Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Running out of Time ❯ Fade to Twilight ( Chapter 9 )

 

To KT, Lord Makura, One Winged Cetra, VeryCrazyGirl, Mannariel, RedSeraph, semeru, Gizmo, drachenmagier, and tmntyyh- Your death threats have all been taken into consideration. I have come to a decision, though it's not exactly what you're all expecting. But you'll be happy, don't worry. To Chaxra-san and Kysic- Don't worry, you'll be happy too. Both parties will be satisfied, and those of you that would swing either way won't be disappointed, either. But keep the reviews coming! They make me update faster. And I accept constructive criticism, and if anyone feels like analyzing the story or just want to put in their two cents, that's fine by me! I trust that all of you are mature enough to refrain from flaming me when the ending comes. But you'll like it, so I shouldn't have to worry, ne? ;)

 

KT- actually, the fact that you HAD tears in your eyes makes me a very happy authoress. It means that I have succeeded in making this little fic into what a story SHOULD be: a well-told narrative that strikes such a chord within the audience that it actually draws an emotional reaction out of the reader. Congratulations! You have succeeded in making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside!

 

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Disclaimer: If I actually OWNED FFVII, it wouldn't be called FANfiction, now, would it? But this plot bunny is MINE. -pets-

 

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Running out of Time: Chapter Nine.

 

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For the rest of the day, Vincent alternated between sitting or standing to gaze distantly at the sliver of blue sky and dozing restlessly. He and Cloud both agreed on at least one thing: Vincent needed to conserve his strength in order to hold out as long as possible. The numbness in his fingers grew worse, but he couldn't try to massage the feeling back into the hand without his OTHER hand, much to his frustration. As he had predicted, his joints began to ache before evening had fully set in. But he had been expecting that, as the rearranging Hojo had done to them would be sure to become irritated by his motions. He went as long as he could stand before refreshing the ReGen spell. For a while after Cloud's initial casting, he could get by on potions alone, but the pain gradually worsened as the hours dragged by.

 

Cloud could only look on in despair as Vincent seemed to fade with the setting sun. When the wounds on his shoulders began to seep again, Cloud wordlessly went through the entire process of changing the bandages again. It almost felt like a ritual. A macabre ritual, anyway. It was those moments that made Cloud painfully aware of just how much was at stake on Reeve's investigative ability.

 

But then there were moments when the gunman seemed so peaceful and content that Cloud could almost believe that nothing was wrong. At this very moment, Vincent stood serenely in the center of the flower patch, a tranquil almost-but-not-quite-smile gracing his alabaster lips. The crimson eyes were closed, his face lifted to catch the dying rays of the sun's flaming glory as the twilight gathered around him. Cloud watched silently as the colors of dusk ran together to blend like a watercolor painting, doused in an accidental stroke of inspiration by the artist. The red and violet of nightfall's approach seemed to merge with the crimson silk of the gunman's tattered cape to paint him in an unearthly light. For an irrational instant, Cloud thought that, somehow and against all reason, the impossible had occurred. This was no mortal man standing before his eyes. Surely this was an angel, and Vincent was already gone, out of his reach forever.

 

But then the light shifted, and Cloud was pulled back into the reality he wanted to shut out. Vincent seemed to blend into the twilight. He remained motionless, as though trying to pull strength out of the last rays of the dying sun.

 

Cloud closed his eyes, trying to hold that image from moments past in his mind. If Vincent disappeared… if he, too faded into twilight, Cloud wanted to be able to forever picture the enigmatic gunman as he had just been… bathed in the ethereal light, a masterpiece painted by a divine hand, a fleeting instant captured for eternity. Cloud wanted to burn the image into his mind. This was how Vincent must be remembered: not by his dying frailty, but by his majestic presence. His spirit. Vincent had never quite ceased to invoke a sense of awe in Cloud; here was a man whom Death himself could not conquer.

 

Cloud sobered. Death could not conquer Vincent ONCE… but He was winning the second round. Vincent finally lowered his uplifted face. He opened his eyes slowly, as though he were either reluctant to return to the present or still savoring the day's glorious expiration. And Cloud thought he finally understood.

 

“What do you see, Cloud?”

 

Cloud looked up, startled by the gunman's perceptive question. Vincent's compelling crimson eyes would not let him speak anything but the truth. Slowly and with great reluctance, Cloud voiced his anguished revelation.

 

“Something… to cherish,” he whispered, “…but not to keep.”

 

Vincent smiled, a warm expression that should have been completely out of place on the gunman's face, but… somehow, Cloud felt like it had always belonged there.

 

They stood in a comfortable silence, letting the minutes slip by until Cloud couldn't be sure how much time had passed. He cleared his throat, about to speak, when Vincent suddenly convulsed. Cloud sprinted over to Vincent's aid, but he wasn't fast enough to catch the gunman before he fell to his hand and knees, coughing uncontrollably. Cloud helplessly laid a hand on Vincent's shoulder to help brace him. Shuddering violently, Vincent fell back to a kneel with Cloud squatting beside him. Cloud couldn't help but feel a pang of distress as the coughing went on and on. When it finally ceased, Vincent did not lower the hand covering his mouth.

 

“Vincent… are you all right?”

 

The gunman nodded silently, fighting to catch his breath. When he finally managed to settle into a more regular breathing pattern, he slowly lowered the hand. He glanced briefly at it before shutting his eyes and closing it into a fist, hiding it from Cloud's view. But his actions did not escape the blonde's notice.

 

“Vincent… show me.”

 

Trembling, Vincent slowly extended his hand to Cloud and opened the fingers. Even in the dim light, the dark crimson smear on Vincent's palm was easy enough to distinguish.

 

“Cloud… I…” But before Vincent could finish the sentence, he convulsed a second time and began coughing anew. This time, he made no effort to cover his mouth. Instead, he fell forward to land on his elbow, helpless to stop the hacking that tore through his fragile frame. Cloud felt sick. He fought the feeling down, but more than once, he tasted bile at the back of his throat. He watched Aerith's flowers become spattered with red as Vincent continued to cough helplessly. Finally, Cloud fumbled for the materia he'd used earlier.

 

“ReGen, dammit!” He prayed silently for some sign that the spell had helped. It seemed to do the trick, as Vincent finally stopped hacking and slowly sat up. Panting raggedly, Vincent wiped his mouth with the back of his bloodstained hand. He hastily wiped the blood off onto the red cape. Cloud noted that the blood blended in so well with the red that, when he looked away and then back again, he could no longer discern the exact location of the new stain. Well, not until it dried, anyway. Vincent's ragged breathing gradually eased. Glancing down at the flowers, his lips moved in a whisper so faint, Cloud thought he had misheard the words.

 

“Sorry, Aerith…”

 

Cloud tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. It was being rather persistent, today. “Can you stand?” He murmured.

 

Vincent gave a bitter laugh. “Yes. But I'd rather not. I think I'm going to stay right here for a while. Besides, these flowers are softer than the floor or the bench…” he muttered in a raspy whisper.

 

Cloud just sat with his hands on his knees and fisted so tightly that his knuckles were white. He trembled before finally whispering hoarsely, “I don't know what to do anymore, Vincent. I don't want you to go… but I don't want you to hurt like this, either!” He shut his eyes tightly, moisture beading at the corners. “I don't want to lose anyone else. I already lost Zack and Aerith! No more,” he whispered, reaching up with a hand to cover his eyes as though to hide his grief. Another tear spilled down his cheek. “No more…”

 

Without warning, Cloud slammed a fist into the floorboards, sending splinters into the air as dust was shaken from the rafters. “So Gaia DAMN it, I'm going to TRY! Even if you won't, Vincent,” he hissed. “If there's a way to make you better without any more pain, then I swear to Holy, I'm gonna find it!”

 

Vincent looked away, eyes downcast. “I'm sorry I can't be any stronger…”

 

Cloud shook his head. “Shiva, Vincent! It's not your fault! It's not like there was anything you could have done to stop this from happening!”

 

Cloud and Vincent both jumped as Cloud's phone rang loudly. Wordlessly, Cloud pulled it out and flipped it open.

 

“…Hello? Reeve? …. Say what?” Cloud's eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, `nothing!?'………………… great,” he muttered bitterly. “No… yeah, he's here. …We're in the church. ….” Cloud glanced over at Vincent briefly before speaking again into the phone. “…Not so good. It's pretty bad, Reeve. …No. …He said to plan for worst-case. …Yeah. Yeah, I know… … …You've got two days, Reeve. That's all, if it keeps going downhill at this rate. …No. I don't know. …'Bye.” He flipped the phone shut with a snap. “Reeve says the search fell through. There's nothing in Junon.”

 

Vincent sighed. “I didn't think there would be. So, now we need to pick our brains, Cloud.”

 

With another sigh, he let himself fall back to land, spread-eagled in the flowers. Then, after a moment, he began to chuckle.

 

Cloud glanced at the gunman warily. Had he finally snapped? “Mind sharing the joke?”

 

Vincent shook his head in amusement. “I was just thinking to myself that if things turn out badly, I need to remember to thank Aerith when I see her. For planting these flowers.” He inhaled deeply; the cloying scent of the flowers was making him drowsy again.

 

“I don't see what's so funny about that,” Cloud muttered. When Vincent didn't respond, Cloud turned to see that the gunman had already fallen asleep. Cloud stood up with a sigh to go find a blanket. It was cool in the church at night.

 

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End chapter nine! Read and review, folks! It keeps the creative juices flowing. And it puts me in a merciful mood. -cackles-