&&Recommended listening: "Silent Mourning," Angel Sanctuary; "Fake Wings," Yuki Kajiura; "My December," Linkin Park and "It's Been a While," Staind&&

Goodnight Kiss
Epilogue

Vincent spent a long time staring at the ripples on the surface of Aerith's grave. He selected a secluded little overhang and contemplated agonizingly in solitude, his mind falling into that numbing cycle that he had grown so used to in his coffin so long ago it seemed… safe from hurt and any more sin.

She's gone.

Yet another heavy sin to weigh upon his heart. The vacuum Aerith left was filled with all the pain she had pushed aside with those few blessed weeks that she had graced his presence with. All too familiar… but this time he was free to react as he chose, no longer a captive to Hojo's sick games. Pain in liberty was such a strange sensation, that he wasn't sure what to do. Grieving had never been an option.

"Found you…"

Vincent glanced around and was mildly surprised to find Tifa standing a few feet below on a rock and shell outcropping. For a moment, he had forgotten that anything else in the known universe existed but the void inside of him. How selfish of him. Tifa reminded him that the real world moves on, regardless of his miniscule presence.

Each AVALANCHE member had retreated to mourn in his or her own unique way. He could hear Yuffie bawling and wailing from a long ways off, burying her face into a very subdued Red XIII's furry, crimson flank. Cid was unnaturally quiet, smoking cigarette after cigarette. Barret had taken to pacing, muttering obscenities under his breath. Cait Sith-the new model that Reeve had sent-had powered down, a strange remorseful expression plastered across the cat's face. Cloud was off by himself, holding back the tears of an unfulfilled hope. And Tifa…

She looked awkwardly at her muddy shoes and sniffed back tears in her nose as she bit her lip. "I'm… not so sure exactly what went on between you two…" she began. "I don't even think she knew… but…"

Her words faltered as her exhausted eyes filled with tears again. Vincent waited patiently for her to regain her composure, wiping away any tears that spilled over her sore, reddened cheeks. She stifled a sob and a hiccup, and then attempted to continue.

"She loved you!" Tifa blurted. "She wouldn't say it out loud, but she did! She was afraid to announce it, Vincent, because I swear to god she KNEW she was going to die! I felt so horrible because I thought she was really into Cloud and… and for a while I thought I was going to lose him! But then you came along, and Cloud started to act weird… and I … don't even know what I'm trying to say!"

Tifa trembled as she held back her grief and pursed her lips, waiting for a reaction. Vincent did not oblige her with one. It had been so long since he had to deal with an outburst of any kind a sort of jaded speechlessness overcame him. And what, pray tell, was he supposed to do with another's pain, when his was so great that only a sense of honor and bloody justice could keep him on his feet? Barely…

"SAY SOMETHING!" Tifa suddenly screamed in a quavering voice. She timidly hesitated, sucked in a shocked breath at herself, then she tensed again. "ANYTHING!"

There was an uncomfortable silence between them, and at last Vincent spoke. Quietly, sternly, but he spoke.

"Drifting."

"…Wh… what?"

"Drifting," he repeated, looking up with an unreadable expression. "She told us that a lot. Every single one of us. No one can deny that it made little sense." His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "She wouldn't want us to mourn this way. To drift away and loose ourselves to damnation would be folly. There is much to be done, atoning or otherwise-for Aerith's sake at the very least. For Lucrecia's sake. So we mustn't delay in our sorrow." His voice became firmer. "Yes. She knew. So no tears. No sympathy."

Tifa looked a little shocked, as if she couldn't believe that she was actually witnessing words come from his mouth. Maybe she wasn't expecting an answer…?

"How can you say that?"

Tifa threw herself into Vincent's chest, which startled him into inaction as he stiffened in discomfort. Tifa sobbed into his bosom fiercely, for reasons he couldn't guess. Cloud-object of opposition once again in a female retrospect-was perhaps too defeated for her tears right now. But by no means was he interested in tainting another woman at her own expense. No, she would be turned away if she offered, as women in their weak moments often do. Surely she must have guessed at a deeper emptiness within himself? Or perhaps that was the very reason she came…?

It was a familiar sort of embrace, but different. This was Tifa. She smelled different and has calluses with harder muscles and a meaner grip. He relaxed after a moment, then awkwardly rested his hand on her arm. A friend's embrace-something that had always been far out of reach for him. Turks had no friends. They had allies.

Turks don't have their hearts broken either. Twice, no less…

"I'm sorry…" Tifa gasped after a few moments. "I know I don't know you very well… I didn't think you'd talk to me at all…"

True… These were the first real words that they had exchanged beyond mere acknowledgment. The only genuine conversations he'd had were with Aerith. A few sentences had been exchanged with Cid… perhaps Red XIII. But if written out, he was sure his total interaction with the living members of AVALANCHE couldn't equal a paragraph.

"Am I truly so mysterious that one would turn to me for a sick sort of comfort?" he asked.

Tifa sat back, letting her hands linger on his flesh hand. Unlike Aerith, she avoided his claw-through offense or uncertainty he wasn't sure. "We share a secret, Vincent," she told him, looking him right in the eye for the very first time. There was an unsettling strength there. "It's up to you whether or not you want to reveal it, and I don't care if you want my friendship or not. There's a connection. Acknowledge it."

Vincent-practical man that he was-interpreted this as a strict yes or no answer. He wondered if she knew what kind of spot she had put him in. Refuse the friendship and expose the affair, or keep quiet and accept the companionship. Neither was comfortable, and he wondered what Aerith would have preferred.

Do what feels right…

He looked sullenly to the pool again, playing with moonlight as if death were no stigma and pain were not staple of the soul. "What do real friends do?" he asked, in no particular direction.

"Have care and respect for each other," Tifa replied softly, as if she were measuring the friends that she had under her own true definition of the concept. From the look on her face, Vincent fancied that it couldn't be many that were allowed too far past her battle-hardened shell.

"Mm," Vincent said in neither agreement nor disagreement, not sure what else to say. If she desired a mutual care and respect, she would most certainly have to initiate. Undead, demon, Turk or fool, Vincent was still a man, and would not admit to inexperience in something so simple. He tried to remember a time when innocence barred such implications, but fifty years was a long time, as he could barely remember his own mother's face anymore.

"Now we both have something to strive for," Tifa told him. "Revenge must be a tough thing to bear…"

Vincent squinted, wondering how much information was circulating around about him. "So is love," he shot back. Bullseye. She looked down, searching for something to fix her eyes on uneasily.

"Well you're one to talk!"

Vincent chose to ignore her half-defensive teasing. "Can I trust you, Tifa?" he interrupted, choosing to be serious in the matter.

Tifa's eyebrows arched in surprise, then she smiled brokenly. "If I can trust you."

Vincent nodded. Yes, Aerith's tryst with him should remain a secret. And if putting up with something as trivially profound as friendship was the price, he was willing to pay it. Aerith would say it would be good for him anyway, in that glib voice of hers, while running her fingers through his hair. He would keep it long. In honor of her memory.

He was a good judge of people however, and it looked like Tifa wasn't going to let him fake it once she recovered from the shock of death. It might take a while, but he was sure she would return to herself within a week or so. As for him…

There would be vengeance of course. Sweet bloody vengeance… but there was a whisper in his ear that wasn't a lurking shadow under his cloak; the voice of reason, warning him against blind and senseless anger. The kind that almost killed Tifa not a few hours ago. It was her voice, he reckoned, but there was no way to be sure. There was a strange calm in his chest, and he held onto it like he would never have peace again. From what he could tell, he might not.

"When you're ready to let it go… let me know, okay?"

Vincent gave Tifa a quirked eyebrow. "What?"

"I didn't say anything," she replied, quite innocently. She had been trying to see what he had been blankly staring at, and probably knowing that it was nothing in this plane of existence.

"Hm." He pulled his face deeper into his hair and cloak to try and hide the blush of humiliating hurt in his face. It would be long time before he could let Lucrecia go, and even longer to see the pain Aerith's memory produced dull. He doubted Tifa's role in healing, but he got the feeling that Aerith had somehow asked her to lure him out in her absence.

"Hey…"

Tifa and Vincent looked up to see Cid, grim and pale, stinking of nicotine and looking a little surprised. "Was I interruptin'?"

"No," Tifa told him, standing up. "What is it?"

"Cloud wants to move out. I think he's in speech mode though, so don't count on it bein' any fucking time soon." He half chuckled at his own joke, but no one was laughing and it hurt to smile. He cleared his throat and spit, then lit a new cigarette. "Come on, assholes," he mumbled as he stalked off.

Tifa looked across the lake to where Cloud was sullenly waiting, almost longingly. Vincent was glad she was in love with someone else, and deeply. God knows what forces were at work to thrust him into women's ways. But even Vincent was humble enough to realize how much he had to learn. He had just gotten used to the ache of Aerith, and now there was a great confusion over grief and acceptance. At least with things that were so personally close that he had no choice but to deal with them. He normally would have backed away and chosen not to let things get that close… but there were things that needed to be followed through before he could know a real calm on his tormented soul.

There was still a secret to be kept. There was still a story to be told.

End Goodnight Kiss
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