Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Guns and Roses ❯ Salvation ( Chapter 3 )

 

Disclaimer: FF VII and all the characters herein belong to Square Enix, except Liana (I made her ^_^).

 

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Tifa fell backwards as the car collided with her hip. She landed squarely on the ground, praying the car was stopped. She closed her eyes, as the headlights blinded her. She heard the gears shift, and she held up her hand, blocking the light. She watched as a shadow emerged from the cab, walking swiftly toward her. She was dumbfounded when she saw a young man emerge into the light of the headlights.

 

He knelt next to her, offering her his hand. She took it, shocked into silence. This was turning out to be a weird night. She let him help her to her feet.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

 

She nodded.

 

“You sure?” he asked.

 

She nodded once more, studying his face. She noticed that his eyes were the oddest she'd ever seen. They were a deep crimson, and they contrasted with his raven black hair. She swallowed the shock. He was very handsome, and he was helping her.

 

“I'm fine,” she said as they stepped out of the light.

 

“You're not hurt?” he asked.

 

She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I'm okay. Thank you for helping me.”

 

He smiled. “That's like you thanking me for hitting you,” he said, trying to hide the worry in his voice.

 

She giggled. He was handsome and funny.

 

“Can I give you a ride anywhere?” he asked, the guilty look still on his face

 

She was silent for a moment, thinking. She was only a half-block from her house. She could walk the rest of the way. As much as she would have liked to be in his company a while longer, she wasn't far from home and she didn't want to trouble him.

 

“No,” she said finally. She sighed. “I can get home on my own. It's only just down the street.”

 

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Vincent watched her, noting the depth of her sigh. He could see places on her cheeks where she had evidently been crying, and he felt bad for her. He nodded as she declined his request. “Alright,” he said. He gazed at her for a moment, then pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. He took a pen from his breast pocket and scribbled his name and number on the paper. He held it out to her.

 

“Here,” he said. At the look on her face, he added, “in case you need to reach me.”

 

She stared at it. “But, you don't even know who I am,” she said quietly. She glanced at it, then back at him.

 

He shrugged. “That, my dear, is trivial,” he said, smiling slyly. He watched as a blush appeared on her cheeks. “But, may I ask for your name?”

 

She looked away, smiling softly. “Tifa,” she said quietly. “Tifa Lockhart.”

 

“Well, lovely Tifa,” he said, smiling, “I am Vincent. Vincent Valentine.” He held out his hand to her. “I supposed we should formally meet before I ask you to dinner.”

 

Tifa stared at his hand, then looked back into his face, her hazel eyes wide. “What?” she breathed.

 

“Unless, of course, you have a boyfriend,” he said quickly, lowering his hand.

 

“No,” Tifa said quickly, thinking how ironic this was turning out to be. “It's not that. It's just…” She looked away, folding her hands in front of her.

 

“You don't want to,” he said quietly, finishing her thought.

 

She grimaced, looking up at him. “My boyfriend just broke up with me,” she said, feeling tears pricking at her eyes again. “I really can't accept your invitation.”

 

Vincent watched her as the tears shone in her eyes again. “Why don't you let me take you home?” he asked softly. “You don't seem to be in any state to go on your own.”

 

She smiled, looking at his car. “Would you?” she asked, her voice hurt.

 

He nodded. “Hop in,” he said. He smiled. “If nothing else, the ride'll be fun.”

 

She laughed softly, brushing away her tears. “Okay,” she said quietly. She let him lead her around to the passenger side and waited as he opened the door for her. He helped her in the car before closing the door and going back around to the driver's side. Tifa was shocked when the sound of a guitar began to wail through the speakers, followed by intense drums and screaming vocals.

 

Just my kind of guy, she thought. He likes heavy metal? That's weird. She looked at him as he got in next to her. He must have seen the look on her face, because, for the second time that night, he grinned sheepishly as he turned the music down.

 

“You like metal?” she asked, still staring at him. She could feel her tears slowly drying up.

 

He bit his lip as he sighed. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, looking at the road. “It's a curse, I know.”

 

She laughed softly as she shook her head. “No, that's awesome,” she said. “I would have thought of you as the classical type.”

 

He leaned against the driver side door, quirking an eyebrow. “Classical?”

 

“Well,” she said, really taking him in for the first time. “You're wearing an Armani suit, and you drive a Lincoln.” She shrugged. “What more is there to it?”

 

He smiled. “I suppose you're right,” he said, looking at the car. “But, you know, you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.”

Her smile remained on her face as their eyes locked. “I suppose I shouldn't,” she said quietly. When she realized that they were staring at one another, she looked away. “Uh, my house is that way,” she said, pointing down the street.

 

Vincent also looked away, nodding. “Right,” he said, feeling sort of stupid. Dammit, why was I staring at her?

 

Probably because she looks just like HER, his mind answered.

 

He mentally shook his head. She's been dead for years, he told himself. This girl couldn't possibly be her. He glanced at her as he drove in the direction she said. He watched as she studied the radio, trying to determine how it worked. When she found the button she was looking for, she pushed it. He was surprised to hear `Remedy' by Seether blaring through the speakers. He turned to her, catching her gaze.

 

“What?” she asked, her eyes wide and innocent. “I like Seether.” She pouted.

 

“Weirdo,” he said, shaking his head.

 

She turned an accusing glare on him. “You are too!” she said. “You've got the CD!”

 

He laughed. “You certainly are opinionated, aren't you, Tifa?” he said, looking at her.

 

She felt a blush heated her cheeks at the way he said her name. “So?” she said, crossing her arms and looking out the window. “It's not a crime.”

 

He snickered. “I suppose not,” he said thoughtfully. He drove on in silence, listening to the song.

 

“That's my house,” Tifa said suddenly, pointing to a little single-story.

 

Vincent stopped in front of it, looking at it closely. “It's….small,” he said, his interest piqued.

 

She opened the door and looked back at him. “It's not that small,” she said. She tilted her head. “Why don't you come see?”

 

He straightened and stared at her. “Huh?” he managed.

 

She giggled. “Just come inside for a minute,” she said. “I want to give you something.”

 

He quirked an eyebrow again.

 

She rolled her eyes. “Not that kind of something,” she said shortly, getting out of the car. She walked toward the front door, taking a key out of her purse.

 

Vincent slowly turned off his car and got out. He followed after her, stopping inside her front door. He gazed around, shocked. It was just as little as he thought it would be, but it was so….warm, and inviting. It was like someone lived there.

 

He smirked at the stupidness of his thoughts. Someone does live here, he said to himself, following the sound of her movements into the kitchen. He watched her dig through a drawer, before finding what she was looking for. She does. He met her gaze as she straightened, holding a slip of paper out to him.

 

“What's this?” he asked, taking it between his fingers.

 

“It's a number you can reach me at,” she said softly.

 

He glanced down at what appeared to be a card. He let his eyes skim over it, realizing it was a business card. “You're in a band for a living?” he asked, reading it.

 

She blushed. “Yeah,” she said slowly. She stared down at the kitchen counter. “But as of tonight, I don't know how much longer that will last.”

 

He looked up at her, seeing the sadness in her hazel eyes. “Oh?”

 

She nodded. “Cloud is in the band too,” she said quietly.

 

“Your boyfriend,” Vincent said, watching her. “Or, ex I should say?”

 

She nodded, biting her lip to keep from crying. It wasn't working as a tear slipped.

 

“Maybe I should go,” Vincent said, realizing he'd hit a raw nerve.

 

Tifa looked up at him, her eyes pleading. She felt the oddest sensation when he said that. She wanted to be alone, but she desperately didn't want to be alone. She couldn't make sense of the feeling, and it must have shone in her eyes. She gasped when he pulled her into a hug.

 

“Don't cry, Tifa,” he said softly in her ear. “Tears don't suit you.”

 

She closed her eyes, resting her forehead on his shoulder. It was odd. She had known this man for less than thirty minutes, and already she felt as if she'd known him forever. She felt comfortable with this total stranger, and it boggled her mind. Perhaps you knew him in a former life, her mind whispered. She baulked at the thought. That was absurd. There was no such thing as past lives.

 

She shook her head, pulling away from him. “I'm sorry, Mr. Valentine,” she whispered hastily, trying to hide her tears.

 

“Please,” he said, smiling softly. “Vincent. Mr. Valentine is my father.”

 

She smiled at his attempt at humor. “Of course,” she said. “I'm sorry, Vincent. I—I just…I don't know what's wrong with me.”

 

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Yes, you do,” he said quietly, causing her hazel eyes to lock with his. “You're in pain. That's what is wrong with you. And that's totally normal.” He searched her gaze, letting his hand slip to her elbow. “If you need anything, someone to talk to, whatever, don't hesitate to call me, okay?”

 

She nodded, feeling a shiver run down her spine at his touch. She walked with him to the door, watching as he let himself out. He walked to his car and opened the door, but paused to look at her.

 

“Good night, Tifa,” he said.

 

She watched him. “Good night, Vincent.”