A Rose By Any Other Name

by Nona Mae King

  *

  Natalie stared at the Shinra mansion for a long time before finally allowing herself to approach. Her throat constricted, a warning to the tears lurking under her emotional surface. She cleared her throat as she climbed the stairs to the room that would lead to the spiral staircase.

  "Okay, Nat. You can do this. Yes, communication is not your strong suit, but how hard can it be?" If he slept within his coffin, it would be easier. She could say anything to the box. If he was sitting on it, though . . . .

  She shook off the memory of the dream, steering her mind quickly away from any hint of what could or could not be. As she made her way down the corridor, her pace slowed, though her thoughts came more quickly. "No. You must see this through. You promised yourself an honest try, remember? In everything. He deserves that chance at least."

  She came to stand outside the door to his sanctuary, but she could only stare at the scarred and stained wooden door. What was she going to do? Pretend she didn't see the agony on his face with each failure? It wasn't an option, and she knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  She took in a slow breath and opened the door, closing it very softly behind her. His coffin was closed, but the silence had shifted to something . . . heavy. It wasn't the same as before. The silence was almost . . . suffocating in its intensity. She had to decide. Did she continue on? Or did she . . . stop? Did she admit the defeat to both of their hopes?

  Natalie hid her face in her hands. "Vincent, I don't know what to do," she said, voice muffled through her hands. "I meant to talk to you before, but I didn't know how. I don't do well in situations like this. It has forever been a fault of mine, preferring to bury my head in my work rather than face the problem and deal with it."

  The silent intensity lessened to suspicious listening.

  Natalie lowered her hands to focus glimmering green eyes on the coffin. "I more than likely could have saved myself some confrontations while working at Bone Village if I had chosen to speak before the situation got out of hand. They were ugly; let me tell you that right away. That was one of the reasons I left the dig so many times."

  The silence itched at her brain, and she lowered her gaze to the absent kicking of her booted toes against the crypt floor. "It wasn't completely my fault," she continued. "The head digger was a bone-head, no pun intended. The last straw was when he would go tromping around the dig site in those god-awful shoes of his and then be as mad as a who-knows-what when something showed up with a fresh break. Blamed us every time. Well, I finally had enough. I stomped right up to him and told him what for. I shocked him clear out of his head, allowing me the time to pack up and leave. He still hadn't said anything by the time I walked past him." She smirked. "You should have seen the look on his face!"

  "Lucrecia?"

  The smile vanished and Natalie dropped her chin, hands balled into fists at her side. "I . . . I suppose I should have known better." They had something special, and she would forever be in his memories. How could she not when he felt responsible for her life and her death? She shook her head. "It's too late, Nat. It's too late," she murmured.

  Natalie turned for the door, a tear escaping her control.

  "Wait. Where are you going? Why are you here? What do you want from me?"

  "I--" Her voice broke, agony refusing to be swallowed. Did she even know the answer to his question? Did she look to him to satisfy her ridiculous romantic dreams? Did she simply him to need her? Or did she want to have him indebted to her in a way he had never been before. She shook her head. "I can't do that to you. It is simply unfair." No one should have that control over somebody else.

  A sob broke through her reserve as she rushed again toward the door, fumbling with the handle with both hands before finally yanking it open. Tears burned, vision blurred even as she glanced toward the scarred coffin with a yearning expression. "Please. Forgive me."

  She pulled the door shut tight and ran headlong down the corridor, tears flowing freely to the floor below.

  --Vincent pushed off the cover, gasping upright as hands gripped the sides of his coffin. The room stood empty. No shadow hovered on the other side of the door. No voice whispered with joy or laughter. No tears were shed. Vincent vaulted from the coffin and clawed open the door, desperation surging him forward. The hallway was empty--no! A figure, just there!

  He surged toward the staircase, but even now the footsteps were but faint echoes. The room at the top of the spiral staircase stood empty, as were the rooms and hallways beyond. Dread rose up to choke him, and he fought it back as he hurried down the main staircase to the front doors of the Mansion. The walkway empty. The gate securely closed.

  Vincent stepped forward, his eyes narrowed as they examined all. No shadows. He almost turned away when he heard a door shut. He raised his head sharply and vaulted into the air, hovering quite still as he attempted to gauge the direction.

  The inn.

  He dropped to the ground. The inn. He clenched his jaw and turned away, but he could not move another step toward the door of the mansion. If the shadow from the strange nightmare was Natalie . . . What did that mean? How could she have entered the realm of his nightmares? How could she have controlled what he saw? How could she have heard his questions?

  The sound of the door opening again made him stiffen, but he still could not move. Then there were footsteps coming closer . . . closer . . . and still closer. They stopped, hesitated, and began again to halt directly behind him.

  "I came to say good-bye."

  Shock spun him to face her. Natalie stood a mere foot away. Her curls tousled, cheeks wet, and eyes red with crying. "Why?"

  Those trembling hands fluttered in a gesture of . . . confusion and loss. "I'm . . . I should have known better than to--" Natalie covered her mouth, unable to prevent the sob which broke free. She turned away. "It is better if I go."

  Panic flickered, bombarding his hope with terror. "No. It is not."

  "Yes, it is. If I go, you can sleep and not worry about life. It's easier. I . . . I can't do this anymore." Her voice faded into tears.

  "Why?"

  Natalie swiped the tears from her face and lifted her chin, straightening her shoulders as she faced him. Her green eyes glimmered as they held his gaze, unflinching. "Because it might not work. Because it might work. And if it does? What if my theory doesn't? What if--you might die."

  "My death would be better than living the remainder of my existence in that box."

  "But I don't want you to die," Natalie cried, her hands stretching outward, reaching for . . . him. "Can't you see that, Vincent? If this doesn't work, I could live with that. At least you would be here. Breathing. Dreaming. But if I killed you . . . ?" She shook her head and lowered her hands to hang at her side. "I . . . I couldn't live with that."

  "It doesn't matter if I die--"

  "It does matter!" Natalie grabbed each of his arms, staring into his eyes without a cringe or flash of fear. She gave him a hard shake. "Damn it, Vincent, it matters to me!"

  His eyes glowed. "Then do it."

  She cringed and her hold fell away, turning away with a sob.

  Myriads of arguments and fears pulled Vincent back, but he shrugged them off and stepped after her. Unfamiliar emotions of uncertainty and fear bombarded him as he gently placed his hands on her arms to turn her to face him.

  "I could not save Lucrecia, and that haunts me. If you leave without attempting to save me, your life will become a collection of regrets and bitter suppositions. Doubts will plague you. Self-hatred will darken you until you will not resemble, in the least, what you once were."

  Natalie closed her eyes, tears cascading down her cheeks. "But if you die . . ."

  "It will not be death, Natalie," he pressed. "It will be freedom."

  She choked on another sob, stepping forward to envelop him in a firm embrace, her cheek upon his chest. Vincent stood solemnly still for a long moment before wrapping his own arms around her, remembering a similar embrace witnessed. Shared
between Lucrecia and Hojo.

  Vincent clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, violently pushing away the memory. "I have waited so long . . . ." And his tone did not ring with cool distance. There quivered an emotion. A hint of tightness.

  Natalie raised her eyes to meet his. Dread and terror shone in her gaze. Then Vincent saw a flash of panic as she pushed away. He held her arms.

  "Please," she said, her tone high and desperate tone as she wriggled her arms within his firm grasp. "Let me go. Please."

  Vincent examined her face in confusion. He had never seen fear from her.

  "Please, Vincent. Let me go." Natalie's voice trembled with fresh tears. "I can't do this. I can't . . ."

  "Do what?"

  "I don't want to hurt you! I . . . I-I can't lo--" Natalie's mouth clicked shut as her face paled to a soft shade of yellow and her movements ceased. Her eyes glazed, and her arms went limp.

  Again, Vincent didn't understand the reaction. She looked as if she would retch. He cupped her chin with his one normal hand, and her glossy eyes met his. He examined her expression with confusion and a growing irritation. "What is the matter with you? Is caring for me so despicable that you must run and hide at the first hint of tender feelings shared? Am I such a monster?"

  No reaction.

  Vincent pushed her away. Natalie stumbled back a step, her body rigid. Rage grew to spark in his eyes, and they glowed a dangerous shade of crimson. "You woke me, woman, and now you play me for a fool? Was it your intention to toy with me as a cat with the mouse before tasting its blood? Did you wish to see how vulnerable I would permit myself to become before I allowed you to splice and manipulate that which truly holds your interest?"

  Natalie's shade of yellow became green.

  "I've come from my coffin for your experiment only to be chased back by the very brand of scientist who made that black sarcophagus my home. Have you no defense? Nothing to say?"

  She crumpled to her knees, vomiting so fiercely that she convulsed with each wave of nausea and coughed after each vicious retch. Vincent knelt, the rage passing to reveal the fear which had fed it. He steadied her as she gagged, doing his best to comfort her through the waves even when nothing surfaced but air and deep-seeded misery. When the fit passed, her skin felt chalky and clammy as she muttered nonsensical phrases. She could barely hold her head up as she collapsed against him.

  Vincent clenched his jaw as he held her. "Damn it, woman, I have waited an age for someone . . . for anyone to care about the hell I eagerly fled to each night. Do not leave me now," he muttered.

  "I-I'm sorry," she murmured, her hand clutching a portion of his black silk shirt. "I didn't mean to. I-I didn't know . . . I didn't know what I was doing. It was the dream. I know it was. I was scared. I'm always scared. I don't want to be scared anymore."

  Natalie murmured similar phrases as she sunk further into a type of delirium so hauntingly familiar. Tremors came in waves throughout her entire body, and her teeth began to chatter so violently he thought they might break. Vincent unclasped his cape and wrapped her into it, gently lifting her into his arms. He navigated his way to the inn and her room, tender as he nestled her under the covers of her bed.

  A basin of water stood on the dresser to the right of the bed. Vincent soaked a rag and wiped the bile from her mouth. The action drew Natalie out of the delirium, and her eyes fluttered. She smiled briefly, and then moaned as her eyes rolled back in her head. Vincent clenched his jaw and tossed the rag into the basin.

  "It was the dream," Natalie mumbled again and again. "You always do in the dream. I was scared. I don't want to be scared anymore. If you just say that, I won't be scared anymore. I didn't know you were going to say that. It scared me."

  Helplessness rose within Vincent as he watched her greenish face twist into hundreds of expressions. From fear to happiness to agony and back again. He leaned forward, resting his hands against the bed as he continued to watch her. "And so you dream of me. What life have you had which encourages care for a monster? What kindness blossoms within which makes you desire the saving of this blackened soul? Why do you so desire to save me?"

  Natalie rocked her head from side to side, her hands occasionally groping the air, searching for something that would seemingly give her peace. Vincent caught one of her hands with his human, but her grasp continued to flutter like a butterfly, ceasing only after several failed attempts at freedom. His claw carefully smoothed her now damp curls from her face. Once, he allowed himself to caress her cheek. When he did so, Natalie sucked in a breath and her head ceased its rapid movement from side to side.

  "Vincent, we need to talk," she choked out.

  The sudden clarity of speech surprised him. He examined her expression. Natalie's eyes were still closed, drifting rapidly from side to side under her lashes. "About?"

  "About us."

  Intrigue blossomed. "Us?" A sudden sense of fear radiated from her, and Vincent again caressed her cheek in an effort to soothe it. "What needs to be said that makes you afraid?"

  Natalie's countenance firmed. "I can't see you anymore."

  Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" He smoothed more curls from her face, watching her expressions with an odd and twisted sense of awe at their complexity. Then a continued spark of fear caught his attention. "You fear yourself," he realized.

  Natalie rolled over, pulling her hand from his grasp to wrap her arms around herself. "It just wouldn't work, Vincent. I care about you, yes, but . . ."

  Vincent raised an eyebrow. Another confession of care. Another wave of fear that preceded and followed it, just as before. "But?"

  "I don't know anymore. I am just so afraid."

  And that Vincent understood. It birthed an unexpected emotion of compassion, warming his normally cold soul as he leaned toward her ear. "It is all right to be afraid," he whispered. "Aren't we all, at one point or another?"

  Natalie rolled onto her back once again, turning her head toward him with an air of expectancy. Vincent examined her expression, confusion furrowing his brow. After a moment or two, the expectancy dwindled to regret and sadness. Natalie turned her head away, and her face twisted in an agonized frown. Her spirit seemed to distance itself from him.

  Vincent took hold of her hand. It fluttered within his grasp.

  "No. It's not supposed to be like that. Something's wrong. He's not here. Where are you? Vincent? Vincent?" Her head twisted from side to side and, this time, her entire body began to writhe.

  "I am here."

  Natalie's eyes fluttered open. Her color shifting from green to fair. "Vincent?"

  "Yes."

  She smiled groggily, rolling onto her side as she pulled his hand to her cheek. She closed her eyes. "You were supposed to kiss me. You always do. Always."

  Vincent analyzed her face. Her pallor was much improved, but she still seemed to drift from dreamworld to reality and back again. It seemed the only way to release her from the dream was to finish it. But hesitation held him back. There had been no woman after Lucrecia. He brushed a clawed finger lightly across Natalie's forehead, again noticing she didn't cringe from the touch . . . . He leaned forward and cautiously caressed her lips with his.

  Vincent breathed deep at the sudden rush of emotional freedom caused by that soft, warm touch. He stared down at her, eyes wide. Natalie wore a simple smile, her features calm with sleep.

  "I have found the tool for my cure, then. Or rather, you found me. Fool that I am, I would have chased you away with my rage. But . . . but you didn't run. You faced me in my darkest fury and reacted this way. Your broken heart doing this." He tightened his grip on her hand. "Will you be my cure? Or will you simply be a release from this curse to a final blackness?"

  Natalie's eyes slowly opened. She met his gaze and sleepily smiled, bringing up a hand to brush his hair from his face. "I won't leave," she whispered. Then she yawned and nestled her cheek against his hand once again. "I promise I won't leave until I cure you."

  "Sleep now. The cure wil
l wait."

  Natalie yawned again. "I love you, Vincent. Don't forget that," she murmured.

  Vincent cringed. Then he closed his eyes, shaking his head as he lowered his chin. How could he forget a spoken doom?