Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Running out of Time ❯ Negative Developments ( Chapter 7 )

Thank you to all who reviewed! As it stands, Vincent's fate is still undecided. But I have taken note that I am now receiving death threats on a daily basis. Your opinions have all been taken note of. I'm now down from 80/20 killing him to just 60/40. Mostly I'm just lazy because it means more work for me to figure out how to NOT kill him…

 

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Disclaimer: FFVII is not mine. It belongs to Squenix. I do, however, claim rights to this little plot bunny of mine.

 

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Running out of Time: Chapter Seven.

 

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Tifa was letting the tears flow freely down her face by the time Vincent was done with his story. She waited until he was done buckling up his black, long-sleeved top before speaking.

 

“Oh, Vincent… I know you don't want pity, but… I'm so sorry,” Tifa murmured. “I never would have imagined… You don't deserve this. This… this is cruel,” she whispered. Vincent grunted, shifting uncomfortably. “I don't know how much help I'll be,” she sighed, “But I'll do my best. I just hope it's good enough.”

 

Vincent shrugged. “Thank you,” he muttered. “I appreciate your concern on my behalf.”

 

Tifa sighed in exasperation. “Stop it, Vincent! Just stop it! Of COURSE I'm concerned! Did you think I wouldn't care?” She shook her head in disgust. Vincent's constant self-depreciation was beginning to get on her nerves.

 

“Let it go, Tifa,” Cloud reprimanded softly from the corner. “Vincent is Vincent. That's not going to change any time soon.”

 

Tifa smiled an apology. “Sorry… I guess… I'm a little upset. Oh, Vincent, why didn't you say anything? And don't you dare say it's because you don't want to burden us with your problems!” She told him sternly.

 

Vincent smirked. “Then I guess I won't say anything.”

 

Tifa growled in frustration. “Vincent, it's NOT a burden. It's no trouble at all… really! That's what friends are FOR! They help each other!” The tears were flowing again, unchecked, as Tifa's emotions got the better of her. She stumbled forward to embrace the startled gunman carefully.

 

“Don't leave us,” she whispered. “It hurts too much. We all care about you, whether you want to believe it or not. Please, Vincent. Promise me you'll try. Try to get better.”

 

He grunted, awkwardly wrapping his arm around the brunette as she clutched him tightly. “All right. You have my word. I will… try,” Vincent spoke haltingly and with slight embarrassment. “Ah… Tifa?”

 

Cloud chuckled from his corner as Tifa looked up in teary confusion.

 

“You're hugging me.”

 

Tifa nodded. “Uh-huh… oh… Oh! Um… um… I'm sorry!” She quickly released him and scrambled backwards as though she'd been burned. Vincent's mouth quirked in a failed attempt to suppress his amusement. “It's fine, Tifa.”

 

The room was filled with uncomfortable silence. Finally, Tifa spoke up.

 

“I hate to leave you, but I need to go get the bar ready to open up…”

 

Vincent nodded. “Go. I'll be fine. …Relatively speaking.” Tifa chuckled through her tears and turned to leave, giving Cloud a significant glance before walking out and shutting the door behind her. The silent exchange did not go unnoticed. Vincent didn't miss much. “What was that about?”

 

Cloud sighed. “Well, basically Tifa's gonna kill me if I don't keep an eye on you 24/7. That's just how she is… She'd do it herself, but she has customers to deal with,” he explained. Vincent “hmph”ed. It made sense, he supposed. He shuddered as another wave of pain rippled through his body. His shoulders were beginning to hurt dreadfully. He dug out another potion and choked it down. He had never liked the way they tasted. But his actions had alerted Cloud to his pain.

 

“What is it this time?” The blonde inquired wearily. He had been hoping that no new problems would develop today.

 

Vincent gave a pained grimace. “The wing scars on my shoulders,” he said quietly before hissing in pain and shutting his eyes tightly. “The potion isn't working. Cloud, help me get this off!” Vincent began fumbling with the silver buckles on the cape.

 

Cloud wasn't sure what had caused the sudden frantic tone in Vincent's voice, but he hastily complied. Pulling it off the gunman's shoulders, he still didn't see what the problem was. But Vincent wasn't done. He cursed and pulled his glove off with his teeth.

 

“The shirt, too. Hurry!”

 

Cloud was baffled by Vincent's sudden strange behavior, but he began working on the buckles at the collar while Vincent worked at the ones at the bottom. When the last of the buckles was undone, Vincent tried to rip the shirt off, but it was clinging to his back in such a way that made the action impossible to complete one-armed. Cloud sighed and pulled it off for him, noting that the heavy fabric was damp on the upper back. When he saw the reason why, he froze. Vincent uttered a guttural curse, which Cloud echoed, followed by a hiss of sympathy.

 

The scars on Vincent's back had reopened, and there was a large smear of dark crimson on the gunman's prominent shoulder blades. At the removal of the shirt, fresh blood had welled up to the surface and was trickling slowly down Vincent's mutilated back. Vincent finally growled in frustration.

 

“How bad does it look, Cloud? I can't see it from here.” Cloud debated before answering, but finally decided that Vincent wouldn't be very forgiving if he withheld any details, no matter how upsetting. “It's… It doesn't look good, Vince. The scars reopened and they're bleeding pretty bad. Can you make it to the bathroom in the hall? We keep the first aid kit in there. If potions aren't going to work on this, we need to treat it the old-fashioned way.” Vincent nodded stiffly, and without another word, Cloud lifted him to his feet and slung the gunman's arm around his shoulder.

 

Glancing briefly down the hallway before stepping out, Cloud noted that the coast was clear. Quickly, they all but ran to the bathroom. Fortunately, it was a larger room than most bathrooms. It was one of the few luxuries Cloud and Tifa had allowed themselves when deciding on they layout of their… home, he supposed, was the word. He just hated being cramped in small places. As soon as Cloud could slam the door shut, Vincent pulled away and staggered over to sit on the edge of the tub, pushing the shower curtain roughly to the side. He couldn't suppress his agonized groan as the motion pulled at the open wounds. He finally decided that it would be best if he didn't move at all.

 

Wordlessly, Cloud opened the cabinet above the vanity and pulled out a large box, which he promptly opened. But he muttered to himself as though changing his mind, and moved to the towel rack instead. Digging through the pile of washcloths, he found a black one and moved over to stand before Vincent. He reached for the shower knob and turned it on, waiting until the water was comfortably hot. He wetted the cloth and began to mop up the crimson mess on Vincent's otherwise colorless back. After the cloth was saturated, he rinsed it and began the process over again. At first, Vincent glanced with interest at the red stream flowing down the drain, but he then decided that he'd really rather NOT know just how much blood was coming off of the wounds. He let his head sink down until his forehead rested in his ungloved hand. How utterly embarrassing. He'd almost rather deal with the pain than have Cloud baby him like this… but the blonde was adamant. Vincent was to stay put and do nothing. And, he hated to admit it, but he really did need the blonde's help. It was nigh impossible for him to tend to his shoulders adequately on his own, and Cloud seemed eager to help. Vincent sighed. He might as well get used to it.

 

Cloud tried not to let his alarm show as he carefully tried to wash all the blood off of Vincent's mutilated shoulders, but there was just so much. Too much for Cloud's liking. He felt so helpless, unable to do anything but watch as the gunman slowly fell apart. Seeing the once invincible sharpshooter he had known for years reduced to such a state was… heartbreaking.

 

When the water Cloud wrung out of the cloth was finally beginning to run clear, Cloud reached up to lift the first aid kit from the vanity and set it on the toilet lid. He knelt in front of Vincent briefly to look him in the eyes. Hesitantly, covered the gunman's bloodless fingers with his own hand.

 

“You doing okay?”

 

Wordlessly, Vincent shut his eyes and shook his head stiffly, clenching his hand into a tight fist. He was afraid that if he spoke now, he wouldn't be able to suppress the agonized scream that had been trying to tear its way out of his throat for the past ten minutes or so.

 

Cloud lowered his gaze, anguish washing through him. He noted with distress that Vincent was trembling violently. He swallowed down the words he'd been about to say, only to find that his throat had closed tightly at the sick ache in his heart. This was NOT fair. Not fair to Vincent, and not fair to himself or the rest of his friends. Wordlessly, Cloud grabbed another black towel to pat the wounds dry.

 

With shaking hands, Cloud began to spread the antiseptic cream across the ragged flesh of Vincent's back. It had a painkiller in it and a potion base, so it should have eased the gunman's pain. But, judging by Vincent's white-lipped grimace, it wasn't. Cloud just bit his lip and kept working. Next, he reached for the gauze pads, and, after placing one over each raw wound, he gently covered them with the large butterfly bandages to hold the pads in place. Lastly, he pulled out the roll of bandages and silently began wrapping them around Vincent's emaciated torso. All the while, Vincent never uttered a sound. When Cloud was finished, he secured the end of the bandages with a metal clip and stepped back to survey his handiwork. All in all, it wasn't too shabby of a job. It should help hold Vincent together for a little while longer.

 

Cloud walked over to the sink to rinse his hands off, but Vincent didn't move an inch. Worried, Cloud glanced over at the dark haired gunman.

 

“Vince… are you gonna be all right? No, that's a stupid question… can you walk? Is the pain any better?”

 

Vincent swallowed, giving a strained affirmative. “But… the pain… is no better,” he breathed, making no move to stand. Cloud bit his lip before finally shaking his head.

 

“I'll go get some potions and the rest of your clothes, then I'm taking you to the church. I'll tell Tifa,” Cloud added, troubled. “I know you don't want the others to suspect anything, but it's gonna be pretty damn impossible to hide as long as you're staying here.” And without another word, the blonde opened the door and sprinted out. Vincent just sat, unmoving on the edge of the tub, trying not to scream.

 

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End chapter seven!!!!! You all do realize that by reviewing, you ensure that I will continue to update frequently? So, what are you waiting for? Have at it!!! And unless I get a LOT of reviewers to beg me prettily, this story is going to have a tragic end, and Vincent doesn't stand a chance. Speak up if you want him to live! I'm still flexible. I've been itching to write SOMETHING with a happy ending!