Vincent Comes Home

This is the last chapter. My notes are going to be at the end this time.

Closing time, one last call for alcohol so finish your whiskey or beer. Closing time, you don't have to go home but you can't stay here.

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The funeral was the next morning.

Reeve, with Cait Sith, had shown up in the middle of the night. Vincent had made a pallet up for them on the floor. He, Reeve, and Reno had exchanged greetings and pleasantries and Reno told a couple Turk-jokes to lighten the mood (and Vincent was surprised that he knew a few of them). Reeve was glad to see them, but solemn, of course.

“Y’know,” Reno told them man, pointing at Cait Sith. “I was never entirely certain if that thing was real, or if it was a puppet.”

Reeve smiled, ruffling his black hair out of his face. “He seems more real than originally intended.”

“So you did create him?”

“Only the Planet really creates,” he said, rather mysteriously.

Reno rolled his eyes. “You becomin’ a religion junkie?”

He snorted with laughter. “I’d be ashamed after all the things I’ve done.”

They were silent for a moment.

“Why don’t you get some sleep? It’s going to be a long day tomorrow,” Vincent suggested.

Reeve turned about, stripping off his shoes and his jacket to lay down on the floor (Nanaki was on the couch). Cait Sith stayed for a moment. He hadn’t seemed to have changed at all. Still wearing that ridiculous crown and little red cape.

The little cat looked up at them. “Where’s Tifa?”

“She’s in her room,” Vincent told him.

“Is she all right?”

Vincent half-smiled. “I doubt it.”

The cat seemed saddened by that. “I’m sorry I didn’t come.”

“It wouldn’t have saved him.”

“But still…” Cait Sith turned about slowly and padded over to Reeve.

Reno and Vincent looked at each other.

When he awoke the next morning, he was sitting in a rocking chair in the living room. Reno was slumped against the wall, either asleep or unconscious, with a bottle of Costa Del Sol spiced rum in his left hand leaning precariously against his leg.

Sunlight beamed in through the living room windows and Vincent looked into it, immersing himself in only light and warmth. But sounds from the kitchen carried him back. Blinking, he rubbed his eyes and nearly jerked his hand away, thinking of his claw—and then, of course, remembered it was a hand. He got up, stepping over Reno’s outstretched legs and walked into the kitchen.

Cid was up, a cigarette clenched tightly between his teeth. He stood over a skillet loaded with sausages. The man glanced up when Vincent entered. “You gotta hang over? You and Reno were drinkin’ so much last night—shit, I didn’t know you could drink like that, Vince. I mean, I’d expect it from Reno but I didn’ think that would be your thing.”

Vincent’s face clouded over. He didn’t have a hangover, but he didn’t remember drinking. He thought that had been mostly Reno.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Cid told him, probably noting his expression. “Anyway. There’s breakfast here for anyone that wants some. Though I doubt anyone will. Meat’s goin’ in the oven in a couple hours. It’ll cook…while…we’re outside.”

“Is Tifa up?”

Cid looked away from him. He took a puff from his cigarette, staring into the skillet. “She is…but I doubt she wan’s t’be bothered.” He glanced back. “I heard ‘er cryin’ on m’way down.”

Vincent nodded. He was quiet for a moment. “Do you need any help?”

Cid grinned. “S’pose you’ve never been able to cook much with that claw o’ yours.” He rubbed his left ear against his shoulder, as if it itched and then pointed a spatula to the fridge. “Dig in th’freezer an’ get those packages of chicken out. We’ll set ‘em out t’thaw. Barret wen’ out an’ got ‘em las’ night. (He picked up the coffin, too, by the way. Nanaki ordered it when we left the City.) Then get out some fruit. I dunno wha’s in there. You can do whatever y’wan’ with it. Leave it, peel it, make walls out of it, I don’ care. Surprise me. Anything that doesn’ get eaten now, we’ll save f’this afternoon.”

“Are we having a dinner?”

Cid smirked, shoving the sausages around in the pan. “Tha’s what everyone does at funerals. They have a big reunion basically—“ Cid paused there and considered his choice of words. “They have a big get-together. They mourn the dead and than they eat. I was never sure why, but tha’s wha’ my family always did. We prob’ly got it from the Raiders who first explored these continents.”

Vincent paused at the open freezer. “What?”

“Raiders, you know? Big, burly guys who liked pillaging and taking over villages. That sort of shit? Learned about ‘em in school. Though, I suppose you prob’ly don’ much ‘member school.” Cid laughed quietly. “It’s said that all those guys did was feast, fight, and fuck.” He glanced at Vincent and nearly lost his cigarette in the pan from his sputtered laughter.

Vincent quickly tried to mask his surprise. “So I suppose traditions were traded and carried down,” he said, very sternly and very pointedly. But Vincent could feel a smile wanting to form on his lips. He tried to master it but when Cid wiped his left eye, laughing silently, he couldn’t. Vincent shook his head, grinning now. “What are we?” he asked. “Seventeen?”

“I’ve felt like it lately,” Cid told him, getting control of himself, but still smiling.

Vincent ticked his head to one side, a little puzzled. “Why is that?”

Something passed over Cid’s face that Vincent couldn’t interpret. It was a strange, thoughtful sort of smile…but then it was gone and Cid straightened, pulling a plate over to him and dumping the sausages onto it. “I suppose,” he started. “When someone dies you fin’ out how you really deal with yer problems. Take Reno out there,” and he pointed through the kitchen door to the living room. “Man gets shit-faced when he’s miserable. Nothin’ wrong with that. I used to do the same fuckin’ thing. Yuffie holes up in ‘er room. So does Tifa. I smoke an’ swear…an’ I…tell stupid fuckin’ stories an’ jokes—overcompensatin’ t’make myself feel better. Barret is silent and still as a fuckin’ rock. So’s Nanaki. You, fuck. I dunno what you do. But…when it comes to shit like this…sometimes you can fin’ somethin’ out about yerself.”

“I never thought I’d hear you say something like that.”

Cid scowled. “Y’know, I’m glad I didn’ meet you when you was a Turk, smartass. ‘Cause I’d’a been sorely tempted to kick the livin’ shit outta you.”

Vincent smiled. “If you’d have met me when I was a Turk…when I was put stasis, you were two years old. But if I hadn’t…when you would be old enough to attempt it,” Vincent smirked. “And let’s remember that the emphasis is on attempt. I’d have been around forty-five or fifty. You wouldn’t have had a chance.”

“Fuck you,” Cid told him, grinning. “An’ get tha’ damn chicken from the freezer. Y’tryin’ to condition the outside?”

Vincent felt the odd pleasure of winning and took chicken from the freezer and fruit from the fridge.

“Hey Vince,” Cid said quietly after a moment, almost as if he was regretting asking this question. “Will you…will you be puttin’ somethin’ in with him?”

Vincent looked at him, puzzled again.

“Well, I was talkin’ t’Yuffie las’ night an’ she wants to put something in the grave with Cloud. Jus’ as a…I dunno. Remembrance or something. I ain’t sure. But, I think it’s a pretty good idea.”

Vincent stood quietly for a moment, feeling the icy cold strawberry in his new hand begin to soften. “I’ll think of something.”


The sun was still shining almost four hours later when Vincent was in his room. He’d just taken a shower (and had the odd sensation of washing his hair with both hands. The suds from the shampoo had been the oddest and most delightfully amusing thing in the world) and now sat on his bed, dressed only in black pants.

Vincent had gone through every one of his possessions…thinking about what he could leave with Cloud. And now he opened up his closet (they’d moved all their stuff last night) and pulled out three items. A black t-shirt, a black jacket, and his cloak. He tugged the shirt on over his head and shrugged on the jacket.

He held the cloak in his hands. The representation of his past.

Someone knocked on the door.

He folded the cloak over his arm and opened it. Cid didn’t look him in the eye. “S’time.”

Vincent followed him down the hall. Cid hadn’t dressed up. He was wearing his regular pants and a blue t-shirt but he also had on a coat drapped over his arm that Vincent had never seen before. It was long and black and had several bars on the left arm and some sort of insignia on the right.

Cid glanced sidelong at him and saw him looking. “Captain’s blacks. I thought about wearing it…but…I don’t think I will.”

“I didn’t figure you would dress up at all.”

Cid shrugged. “M’proud of this coat. Worked ‘ard for it. An’ I joined Cloud as a captain, I’ll see him off as a captain.”

“You’re a captain either way.”

Cid stopped in the hallway. Vincent could almost feel the strange unease that rolled through him. The pilot opened his mouth, “I know, that’s why m’not gonna wear it.”

Downstairs, the others had already gathered.

Barret had not changed clothes at all. It seemed, that really no one in their original group had. They were coming to Cloud as his friends who missed him, just as they were. Even Tifa was dressed in her fighting leathers, with her eyes red and damp.

Barret picked Cloud up (Cid had moved a table from his ship temporarily, until Tifa could get a new one.) and led the procession outside. The coffin, a plain affair—made of polished mahogany and lined with white silk—had already been set up in the grave, awaiting them.

It seemed that now, surely, the rain would begin. Wasn’t that the end of the story? At funerals it always rains...but they were ignored. The sun washed over them as they walked far out into the yard.

It seemed almost mocking.

They all stood—Vincent, Tifa, Cid, Zet, Barret, Marlene, Jeremiah, Elmyra, Yuffie, Reno, Reeve, Cait Sith, and Nanaki—around the grave Tifa had dug.

It was deep and cold-looking.

There was no fanfare or pomp and circumstance. There was little ceremony. Barret unwrapped the sheets around Cloud and carefully lowered him into the casket, deftly slipping the sheet out from under the boy and folding it up. Tifa knelt next to the grave, she was crying quietly again. She leaned over, lowering Cloud’s sword to rest on his chest and folded his hands around the hilt. She got up and stood next to Vincent with a hand over her mouth.

They all stood there for a moment, silent.

Yuffie was the first to step forward. She was trying hard not to cry. She opened her hand. In it was the summon, Alexander. “I never got to steal this one from you. And I ended up using it against you. But…it saved you. So…even though it’s mine now…I’m giving it back.” She sniffed and leaned over, slipping the Materia into one of the slots in Cloud’s sword.

“This was my daughter’s,” Elmyra said, softly. The older woman wasn’t trying to abate her tears at all. She had in her hands, nothing but a plain ribbon of pink silk. “I know you would have saved her if you’d had the chance…and now she’s saved you.” She knelt down, tying the ribbon around the hilt of Cloud’s weapon.

Jeremiah stepped forward with Zet. He was wearing his Captain’s blacks; she was wearing her First’s dress blues—signs of being outsiders. “Zet’n’I ‘ave nothin’ to give. You all were jus’ distance heroes, havin’ done a distance thing ‘fore I met any of yeh. M’sorry f’that now. ‘Cause it means I didn’t get t’know the boy as well as I might ‘ave. But I’m certain that Zet’ll agree with me tha’ when Vincent came an’ asked me t’take ‘im t’Midgar—agreeing to it was one of the bes’ decisions we e’er made.”

Reeve and Cait Sith stepped forward together. Reeve said nothing, but Cait Sith took off his crown. “I’m sorry,” was all he said, something in his eyes saying he regretted far more than just Cloud’s death. Reeve helped him nestle the little crown over Cloud’s left shoulder.

Cid didn’t say anything when he knelt by the grave. He reached into his pocket and took out a pair of torn goggles. He laid them, very gently over Cloud’s right shoulder. He was still for a moment and then he nodded, stood up and took a step back.

Barret approached the grave with Marlene. She put in a picture, colored with crayons. She was sobbing. Barret said, so quietly Vincent almost didn’t hear him. “I don’ have anything worth givin’ ya, boy. There’s nothin’ I have that coul’ count for what I owe ya. I’m sorry.” He stepped away, not looking at the rest of them.

Reno straightened and said, “I don’t have anything to give either. But, you were a damn good fighter and a great enemy. I’d fight you again anytime.”

Nanaki prowled forward and dropped in a clip, one of his own clips from the look of it. What it was or what the significance was, he didn’t say. He just stared down at it for a moment and then turned away.

Vincent unfolded his cloak from his arm. He shook it out and stepped forward. Someone gasped but said nothing. Vincent looked down at Cloud’s prone body. “When we met, you brought me out of a coffin. Now…we’re putting you in one. For everything we were then, to everything we are now.” Vincent laid the cloth over Cloud’s body like a blanket. He smoothed the silver clasps and then stepped away.

Tifa came last. She took a deep breath to control herself and stepped forward. All she took out was a folded piece of paper. There was writing on the inside, but Vincent couldn’t read it. She knelt down and slipped it under the edge of Vincent’s cloak, near Cloud’s chin. She didn’t get up, but kept kneeling there. Tears streamed down her face and after a moment, she stood. She met Vincent’s eyes and they started to look up.

Vincent felt Tifa’s hand grab his in a death grip, just as he did the same to hers.

Cloud and Aeris stared at them from over Reno and Reeve’s shoulders. Aeris waved. Cloud smiled.

And just as suddenly, they were gone.

Vincent looked at Tifa. Tifa looked at Vincent. They both confirmed for the other that they had seen…what they had just seen.

Vincent looked aside. No one else appeared to have seen their two friends. Cid was looking, almost sternly, at the grave. So were many of the others. Elmyra was looking off into the distance but she didn’t appear to have seen anything.

He looked back at Tifa and she glanced away.

Neither of them said a word.

Thank you…

Vincent’s eyes swept over Reno’s head. But there was no one. He glanced at Tifa—her eyes were glassy, as if something she couldn’t see had her attention. He wondered what they were telling her.


Cid took a gruff breath. “Chicken’s gonna burn. Le’s go eat.”

“Where’s your crew?” Reno asked, suddenly. “Shouldn’t they—?”

“I told ‘em to go into Midgar an’ have some fun. An’ to leave us alone for today.”


Vincent knelt next to the grave and grabbed the coffin lid. They all stared at it. Vincent swallowed hard and closed it. It clicked shut and that was it.

They all helped piled dirt over the coffin, even Tifa, although she started to cry again.

Afterwards, they followed Cid into the house and he immediately began to open the windows again. The balmy air made the house feel fresh and comfortable. Vincent helped him, while Tifa went upstairs.

Barret led Marlene and the others into the living room. Elmyra deviated into the kitchen.

“Can I help you with anything, Captain?”

“Naw, me’n’Vince got in under control. Go relax, y’deserve it.”

She nodded, a little shy and went into the living room.

Vincent took off his jacket and laid it across a chair, then reentered the kitchen.

Cid already had another cigarette in his mouth, pulling out chicken from the oven. Vincent went to stand beside him.

“Cid,” he said, quietly.

Cid grunted to show he was listening as he set a platter down on the counter.

“…did you see anything today?”

Cid paused and looked at him carefully. “See what?”

Vincent stared at the chicken he’d just uncovered. “I just…thought I saw something.”

“I didn’t see anythin’,” Cid told him immediately.

Vincent nodded, but he was uncertain as to whether Cid was being truthful. But, he supposed. It didn’t matter in the end.


Soon, all of them were sitting around the makeshift table with plates and steaming food. Tifa seemed strangely calm. She made quiet conversation with those around her and spoke of going into Midgar to get a new table tomorrow.

Jeremiah looked blearily at the chicken, leaning close to sniff it. Elmyra laughed at him. “That’s black pepper on there. You’re going to sneeze, Jeremiah.”

Still about an inch away from his chicken, he glanced up at Elmyra, made a face, and slowly backed away from his food. Elmyra was tickled with laughter.

Cid and Zet sat side-by-side, sharing occasional glances and soft smiles. At one point, Zet narrowed her eyes to the side and, very gently, nudged Cid's elbow out from under him. He caught himself and glared at her. “Wassamatter with you?”

She snorted. “No manners at all. Kids.”

Cid laughed and, giving her a scandalized look, said, “Now, look, wench. Between the two of us, yer th’damn kid.”

Zet opened her mouth and widened her eyes, looking pitiful. “You called me ‘wench’.” She looked to the side and immediately burst into very fake tears, grinning. Cid laughed, rolling his eyes.

“Christ, Cid, what the hell’d you do?” Reno asked, leaning over and smirking down the table.

“I didn’t do—“

“He called me a wench!”

“Ah! A wench!” Reno said, putting a hand to his mouth as if it was some disgusting swear word. “Really, Cid. I thought you had more class.”

“You’re talkin’ t’me about class, hotshit?”

“Yeah, actually, that is kinda ridiculous,” Yuffie told him. And they all laughed at the mock-wounded look on Reno’s face.

Nanaki had somehow maneuvered himself into a wide, low chair beside Cait Sith and Reeve. And Barret had Marlene sitting on his knee again, every once in a while, reaching up to stroke her hair.

Vincent looked up from his plate to the dining room’s wide window. Bright sunshine beamed over the broken scraps of wood outside, to the fresh dirt and marker for Cloud’s grave. The light touched his eyes and he breathed it in.

He could feel the hurt of these others below the surface, but, despite that pain—he looked at them all and felt the last piece of his life notch into place.

He was home.


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Well, that's the end. I'll be going through and editing, of course, but I can't help but feel...strangely elated that I started this and actually finished it.

I, again, want to thank everyone who read this, left me reviews, and has generally been very helpful and wonderful. I can't put into words how much I wholly appreciate it. I sincerly hoped you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. It was excellent practice for me and I'm glad I decided to continue.

I'll be starting my next project soon. I'll be editing through this at the same time--to fix my mistakes and all that. But, I'll be starting over. Now that I've written something, finished it, and wholly enjoyed it--I've got the bug. I can't wait to start again.