A Rose By Any Other Name

  *

  Vincent adjusted his perch on the top of the partially dismantled Mako reactor nestled on the summit of Mt. Nibel. A storm rumbled and sparked in the distance causing Vincent's scowl to darken. All dangerous subjects were kept in the background, safely aloof. His only thoughts were those of the coming storm that evening, and the rain that would again come to freshen the planet. Occasionally, a snippet of a statement or a tickle of her laugh would slip through the tight control. Vincent would tense, harshly pushing it away with a toss of his head.

  Confusion goaded him to anger, but he knew it served only to protect him.

  Vincent clenched his jaw. Fear had never been a part of his life before. Not as a Turk, and not as a--Vincent flinched, shifting his dark gaze to the dented metal on which he crouched. Natalie's questions and statements always dove too readily to what he normally kept hidden. The reliving of it, with her so close and listening, was something he hadn't ever experienced. Not since Lucrecia. Maybe not even then. His memories of that time had long since faded into an odd oblivion.

  Natalie listened so intently, with the heartbreak for what he had undergone clearly brimming in those emerald eyes. The compassion. The understanding. Did he ever receive those while in the service of Shinra? Did the victims of Shinra's 'justice' ever look at him as she had? With empathy and . . . and something he was afraid to remember. A collection of words spoken.

  Vincent balled his claw into a fist, staring down at it with an empty expression. She didn't flinch. Again and again, she did not flinch. Had anyone welcomed the touch of this hand but her? So many times, when Vincent touched her with the artificial claw, she hadn't given even a remote sign of disgust. Instead, there was acceptance and something more. Some expression of instantaneous normalcy glittered in her eyes, as if she missed that aspect of her life to suddenly find it--

  A fragment of her voice drifted past the walls of his existence, and he grasped it. 'I have been looking for you too long to turn away now,' she had said. 'I love you, Vincent. Don't forget that.' Yes. She said that too, while drifting on the end of a dream.

  Vincent looked up, gazing at the evening sky with narrowed eyes. How could loving him be anything but a nightmare? He stood, leaping from roof section to roof section with a grace and ease that had long since become second nature. He landed on the ground below, a puff of dust rising from his boots as he remained crouched. With each attempt to dismantle his confusion, it doubled. It only lessened when she listened to his words and dug deeper to another hidden meaning.

  He grumbled under his breath before slowly straightening and making his way toward the door that would lead him from the summit of Mt. Nibel. Away from the summit, yes, but toward his greatest fear.

  Her.

  Natalie Long would very likely be his salvation. But in what way? In the reverting to his original form? Or in the softening of the guilt and shame? Vincent clenched his jaw. Why should I fight against attaining that which I desire? That is the question he voiced, and the question which doomed him. She was too naïve. Too innocent of the world. She didn't understand. She never would.

  Yet the open expression in her eyes belied the statement he so desperately wanted to believe. After all, if he believed she would never understand, wouldn't that make it easier for him to hide himself away? To deny his desire and bury himself from the reminders of the normal life that had once been his? She seemed so willing to give it to him. So eager to tap into his very heart and soul because she was convinced they held the key to her own purpose.

  Purpose. Didn't he once have that luxury? Now he had nothing but the interest of a love-starved professor infatuated with the mystery that surrounded his existence. A mystery she understood. A mystery she relished as an adventure in life. Had anyone ever delighted in any aspect of his existence?

  Vincent grumbled again, annoyed that his mind led him in circles. Giving him no peace in the action. Would peace be waiting for him if he returned? It was highly unlikely. Peace retreated each time he watched her expression. There was only confusion and an intoxicating addiction to watch the emotions dance across her face. That had chased him away from her side as she slept, safely hidden within a dream.

  That and the overwhelming desire to again touch her warm lips.

  And again . . .

  . . .and again . . .

  Vincent pushed away the cannibalistic thoughts with a ferocious toss of his head. She would not remember, as the cares was simply a completion of her dream. Something that will have faded with the dawning of the new day. Some future hope that she believes will never come.

  Bittersweet. Kindling hope. Feeding dread.

  But how could he draw her close when it could mean another life hurt? If he should die--she herself said she couldn't bear it. But it was too late. He saw the hold he had on her. Each time she said his name, the tenderness was there. Each time she saw his face and held his gaze, the devotion was there amidst her fear at the power of her emotion. To turn away from that would wound her sensitive heart as much as that of his death.

  Why not surrender?

  Vincent's dread rose again, but he beat it back. Perhaps the cure to his existence wasn't so much in the discovery of a way to take back his former life, but in the acceptance of a seemingly impossible attraction? Maybe the way to cure him was to . . . Vincent felt the blood drain from his face. The question lingered, hovering in every aspect of who and what he was as he attempted to ignore not only its continuing presence, but also the silence the question brought to his mind.