Vincent Comes Home

I still wished I owned these characters. But alas, I do not. Square does. The plotting continues.


Some Cloud/Tifa here.


Bit seven. Hurrah. Thank you for my other review. Yeah, I've read the Vincent-chocolate thing referenced in probably four other places, so I think it's becoming Fanon. :) I like it. I think it's a cool quirky detail.


Cid was on his second bowl of cold stew when Tifa entered the dining room in her pajamas. A baggy t-shirt and black cotton pants made up the ensamble. She walked around him, grabbed a rag and returned to wipe down the table.

“I’d’a done that Tifa,” Cid muttered, picking up his bowl and moving out of her way.

“Vincent’s sleeping in the guest room cross from yours. The one on the right. Cloud’s getting the other one ready for when Yuffie and Reno show up.” She spoke as if they had not argued but did not meet his eyes when he searched her face.

“How is he?”

“Vincent?”

“Well, him too—but Cloud.”

Tifa picked up the pot. “I found him curled up next to the hallway closet clutching one of his materia.” Her mouth creased into a thin, angry line. “Off in his own little world,” she said bitterly. She started to turn but then whipped back and slammed the pot back on the table. She put her hands on the table, her shoulders shaking with frustration.

“Tifa…” Cid got up and grasped for words. “Jus’ go to bed. I’ll get this. Go get some sleep.”

Tifa nodded and straightened, leaving without a word.

Cid sighed, slumping back into his chair, ate more soup.

Tifa opened her eyes. There was a click. She sat up. What had she heard—? She stopped short. “Cloud!”

He was standing in his nightshirt and pajama pants just in front of her door, staring at her.

“Cloud,” she said again, pulling the sheets off of herself, she went up to him. “What’s wrong, Cloud? Are you okay?”

She put her hands gently on his arms, looking into his face.

He smiled.

Tifa blinked.

“Tifa…”

She smiled, joy coming over her. How long had it been since Cloud had smiled? How long? How utterly long. “Yeah,” she said, hopeful.

And suddenly he was kissing her.

Suddenly they were on her bed. On their knees, holding each other.

Suddenly his hands, hot and almost forceful were grabbing her up, pulling away her shirt.

“Cloud,” she said, breathlessly. “Are you all right?” She wanted him, oh she did. But it was so sudden. So utterly sudden.

He stopped and looked her right in the face. “I’m fine. I’ve come to realize something.”

“What?” She gasped, arching her back as his fingers slipping down her pants to her inner thigh.

He never answered her. But she wouldn’t realize that until later.

He pushed her off her knees and striped her clothes away. Then he was pulling off his shirt.

“Cloud—“ she tried again. She gasped when he pushed her legs apart. “Cloud!”

He sunk himself into her. She cried out, fingers gripping her sheets. His tongue flicked in and out over her and then deep in. Dragging it out, making it long, driving her crazy; he pushed his tongue all along her heat. She moaned, breathing suddenly short. Cloud wiggled his tongue into the little bundle of nerves near her front. A short little yelp erupted from her. Cloud moved his fingers over her body, stopping at her entrance, where he pushed in.

She arched again, her muscles were tense.

The orgasm hit her hard and fast, eliciting moans from her and growls from him. Then he was pulling away and attacking her mouth, invading her lips. His hands left her momentarily and then came back. She realized he had removed the rest of his clothes.

“Cloud—“

He growled, very uncharacteristically. Suddenly filling up the room with his presence, he pushed right into her.

“Tifa…,” came the gruff voice.

She moaned, gasping as his speed increased.

“Tifa.”

Panting, she couldn’t answer.

“Tifa!”

With a start, she opened her eyes. Someone above! She flashed out with her fist.

A stream of unintelligible curses filled the air. Tifa, dazed in the realization that Cloud had been a dream, stared and then suddenly, realized her mistake. She threw on the light and leapt out of bed. “Oh Cid, I’m sorry! You surprised me! I didn’t—“ She grabbed his arm and helped him stand.

“Goddamn sonofabitch, Tifa!” Cid hacked on blood. “Last time I wake you up! Cloud’s doing it next time! I do too goddamn much to be fucking surprise-attacked! Cloud and Vinnie are gonna think I tried to do sumthin’ to ya! You having a fucking bad dream and shit—“

“No, they won’t, Cid.”

“How do you know!?” Cid countered. If he hadn’t been so furious at being decked she would have found this funny.

Tifa grappled with her bedside table, grabbing up some tissue to stop up his bleeding nose. Cid grumbled fiercely to himself, yanking the tissue away from her and mopping up the blood on his face.

“So…what are you doing up here?”

“Oh yes, Cid. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to brutally attack you! My fervent apologies Captain—“

“Oh jeez, Cid, I get the picture. I’m sorry, okay? What are you doing up here?”

Cid rolled his eyes and checked his nose. Satisfied, he pulled away the tissue and said, “Shithead and Yuffie are downstairs. Jus’ arrived outta fuckin’ no where.”

Tifa pushed past him and raced down the stairs.

She froze in the dining room entry. Behind her, Cid’s mouth fell open.

It was, indeed, Yuffie and Reno. They were lying on the kitchen table and either fighting like dogs or desperately reaching into each other’s clothes.

Tifa reacted first. “What are you doing?!”

Reno glanced over, ducking a lick from Yuffie. “Hey babe. How’s it goin’?”

“THAT’S MY DINING TABLE!” Tifa shrieked, pointing at them.

“Aw, don’t worry about it, Tifa. We’ll clean up.” Yuffie grinned wickedly.

Tifa was stunned by that for a second. Cid was still staring with his mouth open while blood from his nose dripped onto his shirt.

Suddenly, Tifa was flying at them. “Get off my table!” She yanked Reno off of Yuffie and threw him into the wall. She drug Yuffie off the table but seemed too furious to reprimand her.

Reno was laughing, straightening his already rumpled clothing. He grinned. “Damn Tifa, crack anyone’s skull lately?” Tifa turned on him, furiously rallying herself but seemingly unable to speak.

“We eat on that!” Cid suddenly voiced, pointing at the table.

Reno glanced at him disdainfully. “Good job, old man. You figured out what the doors do yet?”

This jolted Cid back to reality. “Why you little—“

“What’s going on?”

Everyone turned to look at Cloud, who was blinking blearily from the doorway.

“Cloud!” sang Yuffie. She launched herself at him, wrapping herself around him like a snake. Cloud jolted but said nothing, merely stared at her.

Vincent appeared behind him.

“Vincent!” Yuffie sang again. She paused before she threw herself at him. “Where’s your claw?”

Vincent frowned, pulling it up to show her.

“Oh good!” She hugged him.

“What the hell you still dressed like that for?”

Vincent looked over Yuffie’s head. “I do not bother with anything else.”

“Why not?”

Reno smirked. “Oh c’mon, Highwind. Can you see that guy walking into a store to buy pajamas? They’d think he was there for their souls or their first born children or something.”

“I didn’t ask for your imput.”

“I give it—free of charge. Just one service I offer.”

Cid, with effort, tugged his glare from Reno. “Well shit, Vincent—I don’t know if any of the stuff I have would fit you—you’re so damn tall—but lemme get ya somethin’ while you’re here.”

Vincent looked away and barely nodded.

“Aw! Vincent, you’re so cute when you’re embarrassed!”

He stared at Yuffie, eyes the size of saucers.

Reno stepped towards them. “Hey, Yuffie.”

She grinned. “Don’t worry, Reno.” She let go of Vincent, much to his relief. “I just knew Vincent before you. He’s adorable once you get to know him.”

Reno laughed. “Hey Vincent—you and me ever get together—I’ll remember that, okay?”

Vincent, for the record, looked completely out of his depth. Yuffie launched herself back at Reno. They appeared to be having a verticle wrestling match.

“Oh God! Get the—we’ve got a fucking room for you!” Cid was snarling, pulling them apart. “Get upstairs. Yours is on the left, last in the hall. The other one is Vincent’s—so stay out of there. Get outta the fucking dining room.”

“Been awhile for ya, eh, old Captain?” Reno snagged Yuffie and they ran upstairs.

Cid was stung by the comment but not in a million years would he show it. He turned back to Tifa, who he had almost forgotten about. She was staring at the table. “Tifa?”

She looked at him, slowly. “That’s my—they—that—EW!” She spun in a circle. “My table!” She pointed at it again.

Nice table it is too….

Cid forced away his thoughts from earlier. “S’all right, Tifa. We’ll scrub it down. Jus’ go back to bed.”

And so Tifa turned about, her hand ot her temple and stumbled back upstairs. A few seconds later there was a crash. “CID SAID THE OTHER ROOM AND YOU KNOW IT! GET OUT OF VINCENT’S!”

Cid and Cloud winced. Vincent settled for mildly ill.

“Come on upstairs, Vince,” said Cid, attempting to distract the other man. “We’ll find somethin’ for you to wear. Tomorrow we’ll go into Midgar and get some proper clothes—“

“That is not necessary—“

“Whether it fucking is or not,” Cid snapped. “It needs to be done. My pants are gonna be too short on you and you may want something else to wear besides that clunky, sharp ass outfit. S’probably dirty as fuck.”

“Yes,” Cloud put in.

If Reno or Tifa had been downstairs they may have asked if Shera had rubbed off on him or something. He couldn’t say exactly. I’d have done the same for any of them. And he would have. Something about Vincent not even bothering to take care of himself grated on the man’s nerves.

Perhaps it had something to do with being a ship captain. If a member of the crew didn’t take of him or herself, it showed in their performance. He didn’t know Vincent as anything other then fellow fighter and kind-of-friend. But maybe he looked at them all as members of his crew, even if they weren’t on a ship all the time.

Vincent shrugged, casting his eyes aside, embarrassed.

The three men stood in a triangle for a moment, uncomfortable. Or well, Cid was, Vincent was unreadable and Cloud was staring into space.

“Well…,” Cid sighed. “Come on. Let’s go. I’m fucking tired. Come on, Cloud. Wake up.”

Cloud stayed stationary.

“Cloud,” Vincent said, the ghost of a commander’s tone in his voice.

Cloud perked and followed them away. If Cid noticed the tone, he said nothing. Vincent, meanwhile, inwardly marveled at it. It had been three decades since he’d used it. A weapon that had proven more powerful than swords or firearms. He thought it lost.

Apparently not.

Vincent awoke the next morning at nine by the clock on the wall. He blinked. Yes, it was correct. He had not dreamed last night. Maybe it was the clothes.

Faintly smelling of oil and gasoline, Vincent had donned one of Cid’s shirts and a pair of baggy shorts that touched his knees. It made him feel different—that just a change in appearance suddenly lifted a bit of the darkness. It probably helped that the shirt was bright yellow and the shorts were blue. Cid had laughed—told him he looked ridiculous—but said they’d get him taken care of the next day. Cloud had offered nothing.

Suddenly not wanting to shed this colorful thing, he went downstairs, a bit apprehensive.

Cid was already there, smoking and eating a steak. He cut his meat and said, “Figured I’d get out something big for our first breakfast together since fucking forever—but it looks like no one’s gonna get up. So, it’s you and me.” He looked up. “I started with six steaks, there are four left. This one’s Reno’s,” he added with a nasty grin. “See if we can finish ‘em before the rest get up.”

They did.

Vincent really did feel odd in Cid’s clothes. He claw remained, of course, but everything else was gone. He felt almost naked—exposed—without his appeareance and his guns to protect him. He wore them like armor.

At first, he had thought coming had been a bad idea. All the trouble he had brought, while not his fault, was still his responsibility—or so he felt, no matter what he told Tifa. By the end of the night everyone was mad, hungry, or exhausted.

But Vincent had not dreamed at all, which left him feeling oddly light this morning. So he sat in his bright yellow shirt, black hair trailing raggedly down his back, while sunlight draped over him like a light sheet—buttery gold in his red eyes, and helped Cid eat four steaks.

“…cut you hair?”

Vincent suddenly realized he was staring down at his knife and fork and his last bite of meat. “What?”

Cid leaned over and snagged his meat. “Asked if you ever gonna cut your damn hair. Makes you look like a girl.”

Vincent glared at Cid. “My hair is of no concern to you. I do not ask you to shave daily.”

Cid blinked and swallowed the bit of meat. “Shit man, calm down. I was only—well—hell, I didn’t mean you looked like a girl--“

“Hey! Speaking of girls!” yelped Reno, appearing out of nowhere. “Look! Vincent’s in Cid’s pants!”

Vincent stared at him, letting his silverware clatter to his plate.

Cid jumped up.

Reno stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You know, Valentine, yellow is really your color.”

The next thing Vincent knew, Cid was on the table, leaping over it at Reno. The ex-Turk dodged and, like a shadow, Vincent was up and slamming him into the wall. His claw outstretched around his throat. Reno grinned. “Oh c’mon, I was just fucking kidding around. C’mon Vincent, you were a Turk once—you know how it is.”

Did he ever.


What was it he had said? Something about his commander’s mother. Vincent had been a young Turk, a rookie. Recently assigned to Commander Eiko who, if she loved anything, loved her summons. She was an expert in hand-to-hand combat. Incredible with a gun. Awesome with a whip. But she loved her materia. And summons were her favorites. There seemed to be nothing to make her more happy than pulverizing an enemy with Bahamut.

She wasn’t as proficient when it came to stealth…but she knew enough to get by. She preferred leaving so much damage to her targets surroundings that no evidence could be found. Of course, this was not always logical or even possible but the woman stubborn. Not to mention hotheaded. Vincent had thought to joke around with her, testing the waters to see how far he could go.

Then came the crack about her mother or her father or her dentist or something. And she grabbed and bodily slammed him into the wall. Holding him a foot above the ground she had drawn and little knife from her belt. She put this to Vincent’s stomach. “You’re a pretty boy, aren’t you?” She was smiling at him. Like a spider does when it’s caught a fly. She drug the knife across his flesh, gently ripping it.

Vincent didn’t dare move or make a sound.

“Yes,” she said. “You may be pretty but you won’t talk like that to me. Understood, rookie?”

Vincent nodded fervently. His side burned and he could feel the blood dripping down his left leg.

She dropped him and turned to leave. “Clean up. We’ll be leaving in five.”

“C-commander…,” he tried to say, pressing on his side. The pain ripped through him, a wave of dizziness crested over him.

She twisted back around. “I was just joking, Valentine. We’re leaving in ten.” She, again, turned so her back was to him and walking away, said, “I like your jokes, rookie. Don’t hesitate to joke around with me again sometime. You’ll be a fun addition to the group.”

And after that she had insisted on it. Always joking around with him, being perfectly friendly, never taking offense. Making a point to tease him.

And, eventually, he could do it back. But he never broached the subject of the joke he had first made ever again.

“Hold him there, Vincent. I’ll go get his cattle prod—shock some manners into him.” And Cid, with an evil smile on his face, thundered up the stairs.

“Come on,” Reno pleaded, looking a bit more anxious now. “Don’t fucking listen to that old bastard! Okay! Okay! Okay! I didn’t mean that! Just fuckin’ around, right? Think of Yuffie! Think of the children!”

“You have no children.”

“One day I might.”

“God forbid.”

And suddenly, just like that…it clicked. He couldn’t figure out why it hadn’t before.


A slap in the face woke him. He breathing was labored, as always these days. The wound in his chest was still healing slowly. And Hojo did not allow him to get up and roam but always kept him strapped down.

It was the scientist who had woken him. He was staring down at him, a predatory look on his face.

Vincent did his best to glare but found he could not. Exhaustion was another thing that was always prevalent. He readied himself for the day’s experiments.

How long have I been here…?

“A funny thing happened today,” said Hojo, pacing around Vincent’s gurney, never removing his eyes from the other man’s face. After a moment, he paused. “Don’t you want to know what it is?” There was a laugh in a voice.

Vincent assured himself that he certainly did not. He looked away from Hojo. He forced himself to stare at his mutilated arm. He’d been awake for that. Blood and a golden infection-filled sap were seeping from his wounds. Had it not been what remained of his arm, it might have been interesting.

No, he decided. Not anymore. It would never interest him again. The sufferings of others would never be something to be studied.

“Ah-ah,” said Hojo and suddenly grabbed his freshly deformed arm in bony fingers.

Vincent gasped, unable to separate himself from the pain that laced up his arm like fire. Hojo squeezed, blood and bits of muscle protruding oddly between his fingers.

He whimpered, gasping with the pain, praying he would pass out.

And then Hojo let go. “Now that I have your attention.” He smiled smugly. “I have something for you. You knew Edward Tarshil, didn’t you?”

The familiar name drew Vincent away from the horrid burning, stinging, raping pain in his arm and shoulder. He looked at Hojo, sweaty now, breathing heavily.

“Yes. Yes, you did.” Hojo was smiling now.

Did... And Vincent knew that he was about to tell him something horrible. He always got that terrible joy on his face, like he had when Lucrecia had died.

“Imagine my surprise,” said Hojo, starting to pace around the gurney again. “When I received a report that someone was asking about you. Someone was wondering what had become of his friend, Vincent Valentine. He didn’t seem to believe the report that you had been killed. They believed you Missing in Action, of course. Off doing something Turk-like, like drowning puppies or burning villages or some other pathetic dirty work that ShinRa technically can't associate themselves with, right? But don’t worry, Vincent—I told them to take care of your friend. And my, they did. Did they ever.” The grin was sickly now, his eyes burning brighter than before. Brighter even than when he had torn apart Vincent’s arm. Brighter than when he had opened up Vincent’s ribcage. Brighter than when he had…done something….to the back of his head. Vincent couldn’t remember that one….but now he could feel that something was different. A faint presence in the back of his mind.

“You know what they did to him?”

Vincent, of course, did not, but he had a good idea.

“Don’t you want to know? Edward Tarshil had, of course, put a lot into investigating your disappearance. Don’t you want to know what befell him?”

Call it cowardice or whatever but suddenly, Vincent did not want to. At all. He shook his head. He felt the blood whoosh into his ears, preparing him for something.

Hojo leaned against the gurney, looking at Vincent was something akin to bliss. “Why, they strapped him to a wall and gutted him, Valentine. They took pictures, to send me proof. You should see some of them—“ and suddenly, the man was laughing. “Strapped up to a wall with a rag stuffed in his mouth while a man tore open his stomach. Slowly, of course. Very slowly. Although I wondered how one ‘slowly’ guts anything. In my experience the squirming and the screams often make the work tedious. Easier just to kill them, you know.” He said that very conversationally. “Then, if you’ll believe this, they took skin right off the man’s face. They sent me a sample, so I could discern for myself that it was his. And, I assure you not to worry Vincent, because it is. It’s in a strip you know. Several of them, about twelve inches long, each piece. Very nice, really. Not all from his face, of course, they said they ran out of face. So they went to his arms and his chest. You should have seen the marks they left on him. His face all but gone, teeth smashed in, skin ripped off. I tell you, Vincent. And the blood, everywhere, you know how it is. Blood sticks to everything. Makes it a mess….”

Vincent tried to calm his breathing. He’s lying! He’s lying! He tried to look away. And Hojo grabbed his arm again. Tensed up by pain, attacked by nausea, his eyes were forced back to the scientist’s.

“Yes, Vincent,” he said. “Everyone who may have been able to save you is gone now. Don’t forget. You’re mine.”

Hojo had left him then, turning out the lights, leaving Vincent in the terrifying darkness.

And Vincent had cried. Grief, pain, guilt and hopelessness flowed out of him. His arm burned and he was never getting out of here. And Eddie Tarshil was dead.

Dead.

Vincent let him go. Reno started to smile, to joke, but seemed to take in the look on Vincent’s face.

“How did your father die?”

Reno stared at him. “What the fuck you care for?”

Vincent looked towards the stairs and then back. “How did your father die?”

Reno sneered. “He fucked around with a commander, as if it’s any business of yours. Fucker got shot up.” Reno glared. “Don’t see what you give a shit for, s’not like you knew him.”

Vincent’s face darkened. “What did he do?”

“What the shit—?“

Vincent grappled his claw over Reno’s arm. “What did he do, boy?”

There was a thump on the stairs as Cid raced down, gripping a long metallic rod. Yuffie was hot in pursuit. “You give that back, Cid! I’ll kill you! Where’s Reno?!”

The ex-Turk ripped his arm from Vincent’s claw. His heated glare was both murderous and confused…until he stepped away. Then the grin flew up. “Babe! I’m right here!” And he jumped into the fray.

Yuffie slammed into Cid—they flew onto the table. Reno jumped on them.

CRACK!

The table bucked and the three of them bashed into the floor. Cid was bellowing curses, Reno erupted into hysterical laughter and Yuffie took back the Turk’s rod, standing up and brushing herself off in a dignified sort of way.

Vincent heard someone on the stairs and wished he could melt into the wall.

They all froze when Tifa entered the room. “MY TABLE!”

“Oh shit!” Reno yelped. He was up and away, dragging Yuffie before anyone could catch them.

“Vincent!” Cid roared but the other man was up the stairs, leaving Cid, as usual, for damage control.


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