Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Revelations ❯ Bergen's Law ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer; I do not own Final Fantasy VII or any of its characters, etc.

Again, thanks for the wonderful reviews guys, I'm really enjoying writing this.But I'm realising it's going to be long. I hope you don't mind. Thanks for all the interest, and thanks Hana for the support and every one else too.

Chapter 3: Bergen's Law

1

They were followed.

He was sure of it. He had heard the scuffle of extra steps for a good half-hour now and was wondering when they would make their move. Any attempts at a kidnap, would probably wait until they were out of Edge; no interference, no fuss and most importantly a tidy place to dump any extra bodies. Any extra bodies like him.

He wondered if she knew too. Probably not. She still had the hood up, he could only make out the steamy puff of each breath from beyond the shadow of her face. They where both quilted in a fine veil of misty rainwater. Vincent detested it. Downpours he could handle, snow he could cope with, but this misty, sticky rain found a way to soak through everything.

Tifa walked, and walked, and walked. The cold air stung her nostrils and she was sure the bleeding was going to start again. How many alleys was Vincent going to lead them through? She had thought he would have taken a less dangerous route out of Edge; they had almost been mugged three blocks ago by some half-crazed, mako-fixed addict. Luckily, once Vincent flashed him a nice view of Cerberus and Death Penalty, the idiot had had enough sense to run.

Tifa had expected to hear the loud, thunderous roar of Cerberus but was somewhat surprised to see Vincent had let the would-be thief leave. She had frowned at him then, had she not known him so well she could have supposed he didn't want to fill a boy who looked no elder than fifteen full of Cerberus' personal calling cards, but she had witnessed his darker side too many times to willingly play ignorant to the truth. The truth that the only reason he had held back from turning the youngster into a bloody sieve was that it would have made a scene. And a scene meant they would be either recognised or remembered should anyone ask later.

2

Several grey blocks of a cardboard box-like city had passed before Vincent decided to impart some of his Turk wisdom to her. He ordered her to remain `perfectly forgettable' and do only what he instructed, explaining that `no-one remembers a passer-by unless they do something to make themselves memorable; something distinct.' When she sarcastically asked what this `something distinct' entailed, he had replied with reined impatience, “it could be as simple as waving or stopping to ask for directions; even just catching someone's eye momentarily on passing.”

It did not take a genius to realise that blowing the head off a local youth probably didn`t fall under the heading of `forgettable'. Vincent's reasoning although less sentimental and morally lacking had a chilling logic and cunning.

It was sickening all the same, if not a little frightening.

But then Vincent could hardly lecture her on remaining `forgettable`, how often did you see a caped gunman walking the streets looking like a modern hybrid of Zorro and Count Dracula? Tifa wrinkled her nose at his hypocrisy and shot a defiant eye to the back of his sodden head as he trailed her along the ever-darkening alleys by the wrist.

“Vincent stop.”

He continued.

“Vincent, I said st-” He had jerked her into the shadow of the wall and slapped a hand over her mouth before she could snap at him. She resisted the temptation to bite his hand in indignant abuse. He usually had good reasons for this.

She could hear only her muffled breathing from behind his hand and the hazed echoes of barking dogs from the surrounding neighbourhood. The walls in this narrow alley were high, mouldy and uninterrupted by windows. Only moonlight seeping from around the corner in a diagonal strip managed to provide Tifa with any sense of direction and awareness.

The high-cornered building concealed them in shadow, but Tifa did not need to see Vincent's face to know he was waiting for something.

Had they been followed? Who knew. Tifa figured the best thing she could do right now was shut up and stay still. Whatever Vincent was up to did not apparently involve her and anything she tried might just make him angry enough to leave her in Edge to fend for herself.

She didn't want to be alone in this.

3

When she was sure five minutes had passed, and her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness enough to make out the ragged contours of Vincent's face, she sighed deeply into his hand to signal her frustration and impatience. `Hurry up and do whatever it is you need to do Vincent, its freezing.' His eyes flicked to her briefly before returning to watch the entrance to the alley.

She had only just started flexing her knees to warm up when he let go of her mouth and wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her closer.

In shock, she looked up at his face again, her breath shuddering with the throat-biting air. He was still staring out at the entrance, and briefly lifted his other hand to place it in front of his lips. `Be quiet.' She could still hear nothing significant, but maybe Vincent had enhanced hearing thanks to his horned partners.

She was no longer shaking as Vincent was, despite lack of layers and the current weather conditions, extremely warm. She was pressed into the wall and the damp had started to permeate the layers of her coat and jumper, Vincent, who was still wary of whatever he could hear that she still couldn't, was pressing rather tightly into her.

And he still made no move to remove his arm from around her waist.

Right now, Tifa was sure if anyone had passed by they would assume a drunken couple had staggered from a nearby pub and were now having a rather heated session in the cover of the alleys. This was more intimacy than Tifa had thus far experienced, and the close contact with a feared killer, who happened to be a container for four demons, was making her nervous and strangely anxious.

She started shaking again, and when he pulled her marginally closer, it only got worse.

“Vi-”

“Shh…” It was low, husky whisper.

His hand travelled up her back under the heavy coat and pressed against her back. He leaned in further until his cheek was flush with hers. The nervous brunette could feel the heat radiating off his face on her cold cheek and wondered how he could possibly be so warm. There was a strange kind of security with this movement and she could smell the milky sweetness of his skin.

Tifa's view of the alley entrance was shielded by Vincent's face, so she stared directly at the wall opposite, studying the mouldy bricks. She suddenly wondered what she might be leaning against.

4

Another five minutes passed.

She was so distracted trying to ignore Vincent's light breaths in her ear that she almost didn't hear the ever-increasing footsteps that where nearing their alley. Flinching when she heard the cock of what she presumed to be Cerberus, she became aware that they were being followed and Vincent planned on sorting out the problem.

The shaking started again and there was a painful cold wind now blowing in her other ear.

“Did you see which way they went?” There was more than one.

“No, but I'm pretty sure they haven't got far.” Two at least.

“They've gone in an alley again. These are all dead-ends so they`re bound to be hiding in one of them.” Make that three.

The rustling of heavy coats or jackets and footsteps became ever louder. Tifa had the strange feeling that she was playing Russian roulette with a stick of dynamite and was just waiting for the big bang. The big bang that would either end with her head on a platter for Rufus ShinRa and Vincent probably locked away for research purposes again or three bullet riddled soldiers.

Suddenly Vincent's protection didn't seem so reassuring.

She felt him tense and press up against her.

BANG.

When she jumped his arm tightened on her waist. One down, two to go.

“There!” came a gruff shout from just beyond the corner. She jerked her head away from his to see what was going on.

Vincent was lightning. The second the stocky man in a leather jacket came round the corner he was slumped on his knees and then on his face in the muddy puddles. Tifa was sure she saw the hole in his right temple before she heard the gunshot.

The wake was deathly silent.

Until a slow squeaking, itch crept alongside Tifa's ankle. In shock she kicked out and screamed, and the rat that had been dangling from her foot flew into the adjacent wall. That was a mistake.

Vincent had jumped back in surprise just as the third man rounded the corner, and two gunshots sounded simultaneously. Tifa felt the first hit her arm, sending her reeling backwards into mud-water puddles. The second she was sure found its mark as when the body hit the ground a sudden thud resonated through the long alley.

5

Vincent sighed. It had been close, he had been so surprised by her kick that he almost missed the third man. And more than anything that would have been a great wound to his pride. He had yet to miss a shot when on duty. Unfortunately for Tifa the soldier had managed to get a shot in before hitting the concrete, and when Vincent dodged he hadn't realised she was in the firing line.

If he had of known would he have stayed put? He was quite surprised to find that a part of him wanted to take the bullet and spare her pain, probably his chivalrous side. His mother had always drilled into him the ways men where `supposed' to behave. “Always seat lady guests before seating yourself Vincent.”, “Vincent Valentine, snorting is most indignant at the dining table.”, “Ladies first, Vincent!” and her favourite, “Vincent Valentine you will never earn a woman's favour by being a sexist swine.” That usually earned a slap across the back of the head, or a good tug of the earlobe. But would his mother approve of him taking a bullet for a woman who was too stubborn to follow instruction? She would be ecstatic.

After ensuring the alley was clear and they were no longer being followed Vincent walked, albeit distastefully, to Tifa, who was now slumped against the wall and clutching her left bicep to stem the bleeding.

Again, he was surprised to find when he knelt down to her level, that she was not crying. She was ghostly white and shaking, though that was probably from the shock of actually being shot. As far as he could tell she had never suffered a bullet wound before, and until you experience the horror of having a gun aimed and shot at you, you would never know real fear.

Even he would admit it is a frightening experience, though due to his exploits as a Turk and then traipsing with Avalanche to the four corners of Gaia, he had become a little accustomed to being on the receiving end of every bullet going.

`They always seem to target the one with the horns and fangs first.'

He snatched her hand away without a word, and lifted her arm carefully. There was a hole about a centimetre in diameter slightly to the left of her muscular upper arm. Being an expert on bullet wounds, after many years of tending to himself and Turk companions on site, he knew instantly the bullet had neither hit the bone nor struck a major nerve or artery. The bullet had also passed cleanly through the flesh on the other side, though the exit wound was a little larger.

He poked at the wound a little to check there was dirt in the wound, that was when she vomited. He ignored the retching girl and tore a strip of cloth from his black shirt. When she sat up again, wiping her mouth on a sleeve he tightened it around the arm preventing any further blood loss and keeping the wound clean till they got somewhere better to take care of it.

He helped her to her feet. Vincent was about to berate her for her stupidity when he noticed her sway a little and saw the clammy sweat of her face shine in the moonlight. I can tell her later. He probably didn't need to tell her anyway, the pain should be punishment enough to make her realise that all actions have consequences.

He remembered back to his Turk days when his superior Bergen had told him “Vince, you seem like a smart-arse book worm, you've heard of Newton's law right? Every action has an equal and opposite reaction? Well here's Bergen's law, `Every order is like a rule, and every broken rule has it's set of consequences.' So if you ever disobey my orders again, you'll get more than a broken leg, you hear?”

He hated to admit to himself he was becoming as set in his ways and intolerant of failure as Bergen. He smirked, and continued out of the alley and through the streets, listening carefully for Tifa's steps following after.

6

Three hours later they where finally out of Edge and making it through the plains in the Midgar Area. He was getting quite nervous about Tifa, she hadn't spoke since before the alley incident and that was very unlike her. Normally she would talk his ears till his ears bled, even when he was trying to ignore her and everyone else. Usually by the end of the conversation, or speech, Vincent realised he was actually quite interested, and had been quietly nodding his way through.

He looked back again and slowed down, only partially, they needed to keep going or they would be lucky to get to the abandoned underground train tunnel by tomorrow afternoon. Colour had started to come back to her face, but she had set in her face in determination to keep walking so he thought best not to disturb her.

7

Several more hours passed, the sun has risen but it was a grey, dirty skied day with little light and more of the detestable hazy rain. Thoroughly soaked, completely exhausted and feeling like they had just suffered a sixteen round boxing match with Mike Tyson, the two silhouettes on the Midgar plains came to an abrupt halt at the base of the mountains that divided them from the Junon Area.

Vincent looked back to the weary face of Tifa and then from side to side along the jagged outcrops of muddy, moss streaked mountain rock. He nodded at Tifa then continued around a large outcrop to the left, his cape billowing in the strong wind blowing from the icy north.

Tifa hobbled wearily along behind him, surprised by each step she managed to make. Her arm stung like hell, feeling as though someone was using a carving knife to decorate her bicep. Each swinging movement, the barest of movements at all, sent sharp shooting pains from her arm up her shoulder to her neck and down her spine. She tried holding it with the other arm, but it wasn't really helping. Hopefully Vincent would stop soon and find a potion.

Her voice came out as a hoarse croak, like a bullfrog with laryngitis. “Vincent, are we th-”

“Yes.” To her surprise he didn't sound impatient. In fact she could hear slight sympathy in that voice, and that shocked her most of all.

8

When she finally turned the corner, she wasn't startled to see an old wooden building merging into the mountain walls, she was too tired to care. Right then Tifa was sure if Vincent had pulled on a dress and broke into the can-can, right there, in front of that hovel she wouldn`t have even batted an eyelid.

Vincent had disappeared into the sun-warped building, the flimsy door shuddering open a crack behind him. He re-checked his supply of bullets and reloaded Cerberus, he was more than sure he was the only person who still knew about this passage but as Bergen always liked to say, “Better safe than fucked later.”

He turned to tell Tifa they would move on, but she wasn't behind him like he expected. She was sitting in the corner leaning on an old barrel sound asleep. The gun-man was sure he could hear her snoring softly and decided to rest for a bit before setting off down the cellar door to the tunnels.

The house only had the one room so he would rest near the door, wary for any other followers he may have missed. But then, that was unlikely, Vincent Valentine never missed. He smirked again and wandered over to Tifa, she was shivering quite loudly. He wouldn't be able to sleep with that racket, so he gently draped his cape around her. She snuggled into it instantly, curling into the foetal position on the floor.

He examined her wounded arm one last time before settling himself in the corner against some old boxes.