

She peered up at the real, non-wax depiction of Barret to find his head hung backwards towards the ceiling. His eyes were closed, his lips moving to shape words in silence. Tiny rivers shimmered from his cheeks as they caught sickly moonbeams through the brume. His expression looked all for the part like an anguished man who sought penance.

But, to Marlene, all she could see was Barret ignoring what was right in front of him.

"You're wrong."

As if broken from his spell, Barret jumped in his seat at her whisper as effectively as if she shouted. His stunned countenance met her own of earnestness.

"They're not my real parents," she shook her head, the golden condor feather waving its own disagreement from its seat beside her pink hair ribbon.

Barret, frozen in the face of her denial despite the evidence displayed in front of her, opened his mouth. Words blurted out. "What? Naw. Naw, it ain't like that. I'm tellin' ya the truth, Marlene–"

"They're my Mom and Dad..." she said. "But you're my real Daddy. You always will be to me."

The tears unshed finally crashed down Barret's face like bombs. "M-Marlene..."

She slid off her chair the same time Barret fell to his knees from his. He scooped her up in hand and gun-arm, cradling her close while she clung to his tree-trunk of a neck. Sheer relief babbled words from his lips like a fountain while she cried into his beard. "I'll always be yer Daddy, Marlene. Don't you ev'a doubt that. So long as you want me ta be, that's all I'll ev'a be! It don't matta what colour you are, or what colour I am or... or whatever! I'll always be here for ya... always... as yer Dad."

From her silent point in the hallway, Tifa bit her lip and swiped cold knuckles across her eyes. She could tell Barret about Denzel later. Brushing the water from her lashes, she crept her way to the front door while Barret began to recite precious memories to Marlene at her request: from his best friend and Marlene's father, Dyne, to the sunny and patient woman that was Marlene's mother, Eleanor.

Tifa had heard enough.

Stepping outside, she was swallowed up in morning blues.

Since her earlier departure, the numerous lanterns of Corel had burned down and hence snuffed out. Their smoke added to the surrounding coils of murk, but the sun had finally awoke to help combat the haze. The only sign of this, however, was the lighter shade of Prussian that surrounded her on all sides. It swallowed the hilly views of the small mining town into melancholic mists. She took a moment to pull the light petroleum vapours on the wind into her lungs, the act heady as it was hurtful as the cold air snaked its way down her trachea.

Finding brief relief from the exhaustion that bedevilled her, she couldn't find any reprieve from the rueful emotions that churned within. She did her best to breathe through the weight, her thoughts an indelible, heavy mixture of self-admonishment and guilt that was hard to dilute. She folded her arms to grip both elbows as she paced outside Barret's home, unwitting to the fact she was tracing the same steps she'd taken only hours prior.

On the third repetition, and the fourth attempt at swallowing down the lump in her throat, her eyes fell on the forgotten lantern that Denzel had placed outside Barret's door. The wick was still aflame, albeit barely, and the little fire twisted and danced to stay that way. Her eyes were drawn to its glow and the shadows it chased to the right-hand side of the mesa, towards the view that once afforded a rolling prairie framed by the mountains of Corel.

This time, however, it framed the rolling folds of a crimson mantle.

Tifa shivered from nothing to do with the cold.

A figure she could just descry took rest upon the perch of a large, lone stone. Broad shoulders were set in steely resolution against the surrounding fog. Wisps of smaze rolled across the ground to tumble upon themselves. The tattered ends of a red cape brushed along with them, fresh perforations in the fabric allowing some of the smoke to filter through.

Tifa didn't need to specialise in guns to recognise bullet holes.

Rolling each heel gently upon the gravel with each step, she approached at her own caveat: more out of heed to avoid startling the gunslinger than out of any danger to herself. It was only when she reached his back did she realise she didn't know what to say. What could she possibly say?

The image of scarlet eyes set in rotting flesh – screaming of anguish and torment that far surpassed the Shinra soldiers' shrill peals of terror – still haunted her mind and lingered behind eyes her own.

And it was all her fault.

She stood, remorseful and awkward, and turned words over in the dense imbroglio that was her head.

The husky grate of a throat being cleared made her start.

"... I found... a recent encampment." His usual parlance was punctuated by a hoarse gravel that transcended even his usual timbre. The husky velvet that Tifa was growing quite accustomed to (and secretly very fond of) transformed into something abrasive and alien: much like his demons. "The earth inlaid... with motorbike treads. I believe its past occupant... to have been Cloud."

Tifa shook her head, though she knew he couldn't see it. First minute, then with vigorous turns.

Hours before, Vincent had been violated. Transfigured into something grotesque and frightening; something their party had little knowledge or understanding of. Even worse, it was something that seemed to be mutating. A twisted, hellacious doppelganger to Vincent's form, the freakish giant that had appeared was much taller, much stronger, and bearing the very same cape and golden claw that Vincent himself bore on his person.

Prior to this, the demon beast that had emerged from Vincent outside Kalm had mimicked the same enhancements to its appearance. The same unknown alterations. What this meant for Vincent, Tifa could only guess. All she knew was what had happened earlier must have taken a toll on the gunslinger.

And yet, despite all this, here he was. Not only having returned Denzel to them after the boy had absconded, but fulfilling his own word to track down Cloud for her. All to further her own personal agenda. Her stomach twisted in distasteful, acidic pangs.

Oh, how selfish she was. How blind. As much as she yearned for her childhood friend, yearned for something so simple as an explanation, a reason for his absence, one thing was certainly clear.

Cloud wasn't here, as much as she dearly wished otherwise. But Vincent was.

And Vincent needed her care.

When she finally spoke, it was with a voice that was thick and tight and barely recognisable to her own ears. It froze Vincent's form and pulled his back muscles straight in response.

"That doesn't matter right now," Tifa said.

Unable to discern any immediate injuries on the gunslinger given her position, she decided against using her Curative Materia out of sheer fatigue; doing so may just drain the last reserves of her magic and worsen her condition. Deciding to take another, martial arts orientated remedy, she persevered.

Allowing her selfish desires to take hold despite regrets from her previous indulgences, she reached out to him.

Smothering the fear and anxiety that came with coming into contact with Vincent shortly after one of his 'episodes', she snaked her fingers through the folds of his cloak to find the curvature of his upper trapezius muscle. Vincent near flinched at the contact, a painful twang throbbing straight through Tifa's heart in response, but she held fast. Suppressing her shock at the tight, almost hard knots of tension in Vincent's shoulder, she smoothed her fingers into them with firm pressure and soothing circles.

Vincent, for all intents and purposes, turned into a statue.

Slowly, oh so slowly, his muscles began to ease. The stress in his form began to melt and trickle away. For one split, lightning-fast second, Tifa realised his left shoulder no longer bore an irregular angle.

Silent, she continued her ministrations while allowing her mind to wander.

Things suddenly snapped into place. Her discussion with Vincent the night before, held on the rooftop of Barret's home. The arrangement they'd made. Their pact. Her promise. The reason why Vincent told her it was 'imperative' for him to journey to a particular, infamous location she sorely wished she could forget. It all slid and clicked into place with such ease, such simplicity, that it brought a terrible omen of dread.

Her heart burned with a fire that almost matched the raging ice that ate at her fingers, nose, and throat.

"Vincent... I'll get you to Nibelheim. I promise."

Nothing more was spoken between them. Nothing more was needed to be said.

Tifa continued to massage warm circles into Vincent's shoulder while another one, large and magnificent, slowly rose in the sky to chase away the smoke and gloom.


Author's Note: I'm not dead! \o/ (Though some may challenge that.) Special thanks to my Call For Order warriors Additional Stickers, xkelbix, melphina82, Releqah, Nevaratoiel, Ethear, alesana4ever, MandiraIrade, Mely-Val, nillum, parafantasy, UnLike Us, Cachinhos, GamerGirl5, GarnetSeren, Lengal, Heirloom, and kickenitloose. Your comments keep me going and I'd use my Megalixirs on you guys.

Enormous heartfelt and humble thanks to xkelbix and johnnydark0 for donating Gil to my Ko-Fi page. You have such huge hearts and you're simply amazing. Have a virtual Aerith flower! Or the basket of them!

Extra special kudos goes to criminal_sen: dark mistress extraordinaire, Ducksterz: my 'quack' therapist, a7xmachine89 and BrickleBork: best cheerleading duo since Choco/Mog, Mely-Val: supreme gorgeous artist extreme and reader of the faith, and Papa Nade: my personal muse, stalwart guardian, and beautiful soulmate.

I also realise there's some other users I may have missed out and I apologise, it's been so long that I'm going off the reviews/comments list of my last chapter as per my usual shout-out methods. There's certainly some names I'm missing and I haven't forgotten about you! (Hello varee, Makoes, Rac95, johnnydark0, and BellaOfTheTower to name a few!)

This chapter was certainly a challenge to write with its range of sensitive emotional scenes and I can only hope I captured each one well enough to give you the 'feelz.' The amount of support I've received from you all has been incredible, even over this long span of time. I'm beyond humbled to have such fantastic individuals as readers to my work. Even through the challenges of the past year or two, whether globally or through toxic people I've had to scrub from my life (and I'm beyond relieved to have done so!), you've all been there through thick and thin. From comments, donations, l̶i̶s̶t̶e̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶%̶^̶&̶$̶ and even artwork! (parafantasy and Mely-Val, looking at you! I'll be putting it all up in TCFO's AO3 chapters so look out for that!) I raise my glass to you all.

(Would you like an AMAZING surprise from the crazily talented Mely-Val? Go to AO3 and head to Chapter IX. Trust me! ;))) Mely-Val, u crazy. THANK YOU.)

You can find links to all my content including my Discord Server among other things, right here: b̶i̶o̶.̶l̶i̶n̶k̶/̶s̶w̶i̶t̶c̶h̶b̶a̶c̶k̶

And as always, thanks for reading!

~Switchback