Fugue 1

I feel stupid, but I know it won't last for long
And I've been guessin', and I coulda been guessin' wrong
You don't know me now, I kinda thought that you should somehow
Has that whole mad season got ya down?-Matchbox 20, Mad Season

He did not know this place.

Vincent had been kidnapped a few times, though most of the time he was on the other side of the equation. But he had been trained. He knew how to assess the situation, to count his kidnappers, to take stock of his physical condition, and so on. But this was strange. This, to quote Veld, beat all.

He was in a very comfortable home. Someone lived here. Someone took great pains to make this a place that they would enjoy living. He could tell that, unmoving with his eyes still closed. The bed was large, the linens luxurious. The scents were clean and natural; he could smell on himself expensive shampoo and soap, used as recently as last night. Who the hell kidnapped someone and then bathed them? He sensed no one else in the area and experimentally opened his eyes.

His impression was correct. The furniture was simple and classic; the place had a pleasant, light and airy feel to it. Using every bit of his Turk training and genetic enhancement, he moved with absolute silence about the room. There were some Turk uniforms, too large for him, in the laundry, along with high quality silk and cotton shirts, jeans, and leather pants that were his size thrown over chairs. Dresser drawers revealed unremarkable pajamas and workout clothing. Soft leather boots, also in his size, made him smile, briefly, then frown at the mystery.

Then again, didn't everyone wear a nine medium?

He moved on to the bathroom, finding nothing remarkable there except a ton of hair products, most of which he smelled on himself. Was this a place he stayed frequently? If so, why did he not remember? The kitchen, while attractive in that showroom, home store kind of way, held nothing but some take-out leftovers and a few dirty dishes.

The living room made his heart stop in his chest. There were pictures. Possibly a hundred, all over the wall. Pictures of his parents, of him, as a Turk. Pictures of him in his cloak, with AVALANCHE, though they had been aged by hard experience, and he did not remember whatever scene was behind them. Cid, in front of a house but it was larger than that one room hovel he had before.

Then, he was with a bald Costan man he vaguely remembered; the partner of that redhead Cloud used to be in love with, and the body language suggested some degree of intimacy. More of him with children and a small brown older woman, her great affection for him plain in her lined face.

A life he did not remember living. He backed away in terror, and went into the closet.

Where was his cloak? He finally found it, in a garment box, in scraps. The sight was his undoing and reaching within himself, he finally realized what else was wrong.

Silence. Not in this place but in his mind.

The phone rang, so he crept out into the bedroom again. "Vince, it's Reeve. Rude called from work and said you weren't feeling well this morning when he tried to wake you up, but I just wanted to check on you. I know how your migraines get and you've had several the last couple weeks. Just wanted to make sure you didn't need a ride to the hospital for an IV or anything. And yes, I probably woke you up with this call. If you don't call me back, though, I'm coming over there to check on you. I don't like it when you don't answer your phone even if you hate the damn things. I don't care. I didn't hire you to like phones. In fact, I'm not sure what I hired you to do except order me around and sleep all day like a cat. Well, you have two hours and I'll see you at your place. Bye!"

Vincent looked at the phone, tilting his head like a curious dog. He wanted to call back, but it was suddenly too much. The colors, the lights, the sound, the pictures of people that he didn't recognize, or that he did but couldn't understand what they were doing there. He knew who Reeve was. He wanted to call Cid, but again, the phone overwhelmed him. He wanted to be back in his coffin but could sense, somehow, he was too far away.

It was all too much. Even the bed, not his own, was so bright and unfamiliar. He crawled on his hands and knees back to the closet, so cool and dark, where his cloak was, and lay there until Reeve found him, hours later.

"Vince, try to stay calm. They are getting you a room." Reeve could tell his friend was running very low on 'calm'; a ride through a city he didn't know, in a car he didn't remember being in before, was about all that could be asked of anyone. But he thought it would be less stressful than an ambulance and so had driven Vincent to the emergency room himself. Now, he wondered if the ambulance would have gotten them faster service.

It was too damn much like the last time, after Omega, when he had found him sitting in a hospital waiting room, completely catatonic.

"Why do I need a room? And why am I still in my pajamas?"

"Shiva, I do not think I can do this. Rude will be here shortly." He realized, belatedly, that his friend had no memory of his own husband, outside trying to kill him on occasion, and this was likely to redefine 'awkward moment.' So he patted Vincent's back soothingly and filled out the admission forms. He watched with some amusement as Doctor Hankins, Vincent's therapist, ripped the staff a new asshole for not admitting her patient, who obviously was in a complete dissociative state and who had a history of depression and post traumatic stress.

He found it comforting to have a little backup, and a professional at that. Last time it had just been he and Cid, and he'd fought the urge to go insane himself. Finally the therapist came over. "They have a room on the family wing. Anything with security is wasted on him; if he decides to leave, he will. This way, at least he won't feel like he's in a hospital, so much. Vincent, it won't be long. How long have you been feeling like this?"

He looked at Reeve, who nodded. "Since I woke up. I didn't know where I was. Where is Cid?"

"We called him. He's waiting on commercial airship. Says he doesn't want to fly over with two hours sleep."

"Good, don't let him."

Reeve smiled at the bossy tone in his friend's voice. Even in fugue state, Vincent was still imperious.

"Do you have a hairbrush?"

"No, Vince. I generally don't bring one to the emergency room."

He fiddled with the ring on his finger. "I'm married?" He looked first at Reeve and got only a pained look in response, and so turned to Doctor Hankins.

"Yes." She smiled. "And happy. Do you want to undergo some hypnosis when you get to your room, see if it helps? Or rest first?"

"Let me see how I feel. Can I talk to Cid?" Reeve dialed the number and stepped away to give Vincent some privacy. After a few moments, his friend held up the phone. "He wants to talk to you now."

"Fucking hell," was the first thing the pilot said, and he thought it summed things up rather accurately. "Have you talked to the doctor?"

"Not yet. His therapist is doing bodily damage to get him into a room and get a full blown psychiatrist on the case. His neurologist is on the way in as well to make sure he hasn't had a stroke or hemorrhage. Going opinion is that he's too functional but we have to be sure. Or he could have a lesion."

"Shit. Just wish it would stop happening. Told him Rude was cool, not to worry."

"Really now."

"Well what was I s'posed to say? Ain't the time to remind him what I think of Turks." And really, Cid forgave that issue as long as Rude took good care of Vincent. "Anyway, might not be there till tomorrow mornin'. By the time I get a commercial into Costa, the last ferry's gone. Let him know I'm on the way though?"

"I will."

"Might hafta tell him more than once."

"I know." Rude's massive bulk could be seen coming down the hallway, but any misgivings that Reeve or the therapist had about his reception were put to rest immediately when Vincent stood and took a few hesitant steps in his direction.

Rude gathered him up against his chest. "Thought you had amnesia, babe."

There was no verbal response, but Vincent made no attempt to move away. After a moment the two of them sat back down. He looked up. "I'm s-"

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence."

Vincent gave a defiant look, but complied for now. "Okay."

"Need to call Reno, all right?"

He nodded and when Rude was gone, turned to Reeve. "I'm not sure what to say."

"Well, you two were friends for quite a while. You met when you were trying to skip out on a meeting and I caught you, and had Tseng make you ride with him. After the all the hell with Deepground, you probably should have gotten together but didn't for more than a year. I don't know because when you did, you didn't tell anyone. And like the impertinent little shit you are, you eloped to go on an assignment as a family dependent that you had no business on for health reasons. I, however, relented and sent you anyway just to shut you up, and so you also didn't tell me you were married for four damned months. And so, other than your being reasonably happy, I really don't know much about your love life."

"Oh." He turned the ring again. "Oops."

"I apologize, Vince, you're ill and that came out much more harshly than I intended." He rubbed the back of his neck. He needed a vacation.

"No. It's nice to have someone not walk on eggshells around me. I'm missing several years of my life, but I'm not going to break. I do however have a headache and I'm thirsty. I'd like a soda."

Doctor Hankins returned. "We have a room in the family wing. That way your friends can come and go, and if you like, Rude can stay with you."

"I'd like that. I trust him. Gods, this has to be so awful for him."

"Not a picnic for you," Reeve reminded gently.

"Well, it is a bit stressful," he admitted with a tiny smile, and got up to follow the therapist down the hallway.

By the time they got there, all of Vincent's good spirits, and energy, had evaporated. Reeve returned with the requested soda and fielded calls from Tifa, promising to call her when the man was up to visitors but not now and stop crying. Rude then returned from calling Reno, and was informed of the sleeping arrangements.

"Are you sure? You don't-"

"It doesn't matter. I don't want to be alone, and I feel better with you here."

"All right. You want anything? A Tranq? Something to eat?"

"Both, if that's okay."

Reeve left to tell the nurses' station, and to have Tseng relay the message to Reno that his partner would also need a change of clothing. A nurse returned with a small sandwich, a glass of tea, and an injection. Within minutes, the plate was empty and Vincent had begun to doze.

"You need to go back to the office?" Rude asked. Reeve looked at his watch. The work day was nearly over, for normal people, but then Reeve never punched a time clock.

"I don't imagine I'd get anything done. I think I'll just go home. Call if..."

"Yeah." The large Turk removed his shoes, jacket, and tie, and untucked his shirt, lying down on top of the covers. "Reno oughta be here soon with my stuff."

"Look, if there is anything, anything at all that you need, let one of us know." Reeve wanted to say that they were family, that Vincent meant oh, so much to all of them. But he knew if he let one more word escape his throat, he would cry.

"Will do," Rude said, and punched at the inadequate hospital pillow. Reeve left them like that, walked down the sterile hospital hallway and out to his car, only seeing then that Vincent had left his phone on the passenger seat. The phone he'd been afraid to use, but also wanted to keep near.

He'd take it to him later. He drove home, dry eyed, and went to bed even though it was only four in the afternoon.