A/N: This is a pairing I have adored for about ten years now and I've read lots of fics about it, but last night it occurred to me that I haven't written anything myself. So it was more of a necessity than anything.

Also, I dedicate this to SirenMist, who once upon a time (around 6 years ago) was sweet enough to write to me a one-shot I requested within her Messing With Valentine series (Chapter 38 - Difficult). I was in love with the series for so long and I don't know if she's still around, but I thank her nonetheless. A tight hug to you, Siren!

Inevitable

He was burning… but the sensation was neither painful nor pleasant, it was just brimming over the edge of the unbearable, constantly and relentlessly. It was maddening and he wished it would stop, but it didn't. He was an ember, a cluster of darkness and fire that tore him apart every second and swelter had gathered at the center of his chest, pressing it with a tangible weight. A half-sound escaped his dry lips, he couldn't breathe.

He was thirsty, but the darkness was thick and hot, and something stung at the back of his eyes. He wanted to escape this crushing sorrow, but his eyes were burning with a glow he could feel. A low, menacing groan came out of his mouth and panic rose within him – he was enchained. Cold hardness was spread underneath his form, maybe stone or concrete, he wasn't sure, but he tried to get a grip of… to no avail. His body lied broken and he couldn't really move.

He managed to shift a few inches further. Dull pain pulsated through his whole bloodstream, but it was easy to ignore when the overwhelming headache threatened to destroy his sanity. It was dark, he couldn't see anything. The nipping, metallic scent of blood was all around him.

Sudden, sharp steps echoed somewhere close to him and he heard them approaching, along with a high-pitched snicker he knew all too well. His whole being spasmed with pain and his breathing shallowed. Just not this again. Anything but this.

"Beautiful!" Hojo exclaimed excitedly. "I am overjoyed with the results. Hmm, how very interesting… I only need to check what would happen if I give you my most innovative serum. It will blow your mind," He giggled, nearing him fast. "I promise, it's the last one."

"Ple… please." Vincent breathed out, the panic already bursting in every cell of his body.

"You and me, we're making history. You can't just give up right now, not when I know that you're strong enough. The strongest I've ever had."

No, he didn't want any more experiments. It hurt. Please, someone, make him stop. Sharp, needle-like pain at the base of his forearm struck him and he cried out, helpless to change anything or stop the madness of it all.

"Open your eyes now. Come on, come on." Hojo beckoned him with a gentleness that brought instant nausea, but he overcame it and forced his eyes open. There was a fractured image of something ugly and inhuman staring back at him in a mirror as well as a pair of deep, haunting, crimson eyes. It was so hot that it felt like he couldn't cry even now as crying was an utmost need. Excruciating pain quickly spread over his fingers and hand, and it dizzied him almost to losing consciousness.

"Dammit. Skin necrosis…" Hojo's flowing murmur of sincere despair touched his overly sharpened senses. "I thought you're gonna take this one fairly well, Valentine. I'm disappointed… Ugh, It's gonna be a problem if it ruins your heart and all so I guess I'll have to get rid of it the quick way… Don't worry, though. I'll think of some cool replacement of the tissue, you'll be as good as new! Let me just go take my scalpel."

His eyes were still dry and wide open in horror. The reflection was clear and foul, and the sound of Hojo's brogues echoed away sonorously in the laboratory.

"I should probably use a saw. Your calcium-reinforcement is gonna make it nearly impossible to cut through the bone… We don't want to break any of my instruments now, do we?"

An impulse or a tick, he wasn't sure, but it coursed through him and he tried to shift again, tugging harshly at the chains on his wrists and ankles, but they were heavily enhanced. Because he was not the first at his table. He wasn't gonna be the last as well. There was nothing he could do.

"Be a good boy and lay still because this is gonna hurt a bit."

Hojo's voice rang out in his mind and sent a harsh, cold shiver through his broken and scarred body.

A saw?

The awakening came sharp, as a quick snap that dragged him up to a sitting position, and he gasped for air desperately. The air was as if condensed and thick to his lungs, and it took him quite a lot of time to regain his control. The feeling of it all was stained inside of his mind, imprinted on his eyelids and still echoing dreadfully with every quick heartbeat in his chest.

His room was dark and empty. The faint moonlight sifted through the curtains of the wide window for a few seconds before disappearing to the shifting masses of clouds the wind shifted easily. His fist loosened the sheets and he slowly raised his left hand. The menacing silhouette of the metallic claw and its sharp talons was the object of his attention for one long minute before he uncovered from the sheets and started dressing up feverishly.

Then grabbed his cloak and disappeared through the door.

"Hey, Vincent." Tifa greeted, with a badly concealed surprise. She had paused her rag's round motions over the bar's surface and now looked at him, up and down, as he approached her with uncertainty. "You seem really pale, everything alright?"

Vincent leaned on the counter, eyes nailed on the strapped wood. He wasn't sure why he came here in the first place, but in any case, he could use some noise. Any kind of noise. Even a human's voice was better than his quiet apartment. He feared that place held less and less charm for him with every night he spent there. The clink of glass touching glass dragged his attention and he raised his eyes.

"Don't act all surprised." Tifa glanced up to him with a playful smile. "You even skip the visits on holidays and now you show up past midnight and try to indirectly convince me it just randomly occurred to you to come by on a workday."

Vincent furrowed, eyes down at the glass she pushed it to him. It was filled with something dark that suspiciously looked like a strong alcoholic mead.

"Thank you." He managed a hoarse reply and Tifa shrugged, continuing with her cleaning process, likely to give him a little space.

Her eyes were on him from time to time, but when he drank the whole glass at once and squinted at the stinging of the alcohol, her lips parted with astonishment and her hands stilled again. He reached for the bottle she left not far from him and poured more of its contents in his glass.

"Vincent." She called, evenly, but he cut her off nonchalantly.

"How is Cloud doing?"

Tifa scowled, putting a hand on her hip, but after the long, judgmental pout she gave him, she decided it's time for her to continue cleaning with a sigh.

"Getting on my nerves a lot lately, but… yeah. You know." She rubbed a stubborn stain a bit more harshly. "The usual."

"Good."

The pause extended after his reply and he decided it's convenient for him to gulp down his second glass. Getting drunk was nearly impossible with his metabolism and ever-regenerating cells so it was the momentary daze he was aiming for. The daze that hit him a few seconds after he drank the alcoholic beverage.

"How about the kids?"

Tifa narrowed eyes at him, he could feel her intent burning a hole in him as he admired the glass in his hands with feigned interest. Why was he there, again?

"The kids are just fine. Unlike you." Came the slow reply. "Excuse me." Then footsteps, to which he grew curious, and… buttons of a phone.

Maybe she had work to do. No, it was just too late and he was intruding. He really had to leave. To where, though? His apartment? Vincent detached from the bar and stepped to the door reluctantly. Then he stopped, turning to the corridor from which was now echoing Tifa's low murmur. Wherever she was in the building, he was going to hear her voice thanks to his strong hearing ability anyway. Trying not to listen was a lost cause.

"Yeah, you better come back soon… because it's bad. Like, really bad… A bottle, yeah. Ok…"

Vincent furrowed for a moment, then… guilt stung him.

Was she feeling intimidated by his presence? He couldn't quite tell who was she talking to, but he decided to leave, thinking it's best. Vincent headed straight for the door, culpability storming his whole being. Whatever pains he's been through tonight were not anything new, neither they required sharing of any kind. He's seen worse.

Reaching a friend was something he's never done before, used to coping on his own. It was just that… he thought he'd find something here, but he didn't know what. Company? Warmth? As if they'd help him. Even if they did for a moment, even if they did help him for a week, a year or a lifetime… those people were going to disappear, turn into ash and dust and he was going to be left there, in the silence again, with a gaping wound. A wound that he has created himself, letting them become a part of his life or letting himself care about them.

It was wrong, all of it. He could manage on his own, he had to.

"Vincent, you're leaving already?" Tifa shouted after him and he faced her inconveniently, hand pushing the entrance door open.

"Yes. I am sorry for bothering you. Good night."

"But- Vincent, wait!"

He didn't hear the end, pacing down the alley with a fair amount of dread smoldered up in his heart. How ridiculous. Why did he go there in the first place? The heavy howl of the wind just unnerved him more as he shifted through the shadows of Midgar's slums, body wired with anger. Harsh shivers crawled down his spine and he stopped in a desolate and dark alley, at last, and leaned on the stone.

Those sensations were odd and unfamiliar to him, and he was failing to control the fear that rose in him. All those previous times he felt dizzy like that, he lost consciousness and transformed into something that… hurt people. He promised to himself to not let that happen ever again. No… no, no. Please, no.

Strange, painful shivers spread through his body and gathered at his center, and he struggled to keep himself on his feet, but it made him want to bend in two or at least fall on his knees. The struggle seemed awfully prolonged as the metal of his claw screeched against the cold concrete and he leaned to it for support, until the pain didn't increase and he gave up, in the end.