Agapē

A Very Good Place to Start

01

I woke up with a slight disappointment, not quite remembering what I had been dreaming about when I got the call. I had that lingering feeling though, like I had been in the middle of something good, and I was loathe to be dragged from it. I sat up, disentangling myself from the strange mess of warm and cold satin, bangs falling in my face as I went. My left arm reached out of its own volition to grab my phone from the nightstand as my right hand rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

I glared at the neon orange lights which smirked at me from my bedside. Three in the morning? I flipped the damn thing open. "What," I snapped, a little too harshly, even for me, and not without a clearly tired sigh.

"...Hello? Um...Vincent?"

Ah, right. Probably dreaming about her. Did I say 'something good'? That feeling was no doubt premonition. "Tifa."

Her voice was breathy on the line, and I have to admit, I was fully expecting her next words. "...He's gone."

Every muscle in my body immediately softened on reflex. It was the one thing that had somehow allowed me to fall into this uncertain role, the one thing I had gambled my future on, knowing I was quite possibly wasting my time moving to Edge just to be near. Cloud's a flake, tossed easily here and there by his unstable emotions, and it never failed to bring out that weaker side of me that enjoyed feeling needed. I ran a hand through my now-short hair before switching the phone to my right side, flexing the digits of my false appendage distractedly. "Do you want to talk about it?" I knew my tone was muffled with sleep. I probably sounded bored to her.

A pause. "Can I come over?" She sure didn't waste time. These on and off breakdowns of hers were when I spent the most time with her, as she was much too busy when things seemed to be going her way. That was the problem; 'her way' didn't quite make her happy. And while I was much obliged to be with her for a few hours, no matter what the excuse, the feeling was dampened by the knowledge that he would no doubt return, and the cycle would start all over again.

Cloud would leave, Cloud would come back. Tifa was the only stable thing in his life, so of course he couldn't stay away forever. It wasn't perfect, and it never would be; neither one would ever be happy living that way, and everyone saw it but them. But part of me hoped that one day, she at least would see that she needed something more than the youth who would stop by every now and then, but never stick around indefinitely.

I have to admit, I couldn't see it ever working out between the two of them. He always returned emptier than when he left, expecting her to make him better, or at least return his glass to its half-empty state. When he came back, he would go straight to work again, burying himself in tasks so that he would forget how unhappy he was. And when he returned home, he would expect good food, a clean house, two children who were well taken care of, and a lucrative bar. Truly, he expected too much of her, especially if he wasn't willing to make her feel like anything she did mattered.

I'd even heard him joke over the phone to a complete stranger that his 'old lady gets to stay home all day'. And then he smiled over at her and winked. I could tell she didn't find it funny. It was days like those I wanted to beat some sense into him.

She and I had spent countless hours on the phone over the past couple of years, talking this through. She knew how I felt about it. I didn't have to try and tell her, 'I'm sure he'll be back,' anymore, because she'd come to realize as I had that, yes, he would be back. The question was more or less whether or not she would let him continue to piss all over everything when he returned. And I knew she would. He was her weakness.

I moved into the neighborhood anyway.

I had thought about all the places I might go, and while Gongaga seemed nice and tranquil, I couldn't deny that I'd been a city boy my entire life. I like being able to go out at four in the morning to get sushi if I want it. And after spending thirty years in an abandoned crypt with only ShinRa's skeletons to applaud my cynicism, I can't bring myself to fall asleep to silence. I nearly went insane camping outside with Avalanche, without the slow drone of the Highwind's engine to lull me to sweet oblivion.

In the end, it was a toss-up between Junon and Edge. The deciding factor? I was getting bored with life, bored with seclusion, bored with monotony. Who lived in Junon? No one I knew. Who lived in Edge? Tifa lived in Edge. Tifa with Cloud, but Tifa nonetheless.

I always liked Tifa.

Part of me just couldn't resist giving her a place to run to, somewhere to escape from her problems. Of course they came with her, but I didn't mind breaking them down with her and helping her sort them out. They tended to be the same problems, only re-hashed and more complicated each time, but after a while I had gotten quite good at it. She never did seem to be able to let go of him, and I knew the same burdens would keep coming back. And she would keep returning, and I would help to ward them off, and then she would go home and let them build up again.

"I just...need someone to talk to." Her voice cut through my muddled thoughts. How long had I been staring at my arm?

I glanced at the clock again. "Do you need a ride?"

"Actually..." she paused, hesitating. "I'm right outside."

I blinked once. Twice. "...Outside?" I threw the bedsheets off and to the side, mussing my hair again and stifling a yawn as my socks hit the wood floor. "How did you get here?" I walked over to my window as I pulled a tee-shirt on over my head and hung one silvery finger on the blinds, pressing one segment down to eye the walkway. I didn't see her coming up.

"Well, I went out front to think, and when I started thinking, I started walking...I just sort of ended up here." She clipped the sentence, like she might be biting her lip. We'd been doing this dance for a long time, and she still acted uncertain if ever she had a favor she needed from me.

"I can't see you from my window."

A quick expulsion of air, like she had been holding her breath. "I'm at your door."

I made my way to the tiny foyeur at the front of the apartment, undoing the latch on the door and letting her in. She brushed past me, through the living room, heading straight for the kitchen, hunting around my cabinets for a mug no doubt. Her timidness at my door had all but disappeared; she seemed quite undone and frazzled, once she had room to move about.

"Do you mind if I make myself some coffee?" I heard her ask from behind a curtain of hair as she busied herself, not waiting for my answer.

"Go right ahead," I waved my hand in the air dismissively and settled on the couch in the living room. I was preparing myself for the inevitable when I noticed something. I frowned, asking, "...Where are the kids?" Usually she came by during the day if she needed to talk, and the children were in the care of someone else.

"They're in bed. I left a note..." I heard her rummaging around in the silver drawer for a spoon, and I rose to my feet, walking over to lean against the counter. "Denzel's getting old enough to look after Marlene. Don't want to stay out too long, though..." she trailed off, grabbing a paper napkin from the holder on the counter and setting the spoon on top of it as she closed the microwave door. She pressed the buttons and four distinct beeps broke the strange silence that followed her words, yellow light revealing the spinning mug atop the turntable inside the machine. She opened the refrigerator and searched for the carton of milk. "He gets up sometimes in the middle of the night. Even though I left a note, he might not see it. I wouldn't want him to get scared if I wasn't there..."

"You remembered to lock up?" I crossed one foot over the other as I leaned, anticipating her answer.

"Of course I did," she replied casually, as she pulled the sugar jar from its hiding place behind the cooking wine. I couldn't help but smile to myself; she knew she was coming here. "Though like I said, I don't want to stay too long." The microwave beeped, signaling that her water was ready. "He's getting unpredictable," she said thoughtfully, "getting up to use the bathroom at all hours of the night. Maybe I should take him to a doctor..."

This time, my smirk showed on the outside, and I crossed my arms as she stirred the instant coffee grounds. I knew exactly what was happening to the poor boy. Puberty's a bitch, and that Cloud always did have an impeccable sense of timing. Note my sarcasm.

"I hope he doesn't have an infection," she mused, adding the sugar and milk. No, not an infection. Affliction, maybe. I'd tell her later, and let her talk it over with him.

She finished, and the spoon met the counter with an audible 'clack'. She had finally stopped moving and looked up at me, meeting my eyes for the first time that morning. Upon seeing the puffiness surrounding those fragile, red glass windows, I wasn't above cursing. "Shit..." I breathed.

"...Is it that bad?" she smiled softly, tears threatening to return. It really was, but I couldn't bring myself to say so directly; cursing was a rare thing for me, at least around the company I'd been keeping these days, and it spoke volumes. I uncrossed my ankles and walked over to her, arms down at my sides. She wiped furiously at her eyes before releasing a wan laugh, settling her forehead against my chest. I lifted my right hand to soothingly stroke her hair.

"When did he leave?"

"A couple of hours ago," she sniffed. "Hopped right out of bed and started getting dressed. I asked him where he was going, and he said he needed to clear his head." She huffed into my white tee-shirt, and I could feel the hot wetness soaking through. "I mean, you'd think he would have figured it out by now. But he left, just like that. Walked out the garage door, got on his bike and kept on going."

"...He could be back by morning." It was a futile attempt at consolation, and we both knew he would take longer than that. Still, I tried. "He might only have needed to get a breath of fresh air." I inwardly winced, realizing my error and hoping that it wouldn't offend her.

"Ha!" she pushed away from me, pacing frustratedly. "He does this all the time! Not a word about where he's going, just a vague explanation, and then he's off again!" Nice to find that she overlooked my own blunder. "Well, I've had it. I just can't do this anymore!" She went suddenly silent after that, slumped against the refrigerator, cradling her arms.

She and I both knew that she would take him back as soon as he appeared on her doorstep, or rather, used his key and walked into the house like nothing had happened. She was helpless when he was around, her entire demeanor changed, molded by her obsession, her wish for a happy life with him. She lied to herself when he came back, told herself everything would be different, that if she only did better for him, he wouldn't leave again.

I had been in a similar place. Hopeless and bitter when I was by myself, yet transformed in the presence of the very source of my pain. And Tifa, like myself, would run to that source if she knew where it lay. That is precisely why I spent so much time cave-dwelling. If I wanted peace, I needed Lucrecia herself to set me free. And Cloud...I felt he owed it to Tifa to do the same for her, rather than lead her on, letting her waste her life away on a hope that would never be realized.

Part of me couldn't help but feel he was leading me on. But I put myself in this situation. I never learn from my mistakes, but I'm getting too old to give a damn about that, and now that I am beginning to age again, I can't - how does she put it? - dilly-dally. I believe I'm somewhere around thirty. I know what I want now, and I know who I want it with.

If only I could make her see that what she was experiencing, this bipolar sort of love, really wasn't love at all, but infatuation long after it has turned to resentment. Even I had come to learn that. Then again, it had taken me sixty years to learn that lesson, not to mention several punishments, all of which were quite unique, to my morbid fascination. Growing up was painfully slow for me, and still some things could never be beaten into me; I had to learn them for myself. And Tifa? She'll have to learn them for herself as well. I wish I could spare her that pain; she's barely an adult. Most people don't get serious about life until it's almost too late.

I tried the words, soft tone breaking through the afterwake of her sudden fit. "...What will you do?"

She shifted slightly, rolling her back against the appliance to face me. "I don't know," she sighed, honest eyes leaving mine to rest on the floor, where I could not follow. "But I can't do this."

I wished I could believe her. Instead I walked over to her and pulled her away from the refrigerator, wrapping her in a firm embrace. "If you need anything..." I bent to assure her ear, a little low for easy access. If I ever did gather the courage to kiss her, I would have to trick her into standing on something first.

"Be my strength?"

My eyes widened a bit as her words registered in my brain. That was quite a responsibility; she was asking an awful lot of me. But part of me - probably the part that, in hindsight of course, was most fascinated with some of my more ironic punishments, the part that analyzes literature and people by the same standards and imagines himself a player in a grand production - wanted to see how deep a hole I could dig myself and wondered where that hole might take me.

Just call me Ishmael.

"...What would you want me to do?"

She shook her head, long hair brushing my arms as she moved, and a pleasant apple scent invading my core. "I don't know. Just...remind me. Don't let me back down. If I call you, you'll come...right?"

"I will," I say, pulling away and looking at her, my arms still on her shoulders.

She blinked her eyes and looked at me, another indignant huff and bitter smirk tearing her gaze away as if she couldn't look me in the eye and say whatever she wanted to say. "This isn't normal, is it?" She rubbed at her eyes again. "I mean...normal girls don't just let their boyfriends leave for days on end without telling them where they're going..."

I frowned again, more over her state than what she was saying, but I agreed. "No, they don't."

She sighed. "I guess I'd better go..." She dropped her arms with shoulders slumped and turned to leave, my fingers gliding from her as she went. But a sudden boom of thunder stopped her, my windows rattling with the sound. I sighed, turning back for my keys.

"Come on...I'll drive you home."

AN: This is not a one-shot. I'll post the next chapter when I know people like this. The title...may change. Writing from Vincent's perspective is fun. Don't tell me he's not in character just because the chapter isn't short; this is his mind rambling, not his mouth. As always, the review button is love :-)