Just a Few Reminders – 13

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII belongs to Square-enix. But any original aspects belong to me. It’s like I’m writing fan fiction or something…

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It would be the first time that he’d left without telling Mara Thompson to lock her door. Of course, the landlord already knew about her. It only took him one glance through the office window to let the man know that he would have to go upstairs and lock the door for her. Out of past habit, Vincent Valentine was wary of the man, if only because he had the key to everyone’s door. Therefore, he wouldn’t let himself wander too far from home. If he could call it… his home.

As he’d expected, Tifa had washed the remaining dishes before they left, careful not to let them clink, lest she would disturb the woman asleep in her chair. Naturally. She was accustomed to serving everyone and to generally care for people simply because she wanted to do so. Unsurprisingly, she would note even the simplest act of kindness. Her fault, if he could call it that, dwelled in the fact that she had not yet served herself, that he knew of. She certainly wasn’t benefiting herself by coming to find him.

But the fact was that he should’ve known she would come for him. And he should have been mildly alarmed that she’d made the journey alone. But he knew she was a modern, independent young woman, perfectly capable of walking over puddles, taking off her own coat, pulling out her own chair, and yes—opening doors all by herself. It maddened him because these small tasks were all he could do for her, or at least… all that he would let himself do. And after all, it gave him a small portion of satisfaction.

For now, however, he wouldn’t complain about the issue that she certainly didn’t need him to open doors for her. Instead, he’d lament a more dismal truth—the inevitable minute when she’d acknowledge her mistake in coming here and decide to leave him. If the Fates were merciful, then she would spare him the suspense and make that minute come sooner.

At the present, they walked silently, one party’s expression bright and sunny, the other’s stony. The main hallway currently smelled of pizza and socks, most likely due to the fact that several groups of young men occupied many rooms on the first level. Only a slight crimping of his lip gave any indication of his displeasure on that score.

He stepped past his much-more-pleasant-smelling companion to open the door to the complex, standing aside to let her through. A smart man would have trusted his brain and stayed behind, but what kind of a man would he be to close the door on Tifa Lockheart? The same kind of man he was, perhaps, to leave her in the first place. And… all he wanted was to be with her. Why couldn’t he just convince himself he could never have her and leave? Why was it so hard to accept?

She walked past him, offering a grateful smile as she stepped outside into the cold, and he gave her a nod of acknowledgement. When she wasn’t looking, he rolled his eyes at his foolishness and let the door fall closed behind him. Following her closely, his hand went to the picture in his pocket, a move as natural as though he’d gone for the gun in his shoulder holster instead.

“You look good, Vincent. I mean… it’s nice to see your face.”

Helplessly, he turned his head to look at her, wondering what made her say that. And he had several answers to ask her now. Did she mean that he looked ‘good’ as in attractive? ‘Good’ as in healthy? And what was it about his face? Did she think him handsome? He might have been handsome a long time ago. Now, he wasn’t so sure he could qualify. And his appearance didn’t truly matter, for inside, he was a—

“Thank you,” he gruffly answered. You look good as well, Tifa. Very, very good. Fine, even. And not just your face. All of you...

“So… you’ve been working?” she went on.

He nodded, and remembered that she still had her attention elsewhere. Perhaps a fortunate thing, as his mind had gone to a disturbing place, and those thoughts—very, very bad ones—might have seeped into his eyes. “Yes, Tifa.”

“Where do you work?”

“I’ve taken a job at the weapon shop. Occasionally, I…”

“…Yes?”

“I keep a vigil over things in town. For intruders. Before I’d arrived, the townspeople were used to bandersnatches and other creatures attacking their… children. There had been two deaths recently… And so… I’ve made it my business to protect them.”

Guarding the village, of course, did not encompass all of his pastimes. He need not tell her the rest. In fact, he shouldn’t tell her any of this, and he knew that he was babbling in his anxiety, but at least she didn’t appear bored. He should just… shut his mouth. He’d watched her face as he spoke, first noting the pink of her cheeks and nose from the frigid air, before seeing the nod of approval when he mentioned being a guardian, and finally the deep frown of concern at his report of children being attacked. Of course she would approve of that particular activity. His thoughts of her? Another matter.

“What do you do for fun around here?” she asked cheerfully.

He examined her feet as her boots crunched into the snow hypnotically. And why he found that hypnotic was an absurd idea. Almost as ridiculous as the question she now asked him. Perhaps she was only being conversational, and her inspiration had come from seeing the cluster of girls and boys of varying ages racing towards the hill, each child heavily armed with snowballs. Something that she might call ‘fun.’ To him, a potentially dangerous venture, if he decided to participate in such a game with her.

“Fun?” he queried, as though he’d never heard the word before. It had certainly been a long time.

She sighed, no doubt wishing herself away. Yet she still smiled. “You know what I mean, I think. What do you do in your spare time? For enjoyment?”

“Enjoyment…” She would not care to know what he truly found enjoyable. “I take walks. I read.”

“Jeez, you’re worse than I am.”

Though he would keep it to himself, Tifa had no idea of how many ways that remark held truth. Fixated on that thought, as usual, he remained quiet, even though he thought he might ask what she’d been doing with herself. He could guess. Dreaming about Cloud, wondering when he’d call her…

No. She wouldn’t be dreaming of Cloud. She wasn’t as hopeless as he was. At least, that’s what he wanted to think, because he wanted her all to himself.

“So… you’ve been here all this time?” she continued.

Suddenly, he felt much like a captured Turk under interrogation, or perhaps one reporting to the higher ups. Say the wrong thing or spill his guts, and he’d lose his life. A Turk who might be as good as dead anyway. He sighed. But this was not Shinra, in point of fact. This exchange wouldn’t lead to death. This was Tifa Lockheart. While she could easily break his nose with a well-placed punch, it was more likely that his penalty for not speaking the whole truth would lead to more questions. And if he told her forthrightly? The very same result. He couldn’t win either way.

“I’ve been here and there,” he murmured back. Of course, ‘here’ did not necessarily mean Icicle Village. Such a dreadfully unimaginative name for a snowy rural community, now that he thought about it.

Tifa’s lips curled up in a rueful smile at his scant response, wondering at which point he’d slipped back into his ‘Fewest Words Possible’ mode. She had to admit that she was surprised when he told her about his hobbies in Icicle. But then, she was mostly talking just to keep herself from addressing a few things.

And gods, how could she explain herself for coming here? He couldn’t understand that those gifts had made her so happy that she thought her heart might burst. When she’d felt down, it had been Vincent Valentine who pulled her back up with a simple act of kindness. The gesture made sweeter by the unexpectedness. And maybe that’s all it was. Kindness. She’d read too deeply into his actions, and now she looked like a fool, blowing it out of proportion like Rufus Shinra’s paparazzi. She was amazed that Vincent didn’t mention one thing about her being here as inappropriate or an act of lunacy.

She’d lived in a fantasy before, only it had been another man in the picture. And she’d put her whole heart into it until there was nothing left for her to be a person. And she could have been in danger again, if she truly could describe what she felt for Vincent Valentine at the moment. She just wanted to reach out to him. And why? He hadn’t asked for it.

Maybe she just felt that they had a connection, and that their relationship had the potential to grow into something deeper, if he’d let her in. And she’d thought that he’d made the first move… Or… maybe she was just losing her mind, and she was putting all of her heart into something that would only leave her lonesome in the end. All because of the same mistakes she’d made with—

“I’ve just realized that… my being here is a little… ridiculous,” she blurted out, interrupting her thoughts. She laughed lightly as she peered down to inspect her hands. Her knuckles were dry. Mostly to give herself something to do, she dug into her pocket to pull on her fingerless gloves. She needed to get a grip because she had a sudden urge to run away.

It didn’t help that Vincent didn’t address her observation in any way, and the silence drew out for so long that she wondered if he’d even heard her. But of course, he must have. She sharply turned her head to look up at him, willing him to speak.

His eyes were vacantly watching her hands for a time, but they’d darted away as she glanced back at him.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replied lowly.

“You wouldn’t? Then… what would you say…?”

She had to hear this. Obviously, he was thinking long and hard about it. But sometimes he’d done that before, when Cloud would ask for his advice. And then when they’d all held their breath, he’d finally say something so simple that the dramatic build-up left her inexplicably disappointed.

“I would say that… you were… misguided.”

One fine dark eyebrow lifted. Well, that was different. And she didn’t like the way that sounded. Misguided. Such an unusual word choice. Maybe she should ask him if he felt he was misguided for buying her flowers and piano music. She actually thought that the two of them were a little misguided at the moment, walking aimlessly as they were between snowdrifts. Maybe she should deck him with a snowball, and inform him that he was misguided for leaving without saying goodbye, because she was so tired of missing people who didn’t seem to care about being missed.

Suddenly, she came to a halt there and turned to face him, adjusting her knapsack on her shoulder before settling her hands on her hips. He stopped too and gazed down at her, crimson eyes unreadable but somehow glowing in the early evening.

“Misguided?” she echoed, now that she had his complete attention. She’d forgotten how little the guy made eye contact, when people asked him questions. Or talked to him in general. Must have been some kind of a Turk habit. “You think I’m stupid? Or you think that I don’t operate by my own free will?”

“I didn’t say that, Miss—er—Tifa. I meant…” He huffed, annoyed that he suddenly forgot how to communicate properly. It was easier to talk to her before, when they were on the battlefield or otherwise watching each other’s backs. When their words were limited and… distant. Harmless.

“What did you mean?” she asked accommodatingly.

“I’d think…”

That your journey is wasted on someone like me.

“There are more welcoming locales than Icicle Village for you to visit. And…”

I am so glad that you’ve come… If I could, I’d keep you with me…

He schooled his eyes despite the dilemma in his heart, and carried on. “…I should see you home,” he finished, releasing a long, pent-up breath with his words. He started walking again, distantly aware that they were passing a few houses in the general direction of the inn. Wood was burning, and people were no doubt cooking the last meal of the day. He should offer her real food, as she might do for him. As a kind man would do. She was no doubt hungry, after drinking only hot chocolate after her long journey…

He scowled. He was not a kind man.

For a moment, he listened for her footsteps behind him, but when he didn’t hear the crunch of her boots, he stopped again and turned to look at her.

He could see that she didn’t like that answer one bit, if her deep frown was any indication. She had every right to be annoyed, because that was one of the most presumptuous and insensitive things he’d said to her since she’d arrived.

“Maybe I’m not ready to go home,” she replied challengingly. After a moment, she added, “Do you want me to go?”

“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wish to do.”

“Hmm… Well, in that case… I want to know what you would like to do.”

He cleared his throat in an attempt to dispel a sudden dryness there. “I would like to…”

“Yes?”

“Do what… you wish to do.”

“You’re content to do what I want to do?”

He didn’t answer at first. He was not content. By no means. But he would resign himself to that… in place of…

Uneasily, he nodded. Not the answer she wanted. How could he please her without wanting to do… more?

“I… you… forget it.”

“Well, as I said, Miss Lockheart, you are not required to stay if you’d prefer.”

“You didn’t say that.”

“The point is that I should hate to get in your way, Tifa.” Rambling, again. Maybe all those nights sitting quietly with Mara Thompson were finally taking their toll on him.

“But I’m certain you have responsibilities at home that you left in order to…” Find me…

“I do have responsibilities. I couldn’t just get up and go as easily as you have found to do.”

He thought he might protest that in a number of ways, but she went on. It was for the best that she interrupted, because he would have told her how hard it was for him to leave her.

“I have a job at home, for one thing. I can’t just get up and leave whenever I want.” She blinked, as if surprised at her boldness, and then she must have found a gap in her explanation. “But I’ve made you another responsibility, Vincent Valentine,” she quietly pointed out. “I came to thank you. Because sometimes people do things for others and… they’re not always appreciated. As silly as that sounds. So… thank you for the gifts. And since you’ve insisted on making yourself scarce—”

She paused to take a breath, her eyes wide as though she thought she might have said the wrong thing. She had, in fact, staggered him with her bluntness. Nonetheless, he merely lifted his eyebrows in expectance of an answer, and folded his arms as he waited for the next volley of arrows she might launch his way.

Sweet gods, was he truly comparing Icicle Village to a battlefield? Which would make Tifa Lockheart the enemy, again. But that was not quite the case. He could see that he’d irritated her in his intentionally unintentional ways.

“You have something to add?” he urged gruffly.

“Well… Yes, actually. Vincent, do you—? I mean—Ah… never mind.”

What madness was this? She couldn’t begin an inquiry, only to retract it halfway through asking. He had to know now, or else it would drive him crazy, if he was actually still sane, that is. He took a step toward her, his eyes steady on his target, as though he could change her mind by his will alone if he gazed at her long enough. But he knew better. And besides, the longer he made a study of her heart-shaped face, the weaker his resolve became.

“Do I… what…?”

“No, it’s… nothing. Really.” She brought up a hand to sweep the hair from her eyes as the unforgiving wind blew it there.

Restlessly, his arms fell to his sides again, one hand delving into his pocket to feel for the photograph. He told himself not to bother the faded paper so much, even as he chided himself for keeping it. If she knew, she would run…

“You wish to ask me a question,” he flatly informed her. “Ask it.”

“Ah… no… Honestly, Vincent. It’ll keep.”

With a soft huff, a visible and audible exhalation of breath in the chilly air, he gave a single nod. Her unasked question would bring an endless list of possibilities in his head, and fewer plausible questions than ideas born of his wishful thinking, but he knew he couldn’t change her mind.

“Very well.”

He wanted to ask her what she wanted of him, now that she’d thanked him for so simple a... No, not simple. He should have smiled. For him, those gifts had meant more than a mere token of gratitude.

But now… the two of them were even. And there was nowhere to go but forward.

The two of them silently walked together once more, as they had done when they’d left the apartment building. With one larger pair of feet guided by the smaller one’s movements, their tracks crossed and parted and crossed again in the snow. And it occurred to both that they were somehow bound together now, but neither one was brave enough to share that notion with the other.