Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Guns and Roses ❯ Fast Cars and Freedom ( Chapter 8 )

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

 

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Vincent slowed to a stop as he pulled up to Tifa's house. He unlocked the door, watching her slide out. She glanced at him as she stood.

 

“Thanks again,” she said quietly, uncomfortable under his gaze.

 

“It was my pleasure,” he said, smiling. He mentally smirked when she blushed. He was sure he would never get enough of that. He liked it when she blushed. It made her look cute.

 

“Well, I guess I'll talk to you later,” she said, chewing her bottom lip.

 

Vincent nodded. “I'll call you,” he said, watching her fidget. He still couldn't get past the fact that she was so much like Lucrecia in everything she did. If he didn't know any better, he would swear that the years had been rewound and it was really her. He nodded at her good bye, watching her walk up the front steps and unlock her door. He waited until she closed it before pulling away from the curb.

 

But there were things that made him admit she wasn't Lucrecia. Her eyes were a pure hazel, and Lucrecia's had been a deep sea green. And she was a lot spunkier than Lucrecia was. When you found her buttons, she suddenly came to life, where Lucrecia had always been laid back and relaxed. He sighed as he got onto the freeway.

 

There was one thing about Tifa that surprised him. He enjoyed her company. He had dated many girls over the years, and found that he just couldn't stand to be around them. Sometimes it was because he was going through a depression phase, and other times it was just because the girl was so damn irritating or whiny or needy or clingy. But Tifa…well, she was different.

 

He smiled softly as he thought about Tifa. Her attitude made him forget about how alone he felt, and she always managed to find a good thing among the bad. That much he had learned from their lunch today. It didn't matter that her ex had shattered her heart. She wanted to move on, and he respected that. He just wished he could muster the same resolve she managed to.

 

It was true, Vincent was tired of being alone, and he was tired of keeping people at arms' length, but he didn't want to let go of Lucrecia. She was the one thing he had ever wanted in his entire life, and she was the one thing he would never be able to have. He dwelled on that with every breath he took, regretting that their time together was so brief; so fleeting. He knew what he had, and it damn near killed him when she was gone. If it hadn't been for his fateful encounter with Hojo after he killed Sephiroth, it may have.

 

He focused on the sky scraper in front of him. But, if it hadn't been for Hojo, he wouldn't have amassed a multi-million dollar fortune. And he wouldn't be owner and CEO of the world's leading manufacturer in fire-arms. He would still be a washed out gunslinger, running from a past he couldn't hide from.

 

He parked his Zephyr in his parking space, then proceeded into the main lobby. He walked to the elevator, waiting patiently for it to reach the ground floor. He noticed the stares of some of the employees as he buttoned his shirt and slipped on his tie, before pulling on his steel grey blazer. He smirked lightly when he realized most of the stares were from the women.

 

He looked up as the elevator opened, and he stepped inside, pressing the button for the top floor. It took the elevator about five minutes to reach the top, and Vincent was silently grateful when he stepped onto firm ground. He would never admit it, but elevators made him sick, what with all the stopping and going, and the up and the down.

 

He shook his head. Thinking about it made him nauseous. He looked up as he opened the door to the office lobby, greeted by the sound of Liana typing away at her computer. She looked up when he entered, her eyes surprised.

 

“Mr. Valentine,” she said, pausing to look at him over the rim of her glasses. “I was under the impression that you weren't coming in today.” Relief shone on her face, and he wasn't sure why.

 

“Well, I slept in this morning,” he said, setting his briefcase on the edge of her desk and slipping out of his blazer. He walked to the coat rack, hanging it up, then turned back to her, pulling his tie off. “And then I had an unexpected lunch meeting. So I guess I'll be working late tonight.” He undid the first three buttons on his shirt, preferring the casual look. It was a lot more comfortable, too.

 

Liana looked away, trying to hide a light blush. Why did her boss have to be a drop dead gorgeous hunk? She sighed, taking off her glasses and picking up a stack of files. “I took the liberty of helping you out,” she said, handing them to him.

 

He quirked an eyebrow, confused.

 

She smiled gently at his look. “I finished sooner than I expected, and I thought I'd give you a hand,” she said in explanation. At the shocked expression on his face, she added, “Think of it as a thank you for driving me home last night.”

 

He stared at her a moment longer, then nodded. “I see,” he said quietly. He picked up his briefcase. “Well, Liana, remind me to give you a raise one of these days.”

 

Liana smiled. He always said that when she did him favors. She knew he was good for it, but she never felt the need to ask for the raise. She got a certain pleasure out of seeing the grateful look on his face, especially when he was swamped like he had been. She watched as he disappeared into his office, leaving the door open. It was silent for a moment, and then she heard his voice.

 

“Liana?”

 

She walked toward his office, stopping in the door way. She watched him as he stared out the window overlooking the city. “Yes, sir?”

 

He turned and looked at her over his shoulder, his crimson eyes meeting her dark green gaze. “I mean it this time,” he said.

 

She smiled and nodded. “Of course,” she said, laughing softly as she walked away.

 

He sighed in exasperation, turning back to his desk. He knew she'd never say anything. She never did. He sat at his computer, turning on the screen and opening his email. He clicked on a link, sending a message to the financial department to give Liana that raise. He smirked. He knew he'd never hear the end of it.

 

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Several hours later, Vincent was feeling a little stressed. He pushed the file in front of him away, leaning back in his chair. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. He glanced up at the sound of footsteps outside his office door. He watched as Liana stopped in the doorway, her face anxious.

 

“What is it Liana?” he asked, putting his hands behind his head.

 

“Um, a Professor Hojo is here to see you, sir,” she said, glancing at the floor, her eyes confused.

 

He sat up. “Hojo?” he asked.

 

She looked up at him and nodded. “Yeah,” she said.

 

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. Hojo was the last person he wanted to see. He leaned forward getting to his feet. “Show him in,” he said. He picked up a file as she turned. “Oh, and Liana…”

 

She paused in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder.

 

He held out a folder, smiling. “Will you take this down to the fifth floor?” he asked. “I want a copy of it before you give to Charlie, understand?”

 

She smiled a little. “Sure, sir,” she said. She stepped back and took the folder, thumbing through it. She recognized it as the file she had sent to Charlie several weeks ago. She glanced back at him, realizing that he wanted her out of the office while he spoke with this Hojo character. She wondered what he was hiding.

 

Vincent watched her go and watched as she slid a shaded glance at him. He knew she was on to him. He turned toward the window, staring at the city below. He listened to the sound of heavy footsteps as they entered the room. He heard them stop and he sighed shortly.

 

“Close the door,” he said shortly. He listened as the door swung slowly on its hinges. “Why are you here, Hojo?” He turned to look at the elderly scientist.

 

Hojo smirked as he met Vincent's crimson gaze. “It's been a while, Vincent,” he said.

 

Vincent's eyes narrowed as he scowled. “Bastard,” he growled, turning away. “Unless you've found a cure to this curse you've put on me, I'm not sure I really want to speak to you.”

 

Hojo laughed. “Well, I have something to say that you may not want to hear,” he said.

 

Vincent snorted a laugh. “Then don't say anything,” he said, sitting at his desk and leaning back in his chair.

 

Hojo took a step closer to his desk, his grey eyes traveling over the office. “I see you've done good for yourself,” he said, his expression solemn, “but I don't know how much longer you'll be able to enjoy it.”

 

Vincent rested his elbow on the arm of his chair. He let his chin drop to his hand as he gazed at Hojo. “What are you talking about?” he asked, suspicion in his voice.

 

Hojo stopped at Vincent's desk, leaning his hands on the front. “The mako, Vincent,” he said. “It's changing your DNA.”

 

Vincent rolled his eyes. “No shit,” he said, turning his chair around to face the window.

 

“I'm serious, Vincent,” Hojo said, his voice earnest. “I've been studying the effects of the mako on our DNA. It puts it into a state of suspended animation, before slowly degenerating it.” He watched Vincent slowly turn and face him, seemingly interested in what he was saying. “Vincent, you're dying.”

 

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Vincent slammed the door of his Zephyr as he sat, staring angry at the steering wheel. He slammed his fist on the wheel, letting head fall into his hands. He stared straight ahead, thinking about what Hojo said.

 

“Dying?” he had asked.

 

Hojo nodded. “I don't know how much longer your DNA can support the mako before it collapses,” he said.

 

Vincent felt as if a ton of bricks had slammed him in the chest. He turned back to the window, scowling. Damn you Hojo, he thought. I hate you so much.

 

“So, then I suppose that means you're dying as well?” he asked softly.

 

Hojo nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I've been looking for a cure. So far I have not had much luck.”

 

Vincent turned back to him, his eyes deadly. “And why did you feel that you needed to come here to tell me this?” he asked.

 

“I want you to come with me back to my lab,” Hojo said, his grey eyes searching Vincent's. “I need to run some tests, and I need a subject.”

 

Vincent stood quickly. “You want me to agree to be your damned lab rat?” he hissed. “Were you always this demented, or was I just naïve and disillusioned?” He stalked out of his office, snatching his coat off the rack and walking out of the lobby.

 

Hojo jogged after him, trying to keep up with him. “Vincent, wait,” he said. “You want me to find a cure, don't you?”

 

Vincent paused at the elevator. “No,” he said, the anger and irony in his voice. “You want to know what I want?” He turned and faced the elderly scientist. “I want you to go to hell, Hojo, that's what I want.”

 

Hojo chuckled. “You might get your wish,” he said.

 

Vincent scowled. He got into the elevator, watching Hojo get in next to him. “Don't speak to me,” he commanded, glaring at the door. Once it opened on the ground floor, he stepped out quickly. He was almost to the door, when he saw Liana walking toward him.

 

“Sir?” she asked, her eyes worried.

 

“I'm going out,” he said, his voice clipped. “I'll be back later. Don't wait for me.” Then he stepped around her, stalking to the door.

 

Liana stared after him, disturbed. It wasn't like him to get upset about things. She watched Hojo slip out the door as well, and her eyes narrowed. Something was wrong.

 

Vincent shook his head. He ran his hand through his hair, then started his car. He pulled out of the parking lot, getting on the freeway. He drove on for a while, barely paying attention to where he was going. His mind felt numb.

 

When he was finally able to focus on where he was, he realized he was on Tifa's street. He pulled up outside her house, and turned off his car. He sat in it for a moment, staring at the steering wheel. What would he do? What would he say? Would Tifa understand? Would she help him?

 

He stepped out of the car and walked slowly up to her door, slipping his hands in his pockets. He stopped in front of the door staring at it. He lifted his hand to knock, just as doubt started to overwhelm him. He stepped back, gazing at the door, concern on his face. He shook his head, turning. He decided he would handle this alone. He didn't want to concern Tifa in this.

 

He was halfway down the sidewalk, when he heard the door open. He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

 

“Vincent?” Tifa said, standing in the doorway. She clutched a blanket tighter around her shoulders as she ran a hand through her soft brown hair.

 

He turned to look at her, realizing she was dressed in a white silk nightgown, and her eyes were tired. He frowned, before realizing that it was kind of late.

 

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

 

He stared at her for a moment, then stepped toward her. “Will you come with me?” he asked, feeling a deep pain in his chest. “I need to talk to you.” He held out his hand to her when he stepped onto the porch.

 

She looked at his hand in confusion. “But I'm not dressed to go anywhere,” she said. Her eyes widened in surprise when he stepped toward her, circling his arms around her waist. She searched his crimson gaze, confused at the emotions she saw swirling in his eyes.

 

“You look fine to me,” he said quietly, his voice soft and sultry.

 

She felt her heart beat quicken as he pulled her closer. A blush darkened her cheeks. She realized that his lips were slowly closing in on hers, and she closed her eyes. She felt her breath catch in her throat as she realized he was seconds from kissing her. She felt his lips brush hers, electricity shooting through her, down to her toes.

 

Ohmygosh, she thought. He's kissing me! But, that look in his eyes. That was the same way he looked at me when he spoke of his girlfriend that died. Her eyes fluttered open. Does he see her in me? She suddenly pulled her lips away, turning her face to look at the ground.

 

He watched her in confusion. “Tifa?”

 

“You see her in me, don't you?” she whispered softly. She stepped out of his arms. Her eyes met his, unshed tears and fear in her hazel depths.

 

“What are you talking about?” he asked softly, reaching for her again.

 

She stepped back. “That girl,” she whispered, “that died. You see her when you look at me.”

 

His eyes softened as he realized she was right, but at the same time wrong. “Yes,” he said softly. “I do.” He saw her look away, hurt in her eyes. “But I see you, as well.”

 

She looked back at him, a tear slipping from her eye.

 

“I see you, Tifa,” he said, catching her arm. “And I can't imagine seeing Lucrecia in you. You're so much different.” His eyes searched hers. “I know you aren't her. No one could ever be. So please, Tifa, let me show you that it's you I see, and not her.”

 

Tifa gazed into his crimson irises, feeling him wipe away the tear on her cheek. She saw pure honesty in his eyes. “Okay,” she whispered.

 

He smiled softly. “So, will you come with me?” he asked quietly, the pained expression returning to his eyes.

 

She nodded. She closed the door, following him to his car. She let him help her inside after he opened the door for her, before watching him walk around to the driver's side. He got in and glanced at her, the expression still there.

 

“Where are we going?” she asked as he started the car.

 

“As far away as it takes,” he said quietly, pulling away from her house. He left her neighborhood, getting onto the freeway. Once they got out of the city, he glanced at her. “Tifa, I have to tell you something.”

 

She looked at him. “What is it?” she asked, watching his eyes.

 

He turned on the headlights as stars began to appear on the horizon. “Tifa, I…” he paused, drawing a breath. “I…” Fear shown in his eyes as he concentrated on the road.

 

“You can tell me anything, Vince,” she said softly, touching his arm.

 

He glanced at her, the fear still in his eyes. “I'm afraid,” he said softly.

 

She stared at him, confused and slightly fearful. “Why?” she whispered.

 

“I'm going to die,” he whispered.

 

Tifa stared at him, horror on her face. “What?” she breathed. “H—How…Why….”

 

“You may not believe me,” he said, looking at her momentarily, then glancing back at the road, “but my story starts in the summer, almost 100 years ago.” He sighed deeply, his hands tightening around the wheel. “The summer Lucrecia died.”