Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Guns and Roses ❯ Decisions ( Chapter 17 )

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

 

*******************

The walk to the subway station was surprisingly quiet as Vincent glanced around at the people passing them on the sidewalk. They had decided to take the subway to the other side of town, before catching the last bus out to Tifa's neighborhood, since his beloved car was going to be in the shop for a while. He was thinking that he might just get another one. He felt Tifa give his hand a gentle squeeze, and he glanced down at her, his crimson gaze curious. He watched as she smiled up at him, her eyes soft and warm as she looked at him.

 

“Are you ready to go home?” she asked.

 

He shrugged, thinking of their conversation back at the hospital.

 

Vincent watched as the police left, then turned to glance at Tifa, who was staring at him, looking as if she wanted to beat him.

 

“Why did you lie?” she whispered, her voice on the edge of cracking. Her hazel eyes blazed angrily. “Why are you trying to protect the bastard who shot you?” She stood quickly, fists clenched at her side.

 

Sighing deeply, Vincent laid back in the hospital bed, closing his eyes. “I'm not lying to protect him,” he whispered. He was silent for a moment. “I'm lying to protect them.”

 

“Them?” Tifa asked, the anger gone and replaced with confused curiosity.

 

“The police,” he said quietly, his voice weary. Tifa had noticed that, although he was healing, he seemed to be very tired lately. Sometimes she thought he seemed as if he was very old, which she knew, in years, he was, but in body, he wasn't.

 

Tifa drew a breath, sitting once more. “What do you mean?” she asked. “They can put him in jail.”

 

Vincent chuckled softly, shifting his eyes to her. “You think chains and bars can stop someone who can't die?” he asked quietly.

 

Tifa looked away, feeling ignorant. “They could at least do something,” she said, her voice pleading.

 

“Yeah,” Vincent said, sitting up to look at her, “get in the way and die.”

 

Tifa was silent for a moment, her thoughts reeling. She was silent as she tried to sort everything out. After a while, her voice was timid when she spoke. “So, it was him?” she whispered. She watched Vincent gaze at her. “Sephiroth?”

 

Vincent's brow creased slightly, and he looked away, trying to hide the worry and fear on his face. He gave her a mute nod.

 

“What will you do?” she asked.

 

He shrugged nonchalantly, as if it were not a big deal. “I'll handle it on my own,” he said quietly, meeting her gaze. He watched hurt flash through her eyes. “Rome wasn't built in a day,” he whispered, searching her hazel gaze, “and neither was I.” His eyes narrowed as he seemed to have drifted somewhere else. “Only I know his weakness, and only he knows mine.” He blinked.

 

As he thought about that, something occurred to him. What was his weakness? Was it Tifa? He glanced at her, feeling her stare. He knew he should probably be concerned, but for some reason, it wasn't Tifa he was worried about. He lifted his gaze from the sidewalk to stare ahead at the where the subway entrance was coming up. He didn't know why she had insisted on this, when he had offered her the keys to his Cadillac, but he guessed it had something to do with setting foot in his house, which he knew was picking at his brain, just as much as it was hers.

 

As they walked through the entrance, he sighed, looking down the stairs to where the terminal was. He paused at the top of the stairs, glancing over his shoulder. He noticed that it was beginning to get dark, and he felt a shiver run down his spine as he thought about what she had said about going home. All he could see was Sephiroth's evil gaze glaring back at him when he thought of the mansion. Tifa told him that they boarded up the window and fixed the door that had been kicked in, but that didn't make him feel any better.

 

He sighed deeply as he paid for his and Tifa's tickets, draping an arm around her shoulders. “Going home doesn't sound that great,” he said softly, watching an elderly couple as they crossed the terminal, toward the waiting train. He glanced at Tifa, seeing that she, too, was watching them as they held hands, seeming utterly content with nothing but each others' presence. When she felt his gaze, she turned to look at him, her hazel eyes wide and innocent.

 

“Then what does?” she asked, leading the way to toward the platform.

 

He smirked slightly as he followed her. “Why don't I just go home with you?” he asked mischievously.

 

Tifa's gaze narrowed. “Oh, no,” she said quickly. “You can't stay with me.”

 

Vincent chuckled softly. “Why not?” he asked, trying to put on his best puppy face.

 

Her brow wrinkled in worry as she looked away. “It's so dirty and plain,” she said softly, unable to look at him. “You wouldn't like it at all.” A defeated look settled across her face.

 

The playfulness quickly fled from Vincent's eyes, and he turned toward her, brushing her hair from her face. “Is that really what you think of me?” he asked quietly, causing her gaze to shift to meet his. “That because you don't live in a fancy house I won't like it?” He felt slightly hurt, almost as if she had said that about herself, and not about her house.

 

She looked away guiltily. “I just don't have very much to offer you,” she whispered.

 

Vincent gently grasped her chin, turning her to face him. “You've offered me your heart,” he said softly, searching her gaze. “Isn't that enough?” He smiled softly when she blushed, looking away. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips, just as the train whistled in the tunnel, signaling its arrival. When he pulled away, he held her gaze for a moment, before taking her hand. “Come on,” he said, pulling her to toward the doors as they opened. He gave her a little smile. “This is the right train, right?”

 

Tifa nodded, rolling her eyes as she followed him. She drew a deep breath, trying to calm her pounding heart. She didn't know what it was about him, but he always made her feel that way. She watched him pick seats, sliding into one next to the window. When their eyes met, and he smiled, she looked away, feeling another blush on her cheeks. She stared at the floor as she slid into the seat next to his. She glanced at him, grateful he was looking out the window.

 

It was all she could do not to stare at him as he stared thoughtfully out the window at nothing in particular. She watched him for a moment, noticing that, although he hid it well, he seemed tired still. She sighed softly, trying to relax and ignore the nagging feeling in her chest; the one that kept telling her she wasn't good enough for him. She was still in shock that she had confessed her love to him. She hadn't said it again since that night, and she was equally surprised when he had not only accepted it, but claimed that he returned her feelings. She glanced at him once more, surprised to find that he was propped against the window, his deep, soul-searing eyes closed. She watched him for a while, her thoughts tumbling through her head as she stared at the peaceful expression on his face. When she did look away, she looked around the subway car, noticing that they were the only passengers.

 

She glanced out the window, noticing for the first time the eerie glow of the tunnel lights as they flashed by. She sighed as she leaned back in her seat, knowing it would be raining by the time they arrived at the stop by her house, which was still nearly half an hour away, with the bus ride and all. She closed her eyes, deciding that maybe she would just rest her eyes for a bit. She wasn't sure how long she rested, but she was jolted from her sleep by what sounded like thunder, the squealing of brakes, and the subway jolting oddly. Blinking, she glanced around, seeing that the train was slowing to a stop, and she turned to look at Vincent, who was gazing ahead toward the front of the car, surprised and confused.

 

She gently touched his arm, noticing how he briefly glanced in her direction, but otherwise didn't move. “What's going on?” she asked softly.

 

He shrugged, shifting slightly. He turned to look toward the back of the subway, his gaze narrowed and thoughtful. “I don't know,” he whispered.

 

Tifa followed his gaze, before turning back to him. “What should we do?” she asked.

 

“I don't know the answer to that, either,” he said, his back rigid as he glanced around, his crimson gaze shaded.

 

Tifa watched him a moment longer. She started to suggest they move to the next car, but she was silenced as the lights flickered wildly, before going out. She felt her heart pounding in her chest as a surreal chill fell over her. She knew this was definitely not normal, and she blinked when an eerie red light suddenly filled the tunnel, illuminating the train as the emergency lights came on. Tifa began to tremble slightly, and she glanced at Vincent. Her eyes widened in fright when he looked at her, as the lights made his crimson gaze glow in the dark, giving him a very demonic appearance. She watched as he looked around, brushing his raven hair from his eyes.

 

“We need to get out of here,” he said softly. He stood slowly, reaching for Tifa's hand. “Come on.” He led her down the aisle, glancing around warily as the lights flickered. Once they reached the door to the next car, he tried the handle, feeling sick when he realized it was jammed. They had been set up.

 

Tifa's hand shook in Vincent's as she watched him try to force the door open. She felt tears crowding her eyes as she began to realize that they were trapped, and that something was very wrong. She could tell by the way Vincent was tense, but oddly calm. She knew he was feeling the tension in the air. Something was about to be terribly wrong. She knew that it was no coincidence that they were the only people in this car, and she could feel terror pulsing through her, causing her heart to pound frantically in her chest. She could feel icy fingers tightening in her chest, and she pulled her hand out of Vincent's, slowly backing away from him.

 

If it hadn't been for him, she wouldn't be in this mess. For a moment, and only a brief moment, she regretted having ever met him. She hadn't realized what she was getting herself into, but now it was painfully clear. She desperately wished she could just rewind time, and the feelings of hopelessness and fear were beginning to make her feel light-headed.

 

Vincent turned when he felt her pull away, and he wasn't surprised to see her hazel depths wide with fear. He stepped toward her, drawing her gaze. His eyes were concerned as he cautiously reached for her, wondering what she would do. “Tifa?” he whispered. He wasn't surprised when she flinched, pulling farther out of his grasp.

 

Her stare was blank, save for terror and tears. “What are we going to do?” she whispered, continuing to take small steps away from him.

 

Vincent slowly proceeded toward her, thinking quickly. “Just calm down,” he said quietly. He knew what was about to happen, and he knew that he had to get Tifa somewhere safe. He could handle Sephiroth alone, but if Tifa was there…. He watched her stop, allowing him to get within arms' reach of her. “Everything will be fine.”

 

Tifa looked away, staring at the floor. “It's him, isn't it?” she whispered, so that he almost missed it.

 

Vincent balked slightly. He watched her face, knowing he couldn't lie to her. “I think so,” he whispered. He took a step closer to her, drawing her gaze.

 

“He wants to kill you, doesn't he?” she breathed, her eyes brimming with tears.

 

Vincent mulled over that for a second, before nodding. “Yeah,” he whispered, “he does.” He was surprised when she suddenly threw herself at him, sobbing quietly.

 

“He can't,” she said, her fists clenching his shirt. “He can't!”

 

Vincent wasn't exactly sure what to do or say, but he knew things were about to get messy when it sounded like something landed on the roof. He held Tifa tightly to his chest, scowling. “Shit,” he swore softly, thinking frantically.

 

Tifa's hazel eyes widened in fright as she pulled back to look up at the roof. She had never been so scared before in her entire life. “He's here?” she whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer, but knowing he was.

 

Vincent sighed, wishing desperately he had a gun on him. He met Tifa's gaze. He knew he had to tell her the truth. “Things are about to get really nasty,” he said softly. He pulled her toward a nearby seat, his gaze on the ceiling as footsteps could be heard. He sat her down, taking her hands. “I want you to stay hidden,” he whispered, searching her gaze in the scarlet light. He could tell she was trying to hold it together. “No matter what happens, don't come out until the coast is clear.”

 

Tifa nodded, shaking badly. She watched as he stood, listening as the footsteps stopped. When he motioned for her to get down, she slipped onto the floor, hiding under the seat. Nothing could have prepared her for what happened next.

 

**************

Vincent strained his ears for any sounds from outside. As a last desperate resort, he ran to the door at the back of the car, trying to force it open. When nothing worked, he swore quietly, taking a step back. Gathering his strength, he slammed his foot into the door, trying to kick it down. He tried that several times before he stepped back, his breathing heavy, from both exhaustion from his previous injuries and fear of what Sephiroth had in mind. He looked up when he heard the footsteps again, this time coming closer to where he was, and quickly. Instinctively, he ducked and rolled across the floor, just as a blade plunged through the steel of the roof, slicing it open. He thought he heard Tifa scream, but he had little time to dwell on that as a shadow fell through the new opening in the ceiling, chuckling softly.

 

“You thought you could escape me, didn't you, Valentine?” Emerald eyes glittered malevolently in the scarlet haze that encase them as Sephiroth straightened, letting the tip of the blade of his sword, the Masamune, rest on the floor. He chuckled again, easily lifting the absurdly long sword. “This time you won't get away,” he said, his eyes hardening.

 

Vincent stepped back, watching Sephiroth raise the Masamune over his head. He couldn't keep his conscience from commenting on how the red emergency lights made the silver blade sparkle as if it were coated in blood. “Wonderful,” he breathed, readying himself for the impending attack.

 

“Any last words?” Sephiroth cooed.

 

Vincent smirked. “I'm gonna kick your ass for what you did to my car,” he said quietly, watching Sephiroth arch a brow at him in surprise.

 

“Is that a challenge?” he asked, his voice dark and smooth as he watched Vincent.

 

Vincent shrugged, sliding into a defensive stance. “Maybe it is,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he watched anger flit across Sephiroth's face.

 

“You know, Valentine,” Sephiroth purred, taking a slight step toward him, “I think I'm going to enjoy driving my blade into your body.”

 

Vincent flinched as Sephiroth brought the Masamune down with incredible force. He somersaulted backwards, feeling the air stir as the blade came within inches of him. He slid backwards across the floor, remaining in a crouch as he watched Sephiroth.

 

“Impressive,” the emerald-eyed man purred. He lifted the blade once more, moving toward Vincent with super-human speed.

 

With out much thought, Vincent jumped up, just as Sephiroth went to stab at him. He grasped the hand railing above him, shoving his feet into Sephiroth's chest, sending him sprawling backwards, the Masamune clattering to the floor. Once Sephiroth was on the floor, Vincent let go of the hand rail, falling as if to plant his foot in Sephiroth's face, when the swordsman suddenly rocked backwards, slamming his feet into Vincent's chest. Vincent grimaced as he flew backwards, slamming into the door of the subway car.

 

He closed his eyes as he was paralyzed for a moment, his body absorbing the contact. When his mind finally cleared and the pain registered, he gasped, leaning forward and collapsing to his knees. He clutched his side, knowing something was definitely broken. He coughed as his lungs screamed for air, and a coppery taste filled his mouth. He opened his eyes, seeing crimson dots falling onto the ground, and feeling a warm trickle across his lips. He looked up slowly as black boots came into his field of vision.

 

Sephiroth grinned, raising his sword. “Shall I tell you how it feels to have your head cut off, or shall I let you experience it for yourself?” he whispered, his eyes shining with malicious intent. His voice quieted to a nasty hiss. “Either way, it's excruciating.”

 

Vincent scowled, bowing his head. He didn't have the energy to fight at the moment, and even if he did, he didn't know that it would be any good, since his body was protesting just his simple drawing of breath. He listened to Sephiroth chuckle at his silence.

 

“That's right,” he purred, “sit there silently and take it like a man!” With that, he brought the Masamune down with a fierce stroke.

 

Vincent flinched, closing his eyes and expecting to feel burning pain. He was surprised when instead he heard a scream, followed by Sephiroth's surprised grunt. He opened his eyes and looked up, suddenly more afraid than he had ever been in his entire life.

 

***********************

Tifa watched Sephiroth plunge through the roof and attack Vincent. At first she was shocked; Sephiroth was so angelic, with his long flowing hair and piercing gaze, yet he wielded a sword only the Grim Reaper would love. At first glance, he seemed nothing like the beast Vincent had made him out to be, until he took a swing at Vincent. She watched fearfully as they fought for a moment, with Vincent holding the upper hand. It wasn't until Sephiroth landed a blow that Tifa found it hard to stay silent. She felt tears crowding her eyes as she realized Vincent wasn't getting up. She wanted nothing more than to run to him as she watched blood drip from his lips.

 

She knew, when Sephiroth raised his sword, and Vincent bowed his head in defeat, she had to do something. She couldn't watch Sephiroth tear Vincent apart. Her mind was frantic as she watched the One-Winged Angel lift his blade. She could feel her hands shaking as she formed a sort of plan, and she quickly yanked off her shoe. She screamed angrily as she threw it at him, deliriously happy when it bounced off his head. When he turned to look at her, her heart froze as she realized that her cover was blown, and she was his next target.

 

“What have we here?” he purred, stepping away from Vincent. “A guest?” He lowered the Masamune.

 

Tifa backed against the window as he neared. She flinched when he smirked, letting his gloved fingers softly brush her cheek.

 

“I will enjoy shedding your blood as well,” he whispered, his eyes glinting murderously.

 

Tifa closed her eyes, turning her face away. Now she knew why Vince hated him so much. She whimpered quietly when she heard him raise his sword.

 

“Your fight is with me.”

 

Tifa opened her eyes slowly at the sound of Vincent's voice. She watched as he struggled to his feet, still holding his side. She was grateful to see a bit of the old spark in his eyes as he glared menacingly at Sephiroth.

 

“She has done nothing to you,” he said quietly. “Let her go.”

 

Sephiroth smirked, turning from Vincent. His eyes raked over Tifa, making her feel violated. She gasped when he roughly caught her chin. He inspected her for a moment, before roughly letting go of her. “She is a friend of yours, is she not?” he asked, still eyeing Tifa.

 

Vincent was silent as he met Tifa's terrified gaze. He knew that no matter what he said, her life was in Sephiroth's hands. At his silence, Sephiroth turned to look at him.

 

“Well? Is she or is she not?” he demanded.

 

Vincent straightened, trying not to flinch at the pain that suddenly seized his insides. “What difference does it make?” he asked quietly, his voice deadly. “You'll kill her either way.”

 

Sephiroth smirked again. “I just wished to know if killing her would bring you pain,” he said thoughtfully, almost to himself. He was silent as he studied her a moment longer, before shrugging. “Oh well.” He grinned as he wrapped his hand around her neck, squeezing slightly.

 

Tifa gasped as his hand tightened, closing off her air way. She looked at Vincent, before closing her eyes. “V….Vin….cent….” she gasped. She could feel darkness eating at the edges of her vision. She felt her mind succumbing to her lack of oxygen, and her thoughts gently faded, rendering her unconscious.

 

Angry, Vincent watched as Sephiroth lowered Tifa to the ground. He watched as the madman turned to look at him, grinning still. “I will have fun with her later, then,” he said, lifting his sword, “as she seems to be of no concern to you.”

 

Vincent clenched his fists. Without warning, and fueled by hate, he rushed Sephiroth, knocking him to the ground. His fists flew as he rained punches on the man, beating him to a pulp. When he felt the fury leave his body, and his fists slow, he stood, turning away from the unconscious man.

 

“You can break my car and hurt me,” he whispered vehemently, walking to Tifa's sleeping form. “But don't you ever hurt Tifa.” He lifted her into his arms, then walked toward the door. He kicked it squarely, anger and adrenaline still pulsing through his veins. With a groan it buckled, and he carried her from the train and to safety. As he left the subway terminal, he hailed a cab. He slid inside, cradling Tifa and giving the driver directions, promising a tip if he said nothing about his strange cargo. As they pulled away from the curb, Vincent could hear the sound of sirens.

 

******************

Tifa groaned softly as she felt sleep ebbing away from her. She lifted a hand to her head, scrunching her eyes. She had a killer headache. She blinked slowly as she sat up, listening to the sound of rain pounding on the roof. Her heart jumped as she looked around her room, confused and wondering how she got there. Slowly, she slipped from her bed, wondering if the past week of her life had just been one big nightmare. She walked to the door and opened it, stepping into the hall. She sneezed when the scent of food tingled her nose. She felt her heart leap as she rounded the corner and came into the kitchen. What she saw made her stop dead in her tracks, a blush heating her cheeks.

 

Vincent was sitting on the counter, with her medicine cabinet open, wrapping Ace bandages tightly around his bare, and quite muscled, chest. He glanced up when he heard her. If he noticed her blush, he didn't act it as he pinned the bandages and jumped down from the counter, wincing slightly.

 

“Mornin',” he said, giving her a smile as he picked his shirt up off the back of one of the kitchen chairs and pulled it on. He watched her as he buttoned it slowly.

 

Tifa looked away, returning his smile, grateful he was putting his clothes back on. “Morning,” she said chipperly, trying to cover her embarrassment. She turned away from him, walking to the stove. “What are you cooking?”

 

She listened to his bare feet on the floor as he walked over to stand next to her. “Eggs and bacon,” he said, handing her a fork. She glanced up at him timidly, noticing that he had left the top three buttons undone, before she snatched the fork quickly, busying herself with breakfast. She could feel Vincent's stare on her as she picked at the bacon.

 

******************

Vincent was lost deep in thought as he sat on the counter, trying to bandage his injured ribcage. He knew it wouldn't do much, but at least he would feel better. He heard Tifa before he saw her, and he saw her hazel eyes widen in surprise and he noticed the blush on her cheeks when she saw him. He was slightly unnerved at her silence, wondering why she hadn't come in, demanding answers from him. He tried to distract her a little, knowing it was on her mind, as well as something else. When he handed her the fork, he had seen the way she looked at him. He couldn't put a finger on what it was he saw in her eyes, but he was going to find out.

 

“So, how do you feel?” he asked quietly, watching her hands as she turned the food.

 

“Fine,” she said easily. She turned toward him, opening the cabinet next to him. He watched as, when she reached for a plate, she winced slightly.

 

Once she had the plate, he closed the cabinet door, catching her hand before she could do anything. “Why don't you let me do this?” he asked softly. He watched her stare at his hand on hers, her cheeks tinged pink. When she lifted her gaze to meet his, her blush darkened.

 

“Okay,” she said softly. She let the fork slip from her fingers to his, before stepping back and sitting at the table, her back to him. As she sat there, cradling her aching head, she could feel her hands trembling. She didn't know why she suddenly felt so flustered, but just having him in her house, cooking her breakfast made her want to scream. She could feel tension building in her chest, as well as questions, fear, and, eventually, anger.

 

When he calmly walked to the table and set a plate in front of her, she looked up at him, holding his scorching gaze for a moment. “We need to talk,” she said quietly.

 

He nodded mutely, sitting in the chair next to her. “Eat a little first,” he said easily, although the anxiety was clear on his face. “You need to regain your strength.” He watched her take a few bites, and, once satisfied, he leaned back in the chair. “So, what's on your mind?”

 

Tifa lifted her gaze to his, giving him a glare. “You know damn well what's on my mind,” she said darkly, trying not to shovel the food into her mouth. She was just so angry all of a sudden, and if she had food in her mouth, there would be no room for angry words. “I can't believe you put me in that situation! I could have died!” Her hazel eyes were blazing. “Or worse! I could have had to watch while Sephiroth cut you into little pieces!” By this time, she had shoved the plate away, no longer hungry. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, looking away at the floor. Regret and sadness crossed her face. “I'm not so sure if you should even be here.”

 

Vincent took her words in stride, not the least bit surprised. In fact, truthfully, he had expected something heavy to be launched at his face. He was unable to look at her though, when she uttered her last words. He was beginning to feel the same way, but he couldn't image his life without her. He knew every moment he spent with her was a moment when Sephiroth could hurt her, but to be without her hurt worse than any torture Sephiroth could possibly imagine. After a moment of tense silence, he looked up, to find her watching him, her gaze unreadable.

 

“So, would you feel better if I left?” he asked quietly. He watched her eyes widen slightly, as she seemed to really think about what she had said. She looked away, her inner turmoil obvious.

 

“I….” She squirmed in her chair, before standing. “I don't know,” she whispered as she picked up the plate. She seemed on the verge of tears as she moved to the sink. Once there, she set the plate into it, before standing there, her nails digging into the edge of the counter. “I just don't know anymore.”