FicWad

I'm a firm non-believer of love at first sight. Lust at first sight, yes, but love? Not possible. True love, that soul-consuming desire to be with one person forever, isn't something that can spontaneously generate from nothing. True love is something that must constantly evolve and grow with time and understanding. There has to be a foundation, a moment where the first cornerstones are laid out, or the entire structure will eventually collapse.

Our foundation was laid a week after the Meteor crisis was over. Someone- Yuffie, probably- had gotten the idea of having one last hurrah on the Highwind before we all went our separate ways, and they insisted that I come in person, instead of sending Cait Sith. It started out as a celebration- we'd just survived a world-shattering ordeal, and the stress was just then beginning to wear off. Halfway through it, however, it became something of a wake, a memorial to that which we had lost in our journey.

I'd felt the impact of Aerith's death even from Midgar; she'd trusted my Cait when others had not, and had treated him- and by extention, me- like a friend. Her life, to me, was like watching my first shooting star. So bright at first, arcing across the heavens and shining it's light before it fades away, and even after it was gone the memory of it's brilliance was still etched in my mind.

I watched the others mill about and listened to their hushed reminiscences. I watched Yuffie try to sneak Cid's Materia out of his pockets when the older man grew maudlin. I saw Barrett with tiny Marlene, the girl hugging Cait Sith in one arm and Nanaki with the other while her adoptive father looked on with pride. In one corner was Cloud, with his head bowed and Tifa sitting next to him, her warm brown eyes full of mixed love and concern. I saw a family born of circumstance and bound together by shared losses.

I also saw that one of the family was missing.

I gathered up a couple of shot glasses and a half-empty bottle of brandy from the bar when no one was looking, and snuck off to the observation deck. It was pleasantly cool outside, compared to the growing warmth of the main deck. My target was just where I'd thought he would be, leaning over the railing with his back to me and his cloak waving lazily in the breeze. He shifted, resting his head in his good hand and tapping his claw against the metal. "Mind if I join you?"

Vincent shrugged ever so slightly, which was more of a response than I had expected. I stepped up to stand beside him, examining him for the first time with my own eyes. His sleek, leather-clad body was tense, poised like a cat to move at a second's notice. Ebony hair flowed about his face in waves. His face- or what little I could see of it- was set in a mask of crumbling stone. I could just make out a sense of bewilderment, of unease and confusion in the way his eyes flickered about the landscape. He radiated danger and intrigue and stoic indifference, and under it all was this hint of vulnerability. He was a stranger in a strange land, without a map to guide him- and he reminded me almost painfully of myself.

How many times had I stood in exactly that same pose, looking out over Midgar from my office and wondering if I was doing the right thing? How many times had I leaned against the window, trying to find answers written in the sky above? How many times had I hidden my own insecurities and fears behind a false front, just trying to make it day by day, and wished for someone to throw me a lifeline? It was like looking into a sort of mirror to the past.

Under different circumstances, I might have said all this to him. Instead, I held one of the shot glasses out in front of him, trying not to spill the amber liquid. He glanced at me with the slightest bit of surprise creasing his features, then slowly took the glass from me with his claw. It was fascinating to watch those smooth, razor-like talons moving so delicately. I think he noticed my look of admiration, for he kept the little glass dangling instead of shifting it to his other hand. "Looking for peace and quiet?" he asked dryly as I leaned up against the rail.

"They're reminiscing in there. I don't think I quite belong." Just past the railing I could see the tiny sparks that made up the remains of Midgar. It hurt to look at my city like that. I had designed that city, helped to build it from the ground up. I knew each and every sector like the back of my hand, and now it was gone in one fell swoop. I wondered how many people had lost their lives that night. How many people were homeless now? How many families had been split apart?

"Difficult, isn't it?" I almost didn't register his voice at all, it was so soft. I felt Vincent's eyes upon me and I turned to meet his gaze. "To know that you've done everything you can . . . and it still isn't enough."

"Mmm." I sipped at my brandy, more as a distraction than anything. His question had rattled me badly. I couldn't quite meet his level gaze. "It is," I finally replied after several seconds' thought. "But . . . you have a choice, I suppose. To give up and sit back on what you've done- or to keep trying even when you know you'll fail. When it's something you care about, you feel like you have to keep going no matter what."

We both fell silent at that, staring out at the ruined city below. I drained my glass and got ready to pour myself another when his hands gently took the bottle away. His fingers were calloused and rough, yet warm- not at all the cold, impersonal touch of a person distanced from humanity. Shinra business custom demanded that one was never to pour his own drink when in a group; I suppose the habit lingered from his days with the Turks. He poured the last of the brandy into my glass, his warm crimson eyes glowing ever so faintly in the darkness. "What do you do after, then?"

" . . . after?" I watched him set the bottle on the floor of the deck, the thin shafts of moonlight dancing across the wood. "I don't follow."

Vincent turned back out to the landscape below. I turned back as well, looking to the side and giving him privacy in which to collect his thoughts. "When the pathway ends," he finally said. "When everything is over . . . and your failure is complete . . . where do you go from there?"

We both knew he wasn't referring to the Meteor crisis. "I- don't know. I think . . . my mum always used to say that you only fail when you decide that you've failed. Until then, it's always possible to salvage something. Not victory, maybe, but . . . ." My eyes glanced over at the remains of Shinra headquarters; everything I knew was over. My job, my friends and family, my dreams . . . everything. The night air seemed colder all of a sudden. What could I say? I was as adrift as he was, searching for a way to put the pieces of what had been back together. "I don't know," I finally confessed. "I just know that . . . there has to be something. Anything. I can't believe the road just ends here."

"Hope, then?" His voice was quiet, tinged with bitterness. I glanced over to see his jaw tighten; he narrowed his eyes against the cool breeze, keeping his face devoid of emotion.

The moonlight glinted off of his clawed gauntlet, making me suddenly wonder what was underneath it. Was it a prosthetic, a replacement for something that had been whole? Or was it a disguise, hiding evidence of atrocities long past? What stories were hidden behind that elegant metal glove- or, for that matter, behind that ruby cloak and those crimson eyes? "Hope is for fools," he hissed, more to himself than to me.

"No, not hope." Vincent glanced at me; I don't think he was expecting me to agree with him. "Hope is empty- as meaningless as a wish on a star- unless you have something to back it up." I pointed up at the North Star, glimmering brightly. "To believe in something . . . to want something enough to strive towards it . . . it's faith. To have faith that you can work towards that which you hope for. To believe in yourself and your friends." I shivered slightly, zipping my dress coat up as far as it would go. "I don't think I'm making much sense. Sorry."

Vincent shook his head and shifted, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with me. I could feel a bit of warmth from where our arms touched; it wasn't much, but it somehow managed to ease the chill. "No, you made sense. It's just . . . not an easy road to follow."

The strains of a melody wafted through the air from the main deck behind us; it was one of Aerith's favorite songs, one that she would hum in the evenings as she prepared the group for bed. The tune was strangely mournful. It had always seemed so full of spirit when I'd heard it through Cait's ears. I felt a slight pricking at the backs of my eyes and sipped more of my brandy. Vincent followed suit, the glass still held delicately in his claw. "She was one of the strongest people I've ever met," he said, his voice low and respectful.

"She was, wasn't she?" I heaved a sigh, staring down at the ruins. "The sacrifice was almost too much to ask, I think."

"Aerith was a star," he whispered, and I followed his gaze up to the heavens. "The stars shine, and their light reaches us from millions of miles away. Even after a star dies, it's light doesn't fade. These stars could all have been gone for a hundred years, but their light is still there, and it won't fade for many years to come." His voice trailed off; it was the longest speech I'd ever heard from him, and his words had a sort of poetry to them that rang true.

Our eyes met then, and for a moment there was a kind of mutual understanding. We were from entirely different worlds, and yet we'd had similar feelings, similar problems. We could stand there and realize that there was someone else who understood the feelings of uncertainty and confusion. I felt a little better then. Not much, but a bit of the sorrow that had overlied the day eased. I think he felt it too, for he showed me something extremely rare and priceless; it was the barest twitch of his lips, but it was a smile.

Looking back, I think it was that moment that set the first cornerstones of our relationship- at least, on my end. The moonlight made his fair skin glow and set a halo around his tousled hair; I could see intelligence and understanding and compassion under his stern countenance. His smile made me feel . . . not special, exactly, but priviledged. Honored. His smile warmed a place in my heart that still burns to this day.

The fact that he is awe-inspiringly beautiful when he smiles doesn't hurt either- like a fallen angel rising from the ashes.

The clock within the ship began to toll, ringing in rhythm to Aerith's song. "Midnight," I murmured, leaning slightly into the warmth of the man beside me.

"A new day." Behind us, we could hear the party inside raising toasts. He glanced over at me and raised his glass in an offhand fashion. "To the stars," he said quietly.

I raised my glass to his, his reflection dancing in the brandy. "To the stars."