Author's Beginning Note Thingy: DISCLAIMER... Okay, we all know I'm a huge Vincent/Cloud shipper, and eventually this fic was bound to tempt me. Please note that any and all interaction in this chapter is treated in the most platonic way I can see possible. If I were writing this as slash, various reactions and conclusions would be much, much different. That said, read on!

xxx

Wisps of grey stormclouds were gathering in the East, and they were light and ashy in contrast to the swell of night sky also approaching from that direction. They acted weirdly, drawing closer and closer until they appeared to splat on an invisible wall, long arms fanning out to the sides creating a big circle around Cosmo Canyon. The roiling surfaces of these clouds chased eachother across the horizon like the ripples on a lake, like waves on the sea. They finally connected at the West end and swelled over, creating the effect of a big dome, a cloud-bubble, and the darkness became brighter with their covering.

The wind was whipping rather fiercely past by the time Cloud and Vincent made it to the main floor level in the Canyon village. The canvas doors of tents and eaves and roofs of windows in the outside market (which for the most part had packed up already, at dark) flapped wildly. Their shopkeepers began rapidly re-emerging from the warm safety of their homes to secure the various fabrics down, or roll them up and hide them altogether from the oncoming storm. The flames of the Cosmo Candle flickered and sputtered, but neither man either noticed or worried; they would not go out. That eternal firelight had weathered much worse weather, this would not make it so much as blink.

Vincent whimpered and clung with an iron-grip onto Cloud's arm as they ran, shoulders hunched in anticipation for rainfall. The first droplets hit when the swordsman first set boot on the stairs, and he swore silently. The downpour was instant and made every smooth rock surface immediately slick.

They made it without trip or stumble all the way to Cloud's door, and with a jingle of the keys, darted out of the wind and cold. For a moment both men just stood there, barely inside and dripping. The water seemed thick as goo as it ran out of their hair, down their clothes in veritable rivers. Eventually all the liquid pooled into a clear expanding circle across the sandstone floor at their feet. "Shit...!" the swordsman swore once he'd at last caught his breath and gotten ahold of himself, jumping into action. He found his way to the bathroom in the dark and pulled out a towel, dragging it through the house behind him (to cover his drips) before tossing it over the puddle he and Vincent had created.

The gunman still stood rooted to the spot where Cloud had left him, and looked up upon the boy's return, bewildered. The blonde took another moment to breathe and calm down before clearing his throat and surveying his companion again. He sighed. "You're flooding the place..." the swordsman tried to laugh, but the expression seemed so foreign to him that it came out more like a shivery wheeze. "Then again, so am I..." he at once began to strip off excess fabric... the detachable sleeves around his arms, the leather armor, belts and straps, leaving on only the basics - shirt and pants.

This process, for one reason or another, seemed to have Vincent momentarily enthralled... an opening which Cloud used to his advantage taking hold of his compliant arms and beginning to remove his wet layers as well, a worrying mother with their child who'd just been out playing in a rainstorm. "There..." he muttered to himself, at last satisfied by the time he'd worked off the soggy cloak, headband and jacket. "...you can do the rest?" he met eyes again with his friend confirming the man was capable. The gunman's various abilities, recently, flip-flopped from days when he could cook up a storm and make meals the likes of which Cloud had only tasted in the Seventh Heaven, and days when he sat in a fetal position in the corner of a room. Today seemed like an in-between, and Cloud only hoped that meant he was able enough to undress himself.

He wasn't entirely sure... but it seemed like Vincent had nodded, and that was a good enough answer for the moment. He padded across the dark livingroom again and partways down the hall beyond, turning into his bedroom. There, Cloud allowed the last of the soaked clothing he'd been wearing to fall to the ground with an unceremonious flop and set about replacing them with something dry and more comfortable. This done, he let himself fall prone onto the bed, his face buried deep into the feathery pillow. Maybe, he thought, if he just pressed hard enough and tried not to breathe, he could suffocate himself right here. It was a kind of morbidness the likes of which he'd managed to avoid experiencing pretty much since the Second Advent. Cloud wearied of lost causes all-too-easily, which given his repertoire of skin-of-the-teeth victories, was something one would expect him to have gotten over, but he hadn't. There was also something awful in the concept of writing Vincent off as a lost-cause already, hell he didn't even know what was happening yet... but it wasn't going away, and that was infinitely disheartening. It really was like caring for a child... and wasn't this why he'd left Tifa?

Tifa...? Huh. How odd. He hadn't thought of her in... well, in years, at least. This realization came with a corresponding lightning strike which he could still see outlined by the shape of pillow caved around his face and the loud clap ob thunder that reached his ears. Somewhere back in the main body of the house there was a faint sound, rather like a mouse squeak, and then nothing. Cloud turned over to lie on his back, arms straight out to the sides, staring at the ceiling. It lit up suddenly again, and then the thunder came, sooner, closer. There was that same squeaking sound, then thudding footsteps and a thick shadow appeared in the doorway to his room.

His vision flashed, if only briefly, and Cloud immediately slammed the palms of his hands over his eyes in reaction. A vision?! Now? No! But nothing came... that telltale twinge in the back of his mind faded instantly away, and he even convinced himself that maybe it was the lightning. A panting at the end of his room lassoed his attention, and the swordsman slowly sat up, peering across the cozy distance to the lavalike eyes that hovered midair at the end of his bed. Vincent's shoulders heaved and shook, his breath coming in rolling waves. Another flash of light, another earth-rending crack and the gunman gasped, jumping, and pulling the door to slam shut behind him.

The blonde sat motionless and watching, dumb for a minute, as his friend pressed himself flush up against the far wall, bare chest heaving, barely visible in the thick atmosphere. Rain drummed down on all the outside surfaces, wind clattered through the shutters and howled through the eaves and down in the canyonlands like someone breathing over an open bottle, and all that symphony of nature almost drowned out the presence of Vincent in the room, if not for his eyes. They winked slightly, and then slid down toward the ground as he took a seat. A hand flashed up, blocking their hypnotizing, firelike light. He covered his face, almost as if in shame, and his shoulders shook with half-repressed sobs. At last, Cloud snapped out of his stupor and maneuvered over to the edge of the bed. "Hey..." he called.

Vincent didn't appear to hear him, in his own bubble of a world as usual. He sat curled up by the door, bare feet flat on the cold ground, back bent, mouth open, dripping. "Hey..." Cloud tried again, meaning to sound soothing... soothing like Tifa always had when she woke the children up for school.

And there she was again. Intruding on his thoughts. How? And why now, all of a sudden, when Vincent was here? He needed to concentrate on Vincent now...

Another flash sent the world into a comicbook-page pure black and white, and the immediate sound of thunder - like a gunshot (far too familiar) - got Vincent to his feet. He climbed and fell into bed beside the blonde, tangled himself in the blankets, clawing at every surface, scrambling to get away, oblivious to any obstacle. Said obstacle presented itself in the form of Cloud, throwing an arm out to the side to stop the gunman in his path, catch him like a net. This plan obtained the desired effect, and Vincent spun to face his friend, eyes wild, sucking in air like he was drowning. His skin felt cold and clammy against Cloud's arm, and he tried not to wince at the touch of it.

"Vincent." he said firmly. "What is going on?"

He wasn't sure if he expected a coherent answer... in fact, he knew he shouldn't expect that. It was his fault for asking. "Help me..." the gunman wheezed weakly.

Cloud thought that was the most pitiful thing in the world... and it literally almost broke his heart to hear it. Another explosion of thunder overhead and it's accompanying lightning seared their eyes into white, and found Vincent clutching to Cloud's arm, wailing. The hot salt of tears strayed down the swordsman's bare skin, and before even thinking he reached out, putting a comforting arm around Vincent's back, drawing him in, shushing and rocking like he would for a child. "What's wrong?" he breathed as the darkness around him misted, turned to faded grey in strange patches. Not the work of lightning, nor the tricks of shadow... something else, something he couldn't quite focus on at the moment. His current task was too important.

"I can't get to sleep." he hissed, squeezing his eyelids shut, dark lashes ringed with diamondlike tears. It somehow put Cloud at ease to not have to look into his warped eyes, and (perhaps in selfishness) he lay a hand gently over Vincent's face as if urging him...

"Try." he replied.

Silence reigned for a little while. Almost-silence. The rain still rampaged over the rooftop, dull thunderclaps made themselves known outside along with sparks of skyfire here and there. Vincent's crying gradually ceased and his breathing evened, but he wasn't asleep. Cloud still sat stiffly in place, his mind as empty as the hollow air within the room. No full thought seemed to form... the world was still grey, he still felt like he wasn't quite altogether here... that a part of him was in another place at another time. The memory was familiar, and yet so odd and unattainable. The form in his arms was small, thin and fragile... he could feel the gentle brush of soft things against his bare skin, almost like velvety moss or leaves... but he knew it was just the sheets.

At last Vincent, in a quiet voice, dared again to speak. "I can't hold on forever..." he shivered, looking up again into the palm of Cloud's hand, the orange light shining around the outline soft pale flesh.

"What do you mean?" Cloud pressed, removing his hand and looking down sharply into Vincent's face. He stared back, impossibly scared. The thunder struck again, rolling over them like a wave, and something changed about his face in the lightning... the cracks of harsh light somehow softened it, filled the sunken cheeks and eyesockets out, plumped the lips, dimmed the eyes, and Cloud could almost recognize him again as something... something... someone...?

The swordsman almost gasped at the brief likeness, an unmistakable vision. There was that pressure at the top of his forehead, the singing in his brain. Vincent was lit from the inside by a yellow light, and outlined in blue, and the storm outside had nothing to do with that. It all happened in an instant, in a bolt of lightning - that was all. And time stretched on forever in that moment, and just as quickly it faded, and just as agonizingly slow.

He sat there dumbfounded, looking down at the gunman sprawled over his lap. "What are... Vincent..." he muttered, wide-eyed. "...a-are you...?" no, it couldn't be. It was crazy. And why, in the name of the ancients, why was he thinking of Tifa at a time like this? "What is-"

But he was cut off, "Cloud..." the voice was calm and rational all of a sudden, a complete turnaround, and Cloud found himself wondering, perhaps even with reason, if this was even Vincent anymore. "...it's just an illusion. Don't worry about it." he affirmed.

"How did you know I-?" the blonde began, but was cut off by another crash, and whatever Vincent he'd just been speaking to was gone, back to huddling and hanging off his arm again. "Vincent..." he started hopefully, "...How did you know I... that I... that I Saw?" he asked, leaning over and speaking it like a secret, soft and almost directly into the gunman's ear.

With frightened eyes, again he looked up, and his stare was hard and unhappy. "The way you looked at me." he almost spat, as if offended, "Nobody looks at me like that... unless they See. Unless they See the truth. Nobody likes the truth. I hate that look."

The truth? What the hell did that have to do with anything? But before he could process the thought, Vincent put his head back down, resting it sideways across the swordsman's thigh. There was another flash, but its partner of sound came later. The storm was moving off already, and Cloud sighed with relief to know this ordeal was almost over. "...were you scared?" he softly asked, almost apologetic for having possibly upset the man, and hoping not to touch on any nerve or stomp more on Vincent's pride again (whatever he had just done).

There was no answer for the longest time, until came the smallest nod of the head, up and down, rubbing against his body as the only indicator that there was movement at all. Cloud smiled faintly at it, found himself inadvertently stroking a hand through the gunman's hair... his friend... just like a child.

"...finally asleep..." Vincent murmured, to which Cloud looked down at him questioningly.

"Not yet..." he muttered, slowly lowering his own body down to the bed, his head to the pillow, taking Vincent with him. The gunman was still captured securely in his arms and slid into place right beside him, his eyes deceptively closed, for Cloud could still see the faint slivers of orange light glinting out from under his eyelashes. "...you're not asleep yet, but soon. Just close your eyes." he lightly suggested.

Vincent shivered, "I don't want to sleep..." he said, his voice hushed and empty, "...I've been asleep so long, always in the background while the world goes on around me."

His sorrowed words were painful for Cloud to hear, but even now they were slurring with exhaustion, and the orange light flickered and went out. The swordsman sighed and tried his hardest to write off these latest maddened phrases as just that, nonsensical rambling... which seemed to be coming from Vincent with equal frequency to the sense of dejavu Cloud was getting... and it was frustrating. The last thing the blonde wanted to do was write his friend of as crazy... but he couldn't help but thinking that he made some sort of contribution to the situation, and he'd certainly had his fill of insanity in his life. "It won't." he muttered after this long, thoughtful pause, and he patted Vincent's back comfortingly. "The world won't go by anymore without you being a part of it. You'll get better, I promise. There's no rush."

The immediate dark between them lit up with fiery light yet again. Vincent's eyes were sad, but after a long hesitation, his lips curled into a faint smile. "I suppose..." he sighed, putting his head back down contentedly and closing his eyes for the last time that night, shutting out the flame, "...we still have time."