A/N - Hey guys, I was hoping to have this uploaded sooner but other things have been distracting me from writing, I'm afraid. Although I hope at least the duration between chapters this time wasn't nearly as bad. It's probably still not as soon as it should be. Sorry for making everyone wait!

Thanks again to everyone who read and wrote thoughtful reviews for the last chapter. They really do motivate me and I'm so happy that there are people who really enjoy this story. I try very hard to make it an enjoyable read, so it's very rewarding to get so much positive feedback and to see how many people have been interested after only two chapters.

As always, please forgive any spelling or grammar errors here. I edited twice but I still may have missed some. Also, I confess I'm not very good at chapter titles...

To be honest, this chapter was not supposed to exist in my original plan. The important details were meant to only be mentioned in a few paragraphs in a scene that will be in the next chapter, but I really felt that I needed to elaborate and...well...in a way it ended up just writing itself into a full chapter.

III: Night

Tifa startled as her phone buzzed suddenly in her pocket. Reaching for it, she squinted at the brightness of the screen and crept past Cloud, quietly letting herself out of the cabin.

"Barret?" she whispered. "It's almost two in the morning. Is everything alright? Did you get home okay?"

"Everythin's fine, Tif," Barret said, his voice sounding much louder to Tifa than usual in the silent airship corridor. "Got here a couple hours ago. Jus' wanted to let ya know Denzel and Marlene are okay. I knew you been worried about 'em bein' alone for so long."

"Good," Tifa breathed, a smile tugging at her lips. "Thanks for looking after them, Barret."

"No problem, girl, any time." He hesitated then, and his tone turned serious. "How's Vince?"

Tifa leaned wearily against the metal-plated wall of the Shera.

"Oh, Barret, he's wounded terribly," she whispered, unable to keep the tremor from her voice. "He lost so much blood, the doctors said he might not –" she broke off, trying to swallow around the sudden lump in her throat.

"Vince is an incredibly strong man, Tif," Barret said firmly. "He's gonna make it. He's just gotta. Don't go thinkin' the worst, ya hear? That ain't gonna help no one."

Tifa nodded despite Barret's inability to see her.

"You take care of him, alright? And Cloud, too. Ya know us men, we ain't no good on our own."

Tifa smiled at his words, blinking back tears.

"I will. Thanks, Barret. Sleep well."

"G'night, girl. See ya soon."

Tifa remained in the empty passageway for a while after the conversation ended, turning her phone over and over in her hands. She had no way of knowing how long it would be before she could return to the bar. She was slightly surprised by her own indifference at the thought. It seemed comparatively insignificant in the present situation.

She slipped back into the cabin, careful to close the latch as quietly as possible. Vincent was still breathing steadily which, though small, was something Tifa considered an encouraging sign. Cloud had fallen asleep some time ago, one arm flung across the table, his head resting in the crook of his elbow. Tifa picked up the rough army blanket from the back of her chair and draped it gently over his shoulders, tucking the edges around his sleeping form.

She paced the cabin for a few minutes with her hands resting on her hips, suddenly filled with a nervous energy, her prior drowsiness having all but vanished. It was on her third pass of the door, however, when she noticed a dark bundle on the floor near the wall, half-hidden beneath the bed. She stooped and immediately recognized the crimson material of Vincent's cloak. It was still damp and sticky with blood, the fabric stiff in places where the viscous fluid had dried. Kneeling, she reached further under the bed, feeling along the floorboards until her fingers closed around his shirt and headband.

She gathered these in her arms and went across the cabin to the bathroom, where she dropped them in the tub. Closing the door behind her so as not to disturb Cloud but leaving it slightly ajar in the event that Vincent needed help, she ran the tap, and the water turned a brilliant shade of red almost immediately upon contact with the blood-soaked material. She went to the medicine cabinet and after rummaging for a few seconds, found a new bar of soap. Then she knelt on the floor in front of the tub and began washing Vincent's clothes by hand.

It was very slow work. While she had anticipated that it would take some time and more than a little elbow grease before the garments were clean, it wasn't until she had thoroughly scrubbed and rinsed them twice that she realized just exactly how much the gunman had bled. The water in the tub had become opaque, so she sat back on her heels with the soap in her hands and waited for it to drain. Then she repeated the process over and over again, the water running a bit clearer each time.

Her thoughts wandered back to her conversation with Cloud earlier that evening, trying to remember if Vincent had said anything within comprehension during his terrified struggle with the medics. She knew that Cloud was right, that it was rude to speculate about Vincent's past and the peculiarities about him which they had all become more or less used to, but she was so intensely curious about the gunman who had largely remained a mystery throughout their three years of acquaintance. She had always accepted that he, like all of them, had probably had some unfortunate encounter with Shinra's ugly side. But the specifics were elusive, details at which she could only guess. In any case, it was the only real explanation she could come up with for some of his more…unusual characteristics.

And the fact that we found him in a coffin in the basement of the Shinra Mansion, Tifa mused darkly, suppressing a shudder.

Neither she nor any of her companions had ever broached the subject with Vincent – to her knowledge, at least – and the gunman had never offered to enlighten them about how he had come to be there in the first place, other than that it was punishment for a sin. (What "sin" that had been, Tifa still hadn't the faintest idea.) She supposed he had done something significantly against Shinra's wishes during his Turk days, for that was all she knew about the life he had led before they'd met him. Still, she had thought when they left Nibelheim later that day, locking someone in a coffin as punishment was totally barbaric, even by Shinra standards.

She squeezed the water from the shirt, and it was then that she noticed the tear slightly to the right of the buttons, a hole larger than her fist. She examined it with interest for a few minutes, gently pulling the material this way and that. The fabric around the hole was not charred in any way but simply ripped, eliminating the possibility that Vincent had suffered his wound from an explosion, as Sergei had earlier suggested. In retrospect, Tifa realized, an explosion could not have been the cause; Vincent's body was absent of burns.

She draped the shirt over the towel rack to dry with her brow furrowed, feeling ever more puzzled as she continued to poke at the tattered edges. Her frown deepening, she turned to the cloak, which was decidedly heavier and more difficult to wring free of water. Here, too, was a hole in the material, identical to the other. She flung the garment over the shower door, making a mental note to ask around for a needle and thread when she had the opportunity, still pondering over what exactly had maimed Vincent so terribly. Then again, Tifa reasoned as she smoothed the creases, he had just singlehandedly brought down the Omega Weapon, and Gaia only knew what else in the remains of the Shinra Building.

The silence was suddenly punctuated by a knock on the cabin door. Tifa jumped, nearly slipping as she dried her hands hastily on her shorts and went to see who else could possibly still be awake at this hour.

"Yuffie?"

The diminutive ninja stood before her in the hall, wearing her travelling cloak and looking haggard. Tifa opened the door a bit wider.

"Why on Gaia are you up so late?"

"Ugh…more like early!" Yuffie whined, rubbing her eyes. Tifa pressed a finger to her lips and cut her eyes in Cloud's direction. Yuffie lowered her voice a half-octave. "Reeve is sending me back to headquarters to take care of a few things, says it's urgent. I don't get why he couldn't at least wait until morning!"

"Reeve didn't even let you sleep?" Tifa asked, surprised.

"Only for a few hours. But I mean, the WRO will be busy cleaning up this Deepground mess, so it's not unexpected. As if we didn't already have enough to do!" She peered anxiously around the doorframe. "I wanted to see Vincent before I left. How is he?"

Tifa looked over her shoulder at Vincent's sleeping form, wondering how much she should tell the young ninja.

"He's been sleeping for a while. He's hurt badly but the medics drugged him so he could rest. They said the best thing for us to do right now is to wait and let him heal. Cloud and I have been watching over him."

"I wish I could stay instead of being sent to HQ…" Yuffie trailed off, scuffing the floor with the toe of her boot. For a moment she appeared solemn, and Tifa glimpsed the rare, mature side of her personality. "I was hoping I could stay. I don't want to leave without knowing what – " she broke off again. "I was so afraid when I saw him falling that he…"

Yuffie gestured helplessly and then quickly ducked her head. Tifa suspected her young friend was fighting back tears beneath the hood of her cloak. She reached out to lay a hand gently on her arm.

"Yuffie…"

The ninja bounced out of reach.

"Well, I better get going! Don't want to piss off Reeve, he's already in such a grouchy mood. Tell Vincent he better get all his sleeping out of the way before I get back. I want a play-by-play of exactly how he kicked Omega's ass. Later!"

Then she was gone, and Tifa was left alone in the silence once again.

~*O*~

She woke abruptly from her restless slumber some time later – much later, she realized with a glance at the blue-grey dawn outside the cabin window, the hulking shadows of the Sector 7 ruins just visible in the darkness. Cloud was still sleeping in the chair across from her, leaning against the wall with his chin tucked within the folds of the blanket. She wondered why she had awoken so suddenly, but then she heard movement and a quiet sound not unlike a broken sob rise among the stillness from the other end of the room. Tifa immediately went to her friend's bedside, nervous apprehension blooming in her chest.

"Vincent?" she called softly. "Are you awake?"

The gunman provided no sign that he was aware of her presence. A light sheen of sweat glistened on his face and along the dip of his collarbone, mingling with the dirt and grime that darkened the crevices of his skin, a bead of perspiration trickling from his temple into the inky, tangled tresses of his hair. His chest rose and fell rapidly and his features were drawn, eyes moving from side to side beneath the thin, violet-tinged flesh of their lids. Every now and then, the long, slender fingers of his right hand twitched frantically along the bedsheet like a pale spider, as if he were searching desperately for something.

He's looking for his gun, Tifa realized as she frowned at the gunman's distress, concerned that he was in pain yet unsure how to help him in his unconscious state.

She tentatively shook him by the shoulder a few times and called his name again. When she did not receive any response, she rested her hand on his forehead, but rather than the burning fever she had expected, his skin was clammy and cool to the touch.

"It's okay, Vincent," she whispered, smoothing back his unkempt fringe. "It's only a dream…you're safe here…"

She doubted that Vincent even had the faintest clue she was there. But just as she was contemplating whether she was attempting to console the gunman or herself, his body relaxed and his breathing became deeper and more even, though it remained somewhat labored, as if he'd been running a great distance. She watched his pinched expression sadly for a while, thumbing some of the dirt from his cheek, when an idea crossed her mind.

Returning to the bathroom, she dug in the small linen closet for a clean facecloth, which she held under the warm stream of water from the sink faucet until it was saturated. She wrung it out until it was just damp and went back to Vincent's bedside, the small towel comforting like a hot mug of tea in her hands.

Gently, she folded the blankets down to the gunman's waist, exposing his naked torso like a marble sculpture in repose, the wide, thick bandage hiding the horrible wound. Thankfully, Tifa noted, the absence of crimson stains on the fabric confirmed that the stitches were holding well. Whatever nightmare had been disturbing his sleep seemed to have passed for the moment, his expression appearing almost serene. His body was still as he drew deep, slow breaths, his right hand finally relaxing, palm open.

The rubber tubing of the oxygen mask lay across his chest, and Tifa was struck by how fragile he looked. She realized that she had never seen Vincent anywhere near this vulnerable before.

She allowed herself a moment to admire the aesthetic beauty of his perfect androgyny. He was so slender, so lithe in ways that reminded Tifa of a woman, yet here and there were the sharp angles and chiseled lines characteristic of a man's body. Without his bandana, she could see clearly the parts of his face which usually remained hidden. His fair complexion, contrasted sharply against the black silk of his hair, the long, delicate curve of his neck, the arch of his narrow eyebrows, the long lashes resting like dark shadows above his high cheekbones – had she not known any better, she would have sworn he were a seraph lying there.

She noticed quite suddenly that her face felt very warm. Shaking away her thoughts, she perched on the edge of the bed and set about the task she had intended. Gently, she washed his face with the damp cloth, cleaning away the dirt and lingering sweat. She worked around the oxygen mask, careful not to disturb the apparatus which aided his breathing.

She avoided his left arm for as long as possible, scrubbing at the grit of battle that still remained on his broken body. Dry blood from the wound was smeared like rust across the flat muscles of his abdomen. It crumbled onto the bedsheets as she rubbed with the warm, damp cloth. As it fell away, however, something in the dim light drew her eye, and she leaned forward curiously, searching the bare expanse of flesh between his navel and the rough edge of the bandage.

There were scars, lots of them. Not the dark, raised scars of recent wounds, but flat, silver lines, almost invisible against the pallor of his skin. As she bent nearer, she could see they were very straight and precise – too straight and precise, she realized, to be battle scars.

Something dark curled in the pit of her stomach then, a deeply troubled feeling that made the hair on her arms prickle, a feeling similar to when she had first removed his gauntlet, which she did not want to explore. She could not name it, but as she slowly straightened up, she felt a sudden impulse to cover him again, to move away. Even as she did so, her unease did not subside. Her conscience recoiled as if she had intruded upon something extremely personal and private, although she was unwilling to guess what it might be.

Her hands trembled as she smoothed the blankets before returning, weak-kneed, to the washroom.

~*O*~

Cloud opened his eyes to the red-tinged sunrise beyond the narrow cabin window. His arm was sprawled across the table, completely numb from being used as a makeshift pillow. He hadn't been aware that he'd fallen asleep. Squinting against the light, he shifted slightly, too exhausted to move despite his uncomfortable position, and he felt the rough texture of the army blanket Tifa had borrowed from Cid's closet scrape against his shoulders. He wondered if she, too, had given up and gone to sleep in one of the guest cabins down the hall.

There was a quiet rustling sound to his right. He lifted his head, unsticking his cheek from the inside of his arm, only to see Tifa sitting on the edge of the bed, comb in hand, patiently untangling the knots from Vincent's hair.

"What are you doing?" he asked at length.

"What does it look like?" she replied, but her attempted humor was lost in her exhaustion and the anxiety, Cloud noticed, which had crept into her voice.

"Have you been awake all night?"

Tifa nodded wordlessly, working the comb carefully through a section of raven hair.

"Yes, for the most part," she said after a moment. "I fell asleep for a little while earlier…" she trailed off, too tired to continue.

Cloud fell silent once more and watched as Vincent's chest rose and fell steadily as she worked.

"Has he been awake at all?"

"No…not that I have seen."

Cloud abruptly sat up in his chair then, panic suddenly flooding his chest.

"Marlene – and Denzel – !"

Tifa held a finger to her lips.

"Barret called a little while after midnight. He's agreed to stay with them until one of us can return…" she trailed off again.

Cloud relaxed, relieved, slumping down in his chair.

Tifa put the comb aside. "I'm so tired…"

"You can go sleep," Cloud replied, but even as the words passed his lips, his eyelids dragged heavily, beckoning him to close them again. He hauled himself up, shuddering against the early morning chill.

"No, no, it's alright…" Tifa said, but her chin nodded toward her chest, hands falling limply to her lap.

"Tifa?"

She jerked awake, gazing up at him with dull, dark-rimmed eyes.

"Please, go and sleep. I can stay with Vincent –"

The creak of the door hinges interrupted him. They turned in unison toward the threshold, where Cait Sith bobbed on the soles of his little leather-clad feet, grinning apologetically at them.

"Oh – pardon me! Ah shouldae knocked first!" he clasped his hands in front of him. "Donnae worry, ah'll stay wi' Vince wael yoo kenn goo rest."

Cloud exchanged glances with Tifa. For a moment, she looked uncertain, but then she smiled gratefully at the robotic cat.

"Thank you, Cait Sith," she said as she unfolded herself from the edge of the bed. "Will you please let us know if he wakes?"

"Yes, or when the medics show up?" Cloud added. "A doctor called Sergei should come today."

"Donnae worry! Ah'll coom an' break doon th' door if ah must," he said as he clambered up next to Vincent's shoulder. "Goo an' rest. Ah'll take good care o' Vincent. He'll need yoo in tip-toop shape if yoo're plannin' too stay by his side all night, especially when he wakes!"

Cloud still had reservations about leaving his friend even for a few hours, but the fact that Vincent had survived the first night inspired a tiny flicker of hope in his chest. With one more glance at the gunman's unconscious form, he followed Tifa out of the room, pulling the door behind him.

Cait Sith leaned close to Vincent, and his expression fell sadly.

"Ahh, Vincent, yoo poor lad…"

He patted the gunman's shoulder gently.

~*O*~

Cloud collapsed, fully dressed, onto the bed in the guest cabin next door. His mind jumped restlessly from one trail of thought to another, unwilling to entertain any of the horrible scenarios which could greet him when next he woke. He did not want to think, either, about his friend flailing in agony, shouting Hojo's name, or what terror might have caused him to do so. The vision had disturbed him several times during the night. But even as his mind buzzed with worry and doubt, his head sunk into the soft pillow and his eyelids drooped, carrying him once again into a troubled sleep.

A/N - I'm really not very familiar with Cait Sith's accent, so I tried to write it as well as I could. I've not read many fics with him in it, so I actually modeled the spelling of his speech from the dialogue of a character in a book who speaks Scots. Hopefully it is at least somewhat accurate.

Thanks again for reading!