I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields

The busy cars packed the streets as the snow fell gently one cold February afternoon in Midgar. With the platforms that used to block the slums from the sky destroyed by Meteor, the people below could enjoy, or suffer, from the weather as never before. The truth was, snow wasn't the only thing new to the slums of Midgar. What with ShinRa wiped out, a new mayor was elected to start the period of "Rebuilding". Whatever was left of the ShinRa Headquarters was torn down, and new buildings began springing out of the cold ground; there was a greater emphasis on freedom of expression and choice; but probably most importantly, old, decaying slums were being exterminated while new, cleaner neighborhoods were created. As a result, Midgar rapidly transformed: from shops to TV to business organizations to economic policies, literally, everything changed.

As Tifa skipped across the street, she tightened her shawl around her neck. Yes, it's very cold today, she remarked to herself, I hope Cloud can do without me for a while. She made her way along the alley and emerged into a little, cobble-stoned square with a broken fountain marking its center.

"Hm...this must be it," she murmured while producing a small note from her pocket. The note simply had "Meet me at the Rosa Cafe in Tally Square at 5 o'clock. It's urgent" scribbled on it. Tifa could not guess who wrote her this message. She thought perhaps Barret sent it, but Cloud, who now lived with her, discredited that idea. Barret lived so far away. Besides, argued Cloud, since when did Barret have such nice hand-writing?

She sighed in annoyance when she found the Cafe. It was an extremely small, snug-looking place, with a fancy, green neon sign reading "Rosa Cafe". She couldn't explain why, but she had an ominous feeling about this "meeting". But she came this far, and may as well continue. So, she entered it, determined to finish quickly.

Pushing the glass door, Tifa immediately noticed that barely anyone was in the cafe. Only an old man reading his newspaper over a cup of coffee. when Tifa met his eye, the old man made no sign of recognition, but took a sip of his coffee and flipped the page. Not him, deduced Tifa. She looked around again, in case her eyes had deceived her, but nobody else was there. Hmph, just a practical joke, she frowned.

"Miss Lockhart, yes?"

Tifa jumped at the mention of her name, and turned around quickly in surprise. A man around thirty years old stood towering over her, with a polite smile to greet her.

"Y...yes. That's me," she stammered, taken aback.

"I'm glad you decided to come," commented the man, "would you like something to drink?"

He ordered a plain coffee, but Tifa declined the offer out of mistrust. As they sat in a booth at the corner of the cafe, Tifa thought there was something strangely striking about the man in front of her. he was dressed in a smart, black business suit and an obviously expensive trench coat. But Tifa didn't find that aspect too peculiar. It was probably his face, she reasoned. The man had a good-looking face with gentle, almost aristocratic, features. but he had pure, snow-white hair that struck her as almost unnatural. It was thick, soft, and some locks of hair hung graciously in front of his face, but the color wasn't right. Then she noticed the bizarre color of his eyes: they were dark pink. Tifa couldn't remember ever seeing such a unique color.

"Well then," began the man, interrupting Tifa's thoughts, "I suppose you want to know why I asked for you."

"Yes," replied Tifa, uneasily, "You send me a message, invite me to coffee, and I don't even know your name!"

"Eh well," smiled the man as he sipped some of his coffee, "I'm not worth knowing."

Tifa frowned discontentedly at his reply, "Very well, Sir, what do you want from me?"

"I won't waste your time, Miss Lockhart," said the man as he placed the cup in the saucer. He reached for a pocket inside his trench coat and tossed a picture in front of Tifa.

"Do you know this man, Miss Lockhart?"

Tifa picked up the picture and examined the face...it looked *so* familiar. The young man in the picture wore a navy blue suit...a Turks suit, Tifa noticed. He had thick, jet black hair cut short, and bright, blue eyes. Tifa scrutinized the face for a minute...that face...is it...

"Is it Vincent Valentine??" asked Tifa in surprise. she knew Vincent was a Turk, but she never imagined him to look like that.

"Yes, indeed. It is Vincent Valentine, confirmed the man, "I apologize...the picture is very old, but I hear he didn't change that much, so he's still recognizable."

That was true, reflected Tifa, Vincent never grew old externally. he always looked as old as he always did when Hojo..."altered" his body.

"But," began Tifa cautiously, "Why are you showing me his picture?"

"I'd like to ask you, Miss Lockhart, do you know where I could find Mr. Valentine?"

Tifa stared at him in surprise, "Excuse me...? You...you're asking me where Vincent is?"

"Yes."

there was something very cold in the man's curt reply, almost malicious, as his gaze pierced Tifa's eyes. it was as if he were trying to extract the information by force. Tifa fingered her shawl nervously and dodged his eyes by looking down.

"Sir, to be honest, I don't know where he is," she replied deliberately.

"Are you sure?" asked the man, as he lighted a cigarette he produced from his side pocket, " I know you made contact with him about a year ago, and that Mr. Valentine joined your Avalanche group shortly afterwards. Are you sure he didn't hint at where he was going after you all separated?"

How the Hell does this man know all this, wondered Tifa with rising suspicion.

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Valentine never mentioned where he was going. I last saw him in Midgar, but we all separated, and he went his own way."

"Not even a guess, Miss Lockhart?" asked the man, puffing his cigarette casually, "can you guess where I may find him?"

Tifa picked up the picture again, this time focussing on Vincent's eyes. They were beautiful, but expressionless, just as they always were, and betrayed nothing. That's what always struck Tifa about Vincent; he only spoke when spoken to, he avoided any type of attention, and always, always stood aloof. Tifa put down the picture, and took a deep breath.

"Listen," started Tifa resolutely, "when avalanche disbanded, all the members took a different route. Mr. Valentine never, ever mentioned what he planned to do. In fact, he simply walked away, without a goodbye, and disappeared. That's all I know, Sir."

He looked at her quietly as she finished, and then an awkward silence ensued between them. he puffed his cigarette one last time as he languidly replied, "I see."

The man extinguished his cigarette, took some money out of his wallet to pay for the coffee, and finally retracted the picture to his pocket.

"Then, I thank you for you time, miss Lockhart. Good day."

he rose up to leave, but Tifa halted him, "Wait! Why do you want to find Vincent so badly??"

The man, however, ignored her and hurriedly walked out of the restaurant. Tifa looked through the restaurant window as he plodded away until he disappeared from her sight.

Why Vincent, of all people? wondered Tifa. does he know him?

Tifa walked sullenly back to her restaurant, which was also her home. The meeting had obviously no good effect on her. In fact, she felt grumpy and totally discontent with it. Nevertheless, she couldn't stop thinking about what happened between her and that strange man. By the time she reached her destination, the streets had emptied a little and the snow had ceased falling. She ascended a flight of stairs to a porch of a small, clean building, marked with a clear sign above the door reading "Tifa's Seventh Heaven".

"I'm home," said Tifa, absent-mindedly as she entered and shut the door behind her.

"Hey, Tifa!" greeted Cloud, kissing her cheek quickly then returning to mopping the floor, "Whew! Glad you're back! washing these floors just isn't my thing. My Back's killing me!"

Tifa sat at one of the of the tables, and stared downwards at her boots. why did the man seem so bent on finding Vincent? In fact, how'd he know Vincent was a member of Avalanche? or for that matter, how did he even know Vincent never aged?

"Yo! Tifa!!" interrupted Cloud, placing his hand on her shoulder firmly.

"Ah! W...what??" stammered Tifa, surprised.

"You okay? I asked you if anyone showed up for that message?" Cloud bent over her, examining her face in concern," Are you all right? You looked as if you were logged on to another dimension."

"Oh, I'm fine, Cloud!" answered Tifa, cheerfully.

"Well, who sent it?"

"Sent what?"

"Sent the message, silly!"

It just then occurred to Tifa that she didn't even know the man's name.

"Hey...Cloud?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you know where Vincent went after we killed Sephiroth?"

Cloud looked at her oddly, "Vincent?? Um...no, he never mentioned where he was going."

Tifa got up, and as she made herself a drink at the bar, asked curiously, "Well, can you guess?"

"Tifa, asked cloud as he walked up to her, "why are you asking me about Vincent?"

"No...I was just wondering," replied Tifa, in an attempt to dispel Cloud's suspicions.

"Well, I dunno!" answered Cloud, scratching his head, "It's not like Vincent was the most talkative guy I met! All I know is his name and that he used to be a Turk in ShinRa."

"yeah, but...where do you he went?"

"How should I know?" smiled Cloud, uncomfortable with Tifa's persistence, " He could have gone back to his coffin in Nibelheim...or maybe he went to Junon City. Who knows?" continued Cloud as he turned away from Tifa and shrugged his shoulders, "he could be living here in Midgar, for all I know."

Tifa was silent as she gulped down her drink. Yes, she reflected, Vincent could be anywhere in the world. no wonder that man was so annoyed.

"So, Tifa," began Cloud, resuming his mopping of the floor, "did anyone show up for that message?"

"Hm? oh no," muttered Tifa, " no, it was just some idiot's idea of a practical joke." She saw no reason in telling him what happened, so she kept silent.

"Well, we'd better start opening up. Our coffee break's almost over, y'know."

"Okay," agreed Tifa. cloud was such a help to her in running this restaurant. After the meteor incident, they decided to live together and run a new restaurant together as a business. Cloud sometimes got uneasy with this settled life, but Tifa thought it only natural. after all, everyone in Avalanche had got used to life on the road.

Tifa tossed the message in the thrash basket as she set the chairs neatly on the floor. Whoever that weird man was, he seemed almost obsessed with finding Vincent.

Well, good luck to him, she mused. Vincent could be anywhere...even here in busy Midgar. And with that, Tifa forgot the matter, and thought no more of it.

The bell in the City Tower tolled eleven times as the train noisily made its way along the endless tracks. The passengers inside began gathering their belongings and getting up as the train halted with a loud whistle and opened its doors at the station. Many people flocked out, leaving the train almost empty. Before the doors shut again, a loud voice announced over the intercom, "Last destination: Sector 3, west of Midgar. Time of arrival: 11:32 P.M". Then, after a slight jolt, the train resumed its journey to the final station.

Vincent dropped into a seat by the window, placing his hand under his chin. he gazed at the dark skyline and the lonely moon that decorated the sky as the train emerged from the tunnel, on its way to Sector 3.

The monotonous rumbling of the train on the tracks beat against his tired head, but he responded by tightening his long, black coat around him, and shutting his eyes firmly. Two other passengers across the car glanced at him apprehensively and whispered between themselves. Vincent knew they were discussing his metal claw and frightful appearance; they probably thought him a criminal or some kind of psychopath. But he could care less what others thought of him. Their opinion never mattered.

Vincent then felt a dull pain slowly forming in his chest. He gripped his chest firmly and tightened his eyes in an attempt to soothe the agony. The pain, however, steadily became sharper, but Vincent continued to clutch his chest, trying to master the attack. suddenly, he bent over sharply and, with one hand over his mouth, began coughing violently. Although he tried to control the fit, he could feel his chest throbbing with intense pain as the seizure grew unbearable. He sensed some warm liquid sprinkle on his hand that covered his mouth, but the seizure felt as though it were squeezing the very life out of him.

The two passengers gawked at him stupidly, as if they'd never seen a man cough, then quickly retreated to the next car, grumbling about weirdoes and disgusting diseases.

After a minute of agonizing struggle, the coughing fit eased, and the pain quickly disappeared. Vincent, gasping for breath, rubbed his forehead and wiped away some beads of sweat from his pale face. He then noticed that the palm of his hand which had covered his mouth during the fit had tiny splashes of blood bespattering it. He examined his hand curiously, then wiped his mouth with the back of it. As he suspected, there was some blood on his mouth. The liquid he had felt was his blood.

"Damn," he whispered to himself, "this is getting bad."

The booming voice announced that the final destination was reached and that all citizens were kindly requested to step off the train. Vincent immediately dismounted. He looked around once, as if suspicious of some invisible enemy, and then wrapped his black coat firmly around himself to avoid the chill air that blew through the empty station.

With quick steps, he made his way out of the train station, and followed a dingy alleyway into another narrow street. the cold air mercilessly stung his face, but he felt slightly feverish because of that last coughing fit. After clearing that street, Vincent reached the main square, which was bustling with people eager to enjoy their weekends. Many bars had their doors wide open to welcome customers. Young people weren't afraid to laugh out loud. Some couples walked hand in hand along the shops as they whispered affectionately.

Vincent, however, felt the fever growing worse as he staggered along the square among all the merry-makers. Lights and colors flashed around his head; strange faces and figures danced in front of his eyes; unfamiliar sounds and voices only threw him into more confusion. he stumbled over a stone, but luckily gripped a low fence before falling to the ground. Feeling the same, familiar ache beginning to form again, he grit his teeth resolutely.

Okay, decided Vincent, I am obviously in no condition to go any further... I must get a hold on myself....

He collapsed with a tired sigh into a bench placed near a tree, and bending over, covered his face with one hand. A young woman seated near him noticed his sharp claw and immediately rose, then ran away in fear. Vincent, however, was oblivious to anything save the dull pain that cruelly gnawed at his chest and the fever that plagued him. He felt another seizure coming up, but struggled vigorously to repress it. Fortunately, the attack wasn't that acute, so the pain soon vanished and Vincent breathed easily again.

He thought it best to get up and go home, but, much to his surprise, fatigue had paralyzed both his legs.

So, after some deliberation, he decided to rest on the bench for a while before moving. He leaned back to stare at the starless sky, ignoring the odd glances people gave him. the big, round moon that hung in the pitch-black sky struck him as strangely soothing and relaxing.

it's almost as if a person had placed a single pearl against a black cloth of silk, mused Vincent, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. He shut his eyes slowly, ready to fall asleep any moment.

A sharp cry, however, pierced the air, dispersing all sleep from his eyes. Vincent jumped out of his seat and turned around in alarm. Many people, in fact, turned their heads confusedly to see what caused the commotion.

Vincent saw a young, slender girl rushing among the people in a panic. The girl was wet and miraculously kept on her feet, but she still persisted to run frantically as though possessed by a demon.

People dodged the girl as best as they could, but she savagely knocked down an unsuspecting man and shoved another passer-by to the side.

"OUT OF MY WAY!!!!" she shouted

Before he knew what happened, Vincent felt something crash into him with a great force. despite the magnitude of the crash, it barely had an impact on him, as he was only pushed back slightly; but the young girl, who had collided into him, bounced back and fell to the ground. People gathered around the two, and amidst loud murmurs, wondered who the delirious girl was.

Vincent, on realizing that he had knocked the girl down, bent over her and touched her shoulder gently, "Miss? Are you alright?"

Up close, the girl looked about 20 and very pretty, in spite of her disarrayed hair that covered her face and filthy, drenched rags. She looked up at Vincent as if she didn't understand him.

Vincent, however, gaped at her in sudden astonishment. He could have sworn he'd seen her somewhere before. Neither spoke as they stared at each other; one in confusion, the other in surprise.

Vincent cautiously reached for the girl's pale face, and pushing some of her hair away from her face, met her bright, green eyes that he recognized at once.

"Aeris?!!!" Vincent blurted out.

The girl blinked in deeper confusion, "W...what?"

"A...Aeris....how...what are..." stammered Vincent in absolute bewilderment as he narrowed his eyes to confirm his eyesight.

The girl, however, pushed Vincent aggressively away from her with a shriek, "Get away from me!! GET AWAY!!!"

This time, the push knocked Vincent off his feet, and he landed on his bottom. The girl quickly jumped to her feet and pushed her way through the crowd in a frenzy.

I'm sure that was Aeris, thought Vincent. Yes, I'm sure!!

"Hey, Aeris!!" He shouted, springing to his feet and rushing after her, "Aeris! Wait!!"

He caught sight of her dodging into a dark alley around a corner, and ran as hard as he could after her.

There's no mistake, he repeated, that was Aeris!! But how could she be alive?!! She...she died about a year ago!!

The end of the alley was a dead end, as he soon discovered. He slowly looked around as he gasped for air, then glanced back at the alley's sole exit to make sure he didn't miss some hidden side street. No trace of her.

His ears, however, discerned a stifled sob near by. He turned his head to the source. Creeping softly to an overturned car, he peeked behind it to find the girl huddled by the vehicle, knees drawn in and head bent over. The cold had obviously greatly deteriorated her health; she shivered piteously and seemed to be suffering from fever.

"Aeris?" whispered Vincent, coming near her.

The girl looked up in alarm, with tears in her eyes. She immediately sprang to her feet, ready to flee again, but Vincent quickly grabbed her wrist firmly to prevent her from escaping.

"Let me go! Let me go!" screamed the girl, scratching his hand with her nails to loosen his grip.

"Okay...okay...listen to me for a minute," commanded Vincent, muffling her mouth with his iron claw as he pushed her against the wall. The girl, on seeing his claw so near, froze solid and made no sign of resistance. She just stared, petrified, at his bizarre hand then his blood-red eyes. She probably thought Vincent intended to murder her.

When Vincent decided she was calm enough, he resumed his talk with the girl, but didn't remove his claw from her mouth, "Now listen. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to help you. Do you understand, Aeris?"

"Why do you call me that??" cried the girl, removing Vincent's iron claw from her mouth, "I don't know you! You have me confused with another person! I don't know you!"

Vincent looked at her oddly as he gradually loosened his grip on her .She rubbed her wrist while looking down at the ground. She shivered when she noticed the red mark Vincent left on her wrist.

"You...don't even remember me vaguely?" asked Vincent.

"I...I don't know you..." she whispered harshly, avoiding his eyes, "I don't know anything..."

Vincent studied her haggard face silently. Did she lose her memory? How, when she was supposed to be dead? Damn it, cursed Vincent internally, what's going on here?

"You...you hurt my wrist..." sobbed the girl miserably.

Vincent had no idea how to respond to her complaint, and blinked in embarrassment while she chafed her wrist and sniffled. He placed her injured wrist in the palm of his claw and gently rubbed it with his other hand to mollify her.

"Sorry..." he muttered, "I didn't mean to grab you so hard..."

A sudden echo of rushing footsteps through the alley forced Vincent to turn around. The girl stared at the alley's entrance with a shiver.

A group of tall, dark figures finally appeared, completely blocking the alley's only exit. They were shrouded in darkness, but judging from the slight glitter each figure's hand gave off, Vincent guessed they all carried guns. Automatic pistols, none the less, added Vincent reflectively.

He pushed the girl behind him forcefully.

"Who's there?" he asked in a calm, icy tone.

"We want the girl behind you."

Vincent felt the girl clutch his coat from behind, but she refused to stare at anything but the dark figures up ahead.

"I'm sorry, but she obviously doesn't want your company," retorted Vincent in the same cold, contemptuous tone.

Three was another brief silence, then one dark figure came a step closer. Vincent heard the loud click of a gun as the man warned, "Just step aside from that girl, and no one will get hurt."

"Don't believe them," whispered the girl to Vincent viciously, "When they get me...they'll just shoot you..."

"I'm warning you!" boomed the voice of the figure, "One wrong move, and you'll have more holes in you than Swiss Cheese!"

"Please...don't believe them..." pleaded the girl.

"Well?" shouted the figure menacingly.

Vincent looked around at the pitiful girl, then at the group of mysterious figures blocking the alley. They probably have all their guns aimed at my head, thought Vincent. If I say no, they'll definitely blast my head clean off.

"Alright," replied Vincent finally, "Don't shoot me. I'll get out of the way."

The girl looked at him in disbelief, but didn't utter a word. She reluctantly let go of his coat as he made way for her to go to the figures. Vincent could hear their fingers easing on their triggers, but looked sternly at the girl.

"Okay, A-25, come over here nice and easy!" ordered the dark figure authoritatively.

The wretched girl felt her heart pound violently as she began heading towards the dark men. Every limb in her body trembled and she felt that she'd faint any second. Vincent, however, only narrowed his red eyes while concentrating on the dark group, as though waiting for some signal.

"That's a good girl," remarked one voice, quite amused.

"Be an obedient girl, and you won't get hurt," commented another voice, causing the others to burst out laughing.

The girl shut her eyes to suppress a sob, but before she could reopen them, she felt someone suddenly encircle her waist and pull her back. She saw a swift arm extend over her shoulder and fire seven consecutive shots with amazing rapidity.

The surprise move only lasted about ten seconds. When the last shot sounded off, all the figures were lying face down in the gutter, dead.

"Sorry about that," whispered Vincent from behind her, "but I figured they were stupid enough to be distracted by you...I needed to put them off guard somehow."

"You...killed them?" asked the girl meekly.

"Yes. I shot their heads."

"I..." stammered the girl, "I think I'm going to faint..."

With that last feeble remark, the girl lost conscious and her head dropped against Vincent's shoulder. He wondered what he should do now; he had seven dead bodies in the alley and a sick girl who should be dead lying unconscious on his shoulder.

He slowly placed the girl on the ground momentarily to reload his gun. After throwing away the empty gun shells and holstering his weapon, Vincent wrapped the girl in his coat. He picked her up as gently as he could, careful not to hurt her with his sharp claw. He walked over the corpses he had brutally shot, kicking one body out his way contemptuously, and then ducked in a dark, narrow pathway across the street.

The bell in the Tower tolled twelve times, signaling the arrival of midnight. And then all was silent.

On to Chapter 4.

Back to I Know What's Beneath the Snow Fields.