He hated being courteous.

Vincent supposed it was his fall from grace that started it, his never-ending spiral downwards. But it wasn't as if he could remember much before he tripped and fell. Wasn't he always so aloof? So... brusque? He supposed it was his weakness, his longing to both need and want things that never truly exited for him in the first place. Pretty girls always meant trouble - that much he had figured out. But he had to try to be courteous, didn't he? Vincent completely 'supposed' the hell out of everything lately.

Quite simply, he supposed that he supposed.

Vincent frowned.

The funniness was gone from inside of his mind (in fact, he wasn't finding his situation funny anymore; more ironically displeasing), and he continued to trudge through the sewer, half-aware, half-ignorant.

He supposed that Tifa was gone and he supposed that Cloud was as well - although the latter was gone in a completely different way than was Tifa. One Mr. Cloud Strife was probably halfway to nowhere by now, tripping and falling just like himself. Vincent rubbed his eyes, which, if he hadn't just touched them, would have figured them swollen by the dull ache that ebbed from each scarlet and gold iris. But that mattered very little at the moment; thinking ahead had gotten him nothing before, aside from the occasional heartache and grief - he couldn't stop what he had done in the past and very well couldn't control the present (he had just proven that much, more or less).

Vincent's absent wanderings brought him to a different tunnel and right beneath the light of yet another manhole cover. Looking up idly, as if none of this had ever been relevant one way or another, he started to climb the metal rungs to the City of Ghosts.

It was raining again, but Vincent had already assumed as much.

Almost immediately after he departed from the sewer, he felt the presence of someone behind him, along with the familiar and steady patter of raindrops. Somehow, they made everything heavier. He smiled, though there was very little warmth behind it; it was simply a smile made with the triumphant knowledge of someone who had just figured out what exactly was happening.

There was a brief pause, then the person behind him spoke. "You were right, you know."

The smile left. "About what?" It came only as a soft whisper and if the rain had been pounding the ground harder than just the steady pace it was falling at now, his words would have been swept away with it.

For a moment, there was nothing; no response, no more questions - scarcely a breath was drawn. Vincent nearly thought that perhaps there was no one behind him, that he had been once again hearing the bothersome whispers of ghosts. If that was the case then he didn't mind it, not this time; this new voice was gentle and pleasant. This voice he welcomed wholeheartedly and probably would have wanted to have haunt him every day and every night, other than those persistent, troublesome demons of before. But once the presence behind him shifted what sounded like a boot, he finally realized that it was indeed a person. Crazy or not, he felt almost disappointed.

"What you said to me that day, on the roof of the bar..." Tifa sighed and he could hear the tender smile creeping into her voice. It always did that when she spoke, and that was the only time when she couldn't fight against such a thing. He had grown to love that about her. "When you think of someone you love, when you speak their name, you shouldn't feel miserable. I think I was... 'terribly mistaken'." Tifa laughed, partly because it was raining, partly because she was quoting Vincent, partly because nothing really mattered anymore. "It's raining again, " she added softly.

Of course it was raining. Of course she had been 'terribly mistaken'. But what he never appreciated before, what finally made sense to him now, was that he had been just as wrong and confused as she was. And nothing had ever felt more wonderfully complicated. Vincent lowered his head, as if in some feeble statement of acceptance. "I wish you could have met me before all of this..." If only it was a lifetime ago right now, if only she had existed then with him. That lifetime would have been bearable. "I think you would have liked me then."

He tried to picture himself as a Turk once more, his hair reasonably shorter and lighter, the usual Turk attire, and a smile came to his lips once he realized that he couldn't quite see that ghost anymore.

"I don't like you, Vincent." Her smile, her beautiful and strong smile, finally began to weaken on her wet lips; it weakened so much at that moment that if held like that for a second more, it might have disappeared beneath the rain. So the smile left her face, lest it be forever lost.

Still, something nearly bitter threatened to pull at the corners of her mouth.

"I love you."

It was funny, almost miserably so.

Vincent felt the sudden need to throw his head back into the falling rain and laugh, laugh until his throat was sore, until his lungs ached, until he could laugh no more. There was that need again. She wasn't supposed to feel anything for him and she certainly wasn't supposed to tell him that - that ugly, hackneyed word. Damn that word. Vincent turned around then, only to find that her back was facing him and her long hair was falling loose again in the rain. His eyebrows twitched in what one could only assume to be slight surprise, but his expression remained just as stony as before. He realized then, and it broke his heart to know, that he actually loved her the same.

His eyelids covered his wraithlike eyes. "You can't love something that was never there."

How small and insincere he made her words sound.

"But you are here!" Her voice echoed through the empty street and through the vacant alleyways and to places she could never have seen. She spun around and the puddles of silver rain that followed after her splashed violently against his legs. "I can see you, Vincent."

Red eyes were revealed once again and they watched her calmly, sobering her heated words. "You can see ghosts sometimes, too."

For a moment she hated those all-knowing and perceptive eyes of his.

Tifa felt panic surged inside her chest, like what he was trying to tell her should never have been spoken and that if he finally said it, if he finally told her those ugly truths, he would never be able to retract them. It seemed almost inevitable, and she hated all of it. "You're not a ghost." She curled her fingers tightly into a fist and slammed them into his chest, as if to prove that he was indeed solid. She did it a second time, just to be sure, and her fist stayed there, as if the rainwater had glued it to his chest. "You're real. You're alive." Solid perhaps, but not convincingly so.

Vincent placed both a hand and claw on her shoulders, and silently his eyes searched hers.

Something warm rolled down her cheek.

There was nothing else to be said.

She watched him, understanding and yet feeling the need to refute it; he wasn't alive, not truly. In the end, she could only watch him, hopelessly in love and undeniably lost. "I hate it." The whisper left her throat in a harsh gasp. "I hate it that we live just to die."

Raindrops blurred Vincent's vision.

"I think it's more that we die so others can live."

Cigarette smoke left his partially opened mouth. It curled and it twisted into unknown shapes before the rain and the wind washed the smoke away. The slender stick could barely withstand the dampness and Cid found himself trying to relight the damn cigarette every other minute. Finally, he gave up and threw the miserable thing into one of the puddles on the ground. Despite the fact that the rainwater had already doused it, and most likely it was only out of habit now, the tip of his boot came down moments later to snuff out the cigarette.

He really ought to have quit by now; he had seen plenty of people die of cancer, one of them being his father many years ago. Even so...

"What now?" he asked, his back against a streetlight, his weapon resting on his shoulder and his neck craned upward. His blue eyes were watching the strange golden mist that outlined the streetlight. Perhaps just the illusion of rain, perhaps just the effect of the light's glare in his eyes; even so, he almost liked the way it seemed as if the sky was bleeding liquid gold.

Barret shrugged. He truly didn't know. Cloud was rescued and Vincent and Tifa should have been back with him. The only reason Tifa left to begin with was to find them both - now at least thirty minutes had passed since. "Maybe they went back home. Prolly thought we'd do the same."

Cid pulled up the collar of his blue jacket and sniffed. He said nothing else.

Barret frowned.

Obviously, his ex-pilot companion would offer no solution on the matter. Barret looked briefly at his gun-arm before resting his back against a store's glass window. He was half protected from the rain by a three-inch wide awning, but for the most part the rain had soaked through his clothes and was filling up whatever space was left in his boots. The big man crossed his arms in front of his broad chest and his frown deepened.

He hadn't really had the time to process everything that had happened since their running around in the sewer's mazes - he felt like a disoriented mouse, wandering helplessly in manmade webs. He hadn't wanted to think much of it, either, especially when he had seen Cloud there, his large blue eyes watching his every move. And how he hated those eyes. Barret liked the situation even less. He couldn't help feeling relief on Tifa's part, but what of her Cloud Strife now? Suspicion was still there in Barret's mind and no "ShinRa kidnapped him" excuse would ever fully be believed - at least not by him.

"Deal with it, Barret."

Barret looked up. Cid was watching him somberly.

"What?"

Cid waved a gloved hand in the air, as if trying to swat away the falling rain. "Avalanche is your gang, right?"

"It's not a damn gang, Highwind." A bunch of preteens knocking over trashcans and starting fights with old ladies was a gang. The very thought of Avalanche, his Avalanche, being classified as a 'gang' was enough to make him feel sick - not something a man like Barret often felt.

The ex-pilot nodded respectfully, understanding entirely, then turned his head back to the vacant street. "What I mean is, it's yours. If you don't want Strife there, kick him the hell out."

"It's not that simple..." And it wasn't. Barret watched the rain for a moment more, then added softly, "besides, he never really was with us. Tifa-"

"Tifa will get over 'im."

"I can't jus'..."

"You can't?" Cid looked at him curiously, his eyebrows furrowed. "You, the leader of the mighty terrorist group Avalanche? You, the man who single-handedly keeps ShinRa on their toes?" Cid grinned. He made his point. And he very well could have kept quiet then, but another thought came to him, a thought that Cid didn't like very much. "You're pityin' him."

Blunt as ever.

There was a snort from the big man. "I don't give a damn about Strife."

But he did.

Nothing was spoken from either man for a time. Barret watched Cid, who watched the street and its growing puddles of rain. It wasn't like Cid was giving him a solution. In fact, it was like he was creating more problems to go with the ever-growing amount of unanswered questions. Finally, Barret looked away. "What the hell do ya want me to do?"

A small smile touched Cid's lips. He could see two figures coming towards them, just barely, the rain outlining their forms with silver mist. Just two. "Not a damn thing different, Barret. Not a damn thing."

Tifa had only frowned when she heard what happened to Cloud in the tunnels. She hadn't done much of anything else since then, either. Of course, she must have known something wasn't right the moment Vincent came up from the sewer by himself. Perhaps she had always known what their end would be like; perhaps she knew what would come after this, as well. If she knew, then why come back to suffer the reality?

Barret, most faithful and dutiful Barret, was by her side, hand on her shoulder, silently consoling her and arguing with her at the same time. He loved her, but those feelings stopped short at Cloud Strife. The man didn't want him around, Vincent was fairly certain. However, Tifa...

Vincent left Tifa and Barret to themselves under the thin awning of the shop's roof. Barret was talking to her, looking as if he was trying to make her decide between the two, but Tifa only gazed back at him with blank eyes. After you've given your heart to ghosts, no other living creature seems to matter. Still, Vincent watched them both from his spot next to Cid and beneath the streetlight's cold glow.

Cid coughed beside him, vainly trying to gain his friend's attention. Whether Vincent was ignoring him or simply didn't care to answer, Cid didn't know. Although he had a hunch that he was being ignored. After all, Vincent heard everything. He didn't always acknowledge that everything, however. Cid pushed his goggles further up his head; the rain made them fall back down moments later.

"So... You gonna tell me what the hell happened?" Cid lightly bumped into Vincent, if only to make sure the man was still awake.

Vincent breathed out slowly, then closed his eyes. "Everything that shouldn't have."

Cid scoffed and, obviously displeased with his friend's answer, turned his head away from him. "You're an asshole sometimes, you know that?" Cid poked at the wet ground with the heel of his boot. Then, whether out of boredom or frustration, swung his foot into the puddles on the ground. The water separated and splashed up violently.

Vincent almost smiled. "I know."

The ex-pilot sighed expectantly and placed an unlit cigarette between his lips. Disturbed rainwater rolled down his upper lip and onto the slender stick beneath it. "Where do you think he is?"

The bounty hunter merely shook his head. More rainwater went in every direction, a few stray drops falling gently against Cid's face. They disappeared the moment Cid turned his head toward the voices of Barret and Tifa.

"A church?"

"Not a church, Barret. The church."

The big man coughed. "I don't think-"

"He liked to go there when he needed to think. Maybe he's there now."

Think? Vincent's lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. Cloud thinking? About what, exactly? Demons and angels, no doubt... Vincent glanced halfway to Cid, the other with a wider smile to match his.

"So, we're goin' to a church?" Cid sounded just as amused as horrified. A church was not something he ever planned on visiting. He should have expected something like this to happen, however - that's where being horrified switched to being fairly amused.

Vincent's smile faded. "And apparently the church, too."

Tifa glanced behind Barret to Vincent and Cid, then nodded to the big man and said something else. Vincent didn't hear it, mainly because he didn't wish to - the nice little difference between wanting to overhear and simply overhearing. However, he had the persistent feeling that he was getting closer to those unanswered questions Tifa so wanted to figure out. Vincent didn't quite know why, but he was fairly certain that he didn't want those answers. He'd help her anyway, he knew. Isn't that what he did? Be courteous? He was still her bounty hunter, after all.

"Love's a bitch, eh?" Cid coughed.

Before he realized what was going on, Vincent felt the light jab of Cid's elbow in his side, bringing him back to their ever-moist reality. He felt more raindrops roll down the curves of his cheeks. He was beginning to hate the rain.

Tifa was standing before him again, just like that time before. Although now, while her face was once again set with that determined, yet strangely calm mask of hers, her whole body seemed to ebb her strength and resolve on the matter. That settled it. Tifa was going to find Cloud Strife and get her answers. Apparently, no one had a choice either way.

And, damnit, she was looking at him like that again.

Vincent felt himself involuntarily smile.

She'd be the death of him, in the end.

"Very well, Tifa Lockheart." Vincent folded his arms to match hers and towered over her like an oak sheltering the blades of grass in a storm; calm, all-knowing... and wet. Very wet. "Lead the way."

Tifa nodded slightly. "It's in Sector 5. It's the only church in Midgar - the only place I can think of that Cloud would go to." She almost smiled at that. Almost.

She turned swiftly around on one boot, her arms still crossed before her chest, and started walking immediately. Vincent felt his lips threaten to pull upward again, but managed to keep his face reasonably neutral. No time to waste - must find Cloud Strife without delay. It wouldn't solve anything and it would almost certainly make everything worse. But Tifa wanted her answers, so who was Vincent to tell her otherwise? He followed after her silently and although he didn't turn around to see, Cid and Barret were right behind him.

It was like that for a time, no words spoken, nothing but endless silence - other than the rain and the footfall of people as they passed them ghostlike on the streets.

The more he saw of Midgar, the more Vincent hated it. Of course, he had been here before with all of that ShinRa business. But that had been a lifetime ago, when there was an upper world on what used to be a thick metal plate; now it was reduced to a crumbling ceiling for an ever-more crumbling city. He couldn't remember if he had ever seen the world below back then, couldn't possibly imagine doing so, either. He was a Turk. He was important. Vincent's face creased slightly with a frown. He wished he could go back in time just to make himself understand how expendable he was then, how replaceable. If only he had known...

Tifa made a right. So did everyone else.

Vincent slowed down. He wasn't certain what would come of Tifa showing up to collect Cloud Strife, but he knew Cloud wasn't stable enough to appreciate it. Hell, maybe he never had been. Vincent was surprised to realize just how little he knew of Strife. He had been chasing after him, hunting him, going through all this for him, and yet he knew as much about him as he knew of...

Professor Hojo.

Vincent shook his head, or perhaps his body had just shuddered against his will. How much did he know of the professor? The man had altered his life so tremendously and Vincent barely knew why. He had an idea, of course. But it was only suspicion, only guesses that meant very little now. Nothing had ever been confirmed. Perhaps that was what bothered Vincent the most. He knew, yet he knew very little. Vincent felt his head throb with the very mention of the professor's name. A few more pounds, as if something inside was trying to escape, and Vincent's head was clear once again.

They had been close to Sector 5. Perhaps they had even been there to begin with, only a short distance from the church. Vincent didn't bother to ask, didn't bother to search for any sign; all he knew was that the walk had seemed terribly short-lived. But then again, everything around him was terribly short-lived. Vincent looked around idly. The streets were unusually dark, as if the streetlights had all gone out, one by one, just for him. He still could see every detail of the full moon's last light, however, as it drifted down through the holes, and he could see well the rain as it fell gracefully against the City of Ghosts. But most importantly, he could see the church, standing out against everything else like it radiated light itself.

Vincent felt himself shudder again.

A church, of all places.

The moon was fading and soon the light would be morning's.

Tifa was standing on the steps before the building. She looked so small compared to the much larger doors that loamed over her. She had been here before, though not as often as Cloud had been. She had a business to run, she had Avalanche to aid. She couldn't ever seem to find time to go, especially as of late. And truthfully, she never did like the feeling she got once inside of the church. It was a painfully haunting sensation that wouldn't leave her until weeks had gone by - long and seemingly never-ending weeks. She never knew why, but she almost hated the church. She couldn't understand Cloud's appreciation of it, his love of it, how he always spent his free time standing in the middle of its abandoned halls and around its decaying pews.

It was like a graveyard to her.

All at once she felt Vincent's presence behind her. "You could wait here, if you wish."

Those words held very little reassurance. Besides, if something went wrong... "No. If something's really wrong with him, it'd be best if I..." Tifa faltered, only ending her words with a long, deep sigh. If something was wrong?

Still behind her, Vincent wrapped his golden claw around the handle and pulled the heavy wooden door open. Its whine of protest echoed inside its holy structure and within the vacant streets of the outside. Tifa grimaced, as if that very action had alerted Cloud to their presence and had caused him to run away again. If he truly was inside, that noise, that nearly thunderous noise that broke the peaceful stillness all around them, was loud enough to reach even Cloud's ears. And if he knew they were there, why not leave again?

Unless he was waiting for them.

Somehow, Tifa didn't like that thought.

Vincent moved passed her like a ghost, silently, amazingly graceful, and without another look towards her. He walked to center of the room, the rather large room, with its crumbling pews and dusty stained glass windows. Vincent's eyes fell on the altar at the far end of everything, with an astonishingly beautiful window behind it; it was enough to make him feel sick with disgust. The very idea that it all might end here... There was no one in the room, no obvious place for Cloud to lurk or to hide.

"So, where the hell is he?" Cid's voice was magnified by the empty room and he winced when his own words reverberated back at him. He bit down on his unlit cigarette, as if that would somehow silence the echoes.

Vincent barely moved, like the noise had never happened.

"Would ya shut up?" Barret, next to him, hissed.

Cid glared a response.

Vincent turned around and quickly looked at everyone. Cid, still looking terribly uncomfortable, was the only one who nodded in return. Once his ex-pilot friend was behind him, the bounty hunter walked silently to the small door on the left side of the altar. Barret and Tifa followed after them, their feet betraying their every move and the latter looking quizzically at Vincent. He said nothing to her, only answered her with a brief glance in her direction. Almost at the same time, as he pressed an ear against the door, he immediately heard a rather loud and unmistakable thump.

Vincent's head jerked away and he moved back a few steps.

Cid held out his spear instinctively. "Where the shit is that coming from?"

This time, Barret didn't protest his outburst. Instead, the big man held his gun-arm up towards the ceiling. There was a creak, followed by a few footsteps, and what sounded like two distinctly different voices. Some plaster fell from above.

"He's up there!" Tifa coughed and brushed the fallen plaster from her head and shoulders.

Yes, and he's not alone. Vincent darted for the door besides the altar, as if at this very moment Cloud was leaving, as if the world around him was burning down and his only salvation lied in the other room. The door swung open and Vincent was gone within its opaque shadows.

"Vincent!" Tifa bit down on her tongue the moment his name left her lips. Though there was no sense in being quiet now, especially since Cloud would have to be deaf not to know that there were people in the building with him. She heard Barret grunt as more plaster fell onto his head and Cid as he curse softly and ran after Vincent.

With a sneeze, Barret looked over at her. His thick eyebrows were furrowed and concern was clearly etched on his face. He opened his mouth, but Tifa cut him off.

"I have to, Barret."

The big man lowered his head slightly. There would be time to figure everything out later, when Cloud was gained and this whole mess was sorted out. With a long release of pent up breath, Barret watched Tifa step through the door and vanish into the darkness. The leader of Avalanche looked up at the ceiling, hearing faintly the ascending footsteps of Cid, followed by Tifa’s. Barret pursed his lips and walked through the door.

Darkness greeted him.

Barret blinked a few times, if only to gain his bearings. After a moment or two, his eyes adjusted to his new surroundings. Luckily, the darkness wasn't as opaque as the doorway had made it seem; there were a few rays of light coming in from the cracks and gaps in the stone walls. And from that, Barret could easily see that the room was circular. He would have found that odd, if not for the winding staircase in the center, which clung to the round shape of the room like a large, wooden snake. He slowly lifted his gaze to try to make out the top of the staircase and felt another long sigh pass his lips. He saw nothing, save for more darkness. There had to be stairs, didn't there? Barret rubbed more plaster dust out of his closely cropped hair and started up the steps.

Almost immediately, the wooden staircase seemed to buckle under him and shudder from his weight. Barret held his mouth closed tightly (he just couldn't find a voice to curse in a church, even if he wasn't a religious man) and went on. Soon enough, he found his way to the top - after pausing halfway through to catch his breath - and could now make out the shapes of Vincent, Tifa and Cid.

"What the hell kind of church is this?" Cid sniffed and more dust filled his nose, which twitched afterwards. But before he could sneeze, Vincent's hand shot out to cover his mouth.

Barret peered passed Vincent and Cid to the room beyond, noticing for the first time that they were in a doorway. What lied passed them looked more like an attic of an old house rather than the extension of a church. Barret found himself agreeing with Cid's words. What was this place? Barret hadn't been in many churches, hadn't been to this place more than just a couple of times, but he never imagined that anything like this dwelled within the walls of the church. He had brought Marlene here twice before, mostly because she had been curious whenever Tifa had gone. He hadn't thought anything of the room besides the altar. Barret shifted uneasily next to Tifa.

There was a large stained glass window in the center of the new room and though dusty it provided enough light to see everything. Vincent poked a head through the doorway. Along with the broken pews and tables and the angel in the middle of the glass window (although by the size of it, glass wall would have been more appropriate), there was another door in the right corner of the room - it was across from where he was standing, hidden in more shadows.

Strange place indeed.

Vincent's hand dropped down to his boot and he pulled up his pants leg. Taking a revolver from a holster around his lower leg, he handed it to Tifa, who accepted it silently. Vincent unsheathed his nine-millimeter quickly afterwards and barely spared a look at Cid. "Take Tifa and Barret back down and stay there."

Tifa's eyes widened with those words and she opened her mouth to protest. Still, nothing came out. She was simply too surprised, not to mention slightly offended, to say anything near comprehendible. Vincent Valentine sure could have used that kick right about now.

Vincent kept talking, as if Tifa's silent protest was never obvious to his eyes. "Make sure there are no other exits he could escape from. If he makes it passed me, you need to keep him in this place."

Barret grunted. Running up a winding flight of stairs only to be told that he had to run back down shortly afterwards was not reason enough to make him leave. "Listen, Valentine. Avalanche sure as hell don't take orders from you."

Vincent's eyes became slits and his annoyance was apparent for a breath of a moment. But as quickly as his look of irritation came, his face was calm and still once more. "If you want to come with me then I hope you can float on air. If you can't, then I suggest you leave now, because I have a feeling that Strife's ears are incredibly sharp." That wasn't the reason why he wanted to do this alone, but Barret seemed to buy it well enough.

The big man's face softened. "You make no sense to me." Barret turned around and followed Cid down the steps, the latter with his spear resting casually across his shoulder and looking as if he was about to start whistling, if not humming, at any moment. Both were a rather frightening thought.

Tifa, however, wasn't as easily persuaded. "Can you float on air, Vincent?" She asked sharply, holding her newly given gun forcefully by her side.

A small smile came to Vincent's lips. "Perhaps."

Tifa looked slightly baffled, not knowing whether to take that seriously or not. But her anger and frustration quickly gave way to concern - and not just for their situation. She closed her eyes for a moment and whispered softly, "You're not going to kill him, are you?"

There was a thump from the larger room beyond and it reverberated off the lofty walls and the glass of the window. Two footsteps came, then silence followed.

Vincent scarcely breathed. "If I have to, yes." He watched Tifa, whose eyes remained closed. "Tifa, I don't want you in the middle of this."

A small, bitter laugh forced its way from her throat. "I am in the middle of this."

"Come on!" Cid's voice came somewhere from the stairs below them. It had been whispered, of course, but the echoes brought it upwards and to them as if he had yelled the word.

Tifa shook her head stubbornly, her hair gently thrashing against Vincent's face. "I have to know what happened to him, Vincent. If he's dead, then I'll never know."

"Tifa, if he lives you may never know." His two wraithlike eyes closed for a moment and he disappeared into the shadows around them. His voice was the only thing that let her know he was still there with her. "You may have to live the rest of your life not understanding why."

"I don't want to."

"You may have to."

She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned around without ever looking at him. One hand on the cold stone wall, she leaned against it as if her body no longer had the will to support itself. She had always known that she might never know why. But hadn't she always known that she may never see Cloud again, as well? And yet she had seen him, floating nearly lifeless in that tube. Tifa pressed her forehead against the wall. She couldn't save Cloud. She knew she couldn't. But what about Vincent?

She sighed quietly, feeling Vincent's presence behind her, like some sort of steady, all-knowing shield against humanity. "I don't want to lose you, Vincent." She didn't care how selfish and childish it sounded, and most certainly knew it wouldn't do anything to change their situation. Tifa pushed herself off of the wall and with a hand still placed firmly against it, like her one sure guide through the darkness, she started down the staircase.

Vincent didn't open his eyes until he could just barely hear her slowly descending boots. But perhaps it was only the echo.

He breathed in slowly and looked through the doorway to the room beyond. There was someone standing there now, separating the light from the window and casting twisted and deformed shadows on the ground.

He had wasted enough time.

"Come and get me, ghost!" The voice boomed.

Cloud...

"Vincent!"

Cloud Strife.

Vincent hated the way he spoke his name; there was such a vile undertone that he nearly wanted to take a step back, unbelieving that the Cloud Strife he had seen before had the ability to speak with such a horrible dislike. Dislike towards who? Vincent? Hojo? Himself, perhaps?

But that wasn't the real Cloud Strife, not truly; he was only a shadow of what used to exist, now ugly and deformed by what the professor had done to him. Just like Vincent.

Somehow, that alone made what he had to do all the more easier.

Vincent stepped into the room and a frowning Cloud Strife greeted him. Still, despite the impending danger that seemed to loam over Cloud, Vincent's hands stayed loosely by his sides. If he needed to fight him, he would. But only if he needed to.

Now that he was closer, he could see Cloud better. He looked tired, worn out, used up... He looked like Vincent felt. The boy shifted and twitched, as if standing still was the greatest feat he ever had to undertake. Finally, he closed his weary eyes and whispered solemnly, "Where's Tifa?"

Silence.

Cloud's face screwed up suddenly, like he would charge at Vincent for his foolish defiance. But with a quick breath, his face became gentle once again. "What did you do to her?" The question quivered slightly on his tongue, as if the very thought made him grow more angry, more hateful.

There was a quick twist in Vincent's gut, a slight feeling of disgust by that ridiculous question, but he remained silent. What did he do to her? He let her live. But such a response would have been wasted on Strife, since he wouldn't be able to understand what he meant by it.

Again, the silence answered Cloud. That ugly silence, which gnawed at him, sliced away at him, told him things that he knew he couldn't argue against. Cloud felt his body shudder; the anger and guilt at not being able to protect who he thought needed protection seemed to conquer him. And all the while those ugly, beautiful red eyes watched him, mocked him. What kind of creature would be cruel enough to do this to him? What... thing would track him down and obey Hojo, of all people? Cloud's teeth clenched together and he forced out his next words loud enough for even Tifa down below to hear.

"Where is she!"

Vincent watched him, just as still and unmoved by Cloud as before. "Where are you, Strife?"

Cloud looked slightly confused by that, then when he couldn't figure out Vincent's cryptic message within the few seconds afterwards, he laughed. "Why did he send you?"

"I was sent by your Tifa Lockheart."

The amusement left Cloud's face and when he suddenly jerked, Vincent realized for the first time that the boy had a sword strapped to his back.

A fight it would be.

"You have no right to speak her name!"

Vincent's eyes narrowed and he thought better to change the subject. "Who was here with you?" It didn't work, however, not that he actually thought it would.

"Where is she?" He repeated, more stable than before, more eerily calm. "I know you did something to her! I know you're here to take me back! He told me; he thought he could get me up here while you distracted me from below." Cloud laughed again, then unsheathed his sword. "He scurried away like a rat!"

Vincent twitched slightly, then simply said, "Hojo."

Cloud lunged at him.

He caught him by surprise once again, only this time Vincent had no gun drawn nor had he the pleasure of enough time to scold himself for letting his mind wander with the mention of 'Hojo'. Even with the power behind the tackle, Vincent was still conscious to understand at that moment; understand so thoroughly that he felt a renewed gust of energy. Hojo was here, perhaps even still, lurking in shadows as his puppets battled. It was so painfully simple; he couldn't destroy Cloud or Vincent on his own, so Professor Hojo, clever and shrewd Professor Hojo, turned his puppets against each other. The very thought of the professor being there made Vincent kick out the moment he and Cloud hit the ground together.

Cloud jumped back, dodging the full force of the kick, but was still knocked off balance. Vincent took that to his advantage, both unsheathing his gun and cocking it almost in the same action. Still a little dizzy from the fall, Vincent took his best shot.

But Cloud had jumped up the moment he heard the gun's sharp crack. He wasn't fast enough to completely evade the bullet, but he managed to get away with only a graze on his right side. Still, it burned like he had been set on fire. And Cloud seemed almost shocked that he had been hurt. Then he laughed; it sounded so empty, so devoid of any real mirth.

Vincent grew even more annoyed. So I must kill him for Hojo's sake? Or does he want us to kill each other? The very thought caused Vincent's senses to muddle with so much rage that when he fired his gun for a second time, the bullet missed its target so completely. It was as if Vincent had never fired the gun to begin with. However, the sound of the weapon was enough to bring Cloud out of his deranged laughing. The bullet pierced the forehead of the angel on the stained glass window; a section of the glass shattered into seemingly thousands of colorful pieces. It was almost like the angel had exploded.

I have to keep myself calm... Vincent felt his teeth nearly grind together. I must keep calm!

But why? Vincent's head throbbed again, as if to answer that very question. Why keep calm? Why not let his anger overtake him completely? That way killing Cloud would be so much easier.

Vincent jerked at that thought and Cloud kicked him hard in the stomach.

When he was no longer sliding on the ground, when he finally came to a stop against the wall across from the broken window, Vincent felt his mind clear from any anger he had felt. It was... relieving, for just a moment. Perhaps what made him so suddenly calm was the morning's new light that now warmed his face. The rising sun blinded him, but he could still make out Cloud's now darkened figure. As if the blow had never phased him, as if the light never existed, Vincent forced both his arm and gun upwards - his weapon felt like lead, and he couldn’t understand why. With a grunt, Cloud lunged at him for a second time.

That's when he saw her from behind Cloud, a little off to his left. She was standing there, looking as beautiful as ever, her hand outstretched. Strangely enough, her face was calm in the new morning light and bright with the different colors of the broken glass. It wouldn't have changed anything, her being there. Vincent still would have fired the gun and Cloud still would have ran Vincent through with his sword. But what was in Tifa's hand did change things.

It was Vincent's revolver. And she was pointing it with remarkable accuracy.

Everything stopped the moment she fired it. The sharp crack and the powerful boom that reverberated off of everything in the room were enough to break time itself.

Vincent felt something hot pierce his skin. He knew what it was, though he couldn't understand why.

Tifa had shot him.